#god knows it's already here somewhere on this god forsaken site

[louisliamforever]

x

[storiesoflilies]

mdni, mild smut!

gladiator!toji did not know where he was.

he had been trapped someplace the gods had forsaken, somewhere his merciless master – ryomen sukuna – had sent him as punishment. all he knew was that the desert heat here was sweltering, searing his mind in lies, and making him dream of things that had already happened long ago.

dreams that he wanted to stay in.

the sweet perfume of her scent trickled through his nose, a mixture of roses and jasmine, half waking him from the haze he had been in. it would have been torturous, were she not here with him now, roped between his bronze arms like she had melded into him. little rivulets of her spent wetness trickled down the curve of his thigh, a reminder of what they had done in the night, and toji’s cock twitched beneath the worn sheets.

she stirred in her sleep, as if touched by the burning fire in his blood.

gods.

describing her as just beautiful was not nearly enough.

toji kissed her hairline, one calloused hand tenderly rubbing her forearm to slowly rouse her from the depths of sleep.

she was the morning dewdrops clinging to the curved underside of a blade of grass, glistening with all the hopes that came with every new day. he loved the smell of it when he woke every morning, rubbed his skin with it, tasted its crisp freshness on his tongue to awake the thundering resonance in his battered soul.

he placed a trail of wet kisses down the side of her face, sweeping her jawline and the edge of her lips.

she was the soothing touch of rose petals and milk, the hummingbirds that flew between the blooms of spring. the very stars and moonlight of the heavens was in her eyes, but he had not known how to read the constellations hidden within them.

toji turned her slowly, hungrily pressing his hips into the plush curve of her behind, letting his desire be plainly known.

she smiled, honey dripping from between her lips as she whispered, “insatiable.��

toji moaned into her mouth, his heavy cock slipping in between her puffy lips. “let me have you.”

but he knew now how to read the skies.

her stars taught him to fear, and that love was fear.

she turned to him, swinging her legs over his midriff, sensually kissing his chest as rain fell to bloom an oasis in the desert. her back arched just as the light of daybreak shone through the bars of the cell, bathing her in gold and sunlight.

…daybreak?

her eyes sparked and blazed into a maroon firestorm, burning him in tempestuous uncertainty.

she never stayed so long with me.

“wake up, fushiguro,” she breathed shakily, a tone deeper, her hands gripping his shoulders and shaking him like palm trees quivering in a sandstorm.

wake up?

“fushiguro, for the love of all the gods, wake up!”

her hair shifted and warped into a snowy desert, sifting through his fingers like the passage of time in an hourglass. toji opened his eyes once more, emeralds tumbling down a mountainside, and blinked once, twice, three times more.

gladiator!tengen had a harsh grip on his shoulders, a red fury misting his eyes with determination.

“come now, i’m here to take you home.”

©storiesoflilies 2024, all rights reserved. please do not plagiarize, translate, or repost any of my work on other sites! i only post on ao3 and tumblr.

[all1e23]

Swallow [Pt.10]

Chapter: Half Gone

Pairings: Bucky x Reader

Summary: Bucky learns you’ve been hiding some things and makes a decision that will change everyone’s future.

Warnings:  Adulty themes. Yes, I’m a grown-up, and I said adulty themes. General foreboding. Sweet, soft, protective Bucky. (Yes, that’s a warning. That could kill you!) Protective big brother Clint.

A/N:   The first half is a flashback from Bucky’s pov. It’s after the flashback from chapter 4, so this is right after they broke up and before she left town. Three more parts loves! My plan is to finish up chapter 11 tomorrow and get the last few chapters posted by Tuesday. We will see though. You know how it goes with RL and all. Also, remember you love me and I make you guys happy with Astrophile, okay??? Send me love because I’m needy.  No beta so read at your own risk. ;-)

***My fics are not to be saved or posted on any other sites without my written permission. Reblogs are my jam though! Thanks!*

5 years ago 

The morning brought a new onslaught of pain Bucky wasn’t equipped to handle in his dejected state. He spent the night in a fit of restless sleep. Every time he succeeded in dozing off, he was cursed with visions of you, the only part of his heart that’s worth a damn, walking out of the clubhouse and his life. In the hours he spent awake, praying it was all a terrible nightmare, he was drowning in her broken pleas begging him to leave and love her more than this God-forsaken club.

A deep pulsing ache was pounding in his head as he slowly sat up. The pain in his head and empty bottles on the floor of his room were there to remind him this was no nightmare, but the cool metal of her ring against his skin burned -- the added weight was unwelcome, and he wished he didn't have to bear it. she had given him everything she had, and he shoved it back in her face all because he was scared. Scared to leave the club, this town and scared that part of the reason she loved him was who was because of this club. 

Stupid? Maybe, but it haunted him regardless. 

He didn’t know how to be anything else other than this. All he’s ever been was this club, Bucky didn’t have a plan or goals or anything close to the dreams you had. His only dreams are filled with loving you, and the part of him that made a promise to your dad was glad you wanted to end things. Your love was toxic and bad and all things... good and right in his shitty life. He couldn’t let you go, not yet. He was going to fight for you until you told him not to. 

6:04 a.m. 

The alarm clocked glared back at him, regarding him with enough judgment to make Bucky hate the damn thing. It just stared at him, waiting for him to make a move. 6:05 a.m. You would likely still be asleep, but he couldn’t wait. He needed to tell you he loved you and how utterly stupid he was. He needed to feel your hands on his skin and have your lips on his or he wouldn’t make it to see tomorrow. He had to find you and fix this-- right now. 

Bucky jumped off his bed, kicking the empty bottles around his floor as he gathered clothes that were thrown about and his bag. A black shirt, his leather and a pair of jeans he found crumbled in the corner of the room, he didn’t have time to worry about his choice in fashion. He had to make things right, and he had to do it now because he couldn’t live this life without you. 

Steve slowly stood up as Bucky came barreling down the stairs. “Buck? We’ve got chapel in a few hours. Where are you going?” 

“You’re gonna have to run it without me. I’ve got somewhere I gotta be, Stevie.” 

~

“I guess I should have known you would show up sooner or later. How was your night, Buck?” Clint greeted the brunet in the doorway to his house, obviously refusing to let Bucky passed the threshold. 

“Hey, Clint.” Bucky blew out a breath and chuckled at the uncomfortable strain between them. He should have known this wouldn’t be easy when he had to get through Clint. “This is awkward. I need to talk to Y/n. I know she probably told you what happened, but you know how much I love her. I was an idiot, and I know I shouldn’t have said anything that I did last night I just--- I need her, Clint, you know? I love her, and I’d like to say sorry if she lets me.” 

Clint’s tough act faltered just enough that allowed the door to open fully -- still blocked Bucky’s path, but he could at least see into the house. He might be mad at Bucky, but he was no fool. Anyone with eyes could see how much Bucky loved his sister, his love had never been in question -- at least not to Clint. 

But it doesn’t mean, Clint had to like it. 

“I don’t know what happened last night. She wouldn’t tell me but, yeah, you were a fucking idiot from what I could get out of her,” Clint shook his head and let his arm drop -- along with the protective big brother performance. “ She’s not here Bucky.” 

Dread washed over him. There were plenty of people who would love to hurt her because of who he was, and he may have driven her right into their arms. He pushed the panic down and took a deep breath, and asked, “Okay, well, where did she go? I’ll bring her ass home and get it all sorted out.” 

Clint’s eyes grew dark, and Bucky didn’t have to be a genius to know Clint was about to deck him. Natasha walked up and put a hand on Clint’s shoulder, tugging him back into the house and out of the way before continuing in his place. “No, James. She’s gone. She loaded up her jeep around four this morning and left. I don’t know where she went, but she promised she would call me when she got there safely.” 

“Wait --” Bucky couldn’t breathe.  “She’s gone?” His vision had gone blurry. “Like gone for good? She just grabbed her things and left without a goodbye…” 

The beating in his chest had stopped, and he knew this was it. He always knew this day would come, he’s always known you were too good for him, and he’s never been foolish enough to think he deserved your love, but he didn’t think it would happen like this. 

He thought he would at least get the chance to say goodbye. 

“I think she thought you two already had your goodbye.” 

Natasha has never seen Bucky look quite like this before. He looked vulnerable, abandoned, and broken. A new scar was added to the mangled mess he called his heart, and he could pinpoint the second it tore his chest open. Natasha took a step forward to grab his hand, intent on making him come inside, she doesn’t like the idea of him driving when it looked as if he had just been torn apart and shoddily patched back together. 

“Why don’t you come in and I'll--” 

Bucky shook his head and stumbled back down the stairs. “I can’t stay Tash. I gotta -- I have to go.” 

Bucky floundered on inept feet back to his motorcycle regarding the black duffle bag on the back with thoughtless, senseless hope. It was stupid of him to think he could simply show up and say sorry; tell you how much he loved you, he made a mistake, and he’s ready to go whenever you wanted to go. You’ve waited long enough and he was stupid to think you would still be waiting after every terrible thing he’s done to shatter your heart.

Too little, too late, Barnes. 

The front door to the clubhouse flies open, and Bucky stomped through, heading straight for Steve. He slapped his hand to his chest, pressing something against the rough leather. Their eyes met for a brief uncertain moment before he was gone, he grabbed a few bottles from behind the bar, ignoring every nervous stare and uneasy glance. Steve looked down in his hand and ran a finger over the president’s patch. Gaping up at Bucky from his bar stool, there were frayed pieces of string and leather where the patch once stood over Bucky’s heart. 

Nothing was there now, it was empty and tattered -- just like him. 

“What the hell is this Buck?”

He shrugged, uncaring and unthinkingly. “I’m done. It’s your club.” 

Bucky pushed through Sam and Steve, blew right by Tony and little Peter, taking the stairs two at a time. Ending the questions and the stares with a final slam of that echoed through the club. 

Steve looked over at Sam. “What the hell just happened?” 

“I think you just got a promotion.”  

~

“Steven…” 

“Peggy, I’m not going to let him drink himself to death. He's acting like an idiot. I can’t run this club without him, and I don’t want to. He can’t just waste away because she’s gone.” 

“He's not an idiot. He’s brokenhearted. Put us in their shoes, darling. Where would you be if you lost me, hm? Nowhere good, I think we can agree on that. Be gentle.” She pressed a kiss to his cheek and left him alone in front of Bucky’s door. They had to navigate this on their own -- like brothers. 

Steve doesn’t knock. He has spent days and days knocking on his door every hour on the hour, then at random times to check-in. Bucky never answered anyway. Steve pushed the door open and winced at the mayhem before him. The room was dark, covered in trash and beer bottles, but the mess didn’t end there. Bucky sat perched on an old wooden stool by the window, dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep or the booze -- Steve isn’t sure, but both needed to stop. He was still wearing the same dirty jeans he had on the last time Steve saw him and that damn chain he refused to take off. At least he took off the filthy shirt he seemed to be so fond of lately. 

Steve couldn’t recognize the man in front of him, and he never wanted to see his best friend like this again; only he couldn’t fix it -- he wasn’t the one Bucky needed. 

“Come on, Buck. We’ve got some stuff we gotta deal with. Why don’t you get dressed and come down?” 

Bucky didn’t answer. He took another drag of his cigarette and flicked it out the window as smoke fell from his lips. He wasn’t interested in anything that had to do with the club. His patch was gone, and he had a good reason for passing it on. He was done the moment you asked him to be-- just too stupid to make the right choice.

“I need you and so does the club.” Steve implored him. “I want to help. I don’t know how.” 

“There’s nothing you can do Steve. Y/n’s gone. I’ve got no idea where she went, no way to contact her, and even if I did, she wants nothing to do with me. No one can do anything to help me. Least of all this damn club.” 

“Well, you can’t just hide away in here and live on stale chips and whiskey.” 

Bucky finally turned to face Steve, his eyes were dark and nothing like the blue they were when they were kids. “Did you not hear me? I fucked up. She’s gone!” Bucky bellowed. “What the hell do you want from me? What am I supposed to do, huh?” 

Bottles clattered together as Steve pushed his way through the room and dropped into a low squat in front of Bucky, holding out something small and black in his hand. Bucky inspected the piece of material in Steve’s hand, staring at the white letters glaring at him in stark contrast to their black background: Vice President. 

“For starters, you’re going to get up, shower and get some food in you. Give your niece and nephew a few cuddles, and you’re going to put the damn vice president patch on your leather because this is your club, not mine and you need to be at the table with me. I can’t do this without you. Then you’re going to wait.” 

Bucky took the patch from Steve’s hands and looked down at him, brows furrowed and a dark scowl on his face, “Wait? Wait for what Steve?” He sighed and gave Bucky a fond albeit exasperated smile, the kind you save for your clueless, slightly reckless sibling when you have to save their necks once again. 

“Y/n, Buck. She will come back. Somewhere in that bourbon filled head of yours, you know that; she will come back to you. She always does.” 

--------

“Okay, are one of you going to tell me what the hell is going on in here?” Bucky crossed his arms over his chest watching Steve and Tony with half amusement and half fear -- the fear was beginning to win out.  Something wasn’t right, and he was worried Y/n was in trouble. His only peace of mind was Clint not being in the room. If she was in danger, there was no way Steve would leave Clint out this talk. 

They would never hear the end of it if they did. 

“Buck,” Steve started, switching from foot to foot as his brain worked out the possibilities of Bucky knocking him out the second the words left of his lips. There was a decent chance that was how this whole thing would play out. Bucky would tolerate a lot from Steve, more than anyone else, but calling the love of his life the possible rat was not one of the things Bucky would offer a reprieve for. 

Bucky swore under his breath and looked between Tony and Steve. Their uneasy expressions made his heart sink. “For Christ's sake. Did they threaten her life? What? I’m about to lose my mind over here.” 

Steve blew out a breath and passed over the pile of photographs that Tony had collected. “Eddie is a detective. He’s been passing information back about things he’s seen and details about the inner workings of the club. He didn’t get much since he was never brought into chapel or fully initiated, but he probably has enough to put a few of us away for bullshit petty crimes.” 

Bucky flipped through the photos slowly as Steve went on. He knew Eddie was trouble from the moment he stepped into the club -- he could feel it. If it had been Bucky’s call, he would have tossed him out on his ass right then, but he gave up say in those decisions a long time ago. He flipped to the middle of the stack and froze at the grainy black and white photo before him, letting the rest of the images fall to the floor. His gaze was glued to the swallow on the thin computer paper in his hands.

That wasn’t right, but it was her. Bucky knows every line of that tattoo and every single inch of her skin, terrible resolution or not -- that was his girl. 

“What the hell is this?” Bucky asked, looking up at Steve. 

“Buck, listen--” 

A hollow laugh bubbled up from his chest as Bucky tried to control his temper, he stepped towards Steve holding out the picture and spoke again. “What. The. Hell. Is this?” Tony stiffened up next to Steve as if he needed to protect the club president from some threat -- Bucky being the threat. Bucky turned to look at Tony and snapped. “Seriously, Tony? What are you going to do?” 

“Kind of depends on what you do.” 

“Just for shits let’s see what you got--” 

Steve groaned and held his hands out against their chests, pushing them apart, scolding the pair.  “Are you both done? Get it all out of your system? Because we have bigger issues to deal with besides your egos.”

Tony held up his hands and stepped up back, but Bucky didn’t back down -- not that Steve expected him to. 

“You know she’s not the rat. Whoever talked to Eddie, if anyone even did talk, knew things she doesn’t know about. The things Eddie has on the club happened while she was gone, so how the hell could it be her?” 

“I know, Buck,” Steve answered calmly because he needed Bucky calm for what he was about to ask. “But we need to figure out why she’s meeting with him in secret and keeping it from you. Would she make a deal to save Clint?”

“No!”

“Fine. Okay. Would she make a deal to save you?” 

That Bucky couldn't answer. 

You wouldn’t sell him out, and he knew that, but would you make a deal to keep him out of prison? To keep him there with you even if it was for only a little longer? He couldn’t answer out loud because his heart knew the answer. Your hearts were one and the same, so he knew precisely what you would do -- the same thing he would. He would trade his life for yours without a second thought, he would do whatever he had to keep you safe, and Bucky doesn’t doubt you’ve done the same. 

But he wouldn’t admit that to the club, and as much as he hated it, Steve was the club. 

The double doors swung open with a clumsy dramatic flair that could only belong to Clint. They slammed shut behind him, and some of the tension seemed to have found an escape while the doors were open, leaving room for a new strain to fill up the air around them. Steve looked past Bucky to meet Clint’s eyes.

“Not now Clint. This-- we are in the middle of something.” 

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure I know what you’re talking about. Thanks for letting me know you’re in here talking shit about my sister by the way,” Clint added with an air of annoyance. He handed the over wrinkled card to Bucky, not Steve. He had his reasons, and all of them had to do with keeping his family safe. “Y/n gave it to me. It’s not whatever you are thinking.” 

“And what do you think I’m thinking Clint?” Steve prodded evenly, not allowing Clint to goad him into a petty fight -- everyone was upset, and fighting wasn’t going to solve anything. 

Bucky flattened the card in his hand and stared at the words printed on the small piece of white cardstock. He already knew what Clint was going to say before he said it and Bucky knew what he had to do to make all this go away.

“I’m not sure, but unless you think she’s completely faultless in this, you’re fucking wrong. Eddie threatened her with jail time, Steve. The dick said if she didn’t testify against you and Buck, he had enough to send the rest of us to prison, myself included. She didn’t know what to do.” 

Bucky felt sick -- everything burned and his stomach twisted into knots. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

After everything you’ve been through together you didn’t know you could come to him with anything? He was racking his brain to try and figure out what he had done over the years to make you feel like you couldn’t come to him when you were scared. He really thought you knew how deeply his love burned for you and how far he would go to keep you safe. He had to get away from all this. Bucky couldn’t stand to be in that room, in the God damn clubhouse for a second longer. 

The picture Steve had given him was thrown onto the table, and Bucky stalked towards the doors, crumbling the card in his hand; he had someone to visit. Steve’s voice and boots called after him, “Bucky, where are you going?” 

“Out, Steve.” 

“Bucky--” 

He paused at the doors and looked over his shoulder at his best friend. “I gotta cool off, Steve. Just give me some damn space, okay?” 

Steve paused and gave him a small nod. 

“Okay, Buck.”

Bucky nodded, quick and tremulous. His fumbling fingers zipped his leather up, and he tucked your ring under the protective layer as he stormed out of the room. Clint clapped his hands together and looked at Steve and Tony, “Way to go. Who had the bright idea to talk to Bucky first and not me? He’s punch first and talk later when it comes to Y/n.” 

“Right, because you’re always so level-headed?” Steve countered, gently shoved Clint out of the double doors and looked back at Tony nodding to the photos. “Keep all that in the safe. I need to talk to Y/n.” 

Clint huffed and shook his head. “Not without me around, you’re not.” 

“What do you think I’m going to do her? She’s practically my sister--” 

“Yeah, well, she’s actually my sister.” Clint’s growl was cut short by the sound of Bucky’s bike starting up in the garage. 

“Is Bucky leaving?” Everyone spun around to you find standing at the bottom of the stairs, eyes wide and pleading with them. Begging for what, Steve didn’t know, but he could take a few guesses.

The sound of the motor grew quiet the further Bucky got from the front doors, and dust clouds could be seen from the windows as his bike sped down the dirt road that led up to the clubhouse. You glanced at Clint and Steve. Steve knew you could tell by the look of disappointment on his face-- even though he was trying to hide it. Your eyes quickly fell to the floor, and within seconds you felt an arm come around your shoulders, you figured it was Clint, but when you looked back up it wasn’t your brother. 

Steve smiled and gave your shoulder a squeeze. “Come see the kids. Henry and Emma were babies the last time you saw them, and you haven’t met Morgan yet. She’s a mini Tony, but it turns out all that sass is cute when it’s coming from her.” 

“Steve… What-- Is he…” 

“He just needed a minute to cool off that’s all Y/n. I’m sure he will be back before you can blink. Buck can’t be away from you for long, and you know that.” 

Bucky only needed a minute to cool off, and he would be back. It sounded all well and good -- so perfect you could wrap a bow on it.  Steve was good at that. He has always been better at that than Bucky. Bucky wears too much of his heart on his sleeve, and it made his anxiety and doubt easy to spot. Steve was good at that kind of talk; the rousing speech that made the crowd feel better, smarter or stronger and led to the belief it would all be okay as long as everyone stuck together and did what was right. 

This time, his words didn’t seem to carry the same weight they usually did. 

Your heart knew better.    

Previous // Next 

[joeybelle]

The house under the magnetic clouds

Armitage Hux x Reader

To @agentpeggyfreakingcarter

Rating: M 

Warning: Explicit Language, Accidental Nudity, Drinking, First Person POV

Setting: Pre-TFA

Other: Romance, Humour

Wordcount: 8800

Summary: There is this tiny house in a valley, on a small moon covered in tall grasses and surrounded by electromagnetic clouds, where I come to unwind every time life becomes a bit too much to handle. Whenever I'm there, I don't expect company. And definitely not someone with this attitude, walking around like they own the place. I save his life from a burning escape pod, and what do I get in return?

The escape pod pierced through the multicolored clouds, leaving a trail of dust and smoke in its path. It darted through the sky, directionless and out of control, spinning wildly before falling to the ground. I counted the seconds since I saw it hit the ground until the sound reached me, trying to calculate how far away it had crashed. Not that far, by the looks of it.

“Poor fella.” The pit droid shook his head, looking in the distance. “I don’t think they survived.”

“I guess we’re gonna have to see for ourselves,” I said.

“You don’t plan on going there, do you? It could be dangerous.”

“Well maybe someone survived,” I shrugged, and headed towards the tiny house in the valley. “And if they didn’t, there may still be something to salvage. I wanna get there before the fire ruins everything,” I said, and started running. “Hurry up, Dum-E!”

I packed a small bag of first aid supplies, just in case there was someone to rescue, while Dum-E reluctantly prepped the speeder. No matter how much I’d tried in the past to calibrate his personality, he always ended up being either a daredevil or having a higher than normal sense of self preservation. Eventually, I chose the latter, the former always cost me too much in repairs. Also, I was reckless enough for both of us, and having someone to temper me wasn’t such a bad idea.

I could see the smoke from the crash site in the distance so there was no way to get lost as I piloted the speeder. The small moon I was living on was mostly covered in grass so it wouldn’t have been a problem to find it anyway.

There was a sizeable crater where the pod had made contact with the ground, but to my surprise it seemed less damaged than I’d expected. It must’ve had an emergency landing system, but I was pretty sure after passing through the electromagnetic clouds above us, it wouldn’t have worked properly. Nonetheless, it looked far better than I had anticipated.

“Come on, Dum-E!” I yelled at my droid, landing close enough to the crash site that we could easily load any potential survivors into the speeder. “We might have someone to save.”

I didn’t wait for him, but grabbed my protective suit and some tools and stepped outside. The escape pod was a model I hadn’t seen before, all new, shiny materials. The person inside must have been some sort of big shot, maybe royalty even. Hopefully not royalty, I really didn’t need an army at my doorstep, but if they decided to repay me for saving their royal ass, I could really use the credits. Eh, I could dream. No one would find them until the electromagnetic clouds would pass anyway. Besides, I’d still have to save their life before waiting for any sort of reward.

I put on the protection suit, grabbed the multitool and approached the pod. It took me a while to pierce through the many protective layers, but since it was made of such quality materials, I was really happy: there was more of a profit to make when I’d cut it into pieces and sell it. Eventually, I managed to get through. The inside of the pod was filled with smoke and that gave me a new sense of urgency. I was protected by my mask, but whoever was inside wasn’t, so I squeezed through the hole I had made.

I found him pretty quickly, still strapped in the chair but unconscious. I figured he’d inhaled enough smoke so I pulled off my mask and fitted it over his face. Hopefully, he could still be saved. The smoke in the room was thick and it stung my eyes, but I knew I could take it for a few minutes for someone’s sake.

“Dum-E!” I yelled, almost choking, prompting the droid to poke his head though the opening. “Help me drag him out.” I unstrapped him and he nearly fell over me, but with Dum-E’s help I managed to get him outside. I collapsed on the grass next to him and took a few deep breaths, trying to clear my lungs of smoke.

When I finally got my eyes to stop stinging, I took off the mask and looked at him. He really did look like some sort of aristocrat, the type that doesn’t see the light of day much, with his pale skin and flaming red hair. His uniform seemed really high quality and was really nice to the touch. He looked like he was military, something that looked like the First Order insignia etched into his coat sleeve. I’d heard about them, but we’d never crossed paths before. They were bastards as far as I knew, but didn’t really care about the far end of the galaxy, where I spent most of my time, so I didn’t really care about them either. But bastard or not I couldn’t just let him die, now that I had dragged him out of the crashed pod. His life was in my hands and I felt responsible.

As a smuggler living in the Outer Rim I knew a few things about first aid, so it wasn’t that hard to stabilize him. He wasn’t that badly injured anyway. With Dum-E’s help I took him home and settled him in my bed. Something about his fancy clothes made me think I couldn’t just throw him on my tattered, old couch. I had a feeling he’d thank me.

I kept the oxygen mask on, his lungs would be thankful for the help, and placed a wet rag on his forehead. His breathing was laboured and his skin was burning, droplets of sweat forming on his brow. The red hair contrasted beautifully against the paleness of his skin, and I couldn't help running my fingers through it every time I’d change the rag. He was beautiful, I had to admit, even in his unconscious state.

I spent most of the night tending to him. He started talking in his sleep at some point, just gibberish really, but didn’t wake up. He eventually fell into a deep sleep so I dragged a chair next to the bed and wrapped myself into a blanket, just watching over him. After I was certain he wouldn’t die on me I slowly buried my feet under his blanket, leeching off of his warmth, and dozed off.

I woke up to the stranger pushing my feet off the bed.

“That’s rude,” I told him, trying not to lose my balance and fall. “That’s my bed, you know.”

“Who are you?” he asked, narrowing his eyes at me, his pretty face twisted in a sneer. I didn’t like it.

“The one who saved your life. So, who are you?”

“Where is my blaster?” He completely ignored my question, frantically patting his pockets.

“What blaster? There was no blaster?” I lied. Of course there was a blaster, and of course I’d stashed it somewhere he couldn’t get to. I had saved his life but that didn’t mean he wouldn't wanna repay it with an expertly placed shot between my eyes. On the Outer Rim a lot of people seemed pretty allergic to kindness and by the increasingly annoyed expression on his face, I had a hunch the same was true about the First Order.

“You’re lying,” he said, pointing an accusatory finger at my nose.

“What would you need a blaster for anyway?” I tried diverting his attention. “No one’s attacking you here. It’s just me and my droid on this god-forsaken moon. And if I’ve gone through literal fire and smoke to save your life, I nursed you the whole night, why do you think I’d start attacking you now that you’re awake? Try to relax a bit, you’re wounded, you need to rest.”

The scowl on his face became even more pronounced, but I did my best to keep a smile on. I wasn’t going to let him ruin my mood. But something told me he was going to be a very difficult patient. Especially since he was already trying to get out of bed.

“No, don’t,” I said, catching him as he lost his balance and nearly fell from the bed, the little colour he still had in his cheeks draining completely, his eyes losing focus for a second. His hand went to his ribs and he started breathing heavily. “I think you should lay down for now,” I said, pushing him onto the pillows and meeting almost no resistance from him. “You’ve had a pretty rough landing there so don’t think you can recover overnight.”

“I have to get back…” He swallowed his words at the end and grimaced. I held his head and helped him take a sip of water, hoping it would make him feel a little better. I didn’t want to imagine what he was feeling right now.

“Unfortunately you’re stuck on this planet for a while,” I said, once the wave of nausea I assumed had washed over him had lost some intensity, and he was once again glaring menacingly at me. “You fell through a cloud of electromagnetic dust that scrambled your controls. It happens quite often here, it’s one of the particularities of this moon. While it’s out there above us, nothing goes in or out. No ships, no distress messages, no nothing.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Hey! It’s not my fault,” I snapped, crossing my arms. His attitude was starting to get to me. “You could have crashed when I was away and you would have died alone and miserable. I’m the only inhabitant, so you know. You should thank me.” He didn’t say anything, and turned his back to me. “Fine, don’t thank me,” I mumbled, getting up. “I’m going to make something to eat, please don't try to get up without my help. I really don’t wanna have to hoist you back in bed. You may not be that heavy but my back hurts.” I heard him huff in reply and I snickered. He was a brat.

I made something quick for me to eat and a nutritious soup for him. I used some of my emergency rations on it, to give it a little kick, but I knew he needed something filling and easy to eat, so this was my best bet. I poured it into a large cup, took my plate and joined him in the bedroom. However, he seemed less than thrilled with the food I presented him. He took the cup and stared at it like he expected something terrible to emerge out of it. He had managed to lift himself up while I was away and now he was propped onto the pillows, looking a little less dead than before.

“What’s this?” he asked, throwing me another glare. If I hadn’t seen him when he was unconscious, I would have thought that was just the way his face was, perpetually stuck in a frown.

“Soup,” I said, shoving food into my own mouth and not paying too much attention to him.

“Soup isn’t supposed to look like something died in it.”

“Hate to break it to you, but most soups have something that’s already dead in them. Unless you like the ones that are made with live animals, but I don’t have the necessary ingredients to make one of those, so this is all you get for now.” I smiled and he didn’t. Safe to say he didn’t really appreciate my humour.

He held the cup between his slender fingers and extended his arm away from himself, dangling the cup above the floor.

“If you drop it,” I let him know between bites, “it’s gonna stay there until you can get up and clean it. It’s gonna start stinking in about a day. So you better think it through.”

He seemed to consider his actions, and for a brief moment I was sure he’d still drop it just to spite me. “Take it away,” he eventually said, and I breathed, relieved.

“You should eat,” I said in a much milder tone, taking the cup from his hand. “I can promise you it tastes better than it looks and you really need some nutrients. I mean, it’s not like you have any stored extra fat you can break down in times of need.” His head turned slowly, and his eyes were shooting daggers at me. I should have taken the hint to stop, but I lacked basic self preservation instincts. “Seriously,” I continued, looking him in the eye, “your coat is heavier than you.”

“I’ll kill you,” he said, and by the look in his eyes I knew he meant it.

“Sure,” I shrugged. “Too bad you can’t get out of bed without fainting. I’ll leave this here for you,” I said, placing the cup on the small table next to the bed, within his reach. “In case you change your mind.”

He glared and promptly turned his back to me, so I knew I should leave him alone. I’d seen his injuries and even though he seemed fine, I knew he was quite battered. I had a feeling that if he hadn’t been this injured he wouldn’t have stayed one second in my home, and once he would feel better he’d bolt out the door. I wasn’t gonna stop him, he didn’t have anywhere to go anyway. But for now, he needed time to rest.

I made myself busy for a couple of hours, still keeping an eye on him from the distance. When I came back he was sound asleep, the cup of soup was empty and there were signs that he had gotten up and tried to rummage through my home before getting back into bed and falling asleep. He had recovered his coat from where I hanged it and I could see a small transmitter clutched in his hand. He was trying to call home. Hopefully he realized that I wasn’t lying to him when I said no signal would go through the curtain of clouds.

I took the coat off the bed and hanged it somewhere where he could see it. It was a really nice coat, black, sleek, high quality material, so I didn't want him to think I was trying to steal it, even though I really didn’t mind owning one. It looked really warm, I thought as I passed my fingers over the material.

I took the transmitter out of his hand and placed it on the table next to the now empty cup so it would still be within his reach if he woke up. No one would be receiving his messages anytime soon, but I figured it would help him understand that I didn’t mean him any harm. After all, I had disarmed him. Which, in hindsight, had been a really good idea, since he seemed at least a little apprehensive. He was military, and everyone knows they’re educated to shoot first, ask questions later. So it was better that I didn’t give him the chance to shoot.

But he didn’t really look like the soldiers I’d sometimes meet. He was much too slender and, as far as I’d seen when I checked for wounds it wasn’t the wiry type of slender that fighters sometimes were. He looked more like someone who had a desk job. His skin was much too light and his blaster too new and unused for him to have any other type of job. But he looked pretentious, so I assumed it was quite a good desk job.

He was really cute right now that he wasn’t sneering anymore. His hair was gorgeous and I really couldn’t stop myself from passing my fingers through it, brushing a few strands from his forehead.

“Stop touching my hair,” he mumbled without opening his eyes.

“Oh,” I gasped, taking my hand back. “Sorry about that, I didn’t know you were awake.” When I didn’t get any reply, I decided to leave him alone and go about with my day. I had a feeling he’d like to sulk in peace for a while.

He was peaceful for the rest of the day, mostly sleeping and sulking like I had anticipated. He didn’t try to run away or ransack my house anymore, probably knowing that he wouldn’t be able to find his blaster. Or maybe waiting for the right moment to start searching again. I didn’t care, as long as he was non-violent that was enough for me.

I spent most of the day doing chores and all the other things I kept putting off, since there was no signal and none of my electronics worked properly so I had to do something to occupy my time. I tended to stay away from my guest, as he seemed a little snappy every time I tried striking up a conversation. We did have to interact from time to time, though, because he wasn’t able to walk to the refresher on his own.

“So what’s your name?” I asked at some point, waiting patiently for him outside the bathroom.

“It’s none of your business,” I heard his muffled voice on the other side of the door. He said it in such an affected tone and I made a conscious effort not to roll my eyes.

“It is my business, you’re in my care, so I’d like to know your name.” I crossed my arms and leaned on the wall waiting for him. I could hear the faucet running, and I fought the urge to tell him not to waste all my water because he’s not paying any bills. But he was a guest, so I had to accept it. He eventually got out, and instantly frowned when he saw me. I guess he somehow expected me to vanish in his absence. “That, if you don’t want me to call you Red for the rest of your stay here.” I continued, offering my shoulder for support and grabbing his waist. “That’s what they’d call you if you ever hung out with me basically anywhere around this area of the Outer Rim.”

“I’d never hang out with you,” he said, in disgusted manner.

“Yeah I bed you wouldn't,” I said, helping him back in the bed. “You don’t look like someone who’d ever step foot in the bars I usually go to. Or that has ever tried Jet Juice in their life. Not that you’d be able to handle it anyway.” He scoffed and I laughed. “So, Red it is then?”

“Just call me General,” he spat.

“General?!” I really couldn’t hold my laughter, making him turn to look at me. “You’ve got to be shitting me, you don’t look like a General. Sergeant, Lieutenant at most! And that only if you have some family pushing you forward,” I laughed.

I could see his face redden with what I assumed was anger or embarrassment, or both, and wondered if I had struck a chord. “Check the insignia on my uniform if you don’t believe me,” he said, with a frown and a really stuck up expression on his face, which only made me want to continue. It wasn’t like I didn’t believe him—although his claim was pretty far-fetched—but his smug face really pissed me off.

“Yeah, sure,” I continued. “I can buy five of those for 10 credits on the black market, whatever army I chose. Some of them are even authentic.”

He looked at me wide eyed for a moment. I had no idea what he was thinking, but then he crossed his arms and turned his back to me. “You wouldn’t be able to recognize an authentic insignia anyway.”

“You may be right about that,” I laughed, and I could hear him snort. “But I know the people wearing them. And you really don’t look like a general.”

I left him alone for the rest of the day, coming into the room only to bring him something to eat and drink and administer medication. He ignored me most of the time and I didn’t try to rile him up anymore. He was recovering after all.

I watched him while he was sleeping once again, just to make sure he wouldn’t die on me. This time I dragged in an armchair, with the help of Dum-E, and was able to sit more comfortably. I fell asleep pretty early, seeing that my patient wasn’t as restless anymore, but he did cough pretty often in his sleep so I woke up every time he did to check on him. It wasn’t so odd after how much smoke he had inhaled, even I could still feel my throat irritated.

When I woke up in the morning, he was already scowling at me.

“Morning Sarge!” I got up the chair and stretched my aching muscles, letting out a satisfied yelp. I would fall asleep pretty often in the pilot’s chair, but that was somehow more comfortable than any chair I had at home. “Ready to face a new day?”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Sorry, but you really have to impress me to promote you to anything higher than that.” I shrugged and I could see him start to get annoyed with my presence.

“I want to take a shower,” he said in a commanding voice, and for the first time since I’d met him he gave me the impression that he might actually be someone in charge, not just a spoiled brat.

“Are you always that bossy? Can’t you say ‘please’?” I asked, not letting myself get intimidated. After all I was pretty sure I could win against him in a fistfight. “You don’t have many friends, do you?” I asked, seeing that he wasn’t going to reply. “Just asking because if you give me your address I could send you a card on your birthday, they sell these funny holo-cards that you can keep on your desk and they scream insults at anyone that passes them…”

“I would like a shower… Please!” It wasn’t a plea, more like barking an order, but he still used the word ‘please’ so I decided not to subject him to my ramblings anymore.

“Okay,” I said, passing a hand over my face. “Alright, we’ll be facing some logistic difficulties.”

I wasn’t sure he’d be able to stand for long without fainting and I really didn’t know how he’d react to hot water being poured on his head, seeing that he was still pretty dizzy every time he got up. I was afraid that if I left him alone he’d fall and hit his head. Of course, I could stay with him and make sure he was alright, but something told me he wouldn’t appreciate my concern.

“Are you sure you don’t want breakfast first?” I asked, trying to win myself some time to think.

“No,” he replied, abruptly.

“Then you’ll have to wait.”

I left him and went to the refresher. The only thing I could come up with in this amount of time was placing a stool in the shower so that he could sit on it, and hope for the best. I took out some towels and a change of unisex clothes that looked like they might fit him.

He was pretty compliant as I helped him to the refresher. Sat him on the stool and wanted to help him take off some of his clothes, but he refused, sending me away with a wave of hand.

“Leave everything in a pile on the floor,” I told him before closing the door. “I’ll put them in the washer later.”

I waited for him nearby, just in case he needed me. I tried doing something productive, but in the end I just paced in front of the door. I knew I should have been starting breakfast in the meantime, but what if he’d need my help and I wouldn’t hear it? What if I wasn’t fast enough? So I ended up cleaning his coat while I waited.

It was a really nice coat, something I didn’t get to see that often in this part of the Galaxy, but it was something I assumed a high ranking officer would be wearing. I wasn’t familiar with the insignia. I had heard about the First Order, but they were so far away that they didn’t pose a threat to us yet. And I didn’t care that much either. In the end it didn’t matter who ruled the Galaxy, we’d still be the same misfits we’d always been.

But the coat was nice. It was something I would have bought if I weren’t currently—perpetually—broke. It looked really sleek and polished, even with the tiny holes and traces of ash and dust from dragging him through the crash site. I wondered how he’d look in it. Probably a lot more impressive than he did swaddled in my blankets.

The loud crash made my heart almost project into another dimension. I dropped the coat and bolted through the refresher door. I found him lying on the bathroom floor, covered in foam, clutching his sides.

“Are you alright?” I asked automatically, although I could see perfectly well that he wasn’t. He was still conscious and there was no trace of blood, but his body looked really bruised under all that foam.

“No, I’m not!” he barked and I couldn't blame him.

“Sorry about that. Let me help you up.” I grabbed him and helped him on the stool I was pretty sure he hadn’t used. “Want some help rinsing off? I promise I won’t peak.”

“No! Get out!”

“Alright, have it your way…” I said, roughly half a second before watching him lose balance and almost slip off the stool. Fortunately, my reflexes still worked and I managed to catch him in time. “Or not.” Water and foam seeped through my t-shirt as I was trying to stabilize him, my face pressed to the back of his neck. His head was hung and his breathing laboured. “Right,” I said, stretching for the shower controls, “let’s rinse you and get you out of here.”

A wave of warm water hit us both and I stepped into the shower not very concerned that I was getting all my clothes wet. All I cared was to get him cleaned up and back in bad as fast as possible, before any other accidents could happen. It was my fault that I’d let him fall in the first place. I should have watched him more closely, despite his protests.

And speaking of watching, I did my best trying not to look, I really did. But somehow, looking at something else, my eyes fell onto his nether regions. That was also exactly the moment he chose to lift his head, open his eyes and look at me.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” I said, looking from his groin to his face, “the carpet does matches the drapes.”

I’d said a lot of stupid things in my life, and this wasn’t even in the top ten, but it was still pretty stupid. I blushed furiously as I hurried washing the soap off of him. He didn’t say anything, but I could see he was actively trying to avoid looking in my direction. I turned off the water, grabbed a large towel and covered him in it. He immediately grabbed it and pulled it closer, covering himself.

“I’m sorry,” I said, taking a smaller towel and beginning to dry his hair. “I really didn't mean to. It was a stupid accident and I promise it won't happen again.” He just looked at me, but said nothing. The judgemental look in his eyes was enough anyway.

By the time he was mostly dry he seemed to be feeling a lot better because he was able to dress himself without any help from me. He was still shooting daggers as I turned around to give him a little privacy. And I really didn’t look in the mirror, although I knew I could get a good look. I didn’t wanna seem like a creep.

When I turned around he was already dressed. The clothes fit him somewhat, but he looked more like a lanky tenager than a soldier. The t-shirt was loose and the pants a little short, revealing his ankles. He still seemed a little insecure on his own two feet. His hair stuck in all directions and his face was flushed. I smiled.

“What?” he asked, frantically running his hands through his hair, trying to tame it somehow.

“You’re cute,” I laughed, offering him my shoulder for support.

His eyes widened. “You’re insane!”

“Wow! That’s a weird way to accept a compliment. You don’t get that many compliments, do you?”

“Stop talking.”

“Your wish is my command, Sarge,” I said, mocking his pompous tone. “Let’s get you back to bed before I have to pick you up off my bathroom floor again.”

He seemed a bit reluctant to hold onto my shoulder, but I convinced him to do so anyway. I couldn’t afford to see him topple to the ground once again. He stumbled a couple of times before I noticed he kept looking up.

“Will you please watch your steps?” I said, frustrated.

“Your t-shirt is wet,” he said, pressing his lips together in a tight line.

“Yeah, I’ll change it in a moment, just let me get you back in bed.”

“And see-through.”

“Oh!” I looked down and understood that he had a pretty good view of my boobs every time he looked down. I could feel my cheeks starting to burn, but there was nothing I could do right now so I tried hiding my embarrassment behind a nervous laughter. “What, don’t you have boobs in the military, Sarge?” He snorted and kept looking away from my boobs. “Yeah, I figured that would be the case. But you should be a lady killer with that impressive coat of yours…”

“Please stop,” he pleaded.

I laughed and helped him back in bed, fluffing up the pillows a little so he could sit upright. “There you go, Sarge. I���ll go make some breakfast and I’ll be back in a minute.”

He exhaled loudly and I was sure I’d reached the limit of his patience with my ramblings, so I decided to shut up and leave him alone for a while.

“It’s Hux,” he said before I left the room.

“Pardon?”

“Armitage Hux. My name is Armitage Hux.” He seemed to force himself to say the words and I smiled.

“Nice to meet you,” I said, offering him my own name in exchange. “Can I call you Armie?”

“No! You can call me Hux,” he barked.

“Ok, Hux. I’ll go make breakfast now.”

The next couple of days passed without incident. Well, almost. He was very resilient and seemed to heal faster than I had anticipated. I had to fight him to get some bacta on his bruises—almost literally, since he only yielded after I’d grabbed the fly swatter and threatened to give him a couple more if he didn’t take his shirt off—but other than that he wasn’t being that difficult.

He always ate all of the food I brought him without complaining. After the first day I thought he’d do the same every time, but he slowly and meticulously ate everything. Of course, he never complimented my food—or thanked me for it—but the fact that he was eating without putting up a fight was enough.

However, I had to send Dum-E away after the first couple of days. He didn’t like Hux and made it very clear, so I loaded him with a handful of supplies and sent him to my ship to help the astromech repair the blocked exhaust port and to wait for me there until I’d come for him. His help wasn’t really needed—astromechs usually did a much better job without someone pissing them off—but I needed a reason to get Dum-E off my back without hurting his feelings. He did what he was told, but wasn’t very happy about it.

Hux insisted to try and get out of bed a little every day, and although I knew he was in a lot of pain he never complained. I helped him walk around the house a little bit at a time and he seemed to get stronger every day. He still got a little dizzy everytime he got up too quickly, but I was there to support him until it passed. He also started breathing and sleeping better, so I could sleep on the couch instead of by his side.

His new favourite spot seemed to be outside on the porch, sitting in my rocking chair. He never rocked in it, just sat there, arms crossed, frowning at the scenery, occasionally watching me work in the garden. I didn’t mind his presence, actually I’d grown to quite enjoy it. I’d make him tea as he said he didn’t like coffee. He’d never touch the cookies I’d leave on the table, so I’d end up eating them during my breaks.

“So this is what you do for a living?” he asked once I’d taken a break from gardening and joined him in on the porch.

“What? Gardening?” He nodded. “No, it’s just a hobby. Occasionally I feel like I need a break from people so I come here to be alone.”

“Then what do you do?”

“I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you,” I said, biting into a cookie. A glimpse of something—fear maybe—flashed through his eyes. “Odd jobs,” I said, still chewing on the sweet treat. “I used to work in a mining company, I hated them. Then I worked as a cargo pilot, they hated me. Now I just… freelance.”

“Do you have your own ship?”

“No, I walked to this moon.” I snorted. “Of course I do. I saved a lot for it. Had a lot of repairs done too, but now it’s in pretty good shape,” I said with a smile on my face. I was really proud of the trash compactor, as I sometimes lovingly called her.

“I don’t see it. Where is it?” he said, curiously looking around.

“Docked. Somewhere.” I laughed. “I know that look. But I’m not gonna let you steal my ship and crash it. Just look at the sky, no one’s able to pass though that.”

He looked up. I still wasn’t sure he believed me, but I wasn’t gonna sacrifice my ship so that his curiosity would be satisfied. The sky was a combination of pastels and greys, mixing together in wide swirls, almost glimmering where the clouds were thin enough to let some more light come through. Occasionally, a flash of lightning lit the sky. It was insanely beautiful, in my opinion, and that certainly made up for the inconvenience of being grounded for extended periods of time.

But I wasn’t looking at the sky right now, I was looking at him. Ever since he seemed to have gotten used to my presence, he was frowning a lot less. And he was really cute when he relaxed a little. He had such beautiful features, mesmerizing green eyes brought out by the colour of his hair. He looked pretty imposing now that he wasn’t hunched over anymore, dressed again in his freshly cleaned and mended uniform (I actually did a great job with it). With the coat hanging effortlessly on his shoulders, he actually looked like a higher ranking officer. Not that I would have ever told him that, he had an ego problem anyway.

“What?” he asked, turning around to look at me.

“I like your coat,” I only half lied, because I really liked his coat.

“I’d tell you to join the First Order,” he said, looking away. “But I’m sure you’d never be able to climb to my rank anyway,” he said in such an honest voice that it only sounded moderately condescending.

“Well, if you did it I can do it too. I can even take your job if I really want to.” He snorted, and it almost sounded like a laughter. Almost. “But you’re lucky that I don’t like the military, so you’ll be able to keep your job a little longer.” I got up and headed back to my garden.

“But you like gardening,” he said, watching me grab my tools.

“Yeah! I’d rather get my hands dirty with mud than with blood.”

“Sometimes, blood is necessary,” he said, leaning back in the chair. “Change requires sacrifice, sometimes literally.”

“You sound like an idealist,” I said, shaking my head. “Maybe you should try gardening,” I offered, changing the subject. “Helps a lot with meditation and inner turmoil. Might help with that crease between your eyebrows.”

“Not in a million years.” He got up, and walked briskly inside.

“Well you could wash the dishes if you’re going inside. Or set the table,” I yelled after him, knowing full well that he wouldn’t dirty his hands doing any of that.

As days passed and he was getting better, he started spending more and more time with me. He never did anything around the house—something told me that he’d never done any housework by himself—but he followed me around like a shadow. He’d spend hours walking around the garden, listening to me ramble about the plants or listen to funny stories that happened to me or my friends. On rare occasions he’d even smile or snicker at one of my jokes. He seemed to appreciate my flower garden, since he liked to spend time there the most.

He didn’t talk much about himself and seemed quite emotionally constipated. He only fired up when he talked about the First Order, but when he noticed how little I cared, he stopped and never mentioned it again. Instead he started asking me questions: about my childhood, about my family, my friends. He seemed restless whenever the house was too silent so I kept talking and he listened.

“The weather’s changing,” I said one evening, while sitting on the porch. The air was warm and a bit humid, but it wasn’t unpleasant. The static in the air was probably higher than usual. “I think the sky will be clearing soon.”

“How do you know?” he asked, joining me, looking at the dwindling light near the horizon. “It looks the same to me.”

“It’s hard to explain. You start noticing some changes after spending some time here.”

We were both silent for a while, watching the setting sun colour the clouds a fiery orange, just before turning dark. I was a bit sad that he’d have to go, but I knew I couldn’t just ask him to stay a little longer. Besides, I’d have to go to work too. My little house and garden were a great place to unwind, but I wouldn’t be able to survive without working. I sighed and headed inside.

He followed me a couple of minutes later, watching me pull out bottles out of a cupboard.

“I was thinking,” I said, placing a bottle on the kitchen table and fishing for two mismatched shot glasses in another cupboard, “since we’ll both be off this planet soon and something tells me we’ll never see each other again, I was thinking of treating you to a glass of jet juice. You can’t leave without tasting it at least once now, can you?”

“No, thank you,” he said, taking a step back as I was pouring the drink, as if it could bite him though the air.

“Oh, come on, General. You need to learn to unwind a little,” I said with a cheeky smile, pushing the glass towards him. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone,” I said, taking my own glass and downing it. “Kriff, it’s bad!”

“Why do you drink it then?” He took the glass between his slender fingers and sniffed it, the look of disgust on his face becoming more evident.

“Oh you don’t drink to enjoy it,” I shrugged, refilling my glass. “You drink to get drunk.”

“That’s because you don’t drink the right thing,” he said with a very visible air of superiority. I snorted.

“Sorry, rich boy, but here we can’t afford the fine drinks you’re used to.”

“I’m not rich.”

“Yes, you are. Maybe not now, but I’m pretty sure you grew up rich. You have this air of entitlement that only rich kids have. You walk around like you own the place, you act like you deserve everything. I think you’ve been used to having everything handed to you because you never clean after yourself, you never say thank you for anything, unless it’s sarcastic.” He frowned, but didn’t deny it. “You know, I didn’t have to save your life,” I continued, and he was already avoiding my gaze. “I didn’t have to look after you or give up my bed or share my food with you. But I did it anyway, because I wanted to.”

He still didn’t deny it of try to argue with me, instead looking down at the glass in his hand. “Thanks,” he mumbled and brought the glass to his lips. I could tell the exact moment the drink hit his throat, because I saw his eyes widen in shock, his face take on a crimson shade and eventually he started coughing. At least his heart didn’t stop.

I walked around the table, unable to hold my laughter as he doubled down coughing. “Are you okay?” I asked, wiping the tears from the corners of my eyes, once he seemed to compose himself a little bit.

“That is absolutely appalling! How can you drink it?”

“You didn’t have to try and down it. I’m used to it, but you will need some practice.”

“Fuck,” he took a deep breath, wiping the sweat on his forehead. “I didn’t expect it to be that strong. And why does it taste that bad?”

“Yeah, this is the good shit,” I said, pouring another round. Hux looked at the bottle with barely concealed fear in his eyes. “Rock brews it on his ship when he’s away. Comes back with a fresh batch every six months or so. It’s always the strong kind, cause that’s how he likes it.”

“It’s horrendous,” he said, but still took his glass. This time he proceeded with a lot more caution, only sipping from the glass. It was entertaining to watch him force himself to drink the liqueur. That level of self-discipline was to be admired. He even made an effort to keep a straight face, but failed miserably. I laughed and downed my glass. “You’re insane,” he whispered, looking at my empty glass.

It only took a couple more glasses for him to actually take the bottle and become the one in charge of refills. He stated loud and clear that it tasted like the depths of hell, but he kept drinking anyway. I was already dancing on my own in the middle of the living room, the sound system blaring some stupid galactic pop music.

“I thought you said electronics don’t work,” he said, looking at me with a slightly unfocused gaze. He was actually taking the alcohol far better than I had expected. Most people who drank Rock’s jet juice for the first time ended up under the table. Or worse. But he seemed to handle it surprisingly well.

“They do, they just don’t get any signal from the outside,” I said, swaying to the music, probably a lot less graciously than I thought I was. “This is just some pre-recorded shit. Come dance with me.”

His usual scoff was back, and in my drunken state I realized I’d missed it. He shook his head and I extended my arm out, inviting him again. “I don’t dance,” he said, pouring himself another drink, this time being a lot more generous with it than I had been.

“Ever?”

“Ever.”

“You’re lying,” I giggled, fumbling with the sound system. “You’re high society, you guys have balls or some shit. You must have at least slow danced once in your entire life.”

“I did not.” He crossed his arms and looked away.

“Well then, there’s always a first time for everything.” I finally managed to find a slow song I was pretty sure we could dance on without stepping on each other’s toes. “Come dance with me,” I said once again, taking a few steps towards him, holding my hand out.

He still had his hands crossed over his chest but his posture wasn’t that rigid anymore. A few hair strands had escaped from his usually slicked back hairstyle and were falling into his eyes, but he didn’t do anything to brush them away. He was looking. Just that, looking, as if he couldn’t really make up his mind what to do. I still kept my hand out and an inviting smile on my face, although I had little hope that he would accept my invitation. So I was really surprised when I felt his hand in mine, my smile widening considerably.

“Only one,” he said, placing a hand on the small of my back and pulling me close.

My heart jumped at the contact. I wasn’t expecting this much intimacy, if anything I had expected him to be a lot more awkward and stiff. But he was swaying next to me like he knew what he was doing, his hand warm in mine, his face so close that I could feel his breath. I allowed my head to rest on his shoulder, melting into his frame. After all, a little vulnerability was allowed from time to time.

The song ended and then another one started, and the promise of only one dance was temporarily forgotten. My head was spinning a little—no doubt the effect of the alcohol in my blood—but I knew dancing could do that to you too. He had rested his cheek on the top of my head and I had my eyes closed, languidly moving in sync with him. And then another song started, and another.

I don’t really remember how my lips found his. It felt like waking up from a dream, or waking inside of a dream because I felt oddly detached from reality. The kiss was slow, needy and selfish, lips mashed together almost painfully. My hands had traveled up, entangling my fingers into the hair on the back of his head. He was pressing me closer to his chest, in an almost desperate gesture. I wasn’t thinking anymore. The only thing I was feeling was him, and his soft lips on mine.

The music changed, pulling us back to reality. He broke the kiss and we pulled apart. It took us a couple of moments to regain composure, me a bit more reluctantly than him. He passed a hand through his hair and looked around nervously. He seemed a little flustered, and I was sure it wasn’t just the alcohol.

“I’d better go to sleep,” he said and I pouted.

I really didn’t want him to leave, my head was still spinning and my lips were tingling, wanting to be kissed again, but even in my drunken state I knew it wouldn’t be wise to insist. He was rebuilding his shell just as fast as he was getting his hair in order, and the only thing indicating that he had been kissing mere moments before was the redness of his lips.

I straightened my posture and smiled. “Goodnight, General,” I forced myself to say.

He mumbled ‘goodnight’ and left. I turned off the music and poured myself another glass, before cleaning up. I was still drunk when I eventually went to bed. I stopped for a moment to look at the sleeping figure in my bed. I’d miss him after he’d leave. I really would. I made a mental note to tell him that before he left and crashed on the couch, falling asleep almost instantly.

For the past week, as Hux had healed enough so he could get out of bed on his own, he had been the one to wake me up every morning, at the break of dawn. I had no idea how he could live on such little sleep, but I blamed it on his military upbringing. So I found it a little strange when I woke up unprompted, and the house was filled with the light of day. I figured the hangover was making him oversleep, so I got up to close the blinds.

The sun was shining brightly, and I groaned as my head felt like it wanted to explode into a million pieces. The sun was shining… that meant the cloud blockade was gone. It took me a minute to realize, my brain foggy and slow.

I ran to my bedroom, my head protesting against any sudden movements, nearly tripping onto something on the way. The bed was empty. I looked around the house, but he was nowhere to be seen, my heart sinking with every step I took. I stopped and listened, but everything was silent.

I ran outside, my last hope was to find him in my garden, or at least to catch him before he reached his rescuers. Just to say goodbye. What I didn’t expect was to see was the silhouette of a battlecruiser blocking half the sky, terrifyingly close and menacing.

I stopped dead in my tracks, unable to move. So he hadn’t lied, he was someone really important if they’d sent a star destroyer to pick him up. A ship that would wipe the tiny moon I lived on in mere seconds, erasing any proof that he’d ever been here. And from what I’d heard about them, they were capable of doing just that. I knew enough that I could be considered a liability.

I just stood there in front of my house, where we used to walk together less than a day ago. I was scared. For the first time in a long time, I was scared. I watched with widened eyes as the ship started its engines and entered hyperspace.

It took me a couple of minutes to realize that it was actually gone and I was still alive. He didn’t kill me, although he could have done it with just as little effort as squishing a bug with his shoe. I took a few deep breaths to calm myself and went back inside. I needed a strong drink, so I poured myself one. My hangover wouldn’t thank me. I plopped down the couch and covered my eyes.

He left without saying goodbye. I knew he hadn’t tried to wake me up, because even drunk I wasn’t a heavy sleeper. So he actually made an effort to not wake me up as he left. I didn’t get to tell him that I would miss him, and that he could visit anytime he needed a break from whatever life he was leading. That he’d be welcome again in my tiny house.

I got up before I made myself cry and looking around the house my eyes fell on the coat, thrown on the back of the armchair. It was his coat, the same black coat I spent half a day trying to clean and mend. All the military insignia had been carefully removed. I laughed, wondering how long he’d actually spent carefully cutting each one of them off, leaving nothing but the beautiful black fabric. I put it on. Yeah, I loved it. It didn’t fit me quite right, but I could wear it on my shoulders and look badass.

Looking through its pockets I found an emergency transmitter, the same one I’d found him clutch in his hand the first time he woke up, and the same one that had called the First Order to pick him up the moment the clouds had stopped jamming the signal. It was currently turned off, but I was sure that the moment I’d turn it on, it would start transmitting. ‘In case of emergency’, I knew it meant. I smiled and put it back in the coat pocket. This was his way of saying thank you.

A couple of days later, I had picked up a very disgruntled Dum-E along with my ship and I was making the final preparations to leave for another season of working my ass off for little to no pay. I opened my safe box to grab some stuff and I noticed that Hux’s blaster was gone. So he’d found my safe box and he broke into it, recovering his weapon. It was useless for me, since it was fingerprint locked and those wouldn’t sell for much on the black market, but it was nice thinking that he could have killed me anytime he wanted, but didn’t. It was almost romantic.

I laughed and closed the safe, making a mental note to get a better one before I came back again, turned on the security system and left the house, hands in my pockets and a black, First Order general’s coat hanging on my shoulders.

Masterlist

Mobile Masterlist

[chroniccombustion]

A Corner of Memories pt. 1

From “Seven Days to Eternity“, part of @souyoweek2019

Genre: Soulmate!AU, romance, M/M Rated: K+ Characters: Yosuke Hanamura, Souji Seta (Yu Narukami), mentions of the Investigation Team, mentions of Saki Konishi Warnings: mentions of canon minor character death Status: oneshot collection, incomplete

next chapter ->

Day 1: Soulmate or Music

“The soul is made of music,” the teacher tells the class one day when Yosuke is about five or six. “And each person has half or part of a special Song that only they and their destined partner know. No one else can replicate it, because nobody is born with all the parts – you have to find the people that know the rest of it to make the melody into a full Song.”

Hanamura Yosuke is born with half a song stuck in his head.

He isn’t special; almost every single person in the world is born with a Soul Song. Some are platonic, some are romantic, some are somewhere in between. Loud and bold and intense, sweet and soft and warm; there is every sort of music imaginable, but none of them are complete.

They teach the story in school. “The soul is made of music,” the teacher tells the class one day when Yosuke is about five or six. “And each person has half or part of a special Song that only they and their destined partner know. No one else can replicate it, because nobody is born with all the parts – you have to find the people that know the rest of it to make the melody into a full Song.”

It’s a beautiful thought, really – the idea that somewhere out there is a person that’s meant for him exclusively, someone that he’s meant for, too, that the both of them are tailor made for one another in the most cosmically profound way possible.

Yosuke knows his song is romantic. He knows in a way he cannot explain, just like no one can explain just how they know the missing piece of their Song when they hear it. The tune in his head is slow and pretty, with a bittersweet tint of nostalgia and longing, but happy and hopeful at the same time. It sounds like a hard-won love, like coming home and falling into someone’s arms after at the end of a golden summer day. He doesn’t know how he knows all of this, but he does, and from the time he’s little, Yosuke wants nothing more than to find the other half of himself.

He is eight when he asks his parents to get him a guitar. At first they refuse, but after several weeks of begging and pleading they settle on a compromise; if he can save up the money to get one for himself, then his parents will pay for lessons. Yosuke excitedly agrees. He hoards his allowance, his birthday money, does odd jobs for his mom and for neighbors around the apartment complex where they live. He’s too young still to get a job, but he does what he can, and saves and saves and saves until eventually he has enough to walk into the music store downtown and buy a simple acoustic six-string. It’s the greatest day of this little life.

His parents follow through on their half of the bargain – likely because they see how serious he is about the whole guitar thing now that he’s bought one all by himself. It’s slow going, like anything worth putting time and effort into, but Yosuke doesn’t mind in the least. He would rather take his time and make it good, than rush though and make something half-assed.

After all, one day in the not-so-distant future, he’s going to put his Song out there for the whole world to hear, so that wherever she is, his soul mate knows it’s for her. It absolutely, absolutely cannot be anything less than perfect.

So Yosuke practices. He practices and he learns and he listens, wondering if maybe someone has already put something out there for him to respond to. As he moves from child into preteen and becomes more versed in the internet, he scours forums, specialty sites, anything that he can get into at his age that will let him listen to the Songs that people have put up. He knows it’s a long shot, that there are so many people out there, so many Songs, that it’ll take him eons to get through them all, but he keeps going. Just in case. Just in case.

When he turns sixteen he signs up for his own account on every single free site he can and saves up once again to buy himself a small microphone. He plays his Song over and over and over again to himself in his bedroom, getting it just right, getting it perfect as he waits to be able to record it.

But then his parents tell him that they’re moving.

At first, Yosuke doesn’t quite know what to think. Moving isn’t bad, per se, but he likes where they are. The city is full of people, is accessible; he has a better chance of meeting his soul mate in a place like the city than he would somewhere else. If she isn’t here with him like he likes to imagine – somewhere on the other side of the subway tracks from him as he goes out with friends to the arcade, or sitting at a lonely table inside a café as he passes by the window outside – then he at least has the ability to get to her. This place is connected to everything; if he leaves now, then how far do his odds drop?

He nearly has a heart attack when they tell him where they’re moving to.

Nowhere. Absolutely fucking nowhere is where they’re moving to. He looks it up online, discovers that Inaba is a tiny, god-forsaken little dollop of rural nothingness hours and hours away from where he is now. He can’t breathe. How is he supposed to find his other half in a place like that? There’s no way. Even if she hears his Song then there’s the very real possibility that they won’t be able to meet, not when he’s stuck out in no man’s land with nothing but mountains and silence.

His microphone comes in just before they finish packing, but he doesn’t have a chance to record his Song before his family leaves. Maybe, he tells himself in an attempt to keep his heart from sinking, maybe this will turn out okay in the end. Maybe she’ll be there instead of in the city.

The first few months in Inaba are utter hell. His family is blamed for the sudden decline in sales throughout the shopping district, which brands him as a monster from the very first day. He tries, he really does; he goes to work under his dad and keeps a smile on his face when in view of other people, keeping his abject misery hidden until he can retreat back to his bedroom. He lets the comments, aimed like barbs at his throat, slide off his shoulders, pretends not to hear what other people say behind his back. He makes himself into a caricature, sunny smiles and unfailingly jovial, and all the while tries not to feel himself sink lower and lower as the weeks pass and he stays stagnant without even so much as a friend.

There are a few people that are kinder to him – two of the boys in the sports clubs, a brash, tom-boyish girl in his class that likes to aim punches at his head sometimes. And then there’s Saki-senpai.

Saki-senpai is soft, sweet, friendly to him in a way that seems easy and natural. He basks in her presence like a flower in the sunlight and, for a while, he wonders if maybe she could be his soul mate. Her voice when she speaks to him, a tired laugh in her words, sounds like she could be made of the same chords as his Song. He doesn’t know what hers sounds like, never seems to get the chance to ask or the luck of overhearing her humming it to herself like he’d always pictured happening. He doesn’t mind, though. He thinks of he microphone still packed away in this closet at home, of his guitar, still in its case in the corner by his bed, and thinks about possibly recording his Song after all. Maybe he can give it to her on a CD after work one day, and maybe, just maybe, she’ll catch him outside before a shift the day after and tell him with a happy smile that she’s heard him loud and clear.

He lets the plan slowly build inside his mind, thinking of how he can set up his desk upstairs to accommodate a small recoding station. He still has a few more boxes to unpack (he’s always been slow to put stuff away when it wasn’t in a work situation), so he needs to finish doing that before he has room to start on this, but what he can do is practice. He goes home from school or from work and for a month straight he familiarizes himself with his instrument and re-teaches himself the movements of his hands. He doesn’t need to remember the tune itself, ingrained permanently as it is into his very soul.

Seta Souji moves to Inaba at the start of the next term and almost immediately Yosuke is intrigued. Seta is quiet, mysterious, and right away his welcome to the town is a million times more positive than Yosuke’s had been. Yosuke can kind of see why, too; Seta is new, and therefore gossip-worthy, but because he’s not tied to Junes and the subsequent drama surrounding the shopping district, he’s free game to be viewed with excitement, in a positive light. (It doesn’t help that Seta is handsome in a storybook, ethereal kind of way, but Yosuke would never admit that in a hundred years.)

He wants to hate him, wants to be jealous of him, but as much as Yosuke is bitter about the vast difference in the way Inaba treats their newest hyperfixation vs. the way they’ve been treating him, Yosuke finds he just… can’t. He can’t dislike the new kid. Seta has been shipped out here with no say in the matter, just like Yosuke had been, so it’s not really his fault that he’s here. And honestly, if Yosuke looks hard enough, just past that neutral expression that Seta wears, Yosuke thinks he can see just the tiniest hint of discomfort. Maybe even loneliness.

It’s hard to hate the guy when he reminds Yosuke too much of himself.

Yosuke goes home that afternoon wondering if he has a chance of getting a new friend out of this if he plays his cards right, since Seta doesn’t know him as the “Prince of Junes.” Besides, what with them both being unwillingly transferred from their home in the city, Yosuke figures he Seta could use a kindred spirit. He heads for his room at the end of the day with plans to talk to the guy at school in the morning. Maybe say hello, offer to show him around town.

He’s busy digging through the boxes still stacked in his closet when midnight hits without him knowing it. He’d completely forgotten about the bullshit Midnight Channel rumor that Satonaka had told him until his TV cuts on by itself and bathes his bedroom in an eerie yellow glow. He watches, transfixed – because seriously? How can this be real? – as through the flickering static there comes the image of a girl. Soft and tired, with rounded, delicate features; Yosuke would know Saki-senpai’s face anywhere.

He feels like his heart is about to explode.

The TV clicks back off again and the room goes dim once more. Yosuke stays where he is, watching the dark television screen with the after image of his soul mate in his eyes.

He doesn’t get to talk to Saki-senpai much the next day, however, as she’s just coming off her break when he spots her while up in the food court with Seta and Satonaka. (He’d gotten his wish to hang out with the new kid, at least, though not without having made a fool of himself for the second time in front of him by getting stuck in a trashcan. Still, Seta had yet to seem like he was holding it over Yosuke’s head, so the gleam of hope hasn’t faded just yet.) Sadly, Saki-senpai seems too tired, to distracted to talk, so as much as Yosuke wants to ask her if she’d watched the Midnight Channel, too, if she’d seen him, too, he holds off. There’s always the next day, after all. Plus, he still needs to play his Song for her, so maybe it’s better that he wait for a little bit longer. Now that he knows who his soul mate is, he can take his time and do it right.

Except he can’t. Because Saki-senpai’s body is found dangling above the town not even a full day later and Yosuke feels the world crumbling out from underneath him.

So close. He’d been so close to her; he’d been waiting his entire life to meet her, to hear what their combined Soul Song would sound like once it was complete. But even having suspected it was her, having had it confirmed in a roundabout way and knowing it was her, he’d taken too long and now she’s gone. He should have talked to her sooner, should have played his half of their Song for her sooner. Maybe then he could have stopped her death.

Yosuke doesn’t know what to do with himself, doesn’t know how to bring himself off of autopilot because he’s too numb, too scared of what he’ll feel when he isn’t numb anymore. So in a blind effort to do something, to keep himself focused so that the numbness stays and he pain stays away, he does the only thing he can possibly think to do: he ropes Seta into going back into the TV with him to see if they can settle the score.

Long afterwards, when Yosuke is exhausted and sore and there’s a new voice whispering in the back of his skull, he catches up to Seta – to Souji – and shakes his hand as equals. “I’m counting on you, Partner,” he says, and there is the funniest little click inside his heart that almost feels like someone has run their hands across a piano’s keys in an ascending scale.

He tries not to think about the way it makes his whole body shiver.

  The next few months are a like a fever dream. Yosuke throws himself into their cause, cutting through dungeon after dungeon, standing at Souji’s side, defiant in the faces of his new friends’ shadows. It’s exhilarating, empowering, and Yosuke can feel the pain in his chest slowly growing scar tissue with each and every person that gets added to their group.

He misses Saki-senpai. He misses her and the chance that they never got to have, but there is also something there that Yosuke is a little afraid to look at too closely. He misses her, wishes he could have known her as his soul mate, but the more time that goes by he realizes that maybe, horribly, he misses the concept of her, of what they could have been and what he’ll never have now, more than he does her. They’d never had the time to be more than what they were, and he hates to admit it to himself but he’s seen what happens when he keeps things bottled up and denies them.

Sometimes, after a particularly draining dungeon crawl, Yosuke lies in bed and stares up at the ceiling and listens to the song still playing slow and pretty in his soul. He lets himself think about Saki-senpai as much as he can without also letting in that tearing sensation of loss, and finds that, while the wound is still fresh, it no longer bleeds. It hurts more to think that he doesn’t miss her as much as he thinks he should, than it does to think about her on her own.

He thinks about his future, a life without the hope of one day making his Song whole, and that’s when the ache in his lungs starts to take hold – like he’s drowning on dry land.

What’s worse is that his mind immediately jumps to a different face, a different set of silvery eyes to kick him back out of his suffocation. He doesn’t know if he’s just substituting his best friend as a source of comfort or what, but it tangles him up inside in a way he cannot name. Yosuke always goes to sleep on those nights with a tugging at his heart that he tells himself must be grief.

They fight on. With each person rescued the IT gains a new member, and Yosuke starts to feel damn near invincible. He holds the feeling close to his chest for as long as he is able because for the first time in his life he is useful, he is powerful. The more he fights the more he wonders if Saki-senpai would be proud of him for all the good the Investigation Team is doing. He hopes she is, wherever she might be now. He knows what she thought of him; he still remembers the echoing words of her Shadow left over in the gloom of the twisted liquor store. He knows that she didn’t like him much – but it’s alright. It’s alright because Yosuke can still mourn for her, can mourn for what they might have been to one another; despite his qualms about his own emotions, he knows he did genuinely care for her. Maybe it’s not as much as he wishes it were, but it’s still there.

So her words of scorn don’t deter him. It hurts, yes, knowing her true feelings, but it isn’t what’s important right now. Not even when his mind takes a sharp curve and reminds him that he might have been able to change her opinion of him if he’d just told her sooner; just like he might have been able to prevent her death.

But right now it doesn’t matter. The past can’t be changed; all he can do at the moment is try and shape the future one kidnapping victim at a time. Maybe it will be enough to earn her forgiveness one day, even if he cannot earn his own.

Time continues to pass as if nothing has happened, creeping along and yet flying at the same time. Soon it’s the end of summer, then fall, and suddenly winter is upon them and the Investigation Team is up to eight members. One murderer is already behind bars. It isn’t Saki-senpai’s murderer, but it’s still a murderer, which is confirmation that what they’re doing, what Yosuke is doing, is good.

But like everything else in his life, doing good just isn’t good enough.

November takes Yosuke’s newfound confidence, his small sense of pre-peace, and smashes it against the ground like it’s made of hollow glass. He watches, utterly helpless, as his best friend’s entire world is burned to ashes in the span of a single evening – Nanako is kidnapped, Dojima is hospitalized, and Souji looks like he’s one step away from breaking. Yosuke tries to tell himself it will be okay, that they’ll save her just like they did the others, but he’s become so used to operating under Souji’s command that he feels off-balance now that their unshakable leader is cracking at the edges. He doesn’t even know what to do to help him as a friend except to stay by his side and power through the dungeon as quickly as possible.

It takes days too long. As adept at fighting as they all are, they’re still human and cannot possibly rescue Nanako in one go. So they do what they can until they can’t, and then Yosuke is left to watch as Souji shuts himself entirely down once the rest of the team has crossed back over into the real world. He doesn’t know how to help; once again, Yosuke feels like he’s losing something, only this time he’s watching it happen in front of him in slow motion and he can’t seem to move quick enough to stop it. (He has nightmares of finding Saki-senpai’s body on a power line, which somehow become nightmares of Souji’s eyes, dead inside and blank, staring back at him as he hangs – empty and gone, even with his heart still beating. Yosuke wakes with constricting lungs, Souji and Saki-senpai’s faces superimposed on one another until he can’t be sure who he’s just dreamt about losing.)

Nanako dies.

Yosuke holds his best friend close as Souji cries on his shoulder.

He stays the night with Souji so that the other boy doesn’t have to be alone and tries to stuff down the overwhelming guilt at having failed yet again to save someone he cares about, someone his partner cares about. It keeps him awake long after Souji has finally cried himself into an exhausted sleep.

Not even the pretty Song inside him can drown it out.

[askvicothefallenbloodangel]

Writober Day 1: From Beneath the Bed

Halloween Art Gauntlet

They stopped following him.

Thevan didn’t lose them.  Their howling was still loud and eagerly baying for his blood.  But he could sense their frustration and rage at being denied their prey.  But beneath it, fueling it, he sensed…fear.

Fear?  That didn’t make any sense.  He was in the pack’s territory, the seat of their strength where none would dare stand against them.  The only possible explanation could be that he had blundered into the domain of someone or something that even the Wulfen couldn’t overcome.

Thevan ducked into a room to catch his breath and regain his bearings.  Half of the floor here was missing, allowing him a glimpse into a cavernous chamber roughly carved out from the manufactorium block.

The sight that greeted him gave him pause.  Laying supine on the ground many dozens of stories below was the wreckage of an Imperial Knight.  Numerous rents and tears in its armor revealed the cause of its demise, though Thevan couldn’t identify what weapons inflicted such damage.  More disturbing were glimpses of what looked like dead and rotting flesh within the torn metal, as though he was gazing upon the resting place of a slain, armored giant and not a machine of war.

As Thevan’s eyes adjusted to the gloom, he saw that the rubble the Knight lay upon was not stone and metal, but bones and fur pelts.  Lots of pelts, all in varying stages of decay.  Was this a sacred site for the Wulfen?  Or the lair of something that hunted them for their skins?

Either way, Thevan did not want to linger here lest he be encircled by the Wulfen or cornered by whatever dwelled here.  He opened his awareness, and the Outcast strained her senses for any psychic signatures within this Emperor-forsaken place.

Just as she suspected, the Wulfen were attempting to lay ambushes at the most likely escape routes, but a faint presence brushed her mind, one that was unmistakable: a shard of the World Spirit.  Somewhere, below the crude metal giant, was an anchor of the moon’s soul, and, by extension, those of her kin.  How it survived this long, she could only guess, but she could not simply pass it by, not while she had an opportunity to tie it back to the shattered World Spirit’s other fragments.

But despite her conviction, the Outcast couldn’t help but notice that besides the World Spirit anchor and the Wulfen, she could sense nothing else.  It’s never this easy, the Lamenter thought grimly.

Thevan carefully and quietly climbed down the ruined floors of the manufactorium, wincing at every tiny bit of debris that fell loose into the chamber, the quiet crumbling clanging loudly to his ears.  No other sound or movement could be detected in the chamber, but he refused to hope that he was alone or undetected by whatever lurked within.

Bolt pistol and Eldar chainsword were already in hand the moment his feet touched the floor of the cavern.  Up close, the ruined armor of the Knight and its macabre barrow loomed over him, its imposing presence second only to the terrible stench of death and decay.  Thevan was nearly overcome by nausea before he summoned the will to filter out the overpowering reek from his senses.  He quietly picked his way around the cairn, not certain what he was looking for save that the faint signature of the anchor seemed to lay somewhere within and below the mound.

He soon found his solution, though he found himself loathe to continue.  There was a narrow tunnel just barely wide enough for him to walk through without stooping in the side of the pile of bones and flayed skins.  Despite the crude, gruesome materials, it seemed to be stable enough for him to safely enter, but it begged the question of who built it.  Thevan took some solace in the fact that whatever monstrosity lurked within, it couldn’t be all that much larger than he was.  With a whispered prayer to the God-Emperor for guidance and protection, he entered the tunnel.

It was only thanks to his finely-honed sense of direction that he was somehow able to keep his bearings within the labyrinth of bone and molding flesh, though it was sorely tested.  With the anchor acting as his only frame of reference, he was forced to press forward blindly, circling around on himself and doubling back multiple times.  The time he was spending wasn’t what worried him, for he could operate for weeks without rest if he had to.  But the utter silence of the winding ossuary save for the dripping of putrid fluids and the soft crunch of bones beneath his boots disturbed him the most.  If there was anything lurking here, it had to know of his presence by now.  The thought only made him advance all the more slowly in the near-total darkness, lest he blunder right into an ambush.  Every now and then he could have sworn he saw something scuttling just out of sight or heard the shuffling of bones off in the distance, but then it was gone.  Thevan hoped that he wasn’t losing his grip on his sanity.  He had been trained far too well to be cowed by fear and paranoia now, not after the horrors he had witnessed before.

Wait.  The Outcast paused, extending her senses out as far as she could.  There.  She turned towards a wall, the arrhythmic hum of the anchor radiating faintly from behind it.  It was close, so close.  Did this tunnel even go towards it?  Did she have to backtrack several kilometers just to get to it?  Was the anchor just simply buried?  She couldn’t stand it, the tension, the uncertainty.  Stowing his pistol and sword, Thevan began digging, quietly at first, but then with increasing urgency, no longer caring if anything heard him or not.  If any abominations lurked here, let them come!  At least he will then finally face his tormentor and put his fears to death.

Thevan ripped out half a skeleton before he was blinded by a bright flash of psychic energy.  When his mind finally adjusted to its glare, he nearly cried out in joy.  Visible through a gap in the wall of bones was the roughly hewn surface of a menhir, the anchor of the World Spirit.  Without another moment of hesitation, he pulled off his glove and placed his bare hand against the cool crystalline surface.

Waves of pain, confusion, and anguish nearly overwhelmed the Outcast, forcing her to summon all of her psychic prowess just to keep her feet.  The fragment of the World Spirit within lunged at her, clinging to her for some measure of hope and stability.  Her knees gave out, yet she somehow managed to keep her hand against the menhir, unwilling to break contact.  Fear not, she told the wounded shard, I shall show you the way.  Ignoring the sharp bones poking at her flesh - no, only borrowed, you will do well to remember that - and the foul fluids dripping down around her, the Outcast reached out with her will, dancing around the numerous slavering predators marauding just on the other side of the veil of reality, leaving them no trace of her passage.  Finally, she found the other shards of the World Spirit, loosely bound together like children holding together in the dark.

Come, join your kin.  She felt energized just by the mental touch of the others, almost too much for her mortal vessel to bear, but she let it suffer only enough to join the lost fragment to the rest, letting her consciousness take the brunt of the overwhelming emotions and power contained within.  Though once sundered, let this joining now hold together, if only just enough to finish our great work upon this blighted world.

Thevan regained consciousness in an instant.  The nauseating smell of burning flesh was still hot and fresh in his nostrils, the searing pain on his palm intruding upon his awareness.  This was good, as it meant he was only unconscious for but a moment.  He silently recited a litany of strength, willing the pain to the back of his mind.  This anchor is once again joined to the whole, he told himself.  Now to get out of this particular piece of hell.

After checking himself and his wargear one last time, he began retracing his steps as best as his memory would allow.  He had barely traveled a kilometer before he stopped, straining his senses against the darkness.  A scraping of bone, growing practically deafening after the long, maddening silence, coming seemingly from all directions at once.  An earthquake?

No, the denizens finally hunger, he grimly realized.  Tightening his grip on his weapons, he started running, the time for stealth now long past.

He saw it after he turned a corner into a long straightaway.  In the light of his stab-lumen, a Space Wolf in power armor crawled on his belly towards him with unnatural speed.  Thevan immediately knew it was no longer among the Emperor’s worthy when he saw the twin chainblades protruding from the helmet’s vox grill and a second pair of armored arms pulling it over the bone-covered floor.  Taking aim at the monstrosity, Thevan fired his bolt pistol repeatedly, most of the rounds deflected into the walls, but a lucky shot pierced one of the cracked visor lenses.  The side of the helmet blew out in an explosion of gore, but still the abomination kept advancing.  It lunged at him with its chainblade mandibles, very nearly succeeding in impaling him as he managed to parry them to the side.

Thevan shoved the muzzle of the bolt pistol into the remaining lens and fired the last couple of rounds into its skull.  As it reeled from the exploding bolts, Thevan thrust the quietly-whirring Eldar chainsword right into the bloody mess, twisting it and ripping it free.

His eyes did not leave the now-still body as he reloaded his pistol, waiting for it to show any sign that it still lived.  He could now see that it had not just two pairs of arms, but many, with several breastplates of Astartes armor stacked one on top of the other in a gruesome chain all the way down the tunnel.  Just how many Space Wolves and Traitorous Astartes comprised this horror, Thevan did not want to even contemplate.  After firing a couple more bolt shells into the remnants of its neck for good measure, he ran down the tunnel on the back of the monster.

He did not make it very far when the macabre chain of corpses began to violently shake, nearly throwing him off his feet.  He turned and saw the bloody end of the monster rise up, its arms ripping off the first two segments and revealing another chainblade-fanged head.  Thevan leveled his pistol again, but the cracking of ceramite and bone filled the tunnel and several arms reached around at sickening angles, grabbing him and holding him fast.  He lashed out with his chainsword and pistol, but for each one hacked off or blasted apart, several more were there to take their place.

Thevan chanced a glance up, and the new head of the monster was nearly upon him after crawling along the ceiling of the tunnel.  He raised his sword to block the coming lunge, but the arms grappling him threw him off balance.  The monster struck, burying its bladed fangs deep into his chest, their serrated edges tearing through bone and organs with ease.

As his body lost sensation and the pain rapidly disappeared into a cold numbness, Thevan’s silent cry of pain settled into an annoyed grimace.

Will this finally be the end at last? the Outcast wondered wryly.

With my luck, doubtful, the Lamenter replied.

[thesiteofstyle]

JOACHIM KOKA

On his extensive hair routine, the importance of cruelty free products, and branding yourself through fashion choices.

“My name is Joachim, AKA Wakie, Wakie Fleeky Flames, Wakie Balboa, @offwhitewakie, Waksquiat etc. pronounced Wah-Key. I’m 24, currently work in Higher Ed and I’m from Hunter, NY. Hunter is a ski mountain in the Catskills where there’s less than 3,000 people and they’re all white, so it always throws people off “because of the way I dress.” Fortunately, I wasn’t too far behind the curve when it came to learning how to dress, thank you internet. Skin care however, different story.

It really wasn’t until after I graduated college and started getting a Birchbox that I learned more about skin care and realized Cetaphil wasn’t cutting it anymore. I’d call my skin care routine trial-and- error. Products typically plateau for me after a while and I have to switch it up, which is difficult because I have combination-oily skin and it’s pretty sensitive. Right now I’m using Lush’s Coalface and Dark Angels for my face to clean, and rosewater/coconut water spray from Alaffia after. I get pretty oily, so sometimes lotion is too much. Face oil has been pretty good to me though. The particular blend I was using was discontinued so I’ve been looking for a new one (PLANT Industries has forsaken me). If you don’t use tea tree oil for spot treatment, I don’t trust you. That stuff is great. I don’t think I’m being dramatic. Body oils work better for me over lotions, too. Right now I’m using Vitamin E Oil from Trader Joe’s but if I feel like I need something with some extra umph I use (organic) coconut oil. The nice thing about the oil is that, because it’s unscented, it helps prevent breakouts, but I recently started applying witch hazel to my back as well to help. I don’t wear cologne often because I feel like there’s just too many fragrances going on with all the different products I’m wearing, but if I do wear cologne I really like Alfred Lane’s solid cologne in Bravado. I think there’s just something particularly suave about it and solid colognes typically last longer. The deodorants I use have a strong smell too. I usually use Everyman Jack’s Cedar scent but Alaffia has some great activated charcoal deodorant that I’m currently using. Both brands are natural and aluminum free, of course. In the shower, if I’m not singing, I like to use Rad soap, which is a locally made soap company. Due to the fact I’m lazy and like to save time, I like to use bar soap with oatmeal/coffee in it so I can exfoliate doing that.

Now here’s where things get interesting: hair routine. Anyone who knows me knows I’m kind of obsessive when it comes to my hair. It’s very much so part of my brand so it’s important I take care of it. I’m Wakie with the good hair. I legitimately had a nightmare I got a bad haircut. It was haunting. I haven’t gotten such a bad haircut since my sophomore year in college and I lived in a hat for a month. I wash and condition every other day. I use Andalou Full volume shampoo and Everyone balance conditioner and I’ve been very happy with the results since I’ve made this my routine. That said, I think I’ve used enough pomades to consider myself an aficionado. A staple for me has been Suavecito. It’s affordable, smells amazing, and gives me the strong and slick hold I need for my hair right now. Real James Bond. For a matte finish though, Blind Barber 90 proof and O’Douds pomade are great. I came a long way from hair dryers and Axe products. My hair thanks me for it, and I thank you for the compliments on it in advance. I’m somebody that is adamant that you support the causes you believe in through what you buy so all of my products are cruelty free. No exceptions. No compromises. Don’t call me stubborn because I already know that.

I’ve always been obsessed with branding myself, even before I had any idea what that was. My sophomore year in high school I wore Famous non-stop (yes, that god awful “F” shirt) and Obey shirts my senior year. I’ve always wanted my clothes to make a statement. I saw this quote on a friend of mine’s Instagram page that said, “fashion is what you buy, style is what you do with it.” It resonated with me because I think style is the most visceral form of expression. I’ve never known exactly how to categorize my style, but my instagram is @theexecution because my personal style is reflective of this. My outfits are usually simple, but well executed. I try not to wear more than 3 colors as a typical rule of thumb. I tell everyone the best piece of style advice I ever heard was have a uniform. It gives you strong branding and a fail safe outfit you’re comfortable and confident in and let’s face it, what looks better than that? I would say mine is a well fitting pair of jeans, black or blue, and a basic colored tee, and shoes. Yes shoes, not sneakers. It’s my fail safe, I would wear it on a date, I would wear it in a box, I would wear it with a fox. A few years ago I started tucking my t-shirt in and it has gotten to the point where I feel weird not tucking in my shirt. It shows off the dad bod and I think it gives an otherwise “basic” outfit a thoughtful touch. Speaking of smart, I can’t imagine an outfit of mine being a complete Wakie outfit without glasses. My favorite pair is the Little Time from EyeBuyDirect. I really like what a good pair of frames do for my face and they allow me to add another subtle detail of coordination or contrast to a minimal outfit...and no they’re not prescription. Someone told me once that I’m appropriating blind culture and I still don’t know how to feel about that. 

I’m particularly in love with patina. When clothes tell a story there’s nothing better. This is probably why I have a soft spot for raw denim and anything that fades. Right now I’m wearing in a black pair from Uniqlo and they’ve been good to me. I had an indigo pair from the Gap but they passed away in a terrible crotch rip accident. I’m about to pick up a Carhartt jacket that I’m going to abuse so it gets some nice fades in it too. One item that stands out in particular is my denim jacket. It’s a Levi’s jacket but the thing that makes it mine with my story are the patches and pins. A few years ago I started getting a patch or pin every time I go somewhere new. The goal is to cover the jacket and hopefully have special memories and stories for each detail. For my footwear, I can’t imagine a world without Clarks and I really wish someone would ask me where I get them. Clarks mi prefer. It started with desert boots, but my favorite pair is easily my Clark’s x Norton boots. They’re black biker boots and they’re indestructible. I call them my American History X shoes. Shout outs to Edward Norton. What a coincidence. My other go to are my double monks. These are so utilitarian and I feel like I could wear them anywhere. Lastly, I have an olive wool coat from Topman and it’s really been integrated into my favorite looks. There’s something about olive green that’s undeniable and I think, as a jacket, it’s great to just wrap every outfit in that mossy color. I don’t think that color will ever go out of style and I’m happy I don’t have that camel color that everyone else has. Yes I went there. Not that I think I’m the only person who wears this color or has a jacket like that but I think of my overall aura, between the smells I’m attracted to and the tones I dress in are very earthy and organic in every sense of the word. I think that’s what makes my looks personal to me. I’m basically Captain Planet. Drink more water and recycle, please.”

Joachim Koka interviewed by The Site of Style

[eeveesanddragons]

0 - 44 :-P

t OH HEY! I 100% didn’t see this until now but I’m doing it0. Height - I think I’m about 5′11? It’s been a long time since I’ve actually checked1. Age - 20! It’s still weird to say to be honest2. Shoe Size - Ladies 11, but it also depends on the style of shoe?3. Do I smoke - Nope. I have mild asthma and the smell of ciggy smoke makes me gag (I’m also not really interested to smoke weed but you do you on both)4. Do I drink - Not often? It’s been over a month since I last had something alcoholic and it was red wine and I didn’t even finish that (though I DO want to make some gin cocktails…)5. Do I take drugs - Nothing illicit, I have some strong pain relief stuff for RSI and shit6. Age I get mistaken for - I get told I look at least 21/22 but the oldest I’ve gotten was 25. The youngest was 177. Have tattoos - I WISH. 8. Want tattoos - I have a few that I want but I don’t know where or I’d want to get a little bit fitter first because if I lose weight after they’ll look shit9. Have piercings - I have double pierced ears, and I’m tempted to get thirds10. Want any piercings - I kind of want to get my cartilage pierced? But I’m low-key terrified because my ears get infected super easily11. Best Friend - Girl they know who they are and I love them all (even though two of them aren’t even on this god-forsaken site, I think)12. Relationship status - Single AF mate13. Biggest turn on - If you know let me know because man I have no idea14. Biggest turn-off - Again, no clue. Probably someone being an utter asshole15. Favourite movie - I could watch The Martian or the Lord of the Rings movies over and over and still love them16. I’ll love you if - You take the time out to get to know me and still stick around and don’t mind me kicking you out when I need some me time (I’m an extrovert once you know me but after a while I get sick of even my closest friends and I love them so?)17. Someone I miss - My Nan18. Most traumatic experience - My sister was hit by a car and I was right next to her19. A fact about my personality - I’m super awkward up to a certain point but once I’m comfortable around you I’ll talk for ages20. What I hate most about myself - Either that I tend to get really drained sometimes when I’m around people and want to take some time out to be by myself and I probably seem annoyed or standoff-ish and if I’ve done this to you I’m so sorry it’s 100% not your fault OR the fact that unless I have a deadline I get absolutely nothing done21. What I love most about myself - Probably my creativity22. What I want to be when I get older - Honestly at this point I don’t know. I want to be published and I want to make a change in the world. Probably an astronaut if I’m going to be real here, I really want to go to space.23. Relationship with siblings - We get along fairly well, they piss me off and I piss them off but at the end of the day I’d do anything for them (if I was in the right mood JK)24. My relationship with my parents - I love my parents, they push me to keep doing things and pull me out of my head when I need it. I feel like in the last year I’ve distanced myself a bit for a few reasons and I can’t tell why but I hope they don’t think I don’t love them25. My idea of a perfect date - Camping under the stars with my dog and/or pizza and books and a fire and not having to say anything26. My biggest pet peeves - I bloody hate it when people chew with their mouths open. It literally makes my skin crawl and I’ll block my ear because DAMN can you not shut your mouth when you chew?27. A description of a person I like - I don’t really like anyone (romantically) at the moment? 28. A description of a person I dislike the most - I can’t think of one person in particular but there are a few people at work who piss me off29. A reason I’ve lied to a friend - to say I’ll be there soon or that I’ve heard of the person/place/thing/book (I don’t lie to friends)30. What I hate most at work - Probably the customers and the shit I have to put up with. (I work in retail) I told you that last week bitch why the hell are you fucking up the system AGAIN31. Last text message - The last text I received was from the Vet about my dog’s vaccination shots32. What words upset me the most - Any string of words that comes together to either be hateful or ignorant about something I’m passionate about really 33. What words make me feel best about myself - anytime someone says some version of “You did good” about something I’m super anxious about, or “I love you” from my Mum34. What I find attractive in women - Pixie cuts, dyed hair, cute outfits, shorter than me (sorry!) cool personality, ability to be silly?35. What I find attractive in men - Cuffed jeans, great jaw/eyes/hair, taller than me, actually a decent human being, ability to be silly?BONUS - What I find attractive in people who identify as something other than male or female - Short but still kind of long hair, simple but well-groomed outfits, willingness to be silly36. Where I would like to live - New Zealand or Ireland if I had to pick a country, or somewhere with “mountains” and forests in Australia (but still close to my family)37. One of my insecurities - I second guess myself A LOT about everything, and I compare myself to others, so it’s probably everything and nothing at the same time38. Childhood career choice - I wanted to be a vet but I can’t stand listening or learning about medical stuff so I probably wouldn’t have gotten through school for it39. Favourite Ice Cream Flavour - Golden Gaytime (god that’s such an Aussie thing to say)40. Who I wish I could be - The more productive version of me that doesn’t work at my current job and actually enjoys what I do for work41. Where I want to be right now - I mean, I’m in bed so I’m good? Travelling, somewhere, doing something I actually want to be doing42. The last thing I ate - A Milky Way43. Sexiest person that comes to mind right now - I don’t really see anyone as ‘sexy’ but the first person that popped into my head was Jinkx Monsoon/Jerrick Hoffer so that’s a thing (I love Jinkx to bits - even before I started watching Drag Race)44. A random fact about anything - I started watching RuPaul’s Drag Race last week and I’m on season 7 already what even is life anymore

[unhinderedramblinglass]

Trapped With You

Castiel sighed softly to himself. He couldn’t believe that of all nights, his parents were making him look after the book shop on Christmas Eve. It was barbaric. It was blasphemous… at least in his mind.

“It’s good for business,” he mimicked his parents as he shelved the books that had just arrived a few days previous.

As much as he hated to admit it… his parents were right. Christmas Eve was good for business because they didn’t just sell books in their store. They sold electronics and electronic reading tablets. They sold things like headphones, journals, fancy pens, and they even had an assortment of DVD’s. Really, it was a one stop shop if you were heading somewhere last minute and you needed a gift. He just didn’t know why it had to be him .

“Frickin’ parents,” he grumbled. Luckily, he didn’t have to worry about being thought a weirdo. There wasn’t anyone else in the store besides him. Not that anyone would be able to hear him with the Christmas music he had blasting.

He sighed once again as he looked around the store. At the very least, it was almost time for closing and he could go home to his bed and wake up with his family in the morning. As he looked around the store for something else to do, the wind kicked up outside and he looked out, realizing how heavy the snow was falling. He frowned, thinking about calling his parents and telling them he was coming home early when suddenly the lights flickered up ahead.

Castiel’s eyes widened and his eyes went to the front door. “No, no,” he muttered, nearly tripping on his feet to get to the door but he was already too late as the lights went out, leaving him in the dark. “You’ve got to be kidding me!” he said as he tried the door but it wouldn’t budge. “Ugh, Dad!”

A few years back, when they had had the security system in the shop put in, one night someone had broken in by cutting the power and they’d been robbed. So his Dad had installed a fail safe that made it so the doors locked anytime the power was cut. And now, he was locked inside the store...

If you had told Dean Winchester that he would have been sitting in the bathroom of a god forsaken book store on Christmas Eve, practically drenched from head to toe– naked– and trying to dry his clothes with one of those hand dryers, he would have told you to piss off and not wish something so horrible on him. Yet there he was, running his shirt under the hand dryer.

He cursed inwardly and shook his head at his luck. The night had started off like any other. Just a hunt by himself. That’s all it was. He could handle that. His father usually let him out alone. But when his dad had sent him to what, he was sure, was one of the snowiest states in America, he hadn’t been all that thrilled. But he’d gassed up, put snow chains on Baby and off he went.

He’d just finished the case, too. He was on his way out of town when he’d slid, even with the damn snow chains and now his car was stuck in a snowbank about a mile up the road. He’d walked in the heavy snow until he’d seen the shop and decided to dry off before he asked someone to call for some kind of a tow.

Dean looked up at the locked door, hearing the Christmas songs on the other side of it and he couldn’t help but shake his head and sigh. He wasn’t the biggest fan of Christmas. What with his entire life spent on the run, his brother off at Stanford, and his father telling him to ‘skip Christmas, it was never all that important.’ He would love to tell the store owner to knock it off but that would mean coming out from his spot with no dry clothes.

Well, that wasn’t completely true. He’d finished his shirt, his boxers, and his socks but his leather still wasn’t dry and neither were his jeans.

But it was that moment that everything stopped, the lights went off and the hand dryer cut out and he nearly growled. “Oh come on!” he said. He pulled on his shirt and boxers, thinking that someone had cut the lights to get him out of the bathroom and he was going to give them a piece of his mind.

Castiel heard noise from the back of the store and his eyes widened, thinking that it wasn’t just the power cutting out from the storm but someone actually trying to break in. He moved, grabbing the nearest– and thickest– book he could find in the dark, his hands fumbling a little.

He walked forward apprehensively, book at the ready to swing. He made it to the back of the store where he thought he could hear a voice. Part of him wanted to run and hide under one of the tables but the other part said he was clearly hearing things.

Or at least, he would have kept thinking that if the bathroom door didn’t open, a light coming through. Castiel shrieked, eyes closed, as he swung the book with as much force as he could manage and feeling it connect with something before it dropped to the floor with a thud.

“Ow!” Dean called out shining the light of his phone up at his attacker. “Dude, what the fuck?!”

Castiel squinted into the light, still brandishing the book. “Wh-who are you and what do you want? Why were you in my bathroom? Are you robbing me? Why don’t you have pants?!”

Dean rubbed his head, dizzy from questions and oh, the large book that his aggressor must have been holding. “Whoa!” he said, putting one hand up, the one with the phone in it. “I’m not going to rob you, okay? Look, my car went into a snowbank about a mile up the road, I walked here, I locked myself in the bathroom and I was using your hand dryer to try to dry my clothes when the power went off in there, alright? You were the only thing open.”

Castiel watched the man for a moment before he put the book down slowly, still not completely trusting this man. “The um… the power went out everywhere… the whole store,” he said, because that was all he felt like he could deal with at the moment. He didn’t even want to think about the lack of pants.

Dean looked around, noticing that the other man was right, the whole store was out. So he hadn’t been cut off, the whole store had. Perfect. He looked back up at the man, wincing as he got a twinge in his head.

Castiel winced as well, immediately feeling bad as he kneeled down, trying to get a look at his head. “Are you alright? I didn’t mean to bludgeon you. I thought you were an intruder.”

Dean watched him, watched how close he was getting and now he could really see the man above him and the only thing on his mind was the word; wow. He looked into his eyes, observing as his deep blue eyes surveyed him for any injury. He had never seen a guy with eyes like that. Hell, he’d never seen a girl with eyes like that. With eyes like the ocean that were making him think poetic thoughts he’d never had before. But it wasn’t just his eyes that had caught his attention. It was--

Dean cleared his throat, trying not to think about it too much. “Uh… it’s okay. I’ve been bludgeoned with worse,” he said, wishing he hadn’t.

Castiel couldn’t help but release a small chuckle as he looked at the other man’s face that was illuminated by the light on the end of his phone. He could see beautiful green eyes and freckles underneath. He always liked freckles. “Well I don’t think I left a mark or caused any permanent damage…”

Dean gave a small smile before he looked off into the store, thinking of a way to get to his car or at least to a motel. “Hey. Look, man. I’m kinda car-less right now… do you think you could drive me to the nearest motel? I’ll even pay you.”

Castiel’s smile wavered. “Unfortunately, neither of us are going anywhere,” he sighed. “Not for a little while. You see, this is my family’s store and a few years back we got broken into, actually a few times… long story short, my Dad installed a fail safe so that if the power was cut, all windows and doors are automatically sealed shut until they are unlocked from the outside or the power turns back on and someone enters the code to the system… It was to catch whoever it was.”

At that, Dean was sure his night couldn’t get any worse. Oh yeah, it could, because he was down to his underwear and without power, this place was sure to get pretty cold. Awesome. He groaned. “So I am stuck in a bookstore, in a blizzard… half naked… Great,” he sighed as he flopped back to the carpet.

Castiel chuckled lightly at man's dramatics. “Well… look at it this way. We could be alone?” he offered before he stuck his hand out. “My name is Castiel. What’s yours?”

Dean peeked his eye open to look back up at him before he propped himself up on his elbows. He contemplated the name for a moment. It was odd, different… he’d never heard anything like it, he was sure. “Dean,” he said, taking his hand.

((Hi! Yes, I’m being this person! But not everyone knows I’m even a writer on this site so I’m letting y’all know! This is just a snippet from the first fic in my series. It’s about Dean finding Cas, a guy with a mysterious background, way back before they even face the demon! And Cas joins them in hunting. I can’t promise it’s novel worthy but it’s not bad! And I’m legit going through starting in season one, if Cas has been... we’ll go with human, and had been with the boys the whole time. But there’s more to Cas than just a human! It’s hard to describe! Give it a chance. I promise I write a lot of fluff between the two. Here’s the link to the rest: http://archiveofourown.org/works/9820127 ))

[arirashkae]

La Petite Mort et La Grande

Characters: Locus, Felix, brief appearances of Santa AI and Epsilon AI

Team: Medic

Square: Temple of Procreation

Word Count: 868

WARNINGS: Felix, MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, like guys holy fuck

AO3 Link

OK, so the first 100 words or so of this has been kicking around for a while, and then the “Bad Ending for Chorus” art crossed my dash again, so what’s a girl to do? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯  (honestly, I could have saved this one for the angst war, if that tells you how this will go)

“Felix, are you sure this is a good idea?” Locus eyed the alien AI projected above them warily.

Felix strolled forward. “Of course it is. Look, they know we’re going to activate the Purge. So they’re going to try and stop us.” He turned back to Locus. “And frankly, I don’t want to have to deal with that bullshit. So why not a little distraction, send them out on a high note?”

Locus could hear the sadistic grin in his partner’s voice. “I’m more worried about us.”

“Pffft.” Felix waved one hand dismissively. “We’ll be fine in here. Isn’t that right?”

The AI lowered his head. “Much like the Purge Temple, those within these walls will be safe from the Procreation Temple’s effects.”

“Perfect.” The delighted purr in Felix’s voice was almost obscene in itself. Still, Locus said nothing. They were virtually moments from completing their mission after so many years. The two of them would be safe from the Purge Temple. The surviving members of their crew – those they wanted to keep, anyway – had already quietly been reassigned to Tartarus and out of range.

Sadly, they’d had no plausible reason to bring Price planet-side in time.

Locus told himself that the sour, twisting feeling in his stomach was due to how quickly their plans had been shot to pieces recently, and how quickly this one could go badly as well. If the AI was lying and the two mercenaries themselves were affected by either Temple, … Locus wrenched his thoughts away from those scenarios. Felix had made up his mind to activate the devices, and there was little Locus could do to stop him.

“Well, that has to be their Pelican,” Felix commented. “I don’t see anyone though. I wonder if they were waiting inside the Temple.”

Locus just grunted something non-committal from the pilot’s seat. There had been a tense few heartbeats when they first set foot outside the Temple of Procreation, while they waited to see if the AI had decided to fuck with them, and Locus had been even more of a paranoid asshole since.

Still, a few more minutes and this would all be over. Felix could go buy himself his own moon where he could spend the rest of his life drinking stupid coconut-and-pineapple cocktails and fucking whoever caught his fancy that night. Locus could go piss off to do whatever the hell he wanted. And with any luck they’d get the opportunity to arrange an “accident” for Price that Hargrove couldn’t do shit about.

The approached the glowing bridge cautiously. If the one Temple had protected them, it was entirely possible this Temple had protected anyone who–

“Well, I spy with my little eye some Freelancer armor by that pillar, so at least those two are here. Somewhere.”

Locus glanced into the chasm below them. “Down there.”

Felix stepped carefully to the edge of the bridge and peered over. “Huh. She was a natural redhead after all. Or vain as fuck. Doesn’t matter now, I guess.” He kicked a few pieces of armor out of the way, sending one of Wash’s greaves clattering to the ground below.

“You guys are some real sick fucks, you know that, right?”

Felix just grinned at the little AI bobbing in front of his helmet. “Funny, seems like that describes a few other people around here.” He stepped through the hologram, ignoring the invective it spewed at him. “If that thing survives the Purge, let’s hand it over to Hargrove. I’m sure he’d love another trophy for his collection.“

After all these years of firefights and con games, using an Ancient Alien Artifact to finish the job was almost … anti-climactic. Still, at least they had a nice big map to watch the wave spread across the planet, dousing clusters of light as it passed.

“It looks like they were attempting to seize Crash Site Alpha,” Locus commented.

“Those little shits.” Felix almost approved of the audacity. “I don’t know what they hoped grabbing a prison ship would have accomplished.”

“If they’d pulled it down here, they would have accomplished quite a bit.”

OK, that was a fair point. “Good thing they were distracted then, huh?”

The last of the wave reached the edges of the map and burned out. “It is done,” rumbled the AI.

“Finally. I tell you, I can’t wait to shake the dust of this place from my boots. First thing I’m doing, is renting the most expensive goddamned hotel suite I can find. For a goddamned month. I’m soaking in a hot tub until my skin starts to cook. And then I’m going to order every goddamned luxury we couldn’t get on this god-forsaken rock and gorge on them.”

Felix continued to detail his plans, loudly, as they collected the Freelancers’ armor – the AI was nowhere to be found – and stowed it in the Falcon. For once, however, Locus didn’t snipe at him or tell him to shut up. Eh, asshole was probably at loose ends now that the “mission” was complete.

“Hey.” He poked Locus in the shoulder. “Whaddya you say we go find Tucker’s sword for you, before Hargrove tries to claim that, too?”

[dthoursonpalmer]

RAZE - 064 - Back to the Ground

Vote for RAZE on topwebfiction.com. Your vote each week helps me get new readers. Share and tell your friends. Thanks. – Dave

RAZE: Part 1 is now available as an ebook on Amazon or by becoming my Patron!

Have you ever been badly wounded, reader?

We are surprised by it, when it finally happens, as it will to most of us. Many warriors have their careers prematurely curtailed by a moment of inattention or a greater fighter’s supposed mercy. The loss of a pinky finger. The fracture of a foot that does not set right. A bit of sand in the eye. Then, the warrior cannot see. Her grip is not secure, or his balance poor. Far worse can befall even one who would be great, and we will never know the heights to which they might have risen.

We are always surprised, but it takes a puncture no greater than the length of a finger to kill. The weight of a bottle of wine, concentrated on an edge, will cut skin. And a sharp blow to the head, even from a fist? Well, it’s best not to dwell on. Go out and have fun.

I languished in the fetid hospital through summer, through autumn.Others came to see me while I lay healing. Estevo was there often, to tell stories and joke. He complained about the smell with new analogies every time, and even nearing spring he found ways to make me laugh. “It smells like the underside of a cathelles’ ballsack. Oh, hello il-Lonireil.” “Ugh, it’s like someone filled up a goat’s stomach with Narsalan food and took a shit on it.” Once, he shared the hospital with his own wounds – he was lashed again, again for stealing.

Even Ecena visited, to check on my status. She stood at the foot of my cot, nose in the air, and asked questions of the physicos. She didn’t ask anything of me.

Once, I awakened with a head muzzy with poppy and my stomach aching. That was in autumn. Rolling over still made my guts feel ready to tear open again, so I lay for a moment, unmoving, gathering my thoughts and my will. I saw a worried face in the dark. The Tash was looking down, her gaze unfocused.

She’d leave if I moved. If she thought I was awakening. So, I closed my eyes and listened to the steady, soft sound of her breathing until I fell asleep again.

In the winter, it became close and cold and damp inside from the sweat and steam and stink of human flesh. My wool blanket smothered me. I couldn’t breathe. My skin went hot as if it was in the sun, red and burning. All around me, others groaned on their cots, tossed and turned so the fittings creaked. That fever stole another two months.

By the time I was well enough to stand, it was spring. They took away the poppy. How I wept and begged for more. How I shook and sweated and groaned into my thin mat.

  *          *          *

  Early summer. I marched, the straps of my pack cutting into my shoulders, my spear heavy, in a column led by Ecena into the hills, the high green grass wafting sweet fragrance into my nostrils.

Or rather, I marched behind them. Rearmost rank. Estevo was somewhere ahead with the Tash. One one flank, my compatriot conscripts marched without speaking or looking at me. I’d tried for a few days, but they answered my questions or met my attempts at conversation with grunts or single-word answers, inviting no response. To my other flank were the green hills and, far off, the pale lines of other columns of Lonireilans. Sweat damped my uniform, made it chafe, and the still-healing scar on my stomach itched. I couldn’t spare a hand to scratch at it and the feeling grew and grew.

It was my birthday. I was nineteen years old. In my pack was a little lump of honey made hard with mezakh flour, wrapped up in a piece of wax paper. I’d found it that morning when I’d packed up, and had only one guess who had left it. With my mind turned to the little gift, the march seemed even longer, rather than shorter.

Ecena’s shout carried from ahead, growing nearer. “Clean up this line!” She cantered into view on the back of a sprightly chestnut horse. I glanced along the line, in front and then to the left, but it looked clean to me. Ahead everyone shifted to try to march straighter over the rocks and uneven hills. She whirled about on her mount and fell in beside me.

Spoils. She’d killed a Nabani raider a week back, just after we’d left Onappa-ka, and de Trastorces let her keep the mount as incentive to the other sergeants. I’d brought back a half-dozen camels from my ill-fated raid and been whipped for it.

She glared down. “Conscript. Clean up this line. They can’t be expected to see from the front what’s happening in the back.”

“Yes, sergeant.” Backtalk wouldn’t get me anywhere. I needed a chance. My ears burned as I raised my voice. “Clean up the line! March on the man in front of you!” Along the line, the others shifted their feet.

“You’ve got one job in the back here, conscript. Keep it clean.” She spurred away.

  *          *          *

  We didn’t’ stop till dusk. Out on the hills the wind picked up and swept the grasses in rolling gray waves. The sky lit with the red arc of the Khren’s Brow, but there was no silver moon that night. On the next hilltop, another camp was already going up, gold fires shining against the tents. Behind us, other hilltops likewise began to glow. Finally, the sweat in my uniform cooled. No chill yet, though. I had a tent to raise for a dozen of us. The others had their own duties. Guarding. Cooking. Inventory, reports, and so on. I squinted at the supplies rolled out at my feet and tried to jam stakes into the hard earth. Naban was a harsh land, harsh but beautiful still.

It had been five years since I’d been taken from my home, and it was not the last time I’d return, but perhaps the most fateful. I didn’t know yet what this expedition would mean – what it would mean for Lonireil, for me, for my life.

It was on this mission that I’d see Behhallan for the first time. It was on this trip that I’d look into the eyes of my greatest foe, the foe that would lead me throughout the world, to misty Rowatokon, to the wealthy courts of Ulara, to the ageless stone halls of Bulai. A foe that might yet be the end of me. Behhallan, the Unbreakable. Behhallan is a spirit, the most powerful that I’ve heard of beyond the Forsaken Gods and the Gray-Sea spirits and the Deep Kings. And Behhallan – Behhallan hates me more than anything in this world or in the Gray.

While I struggled and my stomach pulled and I reminded myself that it was too far healed to tear open again, Ahdan marched out of the twilight. He threw down a heavy sailcloth bundle at my feet. “The sergeant’s tent. Go set it up in the center of camp.”

I gestured to my own task. “There are eleven conscripts who need this to rest. Have someone else do it.” He glared. Wearily, I saluted. “Corporal. Of course.”  

I knelt to pick up the bundle. My back ached. Before I could enwrap the parcel in my arms, a hard push came at my shoulder. I toppled sideways into the trampled grass.

Ahdan stood over me. “Next time, you do as I say when I say it. Understood?”

My guts clenched up. Was that laughter I heard from one of the other tents? “Sir.”

“I asked you a question.”

“Yes sir.” I couldn’t meet his glare. He left and I stood, finally, and took up Ecena’s tent.

Navigation links are below

Click the link and you can get a free ebook of Part 1 of RAZE, over a year’s worth of posts in a single, handy, digital volume. Set your own monthly donation amount and help me support this ad-free story and improve the site and experience of Raze, and get some cool stuff!

Many thanks to my Patron (via Patreon): Donna Palmer.

Vote for RAZE on topwebfiction.com Your vote each week helps me get new readers.

Or, click one of the social media buttons below to share and tell your friends. Thanks. – Dave

[wysija_form id=”4″]

  RAZE – 064 – Back to the Ground was originally published on D. Thourson Palmer