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leiawritesstories · 3 years

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Another Place

Nessian Week, Day 5: Alternate Universe (AU) Day

Yes, I took the prompt literally. ;)

Word count: 2914

Warnings: fuzzy science, fuzzy space mumbo jumbo, language

Skye Penderwick belongs to Jeanne Birdsall. All other characters belong to SJM.

@nessianweek

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“I’m heading out, Doctor.”

Dr. Nesta Archeron, who held a PhD in astrophysics, looked up from her desk. “All right, Skye, thanks for everything. See you tomorrow?”

“Absolutely. Don’t forget to sleep, Dr. Arch!”

“Never do, Dr. Pen!”

The other astrophysicist’s snort of laughter floated down the hall. “Yeah, right.”

Fine, maybe there were nights when Nesta stayed up into the wee hours of the morning, scribbling calculations on the chalkboards and in her notes, combing through theories of all the great scientists before her, adding bits and pieces to her own theory, and generally ruining her sleep schedule with badly timed, random “a-ha!” moments. But to be fair, seven years of developing a theory of alternate universes would do that to a person.

Seven years ago, she’d run across an anomaly on a deep-space image that didn’t match anything ever recorded or observed by any scientist, ever. And yet it was small enough that most scientists could easily overlook it; it blended into the edge of the nebula that was the focus of the image. Nesta had noticed it, though, and that small imperfection, the wrinkle in the darkness of space, rooted into her mind and stayed there, leading her to question what the hell that blur was and why the hell it was there.

Which in turn led her down the murky rabbit hole of various theories of wormholes and other flaws in space-time, none of which aligned with her observations. And then down the even murkier rabbit hole of theories (of varying degrees of coherence) of parallel and alternate universes. The alternate universe idea in particular intrigued Nesta, and she spent weeks researching every bit of information available, noting how it lined up with her observations, and finally coming to a realization that this image her team had captured could serve as visible, concrete evidence in favor of a theory of alternate universes.

She’d drafted the first bit of her theory and formed a small team to develop it by the next morning.

After five years, countless different images of the anomaly, multiple variations on complex equations, much screaming, and three lifetimes’ worth of coffee, Dr. Nesta Archeron hit a wall.

Literally and figuratively.

Because when she ran into what seemed like an insurmountable block, she punched the nearest wall as hard as possible.

The cracks still radiated across one wall of her lab.

That block, and her efforts to break through it, introduced her to Dr. Skye Penderwick, a brilliant American astrophysicist who, coincidentally, also happened to be fascinated by the theory of alternate universes, despite having no theory of her own. She’d been working at the same facility as Nesta for several months before the two actually met, and within days of Nesta inviting her into her lab, she’d proposed a potential solution to the Archeron team’s roadblock.

It worked.

Nesta offered her a collaborator position that very day. Skye accepted.

Two years later, they were on the edge of breakthrough. Both of them knew it. Both of them saw clearly where their calculations, their notes, their carefully chronicled, detailed observations of the motion of the anomaly, and their years of hard work were leading. The theory Nesta so elegantly posited was nearly complete. All the two self-described space nerds needed was something, anything, to hint beyond scientific explanation that on the other side of that anomaly laid an alternate Earth.

Unfortunately, that something hadn’t shown up quite yet.

For, despite all the remarkable achievements of space science--lightspeed travel, quantum leaping, imaging software capable of capturing formations’ minute details, even the discovery of other habitable planets in faraway galaxies--nobody had yet been able to present a coherent, plausible theory of an alternate universe.

Yet.

Sighing, Nesta pushed back from her desk and walked to the back of her laboratory. She placed her index finger in a barely visible indent in the pristine white wall. A panel slid silently open, revealing a space illuminated by a soft blue glow. A nondescript grey-and-cobalt pressure suit hung neatly in a glass case. Nudging the panel closed, Nesta opened the case and removed the pressure suit.

Hers.

For her…uncatalogued trips. Trips to the station her team had planted by the anomaly.

Trips which Nesta took regularly. She couldn’t risk any of her team traveling; each and every one of them was needed in the lab. No, it was her job and hers alone to make a regular leap to the station, check on their telescopes, and observe the anomaly up close.

She’d never tried to cross it. Not that she believed there was no passage; in fact, she’d painstakingly detailed the fascinatingly inexplicable illusion of a gap that appeared once every year, and had always failed to conclude if there truly was a gap.

Hence tonight’s little jaunt to the station. That gap had just appeared, and since it only showed for sixty hours, she had to go now.

So Dr. Nesta Archeron slid into her pressure suit, fastened the sleek boots and gloves, programmed the correct coordinates into the screen built into the underside of the suit’s left forearm, locked on her helmet, and keyed in the quantum leap sequence.

A blink later, she stood on the steel tiles of her team’s small, simple station deep in the reaches of outer space. Removing her helmet, Nesta allowed herself exactly three minutes to drink in the wonders of deep space.

Then she set the station’s timers for forty-eight hours, sat at the control panel, and piloted her space station/highly advanced spaceship into the gap in the universe.

For it was indeed a gap.

Commander Cassian Ilnair released the cockpit hatch of his sleek “interstellar exploration transport,” or, as he called her, the Millenium Falcon. Bloody government and their bloody idiotic pompous names for spaceships. That’s all it was, a spaceship, albeit a highly advanced, highly adaptable one that had carried him and up to four crew safely across nearly every corner of the universe and back to Earth.

Pulling his flight helmet off, he shook out his unruly shoulder-length hair, half- unzipped his navy blue pressure suit, and started postflight checks.

“She’ll need to be refueled and the usual before she travels again, but other than that, good as new,” he reported to his CO, a woman five feet tall if she was an inch whose impeccable, formidable exploration resumé and take-no-bullshit demeanor made up for her diminutive height.

“Excellent, Commander. I expect a full report on Disturbance AS-2947C by noon.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Cassian saluted.

“Dismissed.”

As he headed for the shower, Cass stole a glance at his wrist screen, which showed eight-fifteen a.m. Damn space time, he grumbled to himself, throws off my goddamn body clock. Luckily, he’d noted no significant change in that particular disturbance since the last time he visited it two weeks ago. That’d make his report much easier, indeed.

Sure, the disturbance was rippling ever so slightly, but it did that every year at this time and had been doing so since it appeared exactly seven years ago.

Not a single scientist in all the ranks of the space force could provide a plausible explanation, or even a cohesive theory.

Disturbance AS-2947C was just that, a disturbance. A puzzling, inexplicable snag in the fabric of space time that had just appeared one day and sat around for seven years, following a routine path of motion but not really moving anywhere, just pulsing, and showing a ripple for exactly sixty hours exactly once per year.

Cassian knew his brilliant astrophysicist friend Dr. Emerie Nguyen was developing a theory that AS-2947C was a wormhole, but so far she hadn’t found any evidence to support there being another side to it. So far, all Emerie could say was that this disturbance could very well be the concrete evidence of stable wormholes she and every other member of the space sciences sector had been chasing for years. And yet they were still chasing it.

He quickly showered and changed into his everyday uniform, slipped his wristband back on, and drew up a quick set of notes for the commodore. At exactly two minutes before noon, he knocked on her office door.

“Enter.”

Cassian stepped into the office, closed the door, and saluted. “Ma’am.”

“At ease, Commander. I believe you’re early today.”

“Some days I try to be punctual, Commodore.”

“I see.” She motioned to the west wall. “Report, Commander.”

Tapping three fingers twice against the wall, Cassian swiped an image from his tablet onto the wall, which doubled as a presentation screen.

“Today’s imaging of Disturbance AS-2947C shows no remarkable differences from the last set. The formation has not morphed or shifted noticeably in any direction.” He swiped to a new image. “The annual irregularity in the approximate center of the disturbance appeared on schedule roughly three hours before we arrived, making it now roughly seven hours visible.”

“Any notable observations about the irregularity?”

“No, Commodore. The irregularity is behaving exactly like it has for the six years we’ve observed it. It merely appears as what looks to be the illusion of a gap, holds steady for sixty hours, and disappears. We have never been able to decipher if the irregularity is in fact a gap or if it is simply a change in the observed color.”

“Have you never attempted to pilot your craft towards this irregularity?”

Cassian swallowed. “With all due respect, Commodore, yes. I believe you are familiar with the deep-space engine failure incident of last year?”

“I am.”

“That was my attempt to discover more about the irregularity.”

“Ah.” The commodore tilted her head, her eyes calculating. “Though I never did hear the pilot’s explanation of this failure.”

“First, may I ask what the engineers’ conclusion was?”

“The engineers concluded that the engine failure, which somehow you managed to prevent from becoming catastrophic, was the result of a power failure caused by the change in the conditions of space within the disturbance. They informed me that the engine short-circuited when your craft entered the boundary of the disturbance, but they could not explain or even theorize why.”

Cassian nodded. “I can theorize why. Commodore, I believe the power failed because, simply put, the way we fuel our crafts does not exist within the disturbance.”

“Are you implying that neither solar nor stellar energy exists within AS-2947C?”

“Yes, ma’am, I am. The instant I entered that region, my engines went completely silent. I had no time to observe anything else, as my immediate reaction was to reverse course and exit, lest I risk total craft failure and being stranded in the deepest parts of space. My craft regained power once outside the disturbance region, and I made it back, despite one of my engines being nonfunctional. As I’ve thought about it over the months, I can only come to the conclusion that the power cut off because there was no available power source.”

Commodore Amren considered Cass’s explanation. “It is logical, and it would explain why the engineers could not determine the cause of the failure. Power source failure, when rectified immediately, leaves behind no visible evidence within the engines of our craft.”

“Commodore, I still want to enter the disturbance. I believe that a craft carrying physical fuel could safely enter the region.”

“Physical fuel became obsolete decades ago, Commander.”

“And yet we still have stores. This is why. We knew there was a chance some mission might need to use fuel rather than energy to power its craft. This is that mission.”

“Commander, I’m afraid I cannot give you clearance to enter the disturbance. Not at the moment, at least. You know the regulations.”

Cassian sighed. “Right, right, seven days between active pilot duty.”

“There is one thing I can do, if you wish.”

“Tell me?”

“You may take a small stationary craft to the observation point. Stations do not qualify as actively piloted craft. I can assign you a seventy-two-hour observation mission, which will allow you to be as close to Disturbance AS-2947C as possible without endangering yourself or your craft, and also will allow you to report any noteworthy changes. Acceptable?”

“Accepted, ma’am. Thank you.”

The commodore nodded once. “I’ll get the assignment written up now. Prepare for launch at 1600 hours.”

Cassian snapped a salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Dismissed.”

Four hours later, Cassian’s small observation stationcraft left Earth’s atmosphere, set its destination coordinates, and blinked away into a quantum leap, arriving at the observation point in mere seconds.

Arrived at destination, the cool, mechanical autopilot voice announced. Artificial gravity effective in sixty seconds.

Cassian sat back, checking his harness. All secure.

Artificial gravity in effect.

Unbuckling, he stood up, pulled off his helmet, and walked to the windows, staring into the fascinating mystery of Disturbance AS-2947C. The irregularity rippled, gently, like he’d seen it do before, taunting him with the possibility of something on the other side. He stood there barely thinking, just marveling at the sight of this enigmatic corner of deep space.

And then the irregularity expanded. And a craft like nothing he’d ever seen flew out.

Nesta hadn’t known whether she was sane when she flew into the gap. Hell, she hadn’t known if she was thinking, let alone doing. If wormhole theory meant anything, then she’d expected a moment of terrifying flight through stark blackness that ended in her ship landing in some other, possibly uncharted, part of the universe.

She hadn’t been expecting to see an alien station.

But there it was.

The gap was a tunnel of sorts. And at the other end was a station Nesta didn’t recognize.

She directed her ship around the foreign station, intending to capture images for examination in her lab. But before she could key in the command to the ship’s cameras, her radio cracked with static. And then someone spoke.

“Who the hell are you?”

Nesta stared at the receiver, then dragged her gaze to the station. Standing in what looked like an observation deck was a man wearing a pressure suit and boots, holding a comm device to his mouth.

“I repeat, who the hell are you?”

“You tell me first. And while you’re at it, what the hell is that station you’re in?”

“It’s a standard observation craft, of course. Unlike whatever alien craft you’re flying.”

“This is a typical exploration ship, you coarse, callous idiot.”

“Like fuck it is.”

“What’s the matter, never seen a woman fly a real ship before?”

“Never seen that particular ship before in my entire life as a pilot. Or in any of my texts.”

“You’re telling me this very real ship I’m flying doesn’t exist?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Then--” Nesta’s eyes widened in shock. “Pilot, may I have your name and credentials?”

“Commander Cassian Ilnair, Earth’s space force.”

“Earth’s space force,” Nesta muttered to herself, scanning through her mind for anything related to that name. Nothing. And then it hit her.

“Commander Ilnair, who leads your nation?”

“My nation?” He seemed confused by the word. “Nations melded into a global government centuries ago. President Amarantha currently heads the Global Council.”

A look of wonder crossed Nesta’s face. “It’s true…it’s true. I can’t believe it.”

“Believe what?”

“Commander, my name is Dr. Nesta Archeron. I’m from an alternate Earth.”

The man standing in the unfamiliar station dropped his comm device. And stared.

“Permission to attempt to dock at your station? We have some items to discuss.”

He sat down on the deck floor and picked up his radio. “Granted, if you can.”

Nesta flew a slow lap around the station, noticing two docking ports, both with airlocks that seemed oddly familiar. Hmm, she thought, airlock design is clearly universal. Aiming for the port closer to the observation deck, she carefully guided her ship into the space and sighed in relief when the hatch clicked into place with the station’s airlock.

“Connect the airlock to my ship, if you would?”

“What’s the magic word, Dr. Archeron?” Nesta swore she could hear his damn smirk.

“Please connect your airlock to my ship so I can explain myself.”

“Of course.”

Less than two minutes later, Nesta heard the familiar hiss of an airlock sealing into place around her ship’s hatch.

“Clear for exit, Dr. Archeron.”

“Thank you, Commander.”

Nesta placed her tablet and several images into her pack, slung it over her shoulder, released her exit hatch, and swiftly ascended the ladder into the station. The moment her head cleared, she was looking around, mentally cataloguing every detail of the spacecraft. It was basic, functional, only containing living quarters and an observation lab.

“Whenever you’re done gaping, Doctor, we can talk.”

Nesta turned to face the commander, who was leaning against a wall just outside the airlock. “There is a difference between observing and gaping, pilot, not that you would know.”

A cocky grin crept across his face. “Naturally, I’m just one of the best pilots in the universe, I wouldn’t know.”

“Your universe,” she corrected.

“What?”

“Your universe, Commander Ilnair. Or has your tiny brain already forgotten what I said about being from an alternate universe?”

He shook his head. “Right. Sorry, I’m still trying to process that.”

“As am I. Show me to the lab?”

“Not much to show, but follow me.” He led her down a short hallway onto the observation deck and laboratory, clearly the main space of the station. “Here we are. I believe you mentioned something about explaining yourself?”

“I did.”

He gestured toward her. “Go ahead.”

So she did.

#my writing #nessian week #alternate universe #enjoy

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dragon-swords-prophecies · 3 years

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Frost & Fire: Update!

Frost & Fire draft 0 is officially over 10,000 words!!!!!!!!!!!

Yay!!!!!!!

Taglist so they can share in this very good news: @gr3y-heron @golden-eyed-writer @writing-is-a-martial-art @magic-is-something-we-create

Also in celebration:

Excerpt time!

Below the cut is an (Unedited, so you are warned and I am sorry) excerpt from Chapter 7, in which Zerve has finally showed up and now I get to write them except it isn't going as well as anyone hoped, Dash & Ana are fighting, and also there is the slight problem with a dragon who wants to take over the world.

Word Count: 819

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Ana went pale. My father looked almost transparent, so much blood had left his face.

Cerea mouthed, 'oh', eyes widening until they were as big as saucers.

That person, in the armor, with silver and black hair, was quite possibly my sibling.

"Uh," I said after a long moment. "You wouldn't happen to be the Zerve Galendel that died 450 years ago, would you?"

"Why do you ask? And I am certainly not dead."

"Because," I sighed. "My last name is Galendel. And so is hers." I added, pointing at Ana.

"Well shit. You must be my replacements. Pleased to meet you." And they turned on their heel and walked away. Enna groaned, "Lanri save me from proud Elves," and chased after them. I'm not sure what she said to get the Commander to come back but she said something that worked.

Commander Galendel came stalking back, face livid and eyes hard.

"Alright. I'm here only for the sake of our countries mutual survival. Tell me what you need to do and I'll get out and end the awkward family reunion."

Cessari looked at his daughters, who nodded agreement. "Okay then. What we need is plain and simple. We need reinforcements. Halmire can't take on Dizerdrat on her own. We need help. Is Bryn's Army willing to help us?"

"Give me thirty seconds." The Commander spoke quickly into a stone, presumably one modified to cast Message. They got a response seconds later, though the little of the voice I could hear sounded irritated and tired, which made sense. Bryn was far enough away that it was late into the evening there now.

"The Queen says 'Yes, Bryn will help you'. Where do we start?"

"We start with a plan."

-X-X-X-

Thirty minutes later we were all gathered back in the war room, much like we had been two and a half weeks ago. It was more crowded this time, standing room only.

Neither of the previous ambassadors were anywhere to be seen. Seated three people to a side, we were in close quarters around the square table.

Starting with me, on my left was Lei then Theo, on the next side was Ana, Cerea, and my father. The third side held the baron, his closest advisor- Geoff Kraghammer of Der Bulder- and the new commander, Zerve. The final side had Enna, Anne, and Grandfather. Anne didn't strictly have clearance to attend this meeting, but she would sneak in somehow anyway so it was better to have her just here.

Mae probably should have been there, but she wasn't. Only one druid allowed at a meeting. Druid's Council law. Faith and her were probably in the secret passage between this room and Oleski headquarters. I was 100% not supposed to know about that one.

A large map of Aqurah was spread out on the table, with little figures representing each army. One figure stood for 1000 soldiers, approximately. They were the colors of each country, Halmire blue and silver and Bryn black and white.

Qu, the archmage, floated in the corner, still perched on his hand-stool.

And me? I sat in my chair, tossing a small ball of shadows between my fingertips. It was calming. Drew some odd looks from my apparent sibling, but it was calming and I also didn't care.

"So." Said Enna, letting her single word hung in the air.

"What do we do?"

"We figure out where he is planning to strike first."

Enna pulled a dagger out of it's sheathe and stabbed it into the map directly over the Gundar Forest. "Here. It's the last great stronghold of the elves, and he knows that if that's destroyed we loose all military support from them. Then he'll hit the Dwarves, probably Der Bulder first and then the other strongholds that are exposed. Finally he'll hit us, and he'll ignore Bryn because it's across the ocean. No offense," She added, glancing at the Commander.

"None taken. Isn't my home country at any rate."

"Right," Enna nodded slowly. "About that-"

"No."

"Okay then. Any idea folks, or are we just letting the person with no proper military experience whatsoever plan out a war?"

Ana laughed. "No, we're just being quiet. I agree with you, we need to warn A'ssh- er, Celmari. Who's going to do that?"

"I will." Said Anne.

"We are not sending anyone alone." Stated the Baron. "Anne, I swear I'm not just saying this because I'm your father, but you are not going alone. Find someone to go with you. This rule stands for everyone, by the way."

"Fine, dad. Theo, want to come help me warn an ancient Elven civilization of impending doom? Someone who speaks Elven would be nice."

"Sure," Said the human. "I could use a good fight."

"Wonderful. And who's going to warn Der Bulder?"

#WIP: Frost & Fire #frost & fire excerpts #if you have feedback please give me feedback (only if you want to though!)#word count update

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caught-in-a-seesaw-stigma · 4 years

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Map of the Soul, Drabble #2

Drabble #2 - A Prom Dress Fit for a Princess

Pairing: Hoseok x reader

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Smut

Word Count: 7K+

Warnings: NSFW 18+ cursing, sexual tension, groping, oral sex (m/f receiving), fingering, suggestive language, protected consensual sex,

“Why can’t we just have a normal theme for Prom?” you scoffed while looking at the garish poster in the hallway. “This theme is totally isolating people who are planning on going to Prom without dates.”

“Costumes aren’t just for couples, sweetheart,” a warm voice mutters behind you. “Must you make everything into an argument?”

You grinned at the playful tone in his voice, but you couldn’t shake the need to validate your argument. You refused to turn around because you knew that the moment you saw that heart-shaped smile, you’d lose any and all conviction in furthering your point.

“I’m just saying that not everyone is going to fit into this theme,” you continued. “What if someone wanted to go alone or in a group? What do those people do for costumes? The only depictions on this poster are couples. That’s very discouraging.”

“What is so discouraging about Romeo & Juliet?” the voice countered. “That’s classic literature and totally your thing.”

“A poor example, at best,” you snorted. “Unless you’re trying to go for a lame teenage romance gone completely wrong. They would not be my first choice in literary couples.”

“Oh yeah?” the voice challenged. “Name one better than Romeo & Juliet. I dare you.”

“The Little Prince and his Rose,” you argued. “Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy! Shrek and Fiona!”

Suddenly, you were whirled around and into the arms of a very handsome and very annoyed boy who was clearly not happy with your examples.

“There is no way I’m painting myself green,” the handsome boy growled. “There are limits to my love, sweetheart.”

“What are you talking about?” you snickered at him. “You were going to be Fiona. I was going to be Shrek. Haven’t you heard of genderbent costumes, Hobi?”

Jung Hoseok rolled his eyes at you as you burst into a fit of giggles imagining him in a green ensemble complete with red wig and golden tiara. Your giggles ceased abruptly as he tugged you into a nook in the hallway and pressed his lips onto yours. It was a simple kiss, but it was enough to shut you up. Before either of you got any ideas about flaunting your PDA in the middle of the high school, Hoseok pulled away and shook his head in mock exasperation. You’d been dating for nearly a year and you still knew exactly what to do and say to get him riled up and pouting.

“You’re always teasing me, sweetheart,” Hoseok whined cutely. “One of these days, I’m going to have to punish you for being so mean to me.”

“I’m sorry, Hobi,” you cooed. “It’s just so much fun to see your feathers all ruffled.”

“No feathers and no sequins,” Hoseok commanded. “Like I said before, I have limits.”

“Fine, then we won’t be Shrek and Fiona,” you relented. “I’m sure we can figure out an amazing costume for Prom. But seriously, honey, the Prom committee should try to make some posters that are more inclusive. Maybe like group or solo costumes?”

“Ok, ok,” Hoseok exclaimed. “I will talk to our marketing person and see if they can make some extra posters. I can’t have the Prom Committee Chair’s girlfriend starting a ruckus over inclusivity.”

“Thank you, my love,” you replied while planting a kiss on his flushed cheek. “Now, let’s get to class. We’re starting a new project in Theatre today.”

Hand in hand, the two of you rushed off to your next class with thoughts of Prom floating around your head. -------------------------------

“This is going to be an amazing project, baby!” Hoseok cheered. “Aren’t you excited?”

“Well, yeah,” you sighed. “But there are just so many options, it’s difficult to choose just one.”

Your Theatre teacher’s words echoed in your mind and you scrolled through the search results on your phone.

Your next project is to create a Fairy Tale Performance. Choose a fairytale, create your own costumes, props, and design a set. You will be performing for the elementary students in about three weeks and you will be graded on your theatrical choices and how the audience reacts to your performance.

“What about Hansel and Gretel?” you suggested. “I think you’d look cute in lederhosen and I can totally pull off wooden clogs and braids.”

“Ewww, pass,” Hoseok winced. “That would require a lot of set design and we’d have to find a witch. I want something that is just for the two of us.”

“Ok, then what about Rapunzel?” you offered. “It might be fun to make a massive braided wig and drape it all over the stage.”

“What is it with you and braids?” Hoseok chuckled. “No, I think we can do better.”

“Well, then you pick something, Hobi,” you huffed. “I’ve already suggested over a dozen different fairy tales. What exactly are you looking for?”

“Something unique,” he smiled. “Something just for us.”

Hand in hand, you were both deep in thought as you arrived at the community theatre to visit Hoseok’s mother. She was the head seamstress in the costume department, and Hoseok started interning as her assistant the summer before his senior year. Throughout his tenure at the theatre, Hoseok gained invaluable knowledge and skills about sewing, costuming, and all things theatre.

“Hello, Mama,” Hoseok chirped as he popped his head into the costume shop. “What are you working on today?”

Hoseok’s mother smiled softly while running layers of fabric through her sewing machine. Yards and yards of colorful silks and satin were draped across her mannequins and you marveled at the scene before you.

“Hello, my son,” Mrs. Jung replied after lifting her needle and cutting away the excess from the garment she was working on. “I’m prepping costumes for the next musical production that is set to start in about a month. It’s going to be a large cast, so I need to have some starter costumes ready for fittings. What about you two? To what do I owe this honor?

“We have a project for our Theatre class,” Hoseok explained. “I was hoping I could convince my wonderful mother to help me make some costumes.”

Mrs. Jung chuckled slightly and walked over to an empty mannequin to drape the newly sewn garment. She began pinning more pieces to the costume and she motioned in your direction to get more pins, which you quickly brought to her.

“Thank you, dear,” she said while pinching your cheek playfully. “It’s so lovely having someone around who helps me instead of demanding more work in my already busy schedule.”

“Mama,” Hoseok whined cutely. “You know I would do this on my own if I could-”

“Well, that’s wonderful,” Mrs. Jung cheered. “I’m so glad that you’ve finally realized your potential, son. Use whatever you need in the shop, but please try to stay out of my way. Mama has a big production coming up and these costumes are excessively complicated to create. I’m so proud of you, Hoseokie.”

With a pat on his chin, Mrs. Jung was able to help Hoseok close his dropped jaw and she tossed a wink your way as she walked into her supply closet. Hoseok dropped his head in defeat and pouted as he walked toward you.

“I guess we’re on our own, baby,” Hoseok grumbled. “I thought for sure she’d help me out with some ideas.”

“Hobi, didn’t you hear her?” you admonished softly. “She knows you can do this on your own, and besides, she’s hella busy right now. I think we can do this, yeah?”

Hoseok sighed and sank into a seat at the spare drafting table in the costume shop. All throughout the summer, this station was his little creative corner. The two of you had even written your names on the wall by his station, complete with hearts and flowers. You glanced at the empty table and decided to help your grumpy honey along with his creative process.

You grabbed a sketch pad and several pencils from a nearby shelf and placed them on the table in front of him. When he refused to budge, you took up a pencil and started sketching out stick figures with your amateur drawing skills. Under each figure, you wrote the words “Prince” and “Princess” and looked up at him with your imploring eyes.

“Ok, Hobi, here’s the deal,” you began. “I will be your assistant seamstress if you can design us some costumes fit for royalty. If we’re going to put so much effort into this project, we might as well get more use out of these costumes. Let’s make them so nice that we can wear them to Prom. This will be our couple’s costume!”

“I thought you were against the couple's costumes,” Hoseok challenged. “Weren’t you just giving me grief about this at school, my love?”

“I was challenging the committee’s lack of inclusion, not the couple’s costumes,” you corrected. “Besides, we’re a couple. We should go as a matching pair. Just us.”

Hoseok sighed and pulled you into his arms with a whiny groan. You could actually feel him smiling into the crook of your neck, so you allowed him a little time to get all the exaggerated dismay out of his system. After planting a kiss on your forehead, Hoseok finally relented and grabbed the pencil out of your hand.

“Ok, fine,” he grumbled playfully. “I’ll design us some fairytale/Prom outfits, but I need something to go off of. Break out those books you got from the library and let’s pick our royal pair.”

Mrs. Jung wandered out as you were perusing the books next to the workstation and when she looked over Hoseok’s shoulder to see him sketching out foundational design concepts, she hummed thoughtfully.

Hoseok stopped drawing and tapped his pencil on the table, signaling his slight annoyance at his mother’s hovering.

“Yes, Mama?” Hoseok asked sweetly. “Did you want to say something?”

“Oh, no, sweetheart,” Mrs. Jung assured him. “I was just looking at your sketches. What is your project exactly?”

“We have to perform a fairytale for the elementary students,” you explained. “But we also want to use the costumes for Prom, so I’m trying to find a prince and princess pair for us in one of these books.”

“I see,” Mrs. Jung responded. “Did you find a Korean fairytale then?”

“Not yet,” you replied. “I’m still looking.”

“Really?” Mrs. Jung replied with a tilt of her head. “Then why is Hoseokie drawing a hanbok?”

You stepped over to look at Hoseok’s drawing, and sure enough, there was a figure wearing a stylish hanbok on the page. Hoseok tilted his head in confusion at his drawing and shrugged with a giggle.

“Just drawing what I know, I guess,” Hoseok grinned. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, Hobi,” you smiled. “That actually looks beautiful. Do you want me to find a Korean fairytale then?”

“Oh, you won’t find many Korean fairytales about princes or princesses, my dear,” Mrs. Jung explained. “Our culture doesn’t have a Cinderella or a Snow White. It’s a shame, really. You would look radiant in a hwarot, sweetheart, and my Hoseokie would look so dashing in a classic hanbok.”

“Well, maybe they don’t have to be a part of the story,” you suggested. “Maybe Hoseok and I can just dress up as Korean royalty and recite a Korean fairytale like that?”

“Hey, that’s a great idea,” Hoseok beamed. “I could make our costumes look amazing and we can just act like royal storytellers.”

“And then we can wear the costumes to Prom!” you gushed. “Oh, Hobi, it’s perfect.”

“Thank you, Mama,” Hoseok called out as Mrs. Jung made her way back to the sewing machine.

“For what?” Mrs. Jung smirked. “I didn’t do anything.” ------------------

After a few days of sketching, Hoseok finally had two amazing designs prepared for your costumes. His traditional hanbok had a few modern embellishments and he was planning all sorts of accessories to accent the outfit completely. Additionally, Hoseok scoured Korean history books for images and designs for a proper hwarot that only a Korean princess could wear. Side by side, the outfits were going to look phenomenal, and you were so excited to start making them.

Hoseok already had his own measurements, and you were eager for him to take your measurements so he could start pulling fabric for your gown. Mrs. Jung set aside several bolts of colorful fabric that Hoseok noticed were reflecting the colors of the Korean flag. Bold royal blue silk and vibrant red brocade joined piles of black satin, gold ribbons, and delicate strands of beads surrounding Hoseok’s workstation.

You arrived at the theatre after your marching band rehearsal, and you hoped that Hoseok didn’t mind that you were dressed in shorts and a baggy T-shirt. Once you entered the costume shop, your worries were allayed when Hoseok handed you a simple muslin tunic to put on.

“You’re going to have to wear this under the hwarot,” Hoseok explained. “I’ll be able to get better measurements this way. Don’t worry if it’s loose. The other garments will layer over it.”

You slipped away to the dressing room to change and when you returned, Hoseok was nowhere to be found. You wandered around backstage and eventually came across the empty stage with the ghost light shining brightly across the theatre. Light classical music could be heard from the backstage area, and you couldn’t help swaying and spinning in time with the music.

As you made your way across the stage, you imagined you were performing for a packed audience and your movements increased dramatically. You fictionalized a ballet where you were seeking out your lost love, and you focused on the ghost light stand as your absent prince. You ended your impromptu performance by embracing the ghost light and were startled by sudden applause emanating from the wings.

“Bravo, princess,” Hoseok called out. “Magnificent!”

You swiped at your burning cheeks and pranced into the wings to bury your face into his shoulder. As embarrassed as you were, Hoseok knew better than to tease you for too long. You pulled back and pouted at his brilliant smile, which prompted him to assault your face with a dozen kisses. You giggled at first, but the lighthearted feeling in your chest shifted into something steamier as Hoseok nipped at the sensitive spot on your neck. You pulled him back behind the curtain and proceeded to devour his lips hungrily.

You half expected Hoseok to put a stop to your lustful advances, but there was something different about Hoseok now. His hands were not resting tentatively on your hips, but were grasping at your skin and sliding back against your ass. His hips refused to keep their distance, instead choosing to grind against your stomach, revealing a hearty erection. His voice lacked any of the whiny nature you usually heard, but instead housed a deep growl which sent shivers down your spine.

“Hobi,” you whispered. “What’s gotten into you?”

“It’s this slip you have on, princess,” Hoseok explained while nibbling on your ear. “It’s practically sheer under those lights. You have no idea how incredible you looked dancing around like that.”

“Oh yeah?” you gasped as he reached up to fondle your breast. “Did you like what you saw?”

“You have no idea,” Hoseok groaned. “It was so hot. I just want to keep touching you. Maybe unwrap you like a birthday present?”

You moaned lightly at his suggestion and reached between you to grip the stiffness pressing against your stomach. Hoseok’s hips shot forward and he stilled completely in your arms.

Before he could refuse, you reached in and took a hold of his hardened length and began stroking it slowly. Hoseok braced his arms against the wall and huffed out a groan at your ministrations. Sensing that this needed to be something quick, you dropped to your knees and wrapped your lips around the strained head of his penis. Hoseok’s moan was muffled as he buried his face into arm, and he restrained his hips from thrusting forward as you brought him to his climax effortlessly.

Hoseok still marveled at your insistence of swallowing while going down on him, but he respected your decision. Who was he to argue if your main concern was cleaning up an unnecessary mess? Hoseok helped you back to your feet and sought out your lips, not even caring that he could taste his own cum in your mouth. As hot and heavy as things were getting, one of you needed to get a grip on the situation before you got busted.

“Shit,” Hoseok breathed out while leaning his forehead against your own. “We can’t do this, princess.”

“I know, Hobi,” you sighed out airily. “You’re right. We shouldn’t be fooling around in the theatre. Your mom would kill us.”

“I mean, yeah, you’re right, she would,” Hoseok chuckled. “But I meant that I’m still not ready to go any further.”

“Hobi,” you replied with worry. “I wasn’t trying to pressure you into anything, my love. I told you I would wait and I meant it.”

“I know,” Hoseok grumbled. “But a few more minutes of this and I won’t be able to control myself, so we need to stop.”

"Oh, yeah?" you smirked. "What happened to all that self control of yours? Did you lose it somewhere?"

"Yeah," Hoseok sighed while gripping your hips. "It went out the window when I saw you in this slip, princess."

You pressed one last kiss to Hoseok’s lips and you straightened out your clothing before heading back to the costume shop. You both stopped at the bathroom to freshen up and then strolled back to the costume shop hand in hand.

The rest of the afternoon was ripe with sexual tension, and every time Hoseok’s fingers danced across your skin as he took your measurements, you fought the urge to shiver or whine or make any kind of sound that would sound sensual in any way. Hoseok was also struggling while on his knees in front you, inhaling the faint smell of your arousal through the thin muslin.

After that sexually charged work session, you and Hoseok agreed to go out for dinner, but first, you both ended up in the backseat of your car with your legs over his shoulders and his tongue buried in your dripping cunt. Several orgasms later, you were both satiated and decided to end the night with a quick bite to eat at your favorite drive-in restaurant. While you were stealing some of his curly fries, you noticed a pensive look on Hoseok’s face.

“What’s the matter, Hobi?” you asked. “Is everything ok?”

“Yeah,” Hoseok stated unconvincingly. “It’s fine.”

“Hobi,” you sighed. “What is it? You can tell me.”

Hoseok's shoulders sagged as he put his half-eaten burger on the dashboard and turned toward you in his seat. You followed his lead and did the same, apprehension clouding your mind as you took in the furrowed brows on your boyfriend’s face.

“Are you happy with me, princess?” Hoseok murmured quietly. “Are you sure that I’m enough for you?”

“What are you talking about, Hobi?” you blurted out. “Of course, I’m happy with you! I love you so much, and I can’t imagine my life without you.”

“I know you love me,” Hoseok pouted. “And I love you too, but sometimes, I feel like maybe you wish I could give you more. I know we’ve already talked about this a lot, but it still bothers me when I pull away from you like I did earlier.”

“Baby,” you cooed. “Have I ever given you any indication that I’m not totally satisfied in our relationship?”

“No,” Hoseok admitted. “But I know you’re used to more than what I’m giving you. I know you and Taehyung were very active, and I feel like I could never measure up to him. I mean, you guys call each other soulmates. How am I not supposed to wonder whether he could give you more than I can?”

You leaned forward and cupped Hoseok’s face with your hands. The distress on his face was unbearable and you resisted the urge to plant a million kisses on his face so that you could assuage his grief.

“Soulmate or not, Taehyung is not you,” you reminded him. “I love you, Jung Hoseok, and it doesn’t matter that you’re a virgin and I’m not. You are all I need, and you have nothing to prove to me or anyone else. Just be you, Hobi. That is more than enough for me.”

Hoseok took a deep breath and nodded as best he could with his face squished between your palms. You smiled at the glimmer of hope in his eyes and you prayed that he believed the truth of your words. You leaned in to press a kiss onto his lips and when you pulled away, his face broke into a vibrant smile. The glassy look in his eyes confirmed that he was on the verge of tears and you hated that he was torturing himself unnecessarily. You grabbed a napkin and tried to dab at the corners of his eyes, but he wrapped his slender fingers around your wrist

“I’m ok, princess,” Hoseok assured you. “I’m just so happy that you feel that way. I know I get a little insecure about our physical relationship, but you never fail to make me feel so loved and wanted. Thank you for that.”

With a kiss to your wrist, Hoseok released the tension he’d been holding in his shoulders in a long exhale. He took the napkin from your hand and dabbed at his misty eyes comically to drain his lashes of the tears he’d been holding back. You couldn’t help but laugh at his attempt at comedy in the midst of your serious discussion, but that was your Hoseok.

Such an amazing person. How did I get so lucky? ------------------

“Can you hand me that black ribbon, princess?” Hoseok called out from behind the mannequin. “The velvet one, not the satin one.”

You grabbed the three black ribbons that looked like velvet and offered them to Hoseok, who was kneeling and pinning ribbons to the back of his hanbok. He looked up at you and grinned at the options you displayed in your hands. After grabbing one of the spools, he shook his head and started pinning more ribbon to the flowing fabric.

“Do we need to review fabrics again, princess?” Hoseok joked. “Didn’t we cover this over the summer?”

“Hobi,” you groaned. “A lot of these ribbons look the same. How am I supposed to keep them all straight? That’s your job.”

He simply chuckled and snipped the ribbon on the spool before pinning the last bit of ribbon on the edge of the hanbok’s hem. As he stood, he examined the other bits of fabric and ribbon pinned to his creation and hummed in satisfaction. He emerged from behind the mannequin and set down his sewing supplies on the workstation. After pulling you into a back hug, he leaned his head on your shoulder and sighed happily.

“So, what do you think, princess?” he questioned playfully. “Do you like it? Is this what you imagined your prince wearing?”

You dragged your gaze across the bold colors, the clever embellishments, and the hint of modern flair that Hoseok managed to imbue into his creation and you were astonished. You knew he was skilled, but this latest creation was beyond anything you’d expected. His hanbok was worthy of being displayed in a museum; such intricacy, such craftsmanship, such finery.

“It’s perfect, Hobi,” you exhaled. “You truly are a master at this.”

“I’d say so,” piped up a voice from the corner of the room.

You and Hoseok turned to look over at Mrs. Jung who was hanging up another one of her prepped costumes on a hanger. It was magnificent and you were dazzled by the brilliant green and yellow accents she’d applied to the blue skirting. She brushed away a few wrinkles and stepped forward to look at her son’s garment.

“The line work is very good, Hoseokie,” she complimented. “I like how you took the original design and made it your own. A lot of heart went into this, I can tell. Well done, my son.”

“Thank you,” Hoseok beamed. “I can’t take all the credit though. I had an amazing teacher.”

Mother and son smiled brilliantly at each other before stepping forward for a tight hug. Mrs. Jung pulled a handkerchief from her apron and gently dabbed at her eyes. Hoseok cleared his throat awkwardly and sniffled slightly before lifting his mother’s free hand into his own. Their eyes met and glowed with affection and unbridled respect.

“Eomma,” Hoseok addressed his mother kindly. “Thank you for teaching me everything. I only hope that I can reproduce a fraction of your passion and talent. You inspire me to do great things, and I can’t tell you how grateful I am for all of the time we spend in this shop together.”

“Jung Hoseok,” his mother smiled. “It is not your talent which brings me pride. It is the dedication to your work which makes me happy. You’re an artist, son. I only sought to nurture the skills you already possessed naturally.”

Hoseok kissed her hand and she ruffled his hair before going back across the room and into the storage closet. You grabbed another tissue and dabbed at the tears which manifested while watching the tender moment between mother and son. Hoseok smiled softly at your emotional reaction and pulled you into his arms to soothe your tears.

“There, there, princess,” he said sweetly. “You don’t have to cry on my account.”

“I’m not,” you pouted. “That was just incredibly moving. You and your mom are #LifeGoals. I don’t have that kind of relationship with my mom.”

“Yeah,” Hoseok agreed. “But you do get all mushy and sweet with your dad. I’ve seen it firsthand.”

“I guess you’re right,” you relented. “I don’t know how you’re going to be able to finish my outfit. This one took you quite some time to complete and it isn’t even sewn together yet. Are you sure we didn’t take on too much, Hobi?”

“Not to worry, princess,” Hobi grinned. “Your hwarot was done yesterday.”

Hoseok stepped around you and pulled a sheet off of the mannequin behind you. You gasped at the glory he revealed and reached out a trembling hand to run your fingers across the royal blue satin of the bodice.

“Oh, Hobi,” you whispered. “It’s breathtaking.”

You explored the various folds of blue fabric, the silver brocade accents, the black ribbons sewn into the bodice creating a fitted curvature that stepped away from traditional and spoke of a modern interpretation of the original design. The hwarot he’d sketched originally was an exact replica of the designs in the history books, but this new iteration was unique and fresh while still maintaining the original structure of the gown.

“How did you come up with this design, Hobi?” you cooed. “It’s amazing.”

“Well, I started out with the original design,” Hoseok explained. “But honestly, I just kept thinking about you in that slip dancing around the stage. I couldn’t get your curves out of my head, so I decided to highlight them a little with those lines on the bodice. You were my inspiration, princess.”

You blushed under his praise and stepped behind the hwarot to look at the intricate lacing on the back of the bodice. The collar of the hwarot remained intact, but there was a large section under the collar that was left open. The bodice started lacing just above where your bra line started and continued down to the hip line before billowing out thanks to the petticoat underneath.

“This is the most incredible costume I’ve ever seen, Hobi,” you gushed. “I can’t get over how gorgeous it is.”

Hoseok reached over and took your hands into his own before kissing the tops of both. You smiled as brought you closer to him, pulling your hands to his chest.

“A gorgeous gown for my gorgeous princess,” Hoseok grinned. “The only thing more beautiful than this gown is you, my love. I can’t wait to see you in it.”

With a final kiss to your forehead, Hoseok stepped back to his hanbok and began pulling it off the mannequin so he could start sewing everything together. You changed into your muslin slip and Mrs. Jung took a few moments to help you into the completed hwarot, much to Hoseok’s pleasure. The compliments and praise showered upon you and Hoseok brought unimaginable joy to Mrs. Jung and she quickly excused herself once again to dab away the tears from her face.

After both outfits were sewn together and a final fitting took place, you and Hoseok gathered your things and gave Mrs. Jung a heartfelt goodbye. Your presentation was less than a week away and Prom was happening immediately after that. It was time to get ready to premiere Hoseok’s greatest creation. --------------------

“You guys were amazing today,” Hyejin gushed. “The kids loved your presentation. My little brother was talking to all of his friends about it.”

“Thanks,” you cheered while carefully arranging your hwarot into its garment bag. “It was so much fun. Hobi is such a ham. He was a hit as the goofy prince.”

“And you were the envy of every girl in our class,” Hyejin sighed. “That dress is absolutely gorgeous. I still can’t believe that he sewed your outfits himself. The man is crazy talented.”

“Tell me about it,” you giggled. “It’s not fair.”

“What’s not fair?” came a voice from the hallway. “Are you talking about me, princess?”

Hoseok appeared with his garment bag and another tote full of accessories. As you finished packing up your gown, he collected the various props you’d placed on the desk.

“I was talking about you, my prince,” you cooed. “You were incredible today.”

“Thank you, thank you,” he beamed while bowing with a red plush dragon in his hand. “If I was incredible, then you were superb, princess. The kids loved you and I can confidently say that we aced that presentation.”

“Well, I’ve gotta head to practice,” Hyejin announced while gathering her things. “I’ll see you guys at Prom tomorrow.”

You both said your goodbyes to Hyejin as she skipped out the door and you zipped up your garment bag after folding the last yard of fabric inside and securing the hanger. Hoseok placed the last bauble into his tote and zipped it up as well. He looked over at you and opened his arms comically.

“Come here, princess,” he demanded. “Give your prince a hug.”

You leaned into his embrace and the two of you just held each other for a few moments, allowing the excitement of the afternoon to dwindle into a pleasant buzz. You leaned your head back to look into Hoseok’s face and the two of you smiled as your eyes met.

“I’m so proud of you, Hobi,” you said. “You never cease to amaze me. I’m so lucky to have you in my life.”

“I’m the lucky one, princess,” Hoseok corrected while tucking a lock of hair behind your ear. “I get to have this incredible, beautiful, sexy girl in my life. You make me feel so loved. I just wish you could understand how much you mean to me.”

You shook your head at his sentiment and kissed his lips. As you pulled away, he continued to look at you like the answers to the universe were in your eyes.

Overwhelmed by the intensity of his gaze, you giggled and booped him on the nose before turning to gather your things. You turned to see Hoseok staring at you fondly with hooded lids and a devious smirk.

"What, Hobi?" you pried. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"No reason," Hoseok shrugged. "Just thinking about how beautiful my princess looked in that gown. I can't wait to see you in it tomorrow at Prom."

"Well," you teased while pinching his cheek playfully. "I will make sure that I am very careful when I get dressed tomorrow. I want to look extra special for my prince."

Hoseok waited until you were almost to the door before he reached over to grab his bags.

"You be careful putting it on," he murmured quietly, just out of earshot. "I'll be careful taking it off."

You missed the mischievous smirk on Hoseok's face because as soon as you turned around, it was replaced by a glowing smile.

"Let's go, princess," Hoseok chirped. "I have a lot to do before tomorrow and so do you."

Hoseok placed another lingering kiss on your lips and headed down the hallway next to you.

It's time. ------------------

The lights were flashing and the music was pulsating throughout the ballroom. After posing for your Prom portraits and making the rounds to all your friends, you and Hoseok were seated with a random assortment of refreshments.

"Isn't it wonderful, Hobi?" you gushed. "You and the committee did an amazing job. Everyone looks so good in their outfits!"

"Not as good as you look, princess," Hoseok commented. "Not one person holds a candle to you tonight."

'It's all because of you Hobi," you exclaimed. "You created a masterpiece when you made these outfits."

"Only because you were my Muse," Hoseok purred. "Care to dance, princess? Let's show off my inspiration to everyone."

You nodded enthusiastically and took his hand as he escorted you to the dance floor. The music transitioned into a thumping R&B tune and Hoseok pulled your arms around his neck as he swiveled and gyrated his hips to the sultry beat. You hummed with satisfaction as his thigh pressed in between your legs, mere inches from your center.

You were both sweaty with exertion and when the R&B groove gave way to a slow melodic love song, you both breathed a sigh of relief.

"Whew," you breathed out. “That was fun, but I need a minute to catch my breath.”

“Already, princess?” Hoseok teased. “I thought you’d have more stamina than that.”

You pouted and smacked his arm playfully and his giggles filled your ears deliciously. With the multicolored lights bouncing across the dance floor and the light dusting of imitation fog, you twirled around the dance floor with your handsome prince. He spun you around once again and you couldn’t keep yourself from smiling at his sparkling eyes and buoyant smile. When the song switched to another slow song, you sighed happily and leaned your head on his shoulder.

“Once more around the ballroom, princess?” Hoseok asked sweetly. “Or are you done making everyone else jealous with your unparalleled beauty?”

You nodded against his shoulder and he waltzed the two of you into a shadowy corner of the dance floor. You were in the midst of soaking up this romantic moment when Hoseok’s hands began to wander into the silken folds of your gown and your breath hitched when his fingers found your center.

“Hobi,” you squeaked. “What are you doing?”

“You look incredible in that gown, princess,” he breathed out huskily. “I can only imagine how you’d look without it on.”

Your eyes widened significantly and you pulled back to look at Hoseok’s face. Full blown lust was darkening his gaze and the dimples around his lips deepened as he grinned. You’d seen your boyfriend aroused before, but this was something else entirely.

“Hobi,” you exhaled shakily. “What’s gotten into you?”

His smile softened and he leaned in to kiss your lips gently, raising a hand behind your neck to hold you in place as you shared the sweetest collection of kisses he had to offer.

“Princess,” he murmured against your lips. “This past year with you has been one of the happiest of my life. I can’t even remember what my life was like before you were in it.”

“Oh, Hobi,” you shivered. “You make me happy too. I love you so much.”

“I love you, too” Hoseok whispered into your ear. “In fact, I love you so much that I might have built up this impossible image in my mind that you are untouchable and precious. So precious that you will break if I push you too hard.”

“I’m not a delicate little flower, Hobi,” you grumbled. “And you haven’t been pushing me at all. If anything, I feel like I’m the one pushing you sometimes.”

“Absolutely not,” Hoseok snapped. “You’ve been nothing but patient and understanding, and I am so grateful that you allowed me to come to terms with my virginity on my own.”

“Hobi,” you whined. “I don’t care if you’re a virgin. I already told you that. We don’t have to do anything just because I have before. I just want to be with you. That’s all I need.”

“I know,” Hoseok sighed. “And it only makes me love you more.”

Hoseok punctuated his statement with another kiss to your lips, lingering on your bottom lip and nibbling on it hungrily. You were thankful for the lack of lighting in this corner and the excess fog collected around you. You didn’t want to get kicked out of Prom for making out with your boyfriend on the dance floor.

“I know this is going to sound totally cliché,” Hoseok murmured against your lips. “But I really want to make this prom night memorable. I think I’m ready to make love to you, princess. Will you let me show you just how much I love you?”

You shivered with excitement and took a moment to fully appreciate the look on his face, your thighs clenching at the unbidden desire pulsing in his dilated pupils, and you bit your lip with anticipation.

“Yes, Hobi,” you smiled demurely. “I’m ready.”

Before the music could stop playing, you wandered back to your table to gather your things. After a quick stop at the bathroom, you walked back into the parking lot toward Hoseok’s vehicle. Your options were limited since you were both still high school students living at home, so Hoseok made a split second decision and drove toward the coast. --------------------------

“Hand me that other blanket, princess,” Hoseok instructed. “Go ahead and take off your shoes. You can leave them in the front seat.”

As Hoseok laid yet another blanket in the back, you thanked the gods for his SUV and the seats that folded down to a nice level plane. After layering a few fluffy blankets from your last camping trip, there was a nice layer of comfort for you both to lay on. Once you discarded your shoes and accessories, Hoseok was careful to undress and hang his outer layers across the back windows. He helped you do the same and stretched your gown across the front seats so that you were tented in with the vibrant colors of the Korean flag.

Hoseok’s undershirt and boxers were clinging to his body with perspiration, and he couldn’t keep his eyes from roving across your own body covered with that simple muslin slip. With practiced precision, he reached down and ran his fingers from your exposed ankle all the way up to the slit across your thigh.

“I’ve been waiting to touch you in this slip since that day I caught you dancing in the theatre,” Hoseok admitted. “You were so intoxicating in that spotlight, your curves clearly visible under this thin material for my eyes only. I think I fell for you all over again that day.”

You shuffled closer and placed your hand on his cheek, shivering when his palm slid further up your thigh to your hip.

“I fall for you every day, Hobi,” you replied. “I feel so precious and desirable when I’m with you.”

“You should always feel like that,” Hoseok insisted. “Because that’s what you are, princess. Precious and the only thing that I truly desire.”

As soon as those words left Hoseok’s lips, he pulled you closer so he could devour your lips, his hand tangling into your hair while the other pushed your slip up further. In between heated kisses, you both began discarding your remaining articles of clothing until you were both left completely bare, grinding against each other in search of friction.

“Wait, princess,” Hoseok gasped as your hand wrapped around his stiff length. “Let me get the condoms.”

Hoseok reached between the seats and pulled out a 12-pack of condoms from his tote. Your eyes widened at the extra large pack, and you gawked at the open box that was clearly only half full.

“Umm, Hobi,” you queried. “What happened to all the other condoms in that box?”

“Oh,” Hoseok grumbled. “I wanted to get some practice putting one on and it took a few tries to get it right.”

You giggled at his embarrassment and kissed his flushed cheeks. Once the passion reignited, you were both fumbling with the foil square, trying to get it open and onto his swollen dick.

“Hold on, princess,” Hoseok groaned. “I want to make sure you’re ready for me.”

Hoseok shifted further down and latched onto your hardened nipple while dipping his slender fingers into your flooded depths. After stroking your clit and inserting not one, not two, but three fingers into you, Hoseok shuffled his body in between your legs and then paused. His heavy breathing was either a product of his passion or his lingering anxiety. You were about to reassure him that there was no need to rush, but he started rubbing the tip of his penis along your folds and you lost all sense of reason.

“Fuck, Hobi,” you moaned. “That feels so good. Don’t stop.”

“I have no intention of stopping,” Hoseok groaned. “In fact, I think I want more, princess.”

Hoseok shifted his hips forward and slipped into your hot center, earning him an even louder moan from you. You arched your back and encouraged him to thrust even deeper into you, which proved to be his breaking point.

“Shit,” Hoseok growled. “This is the most amazing thing I’ve ever felt. How the fuck did I go so long without doing this with you, princess?”

He pulled back and slammed forward with more force and the high pitched “Hobi” you released made him grin.

“That’s right, princess,” Hoseok encouraged. “Let it all out. Tell the world who’s making you feel this good. Tell them who you belong to.”

Once the initial shock wore off, Hoseok found that his body and yours were a perfect fit. The more he gave, the more you took, the two of you fitting together like puzzle pieces, his hips continuously snapping into you, his hands gripping your ass and shoulder for leverage, your nails digging into his back with delicious licks of pain, your legs wrapped around his waist, your voice begging for more.

He was so enthralled with you, and he completely ignored any indicators that his body was heading toward any type of climax. Usually, he’d blow his load after you’d blown him for a few minutes or after you’d given him a short hand job. But now, he unearthed a mountain of stamina and only your cries of pleasure captured his attention. There was no way you were ending this night until he’d given you several orgasms. His own pleasure was shelved to serve you and nothing else mattered.

Once you were both sated, you cuddled against his sweaty chest trying to catch your breath after so much exertion. Hoseok trailed his fingers up and down your back and continued to kiss every inch he could reach. You never felt so revered or loved before.

“This really was the perfect evening,” you commented. “I wish it could last forever.”

“Forever?” Hoseok inquired. “Is that what my princess wants? Then that’s what I’ll give her.”

You hummed your assent and lifted your head to kiss him again. The hazy look in his eyes was a testament to his love and you thanked the gods for blessing you with such an amazing man in your life. The night was indeed memorable and you were somewhat disappointed when you had to put your clothes back on so he could take you home.

“Come on, princess,” Hoseok coaxed. “Our parents will kill us if we stay out all night. We’re already going to be late as it is.”

“I know,” you grumbled while pulling on your underwear. “I just feel like I won’t get many more of these nights with you. You’re graduating in a few months and then you’re leaving me to go to college.”

“Don’t say it like that, princess.” Hoseok admonished. “You only have one more year left and then you’ll be doing the same. There is a lot of time between now and when I have to leave. We’ll figure something out.”

“You promise?” you pouted.

“I promise,” Hoseok chuckled as he kissed your pouty lips. “Now, let’s get you home.”

You drove off away from the coast with the windows down, trying to air out the smell of sweat and sex from his vehicle. Once you pulled back into town, you raised the windows so you could fix your hair. If anyone saw you walking in with “sex hair,” you’d never hear the end of it. You took another glance at Hoseok, eyeing the flush of color dusting across his face after your sexual escapade, and you smiled.

Such a handsome prince. I hope nothing ever pulls us apart. I don’t know if I’d be able to handle that.

You pulled his hand into your own and looked out at the flashing landscape. Prom night may have been cliché, but no one could convince you that it hadn’t been perfect.

Author’s Note: Just a little drabble for the biggest ball of sunshine in the world! Thank you to my lovely soulmate @xxxille-girlxxx for helping me beta read this. Enjoy a little slice of hope with me ^-^

MAP OF THE SOUL MASTERLIST

@caught-in-a-seesaw-stigma‘s MASTERLIST

#Map of the soul #bts drabble #Jung HoSeok #hoseok x reader #bts smut #bts fanfic #bts fluff #bts au fic #BTS au #bts angst #prom #hobi smut

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ettawritesnstudies · 4 years

Text

AI-Lia Antares // A WIP Intro

[image ID: Screenshot of a conversation between two speakers, one in green and one in blue which proceeds as follows. Green is a repair person currently floating outside doing repairs on the ship. Blue is AI-Lia.

1140 - It's beautiful out here. Somehow, being in the void of space is less lonely. You might be floating in what seems like emptiness but you're more connected to the stars this way.

1141 - it sounds lovely. Are you lonely?

1145 - ... I don't know. I guess. How about you?

1146 - sorry, can you rephrase your question?

End Image ID]

Plot Synopsis - AI-Lia is the computer of the smuggling ship, The Scorpion. There’s never a dull moment - her days are filled with answering orders from the ill-tempered captain, chatting with the rest of the crew, running diagnostics to keep the technology running in proper order, and keeping tabs on The Server. It’s not bad, she thinks, and it’s not like she’s got anything better to do. This ship has been her whole life, and she’s content with her lot.

At least, Until she starts uncovering mysteries about the past of the crew, the ship, and The Server, and AI-Lia needs to come to terms with a whole new reality that more is at stake for her than she’d ever expected.

(more info under the cut!)

Genre - Science Fiction, YA/Adult?

Themes - Artificial Intelligence and humanity, compassion, revenge, power and agency, found family,

Features - an opinionated computer, a colorful cast of characters (lol) both on diversity and various different personalities that clash in all sorts of fun ways, aliens, space travel, finding a family, (I personally think it’s really funny in places, but maybe that’s just me :P)

Status - outlining/first draft (as in, I have a simple outline and a few lines for each character, and then 9 pages of draft because I got hit by the inspiration hard)

Format - This story is told through a series of ship’s logs, archived message records between crew members, and some first person journal entries so that the reader uncovers the mystery alongside AI-Lia. The characters are color-coded so that it’s easier to keep track of who’s who. For me, it’s as much an art project as it is a story, as I fuss with the colors and typography and formatting to make the document look just right.

Content Warnings - mentions of emotional abuse, violence/death (fire, explosions, blood, gunfights, the dangers of space

Inspirations - The Mechanisms! The Count of Monte Christo, 2001: A Space Odyssey.

Why Am I Excited for This Story? - I don’t know if I’ve read anything from the POV of a computer before, much less in this sort of format, and I’m having a lot of fun writing this format because it’s so different from what I’m used to but I really enjoy doing dialogue and it’s a lot easier for me to get into the flow of things without having to slow down and write descriptions. There’s also a big plot twist I’m excited for and narrative style changes that go with it, which is going to be really cool! And also this is the backstory for my character in a space DnD campaign @thescreamingtwenties is DMing and I got just a little bit carried away haha

Ask if you want to be added to a taglist! I’ll be posting some character introductions later this week once I’ve developed them all some more!

#wip introduction #AI-Lia Antares #my writing #wip intro

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petri808 · 4 years

Text

Chapter 3/final for Inuyasha Sins week LUST. It’s done! For full story please follow source link 🙃 smut

A royal wedding could be seen as such a lavishly overdone affair full of too much pomp and circumstance, and this one was no different. It took months of planning and preparation. For you see, there is much more than simply two people in love to consider when kingdoms are involved. The Kamakura and Chiba kingdoms are allies by verbal understanding, but now a formal treatise is drafted to solidify the union. Such details are worked out between the two Kings and the wedding itself left up to the women.

Queen Higurashi could not be happier to see her daughter finally in a stable relationship with someone who loves her for who she is. She’d worried for a long time that this day would never come. Of course, she’s sad to see her daughter leave home, but Inuyasha brings out the best in Kagome, and she in him. It was all a mother could hope for. So, with the agreement of Queen Kagura and King Sesshomaru, the wedding ceremony and ball is to be held in the Chiba kingdom where the couple met, but once married the Princess and Prince will live in Kamakura.

“Mom, really?” Exasperation dripping from her lips. “You know I really don’t want anything fancy.”

“I know you don’t, but there are traditions to uphold and decorum to maintain.”

“A simple lakeside ceremony would have been perfect,” Kagome mumbles under her breath. “Fine, but do not make me wear a long, heavy train or I’ll tear it off.”

“But there’ll be attendants to hold it.”

“No. I’ll acquiesce to you making all the other arrangements, but I will pick my own dress.”

The Queen gently places her hands over Kagome’s cheeks with a smile. “I’m just excited for you my dear.”

Kagome smiles too. “I know mom.”

As part of the arrangement between the Kings, the couple is built a vacation home next to the lake Kagome loves, to be ready before the wedding. They insist that the home be comfortable but not like a typical summer palace and also refuse any servants. It was a place to memorialize their first kiss and to relax, away from royal life. But the only thing neither King sways on is security. A small barracks to house soldiers during the couples stay is built adjacent to the home as well as a stable.

Over one hundred invitations are sent out to all the high-ranking nobility from both kingdoms as well as other allies in their realm announcing the marriage. Most were not expected to attend, but it is customary to give notice of such a union. In the month preceding the wedding, gifts began to arrive from those that would not be there for the ceremony.

“Figures I’d find you in here.” Kagome chuckles as she stands in the doorway of the stable hands quarters. The position had long been filled, but for Inuyasha the structure itself still held many memories.

“The new guy does a decent job,” he grumps.

“But not as good as you, right?” She walks over and takes his hand. “Is everything okay? Or are you just hiding in here?”

“Hiding. Aren’t you nervous?”

“I am... well, it’s a mixture of emotions. Nervous, excited, maybe a little worried that I won’t live up to expectations.”

“I know you will. It’s me I’m worried about. My brother’s always been so critical towards me, so it’s hard to let that go.”

She squeezes their conjoined hands. “We’ll tackle things together. And I know he’s not one to show it, but I think he is proud of you now. Sesshomaru had to swallow a lot of pride to admit they couldn’t have children and ask us to provide an heir.”

“That is true. I guess you’re right,” Inuyasha sighs. “A family is just another thing that makes me nervous. My father was a great King, and even though that’s not my role, just to trying to emulate him is a daunting task.”

She chuckles softly, “I feel the same way about my mother. Come on,” Kagome tightens her hold on his hand, “I believe the tailor needs you to adjust your suit.”

If they thought the days leading up to the wedding were nerve wracking, the day of was by far the worst form of torture dealt to anyone. All morning, Kagome paced and sat and paced some more as her exasperated attendants did their best to get her ready.

“Princess if you do not sit still, I will tie you down.”

“But Kae—de,” Kagome whines and fidgets on the vanity stool. “I can’t help it! My stomach is doing flips and I just wanna jump out of my skin. All those people here for the wedding, oh why did so many have to show up...”

The palace grounds are filled with guests milling around before the noon ceremony, their chatter wafting in through the open balcony or passing by in the hallway outside her room. A flurry of activity mixed with staff preparing the throne room and great hall, as well as the banquet feast. If Kagome and Inuyasha had their way, they’d escape this madness for he was doing no better, evidenced by a few growls echoing from his room down the hall.

His attendants were buttressed by his groomsmen, Miroku and one more Kagome only met a week ago when the male had arrived. Inuyasha called him a friend, but she swore they are more like enemies. Kouga is from a distant kingdom of okami or wolf yokai that had assisted in stopping the rouges who invaded the inu’s territory. He became King after that battle and was another ally of the Kamakura kingdom. She wondered if his appointment to stand with Inuyasha was the Princes choice or Sesshomaru’s.

“My dear,” the woman places her hand on Kagome’s shoulder, “you have nothing to fear.”

“But...”

“Do you love him?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to marry him?”

“Yes.”

“This is about you and Inuyasha. Ignore everyone else and just focus on the two of you.”

Kagome sighs, “I know— I know you’re right. Thank you, Kaede. I’ll do my best.”

“You’ll be fine dear. Now let’s get you ready before he thinks you’ve stood him up.”

The throne room is barely recognizable to Inuyasha as he steps through the main doors. Beautiful floral garlands woven over standing trellises provides a backdrop for the ceremony itself and hides the thrones themselves. Large cascading flower bouquets hang from each column along the edges of the room, connected by sheer red and gold valences. The floor is separated by an aisle of red and gold ropes and stanchions, each with a smaller matching bouquet atop them. The aisle leads from the main door to the steps of the throne area. On either side of the aisle, the room is packed with all the standing guests and the melody of wind instruments fill the air.

Inuyasha stands nervously beside an officiate with King Sesshomaru and Queen Kagura sitting in the front row to his left while King and Queen Higurashi on the right. All the scents permeating the room overwhelms his senses, it’s a good thing he wasn’t allergic to pollen with all the flowers. But that is the least of his worries. With so many eyes on him, Inuyasha felt the pressure weighing on his shoulders and with each passing second the urge to run creeps into his mind. Not to get away from Kagome just these eyes...

“She has arrived sire.”

The royal regent whispers into Inuyasha’s ear and all the sounds of the room cease to exist, replaced by a white noise as his body turns on instinct to face the main door. The music switches from woodwinds to string instruments and all the air in his lungs freeze up as the door opens. The first to step through are Sango and Kouga, their maid of honor and best man. Once they are halfway down the aisle, it is Rin and Miroku the brides maid and groomsmen. Each party separating at the front to join their respective sides. Oh god, oh god, oh god, his heart beats frantically in his chest. This is it! This is really happening!

The regent signals the guests to stand up, as now a third and final wedding melody kicks in. Time stops for Inuyasha as Kagome takes center point at the door on the arm of her brother who’ll be giving her away.

“Wow...” he unconsciously lets out the air he’s been holding the entire time and gaining an elbow to his side to close his mouth. But he couldn’t help it! She was like an angel floating down the aisle!

Kagome’s dress is a light gold color, sweetheart form fitting corset top with beautiful red filigree threading and sapphire jewels sewn in. It flows into an airy A-line skirt, adding to the image of her floating over the ground. Her hair is done half up, half down, in soft curls and tendrils with small red rosebuds woven in around a high tiara perched on her head. But is that a?! Inuyasha looks at his brother in surprise, then back to Kagome, for around her neck is a jeweled fang hanging from a silver chain. It was his mother’s, created by his father from his own fang and he had no idea they still had it.

When Kagome reaches Inuyasha, her brother Souta places her hand in that man’s, then takes his place on the side of his parents. She’s so nervous she can’t look up at him. His traditional white suit is radiant. The top is streamlined and cut to fit his frame perfectly. It was embroidered with red Camilla flowers over the sleeves and hem and the waist tied with a red sash. The pants were looser yet still cut to fit well. But the most interesting piece was a fanged necklace around his neck. Her father told her it was a gift given by King Toga long ago to his father as a symbol of loyalty. Whatever the story it stood out over the white ensemble.

He tips her chin up. “You look amazing Kagome.”

“You’re very handsome yourself Inuyasha,” she smiles with rosy cheeks.

As the officiate begins, neither can say they are paying full attention to his words. Kaede was right in a way, focus on each other and the world falls away leaving only them. Most of it was just official bluster anyways. Their eyes simply stay glued to one another, softened and mesmerized, communicating their own personal vows through unspoken words.

“Do you Prince Inuyasha take Princess Kagome to be your wedded wife, to love her, honor her, through sickness and in health for the rest of your lives?”

“I do.”

“And do you Princess Kagome take Prince Inuyasha to be your wedded husband, to love him, honor him, through sickness and in health for the rest of your lives?”

“I do.”

They place rings on each other’s fingers as the token symbol of their union.

“And now by the powers vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

Inuyasha sweeps in and kisses Kagome before the man even finishes his words. This was truly the best part of the whole ceremony, a simple kiss to consummate a new beginning together. When he pulls away, he keeps his hands cupped over her cheeks. He smiles and wipes away a few tears that have fallen.

“I love you Kagome.”

“I love you too Inuyasha.”

The rest of the night is a whirlwind of dancing, food, and revelry in any given order. It isn’t uncommon for such festivities to last until the wee hours of the morning, leaving guests stumbling back to their accommodations or simply passing out in a corner somewhere from too much drink. But that isn’t their problem. By 8pm or so, Inuyasha and Kagome leave the party in the hands of their parents to deal with. As far as they are concerned, the big fuss was their parents idea so they can deal with the aftermath. They change into regular clothing and take a carriage to their new lake house, escorted by guards. It’s time to do what they want for their wedding day.

“The moon is so gorgeous tonight,” Kagome sighs, standing there at the lake side. With all the commotion at the castle, there wasn’t any time to notice. It’s light mirrored on the dark surface felt mystical, like a beacon pointing home. Arms weave around her waist, the warmth of her husband enfolding her and chasing away the cooler night temperatures. She leans back into his chest releasing another sigh. “I really wish we could just live here.”

“I agree, but duty is duty.”

“I know...”

“At least we have somewhere to run away to.”

“That’s true. Perhaps the longing will keep it even more special when we return.”

Inuyasha turns her around in his arms. “As much as I’d love to just stand here enjoying the moon, there’s another gorgeous celestial body I’d prefer to look at tonight.”

“Is that so dear husband?” She giggles, tiptoeing to place a peck on his lips. “Are you excited to see if your dreams will reflect reality?”

“Oh, I know it will,” he growls low in a smirk. “And you can’t tell me you haven’t fantasized too, woman, cause I’d call you a liar.”

Kagome giggles again then her eyes grow half-lidded. “Well then dear sir, get on with it.”

“Here?!” He feigns concern. “Oh, you wretched woman to give the soldiers such a show! But very well,” Inuyasha pretends to start pulling up on her skirt.

“What?!” Thinking he’s serious, she pushes at his chest to get away. “T-That’s not what I meant!”

He lets out a bellowing laugh. “I’m joking.” Then sweeps her into his arms. “You think I’ll let any man dare look at what’s mine?” He adjusts her body once, bracing her securely against him and readying to...

“Inu what are you?”

Leap. Using the strength of his legs, Inuyasha takes a giant leap towards the house twenty feet away. Kagome squeals and burrows her face in his chest during the quick action. Before she knows it, they’re back on the ground at the foot of the steps.

“Warn me next time!”

Inuyasha just laughs and swiftly enters the stately home, placing her back on her feet once he’s closed the door. He grabs a lantern and lights it so they can see where they are going since neither are completely familiar with the layout yet.

“I think I’d like to take a bath first... care to join me?”

“Hell yes!”

The bath in the home is literally an entire room. Tiled from floor to ceiling with a large bathing tub inset into the center of the floor. To heat the water, porous river stones are heated up in a fire pit next to the tub then placed in a special container in the middle of the tub to contain them. Once the water is added, it heats up to a toasty temperature. More stones are kept heating to add or exchange during the bath.

“Why don’t you get ready while I heat up the stones.”

“Okay,” Kagome kisses his cheek. “Be right back.”

She lights a few more torches in the hallway and bedroom, surveying what options they have for the short stay. They plan to be there for only a week before leaving again for Kamakura, so most of their belongings have been packed and shipped to their section of Shiroinu Castle. Kagome finds towels and sleeping attire, as well as scented bath oils. She strips down, using the towel to cover herself instead, and winds her hair up into a loose bun.

A blush steals away on her cheeks as she looks at herself in the mirror. Up until now they’d only fooled around when no one was watching, but this was it, they were going all the way. Her hand unconsciously covers the area. What if he doesn’t fit?! She’s overheard female staff at the palace talking about a little bit of pain the first time. Oh, no don’t get nervous now! Kagome chastises herself. It can’t be that bad or no one would ever have sex. She grabs her items and heads back the bathroom before she gets cold feet.

As she enters the room, steam is rising from the water and Inuyasha was already submerged inside. He chuckles at her, “I was getting worried.”

Another deeper blush takes over, flushing her body with heat. Kagome waves it off, pretending to be fine. “Just picking the right bath oil,” she holds up a bottle.

“Then get in here,” he smirks knowingly. Inuyasha is just as nervous but doing a better job of hiding it. He could smell the nervous energy flowing from her body. “I won’t do anything you don’t want me to.”

Oh, but she wanted him to do a lot to her. Fear of the unknown didn’t make her any less curious. She sheds her towel and quickly slips into the warm waters, sliding over until she’s beside him. Then she adds a few drops of the scented oil close to the hot stones, diffusing it better into the air. It’s blurry, but in her peripheral vision she can see something hanging between his thighs. Send help, either the water was distorting it, or he looks bigger than her imagination! ‘I wonder what it feels like...’ her hand unconsciously moves towards it.

Inuyasha wasn’t blind to what Kagome was doing, but he didn’t want to spook her either. He watches carefully as her hand gets close, hesitates, then starts to retract. “It’s okay, Gome, you can touch me.”

Shit! He was paying attention! “O-Okay,” Kagome stammers. ‘It’s okay, he’s my husband, silly of course I can touch...’ her hand making contact with the growing appendage, eyes widening and an odd smile taking over her face. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to giggle, it’s just feels so weird!”

“Oi! My dicks not weird, you’re the weirdo who thinks it’s weird!”

But that only serves to make Kagome laugh harder and accidentally squeeze. “I-I know, I’m sorr— oh squishy!”

“Squishy, huh?!” All bets are thrown out now as Inuyasha grabs one of her boobs, squeezes and squeals squishy excitedly, triggering a few back and forth rounds all the more sillier than the last with water splashing around like two children having a water fight.

“Stop! Stop! Stop!” Kagome’s giggling shrieks echo in the tiled chamber.

“C’mere you weirdo,” Inuyasha chuckles and grabs her around the waist, pulling her onto his lap, and adjusting her hips until her legs are on each side and she facing him comfortably. His expression changes, eyes leveled into a heated gaze and hands cupped around her ass cheeks. “You’re such a tease and you don’t even realize it do you?” He pulls forward causing her clit to rub against his cock, gaining a squeak. “Getting him all excited when here I was trying to go slowly.”

Liking the feeling against her, she rocks her hips on her own and pulls a growl from the man. “I appreciate that Inu. I really do.” Kagome cups his cheeks and pulls his face down into a wanton kiss, pressing firmly and pushing her tongue through with force. She too was hot and bothered by that little escapade. Her hands weave behind his neck as their heads tilt to deepen the kiss, tongues dancing and teeth clacking from sloppy movements. His hands still purchased on her rear, rocks her hips slowly, grinding them together. Moans cut between the kisses, growing higher with each grating pass and increasing the burning friction brewing between their legs.

Somewhere along the way, his cock slips down underneath her, thighs squeezing against his own the hotter it burns and rubs the length of the shaft. Her head tilts back unable to contain her emotions as she helps in rocking with stronger alacrity and chasing this new sensation. Her clit rubbing on his public bone couple with her pussy grinding over his cock… They didn’t need the fire stones anymore to heat the water. “Fucking hell Kagome,” his deep reverberating growl against her bosom shoots straight to her groin. He isn’t even inside of her yet and he’s close to blowing.

With her back arched, it puts his face in perfect proximity to her breasts. Inuyasha latches on with a vacuum like suction, his mouth placing kiss upon kiss, worrying the supple flesh and teasing her nipples through his teeth. “Inu...” Kagome mewls. She was anxious and wanted to progress further, her core practically begging for him to take her all the way. “Inu?” She reaches down and takes hold of his cock.

He stops what he’s doing, a look of question and concern gracing his features as he reads her silent communication. “Are you sure?”

She bites her lower lip and nods slowly.

“Try to relax,” he coaxes gently, tone softening despite the race of adrenaline spiking in his body, “go at your own pace and don’t push yourself Gome.”

Inuyasha takes hold of his cock and keeps it upright for her as she guides it to the entrance. Once the head pushes through, she sucks in a breath when she feels the pressured sting of her muscles stretching to accept it. Kagome pauses, allowing her body to tell her what to do, moving when it tells her to. Okay, this isn’t too bad, she thinks.

“Breathe baby,” Inuyasha caresses her cheek, “are you okay?”

She opens her eyes not realizing how tightly she’d squeezed them shut or the burn of her lungs from holding in air for too long. It takes a few moments, but the initial pain or pressure melts away, soothed by the warm cock against her inner muscles and heated waters surrounding them. “I’m okay,” she places a lingering kiss on his lips and exhales, settling more comfortably in his lap again. “I’m okay.”

“You feel amazing,” Inuyasha returns the kiss. “I love you so much Kagome.”

“I love you too Inu.”

Such lingering kisses turn passionate once more, fueled by the burning ache being filled between their legs. Inuyasha goes back to pampering her breasts and peppering them with loves bites he’ll get to admire in the morning while Kagome’s hips rock slowly at first, testing out this new feeling of his cock plunging in and out and building up a heavier friction than before.

“Oh, wow,” she purrs, loving how his cock filled her up. Her muscles still tightly constricted around his shaft yet completely adjusted to his thick length. See, she chuckles in her head, worried for nothing. Faster and faster her hips grind and thrust onto his dick, pounding at his thighs. His hands grip to her ass and his kisses start to falter. He’d been so close earlier and now that priming would be his undoing.

But her first.

Her legs start to shake, and the rocking motion becomes irregular as she fights to keep going. Between muscle fatigue and the orgasm taking control, Kagome struggles. “I—nu...” her head pitches and back arches as the waves hit. He redoubles, using his hands to keep her going despite his own orgasm taking hold or her knees squeezing painfully against his hips. He rocks her forcefully, grinding them together as his seed bursts forth and spills deep inside, her name gritted from his lips, with each syllable caught between the pulsing.

Kagome’s head drops onto his shoulder and body collapses against his as her labored breathing struggling to catch up. Inuyasha kisses her temple and hugs her close, while they bask in the post-coital splendor. It was an amazing first time for the both of them. “How you feeling love?” He questions.

“Complete.”

Oh, she’ll definitely be sore in the morning but why worry? They had the rest of their lives to experience many more firsts and many more adventures together. Raising a family, growing old... Kagome sighs dreamily. “How many kids should we have Inuyasha?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” his tone reflects in thought. “Two, three? But if I can’t keep ya off me it might be more,” he teases.

“Pfft, I think it’s the other way around.”

“You’re probably right,” Inuyasha chuckles. “But we do have one advantage.”

“What’s that?” she questions as she looks up at him.

Inuyasha taps the side of his nose, “I’ll know when you’re fertility is peaking…” his grin widens. “Like now.”

#inuyasha sins week #inukag #inuyasha #Kagome higurashi #inukag fan fiction #inukag fan fic #inukag AU #royalty AU #medieval AU #Lust prompt #full smutty #inuyasha x kagome #inuyasha sins

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antihero-writings · 4 years

Text

Before It Kills You Too

(Cover art by _xstlyricax_ on Instagram!! I’ll put a link to her profile in a reblog!!)

Fandom: Lore Olympus (Webcomic)

Fic Summary:

Hera goes for a drive after a fight with Zeus, and has some time to think. Her internal monologue and memories, using Blackpink's "Kill This Love" as a prompt. ||

Anger was a fire, it burned white hot and devastated the world around it. But then it faded...This was more than anger.

Character Focus: Hera

Notes: If you haven't listened to, and/or watched the music video for Blackpink's "Kill This Love" (I’ll put a link in a reblog!), I highly recommend you do so either before or after reading, as the fic is based on the lines, and a few of the visuals of it!

The cover art is based off of the visuals of 0:59-1:12 of the music video too!

I'd really appreciate it if you could leave a comment and/or reblog!!! I'm not kidding when I say that makes my week!!

(I’ll put some more notes in a reblog!)

Chapter 1: I Owe It All to You

Hera kept glancing from the road to the speedometer, the dial sneaking steadily upwards: sixty miles an hour to seventy in seconds.

She leaned over and took a cigarette from the pack, putting it between the fingers of the hand on the steering wheel. She took out the lighter and clicked it open, lighting the end, then closed it again and set it back down in the cupholder while she breathed in.

Smoke never tasted so sweet as when she was angry with him.

Eighty, ninety.

“Good to see you again, Bunny!”

“It’s only been a few days!” She laughed, “And who’s Bunny?”

“You are!” Zeus took her hands and gave her eskimo nose kisses. “Who else?”

The golden girl smiled, big and bright—

—the kind of smile one can only give when the world itself is big and bright. When one lives in a realm of hope, where beings keep their secrets, and their promises, and no one lies, or steals, or cheats.

She breathed out, smoke billowing like her mouth was the gates to the Christian’s hell—(they say hell hath no fury right?).

Sometimes she wished she had Zeus’s power; that she could set the world on fire with a glance.

A hundred.

The world was nothing but streaks of light across her vision. Not trees, people, and buildings; not distinguishable as life or meaning, just lines of color as she flew by. Maybe things were better that way. She could dance in the in-between, reach up and grab the ribbons, twirl around with them in beautiful absurdity. Only absurdity was beautiful; truth and sanity were far too ugly.

“Bunny I—”

“Don’t ‘Bunny’ me!”

She took another long draft, letting the smoke’s medicine filling her lungs.

And out.

Breathe out, feel the negative emotions leaving your body, all the meditation gurus say.

What a load of bullshit that was.

For every soothing inhale there was always an exhale that felt like it was clawing its way out of her throat. For every sweet hello there was a bitter goodbye, full of curses at his back, in return. For every incredible high there was a unfathomable price. That was the rule to life; what goes up, must come down.

And she had risen too high, once upon a time.

The test of life had no answer, let alone a right one. Even the gods were slaves to fate, and emotion.

The tires screeched hellishly as she rounded corner.

Hera walked around the corner.

“It just—I feel like the world’s on fire when I’m with him! You know?”

The queen stopped. It was that nymph’s voice. The one who came by earlier.

“Ahh I’m so jealous! Tell me more! Tell me!”

“Well he just…I don’t know! When he kisses me the whole world just kind of…stops. You know? And when he listens…I feel like he’s actually listening.”

“Ugh, too sappy! Tell me the dirty stuff!”

“Oh stop! I’m not gonna tell you about our sex life!”

Hera rolled her eyes, beginning to walk away when—

“Well he is the king of the gods. You’re right; It’s better if I imagine.”

The queen froze.

“Eugh I don’t want you imagining me in bed with him!”

“No, I’m imagining me in bed with him!”

Hera couldn’t hear them anymore. Couldn’t see the world in front of her. She was staring at a space before her eyes only she could see; a space, a memory, where the world was wide and she and Zeus were the only beings in it.

That space was shattering piece by piece.

Her breath was shallow in her chest, her blood pumping her ears.

“Mama?” Ares’ little voice brought her back to the world. “Mama, you’re hurting me.”

She immediately let go of her son’s tiny hand. “I’m so sorry sweetheart!” She crouched down and took his hand in both of hers, this time with the most gentleness she could muster, and kissed his fingers. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah…‘m okay.” He took his hand back and rubbed it.

He looked at her apprehensively.

“…Are you okay, mama? …Are you angry?”

She whizzed passed broken stop sign, catching her reflection in the rear view mirror; her hair in tattered locks like rags about her face, eyebrows permanently furrowed, lip permanently pursued, blue eyes dim and hollow, with nothing of the brightness they once contained; only a few lingering sparks of electricity in an abandoned power plant.

‘Okay’. ‘Angry’.

Such ugly words.

“I just…” the golden girl pushed her hair behind her ear sheepishly, her eyes bright, “I feel like the world’s on fire when I’m with him…you know?”

“Can’t say I do,” Aidoneus muttered softly.

She put her gently hand on his. “Don’t worry, I know you will one day.” She grinned.

And what made it better was that she really meant that.

He tried to smile back.

“So what’s that…like?” he asked softly.

“Well…when he kisses me the world kind of …stops. It feels like there’s nothing and no one in the universe but him and me. We can talk about anything. And when I talk it feels like he actually listens. He always makes me laugh. When I’m with him…it feels like nothing else matters…”

She hated that word: okay. It was too simple, too easy; one could always throw it out as an answer. It didn’t mean, I’m doing very well, or I’m doing poorly—(though it could mean either depending on the context). Okay was just, ‘fine’, ‘alright’. Okay could mean you were doing wonderfully, having a great day, and okay could mean you would rather be dead, and either way people would smile and say good! I’m okay too!. Okay was never truly satisfied, never fully living. Just existing. ‘Okay’ was a word for ghosts; for those who are neither dead nor really alive, neither sinners nor saints. Just floating through the world, caught in between.

She was always okay…and she was never okay.

She rolled down the window, cool air rushing in to the car and scooping up all the smoke, taking it out into the night, giving it to some other lonely Goddess who needed it.

“Ugh, this again? I thought we were done with this…Just leave it for now. You’ll feel better after lunch.”

And, anger, anger was a fire that blossomed like a rose high, and bright, and scorching for a while, eating everything it saw. Then it dwindled. Sometimes it could be lit again by a passing breeze, if the embers were still fresh enough. And sometimes that relight could touch a passerby leaf or bush, and from there desecrate forests and cities. But often, even then, once it had finished blazing it would wither and die. Anger burned white hot and violent at first, but eventually it would fade, and the world would be left to deal with everything it blackened in its wake.

She sometimes had a vague image of smashing Zeus’s head in, of him clutching his big ugly skull, golden trails of blood intermixing with his violet hair, draining down his cheeks. And there she was, holding the stem of glass, half of the vase, in her hand, the rest of it in pieces all over the floor before them. Sometimes. Sometimes it felt good to take out all that anger out on innocent paintings. Sometimes she had to destroy something, before it destroyed her.

“You’re acting crazy.” He had said.

Crazy, was she?

Crazy for believing visions in her head, which were always right in the past? Crazy for being angry? For kicking him out? No.

Crazy for staying with a being like him?

Yes. If she was crazy, that was why.

If I’m crazy, well, then…

She smirked, taking a long draft, and letting it out, grey wisps filling the air around her.

Thanks, baby, I owe it all to you.

She had a faint recollection of being sane once. Before him. He always made her crazy, be it when she was first fell in love with him, or when she rose in hate for him. But there was a time, when, before all this, she was a sweet, naïve little golden girl in the forest, with her sanity in tact, who loved animals, and taking care of broken things, her innocence still put together.

He thought he knew crazy. He hadn’t even scratched the surface.

But then that impulse would fade as quickly as it came, and she was left with guilt for even thinking that way. She’d never do that. She might burn his picture, but she wouldn’t actually hurt him…would she? She hoped it would never get that far.

No. That was anger. The boiling thing rising inside her that made her want to smash, and spit in, his face, and burn paintings, that was anger. Anger rose, vehemently, but in the end it dissolved.

This was more than just anger.

This, this feeling; this dull resounding ache at the back of her consciousness like an unending death knell; this thing that bored a hole in her stomach, making her feel constantly sick; this thing that hung as a weight in her chest; this thing wrapping around her, chaining her wings; this thing that stained her eyes with sleeplessness; this thing that broke into her mind and ransacked her thoughts, tainting all those happy memories, making them seem diluted with lies, and sickening to think of, and never, ever left her house—

This was heartbreak. Eternal, infernal, heartbreak.

She was on a long stretch of road now, out where nature still bloomed and she didn’t have to look at anyone’s faces or talk to anyone. The ribbons of light still outlining the air—(was it two hundred now? She’d lost track.).

Lucky me.

Everyone always told her she was lucky. Not everyone got to be the wife of the king of the gods. Just her. She was lucky she had a husband who was powerful. Who was rich. She was lucky she had a husband who adored her. Who doted on her. Who listened to her. Who she could talk to. Who made her laugh.

Not everyone had that. Some had husbands who were poor. Who were weak. Who didn’t love them, and whom they didn’t love. Husbands who didn’t dote on them, or give them so much as a wanton kiss. Who fixed a permanent scowl on their faces. Who they couldn’t talk to. Husbands who lied to them, and cheated on them.

She was lucky she didn’t have that.

Not everyone got to be queen.

Lucky her. So lucky he chose her. So lucky she got the crown. No one else.

No one but her.

So lucky she had that handsome face to wake up to every day.

(Every damn day)

So lucky could talk to him every day. So lucky could kiss him, and hug him, and make love to him.

(Sometimes she couldn’t even look at him.)

So lucky she had Zeus. That goofy, dumb, brave, arrogant king as her better half. So lucky she had a husband who was so sweet, and kind, and gentle, and funny, and patient, and forgiving. So lucky she didn’t have had a cheating, lying, conniving, backstabbing little weasel for a husband, who put that crown on his head, and walked into his office like he owned the world—!

And he was the one person who could say he did. Including her. Sometimes she couldn’t say a word against him.

He owned the world. Along with every fucking girl in it.

And he did fuck them.

After it all, what would he say?

We all lie, so what? Something like that.

So what.

Him; the illustrious king with his throne, and his lightning. Her; a jealous queen with a stolen crown.

The only one to blame was herself.

“I just feel like everyone’s lying, everyone’s—!” the golden girl cried, her hands over her eyes.

Someone took her arm, someone whose grasp was gentle.

He put his finger on her chin, tipping her gaze up to him.

“I’d never lie to you.” Zeus said, giving a gentle smile.

And what made it better was he meant it.

She returned the smile, placing her hand over his. “Nor I to you.”

That naïve little ray of sunlight darkened by his moon.

We’ve both lied, so what? That would surely be his excuse.

“You know what?! Why don’t we talk about you for a change?”

He’d said he was sorry before. He’d promised to be better.

And she believed him, then.

He’d spent enough time telling the truth that she believed he meant it when he apologized. When he made promises. When he spoke to her, she thought he meant the things he said.

I cheated on you, I’m sorry.

I lied to you, I’m sorry.

Now she questioned everything he had ever said. His apologies, his promises, his compliments, his kisses. Were those words so long ago just another lie? His promise to never lie to her, was that just the first lie of a thousand? As numerous as the hours they spent together. Did he ever intend to keep his words back then?

That was the unfortunate thing about lies; they could reside in even the most sincere of promises.

I’m sorry.

(I’m not sorry.)

Long ago she’d wanted him to apologize. She’d been more than desperate to hear those words falling from his lips.

Now she knew they meant nothing. They could, and usually would, be just another lie. And, even if he meant them, they wouldn’t fix this aching hole he’d left in her chest.

She remembered herself at her wedding; them, the picture of a perfect, royal couple, his violet a compliment to her gold. Both of them practically shimmering, wearing traditional wedding attire—(though impossibly embellished and adorned)—and those goofy, light-filled smiles. The whole pantheon applauding, smiling, wiping away tears at their back.

In other countries, at weddings, they said they’d be together in sickness and health, till death did them part.

Did this count as sickness? As death?

Didn’t he break that promise? Did her promises matter after he broke his? Was her faith and faithfulness worth nothing anymore?

She now imagined herself in a black dress, standing at the back of that ceremony with a bow, and an arrow made of adamant, laced with the venom from a certain many headed monster, its gleam reflected in darkened gaze. She breathed out as they spoke, and loosed that arrow, shooting that girl in the back. Olympus shouted in vain, as she watched all that gold flow out of her past self, those blue eyes fade to a cool grey, keeping her from making the biggest mistake of her life. And she’d look at Zeus’ horrified face and think

I’m sorry.

(I’m not sorry.)

That was surely better than this. Better than dying slowly, the blue in her eyes dimming day by day into lifeless grey still animated somehow, better than that gold leaking out of her with each forsaken sunrise she woke up next to him.

Would he be happy then? Without her? He could fuck around with whoever he wanted.

Would she be happier, dead, without all this?

There was no way she could have known, back then what their lives would become after a few millennia. How that god who held her hands and said he’d never lie to her, who hugged her and kissed her, and seemed so in love, could become dissatisfied. That lust would overtake him; he’d keep wanting more and more, gorging himself on it. She had no way of knowing that she wouldn’t be enough one day.

She was young, and innocent then, and didn’t know better.

She couldn’t forgive herself for that.

Something flashed gold in the headlights before her, and for a second her mind manifested before her; she saw that golden girl still, her own hair draining down the street like liquid, that white wedding attire—old, ragged, covered in burns—her own naïve eyes, still full of light and life, staring up at her, terror overtaking their innocent frames. And her own eyes boiled.

The sound of breaking glass was like a cooling rain upon a fire that had been left raging too long.

******

Zeus was doing important business work. Focus was imperative.

Someone knocked on the door. “Your majesty.”

He fumbled with the spinner he was playing with, dropping it on the floor, sitting upright. He folded his hands on the desk, clearing his throat, trying to look professional.

“Yes? If it’s Hermes wanting to install racing tracks in the sky again—”

“Uh, n-no,” the messenger poked her head in the door, looking nervous, “It’s… about your wife.”

He blinked, then sighed, leaning back in his chair. “…What’s does she want this time?”

“Um…” she swallowed, avoiding his gaze, “S-She’s been in a car accident.”

*****

Notes cont.: Do you guys have any ideas for what song I could use for Zeus for the next chapter? (I want the next chapter to be framed like this one--based around a song, but for him, and from his perspective.) Let's see...In the simplest terms, I'm looking for a song about someone who knows they've made mistakes and/or hurt someone, and wants to do better. It doesn't have to be kpop, it can be anything XD (Though to be honest I'd prefer if it wasn't American pop...)

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ughseoks · 5 years

Text

the story of us | ksj

— pairing; seokjin x reader

— genre; angst, slight fluff in beginning & end

— word count; 1.6k

— warnings; angst, small fight, two stubborn dummies refusing to communicate properly

— summary; you thought that the story of you and jin was one that had a fairytale ending, but a miscommunication leaves you scrambling to ensure it doesn’t end in tragedy instead.

「based on “the story of us” by taylor swift」

— masterlist —

From the moment you met, you hoped that one day, you’d be able to tell your kids the story of you and Jin. You’d be able to recount how his cheeks tinted pink when your gazes locked, sparks flying instantly; how you crossed the room to talk to the mystery boy with broad shoulders, and a feeling of right tugged deep in your gut.

Your relationship blossomed from the first hello, and before you knew it, you and Jin were attached at the hip. Friends and family would always tell you that the two of you were “the lucky ones,” and you couldn’t deny it. How you’d managed to find Jin amongst the sea of people at your university still left you clueless, but one thing was for sure: you had no intention of ever letting him go.

It’s funny how in just one week, everything can change.

Glancing at your phone, you pushed open the door to the library. Your first instinct was to search the room for the tall, elegant creature that was Jin— but you stopped yourself short. Just a week prior, everyone knew that your place was the spot next to him, but now, you were searching the room for an empty seat. The large building was filled to the brim with students studying, sleeping, and frantically completing almost-due assignments. Casting your gaze to the floor, you plopped down at the nearest vacant table, pulling out your laptop to continue writing your literary analysis.

After a few minutes of staring at the halfway-completed document, you sighed in frustration, running a hand through your tousled hair. Normally, you were a quick writer, the words flowing from your fingertips with ease; but now, you couldn’t seem to form a coherent sentence.

As much as you hated to admit it, the source of your distraction was Jin. The argument that the two of you had three nights prior was the only thing you could focus on, and it was affecting both your work and school life way more than you’d like to admit. Resting your chin on the palm of your hand, you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to block out the memories begging for your attention.

“Lately, I don’t even know what page you’re on!” you yelled, throwing up your hands in frustration, “It’s like you aren’t even you anymore. What happened?”

Recently, you’d felt like something new had formed between you. Something more than being just friends. But, clearly, you were wrong. Jin had grown distant from you; he was staying out into the late hours of the night, ignoring your texts and calls, and showing up to school with the darkest under eye bags you’d ever seen. You didn’t know if it was because he sensed a change in your feelings for him or some other underlying issue, but what hurt you the most was that he was choosing to distance himself rather than confide in you.

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Jin retorted, desperation and panic seeping into his tone, “I’m still the same Jin you’ve always known. Nothing has changed!”

“You know that’s a lie,” you growled, pointing an accusing finger at him, “I can tell when you’re lying. Just tell me what’s going on!”

He clenched his jaw, averting his gaze from your fiery eyes.

“Is…” your voice dropped to a soft tone, emotion causing it to shake slightly, “Is it because of me?”

“What do you mean?” he replied, still not looking at you.

“Don’t pretend like you haven’t noticed it,” your voice had developed a bitter undertone to it; after all, you couldn’t believe he was denying what had been happening between the two of you. “You and I… I see us as being… more than just friends. Do you not feel the same way? Is that why you’ve been distant?”

Jin’s eyes blew wide open in shock, but it was only a moment before his face turned stone cold and the answer that you’d been dreading floated past his lips with an insulting level of ease.

“Yeah, it is.”

Miscommunication leads to fallouts. You and Jin were both well aware of that. But some invisible wall kept the two of you divided, and no matter how many things you wished he knew, the wall you’d erected seemed to grow taller and thicker each day. It stood tall and proud, guarding your already fragile heart from being dealt the final blow that would inevitably shatter it into a million, glittering Jin-shaped pieces.

Letting out a groan, you slammed your laptop shut, sliding it into your bag and storming out of the library. Clearly, you weren’t going to get any work done.

How did you and Jin end up this way?

It was three weeks later when you found yourself in the middle of a party, nervously pulling at your sweatshirt and trying to look busy. Scanning the room anxiously, your gaze unexpectedly locked with Jin’s. His eyes widened in shock before he spun on his heel, leaving you behind him without so much as a peep.

That was the first time you’d seen him in person since the argument. You hadn’t expected him to act like nothing had happened— after all, you weren’t sure you wanted to pretend like you were suddenly best friends again, either— but you didn’t expect him to flat out ignore you. Swallowing the growing lump in your throat, you tried to find a familiar face amongst the crowd, pushing back the thought of Jin doing his very best to avoid you.

Once upon a time, you thought you’d tell the story of how you almost lost your mind when you saw Jin for the first time; how he walked you home that night to make sure you’d make it home safe and sound because you were “too nice to die at the hands of a creepy old man on the street at 11pm.”

But now, he held his pride like he should’ve held you.

God, you were scared to see the ending of this story. Why were you both pretending like this was nothing? It was getting to be too much for your body and mind to handle, and judging by the dark circles you’d spotted under Jin’s eyes, he wasn’t faring much better than you.

Words couldn’t describe just how badly you wanted to run into his arms and tell him how much you missed him. But you had no idea how to.

Pulling out your phone, you drafted message after message, only to delete each of them a few seconds after typing them. The last messages sent between you were from two weeks ago, and the last time you’d actually talked in person had been almost three.

Yet you’d still check your phone at least once every hour, hoping to see a notification from him, just to be let down by a blank screen.

Huffing, you slipped your phone into your pocket and ran a hand through your hair, frustration and confusion coursing through your veins as you stood alone in the crowded room. Sure, you’d had arguments with Jin before, but you swore you’d never heard silence quite this loud. Inside, you were dying to know if it was killing him like it was killing you, but you didn’t know what to say or ask to get past this roadblock.

This terrible twist of fate had shattered everything, and the once fairytale-like story of you and Jin was starting to look a lot more like a tragedy now.

In an emotionally fueled rampage, you suddenly yanked your phone back out of your pocket. Your fingers slammed into the keyboard over and over again, not giving yourself enough time to think twice about what you’d typed out until after you hit send.

You: hey. can we talk?

You were sick and tired of competing for the title of who could act like they cared less… you just wanted Jin back. Although you might be stubborn, you liked it better when the two of you were on the same side, and you were more than willing to lay your armor down if he would admit that he’d rather love than fight.

Sighing, you turned your screen off once more, sliding your phone into your pocket. The battle was in his hands now, so there was no point in letting this ruin the rest of your night.

Jin’s heart was beating a million times a minute as he stared at his phone screen, reading the text message from you over and over again. All he had to do was reply to the four simple words, but for some reason, he couldn’t find it in himself to respond.

The question really only required a one-word response, so why was this so hard? Was he scared of the conversation that would inevitably follow? The chance of having his heart broken? Or was he, deep down, still trying to pretend like nothing was really wrong?

There were thousands of thoughts racing through Jin’s mind as he continued to stare at the screen, wishing there was a way to express what he was feeling. He had so many things to tell you, but he didn’t know how, and he was sure that if he stared for even a second longer he might shut down.

“Everything okay, dude?” Hoseok put a hand on Jin’s shoulder, throwing his friend a concerned glance, “You seem a little out of it.”

“Y-Yeah,” Jin locked his phone after sending a quick reply, sliding it into his pocket with only a moment’s hesitation, “I’m good.”

Jinnie: sure. let’s call later tonight.

a/n; this is a day early bc i love jin & i’m high on that mots:7 juice right now. sorry for the angst & messy writing. but i wrote this in like an hour with no editing and hey, at least there’s implied fluff at the end, right??

— masterlist —

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haru-sen · 4 years

Text

Angst!AU

First off, thanks to the anon ask that sparked me actually writing this out. It’s been a rough week. But this was fun. Second, it’s a draft and details may change when I actually get around the writing the fic.

The Jesse on Route 66 chapter takes place a little before this.

“He’s four hundred meters out. The vehicle is heavily shielded. I have not detected an escort.” Zee’s drone floated beside your hovercycle. “But this is still ill-advised.”

You shrugged, idling on the low rooftop, taking cover in the shadow of a massive viewscreen advertising a new fantasy drama. The actors were pretty, but the fight choreography looked too stilted. If you were at home, you would probably be bullied into watching it. If anyone still wanted to be in the same room as you.

“You can request backup.”

“Don’t need it,” you said, mapping the trajectory of the armored car. If it was just the one vehicle, Zee was enough. You just had to get her through the physical barrier of hardened shielding. She could penetrate the firewalls on her own. And more importantly, Zee was the only one not mad at you right now.

“They would come.”

You frowned. It was really unlike Zee to harp on this shit. “It’s not necessary.”

“Neither is going after Cian Barrett on your own.”

“I’m not on my own, I have you,” you said, not taking your eyes off the car. In this moment, you could almost forget that she wasn’t Athena. You could forget that Athena wasn't really Athena any more. You could forget that Blackwatch was nothing more than a memory of scandal. You could forget...so you did. That part of your brain wasn’t necessary for this job.

It was like slipping into your old armor. It was like coming home. The world faded away. There was you, Zee’s drone, and Barrett’s car. Everything else was secondary.

There were no identifying marks on your bike or your armor. The form-fitting suit was all matte black and shielded for direct combat. The helm, styled after a motorcycle helmet, covered your features entirely. Not your usual outfit, but your “Keres” identity had political links. Best to be incognito for now.

The sun was just beginning to dip, and the traffic was heavy. Zee would be able to jam the emergency transmissions, but there would be a lot of witnesses. There would be calls to emergency services. You were running this operation in broad daylight, and you couldn’t summon the urge to care.

“This is very reckless,” Zee said.

“Yeah, but Hong Kong is our territory,” you said, gritting your teeth behind your helmet. “Are you saying we can’t do this in our own backyard?”

“...It’s the only reason I’m agreeing to it,” Zee said primly. “But this is our backyard. Try not to shit where we eat.”

You chuckled, a little surprised by her use of profanity. “It’s nothing you can’t handle.” He was three hundred meters out. The overlay on the inside of your helmet fed you more statistics. The vehicle’s armoring class was higher than you expected, but it had side windows. Windows were always a structural weak point. You waited for Barrett’s car to reach the next intersection.

On cue, the light shifted to red, stopping the car in front of him. There was a slight reverberation as Zee tethered her drone to your bike.

You shifted gears, and then suddenly you were dropping forward, accelerating even as you fell.

Barrett’s car was a thick monstrosity, black and purple, custom-made by Vishkar: hard light kinetic shields, front and rear turrets, a Farraday cage overlay to prevent hacking. All of that was geared to stop bombs, guns, or cyberattacks. None of it would stop you.

You leaned into the turn, holding yourself at 45 degrees off the ground, the bike still accelerating as you slipped into traffic. You pulled yourself upright so you could slide between stopped cars. You took the innermost lane hovering on the border of oncoming traffic.

Barrett’s stopped car was just ahead.

“Cut it,” Zee said.

You released the controls, letting her take over as you drew the spike. Eight inches of hardened omnium, the point already starting to glow with heat. It was a simple tool, perfect for shorting out Farraday cages and breaking glass. Feet jammed in the stirrups, you rested your left arm across your chest, the spike in your metal hand. Powering up the prostheses and the tool took half a second. And as you passed Barrett’s car your arm snapped sideways, driving the metal into the glass with inhuman force.

You pierced a thick line through layers of glass, polymer shielding, and then tore through the metal frame, breaking the continuous line of the circuits. Now there would be a hole in the hard light armoring and the Farraday cage. In seconds, the spike grew too hot to hold, so you let it go, swinging yourself off the bike. You just had to carve the hole. Zee would open the way.

“I’m in,” Zee said, as the locks popped.

Grinning savagely behind your helmet, you yanked the door open, even as someone within emptied their gun at you. You jerked back behind the door, getting a glimpse of an omnic bodyguard switching weapons.

“Zee?”

“Working on it,” she snapped.

If you’d been alone, you could have used an EMP, but if you’d been alone, you wouldn't be able to pull the data from his devices. And that was more important than simply killing Barrett. Not that you planned on sparing him. Not after what Sakai had let slip. It had taken a lot of work, but in the end, you’d gotten what you needed from what was left of- You winced inwardly. You didn’t need to think about that right now.

You drew your gun, angled it, and fired into the car at where the bodyguard had been sitting. You heard the shots connect, metal rending metal.

“Watch where you’re shooting,” Zee snapped.

You were never in any danger of hitting her, but if your bullets made it out of the vehicle... You gritted your teeth. A ricochet probably wouldn’t kill a civilian. You swung around the door, gun raised.

The omnic was a smoking wreck. An armored woman lay bleeding on the ground.

An older, dignified “gentleman” in a suit, Barrett was pressed against the partition, his own weapon raised at you. But his hands shook violently. There was blood on his face and in his gray hair, but you didn’t see any serious wounds.

“Where is she?” You snarled.

“I don’t know whom you’re talking about!” Barrett shouted defiantly, words blending together in his thick brogue.

“I think you do,” you sneered, taking aim at his knees.

“Incoming!” Zee shouted as light flared in your peripheral vision.

Three things happened at once. The delivery van in a neighboring lane opened up, half a dozen armored Talon troopers pouring out. And then a sunburst struck the front of Barrett’s car. You dove to the side, taking cover behind the rear bumper of the vehicle, and then a wave of force rolled you under the next car as an explosion rocked Barrett’s vehicle-though it didn’t come apart. All around you, car windows shattered from the concussive blast.

“Is that-?” You winced, dragging yourself out from underneath a jeep.

“No, not one of ours,” Zee said sharply. “You need to get out, now.”

“KA-BOOOOM!” The voice was male, the accent distinctly Australian. You blinked as you watched a heavily singed blonde man kick Barrett’s front tire. “Hahaha! You’re blowing up! And this tire is blowing out!”

You staggered to your feet, ears ringing. There were armored Talon troopers sprawled across the asphalt. And twenty yards away, Cian Barrett was rabbiting down the crowded streets.

“Fuck,” you snarled.

“Move!” Zee shouted in your helmet more forcefully than you’d heard in a long time. You ducked low, running past prone troopers.

“How did you miss them?” You hissed.

“-I don’t know,” Zee said, her voice distant in your hear. “Transmitting this back to base.”

“I think they’ll see it on the news,” you huffed.

There was a ping in your helmet as someone tried to call you. You ignored it.

“There’s no way they know about Sakai,” you growled. Because the only people who knew what you’d done to Sakai and how you made her talk, well, they were on your side, even if they weren’t very happy with you right now.

“This isn’t for you,” Zee said, even as a Talon trooper raised her gun at you. “Drop!”

You dove forward, rolling through a brackish puddle, splashing foul liquid everywhere. It was good thing you were wearing a helmet.

“Come here.” A chain shot over your head, a massive hook sinking into the woman’s armor, and suddenly she was airborne. You turned your head, watching as a massive man in a gas mask yanked her to him.

“What the hell?”

“Junker mercenaries,” Zee said. “They’re here for Barrett too. Avoid them.”

“Lucky, you butthead! I know you can hear me! I know this tech can withstand bigger explosions, even if Hong Kong can’t! What the hell is going on?” A very familiar, very angry voice shouted over the comms. Someone had hacked your settings, not hard considering it was her hardware to begin with.

“Busy!” You shouted, trying to catch sight of Barrett. In the distance you saw an older European man rounding a corner-

“Yeah, well so am I! I have the fucking Minister of State Security on hold! Auntie has shorted out the power grid in a six block radius. Oksana is trying to take out any peripheral electrical surveillance. What in the ten hells do you think you’re doing?”

You flinched. “I was going after Barrett. But I’m not the only one.” You hesitated. “We didn’t know about the backup. Or the Aussies.” You didn’t say whether or not you would have still made the move if you had known. Better not to go there.

There was a moment of distracted silence. She was verifying your claim. “I see that...OK. Look, you need to get out of there. Those Australians can take the fall. You don’t need to get caught up in it any more then you already are.”

“Barrett has information I need,” you said tightly, vaulting over a low wall as you dodged down an alley, running parallel to the street you saw Barrett turn down.

There was a heavy sigh. Because they all knew what you would do to get that information.

“Give me some more time, Lucky. We can find them too. You don’t need to cut the answers out of every single Talon agent you dislike.”

“It’s therapy,” you hissed, swearing as dirt and garbage erupted behind you. A concussive blast nearly knocked you off balance. “You’re always telling me I need more of that.”

“This bomb’s for you!” The Junker cackled, rapidly closing the distance.

You swung around, raising your gun.

The Junker blew past you, literally hoisted by his own petard. He just waved, winking at you as he rocketed through the air.

Behind him, three more Talon troopers surged forward.

So many targets, but it wasn’t a hard decision.

The visor of your helmet overlaid the shot trajectories, even as you raised your gun in your left hand. Three T-Zone hits, three corpses toppling. The skill was unnatural as fuck, but you wouldn’t argue with the results.

You turned back to see the Junker, with his goddamn peg-leg, meters ahead of you. He squinted at you for a moment.

You surged forward.

“Oh good, I had no idea where he went!” The Junker chuckled as you passed him. In that moment, he tossed something in front of you, even as you jerked to the side, narrowly missing a steel-jawed trap.

“Aww, c’mon,” he groaned.

You just shook your head and kept moving. You were very tempted to shoot him, but if Talon was here for him and the big guy, then you might be better off letting him live. The old you might have been more concerned about the chaos. But Cian Barrett was getting away. And that was unacceptable.

“Zee, I’ve lost visual contact. Do you-”

“He’s two blocks north,” another voice chimed in. “You can cut though that alley up ahead and jump the fence.”

You inhaled sharply. After what you had done to Sakai, you didn’t think she’d speak to you for another year or two. And maybe you deserved that. “Thanks,” you said after a moment.

“Yes, well, be more careful,” she said quietly. “I’m mad at you, but I’ll be even madder if you die before we can talk about it.”

Dying might easier. But you were smart enough not to say that out loud. “I’ll be home tonight,” you said. “If I can wing it.”

“Kara misses you,” she said hesitantly, in a way that might mean someone other than Karalika missed you. Which made you smile in spite of the situation. Karalika probably did miss you, but she’d be fine. Everyone else spoiled her.

“Yeah, and if you make a bigger mess of this, I’m going to feed her sweet bean paste till she shits all over your room! Picture it! Bean shits everywhere!” Your “boss” shouted over the comms. “You’ll be mopping the goddamn ceilings for days!”

If that happened, maybe you’d stay in Hong Kong a little longer. You turned down the alley, still hearing the peg-legged Junker hopping along behind you. The fence was three meters high but you leapt onto a closed dumpster, pushed off a support pole, and flung yourself over the chain links. You dropped down with a heavy thud and picked back up.

“Zee, you have my ride ready?”

“In a minute,” she said, sounding distracted. It should not have come as a surprise, she was balancing a larger workload now.

With the explosions nearby, the crowds were thinning. You scanned the street- And there he was! A few blocks up, Barret shoved a street vendor and tried to duck into a shop.

You moved quickly through the press, following him into the little electronics stand.

Sweaty and disheveled, he slumped against a headphones display, panting. He was not doing a very good job of hiding. You glanced sharply at the shopkeeper who ducked into a back room.

Raising your gun in your right hand, you seized him by the collar. He flailed vainly against the metal.

“Wait! No! My people will pay handsomely for safety!”

You held up him by the throat, watching him twitch and shake, fear in those pale gray eyes. Your helmet was opaque. He would not see anything but his own distorted reflection. “Your money means nothing. I want information.”

“I-I-” He stammered.

“Widowmaker,” you snapped. “Where are they storing her?”

He shook his head frantically. “I don’t know!”

“Agent Sakai seemed to think you did,” you growled.

“That was a month ago! I don’t keep close tabs on all combat assets.”

“Bullshit! Where the hell is she?!” You squeezed tighter, rage making your arms shake.

“I don’t have a fucking clue!” He shouted back. “They keep the freaks with O’Deorain. Widowmaker, Sigma, Reap-”

Glass smashed as a giant hook hurtled through the storefront. You spun, holding up Barrett as your shield. That thick chain wrapped around his waist.

Maniacal laughter sounded, far too close. It made your blood run cold. The giant Junker was huge, and only wearing bits of armor, with lots of visible flesh. The piggy tattoo on his bulging stomach said “Wild Hog Power.” Barrett screamed as “Wild Hog Power” reeled him in.

It really wouldn’t do for Barrett to be ransomed. He was Moira’s financial advisor, and one more nail in her treacherous coffin. You slapped your gun back into your left hand, letting your helm’s targeting software direct your shot.

A neat red hole burst in Barrett’s skull. Much neater than Sakai had been. But Sakai had been personal.

“Wild Hog Power” shook Barrett like a doll, the corpse flopped around, neck flopping at an extreme angle. “Wild Hog Power” was breathing hard, hunched over Barrett. Bestial and berserking, this one was less human than most. He looked up then, clocking you instantly. He began spinning his chain.

Your insides shriveled, an atavistic reaction. This was a very dangerous place to be. “Zee-”

“Go out back!”

You jumped the counter, narrowly dodging that damn hook. More gunfire blew over your head, and you rapidly crawled out the back exit, finding your hoverbike waiting.

“Thanks!” You hissed, even as you hopped aboard, staying low. “Chances of extraction?”

“Not any time soon,” your boss huffed angrily. “I’m busy doing damage control. Looks like there was a lot of it- mostly property, but also quite a few civilians with shrapnel injuries. Hospitals will be overcrowded. We’re offering additional support to the locals. You can lay low for now.”

“Understood,” you said. Your safehouse not too far off. Checking your mirrors, you saw the Junker pair standing together in your dust, watching you make your escape.

You went radio silent. You were sore, but you’d gotten off lighter than you deserved, given the amount of mayhem you’d helped instigate.

Your safehouse was well-stocked and decorated to someone else’s taste. It was filled with Pachimari paraphernalia, though there were all kinds of stuffed animals on the couch. Kittens, hamsters, even a piggy. You shuddered slightly. “Wild Hog Power” had taken Barrett mid-sentence, but you’d already known about Reaper. Sakai had spilled everything in end, both figuratively and literally.

You showered first, setting aside your battered gear for repairs. Then you changed into sweats. You considered external healing, but there was no need. As long as you got a good meal, you’d be back in fighting shape after dinner.

The kitchen was full of novelty appliances and decorated in an alarming shade of pink enamel: the fridge, stove, sink, cupboards, everything. You’d been here a week and you still weren’t used to it. But it wasn’t all terrible, there was a bubble tea maker, and you fiddled with that – doing it from scratch wasn’t hard. But the machine took a few minutes to set up. You started the rice cooker too.

You had filled the fridge yourself, with fresh groceries and a beautiful raspberry chocolate cake covered in ganache. You were still working on improving your recipe for fish head curry. The freezer was packed with dimsum. Idly, you began heating up a pan of oil. Your body needed a lot of calories post-combat and cooking gave you some time to meditate.

The Talon troopers had not stepped in to save Barrett from you. Talon had not been waiting for you. They’d only come out when the Junkers were in range. So Talon had been expecting those Junkers. Your helm had captured enough footage that you could research the men. Zee had forwarded a large file to you.

The demolitionist was a man named Jameson Fawkes. He was a caricature of all the shitty, fried, explosion-happy maniacs you’d met through the years. Nwazue had been painstakingly responsible. Hell, Vo had been a pain in the ass, but- You exhaled slowly. Vo hadn’t been so bad. Not really. You stared at the fridge. She would have loved that cake.

“Wild Hog Power” was a man named Mako Rutledge. There wasn’t a lot of information about him. But you knew “incredibly dangerous” when you saw it. Both men had accumulated massive bounties and were wanted in several countries. You’d be surprised if they made it out of Hong Kong alive.

But that wasn’t your problem, you didn’t need to go borrowing more trouble. You had more than enough.

Your problem was how to save Widowmaker, especially since she didn’t especially want to be saved.

Your problem was that you knew exactly who was wearing that stupid skull mask and calling himself Reaper. But you didn’t know why, and that was just as awful. You had theories, of course, but even the best case scenario made you sick to your stomach.

Your problems all stemmed from the past, the sort of unresolved bullshit that only worsened over time. Jesse had been trying to get in contact with you, but you’d been putting him off. You still weren’t sure if you wanted to see him now, no matter what kind of intel he offered.

But you would, eventually. Not because he’d been your friend. Not because you were ready to forgive him. Not because you missed him. But because you needed every advantage you could get in this war.

“Lucky, you need to see this.” Zee’s cultured voice came on over the sound system. A security monitor flicked on. You stared incredulously as the two Junkers traipsed up the stairs and through the halls on the building, clearly looking for someone. They were still several floors below you. You had no idea how they’d tracked you here.

You could run. You knew this city pretty well. There might not be fighting. There might be more collateral damage. It was hard to say.

You could fight. The building was not unoccupied. It would not survive. There would be more collateral damage.

You could try diplomacy. But you weren’t entirely sure if those men were capable of rational thought. The Junkers were insane. Look what they had done to their own country. You certainly didn’t want to invite them in but...

But the enemy of your enemy was useful to know.

You went back upstairs to change clothes.

It only took them a few minutes to reach your door. But you were ready. You had changed into a simple black jumpsuit. It was short sleeved and with a flattering cut, the fabric draped elegantly. You put on makeup, just enough to be a polished hostess. You didn’t play a honeytrap any more. Not if you could help it. Your only jewelry was a thick white band around your left wrist. It had a pearlescent glow against your dark metal arm. You took a deep breath, checking the cameras and finding them loitering outside your door, Fawkes fiddling with a goddamn mine, Rutledge blocking the entire hall.

You opened the door, and stared coolly at Fawkes, wondering if he would really detonate the bomb right here. He better not.

“Eh?” Fawkes gaped at you, clearly shocked that you’d just opened the door.

“What are you doing?” You sighed, one hand on your cheek. You sounded more like an exasperated teacher than a security operative. That was intentional.

“Err...nuffink.” He shoved the mine behind his back like a child. Up close, he was younger than you first thought, though life had not been kind to him. He was scorched and sooty, patches of hair missing, his clothing near rags. It didn’t look like he cared.

Behind him, Rutledge regarded you silently, possibly surprised that you had answered the door without attacking, possibly trying to identify you as the woman on the bike. But with the mask in place it was too hard to tell.

“You were-” Fawkes jabbed his finger at you accusingly.

“Yes, I was there,” you said.

There was another awkward moment of silence as they tried to process your declaration. Honesty was certainly the best policy, when it got you a tactical advantage.

You regarded them politely. “Well then, are you going to come in for dinner?”

There was another long stretch of silence as the men looked at each other trying to figure out if you were being sarcastic.

Rutledge tilted his head back, and you realized he was sniffing the air.

Fawkes blinked rapidly. “I don’t like prawns.”

“Are you allergic?” You asked, stepping back to let them come in.

He glanced back at Rutledge, panic on his face. This was not how he pictured the encounter going. You didn’t think most people he met invited him inside for a meal.

“No,” Rutledge said. His voice was low and dangerous.

“No, just don’t like’em,” Fawkes fidgeted, and then shoved the mine down his pants.

You nodded. “There are slippers if you want,” you gestured to the shoe rack by the door. It was good manners to take off one’s shoes, though you weren’t going to press the matter with them. You walked back to kitchen, not looking to see if they used them. You walked down the hall, half expecting a bullet or a hook in the back. You fiddled with your bracelet, trying to keep your stance relaxed.

There was a crashing noise, and you flinched, before looking over your shoulder, to see Fawkes trying to shove the broken shoe rack into some semblance of its previous shape. Rutledge was holding up a very large pair of Pachimari slippers. They would have fit Reinhardt. You had no idea if they would fit him, but your support staff stocked a broad range of sizes.

There was a distinct rhythm as Fawke’s leg clicked against the wood. But it sounded like he was wearing a single slipper. Maybe one of those furniture leg felts would work on the peg-leg. You had not considered that. He followed you from the foyer into the kitchen. You went to the freezer and pulled out the rest of the dimsum. You could steam the dumplings, sticky rice packets, and bao, and maybe you’d have enough for Rutledge.

“Whatcha making then?” Fawkes asked, looking around the kitchen in wonder. He sniffed the air a few times, his eyes bright. He had terrible posture, shoulders hunched as he eyed the stove with distrust.

“Fishhead curry and dimsum.” The curry was still simmering. “Would you like something to drink?” Coffee in the jittery demolitionist would be unwise. Alcohol might be worse. You checked the bubble tea machine. “I have milk tea with boba.”

“I would kill for some!” He nodded vigorously, rubbing his hands together.

“Sugar?” You asked, your metal fingers twitching as you poured.

“Half!” He did not have an indoor voice.

The machine dispensed bubbles, tea, and sweetener according to his order. You offered him a cup with a metal straw.

Squealing, he took the drink from you and then Rutledge reappeared. Without a word, he snatched the cup out of Fawkes’ hands, popped off the lid, and sniffed. Then he looked at you.

You poured yourself a cup and took a drink. Using poison had definitely occurred to you, but with Rutledge’s clearly altered biology, there were too many variables. The tea was a little too sweet, but the tapioca bubbles were the perfect texture.

“Come on, pig face! If it ain’t poisoned, give it here!” Fawkes grabbed for the cup. Rutledge let him take it back, apparently not bothered by the name calling.

“Would you like some?” You asked, taking another drink. You had beer, but you purposefully did not want them drunk. You didn’t need them rowdier.

“Full sweetened,” Rutledge said after a moment.

You nodded and made him a cup as well. You gestured to the round table. “Please, have a seat.” The chairs would probably hold. Your boss got a kick out of making equipment way more durable than it needed to be, just for fun.

Fawkes straddled a chair, slurping his drink and watching you intently like a feral animal.

Rutledge carefully sat down, adjusting his mask so he could drink.

“Fancy pad,” Fawkes said, clearing his throat while he looked around.

“A friend’s place, I’m only visiting,” you said, not exactly lying. You stirred the curry. It was fragrant with spice and coconut milk, but needed to thicken a little more. You checked the steamer, finding the shrimp dumplings and the soup dumplings to be ready. You placed the metal steamer tray on a mat on the table and gestured to the cupboard. “Bowls and plates are up there. Chopsticks and silverware are in that drawer.” You returned to the stove. The oil was hot enough for the deep fried taro pouches. You tossed them into the oil, watching them sizzle.

“Ooooh,” Fawkes was suddenly over your shoulder. “Wozzat?”

“Fried taro, with ground pork filling.” You paused, glancing over at Rutledge. He was eyeing the steamer tray of dumplings. He had not gotten up for plates or silverware. “The yellow and kind of translucent ones have shrimp,” you told Fawkes, gesturing at the food on the table. “But the round white ones are pork.”

“Eww,” Fawkes scowled at you. “I don’t like prawns. Buggy little bastards taste like shite and are filled with-”

“You don’t have to eat them,” you said firmly. “But where I grew up, there wasn’t food to waste.”

Fawkes squinted at you. “But here you are in this fancy city pad-”

You flipped the fried taro with cooking chopsticks.

“-Stealing work from honest Junkers, and acting like-”

You had to maneuver around him to get a plate for the taro. He was getting worked up. You glanced briefly at your left wrist, wondering if you had made a mistake.

“Get out of the way,” Rutledge barked. “Can’t you see that she’s busy?”

You raised a brow, a little surprised by that reaction.

Fawkes was too. He blinked inquisitively at his partner.

“Be useful: set the table,” Rutledge said gruffly.

Fawkes snapped to attention then, skittering over to the cupboard to grab plates and utensils. You turned back to the roiling oil and began fishing golden brown taro cakes out of the pot. You filled the plate, and set it down on the table. They were steaming hot and would burn your mouth. Rutledge sat there stoically, watching your every move. He had not touched the food. In the corner of your eye, you saw Fawkes gracelessly slapping a handful of silverware onto a stack of plates.

You set the rice cooker on the table and checked the steamer trays. The sticky rice and bao were done. And the fish head curry was a deep orange color, with pieces of okra, taro, and eggplant cooked soft in the sauce. You would have liked to simmer the sauce a little longer, but you couldn’t help the timing. You turned around to see Fawkes seated with two forks and a bowl. It looked like you had two spoons, a bowl, and a plate, and Rutledge had two plates and pair of chopsticks.

You brought the pot of curry to the table, and then went back to retrieve more utensils and rice bowls. You set them in the middle of the table, and started scooping rice. You passed the bowls around, noting that still none of the food had been touched. Paranoia or manners?

Fawkes straddled his chair, surveying the table greedily.

But Rutledge looked at you expectantly.

“I am not religious,” you said, unsure if he wanted you to bless the meal. “But I do not offer the courtesy of my kitchen to my enemies.”

He nodded. “I am Roadhog. That’s Junkrat.”

Professional names then. “I am known as Keres.”

“Hooley dooley, Carrie, you got some fancy grub,” Fawkes, who was Junkrat, reached forward and grabbed a taro dumpling with his hands. “Hot! Hot! Hot!” He bounced it in his hand while you served yourself some curry. Junkrat seemed like a more fitting name.

Roadhog used his hands as well, carefully snatching dumplings and other appetizers, but setting them down on his plate. He wasn’t eating directly from the communal dishes, and you appreciated the courtesy.

You raised a brow as Junkrat grabbed his own share of curry and began squirting Sriracha into it.

“You might taste it first,” you said, because you had been liberal with the spices and the peppers.

“I eat gunpowder for breakfast, Carrie!” He jabbed his fork at you, eyes blazing. “Don’t need no drongo telling me how to eat a fish head!”

You chuckled. “All right.” You sipped your tea watching keenly as Junkrat shoveled a spoonful into his mouth, grinning triumphantly at you. It took a few seconds, but as he swallowed, his face began to redden, his cheek twitching. Sriracha really wasn’t that hot. But the peppers you’d used were pretty potent.

Roadhog spooned half the curry onto his plate, splitting the fish head and taking the larger portion of that as well.

They were two different kinds of dangerous. Junkrat needed to be balanced – too much stimuli and he flew into a manic episode. Too little and he stirred up trouble to keep himself from being bored. Roadhog was a pressure cooker, holding it in until he hit critical mass. Keeping them both calm took different strategies.

Doing so was less difficult than it sounded. You were used to dealing with dangerous difficult people. After all, back in Zurich you’d been so good with-

You stopped, mid-bite. Yes, that’s exactly what the Junkers reminded you of. Your goddamn Blackwatch hardcases. Fuck. The wheels of memory ground out another realization: Hell, when you’d first joined up, your manners were only marginally better than Junkrat’s. That was such a long time ago...

The blonde man was still chattering about how the fish curry wasn’t that hot, while he piled more rice into his bowl and shoveled it down his throat. Then he loudly drained his cup, still protesting that he had no trouble with spices.

Roadhog noticed your hesitation and slowed his eating.

You took a drink and went back to your curry. It could have used a little more tamarind. The coconut milk mellowed the sharpness a little more than you expected.

“Well, as long as you find it acceptable,” you told Junkrat when he finished his rant about his tolerance for spicy food. “I’m still working on the recipe, so I understand if you think it’s lacking.”

He blinked. “Oh, no. ‘S good.” He slurped down another bite and gave you a thumbs up.

“I’m glad,” you said.

“Meant to say, that’s some arm you got there,” Junkrat chirped, knocking on your metal limb with his own prostheses. “How’d you lose it? Shark? Salty? Hamster?” He mimed biting motions with his hands.

“Terrorist attack,” you said, taking another bite of curry, though in that moment you only tasted ash.

“Bomb?” Junkrat asked.

“Yeah,” you said, though it had not been that straight forward.

“Who?” He asked eagerly.

“Talon.” You took a sip of your tea, the sweetness bracing you.

“Oh yeah, they’re absolute drongos,” Junkrat cackled. “Keep inviting us around, like we want to join their stupid club with their dumb scrap metal lackeys.”

“So they’re trying to recruit you?” You asked.

“Mebbe,” Junkrat gave you a sly look. “Mebbe they’re after me treasure.”

You laughed a little too hard at that.

“You don’t believe me?” He puffed up then, smacking his bare chest. “Me and Pig Face are rich! We could eat like this every day if we wanted to!” Madness flared in those eyes.

Under the table, you rested your bracelet against your knee.

“Shut up, idiot,” Roadhog grumbled.

“She’s laughing-” Junkrat’s head snapped to the side, reminding you of a mongoose about to strike.

“You told a joke,” Roadhog’s voice was dangerously low. “Sometimes people laugh at your jokes.”

Junkrat crossed his arms, looking sullen.

Children with their delicate egos. You gave a wry smile. “I thought it was a pirate reference.” You tapped your knee.

“Oh,” Junkrat looked at you sideways. “Of course it was!” He laughed a little too loudly. “I really had you two going! This is a dinner party, Roadhog! You gotta be personable. And I am nothing if not a courteous house guest!”

Even with the mask on, even if you’d never seen his face, you could feel Roadhog’s exasperation loud and clear.

“They were really invested in grabbing you today,” you said. “But there are a lot of cells in Talon,” you said. They pulled off heists and robberies, though it was usually for things other than money: tech, hostages, an unsavory means to an end... “I can’t claim to know what their intentions are.”

“Of course they want us to work for them! You saw us out there! Regular professionals! We were on a roll!” He grinned at Roadhog, jabbing him with a bony elbow. “Eh? Eh?”

“Stop that,” Roadhog growled, picking up his plate to drink down the curry sauce.

“But you did steal our kill though. He was worth more alive,” Junkrat said, narrowing his eyes at you.

“Sorry, personal business,” you said with a shrug. “I lost more than an arm to those bastards.” And given what you had learned from their dossiers, you probably could have left Barrett with them, confident that he wouldn't survive the experience. They had no love of “suits.” But you hadn’t known that back in that little electronics shop.

“Yeah, I get it,” Junkrat heaved a dramatic sigh. “There are some things money can’t buy.” He grinned at Roadhog. “But if that’s the case, you should still try the proper application of high powered explosives!”

You laughed softly, in spite of the situation. He was a crude, vicious, and dangerous child. Maybe he reminded you a little of Vo, of Fitzpatrick, of Távio, and others. Maybe you were just getting old. “I know it’s effective, but I don’t have your talent in that field. Never picked up the knack for anything beyond the basics.”

“I could show you a trick or two,” Junkrat flashed you what had to be his idea of charming smile. Somewhere between a leer and the awkward smile of a student portrait, he showed far too many teeth. And he waggled his eyebrows at you.

You were far too old for this shit. But you put on hand over your mouth, trying to smother your snickers.

Junkrat grinned at Roadhog, nudging him with his elbow. “Suppose she fancies me? She did invite us in for this real intimate dinner. Ladies don’t just roll out that hospitality for anyone.”

Roadhog just shook his head.

“Unless she’s interested in you,” Junkrat murmured a low shocked voice. “Hooley dooley, mate! You don’t think-”

“No, you don’t think,” Roadhog said setting his plate down. “This is business.”

Junkrat blinked. “But dinner-”

“Friendly business,” you said. “A simple “getting to know you” sort of event. Though let me emphasize, I don’t share food with my enemies.”

“Not government,” Roadhog said, utensils set at straight on his plate, indicating he was done. “Not Talon.” He looked around. “Corporate security? PMC?”

“Sort of,” you said.

Junkrat scowled. “We don’t work for suits.”

“I represent the Peaceful Life Society,” you said.

Junkrat snorted. “That’s a silly name.”

“I’m still not sure if it was meant to be ironic,” you said, sipping your tea. “But yes, it is.”

“Triad business?” Roadhog crossed his arms.

“It could be,” you said. “We can talk business. We can talk about cake. There is no pressure. I’m not here to try to strong arm you.”

“You wanna hire us, Carrie?” Junkrat asked.

“I have work, if you’re interested. I have cake, if you aren’t.”

“But we can only pick one?” Junkrat frowned.

“No. We can just start with dessert,” you said and got up. You brought the cake out of the fridge. And when you turned around, Junkrat was hovering over your shoulder, flitting back and forth, staring at the cake.

“Look at that, Roadhog. Just look at that beauty. Just covered in chocolate, a goddamn mudslide of chocolate. It’s gonna be too sweet,” he moaned. “It looks pretty, but they overdid it-”

“It’s dark chocolate,” you said, a little indignantly.

“And all that coating is gonna be gummy pasty sugar shit-”

“It’s not fondant,” you scowled, genuinely offended by the thought.

“It can’t be as good as it looks, there’s no fucking way!” He wailed, clearly more interested in being dramatic than listening to a word you said.

You glanced over at Roadhog feeling a growing respect for his levels of patience. “Would you like a slice?”

He nodded.

You almost asked if he wanted Junkrat’s slice, but decided to be the mature adult here. You set the cake on the counter and cut two large slices for you and Roadhog, and one small one for Dramarat. Against your better judgment, you made coffee to go with it, possibly making it half-caf because your guests were so excitable.

“Let’s go in there. I don’t feel like clearing the table right now.” You handed each man their own plate and fork, and poured yourself some black coffee. You took a seat in a single chair, while the Junkers took the couch.

Junkrat poked at the plushies, giggling to himself as he tossed the pig at Roadhog, nearly missing the other man’s plate.

“Watch it!” Roadhog snapped.

You set your drink down on the glass coffee table and took a bite of the cake. There was a generous spread of tart raspberry liquer filling between each layer of chocolate cake. Smooth chocolate ganache replaced the frosting, with fresh raspberries adorning the top of the cake. It was rich with just the right amount of sweetness. Gabriel would have-

You did not finish that thought. It would have sat badly with your curry. Instead, you set the plate down and took a deep swig of coffee. When you looked up, Roadhog was delicately eating his slice while Junkrat was still staring forlornly at his own piece.

“How is it really?” Junkrat tried to whisper, but he was about as good at it as Reinhardt.

“Find out for yourself. Idiot.”

“I’m not like you. I can’t just eat anything. I’m a connoisseur!”

Roadhog just shook his head in disgust.

Junkrat begrudgingly took a bite, grimacing the entire time. Uncertainly pinched his already pointy features. He chewed, slowly relaxing as he tasted the cake. The transformation was nearly instantaneous. He went from pissing and moaning to an open mouthed quiet awe. He stared reverently at his slice and then shoved the rest into his mouth.

You sipped your coffee.

“Hooley dooley that’s good shit,” he murmured, mouth full of crumbs. “Can I have more? Before pig face eats it all?!”

You still couldn’t see much of Roadhog’s face, but you could feel the heat of the glare directed at Junkrat.

“You both can have the rest. I’m pretty full,” you said, picking up your plate. There was three quarters of a cake left. Maybe they could take it to go.

“Are you sure?” Junkrat squinted at you. And then hopped up, bouncing into the kitchen with glee.

...Oh, maybe you should not have given him that much sugar.

But then Roadhog was on his feet, lumbering into the kitchen with heavy steps.

“Hey, back off! This is mine! Carrie said I could have it!”

“Fifty-fifty,” Roadhog said, pushing Junkrat out of the way. He lifted the knife and made a sharp cut.

“That looks more like sixty-forty!”

“Get your eyes checked,” Roadhog said, taking a slightly bigger piece.

“Come on, don’t be such a pig!” Junkrat jumped, trying to snatch the cake out of Roadhog’s hands.

“We can always get more cake,” you said.

“...Really?” Junkrat perked up.

“Yeah, I don’t mind going for more dessert,” you said, even though the bakery was closed. If they pushed, you could get ice cream or something.

“Oh,” Junkrat grabbed the remaining portion. “I guess that’s OK then.” The importance of the distraction was to get them to disengage. You did not want them coming to blows in the apartment safehouse. Both men returned to the living room, Roadhog taking the far corner of the couch. Junkrat sat closer to you, eating happily while he poked at the plushies with chocolate-smeared fingers.

“Didn’t figure you for the stuffed animals type,” Junkrat said, turning over a pirate Pachimari in his lap. He bounced it a few times, then looked around rapidly, then tried to act casual slinging it to the side.

“I didn’t decorate,” you said with a shrug. “But they are really cute.”

“I guess they are,” Junkrat jammed his hands into his pockets. “If you like that kind of thing.”

Roadhog coughed.

“I mean, I don’t,” Junkrat sputtered. “I’m a man of sophistication and means. I just know that they don’t make the pirate one back home. They were limited edition,” Junkrat said, staring longingly at the pile of plush.

You sighed. This location was going to be metaphorically burned after this encounter. You could make some good will offerings. “My friend won’t mind if you take some.” You paused. “If you had someone back home whom you thought might like one.”

“Oh.” Junkrat perked up. “Really? Because I think Little...James might like one. Just some neighborhood kid,” he added quickly.

Roadhog just sat very still.

“And his little sister...Jamie might want one too,” Junkrat grinned.

“Go for it,” you said sincerely. “Think of them as...party favors.” You glanced at Roadhog who just sat there eating his cake.

“Carrie, you throw the best dinner parties!” Junkrat squeezed an armful of plush, some of them squeaked. “If more people did it like you, dinner parties wouldn’t be so goddamn boring!”

“Thank you,” you said. “I try.”

“But I don’t know about working for your Triad buddies. We’re free agents! We don’t like being tied down!” Junkrat looked up from the plushes, expression grim.

“I understand,” you said. “If you’re fighting Talon though, I’d like to collaborate some time. Or at least not get blown up or shredded by the two of you in combat. I’d extend the same courtesy, of course.”

“Carrie, you’re a nice lady who owes us some more cake. I would never-” Junkrat pressed his hands to his chest. “Never ever ever.”

“That’s a relief,” you said. You hadn’t expected them to onboard today. This was just first contact. You could cultivate the ties over time.

“Truce,” Roadhog said. The cake was gone, but there was no trace of it on his fingers, lap, or mask.

“Truce,” you said with a smile.

Junkrat had stuffed his bag full of toys, though you didn’t miss the piggy tucked on Roadhog’s hip, almost completely hidden by the chain. Junkrat was snoring now, draped across Roadhog’s back. He

“If you’re interested,” you said, offering him your card. “We can talk about it over cake.”

Roadhog grunted, accepting it. Those massive hands delicately placing it in a pocket. He paused, looking down at the bracelet your left wrist. He snorted.

“Hardlight projector?”

“Yes,” you said.

He nodded. “Military grade?”

“Of course.” Because you could be friendly and well-armed. Always hope for peace, but prepare for killing the shit out of your enemies.

Roadhog stared at it for another few seconds, clearly contemplating the other way this encounter could have gone. “Thank you for the meal,” he said, ducking to go through the door.

“I had fun,” you told him. “We should do it again some time.”

You sat on the roof, admiring the brilliance of the skyline. A shuttle would pick you up soon. A local cleaning service would take care of the facilities. The Junkers had come and gone with minimal damage. Cian Barrett was dead. Zee had access to his files. Not a bad day’s work.

Zee’s drone hovered by your shoulder. “You still have a way with delinquents,” she said.

“Takes one to know one.” You fiddled with the bracelet. It wasn’t your best weapon, but you could use it well in close quarters. “You can take the girl out of the bar-”

“That is such a crass statement with racist overtones,” Zee said, her tone frosty.

“Sorry, you’re right. I don’t need to be repeating that shit,” you said. You tilted your head back. You’d spent a couple months in Phuket before you had found Sakai. You’d picked up some of the lingo, the ways to blend in. You’d need to shed those habits sooner rather than later. “How are things back home?” You asked.

“Settling.”

“That could mean any number of things.”

“You know Feng was never mad about what you did. She was worried about you. She still is.”

“I know.” You toyed with the a large bulldog plush that had somehow been left behind by the Junkers. If Oksana didn’t want it, maybe Karalika would. “But Oksana...”

“She needed time to come to terms with what she saw you do. She’ll get past it. She adores you too much. This was an eye-opening experience about our line of work. Her father has always sheltered her.”

“Her father-” You scowled.

“Will get over himself when she calms down. He exaggerates all faults. Honestly, all of you are so overwrought and emotional. Presenting the On Sing Serial Drama: tune in next week for more shocking events and emotional fallout in a real time comedy of errors,” she said in biting tones. “Foolish children. These things take time. You have to account for that, Lucky. Stop being so impatient.”

You smiled wryly. “Thanks, Auntie. You really do know best.”

“I know, and while you are acknowledging my wisdom and experience, let’s talk about what’s going on with you. You really need to talk to another professional about what’s going on in your life,” she told you primly. “Don’t give me the “oh, who’s going to understand the psychological effects of brainwashing, and faked deaths, international conspiracies” speech. That’s cult of exceptionalism foolishness. Conspiracies aren’t what’s sending you to therapy, it’s your manner of handling the stress. Psychologists understand complications, betrayals, PTSD. That is what you are asking for help with, untangling your feelings and yourself. This isn’t about politics or tech. Your situation may be unique, but your reactions? Textbook.”

You winced. “You broke me down faster than I did Sakai.”

“Yes, well unlike you, I’m not playing around, or trying to draw out the suffering,” she said. “And unlike the others, I don’t care what you did to her. She earned it. But I do care what it implies about your mental state, and how it affects the rest of the family.”

“I went too far,” you agreed after a moment. “I’m not sorry. Not yet. But I know I went too far.” Maybe not far enough to join Talon as a double agent, commit atrocities to win their trust, and then finally exact your brutal revenge. And that was the best case scenario in a certain Reaper’s case.

“Make sure you tell that to everyone else. Ask for their help in keeping you honest. It will go a long way in earning you some grace.”

“Yes, Auntie,” you said with a heavy sigh. You stared out over the city. The night was warm. “I still have one question. How did they locate me so quickly?” You gave the drone a sharp side eye.

“You need allies. They have survival skills,” she said, telling you everything you needed to know.

“With friends like you, I definitely need more allies to watch my back,” you scowled, though you couldn’t muster any real ferocity.

“I had full faith in you,” she said solemnly. “And total control of the discretely placed turrets.”

You just shook your head. “Auntie-”

“You cannot slaughter your way through this, Lucky. Not if you want to protect the others. Do you think Oksana is ready for this war? Are you willing to risk it?” She didn’t give you a chance to respond. She already knew your answer. “No, you need to be smart and use diplomatic methods too.”

“You’re not wrong, but I think I just used up all my diplomacy,” you said dryly.

“You should probably work get it back soon,” she said. “Jesse McCree has just arrived in Shanghai. He has...information. And he’s insisting that he tells it to you in person.”

****

Yes, you should know all the ally characters referenced, except Karalika. I’m fine spoiling in the comments if you want to guess.

My week was stressful. 10-11 hour shifts, a sick cat, cat had teeth extracted Friday and is high out of his mind (or had a stroke? I don’t know.) I’ve had force feed him a feed a few times this weekend. He keeps falling off things and walking into walls. He’s not using the litter box. I am super tired.

#Angst AU #Drabble #In Alio Loco #Roadhog #Junkrat #I lied-this is a way bigger than a drabble

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chameleonspell · 4 years

Text

some random iriel words i found

[I just found this in my drafts, must have been there a few years, as I don’t remember anything about it. From context, I gather it’s answers I wrote to some sort of horror-themed OC question meme. I used to do a lot of these for character development when I was writing HTDC, but rarely posted them in case I ended up wanting to use the content in the fic. Might as well post it now? I have no idea if anyone else likes reading this stuff, but lmk if you do, I no doubt have a ton more somewhere...]

They have a premonition that something terrible will happen to them. How do they handle the situation?

Iriel would carry on as normal, because he has anxiety, so that's a normal Loredas, tbh. Perhaps some breathing exercises, or carefully modulated Calm spells. If, however, the premonition is specific and prophetic-sounding enough to convince him it results from an external source and not his own brain, then that's a whole different nest of scribs. Because that means that someone is fucking with him, probably a Daedra, and Iriel has well-documented reservations about the trustworthiness of such things. What situation are they REALLY trying to engineer, and why?

Do they have a fear of the unknown and things they can’t explain?

Not nearly as much as some people. Iriel has enough known-fears to contend with that something being unknown gives it rather an advantage, at times. Besides, he's a scholar. Unknown things are inherently interesting, because then you can research them, and test hypotheses! Sometimes to the point of almost contracting vampirism, because you can't resist touching weird-looking corpses.

What is the most disturbing thing they’ve ever seen?

I had to think about this one, because pitching Iriel through Morrowind involved subjecting him to a lot of disturbing things. Sixth House stuff is obviously designed to be body-horror nightmarish, and Ire's particular terror of skeletons meant that ancestral tombs were always going to be a trial. In terms of character turning points, though, I'm gonna say Rotheran was the worst thing he'd ever seen, the most upsetting. Because it wasn't just the slavery, or the sadistic games, or the Daedra worship, or the illusion-magic mind control (though that was all bad enough!). It was the dark things about himself, about his psychology and attitude to other people, that he believed he saw magnified and reflected there, triggering a spiral into self-loathing and despair, and the events of the next several chapters! Which... sounds really depressing, but was ultimately useful, in a gotta-lance-the-poison-filled-abscess-before-you-can-clean-and-heal-it kind of way.

What would they do if they witnessed an alien ship crash landing?

I like how this sort of question highlights the differences of the TES setting. Cosmology, f'rinstance, is rather a different affair. Space travel is occasionally a thing in the lore, but their "space" isn't the same as ours. The appearance of strange crafts from out of the air filled with unidentifiable creatures wouldn't imply "aliens!!!" to someone from Tamriel, but probably something more like: "oh shit what have the Telvanni made NOW?" or "please no more portals spewing horrors from another Daedric realm-o'-the-week, i am so very tired."

If they were a ghost, what methods would they use to haunt someone?

"If". lol. Iriel spends a fair amount of HTDC baaaaasically turning into a ghost, yeah? Insubstantial, invisible, losing all grasp on the material realm. And yet, he utterly fails to use his powers to prank people! Shani and Bodu agree that this is a tragic waste of ghostly powers.

Actually, this is another one where TES sensibilities might differ from ours. In Tamriel, ghosts are a well-documented spiritual phenomenon - the result of a lapse in burial rites, or, in the case of Dunmer, the successful product of them. Haunted houses tend to be places full of actual screaming spectres, rather than strange, poltergeist activity. Floating objects and suchlike would be more readily explained by a mage's mischievous telekinesis than the restless dead.

Anyway, to return to your question, a house haunted by Iriel is largely identical to one in which he is actually living. Either way, you may see little hard evidence of his presence, yet sometimes experience odd, herbal smells; indistinct, yet melancholic apparitions in the corner of your eye, and soft sighs just on the edge of hearing. You may also find your books mysteriously disappearing, and reappearing with the pages tea-stained and dog-eared.

How much would they have to be offered to live in a haunted house for a month?

"Let me get this straight. You're offering me an empty house... yes, fine, there are ghosts, but no real people... an empty house that everyone else is frightened to go near, so I'd have complete peace and quiet-- yes, yes, apart from the ghosts, I mean-- ...and I can do whatever I like there, and... let me be absolutely clear about this... YOU want to pay ME?"

("Hmm? Oh yes, it's been fine. Honestly, the dead are far less trouble than people think, especially the non-embodied kind. Simple wards and charms will do adequately if you want to keep them contained, but really, a little attention is all most of them want. They like it when I sing to them, actually. I did get one dreadful screamer, and had to spend a night traipsing around the cellar, scrabbling in the dirt until I found where the poor thing had been buried, but ever since I got the gravedigger to move him somewhere more comfortable, he's been a total sweetheart. Which is more than you can say for dogs or babies or Bosmer housemates, honestly.")

Could they stay calm lost in the woods all night by themselves?

It's funny... I'm sure Iriel's pa used to take him camping in the woods as a kid, and I'm sure Ire spent the entire time freaking out about weird noises, and generally having an unhappy, stressful time. And yet, upon being released from prison as an adult, he immediately vanished into the woods, and voluntarily spent multiple days and nights alone out there. (Three reasons: fear of civilisation, dissociation and drugs.)

After that, even once the drugs wore off, he'd become accustomed to wild places, and grown to feel safer there than in cities, where the dangers around him were harder to predict and quantify. Iriel is, in some ways, very unimaginative. His mind will create possible scenarios based on his experiences, but it won't invent implausible monsters from nothing, and he finds darkness comforting, rather than a source of horror. The woods at night are a good deal more peaceful and friendly than many other places he's spent time.

#oc memes #question memes

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the-awkward-outlaw · 5 years

Note

Chubby Arthur with a chubby female reader. Modern times. Can be smutty af. (Haha I’m kinda slutty for my Artie). He’s teaching her about riding horses and next thing you know.....

I’m sorry this took so long! This week has been weird. Anyways, here you go! BTW, this piece made me miss my own horseback riding lessons.

Warnings: smut

You sigh a little nervously. Are you really ready to do this? What if you make a complete fool of yourself? What if he laughs at you? You’ll probably look ridiculous the entire time. What if you enjoy it too much and you make some goofy face? God, this was a bad idea, you tell yourself.

“You ready?” Arthur asks, walking up to you.

You open your eyes, swallowing. Okay, deciding to take horseback riding lessons was a mistake, you’re sure of that now. But why in the hell did your instructor have to be so damn good looking?

You graduated college a year ago and now that you have a good paying job and are fairly stable in your living situation, you decided to go looking on the internet for some things to do with your free time. Some new hobby to develop. Something active. You looked at maybe doing archery or just plain old hiking, and while you liked doing them, they weren’t enough to really keep you going for a long time. Besides, your archery instructor kept pushing you to buy your own gear and that shit’s expensive, so you dropped it. Then you ran into an ad about horseback riding lessons and the fees weren’t out of your range like a lot of the others.

You pat the horse’s neck that you’ve just tied up to the post. She’s a dapple gray mare named Willow. Arthur explained when you first got here that she’s the best with beginners. He has five horses total, including a massive iron gray draft horse. He showed you how to interact with Willow, how to put a halter on and then how to tie her to the post outside his tack room. That’s where you are now after he left to grab some grooming tools.

“Ma’am, you ready?” he says again. You finally nod, feeling like a damn fool. He’s an attractive man, more on the plump side but you can tell he’s still very fit. You’re chubby yourself, a struggle you’ve had for most of your life. It’s also been one of your biggest insecurities. There’s no way in hell this man finds you attractive. It doesn’t help that he’s incredibly polite and has a gruff voice, the kind that could turn you to butter.

He hands you a grooming brush and shows you how to brush Willow. Then he shows you how to clean Willow’s feet with a pick and then has you do it. She’s a patient and obedient horse, to which you’re grateful. When she’s all brushed and clean, Arthur comes out with a blanket and a big saddle. He shows you how to position the blanket and then throws the saddle over her back. Then he shows you how tight to put the girth around Willow’s belly and how to measure and adjust the stirrups. Then he shows you how to bridle her. He undoes everything and tells you to repeat it. He’s a firm believer in hands-on learning, which you appreciate.

After she’s saddled up, you lead Willow outside with Arthur. He’s glad you had the knowledge to buy yourself some gear before showing up, mostly the riding boots and a helmet. He admits he never wears one himself, but he grew up on horses so he’s pretty confident in his riding skills.

“Never go without a helmet until you know how to ride backwards, forwards and upside down,” he says.

In the round pen, he teaches you how to mount. When you’re finally on Willow’s back, he asks how it feels. It feels good, even if it is taller than you thought it’d be. Arthur just has you walk around the round pin for the next half hour so you can get used to the horse moving beneath you and get your balance. He’s surprised how well you’re able to balance yourself.

Over the lesson, you keep catching him looking at you, but you can’t tell if he’s just making sure you don’t fall off or get ahead of yourself. It’s probably just wishful thinking, but you swear he seems to always have a small smile when he’s looking at you. Like you said, there’s no way he finds you attractive.

Over the course of the next few weeks, you have a few more lessons and have graduated to trotting and doing simple work like pirouetting and other types of turns. Arthur says it’s all important so you can really learn how to feel your horse and build that unique bond of trust between horse and rider. It’s tough work that always leaves you sweating a little, not to mention sore. After your first lesson, you could barely walk normally because of how saddle sore you were.

You swear Arthur’s been flirting with you a little more and more each time you’ve come for a lesson. Banter between you comes easily and you learn a lot about each other. However, by your sixth lesson, you struggle to look him in the eye thanks to the fact you’d had a wet dream about him. It had been amazing too, the things he did to you were just wonderful. You’re determined to keep it a secret.

The tenth lesson, as you’re unsaddling Willow, Arthur strolls up to you, looking nervous. Oh no, he’s about to tell you he can’t continue teaching you for some reason. Is he about to sell his ranch? Is he selling Willow?! You love Willow, she’s a fantastic horse. Oh no, what is he about to announce? You’ve come so far with these lessons, they’ve been an incredible amount of fun.

He rubs his neck nervously. “Hey, uh, Y/N. I was wonderin’, well…” He stutters a bit. “I understand if you ain’t interested or if you got plans. And I certainly don’t wanna step on any toes if you already got someone, but…” He finally looks at you with those beautiful blue eyes. They were the first thing you noticed about him. “I’d love to take ya out to dinner. Tomorrow, if you’re free?”

You must be tired or hungry or dehydrated or something. No way in hell did Arthur Morgan, your horse riding instructor and certified hottie, just ask you out on a date. There’s no way in hell! You must take too long to process this because he begins to stammer again. “I didn’t mean…. If ya already got a boyfriend, or a girlfriend even, I certainly don’t wanna intrude. Sorry if I offended ya.”

He begins walking away, his face red. You come to your senses, realizing you didn’t make it up. “Arthur, wait! Sorry, I didn’t mean to leave you hanging. I thought… well, I thought I was just hallucinating or something. To be honest, I’ve wanted to ask you out forever but just… didn’t think you’d want to.” Great, now you’re the one rambling. “Arthur, I’d love to go to dinner with you.”

You’ve never seen him smile so wide. “Well, that’s great, Y/N.” The two of you set time and details and then you say goodbye. His eyes are sparkling when you leave and you feel like you’re floating the entire way home. You can’t believe it. A date with Arthur Morgan! He’s gotta have dozens of women drooling at his feet, you know he teaches other people to ride. You’ve seen a couple of them. So why in the hell did he ask you out? You’re just a normal girl, there’s nothing about you that you find interesting. Not in personality and definitely not in looks.

The next day, you try to find something nice to wear. Not anything too formal of course, but something nice. You end up just putting on a clean pair of jeans and a tank top with a plaid button down shirt, leaving it open. There. A safe, nice and casual look that still says you know how to have fun.

Arthur knocks on your door and when you open it, you can’t help but let your mouth fall slightly open. He was always good looking before but now he’s down right sexy. He’s in a pair of jeans, his signature cowboy boots, and a blue plaid button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His shirt’s only buttoned up to halfway up his chest, revealing some of the hair growing on his chest. You remember your sex dream involving him and resist the urge to just rip his shirt open. You doubt you’ll ever get to that point with him.

At dinner, the two of you get on famously. You chat at the table for well over two hours. But after having a few drinks, your resolve to not be overly sexual towards him is beginning to slip.

“I think I need more riding lessons,” you say, slurring slightly. “Maybe you can help me more?”

His eyes spark at you, a dark look in them and he wears an illegally sexy grin. “Oh, I can certainly do that, darlin’.”

Okay, you’re already hot for this guy. Jesus, you’re not even intimate with him and he’s already pushing your buttons. You think somewhat woefully about how you’ll probably end up feeling lonely while using your vibrator again later tonight.

However, when you walk out with Arthur to his truck, slightly tipsy, he stops you and then slowly bends down and kisses you. His lips are like fire. They awaken some kind of heat within you that has nothing to do with sex. It feels incredible and you find yourself wanting more when he pulls away. You reach up, tangling your hands in his hair, and kiss him back. Your hand wanders down from his head to his chest where you start rubbing his collarbone, your fingertip barely touching it. His response is undeniable and he groans. “Your house?” he says, his breath picking up. You just nod and kiss him again.

The next thing you know, you’re in his truck and he’s speeding down the road towards your house. Now is the time for you to start freaking out. Are you really going to sleep with him on the first date? Technically, you’ve spent a lot of alone time with him, but they were never dates. Was this his goal all along? Just getting you into bed and having fun and then, next thing you know, he’s just your instructor again or worse, he disappears? Should you be doing this?

He must be able to tell you’re freaking out because he reaches over and takes your hand. “Sweetheart, you feelin’ okay?” You look at him. “I, um, I don’t want you to think I do this on every first date, Arthur. Because I don’t. Hell, I’ve never fooled around with anyone until after our third date.” He chuckles and brings your hand up to kiss it. “I understand. And I don’t want ya to think I’m tryin’ to take advantage of you.”

He pulls up to your house and he stops, but doesn’t get out. “Listen, we don’t have to if you don’t feel ready.” Okay, you’re already hard core falling for him. First, he’s hot, he’s sweet and kind, and now he’s patient and he doesn’t wanna push you. You reach over and kiss him. “Thank you, Arthur. I think… if we did it tonight, we’d probably end up regretting it.”

He nods and then walks you to the door. There, he gives you another kiss. This one’s more passionate, yet not pushy. In it, he says he’s already crazy about you.

After the first date, the riding lessons have changed only slightly. There’s more touching and kissing, plus Arthur doesn’t hide his flirting anymore. You’ve gone on a few more dates but still haven’t done the nasty with him. He hasn’t pushed for it either, but you can tell you’re getting close to breaking that.

During one riding lesson, he shows you a slightly tricky maneuver and you try to copy it but end up just slipping off the horse and falling into the sand. He runs over, asking if you’re okay. You are, the only thing injured is your pride. He chuckles when you get up, clearly unhurt. “Now you’re a real cowgirl!” he says with a laugh. “Falling off is a right of passage, sweetheart.”

“I just lost my balance is all,” you say, brushing your jeans off. The sexual tension throughout the day has been stronger than ever. He touches your shoulder. “Maybe you need a little more practice,” he says.

Before you can stop yourself, you’re kissing him, your arms wrapped around him. He groans against your lips and you reach down, squeezing his crotch. It immediately grows hard. Arthur pushes you away just slightly and he grabs your hand, running into the stable and into an empty stall where he stores hay and sawdust.

As soon as he gets there, you’re attacking him. The first thing you do is rip open his shirt. Fuck, he’s even hotter than you thought. You start kissing his chest and stroking his nipples. He tips his head back as one hand wanders down to his belt and undoes it. In your desperation to see him unsheathed, you fumble with his belt. Eventually you get it undone and his pants unbuttoned. You reach in and grab him, his length already hard. His hips buck a little.

“Hey,” he groans. “Let me give you another riding lesson.”

You shiver and nod. He lifts up your shirt and rips it off and then unclasps your bra. He stares at your naked breasts for a moment and then you reach down and strip off your pants. Now you’re completely naked in front of him. He smiles as he studies your body and then he strips his own clothes off.

Once you’re both exposed, he lays down on his back, his cock standing erect. He gestures down at it. “Come on, cowgirl. Time for your lesson.”

You almost giggle at how cheesy he is, but you comply. You kneel down, straddling his hips but keeping his length away from your slit. You kind of wish there was something in the terms of foreplay. He must sense your hesitation. His hands latch onto your hips and he starts rubbing up your sides and finds your breasts. You tilt your head back as he strokes your nipples, making the already stiff nubs perk out even more.

Eventually one hand leaves your breast and slides down between your legs. “Damn, you’re wet,” he says. You sigh in pleasure and then he slips a finger into your soaking slit, making you yelp. He tickles you, your breath picking up. You involuntarily twitch on him and then he pushes a finger into you. “Think you’re ready, cowgirl,” he says after a few moments of you fucking his hand.

You nod and sit up a little, grabbing his stiff cock. You pump it a few times and then angle your hips directly above it, settling down onto him. He feels good as he fills you up. He goes in deep and then, without warning, he begins pushing himself in and out of you. You can’t help but moan with every push and bounce along with him, creating even more friction between the two of you. You look down at him. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes are filled with lust. He’s left his old hat on. To be expected, you suppose. You’ve never seen him with it off.

“Come for me, sweetheart,” he growls. You gasp again as he puts his hand back to your slit, tickling your clit. He’s the first man you’ve done this who has actually taken the time to make sure you get your pleasure.

“Keep going,” you squeak. “Oh God, Arthur, it feels good.” He stimulates you again and again, your hips wildly bucking as his cock pulses within you. He pushes himself up a little harder, brushing your spot as he slides his finger across your clit again. You clench your toes and groan loudly, turning into jelly on him. “Good girl,” he says in a deep voice. “You’re alright. Easy.”

Just as you’re coming down and about to put yourself back together, he flips you onto your back so he can really pound himself into you. He’s going so hard you’re sure it’ll hurt in the morning, but you don’t care. He feels amazing. You clutch his back, leaving behind small scratches as he thrusts again and again, chasing his own end. After a short time, he finally pulls out and releases onto your thighs and the hay beneath you. “Shit,” he says when he’s finished spilling out.

You cup his cheek and smile up at him. “Did I do good?” you ask. He smiles and kisses you. “I think we might need another lesson.”

#red dead fanfic #arthur morgan #modern arthur #awkward asks #rdr2 fanfic

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lockdownuk · 4 years

Text

Lockdown Diary Part 10

A personal account during the lockdown in the UK due to the Covid-19 outbreak.

23/03/2020 8:30pm Boris Johnson, UK Prime Minister, gives a live address to the nation to, effectively, put the country on lockdown to stem the spread of the deadly coronavirus strain, Covid-19.

Many of us have been self-isolating for days but this latest development within the UK in reaction to the pandemic feels very serious and very scary. I decided to keep a simple diary and where better but online. Day 271: Work was dominated by Qfiniti again, including a meeting with Jon and staff from the States, where I found my self taking control to get the next steps in process (and then, Dave Stewart, the SCCM engineer fucked off and put an OOO message on Teams telling me he’s off until Tuesday (it’s Thursday)...and I am off on Monday!) But, I have to say this project does float my boat. Got a text message and then a call from PCH for another laser eye appt this coming Monday at 12.30pm. I mentioned to the lady that phoned that I will have to square it with work (I won’t, but she doesn’t know that) as I can’t afford to lose my job - it just seems the hospital, while under pressue with the admin and the clinic availability - I get it! - just aren’t seeing the issues for the patients. Plus, Peterborough has been declared a Tier 3 from Sunday under the new lockdown scheme, the highest tier. Great...I really want to travel to a highly infected area! managed to find an online booze shop that does Gordon’s and Famous Grouse and will deliver beforee Chrimbo, so I’ve placed the order for dad and Rita’s gift. I spoke with Dad today, he hasn’t heard about his vaccination yet which is a surprise (he’s in the first draft being over 80)

Day 272: Typing on day 273. Work was that manic shit at the end of the dya when I’ve got time off. I am only off on Moday but still had to tie up loose ends, complictaed further by Jon being off next week and Sueanne off this week and the Qfiniti project! In the evening I only mamaged three beers. I ate too much. Plus my sugars were all over the place and way too high! I ordered a torch a couple of days ago (£17), it arrived today. It takes rechargeable batteries or 3 AAAs. Apparently, to get the best performance (i.e. brightness) you need the rechargeable batteries in it, so i charged ‘em. Fucking hell, I’m glad I did - it’s brighter than the sun. It opens up my late walks in winter, for sure.

Day 273: While it was a very late (but sober) night yesterday (gone 4am before lights out) I was up before midday. Usual walking etc. plus gave the bathroom a clean (albeit with wipes, but I did mop the floor - and used the water to also mop the kitchen). Now I am about to stick a pizza in the oven, plus wedges (to have with microwaveable chip shop curry sauce) and watch This Is 40 which is coincidentally on telly tonight - the coincidence being clips of it are on TikTok a lot right now. I am on my second beer and am going to have a smoke right now as well. Lastly for this entry, I have been using my AudioPro speaker today, it pisses me off it’s not WiFi capable but, thru Bt, it does sound fucking good - revisiting James works very well to demonstrate the speaker’s prowess.

Day 274: I have another Paypal a/c. I have been getting emails to my standard gmail account from Paypal saying they are going to charge me £9 for an inactive account which I have been largely ignoring since my paypal a/c has a specific email address. Anyway, I tried to log in, after a password reset and, hey presto, I do have another one, with £35 in it, having just been fleeced of £9 for the aforementioned inactivity, fuckers. It’s registered with the old Market Place address and phone. When I try to transfer the £35 to my card, it wants to confim it’s me by calling the phone, which I can’t amend. Oh, and you can’t contact Paypal direct. Fuck knows what to do! Other than that, usual Sunday, a tad more relaxed since I have tomorrow off, but not that much now I have an eye appointment in Tier 4 Peterborough (it’s been up’d from tier 3)! Up at 1.30 pm (I watched This is 40 and The Guvners last night with lots of beer), feeling worse for wear but, stair climb and a 6 miler acheived!

Day 275: I was at the hospital for 3 hours. The laser clinic didn’t start until 1.30pm so, why my appointment was at 12.20, not even the consultant could understand. 15 minutes of lasering - horrible but I am used to it. It took so long it pretty much fucked my day off up completely. I got a Christmas card from Karen, in the actual post, so, a mail shot. It’s depressing.

Day 276: Back to work and it’s definitely in wind down mode. I’ve decided to compile a list of things I have done this year. It will be on the postive side, such as all the steps I’ve walked and getting an article published about my photography, but it will also include randon facts like getting bitten by a dig twice and not having a haircut. I’ll get it done so I can post in at new year, hopefully be a little inspiring, a little silly and a lot of showing off!

Day 277: Work, again, was quiet. It’s fucking pissing down now, as I type at 21:50, and has been all day. It’s causing havoc and there’s flooding everywhere. I could walk down St. Peter’s Road tonight ‘cos of it (had to go up New Road, Springfield Road, down Latham Road). Soaked a lunhtime and tonight! With a new variant of Coronavirus, France stopped frieght crossing the border. That’s now been resolved but tyeh back log has/is affecting certain food stocks in the shops, of which, fresh veg might affect me for Christams dinner (I plan to do a chicken breast with stuffing, pigs in blankets, yorkshire pud and shed loads of veg. I’ll nip to Co-Op tomorrow morning and see what’s vaialble. It’s a half day at work ‘cos of Christmas Eve, so I can nip out somewhere in the car if need be, as ong as the flooding has subsided. Or I could just get shitfaced and have burgers and pizza.

Day 278: Christmas Eve. Sueanne let me finish at 11.00am so, very shortly thereafter, off for a walk I went; it turned out to be a stop/start affair - flooding as the Nene had burst its banks, ended up doing more of a circuit round town. Bumped into Andy Smith (and his son) and, after that, Ash and Denise. Ended up doing just under 11.5km in 2 and a half hours.Knackered! As I type, I have a chilli on the stove, beer on the go, all the veg and chicken breast bought with no shortages, as feared, for tomorrow’s lunch and looking forward to eating. getting drunk, smoking, listening to music, watching telly....all over the next two/three days.

Day 279: I don’t even remember going to bed last night. As a direct result I got out of bed at 2.30pm. I couldn’t even be bothered with Christmas dinner, let alone anything else like exercise. I’m just about to have chilli for dinner (it’s 8.10pm). Watch some telly then try an go to sleep before midnight. No booze! I did talk to dad earlier. Day 280: Typing on day 281. A better, more productive day. Up @11.00am exercise and walk as usual, although the walk was a different route due to flooding. In the evening I could hear ‘storm Bella’ raging, so windy! I cooked a christmas dinner of sorts, chicken breast with Thyme, all the veg, roasted spuds and parsnip, stuffing (a first for me, albeit co-op stuffing mix), Yorkshie and pigs in blankets. It was smashing! A few beers and The Hitman’s Bodyguard, alays a fun watch. A better day, as I say, but I am feeling particular deflated this Christmas. Day 281: Typing on day 282. I realised, about mid afternoon, that Monday (tomorrow) is a bank holiday so no work. It was a great realisation but, also, worrying that it dawned on my like I’m an old person! Nevertheless, a nice long walk - bumped into Baz & Kate and had a nice long chat, then El & Camila, Aaron and Eva for another, shorter chat. I also saw Denise & Ash along the way. Fog video called later in the evening for a chat too (he told me how he fell asleep at the dinner table, fuck he makes me laugh - unwittingly - when I need it most!) A regular social fest! A repeat of last night’s dinner and a few beers - it was a good day albeit I am in a proper low ebb.

Day 282: Up at midday after a 4am-er. A very long walk (1.75 hours) and a hodge podge dinner (remaining chilli, roasted spuds and peppers, steamed cauliflower and runner beans, grated cheese) - it’s nearly ready, I’ll type the review tomorrow. I realise that this is the first time in 21 Christmases that I have at least talked to K. Is that connected to my mood slump? I reckon so. So, as that fact dawned on me, I then considered, should it be the case next Christmas, it will not be the first in along time and, as such, more manageable....fuck knows how I manage to accentuate any little positive but, thank goodness I do. Day 283: Work was a sedate affair today, fuck all to do really. Sueanne is now follwing me on Insta...I shall invetsigate on how to exclude posts to individuals, methinks. Tea, last night, was fucking lovely. More of the same tonight-ish - currently I am roasting spuds, peppers, garlic, chillies, tomatoes - it’ll all go with left over pigs-in-blankets (5) and a burger. I’ll have bisto beef with mustard on it. I can’t wait! Day 284: Typing on day 285. That meal was fucking lush! Checked on the car todfay and it would not start. Something is draining the battery so I will have to give it a run every day until I can get Julian to sort it. So, I WhatsApp’d Karen to borrow the portable starter. She dropped it off for me. We had the briefest of chats at the doorstep, first time we’ve spoken in weeks. She mentioned my hair! Day 285: NYE. I have just got back from walking to Cottersock and back. I would not have been able to do so without my new torch! I finished and published my double letter quiz on FB, including to the Virtual Pub group and the Oundle Chatter. It’s had some good feedback, I’m rather proud of it. I am going to make chicken casserole now (with dumplings - a first for me, I even bought some flour), have some beers and get a bit stoned. Before that, I am going to finish off my list of things I’ve done this year, including steps wlaked and hours listening on Spotify. I am quite proud of that list too.

Day 286: I fucked the dumplings up, added too much water, so that didn’t happen but the chicken casserole was good, just about to finish it for tea tonight. I also had pizza last night and went to bed at 5am. I have had a lot of good feedback on my list of 2020 achievements. I proud of it. K sent a happy new WhatsApp last night, around 00.30.

Day 287: No booze last night, so I was up before the alarm today (about 10.00am) Two walks, one on my own, another with Fog with a couple of beers. I fucking loved it! Watching datrts (World champs semi finals - been texting Dan while the first one has been on). Going to watch The Aviator later...I’ve not seen it before which surprises me. Why it surprises me I do not know, since I know I haven’t seen it. How the fuck can I be surprised by a fact I’m completely aware of? Day 288: I didn’t watch The Aviator ‘cos Logan Luck was on at 11:55pm on ITV4. Great fildm...I can’t believe that I very nearly paid for it (rent from Sky or Amazon). A late one last night and quite pissed. Thinking about it, having afew beers with Fog in the afternoon made it quite a long sesh for me! Up at just gone midday today, nice long walk (Cotterstock) which was mde long by a painful right ankle - I must have turned or twiested slightly sometime. Still, it survived. Back to work tomorrow - Chrimbo and New Year all done and dusted for the 55th time in my life!

Day 289: First day back at work of 2021. Boris announces another full lockdown in England (there’s a new strain of Covid19 which is seeing huge numbers of infections every day, over 50,000 per day).

Day 290: Something is up with my right foot, the little toe pad. It’s bloody sore. If it gets any worse it’ll affect my walking and exercise. I phoned Anne Bennison to talk about it, she just wants me to go and see her which i donlt want to do if poss, pandemic and all that.

Day 291: Wearing my sandals instead of the M&S slippers and my foot/toepad is already feeling bteer. However, I did inspect my Merrell boots, just in case, and the sole on te right is really worn down, in just three months. I have sent a WhatsApp to CotswoldOutdoors, where I got them from....let’s see what they say! It’s all kicking off i the US - pro Trump protestors have storm the Capitol Building, where congrees was being held. Only in ‘Merica.

Day 292: Busy at work with rolling out Qfiniti - all that project work was pretty much for fuck all since the SCCM package has to hand held. It’s feckin’ freezing today, below freezing, slippy af on my walks. I have been shopping tonight, £106 in Corby Tesco. That does include 8 cans of sapporo.

Day 293: The fracas at Capitol Hill on Wednesday left 5 dead, it looks like Trump will be impeached. He’s already said he’ll not attend Biden’s inauguration. In a fucking world gone mad, it’s another level of madness. It’s really cold -3℃ tonight, more of the same tomorrow. Makes for brisk walks. I’ve just had chicken balti pie and chips for tea. It was so nice that I burnt the roof of my fucking gob. I’m on the Sapporo and about to have a smoke then watch Jack Reacher. I’ve (kinda) earnt after the first 5 day week for a while.

Day 294: Well, last night saw another late one...5am by the time I :went to sleep. Up at 2pm today with no instention of any exercise or walking or housework or fuck all, really. But, I did my exercises and a 9 mile walk. While I walked I came across Banners, quick 15 min chat and listed to Stage by David Bowie. He’s all over the radio right now as it’s his death’s anniversary tomorrow and his birthday yesterday. It’s a fucking good live album. A few beers tonight, eating trash, watching FA Cup highlights then End of Watch later. Posh played today (first time in a while due to Covid infections) drew away to (shitty) Lincoln 1-1. Good point as Posh were down to ten men after 67 mins for a second yellow for handball in the area. Lincoln missed the pen. Fucking funny. Chorley, the non leaguers who knocked Posh out in round 2 of the FA Cup, beat Derby in round 3 today (albeit derby fielded an academy side of 11 first timers due to Covid ) - a great day for them!

Day 295: Up at 2pm swearing blind I’d not walk or exercise (again!) but, of course I did. I’ve done over 25 miles this w/e! End of Watch was brilliant last night. Well worth a rewatch, so emotional. I am making butter chicken as I type. I’ve added extra onion, garlic and, of course, chillies. It’s the spiciest butter chicken I have ever tasted!

Day 296: One of those frustrating days at work when no problem of request I try to resolve goes without a hitch. After a 7km walk in the evening, took the car for a spin and cleaned the bathroom. Fucking knackered. It’s 11:30pm and I’m in bed typing this on the iPad! despite getting up so late, I feel knackered. 11pm bedtime for me, I reckon.

Day 297: Fucking busy at work, the States rolled out a new Okta trust policy and it caused mayhem. Meant my evening walk didn’t start ‘til gone 6pm. When I got back, clened the hall and stairs, made chilli (which I am about to have for tea (gone 10.15pm!) and showered. I’m, again, fucking knackered! Posh played Portsmouth in the EFL Trophy 3rd round at home. Won 5-1. Nice.

Day 298: Had an electrician rouind for the EICR cetrt. He was here until 2pm and it was a pain in the arse, having to work upstairs plus, with having to cut the electricity, all the smart devices lost their settings. And it was freezing up there.

Day 299: Work was impossibly infuriating. Not one pc remote session went to plan! It was pissing down a lunchtime during my walk but, I have to say, the cheap TargetDry coat copes fine in heavy rain for short periods. Everywhere is flooding again even though the rain turned to sleet. By my evening walk, it was dry but bloody cold. Then, when I got in I cleaned the kitchen and mopped the floor and the bathroom’s as well. I fucking done in! Chatted to dad today - same as ever!

Day 300: What a fucking work at week! I am so glad it’s Friday. To celebrate, I ordered new walking boots: Scarpas £121!

#diary #Tumblr diary #lockdown #COVID19 #lockdownuk

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