#Roof and Wall Double Skin with Insulation | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

helions-lighthouse · 2 years ago

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The house design issue is a very serious one, and I've done a *lot* of thinking about it for various reasons (i.e. I am still dreaming of building my ideal annex and working through the design implications of that) so here are a few of my suggestions on how house design needs to change for a hotter world to minimise AC usage (because even with the best will in the world it's still a power hog and yes, we do need to cut down on energy consumption).

Also, I got a ways into this before I realised that I was speaking very much in northern hemisphere - southern hemisphere people need to reverse the cardinal directions.

Build with single apex roofs running east-west as much as possible, insulate well obviously, and cover the south-facing side with solar panels. The benefits should be obvious here - a huge amount of otherwise unusable surface area is made available for renewable energy production, and as an added bonus, a not insignificant amount of the energy falling on the house is converted into useful energy (and some amount is reflected) rather than absorbed as heat. You could even go one step further and back up the photovoltaics with a solar water heating circuit to further reduce felt thermal absorption on the inside of the building.

Build your buildings with thick walls with well insulated cavities - I have heard more than a little debate about brick vs wood for construction, with those in favour of wood saying "yeah it heats up quicker, but it looses that heat quicker as well" - my own experience (albeit in a climate that is and will likely remain relatively moderate if increasingly hotter than I would like) is that brick really is a fabulous insulator, doesn't hold onto the heat very long, and to really get the worst of it you'd need a day night cycle where the nights just... don't cool down. At all. So yes - brick outer, nice thick cavity filled with insulation, and a brick (or block) inner skin (for most of us). Hotter climates meanwhile are advised to look into building hobbit homes. :P

And this one breaks my inner goth heart, but we need to be painting houses white - most of the evidence is fairly unequivocal that painting houses white will reduce heat uptake by the building considerably, and from first hand experience... yeah. Yeah that tracks (even just going from yellow to white made a noticeable difference).

No windows, or very few windows on the south facing side of the building, and those that are there need to be properly double or triple glazed, well sealed, and have either external shutters, full coverage awnings or an IR reflective coating, or a mix of the three. Honestly, those specs also apply to windows on the west and east faces, but are especially important for any that you're putting on the south side. If you really want a solarium or something, fine, but it's got to be a room to itself with a well fitting door and insulation in the dividing wall.

Have a nice deep thermal well inside the building with passive venting options at the top of it - so, my dream annex is a single story with a sleeping area in the roof space, and the roof space over the living area? Empty void. Stick a massive slow running fan in there, and a north facing skylight at the top, and the idea is simple - during the heat of the day, any heat that does get into the building rises, and will/can exit via the skylight - in the evening, turn the fan on, and actively encourage heat to exit and the building to cool down, pulling in cool air through ground floor windows and one way vents. (Meanwhile, in winter, the fan will turn in the opposite direction to encourage warm air to circulate.) Now, obviously that is a very specific case and design concept, equally however, this basic concept of high ceilings, open stair wells, and properly thinking about thermal flows is needed if we're going to deal with this sort of issue without turning to AC power hogging.

Final point is that even if we do end up having to turn to AC to get the building into liveable range, something we absolutely should not be doing is just *wasting* the heat captured by such systems by venting to open air - once the heat is captured, it can be used. Ideally we could use it to heat water for our hot water taps/showers, or maybe it could be effectively stored for later use if your water tank is big enough and well insulated enough, or if you want to turn your ground source heat loop into reverse and recharge for winter that way. Either way, the point is that venting that energy to air should be an absolute last resort because energy wasted in such a fashion is energy that is going to have to be generated some other way sooner or later.

Of course, most of this is only going to be applicable to new builds, and a lot of old buildings are going to be nigh impossible to refit to these concepts (and this obviously doesn't get into the unique problems of apartment buildings) but the thinking and the principles resulting are I think generically applicable: How do we reduce heat uptake? How do we passively vent uptaken heat? How do we usefully use captured heat energy if we have to use AC systems? If we can do that thinking and apply it, we can drastically cut down on energy use for environment control and not have to "sacrifice" anyone's health to do it.

For the past few days, a heatwave has glowered over the Pacific Northwest, forcing temperatures in the region to a record-breaking 118ºF. Few people in the region—neither Americans nor Canadians—have air-conditioning. Stores sold out of new AC units in hours as a panicked public sought a reasonable solution to the emergency. Unfortunately, air-conditioning is part of what’s causing the unusual heatwave in the first place.

We came close to destroying all life on Earth during the Cold War, with the threat of nuclear annihilation. But we may have come even closer during the cooling war, when the rising number of Americans with air conditioners—and a refrigerant industry that fought regulation—nearly obliterated the ozone layer. We avoided that environmental catastrophe, but the fundamental problem of air conditioning has never really been resolved.

Mechanical cooling appeared in the early 1900s not for comfort but for business. In manufacturing, the regulation of temperature—“process cooling”—controlled the quality of commodities like cotton, tobacco, and chewing gum. In 1903, Alfred Wolff installed the first cooling system for people at the New York Stock Exchange because comfortable traders yielded considerably higher stock returns. Only in the ’20s did “commercial cooling” appear. On Memorial Day weekend 1925, Willis Carrier debuted the first centrifugal air-conditioning system at the Rivoli Theater in Midtown Manhattan. Previously, theaters had shut down in the summer. With air-conditioning, the Rivoli became “the talk of Broadway” and inaugurated the summer blockbuster.

-another direct tie to capitalism. Everything born out of colonio-capitalism carries its toxic mark. Article totally not under the cut for those who can’t pay for Time. It honestly paints a really clear picture of the situation. Bolding mine.-

“It’s time we become more comfortable with discomfort. Our survival may depend on it.“

Keep reading

#banging on about things

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glitteryhellhole · 4 years ago

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alright lets do this

here we go

Title: The Tent Fandom: Z nation Pairing: 10K x female reader Word count: approx 3k Rating: 18 Description: fluffy smut with awkward cinnamon roll 10K

A gas station. A real life, untouched gas station. Apart from the bloody handprints smeared on the concrete walls.

It didn't take long to sweep and secure the area, then fill up the truck and the reserve cannisters. Afterwards Warren gestured with her gun to the convenience store. “Look for anything useful.”

The place had been untouched since day one. Mummified hot dogs still sitting on a rack. The register hanging open- perhaps in the beginning some people had looted cash, but it didn't take long to realise money didn't mean anything anymore.

You shoved bottles of water and packets of candy into your rucksack before following Addy's gaze to the toiletries shelf. Pads and tampons, little travel-sized bodywashes, an actual toothbrush.

“It's a whole new kind of mercy,” she whistled.

You picked up the first aid kit and the two crushed boxes of painkillers, turning to ask Doc if they'd be any good- and found him and Murphy kneeling on the counter, pulling away the plastic panel which guarded the cigarettes.

Priorities, huh.

Loaded up, you looked around you. Warren was on watch so 10K had let his guard down for once and was poking at the faded magazines. You saw his pink lips move as he mouthed the titles to himself. Something familiar caught his eye, probably the one with guns all over, and he reached up- and the whole top shelf came tumbling down. Suddenly 10K was surrounded by glossy double-page spreads of unnaturally bronzed and perky breasts and butts.

He froze like an animal in a trap.

“Found what you're looking for?” Doc's voice was loud and his arms were cradling an impressive quantity of alcohol. “There's a lot of generic lesbians, over forties, asian fetish, but for a beginner I'd recommend-”

The rest of his sentence was drowned out by a crash as 10K backed rapidly out of the shop, cheeks ablaze, taking down a stand of air fresheners and sending sunglasses skittering across the floor in every direction.

The rest of you laughed, for the first time in a while. Back in the truck and passing round bags of only-slightly-stale chips, you all agreed that the gas station was your best find in quite some time.

Except perhaps for the tent.

A little way back, a stranded family had been incredibly grateful for a tow out of the ditch, and had gifted you their spare tent. No ordinary camping gear, this thing was foil-lined and had a built in waterproof, cushioned underlayer. On an especially hot night you'd probably want it to yourself but the rest of the time it comfortably housed two people, keeping in the heat. You'd been taking turns each night, with priority to the injured, meaning that every morning there was at least one person who was fully rested and recharged. Ideal when every day was a battle for survival.

Of course, there was one other advantage to the tent. Privacy. Human needs didn't really get talked about in this un-human world, and whatever got overheard in the night would also go unspoken.

It was nearing dusk and you were pulling over to make camp. “Who's turn in the tent?” Murphy called out as he threw himself down on the ground. “Dibs.”

Warren, who was unloading a heavy bag, gave him a kick in the side. “Get up and help. I don't think 10K's had a turn yet.”

“Neither's she.” He nodded at you.

“Settled then.”

Murphy sniggered.

Since there was plenty of water, there was a rare chance to wash up a bit. Ladies first while the men stood watch with their backs turned, and then vice versa. Nowhere near to having a hot shower in privacy, but it was something. You noticed that 10K didn't bother putting his shirt back on afterwards as he squatted by the fire cleaning his weapons, a cigarette dangling from his mouth.

How could somebody so skinny be so strong? Must be the result of life outdoors.

He raised an eyebrow and you realised you were staring. Oops.

“Here.” Somebody passed you a can of cheap beer that had come from the store along with the snacks and cigarettes. It was almost like being at a camp-out. The beer was gross but it gave you a nice warm feeling in your chest, and the idea of lying down somewhere soft started to seem quite appealing, so you said your goodnights and retreated into the tent.

You weren't sure how long it was until you were joined, perhaps you'd started to drift off- the sound of the zip jolted you back to your senses as 10K flopped unceremoniously into the tent, stretching out next to you. “Beer makes shoelaces hard.” He complained.

You giggled and sat up to help. “When was the last time you slept without shoes on?”

“Probably before my voice broke.” He scratched his head while watching you remove his boots and then said, “I'm not good at talking, especially to girls, but you don't scare me.”

“Thanks for the compliment, I think?” You laid back down, closing your eyes and pulling your blanket over you. There was silence for a minute but it was oddly comfortable, the security of a warm person breathing next to you.

“What was your first word?” You asked into the silence. “I bet it was gun.”

“Actually it was primrose.”

“Huh?”

“My momma's favourite flower.” He rolled over onto his stomach, closing the gap between you, and rested his cheek on his folded arms. “I was six. Doctor said I wasn't learning but I was paying attention to everything. She used to take me to the library in town to look at all sorts of books, that where we learned to sign.”

You couldn't help but ask. “When did she...?”

“When I was nine. Pops wanted me to try and be a normal kid but once she'd gone he didn't want anything to do with the rest of the world and stopped sending me to school.”

“I'm sorry.”

“It's ok.” He wriggled a little to get more comfortable. “Can you talk for a bit now?”

So you talked about your own parents, and your hometown, and it surely wasn't very interesting but 10K watched you intently as he sobered up, studying your face, and you hoped you weren't blushing. After a while you came to a natural conclusion in your story and realised that his fingers were twitching, as though he were nervous.

What's up?” you asked softly.

He blinked slowly. “Ain't always easy to tell when you're supposed to say stuff and when you're not.”

Unsure what to expect, you gave him an encouraging nod.

“Can I... touch your hair?”

Your heart started to beat a little fast and you nodded again. 10K's fingers reached out timidly to feel you hair, twisting strands and brushing them away from your face.

You hadn't felt human touch in so long, and you couldn't help but rest your head on his arm as he stroked. The pair of you seemed to breathe in unison. It was almost peaceful.

Almost. Apart from the little sparks of electricity that seemed to fizzle into life where your skin touched his.

Could he feel it too? It didn't seem so. There he was growing more and more serene, while you were warming up in a way that had nothing to do with the insulated tent.

“Um...” You fidgeted awkwardly, trying to choose the right words. “10K? You know why they were giggling right?”

“Uh-huh.” His eyes were closed. “People do stuff in the tent. Its pretty obviously I've never... y'know.”

“Does it bother you?”

“A bit, but its not like I can go meet a girl and ask her Pops if I can take her to the barn dance.”

You couldn't help but laugh a little. “I mean the teasing.”

“Oh.” He blushed slightly as he opened his eyes to look at you. “I get why, you're near my age and you're pretty. Any guy would be lucky to date you.”

Oh indeed. Maybe he did feel it then.

“You could...” You bit your lip and steeled yourself. “You could pretend that you were.”

He sat bolt upright, making you jump, and a wide grin spread across his face. “I could ask you on a picnic, at my favourite place in the woods.” His words were tumbling out fast from nervous excitement. “Make nice bread, Mom's special recipe with the dried fruit. And we could talk like we did earlier and I could pick you flowers and then I could kiss you.”

His lips were clumsy as they first met yours, but eager, and didn't take long to find a groove. You sighed and leaned in, one hand reaching up into his hair, and-

A single gunshot cracked through the air.

In an instant 10K was lurching for the tent entrance where his gun was propped. You reached for your shoes, panic rising in your chest.

“False alarm.” Doc's voice came from outside. “Nothing to worry about. Hey, you okay in there kid? Need me to give ya a quick pep talk on anything?”

“I'm good.” He zipped the flap back up then turned back to you. “Actually do you think maybe I should? I don't really know what to do.”

You couldn't help but laugh again. He was way too innocent for someone so good-looking.

You put and hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat. “Just do what feels natural.”

“Okay.” He gave you another wide grin, showing those adorably crooked teeth, and then practically launched himself at you, so you landed on your back and he was on top of you, lips moulding to the shape of yours. You gasped for air and 10K made an apologetic sound without pausing the kiss, propping himself up on one elbow so that you could breathe.

His hand rested on your stomach, fingers still for a moment before balling up your shirt and gently navigating the exposed skin. Tentative. Like soothing a spooked animal.

You reached your hand up to touch his shoulders, feeling hard muscle under surprisingly soft skin. Tracing his collarbones and around the back of his neck. He shivered and broke the kiss, and you saw his tongue dart out to wet his lips.

“Maybe I could take your shirt off too.” He mumbled. In answer you sat up and held your arms above your head. 10K pulled your shirt over your head- sending the little lamp tied to the tent roof swinging- then looked confused as his thumb hooked into the shoulder strap of your sports bra. You kind of wished you'd been wearing something nicer for this occasion, but you'd dressed for practicality before hitting the road.

“Here. Let me.” You wriggled out of the bra, trying not to elbow him in the process.

“Wowee.” 10K let out a whistle. “You look even better without clothes on. Why would anyone want to look at random pictures?”

It seemed like he could have sat there and stared forever, but you didn't have forever, and so you pulled him in to kiss again. He trailed his lips across your face and on to your neck, one arm supporting you from behind and the other hand landing on your chest, squeezing experimentally.

“Not so hard,” you gasped.

“Sorry. They're squishier than I expected.” He let out a humming noise into the crook of your neck as his fingers found a hard nipple and brushed back and forth.

You dipped your head down too, lightly touching your teeth to his throat. A low growl escaped and he pushed you back down, pressing his body close to yours, and you could feel his eager hardness against your hip.

10K tried the same move, nipping at the skin under your ear. His breathing was very shallow and rapid as he licked and sucked experimentally, moving down over your breasts.

“You taste good. But not in a zombie way.”

Your hands rested on his hips, fingers splaying out to softly squeeze his ass and then dipping below the loose waistband.

“Oh, wait.” He rolled off you to shed a pile of concealed knives and the little sharp discs that he used in the sling shot.

“What else are you hiding down there?” You smirked. For a moment he turned beetroot red and covered his crotch with his hands, but then met your smile with one of his own.

“Just means I like you and I like this.” He shrugged. “Do you-”

“Mmhmm.” You reached out to ease his trouser buttons undone, fumbling slightly, but you weren't nervous. It just felt right with him. “I like you. And I like this.”

He groaned softly as the restriction on his hardness eased and grabbed you for another kiss, this time hungry and slightly sloppy. 10K's fingers found the fastening of your own jeans and made quick work, tugging them down to your knees. Then he paused for a moment, putting a finger to your lips.

There was no noise from outside.

“We're good.” With a bit of awkward shuffling, you both shed your trousers and then looked at each other.

“We probably shouldn't go all the way,” you said almost reluctantly. “No protection and all that. But there's still stuff-”

“Anything.” 10K blurted out without a second's pause. “Everything. I'll do whatever you want. But not what you don't want.” His tongue darted out to wet his lips again as he stared at you earnestly.

You felt a shiver travel down your spine. Nobody had ever looked at you quite like that before. Not just lust but something deeper, as though he was seeing through your skin and right inside you.

“Come here,” he whispered huskily, grabbing your waist and pulling you onto his lap. You sighed into the kiss and slowly moved your hips, letting your centre rub against his as you straddled him, tangling fingers in his messy hair.

10K moaned something that sounded like “shucks” and you couldn't help but snort. What would it take to make him swear? You dug your nails in a little, catching his lip between your teeth.

“Want to touch you.” He moaned, gripping your hips. “Want you to touch me.”

You trailed your hand from his cheek all the way down to cup the pronounced bulge in his boxers and his eyes rolled back in his skull, but then he visibly shook himself and swatted your hand away. “Ladies first.” The hand slid a little clumsily down into your knickers.

You closed your eyes and rested your forehead against 10K's, feeling how hot his skin was. His curious fingertips traced your labia and in between.

“It's wet.” He sounded surpised, and brought a thumb to his mouth to taste.

“That's a good thing.” You felt a little self-conscious as you explained, watching him suck his thumb. “It means I'm, you know, turned on.”

“Show me how to make it feel good,” he murmured, lifting you off his lap and laying you back down before tugging your knickers all the way down and spreading your legs.

You took his hand in yours and guided him, showing him your clit. His marksman fingertips quickly picked it up and he kissed you again as he touched you. “Am I doing it right?”

“Yeah you're- oh, yeah thats good.” Your voice was high-pitched and breathy. 10K made a satisfied “hmph” and nuzzled into your neck. He smelled of safety. Less dirt and blood than usual, traces of soap, whatever he was using for hair gel, engine oil. Sweat but not in the just-been-running-and-fighting way, in the musky hormonal way.

The feeling swelling inside you was something you hadn't experienced, hadn't even thought about, in a long time. But here and now it was growing, consuming, and you couldn't imagine anything other than his touch, his hot breath on your cheek.

“Hey.” 10K's voice was husky again. “You need something else?”

You became aware that your hips were twitching. “A bit faster maybe?”

A moan escaped your lips as he obliged, and 10K grinned. “That's hot.” Then he cocked his head to one side, raising his eyebrows. “I assume girls can- y'know-”

“It looks a bit different but yes.” You were gasping now as you spoke, chest rising and falling.

“Do it for me.” He murmured, watching you as though hypnotised and biting his lip. His words and his gaze loosened the coiled spring that was weighing down your abdomen and the endorphins came rushing as you climaxed.

“Shh.” He pressed his mouth to yours and swallowed your moan, pressing his fingers harder as you moved beneath him until it became almost too much. “Do you want them to hear us?”

You shook your head, trying to control your breathing.

“Maybe you do.” He raised an eyebrow again as his fingers finally slowed to a halt. “I kinda do. So they all know what I just did to you.”

“Do you want your turn or not?”

That shut him up. He glanced down and you followed his gaze. He was still very much erect, and there was now a distinct wet patch where he'd leaked a little in excitement.

You pushed 10K onto his back and settled yourself next to him. “Let me know if something's not ok,” you told him. “I won't do anything you don't want.”

He nodded and closed his eyes. He flinched a little as you pulled his boxers down but then his face relaxed and his lips parted as you touched him.

“Have you done this to yourself?” You asked. “So you know what you like.”

He nodded, looking somewhat bashful. “A few times. But this is different. Better.”

It was your turn to grin as your fingers circled his erection and found a rhythm. 10K's head tilted back and the smallest of high-pitched noises escaped his open mouth. You lowered your lips to his exposed neck and sucked gently at the skin. There was a red mark when you pulled away.

“Mmmph.” He rasped through gritted teeth. “Again.”

“It'll leave a bruise.”

“Don't care.”

You began to create a trail of little hickeys down his throat and across his collarbones as you continued to stroke, and his tiny whimpers grew more frequent. You knew it wouldn't be long.

10K was holding onto you tightly, nails digging in, droplets of sweat visible on his forehead. “I think I'm gonna- ahh....” He seemed to lose the ability to speak as you attacked his neck again, eyes rolling back. A few moments later, his hips bucked and you could feel hot sticky warmth coat your fingers.

“Fuuuuuuuuuuck.”

So he did swear after all.

You kissed him again, and then looked down. “Um, got anything to clean up with?”

Still breathing heavily, 10K sat up and reached for his trousers, pulling a bandana out of one of the many pockets. “It's my least favourite. I'll burn it.”

Like the gentleman he'd been raised to be, he wiped your hand off first before tending to himself, then tossed the soiled cloth out of the way and pulled you close. You rested your head on his chest. You'd heard the term 'afterglow' but never really thought that it was a thing; it apparently was. The chemicals your brain was releasing and the protective hold of his arms made you want to laugh, and cry, and drift off to sleep, and run a mile, all at once.

Just for a moment, there was no apocalypse. There was only you and him and the little lamp above your heads.

It was 10K who broke the spell. “I need to pee.” he said apologetically. “Like, real bad.”

You laughed at the face he was pulling and threw his trousers at him. 10K slithered with some difficulty into them, kicking the side of the tent, and then stumbled outside.

You realised how cold it was now and reached for your own clothes. As footsteps indicated 10K's return, you could have sworn you heard the sound of a high-five.

“What was that?” You demanded as he re-entered the tent.

“Never mind.” He grabbed the blanket and laid it over you.”I want to do that again. But we should probably get some sleep.”

“The whole point of the tent is to get proper rest right?” You scooted closer as he laid down, offering the blanket, but he refused, tucking it round you and then wrapping his arms round too so you were tightly cocooned against his side.

“Yeah. Sure.”

>>>>>Thanks for reading! This is the first fanfic i’ve done in literally years. Open to feedback and even perhaps requests :) PS i am v english so I apologise to any Americans insulted by my attempts at your words

#z nation #10k #ten thousand #10k x reader #10k imagine #z nation fic #tommy 10K #10kxreader

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goalieprotectionsquad · 5 years ago

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so i’ve watched like three straight days of maine cabin masters and my idiot ass is thinking of the harringtons having a cute little cabin on a lake in maine where they went every summer as a family before his dad started making bank and didn’t have the time anymore.

it’s been seventeen years since steve’s been up there. he doesn’t live at home anymore. he has a job that doesn’t really make him happy, but doesn’t really make him miserable, either. he has plenty of savings from the government coverup but doesn’t have anywhere to go with it. nothing to spend it on. the kids get older. they leave for college. he’s in his mid-twenties and complacent and isn’t all that motivated to change anything.

he gets dinner with his parents when they’re in town in the spring. his mom is talking about a lodge they stayed in when they visited basque country over christmas and he suddenly remembers the cabin. he waits until his mom is done relaying unimportant details like the color of the drape tassels to ask his dad if they still have the cabin in maine, and it’s evident on his face that he’d forgotten about it, too. he looks sort of wistful for a moment but it passes quickly. yeah, they still own it. no, nobody’s been up there in a while. steve doesn’t really think before he’s saying, “can I take a trip up there?”

his parents stare at him for a second like they’re surprised he’s actually interested in doing something, which. not unfair. his dad can’t remember where he put the keys but gives steve the address and tells him to find a locksmith who can get him inside. (steve plans on elbowing through a window or something to save on time and the hassle).

he subleases his apartment and leaves. everyone he likes is either away at school or just. away. moving on with their lives. he doesn’t have anyone to say goodbye to beyond telling his boss he’s quitting.

it takes a while to get up there, but he does, eventually. the cabin is hard to find and it looks so bad on the outside that steve has to triple check the address on the adjacent cabins to make sure it’s the right place. he thinks it’s maybe not just him who hasn’t been here in almost twenty years.

he stays in a hotel and gets up early to meet the contractor. she looks like she’s holding in a laugh when she introduces herself as kali. “look,” she says. “I’m going to be straight with you. this place is literally falling apart.”

steve doesn’t know what to say so he says, “yeah.”

“we can do a walkthrough,” she continues, “but I guarantee that this is going to make your budget look like pocket change.”

steve doesn’t really want to say it’s his dad’s money, so he shrugs and says, “let’s do it,” and watches her pick the lock.

the foundation is rotted out. the floor is rotted out. the porch is rotted out. she points at things and says any variety of that has to go or we’d start by taking that out or when was the last time you were up here again? they need to hire a plumber and a landscaper and an electrician and probably an exterminator, too, and kali doesn’t say anything when she watches him write a check for half the amount she quotes. she gives him a calculating look with kohl-rimmed eyes and says, “all right. we’ll be here tomorrow morning.”

steve shows up at seven because he doesn’t have anything better to do and there’s already a truck parked outside. a tall guy with a beanie shoved low over his forehead is tearing the porch off the front of the house and steve goes over to him and tries not to get hit with any falling debris.

“hi,” he says and has to stand there a minute before the guy looks at him. “I’m steve. is kali around?”

she’s inside the cabin and is leaning over the sink when steve walks in. she yells no. no. no. out the open window to her right as the water continues to run and then yes that’s it we got it as it cuts off abruptly. she looks unsurprised when she turns around and sees him standing in the doorway.

“hi,” he says again. “I’m here to help.”

“you’re paying us to do this for you, you know,” she says, but something in her face makes steve feel like she gets it.

a guy with his hair pulled into a tight bun at the nape of his neck hoists himself through the front door from where the porch used to be. “hey,” he says, all silk, when he sees steve.

“billy, this is steve harrington. the homeowner.” she stresses the word enough that steve literally cannot not notice the emphasis. billy rolls his eyes and shakes steve’s hand. it’s rough with calluses and steve would be stupid not to think about what that would feel like on his skin.

“billy hargrove,” he says. “head carpenter.”

“steve’s here to help with demo,” kali says.

“well,” billy says. he gives steve one of the most obvious once-overs he’s ever seen. “welcome aboard. you’re gonna help me knock down these interior walls, pretty boy. heads up, though. you might break a nail.”

billy shows him how to use a stud finder and how to cut into the walls to make sure there aren’t any loose wires running through it and then he fucking kicks the wall in and gives steve a wild grin as the drywall dust settles into his blond hair.

steve comes back every day to see billy. he doesn’t even bother lying to himself. billy is funny and sharp and always seems to have a comeback for anything anyone ever says. he shows steve how to build things. stands at his shoulder and watches him use the staple gun on the trim. brings him lunch when he goes out to get food for the rest of the crew.

he tells steve that his mom sent him to live with a friend who had moved from san diego to bangor a few years before. his parents split and she didn’t want him living with his dad. he says susan is a little ditzy but she means well, and she didn’t give up on him during his rougher years in high school even though he isn’t even her kid. he calls her daughter my sister and gets a pinched expression on his face when he talks about how she’s been going through her teenage angst since she was eight and how they’re still figuring out how to not always be at each other’s throats.

it takes a month for them to take out the rotted lumber and to fix the foundation and floor and porch and roof. billy shows steve the crumbly mess in the insulation that means he has an ant infestation. steve helps make the framing for the bathroom and bedroom walls and helps lay the stones for the walkway down to the lake. he spends all day at the work site, then he goes back to the hotel, has dinner, crashes. rinse and repeat. he spends the days the crew isn’t working exploring sort of idly and missing the smell of sawdust.

when kali declares the place habitable, he buys a mattress and drops it onto the floor of the master bedroom, which is still missing its walls. he checks out of the hotel and buys some groceries and spends his evenings down at the lake, his own private little waterfront. he tries reading but the only salvageable book in the cabin is walden and he can’t make it past the first page.

he hears axel and mick talking about a meteor shower one night. once the crew is gone and the sky is turning purple-navy, he goes down to the lake and lays back to look at the stars. they’re brighter out here, brighter than hawkins, somehow, and the sky feels endless.

he turns to look over his shoulder when he hears footsteps crunching through the undergrowth in his direction. “just me,” billy calls through the dark. he drops down heavily next to steve and passes over a beer and a hamburger wrapped in greasy foil. casual, like they do this all the time. his hair is down and curly and he’s wearing a red shirt unbuttoned to his navel, where it’s tucked into his jeans. he’s wearing cologne, too, and billy smiles when he sees it get steve’s attention.

they talk and they sit in comfortable silence and then they talk again. billy seems to be getting closer and closer until their shoulders and thighs are pressed together and their elbows are knocking. when billy turns to look at him, their noses almost brush, and steve knows billy doesn’t miss the way his eyes drop to his mouth.

“have you swam in the lake yet?” he asks instead and gives steve a wicked smile when he shakes his head, and then he’s up and stripping down and is in the water, wet hair slicked back over his head, before steve’s brain has even puttered beyond looking at billy’s mouth. “come on it, pretty boy! water’s fine.”

he unabashedly watches steve undress and reaches for him immediately once he’s in the water. no preamble. just. puts a hand on his hip. when steve doesn’t move back, he slips an arm around steve’s waist, and then the other. their knees bump under the water and billy noses at steve’s cheek. kisses him on the chin and the corner of his mouth before he kisses his bottom lip. they kiss and kiss, the water not even up to their collarbones, and steve has never been so aware of the night noises around them. cicadas in the trees. a loon some ways away. something shrieks in the distance and it startles steve enough that he stumbles in billy’s grip, and billy tightens his hold and tilts his chin closer again and whispers, “it’s just a fisher cat,” into the crease of his lips.

they start heading back to the cabin before billy makes them double back for the food wrappers and beer bottles and steve grabs their clothes so he has something to do with his hands. he’s never run naked through the trees before but there’s something freeing about it. for some reason, the trees out here don’t look as threatening as the ones in hawkins. maybe they’re older, wiser. maybe they’ve seen more and know how to protect him and billy from whatever else is out there.

steve clears away the painting tarp over the bed and barely has it on the ground before billy is crowding against him, skin dry but hair dripping at the ends over his freckled shoulders. they lose track of time in a cabin they rebuilt together.

billy’s hand on his chest is what wakes him up. the sun is filtering in through the windows and billy is trying to press a mug of coffee into his hands. steve doesn’t own mugs or coffee or a coffee maker out here. steve sits up and leans against the wall, right where they’ve sketched out the custom headboard billy’s going to help him carve, and lets the blanket pool around him in a way that has billy’s gaze dropping, the apples of his cheeks going a little pink. he looks good in the morning sun, in the little bits of dust floating through the air.

“where’d you find the coffee maker?” steve asks. “and the change of clothes?”

billy gives him a big shark smile but sounds a little sheepish when he says, “I was hedging my bets on needing morning provisions.”

steve makes them eggs and bacon and toast and they sit out on the new front porch to eat and wait for the rest of the team to show up. billy keeps leaning in to kiss his ear, the hinge of his jaw, the side of his neck. just pecks. they still set steve on fire.

billy stays that night, and the next, and the next, and the next. they go swimming for real, eventually, and play cards, and fall asleep outside in the grass with their fingers twisted together. out in the open as much as in their own little world.

kali knows something is going on between them, even if steve doesn’t know if billy told her or she figured it out herself. when it’s just the three of them in a room, billy likes to pitch his voice down, low enough to be husky, but loud enough to be overheard, and gives steve directions more gutturally than usual. pull out a little, he’ll say, all breathless, when they’re fitting the doorframes. now push it back in. harder. mm, yeah, steve. right there. steve doesn’t know if it’s meant to be embarrassing or not but he laughs himself red in the face anyway.

they finish the cabin over the next six weeks. if steve hadn’t been there every day for almost three months, he might have thought he’d gotten the address wrong. it looks like a house, first of all. the outside is a soft brown to blend into the trees. there’s a little living room with a couch and a little table with two artfully mismatched chairs in the kitchen. there’s a huge window in the master bedroom overlooking the lake. steve has never really felt drawn to the water as a non-great-lakes-midwestern kid, but every time he looks out over the lake, he wonders if he even wants to go back to hawkins.

it feels weird giving kali the second half of the payment, knowing he won’t see her again. he hugs her and she pats him awkwardly on the elbows until he lets go. one by one, the rest of the team leaves, and it’s not until steve’s standing alone in the fading sunlight that he realizes that billy’s gone, too.

it’s the first time billy’s just left without saying anything about where he was going and when he was coming back. that deep, dark part of steve says they were just fooling around during the job, but he drinks a beer and talks himself out of panicking. he makes himself a sandwich. lays in the bed. showers. doesn’t really know what to do with himself now that the job is done and billy is gone.

he’s laying on the couch and staring up at the ceiling when the sound of a key scraping in the lock has him on his feet on instinct to do -- something, he didn’t really think that far ahead -- but then the door wedges open and billy’s head appears around it.

“sorry,” he says when he sees steve still gaping. “didn’t mean to scare you. we just -- kali forgot to give you back your spare.”

steve watches him reach out and hang the key ring around the hook next to the door. it overlaps steve’s set.

“oh,” steve says. “thanks.”

billy gives him a little smile and looks like he’s going to leave, but then they’re both saying wait in the same moment and billy’s smile reappears around the door, wide but shy.

“stay,” steve says.

billy slides the rest of the way past the door. he has a small duffle thrown over the shoulder steve couldn’t see behind the door and he’s holding a bottle of cheap grocery store champagne.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” billy says. now that steve’s shown his hand, it’s like billy’s found his footing again. he drops his bag and goes over to the cabinet to pull out two mugs, sets them on the counter. he wraps an arm around steve where’s he’s drifted over without really meaning to. billy kisses the corner of his mouth and presses the bottle into his hands. the foil is already peeled off the cork. “I heard you’re celebrating a housewarming. you wanna do the honors?”

#harringrove #i'm so mad this was supposed to be short but then it was 2700 words #i like. cannot stop watching this show #ryan reminds me so much of james harkin lol #i've only been to maine once and only to portland but i have had friends from maine #and my college best friend went there every summer and always showed me pics of how beautiful the sky is there at night #also sorry if my rehab timeline is off LMAO #sorry but also not sorry #also billy has toooootally developed a little bit of mainer accent lol

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solesurvivorpaigeargot · 5 years ago

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Loving Stupid - Chapter One: Sanctuary [Fallout 4 Fanfiction]

HELLOOO Tumblr! Now that I’ve got this blog up and running, I wanted to do what I could to expand the exposure of my fic and get it around to new readers. While it’s already up on Fanfiction.net , it seems to me that the majority of the community prefers Ao3 or reading directly here on Tumblr. So, I figure why not post it over here as well?

Though a heads up that this first chapter was first written entirely for personal enjoyment, and then a friend I showed it to encouraged me to expand upon the story cause they wanted to see more of the ship. XD It’s uh... lil spicy. Or lemony, depending on how old you are and how far back your fic vocab goes.

Story Title: Loving Stupid

Story Summary: Paige [Sole Survivor] and Hancock venture into the Glowing Sea in pursuit of a lead on the Institute, when a catastrophic equipment failure forces them to separate.

Rating: MATURE

Content Warnings for this Chapter: Sexual content, drugs, alcohol, cursing

Content Warnings for story overall: Sexual content, drugs, alcohol, cursing, violence, blood, injury, needles, limb mutilation

Genre: .... erotic romance-adventure? IDK shit goes down and there’s some spicy scenes, but also a lot of character building and relationship stuff. I’m bad at genre assessment. Open to suggestions XD

.:_Sanctuary_:.

“So these are your digs, huh? … can't say it's my speed.”

“Not historical enough?”

“Nah, it's...”

Paige watched Hancock's face twist as he struggled to pick out what word fit his distaste, ghoulish features creating sharp valleys along fault lines in leathery skin while the shiny dark of his eyes appraised the home she'd built atop one of the empty foundations of Sanctuary Hills.

It wasn't anything special, wooden planks coaxed together into floors, walls, and roofing with nails and elbow grease. This was the only settlement where Paige had a place that was specifically hers, where she kept the little knickknacks and oddities she collected; all dutifully looked after by Codsworth-- ever dedicated to his task two centuries after it had been assigned to him. She'd given some life to the wooden bones of the shack, however; recycled fabrics became rugs and curtains with only mildly clashing patterns, and she even managed to cobble a number of worn out flannel shirts into a workable set of sheets for a double-wide bed that was, in truth, just a pair of smaller mattresses pushed together to pretend they were a queen size.

What could she say? She liked to sprawl.

Generators lit up Sanctuary at night with bare bulbs, and her little shack was no different. It brought yellow light against the dark, and reflected off a multitude of glass bottles, lined up on the shelves of a bureau she'd rescued, mostly intact, from the home of a long-dead neighbor. Whiskey, vodka, wine-- she jokingly called it her liqueur cabinet, despite the thing not having doors to lock the alcohol behind.

She'd done her best to make this a where place she could sleep soundly, when she was in the area. It was little more than a bed, a roof, and a lot of junk on shelves; insulated from the outside world with some sewn-together fabric scraps... but stepping over the threshold always made her feel like she'd entered a sort of... bubble. Not safe-- nowhere was safe-- but... quiet.

She could pretend, here.

“Comfortable.” Hancock decided, grousing out the word. “Damn near cozy-- you put this together?”

“With my own two hands.” She informed him; trust Hancock to find an issue with comfort-- then again, she couldn't blame him. Comfortable people had a habit of being complacent people, and they both knew that was where a lot of ugliness could happen... but his opinion didn't stop her from stepping inside and divesting herself of the pieced together armor that she layered over a set of somewhat over-sized army fatigues, reclaimed after clearing an old base of ferals. There was a wooden bin by the door for that stuff; she'd have to strap it all back on in the morning... but for now she was grateful to take a load off, starting with an enameled metal helmet.

“I've watched those hands beat faces to a bloody pulp. I didn't figure they could sew.”

She scoffed at him, rolling her eyes as she heard him trudge inside anyhow, metal door closing behind him, and set herself to the straps that kept her secured within the bits of metal and leather that frequently kept her alive on the road. Left arm first, a metal shoulder piece coming loose, and the whole ritual making her feel as if she were shedding skin.

She didn't tell him that she might have been a housewife a few centuries ago-- that was a different life. The idea that someone could live so cushy as to devote themselves to home-making and nothing else was a fever dream in this age, and while Hancock probably had enough chems in his pockets to attempt imagining it, she didn't feel like trying to paint the picture for him.

She didn't want to know what he'd think of her, knowing just how... comfortable she'd been.

“I'm a woman of many talents.” She snarked instead as another heavy piece of metal thumped into the bin, freeing up the shoulder beneath to roll and stretch. “Don't worry about getting used to it-- this is a one night stop. First thing in the morning, I'm seeing to the upgrades on the armor, and then back on the-- ah--”

Hands-- surprisingly strong hands despite withered skin that clung to spindly bones. She didn't know how that worked-- Hancock wasn't a big man, and the ghoulishness made her think he'd be frail... instead he'd hefted a flamer onto his back when he set out with her, and carried it from one end of the Commonwealth to the other without complaint. Finding those hands suddenly assisting with undoing the straps at her sides so that her chest piece could come loose was a surprise; simple and sure movements causing the scavenged military combat armor to come loose and slide forward. Without an anchor, it slid forward until the hard edge of the back plate caught on her neck and stopped it from simply falling to the floor. Meanwhile, Hancock's hands had slid in along her ribs, pressing firmly into the rough fabric and reminding her that they were, for the first time in a while, blissfully alone.

“I'm aware of that.”

Her lips pressed together-- a low sigh was expressed with his rough whisper in her ear. She swore he knew how much that got to her, despite her very deliberately not telling him. It was a struggle not to react, not to lean back as he reeled her in, those spidery hands easily finding their way upwards beneath the hanging breastplate and his chin perching on her shoulder. He'd pulled them together, his body against hers, and punctuated the move with a mischievous chuckle.

“Sometimes a little too talented-- doin' everything yourself, despite having a public servant waiting in the wings.” He teased her. “Let a ghoul help, eh sister?”

It wasn't entirely unexpected, nor unwelcome, but his eagerness was something that caught her off guard. She usually had something to say, something sly to come back with, but for some reason all she could focus on was the ticklish clutch of her gut as his fingers gathered up the material of her shirt in their traveling to her bust, squeezing fitfully enough to expose an inch of skin at her belly.

“Hancock--” She muttered, squirming slightly, but not in earnest. “C'mon, we've got the whole night--”

“That's right.” He agreed, but it was with an entirely different tone. One hand remained up, keeping her tight to him, while the other traveled down. The thin ribbon of skin that had been exposed was soon graced with the specific texture of his skin; rough, but not terribly so. Like callous, only it was all over; somewhat leathery and unique. His entire palm invaded through that opening, hard against her belly as fingertips sought out a path further south. “We've got the whole night-- and I didn't plan on wastin' any of it...” His fingers were ruthless once they found purchase, shoving past the tight fit provided by a belt she was wearing. “Did you?”

Her breath shuddered. No part of her wanted to tell him no-- the rush was enough to make her ignore the metal edge digging into the back of her neck, and forget how doggedly exhausted she'd been after their long trek here... particularly lugging her own weight in lead along the way.

In her hesitation, he'd gotten far enough to make a more intimate contact-- damnably persistent, like ivy finding the cracks in brickwork to wheedle its way in.

He pressed in against her, too certain to be deterred by straps and clothes. Barriers had been passed without any show of manners, knowing her well enough that if he was unwanted she would have thrown him off by now... and getting a sweet gasp as his reward.

“There we go.” His smile was evident in his tone-- no, not a smile, a grin-- a smug, shit-eating grin. She could imagine how it looked on his face, and knew he'd be wearing it for hours just to make her glare at him.

It didn't matter. Everything he'd done so far was just testing the water in his puckish, incorrigible way. Now he had her, and his wrist twisted as he worked that hand just a little further into her pants before slipping a fingertip against soft flesh. The motion was a sort of rocking of his hand, sliding the single offending finger down between sensitive lips before drawing back upwards with the tip pressed in, working up a little warmth in general and offering up a little tantalizing pressure to wake up the sweet spot for later, stroking her like that as his hips pitched against hers to turn her away from the bin next to the door and instead face her against the closed portal they'd entered through, reinforcing that he had her.

Without thinking, her right hand came out to brace against the door. Cold metal barely registered, just that it gave her something to push back against as he leaned in harder against her back, idly kneading her breast as he stroked her beneath restrictive layers of cloth and leather.

“O-oh... damnit, Hancock--”

“I was thinking fuck it, actually.” He smirked, still right by her ear for that quip before finally leaning back the necessary inches and releasing her breast to help her get her armor the rest of the way off, falling to the floor with a hard thud instead of getting placed in the bin. Pitching his shoulders back, hips pressed forward, grinding against her to advertise himself against her rump. “... just like this...” He added, losing a little breath as he suggested it, that free hand of his coming right back as if magnetically drawn, this time landing at the top of her hip and sliding upwards to expose a few more inches of skin-- his palm on her back, pushing with his surprising strength to encourage her to bend forward.

Bend over, actually.

She got his meaning, groaning softly as his stroking remained steady. She didn't resist the push, her hand shifting against the wall as her body dipped lower and her own free hand fumbled with the latch for her belt. The strip of leather resisted her, frustrating her fingers for a few agonizing moments as the sensation of his hand brought on another faint sigh, slipping against her with more ease as her body reflected her own eagerness; building with the anticipation. Then, finally, she managed to yank it just the right way for the latch to loose, the pressure of having his hand shoved in where it was such a tight fit relived, and further tugging releasing the subsequent button and zipper before they became obstacles... and before her hands became utterly uncooperative.

The loosened hem could be yanked down on his side, exposing more precious skin to the evening chill that crept in through the walls. Gnarled knuckles hooked on the hem, and fingertips got her underwear in the same dragging motion that demanded quick access. The lower she bent, the more he leaned against her, miming what would come in due time. It wasn't until he had her ass bare, pants and underwear drug down below the swell of her hips, that he finally pulled his own body back the inches necessary to attend to a few layers of fabric himself... but he didn't let off touching her as quickly. The hand that exposed her lingered, fingertips ghosting the sensitive skin just below the curve of her rump and sending a tingle across her skin, before his weathered palm pressed up and squeezed hard, his thumb sliding up to the top of her hip while his fingers rotated down. Finally, he finished up the groping with a light swat, chuckling behind her.

“Fuck you look so good like this...” He marveled, and she could hear layers of fabric moving against each other. “I just wanna wreck you.”

“Shut up and-- nnnnnnnh--”

She couldn't see him, but she felt him; hard and hot against her skin, pressed first between her thighs before he adjusted himself upwards. His finger's rubbing of her had paused, that hand simply anchored there as, from the rear, he worked himself against her, dragging the tip of himself this way and that until he found just the right angle to slick himself up with her excitement... and making her crave him in the process as she flexed her hips back towards him, trying to make it easier for him.

Somehow, some fucking how, she'd gone from exhausted to needy in the span of only a few minutes. It was the kind of eagerness that usually belonged to the young and dumb-- insanity she thought she'd left behind in her teen years, but he always found a way to draw it out of her.

She had no idea how he did that, but she never wanted it to change.

“Yeah?” His voice had dropped, the word barely differentiated from the heavy sigh it was carried out on. “C'mon, you can moan for me... no one's gonna hear you this time...”

More of him, pressing between wet lips-- and then more; there was resistance, going for it quick like this always meant it was a little rough, but it was the kind of sensation that left her gasping aloud as she went from craving that feeling of him to having him sink into her and remind her just how good it felt. Imagination, memory-- it always fell short, not quite living up to what it was in the immediate reality of the moment. Friction and heat, bound up in an intimate need-- just as addicting as any of the chems he slipped into her pockets whenever he thought she looked strung out.

Out of reflex, her jaw clenched tight, denying the urge to moan aloud and her body clenching around him instead. Both hands had applied themselves to the wall, and her breath shook as teeth ground together, resisting.

“Oh shit-- fuck-- if you squeeze me like that, I'm gonna...”

His hips bucked forward after a short draw back, the hand he'd been using to guide himself against her now finding its way to anchor at the crease that formed between her hip and her body as she bent against the wall, yanking her tight against him with the same motion before coming to a sharp stop. She could feel him inside, throbbing and thick, and the jolt made her jaw drop open for a short exclamation to escape her.

Buried, he began to rub her from the front again, abandoning the long strokes he'd used to warm her up and instead zeroing in on where she was most sensitive. Where his opening moves had all been about pressure with maximum contact, he changed tactics to only flick across her with the tip of his finger, instigating another tightening of her body as her resistance to making noise produced a shudder instead.

“D-don't--” She finally managed to murmur. “Oh God-- Hancock, you don't have to--”

This was a quickie-- an opener. She didn't expect this kind of attention; he always made up for it later, after a little Jet got him going again. This was usually the part where he took her by the hips with both hands and went to town, but instead he held her to keep them both tightly together, all while--

“F-fuck--” A whispered curse, kept lower than a murmur, followed by a greedy breath. He wasn't letting up, despite her telling him he didn't need to bother. She tried to push herself back against him, to antagonize him, but his fingers only tightened their grasp on the side of her hip as he leaned forward over her, ensuring that he was the one in control.

A defined clutch passed through her, centered at her core.

“Oh fuck-- mmmm--!”

“There you go... c'mon, let it out...” He coaxed her, rocking himself back in another short motion before jolting back into her again, letting out a guttural sound of his own as he did so. “Lemme hear you...”

It was an old habit to hold back, to grit her teeth and hold her breath-- anything to keep quiet. Her own fingers, once splayed open against the metal door, curled inwards into fists as the sensation built up, deep and desperate gasps getting drawn in through her nose as her jaw remained tightly closed, lips pressing hard against each other as she hummed and swallowed. Her head dropped down, his touch taking more and more of her focus.

Old habits were hard to break, but he was a new habit. One that liked to push at her old habits and see how long they'd stick.

Toes curled inside her boots, eyes closed without thinking. There was no thinking-- no, just her perception of him; the weight of his body against hers, the grip of his hand, and sound of his breath, all as her body underwent jolts that made her hips continue to try and rock back against his, one of her hands eventually lifting and banging back onto the door as the sensation turned briefly sharp, jaw loosing for a raw gasp between her lips and a guttural groan. “F-Fuck Hancock, you're gonna--- oh-- oh-- shit--”

“Rub you raw?” He completed the thought she was trying to articulate, drawing in a heavy breath of his own. His own hips rocked now, a minimal motion of a man that could barely help himself. “Wouldn't... wouldn't dream of it... just love the way you squeeze...”

The rocking changed things, introduced that delightful sensation that scratched the ineffable itch he'd aroused in her. Pressure and friction as he kept up his assault on her sensitivity made her knees wobble with a threat to give out, breath viciously driven out of her lungs in a single erotic moan.

“Fuck...” He murmured emphatically. “Sing for me babe... it's so pretty...” He encouraged her, pressing his face against the back of her neck as he kept a steady tempo. He was fully against her, laid over her back and abandoning his grasp on her hip to reach forward, those thin fingers of his stealing beneath the buttoned blouse of her fatigues and taking a demanding grasp on her breast; stalled only momentarily by the worn elastic band of her bra. The heel of his hand ground upwards at first, pressing in against her ribs, before he was pulling on her again, ensuring she remained anchored against him as he kept up the rocking motion he'd adopted over more conventional thrusting.

“Ah... ah shit... shit- shit-- J-John, oooooh... oh fuu...”

She lost the thread of why she'd been protesting in the first place. Her jaw fell open, and another moan came out; louder as everything began to come together. The movement, his insistent grasp, that very specific sense of fullness within her body and the craving it both satisfied and aggravated at the same time--

“Yeah?” He breathed against her ear. “You gettin' there, sweet thing? … good... I wanna feel it... And once you're over the edge, I'm gonna rail you until I burst.”

A thrill ran through her, like electricity that danced along her spine. Now that he'd articulated his intention, she wanted it, too.

“C-close...” She whimpered, nodding her head faintly. “J-just like that... l-little higher... rub a little higher... little circles around my-- oh- oh god- there- fuck yes-- there--!!”

Feverishly murmured coaching that directed his stroking where the craving was strongest sent her further than she expected to go, her head and chest dipping lower as her elbows bent and her forearms joined her hands in being braced against the door, a defined shaking running through her person as she went up to her toes and the rubber soles of her boots dug into the floor, further flexing her hips back in the desperation to have that sense of fullness as her body seemed to anchor itself on where they were intertwined. More than just laying open, her jaw stretched for her cry out with the rush.

His grip on her changed. He wasn't leaned over her anymore, but pitched back as both of his hands found their way to her hips.

God, she could feel him; the meeting of their bodies dominated her brain as she felt him throb within her shortly before he changed to much more active motions. There, again, was that surprising strength as he drew back and adjusted himself just low enough to begin taking her roughly, groaning between sharp breaths as his hips shocked against her rump with every thrust.

Her body was still squeezing, still rippling from what he'd just put her through, aware of the force in his every motion as he drove into her tightly clenched core.

“A-aah... aaanngh--!!”

A hitch, and his voice gave out for a more primal noise, his motions growing more hurried as she felt his nails digging into her hips. There'd probably scratches to attend to later-- not the first time. His breath juddered, followed by a gasp before it was held a moment. All at once, everything came to a halt, a shuddering swell moving up through his flesh that came shortly before a certain warmth spread within her; passed from him to her.

He claimed a sharp breath after, followed by a relieved exhale as his hands loosened. He didn't release her just yet, but he wasn't clutching quite so hard anymore.

“...shit that felt too good...” He muttered faintly as she tried to regain her own breath. One hand and forearm remained braced on the door, but the other had released to reach backwards for him, flexing her fingers to show she desired another kind of contact, and getting one of his hands in return for the non-verbal gesture. Once intertwined, she squeezed him, and let out a faint and almost girlish giggle.

“Too good...?” She quested, surprised he'd ever entertain the concept.

“Damn right.” He lobbed back, squeezing in return. “It's the kind of good a guy gets addicted to... Gotta find us some privacy a little more often.”

Don't have to tell me twice.

This was about the point where bodies needed to come apart; signaled by their hands drifting away from one another after that comforting squeeze... but that process was interrupted.

There was a knock at the metal door Paige was braced up against.

“General? Do you have a moment?”

… Preston, your timing is a disaster.

She recognized the voice in a heartbeat, and it was exactly the sort of person who had previously voiced his disapproval of her and Hancock's partnership... and he didn't even know about the more intimate details of said partnership. There was a shock associated to hearing his voice at this particularly compromised moment, one that made her face flush as she was excessively thankful for the solid door between them.

More thankful that he hadn't shown up a few minutes ago, when he might have heard a thing or two through that door.

Behind her, she more felt than heard Hancock's muted chuckle.

“I'm a little occupied at the moment, Garvey.” Paige answered back through the door; not entirely a lie. “Is it urgent?”

“Just a couple questions I'd like to ask, that's all.” Preston's voice answered back. “Security concerns.”

That was code for yes, it's urgent to me. Preston had been very particular about security ever since she assigned him to it. Making him wait would prompt more questions later, and possible lost trust with him and his group.

Despite very much not wanting to, it sounded like she was going to need to put her clothes back on for a little while.

“Just a minute, I'll be right out.” She informed him.

“Yes, sir.”

“Awee...” Hancock quietly cooed, easing himself away from her. “No cuddle time?”

Finally able to straighten up, she shot a look back at him that encouraged him to shut his face before she broke some part of it in lieu of his mostly missing nose... before cracking a smirk. “There's a bathroom behind that partition--” She directed him quietly, muting her voice to lower the chance it would carry. “No hot water, but it's clean.”

“Heh, ritzy.” Hancock smirked back. Looking at him, she was able to see exactly how ruffled his coat and blouse had ended up, with trousers only shifted just enough out of the way to get away with what they'd just done. He hadn't made any motion to arrange himself back into those trousers, though, appearing all too comfortable to just let it all hang out. “Is that your way to telling me to put it on ice? Cause if anyone needs cleaning up right now, it's you.”

He was right; she was a sticky mess between the thighs, and standing upright allowed for dripping between her legs. Usually she would have insisted on some clean cloth and water to manage that with, but at the current moment? She reached down and simply pulled pants and underwear back up, zipping, buttoning, and straightening both bra and blouse until it was impossible for anyone to know what they'd been up to by simply looking at her... and with only him aware of the specific nature of what was probably going to end up staining her undergarments.

“I'll make you clean it up, later.” She informed him playfully. “It's your mess.”

“Oooh... dirty.” He chuckled. “Don't threaten me with a good time.”

Her look hardened, making a motion at him that encouraged him to shoo-- the last thing she needed was to open the door and have Garvey catch a glimpse of her companion with his dick out. Hancock pouted at her, but ultimately obeyed.

With a sigh, she turned herself back towards the door, hesitated a moment, and then finally grasped the handle to push it open and head out.

Doing so was not unlike a splash of cold water to the face. Twilight was a good hour past, and the night sky was filled with stars without a single cloud to obscure them. There was a stiff wind tonight; enough to snap Garvey's trench coat against his legs and make the man pull up the swell of his scarf a little more to protect his nose and cheeks.

Going from the relative comfort of her little home-made haven, as well as the heat of her recent encounter, into the abrupt chill of the night with a sharp wind in her face could have only been more of a shock to the system if it had been raining.

As she emerged, Garvey looked back to appear in profile to her. The man was always at the ready, laser rifle held upright over his chest and his eyes brightly aware despite the dark of the night. Paige's shack was at the far end of Sanctuary; away from where she'd built housing for the other residents, as well as where she'd set up crops, power generators, and water. Looking down the slight hill her shack sat upon at Preston meant also seeing the lights of the settlement beyond him; the faint yellow glow of something that could almost be called a town as the back-drop to his silhouette and shining gaze.

“Garvey.” She greeted him by his last name; it felt more professional, what with him always insisting on calling her General since she'd helped him revive the Minuet Men and retake their old headquarters. “What can I do for you?”

“Like I said, I just had a few questions...” He answered, peering further up and towards the shack. She couldn't see his face; her abode featured no outdoor lights, and with the glow of the settlement behind him his features were cast in shadow. “... where's the ghoul?”

The ghoul. She could practically taste the disapproval on that one.

“Hancock is taking this chance to wash some of the wasteland out of his clothes.” She responded. “Is your security concern about him?”

“No, no, of course not. If you trust him, that's enough for me.” Preston assured her. “But, uh...”

“Out with it, Garvey.” She ordered sternly.

“I was manning the watch when you came back to Sanctuary, General-- I saw you brought back your power armor, and it looked like you were carrying a heavy load of supplies. I know you'd tell me if anything were coming for us here, but... I didn't see any of it go out with the traders, and that made me worry. So, I've gotta ask; do you think something nasty is coming up this way?”

She blinked. Preston thought she was stockpiling for an incoming threat. She almost wanted to laugh aloud, but couldn't manage it. Instead, she stepped down from her place above him on the hill, coming to stand at his side while still looking out at the settlement.

“No,” She answered him. “Nothing's coming here. I'm preparing for a journey into dangerous territory... I need to upgrade my armor before we head out, and we needed a safe place to rest our heads before we committed. I want every advantage we can get under us before we go.”

A pause. Whatever he expected to hear, that wasn't on the list.

“... General, you know all you'd have to do is say the world, and I'd--”

“I'm going somewhere you can't follow, Garvey.” She responded flatly. Of course he wanted to go with her, probably wanting to convince her to take him instead of Hancock. He considered himself more capable, more trustworthy; the better choice on all fronts.

She'd disagree with him outright, but Hancock also had a very specific advantage over Garvey that would leave him no grounds to argue on.

“I'm going into the Glowing Sea.”

Silence. The pause stretched out for several beats, no doubt as Preston processed what exactly it was she was saying.

“... I see. The armor will protect you from most of the radiation, and your companion is immune.” He observed. “... smart choice.” He added, begrudgingly, before asking, “But why are you going in there? Even with the armor, you're going to need to be carrying your weight in medicine to even have a hope of making it back alive...”

“It's important. That's all I can say right now.”

A month or two ago, she might have told him. Before getting involved with the Underground Railroad, before encountering a synth and the person they were trying to replace at the same time and very nearly killing the wrong one during the confrontation, before learning exactly how the institute dealt with people they didn't want to have around anymore... But now? There was doubt in her mind, about almost everyone. Was Preston really Preston? Or was he just another set of eyes and ears for them? If she mentioned a defector, hiding out in the Glowing Sea, would they somehow beat her to that defector and kill them?

She couldn't risk it. This was her line on Shaun, on her son. Right now, the only person she trusted was the one who was going with her; Hancock... and even he didn't know exactly why they were going.

Granted, he hadn't asked.

“... You're sure about this?” Preston quested quietly.

She scoffed. “... barely.” She answered back. “But it's the only way forward I have right now.”

She'd already decided on a direction. Her doubts didn't matter anymore.

“Then I suppose the only thing to do is wish you luck.” He sighed, turning to face her and taking a hand off the stock of his laser rifle to offer it to her. She, in kind, turned to him and took it, sharing a firm shake. “Whatever you're facing, if there's anyone who can survive it, it's you. You already provisioned?”

“Been buying out all the Rad Away and Rad-X I can find.” She confirmed. “Cleaned out every trader between here and Diamond City. Tomorrow morning I take all the lead I've collected and upgrade the power armor to withstand the radiation... and then we'll be suiting up and heading out.” She paused, withdrawing her hand from his. There was something else that had to be said; something she'd been hoping to save until they were on their way out, so there'd be no space to argue about it... but now was probably the kinder time to say it. “Garvey, if I don't come back--”

“You're coming back.” He interrupted.

“If I don't,” She pressed. “You'll be back in charge of the Minute Men. You can't hesitate from that. We've got enough supplies to last a day out there-- maybe two or three if we find a place to shelter that's not soaked in rads, like a cave or a pre-war bomb shelter that's somehow intact. If I don't come back to Sanctuary within that time? You need to take over properly and keep up the fight.”

He was quiet. He didn't like it.

“... I don't know if I can live up to what you've done for us, Paige.” He admitted, softly. “But... if it comes to that, I'll do my best by you.”

“... that's all we can do out here, Preston.” She affirmed in kind. “I know you're the man for the job.”

“Let's try not to find out.” He rebutted.

That time, she let out a faint laugh. “Don't worry.” She told him. “I'll be doing my best, too.”

__________

Chapter One: You are here Chapter Two: [hasn’t been posted to Tumblr yet, will add link when I’ve got it up... oor you could just go read the story so far on Fanfiction XD]

If you enjoyed reading this, please consider reblogging it to help me find a wider audience! <3

#Fallout 4 #f!sole survivor #sole survivor #hancock x sole survivor #John Hancock #Hancock #Loving Stupid #fanfiction #fallout 4 fanfiction #female sole survivor #Paige #Paige Argot

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captainkippen · 4 years ago

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Heart of December

Short Story • Romance • New Adult • Ghosts

Every winter, the fireplace in the parlour roars to life of its own accord and from the flames emerges a ghost of the manor's past. Wesley doesn’t mean to fall in love with a dead man, but it seems anything is possible in the heart of December.

Read it on Wattpad.

The front parlour of Somerstone Manor was always freezing this time of year. It had been a persistent problem long before the deeds fell to the possession of Wesley Griffiths and had continued to be a nuisance ever since. Built before the invention of double-glazing, the whole house tended to be drafty. This was fine most of the year but made the harsh Yorkshire winters somewhat uncomfortable enough without the parlour’s icy demeanour creeping under the door and into the hallways.

Wesley had never found the source of the cold, though it was not for lack of trying. Eight expensive contractors and a handful of local handymen had all been left scratching their heads. It was not the windows, they said, nor the floorboards. There was no mysterious gap in the roofing and the insulation was both new and too thick to be so ineffective. Neither the fire, which would not light no matter how much kindling sat in the grate nor the newly installed central heating system made any difference. It seemed the parlour was determined to become an icebox, what Wesley wanted be damned. It made sitting in there a ghastly endeavour, but he was determined not to show any sign of weakness. He suspected the house could sense such things. Then one night, at the stroke of midnight, the fire had burst into life, sending him staggering across the hearth in shock as he took in the terrifying sight before him.

Tonight was twice as cold as usual. He sat wrapped in three layers of blankets and scarves only to continue shivering. A half-eaten tin of Marks & Spencer biscuits sat forgotten by his feet and his cup of tea had long since gone cold. Were it any other night, he might give in just this once and retire to his bedroom where at least he could curl up with a hot water bottle, but tonight he wouldn’t. It was December third.

On December third, every year for the last four, he had sat in the very spot he sat in now and waited. As usual, the fireplace was dry and unlit. He stared at it, shifting slightly and rustling the blankets as he pulled them tighter around himself, waiting. The clock on the mantelpiece ticked. Three minutes to midnight. Every sound made him twitch with anticipation. Two minutes to midnight. The icy white flakes swirled down in a thick white fog, piling up on the windows. It was getting colder. One minute to midnight. The air felt as though it was biting at Wesley’s face. It was almost impossible to breathe…

Midnight. Nothing happened. Wesley frowned to himself, checking his wristwatch, it was definitely the correct time. Surely he had not gotten the date wrong. He glanced over at the newspaper he’d abandoned on the side table. December 3rd, 2020, read the date. The chill of the air intensified. There was nothing for it, then. He would have to go upstairs. With a sigh, he began gathering the ends of his makeshift cocoon and stood. No sooner had he done so, when the fireplace burst into life.

‘Evening, Wes,’ greeted the man who had appeared out of thin air alongside the flames.

‘You’re late,’ said Wes.

James Sherrington was a ghost. He had entered in his usual dramatic fashion, leaning against the wall dressed in the same white shirt and rumpled ascot that he’d been wearing since 1912, more solid than any ghost should be in Wesley’s opinion.

‘Traffic on the other end.’ James made a vague gesture towards the fireplace.

Wesley raised one incredulous eyebrow.

‘Traffic?’

‘Yes, well, you know. The holiday season is a busy time for the other side, all those spirits desperate to go through the doors and haunt their loved ones while they do their Christmas shopping. The queue really was enormous.’

Wesley suspected James was pulling his leg, but it was always hard to tell.

The first time James had appeared next to the fireplace, the very same night the fire had come alive, Wesley had assumed he was going mad. Indignant at the idea of being imaginary, James had picked up Wesley’s favourite mug and thrown it across the room where it smashed hard against the stone wall, scattering ceramic shards all over. Wesley had fled, locking the parlour door behind him, hoping it was all a strange dream. When he’d woken up the next morning to find James sprawled across the chaise lounge reading a battered copy of Wuthering Heights, he had not been impressed.

He had decided then that James was an intruder. It appeared the only reasonable explanation was that he was some sort of madman attempting to scare Wesley out of his new home, perhaps in order to rob him. When the police had arrived, they did nothing but shoot wary looks at him while James stood, unseen by anyone but Wesley, laughing in the corner. They’d recommended he make an appointment with his GP, perhaps he was not feeling too well. The doctor had prescribed him tablets for insomnia, though Wesley knew he had no trouble sleeping, which lay still untouched five years later in his medicine cabinet. So he left for his sister’s house down in Kent, hoping he could outrun his problems until at least after the holidays were done, and when he’d returned on the twenty-seventh the fire was out once more and there were no strange men in sight. He breathed a sigh of relief.

He had done a good job erasing James from his mind by the time December third rolled around once more, putting it down to the stress of moving, only to have the whole unpleasant experience repeat. Once more the flames spontaneously appeared at midnight, and again came James. This time Wesley did not call the police; he called a priest. The priest brought with him an expert on spirits from the Vatican, and Wesley watched with his arms folded from the doorway as they read from the bible and flung holy water about the room. The fire roared on. James laughed. Wesley began to lose his temper.

They went through three more exorcists and a variety of ‘ghost hunters’ armed with EMPs and other useless equipment which buzzed at nothing in particular until midnight on Christmas Eve rolled around and the fire went out. The house was too quiet without James taunting him.

The third year, James was greeted by a fatigued Wesley armed with a collection of crosses. He had been up and staring at the fire for a full week before the date rolled around. The crosses did nothing, but that wasn’t all that much of a surprise. For the first time, James revealed that he could in fact leave the parlour if he wanted to, and he made Wesley a cup of tea before sending him off to bed. Perturbed by this impossible man roaming the manor’s halls, but unable to think of anything else to do about it, Wesley had trudged up the stairs and fallen exhausted upon his mattress, vowing to sort it out tomorrow.

They started to get used to one another after that, sitting together at the crooked kitchen table and listening to terrible Christmas music on the radio while Wesley worked away at his laptop. He learned that James’ family had owned the house for several generations a century or so before, and he was the last of them to live there. He had disappeared in 1912, never to be found, only to pop up dead in the house every year after. An odd twist – something like regret maybe – always appeared on his lips when he mentioned it. He disappeared again on Christmas Eve, and Wesley spent the entire next day missing his ear-splitting renditions of All I Want For Christmas.

The fourth year, James had crossed the threshold with, ‘What? No crosses this year?’ and Wesley had made him help put up the Christmas tree.

James could not, or would not – Wesley was unsure which – leave the grounds of Somerstone, but he liked to wander about the garden on the busy afternoons when Wesley was working. He read every book on the tottering shelves of the library, ate half the food in the pantry and spent hours marvelling over Wesley’s phone and iPad with the kind of excitement you often see on the faces of children in a sweet shop. He did seem dead when he was around. On the odd occasion where their hands brushed, his skin was warm. His breath stirred the air when he laughed and he left creases and dents on the furniture he sat on. Like Wesley, James had a bad habit of leaving half-drunk teacups laying about on every surface and, unlike Wesley, he would spend hours in the shower if he could. Wesley wasn’t sure if he slept, he suspected not, but he would stay sat with him by the fire on the late nights that they’d stayed up talking so long that Wesley drifted off to sleep against his shoulder. He smelled like earth and smoke.

The parlour was quite comfortable when it was warm. The fire flickered bright orange, casting shadows across the walls. Wesley cracked his neck and turned the page of his book. He was fighting off sleep, determined to get the information before him to seep into his brain properly before he turned in for the night, but it was a losing battle. At his feet, James was sprawled across ignoring the small mountain range of old tomes around him. He was counting all the red baubles on the Christmas tree aloud. It was distracting. For one thing, Wesley couldn’t concentrate on words when James was singing numbers under his breath, and it did not help that a wayward strange of blonde hair had fallen across his face in a way that made him want to lean down and sweep it back. He growled in frustration.

‘Must you do that?’ he snapped.

James’ mouth twitched and he rolled onto his side, propping himself up on his elbow so as to get a better look at Wesley.

‘Are you going to continue being boring if I stop?’

‘It’s not boring,’ he lied. ‘I’m trying to help.’

James covered his face with his hands and groaned, the exasperation slipping through his fingers and swirling in the air between them. For several days now, they had been going back and forth over the same old argument. Unfortunately, stubbornness was one of the few traits the two of them shared.

It was the year before that James had admitted the truth. Though he had previously claimed he had no idea what had happened regarding his disappearance or the strange circumstances under which he existed now, it transpired to be the result of a curse. One evening, half-drunk from a dusty bottle of Merlot they’d unearthed from the depths of the cellar, they had flopped back onto one of the drawing-room sofas and the whole sorry story had come out.

‘I didn’t mean to upset her,’ James had sighed as Wesley mulled it over.

A witch, Wesley felt he deserved an award for his calm reaction to the revelation that such a thing existed, though since he had been spending the lead up to Christmas with a living dead man for the past four years it was hard to be surprised by much these days, was the cause of it all. In his last week of living and breathing on a regular basis, James had met a witch – Marlene Maminot was her name – at the party of a politician his father wished him to rub elbows with. She had claimed she could find anybody’s ‘true love’, something which James had very much scoffed at. He believed not in true love nor in magic and, as far as he was concerned, love was a children’s tale told to make the idea of marriage more bearable. It was rather stupid, but not out of character, for James to respond by daring Ms. Maminot to prove she was not just an old fraud so, of course, he did just that.

‘Fine,’ she’d said. ‘I will find your true love for you, hold out your hand.’ She ran a finger along his palm, closing her eyes. ‘Your heart line is long and your fate is clear, but your life line… it complicates things. You are too hesitant. It will require sacrifice. You must accept the truth if you wish to be free.’

She pulled her hand back. They’d stared at one another, a small crowd of party-goers gathered around them, and the ridiculousness of it all overwhelmed him. He laughed and laughed until she had melted away.

Six days later, on the third of December, James was dead.

Because he could not let things lie, Wesley had waited until James had disappeared and left him feeling hollow and alone once more before he dove headfirst into his research. Ms. Maminot had long since been buried by the time Wesley tracked her down, but by a stroke of unexpected luck his granddaughter, Louisa, still lived at that same address. They’d had tea together and visited her grave.

‘I imagine it’s a curse, from what you’ve told me,’ she said. ‘Nana liked to teach lessons, see. She wasn’t one to be mistreated or to pander to arrogance, but she wasn’t cruel… there will be a way to break it. He just has to find it.’

Thus, after this, Wesley had amassed a collection of books on spells, curses and the occult so large that it looked like he might be starting a cult. Ever since James had returned for the holidays, he’d been trying to pry more details out of him regarding Ms. Maminot and find a way to fix it. James gave his answers reluctantly, growing more sullen the further Wesley got. He did not see why Wesley was so bothered, he’d been reappearing in the parlour for over one hundred Christmases now and the witch was dead, it was a pointless endeavour. Wesley, however, could not understand why James was not more motivated to find a way to break the curse. It seemed a miserable thing to spend most of the year dead, only to reappear confined to an ageing manor with only one person for company and nothing much to do but read.

‘That’s no way to live,’ he said.

‘Good thing I’m not alive, then!’ James sniped back.

The weeks passed with agonising terseness. James was not his usual jovial self, he had not once sung along to Mariah Carey or insisted that Wesley watch a funny YouTube video he’d found. He’d all but locked himself away in the parlour, looking more ghostly each day. It was inevitable, then, the argument that cracked it. Wesley had found something; a book on enchantments which might be helpful in finding James’ corpse (if indeed there was one). James had been none too thrilled about this discovery.

‘I don’t understand why you care so much!’ he shouted. ‘Would you rather I be gone? Am I that much of a burden to you? You’re that desperate to have your peace and quiet?’

Wesley frowned.

‘You know that’s not the case.’

‘Then why?’

‘Because I want you to stay.’

They stared at one another.

‘But… but I’m dead,’ James said, hopelessly. He stalked forward and grasped Wesley by the shoulders, looking him in the eye with an expression of deep intensity. ‘I’m dead, Wes. I’ve got nothing to offer you.’

‘If you were dead, you wouldn’t be able to eat all the biscuits when I’m not looking,’ Wesley pointed out. ‘If you were really dead, you wouldn’t leave footprints in the snow. But you do. You do.’

James shook his head and stepped back.

‘You don’t understand.’

Wesley grabbed his wrist, pulling him forward again and caressing his face gently with the other hand.

‘I do understand,’ he said gently. ‘I do. You’re not dead, James. You’re not dead, you’re cursed. There’s a difference. I want you to stay. Please stay. You have to believe you can stay.’

‘Why?’ He asked again, quietly this time.

‘Because… I miss you,’ Wesley whispered, pressing his forehead to James’. The desperation in his voice was unbearable. ‘ When you’re gone… I hate it when you’re gone. It’s too quiet. I’ve got no one to steal my books, or use up all the hot water or drink my terrible tea. It’s awful. Don’t you…’ he trailed off, unsure of how to ask. It came out in a rush. ‘I love you.’

James stared at him, gaze flooded with disbelief, and Wesley braced himself for the punch. But no hit came. Instead, a hand reached up and adjusted his glasses for him.

‘Do you truly mean that? You love me?’

For a moment, Wesley could do nought but nod. And then he remembered something, something which made it all seem so obvious.

‘You must accept the truth to be free,’ he recited. ‘That’s what Ms. Maminot said, isn’t it? When you laughed at the idea of love.’

James paused. Understanding began to dawn on his face and he nodded.

‘The old witch was telling the truth then, she really could find people’s lovers.’

‘Seems that way.’

‘I… didn’t think it possible. I thought it was just me,’ James murmured.

‘You’re both blind and an idiot, then.’

‘And you’re an unbearable sap.’

James grinned as he leaned forward to press their lips together. A great pressure lifted from Wesley’s chest as they curled around one another. Time slowed, the snow outside ceased falling, and on the mantelpiece, the clock chimed twelve.

They pulled apart, eyes wide.

‘Don’t–’ Wesley started to say, clutching tighter to James, but then the chiming stopped.

The fire roared on, the parlour bathed in its comforting warmth, and beneath his fingers, the long-still pulse of James’ wrist finally began to thump.

#short story #original writing #am i posting this again? yes #bc i want to

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outroshooky · 6 years ago

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my pretty sleeper | ksj

⇢ genre: series; part two (ghost!au; person b crying and screaming that they’re sorry, believing they caused person a’s death. person a’s ghost at their side, helplessly trying to comfort and hold someone they can no longer touch, or speak to, anymore.) (angst, fluff)

⇢ pairing: kim seokjin x reader

⇢ word count: 5.8k

⇢ warnings: major character death (reader insert); blood mention. there are darker themes here, please read with caution.

⇢ a/n: thank you for all of the positive feedback on part one!! this is a bit angstier than what i usually write but nonetheless, i’m proud of it. i hope you enjoy this winter-y fic; thank you to oh ms. believer for inspiring me all these years later (in the bleak bahamian summer, no less).

part two of the verses and vibes series. part three will be uploaded on wednesday, january 29, 2020.

“the woods are lovely, dark and deep, but i have promises to keep, and miles to go before i sleep, and miles to go before i sleep.”

⤷ stopping by woods on a snowy evening; robert frost

Never in your life had you seen a more beautiful snowstorm.

Soft flakes drifted through boughs hanging like some great Gothic arches above you, a chapel of nature’s own wonderful creation. They swept past birds fluffed to fend against the bitter cold, settled around you in drifts like a miniature mountain landscape. Ahead you, the path stretched in peaceful calm, the white blanket an insulation for the sounds that leapt and tumbled with the puffs of wind exhaled from some indeterminable heaven. Somewhere to your left, a finch trilled a cheery tune, and the boysenberry vines rasped in scratchy reply.

It was the picture-perfect scene to accompany what would, under all usual circumstances, be a nicely brisk walk in the chill of winter.

Unfortunately, these are not, by any standards, usual circumstances.

The snow falls delicately around your hustling figure, bound against the cold in nothing but the simple dress of a commoner and the jacket of a noble of the highest degree. Your outfit is completely contradicting, but it is not like you have a choice in the matter.

Because as hard as you try to will a speck of snow to settle gently in the crook of your palm, it does nothing but continue its downward descent, rocking to and fro hither and there. It passes through the translucent aura that is your hand, your arm, your entire body.

Perhaps the statement about how never in your life had you seen a more beautiful snowstorm needed to be amended to how never in your afterlife had you seen a more wonderful blizzard.

It is ever surprising to you how, though you are no longer made of tangible matter, the whistle of wind through endlessly tall trees will never cease to send a shiver down your transparent spine. The chill rests on your shoulders, curls around your neck with chilled lips; you know it must be cold, but you can’t for the life of you actually feel it. When you tread on the freshly-covered path, hurrying along in your urgency, the untouched pure white remains… untouched. When you glance behind you at the ringing of bells, no footsteps imprint on the finely frosted earth.

The horse is a dappled stallion, wide-eyed and foaming at the bit, hooves prancing high to escape the tug of the fallen snow. The gentleman sits, hands loose on the reins, comfortable in the saddle. He's handsome, with a jaw cut like glass and deep almond eyes peering out from a woolen scarf tucked beneath the folds of his jacket. As he passes by, wrapped deep in fur to fend off the chill, you step to the side of the path out of pure habit. It would take no effort at all to simply continue on your way, letting horse and rider barrel straight through your unseen figure, but you’ve learned by now that animals have a better sense of the preternatural and decided to spare the horse (and gentleman) undue panic.

The rider’s eyes never waver from the path ahead, confident and illustrious in his goings. He is bold and dashing and incredibly handsome, and you notice, too late, the scrawled insignia etched into the leather of the saddle, as refined yet regal as the very stranger who claims it.

The symbol of the nobility burns a brilliant gold against the black tanned skin, and your throat constricts with the pain of remembrance.

Eyes as warm as the heat of summer sunshine; brow regal, fit for a king; tawny hair artfully sweeping across the breadth of his forehead; lips as plush as fat grapes in the fall; jaw as defined as a blade through wa-

The horse nickers, ridding snow from its hooves in dirt-flecked clumps, sending them straight through the aura of your petticoats.

You sigh, ruffling the folds of your dress, tucking tighter the corners of your jacket out of reflex. There are, you suppose, some benefits to being a ghost, but the complete and utter loneliness does tend to be a drawback.

Indeed, the complete and utter loneliness makes you question whether your mission is even worth it in the first place. Is it worth trying to reconcile things with a lover when they can't even see you, hear you, feel you? You could caress their cheek with the most loving of touches, and yet they would guess it to be nothing but a passing breeze. The curse of eternity is one spent in solitude, a soul left to wander the earth with a purpose unfinished, aptly never to be ended. You watch as the horseman canters on, and something clenches in the space where your heart once nested, like the wrens that call the castle battlements home.

No. No. You cannot allow yourself to think like this. You cannot allow yourself to doubt, to assume that for a moment love is not a powerful enough force to wrest the bounds of time and shatter the fettered chains. Love is a blade more powerful than any forged sword, a fire more passionate than any raging mountain blaze. With love, one can mold a landscape to their liking, shift the sands of what is known into a brand new reality, a dawn previously inconceivable to any and all.

The thought of him fills your mind; the gap in your chest mends. Every step you take is one step closer to him.

With every rise and fall of your boots, your boots seem to land in the tracks of the horse and rider, their figures now only a mere shadow against the backdrop of nature’s finest woodland cathedral.

The more you push on, the more memories seem to unconsciously surface in your mind. When you came to in that field, your mind was as untouched as the fallen snow. However, it took merely a wobbly rise to your feet for you to notice the massive jacket that hugged your frame, permanently welded to your aura whether you wanted it to be or not. Simply put, whatever you wore at the time of your death became your spirit’s regalia, and you often thanked the stars that you hadn’t decided to go riding in the buff that day. Not that you would in the first place.

With that jacket came the flood, as you called it. The waves of memories that lapped at the shores of your consciousness, their chaotic dances spilling foam into the crevices of your mind. They came back to you in one fell swoop, overwhelming in their sights and sensations and feelings, and you wondered how you could have, even if just for a brief moment, forgotten it all.

Eventually, the mouth of the forest opens to a broad, rutted dirt road, which has turned to mud with the advent of the blizzard. At the mouth sits a thatched roof shack, cheery with the ice that dangles precariously from the thickets of straw. Beyond it, fields of grain- sorghum and wheat and barley, their stalks cut low to the base. In a single breath, curling in on itself in the chilled air, your senses are flooded with thought and sound and breath.

“Catch me if you can!” Seokjin’s fingers slap at your shoulder, tagging you plain as day. He is barely thirteen, still gangly and slender with youth, but experienced eyes can see his frame beginning to thicken. There's delight in his eyes, a mirth that sparks double when he sees the fiery temper in your own.

“Seokjin!” You hiss. He's playing a game of chance, egging you on as his father pauses at the edge of the forest to speak with the farmer who came bounding out of the newly-built barn. One of the things you loved about the king was his flexibility, his genuine interest in the lives of his subjects. He was willing to lend an ear to all, and it brought him a certain respect, from the lowest beggar to the highest knight. With that in mind, you dared not cross him. “Not now!”

“Papa’s not looking!” He teases, skipping backwards when you swing outwards with a well-timed smack. “Catch me if you ca-an!”

“Seokjin!” You hiss again with vigor, a concerned glance over your shoulder. “You’re not about to get us both in trouble!”

“You won't get in trouble.” He’s breathless, riled in his own games while his father talks business just beyond the magnolia bushes. “You're with me.”

“Just because you're the prince does not mean that I won't be sent to the gallows for participating in one of your stunts. This is an official business trip and I am thirteen and as so it happens your maid and I kind of need this jo-”

Without hesitation, the young prince saunters closer, leans in, and taps your nose lightly with a single digit. “I said,” Seokjin breathes, voice nearly a whisper. “Catch me if you can.”

In one fluid motion you lunge forward, your index finger landing squarely in the middle of his forehead.

A smile breaks across his visage, radiant and mischievous, the grin of madmen. Or young boys. “Game on.”

You blink and the scene clears. The horses’ reins in your grasp evaporate, leaving you in front of a crumbling stone wall falling apart at the seams.

Peering closer, you realize the house has aged fast, too fast to be natural. The straw has grown thin in some places, the roof sagging inward, spine exhausted. The windows are grimy and cracked with age, and the foundation settles crooked into the soft earth. Beside the chimney, a rabbit twitches, darting into the brush at the inkling of eyes watching from afar. Something isn't right here, you think. Something is different from before.

You turn towards the horizon, the spires of the castle piercing the far-away arch of the sky, and continue on towards him.

He had never cared that you were only his maid.

You had been in his life as long as you could remember, and he had been in yours much the same. Your mother having been attendant to the queen meant that you inherited the duties for her royal child, born in the frigid chill of December a year and two months after you. From a young age you learned how to reorganize his endless closets and dressers, to attend him in a court of nobility, to keep a pitcher of cold water and a bottle of lavender on his bedside table every night. The fair-minded, fair-haired prince had never understood how you were any different to him- you thanked the stars his parents taught him humility from an early age- and as a result, he treated you much the same as he treated any of the other young boys in the court. You had never been “merely a maid” to him- you were a playmate, confidant, best friend, and later- much, much later- a lover. The only lover, in fact, that ever mattered to him.

He had had suitors from when he was as young as ten years old, coming to seek his hand in uniting their great kingdoms. They pranced about him in grand dresses of silk and lace, curtseying and bowing and placating themselves for his eyes. More than once, they’d nearly popped out of his head at how tight their bodices were. And yet, he never took one to be his bride- never even expressed interest in having one as his bride.

You secretly pondered if he was the stuff of legend, Ancient Greek myths that whispered of men coming together in ways that male and female could not. Meanwhile, as the years passed, you grew all the more closer to him, and he all the more closer to you. Often he'd tug a sewing needle out of your hand to insist that you go riding together, pulling you away from mending the jacket he’d torn the last time you went riding with him. He would beg you to visit him in the sparring circle to show you some new masterful combination he’d learned with sword and shield, even taking such liberties to teach you yourself some swordplay techniques. He would even take you down to the market to buy fresh vegetables for your grandmother, or new silks for a coat. It was clear that he cared about you deeply, deeper than he’d ever admit to himself for a long, long time.

Your journey continues on mile after mile; the closer you get to the center of the kingdom, the more broken down it all feels. Granted, it is the dead of winter, but the world seems to have fallen into disrepair along with it, lulled by the hypnosis of the cold into a weary, uneasy slumber. Cattle shuffle stiffly along their paddock fences; dry tufts of grass poke through the chilled mud. Civilians too hustle, wrapped in rags without splendor or hint of grace, trying their hardest to protect against the frosty bite. So much has changed in the brief time you've been gone, and for the first time, worry begins to gnaw at your thoughts with true voracity. It doesn't feel right, none of this does; but you know in the core of your being, that this, somehow, is home.

With every landmark you pass, a new memory washes over you, scent and sight and feeling. You make a left at the second crossroads and continue on at the third, but your mind flashes back to the times you went right and then left to the beekeepers’ fields, or left and then right to the carpenter’s shack. Every memory rekindles a bit of something in you, something that you can name only as humanity, and you swear the chill’s begun to set in a little colder than it was before. You are more alive now than ever, you think.

It is as if in the brief time you slumbered, the world aged a hundred years without you. The miles to the city walls pass quickly, but not without mention. The closer you get, the more decrepit it all feels- richly constructed halls now ground to sawdust, fields of grain and vegetables now plains of snow and ice. The walls themselves are in poor shape, the dull stones lacking the regal glory they once held, and you ache at the sight. Once the pride and joy of the kingdom, now a sad hallmark- if there was anything left of the kingdom to begin with.

A mere trickle of people flows on either side of the gate, a much, much slower stream from the constant push-pull of the tides you’re used to. Here, the roar was once chaos- a wave of crowds jostling in, a tide of jovial citizens pouring out in a flood of color and sound and energy. But the banners flutter threadbare, flapping without statement in the wind, as if they have fallen asleep at the helm, in the bleak of midwinter, in the midst of it all.

You crane your neck to see the guards as you approach, careful to keep your space from the few stragglers limping up the path along with you. In your youth, you knew every castle employee, every knight and guard and maid. Now, you squint till the nearest stern face comes into view, and realize, with a jolt of clarity, you don't recognize him at all.

His face is cold-cut, molded from a block of iron. His lips are pressed tightly together, back as straight as a ramrod, mouth as firm as an oak tree. He is completely unfamiliar to you, and for some reason, trepidation begins to roll a metaphorically thrilling drum beat in your stomach.

The fear, which had numbed to a gentle stream in the back of your conscious (if you could call it that), rose to a fever pitch.

Something was horribly, horribly wrong, and you were absolutely determined to find out what.

You had a feeling that this is what you were brought back for, to get to the bottom of this horrid stunt, to find out why everything you knew had been thrown off its axis in one fell swoop. It thrummed in your silent pulse, lofted like owls’ wings through the quiet of the forest. No was simply not an answer, and when a renewed sense of determination beat in the space where your heart would have been, you touched your chest with a sudden burst of fondness. Seokjin was close, so close. It would be like old times; together, you would solve this, bring closure to this plague of wintertime. And you, his wonderful bride, reunited with him as if no time had ever been wasted in between. Not to mention you were home, back in your city, the place you had labored to visit for days, weeks, even months since you’d awoken in that godforsaken wheat field with a royal riding jacket wrapped around your shoulders.

Unassumingly, the guard turns his head and stares straight at you, gaze blank, numbly focused.

You hold your breath for one moment, two.

He blinks, stark eyes staring right through you, and thumbs the rutted shaft of his spear. You force yourself to tear your gaze away from his own, and, with only a moment’s hesitation, stride unfailing into the heart of the kingdom.

Your walk to the castle, at the very top of the city, is seemingly the longest, most arduous part of your journey by far.

Everywhere you look, in every corner seems to be darkness and despair. Shapeless forms, nameless figures cluster around pathetic fires, which sputter and lick with the will of the wind. Dead leaves tumble down the cobblestones to embed themselves in snowbanks, piled up high, effective barriers against the frost for the unlucky souls with no other place to go. Doors are wrenched shut but rattle every now and then, the muted glow under their edges a telltale indicator of the separation between poor and poorer. You hasten to avoid those clusters around the fires, god forbid a careless sweep of your petticoat extinguishes what little hope they have left. You pause for a moment when you see a mother clutching a child to her chest, wishing not for the first time you could simply reach out and make her problems melt away. If anything, you’d only make her feel worse, the lofty draft of your fingertips an added stress upon her already narrow shoulders.

With every step you take, you can feel the individual consciousnesses trapped here crying out for you, flocking to you, a bright burning candle flame against a backdrop of nighttime. There are so many souls beneath the ground, you wonder if there was some sort of famine. Does Seokjin see any of this? Where has he been? The questions plague you one after the other, much like the howling spirits that crowd the back of your mind, individually vying for your attention. No, you reassure yourself. I know him. Seokjin must have the situation under control, or if not, he's working to get it under control. The kingdom will be saved; happily-ever-after is just out of your reach, soon within. It simply cannot be any other way.

The higher and higher you climb, the more desolate the path becomes. It is clear that the only people who trek up here nowadays are the guards on their shift rotations, but even then, you’ve noticed less and less the closer you get to the castle. We had plenty of guards; I don't understand why the sudden lack, you think to yourself. Sooner or later you will have your answer, though, because you find yourself at the base of the castle, and your mouth drops open in some sickened form of awe.

Ah yes, what's the name of that feeling?

Horror.

Your home has fallen into disrepair, a state of shambles that never would have been allowed in the days of your lifetime.

There are cracks and crevices that fracture the bones of the grand hall, splits and nicks in the wood from years of neglect. There once perched gargoyles and flowers and creations atop the limestone columns, so wonderfully sculpted that they seem to leap from their very material constraints into living, breathing figures. Now, only shattered fragments of the beasts remain, flower petals chipped away to fall hundreds of feet to the stiff dead stalks of grass below. A castle, once inhibited with beauty and life, now lies dormant, sleeping, decaying. A single piece of limestone, the wing of a butterfly, shears off, rebounding off the gutter to tumble to the dirt. From dust it is made, and to dust it shall return, but if you had a heart, you swear you would have felt it break.

Once again, it is the thought of him that keeps you moving, pushing on, except the fear is all-consuming now, a snarling dog snapping at the heels of your fantasy. You can barely think as you approach those great dark oaken doors, palm flat against the decaying planks as you pause, your eyes fluttering shut.

You still, readying yourself for this. This, the thing you have been waiting for, the only thing to keep you going, demanding that day after day you push on. Anticipation of it has pulsed in your veins for days, weeks; the closer you got, the more anxious and excited you became, but it is here now. It is here; there is nothing you can do to stop the hands of fate, for she brought you here to reunite you with him, Seokjin, the prince of your land but the king of your heart.

The toe of your boot eases into the splintering wood, and in one beat, your entire body passes through into the grand entrance hall.

For all of your preparation, however, nothing could possibly steel you for what lay on the other side of those doors.

The grand hall looked like it had been ransacked by an army.

The stone arches above your head no longer bore their weight proudly, but drooped with depression suggesting hopelessness. A flurry of activity buzzed around you, a servant even stepping through you by pure mistake, but it was not the kind of bustling, cheery frenzy you were used to. This was a quiet kind of frenzy much like silent fury, the calm before the storm. Footsteps resonated against the grand ceilings flaked with paint, yet there was no exchange of greetings, no playful step of the servant children. It was an atmosphere so foreign it may as well have been a completely different house, rather than the home you knew so well as your own.

The throne room is many paces away from the entrance hall, but with your internalized map of the castle, it took a few mere passes through walls (and a left, another left, and a right) to land you in the hall of kings, or the waiting room outside of the throne room. There is a layer of dust that sits upon the artifacts, the Staff of Arrn’och, among others, nearly broken in two in its display case. Everywhere you looked, it seemed, was desolation. God forbid what the throne room itself would look like.

With a sudden bang!, the doors at the far end of the room were thrown open, a ragged, hunched figure stumbling through the open gap. Male or female you could not discern, matted strings of hair shielding its twisted visage, but the sobs its lungs produced pierced you to the core. The pair of guards at the opposite end of the room strode forward, collecting the pathetic creature by the underarms and practically dragging it down the muddy rug. Although you could pass through whatever surface you pleased, your instinct urged you through the gap in the closing doors, and you managed to slip past just as they slammed shut behind you.

In front of you lay a dias, fifty feet in diameter, upon which two thrones of the same size sat, both lonely, one bare. While large windows perched over the dias, casting blocks of light across the stone floor, any natural light that managed to filter into the high-ceilinged hall was dulled by grit and grime. Torches flickered low in their sconces, doing their best to compensate, but instead casting shadows across the walls that seemed to flinch at the quickest intake of breath. Indeed, the throne room had suffered much in your absence; it was as if you stepped into a nightmarish equivalent of your past life.

It was too dark to see the face of the king as you approached, his profile framed by shadow as he argued with an attendant.

“-can’t turn down every citizen who wants to make an audience with you and has good reason to do so,” The attendant insisted, his tone desperate. “The people are starving, but they haven't lost hope! They're looking to you, Your Majest-”

“And why would they look to me?” The king snapped, voice gravelly, a thickness there that you’d never heard before. “What good have I been to them? Haven't they seen enough of me yet? Every day, a miserable existence, and they seek to know my counsel on matters such as one calf between them?”

“One calf, my king, would provide food for their children for three days,” the attendant murmured gently. “Your people need you now, more than ever.”

But the king seemed not to hear, dismissing the attendant with a flick of his hand. “I can't hear any more.”

The attendant hesitated just a fraction, but bowed respectfully. “As you wish.”

It was at this moment you realized there were only two thrones, not the three you had been expecting. Although the queen had passed many years before, they had always kept a throne in its place for her, in her honor. You wondered now at this- where was Seokjin’s throne?

The king, bowed over with the bridge of his nose pinched between two fingers, paid you no mind as you approached, dipping a respectful curtsy out of habit. He’d certainly gone grayer in these last few months, his shoulders having lost their proud touch, and he looked as if he was a completely different man, aging a hundred years in the mere two hundred hours it had taken you to get back to the place you so lovingly called home.

In your living days, you would not have dared step up the dias to look at the king eye-to-eye, god forbid he strike you down himself. But you were not alive, and these were desperate times, and desperate times called for desperate measures.

And so, with one fluid motion, you stepped atop the dias, skirt swirling around your ankles as you paused, waiting for something, but you did not know what.

The king lifted his head, and as your eyes met his, aged with the aches and pains of ruling, you felt as if someone had ripped the very carpet out from underneath your feet and cast you back to the underworld below.

Because these were not the clear eyes of the king, sparkling and gentle in their mirth. These were not the bright pupils that brought forth memories of afternoons spent on the lake, or crystal clear waterfalls that tumbled through mysterious glades.

No, these eyes were dark, once as rich as chocolate, but now as muddied as silt. Cataracts strung silky webs across the clag, weaving intricate patterns in the depths of emotion, rendering not only the viewer incapable of reading emotion, but the seer incapable of, well- doing just that. While crows’ feet stamped their corners and fine lines etched their lids, you would know those eyes even if you had seen them once in ten thousand years, for they stamped themselves onto your soul all that time ago, never to be undone by any mortal power.

“Seokjin?” You gasp, and at once, all of time seems to stand still.

For it is indeed Kim Seokjin who sits on the king’s throne, his beautiful features softened with age and the passage of time but still regal, ever unforgettable. He is enthrallingly handsome, but your heart aches evermore, because you have missed it all.

You have missed seeing the aches and pains of early, and then middle age set in. You have missed watching his child, the prince or princess (and surely more than one), stumble across the floor of the nursery for the first time. You have missed him sleeping in the early morning, worrying in the late evening; you have missed him in bed and in combat and all things in between. For it has been years, perhaps decades since your death, and in one horrifying moment, it clicks into perspective.

And then he tilts his head up at you and whispers your name, and it is as if every weight on your metaphysical shoulders has been lifted. “Is it really you?”

“Yes,” you warble; somehow tears streak your cheeks, pale in their sheen. “Yes, Seokjin, I'm so sorry; I'm here now, it's me-” you grab for his hand, but it passes right through, and he recoils at the draft. “I'm so fucking sorry.”

Flashes. A golden field, merry horses, a beautiful spring day. “Take my jacket, my darling. It will keep you warm.”

Hooves pounding, heart racing. The royal horses are afraid of practically nothing, their one fear far from your mind, unworthy of mention. Together you dash through the meadows, up and over hills and valleys. What you would give to run free with him forever.

“She's here,” Seokjin’s voice nearly breaks as he half-rises from his chair, extending an arm to brush his thumb along your cheek. “After so long waiting for my queen, she's finally here.”

“You can see me?” You beg for clarity, but alas, he does not reply.

You pause atop a hill crested with wildflowers, white and pink rivers that cascade down the landscape, tumbling, flowing unbridled and uninhibited. Seokjin is a mere few paces behind you, slowing to appreciate the beauty ahead of you.

“My lord?” The attendant steps forward

“Can you not see her?” Seokjin turns, gesturing to you. “She's right here. She's come back to me after so long,” and there's so much fondness, so much promise in his voice that you know, just know that things will be okay. You will right every wrong, fight every demon- “I have missed her dearly.”

“I've missed you too,” you choke. “With every bone in my body I have missed you; I have been walking for days, Seokjin, I'm so sorry-”

It is then that your horse nickers and tenses, rearing without warning and whinnying like the devil himself. He panics, lashing and whirling about, and you can only hold on for so long before you are thrown from his back like a rock from a slingshot.

Seokjin is screaming. You have never heard him scream like that before, a sound that seems to so purely channel fear and terror and anguish, all in one. He is a roaring fury, knife drawn from his belt, and he beheads the snake lying hidden in one fluid motion before dropping to his knees at your side. His shoulders shake as he weeps, cradling your body to his as your eyes roll back in your head and you cough, frame shuddering, barely conscious.

“Sire, there is nobody there,” The attendant says, as softly, carefully as he can.

“Don't leave me,” he’s sobbing, over and over. “This is all my fucking fault, I'm so sorry, so so sorry-”

“My love,” you whisper, fingers brushing the inside of his palm. It is all the strength you can muster. “I will have gone a thousand years, but to still find your eyes imprinted on the breath of my soul.”

He’s whimpering, blubbering, desperate, screaming for help. Screaming and screaming, but there is no one to stop the ceaseless flow of blood, and your final act of life is to stain the sleeves of his riding jacket crimson where it lies comfortable across the breadth of your shoulders.

“I have never forgotten you,” he exhales. “It has been sixty years and not one day have I gone without envisioning your face in my hands, beautiful.”

“I’ll fix this,” you promise, but it's starting to fall into place now, why everything around you is falling apart. “I'll help fix the kingdom if you would just tell me what's wrong, Seokjin. Please, I want to help. Tell me what I can do.”

“I have loved you perhaps too much,” his voice cracks, wobbles with ache. “I've neglected these people, our people. I say our people because you have always been my queen; I have never taken another; there is no one who is worthy of replacing you.”

“Perhaps you should retire for the night, my king. You've had a long and tiresome day,” The attendant tries to coax Seokjin, but he pays the servant no mind.

“You're here in this moment for a reason, my sweet. You're here and we will fix this, I promise you,” Seokjin is nearly begging, the urgency in his voice bleeding scarlet. He rushes forward towards you. “We will fix this together-”

“Seokjin, my love-” You rush towards him with the same intensity, but your hand passes through his chest, and suddenly you are staring up at him, and his eyes are blank, unseeing.

The attendant clears his throat. “Your Majesty, there is no one there, sir. It is merely a draft.”

“I want to help you,” you plead, fingers tracing his sternum, his ribs, his heart. “I'm here, Seokjin. I'm here, right in front of you; I'm here. Believe in me. Believe in us; believe in love as I have believed in love. Please.”

The once-legendary prince, now dishonorable king looks out over a barren, desolate throne room as a zephyr of cold brushes icy digits down his shoulder, along his chest. “Ah,” he utters, sounding exhausted all at once. “I believe you're right.” A small chuckle parses his lips. “What am I saying? Perhaps I shall retire for the night, yes.” He pauses. “Goodnight, Yoongi.”

“Goodnight, my lord.”

“Yoongi?”

“Yes, my king?”

“Start keeping the fire burning in the hearth. It's too drafty in this hall in the evenings.”

“Yes, Your Majesty. Sleep well.”

“You as well, my faithful servant.”

#bts #bts angst #bts fluff #kpop angst #kpop fluff #seokjin angst #seokjin fluff #kpop fanfiction #bts au #verses and vibes #outroshooky

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sketchian-anthonym · 6 years ago

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A Brief About Steel Roofing

Steel roofing is a kind of metal roofing similar to roofs made of zinc, aluminum, terna, etc. They are lightweight and easy to install when compared to slate roofing or other conventional roof systems. Steel, stainless steel, galvalumine steel, galvanized zinc coated steel and some other high quality grades of steel are used for making this kind of roof material. These roofing sheets are available in forms such as box profile, cladding sheets, alloy sheets, stainless sheets, corrugated sheets, single skin steel cladding, double skin steel cladding, and sheets coated with materials like polyester. Some of these roofing materials are useful for covering walls of buildings such as warehouses, factories or other commercial buildings.You may want to check out roof slates for more.

Stainless steel for roofing is widely used in commercial buildings, offices, domestic buildings as they can attain shapes required in modern architecture, which involves lot of glass unlike traditional roofing. Stainless steel has better anti corrosive properties. However, they are costlier than some other roofing systems. The stainless steel alloys roofs are even more durable, corrosion resistant, and thermal efficient.

Agri -steel cladding is the cheapest steel roofs widely used in agricultural buildings. Stone coated steel roofing has more strength and they can resist hailstones better. Steel roofs are easier to maneuver due to its metallic properties. With good color coats, steel shingles or tiles have similar looks to that of other conventional shingles. Interlocking steel shingles need a shorter period to install due to pre fabricated interlock able sections. They will give a better finishing look than even conventional shingles. It will not crack, lift, warp or rot. Steel shingles with stone coating has aesthetic looks and strength.

Steel roofing is lightweight when compared to slate, tile, or concrete roofs. It does not require additional structural support for accommodating load unlike heavier counterparts. It reflects harmful radiations. It is fire resistant and can withstand changing weather conditions. It does not allow sedimentation of snow. It does not support growth of algae or mold. Composite steel panels or steel sheets with insulation can prevent the condensation, which normally occurs in skin steel roofing. With good insulation, this roofing can achieve better thermal efficiency as well as noise control.

Steel roofing requires screws or other fasteners to fix them tight to the supporting structure. Some part of corrugated steel or box type of steel over laps with each other during fixing. Installation cost of these roofs depends upon the architectural features of the building. Normal steel roofs require zinc coating, or high quality paint or some other chemicals to prevent it from rusting. Generally, cost of these roofs depends upon style, profile type, color, type of paint, complexity associated with roof design etc. Galvanized corrugated cladding or box profile steel sheets are cheaper, compared to other steel grade varieties. For replacing conventional roofs, this kind of roofing is a low cost alternative. They require low annual maintenance. You can avail guarantee for the roofs while buying it. They are environmental friendly as steel is 100% recyclable and they might last up to 50 years or more.

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villageandcottage · 3 years ago

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How Thick Are Stone Cottage Walls?

A stone cottage has an undeniable charm, and many people will not settle for anything less. Because of this, stone cottages appear to have withstood the test of time. Perhaps the rocks themselves exude this timeless serenity. When natural, ancient materials are used in construction, it appears as if the house has always been there.

Moreover, a stone cottage will outlast any other type of building by many decades, if not centuries. Stone is the undisputed king of building materials due to its timeless elegance, durability, and widespread appeal.

How Thick Is A Stone Wall?

A stone wall is about 18 inches thick and is built as a single row. The thickness may vary slightly based on the type of stone used and their layering technique. For instance, older cottages were built using boulder stones, and modern-day cottages were built using quarry stones.

Boulders have an uneven shape, and the gaps in the wall were filled with smaller stones along with the binding motor. However, quarry stones have a better-defined shape and offer greater control over the size and thickness of the wall.

Also, the walls are slightly thicker at the bottom and gradually thin out as they reach the top. Doing so allows the wall to have a stronger foundation. If the stone wall is built using a double-row technique with motor filling in between, the thickness of the wall increases significantly. There is no need for such an elaborate framework with a thatched roof.

Do Stone Cottages Retain Heat?

Heat tends to be absorbed and retained by solid stone walls. Usually, due to the thickness of the walls, there is not enough moisture present on the inside surface of the wall to pose a threat. As a result, the walls may keep the building warm in the winter and cool in the summer.

The construction of stone-faced cavity walls is similar to brick-faced cavity walls. Since it is frequently impossible to get pieces of stone that are regularly proportioned and have a thickness comparable to a conventional brick, the exterior portion of the wall is typically thicker when made of stone.

The wall cavity will add to the wall’s weather resistance, helping keep water from penetrating the wall’s interior and providing a small amount of thermal resistance. The cavity’s insulation will help cut down on heat loss even more. Even when utilizing stone facings, it is common practice to include a moisture-proof course in cavity walls.

Stone Wall Thickness In Mm

The construction of buildings has long employed stone, in all its varied forms, as a conventional building material. Historically, structures made of stone had thick, solid walls that were frequently at least 500mm thick (more than 18 inches).

Walls Made of Stone

For cavity walls—those with two distinct “skins” stitched together by some type of wall tie—stone has more recently been utilized as the exterior face. Typically, the stone used in construction came from sources close to the building.

There are various typical ways to build with stone:

Sturdy building with a combination of a) a disorganized layout of the stones, b) the use of exposed stones arranged in even horizontal courses, and c) dressed stone facings set in courses and supported by haphazardly stacked stones

Stone is laid in uniform horizontal courses on the exterior face of the wall in a cavity-based building method. Another variant is to utilize reconstituted stone blocks instead of the more typical brickwork as the front for cavity walls. Traditional timber framing occasionally uses the stone as an infill when the main framework is exposed externally.

A solid wall’s performance as a structural element is unaffected by its construction type (coursed stone, random stone, dressed stone, etc.). The exact construction technique was probably determined by regional customs, the accessibility of materials, and the period during which the building was built.

Historically, the lime mortar was used to build solid stone walls; if internal plastering was used, it was also lime-based. The mortar made of lime is porous and adaptable. When it rains, moisture is easily absorbed by the mortar and can evaporate away, leaving the wall rather dry.

Most of the time, the walls are thick enough that not enough moisture can penetrate them and produce a problem inside. In contrast, groundwater is typically maintained because evaporation rates are lower than absorption rates. Internal plaster finishes may become unattractive and stained as a result of this. Since the air within the property is still humid, severe moisture can sometimes cause health issues.

A damp proof course was not historically included while building stone walls, but starting in the early 20th century, it became standard procedure. However, a chemical dampproof course injected into a solid stone wall can seldom fully eradicate growing dampness. Still, it will typically lead to a large decrease in the quantity of dampness in the wall.

Typically, the foundation for an older stone wall is little more than a straight line of huge stones set in a shallow trench. These foundations are more susceptible to subsidence and settlement. Lime mortar’s adaptability is a benefit.

Deformation of the wall, if any, will be distributed across several joints, making any subsequent cracks nearly undetectable, even if there is some subtle structural movement. This contrasts with current cement-based mortar, where cracking typically occurs in one or two places and is typically fairly obvious.

Conclusion

The thickness of stone cottage walls has fallen from 3 feet in its older ages to almost 1.6 feet in modern times due to better design techniques and bonding materials. When you pay attention to damp proofing, stone material, and construction technique, you can erect a lovely cottage in a peaceful setting for you and your loved ones to enjoy.

If the construction quality is high, it will endure for centuries with just modest repairs. Modern insulation techniques also aid in keeping temperatures at ideal levels in most circumstances.

source https://villageandcottage.com/cottages/how-thick-are-stone-cottage-walls/

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masterroofers · 3 years ago

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What Are The Benefits Of Steel Deck For Roofing?

Steel deck material has the most competitive price of house roofing building materials. Wooden tiles, clay tiles, slate, the price per m2 of these roofing products is high.

The choice of steel deck roofing is economical. Prices vary depending on the technology (single skin, double skin, double skin with added insulation, sandwich steel deck). This price does not include the price of the labor of the roofer for the installation of the cover.

The steel deck roof: is easy to implement:

The steel deck is in plates (2 to 3 m long, 1 m wide). The implementation to cover several tens of m2 of roofing is fast. It is shorter than a tiled roof. The fixings of the plates for steel deck roofing are invisible.

The roofer installs insulation under the roof to reduce the phenomenon of condensation. Each steel deck panel is light (5 kilos per m2), and handling by the roofer is easier. The lightness of the steel deck allows it to be placed as a cladding plate on the exterior walls of a house.

Models of steel deck roofs with integrated insulation:

The thermal conductivity of a single-skin steel deck sheet is high (provide roof insulation). To improve thermal and sound insulation, opt for sandwich steel deck panels.

The sandwich steel deck panel consists of an outer skin and an inner facing. The sandwiched insulation is of variable thickness to choose from (from 30 to 120 mm).

The very good sealing of a steel deck roof prevents moisture from remaining on the roof. It is a factor of rapid drying and thermal insulation of the house.

Get in touch with us at master-roofers. Com. You will quickly obtain a detailed estimate for your steel deck roofing project.

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ismartwebsystem · 4 years ago

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How to improve the efficiency of heat recovery ventilation systems

In several buildings, a Heat recovery mechanical system is the first or second item in terms of energy prices. Here we deal with improvement tips and energy potency savings in heat recovery ventilation systems of a building. Heating recovery ventilation systems are used once when the surface temperature drops below an exact comfort threshold. The heat recovery systems are used in extremely cold countries like New Zealand, etc. In those counties, the entire home ventilation system consists of heat recovery ventilation systems. This helps to maintain heat and provide comfort even it's cold outside.

Reducing heat losses:

The home ventilation systems can produce both heat and cold depending on our needs. Depending on the extent of and variation within the outside temperature, ventilation systems maintain the temperature at a snug level. In constant operation, these systems add or take away the precise quantity of warmth necessary to atone for heat losses from the building. The first step is to reduce these losses. To do this, it's the potential to design the external walls to limit and dissipation by radiation. Insulate the roof. Use doors and windows with heat insulation like double glazing, insulated doors, etc. Treat cold bridges like door and window frames, supporting structures like pillars or beams, etc. Provide screens shutters to scale back losses through openings. Adapt sun-screening devices to avoid radiation once cooling is needed.

Avoiding improper use:

Three tips to avoid improper use of home ventilation systems are as follows. For all buildings like housing industrial, industrial, or body activities, a temperature of 20°C to 22°C mustn't be exceeded throughout heating periods. Temperature settings are essentially higher in hospitals and health centers. Whereas colder close temperatures are potential in gymnasiums and sports halls. Stop or limit the opening of windows both throughout cold spells and warmth waves. Close the windows nearing the individual heating systems. Don't heat, or if necessary, maintain simply on top of freeze, unoccupied, or part-occupied buildings (storage and repair areas). For individual offices, rooms, etc., it's potential to manage the operation of native heating, or the opening of air vents, by a presence detector.

Heat Pumps:

Heat pumps are an essential part of home ventilation systems. Heat pumps are often used together with a boiler, with the sort used betting on the warmth supply. The heat supply could also be the encompassing air. However, during this case, the pump can't be used effectively below an explicit temperature. “Air-water” or “air-air” heat pumps are most often utilized in mid-season, with the boiler absorbing throughout the coldest periods. The heat supply may additionally be subterranean water, wherever offered. The warmth pumps in this case of the “water-water” kind and has a way larger vary of use, as they're not restricted by the skin temperature. The potency of a setup is measured by its constant of performance (COP). That is the quantitative relation of the thermal energy delivered beneath nominative temperature conditions to the voltage consumed by the mechanical device.

Bottom line:

In traditional operation, all the premises that are used should be at a snug temperature. For periods once the buildings aren't being employed like nights, weekends, holidays, the temperature is down by many degrees. A minimum temperature simply on top of state change should be maintained well to avoid harm to buildings and their contents. The heating should retain many hours before the occupants arrive, and it's going to equally be changed before they leave. It's extremely worthy to fine-tune these periods, even with a short-lived slight drop in the amount of comfort. Therefore, avoid heating unused rooms or rooms that are solely used intermittently.

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architectnews · 4 years ago

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Shizikou Relics Environmental Conservation and Extension

Shizikou Relics Environmental Conservation and Extension, Suzhou Building, Architecture Photos

Shizikou Relics Environmental Conservation and Extension, Suzhou

3 September 2021

Design: LACIME Architects

Location: East of Cangjie, Ganjiang North Road, Gusu District, Suzhou, China

“SHIZIKOU” Relics Environmental Conservation and Extension, Suzhou

Photos by CreatAR Images

Shizikou Relics Environmental Conservation and Extension, Suzhou, China

Environment: vestige of time

East of Cangjie, Suzhou, stands “Shizikou (Lion Mouth)” prison that used to be one of the three major prisons during the Republic of China, and it is only one block away from Pingjiang Road, a famous historical and cultural street. The KMT brought a charge against the “Seven Gentlemen” in 1937, for which Soong Ching-ling, He Xiangning and Hu Yuzhi launched the campaign of “save the country and go to prison”. In addition, Chen Gongbo, Chu Minyi, Miao Bin and other prisoners were executed by firing squad here, and Chen Bijun, the wife of Wang Jingwei, was also jailed here.

Now there only remains an office building of the Republic of China and a section of the prison wall. New paint gradually peels over the years, leaving the grey-brick wall of the Republic of China exposed. The influence of western culture on Chinese architecture can be obviously found in this two-storey double-pitched building. Former settlements east and north of the site are reduced to the dilapidated wall, and a new Jiangnan-style street will be built here.

Original purpose: making memories last

A place is the presentation of spatial significance in different environments, but such significance is created primarily depending on people’s collective memory of space or place. For residents in Suzhou, open and inclusive spaces formed by streets and courtyards are their common memory as well as a spatial image of their hometown.

There are a few places with collective memory for local residents of several generations within the site. The office building and wall show the original ambience of the site. From a historical and public perspective, designers intend to preserve them for the benefit of later generations, stimulate the potential of the site without ruining historic value of the original building, inherit the spirit of the site and redefine it.

Space: a dialogue between the new and old

There is a century-old cypress nearby the old building, and it has witnessed the history of over 100 years. Inspired by the “sundial in space”, architects develop an initial idea of overall layout: with the old cypress as the axis, it forms a continuous space that establishes an effective dialogue with surrounding environment, makes up a centripetal inner yard and opens a “window” to the city square on the south side and subway entrance/exit. It facilitates a dialogue between modern urban life and historical building.

The exhibition hall extension serves to link office building, old cypress and external space. It is temporal extension and growth of office building, as original architectural features can easily be seen in the extension, yet they retain proper independence. The new-old visual impact is weakened so that a new entirety emerges. New and old buildings are superimposed and juxtaposed in the same time and space.

Form: sameness in diversity

The roof of new building begins to grow in the direction of the office building’s ridge line. Based on the original double-pitched roof, it splits, rotates and merges like brushstrokes, and then it reaches the southern entry with a different shape. As the ridge line is eliminated through the fading surface, the double-pitched roof of the Republic of China is finally transformed into Suzhou-style single-pitched surface. The new building also becomes a transition from the style of the Republic of China to traditional Suzhou-style.

We make the roof’s ridge line the sole input element affecting roof forms by parametric control; when rotation angle of the ridge line is adjusted, we can observe roof form change and its relationship with office building’s roof any time. In this process, we can easily find the conflict between concepts and applications and work out the best balance for them.

The project is situated at one corner of Suzhou Yanlord Cangjie Commercial Plaza, and its changing corner design allows people to feel the power of space twisting when the line of sight shifts. The topological change in roof form translates the double-pitched roof of the Republic of China into a curved roof, which combines architectural styles of different ages and also offers a special fifth façade.

From roof to wall, designers always try to make the typical image of the city abstract and convey hereditary form and space through different materials and forms. The new building façade “borrows” the office building’s original façade form, and it is applied to the extension by typological method. It is lexical expression in the same sentence in different eras.

Materials: same structure with different textures

Grey bricks are used for old building revocation in this project; ceramic bricks are applied to the façade of the extension, which is consistent with grey-brick texture of the office building’s facade and brings a new tactile sense. It presents a new image of the site and arouses people’s dormant memories at the same time. Brick and tile texture starts from the roof to the ground, creating an elegant and tranquil space.

The circular-arc glass bricks at the entrance obscure the spatial relationship between the office building (inside) and square (outside), which serves to recall the history, reflect modern life and expect the future. From grey brick to ceramic brick to glass brick, the extension has achieved an inheritance and continuity in the old building’s texture.

Structure: skin-skeleton combination

The interpretation of the concept relies on perfect combination of the “structure” (skeleton) and “curtain wall” (skin). To match new roof form of the extension, designers adopt mixed structure.

The main part of the extended exhibition hall adopts reinforced concrete structure along with the use of steel truss structure for the entry. The steel truss well fits the roof shape to attain the roof system with maximum span of 21m and height at 700mm.

The sloped glass brick wall suggests the existence of sloped inner yard as well as a shift of the new and old in time and space. To realize design ideas in a standardized way, we first optimize curved surface by changing three-dimensional curved surface into single one, then arrange steel plate in every 12 rows of glass bricks at the height of 7.8m, and finally control the setback of glass brick wall together with the truss and vertical frame behind the steel plate. Meanwhile, it provides support for the pileup of glass bricks in every row.

Steel tie bars are put between steel plates to connect glass bricks in interwoven arrangement. We set up an arc-shaped glass curtain wall inside glass brick wall to avoid gluing, which ensures air tightness and heat insulation of the building and also creates a pure and neat façade.

Thanks to the optimization of curved surface form, the building structure and curtain wall members are perfectly integrated, which is a perfect combination of the “skin” and “skeleton”.

Function: new type

The trail of history is still in the museum, but dynamic in life. Activities related to people’s daily lives are happening here all the time, which is the same with the past and future. New functions are added to keep the site alive.

The former site of new office building that is open to the public will be converted into Cangjie History & Culture Exhibition Hall, and results of new plan will be showcased at the extension. After Yanlord Cangjie is put into commercial operation, it becomes a specialty restaurant and an attractive destination together with the exhibition hall. The original ambience of the site is inherited with new functions.

Shizikou Relics Environmental Conservation and Extension, Suzhou – Building Information

Name丨“SHIZIKOU” Relics Environmental Conservation and Extension Location 丨East of Cangjie, Ganjiang North Road, Gusu District, Suzhou Owner丨Suzhou Peninsula Yanlord Real Estate Co., Ltd.

Architects丨Lacime Architects Lead Architect丨Song Zhaoqing, Cen Ling Project manager丨Chu Ziyuan Technical director丨Guo Dan Design team丨Zhao Xiaoxue, Liu Zehua, Chen Dandan, Wu Wenqi, Zhu Xiaolei, Wang Yuge, Yu Xin, Gao Yaqun Graphic design丨Chen Shiyun, Qiao Ling, Wen Haikuan Live scene composition丨Peng Atelier Construction drawing design丨Suzhou Urban Development Architectural Design Institute Co., Ltd. Landscape design丨Cicada Landscape Architecture Landscape construction drawing design丨Suzhou Z-land Architectural & Landscape Design Co., Ltd. Curtain wall design丨Shanghai CIMA Engineering Consulting Co., Ltd. Interior design 丨Shenzhen Horizontal Space Design Co., Ltd. Interior construction drawing design 丨Shenzhen Horizontal Space Design Co., Ltd. Interior construction 丨Nanjing Rensheng Building & Decoration Design Co., Ltd. Civil construction丨Zhongyifeng Construction Group Co., Ltd. Curtain wall construction丨Shanghai Kesheng Curtain Wall Co., Ltd. Landscape construction丨Zhejiang Xinsheng Landscaping Engineering Co., Ltd.

Floor area 丨2866.71m² Completion time丨July 2020

Architectural photography 丨CreatAR Images

Shizikou Relics Environmental Conservation and Extension, Suzhou Building images / information from LACIME Architects

Location: East of Cangjie, Ganjiang North Rd, Gusu, Suzhou, China

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