#sting really wants to call missions ‘sting operations’ after himself without understanding what that means

[inamindfarfaraway]

Team Chaotix in Sonic Prime

My headcanons for what Vector the Crocodile, Espio the Chameleon and Charmy Bee are like in the Shatterspaces.

New Yoke City

Vector’s variant is called Missile (a missile is a vector, having direction and magnitude). He embodies Vector’s responsibility, practicality and seriousness. He was trying to make a difference as a teenage detective when the dystopian city appeared around him four years ago and it became clear that, with the Chaos Council’s control of the new justice system and law enforcement, the person he aspired to be would never make it. Of course he wants to fight, but the Council is brutal and their absolute power seems impossible to overthrow. He soon ended up with two children in his care, one only a toddler. If he got arrested, killed or roboticized, what would happen to them? If the three of them had the Council’s protection, on the other hand, as per the contract of an exclusive, specialized detective agency who would do whatever dirty work they were ordered to… he knows that those tyrants are the reason his kids have nobody else. He knows that the vast majority of people he leads the robotic police to don’t deserve any punishment, and none of them could deserve the cruel horrors they get. He knows that he isn’t a hero - that he may even be the exact opposite. And he hates it. But any money that keeps his family alive is money worth having, he’s regretfully decided. Big concepts like good and evil are none of his concern. He’s just trying to pay the rent. It’s too late to back out now, anyway. Now that the people are rebelling en masse and the Council is busy exploring the Shatterverse, he’s desperately waiting for things to stabilize and daring to hope against hope that some positive change occurs. And that the citizens don’t recognize the collaborateurs in their midst and turn on them.

Espio’s variant is called Trace. He embodies Espio’s stoicism and pragmatism. His ninja training was cut short - and his village razed and everyone he knew killed or taken prisoner - when the Chaos Council remade the world in their image. But he’s gained plenty of experience in stealth, deception, infiltration, espionage and combat working in the Chaos Detective Agency. Dishonour means nothing to a ninja. That’s what he tells himself, at least. On the outside, he’s reserved and aloof, a cold, ruthless foe. He will only show his family the slightest show of emotion. Internally, however, his repressed grief for his old family, community, home and life; guilt, shame and self-loathing due to his service to the Council; and years of accumulated trauma are brewing into a storm that he barely keeps contained under the surface. He’s afraid of his feelings burdening his teammates and distracting them from what’s most important: survival.

Charmy’s variant is called Sting. He embodies Charmy’s eagerness to be helpful and fighting spirit. He can’t remember anything except New Yoke and doesn’t understand much of how his society works, but he knows that his family’s work is very important to them being alive and wants to be a part of it. He does notice their stress and the general unpleasantness everywhere and can infer that circumstances could be improved. But their work being dangerous is all the more reason he should help! Teamwork makes the dream work, right? Danger just adds to the fun of stopping ‘bad guys’. He’s also terrified that if they leave him behind, they might not come back. So he kept breaking out and running away when Missile and Trace went on missions until they agreed to train him and let him join them. He revels in the thrill of action and finds people getting hurt amusing the way a six-year-old boy can, not emotionally connecting to anyone he’s told they need to catch and earnestly believing that their enemies must be in the wrong. He often imitates Missile when trying to be tough and intimidating.

Boscage Maze

Vector’s variant is called Reed. He embodies Vector’s optimism, lightheartedness and musical side, and tends to have his coarser manners too. He, the other two and Cream and Vanilla’s variants are in a different small tribe to the Scavengers and haven’t yet met them, so Thorn Rose didn’t banish them to the emergent layer; they are nomadic and moving toward the Scavengers’ territory. He’s cheerful and generous, always ready to raise the tribe’s morale. He can be immature and irresponsible at times, more focused on enjoying life and entertaining his companions than applying maximum effort to practical tasks. He’s highly resourceful when it comes to instruments and has invented drums and a reed flute. He loves to play them and sing. He’s also bold enough to flirt with Vanilla and the casual first stage of a romance is budding between them.

Espio’s variant is called Berry. He embodies Espio’s caution, wisdom and love of art and culture. Yes, that’s in this dimension. The tribe took him in after they crossed paths when he was eight, him having previously had to survive on his own for as long as he can remember. He’s mature beyond his years, highly knowledgeable about the forest’s flora and fauna, wary and prepared to defend his tribe from any threat using his carved flint blades and hand-to-hand skills. He used to find it difficult to relax, but has learned to unwind through playing a shamisen-esque string instrument Reed built for him and painting with plant pigments. While acutely aware of nature’s hazards, he can still appreciate its wonder and majesty and respects it.

Charmy’s variant is called Honey. He embodies Charmy’s innocent kindness, friendliness and trusting nature. He and Cream’s variant are best friends and adoptive siblings, since his parents entrusted their friend Vanilla with him when they left on an exploratory expedition in his infancy. They didn’t return. But Honey doesn’t mind. He has everything he needs right here. The one thing he can think of that would make his life better is a friend who can fly like he can.

No Place

Vector’s variant is called Bullion (because of precious metal and a male crocodile is a bull). He embodies Vector’s sharp intelligence, charisma, greed and courage. He left his home island in a modest but sturdy vessel, dubbed the Treasure Trove, to seek his fortune and established himself as a travelling merchant. Cunning, socially savvy and theatrical, he is willing to (if you insist on using such accusatory language) ‘scam’ customers and has an endless supply of get-rich-quick schemes. He and his crew live in a fiercely competitive, unpredictable environment full of pirates! Material wealth is essential! That being said, he isn’t all talk. He will brave high seas and stormy weather, chart uncharted waters and do business with anyone to obtain the best goods and things no other merchant is selling, and the genuine quality and rarity of a lot of his stock keep people endeared to him despite his rough edges and occasional bad deal. He takes pride in his competence as a salesman and seafarer and part of him is more fulfilled by honest work. Not that he’ll admit that. He’s very attached to his swashbuckling rogue self-image.

Espio’s variant is called Fathom (a measure of water depth and a verb for contemplative thought and understanding). He embodies Espio’s firm sense of morality and diligence. He met Bullion when the crocodile docked at his home island and, struck with wanderlust and needing a job to get by, Fathom offered to manage his finances with his advanced mathematical ability and do some manual labour. Bullion agreed, but it didn’t take Fathom long to figure out that he was both running a con and a broke mess. A weirdly likeable broke mess. In the aftermath of Fathom exposing the con, the customers angrily demanding refunds and the Treasure Trove being hastily undocked, they made a deal to support and protect each other, with Fathom promising to follow his boss’s lead on the strict condition that Bullion stayed on the straight and narrow. He’s a dutiful hard worker, patient and polite. He tries to remain calm and be civil to everyone no matter how wild things get. He grounds his crewmates, restraining their more energetic, eccentric and, most frustratingly for him, selfish and amoral behaviour. He knows they can be better. And when they are, it’s extremely rewarding. But they certainly test him - though he won’t deny that the motley crew all truly care about each other and would stick together through anything.

Charmy’s variant is called Dodger. He embodies Charmy’s mischievous, irreverent side. He was born to pirates and left at an orphanage on one of the larger islands, but could never follow rules or be satisfied with a simple, mundane life in one place. He wanted excitement, and usually made his own by causing trouble and playing tricks. He totally wasn’t lonely. One day he stowed away on a ship. His plan was to steal all the stuff he could carry on him and fly off. Bullion and Fathom, the sailors who caught him, took a liking to him and were hesitant to send him back to his boring, miserable old home once he explained his life before. They were nice and cool and made him feel wanted and like he belonged more than anyone else ever had, so he hung around. Bullion makes him do chores, but respects his pranking prowess and nerve. Fathom is a great listener and playmate, albeit sometimes a killjoy.

#thought process for new yoke: #what if i made their ‘just trying to pay the rent’ motivation and vector’s apparent guardianship of two kids really dark and tragic #in an examination of how good people can be twisted by factors beyond their control? #thought process for boscage maze: #what if they were all fine and happy and chill actually? #thought process for no place: workplace/domestic sitcom hijinks ON THE HIGH SEAS #the nyc trio’s contract definitely has fine print that the council can roboticize them if they disobey any order or something #so that’s hanging over missile’s head! #them finally rebelling is going to be EPIC though #sting really wants to call missions ‘sting operations’ after himself without understanding what that means #bullion has big stan pines energy #like stan pines in his twenties career (with fathom exasperatedly shutting down the dishonest elements) #combined with his dream of sailing around going on adventures #fathom: business offer. i receive: FAIRLY earned wages. you receive: help getting your shit together #berry and fathom are the voices of reason in their trios like canon espio #but trace is NOT #firstly because missile is reasonable enough #but more importantly because trace is one more emotional straw away from a complete breakdown #which could be either sobbing himself into dehydration or a no-holds-barred rampage against the council #like. he’s ‘the calm one’ the way kit the fucking fennec is ‘the calm one’: NOT CALM #i could have just made a vector variant greedy to the point of evil #but i choose to believe that every part of vector fundamentally cares about his whatever versions of espio and charmy are present #they’re a three-pack - do not separate #plus that’s been done with knuckles the dread #and especially since they’re in the same dimension i wanted bullion and dread to be different #sonic prime #team chaotix #vector the crocodile #espio the chameleon #charmy bee

[leviackermansbrat]

hii :) how about a little request of levi x reader where they are both in love with each other but havent really ever acted upon it much and one day the reader gets badly hurt and almost dies, while their recovering levi realizes how close he was to losing them and they finally confess their love and be together (hope this is ok!)

Unexpectedly Expected

tw: mentions of injuries, near death experiences, blood

side note: this takes place during the expedition where the female titan is captured and then escapes. So SPOILER WARNING FOR LATER ON IN SEASON 2 (I also know it's not winter during that episode but for the sake of the scenario let's pretend it is)

The air was cold. Winter within the walls was dreadful for the survey corps. Fighting for humanity was never a part time job, which meant that whatever mother nature had in store for the soldiers had to be taken in stride. No amount of sleet, hail, or snow stopped the scouts from exterminating titans and venturing outside the walls to do so.

"Have you checked your gear brat?" Levi asked with a stoic gaze as he looked cadet Y/N up and down. They beamed brightly at Levi as they nodded their head and gave him a thumbs up.

Levi rolled his eyes at Y/N's enthusiasm, but on the inside he felt his heart warm just a bit. He had always admired the cadet. Their bravery and compassion never ceasing to amaze him. Skill wise, they were almost on par with him which is why he chose them as his second in command for the Special Operations Squad, also known as Squad Levi.

It was an understatement to say that Levi was infatuated with you. He had known cadet L/N since he was first forced to join the Survey Corps. They stuck up for him when Flagon was being a jerk on the day of their arrival. Since then he found Y/N tolerable and eventually began to grow fond of them. However those small feelings that he had became even more intense after Y/N became his shoulder to cry on after Isabel and Furlan died. Since then they have depended on each other and climbed the ranks.

Despite Y/N being in the Survey Corps longer than Levi, they refused to take a higher position when Erwin asked them to become squad leader. Instead they stuck by Levi's side and became content with being his second in command.

Y/N's feelings for Levi were obvious to everyone in the Survey Corps except for Levi. Hell, even the new recruits of the 104th cadets asked if there was something between them and the stoic captain because of the obvious infatuation and pining. Not only is Y/N scared to make a move because of the obvious fear of rejection, but they also fear that they could potentially ruin things between the two of them if they were to add feelings to the equation.

"Make sure to come back alive Y/N," Levi remarked as his hands tightened on the reigns of his horse.

"Only if you do the same Levi," Y/N responded with a cheeky grin.

Once again, Levi rolled his eyes. The yell from Erwin broke him out of his thoughts as they began to ride off beyond the walls.

*skip to after the female titan was captured because I'm lazy*

"Y/N, you're in charge while I'm gone. Take care of my horse. Make sure you get the brat back to headquarters safely. And if shit goes south protect Jaeger," Levi ordered, zipping away before Y/N had the chance to respond.

"You heard the man, I'm in charge. Let's secure our horses in a safe position and get to higher ground just in case random titans come wandering into the forest before the mission is complete," Y/N ordered.

The other squadmates were obviously upset and hurt. They had no idea why they were left in the dark when the plan was to capture the female titan all along.

"I mean new recruits aside, why didn't they tell the survey corps veterans like all of you? The only people who knew were captain Levi and Y/N," Eren asked, looking around.

Y/N cringed at Eren's realization which was partly true but not completely. Y/N was against not telling the entire squad about the plan but the Commander and Levi insisted it was best to keep it under wraps.

"Are you implying that we aren't trusted by the Lance Corporal and Commander? Tell him that's not true Y/N!" Petra yelled, looking at Y/N for confirmation.

"Look, it's not that we don't trust you guys at all. However, there is a traitor in the survey corps," Y/N began to explain.

That would explain why we were kept in the dark about all of this. So you, being a survivor of the attack five years ago were informed about this since it's likely that the perpetrator infiltrated during the fall of Shiganshina?" Eld asked, looking directly at Y/N.

Y/N smiled at Eld's understanding and thought about how he would make a great squad leader. He was dependable and kind, something the survey corps needed. Y/N nodded at Eld's conclusion and a wave of relief passed through the Levi Squad. Although they were upset that they were under suspicion, they knew that it was an extremely important thing to keep under wraps.

Suddenly, a loud roar was heard and the ground began to shake. A retreat flare signal was fired soon after and the Levi Squad looked at each other with wide eyes.

Y/N's attempt at a smile turned into a grimace. They had a bad feeling about this. There was a nagging feeling that something would go wrong. Quickly shaking off the bad feeling, they ordered the squad to retreat.

Was Levi okay? Is he injured? No, he wouldn't be. He wasn't humanity's strongest for no reason. Whatever situation he found himself in, he would surely be able to figure it out and come back safely. After all, they had a deal.

Small talk about the first expeditions rang through the air, but Y/N couldn't bring herself to participate in the light hearted conversation. They knew something was wrong. A flare signal was spotted which meant that Levi was nearby. Y/N saw a hooded figure and immediately knew something was off. They were way too tall to be Levi and all of a sudden their eyes widened.

The titan shifter had most likely escaped. This was the bad feeling they were having.

"Gunther look out!" Y/N yelled but it was too late.

Gunther was hanging from a tree, his body limp and unresponsive in the blink of an eye.

"Guys! It's the female titan! Retreat back to headquarters with Eren. I'll apprehend them!" Y/N yelled to the group.

Y/N was more than capable of handling the female titan. Their speed and strength was second to Levi. It would be no problem taking the shifter down, however before Y/N could pull out their blades, a strike of lightning flashed before them and they were blown away on impact, being way too close to the female titan when she decided to shift.

Y/N flew through the air and only stopped after they hit a tree, the wind being knocked out of them and their head being hit against the tree. They felt a sting in their abdomen and looked down to where their own sword impaled them, having been caught in the crossfire after attempting to ready to battle the female titan. Somehow the blade impaled them while they were flying through the air.

Y/N tried their best to stay awake, but their vision was blurred and they were slowly losing consciousness. A tear slipped from their eye as they realized they were going to die. Y/N wasn't scared of death, but they didn't want to leave Levi alone again. To put him through the pain of losing someone else that was close to him. But Y/N couldn't fight it anymore and their eyes slowly closed, darkness engulfing them.

Levi zipped through the trees, following the explosion he had seen earlier. The female titan had slipped right through their fingertips and he was more worried than ever. Was his squad okay? Of course they were. Y/N could handle the female titan without a problem. But still, he had a lingering bad feeling.

His breath caught in his throat after seeing the mangled bodies of his squad mates. Gunther, Eld, Oulo, and Petra all dead. His heart skipped a beat as he noticed Y/N and Eren were missing. Did they make it back to headquarters? Were they safe? No. A roar erupted in the air signaling that the fight was not over.

Levi soared through the air, anger coursing through his veins for his fallen comrades. He was going to avenge them and take down the female titan.

After retrieving Eren from the female titan, Levi felt empty. There were no signs of Y/N. Almost as if they had vanished. He expected them to be near Eren and fighting the female titan, but that was not the case. Eren was not conscious so he couldn't even ask what had happened to her. Levi was left to assume the worst.

It wasn't until Levi spotted a familiar figure slumped against a tree that he abruptly stopped and told the other Ackerman to continue until they met up with the rest of the Scouts.

Levi was relieved, finally being able to spot Y/N, but that relief turned to dread after he saw the state of Y/N's body. They were slumped against the tree with a blade piercing their abdomen. Levi rushed over to them to check their pulse, cursing the universe for even thinking about taking away another person that he cared for.

He was relieved to find that Y/N's pulse was still there, although in the back of his mind he knew there was no way they could survive after losing that much blood and having other injuries.

"L-Levi," Y/N called, their voice raspy.

They slowly opened their eyes to meet Levi's steely grey ones. This was one of the only times aside from after Isabel and Furlan died where he expressed so much emotion on his face.

"Don't talk you brat, you're just going to make it worse. I'm going to take you back and get you patched up. Just hang on for me a little while longer," Levi said, preparing to carry Y/N back even though his ankle was killing him at the moment.

Y/N chuckled bitterly, blood escaping her lips as she coughed a little.

"You know I'm not going to make it back Levi. This is the end for me," Y/N said, giving Levi a sad smile.

"Stop talking like that. You're not allowed to die on me. That's an order you idiot," Levi commanded, his voice wavering.

"I'm sorry. But I'm glad I got to be by your side for this long. Loving you is something I will never regret," Y/N responded, smiling sadly at Levi.

His eyes widened as he looked down at his second in command, his best friend, the person he would give his entire heart to in a flash. Levi leaned in slowly and planted a kiss on Y/N's lips, the salty taste of their tears interfering. Levi pulled away to look at the smile on their face and found himself smiling as well.

"I love you, Y/N. That's why I'm not letting you die," Levi said, taking Y/N into his arms.

He soared through the forest carrying Y/N, looking down to find their eyes closed. He was too scared to check their pulse in fear that they might already be dead.

Just stay with me a little longer. Don't leave me behind.

*time skip*

"So you love me huh Levi?" Y/N asked, giving Levi a goofy grin.

After the expedition Levi rushed back and Y/N made it by the skin of their teeth. Hange even said it was a miracle that they lived with all of the blood loss and other injuries.

"Shut up brat. Don't make me take it back," Levi responded, rolling his eyes.

During Y/N's recovery he rarely left their side. Hange realized that he might have finally confessed his feelings and teased him endlessly.

"Aww, don't be so harsh. I love you too Levi," Y/N said, giving Levi a quick kiss on his cheek before dashing off to chat with Hange about her latest experiments.

Levi watched their retreating form and smiled slightly to himself. Yeah, he loved them. And that's something he would never regret.

Hope you enjoyed! Writing this was wild lol.

#attack on titan #aot #attack on titan x reader #aot x reader #levi ackerman #levi #levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #hange zoe #mikasa #y/n #levi x y/n #x reader #armin #erwin #hange x reader #snk #snk x reader #snk fanfiction #shingeki no kyojin

[zet-sway]

THE FROZEN SEA CHAPTER 2

I've literally never done a chapter 2 to anything before. It's boring but whatever, I wrote it. Hopefully I can find the stamina to continue. Longfic is so difficult (╥﹏╥)

Word Count: ~3000 Rated: "T" AO3 Link: "The Frozen Sea - Chapter 2" Pairing: Thane / FemShep Summary: "When they finally disembark, she beelines for the elevator with a painfully stiff spine and heavy footfalls. In that moment, Thane can see the weight of her two missing years more clearly than ever before, her humanity practically seeping through the cracks in her hardsuit."

- - - - - - - - - - -

It's shortly after breakfast when Shepard appears in his room unannounced. Fresh mug of coffee in one hand and datapad in the other, she takes the seat across from him without a word. Her eyes are glued to the screen, worried, but focused.

"Shepard, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

Her mug hits the table with a soft thump and her eyes flick up at him from under her lashes.

"What do you know about the collectors?"

Curious, he leans in, hands folded. "I've encountered them before, although not directly."

Shepard raises an eyebrow.

"My work has taken me to some less than desirable reaches of the galaxy," he says dryly.

"Ever killed one?"

By now he's unsurprised by her direct questions, but it's enough of a hint for him to understand there's definitely something afoot. Thane shakes his head. "No, I've only watched from afar. The Collectors have a reputation for black market dealings."

The datapad flickers off as she sets it down and takes a sip of her coffee. Then she summons an image of a planet he's never been to on her omni-tool. Horizon, a human colony.

"This morning I received an emergency directive from The Illusive Man. It's very likely we're about to go head to head with Collector forces for the first time."

Ah, that would be why she's here so early.

"How much longer until we arrive?"

"Sixty minutes. Tell me what you know."

He pauses to consider what might be most valuable to the mission. 

"They fly, like insects."

Shepard visibly chokes on her coffee. "That's different." She transfers the planetary data to his omni-tool. "Suit up and meet me us upstairs in thirty."

With that, she gets up and walks out.

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

They load up into the shuttle. Shepard is nearly silent but Garrus seems to be in good spirits.

"So the Collectors can fly? Is that right?" the turian asks, checking the safety on his rifle for the 6th time.

Thane nods in his direction.

"I guess we're about to find out. We'll give em' hell, Commander."

Shepard merely hums her approval. Her mind is elsewhere.

When the shuttle touches down, she's the first one on the ground, motioning for the others to hold position inside the shuttle until she gives her signal. It's not until she's confident that Mordin's protection against the seeker swarms is effective that she allows them to press forward.

While she forges ahead to clear the proverbial brush for them, Thane wonders about the duality of her. Kalahira's messenger, making every attempt to prolong their lives. The goddess does not take life for the pleasure of it, she needs them for the battle ahead. 

He wonders if she, too, will be swept up in the coming tide. 

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

Fighting the Collectors makes her skin crawl. 

The drone of seeker swarms and collector wings never seems to fade out from her mind. Their flesh is… wrong, somehow. Filled with fluids, too soft, with unseeing alien eyes. Garrus bolts one on her flank and its head bursts like overripe, rotting fruit. She cringes and presses forward, Thane by her side tearing down barriers. He’ll have biotic burns after this mission if she’s not careful.

They’re armed with particle weapons - unsurprising given their intel. The air singes in the wake of each shot as they move from cover to cover. The deeper they move into the colony, the more horrors they unearth.

By now, Shepard is accustomed to the knowledge that husks were once people. But two years gone has brought frightening new context to that idea when she sees what other horrors the Collectors have in their arsenal. Grotesque amalgams of... things. People. Other creatures. What is she even supposed to call this four legged thing with a mass of human heads below it's carapace? Is this what the Collectors are doing with these people?

They manage a small number of survivors. Too few. But among them is Ashley Williams - a fucking sight for sore eyes if Shepard’s ever seen one.

"Ash, it's good to see you," she says, face splitting into a grin. It takes all her self control to not throw her arms around the soldier. 

Ever the professional, Ashley stands resolute among her Alliance compatriots. She's grown into a strong soldier, and Shepard beams with no small amount of pride.

"I didn't want to believe it was you. It really is you, right? Shepard?"

"It's me, in the flesh." Shepard says, arms outstretched in a proud gesture.

Ashley looks incredulous, her expression is hard to read. "And you too, Garrus - what happened to your face?"

Garrus flares his mandibles in a characteristic turian smirk. "Just a scratch, really. A rocket to the face will do that."

"Jesus, Shepard..." The way Ashley's tone trails off immediately makes the air turn sour. Her smile twists away into nothing. "You're really with Cerberus, then?"

"It isn't what it looks like, Ash." The words are thick in her throat. Even if it's true, the phrase sounds utterly hollow.

"I thought you died. I… we… had a funeral for you. People don't just come back from the dead,” Ashley says, eyes like daggers.

"I didn't believe it myself until I saw the final report. You can read it if you like," Shepard’s face scrunches up in discomfort. The photos still haunt her. "Meat and tubes, Ash.”

"I'm disappointed you'd even let yourself believe that." Her voice is rising, eyes narrowed in accusation and contempt. The look on her face is every bit as painful as her words.

Shepard chews on her lip, trying to think of something to say, anything at all, because after everything they’d been through, Ashley is one of the last people she’d have expected....

“Cerberus,” she mutters. “Shepard, I trusted you.”

Shepard loses focus rapidly after that, her mind forcibly shrouding the words in a fog if only to get through the moment, second by agonizing second. Some days it's like she's been resurrected into a living nightmare. The sting of rejection after two lost years burns like her lungs in the vacuum of space. 

"I woke up on a Cerberus operating table," she interrupts, loudly. "They told me the station was under attack, so I grabbed my gear and got the fuck on with it. And then they told me I'd been dead for two years." She takes a step back, eyes flicking out across Horizon's dull gray sky. "I didn’t ask for this. For all I know, The Illusive Man put a fucking chip in my head set to blow the minute I disappoint him."

She can feel their eyes on her. Garrus looks lost, Thane is stone still and motionless. The heavy silence threatens to crush her heart into a hundred cybernetic pieces.

"I'm just as confused as you are. But I'm trying to stop this ," she gestures around at the disquieting emptiness of the colony, the grisly remains of slain Collectors. Her heart is racing, her head seething with the heat of indignation. She can taste the bitter words that sling past her teeth, regretting them the moment they hit the air.

"I wish you the best, Ash. If someone ever undeadifies your fucking corpse against your will, I’ll try not to hold it against you."

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

No one speaks as they board the shuttle back to the Normandy. Shepard's eyes are glued to the floor, her shoulders slacked in an uncharacteristic display of upset.

Thane and Garrus exchange glances but neither dare to break the silence.

When they finally disembark, she beelines for the elevator with a painfully stiff spine and heavy footfalls. In that moment, Thane can see the weight of her two missing years more clearly than ever before, her humanity practically seeping through the cracks in her hardsuit. Garrus looks just as worried. They part ways at deck three. Shepard's eyes are distant as the elevator doors snick closed.

When she doesn't appear for dinner, Thane tries - and fails - to knock loose the worry. It's certainly no business of his, and if she wanted his counsel she'd have sought him out by now. Still, he's compelled.

He fixes a fresh mug of coffee, and a mug of tea for himself, before boarding the elevator.

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

He finds her sat on the couch, smushed into the corner with a datapad in her hand. Eyes ringed with fatigue, she looks so much smaller than she had on the battlefield. This close to the hull, her cabin is colder than the rest of the ship.

"You didn't show for dinner. I brought you some coffee. May I sit with you?"

She heaves an audible sigh, as though reluctant to accept. "Sure."

Maybe he’s invading her privacy, but there’s something about the way she looks that’s more vulnerable than he expected. Her hair is mussed and she’s wearing a black sweatshirt. The zipper is pulled low enough for him to see her dog tags glimmering against the bare skin in the valley of her chest. If she notices his wandering gaze, she doesn’t seem to care. She's tending to her own needs - without the requisite to prove a damn thing to anyone, least of all him. 

He seats himself in an adjoining chair and passes the mug to her. At least she seems to enjoy the warmth in her hands, bringing it close to her face to inhale the scent of it.

"About what happened on Horizon-" he begins.

She sits up to face him. "Thane, I know you mean well. But please don't concern yourself." 

He can see the pain etched into her features, though. It's hard to imagine, but if he looks close enough, she’s there. This unguarded human, the same woman who put the fear of god in him just days ago. He decides it’s better to respect her boundaries, and stands to depart.

"I understand, Commander. I’ll leave you be.”

“Wait,” she says, tiredly. Thane pauses, waiting on her next words. “Sorry, it’s just been… a long day.”

Slowly, he eases back into his seat to wait in silence while she gathers her thoughts. 

"Did you hear about Eden Prime, two years ago?"”

“Yes, a Prothean beacon was destroyed there,” he nods.

“Yeah. That’s where I met Ashley,” she sighs, leaning back against the cushions. “A lot of things happened on Eden Prime. Video feeds caught Sovereign just before touchdown. We lost Jenkiens within minutes of landing, and Nihlus not long after. The Geth were there, Saren was there. The beacon exploded and knocked me cold.” Life changed pretty fast after that.”

The way she recalls the memory is disorienting. He reminds himself that it probably is confusing for her - and she’s probably better off for it. Sometimes life without perfect recall sounds like a blessing.

Shepard takes a tentative sip from her coffee before continuing.

“Ashley was with me when we stopped Saren. She’s a great soldier, and a good friend. The things we saw together, the people we lost... I never expected her to be so cold.” Another sip, and she closes her eyes. “Shit hurts.”

“I see,” he says, two nearly meaningless words in the storm of his own memories. He thinks of Kolyat, so small all this years ago. Somewhere, he's now a man with accusations and hurts of his own.

Thane shifts in his seat, refocusing his attention on Shepard. “What changed?”

“Cerberus,” she frowns. “She’s angry, and she has every right to be."

"The way you spoke on Horizon gave me a different impression."

"You're right, and I regret what I said to her. But I..." Shepard chews on her lip. "I don't want to... talk down on other soldiers. But I'm not surprised she doesn't see this the way I do. We didn't see eye to eye when Kaidan died, either. There's a reason we aren't all special forces."

Kaidan, Jenkins, Nihlus - Thane hasn’t heard these names before, but he decides now isn’t the time to pry. Instead, he asks, "You believe her military rank cheapens her understanding of what happened?"

Shepard shakes her head. "Not her rank. Her training."

That piques his interest. Thane sets his elbows on his knees and leans in. "You're both Alliance, how was your training different?"

Shepard stares at the ceiling as if searching for the words. Idle fingers trace her dog tags against her chest, holding them out to him. 

"This symbol, N7," she begins. "It's from the interplanetary combatives training program. N is special forces, and 7 is the highest rank of training. The duties and privileges are different, but N7 is... kind of like the Spectres, in terms of a kind of exclusivity."

She lets the tags drop against her chest, and this time she zips her sweatshirt, like she wants to forget about them. 

"You had to be selected?"

"Yeah, for candidacy." She stares into her coffee and downs the rest of it before lacing her fingers behind her head, eyes fixed firmly on everything but him. "No one leaves ICT unchanged. I thought it would be like a fucked up version of boot camp. It kind of was, but that's not what made it so hard. We were thrust on to the front lines, thrown into impossible situations. There were people who…" she leans down on her elbows and sighs, restless. "People die during these promotions, Thane. People depend on you for their lives and you-” she laughs, sort of, "You depend on them not to be stupid.

"You don't feel proud of what you've done. You just... you change how you look at the world. Every wink of sleep, every moment of rest, whatever. It has to be earned. They give you a mission, and you can't go home until it's done. Sometimes you know you're sending good, honest soldiers against fatal odds. It's fucked - it really is, but you're the last line of defense for that mission. And it has to get done, or even more people could die. So you fight - dirty, if you have to - anything to complete the mission without losing more of your men. Sometimes that means…" Her mouth twists into a lopsided half-smile that doesn't reach her eyes. "...the enemy of your enemy is your friend.” 

The enemy of their enemy - Cerberus. The entire ship understands this, but Ashley had not. Polarizing moralities, indeed.

"By the time I was promoted,” Shepard continues, “I got why every N7 I've ever met never stays in one place for long."

"I think I understand,” he says quietly.

A moment of silence passes before she glances at him, curiously.

"Was training like that for you too?"

Thane shakes his head. "Not quite. It was intense for different reasons. But I never knew anything else. Our entire lives were training and discipline. I rarely socialized outside of our…" he pauses, thinking. "I think the closest word would be 'monastery.'"

"Monastery?" Shepard asks, finally meeting his eyes. "Was religion part of your training?"

"No, but the… asceticism of our lives bore resemblance to a monastery." He holds her inquisitive gaze with a smile. "I started going to services just to get away from my studies, but eventually I found comfort in them.” 

The memories are pleasant, actually. Stealing away from the others for prayer service was like a special privilege. 

She smiles. "That's kind of nice, I guess."

He recalls the scent of incense, the chanting, the faces of trusted mentors, and when he speaks there's a hint of nostalgia in his tone.

"The priest became like a father to me, in some ways. At least, I thought of him often when..."

The words almost slip his mouth, but he catches them, freezing them in his throat.

When Kolyat was born. 

Slammed with the realization that he hasn’t felt this glib with another person in years, he fidgets uncomfortabltly. It’s a disquieting change in how he’s used to conducting himself. 

"Another time, perhaps,” he says. If he's lucky, she won't bring it up again.

Shepard raises an eyebrow, but there's no judgement in her gaze. She wrings her hands where they hang between her knees. "I get it. Some things are too painful."

Painful isn't quite the word he would use, but it’s close enough. In truth, the guilt is what withholds him. Like the more time that passes without his son, the less he deserves the memory of him.

"Sorry for all this. Honestly I... It's been two years for everyone else, but a few months for me. Sometimes it can feel isolating.”

He offers a kind smile, standing and collecting her empty mug. “I can relate. Those of us forged under extreme circumstances seldom find others who understand us.” 

She smiles, and this time it reaches her eyes. "Thanks for thinking of me, Thane."

"You're quite welcome. I enjoy your company, Shepard," he says, his voice warm. "I'll let you rest."

"Likewise." She stands to see him out, bidding him goodbye with a grateful hand on his arm. She seems more like herself. "See you at PT."

He leaves, back to the silence of his makeshift quarters to mull over their conversation. The ghost of her handprint lingers on his arm until sleep claims him.

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

This is the biggest fanfic yolo I've ever done. Send help writing is hard lol ┐(‘～`;)┌

#zet writes things #thane krios #thane #fshrios #shrios #the frozen sea au

[caiminnent]

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

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

SUMMARY:

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

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

FANDOM: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy

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

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

5K || ALSO ON AO3

Hux isn’t prone to worry.

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

Worry is a waste of time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At two in the morning, the doorbell rings.

He is going to murder Ren.

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

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

He opens the door wider.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What did he say?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

They’ve gotten old—Hux most so.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hux alone works on three different devices.

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

Hux can make it happen.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The bedroom is where the worst fears come out.

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

“They aren’t.”

“But how do you know?”

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

“Well it might be because he’s—”

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

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

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

Rey’s silence rings in the room.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“As we speak.”

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

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

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

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

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

There is no mobile coverage.

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

The dread coiled in Hux’s guts grows heavier.

So much for his alert systems.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A hunch he desperately wants to see proven wrong.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hello, Hux.”

Oh.

Oh, the ever-loving—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ah. Fair enough, then.

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

Hux is above lying to his employers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I missed your birthday.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sleep well.”

#Kylux Summer Fest 2020 #Bad Things Happen Bingo #kylux #Armitage Hux #Kylo Ren #Rey #Dopheld Mitaka #Phasma #Star Wars #Cai does words #finished fics #I know I say this for every fic #but this fic was a ride #I can happily go back to my KBB fic now #not designed for the cynical

[alounuitte]

Where Loyalty Lies

When shipments from a mining station suddenly stop, Lotor's generals look into the reason and get more questions than answers. At the same station several days earlier, the Blade of Marmora encounters a surprise when they try to take out the operation.

Chapter 2 (also on AO3 under LovelyLessie!)

-

There’s a long moment of silence before Kolivan says, slowly, “It’s a what?”

“A - a child,” he says. “Or, um, a kitten? A - like, a little Galra, I don’t know what—“ 

“I know what a kid is,” Kolivan says, cutting him off. “What is it doing here?” 

“Uh, right now, hiding from me,” Keith replies, taking a few steps back. “It’s back behind the machinery, I don’t think I can get in there.” 

“Proceed with your mission,” Kolivan instructs him. “We will retrieve the child before we go.” 

Keith frowns, chewing on his lower lip. “Is… are they gonna be okay back there while I’m messing around with the controls? I don’t want them to get hurt.”

Silence. He looks at the console, and then back at the gap between the machinery, angling his head until he sees the glint of yellow in the child’s eyes. They haven’t moved, still curled up tight in the narrow space, and he’s suddenly reminded of himself as a child, hiding from sitters in the back of the closet or behind the washer in the cellar. 

“I’m gonna try to get them out of there,” he says. “If I can’t fit, none of you are going to, so we’re gonna have to convince them somehow, right?” 

“A sound argument,” Kolivan agrees. “We will join you shortly to assist.” 

“Don’t get bitten,” Dazvar says quietly, and chuckles. “Kits have sharp teeth.” 

Keith laughs at that and switches his comm off, demasking as he approaches the child again. “Hey,” he says softly, and drops into a crouch. “It’s okay. I’m not gonna hurt you.” 

The kit growls again, eyes narrowing. 

“Can you talk?” Keith asks. “How old are you?” Not that it would mean much to him, really, since he has only a vague concept of how the empire measures time, and no idea how early Galra learn to speak, but it seems like the sort of thing to ask a strange child. 

They hiss in response, and he can make out enough to see the way their teeth bare and their ears twitch back. 

“Okay,” he says, taking a deep breath to steady himself. Patience. “Guess not. That’s...fine.” 

He sits down and unstraps the sheath of his knife, setting it aside. The best thing he can think of to help coax the kit out of hiding is to be less threatening, so he’d better at least put down his weapon. It doesn’t seem to make any difference to them, but anything’s worth trying. 

“I’m Keith,” he says when he can’t think of anything else to say. “Do you have a name? Uh - wait, I guess you don’t talk - or you’re not right now, anyways. I get that, I don’t like to talk to strangers either.” 

He frowns, looking down at his open hands. The kit has stopped growling and is watching him silently from the back of the room, which he thinks might be progress. 

“Sorry,” he says. “I’m not really that great at conversation. Um, I’m…” 

A Paladin, he means to say, and then second guesses himself. Most people they’ve met across the galaxy are reassured by that, but this kid’s family is part of the empire; anything they’ve heard about Voltron probably sounds more like a threat than a consolation. A member of the Blade of Marmora probably isn’t any better, either - if that even means anything to anyone outside of the group. 

“I’m from a really, really far away planet,” he says instead. “Called Earth. But my mom was Galra, so maybe we’re not that different, right? Except you grew up with other Galra…” 

It occurs to him, suddenly, that the guard who was running up to the control room in such a hurry they didn’t even notice him might have been looking for the kit, and then, there was another biosignature on the lower level. His heart drops so fast it makes his stomach lurch. 

“Hey, Therlok,” he says, switching his comm back on. “Did you run into that other guard?”

It’s a brief moment before Therlok replies, “Negative. No interference. Likely in the docking bay.”

Keith breathes a sigh of relief. “Okay,” he says. “Thanks.”

“What is your status?” Kolivan asks. “Have you retrieved the kit?”

“No, they’re still back there.” He looks over and hears them growling softly again, ears flattened against the sides of their head. “I think they don’t like too many voices. I’m going to switch my comm off again.”

“Let us know when you’ve extracted them,” Kolivan says. 

“Will do,” he agrees, and turns off his comm. “Sorry about that,” he tells the kit softly. “I wanted to make sure your family’s okay, that’s all.”

Slowly their growl trails off into silence again. 

“Don’t worry, I understand,” he adds. “I’m not a big fan of too many people talking, either. And our voices sound pretty weird with the masks on, huh? That’s probably kind of scary.” 

The kit still doesn’t move, and he sighs, his breath rumbling in his chest. Patience, he reminds himself again, purring quietly to try and soothe the tension in his shoulders. He doesn’t usually do it around anyone else, but the sound is comforting, and he figures a Galra kitten isn’t going to judge him. 

“They’re probably gonna be coming here pretty soon,” he says. “Don’t be too scared of them, okay? They’re my friends, they won’t hurt you…”

He trails off, staring, as the kit slowly uncurls and creeps a few steps closer. 

“Hey,” he says, giving them a small smile. “You wanna come say hi?” 

They draw back slightly, and then, in a tiny voice, reply, “Hi?” 

“Hi,” he says. “Uh, I mean - hello. Greetings? I guess I don’t know what Galra say to greet each other.” 

The kit angles their head, ears twitching. 

“Do you want to sit out here?” he asks. “I can, um, move farther away, if that would make you feel better.” 

“Maybe,” they say. 

“Okay,” he agrees. “I’m gonna get up and move back, and you can come sit right here.” 

Very carefully, he climbs to his feet and takes a few steps away towards the console before crouching back down on the floor, and the child finally emerges from behind the machinery. 

She can’t be more than five, or the Galra equivalent, anyways - a skinny little thing with wide eyes and round cheeks, the corners of her mouth drawn down in a pout. For a long moment they both survey each other, silent except for Keith still purring under his breath. 

“I’m Vrani,” she says finally. 

Keith grins. “Hi, Vrani,” he says. “I’m Keith.” 

“Keith,” she repeats, and smiles back, all sharp teeth. “You look funny. Where’s your ears?” 

“Right here,” he tells her, pushing his hair up so she can see. “The people from my planet don’t have big pointed ears like Galra do.” 

She frowns, considering that. “But, you’re Galra?” she asks, tilting her head, one ear perked up. 

“Only half,” he says. “My dad’s from Earth. I grew up with other humans, so I don’t know much about the Galra, actually.” 

Vrani comes a little closer and stops three feet away, dropping into a crouch. “You look like them?” she asks. “Humans?” 

“More or less,” he agrees. 

She wrinkles her nose. “Wow,” she says. “That’s really sad.” 

Keith frowns, pretty sure he’s being insulted. “Well, people on Earth don’t know about any other races,” he tells her. “They would have thought I was pretty funny looking if I looked like a Galra.” 

“Hmm,” she muses. “I guess you’re right.” 

“And just because I look human, doesn’t mean I’m not like you in some ways,” he says. 

She giggles, and the sound startles him; there’s a low rumble to it when some of the Blades laugh, like Dazvar, but he’s never heard anyone trill like that. “Like how?” she presses. 

“Uh,” he says. “I… I can see in the dark, humans can’t really do that, I guess. And, um, I have sharp teeth, too, that’s because I’m Galra.” 

“Show me,” she says. 

“What?” he asks, blinking. “Uh, okay.” He bares his teeth for her to show off his oversized canines, and to his surprise she jumps up and runs over to him. “Whoa, hey!” he yelps, but before he can move to stop her she grabs the sides of his face with both hands to peer into his mouth curiously, her claws digging into his cheeks. 

“I guess so,” she says. “Mine are sharper, though.” 

Keith removes her fingers from his mouth, glowering. “Don’t do that,” he tells her.  “Didn’t your parents teach you any manners?” He can taste iron on his tongue; he must be bleeding where her nails scratched the inside of his mouth. 

“I - I just wanted to see better!” she says, her eyes wide. 

“You shouldn’t grab people without asking,” he says, grimacing. “That hurt, and I don’t like being touched.” 

“Sorry,” she mumbles, shrinking into herself and pulling her hands back out of his grasp. 

“It’s fine,” he says, shaking his head, and manages a slight smile, though it stings a little. “You just caught me off guard. You were so scared at first, and then you ran up in my face.” 

“You were purring,” she says, looking up at him. “The soldiers wouldn’t do that, only people who are nice.” 

“Oh,” he says, and realizes he’s stopped in the time since they’ve started talking. “Are the soldiers… not nice to you?” 

She shrugs. “I’m not allowed to talk to them. They’re scary. Avka and Atka say they’ll be mad if they see me.” 

He sighs, trying to focus his breath in his chest. It’s a lot harder to do it on purpose, but now that she’s out in the light he sees the way she relaxes at once when he starts to purr again. 

“Do humans do that?” she asks after a moment, reaching towards his chest tentatively before stopping. 

“I… don’t think so,” he says. “I’m pretty sure it’s just me.” 

“No,” she says, “all Galra can do it, see?” She closes her eyes and he hears a faint thrum in her chest as she breathes. 

He smiles. “Yeah, I guess so,” he agrees, and takes her outstretched hand, letting her rest her palm against his breastbone.

#keith kogane #voltron legendary defender #vld #vld keith #voltron #eh thats good enough #hey i love this chapter #willwrites #belong to the sky verse

[theheroesguild]

A certain exhausted young Time Guardian trudged out of the half-wrecked Divine Order castle, eyes stinging from the fact that he was dripping wet from a tsunami wave from earlier, trying to wring out his shirt of excess saltwater as he did so. Slowly he surveyed the damage, the number of heroes requiring medical attention, and the sight of a couple of Pokemon trainers sending out their water types to help fish out Kaneki (as well as Akira) out of the shriveling ‘Kraken’ remains sinking beneath the tide.

Spade couldn’t help but groan. “ What a mess.” He muttered more to himself than for anyone else in his vicinity. Considering that his magic reserves were already running as fumes earlier, he needed some form of a fast recharge as soon as possible if he wanted to sort it all out before-

“Yes... It is.”

A pair of figures had appeared just beside the grumbling apprentice, apparently just in time to overhear; for better or worse, the Seer had finally made her return to the Order with Oko in tow. Admittedly, Spade startled in fright at her abrupt reappearance and then dread sank into his bones as she leveled what was clearly a disappointed gaze at the scene unfolded before her.

Oko was the only one who had a completely different reaction to everything from everybody else, his frown also looked disappointed, but for the wrong reasons. “You guys had a water balloon fight without us?”

The Seer shifted her focus toward Spade before she finally continued, her expression holding that same air of ambiguity that was no doubt quite familiar by now. “...I should have left better, more thorough countermeasures for you to use, making sure you were more prepared.” Then the goddess bowed her head, a solemn and often heard sorrow falling into her tone. “It was foolish and unjust of me to leave the potential for such an immense catastrophe on your shoulders. I should have known it would be too much.”

Considering what his expectations were, the words left her very first apprentice stunned for a moment. “What?” he blurted out after a moment of waiting for the Seer to continue speaking and getting none else. “You think this is all just… your own fault?”

“There is a reason why my work here requires constant, personal attention.” A hint of tired bitterness entered her tone, eyes narrowed. “Even after training for eons, I still make errors, sometimes quite grievous ones. I should not have expected such a short time of apprenticeship to prepare you for this level of… Volatility.” 

“But!” And with a conviction that surprised even himself- “...You wanna know what did at least happen thanks to Kaneki? Catching the bad guy who started this whole mess! So I made a mistake and he went a bit berserk because of it, but that’s my bad, not yours!” Spade went, his tone on the verge of shouting. 

Then the young Guardian hastily pulled his arms back down at his side, realizing way too late that he was wildly gesturing with them during the heated spiel.

Fortunately, the Seer seemed unphased by the outburst and maintained her calm demeanor. "And what did this victory cost?" she simply asked, the straightforward inquiry cutting deep into the tension.

Which was more than enough to defuse and deflate Spade, since even he didn’t think there was any sense of pride to be had about his performance as acting leader. “I’ll… gather up and get a count on who’s hurt.”

“Actually,” the goddess cut in before turning her attention to her other apprentice, “Oko, I would like for you to put your training into good use and tend to the injured. Spade will be showing me what has become of Kaneki; on the way, we can discuss the details of that ‘bad guy’ he mentioned. I suspect there is quite a bit to catch me up on.”

"Okay, Ms. Seer," Oko replied, tilting his head curiously at the request before wandering off to attempt his very best at completing the task given to him. (But luckily, he wouldn’t be unsupervised while doing so.)

---

“Attention everyone!” called out the Seer once each member of the Order had been attended to and Kaneki both stabilized and properly secured. “I do have a bit of an announcement, so please gather around!” Under normal circumstances, just shouting that out would never have been enough to garner attention-- but without any walls or, in fact, any manner of standing structure to obstruct the sound, her voice carried quite well across the flooded ruins. Gradually the weary lot grouped around her, some more reluctantly than others.

“Due to the current… Circumstances,” she explained with a vague gesture at the castle’s remains, “There will need to be substantial repairs-- physical and magical-- before the base here is safe and habitable again. In the meantime, our residence will be temporarily shifted to our alternate headquarters in Raeth. This is not expected to be an especially long process, but due to the risk of attack while the area is… Compromised… It will be safer to take refuge elsewhere until we can deem the structure suitable and secure.”

Some grumbling and whispering could be heard; clearly this was not a usual course of action. Someone even used the term ‘unprecedented.’ Clearly this was about a bit more than just making sure the castle was architecturally sound.

“Rooms, belongings, mission boards, and all other necessities will be available over there as well, along with the usual dining arrangements, training rooms, and lounges. I doubt it will be much different, in the long run,” she quietly assured the group. Some didn’t seem so easily convinced.

“But what about the BEACH?” demanded Selia furiously. “The Raeth HQ is so… Grungy, and in the mainland, too! No water for miles and the forest is filled with, you know… Werewolves and stuff!” There was some murmur of agreement.

“Man I sure hope I can bring my lab over there,” Sylvia muttered. “They’re really weird about science over there, and magic. And especially about magic and science together. How’m I supposed to work on an anti-gravity grenade in peace with folks claiming it’s witchcraft?”

“I know the move won’t be ideal, but I assure you it is very, very temporary,” the Seer insisted. “The HQ is quite secure there, we will not have to worry about any… Unexpected visitors.” So that was what this was about… The leak. The arrival, the troublemaker who had somehow slipped through the barrier… The group quieted a bit, perhaps not everyone was happy about it, but they’d just have to make do.

“In the meantime,” she added, “Please feel free to let me know if you would like to help with the repairs here as well; while the area will not be fully secure, we can use as many sets of hands as we can get. There is a great deal to be done, and the more sets of eyes we have, the less likely anything crucial will be missed. Perhaps we can even make it better than it was before.”

“Everyone else…” The Seer’s strain was showing slightly, though she brushed it away swiftly. “Just try to keep calm, and stay at ease. The Raeth HQ has many allies of ours, and I’m certain if everyone comes together, there will be plenty of ways to pass the time. We’ll be back to our normal operations before you know it.”

---

With a quick snap of his fingers after his magic was back to full capacity, Spade presented to the goddess a jar as they walked through the halls of the much more Victorian-styled castle, though its contents were impossible to examine through the glass with the naked eye.

“And here it is, our culprit,” said Spade. “I know it’s not much to look at like this, but as I’m sure you already know- keeping something that’s physically like the Ether involves blocking out everything from light, sound, air… Not a single atom of anything goes in or out.”

The Seer examined the jar contemplatively, giving a nod of understanding; it was hard to believe that there was such a small version of the Ether that it could be trapped within just this small jar, but she could tell her apprentice’s words were quite sincere. “The Ether itself was a shock when I first learned of it, and now there are even more branches of this being. This... For all that I can see, this was not something I was able to anticipate, as though blocked from my vision somehow.” Two fingers rubbed at her temples in frustration. “I cannot fathom what this means. It could be multiplying, or growing to such immense size that portions break off, or perhaps they are small enough fragments to slip under our radar all this time…”

She sighed. “I suppose there is no use in overthinking it for the time being. We will have to worry about that after more pressing matters are settled.” The pair had reached a staircase leading deep underneath the castle, lit by flickering torches. The whole area felt incredibly eerie; it was just what one would expect from some creepy dungeon.

“You’re right, but I think you might be interested in a couple of other details that Erwick can confirm.” her apprentice added. “Attacks like from his flames worked perfectly fine as usual, but there was also this shiny weak spot on it. Literally. Some kind of scar maybe?”

“A… scar?”

“Yeah. White and glowing. Like… Ganondorf’s, all the way back in Twilight Princess. And then they were hamming it up about trying to prove their worth to the rest of the Ether.”

If not for how serious the entire situation was, the sight would’ve been almost comedic. Spade continued on, “Honestly with how its plan went horribly right on trying to piss off Kaneki, I could see why this thing might actually be a bit of a bumbling idiot in the Ether’s view.”

“Interesting.” The Seer made a mental note of this; perhaps there was a bit more to her initial impression than she’d thought. “That behavior is rather unusual as well, the Ether does not seem to have much ambition aside from its… Destructive nature. Hm. I suppose we will have to keep on the lookout for other, similar phenomena.”

It was about then that the cell came into view… The bars looked like exactly the sort of solid steel that one would expect in some classic old dungeon, though they were nothing compared to the unseen energy field that would block any unsanctioned passage in or out. Inside, however, it was at least clean and tidy; there was also a bed and a bathroom for now. The Seer would have to check its occupant’s mental condition before deciding if any other furniture was safe to place inside…

“It seems he’s still out cold,” she commented quietly. “With the RC suppressants administered, at least his awakening won’t shake the foundations. I imagine I will still know nonetheless.” Considering the effect his aura had on her, there was no question of what she meant there.

“With luck… Hopefully, Kaneki will recover soon.”

The Seer wasn’t sure she believed her own words.

---

The sea breeze was so much stronger with most of the island demolished, rushing across the debris with a ragged howl. There was nothing to hold it back now, just like any of the countless fiendish creatures that could have launched their attacks on the rubble. But aside from that wind, it was quiet, most of those who’d come to make repairs working in relative silence. The atmosphere was heavy indeed, and none seemed daring enough to try and cut through it.

The Seer meanwhile was occupied by her own thoughts, and they were no gentler than the roaring tides.

She was certain the barrier had to be compromised in some way. That thing had gotten in somehow, after all; normally the field was able to protect against even the full might of the Ether pounding on its walls. It had rebuffed countless beasts, many much stronger than the little spectral scoundrel now in their custody.

So how had it gotten inside when so many others couldn’t?

Checking the magic was bearing no fruit, nor were the wards or, in fact, any of the other enchantments of varying types that were supposed to keep this place safe.

None of it made any sense.

Her initial guess was that Spade had accidentally changed a setting or altered the composition of the energy, or… Something. But whatever had caused the breach, it seemed to be back in place now-- even if the field itself was still temporarily down. The whole thing was making the Seer’s head spin… She was a being with visions of the future, knowledge of the unknown, all the multiverse crammed into what was once a mortal skull.

So why couldn’t she understand what was happening here?

Why hadn’t she been able to predict any of this?

How had she not even known about that tiny Ether’s existence?

There were too many questions and not enough answers. So, for the time being, she set herself back to the task of repairing the castle-- rebuilding walls, fixing tapestries, and retrieving broken tech. It wasn’t perfect, but at least keeping her mind busy would prevent any further over-thinking.

Everything would be back to normal soon. It had to be.

#IC announcement #legacy of the heroes guild #co author; Dragroar #that makes the event officially over #thanks for participating folks!

[old-livin-la-vida-langst]

Stars in Your Eyes, Death at Your Throat [part 1]

[Read on ao3]

NOTE: I’ve moved to @livin-la-vida-langst , make sure you follow that blog and not this old one! :)

[first] [next]

To be honest, Lance felt Keith pulling away long before he announced that he would be joining the Blade of Marmora - running off to Marmoran missions instead of training with the team, late night reports to Kolivan, and just being holed up in his room instead of spending the time with them. He felt it coming, but that didn’t stop it from hurting any less. The team, while sad that Keith was becoming a full time Marmoran, were quick to adjust their roles - especially since they had a Black Paladin on standby. It made no sense and the thought of it left such an uncomfortable taste in Lance’s mouth; Keith was their leader and left, and everyone was moving on like it was no big deal.

What was worrying, was that if they could do that to him, it was more than easy to imagine them doing that to Lance.

He tries to be strong after Keith leaves, he really does, but it's just so lonely. Without the common factor of school or classes, Hunk naturally gravitates more often than not to Pidge instead of Lance and works on various projects. Allura and Shiro work on building strategies for the coalition. Neither group particularly needs or wants Lance's input; Coran is amicable enough, but there is only so much Lance can clean.

Shiro calls a training simulation for the team. He walks through different battle behaviors he wants each of the paladins to practice - Hunk needs to focus on his tenacity, Pidge on her drones input commands, Allura on her long distance, and Lance on his melee. Coran inputs the training sentries objective for each paladin above the training room with Shiro watching attentively. Everyone breaks off into the separate sections and gets to work.

Lance takes a cuff to the chin and lets out a startled shout. Shiro turned on the speech communication from the observation deck and says, “Lance, when facing taller opponents, make sure you stay out of their Danger Zone. You have to either come in behind his throw, or under it in order to cross the firing zone.” Lance wipes the spit off his chin and nods, his eyes never leaving the sentry.

Most of the time is spent with Shiro throwing the occasional piece of advice towards Pidge and Allura, he offers Hunk soft suggestions for how to strengthen his mental fortitude when handling an enemy. The robot facing Lance grabs his forearm and swings the paladin off his feet and onto the ground. He begins to writhe in pain as the robot applies pressure to his caught arm.

“Lance!” Pidge squawks and drops her control, the three drones she was commanding scatter off in different directions. One hits Hunk square in the face, making him freak out and collide into his practice sentry. Another drone slams into Allura’s back and she shouts out in surprise, falling to the ground in a very undignified manner. The third drone flys straight for the doors. They slide open and Shiro catches it before it has a chance to crash into anything. He walks in short strides with the drone in his human hand before grabbing the sentry on Lance and yanking it up with his Galra hand.

Lance withers under Shiro’s gaze. “End Simulation.” He announces without breaking eye contact. Hunk and Pidge run up to Lance, “Are you okay?” They both frett, scanning his body for any broken bones. He nods, shame closing his throat.

Allura gets back on her feet and harshly pats dust off herself. She walks up to Lance and looks down at him with a tired, frustrated expression. “Lance,” she began, “This kind of performance is unacceptable. It is one thing to be incompetent in a singular setting, but to have your incompetence affect your teammates could very well cost our lives. Voltron can’t afford that. The universe can’t afford that.” His mouth is dry, and his stomach won’t stop twisting; before he can fumble out an apology, Shiro sighs and places a disarming hand on Allura’s shoulders.

“The Princess is right, Lance. If you’re not helping around the Castle, training should be your top priority.” Shiro looks at him, more disappointed than frustrated, and God does that sting harder.

The red paladin tries to smile, and he hates how he can feel the burn of approaching tears. “Y-yeah, I… I know, I’m sorry, I’ll work harder.” He gets up without the help offered by Hunk’s hand and rushes off to his room with a mantra of ‘Don’t let them see you cry’ ringing in his head.

Lance finds safe haven in his room, clutching on to the communication tablet that was assigned to him at the beginning of their journey. He shuffles to the wall of his bed and idly taps his fingers over the frame while he ponders his next step.

With a deep breath, he unlocks the tablet, dials the access code for the Blade of Marmoa’s line and waits.

Each ring sends more and more chills down his spine, and anxiety begins to eat at his shaking hands.

Just as he’s about to end the call request, the line connects, and Lance feels a bubble of relief burst in his chest. “Hey Mulle-”

“Red Paladin.” The happiness inside him is snuffed out like a match in the rain. The leader of the Blade had answered instead, his large frame and stern face covering the screen. “Is there a situation at the Castle of Lions?” Kolivan shifts attention to something else off-screen, and stretches his hand out to enter some commands into his network, “I’ll send over a team of Marmoan’s within a quarter varga.”

“Wait! No, no, no, Kolivan, it’s chill here, don’t send a squad!” Lance screeches out. His hands are flapping around, trying to emphasize there was no alarm. Kolivan’s pulls his lips to one side of his face, clearly confused.

“Chill? If there is no alarm, why have you reached out? The Princess and Champion are responsible for relaying communications.” He says.

Lance rubs his left shoulder, suddenly feeling a lot more self-conscious. “I know. I, um. I wanted to see if Keith was around? I know he’s probably super busy, but I was just wondering what he was up to... if he had some time to talk, or whatever.”

Kolivan peers into the screen and thins his lips. He studies Lance for a moment before lightly shaking his head. “This access line is reserved for serious matters, and Keith is performing his training vigorously. I hope you understand this enough not to break proper Communication Protocol again unless it is a dire emergency.” The Galran ends their line before Lance can respond, leaving him to stare at a darkened reflection of his pitiful face.

His room suddenly feels so small and suffocating.

Lance curls into a ball, covers himself with his blanket and cries.

The next night, around the same time, Lance is laying down on his side. He skips dinner because the team tends to talk about what they've worked on for the day and Lance can't bear the air of uselessness when silence lingers around the table when everyone is finished speaking and Lance finds he has nothing new to say because he hasn't really done anything.

He rolls on his stomach to bury his face in his pillow and hears something buzzing. The tablet at the foot of his begins to vibrate and Lance leaps to answer it.

Keith - beautiful, amazing, Keith is on the screen glancing at something off-screen. “Hey, Kolivan mentioned you tried to reach out yesterday.” The half-Galran rolls his eyes playfully, “Are you that bored over there that you're trying to find ways to pest-” His eyes dart around the screen, looking at different parts of Lance’s face, “What the hell, Lance? Are you okay?” He gulps as he sees tears streaming down his friend’s face.

He's never seen him look so sad before.

Lance is hiccuping and furiously trying to wipe the tears away. “It's r-re-really good to hear your voice mullet!” Lance's voice cracks multiple time, but he can't find himself to be embarrassed right now.

Keith is waving his hands around frantically, as if there's some way his hands could go through the screen. “Lance, what's going on? Is everyone okay, what happened?” He asks.

His former right-hand man shifts, his gaze lowers. “Everyone’s good. Nothing’s wrong.” Lance’s voice is low, cautious, and it pisses Keith off.

“Bullshit, you’re crying Lance, stop lying and tell me what’s going on!”

Lance chokes on air and goes into a coughing fit. Keith is looking so intensely, that his purple eyes almost look like their glowing. “I, um… it’s been pretty rough without you here.”

There's a moment of pause as the Blade-initate digests the sentence.

“Uh, what?” Keith shifts his positioning and cocks his head to the side.

Lance meets Keith’s confused stare and continues, “I mean! Our system, you leading Voltron, and me being your right-hand man, it was good! I felt,” He sighs, “I felt useful. Now? I feel like I’m just a body to operate Red.”

Keith chews on his bottom lip.

“I don’t know what you’re going through, or why the team can’t help get you out of thinking like that, but I get how you feel.” Keith says. He scratches the back of his head nervously when Lance’s eyebrows furrow in concern, “The Blade is rough. They eat and work with each other, and have such strong conviction about what they believe; but it's so intense, they’ll fling themselves into the fire and hope their teammates will use their body to get to their goal without a second thought. You can’t really make friends here, because literally everyone is dispensable, and it’s hard.”

“You’re not dispensable.”

Keith’s eye widen, and his jaw goes slack. Lance is staring him down with red-rimmed eyes. “You’re not dispensable, you know that right?” Lance is gripping his tablet so hard, he swears it's going to crack. “We- we all care about you so much. If there’s ever a moment where you think you are, or you think that you need to be to complete a mission, I want you to remember me telling you this. Promise me, you’ll remember me saying this.”

Keith doesn’t really know what to say, or what to do. No one’s ever really told him that, but hearing it out loud… kinda makes sense. He smiles, “Thanks, Lance, I-” A puff of air leaves his quirked up lips. “I’ll try extra hard not to die if you remember to take your own advice.”

Lance huffs, and closes his eyes as he whips his head to the side. “Whatever. You better,” He says it sternly, but Keith sees his grin. “If I find out you died, I’ll kill you.”

The recent Malmora initiate’s smile is spread out so far, his cheeks are hurting, but he can’t quite stop it. “Oh really? Duly noted.”

Their eyes meet again, and they soon find themselves in a giggling fit.

“Oh!” Lance straightens up, “Did you hear what Pidge did on the scouting mission in Selticon?” Keith shakes his head. “Oh man, so wild, let me tell you. So, Pidge and I are rustling through a Galra-occupied village...”

The two end up talking through the night, sharing stories and making each other laugh. By the time they both realize its time to go, they also realize they don’t want this to end. They promise each other that they’ll schedule some time to this at least once or twice a movement. They end up sneak in video transmissions almost every other night to hear each other's voices and see each other's faces. Neither say it out loud, but it's such a cathartic way to vent their emotions, that they both can't help but look forward to the next call.

It’s really hard to deal with the chaotic mess of an intergalactic war. The fact that death is quite possibly around any corner they take is a little stressful to say the least, but the calls definitely make it easier to bear.

And... if, after every call, they end their night smiling and thinking of the other… well, there can't be much harm in that.

#klangst #langst #klance #voltron fic #im just gonna reupload this as a post to build up the blog shhh #keith #lance

[jccamus]

My semester with the snowflakes~

My semester with the snowflakes~ https://ift.tt/2sSRZoH

My semester with the snowflakes~

In May of 2019, at the age of 52, I was accepted to the Eli Whitney student program at Yale University.

I am the oldest freshman in the class of 2023. Before I was accepted, I didn’t really know what to expect. I had seen the infamous YouTube video of students screaming at a faculty member. I had seen the news stories regarding the admissions scandal and that Yale was included in that unfortunate business. I had also heard the students at Yale referred to as “snowflakes” in various social media dumpsters and occasionally I’d seen references to Ivy League students as snowflakes in a few news sources.

I should give a bit of background information. I was an unimpressive and difficult student in public schools. I joined the military at 17 and spent close to 26 years in the US Navy. I was assigned, for 22 of those years to Naval Special Warfare Commands. I went through SEAL training twice, quit the first time and barely made it the second time. I did multiple deployments and was wounded in combat in 2009 on a mission to rescue an American hostage.

Every single day I went to work with much better humans than myself. I was brought to a higher level of existence because the standards were high and one needed to earn their slot, their membership in the unit. This wasn’t a one-time deal. Every time you showed up for work, you needed to prove your worth.

The vetting process is difficult and the percentages of those who try out for special operations units and make it through the screening is very low.

In an odd parallel, I feel, in spite of my short time here, the same about Yale.

After receiving my acceptance email and returning to consciousness, I decided to move to Connecticut and do my best in this new environment. Many people have asked me why I want to attend college at 52, and why at an Ivy League institution like Yale? I could have easily stayed in Virginia and attended a community college close to my home. Well, based on my upbringing in the military, I associated difficult vetting process’ with quality and opportunity. I was correct in that guess. More importantly though, I simply want to be a better human being. I feel like getting a world class education at an amazing institution like Yale will help me reach that goal. Are there other places to get a great education? Of course, but I chose Yale.

My first class of the semester was absolutely terrifying. I don’t know if it was so for the kids in my class, but it damn sure was for me. It was a literature seminar with the amazing Sterling Professor of Comparative Literature, Professor David Quint. He is an amazing human in that he has dedicated his life to literature, and he knows what he is talking about. The discussion was centered around the Iliad. I had read a bit of the Iliad in the middle part of my military career and decidedly didn’t get it. Listening to Professor Quint demonstrated exactly how much I didn’t “get it.” The other students looked like children to me. Hell, they are children, but when they speak, and some of them speak english as their second language, they sound like very well-spoken adults. My Navy issued graduate degree in cussing wasn’t going to help me out here. These young students had a good grasp of the literature and although they lacked much experience to bounce it off of, they were certainly “all in” on trying to figure out its underlying meaning.

At one point, I said; “hey, I’m just an old guy sitting here with a bunch of smart people, but I think….” And they all smiled, some of them nervously because I was essentially an alien. I was an old dude with tattoos all over his arms, and a Dutch Shepherd service Dog brandishing a subdued American flag patch on her harness, sitting next to him. Professor Quint later approached me and said “hey, don’t downplay your intelligence. You are smart as well.”

I thought, I’ve got him fooled! Turns out I didn’t fool him at all when I turned in my first paper, but that is another story for another time.

After a few classes, I started to get to know some of my classmates. Each of them is a compelling human who, in spite of their youth, are quite serious about getting things done.

One young woman made a very big impact on me. She approached me after class one day and said; “I am really glad I can be here at Yale and be in class with you. My grandfather came to Yale and when WWII started, he left for the Navy and flew planes in the Pacific theater. After he came home, he came back to Yale, but he couldn’t finish. He locked himself in his room and drank and eventually had to leave, so I feel like I am helping him finish here at Yale and I’m doing it with a veteran, you.”

I was surprised and quite emotional. Exceptionally emotional. She went on; “I can send you a photo of him!” and I told her I would love one. That evening she sent me this photo of her grandfather.

I used to read stories about men like him and they are heroes to me. Clearly her grandfather is a hero to her as well, and she is going to make him quite proud. This connection with a WWII vet through his amazing granddaughter is a gift. One of many I receive on an almost daily basis in this amazing institution. I think it’s worth taking a moment here and acknowledging that this thing we now call “PTSD” has always been around and some of us veterans escape it while others, like me and likely this gent in the airplane, felt the sting of it.

One day in another lit class, I brought up a book I’d read a long time ago called “Taxi Driver Wisdom” by Risa Mickenberg, Joanne Dugan and Brian Lee Hughes.

After that class a couple of the students approached me and explained that their dads were cabbies when they first came to the United States, and that their fathers had told them that the things they sometimes heard from people in their cabs were amazing.

Think about that for a second. These students are first generation Americans. Their fathers immigrated to this country and started out by being taxi drivers. Now, their children are attending college at Yale University. I’m a patriotic man and those are the stories that help me understand how, in spite of the seemingly endless stream of negativity surrounding it, the American Dream is still alive and kicking. It makes my heart sing every time I see those kids.

Let me address this “snowflake” thing. According to the “Urban Dictionary” a “snowflake” is a “term for someone that thinks they are unique and special, but really are not. It gained popularity after the movie “Fight Club” from the quote “You are not special. You’re not a beautiful and unique snowflake. You’re the same decaying organic matter as everything else.”

I hear the term occasionally from buddies of mine who I love, they say things like; “how are things up there with the liberal snowflakes?”

Let me assure you, I have not met one kid who fits that description. None of the kids I’ve met seem to think that they are “special” any more than any other 18–22-year-old. These kids work their assess off. I have asked a couple of them to help me with my writing. One young woman volunteered to help me by proof-reading my “prose” and, for the record, I believe she will be the President someday. I recently listened while one of my closer pals, a kid from Portland, Oregon, talked to me about the beauty of this insane mathematics problem set he is working on. There is a young man in our group who grew up in Alaska working on fishing boats from a young age and who plays the cello. There is an exceptional young woman from Chicago who wrote a piece for the Yale Daily news expressing the importance of public demonstrations in the light of a recent police shooting. She and I are polar opposites. I am the “patriarchy” at first glance, and she is a young black woman who is keen on public protests. Not the type of soul I generally find myself in a conversation with. We come from different worlds and yet we both read classic works with open hearts and minds.

We recently met with a prominent writer from a think tank who is researching the state of the humanities in the university setting. There were four of us students, two other young men, the young woman from Chicago, and me, the old guy. As the younger students started to express their thoughts, the young woman (truly a unicorn of a human) used the word “safe space” and it hit me forcefully. I come from a place where when I hear that term, I roll my eyes into the back of my vacant skull and laugh from the bottom of my potbelly. This time, I was literally in shock. It hit me that what I thought a “safe space” meant, was not accurate. This young woman, the one who used the phrase, “Safe Space” isn’t scared of anything. She is a life-force of goodness and strength. She doesn’t need anyone to provide a comfortable environment for her. What she meant by “safe space” was that she was happy to be in an environment where difficult subjects can be discussed openly, without the risk of disrespect or harsh judgement. This works both ways. What I mean is, this young woman was comfortable, in this University setting, wrestling with things like the Aristotelian idea of some humans being born as “natural slaves.” She was quite comfortable in that space. The question was, how comfortable was the 52-year-old white guy in that discussion? Did it make me uncomfortable? Yes. I’m grateful for the discomfort. Thinking about things I don’t understand or have, for most of my life, written off, is a good thing.

Being uncomfortable is KEY in this world of ours. Not altogether different from the world of special operations, where the work needs to be done, regardless of weather or personal feelings. The climate in this educational institution is one where most students understand that there HAS to be a place where people can assault ideas openly and discuss them vigorously and respectfully in order to improve the state of humanity. I’ll call that a “safe space” and I’m glad those places exist.

Here in the “Directed Studies” program, instead of “tuning in” to our favorite self-confirming “news” source, we are given a timeless text with heavy ideas and then we throw them out on the floor and discuss them with people who have, as I mentioned earlier, made these works and their meaning, their vocation.

In my opinion, the real snowflakes are the people who are afraid of that situation. The poor souls who never take the opportunity to discuss ideas in a group of people who will very likely respectfully disagree with them. I challenge any of you hyper-opinionated zealots out there to actually sit down with a group of people who disagree with you and be open to having your mind changed. I’m not talking about submitting your deeply held beliefs to your twitter/facebook/instagram feeds for agreement from those who “follow” you. That unreal “safe space” where the accountability for ones words is essentially null. I have sure had my mind changed here at Yale. To me there is no dishonor in being wrong and learning. There is dishonor in willful ignorance and there is dishonor in disrespect.

On veteran’s day, there was a great scene on cross campus. A bunch of American flags had been placed there and I stopped on my morning walk to class and took photos of my dog in front of them and sent them to my friends. Later at some point during the day, a young student placed a glove with red paint on it on one of the flags as she wanted to demonstrate her displeasure with something…I’m not quite sure what.

That same afternoon, some of my fellow students from “Directed Studies,” after a lecture, gave me this:

It is a card thanking me for my service to our nation. I was humbled and amazed.

These hardworking kids are very kind and thoughtful. A far cry from the picture that is often painted of them.

One of my Professors, a Professor of Philosophy, told me once “a good leader is a bridge builder.” Professor David Charles is a man who has been teaching bright young people and some slow and old ones like me, the most difficult subject for me, at Oxford and now Yale. He’s been doing this for over 30 years. He is extremely humble and very kind, in addition to being brilliant. I’m motivated by his words and I want to build bridges and lead, in some small way, a new conversation where we stop pointing out the perceived differences in each other, or this group vs that group, and start pointing out similarities. We don’t need more condescending friction in humanity. We need less. One step in the direction of less societal friction is to seek commonalities. Another step, and one that is sorely needed, is respect.

Now before you think I’m preaching, please know that I come from a place where I was distinctly the opposite of this ideal. I looked for reasons to disregard the opinions of those I didn’t respect. I discounted the ideas of people I felt like hadn’t earned the right to share what was in their mind. Particularly when it came to national security issues, I felt that if you hadn’t taken a gun into combat, I didn’t give a damn what your opinion was.

I’d like to count this as my first brick in attempting to build a bridge between the people here at Yale and those like me before I arrived here. We need everyone who gives a damn about this American experiment to contribute and make it succeed. We humans have much more in common than we have different. Thanks Yale, for helping me to become an aspiring bridge-builder at the age of 52,

In our welcome speech at the beginning of this semester, with all of us Freshman sitting in Woolsey Hall, me sitting next to another veteran, one who’d served in the 82nd Airborne, President Salovey said;

“There is so much we do not know. Let us embrace, together, our humility — our willingness to admit what we have yet to discover. After all, if you knew all the answers, you would not need Yale. And if humanity knew all the answers, the world would not need Yale.”

Now back to that bridge. I need to figure out how to actually build one. Good thing I’ve found a place where I can get help. If this place is peopled by “snowflakes” I’m proudly one of them. I’m a snowflake with a purple heart.

Peace-

https://ift.tt/2QdexIX via Medium December 23, 2019 at 07:10PM

#IFTTT #Feedly

[ohmytheon]

A Thing of the Past (Rebelcaptain, 4)

Don't mind me; I'm just avoiding all the action sequences I have to write for my fics. Except the next one will be action, so I once again screwed myself over. This is the next part of my Rebelcaptain Captain America/Winter Soldier AU. It got a lot bigger than I ever anticipated, but I've really enjoyed writing this. It's been a fun take on these two and everyone in their blasting zone.

longing: noun, a yearning desire

They call him the Winter Soldier.

Jyn finds the name in a file that is three-fourths marked out, surprised that the name managed to somehow exist through the scrub. After a week of hounding the same tech that helped her find Cassian’s file, the man showed up at her room, looking skittish and decidedly uncomfortable while clinging to a laptop and a thumb drive, before she dragged him inside and out of sight. Apparently, he got in trouble for helping her out the last time, but despite that, he could not say no to the Jyn Erso.

She’s never been one to abuse power, but her name meaning something is pretty helpful, if not a little irritating as well when she tries to remain anonymous.

“Is that all you could find?” she asks, her eyes locked onto the computer screen.

The tech, Bodhi, rubs his days-old scruff and admits, “That’s all I could break into.” So this information is above his clearance. He was forced to hack into S.H.I.E.L.D.’s server, his own people, in order to get this to her.

Leaning back in her seat, Jyn can’t help but wonder what else they’re hiding and from who. Are they still trying to keep her in the dark? A fat lot that will do if she’s forced to confront this assassin again. And she will. She can feel it in her gut. She needs to know who he is; she wants to know who she’s up against. It isn’t just a matter of her job; it’s consuming her mind. Bodhi’s good at what he does, but even he couldn’t get everything.

“Did you…?” Bodhi clears his throat, avoiding the laptop as much as possible. It’s obvious that he doesn’t want to touch the thing anymore. It needs to be destroyed. “Do you need anything else?”

“No, thank you.” She as good as dismissed him, which he seems thankful for as he scrambles out of the room. A brave person, she thinks, and a smart one too if he knows to be wary of this search.

The Winter Soldier.

Her eyes drift to a picture of her and Cassian from the war that she has pinned on the wall. What would he think of all this espionage? He was better at it than her. She was made to burst into situations and blow things up while he worked so well behind the scenes. She admired him for that, even if she didn’t understand it. Now she’s trying to do what he was known for - sneaking, hiding, keeping secrets. Cassian was so devoted to the cause. He never would’ve questioned S.H.I.E.L.D until presented with evidence and he would’ve felt betrayed after and done whatever he could to put an end to it, even if it meant damning himself.

She closes her eyes and smiles faintly. She’s fine with that. Jyn has been damned for a very long time.

*

“Someone hacked into S.H.I.E.L.D.’s server last week and copied some old files,” Director Mothma announces offhandedly as people file out of the debriefing. Another job well done, another clap on the back. Jyn doesn’t care about that. Her mind lies on bigger fish. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

Jyn barely raises an eyebrow and snorts derisively. “Because I’m the tech savviest person here.”

“Well,” Mothma replies, “you’ve been known to take files before.”

It was Cassian’s file. Jyn tries not to react, but her hands form into fists anyways. They should never have hid it from her in the first place. What good did it do them? Why are they so bent on keeping her in the dark? She knows that this is a spy organization, but to keep secrets from their own agents seems counter-productive.

“What were the files on?” Jyn asks, curious to see what she’ll be told, if anything. She knows what the files were about; she had them found after all.

“Old missions concerning an old enemy operative,” Mothma says lightly. “The last known mission was dated nearly twenty years ago. I doubt they’re still in commission.”

Oh, that operative is definitely still in commission and thriving. Shara’s healing broken ribs can attest to that. Jyn can still feel the sting in her hands and gut from when he threw her shield back at her if she thinks about it hard enough. Mothma is dismissive, like she knows without asking that Jyn is involved and is telling her to stand down. Drop the hunt. Let it go.

But Jyn can’t. She never could. It’s not in her nature.

She lays down and thinks about those eyes - how they managed to look so dead and alive at the same time - how familiar they felt when laid upon her. She closes her eyes and sees him jumping out the window without a car and following after him even without knowing where to land. She has to wonder about a person that has the same disregard for their own life because of a mission as her. She pictures Shara getting thrown through a door and wonders how it would feel to fight someone on her level, to not have to hold back, to not restrain herself. Would she feel alive again and not just living?

Jyn shrugs her shoulders. “Doesn’t seem like that big of a deal then.”

“We take any breach of security very seriously, even small ones,” Mothma points out.

“The serum they gave me turned into a super soldier, not a super spy,” Jyn replies before she turns to walk out of the room. “That was Cassian’s field of expertise.”

It doesn’t hurt to say his name aloud as much it used to, but it still stings. She imagines him standing stock still at the edge of the room as she walks out rudely, him closing his eyes the only sign that her behavior affects him. He would berate her later for being so insubordinate, especially to someone like Director Mothma, but then he would try to hide the smile that always formed after when she half-assed apologized.

She misses even that now. There’s no one to temper her here. She’s a loose canon. Shara does her best, but she’s not enough. Cassian could cool Jyn’s heat with a single look; a simple hand on her shoulder would get her to snap her mouth shut when she was about to tear into someone. Here, now, she’s convincing once obedient techs into hacking into secure servers and steal files so she can probably go on a rogue mission.

Cassian would be aghast by her behavior -- or maybe he would be by her side. Because no government agency should keep dangerous secrets like this from their own people when it only hurt them. Maybe he would follow her because it was the right thing to do. It wounds her to think of what he might say to her now, but it comforts her as well. She’s fighting for the future, but his ghost will always be there. One day she’ll join him.

Jyn almost laughs. Judging from all the kills attached to the Winter Soldier, confirmed and unconfirmed, maybe he’ll help her get there.

* 

Shara appears a day later in Jyn’s room, already lounging on the bed when Jyn walks in after a session at the gym. Some might shy away, but she’s too tired to deal with anything, so she peels off her sweaty shirt and tosses it into a hamper while Shara eyes her like a cat.

“Aren’t you still on medical leave?” Jyn asks as she kicks off her shoes.

“I suppose, but there’s no need to stay in the med bay the entire time,” Shara replies. She stretches out as far as she can, only twinging in pain once from her broken ribs. “I missed a real bed.”

“I don’t think that’s yours.”

Shara grins all sharp-like. She’s made of edges. Jyn wonders how she ended up that way, but she knows better than to ask “Not the cuddling type?”

“Get frozen like a popsicle for over half a century, you learn to appreciate space and not being confined,” Jyn points out dryly. This causes Shara to laugh. Most people would probably be sensitive of her situation, but she learned to use dark humor to deflect and cope at a very young age when she was weak and parentless. It throws almost everyone off, but Shara delights in it.

“Can’t blame a girl for trying,” Shara sighs as she appreciatively eyes the small curves of Jyn’s body and the muscles the serum gave her. There’s nothing dirty in it though. Jyn knows that Shara is only being playful. She’s seen the other woman in action behavior, making men’s mouths slobber at the mere thought of her.

For a second, she wonders what it might feel like if that intensity is turned on her, but then she’s only ever felt that way towards one other person before and he’s dead. Best not make it two for two. Besides, Jyn really does prefer to sleep alone. That way she doesn’t have to explain the nightmares.

“Heard about the breach in security,” Shara says idly.

“They really should work on their firewall protection,” Jyn says in return as she rummages in her drawer for a clean pair of shorts.

“Mothma knows it was you.”

There’s no need for a response, so Jyn says nothing. Denying it would be futile. She’ll shoulder the blame if it means keeping Bodhi’s name out of this. Instead she finds some shorts and shimmies out of her leggings, throwing them to the side as well. It doesn’t bother her being only in her underwear and sports bra in front of Shara, just as it doesn’t cause the other woman to blink. They’ve both seen more than a half naked woman’s body. It would’ve been nice if her body could’ve been somewhat distracting right now, like Shara’s, but she’s all lean muscle and little to imagine.

“Why does this mean so much to you that you’re willing the jeopardize your place here?” Shara asks, sitting up on the bed and swinging her legs over the side.

“Why are they trying to keep this a secret?”

Shara huffs. “He’s a ghost, Jyn, for a lot of reasons. One, because half of the espionage community doesn’t even believe he existed; and two, because if he did, he should be long dead by now.”

“He’s not dead and you know it,” Jyn counters heatedly. She waves a hand at her. “Were your ribs broken by a ghost in spy folklore or a dead man?”

The impassive expression on Shara’s face doesn’t change. She’s a spy and good at what she does -- hiding, keeping secrets, not reacting. It occurs to Jyn that the other woman reminds her of Cassian and she feels a spark of distrust. Had they been paired together because of Shara’s skillset -- because she might make Jyn think of Cassian and feel subconsciously placated? Shara is her closest friend these days, but was even that a ploy to coerce Jyn into cooperating with them?

It shouldn’t hurt, but it does. Like that time when she thought that Cassian was involved with someone else.

“It was him,” Jyn says quietly. “The Winter Soldier -- I know it was him.”

It’s that unchanging look, the way Shara looks at her and doesn’t blink, doesn’t try to do something to change Jyn’s mind, that lets her know that Shara is in agreement with her. It’s a reply in of itself. Jyn has never been as good at reading people as someone like Cassian or Shara, but she knows how to read situations. That’s part of being a good soldier, of staying alive. And for Shara, being a spy means that secrets are like currency to her, but she doesn’t like it when they’re kept from her by their own people.

“He’s like me, isn’t he?”

Shara sighs. “I don’t know.”

Jyn can’t help it; she barks out a laugh. “He threw you through a wall , Shara. He jumped out of a twelve story window. He caught my shield . What normal human being is capable of things like that?” She’s still affronted by the memory of the assassin catching her shield and throwing it back at her hard enough to make her skid backwards, like it was nothing. She thinks of the metal-on-metal sound, that familiar ping. Was his hand made of vibranium?

“But you know he’s real,” Jyn says. “You know he’s alive.”

“Yes.”

“And you know Mothma is trying to keep me in the dark about it.” Jyn folds her arms across her chest. Shara is the interrogator, but Jyn is the relentless one. She’s a dog chasing a car. She’s the fighter. It’s been that way since she was born, weak and wiggling, everyone so ready to give up on her. “Why?”

“Probably because you’re going to get yourself killed,” Shara bites back, jumping to her feet. It’s one of the first times that Jyn has seen Shara get angry. She hides her emotions so well normally, but it must’ve irritated her to have Jyn ignore all her little tricks and ploys to distract and derail. “You’re an incredible asset that she doesn’t want to lose, but you’re also reckless and looking for a fight -- except this isn’t some regular brawl. The Winter Soldier is a mystery, but he’s most definitely a murderer and he will kill you.”

Jyn scoffs. Does everyone here have so little respect for her? Do they think her just a gimmick or maybe a relic of the war? Something to display like a trophy, only use for show like the shows they’d made her do before she had been allowed into combat? Maybe they thought she was washed up. She was from another time, not this new age with weapons beyond her wildest dreams and technology that was once science fiction to her.

Shara takes a breath and puts a hand on Jyn’s shoulder. “I know you don’t trust me all the time, but please, listen to me for once.” It sounds like something Cassian said to her not longer after she’d been injected with the super soldier serum. Why? Is any of this real? “Yes, the Winter Soldier is real, alive, and very much active right now. I don’t know how or why, but he is.” She pauses, as if torn between whether to continue or not. “Another thing? You might be searching for him, but he’s hunting you too and that’s dangerous.”

Maybe he felt the same answering call in her gaze as she saw in his. For the first time since she’d been pulled out of the ice, she didn’t feel alone, but even more so, she didn’t feel completely unknown.  She didn’t feel out of time, but right in the moment the second they faced off. Ever since then, this search for him through technology, the countless hours spent reviewing the little footage at the senator’s speech that they had of him, she kept hearing that call resounding in her, demanding her to come and find him.

It’s such a simple human want: to be known. She feels like she’s been fighting for it her whole life yet is only given brief moments of  it here and there to tempt her.

“Good,” Jyn says, turning away to pick up a shirt and pull it over her head. “Maybe he can do the work for me.”

Because the crash is inevitable. Their meeting again is inevitable. This time, she doesn’t try to hide the excitement. It’s far too late for that. It’s in her bones.

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