#null haze office

[the-path-to-forever]

PROJECT MOON DUMPING!!! (mostly Limbus OCs)

I might redraw mine Limbus OCs to mine current style and make them more organized... (also I've made another one! But they haven't been drawn yet so...)

[fishyvamp]

18+ NSFW MDNI mind the tags

You whimpered as the S.C.R.E.A.M unit pinned you down. It's gears whirling and whining as it ground into you. It was strange in how it was like it was seeking gratification in a sexual way. Rubbing where it's dick would be against the curve of your ass. You clenched your fist, teeth gritted heavily, the scent of fresh oil you had just applied to it's joints in the air of the workshop. This must've been some sick joke someone was playing on you. Maybe some kind of hazing ritual to welcome the new technician.

"You got a boyfriend?" The bot seemed to tease. It's icy mechanical hand pressing against your throat pulling you flush against it's cold frame. The coveralls you wore doing very little to protect you. You could feel a scream building in your throat as none of this made sense. It had walked in of it's own free will, or at least the equivalent of free will for a android, requesting maintenance and when you had finished diagnosis everything was clear; No anomalies, not even signs of code tampering, yet when the bot was turned back on it began behaving unnaturally. All you knew for sure is If you made it out of this alive you will be looking through its code piece by piece to find out who tampered with your unit. Surely there would be a digital signature in there. Something to indicate who last touched the code.

"Stop!" You screamed out feeling it's other hand beginning to palm the front of your pants, "initiate command slash S!" The kill phrase coming out desperate the bolder it got practically crushing you against the table; it's hips picking up speed. Before stuttering to a stop, grip loosening just enough for you to slide out; breathing heavily you clutched your chest looking up at the machine that had you caged just moment ago. The fact that it didn't halt right away felt a bit unnerving but the nightmare was over. Clawing at the rough sandpaper like carpet you moved into the light of your dimly lit office. It felt like an eternity as you begged yourself to calm down long enough to plug in the diagnostic computer.

Your eyes shut tightly, you count backwards from ten, listening to the clicks and beeps as it dug whatever info it could, name after name appearing on the screen before you. The unit behaved too purposely to be a true malfunction. Your eyes darting across the screen, the only name catching your eye was that of Danny Johnson. You had to think on why that name sounded familiar despite no one currently working in your shop with that name. Who was Danny? Maybe it was a placeholder name?

It wouldn't be till later that you'd realize Danny was the name of the technician who was killed by a S.C.R.E.A.M unit a year earlier, that in of itself would explain the name, thinking maybe someone in your shop got ahold of his old login information to prank you... It wasn't unusual for the company to not care about removing the permissions of the dead. At least that was until discovering that Danny was the only deceased employee to have their profile completely removed from the system. Even his past work history and general employee file was completely null, as if he never existed. Not even old logs were accessible.

You know he was real the older employees talked about how sweet he was, how he could charm the pants off just about anyone. Well loved and respected, but he didn't exist according to the system. So how the hell did someone use Danny Johnson's information to modify code? Danny doesn't have authorization. Danny shouldn't be able to modify code. Danny technically doesn't exist. So why does it say "Danny wants you"?

[hinatastinygiant]

1 | Haze

Pairing: Kaminari x Fem!Reader

Null & Void

The prison cell door buzzes open, breathing the silence that had become all too familiar. The sounds of boots echo through the hall as a guard hands over a pile of neatly folded clothes. The fresh fabric against your skin feels so good, like a calming reminder that you're no longer confined in that wretched place. Squinting your eyes against the bright sun, you sigh, taking in the freedom that surrounds you. Now what?

"Y/N!" a sudden familiar voice cuts out through the air. You look over to see your friend, Kendo, running toward you with a genuine smile on her face. Her hug is warm, and it makes you feel loved. She's the only person to hug you since the incident, and you feel yourself melting into the touch. "I'm so happy you're finally out. How have you been?"

Your reply is quite simple. "I need a shower."

"Oh, right," she grins as she guides you toward her car. "You can stay with me at the shop for a while. Shower isn't great, but it works."

"Thanks," you reply as you open the passenger door and step inside.

The car ride is silent. You have nothing to say to her yet, you don't even know how she feels about you right now. She never came to visit the prison and you sure as hell didn't have enough money to be making any calls that would be long enough to explain what had happened.

"I'm trying to think," she hums, finally breaking the silence as she travels along the once-familiar roads. God, one thing that hasn't changed is how shitty everything looks. Of course you had to be the small part of the population that didn't have any quirks or, really, means to defend yourself. "Not much has changed around here..."

Not much? you think to yourself as she takes a left turn that causes your heart to drop into your stomach. It's all changed.

"Sorry," she mutters, the car seeming to slow down as she drives her crappy car down the one road you wish she wouldn't.

Your neighborhood has indeed shifted, forcing you to catch up with a world that has moved on without you. Passing the remnants of your burned-down home, the painful reminder of your past, doesn't help much either. Your body aches as you catch sight of two teenagers graffiti the wall, leaving their own mark of destruction and chaos. The car speeds up, the tires squealing a bit as they take another left turn.

"It's okay," you reassure her, looking down at your lap.

"So, uh, did you make any friends while you were away?" she asks as though you had spent a year frolicking in faction two with all of the climate guardians.

"A few," you mutter, "but they're serving longer sentences so it doesn't quite matter. Oh, that reminds me, my parole officer is going to check in on me so I'm going to have to give her your address."

"Sure thing," she smiles softly as she parks the car outside of the small shop she calls home. She then reaches into the glovebox, grabs a small piece of paper and a pen, and jots down her address before handing it to you. "Here you go, I'm sure you don't think about address while you're-"

"Thanks," you mutter, getting out of the car and grabbing your bag.

"Oh," she says, popping the trunk and pulling out a few bags. "I got you some food and a few necessities." You can tell she has no idea how to handle your return. Why is she even letting you stay with her if she's this confused? "Come on, let's go around back."

Kendo guides you to the back entrance of the small building where she lives. She sets down her bags for a moment as she searches her pockets for her key and unlocks the door. You then reach for one of the bags she had set down.

"Thank you," you mutter as she opens the door and walks inside. You follow her past the first door and watch as she unlocks the one on the left. When it's open, she ushers you inside and sets the bag down on the bed. It's just enough space for the bed, nightstand, and plant, but it's nice. It's a room that you can call your own and not a cage with a cot.

"This room is yours," she tells you as she grabs the bag you had been carrying and places it beside the other. "Bathroom is attached on the right. I'm going to make us something to eat but shout if you need me, okay?"

"Sure, thanks," you nod as she walks out. You then enjoy the otherwise mediocre shower and dress in the clothes she had purchased. A simple shirt and jeans.

After the shower, you walk into the somehow even smaller-than-you-remember kitchen to see her standing over the stove. A delicious aroma fills the air. When she sees you, a small smile appears on her face.

"Have a seat," she nods toward the small table that looks as though it has seen better days.

You do so, watching as she pulls the pot off the heat and serves up two bowls of tomato soup. As you take your first sip, you begin to feel incredibly guilty for not clueing her in sooner. But just as you part your lips to explain, she speaks first.

"Hey, do you want to do anything this afternoon?" she asks rather cheerfully, catching you off guard.

"What?"

"I closed the shop for the day. I thought maybe we could spend some time together," she replies with a warm smile.

"You're being very... nice," you admit, a bit thrown off by her kindness. "But I think I'd rather just get some rest."

"Oh, yeah, of course," she shakes her head as though getting rid of some daydream where the two of you gossiped about crushes or something. She then rises to her feet and collects the dirty dishes before setting them in the sink. "I'll be here if you need anything."

Part of you wishes you would just call out to her and explain, but another part is thankful you haven't. You don't have the energy to talk about the details, and she probably wouldn't understand. Not yet, at least.

∿*̩̣‧̩̣₊̣‧̩̣*̩̣𐦍*̩̣‧̩̣₊̣‧̩̣*̩̣∿

"Please!" you cry, the words ripping from your throat in a desperate plea that echoes throughout the courtroom.

You always used to hate when your father would bring you along with him to work, especially when he'd make you tag along at some poor soul's trial. Except this time is worse, painfully worse. You're all alone, tears streaming down your face as you sit, overwhelmed by the accusations that have shattered your world. You didn't kill them.

Satou, your father's partner, places a gentle hand on your shoulder, attempting to offer you comfort, but you simply shrug him off. What use is he now in front of the Home Secretary and a jury of citizens that'll do anything to get a murderer behind bars?

But you can't help it. The grief is too strong and the wounds are way too fresh.

Monoma, that idiotic prosecutor who most likely has way better things to do than personally sentence you to jail, stands before the jury and clears his throat. "This woman," he summarizes just before they are ready to make their decision, "has killed her own father, her own mother, and her own little sister by arson. Fingerprint samples have been collected, and the evidence shows she was the only one who had touched those fuel canisters. I urge you, if there is no doubt in your mind that this woman, clearly hellbent on the destruction of our world, was ended the lives of her own flesh and blood, to find her guilty!"

Murmurs spread around the room. You can feel all eyes on you, but you don't bother looking up from the hands on your lap.

"I didn't..." you whimper, feeling so small.

"You'll be alright," Satou tries to comfort, but it only makes you more emotional.

"I didn't..."

Before you know it, the judge is looking over at the foreman and asking for a decision from the juror. As the foreman stands, his face stern and unwavering, his decision is announced: guilty.

The gavel sounds and a few people rise to their feet, clapping and cheering.

The weight of their judgment feels like a brick hitting your chest. Seven years in prison - a sentence that feels like an eternity. The grief, disbelief, and crushing weight of guilt bear down on you as the reality of your new life sinks in. The courtroom falls into an eerie silence as you're forced into shackles and taken out of the room.

Just as the door is held open for you, your eyes meet with Kendo's. Your best friend, once the one you'd go to for anything, looks at you as if she truly believed everything Monoma said. Of course that asshole was very convincing, but couldn't she tell when her best friend was being falsely accused of murder? She knew how much you loved your family, even though you didn't always have the same views as they did. You'd never kill them.

∿*̩̣‧̩̣₊̣‧̩̣*̩̣𐦍*̩̣‧̩̣₊̣‧̩̣*̩̣∿

A moment later, you wake up in a cold sweat with your heart pounding from the lingering weight of the nightmare that dragged you into a world of the past. As you pull the blanket closer to your chest and look around the dimly lit room, you sigh, knowing the only way to feel better is to talk with Kendo.

Except now it's the middle of the night as you slide out of bed and leave your room. Outside, the night air feels cool on your skin as you sit down on the small porch. You sigh as the weight of the past, the trial, and the sentence pressed on your mind. But just as the silence threatens to swallow you whole, Kendo emerges from the shadows and sits down beside you.

Her presence is comforting, like it always was. Silently, she passes you a cup of warm tea, a gesture that speaks volumes. She then pulls a cigarette from her pocket and lights it. You watch, waiting to see what her reaction will be as the smoke drifts through the air. She takes a long drag, then exhales.

Kendo knows you don't want to talk about it, understands the wounds are still too raw. Yet, you both know that there will come a time when the truth needs to be shared.

The steam from the tea swirls in the night air as she speaks softly. "I know it's not easy, and I won't push, but when you're ready, I'm here to listen. To share the burden, whatever it may be. Shaving six years off your sentence is no joke."

"I know," you nod and take a sip. The warm liquid is soothing as you swallow. The silence returns, but the weight of the past has dissipated. 

Null & Void

[sailingintothenight]

“WANNABE.” T.H. Imagine.

And what if after years of chasing each other like a cat and mouse, you and Tom started to wonder if you wanna be something else in each other's life?

A/N: I am posting a one shot after weeks of writer's block. I hope you like it. It's 9:30 pm in Peru and it's still April 28, so it's still my birthday! Give it a try. Pleaseeeeee! And yes, I borrowed a scene from Mean Girls (Because I loveeee that movie)

“Hello God, it's me again, (y/n). What's up? I know we haven't talked much lately, but, hey, listen, I have a favor to ask you- I have behaved well, I haven’t gotten drunk at any crazy party of any Hollywood star and I haven't accepted drugs, ever: I'm afraid my grandmother will appear in my room as a ghost and pull my blankets in the middle of the night, plus, I haven't make out with any Stone-cold Hollywood hottie, and trust me, I've had more than one chance. Anyway, about the favor–”

"Yes, but (y/n)'s grandfather invited us to his birthday party..."

Tom's voice startles you and cuts off your internal dialogue, turning you back to the reality.

It’s 6 am. The sun shines in the clear sky, and you are on a flight back to England in a luxury privet jet that is about to arrive at the airport, while Haz, Harry, Tom and you are sitting in comfortable velvety seats, with the view of morning sky on your left side. 

The exciting memory of your last recording still seemed to run through your veins, too exciting to let you sleep. Because that was the end, the goodbye after incredible months. All your efforts from the past months were hidden behind that last performance that looked like a fantasy, except for the kiss, ugh, you had to erase it from your mind. But now, you're going back home, ready to take a break away from the set-up bridge and blue and green backgrounds, away from the makeup artists who gave your face the final touches of the magic of Hollywood, far from the suit of a superhero who had just won her last battle and who got the cute boy, Peter Parker.

But not far away from Tom Holland.

Because evil takes a human form in Tom Holland, your lifelong neighbor.

How do you even begin to explain Tom Ho– Stop, people say that if you pronounce his name 3 times a curse falls on you.

But fans say Tom Holland is flawless, you heard his curly hair is insured for 10,000 dollars, his favorite movie is “Spider-man Homecoming”, duh, and very soon, “far from home”. One time he met Robert Downey Jr. in his own village and he started hyperventilating, and once he threw a fan's phone on the floor and she said it was awesome.

"Please don't tell me you're going to his birthday party." You complain, because you can't help it.

"Would that bother you that much, darling?" Tom smiles, tilting his head back so that his tender smile fits perfectly with his tender face. “Then of course I will go. Also, your grandfather still has the hope his granddaughter would get a man like me.”

"Ew. Why would my dear grandfather want me to be with someone who enjoys keeping a frog in his mouth?" You ask, earning yourself an Oscar for best actress with the innocence you exude and the seriousness you manage to put on your face, even when Tom's eyes narrow from the attack you just launched, while, enjoying the show, his friend and his younger brother laughs, shaking heads with a familiar expression on their faces because of the familiar discussion between you and him that happens, every two or three days. "Seriously, Tom, give the poor Henry a break."

"Henry?" Tom asks with real confusion, his accent thick, while the other male voices ask it in a collective whisper too.

"I named your frog Henry, hope it doesn't bother you." And you laugh, victorious to feel how Tom exhales the air through his nose.

“Seriously, (y/n), when will you confess that you are in love with me? You don't have to be so shy, darling.” Tom laughs too, using his finger to tap your nose, because he knows perfectly well that you don't like that, just as you don't like being called darling anymore. “Ray is a wise man, you should listen to your grandfather."

"Yes, if you like skinny ones."

"I'm not skinny. I have the perfect body.” Tom defends himself.

"For now, but in a couple of years you will named your big belly as your dad does after drinking with mine." You laugh like a little girl because you love Dom, because he's warm and funny, because he loves his wife and children, and because of how funny he is when he and your dad have had too much alcohol, like the time they started a cartwheel contest in the middle of the street. "Who's there? It's Dom Junior.”

"Shut up! My dad is still sexy!” A heavy silence falls over the small place as everyone looks at Tom with furrowed brows and true confusion, but that's when he realizes the choice of words he used to refer to his dad. "That's not what I meant!"

You raise your hands in a sign of peace, your gaze avoiding his as you stop yourself from laughing and mocking him.

"That's so wrong, Tom." Harry says, with a certain bittersweet taste on the tip of his tongue. "Now because of you I won't be able to see dad's belly the same way."

Harry and Haz chuckle at Dom's expense.

But when the jet landed smoothly on the headlight-lit runway in the early hours of the morning, the heavy hours from the past months feels now as if they weighed the same as a feather, pain and exhausting sleepless nights disappeared in the blink of an eye, and now, there is no oceans that could make you feel far away, because in the end, you always came back home.

"Besides..." You say to finish that conversation, your backpack on your shoulder before making the victory path towards the stairs to get off the plane. "I would like a boyfriend who can grow a mustache, not like the failed attempt on your face. Thank you very much."

"Hey!" Tom frowns as you pass him by, and his voice rises even higher than it already is. "My doctor says it's just a hormone problem."

"Damn, bro..." Harry laughs as he puts an arm around Tom's shoulder, giving him a brotherly hug before walking out to the car waiting outside. “(Y/n) will be hard to catch, you know? But try it, maybe you will make it in this century."

Harry laughs, and then, walks out of the plane.

"What does that mean?" Tom asks Harrison, who is still waiting by his side.

"I think he meant that you are in love with (y/n), but you haven't noticed it yet."

Harrison chuckles, but after patting Tom on the back, he rushes to place a hand on his best friend's shoulder to stop him.

“Hey, mate… you, uh…” Tom's eyes soften, almost to the point where his brown eyes resembled the gaze of a little 5-year-old boy, sad, and lost. “You haven't told anyone why we came back, right?”

“Of course not.” Harrison says, and his gaze smiles just like his lips. “Don’t worry about anything, okay? We are home, you are home. You can take the time you need to rest.”

Tom nods, unsure, but tries to be strong as they both get off the plane. 

The gray autumn clouds hang with invisible strings in the sky as Tom Holland, actor, handsome, wealthy, and the loneliest person in the world, releases a deep breath that is lost among the sounds of the world, because his world is no longer sparkling or velvety thanks to the cameras or a red carpet, and while his new movie is a box office hit that never in his best dreams he would have imagined, something wasn't right for him.

That’s why he is back home.

The car ride is silent as some sleep, except you and Tom, because your eyes seem to recognize the streets you grew up in, because your hearts recognize your home. But for Tom, he recalls tilting his body to the left and a camera captured his best actor pose a week ago, but since then, his body has felt null, as if floating in the air and no longer responding to his orders. He was crystal clear, but a few people seemed to see clearly through him. Tom tries to convince himself that the tickling in his hands is his body's response to tiredness and not his anxiety, because he suffers it too, but he feels that something is eating his soul.

"Are you okay, Tom?"

Among a sea of ​​people, Tom Holland has always pretended to be an interesting person, but now, he takes a deep breath and looks at you, nervous, lost in the middle of that huge world, but you, looking back at him gives him peace, because he doesn’t feel alone anymore. 

What did you think? That someone is interested in knowing if you are really okay? Of course they care, right?

“Of course, darling.” Tom smiles, as if in a snap of fingers, everything is fine.

But there, he catches a movement of yours.

You tilt your head to the side, like his beloved Tessa when she is curious about something, but he doesn't say it out loud because you would take it the wrong way, but the movement in slow motion worthy of a Hollywood scene and the serenity of your gaze makes Tom hold his breath, that breath that previously didn't fit his chest with so many problems that he carried inside.

But suddenly he can breathe again, finally.

“Okay.”

The minutes pass until the car stops on a street that you two recognize perfectly. When everyone is out, the car leaves, but because your favorite boys are about to leave, too, you hug everyone as the promise to celebrate Harrison's birthday next week hangs in the air. You love them so much, because they are beautiful people who helped you to save yourself from the storms of doubts and fears, each of them in their own charming way, and for that, you were grateful.

"My friend Danielle is coming so I would like you to meet her, Haz." You chuckle adorably before leaving, noting that Harrison's smile is as real as his desire to meet her.

"I'm looking forward to it, darling."

"Wait, why he can call you darling?" Tom says, and for a second, you see a sparkle in the brightness of his eyes, but as the door of his house opens and his beloved Tessa runs to receive him, the confusion disperses like the morning haze.

"There she is the only darling you will ever get, Thomas."

And the moment you turn around, because the door of your house opens too, you lose sight of Tom's honest smile and the question that he hides behind his sweet eyes. Was he in love with you all this time without realizing it? And what if he wanna be your boyfriend? 

Oh, right. The favor that you were going to ask God for? To get you a boyfriend, a cute one, a hot one... maybe like Tom. Weird, isn't it?

Tag list: @galaxies-of-the-heart​

[izzyovercoffee]

Prompt number: 08. “Can you stay?”  Fandom: Mass Effect / SW Crossover Rating: PG Warnings/Tags: none that I can tell, ask to tag Summary: Michael and Dr. T’vasan of MandoSeC have a polite conversation on the merits of dying in a hospital bed or on Illium. Kind of. And Mereel’s there.  Notes: Some of you might remember the crossover I constructed for Mereel---which included acquiring and then building a PMC based in Illium. I had also constructed a handful of OCs that were, essentially, his “inner circle” before any of his null vode traveled over. Cherry and Michael are two of that circle.

##. the good news is it only took him five days

  It was always busiest in the hospital in the wake of a visit from Commander Shepard, the Commander Shepard. Michael could practically predict the rush of security, the hustle and bustle that came with everyone falling over themselves to get a glimpse of their savior of humanity.

Michael was not, in any way, jealous or bitter---just that he remembered, quite distinctly, the way her face changed when someone had called her that to her face. Like a mixture of anger, and grief, and something dark and unplaceable flashed across her expression---there, and gone, in a glimpse.

The average person wasn’t always on their toes, on edge and kept an eye out for the kind of dramatic micro-expressions someone might give, but Michael wasn’t exactly…

Well, he wasn’t exactly a normal kinda guy. Or he wasn’t, right up until his right leg got cut short at the knee, and then he got put on medical rest. So there’s that. He wasn’t on duty, but he still saw what he saw.

She’s just one person, and the hell out there he’d seen needed something more than hero. Took more than a single “savior.” He couldn’t imagine the weight on her shoulders, though he wondered if maybe his CO did.

“I see you thinking, Michael,” Dr. Por’shata T’vasan’s lovely voice cut through the haze of his contemplation, and he smiled a wide, toothy grin at her. “I see the wheels turning, in there.”

Her mottled, reddish-pink skin took on the cold fluorescent lights of the hospital’s wing and cast her in an almost sickly sheen of purple, instead of the vibrant red he found so familiar in the field. 

But here, in the hospital, codename Cherry was just another Asari, treating just another human male soldier who lost a part of a limb in some totally predictable mayhem.

“Doctor Cherry Bomb,” he said, “You know I ain’t had a single thought in my life, and I ain’t about to start now.” 

“Mhmm,” she hummed in agreement, and though she tried to school her expression he could see she wanted to laugh. 

He wanted to see her laugh again---it’d only been an hour, but it was something of a favorite thing of his. But, he also had a more pressing thought in mind. 

“Your birthday’s comin’ up. You doin’ anything fun?” 

Her smile died, and he realized he’d asked the wrong thing. 

“I, uh…” 

His CO took that moment to interrupt, entering the room with the ease of a man Michael always aspired to be. Neat suit, pressed, no tie, shirt unbuttoned by one at the neck, hair the perfect kind of unkempt. 

“How’re you holding up, Michael?” Skirata asked. “They fit you with the prosthesis yet?” 

“Yeah,” Michael said, and leaned over to the window at his immediate right, to the shelf just below the frame to pull out the leg. The mold perfectly fitted to the stump at the end of his thigh. “Just takes some gettin’ used to.” 

Mereel circled around the medical bed, gently brushing past Cherry with a hand at her shoulder, and Michael felt something hot burn in his throat. He swallowed it down, and watched as he continued on, to get a better look at the prosthetic. 

“Kandosii,” he said to himself, clearly reverent and admiring, even if Michael’s translator couldn’t parse out what he’d just said. “They got the model right this time.” 

Michael snorted. “Only took ‘em four tries.”

“Four tries and a very earnest man knocking on many office doors at all hours, repeatedly,” Dr. Cherry said under her breath. 

Mereel laughed. “Fourth time’s the charm, right?”

“I think it’s supposed to be third.”

“Well in my case, I’d say it’s seventh---but who’s counting?” And then he laughed again, though Michael didn’t really get the joke. It flew over his head, and he couldn’t be sure if Cherry understood, either---her expression only said exasperation, but… 

But Michael saw plenty of ladies also look at Skirata with exasperation that said something more. 

Wow, he needed to cut that jealousy shit out. 

“Why’s Doctor Cherry Bomb busy on her birthday, Mereel?” Michael asked, right to the point. “You two throwing a party without me?” 

Mereel’s brow rose, and he angled a meaningful look at Cherry, who kept her eyes fixed on the medical datapad in her hands. Mereel turned his attention back to Michael. 

“We’re getting called back to Illium,” he said---straight to the point. Michael felt his heart drop. “There’s activity in Asari space, and it’s spreading. We’re needed there.” He paused, looked at Cherry, and then back at Michael. “And I can’t say when we’ll be back.” 

“What about me?” he asked, immediately. “You can’t leave me here.” 

“Michael,” Cherry said, “it’s not safe---”

“Fuck safe,” Michael snapped. “Safest place in the galaxy for me is with you.”

Cherry’s eyes widened.

“Oookay,” Mereel said. “Awkward.” He rubbed the back of his head, and turned towards the door. “I’m gonna go. Let you two talk that out.”

“Mereel, wait---” Cherry turned, reaching for his arm. 

Mereel sidestepped her grip, and paused at the door to the room. He stared down the hall, at something, or someone, Michael couldn’t see. The noise outside, though, told Michael that Shepard was still out there, somewhere. 

“Tell you what,” Mereel said, and turned back to look at Cherry, then Michael. “You find a way to get comfortable with your upgrade---” he motioned to the prosthetic, “---and I’ll expedite your release.” 

“Mereel, no.” Cherry shook her head. “You can’t do that.” 

“I can do that, actually,” Mereel replied. “And he’s right, Por’shata. You know he is.”

“We’re going to be---”

“You saw the report,” Mereel interrupted. “You saw the comparisons.” His eyes went back to Michael, and then to Cherry. “Michael’s seen them, too.”

“What?” She looked at him, and slapped his shoulder---gently. “You don’t have clearance.”

“Since when do I ask permission?” Michael asked, and got another gentle smack in reply. “Ow!” 

“You got a week,” Mereel said. “Maybe a little more, if I can find transport to squeeze you two in. I’ll have to check with Hector.” And then he stepped out into the hall, bringing his arm up to trigger the gauntlet around his wrist. The orange glow of a hologram opened up---and Mereel looked at Michael. “A week starting now. I’ll be checking in.” 

And then the door cycled shut, closing out the noise and chaos of the wing and leaving Cherry alone with Michael. 

“What is wrong with you, Michael?” 

She looked mad. He expected that.

“I don’t wanna die in a hospital, Cherry.” He reached over to the prosthesis, and brought it down next to the end of his right leg. “And I don’t wanna die in a bed.” 

“You’re not going to do either of those things.” She sounded less mad, and more… sad. Like something caught in her throat. “But you will die if you come with us.” 

“Then I die,” he said. “I ain’t got nothin’ left, ‘cept y’all. ‘Cept you.” 

“I want you to know that I’m incredibly angry with you right now,” she said, voice steady, as if talking to him with the distance of a doctor to a patient and not a friend to a friend. But then her hand touched his shoulder and squeezed, and he looked at her. “But I can see that you’ve made up your mind, and I’ll help you.”

“I know you’d do the same,” he said, and covered her hand with his. “I know you.”

She closed her eyes with a soft exhale. “Alright, so I’m a hypocrite. That too.”

“Ain’t we all.” He laughed. 

She leaned down, and pressed a soft kiss to the dark curls at his temple. “You’re such an idiot.”

“You love it,” he said.

“I hate it.”

“No, I’m pretty sure you love it.”

She smacked him again, and he laughed.

[spottedlekkudancer]

Same Heart

Chapter 2 - Onslaught        CH1

SUM: You are a Colonel from the Battlecruiser Absolution now aboard Finalizer in an attempt to close a banking deal for the Order abroad. Not much has ever given you cause to seek a significant other before, however, when several people on the ship start taking a personal interest in you things may change.(KyloxReaderxHux)

Word Count: 4000+

Warnings: N/A

The next morning came swiftly: sleep having taken you out like a highly trained assassin after retiring to your room. You had the day off but your body’s internal clock wouldn’t allow you to sleep in. So the next thing on your mind was your ever growling stomach. Typically you would just have your provisions brought to your quarters, however, as a guest on this ship you would have to dress in your uniform and go to the cafeteria again.

After grabbing your own tray you stood awkwardly in a corner of the dining area, scanning the tables for your Lieutenant. You previously sent him a message asking if he had already eaten and if not if he would share the meal time with you. Eating with Zack was better than eating alone with all trooper and grey coats’ eyes on you. You spotted him quickly: he already had taken a seat with an unmasked stormtrooper and to your surprise Matt the radar tech.

Zack gave a quick smile to you as you sat down next to the trooper, filling in the square. He was already deep in a conversation.

“Ridiculous, where do you get this stuff man? Are you like in love with this guy?” The trooper gave a short laugh: his unshaven double chin giggling with his own delight. “Why don’t you give him a kiss for me, huh?” Zack chuckled at this as well, Matt on the other hand seemed very unamused.

“What are we talking about?” It was a strange thing to hear when you were just engaging the three men.

“Matt over here wants to bed Kylo Ren.” The heavy man pushed the food on his tray around. You noted his ID number, he was part of the 501st Legion.

Zack was the one to answer next. Clearing your confused expression. “Ignore Tim, Colonel (L/N), He’s just teasing. Matt here was telling us some of the things his friend knows about the Commander.”

“We’re off duty, Just (F/N) will do for today.” You corrected, then immediately turned to Matt. His face was hot with anger. “What things? I’d like to know.”

“Uuugh here we go.” Tim groaned with his mouth full. You shot him a look of discontent and he momentarily turned his attention away from you and Matt to talk to Zack.

Matt’s hands slid off the table into his lap. “Why do you care?”

His tone was one you did not desire when someone addressed you, but he was upset. You were letting a lot of things you would normally reprimand go on the Finalizer. “For a better understanding of our Commander maybe. Maybe I just want to be included in a friendly back and forth. Take it however you like.”

Matt straightened in his seat. “Well how do you feel about him?” He turned the conversation on you first, some of the animosity he carried leaving.

“I know nothing about the man. Therefore, my opinion is null.” You took a few bites before continuing. Matt wasn't going to speak again until you answered him. “But if you must know: I feel like he is a loose canon. Or at the very least needs to find a coping method for his feelings other than hurting the things and people around him. I guess it would be understandable if they insulted him directly, but

I mean we are all on the same side here. Do you not agree?”

The way his brow knitted gave away that he in fact did not agree. He glared you down for a long intense moment, drawing the attention of Tim and Zack. Without any body language to warn you he shot up out of his chair and swiped his arm across the table. Successfully knocking everyone’s trays to the floor. He didn’t once brake eye contact with you as he left; his nostrils flaring with every breath.

For a moment you were stunned. Zack’s voice was the one to break your empty thoughts. “(F/N)?”

You connected gazes with him and then back down at your tunic. It was splattered with your unfinished breakfast. “Well. Guess I’ll be leaving too.” You brushed a piece of grey protein matter off your shoulder.

As you departed the other two men shared a shrug and returned to the mess hall’s buffet.

After a brief refresh and change of clothes you checked your data pad. There was a new message from one of the many officers. They were requesting your presence in the room Kylo had destroyed the night before; wanting a verbal and written witness statement. The latter of the two was easy, you had typed it out before leaving the scene and all you had to do was forward it to the officer in charge.

When you arrived two petty officers greeted you. You immediately noticed the back end of Matt. He was on all fours with his head stuck in one of the damaged panels. You mindlessly answered there 101 questions as you watched him work. He really had no idea what he was doing and you wondered where supervisor was.

“Thank you for your time Colonel.” The female officer nodded to you as she and her partner left.

Time. Time was all you had today, and time meant boredom. Boredom lead to bad decisions on your part. Like the one you were making right now: to go and talk to Matt again. You couldn’t put your finger on why you kept torturing yourself; approaching the man had yet to be a pleasant experience. Maybe it was the way that baggy uniform was trying to hide that more than perfect butt of his that got you to stick around just now. He did have it so perfectly on display for you.

That was a wildly inappropriate thought. You scolded yourself.

“What up Matt.” You made an attempt at sounding like the stormtrooper that kicked his wrench yesterday. His reaction was better than you anticipated, apparently your impersonation was good. He jolted up, hitting his head hard on the metal encasing he hovered between. He grunted and rubbed at the spot, pulling himself out slowly this time. “Whoa, hey you okay?” You leaned against to equipment next to him.

Every line in his face grew deep with a frown. “What do you want? Don’t you have something better to do?” Kylo wasn’t the least interested in making eye contact with you. Still all he felt was your stare burning into his head. You insulted him to his face, unknowingly at that, but nevertheless. If he looked at you now he might do something he couldn’t take back. He wasn’t just ready to blow his cover.

“Nope.” You said with plane cheerfulness. It was unprofessional, but so was everyone else besides Hux on this ship.

“Go bother someone else. I’m busy.”

You rolled your eyes at his dismissal, you were getting use to the rude way he rejected you. “You’d be less busy if you blunted that red and green wire and disconnect the TMA strip.”

He halted his movements.

“I mean you are trying to turn all power in this room off safely so it can be replaced right?” You watched carefully as the man nodded. “Good well then you will need these.” You squatted to his level and handed him a pair cable strippers, and then pointed to a thick red and green striped wired deep in the computer’s box. “Remove about two inches from the end.”

He took the pliers from you. “Why does a Colonel know how to do this?”

You smiled glad he was taking interest. “It’s not like i was trained in it. I just pride myself in my droid building skills. Not hard to figure this out from that. Same mechanics.”

“You have built a droid?” there was disbelief laced in the question.

“Well no. More like re-built. I have a B1 battle droid I use as an assistant waiting for me back on Absolution.”

The frown he carried faded and his shoulders started relaxing. “Clone War era. Why even bother with something so out of date?”

“Well Her programing isn’t out of date. I change it periodically.” You handed him the next tools he would need.

“Her?” It was an odd thing to address a droid as, especially a B1.

“Oh yes, I installed a RTS model translator chip. It was a surprise to me too when it influenced a feminine personality. So I ended up changing her name from Bucket to Sterling.”

“Sterling?”

“Ya. I had her painted a shiny gray. That sandy brown never was appealing to me, and almost every thing from that era comes in it. I also equipped her with k-FM top 40 droid music and a YYTW-c4 program that allows her to play orchestral music. She really seems to enjoy singing while cleaning.” You rambled on about Stirling. Even if he wasn't actually interested you jumped at any chance to talk about your accomplishment with her. She was the closest thing you had to a friend and you had worked so hard and long on getting her just right.

Kylo still wasn’t looking at you, but he could feel your aura light up with elation as you went on about the stupid droid. “It’s a B1 and you have it cleaning?”

You scoffed. “Come on, let's be honest. Those battle droids weren’t very good at fighting. Their whole shtick was to come in overwhelming numbers and hope they shot their target. But Stirling does still carry a hand blaster. I gave her a DC-17.”

That was something else old enough to be a collectible. “What’s with all the ‘rise of the Empire’ shit. Are you obsessed with that era or something?”

You scratched the back of your head thinking. No one had asked you that before. “I wouldn’t say Obsessed. But ya, kinda. I guess this huge fascination with droids and old tech stuff  came from my love for Darth Vader. I heard once as a child that he built a droid and was good with fixing things before he became the infamous inquisitor. Since then I wanted to build a companion of my own.”

That one caught Kylo completely off guard. “Darth Vader?” He stopped working, anger melting away enough to watch you instead.

You were looking up at the ceiling, in a day dream like haze. “Don’t get me wrong. As much as I admire him I know I could never be anything like the man. I’m no force user, but just the sheer power and restraint he had over others and himself. It’s awe inspiring, ya know?”

Perhaps you weren't as bad as he originally thought. Kylo figured you at least had good taste in this matter.

“Matt! You done with that box yet!?” The brass voice of Matt’s supervisor interrupted your train of thought. She had come around the corner and into the room.

“Almost ma’am” He spoke through gritted teeth, not at all trying to hid his loathing for the woman.

You took a step forward. “That’s my fault. I have been providing a distraction with questions about the extent of the damage.” You passed her. “Excuse me.”

“Of course Colonel. Not a problem.” She sounded less irritated with your excuse for Matt.

Now the question of what to do next stood. You didn’t want to go and just sulk in your room, nor did you want to go to a common area. Making friends wasn’t something you enjoyed. Too many years of “professional relationships only” being beat into you. You wished you were aboard Absolution and able to do real work. Work was your only purpose in life.

A thought struck you. Perhaps with permission Hux would allow you to do more under his command, as if this was a short term reassignment instead of a business visit.

Hux was where he always was: the bridge; his choses team of Lieutenants bustling around with his orders. You decided on at least trying to be pleasent with him. You catch more bees with honey than vinegar, after all. “General, Sir.” You called from the rear observation deck. “A moment of your time, please?” He excused himself quietly from the subordinate to oblige you. When he got close enough you continued with your request in hushed tones: feeling that if you came off more abrasive like you usually did he might say no. “Sir, may I be short with you?”

Though at times you could have blunt or snarky comebacks they were never directed towards him. You were always to speak in a roundabout or elegant way even when upset with him. So naturally the question peaked his interest. “Is this about Ren?” He wondered if the bloody Knight had insulted you again or even attacked you. The man’s rage was predictable and more so, worthy of a complaint. You shook your head negatively. A small wave of relief for Hux. “Then I don’t see why not.”

“Sir, I’m not use to down time. Do you have anything you’d like done that you-yourself can not attend to at the moment?”

Hux didn’t even take a moment to think. He had a long list of tasks every day that he couldn’t delegate to the officers under him. But a Colonel, he could use. “How do you feel about carrying out discipline?”

“Anything will do Sir. I don’t mind being the ‘bad guy’.” This was true. It had bothered you when you were first assigned to such things, but that faded quickly. The first Order was already viewed as a monster among most of the galaxy. So a few more handfuls of people was little more than a nuisance.

Hux was pleased. “I’ll send you a list. Sergeant Tolle will need a shuttle prepared for him. He is to be demoted and shipped out to Solken3 Base. The others are minor offenses and you may deal with how you wish.” He waited for your acceptance.

Whatever Tolle did must have been serious. Solken3 was a wasteland where the Order sent people they wanted to forget about. “I’ll have it done by next meal Sir.”

Without delay you set upon completing this small mission: first preparing  transport for Tolle, next sending troopers to Tolle’s dorm to pack his things for him while he was working, then issuing the appropriate documents to Solken3, and finally several hours later- when all your ducks were in a row- pulling the Sergeant out of duty to give him the bad news. Naturally he wanted to argue the sudden change, but you would hear none of it. If you needed too you would have a pair of troopers escort him to his ship. He knew this and the arguing didn’t last long.

Taking care of the others was far more simple. Some you sent to reconditioning, others to janitorial duty on the lower levels for the rest of the standard quarter year. More often than not Hux would have pulled them into the training room very nonchalantly and pitted them against a fighter far superior than them, or simply instruct a group of guards to beat on said individual. This however, never sat right with you. It was something he picked up in his youth and never grew out of. Knowing his father Brendol like you did you weren’t surprised by the development of man’s behaviour early on. You grew up knowing only this Hux and you use to wonder if Armitage was ever innocent and kind.

It was when you reached the last person on your list that you had your first bit of real trouble with the task at hand. You were under the impression going into the conversation that this would be the easiest of the lot, that’s why you saved it for last. Yalhem, a petty officer, had failed a block sweep. There was no contraband found in his bunking, but it was unusually untidy. You figured a verbal slap on the writs would be enough to satisfy everyone.

Apparently not.

“If this happens again you will face consequences. Do I make myself clear?”

Kylo overheard you chiding the younger officer. Your tone was the same you used with him the night before and this made his blood run hot. He dropped his previous thoughts on what he was doing and went to follow the clear authoritative reprove. After tuning corners he found you. Comparatively to him you were small and he found any other though of you was incorrect. Literally beneath him. You were petite, inconsistent, and annoying with the way you thought you could run things.

This was the third time he saw you trying to make your presence hold some meaning other than a paper lackey known. Kylo was having none of it. Your place was behind a desk; not berating and chastising every one of his subsidiary workers, including himself.

“(L/N)” his long legs made for determined strides, stepping in between you and the officer he did not know the name of. He pushed you by the shoulder back some making every inch of his incorrigible towering frame vividly menacing. “Three people on this ship have the power to dictate over these men. You are not one of them.”

“Excuse you?!” This was the last straw with him. For too long he had shown disrespect to you. “I have the  sovereignty to do as I see fit at anytime.” You couldn't help but think about why this guy was always around at the worst times. Yalhem started slithering away slowly, far more frightened than you were by the brute in front of him.

“No, you need to mind your place!” spit flew out of the enraged man’s mouth. Whipping out his saber and cutting you down would be an easy thing for him right now.

You crossed your hands over your chest and lowered your voice. Something you had picked up when dealing with aggressive men on the daily. If you stayed the calmer of the two, the more likely you were to come out the victor or an argument. “Maybe you should take a hard look in the mirror techie. You aren’t one of those ‘three people’ either.”

Techie. Matt. Kylo was still in his radar technician clothes. His realization of the mistake came too late, he would have to continue to lambaste you for the sake of pride.

“Matt. I don’t know if you think you have some kind of special place here because of your elegend relationship with the Commander, but no amount of favoritism is going to spare you from my hand. You are just as insignificant to me and everyone else on this ship as a pile of Wampa pie.” You made an obscenely disgusted face, emphasizing the offel nature of the beasts’ excrement.

Kylo, or rather Matt was fuming. Now at both you and himself. “At least I am not called on half way across the galaxy to sign an otherwise worthless document.”

You opened your mouth to speak but in an instant of realization were struck with awe. A brief recovery. “How do you know that?” It was not announced to anyone what you were here for, for all anyone under Hux knew you could be a new permanent. You shook this off too, returning to your upbraiding.  “Never mind. Weather you like it or not I AM your superior, and will not be spoken to in such a way.”

“Funny, You haven't corrected me on it before. I thought you liked it.” Through gritted anger his words were thick with sarcasm.

“Oh yes supper funny.” You came back dropping the higher ground to match the derision he gave. “As funny as it will be to watch you clean the sweat off the training room floors every night for the next standard half year.”

Kylo pointed an accusing finger. “You still don't get it. No one gave you the right to-

“Hux gave me jurisdiction over punishments while i'm here. And I’m positive you wouldn’t speak to him like this.” Your argument had turned to one resembling siblings or an old married couple. Too full of himself to back down, both feeling everything they said was the work of a god.

“You’d be really fucking surprised princess-

A chime came from the tablet in your arms. You held up a finger to hush Matt and surprisingly it worked. Though as you were looking down at the notification you missed the fact Matt received a message too.

Return to the bridge.

It was from Hux. “Speak of the devil.” You murmured. You didn’t bother engaging Matt again. He only lead to more trouble.

Kylo’s message on the other hand said something for more pressing to him and wouldn’t be able to keep up the fight if he wanted to.

The Supreme Leader has called. Where are you?

You snatched the com from Mitaka, glaring him down into submission. “Lieutenant, patch me into the main Hangar now!”

This time he does as you say, clicking away on the control panel at your hip. He gives you the nod to go.

“Flight Control. This is Colonel (L/N). I need six standby fighters, Zeta and Epsilon squads, launched to execute Tango-Delta-48.”

A staticked voice links back to you. “Uh.. Sir? This is Flight Control, Hangar one is locked down until

“That is an ORDER Officer.” You cut him off, well aware of the excuses.

“Yes Sir, right away.” His speech is hurried this time. “All stations get ready for a draft we’re opening the shield doors. On my mark. Ten. nine. Eight...”

When you had arrived in the main hub of the ship Hux wasn’t be found. Instead you were greeted by a very disgruntled Mitaka. For nearly a half hour the two of you exchanged small talk while waiting for the general to return. Then something unusual happened. An officer called out that resistance ships were pulling into your quadrant from hyperspace. The kind of ships were yet to be determined, however, that wasn’t to be analyzed now.

The ability to assess and determine the details of a situation make the Order’s elite revered and respected as vigilant guardians of maintaining peace and justice over their respective systems. In these situations careful coordination and patience  between man and machine is imperative to the success of a mission. That’s why you lept into action. If Hux nor Kylo was around to give orders you’d be sitting ducks.

Mitaka was quick to advise otherwise, even going as far to say he would give commands in Hux’s wake. This was unacceptable. He had no Navy or Army command training. Once this point was firmly made he had little left to argue with.

As the rebel group drops out of hyperspace the ties are ordered to maneuver defensively around the perimeter to ensure maximum coverage of the Finalizer’s surface. Following up on their new instructions the relentless squadrons exercised caution with the approaching battle. Once orbit has been secured you order the deployment of two tie bombers and a tie defender.

You signal for all coms live. Every word exchanged amongst your men is important.

“Bombers Zulu-918, 938 prepare initiate depart sequence.”

“Defender Foxtrot-005 stand by for final safety checklist.”

“Zulu-938 Roger that.”

“Zulu-918 Roger that”

“Foxtrot-005 standing by, Roger.”

“Foxtrot-005 crew is secured and pre-flight list checks out.”

“Good on go, Foxtrot-005 Roger that.”

“Colonel, All personnel accounted for. With your authorization we’re ready.”

Your calmness, that cool and calculating face, was returning. This was good news, but the tension behind your shoulder grew. You could do this. It had been sometime since your last fleet battle but you were confidant. You had been taught well, even under Grand Admiral Thrawn’s standards. “Good work men, you are released. Safe flight and let's keep the formations tight out there.”

“Zulu-918, 938, Foxtrot-oo5 You’re authorized to initiate departure.”  

“Zulu-918 Cross-locked engaged, disengaging primary docking. Confirmed.”

“Zulu-938 Confirmed. Transferring vector heading for hangar door approach.”

“Foxtrot-005  green light on final pre-launch sequence confirmed.”

“Colonel, Flight command confirms all troops secured and departing. Flight Command standing by.”

(Mun: I know guys I’m sorry. It’s late. I’m a procrastinator. And I know “cliff hangers” are a shit move. BUT It’s getting long. It would be well over 7000wc if I had EVERYTHING I wanted in this chapter. No worries. That just means another long chapter next week or an extra chapter total.)

Thanks for reading <3

[urpoliceacademyonenightsta-blog1]

prompt taken from side blog,

@adonischosen​ said: Whiskey , shadow, soft 

would this night affect both of them?

would this night hazed by alcohol, the stench of whiskey and sex in the air, empty bottles scattered across the room, piles of clothing hastily torn aside, make her hesitate when administering her sense of justice upon him when the time comes?

he doesn't truly know, for her case --- for him, emotions were easy to detach when it came to his end game, end goal. he didn't exist. his emotions didn't exist. yuzuru saeki didn't exist. he says all of this, yet a foreign feeling drumming in his chest forms as he sees her body illuminated by the moonlight, clinging onto his own tightly enough as if he'd escape her grasp if she hesitated a mere second.

her unconsciousness wouldn't be wrong, there, in the long run, he mused. he found himself combing stray locks of her hair with his fingers, lightly brushing his lips against the top of her head as he cradled her closer to his heart, the steady sound of his heartbeat merely luring her to a deeper sleep.

whatever 'this' was... it has an undeniable ending. one way or another, there was no way to scavenge or even consider a future between the two of them; it'd be impossible, justice first and foremost in his mind, even if he ends up being stopped by the very person sleeping peacefully in his arms. she would be his salvation, even if she goes against his ideals, his beliefs, him as an entity in the end.

he finally finished making the collar, the judgement tool, with rei --- the details were fleshed out, his grand scheme of a plan for december striking down the days until x-day were formed. the pawns on the chessboard were ready to sacrifice their humanity for their king, the clear suffering screaming in each of their hearts sated for their utmost loyalty. he shall cleanse malice in japan, starting with shinjuku. preferably with hoshino's help, of course. she was the only one that... saw him.

his face was passive as he lightly brushed a thumb against ichika's throat, exactly at the place where the collar will be later on. it'd be a shame to see it covered, he thought. she had such soft skin...

he found himself slowly pulling her away from him, watching the way her smile twitched to a frown, eyes darting behind her closed eyes as if desperately searching for someone.

he let out a deep breath as he angled his upper body on top of her, brushing his lips against her neck with love bites and leaving the trail of his tongue to null the brief amount of pain. soon, he would no longer be able to do this.

a soft moan escaped her lips and filled the darkened room, saeki's eyes narrowing just silently, need surging in his stomach.

soon, he would merely think about their night together like this as fond memories --- all memories he has had with her he used as a base to understand how it felt to have happiness taken away from someone, to understand suffering and sadness. with his mother, he did, at one point, care for her; however, not in the magnitude in which he found himself fond of hoshino. his mother never saw him as yuzuru. hoshino, on the other hand,

a large hand cradled her cheek, thumb rubbing against her lips, eyes following the move as if he was an outsider, a puppet tied with strings,

perhaps in another life he'd be able to supply the relationship she desired. the looks she sent his way, the adoration aimed at the police officer she has thought she's grown to know during police academy training, the way her features immediately brightened when she saw him, unafraid to pour her heart out to him with or without alcohol to let out her stress, frustrations, happiness...

he couldn't supply her that. the yuzuru she's in love with doesn't exist, after all.

however, moments like this, moments where she whispers 'i need you' unconsciously in her sleep causing his eyes to widen just briefly, a part of him, as undeserving as he was, as anything that welcomed him in the afterlife was the flaming pits of hell, fancied the thought of being exactly whom she thought he truly was.

would he be happy, he thought? would these fabricated emotions lodged in his chest when he was not playing as zero, the savior, but as saeki, the police officer, be genuine? would this... relationship with hoshino be different?

his ideals, views, plans would not deteriorate from these thoughts. he planned out his desires to rid the world of malice years ago, planned out the individuals he'd use to accomplish this goal, reformed adonis, all before he met her. a tingle of happiness in his darkened soul would not be enough to sway him to give up everything he has ever accomplished. the crying, suffering hearts of the people walking among japan, seeking someone to administer justice for them wouldn't allow it. his beliefs wouldn't allow it. he did not deserve to feel this brief moment of tranquility, but hoshino wasn’t aware of that just yet.

he watched the way her eyes scrunched up just slightly, lips parted --- signs she was slowly waking up, he mused. also a sign he should drop these thoughts for the meantime, to live in the moment, be the saeki that she thought him to be. he found himself leaning in, lips within proximity of her own, watched the way she woke up with heavy lids, looking at saeki's sudden appearance with confusion, observed the way her lips unknowingly moved against his own as if she wanted to voice out a question.

his eyes smiled as he angled his head to fully capture her lips with his own, the taste emitting from her lips addictive, almost as if she was his own aphrodisiac. or perhaps that was the whiskey he still felt in his system, dulling his senses, making her seem more alluring in the moonlight than ever before, making her skin feel as if it was the softest surface he has ever touched.

nonetheless, the way she reciprocated his lip movements lazily, as if disconnected from her sleep-filled thoughts made his heart flutter with those same emotions he toyed with earlier.

he doesn't love her. not in the sense that was so commonly known in romance. but, he couldn't deny the necessity of hoshino's presence in his life, in understanding him, uncovering the truths behind x-day in december, in her bond with him.

he doesn't love her, but perhaps in another life these emotions stemming from his chest when he pulled away, watching her lazy smile as she cradled his face with one of her own hands, the soft touch from her fingers dominating his senses,

perhaps in another life these emotions surging in his chest would be those of 'love'. for now, however, the mask that is yuzuru saeki was all hers until dawn.

[seenashwrite]

The Midwife: Part Three

Status: Complete (Part 3 of 4) Word Count: 3.7K Category: Multi-part; Behind-the-scenes canon compliant; Mystery; Teamwork; Historical; On-the-hunt   Rating: Teen & Up Character(s): Various O.C.s; References to familiar people/places Pairing(s): N/A Warnings: None Overall Summary: In the mid-1950s, a member of the New York City chapter of the Men of Letters is sent to the United Kingdom to assist with what appears to be another stack of cold case dead-ends, when he suddenly finds himself questioning one of his closest-held convictions.

         *~* The Midwife : Master Post *~*

I’d been wrong before.

No, this was how I’d die, walled in by heavy clouds that had lazily seeped down into the fog. They mixed with it seamlessly, swirling into tiny tornadoes. It was almost as if our surroundings wanted to make damn well sure we couldn’t find our way out.

He’d probably held promise at some point, they’d write. Perhaps a tragedy, hard to say, being taken away at so young an age, lost out on the moors, before the promise might’ve revealed itself. He leaves behind a fiancée who will most assuredly move on quickly, about a month from now, give-or-take, so as not to forfeit all the money her father has invested in the planned nuptials, please place your bets now. In lieu of flowers, move on with your lives as there is nowhere to send them, seeing as how the Men of Letters will deny he even existed.

I’m sure Burt was wishing I didn’t exist. I had brought us out here, with my idiotic decision. I didn’t want him to be lost with me, though if there could be a silver lining to the thick clouds, it would be that his family would envelop the Moles, the former members and civilians alike, bringing such pressure to bear that I wouldn’t envy them. They’d not let Burt be lost for long, that was fact, no question in my mind.  

Burt had never asked many questions of me.

I knew far more about him, his family, his many likes, his few dislikes, his past, his present. I’d always wondered if he thought I’d left him hanging with my shrugs and short replies about anything more personal than what Colleen was upset about in a given week, and I suppose now I had my answer. He was done waiting on me to decide what he should know.

“What did you say to them?” he repeated.

I blinked in surprise at the stern expression and no-nonsense voice. “What?” I blurted.

“What!? About the case! Was it about her daughter?” he demanded. “Did you tell them what we’d been thinking? I know you didn’t put it in writing, or else we’d have been sent to some back room in the furthest chapter they could find.”

I stayed quiet.

“I know they knew about the colluding with witches theory because I helped you type up the damn reports - you kept misspelling everything, wasted a whole ribbon, you were so excited, even though we weren’t really convinced! All because you thought it was something that was finally going to get them to notice you. And like a dummy, I went along.”

I crossed my arms. All I could manage to do was look into the fog. Done with its twisting, it was folding in on itself, edging closer at what seemed like a borderline alarming rate, getting denser with every inch. And I found I didn’t care. I wished it would leave Burt alone and swallow me up.  

“The Men of Letters have had vast resources in place long before anyone ever knew they existed,“ Burt continued. "They’ve always known about angels.”

“Your family tell you that, too?” I asked bitterly.

“Yeah, they did!” he shot back. “And it doesn’t take a genius to put it together - when the lore goes from nothing to left to find, to a random professor in Maine publishing revolutionary theological breakthroughs, translating Enochian left-and-right. Of course she had a heavenly source. No wonder the witch thing didn’t wash with them!”

“You can’t be sure that—”

“Then you started talking like we knew for a fact an angel had fathered her daughter, and… and… Jack, I just don’t know you anymore! Have I ever?”

I shifted from foot to foot. We’d agreed there was no way she’d have murdered her own child, even if her daughter was Nephilim. Sunder wasn’t some blind, naïve pew-warmer. We’d agreed she wouldn’t have bought into all the abomination talk. So we didn’t put it in the report, the part about how her daughter may still be alive.

Because we’d figured what the Moles would assume. Because we could imagine what they might do. But mostly because he and I, together, we’d agreed.

Then he’d gotten distracted with his wife, with the baby, so I’d talked myself into believing that Sunder had given birth to a Nephilim. Then killed her… killed it. And then I’d talked myself into believing she hadn’t - that she was using the chi… using it. For power.  

But I had to be convincing when I brought it to some of the elder brothers, didn’t I? It was a mental marvel, really. Never been much good at believing before.

“Say it,” I told him, finally looking him right in the eye.

And Burt called me on it - everything I’d just turned over in my mind.

“Why would I have done that?” I asked him, my voice not sounding right in my ears. They were ringing. I waved mist away from my face, wiped the moisture it brought from my already-sweaty brow, as if it’d do any good.

“So the Moles would be scared into paranoia. So they’d promote you, put you to work finding her, get you out of our dingy office. But it didn’t work, so here we are,” he answered softly, now speaking to me more kindly than I deserved. “And that’s why you’re so angry - I can see it in you, underneath, all the time. Am I wrong?”

I was trying to fight back nausea.

“Jack?”

“No,” I whispered, a strong burst of wind nearly drowning it out.

“Holy Mary, Mother of God!”

I frowned at the out-of-character exclamation from Burt, not just the words, but because it seemed a bit over-reactive given he likely knew what I’d reply before he’d asked. But his sudden pallor told me I was no longer his focus. He was looking just over my shoulder, wide-eyed.

There, probably twenty feet away, right at the edge of the slope, was a circular break in the thick grey mass. In it stood a small group of various-sized people. And in the center was a dark-haired woman in a plum-colored dress, the tallest of the collective. She had a touch of a closed-lipped smile on her face, and her relaxed posture was completely at odds with what I would’ve asserted was quite the tense situation.

“We are interrupting.”

The woman’s voice had a scant bit of an accent that I couldn’t place, and her tone indicated a statement of fact, not one of apology.

The seven figures around her - and based on the size of their hands and their feet, I was beginning to think they were all children - wore long, hooded capes. They were ground-grazing, stick-straight, and black as coal. The hoods were of such a cut and depth that any chance for a glimpse of faces was rendered null. Despite our dank setting, where they were gathered some sunlight was slicing through the haze, but I suspected it wouldn’t have mattered if we stood next to the Chrysler Building - the purpose was to hide, and hidden they were.

We remained still and silent for what seemed like an eternity, not even the wind turning up to give us reprieve.    

Burt spoke first, but just to me, out of the corner of his mouth. “There’s opportunity here for a Snow White joke that I’m not calling up.”

“Disappointing,” I muttered, neither of us moving, not looking at each other, not reaching inside our jackets for our pistols.

Strange thing was, it wasn’t because we couldn’t have done so. The appearing-out-of-nowhere had me convinced we were dealing with beings of an otherworldly nature, to say the least, and I found it odd that we hadn’t been handicapped in some fashion, but I was thankful.  So when Burt moved his hand inside his jacket, I felt myself stiffen.

Not a flinch from the woman or the children, however, so my anxiety eased. A little. Mildly.

Burt was trembling, but I could tell by the look on his face that it wasn’t out of fear. It was pure excitement. We all watched as he fumbled with the strings on his notebook, nearly dropped his pencil, then tried to get the now damp, misted pages to separate.

“Really?” I hissed.

“Burt?”

He slowly looked up at the woman, and I followed suit.

“You know… you know my name, ma'am?” he replied.

“I do. We all do. Yours and your friend’s… Jack, yes?”

I nodded.

“H-how do—”

“You and Jack here are incredibly loud.”

I blushed like a boy who’d been scolded by his teacher.

Burt began to stammer, but I cut in, my initial shock now worn off. Moderately worn off. Fine, I told my nagging brain. Barely worn off.

“We’re leaving, ma'am. Apologies for the disturbance.”

She turned her head ever-so-slightly to me, arching an eyebrow, though the grin remained. “But you haven’t hardly looked around, brought out your fancy tools and taken measurements, Jack. Nor have you found your beanstalk. What ever will your employers say?”

The tiniest amount of tittering could be heard amongst her group, followed by a few hand-hidden whispers between several of them. Burt had let the backpack slip from his shoulders to the ground, and was scribbling furiously, not a sign of nervousness about his person.  And for whatever reason, I opened my big mouth.

“Nice bog you have here.”

“We think so,” she replied, not missing a beat, though her voice lacked the jovial lilt one would’ve thought with such a come-back, and she was still staring me down.  

“Ma'am?”

Her eyes didn’t leave mine as she answered. “Yes, Burt?”

“I, ah… I was wondering… well, you know my name, so I… what should I call you?”

Again she willingly answered, and I tore my eyes from hers, looked over to what Burt was writing. Underneath hastily scrawled descriptions of the group, he jotted down what he’d heard her say.

“Miss Finn, now is that F-I-N-N?”

More tittering, and if my ears didn’t deceive me, a giggle or two, which made me suspect Burt had gotten it all wrong, and that made me smile - briefly - despite our circumstance.

“No,” she replied, and left it at that. When I looked back up, her grin had widened slightly and the intensity was gone from her eyes, but her gaze hadn’t left my face.

“Oh,” Burt said, then let out what I knew to be a forced chuckle, the one he used when he was trying to cover embarrassment.

But any that he might’ve felt flew away when the woman gently touched the shoulders of the two children standing directly in front of her, prompting them to move aside, and walked towards us. She wore heeled boots under her heavy skirt, but they didn’t sink into the marshy soil one iota. She stopped in front of me, though she now looked at Burt.

“Fen, as in your current locale,” she told him. “No ‘Miss’. Only Fen.”

Burt crossed out what he’d written, then corrected it. He looked up to her with a smile, put his pencil behind his ear, and stuck out his hand. You dolt, I thought - we had no idea what we were dealing with. Little wonder he’d hardly been put in the field.  

“Burton Rendell Rawlings, pleasure to meet you, ma'am.”

The woman - Fen - merely reciprocated, giving him a firm handshake with a gloved hand. Upon the release, she extended it to me. Burt hadn’t dissolved or imploded, so I figured I may as well jump off the bridge with him. 

“Just Jack,” I told her as we shook.

“Well, then, Burton Rendell Rawlings and Just Jack - would you care for some tea?”

Burt put away his notebook and pencil, nodding vehemently, beaming like a kid on Christmas morning. He retrieved the discarded backpack and slipped it on. While he did, Fen removed a glove, then motioned behind her and one of the smaller children came over. As the hood was pulled back, I saw its wearer was a young girl, couldn’t have been more than ten, yet she walked with such purpose, with such confident posture, and if I were a poetic man I’d have said she had an old soul behind her wide-set, ridiculously large eyes.

“Ever, would you be so kind as to escort Mr. Rawlings while I escort Jack?” asked Fen.

The girl nodded, and slipped a hand in one of Burt’s immediately.

He smiled at her, saying, “Hi - Ever, is it? That’s a… a unique name.”

There was no reply, and Burt didn’t follow-up, mainly because he’d immediately started to sway, his knees almost giving out.

“Oh my, sorry about that, I guess I got a… got a little too excited to… to meet you, dear.”

I frowned, but Fen had clutched one of my hands - tightly - and the girl quickly reached over and snatched the other.

And now, here I was, sitting in a large kitchen drinking tea I didn’t want, in a large castle-like house on what appeared to be an equally-large, plush estate. That is, if my stolen glances through windows as we’d walked into a massive foyer and dining area were anywhere near accurate. I was certain I’d seen at least a baker’s dozen of children playing outside. There were handfuls more in a parlor we’d passed, and I was trying to construct a roster in my head of estimated ages.

Burt had gotten considerably faint around the time we’d walked past a staircase, and two teen-aged boys seemed to come from nowhere, meeting us in a hallway, each taking one of his arms. They guided him - accompanied by myself, Fen, and the girl called Ever - to a bedroom, made sure he was settled, then left after a nod to me and Fen. No one made a move to keep me away or hinder my line of sight - no evident worry on their parts for anything I might witness.

Ever had removed her cloak and sat herself in a chair across from the bed, pulling a small book from her dress pocket, then went to reading without a word. Burt was snuggled down and snoring in no time, dead to the world. Whatever… wherever… this world was. It didn’t feel as abnormal as I thought it should have, something it had in common with my tea time companion.

“Jack, I don’t believe what I’ve said surprises you. I don’t believe you truly thought witchcraft was the reason your quarry’s been able to repeatedly go to ground. And I also don’t believe you ever thought the girl was alive. Or that she was Nephilim.”

I sighed, shifting in my chair, and I pushed the still-full teacup and saucer away. I was getting irritated. And it irritated me further that Fen noticed but didn’t seem to care. “You already heard Burt and I, right?  So what’s your point? Why bother with my confirming it?”

“Because sometimes the things we keep inside should be said aloud - often, it is the only way to truly hear them.”

I added pseudo-platitudes to my mental list of irritations as she went on.

“And because you still seem to want to convince yourself you have all the answers, and all you need is the proof. That’s not how the truth works, hunting only for the results that will fit your theories.”

“So what? I was wrong about the Sunder case, okay? I messed up, and I can’t fix it. What else do you want from me?”

“I want you to accept you’re wrong about more than just that - and formulate a new theory. Now that you have some truths under your belt.”

I glared. “I don’t know anything. I don’t even know where we are, who you and those kids are… what you and those kids are… if Burt and I are going to be allowed to leave here…”

Fen leaned back in her chair, the very picture of calm. “You and Burt may leave any time you wish. Although….” She trailed off, waited a beat. To pique my interest. Even bait me, I suppose.

It worked. 

“Yes?”

She shrugged. “Thought you’d be more… curious.”

I let out a huff, leaned back in my chair, closed my eyes and rubbed my temples. She was infuriating. Yet I was still void of any instinctual fear. And my thoughts suddenly drifted to Colleen.

Colleen was just beautiful, no two ways about it. One of those Hollywood-grade, glossy magazine beauties. Even if she wasn’t a man’s “type” - whatever that means - I’d heard more than enough times how stunning, how appealing she was to others.

Her family was borderline Upper East Side, she’d had a modest debut ball, and she had decently frequent interaction with the who’s-who socialite crowd of New York’s so-and-so’s. She was classy and witty and sparkled up any room. But she was no Deb. Debutante, that is.  

We’d been together off-and-on since senior year in high school, and though she was titillated at my going to work for a covert section of the government - standard cover, per the Moles - we’d reached a stalemate around a year ago. She felt like an old maid and said we’d need to break up or get married.

So we got engaged. Her parents set a date, the never-ending bridal showers had garnered hefty turn-outs, and then a surprising amount of Debs had R.S.V.P.’d. A supposed Whitney cousin I’d never met had agreed to be maid of honor just before I’d left for Europe, ousting my bride-to-be’s only sister.

All said, Colleen hadn’t spoken of anything but the wedding for nigh on three months straight. Her ring’d been re-sized and ready for pick up at the jewelers since May. Which I should probably attend to, once we got back. I’d have to get in Burt’s habit, start making notes.  

I would have never classified Fen’s appearance as stunning or Hollywood, nothing of the sort. What Fen did was stop me in my tracks and cause my breath to hitch, because she was striking. I found her features quite lovely, to be sure - but it was hard to pin down what exactly was causing that punch in my gut. Just her proximity, her presence, the way she studied me, how it made my body run over with chills. The good kind.

Her eyes weren’t large to begin with and when she’d narrow them in my direction, just a promise of a full-on glare, only a sliver left below the lids to reflect any light, on God I’d swear the whites of her eyes would be all that remained and a flash would run across them, quick as lightning. And then it would vanish. Her eyes would go back to normal, she would visibly relax… yet I somehow couldn’t, even when I’d force myself to look away, telling myself I was doing something wrong.

I didn’t know what, exactly, was wrong, what it was I should be doing… no. No, that wasn’t true at all, I did know - I should collect Burt. I should make her prove she wasn’t bluffing, force her hand, so we could leave this place, then forget we’d seen a thing.  

“You’re distracted.”

“That I am.”

“Tell me what can I do for you.”

My mouth opened and closed a few times involuntarily, a series of ums and ahs making their way out. No one, and I mean no one, had ever said those words to me, not even Burt. Never just an open-ended opportunity to name what I needed.

But if anyone ever had, well… there was that pesky lack-of-belief of mine popping up again. I likely wouldn’t have trusted the sincerity of the offer. I had my reasons. Why I found myself believing Fen, I could not say.

She rescued me from my gaping. “Perhaps I should start with where you are. This is our home, mine and my charges.”

“Your charges,” I repeated slowly.

“It has been for quite some time. Many centuries now.”

“Centuries,” I mumbled, having apparently turned into a man-sized parrot.

“Which I’m pleased to explain, though the answers may be somewhat… time-consuming for me to relate, I’m afraid. This is new for me.”

Interesting.

“As to what we are, as you put it - I am human, just as mortal, just as powerless as yourself and your friend. And my charges are the offspring of humans and angels - your sought-after Nephilim.”

A breeze could have knocked me from the chair.

“So if you’d consider extending your visit—”

“Yes!” I practically shouted, and she genuinely appeared to be startled. I’d startled myself. It was the fastest I’d ever agreed to anything in my entire life.

“On one condition,” she said, then polished off the rest of her tea.

“Anything,” I replied, and meant it.

One of her unnerving, cut-right-through-you gazes lit on my face as she answered. “You’re going to tell me a story. How you came to feel such contempt for the heavenly host. And I’ll know if you lie to me, Jack. Then our deal will be off. You and Burt will be taken safely to town, right to your rooms at the inn, with no memory of this place. Or any of us.”

I confess I barely heard her, too excited for my irritation at her ability to read me to return, responding immediately. “Whatever you want, sure.”

My mind was back to its normal routine, filling with ideas and plans faster than I could catalogue them. This was it. I’d be able to write my own ticket, straight to the upper rungs, top-tier agent status. I was more determined than ever to make it happen. Hell, I was going to make it happen.

Assuming Fen and her Nephilim didn’t have other plans.

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[deathbyvalentine]

Post Epiphany, some FOIP.

But I didn’t die/A Successful Mission

Silvestro had been relieved. Astrid had been angry. Jones and Hawk had breathed out ‘sirs’. Others had alternately hurled themselves into his arms, hit him or given congratulations/condolences as required. It slid off him like oil on water, sticking to nothing except confusion.

It took a little while before someone actually explained what had happened. His brain, splattered across two couches and one very unfortunate guardsperson. Dead before his body hit the floor. Not in a time-loop, not the easy rewind and restart they had all gotten used to. Properly. Body limp, mourners, a funeral.

Yet here he was. With three hours of memory nobody else had. Back in a different timeline. This he was certain of. He knew when Astrid pulled his dogtags out of her pocket, when the last time he had seen them, they’d been ripped off by a particularly pissed off Magos. His bags weren’t in the armoury, his guns had less ammo, there was a little less food as they had finished lunch. Things had changed. Subtly, but surely. As if he hadn’t felt isolated from the populace at large enough, was now literally from a different world. The irony wasn’t entirely lost on him.

It mattered to nobody but him. For some reason, to him it mattered a lot. He couldn’t explain why. For all intents and purposes he was exactly the same. His childhood hadn’t changed, nor had his history. His personality was undamaged (as far as one could ever call his personality undamaged that was). Astrid, the true arbiter of all things Lance Durovera had cast her eyes across him and decided that was that. He trusted her more than he trusted his own judgement. So it should be. 

He almost wished he at least had the memory of what happened. A little context would go an awfully long way to making him feel like he hadn’t lost pieces of an extremely important jigsaw puzzle. How much pain was I in? Did I feel anything? Why did I do it right then? Why had he chosen who he had chosen? He had none of these answers and suspected he never would. That Lance, separated by a whole three hours, may as well have been a stranger. 

The feeling might fade with time, as he internalised nonsense about Alpha timelines and blended in seamlessly to a normal, linear way of moving through time. Or as he got used to... No. He wouldn’t let that become a possibility. Time, ironically, was would be what fixed him. Shame he was so impatient. He wanted healing now, curing now. All he had left to do was wait.

A wave of happy chatter and laughter rolled over him ungently. He felt raw, like someone had went over his skin with a flamer and everything that touched him felt painful. It was petty, expecting others to show a little consideration, particularly as he was standing up and walking and talking but still. The first line of their brief defined success as all agents returning alive. In the most technical sense, that had been achieved. There was certainly a Lance returning.

____________________________________________________

CO on deck

Lance hadn’t quite expected the visceral nature of his reaction. He felt the blood drain from his face, his stomach drop, his breath catch. He couldn’t breathe very well at all, his hands clenching so tightly his knuckles ached. It was very almost a panic attack, he thought dimly, through the sudden haze of white noise. He was familar enough with them, though it had been some years since his last one. Yet one sight of Nic, tunic pressed and spotless, shoulders set, had him shaking.

He was frightened. Frightened that Nic would hear about his actions and find fault with every one. The problem was with the XO was just how good he was. Lance half believed that had he been here, the problem would have been over by lunch time with a minimum of blood spilt and no awkward happenings to inform the new Lord Inquisitor was.

The litany of fuck ups played through his head. Killing Mu. Dying himself. Every time he didn’t follow an order perfectly, every time he wound up Astrid. When his hands shook too badly to do a routine task, when he shot up, when he became useless under torture. He wanted Nic to be proud, to look at him and Astrid and think his young officers had done good. Lance wasn’t even proud of himself.

What he wanted was to walk up to the man and ask for help. To get a hand on a shoulder, an understanding look. What he didn’t want was to walk over and break in anticipation of the trouble to come. His ideal situation would be heading to the Chaser and going the fuck to sleep and never talking about any of this ever again, but Lance had lived long enough in this world to know ideals very rarely came to pass. 

It was a matter of time before the XO noticed him. It would be really great if another time bubble happened about now. Or if he died again. Or literally anything would save him from the mortifying ordeal of having a conversation about his feelings. Charity looked up and he felt his life flash before his eyes. There would be no escaping this.

___________________________________________________________

Shared Blood

Being stuck to a psyker was bad enough. Being stuck to Silvestro was even worse. He wasn’t quite sure where the antipathy had come from but he suspected it had sprung to life around the time Silvestro had searched through his brain. It developed further once he realised that Silvestro had actual authority and respect to equal his own. Gant had been bad enough - his superior of all things, but this was worse.

He shifted, cringing in pain. Along his side, through fabric and skin, he had been sewn to the other man. A reset, and it was his arm this time. Another reset and it was nerves and muscles. He couldn’t remember another, but he was fairly sure he had been attached to Silvestro as he died. Hard to say who that was worse for. 

He couldn’t quite pinpoint the moment they had become friends. It could have been when they were clutching each other’s hands on the floor of the lab or when they spitefully ripped themselves apart. Could have been when they were bickering on the floor as they slowly bled out. But it was undeniable that they were friends now and close ones at that. There were some things that created an instant bond (pun intended) and being surgically attached to someone was apparently one of them. Who knew.

There was now an unspoken agreement that neither of them would ever mention this or any of the more specific moments of vulnerability ever again. They were both naval after all, and talking about it would mean something like dealing with it and neither of them were particularly up to that job. The respect and brotherhood would have to be enough.

_____________________________________________________

Giggled Admissions/Blush response

Mitra was beautiful, Lance realised with a jolt. Not just her machinery either. Her, her face, her eyes, her smile. He had never seen her laugh like this, self-consciously and without restraint. He idly thought of what it would be like to kiss her, to flatter her, to make that blush rise up on her cheeks more than once. He thought he stood a relatively strong chance. She wasn’t in any of his chains of command and besides, it would wind Astrid up something awful. 

He wondered if Mitra ever watched the memories of him for any reason other than dispassionate research. If she had thoughts and opinions on them beyond the obvious logistical study. The next thought was only a beat away - what were her and Astrid talking about? He hoped it was him, a silly schoolboy hope, but it was there all the same.

He was attracted to Mitra, obviously. In the true sense, not the ‘I’m bored and there’s precious few other prospects around’ that sometimes popped up on the Chaser before being rapidly quashed. Contrary to popular opinion, he did have standards. He wanted to believe she wanted him too - the blush and the giggle suggested as much and that effect was not exactly an unusual occurrence in other individuals, but he did have just about enough self awareness to realise he thought rather well of himself and could be skewing the data. 

More interestingly, he liked her too. This was a far rarer occurrence than attraction. He had been surprised by the depth of her compassion. Surprised and blindsided. He wasn’t sure what to do with something so heartfelt. Besides, she was funny. Clever. And most certainly did not take his shit which was a key part of maintaining any sort of relationship with him. He watched her talk, studying her, noting her habits, her tics. He remembered, with a smile, working with her in that throne-forsaken mine, the ease of which they took on roles and worked together. He hoped a similar opportunity would raise it’s head again soon enough. Until then, it was enough to simply have fun with what was very possibly, a friend.

____________________________________________________________

Null Fields

Being around Corvinus had been bad enough. It had been bearable at least, simply some waves of nausea and an altogether feeling of being wrong somehow. This room was not bearable. This room was like nails on a chalkboard, grinding teeth and soundproof ear pieces all in one. He felt as if they entire world had been moved slightly to the left or that he himself had been wrapped tightly in a substance that didn’t let him touch a single other thing.

He couldn’t help vomiting, turning onto his side from where he was chained to at least add a semblance of dignity to proceedings. Silvestro, positioned by his feat, did not seem to be faring altogether better. He could hear grunts of pain. He knew, vaguely, that Silvestro would be blind. That’s what happened when astropaths were cut off from the warp and indeed the light of the astronomicon. He couldn’t imagine such darkness. It must be more than physical. It would be profound. At least he didn’t experience that isolation.

Grasping with his eyes shut tight as though that would help the crackles of pain moving over him he grabbed Silvestro’s hand, tight. A small gesture, letting him know that he was here, he wasn’t utterly alone. Behind them, the insane Magos continued monologuing. They may as well have not been here at all. They were merely actors in the play about his genius. It was this that infuriated him enough to attempt to kick over the work bench. Lance Durovera refused to be a background character.

It was worth it for a whole three minutes before the fucking tech-barbarian broke his nose. Again. That hurt less than the null.

__________________________________________________________

Ungrief

He woke up in his quarters and counted to ten. The stillness remained. He closed his eyes, opened them and counted to ten again. Nothing changed. Only then did he sit up, running a hand over his face. His head still faintly pounded, his blood clamouring for more stimms, more opia, something, anything to make the world less grey. It was easy at this particular moment to dismiss the old urge - he didn’t need things feeling less real than they already did.

In the shower, getting dressed, making recaff, he held his breath. His entire body was tense, his shoulders aching, crackling pain occasionally shooting across his jaw. His hands automatically curled into fists if he didn’t monitor them. It all stemmed from the simple fact that he couldn’t relax. Every time he felt himself settling a single thought sped across his mind - what if this restarts? What if I won’t remember this? What if this is yet another time loop?

He made a note to himself to see if the Ordo Chronos had any unredacted texts he could look at. His mind had fixated on detail. How long could a time loop be? Could it be years? Would he be constantly looking over his shoulder, waiting for the moment he was thrown back? The worst came when he remembered that there was no way for him to tell if it had already happened. If he’d been around before. If he had lived this same morning before, in all its mundaneity. He didn’t need this existential dread added to his already large pile of it. He battled dread with knowledge. Unfortunately, in this line of work, it wasn’t forthcoming. 

He knew, deep down, that there was little to do but move on, act on the assumption it all was over and done with for the moment. But like a tongue running over a chipped tooth, his mind was unable to stop turning over the possibility in his head, over and over, to exhaustion.

He closed his eyes and counted to ten.

____________________________________________________

Chain of Command

Don’t get him wrong. It was the right decision. In fact, it was the one he would have made, were he in Astrid’s boots. That didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. Or that it was not a significant reason he threw himself into experimental surgery without truly doing all the checks and balances he could have to ensured his survival. 

Relief of command. Not through fault, through sickness, of a sort. Lance managed to curb the instinct to sulk, mostly through channelling his efforts into figuring out how to prise the damn chip out of his head. The thing was, command kept him steady. Looking after and protecting his team made him a better man, a better person. It brought out his best instincts in a world that seemed determined to tempt his worst.

Anoretta, Hawk, Jones, Teneros. He wondered if they knew that he’d give his life for them, if it came to it. He hoped they did. He would take an injury, take a fall, take the blame. That’s what commanding officers did. He was determined that even if he fucked up everything else in his stupid life, he would not fuck that up. He believed in it as much as he believed in the laws of the Omnissiah, in the will of the Throne. It was a whole other religion, precious and sacred.

He wasn’t perfect yet. Sometimes he was too casual. He knew that. He also knew he was young, with an entire career ahead of him. He knew what he had to change. Recently he had asked Bridge for training, for help. Nic had his best interests too, poor man. Perhaps even Nalen did, despite the surface tension.  It was an odd sensation, knowing for once he didn’t have to improve purely off his own back. That he had help, advice, support, a framework to drag himself up by. In the past, he had fixed himself, from detox to attitude. Not being alone was almost as frightening as being alone was.

After the mission, he’d write a list of his fixable flaws. He’d pin them up and cross them out one by one as he improved. New ones would take their place but he would not make the same mistake twice. Or at least, if he did, he would learn something new every time. Be a bit better than yesterday. That’s all there was to it.

______________________________________________________

Surgery

It was novel, in a way, putting people back together again instead of stripping them apart. He tried to remember what Sister Anya said about bedside manner, about how to work, about how to act. The problem was when he thought about it as fixing, not hurting, his mind slipped straight into mechanic mode. Which was similar but distinctly different from being a medic apparently.

There were a number of key differences. The first and most important is that quite a lot of people liked painkillers when they were having surgery performed on them. That fact he usually remembered about the time they started screaming. Thankfully, it was an easy enough fix. 

Secondly, while a lot of body parts had a machine equivalent, not all of them did. Additionally, not all body parts would act like their machine analogue. This went particularly for the brain and the lungs. Brain surgery was hard he had discovered, much harder than programming a recalcitrant machine spirit. Only the toughest of spirits would punish you on such a microcosmic scale. 

Third, infections could be caused by a number of things that would not cause problems were you working on a ship. He had to constantly remember gloves for even the most mundane of tasks. After seeing his own chest ripen and burst with infection, he was better at remembering this one than others. He hoped his disgust was a good sign Grandfather had little hold on him.

The surgery he had performed and torture he had endured aside, it had been a brutal few days for himself as a patient. First, the St Sanginius wound opening for the third time in total, necrotised and stinking. Then his arm aging so quickly it was easiest to remove it. Then getting chem glands removed. Then brain surgery on a filthy couch, partially done with the end of a pistol. He suddenly felt a lot better about his own skills when he thought about the last one. He wasn’t too far behind people who had been doing this for a hell of a lot longer.

When he got on the Chaser, he had one more to undergo. To unfuck his heart and get that ridiculous suppressant removed before he removed it himself out of sheer frustration. When it was all done, he was going to sleep for a week and immediately start planning more augmetics so he had to deal with this shit less.

____________________________________________________

Crystal

It was never a great feeling, knowing you had personally pissed off some sort of Xenos bullshit. He had felt it in the past, but usually he was in his fighter and usually he was flipping off some fungus with pretensions. Not exactly a high threat. But in recent years he had had rather more contact than he would like with things that were cleverer than him. This would be one of them.

In his head, the sound of shattering glass. Not as strong as it was on the Sanginius, but there all the same. Some morbid part of him wanted to touch the hunk of rock, just to see if it would hurt. He stowed his hand in his pocket purely to resist the urge. See? He was growing.

Part of the reason he was studying it quite so intently was the stupid feeling that something was following him. His heart was telling him that the fucker from the ship or something related to it was very unhappy at the stunt he had pulled and was tracking him with the goal of using his insides as confetti. His head was telling him he was pretty sure that thing died and anyway, he was pretty insignificant in the grand scheme of players on that mission. So maybe the crystal, borne from a Shavaasti was just causing the feeling, an echo or an aftermath. 

Esme had said something about the shattering noise being the sound of their cities crumbling. He supposed he was meant to have some sympathy. But he didn’t. He hadn’t yet been told he was to be compassionate towards xenos and until that point he refused to be. Everybody had tragedy. He didn’t make his tragedy play in passerby’s heads really loudly.

The other rocks in the room were no better but he didn’t know what they were. They glowed and he felt a wariness that was very close to revulsion. People kept saying the word necron. He didn’t know that was and some deep part of him shied away instinctively from finding out. They were wrong, like the null field was wrong. He wouldn’t even entertain the idea of touching them.

A notion that was vindicated once he saw the batshit magos using it to manipulate time. No thank you, he didn’t want any. He made a note to himself that Mu was under no circumstances to be allowed to keep any of this. Period.

______________________________________________________

Mistaken Identity

Pulling the Inquisition card always felt vaguely dirty to him, still. The same way pulling the Noble one had once he had gotten out of his wayward teenage years. The problem was it didn’t feel earned. He would happily pull up his naval rank at a moment’s notice. He had put blood, sweat and tears into that, had worked about it and cared about it. Not just been press-ganged and born into the damn thing. The power was a little terrifying, how easily people bowed and moved, no more questions asked, no double checks performed. 

But damn if it didn’t open a lot of doors. Within a moment of him uttering it, the magos has deflated and oh, look at that, he could finally do his damn job. He made up an entirely believable and mostly true lie about this being a routine xenos bust. Easily backed up when the place was crawling with illegal tech. He didn’t have to mention time travel at all, thankfully. He hoped the rest of the retinue were clever enough to do the same or the various workers here were clever enough to keep their mouths shut about what exactly they knew. In fairness, that was a key skill for getting anywhere in the Imperium. They had managed to get a research centre so chances are they’d already done it more than once.

He noticed his manner changed when he pulled it too. It wasn’t his usual work manner which was second nature to him, as easy as breathing. Here it was forced, mimicking the movements of career acolytes like Charity. Talking to witnesses in firm tones, his walk cutting through crowds easily, his expression becoming annoyed much quicker. It was the need to get stuff done, or die. When the stakes were this high and this tumbled up in bureaucracy, he couldn’t take any joy in it. What he wouldn’t give for a straight fire fight, for someone trying to smother him in his sleep, a situation where his perfect aim was enough.

He sensed those days might be long past and he allowed a small part of himself to mourn them. The bigger part of himself, the most Lance part, instantly turned it into a challenge. He would be good at this too. He would excel even in an environment he hated. He would flourish despite all opposition and pressure. Just you fucking wait. 

___________________________________________________

It’s Complicated

She was maddening. It had been like, over a decade and he still hadn’t found a way to stop her getting under his skin.Not that he wanted that. Having her as close as possible to him, even if it hurt, was exactly what he wanted. There was very little he didn’t want when it came to her.

He wanted peaceful afternoons, drinking leisurely, laughing. He wanted her knuckles bruising his cheek, split lips, spitting venom. He wanted tumbling into bed, as close as they could be. He wanted screaming arguments, love struck confessions, obsession, jealousy, punishment. He wanted to die for her and ask her to die for him and knowing she would. He wanted secrets, but not from each other. He wanted them to play together, moving others like pieces on a chessboard. He wanted to work with her, each a smoothly oiled piece in a machine, not needing to speak to know what needed to be done. He wanted to be the most important person in the world to her, who she loved and hated in equal measure. He wanted it to be like this, always, just them against the world. Knives in each other’s back and then held out, keeping the rest of the sector at bay.

He didn’t need to say any of this of course. They didn’t need to say any of it. It could be understood in a glance, the twitch of a mouth, the flicker of an eyelid. He just wished this shitty bit would be over and done with so they could get to the later bits. The bits were they were incredible. That future was as certain as the fundamental laws of the universe. It was something that was easy to have faith in.

________________________________________________________

So Close and Yet So Far

If he had to do this one more time, he was going to scream. He was already on the damn come down so his hands wouldn’t stop shaking and this is what he was supposed to be good at, what he could do in his sleep. Yet he could feel Jones carefully not saying anything behind him as he held the torch aloft, hoping the light would help. He may as well have been doing it in the dark. 

They fared better once they swapped, Lance keeping his voice low and calm as he guided Jones through the necessary steps. Jones had an exceedingly steady hand, yet another skill Lance noted for later use, impressed at the NCO’s reliability at, well everything. Lance kept his back clear, moving anyone along who seemed inclined to either jostle or distract the other man. It helped him feel like he was being useful. That and fixing the satellite dish which didn’t need a steady hand so much as brute force and an indomitable will. Which the stimms hadn’t quite robbed him off yet. 

He had almost been good enough not to relapse. Almost strong enough, almost brave enough. It was the fifth round that had broken him. The screaming for help with no reply. He needed something to steady himself, to make him feel like he wasn’t falling apart. Nobody else had crumbled like he had. Nobody else was seeking relief from anything chemical. The fury he felt at himself was hot and disgusting and he ignored it as best as he could. 

The thought of having to start the process all again was what paralysed him. An emotional time loop of his own making. Detoxing. Then throwing out anything that looked like he could get a buzz off it. Then the monotonous few months of denying himself what he wanted before the craving became a background buzz and he clawed his way back to where he was previously. All that work for nothing. It was galling and he didn’t want to fucking do it.

He clapped Jones on the shoulder when he was done, grinning. The comedown wouldn’t stop him doing his damn job. That had always been his saving grace. The job always came first. 

__________________________________________________________

Custom Chems

It was second nature. Names and combinations fired along his synapses, the knowledge excited to be used after so long underutilised. He was good at this, making poison into well, more exciting poison. Poison that changed you rather than killed you. It was exciting, showing off. The rest of the group didn’t seem to recognise the danger signs and that was how he liked it. He could play the role of ridiculous pilot, danger and charm mixed together in a shot.

He filled test tubes and handed them out, giving his best estimation of what each would do. One would make colour trails follow moving objects in your vision. One would get you drunk quicker than two bottles of amasec. Another made your skin extremely sensitive. All of them had extreme hangovers attached. You didn’t get something without a consequence. A fundamental law of the universe that went triple for imbibing strange substances. 

As he made a shot for Woods, he noticed Gwyn slip out of the room. Something that resembled guilt fluttered in his chest. He hadn’t thought of the effect his fuckery would have on them - he should have. Watching your friend crash and burn to spectacular effect wouldn’t be easy for an addict. 

He shoved the thought out of his mind with more violence than was strictly needed. He was allowed to be a disaster for tonight. He was allowed to be drunk and high and forget the day. He didn’t fancy his odds of coping without it. Tomorrow he would wake up and make the usual tiresome promise - to be good, to be sensible, to be better. Tonight, he would indulge in safe (r) destruction until the memories of the day were wiped from his head in a storm of chemicals and forced joviality. He avoided eye contact with Nic and Astrid, afraid he would see reflected in them the disappointment he already felt.

____________________________________________________

Noble Spirit

He liked Conscience despite himself. So yeah she might have been an evil tech heretic with no conceivable morals and a habit of violating bodily autonomy at the drop of the hat, but who didn’t have flaws? If they had been in a different time, a different place, he would have wanted to sit down with her, discuss the finer points of her work in detail. He hadn’t seen intricacy like it before and he wanted to learn. Lance loved learning about every machine he could, especially from people that were pointedly better than him. She was. He had seen that much when studying how to disengage the chips. Each connection was delicate and beautiful and loaded with failsafes on a micro scale. He basically fell in love with them immediately. 

This was why, regardless of how much she remembered, he hoped the Inquisition would claim her into an asset. While the Inquisition may enjoy the blunt force of ignorance, the Admech in him abhorred the idea of all that skill, all that knowledge being lost. Sure they could download her memories, but they couldn’t download whatever she came up with next. He did what he could, mentioning it to Charity in several loops, mentioning it before she went off to her debrief. He had no high hopes. Expecting the worst would serve him much better than misguided optimism.

At least he had something to remember her by. His beautiful cybernetic arm, covered in synthskin. He was going to have to step his own bionics the fuck up if he wanted them to be as gorgeous as this one was. No heresy here, just good engineering. Almost worth the chem glands incident. Almost. He was keeping the thing, as a challenge and as some inspiration. He doubted he would see Conscience again. A shame. He had enjoyed flirting with her as well as negotiating for her release. Maybe in a decade he’d find someone with a similar limb and know she wasn’t completely gone.

[garyh2628]

Chairman and Managing Operational CEO (Global Legal Authority Quasi-Judicial)

(Finance, planning, industry and foreign trade portfolios) Private

Head of Human Resources Finance and People and Global Head of Corporate Responsibility

 Investments/Contracts/Superior/Technically Competent and Right-Hand Men

NGO - (Finance, planning, industry and foreign trade portfolios) Private

 To my Pharma Hubs, Technology Hubs, Social Creative/Personal Hub, My Private Hubs, My Financial Hubs and my Health and Wellbeing/Scientific Hubs, Legal and Innovation Hubs, Hinterland Hub and to my Eastern Caribbean Hub, Linguistic/Psychology Hub, to my beloved additions and to my Institutions and Partners and Team, Pool of Potential Personal Assistants and Private Secretaries and Business Managers and also to my Fitness Hub which is an extension of my Health and Wellbeing Hub and not to forget my beloved Brooklyn Hub and my Wine/Adviser Hub, Influential Legal Cashier, Strategic Partnerships, STATEMENT OF INTENT, MY WEALTH FUND AND PERSONAL ATTORNEY and PROPERTY EXPERT GUY and THE ATTACHMENT AND MY PERSONAL BOARDROOM AND MY CHIEF STRATEGY AND INNOVATION OFFICER.

 All Options remain on the Table applying the finishing touches to our Genius and my Genius and the Network and this Global Structure Genius. DRAFT

 Those tactics and those methods employed by those of that order took it’s hardest hit today.  The outlet that they used to utilise to sell propaganda and gossip and interpretations are beginning to close.  The Environment is no longer making room for mediocrity.  Today this Network and this Global Structure and Strategic Partners and Private hub are indicating that on the influence barometer we see our sharpest rise and most favourable response to date.  It is clear from the messaging that the requisite people are taking heed and the CIMs are being issued in order to get the particulars and the corroborating details to myself as a matter of urgency.  The uncertainty that was there for a few was lifted today with clarity.  Our support base for the strategic Partnerships saw it’s steepest climb for weeks.  Our Intellectual Advisers and Investors Council and the Sector and Industry is responding and acting with speed and purpose and focus in trying to get tis all delivered without any discrepancies,

 I’m also delighted that those Inventory that I was asking about so long ago will soon be forth coming.  The company that is acting on my behalf in this regard is making sure that the inventory stays intact.  That company lives within the walls of the global Structure. The CEO and my Personal Attorney and the CEO of my Global Wealth Fund and the CEOs of this Economic Community of Companies, said that the bottlenecks that was hindering the delivery are being cleared away in order for a smooth transfer of power to myself in the form of the details even though I am the legal Authority.  The particulars in relation to the Statement of Intent will also be delivered as a matter of urgency along with those of the Private Hubs and Strategic Partnerships and all of the Hubs.  Those things that were hampering negotiations are being remedied and the requisite safeguards are being put in place for the delivery of the corroborating details and all of the settlement from the OLC et al.  This Network and this Global Structure is not in a crisis or have any crisis differences to be resolved as some are purporting.

 Our suite of Upstream Initiatives and Programs and our Small to Medium Size forward Initiatives are being talked about I was told in the requisite hall ways of power by the relevant people all this week and the favourable buzz from the Statement of Intent and the Regions and the local CEOs are excellent news.  There is good feed back from the focus groups in the different areas and those particulars will be delivered to be personally for perusal and approval.  This week has been a week of great negotiations and great outcomes, prepping things for my attention.  I heard some great work is being done in the regions where my attachment and where I will be sharing an office with my strategic partner and where my Intellectual Think Tank will be based.  I’m looking forward to previewing those details and I’m looking forward to my private prepping session for the inaugural address. One chief executive said had we not jumped on board when we did “clearly the figures so to speak was going the wrong way”, we have now remedied the bottleneck situation that was allowing such an anomaly and those policies that were contributing to such was rendered null and void. He went on further to say that the new testing regime and improved technology meant that we are no worse for off as we have remedied the situation.  He is forecasting speed, focus and imminent perusal Globally.  

 Now we’re sitting in what feels like a cosy, cushion-strewn Network and Global Structure and Statement of Intent and Strategic Partnership, surrounded by well behaved, well-dressed, quiet classical Intellect from around the world waiting for the delivery of the particulars and the roll out of the programs in order to contribute and be part of the Network that would stand Society and Humanity and the Private Sector in best stead for the next 100 years at least.  The café’s owner, where the local team meet, said that on a daily basis they are on a “Pure Special Intellectual Haze Mix”.   Gary is the owner of the café but my Business manager who is there in my stead said that the Intellectual High from all the great and exciting things that are happening is leaving them with little time. They are also monitoring the situation here as to when the Offices will be delivered in order for them to deliver.  The buzz in the Strategic Partnership is like nothing they have ever seen.  It’s an exciting time for the Network and it’s an exciting time to be within the walls of the Global Structure and it’s an exciting time to be working for any of those companies and it’s an exciting time for the Statement of Intent and all the hubs.

 In the letter to my investors, my CEOs and Technically Competent men poured cold water on an apparent spin-off or an intrusion into my Private Structure and they did that by empirically demonstrating how the effect of  my leadership and direction and text book style management have a foundational effect on the good financial results of the businesses.  They concur that I have the right strategy. I’m looking forward to attachment being delivered. Already among the most valuable privately held companies launched, we will redevelop new office spaces and buys buildings outright. A trailblazer love that will electrify the Global Structure. Team, Partners, CEOs and Institution we all have some safe characteristics and I suspect we will continue to attract more Companies in the month ahead as we deliver the Offices.

“I’m already approaching my job differently after starting work at one of the Companies Gary own, that employs his principles, methods and values” I’m happy to hear Mr.

 While the sheer weight of accusations was building against my choice weighed on the OLC decision, officials said the decision to choose him is my choice and the final decision will be released from the Office of Signature, and Stamp and Approval.  His name will be on my personal overriding list.  Only I am reserved the right and cannot be at fault to decide any judgment of whether he was “innocent or guilty”. Even if he was in a position to lead again, one official said, he could not expect to have a working relationship the Global Structure.  They were wrong, only I can decide that. “We can’t wait as news...which is plausible but unverified, keeps coming out,” as a rule we do not allow interview relating to employment decisions. While some favours a sort of personality aesthetic judgemental public opinion contest, my family man, which brings together The Influential councils and central hubs, privately opposes their plan and direct them that whether they like it or not that decision will and can only be made by me and it will always be so.  Any intrusion will be robustly challenged through the Courts.

We're here to speak for millions in our inner cities who long for real jobs, safe neighbourhoods, and schools that truly teach. We're here to speak for the farmer, the entrepreneur, and every worker in industries fighting to modernize and compete. And, yes, we're here to stand, and proudly so, for all who struggle to break free from totalitarianism, for all who know in their hearts that freedom is the one true path to peace and human happiness.

I love you, I love you, I love you!  This family only believes in the by-product of what runs through our vein, Intellect and that will always allow us to win and win, we will win on pay, we will win on infrastructure and we will win on the environment.  Truth to Tell, Tell it First, Tell it like it is. Then the LORD God formed a man from the dust of the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and the man became a living being.

We will win the Election, we must win the Election, because it’s time for us also to live our best life.  This family, you and I have a rendezvous with Intellectual Destiny.  We must and will deliver for humanity.

I love you, I love you, I love you!  You and I have a rendezvous to deliver for Finance, you and I have a rendezvous to deliver for this family, you and I have a rendezvous to deliver the Environment that will stand Humanity in the best Stead for hundreds of years to come.  We will win, we must win!  This family hears you, Tis Family Understand You and this family will deliver so that you can live your best life!

 Chairman and Managing Operational CEO (Global Legal Authority Quasi-Judicial)

[rytterterkelsen42-blog]

auto mandarin haze feminized

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