#The working title of this fic is In The Shadow of Bickering

[morelikeravenbore]

🦋 AU WIP in which Aurélie was the New Fifth Year (and hated every minute of it lol) [250 words]

Aurélie was absolutely positive that if the Sorting Hat had tried sticking her in Slytherin house, she would have packed up her things and left Hogwarts the very same night she'd arrived. Having just transferred from Beauxbatons, the ordeal of wearing a manky old hat while a thousand-odd British children gawked at her had been bad enough, but if that Hat had declared her a snake and condemned her to living in the dungeons —

Thankfully, she'd been spared the trouble of arguing her way back to France when she was proclaimed a Ravenclaw, and it was with much relief (and a perfectly executed side-eye to the Slytherin table as she passed) that she'd joined the Eagles with their flattering blue-and-bronze uniform and their bright, airy common room in a tower.

Unsurprisingly, she'd discovered fairly quickly that members of Slytherin house weren't exactly the most well-adjusted among the student body: Ominis Gaunt, Heir of Slytherin, aristocratic to the bone and about as welcoming as a viper in a chicken coop, took every chance he could to openly and vocally criticise her; Imelda Reyes, Quidditch captain, competitive to a toxic degree and unapologetically distrustful of the French, took Aurélie's inexperience (and, quite frankly, disinterest) in Quidditch as a personal insult, and Sebastian Sallow —

Well, Sebastian Sallow was the type to drag you down to a secret room in the deepest, darkest recesses of the school and wasn't particularly sympathetic if you happened to have a deep-seated fear of the dark.

Sebastian Sallow was unforgivable.

[rwrbficrecs]

Hope you all enjoy our recs for November ❤️ (even though they're a little late!!) Incenatus by @missgeevious (book/movie-verse)

@suseagull04: I can't recommend this fic enough! If you love Twilight and The Phantom of the Opera, this fic is for you! A mysterious masquerade, a soulmate connection, and chemistry that's off the charts all culminate to make this one of my new all-time favorite fics!

Meaning Something by bleedingballroomfloor (book-verse)

@dot524: Really enjoyed this Liam POV that goes deeper into what actually happened with Alex and Liam, his relationship with Spencer, and how Liam reacts to Alex & Henry during the book. The feelings & coming out are really well done.

Needy & Greedy by @clottedcreamfudge (book-verse)

@heybuddy-drabbles: It's been HELL of a month in good and bad ways so I didn't have time to read much. I'm choosing to recommend a series of unconnected one shots, all steamy and delicious and fun and short for casual reading when you don't have much time to commit to a 70k fic. If you like smut tis for you!

Taste the Way You Bleed by @cha-melodious (book-verse)

@myheartalivewrites: a super fun What We Do In the Shadows AU, written for the RWRB halloween fest. Alex and Henry are oblivious vampires, pining for centuries, and the rest of the super-six turn up in hilarious mockumentary-style interviews. The summary alone had me HOOKED.

Camp Llwynywermod by bleedingballroomfloor (book-verse)

@myheartalivewrites: one of my go-to for comfort, all time fave fics. Alex and Henry as co summer camp counsellors, pining and bickering for years. The tension is top notch!

@dot524: It’s funny and I really enjoyed the camp setting and their journey from enemies to friends to lovers. This is a fun and cute fic.

Downburst by @cricketnationrise (book-verse)

@rmd-writes: an AU of The West Wing ep 'In the Shadow of Two Gunmen' - mind the tags, this is an angsty but beautifully written fic with very clever use of multiple POVs to tell several stories of love (including platonic love). This is so good I was mad I didn't write several lines in it myself.

@thesleepyskipper: Truly an incredible and unique work that was done with care. The way the various memories/flashbacks are done and how they are used as part of the storytelling absolutely blew me away. Loved that we got multiple POVs here too!

Underground by @zwiazdziarka (book-verse)

@suseagull04: An adorable kid, fantasy (including mentions of fantasy classics!) and a rescue mission make this such a fun read! The world building in this fic is phenomenal too.

A Long Way From the Playground by @three-drink-amy (book-verse)

@dot524: This is a getting-back-together AU where Alex & Henry were childhood friends who grew apart in college and then unexpectedly are neighbors. I enjoyed the slow burn here and the payoff — it’s just a comforting feel-good fic!

Five-Drink Henry by @whimsymanaged (book-verse)

@daisymae-12: I was honestly already hooked from the title and the fic did not disappoint – so much so that I’ve reread it so many times the past month. Loved everything about this fic!!

The Domestication of Household Spiders by @cultofsappho (book-verse)

@daisymae-12: This was everything I didn’t know I needed from a spiderman AU! Loved it so much. There’s also 2 new recent fics published in this series – plenty of spiderman Alex to read!!

you make it look so easy, i know it's not by @anincompletelist (book-verse)

@daisymae-12: A really fun fic about Henry’s first American Thanksgiving not quite going to plan. I was already laughing from the summary alone

The great turkey calamity? by @smblmn (book-verse)

@zwiazdziarka: This fic tells us what is actually means to talk turkey and this once Cornbread is a star he deserves to be. It's crack, it's exsistential crisis, it's hilarious. Oh, and Alex and Henry fall in love here too.

Lay You Down by ronans (book-verse)

@inexplicablymine: when I tell you the fluff is fluffing, Henry runs a sleep YouTube and Alex is in his comment section and in his DM’s and in his head. Do yourself a favor if you need a sweet treat today and read this work

@thesleepyskipper: OMG this could not be any cuter. I loved the way we got to see their relationship grow as they got to know each other online. Truly an adorable, well-written story that will plaster a smile on your face throughout.

Risk is Just a Board Game by @three-drink-amy (book-verse)

@suseagull04: Angst, domestic fluff, college AU, the holidays- this fic has it all! A look at why friends with benefits isn't always the best idea that culminates in an ending reminiscent of a Hallmark movie.

On My Mind (Let's Go) by @sparklepocalypse (movie-verse)

@zwiazdziarka: contrary to popular fanon, Henry can dance and here he uses that to get what he wants on New Year's Eve party. No notes, just go and read it.

check out our past Monthly Faves here ❤️

[lostdrarryfics]

THE BIG FIND 2023: Day 10

The Big Find is a 10-day long Drarry fic-finding marathon to celebrate the blog’s anniversary. Below is the Day 10 compilation of lost fics, both old and new, that we’ve been unable to find. Our aim is to get as much attention to these lost fics as possible, to help people finally find their missing fics! Anyone can participate by reblogging, reading through each list, providing additional fic details, and informing us the title, author, or link of a fic, and their respective number in the comment section. Happy finding!

10.1 Draco is good and a spy for the light side, I’m not sure if it’s established relationship but he does date harry and one day he found out how lucius basically shame and insult (kinda slutshame) him in the paper, and he kinda has a panic attack and if I’m not mistaken the Weasleys really take care of him. In the end he is pregnant, I’m not sure but I think the title is something like 0.0005 in millions but I can find it.

10.2 The only thing I remember is that Harry is meeting Seamus and Dean with Draco at a diner maybe? Seamus tries to steal food from Harry’s plate and Draco tells him not to do it. Because Harry almost freaked out back in school when Patil tried to do it also. I think it was Lavender who picked some food and Harry’s magic reacted by freezing?/lowered the temp of the Great Hall.

10.3 ao3, chaptered, maybe 8th year but in hogwarts as students. draco stopping himself from completely falling for harry or something, they once went to a club and harry danced (i think it was a lap dance?) in front of draco and their friends. I remember draco taking harry back to his dorm and him leaving a sobering potion for harry to take the next morning because harry was completely drunk that night. I also remember harry regretting what he did the next day. I vaguely remember them both outside a club or pub, draco telling harry to stop what he was asking for because harry has an idea that draco wanted him too and ron saw them both, i don’t know if they kissed or something but harry was drunk. I also remember harry and ginny being close friends and ginny putting on some eyeliner on harry. I also remember ginny dressing up harry and trying things on him or something. and i think at the first scene harry wore these jeans that made his arse looks so good.

10.4 It was before sixth year and before sirius died - maybe end of fourth year or fifth year hols? - and the trio were at grimmauld when narcissa and draco arrive there. apparently narcissa fled from lucius because of voldy and sought refuge at the Black home, not knowing it was the Order’s hq. Eventually the Order lets them stay there, and neither draco nor narcissa go back as a spy.

10.5 looking for a fic that was a one shot. It takes place during sixth year and Draco is having a rough time trying to rebuild the cabinet, but Harry comes up to him because he looks stressed and offers to sleep with him, saying something like “you’d be less of a git if you got laid” (smut ensues but I can’t remember if it was rated M or E). They go to the room of requirement but I know at the end they have a conversation where Harry offers Draco to switch sides.

10.6 completed fic where Harry and Draco work for the ministry (Aurors, I think). Draco is team leader or something like that and pushes the aurors to look for Greyback. Harry thinks he is paranoid to still search for him. But they end up hunting Greyback because Draco’s hunch was right. Draco and Harry always bicker and fight publicly with each other with a lot of inuendo involved. Once they fight in front of the ministry elevators about hunting for Greyback and Harry accuses him of having a relationship with Greyback or something like that. Because of these fights Rita Skeeter that snuck into the ministry as a beetle publishes an article that says the two of them are a couple in secret. So Kingsley (I think) hires another very young reporter (I think Luna’s cousin) to shadow the investigation team to prove otherwise (it doesn’t go as planned). Harry and Draco end up in a lot of compromising situations. Talking about chaining one another or falling and landing on each other when the reporter just enters the room. I think Ron is Harry’s auror partner and there are at least two other members of the team - I think both are OCs. And there was at least one at least in one interrogation with Veritaserum. Unfortunately I don’t know anymore when or where I read the fanfic

10.7 looking for a fic that I read on ao3 but I can only remember a small detail, so no worries if it’s too vague to find it. What I remember is that draco sends molly a gift basket for killing bellatrix and ginny accepts his relationship with Harry because she really liked some of the gifts in the basket.

10.8 Draco is trying to build up a career post war and Harry and he become some sort of reluctant acquaintances. I don’t remember much but there might be some lines which go somewhat like this - “he is my house. I will have to burn everything he touches”. The story is from Draco’s POV

10.9 one of them or both are Aurors and Draco is pretty posh and rich. Somehow Harry has to go after him to Italy or some other beautiful country and he tries to court Draco. I don’t remember if a Auror case is a major point or not.

10.10 looking for a fic that was young Harry and he ran away from the Dursleys early. He does go to Hogwarts but after forwarding his letters to other people like the royal family and hiding from Snape. Gets sorted into Slytherin, good at stealing, even stole McGonagall when she was a cat before she could change back.

10.11 Fred and George send Harry an early birthday present, which is a truth or dare game, which is still in beta testing. The Gryffindors decide to play it. People are in the common room, and slowly they start joining the game. Dean teases Harry that his “type” is tall, blonde, and sarcastic. This happens before Draco joins the game. Eventually the Slytherins also join (they’re the last to join lol) and in this, I guess the game decides to give truth or dare based on your magic or sth, and if you don’t do it, you’re eliminated or sth. And Harry gets some dare to do with Draco obviously ( I think he has to kiss him?) and he does, and the end. Eighth year, hogwarts common room, one shot. Not more than 10k words.

10.12 draco is sentenced as probation to muggle world and works in a bakery then turned into deterioration. Bill helps him and then he returns to hogwarts as professor for potions

10.13 i only remember a specific moment. it’s mpreg and narcissa and harry are with draco while hes in labor and draco asks narcissa if he hurt her coming out, and narcissa said yes and he wasn’t helpful like harry was. and narcissa asks to keep the baby placenta

10.14 i cant remember if it was on ao3 or wattpad. it was titled “home” and the first sentence was something like: “the first time the stranger appeared at the top of the street, thunder rolled and lightning crashed.” the plot: harry disappeared after the final battle, and draco finds him in a muggle village. draco updates harry on the magical world, and romione. harry’s been in love with draco so he sends a letter and draco comes and kisses harry.

[shadowgast-recs-weekly]

Look below the cut for 18 incredible Works In Progress!

birds of prey by mllekurtz (TheKnittingJedi) (91852, Explicit) Warnings: CNTW, mind the tags on later installments Evil Shadowgast AU in which Essek finds himself dangerously entangled with scourger Bren Reccer says: Incredible tension, razor-sharp characterization, and absolutely scorching hot 🔥

heat by Anonymous (20307, Explicit) Warnings: no archive warnings apply AU where elves under go a heat cycle as part of their normal biology every century or so. Essek has been medically delaying his heat by about 20 years. He asks Caleb to help him through it. Reccer says: This fic is SO horny and tender and sweet. It was last updated before ep 97, so there's no betrayal arc. It's just two hot boys fucking each other over the course of days. It's a heat fic but it's specifically not an a/b/o fic.

The Monkey's Paw by jakia (4654, Teen) Warnings: No archive warnings apply AU fic written during 2020 hiatus. Once Caleb has finished saving the world, Essek finds a way to give Caleb what he's always wanted: a simple life, with his living parents. But the problem with getting what you've always wanted is that sometimes you learn the hard way that what you thought you wanted and what you really want are two separate things. [Shadowgast, where post-campaign, Essek sends Caleb to a different timeline where he's a farmer, not a wizard] Reccer says: Love the worldbuilding, both the alternate version of what post-canon canon would look like, and the actual alternate universe that Caleb is sent to.

the fourth corner of the world by royalgreen (allyoop) (50775, Mature) Warnings: No archive warnings apply An alternate take on TravelerCon where Essek has joined them on Rumblecusp Reccer says: It was started during the hiatus, so there's some really great alternate worldbuilding for an AU version of Rumblecusp and TravelerCon. Essek and Caleb's relationship is also a delicious slow burn.

This sudden burst of sunlight, and me with my umbrella by Criticalpancake (63817, Teen) Warnings: None The one where the Nein are Orchid Smugglers (and Essek is still a traitor) Reccer says: I love incredibly specific AUs, and this definitely counts. Plus, I love the way that the author translated the Nein's backstories and personalities into this very different setting

Dappled Shadow and Penumbral Light by Professor_Rye (463977, Mature) Warnings: Graphic Violence/Torture, Trent Ikithon being his awful self The slowest of slow-burn post-canon Shadowgast epos. Reccer says: If we're talking about ongoing fics, this one just has to be on the list. A behemoth of a story that is far from over (and updated regularly) I promise you it is worth to invest the time to read it. The characterization is excellent, and it ties up a lot of threads that have been left hanging when C2 ended. There is intense angst and pain in this fic, but also two idiot wizards in love and lots of soft and fluffy moments between them. It also features a very honest portrayal of disabilities and dealing with chronic pain. Truly the whole package. <3

the great war of the nein sided tower cats by egg (strwpup) (43737, Teen) Warnings: None Honestly, the title is all you need to know. It's Caleb's tower, it's cats, it's plotting and bickering and well... It's war. Reccer says: I love the concept and the surreal undertones. The characterisations are great and the cats... Don't get me even started about the cats. They are AMAZING and you will not see the tower with the same eyes after you read this.

A Tapestry of Stars by Cinderstorm (95903, Explicit) Warnings: None Caleb and Essek end up in an arranged marriage, with each side having their own goals and secrets Reccer says: Politics! Intrigue! Space! Arranged Marriage! What's not to love? This has gone a long time without updating, but what's there is enjoyable on its own.

Pieces Left Behind by Meadow (Medorikoi) (66911, Explicit) Warnings: Rape recovery This is techincally a sequel but can be read by its own. Essek and Caleb trying to recover after Ikithon. Reccer says: This is a pretty dark fic but also moments I love in it. Essek and Caleb's relationship- their co-dependecy is so good to read. The care they have each other. Despite the heaviness of the fic the slowbırn is delicious. I would sell my soul to read more of this- or just wipe my memory to reread.

The Legend of Widogast Manor by royalgreen (allyoop) (6620, Teen) Warnings: No archive warnings apply Essek investigates an abandoned manor, looking for magic. What he finds is the mysterious Caleb Widogast, a man with secrets who may not be a man at all. Reccer says: VAMPIRE FIC. Love all the vampire fic for this pairing, love the AU meeting, love the building mystery and the excellent spooky atmosphere the author evokes.

Ashkeeper, or Urn by darundik (60385, Explicit) Warnings: under-negotiated kink Caleb and Essek are exiled and stripped of their magic. They find their way forward. Reccer says: There's some amazing worldbuilding and description, and the initial sadness just makes the hope even more delicious

Coping Skills by sumomomochi (105862, Explicit) Warnings: None Caleb is an exchange researcher at the Tomes, Essek is responsible for monitoring him for the Dynasty. Essek doesn't date and only has platonic kink since he thinks his disability is too much work for anyone to bother with him. Cue Caleb venturing into the local kink scene and setting his eye on Essek, making him want to brave the minefield that is relationship, with an empire human no lessand all that entails. Reccer says: I love the well thought out relationship, the softness and the SSC kink portrayed, which proves disabilities and health conditions don't have to prevend one from doing things they want to do, provided a willing, caring partner.

Starling by Kaiannae (147960, Mature) Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence; some parts are very dark but it is thoroughly tagged! Bren breaks out of Vergesson and steals a fairy while doing it. It's a beautiful AU about Bren's time right after Vergesson, with a focus on survival and Bren's relationship with the mysterious fairy. Reccer says: It's a beautiful exploration of the time Bren might have spent after escaping, the descriptions of nature are magnificent and Fairy!Essek is a treat.

the golden thread around your neck whispered visions of my undoing by MarsBar2019 (80879, Explicit) Warnings: The inherent dubcon of sleeping with your employee, Caleb typical angsty backstory and mental health issues Essek is the CEO of an arcane tech company and Caleb is his new assistant. Reccer says: The spicy, mildly problematic office romance you didn't think you needed. But listen, I PROMISE you do need it!! It has incredible world-building, really memorable side characters, and the slow burn is just chef's kiss perfection. Mark my words, this is a modern classic of the Shadowgast fanfic canon!

You Be You, And I’ll Be Busy by theprophetlemonade (21321, Teen) Warnings: It has the Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, so it might have darker topics A series of one-shots about Essek and Caleb spending nights in Aoer and mornings in the Blooming Groove. Reccer says: It's wonderful and very poetic storytelling with very deep look into Essek's thoughts and actions.

oh, sinnerman by SaltCore (9614, Mature) Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Suicidal Thoughts Caleb doesn't love Essek anymore, but things don't really add up Reccer says: Salt is a master of emotional angst and this fic is no exception

Soak me in your sin by witches_chant (3382, Explicit) Warnings: Consensual Non Concent Caleb and Essek roleplay some CNC with a cultural twist Reccer says: Some of the best CNC I've ever read. The care and attention between Caleb and Essek is constantly shown, despite the roleplaying they're doing.

And two fics for

Love Letters to Toss Into the Fire by Anonymous (42868, Teen) Warnings: None Caleb and Essek begin a secret correspondence in which they feel free to say the things they struggle to say aloud. Reccer #1 says: Fantastic slow burn and beautifully woven into canon. The letters go to such emotionally intimate places, and it's always a joy to see what enchanting (and enchanted) form they will take in each chapter. Reccer #2 says: The letters and the thoughts behind them are reason alone to read this fic. Besides that it is a beautiful exploration of their relationship.

Aeor is for Lovers is an 18+ Shadowgast Discord server. The above fanfic recommendations were pulled from our community for this weekly event. All fics, unless otherwise specified, will primarily feature Shadowgast. Have any questions about what this is? Check out the FAQ! Next week's theme is Fics Featuring Astrid and/or Eadwulf (not Shadowblumendrei though, that’s a separate theme)

[reinarandraw]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love 💗

Gosh, I'm so late to answer this. Thanks for the question! Click the title to go to the AO3

It's Not Fair | OFMD | Izzy/Frenchie architect modern au with kinda detailed depiction of an architect's life, chronic pain, chronic illness, songs, angst, h/c, a bittersweet ending, multiple people told me they cried ugly tears after reading this, jokes on them I cried too

Last Voyage | OFMD | Sam Bellamy/Izzy, a pirate smut novel that started with the question "What if Izzy work for Sam Bellamy instead of selling Stede to the navy", gratuitous smut, fluff, stealth angst because I'm the author, OCs but people say they're all delightful, romantic comedy with a genre shift during the last arc, Kraken!Edward is trying to find Izzy and he's not nice to people, DARK!ED IS DARK I'M SORRY, happy ending for our lovely couple

Coffee Philosophy | OFMD | Sam Bellamy/Izzy, WIP, modern au series, recently divorced coffee shop owner Izzy, billionaire public figure Sam with a questionable business ethic, Fluffy 1st arc, it's going to get sad in Arc 2 sorry, mental health, this is no longer a Hallmark movie, an attempt to portray a realistic relationship between a nobody and a billionaire, heavy emphasize on 'an attempt' because this is just a fanfic and I write what I want which torturing Sam Bellamy

Wolf of Dunwall | Dishonored | Daud/Martin | I've been a niche pairing enjoyed since day 1, an AU where Daud never became an assassin and was friend with Corvo, Spymaster!Daud because that's a sexy concept, Corvo and Daud as brothers, Spy Fic but it's more 'Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy' vibe rather than James Bond, scheming and bickering because Daud is a spymaster not a field agent, there's an rebellion in Morley, I'm writing my own Morley lore, Martin is the High Overseer and he's a snake

No Bullets Fly | Shadow and Bones | Ivan/Fedyor | Ivan is a druskele here, no he's not secretly a grisha, heavily inspired by the 'Charlie Brown and Franz Stigler Incident' from WW II, a druskele escorting a wounded grisha, I love these two but I like to make them suffer first

[arty-shadow-morningstar]

My Maribat Betrothal AU: Take Two

Okay so people like that post that is more of a train wreck produced by my sleep-deprived brain. I expanded on it and added some changes. Fair warning: Most of my ML and DC knowledge came from Maribat fics, a few episodes and the DCU movies like son of Batman. I have Mari's pov and background stuff written and it needs some editing. Anyways, enjoy <3

It is not a continuation but: @alysrose-starchild, @buginetye, @lookatthestars1, @blackroserelina, @macncheesemonster, @mochinek0

[Masterlist]

(Part 2)

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PART 1

Damian groaned.

He was not having a good day.

First, Father decided to pair him with Todd, TODD of all people, for patrol.

Second, while doing a stake-out for the warehouse near the docks which might be used as storage for criminal activity and enduring Red Hood's annoying taunts, they both were knocked out by tranquilizers and his mother's face was the last thing he had remembered seeing.

"Don't worry, little one. You are just fulfilling your duties as heir to the Demon's Head. Then, all will be perfect." She had said, just before he fully lost consciousness.

Third, he woke up to being chained up with a major headache. Taking a bearing of his surroundings, the room he was imprisoned in had two exits, an iron door and a window that had the view of his childhood home. He was dressed in wedding ensembles of the League of Shadows. Red Hood was chained up next to him as well but unlike him, still had his suit and helmet on. Glancing to the other side, he saw a raven-haired girl, chained up and dressed in the black and gold robes of a bride. She had also retained consciousness and was staring at him.

Bluebell eyes met his piercing green.

His betrothal was petite with Asian features. She had freckles dotting her button nose and rosy cheeks.

She is fragile and will break easily, he thought. Why did his mother want him to marry such a weakling?

"Savez-vous où nous sommes? (Do you know where we are?)" Her voice was sweet and trembling with fear. Her eyes were wide and seemed filled with innocence yet carrying great sadness. She was an Angel, an ordinary girl, not fit for this harsh and unforgiving world she was forcefully going to get married to.

She opened her mouth to ask another question and suddenly, she went limp, appearing to be unconscious. Damian furrowed his brows in confusion. Why did she-

A moment later, he heard footsteps approaching and the iron door opened to reveal his mother.

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Jason woke up to the sight of the Bitch Talia and Demon Spawn, face to face, glaring at each other.

Talia broke the tense silence.

"Damian, I hope you know what you should do."

"To be forcefully married to that little girl. She is no one special. Why am I getting married to her?"

Married? The Demon Spawn is getting married?!

Jason saw through his helmeted vision, a girl about Damian's age, chained up like them but not yet awake. He raised his hand and saw the shackles around his wrists. The chains were connected to the wall. He experimentally yanked the chains, drawing Talia’s attention.

“Well, Jason, you are awake. You can be the best man for the wedding.”

“No. I don’t know what game you are playing but you better release us. B is gonna find us and you will pay. Let the girl go. She is innocent in all of this.” Jason said vehemently.

"Ladybug may not seem like it but she possesses great power that my father converted for centuries. Speaking of, she should be awake by now."

Talia stood up and grabbed Ladybug’s(?) hair and yanked so that her eyes met the girl's. The girl, who unfortunately was going to be the Demon Spawn's bride, lets out a cry and starts to tear up. Jason felt anger at how she was being treated, seeing the girl as a little sister already.

"Tch, See, she is more pathetic than I thought. She is not powerful." Demon Spawn growled out. The girl starts babbling in French. From the little French Jason knows, she was begging for mercy.

“Like I thought, weak. She is not deserving of the title of my wife.” Damian spat out.

"Appearance can be deceiving. Despite her demeanor, she is the current wielder of the Ladybug Miraculous and the Current Guardian. The old Guardian, the old fool had promised her in exchange for his protection." Talia countered, letting go of the girl.

Miraculous? Guardian? What the hell?

"That doesn't mean I want to marry her. She is not worthy of an Al Ghul or a Wayne. Look at her, crying at the slightest feeling of pain."

The mother and son begin to bicker. Damian refusing to marry and Talia trying to change his mind.

“Yes, both have to be willing to be married but the curse placed on both of you will ensure that you will agree.”

The dark haired girl had stopped crying and started whispering in a strange language when the fight started, fiddling with the silver ring she wore. Jason saw a terrifying smile crossed the face of the girl across him that chilled him to the bones. Later, a black blur came out of her robes and went through the door. He wondered if he imagined that before he was a determined glint in her eyes.

He blinked.

Talia was choking on the chains that were previously chained to the wall and were now around her neck. Fortunately for them, Talia had closed the door after her entrance and the guards most likely to be stationed outside didn’t storm into the cell. The girl whispered something in Talia's ear, making the woman's eyes widen with what could be fear.

The experienced assassin struggled to get free and gain an upper hand on the girl but was unsuccessful, passing out from the lack of oxygen and strangely strong grip of the small girl.

What happened next was surprising. She breathed hard on her shackles which instantly disintegrated into flakes of rust.

Holy Shit! Demon Spawn's girl is magic. Jason knows his mouth was hanging open under his helmet at that realization. Damian seems to be in the same state.

Talia didn't have the keys to the locks. Being crafty like that. Bitch

"Call me Lady." she said in lightly accented English as she summoned black orbs at the tip of her hands. “Stay still.”

She then proceeds to place her hands on Jason’s shackles, turning them into nothing more than specks.

"I am Red Hood." said Jason, rubbing his wrists.

"The little shit here," as he kicked Damian's leg, " is-"

"Damian Al Ghul" she said the last name with venom. She moved on to Damian's bonds. "Son of that bitch over there, grandson of Ra's, demon heir, blah blah blah. Hold still, mon mignon. I am sure you don't want to lose a hand."

Damian stopped moving at that, due to the pet name or fear Jason couldn’t tell but by the red at the tips of his ear, it could be the former. And she used her powers to free him.

Lady somehow managed to use what remained of the chains to hog tie Talia up.

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

“How do we get out?” Damian asked, inspecting the blade that he flinched from his mother.

“Hey, kit.” A nasally voice called out. “I checked out the place we are in. Like you asked. The way to the Throne room is heavily guarded and they seem to think old Ra’s the target. The Pits are guarded too but they are nothing you can’t handle.”

“What is that?” Jason shrieked.

“Thanks, Plagg, you will get that camembert danish when we get back. This is a kwami, a god of sorts and his thing is destruction so I wouldn’t insult him if I were you. He likes to go by Plagg”, answered Lady, which doesn’t clear up Jason’s confusion.

“So, Pigtails, what’s the plan?” The floating, black cat-shaped god(?) asked.

“I was thinking of destroying the Pits to give Al Ghul a middle finger and call Maman to use the Horse to get home.”

“We need Tikki to get rid of it..”

“I will just tell Maman to bring the earrings.”

Damian snorted, “That sounds like a foolish plan. You are insane and not strong enough to take on the League alone, despite having a ‘god’ of destruction at your side. This Tikki or magic earrings will destroy the Pits, many have tried. And sorry to disappoint but no horse can make it up the mountainside of Nanda Parbat.”

“Have to agree with Demon Spawn here and I rarely do that. Your plan sounds insane, Pixie. You are just one girl. Let us help, we know the League better than you. We can come up with a better one.” Jason was worried for the girl, she was crazy if she thought her plan would work.

Lady smirked, “It is a perfectly sound plan. I know what I am talking about. Despite the weak girl act, I am no Damsel in distress. After this is all over, we will split our ways and hopefully, never see each other again.”

“We can’t separate. My mother said there is a curse that will ‘make us fall in love.’” Damian said, using air quotes. “You need to come with us so we can get someone to break it.”

“Fine. But I need to do something before I am coming with you. Plagg, Claws out.”

Bright green light flashed around her and she was now dressed in a black bodysuit with green linings. It was armoured at the chest, knees and elbows. (Add whatever details you want, I can’t do it. Jacket, designs, use your imagination) Her gloves were claws-like, reminding them of Selina and there was a belt carrying some vials, pouches and throwing stars. Her hair was now longer and braided and seemed to move on its own. Cat ears were attached to her head. Her eyes were changed so the sclera were the same shade of blue as her iries and the pupils were slitted like a cat. A black domino mask framed her face. Two ten-inch daggers appeared out of thin air in her hands.

The transformed Lady did the inhuman feat of kicking the door open. The assassins stationed outside were immediately knocked out by Lady.

“Well, are you coming or not?” She called out, before running down the corridor. Jason patted his shocked brother’s shoulder, “You doing okay there, demon spawn?”

“Tch, Let’s go, Todd.” Damian replied, trying to get rid of that funny feeling in his chest.

[kimbapisnotsushi]

something wicked this way comes

anon. thabk you. thsnk you.

i suppose most people would probably know where the title comes from LMFAO, so if you're assuming that i'm also using it for a supernatural/paranormal fic, then you'd be correct!! it's kuroyaku with a side of shibalev, and it's set in a city where those considered "monsters" live disguised as normal people. yaku is a vampire running an apothecary/potions shop with elemental witch shibayama as his apprentice, and kuroo is a were who works at a museum. recently there have been whispers of someone hunting down the nonhumans, so yaku and kuroo team up to investigate in spite of their constant bickering, along with anyone else left who can help. modern supernatural/paranormal is honestly one of my faves, so i'm SUPER excited to work on this one!!

i don't have an excerpt yet, but i have like a half-synopsis in the works LMAO:

In a city of monsters and magic, something sinister stirs in the shadows. . .

Yaku Morisuke hadn’t intended on getting dragged into a silly conspiracy theory, but when his friends start dropping off the map one by one, the rumors that the Hidden are being hunted seem to ring true with every disappearance. The solution? Team up with Kuroo Tetsurou to solve the mystery.

[noire-pandora]

Stay

My last work for @14daysdalovers. Thank you so much for hosting this, I had so much fun writing for it and reading everyone’s work. Can’t wait for the next one!

Also, a big thank you to the ones that liked/reblogged/left comments on my fics. I am really grateful for your encouragement. It really helped me to write more.

“Ask me to stay” and “ Wearing the Other’s Clothes”. Also on my AO3

Pairing: Solavellan

Words: 2744

Warnings: none.

The soft sound of charcoal scraping on the paper lulled Solas into a deep state of concentration, the monotonous music of the movement relaxing him as his mind diligently absorbed the knowledge hidden in the pages of Lady Gihni's book.

The nimble fingers guiding the charcoal on paper belonged to Elluin, who kept him company tonight. She sat on the floor, cross-legged, hunched above her sketchbook precariously balanced on her knees. She adamantly refused Solas' suggestion to join him in bed, claiming sitting on the floor helped her concentrate. He let her be, grateful they could share a few hours together, alone, with no unwelcome guest or dignitary to require the Inquisitor's attention.

While the hours passed, sleep made his eyes heavy, the Fade buzzing at the back of his mind, but he ignored its call, eager to spend more time with her, even if midnight found them still awake. At night, she could be his, and they could be just two lovers enjoying each other's presence, with no titles to separate them. At day, he had no right to ask for her company, as she belonged to her duty but, as the sun went down, he craved her presence and treasured every moment spent with her.

A sudden, long sigh coming from Elluin startled him, and he rapidly blinked to bring his attention back to the present moment. He closed the book and abandoned it on the bed, his attention shifting to her.

"Is something bothering you, Vhenan?" he inquired, a curious expression crossing his face, and he moved to glance at her.

A frown pulled hard at the corners of her mouth as she squeezed the charcoal between her fingers. She sighed again and rubbed her chin thoughtfully, staining her skin with the black powder. "I'm trying to sketch Dorian, but his face looks weird. I don't know what's wrong."

The bed creaked when he left it to join Elluin on the cold floor, his shoulder brushing against hers, the warmth of her body urging him to close the distance between them. His hand slipped around her waist, pulling her closer to him.

A half-finished drawing of Dorian took form on the paper, his features brought to life by the rich lines. He stood at a desk, a frown of concentration knitting his eyebrows as he studied a large tome. Solas took a minute to scrutinise his face, his eyes patiently analysing the lines on her creation.

"I believe his jawline is too prominent," he concluded, one of his fingers hovering above the lines of Dorian's face." The line of his jaw is softer."

"What?" she frowned at him. "Dorian has a strong jawline."

"Yes, but not as sharp as you sketched it. I believe that jawline is more suited for me."

"For you?" she stared at him for a few seconds and trailed a finger down the side of his face, tracing his jaw. The hair on the back of his neck stood up, a shiver of pleasure coursing down his spine at the touch. "You're right. I've been studying the beautiful lines of your face for too long, and my mind blended them with Dorian's. Tomorrow I'll sneak into the library when he's not paying attention and—why are you smirking like that?"

He chuckled at her words, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "It has been a while since anyone praised my beauty."

He could barely contain a self-satisfied smirk from spreading across his lips. His hand left her back, and he turned to face her, tucking his legs under him, his knees touching her outer thigh." You think the lines of my face are beautiful?"

She shot him an incredulous look, cocking an eyebrow. "Of course. Why are you so surprised? I'm sure I'm not the only one who told you that."

She gave him a lopsided grin and changed her position to imitate his. Her sketchbook opened on the floor between them. "Really? When was the last time?"

"When I was young."

Memories of times long gone shuffled unexpectedly through his mind, but he gently pushed them away, back to that corner of his memory where he hid his secrets. He forced himself to stay anchored in the present, to lavish in the comfort and the safety her presence brought to him. To fully enjoy the sensation, he had not felt for hundreds of years.

She leaned forward, her gaze never leaving his as her fingertips drew circles on his left knee. Her fingers were so warm, and the caress was so gentle that his skin prickled at the contact. "When you were 'bold and cocky'?"

He grinned at her, hoping she didn't notice how much that simple touch tantalised him. "Yes."

She hummed and studied his face for a long moment, a curious gleam in her eyes. "That must have been quite a sight."

To his surprise, silence fell between them as she turned her attention back to the sketchbook. He swallowed hard, wishing she continued caressing him.

He watched her as she ripped the page with the failed drawing from her sketchbook and crumpled it into a ball to set it ablaze with her magic. A trail of smoke rose from it, and he followed its sinuous journey through the air, his thoughts pulling him away from the present, the same ideas that came into his mind when he laid on his bed, half asleep and wondering.

Wondering how it would have been if they met thousands of years ago when Elvhenan still stood proud? Would she love him? Would she join his rebellion? He knew it was a foolish thought, but he wished they could have met back then and not now, not in this world he could not understand. Here, he could only show a faint shadow of his passion, of his love. In Arlathan, he would have done anything to make her happy; he would have given himself entirely to her. If only his plan succeeded. He closed his eyes to hide the emotions residing there, afraid she might read them and question him.

"Do you think we'd get along if we met when we were young?" she finally spoke, forcing him to ignore his thoughts once again, surprised she has been thinking about the same matter.

He opened his eyes again and stared ahead at the wall behind her, contemplating the idea. "Yes. But I do believe our strong personalities would clash a few times. As it happened when we first met."

She nodded in agreement, a solemn expression on her face. "Yes, two young, stubborn elves butting heads. I guess we'd end up bickering about everything," her charcoal danced again on the paper, her fingers leading it to draw a few bold, seemingly random lines. "It took us a bit to get along after we met, didn't it?"

"Indeed"

He looked at her work, and a faint smile grew again on his lips as he realised she was drawing him. This time his face looked younger, with no wrinkles or laugh lines to mark the passage of time.

She stopped suddenly, her gaze shifting from her drawing to his face and stopping at the ceiling. She studied it, her fingers twirling the charcoal piece, and he understood she had another question for him. One that might surprise or annoy him.

"What is it? You may ask."

She still eyed a point above his head, intentionally avoiding his gaze, spiking his curiosity. "I would've loved to draw you back then. Do you think the younger you would've let me?

"Yes."

A smile tugged at the corners of her lips, and this time she allowed him to look into her eyes. "Even nude?"

"I," he began, ready to give a negative answer. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, at a loss of words but sighed, defeated. As much as he wanted to deny that, he knew his younger self too well. "Yes."

She laughed, slapping her thigh. "Really? You were that different?"

He nodded." I was. It would have been impossible to refuse a request from a beautiful woman like yourself. My younger self would not resist you."

"Resist me? Now I'm curious about how it would go," she purred, her eyes falling to his lips.

"You would get your drawing," he paused and slowly licked his lower lip with the tip of his tongue. "Eventually."

Undistilled desire poured through him at the thought of spending a night together in Arlathan, and he swallowed hard, his throat drying at the mental image. A strong wish to erase all the distance between them nagged him, his fingers twitching in anticipation, but he denied himself that joy. No matter how much he wanted her, he had no right to ask for more than a few heated kisses from her. Not when parts of him were still hidden from her.

He searched her face for any hidden signs of desire, but he couldn't see any. Instead, she wore a pensive expression, her unfocused gaze locked on the piece of charcoal resting on her opened palm. He knew that expression as she wore it every time uncertainty hung over her.

He shuffled closer, her warm breath tickling his skin. He tucked a wayward strand of her chin-length hair behind her ear and chuckled when the curl stubbornly escaped. Slowly, his hand slid down the side of her face in a warm caress, his fingers finally cupping her chin and lifting it until their eyes met.

"Even then," he whispered with a gentleness that surprised him. "I would have loved you. As I do now," slowly, he leant forward, his lips touching hers in a soft caress. She answered, lightly tasting him.

She broke the kiss, a faint blush dusting her cheeks. She rubbed the back of her neck, looking down at the floor. "I... thank you, Solas."

He attentively watched her, curious if today will be the day when she will utter those three words, but the hesitance in her gestures made him realise it won't happen. He had no desire to pressure her into confessing her love for him, her gestures enough for him to understand how much she cared, but curiosity nagged him. Curiosity and confusion at why, a woman as powerful as she was, found it hard to say it. She jumped in front of the danger with no second thoughts and challenged anyone who dared to badmouth her, but she became uncharacteristically quiet when he confessed his love for her. He knew she had other lovers before him, and yet love left her speechless. Or it was just his love? Another mystery her soul held, one he was eager to understand.

"I should go," she suddenly said, slipping the charcoal into the pocket of her trousers and closing her sketchbook. "I'm sure your spirit friends miss you."

He got up at the same time she did, but instead of letting her go, as he always did, he reached for her hand, barely touching her fingers.

"Stay with me tonight."

She blinked a few times at him, her hand squeezing his fingers. "Are you sure? Last time I did that, you left in a hurry."

The first night they spent together sleeping in the same bed almost brought his nighttime fantasies to reality, and, with a heart-shattering effort, he had to abruptly put an end to the moment, leaving her confused and unsatisfied. Since then, they haven't shared a bed anymore

"I am."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "We're going to sleep in the same bed, right?"

"Yes."

"Really?" she asked in surprise, eyeing the bed.

"Yes, Vhenan. But if you mind it, you can refuse me," he let go of her, allowing her to leave if she wished it.

She waved the sketchbook in the air, rolling her eyes at him. "I don't mind it at all, Solas. But I know you enjoy your loneliness.

He reached for her hand and planted a soft kiss on the centre of her palm before speaking again. "I do. But I enjoy your presence much more."

"All right, I'll stay," she confirmed, giggling at the light touch of his lips. "I need to get my nightwear from my room."

"No need, I can lend you one of my sleeping tunics."

He made his way towards the small closet sitting in the opposite corner of his room and opened it, searching for one of the sleeping tunics Josephine ordered for him. He found a cotton one he never wore and handed it to her. She accepted it, grinning at him.

"Aren't you always so kind?"

She set down her sketchbook on a chair and reached for her blouse to take it off. Instantly he turned his back on her. She snorted at his reaction, but he felt no shame in it. Offering her intimacy was the least he could do.

"How do I look?" she asked after a minute, her shirt and pants neatly folded resting on the chair, above her sketchbook.

He turned around to face her, and his heart thumped as his eyes followed the lines of her body. Her shoulders were bare, the sleeves of the tunic slipping on her tiny arms, revealing her freckled kissed skin and the scars adorning her right shoulder. The tunic reached her knees, exposing her short and thin legs with knobby knees. He forced himself to take his eyes off her and answer the question. "Comfortable."

She spun on one heel, and he found himself dumbstruck by her beauty. Even in simple clothing, she still charmed him. What a fool he was, thinking nothing in this world could capture his attention.

"I actually feel really comfortable. No wonder you're wearing this all the time."

"I do not wear my sleeping tunics at day time, Vhenan."

She giggled, beaming at him. "Are you sure about that? They look the same."

With a sigh, he pinched the bridge of his nose, knowing how much she loved to tease his clothing choices. "Yes, I am sure."

She stuck her tongue out at him over her shoulder as she made her way towards the bed. He shook his head at her, amused by her behaviour, but his eyes lingered on her hips, delighted by their shape. He gritted his teeth in annoyance at his nagging need to touch her body.

The worn-out bed-springs creaked under Elluin's weight as she lay in it, a sight of comfort slipping her lips.

"Are you coming?" she asked him, eyes closed, pulling the blanket close to her chin.

"In a second," he answered, taking off his shirt, neatly folding it to place it above her clothes. He yawned and stretched his arms above his head, his joins popping loudly. Elluin lazily opened her eyes at the noise, only to snap them wide open at the sight of Solas' bare torso. Pride washed over him, noticing the shy blush tingeing her cheeks pink, content he could still impress a woman with his physique . "Is it bothering you? If it does, I can--"

"No, no, it's fine," she stammered, shaking her head. "I forgot you like to sleep shirtless. Make yourself comfortable. I don't mind it."

The bed protested again as Solas joined her under the blanket. He pulled her close, her back resting against his chest, his arms wrapping around her tummy. She giggled when he kissed her lightly on the cheek.

"Good night, Solas."

"Good night. I will search for you in the Fade."

She hummed in agreement, reaching for his hands and intertwining her fingers with his. He watched her as she slowly drifted into sleep, her chest rising and falling as she inhaled and exhaled, the soft sound of her breath lulling him to sleep, to embrace the calling of the Fade.

"Solas?" she whispered in the darkness a few minutes later, startling him.

"Hmmm?"

"I love you."

With eyes widened in surprise, he opened his mouth to speak but hesitated, his breath catching in his throat. When he spoke again, his voice quivered. "I love you too, Elluin."

He buried his nose in her hair, breathing in her scent, the perfume of the lily of the valley salve she used to tame the curls of her hair, overwhelming his senses. It was the scent of love and acceptance. It gave him hope that maybe, maybe, this world he used to hate could be his new home. Their home.

[keeppushingme-bookboy]

Here it is, my first CR fic! It's such a me move to finish my first CR fic the week the campaign ends. I am so happy to have this finished and really excited to get it out into the world. I hope you all enjoy!

All I Want is to Trust You

Word Count: 4278

Summary:

Essek and The Mighty Nein set off for Aeor and what could be their final adventure, but encounter an old "friend" on the way... Or, Ashley Johnson rolled another dragon.

Read on Ao3 or below the cut!

Luxon, it’s bright. Essek thinks for the third time in twenty minutes. The parasol Jester gifted him several weeks ago offers some relief from the sun above them, but the reflection off the snow is relentless. Even the others, with no naturally ingrained light sensitivity, squint at the glittering landscape around them. He had been doing his best to hide his discomfort throughout their travel. They have only been on the road for a few hours; he couldn’t let them question for even a moment that he couldn’t handle this, that they had made the wrong decision.

“Sunny day,” Caduceus remarks, and not for the first time Essek wonders if firbolgs can somehow read minds. “How’s that treating you?” the cleric nods towards the spiraling configuration of lace and silk casting inappropriately-shaped shadows over Essek’s form.

“Ah, it is doing well enough.” Essek offers a smile that feels a bit more like a grimace. “The glare can get a bit irritating. But I’ll be fine.”

Jester snorts out a laugh somewhere to his left. “What did your soldiers and stuff say when you used that at the outpost?”

“I, uh, have not had the need for it until we disembarked. I do not spend much time on the walls outside of brief inspections, which I usually do when the sun sets. But it is certainly coming in handy now.”

“Not that he would use it around his people anyway. Gotta keep up appearances, right, Shadowhand?” Beauregard calls over her shoulder from her position at the front of the pack with Yasha, packing an extra note of sarcasm into his title.

His mouth begins forming a retort, but a soft Zemnian voice cuts through from somewhere close behind him, “He has to command respect from his people, Beauregard. Not all of us can punch our way through a bureaucracy.”

Beauregard mumbles something that sounds vaguely insulting and turns her gaze back on the fractured and frozen landscape ahead of them. Essek looks over his shoulder at Caleb, shooting a brief but genuine smile before quickly turning to focus again on the snow several inches below his floating feet. Gotta keep up appearances, right? sneers once again through his mind, laced with mistrust and a wound still far too fresh. Another voice creeps in: Time. It takes time. He had meant that for Essek’s change, for his growth and healing, but he supposes it’s true for the rest of them as well. Choosing him for this journey is a good step in a lengthy process, but perhaps he can speed it up a bit. Time is one of his specialties, after all.

Taking a deep breath and bracing himself for the chill Essek glides gently down until his feet rest on the snow’s surface. It is much softer than he thought, and he sinks several inches further down with each step. He glances at some of the Mighty Nein around him, hoping he looks as though he is scanning the surroundings rather than watching for their reactions. Jester brightens and Fjord’s mouth quirks up at the edges. Caduceus’ easy smile widens for a moment. He will not turn around to look at Veth and Caleb, that would be far too obvious, and Beauregard and Yasha are too far ahead to have noticed so he is unsure of their reactions. But for a moment he allows himself to imagine Caleb’s eyes crinkling at the edges, some of the ice crusted in his beard shifting and falling into his scarf as he smiles.

He starts to imagine brushing the crystals from his scarf, resting a hand on his shoulder, then the side of his face, leaning in slowly… when Caduceus stiffens beside him, squinting at something in the distance. He motions for the others to stop and calls a low warning to the fighters in the front. “South.”

Essek turns and looks southward and struggles for a moment to see what has Caduceus worried. When he does, though, the chill beginning to seep into his feet and legs travels directly to his heart. A white dragon, and a big one from the looks of it, is swooping low over the tundra. Beauregard’s voice momentarily breaks him out of his panic as she and Yasha rejoin the group.

“Aw, this bitch again? She doesn’t know when to let up. Are we hiding or fighting?”

Again? Light, they’ve fought an Ancient dragon before?

“She certainly wasn’t pleasant to encounter last time, and we had Lucien and his group with us then. Perhaps we hide and continue making our way towards the ruins when it’s safe.” Fjord replies.

“But we have Essek with us now! He’s super powerful and the Tomb Takers didn’t care if we died in that fight. Essek does!” Jester pipes up.

“U-um,” Essek stammers. Coward.

“I am also sure he cares if he dies in that fight, Jester.” Caleb comes to his rescue once again. “Perhaps we take cover for now and prepare for the worst?”

The Mighty Nein begin scanning their surroundings for something large enough to offer all of them enough cover. The ice spires have been increasingly sparse as they moved closer to Aeor, but Yasha manages to spot a few groupings of broken spires and large sheets of ice that may be able to offer some cover. Essek stows away his small globe of warmth and Jester’s parasol and follows the group as they attempt to silently make their way to cover.

Upon further inspection they will have to split the party between two clusters of spires and fragmented ice sheets roughly 35 feet apart. It will make for good cover but will also make it difficult to plan in case of an attack.

After a few moments of tense bickering about what to do next Beauregard grabs Caleb and Caduceus by the elbow. “There’s no use fighting over a plan we’re going to abandon anyway. Separate the clerics and wizards, stay hidden until you can’t anymore, and fuck that dragon up if we need to. Everyone good with that?”

Everyone nods their agreement and Beauregard drags Caleb and Caduceus over to the farthest ice cluster with Yasha close at their heels, leaving Fjord, Veth, Jester, and Essek to take cover at the closest.

They spend a few moments crowding closely underneath the ice, Essek readying some components in case things turn sour. Luxon, he hopes they are hidden well. He will not run from this fight, and has complete faith in the Mighty Nein’s combat abilities, but an ancient dragon? This is not exactly what he bargained for when he signed up for an adventure with this group.

Veth perks up for a moment and glances quickly at Essek and the others before whispering “Yeah Cay, we’re ready. Does Deucy see anything? I can’t see around Fjord’s skinny ass.”

“Thank you?” Fjord comments, his blade shimmering faintly in one hand and the other firmly grasping Jester’s.

Veth shoots a lingering look at Essek in the silence, presumably listening to another message. She whispers again to thin air, “Yeah, he looks scared shitless but I’m sure he’ll be fine. Right, Essek?”

Essek Thelyss, Shadowhand of the Bright Queen, Traitor of the Dynasty, is confident he has never been described as ‘scared shitless’. And it has never been more accurate. “I’ll manage,” he replies through gritted teeth.

She pulls out a wire and whispers into cupped hands, “He said he’ll be fine, but baby boy Fjord needed Jester to hold his hand,” she chuckles into her gloves before muttering “youcanreplytothismessage” and shoving the wire back into a pocket of her pastel-hued winter garb. Essek has a moment to briefly wonder if she ever gets the wire tangled in those peculiar antlers before there is a soft whooshing of wings nearby.

Jester and Fjord, who had been softly talking strategy, fall immediately silent. Everyone huddles impossibly closer in an attempt to stay hidden, and Veth manages to disappear completely in the center of their clump. They all hold their breath as the dragon, called Gelidon as someone mentioned, flies closer to the hidden party.

The beating of leathery draconic wings grows louder with each passing moment, Gelidon releasing a thundering roar that sounds far too close for Essek’s comfort. He can’t help glancing in Fjord’s direction out of fear. The half-orc has always had a calm, steadying nature in the face of the Nein’s dangerous brand of chaos. Now he looks towards the direction of Gelidon’s fury, his hand shifting to Jester’s waist while she gathers spell components.

Fjord catches Essek looking at him and gives a tusk-filled grin. “We like to take all of our friends dragon-fighting on their first adventure. Really gets the blood moving.”

“Yeah Twiggy really seemed to enjoy it,” Jester chuckled lightly, twisting the ruby at her throat with a nervous tremor in her voice.

“You are some very interesting people,” Essek returns Jester’s nervous chuckle before his focus is pulled once again to the dragon-shaped shadow racing across the tundra. The hulking beast lands with a crash about a hundred feet away from the group’s hiding spot, kicking up a wave of snow around her taloned feet.

She crouches low towards the snow and moves a few feet in their direction, nostrils flaring as she breathes deeply. Her breath escapes in a low laugh that reverberates directly into Essek’s nerves.

“I have not forgotten your scent, you little cretins.” She breathes deeply once again. “There are fewer of you, now. Split off from your little friends, did you? And hiding too. Cowardly without their protection-“ Gelidon roars the last word, whipping her tail through a pile of ice and snow nearby. It explodes in a shower of shimmering crystals and frozen rubble around her.

“I suppose that’s our cue,” Fjord mumbles before whispering a few arcane words, the runes along his blade lighting up as he flies through the air towards Gelidon. Jester holds out her hand and a bubblegum pink light gathers in her palm before streaking off, striking the dragon in the side, and surrounding her with a faint pink glow.

“Thanks, Jessie!” Veth calls as she darts out from behind Jester’s back and runs towards Gelidon, taking a shot with her crossbow that sinks deep into the joint where shoulder meets torso. The dragon roars in pain and begins flying towards the now-revealed party members, far faster than Essek had anticipated. She meets Fjord mid-air and snaps at him with her jaws. He manages to fly out of the way before they close around him, but the motion leaves him open for her claws to rake across his chest sending him spinning through the air.

Seeing the bleeding gash in Fjord’s coat Essek immediately begins searching his components for a black marble, deciding that he would like to stay as far away as he can from the ancient fucking dragon his friends had somehow angered. He brings his hand forward with the marble sitting in his palm and mutters a few arcane words before closing his fingers around the marble so tightly his knuckles turn white. A black sphere of dunamantic energy appears just behind and beneath the dragon, attempting to pull her towards the earth without catching Fjord in its crushing radius. Essek growls in frustration as Gelidon manages to wrench herself out of the gravity sinkhole’s grasp, still harming her slightly but not pulling her to the ground.

Out of the corner of his eye Essek catches Beauregard running with frightening speed across the snow, barely even leaving a footprint as she sprints towards the dragon. Yasha runs behind her, also unnaturally fast. Essek has a moment to catch the faint shimmer of transmutative energy indicating a haste spell before Yasha is running up an ice spire that has fallen at a slight angle. When she reaches the top she leaps, and Essek lets out a small gasp of surprise as pure white wings erupt from her shoulders and spread into the air. She goes into a steep dive and scoops Beauregard off of the ground. Essek hears a faint “Remember me?” and laughter as Beauregard is deposited on Gelidon’s back.

Essek glances around the edge of the ice cave he continues to hide in, looking for Caleb and Caduceus. The cleric is slowly making his way towards the fray with Caleb close behind, tucking some licorice root into a coat pocket.

The next few moments are a blur of battle, everyone trading blows with Gelidon as she roars and thrashes through the air. Fjord and Yasha strike out at her with steel and she returns with tooth and claw. Beauregard runs up and down her spine, managing to find weak points in her scales and driving both staff and fists into her body. Veth shoots bolt after bolt, some of them crackling with arcane energy. Jester and Caduceus weave divine energy to help their friends and cause further harm to their draconic foe. Essek sends a variety of ranged spells her way, still determined to keep out of range of her ice breath and teeth.

Caleb does the same, weaving combat spells and slinging fire with such ease that Essek has to force his own attention back to the battle at hand. Every time a bolt of fire or magic missile hits true on their foe Essek glances back at the other wizard as he ducks back into his own icy hiding place, his blue eyes as cold and determined as their surroundings.

His gaze returns to the battle as the dragon roars once again, thrashing violently in the air after a strike from Beauregard. She throws the monk’s body into the air, smashing her with her tail as she falls. Beauregard gets up and appears more annoyed than injured, shaking some snow out of her coat.

“Can someone take this bitch down? Or get me back up?” she calls to the others.

Essek searches his mental catalogue of the spells he prepared for the journey and brightens as he remembers the magnify gravity spell currently at his disposal. He can help, he can be useful and prove that it was worthwhile to bring him on this journey. He begins to weave the incantation for the spell before he stops short. The range on this is much shorter than gravity sinkhole. In order to be useful, he must get closer and risk being frozen, or worse, by an ancient white dragon. Essek spends another moment watching his friends throw themselves at this creature with little regard for their own safety and remembers why he came on this adventure in the first place.

I am on borrowed time, he had said at the outpost. The world is in danger, they had told him after a battle that had almost taken them from him before he had a chance to offer his aid. I will do what I can, he has told them so many times. I can do this, he thinks to himself, for them, I can do this. Essek takes a deep breath and steps into the blinding sun, towards an ancient white dragon.

He runs as far as he can and throws his arms forward, drawing his hands together then pulling them towards his body and yelling the incantation for magnify gravity at the top of his lungs. Gelidon roars once more, attempting to fly out of the pull of the spell before being yanked into the snow, unable to fight the additional arcane strength that Essek had funneled into it.

“Ha!” Essek cheers as Gelidon attempts to stand and fly once more, but is held firmly to the ground for the moment.

Beauregard gives him a thumbs-up and a “Thanks, man!” before running towards her to lay more blows into the dragon’s thick hide. The rest of the Mighty Nein take advantage of Gelidon’s momentary stationary position and attack with renewed force before she is able to right herself.

Which, much to Essek’s displeasure, she manages to do. He knew it would not keep her down for long, but he was hoping to give everyone a bit more of an edge. Now she rises on her hind legs, screaming into the sky and thrashing with her claws. As she lands back on all fours she beats her wings and takes flight once more, rearing her head back as ice gathers at the corners of her mouth. Realizing what she is about to do, everyone attempts to brace themselves for the incoming ice breath.

Essek has never had much need for a sturdy physical form. His weapon was his mind, and that was the muscle he chose to focus his energies strengthening. It has been the correct path for most of his 120-odd years of existence, only truly irking him when Verin would wrestle him to the ground while playing “ambush” or when an experiment went awry and he suffered some physical malady because of it. Now, however, when completely encased by the frozen hell of a dragon’s breath, he finds himself briefly regretting a few of his life choices as he takes the full force of the impact.

It chills him to his very core. His white cloak and mantle are immediately stiff with ice and it takes great effort to move his hands out from under the frozen material. He can feel frostbite beginning to encase the tips of his ears, turning them a deeper purple than his drow skin. As hard as he tries he cannot control the shivering while the pain nearly brings him to his knees. Beauregard appears to be having a similar reaction, while the others either did not take the full force of the blow or were outside of its range.

“Scheiße!” Essek turns his head to see Caleb coming towards them. No, turn back, he wants to yell. You cannot take a hit like this any better than I can. But all that comes out of his mouth is a strained whimper as he tries to recover from the pain.

“Essek, I need you to trust me!” Caleb calls as he pulls something from his coat. Essek almost laughs. You are not the untrustworthy one in this equation, he thinks bitterly. But he only nods and allows the warmth of Caleb’s magic to wash over him. It is only as he begins to feel his form shift that he notices the cocoon in Caleb’s hand. Shit-

He is…tall. Far taller than he has ever been while floating. He has used levitate spells to reach high shelves in places before, but this is different. He is tall, and his feet are firmly on the ground. As he looks down he is caught even further off guard by the presence of ivory tusks and a long, furred trunk. And his fur is…purple?

Before he has another moment to consider this strange new anatomy, he is caught by the sounds of a dragon roaring in front of him. Oh, that’s right. He’s fighting a dragon with his friends. The realization jars him almost as much as his new physical form did.

In the time it took Essek to ponder his new mammoth form the Mighty Nein had managed to ground the dragon once more. She is bleeding from several wounds and appears to be staggering a bit in place. In her desperate frenzy she begins striking out at anything and anyone around her, trying to escape the adventurers who now have her surrounded. Essek charges into the fray, trumpeting a sort of battle cry as he digs his tusks into the exposed side of the dragon attacking his friends.

A burst of flaming magic erupts into her from the snow beneath her. She turns toward its source, and Essek spins his gaze with her to see Caleb standing a short way away, a cat’s cradle of yarn in his hands. Wind whips stray strands of hair around his head and into his face as he stands firm. Gelidon begins to crawl towards him in a rage and he immediately blanches, realizing that he has now drawn the ire of this creature. Essek attempts to strike out with his tusks once again but they scrape uselessly against her armor-like scales. A few of the others get a hit in, but she takes the blows and charges onward toward her quarry.

Caleb looks up at the dragon, fear in his eyes as she unleashes a flurry of frenzied strikes into him. Blood blooms across his chest, arms, and face as her teeth and claws all hit home. Caleb throws an arm up with a magical shield beginning to form around his body, but it is shattered against Gelidon’s fury. With a final slash of her claws Caleb is thrown across the snow and lays motionless.

Essek is shunted back into his elven form and the pain of his previous injuries screams through his nerves before something else overtakes him. His heart pounds and cheeks heat with a terrified rage at seeing Caleb lying in the snow. One arm is bent awkwardly under his body, legs curled to the side as the snow blossoms a stomach-churning pink around his unconscious form. Essek cannot see his face at this angle and is briefly thankful to avoid seeing the wizard’s freckles shrouded in specks of blood and gore.

As his fear and fury build Essek feels gravity begin to coalesce around him, the magic sparking through his nerves like the beginning of a lightning bolt. Instead of electricity, Essek summons the rest of his strength to draw on the dunamancy around him. He brings out a shard of onyx from his components and slashes it across his palm. The drops of blood are frozen in space in front of him, and as he waves his hands they create a small circle in the air. A black void of deep nothingness appears around Gelidon’s torso as she licks her lips, turning back towards the others now that Caleb is down. She rears up on her hind legs and unleashes a roar that quickly turns into an ear-splitting scream as Essek crashes his hands together, pulling the blood into a tight sphere no bigger than a marble. The sound that emanates from Gelidon’s ribs is reminiscent of a tree being struck by lightning. The cracks echo over the tundra before Gelidon’s body turns a deep gray and falls away to dust.

They all stand in silence for a heartbeat before Jester and Caduceus are running to Caleb’s aid. Essek nearly stumbles to his knees as he follows close behind while trying to stay out of their way. Caduceus places his hands over Caleb’s chest and pink lichen spreads over his coat. A deep, verdant green light glows beneath it before the lichen shrivels and crumbles off the wounds. Caleb lets out a low groan and rubs at his forehead.

“Hey there, good to see you back with us.” Caduceus smiles and leans back on his heels.

“Is she dead or did she run?” Caleb attempts to sit up and look around before wincing and laying back down in the snow.

“Essek took care of her actually, and quite handily,” Fjord answers over Caduceus’ shoulder.

“It was so cool Caleb! He did some sort of awesome fucked-up gravity magic and she turned to dust! To dust, Caleb! Oh my gosh, I really wish you were conscious for that because you would’ve thought it was so cool.” Jester bounces on her toes and looks between the wizards with a half-cocked smile.

“Perhaps you will have to show me that one some other time,” Caleb says as he turns to Essek. “Are you alright, mein freund?”

Essek’s laugh comes out a little more breathless than he would have liked. “Which one of us is lying in the snow right now?”

“Good point,” Caleb’s eyes crinkle at the edges and Essek desperately hopes his blush is mistaken for post-battle adrenaline. “Shall we sit for a moment, catch our breath?”

“Good plan, you wizards are looking pretty fucked up,” Beauregard calls from where she leans heavily on Yasha, clutching a gash in her side. “Good shot though, Essek. Although I would’ve liked some of those dragon teeth to put with the T-Rex.”

“I will try to kill the next ancient dragon a little less thoroughly next time,” Essek retorts. Beauregard smirks and begins limping her way back to the fallen ice spires to take cover while they rest.

As the rest of the Nein follow her Essek falls into step with Caleb at the back of the group.

“You turned me into a mammoth.”

“I did. Squishy wizards need to stay in the back.” Caleb gestures to the partially-healed gash in his side.

“It was a bit, ah, strange. Is that a strategy you employ often?”

“Only when things get bad. Couldn’t have you getting knocked down in front of a dragon like that. We protect our friends, here in the Mighty Nein. Seems like you’re catching on to that.” He gives Essek a tight smile.

Friends. Essek feels the ice from the dragon’s breath melt slightly from the warmth spreading through his chest. “I am unsure that I can protect all of you all of the time, but I want to try. I cannot undo everything that I have done, but that much I can do.”

Caleb doesn’t reply, just smiles a bit wider and gives Essek’s shoulder a squeeze. And maybe it’s because he was injured, or perhaps it was Essek’s imagination, but he swears that Caleb lets his hand linger for just a moment longer than usual.

[jenivi7]

First Lines Tagging Meme

I'M SO HAPPY TO BE TAGGED IN THIS TWICE!  Thank you @ink-flavored and @clyde-side !! (I almost just did this on my own too because I love babbling about my own fics...)

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line.

Now pinned and under a cut because it became a really long, really good introduction to me and my stories! 

Hello!

Unnecessary and overly wordy introduction/personal musings: I love opening lines so much. When I worked at a bookstore, I used to open books and hardcore judge them on their first lines. I had barely any free time to read at that point so if it didn’t grab me in the first line or two, I put it back. The first Harry Potter book is actually in my pile of really good openers. “Mr. and Mrs. Dursley of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much.” (Subtle alliteration, HELLO??) So I'm super excited to see if my own first lines come even close to the standards that I apply to other people lol. MY OWN MONEY IS ON NO. I have the feeling that I'm so frantic trying to get the story down on paper before the good words disappear from my head that I'm not actually paying attention to the first line. BUT LET'S SEE, SHALL WE.

So just straight up going backwards, I've written and posted TWO BRAND NEW THINGS after being away from fandom almost entirely for 10+ years! They're drabble length but they're shiny and new! <3 (All available fics are linked!)

1. Tango:

She teaches them to dance so that they can dance with her but when Atem gets that mischievous smirk on his face and pulls Yugi into his arms, their bodies spark and the dance floor smolders at their heels.

(The fic is so short that this is a full 1/5 of it but actually, I think I crammed all the good stuff right into that first line. This already might be my favorite. Like it says there in the line itself, Puzzleshipping.)

2. No Betting:

Anzu sat at the kitchen table writing carefully calculated answers onto sticky notes before attaching them to a fourth-grade math worksheet.

(Peachshipping! This one doesn't pop off until about line five so here's the rest of that bit:)

She had the same arrangement with her spouse as most parents had. When the kids were good they were hers. When they were bad, they were his. And when they were winning at games because they picked up rules with uncanny speed and read their opponents with more insight than ought to be available to a child, they were definitely, definitely his.

3. If you wanted honesty that's all you had to say (working title):

When he realized that the figure sitting under the game shop display window and smoking wasn’t Ryou, the physical body response was as though it had discovered a coiled snake not two feet away.

(This one! It's a NEW half finished(?) WIP. I actually started this one before the drabbles but wanted to finish before posting it. Then it got out of hand, then work got out of hand, then I started a couple more projects and well. I keep putting words on it though and eventually there will be a Kleptoshipper that turns into Puzzle and Tender for your reading enjoyment. Also, fair warning - don't use song lyrics as a working title. Every time I look at the document I get the song stuck in my head.)

Now we have polished up reposts of old stories for their move to AO3, where I'll basically keep my master archive. Not full re-writes but I fixed a bunch of typos and awkward sentences and they're much stronger for it. Most of these are from a pairings contest way back when so LOTS of different pairings and lots of AUs!

4. Human:

It was like a bad noir, the thought crossed both of their minds.

(Scifi AU, Rivalshipping. That one's not bad for a first line. Actually no link at the time of writing cause the re-edit is going up in like, a half hour? an hour? a half day? It's my next project after finishing this, finishing up the edit and posting it on AO3. Now with link!)

5. Blood:

Fingers through midnight black hair, whispers in his ear, touches that sizzled along the skin, awakening nerves and senses. 

(Dungeonshipping, Pegasus x Otogi, vampires AU. Oh that’s a nice first line! <3)

6. Crazy for You:

The keys are too large and too heavy for the doctor more used to more modern facilities but she doesn't say anything, just follows the orderly as he pulls the large door open.

(Manipulashipping, Anzu x Marik, Psychward AU. Still one of my favorites from that era. Big bold warning though, THIS ONE CONTAINS NON-CON)

7. Finality:

“What are you doing here?”

“Saying goodbye.” Bakura’s translucent arms swept across the graveyard. “Is this not an appropriate place for it?”

(First two or so bits of dialogue as the first first is a generic question. You can tell this is one of the really old ones just by that but it's a sweet, sad little Tendershipper that still has a special place in my heart.)

8. Pieces of You:

Glitter caught the light, leaving shimmering trails in the air as it got everywhere.

(Glittershipping, Anzu x Kisara. Another one that's special to me. Kisara is my girl and my first writing muse. <3)

9. Cambodia:

“It was summer of fifty three...”

“Wait a minute, wait a minute, it can't have been fifty three. You might be that ancient but I'm not. It must have been sixty three.”

(Jiishipping. Yes. Sugoroku x Arthur. HEY, IT CAME UP IN THE RANDOM DRAW FOR THE SHIPPING CONTEST OK. And my writer's brain hasn't backed down from a challenge yet... Another one that takes 4 lines to pop off but it's a good start. Actually, here's the rest of the bit just because I cannot get enough of these two bickering:)

“What do you mean it must have been sixty three? You don't even know what story I'm trying to tell.”

“Am I in it?”

“What?”

“So you're deaf now as well as daft? AM I IN IT?”

“Of course you're in it, y'old coot. Don't know why I'd tell a story without you in it when both grandkids are sitting here.”

10. Coffee and Cigarettes:

"Cigarettes and coffee? That's not a very healthy lunch." 

Mana crossed her legs and took a refined sip of her own coffee even as her company was not. 

(Mischiefshipping, Mana x Thief King Bakura. Oh this one I'm actually sad that it doesn't immediately sparkle in the first line cause it's one of my absolute favorites of everything I've written. And I think it's the only time I've ever written Mana but I LOVED IT AND HER. Oh no! I lied, I've written her at least one other time though I don't think that one quite captures her sheer chaos energy like this one does.)

11. A Million Missed Chances:

Somewhere along the line, someone made a choice.

(This one. THIS ONE. I think this is by far the most epic idea I've tackled. I still don't know if the sheer scale of the thing came across in the actual fic but in my head it was massive and I remember pounding away at my teeny tiny laptop late at night because the whole thing hit me maybe a day or so before the story was due for the pairings contest. We only had a week to write each fic and my really good ideas never came to me before the very last minute. T.T Conquestshipping, Mai x Valon.)

12. A Fear of Falling:

She drove.

Like she always did when something bothered her.

(Oh the first chapter on this is also one of the really ancient ones. Like one of the very first things I wrote. That first chapter really shows its age and is a little shaky but the others are better and the last one is what fits into the chorological order here. Polarshipping, Jou x Mai. One of my very first ships. Probably THE first actually <3)

13. What Our Creators Make Us:

"Well, well." The match flared, scattering dark shadows until it was blown out and the only light that remained was the red glow from the cigarette end. "I didn't think I'd ever see you again."

(Psychoshipping, Marik x Spirit of the Ring Bakura. With a bit of Bronze, Angst and Tender in the follow up. Old but I'm ridiculously proud of it, hence it's place in the master archive. Ahaha you can tell how old it is though by how clever I think I am. I thought it was funny to make my audience figure out who was talking and not reveal the characters for a good fourth to third of the fic. Ahhhhhhh. Sorry about past me.)

14. A Revolution of the Spirit:

It wasn't fair.  It just wasn't.

That they were close was understandable (you don't get much closer than sharing headspace) but that even now, after deals were made with gods, endless arguments, compromises and the ultimate guilt trip that he had only been a teenager when he willingly sacrificed himself for all of humanity, things she had only half seen and only partly understood even though they had all been there to witness, that even now Atem continued to invade Yugi's personal space as though he belonged there got on her nerves.

(Woah Nelly! That third sentence should probably be three, four and five. Even if I just split it in half we'd continue the pattern of things popping off in the fourth line. I think that's one pattern that's emerging! A really good bit takes me about four lines to set up and deliver! Oh, the challenge was Revolutionshipping, Anzu x Atem, but the fic is actually Spiritshipping, Anzu x Yugi x Atem.)

So confession time, I haven't been out of fandom completely, I just hadn't written my own standalone stories in a very long time. There are a few (ok ok more than a few) long-running rps that @miss-moberg and I have been adding to on and off over the years. I can't resist throwing in a couple of these.

15. Cafe!

The door shut behind them with the soft click of the latch and the exhale of a breath long held.

(This opening line was from December of 2020 when we rebooted a very old Prideshipper and that is a damn good opening line if I do say so myself. I can definitely see the difference now between the newer works and the older ones. I've gotten better, she's matched me pace for pace and eventually something will be finished, I'll work up the courage to ask permission to post it and the whole internet will get to see how brilliant the two of us are together.)

16. Treasure Hunt!

"Ryou, I think you're going to regret letting me tag along on your adventuring this time."  Yugi didn't bother turning away from the airplane's tiny window to see if his seatmate was paying attention.  He was more thinking out loud with his friend playing the role of a convenient sounding board.  "Because I think this trip is the only thing I'm going to talk about ever again."

(One more from RP because it's got that fun, four line punch that we've discovered is a pattern for me! Opening entry is from 2017.)

Also, in truth, my count is a little off when I say I'd been out of fandom 10+ years. I've been away from YGO for that long but I did spend a brief stint in Homestuck where I read a ton of fanfic, flirted with a couple group RPs and even wrote a tiny bit. 9 years without writing a new fic isn't as impressive as saying ‘over a decade’ but it is a little more accurate.

17. What You Will:

In the land of fair Illyria, along a small, sandy stretch of its rocky shore, a ship has come to ruin and one lone woman lies still as death among broken wood.

(The beginning of a Homestuck/Twelfth Night crossover that I'm still determined to work more on someday. It's only got a single chapter but it's magic though now I'm concerned about not being able to recapture that. Not a bad first line though. The style is so different it took me reading it a couple times before going, oh yeeeeeah, that's pretty good!)

18. Relentless:

You pull him to the deck and then across it by the remains of his shirt. Let him say one last goodbye. His ship pillaged, his crew murdered, his hands bound behind his back and at your mercy.

Funny word, that. Mercy.

(The first line is pretty decent but there's that four line combo again! Five but I could basically fix that with a comma. Featuring the troll ancestors Mindfang and Dualscar because every time Hussey introduced new characters they were instantly my favorite.) 

19. Black:

There is dark and there is dark and there is dark and then there is black. She is black. Licorice and coal. She is hate and resentment and everything that tastes bitter, the kind of black that coats the tongue like oil, drips down the back of the throat and keeps going.

(Oh wow. Am I allowed to say that about my own work? A Terezi/Vriska drabble that I'm putting as much here as I think I can get away with because it's so good that it fucks me up a little going back and reading it.)

And here it gets tricky because I think the more recent of the old, old fics are in the Drabbles and Shorts collection on ff.net and I can't see a post date. So I'll just pick a good one to end on.

20. Two Princes:

It was inevitable as the rising of Ra's chariot after a long night, as the flooding of the river banks every spring, and Atem always knew that Yugi's kiss would be as warm and gentle as the evening breeze in the summer that brought relief from the scorching day. It was.

(How about the final honor going to more Puzzle/Blind? This probably has the strongest first line of its era. Actually I'm not sure when it was written. It was just hanging out in my writing folder and, thinking about it, I probably wrote it when I was fading from fandom the first time around but still trying to hang in there. No wait! That’s too sad, we can’t end on that! Lets add one more to the list for the sake of personal narrative!)

21. Linger:

The world doesn't need him anymore. It doesn't need his sword and it doesn't need his pen.

(A tiny Princess Tutu afterward that I wrote for myself. Nice one-two punch in the opener. Also it rounds out the personal story that accidentally developed here with a line later in the fic, "Words, however, never stray far from a good writer..." Like, wait, stop. Past me, how did you know T.T)

Did that take a sudden emotional turn for anyone else or was that just me. Can I offset that a little with an honorable mention? Let’s do that while I collect myself. Here’s one more.

Honorable mention: Ryou and the Thief

There was a storm gathering and too much magic in the air. Much more than occurred naturally and magic at this level was never a good thing.

(I can’t have a list of things I’ve written without having Ryou and the Thief on it. If you click on this one though, BEWARE, it’s old, it’s silly and it has a ton of explicit gay sex that… would be written very differently if we were handling it today I’m sure! This is the first RP @miss-moberg and I ever did together and our excuse to Gemship and Puzzleship turned into us running the boys through a whole adventure based on the Osiris myth. It’s the longest thing I’ve ever completed and I’d still consider it kind of my legacy.)

And that’s the last 21(+1!) stories that I’ve written! 

The clear winner of best first line for me is 15. Cafe! It’s short, elegant and manages to contain a whole mood even without the context of what’s going on and who’s involved. (Spoilers: It’s Seto and Mokuba making an AU escape from Gozoboro.) Close second is Tango, the most recent story. It’s neat to see just how much better I’ve gotten and also really cool to see that even if the first line itself doesn’t contain a punch, it’s usually because there’s a nice, strong idea being set up and delivered in the first four lines (or so). What a pleasant surprise!

AND WOW, this whole tag thing didn't need to be so long! Or personal! Seriously, if you get this tag from me the challenge is only to list the first lines to 20 stories and maybe try to draw one or two conclusions from them. You all thought I was joking when I said I loved talking about my own writing! But actually, I guess it’s fine like this as I ended up using it as a way to re-introduce myself. Like, "Hey, I used to live here a long time ago and oh my god I love what you've done with the place!" Rather than being someone who's just popped up out of nowhere a few weeks ago to creepily bother all your best of the best creators so....

^///^ Hello!

Thanks for letting me ramble!

Tags! I think I've seen most of the authors I follow do this already but on the off chance you haven't been tagged yet: @elexica (checked your blog to see if you'd already done the tag and saw that you're another person returning to writing fanfiction after 10+ years. Same! Hello!!), @danieco, @draconicmaw, @nedjemetsenen (has someone tagged you already?) and two shots in the dark, @miss-moberg and @edmondia (I'm so sorry you two. T.T Please feel free to block me forever.) And please, anyone else who wants to babble about their own writing! Do this, it was so much fun. <3

[raendown]

This follower milestone gift fic is for @nobodysperfect2133 with the prompt word woolage.

Pairing: HashiramaMadara Word count: 1268 Rated: T+ Summary: In which only one man in the whole world has the sense to properly appreciate Madara's hair.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info in the header!

The Man, The Myth, The Legendary Mane

Madara’s hair did not bother Hashirama. It bothered lots of other people though. 

It bothered his enemies for pretty obvious reasons, the inherent taunt of all that long tangled mass streaming behind him in battle like a vivid declaration. You can’t touch me. The amount of times he’d watched someone try to get a hold of it couldn’t be counted even if Hashirama used all of his fingers and toes but he never really worried. No one ever got close. Madara did always like to say he was dancing and Hashirama often thought that yes, that sounded right. He danced out of reach, danced across the thirsty earth, danced to the tune of battle drums with hair that streamed like ribbons. 

It bothered Izuna for more personal reasons. Mostly because he was far too old to still be crawling in to bed with his brother after a nightmare and certainly far too old to be complaining about waking up with a mouthful of hair the next morning. Also partly just because he was a little brother with all the bratty trappings that came with such a title. Anything Madara liked he was determined to find fault in for no reason other than teasing his most precious person. Their bond was just like that and though Hashirama could never understand it he supposed it was fine as long as they both came away smiling every time. 

It bothered Tobirama because literally everything about Madara bothered Tobirama despite the fact that they had finally managed to settle down in to some form of bickering friendship. As far as Hashirama could tell the only valid reason Tobirama had for disliking Madara’s hair was the way it always seemed to create its own breeze, shifting loose papers with every step and turn, and Tobirama despised the very notion of untidiness. If either one of them had ever so much as considered the option of just tying it up out of the way they’d never said anything. Anyone else watching them could be forgiven for not believing they were actually friends - and honestly Hashirama wondered sometimes. 

It bothered the council of advisors and the elders of the Uchiha clan and just about anyone else that Madara had taken to hiding away from behind the wild bush of his own hair. Creating his own little shadowed alcove was so convenient, he said once, the perfect place to hide his scorn for others’ words. Lectures about his hair were much preferable to even more lectures about how he should respect his elders and supposed betters. Hashirama didn’t really agree with the spirit of it all but he did have to give the man that one.

Sometimes it felt like Hashirama was really the only one in the world who liked Madara’s hair. It was messy and wild, forever tangled in such a way that one wouldn’t be surprised to find sticks or lost pencils hiding within, and when weighted down with water it actually fell longer than Hashirama’s own. Those weren’t really the true reasons he enjoyed it, just qualities, but he’d long been of the opinion that one had to take all of Madara’s qualities as a whole to really understand him rather than picking and choosing pieces to be loyal to. No, the reasons he enjoyed Madara’s hair had a lot less to do with the hair itself and much more to do with the man underneath. Hashirama was an honest person. He could admit those kinds of things. 

“You’re staring again.” Madara’s voice broke him out of his reverie and Hashirama offered one of his infamous smiles. 

“I’m not sorry.”

“S’there another twig or something? Get it out and get back to work.”

“No, no twigs.” 

Shuffling the papers on his desk, Hashirama dropped his eyes back to the work he’d been trying and failing to concentrate on for the past hour or so. He really should get this done. These all needed to be reviewed as soon as possible. Unfortunately his mind was far away from the latest proposal from his sanitation committee, much more interested in the sway of Madara’s hair as a soft summer breeze from the open window gently flirted with a loose bunch of strands. 

“I swear to god if you make one crack about a brush I will stab you with your own paperwork.” 

Hashirama coughed in an effort to clear his throat. “Ah, no, no I wasn’t going to- ahem.”

“The fuck do you keep staring at me for then?” Madara demanded. 

“Was I? Ah, ha ha, I didn’t mean to!”

“Don’t be daft.” His friend scowled, chin tucking down to glare out from behind his messy fringe. “It’s the hair, you’re always staring at the hair. Everyone else’s got something to say about it; you got something to add now too?”

In his defense, Hashirama really meant to say nothing. Or rather he meant to deflect with something meaningless just as he had a thousand times before. That was the flavor, the rhythm, that their friendship had fallen in to over the years. Hashirama watched and yearned until he was caught and then stepped back out of reach with half formed apologies, never asking for things he was sure weren’t on the table anyway. 

His mouth seemed to have other plans today. 

“Just wondering what it feels like,” he heard himself say. Madara visibly startled at the admission. 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It just looks really soft.” Hashirama listened with a muted sort of horror as the words kept falling out, powerless to stop himself. “You’re always hiding in there so it must be nice; I was wondering what it would be like to do that myself.”

“To hide in my hair?” Madara demanded.

Hashirama gave a helpless shrug, finally managing to clench his jaw shut. 

The two of them stared at each other for a very long time. Watching the visible parts of Madara’s face cycle through so many different emotions in such a short amount of time would have been wonderfully amusing if not for the fact that Hashirama was terrified of which one would eventually win out. He might be hopelessly in love but he wasn’t blind to the fact that his friend had a temper - or that he wasn’t afraid to use it on anyone. It should probably bother him more but that, like the hair, was just another item on the long list of things that made Madara so Madara and Hashirama couldn’t possibly love him any other way. 

“You have no tact, Senju, you know that?” 

“Huh?”

Pulled from his thoughts, Hashirama was so busy trying to cover them up he almost didn’t see the flash of pink on the tips of pale ears. Madara slouched a little farther down in his seat, eyes firmly on the scroll open before him, and he grumbled, “Wanna shove your face in a man’s hair you should at least ask him out to dinner first.”

“Oh. Oh! Um. Do you...my place?”

“I’m not tidying up for the likes of you so don’t be expecting that.”

“That’s fine, Madara. That’s more than fine. You know I like you just how you are.” Wild messy hair and all, though he refrained from saying as much out loud. 

When Madara retreated just a little deeper behind his own tangles Hashirama bit his lip trying not to laugh for the sheer joy filling his heart. Well how about that, he thought. Maybe he should have shown his appreciation sooner for all the little details that bothered everyone else but him. 

[therebelcaptainnetwork]

August Fic Recs: Occupational AUs

I had a really hard time describing what I wanted this rec list to be about. I knew I had these three stories with something in common, I just couldn't come up with a snappy descriptor that encapsulated "insular, unique worlds with Rebelcap doing things that require insane dedication and a very specific mindset but it works because Jyn and Cassian are both those kind of people already in canon." A bit clunky, no?  In the end I decided to describe them as "Occupational AUs" knowing almost nobody would know what I was talking about until they read the list. Oh well, such is fanfic, right?

Keeping Score by TinCanTelephone / @cats-and-metersticks

Modern AU, 8.4k, one-shot

Jyn is a gymnast with an impressive career behind her. When Cassian, a one-time ballet dancer turned journalist, turns up at her gym, she reluctantly agrees to let him shadow her for a piece, because she needs the possible sponsorship opportunities. But he frustrates and challenges her in a way she hasn't gotten from gymnastics in a long, long time. 

One of my favorite things about Jyn's arc in the movie is how she fights it almost the whole way, stuck in the lone-wolf mindset, until Cassian and the Rebellion show her a different perspective. At 23, Jyn is an old-timer in the infamously youth-oriented world of gymnastics. She's simultaneously burned out on the treadmill of practice/sponsorship/competition and stuck, unsure of how to move on. It's genuinely lovely to see how Cassian's perspective as a retired dancer slowly opens her up to new possibilities, even if she doesn't know what those are yet. 

Read Me Like a Book by ephemera / @incognitajones

Modern AU, 1.8k, one-shot

Cassian wasn't expecting much from his forcibly-volunteered (thanks Kay) gig at the Wobani Prison library. But one particular inmate captivates him with her closed-up quietness and her eclectic reading tastes. The only commonality seems to be that they're the thickest possible books in the collection, and Cassian starts bringing his own brick-thick favorites for her. But what happens on the day he comes in and she's not there?

I'm admittedly biased in favor of library stories, being a librarian myself, and true love via readers' advisory? Sign me up. (Not that it's happened to me yet but who knows.) I particularly liked Cassian's fascination with her quiet, wary intensity - one of the first things that drew me to her as a character. 

Headin' into twilight (spreadin' out her wings tonight) by @skitzofreak

Modern AU, 2.5k, one-shot

There's a reason Jyn's callsign is "Bruiser." She's a rough, tough fighter pilot who's not about to let anybody tell her that she missed her target, even in a training exercise. Besides, bickering about whether she hit him or not is a great excuse to sit in a very small room with Cassian Andor, callsign GQ, for hours on end. Now if one of them could eventually get their act together and ask the other one out for real  . . . 

This one really is one of my favorites from this author for the way it brings the fighter-pilot mindset right into your brain. The cheerful competition, the military surroundings, and most of all the sheer joy and adrenaline rush of flying, and how that all maps onto the dynamic between our two faves.

--

As always, if you’re one of the authors featured and would like me to change anything about the way I’ve listed your story, please drop me a line via PM or ask and I would be pleased to edit.

Next month’s theme is Collge/University AUs! If you have a perfect story to rec, drop me a line via PM or ask with the title, a link to the story, and maybe a few words about why you liked it, and I’ll include it with your handle.

Happy reading! Love, @mosylufanfic

[badgersprite]

Fic: Desiderata (10/?)

Chapter Title: Collide

Fandom: Mass Effect

Characters: Miranda, Samara, Oriana, Jacob, Jack

Pairing: Miranda/Samara, I told you it was a fucking slow burn 

Story Rating: R

Warnings: I don’t think any specific warnings apply for this chapter. Certainly nothing that doesn’t apply to the fic as a whole. Just assume any past warnings remain relevant.

Chapter Summary: The ‘flashback’ storyline comes to an end at the party on the Citadel. In London, Miranda’s insomnia is affecting her worse than ever before. Then Samara shows up at her door. And everything implodes.

Author’s Note: “If I'd have said I love you, she'd have said it back. And then everything would have been different.” - Sue Trinder, Fingersmith. Featuring Citadel dates that aren’t dates except they’re totally dates part II. I’m not going to lie, I’m kind of proud of myself here with the contrasts and parallels going on between the flashback scenes and present day scenes. People at their best, versus, well, close to their worst. Spotify playlist below the cut again.

(Link to Playlist)

*.    *     *

Miranda had been on the run from Cerberus for so long that it still hadn’t fully sunk in. She wasn’t hiding anymore. Wasn’t looking over her shoulder every waking moment. Didn’t get startled awake by every sound she heard in her sleep.

Somehow, she’d done it. She’d turned against The Illusive Man, and lived to tell the tale. For now, anyway.

The events at Sanctuary were so fresh in her mind that she’d barely had the chance to stop and catch her breath since. The bruises had mostly healed, but she still felt lingering echoes of her fight with Kai Leng, which could have ended a lot worse had she gone in unprepared. Not even ten days had passed since she hugged Oriana on Horizon and said her goodbyes, perhaps for the last time.

And yet she wasn’t thinking about what lay ahead. Not really.

Miranda was here. Living in the now.

For this one night, she was able to just...stand in one place, and enjoy the moment. That was something she had never taken the time to do previously, before all this came to pass. On an unconscious level, she had always taken tomorrows for granted. Never stopped or cared to appreciate today.

Suffice it to say, her head hadn’t quite fully caught up to where her body was, and that this was no mere illusion. It felt like at any second she would wake up and find herself alone in the dark again, scurrying like a rat through the shadows in hidden passages of the Citadel where nobody but the keepers could find her. 

But this wasn’t a dream. It was really happening.

It meant all the more that at this particular moment she was surrounded by familiar faces from The Normandy she hadn’t seen in months, plus a few new ones. For a while there, it had felt like she would never see them again.

It was something to savour. So she did. 

Miranda drew a deep breath and allowed herself to be present. To exist. To not be in her own head. She took in the scene as she made her way through Shepard’s apartment, letting her eyes wander the party going on around her, her gaze landing on each person she could see as she passed them by.

Liara and James Vega had spent a good portion of the evening arguing whether biotics were superior to brawn, or vice versa, with Jacob and Ashley having joined in on the great debate earlier. That still seemed to be ongoing, from what she could tell. The answer should have been eminently obvious to anyone, Miranda thought. Then again, she didn’t feel the need to convince anybody why her own preference was correct when she already knew she was right, as usual.

On a related note, Miranda might not have been the best judge when it came to reading signals between people, but even she was starting to get the sense that James and Ashley might be more than just shipmates by the end of the night, if they weren’t already. Good for them.

Tali, the last time she’d seen her, had been very much enjoying how uncomfortable EDI was making Samantha Traynor, talking openly about the crush Sam had on her voice. Although, come to think of it, Miranda was pretty sure Traynor had at long last managed to escape that awkward conversation and gone to hide under a table somewhere. Or maybe she’d just locked herself in the bathroom until she felt safe to emerge again. Either way, fair.

Speaking of potential couples, it hadn’t eluded Miranda’s attention that EDI and Joker had definitely become, shall it be said, a lot closer ever since EDI got a body. In retrospect, that wasn’t surprising, although the idea of the two of them becoming...entangled in that way had obviously never occurred to her before. Why would it have? But, come to think of it, the two of them had always bickered like an old married couple even when EDI was just a disembodied voice. From that perspective, Miranda supposed it kind of made sense.

And lastly on the list of possible relationships, there was also a...vibe coming off of Tali and Garrus, which was by far the most unexpected. And a little weird. Jacob had picked up on it before Miranda had, and she wished he hadn’t pointed it out. It was like finding out that two people she had thought of as more of a brother and sister might be hooking up. But it was none of Miranda’s business. In any event, the two of them seemed to mostly be avoiding each other. Perhaps they hadn’t confronted whatever this was between them yet.

She’d also caught sight of Zaeed and Samara admiring the artwork adorning Shepard’s new apartment. Miranda had thought about intruding on that, since that duo included the one person at this party she had been hoping to speak to tonight above all others, but she ultimately elected not to disturb them just yet. There would be other opportunities to catch up with her.

Somehow, she got the sense that Zaeed had finally been brave enough to shoot his shot with Samara after all this time. Judging by the expression on his face, and given that he was now drinking alone and very much not with Samara, presumably it had gone exactly as smoothly for him as had been predicted a year ago. She would be lying if she said she felt sorry for him.

A big group that included Joker, Garrus, Wrex, Steve Cortez and Javik had been arguing about guns and target practice or some similar nonsense, which hadn’t sounded particularly riveting to her in all honesty. Boys and their toys. They were still in that discussion from what she could hear. Unfortunately, Shepard seemed to have encouraged that line of thinking, which Miranda wished she hadn’t. Guns and alcohol were not the best mix.

Meanwhile, Kasumi had been popping in between all groups almost as much as Shepard had, like the perpetual snoop she was. She always loved getting up in everybody’s business. Miranda would have been a pretty big hypocrite to take issue with that, though. Although, when Miranda spied on people, it was for entirely professional reasons, not because she liked to gossip.

She had heard Grunt yelling at party crashers over the intercom a while back too. Who better to be a bouncer for a party than a genetically perfect krogan? She didn’t care to interrupt him. He’d done a good job of keeping the riff raff out.

And, honestly, for as much as Jack still grated on her nerves, a small part of Miranda had been somewhat relieved to see her there too, because if nothing else that meant she had survived long enough to attend this reunion. Miranda may not have liked Jack in the slightest, but if anybody thought she was actively rooting for any of her former Normandy comrades not to make it through this conflict, even Jack, then they really didn’t know Miranda at all.

Sure, they had instinctively traded barbs when they unintentionally crossed paths, because god forbid Jack actually behave like a fucking adult for once. But then Shepard had appeared out of nowhere and, for some bizarre reason, suggested that they, quote unquote, ‘work out all that unresolved tension between them’ and go have sex, or words to that effect.

In a weird way, that stupid comment had inadvertently somewhat doused the animosity between herself and Jack because, for once in their lives, they finally agreed on something - being that that would never fucking happen, and they would sooner drink broken glass than even think about it.

Credit to Shepard, though, Miranda and Jack hadn’t fought after that.

Maybe that had been the point.

Unfortunately, not all members of The Normandy had made it this far. There were missing faces. Only a few, but too many. From what she knew, they had all gone out like heroes, whatever that meant, and if it made any difference.

Thane had died giving his life to protect the Council from Kai Leng when Cerberus attacked the Citadel. Mordin had sacrificed himself to end the genophage, undoing what he had in retrospect come to believe was his greatest mistake. And Legion, well, to the extent that Legion could be considered ‘dead’, he had certainly ceased to exist in any recognisable form - giving up his ‘individuality’, for lack of a better word, to achieve peace between the quarians and the geth.

It wasn’t until after being forced to go into hiding for so long, believing some Cerberus agent would find her and put three bullets in her head before she saw any of her Normandy comrades again, that Miranda began to regret that she never took the chance to get to know her shipmates better, especially now that there were some with whom those lost moments could never be reclaimed.

What was that saying - you don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone?

Yeah, this was definitely one of those instances.

She’d always liked Thane, come to think of it. There was little to dislike. He had been one of the few on the ship who had never been anything other than extremely civil towards her, even when, admittedly, Miranda hadn’t been particularly courteous in return, misjudging him as a man of tenuous loyalty.

He never complained or questioned any task he was given. He just did it. A consummate professional. Exactly the kind of person she would want on any team.

Mordin, she respected. Hadn’t trusted, no, nor completely understood, but respected. They’d teamed up on a fair few field missions with Shepard early on when they were still studying the Collectors. Between her warps and Mordin’s incineration tech, they could tear through any armour in seconds. And he was undeniably a genius. Back on The Normandy, he was probably the only other person who’d spent as much time hard at work as Miranda. Maybe more.

With the benefit of hindsight, she wished she had taken more of an opportunity to pick his brain, and work with him on his endless list of projects. Even if he did talk at a million miles a minute, it was only because he had so much to do and no time to waste doing it. A sombre smile came to her face as she thought how many of the galaxy’s ills the two of them could have solved given enough all-nighters and enough pots of coffee between them.

And then there was Legion. In truth, she hadn’t had much time to speak to him, much less get to know him. He had been on The Normandy so briefly. Less than a month had elapsed between finding him, and Miranda being forced to leave. He was the one she knew the least. But he was unique.

She had been wrong about Legion, hadn’t she? Miranda still didn’t fully know where she stood on the whole question of whether machines could be considered ‘alive’, but that wasn’t the point, was it? Did it even matter if they weren’t? Either way, it would have been wrong to send him to Cerberus, like Miranda had initially suggested. If that had happened, Rannoch might not be at peace right now. With his final sacrifice to unite the quarians and the geth, Legion had definitively proven himself to be more than the mere sum of his programs.

So the question remained. Why hadn’t Miranda taken the initiative to get to know them? To speak to them? It wasn’t as if she hadn’t known that the time Thane and Mordin had was short, irrespective of intervening events. She’d just...not bothered.

It hadn’t occurred to her back then to think that was something she ought to have done. The old Miranda hadn’t cared to do such things. Because other people didn’t really matter to her.

By the time Miranda had started to defrost and emerge as a more tolerable (and, in turn, more tolerant) person to be around, it was already too late. The mission was over. The Alpha Relay was destroyed. And everyone went their separate ways.

But there was no changing the past. Perhaps there was no sense in wondering what could have been, or what she would have done differently if she had known then what she knew now, or if she had been the person back then that she was now, because that just wasn’t possible. And Miranda could do many things, but even she couldn’t make the impossible possible.

Well, not usually.

She couldn’t have those days back. But she still had this day. This one night. Best not to dwell on what was missing or the mistakes of yesterdays gone by when there was so much that she had to be thankful for. And, moreover, so much which she had, for once in her life, finally learned to appreciate.

And it wasn’t lost on her that this one night of joyful reunion was almost certainly the last one they could ever have like this. The last time they would all be together. The last time that all the faces in this room would still be here to celebrate as one. 

Because they wouldn’t be alive much longer.

The reality was, the whole galaxy was at war. And it was a war they were currently losing. Their chances of victory were slim to none. From what Miranda had gathered, all organic life was essentially banking its hopes on some ancient miracle superweapon passed down from previous cycles called The Crucible that they didn’t even fully understand or know how to use yet. And if that failed?

...There wasn’t a plan B. Not yet, at least.

Even if The Crucible worked and they somehow defeated the Reapers, the chance that more than a handful of people in this room would survive the war was infinitesimally small. And, perhaps more than anyone else at that party, Miranda had no expectation that she would be among the living when the dust settled. Because Miranda had never been happier than she was right then. Never had more to live for. And if that wasn’t a curse that put her right at the top of the list of ‘most likely to die’, then she was not only naive, but delusional.

The universe was a cruel place. The people who had the most to live for were always the first to die. There was no way that Miranda could rationally believe that the future she now saw for herself and Ori after the war might ever actually come to fruition. Because, if there was one thing that Miranda’s thirty-six years had taught her, it was that she would never get to be that fucking happy.

Things like that just didn’t happen. Especially not to people like her.

Or, if they did, then they shouldn’t.

Seeing what Cerberus had become, knowing she’d spent just shy of twenty years of her life working for them? No, she didn’t deserve a good ending.

As that thought went through her head, Miranda glanced up, and spotted a singular, solitary figure standing alone by the second floor balcony, watching the scenes playing out below. Samara. Somehow, that she was by herself was the least shocking thing Miranda could have imagined.

Finally sensing her long-awaited chance to catch a private moment with the one person she had been more eager to spend time with than any other, Miranda ascended the stairs, a glass of wine curled in her grasp.

“Not mingling?” Miranda asked as she joined Samara’s side.

“I am content to observe,” Samara replied, maintaining an upright posture with her hands clasped behind her back. She seemed to mean it, preferring to watch and listen from a distance than to be directly involved in the action for the most part. Considering she was about four hundred years out-of-practice when it came to this sort of thing, being a passive onlooker probably genuinely was the most enjoyable way for her to experience this party at her own pace.

“Normally, I would do the same.” Miranda leaned on the railing beside her.

“Yet you appear to be enjoying the festivities,” Samara noted, pleased with that.

“I know. It feels incongruous, doesn’t it? Me, being social? A year ago I would have been telling you all to stop wasting time and focus on the mission,” said Miranda, finding it rather bizarre to consider how far she'd come from the cold, aloof person she was previously. Well, not that she couldn't still be those things. But she was less so now. Especially among this dysfunctional bunch of misfits she had reluctantly become fond of, despite her better judgement.

Being part of The Normandy crew had changed her irrevocably. More than she'd realised at the time. Meeting her sister had done that too. And Samara, of course. And so had losing all those things when she went on the run. It made her appreciate aspects of life she wouldn't have otherwise.

It was almost enough to make her call them all her friends. Even Jack.

...Almost.

“You do not need to deprive yourself for my sake,” Samara assured her, gesturing towards the party going on beneath them, as if believing Miranda was only approaching her out of a sense of obligation to ensure she didn't feel excluded.

“I'm not. I enjoy your company. I always have.” Nothing had changed in that respect. No matter how much time had passed, Miranda would never feel any less at ease in Samara’s presence. She just had that effect on her. A vague smirk came to her as she thought back on the last time they spoke, toying with her wine glass. “I was right, you know?” she said, recalling her own words from all those many months ago. “I did miss you more than anyone else.”

“Even Shepard?” Samara inquired, her lip quirking with amusement.

“Even Shepard,” Miranda confirmed, taking a sip. “Don't pass this on, but Shepard was always barging into my office when I had a lot to do. Ask Garrus and he'll tell you the same thing about his calibrations.” She gestured to their comrade, currently setting up a number of glasses on the bar, resembling a firing range. That was going to end badly. “That was something I always liked about you.”

“What was?” asked Samara.

“You might be the only person I've ever met who never wanted anything from me,” Miranda explained, having had plenty of time to think about that in her loneliest moments this past year. “Not to be presumptuous, but it wasn’t because you simply didn't care, or wanted to get rid of me. You just...accepted me, as I was. I never felt as though I had to earn your approval, whether through my usefulness, or my accomplishments, or even through keeping you entertained with conversation. I could just...do nothing around you – literally, just sit there and say nothing in your presence, and that was fine with you.”

That was no exaggeration. They had spent hours together in serene silence, or in meditation. Maybe more than they had spent talking. It never mattered what they chose to do. One was never any more or less welcome than the other.

“It was,” Samara confirmed, her voice soft and reflective. “And, no, you are not being presumptuous. You may be more forthright than I am about such things, but, if I ever desired to be left alone, believe me, I would not have made a secret of it.”

“Ah, good, so you weren’t secretly dreading it whenever I showed up because you were too polite to tell me to bugger off this entire time,” Miranda joked. She already knew that, of course, but it was nice to have it on record.

“I am unfamiliar with that term. But no, I was not,” Samara answered kindly. “I would be a fool not to value your abilities. The things you have accomplished are remarkable, let alone what you have yet to achieve. But such things are only possible because of who you are. That is what is truly important. And I asked nothing of you, because I already enjoyed your companionship.”

Miranda wasn’t prone to blushing like an idiot, but it took an uncharacteristic amount of effort not to glow at such sincere praise. “You aren’t so bad yourself,” Miranda wryly replied, gently nudging Samara with her shoulder. 

“No, I am terribly dull. I assure you, I am aware of this,” Samara replied, a self-effacing smile tugging at the corners of her lips at the misplaced compliment.

Miranda snorted at that assertion. “Are you kidding? You were the only one out of this lot I found even remotely interesting to talk to most days. And, considering the company we keep, that’s saying something,” she said, indicating their cohorts below, who included some of the most famous heroes and infamous outlaws in the galaxy. “You’re one of the most fascinating people I’ve ever met. Besides, I owe a lot to your wisdom and advice. More than you know.”

“It pleases me that you feel that way. However, if I may, I do not consider myself especially wise,” Samara humbly responded, downplaying her role. “If I appear so, it is only because experience has taught me one lesson that can make even the most dimwitted person appear well-considered in their thoughts, and that is to speak as little as possible, until I have something worthwhile to say.”

“See? That’s the most intelligent thing I’ve heard all evening,” Miranda pointed out, earning a faint chuckle from Samara. “In all seriousness, though, I really have been looking forward to catching up with you.”

“And I you. Much has come to pass since last we met. For both of us, I suspect,” Samara reflected, as if she had often wondered in her journeys where her friends were, how they were faring, or what they might be doing. Miranda knew, because she had done the exact same thing. “If it would not trouble you to share it--”

“I killed my father,” Miranda nonchalantly answered, filling in the gaps of what had transpired over the past few months before Samara could even ask her to, bringing up the subject about as casually as she might remark on the weather.

“Good,” Samara enthused, without a hint of hesitation. She didn’t even need to ask whether or not he deserved it. She already knew the answer.

That Samara took it so in stride almost made Miranda laugh. That exchange would have sounded so bizarre out of context. “Couldn’t have happened to a nicer man,” Miranda commented, taking another drink from her glass, nearing half-empty. “So, yeah, I’ve gone from having the absolute worst year of my life so far to feeling pretty bloody wonderful, if I’m being honest.”

“I am glad to hear you say that. However, if I may...are you sure you are alright?” Samara asked with the warmth and gentleness Miranda had come to expect from her. Although her own experiences with Morinth were very different, no doubt they gave her an insight that, irrespective of how much Miranda hated her father or how justified she was in her actions, killing the man who had been her only family for sixteen years of her life might unearth some complicated feelings. “It would be no failure on your part whatsoever if you are not.”

“Yeah. I’m fine. Believe me, if there was any small part of me left that might have wanted to let him live, or might have felt something resembling an attachment to him, that part of me died the moment he hurt my sister,” Miranda declared, her voice unwavering. She glanced down. “Unfortunately, I...should have gotten there sooner. Oriana’s adoptive parents weren’t spared. They didn’t make it.”

“I am sorry,” Samara said, her sympathy sincere. “Is there anything you could reasonably have done to prevent this from happening?”

“No, probably not,” Miranda acknowledged. She had been fighting so hard just to survive some days. To stay one step ahead of The Illusive Man and his agents. She’d kept an eye on her as best she could, but it hadn’t been possible to watch over her and protect her the way she used to from such a position of powerlessness. She hadn’t even known she was in danger until it was too late.

“Then you must not blame yourself,” Samara encouraged, ever the voice of compassionate wisdom. “If your actions could not realistically have changed anything that transpired, then you cannot be held responsible.”

“I suppose not,” Miranda conceded, staring down at her glass.

More than anything else, Miranda hated that feeling of helplessness. Knowing that Oriana had suffered and felt pain she never wanted her to experience, and there was nothing she could do to shield her from it. She would have traded her own life in a heartbeat to take it all away and wind back the clock for Ori and her family, if it were within her power. But such things weren’t. It couldn’t be undone. It couldn’t be fixed. They just had to keep moving forward.

“Enough about me. How about you?” Miranda changed the subject. “I tried to keep tabs on everyone but...you are a hard woman to find, Samara.”

“That is my way,” Samara affirmed, calm and quiet. “I have no possessions, but that which you see before you. And I often journey through very remote places.”

“You’re off-the-grid,” Miranda translated. Certainly, Samara was about as disconnected from galactic society and unplugged from the network as it was possible to be in this day and age, short of eschewing those things completely.

“You could say that, yes,” Samara gave a firm nod, accepting that description. She stepped away from the balcony, gesturing with her hand as she spoke. “You may not know this, but there are villages in remote parts of asari space where people have...returned to a simpler way of being, rejecting modernity and embracing tradition in every facet of life. Even though their ancestors may have come to those worlds by spaceflight, they prefer to live as their predecessors did thousands of years ago. It would not be an exaggeration for me to state that several such places I have visited recently would still not currently be aware there is a war going on as we speak, and would never have heard the term ‘Reaper’.”

“Doesn’t sound that strange. There are people and places on Earth that haven’t changed at all in the past two hundred years, if not longer. As long as they aren’t holding back social and scientific progress for anyone else, why force them to adapt?” Miranda shrugged. If people wanted to stay stuck in the past, that was their business. She would happily continue moving forward and enjoy all the trappings and privileges of modern life that they rejected.

“...I have always liked such places, at least since I became a Justicar. They remind me of my temple somewhat,” Samara confessed, her eyes losing focus, drifting into thoughtful contemplation. “Just as there is tranquility in being surrounded by nature, there is truly no wiser woman than she who is content with her life, however humble it may seem. Would that we could all achieve such harmony.”

The hint of sombreness in Samara’s final words wasn’t lost on Miranda.

“Speaking for myself, give me twenty-second century technology any day,” Miranda remarked, both because it was true, but partly in an effort to lighten the atmosphere. It wasn’t clear whether Samara even heard her, in all honesty. “So where did you go after that?” Miranda asked casually. Given that she was here, she must have run into Shepard again somehow.

At those words, a sudden flicker of sorrow passed across her features. Samara turned away, one hand falling across her face, as if struck by a surge of sadness, and needing a moment to collect herself.

Needless to say, that reaction definitely didn’t escape Miranda. She moved closer to Samara, concerned. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

Samara summoned a heartbroken smile as she looked up at her once more. “Forgive me. My thoughts turned to the day I encountered Shepard,” she began, a hard story to tell. “I heard that the monastery where my daughters were taken four centuries ago had issued a distress signal, and none who had been sent to investigate had returned. As soon as I knew they were in peril, I did not hesitate. I had to go to them. I feared the worst, and my fears were not misplaced. The Reapers were indoctrinating Ardat-Yakshi, turning them into…” Samara couldn’t even say it. There weren’t words to describe those creatures.

Miranda listened to her recount the events in heavy, dread-filled silence. Nobody had told her that. She had no idea about any of this. 

“Fortunately, both Shepard and I arrived in time to rescue Falere from that fate. However, we were not quick enough. I lost...I lost Rila.” Samara’s voice caught in her throat, choked by a sob as she relived the all-too-raw pain of her death. 

Her oldest daughter. Gone.

Miranda’s heart sank. “Samara, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know,” she said with heartfelt remorse. Miranda never would have brought this up if she had suspected anything had happened to what little family Samara still had left. Why hadn’t anybody said anything? Why had no one told her about this?

“No, it is…” Samara shook her head, raising a hand as if to signal that it was not her fault for inadvertently touching upon an open wound. As if she thought the only misstep made was her own for letting grief cloud the moment, when she had so much still to be thankful for. “I should not. Not today.”

Miranda didn’t quite know what to make of that reaction, but if Samara didn’t want to talk about the death of her child, she couldn’t exactly blame her. She certainly wouldn’t force her to.

Their moment of quiet was interrupted by glass shattering somewhere below.

“Oh, God,” Miranda groaned miserably, getting the sense that the boys were in fact about to break out the guns and start shooting after all. She was not particularly keen to be near them when that happened. “Do you want to go somewhere a little quieter?” Miranda asked, thinking that would be best.

“As you wish,” Samara replied, gesturing for her to go ahead, composing herself as she followed in Miranda’s footsteps. With that, they retreated into Shepard's bedroom, seeing that it appeared empty.

Out of the corner of her eye, Miranda glimpsed something. Shepard's closet was open, but the clothes were shifting ever so slightly as they hung there. Hmm. She had a fair idea what was causing that. However, this wasn't the time to address it. Not when this moment with Samara could be one of the last they ever had. She made a mental note to file her theory away for a little later.

Ignoring the disturbance, Miranda stepped inside. She supposed they could have sat on the bed, but, somehow, that just didn't seem fitting. “Here, for old time's sake,” she said, sitting down on the floor, her legs crossed, patting a spot beside her. “I know the view isn't as good, but—“

“I have spent many years gazing out over the stars, and I will see them again before my days are at an end,” Samara interrupted Miranda, joining her by her side, mirroring her posture. “In comparison, I have spent far less time with you. This is more worthy, do you not agree?”

“Definitely.” Miranda glanced down, having reflected on that sort of thing a lot recently. “Cutting myself off from...everything like I did made me appreciate the value of how I spend my limited time in this universe. I’ve come to understand what I want to do with my life, after all this is done. Assuming there is an ‘after’. And it turns out you were right, but you probably already knew that.”

“I...do not,” Samara replied, mildly perplexed. “If I said something in the past that you are referring to, I am afraid that I do not recall it.”

That happened a lot, Miranda thought. She had a near-perfect memory, by human standards. It felt entirely natural to her to harken back to conversations that had taken place long ago as if they’d happened only yesterday when, almost invariably, by that stage, the other party had forgotten them completely.

“You remember how you would encourage me to concentrate less on devoting all my energy to my work and other external achievements and to focus more on my inner development instead? Well, you asked me once which of those two things ultimately has greater meaning to me,” Miranda refreshed her memory.

“That does sound like something I would say,” Samara acknowledged, certainly remembering words to that effect, even if a few more specific details had faded.

“You did. And you were right,” Miranda continued. “I had a lot of time to myself these past several months. Completely to myself. And when that crushing isolation was just starting to tip me over the edge, I thought of you. I thought of us, our time together. And so I tried my hand at meditating again. It succeeded at calming me down and clearing my head but, more importantly, finding that state of tranquility gave me the first chance I’d had since leaving Cerberus to really stop and think about my life, and the direction it was heading, even before this.”

Samara’s expression revealed she knew that epiphany all too well, as if she had undergone something similar in her own life. Possibly more than once. It was no wonder she considered meditation such an essential facet of her existence.

“Serenity is the key to mindfulness. The only key. Even the simplest truths are often lost to us in the noise and chaos of life, or clouded by impenetrable shadows of anger and despair,” Samara spoke sagely, from the benefit of experience. 

That was the truest and most astute thing Miranda had heard anyone say in a long time. And beautifully poetic. And, as she looked at Samara then, Miranda had to once again wonder how she could possibly believe herself to be dull or unwise, even if she had only made those disparaging remarks about herself in jest. 

“What came to you in the silence?” Samara prompted, keen to hear it.

“I thought of the person I was before I met you, and, out of nowhere, it suddenly hit me - really hit me - that all that time I spent working for Cerberus was...wasted. It meant nothing. And I knew it meant nothing because all I could think was that, if Cerberus did catch up to me and kill me, then I would be leaving behind absolutely nothing that I could look back on and say, ‘Yeah, you know what? I’m satisfied with that.’ Not one thing. Except for bringing Shepard back, but any contentment I feel about that has less to do with me, and more to do with Shepard.”

“Because you were never satisfied with anything you produced,” Samara intuited, sensing what Miranda had come to terms with. “Nothing could ever truly meet your own unattainable standards that you set for yourself. And no amount of work could ever fill the void that you felt inside. A void that festered because you were...completely avoiding focusing on your inner life.”

“Yes, I was. And, no, it couldn’t fill it,” Miranda confirmed, seeing now what she had been too distracted to see before. “And, although I didn’t realise it at the time, I really did not like the person I was when I was working for them. I was not happy. I thought I was, compared to the life I had before. But, in actuality, I wasn’t any less trapped with them than I was with my father. I was like Shepard’s stupid hamster, running in a wheel, doing the same things over and over again, thinking I was getting somewhere, but going nowhere. Deep down, I was...I was fucking miserable. And...honestly, I think I was lonely.”

Samara watched on, her eyes glistening with unfeigned sympathy and understanding. “I gathered as much,” Samara admitted, barely above a whisper. Miranda wasn’t surprised to hear her say that. She wasn’t sure at precisely what point it had occurred to her to suspect that Samara’s spiritual intervention in her life might be intentional, but she’d made no secret of her guidance. 

“I’m glad you noticed, because I never would have. It was you who gave me that gentle push that made me re-examine what I was doing with my life, how badly I was treating myself, and reflect on what really mattered to me,” said Miranda. Hell, Samara had known what Miranda was missing better than she knew it herself. “So, as I was having this moment of insight and meditating on all those things you said to me, it made me think, maybe the path I’ve been taking until now isn't what's fulfilling to me. That's why, once the Reapers are defeated, if I make it out alive...I think I'm done,” she stated frankly, shrugging her shoulders.

“Done?” Samara echoed, curious as to her meaning.

“Done being that person,” Miranda clarified. “Done leading my life that way. Or at least I’ll try to be someone different for a while, until I figure out what I really want to do now that there’s nobody controlling me anymore. I'm not planning to be a puppet for another shadowy organisation. I'm not going to go off on some grand mission to save the galaxy. I’m not going to spend sixteen hours a day hunched over my computer screen, stressing over worthless administrative tasks to meet the arbitrary standards of people who don’t care at all if my crippling addiction to perfectionism sends me to an early grave,” Miranda announced, voicing that commitment aloud as though it were a vow. “If I’m finally going to take charge of my own life, then I'm going to focus on what's most important to me.”

“And what is that?” Samara asked, suspecting she already knew.

“My sister,” Miranda answered without hesitation. Oriana was her be all and end all. Whether she knew it or not, she always had been, ever since she was brought into this world. She made Miranda feel complete, or as close to whole as she had ever felt, anyway. “I made a promise to her that, when this is over, we're going to find some nice, quiet place on a colony world and start living our lives together as a family. And that's the only thing I want to do. The only thing I know will make me happy. I don't care about anything else.”

“You are...retiring?” Samara inferred, tilting her head in questioning.

“In a manner of speaking, I guess you could say that,” Miranda affirmed. As she glanced over at Samara then, it wasn’t lost on her that, while she was clearly impressed with the level of growth Miranda was demonstrating, suffice it to say that there was a hint of scepticism. “What?” Miranda prompted her, always preferring people to be direct rather than refrain from speaking.

“Forgive me. It delights me to hear that you have chosen a path which you believe will bring you inner fulfilment, but...with greatest respect, after our many conversations, I find it difficult to imagine you content with embracing idleness,” Samara noted with interest, even though she obviously supported her decision. She knew it drove Miranda crazy when she didn’t have enough work to do. She was perpetually busy, by choice. She hated being bored more than anything.

“No, I'm not saying I’ll be idle. I mean, I am only thirty-six, and...well, you've seen what I'm like,” Miranda conceded that fault, aware of her workaholic tendencies. She didn’t expect those qualities to fade, and she wasn’t sure it would be a good thing if they did. They were part of her personality. “But the point is that I’ve been doing the exact same thing for twenty years and getting nothing in return - except money, I guess. Before that, I was my father’s prisoner. I’ve never had the chance to be my own woman. I need a clean break. A hard reset. To steer things in a new direction. I need some time to...do or be something else, for the first time in my life. I need to…” She trailed off, struggling for the right words.

“Find yourself?” Samara suggested.

“Something like that,” Miranda confirmed. She’d never had a chance to discover herself and her identity except insofar as it related to her upbringing, or to her career with Cerberus. What else was there? Who was Miranda Lawson when she wasn’t working? Or wasn’t busy solving all the galaxy’s problems?

She would have loved to know. It was a shame she wouldn’t get to live long enough to meet that person. But, God, did it feel good to live in denial, and allow herself to hope, for just one night.

“I don't know how long this experiment will last, or what this phase of my life will look like,” Miranda continued, “And I'm sure that at some point in time I'm going to find ways to keep myself productive, because I probably can't do otherwise. But, whatever I decide to do with my time and my skills, I'll be doing it of my own volition. Not because I'm tethered to anybody else. Not because somebody else is running my life and telling me what to do. It will be because I took time to think about it, and found a way to devote myself to something that actually makes me feel good when I do it. Whatever that ends up being.”

That was the core of it, when it came down to it. She wanted to be her own master. To have control over her own life. To be her own boss. Wanted the freedom to cut ties with anyone or anything that was toxic to her quest for self-actualisation. 

“Either way, from now on, all those other things are going to be secondary, because my family is my priority. Oriana is,” Miranda professed, and that was immutable. “And, while I already knew that, you helped me realise what that means. So thank you for that.”

“If I was able to be of any assistance, then seeing you embrace your innermost desires is thanks enough. I am glad that you and your sister have found one another,” Samara said, her sincere smile reaching her eyes. “Truly, you have come so far from when I first met you. Wherever your path takes you, I wish you nothing but happiness. And I hope you both lead very long and peaceful lives.”

“Don’t we all?” Miranda remarked. That was the hard part, though. The entire galaxy was under attack by genocidal, unknowable cosmic horrors. But nobody wanted to think about them right now. Not tonight. “What about you and Falere?” Miranda asked, hoping she wasn’t treading on too sensitive ground by asking that question. “Will you do the same with her?”

“...I cannot; my adherence to The Code does not end with the salvation of the galaxy,” said Samara. Though it was clear she accepted that, her response left her visibly conflicted. No doubt, she wished it could have been otherwise. “I am the last of my Order. When I perish, so do the Justicars perish with me. It may seem futile to continue to walk this path when there is no one left to demand it of me, but I must. I must, for those who can no longer walk it with me.”

Samara’s devout pledge carried a hint of sadness, but it was well-camouflaged. What she personally wanted was irrelevant, ever since she'd renounced her former life and sworn her service to the Justicars. Being their sole living legacy only further cemented what had already been true. She wouldn't turn her back on her obligations, no matter how tempting it was to savour every moment she could with her daughter. She could never forgive herself if she did.

“However, I have also promised Falere that I will return, if I survive – when I am able,” Samara continued, though her tone did not change. It remained distant. Almost resigned. Layered in over four hundred years of history between them.

Miranda couldn’t quite make sense of the mixed emotions she sensed in Samara’s voice. Perhaps she was disappointed that they couldn’t be as close as she would like - that there were restrictions standing in the way of them fully reuniting in the same kind of way Miranda and Oriana had. Falere was still an Ardat-Yakshi, after all; she could never live a normal life. It was too dangerous.

“But you will see her? You will have a life together?” Miranda surmised, in a subtle attempt to encourage Samara to think of her circumstances more positively.

“...Yes,” Samara answered hesitantly, deciding that was indeed true, in part.

“Then, if both of us have reasons to survive, I don't like the Reapers' chances,” Miranda spoke with false confidence. If she said it with enough self-assuredness, perhaps she might actually start to believe it. But she wasn’t trying to convince herself. Only Samara. “If we've said we're going to do these things, then we already know what the outcome of this war has to be.”

Samara didn't share in her display of bravado, but she did appreciate her sentiment. “Though I am not afraid of death, I certainly have found a great deal more to live for than I ever thought I would have again...” Samara trailed off at that thought, her eyes briefly drifting out of focus, almost pensive in her reflection.

“Here's to living,” said Miranda, raising her mostly empty glass in a salute, finishing the last of her drink.

At that, Samara shook herself from whatever temporary trance had come over her. “Yes. Indeed. As you once said to me, I will…’see you on the other side’,” Samara echoed Miranda’s words from The Collector Base, nodding her head in agreement. There was nothing more worthy of affirmation than the desire to emerge from the ashes when all this was over. “The hour grows late, and I fear I have kept you too long. Do you wish to return to the festivities?” 

“You go on ahead,” Miranda encouraged. “And don’t just sit in a corner and meditate all night. Go...fucking have fun, Samara. You deserve it.”

Samara uttered a soft chuckle. “I am not entirely sure what that means, but if you are insistent, then...I will try to avail myself. The atmosphere is certainly...energetic,” she commented, as if sounding faintly overwhelmed by the party.

Miranda didn’t need to be a genius to recognise that it had been a long, long, long, long (too many longs to possibly put into a sentence) time since Samara would have experienced anything like this. The young Samara she had heard tales of had definitely been a wild child, but she had ceased to be that person even before her personal tragedy befell her. As a Justicar, she had been travelling alone, in total solitude, for over four hundred years, barely even speaking to anyone for most of that time, except as required to carry out her duties.

How many centuries had it been since she was able to get together like this with a group of friends? Since she even had a group of friends? Since she...relaxed and unwound? It was no wonder that, so far, she seemed content to watch from the sidelines more than actively participate in the unfolding chaos. 

Still a little sad, though. At least from where Miranda was sitting.

“Will you join me?” Samara asked, extending her hand as she got to her feet.

“In a bit,” Miranda declined. “There's something I have to take care of first.”

Samara didn't ask what Miranda meant by that, respecting her decision. “Very well. May we speak again soon,” she said, taking her leave and rejoining the others. 

Once Samara was gone, Miranda uttered a faint disgruntled sigh. “I know you're there, Kasumi,” she said, annoyed. “Samara may not have noticed, but I did.”

“Aw, what gave it away?” Kasumi playfully whined, de-cloaking in front of Shepard's closet.

“The movement as you rifled through those clothes,” Miranda answered plainly.

“Ooh, you're good,” Kasumi acknowledged. Most people wouldn't have seen it.

“Genetic enhancements. Superior vision. You've heard this story,” Miranda explained, waving that nonsense away. She elected not to ask what Kasumi was doing by rifling through Shepard’s clothes. That was the least unusual thing about this. “So, were you riveted by our conversation?” she asked.

“Actually, yes,” Kasumi replied, her answer apparently unfeigned. “Samara wasn’t kidding; you really have changed your perspective for the better. This new you, it's nice. You seem happy. I hope everything works out for you and your sister.”

Miranda couldn't quite manage to be cross with her after that kind response. “Yeah, well...I’ll never hear the end of it if the crew thinks I’ve gone soft and sentimental, so don’t go telling anyone. Besides, I haven't changed so much that I won't be capable of making your life hell if you let word of this spread around,” Miranda idly threatened, not meaning it at all.

Kasumi lost any trace of heartfelt sincerity after that. “On the other hand, I was also enthralled because I thought your little love session was going to end with you and Samara christening Shep's sheets,” she teased.

Miranda arched an eyebrow. Her and Samara? How absurd. “Of all the comebacks you could make...Really? A gay joke? In this day and age? What century are you from?” Honestly, it was the lack of creativity and wit that disappointed her more than anything. Kasumi was normally funnier than this.

“Who’s joking?” Kasumi wryly replied. “I was going to take bets from the others on which one of you topped. I picked you, for the record.”

Miranda snorted, not even humouring this nonsense. “Sure. If you say so.” 

“Be dismissive if you want, but I was right across the hall from Samara. I overheard more than one of your conversations. I know nobody else knows how much time you spent together, but I do. Besides, Shepard has it all wrong; Samara's a much better match for you than Jack would ever be,” Kasumi nonchalantly commented.

Miranda sighed heavily and let her head fall in her hand, massaging her forehead in visible annoyance. “What is it with everyone tonight--”

As soon as Miranda began to utter the question, she found that Kasumi had already cloaked herself and disappeared, leaving her by herself. Miranda rolled her eyes, not even slightly shocked. Kasumi had done that to everyone all night.

Seriously, though, why was everyone suddenly so intent on getting her to sleep with women at this party? They knew she was straight, right?

*     *     *

Drip.

Drip.

She stirred at the disturbance. Her right eye flickered open, but the other didn’t respond. Twisted metal and exposed wires loomed over her against the backdrop of an empty sky.

Drip.

Drip.

A body hung out of the seat above her. Half a body. A cracked ribcage visibly protruded from a burned uniform. Entrails dangled from the open corpse. Droplets of blood ran down a lifeless arm swaying limp in the light breeze.

Drip.

Drip.

Miranda had been here before. So many times. But this time, she was frozen in place. Trapped. Stuck. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t shift her body. Could only feel the blood and the viscera. It surrounded her. She was practically floating in a pool of it beneath her.

It was still warm.

Drip.

Drip.

She could taste copper in her mouth. She was covered in sanguine from head to toe. She wasn’t sure how much was hers, and how much was the pilot’s.

Drip.

Drip.

Her eyelid fluttered as a drop landed directly in her iris. As she blinked, she noticed something she’d never seen before. The pilot’s neck was bent back the wrong way. But there was a head. Half a head. Split clean open. Down the middle.

Her helmet had come off, exposing blonde hair. Stained with a crimson mask.

Drip.

Drip.

Miranda’s instincts reacted before she did. Her heart began to race - her pulse quickening with a deep, abiding dread. Adrenaline surged through her veins. And she didn’t know why. Until she saw.

Until she saw the body above her move.

Drip.

Drip.

That bent-backwards broken spine shifted consciously. And, with a wilful snap, suddenly that limp neck was above her. Hanging. That half-skull hovered directly over her. Looking at her. Appraising her.

Drip.

Drip.

Miranda tensed with the urge to fight or flee, but she was frozen in place, as if made of stone. She couldn’t move a single part of her body below her neck.

Drip.

Drip.

That torn face, broken in two, shifted back and forth, as if studying Miranda. Examining her. Asking itself…why did this stranger live, when I died?

Drip.

Drip.

With one click of a button to release her harness, the pilot dropped to the floor, freed from her restraints. Miranda could only watch as that unliving corpse of the woman blasted in half by the Reaper unnaturally positioned itself above her. Then the thing looked over to one side. Its eye was fixed on Miranda’s left arm.

Her wounded limb hung like dead weight from her shoulder. Fractured. Lifeless. Her forearm was twisted around completely the wrong way from the elbow down. Miranda couldn’t so much as twitch her fingers in self-defence.

Drip.

Drip.

Without warning, it seized her left hand.

“Ah!” Miranda gasped in pain, but couldn’t fight her off. Couldn’t move.

All she could do was lie there helplessly and watch as this dead creature lifted her broken, mangled arm. She willed herself not to scream from how much it hurt. Not to give it the satisfaction of breaking her.

Drip.

Drip.

The pilot stared down at her, unmoved by her anguish. It felt nothing.

It never broke eye contact with her as it lifted her backwards-twisted hand towards itself. Until Miranda’s fingers were almost touching that split-open face.

Miranda would have resisted if she could, but it felt like her arm would rip clean in half at the elbow if she pulled back with even the slightest force.

Drip.

Drip.

And then the pilot opened her mouth.

And a river of maggots came pouring out.

Wriggling.

Writhing.

Miranda could do nothing except watch as those horrible, crawling larvae spread from her fingers, down her palm, and to her wrist. And everywhere they touched, her flesh was consumed with rot. Infection. Disease. Death.

She could smell it.

She could fucking smell it.

And they just kept coming.

Drip.

Drip.

Some of the vile things fell onto her abdomen, there were so many of them. And the rot took hold there too. Turning her skin sickly septic. Pestilent. Necrotic. 

The pilot let go of her arm, letting it fall to the floor as the maggots swarmed her.

That half-body reached down and grabbed a fistful of the squirming things that were feasting on her still living corpse. It held that pulsating mass above her.

Drip.

Drip.

“No,” was all Miranda could say, knowing what it intended.

But there was nothing she could say that would stop it.

Drip.

Drip.

It shoved that handful of maggots directly onto her face.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Instinctively, Miranda reached over and slapped the alarm off before anyone else would hear it. The next thing she did was bite down on her pillow to keep from screaming, or vomiting, stifling the lingering echoes of her nightmare.

Once the panic subsided, Miranda flopped onto her back, catching her breath.

Four forty-five in the morning.

This had been her bright idea to get some sorely-needed rest. She’d set her alarm to go off every half hour - to wake her before she could dream. It worked for the first three cycles. That was the fourth. Another failed solution. Another plan that hadn’t helped. Every time she slept, it was hell. It was always hell.

Miranda lay there in darkness, staring at the ceiling, listening to her ear ring. At least she’d got two hours before the nightmares struck this time. Thank Christ for that small mercy. But she was still so tired. She was so fucking tired.

Miranda could run on far less sleep than the average human. Persevere longer before frayed edges started to show. But even she had limits on what she could withstand. The longer this went on, the harder it got just to function.

How long did she have before she was physically incapable of staying awake?

Miranda had given up trying to pass time during the night. With anything. Didn’t use her computer. Didn’t read. Didn’t listen to music. Didn’t go out for walks by the river. Didn’t do any of the things she turned to in the past.

It was all so...boring. Everything was. Every single thing in her life that she used to use as a crutch to ward off these dreams had lost its lustre. Nothing was worth the effort of doing anymore. Expending the energy. All she had to keep herself awake anymore were her thoughts. And that sound.

That relentless

Fucking

Sound.

Days bled together in a blur. It almost didn’t feel like the past few hours had even happened. Fresh memories were like watching scenes from someone else’s life. What little release she’d had from getting off with Shiala earlier that night had already worked its way out of her system. It had been nothing more than a fleeting distraction, which offered scant relief from the problems that plagued her. And now she was back to this. A torment she’d been living with for so long that she no longer even remembered how it felt to be rested.

But thinking about literally anything else was preferable to dwelling on the nightmares, and she could only count the same cracks in the ceiling so many times before that would drive her clinically insane. So Miranda replayed the night in her head, trying to make sense of it all, and where it left her.

If sleeping with Shiala had accomplished one thing, it had proven that her feelings for Samara weren’t just in her head. No, the desire she’d felt when she imagined Samara in Shiala’s place, picturing her body beneath her, had not been some mere delusion. Those physical reactions couldn’t be faked or exaggerated. The sheer fucking want. That was real, vivid, stark, and intense.

So that was just great. After all that, not only had she not managed to convince herself that she was any less in love with Samara, she was now painfully conscious that she was sexually attracted to her. Extremely so.

It was the opposite of what she’d hoped to achieve. Fucking Shiala hadn’t been a release for her feelings. If anything, it had only crystalised them.

It was no wonder why Samara was dominating her thoughts. This obsession with her was about the only thing Miranda could feel at all anymore, outside of her nightmares. When it came to everything else in her life - all the death, the destruction, her own survival, her injuries, and the loss of all but a small handful of people she knew - everything else that should have provoked her to feel something, anything...there was nothing there. A hole. A void. An empty space.

She was just so fucking…

Blank.

Neutral.

Numb.

She couldn’t feel anything at all. Just hollowness. Except when Samara was there. And then, when she looked at her, when she felt her standing by her side, everything got so intense and so achingly real and corporeal that it burned. She came so alive in her proximity that she damn near couldn’t stand it.

But Samara wasn’t there.

She had gone again, leaving her to wilt in the dark.

And there Miranda lay. Staring at the ceiling. Avoiding her dreams. Listening to her ear ring. And she felt dead inside. Like every breath she took, she wasn’t getting enough air. Like she was asphyxiating, bit by bit. Suffocating so slowly that nobody would even notice if she simply stopped breathing. Not even herself.

But what the hell did she have to complain about?

She was still here.

Millions of others weren’t so lucky. Hell, billions. 

As her mind began to wander in the way that minds could only wander when they were desperately tired and teetering on the verge of sleep, she thought about The Normandy. About the shockwave that had destroyed the mass relays, and all ships anywhere near them. The faster-than-light blast that killed her friends.

Miranda hadn’t even been conscious when it happened. She’d only heard descriptions of what it looked like when the Crucible fired. It painted a pretty grim picture. Jacob had told her how he’d seen people standing only a few feet in front of him scream as they disintegrated in front of his very eyes. Torn apart on a cellular level, in a single, bright, flash.

Was that what happened to The Normandy? Had it been sudden? Had they been scared, in their last moments? Had they felt pain? Did they even know that they were in danger? That they were going to die? Or did they just...blink out of existence, blissfully quickly?

Did it matter?

People didn’t go anywhere when they died. There was no soul. No afterlife. No heaven. No hell. There was just...nothing. People were, and then they weren’t.

They would never even find any trace of them, would they? They would never have anything to bury or lay to rest. Even reading out their names as she had done hadn’t added a sense of catharsis or closure to it. It still didn’t feel entirely real, even though Miranda knew it had to be. The Normandy would have either reported in or been found by now if anyone had survived.

And then she thought of the people who were serving aboard The Normandy when it disappeared. People she had spoken to only a few months ago - a mere matter of days before the battle for Earth. People she would never speak to again. People she probably hadn’t earned the right to call her friends.

Tali, Miranda had never had a problem with. They only talked when it was directly related to the ship or the mission, which had been an ideal working relationship from her perspective. She wasn’t on The Normandy to make friends. That wasn’t something she wanted or thought she needed back then. It was only around the time of Shepard’s party on the Citadel that Miranda had finally begun to twig that Tali actually did not like her at all, and never had. To her credit, she had simply been far too professional to let it show, or interfere with her job.

That was perfectly fine, honestly. And, if Tali really did hate Miranda this whole time, that made her not a bad judge of character, in fairness. She hadn’t realised it about herself when they served together but, in truth, Miranda hadn’t liked herself all that much either. Still didn’t, on some level.

Garrus, by contrast, was notoriously snarky and sarcastic towards her. She’d never thought turians could smirk before, but Garrus had proven they could. He would meet her commands with smart-arse quips and a wry glint in his eye. He never took Miranda’s shit. Needless to say, she hadn’t been his biggest fan because of that but, in retrospect, she couldn’t blame him. With the gift of hindsight, she now recognised she had been pretty intolerable to be around at times. If she’d had a better sense of humour, they could have traded some witty banter. But the old Miranda took herself far too seriously for that.

Liara, Miranda had met earlier than any other member of The Normandy, save Jacob. Miranda had enlisted her help to retrieve Shepard’s body from the Shadow Broker, before it fell into the hands of the Collectors. It was strange to think that that brief crossing of their paths had set all subsequent events in motion.

Miranda had been so focused on her own goals at that time that she never formed particularly strong impressions of Liara, beyond a mixture of respect for her capabilities, tinged with appropriate suspicion and mistrust. That mistrust had mostly faded through a combination of being there when Liara took down the Shadow Broker, and perhaps more importantly from getting to know Shepard well enough to trust her judgement about the company she kept.

She didn’t know Liara well enough to speculate as to whether she shared that sentiment. Miranda rarely cared to ponder others’ opinions of her. Presumably Shepard didn’t have quite as many positive things to say about Miranda as she did about Liara, given their relationship. But they’d never had any issues.

James, Javik and Ashley, Miranda obviously didn’t know. She’d barely been introduced to them, really only meeting them when Shepard threw that party. She hadn’t formed particularly noteworthy opinions of any of them, beyond that James was a bit of a meathead (albeit, a fairly charming one), Ashley was what happened when the quintessential military brat grew up and became a soldier, and Javik was coping with being the loneliest man in the universe by staying alive through the sheer burning willpower to avenge the destruction of his people. 

Then again, maybe she was wrong about them.

Joker and EDI, though, Miranda definitely knew. Joker had never been shy when it came to talking shit about everyone on the ship. Miranda was no exception, although he was more cautious about her than most, given that she scared the crap out of him. Still, that hadn’t stopped him from spending an entire week humming the Wicked Witch of the West theme every time Miranda approached - a reference Miranda hadn’t understood (because of course she didn’t) until Jacob explained it to her, which led to her swiftly putting a stop to that.

And EDI? Well, EDI was The Normandy. The closest thing it had to a soul.

It was difficult to say whether Miranda could truly consider her a ‘person’, but on some level she supposed she did. She did think of her as one. Miranda had always found herself being instinctively polite to EDI, even in moments when she didn’t extend the same politeness to anyone else. But for as calm and helpful as EDI could be, she also had a personality. A sense of humour. Desires. Wants. In some ways, maybe she was more human than Miranda herself.

And then there was Doctor Chakwas, and Gabby and Ken, and Engineer Adams, and Kelly Chambers, and Mess Sergeant Gardener. So many people. So many faces that had become part of her world. She didn’t even like all of them, but they were there. And now they weren’t.

And Shepard.

Where did she even start when it came to Shepard?

Meeting Shepard had changed Miranda’s life on a fundamental level. She’d led by example, and shown her a different way of being. She was the undeniable proof that being kind and empathetic wasn’t a weakness, but a strength. That making friends with the people around her wasn’t a distraction from more important work, but an essential tool she used to build a strong and loyal team.

She was, without exaggeration or qualification, as close to a perfect human being as Miranda had ever met. If humanity strived to be more like Andrea Shepard, then the galaxy would be a better place.

Huh. What would Shepard say if she could see Miranda now?

Do you even miss us?

At all?

Good question, Miranda thought. Was this what it was like? Was this how a normal person was supposed to act when they missed people who had died? Because it didn’t feel that way. If this was a test, she was failing. Despite what Samara had said about there being no correct or incorrect way to grieve, it certainly didn’t feel like she was mourning the right way, whatever that meant.

Do you even care that we’re gone?

You haven’t cried.

Not once.

Not even the faintest sting in your eye.

No, she hadn’t. She’d never really been able to do that. Only Oriana ever brought that out of her. And Miranda wasn’t speaking to her right now. Because she still had nothing positive to say.

At this rate, it wasn’t looking like that was going to change anytime soon.

Miranda lay there in the dark for two more hours, forcing herself not to slip into slumber. It was seven in the morning when she finally willed her weary limbs to get her up and out of bed. She had already heard the pipes going, so she knew some of the kids were awake. Sometimes she got up before them, but she usually waited for them to stir as her signal to stop pretending to sleep. It aroused less suspicion if she wasn’t the first one up every morning. And her ruse must have been working because so far none of them had noticed.

She got up, had her shower, got dressed, and joined the early risers for breakfast.

“Morning, Miss,” Leah Brooks greeted her.

“Morning.” Miranda opened the fridge, her voice slightly hoarse. She stopped, blinking as she glanced back at the students. “...Is that actual fresh milk in the fridge?” she asked, wondering if she was just hallucinating from insomnia.

“Sure is,” Rodriguez confirmed.

“How on Earth do we have that?” said Miranda, on a slight delay.

“Black market,” Rodriguez answered with a shrug.

Miranda gave her a single nod of approval, grabbing the glass bottle. “Good girl.” She was teaching them well. It was worth every credit to have food that didn’t come in powder form whenever they could manage to get their hands on it.

With that, Miranda poured herself a bowl of cereal and joined the kids at the table. They ate in silence for a solid two minutes. Despite not paying the students much mind, she didn’t fail to notice that they were sneaking surreptitious glances at her, and being awkwardly quiet. They were usually chattier. She didn’t ask them what this was about, because she didn’t care. It was always some teenage nonsense with them. As long as it was harmless.

“...Screw it, I’m gonna ask her,” Reiley eventually broke the silence.

“Don’t! Don’t fucking ask her,” Rodriguez warned, hushing her voice as if that would somehow make her imperceptible, even though Miranda was sitting right across the table and could see her and hear every single word uttered between the two of them. “I’ve played this game, it doesn’t go we--”

“Miss…” Reiley began, completely ignoring Rodriguez’s protestations. “Is it true you banged an asari last night?”

Miranda fumbled her spoon.

Fuck.

“First of all, that’s a very inappropriate question,” Miranda responded, not at all impressed with Jack’s students. And she stood by that assessment, even if she knew damn well she was being a giant hypocrite, because she was also prone to asking questions she wanted to know the answers to without caring who she offended in the process. But the key difference there was that she did that to other people, and this was now happening to her. And that was obviously unacceptable. “Secondly, where is this even coming from?”

“I overheard you talking to Mr Taylor last night,” Leah solved that mystery.

At that, Miranda’s normally faultless composure cracked. “You...what?”

“We sleep right there.” Leah pointed at her room. “Voices carry.”

Instead of coming up with some elaborate fiction, which she was far too drained to do, Miranda simply ran her fingers through her hair and uttered a frustrated groan. Damn it, Jacob. She should have guessed at least one of them might be awake and listening through the door when she came home.

“Holy shit. You were right. She did,” said Rodriguez, finding all the proof she needed in Miranda’s reaction, and complete lack of any defence.

Leah made a gesture with her fingers. “I told you. Pay up.”

“You know it's rude to eavesdrop on people,” Miranda pointed out, displeased.

“Pfft. You would do it to us,” Reiley remarked.

“No, I wouldn't. None of you have anything remotely interesting to say,” Miranda countered, going back to her cereal, seeing little point in denying the truth, although there was no way in hell she was going to divulge anything further.

“Yeah, well, if we did, you would,” Reiley replied with a shrug.

Miranda never liked admitting when other people were right so she didn’t respond.

“Was it Samara?” Rodriguez asked, immensely intrigued, or at least pretending to be for the purposes of screwing with her. “I know I sensed a vibe between the two of you. So were you lying when you said she wasn't your girlfriend?”

Miranda rolled her eye. She hated her life. She hated everything.

“You will run out of cereal eventually, and then you’ll have to talk,” Leah teased.

Miranda fixed her with a one-eyed glare as she ate, making it plain that this pestering would get them precisely nowhere but ignored. She really did wish that Jacob hadn’t made her be nice to these teens. Back when they were intimidated by her, they never would have pulled this stunt.

At that instant, Prangley emerged from his room, half-asleep, rubbing his eyes.

“Jason. Good to see you,” Miranda called his attention to her, seeing an opportunity to escape this torment. “Do me a favour. Bring my pistol over here and shoot me with it, would you?” Miranda requested with an entirely straight face.

Prangley blinked blearily, certain he must have misheard. “What?”

“Kill me,” Miranda reiterated, in the same tone. “I don't want to live anymore.”

“What? Why?” asked Jason.

“She boned an asari last night and Leah overheard her and Mr Taylor talking about it,” Rodriguez explained. “It was totally Samara,” she added in an aside.

“Oh. Nice,” said Prangley, continuing his march to the kitchen, unfazed.

Miranda exhaled in annoyance. “Damn it, Jason.” He’d been her best hope of backing her up and putting a stop to this. And he’d failed her. She was disappointed. “You were this close to being my favourite,” she complained in jest, holding her thumb and forefinger a small distance apart.

Jason shrugged. He wasn’t about to interfere with this. She was on her own.

“Samara seems really cool, Miss,” Reiley commented, nodding in approval.

“And also super hot,” Leah chimed in. “And I mean that in both a feminist way and a lesbian way. So, you know...good for you.”

Jason snorted. “Did you just congratulate her on who she had sex with?” 

“Yes. Absolutely,” Leah confirmed. “I mean, have you seen Samara?”

“It wasn't Samara!” Miranda insisted, finally getting fed up with this.

Rodriguez gasped excitedly. “So you're seeing someone else? Who is it? Is she your girlfriend? Is that why you and Samara aren't together? Wait, oh my God, Miss, are you cheating on Samara? Is that why she left London?” 

Miranda let her head fall forward and hit the table with a thud. This was why she normally chose to stay silent when they tried to get a rise out of her like this. Shame she’d forgotten that strategy in her exasperation.

“Wow. You’ve officially done it. You’re all dead to her now,” Jason noted.

“Oh, I crossed that boundary a long time ago,” Rodriguez assured him, evidently proud that she’d finally managed to break Miranda. “I have nothing to lose.”

“How about the roof over your head,” Miranda retorted, picking up her cereal, deciding she would rather starve than continue to be subjected to this.

“Pfft. You don’t mean that,” Rodriguez brushed her off. Miranda just silently arched her eyebrow at her as she limped away. Rodriguez began to sweat, turning to her partners in crime. “She...She doesn’t mean that, right?”

Jason just pulled a face, as if to say he’d warned her.

*     *     *

“I heard a rumour about you,” Shepard began, approaching Miranda near the lounge on the second floor.

The party had gone fairly late into the evening by that point, and the energy was starting to wind down. Miranda hadn’t asked but somehow she got the sense that everyone was planning on crashing at Shepard’s for the night, since nobody had made any motions to leave yet. 

“I’m the subject of many rumours, Shepard,” Miranda dryly replied, sitting back against the armrest. “You’re going to have to be more specific. Although, if it’s the one about the incident with the drop bear, I swear that only happened one time and only three people died.”

“Drop bear?” Shepard echoed curiously, tilting her head, as if trying to work out whether that was Miranda’s serious voice or her sarcastic voice. Miranda just gave an ambiguous shrug. If Shepard couldn’t tell, then she wasn’t going to spoil it. “Nah, it was nothing that exciting. Although remind me to ask you about that later. I’ve been told you’re considering an early retirement?” 

Miranda sighed, not needing to guess where that had come from. “Kasumi...”

“Mhmm,” Shepard confirmed the source of her information. “And, from that look, I'm starting to think it's true. So, this is really it for you, huh? Once we get rid of the Reapers, you're out – you're done.”

“Well, not immediately. I'm not about to leave people dying in the streets. But yes, you heard correctly,” Miranda replied, taking a sip from her freshly refilled glass of wine. It was a relief that not every single bottle or glass had been destroyed when Garrus set up that makeshift shooting gallery. “I’m my own woman now.”

“Really?” Suffice it to say, Shepard didn't seem to be buying it. “Not working for anyone at all, other than yourself. Ever. You're sure?”

“I haven’t made up my mind about ‘ever’, but yes. As of right now, that's the plan,” Miranda answered.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but who are you and what have you done with the real Miranda Lawson?” Shepard teasingly remarked, since this was the single most uncharacteristic thing the Miranda she had come to know a year ago could possibly have said or done.

“Oh, she’s dead. I buried her under the floorboards. I probably should have mentioned, I’m also an escaped Cerberus clone. You are the fake Shepard, right? Because if you’re not, then this is a joke and you should forget I said that,” Miranda responded, her tone completely deadpan.

Shepard laughed, moving to sit across from her on the opposite sofa. “Seriously, what brought this on? Where is this coming from all of a sudden?”

Miranda exhaled, shifting until she was seated on the armrest, deciding to stop being snarky and start being direct. “Being on the run this past year...It's been the worst year of my life. Including all the years I lived with my father. But if nothing else, being on my own for so long made me realise that, for as long as I've been alive, everything about me has always been controlled by other people. In one way or another, I've never been free to make my own choices. Except for a few months with you. I need to take some time away to breathe. Just be me, without anyone expecting anything from me. Figure out how to be...”

“What?” Shepard prompted, when Miranda fell silent.

“I was going to say ‘an actual fucking person’ and then I realised how depressing that was,” Miranda muttered with appropriate self-awareness, earning a light chuckle from Shepard. “I guess that’s the whole point. I don’t even know who I am when I’m not working myself to the bone. I could be anybody under all this.” Miranda vaguely gestured at herself.

“And what if you can’t stand having nothing to do?” asked Shepard. 

“Then I change plans,” Miranda answered plainly. She wasn’t so attached to this idea that she couldn’t be flexible if it didn’t work out, and she wasn't sure why it mattered. As it stood, the chances of any of their dreams for the future coming to fruition were slim at best. “But how can you be so certain that I'll hate it? I'm not; I've never had the freedom to do nothing before. Maybe I'll thrive.”

“But you were always putting yourself under pressure to stay busy, even when you didn’t have to. You love how much of a workaholic you are. Don’t deny it. You were practically begging me to give you more stuff to do towards the end there. What would you even do with your time if you’re no longer devoting yourself to some kind of high-powered career?” Shepard wondered aloud.

“I don’t know. There are a lot of things I’ve never done before, and never thought I’d do.” Miranda shrugged. “Maybe I’ll try being a blonde for a while. Maybe I’ll get a tattoo. Maybe I’ll become Wiccan. Maybe I’ll get fat.”

Shepard stared at her sceptically, sensing the obvious sarcasm.

“What? Don’t think I couldn’t do it if I set my mind to it. I’m secretly a foodie at heart, you know,” Miranda pointed out, her tone drier than her wine.

“And you have a superhuman metabolism,” Shepard countered.

“Ah. Right. Scratch that one off the list then,” said Miranda, taking another sip from her glass. “Blonde, tattooed Wiccan it is.” Shepard laughed, entertained.

“Well, when Hell freezes over a million years from now, I look forward to meeting that version of you. But, until that happens, you know it’s not a two-party system, right? You don’t have to choose between going in a totally new direction forever, or staying exactly as you are right now. There's a lot you can do that isn't either of those things,” Shepard reminded her, gesturing as she spoke. “You'd excel at anything you tried. It doesn't have to involve life or death struggles over the fate of the galaxy. And, if you’re sick of bringing people back to life, you can retire from science and move onto something else. I could definitely see you taking well to life as a lawyer, or a CEO, or even a political leader.”

“Politics?” Miranda snorted, reaching out across the gap with an insincere handshake. “Hi, I’m Miranda Lawson, former terrorist. Vote for me.”

“Point taken,” Shepard conceded.

“You also realise that all the professions you listed have a higher than average ratio of sociopaths compared to the general population,” Miranda noted.

Shepard scratched the back of her head. “Sunday school teacher?” she offered.

“Can’t do that. I’m becoming Wiccan, remember?” Miranda quipped. “Did you really come and find me just to try and talk me out of this?”

“No. No, I didn't. It's...actually the exact opposite,” said Shepard, shaking her head and leaning back against the cushions. “Because the truth is I've been thinking the same thing; that this is the end for me too,” she confessed, piquing Miranda's intrigue. “If I make it through this...I don’t know if I can keep fighting other people’s battles anymore. If I can, I don’t know if I want to.”

“I guess after stopping a galactic genocide, all other conflicts start to look petty in comparison,” Miranda mused, swirling her glass, strangely empathising with that sentiment. What would be the point of Shepard saving the entire goddamn galaxy from the Reapers, only to then continue imperilling her life, risking getting shot and killed day after day over some insignificant political squabble that didn’t matter the slightest bit in the grand scheme of things? 

Shepard had been lucky enough to get a second chance at life. Literally. She had more reason than anyone to realise how precious that was. And also how fragile.

It would have been beyond tragic if Andrea wouldn’t get to savour a calm, peaceful future if the war with the Reapers ever ended - a future that would only be possible because of her. Because she was the one person who saw what truly mattered, and valued collective unity over selfish, shortsighted division.

“Don’t take anything I’ve been saying about you as an attack. It’s not,” Shepard assured her. “I'm just surprised, and maybe projecting a little, because...I have no clue what I'm going to do after this, and it's terrifying to me. I’ve never...I’ve never not been a soldier. I don’t even know how to be an...an ‘actual fucking person’, like you said. And neither do you. And yet here you are, and that doesn't bother you at all. I thought it would have been the other way around.”

“Me too,” Miranda conceded. “But things are different now.”

“You mean you're different now,” Shepard added, impressed by Miranda’s growth.

“You helped,” said Miranda. She crossed the floor and sat down beside Shepard, sinking into the seat, leaning her head back on the lounge to look up at the ceiling. “I’ve been cognisant for a very long time that I’m not a normal person, Shepard. Not only that, but...I don’t have the faintest clue how to pretend to be normal,” Miranda elected to be frank about that flaw. Though she rarely showed weakness, she felt safe sharing that with her. “My whole life, I’ve never seen the point trying to fit in with other people when I know I can’t, and don’t even want to. So, while I might not be showing it...I am more scared than you think. But I’m also just kind of over worrying about anything anymore? Maybe because I’ve spent most of this past year living in constant fear. I think I got sick of it.”

Shepard paused, considering Miranda’s words. “Can I be honest with you?” she began, after several seconds had passed. Miranda gestured for her to go ahead. “I also have no idea how to be a normal person. I think that’s what’s freaking me out about what comes next. What if I’m bad at it?”

“What a horrible thought. Being bad at mundane problems,” Miranda dryly commented, hoping her sarcasm would help Shepard put her anxieties into perspective. “What if you mix up your recyclable plastics with your non-recyclables? Perish the thought. That’s a disaster, right there.”

“I’m being serious,” Shepard insisted, though it was obvious she got the meaning behind Miranda’s comment. “Look, you get what I’m going through better than anyone. You and I, we’re both...not to sound arrogant, but we’re both fuckin’ good at what we do,” Shepard stated plainly. And she wasn’t wrong. They were the best of the best. “What if we suck at everything else?”

Miranda shrugged. “Then it was a fun experiment, both of us trying to be ordinary people for a while. I think it will be worth it.”

Shepard exhaled, and rested her head on her hand. “So...what does being a regular, everyday person look like to Miranda Lawson?” she wondered aloud. “What does a nice, safe, boring future look like to you?”

That was a question Miranda had no problems answering. She had a singular vision. “I’ve promised Oriana that we’re going to find a quiet spot on a colony world. We’ll buy a big plot of land far away from anyone else, and build our dream house. Somewhere with a view, where we can sit out on the deck, watch the sunset, drink wine and eat sashimi while we talk about our day,” Miranda revealed, trusting Andrea enough to tell her what she said to Ori before she left.

“...That sounds pretty great,” Shepard said softly. In that simple description of what life after the war meant to her, and the goal she was fighting for, it had instantly clicked into place why Miranda was so content with the idea of ‘retiring’.

“What about you?” Miranda asked, gently nudging Shepard’s knee with her own. “Where does Andrea Shepard see herself in five years’ time?”

“That’s the million credit question, isn’t it?” Shepard spoke quietly, barely above a whisper. She sat forward, electing to just give voice to what was in her heart. “Honestly, this is going to sound corny as hell, but...when I think of my future, I can’t see anything but Liara. That’s it. Nothing would make me happier than just...I don’t know, having a boring fuckin’ house with a yard and a white picket fence, and lots of little blue children running around.”

“Maybe I’m getting sentimental in my old age, but that might possibly be the most adorable thing I’ve ever heard in my life,” Miranda commented, eliciting a sheepish chuckle as Shepard rubbed the back of her neck.

“Oh, God, we are getting old, aren’t we? And we’re only in our thirties,” Shepard realised aloud, as if it had hit her that both of them had been through enough to fill several lifetimes. No wonder they both wanted to ‘retire’ so young.

“Mhmm. And I’ve got five years on you, so I can promise you it’s all downhill from here,” Miranda confirmed, taking another sip of wine. “But I meant that, though. Don’t be ashamed of that dream. Lots of people would kill for something like that.” Herself included, she thought. “And you will make an excellent…father? Father’s the correct word in this context, right?” Miranda asked aloud, earning a nod. “Take it from someone who killed hers: you would be the best Dad ever.”

“Now you’re just making fun of me.” Shepard gave her a light knock on the arm.

“I’m not. I’m really not. Okay, I know it sounds like I am, but…” Miranda trailed off for a moment, a thought occurring to her. “Huh. You know what? I just realised something. You and I actually both have the exact same dream,” she pointed out, turning to face Andrea. “We want a family.”

“...Yeah. Yeah, we do, don’t we?” Shepard nodded in agreement, seeing the clarity in Miranda’s words. “Ours just look a little different from each other.”

“So, that settles it. We’re both going to hang up our weapons and retire somewhere nice and dull so we can each have the families we always wanted,” Miranda reiterated. Despite her efforts to be hopeful, at those words, she couldn’t keep a pessimistic sigh from escaping her. “Now, we both just have to convince ourselves that we'll live long enough to do that.”

“I'd bet on you,” Shepard acknowledged, glancing over at her.

“And I’d bet on you,” Miranda replied with a bittersweet smile, but it lacked the conviction to reach her eyes. “Don't get me wrong; I haven't given up, and I'm going to fight for that future as hard as I can. But I can't believe that it's going to happen until I'm standing in the rubble and the Reapers are all gone.”

Shepard exhaled heavily, sinking lower against the couch. “That makes two of us.”

The more Miranda thought about it, the more it became painfully apparent that their odds of getting to lead those lives they were imagining were slim to zero. Even if by some miracle they did find a way to defeat the Reapers, it was virtually impossible that both she and Shepard would survive whatever came next. At best, it seemed like a binary choice. One or the other. And Miranda knew which of the two of them was least likely to endure if push came to shove.

Her body tensed imperceptibly. An apprehensiveness fell over her. A sense of urgency rose in her stomach. Words she couldn't leave unsaid.

“...Shepard,” Miranda began, her tone serious. “If anything happens to me—“

“Miranda,” Andrea attempted to cut her off, but Miranda ignored her interruption. She couldn't forgive herself if she stayed silent about this.

“Just listen, Shepard. If I can’t be there for her, for whatever reason, promise you'll keep an eye on Ori for me?” Miranda persisted, needing to hear Andrea give her word on that, because she understood what this meant to her, and she would absolutely follow through. Even if Andrea had to die to honour her commitment to Miranda, it wouldn’t stop her. “Make sure she's okay.”

“You can do that yourself,” Shepard replied, either refusing to fear the worst, or determined not to let her crew see that she possessed any doubts that they would live to see those tomorrows, come what may.

“Hypothetically, then,” said Miranda, rolling her eyes at Shepard’s reluctance to answer the question. “If something happened to me, whether now or twenty years from now...I need to know: would you look out for Oriana if I couldn't?”

Andrea relented, realising what she was asking, and why. “Of course I would.”

“Do you swear?” Miranda pressed.

Shepard sighed, and held up her pinkie. “I swear.” Eyeing that gesture somewhat peculiarly, Miranda eventually extended her own little finger. However, Andrea pulled away before they could interlock. “Uh uh. But before we do that, I need you to make the same promise to me. So, if--”

“Liara does not need protecting, Shepard,” Miranda reminded her. 

“You had your turn. Let me finish,” said Shepard. Miranda signalled for her to take the floor. “Thank you. Now, if anything ever happens to me...you’re the one person I trust more than anyone else to step in for me when I’m gone. No matter what, you’ll have your shit together, and you’ll do what needs to be done. So, if I can’t be here…” Instead of articulating it all in words, Shepard flicked her gaze out towards the balcony, down to the lower floor, where everyone else was. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but...just do what you can for them. Watch over them for me. Make sure they’re alright. And, if they’re not...do what you think I would do.”

At that request, Miranda softened. It hadn’t been what she’d anticipated Andrea would say, but perhaps she should have seen it coming. Shepard loved her crew like family. She was their North Star. A guiding light who united so many disparate personalities in a common cause, and brought out the best in all of them.

Shepard really was a hero.

A bloody icon.

How could Miranda possibly say no?

“What else is a second-in-command good for if not that?” Miranda extended her hand once more. At that, Shepard finally locked pinkies with her, swearing on it. “You know I’ve never done this before - pinkie promised,” Miranda noted, finding it a bit juvenile. 

“Of course you haven’t.” Shepard shook her head, not at all shocked by that. It was at that particular moment that a certain AI came up the stairs, into view. Shepard called out to her. “Hey, EDI. I have a question for you.”

“What would you like to know?” EDI asked.

“What the hell is a drop bear?” said Shepard.

Miranda arched her brow, and took a long drink, saying nothing.

“One moment.” By the time she finished saying ‘one moment’, EDI had already concluded her search of the Extranet. “Here is what I’ve found: the drop bear is a hoax Australian folklore creature. The origins of the drop bear hoax are unknown, though it appears it may have originated as a campfire story in the early-to-mid-20th century. Australians have been known to pretend the drop bear is a real creature so as to frighten and confuse tourists and non-Australians for their own amusement.” EDI paused for a beat. “It is a joke.”

“Thank you, EDI,” said Miranda, concealing a smirk. Way to ruin the fun. 

Shepard slowly turned to her, eyeing Miranda in quiet bewilderment. “...Did you of all people just prank me with a two-hundred-year-old joke?” 

“Not that I’m that attached to it, but I’m pretty sure I would be stripped of my citizenship if I didn’t do that at least once before I die,” Miranda informed her.

Shepard’s expression didn’t change. “Mhmm.”

*     *     *

“So are you gay now?” was the first thing Jack said to her the next time they saw each other, a week after their last meeting.

Miranda sighed. God damn it. Nobody could keep their mouths shut about anything, could they? “I’m something,” she muttered, taking off her wet jacket. It had been raining all day. And not the usual soft English drizzle that didn’t even warrant mentioning, but actual rain.

“Good for you,” Jack replied, not actually interested. “Let’s play.”

Miranda slumped down into the chair across the table from Jack, the raindrops pittering off the windows behind her. “Your advice was terrible, by the way,” she told her as she moved her first piece.

“Nah, you’re just a shit lay,” Jack countered, making her own opening.

Miranda flicked her eye up at her, unamused, but decided it was best not to validate that comment with a response. 

All of a sudden, Jack started laughing at something unsaid.

“What?” Miranda asked suspiciously.

“...‘Meh’-randa,” Jack remarked, making an appropriately nonchalant gesture.

Miranda exhaled heavily, rubbing her temple in annoyance. “Jack, I need you to understand this,” she began, placing her elbow on the table and leaning forward as she spoke, eerily calm. “One of these days, you will forget that this conversation ever happened. You will go on with your life, and there will come a day when you are blissfully ignorant and happy. And on that day, I will come to wherever you live. And I will break into your room. And I will suffocate you in your sleep.”

“Fair,” Jack conceded. “Worth it, though.”

Miranda leaned back in her chair, oddly relieved to have gotten that off of her chest after biting her tongue for so long. “God, that felt good. Why did I ever stop insulting you?” she wondered aloud, starting to think she should snap back at her more often instead of taking every jibe Jack threw at her in stride. 

“Because you’re a fucking pussy now apparently.” Jack shrugged, focused only on the game. “Shut up and play me.” Miranda didn’t need to be asked twice.

She didn’t know what it was about that particular day. Maybe it was the dreary weather, and the sound of the rain making the tinnitus a little less abrasive for once. Maybe it was how long both of them were taking between moves. But, for whatever reason, Miranda found herself stifling yawns as the game went on.

She moved a pawn, and leaned her head against her hand as Jack studied the board, weighing up her strategies, keen to avoid falling into another trap.

God, she was so fucking tired.

It had been three days since she last slept. Or...wait, was it four? She couldn’t remember. Six or seven days seemed to be her absolute limit before she started passing out irrespective of willpower, and that was because she was, quote unquote, a ‘genetic freak’ as Jacob had once put it. She’d only managed two hours of thirty-minute naps the last time she got any rest at all.

Her eyelid felt so heavy. Every single time she blinked, it stayed dark a little longer, and it took a little bit more effort and time to open it again. 

What harm would it do to just rest her eye for a second, she wondered? It wasn’t like she was going to fall asleep, sitting up like she was. Although, leaning on her hand felt so fucking comfortable. She didn’t want to move.

So Miranda let her eyelid drift shut for a moment, listening to the rain.

…

…

...

“Hey, eyepatch.”

…

…

...

“Eyepatch?”

Miranda was vaguely aware that someone was talking, but it didn’t reach her in the darkness. That was, until Jack hit the table, hard, and startled her awake. Miranda’s head slipped off her hand. At that jolt, she panicked and reflexively reared back so hard that she damn near fell out of her chair.

“What? What? What is it?” Miranda took a few moments to blink and remember where she was after being shaken from her stupor. It only clicked when she found Jack sitting across from her, looking thoroughly unimpressed.

“Am I boring you?” Jack remarked, arms folded across her chest impatiently.

Miranda shook her head, trying to save face. “It’s called ‘thinking’, Jack. You should try it sometime,” she retorted, moving a piece quickly as if to prove she hadn’t just blacked out for a couple of minutes.

Jack glanced down at the board. “You can’t do that.”

“What?”

“That’s not a legal move,” Jack pointed out. Miranda checked the board. She honestly didn’t even know what piece she’d just touched. Jack reached across, and dragged her knight back to where it should have been. Jack sat back in her chair and fixed her with a stare.

“...Fuck me dead,” Miranda muttered under her breath, realising she actually had to stop and concentrate to figure out her next move.

“Forget it. I’m out.” Jack pushed her chair back from the table and stood up.

“No, no. I’ve got it,” Miranda insisted.

“I don’t care. I don’t want to beat you when you’re like this. That wouldn’t even count,” said Jack, gesturing listlessly towards her, having lost all interest.

“I’m not ‘like’ anything. I’m just…” Miranda trailed off, staring at the board, stuck for a move. Her head was so full of fog that she couldn’t see any options. The whole table was a blur. A featureless mush. Every piece looked the same. She couldn’t even fucking think. If someone asked her to name a single rule of the game in that instant, she would have drawn a complete blank.

“Go home. Take a fucking nap or whatever. Don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you look like death, by the way. More even than usual,” Jack casually observed, opening her fridge and pulling out a can of energy drink.

“I’m fine!” Miranda barked, a little too loud, willing that lie to be the truth.

“I honestly don’t care. You could jump off a bridge for all the difference it makes to me. I wouldn’t stop you,” Jack said frankly, nonchalantly gesturing with her drink in her hand. “All that matters to me is making sure you don’t have a fuckin’ excuse when I destroy you. So get the fuck out of my apartment, and don’t come back until you stop sucking at the only reason I keep you around.”

Miranda swallowed a groan, the pain in her head only growing. Jack obviously wasn’t going to change her mind. This game was over. “Alright. Fine. Suit yourself,” she grumbled as she got up, collecting her things. “See you next week.”

“Only if you don’t look like complete shit by then,” Jack commented, prepared to close the door in her face if she wasn’t going to play her at her best.

Miranda left and went out into the cold December rain, which showed no signs of easing. The problem was, she didn’t have anywhere to go. She couldn’t go home. There was nothing there to keep her awake. And she absolutely was not ready to fall asleep, and contend with the nightmares that awaited her.

She couldn’t go to the bar, because drinking would make her tired. The last time she got drunk, the nightmares were so visceral that she woke up vomiting. 

She thought about it a bit longer, and then one option came to mind. She still had a key to her office. Bailey had banned her from working weekends out of concern for her wellbeing if he didn’t, sure, but he wouldn’t be there. Even if he was, she could avoid him seeing her. Nobody else would question her presence. She ranked above them. They would just assume something had come up, and most of them were too intimidated by her to talk to her anyway.

So Miranda fell back on her one and only crutch. Her only coping mechanism. Her favourite distraction from her problems. She buried herself in her work.

“Director Lawson,” the man at reception greeted her. She glanced at his name tag to remember who the hell he was. “What are you doing here on a weekend?”

“Losing control of my life, Ian,” Miranda remarked as she limped right past him, heading straight for the lift without stopping.

He chuckled at that. “Aren’t we all? You have a good day, now.”

Miranda rolled her eye as soon as he looked away. As predicted, there were no interruptions between her and her office. Nobody thought to question her.

She didn’t even glance at the clock as the hours ticked by, and file after file went across her desk. Task after task got done. When she finished her own matters, she moved onto work delegated to her subordinates, just to stay there longer. Nobody bothered her. Even without distractions, it was hard to concentrate. Her mind was full of fog. Everything she did was lost in a haze, forgotten mere seconds after she did it. But, in the present, it was something to focus on.

It wasn’t easy, though. She had instances where she...lost time. Just drifted into space for a few seconds, here or there. When that happened, she would go and fill up on coffee. She only decided she’d had too much when she started to feel her heart beating a little too fast in her chest, and her fingers got jittery, and she had to flex her hand to keep it from shaking. If she had any more she would probably start hallucinating, as if she wasn’t on the verge of that already.

So maybe she’d hit her limit as far as caffeine toxicity went.

But she was awake.

She was fucking awake.

It was dark out, and still raining by the time she was snapped out of her work-induced daze by a text message alert. She already knew who it was. Miranda squeezed her eye shut, resting the base of her palm against her forehead, fighting off the constant, nagging pain that had become her permanent companion. She knew she shouldn’t look. But she had to. She couldn’t resist hearing from her.

Miranda opened her message tab on her computer, and clicked on Oriana’s name.

“Still not talking, huh?” said the first message. And then a second and third popped up. “Okay. That’s fine. Take your time. I’ve got more jokes.”

Oriana could see that Miranda was reading her messages in realtime. She would know that she was there on the other end at that very moment, not replying back. And yet, in typical Oriana fashion, she wasn’t calling her out on it or judging her for it or demanding a reason for her silence. Just letting her be.

“A horse walks into a bar and the bartender says, ‘Why the long face?’ And the horse says, ‘I have crippling depression, Steven. I’ll thank you not to mention it’.”

When that joke garnered no response, Oriana sent another.

“A glazier invited me to high tea. It didn’t go well. Turns out people in glasshouses shouldn’t throw scones. Eh? Worked on that one for ages.”

Miranda felt the warmth of a single, stray tear trickling down her cheek. God, she loved Oriana. She loved Oriana so much it physically hurt. No one else could be so...bright, and radiant, and happy, and genuine about it. Her positivity and cheerfulness wasn’t faked, or feigned, or insincere. She was just like this. Just funny, and kind, and...and fucking perfect.

“Why did the funeral director need to go to the doctor?” Oriana asked. “Because he couldn’t stop coffin--okay, no, that one was atrocious even for me. I’m sorry. Please delete that. You deserve better.”

If she were in a better mental and emotional state, all of this would have brought a smile to her face. Of course it would have. Oriana always did. Miranda thought about finally texting her back. Saying something. Anything. Even started to type. Just wanted to let her know she was okay. Just wanted to talk to her. Needed that connection with the person who mattered to her most.

But she stopped herself.

What the fuck did she have to offer Oriana right now? What could she say to her that was worthwhile when she was this dour and miserable?

She could just see how it would play out. She would say something, and then Oriana would eventually start asking questions. She would need, and deserve, some sort of explanation as to why Miranda had been so quiet. So distant. Any half-hearted excuses would be recognised for the lies they were.

Oriana would ask her if she was okay, because of course she would. And, then, if Miranda started telling her the truth, that she really wasn’t, and hadn’t been for a long time, she didn’t see how she could stop the floodgates from opening. Everything she’d been holding back since the shuttle crash, Oriana would bring it out of her, like a torrent after a storm. And she just...refused to be that person. Refused to drown her little sister in her unresolved trauma.

Oriana was the Sun. She was light, and warmth. Basking in her presence for even a few minutes could make even the lowest person feel uplifted, and stronger, and brighter. She was doing just fine without Miranda. She always had.

Why bother her? Why disturb that?

In fact, all the best times in Oriana’s life had been the moments when Miranda had pushed her as far away as possible. When she wasn’t involved. When she kept herself at a distance. Ever since Miranda introduced herself to Oriana on Illium, Ori’s life had only gotten worse. Never better. A downward spiral. 

Perhaps that was a sign.

What did she really think was going to happen when they met up with each other again anyway? That they were going to spend the rest of their lives together? As if. Oriana was twenty. She would be twenty-one before too long. She was only just starting to grow into her own as an independent adult. She would want to go do things normal twenty-one-year-olds did, without anyone cramping her unique personal style, or getting in her way as she formed new connections.

The Reaper Invasion had cut short her degree and compelled her to start work earlier than expected, but she probably planned to finish her education at some point. Chances were she would want to move in with friends her own age. Eventually, of course, she would meet some boy she liked (who Miranda would absolutely hate) and she would want to find a place with him. Statistically speaking, that would happen more than once over the course of her life.

She wasn’t a kid anymore. Oriana was an adult. At exactly the age where families like theirs...tended to drift apart from one another. When young women like Ori wanted to go out into the wider world and discover themselves, and carve out an identity free of any ties to their childhood. And it was at that moment that a thought abruptly struck Miranda that had never connected before.

When she and Oriana had talked about finally getting to be a family, they probably had very different ideas of what that looked like.

And Miranda’s vision of that future was completely fucking delusional.

It always had been.

She wasn’t helping Oriana by being near her. Wasn’t protecting her, because the man who posed a danger to her was dead. With Henry Lawson out of the picture, Ori didn’t need her in her life. In many respects, she never had.

Miranda wasn’t some noble self-sacrificing big sister anymore. She was a fucking leech. Sucking her sister’s energy and her positivity, consuming it for herself. She was a chain holding Oriana down, when what she truly deserved was to spread her wings and fly wherever she wanted like the free spirit she was. 

Wasn’t that precisely why Miranda had denied herself the connection she craved with Ori in the first place? Wasn’t that why she had given her up? Because she knew it was the right thing to do? Because, deep down, she knew that the best thing she could do for Oriana was to ensure that she grew up completely isolated from her - so that she could become as unlike Miranda as possible?

She’d succeeded at that, at least.

Where Miranda was cynical, Oriana was optimistic. Where Miranda was closed-off and antisocial, Oriana was outgoing and friendly. Where Miranda was rigid and concrete, Oriana was creative and open-minded. Where Miranda was bitter and sarcastic, Oriana was lighthearted and funny. Where Miranda was cold, Oriana was warm. Where Miranda was dark, Oriana was light. Where Miranda lacked empathy, Oriana was sensitive, and the kindest person she knew.

They couldn’t have been more different.

And Miranda wanted it to stay that way.

None of her qualities were things she would wish upon Oriana. And, if Oriana did become more like her, Miranda wasn’t sure she could ever forgive herself.

The most loving thing Miranda could do for Oriana was just let her live her life in peace, the way she had done for her before. She really would be better off just being cut loose, without her older sister weighing her down, shackling her to the weight of despair, damage and loneliness.

So Miranda didn’t text. She deleted the message she’d started typing, and the three dots to signal that she was writing were erased. She closed the app, got up and left her desk, deciding to head home.

She didn’t see the next message her sister sent.

“Miranda? Whatever is going on with you right now, please just remember that you are my most important person. I love you more than anything. And I’m here for you whenever you need me. You do know that, don’t you?”

Miranda limped home in the dark in the rain. It was freezing. She didn’t know how late it was. She hadn’t kept her eye on the time. She dragged her weary body up the stairs. Aside from the fact that her head was killing her, parts of her body that had never hurt before were starting to feel sore, and tight, and tense.

“Hey, Miss,” Seanne greeted her when she heard her key in the door. A few of the kids were gathered together in the main lounge, watching some sort of movie on the television. “We saved dinner for you. It’s in the fridge.”

“I’ll have it later,” Miranda muttered, not hungry at all. Just tired. 

“No problem,” Seanne replied, too focused on the film to pay her any mind.

Without another word, Miranda retreated to her room, and shut herself away, prepared for another night of staring at cracks in the ceiling in the darkness in a desperate attempt to ward off her dreams.

She slumped on her bed and ran her hand through her hair, staring into space.

And that was when it hit her. She didn’t...know what she was doing with her life anymore. Or why. She didn’t have a plan. A goal. For the first time since she’d reunited with Oriana, she no longer had a future she was working towards. Because that hope, that dream, had been snuffed out. A lie. A delusion.

The one thing that had made getting up every morning worth it since the shuttle crash - believing that, one day, she and Oriana would start a new life where nothing tore them apart ever again - had been exposed as a figment of her imagination.

With that dream dead, when she pictured her future now, there was...nothing.

Absence.

An empty, black abyss. Filled only by the ringing in her ear.

Miranda lay down on her bed. Curled up. And stared. And listened to that perpetual sound. And her mind, like her future, was blank. She watched the time tick by on the clock. Barely even registering it in her fatigue. 

One hour.

Two hours.

What was the point of anything anymore?

What was the fucking point?

Three hours.

Four hours.

It was after midnight when she was disturbed from her near-catatonic state by an urgent knocking at the front door. It came once, such a strange and unexpected sound that, at first, she wondered if it was just a trick of her mind. But then it came again, even more insistent. 

Reluctantly, Miranda dragged herself out of bed and shuffled into the entryway, not even bothering to grab her cane. She saw the door to one of the students’ bedrooms was open. Jason was leaning out, as if to go investigate. 

“I’ve got it,” said Miranda with a dismissive wave as she limped to the door, assuming it was probably for her. “Go back to sleep.”

Jason gave her a nod, but lingered in the doorway, just in case.

The frantic knocking came again. With an annoyed grunt, Miranda undid the lock, wondering who the hell was bothering them at that ungodly hour.

“Jesus Christ, what is it--?” The words caught in Miranda’s throat the second she flung the door open. Her weary eye flickered wide awake. “Samara?”

*     *     *

Miranda stepped over snoring bodies and discarded glasses on the floor, not keen to wake anyone up when half the crew were spread out at various points on the spectrum between ‘fast asleep’ and ‘passed out drunk’, and all of whom were likely to be very cranky if awoken. Miranda hadn’t drunk as much as most of the others, and neither was she prone to going to bed early. 

Indeed, she was very much awake, not even close to tired. And it was not her idea of a fun end to the night to hang around being as quiet as a mouse, forced to pretend to doze off because everyone else was such a goddamn lightweight. 

With that in mind, Miranda crept over near the door to where Shepard kept her keys, pinching them for herself so she could let herself back into the apartment. Shepard wasn’t going to miss them. She and Liara had gone to bed some time ago for very obvious reasons. They wouldn’t be seen again until morning.

However, Miranda’s cunning plan was not one concocted purely for herself. A thought had occurred to her while she waited for everyone else to nod off, being that there was one other person she expected might be awake. Someone who, by all appearances, had not been a drinker for centuries. Someone who Miranda was eager to spend a lot more time with one-on-one, particularly given that it was not lost on her that this might well be the last opportunity they ever had to do so - the last time they might ever see one another.

Sure enough, she found that very person meditating under the stairs.

“Samara,” Miranda whispered just loud enough to be heard. Blue eyes opened, and shifted her way. “Can’t sleep?” Samara did not respond verbally, but let her current state speak for itself. “Me neither.” At that, Miranda held up Shepard’s keys and made a signal towards the door. “Feel like going out?”

Samara glanced at her slumbering companions scattered over the lounge. After a moment, she held a finger to her lips, and silently stood.

Taking that as acceptance of her invitation, Miranda stealthily snuck over to the door, and held it open for Samara. She closed it behind them as quietly as she could. There was a faint ‘click’ as it automatically locked.

“Do not mistake my surprise for protestation, for it is not, but...to what do I owe this?” Samara asked, once they were safely out of earshot of the others. Evidently she had not been anticipating this - that Miranda would seek her out. 

“What, did you really think I’d just forget about you after a single conversation?” Miranda rhetorically remarked. “I told you I missed you more than anyone else.”

Samara allowed herself a small smile, touched by her intentions. “You did.”

“Since you and I are both still awake, and I have way too much energy to sleep, I figured, hey, the Strip is right here, and nothing ever closes - let’s go enjoy it while we can,” Miranda offered, circling Shepard’s keys around her finger before slipping them into a discreet pocket. “Nobody will even notice we’re missing.”

“No, they certainly will not,” Samara concurred, clearly not regretting her temperance when it was apparent most of the crew would be nursing hangovers come morning. “I must admit, given I saw you partaking earlier, I did not expect you to be in such a better state compared to our other comrades.”

“Good genes, plus I know how to pace myself,” Miranda casually explained. She gestured for Samara to follow her. “Come on. Let’s go be stupid for a while.”

Samara suppressed a chuckle. “An enticing prospect. Very well. Lead the way.”

“I was planning on taking you back to my favourite sushi place - you know, the one we went to before. Unfortunately, it’s not open right now.” Miranda sighed, putting a hand on her hip. “There was an incident. Shepard was involved.”

“I see. That is unfortunate,” Samara commiserated, needing no further explanation as to what had happened. For as much as they both loved Shepard, it was no hyperbole to say that trouble followed her everywhere.

Ultimately, Miranda didn’t have a preference as to where they went, or what they did. This entire venture was little more than a flimsy excuse to spend time with Samara without anybody else interfering. A throwback to those intimate moments on the Starboard Observation Deck, and a means of paying her back for all her kindness, assuming Miranda succeeded in showing her a good time.

“There is the casino,” Miranda thought out loud. She’d been there before, and didn’t mind the atmosphere of the place. Plus another drink or two wouldn’t go amiss to kick things off - she was still a fair few away from her limit. 

“After you,” Samara gestured for her to go ahead, trailing in Miranda’s footsteps. A reverse of the last time they had visited the Citadel together.

Unlike the Presidium, the Wards didn’t operate on artificial day and night cycles. Virtually everything on the Citadel stayed open at all hours, with everyone resting and working shifts according to their own personal needs and wants. Thus, when they came to the casino, to nobody’s shock, it was still as busy as ever. 

The people here had been affected by the war, of course, but there was a sense of safety and security that existed nowhere else. As all the homeworlds fell, the Citadel stood strong as the heart of Council Space - the one place most species would unite to protect. If anywhere would survive the war, this was surely it.

“Can I get you anything? The food here’s not bad, if you’re hungry,” Miranda offered as they both made their way up to the bar.

“Just water, thank you,” said Samara. Miranda ordered something much stronger for herself, and the bartender filled up their respective glasses.  

“So, how have you been, Samara? Really?” Miranda asked, keen to make up for lost time. Now that they were alone, they were free to talk as long as they wanted, which was something they couldn’t really do at the party. That was precisely her intent in sneaking out like this. It would be several hours at least before anybody else woke up and wondered where they were. The Silver Coast Casino was no Starboard Observation Deck, but it would serve well enough.

“That is a...complicated question,” Samara acknowledged, still a little caught off guard by Miranda’s genuine eagerness to catch up with her, as if she hadn’t expected to warrant her attention. “Some days have been kind to me. Others have not. Many somewhere in between. I imagine you could say the same.”

“Most of my days have ranged between terrible and awful since I left. I’m glad you had some good ones.” Miranda took a sip of her drink.

“Forgive me. I am aware this past year must have been difficult for you.” Samara bowed her head, as if she had misspoken. “As a Justicar, I am not unfamiliar with the peril of knowing there are many people who would seek to have me killed, nor am I a stranger to looking over my shoulder expecting to see a gun each time I turn my head. Although, by the same token, my status affords me many privileges. Many asari will lend me aid or support without question, for no other reason than because they see my armour, and know what I am. You do not have that luxury.”

“No, sadly,” Miranda confirmed. Hiding like a cockroach in parts of the Citadel not fit for human habitation had not been fun. Having any allies she could have safely turned to, beyond her few limited contacts with Shepard, would have made a world of difference. “But I’m out in the open now. If anybody still wanted me dead, I would have been executed days ago. I think it’s safe to say what little is left of Cerberus no longer sees the point in targeting me.”

“I hope you are correct.” Samara instinctively cast her eyes about the place as she said that, scanning for signs of any suspicious activity. Miranda picked up on that, of course. “If it would be safer--”

“Samara, seriously. It’s fine. You can let your guard down. You don’t need to be on alert. Not for my sake,” Miranda assured her, reaching out to touch her hand to make sure she understood that. Nobody was hunting her anymore. 

“If you are certain…” Samara took her at her word, despite a hint of hesitancy.

“Yes. Relax. I insist. If you don’t, it somewhat defeats the whole purpose of going out,” Miranda pointed out. At that, Samara seemed to concede she was right. Being paranoid would only spoil their time together. “Enough talk of serious subjects. Have you kept up reading human literature?”

“When I have been able, yes. Although, I must confess, I did not have such access when I was travelling in asari space. The Citadel libraries have been a source of great assistance. Tell me, I must know, was this ‘King Arthur’ a real person?” As soon as she asked, Samara just as swiftly changed her mind. “No, no. On second thought, I would prefer you do not answer. I fear I would be disappointed.”

Miranda laughed, endeared by Samara’s odd, childlike fascination with such figures. If it wouldn’t have sounded so patronising to describe a woman in her mid-to-late 900s as ‘adorable’, that label definitely would have applied.

“Oh. That reminds me. Kurosawa,” said Miranda. Samara tilted her head in questioning, not sure what that meant. “Not an author, but a director. I’ve been told, if you’re interested in samurai media, his films are the place to start.”

“I see. Thank you.” Samara nodded, taking that recommendation on board.

“What is it with you and this sort of thing anyway?” Miranda decided to finally broach the question that she had been wondering for a while, earning a curious glance. “Knights. Samurai. Why are you so interested in them?”

Samara did a poor job concealing a grin. “Yes, why would I, a lone wanderer who adheres to a strict moral code and seeks to bring justice to the places she visits, see any appeal whatsoever in stories about virtuous, heroic wanderers who adhere to strict moral codes and seek to bring justice to the places they visit?”

Miranda couldn’t argue with that logic. “I withdraw the question.”

“You did not withdraw it. I answered it,” Samara corrected.

“No, no. I withdrew it,” Miranda maintained in jest, as if she had come to that conclusion entirely on her own, without any assistance. Samara affectionately shook her head. During that pause in the conversation, the song changed.  “You know, I saw you dancing before,” Miranda said with a smirk, indicating the dancefloor. “I’m glad you listened to me about enjoying yourself tonight.”

“I did. However, if I remember correctly, you once stated to me that you would dance when I danced,” Samara reminded her. Miranda raised her eyebrows and took a drink, averting her gaze. She’d really hoped Samara had forgotten that conversation. “And yet you did not join me. How perplexing.”

“Oh, so you haven’t noticed that I’m a pathological liar until just now. Good to know,” Miranda joked, toying with the stem of her glass as she placed it down. 

“You must be. You keep insisting to me that you are not funny, even though you clearly are,” Samara cleverly countered, a glimmer of mirth in her kind eyes.

“I--” Miranda stopped before she could retort, taken aback by that comment. Nobody had told her that before. Nobody thought she was funny, because she wasn’t. According to everyone else, she was just mean and sarcastic and unpleasant to be around. Eventually, Miranda awkwardly rubbed the back of her head, managing to mumble a response. “I think you have a very different definition of ‘funny’ than everyone else in the galaxy, but...if you say so.”

It didn’t seem lost on Samara just how much that compliment actually meant to her. But she didn’t harp on it, letting it stand unchallenged. “There is still time for you to keep your promise to me before we part ways,” Samara pressed and, though her tone was lighthearted, it was evident the offer was genuine. “After all, there is a dancefloor here, and I am finding this music rather persuasive...”

“Still time for me to continue breaking my promise forever, you mean? Yes. I intend to. Glad we’re in agreement,” Miranda remarked. Samara’s enquiring gaze didn’t shift. “...Okay so I did dance at Shepard’s tonight, just a little bit.” Miranda reluctantly held her thumb and forefinger slightly apart.

“Good. I am delighted to hear it,” Samara enthused, pleased to see that Miranda had heeded her own advice and let herself go, and allowed herself to have some fun at the party. “My only regret is that I did not witness it.”

“You didn’t miss anything,” Miranda assured her. “But I fulfilled my end of the bargain.”

“No, you did not. This imbalance must be rectified immediately,” Samara persisted, getting up from her seat and extending her hand. Miranda did not accept the invitation, quite intent on not moving anytime soon. “You made a promise to me, Miranda Lawson. As a Justicar, I must insist that you keep your word. You said you would dance when I danced, and I am going to dance. Hence...”

“No. You knock yourself out, but I am very comfortable on my stool.” Miranda shook her head, waving Samara off, making her stance plain.

“Then hand me the keys, and I will return to the apartment,” said Samara.

That got Miranda’s attention. “What?”

“You were the one who said, and I quote, ‘let us go and be stupid for a while’, and it was you who suggested we both sneak out after midnight for this purpose,” Samara noted. “That was the evening that was represented to me - one spent in inane, ridiculous frivolity. Yet, so far, you are being extremely sensible. If you are not going to do this with me, then I fear I have in fact been misled.” 

Miranda saw right through Samara’s feigned disappointment. “You’re evil.”

“In this moment, perhaps,” Samara conceded, but she still extended her hand.

“This is peer pressure,” Miranda complained.

“Yes, it is,” Samara confirmed, without shame, her mischievous smile widening.

Miranda sighed, but it was hard not to be uplifted purely from seeing Samara this outgoing and cheerful. That was a rare privilege. The last time she’d seen her like this was...well, the last time they visited the Citadel together, which must have been around nine or ten months ago by that point.

“You’re in an abnormally good mood tonight, aren’t you?” Miranda observed, certainly not complaining, but wondering what had made her so upbeat.

“Why would I not be?” Samara asked plainly. “I am with you.”

Miranda’s heart skipped a beat. Honestly, Miranda was so thoroughly charmed by that response that Samara could have asked her to do anything in that moment, no matter how embarrassing, and she would have been powerless to resist.

“...If you’re trying to butter me up to get me to dance with you...good strategy, because it’s working,” Miranda admitted defeat, seeing no point in even pretending to warn her otherwise. No doubt Samara could tell the warmth in her cheeks had nothing to do with the alcohol. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”

Samara was evidently entertained by that reaction, but equally quick to dismiss any notion that her words were coming from an insincere place. “It is not falsity. The time you and I spent together aboard The Normandy was the most I have enjoyed myself in many years. Longer than you can possibly imagine.”

“Oh, wow, that's depressing,” said Miranda. “Because I am not fun at all.”

“Neither am I. Perhaps this explains it,” Samara quipped. 

Miranda didn’t agree with that, but that wasn’t the point. “You’re not dropping this are you?” she deduced, realising she didn’t have a choice in this.

“I am afraid I cannot,” Samara confirmed, as if the decision was out of her hands. “Just as you have sensed that I am in a good mood, I have also been astounded by the change in you tonight. I have never seen you so unshackled from your burdens as you are now. So, if we are ever going to keep our promise and share a dance together, I fear this will be our only opportunity. We may not get another. And I cannot abide a broken promise,” she pointed out.

She wasn’t wrong. Tomorrows weren’t exactly guaranteed.

“Well, you bloody got me, alright? Now that you’ve accused me of being good company, I feel compelled to live up to the hype.” With that, Miranda threw back her head and downed her drink, determined to be ‘fun’ for once in her life. “You get one song.” She held up one finger. “And only because it’s you.”

“One song will suffice,” said Samara, taking Miranda by the hand at long last, leading her to the dancefloor. That was all she had been promised.

Maybe it was just the drinks talking, but as she let go of her inhibitions, started moving to the music and surrendered to not caring whether she looked stupid, Miranda found herself having a far better time than she would have thought.

Most of all, the best thing about it was getting to see Samara let go of her usual restraint, and glean a rare escape from the harsh and austere lifestyle that she was required to abide by as a Justicar. It went without saying how much she deserved this reprieve. Not merely to have fun and enjoy the evening, but to have a chance to let her walls down and be herself. Her real self, beneath the armour. Just one fleeting night in however many centuries, free of worries or cares. 

If Miranda could give her that, then making a fool of herself would all be worth it.

Miranda didn’t know what had suddenly made Samara so open to things like this she would have politely declined a year ago, aside from the same ‘carpe diem’ reason that applied to everyone at the moment, nor did it really matter. The point was that they were here and they were doing it while they could. And any time spent with Samara, no matter what they were doing, was never time wasted.

One song turned into two. And two into three.

In truth, because the music all blended together with similar rhythms and chord progressions, it was hard to tell where one track began and another ended. And, for the first time, Miranda began to understand that perhaps that was the whole point. It would have been pretty jarring and moment-ruining to have the flow disturbed by each new song. So, for now, she stopped being critical of that.

It was as the music changed to a fourth song that they were rudely interrupted.

“Heyyyyy, ladies,” a complete stranger wandered up to them, making finger guns and clicking his tongue. “Can I be the meat in your sandwich?”

Miranda gave the man an unimpressed look. “Mate, if that line ever actually works on a woman...she deserves you,” she said, earning a confused expression in response as the insult went over his head. 

“...Is that a no?” he asked, clueless.

“Yeah, look, I’m in a good mood, so just save yourself some embarrassment and…” Miranda signalled for him to walk away, not particularly keen on wasting time and effort verbally destroying him when she would rather not bother.

To his credit, he took that rejection without a fight and left without causing a scene.

“Sorry about that.” Miranda turned to Samara. Unwanted male attention was something that happened to her a lot, so she was used to dealing with it.

Samara seemed more perplexed than perturbed. “He made this gesture.” Samara somewhat awkwardly mimicked his finger guns, as if she’d never seen anyone do that before. “...I assume I should not interpret that as a threat.”

Miranda blinked. Then, as soon as it clicked that Samara was in fact joking, cracked up with laughter. She’d never forgotten how funny Samara could be, but that sneaky delivery of hers still took her by surprise when it came out.

“Why are you laughing? We may be in grave danger,” Samara feigned ignorance.

“Alright. That’s it. That was the last song,” Miranda declared, taking that disruption as their cue to leave. “Since neither of us are gamblers, I think we’ve seen as much as there is to see of the casino. We should move on.”

“Where should we go next?” Samara prompted, letting Miranda take the lead.

“Hmm.” Miranda pondered that. What she would ordinarily do versus what Samara would expect of her on a night devoted to frivolity were two very different things. Fortunately, the Strip did serve the latter quite well. “There's an arcade not far from here. Did you know I've literally never been to one?”

Samara looked rather impressed with that suggestion, given that it was entirely out of step with Miranda’s usual character, and hence very much in keeping with the evening of inane silliness she had been promised. “I believe you humans have a saying that 'there is a first time for everything'.”

“Alright. Arcade it is.”

It certainly wasn’t far to get there. And Miranda wasn’t kidding when she said she had never had the simple pleasure of playing these games in her childhood. Or any games. She had been deprived of anything resembling fun growing up.

That being said, the lightgun game came pretty naturally to her, even if Miranda did maintain the only reason she didn’t score higher was because the controller was a shitty piece of plastic and the sensor must have been broken. If Samara thought otherwise, she just smiled and didn’t correct her.

By contrast, Samara definitely did recognise some of these games from her youth.

“You’re telling me that some of these machines basically haven’t changed at all in nine hundred years?” said Miranda, arching a sceptical eyebrow.

“No, they have not,” Samara happily confirmed, an audible tinge of excitement colouring her voice at the prospect of coming across something familiar.

Miranda snorted. So much for creativity.

“Oh. This. I remember this.” Samara went over to a particularly old-fashioned machine in the corner. ‘Whack The Thresher Maw’. “It was not thresher maws when I played it. I do not recall what it was. But I was very little. I could not have been more than...twelve? I remember vividly; it was shortly before my father left Thessia to come live here on the Citadel. That was the only day I spent together with both my mother and father - the only day that they ever both took me out together,” she spoke softly, nostalgic for that fond memory.

Miranda’s eyes twinkled as she stood by her, listening to Samara reminisce about her past. She said nothing as she waived her credit chit over the machine, spurring it to life. When Samara glanced at her in questioning, she leaned against the wall, and gestured for Samara to go ahead and play. And she did.

The next game they played was a version of what Miranda would have called air hockey, using a virtual puck. Miranda was winning up until Samara cheated, using her biotics to subtly move Miranda’s wrist away from the goal. 

“I would never cheat,” Samara professed, not even trying to conceal her guilt.

“Mhmm.” Miranda fixed her with a knowing look. Two could play at that game. The very next round, she used her own biotics to move the table right when Samara least expected it, allowing her to get her goal back. “I would never cheat,” Miranda echoed back to her, mirroring Samara’s false innocent voice.

“Hey!” At that, one of the arcade workers pointed at a sign behind the counter which clearly stated ‘no biotics’, giving them no further warning than that.

Keeping track of the scores kind of went out the window when they could hardly make it through the next few rounds without cracking up. They called it a draw and gave up before they did something that got them both banned for life.

They moved on. The next thing that caught Samara’s eye was the claw machine.

“I used to be very good at these,” Samara noted, examining it.

“Really? I thought they were all rigged.”

“No, not at all. Certainly made to be difficult, yes. But if you could not win, that would be illegal. There is a skill to it,” Samara explained. Miranda gestured for her to go right ahead and show her. “I have no money,” Samara pointed out. “And I could not keep the prize even if I won.”

Miranda sighed. “...Just because I’m doing this doesn’t mean I don’t know this is a waste of money on the same level as gambling,” she said, making it clear that nobody was to know she had done this. She put credits into the machine.

Samara appraised the prize spheres to see which would be the easiest to grab. “Aim for that one,” she advised, indicating a sphere that was higher up than the others. “It may take more than one attempt, but if you line it up correctly…”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ve got it,” Miranda waved off her backseat driving, still sceptical that it was even possible to win.

The first time, she didn’t get it at quite the right angle, and the claw slipped off. The second time, she was sure she lined it up properly, but the claws snapped shut above the prize sphere, without picking it up, like the prize was too heavy.

“See? The machine is rigged,” Miranda insisted. “It’s not possible.”

“You are very close. And you have one play left,” Samara encouraged. Miranda rolled her eyes, reluctantly deciding she may as well use the game she had already paid for. “Try coming at it slightly more from the left.”

Miranda did as Samara suggested, and this time, the claw grabbed it. She blinked as the claw lifted the prize and took it all the way to the chute. “Huh.”

“I believe the appropriate phrase is ‘I told you so’,” Samara teased.

“Alright, alright. No need to get cocky,” said Miranda, opening up the prize sphere to see what she’d won. It was a keychain in the shape of Blasto the Hanar Spectre. She uttered a tssk. “I’ve never seen any of these movies. They look like rubbish.”

“Sometimes, that is precisely the appeal,” Samara advised. Miranda didn’t share the sentiment. “I think that triumph signals that we have overstayed our welcome here,” said Samara, aware they were still being watched by the same employee from before in case they cheated again. “Where to next?”

“Hmm.” Miranda glanced around as they left the arcade, thinking of options.

“There is a combat simulator here, is there not?” Samara piped up, as if she’d been holding onto that idea for a while. “I would be eager to try that.”

“By all means. Though what people find fun about a laser arena is somewhat lost on me,” Miranda remarked, probably because her father had subjected her to similar combat programs when she was a kid. “It just feels like training.”

“Its intent is to recreate something we experience as a regular part of our lives. It is fun for them because it is unfamiliar. For us, it is not a deviation from the norm, save that for once we have the liberty of not being in any actual peril,” Samara astutely observed. She had a point, Miranda thought. It wasn’t the most relaxing pastime, but Miranda could run combat sims in her sleep. She had no problems teaming up with her if that was what Samara wanted to do.

“Okay, that absolutely was rigged,” Miranda loudly complained as they emerged from the combat arena a while later. “I hit that soldier dead between the eyes, and he still had twenty percent health left? That's nonsense. No human being could possibly survive that,” she argued, gesturing as she spoke.

“We still did extremely well,” Samara pointed out, content with their performance.

“If this program was realistic, my name would be on top right now,” Miranda proclaimed, waving her hand towards the scoreboard. She was nothing if not competitive, when she wanted to be anyway. Her rant was interrupted when Samara uttered a quiet, amused chuckle. It was impossible not to soften, seeing the unfeigned affection shimmering in Samara’s gaze. “What is it?”

“Nothing.” Samara shook her head, her smile reaching her eyes. “I simply...I did not forget how much I missed spending time with you, but...in a way, I forgot just how much I missed spending time with you,” Samara acknowledged, well aware of the contradiction in her own words, but unable to say it another way.

Miranda knew exactly what she meant. Memories of the Starboard Observation Deck were no substitute for the real thing. They didn’t do justice to just how at home she felt in Samara’s company. “Yeah. Me too.”

“And do not think I did not notice,” said Samara, a very proud look coming over her. Miranda tilted her head in questioning. “Reave. You mastered it,” Samara clarified, somehow wholly unsurprised to witness that.

“Oh. Right. That.” Miranda brushed that off. It wasn’t a big deal.

“Do not undersell yourself. It is not an easy feat,” Samara told her, not about to let this go unremarked upon. “Well done, Miranda. You are the first, and I suspect only human ever to learn this ability. And it would be a great achievement even if you were asari. Indeed, I have personally never met anyone, other than some fellow Justicars, who have mastered it.”

“Well, I owe that entirely to you. So here. Present for you.” Miranda held out the Blasto The Hanar Spectre keychain she'd won from the claw machine earlier, as a token of her appreciation for Samara’s teachings a year ago.

Samara smiled, politely raising her hand to decline. “Although I am grateful, I am afraid I cannot accept this; Justicars eschew personal possessions.”

Miranda's brow crinkled, looking down at the stupid thing in her hands in abject incredulity. “...It's a keychain.”

“That is not the point,” Samara reminded her, although clearly not at all shocked or offended why someone who had not chosen a religious life might fail to understand this. The fact that the gift had no material value did not make it any less of an indulgence. “I have sworn an oath to the Goddess. I can own nothing but what you see before you - my weapons and my armour - for that is all that is essential for me to carry out my duties as a Justicar.”

“Alright. Allow me to rephrase,” Miranda began, sensing a solution to this issue. “This is a...tactical keychain,” she informed her, arching an eyebrow as she twirled the chain around her finger. “It provides an entire additional square inch of armour plating. So I insist that you take it for your own protection.”

Samara laughed, more freely than Miranda had ever seen her do so. “There is that sense of humour you maintain you do not have again,” Samara wryly commented. “I will never comprehend why you insist on claiming that you are not funny.”

“Because I'm not.” Miranda shrugged, wearing a small, self-deprecating smile. “You also described yourself as ‘terribly dull’ earlier when you’re by far the most captivating person I’ve ever spoken to, so if we’re going to start this debate right now, then I’m pretty sure I’m going to win.”

“You would not be a stranger to that, would you?” Samara sighed, realising Miranda would not relent from her position. “Very well, then. You have convinced me.” She took the keychain, clasping it in her fingers. “Make no mistake, this is still yours,” she said, pointedly. “However, I will hold this in safekeeping on your behalf. And I will return it to you the next time we meet.”

“See? Was that so hard?” said Miranda, glad they'd reached a compromise.

Samara tried not to smile, because it was evident that she knew she was technically stretching the rules by accepting this gift, even on loan (though Miranda naturally assumed that she was kidding about intending to return it later), but despite her intentions she couldn't really fight it off. Not tonight.

“If you do not mind my asking, I know what your plans for the future are in the long term, but what of the short term?” Samara asked her, curious to know where Miranda would go when she left the Citadel.

“What else is there to do but get ready for whenever Shepard needs us?” said Miranda, leaning against a nearby railing overlooking a lower section of the strip. “I’ve taken command of a small ship and started putting together a team of Cerberus defectors. So, whatever happens, I’ll be there.” She looked over at Samara. “I suppose I don’t need to ask you, but...what about you?”

“I am as I am,” Samara answered, confirming Miranda’s assumptions. “When the day comes, I will walk into the fire, alone, with nothing but what you see before you, and fight to my last breath. And, should I die, I can only pray that my final acts honour the memory of all the Justicars who perished before me.”

“...I don’t see how they wouldn’t,” Miranda said softly. “I mean, you’re you.”

Samara didn’t respond to that. “Miranda, I...” Samara hesitated. Her expression was unsettled, but she swallowed, quickly finding an equilibrium and settling on what she intended to say. “Though I imagine we will be fighting on the same battlefield in the near future, it has not eluded me that we may not get a chance to speak like this before that time comes to pass. Or...ever again.”

“I know,” Miranda admitted, glancing down. The same thought had been swirling in her head even before Shepard’s party. She wasn't sure if they were meant to address that, or if that looming spectre of death was an open secret they weren't supposed to confront, but she was glad Samara had raised it. The problem was, there were too many things she wanted to say if this was going to be the last conversation they ever had. Thoughts she hadn’t even put into words in her mind, and could never fully express. “...I really am sorry about Rila,” was where Miranda chose to begin. It would have felt wrong not to tell her that.

Samara swallowed and nodded her head, trying to stay strong. Then her resolve cracked, and the tears came. Her hands went to her face, unable to stem the tide. Even the strongest woman in the universe could only carry so much.

For a split-second, Miranda thought she had made a mistake bringing this up, seeing how much Samara was hurting over her recent loss. But then it occurred to her. Maybe Samara breaking down in front of her didn’t mean she’d done anything wrong. Maybe it showed just how much she needed this moment of connection with someone she trusted - to allow herself the vulnerability to be hurt.

Had anyone even comforted Samara at all since it happened?

Had anyone given her the chance to grieve for her daughter?

“I did everything I could to save her. Even though I should not have. Even knowing it might mean putting myself in the position of choosing between my children and The Code. Even while the rest of my Order gave their lives to save so many on Thessia.” Samara drew a deep breath, but it wound up shallower than she intended in her sorrow. “...I violated one of my Oaths, Miranda.”

“What do you mean?” Miranda asked, not knowing enough about the Justicars to understand what that meant. “You mean you broke The Code?”

“No. No, I would never...never break The Code. Not while I draw breath,” Samara insisted, making that clear, even through her tears. “But the first step to becoming a Justicar is to take the Oath of Solitude. That means you are forsworn from any family, including children. I did not utter a single word to Falere or Rila in four hundred and thirty-one years, save for when I wrote to them a year ago to let them know Mirala was dead. However, when I heard their monastery may be under threat...I did not go to them as a Justicar.” Her breath hitched as the moisture trickled down her cheeks. “I went to them because I am their mother.”

“Of course you did,” said Miranda, feeling nothing but sympathy for her, and a touch of anger towards the Justicars for subjecting Samara to that dilemma in the first place. For depriving her of the shattered, broken remnants of a family she had left, and making her feel ashamed for protecting her daughters from certain death. “There’s no oath in the universe anyone could swear that would make a mother stop loving her children. Not a mother like you.”

“No, there is not,” Samara confirmed, her voice breaking under the strain as her body was racked by another sob. “I saw so little of Rila before she died, but what I saw...I could not be prouder of the woman she became, in spite of the cruel hand fate dealt her. I always knew her to be the most responsible of my daughters, always taking care of her younger sisters, though she was barely any older than they were. But she was so strong, Miranda. I never knew she was so fearless. So ferociously protective. She gave her own life so that Falere could live.”

“And you,” Miranda added. “So that you could live too.”

Samara didn’t reply to that.

“How’s Falere?” Miranda asked, after Samara didn’t respond.

“She is well. Alone, but well.” Samara glanced down at her hands, her tears beginning to dry on her cheeks. “She was always a gentle and sensitive soul, so much like her fath--” Samara’s voice caught on that word. She couldn’t say it. It hurt to speak of her. “The woman she has grown into...she is so much kinder than I could possibly have imagined. She had not seen my face or heard my voice for four hundred and thirty-one years. She had every right to hate me. But, instead, she...when all was said and done, she embraced me.”

“Why wouldn’t she?” said Miranda, thinking that should have gone without saying. “She’s your daughter. She loves you.”

“That is more than I deserve.” Samara’s voice was low, barely above a whisper.

Miranda couldn’t stand to hear her talk about herself that way. “Samara--”

Samara raised a hand to silence her. “Respectfully, Miranda...It is no fault of yours, but there are some things that are beyond even your understanding. I believe this is one of them. I would prefer not to argue with you.”

Miranda sighed. She hated to admit it, but Samara had a point. If she felt that way, it wasn’t like it was a poorly-considered opinion. She had lived her own life for nearly a thousand years, and the disconnect between Samara and Falere had been there for centuries. It wasn’t Miranda’s place to debate with her about her perception of herself, or where she stood with Falere, much as she wanted to.

“...But you weren’t lying before, right?” Miranda pressed, unable to leave that thought alone. When Samara said things like this, it made her worry about her. “You are going to keep seeing Falere, aren’t you?”

“My Oaths say I should not,” Samara acknowledged.

“But you will,” Miranda intuited.

Samara held back the last of her tears, the first signs of a conflicted, broken smile coming to her lips. “I have no choice. In truth, there is no power in the universe, nor within myself, that could force me to stay away,” she said honestly, recognising she did not have the willpower to resist seeing her daughter again, especially knowing Falere had nobody else to look after her.

“Good,” Miranda forcefully enthused. For as much as she respected Samara, she might have had to slap some sense into her if she said otherwise. “No offence, and I know this is easy for me to say because I don’t have a single religious or spiritual bone in my body, but any oath that would compel you to stay away from the one person in your life who makes you happy isn’t an oath worth keeping. For me, that person is my sister. For you, that person is Falere.”

At long last, Samara allowed herself to smile again, her eyes glistening from her tears, but shedding no more. “She is.” Her voice was soft, perhaps even fragile, but Miranda had never heard it filled with so much tenderness. “I should not permit myself to feel this way, but...if you thought you perceived a change in me tonight, Miranda, you did,” she admitted. “Though losing Rila broke my heart, and my wounds for her will bleed until my dying days...even so, I have never felt more at peace than I do at this moment. Or, if I have, then I cannot remember it.”

Miranda could only imagine. In her own life, she had gone without seeing Oriana for nineteen years. And, the moment they met on Illium, it was like a weight she hadn’t even known she was carrying had been lifted off her shoulders. That was nothing compared to what Samara had endured.

Going four hundred and thirty-one years not seeing her daughters, the people who mattered most to her...it must have been torture. Now, that torment had finally stopped. Even though Rila hadn’t lived long enough to be part of this new reunion, Samara had still regained a connection with Falere she never thought she would have again. She had some semblance of her family back.

That was life-changing.

“I’m glad to hear you say that,” Miranda said sincerely. After everything she’d lost, Samara had more than earned her just reward. "And, for what it’s worth, I hope this is merely the start of newer and brighter things for you and Falere.”

After recollecting her composure, Samara faced her. “Thank you, Miranda.” 

Miranda was not anticipating that shift in focus. “For what?”

“For this. For tonight,” Samara clarified, gesturing at their surroundings. “For allowing me to enjoy myself more than I have in centuries. And for reminding me to savour these effervescent glimmers of happiness while I still can.” She paused for a moment, averting her gaze down towards her hands on the railing. “I think, perhaps, on some level, you sensed I needed this. But perhaps you do not appreciate just how much I did. So, again, I thank you for spending your night in the company of this poor, tired old woman, when it was not required of you.”

Miranda hesitated at that. Of course, it meant a lot for Samara to tell her that she had gotten so much out of their time together, and that it had helped her in some way. But Miranda never liked it when Samara made those resigned, self-defeating comments about herself. They made her sound like some washed up, retired old racehorse about to be put down with two barrels behind the garden shed. And that was the furthest thing from reality.

Samara was amazing. Beyond compare. She had not lost a step. Aside from being a matriarch and continuing to get stronger with every passing year, she did not show a single sign of age. It certainly hadn’t hindered her yet, and probably would not for many decades yet to come. Asari regularly lived to be over a thousand years old. Hell, although hitting eleven-hundred was rare by most accounts, even that wouldn’t be unheard of. Not by a long shot.

Not that Miranda was an expert, but just from knowing her, she would guess Samara was still a long way off from the natural end of her life. About as far off as any of the human members of The Normandy. So why did she so often talk about herself like she was past the point where she had anything of worth left to offer - a broken relic of a bygone age to be carelessly discarded and cast aside?

Did she think Miranda was just doing this because she felt sorry for her?

“...I didn’t invite you out with me because I pity you,” Miranda broke the silence, glancing over at Samara. That had never been what this was, and she would correct any such mistaken assumptions as promptly and frankly as possible, so that there was no chance for misinterpretation. “I wanted to spend time with you because I like you, and I care about you. You know that, right?”

“I do,” Samara confirmed, returning Miranda’s gaze. “And I hope you know that I did not spend time with you because I was merely seeking some distraction from what has come to pass in recent weeks.”

“I do,” Miranda replied in kind. She folded her arms across the railing, seeing no reason not to continue being so transparent. “This probably isn’t going to be a shock to you, because there aren’t exactly a lot of contenders for the title, but did you know you might very well be the best friend I’ve ever had?” 

Jacob may have been her friend for longer, sure, but they butted heads a lot, often on pretty fundamental things. There were some things she hadn’t told him, and may never tell him. Some things she couldn’t go to him about. Whereas Samara just...knew her so intimately. She got her on an entirely different level. One that didn’t even require words, a lot of the time.

Samara’s eyes dipped slightly. “It...occurred to me, some time ago, in fact, that...I could possibly say the same thing about you,” she replied. Miranda was taken aback by that, and it must have shown on her face. “You doubt me, but you have a stronger claim to that position than you know.”

Miranda brushed that off, finding it too hard to believe. Samara had been alive for over nine centuries. She’d definitely had better friends. “You’re just being nice.”

Samara squinted at that comment, visibly perplexed. “I do not know where you have garnered this impression that I am ‘nice’, or would say things I do not mean just to be thus. I can assure you, I have never at any stage of my life been renowned for being particularly ‘nice’ to anybody. Quite the contrary,” Samara assured her, wanting to clear up that mischaracterisation. “I mean no offence, but...in that regard, you and I are more alike than you seem to think.”

“None taken,” Miranda nonchalantly replied. She supposed she understood where Samara was coming from by not accepting that description. If anyone tried to tell Miranda she was ‘just being nice’, she would have looked at them like they had grown a second head. “And I guess you do have a point. I mean, the first time I met you, you crushed a woman’s skull with your foot.”

“You would have used a gun,” Samara noted.

“Yeah, probably,” Miranda conceded. “You were always nice to me, though.”

“Not always. There were times when I challenged you. Like you, I am not prone to remaining silent when I disagree with someone. If I am less stubborn and stern than I once was, it is only because experience has humbled me, and I have spent many centuries practicing patience and mindfulness,” said Samara. 

Samara wasn’t wrong about any of that, Miranda thought. Samara had indeed called her out on her bullshit a couple of times, although whenever she did offer advice she had always treated it as something constructive rather than an exercise in judgement, which was largely why it had been so effective.

“However, if despite all that you perceived me as being especially nice to you...I probably was,” Samara admitted with a small sigh, willing to concede that wasn’t misplaced. “It is easy to be nice to a person you are already fond of.”

“Why though?” Miranda couldn’t help but ask, earning a confused look. “That’s something I’ve never been able to figure out. Look, I know I’m not the most self-aware person, but I’m better than I was. And, God, I could be fucking intolerable sometimes.” Miranda grimaced in annoyance at her own memory of herself, eliciting a faint smirk from Samara. “But even at my worst, you never had a problem with me. So, why did you like spending time with me?”

“How long do we have before our absence will be noticed? Because, if I answered that question comprehensively, we would be here a very long time,” Samara stated. That was, without question, the most heartwarming thing Miranda had ever heard another person say about her. “If I am being truly honest, I have often wondered the same thing about why you chose to spend your time with me.” 

“Is that a joke?” Miranda asked, not sure how Samara could even question that.

“You know very well that it is not,” Samara said astutely. She wasn’t a liar.

“Well, then, you and I remember things very differently, because you had countless things to offer me. Wisdom. Insight. Friendship. A place where I could just sit in silence for a while. You've taught me so much, but somehow you never made it feel like you were lecturing me. Even when you clearly were,” Miranda remarked, with a hint of teasing to her tone. “The only problem is that I've gained so much more out of knowing you than you have from knowing me.”

“That is not true,” Samara firmly insisted, the quickness of her response catching Miranda somewhat off guard. “The life of a Justicar is a solitary one. We meet many people, but have no companions. I had no companions. Until you. The connection we share is unlike any I have known in centuries. Or...even before that. You have enriched my life. I am better for having known you.”

“You don’t mean that,” Miranda instinctively replied. Samara was...well, she wasn’t a ‘perfect’ person per se, because they didn’t exist. But she was as close as Miranda had ever seen to one. She was a perfect version of what she strove to be. So how could Miranda make her better than she was? How could she possibly do anything to improve upon such sheer mastery of the self?

“Goddess, you do not even know…” Samara’s suddenness took Miranda by surprise. She watched as she let her fingers fall across her face, sighed deeply and shook her head, choosing her words carefully. “Forgive me. It is difficult for me to say this, but...when we travelled together, there were times where I thought…” Samara stopped herself, as if reconsidering what she intended to say. “Perhaps I did not always recognise it then, but in hindsight there were days where I do not know how I could have withstood my burdens if you were not with me.”

Miranda didn’t know what to make of that. It just...didn’t make sense. Samara was so strong. “But I didn’t do anything,” Miranda pointed out. 

At that, Samara uttered a quiet sound, almost like a short, sombre laugh. “But you did,” she said, meeting Miranda’s gaze once more. “You were there. And you have shown me nothing but kindness from the moment we met.”

Miranda still couldn’t accept what she was hearing. Besides, she didn’t remember doing anything that would strike a normal person as especially compassionate, because that wasn’t who she was. “But I’m not kind,” she said.

“No, perhaps you are not,” Samara acknowledged, never blind to the person Miranda was. She was not known for being sensitive or sympathetic, for good reason. “But you were to me,” she stated plainly. That was all that mattered.

Miranda didn’t completely agree with that. But she was glad Samara thought so. And, if nothing else, it was true that Samara did make her want to try to be a better person than she was, and had brought different shades out of her in a way that nobody else had, irrespective of whether they came naturally to her.

That was the thing about people like Samara, Miranda thought. When a person had a special connection with someone else, a special relationship, then they got to know a version of them that didn’t exist for anyone else. Parts of them nobody else ever saw. Truths nobody else ever knew. So maybe the Miranda reserved for Samara's eyes only really was gentler than the one everybody else had met. But, if so, that was only because their friendship brought that out of her.

As the silence lingered, the memory of one very unkind thing she had done emerged in Miranda’s mind. It wasn’t lost on her that there was still one regret she had in their friendship. One mistake for which she’d never made amends.

It was not something she had forgotten about. She recalled with discomforting clarity how she’d never taken her numerous chances back on The Normandy to confess to Samara about looking into her past without her consent. She’d never apologised for it, though she had intended to do so, eventually. She would have done it after The Collector Base but, when the Alpha Relay was destroyed, the thought had genuinely completely fallen from her mind amid so much death. By the time she thought about it again, it was too late. They had already parted ways.

So many months had passed since all of this transpired that part of her just wanted to let sleeping dogs lie, and not raise the subject now. But Miranda knew this was the only chance she would get. If she was ever going to apologise, this was her moment. She had to take it, or live with being a coward.

“...Samara, can I say one more thing?” Miranda broke the silence.

“You may always speak freely with me, Miranda. Indeed, that you always say precisely what is on your mind is perhaps my favourite thing about you. Certainly, one of them,” Samara said with a charming twinkle in her eye.

“Okay, then.” Miranda took Samara’s encouragement at face-value, and elected to come out with it, even if it was a heavy subject. “What happened to your family wasn't your fault,” Miranda began, deciding to approach the topic from that angle. The unexpected shift in the conversation caused Samara to stiffen visibly. “And you know I'm not the sort of person who'd say something I didn't think was true purely to make you feel better, no matter how much I like you. But you didn't do anything to make that happen. None of it is your fault. None. So please stop blaming yourself for what happened four hundred years ago.”

Samara didn't seem to know how to react to Miranda’s words, as they were the last thing she had anticipated. It was obvious it was a message she struggled to accept, even after all this time. Of course, she had no idea how much Miranda knew about her past, beyond the broad picture she’d painted. Not yet.

“Has anyone ever told you that before?” Miranda asked, curious.

“...They have not,” Samara answered, no less taken aback. From prior conversations, Miranda knew she had scarcely spoken about her past. Her daughters’ diagnoses made her a pariah as soon as they happened, leaving her nobody to turn to, and Justicars did not discuss the people they were before they swore their Oaths. Samara had carried her burdens alone every day since.

“Then I'm glad I said it,” Miranda replied, already feeling a sense of relief just from stating that out loud, though she knew she was far from finished when it came to things she had to get off her chest. “I should have said it a long time ago.”

“Then may I also say something I should have said a long time ago?” Samara cut her off, speaking rather quickly. Miranda gestured for her to go right ahead. If she was being that abrupt, then it must have been important. “I wish you loved being Miranda Lawson as much as everybody else believes you love being Miranda Lawson,” Samara spoke plainly. “Because she is and has always been a far, far better person than you seem to think she is. And there is not a single thing about her that makes her a ‘failure’. It wounds me whenever you think otherwise.”

Miranda was totally blindsided. She hadn’t expected Samara’s response at all, since she would never say anything unless she truly meant it. In fact, any prior thoughts Miranda had were completely ripped from her mind.

Samara didn’t need to ask whether anybody had told Miranda that before. She knew they hadn’t. Evidently, that knowledge bothered her a great deal.

“Miranda, I...” Samara reached out and touched Miranda's arm, as if considering saying something more. She swallowed, glancing away for a moment before meeting Miranda's eyes. “I think we have been gone longer than we ought. We should return before our absence becomes a cause for concern,” she said, mustering a faint smile, sensing they had both lost track of time.

“Of course,” Miranda concurred, too dumbstruck by Samara’s confession to remember that there were words she had left unsaid. “After you.”

With that, Samara led the way back towards Shepard's apartment.

As she trailed behind her, Miranda discreetly wiped at the corner of her eye, maintaining her composure, masking any lingering signs that betrayed any frailty, and just how much Samara’s words had touched the core of something she hadn’t even known was as raw and vulnerable as it was.

It may have been a scant two hours that they’d shared there alone on the Silversun Strip, but stealing that precious time together felt like the best decision Miranda had ever made. It may have been over sooner than she would have liked but, if nothing else, at least she could look back on this night in the coming days and feel content with the way she left things between them.

She wanted to part ways with Samara on a high note. After all, deep down in her heart, Miranda knew it was the last time Samara would ever see her again.

*     *     *

Of all the people Miranda had expected to be banging on her door in the middle of the night, Samara was not high on that list. She hadn’t expected to see her anytime soon, given she had left only two weeks ago. And, when they eventually did meet again, Miranda hadn’t imagined Samara would look like this.

“Samara, what are you doing here? It’s freezing out, and you’re drenched--”

“I must speak with you,” Samara cut her off, her voice firm, and her eyes ablaze with a strange intensity Miranda had never seen in her before. It seemed as though Samara didn’t even feel the ice-cold rain on her. “It cannot wait.”

Judging from her tone, that wasn’t a request.

“Uh...Of course,” was all Miranda could mutter as she held open the door for her, closing it behind her. It wouldn’t have even occurred to her to say no. Not when Samara was in such a state, moving with such urgency. “In here.” Miranda gestured towards her room. Samara marched in without hesitation.

Suffice it to say, Miranda was a little stunned. What the hell was happening?

She followed her inside, and clicked the door shut. There wasn’t much space in her small room, but Samara found enough to pace back and forth. She was uncharacteristically wringing her hands as she wore wet tracks in the floor. These were things Miranda had quite literally never seen her do before.

“Samara, what is this? What’s going on?” Miranda asked.

“Forgive my intrusion. But I needed to see you. I could not...the way we left things, I…” Samara paused for a moment, meeting her gaze. “I fear that perhaps you already know what has brought me here, and what I wish to discuss.”

Miranda said nothing, too disoriented and sleep-deprived to be capable of doing anything other than staring at her in a dazed silence. She had no idea what she was talking about, or what could make her act so out-of-sorts. Miranda had never seen Samara so dishevelled. So discombobulated. So...frazzled.

“Oh. Oh, I see. You do not. I see. Very well, then. I…” At that realisation, Samara resumed her pacing, running her hand along her crest. “I suppose I shall have to start from the beginning, then. I do not know why I expected to avoid this.”

“Samara, please slow down.” Miranda raised her hand, her mind far too clouded with fog to make sense of any of this. Even just watching her march back and forth felt like running a marathon, which would have been an exhausting prospect even if she had slept in the past four days. Her request fell on deaf ears.

“Miranda, I was...I was dishonest with you the last time we spoke,” Samara began. “No, worse than dishonest. I have been deceiving you, for no other reason than because I have been too craven to admit the truth. What is worse, I fear that you have sensed my deceit, and that this is what has damaged our friendship. I cannot...I cannot abide this. I cannot continue to lie to you.”

Miranda could barely even make out what she was saying as she paced. She was speaking so quickly, and with such adamance that it felt like she might spontaneously combust from internal friction if it weren’t for the rain soaking her skin. Miranda had never seen Samara in this state. She was like a completely different person. A stranger wearing the face of someone she knew.

Samara was so restrained. So dignified. So elegant. She was a woman who had walked alone, unflinching into mortal peril thousands of times with no regard for her own life, and somehow emerged unscathed, even where countless others had fallen around her. She was the most fearless individual Miranda had ever met. 

There was none of that here.

She was...overcome.

Her proverbial armour had cracked.

“Samara, respectfully, you’re a category five hurricane right now. I need you to bring it down to a stiff breeze,” said Miranda, gesturing for her to cool her frantic energy just a little bit, because right now this was impossible to follow.

At last, Samara halted, and stood still. “...Yes. Yes, of course. You have my apologies,” Samara replied, no less anxious, but at least she seemed able to recognise what an incoherent onslaught her words must have sounded like. 

Miranda leaned back against the chair that was tucked into her desk, gripping it with her hand to take some weight off her bad leg. Whatever could have left Samara so shaken, it had to be serious. Nothing ever rattled her.

Except apparently this.

“What have you been lying about?” Miranda asked, that being about the only thing she had managed to make out of Samara’s hasty, jumbled rant a moment ago.

At that question, Samara held her stare, a distant expression falling across her face. “...After all this time, you truly do not suspect, do you?” she asked aloud, the realisation sinking in, as if that was a possibility she had not contemplated.

“Suspect what?” was all Miranda could say, tempted to utter a desperate laugh as she shrugged her good shoulder, not because there was anything remotely funny about this, but because she was so fucking tired, and so fucking lost.

“Why I abandoned you as I did. Why I fled this city and deserted you. Why you have been forced to contend with so much pain, suffering and death alone, when I ought to have been here to share those burdens with you, and taken care of you when you needed me by your side,” said Samara. Her voice was shaking.

Miranda softened when she heard that. Did Samara really think she was angry at her for leaving? “Samara, no.” Miranda shook her head, unconsciously gesturing with her amputated arm as if to strike that thought from history. “Of course I understand why you left. You’re a Justicar. You have your Code--”

The moment that word left her lips, Samara laughed a humourless laugh, laced with turmoil and despair. Miranda was struck mute by that. It was so unlike her.

“Oh, my sweet Miranda, you truly still believe that about me?” said Samara, her hand on her forehead, as if she couldn’t fathom what she was hearing - that even now people still trusted her at her word. “No. No, my dear, it is a fiction. A comforting lie. A shadow I hide behind.”

Miranda damn near recoiled in abject confusion. “But you are a Justicar.”

“Yes, but that is not why I acted as I did. When I turned my back on you, it had nothing to do with The Code,” Samara unburdened herself at long last, revealing a secret that had been silently killing her. “When I left, it was for one reason only. And that was because I...because I could not be here to watch you die…”

Samara’s voice cracked on the last word, and her hands covered her face as tears began to swell from beneath the surface.

Miranda was dumbfounded - rendered speechless from utter astonishment. She had only seen Samara break like this twice before. Had only seen her cry twice before. That was when she killed Morinth. And when she opened up about losing Rila. Only the deaths of her daughters affected her like this.

Samara trembled, her hand over her mouth. Her eyes shone with remorse as she met Miranda’s frozen visage across the room. “I am so sorry,” Samara told her sincerely, her words cut by the hitch of a breath. “I know my contrition means nothing, but I am so deeply, deeply sorry. I do not blame you if you despise me. You should. I know I deserve it, because the truth is that I failed you. I failed you because I am weak, and I am broken, and I could not...I could not lose you.”

Miranda’s heart tore in half when she heard that. Her head fell, and she pressed her palm to her eye, squeezing it shut. Was this why Samara thought Miranda had snapped at her the last time they spoke? Was she responsible for hurting her like this? God, she regretted that day even more now than she already had before.

“You didn’t fail me, Samara,” Miranda quietly assured her. “You saved my life.”

“That, too, was selfishness,” Samara confessed, owning up to her sins. “When the dust settled, I saw you had not returned. When I realised how close you had been to the Conduit, I went searching for you. And only for you.”

“That’s not true,” Miranda interjected, refusing to let Samara denigrate herself for what had been unparalleled heroism. “You saved dozens of lives in the wasteland.”

“Because The Code demanded I must, and my life would be forfeit if I did not. Every time I came across another survivor, I had to stop and render aid. But, though The Code compelled me to do everything in my power to rescue those in need, I tell you plainly I did not want to. I did not care about any of them. I would have abandoned every single one of them if I could,” Samara said starkly, stripping bare her truth. That revelation hit Miranda like a shockwave. It was something Miranda would have said. Not Samara. “People thought me brave, but I was not. People thought I was saving lives, but that was never my goal. My deeds should not entitle me to praise, but rather scorn, because I was selfish. I was so selfish. My only reason for going out there again and again was to find you.”

Samara swallowed. Miranda would have, but her mouth was suddenly dry.

“...And I did,” Samara continued, her features softening as she gazed upon Miranda. “You were caked in blood and dirt when I found you. So much so that I could barely recognise you. And then you...and then you stopped breathing.”

Samara took a moment to compose herself, affected by those painful memories. She drew a deep breath, and wiped a stray tear from her cheek.

“I did not merely believe that you would die. I knew it. I was certain of it,” Samara quietly admitted. “The infection had already reached your blood. It was shutting down your organs. There seemed to be no hope that you would survive. The only reason you were breathing was because machines were doing it for you. Your pulse was so weak. Your condition showed no signs of improving. As I sat by your bedside, I came to understand that I was doing nothing but watching your life slip away before my very eyes. Every day, you were slowly dying in front of me. And I could not endure it. I...I broke. I ran away, rather than face it.”

“But you left me that message,” Miranda pointed out, struggling to fit the puzzle pieces together in her clouded head between things she already knew, parts of the story she had been told by others, and what Samara was saying now.

“A lie,” Samara said bluntly, her voice too strained to speak louder than a whisper. “To convince myself that I had not forsaken you. That I was not hiding in the shadows from my fears. That I was merely doing as I ought to, as a Justicar. A lie that rang hollow.” Samara glanced down at her feet, ashamed of her actions. “If I truly believed that you had any chance of recovering, I tell you from my heart, I would not have left. Never. And, if I had sincerely been forced into some temporary departure by my Code as I claimed, I would have placed a much better message beside your bed for you to find when you awoke. But I did not do so. I did not do so, because I could not bear to step into your room again. I was afraid each time I went near you, it would be the moment you would…”

Samara couldn’t even finish that sentence. She didn’t have to.

Miranda didn’t interrupt her, too overwhelmed to respond. 

“This is why I have returned now. To apologise for my selfishness. Not to seek your forgiveness. Just to apologise,” Samara explained, repentant for her recent failings. “You have earned nothing less than that.”

“I…” Miranda didn’t know what to say. Couldn’t...form the words. It was a lot to take in. She could scarcely process it in her heavily fatigued state. She couldn’t think. She was so tired. So confused. “I still don’t understand. You’ve seen death before. Why couldn’t you be here? Why did you have to leave?”

“Goddess…” Samara turned away, facing the wall. “You truly do not know…”

“No, I don’t. So tell me,” said Miranda, growing exasperated with how Samara kept doing things like that. Acting like there were things she should already know, which she didn’t. She wasn’t psychic. She couldn’t read her mind. Obviously not. Samara had come all this way to throw this confession at her feet out of fucking nowhere. Why hold back now? “You’ve already said so--”

“Because I could not bear the pain of losing you!” Samara snapped back, her voice sharper and louder than before, as if she had to force the words out, fighting against herself to speak them. But, once they were said, they couldn’t be retracted. “I did not trust what I would do. How I would withstand it. Goddess, Miranda, I was coming apart. I had already broken The Code for you!”

Miranda’s eye widened. “What do you mean?”

“You know this. You said it yourself.” Samara faced her once more, moving a step closer. “I...I threatened to murder doctors, because they wanted to turn off your life support,” Samara confessed, hard as it was for her to say. “You were functionally dead, and I was prepared to harm innocents rather than accept it - to use violence against healers so I could keep you hooked to those machines.”

Miranda’s heart stopped in her chest.

Wait, what? That wasn’t something Jacob had just misunderstood? Her weary mind went black. She couldn’t even comprehend that revelation. 

“I breached two tenets, in total. Not only by threatening innocent medics, but that I lied about The Code in order to compel them to spare you,” Samara confided in her, exposing her transgressions, her shame. “This is not permitted. I was unjust. Had I any sisters left to judge me, I might be expelled from the Order for this. At worst, perhaps even executed. Though, if there is but one small mercy to be found, it is that my words, evil though they were, were only words. I took no violent act, drew no weapon, and made no attempt to carry out my threats. Had I done so, The Code would not suffer me to live. Nor should it.”

“...You…wait…” Miranda couldn’t hear herself, her ear was ringing so loud.

What the fuck was happening? This couldn’t be real.

“In what small part of me was still capable of thinking rationally, I knew my behaviour had made me a danger to myself and others,” Samara continued. “If you passed, I could not take the risk of what I might do. At least, that was what I told myself. In truth, by that stage, I was simply too afraid to stay. Afraid of how much it would hurt when you...” She trailed off into silence, her meaning clear.

Miranda didn’t even catch all of that, her thoughts blank. No, this didn’t make sense. Samara was a Justicar. A servant of her Code. She was the embodiment of her way of life. She stuck to it rigidly. She never bent the rules, much less broke them. She would never do that. She was so disciplined. So loyal to it.

Samara hadn’t even broken The Code when it came to her own daughters. An Oath, yes. But not The Code. From what Miranda understood, that was the difference between breaking a promise, and breaking the law. She had told Miranda straight to her face that she couldn’t do the latter. That she would never.

And yet now Samara was standing there in front of her telling her that she had not merely violated The Code, but that she had done so consciously. For her.

Twice.

“Now you see me for what I truly am. Frail. Weak. A fraud.” Samara glanced aside, accepting that what she had done would forever tarnish her in Miranda’s sight, as it should. “So, like a coward, I ran. As far as I could. Every day thinking, is this the day she died? Is this the day? Surely, she must have passed by now, Samara. Just go back. Just go. Confront this. Be with her. But I could not. I could not return, because I was not ready to know. Because I was not ready to feel--”

Her voice caught, rendering her unable to finish that bleak thought.

Miranda felt a heavy tide rising inside her. Like she was swimming in a maelstrom. Sucked in under the water. Unable to breathe. Unable to think or react. It was so much all at once. It was as if she’d been consumed by a tsunami.

“...Why are you telling me this?” Miranda asked through the haze.

“Because you do not deserve to believe you are at fault,” Samara insisted, taking another step towards her. “I abandoned you in your hour of need, not because you mean nothing to me, but because you...you are so important to me it scares me. But that is my burden, not yours. You should not have to suffer for my lack of bravery. I could not bear it if you thought that I have treated you so carelessly because you have slighted me in some way. You have not. I am to blame. Only me. The failure is mine, and mine alone. I am the monster here. Not you.”

“Please don’t say that,” said Miranda. It hurt to hear Samara berate herself like that. She was the opposite of a monster. “I wouldn’t even be here if not for you.”

“But I should have been here.” Samara took another step. As the space between them shrank, Miranda felt a shiver pass through her body, but not because it was cold. “I should have watched over you. Cared for you when you awoke. Been by your side as you rebuilt this city. Weathered the terrible news with you when you learned what became of our friends. But I could not. Instead, I left you. I let fear take hold, and surrendered to despair. Worst of all, I gave up hope. I did not have faith in you, when I should have known you are beyond extraordinary.”

“You don’t owe me anything--”

“Please.” Samara quietly cut her off, refusing her forgiveness, feeling unworthy of it. Even so, she could not refrain from reaching out, curling stray strands of hair back behind Miranda’s ear. Miranda’s pulse spiked, thundering like a drum. “I was distraught for so long. Too paralysed with sorrow to return, and face the news. So convinced that everything I dreaded had come to pass. That I had been too late when I found you in the wastes. That you had succumbed while I was away. That I would find nothing here but your grave.” Samara’s eyes shone as she looked upon her, a warm smile coming to her face. “I do not know how I ever doubted you would defy the odds. You are truly incredible. You always have been.”

Miranda didn’t dare to breathe, Samara was so close. All those bottled up feelings came flooding to the surface. It felt like somehow Samara should just know. That she should be able to lay eyes upon her, and glean from a single glance how easily Miranda came undone in her presence.

God, the things it did to her for Samara to be this near, her fingers on her skin. It was too much. She should have withdrawn and pulled away, but she couldn’t. She didn’t want Samara to stop. She needed her, with every fibre of her being.

Miranda couldn’t take it. For her own sanity, she had to force herself to turn her head away. To look somewhere else. Anywhere else but Samara.

"Do not hide from me.” Samara’s fingers curled beneath her chin, lifting her head, compelling Miranda to lock her eye on Samara once more. “I know I ran before, but it was not because of you. Do not think it was ever to do with you.”

She realised then that Samara must have assumed the reason Miranda averted her gaze was because she’d felt self-conscious in that moment. Of her wounds. Of the scars on her face. Little did she know that had nothing to do with it.

It became achingly apparent then as she got lost in that shimmering sapphire stare that Samara had no idea what Miranda felt towards her. And that those feelings were so powerful and intense that they were threatening to devour her. 

How could Samara not see what she was doing to her? 

She was laid open. Bare. Exposed.

Samara’s fingers combed through Miranda’s hair until they grazed the cord that held her eyepatch in place. Miranda was so transfixed that she almost didn’t even feel her touch it. “May I?” Samara asked her permission to remove it, gauging whether Miranda trusted her enough to show the extent of her scars.

Miranda swallowed and nodded, giving her consent. That was never the problem. Least of all with Samara. Miranda stood stiff against her desk, knuckles turning white against her chair as Samara carefully slipped it off.

Samara released a slow exhale as she set that black cloth down on the table, a wave of heartfelt warmth washing over her features as that barrier fell by the wayside. As if on instinct, her fingers reached out to touch her face, but she stopped her hand just short of Miranda’s scarred cheek. “Will it hurt if I…?”

Miranda shook her head, almost too tense to speak. “Not if you’re gentle,” was all she could manage. And when was Samara ever anything less?

With Miranda’s tacit approval, Samara softly cupped her cheek. Miranda’s breath hitched. How could she be so on edge that such a feather-light caress could make her feel like her entire world was on the verge of exploding? 

“I have been devout in my faith for a very long time, and yet...Believe me when I tell you, the only time in my nine hundred and seventy-one years of life that the Goddess has ever answered my prayers was when I turned around on that balcony, and saw you standing there in front of me,” Samara professed.

If she moved so much as a single muscle, Miranda wasn’t sure there was any power on Earth that could stop her from crashing her lips against Samara’s, no matter how wrong she knew it was, or how bad of an idea. She willed her body to stay stone still, because it was all she could do to control herself.

If Miranda hadn’t been leaning so heavily on the desk and chair behind her, she was certain her legs would have given out right from under her. Samara’s skin was still so cold from the rain, but her touch was hotter than fire, and Miranda like wax beneath her fingertips. She could have melted into a puddle on the floor.

“I know I should not, but…” Without another word, Samara tilted Miranda’s head down, and pressed a tender, savouring kiss to her forehead. Miranda’s palm shook against her desk. She was trembling like a leaf. When she parted from her, Samara let her head rest against Miranda’s, cradling her jaw. “...I am sorry, but that is all I have wanted to do ever since I learned you were alive.”

Miranda’s heart wasn’t just pounding. It was screaming.

Somehow, she just knew, if she dared to utter a single sound, she wouldn’t be able to keep from shouting the truth at the top of her voice. The desire to say those five pivotal words seeped from every pore. She was bursting at the seams. 

“No, I should not have done that.” Samara shook her head, taking a step back. It was only then that Miranda realised she hadn’t taken a single breath in the last minute, and sharply gasped for air. “I have been selfish. Allowed myself to…” Samara stopped herself, as if suddenly coming to her senses. “Forgive me, Miranda. I have said all I needed to say. I should--”

The instant she turned to leave, Miranda’s hand shot out and seized Samara by her wrist, grabbing her as tightly as she’d ever held onto anything in her life.

“Don’t you dare walk away,” Miranda growled. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

Samara hesitated, caught off guard. “...I thought you did not want me here.”

“Why would I not want you here?!” Miranda shot back, her tension built to breaking point. She felt like she was going insane, trying to find her balance on shifting sands. Nothing made sense anymore. For all Samara’s honesty, she still didn’t understand what the hell was going on.

“Because I abandoned you,” Samara answered. That had been the whole reason for her confession. Her apology. “Because I hurt you. Because you hate me.”

“Hate you? Samara, you idiot, I’m in love with you!” the words tore themselves from Miranda’s chest before she could stop them. Samara froze. Miranda released her tight grip on Samara’s wrist. Her hand flew to her mouth in horror as she realised what she’d said. But it was too late to stuff that confession back in.

God damn it. She’d really just said that out loud, hadn’t she?

“Fuck…” Miranda cursed under her breath, realising there was no going back. It was out there now. She had to confront it. “I’ve never...you’re the only person who’s ever made me feel this way. It’s like a kind of madness.” She wasn’t sure what to say, or whether it was even a good idea to keep talking. But she had to. Now that she’d said it, she had to. “That was why I asked you to leave me alone before. Not because I hate you, but because...I feel the exact opposite.”

Miranda pressed her hand to her forehead, fighting off the incessant pain in her skull. The insomnia that made it so hard to think. To put these complicated feelings into words. She was so not in the right frame of mind to have this conversation.

Yet here they were.

“I’m pretty sure I have for a long time, actually. I was just too bloody stupid to figure it out any earlier. But...” In place of adding anything further, Miranda simply gestured, leaving her feelings out there, in the open, for Samara to do with as she wished. It was a horrible position to be in. She hated every second of it.

“...No,” was the first thing Samara said. Her voice sounded so distant. And it was tinged almost with a sense of...dread. “No. You do not. You should not.”

“I know I shouldn’t, but I do. I do. I think about you all the time. And I don’t...I don’t know what to do about it,” Miranda admitted, shrugging her shoulder. 

“No,” Samara repeated herself, more insistently. Her suddenness startled Miranda a little. “You...you are mistaken.”

“I’m not,” Miranda reflexively answered back. She couldn’t help but get defensive, hearing Samara tell her she was wrong about her own feelings, when she knew painfully well she wasn’t. “I tried to convince myself that I was, but--”

“You do not know what love is. And you do not know who I am,” Samara coldly shut her down, refusing to hear this. “If you did, you would know there is nothing about me that is worthy of you.”

“Fucking hell, Samara…” Miranda ran her hand through her hair. This was not how she would have planned this to go. For one thing, she never anticipated she would have to contend with Samara being in staunch denial about her dramatic love confession. But then she paused, as the final part of Samara’s sentence gradually registered in her tired mind. “...I’m sorry. What did you just say?”

“You…” Samara swallowed heavily, realising she had perhaps revealed more than she ought. Maybe because she thought her own feelings had already been blatantly obvious, and it hadn’t occurred to her to think Miranda wouldn’t have realised them by now. But she didn’t take it back. “No, I cannot do this.”

Samara moved for the door as if to leave. In response, Miranda extended her hand, biotically lifting Samara six inches off the ground, holding her in place.

“No,” Miranda sternly commanded her, not letting her run off and hide again. She was getting pretty bloody sick of that. “We’re talking.”

Samara could have overpowered her easily if she wanted to. Miranda was no match for her biotic prowess, especially not in her current state. She could have broken out of this grip with little more than a shadow of a thought. They both knew that. But she didn’t fight. She didn’t resist.

After a moment, Samara just gave her a nod, as if to confirm she would stay. Miranda let go. Samara’s feet hit the floor. She didn’t so much as stumble.

“You were saying,” Miranda prompted, losing patience for her evasiveness.

“...You heard what I said. It is as it seems,” was all Samara could bring herself to say, not denying Miranda’s suspicions. She would not lie to her.

“Do you feel the same way about me?” Miranda asked, forcing her to acknowledge it out loud. To put it into words. There was no room for misunderstanding here.

“That is not the point,” Samara responded, tersely.

Miranda sighed heavily, intuiting what she meant. “Of course. You’re a Justicar,” she said. It didn’t matter what Samara felt about her, if The Code forbade it.

Samara’s eyes narrowed in confusion. “I...am uncertain what you mean by this.”

Miranda’s expression mirrored Samara’s, equally bewildered. “Doesn’t the Justicar Code forbid...?” Miranda didn't finish that sentence, simply glancing down at the space between them, choosing to be deft in her words. Using any specific term that entered her mind might be perceived as demanding or presuming too much, or too little, and she wouldn’t risk that. 

Samara stared at her, the open-ended meaning not lost in the silence. It was obvious from looking at her expression that she wished her status as a Justicar permitted her to speak falsely. That would have made things so much easier. “...It does not,” she replied to Miranda's myriad unspoken questions, and the words running through her mind. It was the same answer for all of them.

At that, relief dared to trickle through Miranda’s skin. 

“That was never the problem,” Samara continued, not allowing Miranda to think that information changed anything. It didn’t.

“Then what is?” Miranda replied. “There’s obviously a connection between us. We both feel it. And if your Code says there’s nothing wrong with that, then--”

“Because I deserve to be alone!” Samara professed. “That is my penance.”

Miranda recoiled. It actually, physically hurt to hear that. “How can you say that?”

“Miranda, listen to me,” Samara implored her, holding her focus. “You are a remarkable woman. You are brilliant and exceptional, in every respect--”

“So are you,” said Miranda.

“No, you are not listening.” Samara raised her hands, determined to continue. “You are so young. You still have so much life ahead of you. So much potential. When others see you, as I have seen you, the entire galaxy will fall at your feet. As it should. You have nothing to gain from me. I am...I am regret, and ruin,” Samara told her, a faint glint of unshed tears in her eyes. “If you truly saw me for what I am, you would know there is only death and misery for you here.”

“I do know you, Samara,” Miranda spoke quietly. “I know that, despite all the tragedy you’ve endured that would break a lesser person, you somehow still manage to wake up each day and choose to be warm, and kind, and good--”

“I am none of those things,” Samara assured her.

“You are to me,” Miranda persisted, undeterred. “I know you are, because you found me when I was at my most jaded, my most cynical, my most closed off--”

“Miranda, no.” Samara shook her head, pleading with her not to feel this way.

“And, instead of rejecting me, you...you reached out to me,” Miranda continued, talking right through any interruption, or resistance. Because this needed to be said. “You made me smile more than anyone has ever made me smile. You showed me that...that opening up to someone you trust and letting yourself be vulnerable around them isn’t a weakness, but that it takes bravery and strength.”

“Please stop this,” Samara begged her, her voice a whisper.

But Miranda didn’t stop. “You single-handedly made me a better person than I was before I met you.” There was no denying that. Without Samara, she wouldn’t have learned from her past mistakes. She would have kept perpetuating the same cycles, and never stopped to reflect on her preconceived notions about what mattered to her, and what made her happy. “So, if you’re unworthy of love, then what does that make me? Because, from where I’m standing...Samara, there aren’t enough superlatives to describe you.”

“Enough!” Samara swept her hand across her body, signalling for this to cease.

But Miranda wouldn’t.

“No.” Miranda pressed forward. She was pouring her heart out. She’d never done this before, because she’d never felt this way about anyone. And, now that she’d started, she couldn’t stop. “Don’t you get what I’m saying? You’re it. You’re it for me. I will never feel the way about anyone else that I feel about you, and I know because I’ve tried, and those efforts failed so hard I didn’t even think the ability to fall in love with someone existed in me, until I met you. You’re not just beyond comparison to everyone else. God, you’re...you’re fucking transcendent.”

“Do not...say these things!” Samara cut her off, her voice so loud and forceful that there was no doubt it bellowed through the whole apartment. Miranda had never heard her raise her voice before, let alone like that. “You know not of what you speak. You love a shadow. Nothing more.”

Miranda’s gaze narrowed. “What is it you think I don’t know, Samara?” she challenged, determined to prove herself. “I know more than you think.”

“I killed the last person I loved!” Samara shot back, refusing to subject herself to that indescribable agony a second time. She would never let that happen again.

“No, you didn’t, Samara. She killed herself,” Miranda curtly replied.

“You know nothing of it!” Samara insisted through her teeth.

“I know everything,” Miranda interrupted, unshaken by what Samara thought were secrets. They weren’t. “I know every little fucked up detail you didn’t want me to know. I know you tried to kill yourself too, and the only reason you failed is that your neighbour found you. I know you blame yourself for Mirala becoming Morinth because you think whatever you said to her the night before her test scared her into running away and melding with her best friend to prove she wasn’t an Ardat-Yakshi. I know the police blamed you and wanted to charge you with something, anything, and that you broke down during your interrogation and told them you blamed yourself for everything too. I know the whole world turned against you for something that wasn’t your fault. I know it all.”

Miranda’s response thrust Samara into stunned silence. Miranda had the decency to look contrite, already seeing the fire of betrayal in steely blue eyes. Exactly like she expected. Exactly why this admission had been so easy to put off.

“There’s nothing about you that’s a mystery to me,” Miranda continued, quieter than before. “I looked into your past when we were aboard the SR-2. I’m surprised you didn’t already assume I did. I mean, this is me we’re talking about.”

As that slowly sank in, Samara stepped away and shook her head. “I am disappointed in you, Miranda. Yet I suppose you are correct; I cannot claim this was a shock,” said Samara, in a tone Miranda had never heard before. “After all, you have at all times been nothing if not transparent about your duplicity.”

Miranda’s eye darkened. That hurt.

“Fuck you, Samara. You don’t get to turn this around on me right now. In case you haven’t noticed, between the two of us, I’m not the one lying.”

“Yes, how very dare I be hurt by your treachery,” Samara countered, looking her in the eye once more, her words laced with biting sarcasm. “I should know better than to criticise you, or confront you with consequences for your actions. After all, you are Miranda Lawson. You can do nothing wrong.”

“I’ll apologise as much as you want later. But that’s not what this conversation is about. So don’t change the subject,” Miranda snapped. 

“What more is there to say?” said Samara, her arms folded across her chest, unwilling to discuss it further. This hadn’t helped. “You know my answer.”

“There is so much more to say, because you’re pulling away and I don’t even know why. To punish yourself for some imaginary sins? Is that it? Look…” Miranda crossed the distance between them, reaching out and gently clasping Samara's hand, guiding it to rest upon her chest, where she could feel her heartbeat. “Whatever this is, I...I want this,” Miranda assured her. “Do you?”

Samara withdrew, resisting the temptation. “What I want is irrelevant.”

“Why is it irrelevant?” Miranda pursued her. “You’re a person, Samara. An incredible one, but still just a person, with feelings, and wants, and needs. You've spent four hundred years being selfless, to a greater degree than your Code required you to be. You don’t have to do that. You’re allowed to feel things. To want things. To need things. You’re allowed to...to move on with your life.”

“Move on?” Samara echoed incredulously. She turned her body away, refusing to look at her, visibly caught up in a tempestuous tumult of conflicting emotions.

Hurt.

Anger.

Grief.

“If you knew me half as well as you claim to, you would understand what an insult it is to me that you would tell me such a thing,” said Samara, shaking her head in contempt and disbelief. “‘Move on with my life’. The audacity...”

“I'm not saying that to get something from you. Genuinely, I'm not. You don't have to...” This wasn’t working, was it? “What I’m trying to say is that, whatever this is between us, this doesn’t have to go the way I want it to. I’m not even sure what that is, or what that would mean. I was so convinced this could never happen. But don't you deserve a bit of happiness?” she asked, trying to catch Samara’s eyes, though she was intent on avoiding her. “If I bring that to you, then—“

Before she could finish, Samara exhaled heavily and stepped closer, until the space between them virtually evaporated. Miranda trembled as she stumbled backwards on instinct, until she could go no further, and hit the wall near the door.

“Do not speak of happiness.” Samara pinned Miranda in place without exerting any force whatsoever. Without touching her. Whatever Miranda had intended to say before swiftly fled her mind. “My happiness died centuries ago. And I promised myself -- I promised myself, I would never...never betray that.”

Miranda moved to protest, but stopped abruptly when it became apparent Samara wasn’t really talking to her, but rather that she was arguing with herself.

“But, I...you were not...you were not part of that plan. I did not foresee how much I would...how much I would come to...” As her dilemma tore at her soul, Samara grimaced and braced herself on the wall, as if in physical pain. “I do not know what to do. I know I do not deserve this, but...perhaps we can, without...”

“Yes,” Miranda all but whimpered. Whatever she meant, her answer was yes.

She wanted this. So bad. Even if it might have been a terrible mistake. Even if it might have ruined everything they already had. At that moment, she didn't care.

Miranda wanted to kiss her. To sink her teeth into her neck, and tear her armour off. Her body was screaming at her to do those things, desperate to touch her, and powerless to resist if this was what Samara chose. But, in what little part of her brain could still think, she knew she had to let Samara take the initiative for whatever happened next. If she didn’t, she would push her away forever.

They probably only stood like that for a few seconds, but time moved so slowly it felt like minutes. Miranda could see the cogs spinning in Samara’s head. The conflict. The indecision. Temptation. Torn between resistance and surrender.

Samara’s fingers brushed her bare arm. She’d leaned so close Miranda felt her breath against her lips. Then, blue eyes went black. And Miranda felt the magnetic sensations she recognised as a meld beneath Samara’s fingertips. 

In an instant, everything changed.

A wave of sheer, uncompromising despair crashed over Miranda, plunging her into the deepest, darkest, blackest abyss she had ever known. It felt as if her very soul had been ripped from her body and murdered in front of her, leaving behind only a hollow, empty shell. Any memory of happiness or joy was stripped from her mind, and shattered into a million pieces at her feet.

She had never felt more devastatingly, crushingly alone.

Bereft of hope.

And, although it had come over her as suddenly as the blink of an eye, it felt like she had never known anything else.

Abruptly, Samara glowed blue, her biotics repelling Miranda, like a barrier between them, pressing her back against the wall. The meld ended only a fraction of a second after it began, leaving both of them visibly shaken. The moment they separated, Miranda's hand flew to her lips, trembling as tears spilled from her eye, coursing down the unscarred side of her face, beyond her control.

Samara staggered backwards, as if she had seen a ghost. “No, I...I cannot.”

“No, don't...” Miranda could hardly speak, overcome by a grief that she could not name. She shook her head. What was happening? She never cried, unless her sister was involved. But this sorrow. It had lasted only a fleeting moment, but it was intense and crushing and it dwarfed any sadness she had ever felt. So much so that it hurt just to breathe. Just to be alive. “I'm sorry, I don't...I'm not...I'm not normally like this. I don't know why this is happening.”

“Because it came from me,” Samara answered, her lips scarcely moving.

“...What did you say?” Miranda lifted her head, staring at Samara, shellshocked. But she hadn’t misheard. Whatever she was feeling, these weren’t her own emotions. In that brief instant that they had started to meld, Samara had inadvertently transferred whatever she was currently feeling onto her. 

“I did not mean for this to happen. I am so sorry. I...I thought I could contain myself. My boundaries. I never wanted you to experience this...” Samara whispered until her words trailed off into silence, confirming it to be true.

That realisation struck Miranda to her core, that agony still permeating her being.

“...Is this how you feel about me?” Miranda asked, a deep, dull ache pooling like lead at the base of her heart at the very thought - that this was how miserable she had made her by putting her in this position. Samara didn’t respond, neither confirming nor denying it. “Is this how you feel all the time?”

“It does not matter. This cannot happen,” Samara stated, her voice hollow.

“Samara.” Miranda reached out for her, but Samara raised her hand, signalling for her not to come closer, convinced this had been a terrible mistake.

“In another time, or another life, this would have been...” Samara didn't finish that thought, shaking her head. “I cannot contemplate this. I must not.”

“So, what? You’re just going to run off again?!” Miranda’s shout was enough to momentarily stop Samara in her tracks. Her throat was strangled with emotions that weren’t entirely her own. But some of them sure were. “Tell me, Samara, when did the strongest woman I’ve ever met turn into such a pathetic coward?”

“This is what I have always been!” Samara hissed in response, despising herself for this horrible misdeed. There was no hint of the stoic, composed, restrained person Miranda previously knew. “I have always been a coward. A fraud. A monster. A mistake. A worthless, selfish waste! I have the blood of over a thousand murders on my hands! I am nothing! I should not even be here!”

“Then why don’t you just fucking go!” Miranda shot back, lashing out in pain.

Samara took her at her word, looking at her one last time before she stormed out. Miranda heard the front door slam. The instant it did, Miranda slid down the wall, tears spilling from her eye, the weight of what just happened combining with Samara’s despair, still coursing through her body.

She felt so cold. Like everything right, or good, or light was just...absent.

There was only shadow.

Only grief.

A shaky exhale escaped her lips. What had she done? This was exactly what she’d been afraid of. She’d told Samara the truth, and pushed her away forever. They would probably never speak again. Not after this.

She didn’t even realise that the door to her room was still open until a few heads peeked around the corner to see her. Obviously, they’d been roused by raised voices, and the door slamming. The walls weren’t that thick. They probably hadn’t heard everything. But they would have heard enough.

“Are you okay, Miss?” Reiley asked, visibly concerned.

Miranda wiped her eye and picked herself up to her feet, refusing to let herself look vulnerable in front of them. Even though it was too late for that. “I’m fine,” she said through gritted teeth, taking her eyepatch off the desk and putting it on.

“You don’t look fine,” Jason pointed out as Miranda limped her way past them.

“Samara left in a hurry. And we heard fighting,” Rodriguez noted, not really sure how to approach this. “...Did you fuck things up between you?” she asked, in what sounded like an effort to be understanding and comforting. It wasn’t. Jason chastised her insensitivity with a light slap to the back of her head. “What? It’s fucking obvious they just had a fight…”

Miranda ignored them, grabbing her things, pulling on her jacket and scarf.

“What are you doing?” said Jason, shaking his head at her. For a second, it almost sounded like he was the responsible adult in the house. “Where are you going?”

“Out,” Miranda answered stonily.

“It’s 1:00am,” Jason pointed out, as if convincing her to see reason.

“I don’t care.” Miranda slipped on her shoes, and took hold of her cane. She couldn’t stay there. Couldn’t lie there and think about this. Couldn’t feel this.

“Are you coming back?” said Reiley, confused.

Miranda was tempted to lash out at them and say no out of sheer bitterness and spite, but she couldn't. Unlike Samara, she didn't run from her problems.

“...I'll see you in the morning,” she said, before she closed the door and left. None of them knew it then, but they would not, in fact, see her in the morning.

And, when they did see her again, they would wish they hadn’t.

So would Miranda.

*     *     *

[iristhemessenger]

Just for a moment, dance with me?

My very first Wayhaven fic, in the spirit of sharing more F content! <3

Pairing: Felix Hauville/f.Detective (Eris Evergreen)

Summary: Eris' life has been anything but simple these days, her thoughts heavy with the safety of her town and the bloodthirsty monster who threatens them all. She just needs a moment, one blissful moment to take her mind off of it all and Felix may be just the person to help her out. After all, how can she say 'no' to that charming smile?

The song "Cheerleader" of course belongs to Omi, and is a personal favorite for those days when you just feel like dancing to something with a little bop. ^-^

                                                             ~ * ~

“When I need motivation

My one solution is my queen

'Cause she stay strong (yeah yeah)

She is always in my corner

Right there when I want her

All these other girls are tempting

But I'm empty when you're gone

And they say

Do you need me?

Do you think I'm pretty?

Do I make you feel like cheating?

And I'm like no, not really 'cause

Oh I think that I found myself a cheerleader

She is always right there when I need her”

For such a small town where barely anything happens, Eris will never understand how she still manages to find a towering stack of paperwork and reports on her desk nearly every morning, demanding her attention as she eyes the pile wearily. It has been a quiet day, all things considered, giving her more than ample time to make a good dent in said paperwork.

Most of them are small things, little complaints lodged by bickering neighbors or elder members of the community expressing their displeasure with the local youth who wander the streets, playing their music too loud or generally just standing around and being a nuisance.

She is not sure how many times she’s had to explain to Mrs. Henderson, one of Wayhaven’s regular complainants, that young Micky Roads and his small group of friends were not part of some drug-peddling gang, merely enthusiastic beat-boxers who preferred to share their music with the rest of the town than in the confines of his mother's basement.

Still, she should be thankful that such petty grievances are her only worries these days. What with Murphy running around still free, a part of her had been anxiously waiting for the phone at the station to ring yet again, signalling another death at the crazed vampire’s hands. Yet another life she had failed to protect, just like Garret Hayes.

She knows there's nothing she could have done in the grand scheme of things, but that only alleviated her guilt by a small margin. She was supposed to protect the innocent, supposed to be someone they could turn to in their time of fear and need but this...with Murphy, her blood, her mother, Unit Bravo and the Agency. It was all too much, and so out of her realm of control and understanding.

How was she supposed to prepare her town, her people, for such chaos without causing wide-spread panic among the residents of Wayhaven. If they even believed her at all, that was.

She wouldn’t blame them if they called her batty, no pun intended, this wasn’t exactly the kind of thing she expected to be dealing with when she took on the title of detective for the town. The police academy didn’t exactly train one for handling bloodthirsty, serial killing supernaturals.

She was tempted to write them a letter, to correct that particular oversight.

Not that it would do much good, she knew her mother would only destroy any such evidence against the Agency through her, she was guessing at this point, numerous contacts in order to maintain the secrecy of their shadow agency and dealings with the supernatural.

“Good morning, detective!” A familiar, jovial voice calls out, breaking the silence and her own morose thoughts.

Looking up from her desk, Eris can't help the smile that almost involuntary spreads across her face upon seeing her guest. It’s nothing compared to the dazzling smile that greets her in return as Felix saunters into her office. Eyes so intent on her she fidgets in her chair a little, unused to such undivided attention.

“It’s my turn to escort you home this fine evening.” He explains, giving her a once over that has goosebumps prickling over her skin under his appreciative gaze. “Though, admittedly, you are much finer.”

“Oh?” She raises an eyebrow, confused. “Not that I am complaining, but I thought it was Mason’s turn to take me home tonight?”

It had become the new norm at this point, the members of Unit Bravo taking turns escorting or babysitting her throughout the day while the others patrolled the town and surrounding area for Murphy.

She had already spent a delightful morning with Adam.

Sarcasm heavy on the 'delightful' as the leader of the vampiric agents had made no attempt to hide his annoyance when she'd insisted on a small outing from the station to Haley's bakery, for her regular morning caramel macchiato and blueberry scone. Citing the venture as 'inadvisable' and 'ridiculously foolhardy' when the station already had a (semi) working coffee machine in the break room.

The fact that it made coffee that looked and tasted like tar was, of course, of no concern to him.

Seeing Felix after an entire morning of that, and a few more mysteriously dented filing cabinets and a now unusable soap dispenser in the men's room, was honestly a breath of fresh air.

Nothing against Mason, who she suspected was finally beginning to warm up to her (he’d even begun to put out his cigarettes during their car rides back to her home, knowing how much she disliked the smell) but she found that she enjoyed spending time with Felix.

The younger vampire’s mere presence seemed to set her at ease, in a way she couldn’t quite explain. Whether it was his constant string of jokes, as strange as they could be sometimes, or his boundless optimism, whatever it was she sorely needed that right now.

“Ah, well…” He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, unwilling to admit that Mason had only agreed to switch their shifts because he had all but begged the older vampire until he’d grown fed up with his nagging. “Adam decided to take him out to patrol the warehouse district again for signs of Murphy or a potential hideout. So, you get me for the afternoon instead, if that's ok by you?”

There's a slight hint of uncertainty at the end of his usually confident southern drawl, one he hopes she doesn't catch into.

"Of course it is!" She nods, and he is happy to see her smile, genuine and honest, still in place. Not to mention he'd noted the slight jump in her pulse and heartbeat when he’d announced himself earlier, making his own grin widen. "I always enjoy your company."

"Careful detective, keep buttering me up with sweet words and I'll never want to leave you alone." He teases, with a wink for good measure.

"Oh, heavens forbid." She teases back without missing a beat, shuffling some papers on her desk. "How would I ever manage?"

Felix is practically beaming now down at her, basking in their easy banter. He enjoys these stolen moments with the detective, who was infinitely more fun than patrol duty. Even if at some point he knew they would eventually have to part ways, he would take what he could get. He wanted to savor the time with Eris while he could, and if she were amenable to his flirting and interest, even after discovering their true nature, then he sure as hell wasn’t going to turn her away.

“I’m almost done with these reports” She sighs, “just waiting on some paperwork from Tina and we’ll be good to go if that sounds ok?”

He watches her as she stretches her arms high above her head, in an attempt to ease the stiffness that has made its way through her body. Her back arches in the chair, chest lifting forward, revealing every soft, and ample curve beneath her light blue t-shirt. The young vampire licks his top lip.

“More than ok, excellent even.”

His voice is smoother than silk when he answers, and she swears something breaks within her at the sound of it, leaving her flustered as she catches his eye. She clears her throat, sinking back into her chair.

"Alright then, good...that's...good."

Without another word, but his usual, cocky grin now firmly plastered on his face at a job well done, the agent makes himself comfortable. Draping his body across what has now become his usual chair in her office, feet in the air he crosses his arms across his chest and settles in.

As uncomfortable as the chair itself was, as he often complained, for some reason he continued to stake his claim, flopping into that particular chair every chance he got.

The fact that it was close to her desk, giving them both a clear view of the other, was a nice side benefit to be sure.

It's not long before the quiet she'd found herself in before returns, as Felix does his best not to disturb her. She appreciates his effort, though she can tell it is a trying endeavor as she catches his feet twitching.

In an attempt to alleviate his boredom, she turns on her radio. It's already tuned in to her favorite station, and soon the office is filled with music and she can't help but smile softly as a pleased grin spreads across the vampire's shapely mouth.

Felix, for his part, is grateful to find the station plays modern, up to date songs. Not that he didn’t like the music Nate often played, per say, but it did lack a certain energy to it that Felix craved.

Keeping a not-so-subtle eye on the detective, he is happy to see she seems to be of the same mindset. While looking over a few documents, she unconsciously begins to bob her head to the catchy, upbeat rhythm of a song Felix knows well.

To his extreme delight, he even sees her begin to follow the words, perfectly lip-syncing every lyric as she continues to follow the beat.

He watches her lips as they move, soft, pink, a little chapped and bare of any lipstick or gloss. Aside from the barest hint of eyeliner and complimentary eye shadow, he notes she doesn’t wear much make-up. Preferring a more natural look, which suits her well he thinks.

Felix soaks it all in, this moment with her. Unguarded, relaxed, being here with Eris. It felt, so natural and right. He’d never felt like this before with another person, aside from his teammates. He wants to keep it, keep her, but he does his best from getting too excited, just in case.

She’s been very receptive to his flirting, albeit a tad shy which he found adorable, allowing him to savour the growing attraction between them. But, he couldn't help but wonder. What about something…more?

He’s brought out of his own thoughts when her eyes, dark blue like sapphires, catch his. She instantly straightens, brushing a strand of long, black hair behind her ear and clears her throat.

“I, uh, I really like this song...” She admits biting her bottom lip, embarrassed at having been caught.

Felix only smiles, loving the soft blush that blossoms over her fair skin as her pulse quickens.

“You have excellent taste,” His eyes sparkle impishly. “This is one of my favorites too! I wonder what else we have in common, we should definitely take the time to find out...”

He practically purrs the last part, and she can’t help but laugh nervously at how easily he manages to fluster her.

“Back in college I used to be a member of this dance team, and this song was a part of one of our regular routines...” She confesses, voice trailing off as she realizes what she's just said.

Gods, why was she telling him this?! It wasn’t something she advertised, exactly. Though, there had been the occasional incident where Verda or Tina had walked in on her jamming out in her office in an attempt to blow off steam after a particularly nasty meeting with the mayor or a run-in with Bobby.

To her surprise, instead of laughing at her like she expected, Felix jumps out of his chair so suddenly she barely sees him before he is leaning excitedly over her desk. His face is so close to her own, she nearly falls backwards, chair and all at the sudden proximity.

“Show me?!” His excitement is hard to deny, and she finds herself smiling at his enthusiasm.

“S-show you? Like, now, here in the office?” She repeats, receiving a vigorous nod in return.

“Yeah, it’ll be much more fun than just waiting around for those reports. Besides, you can’t not show me after letting that juicy bit of information slip just now.”

He can’t be serious, she thinks, but looking into those earnest eyes, so open and honest, she knows there’s no way he isn’t. They’ve spent enough time together at this point for her to get a sense of the young vampire’s exuberant nature, and, lacking anything else of immense interest to distract him, she knows there’s no getting out of this without refusing him flat out.

The very notion of telling him ‘no’ and potentially losing that bright smile of his doesn’t exactly sit well with her either, for reasons she doesn’t care to dwell on. So, sighing dramatically, she reluctantly gets out of her chair.

“Ok, ok…it’s been awhile so bear with me.” She says, moving to the middle of the room.

Shaking her arms and legs a bit, Eris takes a few steadying breathes in an attempt to quell her nerves. A difficult task considering she is now the focus of Felix’s attention, those amber eyes of his trained solely on her.

She has to think on it a bit, moving her feet and arms in various motions and poses before the movements become familiar again and, smiling like a fool, she is able to recall the entire routine from muscle memory until she is gliding and bopping across the floor of her office like she used to during her college days.

For a single, blissful moment, she forgets where she is. Caught in the nostalgia of her memories and the music.

Simpler, happier times when the world made sense. Before everything turned upside down, before poor Janet and Garret's deaths. Before her mother and Unit Bravo came crashing into her town, and life. Before she found herself being hunted down by a psychopathic vampire for a mutation within her blood she never knew she had before a few days ago.

Just dancing, in the quad with her former classmates and friends. Laughing, letting all their worries melt away as they practiced their routines. Improvising along the way, goofing off and having a good time despite the pressures of upcoming exams and troublesome boyfriends or girlfriends.

Felix watches her the entire time, absorbing the routine with such an immersed focus she can’t help but feel the heat creeping up along her neck to the tips of her ears. Especially when his eyes seem to stray to her swaying hips, his interest blatant and intense.

Swallowing hard, she comes to an abrupt stop and laughs awkwardly. Staring at the floor, with it’s uninteresting color palette. “Welp, yeah…that’s it!"

I’ll just go die of embarrassment now , she groans internally as she turns back to her desk.

“No, wait!” He stops her, reaching out to catch her by her arm. She shivers. The touch of his hand on her bare skin sends a pleasant warmth throughout her body, traveling all the way down to her toes. It's not dissimilar to the same feeling she'd experienced the day they'd gone to Kate's, when he'd ventured to touch her before getting back into her poor, beat up hatchback.

He feels it too, staring down at where his hand grasps her forearm. His smile softens, and he takes the moment to brush his thumb along her skin. As if relishing the touch and the sensations it gives them both, and she relaxes into the touch. “I really liked it, your dance. I think I got the moves down, let me try it with you, please?”

She only hesitates a moment as she considers, before nodding. He releases her, though he appears reluctant to do so. To her own surprise, she also feels a pang of regret at the loss of contact.

Grabbing her phone from her desk, she opens up her playlists on her music app. It doesn't take her long to find the song she's looking for, despite the numerous playlists she has collected over the years.

Music had always been therapeutic for her, a means of escaping or dealing with the world in the absence of her mother. Dancing was an extension of that, a fun hobby that had helped her work off stress and gain a few friends along the way.

And now, here in her office, during what had to be the most chaotic time of her life, she was able to share it with Felix. Grinning at the thought, she positions her phone upright before pressing play. The same song from the radio begins anew, and she returns to her position in the center of the room.

This time, Felix happily sidles up next to her, so eager she can practically feel him vibrating with barely contained excitement. She’s never met anyone with so much raw energy before, and she’s sure not even Tina could match him in sheer vivacity.

As they begin the routine, Eris can't help but think he would have made an excellent addition to her former dance team. In more ways than one, she decides after they run through the steps a few times. He's a quick learner, following her lead, and perfectly imitating every movement..

Surprisingly, it’s not long before they fall into an easy groove. Their timing, uncertain and new at first, quickly becomes almost second nature by the time they all but perfect the routine and soon they find themselves laughing and smiling as they lose themselves to the rhythm. Felix is a natural performer, his movements graceful yet laced with his usual cheer and vibrance, as they dance to the hip-hop tempo of the song.

“She walks like a model

She grants my wishes like a genie in a bottle (yeah yeah)

'Cause I'm the wizard of love

And I got the magic wand

All these other girls are tempting

But I'm empty when you're gone

And they say

Do you need me?

Do you think I'm pretty?

Do I make you feel like cheating?

And I'm like no, not really 'cause

Oh I think that I found myself a cheerleader

She is always right there when I need her”

Eris can only imagine how they would look to the rest of the station, if Tina or Verda, or god-forbid Douglas, walked in on them at that moment. There would be no end to the heckling she’d endure, that was for sure but for now it didn’t matter. They were carefree and safe behind these four walls, away from the troubles that haunted her outside of the sanctuary of her office.

The song eventually ends, but her playlist goes on, queuing up the next song in her library. It's another dance hit, one she recalls often being played in the local bars and dance halls that she and her friends would frequent. Dancing long into the night, until they were a merry band of sweaty limbs and clothes, high off the adrenaline and fruity cocktails plied by the bartenders and eager would-be paramours.

“Ah, hell yeah!” Felix laughs, “this is another good one! Your playlist is fire, detective.”

Without pause, they throw themselves into the new song, adding their own unique bit of flair here and there as they dance.

“Any cool routines go with this one?”

She shakes her head as she shimmies and rolls her hips playfully around the vampire, who watches her closely. “Nope! Completely freestyle, think you can handle that?”

“Oh, I can more than handle…” He promises, rolling his lips suggestively. He beckons her, wagging his finger in a come-hither gesture. “Show me what you got, detective?”

She laughs, mirth bubbling over.

For the first time since all of this mess started she feels light, her natural endorphins kicking in and setting her at ease.

When the moment presents itself, Felix takes the opportunity to take her by the hand. Twirling her here and there, bringing her closer as her back falls against his chest before whipping her away once again. He's quick on his feet, and thanks to her years of experience, dancing with numerous partners Eris finds herself able to match and meet his pace with little trouble as the two moved in tandem.

Soon enough, they find themselves swaying together. It’s the closest she’s ever been, physically, to the younger agent by themselves. A fact that Felix seems to pick up on as well, though he feels very little inclination to resume any distance between them. If anything, he takes advantage of the moment, eyes eagerly seeking her’s as he dares to rest his hand on her waist.

The touch sends an instant jolt up her spine, but she doesn't push him away. Instead, she melts into him, meeting his gaze and welcoming the heat that has been building between them.

She’ll never get over how beautiful his eyes are. Like gemstones, sparkling gold and striking. She could lose herself in them forever. It’s amazing how easily they fall into each other, as if they’d been dancing together for years.

“This kind of music and dancing is definitely more my speed, not like the fancy ballroom dancing Nate likes. Though, he is really good at it.” Felix breaks the tension, laughing lightly. “He did teach me a few fun moves too.”

She barely hears him, but smiles and nods anyways. The blood pumps loudly in her ears, heart racing as she feels the sweat begin to drip down her temple. It’s been awhile since she went this hard. Usually, even her most energetic dance sessions were within the safe confines of her apartment. Felix, frustratingly, looks unperturbed by all their physical exertion. Yet another vampire perk, she guessed.

"Here comes the dip!" He announces suddenly, leaving her only a fraction of a second to react as he suddenly drops her downward.

Her arms reach out, instinctively wrapping around his neck to keep from falling. He may not have the sheer muscle mass or height of his companions, but Eris can feel the strength in Felix's arms and neck as he holds her tightly. He’s slender, but solid.

"Don't worry, I got you!" He laughs, lilting voice taking on a huskier tone as he speaks. "I won't let you go, unless you want me to…though, that may be a bit difficult. I kind of like holding you like this.”

Eris feels her heart skip a few beats as she processes his words. Chest rising and falling as she attempts to catch her breath, the heat that had momentarily been abandoned returning full force, crackling in the sparse space left between them.

Charged and tempting, like a favorite candy left unsupervised on the table. All one had to do was give in, indulge in that first, sweet taste...

“Well, you two seem to be having fun.”

Startled, Eris looks up to see Verda standing in the doorway of her office. There is no mistaking the twinkle in his eye, or the amused twitch to the corner of his mouth and suddenly Eris feels the need to bury herself in a deep, deep hole. Beside him, or more like towering behind him, is an all too familiar, and exceptionally handsome face.

“Felix, this is hardly what I’d call escorting Eris home.” Nate sighs. Despite his soft rebuke, she can still see a small, indulgent smile on the man’s face.

“Oops, sorry Natey!” Felix laughs, quickly helping her back to her feet. “We were just having a bit of fun. Right?"

He shifts his gaze back to her, eyes bright, still filled with the vigor of their dancing and the sizzling remnants of their lost moment.

"Sorry, Nate it's my fault." Eris tries to apologize, smoothing the wrinkles from her shirt. It was more a joint effort, if she was being honest, but she was also the one who gave into Felix's request in the first place. So, she felt somewhat responsible for their delay.

It felt silly, like being caught by a parent with a cookie from the cookie jar before dinner. Not that she would know what that was like.

"I'd be inclined to believe that, Eris. However, Felix has a much longer track record than you when it comes to belying his duties." He says, casting a knowing look at said agent.

Felix only smiles with a shrug, looking perfectly unapologetic.

She chuckles, patting him on the shoulder. "Welp, I tried. Never let it be said I didn’t try to defend your good name.”

“Detective!” Placing a hand to his chest, Felix sighs dreamily. “My personal knight in shining armor. You sure know how to make a guy feel special.”

"I just came to deliver these for you, from Tina." Verda chimes in, passing the manilla envelopes to the still-grinning Eris.

"And where did Tina get off too?''

Now, his smile vanishes, "she left work a little early so she could try and catch Kate at the dental office, drive her home...poor woman has been on autopilot since her son's passing…"

A somber silence falls over the room, the reality of death reclaiming the once vibrant and merry atmosphere. It's almost suffocating.

Nate clears his throat, thankfully breaking the sudden quiet that blankets them all.

"Well, let's be off then before Adam comes looking for us both." Eris cringes, she can only imagine the stiff lecture that would follow if that ended up happening.

"Let me file these away, then I'll grab my coat and meet you two out front?"

"Sounds good." Nate agrees with a soft smile, warm brown eyes alight in good cheer.

After Felix, Nate is another member of Unit Bravo who sets Eris at ease. The man exuded a natural warmth and openness that was hard to resist, not to mention rare, for which she was grateful for. A stark contrast to the other two members of their team who were currently not present.

"A good night to you then, Eris." Verda nods, "I am going to call it a day, Eric and the kids have dinner waiting for me. Mustn't let it get cold, I’d never hear the end of it."

She smiles, nodding. "Have a good night, Verda. I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow, say ‘hi’ to the family for me."

The vampires move to follow the pathologist out of her office, Felix gracing her with another wink as he trails after Nate to wait outside.

"Hey, Felix." She calls out, before he disappears.

He stops in the doorway, turning back to smile at her. "What's up, detective? Itching for another dance already, because I wouldn’t say no to that."

"No, I mean - I would, it's just…" she runs a hand through her hair, letting out a breath. How did he always manage to get her so worked up? "Thank you."

"For what?" He asks, smile dropping a little in confusion.

"For...taking my mind off things. I was kind of in a funk before you came to get me, and the dancing just now...well, it really helped. So, thank you for that."

Eris thinks she's seen most of Felix's expressions by this point, the agent has varying degrees of excitement and cheer, whether genuine or cheeky. Occasionally somber, like he had been with Kate. But the look on his face now could only be described as, well, almost bashful.

"I, heh, well...your welcome, then." Eris blinks, surprised at his response. She's never quite heard him at a loss for words before. He turns away, rubbing the side of his neck. Was he, was he blushing? "Always here to help…"

He laughs, the sound not at all like his usual loud, boisterous laugh. More like a self-conscious chuckle, as he shifts awkwardly on his feet. “I, uh...I better get to Nate, before he thinks I am holding you up again. Don’t keep me-us waiting too long, alright?”

“Of course, I wouldn’t dream of depriving you of my presence, even for a few seconds.” She jests, enjoying the leverage she seems to have gained over the normally unflappable flirt.

He stares at her, as if he’s never seen anything quite like her before bursting into another nervous laugh. “Your something else, you know that?”

With that, Felix tears himself away and she smiles at his retreating back. It was nice to know she could throw the usually charming and cheeky agent off of his game, giving him a taste of his own medicine every once in a while was very cathartic for all the times he managed to leave her a stammering mess.

Still, biting her bottom lip in thought as she recalls the heated moment they'd shared, she wonders what would have happened had Nate and Verda not shown up. How much of this, all the flirting and back and forth, was simply a fun distraction for the vampire who seemed to draw her in so effortlessly with his easy smile and otherworldly eyes.

He seemed the type to love them and leave them, moving on to the next new and interesting thing that caught his fancy. Though, it felt wrong to think of him like that, as if there was still so much more to him she had yet to see and understand. Maybe there was more to him, hidden beneath the charming smiles and quick quips, waiting for the right person to take an interest and a closer look.

Watching her from a short distance, lingering at the station's entrance, she can't see the soft amber eyes that mirror her own musings. Wondering if maybe she might take him up on that second dance, just the two of them, and where it might lead.

Would it be so bad, he thinks. After this whole mess with Murphy was settled, he knew they'd be called away again to god-knows wherever they were needed next. But, watching the detective as she finished her day's work, catching the way she smiled softly as she mouthed a few familiar words from the song they'd danced to just moments ago, he feels a sudden, anxious kind of excitement pull at his chest at the possibilities.

Until then, Felix forces himself to turn away. With a spring in his step, he replays the feeling of her skin against his own, the beating of her heart, her enticing aroma surrounding him, overwhelming his senses. Snuggling into his thick, cotton scarf he savors the memory. Bracing himself for the cold, and Nate, both waiting for him outside the warmth of the station.

He would definitely need to see about that second dance, he decides with some conviction. Hopefully, before they were forced to return to their lives before all of this killing and madness.

With a wide grin, he hums happily, the same tune that he would now forever associate as their song to their first dance.

~ * ~

“Oh I think that I found myself a cheerleader

She is always right there when I need her

She gives me love and affection

Baby did I mention, you're the only girl for me

No I don't need a next one

Mama loves you too, she thinks I made the right selection

Now all that's left to do

Is just for me to pop the question

Oh I think that I found myself a cheerleader

She is always right there when I need her

Oh I think that I found myself a cheerleader

She is always right there when I need her.”

                                                            ~ * ~

Below is a link to the routine I had in mind when picturing Felix and Eris’ dancing, if you're curious, choreo by Blacka Di Danca ft. Fraules <3

Thank you for reading! I have a few more stories in mind for Flirty Hotville, so he may be making an appearance again here soon…

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4E46VmGLc88

[lou-is-lurking]

For the asks: 1, 7, 8, 10, 20 :)

1. Describe your comfort zone—a typical you-fic.

For YOI: Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, Lighthearted Humor …and/or PWP

The good ol' Hurt/Comfort trope is also a go-to.

7. Share a snippet from one of your favorite pieces of prose you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

oof this is hard lol

At first, the colors of the dying day caressing the canopy of leaves above them reminded Otabek of JJ's living-room, and he'd never thought he'd miss that place so painfully. He would have given anything to be back there right now, on that rust-colored couch with its scratchy pillows, surrounded by ugly floral wallpaper and scented candles, the dull glow of the muted tv the only source of light.

Instead, the sun's descend behind them soon tinted the sky blood-red, darkening the shifting shadows beneath the trees while they continued to walk ever deeper into the color-palette of Otabek's nightmares.

This is from the first draft of my Otayuri Serial Killer AU. I had a specific image in my mind that ties back to several earlier scenes and I was quite happy that the words lined themselves up so neatly right off the bat.

8. Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

“JJ totally would have gotten the usual undeserved bonus points from the judges again, though,” Yuri sulked.

“Excuse you?" JJ scoffed, "Your program protocols practically have a note saying 'from all former Soviet states with love' attached to them!”

“And your parents have been busy bribing judges since their junior days, which I'm pretty sure predate the Soviet Union!”

It's from a WIP titled 'Quarantine Olympics', which I started when the 2020 World Championships were canceled. It was my lockdown entertainment: Otayuri being quarantined with JJ at his apartment. It's not necessarily that I'm super proud of this dialogue, but it made me giggle in the chaos of the pandemic, which was an achievement in itself lol. Also, amusing myself with my fav bois bickering while throwing shade at figure skating judges at the same time? Good shit.

10. Which fic has been the easiest to write?

Of the ones posted: Jeanflation. Short and fun. It stayed in its lane, didn't tempt me to go on three different tangents, and mercifully refrained from sprouting subplot and additional drama that would have inevitably condemned it to becoming yet another unfinished work waiting its turn in the depth of my hard drive.

20. Describe your perfect writing conditions.

Ideally, it's just me, my computer, my 20+ year-old keyboard that I will protect with my life, a glass of whisk(e)y, and peace and quiet.

On the other hand, I have happily churned out thousands of words crouched on the floor of an overcrowded lecture hall, no problem. I have also sat in front of my computer with ideal conditions and not managed to write a single sentence.

The perfect conditions for me seem to have surprisingly little to do with my surroundings, and everything to do with something in my brain aligning just right. And I sure as hell wish I knew what exactly that is 😅

(Asks from this meme)

[101flavoursofweird]

seahawk/mermista, glimmer and for the 5 character ranking: adora, glimmer, catra, scorpia and perfuma?

((Thank you for She Ra!))

Seahawk/Mermista

when I started shipping it if I did: I didn’t really ship it until Season 4 with the “Boys Night Out” episode. Sea Hawk’s plan to get fake-captured was dumb but it did cheer Mermista up in the end. I loved their shanty— sorry, rock remix. Seeing them fighting and singing together was what made me think these two could work.

my thoughts: This went from a “meh” ship, to a “fun” ship, to an “OH MY GOSH— FAVE” ship by the end of the series. I wish there was more moments with them but at the same time I’m glad they didn’t overuse Sea Hawk!

What makes me happy about them: At first it looks like Mermista holds Sea Hawk at arm’s-length (groaning whenever they’re in the same room, cancelling plans with Sea Hawk) but given Sea Hawk’s nature... that’s kind of understandable sometimes. There’s only so much Sea Hawk one can take. But Sea Hawk really does care about her and he makes her happy. I love how the shock of hearing him say “I love you” is enough to snap Mermista out of Prime’s control.

What makes me sad about them: I know this is the one series where we don’t see any of the M/F ships get a proper smooch, whereas the F/F ships do, and that should be celebrated, but dangit, I WANTED THEM TO KISS. Glimmer/Bow got a forehead kiss. What about the Sea Princess and her himbo sailor?

things done in fanfic that annoys me: I sadly haven’t read any fics with them but I don’t think I’d like anything where Sea Hawk is ridiculously dumb or Mermista is needlessly mean.

things I look for in fanfic: Anything hilarious and sweet

Who I’d be comfortable them ending up with, if not each other: Sea Hawk/Bow and Sea Hawk/Double Trouble are both good. Maybe Mermista/Entrapta as well?

My happily ever after for them: Mermista returns to her kingdom and restores it to her former glory while occasionally going on yacht trips with her royal consort, Sea Hawk. (He may look the part but no way is he prince material.)

who is the big spoon/little spoon: Either?

what is their favorite non-sexual activity: Setting boats on fire

Glimmer

How I feel about this character: My poor daughter...

All the people I ship romantically with this character: GlimmAdora, Glimmer/Catra, and Glimmer/Bow is... ok.

My non-romantic OTP for this character: Glimmer & Frosta, Glimmer & Angella

My unpopular opinion about this character: I see a lot of videos about Glimmer with titles like “Glimmer annoying moments” or “Glimmer is a terrible person” or “Dammit, Glimmer!” Yes, Glimmer made a lot of bad decisions in Season 4, like shutting Adora out, activating the Heart of Etheria and trusting Shadow Weaver... (Who hasn’t been manipulated by Shadow Weaver at this point?) But Glimmer’s mother had just DIED and she had to take the throne and responsibility for the rebellion at such a young age... I wish she had been written more sympathetically during Season 4 but we’ve gotta have our friend breakup before the final act, I guess. The fact that she has flaws— even evident in Season 1– just made her more relatable for me. She made a lot of bad choices but she always thought it was best for the people she loved— whether it was clinging to Bow or trying to save Etheria.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon: Glimmer and Adora didn’t need to argue THAT much. I thought it would end with them pretending to bicker in front of Flutterina— that was clever! But they KEPT arguing and saying some really hurtful things to each other. They could have just separated on civil terms, with Glimmer trusting Adora and Bow to go to Beast Island. But when they don’t return, Glimmer could panic and resort to using the Heart of Etheria then. Either way, she still would’ve been abducted by Horde Prime and would need saving later!

my OTP: GlimmAdora was my absolute OTP for this series until the end of Season 4 where they had their big argument. It’s still my favourite Glimmer ship but not my favourite ship for the series as a whole now. They just care about each other SO MUCH and I was so happy when they reunited and reconciled.

my cross over ship: Currently don’t have one but I’m just thinking about how similar Glimmer and Allura from Voltron are? Both were magical space princesses who lost their parents and had to take over the throne. Maybe Glimmer can bring Allura back from whatever pocket dimension she’s stuck in along with her mother

a headcanon fact: I’d like to imagine Shadow Weaver grew to care for Glimmer just a little bit because of how much Glimmer reminds her of Micah. (How OLD even is Shadow Weaver?) Doesn’t mean SW wasn’t a manipulative witch but I like conflicted villains so...

Order: Glimmer, Adora, Scorpia (I’m so sorry, Scorpia...), Perfuma, Catra