#if my future children aren’t like this i will give them away to charity | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

robininthelabyrinth · 3 years ago

Note

JC adopts stray/rouge cultivators after the war au to cope with the destruction of lotus pier. also i love your writing so much!!

Gratuitously Acquired - ao3

At first, he took anyone who would join, needing numbers – needing people. There were plenty of cultivators that wanted to be associated with a great sect. Plenty, too, that were barely more than criminals, wanting to use the smoke and ash of war to obscure the past, to cover up old crimes and wash themselves clean.

Jiang Cheng wasn’t in any position to refuse them. Soldiers were soldiers.

After the war ended, though…

Some he cast out. Others, even more despicable, he slaughtered for what they’d done.

A few –

“Yan Qiao.”

The female cultivator in question, who had been sneaking out of the still mostly ruined Lotus Pier at night in flagrant violation of curfew, froze in her tracks.

“Uh,” she said. “Sect Leader Jiang. Fancy finding you…here…now…at this time…”

Jiang Cheng looked at the basket of buns in her hands. “You’re stealing leftovers from our kitchens to feed orphans among the common people,” he said. “Again.”

She blushed. “No one wants them now that there’s better available, Sect Leader! Really, they’ll only go stale, and then rot – and I never stole when it was the army eating them!”

“That’s not the point,” Jiang Cheng said irritably. “Tell me, how in the name of heavens did you really get branded as a criminal? Distributed too many alms? Did too much charity?”

Yan Qiao coughed, turning red. “I told you before, Sect Leader. I killed a man.”

“He must have done something particularly heinous, then. You’re shitat killing.”

“Now I am. Sect Leader, if you don’t mind…”

“You’re one of the ones who wants my surname, right?” he interrupted. “Consider it granted.”

Yan Qiao – no, he supposed he’d better start thinking of her as Jiang Qiao – gaped at him. “But…Sect Leader!”

“I’ve barely granted it to anyone, so you’d better live up to it, you hear me?” Jiang Cheng said in his best threatening voice. He’d been assured by several people that it was really quite threatening, anyway. “I don’t want any excuses. Now go feed your damn orphans, and in the morning I want a report on how you think we can do it in a more structured manner. I can’t have you sneaking off every night anymore! Now that you’re a Jiang, you’re going to have work.”

When they were done with war and started firmly on rebuilding, the Jiang sect’s name was firmly reestablished as a Great Sect once more, it was the opportunists that came.

Smiling faces, sycophantic voices, cowards one and all – like beetles crawling out of the woodwork, not willing to risk their lives, but willing enough to beg for scraps and advantages later on when it seemed safe enough to do so.

Jiang Cheng wanted to chase them all away, but his sect was still weaker than he wanted to admit, still rebuilding, still more army than civilian operation. They had valiant soldiers by the dozen, but they needed more than that. They needed administrators, supervisors, artisans, smiths, merchants, laundry-women…

They needed workers. The ones they got – well, cowards they might be, but skills they had.

He still rejected most of the worst of them.

Most.

“Bo Zhou,” he said, inspecting the surprisingly flush list of taxes they’d collected that quarter, and the man in question turned to grin unrepentantly at him. “You’d tell me if you were a con artist in a previous life, right?”

“A previous life, Sect Leader?” Bo Zhou said. He was still grinning, but then, he was always grinning. He had a crooked leg and an even more crooked heart, and he’d probably steal candy from little children if he happened to have a hankering, but he was amazing at getting people to do what he wanted. Too amazing, really. “Why limit yourself? What about thislife?”

“…Bo Zhou. Tell me you aren’t a former con artist.”

“I may or may not have had a sideline selling snake oil and protective talismans before I became a cultivator,” Bo Zhou admitted cheerfully, and Jiang Cheng pinched the bridge of his nose – less out of actual irritation and more to keep from actually laughing. The only person he knew that was more shameless than Bo Zhou was Wei Wuxian; he couldn’t wait to introduce them once Wei Wuxian stopped skulking around in wine shops long enough to get back to doing his job as Jiang Cheng’s head disciple and right hand. “Who would’ve known that making all those fake talismans ended up making me pretty good at making actual talismans when I became a cultivator? Really, who could have called that?”

Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes. “Who taught you how to cultivate, anyway? Can I – I don’t know – seek vengeance on behalf of the rest of the world or something?”

Bo Zhou rolled his eyes right back at him. Shameless! “Is this about the taxes? Just be happy I got them all!”

“I can’t just be happy! What if this money is stolen property?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Sect Leader. They’re what we shouldbe getting, and from all the right people. You told me this was the right amount yourself!”

“Yes, but no one ever actually pays the full amount!” Jiang Cheng enjoyed the way Bo Zhou’s jaw dropped. “I just wanted to see if you could actually do it.”

“I’m hurt at your lack of trust.” Bo Zhou paused, considering. “Also a little impressed at you for keeping a straight enough face to trick me. Well done, Sect Leader.”

“Yeah,” Jiang Cheng said. “You too, Jiang Zhou.”

“It’s Bo…” He trailed off, comprehension arriving and speech departing, and this time he didn’t have a quick retort. He’d been nagging Jiang Cheng on and off for the Jiang surname for the last few weeks, more joking than anything else – he knew that Jiang Cheng hadn’t given his surname to the vast majority of the new people in his sect, only the very few he thought were worth it.

Jiang Cheng enjoyed the newly dubbed Jiang Zhou’s moment of speechlessness thoroughly, since he was moderately sure he wasn’t going to get another one anytime in the next – ever, possibly.

“You proved your worth and your trustworthiness,” he said, patting Jiang Zhou on the shoulder. It occurred to him that he should probably come up with a courtesy name for the man, although he wasn’t sure the man would want one. “Also, congratulations, you’re now the person in charge of tax collection. See if you can think up some new thoughts about supplementing our income, will you? We have so many costs, and I don’t want to rely on Lanling Jin more than I can help it, not like Gusu Lan…”

“Oh, really?” Jiang Zhou interrupted, abruptly excited. “I have so many ideas! How ethical do you want to be about this?”

Jiang Cheng paused. “…very?”

“Be reasonable, Sect Leader!”

“…moderately?” he tried, a little more desperately.

“I can work with moderately. I don’t suppose you’d accept ‘thin and barely plausible veneer’?”

“No.”

“Oh well. Moderately ethical it is!”

Most of the Jiang sect was slaughtered during the attack on the Lotus Pier. Disciples Jiang Cheng had grown up with his whole life, had expected to see by his side in the future, his friends, his family, even his petty childhood enemies – all gone.

Well, not all gone. There were some Jiang disciples that had been away from Lotus Pier at the time, whether on some errand or a night-hunt or other reasons; they rushed back to his side as soon as they could, of course, and formed the core of Jiang Cheng’s new Jiang sect. When he’d felt utterly alone, when even Wei Wuxian was missing, they had been there for him. They’d preserved their lives and then they’d promised them to him, and it wasn’t until they knelt before him that he really felt like a Sect Leader.

There was no way he could give any of them up now.

“Jiang Meimei, you can’t go,” he said, having completely abandoned all shame in favor of clutching at her robes as if he were a child. “I need you!”

“I’m not even a proper Jiang disciple!” she exclaimed, exasperated – or possibly just annoyed that her grand plan to sneak out in the middle of the night had been stymied by his ambush. “Just because my surname is still Jiang doesn’t mean I didn’t get kicked out, remember?”

“I thought you just left,” Jiang Cheng said, temporarily distracted. “No one ever really talked much about it, actually, but to the extent anyone did, they said that you’d decided that your inclinations were more suited to being a rogue cultivator. That you didn’t want to be weighed down by sect expectations –”

“Hah!” Jiang Meimei tossed her head. “As if it wouldn’t be better to be a roving sect cultivator than a rogue cultivator! I won’t deny that I had a fair bit of wanderlust in my youth –”

“You’re only ten years older than me, you’re not that old.”

“Shut up, brat.”

“You can’t tell me to shut up, I’m your sect leader.”

“You’re my baby cousin is what you are, and, again, I’m actually not part of the Jiang sect!”

“That’s ridiculous,” Jiang Cheng argued. “You’ve been at my side during the entire Sunshot Campaign.”

“I wasn’t going to let my baby cousin get himself murdered, now was I?” Jiang Meimei sniffed. “But I’m still a rogue cultivator. They kicked me out when I wouldn’t accept a marriage, and I’m still firm on that.”

Jiang Cheng blinked. “Wait, you don’t want to be married? Really?” he asked, concerned. “But what about poor Liu Lingling? You shouldn’t be sleeping with her if you don’t intend to be serious about it! I’m pretty sure she’s just waiting for the current project you’re working on to finish to find a matchmaker to exchange birth characters –”

“They wanted me to marry a man,” Jiang Meimei clarified, but her habitual frown had eased considerably; she looked almost on the verge of a smile. “A-Cheng, you’re being dense again. You’re the Sect Leader of a Great Sect now. You know that that means you need to have alliances, marriage contacts with other sects, and that means using your subsidiary branches.”

“Jiang Meimei, you’re the one being dense,” Jiang Cheng said. “You think I’d force you into a marriage? I don’t have subsidiary branches. I barely have a sect, even after all this time. I’m not Wen Ruohan, handing out my surname to anyone who wants it – I only give it to the ones that matter, the ones I want to keep, and those of you that actually share my blood are even rarer, even more precious. How could I give you away?”

Jiang Meimei pursed her lips.

“I really do need you,” Jiang Cheng said quietly. “You weren’t part of the Jiang sect at all, not really, but you still came to help me – you were there from the beginning of the Sunshot Campaign, and you’ve never strayed, never left. You’re my right hand. I can’t do without you.”

Jiang Meimei turned her head away. “It’s not that I want to leave you,” she said. “But becoming a rogue cultivator was hard enough the first time. I couldn’t rely on any of the things that I had always had, everything always changing. I was young and angry then, I could handle it, but things are different now. I’m less flexible, less compromising, older, more tired – I can’t just walk out on a whim and just rough it anymore. I have a girl who, yes, I want to eventually marry; I want to have children. I need certainty. Are you going to give it to me?”

Jiang Cheng looked down at his hands. He’d known it was going to have to come to this, but he’d been dragging his feet, not wanting to succumb to a reality that already existed. Had existed for longer than he wanted to admit, as if simply denying it would mean that it wasn’t the truth.

Like a child.

“Yes,” he said, though it tore his heart out of his chest to do it. “I will. Jiang Meimei…will you take the position of Head Disciple?”

Wei Wuxian wasn’t coming back. Jiang Cheng had already cast him out of the sect, just like Jiang Meimei had been, except in Wei Wuxian’s case it had been something that Wei Wuxian himself had demanded. He was living in Yiling now, and by all reports was quite happy there with his little Wen sect family that he’d picked over Jiang Cheng and all his family.

He was never coming back.

It was time to move on.

“Yes,” she said, and shoved her pack into his chest. “Now go unpack that for me. Consider it payment for driving me to extreme measures!”

“I’m your sect leader, you know,” he grumbled. “Officially, now. You could show me some respect.”

“Would you rather pay for my wedding down the line?”

“I’m going, I’m going!” And then, as he scurried over away, he shouted over his shoulder: “As if I wouldn’t be paying for it anyway! You think my Head Disciple’s going to be married in anything other than top style? Better start planning…”

“Don’t rush me! Brat!”

Jin Ling wasn’t surnamed Jiang, but he was the most important person in all of the Lotus Pier – and Jiang Cheng wanted to make sure everyone knew it. It hadn’t been easy for him to get the chance to help care for Jin Ling, especially here, so far away from home; Jiang Cheng had expected to barely be allowed to visit, to have to cool his heels outside of Lanling City begging just for a glimpse of him. Being able to take him home to raise for half the year, even if it was due to the dangerous infighting amongst Lanling Jin, was more than he’d ever dreamed.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t clear that Jin Ling himself agreed.

“He’s still crying,” Jiang Cheng muttered, rubbing his eyes. “Surely he’s got to stop sometime? I mean, just – physically?”

“They say a boy resembles his mother’s brother,” Jiang Meimei said, echoing the gesture. “If he’s got your lungs and stamina, Sect Leader, we’re doomed.”

“I’m rethinking the whole having children thing,” Liu Lingling said blearily, having fallen asleep on her soon-to-be wife’s shoulder several times, only to be woken up by the next round of crying. “I need sleep.”

“Go get some, both of you,” Jiang Cheng ordered. When his cousin scowled at him, he scowled back. “I’m serious. If he keeps this up, we’re going to need to go into shifts. I can last a bit longer.”

“That’s a filthy lie.”

“It is not. Your sect leader has given you an order – get to it!”

It was a filthy lie.

Jiang Cheng opened his eyes when the crink in his neck grew too irritating to ignore, at which point he realized he’d been asleep – and, more importantly, that Jin Ling was somehow not crying.

He sat up with a start, suddenly terrified: had something happened to him? Had he been silenced forever? Had Jiang Cheng failed this one last duty he had to his sister?

“Shhh, little one,” someone was whispering, not far away. “Let me tell you the one about the Weaver Girl and the Cowherd, yeah? You seem like someone who’d appreciate stars. It all started –”

Jiang Cheng went to go look.

A teenage girl was rocking Jin Ling in her arms and telling him a story in murmured tones, and Jin Ling was yawning and trying to gnaw on her shirt. She wasn’t even a cultivator, as far as Jiang Cheng could tell. Her clothing suggested some level of poverty, her accent the countryside – how’d she even end up here?

He wasn’t sure he cared.

Jiang Cheng didn’t want to disturb her, but he did anyway; a shift of his weight, a scuffling of his feet, and the floor creaked. The girl jumped, startled, but luckily Jin Ling was already most of the way asleep and just grumbled a little instead of starting to screech.

“How’d you do that?” Jiang Cheng asked, nodding at Jin Ling. “Make him stop crying.”

“My mother had seven kids after me,” the girl said, answering automatically. “And her sister had six. Someone had to learn to deal with all those babies, and it ended up being me. Think it’s just habit after this long.”

Jiang Cheng couldn’t handle one baby. He couldn’t even imagine.

That’s when the girl seemed to remember herself, and bit her lip. “Uh, sorry,” she said, hanging her head. “I heard him crying and I couldn’t resist...I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to be here. It was an accident.”

“How did you get here?” Jiang Cheng asked, because accidental or not, a security breach was still a security breach. “And who are you, anyway?”

“My name’s A-Hua. I’m here to work in the kitchens, just got hired this morning; the fourth cook is my uncle’s wife’s cousin, she got me a job, said it was a good place to start – I was trying to find my way out so I could go to the servant’s quarters to get some sleep, but then I got lost…”

More likely she’d decided it was better to try to stay somewhere indoors than go out in the pouring rain to try to find her way to the right set of quarters, Jiang Cheng thought to himself. “Give me your hand.”

“Uh. What?”

He ignored her stare, took her hand and felt her pulse. There was a little bit of natural talent there, though not much; she might, if she tried hard enough, become a cultivator, but she’d never be more than a servant.

Unless, of course, she did something unusual to impress someone.

“Forget the kitchens,” Jiang Cheng told her. “You’re hired on a provisional basis to keep an eye on Jin Ling.”

The girl nodded, eyes wide as saucers. “Can you – do that?”

Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes. “Yes, I can. What’s your surname? You can’t go around being called A-Hua, we have at least seven people that I know of that go by that name.”

The girl looked distressed.

She probably didn’t have a proper surname. Some people in the countryside didn’t.

But they really couldn’t go around shouting “A-Hua” every time Jin Ling was crying, which was basically all the time.

“Fine,” he said, giving in. “Do well, and I’ll consider letting you use mine. But only if you do well!”

Jiang Cheng was covered in mud thanks to a successful-but-at-what-cost night hunt and angry about it, stomping around the lotus pools on his way back to town, when he heard the familiar sounds of someone having a panic attack.

He slowed, involuntarily, and took a look: it was some teenager dressed in black, heaving miserably by a tree.

Jiang Meimei had once said that Jiang Cheng was a bit weak when it came to teenagers.

Jiang Cheng said that was nonsense.

Jiang Hua chimed in, quite loyally (if perhaps not with the best timing), and said he wasn’t.

Jiang Cheng yielded the argument at once to keep Jiang Meimei from laughing herself sick.

In view of that, he was better off ignoring the kid. After all, what was it to him that some kid was having a fit of anxiety right next the same old lotus pool that he used to have his own teenage fits of anxiety next to, under the shade of the same old tree that had sheltered him – one of the few places that remained untouched by the Wen sect’s aggression, one of the few places that was exactly the same?

Jiang Cheng groaned and walked over. “Okay, fine. What’s your problem?”

The kid looked up at him. He had dark circles under his eyes. “I think my heart’s about to explode.”

“That’s just the anxiety,” Jiang Cheng said, and sat down next to him. “What’s causing the anxiety? Don’t say that someone is better than you and your parents are disappointed in you.”

“What?” the kid blinked. “No, it’s not – it’s not that. I’m about to screw up the very first job I ever got.”

Jiang Cheng considered that. It was just different enough from his own issues that he didn’t suspect a plot, and yet close enough that he might actually be able to offer some expertise.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked reluctantly.

“Not to some mud-man,” the kid said, and – hey! It wasn’t that bad. He thought, anyway. Actually, it probably was that bad. “I just…I’m the only one left. I have to make something of myself!”

Jiang Cheng’s eye twitched. “What do you mean, you’re the only one left?”

The kid stuttered through his story. It wasn’t as bad as Jiang Cheng had initially feared, but it was still pretty bad – his small village had had bad harvests, and there had been starvation, a bad winter; the kid had been sent out to get help, but it had taken too long and he’d arrived back to find them all already gone. He’d been lost, but some traveling cultivator had agreed to take him on as a disciple provided he proved himself, had taught him all sorts of skills, cultivation and talisman-writing and music –

“Music?” Jiang Cheng asked. “Not the sword?”

“There was only the one,” the kid explained. “Obviously he kept it for himself.”

Jiang Cheng didn’t think much of that – surely this cultivator, whoever he ws, could have shared, just long enough to teach? – but he didn’t comment. It seemed fairly clear that the kid didn’t actually think very highly of his teacher, although he was very earnestly trying to be appropriately filial.

It was a little cute.

“…and I was supposed to wait here for someone when they came by here, some fancy rich person, and then get them to follow me, but it’s been ages and no one’s come by at all!” the kid wailed. “I’m such a screw up!”

“You don’t even know who you’re waiting for?” Jiang Cheng asked, and the kid shook his head. “How were you supposed to get them to follow you, then?”

The kid scratched his nose. “My master said that if I showed off some of my cultivation, they’d follow me right away.”

Jiang Cheng suppressed a smirk. “It must be very impressive cultivation, then.”

“…not really. I only know one trick,” the kid admitted. “But it’s not that hard, and it looks impressive – here, see, wait; give me a second, I just need to whistle –”

Zidian crackled to life on Jiang Cheng’s finger before the kid finished the first stanza.

“Stop that!” he cried out, leaping to his feet, and – startled – the kid stopped, blinking owlishly at him. “Is that what your master taught you?!”

“Yes?” the kid said. “Did I do it wrong?”

Jiang Cheng gnashed his teeth. “That’s demonic cultivation. Never do that, okay? Ever.”

“But then how am I supposed to get the fancy rich person to follow me, assuming he ever showed?”

Jiang Cheng’s eyes narrowed. If he hadn’t tripped over that branch and fallen into the mud – if he hadn’t taken an extra half-shichen to struggle out of the mire – if he’d walked by in all his usual finery, rich person that he was, and seen some kid practicing demonic cultivation…

He’d have given chase in a heartbeat.

More to the point, everyone knew he would. His reputation had been pretty much set in stone by this point.

“Let’s go find that master of yours,” he said. “Right now.”

Of course, that ended up leading Jiang Cheng straight into the bastard’s trap, which would have been a problem except that he’d taken the time to send someone to tell Jiang Qiao, who’d been waiting for him back in town, that he’d be a bit late and not to worry, just wait where she was.

She’d ignored his instructions and arrived just in time to knife the demonic cultivator – a human trafficker whose operations Jiang Cheng had shut down with extreme viciousness only a few months before – right in the belly, gutting him like a fish in a swift easy motion.

“I think I’m getting the hang of it again,” she said, smiling at the knife, and Jiang Cheng made a mental note to ask exactly how manymen she’d killed to get that criminal brand of hers, except the poor kid was sinking down to his knees with a horrified look and, shit, that horrible bastard, evil as he might have been, was probably the last person the kid had in this whole rotten world, wasn’t he?

“Does Jiang Hua still have those beginner manuals we dug up for her?” Jiang Cheng asked, and Jiang Qiao nodded. “Good. Tell her that starting today, Jiang Jianwen here’s her little brother. She’s been pining over raising someone ever since Jin Ling got to be too old to snuggle.”

The kid looked up with wide eyes.

“No, you don’t get a choice on the name,” Jiang Cheng told him. “Whatever name this piece of crap gave you, just forget it, you hear me? You can do better than him. But no more demonic cultivation!”

“I wish I could visit the Lotus Pier,” Wei Wuxian mumbled, looking wistfully downriver. They were very close by, but he still didn’t dare, even though Jiang Cheng had grumpily extended an invitation through Jin Ling. So much had happened – he just didn’t know where to even start.

He didn’t want to get into all that messy history with Jiang Cheng.

He just wanted to visit, that’s all.

He missed Jiang Cheng, but he missed the Lotus Pier, too. The food, the places, the air…

“I just need a secret way in that even the sect leader doesn’t know about,” he sighed. He’d once known them all – but there was a different sect leader now, and a different Lotus Pier. He couldn’t risk it: Jiang Cheng might find out that he’d snuck in and feel hurt, thinking that Wei Wuxian was avoiding him, when he was just avoiding the conversation; that would just make everything worse.

Lan Wangji would have distracted him, but Lan Wangji himself had been distracted – some man in Jiang sect colors with a heavy limp and an excited sort of air had rushed over, shouting something about wanting to talk about tax policy and possibly also games of chance, and Lan Wangji had all but fled. It had been so funny that Wei Wuxian had nearly laughed himself sick.

“I know one,” someone said, and Wei Wuxian glanced over: it was a young man in Jiang sect disciple robes, little more than a teenager – only a few years older than Jin Ling, if he had to guess. He was smiling, ducking his head a little; he looked proud of himself. “I mean, if you really want. But only if you don’t mean any harm!”

How adorable, Wei Wuxian thought, and grinned at him. “I just want something spicy without having to go through the whole process of greeting people, is that a crime?”

“Not at all!” the kid exclaimed, beaming, and Wei Wuxian almost felt bad for conning him. Almost.

“Do you really know a secret way in?” he asked, pretending to be doubtful. “Really?”

Sure enough, the kid – Jiang Jianwen, apparently, he must be the kid of one of the ones that survived the massacre – was easily lured into insisting that he did know, and then to agreeing to act as guide.

And, moreover, it turned out he really did know his way inside, which made this the easiest infiltration ever.

Or so Wei Wuxian thought right up until he felt a knife point touch his ribs.

“Well done, Jianwen!” a young woman – also in Jiang colors – said, reaching out and ruffling Jiang Jianwen’s hair.

“Aw, it was nothing,” he said, just as bashful as he was when he’d been talking to Wei Wuxian. “I couldn’t have done it without shixiong luring off Lan-er-gongzi.”

Wait, that’d been part of this, too?

That was worrisome.

“Hardly nothing,” the older woman standing behind Wei Wuxian said. She had a certain sort of rock-hard steadiness that was more worrying than the knife she was holding on him – she was a powerful cultivator, familiar with killing and scarred with a criminal’s brand, and yet she seemed entirely at ease in a way that suggested a strong sense of righteousness, with no guilt or weak points he might exploit to make an easy out. “You successfully conned the Yiling Patriarch into following you right into a trap.”

Wei Wuxian wondered if he could deny it.

“I don’t know, shijie, that doesn’t seem that hard,” the first woman said. “Isn’t he the kind of person to run head-first into danger at the first instance?”

“Head-first into danger, and like his tail’s on fire away from dogs,” the older woman agreed, and – damnit. There was clearly no denying it; they actually knew him. Though from where, he had no idea. “A-Hua, Jiangwen, let’s go – we don’t want to be late for our meeting.”

“I don’t suppose I can convince you to tell me who we’re going to go see?” Wei Wuxian tried, putting on his most charming smile. “Or, perhaps, who you are, and what you have against me…?”

“Jiang Jianwen you know,” the woman said, rather unexpectedly. “I’m Jiang Qiao, and this is Jiang Hua. Our shixiong is Jiang Zhou – he’s the one that makes Lan-er-gongzi lose his wallet every time he’s forced to visit Yunmeng.”

Wei Wuxian was almost distracted with the tantalizing prospects of stories about Lan Wangji. Almost.

“You’re all surnamed Jiang?” he asked, surprised: he might have believed it for Jiang Jianwen, maybe, he was young enough to be the son of someone in the last generation. But Jiang Hua and Jiang Qiao looked absolutely nothing alike either to each other or to Jiang Cheng, and at least Jiang Qiao was old enough that he should’ve recognized her if she’d been a Jiang. There’d been a lot of people in the old Jiang sect, even if you limited it to those surnamed Jiang, but he’d been Head Disciple back then – he’d known almost all of them.

“We’re adopted,” Jiang Jianwen said. He looked very proud. “Sect Leader Jiang took us into the family as part of the branch lines.”

Wei Wuxian had never once in his life wanted to have the surname Jiang, not even when he’d been mocked for not having it. He’d never even thought about it. Not ever.

He felt a stab of envy at the word family, though.

“He gave you his surname?” he asked, and tried not to feel jealous when they all nodded. “Oh.”

It made sense, he tried to tell himself as they walked through the back streets of the Lotus Pier. The Jiang sect had been demolished, and Jiang Cheng practically the only survivor but for whoever happened by coincidence to not be at home – the Jiang sect would need branch family members, and adoption made sense. There was no reason to resent the idea of Jiang Cheng giving the name he had always treated as being so precious to a branded former criminal, to a con man, to a commoner from the countryside, to a –

“You were a what?” Wei Wuxian exclaimed.

“A demonic cultivator,” Jiang Jianwen said bashfully. “Not a very a good one, though.”

Wei Wuxian wanted to say something to that. He didn’t know what, but something.

“Enough chatter,” Jiang Qiao said. “We’re here.”

Jiang Hua opened the door and Wei Wuxian stepped inside.

Then he tried to step back out, only to be crowded in by the others.

“No, no, no,” he said. “No, I was willing to play along until now, but this is a step too far. You don’t understand! She’s going to eviscerate me!”

Jiang Meimei – older than the teenager he remembered her being when she left the sect, but still unmistakable – grinned with her teeth bared.

“Oh good,” she said. “At least your brain is still working. Now come on and have a seat, and we’re going to talk about how you’ve been treating my baby cousin recently…”

#mdzs #jiang cheng #original characters #wei wuxian #my fic #my fics #gratuitously acquired

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dudeandduchess · 4 years ago

Text

Yakuza!Kyōjurō x F!S/O: Sugar and Spice (Mafia!AU, Modern AU, NSFW Series)[Chapter 2]

Summary: Kyōjurō and (Y/n) meet at a party, only to find out that their lives would change forever— since they had been arranged to be married. To make matters even more difficult for them, they were from two different walks of life, with (Y/n) being the Prime Minister’s daughter, and Kyōjurō being the heir to his clan’s Yakuza group.

Warnings: Smut, Kabedon, Groping, Making Out, Marking

Chapter 1| Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

***

No matter how much (Y/n) tried to shake the memory of those piercing eyes from her mind, she never could forget just how hauntingly beautiful they were— especially when they were trained so hard on her the night before.

It was why she had made a hasty escape; tucking tail and practically shoving her champagne glass at a waiter, before making up some halfhearted excuse about forgetting a prior engagement.

She could tell that the ladies she had been with were skeptic of her reasons, but had still let her go; just in time, as well, because Kyōjurō would have gotten to her if they had tried to keep her any longer.

Still, hours after that ordeal— even while she laid on her bed— with the warm, morning rays of the sun shining down on her through her windows, she could still feel the less-than-proper intent behind them. They were the eyes of a predator; someone who was silently telling her that he was going to devour her.

And if she were being honest, it scared and thrilled her at the same time.

“Hopefully, I’ll never have to see him again,” The young woman whispered to herself, right before closing her eyes and stretching her limbs outwards; it felt so good on her tired muscles. But her peaceful time alone was cut short with a soft but firm knock on her door.

“Good morning, (Y/n)-sama.” She almost groaned aloud at the sound of her temporary secretary’s voice; wishing to all hell that she were back in her university dorm— protected by a bodyguard, but still living with relative privacy.

But, unfortunately, it was summer break and she was obligated to stay at the Prime Minister’s residence; much like how her brothers were also required to live there when they weren’t living at their dorms. And, being the youngest— as well as the only girl— out of three children, her father was much stricter on her.

(Y/n) sighed then, deciding not to stall any longer and calling out a flat ‘come in’. It was then followed by the quiet creaking of the door, as well as the soft footsteps coming towards her bed.

As much as the young woman still wanted to just go back to sleep, she decided not to be difficult and opened her eyes— only for them to fall on Rin. She was a frail woman in her mid-thirties, looking very strict with her neatly pressed uniform; but it was her severely tight bun that had (Y/n) and her siblings knowing that the woman meant business at first glance.

“Good morning, Rin-san, may I know my schedule for today?” (Y/n) asked with a forced smile, knowing full well that she had a full roster for that day— what with her mother forking over some small charity appearances over to her and her brothers; all to show the people that they were very much active in society, despite also being busy with their own passion projects.

Rin nodded at that, before referring down to her clipboard and flipping a page— which had (Y/n)’s eyebrows quirking, since she saw so many things highlighted on one of her brothers’ schedule sheets.

“Your schedule has been cleared today, (Y/n)-sama.” That explained why she saw all those neon yellow lines on the pages before hers, but that had her stomach tightening with apprehension; because having a clear schedule at the last minute didn’t really bring good things.

“And why is that?”

“The Prime Minister has requested an audience with you for brunch, and he asked that you clear your schedule for the rest of the day to entertain his guest.”

Suddenly, she wanted to switch schedule with either one of her brothers. Hell, she would have rather been giving speeches and kissing babies, if it got her out of whatever clown show her father was about to put her through.

“Can I get out of this brunch?”

“No, Miss.”

“Alright, then. What time is this… fiasco? Nine-thirty? Ten? And do I already have something to wear for it?”

***

Who comes in late to meet the Prime Minister? The barbed thoughts reverberated around within (Y/n)’s head, as she presented a calm and collected façade for the world to see.

The dress she wore was modest enough for brunch, but with a touch of sexiness that had her quirking an eyebrow at the stern Rin when it had been handed to her earlier. Because, normally, Rin had her dressed up with the most modest of dresses; it would have been enough to put any miko to shame.

That already had her mind reeling with possibilities, yet she didn’t dare jump on any of them— since there were also numerous other things that could happen. Nothing was impossible, what with her being the daughter of Japan’s Prime Minister, after all.

For all she knew, she could be meeting the Prince of Wales with her father.

“Are we meeting Prince Charles, otou-sama? I didn’t brush up on my English last night,” She whispered to her father, who stifled his laughter and dabbed his table napkin to his lips— if only to muffle his humorous chuckles.

Yorihiko, (Y/n)’s father, turned to her then— before lowering his table napkin back down to his lap and showing her his bright grin. For someone who was in his mid-sixties, he still looked as youthful as ever. And, save for the crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes— as well as the greying hair atop his head— she would have gandered him as not a day over fifty. “Not the Prince of Wales, (Y/n)-chan, but someone who will be much more important to this family in the future.”

Maybe it was just her being a little chilly, but she felt shivers race down her spine at those ominous words. However, she couldn’t even collect herself before the butler announced that their long-awaited guest was finally there.

And she had to try really hard to pick her jaw up from the ground when she saw two heads of blond hair coming out into the garden. The one she knew as Rengoku Kyōjurō wore a crisp, black suit with a blood red tie— one that matched his eyes and hair very well; while the older man next to him wore a formal kimono with a sleek, black haori perched on his shoulders.

“The yakuza, otou-sama?” (Y/n) whisper-yelled at her father, who only gave her a nod before getting up from his seat— all while smoothly laying his table napkin on the table— so he could greet their guests.

She followed suit immediately, but she couldn’t help her unsteady legs as she walked around the table and gave the Rengokus a small bow. “Welcome to our home, dear guests.”

“Don’t be too stiff, daughter; call me otou-sama,” The older man spoke in a gruff tone, smirking all the while as he looked at (Y/n).

The young woman couldn’t even speak, but managed a small nod— right before turning to the man that she had been under just the night before. A chorus of “oh no”s kept playing inside her head, but she couldn’t even voice out her panic, nor her disapproval at whatever arrangement had been arranged between her and the Yakuza heir.

“How about we have our meal as we talk, Shinjurō? And then we can leave the kids to be acquainted?” Yorihiko suggested with a bright smile, all while motioning over to the table that he and (Y/n) had been sitting at earlier.

It already burned (Y/n) to even be in the same vicinity as the man who had been between her legs just the night before, but it burned her even more when he smirked right at her— before offering his arm to her; as if he was the perfect gentleman.

And with her being who she was, couldn’t even turn him down. So, she found herself slipping a hand into the crook of his arm; holding on to him as he walked her back to the table. To make matters even worse for her, he even pulled out her chair for her, before helping her sit down.

That action hadn’t been done for mere chivalry, however, as Kyōjurō took it as a chance to whisper right by her ear, “It’s nice to see you again, baby. You look really… fuckable in that dress.”

“Fuck you.” (Y/n) managed to whisper back, which earned a sexy little chuckle from the blond.

He wanted nothing more than to pull her by the hair and make her face him, just so he could kiss her breathless and show her that he wasn’t to be messed with, but they were in front of company, and he didn’t want to disrespect her like that in front of their fathers.

After all, he was going to be his wife. And he was always taught that Rengokus respected their wives above all else.

“You almost did, baby. Maybe on the honeymoon, though,” Kyōjurō whispered back with a grin, before finally pulling away and taking the empty seat right next to her— much to (Y/n)’s chagrin.

Lunch passed by in a blur for (Y/n), however; with conversation being led by the two patriarchs. She was nothing more than a spectator at the table, since she was still trying to wrap her head around what was happening.

And, from what she could catch, she and Kyōjurō really were arranged to be married. In this day and age, arranged marriages were such an archaic concept but, apparently, the Rengokus had a lot to do with her father getting the Prime Minister position— and he owed them a lot.

So, now that the Rengokus are being pinned with crimes that weren’t their doings— and with Shinjurō facing multiple life sentences if things aren’t resolved— they had to cash in that favor with (Y/n)’s father.

After all, what better way to clear someone’s name, than to get related through marriage to the very man who signs them? No other man’s vouch could be stronger that the Prime Minister’s; if he said that he trusted the Rengokus enough to have his only daughter marry into their family, then all those pending cases would be dismissed as nothing more than baseless accusations.

(Y/n) had always known that her father was involved with all kinds of people, but she had never even had an inkling that he had been rubbing elbows with the Yakuza— of all people.

***

Once brunch was over— with her food having been barely touched— the patriarchs left both (Y/n) and Kyōjurō in the garden to ‘get acquainted’. However, (Y/n) had much more different things in mind, so she got up from her seat and tossed her table napkin onto the table; all before making hasty escape back into the house.

Kyōjurō’s eyebrows quirked at his fiancée’s actions, but it didn’t dampen the smirk that tugged up at the corners of his lips; as he watched her hips swaying so seductively a few ways away from him.

Last night, he had been pissed to have seen her walking away from him— and that time was no different, but it posed an extremely exciting challenge that he was more than willing to take on.

So, that was how he found himself getting up from his own seat and following after her— but not before glaring right at the guards that had been about to keep him from following her.

That kept them right in their places, which was good enough for him— and had him resuming his leisurely stroll right behind his charismatic bride-to-be.

But she didn’t get to go much farther than the back door of the mansion; as Kyōjurō quickly took his chance to press her back against the wall— making sure to cushion the back of her head, as he caged her in with his right arm and his body.

“Don’t walk away from me, baby,” Kyōjurō stated with a smile; right before dipping his head down to brush his lips against hers in the faintest of kisses.

That move didn’t fail to make (Y/n)’s toes curls right in her heels, but she tried so hard to ignore the tingles that were shooting across her skin; even taking to looking at anywhere but at Kyōjurō.

All because the events from the night before were playing in her mind— hot, raunchy, and filled with so much lust for him.

But the blond wasn’t deterred by her reaction at all, coming to press his hips right against her— and making her feel the bulge that was slowly growing bigger beneath his pants.

“Come on, sweetheart. Kiss me like you did last night,” The young man teased once more, then dipped his head down to catch her lips once more‚ but in a much deeper kiss that, inevitably, had (Y/n) melting against him; especially when he lightly tugged at her hair, all while gently nipping at her bottom lip.

All the while, his right hand snaked itself down to cup her right hip; kneading it in a gentle massage, before slipping down further so he could cup her ass. He then gave it a squeeze, which had her gasping right into their kiss; giving him enough time to slip his tongue right between her lips, all so he could play with her own.

When Kyōjurō felt her responding to his kisses— much like how she was last night— he took that as his chance to tease her even further by pulling away; latching on to her neck and trailing kisses down to the crook where her neck met her shoulders— and biting down on the skin, before sucking on it to leave a love bite.

He wasn’t contented with just one, however, and found himself leaving more of his marks all over her neck as well. Every single one had her moaning softly and, somewhere along the way, one of her hands had made its way onto the back of his own head— where she was gripping his hair tightly.

She was really melting under his touch, and he loved it so much.

And things only made a turn for the better when he quickly bunched the back of her dress up with the hand that had been groping her ass, before slipping his hand down further so he could cup her pussy from behind; grinning when he felt her so wet beneath her underwear.

“You want me to fuck you?” He asked, all while rubbing the tips of his fingers against her soaked entrance; loving the way that her fingers kept tightening and loosening on his hair— especially the subtle way that she was trying to rub her pussy up against his cock.

(Y/n) was silent at first— refusing to give in and answer him— until the blond readjusted his hand and made quick work of slipping it up the front of her dress; right before pushing her panties aside and pinching her clit between his index and middle fingers. The move had her hips jerking involuntarily, and also had her moaning softly when Kyōjurō began to play with the little bud.

“…Please.”

“Please what, sweetheart?”

(Y/n) was just about to give in and actually beg him to fuck her right there— up against the side of her father’s residence— when all sense came crashing down on her and she yanked on Kyōjurō’s hair… hard. “Get off of me!”

It was clear on Kyōjurō’s face that that move had pissed him off, but he couldn’t help but obey (Y/n)’s words— albeit reluctantly. And he wanted to just scowl at her, but the sight of her looking so disheveled had him laughing; outright laughing, as he took in her messed up lipstick and crazy hair.

The glare that (Y/n) was aiming right at him looked mildly threatening, but it was the best she could do— especially when she heard the blond’s attractive laughter. How a laugh could be attractive, she didn’t know; it just was— and it was highly unfair, since he already had such a handsome face.

Even the fresh love bites all over her neck and shoulders added to her ‘just fucked’ look, diminishing the aggressiveness in her expression even more, and that pleased Kyōjurō so much.

He couldn’t wait until he really messed her up. He’d make sure that she wouldn’t even be able to get out of bed in the morning.

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mirkwoodshewolf · 4 years ago

Text

A heavenly reunion pt. 1; Queen x reader

*Author's note*

This is it guys. After almost 3 years of writing this series it's FINALLY come to the end. Like all good things, they must end eventually so here it is. The LAST chapter of my Rock Angel series.

I first want to point out the YEARS (except Freddie's death date) DON'T MEAN ANYTHING. I'M NOT TRYING TO PREDICT THE FUTURE OR ANYTHING LIKE THAT. I just picked these random years to represent when the remaining members of Queen will pass, AGAIN THESE AREN'T REAL DATES AND I HOPE THEY AREN'T.

Pt. 2 will be up in just a few minutes so until then, enjoy this first part.

Taglist:

@plethora-of-things

@waddles03

@psychosupernatural

@ixchel-9275

@simonedk

@queensdivas

@queendeakyy

@queen-paladin

@sparkleslightlyy

@starswin

@labessieisallama

@isabella-bby

@naturalswifty89

@onebigfangirlworld

@ssa-sadboi

@5sos-wdw

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels

@geek-and-proud

@wormzteef

@bohemiansweede

_______________________________________________________________

*3rd Person POV. June 23rd, 2051*

Rock star, animal rights activist, founder of organizations like ANGELS CURING AIDS, WORDS CAN HURT TOO; Victims and survivors of emotional and verbal abuse, and the ANGELS AGAINST STALKING that helps protect people from violent stalkers. Also apart of charities like the Mercury Phoenix Trust foundation. The Rock Angel (Y/n) Kline had lived a full life.

She continued to tour with Queen as they got many other partnerships throughout the years. But she most enjoyed collaborating with Adam Lambert as he reminded her of him, bright and ambitious just wanting to share his music with the world and he knew he could never fill in Freddie's shoes but he sure as hell made a name for himself in his own way.

She was also a part of the "Bohemian Rhapsody" film that had been made and got to know the actors playing the men that she had grown up with and came to see them as her true family. Ten years after the film released, her own story got to be told thanks to the rights of Paramount and the brilliant mind of Dexter Fletcher, who had directed the story of her boys and Elton John, another one of her dearest friends and mentors.

But now at the crippled age of 90, the Rock Angel now lived in the privacy of her home in London. She was forced to stop touring because just 3 years ago she was diagnosed with a form of dementia.

It was hard on her family and her 4 children and dozens of grandchildren even great-grandchildren to see the once strong woman they had once admired for so long and looked up to as a role model not only in music, but life.

In their current home of London, her husband of over 70 years Jack who had made a name for himself. After the whole stalking incident, Jack joined the ranks of the LAPD. He worked himself all the way to the top and became Chief for over 30 years before he retired by the time he was in his 60's.

He sat there by his wife's bedside stroking her long white hair as she lay there forced into bedrest. She looked up at him and whispered.

"Jack?"

"I'm here baby."

"Where are they? Where are my boys?" she asked.

"Our sons? They're just downstairs."

"No, no. I meant my boys." At those two words, Jack's heart broke as he looked at his wife sympathetically.

"Baby they've—they died. It's been so many years since they all left this world." At hearing her boys were dead, tears fell down her face but Jack held onto his wife and kissed the top of her head. "But I can show you their videos, if you'd like."

"Please. I need to see them. To tell them goodbye." Jack then reached for the I-pad and opened up the Youtube app and began typing in the very song that he knew he would need.

He knew his wife didn't have long and he wanted her to have one last happy memory of hearing the perfect song written by her boys.

Together they held the I-pad and soon the music video "These are the days of our lives" came on.

"Why does Fred look so sick?" she asked worriedly. Jack swallowed the lump in his throat and tried to explain.

"He was suffering from AIDS, and it—really affected him love."

"I wish I could've taken care of him." She said as she stroked the screen every time Freddie came on screen. At the instrumental break as she watched Brian skillfully play the guitar, she smiled and said. "Bri....he was such a good guitar player."

"He was, but nothing compared to you." Jack praised obviously playing favorites. He then took notice of his wife growing tired as the song ended.

It was time.

"It's okay baby, you can rest now." And she did just that. Her breathing slowed right as Freddie spoke the last 'I still love you' line and the video ended. "Goodnight my Rock Angel. Be with your boys once again." He then let out a sob as he leaned against his deceased wife.

At 10:45am on June 23rd, 2051 (Y/n) Kline was pronounced dead at the old age of 90.

Everyone who had collaborated with the Rock Angel or had looked up to her all gathered at her funeral. Close friends and family all came to mourn at the loss of the last of the greatest Rock and Roll singers. She was buried in her birth town of Leicestershire, right next to her real parents.

*My POV*

I felt peaceful. My mind was no longer hazy. I could remember everything once again, but what confused me was where I was. I found myself walking through a long corridor but as I passed a mirror, I stopped and backed up to find a shocking surprise.

I was young again.

I looked to be about the age of 19, when I first met the guys. My hair was in the same long wavy fashion I once had before I cut it. I stroked along my cheek just to see if this was real or a dream, but as I stroked it I found that it was. Suddenly a door opened before me and I don't know why but I found myself walking toward it.

Now I was in what looked like an office with everything you would see. Filing cabinets, a large desk filled with paperwork but what caught my attention was the abacus that stood at the front center of the desk.

"Ahh (Y/n) Kline, please come forward." I turned to see a man around his 60's with short black hair, a grim like face with sharp cheekbones and icy blue eyes. He wore a black business suit and he was intimidating but for some reason I came forward toward the desk.

He sat down and pulled out a file and began reading through it humming to himself then he said.

"Place your hand over the abacus." I looked at it to see that the color code was white and black. White at top and black at the bottom.

"What is this?"

"This shall determine your next step. Just place your hand over it and let fate do the rest." I didn't know what this was gonna mean but again I saw myself place my hand over it and the second I did, it started going frantic.

Moving up and down frantically with no one even touching it. It was mostly balanced most of the way until it finally majority of the counters went white. The man smiled and said.

"Give my regards to those Rockstar friends' of yours. I'll be looking forward to your next concert." He then snapped his fingers and everything went bright.

Next thing I knew, I heard the sound of birds chirping and felt the sun beaming down on me. I was then greeted with wide open fields and a giant house along with several barn-like homes. It was like Garden Lodge and Rockfield farm mixed into one.

As I stood a few feet away from the main mansion-like house I swore from the second window of the white satin curtains I saw movement. I walked towards the house and placed my hand on the doorknob, I paused for a few seconds before I finally opened the door. I walked in and it was exactly like Freddie's home of Garden Lodge.

I walked through the threshold to see the grand staircase to my right, the long corridor ahead of me and the entrance to the living room to my left.

"Hello?" I said as I stood there. It was then I felt something nuzzle between my legs and I heard a meow. I heard it again and I looked down to see a very familiar face. "Hey, Delilah." I picked her up and held her as she purred and nuzzled my face. I scratched under her chin and she lowered her head to lick my hand.

"No it should be more like this." I heard a low, smooth baritone voice say.

"No, no and no Mr. tuxedo! Bernie has it like this and it shall remain this way. He and I are the genius piano and songwriting duo and it'll stick to this rhythm and timing." Another voice boasted out.

Oh my god.....It can't be. I set Delilah down and she took off running up the stairs as I crossed the living room into the parlor where Fred kept his piano to see two men that I had not seen in forever.

"David? Elton?" I spoke up. The two men turned toward me. David looked so much healthier than last I saw him and he looked younger just like me, in fact he looked about the same age he was when he did Live aid as well as working on the Jim Henson project 'the Labyrinth'.

Elton on the other hand looked about the age from when he was first starting off, back before he began experimenting with all the drugs and all that. The vibrant ginger hair but he still had on those flamboyant sunglasses he always loved to wear.

"Is that—really you?" I asked bewildered.

"Oh shit it can't be. The high angel herself, the Rock Angel?" Elton dramatic tone.

"Yes, it's me."

"Ohh darling. Welcome home." David greeted me with a wide smile and open arms as he walked up to me. He embraced me as he chuckled warmly and said, "Did you have a good life darling?"

"Uh-huh. I had the best life." I said, my voice muffled within his blue suit.

"It looked like you did love." We separated and I couldn't help but admire just how healthy he was.

"How have you been David?"

"Much better darling. No more chemo, I can finally breathe again."

"That's good."

"Alright you overgrown smooth talker, let me at her now." Elton proclaimed as he shoved David aside and immediately came up and kissed both of my cheeks before embracing me. "Oh darling we sure have missed you."

"And I you Elton. Life just hasn't been the same without your music."

"Been practicing those scales I taught you?" he asked pointedly.

"Yes, whenever I could."

"That's my girl." He hugged me again and I buried my face into his shoulder.

"(Y/n)?" a choir of voices soon rang up. I felt my heart stop as I lifted my head, not believing what I was hearing. Elton let go of me and both he and David with soft smiles on their faces told me to go and see who it was. The four voices called out my name again.

I crossed through the parlor, ran across the living room until I came to the door and just halfway up the staircase, I felt my smile widen and tears fill my eyes.

"My boys."

"You're finally here!" Freddie proclaimed. My legs raced directly up the stairs and Freddie, Brian, Roger and John all gathered me at the center in a long awaited Queen group hug.

All I felt were arms wrapped around me tightly, kisses all over my head and face and gentle hair and back strokes. I don't even know how long we were in that hug for but I didn't care, all I cared about was the fact my boys were here all together. When we finally separated I finally got a good look at all four of them.

They were all so young and vibrant just like how I first saw them back in concert long before I became an intern, I would like to think they were now the same ages they were when they first played at the Rainbow back in 1974. Long hair and all.

"I can't believe you four are here." I praised.

"And we can't believe you're here. And with your long hair again, was this when you were most happy?" asked Brian.

"If by that you mean when I first became Miami's intern? Yeah, best day of my life. Do you guys hate it?"

"No darling we've loved you no matter what your hair length is." Freddie said as he stroked the ends of my hair.

"I only just hope you didn't bring along any extreme surprises. Belly button rings, more tattoos." Deacy teased me. I chuckled but felt tears fall down my face.

"Aww lovie what is it?" Roger cooed as I felt him rub my shoulder. All four of them looking at me with those concerned puppy dog eyes they all knew how to do.

"I'm sorry. It's just—I missed you four so much." They all awed as Freddie first took me in his arms and said with his head leaning against mine.

"I know darling. It seems like it's been forever since the five of us were together."

"Coming from you Fred you have no idea." I wept as I gripped onto him as tight as I could, burying my face into his long black hair which softly tickled my face.

God if there's anything I missed about Freddie, it was his warm hugs. They were always so warm and inviting, anyone who was lucky enough to be given any sign of affection from this loveable man was considered lucky, and I was fortunate to be one of those people, and now finally after almost 60 years, I was able to feel that affection once more.

We were now upstairs in the master bedroom to do some private catching up.

"Alright sister dear, come here you." Deacy said. I smiled and immediately went into his arms and he embraced me. As all of you know, after Freddie's death, Deacy was the one to take it the hardest. So much so that he hardly played at any Queen gigs except for maybe three occasions then by 1997 he officially retired and no one had heard from him since.

The guys and I respected his decision so in order to make sure he was alright, I kept in contact with Veronica and would occasionally ask how Deacy was doing as well as the kids. I had learned that the two of them had two more kids, Luke and Cameron and the two of them had been successful in their own ways, all of the Deacy kiddies had, especially Luke who followed in his dad's footsteps and played in a band of his own.

In fact with the permission of the parents, I had allowed my nephew Luke to play at a few of my tours, and god just seeing him play reminded me so much of his dad, not to mentioned he looked so much like him.

And it was an honor to play with a second generation of Deacon.

The sad news of Deacy's passing came to Jack and I from Laura on a cold November day in 2035. Out of the two of us, Jack was the most heartbroken because he not only lost a brother but his idol and mentor.

We were invited to the burial by decree of the Deacy clan but I made sure that through some makeup and wigs that Jack and I weren't recognized by press because we wanted this to be private. As Deacy would've wanted that.

"Ohh I've missed you so much (y/n)."

"Not as much as I missed you brother mine."

It was then my attention turned towards the last 2 members of Queen, the remaining members I kept working with till the end. Brian May and Roger Taylor.

Together in our lives after Freddie's death and Deacy's retirement, I had been there for everything Queen got to accomplish, and they did the same for me. In fact it was Brian who bestowed upon me my plaque to be initiated into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame before I was given my star right above Queen's.

I was also involved with some of the work they did for a little movie called "Bohemian Rhapsody", and they helped become a part of my movie "Set it all free Angel". I first turned my attention to Brian.

It had been almost 10 years since my movie came out and 20 for Queen's film Bohemian Rhapsody. I was in my home studio working on my next upcoming album when I had received a call from Anita telling me that Brian had passed away at the age of 93. It was a peaceful passing so he wasn't suffering or in pain which I was thankful for in a way, he's suffered through so much that if I wanted him to go out, it would have to be peacefully in his sleep.

The world was devastated at losing such an inspiring man. Not only in the music industry, but for his work in astrophysics, as well as the animal programs that he's helped funded and laws he helped raise awareness for.

When he died, I took over the business in his name and within 3 years; I finally helped get laws of abusing, harming or killing animals to be illegal and anyone caught doing that wouldn't get misdemeanors. They would face legal full sentencing of 20-50years in Federal prison. On the night the laws passed and I along with Brian's partnering animal rehab centers signed off on the law, I went to Brian's grave and told him everything.

I immediately glomped him into a hug and held onto his waist tightly. He embraced me back just as tight as I was holding him, me humming lovingly as I buried my face into his chest feeling him stroke down my hair. After what felt like forever, he separated from me and stared down at me with those loving hazel blue eyes of his as he placed both his hands at the top of my head before stroking them downward against each side of my head and ending by cupping my face in his hands.

"I am so proud of everything you've done (Y/n). I saw it all, thank you for continuing my legacy for animal rights."

"You taught me everything I needed to know about being kind and caring towards all creatures, so much so you helped inspire me to do my own animal rehabilitations and rescues. I just—wish I could've been there for you when you......"

"It was beyond your control love. But I didn't suffer. I knew you loved me, and would've done anything to come see me had you known. I never blamed you, so stop blaming yourself." I nodded as tears slipped down my face but with his thumbs he wiped them away before hugging me once more. I felt him kiss my temple before cupping the side of my face once more to kiss my nose.

Even as I got older and we were both in our senior years, he never once stopped with the nose pecks. I smiled and Eskimo kissed him before he pressed his forehead against mine. It was then I felt a hand on my shoulder and I turned to my right to see Roger standing before me.

Besides Freddie's death, I think the most devastating thing for me was when Roger died. It was about a year after Brian's death when I had gotten a frantic call from my godson Rufus that Roger had been taken to the hospital because of a stroke. Without hesitating, I got into the car and raced to West London Medical Hospital, where I met up with the Taylor pride.

I was frantic with anxiety and fear that I would lose yet a 3rd member of Queen. Over 48hrs passed when Rog finally regained consciousness and I was sitting right there by his bedside holding his hand. He spoke so softly it was like whispers on the wind and the only thing he wanted to do was go outside.

Reluctantly the doctors allowed it so my godchildren, and his wife Sarina took him out to the hospital garden and allowed me some one on one time with him. But I didn't know that that would be the last time they would ever get to talk to him. The last words he ever spoke to me were and I still remember it to this day, even up here in heaven.

"Brian and Freddie have come to collect me, they send out their love to you and Deacy. Look after the old bastard for us." And I literally felt his life slip away from my hand as he died right there in front of me.

For months I was depressed. I was allowed to go to the funeral and speak my eulogy and I sang at his funeral, this time my own rendition of Phil Collins' song 'You'll be in my heart.' It was also because of his funeral that Deacy and I got even closer than we had in years.

He had secretly gone to both Brian and Roger's funeral but it didn't take till Rog passed for him to physically approach me and we both just wept and cried from losing a father, a brother, a great friend together.

Finally when I finally gained the strength, me and the Taylor children all took a picnic up where Roger was born and just looked out beyond the fields of where his childhood home was and reminisced on all the wonderful memories we had of our father.

And it was from his death I produced my album 'Papa Lion' and dedicated it to him; 'To my Papa Lion, and all the other father lions out there. Keep protecting your children no matter what'.

"You gonna get into these arms or what love?" he asked me. I spoke not a word but felt tears in my eyes as I raced up and buried myself into his neck and dirty blonde almost brunette hair. He held me and spun me around, kissing all over my face humming and moaning lovingly.

When he finally set me down, he cupped my face just like Brian did but he gently leaned forward and very gingerly headbutted my forehead and the two of us nuzzled each other, rubbing our noses together.

Like a father lion and his cub reuniting with each other at last.

I held onto his wrists which still cupped the sides of my face and just allowed my tears to fall out but I couldn't stop smiling.

"I hope those are happy tears." He said to me. I sniffled and nodded.

"Yeah the—these are....ha-happy tears." I choked out.

"You know you don't have to be so strong around me, right lovie?" It was then I just broke down and wept as I embraced him. "Shhh, shh. I'm here my lion cub, I'm here. Papa lion is here." He whispered in my ear.

"God I have waited so long for you to say that." I whimpered out to hear him softly laugh and just hug me tighter.

"Oh my darlings.....my heart.....it's too full!" We heard Fred exclaim out dramatically. We both laughed as I nuzzled deeper into my papa lion's chest, happy to finally be reunited with them.

After finally calming down, we were all just sitting around the master bedroom. I was up against the couch leaning against Deacy's legs as he was currently brushing and braiding my hair.

"So you guys continuing to rock it out here in Heaven?" I asked.

"Don't you know it darling. Every good singer who has helped made a difference comes up here and we continue to live a peaceful eternity doing what we were born to do. Be performers." Freddie stated.

"In fact we just had our concert the other night. We got to perform alongside the Beatles." Said Roger.

"Shut up! The Beatles?!"

"You know it love, Lennon, McCartney, Harrison and Starr." Said Brian.

"Wow, I wish I could've seen it." I said.

"You will darling, we perform our concerts every single night. And it's always a mix mash of artists and bands collaborating together to perform the Greatest Heavenly Rock 'n Roll concert." Said Fred.

"Now that you're here poppet, you'll get the chance to perform with the best of the best." Said Deacy. I was flabbergasted.

"Holy......" I couldn't even finish it because I was just so shocked to think that I would be performing with the greatest artists long before my time and bands I wish I had the chance to record or perform alongside with. The guys all chuckled at me and I said.

"So that's why David and Elton were here."

"Mm-hmm. We're all performing together in tonight's show. Three artists of the 70's decade for the first time ever sharing the stage together." Said Brian.

"Ohh man what people would've killed to see that in person. I mean yeah you guys performed at the same venue like we did with Live Aid or did some recordings together but never all three of you guys on stage at once." I said.

"That's how it works around here." Spoke Deacy as he finished the last strand of my braid. I thanked him and observed the braid he had done and I commented.

"You've gotten better Deacy."

"Laura was good practice. My baby girl always wanted her hair braided."

"She may have gotten that from me, sorry." He playfully scowled at me but I cheekily stuck my tongue out at him. "Say Fred, where's Jim at? I figured if you were here, he would be too."

"Oh that man of mine, he's out tending the garden, come have a look." He escorted me to the back window and there I saw a field of flowers as far as the eye could see.

"Whoa. He's done all of that?"

"Been doing it since 2010 darling. Always a hard worker my husband. When he first came, I was worried he wouldn't like this appearance of mine, after all I didn't have my tache and my hair was much shorter than when I first met him."

"Jim loves you Freddie. He loves you no matter what you'd look like."

"And I did know. Turns out he's got a long hair kink." He whispered to me which made me choke out a laugh.

"Seriously?" He nodded ecstatically and that's when Deacy spoke up.

"We're still here Fred, no need to hear any of that."

"Oh god Deacy don't act so innocent. After all you were the one who wrote a song about pre-ejaculation." Deacy's mouth just gaped before turning stoic, and of course Rog and Bri were laughing their asses off. He turned to me and I shrugged saying.

"He's got a point."

"Okay yeah ha-ha fuck all of you."

"Oh come off it John. We mean no harm by it." Roger teased

"At least it's better than a car fucking song." Deacy fired back.

"That's not funny!" Roger proclaimed.

"It is kinda funny." Deacy sassed back.

"Okay, okay enough both of you. I had enough of your arguments to last an entire lifetime. I don't need to relive it now when I just got here." I stated.

"Sorry love." They both choired out.

"Oh (y/n), I do have a surprise for you though." Brian spoke up. I looked at him and said,

"What kind of surprise?"

"If I told you, it wouldn't be a surprise now would it?" He said as he walked right up to me.

"If you tell me, I'll still act surprise." He chuckled and wrapped an arm around me.

"C'mon love, let's head outside." We soon went down the stairs and headed out of the house.

Brian lead me to an open field about a half mile away from the house. There was nothing but green for miles ahead.

"Brian what's this about?"

"You'll see." He then took his index finger and thumb and curled them inward like pinchers before placing them against his lips letting out a loud whistle. We stood there for a moment that was until I heard a bark. A very familiar bark. No it—it couldn't be.

Soon jogging up the hill about a mile away was a German Shepherd. His familiar traditional fur coat shined under the sun as he looked right at me. He let out a couple of barks and soon several more dogs came running up beside him.

They consisted of a golden retriever, 2 pit-bulls, 3 huskies (1 traditional black and white, another grey and white and the last one an auburn coloring), a collie, and 4 Labradors (2 blacks, a tan and one brown).

With each dog that this pack had, I knew every single one of them. I turned to Brian baffled and he just grinned at me before nodding telling me that they were who I thought they were. I turned back around and the German Shepherd let out a bark. I then let instinct take over and ran as I cried out.

"Bucky!" He soon came running after me, as did all the other dogs barking and panting as they all ran down the hill towards me. "C'mon kids! Come on!" I proclaimed. Each dog was running as fast as they could but Bucky and the black and white husky Shasta were leading the pack. "C'mon kids!" Bucky let out some barks as he raced ahead of Shasta and we met half-way.

Bucky leapt with both paws to my shoulders knocking me down onto the ground.

"Ohh Buck. I can't believe it's you! Ohh look at you boy! Good boy Buck!" A second later Shasta came up to me whimpering happily as his tail wagged. "Oh Shasta baby boy look at you! Hi~ Hi baby boy~." Soon enough my entire dog pack was all up on me grunting and whimpering happily as they all began to tackle me, wanting my attention and love.

Now while you all know I've had Bucky and Sammy as the family pets for Jack and the kids. The other dogs have a different story. The two pitbull brothers that I had named Titan and Bear were rescue dogs when I was a part of an actual rescue mission with one of my animal charities in saving dogs from a Mexican dogfight.

Whenever I was free from touring and recording, I made sure they were well taken care of and even let them stay at my home for awhile before they were finally adopted by a good family.

My triple threat huskies Shasta, Maya (the grey and white) and Eevee (auburn) were actually Kelly's dogs. Shortly after she left for college, she wanted to fill her house with dogs so she adopted these three and very often when she would visit or we would visit her, these troublemakers were always there. Sweet and loveable but stubborn little buggers but I wouldn't take them either way.

The Labradors were also rescue dogs that I helped out. The black one Raider and white one Rowdy were just left abandoned tied up in the backyard of their owners homes. The owners had abandoned them and left them for dead in the hottest summer of the year. But thanks to my team we got them out, sheltered and good homes but I occasionally checked in on them since I couldn't let them go.

The brown lab Cleopatra and the other black lab Midnight were once stray dogs till my son Freddie found them and gave them some food and water. Since he didn't have the heart to turn them to the shelter he adopted them. They even started their own little family since Midnight and Cleopatra were mates together and had many puppies together.

And finally the beautiful Collie was Jezebel. Jezebel was something special because she was actually my nana's dog. I hadn't seen her since I was probably five years old, she was already an old girl growing up but from what I remember, she was so maternal with me.

Whenever my nana was busy with something, she knew she could trust Jezebel with me.

After giving every single dog my attention I finally managed to stand up and see all the dogs in my life standing in a row.

"Jezzy, Bucky, Sammy, Titan, Bear, Shasta, Maya, Eevee, Cleo, Midnight, Rowdy and Raider. I don't believe it. Good doggies. My lucky dog pack. I can't believe you're all here. How did you find them all?"

"I was out strolling wanting to observe the stars when I found Bucky and Sammy. They immediately recognized me and just came running right for me. Soon enough they brought me to meet the rest of the dogs you've known and rescued. I was surprised about the collie but I knew she wouldn't be among them if she wasn't a part of your family."

"Yeah, Jezebel was my nana's dog. I called her Jezzy cause I couldn't quite pronounce her name. She was like my guardian dog angel. Always maternal until she passed away of cancer when I was just 5 years old." I walked up to her and pet her head and she leaned up against me. "She even saved me from almost being attacked by a stray dog one summer."

"Well I'm very glad she did." Brian said as he walked up and stroked her head and she gave his hand a friendly sniff and lick.

"And you took care of all of them?"

"Well I'm an animal activist through and through. If Freddie takes care of every cat that comes to Heaven, I thought I should take care of the animals I've grown fond of, but also the animals my little protegee has taken on herself. As well as the family dogs." I smiled and Brian and thanked him with a hug and he gratefully hugged me back.

As the day drew to a close and nightfall came, the boys had escorted me over to the Heavenly Concert hall. If we want to look at it scale wise, imagine it as Wembley Stadium during the time of Live Aid back in 1985. We drove in a royal golden carriage fit only for her royal majesties themselves.

"Wow, it's just like Wembley stadium."

"It is in a way, but it can fit an infinite amount of people. Any and all are welcome to watch us perform." Said Deacy.

"And we won't need to do soundchecks or anything?"

"Nope. This is heaven darling. Up here everything works to the full capacity and capability. No have to worry ever again about sound checks or power outages." Freddie stated. Our carriage soon stopped at the back entrance and the doors magically opened.

I stepped out first followed by Deacy, Roger, Brian and Freddie. Deacy wrapped his arm around me and guided me into the building and the five of us followed the sign down to the basement level where the dressing rooms were.

And it was like they said, I saw dozens of stars with the names of so many artists and bands before and during my time. Elvis Presley, Janis Joplin, the Beatles, David, Elton, Led Zeppelin, REO Speedwagon, George Michael, Phil Collins, Bob Dylan, and everyone and anyone you could think of.

"And here we are darling, your dressing room awaits." Roger said as he stood before a red door with a golden star with wings on each side that read in bold black letters my stage name ROCK ANGEL. He opened it up and I was in awe.

Inside was a very large room filled with furniture, a huge makeup station with large mirror decored with lamplights around the perimeter of it.

On the left side of the dressing room were hundreds of different outfit's I've worn throughout the years. Everything was there on hangers along with some of the hats I wore, fedora's, cowgirl, and my famed flat caps of various different colors and styles.

While on the right; I could see just music instruments like the Red Special Brian had made for me up against a special holder up along the wall right by my makeup stand.

"Is this my....."

"Go on and have a look darling." I heard Freddie say in my ear.

"Okay. I finally have my own mall." I walked in and was just in awe at everything. It looked like heaven had taken my master bedroom from my first home I had after becoming the Rock Angel and just put it all here.

I walked inside and said.

"Ooo, very nice shoes." I pointed out on the shoe wrack seeing some of the styles of shoes I've worn. From combat boots, to Adidas', flats, and even the high-heeled boots that Deacy always wore during the 1970's.

"We're glad you like them darling. Why don't you go around that corner and press the black button along the dresser." Deacy said. I walked further in and reached a dresser and found the black button. When I pressed it, a couple of shelves slowly opened up revealing almost every pair of sunglasses I've always worn.

"Oh my god! I've missed wearing these." I picked up a pair of my ray ban black and gold framed sunglasses. "Didn't I make these look good?" I quickly turned to see the guys were gone. "Guys?"

"Over here love." I heard Brian's voice say. I walked towards the right to see my boys standing or sitting along some of the foot stools.

"Oh there you all are. Ohh nice amps." I couldn't help but see the amps up along the wall. "I—I'm just...." Before I could continue a remote was tossed over at me by Roger as he said.

"Before you even say anything else. Type in combination 2-1-2." I muttered the combination to myself as I pressed the numbers and soon the closet before us opened and soon revolving around were various guitars and bass guitars, shelves soon opened revealing several pairs of drumsticks each imprinted with my name on them.

I had no words.

"Umm....this is.....I can't—" I jumped back a bit as the top shelves suddenly opened revealing two different microphones. One was a basic black but it was bedazzled with red gems while the other one was pure gold with golden gems.

"Elton and I had a little hand of having your microphones designed." Said Freddie with a modest shrug.

"I mean....guys this is......unbelievable. And this is all mine?"

"Oh darling you should see ours. It's practically the entire mansion back home."

"Each star that comes here is given the full custom of what they've enjoy back on Earth. And since you've favored how you once had your rotating dressers back in 2011, it's all here for you but advanced into your instruments as well." Said Roger.

"And if anyone has any suggestion like if they're close to another artist, they can submit some suggestions of what should be in said artists dressing room." Brian spoke up.

"Aww you guys, I love you." I said as I came up to them and we got into a group hugged.

"We love you too (Y/n) darling. Now hurry up and get ready, the concert is about to begin." The boys left me to my own business. I walked up to my clothes rack and went through every style and decided that if I was to do my first concert in Heaven, I might as well wear exactly what I wore for my first concert as the Rock Angel.

After getting ready and doing my makeup the same way Freddie had done for me that day in Madison Square Garden, I picked up my Red Special and put it around my neck and left my dressing room.

"The Rock Angel is back." I looked up to see the boys standing across me in front of their dressing room, dressed to the T like they had at the they did at the Odeon theater Christmas Eve 1975. I smiled and said.

"Well look at you guys, it seems like only yesterday I was sneaking my friends into the house while Joanna and Graham were at their Christmas party just to watch you guys live at the Hammersmith Oden theater." I sassed.

"Thank you love, now c'mon time to head to the stage." Roger said. The lads cheered and I followed behind as we all walked back up the stairs and went through the corridors of backstage. Hundreds upon hundreds of artists were getting themselves ready to go up and perform.

I watched as the boys did their typical body warmups to get themselves pumped up when I felt a nudge at my arm.

"You seem quiet poppet, everything okay?" I looked up to see Deacy standing beside me.

"You said anybody whose anybody comes to see these shows right?" He nodded and I said solemnly, "Do....do you think my family, like my mum and dad know that I'm here now? That I'm here performing?" I felt him wrap his arm around my shoulder and he said.

"It's possible. Anytime a new artist or band comes here, it's fully announced far and wide throughout Heaven. So there's a good chance they might be out there in the audience."

"I hope so. I just want to show them what I've achieved, I want them to be proud of me."

"They are poppet. Just like we are." He embraced me in a one armed hug leaning his head against mine.

"I really have missed these moments between us Deacy."

"So have I. And I've got a hell of a lot of comforting to catch up on."

"Well now's a good start."

"Oi you two! Are we going to perform or not?" The two of us smiled as we heard Roger's voice cry out to us. My brother looked down at me and he said.

"C'mon, let's go do our thing." I nodded and we headed towards the guys.

*3rd Person POV*

Once again it was concert time. Every soul that had passed into heaven that was a fan of Rock and Roll or music in general came from far and wide to come to the concert of concerts, even bigger than the Earthly event that Live Aid gave the world.

Generations of artists and musicians that had come from around the world from many different backgrounds came to this very stadium to give the performance of their afterlives. Thousands, almost a million people poured into the stadium as the lights were flashing and doing their test run for each artist that would perform that night.

Soon Bob Geldof came onto the stage and everyone applauded for him.

"Good evening ladies and gentlemen. Welcome once again to the Heaven's Rock and Roll concert." Everyone applauded and cheered holding up signs of their favorite artists or bands that would be performing tonight. "It gives me great honor to announce that we recently were given a new arrival, but I won't give it away on who it is." The audience crowd because they wanted to hear who it was as Bob continued, "I'll leave that to the band who know her best. So without further ado I would like to bring up on stage the first band performance of this evening's festivities. These lads I knew personally and they helped make one of the biggest rock concerts even greater than I could ever imagine. These four individually talented young men rose to the stardom in the early 1970's before exploding into the worldwide phenomenon by the 1980's. Ladies and Gentlemen please bow before her royal majesties that is Queen!"

The crowd roared with applause as Bob left the stage and the stage grew dark. Soon the opening notes for "Now I'm here" began playing and everyone cheered louder as they began clapping in rhythm. Those who have seen and grew up seeing Queen live, knew exactly how to react and behave during a Queen concert and those who got to know Queen up here in heaven got a taste of what it would've been like had they seen them in person with all four of them up on stage.

Soon Freddie's silhouette and voice echoed through the speakers as he began to sing the song. When the song began to pick up, the lights on stage exploded as did fire from the sides of the stage as all four members of Queen were finally revealed to the crowd.

Freddie lead with the vocals and his mates and brothers backed him up on not only the vocals but their instruments, and ever the frontman he was, strutted the stage like it was his as his voice overpowered and reached out into the audience with a force unlike anything.

By the end of the song, Freddie proclaimed into the microphone.

"Thank you! Thank you, good evening everybody!" The crowd cheered as Freddie continued, "Oh it looks magnificent out there tonight. Okay my darlings, right now. Right now, we're going to take you for the first time ever we're taking you all to the battlefield. This is called Ogre Battle!"

The boys continued to play a few more songs like 'White Queen', 'Killer Queen', 'Bohemian Rhapsody', 'Don't stop me now' and 'Son and Daughter' included with Brian's famous guitar solo giving Deacy and Freddie enough time to change clothes for the next half of the performance. Freddie now wearing the famed black satin outfit with his chest exposed and diamond fingernailed glove as well as the chain glove on the other.

"Yes thank you, thank you very much. Featuring Brian May on guitar!" Brian took a bow as the spotlight shined on him and the crowd cheered. "Now then my darlings, as I'm sure everyone's heard we have a new arrival. A very special girl to all four of us. How would you all like to meet her?"

The crowd roared with applause and soon Roger began doing one single rhythmic beat. Hearing the beat made the entire audience clap in that single beat rhythm.

"She first rose to the spotlight in the summer of 1981. A bright, charismatic young woman whose music has touched the lives of millions. To us she wasn't a shadow of our fame, she was an equal partnership. The like of which we had never knew we could ever ask for. Ladies and gentlemen and everyone up in the balcony give it up for Heaven's very own Rock Angel, Mrs. (Y/n) Kline!"

From up on the catwalk above the stage, the silhouette of the Rock Angel herself came up and it appeared that she actually had angel wings sprouting from her back as she began the first verse of her famed song "Set it all Free".

By the chorus, the screen lifted up and she hopped off the catwalk and gratefully fell from the 10ft catwalk onto center stage playing her Red Special as her boys backed her up as they always did whenever they performed this song together.

And seeing the two artists perform together, Queen and the Rock Angel, the crowd was in pure excitement bouncing up and down and crying out the lyrics to the well known song that the Rock Angel's 'Bohemian Rhapsody'.

But none were more happy to perform once again than the artists that were on stage. It had been forever since it was the five of them together up on stage and they couldn't help but look at each other. As the guitar solo came up, it turned into a guitar battle between the Rock Angel herself and Brian May which got the crowd really pumped up.

By the end of the song, everyone was chanting out 'Angel! Angel! Angel!'

"Hello Rock and roll heaven how's everyone doing tonight!?" The crowd welcomed her with a roar of applause. "God I can't believe I'm here performing with my boys once again. And right now we'd like to bring out a special guest for this next number." She turned to Deacy who nodded and began playing his bassline for "Under Pressure" which got the crowd applauding louder.

"This man is a well-known legend and the birth of a true 'flamboyant' hard rocker. And a very close friend of mine." Freddie started.

"Six time Grammy award winner, 4 time Brit award winner, actor, musician. Everyone put your hands together for Mr. David Bowie!" (Y/n) proclaimed into the mic.

It was then Freddie and (Y/n) began singing the first part of the song as at the center stage a circular hole began to open and soon rising up onto the stage was David Bowie himself. He wore a royal blue suit with a black undercoat suit shirt as well as the business white shirt. A light blue tie and black shoes.

He soon began his line of the first bridge as Freddie and the Rock Angel backed him up. When the second part of the song came up after Freddie's little vocalization, David gave the gesture for (Y/n) to take the second part of the song. And as she always performed it, she would lowly sing in her alto range before suddenly belting out to the perfect volume as she would hold the note out for as long as she could letting the two legends back her up.

Just like the record Freddie and Roger softly sung the first part of the break, then David came in before (Y/n) belted out the why vocals before the song picked right back up. It was something that could only be seen in Heaven. Three legendary singers performing one song.

David Bowie, Freddie Mercury and (Y/n) Kline the Rock Angel.

The three lead singers stood side by side with each other with David on the left, Freddie in the middle and (y/n) to the right. The three in almost rehearsed synchronicity began to sidestepped across the stage as all three voices blended the bridge that it could give one an eargasm.

Agreeing with each other and knowing what she could do to close the song, both David and Freddie stepped back with (y/n) completely unaware as she just allowed the song to consume her.

At the final note, she let out a proud controlled belt that was first heard at Freddie's tribute concert and it almost seemed like the sun was rising as the stage was lit up in a heavenly glow as she held the note. The entire audience was in an uproar as they gave a standing ovation to the Rock Angel herself.

She turned around and saw the five older men smiling at her and applauding her for a phenomenal performance that they have missed so dearly.

The concert continued as Elton John soon came up on stage and together he, Freddie and (y/n) sang 'I'm still standing' a song that was personal to all three of them in some shape or form but they knew this was the perfect song for them all to sing.

After a few more Queen songs, with the allowance of their beloved Rock Angel since her set was about to come up after theirs, she allowed them to stay and be her band as she would perform her hit songs before the souls of Heaven.

Songs like 'Who I am', 'So good,' 'Bridge of light', 'Rock angel', her rendition of 'Somebody to love', 'We'll be together', and with her boys already up there with her they did a few more duets of Queen songs like 'Friends will be friends', 'Spread your wings', 'Fat Bottomed girls', and 'Jailhouse Rock'.

Finally their time was up and as 'God save the Queen' played through the speakers, all five of them stood side by side each other and bid the crowd a goodbye and thank you.

After watching several performances from backstage, and when the concert finally came to a close it was time for the after party. So just outside in the back a beautiful garden was set up with refreshments and plenty of drinks to fit everyone's needs and all the performers of the night came out to talk amongst one another and to celebrate another well-performed concert.

As well as to welcome their newest achievement.

*My POV*

Oh my god. That was a thrill rush, and now being here at the after party I saw literally everyone. Elvis, Janis, the Beatles, Little Richard, Elton, David, Hendrix, everyone in rock and roll big names were gathered around this beautiful garden.

As I went to go grab some water I felt a hand tap my shoulder and there stood John Lennon himself.

"So you are the famous Rock Angel?" I swallowed my water and was completely star-struck.

"Y-yeah I.....Mr. Lennon I....."

"Please call me John."

"Okay, John. Can I just say.....just between us that you were always my favorite Beatle out of the group."

"Coming from you that's a huge honor. And now I can finally rub it into Paul's face the bugger." I laughed and that's when I heard a female voice say.

"Alright let me at her, where is she?" And there donned with her famous fur coat, tall Russian-like hat and red circular shades was Janis Joplin herself. "And there she is. The one female rocker better than me." She spoke as she came up to me.

"Oh no Mrs. Jop—"

"Ah-ah. Mrs. Joplin is not my name. Call me Janis baby girl." I blushed and she wrapped an arm around me and said, "You know, you and I aren't so different kid."

"How so?"

"Well we both struggled in our families and personal lives, got together with some male rockstars to form a partnership before splitting off to have our freedom. The only difference is, is that I wish I had your strength. I decided to call it quits with heroin being my way to kick the bucket."

"You were someone I did look up to. I mean yeah you had your struggles, but hell you didn't take shit from no one. When conservative minds at the time wanted you to do it their way, you said....."

"'Fuck you. I'm doing it my own way!'" She finished off which made the two of us laugh. "Yah know something baby girl, I like you. Promise me for Lady's night you'll do a song with me?"

"It would be an honor Janis." She smiled and hugged me tightly.

"Alright my darlings, may we have everyone's attention?" Freddie's voice soon spoke up as he was now standing on top of a table. Everyone looked up and as the boys of Queen stood up front Freddie continued, "First of all magnificent show all of you. So cheers my lovely darlings." Everyone of us raised our glasses in the air saying 'cheers'.

"We'd also love to specifically say a wonderful show for our newest arrival," Brian spoke up. He turned to me and extended his hand out for mine. I took it and he gently pulled me up front so that everyone could see me.

"Our beloved Rock Angel herself, (Y/n) Kline." Roger spoke up as he smiled warmly down at me.

"To the Rock Angel!" Deacy stated as he raised his cocktail glass in the air.

"To the Rock Angel!" Everyone choired at me. I bashfully smiled and said.

"Thank you, it was an honor to see most of you perform tonight, and it was great to perform with someone of you once again after so many years. I hope I have the privilege to perform with every single soul here." I said.

We then raised our glasses once more and the mingling and partying continued long into the night.

123 notes · View notes

vickyvicarious · 5 years ago

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do u have any atla fic recs? all time faves? can be shippy or not

Fun fact, I am incapable of holding back on reclists. In other words: brace yourself, anon. There’s a reason I put most of this behind a cut.

First off, these are almost all Zuko-centric, because I shamelessly play favorites. I’ll sort them by author rec, gen, shippy, and then by other characters because honestly the numbers break down well that way. Within those categories it’ll be more just as I think of it, so no special meaning to the order. I’m not always good about bookmarking even my faves, so some excellent stuff will no doubt be missing, especially since I haven’t read a lot of the more recent stuff yet/forgot some really old stuff, but this will definitely still give you plenty of fic to enjoy.

There’s a good number of FFN links on here so apologies to people who dislike it, but a lot of great stuff is still on there so give it a chance.

Author recs

Everything by @awesomeavocadolove Such hits as Another Brother (Zuko adopted by Hakoda pre-S1), and currently has a Zukka soulmate fic I’ve been meaning to start reading, as well as Unchained Melody, one of my favorite Zukka fics ever. Always quality, you can’t go wrong.

Everything by KimberlyT. I do not kid. She’s written a variety of ATLA fic ranging from Zutara/other romance to gen, seriously emotional to cracky cabbagebending. I think my favorite is probably Mismatched (S1 Zuko adopts a baby) but honestly just go read it all.

Everything by @emletish-fish. She has a very fun writing style and honestly her end-of-chapter notes on why she’s made the choices she has are fun minimetas worthwhile in their own right. Some of her top fics are the Stalking Zuko series (S3 suspicious Katara to Zutara) and The Worst Prisoner (the Gaang kidnaps Zuko in S1 and can’t get rid of him). I think there’s still a good amount of her fic that can only be found on FFN so check there too.

Everything by @botherkupo. Especially her Undying Fire series (healer!Zuko) but also just literally everything she writes, it is all so great. Tends toward Zutara but strong gen fics as well sometimes and a lot of fun. Check it all out!

Everything by @muffinlance. Loves to toy with her readers’ emotions in the best of ways. Tons of fantastic gen Zuko-centric AUs, I have adored every single fic I’ve ever read by her, can’t praise them enough. Very productive as well, her tumblr is a hub for the ATLA renaissance and her fics inspire lots of others. Has also organized a fanmade ATLA coloring book for charity so get that once it’s out. In the meantime read everything she’s written.

Everything by Haicrescendo. My favorite is What We’re Given (the series where Zuko finds more air bisons and raises them), but there’s a lot of good Zukka fic too. I tend to steer away from explicit works in this fandom unless it’s a smaller part of a much longer plot-centric fic, so there are a number I haven’t read, but I really like the Pokemon!AU Zukka.

Everything by @gaycinema. I really love the EK fight club series (Zuko fights in Rumbles/etc.) but all of it is a good read. Some Jetko, mostly a lot of introspective or emotional oneshots. Which isn’t really a great depiction of how good they tend to be, you’ll just have to read them and find out. You won’t regret it, trust me.

Everything by @captainkirkk. So far eight stellar fics, starting with kind Fire Lord Zuko and ranging to Floating Tea Shop!Zuko who doesn’t want to hunt the Avatar. I love her style and have laughed out loud at multiple of these.

Gen Zuko fic

Bringing Out the Blue by maguena1. [unfinished, long] Definitely worth the read. The first ATLA fic I ever got really sucked into. The Blue Spirit never gets knocked out so Aang doesn’t know his true identity; he joins the Gaang on a recurring basis, while Zuko attempts to tell himself this is only for information on how to catch them, they definitely aren’t his friends.

It’s Impossible by Sandra Phillips. [abandoned, long] One of the earliest Avatar!Zuko fics (sort of) and a really interesting take on some spirit stuff.

Embers by Vathara. [complete, long] A landmark fic in the fandom, and for good reason. I didn’t love everything about this fic, but it is very well-written and an absorbing read certainly worth the praise.

the art of description by incandescens. [oneshot, short] Five descriptions of Zuko and Toph’s field trip from various perspectives. Short, sweet, and funny.

Breaking Point by Kryal. [oneshot, short] Zuko isn’t banished but instead sent to serve in the Home Guard. I love Zuko loving his people, and alternate canon explorations, and this is exactly that.

The Alternative by Lunatique. [oneshot, short] The reason Zuko is so determined is because he fears what will happen if he isn’t the next Fire Lord. An idea I support in canon, to a degree, written well.

Hands and Knees by gigerisgod. [oneshot, short] Zuko reflects on the choices he’s made, and experiences he’s had, when joining the Gaang. A nice introspective fic.

Relative Misery by peroxidepest17. [oneshot, short] Toph complains about her family and Zuko takes her on a field trip. Not a fic I take too seriously, but funny in a sad way.

Second Nature by lazyartisan. [possibly abandoned, long] An AU stemming from Zuko’s capture at the North Pole. Well-written and characterized, an old favorite that I actually find needing to reread to give you more detail, but I can promise it’s good.

Year One by peroxidepest17. [oneshot, short] Lessons Zuko learns in his first year being Fire Lord. I really like explorations of Zuko’s journey as Fire Lord and this is a lovely little window into that.

Soft by PenPistola. [oneshot, short] Zuko and Toph bonding after the Ember Island Players. Short and sweet.

The New Phoenix King by JoeMerl. [oneshot, short] Fire Lord Zuko is overthrown, and no one but him is bothered at all. In fact they help. Hilarious crack.

First Name Basis by JoeMerl. [oneshot, short] There’s some popular posts going around Tumblr lately about Zuko not knowing the Gaang’s names, but this fic did it first back in 2008. As amusing as you’d expect.

Male Bonding by glamaphonic. [oneshot, short] The original ‘Zuko and Sokka bond and are also dumb idiot boys’ fic. Katara is permanently rolling her eyes.

it’s not the waking, it’s the rising by isamagicdragon, thegracious [ongoing, series, medium] Azulon tells Ozai to kill Azula instead of Zuko, which leads to heartwrenching fire sibs adventure. I haven’t caught up on the last chapter yet but god is it fantastic and also just a really interesting and new perspective on what could have happened.

Doe-Eyed by Anonymous. [complete, medium] Zuko is a baby, Azula is a loving big sister. More fire sibs and a great exploration on Azula’s POV of turning against Ozai.

kintsugi by discordiansamba. [ongoing, series, long] Zuko doesn’t have Iroh after being banished, and winds up hired as a guard to protect the frail Beifong daughter. Fantastic preseries Zuko+Toph found family fic.

Legacies by WildInkling. [ongoing, medium] Far in the future, a historian studies the journal of Fire Lord Zuko. Also, he was secretly a famous author but no one knows. A funny and poignant outsider POV.

#UndercoverZuko series by naggeluide. [complete, series, short] A completely cracky concept written straight enough to be actually quite touching in parts, but also just really funny. Zuko goes Undercover Boss on his ship pre-series.

Avatar Ficlets by JaggedCliffs. [series, oneshots, short] An ongoing series of disconnected oneshots, mostly post-canon and mostly Zuko-centric. Some a pretty fun, one is a great view on Zuko and lightningbending, all worth the read (and follow for when more come out).

The Blind Leading the Blue by BrusselsSprout. [ongoing, medium] An epic Zuko and Toph field trip set in S2. I love them and this.

half in the shadows, half burned in flames by r_astra. [oneshot, short] Iroh dies, Zuko gets caught on the Day of Black Sun, everything ends up all right but damn does it hurt getting there.

A Tale of Earth and Fire by chiiyo86. [complete, medium] Zuko and Toph are married for Politics in a FN Wins AU, and follows them slowly bonding as friends to beginning a revolution. They’re married but it’s not romantic, just some good friendship.

Eight Principles of Yong by psocoptera. [oneshot, short] An exploration of immediate post-show FN politics (sort of), calligraphy, and Zuko. Also has some lovely non-fighting firebending; I always love when people explore other uses of bending.

Healing Properties of Cinder Sage by Dawen. [oneshot, short] Zuko gets very sick in the Western Air Temple. Some good interaction when he’s new to the Gaang, and Toph+Zuko friendship.

We Ourselves Must Walk The Path by WinterSky101. [complete, medium] The Gaang agrees to make Zuko their prisoner in the WAT. Speaking of new-to-the-Gaang, tension, this fic has plenty of it, and also features some good Toph and Zuko.

Frozen by Aris Merquoni. [oneshot, medium] Zuko is captured in the NWT. Some politics, lots of angst, and eventually, healing. Also actually makes me somewhat like Hahn? Incredibly enough.

Reluctant Hero by PAW_07. [ongoing, long] Avatar!Zuko fic. I got to beta it way back when for a little while before I got too busy, and have always been a huge fan of this fic. Great concept, one of the best executions of it I’ve seen, and also one of the first. Definitely read this.

Morality Chain by Pureauthor. [abandoned, long] Azula and Zuko were always on each other’s side; how this changes canon. I love this concept and would happily read a lot more fics with it (please guys, I need more fire sibs).

A viper-lizard’s tales series by Yumi_Take. [ongoing, long] The world needs more of Zuko adopting pets and small children, and those are just facts. This only has one of the two, but it’s a EK baby! Jet plays a big role in this fic as well, a weird kind of uncle-ish to the baby/friend/murderer Zuko needs to watch closely and hold back kind of thing.

(life happens) wherever you are by howlikeagod. [ongoing, long] Katara doesn’t find Zuko and Iroh in the teashop, and canon takes a sharp left turn. Excellent Gaang fic.

The Best Path series by EudociaCovert. [series, ongoing, long] Zuko meets Jet in ‘Zuko Alone’ and winds up getting claimed as theirs by the remaining Freedom Fighters. Really really well-written, I got quite emotional over some scenes.

Shippy Zuko fic

Balm by Thyme In Her Eyes. [Maiko, oneshot, short] A sweet little fic about Mai’s thoughts on Zuko’s lightning scar.

The Black Games by Mrs. Pettyfer. [Zutara, complete, long] Hunger Games-esque AU. It’s the first in a series, and I lost interest after this one but I remember enjoying the fic and it was more personal preference rather than a drop in quality that had me leaving.

Lie To Me by Inkcharm. [Toko, oneshot, short] I’m not actually a fan of this pairing romatically (at least until years down the line), but this little fic of Toph and Zuko bonding through lying to one another is sweet. I choose to ignore the more shippy parts and enjoyed it.

Zutara? What the heck is that? by Ryxl. [Zutara, oneshot, short] Complete crack, have a good sense of humor and I think you will enjoy. Just the mental image of the Gaang finding a Zutara propaganda flyer had me chuckling.

The Three Chores series (1, 2, 3) by Fandomme. [Zutara, threeshot, short] Zuko and Katara slowly bond as he helps with chores. I will admit it’s been years and I barely remember this, but what I do recall is lovely and I always appreciate people lightening Katara’s load.

read the inscription by suzukiblu. [Zuko/Song, complete, series, medium] When Zuko is banished, he is left alone in the Earth Kingdom to fend for himself. Very touching, and I love Song in this.

Hooked by TGP. [Jetko, complete, long] A classic ‘Jet didn’t see Iroh warming his tea’ fic. They’re almost all this premise but so many well-written and very long ones.

Something To Hold Onto by Wildgoosery. [Jetko, complete, long] The EK fell and Li stayed to fight with the Freedom Fighters to protect the city during its foreign rule. Jet didn’t see the tea fic that goes very AU from canon.

Foxfire by Rahar_Moonfire. [Jetko, ongoing, long] Zuko loses his memories Jetko fic, but with heavy spirit influence and lovable EK OCs, both of which I adore and should be in far more fics.

Once Upon A Teashop by anaer. [Zukka, Jetko, ongoing, long] Cracky Ba Sing Se AU that gets gradually more and more serious. Jet hits on Zuko a lot and Sokka gets a job in the teashop to keep an eye on both of them. Endgame Zukka but heavy Jetko, and both pairings are handled pretty well, not a love triangle that makes me too mad, although as always bear in mind Jet’s messed up.

Names by TGP. [Jetko, complete, long] I feel like I’m forgetting some more excellent Amnesia!Zuko fics, but this is one I do know of. To be honest I don’t remember it super well because it may be mixed up with other Jetko/amnesia fics in my mind, but I think it was really good. I’ll have to reread myself.

Epistles by Lady_of_the_Flowers. [Zukka, ongoing, long] I love epistolary fic and I love Zuko and Sokka bonding earlier in canon. I will be honest I haven’t read this in a long time and been updating all the while, but the premise alone (Zuko and Sokka become messenger-hawk-pals in S1 and then fall in love) is fantastic.

Ozymandias, King of Kings by Think_of_a_Wonderful_Thought. [Zukka, ongoing, long] Zuko rebels earlier and actually is sent to the mines, until he is ‘rescued’ by the Water Tribe. Dark but getting lighter over time, and more reluctant-to-rule Zuko which always wrenches my heartstrings. I prefer super loyal and dutiful to his people Zuko but this trope always makes me feel things.

Crossovers

Fallen Drops of Fire by Chasmfiend. [Fullmetal Alchemist, ongoing] Young Azula and Zuko somehow appear in Amestris, and encounter Roy Mustang. I adore the fire sibs, and their relationship in this strange situation is the star of this fic for me, but it’s also fun seeing the FMA perspective of these two.

The Dragon-King’s Temple by Kryal. [Stargate SG-1, long, complete] The best crossover fic out there. Zuko and Toph get stranded on the other side of a Stargate. I don’t know anything about SG-1 but it didn’t matter, the fic was fantastic, they were badasses, it explored language and culture from an outside perspective, and it was just a ton of fun. Must-read.

Other character fic

Loyalty by Julia451. [oneshot, short] The ship captain didn’t misspeak when he called Iroh and Zuko “prisoners” in the start of S2. A lovely look at a nameless character, giving depth to a small moment and humanity to a FN soldier which I always love.

The Only One by HarlowR. [oneshot, short] An excellent exploration of Azula’s mindset regarding Zuko, her desperate need to be loved and jealousy of him matching his own. I think Azula was one of the greatest tragedies of the show, and this fic makes me feel it.

Blood by theAsh0. [oneshot, short] Katara-centric thinkpiece on bloodbending and healing. Dark but really interesting.

Touch and Go by Cadence. [oneshot, short] After Iroh’s struck by lightning, Toph doesn’t let Zuko drive them all away. A momentary alliance and the seeds of friendship. More Toph-focused but still heavy on the whole Gaang.

Shortcomings by Menamebephil. [oneshot, short] Iroh thoughts during his imprisonment, on the theme of mistakes. I love this man and don’t understand why I am so drawn to fic about him that makes me sad.

Watch And Review, Please by Becca Stareyes. [oneshot, short] The Ember Island Players receive some constructive criticism... sort of. Funny and quick.

Azula Redemption Trilogy (1, 2, 3) by Mistress of Sarcasm. [threeshot, short] Second person and deeply introspective, three short little fics delving into Azula’s head and bringing her closer to redemption.

Echoing Refrains by catie_writes_things. [oneshot, short] I really like nuanced explorations of the whole FN royal family. It’s perfectly fine to write Ozai as pure evil bastard, but exploring what might have been or how he got there, or even as in this fic his talent for music being inherited by Zuko is really interesting too. Iroh-centric.

our curse by ohmygodwhy, and the last dragon by thesometimeswarrior. [twoshot, complete, short] Stay away if you don’t like to cry. In the first Zuko learns Ozai is executing Iroh, and isn’t able to stop it; the second is even worse because it’s Iroh’s POV. I put this in the other characters section because honestly I adore the second fic even more than the first, but they are both fantastically written and will hurt you a very great deal.

Finally, I’m not quite bold enough to put my own fic on a reclist, but just shameless enough to mention I’ve written a few Avatar fics I quite like if anyone feels the desire to check them out on my AO3. ;) But seriously give love to all the rest of these, they deserve it. (And as I said, there’s lots more excellent stuff, this fandom is so prolific and well-written!)

#atla #atla fic #fic rec #reclist #replies #anonymous #i'm haunted by the feeling i've forgotten a lot of stuff #but honestly i need to stop this is huge already #enjoy anon #Anonymous

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jimlingss · 5 years ago

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The Ultimate Drabble

➜ 1.8k || OT7 || Fluff

➜ When all the worlds collide together.

► This is an ambitious crossover of all the main male leads of my slice of life series. Albeit short, I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. Thank you for joining me for such a long journey. It took over four years, but I’m glad that I was able to complete it and that you, the reader, was along the wild ride with me.

Ringg Ringgg.

The elevator sings as he gets off the right floor. The doors part and he steps out, adjusting the sleeves of his fitted black suit that hug his broad shoulders one last time and brushing a strand of his sleek hair that’s parted to one side away from his forehead.

There’s already a bustle, music and conversations leaking out from the conference hall.

But when Seokjin enters, he isn’t sure where to go.

People are already mingling, holding glasses of champagne, laughing and making small talk. No one greets him and he dawdles around for a second before he decides to approach the harpist playing at the side, right by the entrance.

“Excuse me, do you know who the event coordinator is?”

The long-legged boy lifts his head, fingers still plucking at his harp strings, but he exhibits utter confusion. His black rimmed and gawky glasses are sliding off his nose, coffee brown hair barely combed. But in his polite smile, dimples appear on each side of his cheek. “I actually don’t know, sorry. I’ve been trying to figure out who the event coordinator is too. I’m just a hired college student.”

“Oh. Well, that’s quite alright. Thank you.”

“No problem.” The boy continues plucking, playing a lovely piece to fill the background noise.

But Seokjin is back to square one.

Or at least for only a few minutes.

As soon as he arrives at the refreshments table, he catches someone’s eye and they beeline straight towards him. “Excuse me, are you Mr. Kim?”

Seokjin turns around and finds a smiling man with plump lips, rounded cheeks, and crinkled eyes. But despite the boyish exterior, Seokjin recognizes him from the shows he’s been to. He’s Tony award-winning Broadway actor, Park Jimin.

It was admirable that someone like him, with fame and power, would selflessly host such a charity purely for the betterment of humanity. Everyone these days seems to have ulterior motives, but the man looks to be the exception.

“Yes, I am.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Park Jimin.” The two men shake hands. “I couldn’t thank you enough for being one of the sponsors of our events.”

“It’s my pleasure. Valleyview Kim Hospital will always help support child welfare. If anything, I should be thanking you for reaching out to me. I wouldn’t want to miss out on such a great opportunity.”

The pair of them exchange a bit more conversation before Jimin is leading Seokjin to his designated table.

“This is Jung Hoseok,” Jimin introduces and Seokjin is taken aback.

The man is tall with dark hair, dressed in a fitted suit with his sun-kissed skin glowing. He has high cheekbones with a long nose, mere presence commanding attention. But when he glances up and stands, the natural furrow of his brows seems to soften intentionally like he’s still practicing how to not look intimidating.

“Nice to meet you. I’m a partner of Jung and Park, a divorce law firm here in downtown.”

“I’m Mr. Kim Seokjin, I’m the chief executive officer of Valleyview Kim Hospital.”

“Oh, I’ve been a few times.” The lawyer seems to ease and he smiles.

“Have you?”

“Yes. Fortunately, nothing bad happened but you have an amazing team of doctors on hand.”

“Thank you. I’m glad we were able to accommodate and treat you fairly.”

Jimin smiles and moves onto the next set of people that stood from their seats to greet Seokjin. There’s a plump man who has a wide smile and a younger boy next to him. The latter has eyes the colour of a deep chestnut shade, a softened yet strong gaze. His features are gentle, cheeks rounded, lashes long, hair that looks fluffy to the touch and naturally pouty lips.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you! I am Mr. Min, president of Brilliant Top School. One of the best secondary schools in the country, and this is my son, Min Yoongi. He is a high academic, actually, the Student Council President that runs the internal affairs in our institution—”

“Dad,” the high-schooler calls in a husky voice, eyes drooping as if he’s exhausted and doesn’t want to be here.

Seokjin can empathize with him. Social events aren’t exactly exciting half the time.

“It’s nice to meet you. I look forward to hearing more about your school soon.”

They all take their seats, getting comfortable and Jimin smiles. “Dinner will begin shortly. Feel free to mingle and order any drinks or refreshments. There’s also auctions in the lobby if you haven't already taken a look. Thank you again for coming.”

The charity fundraiser looks like it’s doing well for itself. There appears to be plenty of sponsors from all across the board, different people from all kinds of different industries. Seokjin’s glad that so many can come together for such a great cause.

“Do you know who the empty seats are for?” he asks when curiosity gets the better of him.

The lawyer looks up from his menu. “Apparently, it’ll be where the First Lady is sitting.”

“The First Lady?” His brows raise in surprise.

Hoseok nods. “She was the biggest sponsor of tonight’s event or so I’m told.”

And soon enough, much to the bafflement of Seokjin, the First Lady indeed emerges. There are pictures taken with the hired photographers, people that approach and introduce themselves, shaking her hand. Swarmed by the masses, it seems like she can’t even get to the table without being stopped every few seconds. But eventually she arrives and everyone stands in courtesy.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lady Kim.”

“Likewise.” She smiles and introduces the boy Jin didn’t notice was behind her. “This is my stepson, Taehyung.”

“Hi,” he grunts half-heartedly. His blonde hair is a mess, clothing rather baggy, and the scruff all over his chin never once gives hints that he’s the wealthy son of a world leader. He doesn’t have brand name clothing, a polished appearance, or luxurious watches to his name. But despite appearing rugged, he looks not that much older than a mere college student.

“Hello.” Hands are shaken, greetings exchanged, but Taehyung doesn’t look like he wants to be here. Both he and Yoongi, with no words said to one another, seem to telepathically exchange mutual respect in that way.

A smile finds itself on Seokjin’s lips — he can still remember when he was that young and unimpressed with the world.

“Thank you for your contribution to this country.” Mr. Min is shaking the First Lady’s hand excitedly. “The funding you have put into education has helped us run so many programs for our students, like our scholarship program. The previous administration was looking to cut education, and it was absolutely terrible! It’s nice to know that there’s someone sitting in office who genuinely cares about the well-being of our children and the future generation.”

The woman is laughing politely, and this time, the principal’s son looks like he has no plans on stopping his ramble and the president’s son doesn’t look like he particularly cares either.

The former grabs his non-alcoholic champagne and downs the whole flute.

Soon, the conversations slow down and the music becomes quieter. The lights dim, and a single spotlight is put on the podium in front of the room. Jimin enters the stage, tapping the microphone once and then he flashes a brilliant smile.

“Good evening, everyone and welcome to the Break the Silence charity fundraiser. Tonight is about helping children find their voices, supporting child welfare in broken homes, and promoting the education of children in need. So, thank you for coming here tonight and aiding this great cause. Without the support and sponsors of tonight, I would’ve never been able to host such an event.”

The Broadway actor continues with his speech, speaking about each of the sponsors for the non-profit fundraiser and the bidding that’s happening in the lobby, and where the proceeds will go. Afterwards, it dials down to a more casual discussion of when meals will be served and when the bidding results will be announced.

“Thank you everyone who came here today to support the cause.” There’s loud applause that erupts through the room and the actor smiles, walking off the stage.

The harp player in the corner continues playing and plucking away at his strings, and promptly enough, the meals are served. Seokjin finds easy conversation with Hoseok. It never goes anything beyond polite work talk but he’s rather easy to speak to and Jin muses that he’s quite professional.

The First Lady is swamped the entire night, so there’s little he can say to her. Her stepson, on the other hand, doesn’t seem like he wants to talk and neither does the highschooler who’s found often texting on his phone with a smile that sometimes sneaks on his lips. His father isn’t bothered enough to ask him who it is on the other side — he’s too preoccupied speaking about the scholarship student program at his institution to other people mingling around.

But eventually, dinner is finished and dessert is served.

Though not before the chef comes out to personally introduce the dish.

“Good evening, I hope you enjoyed your dinner tonight.” The man who approaches has doe eyes and dark hair flopping to the side. His black dress shirt is tucked into his black trousers hugging his muscular frame. Apparently his name is Jeon Jungkook, a World Renowned Chocolatier, or at least what Jimin had commemorated at the beginning and what Mr. Min had whispered about prior to the dish being served. “This is a chocolate ball created by using Amedei Porcelana, a dark chocolate made by the Amedei chocolatier of Tuscany, Italy. The chocolate on the side that you pour onto the ball is a sweeter milk chocolate, and there’s crème brûlée ice-cream inside with truffle shavings.”

“Thank you.” The First Lady picks up her fork.

Mr. Min is in awe. “This is absolutely wonderful.”

And for the first time tonight, Yoongi and Taehyung look like they’re actually alive and not half dying.

“This looks delicious,” Seokjin affirms and Jungkook smiles.

“Please, enjoy.” The man continues on his way, a waiter following behind him and rolling the silver cart to help distribute the desserts.

It’s odd. Seokjin feels a sense of familiarity with these people. And in spite of being surrounded by complete strangers, he enjoys his night wholeheartedly.

The event continues, food finished and the bidding results announced. After a little more mingling, people begin to bid their farewells and Seokjin parts away from Hoseok, shaking the man’s hand once more with a promise that if the lawyer ever needs something from the hospital, then he’s just one call away. It’s an acquaintance-relationship built on mutual respect.

“Thank you for coming, Mr. Kim.”

“It was a pleasure.” Jin shakes Jimin’s hand one last time. “Feel free to contact me if you ever plan on organizing an event like this again. I would love to contribute to great causes.”

“I will.” They exchange smiles.

It’s a peculiar night, but not a bitter one.

It’s sweet.

#bts fanfic #bts scenario #bts fanfiction #bts reader insert #seokjin fanfic #yoongi fanfic #hoseok fanfic #namjoon fanfic #jimin fanfic #taehyung fanfic #jungkook fanfic #AND WITH THIS - THE LAST PAGE HAS BEEN TURNED

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saturatedboy · 4 years ago

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Lord Heisenberg X Male!OC

New and first story series! This involves a male OC, however be free to use your own name instead. This book won’t exactly follow the plot of RE8, however ideas will be taken from it.

Male!Oc- Leonardo is a 27 year old male that works within a distance village called ‘Village of Ram’. Reason for it’s name is that its hidden away behind many mountains. His job includes being a literacy teacher within a new still-in-construction school. On the side lines he is a journalist, using his findings to post through the Duke to spread around the other villages. However not all his stories can have a happy ending, and I fear the story he’s within won’t go to plan. Would his story be complete with a happy ending, or will he loose- may the pages of his story be turned.

Warnings: Mentions the use of alcohol

Words: 3K

The Slaughter of the Ram

Chapter 1

They all stared at him with a lost look in each and every one of their eyes. Some had heads down, others blinked away any boredom that snuck in through the words that came from his mouth and the rest were whispering amongst themselves with a few giggles escaping. They really didn’t want to be here but they were forced by the leaders of their home to. It wasn’t like they could get education anywhere else.

The sudden chime of a bell ringing had woken most of the young. Them all being swift in gathering their things together. The older male stood with chalk in hand, watching the young pack away equipment such as pencils, paper and books. Smiling at their eagerness to leave his class, with a clear throat he spoke over the loudness that they were causing with their chairs and voices. “Read pages 12 to 16 of ‘Mid-Summer Night Dream’ please in your break!” A chorus of groans left most of their mouths leaving the male at the front to chuckle. “I know you all are enjoying it all!”

“Sir, must we read? It’s Summer break-”

“Since when do we have Summer break here? You know it’s always Winter here Robert.” The girl with a high bun, neatly wrapped with a silk ribbon had spoken up as she gently flicked the boy named Robert on his forehead.

“So, Charity, it’s still Summer-” He shot back, grabbing her wrist before she could give him another flick. She struggled out of his grip, moving her arm about as she smiled at the others playfulness. The oldest male cleared his throat having heads turn towards him. With a silent chuckle, he banged his fist against his chest a couple of times to clear his throat fully before speaking.

“And here I thought you all wanted to go home.” Just as quick as the words left his throat, his future generation had scrambled out of the door and filed into the very small hallways to escape through the front. He stood there for a minute or two, waiting for all the students to leave fully before turning to face his desk and gathering his own equipment and papers to mark. Being in thought about his next meal of the night, he was drawn back out by a knock against wood.

“Knock knock, it’s your favourite.” A feminine voice that had the tone of a mother had spoken from behind him. Placing the last paper into his messenger bag, he stood and turned to face the old visitor with a bright smile. Leaning against his open door was a woman with blonde hair that was slightly mangled from her usual bonnet that she would wear that was now resting on her shoulders. Her green dress with an apron over the top had reached her ankles which feet was accompanied by black doll-shoes.

“Catherine, great to see you. How were the lessons? Heard you have some new sprouts.” The sudden expression change that came from her explained the whole day to him instantly. With a heavy sigh, she placed her bonnet back onto her head and spoke.

“They were terrible. I’m not even joking. They don’t understand how to make soup. Soup I tell you!” she continued to ramble on about her day, expressing her hatred towards the new students and old ones that she herself had to teach for cookery class. “-And then I told her to put her utensils back and-Hey! Are you even listening to me?” A pout fronted her lips, brows furrowed as she stared at the male with arms crossed over her chest as she watched him stare into space. With a harsh nudged of her, he blinked his eyes and turned t face her, hair swaying with his movement. With a smile and neck scratch, he spoke.

“I’m sorry Catherine. All this talk about food is making me thirsty. Say, would you like to join me at the Inn? I’m pretty sure some whiskey would move all your problems away.” He suggested, adjusting his messenger bag over his shoulder and rolling his beige sleeves up to his elbows. With a soft sigh, the woman placed her bonnet on and brushed her dress down, getting rid of any wrinkles easily.

“Only if you’re paying, and I’ll take my usual of scotch thank you.” Together they walked, arms linked out of the room and school that was still being built. The snow wisped around them, being gentler as it lightly touched their exposed skin. With the walk being silent, they could hear the joyful cries of smaller children playing with sticks and others having the usual game of a snow ball fight. The sight made Catherine cringe. “Children, they are so much to handle.” she expressed her hatred through bending down gathering snow and then throwing a snowball at a child that was in her classroom that day. “And that’s for running with a knife!” She exclaimed as the child that got hit only laughed with a thumbs up, using their other hand to wipe the snow off her arm.

“You mustn't hurt the children; they are the reason this village will be up and running still in times yet to come.” The older male spoke, placing his arm back out for Catherine to grab, which she did almost immediately. Catherine sighed and rolled her eyes, tutting at his words.

“Now Leo, you know very much that if these children aren’t taught manners, then how could they ever survive. Haven’t you heard the news from the Village of Shadows?” She asked, however the older male, Leonardo, stayed quiet. She continued as the Inn was slowly getting closer in their reach. “Apparently mutant sorts of dogs have been wandering about, snatching children left and right. A young girl, age 14 I think, was attacked but luckily survived as her father with his buddies shot at the beast. Wicked I tell you, scarily wicked.”

They reached the Inn at the end of her words, a now unsettling aura around them both. Leo pondered to himself, being caught up in his thoughts as usual. ‘If the centre village is being attacked, then why haven’t they cancelled the festival for two days' time?’ Being dragged into the Inn, Leo huffed and coughed slightly at the sudden smell of cigars blocking his nose. The stench was something he had yet to still get comfortable with however he would deal with it for now. Letting Catherine lead him, Leo looked around the now bustling room of other men and woman, some children falling asleep in the wooden booths to small babies nestle in their mothers' grasps. Waving to familiar faces as he passed them, he quickly settles down at the bar as Catherine sat beside him. “Would you look at her,” She sighed dreamily. Watching her line of vision, Leo followed it to have his vision set on a beautiful woman. Long brown hair reaching her hips, a brow dress reaching the floor with a daisy took behind her ear. She was enjoying a glass of water with some other people that Leo hadn’t set a name with the faces.

“I swear we only come here for you to gush over women.” Leo snarked, rolling his eyes at his friends' actions of whistling loudly grabbing the attention of the girl who blushed deeply in return. Leaning back against the bar top, Catherine giggled and she raised her hand up to call for the bar tenders' attention.

“What can I say, women are really pretty and you can't say much, what about you and Aaron? What happened there?” Her question aa caught in the air as she held a finger up to keep Leo silent, telling the bar tender their orders of whiskey and scotch. It was only after the tender had written down their orders that she signalled Leo to carry on as she turned on her buffet to instead sit straight and look at the lines of bottles behind the bar.

With a groan, Leo dropped his head onto the wooden top as he turned his face to look at her. “He let for another village, asked if I wanted to come. I declined and so he left without any trace of a ‘goodbye’ to me.” Catherine pursed her lips together, only for her lips to stretch into a smirk.

“So, writing boy is free to date hmm~?”

“No, I am not. I enjoy being single and I don’t need no man in my life.” Beside him, Catherine held her laugh. Her faced flushed in red as she tried to keep her composure. With a hard slap on his back, Leo jerked up and sat with an angry look on his face. “Hey, what was that for?!”

“I just felt like it. All this talk about love is making me thirsty- EY BAR TENDER, PASS OUR DRINKS WILL YA!” With a nod from the said other, the bar tender came over to them dropping their drinks on the counter and nodding to them. With muttered ‘thanks’ of the best friends, he walked away to tend to other customers.

Both sat in minable silence, the odd talk about classes to talk about summer ideas passed through their conversations. As the night became young, the pace began to get more crowded and louder. Someone had started to play the harmonica, Catherine had wobbled away from Leo in search of the girl she called beautiful, the place began bustling with smokers and soon, Leonardo had turned on his buffet to watch everything go down. Smiling, he watched as happy couples were on the make-shift dance floor as a small band played, children were running in and out of the doorway and the odd student came up to Leo to ask about the pages they must read. “Just those would do, now go enjoy your night and holiday.” With a loose hand shake, the student ran off again into the crowd of people. Leo scrunched his nose as he downed his 4th glass of the night. The fiery taste burned his throat yet he was still perfectly fine. Looking around the room, he spotted multiple photos hanging of ‘Mother Miranda’. She was Somone that his community and others worshipped. She was their god in their eyes. Although Leo didn't quite understand her, he had his own hopes he wished to grant to her however dreaming is one thing to reality.

Just above the doorway was a sketch of his entire village. ‘Village of the Ram’ was quoted at the bottom of the sketch. There were multiple villages in the area, however his village had mostly resided away from Castle Dimitrescu as he remembered. Words between villages was sent through post by the duke. A large man who acted as a father to all. He was sweet, something Leo did find attractive however The Duke was far from his type. If he didn’t travel every day, Leo was sure to find himself maybe even falling in love with him however he treasures the fact both were close friends- but that never stopped him from never getting a discount of the other.

Placing his empty glass back onto the bar top, the noise from the bell of the door along with gasps and the sudden stop of music had caught his full attention. Turning towards where everyone was looking, the door was wide open with a fairly tall man standing in the way. With long strides, the man had walked in, banging the door close behind him. Murmured talk between everyone erupted at the visitor. The free and enjoyable air that was in the atmosphere had let as it was placed with an uncomfortable sense of feeling. “Ignore me will ya.” The deep, husky voice spoke as everyone went back to what they were doing. Music had started to play again as the new visitor had stride his way up.

Leo stared at the man, taking in his features as he walked practically up to him. Not wanting to attract attention to himself, he spun back around on his buffet and asked the bar tender that was nearby to order him another glass of whiskey. The tender placed the glass he was drying down and went to do as commanded. Leo had stated to take notes in his mind. ‘Big guy, sunglasses blocking his vision, fair long stipple of beard growing, really nice grey hair to compliment his face- overall the fucking Lord Heisenberg.’ Thanking again to the bar tender, Leo kept his eyes on his refilled glass that was stirring with his chosen liquid. He tried his best to keep his breathing down as the Lord of the Village of Shadows had taken the seat next to him. With a shaky hand, Leo sipped his drink this time only to have his eyes wander to look at the man beside him. To his shock, he could see behind the sunglasses to have a pair of greenish yellow eyes staring back at him. Pretending he wasn’t looking; Leo slowly turned his eyesight back onto his drink as he placed the half empty shot glass down. “I’ll have what he’s having.” The same deep voice spoke.

Distracting himself from the talk about him, Leonardo ran a hand through his fairly long hazel hair and pulled it back into a ponytail, using a bobble he had solen of Catherine to tie his hair back. Two loose stands fell in front of his face framing his jawline. “Do I get the pleasure of knowing the young man's name?” The lord asked, turning his larger frame to face Leo.

Biting his lip, Leo turned his head to face him, being greeted again with the same eyes that felt captivating. Without a second thought, he spilt his name. “Leonardo- or Leo would do.”

The Lord smiled in satisfaction, a smirk stretching his lips. “So, you are more than staring!” He exclaimed, catching the attention of a few nearby people who were also sat at the bar, however as soon as they noticed it was the Lord speaking, they turned their heads quickly to carry on with their conversation. Biting back his frustration, Leo spoke up in a much harsher tone forgetting who he was dealing with.

“I’ll have you know it was you staring at me first you-”

A hand pulled on his shirt collar, making him look at the culprit. Catherine was there with the woman from before clinging onto her arm. “My apologise Lord Heisenberg, my friend appears to be drunk.”

“I’d have you know I am no light drinker; he was staring at me-” Catherine slapped her hand over his mouth and began to pull on Leo’s shirt.

“Looks like the alcohol is getting to him. C’mon it's time to go Leonardo.” Heisenberg waved the bar tender away as he placed down his drink of the same liquid as Leo.

“It’s quite alright miss, I find your friends attitude towards me quite...intoxicating.” Heisenberg leaned to grab his shot glass, only to down the whole drink in a mere second. Slamming the glass back not the top, he swung an arm over Leo’s shoulder and pulled him away from Catherine’s grasp. “It’s not every day I see new villages with such Firey attitude. I think I may stay around a little longer, what do you say Leonardo?”

Leo groaned; he could start to feel the effect of the alcohol seeping into his blood stream. Oh, to just pass out in Catherine’s arms would be amazing. “You may be a Lord but that doesn’t mean you weren’t staring at me first.”

“Leo, drop it already.” Catherine hissed, bringing the woman on her arm behind her as she glared at Leonardo. Leo shook his head, letting the alcohol take over his movements as he slowly began to get tipsy.

“He looked at me though,” He whined, pouting as he shot a glare of his own at the Lord who smiled in return. Oh, how he was loving this. The way Leo swayed slightly, to his slightly muscled arms being free and on show for him. To say a man was having such an effect on him that he couldn’t understand, he was enjoying every moment of this.

“How could I not look; you are like the Ram of the village aren’t you.” Heisenberg let Leo’s body fall against his, his arms wrapping almost immediately around his front. Catherine shook in her boots; her friend was at the mercy of the lord’s grasp. “Strong arms with an attitude to prove strength by. So fascinating.” Heisenberg hands got tighter as he pulled Leo closer to him, his scent of chalk and a whiff of whiskey became an instant comfortable smell.

Catherine watched her friend in worry, he was getting less sober by the second whilst she was gaining her composure to be sober. “Not to be rude but I think it's time I take my friend home Lord Heisenberg.” Catherine spoke, twiddling her fingers as the Lor stared at her with an unamused look.

“He’ll be fine. This is a 24-hour Inn, right? I’ll stay with him until he wakes up. Don’t worry, I won’t do anything to a Ram like him.” Catherine balled her fist. Here her friend was half awake and half asleep and she knew she couldn’t do much against a Lord. She sighed and nodded, trusting him with his words as she turned on her heel and walked away, the smaller lady following her.

Heisenberg turned his attention back onto the male named Leonardo. ‘Such a pretty little thing, too bad you're a little annoying- or maybe it's because of the alcohol.’ Heisenberg thought as he placed Leo’s head onto the counter carefully, letting his whole slightly taller than average frame fall against the counter. Heisenberg watched as he slept, this was sure an interesting interaction.

He only came to here explore the other villages, for Mother Miranda to have some new bodies for the experiments. He never suspected to already be caught up in weird feelings with some random boy. He only knew his name anyway. “Leonardo,” He smirked to himself, pulling out a cigar from his pocket and lighting it. “Leo-...nardo.” He repeated but more slowly this time. The syllabus that rolled of his tongue felt good. The name was perfect. Looking at the sleeping male one more time, Heisenberg took a drag from his lit cigar. “Leonardo, Strongest Ram in the mountains.”

#Heisenberg #LordHeisenberg #lord heisenberg #xreader #maleoc #karlheisenbergxmaleoc #oneshot #residentevil8 #villageintheshadows #Theslaughteroftheram #RE8 #karl hesienberg #lord karl heisenberg #karl heisenberg #karl heisenberg x male #karl heisenberg x male oc #xmaleoc

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jiskblr · 4 years ago

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Blauprinz and his crew

My blood parents I never knew. Berliners, probably, but they left me in an anarchist-affiliated charity orphanage in Potsdam before I was six months old, so all I know for sure is that they named me Artur. I was adopted fairly late as these things go, about five, by the people who I consider my parents: Jurgen and Verena Carolingt. They could have had blood children, but chose to adopt, and frequently. When I was twelve I had five foster-sibs, but they slowed down after that; I only have two more sibs from the next decade, and they were adopted as the eldest four of us moved out. That's not counting Leo, who was their second fosterling; he was a real hellraiser and chafed at the academic's morality they tried to enforce, so he ran away to join a street gang. I got back in touch with him years later; for all that he left, he was as angry as me about - but that's getting ahead of myself.

My parents were academics, professors at Viadrina Universitat in Frankfurt-Oder, but in their more subtle way raised hell just as much as Leo. They grew up during the first partition, Da in East Germany and Ma in West Berlin, and they both hated the idea of hiding what they believed to cater to the powerful. They didn't budge in their convictions that everyone deserved a chance or that their conclusions deserved to be followed to their end. They believed in equality and metahuman rights, even when that was fairly unpopular, and they lived it. I'm a norm as were they, but my sibs are an even split of norms and orks plus one dwarf. They didn't adopt elves, who got snapped up more easily by more prejudiced parents, nor trolls, who posed logistical hurdles they didn't think they could deal with. (They felt bad about leaving out trolls, though, and donated generously to several charities for them. I do too, now, in their memory.) They budged just as little in their research, not even to stay quiet about it. When their research topics - applied sociology and economics of magic, for Da and Ma, respectively - developed from postulates to specific, inconvenient predictions and prescriptions for the practical world which got the corps to lean on their deans to quiet them down or kick them out, even so they stuck to their guns.

That pressure started to build around when I turned 18, and got worse as I went through my degree. When it all went to hell, I was a post-doc in applied modern theology - university-speak for 'shaman-ology' - and Zanne was a thesis candidate in high-energy experimental thaumics - studying when magic goes 'boom'. Gabi had given academia a serious try but it wasn't for her, so she'd become a net security wageslave in Potsdam - though honestly she'd be happier as a SINless decker. Fritz and Deb were undergrads at Viadrina, and Jost, Lotte, and Sascha were still young and at home. I don't understand what exactly was enraging the powers that be about their research; I think Mother had published something demonstrating that the publicly-known processes for producing refined orichalcite should produce a far lower market price, indicating that there was a covert cartel, and Father had models indicating that parts of the Eurowars didn't fit naturally with the known social dynamics pre-bellum, indicating deliberate provocation by some powerful force. True or not, either might have been the provocation. There had been escalating threats, but I wasn't living there, so I didn't hear about that; later, when I researched the background, I learned there’d been a fire started in the garage, broken windows, a chemical warfare agent left hissing in Dad's office after hours. But the first I heard of it was when I was back home, a week in late April, for Easter and Mother's birthday.

When some fucking Johnson carpet-firebombed the entire fucking house.

I don't know if they knew we'd be there. They had to know there were innocent children, there; Jost and Sascha weren't even ten yet. My parents died in the first few seconds, their corpses vaporized. Lotte was hugging Mother, so she was, too, and Fritz was just far enough away to leave dental records. Jost was less lucky; he roasted, but not quickly, and survived three hours before he died in agony. Deb lost a leg and an eye and as far as I know the pain's never stopped. Sascha was in the other room and got out, with severe scarring but none disabling. Zanne as well. Gabi wasn't there; the bosses wouldn't give her time off, and I'm not sure if that was a mercy or a curse. I was next to Father, and as far as the records know, I flash-fried like Lotte. But I'm a shaman of the Dragonslayer, and the fire washed over me. I tried to shield Dad with my body, but my totem isn't a protector; it preserved me, and much better than it would most of its shamans, but that didn't extend to him. I tried to help Jost when I realized he'd lived, but he told me to run and get revenge. I didn't realized Zanne or Sascha made it until much later; Zanne had hit her head and went unconscious quickly, and Sascha's response to pain always was to freeze up. But I kept it together enough to get to the basement, and there was ductwork Zanne had discovered years earlier and shown me, which connected it to three doors down. She'd also shown me the nearest part of the Berlin Underground - we snuck out through that ductwork - which had an ork gang she'd run with sometimes, so I thanked her memory about a hundred times that night. The gang leader by then, Ratbite, turned out to be one of the toughs she'd run with, and recognized me. I wasn't shy about using her memory to get a favor, and traded my shamanic skills - and some medical assistance - to get help going completely dark, wiping me from the databases so I could go truly SINless. He was pretty pissed when he found out she wasn't dead, but by then the favor was spent, and when she went dark as well she did him a couple favors and he mostly forgave me and accepted my excuse that I'd thought I was telling him the truth.

The official story was that the firebombs were thrown by a human-supremacist policlub, Nationale Aktion I believe, who objected to our outspokenly mixed-race family. This was bullshit, but plausible enough bullshit that the department heads and local politicians could easily pretend to believe it and be seen to Do Something in response, without that Something doing anything to harm corporate interests. Sascha I think believes that story, or prefers to act like he does. Deb, Gabi, and Zanne, though, didn't. And Zanne was good at causing explosions, but terrible at keeping her temper in check. She retaliated, with prejudice. Headline-making prejudice, which is how I and my temporary friend Ratbite learned she was alive. She had a big bounty for a couple years, but some anarchists gave her shelter before the corps reacted, and from there she became a runner as well. She didn't know I'd survived, though she did suspect, so I found her first, and joined the crew she ran with at the time. After that one came apart, the two of us have assembled all our future crews together. Well, mostly me, I'm the Face, but she still has better ties in anarchist and goblinoid circles; there's a lot of orks and trolls who won't trust a smoothskin, even one like me with an established rep.

Our vengeance is still a work in progress. The men who carried out the hit were deniable contractors, corp security from a minor place. They went down in an op our second year running, and the company got enough blowback from that job that it folded a year later. Finding out who gave the order is not quite done, but we've narrowed the field. I've got a solid network, and, well, my surviving siblings aren't any happier about it than me. Sascha pushed back when Zanne tried to contact him; I think he wants to put it behind him. Deb's a professor herself now, but she hasn't given up on justice, and Gabi-. She works for the corps, and counter to the ork stereotype is a very cold person in most ways; rationally, I know that gave me reasonable cause to doubt her. But after we finally made contact, we found her heart was cold, but a cold-burning hatred. A grudge aged like wine, but still so raw and deep that it feels unthinkable she could have made any other choice. Even the idea that she might have sided with her bosses over her family feels completely embarrassing to have considered. And Leo, like I said earlier, was almost as mad; he left home, but he still loved them for giving him a home to run from. (I hadn't realized, but he sent them gifts every Christmas, mostly hand-made, from the first year he'd left right through their deaths - he didn't learn about their deaths until he tried to deliver their gifts that year.) He's a complete ork stereotype, though, his anger is intense and searing. He'll let it go for months and then find something that reminds him again and smash up some corp's office, mostly at random. I try to give him more productive outlets when I can, but he refuses to go professional runner so he's probably going to end up landing in an early grave with his gang despite my best efforts. Not that we're really close, but I've lost too much family to let my crazy ex-brother join them.

#shadowrun #jisk writes

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dramaticviolincrescendo · 5 years ago

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Ian and Monica vs. Yevgeny and Svetlana

That’s right. I’m going to do a meta post. Because this fantastic gifset from @sickness-health-all-that-shit got me thinking about something from a different angle. I’m not sure if this has been noted in the fandom before since I’m still relatively new compared to the Shameless veterans, so sorry in advance if this has been talked about to death.

From the time Ian returns in season four through the last occasion when we see him with Yevgeny in season six, it’s pretty clear that he loves that kid almost as much as Svetlana does and far more than Mickey seems to. Obviously, Mickey has a lot of justifiable reasons for not feeling particularly paternal towards Yevgeny that I won’t get into here, and we do see a bit of a shift in the police station on that front for the first time. However, the fact of the matter is that Ian is more of a father to Yevgeny than Mickey--even Svetlana mentions his help when she’s talking to Kev. In my meta-viewing rounds, I’ve seen a lot about how Yevgeny’s relation to Mickey and Ian being just a genuinely kind, compassionate person play a huge role here. I agree. There is, however, an enormous parallel with his own upbringing that I want to explore at length, and since writing is kind of my medium, I figured I’d do it here. (Again, if this has been talked about before, please continue scrolling and have a wonderful day! :D )

Ian has mommy issues.

Ian also has daddy issues.

There. I said it.

All the Gallagher kids have issues with Frank and Monica, and we see them “act out” throughout the series in ways that would indicate that they suffer from a level of trauma strongly associated with their parents. For now, let’s focus on Ian’s since he’s who this post is ultimately about.

Frank:

Unlike the rest of the Gallagher siblings, we don’t really see much happening directly between Frank and Ian without the rest of the family involved in the first four seasons prior to Ian meeting Yevgeny. To my knowledge, all they really have is a brief deleted scene conversation and Frank offering “advice” when Ian is trying to warn him that Mickey is upset. Their other interactions tend to be more negative, with Frank beating on Ian or Ian joining the rest of his siblings in getting Frank out of the house. At the end of the first season, he even finds out that Frank isn’t actually his biological father. His speech to Lip and behavior for the rest of the series seem to indicate that it doesn’t matter to him and he still considers Frank his father regardless, but that was a heck of a smack to the face when he was already growing up with Frank’s special brand of manipulation and neglect.

So, where does that lead him? Places where a child his age shouldn’t have been. Interacting with much older men who preyed on him rather than trying to find him help or just staying away. They had an aura of stability that we have seen time and again is what Ian craves, through ROTC and West Point and these relationships with people who seemingly have their shit together. (In reality, we all know it’s a facade. Kash and Ned absolutely do not have their shit together, and Ian’s demeanor around them visibly shifts when he finally sees that with Kash shooting Mickey and Ned’s family falling apart.) As with Frank, he is willing and able to let them go when he realizes that they are more of the same: another deadbeat.

Now, let’s table that and come back to it in a moment.

Monica:

Ian’s relationship with Monica clearly has a greater impact on him throughout the series in more ways than merely their shared bipolar situations. She’s the only biological parent he has, and she’s definitely the only parent that has shown him any real affection from what we’ve seen. (Until the wedding. I’ll give Frank a few karma points for not causing trouble and being happy for Ian.) Monica loves him--he knows that. Unfortunately, he also knows that that love is not enough to keep her around or make her a better mother to any of her children. If anything, the combination of her affection, his grudging love for her, and her disorder render any efforts she does make counterproductive. For example, Frank has never engaged with Ian’s dreams of becoming a soldier, but when Monica finds out that that is his goal and that he’s upset about not having the grades for West Point, she hauls him right over to the recruitment office. To her, it’s an act of adoration. Everybody else knows it’s insane: Ian was underage and shouldn’t have been anywhere near there. Just like he shouldn’t have been anywhere near clubs, being objectified. Monica wasn’t being malicious. She seriously thought that she was doing what was best for him in her own way. Her own way just happened to be really messed up. To a large extent, it seems like Ian recognizes this fairly early on until he gets sick and doesn’t know who to turn to.

Rather than write her off the way he does Frank, however, Ian stays in touch with her behind his siblings’ backs. He knows she isn’t a good influence and that they would be appalled if he told them that they still talk. But he cares. She’s important to him. Fiona is fantastic, but she’s his sister. This is his mother, who obviously loves him even at her worst. He can’t let that go. He has to cling to that one parent in the same way that the others cling to Frank at various points in the earlier seasons before he burns their final bridges at one moment or another.

Character Foils: Yevgeny, Svetlana, and Mickey

I think Ian’s relationship with his parents is a huge reason for why Ian behaves the way he does with Yevgeny in part based on the timing. It doesn’t begin when he moves into the Milkovich house. It doesn’t start with the obligation if he is going to live with Mickey since Svetlana isn’t going anywhere. Even though his discomfort over Mickey going to the baptism surfaces afterward, Ian starts actively trying to take care of Yevgeny the same day he sees that baby. Why bother? He hasn’t shown any concern for Svetlana before. He even sarcastically congratulated Mickey when they found out she was in labor without actually pushing for either of them to be there. Why does he decide at that moment to get involved, knowing that Mickey wouldn’t be happy about it and that Svetlana wouldn’t accept the charity from him, of all people?

Well, because it’s a painfully similar situation to what he’s accustomed to, isn’t it?

Mickey left home, just like Frank. (I’m not saying he didn’t have a good reason: he had a lot of trauma to endure that Frank didn’t. Frank not wanting kids has nothing on what Mickey went through to wind up here.) He didn’t want a baby. He didn’t want to be a father. He is just chilling at the Gallaghers’ house, both of them pretending that things are the way they used to be because the changes aren’t right in front of their faces anymore. When Svetlana walks through the front door looking for him not because they’re married, but because of the baby? When Mickey doesn’t care? Regardless of the reasons, that has to look familiar to Ian in practice.

Svetlana gives a shit. She’s willing to threaten Mickey with something that could end his life (if Terry were so inclined) if he doesn’t step up to support their child. Again, she’s not asking him at that point to be a husband. She doesn’t ask him to move back in, and when she does later, there’s no reason to believe that Ian knows about it since he wasn’t there. For her, it comes down to love for her child as far as Ian is concerned. She’s got problems--there’s no denying that. But she loves her kid more than anything. She comes to find Mickey for the first time looking frazzled because their kid needs things. When Ian needed to feel better about Mickey going to juvie, Monica was there. When Ian needed to be comforted about his future, Monica was there. By that point, Monica was even there for him when he went into a severe manic episode, ran away from the army, got kicked out of Ned’s condo, and had nowhere else to go. She didn’t stick around, as Monica’s MO tends to dictate, but she was there when he was in need and was gone when he reached a state of what she would define as stability. (We know he wasn’t stable. Dear heavens, he was so not stable.)

It’s not Yevgeny’s fault that his parents are kind of a shitshow (courtesy of Terry, of course), just like it wasn’t Ian’s fault that Frank and Monica were the same. Yevgeny was born into an awful situation he can’t control. Ian must understand that better than almost anybody. By this time, his older siblings have found a sense of control over their lives while Ian’s whole world is bouncing up and down around him, spinning too fast for him to keep up.

Ian has something that Yevgeny doesn’t: experience. This kid is just getting started, but Ian has already been there. He’s grown up with a dad that doesn’t want him and a mother who loves him, although his own mother didn’t stick around the way Svetlana did. Then again, Ian barely knew Svetlana beyond her occupation, so for all he knew, even that wouldn’t last. Maybe she would go the same way as Monica.

Nobody would have wanted that for Ian, and it only makes sense that he wouldn’t want it for Yevgeny.

So, he steps up right away. He doesn’t have time to go through the mental process of coming to terms with the fact that this is Mickey’s kid and how he’s going to need stability. That much is obvious when he questions why Mickey is going to the baptism only to be told, “He’s my son, man.” It clearly hadn’t registered for him entirely, they’d been so encapsulated in the bubble they’d built for themselves when Ian came home.

Tl;dr - That gut-instinct to act? That immediate response to seeing--not hearing--that Yevgeny needed things that parents were supposed to provide for their children? Ian is such a kind-hearted person that I don’t put it past him for an instant to do what he could, but I think his own upbringing played a large role in the decision. He wasn’t looking for praise or to get Svetlana off of Mickey’s back. He saw a newborn baby who was in danger of growing up with a father who didn’t want him and a mother who loved him but perhaps not enough to save him someday.

Just like Ian.

#shameless us #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #svetlana milkovich #yevgeny milkovich #frank gallagher #monica gallagher #it's ian gallagher loving hours #again #it's always ian gallagher loving hours #meta

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heresince93 · 5 years ago

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Gillian Anderson Sunday Times Interview Transcript

There is a moment in the second series of Netflix’s Sex Education when Gillian Anderson’s character, Jean, sighs a deep resigned sigh as she is lying in bed one morning and spots the messy pile of small change her latest lover, Jakob, has left on her bedside table.

It’s my favourite moment of this uplifting show about the tangled love lives of British secondary school teens that manages to appeal to both parents and adolescents alike. Anderson plays the outrageously inappropriate sex therapist Jean Milburn, a stylish, confident single mother.

The sight of those coins will resonate with any woman of Anderson’s age and stage of life (she is 51), whatever kind of relationship they are in.These pennies, a symbol of how untidy life gets and the constant imposing presence of someone else even when they aren’t in the room, represent for Jean the gradual realisation that the excitement of a new love soon becomes tempered by the boring bits.

For those of us who have been married a while, the coins are perhaps the equivalent of the dull domesticity of picking up the shirt always dropped on the floor or the wet towels you always end up refolding after your teens have left them near but not on the bathroom radiator. Anderson and I chat about this a lot when we meet to talk about the second series of Sex Education, given that we are both working mothers in our early fifties.

The actress, who is most recognised for her role as Scully in The X-Files, is twice divorced and has three children, Piper, 25, Oscar, 13, Felix, 11, all of whom live with her in London. Her partner of three years is the playwright, screenwriter and creator of The Crown, Peter Morgan, himself a father of five.

In person Anderson is chatty and witty, aloof and friendly at the same time, a peculiarly feline trait that I often encounter in driven, confident women who have reached midlife. Tell me about Jakob and the coins, I say, what is it like starting a new relationship in your forties, compared with your twenties?

“It’s very different,” she says. “I think you are more fully formed, especially if you have taken time out of previous relationships to find yourself.

“Early on after the break-up of my last relationship and before my current one, somebody encouraged me to write a list of needs and wants in a future partner. Needs are non-negotiable. If you go on a date with someone and realise they won’t meet, say, three of those needs, then they are not the person for you. It may last as a relationship, but it won’t make you happy. Wants are easier, not more frivolous per se, but easier to deliver. Doing this made it clear to me going forward who would be good for me in a relationship.

“And there is a new creativity nowadays to what a relationship should look like, too. For instance, my partner and I don’t live together. If we did, that would be the end of us. It works so well as it is, it feels so special when we do come together. And when I am with my kids, I can be completely there for them. It’s exciting. We choose when to be together. There is nothing locking us in, nothing that brings up that fear of ‘Oh gosh, I can’t leave because what will happen to the house, how will we separate?’. I start to miss the person I want to be with, which is a lovely feeling. And it is so huge for me to be able to see a pair of trousers left lying on the floor at my partner’s house and to step over them and not feel it is my job to do something about it!”

I’ve never interviewed a celebrity who, even though she is wearing heels (little pointy white boots) is still shorter than me (I’m barely 5ft 2in), but Anderson is tiny. This is only important to note, I think, because her roles since Dana Scully have been so big and so powerful: Blanche in A Street Car Named Desire and Margo Channing in All About Eve on stage; Lady Mountbatten in the film Viceroy’s House; Stella Gibson in The Fall; and now Jean Milburn.

I wonder if she is perhaps filed under “tricky, unpredictable, charismatic, spiky, intelligent and fearless woman” in the casting director’s directory of suitable roles. After all, her next part is going to be Margaret Thatcher (in The Crown). And when she arrives for our chat in the closed Chinese restaurant of a central London hotel, she apologises for the sticky mess in her hair caused by wearing the Iron Lady’s wig the previous day. Her nails are manicured pale pink like Thatcher’s too.

“She had a condition that meant two fingers of each hand would curl around — Reagan had it too — so it affected her gestures and she would wear lots of rings and bracelets to distract. But she kept her nails long, which is how I have to keep them now,” Anderson says. She is fascinated by Thatcher, concluding, after studying her childhood, that “nobody ever existed like her. She was unique.”

Anderson might be unique herself, and despite giving many interviews (three last year), I see that she has been smart and managed to remain a bit of an enigma. When I listen back to the tape, she is very good at general talk, but not so hot on specifics.

She spent her early years in north London with her American parents before going back to Michigan for high school. She was a teenage punk plagued by panic attacks that have continued to trouble her over the years, particularly during her intense work schedule on The X-Files. She went into therapy at 14, then became world famous at 25, and had her first child at 26 (the same age her parents had her, before going on to have her two siblings 12 years later). She split up with her first husband three years after that.

In 2011 she endured the death of her brother, Aaron, aged 30, from a brain tumour, which she rarely discusses. She is an impressive activist, campaigning for a variety of issues including women’s rights in Afghanistan, Burma, South Africa, Uganda and South America. There are 10 charities she has worked with listed on her website, and in 2017 she co-wrote We: A Manifesto for Women Everywhere, a well-received book of advice for women. She has also designed two small fashion collections for Winser London, which include some gorgeous silky blouses. I found I had three in my wardrobe without knowing they were hers.

She is a Bafta nominee and Golden Globe winner, and Neil Gaiman, who cast her in the TV series of his book American Gods, said: “She is in this strange place where everything exists in the shadow of Scully, yet she is bigger and better than that.”

When I listen to her 2003 Desert Island Discs, though, she tells a darker story. In between Radiohead and Jeff Buckley, she talks of troubled mental health that she has worked ferociously hard to improve. She has been in therapy for more than 30 years.

Anderson tells me she has been teetotal since her early twenties and despite some mild probing on my part is reluctant to elaborate on exactly why. I understand. She has soon-to-be teenage children who don’t need to know about any of the “dangerous things” she has done, as she described them to Sue Lawley.

I’m fascinated by Anderson and can see why she was the perfect person to cast as the quirky, funny therapist Jean in Sex Education, which really hits its stride in the second series. While still a comedy at heart, the subject matter tackled by its fantastic young cast is revelatory. Sex Education is one of the first productions to hire an intimacy director to make the young actors feel comfortable and process what they were doing, often naked in front of multiple cameras, to be happy and authentic about what they did and feel they had input.

Anal sex, drugs, masturbation, STDs and nudity feature graphically in this show, which I would advise all parents and teens to watch, though not at the same time — only Jean would do that. When I interview Anderson I have yet to see the finale, but Jean’s journey is that of many women in the middle of their lives after divorce with teenage children.

“There’s a grief, isn’t there?” Anderson says as we discuss the menopause. “I haven’t quite got to the place where I don’t have my eggs, but your body is going to mourn that, isn’t it? I remember the very last time I breastfed and it was heartbreaking. I wept and wept through it.

“And I know people who describe particularly difficult periods at home without realising they are describing their mothers going through the menopause.

“We’re all at the point where we’re kicking off just as our teenage children are kicking off. I was looking at some home videos of Piper when she was three and wondering where all my patience came from in my twenties. I have forgotten that version of me.”

She says she doesn’t feel quite ready for her two boys to become teenagers, but sometimes Jean slips into their conversations at home.

“I find myself saying something embarrassing at the dinner table and I don’t know if it is me or if Jean has given me the licence to say that. Maybe I have always been that way, though. Some of what she shares is too much information. I wouldn’t share it, even with my eldest in her twenties. But my son came home after having a sex education class and I completely clammed up. I couldn’t bring myself to continue the conversation. I just let it die. I really don’t know why.”

Over the years Anderson has tried to schedule her roles to fit in with her children, but like many of us who have devoted much of our time to careers, she still lives with nagging doubts about doing the right thing.

How did you deal with a small child while filming back-to-back episodes of The X-Files for 16 hours a day, I ask, especially when you decided to go it alone as a mum. “I missed her, really so much. Those moments when you see a small child in the street when you are apart from yours and the conversation just drops, it’s hard. She was on a plane a lot when she was six and we moved production to the West Coast. I justified that, I mean it was selfish on my part. I just could not imagine being away from her for long periods of time.

“I became obsessed with schedules, and I still am because of that time. I would plan and colour-code everything, make a series of propositions about schedules so I could see her, and the show would either reject or accept them.

“With the boys the longest I have been away from them was during the two X-Files movies, but again I would be travelling constantly to see them.”

I ask her if she regrets working so hard. “Not yet,” she says. “I have a feeling that will come. I definitely feel like on a level I do regret Piper flying back [to her dad, when she was six] as an unaccompanied minor.” We sit in silence for a bit, mulling over the thought.

“But there’s another version of my life where I could have worked less, had a smaller life and been more present as a parent. I could have chosen that, that could happen. But sometimes it feels like why would you, if you keep getting work as an actor, doing things you dreamt of doing and being offered incredible roles at this age, while paying the bills, and you still get to see them a huge percentage of the time and they witness a mother enjoying her work?”

She has talked to her daughter about it, but says Piper is not yet at the place where the lightbulb goes on and she realises Mum was still up at 6am the days she faced 16 hours of work to be with her, or those days we all have when we are still on the edge of the sports pitch, despite the demands of a job.

But Anderson is an all-or-nothing personality. She tells me she is either on a healthy eating plan, meditating and working out or hiding like a hermit at home eating chocolate. She has been plagued by frozen shoulders all her life, leading to months of pain-filled insomnia and cortisone injections.

“My default position is sedentary,” she tells me when I ask about her meditating and yoga right now. “I like being in bed in my PJs. When I’m working, like right now, I seem to exist mostly on chocolate. Then I go through a stage when I feel dreadful and I review it all and start a food plan, torture myself counting shots of milk and all that.

“In the cycle of all or nothing, I am in the nothing phase right now. It has gone on for quite some time, but I think I am better to be around. I was having lunch with my daughter and we were just, you know, eating, not asking for stuff without oils or sugar, and she said, ‘It’s so much better when you are not in that place.’ ”

I’ve enjoyed my hour with Anderson; she is likeable and thoughtful. I sort of hope we’ll meet again one day. It’s unlikely she’ll read the interview; she has said before that she rarely does. So what do I think as I walk away from her? I’m impressed by her curious nature and, obviously, her sense of style, a blueprint for us all at this stage of life, but mostly I’m inspired by her strong sense of self. It has obviously taken quite a bit of work for her to get there, but from what I can see, it has been worth it.

@GillianA

Sex Education series 2 is available on Netflix from Friday

Hair: James Rowe at Bryant Artists. Make-up: Mary Greenwell at Premier Hair and Make-up. Nails: Saffron Goddard at Saint Luke using Sisley Hand Care

#gillian anderson #sunday times #interview

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coppicefics · 4 years ago

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Masked Omens: Week Five

[Image Description: Image 1 - A simple rendition of the Masked Singer UK logo, a golden mask with colourful fragments flying off of it. The mask has a golden halo and a golden devil tail protruding from either side. Below, gold text reads ‘Masked Omens’.

Image 2 - A page from the Entertainment section of the Capital Herald, dated Saturday, 23rd January 2021. Full image description and transcript below cut. End ID.]

Read the fic here!

The Capital Herald - Saturday, 23rd January 2021 Entertainment, page 15

Top section: Stream of Consciousness: Shows To Make You Think A whole host of great documentaries, old and new, have just been added to streaming services Who doesn't love a good documentary? You can learn all sorts of things, and you don't have to do any of the research for yourself. Over the last couple of weeks, loads of people seem to have been tuning into the wealth of documentaries available on various streaming services; here are a few I particularly enjoyed. Green Planet (2020) is not your standard nature documentary; while there are some extremely cute shots of animals (including gorillas, whales, and giant squid) the main focus is on sustainable practices people are experimenting with in all sorts of industries and contexts, and the way they allow local wildlife to flourish. It's thought-provoking stuff. We're As Folk (2019) takes a look at the contemporary folk movement, interviewing figures from the second British revival right through to the present day; contributors include Seth Lakeman, Frank Turner, Anathema and Bellowhead. With folk-festival anecdotes aplenty, the documentary explores the intricacies of the genre and culminates in all the contributors performing a once-in-a-lifetime rendition of 'She Moved Through The Fair'. Gadget If You Can (2015) might be a little outdated now, but that's what makes it such a compelling watch. From watches that tell the time in 21 capital cities concurrently to hoverboards that actually, well, hover, this is a fascinating look at the new devices that seemed to be just on the horizon when it was released more than five years ago. Some have since appeared; some remain pipedreams. All are interesting! Making Fast Friends (2012) is the oldest documentary on this list, and the narrowest in scope. It was released alongside the SEGA charity single 'Fast Friends' and gives us a behind the scenes look at what happened when Sonic the Hedgehog teamed up with a whole bunch of children's TV presenters to make the record. Although largely factual in nature, it does also feature animated 'interviews' with Sonic and Knuckles, so it's entirely suitable for watching with your family. And P-White fans, in particular, will not want to miss this a second time around. A War Without War (2021), by contrast, is both up-to-the-minute and extremely disturbing to watch. It is composed of a mixture of expert analysis of the situation developing on the ground in Celestan and grim footage allegedly smuggled out of the country by fleeing residents. Moreover, with more episodes promised, it forces the viewer to acknowledge what is happening as the country breaks apart, and asks us the difficult question: can you have a war without war? Dinosaurs: The Punchline (2013) is frequently mistaken for a mockumentary thanks to its tongue-in-cheek title. It is, in fact, a thoughtful exploration of how religious groups respond to apparent conflicts between scientific facts and the tenets of their faith. Without shying away from the realities of science as we know it, this film takes a surprisingly sensitive approach to investigating how science and religion intersect in the modern world. By The Numbers (2018) looks back at the history of the televised National Lottery, along with its competitors on other channels and the entertainment chosen to appear directly after it. Featuring clips and interviews with stars from Marjorie Potts aka Telepathic Tracy, whose show aired after the draw for over a decade, to Marvin O. Bagman, whose sports-based quiz show had, at the time of the documentary’s release, the corresponding Channel 4 slot. It’s not groundbreaking, but it is very entertaining. CITRON DEUX-CHEVAL Have I missed any amazing documentaries you think I should be talking about? Drop me an email at [email protected] or leave a comment on our website and I might feature your recommendations in a future issue.

Centre left: Memory Lane: Kilcridhe Now there’s a vicar I’d have loved to meet at the altar Ask any male-attracted person of a certain age – well, my age and up, really – if they remember Kilcridhe, and you'll be met with flushed cheeks and a glassy expression. We remember Kilcridhe, all right – or perhaps it would be fairer to say that we remember Father Jacob MacCleod. It's hard to believe that heartthrob Jacob was Anthony Crowley's first major role on television, and harder still to believe that he was also one of his last. The show ran for only two six-episode series, between 2005 and 2006, but in those twelve hours I think it's fair to say a fair few of us fell irrevocably in love. Kilcridhe was named for the fictitious Scottish village where it was set, and largely revolved around the goings-on of the local church and its new minister. Much of the series' drama centred around Father MacCleod's ongoing attempts to fill the pews, which saw him trying everything from hosting a bake sale – for which he ended up baking everything himself – to arranging a community talent show, with predictably bizarre results. But during the course of these adventures, each episode also introduced us to one or more of Kilcridhe's residents. We got a glimpse into the little struggles and joys of their lives – most of which quickly became Jacob's struggles and joys, too. My main memory of this show is that it was pretty. Not just Jacob, but everything about it, from the location they chose for the exterior shots, to the tone added in post-production; everything was just slightly more saturated and colourful than real life, not enough to be jarring but enough to give the whole thing a strangely dreamlike feel. In fact, as Jacob remarked as he prepared to leave for Edinburgh at the end of series one (not knowing if he would return or if the show would be cancelled), “leaving [Kilcridhe] feels like waking from a dream, like going back to reality somehow”. It was, perhaps, for the best that Kilcridhe was cancelled after only two series. Shows originally envisioned as limited series rarely keep their charm past a second extension, and the central actor was to encounter personal problems not long after the end of the show. That's not to say that a revival couldn't work, perhaps with a completely new protagonist. But Father Jacob MacCleod lives on in the hearts of his many fans, smiling that enigmatic smile of his, and when that's not enough, there's always online fanfiction. So much fanfiction. SARAH JEUNE Memory Lane is our regular feature, looking back at the books, shows and films of yesteryear through a nostalgic lens. Do you miss something you’d like to see featured? Just send the show name (plus channel and airdates if you know them) in an email to: [email protected] - your prayers might just be answered!

Centre right: Correspondent’s Corner Stop talking about it Anathema is making waves again as she does the talk-show circuit to promote her new album, Narrative Devices. It's a very pretty album from a very lovely girl, but she does keep getting hung up on one point. Every time somebody describes her music as country, she interrupts to tell them it's folk. Well, I'm no music expert, but even I know that folk is a very European genre, and the United States' equivalent is country, or country and western music, to give it its full name, and to continue to argue to the contrary is simply courting controversy for controversy's sake. It is unbecoming of a young lady – even, or perhaps especially, a young lady with Anathema's obvious talent – to continue to argue with her elders on the subject, and even to correct the likes of Graham Norton and Giles Brandreth. These sage bastions of broadcasting deserve more respect, and they couldn't be more gracious in accepting their 'mistake'. But surely a young musician in the first flush of success should take the time to learn about what she's actually doing? It doesn't seem very much to ask. It’s not entirely her fault, of course; the youth of today are given far too much freedom by their parents and, on top of that, are often propelled to disproportionate success with no chance to prepare for it. Is it any wonder that it all goes to their heads? But there is no excuse for not making an effort to keep their egos in check and defer to their betters on matters of terminology and best practice. Naturally, we all hope that Anathema will enjoy a long and successful career making the music she enjoys the most and , more importantly, music we can all enjoy too. And I also hope that she will, eventually, acquire the humility so rarely found in young people these days and accept that she does not always know best. If she listens to the counsel of older and wiser heads than hers, she might even learn something. ANDY SANDALPHON What can’t they do? If there's one thing that's becoming apparent with every passing week of The Masked Singer UK, it's that celebrities are no longer to content to stay in their lane. No, these multi-talented marvels seem determined to push themselves to the limit in every possible field. So far, we’ve seen sergeants become singers, rugby players become rockers, doctors become divas and authors become, er, audible. And with weeks still to go in this competition, we still have eight masked celebrities to guess. Eight people whose day jobs probably don’t include getting on stage and belting out pop standards are still waiting to impress us with talents that aren’t even their thing. I mean, if I could sing and dance like the contestants on the show, you can bet your life I’d be making a living from it. It would be my number one talent, and I’d be rubbish at anything else, because most of us only get one main skill. Not these jammy gits, though. For them, this is a sideline. It's not just The Masked Singer, of course – from proving their talent for trivia on Pointless Celebrities and their wordplay wisdom on Celebrity Catchphrase to demonstrating their culinary qualities on Celebrity Masterchef and The Great Celebrity Bake Off, it seems that wherever you look someone is adding a new string to their bow. Being a phenomenally talented actor, singer, or footballer is all well and good, but more and more stars are now keen to show us that they really can do anything and everything. And why shouldn't they? It's phenomenally entertaining television to watch. And for those of us who sometimes feel inadequate compared to our famous idols, it can be very reassuring to watch, for example, a comedian weeping into his cupcake mix on Bake Off or an Oscar nominee fall on her face on Dancing On Ice. When they do well, it's amazing; when they do badly, it's life-affirming. That said, I've been blown away by the talent of the contestants on The Masked Singer this series. It's so inspirational, in fact, that I might take up watercolours. EDWARD BIGGS Bottom right (in blue box): Citron’s Quick Picks Fast favourites from Citron Deux-Cheval Look: Sea Change by Hastur LaVista There's never been a journey to to the top quite like P-White's. This authorised biography charts a course from children's presenter to global superstar through interviews, pictures and anecdotes. While the research sometimes seems a little slapdash, the story at the heart of the book is more than interesting enough to hold it together. And since it's authorised, Maputi themself has contributed plenty of private insights and observations. [Image description: A book, its cover featuring a blue-green gradient with black, dripping lines spilling across it. The title reads ‘Sea Change’. End ID.] Listen: Narrative Devices by Anathema Anathema's first album was well-received both within the folk community and beyond it. Now her second album, backed up by an obvious increase in resources, looks set to enjoy similar mainstream success, and deservedly so. The theme this time seems to be the act of telling stories, but it's also a story in itself. You'll have heard the singles, but it takes on new meaning when you play it in order! [Image description: An album cover featuring hands holding a book. The words “Anathema” and “Narrative Devices” are printed on it. End ID.] Laugh: Newtral Stance by AutoTuna on YouTube It's not the first time beleaguered commentator Newton Pulsifer has had his words edited into a supercut. It's not even the first time his frequent disagreements with the VAR have been autotuned – including by YouTube user AutoTuna. But this new edition adds an extra dimension in the form of a flat, robotic voice duetting – and duelling – with the frustrated human, taking the hilarity to a whole new level! [Image description: A screenshot of a young woman wearing a call centre headset (specifically, the woman who cold-calls Crowley in Good Omens and gets Hastur instead). She looks extremely bored. End ID.]

Advertisement, bottom right: IS THIS YOUR CARD? [Image Description: Two business cards with a white-to-yellow gradient, overlapping so that they are slightly fanned out. Printed on the left-hand side of each is ‘This is to certify The Amazing [blank] as a [blank] training under Mr A.Z. Fell.‘ The one behind is filled in with ‘Your Name-’ and ‘Sorcer-’. The front card is filled in in a more child-friendly font, with ‘Your Name Here’ and ‘Junior Magician’. Below this is space for a start and expiry date, filled in with ‘08/20′ and ‘08/21′ respectively. On the right-hand side of the card, a logo shows a rabbit emerging from an upturned top hat, and below it are the words ‘Harry’s Junior Magic Academy’. The word ‘Junior’ is in the same child-friendly font as before. End ID.] IT COULD BE. Membership is open to under 12s and 13-18 year-olds at www.harrys-magic.com

End of transcript.

#masked omens #mo week five #very much fake news #good omens fic

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mrmrswales · 5 years ago

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Prince William on making his mark on father's Duchy of Cornwall legacy: 'I’ll never know as much as he does, but I’ll try my best'

by: Hannah Furness

A royal visit is a curious thing. Jittering excitement, weeks of preparation, and a last-minute panic about how exactly to pronounce “ma’am” are par for the course, while a wise man once observed the Queen may well believe the world smells of fresh paint.

As Prince William arrives in Newton St Loe, Somerset, on a picturesque summer’s day, the atmosphere is a little different. Not because staff aren’t excited, of course, but because his presence in the Duchy of Cornwall is no longer a remarkable novelty.

Quietly, over the last year or so, the Duke of Cambridge has become a feature of Duchy life, as father and son enter a period of gradual transition which has seen them work closer than ever before. After 50 years at the helm of the Duchy, Prince Charles has left a legacy of a business worth nearly £1bn, with his own passion of farming at the heart of it. The Duke, as he puts it, must now find his own way, taking the best of his father’s expertise and taking it on for a new generation.

If he is conscious of the countless tenants relying on the Duchy’s success - not to mention the small matter of one day being Prince of Wales and then King - Prince William wears it remarkably lightly.

Joined by the Daily Telegraph for a day of Duchy work, he issues warm greetings and self-depricating jokes to staff old and new, moving seamlessly into a cheery “jambo!” for Kenyan charity workers joining them briefly via Skype. Under sunny skies, it is not hard to see why his father is so fond of his rural estate, with its whitewashed cottages, wildflower gardens and rolling countryside as far as the eye can see, and why William too has fallen for its charms.

For Prince William, the day is one of an increasing number spent on Duchy duties: listening to local farmers, liaising with senior staff on the latest developments and hearing how they hope to navigate the 21st century challenges they will face under his watch in years to come.

Off camera, William is refreshingly honest about his limitations compared with his father’s decades of experience, and the farmers who have been in the business their whole life.

“I know a tiny amount,” he says candidly of farming. “I’ve got the interest and the passion. The countryside is deep in my heart.

“I want to learn and know more about farming, but the countryside and the way of life and the best people in the countryside is what I grew up with. I’m not a London boy.

“My father knows so much about farming. He’s in that sector and knows it so well. My interest isn’t really appearing yet, but it will do in the future.”

Of how he has learned from the practical estate management of his grandfather Prince Philip, and the more romantic organic ideals of Prince Charles, he said: “My grandfather has done it one way, my father has done it another way and I’ll probably do a little bit of both.

”That’s not to say he won’t bring ideas of his own. His charity work on homelessness, mental health and the military will no doubt lead to new ideas about what the Duchy can do, particularly in urban areas where it owns swathes of land.

In the meantime, he has been to Sussex to learn about rewilding, to France to see how land left alone has become a haven for wildlife, and to Cumbria where hill farmers are deeply concerned about the uncertainty of Brexit.

While his father is steeped in the forensic detail of his key passions, William prefers to talk: to experts, to his patronages, to any member of the public he comes across. His day-to-day life sees him read and reply to two boxes of paperwork a day, mixing his father’s ink letters with texts, emails and calls to staff across the way at Kensington Palace.

The school run is sacred, palace insiders say, with William and Kate each dropping off or picking up Prince George and Princess Charlotte from Thomas’s school every day. He has frequent meetings with the Queen and now speaks to his father regularly about work, making them “the closest they’ve ever been in that sense” said a source.

While Prince Charles had, as he puts it, a “baptism of fire” in inheriting the Duchy, William has been able to ease towards the next major transition of his adult life with his father, grandmother and grandfather on hand.

Those around him have noticed a deliberate period of “stepping up”, with words like “statesmanlike” appearing in coverage of his work and a clear plan of action about the projects he wants to make a lifelong cause. If it seems like a never ending to-do list, from the art of international diplomacy to figuring out what people all over Britain want from the monarchy, well, it is.

But while other parts of the Royal Family hit the headlines, the Cambridges may be the firm hands at the tiller. The Duke’s relationship with his father, the next king, will become a new axis which will come to define the monarchy for the coming generations.

He doesn’t yet enjoy the limelight, instinctively shying away from being the star of any public engagement, but has reconciled himself to using his platform to make public statements about the things that matter to him. Closer to home, the influence of the Duchess is clear as the steady, supportive backbone to the family life with three boisterous children he has always craved.

Next week’s tour to Pakistan will be another step yet: a massive diplomatic test under tight security to cement Britain’s relationship with the country and learn about world affairs on the ground.

"It's not a case of learning the ropes, it's mastering them," a source said. "This is about putting into practice what he's learnt now he's in his second year as a full time working member of the royal family.

"His work on the environment, the emergency services and supporting those who serve as well as the most vulnerable in society has been strong evidence of that."

For now, he is happy to give his father his dues.

“He really knows his stuff,” William says. “I’ll never know as much as he does, but I’ll try my best.”

For Prince Charles, who wants nothing more than to see the Duchy in safe hands, that will be quite enough. .

#Prince William

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princesscatherinemiddleton · 4 years ago

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What would your 1 year, 5 year and 10 year plan be for The Duchess of Cambridge if you were her private secretary?

What would you do if you were Kate’s private secretary

Because I loved Jessica’s answer, I’m curious to know what would you do as Catherine’s Private Secretary? what would be your plan in the short, medium and long term and how would you handle the PR aspect.

First of all, sorry to Jessica and her anon who created this idea because I have blatantly stolen it and, second, thank you to my anons who clearly read my tags! I’m going to answer the PR aspect more in another post so stay tuned!

1 YEAR – this is from September 1 2020 to August 31 2021

From September, I would expect to see her more. I’d tell her to do at least one visible engagement a week (following social distancing) and at least one other engagement, preferably with a photo/photos released after the fact. I know she takes the school holidays off, which is fine, but I’d want her to make up the “missed” engagements in other weeks

In January, I’d expect Louis to start nursery (I think he would have started in April but a global pandemic had other ideas and I can understand why they haven’t started him in September). Once he’s in nursery and the others are back in full time school, I’d want to see her up her engagement count to at least two visible engagements per week (pre-pandemic I said that if she worked the equivalent of 3 mornings a week that would be 156 engagements)

I don’t imagine there will be much overseas travel in the next year but I’d like to see her do zoom calls with charities from Commonwealth Countries with similar concepts to her patronages. While she can’t go abroad, I want her and Will to essentially do what Felipe and Letizia have been doing – tour the UK, visiting areas which have been affected by the pandemic (and by UK I mean all four countries, as well as the islands, if possible)

Continue her work with the Baby Banks (which I love) and release a statement saying the Early Years Foundation is continuing but in the immediate future they’re going to focus on early years in response to the pandemic. I think she should do some work with schools and nurseries, focused on that massive gap from March to September this year, and work with families who spent lockdown with little room and the impact that will have had on their mental health. I’d also like her to return to her garden idea and do something around making more public green space

Social media-wise, I’d like to see a balance of what they’re doing now and what they did during lockdown. For engagements, I’d like to see a selection of photos and a formally written description. If something more casual happens, they can make a separate post about that. I’d tell them to continue releasing photos for birthdays, anniversaries, Christmas, Easter, etc. I’d also tell them to try and release a short video of the kids when they can – for example, they could release a video of them wrapping presents to donate to a food bank near Christmas

Similarly, I’m assuming there will be open air pantos this Christmas. Go to one with George and Charlotte.

Their 10 year wedding anniversary is next year. In the lead up to their anniversary, I’d tell them to make posts on social media about different aspects of their wedding – the cake, the flowers, the dress, the ceremony, the carriages, the charities they raised money for – as well as behind the scenes photos if they have any. On April 29th, I’d tell them to release a new “couple” photo, as well as private photos from their wedding day. I’d like them to release a full royal regalia couple photo as well, but it might not be appropriate coming off the back of the pandemic (off topic but I also want to see lots of their 40th birthdays the year afterwards)

5 YEARS

Early Years – release the results of the 5 big questions survey, with information as to what they’re going to do with the findings. I’d love her to do something in early years education, as well as more work supporting the mental health of early years and new parents. I’d tell her to release a yearly update and show some photographs of the behind the scenes work

Sports – Kmiddy loves her sport so I’d tell her to keep going with that. I think she needs to focus on introducing children to sport and sport children from poorer and disadvantaged backgrounds can easily access

Patronages – Kate needs to do at least 1 engagement for each of her Patronages each year. She always does an engagement for the AELTACC but I want the same energy for everything. If one of her patronages is doing fundraising or launching an initiative, I want her to get behind it. I’d also like to see her take on new patronages in new areas

The arts – coming off the back of the pandemic, the arts need support. I’d tell her to go to at least one show a year, as well as visit her museum and gallery patronages. I’d suggest she tries to create or support a programme getting disadvantaged children access to the arts. I’d also like her to do more around the concept of arts as a form of therapy for younger children

State Visits – I love seeing her at state dinners but I want her involved in the rest of the visit as well. When the Japanese State Visit gets rearranged, perhaps she could join the Emperor and Empress on a tour of the NHM or the V&A. Even just meeting with them and releasing a behind the scenes photo of a private dinner between the Cambridges and whoever.

The UK – keep visiting the whole of the UK. The UK summer holidays are 6 weeks but for private schools, it’s longer, so George and Charlotte will normally get a summer holiday of around 8 weeks. For three of those weeks, I’d like to see the Cambridge family go on holiday to Wales, Scotland, and Northern Ireland. They don’t have to be consecutive weeks. For example, during their Wales holiday (they could stay in one place one year, travel around Wales the next year, etc.) they could arrive on the Monday and visit a market town with the kids, visit a charity on Tuesday, have Wednesday private, take the kids to somewhere outdoorsy and sporty on Thursday, and release some private photos on the Friday. They still have 5 weeks to have private holidays etc.

The King’s Cup Regatta – make it an annual thing, changing up the charities. Continue participating. Take the kids. The Middleton’s came last time, invite the whole RF

The children – continue taking the children to TTC and Christmas. Try and do a family polo match at least twice a year, taking the kids, and letting the public see them interact with their cousins. I also want to see them on UK-based engagements that aren’t trooping. Go to the ballet and take Charlotte. Apparently, they all love cooking, do an outdoor kids cooking engagement. George loves helicopter so take him to an Air Cadet engagement. Something around the idea of a sporting event for young children would be a good idea to take them to

A new project – I expect Kate to create a new project in the next 5 years. I’d like it to be connecting her work in Early Years with her work in the arts. I would straight up pay her to make it about textiles

10 YEARS – aka the Princess of Wales (this will be vaguer)

Overseas visits – I put this in 10 years, not 5 years, because I don’t know what the state of travel will be like over the next year or so. Each year, I want to see two full tours, at least one of which needs to be a Will & Kate tour. The other one can be a Cambridge tour, a Will & Kate tour, or a solo Kate tour. I want them to continue visiting other monarchies (during their W&K tours) and I think they still need to continue with their Brexit charm offensive. I’d also love to see more tours to South America and East Asia. For solo tours, I’m more than happy for Kate to keep doing single day trips until Louis is older but, after that, I need her to go to Italy. I also think she could do a full solo Mediterranean tour

Foreign royals – the Scandi tour is popular for a reason. More visits to foreign monarchies and more engagement with foreign royals. When foreign monarchs die, go to the funerals. When foreign royals marry/give birth, at least send/post a message, if not go to the wedding. If another royal family visits the UK, participate in the State Visit. Once they are Duke and Duchess of Cornwall and Cambridge, they will be the same place in the line of succession as Victoria, Frederik, Haakon, Guillaume, etc. Use that. Haakon and Fred both have interest in sports – create an engagement around that. The Crown Princess Victoria's Fund supports children with chronic illnesses and functional disabilities – create an engagement focused on the mental health of these children

Patronages – she needs to take more on. I don’t expect to see as many as the old guard because I still think she should try and do one engagement per patronage per year at least, but she should take on patronages in other areas: fostering, child abuse, postpartum psychosis, mothers in prison, arts as therapy, sports as therapy, green spaces, forest schools, baby banks, food banks, underprivileged and underfunded schools, clubs for disadvantaged children. She also needs some more boring patronages, like the military and diplomatic ones

Away days – I’d expect a minimum of two full away days a month, scattered throughout the UK. If a full away day can’t happen, she needs to do more engagements in places that aren’t London, similar to her UK tour for 5BigQuestions. Work with disadvantaged areas in the North. Work with outdoor spaces and forest schools in the South West. Look into language in North Wales. Talk about food banks in Perth. I want to see her continue the holidays in the UK. As the Duchess of Cornwall and possibly Princess of Wales, I want to see more engagements in Wales and Cornwall, like Charles and Camilla currently do

Taboo topics – now she’s found her feet, I’d like her to start looking at those more taboo subjects. Kate works with mental health – I’d suggest she starts looking into psychosis and BPD, and schizophrenia. She works with children – look at the impact of prisons and the prison system on people under the age of 18. She is passionate about maternal mental health – what about parents in prison? What about parents who aren’t mentally stable enough to care for all the needs of their children? Other areas which I think fit her interests are child and domestic abuse, childhood drug abuse, and fostering

#anon #answered #mine #kate

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badgersprite · 5 years ago

Text

Fic: Desiderata (6/?)

Chapter Title: Cycles

Fandom: Mass Effect

Characters: Miranda, Samara, Oriana, Jacob, Jack

Pairing: Miranda/Samara very slow burn, friends to lovers

Story Rating: R

Warnings: References to past childhood abuse/trauma.

Chapter Summary: In 2186, Miranda takes in Jack’s students. In 2185, Miranda suffers a minor injury on a mission. At both different points in time, Miranda worries she’s acting too much like her father.

Author’s Note: The chapter in which Kelly Chambers knows all and sees all. Also you know that thing that happens where the characters don’t know they’re on a date except they’re totally on a date. That’s also in this chapter.

* * *

“I still can’t believe you’re actually doing this,” Jacob broke the silence.

Miranda sighed heavily, watching from a distance as Jack’s students approached, looking up at the building that would be their home for the foreseeable future. “Neither can I.”

It wasn’t that Miranda was completely devoid of human compassion for these kids (even despite her...deficiencies in the empathy department). If she was that cold and heartless, she wouldn’t have volunteered to take them on in the first place. But, with all of that being said, part of her had secretly been hoping Jack wouldn’t be able to convince them to say yes to this offer.

Few people knew it about her, but Miranda did have a small soft spot for kids. Little kids. Very little kids. That had come from being a big sister, even a distant one. But teenagers? That was a different story. At no point in her life had Miranda ever been able to understand adolescents. Not even when she was one. Especially not when she was one.

Living with her father meant she never got to be a teenager, much less have any friends her own age. Even when she’d escaped him at the age of sixteen, she’d propelled herself straight into adulthood as best she could, working for Cerberus to ensure her own survival, and that of her sister. Any attempts she’d made to ‘fit in’ with people her own age once she got out from under her father’s thumb had backfired horribly. She always got along better with adults, particularly in strictly professional contexts. That had never changed.

But, reservations aside, a promise was a promise. And it would shatter what little trust Miranda had managed to earn from Jack if she went back on her word now.

“This is going to be fun…” Miranda dryly remarked under her breath.

“You’re the one who signed up for this,” Jacob pointed out, not exactly sympathetic to her self-made situation.

“I know. But I reserve the right to be a massive hypocrite and complain about it anyway,” Miranda murmured.

“What’s new?” Jacob quipped, evidently well-aware that he would be roped into listening to Miranda talk about those problems whenever they arose, by virtue of being her only available friend.

It wasn’t long before one of the students recognised Miranda from their meeting only a few days ago, and the group began to make its way towards her. There were eight of them, most of them carrying small bags of belongings - most likely a combination of rationed personal care items handed out by Bailey’s people, and spare clothes given to them by the Zhu’s Hope colonists.

Seanne wasn’t with them, of course, given that she was still in the hospital. Her brother Reiley must have been with her, or paying a visit to Jack.

Well, Miranda thought, if this was happening then it was time to take charge.

“Alright, I see you’re all here. Everybody come forward,” Miranda commanded, her voice firm. Her instruction was met with some confused stares, but the students did form a loose bunch in front of her. “You do know how to line up, don’t you?” she questioned them, not impressed with the disarray.

On second thought, of course they didn’t know the first thing about order and discipline. They’d been taught by Jack, after all. But that was going to change. If Miranda was used to one thing, it was efficiency. Perhaps she could instill some of those virtues in them.

Despite their visible hesitancy, the eight students did follow her instruction to form a line. It wasn’t even remotely close to straight. Miranda elected to let that slide.

“I’m Miranda Lawson. This is Jacob Taylor. He won’t be living with us, but he’s generously volunteered his time to help get you all settled in,” said Miranda.

Jacob raised his hand in a small wave, which some of the students returned.

“Jack’s given me all your names. I see that Reiley and Seanne aren’t here,” Miranda noted.

Jason Prangley cleared his throat. “We, uh...brought some of their things for them,” he said, indicating the heavy suitcase at his side.

“Good.” Miranda nodded. “We’re in apartment 502. The elevator isn’t functioning yet, so you’ll have to take the stairs. I arranged delivery of bedding and other essentials. You’ll find them in your rooms. The beds still need to be unpacked and assembled. I trust you can handle that.”

“Sure thing. No worries, Miss,” Rodriguez spoke up. “We, um...We just wanted to say we really appreciate what you’re doing for us. It’s...real cool of you.”

“You’re welcome. However, let me make one thing clear before you all move in,” Miranda began, her tone firm. “This is not a halfway house. This is not a charity shelter. This is not Saint Miranda Lawson’s Sisters of the College of Mercy Boarding School. I am not your staff, I am not your tutor, I am not your housekeeper, and I am not your mother. My work in the reconstruction takes priority. I am extremely busy. I do not have time to clean up after you, and you are all closer to being adults than you are to being children. So I expect you to be self-sufficient and look after yourselves, and that includes taking care of the apartment in a manner that meets my standards. If you cannot do that, then this arrangement will not work, and I will end it,” Miranda stated sternly.

As much as Miranda owed a debt to Jack for saving her life from that building collapse, her sense of obligation only extended so far. If these kids had any misconceptions that they could abuse the privileges Miranda had gone out of her way to secure for them, then they needed to be dispelled. Ideally, these new living arrangements would take effect with minimal disruption to her life.

One of the students, Leah Brooks, raised her hand. “Um, are there any...specific house rules?” she asked.

“What part wasn’t clear to you?” Miranda bluntly replied, no inflections in her voice. Jacob silently facepalmed at her side. “Cook your own meals. Wash your own clothes. Keep the place tidy. Don’t damage anything. Don’t disturb me when I’m working. Do you have any objections?” Miranda asked rhetorically. Nothing she required of them was in any way unfair or unreasonable.

For a moment, she was met only with blank stares. “...No, ma’am. No objections,” Prangley answered, taking a second to exchange veiled looks with some of his comrades. “If it’s alright with you, we’ll, uh...head up to the room and get ourselves settled in.”

Miranda held out the keys. “You have three copies between you. Don’t lose them.”

“Right.” Jason took responsibility for the keys, continuing to establish himself as the unofficial leader of the group in Jack’s absence. When Miranda didn’t say anything further, he took that as their cue that they had been dismissed, signalling for his classmates to take their things and head on up. He shouldered his own bag, and moved to pick up the spare suitcase for Seanne and Reiley.

“Don’t worry about it; I’ll take that up for you,” Jacob assured Jason, gesturing for him to leave the heavy-looking suitcase behind. “You can just call me Jacob, by the way,” he introduced himself, extending his hand to the kid, who shook it.

“Thanks, man,” said Jason, appreciating his help. With that, Jason headed off and the rest of the students followed, ready to get acquainted with their new home.

Once the students were out of sight, Jacob stared at Miranda, visibly not approving of her approach. “Were you trying to make the worst possible first impression, or does this just come naturally to you?”

“It’s important to set ground rules,” Miranda replied, intent on making it clear she wasn’t someone whose kindness could be taken advantage of. “I’ve led numerous teams before. You don’t get anywhere with people if they think they can just walk all over you.”

Jacob pulled a face. “You’re their caregiver, not their boss.”

“Caregiver is a strong word,” Miranda objected to his classification. “I’m giving them a roof over their head and making sure they’re safe and their needs are provided for. Nothing more.”

Jacob sighed and shook his head, realising that reasoning with Miranda about this was pointless. “Jack’s going to kick your ass…” he muttered under his breath, picking up the heavy suitcase and making his way towards the building, following the students.

Miranda limped along behind him, eventually catching up to the students in the stairwell. The one named Rodriguez lagged back, as though she’d been waiting for her, falling into step at Miranda’s side as the other students went on ahead.

“Um, pardon me, Miss,” Rodriguez began, climbing one stair at a time to match Miranda’s stride. Miranda really hoped the students didn’t plan on calling her that. It made her skin crawl for some reason. “I don’t mean to bother you, but...you know the city really well, so...I figured you’d probably be the best person to ask.”

“Ask away,” said Miranda, having no qualms with reasonable questions.

“We, um...I don’t know if you know, but we...Not everyone we came to Earth with survived,” Rodriguez uncomfortably admitted. Miranda was aware of that - Jack had indicated as much. “As if Cerberus didn’t take enough from us, we lost three more to the Reapers.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” said Miranda. It may not have sounded sincere coming from her, but it was. She’d lost people to this war too. “What do you need?”

“Well, some of us have been talking and...we were wondering if...are you...is there going to be a service? You know, to remember them?” Rodriguez asked, still wrestling with her grief over the friends she hadn’t had a chance to mourn.

Miranda hadn’t expected that question. She, along with everyone else, had been so busy combing through the ruins that she hadn’t even thought about grieving the dead. It wasn’t as though she had much experience with it, either. Not knowing what else to say, she figured the best course of action was to be honest.

“With the state the city is in, those kinds of sentimental displays aren’t a priority. We’re still trying to count the dead, and to put names to any faces we can. It’s a near impossible task, given so many of the fallen left nothing behind. Even if we could lay them all to rest, I’m not sure there’d be enough time in the world for everyone to grieve,” Miranda pointed out.

Rodriguez was visibly crushed by her response, her gaze falling to her feet. “...Oh. I...I understand.”

Miranda sensed from the girl’s reaction that she’d said something wrong. But how? She’d just been honest. Tried to be nice and word it gently, even.

She tried to imagine what Samara would have counselled her to do in this situation, or what she would have done if it was Oriana standing there beside her. Those inner voices told her that reality and facts meant nothing in the face of Rodriguez’s pain. She wasn’t asking the question so she could receive a yes or no answer. She was asking because she needed to mourn her friends.

“...You’re right, though. There should be a public service. For everyone we’ve lost. For those who are still missing. I’ll speak to Bailey about arranging it,” Miranda told her, seeing the potential benefit in giving everyone in London a chance to remember those who had passed, and to unite in their solace. “As for your friends, I don’t know what you would want, exactly. But there’s nothing stopping you from holding a private service for them. You don’t need my permission. You should speak to Jack about it. I’m sure she’d appreciate it.”

Rodriguez appeared at least a little bit comforted by that, raising her sleeve to wipe away a stray tear. “Yeah. You’re right. Thanks, Miss.” Rodriguez picked up her pace and left her behind before Miranda could tell her not to call her that.

Miranda exhaled heavily, realising she was quite possibly the least equipped person in the galaxy to deal with the needs of emotionally vulnerable teenagers.

What had she gotten herself into?

* * *

Although every single squad member recruited to fight against the Collectors had seen their fair share of action since joining the Normandy, Miranda was far and away Shepard’s most common companion on field missions. It was common sense, really. In Miranda’s opinion, anyway. She was the leader of the Lazarus cell, and Shepard’s second-in-command. Further, due to her prowess with both tech and biotics, she was essentially the perfect choice to go into any situation. She could deal with any threat that arose, no matter how unexpected.

Miranda wasn’t surprised by the confidence Andrea showed in her by selecting her so often. It was exactly what she would have advised her to do. On the other hand, there were days when being Shepard’s right-hand woman felt like a curse.

Getting swarmed by Collectors on Horizon had not been fun. Neither had it been an ideal day at the office when Miranda had to fight her way off of the Collector Ship. Now, Shepard’s leadership had brought Miranda aboard a derelict Reaper.

Given that Miranda was good at identifying patterns, things were going about as well as expected.

“Look out!”

Miranda ducked behind cover, reloading as the scion’s shockwave thundered past her. The Reaper IFF they needed was just beyond that door, and past that was the mass effect core. Unfortunately, two scions and a seemingly endless tide of husks stood between them and their destination.

Samara knocked back a husk with her biotics before it got too close. Miranda took aim and fired her pistol around cover, blowing off another one’s leg at the knee. Slow and lumbering though they were, those scions were getting closer. If they couldn’t take them out now, they would need to withdraw back to a safe distance. Otherwise, if a scion got close, it was lights out. Goodnight nurse.

Noticing an opportunity, Miranda overloaded an explosive crate near one of the scions, concentrating fire on it while its armour burned. She was so focused on trying to take it down that she was completely unaware of the husks crawling out from underneath the platform, converging on either side of her, nor did she spot the one concealed from her sight by her own cover, charging towards her.

“Miranda!” Shepard called out, firing off her shotgun at some nearby husks, seeing her ally about to get swarmed.

Shepard’s call alerted her to turn and fire on the approaching husk, but it had already closed in and grabbed her. Miranda fought it off and was ready to shoot it in the head, but then a second one jumped on her from behind, causing her gunshot to fire off harmlessly into the air. She pushed as hard as she could at the creature bearing down on her shoulder, trying to keep its jaw away from her face and head. Its arms ripped and tore at her flesh, bypassing her shields, knocking the pistol from her grip, effectively pinning her in place as the third husk closed in.

All of a sudden, a wave of biotic energy cut through the twisted creatures, flinging them away from Miranda like ragdolls. Samara biotically pulled all three towards her with such raw force that their limbs detached in midair, killing them even before they tumbled off the edge of the platform into the abyss below.

“Fall back!” Shepard commanded, sensing they were outnumbered, and well aware that the scions were far too close to Miranda for comfort.

Miranda couldn’t argue with that order. She was very isolated in that corner.

She waited for the shockwaves to pass, then dove out of cover and across the divide to pick up her pistol, firing a warp at the approaching scions as she got back to her feet, joining Samara at her position near the back of the platform.

“Thank you for that,” said Miranda, grateful for Samara getting those husks off of her a moment ago. She winced, favouring her right shoulder and her side while she waited for her shields to regenerate behind cover. They were still forward of Shepard, who was concentrating fire from around the corner, already off the platform entirely. They needed to retreat. They had to get out from that position before the scions reached them.

“You are wounded,” Samara observed, keeping her eyes fixed on the scions.

Miranda blinked and looked down at her ribs on her right side, where it hurt most. Huh. There was a tear in her suit. And she was bleeding. Funny that.

“I’m fine,” Miranda assured her. She didn’t have time to bleed. “Ready?”

Samara nodded. She stepped out of cover, firing off a reave, catching several husks in her biotic field. Miranda followed suit, overloading another container, joining Samara in shooting off the knees of the deformed monstrosities. The scions were mere feet away. But neither of them let that be intimidating. They both got out of the way just in time to avoid the blast radius from the lumbering creatures.

Shepard charged one scion, distracting its attention from her squadmates, colliding with it in a blue biotic streak. She fired her shotgun directly into its face to keep it pinned down, backing away as it let off another area-of-effect wave. Shepard stumbled when the blast brought down her biotic barrier.

“Move!” Shepard barked, sprinting back towards the next viable cover, not willing to be caught by a shockwave with her defences down. Samara and Miranda followed suit, escaping the scions before they closed in. They only fired back over their shoulders to pick off the final few husks, until they were able to find cover in a secure enough position to take aim at the scions from a distance.

Warps from Miranda and reaves from Samara took down the scions’ armour amid the hail of incendiary bullets from Shepard’s submachine gun. Eventually, both scions fell into a burning heap of ash, and it went quiet again at last. Too quiet, given the chaos of mere moments ago.

Miranda sighed. She hoped that was the last of them, but somehow she knew it wouldn’t be.

“I’ll take point,” Miranda insisted, clutching at her side as she moved to go and claim the Reaper IFF. An arm blocked her way before she could take a step.

“Not with that wound, you won’t,” said Shepard. Miranda glanced down. Her white catsuit was stained with crimson beneath her palm. “Here. Use this medi-gel. I’ll take point.”

Miranda rolled her eyes. Honestly, it didn’t even hurt. Besides, it wasn’t like she could stop and wave a white flag. There was no point in worrying about her injury until they made it off this ship. Nevertheless, the medi-gel would stop the bleeding. That was what it was for. So she applied it.

“Are you alright?” Samara asked her, staying at her side while she tended to her wound.

“Both of you should be focusing on the mission instead of worrying about me,” Miranda curtly replied, the medi-gel congealing around the gash in her side. She wasn’t weak. She didn’t need to be treated like a child.

“Do not take my query as an indication that I am doing otherwise,” said Samara, unfazed by Miranda’s stern response.

Miranda uttered a disgruntled huff. She was only stating facts. Nevertheless, she put that all aside as they moved to claim the Reaper IFF. Her wound didn’t stand in the way of taking out the husks that swarmed them in the mass effect core.

After that, they returned to The Normandy, along with the geth they’d found.

“Ugh. Ridiculous,” Miranda muttered to herself as she marched into her office, having switched to her black attire following the damage to her white catsuit.

She’d just met with Shepard and Jacob to discuss their new passenger. Instead of listening to her and sending the geth to Cerberus to be researched, Shepard had not only decided to keep the geth on board, but had set it up in the AI Core. Was there a worse possible place to put a potentially hostile machine?

Miranda sat behind her desk and opened up her laptop, intent on reporting all this to The Illusive Man. The door to her office opened. She glanced up.

“Hello, Samara,” said Miranda, going back to typing. “Can this wait? I’m a little busy at the moment.”

“I will not disturb you. I only wished to see how you were,” said Samara.

This again? Seriously? “I heal fast,” Miranda assured her. “I’ll be fine.”

“Very well.” Samara gave a nod at Miranda’s blunt response. Then, somewhat surprisingly, she turned to leave without another word.

“Wait,” Miranda spoke up, raising her hand and closing her laptop computer. Samara stopped and looked back. “You don’t have to go, Samara,” she said, regretting her sharp tone.

“I do not wish to impose,” said Samara, content to wait until Miranda came and visited her on her own terms.

“You’re not,” Miranda replied. She was the only person on this whole crew whose presence was never an imposition. With that in mind, Miranda got up from her desk and gestured towards the viewport beside her bed. After all, she was always sharing Samara’s view. Why not the reverse for once?

Samara accepted her unspoken invitation and followed Miranda inside, standing by the doorway with her hands clasped behind her back. Miranda was slightly ginger in her movements as she sat down on the small window seat.

“...I appreciate that you showed concern for me,” Miranda began. “I know it may not have seemed like it at the time. But genuinely, I do. I’m just not used to it.”

“Is this something I should refrain from, or be more cautious about?” Samara inquired, willing to change her behaviour without argument, particularly if it was causing Miranda any offence or discomfort.

“No. No, definitely not.” Miranda shook her head. “It’s my problem, not yours. I know that, when you’re asking me if I’m alright, you’re doing it because you care. But, unconsciously, I reacted to it like it was a criticism - like you and Shepard were pointing out my weaknesses. Of course you weren’t doing that. I know you well enough to know that. But…”

“Your father would not have seen it that way,” Samara suggested on her behalf, understanding where this was coming from.

“No, he wouldn’t,” Miranda acknowledged. She didn’t like that everything always came back to him. But it so often did. “If I was ever hurt or in pain as a child, I had to hide it. I had to endure whatever he threw at me without reacting to it. If I didn’t, if I so much as flinched, he would punish me for it.”

It was no wonder why she came across as emotionless and insensitive to others, Miranda thought. She’d effectively been conditioned to be both of those things - trained by her father’s cruelty to not respond to anything the way a normal person would, no matter what he did. To suppress her fear when he raised his voice, or raised a hand to her. Never to laugh or smile. Not to cry out when she felt pain. Being raised in that environment had made those things second nature, until she couldn’t remember a different way of being.

“I, um...” Miranda paused and averted her gaze, uncharacteristically hesitant. She swallowed, curling her hand into a fist in her lap, relaxing her fingers only once she’d chased those thoughts from her mind - things she’d never revealed to anyone before, and wasn’t fully ready to open up about now. “I don’t like to dwell on it, but I have a lot of unpleasant memories from that age.”

Samara didn’t interrupt, letting Miranda talk at her own pace.

“The Illusive Man isn’t like my father, but even he has high standards. Cerberus will be critical of how I handled this mission. Believe me, it’s going to be marked down in my file that I made a mistake and got hurt.” Miranda sighed and turned towards the window, idly resting her chin on curled fingers while distant stars reflected in her eyes. “I hate that. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t hate Cerberus for it; they’re just doing what they need to do. But I hate knowing that every time I slip up, no matter how small it is, it’s going to be noted in my record, and follow me around forever.”

“I see…” said Samara, quietly. She paused a moment, giving thought to the words on her mind. “I find it interesting that it disturbs you when people know of your mistakes. I know that one of your duties is to report to The Illusive Man on every mission, and on all of us. Professor Solus once advised me to check my quarters, noting that he had located several bugging devices you had placed in his lab.”

“I’m just doing my job,” Miranda replied as she glanced back. Part of that job was to be distrustful of her squadmates and the crew, and to find any faults in their conduct, and to make sure it was duly noted in her reports.

“So were the people in your father’s employ, who were complicit in his cruelty towards you,” Samara calmly countered, elucidating her point.

“I…” Any words Miranda might have said to defend herself were quickly struck silent in her mind. Her gaze dropped. She hadn’t thought of it that way before.

All those hours she’d spent monitoring her squadmates suddenly took on a new complexion in her mind. Reading their private emails without their knowledge. Watching them through hidden devices in the ship. Analysing and criticising every aspect of their conduct, down to the most minute detail. Highlighting every single mistake and weakness. Those were all things her father had done to her.

“...I know I can be a control freak, but I’m not like him,” Miranda quietly professed, with a slight tremor in her voice, as if imploring Samara to see that she was better than that. “I swear to you, I’m not.”

Except she totally was. Much as she tried to deny it.

Without even realising it, she’d been replicating what she’d learned from him. Hell, when they’d first met face-to-face, she’d even told Shepard that she would have implanted a control chip in her brain if The Illusive Man had let her. Miranda hadn’t been lying about that. She’d seriously advocated for the idea. On more than one occasion.

For all the cruel things Miranda’s father had done to her, he’d never done that. Much as he probably would have if the thought had occurred to him.

She was not only like her father, but...in some ways, she was on the path to becoming far worse than he ever was. Even more of a tyrant, despite knowing how it felt to suffer at the hands of one. And she hadn’t even thought about it.

That realisation made Miranda feel queasy. In retrospect, perhaps she needed to formally apologise to Shepard for the way she’d acted when they first met. She made a mental note to attend to that the next time Shepard dropped by.

“You do not need to defend yourself to me,” Samara assured her. This wasn’t an attack, or an argument. Just an observation. “I do not begrudge you for doing as The Illusive Man requires. It is merely something you may wish to consider in your own time, so that you may come to your own answer.”

“Ah. So, this is part of that whole ‘self-reflection’ thing we’ve been discussing,” Miranda intuited, letting her lip curl into a lopsided sort of smile. In light of the thoughts going through her head, the smile didn’t reach her eyes. It was entirely joyless. “I’ll...take it on board. But how am I doing so far? I’m new to this.”

Samara’s expression betrayed her amusement at Miranda’s search for approval. “Self-improvement is a long and multi-faceted journey. I cannot promise it will ever end, but it is a worthy pursuit. At times, it will be confronting and difficult. But you will find great meaning and fulfilment by taking that journey. In time, hopefully you will come to understand the burdens you carry, and make peace with them.”

“You really think so?” Miranda asked. Samara had been subtly guiding her in this direction for a while. The more she did, the more Miranda was seriously beginning to consider that Samara was right, and that there really was something to be said for mindfulness and meditation.

“I do,” Samara confirmed.

Miranda sighed. “Well, then there must be some truth to it. You wouldn’t say it if there wasn’t,” she conceded. After all, Samara must have gotten her insight and wisdom from somewhere. If this was the key to it, then Miranda would have been a fool not to heed her advice.

At times like this, it felt like Samara knew Miranda better than Miranda knew herself, much as it was difficult to hear the truth sometimes.

“Do you wish to join me in meditation?” Samara offered.

Miranda pulled an apologetic face. “I really do need to get this report to The Illusive Man,” she said. She’d made an exception to talk to Samara, but only because she’d felt bad about her poor behaviour earlier. She couldn’t get distracted or set aside her work longer than she already had. “But, after I’m finished with this, I think I’m free this evening. I can join you then.”

Samara allowed herself a small smile. “I look forward to it. Until then, I shall not take up anymore of your time.”

“Samara…” Miranda stopped her before she could turn to leave. “...I don’t tell him everything, you know,” Miranda admitted, hoping Samara understood that. The conversations they’d had with each other in their private moments were just that - private. “I’m more than just The Illusive Man’s spy. I’m part of The Normandy too, and I’m loyal to this team. As much as anyone here.”

Samara held her gaze for a long moment, giving Miranda a silent nod of acceptance before taking her leave.

Miranda swallowed in the wake of Samara’s silence, oddly shaken by it. Miranda had been telling the truth about her loyalties lying as much with this ship and this crew as it did with Cerberus, but nothing had made her doubt herself more than the thought that Samara didn’t believe her when she said that.

If everyone else aboard the ship thought Miranda was nothing more than a snitch, she could have lived with it. But if her actions had caused her to lose Samara’s trust, then maybe she really did need to question her level of independence from Cerberus.

* * *

They told Jack. About Shepard. And about the Normandy.

She took it about as well as expected.

Jack’s eyes had burned with unshed tears as she’d screamed and shouted and swore at both Jacob and Miranda. She’d fought through the pain in her muscles to throw a glass of water at them, demanding that they get the fuck away from her.

Neither of them blamed her for her reaction. Shepard meant a lot to her. She meant a lot to all of them.

Miranda dragged her weary limbs up the stairs back to her apartment, the rest of that day’s events passing like a blur behind her. All the days were starting to bleed together lately. It didn’t help that she was averaging less than two hours of sleep a night because her fucking ear wouldn’t stop ringing.

“Hey, Miss,” Reiley was the first to greet her when she opened the door. He and his sister had finally moved out of the field hospital, her condition having recovered.

“I have a name, you know,” Miranda replied, taking off her jacket. Her snarky comment fell on deaf ears, it seemed. Music emanated from the living room. Not too loud. Some of the students were gathered, playing cards.

The students had mostly been very well behaved, from what she could tell. They hadn’t quite adjusted to living with Miranda yet. Honestly, they barely interacted. That was largely because her role in the reconstruction kept her so busy that they hardly saw her. She was still little more than a stranger to them. That was probably for the best.

That being said, some of them had already proven more willing to test the limits of her kindness than others. Reiley wasn’t one of them, though. She had helped save his sister’s life, after all. That had evidently earned her the benefit of the doubt with him.

“Rough day at work?” Reiley asked her, innocently.

Miranda wondered if she looked as tired as she felt. “No rougher than usual,” she answered. He was a child. Her burdens weren’t his to worry about.

“Nitin’s cooking dinner tonight. You want him to fix you up a plate?” he went on.

“I’ll make something for myself later,” Miranda replied, wanting nothing more than a moment alone to decompress, especially after breaking the bad news to Jack.

“Okay. Sure thing. But you’re welcome to join us, you know?” Reiley offered again, almost insisting.

“I know.” Miranda stopped herself as she turned to leave, having developed enough self-awareness over the past year to realise that response may have sounded harsher than she intended. “Thank you for asking,” she said, working on being better with people, and setting an example for her wards.

“No problem.”

With that, Miranda headed to her room. It was the smallest bedroom in the apartment, but she had it all to herself, which was a worthwhile trade. And it was big enough to serve as a makeshift home office. She sighed once she closed the door behind her, enjoying a moment of privacy.

The silence was undercut by the ringing in her ear. It always was.

Miranda leaned her cane against her bedside drawer, running her hand through her hair as she slumped down onto the bed.

Her datapad made a noise. She almost didn’t hear the ding beneath that constant, high-pitched tone. She looked over. And, for the first time that day, she had something to smile about.

One new message from Oriana.

Honestly, if Miranda had been a more emotional person, she could have cried from sheer relief. Who else but Oriana could transform a shitty day to an amazing one in an instant? This was exactly what she needed.

She lay down in the bed, propping up her datapad, content to let Oriana take her cares away for a while.

“Hey, sis,” her message began, the camera facing towards her as she walked, the scenery of Horizon passing behind her. “I know it hasn’t been that long since my last message. But every day I spend about...ten, fifteen minutes walking home from work. And I figured, that’s fifteen minutes I could be spending talking to you.”

Words couldn’t even begin to describe how much Miranda appreciated that. How much it meant to her. They were both in each other’s thoughts, all the time.

“With any luck, it won’t be long before we’re able to talk in real time. I mean, in galactic terms, we’re not all that far away. They have to fix the comm buoys eventually, right?”

They were making progress. It was one of many things Miranda was keeping tabs on. It was why there was so much less of a delay between sending and receiving messages now. Where once they’d taken weeks to get low-priority messages through the Extranet, Oriana had probably only sent this message yesterday. The gap was closing faster than ever.

“Not much has changed since the last time I spoke to you,” Oriana continued, freely voicing whatever thoughts came into her mind, in a way Miranda never could have. “I’ve kind of been thrown into the deep end as far as my career in local planning and colony development is concerned. Nobody has time to teach me, so I’m learning a lot on the fly. I’m enjoying it, though. Is it wrong of me to say that?”

Miranda smirked. No, it wasn’t wrong of her at all. Thriving in challenging environments was a trait they shared. One that they didn’t share, and one that Miranda greatly admired about her sister, was that Oriana always had a way of making the best of any situation. Putting a positive spin on things. Miranda tended toward the opposite. She wasn’t a catastrophist by any means, but it was fair to say she was a lot better at finding faults than appreciating the good that was already there. That didn’t apply to Oriana.

Oriana had lost as much as anyone to this war. Her home. Her friends. Her parents. Any of those things could have destroyed a person, and nobody would have blamed her if it had. But Oriana just...got on with life. She didn’t let loss harden her heart. She was still the same warm, loving, empathetic person she was before, and still by far the single most well-adjusted person Miranda had ever met. Although, in fairness, Miranda had few good points of comparison.

She didn’t know how her sister did it. She wished she had her strength, sometimes.

“You’ll love it here,” Oriana assured her, looking forward to the day they were reunited at last. “I know it’s not exactly what you’re used to, but you will.”

Of course she would. Miranda would love any place Oriana was.

“I already have my eye on a couple of places. I’ve had some ideas, design-wise. I won’t tell you what they are, because that would ruin the surprise. But you don’t need to worry about it. Everything will be all set up by the time you get here,” Oriana went on, afternoon sunlight following her as she made her way through the colony, which was about the size of a small country town.

Miranda made a mental note to remind Oriana that she didn’t have to spend a cent on any of this. Or on anything. Miranda had been extremely well-compensated working for Cerberus for the past twenty years, and she’d made some wise investments. She had enough credits squirrelled away in encrypted accounts that the two of them didn't need to worry about finances. Not for a long while, anyway.

“Stop and look both ways so I don’t get hit by a truck. Right. Good. See? No problems walking and talking at the same time. Not a distracted pedestrian,” Oriana lightheartedly remarked, continuing her walk home. “Welp, since I haven’t gotten any desperate messages from you begging me to stop yet, I’m assuming that means you want me to keep trying out my worst jokes on you. I’ve come up with a few more. They’re absolute garbage. So, here goes…”

It was no mystery why Oriana was so intent on telling these bad jokes.

“How do cakes handle break-ups? They ask if they can just be friands.”

Miranda had sent emails and texts since, but the last time Oriana had received a video message from her, it had been the one she’d sent from the field hospital. She’d been in tears, then, admitting how much she needed to hear Oriana’s voice to bolster her spirits. And Oriana had answered her prayers.

“I’d make a joke about how to use a knife in a black-out, but it would just be a stab in the dark.”

Ever since then, it was as if Oriana had set herself the personal mission of being Miranda’s ray of sunshine - a light to brighten up her darkest days. That wasn’t difficult for her to pull off, because that was exactly what Oriana had been for her ever since she was born.

“I invited a meterologist to a bar but he told me he couldn’t handle the pressure.”

Miranda couldn’t fathom why Oriana was the way she was. Funny. Kind. She certainly hadn’t gotten it from Miranda. Every time they spoke, every message Oriana sent, it was like discovering all over again what an amazing person she was, in every conceivable way.

“Everyone cries at weddings. Even the cakes are in tiers.” Oriana looked down at the camera. “See? Two cake jokes. I’ve got a theme going. Either that or I was really hungry this afternoon.”

Miranda had devoted twenty years of her life to protecting Oriana, and making sure her upbringing was safe and happy. But, right now, Oriana was the one checking in on her - making sure Miranda was okay, and cheering her up when she needed it. These messages were Oriana’s way of taking care of her.

“You know why batteries never come included with electronics? Because if they did, they’d be free of charge.”

None of the jokes ever made Miranda laugh. Oriana was no doubt well aware that they wouldn’t. But that didn’t matter. That wasn’t the point. Just listening to her voice and seeing her there on the screen was enough to bring a contented smile to Miranda’s face, no matter what Oriana was saying.

A knock at the door caught Miranda’s attention. She paused the video, straightening up. “What is it?”

Jason Prangley opened the door a crack. “Excuse me, Miss. I don’t mean to disturb you, but Mr. Taylor is here to see you.”

Much as she wanted to hear the rest of Oriana’s message, Miranda knew it would still be waiting for her later. “Send him in,” said Miranda, feeling far more relaxed than she had a few minutes ago. Jason didn’t appear to notice.

A few moments later, Jacob stepped through her door, joining her in her room. “Am I interrupting something?”

“Yes, but it’s okay; I can go back to it,” said Miranda, not bothered. She still had about five more minutes of video to look forward to. She intended to savour them all.

“It’s your sister, isn’t it? You’re only like this when it’s her,” Jacob pointed out, hardly oblivious to the change in Miranda’s demeanour since they parted at the field hospital. “She must be special.”

“She is,” Miranda confirmed. What more could she say? She adored absolutely everything about her sister, without qualification. She was the only person in the galaxy Miranda could say that about. The only person she truly, unconditionally loved. There was no indication that would ever change. “She’s quite literally the best person I know.”

“I can see that. I mean, she’s like you, but nice,” Jacob joked.

Miranda chuckled, electing not to correct him on that. They may have shared some traits, but Oriana was nothing like Miranda. That was the point.

“I’m assuming this is more than just a social call,” Miranda intuited.

“Actually, that’s exactly what this is,” Jacob corrected her, pulling up the chair by Miranda’s small desk, taking a seat. “I wanted to catch up with you, after what happened with Jack this morning.”

Miranda sighed. “We were on speaking terms for a grand total of six days. I’m guessing that’s no longer the case. Not that it’s unexpected,” she remarked. Ultimately, it had been too much to think Jack wouldn’t revert back to hating her again the first time something went awry.

“Nah, you give her too little credit.” Jacob dismissed the thought. “She’s mad. And she’s hurt. But just because she lashed out doesn’t mean she blames you, or me. There was nothing any of us could have done to change things.”

“I don’t agree with that,” Miranda spoke plainly. “There are always things we could have done differently. Those answers will materialise in time. We can’t change what happened. All we can do is learn from it. Try not to lose anyone else.”

Jacob regarded her with a sympathetic expression, recognising that Miranda’s calm, collected voice likely didn’t reveal the truth of her thoughts.

“I know what you’re like, so I know it may be pointless to ask you this, but...how are you doing with all of this? Not just losing Shepard, but...everything?” Jacob asked, leaning forward in his chair. “I mean really. Not what you tell the kids, or Bailey.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Miranda replied, keeping a rigid posture. “Like I said, I can’t go back and change the past, so there’s no sense dwelling on it.”

That was exactly what she tried to tell herself every time her mind stirred with thoughts of how she potentially could have saved the people who’d died under her command. How she could have avoided the shuttle crash entirely. Anything more she could have said to Shepard, when they spoke over that link.

“So...you reacting the way you did after we spoke to Jack had nothing to do with how you feel about losing Shepard?” Jacob sceptically surmised.

Miranda arched her eyebrow. “I wasn’t aware that I reacted a particular way,” she said, not certain whether Jacob was perhaps just projecting his own feelings into her, or whether he was waiting for her to feel things that simply didn’t mesh with who Miranda was as a person. “How did I react, exactly?”

“There’s no need to get defensive with me, Miranda. I’m checking in on you, like friends do,” Jacob pointed out, not appreciating her tone. “If you’re telling me you’re fine, then you’re fine. I’ll be happy for you. So, let’s have that conversation, then. Are you?”

“Am I what? Am I okay with the fact that I lost one of my closest friends?” Miranda rephrased his question, uttering a snort.

“You turned my genuine concern into a loaded question, but...yeah.” Jacob shrugged.

“Well, since it apparently interests you so much…” Miranda shifted her posture, leaning back slightly as she spoke, rhythmically rapping her fingers against the mattress by her side. “One the one hand, yes. I accept what happened, and there’s nothing I can do about it. On the other hand, and if I still had my other hand, no. Of course I’m not ‘okay with it’. I’m never going to be ‘okay with it’ because I didn’t bloody want Shepard to die.”

“At least you’re being honest,” Jacob acknowledged. Miranda had been pretty staunchly committed to denial since she woke up from her coma, like she was trying to outrun that dark shadow before it could catch up with her and make her confront that she wasn’t anywhere near as fine as she claimed. “At least you’re not pretending you don’t care this time, or that you don’t feel anything at all.”

“I’ve never been devoid of emotions, Jacob. They’re just...not constructive,” said Miranda, somewhat uncomfortable with the subject. She wasn’t heartless. She had feelings, she just wasn’t good at processing them. They were messy, and hard to control, and she’d never learned how to navigate them in socially appropriate ways. That was why she tried to move past things like this and get on with her life.

“They don’t have to be constructive,” Jacob told her. “Feelings are feelings. They just are. You don’t have to do anything with them.”

“Then what more do you want from me?” Miranda countered, a hint of frustration and confusion creeping into her tone. “Yes, I’m upset. Of course I am. Shepard’s one of the only people I’ve ever considered a friend. What am I supposed to do? Break down and cry? That’s not who I am. That’s not how I feel things.”

It wasn’t as if Miranda had chosen to be this way. Hell, if it wasn’t for Oriana having the unique power to bring them out of her, Miranda might well have gone her whole life believing she was physically incapable of shedding tears at all.

“No, I know. And, look, I’m not…”Jacob trailed off, realising he wasn’t expressing himself well if Miranda was reacting like this - like he was judging her. Of course he wasn’t. After a moment, he considered taking a different approach. A direct approach. “Honestly, I just wanted the two of us to be able to talk,” he admitted. “You’re the closest thing I have to a best friend right now.”

Miranda softened, beginning to understand where he was coming from. “I could say the same about you.”

Jacob’s foot bounced against the floor, his fingers tented together. “This is going to be easier for me, so why don’t I start?” he suggested.

Miranda gestured for him to go ahead. She wasn’t the best person to confide in, but she was happy to be there for him if he needed to get any thoughts off his chest. She couldn’t promise that she would be able to help, or offer any advice. But she wasn’t a bad listener, actually. She paid attention to things, when she wanted to. It was why she’d never forgotten what Jacob had told her about his father, long after he’d forgotten telling her about it.

“It hit me today that Jack is the first one of us we’ve seen since Samara pulled you out of the rubble,” Jacob began, staring ahead at nothing in particular. “Out of how many people we served with on The Normandy? Four. We’ve found four of us.”

“The number four feels a lot...smaller now than it would have a few weeks ago,” Miranda acknowledged, her voice quiet. It hadn’t been lost on her just how fast the light of hope was fading.

The uncomfortable truth was, it had been well over a month since the war ended. And there hadn’t been a single word from anyone about the fate of the Normandy, or any of its missing crew, past or present. Nothing from Zaeed. Nothing from Grunt. Nothing from Kasumi, even. If they hadn’t heard from them by now, then that was a fair indication that they were right to fear the worst.

Maybe there were no other survivors from the SR-2 or SR-3.

“As if we didn’t already know things were bad. Legion, Mordin and Thane are already gone. By all accounts, Kelly Chambers was probably still on the Citadel when the Reapers attacked. The Normandy has vanished without a trace. And we know Shepard didn’t make it,” Jacob recounted. They’d found Jack, but...other than that, nothing had really changed. Maybe they really had been in denial from the outset, believing there was a chance of finding more than a small handful of their friends alive.

“...It could be worse,” Miranda broke the silence, deviating towards a stable medium. “Wrex is the sole confirmed survivor of the original Normandy. He has none of his crew. Although, he is a krogan. Outliving people might be something he’s more accustomed to coping with than humans like us. I imagine he’s taking everything better than we are.”

“What about Samara?” Jacob asked. From a human perspective, she was practically the same age as Wrex. In reality, she was several centuries younger, of course. But, still, she’d been alive long before Gutenberg invented the printing press. By Miranda’s best estimate, she was younger than Magna Carta, but older than Tenochtitlan. She’d never specifically asked. It had seemed impolite.

“I suppose that applies to her, too. But I don’t know…” Miranda brushed her hair back behind her ear on her non-scarred side, contemplating the friend she’d been longing to speak to again more than any other. She knew Samara on a far deeper level than Jacob ever had. With that in mind, the comparison just seemed...wrong somehow. “Samara’s not like Wrex. She grieves for the people she’s lost. Deeply. But I understand why you might think she doesn’t. She carries it with such tranquility, because she’s a spiritual person. But she’s far from unfeeling. It takes a lot of strength for her to bear the things she does. I admire that about her.”

“If you admire that about Samara, why not learn from her example?” Jacob offered.

“I’ve tried to. Extremely hard, actually. And with...varying degrees of success,” Miranda replied, frankly. “But I’m not Samara. Would that I were, but...No. On second thought, I wouldn’t wish for that. I know the things she’s gone through. She’s felt pain and sorrow I could never imagine, let alone withstand. I’d be too much of a coward to endure what she has. My father made sure of that.”

“Wow. There you go. That’s...probably the realest thing you’ve ever said to me,” Jacob quietly but sincerely enthused. If nothing else, he took it as a good sign that Miranda was willing to open up to him like that, even if only a little bit at a time. “One of these days, all of this stuff you think is a waste of energy is going to translate into you actually being in touch with your feelings for once.”

“I’m only just growing accustomed to having someone in my life who makes me genuinely happy, thanks to my sister. Maybe we could not put the cart before the horse and settle for taking this one step a time,” said Miranda, silently asking Jacob not to push her too far out of her comfort zone too quickly. The more he expected her to start having the emotional reactions of a normal person, the more painfully obvious it would continue to be to both of them that she wasn’t one, and probably never would function the same way as everyone else.

“I thought that’s what I was doing.” Jacob scratched his head, confused. He was being extremely patient and gentle with her, not to mention supportive. “How long are you expecting to take between steps exactly?”

“If we’re assuming regular intervals, that would make it thirty-six years,” Miranda answered plainly. Jacob stared at her, unimpressed. “...I’m going to live longer than any other human, so I could work my way up to...six emotions that I can process healthily. Seven is probably pushing the limits of my lifespan.”

“Is this you trying to be funny?” Jacob remarked, arching an eyebrow.

“No. Not on purpose, anyway. I don’t possess that ability,” said Miranda. Samara was the only person she’d ever met who’d disagreed with her on that.

“Clearly there’s a reason for that. I mean, who the hell still says ‘put the cart before the horse’ anyway?” Jacob joked, pulling a puzzled face.

“I do,” Miranda answered, unfazed.

Jacob smirked. His expression faded, though, faltering as his thoughts returned to the subject of their absent friends.

“Miranda…” Jacob tentatively broke the silence. “I hate to bring this up, but...with Shepard gone and everything…”

“I’ve been looking, Jacob,” Miranda quietly assured him, knowing exactly what he was asking of her. He didn’t see how hard she was searching for the missing, or their closest of kin. How many people she’d contacted. How many inroads she’d made. She didn’t want to trouble him with it until she’d found some answers. Even just a trace of someone they knew. But there were thousands of bodies to count. Tens of thousands. Not to mention all those that had been vaporised into dust. Maybe they would never know.

He could tell from one look at her face exactly how dedicated she was to finding answers. The silence wasn’t from lack of trying. Miranda was just...tired.

“Have you written to the families yet?” Jacob asked.

“And tell them what?” Miranda responded, feeling woefully inadequate to address those poor people when everything was still so...uncertain. “I was hoping I’d have something more to tell them by now. We don’t know anything more than we did a month ago.”

“Miranda…” Jacob hesitantly began, not wanting to come across as critical, but....

“No, I know,” Miranda cut him off. This was her responsibility. She wasn’t going to shirk it. “I’m going to start sending letters out. It’s the least I can do for them. At least for those who have anyone left to contact. It’s just...not my strength.”

“Hey, just do your best,” Jacob encouraged, certain Miranda’s efforts would prove far better than she was giving herself credit for. Miranda wished she could share his confidence.

“I’ve sent one message,” she told him, thinking he should at least be aware she hadn’t done nothing. “I tracked down contact details for Falere - Samara’s daughter. She deserved to know that her mother is alive.”

“What did she say?”

“‘Thank you,’” Miranda quoted. “Literally, that’s all she said was ‘thank you’.” Jacob gave a snort. Miranda glanced down. “Shepard doesn’t even have any family I can notify.”

“Her family already knows,” Jacob thought aloud. Miranda looked up. It was clear from his eyes that he was talking about the two of them. Plus Jack, Samara and Wrex. Everyone confirmed to still be alive who Shepard cared about.

Miranda managed a small, sad smile at the thought.

“While we’re being honest, how’s this whole thing working out with the kids?” Jacob asked.

“Surprisingly well, actually,” Miranda answered. Jacob just gave her a look. “...Oh. So it’s that bad,” Miranda realised aloud. “Wait, how would you know?”

“Some of the kids came up and talked to me,” Jacob explained. “They wondered if they’d done something wrong, because you were acting like you hated them.”

Miranda squinted. “I’ve never done that.”

“You have a tone, Miranda. You come off very harsh. Hell, if I didn’t know you so well, I’d swear you hated me right now,” Jacob pointed out.

Miranda thought about making a sarcastic quip but, ultimately, she lacked the energy. She sighed. “Great. So it turns out this was a horrible idea and I haven’t got a clue what I’m doing,” Miranda mumbled in admission.

Jacob smiled, moving to sit beside her on the bed, placing a hand on her uninjured shoulder. “I know. That’s why I’m here.”

“No, I’m serious,” Miranda persisted. Much as she despised failure, she wasn’t too blind to acknowledge it. “...I’m going to tell you something I’ve never told anyone else. Nobody except The Shadow Broker knows this about me, but...a few years ago, I tried to conceive a child. It’s how I discovered I can’t.”

“Wow.” Jacob blinked. That was a lot to take in. Miranda was nothing if not candid when she wanted to be. “With anyone specific, or…?”

“No. It wasn’t about a man. You know firsthand I don’t do relationships. It was entirely selfish. It was about...trying to feel something. To feel that same unconditional love I felt the day I found Oriana.” Miranda swallowed, her throat dry. “In hindsight, I’m glad I can’t conceive. I would be a terrible parent. This is just proving it.” She gestured towards the door, and the children beyond it.

“Don’t say that,” Jacob protested, refusing to hear Miranda beat herself up over making a few mistakes.

“It’s true.” Miranda shrugged. It wasn’t up for debate. “You know me. You know I don’t have those maternal instincts. I wasn’t nurtured by a loving family. I’ve made a lot of strides in trying to be a better person than I was back then, but...when it comes to this, I’m too much like my father.”

“No, you’re not,” Jacob insisted, shifting around and gently grabbing her by the arm to make sure Miranda looked him dead in his eyes. “The fact that you’re even worried about this proves you’re nothing like him. Besides, I’ve seen the way you treat your sister. You have a great relationship.”

“That’s because I gave her away, Jacob. By the time we met, she was already a normal, well-adjusted adult,” Miranda pointed out. “If I’d raised her, I would have messed her up the same way I’m messing things up with these kids. Probably worse,” Miranda trailed off at that. It wasn’t fun to acknowledge just how screwed up she was emotionally, and how it was affecting her interactions with Jack’s battle-scarred students. But facts were facts.

“Come on. You’re Miranda fucking Lawson,” Jacob encouraged. “It’s not like you to sit around and declare a problem unsolvable. Let’s focus on what you’ve been doing, and see if we can’t figure out a way to make things better,” he suggested, sensing that nothing would change unless he redirected Miranda’s focus away from criticising herself.

“I don’t know. I just...I was never like them. And you know I struggle with empathy,” Miranda began, at a loss. “I’ve tried to understand their frame of mind intellectually, based on what I know about them, but obviously that hasn’t worked. I can’t...put myself in their position the way a normal person could.”

“Is that why you’re avoiding them? Because you don’t know how to communicate with them? Or because you’re afraid that you can’t help them when you don’t understand how they feel?” he asked, getting to the nitty-gritty.

Reluctantly, Miranda nodded. “Both. When I’m around them, I start sounding like him - controlling, cold. So I’ve been keeping my distance, giving them space. And apparently they all want to leave no matter what I do.”

“Go easy on them, Miranda, and on yourself,” Jacob comforted her, recognising that she was genuinely making an effort, even if she didn’t know how to pull this off. “They aren’t good at expressing it because, well, teenagers aren’t, but they do seem to want you to like them. I think the problem is they don’t know that you already do care about them. I’m not sure you know that either.”

“Of course I care. As much as I can. I wouldn’t have taken them in at all if I didn’t,” Miranda answered. Low empathy didn’t mean no sympathy.

“So, why don’t you try to show it a little more?” Jacob suggested with a shrug.

Miranda sighed uncomfortably. “Jacob, this is literally the best I know how to do. I’ve just confessed to you that I’m aware I have the emotional intelligence of a dustbin most of the time. What more do you want from me?”

“In all seriousness, you’re a hell of a lot better now than you were. Even a year ago, it could be a struggle being around you sometimes,” Jacob admitted. Miranda couldn’t disagree with that. “I mean, back then, if I’d brought any of this up to you, you would have just said everyone who had a problem with you being forthright and direct was stupid and wrong and needed to get over it.”

Miranda managed a small smile. “I know. I know I’m improving, and that I’m slightly more tolerable to be around than I was before.”

“Slightly?” Jacob idly queried, pulling a face.

“But, when it comes to these students, that progress I’ve made doesn’t change the fact that I don’t have a loving parental figure to model myself on. I don’t really know how to…” Miranda gestured emptily instead of finishing that sentence, more than a little frustrated with herself, and at her lack of emotional competence.

“Well, in that case, why don’t you think back to when you were their age. Think about the things you needed from your Dad that you never got,” Jacob offered.

“That’s the thing - I never got them,” Miranda pointed out. “I can’t even say I know what it’s like to be their age. I wasn’t allowed to be a teenager. By their age, I was already a Cerberus operative, fighting batarian terrorism.”

“And they’re soldiers who just fought in a war,” Jacob countered. Miranda’s expression shifted. She’d never thought about it that way. She’d been so focused on what made them different, she’d completely overlooked potential points of commonality. “Sometimes, trying with people means a hell of a lot more than being good at talking to them. Seriously, make an effort, and they’ll see it. Even if you’re not a natural at doing the emotional stuff, at least they’ll get where you're coming from. And it’ll show that you’re not...unapproachable.”

Miranda frowned. This probably wasn’t going to work. But, damn it, the last thing she ever wanted to do was be as aloof as her father was. She knew how terrible it felt to be treated like less than a full person.

“I’m going to regret this,” she said, getting up from her bed and picking up her cane, intent on following through with this while Jacob was still there to give her support, or to intervene if things went terribly wrong.

Jack’s students had finished making dinner, gathered around the kitchen counter and table. Miranda cleared her throat to make her presence known, eliciting glances from all of them. Some of the kids moved to politely stand to attention on instinct, but Miranda raised her hand to stop them.

“No, no. Don’t get up. I just...wanted to check in with how you’re all getting on. Living here, I mean.” Miranda paused momentarily, leaning on her cane. “So...are you settling in okay? Is there anything you need?”

“We’re, uh...I think we’re good,” Seanne spoke up on behalf of the group, looking around to make sure that she was correct on that consensus.

“Yeah, your pad is pretty tight, Miss,” said Rodriguez.

“...Right.” Miranda elected not to object to her choice of words.

Jacob gave her a gentle nudge with his foot, urging her to keep going. It must have been obvious to him that this was painfully awkward for her. It ran counter to everything that had been programmed into her from birth. But fine; if he wanted her to keep trying, she would.

“I’m aware that you’ve been through a very difficult time lately. We all have, with the war. I know you’ve...lost people close to you.” Miranda swallowed, not finding it easy to let her guard down. “I’ve lost people too. People I fought beside. People I care about. And I know how it feels to be lightyears away from the ones who matter most to you. So, if any of you need someone to talk to about what you’re going through, you’re more than welcome to come to me,” she said honestly.

Suffice it to say, the students were surprised to hear her say that. Even Jacob was impressed. “We don’t want to impose,” Jason Prangley was the first to respond.

“It’s not an imposition.” Miranda shook her head. “I know I’m busy a lot. And I can’t guarantee I’ll always be available. But, if you really do need me for anything, I’ll make time,” she promised.

“Thank you, Miss,” said Prangley, seeming reassured by that offer of unconditional support. “That’s genuinely really nice of you.”

“No, it’s not. It’s...normal,” Miranda replied, recognising that she wasn’t owed any thanks for what was essentially the bare minimum of human decency that these kids deserved to be treated with, which she’d failed at so far.

Jacob smiled at her in approval, happy with her effort.

* * *

Miranda’s lips were pursed. She sat with her arms crossed, one leg folded over the other, her foot impatiently bobbing in the air.

“Shall we begin, Ms Lawson?” Kelly Chambers cheerfully asked her. “First—”

“I’ve been sleeping fine. My diet hasn’t changed. I haven’t experienced any sudden downturn in my mood. I don’t get tired. I don’t hear voices. I don’t feel anxious. I don’t experience mood swings. I have no problems concentrating on my work. I don’t experience intrusive thoughts. I don’t have nightmares. My sex drive is normal. I’m confident and well-adjusted. Are we done?” Miranda rattled everything off in a single breath, keen to get this waste of time over and done with.

Kelly Chambers tried to hide her amusement. “Um, well, it’s wonderful to hear that you’ve read the latest edition of the DSM. But the purpose of these sessions isn’t to diagnose you with a mental illness. I’m not actually qualified to do that.”

Miranda snorted, rolling her eyes. “That’s useful.” Honestly, she still didn’t understand the purpose Yeoman Chambers served aboard the ship, or why she couldn’t have been replaced with someone more qualified. “So why am I here?”

“Because you sustained an injury aboard the inactive Reaper. We’re talking about it. Besides, it was about time for me to check in with you anyway,” Kelly replied.

“Already?” Miranda snorted derisively. The last time they’d had a session was after she got hurt in the fight against the Shadow Broker. That had been, what, three weeks ago? “How often do you need to check in with someone?” Miranda dryly remarked, starting to feel singled out.

“As often as I can. It’s what I’m here for. Which is why I find it funny that you never talk to me about my work. Or ask me about people,” Kelly observed.

“What do you mean by that? I chase you up for your reports every single time you do one of these...therapy sessions.” Miranda dismissively waved her hand, feeling she was being generous by deigning to give them that moniker.

Kelly stifled a laugh, glancing down at her lap. “You are aware why The Illusive Man hired me, aren’t you? I was given a directive to report to two people. One of them is Shepard. The other was you. My explicit instructions were to assist both of you in gaining some insight into the people you would be working with, and to assist you in navigating their disparate personalities. Shepard asks me for my thoughts all the time. You...never have,” she noted, somehow not surprised by that.

“What’s there to know about the crew that I haven’t already gleaned?” Miranda shrugged, failing to see the utility.

“A lot, actually. Maybe you should talk to them sometime. Or ask me about them,” Kelly replied, far sharper on the comeback than Miranda gave her credit for. “To the extent that it doesn’t violate anything I’ve been told in confidence, it’s...literally my job to tell you what I know, and what I think. Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m pretty sure that’s precisely why The Illusive Man thought someone like me was needed here - to help you specifically.”

Miranda furrowed her brow. “To help me what?”

“You know...work with people, and understand them better,” Kelly stated frankly, shrugging her shoulders. “Don’t take offence to this, but you and I are both cognisant of the fact that Shepard doesn’t exactly need any assistance in that area. Whereas you, on the other hand...this is not your expertise, is it?”

Miranda resisted the unconscious urge to bristle at that. She never liked being confronted with the fact that she had weaknesses, even weaknesses she was self-aware enough to realise she had, and not too arrogant to deny.

“Yes, well, I suppose it’s too late for that, now, isn’t it?” said Miranda.

“I don’t agree with that.” Kelly gave a small shake of her head. “We may be a few months into our mission, but learning about people is a process that never stops. I can give you far better insight now than I could have when I first met everyone. So maybe things have worked out for the best. But I don’t mean to talk your ear off. All I wanted to say was that I’m here to help you get to know the crew a bit better, if you want me to.”

Miranda paused. It was funny. A few weeks ago, that opportunity would have triggered a very different feeling in her than it did now. A need to feel in control. A need for knowledge, because knowing things was power. It meant certainty. Security. Protection. Stability. Back then, she hadn’t hesitated to download files from the Shadow Broker, and had never thought twice about spying on her squadmates, reading all their messages.

And yet, a single conversation with Samara had suddenly changed all that.

In a way, Miranda knew that Kelly had a point. She hadn’t tried to get to know most of her squad. At all. She didn’t care to. She wasn’t there to make friends, after all. But...what was the line between learning about people and being like her father?

Now that Samara had brought that comparison to her attention, it was hard not to feel like a monumental fucking hypocrite for monitoring every single person on the ship and reporting on their every single fuck-up, the same way her father had monitored Miranda and scrutinised her every mistake. But, maybe if she went in with less adversarial intentions, maybe if she went about things the right way and for the right reasons for a change, that would be a good place to start.

“...Okay. I see what you’re saying. Perhaps I have been...distant from other people on the ship. And it couldn’t hurt to get a second opinion,” Miranda reasoned. She wasn’t sure she would agree with anything Kelly said. But would it hurt anyone for Miranda to know what Kelly thought about them?

“Ask away, within reason,” Kelly gave her an open invitation.

Don’t be controlling. Don’t be controlling. Don’t be controlling.

“...What do you think about Commander Shepard?” Miranda started with the most obvious name, since that was as good a place as any to begin.

“Andrea is remarkably well-adjusted for what she’s gone through,” Kelly answered upfront, without falsity. “She’s highly empathetic, and cares a lot about other people. It’s no wonder she’s such a remarkable leader, and why she’s such an expert at resolving situations through words rather than violence. She gets people. She understands them. But, even though I feel like I should know her so intimately by now, as I’m sure many of us feel we do, I also feel like I know so little about her. She’s always asking about us, never talking about herself.”

“Hmm.” Miranda had to admit, that was a rather astute assessment. She couldn’t fault it. “What about Jack?” she asked, not forgetting their recent clash in her quarters, and the discussion she’d had with Samara about it.

“Jack has grown up in an unfathomably traumatic environment. Her experiences have conditioned her to see others as hostile and to view her own survival as a zero sum game. But she’s young, and she’s never had the opportunity to seek treatment for post traumatic stress disorder, or even exist in a healthy environment,” Kelly acknowledged. “She has the potential to make a lot of progress. It’s just a matter of finding the right environment for her, and providing her with the support she needs.”

Miranda disagreed. It was hard to imagine Jack would ever become a well-adjusted member of society. Nevertheless, Kelly was entitled to her opinion.

“How about me?” Miranda inquired.

Kelly’s eyes widened in alarm at that. “...Honestly?”

“You must have thoughts. I’m curious to know what they are.” Miranda shifted her posture, casually flicking her hair back over her shoulder. She was trying to do this whole...self-reflection thing, at Samara’s recommendation. She needed to start somewhere. “There’s no reason to be nervous. Frankly, you couldn’t hurt my feelings if you tried. So don’t worry that I’m going to be offended.”

Kelly chose to take Miranda at her word. “Alright. Where to start?”

Miranda arched a brow. Oh, so it was like that? She glanced at the clock, wondering how long this would take, and whether she should have brought some coffee with her.

“You’re a brilliant woman, but...not when it comes to other people,” Kelly stated, electing to begin with the uncontroversial. “I don’t believe you have Narcissistic Personality Disorder, but you do show some narcissistic traits, such as a sense of superiority, an expectation for others to comply with unrealistic demands and a tendency to exploit other people without feeling guilt or shame. Honestly, though, that’s not surprising. By all accounts, it sounds like you were raised by a narcissistic sociopath. And it’s not uncommon for children raised in those situations to learn and replicate toxic patterns of behaviour.”

Miranda consciously said nothing, listening to Kelly’s opinions and letting her speak without interruption.

“You have difficulty reading other people and knowing how to react appropriately in social situations, beyond the extent to which you’ve developed social scripts to aid you in your professional life. To my knowledge, you’ve never formed meaningful, long-lasting connections, platonically or romantically. Perhaps this is partially out of a lack of interest on your part, but...if I had to hazard a guess, I also suspect it’s because you genuinely don’t know how,” Kelly speculated. “However, because you’re...stunningly attractive and extremely self-confident, people don’t recognise your social awkwardness for what it is. Instead, they interpret your behaviour towards them as deliberate rudeness and animosity.”

Miranda would have been lying if she said she didn’t recognise a grain of truth in Kelly’s words. It wasn’t exactly easy to just sit there and take it, but it was what she’d asked for. So she remained silent, allowing her to continue.

“I imagine that, when you were younger and first left your father, you most likely had several experiences where people reacted to you negatively for reasons you didn’t entirely understand. It makes sense. I mean, you had gone your entire childhood without developing normal social skills, and you would have had little to nothing in common with any of your peers, not that they had any way of knowing that. These negative responses would have further alienated you from other people, and reinforced your belief that you were superior to others, and that there was nothing to be gained from talking to them. That would go a long way to explaining why you seem to genuinely prefer being alone, and why you seem to lack any desire to socialise and interact with others,” Kelly reasoned.

Miranda shifted in her seat, the tip of her tongue tracing the top of her teeth, even as she kept her mouth shut. Okay, so, she had undergone a few unpleasant social experiences when she first joined Cerberus and met people her own age. But anyone could have guessed that. Getting lucky didn’t count as insight.

“You’re also frequently wrong in your predictions of how others will act or react in any given situation, because you don’t understand people well enough to read their motives,” Kelly continued. Miranda had to will herself not to impatiently roll her eyes, realising Kelly still wasn’t finished. “From what I understand of your mission two years ago, you thought you would have to blackmail or bribe Liara T’Soni into helping recover Shepard’s body. It never seemed to occur to you that bringing the woman she loved back to life would have been motivation enough.”

“Okay, in my defence, I didn’t know her then,” Miranda spoke up, raising a finger in objection, unable to remain silent on that.

She noticed Kelly studying her face a little nervously, searching for any signs of anger in her response. “...I didn’t just ruin this session, did I?”

“No,” Miranda nonchalantly replied, unperturbed. She didn’t care enough about Kelly Chambers of all people to be bothered by what she thought of her. But, that being said, she wasn’t so full of herself as to pretend Kelly hadn’t given her a few things that were worth thinking about. Just because she didn’t particularly care for her as a person didn’t mean she couldn’t learn something from her comments. “...I don’t agree with all of your assessments, but there was some legitimate criticism in there. And if that’s the case, I suppose I’m better off taking it on board than getting defensive about it,” Miranda admitted, somewhat humbled.

Being open to that level of criticism rather than taking it personally was certainly something new for her. The fact that Miranda hadn’t instantly rattled off a hundred different reasons why Kelly was wrong about her was definitely Samara’s influence. That and Miranda wasn’t stupid. She knew she didn’t relate well to others. And, if everyone was constantly giving her the same feedback about the way her demeanour came across, there was probably some truth to it. Maybe there was something to be gained from listening to them for once.

Kelly seemed relieved that Miranda had taken her comments constructively, even though she clearly wasn’t thrilled about them. “I’ve noticed some changes in your behaviour lately. I had my suspicions that you’d begun to realise some things about yourself. Maybe things you’ve known on a subconscious level for a long time. Either way, it’s been nice to see that happen. And it’s not just from reuniting with your sister, either, although that’s obviously made you a lot happier. Working so closely with others on the Normandy has been good for you, I think.”

“Perhaps,” Miranda conceded. “It’s funny. A few weeks ago, Shepard told me I have a tendency to interact with people like they’re objects, disregarding their thoughts and feelings, because I’m only concerned with my own goals. I disagreed with her at the time. But, in hindsight, I’ve realised she had a point. I do have a habit of only taking my own perspective into account, and treating others in ways I’d never want to be treated myself.”

Miranda neglected to mention that Samara had practically had to spell it out for her yesterday before she understood that, and that she’d felt...uneasy about her past behaviour ever since.

“This is all learned behaviour,” Kelly advised, believing that knowledge would both aid and comfort her. “Like I said before, you were raised by a narcissist, who possibly suffered from other personality disorders as well. As a direct result of being raised in that environment, knowing nothing except his treatment of you, you were taught not to empathise with others. You had no model to learn empathy from. In a way, becoming self-centred and emotionally closed-off was also necessary for your own survival. But this can all be unlearned, if you choose to.”

“Hmm.” Miranda paused to consider that, giving it some thought. It made sense that her problems relating to others were a result of nurture rather than nature, given that Oriana was her polar opposite when it came to those things. So why couldn’t those things be changed later in life, given enough time and effort?

Really, in a lot of ways, it wasn’t news to her that the way her father had raised her had affected her. She knew it had. She’d always known she didn’t fit in socially. The thing was, up until now, Miranda hadn’t cared. The prospect of working to improve those aspects of herself was one she would have scoffed at a few months ago - changing herself to appeal more to people she didn’t like, so that she could be better at faking conversations she found tedious.

Before the Normandy, Miranda hadn’t done friendships. She hadn’t done relationships. Jacob had been her only exception on both counts, and that had fizzled in a few short months. She didn’t go out for drinks with people after work. She didn’t want to, or care to. She’d seen how social other people were, and brushed it off as a massive waste of time. Something that didn’t interest her, or appeal to her in any way. So what had been the utility in working to become better at something she had no intention of doing anyway?

If the old Miranda had had her way, she would never have interacted with anyone unless there was a purpose behind it - getting something she wanted out of that person in return. Conversations were like transactions, or else what was the point of them? She valued others for their usefulness, just as her aptitude and her skills were what others always valued in her.

But none of that was true anymore.

On the Normandy, Miranda hadn’t been able to continue the same patterns of behaviour she had in the past. For as long as she’d been with Cerberus, nobody had ever really cared about her closed-off personality, as long as she’d gotten the job done. And her hypercompetence had quickly led her to rise through the ranks, into positions of authority.

She didn’t have to deal with people’s quirks. She was in charge, and she reported directly to The Illusive Man. So, when Miranda told people to do things, they did them, no matter how much they didn’t like her.

Miranda hadn’t been able to get away with that on the Normandy, not that she hadn’t tried. She’d issued commands and expected them to be followed, and it hadn’t worked the way it used to. Her squadmates weren’t Cerberus. Even the members of the crew weren’t really. They’d been recruited specifically for this mission. That made most of them fundamentally different from the diehard Cerberus agents Miranda had worked with in the past.

People didn’t respond to her the way she’d expected them to respond. They’d been difficult, and complex, and often baffling to her, like puzzles that had to be solved before they would heed her instructions and advice, which was something Miranda had no time for. Most of them would still begrudgingly do what she said, but it wasn’t lost on Miranda that she didn’t command anywhere near the same level of respect that Shepard did.

Being this close to so many different types of people had forced Miranda (however unwilling she was) to step out of her comfort zone. She still hadn’t learned how to talk to people, or figured out what wasn’t working with her regular approach. But, for almost the first time in her life, she’d formed actual bonds with people, made real friends. With a select few in particular, but, really, even the weaker social connections she’d formed on the Normandy were a huge leap compared to where she’d stood a few months ago - where she’d considered every single person under her command disposable. Shepard didn’t lead that way, for good reason.

For the first time in her life, Miranda had finally started to concede that she might have been wrong all those times before - that maybe she had actually been missing out on something for all those years that she’d dismissed the idea of pursuing friendships with people, or working to become more social.

Needless to say, there was one specific person who entered her mind when she thought about that. The one person who had been more responsible than any other for changing her perspective.

“Enough about me. What do you think of Samara?” Miranda prompted next, ready to change the subject.

“Samara…” Kelly trailed off, a slightly pained smile crossing her lips. “Samara is actually the person I’m most worried about on this ship.”

Miranda instantly straightened up, surprised to hear that. “Oh?” She shifted in her seat. She wasn’t sure if that might have been because Kelly had somehow accessed Samara’s old medical records too. Miranda still felt uncomfortable about having gone behind Samara’s back like that, and she knew she had to apologise for doing it, although it was a question of finding the right time to admit to her wrongdoing. “...Why, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Because I haven’t seen any signs of progress with her mental health, and I can’t foresee a path to recovery for her at this time,” Kelly conceded. “I mean, think about it. She’s been in pain for four hundred years. She’s taken the life of her own child. That’s unfathomable to either of us.”

Miranda’s brow creased. Kelly wasn’t wrong, exactly. She knew Samara still carried a lot of grief from her past. But ending Morinth’s killing spree had caused a fundamental change in her. Samara had been so quiet and reserved before that, so focused on the task that lay ahead of her. Since Morinth’s passing, she’d been so much more open, and conversational.

“You really don’t see any change in her after Morinth?” Miranda asked, unable to let that slide.

“That’s not what I’m saying.” Kelly shook her head. “Killing her own daughter may have closed a chapter in her life, but it hasn’t healed her wounds. She’s a strong woman, but she still carries that shroud of sorrow with her everywhere. I don’t think she knows how to live without it. And I’m not certain she wants to.”

“It’s not always there,” Miranda spoke up, much to Kelly’s surprise. “Most of the time when I talk to her, she seems perfectly fine to me. Happy, even. I imagine Shepard would say the same.”

Kelly was visibly intrigued to hear that. “You talk to Samara a lot?”

“Is there any reason I shouldn’t?” Miranda shrugged in reply, not sure why that warranted comment.

“No, no, not at all,” Kelly assured her, shaking her head and waving her hands to clear up any misunderstanding. “Samara did mention that you’ve been training together. Even meditating, which I admit I found difficult to believe at first. I just wasn’t aware you spent so much time with her. Do you...talk with her a lot?”

“Most days,” Miranda replied. Actually, she couldn’t remember the last day she hadn’t seen Samara. “I enjoy her company. She’s a very intelligent woman.”

“You have that in common,” Kelly acknowledged.

Miranda paused and glanced down, thinking about their connection over the past few months. “Samara’s...helped me a lot, actually. Sometimes it seems like she knows me better than I know myself. Those things you observed about me before, she’s the one who’s been...encouraging me to do more self-reflection, and reassess my perspective on things. And those changes you said you’ve seen in me, she’s a big part of the reason why I’ve taken those steps. Or tried to.”

“That’s wonderful to hear,” Kelly enthused, genuinely happy for her.

A small smile came to Miranda’s lips. “I’ve learned a lot from her. I’d say she’s been like a mentor, but it’s never once felt like she’s talking down to me. She’s never treated me as less than an equal. She’s simply offering her point of view, as I offer mine to her. But I’d be lying if I said I haven’t benefited from her advice far more than she’s benefited from mine. But I suppose wisdom and insight come easily to someone nearing a thousand years old.”

“You like her a lot, huh?” Kelly mused, idly resting her head on her hand.

“Of course. For as different as we are, we share a lot in common. And I know I’m supposed to be neutral and unbiased but, let’s be honest, she was always going to be my favourite person on this ship,” Miranda remarked.

Kelly chuckled. “Yeah, I suppose so.”

“I don’t know what I expected her to be like, but she’s so...non-judgemental, for someone whose role is to be judge, jury and executioner,” Miranda remarked, still trying to wrap her head around Samara the person and Samara the Justicar. The two were so intertwined that it was difficult to tell where one ended and the other began, but there were definitely distinctions. The interplay between her personal views and this rigid Code were fascinating to ponder, particularly for someone such as Miranda who had never been religious or spiritual.

“I suppose I can understand where you’re coming from, though,” Miranda continued, reflecting on Kelly’s earlier observation. “She does have a sorrow that she carries with her. I wish I could say that I fully understand it. I’ve tried to but I don’t. I think she’s used to dealing with it alone, not sharing it with anyone, which I respect. But the day after she killed Morinth, she even told me that she wouldn’t hold it against me if I didn’t want to be around her while she was grieving, and that she wouldn’t think any less of me for abandoning her at such a dark time. I was blown away. I virtually had to tell her, Samara, I’m not here out of a sense of obligation or a sense of pity. I’m here for you because I want to be.”

“But she accepted your help?” Kelly prompted.

“Yes, if you can call it that,” Miranda acknowledged. “I’m not a...sensitive person, by any means. I’ve never claimed to be. I couldn’t pretend that I know what to say or do when someone is going through something so...horrible. But I’ve tried my best to be there for her. Keep her company, when she’s needed it. I’d like to think that’s been of some comfort to her. I suppose it has, because she hasn’t kicked me out yet. I mean, there was one time where I said something that crossed a line, but I apologised for that and she accepted it.”

“What did you say?” Kelly asked.

“Ugh. I barely even remember,” Miranda lied. She remembered perfectly. “I made some flippant remark about Zaeed having a crush on her, and asked her if her Code allows for...dalliances. I realise now that was inappropriate, and she’s not comfortable with me joking about that. I certainly won’t do it again.”

“Good for you for owning that,” Kelly enthused, genuinely. That was progress.

“Yeah, well...” Miranda shrugged, rubbing the back of her neck. She didn’t feel comfortable admitting to Kelly that there was another, much greater sin she still needed to apologise to Samara for which she hadn’t owned up to. She couldn’t tell Kelly that, because it involved secrets that weren’t hers to share.

“So, uh...is that all you think about Samara, or...?” Kelly idly probed, as if trying to keep an unreadable expression. Miranda glanced back at her, curious. “Hey, you asked me for my opinion. It only seems fair that I get to ask you for yours.”

Miranda couldn’t exactly argue with that. “I don’t know where you want me to start. There’s a lot I could say. And a lot that I’ve said already. I mean, she’s an incredible woman. She’s strong, and she’s kind, and selfless almost to a fault, although she’s far from being a doormat. She’s patient, and understanding. When you see her in battle, she’s so graceful and precise. She can literally float on air like a feather. I’ve never seen anyone use such powerful biotics so elegantly, and so effortlessly, like an extension of themselves,

“One thing that’s really amazing about her that I don’t think a lot of people know is that, even though she’s been travelling around the galaxy for centuries, she still has this...youthful sense of curiosity and adventure. Honestly, I think she was secretly more excited about getting to meet and travel with humans than I was the first time I went into space. You’d expect her to be jaded, but she’s not. She really isn’t. Despite everything she’s been through, and all the injustice she’s seen, she believes the universe is fundamentally full of good people,

“There’s so much that I admire about her. Her wisdom. Her humility. How principled she is. Her honesty. Her tact. I wasn’t expecting it at all, but...frankly, it’s been an honour and a privilege getting to know her, and to be able to call her a friend. Everyone could stand to learn something from someone like her. And I think the galaxy would be better off if there were more people like Samara in it.”

Miranda trailed off, not even really paying attention to what she was saying. It was a stream of consciousness, really. Thinking aloud. She only lifted her gaze after she realised several seconds of silence had passed with no response. She looked up to find Kelly grinning at her in a manner Miranda could only describe as disconcertingly cheerful.

“What?” Miranda asked, regarding her with an odd look.

“Nothing. It’s just...that was very sweet.” At that answer, Miranda tilted her head in confusion, not sure what that was supposed to mean. “You know, hearing you...say nice things about someone else,” said Kelly, waving her hand as if trying to downplay her reaction. Miranda wasn’t sure she was being entirely honest with her as to why she was so interested all of a sudden. “Ah, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to make you self-conscious. You know what? Forget I said anything.”

“I do that every time you say anything,” Miranda dryly quipped, suddenly remembering precisely what it was about Kelly that she didn’t like. To her credit, Kelly only snickered at Miranda’s snarky comment, not taking it personally.

“You know, this is the sixth session we’ve had together, and this is the first time we’ve actually talked,” Kelly pointed out, very pleased with that.

Miranda rolled her eyes. “Don’t worry, I’ll never make that mistake again. Am I free to leave?”

“Aw, I was really enjoying this…” Kelly playfully remarked, sensing that Miranda’s apparent disdain lacked most of the bite it once used to possess. “I swear, this stays between us. I won’t tell anyone you have a heart. I promise! It’s our secret!”

The door had already shut behind Miranda before Kelly finished calling out to her.

* * *

Living with tinnitus was straight up hell.

If Miranda managed to get to sleep before 2am, it was a fucking luxury. Some nights, she didn’t get to sleep at all. When she did, there was no rest waiting for her.

The sounds of bullets and biotic blasts and banshees shrieking in the dark echoed in her head, unpleasant dreams drowning out the ringing in her ear. Every night when she closed her eye, the battle began all over again. She was back at the barricade. Back in that shuttle. Back to hiding from people who would track her down and kill her if she put a foot wrong.

Every night she ran from Cerberus.

Every night she felt Kai Leng stab her in the stomach.

Every night she went to war, and led her whole team to their deaths.

Every night she watched husks, marauders and banshees tear her team apart.

Every night she woke up to the disemboweled corpse of the shuttle pilot dripping blood onto her face.

Every night the impaled soldier begged Miranda for help she couldn’t give him. Every night she left him to die.

Miranda rolled onto her back and pressed her hand to her forehead, not sure whether it was worse to lay awake with that piercing sound blaring like a siren in her soul, or to revisit the ghosts that were waiting for her in her nightmares, and that made her wake up in a cold sweat.

One way or another, it was a deafening cacophony. Louder than a hurricane. She couldn’t even remember the sound of silence anymore.

When was this going to stop? When was she going to be able to sleep again?

Sometimes, it was too much to face. So she just didn’t. She didn’t go through the torment of trying to block out the ringing in her ear long enough that she could go back to the harrowing memories that awaited her there.

Sometimes, she would slip out and climb up to the roof so she could breathe. Other nights, she would limp out onto the street and go somewhere near the water. The flow of the river was one of the only things that could drown out the ringing for a while. She would head back when the sun began to rise, before Jack’s students noticed she was missing.

Miranda had played Oriana’s messages on loop so many times in those restless nights, she knew them word for word. She would never get sick of listening to her talk about her day, and telling bad jokes to try and make her laugh. Miranda never did laugh. Not these days. But that didn’t matter. It was the thought that counted.

Miranda had taken the time to respond back, recording a message in the cold night air on the roof. She’d told her about the status of things on Earth. About finding Jack. About taking on responsibility for her students, at least until Jack recovered. Hopefully, she would get a response in the next few days.

She’d thought of Samara, and tried her hand at meditating. It hadn’t helped. She couldn’t focus. Couldn’t meditate. Because that ringing her ear was so loud. And it wouldn’t. Fucking. Stop.

Other days, she just stayed up and worked. She had a list of names. Everyone aboard The Normandy. Past and present. All the missing. And the scant few who had lived.

It wasn’t easy to track down next of kin, with how long and how widespread the war against the Reapers had been. But it was her duty to do it. With Shepard gone, and The Normandy missing, Miranda was the only thing left resembling a commanding officer.

She had to write to them eventually. She knew she had to. But how could she when she had nothing to say?

Why hadn’t they heard from them yet?

Miranda sat up and grimaced, running her hand through her hair. She couldn’t keep thinking about The Normandy. She couldn’t. Because, if she did, she couldn’t keep living in denial.

She would have to acknowledge the fact that nothing could ever be changed or remedied or healed. She’d gotten a second chance with Jack. A chance to rectify past wrongs, and admit her faults. But what about Shepard? Tali. Garrus. Doctor Chakwas. Kelly Chambers, who’d most likely died on the Citadel. Zaeed. Grunt. Kasumi. Not to mention Mordin and Thane.

It was too late. No apologies could ever be given for her mistakes. She’d never be able to tell them that she’d changed from the person she was a year ago. That she understood now why they hadn’t liked her. That they’d been right about her. Things that never bothered her before now curdled in her throat with the bitter taste of impotent regret.

Miranda’s jaw clenched as her fingernails dragged against her skin, her hand tightening into a fist, that incessant ringing growing louder and louder.

No. She couldn’t lose her cool. She wouldn’t. Getting frustrated, getting emotional, it felt like admitting defeat - letting that damn ringing win. She could do this.

Miranda drew a deep breath, trying to will herself to let go of her thoughts, and to stop letting them eat away at her. Beating herself up wouldn’t change anything. It was pointless to stew on the fates of her crewmates, or the team she’d led to Earth, or the soldiers who’d died in the shuttle. So why couldn’t she chase those ghosts from her head?

She rubbed her palm across her eye, trying to compose herself.

Not for the first time, she wished Samara was there. She was the only person Miranda could have talked to about something like this - the only person whose advice ever helped her make sense of what she was feeling, and the only person who knew how to guide Miranda to put things into perspective. Never patronising. Never condescending. Honest, but fair. A confidant.

But this wasn’t like the old days. She couldn’t just walk into the Starboard Observation Deck when she needed Samara’s advice. Miranda had no way of contacting her now, wherever she was. No way of knowing if she was ever coming back. Whether she was still alive.

She had to deal with this alone.

And, despite being surrounded by people, she’d never felt more alone in her life.

A knock on the door disturbed her restlessness. For a moment, she thought it was a hallucination. But then it happened again. “Who is it?” Miranda grumbled. She felt sick. Her head was throbbing.

The door opened a crack. “Sorry, Miss. I didn’t want to wake you up,” Rodriguez’s recogniseable voice apologetically began.

“It’s alright,” Miranda murmured as she sat up, cradling her blaring forehead, concealing her grogginess. It wasn’t as though she’d been sleeping anyway. “What do you need?”

“Yeah, um. Reiley’s been coughing a lot. Think he might have caught something. I was wondering if you had something to give him for it,” Rodriguez asked, shifting back and forth between her feet.

“Check the middle cabinet above the sink. There should be a blue bottle with cough medicine,” said Miranda, fingers perched against her forehead in a futile effort to fight off the headache attacking her skull from the inside. She’d tried to use cold medicine as a sleep aid before, to little success.

“Right. Thanks, Miss,” said Rodriguez, turning to leave.

The door clicked shut. A bleary-eyed glance at the clock beside her bed told Miranda the time. Four o’clock in the morning. She hadn’t slept a wink. It didn’t look like that would change anytime soon.

With a heavy sigh, Miranda pushed herself up and headed to her desk. She had nothing but time. She might as well use it constructively, and address one of her problems. Something she had been putting off for too long.

She began to type.

To Admiral Shala’Raan vas Rannoch,

To Castis and Solana Vakarian,

To Feron,

To Abby, Lynn and Sarah Williams,

Regarding the status of

your husband

your daughter

your mother

your brother

I regret to inform you that the whereabouts of

Samantha Traynor

Steve Cortez

James Vega

Greg Adams

are still unknown.

I had the pleasure of serving with

Gabriella.

Ken.

Karin.

Jeff.

They were fine people. Among the finest.

Rest assured that I will do everything in my power

will personally see to it

will not abandon this cause until answers are found.

I will not stop until I can give

Ensign Copeland

Private Campbell

Private Westmoreland

Diana Allers

the justice of knowing what happened to them.

I will continue searching until I find out what happened to

Rupert Gardener

Sarah Patel

Zach Matthews

Jennifer Goldstein

Kelly Chambers

I understand this is a difficult time for you, as it is for all of us. I know that there is little that I can say that would ease your pain. But I hope it is of some comfort to you to know that not one soul who has ever served aboard the Normandy, past or present, has been overlooked.

That is my oath to you; that none of these names will ever slip through the cracks. If there are answers to be found, I will find them. No one will be left behind.

As long as I am alive, they will never be forgotten.

Yours sincerely,

Yours faithfully,

Regards,

Miranda Lawson.

* * *

“See, this is why I don’t understand Shepard’s obsession with collecting fish,” Miranda commented, taking another salmon nigiri in her chopsticks. “Every time I look at that tank, all I can think about is which one of them would taste best with wasabi. And, yes, I am aware that makes me sound like a krogan; they’re not right about many things, but we see eye to eye on fish being delicious.”

“Did you never have a pet?” Samara remarked, finding it very difficult to believe Miranda legitimately didn’t understand Shepard’s attachment to those fish.

In response, Miranda merely paused and stared at her.

“...That was an uninsightful question,” Samara acknowledged, shaking her head at her poorly judged query. Of course the answer was obvious. Miranda’s father had deprived her of anything resembling joy.

“No offence, but part of me is glad that you’re capable of making mistakes. I was starting to wonder for a while there. It’s nice to remember that you’re still human,” Miranda light-heartedly told her. She blinked, catching her own error. “...Figuratively speaking,” she added belatedly.

Miranda didn’t fail to notice the glimmer of amusement in Samara’s eyes at that comment.

It was a nice change of scenery, spending time with Samara on the Citadel. Shepard had granted everyone some shore leave while EDI was busy installing the Reaper IFF. Shepard was off somewhere in Zakera Ward, probably looking to purchase some more upgrades. Everyone else had been left to their own devices.

Samara had been curious to see how much the Citadel had changed since her last visit, which had been many centuries ago. Miranda had been only too glad to follow along at Samara’s invitation, watching as she wandered the Wards, listening to stories of what used to be there, and hints of the memories they held.

She’d pointed out a bank that used to be a nightclub. The mercenary group that Samara used to travel with frequented it. Apparently, they’d had some...interesting times there, in her youth. Samara hadn’t elaborated beyond that, but Miranda certainly wasn’t naive to the implication.

That clothing store in the corner used to go by a different name. It must have changed hands dozens of times in the intervening years. One of Samara’s sisters used to work there, and eventually became the owner of the store. Samara had wondered aloud what had ever become of her half-sister - if she ever did realise her dream of becoming a fashion designer.

Over by that fountain, Samara’s father had nearly gotten arrested there. All a big misunderstanding, of course. Evidently, she hadn’t realised the hanar would take the comment so personally. The young Samara had been mortified, and had apparently yelled at her father for a solid three hours for being so thoughtless, earning comparisons to her mother.

It had been a refreshing change, seeing Samara so relaxed and casual. It wasn’t lost on Miranda that this was probably the closest thing Samara had had to a ‘day off’ in four hundred years. She was clearly enjoying it, nostalgic for happier times.

Once it started to get late, Miranda had invited Samara to visit her favourite sushi joint. She hadn’t been keeping track of how long it had been since they got to the restaurant, but the time they’d spent there had just flown by. Tables that arrived after them had already finished their meals and left, but Miranda and Samara were in no hurry to join them. Not a moment went by where they didn’t find themselves comfortably drifting into some new and interesting conversation.

“If I may ask, how old were you when humanity first made contact with other species?” Samara asked her.

“Seven,” Miranda answered, cleansing her palette with ginger. “Why?”

“Being among the crowds and diversity of the Citadel reminds me that, however quickly humanity has adapted, this is still a novelty for your species,” Samara observed. “I have known many things, but I have never known a time when asari were alone in the galaxy.”

“Well, we knew there was other life in the galaxy because of the Prothean technology uncovered on Mars. That discovery wasn’t terribly long before I was born. We had already begun to colonise other planets by the time I was aware of the world. We just didn’t know how long it would be before we met you,” Miranda explained.

“I am not particularly familiar with human aging, but seven would be more than old enough to have distinct memories and some comprehension of The First Contact War, would it not?” Samara asked, curious. Miranda nodded. “What do you remember of that time?”

Miranda paused. “...It was the first and only time in my life I ever saw my father afraid of anything.”

“Intriguing. What did he fear?” Samara prompted her to elaborate, levitating a piece of sushi towards her with her biotics.

“That we had been foolish, delving out into space,” she answered. “That any aliens we made contact with would be hostile conquerers, and that the skirmish on Shanxi was just a prelude to a turian armada finding their way to Earth and wiping us all out.” Given his response, it had been no wonder why he had become a Cerberus supporter once The Illusive Man published his manifesto. “Your species helped calm things down pretty quickly, though. I respected that. My father didn’t.”

“It is not an unfounded response,” Samara acknowledged. “The Rachni Wars and the Krogan Rebellions were long before my time, but they are evidence of how contact with new species is not without danger.”

Miranda’s expression darkened at her response. “You agree with my father, then?”

“No.” Samara shook her head, at ease. “My experience of the galaxy, and that of my kind as a whole, is that meeting new species is most often a beneficial and positive experience, and rarely a negative one. We would all be lesser without the galactic community. However, it would be arrogance to simply dismiss alternative points of view. They are not entirely unwarranted.”

“I don’t really need you defending my father’s views on anything,” Miranda somewhat curtly replied. There was no anger in her words, just a frank statement of fact. Samara blinked, mildly taken aback. “I was exposed to them relentlessly. He tried to control me and make me think the same way. I was never allowed to disagree. So, suffice it to say, if I hold a different opinion, it’s not for lack of ‘seeing his side’,” she muttered, turning over a piece of sushi between her chopsticks before picking it up.

“...Forgive me.” Samara bowed her head slightly, in respectful deference. “I am aware you did not have a...pleasant relationship with your father. It should have occurred to me to be mindful of your history with him, especially after I have advised you to do the same for others in the past.”

Miranda sighed, realising how she’d come off. “No, I shouldn’t have snapped at you. It’s not your fault. But a lot of things remind me of him. And it’s never in a good way.”

“Nevertheless, I apologise,” said Samara, unfazed.

Miranda frowned. If she was being entirely honest, the ‘father’ issue had been more of a raw nerve with her than usual ever since Miranda had been forced to confront just how much her own behaviour echoed that of the man she despised.

“Did you have a good relationship with your parents?” Miranda asked, changing the subject.

“Yes, although I was often unappreciative,” Samara told her, floating another piece of sushi towards herself.

“Again, very hard to imagine,” Miranda commented, accompanying that with a pointed finger from the hand that held her chopsticks. Young Samara really did sound completely unlike the Samara of today. Most of the time, anyway. The parts about lecturing people on the virtues of independence and self-sufficiency Miranda could totally believe.

“As you are aware, both my parents were asari. I was raised by both my mother and my father, though never at the same time,” Samara explained.

“Were they separated?” Miranda intuited.

“They were never bondmates. But yes. Their relationship was brief, and I was the only child of their union,” Samara answered. “I primarily lived with my mother. My father was adventurous, often absent-minded...”

“Prone to getting arrested in front of fountains,” Miranda added, dipping another piece of sushi into some soy sauce.

“Yes,” Samara acknowledged, which almost made Miranda snort. “She was by far the more permissive parent. She did not believe in structure or discipline. She was also, shall we say...very generous with her affections.”

“Is that why you have so many half-sisters you probably don’t even know about?” Miranda wryly remarked, remembering their prior conversation about that.

“It contributed,” Samara conceded, perhaps missing Miranda’s half-joking tone. From her demeanour, Samara clearly didn’t bear any negative feelings towards her father for that. Miranda wondered if she once felt differently, or if that kind of sexual freedom was so normalised for asari that it simply wasn’t an issue. “In contrast, my mother was stern and strong-willed, which meant we often fought. From an early age, I yearned to travel the galaxy. She...did not encourage that ambition, and wanted me to focus on my studies. It was only later in life that I realised her strictness had been born from love, and that her desire for me to remain close to her on Thessia was the only way she knew how to express it.”

“Reminds me of someone I know,” Miranda observed, regarding Samara with knowing eyes. Samara didn’t deny the similarity. She definitely took after her mother, even if she had inherited her father’s adventurousness. “I remember you mentioning before that you felt like you lost your opportunity to reconcile with her.”

Samara’s eyes glistened wistfully. “That is correct.”

“What happened?” Miranda asked, curious to know.

“The last time we spoke, we had a terrible argument. I was young, and fed up with her restrictions. I told her I was going to come here to live with my father. She insisted I was making a terrible mistake and that, if I left, I would not be welcome to return. I took her at her word,” Samara relayed.

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” Miranda commented, in an effort to be comforting.

“That is because I am skipping over the part where we each said some very hurtful things to one another,” Samara pointed out.

“Oh.” Miranda’s shoulders sank a little.

“Forgive me. This must sound trivial to you.”

“No. Not at all.” Miranda shook her head. That was the opposite of true. “Why didn’t you reconcile earlier?” Miranda asked, shifting the subject away from herself. Based on her mental timeline of Samara’s life, Samara and her mother could have gone as long as three hundred years without speaking before her death.

“We were both too proud to apologise. But I did love my mother, and I know she loved me, in her own way. I am fortunate that I have many happy memories with her,” said Samara, at peace with that aspect of her past.

“What about your father?” Miranda prompted, listening intently.

“I was not with her when she died, but we parted on good terms the last time I visited her. It pains me to say it, but...I honestly cannot remember what the last words I said to her were, nor her to me,” Samara confessed.

“If it’s any consolation, at least you know they were better than the last words my father said to me,” Miranda offered.

“What were they?” Samara queried.

“’Shoot to kill. Don’t let her escape’,” Miranda bluntly replied. Samara didn’t react, which helped Miranda feel a little less like a freak due to her abnormal childhood. “I suppose that was technically a command to his men, not to me.”

“Does it make you uncomfortable to hear others talk about their relationships with their parents?” Samara asked, well aware that she had enjoyed privileges Miranda had not in that regard.

“No,” Miranda answered honestly. “My childhood was what it was. I don’t begrudge anyone for having a better one than mine.”

“You are not envious?” said Samara, genuinely impressed if that was the case.

“Well, I didn’t say that, but it’s also hard to envy what I never had. My father was never a father to me. And I never even had a mother, or any kind of maternal figure. Just some altered genetic sequences taken from dozens of women I never met,” Miranda contemplated aloud.

“Do you wish that you had met them? Or that you had been raised by a mother figure?” Samara asked.

“That’s difficult to say. I might be a completely different person, if I had been. Unless she was exactly like my father. In that case, no - having one of him was bad enough,” Miranda muttered. It wasn’t the first time she’d thought about this, but there had never been a clear answer. “It’s complicated. Part of me obviously wishes I hadn’t had these experiences, and that I’d had a childhood more like yours instead. That’s why I made sure Oriana never had to go through what I did. But, at the same time, if I’d been raised differently, I wouldn’t be who I am today. I don’t know if I’d be better or worse. But I wouldn’t be me.”

“And I would not be who I am today had I not weathered great tragedy,” Samara replied. Miranda felt a sliver of guilt, well aware of the devastating events she had endured in her past. More so than Samara realised. “Would you tell me that I was wrong if I wished my life had been otherwise?”

“No. Of course not,” said Miranda. The agony Samara had suffered was...soul-crushing. Miranda wouldn’t wish that upon her worst enemy. “But I’d rather confront reality than dwell on things that could have been.”

“And you are right to. It is folly to deny that which cannot be changed. But that which befell you was not what created the woman I see before me today,” Samara assured her. “You do not owe your character to any aspect of your father’s mistreatment of you. That you have grown into a capable, determined and resilient woman in spite of his abuse can only be attributable to your own strength. And that cannot be accredited to him. Your response to those events came entirely from within you. That is what truly makes you exceptional.”

Miranda’s lip curled into a small, lopsided smile. “I don’t know whether I can believe that, but thank you for saying it. I appreciate it. And everything you’ve done for me,” Miranda added. This mission had been far less tolerable before Samara came along. So had Miranda herself.

“And I am also grateful that events transpired to allow the two of us to meet, just as I am content with the person I have become,” Samara concluded, her expression as peaceful as her voice.

They both sat in contented silence for a moment, each grateful for the rapport they shared in their own way. For Miranda, this was the first time she’d ever formed such a meaningful connection with another person. For Samara, she was savouring a genuine friendship for the first time in over four centuries.

“If I may...” Samara began. “I do not know why you chose to spend your limited shore leave listening to this foolish, tired old woman prattle on about the distant past, but...thank you, for accompanying me. I have enjoyed this a great deal.”

Miranda smirked. “First of all, there’s nothing tired or foolish about you. So jot that down,” she said, gesturing as she spoke.

“I am flattered. Although, you greatly misjudge me,” Samara replied.

“Secondly,” Miranda leaned forward conspiratorially, “Don’t tell anyone, but I’ve had a lot of fun today too,” she half-whispered, as if it was their little secret. “And I would gladly listen to you prattle on about the distant past again any time.”

Samara’s smile reached her eyes. “Now I know you are flattering me.”

Suddenly, Miranda’s communicator beeped, disturbing the moment.

“Operator Lawson,” EDI’s voice came out, “The Reaper IFF is nearly online. Commander Shepard has requested all crew return to The Normandy. We will disembark in approximately one hour.”

“Thank you, EDI. Samara and I are on our way,” said Miranda, ending the transmission. For as much fun as they had been having together, the mission always took priority, for both of them. “I still can’t believe we have a geth crewmate now,” she remarked, paying the tab remotely from her omni-tool, leaving behind a generous tip as she always did for this place. “If someone had told me that a few days ago, I would have sent them for a psychological evaluation.”

“You should speak to Legion, if you have the time,” Samara recommended, getting up from the table and following Miranda out of the restaurant. “I found him very enlightening, both as an…’individual’, and because he provides fascinating insights into a species we know little about.”

Miranda was sceptical, but she gave Samara’s opinion of Legion a hell of a lot more credence than she would have done for anyone else. “I’ll think about it.”

As they approached the cab terminal, a holographic advertising board lit up.

“Waiting for a cab, Miranda Lawson?” asked the digital projection of an asari. “An elegant woman like you with an education in -DATA UNAVAILABLE- and an income of -DATA UNAVAILABLE- should be taking charge of your own destiny. You could be showing Justicar Samara the sights of the Citadel in your very own luxury, hand-crafted skycar from Tennekont. Now, wouldn’t that be an impressive way to end a night out on the town?”

Miranda snorted and shook her head as the billboard rattled on through a series of commercials. “I hate these personalised ads,” she said, hailing a cab.

“Do not worry. If you ever did wish to impress me, I would not recommend you follow that advice,” Samara remarked. “Aside from the fact that Justicars eschew personal possessions, in my experience, Tennekont have never been able to manufacture skycars the way they used to four hundred years ago.”

Miranda smirked. Either she was just imagining things, or Samara was...actually funny for a second there. “Did you just make a joke?” she asked.

“I would never joke about something so important,” Samara assured her, a glint of humour in her eyes. That time, Miranda did crack up just a little bit.

* * *

#fic #mass effect #miranda lawson #samara #femslash

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