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I was tagged by my darling @lizziemajestic (go read her delicious snippet here)

Alas, I'm still plenty far from any sort of similar spice in Sunset on the Empire, but I'm making sure these two idiots earn their smut, goddammit

My offering is from my current WIP chapter, chapter 7:

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Plap, plap, plap. Try as she might, Boram was simply unable to keep from noisily plodding along the walkway, acclimatizing to her new footwear with the grace and panache of a both a newborn foal and the grumpy mare the bore it. Quite the feat, really. Rugan was unsure if she was grimacing in pain or embarrassment—or both. If the whole platoon wasn’t already aware of her presence, they certainly would have been now. Indeed, she had already begun to attract a small following as they made their way to the mess tent; the poor woman was an unwitting pied piper for nosy bastards. He couldn’t even really shoo them off, either. What was he going to do, tell them to take a different route to the mess? Choose a more convenient time to be hungry? No; as unhappy as she appeared with the company, she was going to have to bear the discomfort of proximity if she was going to be sticking around.

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I'll tag @littleplasticrat, @threerattsinatrenchcoat, and @fictionobsession

First of the year! Tagged by @littleplasticrat (Love u, you rotten creacher you (/positive))

Sharing a WIP from a future chapter of Sunset on the Empire (why yes, I'm still on my WWII AU bullshit. Have I forgotten to post chapters here on tumblr as I update? also yes)

WIP belooooow~

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The Hindus didn’t eat beef while the Muslims refused both pork and alcohol, limiting the company’s hot food offerings to something irritatingly light, and often veg-based. When supplies allowed, the typical fare one could expect was usually something like a thin lentil curry served with boiled rice (and perhaps even a chapati as a ‘treat’. Hurrah.). Rugan never understood religious dietary restrictions. They felt wholly unnecessary—performative, even. What sort of ‘supreme being’ cared about what people ate? (… except cannibalism, he supposed. Prohibitions on that made sense.) Plus, he was less than keen on the notion of a deity—or deities, plural—so omnipresent in everyone’s life that it judged one's dietary choices. If he wanted a pint and a pork pie on a Friday, he was going to damn well have one. … He shouldn’t have thought of meat pie. Rugan stared unenthusiastically at the lentils in his mess tin, watching the thin yellow broth soak into the overcooked rice and turn it into further mush. Was it too much to ask for texture? Apparently so. He genuinely considered the potential of tucking into his field rations after finishing up; even a stale biscuit was something to chew on, at the very least.

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