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notmyneighbor · 2 months

Text

resistance | doppel francis x female reader

rating | explicit

part 4/?

words | 5k

cw | sexual content

ao3 link

taglist | @jazminetoad @uhnanix @fangwh0r3 @zenxvii @mistrosa @vurivuri

You know the conversation regarding the doppel’s proposed transformation isn’t over.

As soon as dinner is finished and the table cleared, a new game of Crazy Eights now started, the doppelganger broaches the subject of impersonating Izaack Gauss again.

“He’s the only one who could talk his way into the building without an invitation.”

“And then what? They’re not just going to escort you to the inner sanctum and say: ‘Here’s everything we’ve been hiding.’ I told you, other journalists have tried—“

“—But not Izaack. Not the local celebrity news reporter. Clubs,” he says laying down the Eight of Hearts on the discard pile. “They won’t dare harm him. He’s too high profile.”

“How are you going to get back out again?” You lay a card down on top of the one the doppelganger has just played.

“That’s a Spade. Probably the same way I did last time.”

You remove the card and place another. “You were lucky the first time.”

“That’s not a Club either.” He sets his cards on the table and reaches for your hand. “Look at me.”

You sigh shakily, letting your own cards scatter across the Formica surface as your fingers slot through the doppel’s, forcing your eyes to meet his.

“Scared?”

“Yes, I’m scared.”

“Me too. But I have to do this.”

“You don’t.”

“You know it’s not permanent. I wouldn’t look like him forever.”

“It’s not just that. If they find out, they’ll take you again. Or worse.”

“I won’t let that happen.”

You shake your head, falling silent.

In the bathroom a little later on, Francis’ clone has just finished brushing his teeth and he moves now to stand behind you to let you have your turn at the sink, sweeping your hair aside and kissing your shoulder softly. Your eyes meet in the mirror.

“No, Francis. I’m not going to agree to this. No matter how many times you ask me. It’s a suicide mission. It’s too risky.” You scrub your teeth and take a sip of water, rinsing and spitting into the basin, using a hand towel to dry your mouth off, sighing at the expression on his features. “Look, I know people have a right to know what’s really going on. There are probably other doppels trapped in that facility that deserve their freedom, too. But this ‘one man army tactic’ isn’t the way to go about this.”

“So what do you suggest instead?”

“I don’t know. I don’t have any ideas.”

“Exactly. And in the meantime, the DDD is continuing to threaten the lives and well-being’s of humans and doppels alike.”

“It’s not your responsibility. You don’t need to get involved.” You open the medicine cabinet to stow the toothpaste away.

“I’m already involved. They trapped me and stole my memories.”

The door closes with a loud snap as the magnets on the mirror’s back and the cabinet’s front rejoin together and you turn to face the replicant. “I’m aware. But you have to look at the larger picture here. What’s more important? What means more to you? You don’t even know if you can get them back. You might be risking everything for absolutely nothing. And since when do you care about others so much? You said before you didn’t even notice if there were other doppels trapped there when you escaped. You were just looking out for yourself. What happened to that, huh?” You try to make it light and playful, but the doppel’s features are grim.

“You know the answer to that,” he says softly.

You shake your head, walking through the bathroom doorway and flipping the lightswitch to the off position as you go. Such a different mood from this morning; a new tension between you now as you slide beneath the sheet spread neatly over the bed, your lover joining you.

You lean over to shut off the lamp on the nightstand and then settle back against the pillows. “I hate how guilty you’re making me feel. Like I’m being selfish for not wanting you to go. I’m helping the DDD keep a terrible secret. I know it’s wrong. I just…” You turn on your side, blindly reaching for the doppel’s cheek in the darkness. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“You’re not going to lose me. I’m still going to be your Francis. I’m coming back to you.” His fingers smooth your hair and trace your lips in an attempt to soothe you.

“How would you do it? Become Izaack, I mean?”

“I’d need something of the real Izaack’s with his cellular structure on it.” He pauses. “A toothbrush would work. I’ll need to study his mannerisms a little more. Tune into the evening broadcast a few more times.”

“How are you going to get his toothbrush?”

“I’m not sure. I’d need to find a way to get inside his apartment somehow.”

“You’re really thinking about breaking in?!” You shift onto your back again. “This is crazy.”

“Is there a way to do it?”

“How would I know? I’m not a thief. Or a criminal,” you add.

“You’re harboring a fugitive. I’d say that counts as criminal behavior,” the replicant replies drily.

“Are you trying to be funny?”

“I don’t like seeing you upset. Actually, I don’t like not seeing you, period. Let me…” You hear the mattress creak as he leans over and manages to find the switch for the lamp. “That’s better.” He lies back down on his side, tucking one arm beneath the pair of pillows as he rests his head on the elevated surface.

“The doorman has a copy of everyone’s keys in his booth,” you murmur, absently stroking the arm the imposter milkman drapes over you. “I could say I locked myself out, try to borrow them. Grab the toothbrush, and some clothes.”

“See? I knew you’d think of something.”

Your hand abandons the doppel's forearm and you cover your face with it, groaning. “I shouldn’t have said anything. We’re not doing this, Francis.”

“We have to.”

“No, we don’t,” you argue, even though you feel your resolve weakening. “Why can’t you just be happy being here with me? Why aren’t I enough?”

“You are more than I deserve. Don’t ever mistake that. And I am happy with you.” He tucks his fingers under your chin, turning your face to his. “I know I’ve asked too much of you already. But I need your help again. Please.” He leans over to kiss you. “Please say you’ll help me.”

“How will you change back? Do I need to borrow a toothbrush from my other neighbor, too?”

“No. Once I have the information stored I can shapeshift at will into previous persons. Only one apartment to break into.”

“That makes it better?”

“Don’t be cross with me.” His thumb strokes your furrowed brow, trying to smooth the creases, then he tries to lift the corners of your mouth and you feel your lips betraying you, curving into a smile. “Better. That’s what I like to see.” He caresses your cheek and your features grow solemn.

“Promise me you’ll be okay. Promise me you’ll come back.”

“I promise.” His lips touch yours, once, twice, and on the third successive meeting his tongue dips between them. You’ve missed this. You’ve been arguing off and on all evening. It’s not how you want things to be, if this is all you’ll have of him. If he doesn’t make it back…

You push the negative thoughts from your mind, push the doppel’s shoulders until he’s lying flat on his back, then straddle his narrow hips, the hem of your nightgown bunched up around your thighs. You stroke down the mimic’s chest, through the sparse spread of dark curls, exploring over his abdomen, until you bump into the waistband of his briefs. There’s heat there that matches the one emanating from between the hot pink junction of your thighs. His breath hitches when you reach through the fly to maneuver his erection free, pumping your fist over it several times before you move your body so you’re positioned directly above, lining it up with your entrance.

You slowly lower your weight down, inserting the shaft into your canal inch by inch. Your bottom lip is clenched between your teeth, a little whimper of pleasure escaping you. Francis’ imposter rockets forward, his arms reaching for you. One strap of the nightgown has eased over your shoulder, half exposing one of your breasts. You feel his mouth there now, warm, wet, sucking, and you keen as you rock against him, a shallow sheathing and withdrawing motion guiding his cock in and out of you.

You slide your fingers into his hair and his face tilts back, jaw jutting upward, and you bring your mouth to it, licking your way towards opening his. His hands sit on the curves of your buttocks now, bracing you each time you lift and fall, impaling yourself on him. You memorize every taste and touch and sound he gifts you, little details that you tell yourself will be something to keep you until this mad plan reaches its finale. Not a goodbye, even though it has the feel of it, something final and parting that your body vehemently denies, making your nails dig into his flesh, your teeth nipping with possessiveness.

Your orgasm creeps up on you unawares, floating somewhere distant one moment and then suddenly crashing over you the next. The muscles in the replicant’s neck draw taut, tensing as he gasps his own release near your panting mouth. Wetness spills out of you as your forehead drops to rest on his.

You remain in his lap, still clinging tightly to him, unwilling to let go. His fingers dance along your spine, card through your hair, lips nuzzling your ear to whisper that it won’t be for long, he’ll come back to you, a vow that reveals he’s known your thoughts all along, the mirrored fear and trepidation that he can’t quite shake from his own voice.

***

The doppelganger paces while he waits for you to return from breaking into the news anchor’s apartment.

He envisions the scenario unfolding, when you reach the guard’s booth and flutter your lashes and smile in that soft, self deprecating kind of way, telling the doorman that you’d locked yourself out and needed the spare keys. Not to worry about separating them, you’ll just take the entire keyring and bring it back, while he keeps watch, you’ll be quick, no need to fuss.

He imagines you a little wide eyed as you step onto the elevator, heart thudding rapidly, thumbing the button for the second floor. Darting a glance down each direction of the hallway before stepping briskly towards Izaack’s door. Slotting the numbered key in the lock. Another quick glance to make certain you haven’t been seen before you shove the door open.

The layout of all the apartments is the same, so you’ll be able to find your way around quickly. First the crucial trip to the bathroom to retrieve his toothbrush. Replacing it with a spare if you can find it, otherwise, the man will just be left baffled but not overly alarmed at its disappearance. Then a quick rummage through a closet to grab a suit and a pair of shoes that will dissappear into the shopping bag you’re carrying. A brief rifle through the dresser to get underclothes, a belt. These absences will surely be noticed, but they can’t be helped. He’s hoping the extensive wardrobe of the local celebrity might delay the immediate realization that some things have gone missing, but if not, so be it.

Francis’ clone then envisions you cracking open Izaack’s front door and peeking through the gap, then scurrying back onto the elevator. Heart pounding like mad, adrenaline coursing through your veins. Keyring returned to the doorman. That’s it. You should be back on the elevator by now. Heading to the third floor. Returning to him.

The doorknob turns and he stares intently, tensing up, then sighing in relief when he sees you’ve accomplished your mission.

You drop the bag at your feet, sagging back against the door. “I couldn’t find a spare toothbrush. But it’s done. Everything you wanted.”

“You’re amazing.” He steps forward, pulling you into his arms. You’re stiff, your face turned away from his, and he knows that it’s your defense to shield you from what he’s about to do, the transformation he’s about to endure. “Don’t be like this, please. We’ve talked about this for a solid week. Every day I’m hiding here makes it more dangerous for you.”

“Say you’re successful. And you get your memories back and you expose the DDD. Then what? You’ll be in more danger than ever. What’s to become of us then?”

“If it doesn’t turn out as planned, if we still can’t convince people to rally against the DDD and liberate the doppels…then we’ll leave. We’ll start over somewhere else.”

“Before, you made it sound personal. Like you just wanted revenge. Now you’re talking about an all out revolt. Francis, it’s madness. You’d be trading an existence spent hiding for a life of being on the run. Is that really better? If so, we could just do that now. Skip the rest and avoid the risk entirely.”

“You know we can’t. We can’t,” he murmurs, smoothing your hair back from your face. “Not without trying to fight back first.”

“What if you don’t want me anymore once you get your memories back?” Your voice sounds quiet and frail. “What if you suddenly remember you have a family? Another life that doesn’t involve me?”

“Is that what you’re afraid of?”

“I’m afraid for you. For your safety. And yes, for us. For our future. Have you thought about it, Francis? About what we could have?”

“Yes,” he says, the admission uttered with a harsh rasp. “Yes, I have. That’s why I have to do this. To secure that future. You wouldn’t be happy hiding or running. That’s not a life I want for either of us. That’s why I have to do this,” he repeats. “It’s not just about the memories anymore. Or the revenge. Or even justice. It’s for us,” he says firmly. “Now kiss me and wait for me in the other room. It’s time.”

“Francis, don’t do this. I’m begging you.” You bury your face against his chest. “It hurts too much.”

His arms tighten around you. “It’s not forever. I swear to you. You have to trust me.”

A broken sound escapes you as he crushes his lips to yours. Then you move away, briskly brushing past him, as if you cannot bear to be in his presence any longer. He hears the bedroom door shut and his eyes drop to the shopping bag still sitting on the floor near his feet. His fingers curl around the handles and he brings it into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

The articles of clothing you’d stolen feel strange to his hands; the fabric is more refined, more expensive than what the milkman’s imposter normally wears. The pale blue silk tie spills like liquid over his skin as he removes it. The many woven cotton threads of the shirt rest crisply as he lays it out over the jacket and pants on the closed toilet seat lid. The shoes still smell new, genuine leather that is polished to a mirror shine. He removes each garment and accessory slowly, almost reverently, aware that he’s stalling, more reluctant for the upcoming transition than he’d let on.

The doppel strips out of his clothing, letting each piece fall to the linoleum, then gathering them together to stuff them into the wicker laundry hamper for soiled linens. His eyes study the appearance of the milkman in the mirror for long moments, almost as if to say farewell to the tired eyes and stubbornly mussed hair, the face that he’d worn so much it had begun to feel as if it was a permanent part of him, like a scar or birthmark.

With a heavy sigh he reaches into the bag for the final time, withdrawing the last object inside. He closes his eyes, clutching the plastic handle in his fingers. His hand rests against the edge of the sink to stop the tremors. Afraid? Really? After all your assurances that this is only temporary? Your insistence that this is necessary? Stop being a hypocrite. A coward. Just do it. He thrusts the brush into his mouth. The bristles are slightly splayed from use. Mint flavored, but different from the kind you use. This even sharper, making his nose wrinkle with distaste. He drags it from his mouth and tosses it into the sink, hearing the sound of the plastic striking porcelain, and he finally gathers enough courage to open his eyes, his fingers curling around the basin as he stares into the mirror, waiting.

Hot. That’s the first sensation that strikes him. A strange pricking sensation along his skin. He’s suddenly sweating profusely. His true appearance reveals itself, emerald scaled and monstrous, before it begins blurring. His teeth grit, newly sharpened edges grinding together. It doesn’t hurt, precisely, but it’s wildly unpleasant. A tinge of nausea wallows in his gut.

The next time he views himself in the reflective surface of the medicine cabinet his eyes are aqua, large and bright, no longer underlined with tired smudges like Francis’. His jaw structure is notably different; blockier, more angular, the teeth filling a broader stretch of smile as his lips split open. Izaack is larger than the milkman. Bulkier. There are better defined muscles forming beneath the skin now, his chest and arms and shoulders widening, gradually covered with a thicker layer of jet black hair to match the waves crowning his skull, a single stubborn lock falling forward across the center of his forehead.

The transformation is complete. He’s an identical clone of Izaack Gauss.

The replicant glares at his new face, watching the thick eyebrows draw down sharply as he frowns at his altered appearance. His fingers probe at the divot of his cleft chin and the pair of dimples tucked into his cheeks, stroking over the skin as he turns his face from side to side, noting the news reporter’s nose sticks out far more than Francis’ protuberance had. The body still doesn’t feel like his own yet, the false outer layer itchy, almost tender. He waits awhile before pulling on the foreign clothing, trying to get accustomed to how it feels to maneuver this new broader, muscular form, bending and rotating each joint in varying degrees in the process. At last he completes the task, the local news reporter’s image now uncannily replicated in your bathroom.

Izaack’s doppel knocks gently on your bedroom door a short time later, trying the knob and finding it unlocked.

You’re standing in the middle of the room, facing away from him. He sees your shoulders tense as you hear him approach.

“It’s done.” His voice is deeper now. Less mellow, more crisp. It still sounds a little off, though; not quite as smooth and melodic as the human version’s. He’s going to need to practice speaking.

A sharp inhale is your only reply. He moves to stand behind you. “Please turn around. Don’t listen to…just ignore the voice. Hear the words. It’s me. You know it’s still me.” His fingers twitch, longing to touch you. He begins to raise a hand, hesitating as he catches sight of the dark hair lining his new, thicker fingers. Nothing like the milkman’s slender, calloused ones.

A sob greets these words. You turn reluctantly, your eyes lifting slowly. Up and up and up, adjusting to the marked change in height, to view the new appearance of your secret roommate. Tears slide down your cheeks and you cover your mouth with your hand.

“It’s me,” he says again, as if trying to remind himself.

“I can’t do this,” you say. “It’s too much. I can’t…”

“I’m here. I’m still your Francis,” he hastily attempts to reassure you, succumbing to his desire from earlier, his thumb brushing at your damp face, causing you to involuntarily flinch. “My feelings for you haven’t changed. It’s still me. Inside.”

You inhale shakily. “Change back.”

“As soon as I can, I will. I need to get used to this new body. I have to do this. Please,” he says, finally surrendering to what his emotions are driving him towards, wrapping his arms around you and dragging you into a crushing embrace. You tremble violently against him, your body resisting the foreign feeling of the cloned Izaack’s arms.

“When are you going?” Your voice is muffled against the imposter news anchor’s dress shirt.

“Soon. Within the next couple of days. As soon as I feel confident in this new form.” He pauses. “Did you want me to sleep in the other room tonight? Would it make things easier?”

“Nothing will make this easier. No. You can sleep in here tonight. I just….I need a moment,” you murmur, pulling free from his tight embrace. Your eyes refuse to meet his as you depart, leaving him standing alone. He looks at his reflection in the full length mirror, and he wants to smash it to pieces; use the shards to rip this offensive countenance right off his face. He wants to let his claws escape and peel off everything he’d just so carefully put into place; cloak himself in the milkman’s guise instead. That’s what you really want. It’s clearer than ever.

The only way he can ever have you is by pretending to be Francis Mosses.

***

You barely speak to the doppelganger for the remainder of the day.

The wounded looks he offers are painful. It’s a strange expression to see on Izaack’s features, as he usually appears confident and authoritative, largely free of any specific emotion, clinically detached. Necessary for his career; imparting information in a concise, accurate, dispassionate manner, but in this setting, under these circumstances, you can’t admire those traits. You can’t make yourself feel proud that he wants to help others. You want to be selfish. You want to keep him here, and most of all you want him to be Francis. Francis, and not Izaack.

There is no playful flirting. Neither of you seems to have any appetite. You retire early, lying beside what feels like a stranger, your heart pounding rapidly. Was it shallow of you to want him to look like the milkman? That wasn’t even his true appearance. If you really cared for him, it shouldn’t matter whose face he wears.

Oh, but it does. It does.

You both lie awake for a time. Then you feel his hand tentatively reach for your cheek. Too large. It stretches too broadly. His thumb nudges your bottom lip. You gasp, a soft sound in the darkness.

“Your heart is racing so fast.” You remain silent, frozen immobile against his touch. “I ache for you,” he whispers, and it wrenches at something in your chest.

You cover his hand with yours, squeezing lightly. The mattress springs creak as he moves closer, and you feel his breath warm against your face. His mouth grazes yours and your stomach flutters. He kisses you again, pressing more firmly, and you allow your lips to part, accepting his tongue. It feels both foreign and familiar; the shape, the texture, all wrong, but the technique is Francis’, and your body recognizes it, responding. You arch against him and he shifts, climbing over you, fingers skimming the hem of your nightgown.

“Francis, no. I can’t…”

“It’s me. You know it’s still me,” he urges harshly against your ear.

“Please don’t make me.”

The hand on your thigh stills. “Make you? I would never force you to…” The bed springs squeak in protest as his weight shifts again. “This was a mistake. I should have slept in the other room.”

You sit up, reaching towards him. He’s further away than you’d expected, sitting on the edge of the mattress. “Francis, wait. I’m not rejecting you, it just feels wrong, when you look like Izaack, and not yourself.”

“That’s not my real face, either,” he says, sounding bitter. “You said you liked me. That you cared for me.”

“I do.”

“Then don’t mock what I am.”

Your mouth falls open. “I…I’m not.” You feel his weight leave the bed, and you lean over to switch on the light. “Francis, wait. Don’t go. Let’s talk.”

“I’m tired of talking,” he says, now standing by the bedroom door.

You slide your legs over the side of the bed, following him out of the room. You think he’ll be turning right to go down the hall to the living room, but he enters the bathroom across the hallway instead, shutting the door in your face.

You hear the lock turn, and you realize you’ve never, ever had him separated from you like this. You’d always been the one sealed away, with the added comfort of a locked door, secure until you’d decided you wanted his company. He’d always been out in the open. Exposed. Vulnerable.

“Francis, I’m sorry. You’re right. I’m not being fair.” You rest your palm against the wooden surface. “Please come out. Or at least talk to me.”

Silence. Tears burn the edges of your eyes. “I’m sorry,” you say again, then retreat to the bedroom. His warmth still lingers on the sheets as you slide back into bed, and the ache in your chest worsens. How had you gotten so attached to him so fast? It shouldn’t hurt this bad this early on. It’s only been a couple of weeks.

You remain lying on your side, your hand now stretching up to find the dip in the pillow that had cradled the doppel’s head. You nudge your face closer to that shallow hollow and you can smell shampoo, soap, musk. His scent. Unique to him. You burrow your face into the cushion, your fingers gripping the fabric tightly. Not the same. It can never be the same. Your tears stain the rosebud printed cotton until sleep finally captures you.

***

You awaken to darkness, and you find you are no longer alone.

The doppelganger’s weight dents the edge of the mattress again, his hand resting over yours. That feeling is familiar; right, like the imposter milkman’s own that you’re used to. You set your other hand on top of it, tracing over the arching knuckles and creased joints, this blind touch confirming your suspicions.

“You changed back,” you say into the darkness.

“Had to,” he replies shortly, his voice—his voice, Francis’—sounding thick with emotion, the words choked out.

“Oh, Francis.” You struggle to sit upright, to move closer, wrapping your arms around his torso. Slender once more. The abundant musculature gone. Just that lean, narrow frame you’ve grown accustomed to. You tuck your face into the crook of his neck, feeling more tears threatening to escape again. His arm encircles you, drawing you more tightly against him, and his breath shudders into your hair.

“I shouldn’t have tried to make you…it wasn’t right,” he murmurs softly.

Your head lifts from his shoulder. One of you should turn on the lamp. You want to see him. “No, Francis, don’t apologize. I’m being selfish. It’s just…I can’t be without you anymore. As crazy as that sounds, I just can’t do it. It hurts too much. And I don’t want to hurt you, either. I want you to be happy. That’s all I want. That, and the light on,” you add, leaning away to feel for the switch but he beats you to it, the longer limb giving him an advantage.

His eyes look puffier than usual, suspiciously red rimmed and you think he might have been crying earlier, that pain in your chest flaring anew. You card your fingers through his hair and cup his cheek. “I did hurt you,” you whisper.

“I can’t be without you, either,” he replies softly. “I can’t have you look at me like that. Like I’m a stranger. Worse. Someone you despise.”

“No, Francis, I could never,” you protest. You lay your palm on his chest, feel the heart beating beneath the surface. “I know what’s inside you. I know it, and I might be frightened at the prospect of it, and that’s my shortcoming, not yours. But no, Francis. I could never hate you.” You wrap your fingers around the back of his neck and gently pull his face to yours, kissing his mouth. “My Francis. Mine, and no one else’s,” you whisper fiercely against his lips.

“Yours,” he agrees, recapturing your mouth.

***

The doppelganger cradles you against his chest.

The light is still on, bathing the room in soft yellow light. His fingers absently stroke yours, his thoughts swirling around clumsily in his mind, trying to settle into some semblance of clarity. Your frantic heart rate has slowed, your body soft and pliable against him. He wants you; wants to be buried in you, see that fire in your eyes as you come undone around him, but he’s lost some of his confidence, settling instead for holding you like this.

“Penny for your thoughts,” you murmur into his shirt.

“Hmmm? Oh. I’ve been thinking about this plan some more.” He feels your shoulders tensing again and plows forward quickly, “I think I’ve been too hasty with it. Too cocky,” the replicant adds. “You’re right. It is a suicide mission. So I need to find a better way.” He inhales deeply, then sighs as you relax again. “We’re going to have to ask for help after all.”

Your head lifts from his chest and you frown at him. “From who? Izaack?”

He nods. “Him, Francis…as many people as we can gather to the cause. We’re going to need your neighbors’ help.”

#francis mosses x reader #francis mosses x you #thats not my neighbor #that’s not my neighbor #francis mosses #milkman #milkman x reader #milkman x you #tnmn francis mosses #doppelganger francis mosses #doppelganger izaack gauss #tnmn smut #francis tnmn #francis mosses tnmn #tnmn doppelganger #the milkman

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cactusisconfused · 20 days

Text

I think one of my favorite scenarios when it comes to ghoap is the idea of meeting each other late at night.

Ghost of course isn’t new to a horrid sleep schedule, as memories of corpses, laughter and unwanted hands invade his unconscious mind. He’s lost track of the countless times where he’s woken up in a cold sweat, mind swimming and hands shaking.

He’s formed a routine at this point. Lay in the shitty cot for a just a moment, allow his breaths to mildly slow. To allow the images to fade into the darkness.

He’d get up once he feels his legs stop shaking enough to stand, though he still used whatever ledge he can to make sure he doesn’t fall. He’d make his way to the bathroom, keep the lights off and the mirror covered with a thin towel for safety.

His hand will grab the basin of the sink, attempting to not crack it. He’ll then the water on- as cold as he can get it- and will just let his hands soak. The shock of the water makes him take a breath, grounding him to remember where he is. When he is.

Then he will stand there, letting his hands go numb; once they do the faucet turns off. He grabs the navy blue towel that he always has folded on top of the toilet tank and dries his hand. He lets his hands sit in the towel for a moment, letting warmth come back to them.

He stands for a long moment. In the quiet. In the dark. It’s just him. For that one moment it’s just him.

That thought helps him somehow.

He folds the towel three times over and puts it back where he picked it up.

Picking up his balaclava, his slides it on- the faint pressure comforting on his face

Opening his door, he’s greeted with a blinding hallway; he’s yet to find a base that greets him otherwise.

Right foot first, he walks down the hall.

One step, two steps, three steps, four steps.

He counts until he gets to the mess hall. No food is being served at the hours when he will be stalking the halls, but there’s a kettle and a coffee maker and he makes do with that.

The kettle, he fills with water, just enough to fill his own mug and nothing more. He counts the seconds until the kettle whistles then puts his tea bag in. He pours the steaming water. Then, two scoops of sugar and honey if the base ever has it.

He’ll sit down at the table in the corner of the room- skewed to be invisible from the door, but the entrance is vivid to Ghost’d eyes.

He’ll drink his tea slowly, until he starts to hear muffled talking and footsteps. In the cabinet goes his mug, after a wash in the sink. He’ll make it out of the cafeteria before anyone else comes in and he’ll start his day.

That is how Ghost has dealt with his nightmares. With the repetition of that routine.

Today is no exception.

Ghost wakes with the feeling of his skin burning, screaming, skulls pleading for help- for mercy. He takes a moment.

He goes to the bathroom. Washed his hands, dried them off and walks out of the room.

He counts his steps.

One, two, three, four.

He makes it to forty two before he slows. The sound of liquid dripping with a slight electronically buzz fills his ears.

The coffee maker is on.

Ghost turns the corner and there, at the running coffee maker stands one John ‘Soap’ MacTavish. His hair and slightly ruffled and his shirt is wrinkled some.

Ghost debates on leaving.

Ghost stays.

He watches as Soap finishes his coffee, then nearly spills said coffee as his eyes land on Ghost.

“Hells fucking bells Ghost, could ye nae have said something?!” Soap attempts irritation but there’s a relived smile that sits on his lips.

“Keeping you on your toes sergeant.” Is Ghost’s reflexive answer. In truth, his brain is still catching up that his routine has changed. Like a gps that attempts to reroute despite being surrounded by only busy high ways.

“Aye, well ye’r doing a swell job at that.” The sergeant chuckles as he moves to the table in the corner with his mug. Ghost’s spot.

Ghost stands for a moment longer. He really could just leave, spend the rest on his quiet morning in his room. It would be better for his raging mind.

His legs still move to the kettle regardless.

Ghost reclaims a moment of his routine. He boils enough water to fill the mug. He puts the tea bag in, pours the water, puts in his sugar and moves to the table which Soap is sat in.

Soap gives a nod and a friendly smile as Ghost sits. Soap sips his coffee, closing his eyes as he does. The man looks tired, bags under his eyes, his shoulders hunched in a way they usually aren’t. There’s a slight tremor to his hand.

Ghost knows what he sees and Soap, putting his mug down, knows that too. Neither say a word.

A minute passed, then another, then another.

It’s Ghost that somehow breaks the silence.

“What do you call a zoo with only a dog?”

Soap slowly blinks, his eyes lifting from his coffee yo ghost.

“What?” The man’s deep voice is heightened slightly with curiosity.

“A Shizu.” Soap stares at ghost for a moment, the gears visibly turning in Soaps head. Ghost is a moment away from explaining the joke when Soap slowly smiles and gives a small, honest laugh.

“That was pure shite L.t.”

“Another.” Is Ghost’s reply.

“We doin’ this again, are we?” Again, Soap feigns annoyance, but that tired smile remains.

“What happened to the frog that parked illegally?”

Soap sighs, letting his head descend to rest on the table. “I’ll bite, what do you call a frog that parks illegally, Simon?”

A smile forms behind Ghosts balaclava. He ignores how it feels to hear his name come out of Johnny’s mouth.

“It got toad.” Ghost hopes his smile wasn’t too audible in his tone.

The rest of the morning quiet morning follows like that. Ghost finding himself the one to talk, filling the air, as Soap lets his head lay on the table, coffee long forgotten. It feels odd for Ghost, having there be silence around Soap but somehow he finds he doesn’t mind filling it.

An hour passed before Soap stops responding. His eyes are closed and his breathing even. Relaxed.

Asleep.

When Soap wakes up to a fresh mug of coffee next to him on the table as 6am alarms start ringing around base, Ghost denies any knowledge on how the coffee got there.

When the day ends, and another nightmare brings Ghost to consciousness at the crack of dawn, Soap denies any relativity to the perfectly made cup of tea sitting at Ghost’s spot at their table.

Simon thinks, as he sits down and watches as Johnny draws, maybe a change of routine isn’t so bad after all.

Hi! Sorry for not posting for a bit got really busy with some other stuffs. Also that soap drawing will be done eventually, just gotta get out of art block first.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed.

Byeeeee

#ghoap #john soap mactavish #cod mw3 #simon ghost riley #soapghost #cod mwii #johnny mactavish #ghoap fic #one shot #I gave up on soap having an accent #my bad 😞

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moononmyfloor · 1 year

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Hi Producer (正好遇见你) Infodump

Disclaimer: I have no idea about the accuracy of the information shared in the drama, I'm merely transcribing for future reference purposes. Proceed with caution!

Ep 32-33: Ming-Style Carpentry and Landscaping

Canglang Pavillion and Ke Yuan

Known for the unique landscaping art, before you enter the garden of Canglang Pavilion there is a pond surrounding the garden. Inside it, rocks are the main element of the scenery. You'll be greeted by a hill. Pavilion is right on top of it. At the foot of the hill is a pond. The body of water is connected to the mountain with a winding corridor. Southeast of the fake mountain is Mingdao Hall. It's the main building of the garden. In 2000, the UNESCO listed it as a world heritage site.

Keyuan garden isn't very big. It's only 0.741 acres. But it has a long and rich history. The characteristics of Keyuan can be described with five lines, which are, "An azure pond in the middle, a spacious construction, a full-circle corridor, a bright and clear view, a tranquil and vast yard."

Landscaping art boasts so many details. The buildings, rocks, plants, and ponds that form the scenery come from nature and transcend nature. It's an extraordinary fusion of picturesque scenery and craftsmanship. This goes perfectly with the saying, "The garden owner's disposition is represented and told by the well-arranged landscape."

In spring, you can appreciate the blooming crabapple. On a summer day, you can enjoy the coolness under a pipa tree. On autumn nights, you can hear raindrops hitting the banana leaves. And in winter, you can enjoy the warmth of a fire while admiring the plum blossoms. It's such a serene and relaxing life.

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Ming era Furniture and Carpentry

The unearthed cultural relics in Wang Xijue's tomb from the late Ming Dynasty, such as garments, jewelry, accessories, embroidery, furniture used as funeral objects, and items used in daily life not only reflect the advanced level of craftsmanship and technology at that time but also shed light on the political, economic and cultural conditions of that period.

When the powerful official Yan Shifan's property was confiscated, a total of 657 beds made of marble, mother-of-pearl inlay, and colored lacquer were collected, along with 7,444 items of chairs, cabinets, and tables. This shows officials and the rich at the time preferred using Ming-style furniture as a symbol of great wealth.

The scholars sought a refined and simplified living environment that was skillfully natural in its arrangement. A miniature Ming-style furniture set discovered in the joint tomb of Wang Xijue, a Senior Grand Secretary, and his wife. These things are so tiny and delicate. Chinese in ancient times thought of death as another life. After the passing, replicas of items used in life were buried as funeral objects. When Wang Xijue's tomb was unearthed, this set of miniature funeral objects was placed on his coffin. There is a hanger, a wooden basin, and an alcove bed. There is a stand for the basin and so many kitchen wares. You can find almost anything you need in real life.

The palaces in Hengdian World Studio are one-to-one replicas, but they aren't made with traditional mortise and tenon joints.

Suzhou Museum recreated a Ming-style study based on the literature "Chang Wu Zhi".

Tanyangzi and the Alcove Bed

She's a legendary young woman from Ming Dynasty, whose proposed future husband died and the in-laws demanded that she live the rest of her life in seclusion as a widow. Then she apparently cultivated Taoism and ascended at mere age of 23, which resulted in an entire niche religion of people worshipping her.

It's a very interesting story for sure, when you consider how Ming Dynasty was the most restrictive towards women and how this girl stood her ground and found her salvation in her own way. History says that Tanyangzi's death might have been from a hunger strike or poisoning from an elixir. But in the "Miscellaneous Morsels from Zaolin", Tan Qian wrote Madam Zhu was able to marry her daughter to a scholar from Shaoxing with a hefty dowry. And she claimed that her daughter had ascended in daylight.

It's irrelevant if she truly attained immortality or played a trick to get the society forcing their norms on her off of her back. Either way, you go Gui'er!!

I tried looking up sources in English but could only find some old articles by some Western universities, I think you can get a better summary by even just machine translating the Baidu Baike page which is linked below.

Hi Producer narrates this story by incorporating her mother's unconditional love and support into it and provides a "realistic explanation".

The alcove bed is a type of large bed that came into being in the late Ming Dynasty. It is also known as the eight-step bed and the platform bed. The alcove bed came in two styles. The colonnade style and the enclosed colonnade style. A small "room" is built on top of a four-post bed with three low panels to form a cloister-like structure. A shallow colonnade of about two to three chi is installed at the front of the bed, with a footrest in the centre. The left and right sides are used to place small cabinets, tables, stools, and even dressing tables. It is a clever and intricate design. The hardwood alcove bed requires a lot of materials and manual labor. It is a luxurious and exquisite piece of furniture. It was popular in the Jiangnan area during the Ming and Qing dynasties. Many wealthy families in the area would have such a bed made for their daughters the moment they were born to be included as part of their dowry, taking years to complete. To have a piece of furniture encompass parental love is also a unique way the Chinese show love.

The segment is timestamped below immeadietely followed by the Documentary part:

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More Hi Producer posts

#cdrama #chinese drama #正好遇见你 #Hi Producer #chinese history #Ming dynasty #ming dynasty women #chinese furniture #chinese gardens #carpentry #landscaping

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1nksta1neddesk · 1 year

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A Court of Readers and Dreamers

Chapter 6: Prove the paranormal

Word count: 3635

I spent the next couple days going on patrol with Lucien, not running into the Bogge again as Tamlin spent his days away, hunting it. When I wasn’t on top of that white mare, I was in the library. I fetched books from high shelves that had a crust of dust as their sleeve as I brought them down. I would study until the moon was high in the sky and sleep welcomed me with silent arms. Books on Prythina, its creatures, were almost always in front of me, even in my bed chamber. I would read as Alis braided my hair, only pausing to get dressed with the chosen tunic for the day.

It was one of those late nights, where my eyes hung heavy as I hauled myself with a book in arm back to my room from the expansive library, that the High lord prowled silently in from the wide front doors. Even in the low light of night I saw the limp and dark wet trail he left behind as he moved towards me.

I should have been afraid, should have quaked at the sight of such a beast, but all I did was place the heavy book on the foyer table and rush towards him. Before I reached him a white flash blinded me for a moment, when I opened my eyes the beast was gone and he was there, in front of me, his hand dripping with a steady stream of blood that stained the polished floors. His clothes were shredded to little more than scraps that clung to him.

The change did not halt me , though, as I grabbed at his arm , examining the gash. His eyes were hollow as he looked at me, and he offered no resistance as I twisted his hand up and into the small amount of light.

“You’re hurt” it wasn’t a question, but his eyes seemed to just barely get life back into them as he looked down at his hand. He seemed to just have remembered he had limbs that could bleed as he watched the trickle of blood now staining my hands.

“Yes”, the word was dull and monotone as he answered. He still seemed to be struggling to separate himself from his beastly form, from where he had to be to face the bogge as his eyes slid to where the heavy book I had been carrying was now resting.

I answered his question before he could ask it. “I’m learning of the world that I am to spend my life in” it wasn’t a lie, it was probably the closest I could get to the truth without ruining my efforts. He seemed to take it at face value though as he turned back to me, nodding ever so slightly.

“Where is the infirmary?” I still held his hand, failing to keep the blood from ruining those tiles as he started towards what I hoped was an infirmary, that he wasn’t delirious enough to guide us to a random storage closet rather than an infirmary.

For a second I thought my worries had come true as Tamlin opened a small door, simple compared to the large doors I had started to expect for every room in the house. The candles adorning the wall lit the moment Tamlin passed the threshold, allowing me to see into the room. It was small, not suited to house more than 1 patient at a time. A tall workbench sat at one side of the room, a sink at one end of it as cabinets lined the opposite wall and underneath the worktop.

I guided Tamlin to sit on the table top, placing his hand down where the blood would drip into the basin. I found a bowl and wash cloth, which I filled with warm water , and set them to the side as I searched for gauze and any ointment that smelled medicinal. When I had all the materials gathered I turned back, skin itching like I had walked through poison ivy as I found his eyes on me.

I tried to ignore the feeling as I set to cleaning his hand of blood and dirt. The gash I had seen in the foyer had shrunk down to a couple of jagged cuts that didn’t require the stitching I had been bracing myself to give him. I almost sagged in relief at that fact as I continued to wash the skin until it was back to the softly tanned color. I wrapped his hand as quickly as possible after I rubbed a small portion of ointment into those cuts.

I dumped the bloody water into the skin, turning on the faucet to wash it down. I cleaned the sides of the basin using the rag that had wiped away his blood, only stopping to drape the cloth over the faucet head once it ran clean. I was still ignoring the prickling stare of the High Lord as I washed my own hands.

“Do you like to read?” he asked and I paused from where I was lathering my arm up to my elbow in rose scented soap.

“Yes,”I said, words drawn tight as I considered if I would have Tamlin as a friend, knowing what he could become. I glanced over my shoulder, and though I knew him to be hundreds of years old, he looked like a curious boy in the soft light. I decided then to bare a part of me, not Feyre, in that infirmary .“I love reading” softer words, as soft as the moonlight that cooled the yellowed glow of candles through a small window. That love is what gave me the knowledge that I was using to survive this world.

He seemed to consider my words for a moment, “There were no books in your… home.” I gave him a long stare over my shoulder before I turned back to the water, rinsing the suds from my skin.

“We didn’t have the money; books are expensive in the mortal lands.” I had balked the first time I had seen a book at market, the price more silver than what I could bring in a whole season of hunting and selling pelts. I turned off the water before grabbing for a dry cloth that hung from the wall above the sink. I wiped at my arms as I turned fully to him.

His eyes were glowing with a feral power as they roamed up and down my figure. I would have thought it perverted if I hadn’t seen his expression. There he was considering my words, I hoped it wasn’t so hard to believe a poor human girl could find sanctum in words on paper.

“You aren’t what I expected- for a human girl” Tamlin said ,his eyes locked with mine before I turned to exit through the door.

“You are exactly what I expected��,the words were low enough that perhaps he couldn’t hear them as I shut the door behind me as I went back to my rooms to fall into a new night of empty dreams.

_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_

The next morning I spent collecting my supplies; A length of rope, a bow with a quiver of normal arrows, and a deep emerald green robe. With my supplies wrapped around me, I set off for that western wood.

The birch grove was easy to find once I heard the movement of water that marked the shallow stream that ran just to its side. The forest itself was oppressive in the way it curled around me, branches blocking out all but needle points of dappled light. I set the snare in the underbrush of the grove, placing the robe in the center of it. The Suriel had to know it was a trap, and had to know who was trapping it for answers.

Still it made me wait, sitting in an oak tree just on the edge of the grove, where my tailbone yelled at me with every small adjustment in posture. The sun rose higher, then started to dip out of its apex as I waited. I could barely stand the heat that now caused my skin to glisten with sweat, but still I waited. More time, more sweat soaking into the pale blue tunic Alis had dressed me in that morning. I sipped water from a canteen I had snatched from the kitchen on my way out, along with a small pouch of cheese that I now nibbled at as I contemplated demanding for the creature to come to me .

Another half hour and my neck was starting to get a crick as a silence that spoke of death and wind and bloodless flesh fell upon the wood like a tarp. I sat still in that tree, barely daring to breathe as I waited again, hoping for it just to be a few moments before I could get my answers. A rustle of fabric, dragging over the low vegetation on the ground as it approached the clearing.

The snap of rope and bone-rattling scream told me that I had been successful as I descended from the tree. I walked with full steps, not caring to sneak into the clearing as I saw the crouching figure draped in tattered cloth. I held the bow to my side, one arrow notched and ready to fire.

“Suriel?” I knew my human instinct should be telling me to run, scream, get out of the presence of the being I had trapped, but as the warped head of the faerie twisted toward me all I felt was sympathy for it as I saw the way it reverently clutched at the green fabric of the cloak.

Its gray head twisted more, facing me fully. A needle-toothed grin as it surveyed me. It looked at me like a circling predator despite its current position being the one snared like prey, its eyes pools of twisted bone and frothing saliva.

“Human,” I had thought it knew of me, that its abilities had made it just shy of omniscient, but the way it tasted the word in its lipless mouth didn’t speak of recognition, “Did you set this clever, wicked trap for me?”

“Why don’t you tell me?” My words were curt, stinging with disappointment as I sat on a fallen log that left plenty of room between me and them. A laugh that sounded like it was made of grinding marrow and stone made the tree branches pull back, letting just the tiniest bit of sun in.

“Which one of my brethren told you of my secrets?” Its voice clicked out, old as the oceans as its bony finger clattered together.

“None, I read of you, I know you ” It paused its clattering, tasting the undiluted truth as my voice lowered. I did know it, know it was a dreamer even when it knew all of this world.

“You- you are a new thread, not yet woven to this world, aren’t you?” The words felt like insects crawling under my skin as it continued to speak, “Ask your questions, thread, they are quite peculiar, aren’t they?”

I straightened my back as I spoke “Can I go home? Back where I am from?” That was my most pressing question, burning the back of my throat in my desire to see my family.

“I don’t know the ways of those who travel the worlds, do not know how the Mother decides to pull who and what through those rifts between.” An expected answer, even if it tore at the scrap of hope I had kindled.

“How did I come here? I read about this world- but that was fiction, not this” I said, trying to measure out my breaths, waiting for the Suriel to answer me as I still stared at its eyes. “Why am I in this body of all things? The real Feyre was needed to save this world.” I hoped the new questions would spur it, even as I laid the painful questions I had been holding to my chest for 6 years.

“I can only answer with musings of other beings who have been brought here, I cannot give the truth of something I was not a witness to. I can see your thoughts, of the book you read, and this world is not that one.” my breath hitched, all my preparations would be for naught if things changed, but the pages I remembered had held true-

“A cousin of this world, parallel wherever the other runs. Feyre is you, you have accepted the name have you not?” it was true, it had become second nature to refer to myself by that name now- but I wasn’t her. I didn’t have her heart, didn’t have those colors that spoke to her soul, nor did I take up that bow and arrow selflessly to fulfill an oath made on a deathbed.

“What you read, what you knew, is close enough to this world to guide you- the histories you learned are the same but the ties of fate have changed, changed the moment you took over the body of a weak soul that relinquished its fate.”

A small relief to know I hadn’t stolen the body- but to now know that my knowledge was half baked of this world. It destabilized my laid out plan for the next coming months. There was still a shred of that hope fluttering in my soul though- that I could die at the end of the trials I would face at Amarantha’s hand to free Prythian. I would still free this world from her grasp, let the rest of their story unfold as they faced Hybern.

“There are other rift jumpers you - you already know of them- they have resided in this world far longer than you. Stay with the High lord, he will bring you to them; use your knowledge to right the wrongs you seek”

“Can I still limit the blood shed in the war against Hybern? Even after I face the trials?” I couldn’t bring myself to say ‘after I am dead’, even after years of accepting that fate.

A shallow nod before they spoke again “You have all you need, follow your heart and you will be rewarded in a way few have been.” I was about to ask for clarifaction but the Suriel stilled its fidgeting movements, straightening. I didn’t wait for its words as I loosed the arrow I had strung. The rope around its ankles snapped freeing it, but the Suriel paused for another moment as I stood, already half running to the edge of the birch lined clearing.

“I’ll leave the world better than I found it.” It was all I said before disappearing into the woods, away from the sounds of knocked over brush that were quickly approaching. From the corner of my eye I saw the Suriel dart off from its position.

I turned, speeding my legs up as I felt the serpentine beasts rushing around me. I had another arrow drawn, ready in my hands as I ran, leaping over lattices of roots that reached up to grab at me. A figure of shadow and scales and death appeared to my right, tandem to me as I turned away from it. But another naga was there at my left and I had to quickly correct my path to keep from running into its claws. I pulled the string of my bow back as I slowed for a moment, letting the figures keep moving ahead for a second as I took aim. The one on my left was the first to turn back, barreling toward me as branches snapped in its path.

My arrow found its home in its throat as I pulled another arrow into my hand, taking off back into the woods as I heard the 2 others snarl as they came for me again. I felt their mass behind me as I moved forward, and loosed that arrow in an awkward shot that found its home in one of them, if the scream of pain and writhing anger was any indication.

Still 1 more was somewhere in those woods around me as I kept forward, praying I had remembered the direction of those rolling hills as I moved past more towering trees. A swoosh of air next to my ear reminded me of those talons as I drove forward. My legs screamed as I slammed the curve of my bow into it, I heard a thud as it hit the ground before it yowled nasty promises to kill me slowly.

I didn’t know how long the arrows would keep them down, or if the High Lord hunting them was far behind as I grabbed another arrow. I was about to rush into a thicket of bushes head toward the bright line of sunshine, but an unaccounted for mass of teeth and scales was in front of me, and I did not have enough time or quick enough reflexes to dodge as I barreled into it.

The arrow flew from my hand, but the bow remained in my iron grip as rambles and roots caught me. The creature was over me and those claws were slashing, tearing the front of my tunic and causing shallow cuts to well with ruby blood. I used the bow to slam against its head, but its legs held their ground as it quickly refigured itself. I used the bow to keep it as far as possible, whacking and smashing and trying to squirm away from under it with all of my strength. It caught the curved wood in its black claws, snapping half of it away from me as it lunged again. But now I had a sharp steak between us, one I tilted and drove up as it dived down, impaling itself on the wood, screaming out as I did so.

It wasn’t ash wood by any means, but the shaft of wood now curved out of the faeries back as I pushed more, black blood flowing down on top of me as I slammed it to the ground. I pulled myself up by thorn covered branches, tearing more skin and flesh as I ran again. I heard a roar behind me, and I thought it sounded much more like Tamlin’s than those wicked creatures, but still I didn’t slow as I broke out of the woods.

Blood was running down my front and my arms as I kept pushing my legs toward the manor. My lungs burned and I cursed myself for not continuing to run in the woods when the winter had set in that year. But there was a Tamlin, dressed in greens and gold as he stood a few feet away from me. His claws were out, long and lethal as the naga’s as I kept toward him. I only slowed when I ran past him, turning back slightly as I panted. He still stood in the tall grasses, truly looking like the High Lord of Spring as he made his way through the undulating green waves..The claws were gone by the time he reached me.

“Feyre-” his eyes held worry as he looked back at the woods before fully settling on me, “I was tracking a pack and- those got away” the words were laced with pain, guilt, as he grasped at my arm like I had done for him the night before, inspecting the tears on my hands and forearm before his eyes drifted to the shreds of powder blue sticking to me with dark blood.

The blood was both mine and the naga, my wounds still pushing out ruby drops. I winced as the smell of metal, like that of a welding shop, enveloped me. The wounds were gone as I looked down the next moment, and my hands were no longer hot with pain as he let go.

“I found one dead a mile away, then 1 more on the way and yet another yowling where its head was half crushed in- when I heard you scream” he said as he was pulling off his own tunic, handing it over to me. I flushed as I looked down and saw my blue tunic in shreds, barely covering my chest.

I quickly threw the shirt over me, the fabric engulfing me as it fell down to a comfortable dress length. His white undershirt was cut close to his skin, soaked down with sweat, and I watched his muscles shift as he moved.

He was a killing machine, born and bred for battle. Still fear did not grip my heart, as it had not gripped me when I beheld the Suriel, only that tretours feeling of sympathy for beings I knew held soft souls behind centuries of killing and blood.

“Thank you, for the tunic” my words were quiet as I looked into his eyes. I saw anger burning in the green, not aimed at me but at himself.

“They shouldn’t have gotten away from me, I’m sorry.”It seemed he wanted to say more as he came closer to me, perhaps to guide me back to the manor. “Do I want to know why you were out in the woods?” He smiled as he spoke, trying to dissipate the raging adrenaline that still had my heart slaming against my ribs like a jackhammer.

I smiled at him, as much as I could muster with the black blood splattered over my face. “Just answering some questions.” His eyes widened as he pieced it together, the birch grove he must have seen as he followed the trail of those beasts.

He didn’t ask any more questions as we started back toward the gates of the manor.

#fanfic #acotar #acotar rewrite #reader #a court of readers and dreamers #inkywrites #reader insert #love writing tamlin bc I just make him half as socially inept as myself #idk what I’m doing #if I’m wrong just correct me #I don’t have any more feelings to hurt

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fuckingfinwions · 2 years

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Found this from the “make love not jail AU” sitting in my drafts

The police wagon had dropped Finrod at the back entrance, so he wasn’t sure exactly whose manor this was. Obviously someone wealthy, both by the size of the estate and the fact they were able to afford him. He hoped it wasn’t someone on his grandfather’s court, who he’d have to see at every formal event from then on and know they’d seen what he was sentenced to. But even if they were, Finrod resolved to do his best. He had broken the law, and wasn’t going to try and avoid consequences, not by running to Alqualonde before trial, not by trying to escape now that he was here, and not by being deliberately disappointing so they would use him less. The point of this year was his humiliation and service in return for his arrogance and self-centeredness in breaking the law, and what good was a prince who would not do the same thing asked of his people?

Luckily, the elf who came into the room was a stranger to Finrod. Something about the face shape reminded him of his uncle Nolofinwe, but this elf was obviously not him, and Finrod had to admit that many elves with a classical Noldorin appearance resembled Nolofinwe. He was wearing simple workman’s clothes, despite the opulence of Finrod’s surroundings.

The stranger looked Finrod over in lascivious detail. Finrod was wearing a plain green tunic and hose provided by the bailiff, far from his usual heavy embroidery and jewelry. (His clothes and personal items were in the court’s custody, where he could retrieve them at the end of the year, rather than bring them to where his purchaser could access them and use them to the same degree as Finrod’s body.)

“Just as nice up close, I chose a very good whore. Follow me. I’ll show you the way to my bedroom, and where you can place those so they’re not in the way.”

“Where I can put what?”

“Those clothes. You won’t be needing them.”

Finrod blushed, but managed a nod. He had known he was going to be naked often in front this elf, but often wasn’t the same as always. He should get used to it though, as this elf would control his life for the next year. On that topic, this was getting awkward.

“Who are you? The bailiff didn’t tell me who had purchased the contract, and I have to admit I don’t recognize you.”

“You will call me master when you address me. I may decide on another title later, but you aren’t to skip them entirely. Is that clear?”

“Yes, master.”

“And I don’t think I’ll tell you my name just yet. You have a reputation for being wise; I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

Finrod’s heart sank. “I didn’t know you’d heard of my reputation, master.”

Finrod’s master laughed. “I bought you because you’re pretty, but also because I know your whole family is beautiful and arrogant, and you’re the best at both.”

They reached the main bedroom. It was opulently appointed, with a four poster bed large enough to sleep a dozen, several fine chests of drawers, a marble fireplace with a comfortable chair and small table in front of it, and two windows - one looking east towards the Trees and one looking north toward the stars. There were three doors off the room. Two were open, one leading to a bathroom, the other to a study. The third door was closed, and had a deadbolt on the outside.

“Use the bathroom whenever you need unless I’m fucking you at the moment, I don’t need to be bothered with every detail. If I’m in my study you may only enter if I call you. Most nights you’ll be in my bed, but sometimes I will wish to sleep alone, or not sleep at all. You will stay here on those nights.”

Finrod was appalled at the room behind the door. It was scarcely the size of his master’s bed, and even so looked half empty. The only furniture was a cot and a small nightstand, topped with a hair brush and a basin of water for washing. There was no jewelry cabinet, no mirror or vanity, no desk, and no dresser.

“Strip, and put those clothes away.”

Finrod did so, staying turned away from the other elf out of habit. On opening the nightstand drawer he found that this room had two more items than previously visible - a vial of oil and a large metal plug. Stacking his tunic and legging far in the corner where they could not come in contact, the drawer still had plenty of room.

Finrod stood up and turned to see what his master wanted from him next. The elf’s eyes grew wide, and Finrod knew what had caused the surprise. His cock and balls were not small, but still did not completely hide the skin behind them that was less smooth than typical for a male.

“Show me.”

Finrod reached down to move his cock out of the way, and put one foot on the frame of his cot so that the space between his legs could be seen clearly.

“It seems I got even more than I bargained for. Tell me, is your cunt as good to fuck as it looks?”

“I don’t know master; no one’s ever done so. But I know it’s deep, not just the lips and clit.”

The master looked both aroused and amused. “How do you know that, if no one’s ever fucked it? Have you fucked yourself on toys until your cock shot all over your face without a single touch?’

“Uh, not quite - master.” Finrod stammered. “I’ve put my fingers, um, inside myself though, and it as very good.”

“So good you could come from that alone?” The master’s fingers were between Finrod’s legs, touching his pussy. Not stroking it, but poking and prodding the folds like of a new necklace or puzzle that you want to learn the limits of how it can be rearranged without damage.

“I have never tried, master. I always reach for my cock at the end.”

“Hand behind your back then.”

Finrod’s new master switched to properly fingering his pussy, not giving Finrod a chance to sit down. When Firnod came, he nearly fell over from the force of it.

“I like having you ready for me. Keep your pussy wet at all times, but don’t come unless I say that you may.”

#make love not jail au #finrod/feanor #feanor is wearing far less bling than normal so Finrod doesn't recognize him #it's not like Finrod has been witin thiry feet of Feanor since Finrod was eight anyway

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ceramicindia-tiles-manufacturers · 8 days

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Sanitarywares brand in India, Ceramic India

Indian Ceramic

Sanitary wares manufacturers in India, sanitary ware price list, Morbi Sanitarywares, Thangadh Sanitarywares, Table Top, Bathware, wash basin, one piece, Bathroom Vanity & Cabinet, bathroom Collection, morbi tiles, gujarat tiles, india tiles, ceramic tiles manufacturers, kitchen tiles, flooring tiles, Ceramic India

#sanitarywares #brand #india #ceramic #bathware #bathroom #vanity #cabinet #tabletop #fittings #interior #decor #onepiece #washbasin #thangadh #morbi #gujarat #manufacturers

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esselbathfittings · 2 months

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Basins

Basins are versatile, often round containers used for holding liquids or mixing substances. They come in various sizes and materials, including ceramic, metal, and plastic. Basins are commonly found in kitchens and bathrooms, used for washing, soaking, or food preparation.

#table top wash basin #wash basin cabinet

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apratments · 10 months

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What are the amenities offered at Sobha Neopolis in Bangalore?

Sobha Neopolis: Where Modern Finishes Meet Timeless Aesthetics

Sobha Neopolis in Bangalore In the heart of Bangalore, Sobha Neopolis redefines luxury living. Beyond the stunning architecture and spacious layouts, the project’s true brilliance lies in the meticulous selection of modern finishes contributing to its overall aesthetic. These finishes are functional elements and carefully chosen design tools that create a cohesive and captivating ambiance in every apartment. Save time and money by placing ceramics between the kitchen cupboards instead of covering the entire kitchen wall.

Choose simple ceramics for the bathroom, and you can mix colors. In a narrow space, avoid choosing a bathtub, and avoid large marbles in the basin so that it does not feel crowded oruncomfortable.It is possible to save money by choosing doors made of HDF and painting them uniformly to match the walls. Since wooden windows are expensive and inconvenient, aluminum windows are preferred. Power cables are uniformly colored in the color of the walls and there is a good distribution of electricity and lighting.

Sobha Neopolis in Bangalore: A Symphony of Materials

Sobha Neopolis masterfully blends modern and traditional elements, creating an elegant and timeless aesthetic. The flooring plays a crucial role, with a combination of:

Rich wooden flooring Warms up the living spaces and bedrooms, creating a sense of comfort and cosiness.

Polished marble flooring: Adds a touch of grandeur and elegance to the living and dining areas.

Durable ceramic tiles: Provide a practical and stylish solution in kitchens and bathrooms.

The counter tops at Sobha Neopolis in Bangalore are also an important design element

Natural stone countertops: Like granite and marble, they offer a luxurious and timeless look, perfect for kitchens and bathrooms.

Engineered stone counter tops: Provide a durable and stylish alternative to natural stone, often featuring unique patterns and colours.

Hardware throughout the apartments is not overlooked. Sobha Neopolis uses:

Sleek chrome or brushed nickel hardware: Adds a modern touch to cabinets, drawers, and doors.

Intricate knobs and handles: Add a touch of personality and charm to the overall design.

Appliances are chosen not just for functionality but also for their sleek and modern appearance. You’ll find:

Integrated appliances: Blend seamlessly into the cabinetry, creating a clean and uncluttered aesthetic.

Stainless steel appliances: Offer a modern and sophisticated look while being durable and easy to clean.

Lighting plays a critical role in setting the mood and ambience. Sobha Neopolis uses:

Recessed lighting: Provides general illumination throughout the apartments.

Pendant lights: Add a touch of drama and style over kitchen islands or dining tables.

Sconces and task lighting: Create a warm and inviting atmosphere in living areas and bedrooms.

Beyond Functionality:

The finishes at Sobha Neopolis are more than just practical elements; they are integral to the overall aesthetic. They create a sense of luxury, elegance, and sophistication while being warm and inviting. Each finish is carefully chosen to complement the others, resulting in a harmonious and cohesive design.

Key Design Themes:

Sobha Neopolis incorporates key design themes through its finishes:

Modernity: Clean lines, minimal clutter, and sleek materials create a contemporary feel.

Luxury: High-quality materials, intricate details, and elegant finishes elevate the apartments to a luxurious level.

Timelessness: Using natural materials and classic design elements ensures the apartments remain aesthetically pleasing for years.

A Perfect Blend:

Sobha Neopolis demonstrates that modern finishes don’t have to be cold or sterile. The project shows how modern elements can be combined with traditional touches to create a timeless and inviting aesthetic. This perfect blend makes Sobha Neopolis a sought-after destination for those seeking a luxurious and sophisticated living experience.

Sobha Neopolis in Bangalore finishes with modern apartments. The finishing of modern apartments in Sobha Neopolis in Bangalore is a kind of modern and contemporary design, with creative and distinctive touches to make them more modern and compatible with the current era. Among the most important features of finishing modern apartments:

Light and calm colours are used, with dark colours for contrast.

Modern metal furniture, glass, and mirrors are used.

The use of direct and hidden lighting with attractive distributions.

Arranging furniture and equipment in a modern way and making use of all spaces.

Finishing modern apartments in Sobha Neopolis in Bangalore requires a special and distinguished taste and choosing a professional finishing company to implement the apartment design and achieve wonderful creative results. The Design Hub is one of the best finishing companies to help you finish your apartment. Contact us now

Conclusion

Sobha Neopolis in Bangalore is a testament to the developer’s commitment to creating a residential haven that caters to every aspect of a resident’s lifestyle. The township’s extensive amenities, serene surroundings, and vibrant community spirit make it a truly exceptional place to call home.

Sobha Neopolis in Bangalore is a sprawling township in Bangalore, India, renowned for its luxurious amenities catering to its residents’ diverse needs. From recreational facilities and fitness centres to serene landscapes and vibrant community spaces, Sobha Neopolis offers an enriching and fulfilling lifestyle.

Why do you need to select Sobha Neopolis in Bangalore?

Sobha Neopolis in Bangalore is a testament to a luxurious dwelling in the heart of Bangalore. With number 2 and three-bedroom apartments designed to cater to various preferences, the venture offers a perfect combination of comfort, aesthetics, and present-day facilities. While the price of residing in Sobha Neopolis in Bangalore reflects the top-ratenature of the improvement, the investment potential and the first-rate existence it guarantees make it a compelling preference for the ones seeking to make extended-term funding in Bangalore’s real property marketplace.