#honestly he's probably lucky to be alive himself :V

[townofcadence]

🌷- taking care of plants/pets for aiden

How good is my muse at---

"OH! I adore creatures of all sizes and shapes! They are all so wondrous and unique! I would give them the utmost care. The same as well for any flora! Isn't everything in this world so very strange and wonderful?"

[springcatalyst]

I might be just be overly generous to hatake cause of my crush on hiroyuki sanada but my interpretation of him crying while he was bandaging julia’s eyes was him facing the reality that while yeah, his plan worked and Julia’s immortal now, he put her through a lot of pain to do it and she’s forever in danger from ilaria now only apparently not according to the finale! Which leads to even more questions! Sarah’s actress was terrible and i’m not very surprised to find out she hasn’t done much else since but she was also super pretty so i could deal with her better than like, alan and peter. I have a v basic understanding of the plot of s2 and i don’t understand why they dropped so many plot lines from s1 to focus on that instead. Did they have the audacity to think this would get multiple seasons?? Apparently it was lucky to even get that second season and by the end of it the ratings were so bad it fell below the threshold at which ratings can be tracked. Idk, I just want to shake the show creator by the shoulders and demand answers. you🤝me, complaining over a bad show that no one else has cared about in like a decade

LITERALLY. when I did my obligatory look I to the tag to find gifs to ramble under when I finished it (as is customary) it was so empty. ain't nobody care about this bitch.

I rlly like ur interpretation of that scene. I will now adopt it because YEAH and I dont know how else that would make sense. I do think he aaaalmost cares about julia kind of? so it makes sense that hes like ah but everything you've gone thru to get here and everything the future holds. but also the way he cares about anyone is so selfish and conditional I think she was just convenient and idealized.

I also think I like thinking abkut hatakes character cause hes played by hiroyuki sanada but in my defense (OUR defense)... hiroyuki sanada is actually a bangin actor and so can do the most with the shit script, as opposed to other characters which... suffered a little more.

like his story arc and character was almost good. it wasnt, but it was enough to be kind of compelling, u know? if it was done better. like hes just so selfish and hes been alive for so long that human life means nothing to him anymore and everyone is expendable until he decides he wants them around (ahem. miksa). I like how he goes from being comically apathetic to miksa to half-assedly reaching out once he starts hating him and then when he sacrifices himself!! (<-not a choice that makes sense) he goes right back to being like 'well he wasnt REALLY my son'. honestly its probably just bad writing but it's interesting to think of it like hatake only seeks miksa loyalty when he no longer has it. you know? he almost realizes what he loses and regrets it- not his actions, but being found out. also worth mentioning that he never calls him miksa except maybe once when hes trying to satiate him. even when he dies he calls him daniel, despite him telling hatake he wants to go by miksa. kind of telling for what hatake really wants from miksa, which is not a son but a sort of bodyguard and attack dog, more like a toy than a person.

dont let that make u think I think the show was good tho. that's allllllll just me reading where theres really nothin. I just like to Think. but yeah its bad.

[mandoalorian]

The Secret Of The Wish [Max Lord x F!Reader] SEX POLLEN

Summary: You’re a new intern for the Wall Street Journal, sent out to interview Maxwell Lord, a businessman who has suddenly found financial success in the oil drilling industry. When you ask him what does he owe his success to, he gives you a surprisingly honest answer: through the power of the wish. You make the mistake of humouring him, and playing along with his little story until he proves to you just how powerful wishing can be.

Warnings: 18+ SMUT (sex pollen in the form of wish granting therefore there is automatic dub-con) unprotected p in v, male oral, handjob, tit play, butt play, spanking, cockwarming, creampie, degradation, praise kink, office sex, power-shift, dom/sub dynamic, implied age difference, mutual pining.

Word count: 4400>

Masterlist

REBLOGS appreciated! 🤍

Black Gold Cooperative was booming with business. Even the outside of the building was swamped with hundreds of people who were desperate to get inside and speak to Mr Lord himself. Luckily, you were a journalist for the esteemed Wall Street Journal and your position in the company had earned yourself an interview with the successful CEO. The entire world had thousands upon thousands of questions for Maxwell Lord, and you were the lucky intern who got to meet with him on this humid Wednesday afternoon.

A tall blonde woman who you assumed was his secretary, led you to his office. All his employees seemed to be young, attractive and wore only the best designer clothes. It was almost intimidating. You couldn’t mess this up. You were conducting an interview with one of the most successful people alive - this could actually be your big break in the industry. Taking a deep breath, you made an attempt to swallow away your nerves before making your way into his own private office.

It was extensive in size, with large plants and statues in every corner and on every surface. Honestly, you found his taste in furnishings to be quite tacky. You knew it was just his way of bragging about how wealthy he was without actually saying anything. He was neck deep in paperwork and he hadn’t even noticed you were just standing there, in his office. Your eyes flicked across his messy desk, taking in the sight of multiple opened bottles of vitamins, colourful smoothies and other supplements. You made a mental note, not exactly pinning the salesman as a health freak. You’d been standing there for longer than you’d anticipated and he still hadn’t looked up, so you cleared your throat and prepared to grab his attention.

“Mr Lord… I’m here on behalf of Wall Street Journal, we’re doing a segment on Company Sudden Search....” you began to introduce yourself but a roll of his eyes and a flimsy yet disapproving gesture of his hand cut you off.

“Yeah yeah, I know,” he grumbled, taking a swing of his green juice before fastening the cap back on the bottle and pulling a face of disgust. If he thought it tasted so bad, why was he drinking it? Maxwell took a minute trying to compose himself for the interview. He’d waited his whole life to be interviewed by the Wall Street Journal and no matter how bad his migraine was… he couldn’t mess this up.

In fact… there was something about the way Maxwell Lord looked in this moment. His bottle blonde hair was sticking up in random places, probably due to the beads of sweat that laced his forehead. His tie was pulled open and his suit jacket was crinkled, yet he still made the effort to keep it on for whatever reason. He didn’t look like the persuasive, bright eyed salesman on the television, that’s for sure. You supposed all those studio lights could make anyone look different, but that didn’t necessarily mean he looked bad. He didn’t look sick as such, just a little disheveled. He kept rubbing his temples as if he had a killer headache. You considered asking him if he was okay, but that wasn’t why you were here.

The prolonged silence made Max Lord look up at you from the many papers on his desk. He was frowning, and if one thing was clear, it looked like he was having a bad day. It looked like he could do with some major stress relief. The first two buttons of his pinstripe shirt were open, and his collar was wonky, and honestly? You had to fight the urge to stalk over to him and help him out. You imagined running your fingers through his golden hair, caressing his face and letting your hands wander down his chest. You imagined whispering dirty little things into his ear until he ached for you. There was something about teasing a higher-up that you just couldn’t resist. Nevertheless, you cursed yourself for the inappropriate thoughts. You were a young intern for one of the most successful journalism companies… and shit, he was the CEO of what had suddenly become the richest organization in the world. He was a powerful man, more powerful than you knew. It would be foolish to mess around with a man like Maxwell Lord.

Maxwell took a shaky exhale and done what he could do best. Fake a smile. Feign confidence. Pretend like he was okay... like he had it together. He promised himself that he would not lose control of his power— he couldn’t— but this moment was only the start of his descent into madness. He never knew how hungry he could get... how satisfying his power could be, until he met you.

“Come here sweetheart,” his frown curled upwards into a smirk and his eyes began to gleam again, just like they did on his famous infomercials. His voice became a little louder, and a little more confident as he stood up and padded around his desk, pulling out a chair for you to sit down on. You hesitated, his change in attitude wasn't lost on you, but still, you obliged, and shuffled into the golden plush chair. The material was so soft and you struggled to suppress a moan. “Everything okay?” he asked you, placing a large ring clad hand on your shoulder and giving you a gentle squeeze.

“Yeah I just… I’ve never sat on anything so comfortable.” you confessed, shuffling around. Maxwell’s eyes lit up with desire at your comment and his gaze fixated on your face.

“Really?” Never?” he chuckled lightly, brushing his thumb against his lower lip as he took in your appearance. Just the shape of your perfect body was enough to initiate something primal in him. The tightness of your blouse and the vision of your short pencil skirt that cut off mid-thigh already had his cock straining against his tailored suit pants. “I can think of at least one more comfortable thing in this office for you to sit on.”

You’d be lying if you said you were unfazed by his little flirtation. If any other middle aged man had said something so crude to you, you’d have snapped back with something witty to put them in their place. But Maxwell Lord wasn’t any man and his charm alone had cast you under a spell. Your knees were weak and you felt like putty under his touch. Even when he removed his hand from your shoulder, you felt completely and utterly submissive to him. 

You cleared your throat and opened up your notepad. “I’m just here to ask you a few questions…” you told the businessman, biting your lip nervously. Maxwell nodded and sat on the edge of his desk, waiting patiently for you to get started. “So uhm, Forbes is reveling in the fact you’re self made… but not much is known about your past. We don’t know about your family or where you come from… is there anything relevant you’d like to share with the world?” you asked curiously.

And for the first time, Maxwell Lord broke his gaze with you and looked down at the carpeted floor. “There’s not much to say, really.” he said, but there was something in his tone of voice that indicated he wasn’t willing to provide any further details. Hoping you hadn’t struck a sensitive cord with him, you glanced back down at your notepad to ask him another question.

“I hope you don’t think I’m prying, but not much is known about your personal life. A handsome, wealthy man like yourself can’t be single, right?” you asked, even startling yourself over how over bearing you’d begun to sound. Maxwell let out a chuckle and quirked an inquisitive eyebrow.

“I’m single, yes. Tell me darling, is this Wall Street Journal or US Weekly?” he joked, and you felt a flush of heat radiate your cheeks. You knew better.

“I’m sorry. It was an unprofessional question,” you quickly backtracked. “Do you uhm… do you have a pen… I could borrow?” You asked awkwardly, feeling a little irked over how flustered his simple presence had made you. You'd been so nervous to actually meet with Max Lord, you'd even forgotten to bring something to write with. You were so embarassed. But Maxwell was hardly paying attention to your lack of organization, and instead he just smiled and grabbed a gold encrusted company pen from his desk. “Thank you.” you said timidly. “Can I ask you something?”

“That’s why you’re here… isn’t it?” he retorted playfully. 

“The interview is about Company Sudden Search and for some reason there are no questions about your company… just you,” you frowned apologetically. You hadn't come up with the questions, one of your executives had. You were just there to look pretty and milk as much information out of him as you could. “I guess the world is curious about you, Mr Lord. More curious about your private life than this empire that you have created. But Black Gold Cooperative had been off the grid for many years only prior to this week and now suddenly you’re the wealthiest company in the world. You’re the richest man in the US. And data shows absolute no correlation towards that. Your purchased oil wells were dry until one day they just weren’t. It wasn’t gradual, but Mr Lord, we are living during the Cold War and oil is as scarce enough as it is. How… how did this happen? You must know something.”

As you rambled on, Maxwell stared dead into you. You hadn’t been asked to say this, this was coming from your own interest. You had done your own digging about this (just like any successful journalist would), snooping into Maxwell’s business and finding out exactly which oil fields he owned and how much oil was in them in the first place. This wasn’t coming from the Wall Street Journal. This was coming from you. Maxwell never expected to be confronted with such a question. You were practically trapping him, but the way you could swindle the truth out of him was an attractive quality of yours. Not many people could get the truth out of Max Lord.

Maxwell chuckled lightly. He could tell you. It wouldn't make much of a difference. Besides, you’d be foolish to believe the truth. You’d think he’d gone insane. Had he gone insane? These damn migraines… he was drunk on power… his mind had become corrupt with the idea of fortune and success. And he needed this interview to go well.

Maxwell grinned, as charming as ever, and took both of your hands. “I made a wish.” he told you, like it was the simplest thing in the world.

You paused, unsure what to make of his comment. Was he making a joke? It didn’t sound like he was joking. In fact he sounded more serious than ever. “Like… upon a star?” you asked, giggling only slightly in attempt to make a judgement of whether or not he was just messing with you. Maxwell smirked and nodded his head. He’d expected that you wouldn’t believe him.

“On my journey to self fulfilment I locked into a secret, the secret of the wish. So I wished for it. Or, someone wished for it for me…” Maxwell explained, talking in tongue twisters. His fingers brushed over your knuckles. As you listened to him, he noticed the way your eyebrows knotted together in bewilderment. He was definitely serious about the wishing thing. But if he wasn’t going to be honest with you, then maybe this interview was more trouble than it was worth. Just as you were about to break away your contact with his hands, he continued. “Tell me what you wish for you and I will show you how it works.”

That was quite the proposal coming from him.

You blinked. “Uhm…” He stared at you, waiting for you to come up with some kind of answer. You supposed that you could always just humour him. “So you’re like a genie?”

“I’m Max Lord, sweetheart, and I can make your darkest fantasies come true as long as you just say the word.” he said, his voice dropping an octave.

The sexual tension between you both was undeniable, and it had been since you had entered his office. His already chocolate brown eyes had darkened considerably with lust. You pursed your lips together into a fine line and you tried your very best to ignore the fact that your lace panties were damp with arousal. You knew he was powerful. Strong… sexy. You’d been in his office for barely five minutes and he already had a hold on you.

“I suppose I’d want success in my career. It’s hard… being taken seriously, as a woman in journalism. It would be nice to just feel respected amongst my peers.” you confessed.

“The people at Wall Street don’t respect you?” Maxwell asked, and you swore that for a split second he sounded genuinely concerned.

“Uhm… I feel like I’m not really at liberty to discuss that. I’m sorry I shouldn’t have mentioned it in the first place.” you scrunched up your nose.

“Because you deserve respect, miss Y/L/N.” Maxwell promised you, his hand sinking down to caress your thigh. You gasped under his touch and looked up at the ceiling. “Is this alright… me touching you like this?” he cooed, tracing circles over your pantyhose.

“Mm.” you mumbled in agreement, your eyes fluttering shut as his fingers dipped under the hem of your skirt.

“So if you could wish for one thing… one thing at this very moment in time, it would be for success in your career? Is that true?” Maxwell quizzed, eyeing you up with curiosity.

No.

It wasn’t true.

In fact your career— this interview— was the last thing on your mind.

Fuck.

Silently, you shook your head. “So darling, tell me, what would you wish for?”

You sighed in defeat, remembering that you’d just humour him. It wasn’t exactly professional but he wasn’t helping you out either. Just go along with it, you told yourself. You finally looked back down at him and saw that his lips were moist from where he’d hungrily licked at them, his eyes fixated on your breasts and the way he could just about see the lace print underneath the thin material.

“I’d wish for you…” you shakily exhaled. And that caught his attention. His gaze flicked up to meet yours and he waited for you to continue. “I’d wish for you to let me use you to get what I want. You’re rich… powerful… wealthy…” A gust of air distracted you and a breeze blew through your hair. The windows weren’t open, the fan wasn’t on, and Maxwell looked completely and utterly spent over your revelation. It had just came out of nowhere. There was a few beats of silence and Max looked you up and down.

“What do you want?” he croaked meekly. He removed his hand from your thigh and his whole demeanor changed in a split second.

When you noticed how stiff his manhood was, and the way his precum had already leaked out onto the grey material of his pants, it stirred something up inside of you. He wanted this too, that much was clear.

And now, the roles had reversed. You were no longer the shy intern interviewing the big name CEO, you were a sexy journalist who’s nipples had hardened significantly and you had this fresh yet welcoming air of power to you. There were two people in this office and yet suddenly, you were the one in control.

Maxwell’s perfect, plush lips had parted and his dark eyes followed you as you stood up from your seat. He looked down at the wet patch from where you were sitting and gulped, imagining just how great it would feel to slide his fingers through your folds and feel your arousal himself.

All for him.

“I think you know.” you replied softly, sitting him down in the golden chair that you had once made yourself comfortable in. You pulled off his crumpled suit jacket and discarded his tie, throwing it haphazardly onto his already messy desk, and then sunk down to your knees, spreading his legs apart.

You began to palm at his erection through his pants, involuntarily licking your lips as your fingers danced around his growing bulge. “Ngh- fucking tease.” he groaned, his eyes snapping shut the second he felt you begin to work at removing his belt. You pulled down his zipper and reached into his pants, pulling his cock free. He wasn’t enormous, but definitely above average, and thicker than you’d ever taken before.

“You just need someone to make you feel nice, don’t you?” you cooed gently before licking a stripe up the base of his cock. “All this stress from work… huh? From making people’s wishes come true.”

“You… you have no idea.” Maxwell grunted, his cock twitching in your hands as you pressed a sweet little kiss to his head. His slit was still leaking with precum and you were desperate to get a taste of the CEO. You gave him a small kitten lick, relishing the saltiness of his seed. He was delicious.

This shouldn’t have been happening. Sure, Maxwell was hard before you’d even made the wish, but holy crap, he didn’t expect for this to actually happen. And neither did you. You assumed he was lying, just like he lied about everything else in his life. Afterall, who was going to believe a man who told you his success was owed to wish granting? 

“Mr Lord… you’re so big.” you sighed longingly before making an attempt to attach your lips around his cock. He looked down at you and let his hands grip the back of your head as you sucked on his sensitive tip. 

Who would've guessed that a good blowjob was exactly what Max Lord needed to feel better about himself?

Max felt like he was in heaven. He was already seeing stars. He’d been granting peoples wishes left, right and centre. He wasn’t necessarily touch starved but it had been a good few weeks since he’d gone without sex; his only motivation being to find and harness the power of the dreamstone. But you were giving him the best head he’d ever had in his life. It was like everything was pent up inside of him. His balls were tight and he was achingly hard and in a moment of pure lust, he thrusted his hips deep into your mouth. The sudden movement had you gagging and a trail of saliva mixed with his precum dripped down your lips. You pulled off him, gasping for air but quickly wrapped your lips back around him and taking his length even further than before. If he filled your mouth this good, you wondered how he’d feel filling your pussy.

“Not gonna last… fuck!” Maxwell cried, his cum shamelessly spurting into your mouth. His load was massive and he doubled out of you, the remnants of his seed spilling against your lips and down your chin. His heart was beating rapidly against his chest as he took in the appearance of you, down on your knees, in between his legs, with his milky white cum all over your pretty face.

Despite his orgasm, Maxwell was still hard. He still craved more. More of a release from you. It must’ve been your wish that created this desperation that dwelled inside of him.

“More,” he pleaded, his eyes round and doe-like. “Please, I need more.”

“Say less.” you whispered, unbuttoning your blouse and pulling down your skirt and pantyhose so you were simply just standing there in your white lingerie set. You looked so pure and innocent, and yet you were in absolute full control of this situation. You were the one dominating him.

“You said you wish to use me, so use me.” Maxwell begged as he extended his arms and made grabby fists, desperate for you to come over and help him out. 

He was right. This was your wish. You could play along with this for as long as you wanted. You removed your panties, unclipped your bra and discarded the garments, letting your breasts fall free. Maxwell’s jaw dropped at the sight of you and you stalked over to him. You straddled him and sat on his lap.

With one hand, you wrapped your fingers around his cock again and began to slowly jerk it, beginning a handjob which was more than pleasant for him. With your free hand, you grabbed onto his shoulder and steadied yourself, before stretching your body and pressing one of your breasts into his mouth. His lips latched around your tit immediately and he began to suck on your nipple as you continued to rub his cock. You moaned with pleasure, tossing your head back as his tongue worked at the hard little bud.

You subconsciously found yourself riding his thigh, dragging your dripping wet cunt along his expensive pants and making an absolute mess of them. He experimentally flexed the muscles in his thigh a few times, trying to gauge a reaction out of you and see how you liked it. His teeth grazed your breast and he let himself get a little too excited, peppering love bites all over your chest.

“Yes, that’s it,” Maxwell groaned. “Take what you need sweet girl.” he praised.

You whimpered when he flexed his thigh again and you felt yourself begin to reach your climax. You clenched around nothing and his cock was throbbing in your hand. You knew he needed more too.

You let go of him and he pulled his mouth off your tit with a ‘pop’. You cupped his face with both your hands and adjusted yourself slightly, this time so the tip of his cock was pressed against your entrance. You took a deep breath, preparing yourself for his stretch before sinking down onto his length, settling balls deep. “Fuck… Fuck fuck fuck,” you chanted, your eyes squeezing tight shut as he filled you.

“Move.” he gasped, biting down on your shoulder. You whimpered and tugged on his golden hair, sending him into an absolute frenzy.

“Fuck, Mr Lord… oh god please, you’re so fucking big.” you cried, tears of pleasure pricking your eyes. He wanted you to move, sure, but this was your wish, and you were more than happy to just sit on and warm his cock for a few minutes.

Your walls were tight and perfect around him, just like he’d imagined. You brought your finger down to your cunt and began to rub at your clit as his cock stretched you out. Your moans of gratification echoed throughout the extensively sized office and you felt your juices drip down his cock.

“So good,” he whispered. “Move, please.”

“Mmm,” you couldn’t even fumble out words, and your vision was nothing less than a haze.

He rubbed the pad of his finger against your puckered asshole before sliding it in. Your body tensed up at the intrusion but God did it feel good. “Fucking move.” he growled, biting down on your earlobe as he began to thrust his index finger in and out of you.

Maxwell brought a hand down to cup your ass and he gave you a rough spanking. “Move.” He repeated, this time his tone a lot more demanding and less polite than the first time.

And just like that— he was in control again.

You obliged, not wanting to irk him any more, and began to bounce on his cock. “Greedy bitch,” he grunted, spanking you again. “Fuck… thinking you can use my dick for your own pleasure, huh? Everything comes with a price.” he hissed as you rolled your hips over his manhood.

“Oh Mr Lord.” you sighed with every movement, as his cock pressed against that sweet spot inside of you.

“You just couldn’t resist it, could you?” Maxwell asked rhetorically, a villainous smirk crossing his lips. “One great wish and you wish to ride my fucking cock," He had a point. People had come to him wishing for Porsche's, political power,— and you, with your whole chest, had wished to be the one who could pleasure him. Help him let go. “Shit baby, you take me so well.”

Despite his growls of degradation you knew he wasn’t going to last long, if the way his cock throbbed inside of you was anything to go by. You didn’t mind though. He could disrespect you all he wanted. You were more than happy to be Maxwell Lord’s little cumslut. His little whore.

“G-gonna cum, oh fuck, please.” you screamed, pressing your fingernails into his back as you rode out your high.

“Yes,” he moaned wantonly. “Soak my cock.” And with those three words, you came undone, sat on top of the richest and most successful CEO in the world. “Are you safe?” he asked, his hips bucking up into your sensitive core.

“I am.” you confirmed, and without even asking for permission, he spilt his seed inside of you, ruthlessly painting your walls with his cum.

He kept his cock inside of you until it softened and slipped out, and you mumbled something incoherent at the loss of his fullness. Maxwell watched your chest as you heaved, making every attempt you could to catch your breath. He pressed a sweet kiss into your collar bone, and then up your neck and along your jaw. You relished the feeling of his lips against skin; post coital bliss fostering your every thought.

“You’re a good girl,” he whispered, rubbing the curve of his nose against your neck. “I grant you your wish, and in return, I give you the utmost success in your career.” he sighed, and for the very first time Maxwell Lord said something completely and utterly selfless. It was through no gain to him whatsoever. You didn’t deserve to be looked down upon by your peers and employers, he knew that much. And if he had the chance to change that, he sure as hell would. 

“You will achieve things no journalist has achieved before, you will be rich, and be the first to seize every opportunity.” he said in between kisses.

To you, he was just whispering sweet nothings into your ear, humouring your larger-than-life dreams and ambitions. But if there was one thing that Maxwell Lord admired in a woman, it was her aspiration and goals. If you were brave enough to waltz into his office as let him cum all over you, you definitely deserve this. At that moment, you had no idea that Maxwell Lord would change your life forever...

Permanent taglist: @paintballkid711  @supernaturalgirl @phoenixhalliwell @ah-callie @stardust-galaxies @wickedfrsgrl @goth-topic @nerdypinupcrystal @wonderfulfluffer @kiwi-the-first @pedroepascal @castiel-barnes @honeymandos @rocketqueen @ladycumberbatchofcamelot @dybalalover10 @girl-obsessed-with-things @elena-myth @moth-guillotine @pedro-pascal-love @hayley-the-comet @pinkninja190 @maxiarapamaya @autumnleaves1991-blog @artsymaddie @harrys-stan @kennedywxlsh @cripplingmoon @cheekygeek05 @mrschiltoncat @rye-flower @theamuz @persie33 @sleepylunarwolf @martellthemandalor

[rogue-durin-16]

STICK TOGETHER

Summary: When Fred finds out Y/n is planning on leaving the Wizarding World, he canalizes his feelings in the worst way possible, which leads to a terrible outcome that seems unfixable.

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Slytherin!Reader

Genre: angst

Tags:

Fred Weasley: @whiskeyn-rain @lumos-solemn

Permanent taglist: @elia-the-bibliophile @randomparanoid @karlthecat15722 @thebutchersdaughtersblog @amourtentiaa @just-here-to-escape-from-reality

Warnings: swearing

A/N: @meph1stophelian is here putting pressure on me to post this already so I'm apologizing for the poorly written ending lmaoo enjoy <3

Rogue-durin-16 masterlist

"Fred, calm down." George begged me; he walked by my side, trying to talk some sense into me, but it was not the moment. "You gotta understand her— throwing a fit isn't going to help anyone—" I didn't even look in my twin's direction while he spoke. "Bloody hell, Fred—"

"Y/n!" I quickened my pace, leaving George behind after spotting her in one of the corridors, having a chat with a couple of Ravenclaws. "Can I have a word?"

"Sure— Oi!" I hadn't waited for her to reply before grabbing her hand and snatching her away to pull her into the nearest broom closet. "What was that about?"

"Tell me I heard Katie wrong and you're not actually leaving."

"I can't tell you that." She plainly responded, her voice steady.

A single, gobsmacked snide left my throat. "You're joking, right?" My heart ached as if it was being constricted when she shook her head no. "So you're fleeing?"

"What?"

"Things are getting ugly so you're running away."

Her eyes dug into mines as she stayed in a very uncomfortable silence before replying with. "So what if I am?" When I averted my eyes from hers, she called my name. Her eyes were somewhat softer now, with a gleam of plea in them. "For the last two years we had nothing but tragedy. Diggory died, You-Know-Who is back and recruiting, the ministry is full on going against a teenager, this pink colored nasty toad is physically abusing us, and on top of that, I have to put up with my housemates' bullshit for having muggle blood— I'm tired!" Her voice had raised a bit, enough for me to know she was struggling to keep it at bay, but still managed to. "If I can have a life out of this then—"

"You're a coward."

"Fred." there was a warning on her tone, but I couldn't listen.

"You're leaving... people behind," she attempted to reason; I didn't let her. "Dunno why I'm surprised, really. At the end of the day you're a Slytherin for a reason."

Her eyes started to well up, and I couldn't tell if it was with anguish or fury. I knew I was getting under her skin, but that was exactly what I intended to do; if I was going to leave that room scarred, so would she.

"Self-preservation, you call it." I scoffed, feeling my own rage building up faster each passing second. "Pure cowardy."

"Is that what you think?" Her tone wasn't steady anymore; she was holding back the poison of her words, for my sake.

"Yeah." I wasn't capable of doing the same thing for hers. "And I don't want your cheap excuses and emotional manipulation to convince me otherwise." My face was probably red due to the anger, my jaw and fists hurt from clenching them; I was off the rails, and the person who would usually stop me was standing in front of me. "Better leave now so you don't have the chance to sell us out when shit goes down."

Silence fell upon us, our gazes locked, equally watery and with the same amount of fury and sadness within them.

And finally she snapped. "Maybe I'm a coward, but you're a self-absorbed prat who's not able to see beyond your own ego!" The way she said it hurt me more than the sentence itself. "This is not gonna be a DADA class, Fred! I don't want to fucking die because I was too slow casting Protego."

"Good luck, Y/l/n." I curtly wished her before stalking out of the broom closet I have initially dragged her into.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

We avoided each other for a week. The following Monday, when I entered the Great Hall, I found George and Katie quite depressed.

"What's gotten into you?"

They shared a look before my brother turned to me, deciding to break the news himself.

"Y/n left last night." He gave me an apologetic look. "Thought she'd wait until the graduation—"

"But she's had enough." Katie finished, toying with her breakfast. "Honestly, I wish I had a life in the muggle world too."

My lungs were refusing to take the air inside; I felt as if I would choke if I stayed there, so I stormed out, jogging to reach the countryard.

I needed to breathe.

Even after the wind hit my face, that vital task felt like the most difficult thing in the world to accomplish.

I hate her I hate her I hate her I hate her.

A sob escaped my chest, realising the harsh words I had spat at her were probably the last ones she would ever hear from me.

I love her.

A Year And A Half Later

READER'S P. O. V.

I managed to apparate somewhere in the cornfield —the only place around the Burrow I remembered clearly.

I should have landed with a broom, but apparently, Mad-Eye didn't inform Lupin that I would serve as an extra escort for Harry if they were ambushed, so my broom was now smashed somewhere down the muggle road we had flown over.

Mentally cursing the damn moment in which I spoke to Shacklebolt in hopes of being useful in this war, I looked for the entrance of the Weasley home, which took me quite a while.

Funnily enough, it was Lupin who stepped out, wielding his wand and casting yet another hex at me that I somehow managed to block.

With a swift wave of my hand, he was propelled back into the house. "YOU!" A long-haired redhead I recognized as the eldest Weasley helped my old Professor up as I stalked to them with my wand up. "YOU HEXED MY BLOODY BROOM! I'M LUCKY TO BE ALIVE!"

"Y/n, calm down—" Shacklebolt was now besides me with his hands up. "He didn't know you were coming— he was trying to protect George from further harm."

My brain was slow to process his words, but as soon as it did, I started to down my arm. "What happened?"

"Snape hit him with the sectumsempra." My eyes widened at Lupin's heavy words.

"Did everyone else make it?" The three of them remained silent, the ginger shaking his head no.

My breath caught up in my throat, but before I could ask if Fred was alright, another tall ginger flashed the corner of my eye, and my head snapped to the living room's door.

FRED'S P. O. V.

Everyone was scattered around the house. Ginny took Hermione and Fleur to her room; Ron and Harry made its way up too; Tonks went out —she needed a moment alone to mourn Mad-Eye—, and, while my parents and I stayed with George, Lupin, Shacklebolt and Bill went to guard the entrance.

I was still kneeling by George's side, holding his hand while our mother healed his wound the best she could, when we heard a yell followed by a strong blow in the kitchen.

I looked at my mum and dad, my eyes flickering to my twin while I reached for my wand.

As I got up, more yells were heard, this time clearer; the voice was familiar— I knew that voice all too well.

There she stood, at the entrance of my home.

Her eyes met mines as soon as she caught a glimpse of me, and my head started to spin. I knew I had no right to do what I was about to do, but after that night's events, in which the war became very much real, I couldn't help but rush to her and engulf her in a tight hug.

Surprisingly enough, I couldn't take more than two steps forward, since she did what I intended to do first.

"You're alright." She mumbled against my shoulder. My eyes shut, trying to block the tears that threatened to fall. "How's he?" She inquired whilst pulling away with a concerned frown.

Not trusting my voice, I nodded in the living room's direction. A quiet sough escaped my lips as she passed by, her hands lingering on my arms for a brief instant before she entered the room and took careful steps towards the settee.

I barely caught a couple of words from George and Y/n's exchange, my mind still buzzing due to the shock.

"What do you say, Freddie?" I frowned at my twin, regretting not listening to the conversation. "She can take my bed, right? I'm not gonna get far anyway."

"Right." I agreed, struggling for my voice to come out steady. It was Y/n we were talking about; I had known her since our fourth year, I had been friends and more with her, seeing her shouldn't be that nerve-wracking.

A couple of minutes later, we were all heading to our respective rooms, and as I closed my room's door behind me and Y/n, it dawned on me that I had underestimated the anxiety that could cause me being left alone with her.

Get it together, Fred.

"If you want, you can grab a shirt from the drawer." I finally managed to speak, motioning at the chest besides the window. She nodded and turned to it to look for one she could sleep in.

Now that I had the opportunity, I carefully observed her, and soon realized how much she had changed in the time we were apart. Not only when it came to her physical appearance; she stood a bit straighter, talked a little calmer; the joy with which she used to sparkle was dim now, eclipsed by a severe, worried attitude— a sign of us no longer being the kids who messed around at Hogwarts.

"I missed you" I knew right away that wasn't the best start for the conversation.

"It sure didn't seem like it." The bitterness in her tone stung my heart harsher than I expected.

"You're still mad?" The way I was conducting the conversation was making me want to bang my head against the wall.

She sighed, turning around now that she had the shirt on to meet my gaze. "A year and a half, Fred. You didn't contact me for a year and a half. I thought we were friends."

"You left me behind!" I talked back, partly because I panicked, but also because I, to my surprise, was still mad too. "What did you even expect?"

"A letter?" She questioned, throwing herself down on the bed. "I mean— I didn't really expect anything, but a letter would have been a good way to let me know you didn't fucking hate me." My eyes, now fixed on my lap, went wide when Y/n's voice broke at her last three words.

"I'm sorry." I mumbled, quite ashamed of having to apologise while also being scared of saying anything that could harm her further. "I'm sorry about not writing and- uh... I'm sorry about what I said to you. I know it's not an excuse but I was really mad and..." I cleared my throat and felt the blush creeping up my neck even before I finished the sentence. "... and hurt 'cause you- I thought that maybe I wasn't important enough to you and- yeah, I'm sorry about what I said." I tried meeting her eyes but they were fixed on the wall before her.

"It's fine." She shrugged, "I guess you were right anyway."

"I wasn't right-"

"You were." She hugged her knees to her chest and hid her face there. "Wanna know why I'm back?" She didn't need my response. "They're hunting down my family." My heart stopped beating for a second due to the shockingly deadpanning tone. "A friend gave me a tip-off— they were tracking them down. I got to them just in time." I refrained myself from asking about them —the less I knew, the better. "So yeah, you're right, I was a coward and left people behind."

My body shot up and my legs carried me to George's bed; without me being fully aware of what I was doing or which consequences it could have, I sat down and pulled Y/n into my arms.

Though she was shocked at first, her body soon relaxed into the familiarity of my arms, and she let out a relieved sigh. "You're not alone on this." I whispered, pecking her crown. "I'm here, okay?"

"So you don't hate me?" She murmured against my chest.

Maybe it was the fragility of her voice, or the warmth of her embrace I missed so much; maybe it was this past year and a half of regret, or the night's events, but I couldn't hold back my words.

"I love you."

And even though she went stiff, even if I had just blurted them out almost in accident, I didn't regret saying them, because I, in fact, loved her.

She pulled away to look into my eyes. "You mean it?"

"Yeah." I replied, calmer than I had been in a while. "And I'm really sorry about everything, if I could turn back time—" words and air were cut off by her lips crashing against mines.

We had kissed before, but it was on a bet's behalf or to prank someone; this was different, this was her pouring her 'I love you' into actions, and I embrace it gladly.

"No more running away." I commanded when she pulled back. "From now on, we stick together." She nodded, her forehead resting against mine and her palms on my chest.

[junnibook]

Pt.2 Can I request nsfw alphabet's For 1.hawks 2.iwa-chan 3.daichi 4. SHIGARAKI!!

Shigaraki Tomura nsfw alphabet.

A/n: have fun you dust loving reader 🙏🏼

Q: would you force skin care on him?

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

wait, your alive? like your not a pile of dust on his bed? wow okay.. well firstly his aftercare sucks, just saying, he doesn’t care to stay around and if he does have deep feelings for you it would still suck because he’ll either go do “work” or he’ll play the game. his way of after care is keeping you alive so don’t push it.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

he likes your boobs and your face. one he’s like a child and most children cling to their mothers chest plus he likes the size and how they feel. they do have a lot of bite marks. he likes your face because of all the fear and emotions you show him. he cant get enough of that, make those faces for him more often. 

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

he’s a messy boy. okay so one his cum would taste overly salty so if your a swallower get a cup of water because your gonna need it, two its super thick for no reason at all. he likes to leave his cum any and everywhere. he doesn’t came if it’s messy. you turned him on, purposely so that’s your problem.

D = Dick size ( the size of their dick)

he’s above average and isn’t too thick but makes up for it in length. i wouldn’t say he’s a proud boy he honestly doesn’t care if he’s big or not, if someone had somethings to say they could gladly be turned into a pile of ash and he would pee on it it and move on with his ashy day.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

none, the boy doesn’t like people before he met you or whom ever, he was like a needy wild animal he had it the first time, didn’t know how to act. just humping away feeling that good ol pleasure and was blinded by it, yea if you had your first with him than he would 100% be rough with you... masochist.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

he quickly finds out that he likes to be deep into you- like fully into you, he likes mating press the most, just be on birth control because he doesn’t like condoms like at all. im sure you don’t want any baby shiggys running around turning children into dust right?

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

no way, not a chance. you won’t catch him being goofy at all. he has his DICK out and is showing himself to YOU. be glad that you made this far, don’t test him by trying to be goofy. 

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

100% not shaved or trimmed. why would he? he’s a busy man plus he doesn’t care like at all.. if you have a problem with it shave it your self other than that don’t say anything abt it.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

N O he doesn’t know romance it’s not in his mind set. the most he will do that you can call romantic is go easier and or softer on you. if your looking for emotional sex for comfort or something.. get you a side piece and use them for that one thing

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

yea he does, it’s a stress relief and on his pettiest of days he’ll leave his cum near you. he wouldn’t care if you thought it was gross, he’ll leave his cum by you and move on with his day.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

he likes: praise kink, because he likes no he loves when you praise him for making you go dumb over his dick. 

he likes giving you just a little pain.. he likes the literal tears in your eyes. 

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

anywhere he pleases which is mostly in his room. all for one told him off the last time he fucked in public since people got a half a look at his face. but if he wasn’t told not to he’d fuck you in public. “ show the hero’s how you take dick from a villain”  

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

anything- he’s so easily turned on, but if he’s playing the game and you try and distract him- he takes that as a threat and literally will sit on you so that you can’t move- or if he’s angry and almost won and you made him lose, he’ll grab you by the neck, have his thumb dangerously close to the rest of his fingers on your throat pull you close and look into your eyes. “stop being annoying before i makes you regret it “ 

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

sit down loves he isn’t a bottom nor does he want to try it out, he’s top and if you don’t like it - leave {btw you cant leave because he literally won’t let you} he also doesn’t eat you out- he thinks it’s gross-

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

his head is terrible, he hates eating you out AND him fingering you is like Russian roulette, his thumb might accidently meet up with the rest of his fingers and turn your pussy into dust- no more wap for you, you now have the dap {dusty ass puh} also he might let you suck him might not- he has trust issues and he doesn’t trust your teeth. 

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

like i said- he isn’t the type to go slow, he’s chasing his own pleasure si yes he will go hard and fast nonstop. safe words are needed but will be ignored- just saying so if you don’t like it so rough that your legs give out for a few days than find a new partner because he isn’t for you love. 

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

quickies are basically you sucking him up while he plays the game - if you want him that bad than you can wait until he wants to get off the game and fuck you, lucky for you it isn’t a long wait.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

he use to be risky until he had his face shown at his attacks and so he can’t be risky and fuck you out in public to often, before he was seen he would fuck you in public places- where they could hear you moan 

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

he can last up to two rounds- sorry maybe three if he’s needy and maybe four if he’s stressed which is all the time.. so it depends on his mood because it changes from time to time as you know.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

he doesn’t have time for things likes that and besides but how much he’s giving you- you wouldn’t be able to think about anything yet alone toys. he thinks they are weird and un needed. “are you saying my dick isn’t good enough for you? “ say no if you want, he’ll have you in tears begging for him in minutes.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

meh- not to much he doesn’t have time to waste on teasing you, he has plans and wouldn’t want to pause them just to tease you, take the dick and go to sleep. it’ll knock you out for sure so sleep up before he wants more. 

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

he doesn’t moan he insults- like degradation kink is a small kink of his, he likes the way it sounds coming form him and he loves the way you repeat it when he tells you too, because who are you to refuse him. 

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

he is down to share you, he likes the idea of breaking you down while using another guys dick. that would probably be a punishment though, like if you happened tp the extra annoying that day and just kept brothering him. 

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

his dick is ashy so be careful don’t get rub burn- im joking it’s not ashy probably  the most non ashy  place on his body,

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

not as high as you might think- taking down the heros will always come first on his mind- his games are second and you come.. well last- your the last thing on his mind. no offense.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

knocked out no questions asked, your knocked out too for sure, he put you straight tp sleep. so take the sleep while you can.

[mothsmen]

ok, lets talk:

Spoilers for episode 127 of Critical Role below:

So. Holy shit. What an episode. I was so caught up in the beauyasha of it all that I did not think there was going to be a poorly executed heist tonight folks, but I have to put some thoughts down or I’m gonna go nuts. long analysis under the cut

Let me start off by saying I am not going to bash any players, because this was a tough session and the combination of some bad rolls and wrong choices cause shit to happen. I respect these guys too much and it’s their game, we are lucky to get to be a part of this. 

Now, lets break this fuckery down a little. 3/7 of the MN are currently stuck underground with an evil archmage. Beau is separated from the other outies still. The last thing the rest of the outies heard was to get the hell out. We have a few things to think about, so lets start small and work our way up:

I think Beau is fine, even though she’s separated from the others. She’s fast, and honestly her being on the tower might have saved their asses. Cad would probably have taken them all to Nicodranas if she was still there. 

The guards. They now know shit is happening, or will very quickly, because of the dragon and Trent. The outies might have to deal with that, but I’m more worried about other things. This is the last of what I would consider more minor problems.

Caleb, while on his murder spree, used dunamancy. That is uhhhh maybe really not good. If anyone thinks they are aligned with the Kryn the war could easily restart. If they all live, the consequences of this would definitely be interesting when it comes to Caleb, who was so focused and adamant on peace, yet his carelessness and rage might have restarted the war he fought so hard to end. Trent could easily try to frame this as a Kryn attack, but we’ll see.

The only info the outies know is that they need to get out of there. If Beau gets back to them, and they still haven’t heard from anyone, they might go to Nicodranas, accidentally leaving Jes, Veth, and Caleb with no back up. That could be a huge fucking problem. Like totally campaign changing problem, especially if things go bad with Trent. If they lose Caleb or they’re taken, the MN can’t get back to Aeor in time to stop the TT. They’re cutting it kind of close as is, being day 3 out of 7, not to mention they have to get to the secret entrance, maybe set a trap, go in before the TT, which takes time. Could be very bad.

Jester, Veth, and Caleb, are stuck with Trent right now. I can only see this going maybe four possible directions:

Trent just rips into them. Unlikely but not impossible, they were stealing his valuable shit. If this happens, it’s not likely everyone will make it out alive. Now, Caleb seems pretty unhinged rn so I wouldn’t put it totally past him to attack Trent, but I’m hoping he doesn’t. If there’s combat with just the three of them v Ickythong, the only way for them to make it out alive is to probably get Trent to use his reaction before Jester’s turn so she could actually get them out. Now, while it might save their lives for the time being, if they don’t talk with Trent they will be in very deep shit with the empire.

They talk to Trent and strike some sort of deal that almost certainly will not be in the MN’s favor. I’m thinking giving up/killing Essek, telling Trent about the TT and somnovum(spelling?), giving up allura’s staff, getting blackmailed in various ways, giving up Caleb, it could go a lot of ways.

They are able to contact the outies and the outies come to help. I have a feeling this would almost certainly mean combat, which is better odds, but would really fuck them with the Empire. They would literally look like they were just going after Archmages, and if  they’re caught, The City is on the way.

Similar to the first point, Jester might able to dimension door out, but would only be able to take one other person, probably leaving Caleb. And unless he is able to strike a deal or talk himself into a better spot and he can escape, there’s no way to get to Eiselcross and will be down a Caleb.

None of their options are particularly great. They’re pretty fucked here. My main concerns are Caleb, and the possibilities of him either giving himself up, getting killed bc he has the lowest hp rn. And, the outties not getting a signal and going to Nicodranas.

Now, that’s mostly all I have to say neutral analysis-wise, and the following are going to be my hot takes: Caleb should not have gone in there. When he said he was going in, I got a bad feeling, and then he started loudly and carelessly killing guards with dunamancy (Veth shot first but still holy shit Caleb bad idea bud). Beau was brutal but at least she tried to be quiet. I think Caleb being reckless is whats really going to bite them in the ass. I also do not think the veils are worth it. They’re already being tracked and I just don’t think the risk is going to be worth the inevitable consequences. I definitely think they made a rush decision without thinking too much about the risk, and they’ll be paying for it sooner or later. I also definitely think Marisha was right, they needed better communication. This would have been very different if Caleb and Beau switched places and Veth had made them invisible. Not to mention, this could have major political implications for both the dynasty and the cobalt soul. 

If they make it out of this alive and hopefully end up in Nicodranas, the group is going to have to have a talk, not just about what the fuck happened but also about Caleb. Jester was obviously upset seeing Caleb like that, and Beau is supposed to be holding him accountable but he seemed pretty sure about her being in the outside group, which I find kind of fishy. Not to mention the possible moral dilemmas if they make some sort of deal with Trent. It’s a mess, not a hopeless mess, but a mess. 

Can’t wait to see how i plays out, hopefully Campaign 3 is not too close yet.  

[overheardatthecontinental]

Talk Chapter 14

AO3 LINK

The moment John reaches the city line, he turns on his phone. Yet again, he is met with a cacophony of vibrations as his phone loads with the unread messages that have accumulated over the past twelve or so hours.

He waits until the barrage has ended before hitting the speed dial option that will bring him directly to the Continental. He orders a day room to set up shop, as well as a request for the technician to start researching DeLuca’s mother.

He’s transferred to Winston long enough to find out the name of Mateo’s mother. Winston barely gets a sentence out before John has said a goodbye.

When he is done, he dials Sofia.

It’s already evening in Morocco and he can hear loud music in the background when she answers.

“You’re lucky I’m picking up considering you don’t answer any of your texts.” She says loudly, over the pulsing rhythm.

John feels his lips twitch at the annoyance in her tone. “Been busy.”

“So I’ve heard.” The background noise gets quieter and he hears the sound of a door closing. “Rumor has it, you’re killing anybody even considering taking the Kingston contract.”

Good. While he doesn’t have the time to actually go ahead and kill every person seeking out Helen, he wants anybody considering her contract to think twice.

“Hearing many rumors in Casablanca?”

“Oh, you went global , John. Everybody everywhere is talking about it.”

John sighs at that and shakes his head, “Is there really nothing more interesting happening anywhere?”

“I’ll break it down for you because I know you’ve had a lot of head injuries: everybody looks at you like a monk. You don’t date. You don’t fuck around. Everybody just kind of assumed you were celibate. I've even heard rumors that you made a deal with the devil to be powerful at the cost of giving up sex.”

“Then, a contract goes wide. Some woman no one’s ever heard of. Never set foot in the Underworld yet seems to have a connection to John Wick. Everybody waits for a response. Only you disappear off the map for twenty-four hours. And nobody can actually find Helen Kingston.”

“Then, you resurface and start killing anyone who’s even looked at the Kingston contract. So, no, John. There really isn’t anything more interesting happening anywhere.”

John lets out a breath.

This, he realizes, is quickly becoming his newest fear. That even if, somehow, he can get them both out alive, he’s going to have to face the rest of the Underworld.

He’d warned Helen before he left that he still had enemies. Ones far worse than DeLuca. The Syndicate heir was ambitious, but DeLuca truly didn’t care whether Helen lived or died. Others would. Others would make it their mission to make her suffer just to see how John would react.

She was already trapped in ways she couldn’t possibly understand and that terrified him.

“But I take it you’re not calling to find out what the rumor mill is pelting in Casablanca.”

“No, I’m not.” John says, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel as he waits for the pedestrians to cross in front of him. “I need a favor. There’s a bottle of Romanee-Conti ’72 in it for you. Plus expenses.” He’s more than willing to give her a marker if that’s what this takes, but he has a feeling that the rare vintage plus the intrigue of it all will be enough to capture her attention.

“Color me intrigued. What’s the job?”

“The man who’s hired the hit on Helen is Mateo DeLuca of Syndicate. I have reason to believe his mother, Isabella DeLuca, is the one who is actually calling the shots. Only problem, she’s in Rome.”

Sofia hums, “Is she well-guarded?”

“I don’t know.” John answers honestly, “But I need her in New York yesterday.”

“An exchange. His mother for your girl?”

John drives on, inclining his head at the question, “I’m certain it won’t be that simple. But yes.”

Sofia hums and, again, he can hear her moving. The background noise increases slightly, “I can be to Rome in five hours.”

“Perfect. If you can get her when she’s going to bed—”

“No one will be the wiser until morning. This isn’t my first extraction, John.”

He nods to himself because of course it isn’t .

He isn’t a micromanager. He never has been, but the stakes have never been quite like this before.

“You care if she’s bruised?”

John considers it.

He typically liked to keep things as clean as possible. He didn’t do extractions or espionage or anything else that called for more tact and forethought than a bullet to the head.

But Isabella DeLuca was the force behind Mateo. Arguably, the force behind Helen’s abduction.

“Not in the slightest.” He says finally, “Although I don’t expect she’ll put up much of a fight. She’s a bureaucrat.”

Sofia groans, “I prefer it when they fight. Bureaucrats just whine.”

“I get it. I’ve spent more time dealing with politics the past few days than I have in my entire life.”

“Never thought I’d see the day where John Wick had to talk nice to people. Then again, never thought you were going to get your v-card punched, either.”

John rolls his eyes at Sofia’s ongoing joke. There wasn’t much else she could get on him but his decision to be largely celibate fascinated his friend. Truthfully, John didn’t think too much about sex or carnal pleasures. He didn’t prioritize fleeting experiences.

But then, the assassin’s voice softens, “How is she? Your girl. Does she understand what’s going on?”

John nods before remembering that Sofia can’t see him. “Yeah, she gets it. And she’s…” unbelievable. Ridiculous. Brave and clever and tougher than he ever gave her credit for, “In the past week, she’s been kidnapped, held hostage, and forced to go into hiding because half of New York is out to kill her. And despite all that, her biggest concern is that something could happen to me .”

It still boggles his mind.

“How long have you been together?”

He isn’t entirely sure how to answer that and there’s far too much to explain over the phone. He decides on, “It’s complicated.”

“Isn’t it always?” She asks and John is glad that she isn’t going to chastise him for not knowing better. “Hang on.” He hears her switch languages to Arabic. While John isn’t fluent in that particular language, he knows enough to hear the word ‘airplane’. After a minute of back and forth, she is back on the phone, “I’m headed to the airport now. The concierge is finding a pilot as we speak.”

“Perfect.” John says with a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

“Where am I taking her once I have her?”

He thinks, quickly. There were too many eyes in New York for him to chance it getting back to DeLuca. Likewise, he was certain his house was being watched. Even though it technically wasn’t under his name, enough people knew about his residence in Jersey for it to get around. And there was no way in hell he was bringing Isabella anywhere near Helen.

“There’s a private airstrip just outside of Newark with an adjacent motel. Keep her there. If I don’t talk to you before then, I’ll plan on meeting you there tomorrow, at noon. I’ll probably be offline when you land.”

“I’ll get her there.”

“Thank you, Sof.”

He hangs up and concentrates on the road ahead, even as his thoughts spin. He hates having to depend on anybody. That said, he does trust Sofia to get the job done. To take care of it and troubleshoot any unforeseen problems on her own. That knowledge helps with the distaste he feels for needing help. It was easier to accept the help, too, knowing it would benefit Helen.

John makes it to the Continental and leaves his car with the valet. Walking into the lobby, he spots Verdugo sitting in an armchair by the fire, reading the newspaper. He imagines the assassin is likely still the number one contender targeting Helen, considering John hadn’t been able to touch him the day before.

He feels his hand already itching for his gun but he knows the rule.

He recites the rule, to himself, again and again as he passes by.

No business conducted on Continental grounds.

He can’t falter on that, not here. The moment Verdugo sets foot outside the hotel, he’s fair game. But not here.

Charon already has a key card placed on the counter when John reaches the counter. John places a coin down and they make a quick exchange.

“Mister Dexter sent you a fax and the Technician has compiled the information you asked for. I’ve taken the liberty of sending it all to your room.”

“Thank you.” John says, thinking back over the past few days. For everything that the Continental staff had helped him with. “For everything, this week.”

“Of course.” The Concierge replies with ease. John takes his key and starts to walk off when Charon calls to him, “And Mister Wick?” He waits until John turns, “I wish you the best of luck with your… task.”

John nods his thanks and proceeds down the hall and up the stairs. The day room was almost identical to the one he had stayed in while waiting for news of Helen just days ago. Two folders layfolders lay on the table when John walks in.

The first is much smaller. John flips it open and finds only two sheets of paper, reporting the updated odds. In large capital letters, it advertises Kingston Contract Odds .

John forces himself to swallow as he reads through it.

Verdugo remains the top contender, but the rest of the list is very different than the one he had seen yesterday morning.

Fuck, he thinks, was it really only yesterday?

He sighs, reviewing the changes. While he had eliminated a great deal of the assassins targeting Helen, even more had dropped out of their own accord, it would seem.

Good.

But more would always come, as evidenced by the papers in his hands.

More names he didn’t recognize. Junior assassins and street kids looking to make a name for themselves.

He’d try to make time to eliminate more. Keep reminding people exactly who they were messing with by going after a woman they knew to be his.

John takes out his cell phone, again, ignoring the dozens of text messages that would be left unread until he had the time to deal with them. He finds Santino and drafts a new message.

J: Need to talk. Today.

He reads it over after and sends. Before he can even set it down, it vibrates in his hand.

S: Intriguing. You know where I live.

John turns off the screen, setting the device to the side as he opens the second folder.

Pictures of Isabella DeLuca on the arm of her late husband at scores of different events over the years. A birth announcement of their son. A copy of a marriage certificate. A degree from Sapienza University of Rome in business sciences and another in political science. A transcript, providing proof of excellent marks and scores.

She was bright, it seems, adding to Helen’s theory that Isabella was the true brain behind Syndicate.

He continues going back into her history, but he doesn’t make the connection until he sees her birth certificate.

Isabella Carlotta Giovinco.

Daughter of Stefano Giovinco and Valentina D’Antonio.

He whips out his phone and dials Winston speedily.

“Hello again, Jonathan. Have you—”

“Valentina D’Antonio.” John says quickly, “What’s her relationship to Lorenzo?”

“Valentina?” Winston repeats, “She was his older sister. The eldest child of Claudia and Enzo D’Antonio.”

“And that would make Isabella DeLuca his niece?”

“Yes.”

John closes his eyes, “And you didn’t think that was pertinent information to share when DeLuca asked me to kill the D’Antonio’s?”

“Killing family is not an unusual practice, Jonathan. But, honestly, it slipped my mind. When Isabella was never, herself, a D’Antonio.”

“But her mother was.” He shakes his head, “And in those days, everything was patrilineal. Heir’s weren’t chosen based on age or conviction; they automatically went to the oldest male.”

“Which, in Valentina’s case was her brother, Lorenzo. She married one of her father’s lieutenants, if I remember correctly. They had several children, one of which being Isabella. It was quite the scandalous thing when Isabella married Dante. She had to renounce the Camorra at her own wedding to be accepted into Syndicate.”

“A lesser gang.”

“But one that quickly rose to prominence. It’s second only behind the Camorra in Italy.”

John pinches the bridge of his nose. He fucking hates this bullshit.

There’s a knock on the door and a beeping as the door unlocks. Winston enters and John lowers his phone, shutting it off.

“So, before Isabella, Syndicate was just another Italian crime family trying to be great.” John assesses, “Her family probably thought she was crazy for leaving the safety of the Camorra, but there was no advancement there. In the Camorra, she was just the daughter of a soldier and a has-been princess. But in Syndicate, she was a queen.”

“You think Isabella was the driving force behind Syndicate’s rise?” Winston synthesizes, looking unsure.

John nods, “I do. Helen told me that DeLuca wasn’t smart enough to be doing this on his own and I didn’t listen. Fuck .” He exhales, “I almost missed it.”

He’d kick himself if he could. If he had just listened to her from the beginning… no. He can’t focus on should have’s.

This is good.

Any doubt that Lorenzo D’Antonio will turn down his request fades from his mind.

Because it’s personal now. For them, at least.

It’s been personal for John since they started stalking the woman he loved.

“Unbelievable.” He mutters.

“I take it Mateo demanded the same last night as when he first took your beloved.”

John nods again, “Yes. And I’ve spent the last few days trying to figure out how I can get us both out of this alive. I can’t believe I almost missed it.”

John exhales and it feels like a weight is lifted from his shoulders.

It’s far from over but he can feel everything start to come together. There’s a light at the end of a tunnel that once seemed endless.

He breathes easy.

He wishes that Helen weren’t hours away so he could take her into his arms and hug her as the relief courses through him, overwhelming the guilt that he had missed something so crucial.

“It’s unsurprising that you missed it.” Winston says, “You’ve never had a political mind. You prefer the simplicity of being told where to point and shoot.”

True enough, John thinks.

“There’s something else you should know.” Winston adds, his voice softening in a way that tells John that whatever comes next won’t be good. He nods and Winston says, “There’s a missing person’s out for Helen Kingston. I’m not sure if it was someone in the Underworld trying to draw her out of hiding or if it was someone from her work, but the police were at her house this morning.”

If it wasn’t one thing, it was another.

John shakes his head, “Do you know if Charlie was able to clean the scene before the police got there?”

Winston nods, “Yes. I have someone watching the investigation. The police are under the assumption that she ran away since both her cell phones and her laptop are nowhere to be found but her family is pushing, saying Helen wouldn’t just disappear without telling them.”

“Alright.” John sighs, “Thank you for letting me know.

“Of course.”

“I have to meet with Santino.” John says, closing the folder and handing it to Winston, “Could you pass these along to the Technician? I need them scanned and emailed to Sofia Al-Azwar.”

Winston accepts the folder, inclining his head, “I’d ask what you were planning, Jonathan, except I feel it’s better that I don’t know.”

“You’re probably right.” John agrees.

“That said, I will be watching with complete and utter fascination.” The Manager continues, “Good luck.”

John nods, pocketing the key in case he needs to come back, and leaving the rest behind. Without a goodbye, he hurries back down the hall. He descends the stairs only to meet Verdugo walking up. The other assassin gives him a smile.

“You’re a hard man to find, John Wick.”

John stops and reminds himself again, of the mandate.

No business shall be conducted on Continental grounds .

While John was more than willing to argue that this isn’t business, it was personal , he was certain that argument wouldn’t fly with Winston or the High Table.

“Am I?” He asks, instead.

“Very. But every now and then, you pop up. Seemingly out of nowhere. If only Helen Kingston was privy to doing the same.”

No business shall be conducted on Continental grounds .

“It would be in your best interest,” John manages to bite out, “To forget her name.”

“But it is such a pretty name. Fitting, really. There was a war over her namesake as well.”

No business shall be conducted on Continental grounds .

“One where thousands died,” John agrees, aware that they’ve caught the attention of several onlookers just off the lobby, “Yet another reason it would be wise of you to drop the contract.”

Verdugo inclines his head, “You can’t keep her hidden forever. You do know that, don’t you? If it’s not me, it’ll be someone else.”

No business shall be conducted on Continental grounds .

“It won’t be you.”

“Why are you making this so much harder on yourself?” There is genuine curiosity dripping from Verdugo’s words. A confusion, of sorts, as if he can’t understand why John Wick is putting off the inevitable.

Kate had been similarly curious, although hers had been riddled with amusement. Now she was dead.

But every assassin thought themselves invincible, to a degree. Yes, they were far more aware of mortality than the average person having watched the life drain from countless eyes. But the older assassins in particular, who had brushed with death regularly, often seemed to forget that.

John, himself, was guilty of that. He thinks to the tie that does not hang from his neck, which instead, he had left with Helen. He might never wear one again in his promise to her to not let anyone have a chance at defeating him.

“Make it easier on yourself and let her go.” The other assassin pauses, “I’ll make sure it’s quick. Painless.”

No business shall be conducted on Continental grounds .

No business shall be conducted on Continental grounds .

No business shall be conducted on Continental grounds .

“Would you like to take this outside?” John asks, hoping against hope that Verdugo is stupid or confident enough to make a mistake.

Verdugo inclines his head, “You forget, Mister Wick. You’re not the one with the multi-million-dollar bounty… Consider my offer. Others’ targeting the Boogeyman’s woman will be far more malicious.” He starts to ascend back up the stairs, “Be seeing you, Mister Wick.”

John repeats the rule one last time before forcing himself to turn away. Until Verdugo leaves the Continental, John can’t do shit.

That said, he’d be extra wary of tails on his way home. Just in case.

He’s almost tempted to let the assassin tail him. Take him to the middle of nowhere and pummel him to death.

His focus has never been so chaotic. He’s typically good at ignoring the smack talk. At walking away from those seeking to push him or make him lose his resolve.

John needs to stick to the plan.

Helen is safe. Protected.

Marcus won’t let anything happen to her.

He needs to do his part.

He nods to Charon as he leaves, ignoring the countless sets of eyes watching him as he strides through the lobby with purpose. The valet is gone when he reaches the stairs and John takes a moment to breathe. To go over the plan.

Santino will still be his point of contact. The easiest of the D’Antonio’s to convince to go along with his plan. But now he has leverage to use with Lorenzo, which makes it significantly easier to breathe.

He just needs to get the bounty removed. Then he can deal with the rest—the other enemies who might target Helen, the missing persons’ case being explored, and the countless unresolved feelings that had been flowing between them.

In a way, he’s relieved that the deadline is only two days away because he’s not sure how much more he can take.

The valet pulls up to the curb with his car and John hands him a tip as he walks by. Santino’s penthouse condo wasn’t too far away, just over the bridge and into Manhattan.

John is waved into the garage by security and he parks next to one of Santino’s many, but mostly unused, sports cars, before heading to the elevator.

When he arrives, a few members of Santino’s entourage were relaxing around his penthouse.

Ares plays a video game with a few of her co-bodyguards. She throws him a smirk as John is wanded down by another member of Santino’s protection.

Her hands move in a blur as she signs you still alive, old man?

John rolls his eyes and signs back Respect your elders.

Ares only grins wider I’d rather respect your girlfriend. I’ve seen the pictures. She has a nice ass .

Not knowing how to respond to that, John just shakes his head and moves further into the penthouse suite. Santino appears at the balcony, always one to make an entrance, and descends down the stairs.

“John! Always a pleasure. Café?”

John nods, “Si. Gratzi.”

Santino motions with a hand and leads John to a kitchen where two more of his men were sitting. Both regard John with interest but he ignores their stares. Santino barks an order in Italian and one of them stands to make the espresso.

“You’ll have to forgive the mess,” Santino says, although John has noticed no mess to speak of, “My father and sister are visiting.”

John hums, “Are they here?”

“No, no. Gianna doesn’t travel often and prefers to use the advantages of the Continental whenever she does. My father is staying with a business associate.”

John didn’t understand much of politics, but he was well aware that business associate meant mistress in this case. He says nothing as Santino’s henchman hands them each a small cup.

“Now, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” Santino asks.

John glances around not so subtly and Santino gives another order. The men vacate the room and John can hear them passing on to others outside the kitchen that it is time to leave.

“I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors going around.”

“Ah, but I never believe such fickle things.”

That was a lie, but John let it slide. He didn’t come here to argue with the Italian mafiaso after all. He can hear the swing of the door and he glances back. Ares has come in.

“I hope you don’t mind, John, but I do prefer to keep my head of security close at all times.”

He resists the urge to roll his eyes but nods, signing as he speaks, for Ares benefit, “Of course.”

Santino offers a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes and John finds himself doubting that this is a good idea.

Remember your promise , he thinks. He will come home.

“Now, please,” Santino says, “Enlighten me with the truth.”

“The rumors,” John admits, “are largely true.”

“But not entirely?” Santino leans forward.

“Is anything entirely true?” John evades with a practiced ease.

“Is she your girlfriend?”

“We’ve never technically put such a label on our relationship.” Not technically a lie, John thinks. “But for all intents and purposes, she is mine .”

Santino grins broadly, already rapt by the drama of it all. John will never understand the Mafioso’s fascination with such things. Truthfully, John isn’t certain why anybody gives a damn about the lives of people they don’t care about but that’s another matter entirely.

“Mio Dio, John. I did not think you had it in you.”

He barely withholds another eyeroll.

“And now what? You destroy New York piece by piece, until there’s no one left to harm her?”

“That’s plan B.”

“And plan A?”

John swallows down the espresso, keeping an eye on Ares as he prepares to explain.

“Mateo DeLuca holds the hit over Helen. I’m sure you’re familiar with him.”

“We’ve never actually met.” Santino says, “But he is my cousin.”

John nods once, “And of his mother?”

“Isabella. My dear aunt Valentina’s daughter. Until she disowned and dishonored her family to marry that scoundrel, Dante. Quite the tragic affair, although I was too young to remember.”

“She remembers you.” John says, “She’s ordered your death, along with that of your father and sister, in exchange for the release of Helen’s contract.”

Ares moves fast but John is faster. He grabs a cutting board from the island and uses it to catch the two knives she throws at him before he discards it, throwing it to the floor.

“Relax!” He says as he signs, before turning back to Santino, “If I wanted you dead, I wouldn’t have offered you an explanation. I’d have killed you the moment you walked in.”

Santino looks to his guard, quietly ordering her to stand down, before looking back at John. “Go on.”

“They want the Camorra.” John says before taunting, “And it would be easy enough to give them. Except I don’t trust them. Nor do I like the idea of the High Table coming after me while DeLuca takes Rome, free of consequence.”

“I take it you have a plan?”

“It would require your cooperation, as well as that of your father and sister.”

“How so?” There is a glint of excitement in Santino’s eyes that John really doesn’t understand but he isn’t going to complain if it means the mafiaso is willing to help.

John glances to Ares, who has her arms crossed and is still watching him with suspicion. “We’ll need to stage your death. I’ll take photographic evidence to give to DeLuca. Once he exchanges his end of the bargain, you can present the DeLuca’s to the High Table to be tried for treason.”

“And you walk away with the girl.” Santino hums, shaking his shoulders as he considers it, “How exciting! How would you like to fake my death? Strangle me? Pretend to cut me open, hmm?”

Unbelievable. It takes him a moment to even remember to speak, “I was thinking fake a bullet to the head. It doesn’t leave much room for questioning.”

“Are we to do this now?” Santino is practically bouncing.

Again, John is tempted to just yell what the fuck but withholds with a shake of his head.

“I was hoping to speak with your father, first. But yes, it would be today. If I’m seen coming and going while you are obviously alive, DeLuca might suspect that I’ve tipped you off.”

“Wonderful!”

“You’d have to stay in hiding for two days.” John says, “And no one can know. Not even your entourage or security. Save Ares.”

“Yes, yes!” Santino nods, “They will mourn their loss only for me to rise, like Christo.”

He swears he catches Ares rolling her eyes while Santino considers how to best spin faking his death. Not that she’d ever admit it. She was too loyal. A rare quality in the Underworld, but one John respected nonetheless.

“Can you get a hold of your father remotely?” John asks, “Over video call?”

“Of course!” Santino gives instructions to Ares. She nods and leaves the room, “New video conferencing on top-of-the-line laptop. Just released from Geneva. It’s untraceable, unhackable.”

The other assassin returns with the laptop and sets it up for Santino. The heir calls his father while John closes his eyes. The youngest D’Antonio had been an easy sell—willing to play dead for the shock value and entertainment factors alone. And while John was certain Lorenzo would be swayed by Isabella’s involvement, he was aware that Lorenzo might take a bit more pushing.

The call is picked up by one of Lorenzo’s bodyguards.

John is aware that high-ranking members of the Underworld kept hired guns, and particularly members of the High Table required guarding, but it still throws him.

John, who can barely stand the presence of friends, cannot understand the appeal of such things. Or the inability to take care of one’s self.

After a few minutes, Lorenzo is brought to the computer. He settles down in front of it, peering at the camera. A rush of Italian parts from his lips and John finds himself code-switching quickly, trying to change the language his brain would accept.

“I told you, I would see you Friday before I left—” Lorenzo was saying, his voice dripping with disdain.

“Yes, father, but I have John Wick here to speak with you.”

Santino turns the camera towards John.

“John!” Lorenzo says in surprise, “I was hoping to see you on my visit. When I heard about your… conundrum, I assumed you would be too busy.”

“Lorenzo,” John steps closer to the camera, “It’s about that matter I wish to speak with you.”

And it all comes out.

The involvement of the DeLuca’s. Isabella’s slow, careful takeover of the Syndicate. Playing kingmaker to her son and murdering her husband, all in quest of taking back the Camorra.

The contract on Helen’s life.

How, despite the contract, John doesn’t trust the Syndicate crime family.

“That whore .” Lorenzo spits out, when John has finished, “She gets that from her mother. Being a princess in the Camorra was not enough.” The old man shakes his head, “Her ambition is her downfall.”

“You can have them tried at the High Table for their treason.” John nudges.

Lorenzo certainly perks up at that. What a display that could be. The Camorra annihilating its number one competitor, publicly.

“I’ll testify for the High Table.” He continues, “All I ask is a few hours of your time. And that of your children.”

“I don’t like the idea of playing a dead man.” Lorenzo replies uncertainly, “It would look weak.”

“Only for you to rise from the grave, seizing what has fallen in DeLuca’s absence. Syndicate could be yours.”

Lorenzo considers it, a smile breaking upon his face. “Alright, John. Tell me your plan.”

....

thanks to @meetmeinthematinee​ for reviewing it before I posted this :)

[chickensarentcheap]

Best Part of Me -Chapter 75

Warnings: none

Tagging: @innerpaperexpertcloud​, @c-a-v-a-l-r-y​, @alievans007​

Koen arrives shortly before ten in the evening. A paper bag full of bottles of booze under one arm and a tattered and weathered backpack slung over the other; looking slightly worse for wear, even for him. He’s always been dishevelled and unkempt at best, but the pace and the intensity of the job has taken its toll on him; his beard thicker and and boasting more strands of gray, his face and body remarkably thinner and marred by both old and fresh bumps, bruises and contusions that will definitely scar. But that old familiar glitter is still in his eyes; the one that speaks of mischievousness and trouble and gives away his quick and sometimes cutting tongue before he even opens his mouth. The last three weeks have been hell on everyone involved; physically AND mentally. Bodies being consumed by near constant pain, little sleep and poor diet while their brains are subjected to fear, stress, and the overwhelming worth that comes each step out the door and onto the street.

But it’s almost over; the finish line finally in sight. With the list complete, only Mahajan himself and Asif’s people remain; the latter extra hurdles they never expected to confront. No one ever stopped to consider that Mahajan’s reach extended further than India, or that anyone would be able to get to Neysa and Aarav. Nathan is nothing more than a ‘tag along’; extra weight that has to be carried. And his true involvement and whether or not he IS the mole, is yet to be determined. To an untrained eye, it would be easy to see Nathan as another victim; the multitude of injuries and the defiance caught on video. But there’s too many unanswered questions to just let him off the hook. Too much suspicion and things that can’t be explained revolving around his disappearance and sudden reappearance, and it would be foolish -and possibly deadly- to let your guard down around him.

“Am I ever fucking glad to see your ugly face,” Koen says, as he sets both bags down on the kitchen table and then tightly embraces Tyler.

This isn’t one of his usual hugs. It’s warm and genuine; filled with enormous relief and a little gratitude that they've both survived long enough to get a moment like this. And when he pulls away -holding Tyler at arms length, a hand coming up to clasp him on the back of the head before tightly cupping it- there’s something even more unfamiliar in his eyes: a shimmer of tears and honest, pure affection. Normally Tyler would jump on it and rib his old friend about something like that; in the same way Koen would do to him if the situation was reversed. But now is not the time. The last three weeks have felt like three years; everyone involved is exhausted and hurting and relying on nothing more than adrenaline -the hope of it all sending soon- to keep them going. And there’s the strong possibility that someone -or more than one person, even- won’t make it out alive. The realization that the person standing in front of you might not survive and this could very well be the last time you ever see them.

“You good?” Koen ruffles the hair at the back of Tyler’s head. “How you feeling? You sure look a hell of a lot better than the last time I saw you.”

“I’m alright, I guess. Could be better, could be worse.”

“What’s the pain like? That guy fucked you up pretty good.”

“I’ve had worse.” It’s not entirely a lie. When he’d woken in the hospital seven years ago, the agony had been intense; there hadn’t been a single inch of his body that hadn’t hurt. Since then he’s lived in chronic pain. Some days he’s able to manage and others he can barely get out of bed in the morning. This is a new level of discomfort; increasing and worsening mobility issues, the pins and needles in his right hand, the need for more and more meds to just take the edge off.

“Well you look good. Hell of a lot better than the last time I was with you. Which doesn’t take much, considering you were covered in your own puke and piss and I had to undress you and toss you in the shower.”

Tyler smirks. “I remember when that used to be a sign of a really awesome Friday night.”

Koen cracks a grin at that. “We’re both getting way too old for that shit. And you’ve past it, thank Christ. I honestly thought one day I’d show up at your place and find you dead. About time you smartened the hell up and got your shit together.”

“Guess all I needed was a kick in the ass.”

“A kick in the ass from the right person, you mean. ‘Cause I spent years kicking you in the ass and it did nothing but make you worse. I guess the kick had to come from a hot little brunette to have any effect on you.”

“Yeah…” Tyler grins. “...I guess it did.”

“Can’t say I blame you. She’d be all the motivation I’d need, too. Figure we should be both thanking our lucky stars that she came around when she did. Had it even been a couple months later…”

“Trust me; every day I’m grateful for that. Every goddamn day. For the past seven years.”

“Good. Because you should be. Because even though you were a fucking wreck, she stuck around. She could have easily taken one look at you and thought ‘damaged goods’ and hauled ass on out of there. And to be honest, I wouldn’t have blamed her. You were a lot to handle. She must be made of tough stuff, because she wasn’t afraid of your shut or to put a foot up your ass.

“She’s still not afraid of that. And she is. Tough. Strong. A lot stronger than she gives herself credit for.”

“That’s exactly what you need,” Koen declares. “A strong woman. Someone to challenge you and to keep challenging you. Although I do question her sanity. No one in their right mind would hook up with the likes of your sorry ass.”

“I lost my sanity a long time ago,” Esme says, as she descends the stairs. “Why do you think I have five kids? Do you think anyone with a shred of sanity left would do that to themselves?”

“I thought it was because he couldn’t stay off ya and you don’t know the word ‘no’.”

“I admit, it IS hard. He’s devastatingly handsome and can be very persuasive.”

“Devastatingly handsome?” Koen scoffs. “Sweetheart, you are blind as shit. How’s it going, kiddo?” He embraces Esme warmly, then presses a kiss to each cheek. “Looking lovely, as always.”

“Now who’s blind as shit? I look like the offspring of a dumpster fire and a train wreck. But I appreciate you trying to feed my ego.”

“Don’t even argue with her,” Tyler says. “For every good thing you bring up, she’s got five bad things that exist only in her own mind.”

Esme sighs. “In case you haven’t noticed, Tyler is either completely blind, or totally biased. Koen, if your wife asked you if she looked like a mess...and not a hot one...would tell the truth?”

“Telling the truth is the reason I have so many ex wives. But in all fairness, my ex wives WERE messed. Had any of them looked like you, I’d probably still be married and the happiest sonofabitch on the planet. Now tell me…” he slings an arm across her shoulders and pulls her into his side. “...he been treating you right? Because if he hasn’t…”

“He’s been a complete gentleman. Except for the times I don’t want him to be. And those are X rated and not for your precious little ears, so…” she presses a kiss to his cheek, then moves towards the fridge.

“I do not need to know about all the kinky shit you two do. You been keeping him in line? Making sure he pulls his weight? Because you tell me just one bad word, and…”

“He’s been amazing. Even more amazing than usual. Sorry, Koen; I’m not leaving him for you. Not yet anyway.”

“So you’re saying there’s a chance?” He grins, then nudges Tyler with his elbow. “You into sharing, mate?”

He scowls. “Fuck you. That’s my wife. What’s wrong with you?”

“Remember that one girl in Melbourne? About twelve years ago? The blond with the big…”

“There’s a woman in the room!” Esme pipes up, and snags a vitamin water from the fridge. “I do not need to hear these things.”

“You didn’t mind sharing her,” Koen points out.

“That was a random at a bar. That…” Tyler nods in Esme’s direction. “...is my wife. The mother of my kids. I don’t share. Not when it comes to her.”

“As much as I’d love to stay down here and listen to raunchy and disturbing stories from my husband’s sexual past, I have a bubble bath calling my name,” Esme says. “And quite frankly, I prefer to pretend he was somewhat innocent and virginal when we met.”

Koen snorts. “There’s been nothing innocent or virginal about him since he was about fourteen.”

She frowns. “I’m ignoring you now. I’m turning my ears off. Because I do not need to hear or know about these things. I’m going to go upstairs and pamper myself and do girly shit and you two can stay down here and talk about your sexual conquests. But I swear to God, if my ears start to burn, I will beat the hell out of both of you.”

“I would never do that,” Tyler assured her. “Talk about you like that.”

“He lies,” Koen speaks up. “He talks about you like that all the time. The things I know about you…”

“Fuck off,” Tyler snarls. “I’ve never talked about her like that with you. That’s wishful thinking on your part.”

“I’m just warning you both.” She places a hand on her husband’s hip, standing on her tiptoes as he leans down to press a soft, brief kiss to her lips. “I am in no mood for fuckery.”

“What are you in the mood for?” Koen quips, the mischievous glitter back in his eyes as he bounces up and down on his heels. “I hear chubby, balding guys can really get shit done.”

Tyler glares at him, then slaps him upside the head. “What the fuck is wrong with you? That’s my wife.”

“Sorry Grandpa Koen,” Esme smirks. “I’m a one man woman.”

“Grandpa Koen?” He feigns insults, a hand clasped over his heart. “That’s harsh. Why do you have to break a bloke’s heart like that?”

She grinning over her shoulder as she climbs the stairs. “Goodnight, boys.”

****

Two hours and a bottle and a half of scotch later, they sit at the kitchen table, reminiscing on days long past. Military missions served together and the camaraderie and the rare laughs and lighthearted moments while overseas. Hiking and camping and hunting trips that they’ve taken -along with Rata- and the handful of times they’d simply packed up and travelled for weeks on end; nothing where they ended up or how they got there.

He was nineteen when he first met Koen; fresh out of basic training, too cocky for his own good, and in desperate need of an attitude adjustment and real experience to knock the chip off his shoulder. Koen had been a staff sergeant then; already grizzled and combat weary and sick of the ‘little shits’ like Tyler that passed his way; the ones with their heads shoved up their own asses, who thought they were something special for getting through training in one piece. Koen had made it his personal mission to make his life as miserable as possible; treating him lower than dirty in order to rid him of what Koen had called ‘pukey personality’. He’d seen something in that nineteen year old kid; the promise of becoming a damn good soldier. And it had worked; all the physical and mental punishment completely broke him; transitioning him into someone he no longer recognized. It had unknowingly led to the worsening of some things; the toxic masculinity that had been beaten into him thanks to his old man, and a propensity to drink way too heavily. Being that good of a soldier...as nothing more than a killing machine in his eyes...had made him feel invincible; each successful tour leaving him feeling ten feet tall and bulletproof. And had eventually led him to the job and that sick and twisted desire to seek out one suicide mission after another.

“You alright?” Koen asks, as he pours himself another drink. “You got a little quiet on me there.”

“I’m alright,” Tyler confirms, and runs a palm along the side of his glass. It’s only his second of the night. Starting off by promising to pace himself; not wanting to drink too much considering the amount of painkillers -well beyond the prescribed amount- he’s been taking. But he’d quickly realized it was more than that. He simply didn’t enjoy it anymore; all the cravings and the need and the taste for it somehow disappearing since the incident a week and a half ago.

“You sure? Haven’t seen you look THAT serious in a long time. What’s going on?”

“I need you to do me a favor.”

“Sounds intense.”

“About as intense as it gets.”

Koen sips his drink. “What’s it about?”

Tyler pushes his glass aside and reaches into the side pocket of his cargo shorts. Pulling out a handwritten letter -two pages long- sealed in an envelope. And he issues a heavy, shaky sigh and offers it to his friend.

Koen’s eyes narrow. “What the hell is this?”

“If anything happens to me, you have to give this to Esme. I need her to read it. She HAS to read it.”

“Fuck you, Tyler,” the older man snarls. “I’m not taking no death letter.”

“You have to. You NEED to. If anything happens to me…”

“Stop talking that shit. I won’t listen to it. I won’t…”

“I need you to fucking do this!” he snaps, then roughly grabs his friend’s hand and shoves the letter into it. “She needs to read it. And I need you to give it to her. You keep it and if anything happens to me, you make sure she gets it. This is important to me, okay? I need her to read it. And I need you to promise me that you’ll make sure she does.”

“Why wait? Why wait until it’s too late? Why not tell her these things now? So she knows. Wouldn’t you rather she knows before? Why the fuck…?”

“She knows. She knows I love her. She knows I love her with everything I am and everything I have. But there’s things in there I can’t say. Or I feel like I can’t say properly. And I NEED her to know those things. If something happens to me, it’s important she knows. I need you to do this.”

Koen downs half of his drink and then stands up, reluctantly sliding the envelope into the back pocket of his jeans. “You’re a pain in my ass, you know that? The things I don’t fucking do for you. Taking a goddamn death letter.”

“Just promise you’ll give it to her. If I don’t make it out of here, promise me you’ll make sure she gets that. You have no idea how important it is to me.”

“I’ll make sure. What about your kids? They might like something from their daddy. You know...if…”

“I already did something for them. A video. Ovi has it. He’ll make sure they see it. And that Addie will watch when she’s old enough to understand.” It’s on the tip of his tongue to tell him about the new baby, but mere though of it...the realization that he could leave a pregnant wife behind and there’d be a child he’d never get to see- is just too fucking painful. Ovi knows; he’d made the kid take a vow of secrecy after telling him to make sure all the kids saw the video when they’re old enough. Even the one that’s still inside their mother’s belly.

“Well let’s hope she never has a reason to read it,” Koen says. “And that those kids never have to see that video. You do whatever it takes to get your ass out of there. Alive. And I’ll do whatever I have to on my end to make sure it happens. This isn’t it. It CAN’T be it. Not when you just found all of this. A wife and kids. A family. A REAL goddamn family. This can’t be it.”

“I sure as fuck hope it isn’t.” He doesn’t bother to hold back the tears that manage to escape; hot against his skin as they slip down the sides of his nose and his cheeks. His chest burns and aches. Not the kind of agony that comes with anxiety, but the suffering that comes with heartache and grief and tremendous loss. Not even the swallow of scotch -in an attempt to clear the lump of emotion from his throat- helps, and he places an elbow on the table and his palm against his forehead. Eyes closed as he struggles to keep it together.

“It’s alright,” Koen’s voice is surprisingly quiet and calm, and there’s an audible creak as he leans forward in his hair; hand both heavy and comforting against the back of Tyler’s head. “It’s alright now, son. It’s okay to be like this. You can be this way with me. I got you.”

“If it was just me, I wouldn’t give a shit,” his voice cracks with emotion as the tears continue to fall. “Seven years ago, I wouldn’t have cared if I made it out. But now I have her and I have my kids and I can’t...I can’t leave them. I’m not ready to leave them.”

“No one says you’re going to. It’s not a sure thing. You’re a tough, stubborn bastard.”

“I don’t want to die. I don't want this life to be over. Before her, I was ready. I wanted to die; I wanted all the bullshit to be over. I hated my life and I hated myself and I didn’t fuck care if someone put a bullet in me. And I then I met here and everything changed. I changed. She didn’t look at me like I was a pathetic, cowardly piece of shit and she made me feel things I hadn’t felt in a long time and I never thought I’d feel again. And maybe it was wrong; how things happened, where they happened. But it felt right. For the first time in a long time, something felt right. Something felt good. It felt fucking amazing. And I should have pushed her way. I should have stopped it. But I didn’t. Because I didn’t want it to stop. I didn’t want to lose her.”

“It was a weird situation maybe,” Koen says. “But it doesn’t mean it was wrong. Look how things turned out. Look at the life you made. Together.”

“I don’t want that life to be over. I don’t want to leave her. Or my kids. I want to grow old and gray with her and I want to see my kids graduate high school and go to college and get married and have kids of their own. I want ALL of that. But I’m fucking terrified none of will happen. That when I left my kids this morning, that was it. That I’ll never see them again. That I won’t even get to see Addie take her first steps or celebrate her first birthday. There’s so much I don’t want to miss and I’m scared I will.”

“I know…” Koen’s fingertips dig into his scalp as he firmly massages it. “...I know…”

“Everything that is good in me is because of her. Because she found it and she brought it out. And she’s the best fucking thing that’s ever happened to me. Her and those kids. And I’m not ready to leave them.”

“And you’ll do whatever it takes to make sure that doesn’t happen. And so will I on my end. I’ve got you. I’ll bust my ass to make sure you get back to your family. You hear me?”

“Yeah,” he nods, and uses his elbow to push his friend away. “I hear ya.”

“You good? You get it all out?”

“I think so. I guess I needed to do that; get it out.”

“You’ve been trying to hold it together for her,” Koen reasons, and returns to his seat. “But even guys like you need someone you can fall apart with. And I guess that someone is me; lucky bastard that I am.”

Tyler gives a small laugh, then uses the back of his hand to clear the remaining tears away. “There’s something else.”

“Jesus Christ. Are you trying to kill me?”

“Esme knows what she has to do; if something happens to me. She knows to take the money and the kids and leave. But I need someone to keep their eye on them. I need someone to make sure they’re okay. No matter where they end up. And I know this a hell of a lot to ask…”

“I’ll do it. You know I will.”

“Wherever they go, I need you to go with them. You don’t have to stay forever. Just until she’s doing alright and the kids are settled and doing okay. And if you could do that for me…”

“I already said I would. I’ll make sure they’re alright. Nothing will happen to them. Not on my watch,”

“But I swear to God, if you even think of making a move on her, I will come back and haunt your ass.”

Koen laughs at that, then reaches across the table to tousle Tyler’s hair. “You’re going to be okay, you hear me? You’re going to get out of this. You’re going to walk in there, get shit done, and you’re going to walk back out and go back to your family. And then all of this...all this talk...will have been for nothing.”

“I hope so,” Tyler says, and downs the remains of his drink. “I really fucking hope so.”

****

It’s just past one in the morning when he steps into the master bedroom, moving about it’s darkened confines with the aid of the moonlight. Removing the holster and gun from his hip and placing it in the top drawer of the nightstand, then slipping out of his shorts and t-shirt; tossing both on top of the open duffle bag that sits in front of the closet. And he briefly lingers at the side of the bed, listening to her soft breathing and watching as her body rises and falls with each inhale and exhale. Sound asleep; on her side with her back towards the door.

The pain in his chest and the knot in his stomach return with a vengeance; those thoughts of possibly never getting those moments with her again. He can’t get it out of his mind; how close he’d been to ending things only to find someone -when he hadn’t expected to- capable of snatching him off that ledge. Seven years. Spent with the person that saved him in every way a person can be saved. Who has proved time and time again that she loves every inch of him; all the good, all the bad, and everything in between. Every imperfection, every scar; both inside and out. Who taught him what it was to love again; to actually laugh and smile. And who has helped him make even more life; selflessly giving up her own body to do it.

How do you ever tell that person how you feel? Especially when you don’t think there’s words that can even come close to describing it?

Slipping into bed behind her, he presses his front to her back; lips in her hair as he trails his fingertips across her shoulder and slowly down her arm. Over the curve of her elbow and down to her wrist before moving along the top of her hand and then each finger. Memorizing every inch through touch; her skin soft and beautiful. Pressing a kiss to the back of her head when she pushes her fingers through his and tightly squeezes.

“What time is it?” she sleepily inquires.

“It’s late.”

“How late?”

“Just after one.”

“You been drinking?”

“Just had a couple,” he admits, then moves their joined hands down to her stomach. Smiling at the feel of that little bump. It’s smooth and it’s soft and even after four others, it’s incredible. The mere thought that there’s a living being in there. One that he had a hand in making. “Sorry.”

“For what?”

“I shouldn't have had any. Once an alcoholic, always an alcoholic, yeah?”

“Honestly, I’m surprised you HAVEN’T drank. That you’ve fought as hard as you have. I wouldn’t have blamed you or thought less of you if you’d slipped. This has been hell on earth.”

“I don’t want to be that guy anymore. I NEVER want to be him again. You deserve better than that. So do our kids.”

“You’re a good man, Tyler Rake. Regardless of what you think about yourself sometimes. I knew it the moment I met you; that you weren’t like everyone else. It was in your eyes. There was this softness and this vulnerability and it was unlike anything I’d ever seen in any of the other mercs I’d come in contact with. You were different. I remember the first time we were here, and we’d have those long, serious talks that went into the early hours of the morning and I’d wonder how the hell someone like you ever got mixed up in a world like this.”

“Yeah, well we both know the reason behind that. I didn’t exactly hide it from you.”

“But you could have. And you didn’t. Right off the hop you were so honest and raw and it was...I don’t know it...it was beautiful.”

“Oh fuck...not THAT word.”

“It was, “ she insists. “It WAS beautiful. Because you were just so out there with everything. You didn’t hold anything back. There’s nothing you DIDN’T tell me. You told me about your mom and you dad. Your ex. Austin. You were just so breathtakingly real and honest and it was refreshing. To be with someone like that. Who didn’t try and pretend to be something he wasn’t. It was raw and it was emotional and I SAW you. And you let me see you. That was definitely not just two people using each other for sex. Now, had you just rolled over and gone to sleep…”

He laughs into her hair. “I never wanted THAT.”

“It was surprising. Not the things you told me, but the fact you told me at all. I didn’t expect that from you.”

“I didn’t expect that from myself,” Tyler admits.

“Why did you do it? Just open up like that?”

“I don’t know. I guess I just trusted you. Guess there was something about you that made me feel comfortable doing it. A lot of what I told you? No one else knows that stuff. Not even Koen. Guess my instincts told me you were good people. Very good people.”

“You thought you could scare me away didn’t you. When you told me about Austin. You thought that would make me think less of you.”

He nods.

“You made a mistake. You were younger and you were scared and you made a bad decision.”

“Worst possible decision.”

“It didn’t even come close to scaring me away. It made my heart hurt for you. And him. But it didn’t make me think less of you. I could never think less of you.”

“So no matter what, you’ll always think the sun shines out of my ass?”

She giggles. “Always.”

He raises his head to press a kiss to the corner of her mouth, then rests his cheek against hers. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“It’s okay. I hadn’t been sleeping for very long. I’m having a hard time. I miss the kids.”

“So do I. But Koen called and checked up on them for us. Everything’s fine. They’re happy and they’re safe and they haven’t beaten the shit out of each other. Yet.”

“Yet,” she laughs. “That’s the key word. And we both know who the one beating the shit out of people will be.”

“Yep. Your daughter has quite the temper.”

“She’s just my daughter now, is she? And who do you think she gets her temper from?”

“You.”

“Oh bullshit. She’s just like you and you know it. And you’re proud of it, too. Don’t even try and deny it. I know you how much like that fact that she’s your mini me.”

“She’s my baby. My first. Well, my first after...you know…”

“Your miracle baby.”

He smiles and places a kiss to her temple. “Exactly. She’s one that made me a dad again. Never thought in a million years I’d get another chance at that. And then she came along. I mean, you did have a little part to play in all of it.”

“Just a little. I only carried her for nine months. And then what happens? She comes out just like you. Even the nurse in the delivery room had to point it out; how she had your eyes and your nose and your ears and your hair. I was like, well fuck you too then.”

Tyler laughs and presses a kiss to her cheek.

“I remember when the nurse gave her to you and you just tucked her into you and she stopped crying and she just looked up at you with those huge eyes.”

“And I cried.”

“Yeah…” she smiles and tightens her hold on his hand. “...you cried. And it was beautiful. You were so happy that she was finally here. I think it was the happiest I’d ever seen you. It was like all the pain and all your past was just gone and your face was so soft and so perfect. Nothing existed outside of her. And you looked at her like you couldn’t believe she was even real.”

“She was beautiful. She still is.”

“I think at that moment...seeing you with her...I fell so in love with you. Even more than I already was. And it was kind of crazy and scary, because I already loved you a hell of a lot. I didn’t think it was possible to love someone THAT much. Sometimes I still don’t. I’ll watch you with Addie or playing with Declan or helping TJ and Tanner with their homework and I’ll think ‘God, I love him’.”

He grins against her ear. “And you have the nerve to call me sappy?”

“I can’t help it. I’m feeling all sappy and emotional. I think it’s the fact we’re back here. Of all places. It makes me think about us. How we started and where we’ve ended up. All good things. All very good things.”

“I was thinking about when I woke up in the hospital and you were there. How you were the first person I saw and I was so fucking relieved you were there. I didn’t know if you even made it off the bridge. And even if you did, if you’d stick around.”

“Of course I stuck around,” she releases her hold on his hand and rolls over onto her side to face him. “I went to all that trouble to keep you alive. You really think I wouldn’t stick around to see the result of my handiwork?”

“I guess not.” He presses a kiss to the tip of her nose then drapes a leg over her and places a hand on the small of her back.

“You okay?”

“I’m okay.”

“You’re worried, aren’t you. About tomorrow. Or today. About me going out there.”

“Yeah, I am.”

“You know how you always say you’re not a rookie? Well neither am I.”

“I know. But it doesn’t make me feel any better about it Especially when you have my baby in there.”

“I’ll be careful. I’ve had seven years of learning from the best. And Koen will be with me. He’ll make sure I’m okay.”

“He better. Or it’s his ass.”

“You have to trust me. I’d never do anything to put myself...or this baby...in harm’s way.”

“I do. I do trust you.”

“What if I can’t get the information? What if no one will give me any? Then we’re totally fucked. And not a good, fun way either.”

“If that happens, we go to plan B.”

“You let them know you’re here.”

Tyler nods.

“What’s plan C?””

“There is no plan C.”

“Maybe there should be. So we don’t have to rely on plan B.”

“Baby…” he skims his knuckles up and down her spine. “...we talked about this.”

“I’m allowed to change my mind And I’m changing it. That is NOT a good idea; letting them know you’re here. What ever happened to the element of surprise? It goes a long way. They want to lure you here, but they don’t need to know you’re here.”

“I’ll only go to plan B if you can’t get me information.”

“Okay…” Esme frowns. “...that is a lot of peer pressure. I haven’t done this in awhile. Since before Addie.”

“Addie’s only three months old. It’s not like she’s a year or a couple years.”

“So what? Ten months? Since I did this kind of thing? We found out about her during all of that.”

“Who’s the one that found out where Ovi was?”

“That took me four days.”

“It took Nik a week just to narrow down Dhaka,” he points out.

“Four days is horrible. My track record was way better than that before. Four days is embarrassing.”

“You’re too hard on yourself.”

“I should have had it in twenty four hours. Thirty six at the most.”

“I’m kind of glad it took as long as it did. I had a pretty good five days.”

“Okay, I’ll give you that much. It wasn’t a TOTAL failure. But four days? For me? That is shameful.”

“If it makes you feel better, it only took two from the day you showed up on my porch to convince me to sleep with you.”

“Oh, I had to convince you now, did I? You admitted you would have done it the first night had I wanted a booty call.”

“Well then you should be very proud of yourself. It only took you a couple hours to convince me to give it up.”

“Sorry if I don’t feel my ego inflated because you were horny and desperate.”

“Hey, if I’d been desperate, I would have fucked Nik.”

“That…” she scrapes her nails along his jaw and then taps a fingertip against his chin. “... is a very good point actually. I’m glad you held out an extra couple of days. I hope it was worth it.”

“It was SO worth it.”

“I was very impressed. When I see you naked. I had expectations.”

He arches an eyebrow. “You did?”

“I did. Very high ones, actually. You lived up to them. And then some. You definitely fit the old ‘big hands, big feet’ adage. I wanted to see if it was a myth. I quickly found out it was not.”

“You also thought the G spot was a myth.”

“I found out pretty quick that it isn’t. You were really on the ball those five days.”

“Had to leave a lasting impression,” Tyler reasons. “Wanted you to come back for me.”

“You left a lasting impression, alright. One that lasted nine months and weighed eight pounds, three ounces. That’s quite the impression to leave.”

“I’d say I’m sorry, but I’m really not. That’s the one good thing...the one amazing thing...that came out of all that bullshit. Besides us.”

“Nice to see you finally admit we’re a good thing,” she teases. “I think we’re pretty amazing. But hey, that’s just my humble opinion.”

“We are. We are pretty amazing.”

“And we’re stronger together than we are apart. You’ve always said that. And that’s why we need to trust each other. With this. We have to trust each other more than we ever have. That’s the only way we’ll get out of here. That we’ll BOTH get out of here.”

He gives a small smile of agreement, then runs his palm up her back and all the way to the nape of her neck; squeezing lightly as he pulls her into a kiss. Long and slow at first; closed mouth upon closed mouth and their bodies brushing against each other. It’s her that takes the first step towards turning it into something more. Fingers pushing into his hair and tightly gripping it; pressing her body against his as her tongue pushes its way past his lips and teeth. Quickly transforming the moment into something much more desperate and needy.

“I want you,” she breathes, her lips finding the side of his neck, teeth scraping against the tattoo and the scar that mars the skin. “I want you and I need you. I need to feel you inside of me.”

He shudders at her words, then leans his weight into her and pushes her onto her back. Her fingers still in his hair and her eyes fluttering closed as his hands and his mouth behind their slow, torturous worship of her body.

[skvaderarts]

Hiraeth Chapter 50: Interconnection

Masterlist can be found Here!

Chapter Fifty: Interconnection

Note: *Laughs in copious amounts of foreshadowing.* Oh, how I have waited for this day. I have so patently placed the cards in their places, and now I can finally flip them over and show their faces. You have no idea how excited I am! And at chapter 50, no less! Absolutely perfect!

(-~-)

A larger crowd had begun to form around the station as local law enforcement showed up to help mitigate the damage and secure the perimeter. The power had been knocked out for several city blocks, taking security cameras and traffic lights out of commission. It would no doubt prove detrimental to the investigative efforts of all the local authorities, many of whom could be overheard discussing the possibility of a terrorist attack as they tried to disperse the growing number of worried onlookers. They needed clearance to evacuate the injured civilians and start structural and criminal investigations.

Several eyewitnesses spoke of a figure in a white coat causing the train to derail by some unknown method. No one present was sure how it had happened, but they did know what had happened, and they were eager to find a method of keeping it from happening again. Everything had happened so suddenly with no apparent explanation or motive, and no one knew what would happen next. But a small group of the survivors did have something insightful to add to the conversation, giving their own ground zero testimony to one of the news outlets that had shown up to cover the attack.

“There was this group of like three or four people who helped get us out of the train and they were trying to keep that person in the white coat away from us. I think it might have been a guy? Can’t say, they were wearing a mask or something. I didn’t get a good look at them. But anyway, we’re all very thankful that they were able to help us. We hope they are okay and that they didn’t get trapped inside during the cave-in.” One younger man had said as the paramedics had been in the process of tending a minor injury that he had sustained during the attack.

“I don’t know what to even say. Were so lucky that they were there to get us out of that situation. There were demons in that terminal. I don’t know how many there were, but there was at least one. What’s happening in this place? Every few years or so something like this happens!” One of the interviewed survivors had said, shaking her head in confusion and horrified sorrow. “I was in Redgrave City when that thing started coming out of the ground. Down in the crowd trying to figure out what was going on when these spiky things came out and started to come after everyone. My family barely escaped with our lives. I swear I recognized at least two of them. They came out of that thing and it seemed like they were trying to do something to help stop it. I wish we knew who they were so that we could thank them. I get the feeling that we all might owe that small group of people more than we realize. I mean, what are the odds that they would be there to save us all both times?”

“Looks like they’re talking about you lot on the news,” Magnolia said as she reached over to turn the volume down on the TV. None of them had even noticed that she had owned it before, having not spent a lot of time in her attic greenhouse up until then. She then turned to the rest of the group, gesturing towards the young man who sat just across from them on the other side of the room. “Tell them what you told me. Speak truthfully. Believe me, they will know if you don’t”

Shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Whatever he was here to say clearly didn’t agree with him. “No problem. Wouldn’t make much sense for me to come here and seek you out just to lie to you, especially with what’s at stake. But first, I want to be upfront with you. We’ve met before. About two months ago. That’s why I’m here in the first place. It took me forever to track you down, but I finally did. I just wish it hadn’t taken so long.”

Dante and Vergil looked at one another for a moment, both of them unsure as to how they could have met this individual before. Perhaps he had met V or Nero? He certainly didn’t seem familiar to them. “Okay wait, slow down. Let’s start from the beginning.”

“What’s your name?” Vergil asked, not quite fed up with this individual, but not in the mood to really entertain conversation with him, either. It was probably best that he got to the point sooner rather than later. And on that note, who was this individual? Were they a relative of Magnolia’s? It was unlikely considering the severe lack of blood male descendants of the Ludwig family, but it wasn’t entirely impossible. Marriage was always a possibility. Or perhaps he was a cousin?

“My name is Brenowin. Brenowin Linquist. But you can just call me “Bren.” Less of a mouthful.” He attempted to make himself more comfortable for a moment as he sat down on the built-in ledge next to a few of the botanist’s plants, shrugging to himself. “Before you stab me, I’d like you to know that I didn’t come here to get revenge or anything like that. I can tell that you still don’t remember me. I’m… the guy you spared back in the woods that night who told you where your son was. I’m glad you were able to get him back-”

He stopped, jumping back in fright as Vergil manifested and drew Yamato, springing towards him in a bid to end his life, Dante grabbing him in an effort to keep him from utterly destroying the younger man, and barely succeeded, earning him surprised looks from everyone in the immediate vicinity and an irritated glare from Magnolia. She shook her head and pointed for Vergil to sit down again, annoyed. “Do you honestly think he would be here if I thought he was dangerous? Have some faith, Vergil. I understand your anger and I have nothing but sympathy, but he didn’t have to come here and put himself in this situation. At least hear him out before out you try and murder him, especially while you are in my house.”

Vergil paused for a moment, clearly displeased, but willing to do as she’d asked him. It made sense after all. He couldn’t deny that. He backed up, breathing deeply before exhaling and sitting down. He waved his hand to indicate that their guest could continue speaking, but he would be listening to him intently and with malice. That much was clear. “Continue.”

A relieved sigh escaped the younger man’s lips as he nodded, unsure as to what he could really say that he hadn’t already to atone for his past mistakes and remedy his misgivings. “Do you remember the night that the conduit went critical? Well, you’re in the clear there. It’s not unstable anymore. But that’s the least of our problems.”

“Our problems?” Vergil said, folding his arms around his chest. He truly wanted nothing more than to stab something to death right now. What was going on this time? “I don’t recall us agreeing to work as a collective.”

Bren shrugged, nodding in agreement. He couldn’t really disagree with that. And to be fair, he wasn’t attacking him this time, at least. That was an improvement from the last time. He would have a very hard time trusting someone who had done what he had done, but maybe if he was more forthcoming, they would be able to work things out.

“Yes, “our” as in “we’re all equally dead if this situation doesn’t work itself out. Every last one of us.” He stood up slowly, gesturing in a pleading manner. “Belial has something big planned, and he needs your son for it. I overheard one of his messengers say as much when he returned. He left during the attack from what I understand, and after the devil prince decided that he wanted the cult dead, he had been systematically killing us all. I’m just an initiate who joined a little while ago, so I guess I’m a low priority, but everyone else either fled or left, and so I guess I’m the only one left. I managed to get him to trust me enough for him to think I’m doing his bidding, but after what he did to your son, I could never. Like I said before, I didn’t sign up for this. I was just in a dark place in my life and didn’t want to be alone. I had no idea what I was getting myself into, but I still want to make it right. At this point, that’s the least I can do. The cult caused so much suffering… I don’t want to be a part of that. It’s how I lost everything in the first place.”

“What did you lose that would drive you to such extremes?”

Everyone in the room looked over at V as he spoke, honestly forgetting that he was there. After they had returned from the train station with Vergil, everyone had gone their separate ways in order to allow Magnolia to treat Flora's injuries. They hadn’t been grave by their standards, but for a human? She needed quite a few stitches and now she was on bed rest. The botanist ensured them that she would make a full recovery, but that was yet to be seen. All any of them could do for now was hope that she was alright, and that weighed heavily on V for reasons he couldn’t pinpoint. Perhaps he just didn’t like putting others in harm's way for his sake.

“Look… all I’ve got left in this world is my younger step-sister. My mom died when I was a kid, and a few years back her mom and my dad got together. She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I just really want her to be safe. If he just wanted me dead, I would walk over there right now and let him kill me. And even though that would break her heart, she’d be alive and I would have done something worthwhile with my life, ya know?” He looked down at the floor for a long moment, clearly cut deeply by his own words. Anyone present could tell that there was a truth to that statement that he didn’t want to recognize but he did. “But the truth is, he wouldn’t stop there. You're not the only person he’s after. He had other motives for wanting her, and I won’t pretend that I know them, but they can’t be good. And if he gets your son and manages to do whatever it is that he’s been talking about with Belial, this entire region will be the first to go. After that, probably the whole world.”

Dante nodded to himself, taking that in for a moment. “So how does your sister play into this, and what’s Belial’s plan?”

Bren shrugged. “I couldn’t tell you. I guess they think she’d be good for whatever it is that they have planned. But Belial needs your son to enact his master plan. Specifically, he wants to bring him to the Underworld for something. I didn’t overhear any details, but I think that’s bad enough. And apparently, now that he’s back, he has a way to accomplish that. You need to keep him safe. I can’t stress that enough. This guy has more things up his sleeve than you might think. He’s very dangerous.”

“Okay then. That makes sense. So, where’s your sister? Does she even know that she might be in danger?” Nero asked with a concerned look. He didn’t like the implications of her brother’s actions entrapping her in this situation. It hit a little too close to him for him personally. “And what do you mean they’re back? Who’s back?”

“Magnolia kindly agreed to have her brought here from a few towns over. She should be arriving any moment now. She was going to boarding school, and she just graduated a few months ago. It’s been a rough year for her after our parents died in the Redgrave City attack. That’s what derailed me and sent me down the path that led to me joining the cult. They were recruiting people in the area after everything that happened, and I thought that maybe they would help me find some way to protect her. They said as much. But now I know that they were probably just planning to hurt her from the very start. I should have known better. But at least now I can fix mistakes.”

Vergil felt his blood run cold for a moment at that revelation. So his actions had inadvertently led to this situation in more ways than one… He supposed that that was probably only fair, but for V to be caught up in this once again… 

“I… Your parents' deaths were unfortunate and needless. You have my sympathies.”

Dante allowed his eyes to travel towards his older twin for a moment, noticing the grief in that statement. He believed Vergil. It seemed now that the ghosts of his past truly had come back to haunt him. It had probably never occurred to him that he would be the very monster to someone else that those demons had been to them so many years ago.

“Thanks. I appreciate that.  But either way, I have some insight into what Belial has planned, and I really hope that it turns out to be helpful to you guys. I’m no fighter. Heck, I’d never hurt a fly. But I’d like to think I’m not that stupid.” He looked at Vergil more sincerely at that moment, seemingly uncomfortable with whatever he was about to say but still willing to say it. Perhaps that was something that the Darkslayer should try more often himself. The irony wasn’t beyond him. “Thanks for helping keep us safe. You sparing me was the moment I realized that I had really gone down the wrong path. We were supposed to be about unity and peace. You don’t get that by kidnapping and probably murdering innocent people.”

He was wise for his age. Vergil couldn’t deny that. But he also knew that he should probably tell him the truth in regards to what had happened to his parents. But he would wait until his sister arrived and they had privacy. It was best that he not broadcast his failures to the entire room, even if everyone there besides him did know what had happened already. He didn’t have the fortitude to confess his wrongdoings in such a manner. It was like being put on trial, even though a part of him realized that that was probably something that he wholeheartedly deserved.

V glanced between his father and Bren, a young man who was still to him at least a stranger. He could feel the tension rolling off of his father in waves, the enormity of his past actions weighing heavy on him at that moment. He had been confronted with his not-so-distant past in a very literal way, and it had utterly blindsided him. The fact that he had wronged this individual so greatly without his knowledge and he was standing there willing to help them was utterly uncomfortable to the Darkslayer, and there was a part of V that was admittedly glad for that. It wasn’t just because he needed to truly see how his actions affect others, but because it showed something arguably more important: his father was capable of feeling remorse for the actions he’d committed against a perfect stranger. Deep down, he was much more human than V liked to imagine Vergil would ever admit. There was something comforting to be found in that.

Brenowen looked mournful for a moment before looking over at V, obviously not wanting to have to say what he needed to say. “As for who has returned, I believe that the two of you have already met. The night that the cult took you? You met a man named Agreus…”

His breathing paused for a moment as he swore that he felt his heart stop beating. How could he forget? In fact, he could still feel that knife just by thinking about it. But he had thrown him through that conduit. Surely he hadn’t survived that. But then again, that explained the limp. He had stabbed him in the leg, after all. They were going to need to get Sirrus to translate that book for them as soon as humanly possible. And then they were going to ship it off to the Ludwig estate. This couldn’t be good.

Just a moment later, there was a knock at the door. Magnolia stood up, stretching as she sat down the cup of tea she’d been drinking. “Come in, dear. Though you should probably still be in bed.”

In stepped Flora, slightly pale and tired looking, but otherwise more or less okay. They all gave her a reassuring look, the young magician weaving them off playfully as she came into the room. “Don’t worry about me, everyone. I’ll be just fine. I’m a big girl. I can take a couple of cuts and bruises. Honestly, I think I’ve had worse cramps. That demon’s a total pushover.” 

Lucia tried to pretend that she didn’t find that comment funny, but she did. She allowed herself a small giggle, looking over at the twins' surprised faces as they looked several different kinds of confused and embarrassed. Nero simply nodded, having heard similar things from Kyrie in the past. He had nothing in his heart but sympathy and compassion for her alleged suffering. V simply closed his eyes and chuckled soundlessly to himself, shaking his head. Flora was truly something else. He was glad that she was still with them.

But before she could make it very far, there was a distant sound, one that caught all of their collective attention. A second knock became apparent, only this time from the front door downstairs. Flora groaned and headed down the stairs ahead of them, cursing herself for marching up all of those stairs only to have to go back down them. What had she done to dissolve such treatment? Bren sprang up, eager to head to the door. “That’s probably my sister! You said they would be dropping her off soon.”

Magnolia nodded. “That I did. And I’m not expecting anyone else.”

The group then migrated down the stairs to the living room, admittedly wondering to themselves what this young woman looked like. She was his step-sister, after all. That meant that she could look completely different from Brenowin. His shoulder-length black hair and dark blue eyes were admittedly striking, but there was no blood between them to speak of. It was possible but unlikely.

Approaching the door, Magnolia unlocked it from the inside and stepped out of the way to allow their new guest to enter the room while the rest of them made themselves comfortable on the couch. V was still making his way down the stairs behind Nero as she did so, taking a mental note of the fact that Nero Vergil and Dante had already reached the couch, Bren staying closer to the kitchen. It seemed that he still expected Vergil to try and kill him. To be fair, he himself wasn’t sure that the possibility was 100% off the table just yet. Just about 95%. But before he could continue that though, Magnolia opened the front door and greeted the person who had knocked on it. And V had stopped dead in his tracks in the middle of the entryway. It was perhaps the only time that any of them could ever say that they'd ever genuinely seen V look shocked.

Before them stood a pretty young woman with sandy brown hair, hazel eyes, and freckles, her two luggage bags placed on the ground at her feet. She was in the process of picking them up, but had stopped to shoot a warm smile at her host, allowing V a momentary glance at her face. And judging by the sudden uptake in V’s heart rate, genuinely couldn’t believe his eyes. There was just no way that she could be… 

“Morgan?!” He said out loud at a volume that surprised both himself and everyone else in the room. He hadn’t actually meant to speak that aloud, but he simply hadn’t been able to stop himself. It was just too shocking for him to believe.

She looked up from her bags, utterly surprised to hear what was clearly a familiar voice calling her name, but one that she was sure he hadn’t heard in a number of years. The second she made eye contact with him, she dropped all of her belongings on the front steps, wide eyes elation spreading across her face. She teared up as she looked at him, trembling not from the frigid cold outside but from the joy that she felt brimming up inside of her. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing, either. “V?!”

He nodded slowly. Without warning she leaped forward, throwing her arms around him in a tight embrace. And at that moment he realized just how much he’d missed her when he didn’t even feel repulsed by her unexpected touch. In fact, he welcomed it, frozen in place from shock, but barely holding back the fact that for reasons he couldn't explain, he felt just as strongly about seeing her again as he had the day she’d left and he’d realized that he would probably never see her again.

Morgan leaned back for a moment, taking in the sight of him as she wiped her face, panting from excitement. Her eyebrows then furrowed slightly, a light chuckle expanding her diaphragm and allowing a soft chuckle to escape her tightly clenched lips. “When did you get these tattoos, V?! Gotta say, they're pretty wicked, man!”

Shaking his head slightly he gave in and returned the favor, grabbing her into a soft but firm hug, much to the surprise of everyone else in the room. Nero was the only other person who could recall ever being hugged by V. “It’s a bit of a long story.”

(-~-)

I know that this is gonna make some of you very happy! I remember several of you telling me how much you liked her and how much you hoped to see her make a second appearance, so it was an obvious choice. After all, why add someone new when you already have Morgan? Anyway, I’ll see you in the comments and the next chapter is going up on Friday! Hope to hear from you all again soon! Have a nice Wednesday!

[presumenothing]

one more light

ALRIGHT SO this isn’t a new fic but i just realised i somehow never did post this to tumblr, so here it is: 2k worth of atla zombie apocalypse non-au. 

no archive warning content beyond the fact of. y’know. zombies

(AO3)

i.

“It’s not your fault, Aang,” Katara says after they beat back the latest siege, and only his sister could still sound sincere even in something they’ve all said at least a dozen times by now.

Sokka feels so proud of her that his heart is almost bursting… or maybe that’s just the effort of hacking his way through dozens of actual damned zombies. A bit of both, really.

Not that the rest of them don’t believe what she’s saying. This whole mess is Sozin and maybe Roku’s fault if it’s anyone’s, and Sokka would gladly repeat that until he went hoarse if he thought Aang would listen.

But Katara is the one who’s always believed in Aang before any of them did, and that sort of thing made a difference.

Or it used to, at least, but today there’s no brightening in Aang’s expression as he stands up, glider having never left his hands. “I’ll take first watch.”

Biting her lower lip, Katara meets Sokka’s gaze as Aang flies off without waiting for any response, and Sokka shakes his head slightly: let him be.

“Twinkletoes fly off again?”

“Yeah.” When Sokka looks over, Toph’s eyebrows are furrowed in what he would’ve called concern if it hadn’t been on someone who could still fling him off the cliff even after a whole day of fighting. “He’s… not doing too well.”

Not that any of them really are, by this point. Toph doesn’t even call him out for stating the obvious, only crosses her arms. “I wish Sparky was here.”

“You and me both,” he admits – and fine, yes, it’s already enough of a lucky coincidence that the four of them had been travelling together when the sudden case of apocalypse broke out, so asking for more would just be tempting fate, but…

Sokka sighs. “I’m sure he’s fine. Jerkbender doesn’t know how to lose.”

Toph’s punch on his shoulder is far lighter than her usual. “You’re a real shitty liar, Snoozles.”

“Doesn’t make me wrong,” Sokka retorts, and he really really hopes he isn’t wrong. Because Zuko has his firebending and his dual swords and a whole palace full of scarily armed guards plus Suki hellbent on protecting the first sane Fire Lord, so there isn’t any reason why he shouldn’t be okay except that there is.

A century of war dead, in every corner of their world. Legion doesn’t even begin to cover it.

.

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ii.

Aang had still tried to be careful, at first – dodging blows from shambling corpses is easier than usual, if anything, and he could call up enough water or earth to freeze a half-dozen bodies in one sweep even if it wouldn’t be fatal (insofar as that applied to the undead).

Not that they really had any other option besides stopping them permanently; Katara had tried healing once, on someone who’d just been turned an hour before, and the way her entire face had gone grey answered that well enough.

But Aang is still their most powerful fighter, and after everything with Ozai none of them had been willing to say anything until they almost lost three people to a too-quick thaw. Toph had been the one to react, a flying shard of rock decapacitating the half-frozen zombie with extreme prejudice right before it could lurch onto the cowering villagers, and later she’d also been the one to say it.

“They’re already dead, Aang! Someone’s going to die if you keep this up, and it’s gonna be one of us still alive!” Toph had shouted, eyes glimmering even as Aang stood too quiet and too still, and even now Sokka isn’t sure which had been the worse sight.

.

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iii.

In a way, taking down zombies as a non-bender is – well, maybe not easier, but at least a sword thrust clean through the throat works just the same on everything.

It wouldn’t have been Sokka’s first choice of target before, but at least he hadn’t needed to change strategies as much as the benders had: internal injuries from blunt force rock don’t slow down an opponent who lacked working organs to start with, and getting frozen in ice probably ranked as a minor inconvenience compared to literally being dead.

Toph had begun hoarding metal after their first fight, and now could bend and fire wickedly-sharp blades in a manner scarily reminiscent of Mai except she never ran out. Katara’s ice missiles aim for the head instead, and Sokka doesn’t need a closer look to know that her ice had gotten denser, heavier somehow, even if he doesn’t quite know how.

At least air still works the same in clearing a swathe through the hordes when they need it, which is just as well – Aang fights almost solely as an airbender, now.

It had taken Sokka a while to realise, since he’d initially sorta assumed that Aang had just been avoiding any use of fire (because the stench of rotten flesh burning is really enough to make anyone consider joining Aang in vegetarianism).

But then he’d paid more attention, and confirmed it with Katara and Toph: Aang really doesn’t fight with anything but air unless he’s forced to. Like he’s not the Avatar at all.

And that makes its own sense, in a twisty sort of way – even after they’d ended the war and brought some sort of peace Sokka knows that Aang still blames himself for having let things get that far, and being the bridge to the spirits doesn’t help this situation at all because it had nothing to do with the spirits to begin with as far as they could tell, so what good is the Avatar?

…just because it makes sense doesn’t mean that Sokka has to like it, and he is going to confront Aang about it one of these days as soon as he’s figured out what to say. Just like how he still needs to talk to Katara about what the heck happened during that fight in the desert.

(All Sokka knows for sure is that Katara had run out of water to bend even though they still had far too many zombies to take down, so instead she had reached and–

Empty bodies had fallen like cut marionettes in a half-circle around her, in the same moment that Katara had turned to the side and thrown up, and if Sokka’s being honest with himself he thinks he can figure out what happened there too even without asking Katara about it.)

(There are many things they don’t talk about, these days.)

.

.

iv.

At least it’s a blessing in disguise that Aang and Zuko had already gone through the Air Temples to perform the appropriate rites, because they’ve proved to be the current best option for evacuating people and keeping them safe.

Not that the temples are invulnerable, not by a long shot – but it’s better than staying on flat ground, and definitely way better than it would’ve been if there’d still been century-old corpses scattered around.

Also, it turns out zombies aren’t really keen on higher altitudes. Who could’ve guessed?

Admittedly the temples were never built to host that many people, especially not after standing vacant for this long, but it’s the best they can do for now. Iroh had told them about the White Lotus safehouses, of course, just in case everything went wrong during the comet and they needed some place to regroup, but Sokka has to wonder if those are fortified enough.

He tries to imagine Master Piandao preparing for the zombie apocalypse and can’t help a snicker.

Aang, staring straight ahead, doesn’t notice.

It’s just the two of them on Appa now as they make their way back down from ferrying more people up to the temple, so Sokka isn’t expecting it when Aang shoots upright from his seat on Appa’s head, turning wide-eyed to shout in the direction of the saddle. “Take the reins, I have to get down there!”

Sokka almost yelps in alarm when Aang barely waits for his glider to open before throwing himself out mid-air, but then he looks down and does swear a dozen things that would have Gran-Gran washing his mouth out if she heard, because there’s no mistaking those bursts of blue fire.

He urges Appa down at top speed and scrambles off once they touch land to see Katara facing off squarely against Azula, Aang by her side and Toph a few paces behind.

There’s at least a dozen ice daggers hanging in the air around Katara, but Azula doesn’t even seem bothered. “Zuzu? Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“I took you down once, Azula.” Katara’s voice is scarily level as Sokka slows to a stop beside Toph. “I can do it again. For the last time: where is Zuko?”

Azula doesn’t even bother to answer now, only throws her head back with a laugh, and Sokka can see Aang tensing up in preparation to redirect lightning–

–can see Toph twitch in something like surprise, opening her mouth to say something just as another voice roars: “Hold your fire!”

A grin spreads across Toph’s face even as Sokka turns, and there they are: Zuko supporting Suki as she limps up to them, both looking worse for wear but still safe.

Suki waves at them with her free hand, smile a little wan. “Hey. Sorry we’re late?”

.

.

v.

Sokka volunteers for first watch before anyone else can.

He’s only just gotten settled in when Zuko comes over to sit beside him, and if Zuko notices that this position conveniently lets Sokka keep a lookout while still being able to see Suki – screw it, okay, he hasn’t seen his girlfriend in ages and he’s missed her like hell.

They’d gotten the chance to talk earlier while Katara had been healing Suki’s twisted ankle, but even now that Sokka knows she’s okay, it’s still good to have the visual reminder.

Zuko doesn’t comment on it, though, so it’s up to Sokka to point out the obvious. “You can rest, y’know. Katara will wake you when it’s your turn.”

“In a while, maybe. I’m not sleepy yet.” Zuko shakes his head even as Sokka gives him (or more accurately the dark smudges beneath his eyes) a dubious look – but then again, none of them are strangers to being exhausted but sleepless, whether from adrenaline or something else. “Suki has been taking more than her share of night watches, anyway, she’s the one who really needs the rest.”

Sokka almost snorts but stops himself. Honestly he might’ve done the same, if he had been sharing a camp with Azula. “So how are things in Firetown?”

“Still standing when we left,” Zuko answers, which Sokka takes to mean possibly overrun and definitely on fire. “I gave the decree to open the imperial bunkers to anyone who needed shelter, right before the Fire Sages burst into the hall and demanded I immediately leave and seek out the Avatar to end this blight upon our world.”

Sokka raises an eyebrow. “That a direct quote?”

“Yeah. I don’t even think I’ve ever seen the Sages literally running, but apparently there’s a first time for everything.”

Like mostly-ending the war only for the walking dead to happen, Sokka’s pretty sure they’re both thinking. “Don’t suppose they might’ve mentioned what exactly Aang is supposed to do?”

“That would’ve been too easy,” Zuko says dryly, before sobering. “Aang hasn’t figured anything out?”

“He doesn’t even think there’s a spirit behind this.” Which had all sorts of disturbing implications that Sokka refuses to consider right now. “So Suki decided to come with you?”

Zuko doesn’t say anything about the blatant change of topic. “Insisted, more like.”

Sokka grins – that’s Suki, all right – before he looks over at the other addition to their group. “And Azula?” he asks quietly.

“She’s my sister. I–” Zuko scrubs a hand roughly over his face, shakes his head. “I couldn’t just leave her behind. She’s my sister.”

And if Sokka hadn’t already noticed how tired Zuko looks, that would’ve been clue enough. Yeah, they’ve all made their fair share of jokes about Zuko being a broken record about honour and capturing the Avatar way back when but really, he’s never been one to repeat himself. Sokka isn’t even sure Zuko realises that he’s doing it.

He takes a page from Toph’s book and punches Zuko on the shoulder. “Get some sleep, hotman,” he says over Zuko’s splutter. “We’ll still be here in the morning.”

“You better be,” Zuko grumbles as he heads off to bed, but when he flops down to sleep it’s right between Suki and anything that might come at them.

Sokka turns back away with a smile.

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.

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hell yeah sokka pov

also my other atla fics are here and here if you need a pick-me-up after that, i swear they’re actually like. my usual funny fare

[snarkwrites]

05 | gangsta ; sweet pea

Notes:

A warning ahead of time. I’ve got 3 parts to this already written and I fully intend on posting them today, if possible. Also, things are starting to heat up just a little here pretty soon, so there’s that.

I realize that nobody asked for more of this ( i’m saying that because after chapter 1 I don’t think anybody kept reading lmaooo), however.. I’m having a blast writing it, so whether anyone asked or not, you’re getting it, lmaooo.

Also, new header thing for this because I can.

Warnings:

non canon compliant - this is the biggest warning, so if you’re into things that follow exact canon plot you are... definitely not going to like this. angst & slow burn, heavy sexual tension starting in the next part - this is just so everyone who started reading this thinking the smut would transpire in a hurry knows that apparently, it is not. violence / swearing & fighting, possible underage drinking and other shenanigans - look.. it’s high school. shit happens. also apparently, my ofc Alyssa uses the word fuck like all the time?... eventual sexual content - this one is self explanatory. yes, i plan to write a smutty chapter in this at some point. when? i don’t rightly know. it’s got a while before we get there.

Pairing:

Andrews!Sibling OFC, Alyssa x Sweet Pea

Other Parts:

[ one - two - three - four - soundtrack ] 

Other Stuff:

[ faq - tag list doc ] 

Tagging:

@brithedemonspawn​ is the only person on my Riverdale tag list. If you’d like to be tagged for this story by all means.. Please let me know. It’d make me super duper happy!!!

                                                F I V E.

My door was being pounded on. I rolled over, pouting at it. Honestly, the last thing I was prepared to do was go to school and face everything. My dad had told me the night before that I could miss one day.

“I’m sleeping.” I barely called out.

My bedroom door creaked open slowly.

“How long are you going to hide out in here?” Toni asked the question from my doorway, a hand on her hip as she stared me down and tapped her foot.

I sat up, looking at Toni. Shrugging.

“I don’t want to see him. I’m so angry I just want to choke him.”

“So, get up, get dressed and let’s go choke him.”

I eyed her, laughing. Managing a weak smile. Shrugging. “It’s not worth it. I mean… I should’ve known he had some kind of ulterior motive to begin with.”

Toni’s brow raised and she shook her head. “Meaning?” she questioned, an expectant gaze fixed on me.

My dad called up the stairs, “She alive up there?”

Toni answered, “She is.”

Cheryl came jogging up the stairs, flopping onto the other side of the bed.

Holding the one eyed stuffed rabbit that I’d given her in kindergarten because she was upset when her mom and dad couldn’t be bothered to show up for a play we were in.

“I come bringing gifts. Whiskers.” she presented the rabbit to me and I took it, hugging it against me for a few seconds. Holding it back out to her. “He was supposed to protect you, Blossom. You keep him.”

“You’re the one who’s hurting right now.” Cheryl insisted.

“I’m not hurting, I just… I don’t know.”

“You’re upset. And it’s okay, even if I swear to my dying day that Reggie Mantle is not worth it.” Toni coaxed.

I nodded.

“So are you coming with us or are we going to have to drag you out of bed, hm? You know I’ll do it.” Cheryl teased, giving me a soft smile. “You’re tougher than this, okay? I’ve seen your snapchat stories from Chicago.”

“Wait.. What’s that mean, hm? What am I missing?” Toni eyed Cheryl, awaiting explanation. 

“For the record, Cheryl, it was only four fights.” I glanced at Cheryl, going quiet and shrugging. I wouldn’t have ever gotten into any of those fights if I hadn’t had a damn good reason. Okay, so maybe one of them I would have because my temper got the best of me.. But the other three? Wouldn’t have happened.

“Four fights  that you won, Al.” Cheryl smirked.

“You’ve gotten in a fight? Since when?” Toni eyed me, shocked.

“That’s one of the big reasons I’m living with my dad now. One of many...” I admitted, trailing off and going quiet while shaking my head and laughing. “What? Did you really think I was some actual good girl?” I teased, poking out my tongue at her.

Stifling a yawn as I stretched. Trying to burrow down between the two of them.

“Girl if you don’t get out of this bed, I’m going to open your window and yell for  Fangs to come in to crush you.” Toni laughed. 

She and Cheryl shared a look and the next thing I knew, they were getting up.. Going to the bottom of my bed. Raising my black bandana stars and  moon print comforter. When they started to tickle my feet, I caved pretty  quick.

“Okay, alright, fine.”

Toni was already digging through my closet, Cheryl grimacing at the astounding amount of black shirts and band merch. Ripped jeans. Toni turned to look at me. “Girl.”

“Yes?” I was pulling myself out of bed now, stretching. Giving myself a once over in the mirror on my vanity and cringing. “Yikes. I look like death.”

“ So you mean to tell me you have all this stuff and you’ve been wearing all that other stuff?” Toni asked, gazing at me as she held up a cropped Metallica shirt. 

I nodded, shrugging. “I.. wanted to try actually not giving my father a thousand heart attacks since that’s apparently Archie’s thing.” 

Toni nodded, laughing. “I always felt like you weren’t really you.. The whole cardigans and sundresses thing. I mean, it fits you but it doesn’t. Not like this stuff, at least.”

She tossed a pair of black jeans at me, and one of my shirts. And then Cheryl eyed the box sitting on my window seat. “What’s this?”

“Pretty much anything Reggie gave me or every note he ever wrote. I was going to throw it all out or burn it later… Probably burn it because of the fact that I get to play with fire.” I sighed, grabbing the jeans and the shirt. 

“Hey, Toni? Do you see a red and black plaid shirt? It’ll be towards the back. It’s really old looking. Can you hand it to me?” I asked as I grabbed for my favorite pair of boots, slipping my feet into them. 

Toni found my dad’s old shirt and eyed it. Held it up to her nose, smelling it. “Why’s this smell like old guy cologne?”

“Probably because it’s my dad’s old shirt?” I gave her a laugh. She laughed and smiled. “You’re such a daddy’s girl, Andrews.”

I shrugged and smiled. “At least he’s dependable.”

“Hey, there’s toast if you three want any.” my dad spoke up from the doorway, glancing at the three of us.

“Yeah.”

“Awesome.”

“Thank you.” 

After we’d eaten some toast and scrambled eggs, I grabbed my bookbag and just as I started out the door, my dad stopped me. “I’m glad you’re listening to what we talked about. Being yourself?”

“Me too.” I smiled, stopping to give him a hug. “Hey.. I don’t have practice after school. Is it okay if I come and hang out at the site? Maybe I can even help a little…” 

My dad mulled it over. Smiling. “Yeah.”

I pushed out the front door just in time to see Fangs wandering our way. He chuckled, nodding to me. “I see you guys did actually get her out of bed.”

“We did say we were going in there with one goal in mind, Fangs.” Toni snickered. I tensed a little when I noticed Sweet Pea lingering up ahead, leaned against the streetlight, his arms folded over his chest.

For some reason, the fact that he probably knew everything that happened just.. Bothered me. Way more than it should’ve.

I stopped. My gaze torn between the path to school and my father’s house, getting further behind me with each step. Suddenly not too sure I wanted to or I even could face the fact that if Reggie and Chuck made the bet then everyone I once thought of as a friend probably knew already.

And spent the entire time I was bending over backwards just to make myself fit in laughing behind my back.

The anger kicked up in me and I took a deep breath.

“Oh come on! The best way to handle this is to show him you don’t care and it doesn’t bother you, Al.” Cheryl coaxed. Toni nodded in agreement.

I took a few shaky breaths and started to walk to catch up with them again. Letting the anger brew instead of just pushing it back down like I seemed to be getting good at doing to a lot of things lately.

If I was going to face Reggie and all our friends, I was going to need that anger. I was going to need one hell of a shiny spine. Because being passive and letting it go just isn’t who I am. And maybe my dad’s right. Maybe it’s time I started being more me.. Without all the crazy and wild stunts I pulled back in Chicago.

“Are we meeting to have our little goodbye fire after school?” Cheryl asked. I bit my lip, mulling it over. Finally nodding, as much as it hurt. The sooner I get this out of my system, the better I’ll feel, hopefully. “Yeah. I’ll get the box and we can do it in a trash barrel at the construction site.”

I almost had to laugh at the irony. Not even a week ago, I’d been contemplating breaking up with Reggie because I couldn’t take the fighting or the tension anymore. The only thing that stopped me? Not wanting to hurt him. Because I knew what he was going through at home. Because I could see the teeniest sliver of a good and sweet guy buried deep down beneath all the cocky swagger.

And today, we were over and he’d been the one to hurt me. He’d been playing the long con the entire time.

The sound of a car revving on the road next to the sidewalk we were all walking on had me glancing over. Grumbling when my eyes settled on Reggie’s black Charger.

“What the fuck does he want?” Sweet Pea snarled to himself.

“A fight, if we’re fuckin lucky, man.” Fangs chuckled, opening and closing his fists.

Reggie rolled down the passenger window. Called out to me.

I pretended not to hear him, turning my attention to talking to Cheryl and Toni instead.

“I know you hear me, princess.. C’mon. Please? At least give me a chance to explain?”

He kept at this for almost a minute until I finally got annoyed. I finally just couldn’t deal with him lingering. Trying to push me into talking things out. What was there to talk about?

He’d had a bet going about getting into my panties.

“Explain what, exactly?” I eyed him, a hand on my hip.

Reggie bit his lip and his eyes roamed over me. He sighed quietly, nodding to the passenger seat. 

I shook my head no. “Which part do you need to explain, Reggie? The part that you made a bet on taking my virginity or the fact that you’re an actual fucking pig? I can’t believe I fell for your shit.”

From beside me, I felt Sweet Pea tense a little. Fangs grumbled and shook his head, muttered under his breath, “ I always knew he was a fucking douche.”

“I deserved that.” Reggie muttered. Pleading with me again to at least let him explain.

“You deserve a kick in the balls.” I retorted, starting to walk a little faster. “Don’t you have a bimbo to fall back on?” I asked when I realized he wasn’t pulling away and driving off. “Stop trying. It’s not like you tried that hard before I found out what you were really about.”

He eyed me, his mouth opening and closing.

“What’s that mean, huh?”

“ If you can’t figure it out, it’s not on me to explain it.” I rolled my eyes. Tapping my boot against the sidewalk impatiently. 

“I’m gonna prove you wrong, princess.” Reggie bit his lip, gazing at me. “I’m gonna prove just how wrong you are and how much I care.”

“You can start by leaving, meatball.” I rolled my eyes, waving a hand dismissively as I hurried to catch up with the rest of my friends. Reggie drove off and I watched his tail lights fading. Taking a few shaky breaths because it felt like I’d just ripped a bandaid off an open wound.

“That went well.” Toni muttered, eyeing me. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” I muttered.

We were standing at the edge of the parking lot in front of Riverdale High by now. I gazed at the building. For a few seconds, I thought about bolting. Instead, I took a few long and deep breaths. Walking into the halls with Toni and Cheryl. Holding my head up. Ignoring the stares and the few whispers.

Cheryl leaned in to mutter against my ear, “Ignore them.”

I nodded, even though every single part of me was now wishing I hadn’t chosen to come today.

When I got to my locker, I found a single red rose taped to it. I tore it off. Grumbling to myself as I found a trash bin and threw the flower inside, giving Reggie a pointed glare as I walked right past him.

Chuck elbowed him and said it loudly enough that I could hear, “You can do better, Mantle. Find yourself a girl who cares enough to put out.”

I rolled my eyes. Spinning around before Toni or Cheryl even realized that I wasn’t walking with them anymore. Backtracking down the hall and stopping in front of Chuck.

Gazing up at him as I retorted, “Oh?”

Chuck eyed me, snickering. “Somebody’s feisty this morning.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong here, but didn’t you like… lie about half the girls you claim slept with you? I mean hey.. I can’t help it, some of us have actual standards, dude. Wasn’t there a whole ass scene between you and pretty much every single girl in Riverdale High? In this same hallway? Might want to keep your mouth shut, Chucky.”

His fists clenched. 

I snickered quietly. “Anyway, that’s not what I came over for. It just occurred to me, Chuck.. I never bothered to ask how much my virginity is worth to an ignorant swine like you. How much was the bet, hm?”

Chuck raised a brow. Reggie tensed. Trying to butt in, trying to tell me to let it go and plead with me to just talk to him later when I’d cooled down.

But I was past it. 

Chuck smirked. “You, princess? Twenty bucks. Now.. if you were actually hot like say… Betty Cooper or Veronica Lodge, even Cheryl over there or her pretty little friend.. It’d have been a hundred bucks easy.” he folded his arms over his chest. Waiting on his words to hit some kind of mark.

Thinking that I gave a shit. Or that I wasn’t already well aware that I wasn’t supermodel hot like most of the other girls and totally fine with it.

“If you’re waiting on me to be hurt, it’s not gonna happen. But here. Here’s your fucking money, you prick.” I dug around in the pocket of my jeans, finding a twenty dollar bill. Tossing it at him. Nodding at where it settled on the floor.

“Pick it up.” I repeated firmly.

“How about you do it for me, princess?” Chuck smirked, gazing at me intently. Nodding towards the fallen twenty. 

I shook my head. Stepped closer. “Go on.. Pick it up. Unless you’re afraid...” 

Reggie cleared his throat. “Princess.. You don’t have to do this. None of this matters...” he tried to reason with me. Tried to get me to calm down.I whirled around to face him. “ My name is Alyssa. You don’t get to call me princess or baby girl or anything like that anymore. Are we clear, meatball?”

Chuck cackled at that. I turned to face him, nodding to the money. Bending to pick it up. “Guess you don’t want to get paid.” I shrugged. He reached for the twenty and I drew it back out of his grasp, clucking my tongue.

I held it up, as best as I could to keep it out of his reach. When he went for it, I threw it on the floor again and spat in his direction. “Next time you decide to bet on somebody’s virginity, asshole, just remember how many girls shot you down. Remember that you’re actually not hot shit.”

I shoved through the crowd, walking back over to my locker. Throwing it open. Ignoring the shocked looks on my friends faces as I calmly switched out my books for the morning classes.

XXX

He couldn’t stop replaying the whole thing in his head. Smirking about it a little in pride because he honestly hadn’t ever thought she had all that in her. He found himself stealing glances at her while she had her nose buried in the textbook, reading and not paying anything going on around her any sort of attention.

From behind them, Reggie was hissing her name. Sweet Pea rolled his eyes, annoyed because the guy had basically gone this entire time without a backwards glance at her while paired with Mandy, and now, suddenly, he couldn’t leave her alone.

The jealousy that surged had Sweet Pea clenching his fist. Shoving it in his jacket.

When Reggie tried to pass a note to her and it settled on his desk instead, he turned and smirked. Speaking up so the teacher caught onto what was going on.

“I”m flattered, Mantle. Really I am. But you’re kind of not my type, man.” Sweet Pea smirked as Reggie practically growled at him and shook his head. The teacher hadn’t caught on yet. Reggie kept nodding to Alyssa and Sweet Pea chuckled to himself again. The urge to embarrass the guy was just too strong to pass up.

“Oh? You want me to pass this note to Alyssa?” Sweet Pea barely hid the smirk when he said it loudly enough that he knew their teacher had to hear him, plain as day.

The teacher glanced their direction, stalking across the room to snatch the paper out of Sweet Pea’s hands. Unfolding it as he started to read it to the entire class.

Alyssa grumbled under her breath, whirling around in her seat.

“Pig.” she called out before turning to face the front again. Sinking down in her seat just slightly. Shaking her head as she muttered to herself quietly, “Where was this energy when we were actually dating, I ask?”

 They reached for the textbook open between them at the same time and Alyssa glanced over at him, biting her lip. No matter how much he tried, Sweet Pea couldn’t drop his gaze. His eyes were locked on hers. He repositioned the book so that they could both see it clearly. And maybe just so she’d have to lean in slightly in the process.

“What’d you say to Chuck in the hall?” He whispered after a few seconds.

“I threw his fucking money at him. And reminded him that most of the girls he supposedly got with actually didn’t and wouldn’t touch him with a ten foot pole. I was hoping he’d bend down and get his money though because I was totally about to knee him in the face.”

“Nah. I don’t see you doing that.” Sweet Pea chuckled, shaking his head at her and locking eyes all over again.

Alyssa eyed him, an amused look on her face as she shrugged. “Whatever you say, Sweet Pea.” before going back to reading their assigned part of the text.

Sweet Pea found himself staring at her. Probably much more than he should have if he were being honest about it. 

She leaned in to turn the page and he coughed abruptly. The cotton candy scent of her favorite body spray wafting up. Making him bite his lip over the knee jerk reaction he was having to the way she was slightly leaned against him. She must have caught on to him staring at her because she glanced up, licking at her lips. Muttering an apology in haste and moving away a little.

He leaned into her and muttered into her ear, “It’s not that big a deal, cherry.”

She nodded, but she didn’t look up at him or anything.

When it happened at least two more times during the class, he wound up having to shift around in his seat a little. Trying to appear neutral when every little accidental brush of her side against his was overloading him a little more each time.

XXX

“Okay, I got matches.” Toni or Cheryl called up the stairs from the living room.

“I have the lighter and the box.” I answered, jogging down the stairs to meet them. We stepped out of the house and I locked the door behind me. Stopping by the fern to make sure the spare key was still hidden inside the pot just in case Archie didn’t have his key.

We set out for the construction site but Toni remembered that she had to stop by her grandfather’s place to grab something.

The crowd gathered outside was angry. Panicked. Toni shoved her way through the crowd her neighbors made, up and onto her porch. Coming back with a bright orange piece of paper that had been stuck to her front door.

I happened to spot Sweet Pea as he stood on the porch three trailers away. His jaw set firm.

Cheryl snatched the note from Toni and as soon as she realized it was an eviction notice, she was hugging Toni.

“I can’t fucking believe this. They can’t just throw out everyone.”

I swallowed hard. Locking eyes with Sweet Pea from across the lot. Every part of me wanted to walk over to him. But I didn’t dare.

He tolerated me at best.

I could just see this only driving his defenses up even more. Fangs wandered over, a similar note in his own hands. Swearing and angry.

“There’s absolutely no way, this is bullshit.”

“They can and they did, Cherry.” Fangs grumbled. Cheryl and I shared a look because neither one of us really knew what to do or say in this case.

“Yeah, I don’t think so. I’m gonna skype my mom tonight and ask if this is legal at all.” I took Fang’s notice and took a screenshot of it. He shook his head. Muttered calmly and quietly, “No use in bothering with it, Cherry. We all know how this is gonna play out.”

“It doesn’t have to, though.” I answered, shaking my head. Cheryl did the same. Hugging Toni as she tried to console her. Offering to let her stay at her place.

Sweet Pea punched at the post on his porch and jumped over the rail, wandering over to where Toni and Fangs stood with Cheryl and I.

“You see this shit?”

“Yeah.” Toni answered in a flat tone.

Fangs just nodded. Pacing. Angry.

“This can’t be legal.” I muttered.

Sweet Pea gazed down at me. A sneer forming. “I hate to break it to you, Cherry. This is real life. And there’s nothing any of us can do about it, either.”

I tensed at his tone. I get where his anger was coming from, but the fact that it was directed at me right now was both hurtful and kind of irritating.

“What? You think I live in a fucking ivory tower?” I snapped before I could stop myself, storming off.

Cheryl caught up to me halfway down the block.

“There has to be something we can do. Anything.” Cheryl spoke up as we shared a look.

“I’m calling my mother. If anyone can stop this bullshit, it’s her.”

“I can try to buy it back.” Cheryl mused.

“That fucking snake Lodge wouldn’t ever allow it and your mother would end herself before she let you do that. Not to mention what she might do to get even with you for even thinking it.” I sighed as I gazed at Cheryl. The wheels in my mind turning. Same as hers, I could tell.

“We just have to think. I mean, we know who’s behind all this. I wish there was some way I could fucking pin him and make it stick.” I grumbled, shaking my head again.

“Something tells me there’s more to your dislike for Veronica’s father than merely the way he’s making our friends homeless.” Cheryl studied me. I nodded, answering quietly, “The man got out of prison, discovered my brother was dating his daughter and decided to take a wrecking ball to my brother and my father’s relationship. You know how close they were, Cheryl. And you know how much I hate change or tension. And it’s been so tense between them since I moved back I… I just feel like the walls are closing in sometimes. But my mom told me to let them figure it out. To focus on figuring myself out. But I can’t because I love them both and it’s frustrating the hell out of me, ugh!”

Cheryl nodded. The rest of the walk to my father’s construction site was quiet. Both of us thinking. Trying to come up with any form of a solution.

Toni caught up to us, putting her arms around. “I’ll take you up on staying at your place.” she muttered, brushing a kiss to Cheryl’s cheek as a thank you. I smiled at the two of them and then spoke up.

“I’m seriously going to call my mother tonight and ask if Mayor McCoy can do this. Every part of me wants to go fill her gas tank with sugar but then I remember, Josie’s actually pretty okay and I don’t want to get on her bad side. Besides.. Pretty sure her mother didn’t come up with the idea to do this on her own. Pretty sure she had a little monetary persuasion.”

Toni eyed me as I kicked over a garbage can nearby.

“It’ll be fine. F.P’s already offered sanctuary at the Wyrm for everyone.” Toni spoke up. I nodded. Feeling a little bit of relief, because I’d been so fucking worried.

I knew Fangs probably had places he could go. Other family.

Sweet Pea, I wasn’t entirely sure he had that. And I knew he’d literally rather die than ask anyone for anything.

Even though if I thought for a second he didn’t have a place to crash, I’d been fully prepared to do something. Anything.

I shoved the thought out of my head.

“What’d you mean by monetary persuasion?” Toni asked.

Cheryl filled her in on my five minute rant that she’d missed. And Toni studied me intently. “And now the way you keep your distance and go quiet around Veronica and your brother totally makes sense.”

“I want to like her, I really do, but.. Her father and this fuckery. Because we all know none of this started until that man came to town.” I rubbed at my forehead. God, I was so done with this day. 

My father’s construction site came into view and my dad caught sight of me, making his way over after he finished talking to one of the contractors. 

“Everything okay, tiny?” My father asked, giving me a gentle look of concern.

“Fuck no.” I grumbled, shaking my head. Trying to put my thoughts together and be calm about it.

“Hey! Language.” My father scolded in a gentle tone. He eyed me and waited. I took the eviction notice from Toni’s hand and showed him, shaking my head. “I swear to God, that jerk Lodge should’ve stayed in prison.”

“Agreed.” my father muttered. He handed Toni back the eviction notice and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. I could tell it bothered him too. His jaw set firm, just like it always does when something’s upsetting him or making him angry. I get the trait honestly.

“I’m going to call Mom tonight and ask if it’s legal for Mayor McCoy to do that. I mean she can’t. Unless the place is condemned.. I wouldn’t think.” I explained.

“I dunno, kid. The world’s not always as black and white as we see it. Kind of where your mom and I butted heads a lot.” my father answered, hugging me. Glancing at Toni. “Do you have somewhere to stay?”

Cheryl smiled and nodded, speaking up.

“She’s going to be staying at the Manor with me, sir.” she beamed as she held onto Toni’s hand, giving it a squeeze. My dad chuckled and raked his hand over his head. 

“If Cheryl’s mom starts anything, you’re welcome to stay with Alyssa.” my father told her. Toni gave a soft laugh, nodding. Thanking him quietly. 

My dad caught sight of the box in my arms, nodding to it. “What’s all that?”

“All the crap Reggie gave me. And the notes and pictures.” I answered, shuffling my feet.

“You’re not gonna keep that?” my dad questioned. “I know it hurts, but memories.”

“Nope. I have zero interest in anything to remind me I was ever stupid enough to date Reggie Mantle.” I shook my head, vetoing the suggestion.

“Yikes. How bad was this fight you two had, exactly?” my dad asked again. He’d been trying to get me to tell him but I just couldn’t. Not knowing my dad would definitely try to murder the guy.

Cheryl started to speak up, she started to tell my father what actually happened, but I gave her a gentle elbow in the side. My father eyed me and I sighed.

“It wasn’t exactly an argument. We just broke up. Well, to be honest, I dumped him.”

“If you want to talk about it..” my dad offered.

“Oh, I’m pretty sure you’d try to murder him and I love you too much to let you go to prison.” I answered quietly. “Trust me, daddy.. You don’t want to know. Let’s just leave it at me dumping him, please sir?”

He eyed me, but he let it drop for now.

As soon as we found a barrel we could use to burn the contents of the box in, we made our way over and I turned the box upside down, letting the pictures, letters and the stuffed animal inside settle in the bottom of the barrel.

After striking the match, Cheryl passed it to me. I tossed it in and we stood there, watching the fire quietly. All of us lost in thought.

At one point, Toni spoke up.

“Sweet Pea shouldn’t have gone off like that.”

“I don’t blame him. I get it. It’s fine.” I shrugged. “He’s right. I am kind of sheltered. I mean I know what the real world is like, I just.. I got lucky enough that I don’t have to face a lot of it’s challenges.” I mused, shaking my head. It still hurt, the way he’d snapped at me so harshly. ,, ah well, I thought to myself, another good reason why he’d never want to be with someone like me and a very good reason why we wouldn’t work out and I just need to forget whatever.. this.. is that I am feeling  towards him lately.” 

“Is there any reason you haven’t told your father the real reason you broke up with Reggie?” Cheryl asked the question after we’d all fallen silent again. I leaned back in the chair I’d dragged over and gazed up at the sky. “Because I know my dad will try to kill him. And no matter how much Reggie deserves it, I don’t want it to happen.”

“Oh, I’m petty enough I’d tell him.” Toni answered. The three of us shared a laugh and I went quiet. “Was Sweet Pea okay when you left? I know the eviction notice pissed him off.” I asked, grabbing a stick to poke at the fire. Pouting because it was starting to die down. The flame licked at the corner of the first note Reggie ever wrote me and I stared at it a few seconds, lost in thought.

Sweet Pea’s throat cleared. I looked at him.

“You can ask me yourself.” he answered quietly. Fangs nodded to the dwindling fire. “Damn. I missed the closest I’ll ever come to lighting Mantle’s ass on fire.”

I laughed before I could stop myself. Then I stood to go lug a hose over to put out the fire. It was dying anyway, there wasn’t any sense in just letting it keep burning.

“We could move this to Pops. I gotta pick up dinner for me and Dad tonight anyway, because Archie is apparently going to welsh on his turn to cook. Because he’s with Veronica, of course. Doing god knows what.”

“The sex.” Fangs teased, wiggling his brows suggestively.

Making me grimace and pretend to gag while plugging my ears as he did so. “Ew, gross, why the fuck would you put any of that… imagery in my head? She’s kind of a friend and he’s my brother and now I’m going to fucking hurl, sir.” 

“Fuck it, why not. Pop’s it is.” Sweet Pea grumbled, pulling himself off the ground. As we walked towards the diner, I found myself fenced in beside Sweet Pea when Fangs chose to walk on the outside of the sidewalk. My side brushed against him every few steps and I couldn’t help but be painfully aware of it. Of him. I shoved it out of my mind immediately. I was barely managing to get the guy to warm up to me as a friend. And right now, I needed to breathe. To get my own head on straight. Enjoy being alone and free to do whatever. Without any obligation to anybody or expectations.

,, besides, look at him… do you really think he’d ever go for you? Not a freaking chance. Literally the only reason Reggie Mantle did was just to see if you’d give it up so he could win some fucking bet... You’re always second choice, the sooner you accept it and stop fighting to be chosen first, the better...” the thought surfaced, taunting me.

When I saw Reggie’s car rounding the corner, I swore to myself and tensed up slightly. And next to me, I felt Sweet Pea tense just a bit himself. He glanced down at me when our hands brushed on accident. Biting his lip. Our gaze lingering on each other, distracting me from Reggie’s car slowing to an idle on the street as he tried to get my attention from inside of it.

I don’t know why I did it, but I curled my pinkie around Sweet Pea’s. Giving a careful squeeze because it kind of calmed me down.

“Pound sand, Dog.” Toni called out as soon as Reggie had the window rolled down. I laughed and called out to him calmly, “What my best friends just said, meatball. Pound sand.” 

“Give me a chance.” Reggie pleaded again.

“What I’d like to give you is a swift kick in the nuts.” I retorted. 

Reggie sighed. Called out calmly, “I’ll give you a little more time to calm down. Then you have to talk to me. Please? I.. I love you, okay? The last thing I wanted was everything to come out.”

I swallowed hard, gazing at him. Really weighing the fact that it took him getting caught like he had to make him actually say the words and actually appear to mean them. I dragged my fingers through my hair. Trying to think about it all.

Deep down, I knew that it was already over before I even overheard the conversation about the bet he’d made with Chuck. I’d already been thinking about it.

He’d just done me a favor and sped up my decision making process.

“Go away, meatball.” I called out. Reggie rolled up his window and drove away and I shook my head, going quiet. Thinking about everything.

We filed into Pop’s, filling up a booth. I guess I was too quiet, because Cheryl cleared her throat.

I glanced over at her and she smiled. Gently but firmly reminding me that Spirit Week was upon us and I needed to be in my best form. I nodded. “I’m trying.”

“Don’t try. Do. I can’t have my tumbler moping all over the place. And if you’re going to pull off that stunt you’ve been practicing, you have to have your head in it. One wrong move and it won’t be pretty.” Cheryl reminded me.

I took a sip of my milkshake and nodded again. “Oh trust me, I know.”

“What stunt?” Toni asked, looking from me to Cheryl.

Cheryl explained it. The gist of it was that I was going to do my usual bit on the pyramid, a back tuck basket, hopefully come out of that into a back handspring.

“Are all gymnasts super flexible?” Fangs asked, making all of us laugh and groan as he shrugged, “It was just a question. I mean they’re always doing all those flips and all that other shit.” 

Cheryl giggled at the question, nodding to me. “She used to put her legs behind her shoulders when we were in grade school.”

“Until you triple  dared me once and I fucking got stuck like an actual human pretzel.” I pretended to pout at her from across the booth. Cheryl laughed. Toni laughed and I pouted at them both. “Glad you find my embarrassment entertaining.”

“Oh come on! I’m just wondering if it’s like that afternoon we were messing around by the quarry and you tried to cram yourself into that pipe.”

“Again, fuck you both.” I quipped, taking a long and noisy sip of my milkshake.

“Yeah, what is it with you and spaces you don’t need to be in?” Fangs questioned, chuckling as I stuck my tongue out at him and shrugged.

“I climbed into a dryer once on a dare. I think honestly, it’s just the simple fact that I hate being told I can’t or shouldn’t do something, because that’s how the dryer dare all started...” I trailed off, drumming my fingers against the tabletop.

“Wasn’t that one on your Snapchat stories?” Cheryl asked. Digging for her phone and going to the app. Going through my stories until she found it. 

I laughed as I heard one of my old friends in the background going “And it was in this moment that Allie knew she’d truly fucked up.” just as I started to realize I might or might not be stuck and started to panic a little. Yelping about “Errors were made. Oh no. This is.. How am I explaining this to my mother, Lexy? Oh god, she’s going to have a cow…” as I laughed hysterically and tried to wiggle myself free. “Suddenly, this doesn’t seem like a good idea. Stop filming me Raya and help, shit!”

“Dramatic?” Sweet Pea chuckled, catching my gaze.

“Eh, maybe a little.” I shrugged, sipping my milkshake. Trying to drop my own gaze first, but unable to do so for whatever reason.

“What’s the thought process behind cramming yourself into a dryer though?” he questioned.

“I was told I shouldn’t or that I wouldn’t. Then dared to do it. So I did it...” I answered. Gazing over at him. A puzzled look on my face because he was kind of staring at me. Intently. Lost in thought for a few seconds.

“A dare, huh?” he eyed me as he asked. 

I held his gaze because try as I might, I couldn’t seem to stop myself from doing it.“Mhm.” I muttered, finally managing to break our little stare down. Glancing down at my french fries and shoveling a few in my mouth.

After we left Pop’s, I made my way back home, flopping myself across my bed. Cheryl was sitting at my vanity with her legs propped against it and Toni was sprawled out on a giant beanbag chair that sits in the corner of my room, flipping through a magazine.

“So.. Is there some reason you and Sweet Pea keep staring at one another?” Toni’s question drew me out of my own thoughts. I glanced over at her, shrugging. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You noticed too?” Cheryl asked Toni. Toni held my gaze, smirking at me as she nodded yes to Cheryl. “You know exactly what I’m talking about, Cherry. And for the record, you definitely didn’t look at Mantle that way.”

“I don’t look at Sweet Pea in any certain way either? I mean.. I don’t think I do?” I questioned, confused. Wondering why I kept getting asked the question or accused of doing this. 

“You do.”

“It’s like you’re starving.”

“Or thirsty.” Toni teased, the three of us bursting into laughter. I actually had to stop and think about it.

And found myself confronted with the fact that maybe… possibly… I did think Sweet Pea was hot. I had since my first run in with the guy, right after I moved back to Riverdale. I just.. Didn’t make it a point to actually stop and think about it or dwell on it.

But I found myself wondering.. If my best friends noticed any looks I may or may not be giving him… Did that mean he had?

Somehow, I doubted it. And that relieved me.

“All I’m going to say is he’s hot. But that’s it. And neither of you better say a word! That’s all the guy needs, his ego getting so big he can’t fit a room. Besides… even if I did… feel an attraction… there’s the small fact that guy absolutely cannot stand me. He only tolerates me because we’re friends.” I admitted. Going quiet. Letting the thought sink in. Trying my best to process it.

Or forget it. Because that was pretty much my only option here. Shove these pesky thoughts and any attraction that I’d been feeling as deep down as they’d go.

Otherwise, this was going to get awkward. Fast.

[spiderman-homecomeme]

Something Blue (and Red)

Part 4 of “And A Silver Sixpence in Her Shoe.”

AN: Well, it’s been a while, but here is the final part of the wedding fic! Thank you guys from the bottom of my HEART for all of your patience!! It has been a crazy semester for me, but I am finally free!! Look out for more promptmas stuff coming, secret santa, and a few more WIPS in the near future!

Enjoy!

-

In his twenty-four years of being alive, Peter’s not sure that something’s ever been so right-- ever felt so right. Rarely have the stars aligned in such a way, so perfectly as they had in that specific moment as he stood, waiting in the winding check-out line of his local TJ Maxx, his arms already full of items he didn’t necessarily need.

But when he saw them, he knew.  

There was nothing else to do, no choice left to make.

No question in his mind as the bored teen mindlessly scans the treasures, as he swipes his debit card, as he answers the age old question on the pinpad, “amount okay?”

MJ, however, seems less than impressed with the purchase, holding the limited edition Spider-Man socks between her fingers as if they might bite her, her nose crinkling in disgust.

“Seriously?” She asks, fixing him with a quizzical brow.

“Seriously,” He beams, obviously more excited than she was. “I had to.”

“Uh-huh,” she speaks slowly, carefully examining the blue and red socks. “And you don’t think that it might have been a little reckless for you, Peter Parker, to buy Spider-Man socks?”

Peter gives an innocent shrug, mouth twitching into a nonchalant frown. “Nah. The cashier just thought I was a big fan. We had a nice chat about Spidey. No biggie.”

Her face remains expressionless as she stares blankly at him, save for the skeptical quirk of her brow.

Peter decides to simply ignore the doubt radiating from his fiancée, his lips pulling back into a mischievous grin. “That’s not all…”

She barely has any time to ask before he hikes his leg up, propping his foot on the couch, revealing the exact same pair of socks.

“Now we can really be the most powerful couple out there.”

MJ can only shake her head in response, forcing an exasperated breath through her nose as the faint beginning of a smile tugs at the corner of her lips. If she were being completely honest, she wasn’t in love with the idea of becoming one of those couples; she loved Peter, more than anything, but…

Enough to wear matching socks?

Peter doesn’t mind her immediate dislike of the garments. In fact, he almost welcomes it. One extra pair for him; just means that he doesn’t have to do laundry as much, right?

(MJ tells him that that’s not what that means.)

And perhaps he wears them a bit too much, especially for someone who’s quite literally donning socks with his own (masked) face on them. It had started as a weekend only, nights-in at home thing, though it wasn’t long before he was wearing them to work, to date night, family dinners, everywhere. She’s never surprised when she sees the masked cartoon peek from under the hem of his jeans.

He claims that they’re comfy, that they’re warm, that all his other socks were dirty, etc., etc.

And really, Michelle doesn’t mind or care all that much. Whatever Peter wants to wear isn’t any of her damn business. It’s funny, it’s cute, it’s just her loveable, dumb fiancé.

But it does make their more, ahem, intimate moments a bit more difficult.

If only because seeing those damn things in all their bright blue and red glory on his feet, after he’s whispered the things he’s whispered into her ear, after he’s been trying to be so sultry and serious.

MJ can’t help but tease.

“Those staying, too?” Her voice is steady, just barely hiding the humor in her tone as she gestures at his feet.

He pauses momentarily, his shirt now crumpled in his own hand, confused for a moment before following her gaze.

And then, she laughs at her own question, hiding her face behind her hands as he playfully throws his shirt at her; he nearly trips as he steps out of his boxers, making a point to show that, yes, MJ, the Spider-Man socks stay on during sex.

It’s no surprise when she sees the very same socks as she steps out of the shower, set out next to his black and white tux the morning of their wedding.

She wouldn’t expect anything less.

A small smile tugs at her lips at the recent memory, just hours before, as she stares at herself in the floor-length mirror, her mother and May both working diligently (yet gently) at the buttons on the back of her dress, Betty standing in front of her.

That same warmth she always feels around Peter has been in full force today, and she even finds the old, yet welcome fluttering of butterflies in her stomach when the dress is finally on . Throughout her life, she’s never quite understood what it meant to “feel like a bride.” It was just a white dress; how could it have so much power? Even when shopping, when buying the dress, she didn’t get that exact feeling. Sure, it made everything much more real, but it wasn’t this .

Yet now, in spite of all of her past notions, she finally gets it; the delicate lace on the bodice and the long, elegant sleeves, the deep-v neckline, that final addition of something blue, and with that same shattered Black Dahlia necklace Peter had given her all those years ago.

Damn it, she feels like a bride.

Her mother subtly wipes at her eyes as she moves to stand in front of her daughter, clasping her hands to her chest with an almost dreamy sigh. “God, you look beautiful, Michelle.”

May nods, smiling warmly, her own eyes sparkling. “Agreed.”

“So pretty!” Betty adds, her giddiness shining through.

MJ huffs out a light chuckle, mumbling out a quiet, “Thank you,” as her hands smooth over the soft satin of her skirt. Her mind immediately goes to Peter, what he’s doing right now, how nervous he must be, and what he’ll think when he sees her, when she walks down the aisle; and just like that, her stomach does a few more giddy backflips, and she bites her lip to keep the excitement in.

“And now,” May starts, breaking the silence, a knowing grin on her face as she moves to open the final box. “For the finishing touch.”

MJ was so incredibly wrong.

Now .

Now, as the veil is placed on her head, she honestly, truly , feels like a bride.

“There,” May says, gently adjusting the fabric a fraction of an inch so that the veil lays prettily against Michelle’s curls.

Again, Michelle’s mother sighs, though along with the misty eyes comes a twitch of a frown fighting back the tears.

MJ playfully rolls her eyes. “I’m not even married yet, Mom, come on,” she gently teases as she pulls her mother into a hug.

“I know, I know,” the older woman says with a soft, sheepish laugh. She pulls back, looking at the two Jones women staring back at them in the mirror. “Give me a break, okay? I’m just so happy for my little girl,” she adds, squeezing her daughter’s side.

Michelle utters another, “thanks,” looking down to hide her widening grin.

“I don’t blame you,” May says with a shake of her head and a kind smile. She looks to Michelle, expression warm and excited. “You ready, Em?”

The bride looks up again at her reflection, taking everything in again.

It was happening.

Today was the day.

And MJ had never been more ready.

--

Peter could have sworn he was dreaming.

This whole relationship even.

In what universe was he lucky enough to land someone like Michelle Jones, to get her to marry him, to marry his dumb ass and all the trouble and shit he gets himself into? What did he do to deserve such a partner-in-vigilante-justice?

He looks to Ned at his left, his best friend giving him an encouraging grin and a subtle (yet actually not all that subtle) thumbs up; then to his aunt, to his mentor, to his friends in the seats in front of him.

But when his eyes finally land on her, his very soon-to-be wife, he finds that he can’t look anywhere else.

Not that he’d ever want to.

He always thinks that she’s perfect, no matter what; she could literally wear a brown paper bag and he’d still marry her. But, cheesy as it sounds, the air feels like it’s quite literally been taken right from his lungs.

Even now, after six whole, wonderful, perfect years together, without fail, MJ still manages to make him forget how to breathe, the sight of her in that simple white dress, holding the bouquet of white roses and black dahlias, making his chest tighten at just how pretty she is. He knows that there’s probably tears in his eyes, but he honestly can’t tell, nor does he care when he sees the faint smirk painting her lips from under the sheer veil.

Again, he really is the luckiest loser in the world.

A lucky loser who happens to be wearing blue and red Spider-Man socks.

What can he say? It’s the nice boost of confidence. Ned has his hats, Peter has his Spidey socks.

He’s unable to hold back or fight his smile--though it’s not like he’s really trying all that hard--as she finally reaches him. She glances down, and he can see the toothy grin from behind her veil, the soft expression causing his heart to swell. He helps her pull the veil back, finally able to see her after a whole day apart.

The officiant welcomes everyone, beginning the ceremony with a short speech of thanks that both Peter and MJ had written before hand.

However, Peter finds that he can’t hear what the man is saying over how beautiful his fiancée is.

He almost doesn’t hear him ask to start the vows.

Peter snaps out of his trance, pulling a folded piece of paper from his jacket. “Oh, yeah! Sorry. Uh, yeah. Vows.” A faint pink blush settles over his features as he stammers. A quiet murmur of good-natured chuckles briefly fills the room, MJ joining in, of course.

“MJ,” He starts. He feels the lump in his throat, the emotion fluttering in his stomach. He coughs, looking between the paper and the love of his life. “You are my favorite person. My best friend in the entire world. Sorry Ned.”

That gets another laugh, both from MJ and the room, and Peter passes a teasing, fake-sheepish smile to his best man.

Ned waves it off with a laugh, shaking his head.

Peter continues. “I feel so overwhelmingly lucky and proud to stand here with you today. Honestly, I feel like I hit the jackpot. When I’m with you, MJ, I’m the best version of myself. Because… with you, I’m always utterly and unapologetically myself. You accept me for who I am, even if I can be a bit of a dumbass sometimes. There’s not much for me to say that I haven’t already said, you know me, and there’s not much to give that’s not already freely given. But… I’ll give it a shot.”

He takes another deep breath, glancing up to see the warmth and love in MJ’s expression, his chest tightening. “I promise to always try and make you laugh and smile, no matter what, even if my jokes aren’t really that funny, because let’s be honest, those are my best ones.”

MJ shakes her head, not even trying to fight back her smile.

“I promise to be a better roommate, and to actually put dishes in the dishwasher instead of in the sink or on the counter by the sink. I promise to send every conspiracy theory I find, even the ones you’ve already heard. I promise to listen to your advice, and even occasionally, I promise to take that advice. I promise to love you more and more. After every win. After every fight. After every laugh.” He pauses for a moment, clearing his throat once more, combatting the shakiness. He looks back up at her, no longer reading from the folded piece of paper. “And finally, I promise to always strive to be worthy of the love you give me so freely and openly, and to never, ever take that love for granted, and to always give it back.”

He wants to make some dumb joke about how she’s a thief, taking his breath away, but he doesn’t.

“I really like you, MJ.”

Her face crumples slightly at the callback, though she holds herself together, if only so she can get through actually reading her end of the vows, as Betty hands her her own paper.

A beat of silence passes as MJ gathers both her thoughts and emotions.

“Peter,” she starts, a slight shake already to her voice. Be it from nerves or overwhelming emotions, she’s not sure. “You’re my best friend. My partner. My supporter. You’ve loved me through easy times and hard times, and I am so incredibly grateful for you and the support you have always given me. Now… Promises have always scared me. Maybe I’ve been too cautious in making them, too afraid that a change in circumstance or myself will rip the world out from under me. But… over the years, I’ve found that they can remind me of solid ground when things get shaky. Here are some promises that I can happily give to you.”

She looks up at him for the briefest of moments, heart warming. “I promise to put you first, and love you, even when you’re purposefully trying to annoy me.”

A warm laugh.

Her grin turns more playful as she looks back down at the paper. “I promise to always admit when I’m wrong--which we both know, I never am, but that’s beside the point--and to forgive you when you are. I promise to try to laugh, a real, honest laugh, at your jokes, even if they aren’t funny.”

MJ hears him scoff, her lips twisting into an even bigger smile at the sound. She continues. “I can’t promise to never make fun of you, but… I can promise to always kiss you after, just to say sorry,” she vows, shooting him another glance. “I promise to be there, no matter what, to help you when you need me. And I promise to keep updating these as we go. Because one set of vows can’t cover a lifetime of getting to grow and change alongside you. Of falling more and more in love with you everyday, which is what I promise to do for the rest of my life.”

She hands the paper back to Betty before taking his hand in hers. She’s pretty sure that’s not entirely in the whole wedding protocol, but she doesn’t care right now.

“I really like you, too.”

And then it all happens too quickly, neither of them seeing or hearing anything else as they exchange the rings.

There are no more words spoken between them, apart from “I do.” No more thoughts.

… besides finally as they hear the fateful, “I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

And so, Peter does.

He’s not sure what song is playing now as he holds his new wife on the dance floor; he’s certain it’s not a song that you really slow dance to either, but he doesn’t care. After the very first one, he’s sort of lost track, too lost in his arm around her waist, hand on her back, the other holding hers.

He attempts to twirl her, though she has to awkwardly duck down under his arm, the mishap causing them to both erupt in giggles.

“I told you we needed ballroom dance lessons,” Peter tsks, pulling her close again.

“You’re right,” she remarks dryly, though he can feel her breathe out an amused smile against him. “Here, I’ll twirl you.”

He obliges, laughing when he’s able to pass under her arm much more easily. Mid-spin, his eyes land on her necklace once again, and he can’t help the way his heartstrings swell like the first violin section in an orchestra.

“Black Dahlia,” he points out, much like he did on the bridge all the years ago.

MJ nods, chuckling. “Something old.”

He hums in acknowledgement, giving her an affectionate squeeze. “I’m glad you still like it.” He pulls back slightly. “And the something new? Will I get to see that on tonight?”

Her head tilts and she takes a small corner of her lip between her teeth. “Maybe.”

“Can’t wait.”

Soon, the last cadence of the song fades out, and the familiar base-line of My Girl by the Temptations comes on.

They sway together a little longer, before Peter continues. “Something borrowed?” He asks, realizing she’d never told him.

“May’s veil,” she answers simply with a grin. Though it’s been put away again for the reception, MJ gestures to where it would have sat on her head.

Peter’s head jerks back a fraction. It had looked familiar. “Oh, God, how did I not know that?”

“I won’t tell May, I promise,” she teases. “She’ll never know you didn’t know what her own veil looked like.”

“Okay, okay, come on.” He shakes his head in good-humor, growing quiet for a moment. It’s when he doesn’t speak for even longer that MJ grows concerned.

“Pete?”

“Yeah?”

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” he answers truthfully, but she can hear the emotion in his tone. Another beat passes between them before he elaborates any further. “I’m just really happy that you got to… that you got to use that, you know?”

Somehow, she pulls him even closer, into a comforting squeeze. “I know.”

Silence falls over them again as they sway back and forth, not really dancing anymore, though still held in a close, loving embrace.

Suddenly, MJ pulls back slightly, to Peter’s utter confusion, taking his hand in hers and pulling him away from the dance floor and into one of the hallways.

“Where are we going?” He asks through a curious laugh. “What’s--”

“I need to show you something,” she says over her shoulder, before tightening her grip on his hand.

Without any question or hesitation, he happily follows her, the anticipation of what exactly she could be wanting to show him so badly that they needed to sneak away from prying eyes almost too much. They weave through friends and family, dodging questions with relative success as they reach the ends of the reception crowd.

Finally, they reach one of the welcome areas, MJ sits on one of the chaises, practically yanking her new husband down to sit with her.

She reaches down, pulling up the skirt of her dress to show a comfy pair of her black converse--a sight Peter’s not all that surprised to see, yet he still has to chuckle. Mostly in confusion still. “MJ, what--?”

She takes one of her shoes off, showing her very own pair of limited edition, Spider-Man socks.

Now that comes as a surprise. He huffs out another laugh, his brow crinkling as he looks between her sock-clad foot and her mischievous eyes. “Again… MJ, what?”

She leans in to kiss that bewildered expression off his face, only being the slightest bit successful. Her hand remains in his, her smile growing, eyes gleaming with pride and delight as she answers with a nonchalant shrug.

“Something blue.”

[badgersprite]

Fic: Desiderata (5/?)

Chapter Title: Perspective

Fandom: Mass Effect

Characters: Miranda, Samara, Oriana, Jacob

Pairing: Miranda/Samara very slow burn, friends to lovers

Story Rating: R

Warnings: References to past childhood abuse/trauma, and people being shitty about it.

Chapter Summary: In 2186, Miranda spearheads the search and rescue operation she helped organise. In 2185, Samara gets Miranda to see an incident from someone else’s perspective.

Author’s Note: Miranda is still bad at people, but she’s trying. Shout out to self-isolation for giving me time to work on this.

*    *     *

“You’re sure this will work?” Miranda asked, examining her forged identity documents. A passport. A driver's licence. Even a birth certificate.

“Can’t be any surer than I am,” Niket answered with a slight shrug. “It’s not like I could test it, but I have nothing but assurances from everyone I’ve spoken to that these counterfeits are the highest quality. They never fail.”

“What if they do?” Miranda had imagined a hundred different ways her father might deal with them if they got caught. She still wasn't sure which one was the worst, or that he couldn't exceed her expectations of his cruelty.

“Relax.” Niket placed his hands on her shoulders. “Even if they do pull you up, I've spent months creating an online identity for you. The only thing left is to set up an account and wire some money into it. Enough to keep you on your feet for a while. We've thought of everything, Miri. You won't trigger any red flags. As far as anyone would be concerned, 'Jessica McMahon' is a real person.”

Miranda sighed uneasily. She’d been working on this escape for so long that it was making her paranoid. No matter how careful she was, it was simply impossible for her father not to notice what was going on, given enough time. For all his faults, he was a smart man. He had to sense something was awry, at some point. It always felt like she was moments away from her plot being uncovered.

“Are you forgetting something?” Niket remarked, expectantly waiting for her to say her thanks. To her credit, Miranda realised her oversight.

“You’ve done a lot for me, Niket. When I’m out of here, I won’t forget that,” she said sincerely. Niket was the closest thing to a friend she'd ever had. She was grateful towards him. She really was. She just wasn’t fantastic at expressing it. Her upbringing might have played a role in that.

“You’ve already helped, in a way,” Niket admitted, taking out another passport. “Got one of these for myself with your money. Figured I’d involved myself enough that I’m going to have to get out of dodge once you make your escape, or else your father’s going to find my fingerprints all over this.”

“Good idea.” Miranda nodded, signalling her approval, glad he’d protected himself. Besides, she didn’t give a damn about her father’s money. He had plenty.

Being the daughter of an extremely rich man did have its benefits. As part of her preparations, Miranda had been able to casually drop a few thousand dollars at a time here and there without raising suspicion.

There was no mistake about it, though - the money he gave Miranda to spend was a symbol of his own vanity, not a kindness. She was his daughter. That meant she had to fit a certain image, or it would reflect poorly on him. She had to indulge in expensive tastes, dress well, buy and read rare books, play music on the most expensive piano, or else people might not be impressed by how inordinately wealthy he was.

He framed it like a reward for living up to his impossible standards, but really it was another means of controlling her. Miranda had no freedom in what she spent money on. It was a test. He’d only given her access to her own money so that he could see for himself how well he’d trained her - to prove that his little experiment would continue acting in accordance with his designs and his preferences even when he wasn’t watching her over her shoulder.

But he’d underestimated her. Her father always had. As long as she remembered to keep her stories consistent with the fake transactions on the bills, he would never suspect anything, even if he was secretly going through her spending with a fine tooth-comb, which he did, of course. Provided that she appeared to be spending money on purchases he approved of, he wouldn't question it. And Niket had taught her how to manipulate that data.

“You know, don’t take this the wrong way, but not everyone would resent your fate as much as you do,” Niket spoke frankly. “You have a nice house. Nice room. Nice clothes. Fucking...palatial gardens. Provided you don't piss him off, your Dad usually gives you enough money to buy anything you want, within his rules.”

“That makes up for being an experiment?” Miranda shot back instinctively.

“For some people, it would, yeah,” he pointed out with a shrug. “Don’t get me wrong, Miri. I’m not saying it’s great to be raised by a loveless jackass or that you’re wrong for hating him and wanting out, but there are plenty of people who would trade their life for yours in an instant. I mean, you’ve told me how he treats you. And, sure, he’s strict, but not to where you’d say he’s violent or he beats you. Some people aren’t that lucky.”

Wow. Miranda was hardly a sensitive person, but that comment was a dagger in her heart. She’d confided in Niket about her father’s cruelty because she trusted him. Nobody else knew, who wasn't an accomplice to it. To hear him downplay what she went through only twisted the knife her father had put there long ago.

“If those people want my life so much, they can have it,” said Miranda, trying not to show how deeply it hurt to hear Niket undermining everything she endured under her father's toxic influence. “It’s not my fault they don’t.”

“It's not about fault. It's about reality. Some people not only have shit fathers, but they get to be dirt poor too. I should know. It was my reality,” Niket countered, his words chastening Miranda into silence. She didn't know enough about the outside world to compare experiences. She barely knew anything about the outside world that she hadn't read in books, or learned about from a screen.

Maybe Niket was right. Maybe other people did have it worse than her. Far worse. Maybe she was selfish, ungrateful and privileged. Then again, she’d never told him her very real fear that her father might…murder her one day.

Niket could probably only imagine her father throwing her out on the street if she displeased him, or if he decided it was time to replace her. At worst, he probably expected her father might sell her off to some stranger to be their “daughter” instead of his. Killing her, though? That wasn’t something Niket would have predicted, unless she brought it up as a possibility. And Miranda hadn’t.

She didn’t want Niket to know of that risk. If he did, Miranda could picture him acting rashly to protect her, dismantling their carefully crafted escape plan.

Niket wasn't like her. He was more passionate than she was. More emotional. Normal, presumably. Miranda may not have understood normal people very well at all, but she did have feelings. And she knew well enough that getting emotional could cause a loss of control. Bad judgement. So what did that mean for someone who lacked her restraint? Someone who didn't have years of practice at suppressing their instincts? At suffocating those feelings?

Miranda couldn't trust what Niket might do if he had a reason to hate her father as much as she did. That was why it wasn’t worth telling him the truth. But, even so, he was the last person she would have expected to second-guess her desire to escape this gilded cage.

“I’ve never claimed to have the worst life in the world. I know I don’t,” Miranda continued, her voice quieter, defending herself as calmly as she could.

“No. Don’t worry about that,” Niket assured her, regretting his poor choice of words. “I’m not saying I…Look, when it comes to getting you out of here, I’m with you all the way. Don’t ever think I’m not. That’s not an issue with me.”

“Good,” said Miranda, still offended by the fact he’d even brought it up. He’d explicitly confirmed that all the things she’d told him about her father didn’t qualify him as a cruel man in his eyes, and that Miranda's problems weren't real problems. What more was there to say? “Then let’s not discuss it.”

“Miri…” He reached out to her apologetically, but she brushed him off.

“We don’t need to talk about this,” she stated firmly, smothering her own emotions, putting up her defences. “Just get it done.”

*    *     *

“Come on. Where are they?” Miranda complained, growing tired of waiting for the bulk of her team to catch up. Honestly, she was faster hobbling on a crutch than these grunts were at full fitness. With tanks. “Ox team, report. I need an ETA on those bulldozers. We're in search grid V-44A. What's taking you so bloody long to reach us?” Miranda asked, impatience starting to get the better of her.

She'd used up her last political favour to organise this effort. This was the last big chance they would have to find anyone alive. If this failed, there would be no do-overs. No second chances. As far as they ventured in the next three days would be as far as they would go for a while. It might be months before they expanded the habitable zone of London any further again.

Every second counted. They had to make the most of what little time they had.

“Apologies, Director Lawson,” the comms crackled in her ear. “We picked up some readings of instability in the area. Almost like seismic activity. Our crew is checking it out. We're waiting on an all clear from them before the vehicles advance. Don't want to open up a sinkhole by accident.”

“A warning would have been nice. Run a scan,” Miranda commanded the soldier on her right. She would have used her own omni-tool to do the job, but her arm was busy supporting her weight, and she didn't have a spare. The soldier dutifully obeyed. “We'll continue searching the area on foot ahead of you. Keep me updated on your progress. Time is short, and this debris won't clear itself. Find another path to us if you have to.”

“Roger that. Ox out.”

“Useless,” Miranda muttered under her breath. This was why she preferred to work alone. At least she knew she could rely on herself to get things done. But this was the kind of operation that required a lot of bodies on the ground. Hers was just one of several teams conducting their wide-scale push across the city. Jacob was leading one. Wrex another.

The efforts to coordinate between the Council races had also paid off. The human, asari and turian military forces on the ground had all organised their own teams as well. Miranda's team was even partially comprised of Alliance soldiers, but mostly those who had already been working in close concert with Bailey. Nobody really seemed to care that they were taking their orders from him. What mattered was that, in total, their search and rescue must have consisted of at least a thousand people, if not more. It was a start.

“I'm not reading anything. Then again, their scanners are stronger than mine,” the soldier on her right remarked. Miranda rolled her eye, deciding to make use of the people already with her, and do the rest herself.

Bailey wouldn't like her doing any heavy lifting. Miranda was useful to him, after all. If she got hurt, he lost a valuable asset. But screw it. He could sanction her if he had a problem with it.

“You, do a full sweep of that building. You, over there,” she commanded, gesturing with her crutch, splitting the relief crew off into groups to search the street for survivors, supplies and paths through the wreckage. That way, the demolition, clearance and salvage teams could plough through without wasting any more valuable time when they finally did arrive. “You two, come with me,” she instructed impatiently, heading into a dilapidated ruin of a building personally, not bothering to wait for the bulldozers.

“Yes, Director Lawson.” Everyone followed her orders without question, including the two Alliance soldiers who began to follow her.

It was the middle of the day, but the skies were still dark from the dust. Miranda hadn't forgotten how difficult it was to tell time in the wasteland. Even the brightest hours of the day felt like dusk. And it was cold. It was always cold now.

Miranda approached the only building that hadn't half-collapsed. An office block, with a lobby and reception area on the ground floor. Its exterior was still largely intact, bar the windows, which were all gone, shattered during the battle. Parts of the outer walls had come down, exposing the insides, as if a Reaper had blasted a hole in one side of the building.

“Get a light in there, would you?” Miranda instructed. One of the soldiers complied, the other continuing to run scans as he had before. The flashlight washed over the inside of the building. It was a mess. Some of the upper floors had fallen down into the lobby. Broken desks, computers, wires and lights hung from a half-broken ceiling. The sad thing was, that was a vast improvement over most places they'd come across. At least this one was still standing.

“Director Lawson, my scan couldn't penetrate too deep, but I'm detecting a possible source of the instability,” the male soldier, Alexei Resnikov, told her. “There are cavernous openings right below us.”

“Cavernous openings?” his squadmate echoed, a woman named Keiko Yoshizawa. “You mean the London underground? Or a car park? Here on Earth, we don't all travel by skycar, space cowboy. It's not like a space station. In case you haven't noticed, some of us still use roads and rails to get around.”

“How rustic,” Resnikov remarked with a snort.

“Knock it off,” Miranda ordered, bringing their pointless chatter to a swift and sudden end. “You mentioned the underground. We haven't been able to access it this far out. But if there is a station near here, that would be a likely place to find survivors. It's safe, it may still have leftover food and water, and the tunnels provide an easy path across the city. Until you hit the cave-ins, anyway.”

“Yeah. That makes sense.” Yoshizawa nodded, bringing up a holographic map. “We're heading in the right direction. The nearest one isn’t far from here. Cutting through this place is probably the easiest way, since the streets are blocked.”

“Why are you standing around like you're waiting for a taxi, then? Get moving,” Miranda spoke curtly, prompting the two soldiers to go on ahead of her. They didn't hesitate to comply.

She followed them into the lobby. It was even darker than outside, the air filled with a heavy cloud of particles. Miranda paused long enough to lift up her scarf, covering her nose and mouth. Ceiling panels and broken light fixtures were dangling down from the floor above, like vines in a thick jungle. Thankfully, there was no electricity to worry about. But it still required a little caution not to get tangled up in the wires as they moved through.

Resnikov and Yoshizawa's torches were the only light source, beams flashing through the shadow as they examined the scene. They made it maybe halfway across the floor before their path hit a dead end.

“This could be a problem,” said Resnikov, torchlight finding no longer finding any promising gaps they could manoeuvre through. “The upper floors have completely caved in ahead of us. We're blocked.”

“There's an elevator shaft,” Yoshizawa pointed out, nudging her beam of light towards it. “Given this building has underground parking, there should be a ramp or a stairwell to take us out the other side.”

“Should be?” Resnikov emphasised, clearly sceptical. “Look, I already saw an entrance ramp near where we came in, and that was totally clogged. If there is another exit, we can't guarantee it won't be blocked by rubble too.”

“So let's check,” Yoshizawa insisted.

“Pry the lift open,” Miranda ordered, willing to chance it. Yoshizawa set to work.

A slight tremor passed through the building. Dust sprinkled down from above.

“Did you feel that?” asked Resnikov.

“Nothing to worry about,” Miranda assured him, shaking her head, clearing the dirt from her hair, blinking it out of her eye. “We're not going to be in here for long.” Even as she spoke, the strange ripple coursed through the foundations once again. She furrowed her brow. “...Wait a moment. That isn't coming from above us,” she observed, concentrating on the subtle disturbance.

It happened again, shaking the ground beneath her feet. These tremors were happening in steady intervals, their tempo too precise to be something random. It almost sounded like a slow, low-pitched drumbeat.

“It feels like there's something underneath us,” said Resnikov.

“Whatever it is, it's sending out a pulse of some kind,” Miranda murmured, thinking aloud. “A signal, maybe.” If she was right about this, that would suggest there really were survivors in the tunnels. Perhaps these vibrations were somebody's way of trying to get the attention of anyone on the surface.

“Alright. We're clear.” Yoshizawa backed away from the doors after wrenching them apart as far as they would go, gesturing for the two of them to go ahead.

Miranda took a quick look inside. The fortunate thing about this building being largely intact was that the lift didn't seem to have been destroyed, meaning there were no obstructions at the bottom of the shaft. By sheer luck, the steel cables were still in one piece, supporting the weight of the elevator, which must have been hanging somewhere above her, frozen due to lack of power.

It was odd to still see an elevator with this design. Miranda had forgotten how low-tech parts of Earth could be, especially in old cities like London, where past architecture often survived through retrofitting, or, as in the case of the underground, a sense of tradition. 

This building may have stood largely unchanged for a hundred years, for all Miranda knew. Maybe longer.

“Hold this,” Miranda stated. It wasn’t a request, giving her crutch to Yoshizawa before the soldier could ask what she intended. Miranda biotic-pulled the cables towards her, rappelling down the shaft and swinging out onto the level below. The landing wasn't particularly gentle on her knee, which was nowhere near healing from the shuttle accident, but she could live with the discomfort. It was dark down there. Pitch black, almost. But she saw sunlight ahead.

“You were right. There is a way out,” she told them, lowering her scarf long enough to be heard, leaning against the wall to take the weight off her leg while she waited for them to follow her lead. Part of the wall on the far side of the building had collapsed, leaving a hole and a pile of rubble that led back up to the surface. Probably where an emergency stairwell used to be.

“What would you have done if there wasn't?” Yoshizawa asked on her way down.

“Climb,” Miranda answered bluntly. She was one-armed and wounded, but she wasn't useless, for heaven's sake.

She felt the tremor again. It seemed louder than before.

It was oddly familiar to her, but far too faint to place. What was it? It was like a word on the tip of her tongue. If she could just put her finger on it...

Soon enough, the three of them made it back to the surface, manoeuvring around debris on their way to the station, which wasn’t far ahead. If someone was using the tunnels to get around, Miranda admired their cleverness. It would have saved her a lot of trouble if she could have done the same, but alas she hadn't found an intact tube station during those five days she spent crawling through the wasteland. Intellectually, she was sure she would have passed more than one, but they must have been buried under debris, or otherwise inaccessible.

On the other hand, if she'd gotten stuck down there, Samara never would have found her. Given the state of her injuries, even if there had been one nearby with any food and water left, it probably wouldn't have kept Miranda alive. She would have succumbed to her wounds eventually, and died alone of sepsis. Her bad luck had been good fortune, as it turned out.

“That's it right there,” Resnikov pointed out, approaching the steps that led to the underground. They were partially obstructed – debris from the very building they'd just left, most likely.

“Stand back,” Miranda said, using her biotics to clear a path into the station, blasting away the pile of loose rubble that blocked the entrance. It was then that something clicked in her mind.

Of course. Miranda knew what the sound she'd heard before was. That was why it seemed so familiar.

Detonations. Someone was causing biotic detonations down there.

But for what purpose?

“Still plenty to scavenge here,” said Resnikov, his flashlight moving over to a small, abandoned kiosk. The security grating had already been bent by looters, probably months ago. But they hadn't taken everything. “Hey, Tupari. Love this stuff.”

“I only drink Paragade,” Yoshizawa remarked.

“Your loss.” Resnikov bent down beneath the warped security shutter and picked up a can, stowing it away for later.

“There's that sound again,” Yoshizawa commented as they passed through the ticketing gates, heading down the stairs and towards the station platforms, following the sound. She activated her omni-tool, analysing the noise. “There. It's coming from that tunnel. North of here.”

Yoshizawa jumped down onto the tracks, quickly followed by Resnikov. Miranda ignored Resnikov's unspoken offer of assistance, easing herself down unaided.

This wasn't the first time Miranda had explored the underground since getting back on her feet. Her first search and rescue operation under Bailey's command had taken her through the carcass of a train, not far from Paddington station. Their hopes of finding anyone holed up inside the carriage had quickly dwindled when they realised the train had been swarmed by Reaper forces long before the final battle. There were no survivors.

“Hello?” Resnikov called out, his voice reverberating off the walls. “Is anybody there?” Squeaking rats scurried through the darkness. Miranda hid her growing physical discomfort as she limped behind her troops.

Yoshizawa went on ahead, leaving Resnikov to help light Miranda's way. Miranda watched her silhouette head further into the hollow, claustrophobic chamber, the small circle of light hitting the walls ahead. Abruptly, the sound happened again. This time, it shook the ground they were standing on.

“Director! That was right ahead of us!” Yoshizawa instinctively rushed towards the noise, disappearing around a bend in the tunnel. Miranda hastened after her, listening to the young soldier speak with whoever it was that was causing these detonations. “Hello? Can you hear me?” Yoshizawa paused. “It's alright; I'm a rescuer. I'm with two others right now, but there's more above us.”

That confirmed it then. There were survivors down here.

She came around the corner to see Yoshizawa at a thick blockage in the tunnel. It looked like part of the road above had collapsed, leaving an impassable obstacle of concrete, metal and earth. Probably the footprint of a Reaper.

“Please! You have to help us,” a muffled voice pleaded from behind the debris. Miranda could barely make it out, even as she got closer. But she sounded young. Younger than Oriana. “We're stuck back here!”

“Keep them calm; I'll call it in,” Miranda ordered. “Sweep team, we have survivors trapped in a collapsed metro tunnel in grid V-44A. We need a drill to get them out.”

“You're going to be fine,” Yoshizawa answered back to the anxious voice. “Just hold tight. We'll dig you out of here.”

“Teach, they're telling us to stop,” another voice spoke, a male this time. “Maybe you should cool it with the detonations? You've been at this for way too long. You're going to wear yourself out at this rate.”

“No. Screw that,” a third voice sharply replied. Older than the others, but no less impetuous. “Seanne needs help now, Prangley. Not later. I'm sure as hell not sitting here in the dark counting on a bunch of assholes who can't do a damn thing to help us to be our only way out. We're doing this my way!”

The entire tunnel shook as a brutal burst of biotic force smashed into the wall.

Miranda whirled around, startled by the shockwave that rocked the ground underfoot. “What the hell is wrong with you?! Are you trying to get us all killed?!” she shouted through the obstruction, livid at the woman’s recklessness.

“If I stop, Seanne dies!” the obscured voice answered back, followed by another biotic combination. Chips of concrete and dust sprayed everywhere. With so little time to react, Miranda didn't know whether she should prioritise keeping her balance or shielding her eye from the fallout. Instinctively, she ended up choosing the latter when a second strike occurred.

A small shard of concrete grazed her cheek, opening a cut. With one last roar, the rogue biotic slammed into the obstruction, finally blowing open a gap in the debris. Miranda saw her shadow fall forwards, onto her outstretched palms, panting for breath, visibly worn out.

The woman arose from the ground, onto her knees, holding up a hand and squinting against the blindingly bright beams of light that Yoshizawa and Resnikov were pointing at her, both soldiers staring at her, too stunned to move.

Miranda's breath caught.

It couldn't be.

This wasn't possible.

“Ow. Hey, cool it with the damn flashlights, will you?” the figure groaned in discomfort, turning away to let her eyes adjust after living in darkness for so long.

“Jack?” Miranda said in disbelief, astonished to see that all too familiar face.

Judging by the silence that followed, Jack recognised Miranda's voice immediately, now that there was no wall blocking the sound. “Oh, fu—crying out loud...” Jack reluctantly swallowed the urge to curse in front of her kids. Of all the people she could have run into...

Miranda quickly recovered from the shock.

“What were you thinking?!” Miranda scolded, marching right up to Jack, despite her impairment. Not the consummate professionalism her soldiers expected from her, but her anger was warranted. “Do you have any idea how unstable the buildings are above us? This whole area is on the verge of collapsing in on itself! While you were blasting away like a lunatic, this entire tunnel could have caved in on top of you, and taken me and my people with it.”

“So? It didn't. I didn't know you were up there, anyway.” Jack shrugged as she stood up, doing her best to block out the headache-inducing onslaught of those torches shining directly into her face, barely even able to make out Miranda's silhouette, despite standing right in front of her. “Hey you, point those fucking things somewhere else,” she grumbled at Miranda's team, clearly a threat.

“Language, teach,” one of Jack's group spoke up.

“Ah, ffff...” Jack trailed off into a groan.

“You'd been doing so well, too,” another student joked.

“Hey, laugh it up later. We aren't out of here yet. And we still need to get Seanne to a doctor,” Jack said, her tone stern but fair, calmer now that they'd made contact with someone she knew, even if it wasn't someone she liked. She turned back to Miranda, her eyes still adjusting to the light. “Isn't that the part where you come in? What's the hold up, cheerleader?” she asked, gesturing at her to hurry it up.

Miranda shook her head and sighed with exasperation, activating her earpiece once more. “Ox, this is Lawson. Belay that order on the machinery. It's no longer necessary,” she informed them. “We're extracting the survivors on foot.”

“Roger,” the earpiece crackled in reply. “We'll meet you back at the square.”

Miranda closed the channel, glancing at her old squadmate. “I'll get you and your students the help you need. You're welcome, by the way,” Miranda muttered.

She heard Jack snort. “I never thanked you.”

“I noticed,” Miranda curtly replied.

“Yo, you two know each other?” one of Jack's students asked, the entire group of them beginning to emerge through the hole behind her one after the other. There weren't that many. Probably ten all up.

“We're acquainted,” Miranda answered dryly.

Jack uttered a sardonic snort, evidently having more choice words in mind to describe her history with Miranda. To her credit, she refrained from sharing them. This wasn't the time. Not with her kids depending on her. That didn't escape Miranda's attention. It was a far cry from what the old Jack would have done.

In that moment, in the torchlight, Miranda saw Jack wiping beads of sweat from her brow. It was no secret that using biotics consumed a lot of energy. Biotics who actively used their powers might have to eat three times more than a normal person just to function, if not more. Jack was holding herself together admirably, but she looked drained. Miranda softened, reminded of how she'd battled with exhaustion during her own struggle to survive.

“Resnikov, give her that Tupari of yours,” Miranda said, thinking that might help Jack recover some blood sugar.

“Sure thing, Ms. Lawson,” Resnikov responded, handing Jack the can.

“...I could use a boost,” Jack reluctantly murmured, which was about the closest she could get to an admission of gratitude, at least where Miranda was concerned. She cracked open the drink, and started chugging it.

“We should get moving,” said Miranda, shifting focus to what mattered. This place didn't exactly scream stability. “I don't want to stay in this tunnel longer than we need to. Resnikov, Yoshizawa, give Jack's students a hand, would you?”

“Will do,” Yoshizawa responded, nodding her head, she and her comrade heading over towards the small gap in the debris, where the students were awkwardly squeezing their way through the hole one by one.

Jack's eyes widened when the two passing torches suddenly washed over Miranda's form. She nearly choked on her drink, taken aback when she finally saw her old squadmate illuminated as more than a dark silhouette hidden in shadow.

“Whoa. Holy shit. What the hell happened to you?” Jack coughed to clear the mis-swallowed drink from her throat, startled at the sight of Miranda's extensive injuries. She hadn't been expecting that.

“Looks worse than it is.” Miranda turned away, not sure she wanted to hear Jack's take on her condition. Not that she was bothered by how she looked. She just knew Jack would have a bloody field day with it.

“Yeah, no shit. 'Cause you look like you should be dead. I mean, seriously, what the fuck? Did you get in a fist fight with a thresher maw?” Jack questioned, in what sounded like a snicker, shock quickly giving way to twisted humour.

“Something like that,” Miranda drawled offhandedly, only half-listening to Jack's comments, concentrating on counting heads as Resnikov and Yoshizawa tended to the students. Jack's mockery didn't really matter to her. She had other priorities.

“Hey, if you ask me, having half your face blown off is a huge improvement.” Jack shrugged casually. “For you, anyway. Garrus would say it gives you character.”

“Right,” Miranda distractedly replied, scarcely paying attention.

“How bad's the scar?” Jack asked, trying to glimpse beneath the bandages.

“Don't know. Hasn't healed yet,” Miranda answered, gradually losing patience.

“From the looks of things, I bet it's real fuckin' ugly,” Jack said, smirking.

“Are you done?” Miranda ignored the comment, already bored with this.

“Not even close. I haven't even started making fun of your arm yet.” Jack grinned mischievously, enjoying this way too much to quit anytime soon. “Want me to shut up? Clap once for yes, zero times for no.”

Miranda just stared at her expressionlessly, not offended but not amused.

“Instructor?” a young woman called out. Miranda glanced up to see several of the students huddled over one of their own, the last one to be brought through the gap Jack had created. All appeared desperately worried. Their friend looked faint. Pale. Almost green. “Seanne's getting worse again. She's burning up.”

“I know, Rodriguez. You did good, taking care of her. But these jerks will handle it from here,” Jack spoke, calm and confident. “Drink your juice, and let them carry her. Except you, Reiley. You can stay by her side. Miranda will make sure she gets all the help she needs. Or, if she doesn't, I'll punch a hole in her stomach,” Jack assured them, and Miranda knew that threat was a guarantee. 

In Jack's mind, anyway.

“No need for that,” Miranda said, having no intention of impeding the girl's treatment. “Let's get moving. The sweep team will meet us on the surface. They'll take your friend to a hospital.”

“Okay.” Rodriguez nodded, comforted by that promise. The boy they’d identified as Reiley gave Seanne's hand a gentle squeeze, staying by her side as Resnikov and Yoshizawa picked her up, draping her arms over their shoulders. The poor girl could barely walk. She probably didn't even know where she was.

“The station's not far,” Miranda said, limping alongside Jack, ahead of the others. It was good that they were getting an opportunity to speak before meeting the rest of the team. Despite their strained history, there were details she wanted to know from her, and she was sure Jack could say the same.

Over a month had passed since the war ended. Jack didn't know a damn thing about what had happened in that time. About Shepard, and the Normandy...

“These are all your students?” Miranda asked, aware of Jack's role as a mentor to gifted biotics in the Ascension Program. She'd learned about that long ago, having kept tabs on her former squadmates while she was on the run from Cerberus, to the extent that it was possible to do so. Jack had spoken fondly about her 'tykes’ back at Shepard's apartment on the Citadel. That makeshift reunion seemed like a world away. It was strange to think how recent it was.

Shepard had invited them all to that party, gathering the whole gang together on a whim, knowing it would be the last opportunity to do something like that before they took on Cerberus and the Reapers. Back then, Miranda had wondered how many of those faces would never see the light of day again. Now, she knew at least part of that answer, but the fates of all but a handful of their group were a mystery.

“Yeah. These are my kids. All the ones who lived.” Jack instantly dropped what remained of her joking demeanour, an uncomfortable hint of stark seriousness crossing her face. Miranda recognised the shift in her expression – it betrayed the presence of a deep sense of responsibility.

She blamed herself for everyone she'd lost, a burden Miranda knew too well. The difference was, Jack actually cared about the people under her command. She loved those kids. And she'd had to watch some of them die.

“What happened?” Miranda encouraged, urging her to share her story.

“We were stationed a ways south of here during the fighting, managed to escape north when the big wave hit. There was an outpost near us. Emphasis on was. Went there first, but no survivors. We holed up there for a while because it had some food and water. We figured, if anyone else had survived, somebody would fly over and spot us eventually, but nobody ever did. Once there was nothing left above, I came down to the tunnels; I figured the train lines were our best chance of crossing the city,” she explained.

“You were probably right. Much of the surface is impassable, and our search and rescue teams would have had no chance of reaching you. This is the first time we've gone so far northeast,” Miranda commented. “You would have been stranded out there. Staying above ground would have meant certain death. It nearly was for me.”

“Not sure this was much better,” Jack mumbled to herself, crushing the empty Tupari can and throwing it aside, her frustration becoming evident. “I thought it was a good deal. I mean, we found shit to eat and drink, they were safe places to sleep in, and there's not as many dead things as there are in the streets. But we'd always hit blocks in the tunnels. We'd either find another station nearby, or dig our way through. Eventually, I figured we'd be better off staying in one place for a while. Hunker down. Try to radio out or something.” Jack drew a deep breath, releasing it in a heavy sigh. “But I fucked up. I got too comfortable, and I stayed put when I should have been making ground.”

“How do you mean?” Miranda pressed.

“A few days ago, Seanne started throwing up,” Jack told her. “For a while, I thought it was best to keep her in one place and hope it would pass. But it's gotten worse. Her fever is out of control. I know she's dehydrated, but any fluid we give her won't stay down. She just vomits it up again. Her brother has to sit there and watch her waste away. I don't know if it was dirty water or if the rats got to her...”

“Don't worry. A drip in her arm will do her a world of good,” Miranda assured her. Jack looked down at her feet, visibly troubled to think she'd caused this – that she might lose another student, through nothing but her own poor judgement.

Jack shook her head, hating how powerless she felt. “Shit, it's my fault. I should have moved faster,” she said, wishing she'd had the sense to realise that something like this might happen. “I could have gotten her to you days ago.”

“Don't blame yourself. You didn't even know we were there,” Miranda reminded her. It was in Miranda's nature to be critical of others, thanks to her father's influence. But she knew how hard it was to navigate the wastes. How desolate they were. How easy it was to get lost, or think you were the last person alive. “You did the best you could for her, and now you've found us. I'll pull whatever strings I can to ensure she gets the best care possible.”

Jack slowly nodded, swallowing as she absorbed that reassurance, setting her mind to the thought that Seanne was going to be okay. For as many issues as she'd had with Miranda, she knew she wouldn't have said any of those things just to be nice to her. Far from it. If she thought Jack was at fault, she would have been the first person to tell her everything she did wrong. Miranda wouldn't have told her things were okay unless she meant it. She took some comfort from that. Everything really was under control now. They were over the worst bit.

“...Yeah. Yeah,” was all Jack said, lost in her own thoughts.

Miranda's expression softened, well aware that this was the most genuine moment she and Jack had ever shared. Not that there was any competition. The loss of so many friends, and the near-destruction of an entire galaxy could put a lot of things into perspective like that.

“Jack?” Miranda spoke again, prompting her to look up. “I'm glad you're okay,” she admitted, willing to be the bigger person in this situation, and to extend the olive branch. And, oddly enough, she actually meant it.

Jack uttered a quiet but authentic laugh, letting her head fall back for a moment. “Yeah, you too,” Jack conceded. Strange, but true. “You're still a cunt, though.”

“Well, we can't change everything,” Miranda remarked, choosing to take that as a term of endearment rather than an insult. Judging from the light chuckle she gave, Jack probably intended it to be both.

For as irreconcilable as their differences had once seemed, they had parted on comparatively good terms the last time they met. Certainly, their brief interactions at Shepard's apartment hadn't magically transformed them into friends or anything like that, but it seemed to have quelled the bulk of the animosity between them, resulting in something perhaps not far removed from mutual respect and tolerance. They appeared to have reached the point where they could mostly co-exist, without lingering feelings of hostility. Miranda could live with that.

“Found anyone else of ours?” Jack asked, breaking Miranda's train of thought.

“No. Well, yes, but...What I mean is, before you, I was the most recent find,” Miranda clarified. “Samara brought me out of ground zero. Saved my life. That was four weeks ago. Jacob was already at the camp. Wrex is there, too. They're both fine. Physically, at least. Since I woke up, Samara's...disappeared, for unknown reasons. We think she's still alive. Everyone else? Not so fortunate. They're all unaccounted for.”

“Ah, shit.” Jack scuffed the ground with her boot. Miranda paused, wondering if she should share the news about Shepard's demise, but she thought better of it. This wasn't the right time. It would only upset her.

Honestly, Miranda didn't like to dwell on it, either. As far as she knew, the four of them were all that remained of the Normandy SR-2.

Her morose ruminations were swiftly silenced. A vicious crack echoed throughout the tunnel, as loud as thunder. She whirled around instinctively, as did Jack, unable to tell where it was coming from. Yoshizawa and Resnikov shone their lights back down the tracks. In the glow, Miranda saw dust trickle from the ceiling, from the same direction where Jack had demolished the blockage.

Oh, bloody hell.

“The tunnel's falling apart. This whole area could cave in at any moment,” Miranda spoke, her firm tone punctuated with an undercurrent of creeping urgency.

“Fuck,” she heard Jack curse beside her, realising she may have triggered this in her reckless haste to get Seanne into the hands of someone who could cure her sickness. “Come on! Double time it!”

Even if they weren't directly under the most precarious point, none of them wanted to take that risk, nor be trapped down there if anything should happen. All it would take was a building being tilted too far to one side, and then countless tonnes of collapsing concrete, glass and metal could leave them trapped inside. If they were lucky enough to survive.

They couldn't afford to let that happen.

“Move, move, move!” Jack pushed the students to run past her. Miranda also made sure Yoshizawa and Resnikov carried Seanne ahead of them, not about to leave anyone behind. Not again. Suddenly, Miranda felt a sharp pain in her injured shoulder. “You too, you crippled motherfucker,” Jack said.

“Hey!” Miranda instinctively protested through gritted teeth when she saw Jack draping her bandaged stump of an arm over her shoulder, all but carrying her out of there. God, it hurt. “Let me go.”

“Fuck that. Joker moves faster than you do,” Jack pointed out.

Miranda couldn't really argue with that. She couldn't run with her left knee practically demolished on the inside.

Miranda swallowed a gasp of pain, trying not to show how much her body was killing her. It felt like Jack was going to tear what little was left of her arm clear out of the socket, or snap her already wounded leg clear in two. Still, she could see the platform getting closer by the second. They'd made it back to the station in one piece, not far behind the others.

Jack jumped up first, extending her hand to pull Miranda up onto the platform behind her, the two of them ascending the stairs to the upper level. They'd made it about halfway through the concourse before Miranda heard the sound from the tunnels below. The very place where they'd been standing a minute ago was no doubt now completely buried under a mountain of earth, bitumen, concrete and twisted metal. It was a good thing they'd left when they did.

“I think we're in the clear for now,” Miranda said, wincing as she gingerly made her way out of the underground and into the ash-clouded sunlight.

“Director Lawson?” Miranda heard a voice over her earpiece. “What the hell was that? Are you okay?”

“We're fine here, Ox. One of the train tunnels collapsed. Fortunately, we weren't in it,” she informed them, taking her last few steps back out onto the street, easing herself back against a nearby skybus shelter, keeping the weight off her throbbing knee, her body reminding her just how injured she still was. “We've located eleven survivors. One critically ill. Can you get through to us at the station?”

“Negative, Director. With that tunnel caving in beneath you, this whole street is one giant catastrophe waiting to happen. Protocols prevent us from moving the dozers in your direction right now, which means we can't get to you. It's simply too dangerous,” the Ox team commander answered back.

Miranda hesitated. Objectively speaking, she understood their decision, and they were only obeying her earlier commands by keeping those priorities in order. But that left them stranded in a precarious position. If the ground shifted again, any one of these buildings could come crashing down on top of them.

“Is there another way around?” Miranda asked over the communicator.

“Another way? We don't have time for another way!” Jack pressed, as if that should have been obvious. “Our best bet is to cut through one of these buildings right now and meet them wherever they are.”

“Jack, please.” Miranda silenced her, focused on her conversation. She couldn't rush this decision. She needed to think. Exasperated, Jack threw her hands up in the air and began to pace back and forth impatiently, Seanne's health weighing heavily on her mind.

“I suppose we could circumvent the area, or try to meet you somewhere else, but honestly there's no telling how long that might take, or if those other paths to you are any safer,” the Ox team coordinator told her straightforwardly. “Besides, that still leaves you in a danger zone. Even if we hurry, it's risky.”

“Look, listen to me,” Jack began, coming back to her once more, trying to present as calm and rational of a demeanour as she could manage. “These structures are already unstable. The longer we sit here and wait, the shakier they're gonna get.” Miranda could hear the undercurrent of emotion in her voice. Jack was doing a good job of staying composed, no doubt knowing Miranda might disregard her advice otherwise. She did tend to be more amenable to a plan presented without yelling or swearing. “So why wait? Let's just punch through here nice and quick. Get out now, while this block still stands.”

Miranda paused, considering her words. A few months ago, she wouldn't have given her input much if any consideration. But that was a different time. Jack really had changed since then.

She wasn't the selfish, violent psychopath Miranda had met last year. Far from it. Instead, Jack had helped her without a second thought, making damn sure everyone got out of that tunnel in one piece. Hell, maybe the person Miranda once thought Jack was never existed. Maybe she'd always been wrong about her.

Plus, it wasn’t lost on Miranda that Jack had managed to do something she hadn’t during the war. She’d kept people alive.

Miranda’s breath shallowed, remembering the faces that haunted her nightmares. The team she’d led to Earth. The Alliance soldiers she’d fought beside at the barricade. The shuttle crew that had come to her rescue. One by one, they’d followed Miranda to their end, like lemmings off the edge of a cliff. Weren’t there enough deaths on her hands?

In that silent moment of reflection and regret, Miranda did something she’d never done before. She second-guessed herself.

“Alright,” Miranda agreed, making the decision to trust Jack's judgement over her own. “There's a car park underneath that building. That's how we reached you. The ramp is obstructed on the other side, but we can climb up through the elevator shaft. Once we're out, the rest of my team should be waiting for us there.”

Jack seemed relieved, though Miranda had a sneaking suspicion that it wouldn't have mattered whether she supported her idea or not. Knowing Jack, she would have disregarded any order to stay put.

“Remain where you are, Ox. We're going to try and reach you. Better that a few of us move through this area on foot than risk the bulldozers triggering a reaction that threatens us all,” Miranda informed them, straightening up once again. “When I return, we'll resume our operations on a different route.”

“Copy that. We'll keep our heavy machinery at a distance just to be safe, but a few of us can head your way to help get the survivors to safety.”

“One survivor is in critical condition. She needs an urgent evac,” Miranda relayed, not sure Seanne would be able to survive the journey back without medical attention. She didn't fail to notice Jack watching her as she spoke to her team, an unreadable expression on her face. Miranda turned away, electing to ignore her.

“Noted. We've already radioed for an emergency medical shuttle. Should be here soon, so just get her to us and we'll load her on. In any event, we'll make sure some medics are there to meet you.”

Miranda breathed a small sigh. That was all they could do. “Alright. Lawson out.”

“Let's go,” Jack didn't hesitate to instruct her kids, eager to get Seanne into proper care. Resnikov carried her through the street and down the loose slope of rubble into the car park unassisted, Yoshizawa focusing on lighting the way once they made it inside.

“Resnikov, you should take Seanne up first,” Miranda advised, recognising that getting the poor girl into the hands of a medic could make a huge difference to her odds of survival. “Get her to the rest of the team and have them bring her to a hospital. Letting her wait here for the rest of us is only an unnecessary delay.”

“I'll need someone else to help me get her up the shaft,” Resnikov answered.

“Reiley should go with her,” Jack spoke up, gesturing to him. “He's her brother.”

“Fair enough.” Miranda nodded. That was as good a reason as any. Without delay, Reiley went into the shaft, scaling the tight space with the aid of the cables. Seanne was still aware enough that she could extend her hands under her own power, letting her brother pull her up, while Resnikov pushed from below.

“We're up,” Resnikov called down. “I'll come back in a few minutes.”

“Hopefully we'll be out by then,” Yoshizawa answered. “Alright. Who's next?”

Two more students went up the cables. Miranda had a good internal clock, which was normally a blessing, but in this case made her uneasy as she took note of how long this evacuation would take. Six more students had to go, followed by herself, Jack and Yoshizawa. She knew why this space made her so tense. If something went wrong, this basement car park was not the place they wanted to be.

“Jack,” Miranda spoke in hushed tones, subtly pulling her aside in the darkness. “Now that Seanne is in good hands, the rest of us should consider taking the long way around,” she suggested. None of them had any pressing need to hurry.

“Why?” Jack shrugged. “We're, what, ten minutes away from getting out?”

“Maybe, but it does occur to me that we're right above that tunnel you inadvertently destroyed,” Miranda pointed out. “Call me overcautious, but that knowledge doesn't exactly make me comfortable about standing here for any prolonged period of time.”

“Don't be a pussy,” Jack said with a snort.

“Better than being dead,” Miranda retorted. Jack blew her off, moving to be with her students. So much for that conversation.

“Okay, you're next.” Yoshizawa gestured for the girl named Rodriguez to come forward. Miranda approached them, standing among the remnants of the group, contemplating running a structural scan on the building, if only to disprove her own doubts. Maybe Jack was right. Maybe she was just being paranoid.

Rodriguez reached out for the cables, a little unsteady on her feet. She caught one, but seemed reluctant to go into the dark space alone. Miranda had noticed consistent signs of anxiety in the girl. She reminded herself to have all these kids scheduled to meet with a crisis counsellor later for a mental health assessment, overburdened though those services were. Post-traumatic stress disorder certainly wasn't out of the realm of possibility for any of—

Suddenly her non-deaf ear pricked up, her thoughts snapping into silence.

Rodriguez flinched and glanced up. “What was that?” she gasped.

Miranda heard it too.

“What was wh—?”

“Get back!” Miranda darted past Yoshizawa, hastily pulling Rodriguez away from the doors, sending them both tumbling to the floor. They escaped the impact by mere moments, Miranda shielding the girl with her body as best she could.

Metal crashed into concrete with crushing force. A concussive blast resonated through the cold, dark space in a deafening echo. Miranda didn't need to guess what had happened. One of the elevator cables had snapped, and the lift had slammed into the ground. From a long way up, it seemed.

“Holy shit,” Jack's voice broke the silence, stunned with shock.

Miranda released a sigh of relief. Wounded though she was, her reflexes were still as fast as ever. She groaned as she picked herself up, resting back on her good knee. “You okay?” Miranda asked with a grimace, checking on Rodriguez.

“Yeah. Thanks,” the girl answered, shell-shocked, but unharmed. “What about you?” she asked in return, not so sure she could say the same about her saviour.

Miranda stifled a wince, trying not to let it show just how badly her body hurt after doing that. “I'll be fine. Just give me a minute.” She waved her off, not quite sure her leg wouldn't just buckle underneath her if she tried to stand.

Rodriguez didn't question her, silently handing Miranda her crutch for whenever she was ready to use it. She got back to her feet, giving Miranda her space.

Jack watched on. Miranda could feel her scrutiny, feel those eyes assessing her. She was painfully conscious of it, in fact.

Jack was the only one among them who knew what Miranda was capable of before the war. She'd seen her at her strongest. To everyone else, the fact that Miranda could do anything at all must have made her seem like a superwoman, which wasn't entirely inaccurate to be fair. But not Jack. Jack could recognise just how badly Miranda was struggling. How much pain she would have to be in to be unable to stand. How much weaker she truly was.

From her silence, Miranda knew it was already too late. Jack had seen through her efforts to keep it hidden as soon as her mask had slipped. The only saving grace was that Miranda was quietly confident that Jack wouldn't give a shit.

“Well, I guess we're not climbing out,” Yoshizawa broke the silence, shining her torch in the shaft. Sure enough, the cables were broken now.

Suddenly, Miranda heard a shrill, high-pitched scream. Followed by another, and another. The sound crescendoed, like the swell of a rising wave, voices yelling out in horror, but their cries were drowned out by sickening cracks from above. Yoshizawa pointed her flashlight upwards. What Miranda saw there made her blood turn cold, and the rest of her freeze in place.

The floor above them was crumbling. The entire building was breaking apart. And it was coming down on top of them.

People often said stupid things about how time slowed when death was imminent. Miranda could attest otherwise. It happened incredibly fast. Too fast for even her to possibly react, even with her heightened reflexes. She heard the upper levels cascading down on top of each other, entire storeys sliding loose and falling into the streets below, the levels of the building collapsing in on themselves one by one. Dust and debris rained down from above, filling up the elevator shaft. Deep gashes burst open in the ceiling as the immense mass bore down upon them.

Miranda instinctively raised her hand and looked away, realising it was too late. But nothing happened. Seconds passed, and she was still alive.

A faint blue glow washed across her face, prompting her to glance up and scan the area. All she could hear was the thunderous pounding of her own heartbeat, her thoughts racing to assess the situation.

Then she saw it. Miranda was awestruck.

Jack was single-handedly holding up the building, using only her biotics.

“What in the...How are you doing that...?” Yoshizawa gasped in awe.

Jack grimaced, her body shaking as blue biotic light dimly illuminated the darkness around her. “Whatever you're going to do, do it fast. I don't know how long I can hold this.”

Miranda knew that was no exaggeration. Frankly, it was a miracle she was doing this at all. Anyone else would have been flattened instantly. Anyone else but the most powerful human biotic ever to live.

A quick glance at their surroundings revealed that the way they'd just come in was sealed shut, too much debris having fallen behind Jack. That meant the other exit was their best hope – the only chance they had. But they wouldn't get anywhere unless Ox team could help dig them out from the other side.

“Over there!” Miranda pointed to their best way out, pushing herself up to her feet, leaning heavily on her crutch. “Everybody move as fast as you can. We'll need to dig our way out,” she urged, and Yoshizawa didn't hesitate to follow her direction.

“Come with me!” the soldier commanded, leading Jack's students towards the debris blocking the ramp. They quickly began pulling at every loose bit of rubble they could find, grabbing nearby bits of steel to help wedge fallen chunks of concrete out of place.

Miranda activated her earpiece. “Resnikov, do you read me?”

“Yeah. We're all okay over here. The top part of the building just collapsed and fell off, but it looks like it stabilised somehow,” Resnikov replied back.

“From where I'm standing, it's not looking very stable. We're still trapped in the car park underneath. And now the way we came in is blocked,” Miranda replied, keeping her tone as calm as she could, given the circumstances. Panicking would help nobody.

“What? Shit...” Resnikov swore on the other end of the line.

“Listen to me, I need you to gather everyone you can to start digging us out from your side. Everything. Bulldozers. Machines. People. There's still nine of us trapped down here, with no other way out,” Miranda instructed, tension running high.

“But...Director! I...The protocol—!” a different voice came over the channel.

“Override the fucking protocol!” Miranda snapped into her communicator, momentarily losing her cool. It was warranted. This situation was hanging on a knife's edge. If they didn't act immediately, they would die. They would all die.

Emergencies didn't come more urgent than this.

“...We'll do everything we can. Hold on,” Resnikov replied.

Then the channel went quiet.

Miranda swallowed, adrenaline coursing through her system. She didn't do fear. She didn't get scared. But the stakes of the situation were not lost on her. They should have already been dead. The only reason they weren't was...

She glanced back at Jack. Standing alone. Shaking under the strain. Burning with biotic light. Carrying the weight of an entire building on her back.

She was damn near tearing herself apart to try and save them. But she was a long, long way from that blocked exit ramp. Even if they opened up a gap, how the fuck were they supposed to get Jack out without the building falling down on top of them?

No. That wasn't an option. Past grievances between them meant nothing anymore. Jack was part of her crew. And Miranda wasn't about to let someone who'd fought at her side for the future of all organic life die if she could possibly help it. She would think of something. She had to.

With that in mind, she headed back for her. Miranda may have been crippled, but she still had her biotics. If she could just take the pressure off Jack for a little while, maybe she could buy them all enough time.

Jack eyed Miranda like she'd lost her mind, watching her hobble across the distance between them. “The fuck are you doing?” Jack asked, teeth clenched, barely able to move her lips given how hard she was concentrating.

“Saving your life,” Miranda coolly answered, raising her one good arm, adding her strength to Jack’s, beginning to feel just how tenuous the structure actually was through the 'fingers' of her biotic field. She couldn’t do much, but that dim blue glow grew a little bigger, and a little brighter.

“More like dooming us all,” said Jack, visibly wincing. Miranda didn't want to think about how badly it must have been hurting her, holding this building up by herself.

From Miranda's meagre contributions, she could tell that Jack was using her biotics in two different ways. First, to make the building lighter, to the extent that she could. Second, exerting force – a barrier to hold it up. Miranda was carrying only a fraction of the weight that Jack was, not from lack of trying. Even that was enough to give her a sense of just how monumental this feat truly was. How was it even possible to have this much power, let alone this much control?

“We don't have time for this. Get them out of here,” Jack said, jerking her head towards the ramp, the students and the soldier trying in vain to dig their way out. “I'd do it myself, but...” A tremor running through the building above them cut off whatever Jack intended to say. She looked like she was about to either throw up or pass out, but she endured. Somehow.

“We have a fleet of rescuers converging on our position as we speak,” Miranda assured her, not worried that the machines could dig out an opening. That's what they were there for.

“Yeah, good for you, but in case you haven't noticed, I'm kinda busy keeping us from getting flattened. If I move, we're toast,” Jack pointed out, managing a roguish laugh despite the stress her body was under. “Much as I'd like to bring this building down on top of you and take you down with me...” She trailed off, briefly meeting Miranda's gaze. She couldn't even pretend she was considering that anymore, much as the old Jack would have. “Well, that would set a bad example for the tykes. And I wouldn't want to do you the favour.”

“That's not going to happen. To either of us,” said Miranda, glancing over her shoulder to see a sliver of light as the team outside began clearing the ramp. A hiss escaped her as the weight of the building shifted again. “If we can just brace the ceiling long enough, they can get in a crane to hold this up for us, or knock the upper floors down away from us—”

“Are you serious?” Jack all but snapped. If her hands weren't otherwise occupied, she would have slapped Miranda on the mangled side of her face. “This building's coming down no matter what we do. I'll hold it as long as I can. But you need to get your stupid ass out of here.”

“Damn it, Jack. You stubborn—” Miranda cut herself off from unleashing any insults. As motivating as her mutual animosity towards Jack had been at times, now was not the time to bicker. “Just hold on.”

“What do you think I'm trying to do?!” Jack shot back, pushed beyond her limits, both mentally and physically. She was giving Miranda an out – giving her former enemy a chance at life by sacrificing her own – and she wasn't taking it. Miranda wouldn’t let her do it. It must have been driving her crazy. “This is fucking bullshit...” Jack commented under her breath, glancing down, as if the burden of her thoughts surpassed the weight of the building.

Miranda couldn’t argue with that assessment.

After a moment, Jack collected herself, and cast a sideways glance at Miranda. “Look, I'm stuck here, but you don't have to be,” Jack said, speaking with the kind of even, straightforward tone Miranda would normally have associated with Shepard. “I don't care about surviving. You just get these kids somewhere safe. Now clear the ramp and get them out before this building comes down on top of us,” she calmly instructed, looking her dead in the eye, though it went against every fibre of her nature to be so composed. Jack would talk to Miranda any damn way it took to get her to do what she told her.

Miranda stared at her. The selfish psychopath she'd met a year ago was nowhere to be seen. Either that, or she'd grossly misjudged her this whole time. Suffice it to say, Miranda was stunned by the depth of the change in Jack. She'd grown more than any of them. It wasn't even close.

Suddenly, Miranda felt a lot more riding on getting Jack out alive than mere duty to an old shipmate. These fleeting moments they'd shared since they'd reunited down in the tunnels, they'd forced Miranda to see Jack as a real person, a three-dimensional person, a complex person, a person who deserved better than the cruel hand life had dealt her. And, if the genuine concern and emotional connection those teenagers had for her was any indication, that person had a lot left to live for.

“Did I stutter or did you lose your ears too?” Jack challenged when Miranda didn’t move. “I'm not making a polite request. I'm giving you a fucking order.”

“I don't take orders from you,” Miranda persisted, refusing to abandon her.

“Get moving. Do it. Get the fuck out,” Jack said, her stance momentarily wavering under the burden of the half-broken building.

For once in her life, Miranda didn't know what to say. No perfect, prepared answers or replies. She was torn. Intellectually, she knew that the smartest thing to do was focus her efforts on clearing the ramp. Get the most people out. Save herself. But the other part of her knew that would mean leaving Jack to die. And she couldn't do that. She couldn't add another name to the list of people she'd lost. She couldn't add another face to the ghosts that haunted her dreams. The people she'd failed to save in this war. The team she'd led to their deaths in London. The friends and crewmates she'd never see again.

The old Miranda would have made the pragmatic decision in a heartbeat. Without hesitation. But Jack wasn't the only person who'd changed. Maybe Miranda's change hadn't been as drastic. But the person who could make that cold, calculated choice didn't exist anymore. Somewhere down the line, she'd learned to care. Sometimes she wished she hadn't. Because, even though she was terrible at it, it couldn't be unlearned.

What was she supposed to choose?

“Jack—”

“Do it or I swear to every fucking god what happened to your fucking face in life will be a fucking cakewalk compared to what I'll do to you in death if you don't get my kids the fuck out of here!” Jack finally snapped, her patience frayed to breaking point, and her meaning deadly serious.

A steely look came over Miranda. Like it or not, Jack was right. Miranda knew what to do; what she had to do. But she would be damned if she was just going to accept it that easily.

“I'm coming back for you, Jack,” Miranda vowed, reluctantly stepping away, much to Jack's relief. She moved as quickly as she could towards the others, adding her biotics to the effort to clear the ramp. The students had made progress, with help from the soldiers on the other side. Miranda could hear machinery through the wall of debris – it sounded like handheld drills. They were starting to cut through.

Pretty soon, they started to see light. Small holes. Each one felt like it was worth its dimensions in gold. Every ray of light was a beacon of hope. They worked frantically on both sides to try and wedge the holes open, digging wherever their hands and their tools found purchase.

“Come on. A little more and we can probably start squeezing through,” Yoshizawa encouraged the students, doing an admirable job of keeping them focused. She wasn't wrong, either. The holes were widening inch by inch. Miranda could hear her team on the other side barking directions to each other, working as hard as they could to get them out.

Just as Miranda tried to peer through the gaps to see what was going on outside, she heard a pylon not far behind her crack, everyone ducking instinctively, most of them certain they just saw the ceiling get about a foot lower. Miranda clenched her teeth, glancing back to Jack. Jack was struggling, the weight gradually pushing her closer to the ground. She was bending, bowing under the pressure. But she didn't buckle. Somehow, she was still enduring. But every passing second must have felt like an eternity.

“Where the bloody hell are those bulldozers?!” Miranda called out through the holes in the debris, slamming her fist into the concrete in frustration.

“They're coming as fast as they can. But I don't know if they can make it in time. The roads aren't clear,” Resnikov told her, from his position just beyond the rubble. Miranda growled, cursing internally. He was right. The street was blocked by too much debris, mostly from all the other buildings that had crashed into the ground during the war.

“Then we keep doing it the hard way,” said Miranda, grabbing her crutch and wielding it like a battering ram, bashing her way through the wall of rubble, even if her one-armed efforts were basically useless.

Eventually, their combined efforts managed to push through the debris, forming a gap just wide enough to get people through. About six different pairs of feet kicked at the hole, knocking away anything that someone could potentially get stuck on. It would have to do.

“Alright, let's move,” Miranda ordered, all but pushing one of Jack's students towards daylight, waiting for them to worm their way through the narrow crack before doing the same with another. It took time for each person to squirm through. It wasn't easy.

“Go, go, go!” Resnikov ordered, still working on wedging the crack open from the other side, stretching the gap further apart, knocking away loose bits of rubble, finding it easier now that they had a little more leverage.

“What about Jack?” asked one of the students, a young man. Miranda hadn't caught his name. “We're not leaving without her!”

“I've got her. Don't worry,” Miranda assured them, heading back for her, limping out across the floor to where Jack stood alone. “Come on, Jack,” she spurred her on, gesturing for her to make a dash for it now that they had a way out. The hole was getting bigger. The light was getting brighter. “There's enough space for us to get through. It's now or never.”

“What part of 'this building will collapse if I'm not standing under it' do you not understand?” Jack shot back, furious with Miranda for endangering herself despite her repeated efforts to get her to leave.

“Is sprinting intellectually beyond you?” Miranda sarcastically countered.

“I'll be dead before I take my first step,” Jack replied, knowing that if she moved for even a second the roof would immediately cave in right above her head. She could feel the crumbling structure like an extension of herself.

Miranda wasn't a fool; she'd felt what Jack was going through. And she knew she was right. But Miranda didn't care anymore. She'd lost too much already. Surviving the war had come at such a cost. She hadn't even begun to fully count the price. If this was going to kill her, then so be it. But she wasn't about to let the universe take one more god damn thing from her. Not without a fight.

“Well, I'm not leaving you behind,” Miranda vowed, a surge of power flaring through her wounded body. Without even thinking, she used her biotics to pull a largely intact column out of the debris pile that had been blocking the exit ramp, slowly prying open a massive, person-sized hole. She didn't even care that moving something so big and dense took a lot out of her, or that she was pushing herself beyond her limits. At a time like this, she couldn't afford to have limits. She strained with effort as she began to tear it free.

“What—?” If Jack had intended to ask what she was doing, she didn't need to. Yoshizawa and the remaining students had to quickly duck and dodge out of the way as Miranda abruptly pulled the column loose and dragged it across the floor. Her biotics were running on sheer determination alone, moving the column into position beside Jack, forcing it to prop up the ceiling beside her. Jack snorted. “Don't be stupid. You know that's not going to hold the building.”

“It doesn't have to. It just needs to last long enough for you to make it out,” Miranda answered her, steadfastly refusing to budge, even as she could feel the effort ripping at the muscles in her arm, and sending piercing jolts of pain through the implant in her brain. Miranda could take it; it was nothing compared to what Jack was suffering.

Jack uttered a hollow laugh. “You're a real fucking cunt, you know that?” she said. Yet again, coming from her that sounded almost like a term of endearment. As much of one as Miranda would ever get from her anyway.

Miranda tasted blood, her teeth grinding together from the exertion. She looked back over her shoulder, leaning heavily on her crutch for support. The person-sized hole she'd torn in the wall meant the last of the students had gotten out easily, together with Yoshizawa. Distant faces watched on from the other side, too sensible to risk going in after them. There was no one left to rescue. Just Jack.

Miranda's gaze narrowed to a glare when she turned back to find Jack still hadn't moved so much as an inch towards her. Both women stood their ground, as if fused to it in a game of self-sacrificial chicken.

“What are you waiting for?” asked Miranda, feeling her pulse quicken as time grew shorter. “Alright, Jack, you wanted to prove something to me? To show how much you've grown, and how much of a better person you are than I am? Well you have. You were right about Cerberus, and I was wrong about you. You're a better person than I am, and you've overcome things that I never could have,” she admitted, willing to acknowledge that Jack's ability to pull herself together and get her life on track had far exceeded anybody's expectations. She'd come the furthest out of all of them, which was a fucking miracle given where she'd started. Was that what she wanted to hear? “You don't have to kill yourself to spite me.”

“Spite you? Man, fuck you. You would win the gold fucking medal in self-centredness. But, news flash: everything isn't always about you,” Jack remarked, giving something between a sneer and a hiss.

“Then why won't you go?” Miranda challenged, her biotics beginning to falter from overuse. She wasn't alone in that. The strain of maintaining her biotic field for so long made bulging veins visible beneath Jack's skin, like her blood vessels were threatening to burst, or pop clean out of her flesh. She wouldn't hold out long, especially given how tired she'd been to begin with.

The more Miranda looked, the more she realised Jack was beyond exhausted. Even the last remnants of her energy reserves were long gone. She was running on empty. She should have been dead by now. Maybe she already was, and they just didn't know it.

“Look. Here's the thing. If I sprinted, I might make it out,” Jack conceded, breathing more heavily by the second, perspiration falling from her dehydrated brow like torrential rain, soaking the ground beneath her quivering feet. “Probably got about a one in twenty shot of making it. Not likely, but it could work. But what about you? You can't even walk, let alone run.”

“I can try,” Miranda replied, not concerned. She could handle herself.

“Or you'll just kill both of us,” Jack pointed out. She'd been watching Miranda, noticing the signs that belied her façade of strength. She knew exactly how sick and injured Miranda still was. She wouldn't make it two steps before being buried beneath the wreckage.

“I'm prepared to take that risk,” Miranda insisted, unwavering. It was worth it, if it gave Jack a chance. Miranda may have survived the war against all odds, but she'd made peace with death a long time ago. Besides, she'd led enough people to their untimely ends. Maybe she deserved to join them.

“Then where the fuck does that leave the tykes?” said Jack, her tone increasingly dark. “Those are my kids. They're mine.” Her stance kept getting lower, like there was someone pressing their hands into her shoulders, pushing her down with all their might. Her strength was slowly wavering. Her arms were shaking like they were about to break off. “Ugh. You know, you really do suck for making me go through this,” she grumbled, but if it was intended to sound resentful, it didn't. More like resigned.

Miranda didn't plan on giving up on her just yet.

“Is the building clear or not?” the voice of Ox team's commanding officer came over her earpiece. Miranda hadn't even been paying attention to the comms, too focused on herself and Jack.

“Ms. Lawson's still in there with a survivor,” Resnikov said. “Should we go back in?”

“No. It's too unstable. I can't send anyone else in after them,” the commander replied. Cold, but sensible. Exactly what Miranda would have instructed in any normal situation. “We can't afford casualties.”

Hearing that motivated Miranda to move closer. “Come on, Jack. Go,” she ordered, prepared to drag Jack kicking and screaming to safety if she had to. If she weren't one-armed and limping, she would have done that already. “I'll hold on to the pylon as long as I can.”

“That won't do shit and you know it,” Jack responded. For all her gifts, Miranda's biotics couldn't hold a candle to Jack's. Especially not now.

“Then what do you suggest?” Miranda snapped. Even when she was trying to save her life, Jack still managed to vex her to no end. Bloody nutcase. “Run for it now and you have a chance. The building is coming down whether you move or not—”

“Damn it, would you shut up and listen to me for five fucking seconds!?” Jack cut her off, sick of Miranda making everything about herself, and her guilt. At that, a spark of recognition flashed across Jack's bloodshot eyes. Maybe there was still away to appeal to Miranda – to talk her out of this senseless self-sacrifice.

“Hey. If you really do regret the way things went down between us, or if you feel the slightest bit of shame about working for Cerberus, then do this for me – you look after those kids,” Jack said, giving her one-time nemesis a long, unwavering look, as if staring into her soul, to see if any part of her deserved to be imbued with that amount of faith. Jack had long doubted that Miranda had any genuine redeeming qualities, but, if there was ever a time for her to show them, this would be it. Maybe saving her life would bring it out of her. “I need you to make sure they land on their feet, okay? They haven't got anyone else.”

“They've got you,” Miranda persisted, continuing to walk forward with her arm outstretched to hold up the pylon, her crutch long abandoned, her knee screaming in pain.

Jack gave a sardonic laugh. Of all the people she would have pictured entrusting her found family to, Miranda wasn't anywhere on that list. Hell, a year ago, Jack would never have pictured there being anyone she cared about, let alone a bunch of kids she considered her own, and protected as fiercely as a lioness defending her cubs. But things changed. She'd grown enough to gain a new perspective.

“Hey, cheerleader,” she began, channelling the Commander who'd given her a chance what seemed like a lifetime ago, “I'm going to be straight with you: part of me still wants to kill you, especially knowing that I'm already dead. Yeah, I admit, you're not as bad as I thought you were. We shared a few drinks, and we had a few laughs back on the Citadel. But I don't trust you for shit. Can't help that. What can I say? You're a fucking snake, alright?

“But, when we took down the Collectors, you showed me something, and that one thing is the reason why I think saving your life right now is worth it. And that's how much you love your sister. How much you gave up to keep her safe, without her even knowing you existed. I didn't understand it before. But I get it now. And that's why I know I can trust you to give my students a good life – a normal life,” Jack said, and she meant it. “Promise me. Promise me you'll take care of my students,” she implored her, blinking back tears that got lost in the sweat pouring down her face. “Treat them the way you'd treat your own sister. Do that, and we're cool.”

“Damn it, Jack,” Miranda didn't know what she hated more, Jack's foolhardy determination to be a bloody hero or the fact that, had she not been injured, she would already have marched over there, bashed her in the back of her head and forcibly dragged her out of the building. If she had just been in a better condition, Jack would already be safe. They wouldn't be having this conversation.

“Promise me, damn it!” Jack demanded, feeling her control beginning to slip.

“You can look after them yourself! Come on. On the count of three, we both let go. And you take my hand and run,” Miranda pleaded with her, in spite of the searing sting that shot through every nerve as she moved closer, biotics firing on overdrive as she reached out, extending her hand to Jack. She was within arm's reach. Fingertips away. “Just do it. Please,” she begged her, not sure how much longer her biotics could hold out. “We're getting out of this together. I won't leave you.”

For a second, it looked like Jack was considering doing exactly that, even if it meant risking them both. Miranda dared to feel hopeful that she'd succeeded in convincing her that she wouldn't take no for an answer. They would thrive together or perish together, just like the old days.

Who would have thought it would be just the two of them?

Suddenly, Miranda heard a sound above her, and felt a sheet of dust rain down onto her shoulders. Jack saw it too. The cracks in the ceiling were rapidly getting worse, spreading across the concrete, threatening to break like glass under the pressure. The roof was about to cave in directly on top of them. Jack's biotics were waning. She'd run out of time.

“Look out!” Jack yelled. Miranda threw up her arm and unleashed what little remained of her biotic reserves to brace the ceiling just a few seconds longer. She heard the roaring wave of destruction advancing towards her from the highest floors of the building. Gravity was about to catch up with them. Fast.

All of a sudden, a sonic boom cut the air. A beam of light shot into the darkness, and abruptly stopped. A hand grabbed Miranda about the waist. Green skin.

Her eye shot wide open with recognition. Shiala. And she was preparing a biotic charge straight back the way she came. Without Jack.

“Wait!” With her last burst of strength, Miranda lunged forward, just barely managing to seize the lapel of Jack's jacket and pull her forward. Reluctantly, Jack gave in, offering no resistance, letting herself be grabbed and dragged towards Shiala. She was still holding up a biotic field, although now it was serving more as a shield against the debris rapidly pelting down around them than a brace, doing little prop up the collapsing building.

Shiala took Jack in her other arm once she got within reach, securing them both as best she could amid the downpour of falling masonry. She crackled with energy, preparing for another charge.

“As soon as we stop, run,” Shiala warned them, her voice nearly drowned out by the cracks that tore through the foundations of the building.

At the last possible moment, she charged back towards the ramp. Less than a split-second later, the very place where they once stood was buried, engulfed in a tidal wave of rubble.

They came to an abrupt stop, a few yards short of the entrance ramp.

“Go!” Shiala pushed Jack ahead, almost throwing her. There were people waiting for them, countless hands reaching, frantically grabbing Jack and pulling her to safety as they all hastened to retreat and take shelter from the impending collapse.

Ignoring the pain in her still injured body, Miranda scrambled for the entrance, narrowly dodging the torrent of falling masonry. Her bad knee buckled, slowing her down. Shiala noticed that she was struggling. She reached back and physically pulled Miranda up the ramp by the scarf around her neck, the two of them dashing and diving out into daylight as the structure came crashing down behind them, barely escaping death.

Miranda didn't even utter a hiss at the blaring flashes of agony blazing through her body, too busy turning to look back at the disaster zone to care if she'd worsened her injuries.

A wall of dust all but exploded out from the collapsing building, swallowing everyone in the street. She raised her arm to protect her face as pieces of the broken building began to rain down onto the street. Shiala threw up a makeshift barrier, which diverted some of the shrapnel. Even so, a few stray projectiles hit Miranda in the side and in her good shoulder as everything that remained of the building fell down on top of itself, leaving only a pile of rubble. It sounded like a freight train driving straight into the ground.

It was all over in seconds. The silence set in, unrelentingly cold. The only thing Miranda could hear beneath the ringing of her ear was her own heavy breathing, and the thundering of her heart as she dared to look up through the dust cloud.

The building had been flattened. Everything had sunk into the basement levels.

A second slower, and that would have been her. A moment longer, and none of them would have survived.

As the dust settled, shock slowly giving way to a delayed sense of relief, Miranda glanced over to the familiar green face beside her, regarding her with silent recognition. She didn't know how or why, but Shiala had saved her life. And Jack's. And nearly killed herself trying to save people she barely knew.

Shiala looked back, as if sensing at least one of Miranda's wordless questions. “I heard you were in trouble,” she explained with a small shrug, somewhat awkwardly rubbing the back of her neck. “I came as fast as I could.”

Miranda's head was still reeling, scarcely able to make sense of the fact that she was still alive. Incredulous though she was, she wouldn't forget what Shiala had done for her. At least this was one saviour Miranda would be able to thank.

Her thoughts were quickly shattered by a loud scream.

“Jack?” Miranda barely heard herself saying her name beneath the ringing in her ear. Her focus shifted. She grimaced as she pushed herself forward, past Shiala, trying to see what was going on.

“Teach? Teach?” One of Jack's students was leaning over her, visibly concerned.

“What's going on? What's wrong with her?” another of them asked the soldiers.

“Move aside,” Miranda instructed, wincing as she dragged herself over, pushing her way between bodies. She looked down and saw Jack writhing in agony, her muscles all tensed, her limbs rigid. She was wide awake, and conscious, even though every fibre of her body seemed to be seizing up in pain – so much that she couldn't speak.

Miranda had never seen anything like this before, but she understood immediately. She had felt a fraction of the weight Jack had carried on her back for so many minutes – the biotic energy she had to exert to keep that up. Her body had been pushed beyond its limits and, for lack of a better word, overloaded. It must have felt like being struck by lightning.

“Give her a sedative and a muscle relaxant, and get her back to camp,” Miranda quietly commanded, figuring the best thing she could do for Jack was help ease her pain, and knock her out for a bit while her body began to heal itself. A nearby medic didn't hesitate to follow her orders.

“Will she be okay?” the student Miranda recognised as Prangley asked.

“I can't make any promises, but for what it's worth, I don't think she's done any permanent damage,” Miranda replied, watching as the sedative began to take effect, and Jack slowly began to calm down, her muscles going limp as the tension gradually left her body. “If my best guess is correct, then the worst she'll have suffered is a torn ligament here or there.”

“We've got it from here, Director Lawson. We'll take her to the medical evac shuttle with the other critical patient,” one of the medics told her.

Miranda gave them a nod. “Make sure the rest of the kids are okay, too. They've been through a lot. We'll wait here while you do.”

“Sure thing.” They got to work carrying out her orders, loading Jack up on a stretcher, taking her back to where the bulk of the team was waiting. The medics began to evaluate the health of Jack's students. Everyone else within sight...needed a few minutes to recover. A building just came down in front of them.

That had been a close call. Too close.

With that, Miranda hobbled a few paces back from the wreckage, as if finding physical space would give her the room she needed to think. She ran her hand through her hair, releasing a long breath, processing what had just happened while the tinnitus blared in her ear. She let her forehead fall against the cold stone of a nearby building, her mind voicing a thousand different thoughts of how close she'd come to letting things go horribly wrong, and the words she and Jack had exchanged when it seemed like their lives were about to end.

It didn’t seem real. It had just happened, but it felt like waking up from a vivid dream. She couldn’t quite fathom the things that had gone through her mind (or hadn’t gone through her mind) in the intensity of the moment. 

No matter how much she and Jack clashed in the past, there was a special bond between shipmates, especially those of the Normandy. No matter how much they still disliked each other, they'd been part of something. Everyone on that ship had seen things no one else in the universe could appreciate or understand.

And Miranda had been given an opportunity to save her, one of those people who'd walked through the fire with her, and she had so very nearly failed. Hell, in a way, she had. By sheer luck, Shiala had been there to bail them out from a situation Miranda should have seen coming, and should have prevented. Her mistakes had nearly cost them all.

What was worse was knowing that, with so many others she had served beside, she wouldn't get that chance to even try. They were already gone.

How had she come so close to wasting not only her own life, but Jack's, and her students'? What had she been thinking? What was wrong with her? Why had she doubted herself when she knew going underground was the wrong call?

Not only that but...what if Shiala hadn’t shown up? Jack was right. There would have been no saving either of them, let alone both. Miranda would have thrown her life away pointlessly, all because she would have rather died than live with one more person getting killed on her watch - one more person she knew. Realising that about herself was...going to take some time to process.

“Director?” Yoshizawa's voice penetrated her thoughts. “Director Lawson, are you okay?”

Miranda blinked herself out of her strange stupor. It seemed like an eternity that she had been standing there in thought, but, when Miranda broke herself out of it, it had probably only been a minute at most.

“I'm alright. I'm unharmed,” she answered, gingerly shifting her body around. She'd lost her crutch in the building collapse. That was annoying. But the job always came before anything else. That was just how Miranda did things. She couldn't function any other way. “Make a report, will you?”

“Report?” Yoshizawa repeated vacantly, still dazed by the events that had just occurred.

“Yes, report to base. Eleven survivors rescued. Two in need of urgent medical attention.” Miranda hesitated, looking over at the students, and at Jack. They were all watching their teacher get carried off towards the same transport as Seanne was on, going to get the help they needed.

Yoshizawa followed her gaze. For a moment, Yoshizawa seemed to consider whether to extend some word of comfort to her after nearly losing someone she knew, as well as nearly losing her own life trying to rescue Jack, but she apparently thought better of it, carrying out the order without another question, leaving Miranda in peace, letting her dwell on her thoughts in private.

Miranda noticed a few sideways glances in her direction from her team, some quiet words being discussed about her. She wondered if they thought her heroic and brave for staying behind with Jack. If so, little did they realise there was nothing courageous about it. Her reasons had been entirely selfish.

Funnily enough, Jack was the only person who had seen that.

“Could somebody fetch me a bloody walking stick?” Miranda acerbically remarked in the general direction of some of the privates who were hanging around the scene. They all stiffened, visibly scared of her. One of them saluted and ran off to fulfil her request. Miranda rolled her eye as she shifted around to lean back against the wall behind her. “Incompetents,” she muttered, because it was easier to snap at them than kick herself for letting this disaster nearly happen.

“Are you sure you shouldn't go with them too?” Shiala asked, moving to Miranda's side, nodding her head towards the medics. Miranda hadn't even noticed that she'd followed her.

“I'm fine,” Miranda assured her. Shiala sent her a look, as if to make sure she was telling the truth. “Really,” she added, trying to sound sincere, not failing to remember that Shiala had seen the vulnerability beneath the mask before.

“Then I'm glad,” Shiala replied, taking up a position beside her, almost matching Miranda's stance against the wall. She sighed, admirably calm, but understandably a little shaken by her near-death experience. “You are a very impressive woman, Miranda Lawson, but it would be my preference if for once we could meet under less...dire circumstances,” she remarked, sensing a recurring theme.

Miranda uttered a chuckle at that, unconsciously rubbing at her injured shoulder, trying not to aggravate her amputation site. “If I bought you a drink later, would that count?” she asked. That was the least she could do to express her gratitude.

Shiala summoned a small smile, as if liking the sound of that. “It would be a start.”

Miranda looked out over at Jack's kids again. Some of them were crying, wiping tears from their eyes as the shuttle carrying Jack and Seanne departed, the aftershock of everything they'd gone through passing over. 

It was funny. In all honesty, Miranda couldn't say her heart hurt for any of them, or what they were going through. She understood it intellectually, but seeing people cry didn't elicit any emotion in her. She didn't possess that latent empathy. She didn't even know most of their names.

But, that being said, that didn't mean she didn't feel anything. It would have been extremely easy for her to choose not to care but, well...that Miranda had been left behind many months ago. She wasn’t that person anymore.

Her past self wouldn’t have, but Miranda did feel sorry for these kids, and what they'd gone through. As much as she could, at least. She knew what they'd endured. She understood their loss. She'd seen how much they cared about each other – how much they meant to Jack. She'd nearly watched them all die avoidable deaths, because she hadn't trusted her instincts to get them out of that building. Because Miranda had been indecisive and taken a fucking shortcut.

It wasn't right. It wasn't right to just...walk away from any responsibility she bore, like it had never happened. To wash her hands, and absolve herself. Not now.

It wasn't lost on her that they were all only a little younger than Oriana. She was twenty now. They were, what? Seventeen? Thinking of Ori was always the ticket to bringing out Miranda's softer side – a side she wouldn't have even had without her.

Miranda thought about the things Jack had said to her mere minutes ago, in the heat of the moment. About looking after her students, the same way she would look after her sister. Protecting them. Keeping them safe. Giving them normal lives.

Miranda wasn't good with other adults, let alone kids. She'd never really been one. Or had friends at that age. Giving Oriana a normal life had meant staying far away from her. But when Miranda set her mind to anything, she could do it. Already, she had begun to think about how she could pull strings. Make sure their needs were looked after. Make sure they landed on their feet.

There were nine of them. Ten, including Seanne. Ten teenagers. And Jack.

Eleven. Eleven people might be feasible. Temporarily, anyway. That was how many housemates Miranda already had, after all. It was worth trying, wasn't it? Worth seeing if it worked out. Worth trying to do the one thing Jack had asked of her.

Miranda had never made any promises to Jack, so, technically, she wouldn't have been doing anything wrong if she ignored that request. She didn't have any obligation to honour her wishes. And Jack was still alive to take care of her students herself. But, frankly, those technicalities Miranda might once have clung to in order to easily rationalise this all away and to absolve herself of any sense of duty didn't seem to matter anymore. She didn’t want to take a pass on this.

She was sure something could be arranged. Miranda had a lot of pull with Bailey. She was his best agent. Surely, if she spoke with him, he would be willing to make a few special accommodations for her. Anything to ensure she continued working for him for as long as possible.

Even if her plan worked, that would take a few days, at a minimum. Not to mention that Miranda's work out here in the wastes wasn't over yet. They needed somewhere to stay in the interim. Someone to look out for them while Jack was out of commission. Someone she could trust.

“Shiala, you've already done a lot for me, so I wouldn't want to impose by asking anything further,” Miranda began, trailing off momentarily. Shiala tiled her head, listening intently. “Those nine kids need a place to stay. I know you and the Zhu's Hope colonists probably don't have enough room, but you have connections in the green zone. You know it better than I do. If you could put them up somewhere, just for a couple of days, while I get their affairs in order...”

“That's not an imposition at all,” Shiala stated plainly, thinking nothing of it. “I can take them on my shuttle, get them there faster.”

Miranda had to admit, she was a little taken aback to hear Shiala so readily volunteer her assistance again. She was expecting she'd have to work harder to convince her, or trade her something of value. Not that she was complaining but...why did Shiala keep helping her? What was she getting out of this?

“I appreciate it. I'll make it up to you,” Miranda offered, since it only seemed fair. That and she didn’t like feeling at a deficit in terms of favours to call upon.

“You don't have to do anything for me.” Shiala shook her head, dismissing the thought. “You've already earned my help. And...well, if you'll have it...you’ve earned my friendship too,” Shiala added, a little more self-consciously, as if wondering if she was saying too much, or being too awkward.

Miranda blinked. Oh. Was that what this was? Was that what she wanted from this?

Honestly, she had never contemplated that. Miranda had a habit of viewing all her dealings with other people as inherently transactional, due to how she was raised. It was a mindset she was slowly learning to change, but it still caught her off guard every now and then to be reminded that sometimes people just did things for others, not because they were repaying a favour or because they expected something in return, but just because they cared and wanted to help.

That and, in her entire life, Miranda had met maybe five people who actually seemed to like her as a person and enjoy her company. One of them was her sister, and two of them were dead. Suffice it to say, she wasn't used to it.

“...Sure,” Miranda said, not sure how else to answer that. She didn't know Shiala particularly well, and in all honesty she saw her purely as a useful contact. But she saw no reason to reject her offer. That would just hurt her feelings, and more importantly sabotage the inroads Miranda had made with her as a reliable ally.

If this was all Shiala wanted in return for assisting her then Miranda could...try the friendship thing, she supposed. It was less effort than the blackmail she usually had to resort to when securing third party contacts. Presumably.

Shiala turned a more bashful shade of green. “Uh, well, that's great! I'm...glad. And I will...take you up on that drink,” she said in that awkward, stilted way of hers. It was like she was always torn between whether to speak with traditional asari formality, or whether to emulate the more casual ways of speaking the Zhu's Hope colonists would surely have taught her to use with humans by now. That and it always kind of seemed like she was talking through a headache.

“I’m looking forward to it,” Miranda replied. She wasn’t really, of course, but Shiala didn’t need to know that. In any event, she wasn’t averse to the idea. And lying to be polite was a skill she still needed more practice at, unless she wanted to continue alienating people with blunt honesty for the rest of her life.

Tempting, but no.

“Me too.” Shiala nervously cleared her throat. “I will, uh...see you around. Stay safe this time,” she said, taking her leave. Miranda gave her a parting nod.

Judging from her reaction, Miranda got the sense Shiala hadn't had that many friends before either, Zhu’s Hope not included. She wasn't sure whether that would make maintaining this proposed friendship extremely easy, since her standards would be low, or whether that made this a terrible idea, because neither of them brought anything of value to the friendship table. Maybe both.

Miranda watched Shiala approach Jack's students, introducing herself and offering them a place to say. It was funny. Despite how much she'd grown over the past year, Miranda was still at a distance from all but a select few – looking from the outside in at people who could form bonds so much more easily. People who could just naturally relate to others.

She would never be able to do that. She just couldn't.

At the end of the day, did it really matter? Did it matter that she didn't genuinely care about these kids as much as Jack did? Did it matter that she didn't honestly reciprocate Shiala's feelings of friendship? She was doing good by her actions, wasn't she? Doing what Jack had asked of her. Somehow, despite a complete lack of effort, managing to be someone whose companionship Shiala enjoyed. Those positive outcomes had to count for something, right?

Progress was progress. After all, who would have ever thought that Miranda fucking Lawson would become a person who risked her own life for Jack’s, a protector of lost teenagers, and a person who made friends? Jacob would have been proud of her, if not for the fact that he would never believe it.

It was also a hell of a lot easier to focus her attention on those things than to confront the fact that she still hadn’t dealt with the phantom faces that haunted her in her dreams, or the missing names from the Normandy, or the tinnitus that made trying to fall asleep at night into a marathon of audial torture, and how those things were affecting her even in her waking moments.

Miranda swallowed, not ready to face those problems. Not yet.

“Alright. Playtime’s over. Let’s get moving,” Miranda called out to her team assembled in the square. “We still have a city to clear.”

*    *     *

Miranda was definitely in a mood that day when she stormed into the Starboard Observation Deck, her arms folded across her chest. She sighed and went to the viewport, leaning with one arm against the transparent window. Samara continued to meditate, undisturbed. That earned a somewhat suspicious glance back over Miranda's shoulder.

“What?” said Miranda, eyeing her. “You're not going to ask me about the fight I had with Jack?”

“I was not,” Samara replied. “Although I did overhear it, as did everybody on this deck of the ship.”

“Great.” Miranda shook her head, flipping her hair back. “I know Shepard managed to talk her down, but she walked into my office and physically assaulted me. She's unstable.”

“She did. And that was wrong of her,” Samara acknowledged, pausing for a moment. “Did you do anything to provoke it?” she asked, sensing Miranda was perhaps...minimising her role in the argument.

“Provoke it?” Miranda echoed, offended at the insinuation.

“It is merely a question,” Samara said calmly. “Jack is a volatile character. However, she has been a member of this crew for a considerable time without incident.”

“So I must have caused it?” Miranda sarcastically shot back, rolling her eyes and shaking her head when Samara didn't respond. Typical for her to get blamed for everything.

Samara waited a few moments, perhaps considering that she had erred in taking the direct approach. “I am aware that she recently revisited a place of immense childhood trauma,” Samara began, choosing a different approach. “This must be a sensitive time for her.”

Miranda sighed and glanced down, her arms stiffly folded across her chest. She could acknowledge that. “I never said what Jack went through wasn't horrible. I know it was. I went to that facility. I saw it for myself. No child should ever have to endure that. All I said was that it couldn't have been Cerberus. Or, if it was a Cerberus affiliate, then someone clearly went rogue and made a terrible mistake.”

That had to be the case. Cerberus didn't play by the rules, but the organisation had just aims. It was the first place where Miranda had been praised instead of criticised – allowed to make her own choices and do things her way. The Illusive Man had been a better father to Miranda than Henry Lawson ever was. Sure, they walked a morally grey line and did things other people weren't courageous enough to do, but Cerberus wasn't malicious or cruel, merely pragmatic.

“Do you think that distinction was important to Jack?” Samara's question broke Miranda from her musings.

“What?” Miranda regarded Samara strangely, finding her difficult to read. Samara let the question hang, waiting for an answer. Miranda had to admit, this wasn't what she had expected, given their growing friendship. If anything, she was a little hurt. “I thought you'd be on my side.”

“You sought me out to speak about this. If you did so and did not desire my honest opinion on the matter, then you have grave misapprehensions about my character,” Samara remarked. She would never give counsel that contradicted her morals.

“So you agree with Jack?” asked Miranda. That was the last thing she would have expected from someone as rational as Samara.

“It is not a question of agreement. You are focused on 'black and white' instead of seeing things from her perspective. And, with the greatest of respect, you must be aware that you are in a superior position, because the subject of what Jack endured does not affect you. This was not your trauma. You are detached – you can think about your words and actions in this situation, in a way that Jack, for whom these events are intensely personal, cannot.”

Miranda snorted. “Are you saying I should lie to her?”

“As a Justicar, I could never advocate for dishonesty, merely mindfulness. Like you, I am a hard woman. I have many honest thoughts. In the past, I have often voiced them carelessly, with little regard for their effect on others. There is wisdom in appreciating when our opinions are best kept silent, lest our words do harm,” Samara thoughtfully replied.

“If she can't handle my words, that's her problem,” said Miranda, staunchly believing herself to be in the right. “We've all been through bad things. That doesn't excuse attacking people.”

“No, it does not, but your own experiences should enable you to understand her better than most,” Samara dispensed her sage advice, encouraging sympathy.

“Exactly my point, though; I'm not the way she is. We turned out completely differently. We couldn't be more polar opposites if one of us was made of anti-matter,” Miranda pointed out, extending her hand to emphasise that. “My father did horrible things to me too. I'm not saying that it was on the same scale as what was done to Jack, but you don't see me losing control of my emotions.”

“Do not compare her reaction to yours. This is not what is important,” said Samara, dismissing that distraction. “Instead, try to empathise with her perspective as to why your words were harmful. For example, imagine speaking to someone about what your father did to you.”

“You don't know what my father did to me,” Miranda interrupted her before she could get started on that subject. “Nobody does.”

“Yes, precisely. They do not know. However, you do,” Samara continued. “You lived through those experiences. You understand how they affected you. Now, instead of listening to you and acknowledging what you endured, imagine someone giving you their unsolicited opinions on your childhood or your father, even with regard to something that may technically be correct.”

“Like what?” Miranda asked, shrugging her shoulders. Why would she be bothered by something factual?

“For instance, your father created the genetic code that exists inside you and your sister. Clearly, he is a brilliant scientist,” Samara observed. “Here is a hypothetical scenario: you tell me about his abuse towards you in your youth, I acknowledge that what he did was wrong, but I keep repeating to you that he was a brilliant scientist. How would you feel?”

Miranda's lips pursed, and she released a slight exhale. God damn it. Leave it to Samara to express things in a way that actually made her see what she was talking about, and see things from someone else's perspective.

“I would think that you're diminishing what I went through and defending the people who did it to me,” Miranda acknowledged. “I would probably find that very frustrating. If you or Jacob were saying it, I might even feel betrayed for confiding in you only to have you speak up for him.”

She knew, because it had happened before. Niket. The man she'd trusted to help her escape. The one person she thought understood the effect of her father's abuse. Instead of taking her side, he had accused her of being wrong for sparing Oriana all of that suffering. He'd even implied that growing up wealthy was a fair trade for her father's callousness and cruelty.

Miranda sighed, dropping her guarded posture as she raised one hand to rub her forehead. “Okay, so you have a point. Maybe I did inadvertently provoke her just a little bit. Not that it takes much.”

“You made a mistake. You are learning from it,” said Samara, not judging her for her imperfections.

“I suppose I have to; I didn't exactly learn social skills growing up,” Miranda admitted, never particularly happy with it when she realised there was something she'd done wrong. Her father had made certain that she despised failure, as he always went out of his way to make her dread the consequences. “That's becoming more apparent, lately. Being in such close quarters here with so many non-Cerberus personnel on The Normandy has forced me to do more 'socialising' than I have in the entire last thirty-five years of my life. People can be so...”

“Alien?” Samara supplied, somewhat wryly.

“I was going to say 'complicated', but that works,” said Miranda, slumping down on the floor beside Samara, chastened by her lecture, no matter how kindly put and...astute it had been. “You're lucky I trust you that none of this is going to leave this room,” she commented, glancing over at her companion. “If anyone else heard me acknowledge that I have weaknesses, I'd never live it down.”

“Everyone has weaknesses. To demand otherwise is unattainable,” Samara reassured her.

Miranda bit her lower lip. She thought about how much she already knew concerning Samara's past, and how she had obtained that knowledge behind her back. She still felt something resembling guilt about it. It only seemed fair to open up about some of her own secrets, so they could be on more even terms.

“I wasn't allowed to have anything he deemed a weakness. My father, I mean,” Miranda confessed, finally broaching that subject that she had long kept to herself. “The problem was, his definition of 'weakness' was anything that didn't directly benefit him. That included making friends, or smiling, or having my own interests, or feeling pain, or crying. Everything you can imagine really. All I knew throughout my entire childhood was control. I had to do everything exactly the way he wanted when he wanted it, even if I had absolutely no way of knowing what that was, even if it changed from one moment to the next, which it often did. And that was what I had to do just to be tolerated. Never anything more than that. Not loved, or praised, or accepted. Just tolerated. Anything less than his version of perfection and I would be punished, in some form or another.”

As she spoke, she felt Samara's eyes on her. It made her slightly self-conscious. She didn't want Samara to think she was heaping her personal problems upon her, or throwing a big pity party. That wasn't her intent. She just thought...Samara might actually understand her a bit better, if she told her the truth.

“I'm not saying any of this for sympathy or as an excuse,” Miranda explained. She didn't want those things. She didn't need those things. “I think it's just starting to crystallise for me that maybe I never really stopped listening to his voice, or obeying his vision. Perhaps there are some things I need to...reassess.”

“Much as the trauma of her youth is the source of the anger you experienced from Jack, you too carry the scars of your past, as I do with mine,” Samara spoke up. “Jack may not yet be ready to move on from it, but I believe that you are, if you so choose. You have already come further than you may appreciate. You have the capacity to identify what you need to change within you, and you have the will to see it done. This may take time and self-reflection, but it is achievable.”

“That's what you were talking about before, with the meditation, wasn't it?” Miranda surmised.

“It was one reason I suggested it,” Samara acknowledged. “It is a means of pursuing this kind of clarity – identifying aspects of oneself that the rigours of life normally distract one from perceiving and analysing.”

Miranda paused and glanced down, swallowing. “...I suppose I should thank you,” she said. Samara's silent response indicated she didn't know what Miranda meant by that. “For seeing the best in me, instead of dismissing me for my faults.”

“Could I not say the same to you?” Samara replied.

That thought managed to bring a small smile to the corner of Miranda's lips. She had a point. Then again, it wasn't hard to see the best in Samara. It was quite touching to think that maybe Samara would have said the same thing about her.

Maybe that was just what it was like when you met someone you felt instantly connected to. Maybe that was just how someone knew a rapport like this was real.

*    *     *

It was a few days before Miranda was really able to get back to the green zone and get her affairs in order. The operation had been a moderate success. They had found outposts of survivors who had hunkered down during the war, found pretty much anything resembling usable supplies that was left in the covered area, and found some habitable buildings to start moving people into.

Nobody had seen Samara though. Miranda was trying very hard not to let that concern her. It helped that she had other priorities to focus on.

Shiala had kept her updated on the status of Jack and her students. Thankfully, Seanne was recovering quickly from her illness. She was still in care, but expected to be released in the next couple of days.

Jack was...well, doing a lot worse than Seanne. Her condition was stable but her biotics had damn near destroyed her body. Almost as bad as the shuttle crash had destroyed Miranda's. No permanent damage, most likely. But her muscles were in a lot of pain, still slowly repairing themselves. From the sounds of things, it would take a lot of time and rehab to get her back to where she was.

Miranda was able to confirm all that with her own eyes. It wasn't hard to find Jack, even among all the beds, and all the sick and injured. She didn't look great. There were clear bruises where capillaries had burst beneath her skin. It did look like she'd been in a crash.

Jack must have sensed someone watching her, obviously not coping much better with bed rest than Miranda had. Bleary eyes glanced over in Miranda's direction, immediately turning with irritation when she realised who was standing there.

“Who the fuck let you in?” Jack groaned. Miranda was the last person she wanted to deal with when she was like this.

“It's a field hospital, Jack. Not much in the way of security.” Miranda thought about reminding her that she was known around here and people let her go wherever she wanted, but she had the good sense to realise that Jack would probably want to kill her if she said that. “How are you doing? Are you okay?”

“Fuckin' hurts,” Jack remarked, draping her arm over her eyes, hoping Miranda would just go away. “But I still look a damn sight better than you, fuckface.” 

That was debatable, honestly. “You're lucky you didn't tear yourself apart,” Miranda said quietly, moving closer. She was trying to be civil and understanding. “Not just limb from limb, but on a cellular level.”

Jack didn't respond, deliberately ignoring her in an effort to get Miranda to leave.

Miranda rolled her eye. So much for her efforts to be kind to her. Obviously her presence wasn't wanted. With that in mind, it was probably best to just cut straight to the point.

“Listen, I've spoken to Bailey. They're starting to house priority personnel in apartments in the city. That means Alliance officials, and people involved in the recovery effort. Civilians and non-essential personnel are the lowest priority. You'll be lucky to get a look-in on a place to live even a year from now, unless all of you are prepared to work for it. And, no offence, but you're not really in a condition to do that,” Miranda set out the facts.

“Why the fuck do you always talk like you're answering a question nobody fuckin' asked?” Jack grumbled. Despite her complaint, she reluctantly opened her eyes and shifted her head to listen to what she had to say.

Sensing she had her attention, Miranda continued. “I tried to convince Bailey to make an exception for you and your students, but he can't. Not unless someone who warrants high priority quarters chooses to take you in. Someone like me.”

“I'd sooner fucking drink bleach than live with you,” Jack shot that down.

Miranda had expected Jack to say that. “Okay. But what about your students? They don't have spare beds at this field hospital, Jack. There's barely enough room for them to breathe if they wind up in tent city. It's not safe for them out there by themselves. You don't know anyone else here. And, right now, you can't exactly look after them. Not without help,” Miranda explained. Much as she visibly hated it, Jack couldn't object to that. “I've already made the necessary arrangements. I can cancel them if you want, but I'm prepared to take them in, with or without you.”

“...Why are you doing this?” Jack asked suspiciously. It sounded like Miranda was being sincere, but it was hard to tell. Miranda never did anything for anyone without an agenda behind it. Unless it was for her sister. Or Jacob. Not for someone she didn't care about. Not for Jack.

Miranda pulled up a chair and sat down beside her bed. “There are only four of us left, Jack. If not for Shiala, that number would only be two; neither of us would be here right now. You nearly died the other day. And it would have been my fault if you had,” Miranda stated frankly. Jack had held an entire building up to keep her alive, and broken her body doing it. “That was why I couldn't leave you.”

Contrary to popular belief, Miranda had never hated Jack. Disliked her, yes, but the hatred had been entirely one-sided. Truth be told, she'd never cared about Jack enough to hate her. She hadn't cared about her at all. Not back then. In a way, that was a lot worse than hate. Jack would probably take it that way, if she knew. And Miranda had the decency to feel a tinge of regret about that, in hindsight.

Most of her memories of Jack were of conflict, or mutual avoidance at best. But Miranda had never set out to antagonise Jack, deliberately or otherwise. She hadn't sought her ought for anything, good or bad or neutral. Not once. She was completely uninterested in her. Apathetic. She didn't give Jack any unprovoked attention at all. Not that it mattered one way or the other. The fact that she was a Cerberus Operator had been cause enough to make her enemy number one.

Miranda hadn't batted an eye, save when things got violent. To her, not getting to know Jack was fine, and her hostile attitude had said more than enough about how little she was worth anyone's time.

Jack had loathed her. And Miranda had found her a nuisance at best. An insignificant insect who would be brushed aside as soon as the mission ended.

But she'd been wrong about her, hadn't she? Jack had been right about Cerberus the entire time, and Miranda had been too blinded by loyalty to believe her. And, while Miranda had been on the run from The Illusive Man and his agents, Jack had turned her life around. She'd set out to give the kids in the Ascension Program a far better shot at life than she ever got herself.

Miranda had done some growing of her own as well. She'd been cold and callous back then. Not just towards Jack but towards everyone. Whether she'd realised it or not at the time, she'd still been living in her father's shadow, letting the way he'd raised her shape how she treated others.

But things had changed. They weren't the same people they once were. Maybe they were never the people they'd assumed each other to be. But they were both working on being better people. And they'd lost almost all of their other comrades along the way.

Maybe Jack still wanted to hold onto her grudge, and maybe she was justified in doing that. But Miranda was tired. She wanted no part in this anymore. She couldn't carry on pretending her past grievances with Jack meant a god damn thing to her anymore. She didn't have the energy. If there was ever a time to bury the hatchet and move on, this was it.

“You said if I wanted to make up for all the bad history between us, and all the atrocities Cerberus committed against you, the only way for me to do that is to look after these kids the way I would look after my own sister,” Miranda recalled, knowing how much the students meant to Jack. “So...Okay. This is my answer. I want to honour that. I can't promise I'll be any good at it, but I intend to fulfil that bargain. This is me trying to make things...better.”

Jack looked at her for a long moment, a cold, hard stare, studying her face for any signs of duplicity. She didn't find any. Miranda wasn't lying. Her motives may have been self-centred, but that was to be expected. Jack would have been suspicious if they weren't. At least that reasoning made sense as to why Miranda suddenly wanted to be a less shitty person. For her, this was progress.

“...I never thought I'd say this, but you're actually fucking right about something,” Jack admitted, willing to put personal feelings aside for the well-being of her kids. “Living in a real fucking apartment is better for them. Better than being out here in this depressing shithole. So I'm going to tell them about you and what you’re offering. But I'm not going to force them. It's their choice.”

“Okay.” Miranda nodded. That was it, then. This was really happening.

She didn't want Jack to sense it, but she had mixed feelings about what she was getting herself into. Looking after teenagers was not high on her list of things she wanted to do. And she knew she was taking on a lot of responsibility. But this had been the one thing Jack had asked of her when she thought she was going to die. Doing her best to deliver on that request was the least Miranda could do, especially since Jack had saved her life that day.

“What about you?” Miranda asked, not sure whether Jack would be joining them. “I know we don't exactly get along, but you're welcome to stay too. I'll just make sure to hide the bleach before you do.”

That remark elicited a snort. “Yeah, about that. I don't think I'm gonna be going anywhere for a while,” Jack glanced down at herself.

Miranda gave a small, understanding smile. “I was in your position not long ago. I promise you, it will feel like an eternity. And your rehab will take time. But you'll be healthy enough to stay somewhere else sooner than you think. It doesn't have to be with me. Jacob is keeping my old bed free in case you'd prefer that.”

A conflicted look passed over Jack's face, a little bittersweet. “So I wouldn't be with the tykes?” she realised aloud.

Miranda suddenly recognised a possible flaw in her plan. “Jack, I'm not trying to separate you from them. I'm just offering them a place to stay. A roof over their heads. They're at liberty to see you whenever they want. And vice versa.”

“I know, dumbass,” Jack cut her off. “I'm just...I'm not sure they'll take it that way.”

Miranda softened. “You nearly gave your life to save them. If they don't know by now that you love them far too much to abandon them...well, I don't know, maybe tell them?” Miranda suggested. That's probably what Samara would have advised. “I don't know. I'm not good with people. Maybe don't listen to me on this subject.”

“I don't listen to you about anything,” Jack assured her, only half-joking. It hadn't escaped her notice that Miranda really was making an effort. Having some semblance of humility. Admitting that she sucked at something. The old Miranda never would have spoken to her like this. “...I'll think about it. I've got time. I've got some healing to do. I'll decide my living arrangements later.”

“Sure.” Miranda nodded, accepting that. “...Well, I'll start getting the apartment ready. There's still a lot to do, so...we'll talk another time.” Miranda elected to take her leave, getting up from her seat.

“Hey, Miranda.” Miranda paused, wondering if that was the first time Jack had actually called her by name. She turned and looked back. “We're not starting over at zero. It's too late for that. But I know you had nothing to do with what Cerberus did to me. And, if you're serious about trying to be straight with me, and you're not just going to throw my kids to the wayside the second you feel better about yourself, then...fuck it, I'll give you a shot.”

“This is you trying?” Miranda inferred. Jack didn't say anything, but nor did she protest. Miranda gave a nod, satisfied. She could live with that.

There was no chance they could ever become friends. But coexisting relatively peacefully would be good enough.

*    *     *

“Finally making use of the library, I see,” Miranda remarked, catching Samara in the act of reading.

Samara cracked a small smile as the doors closed behind Miranda. “I do reside on a human vessel. It would seem a terrible waste to remain ignorant of your arts and cultures when you have been so gracious in sharing these resources with me. That is if you do not object.”

“Knock yourself out,” said Miranda, not at all surprised that Samara appreciated what humanity had to offer based on their previous conversations, but glad for it nonetheless. Her long lifespan had not robbed her of her curiosity and adventurousness.

Despite their reputation for benevolence and co-operation with others, some asari Miranda had encountered could be incredibly patronising towards human cultures. Even if they welcomed other species into the fold, there were some who looked down on humans as effectively a novelty – like lost children taking their first steps on the galactic stage, whose beliefs and habits were cute, but would soon be a thing of the past once they were 'enlightened' by more ancient races. Thankfully, Samara wasn't like that. Her respect for other species was genuine and unfeigned.

“How many books have you read so far?” Miranda inquired, noticing that she was currently nearing the end of her copy of Moby Dick.

“Fewer than I would have liked,” said Samara, almost with a hint of self-deprecation.

At that point, EDI piped up. “Justicar Samara has requested my assistance in selecting texts from a diverse array of authors whose works were written in different cultural and linguistic contexts, as well as different genres and time periods.”

“This is correct. Thank you, EDI.” Samara nodded her head at EDI's holographic interface, which continued to operate silently. “I have heard that your species is far more diverse and varied than those who have come before. I did not wish to make the error of inadvertently and arbitrarily narrowing the scope of human literature available to me. This could lead me to draw false inferences, such as misconstruing humans as more homogeneous than you actually are.”

“Read anything by an Australian author yet?” Miranda asked, impressed by the care and consideration Samara had put into her decision to explore human literature for fun. That was thoughtful of her.

“Not at this time, no,” Samara confessed.

“You're not missing much.” Miranda shrugged nonchalantly as she joined her on the couch, not even sure there were any Australian texts in their small library. Out of curiosity, she brought up the database on her omni-tool. It contained a record of all available books aboard the ship and showed who had checked out what and when, so nobody could get away with not returning them.  Unsurprisingly, Samara was the most frequent user of the library, closely followed by Kasumi.

“I am sure that is not the case. I have yet to encounter a text that I have not enjoyed the experience of reading. Although I confess that, at times, certain details may have been lost on me,” Samara admitted as she closed her book and put it aside, acknowledging the effect that her own limited understanding of Earth and human history had on her comprehension of these stories.

Miranda tried not to smirk. “You had to ask EDI to explain to you what a whale is, didn't you?”

“She was very informative,” said Samara, which elicited a chuckle from Miranda. “Do you read?”

“When I have time, yes,” Miranda answered. It was also one of the few things her father had allowed her to do as a child, since he saw intellectual value in it.

“Are there any books you would recommend?” Samara asked, implicitly trusting her taste.

“Sure. I could send you a list, but I'm not sure that my preferences would be along the lines of what you're looking for,” Miranda acknowledged, earning a curious look from Samara. “For the most part, I don't read fiction anymore. There are some exceptions, but I rarely enjoy it.”

“I see.” Samara took a moment to contemplate that, choosing to seek elaboration. “Is there any particular reason why you tend to dislike it?”

“Well, on merit alone, ninety percent of all content produced is not worth consuming. As for the remaining ten percent, the vast majority of novels I've read are like being locked in a room listening to the inane thoughts and dialogue of annoying characters while the author either beats you over the head with their uninformed opinions or waffles on aimlessly while avoiding making anything that constitutes a worthwhile observation or statement,” Miranda explained, remembering how irritating she had found so many texts she was forced to study in her youth. “Even when the ideas and concepts are intriguing to me, I find it’s often ruined by the characters or the writing style getting in the way.”

“What makes a character annoying to you?” Samara pressed, curious about her comment.

“They make stupid decisions, they think things that I would never think, and everything is just a frustrating waste of time while you wait for them to cut the nonsense, realise the obvious and get to the point of the plot,” said Miranda. She hadn't anticipated an interrogation of her views on fiction. Fortunately, her frustrations were well-founded, and she never struggled to defend her positions.

Samara stared at her like she wasn't entirely certain whether or not Miranda was being facetious. “...Is that not, perhaps, the intent?” Samara considered aloud, prompting Miranda to glance up from the library database. “If the story reached its conclusion from the outset, bypassing all conflict and circumventing all faults and failings possessed by the characters, then would the author not have lost the opportunity to explore the – what is your term for it? – human condition?”

“It's not my bloody condition,” Miranda dryly remarked.

“You understood my meaning; do not be coy,” said Samara, mildly amused by her retort. “One of the benefits of literature over and above any other artform is that it allows you to experience life through the perspective of another, even down to their most private thoughts. It prospers empathy and understanding, even for those characters who are deeply flawed, as we all are. It is why I personally find that I have learned more about other species through reading their stories told in their own words than from any other source – certainly far more than I have gained from the detached academic writings of an asari anthropologist.”

Miranda shrugged, seeing her point. “I'm glad that you get so much out of it, but I never have,” she said honestly. “I can appreciate the themes of all these works on an intellectual level and the skills and techniques they've used in their writing, but I've never connected with a book or related to a character the way I've heard other people say they have. Fiction just doesn't resonate with me. Perhaps we're built differently like that.”

“Perhaps,” Samara replied, though if she had thoughts to the contrary she did not express them. “What is your preferred form of artistic expression?”

“Music,” Miranda answered without hesitation. “Not 'songs' per se, but I'm not as rigidly confined to the great composers as everyone seems to assume. I like my operas and my symphonies but I have a flair for the experimental as well. The theories and formulas that underpin music are there for a reason, but brilliant minds know how to break them in just the right ways.”

“Do you play?” asked Samara.

“Not since I was sixteen. But yes. I was classically trained in piano. I also did two years of violin before my father objected. Didn't like hearing me practice.” Miranda didn't feel the need to share that he'd ripped the violin out of her hands and thrown it across the room to break it in front of her because he'd decided she hadn't mastered it quickly enough and therefore wasn't taking it seriously. It wasn't relevant to the conversation and was more personal than Miranda cared to get.

“That is unfortunate,” Samara spoke sympathetically, evidently inferring why it was that Miranda had stopped playing nearly twenty years ago, given it held such a strong association with negative memories of her father. “One day, when the time is right, maybe you will play again.”

“I think you're the only one who wants to hear that,” Miranda commented, finding the thought of her other crewmates' reactions comical to ponder. “The rest of them out there would assume I was showing off and hate me for it.”

“Most likely. But you do not strike me as a woman who constrains herself based upon the opinions of others,” said Samara, with a knowing twinkle in her eye.

“Do I make it that obvious?” Miranda joked, unfazed by her unpopularity.

“Nevertheless, if the opportunity arises, perhaps you should consider it,” Samara quietly encouraged. “Your devotion to your work is admirable, but you should not squander the time you have by avoiding things that bring you joy. A day may come where you look back upon your years, and find them filled with regret for chances you did not take, and simple pleasures you let pass you by.”

“...I guess you'd know,” Miranda conceded, although in her heart she knew she had no intention of following through on playing again. Too close to home.

With that, Samara returned her attention to the book cradled in her hand, content to sit with Miranda in silence, as they often did. Miranda watched her for several seconds before speaking.

“Which one was your favourite?” she asked, prompting Samara to glance up at her in search of clarification. “Of the works you've read, I'm guessing either Don Quixote or Romance of the Three Kingdoms,” Miranda speculated. They seemed to her taste.

“Astute choices. But there was another I preferred. A poem, in fact,” she said. Miranda arched her brow, curious. “You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars. You have a right to be here. And, whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should. Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be and, whatever your labours and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul,” she recited.

Miranda's lip quirked in recognition. “That's Max Ehrmann, isn't it?”

“Yes,” Samara confirmed, meeting her gaze. “There is much wisdom in those words. I would do well to remember them when I stray. So too would it benefit many others to hear them.”

“You may have a point,” Miranda agreed, appreciating that Samara found meaning in those words, even if they did not particularly strike a cord with her. “It sounds like the sort of thing you could reflect on in your meditation.”

“I have,” said Samara. “Every day.”

*    *     *

[valeriannnn]

if youve ever wanted to think about what almost every major RWBY character would main in professional overwatch, then today is your lucky day! brought to you by hiatus, return of owl, and 3am delirium

RUBY - Star DPS.  Extremely flashy, always on the highlight reel.  Will play whatever is needed to pound the enemies into dirt, but also the type to say "fuck it ok guys trust me im gonna pop off" and swap to her signature widow/tracer to Pop Off.  Works unfailingly.  Team captain and emotional core.  Prefers mobile heroes and an unpredictable playstyle.

WhiteSnow - Flex Support/Flex DPS.  Put her on any sniper (including and especially Ana) and watch all hell rain down.  Methodical playstyle, favors high-utility heroes.  Aside from snipers, can often be found on Baptiste/Mei/Symmetra.  Enables teammates to make big plays, but often sacrifices her own presence in the killfeed for the benefit of the team as a whole.  Loves to maker opponents' lives a living hell with CC.  Line em up, knock em down.

Belladonna - Offtank.  Extremely attentive to her backline, constantly running interference and peeling for allies.  Impossible to catch off-guard.  Delights in thwarting the enemy team's plans and preventing them from making the plays they want to.  Excellent map awareness and always the one to touch point to preserve overtime.  Shotcaller.  Struggled with committing to risky/aggressive plays, but being on a reliable team has made her more comfortable performing her role and trusting her teammates to have her back.  Prefers mobile heroes but will adapt to any situation to work in perfect tandem with...

YangXiaoLong - Main Tank.  Could have been a DPS main but early on committed to tank role to enable her duo parter (and little sister) to pop off (and have shorter queue times).  Developed a real knack for controlling space and being a brick goddamn wall between her squishies and the enemy team.  Extremely aggressive playstyle, but has cooled down in recent years to be more of a team player.  Still loves to thrash about when given the opportunity.  Known for bold plays and phatty shatties.

Arc - Main Support.  Tried for years to be a DPS hotshot but was determinedly mediocre and got hard stuck in plat.  Persuaded by Pyrrha to pocket her for a few games, and discovered the depth and fulfillment of playing support to a well-coordinated team.  Nurtured his aptitude for assisting from the backline and quickly rose through the ranks.  Will play whatever is meta but will always be a Mercy main at heart.  Played Brig during GOATS.  Shotcaller.

Valkyrie - Doomfist.

Nikos - Main Tank.  Extremely methodical player, reknowned for big brain cerebral plays and unflappability.  Can be slow to push advantages, but never makes mistakes.  Loves the mind games in a Rein v Rein matchup, and unfailingly blocks the enemy shatter (delights in cucking the enemy Rein).  Will play Orisa For The Good Of The Team but takes no joy in it.  Terrifying on defense; takes a strong position and allows time pressure to force enemies into missteps.  When you make a mistake, she will be there.  Strategic backbone of the team.

RenLie - Flex Support.  Bloodthirsty support.  Likes the balance of damage potential and support capacity in Zenyatta, but puts forth strong showings on Moira and Ana as well.  First priority is of course keeping his team alive, but flankers trying to dive him in the back line tend to get sent home in tears.  Big Jjonak energies. :uwuknife: Can be susceptible to tunnel vision/desperation, and occasionally needs teammates to re-ground him.  Always nanos Nora.

PPolen - Offtank.  D.Va one-trick.  Absolutely notorious for eating ults; absolutely infuriating to play hitscan into.  Flawless mechanical skill.  Occasionally struggles with communication, but honestly so on-the-ball that it doesn't usually come back to bite her.  Always has gold objective time.

Qrow - True flex.  Exclusively solo-queues on ladder, just plays the leaderboards.  Played just about every role at some point (except main tank, fuck that), but currently on a flex support kick.  Holds world records for gravs/blizzards/immortality feels clipping through the geometry and falling out of the map.  The sort of Ana who will singlehandedly take out both enemy DPS when beset by flankers only to immediately die to an errant Moira orb.  Gamers can we get an F in chat.  Accustomed to playing on 200+ ping and is deeply unsettled when he moves somewhere with good internet and has to re-learn all his timings.

RWBY+JNPR+P All form a single 9-man roster.  Sub out roles with redundant players for map set strategies and for flexible plays.  Probably called the Beacon Huntsmen or something generic like that, who cares

Winter - Main Tank and Offtank.  Excellent mechanical skill.  Unparalleled when allowed to execute her set strategy, but struggles with adaptability.  Extremely self-sacrificial, and knows exactly how to leverage her health pool to buy time and/or space for her allies to make the plays they need to.  Will unflinchingly act upon callouts, good or bad, because the worst outcome is a split decision.  Especially fond of a quick reset.

Whitley - Doesn't play Overwatch, but holds several championship trophies in international Pokemon tournaments.  Minecraft youtuber.

Adam - Widow one-trick.  Highly overrated, inexplicably popular streamer.  Mechanically talented but poison in a team environment.  Picked up and quickly dropped from several professional teams.  Teabags.  Looks impressive on stream but crumbles against opponents with any semblance of coordination.  Eventually blacklisted from professional environments after one too many scandals in his personal life.

Ozpin -Franchise owner.  Has never actually touched Overwatch, but used to be a respected Starcraft player back in the day.  Took on a coaching role for a time, but now largely manages from afar.  Has a sparse and cryptic social media presence.  Makes business decisions largely at random, unbeknownst to all his subordinates.

Salem - Hates videogames. Will unplug the router if you piss her off.

Ace Ops - High profile roster hand-picked for perfectly complementary hero pools.  Hyped to fuck in the preseason.  Unparalleled individual play but poor communication, incompatible playstyles, and truly abysmal coaching staff keep them from being a top-tier team.  Widely considered a disappointment considering the talent and money backing them.

Harriet - DPS.  Exclusively plays flankers and extremely mobile DPS.  Tries to solo-carry; in her defense, it often works.  Unironically brags/complains about having gold medals.  Quick to tilt but often uses the negative energy to pop off even harder.  Overtime clutch god.

Marrow - Flex DPS.  Cautious player, often hesitant to commit to risky strats.  Flawless positioning, both personally and for thrown abilities.  Talent for projectile DPS; probably contributed not-insignificantly to scatter arrow being removed from the game.  Prefers to understand the enemy's strategy before acting.  Shotcaller.  Nobody listens.

Elm - Main Tanks (Except Reinhardt), Zarya.  Aggressive tank player, frequently found with gold damage.  Generally good natured but vulnerable to tilt if on a losing streak.  Highly momentum-based.  Makes tutorial videos on strategy and positioning for her youtube channel.  Wants to see the competitive scene develop and flourish, but sensitive to feeling threatened by new talent.  Helps them anyway.

Vine - Flex Tanks (except Zarya), Reinhardt.  Unflappable, regardless of quality of games or recent performance.  Good at reading enemy team and tracking ults.  Generally calls enemy plays before they happen.  Always sticks with Elm, largely out of obligation to bail her out when her aggression puts her in a dicey position.  Understated player, rarely in highlight compilations, but extremely consistent performance.  Plays off-meta in scrims so as not to reveal strats.

Clover - Main Healer. Can play any support, but Lucio main through and through.  Suffers from Reddit Lucio syndrome, but usually good enough (or lucky enough) to get away with it.  Loves to deny enemy followup.  Peel master, boop god.  PMA to a borderline-irritating degree.  Gives great pep talks at half time.  Tends to overcommit to strategies that are dead in the water; sometimes it's better to call it and switch comps while you still have time on the clock. Despite this, is opportunistic in the moment-to-moment sense and quick to capitalize on enemy vulnerabilities.

Flynt Coal - Lucio one-trick.  I mean, come on.

Wukong - ???  Exclusively plays off-meta heroes and weird shit.  Talented but remains on ladder because he doesn’t like the rigid structure of tournament play.  Refuses to be confined to a single role.  Hates role lock cause he can’t swap mid game anymore.  Despite all this, somehow tends to be more of an asset than a detriment.  Definitely a team player.  PMA king.  Occasionally finds legitimately competitive strata for underutilized heroes.  Nutty with hammond movement, godawful with mines.  Has the Winston skin equipped, of course.

Ilia - DPS.  Popular streamer.  Tried going pro for a bit, but didn’t like the schedule and retired shortly.  Frequently plays with the community and does weird custom game modes for a laugh.  Loves Daddy Rein Chases Tiny Torblets.  Refuses to open loot boxes, much to the dismay of her stream.  Plays Golfing Over It during long queues.  Draws all her own custom emotes.

Watts - DPS.  Mains Widow, Sombra; plays anything that lets him avoid ever actually engaging the enemy at close range.  Thinks the game stopped being good when Sombra GOATS stopped being a thing.  Spends all day on twitter heckling pro players and declaring Overwatch a dead game.  Suspected of cheating.  Considers himself a shotcaller but isn't very good at it.

Tyrian - Plays Junkrat and Roadhog exclusively.  Thinks it's bullshit that the game doesn't have friendly fire.  Thinks it's bullshit that Junkrat doesn't deal self-inflicted damage anymore.  Master of the bounce shot.  Tends to treat the game like a TDM and forget the objective in favor fragging out.  Targets a single enemy player and tries to get them to tilt.  Uses voice chat but only laughs.  Never makes callouts.  Trash talks in all-chat.  Considers it a personal victory if he gets someone to rage quit.

Hazel - No Role.  Doesn't really get the idea of the metagame; knows it's generally good to have a balanced team but thats about as deep as he chooses to go.  Was one of the old guards of PC gaming but now that it's a mainstream hobby has to refuses to confront that he's hot garbage at them.  Can't really parse everything that's happening onscreen in a fast-paced game like overwatch, so he just picks Torb (regardless of map or attacking/defending status) and uses the turret as a security blanket.  Godawful turret placement.  Still has a good time somehow.

Cinder - Main Tank.  Likes the importance of the role, and especially the way her team has to follow her calls for any chance of success.  A nice balance of aggression and craftiness, she makes a fearsome opponent.  Callouts could be more frequent/detailed, but her directions are always good when given.  Very susceptible to emotional ups and downs, and often takes out frustration on teammates.  Takes losses very hard, gloats about wins.  Happiest with an Ana pocket.

Emerald - Offtank.  Would be much happier on DPS or Support, but desperate to show off and live up to Cinder's expectations.  Sticks with her main tank except when it's absolutely necessary to peel for the back line.  Tends to be overcautious with ults; she's good enough mechanically to earn them relatively quickly, but fear of whiffing one makes her reticent to spend them.  Flawless bubble timing on Zarya.

Mercury - Support.  Still considers Symmetra a support.  Quick to whip out the blaster and try to fight off flankers instead of calling for assistance.  Knows all the angles for a narsty biotic grenade.  Plays as though he's got better positioning and backup than he does; frequently gets opponents to back off just by winning the mental game.  Will let allies die on ladder if they piss him off.

[ibitchytimemachine]

VBO Mini Bang Round-Up

I know that I had mini reviews of the art for the @vegebulocracy Big Bang this past winter, but there are SO MANY stories and pieces of artwork for the mini that I just can’t (minus one). What I will say is that the talent and artwork that was presented in this event was just amazing, and I am not sure I could pick a favorite nearly as easily as I did for the Big Bang! One thing that did bother me with SEVERAL of the stories, it the fact that they are broken into multiple parts. Not so much that they are broken up, but the fact that they are broken up in a way that doesn’t have a satisfying close to one part of the story. If you are gonna write for an event like this I think it is SUPER important to bring your story to some sort of conclusion, even if you don’t finish the story, just so people feel satisfied at the end. That is really one of my biggest criticisms of several of the works here. So with that out of the way,  lets jump into the stories! There are probably spoilers below, so beware! (I’ll try to keep them light)

Dive

@rockykelboa

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 13,448

This is a fun little one shot written as though you are watching a movie. I really got a tarantino-esque feel reading this story. The dialogue had that irreverent dark humor feel to it. Nothing was sacred and everything a joke. I really love the way characters interact with each other. The smutty sex scene is steamy and goddamn Bulma is bad…. Also something about the thought of Raditz listening in on them does things to me. I love the twist, and she sets it up so nicely in the story. If you are not thinking about the end game, you probably won’t even see it coming, but little things Bulma does and says throughout the story really set up the twist ending nicely. I feel like the delivery is a bit forced and feels a little out of place. But overall the story is very well written and I am honestly not sure I can give any reasons for anyone to not read it.

Blinded

@scarletraven1001

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 14,765

What happens when blind dates go wrong, and then oh-so right? And then maybe wrong again? This story is funny, sweet, and over all a wild ride. I have said it probably a million times, but I will say it again, I love how she incorporates nods to canon into her fics. And there are so many “easter eggs” in this story. I like how it doesn’t take itself seriously. It’s a dry humor but completely not dark. And Damn does this fic feel like the slowest burn ever. The whole first four chapters happen in one night but never have I needed them to get to the point more than reading this story. She builds the tension in the date night really nicely. Then you get the raging of the end of chapter 4. I know when I read it all I wanted to do was slam my fists against the keyboard. Another A+ story definitely worth your time reading.

Life at the Edge of a Blade

@bearstarseraphffxi

Rating: General Audiences

Word Count: 20,459

Reading this was like reading the weirdest filler episode ever. The plot is odd but shockingly believable in the DragonBall Verse. I mean if they had episodes dedicated to baseball between universes, I am sure they would get Vegeta figure skating in direct competition with Yamcha. Bear’s characterizations were done quite well. I really can’t think of a character that the author didn’t peg. There were some funny moments too, I remember at least once laughing out loud. There is some fluff between V/B but no romance really. It is a very dry piece, and a lot of the writing feels very technical, but if you like really canon characterizations and if you are interested in reading a piece that could really be a several episode filler for the three year gap, you may enjoy this one.

Within

Blacksheep115

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 11,020

Gosh, what an interesting story! In general I am in love with the interesting ideas blacksheep has in her stories. This is a story that could very well fit in the canon, it occurs during the three year gap and it really doesn’t follow a story about them as a couple, although there are some QUITE STEAMY moments in it (but no sex).Speaking of...I love the idea of Vegeta using his sexual energy against Bulma. You read so many fics of Bulma going after Vegeta and really amping up the sex appeal to get him to do things, but the idea of him pouring water all over himself ‘cause he knows she is watching him and later pinning her and using her attraction for him against her… just A+ and so in character for him. I don’t wanna give away the twist ending cause GODDAMN it is so good and unexpected… and just wow.. You really gotta read it.

#badman

@1vulgarwoman

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 17,319

So I love everything I have ever read from 1vulgarwoman, she writes such fun pieces and I came into this one with images of Heavy Lifting and Fundamentals of Chemistry in mind. I loved the way the plot and the romantic subplot were equally interesting. The world was rich and vibrant, humor was on point. The handling of character relationships and interactions in this fic were done fantastically well. And then the smut scenes. I think anyone who has ever read any of her fics know that when it’s time for the smut, you need to prepare yo’ body cause its about to get real. She does not disappoint, with a STEAMY sexting/Facetime scene and then the last half of the last chapter is just splooshworthy. I will say that talking only about the smut really downplays the greatness of the rest of this fic though, and I would 1,000 percent recc this to anyone.

Z-Men

Super_Saiyanerd

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 8,290

I have some pretty big issues with this piece. As my faithful readers are probably aware, I really have a hard time with crossovers, because so often it is two things I love mashed together, and the spark that makes the things great is lost. That is one of the problems with this piece. It didn’t feel like either a Dragon Ball AU or an X-Men AU. But the biggest issue I have with this piece is scope and flow. This author is trying to tackle too much in the time and word limit provided. We are working on a love story between Vegeta and Bulma, but also the whole of the Dark Phoenix saga. It’s just too broad and because of that the flow is off. There are huge time jumps that don’t make sense, and while I get that we are seeing little vignettes of the story, it is confusing. I would have liked to nix the Phoenix storyline and go with OC X-Men, that are based off of the traits of the Dragon Ball characters. Bulma would make a great Beast for example. But then explore the characters relationships through a much simpler plot than anything Phoenix related.

War Thunder

@jonahwhalesw1

Rating: Explicit

Word Count:24,994

So this is a WWII all human AU. There are some really nice things going on set up for the plot, however it just never kicks in. We are 25,000 words into the story and most of the writing has been about sexual tension between Bulma and Vegeta. Now don’t get me wrong, I like a build up of sexual tension, it really makes the pay off of when they finally kiss or fuck or whatever they are gonna do so much better. I wish that maybe BSV had slowed down the romantic plot of this fic a bit and interspersed more of the other parts of the plot. Or maybe written some interactions that built up their attraction in a nonsexual way. It feels very Porn without Plot to me right now, and it is because the romantic plot is so in your face. I really want to know more about what the war is doing to the community. What kinds of changes in our history does having the Colds on planet and fighting with Nazis? Is there gonna be an extermination of Saiyans? I feel like with some of those war time plot bunnies thrown into the mix the story would feel more vibrant and alive, cause right now it is PWP, but also without porn at this point in the story. It was a fun read, it just left me wanting more.

Elusion

@piccoloisgreen

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 19,550

So, I fucking loved this story. It shared shocking similarities to some of the ideas and themes in my story, which I loved reading about. I love the Bulma in captivity trope apparently. I really dont want to give too much away, but I love the beginning of the fic, this idea that they are instantly attracted to each other and there is no real dancing around the subject and they are just diving right into it is nice. I am not sure if it is because of the word count restrictions, or time limit or what, but I felt like the jump from the escape to the first death was a shocking break. I would have liked to see more of what was happening during those lost years. I appreciate the surprise of the killer, and their abilities, and I feel like it wrapped up nicely, but the beginning of the last chapter felt so rushed and leaves me wanting more information about thought processes and feelings. Overall, a fantastic fic, and worth your time to read.

Healing

@starrcrossrose

Rating: Mature

Word Count:

So when I first read this fic I was amazed at how well Starcross emoted. So many of the paragraphs just felt like being right inside Vegeta’s head as he was descending in this spiral of self loathing. The formatting choices were a nice touch, to show how he is quarreling within himself. I like the idea also of Bulma NOT being so happy go lucky and needing this kind of comfort. She is for all intents and purposes in canon alone so much. Yamcha comes around sure, but her friends are really never around. So she is alone a lot and life gets sad when you are alone. I think she caught this feeling and nuance really well. I really enjoy this story, it follows the timeline of canon pretty well, so if you aren’t super into AUs this is a good choice for you. It is pretty angsty, and with a title like Healing, you probably think it will have a happy ending, but if you think this has a happy ending, you haven’t been paying attention.

A Mermaid’s Tale

DBZVB1991

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 15,740

This is a Book One situation here. And the entirety of this submission is just setting up the intrigue of the story. I had mentioned in the Big Bang that it makes me nervous when I see crossovers between two things I love because so often it is just a mish mash of the flavors of two worlds that don’t go together. I do think that DBZVB1991 worked hard on worldbuilding a believable crossover world between the two. It is way more Dragon Ball than Little Mermaid and I am OK with that honestly.  For most of the fic they follow The Little Mermaid storyline  pretty closely. There are one or two plot bunnies that are different than TLM, but mostly it follows the plot pretty closely. I like where I think it may be going, but really it is so hard to review this properly because the story just hasn’t even really started yet. This is a story that is worth a read, but feels unsatisfying mostly because of how unfinished it is at the moment.

Beatae Memoriae

@ambrosiaswhispers

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 15, 724

This is absolutely an amazing fic. The story follows Vegeta through losing his memory, and it just freaking brings the feels. Tashana really knows how to craft an emotionally charged story, and she brings bits of the canon back in a very organic way that doesn’t drag the piece down. There is a squidgeta cameo in the piece, so if you are into my wiggly boi, you are in luck! The pacing of this story is on point, she nails both sweet family man Vegeta AND feral angry Vegeta perfectly. I wanted more of the interactions of Gohan and Goten with Bra, but dammit I am so glad she didn’t give it to me, cause I feel like it would have damaged the pacing. This story was crafted so beautifully, and it is one that gives you this little insight into their lives and leaves you wanting more - but doesn’t drag on so you get tired of reading. Fantastically done, you really should go read it cause it is amazing.

Captive

@janxangel

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 24,979

SO one thing that I noticed while reading this fic is how BAD ASS the women are in the story. Like good grief, Chi Chi and Launch were just KILLER (Bulma too, but we are used to seeing her be cool)I like that this is a story with no romantic plotline. Like they are working together not because they wanna bone, but because it is the most strategic thing to do. And Janx writes strategy really well. I felt like the fight scenes drug on a little long, and I would have liked them to be shorter and interlaced with more emotion, instead of blow by blow. Plus I think with the word limitations they could have gotten more bang for their buck with some better wrap up. I wish that things had turned out a little differently, the events on Namek were so similar to canon, and I wonder what could have happened differently than canon with this AU. Overall a fun and easy read, if not a little dry - definitely something that I would recommend to someone who is not interested in a romantic plotline.

Revel (In Our Time)

@jadefyre

Rating: Explicit

Word Count:19,979

Ok so this has a full story arc and whoa buddy is it a doozy. Its intriguing, cause there is this wonderful mishmash of all these fantastic post-apocalyptic cyber-punky worlds and it just works really really well together. From the Big Brother aspect of 1984 to the Ghost in the Machine philosophy that spawned so much, it captures that feel of the grey maddening world. I loved and hated the first chapter, cause I thought the whole story would be written this way (which would make a really cool story BTW, just really hard to follow cause you have to really pay attention). I love the world, I love the plot and intrigue and how DARK it is, I love the mini romance, but I REALLY love the twist. I mean you kinda see it coming, but hope it doesn’t happen, but it is perfect cause it closes the story well, and then leaves you NEEDING the next part of the series. Really fantastic job, yall should read this one definitely.

Legends

LeonaHart

Rating:mature

Word Count: 6,172

When the outlines were dropped this was one that i was dying to read. I am super intrigued by this idea of the Saiyan creation myth. I am curious how the Vegeta destruction God and Bulma creation Goddess could come around later as some sort of destined lovers trope. I really liked the nods to cannon (omg buu being the God of Destructions bubblegum is awesome) i wish it was finished, so i have a hard time really commenting much more on it, but i definitely hope it gets finished cause it has such an interesting premise. I also have to say that while I like the story, the writing feels very proper and antiquated. Now it may very well be that this is a style choice because of the story, but I struggled with it a little. 

The Dark Prince

EmbarrassedButKinky (I tried to @superbandanna but Tumblr sucks)

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 18,241

The very first chapter of Dark Prince had me so nostalgic for Obsidian. The demon pact to save the company(world), the ability for Bulma to be taken care of “magically”. Then it splintered into this interesting mix of like… underworld mafia hitmen meets Death Note. I think that EBK is on point with all her references, something she does really well in her fics. I know a lot of people really liked this fic, but it just fell flat for me. Don’t get me wrong, it had some wonderful moments, and wonderfully smutty! It just felt so rushed. It was too insta-love for me, and I wished the development of the Ray betrayal scene, subsequent rescue and the aftermath all could have been developed and drawn out more. I liked this story, but coming from the writer of Stages of a Claim (my absolute favorite of hers, fight me) I just expected this to be a little more developed and polished.

Aspara, Queen of Sadala

@lisac1965-blog

Rating: Mature

Word Count:15,922

I liked this one. It is based off the book of Esther and I wish she would have adapted the story a little more to fit the characters better. Bulma seemed out of character a bit and I imagine her relying more on her own brains and technology to bring people through rough times than a God. I do think this book of the Bible works well as a VegeBul adaptation though, and except for a few things I really think lisa did a good job with it. The flow was mostly really good, I feel like she was battling word count, or maybe time limits cause some things felt so rushed. While I understand she is remaining faithful to the source, I wish some more creative liberties were taken. For example, I would either omit the Zarbon/Dodoria plot line and focus on Ray being the big baddie, he seems to just come out of nowhere as the bad guy and I wish there had been more foreshadowing of him being a douche than just “There are a lot of Saiyans who want to exterminate humans” The story however was very fun to read. Descriptors were vivid and made the world feel more real. The relationship felt forced, but honest - true, cause hell it was forced. The Epilogue of sorts was nice cause you got to see how their relationship developed and grew. Overall a quick, simple read that was fun!

Sanguinary

@ibitchytimemachine

Rating:Explicit

Word Count: 21,309

So this is my piece for the Mini Bang, and since I am biased, I will just tell you a little about the piece. It was inspired by RPG’s like Dungeons and Dragons (and you nerds out there may catch some of the DnD easter eggs I put in there) and epic fantasy. My main thought was, what if Bulma and Vegeta’s roles were completely reversed? So we tell the story of their lives with the idea that Bulma was in the PTO for years, while Vegeta has been living peacefully on his home planet. Not everything is OK on Vegeta-sei though, so trouble is brewing. As with a role reversal story, this is told through the eyes of the opposite person, AKA Vegeta. This is the first part in a trilogy that I have named Surgere et Cadere, and the next installment will be called Imperium. This first part follows us through the story of Vegeta and Bulma’s meeting, and the consequences of her being on Vegeta-sei. I really hope you enjoy my submission!

So I know that I had a top three for the Big Bang, but there are SO MANY fics for the Mini, I am gonna do a top five!! It was really hard to pick these, cause there are some really fantastic stories for this event!! In no particular order, the pieces that I think are the best 5 are:  Beatae Memoriae, by @ambrosiaswhispers, Elusion by @piccoloisgreen,  Revel (In Our Time) by @jadefyre, #badman by @1vulgarwoman and Sanguinary by ME ;P! 

[papi-chulo-arthur]

Dutch Van Der Linde | Relationship Alphabet

A = Activity (What’s their favourite activity to do with you?)

Dutch, being the bookworm that he is, loves to spend the rare evening, when everything in camp is stable, having you pressed against his chest as he reads chapters of his favourite novels to you. He loves how you laugh when he creates a new tone for each character and places kisses to the back of your neck when he finds a chapter awfully boring. Reading to you relaxes him.

B = Beginnings (How do they act in the beginning of the relationship?)

Dutch is a highly confident man, that has a suave personality and a way with words. So, when he’s first courting you, he turns on his charm and uses it to find out more about you. He loves to make you blush at the beginning of your relationship, to push boundaries so that you feel more comfortable around him and his lifestyle. Dutch isn’t one to take things slow, so he makes sure you can keep up with his pace.

C = Communication (How do they communication with their S/O)

Dutch isn’t the best communicator when it’s come to relationships. This is partly because of the stress that comes with leading a gang of outlaws, and partly because he doesn’t how women operate all that well. On the rare occasion, he will listen to what you have to say, but when it’s his turn to formulate an opinion or a reply, expect brutality and a twisted truth.

D = Drunk (What they’re like when they’re drunk)

Depending on Dutch’s mood when he first starts drinking, determines the outcome of how he is when he’s drunk. He’s been known to be the life of the party, making his way around camp to have a laugh with everyone and take you happily back to his tent at the end of the night. However, if’s he drinking to drown his sorrows, expect an ugly man that doesn’t care who he puts down.

E = Emergency (How are they in emergency situations?)

Dutch always takes a logical approach to emergency situations. He knows how to keep a clear head and how to keep others around him calm so that he best outcome (well mostly, the best outcomes) plays out. However, if it’s you that the emergency is centred around, his brain switches off and he doesn’t know how to deal with it. It’s in this moment that Dutch realises how much you actually mean to him, so he’s shouting at everyone to help you, just hoping that you’ll come out of it okay.

F = Free spot (Any canon I come up with)

Dutch wishes he could love you harder, but he’s never been able to love anyone as much as he loved Annabelle. Maybe it’s because he’s scared to lose you too.

G = Gifts (What kind of gifts do they give? What kind of gifts do they receive?)

Dutch isn’t one for giving gifts, as he feels that he’s given the entire camp a safe place to stay. Although, he does claim that his words of wisdom are a gift from him to you, but even you know that’s bullshit. If Dutch does give a gift, it’s usually something materialistic, with little meaning behind it, like the pearl necklace and silver ring he bought you at the beginning of your relationship. As for receiving gifts? Dutch really isn’t into it. He finds joys in other things.

H = Hugs (How do they show affection/cuddle?)

Dutch is the kind of guy to only show affection in private. He isn’t into PDA, and you’re lucky to get him to hold you hand. Although, if you are in the city together, he does enjoy having you arm linked around his as he shows you off to the world. When you’re in your tent together is when he softens. Dutch is the kind to lay back and have you rest your rest on his chest. You enjoy listening to his heart beat and he loves when your fingers draw tiny patterns on his chest.

I = Irritation (What is something that irritates them? How do they show they irritation?)

When is this guy not irritated? I know that he seems happy, but he has a lot to deal with. Being kind isn’t easy, especially when you’re the leader of a bunch of rebellious degenerates. You could say that life itself irritates him something. Usually, Dutch expresses his annoyance through little outburst that are usually directed at you. He knows that you’re committed to him and that it won’t be hard apologising to you later.

J = Jackpot (If they come into a large sum of money, how do they spend it?)

Cigars. Tailored clothes. Shiny new shoes. I really don’t think Dutch would spend the money any other way. He’d probably donate some to camp, but he’s going to ride in a $2000 horse before putting his name in the ledger.

K = Kryptonite (What is the ultimate weakness?)

Dutch LOVES to have his shoulders rubbed. He especially loves to have them rubbed by you. If you offer him a massage, he’ll stop whatever he’s doing and be at your mercy.

L = Laughter (What makes them laugh?)

Dutch is a rather serious guy, but he still has a pretty good sense of humour. More than that, he has a wicked sense of humour. He’ll kill a bunch of O’Driscoll’s and laugh after it instead of feeling guilt or sorrow.

M = Morning (How do they wake up in the morning?)

Do not talk to Dutch before he’s had a cup of coffee. Although Dutch is usually awake before the rest of the camp, it isn’t with a hard slog on your behalf. It’s you who wakes the king up each morning and he likes to be woken up to lips on bare chest and his fingers netted in your hair.

N = Needy (When do they feel particularly needy? Do the show it?)

Dutch isn’t a needy man in the way that he needs to be around you all the time. Dutch is independent and is fine with not seeing or talking to you for a rather long while. Although, this man does have needs. He likes to have his dick sucked is all I’m saying.

O = Oasis (What is their happy place? Where would they go if they didn’t have anything holding them back?)

Dutch loves sitting by the river reading a book. He’s at his happiest when he is undisturbed and can freely ponder his thoughts without interruption from people. Although, he does make an exception for you to come with him and sit, back against his chest as he reads to you.

P = Pain (How do they handle pain? How do they handle you being in pain?)

Dutch doesn’t have as high a pain tolerance as someone like Arthur, but he can take his fair share. Dutch knows how to take a punch and has been taking them all his life. If Dutch is in pain, it tends to turn into anger with whoever is around him. Although, if it’s an enemy that’s made him bleed, they won’t leave his sight alive. When it comes to your pain Dutch isn’t as attentive as he should be, more times more concerned about the camp than how you’re feeling. Something like period pain doesn’t mean much to him, but if you’ve been seriously injured or your soul is aching, he’ll be right by your side.

Q = Quote (What’s a quote that fits them and your relationship?)

“What you will allow is what will continue.”

R = Reunion (How do they celebrate seeing you after a long time of being apart?)

“Come, share a drink with me, my love as we swap stories of out endeavours.” Dutch is a mans man, but he longs for a womanly touch when it’s been out for reach for a long time. He’ll sling an arm around your shoulders, pull you tight into his body and kiss your temple before whispering hot in your ear. Dutch only likes a short drink to catch up before your tent flaps are shut and your flaps are… open.

S = Stress (What stresses them out? How do they deal with stress?)

Dutch is always a little stressed, and who can blame him? It isn’t easy work keeping track of everyone in camp. But Dutch deals with stress well. He uses it to motive him to get his work done and keep the people around him safe. Sometimes, when it’s all getting a little too much, he’ll sit down by the fire with you and hold you hand as he explains his thoughts and feelings, more often times trying to have them make sense to himself, more so than to you.

T = Terror (What are they afraid of?)

Dutch is afraid of losing his position of power. He knows that he’s getting older, that Winters are getting colder, and that there are plenty of young and capable men who could lead just as well as he. However, Dutch has a silver tongue and for the most part, that keeps people on his side and him as their leader.

U = Unique (What is a quirk that is unique to them?)

Dutch’s silver tongue. He could make a polar bear buy ice.

V = Violence (Do they fight a lot? Are they a good fighter? What is their fighting style?)

Dutch is always fighting. He’s fighting to stay alive and to stay free. He’s a tough guy and his many encounters with enemies and the law have shaped him to not only have excellent physical fighting skills, but to be strong mentally. Dutch likes to strategize before he fights people. He doesn’t ever go in blind because he knows that you don’t win by being reckless.

W = Wow (What do you do that really surprises them?)

Dutch was pleasantly surprised when you booked him a bath in town and helped him bathe. Being the leader of the gang, he constantly gives to people, so this small gesture kept him happy for a long while. This man lets out little grunts when his hair is washed for him, but they’re not quite as loud as the grunts he gives when you wash a certain body part…

X = Explicit

Honestly, Dutch loves nothing more than seeing you on your knees, gagging on his dick. The man loves a standing blow job with his fingers tangled in your hair, his hips ready to move if he wants to speed up the process. Oh, and he likes it when you swallow.

Y = Yucky (Is there something that grosses them out so badly they can’t handle it?)

Look, this might not go down that well, but Dutch doesn’t respect women, nor their bodily functions. He is not going to be around for your period or child birth.

Z = ZZZ’s (What are their sleeping habits?)

Dutch is a back sleeper. He more times awake during the night than asleep, so if he can have your head resting on his chest, with his fingers combing through your hair then that’s good enough for him.