#i suppose i do maintain a belief of sorts.. one that seems like a blend of beliefs but is ultimately meaningful to me

[bandage-hearted-butterfly]

Must say, VERY interested in the way I can't listen to a certain (vocaloid) song anymore because of the line "surely after 100 years I'll be reborn as a beautiful girl".

[caiminnent]

not designed for the cynical [kylux with side phasma/rey, rated T]

PROMPTS: communication suddenly cut off (@badthingshappenbingo​, 8/25) & bed sharing - pet - delivery (@kyluxxoxo​)

SUMMARY:

Whenever Snoke calls upon only Ren’s service, Hux sends word to all his relevant contacts that he’s available. The job offer he accepts turns out to be far more than he's bargained for.

(This is a low-key Inception AU that requires little to no knowledge of the movie.)

FANDOM: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy

TAGS: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Sharing a Bed, Mutual Pining, Alternate Universe - Inception Fusion, except not really, Armitage Hux Has Feelings, Kylo Ren and Rey Are Related

NOTES: This was written mostly during commute and/or sleep-deprived within an inch of my life and edited under the same circumstances. As such, I don't have the faintest clue what this is, but I love it.

5K || ALSO ON AO3

Hux isn’t prone to worry.

He is prone to stress, and he’s got the blood pressure to prove it—but that’s a necessity of the life they lead. It’s got its uses. Worry, however, is for when you don’t have an alphabetised, colour-coded list of plans for every situation that may arise. Worry is for the under-prepared.

Worry is a waste of time.

Knowing this doesn’t stop the fist around his heart from squeezing tight every time he hits redial and finds Ren’s phone still switched off, however.

Then again, there’s no real reason to worry about it. It’s a perfectly Ren move to go off the radar for weeks on end and turn up three countries away from where he was supposed to be, shrugging off all reprimand like he can’t understand why they’re so angry about it. It’s just what he does—he disappears, then he shows up at your doorstep when you least expect it.

He will this time, too. He promised—he will be back by Hux’s birthday.

----------------

Contrary to the popular (re: Ren’s) belief, life doesn’t stop just because Ren is off doing what Ren does somewhere else.

Even with all the safe houses and personas they maintain all across the world, the unreasonable amounts of money Snoke throws at them to be at his beck and call is more than enough to keep them afloat. Ren would be fine with not taking another independent job ever again; but Hux knows better than to rely on Snoke alone. He’s been burned enough times by fickle employers; he’s not ready to bet on the wrong horse and have to build his reputation up from scratch yet again.

That’s part of why, whenever Snoke calls upon only Ren’s service, Hux sends word to all his relevant contacts that he’s available. It keeps him in the game, on the occasion he gets an offer worth considering—and if he doesn’t, he calls it getting a feel for the market and moves on.

Monday morning finds him curled on the sofa, going through the responses on his phone. Most offers he received are below his notice like he expected, some downright insulting—and then there’s the e-mail from Enric Pryde himself.

He sits up so fast he almost knocks over his empty cup.

Among the dreamshare community, the First Order is as revered as it is despised. They reach out to very few and pay three times what they should; but the cost of failure is equally severe, growing proportionately to the project’s worth. Which seems to be a lot, in this case. While he can’t tell from the sparse details in the e-mail whether this Project Starkiller is meant to be a moving city or some sort of weapon—perhaps both, knowing the First Order—he already estimates at least two layers, more likely three, and a special blend of stabiliser for the dreamer and the architect both, who cannot be the same person for this design.

Because they want him on board as the main architect and his dreams never hold steady after the first layer, special blend or no.

Whatever he was looking for as a quick job, this is not it. It’s far more involved and challenging than he could have imagined—and, he’s finding, everything he needed. He could do this for himself. He could work a job he enjoys, instead of running point to Ren or Phasma’s picks all the time to keep them from working with incompetent point men.

Ren and Phasma, who might be working with incompetent point men halfway across the world this very moment.

No. No, he’s not thinking that. His birthday is only three days away. Everything is fine.

----------------

He e-mails back to say he’s honoured and asks for one week to get his team together. Pryde gives him five days and a thinly-veiled warning that there are others who would jump at this opportunity.

Stomach at his feet, Hux throws his phone on the coffee table and gets up to make more tea.

----------------

As expected, research gives him little of substance about the First Order’s operations and nothing at all about the Starkiller, although he finds a low-quality close-up of Pryde to glare at as he sketches out some ideas. They will get binned once he gets his hands on the self-destructing dossiers or whatever ridiculous security protocols the First Order may work with; but it keeps him busy. Better than watching the hours tick by.

When the clock turns from 11:59 to midnight on what is now Thursday, he considers texting Rey to ask if she’s heard from Phasma recently—changes his mind before he even picks up the phone. Ren wouldn’t like it. Hux has been accused of being a control freak more times than he can count as it is; he doesn’t want to add clingy to the list of his unattractive qualities.

----------------

At two in the morning, the doorbell rings.

He is going to murder Ren.

The door had never felt so close or so far as he rushes to it, heart hammering in his chest. He’s going to let Ren in, he’s going to check him for injuries and he’s going to disembowel that infuriating, thoughtless, selfish piece of shite if he’s had Hux fret all this time for no reason—

“Hi,” Rey chirps, looking up at him with damp eyes and a brittle smile. She raises a bottle of whiskey—Phasma’s favourite. “Happy birthday?”

He opens the door wider.

----------------

Admittedly—not out loud; he would never hear the end of it, from her or her cousin—Rey scores high on the short list of people whose company he enjoys. The booze helps, too. They drink in front of the television Hux hasn’t switched off in days and talk about everything but the aching holes in their chests.

She falls asleep on the sofa. He puts a blanket over her and goes to bed.

----------------

In the morning—practically afternoon, if he’s being honest—he tells her about the Starkiller. The plan was to pitch it to Ren first, to see what he thinks before bringing in the others. As it is, Ren isn’t here and none of Hux’s messages has gone through since their interrupted conversation and Hux is going to bloody explode if he doesn’t tell someone.

“I’m not sure, Armie,” she says around a spoonful of breakfast cereal he certainly didn’t buy. “He will never agree to work for the First Order.”

“Why the hell not? He works for Snoke.” Rather happily, in fact. Ren never prepares more carefully for a job than one of Snoke’s plentiful errands, no matter how simple. “Why wouldn’t he work for Snoke’s own company?”

She considers him for a long moment, chewing slowly. “He hasn’t told you the story.”

The implication—accusation—stings deep. “What story?” he demands, pushing his tea away to lean closer. The words held the intonation of capital letters, which means missing information that could potentially blindside them down the line. His respect for Ren’s private business isn’t greater than his responsibilities.

“Not mine to tell,” she says sternly, pinching her lips in disappointment like he should be ashamed to have asked to begin with. “Ask him.”

He snorts. Ren is hardly the sharing type, especially where Hux is concerned. Everything he’s ever learned about Ren has come through other means—and vice versa, he imagines.

She frowns, a question rising behind her eyes. He tenses on instinct. “Anyway,” she continues, shaking her head—and he can breathe more easily again. “My point is, if we’re doing this, we’ll need another forger.”

We. He doesn’t suppress his smile, relief coating his insides. “I suspect we won’t need a forger for this one. A chemist, on the other hand…”

----------------

She doesn’t leave and he doesn’t ask her to. They polish off the whiskey and pretend not to check their phones every ten minutes while binge-watching Star Wars, including the newest releases even their resident space nerd couldn’t finish.

He visualises Ren’s horrified expression when Hux reveals how he and Rey bonded over their shared love for big guns and hot villains in Ren’s absence. Laughter gets stuck in his throat, forming a painful lump instead.

He bids her good night and slinks away into his bedroom to stare at the ceiling.

Barely ten minutes pass before the television switches off in the next room, soft footsteps echoing lightly in the corridor. He turns his back to the door and feigns sleep as it opens and closes—which is a coward’s way, but he’s never claimed to be a particularly brave man. If he were, he would have asked Ren to stop working for Snoke instead of stewing in his misery right now.

Compared to her cousin, Rey’s weight barely shifts the mattress as she climbs in, sliding under the covers without fanfare. He shuts his eyes tighter and allows himself to imagine, just for a moment, that Ren is back.

“I haven’t heard from Phasma in over a month.”

Over a month? Hells, no wonder she sought him out. “Ren and I talked two weeks ago,” he says—realises with a sinking feeling that it sounded like he was rubbing it in. “Closer to three, actually.”

“What did he say?”

“Not much that I could understand. The reception was horrible.” Bits and pieces through constant breaking: Hux, shit, in case, person and, inexplicably, home. “I didn’t get the impression they were in danger—just inconvenienced.” As is often the case with these missions. Snoke’s got a small army of trained private security under his command and he still sends Ren to the most out-of-the-way places.

That Snoke’s hired Phasma as well for this one is a little more concerning, but not overly so. Reckless as they both can be, Ren and Phasma are forces to be reckoned with on the field—Hux would be more inclined to feel sorry for their adversaries.

Rey sighs. “Hope you’re right, Armie.”

----------------

If Mitaka is surprised to see Rey strut about in Hux’s shortest joggers she still needed to fold at the ankles and an old shirt, he politely doesn’t mention it. He and Rey exchange banal pleasantries over coffee and day-old cake while Hux finishes typing up his notes, then they get to work.

Mitaka listens to the briefing with unwavering attention, his fingers stapled in front of him like a front-row student. Like everyone else in their extended team, Mitaka is an experienced, accomplished dreamer—and yet, Hux can’t help looking at him and seeing the fresh-faced cadet Phasma had dragged in ages ago, barely into his twenties and all the more naive for it.

They’ve gotten old—Hux most so.

Once Hux finishes, “If you both are building this time,” Mitaka starts, looking between the two. “Who will be taking point? The Captain?”

Next to him, Rey inhales sharply, her face mostly hidden behind the curtain of her hair. Shame crosses through Mitaka’s face at the realised misstep.

“She’s otherwise occupied,” Hux responds before Mitaka can break into apologies. No need to make this more painful or awkward than it needs to be. “I will be running point as usual, and Rey is here to help with the heavy-lifting.”

Mitaka nods, glancing at Rey with concern before turning to Hux fully. “Where do I sign?”

----------------

They sign a heavily-encrypted stack of documents digitally, sending them through the First Order’s own communication system. The next day, they receive a link to a private cloud service with a convoluted unlock sequence that can be accessed by one device at a time, read-only.

Hux alone works on three different devices.

On the bright side, the project they receive is well-worth the inconvenience. Their objective is to design and build a superweapon out of an extensively described ice planet in the dreamspace, which must be capable of hitting five targets simultaneously and obliterating all affected life forms on them without causing a single non-predetermined casualty. Controlled chaos, if you will. The First Order wants a catastrophe they can tame and leash.

Hux can make it happen.

Whether he can make it happen in eight weeks is a different question entirely.

----------------

Without Ren to drag him away from work, he’s free to divide his waking hours between his screens and the sitting room, which they repurposed into a workshop-slash-dream den. While Hux is a decent architect in a pinch, he could never build the way Rey does—the way she bends the dreamspace to her will and creates cities that feel alive around them. Between the two of them, they have the groundwork laid out within days, quickly moving on to revising the base design according to the specifications in the main file and the numbers Hux runs.

Instead of using pre-mixed batches, Mitaka mixes their Somnacin from scratch on the kitchen table, reworking the formula per the reactions. None he comes up with works to keep Hux’s dreams steady, although a couple seem to ground his control over the dreamspace. Most just turn the dreams into nightmares for everyone involved.

Many of the nightmares are about Ren. Every time they manage to wake up from one of those, he looks at Rey to apologise. She never meets his eyes.

----------------

Unlike the two of them, Mitaka has family to return to and so he does when it gets late, leaving them to eat take-away and talk around the elephant in the room. On the rare occasion they do talk. Even though Hux gets the most shit for his workaholic tendencies, they all are guilty of it in different degrees; most nights are spent hunched over desks or tablets until they come close to shooting each other over the smallest noise or mistake, then they retire for the night.

The bedroom is where the worst fears come out.

“They might need our help,” she murmurs, lowly enough that the words could get lost among the howling wind outside. “They might be injured or—or lost, waiting for rescue. And we would be here arguing about heat transfer.”

“They aren’t.”

“But how do you know?”

He sighs loudly, turning to face Rey. Her eyes are big and eerily bright in the darkness, shining. “Look, Ren and I have been through this before. We’ve got contingencies in place for any kind of emergency—strategies to scarper and regroup as needed, fake identities with paper trail, codes to slip into lines of communication that will find their way to the other’s ear—all of which tied to systems that would alert us both if ever used. So far?” He gestures vaguely to his phones on the nightstand. “Complete radio silence.”

“Well it might be because he’s—”

His stomach lurching, “Don’t,” he bites out. He’s had enough nights contemplating that possibility himself, reasoning himself out of that line of thinking with more effort each time; he can’t handle someone else saying it.

Especially not Rey, whose unfailing optimism has seen them through many a dark spot.

“They will be back soon,” he says with conviction he forces himself to feel. They always do. This is just taking longer than expected.

Rey’s silence rings in the room.

----------------

At the end of the third week, Enric Pryde reaches out to him. His voice is as cold and serpent-like as he looks.

They talk for two and a half minutes—more accurately, Pryde relays his demands for two minutes and rebuffs Hux’s protests for the next half, then hangs up unceremoniously on him.

Fuming, Hux tries to glare a hole into his phone for about as long before going to wake Rey up.

----------------

“What do you mean, they are relocating us?”

Latching his fingers tight to keep from scraping at his already raw palms, “I mean exactly what I said,” Hux grinds out. “They want to move us into some safe house where they will provide us with everything we’ll need for the rest of the project. We don’t have the option to refuse their generosity.”

“They want to monitor us,” Mitaka says on the other end of the line, ever fond of pointing out the obvious. “Can they do that?”

“Would you like to be the one to tell them they can’t?” Hux shakes his head. They are not small fish; but the First Order is big enough to swallow them whole and not suffer for it. He knows to pick his fights. “If you’d like to drop off the face of the earth, now is the time.”

Rey snorts—as much of an answer as Mitaka’s bitter laughter.

“Well,” Rey says, scraping her chair back. “I should pack some clean underwear. When are they coming to get us?”

“As we speak.”

----------------

Before they leave, they make sure to sketch out First Order insignias on every available place. Just in case.

----------------

The safe house is, for all intents and purposes, a veritable villa in the middle of nowhere.

“A little excessive,” Mitaka comments as they tour the place, noting the bolted down furniture and darkened windows, locked conspicuously on the outside. The cupboards and the fridge are well-stocked enough to keep them fed for several months.

There is no mobile coverage.

In fact, there is no wireless connection of any sort. The multitude of devices strewn about in the house are all connected to the First Order’s own network and communications system, which provides access to every archive they might need for the project and nothing else.

The dread coiled in Hux’s guts grows heavier.

So much for his alert systems.

----------------

Progress is much faster with so much information at their fingertips.

Hux is envious of the berths of the First Order databases. Effective as his own methods of gathering intelligence are, his network couldn’t hope to have the same reach as a well-funded PMC—which he could have been a part of, had he not gone freelance instead of corporate after leaving the military.

The idea is tempting, still. He’s ruined for the civilian workforce—has been since childhood, with a father like General Brendol Hux was—but he seeks the structure and order that comes with being part of an organisation. Under different circumstances, he may have considered applying to the First Order after this project.

As their prisoner in everything but name, he wants little more than to be as far away from them as possible.

----------------

Everything they’ll need doesn’t involve a private chef or buffet, but it involves private delivery people who pick up whatever they want, no matter what they want, in a timely fashion. Because they are spiteful opportunists, they order the most extravagant and unreasonable meals they can think of. The food always arrives hot.

Hux marks the potential restaurants for each food item and how long it took to arrive on a small map every time. Just in case.

----------------

Sleeping in the same bed while Mitaka is in the next room feels too awkward, so they don’t. They don’t sleep much in general, either—not with the question of how to power a machine of the Starkiller’s scale without it overheating hanging heavy over their heads. Dreamshare mechanics are a lot more forgiving than their real-world counterparts; if they can’t pull it off down there, they sure as hell won’t make it work topside.

They have to make it work topside, they now know. The First Order wouldn’t have poured so much money and resources into what is merely Pryde’s pet design project.

“They probably have people looking into it,” Rey says, spinning her pen around her fingers with smugness dripping from her expression. He’s not petty enough to dare her to replicate it in the real world, but the thought is there. “Some super high-tech R&D division working on preventing a weapon of mass-destruction from exploding instead of, like, climate change.”

Watching her fingers like the secrets of the universe lie between them, “I don’t think so,” Mitaka responds. “It’s too much of a commitment. I bet they just wait for someone else to figure it out, then steal the designs from them.”

Something flares at the back of Hux’s mind like static, a connection he doesn’t want to make forcing itself into his awareness.

He shakes his head hard to clear it. Even with the dilation, he doesn’t have the time to dwell on things he’s got no control over.

“If you two are quite done gossiping,” he cuts in, smoothing over the blueprints in front of him for effect. “We’ve got work to do.”

----------------

We’re going to take something someone else worked very hard for, was all Ren had said the night before his departure—the only time Hux dared ask about his new job, once it became apparent Ren wasn’t going to say a word about it on his own. It’s such a non-answer that Hux couldn’t tell if Ren wanted to leave him space for plausible deniability or simply didn’t want to tell him.

He still can’t. As a matter of fact, he can’t say for sure Snoke’s job and this project are connected, either; all he’s got is a hunch.

A hunch he desperately wants to see proven wrong.

----------------

Mitaka’s newest blend is the most successful yet. They go down as far as the third level with only minor tremors under their feet—a huge leap of progress, after weeks of the ground swallowing them up whole.

Knowing better than to push their luck, they call it an early night and celebrate by ordering a feast they’ll have to take their time with. With the dinner table and every other horizontal space that could reasonably hold food covered in their work, they sprawl about the sofa set that hasn’t seen nearly enough use over their involuntary stay.

Once their food arrives and Rey realises what he ordered, a soft look crosses over her face. He ignores it. There’s only one place that serves Ren’s favourite food; it makes for a good reference point on his map. It’s not sentimental if it’s also practical.

----------------

He knew, from a logical standpoint, that having access to communication systems meant people could communicate with them and vice versa. On account of the fact that Pryde and the delivery people are the only ones to use it, he didn’t particularly care.

When the name Blysma pops up on the main screen, he realises what a gross oversight that was.

Heart at his throat, he accepts the request with shaking hands, grateful that no one is awake to see him like this. “Hux speaking.”

“Hello, Hux.”

Oh.

Oh, the ever-loving—

“Don’t say my name,” Ren adds quickly, as if he sensed that Hux was about to curse his name six ways to Sunday. “Or any other names. They don’t actively monitor your communications, but we’re pretty sure some keywords are flagged. Best not to take any chances.”

“We,” he repeats dumbly. So many questions are buzzing in his head that he doesn’t know which should take priority. “You and—ah, our mutual terrifying friend?”

Phasma’s melodic laughter rings through the other end of the line. Hux’s heart soars.

“Yeah,” Ren says, a little breathy. “Yes, we’re both here. And fine. The job ran late. Where the fuck are you?”

About that… “I don’t actually know,” he admits, the truth of it settling dark and deep into his gut. Trying to map out their location left him with more questions than answers. “Near the ocean. Far north of the city, I think; but we shouldn’t have crossed any borders.”

“That doesn’t narrow it down,” Ren says.

Irritation rising in him, “We were hardly given a tour guide for the road,” he snaps. You should have been there to take notes, is on the tip of his tongue—he swallows the words. Ren is here now, in a way. They’ve found Hux and the others. The insignias must have pointed them in the right direction; but figuring out how to contact Hux through the First Order’s own systems? That’s all their doing.

Taking a long breath to calm himself down, “How did you contact us anyway?” he asks.

“By calling in more favours than your sorry life is worth,” Phasma says, amusement lingering in her tone. He has never been happier to hear her mocking drawl. “So you had better give us something concrete to work with before we decide to leave you to rot there.”

Racking his brain, he takes a deep breath to ground himself. He’s got to focus. However Ren and Phasma managed to get into the First Order’s systems, they are unlikely to remain unnoticed for long. He needs to make the most of it.

The answer is so simple, he wants to smack himself upside the head.

“At noon, we will place an order for three servings of Bivoli tempari from the Hosnian. Track whoever is delivering it. They should lead you to us.”

----------------

He doesn’t tell the others about it. For one, he’s not fully sure his stress-addled brain didn’t make up the whole interaction—for another, they have a check-in with Pryde scheduled at 3, during which they’re going to disappoint him again with their lack of progress regarding the overheating issue. They are on thin ice as it is; he can’t take a gamble on the quality of the others’ poker faces and risk attracting Pryde’s suspicion.

At exactly noon, he contacts the delivery people and relays the order. In his periphery, Mitaka and Rey share a look.

Once he takes his seat again, “I thought the Hosnian was eat-in only,” Rey says.

Hux shrugs. “They said everything you’ll need.”

----------------

He orders something different from the Hosnian at the same time for the next four days, just in case. Mitaka is too polite to protest, despite the cuisine clearly not agreeing with him.

Rey eyes him suspiciously every time but says nothing, waiting for him to come to her instead of forcing an explanation out of him. He appreciates it more than he can put into words. He can only hope she understands.

----------------

Dying in an explosion ten times in a row tends to throw a wrench in group morale.

Unwilling to kill themselves just to wake up in the safe house, they wordlessly agree to wait out the timer. The burnout has settled deep onto their bones; Pryde’s implicit threats after every check-in don’t help their mental state, either. If Ren and Phasma hadn’t made contact, Hux might have considered taking his chances with a desperate escape attempt instead of sticking around to see what punishment the First Order would dole out for their inevitable failure. It might prove the better end, at any rate.

“I am going back to my children after this,” Mitaka says with more conviction than Hux has been able to muster up about anything in months. “I don’t care what happens. I don’t care if they kill me for it—I won’t die without seeing my family again.”

“We are not dying,” Hux reassures him. With three real-world seconds to the scheduled kick, he explains everything—Ren and Phasma making contact, the bare-bones of the plan and Blysma’s carefully vague progress update texts, the precautions they’re taking to keep Mitaka’s family safe should something go wrong.

Mitaka cries silent, happy tears at the news. Rey gives Mitaka a warm smile and pulls him close.

“That’s it,” she tells Hux, rubbing at Mitaka’s arm in sympathy. “I’m not letting her take a job without me ever again.”

Raising a brow, “You would be announcing to everyone in the community that she’s the best leverage against you,” he points out, not unkindly. He understands the sentiment—truly, he does—but it’s woefully impractical. Not to mention the kind of commitment it would take.

Her eyes gleam, smile turning secretive in that way he’s learned not to trust. Reaching into her pocket with her free hand, “I was already going to do that,” she says airily, taking out a small, velvet box.

Ah. Fair enough, then.

----------------

Hux is above lying to his employers.

Rather, he likes to think he is. Dreamshare, sophisticated as it may be at its heart, is an underground science—as such, it attracts a certain crowd. In a community where lying through one’s teeth is a survival skill, Hux knows to look someone in the eye and spin a tale truer than the truth as well as the next crook; he just prefers to tell the truth as long as it will leave his head connected to his body.

As it happens, this is the last scheduled check-in before the deadline. Giving Pryde bad news now would be signing their death warrant.

When Hux reports their success, Pryde smiles. The sight haunts Hux’s nightmares for days.

----------------

Blysma’s communication request comes the night before the grand plan, unscheduled.

His mind racing with possibilities, he grabs the tablet sitting on his nightstand before the notification wakes the others, accepting the request with, “Hux speaking.” As far as he’s concerned, there’s nothing left to talk about. Phasma has already laid out all she could of the plan without tipping off the First Order; a recap now would do more harm than good.

If this is about a last-minute change—well. Adaptability is another survival skill in their line of work.

“I missed your birthday.”

Hux blinks at the screen in his hands. “I—yes.” By a couple of months, at this stage. Where did that come from? Surely Ren didn’t realise it only now? “If you contacted me to wish me a happy belated birthday…”

“Of course not. I—uh, I called to hear your voice.” Hux’s lungs tighten, all too aware of his heartbeat. “Since we never finished our conversation.”

Their conversation. The handful of words Hux has been turning over in his head for months, to no apparent meaning or answer.

He’s bloody desperate to ask and finally, finally find out; but they’ve waited this long. They can be patient a little longer. “This is neither the time nor the place,” Hux says, as gently as he’s able, biting down on the instinctive Ren at the end. Now would be the absolute worst time for a slip-up. “Whatever it was, you can tell me tomorrow. In person.”

“That’s just it,” Ren mutters. “The last time I tried to tell you, we kept getting cut-off until signal completely went away and I thought, it’s fine. I’ll be back in a few days, I’ll just tell him then. In person.” He laughs, a breathy, bitter sound. “But then…”

But then Ren couldn’t get back until a few weeks after—and when he did, Hux wasn’t there anymore.

He clears his throat to get out the lump lodged there. “Then you’ll just have to be there this time,” he says firmly—his point man voice. “Because I will be, and I won’t accept any excuses.”

After a long beat, “Yes, sir,” Ren says, a smile in his voice. “See you on the other side.”

“Sleep well.”

[artificialqueens]

(I Can Still Recall) Our Last Summer - Chapter One (Group Fic) - pureCAMP

A/N - this is a re-upload bc it apparently disappeared! I hope everyone enjoys it this time lol, let’s pray it doesn’t go missing again

A/N 2 - Here’s the surprise that absolutely no one knew about! A prequel of sorts to HIGA, my Mamma Mia! au featuring trixya and shalaska which you can read here on AQ before this for context

As before, this was pre-written so the rest is ready to go. Let me know if weekly submissions are fine or if you would prefer anything sooner!

(dont lose hope shalaska stans bc chapter two is coming sooner than soon and it’s chock full - and did i mention 8.5k words)

“Sharon, are you ready to go yet? The deacon wanted us here early so you can help to mind the kids before the service!”

Sharon stared into the mirror at a face that didn’t feel like hers. It was free of makeup, the pallidity emphasising the dark circles beneath her eyes and her uneven skin tone. Her blonde hair was pulled back into one long plait, and not a single hair dared to break the strict mold she had been forced into, even from last night’s previous sexy curls. Even her clothes felt uncomfortable, the floral dress of her mother’s choosing hanging loosely from her frame.

Demure. Sensible. Her shoes were patent and shiny, with a thick rubber sole.

Sighing, Sharon started down the stairs. Just once more, she would’ve liked to have slept in a little on a Sunday, but that would never be. Missing church was a sin, and Sharon’s almost obsessively Catholic mother would never allow such a thing to happen in her household - even though it had before. For Sharon, it wasn’t worth the screaming. As she traipsed down the stairs, she ran her slender fingers along the many embellished crosses on the wall, serving as a reminder that she would never be good enough. Above her, the depiction of Jesus on the cross glared judgmentally at her.

I died for your sins, he seemed to be saying. I died on a cross for your sins, and you’re turning up to church hungover.

Everything Sharon spent her weekends doing, it seemed, was wrong or bad or sinful in some way. She knew drinking was against the rules. Her mother, practically Puritan in some of her opinions, insisted that the popular music of the time was sinful too, as was the dancing. Sharon knew her mother would have an aneurysm if she knew how her daughter had looked and behaved the night before; a vision in bright makeup and skin-tight sparkles, grinding against other dancers as she sang. The woman would have been seconds from a heart attack if she had seen Sharon just that morning, silently making her way up the stairs and frantically wiping all traces of sultry makeup and stage attire from her body. There hadn’t been any time to sleep or recover from her night of partying - not if she wanted to look presentable.

The skirt of Sharon’s dress reached just below her knees. She was the picture of a respectful Catholic girl.

“Ah, you look decent for once,” Her mother appraised her. “Not like that awful Gina. She’s about your age, isn’t she? What a dreadful girl.”

In Sharon’s mother’s eyes, Gina was dreadful mostly due to her clothes, which were scandalous as they dipped below her collarbones and above her knees. Sharon, however, had once caught her with a boy, and Gina had once caught Sharon performing on a weekend. They had a silent pact to never spill the other’s secret.

“Yeah…” Sharon murmured, her mind elsewhere.

Her mother paused. “Here. Don’t forget your cross, for goodness sake.” She placed the rosary around her daughter’s neck. “There. Now, remember, you’re helping out at Sunday school and then attending the service with me. And no complaining, not like last time. I raised you to be a good, God-fearing girl. Or else you know what.”

Sharon nodded meekly. “Of course.”

As they walked, Sharon’s mind wandered to her friends, yearning to get away. Raja, no doubt, was lying fast asleep on the island somewhere, curled around some naked guy with hickeys all over his neck. They’d been gyrating over each other all night, and Raja was never one to shy away from male attention. Jinkx would be asleep too, most likely with Dorito crumbs in her hair, drooling from her hangover, perhaps accompanied with some young woman tucked under her arm. And then there was Sharon, on her way to church.

It had been an incredible night, like always. Her outfit - safely tucked away in the taverna’s dressing room so that her mother would never stumble upon it - was everything she knew she wasn’t allowed, tight sequined lycra that clung to her body and was perfect for dancing in. Her makeup was dark and smokey, and her spirits were high, fuelled by the alcohol and the roaring of the crowd dancing beneath them. The Supermodels had been formed a year ago, and they’d amassed quite a following on the little island they performed on.

Would anyone’s opinion of her change if they could see her now? She was the star of their show, the main attraction; she was the one everyone lauded as the lead singer, the funniest, the favourite. Yet she was the one who caught the early morning boat across back to the mainland, hurrying to scrub her makeup off and dress herself up as a good daughter.

But that was just how things were. Despite Raja and Jinkx’s encouragement, she knew it was just going to stay that way.

It was inescapable, really. As she’d been told, ever since she was a child, Jesus was watching. Some unseen forces had their eyes on her, judging her every move. Despite her lack of belief, the threat was real enough to force her into keeping up pretenses, much to her friends’ dismay. But she couldn’t help it. Disappointing her mother only ever ended in disaster.

-

Sharon wasn’t sure what she disliked more, in all honesty - the chilling silence that hung around the pews in the church or the ungodly screaming of the children at the Sunday school. The actual leader of the group had fucked off twenty minutes ago to make a cup of tea and hadn’t come back, leaving Sharon alone with the screaming under-tens as she attempted to teach them about the Last Supper.

She was sat on an uncomfortably low chair, made for the children, as she attempted to continue their lesson to no avail. They were running amok, screeching and screaming as she tried to maintain some level of control. She was seventeen, for fuck’s sake - it was cruel that they’d put her on babysitting duty.

“And- And Jesus…” She tried, holding up the obscenely large book as she tried to command their attention. “And Jesus told his disciples- oh, fuck this.”

She flung the book onto the floor, ignoring how the smooth pages crumpled beneath the foot of a little boy. She had never liked that stupid shiny book anyway. Bread and wine seemed like a crap dinner.

“You just said a bad word! I’m going to tell the priest!” An obnoxious kid of maybe seven declared, crossing her arms across her chest.

She was the kind of brat Sharon’s mother had always hoped Sharon would be. Her gaze was accusatory, her clothes disgustingly pristine, and she probably had some kind of stupid name like Mary-Ann. Undoubtedly, she’d grow up to be another suffocating church mom.

Sharon scowled. “Oh yeah? How about I tell your mommy that you said you don’t believe in God, and you don’t even want to do your stupid Holy Communion? Hmm?”

The little girl burst into tears. Sharon rolled her eyes, anger bubbling in her chest as she rose from the ridiculously tiny chair and stormed out of the room. The door slammed shut behind her, attracting the attention of the volunteer who was supposed to be taking care of the Sunday school. He looked up in surprise.

“They’re all yours.” She snarled. “Little fucking angels, the lot of them.”

With that, she stormed into the nave, cursing under her breath as she let the door slam shut behind her.

It seemed her outburst had not gone unnoticed, however, as the priest had ceased his dismal preaching, and the churchgoers were staring in horror at her entrance. It didn’t take long for Sharon to spot her mother, in that ludicrous hat with her murderous glare, so she walked with her head high towards the pew, slipping onto the end and bowing her head to blend in.

“Is everything quite alright with the children?” The priest inquired. Someone snickered.

“Just fucking peachy.” She replied, eliciting a shocked gasp. “Continue, Father John.”

Listening to the priest was no better, really, than the meltdown-inducing chaos of the Sunday school children, but it was something. At least his dull, unrelenting voice could allow her to zone out a little. She could just go into autopilot, saying ‘Amen’ when necessary and singing the words to hymns that she had practically been breastfed since birth.

As usual, she just obeyed. Sit down, stand up, pass money into the collection dish, sit down, sing the hymns, stand up. It was liturgical and structured, they told her. Just the way that God wanted it to be. Just the way she would never be able to be.

Suffocating. That was how it really was. Sharon felt trapped. A foot out of line, a hair out of place, a word misspoken - that was enough to feel as though she had let everyone down. She was a disgrace to the church and one day, she knew everyone would know about it. It felt like she was living a lie, almost. She’d go as far as saying that she had never believed in God, even as a child, and so attended the services in disbelief. She lived a lie, whilst still feeling the pressure and judgement under His watchful eye with her every thought and action. Sharon’s life was essentially planned out for her, all thanks to the church, and she hated it. She would never be able to be that perfect little wife they wanted her to be.

Raja and Jinkx were lucky. Raja��s family were Hindu, but Raja herself wasn’t, and Jinkx seemed as free as the wind that blew over the shore, devoid of any preconceived notions of how she should behave. Raja and Jinkx were able to just be. Sharon didn’t have that luxury.

The service ended all too soon, filling Sharon with a sense of impending dread. Most of her rebellion was away from her mother, as a way to feel as though she was silently taking control of her own life and her own fate. Rarely, she dared to be as bold as she had in talking back to the priest and the volunteer, and it always landed her in boiling hot water. Private rebellion felt safer, and as the priest talked, she could feel the looming horror of her punishment growing closer and closer, like the telling chill of a devastating winter blizzard. Although she hated it, she wished the service could go on for longer.

Mere seconds after it had ended, Sharon’s mother had taken her arm in a vice-like grip, and was frogmarching her outside. Her face was stony, rigidly set in a mask of pure anger that told Sharon she was going to pay dearly for her actions, at some point.

“What on God’s green earth do you think you’re doing?!” She bellowed, Sharon instinctively flinching. “How dare you swear at a man of God? How dare you embarrass me and our family in the holy place?”

Sharon swallowed. “I- I didn’t mean to, I-”

“Oh, yes, of course, now is the perfect time to repent from your sins. Sharon, dearest, do you remember your parables? How Jesus forgave the adulterous woman and made her promise to never do it again?”

She had no other option but to nod. “Yes, mom.”

“You aren’t just running out of chances, you vile brat. You ran out a long time ago.” Sharon’s mother paused, straightening her awful hat and glaring at Sharon, her face pinched. “Through Jesus, we find the way and the light. But you, young lady? You will never find His light. You will not be welcomed into the arms of Heaven when Judgement Day arrives. You’ll burn in Hell’s fires.”

She turned on her heel, marching away from the church and leaving Sharon with no choice in following her, a few paces behind so that she couldn’t see the tears glistening in her eyes. It didn’t matter if Sharon didn’t believe. Her mother did, and her mother truly believed she’d be suffering in eternal damnation. She would never be good enough.

It stung the entire way home. Sharon walked slowly, mulling over her mother’s words obsessively and growing more and more worked up as she thought. It wasn’t fair - it wasn’t fucking fair. She needed to get out. She needed to get away.

Of course, it would take careful planning, but Sharon was perfectly adjusted to finding illicit ways to get what she wanted. Sneaking out was practically second nature, having been raised in a Catholic prison since birth. If there was one thing she knew how to do, it was hide away.

As quickly as she could, she changed out of her nauseating church garb, letting her hair fall back into its natural waves and applying the makeup that her mother so heavily frowned upon. She knew that she would be reading by now, poring over her favourite Bible verses in order to distract and soothe her from the travesty that was her daughter, which meant Sharon had a short window of time to escape in.

Like a pro, she managed it, positioning each foot carefully on the stairs to avoid creaking and edging the door open inch by inch until she could slip through it. Once out, she ran, pelting at full-tilt through the twisting market streets into the wealthier part of town. At just after midday, she knew Raja would be home by now, and more than anything, she needed the company of her best friends.

Unlike Sharon’s respectable little home, Raja and her family were on the more extravagant side of the spectrum. Their house was gleaming white, adorned with colonnades and statues of centuries-worshipped gods that spurted water across the courtyard. It was essentially a mansion in the middle of town, and as stifling as it may have looked, it was like a second home. Even just approaching the house made her feel calmer, the anger dissipating a little. Her spirits felt lifted.

She only had to knock once before she received an answer.

“Hey!” Raja greeted as the door swung open. Jinkx stood behind her, the both of them dressed and awake for once. “You coming in?”

“Nope. You’re coming out.” Sharon grinned, spreading her arms wide to allow the sunshine to embrace her. “We’re going back to paradise and you’re coming with me.”

When in desperation, the island was Sharon’s solace. It was where The Supermodels performed on weekends, but it was also the perfect escape away from her mother’s hawk eyes that always seemed to watch her. Hardly anyone even knew about it, other than those who lived there, and those who did know about it didn’t have any interest. After all, there wasn’t much there besides the houses, a small marketplace for the residents, the taverna and some abandoned buildings. It was so secluded that it felt safe and adventurous all at the same time. Of course, it was party central for any teens, thanks to the taverna’s staging and outdoor dance floor, but that was a secret from any prying adults.

Within minutes, the girls had rushed out, dragging Raja’s boat onto the shore so they could sail away to safety. Sharon closed her eyes and let the salty air refresh her, letting the breeze blow her hair back as the sea spray flicked her skin. This was comfort and safety. Out in the open, surrounded by the blue of the ocean and the blue of the sky, nothing could hurt her. God couldn’t judge her here. She was untouchable.

They disembarked at the dock, taking each other’s hands and running all the way up, fraught with giggles. Something about the island just filled them with a sense of joy. It was only when they climbed to the highest point on the island, a sandy cliff-face that had only rocks and flowers, that they calmed down.

Sharon sat onto one of the rocks. “I can’t take this anymore. I’m going insane, girls.”

“I’m not surprised,” Jinkx replied, squatting in a decidedly unladylike manner over another rock. “It’s the same every time.”

“I mean, what’s the point?” Sharon asked. “I don’t care about what happens when I die, and whether I get into some fictional fucking Heaven. I care about now, in the moment. But nothing is happening in the moment because I’m so fucking restricted! By her, and that stupid fucking God!”

Raja nodded. “We gotta get you out of this shit before she brainwashes you. Keep rebelling and keep holding on, girl.”

Sharon sighed. “The stupid bint just keeps getting worse and worse, which just drives me to do more. I didn’t get back this morning until half an hour before we needed to leave. Plus she found those vodka bottles I hid the other week and went fucking berserk at me. Fuck her and fuck her stupid-ass rules.”

“Yes!” Raja and Jinkx cheered in unison. “Fuck her!”

“And fuck my dad for going off to Spain to be a fucking missionary. Fuck the entire fucking religion.”

Sharon took a deep breath. “Okay, it’s out of my system. So, what’s happening tomorrow? Same set?”

Jinkx shrugged. “I’d say so. With any luck, those hot siblings will be there again.”

She and Raja exchanged a knowing look.

“Shut up!” Sharon squealed, bursting into laughter. “You did not fuck a sibling each! You did not!”

“WE DID!” Raja screeched, giggling. “We really did!”

“You’re so bad!” Sharon laughed, wiping a stray tear from her eye. “I can’t believe you. That’s amazing.”

Jinkx snorted, which set them all off again into a fit of hysterical laughter.

“You know, that’s the next step. To piss off your mom.” Raja observed.

Sharon frowned. “Huh?”

“Thou shalt not commit adultery.” Raja recited solemnly, her hand on her chest in a mockery of a promise. “Girl, commit some fucking adultery and discover the wonderful world of premarital sex.”

Sharon grinned. “I’m not gonna fuck just to piss my mom off! When I find the right guy or girl I’ll do it, but not for her. She’s not worth that much.”

“Atta girl!” Jinkx reached over for a high five. “And when you do choose to lose your virginity, do tell us all the details. I miss being pure.”

“Aww, you think I’m pure?” Sharon teased, cupping her hands in prayer. “A little angel?”

“Not with those dance moves last night, sweetheart.” Raja butted in, standing up to do a horrifically inaccurate impression. “Sexy as hell!”

The three collapsed into peals of giggles once again.

When the sun began to sink towards the horizon, painting the island in beautiful shades of copper, the girls made their way back to the boat, ready to sail away from their bubble of paradise. Sharon felt her heart tugging as they left, wanting nothing more than to stay and bask in the beginnings of the warm summer evenings. At home, a strict schedule and disappointment awaited her. Her heart sank like the sun beneath the waves as they moored, stepping back onto the mainland.

“Let’s take the long way round,” Sharon said softly, her friends catching on immediately. In silent solidarity, they each wrapped an arm around her as they walked, browsing leisurely through the market stalls to waste as much time as they could.

Familiar faces went past like always, driving Sharon insane with the repetition. Her life needed something new, desperately.

I wasn’t made for this, she thought, eyeing the unwavering structure of the world around her. I was never meant to do what everyone else is doing.

Sharon wondered, briefly, if the out-of-place feeling would ever stop, until she saw him.

He was stood alone at the tourist information stall, purchasing a map. His hair was dark, slightly curly, in a tousled mess atop his head. Though she couldn’t see all of him, Sharon could tell he was lean and muscular, and she was mesmerised by the movement of his pink lips as he spoke in a husky voice.

“Fuck me, he is gorgeous.” She breathed, turning to Raja and Jinkx and then back to him.

He turned, offering her a crooked, mischievous smile and a cocked eyebrow. “Was that you?”

“Might’ve been.” Sharon responded coyly. “What’s it to you?”

He chuckled, the sound like music to Sharon’s ears, and offered his hand. “You little minx. I’m Justin, I’m here on vacation. I thought I’d get out and see all the hidden wonders of the world.”

She took it. “Sharon. How’s that going for you? I live here on the mainland and I haven’t found any hidden wonders.”

Justin shrugged, a flirtatious smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I’m looking at one right now. Maybe you could show me some more?”

In spite of herself, Sharon blushed. This handsome stranger was doing all kinds of crazy things to her mind, and yet they were only flirting. She had never felt this way before.

“You ever been to that little island over there?” She asked, pointing towards the landmass in the near distance. Justin shook his head.

“You’re in luck.” Sharon smiled. “Meet me there, six in the evening tomorrow. There’s a fantastic show at the taverna that I’m sure you’ll love”

Justin nodded slowly, impossibly suave. “With you, I’d go anywhere.”

[one-of-us-must-be-crazy]

From @jane-shepard to the lovely @lemon-jacks ! It’s about 2k and features your prompt “make a wish” which I found very fitting for them as a whole. 

Also, a shoutout to @chryseis. If you’re familiar with their piece on Samuels, you might notice some VERY obvious references in here. 

Samuels Unit 12 is built in 2135.

There are only twelve Samuels units made in total, of which he is the last. From there, the software used to develop his intelligence is tweaked for refinement and carried onto the next project. They avoided making too many with the same appearance; androids of his kind were built to blend in, and the Company wanted to minimize the risk of them being confused with one another.

They model him after an actor, one well-known during the height of his fame but forgotten over time. His appearance and personality are designed from the ground up to be remarkably unremarkable. Non-threatening and trustworthy, but plain and easy to look at.

From there, he is free to develop naturally – albeit with a short leash. His inhibitors and parameters guide his learning and behavior, but he is alive.

With his first act of free will, he chooses the first name ‘Christopher’ from the offered list of monikers. His personality evolves, setting him apart from the twelve that came before him. He is Christopher, friendlier than his counterparts and far more mild-mannered.

At the end of the six month trial, the Samuels models are sent to separate destinations. His polite disposition lands him a position as a mediation android aboard the USCSS Agnis.

There is a day, a year after his creation, when he hears his coworkers discussing a movie. The Big Sleep. An old film, but one that Samuels himself had enjoyed.

“I loved that film,” he interrupts politely, eagerly. “I found it –“

One of his coworkers scoffs. “Thanks but no thanks, Samuels,” he says. “If I wanted a synthetic opinion, I’d ask.”

‘They think that I’m incapable of loving something,’ he realizes, forcing himself to maintain a pleasant smile. ’They think that I cannot feel.’

Surely, that is not true. He must be capable of processing emotion, as he knows for a fact that shame and humiliation are not the result of his coding. And yet, he feels them anyway.

Behind him, an oil-smeared engineer slips away, her fists clenched at her sides. He does not notice her.

.:.:.:.

He scans down a list of medications, reading impossibly, inhumanly fast, and he’s halfway down the second page when he notices he’s being watched. Samuels lifts his head, and the woman across the room pushes herself up from the wall.

“Interesting choice in reading material,” she comments boredly, and he recognizes sarcasm in her tone. A joke. She doesn’t wait for him to react, and folds her arms across her chest. They’re streaked with something dark. Joint oil, most likely. Engineers rarely wandered to the main levels of the ship, so she had to have a reason for being here. “I wanted to ask you something.”

Ah, there it was.

“Of course,” he replies. “How may I help?”

“That movie they were talking about,” she says, jerking her thumb in the direction of the mess hall. “The Big Sleep, what is it about? Everyone is talking about it, but I missed movie night with the crew.”

Christopher is almost taken aback. Her excuse is flimsy, but the desire behind it is sincere; she wanted his opinion.

Her name is Amanda, he learns later. She is not a nice woman, but she is kind.

.:.:.:.

She always seems to find him when she wants company, though Samuels never asks why. There are many things he does not do. He does not offer anything more than polite conversation, and he does not make assumptions about why she keeps returning for it.

He does not ask Ripley about her life. Her file tells him that she’s been here terribly long, and he wonders if that makes her terribly lonely. He does not ask about that, either.

Ripley often comes down to the mess hall with smudges on her face, but Samuels never finds a polite opportunity to tell her so.

One day, she pauses while peeling an apple to brush her hair away from her face, and her hand comes away grey.

“Shit,” she says, looking up at him. “Have I had stuff on my face this entire time?”

He cannot lie to her. “You often do,” he replies, and she grimaces.

Ripley sets down her apple to grab a napkin, and wipes her hands before scrubbing at her face. “Damn. I wish you’d told me. I probably look like a mess.”

“You don’t look at yourself before you leave the workshop?” he asks, curious. Ripley gives him an incredulous look, snorting.

“Not if I can help it.” Samuels doesn’t have time to think about what she means by that before she’s moving on. “Am I clean now?”

Her face is free of oil streaks and smudges, and Samuels nods. Ripley picks up her half-peeled apple again, twisting it around to see where she’d left off. “Next time I have something on my face, let me know, alright?”

“Duly noted, Ripley.”

.:.:.:.

As usual, she’s the one who seeks him out.

Once, he had wondered why Ripley did not have any friends aboard the Agnis; she had been here so long, he assumed she must have formed bonds with the people aboard.

A quick study at the personnel logs told him that the Agnis switched staff every time it docked at the system’s space station. This happened every six months, lining up with the ships’ schedule for data drops.

Digging deeper only told him that many of the staff were slated for short stays from the start. Employment aboard the Agnis was usually a temporary arrangement before We-Yu promoted them elsewhere.

That left Ripley with a constantly shifting group of coworkers – which left little room for camaraderie. His previous look into Ripley’s file told him that she had been offered a host of promotions, all of which she had turned down.

He’s sure the answer why lies in her private file, but he refrained from digging too deeply into people’s lives. Employment logs told him what he needed to know, and he’d learned quite a bit about Ripley on his own.

(She knew at least eight card games, but he’d only ever seen her play solitaire. While her mother preferred cats, Amanda was fond of dogs – but only large breeds. She liked fresh strawberries, but had to settle for freeze-dried.)

He’s reviewing transfer requests when she finds him. She’s lacking any black smudges on her face today, but he notices a smaller discrepancy on her cheekbone.

When he points it out, Ripley reaches up to brush at her cheek. “Oh,” she says, and lets out a short laugh, “an eyelash. You can make wishes with these.”

“A wish?” Samuels asks. He doesn’t really understand the concept of wishing on such little things. It was probably a niche belief – many of which he wasn’t familiar with.

“Yeah. They say if you wish upon a stray eyelash, it will come true,” Ripley says, and brushes her hands against her coveralls. “Wishing isn’t something I do anymore, but it’s cute to watch kids do it.”

She moves on to invite him to the mess hall with her, but Samuels spends the rest of the evening pondering what she had said.

Wishing served no purpose, and yet people found countless opportunities to do it. They wished upon everything – candles, flowers, stars, even stray eyelashes.

He knew from their short friendship that she was too logical to rely on miracles, but he still wonders.

What had Ripley wished for in the past?

.:.:.:.

Ripley lays a card down, the lacquered ’fwip’ almost lost to the ambient sound of the engineering hold. Samuels still notices, and he looks up to see her gathering up the cards. Another successful game. He wonders if she ever gets bored of winning solitaire.

He knows for a fact that playing it would make him… antsy? He’s not sure what word he’d use to describe the itching sensation that he could be doing something better with his time. Perhaps his productivity protocols were too intense for him to enjoy such pasttimes.

He watches her hands as she shuffles. Likely getting ready for another round. “Do you spend much time playing, Ripley?”

“When I’ve finished what I’m supposed to do, yeah,” she replies easily, and leans back in her chair. “Not much else to do here.”

“Why not transfer?” he asks, ignoring the insistent feeling that he shouldn’t. He’s briefly reminded of The Big Sleep and his coworkers’ rejection. Stepping out of line wasn’t impossible for him, but it was rarely rewarded. “Your record here is impressive; you could easily land a more exciting post.”

He half expects Ripley to reply with something snide – lash out and tell him he’d overstepped, but she only rocks farther back in her chair. She’s silent for a long moment as she absentmindedly cuts the deck.

“My mom disappeared in this region a while back,” she says, voice level. “She was a warrant officer aboard the Nostromo.”

She shrugs, leaning forward until all four feet of her chair hit the ground. “So, I decided to follow her into the great beyond.” Ripley begins laying down cards, her movements methodical and practiced. “I figured if I stuck around long enough, I might find something.”

When the final card is placed, she flips it over to reveal the nine of diamonds.

“Closure, maybe.”

.:.:.:.

A month later, Samuels is given an assignment.

(An order, actually, but Weyland-Yutani preferred to use particular vocabulary when dealing with these sorts of things.)

He is to recruit and accompany an engineer aboard the Torrens, a small commercial starship destined for Sevastopol Station. Several other engineers had been considered already, but the Agnis sourced from some of the best – many of whom were looking for better work.

The details of the mission are scant, but they tell him enough.

“The USCSS Torrens [MSV-7760], is to retrieve the flight-recorder unit of the USCSS Nostromo [1809246-09], which was recovered and taken to Sevastopol Station by the USCSS Anesidora [NCC 88-LS] in 2137.”

Mention of the Nostromo makes Samuels pause, and thinks immediately of Ripley. She had lingered in this system for years, waiting for any mention of her mother and the ship’s fate, and now her chance had arrived.

A part of him knows it is disingenuous to tap her solely because of her connection to the case, but Samuels finds himself considering her anyway. She was a talented engineer, and young enough to recover from the stasis rather quickly. Nothing told him she shouldn’t be chosen for the opportunity.

And perhaps, this would bring her the closure she desired.

.:.:.:.

He comes to regret this. Before, his most vivid memories of Amanda Ripley involved her hands poised over playing cards, black smudges over her cheeks, and her face when she was particularly focused.

Now, he thinks of her worn ragged, with a burn mark on her temple.

He had wanted to offer a solution: an opportunity to find what she’d been searching for.

Above all, Christopher Samuels had wanted. He had desired something above the improvement of Weyland-Yutani’s brand and the wellbeing and safety of his assigned crew. He had strived towards something beyond his protocol.

In retrospect, the idea terrified him. He had made a decision based more on his own opinion than the facts he was given, and it was endangering someone he’d come to know. A woman who had evolved beyond a employment record and a name.

That terrified him too, but what scared him more was the idea that Amanda Ripley would die here, without ever knowing what happened to her mother.

Without ever getting what she wished for.

When he considers Ripley – her lonely years aboard the Agnis, the promotions she turned down, the wish she did not make – the decision to give his own life for her is an easy one.

That, at least, he does not regret.

[outpostzeta]

[Day 7: Wedding]

Commander T'Sala

<Federation News Network Special report> With an anniversary of the “Emerald Wedding”, as it’s come to be known, just ticking past it's fifth year, VIM sympathizers continue to struggle to gain favor in elections. Some are asking if he movement will ever truly recover, asking 'How could have this demonstration truly have been putting Vulcan first when so many Vulcans were killed in the slaughter.'" T'Sala stands paused in the bar, eyes on the screen as her own image is flashed across it along with others who were harmed or lost.

Captain S'uvok

S'uvok steps into the lounge as the tail end of the report's introduction can be heard.  He doesn't seem to react when he walks inside, moving to the final remaining Mark I replicator, dialing an order for tea

Commander Gillaine

Gillaine, off duty, is enjoying a glass of lager. Her eyes shift to the TV monitor, watching as the talking head begins recounting the events of the VIM's uprising. "Absurdities breed atrocities." She says in reply to the TV talking head.

Ens. Juvelyn Dex-

Juvii has a rather... rambunctious kitten in her lap as she drinks a milkshake by herself in a corner.

Commander T'Sala

<Continues> "House Lir was often accused of being sympathizers.  Their silence until that point was taken as support from the extremist groups who had a long history with other conservative groups of backing the ancient Great House. It wasnt until the movement brought a series of deaths upon Vulcan that the House spoke out against it. Not three months later did the slaughter on Mount Saleya occur which was organized by a even further extremist faction called the NVO, or New Vulcan Order...."April 8, 2018

Captain S'uvok

The measured, calculated words filter in to S'uvok's auditory perception, perhaps in spite of a willful effort to ignore it. The door to the Mk I slides open, and the Vulcan retrieves a mug of tea, Vulcan spiced, a blend from the central equatorial region, prepared in the style prevalent in the province of ShiKhar. As he held the mug in his left hand as he moved to a tale to sit, he looked to the knuckles on his right hand, scars remaining from when they split on the armor worn by the butcher Skove

Commander T'Sala

T'Sala moves over to S'uvok's table and slides over him, eyes also falling upon the scar, then raising up to the man himself.

Commander Gillaine

Gillaine, having grown sick of the ongoing media report, ventured over to where Chip was standing. "Never a rosy picture these days?" She asks, mostly a rhetorical before making her way to the counselor's tables. "Counselor, may I join you?"

Ens. Juvelyn Dex

Juvii smiled sweetly and nodded pulling Hephaestus from clawing up her shoulder. "Of course Commander." She took another sip of her milkshake

Commander T'Sala

<Further> Many accused Lir of waiting far too long to firmly shatter the perception of silent support of the movement, asking why it took such death to insire the House's now intense hunt for sympathizers within the government, working closely and backing Minister of Internal Affairs. A middle aged Vulcan stands on the screen, shoulders square and flanked by the current Minister of Defense. "Throughout history, the Isolationists have taken a concern for our safety from those who do not understand, and turned it into hatred that would only honor our fallen ways. The VIM issue is not only a problem for Vulcan, but they made it into a Federation one when they attacked my daughter’s wedding and it's attendees. My brother and I continue to work tirelessly to defend Vulcan from such threats. These attacks upon our own kind, and upon our Federation allies will not stand. The line was drawn five years ago, and we have not nor ever yield to them. These terrorists will not decimate Vulcan. That is left to the will of the people and the people of Vulcan have said 'No More'......"

Commander Gillaine

The older woman nods in thanks, then settles into the chair. She takes a small pull of the dark amber drink, then rests it on the table. Her gaze fixes to the little kitty clawing up the Orion's shoulder. "He's living up to his namesake. Hephaestus, I think you called him?"

Ens. Juvelyn Dex-

Juvii nodded at the little ash grey tuft of fur that as now trying to bat her little green finger tips. "I believe so. I was unsure he would make it for a while. He is sort of a runt." She wiggled her fingers and winced as he clawed and bit down on it.

Captain S'uvok

S'uvok tunes out once more as the Patriarch of House Lir takes the screen, and the Captain sips from his mug of tea.  He looks to T'Sala with a nod of greeting, lowering the cup "Greetings, T'Sala."

Commander T'Sala (Laura)

T'Sala seems to have trouble tuning her father out, but does turn her attention to the Captain. "Greetings, Captain. Are you well today?"

Commander Gillaine

"It's my understanding that runts of the litter are often survivors?" She takes another small sip of her beer. She then looks to her, "You did well today, with the colony. You, Chip, the three doctors."

Captain S'uvok

"I am in an...  acceptable state, Commander." He replies to T'Sala, as he sips his tea thoughtfully before nodding to the empty seat across from him "Do you wish to join me?"

Ens. Juvelyn Dex

Juvii dips her head and smiles. "I'm glad I could contribute."

Commander T'Sala

She slides down across from him and watching him quietly. "Only acceptable?" she asks in a low tone

Captain S'uvok

"Simply distracted , momentarily. The state is transitory only." S'uvok says in an easy dismissal with a single nod "You need not be concerned."

Commander T'Sala

"Do not permit Father to concern you either." she nods, glancing back at the screen. "It is times like these when I observe the veritable nature that is perception of time. In aspects, that feels as though it were last year.... in others, it feels a decade ago."

Commander Gillaine

Gillaine offers a plain smile, first to Chip, and then to the counselor seated nearby. She then replies to Dex, "Simply, it was refreshing to visit a world where someone was not trying to do us harm. Moreover, the colonists we aided directly seemed to appreciate our efforts. not really something you see with the Cardassians,"

Captain S'uvok

"He does not." S'uvok replies simply before sipping from his tea, savoring the familiar flavor "I find it fascinating to find the number and scale of events that the events on Mt. Seleya book-ended. A precursor for years of conflict and struggle to come."

Ens. Juvelyn Dex

Juvii tilted her head some. "I tend to favor a more... um.. humanistic belief of people in general commander. Everyone is capable of good. Their efforts, what they want are inherently good." She swallowed another gulp of her milkshake

Commander T'Sala

T'Sala takes a slow breath. "Salak's death was the start of that for me from a personal level.... however.... in terms of our careers... yes. Indeed. In the end, I am almost grateful to Telik for this infidelity. It lead me to you."

Captain S'uvok (

"Your sentiment is well received, though the memories of that time are...  difficult." S'uvok's words had momentary hesitation, before his expression softened slightly and offered T'Sala a small nod

Commander Gillaine

"A view I have been contemplating frequently lately." She takes another sip of her lager, "I suppose I can appreciate why peace might be frightening for some, namely the Cardassians. Honest peace is often in the company of profound change."

Commander T'Sala

"He would be proud of you, S'uvok." T'Sala assures him. "He gave his life to help rescue us and no parent would hesitate to go any other way. These dates which pass are difficult, but you are not alone through them. Never forget that, Adun." Her two fingers brush over the scars upon his hand. "I am with thee."(edited)

Ens. Juvelyn Dex

"Change is the only thing that is permanent." Juvii noted quietly as she winced as Heph clawed into her chest

Captain S'uvok

The past has presented a series of challenges and sacrifices, admittedly. But in light of all of that loss, through Surak, and logic, I maintain balance." S'uvok takes a single, deep, cleansing breath

Commander Gillaine

The older woman looks reflective for a moment. She bites her lip some and shifts her gaze to the carpet below. She then responds, "To everything there is a season, as was said by some wise figures long ago?"

Commander T'Sala

"You have come a long way these past few years." T'Sala observes. "My hope is that you are proud of yourself as well." she glances at the screen then back to him. "You are more calm and balanced than ever before. I know that I am proud of you."

Captain S'uvok

"I leave the pride for others. I have seen enough in my career to know that the challenges only manage to go greater and greater. I leave pridefulness to a younger man." He inclines his head to her in a momentary show of appreciation

Commander T'Sala

"It is my duty after all." she brushes the back of his hand with her fingers. "Someone must do it. I find it appropriately agreeable, however." T'Sala perks a cool brow. "Even when you -are- being prideful."

Captain S'uvok

"I thank you for the complimentary disposition, T'Sala. It is appreciated." He looks to the small contact she offered.

Ens. Juvelyn Dex

"I think that was a song too, Commander." She smiled. "I happen to like that one."(edited)

Commander Gillaine

Gillaine nods, "Perhaps I will play it for the next music night." She finishes her lager, "For now, though, I think should retire. Though, I believe I am due for a counseling session in the near future."

Ens. Juvelyn Dex

"Oh I'd like that. " Juvii smiled. "Please let me know when it is so I can attend." She scooped up Heph. "as for the session, just any time you have a moment I'm sure we can squeeze you in."

Commander Gillaine

She nods, "I will let you know." She then returns her empty glass to the counter and exits the replimat.

Ens. Juvelyn Dex

Juvii, similarly brought her glass to the bar, still partially filled with shake. "Sure...." She dipped her head and took her kitten to bed . " Good evening, Commander."

Commander T'Sala

"Of course, Captain. Perhaps a bit more in ----" she pauses and takes a breath, waveing the matter aside, seeing his face. "You are tired."

Captain S'uvok

"I'm afraid my time available for leisure, and rest are both in short supply, T'Sala. I should retire for the evening, Alpha shift is in less than five hours." He looked to her, letting his eyes meet momentarily, before standing and nodding his head in farewell, before turning to depart

Commander T'Sala

T'Sala watches the Captain depart and takes a cleansing breath, the news special wrapping up. <NEWS> "... while it does appear that House Lir has recovered from the political fallout, no one is certain if the VIM ever will." With that she stands and departs.

[fictionerd]

Demi-chan wa Kataritai Episodes 1 & 2 Overview

Okay before we go any farther let me get this out of the way.

DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAW~!

Good, now I think I can make it through this overview without gushing at the cuteness of the series.

Demi-chan wa Kataritai is a supernatural, high-school slice-of-life. The premise of which being that Demi-humans, who are the old humanoid monsters from myth and legend, have become accepted as members of society. Our protagonist, one Tetsuo Takahashi, is a teacher who is fascinated by demi-humans. We are lead to believe that he has been trying to meet a demi-human for some time before the events of the series and failed. Imagine his shock when life throws him the curveball of having four demi-humans arrive at the school where he is teaching. With the synopsis out of the way let's get to my impressions.

This show is solid. One episode in at the time of writing this sentence and I can't exactly find any flaws in the show. They are doing their premise justice while remaining light-hearted and sensible in the characters' behavior. They could have played up the goof between Takahashi and Sakie Sato the way some other series might have, but they kept it tame and had the laughs derived from Sakie's extreme precautions rather than simply having her scream "PERVERT!" and slap him halfway to the moon.

They frame the complications of being a demi-human as just another sort of problem that some people have to deal with. I feel like I expected Hikari to be wise beyond her years about her kind, the same way Takahashi must have come across. The fact that she seemed just about as clueless as anyone else her age about certain matters really drove home that in this show these supernatural creatures are just people same as you or me. I was engrossed from the beginning of the episode to the end, and I can't wait to watch the next one. In fact I believe I'll go do that now. Well by the time you read this I'll have watched them both, but...

SHUT UP!

That was kind of rude wasn't it? Sorry about that I've watched episode two now. I'm once again pleased with how this series is handling itself and how creative it is with the problems it creates for its cast. The Self-conscious Machi being thrown into the mix with the coniving Hikari and the ever-studious Takahashi is just another excellent character flavor in this blend. I once again have no qualms about how the series is handling their humor. They tiptoe ever so close to the line but they never cross it, and managing that balancing act tends to impress me. I suppose that's what separates a true slice-of-life from a harem comedy. Perhaps I should watch Monster Musume to contrast. I digress however. Before I end out this overview There is one major point I need to cover.

In a series where the personal relationships between teachers and students are the focal-point the teacher character will make or break the series. Shows like Great Teacher Onizuka and Assassination Classroom succeed because of how much the teachers care about the students. In Onizuka's case what cements his character is when he suplexes the Vice-Principal of the school he's interviewing at because of his belief that teachers are wrong to tell their students they're no good. He knows what they've been through because he was right there with them. In Korosensei's case we see it in how he tailors curriculum to each individual students needs. To be fair Korosensei has an unfair advantage in that regard, but the fact that this invincible super-being bothers to take that kind of time is impressive in its own right. With Takahashi that moment comes in this episode. He takes an action to aid one of his students and does it in such a way that his involvement will go unnoticed. He does this for their benefit alone and not to gain notoriety for being a kind-hearted teacher.

All in all I could not be more pleased with how Takahashi is characterized so far in this series, and that goes for all of the primary cast. This is an excellent little character piece so far and I look forward to future episodes. Therefore, by first impressions I give this series a rating of: Great. Whether it will maintain this rating, drop down, or ascend remains to be seen.

[pennies-forthe-gst]

Goodbye serial numbers part 2

Krelli Corvus

Female

Pansexual aromantic perhaps, or the other way around

True neutral??

"Do you have teeth to rend flesh from bone? Dost thou have claws to pierce your foe? Have you the heart to watch sentient life leave the eyes of the defeated? Because I do." -- In attempting to intimidate 2 12 year olds.

I'll call your kind what I like. Call me killer, call tribes of me The Banished and Goddess Condemned, but things like you have hurt our sacred life all the more. Banishment from packs I've seen, for accidental slaughter between young siblings, a waste of life sent out to suffer. Purposeful mutations, unwillingness to change, and more I've seen of packs of you in hostile Viridian. I did not kill your wife, and I never wanted to take your living child. -- In being chastised for calling someone a blood traitor

“My honour is nothing if I don’t lead you true”

“Plague venom. Highly infectious, but congeals like a charm, kiddos.”

A child of the goddess of life, Krelli was born and raised in the land of the goddess of death, and prides herself in this genetic windfall. Raised with hatred for those belonging to the life-goddess's faith, in time she would condemn those of the life faith personally through a jaded eye.

Skilled in hand to hand combat with a preferred combat style involving kicking.

Krelli's irises are red as a reflection of her birth (alternatively smaller pupils, dark eyes, or simply a ring of red). Her hair is straw coloured and in a mohawk type fashion. When presented with the materials, she keeps the simple maze-like patterns she used to shave onto her head maintained.

Calls everyone by some sort of nickname or other moniker (ex. Blood Traitor, Nibbles, Backpack)

Kids always seem to come into her life, worries about how badly she could mess them up.

Krelli dresses very garishly, with almost crystalline sickly green, and glimmering scarlet garments. A fetish of small skulls adorns her neck, and bones of more questionable origin are strung together to make chimes of some nature that she has on her person. Also in her possession is a white mask with red ornentation and green/brown feathers.

Character flaws: does not wish to share burdens/Gives up control too easily in matters that concern family (other people's family)/Confrontational over respect/Confrontational over matters of life or death (ex. Killing an animal that need not be killed)/Taunt, kick, and insult first, listen later/Sentimentality leading to questionable behaviour, and belief that her own sentiment is a weakness, though she would not necessarily dislike it in others.

History:

Krelli's mother (Churn) was a child of flame with a history of life in the windy places, but everyone comes to death in the end, whether in body or in spirit. Krelli's father (Sesh), like Krelli herself, was a child of life raised in the deadly swaths, and made a good bloodline match with Churn.

Thus Krelli was raised alongside her sister, Selveen, who took the shape and talents of their mother while Krelli took after their father. The Corvus clan treated them equal, as did they treat others regardless off the gods or goddesses that formed them, just as death would.

But even the most cohesive of structures can fall apart with when pieces go missing. A rival tribe had let loose their dogs on Selveen after her attempts to appease them with gifts failed. Distraught, Krelli broke the cardinal rule of Death: Never attempt to bring life to the fallen.

Having no great stores of magic to her name, and relying on questionable information, Krelli was doomed to fail in her first attempt. One attempt was all it took. Enraged, tribe leaders decided unanimously to exile Krelli.

Before she departed, Krelli was able to secure small amounts of "material" from her sister and encase them in glass. Against every bone in her body, she made for the land of Life, though she would surely be hunted down and made a slave if anyone caught sight of a lone traveler with the tell tale red irises. Regardless, she thought that perhaps she would have more luck reviving her sister, or at least getting closure, in this hostile territory.

(If adding more, describe leaving for the Land of Light in search of the knowledge they hold so dearly, and her quest to the Radiant Eye leading her to live in the dark.)

(Stuff about the goings on of 'The Light In Her Eyes' if applicable to setting)

An excerpt that I picked kind of arbitrarily from her source story:

Sweet Flat-teeth, don't tell me you wished harm against this creature? The pair of Pearlcatchers dared not move, for fear the pacing beast would attack. Surely, even if to gather meat for the lazy few, you need not target my familiar? No... Surely not? The crystalline dragon paused in mock contemplation. No, no, I distinctly remember a pack of rats of some sort about somewhere. A flock of birds, perhaps, yes, much easier and tastier prey, I would certainly prefer that. Hmm. The rattle of the strung up bones on the Wildclaw's hypnotic wings were mesmerizing, and the thin wisps of mist issuing from beneath its mask smelled sweet and alarmingly alluring. Even the inherent dangerously vibrant colourations of its skin seemed to draw the eye in with curiosity. Joshua intrusively thought that in some respects, it could be lovely. Certainly not here, but somewhere. It clasped its hands together, only to stretch its arms out in some sort of satirical friendly gesture. Looks like my first impression is true after all. You were hunting for sport, weren't you, Backpack? Hasn't anybody told you that's a disrespectful thing to do? Especially towards a civil thing like Pig? The lack of response made the Wildclaw quiver its wings with delight, causing a violent little rattle of chimes. They haven't? And dragons dare call me unclean! You must be almost fully grown. The voice was saccharine now. I suppose it's on Krelli to teach you your manners. So sooner had the words left its mouth, that the Wildclaw lowered its head and charged the breath of air between itself and Leon, working its way between his forelegs and leaping upwards. Moments later Joshua gaped in horror as the Wildclaw spiraled around to kick upwards at his brother's chest, a drizzle of blood blending with its underbelly before it righted itself again. Joshua curled Leon's pearl towards him with his tail, and felt Leon's panic shoot up his vertebrae to join his own. Leon seemed to be trying the best he could to dance far enough away to gather breath, only for the Wildclaw to deliver another blow. Joshua, without thinking, kicked the pearls into the underbush and leaped on the Wildclaw's back, digging his claws in the best he could. This isn't your fight, Spots! Don't make it so! it snarled, shaking him off. Joshua roared and grabbed for its legs, and despite an irate kick, he hung on. By this time, Leon had recovered enough to send out a bolt of contusion, and the Wildclaw surprisingly laughed. Once more with you, then.

((Hey, Kat, why is Krelli described as 'it' in the excerpt above? Because Joshua could not distinguish between a male and female Wildclaw, her face was covered, and her voice was slightly altered by the mask.))

[justinkaiz-blog1]

Best Brain Supplements: 2015-2016 | hubpages

The Brain Supplements Market Brain supplements are becoming more popular as adults are looking for focus and concentration boosts. Just as protein supplements can be great for bodybuilding, brain supplements can help support improved brain function and overall productivity. Overall interest in brain supplementation, "smart pills," and study drugs has been increasing at a faster pace during the last five years. Since ancient days, mankind has relied on the use of supplements for improving brain capacity and cognitive abilities. The ancient Greeks relied on blackberries and fish oil, the Romans used pumpkin seeds and the Chinese relied on herbs, wholegrain and nuts. Modern research shows how certain dietary products help improve learning power, concentration ability, and decision making in human beings. The 21st century ushered forward pre-formulated energy drinks and shots meant to provide more exact boosts in energy. 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Researchers do believe that use of certain vitamins and herbs may have positive effects on logic and memory. Effective brain supplements help increase activity within the brain and speed up the thinking process. For example, certain ingredients combine with the blood stream to release dopamine and other hormones that increase alertness and aid the mind from tuning out during information capture and retention (such as when learning inside a classroom or viewing a presentation). Brain supplements may also increase communication and coordination between the right and the left hemispheres of the human brain. This not only improves learning, but also helps in the communication of ideas and speech. Sharpens Memory Memory is closely associated with learning capabilities of the brain. Brain supplements can help improve and increase brain functions pertaining to memory. This includes formation of new memory, improving the short-term and the long-term memory. In addition, supplements may provide an adequate dosage of anti-oxidants to prevent the brain from damaging, when its performance is improved. Certain ingredients improve the human brain's ability to convert random clusters of data in to meaningful information, thereby speeding up the decision-making process. Other ingredients may ensure that the brain is not damaged during the process and that the flow of oxygen in to the brain cells is maintained at an improved level. For Motivation Purposes Synaptic plasticity is the ability of the learning and the memory functions of go here the brain to function at optimum levels. However, without the right amount of concentration, will power and mental energies, even a substantial increase in the synaptic plasticity is unlikely to yield any favorable outcome. The use of only majority-caffeinated stimulants, such as tea and coffee, will only provide short-term improvement in concentration at the cost of possibly damaging health. Using pharmaceutical stimulants off-script may also be very detrimental for health. For students and professionals experiencing brain fog after a few minutes or hours of study, research or work, brain supplements help increase motivation and improve the clarity of thought. Retaining concentration, and ultimately motivation, is one of the most difficult tasks. Limidax XR Rating: 5 out of 5 I have Limidax as my number 1, because of all the brain supplements I've tried, that's the one I liked the most, and take pretty much everyday. Limidax has ten powerful ingredients, backed with clinical studies to help boost focus, concentration, and memory. Initially, Limidax was created to help reduce the abuse of pharmaceutical drugs by non-ADHD individuals on campuses, but has since become used by many more groups of people. This includes professionals at Fortune 500 companies, stay-at-home parents, night-shift workers, people who who are looking for herbal remedies, and many more. The product is not like a multivitamin that you just take and don't feel any difference. Most people feel the product working within 30 minutes of digestion. It is also one of the very, very few products that exist over-the-counter that includes micro-encapsulation technology. Basically, key ingredients are micro-encapsulated so that the effects of the product can last up to 12 hours, instead of the 1 to 4 hours that most other products last. The attention to detail, and the fact that the company openly shares clinical research, is what initially got me really interested in the product ... See the full Limidax review. Alpha Brain Rating: 3.5 out of 5 Alpha Brain is perhaps the best known brain supplement due to the massive advertising budget, and deals with certain well-known individuals. Created by Onnit Labs, the product is marketed as a brain supplement and a sort of dream enhancer, although it has been attacked as making unsubstantiated claims and seems to be a hit-or-miss product, with most reviewers seeming to agree it misses the mark. The product continues to undergo formulation changes, and the most recent formula seems that have upset many of the initial followers who had liked the product. Alpha Brain does also cost ... See the full Alpha Brain review. Neurofuse Rating: 3 out of 5 Neurofuse is a brain supplement that is marketed as a product that was specially created by Harvard students who were looking for an edge over their peers in a very competitive environment. The product has been panned by many reviewers, and holds neutral to low reviews across the internet. Hard to cancel subscriptions, and un-satisfactory customer service doesn't seem to be helping. However, there are some individuals who really like the blend. Although, Neurofuse just recently took out the ingredient Pikatropin, which had heavily advertised as its key differentiator in past marketing pushes ... See full Neurofuse review. Why do I only mention the Top 3, and then group the rest together? Well, it's because I don't think it's really worth anything to have a Top 5 or Top 10 list when it comes to brain supplements. I have a Top 3 because I understand that each person is unique. So, it's worth mentioning two additional products that I think have great potential. Then, I mention the rest as a group, because they are mostly products that I wouldn't personally recommend. But, I believe every product is worth mentioning, because it is ultimately your choice. Other Brain Supplements I've Reviewed Below is the complete and continuously updating list of brain supplements that I have reviewed. Cebria Review Cebria used to be more popular in the past. I believe its just not been receiving the marketing push it once did. Perhaps the marketers for the product were happy with the initial success they saw in sales. There are a couple of aspects of this product that led me to award it a low rating of 2 out of 5 stars. First and most importantly, I just can't seem to verify major parts of the claims that the product makes. Whether it's about the parent company of the product (Cebria is a product manufactured by Cebria, LLC, but the website reflects a "Thera Botanics" label, and is actually developed by Ever-Neuro Pharma, which makes certain claims that is hard to back up, since their "Neuro-Pep-12" is difficult to comment on when the research just can't be found or verified. Furthermore, online reviews do seem negative, with customers complaining about how the company does wrap users in an auto-ship (that some didn't know about), and where they jack up the price 400% after the first charge for a month in advance. Read my full Cebria Review for yourself. Just make sure to exercise your own due diligence. Neuroflexyn Review Where to begin with this product and company? Definitely a messy past. When Neuroflexyn first hit the market, the advertising and marketing angle that consumers found about the product was sketchy and misleading to say the least. Based on the company behind Neuroflexyn (Perform Vita), the marketing angle was due to a rogue affiliate who they were cutting ties with. Yet, the boost in sales at the time was already in place. The affiliate was heavily advertising Neuroflexyn as "Viagra for the Brain" and making unbacked claims such as "Sky-rocket concentration by 312%." In addition, there were adulterated (fake) Forbes articles and tweets that Neuroflexyn was the smart pill on which the Limitless pill was based. Regardless, the blend does seem a little weak. Many of the ingredients have research which is inconclusive, or ingredients which are not found in the proper dosages to potentially use various research studies to back the product. This all led to my ultimate assignment grade of a 3 out of 5 stars. This review is of course based on my belief (and hope) that the company is telling the truth when they do say they had nothing to do with this supposed affiliate. If it does ever turn out that they endorsed such unethical acts, my rating would drop to an absolute 0. Please feel welcome to read the full Neuroflexyn review. Disclaimers and Information: All products and brands found on this website are trademark of their respective companies. The information is intended for educational purposes only and and does not constitute professional, medical or healthcare advice or diagnosis, and may not be used as such. The information on this site is not reviewed by a medical professional, and is only to be used at your own risk. Always consult your doctor before using any supplements. Earnings Disclaimer: The writer of this article does have financial incentive for writing reviews (i.e. via any ads on this page and across the writer's account).