#the other three are just lucky or privileged compared to her /shrug

[grimmshood]

thoughts on changmin ..

despite her personality, changmin is actually the most rebellious out of the nospin members. he's just bad at acting on those impulses now.

following the previous point - changmin's family never approved of her being in music at all. he was only found by mighteeone ent because she posted videos on youtube while wearing a mask, and had he not been encouraged by peers to audition he wouldn't have bothered at all.

changmin's parents were only present on camera for the funeral procession. they didn't visit her remains afterwards, either. they had to be encouraged to show up by the company only to avoid potential legal issues and rumors- changmin's family info was never really made public like other members' were and her relationship with them was never really elaborated on.

ji-woon's mother was the closest to a parent that changmin had while he was alive. she was a primary reason for why changmin had ended up idolizing ji-woon in the first place, then became the reason changmin tried to continue being nice to him even after learning that he never respected him to begin with.

blink + chun-woo's families were also very accepting of changmin. she relied heavily on the support of other members, their families and the company since she was basically no-contact after she auditioned. without company housing she would have been homeless.

[childesboo]

Limits | Mammon x Female MC

Word Count: 3766

Rating: M

Warnings: smut, teasing, foreplay, oral, biting, rough sex, fluff, porn with feelings <3, language

This is my first fanfic in like 5 years and it’s a smut lol, I love Obey Me! so so much, love Mammon... 

___

The vial had shattered. The one thing that could help the brothers turn back to normal, soaking into the carpet of the dining room. Everyone looked at the glass shards. something akin to defeat on their faces.

Luke shrugged, “It’s gonna take me a bit longer than a week to get the right antidote this time. We used the last of the supplies for this vial.”

A collective groan rang out, tails and ears twitching irritably, MC just giggled at that, feeling lucky to have some more time with them like this. Luckily for her, there wasn’t any school for another three weeks, so she could spend as much time as she wanted cuddling and fluffing the boys.

Lucifer walked in, ears perked up, “It’s late, curfew starts in two minutes, so I had better not catch anyone roaming the hallways when I go on patrol,” he quirked an eyebrow. No one complained, so he was satisfied. He left the room, mildly pleased with how smoothly that had gone, especially compared to most nights.

MC felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickle and she took a peek at Mammon, wondering if it was him. Their eyes met and she smiled at him, which in turn made his heart squeeze. His eyes lit up, a smirk making its way onto his face as he sauntered over to her, tail swishing as he went.

“Oi, MC, since it’s already late can I just go to your room later? You know your bed is the comfiest, and I just can’t resist wanting to enjoy this the most I can,” he purred, immediately breaking any resolve MC might have gathered for that moment. She sighed, knowing there was no point in refusing since he always barged in anyways.

“Sure, Mammon, just make sure to take your t-shirt in the morning! Asmo found it last time and is definitely having some thoughts about what happened,” she furrowed her brows at him and he laughed, waving his hand in front of him.

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head, THE Mammon never makes the same mistake twice!” he grinned at her. MC sighed again, knowing his shirt definitely would be there the next morning. She grabbed his hand and started pulling him out of the dining room, “C’mon Mammon, I want to watch the new TSL movie that Levi lent to me, he got it before it could be released and I’ve been waiting this whole week.”

Mammon’s face turned red and he squeezed her hand in his as they made their way out. She was so small and cute, he wanted to eat her right up and devou- he shook his head, flushing even more. “Yeah, let’s go watch,” he croaked out and covered his face with his other hand, feeling a little warmer than usual.

They walked through the hallway, Mammon’s tail twitching nervously, her hand still in his, the walk slow and comfortable- for her at least. Mammon was having a hard time with her so close to him, soft and sweet smelling, so gentle and cute... his mouth was watering. They got to her door and she looked up and him and smiled cutely at him as she let go of his hand and twisted the knob, ushering him in and locking it behind her. 

Mammon was walking towards her bed when he yelped in surprise, spinning around to come face to face with MC, who stood there with a funny look on her face, his tail in her hand.

She laughed and brought it up to her face and rubbed her cheek on it, “I’ve wanted to pet you since last week, you just look too cute like this, so adorable!”

Mammon lost track of whatever he was going to say and just stood there, face turning tomato red. “A-ah c’mon! The ferocious and graceful Mammon can’t be cute and adorable! Especially not to a human like you!” he yanked his tail from her and held it to his chest, clearly embarrassed. The feel of her touch had sparked something inside him and he didn’t want to even try to light that flame.

Clearly she had different plans. MC slowly started walking towards Mammon, and for every step she took forward he took one backwards until the back of his knees hit the bed and he fell backwards, heart almost beating out of his chest, so loud in his ears he was certain she heard it too. He yelped and covered his face with his hands and looked at her through his fingers, eyes wide.

She was standing over him, smiling wickedly as she leaned over. She reached her hand out slowly... Mammon squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself for whatever was going to happen She caressed his cheek with one hand, and then MC brought up her other hand and pet Mammon’s hair, scratching his scalp thoroughly and then rubbing behind his ears and petting the fluffy fur that came from the inside.

Mammon was shocked, entire face burning hot, ears warming up, and tail thrashing wildly underneath him. “M-MC whaddya think you’re doing?!” he choked out. She just kept petting him, and his head started leaning towards her touch against his will, “Oooh, right there... yes, mmmm...” he purred. MC gulped, her face warming a little as well. 

She leaned her face towards him and her hair curtained them both away from what felt like the entire world. She stopped petting him and his eyes opened lazily, he was completely relaxed. She smiled at him and he blushed a little.

“Y’know, I have a cat back at home,” she murmured, “I used to pet him while I was watching movies... I really miss him.”

Mammon looked at her and blurted out, “Y’know you can pet me while we watch the movie right? I can-” he looked away, “ I can lay my h-head on your lap if you want...” he trailed off, looking to the side. MC brushed his bangs from his forehead and laughed softly. “Thank you Mammon, you can be really sweet sometimes,” She leaned back and turned on the TV, putting the disc in. As it loaded, Mammon sat up and ran a hand through his hair, his usual cocky grin on his face.

“Of course I, The Great Mammon, would allow a human the privilege of touching me. Where else would ya’ get a chance like this?  My generosity knows no limits!” he crowed. MC just snorted and agreed with him. She walked back to the bed and sat next to him, their thighs squished together. Mammon choked mid sentence and glued his eyes to the TV, not moving an inch.

“You gonna lay down or what?” MC asked. He nodded stiffly and scooted down, laying sideways in between MC’s legs, as she shifted to lean against the wall. Mammon almost groaned out loud. His face was on her thigh, his face was on her thigh, his face was on her thigh, his face was o- his thoughts were interrupted when she slid her hands through his hair again.

 She marveled at how soft it was with an appreciative hum, and then moved to his ears and scratched the sweet spot behind them. She wasn’t even concentrating on the movie at this point, and neither was Mammon. His entire focus was on the feeling of her hands on him and how good it felt. 

She pinched the tip of one of his ears and he let out a hot breath, one of his fists clenching in surprise. She did it again to the other ear, and he tensed up, ears twitching, panting on her thigh. MC giggled and softly pet him again, starting to get excited in wondering what other reactions he might have to what she did. 

She pinched the tips of both ears between her fingers and started rubbing tight circles with her thumb and index finger. Mammon let out a shuddering breath and turned his face so that it was buried in her thighs, his panting causing her skin to get wet with the hot breaths he couldn’t control.

MC felt a shock of electricity run through her and she leaned forward and ran her hands through his silky hair, subtly pushing his head closer to her. She was getting hot by his closeness and how he was reacting to her touch. Mammon was fighting to control himself. It felt so good... she smelled so good... just a bite wouldn’t hurt, right? He opened his mouth and rubbed his lips on her inner thigh, scraping his teeth on the squishy flesh. She let out a shuddering breath and gripped his hair in her hands and he kissed and nipped at her thigh, breathing hotly.

She spread her legs for him and he turned to lay on his stomach, one arm around her other leg, and the other arm snaking under her to grope her ass. Her heart was thumping out of her chest and her lips were sucked back into her mouth. 

“Mmmm... Mammon,” she breathed out. He inhaled deeply and pressed his mouth to her thigh and slowly sank his teeth in, just enough to leave a mark. She groaned and was breathing heavily now, leaning back on the wall, fists in his hair, and legs tangled around him. He pulled her down by her waist slowly so that she was under him, and his arms caged her like she was the wild animal in this situation.

Both their breaths mixed in this little bubble of space between their faces. He smirked lazily, “Why’d ya stop?” he leaned forward and mumbled against her ear, “It felt so good, MC... why’d ya stop?” he put her ear in between his teeth and gently bit it, pulling away when she squirmed against him, rubbing her knee on his inner thigh. He growled at her and grabbed her hands and put them back on his head, “Keep going,” he looked down at her, eyes lidded with need. 

He wrapped his arms around her torso and sat up against the wall, pulling her onto his lap over his growing erection and groaned when she rubbed her heat against him. He could feel how wet she was with the way her underwear slid against him. 

She was panting in his ear now, trying to press her body as close to his as possible. Mammon was gripping her waist so hard that there was likely to be a bruise the next morning. He was rolling his hips against her, groaning every time she met him with the same pressure and began sucking on her neck. She bit his ear and he moaned into her shoulder as he pulled her waist closer to his and ground against her in circles. He moaned and he shuddered against her, biting her shoulder and squeezed her even closer to him, “Clothes,” he panted, “I want to be closer to you, MC.”

“You have to let me go first, Mammon,” she laughed quietly and he reluctantly released her. She got off the bed and slowly stripped her shirt over her head, Mammon’s eyes following her every move. Smooth, soft skin, squishy enough to bite... his mouth watered. He gulped when she unhooked her skirt and let it fall off her, crumpling to the floor, smooth legs just begging to be wrapped around him. He practically ripped off his shirt and was about to do the same with his pants when MC crawled onto the bed and put her hand over his that was on the zipper.

“Let me do it,” she whispered huskily. Mammon couldn’t do anything but move his hand away as he stared transfixed as she brought her face to his crotch. She kissed the tent in his pants firmly and he did everything he could to not grab her head and face fuck her into oblivion. 

She sweetly smiled up and him and grabbed the zipper between her teeth and started to unzip him, inch by tantalizing inch, her eye contact not flinching the entire time. His hands flexed at his sides and he blushed at the intimacy and what he was feeling. He closed his eyes and leaned back, loving the feeling of her hot breath on his dick. He jerked forward when she licked him slowly through his boxers. “I want these...” she stroked her finger up and down his covered length that was peeking through, “I want these off, Mammon,” she kissed his dick slowly and moved to the side.

He groaned at how sexy she was and slid them down his legs and threw them on the floor in a rush. “D-do you want these of too?” He gestured to his underwear, feeling flushed. MC nodded and then gestured to her current state of dress, “Can you take mine off too? It seems that all my hands want to do is touch you.”

Mammon audibly cursed and ripped his underwear off, and his embarrassment along with them. “C’mere you,” he growled and yanked her towards him. She looked up at him, mirth twinkling in her eyes at his attitude. Her hands caressed his cheeks and she pulled him in, pressing a sweet kiss on his lips. He grabbed her chin and huskily asked, “D’ya think that would be enough for me?” 

She whimpered as he ground his rigid length against her soaked underwear and leaned in for a hot, passionate kiss. It was all teeth and tongue and he nipped her lip, growling as he tasted blood. His hands traveled up her sides and teased the undersides of her bra. She bit his lip and rubbed herself against him and he panted her name. He took a bra strap in his mouth and pulled it off her shoulder tantalizingly slow. 

She was sweating above her breasts and Mammon licked it up, placing a few scattered kisses and licks until he was in between them, sucking on the exposed skin of one, and the other hand palming and squeezing the other one, working its way underneath the fabric. MC moaned when he pinched and rolled her nipple between his fingers and moved the bra out of the way so he could have complete access to do as he pleased. He growled again and took her bra and flung it across the room, as he got to work on her chest.

Hands full of soft, delicious mounds made his mouth water and Mammon bit and licked them until he felt the wetness soak through MC’s panties onto the head of his dick. He rubbed against her again and she panted, “Mammon, I can’t take it, I need you...” MC flinched as she heard her underwear literally being torn off, and despite that fact, it just turned her on even more and she bit his fluffy ear again. He was panting again and shoved her onto her back, bouncing.

“What’re you-?” she moaned as Mammon put his nose into her sex, inhaling deeply. She covered her face in her hands as he rubbed his fingers up and down her slit, them sliding effortlessly. “You’re really wet for me, aren’tcha?” he licked her from the bottom all the way to her clit, which he played with and flicked his tongue around in circles, making her spasm and lock her legs around his head. 

He chuckled, breath hot on her center, “I guess I’ll have to clean ya up, since it was my fault,” he put his mouth over her and sucked and licked her folds until she was panting and gripping his ears to get any sort of control over the situation. He slid two fingers into her and pumped in and out while he was sucking on her clit. MC twitched and moaned, grinding on his face as she came around his fingers, tightening around him and twitching as she sucked his fingers back inside her with the force of her orgasm. 

He groaned and rubbed his cock with his free hand as her legs slackened around him and he slowly rose to look at her. She was beautiful, hair fanned around her head in a halo, lips swollen from biting them, his bite marks and hickeys decorating her shoulders and breasts. Her chest was rising and falling rapidly, and her eyes had a shine to them that made Mammon’s heart squeeze inside his chest. 

Her lips curved into a smile as she held out her arms to him and he squeezed her into his arms. She sighed and ran her hands through his hair and gave him a peck on the cheek. “I love you Mammon,” she whispered, and he kissed the top of her head, the affection he had for her welling up in his chest and spilling over. “I love you too, MC... I always have, and I’m sorry that I never really express it,” He held her even closer and she giggled a bit. “Wha-” he started, but then she grabbed his dick and looked him straight in the eyes.

“I don’t believe we’re done here,” she crawled backwards until he was standing erect right in front of her face, precum leaking from the top. He groaned when she swirled a finger over the tip and grabbed his cock, tightly gripping under the head. “I love you so much, Mammon,” she said as she opened her mouth and stuck her tongue out, teasing the slit. She kissed it and sucked little by little bit until it was a demanding angry red against her skin, and Mammon’s fingers were bunching up her bed sheets.

MC’s hand slid down to the base and she kissed the tip again, this time opening her mouth to slide herself down his length slowly. He shuddered and he placed his hand on the back of her head, fisting her hair in his grip and he tried to keep from bucking into her tight little mouth. She used her tongue to tease the underside of his dick as she made her way down to the base. The tip of his dick was hitting the back of her throat now, and going even deeper. He grunted as he shoved her mouth all the way to the base, her nose pressed into his curls. Tears sprang into her eyes and she gagged on his dick. 

“Aah, uuh,” he groaned, and released her head and she released him from her mouth with a pop. He looked at her as she took his cock in her mouth again, keeping eye contact with him the entire time. Tears clung to her lashes, and her hair was plastered to her forehead. Seeing her like this, with her mouth stretched around his cock, made him feel even more possessive over her than he normally did.

He wiped the hair back from her face and fisted her hair again when she bobbed her head up and down on him. “Mmm mmm aah, MC! MC... oh fuuuck..,” he hissed when she lightly scraped her teeth on the head before going down on him again. Mammon could tell he was getting close when he started bucking into her mouth uncontrollably, but he stopped himself and took him off her. She looked at him, confused.

“Ah... I want to be inside you when I cum,” he looked her straight in the eyes and her face turned red. MC looked away and Mammon grabbed her and pulled her close. She was on his lap again, and she could feel him twitching against her, rubbing himself on her slickness. “P..put it in,” she breathed into his ear, looping her arms around his neck. He didn’t have to be told twice.

He grabbed his dick and guided it inside her, and she shivered as he slowly pushed it inside. “F-fuuuck, MC.. you’re so fuckin’ tiiiight,” he rasped. She wiggled, pushing it in deeper and he gripped her tightly and shoved it all the way in, the pressure of her squeezing around him made his hip buck into her roughly twice, causing her to squeak into his ear. He moaned and rolled his hips against her slowly until he couldn’t take it anymore. He turned her around and grabbed her thighs and pushed in his dick again, eliciting a moan from the girl he loved so much.

He started pounding into her, she was squeezing around him, tight as a vice. He leaned forward and his cock scraped against her g-spot, causing her pussy to grip around him so much he couldn’t move. He growled and spread her legs even further, rubbing her clit when he started to move inside her again, hitting that one spot over and over until she was shaking in his arms, body begging for release.

He pushed her to her hands and knees and gripped her waist and pistoned into her, skin smacking against the others as his feral instinct took over. His dick twitched and throbbed inside her and he was breathing heavily as he leaned over her and wrapped his arms around her waist and thrust into her with even more force than before. Her arms collapsed and she laid her head on her arms, tears running down her face from pleasure.

She could feel that she was about to cum, and he was getting her there fast. It’s like there was a cord inside her getting tighter and tighter until it was too much. Mammon kept pounding her relentlessly and she yelled, panting his name, the string coming undone, her insides milking his dick inside of her. His hips stuttered in their rhythm and he shortly thrust into her a couple times before pressing into her and releasing, his dick twitching as it released his sperm inside the woman he loved. 

He removed himself from her, and her body went slack. She flopped to the side, breathing heavily, one arm on her forehead. “You are so beautiful..,” Mammon murmured, crawling to her side and spooning her into his warmth. MC hummed and cuddled into him, “I love you so much, Mammon,” she kissed the arms he had wrapped around her.

“I love you too, MC,” he kissed the top of her head and she giggled. “What’s so funny?” he asked, humor in his voice. “It’s just that we missed the whole movie, and now it’s too late to try to watch it tonight,” she craned her neck up at him and smiled, love clear in her gaze. He laughed and said into her hair, “Well, we can always try again tomorrow.”

___

5/26/20

[tamakiamajikistentacles]

broken. {Dabi}

A/N: Please be sure to reblog, comment, review, and like if you enjoy! Feedback is what keeps me motivated! So sorry it’s been a while since I’ve posted- between holidays, work, and this being a generally not great time of year for me there hasn’t been much room for writing. As you can see though, recent manga events totally inspired me for one last story in 2020 for ya!

He liked going out once the sun had set. Daylight hadn’t been his friend for a long time, and whatever lurked in the shadows grew disinterested as the glow of his cigarette illuminated his staples when he passed, aware of who they were seeing but uninclined to make a report.

How could they really? By day they walked the streets freely, unassuming, but beneath the moon they found sick pleasures in ways that would make any hero grimace. As dangerous as they were it couldn’t compare to the likes of him—the deranged and recognizable with only a quick glance that sent chills down the spines of millions.

He slept during the day and rose at dusk to begin sowing chaos. After all, the freaks come out at night.

The long since burned out butt of his cigarette dropped from between his lips as he approached one of the seedier bars in the slums of town. Whatever its name is or was had been lost to time and inattention to the sign hanging askew over the door but damn, they had the strongest liquor in the city and a reputation for looking the other way when criminals passed through the door. Hazy smoke stung at his eyes and throat as he entered but he’d been used to that for nearly three decades and really, what was another lungful when they were burned to hell as it was?

The blonde bartender gave him a curt nod from across the room, already reaching for the amber bottle he knew Dabi favored. Around the room were other patrons that gave an assessing glance in his direction before turning back to their drinks. All but one turned his way.

In the darkest corner of the bar sat a woman with her back to the room. He couldn’t see her face, just the contrast of her revealing shirt against the skin of her chest, but he was interested. The mysterious chick vibe always did do him in.

“What’s a cute little thing like you doing here alone?” he asked as he approached her table.

“Cute?” she scoffed, dark-lined eye rolling in clear annoyance. “You really think that?”

In what seemed like a well-practiced move she tossed her hair over her left shoulder and pulled the already low collar of her shirt down further to expose more of her chest and shoulder. Smooth skin bled into a gradient of marled blotches of red and purple burn scars, the severity of which he’d only ever seen in the mirror.

“You wanna rethink that ‘cute’ comment?” she challenged without so much as a glance at his slightly parted lips.

“Yeah,” he breathed out with a nod. “Think I wanna change it to gorgeous.”

“Look, if you wanna know how I got ‘em just ask so I can tell you to… fuck off… already…” her voice trailed off after she looked up, haughty attitude dropping as she took in the darkened skin on his face and chest. She marveled at the handsome features still so clearly defined beneath the burns and the glint of his staples in the fluorescent lights.

Seeing interest cloud over her eyes as she trailed them over his face and down his body, he seated himself in the chair across from her and folded his hands around his glass on the table.

The rough rhythm of his hips against hers scraped her back against the gnarled wood of her bedroom door and drove the staples in his lower stomach into hers but she couldn’t find it in herself to care when it felt so good. As thin as he was he was able to lift her thighs around his waist and hold her with one hand while the other pressed against her throat.

“Fuck, please,” she panted, head spinning but wanting more.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he teased, “you already got two and I haven’t even had one yet. Not exactly fair, is it?”

“Dabi!” she groaned.

He huffed out a laugh as he buried his face in her shoulder, licking at the bead of sweat that trailed from her hairline. He was close so she really wouldn’t need to wait long considering the pleasure pooling in his lower stomach was building with each smack of skin on skin.

His hand left her throat to wrap around her other thigh so he could quickly readjust his grip. Pulling her back from the door, he bounced her against him as he carried her the short distance to her bed. He sat back against the wall and guided her hips against him, smirking at her eagerness as she started riding him desperately.

She gasped when one of his hands drifted between her legs and another type of warmth spread through her. “Fuck!”

“That’s what we’re here for,” he scoffed, his other hand coming up to grip her throat once again.

A few more rotations of her hips had him surging forward to sink his teeth into her scarred shoulder as his hand between her legs drew tight circles on her clit, both of them breathing hard as they met their ends.

She slumped forward, breathing heavily as he held her steady against him while they caught their breath and heartbeats slowed. When he finally felt the calm sweep over him he guided her down to lay beside him before reaching to her night table for the pack of cigarettes he’d spotted. Placing one between his lips, he ignited a small blue flame at his fingertip to light it.

“Is that how you got your burns?” she asked in a whisper, eyes half-lidded.

He stared straight ahead, cheeks hollowing even further as he took a drag. Without looking he took it in two fingers and passed it towards her through a cloud of smoke. She grabbed it and placed it between her own lips.

“Mine are from a hero,” she said after blowing out her own puff.

His eyebrows raised and he looked down at where she laid, interest alight in his turquoise eyes.

“I used to work in this high-rise building in the western district, did normal office type shit you know? Sent faxes and filed documents everyone thought I was too fuckin’ stupid to understand because I grew up poor and quirkless,” she started. “Some low-level villains attacked a few blocks away and when the heroes came the fight was small enough that we didn’t get evacuated. We couldn’t even see anything, all we heard were sirens and for that district its background noise anyway. But then Endeavor showed up.”

Dabi stiffened as she handed the cigarette back though she didn’t seem to notice as she continued.

“He blew the fight out of proportion to make a bigger show of capturing the villains I’m sure, but when he did it lead them towards our building. Three quarters of the floors were engulfed within ten minutes.”

“Lemme guess, your floor was lucky enough to be one of ‘em?”

She hummed. “Yeah, lucky enough to land me some wicked burns and a high as fuck medical bill.”

“What? The Hero Commission didn’t cover it?”

“Nope. None of it. Despite being told not to evacuate because we were farther from the initial attack and then being caught in the crossfire that we literally had no choice in, we were told that only loss of life would be covered by their insurance payout.”

“Zero casualties?”

“How’d you know?” she drawled, reaching for the cigarette once again. “Never fucking mind that I have limited mobility with my left arm that literally impacts my day to day life or how I can’t go anywhere without being stared at like a sideshow act or that the company I worked for dissolved their branch in the district. All because of some asshole looking for glory from a fight he didn’t need to be in.”

He chuckled as he watched her finish off the cigarette and stub out the last few embers in the ashtray on her opposite night table. This chick was something else.

“How’d you feel if I told you I got my burns from Endeavor too?” he asked.

Now it was her turn for her eyebrows to rise with intrigue. “I’d ask how, when, and why the fuck you didn’t melt his face off.”

“I was just a kid,” he shrugged.

“Endeavor—”

“—wanted to make sure his son could surpass All Might. Didn’t go according to plan, at least not with me.”

Her eyes widened.

“Pushed a bit too hard on a kid who could produce flames so much hotter than his. Surprised it took so long if I’m honest, but it doesn’t matter. I’m going to kill him.”

She sat up, slowly bringing her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them, eyes twinkling with wonder. “You’re really going to kill him?”

“It’s all I’ve ever wanted to do, baby,” he said with a smirk. “What—you wanna watch?”

“Fuck yes,” she breathed out. “He needs to burn. Just like we did.”

A blue flame ignited and danced in his palm. She could feel the heat on her face but it didn’t scare her like most would assume. The fire wasn’t at fault for her pain, the false hero who wielded it had been.

She looked between the flames and his handsomely stapled face.

“How can I help? I want to be a part of taking down Endeavor.”

He closed his hand and the fire disappeared in a wisp of smoke. Reaching over, he fisted the hair at the nape of her neck and brought her closer.

“I’ll let you help sweetheart,” he laughed, “but the best thing you can do right now to help me is to put that pretty mouth to work. You’re still at three while I’ve only got one.”

“THE PAST NEVER DIES!”

The corners of her lips curled upwards in a smirk as the broadcast overtook the large billboard in downtown Tokyo, projecting the voice of a now white-haired Dabi. He steamed from his quirk being overused but also from the outpouring of emotion he was finally able to confront his family with.

“Oh Dabi,” she sighed fondly.

Vengeance years in the making was unfolding in front of the entire country in real time and she was privileged enough to know it had been coming. She knew the plan and she knew the backup plans and she was essential to the very last resort plan too. Her own revenge was being carried out though not by her own hand. At least not directly.

She looked down to the slightly rounded bump beneath her sweater, caressing it gently.

“If he doesn’t kill him, I’ll make sure you do for him,” she murmured with a smile.

A/N: Please be sure to reblog, comment, review, and like if you enjoy! Feedback is what keeps me motivated! Good heavens, its been a while since I’ve done smut so that was an experience lmao. Anyway, Dabi is such a fun character for me to write and I love exploring different emotions for him!

[liquor-and-intellect]

Clouded- Part 8

In which Jules might or might not have feelings for her best friend, Harry, who is getting engaged to another girl and everything just becomes… more complicated.

or

friends to lovers to enemies to lovers- it’s complicated

previous parts

In which Jules might or might not have feelings for her best friend, Harry, who is getting engaged to another girl and everything just becomes… more complicated.

or

friends to lovers to enemies to lovers- it’s complicated

previous parts

PART EIGHT

I had sat on my computer all morning googling presents to get Harry.

It was stupid- I know- I should be able to conjure up some romantic thing out of my ass that would make Harry smile and tell me he loved me and we would get on with our lives.

But things were different this year.

I was seeing him in a whole new light and I knew he felt the same way. Some things were now just too simple for us. Nothing would be able to compare to the way I needed him or would simply represent how much he was to me. The search was relentless and exhausting.

I was out roaming the strip malls in London when a couple of items caught my eye, sparking an idea in my mind. Christmas was next week and Harry and I would both be going back to Holmes Chapel. This weekend he filmed in New York for a holiday special where he would then be flying back to meet me and his family at our homes.

I smiled to myself as I bought a couple of items, knowing that I found what I wanted to get him for Christmas. He deserved so much more, but I knew this little thing would be perfect for the both of us.

I caught a taxi that night on my way to Harry's, watching the dreary rain drizzle down the window as the car slowed for evening traffic. Even though we have had dinner plenty of times, I found myself getting a few butterflies in my stomach at the thought of him just asking me to dinner. It's like we were finally a couple- and that warmed my heart to no end.

Raising my fist, I gave a single knock before the door flew open.

“Hey,” he breathed, smiling down at me as if he had just been waiting by the door.

I bit my lower lip, hiding back my own grin. “Hi, yourself,” I chuckled as he moved out of the way to invite me in. I pulled off my wool coat, draping it on the coat rack when I smelled something heavenly.

“Are you cooking?” I asked, my eyes wide.

He laughed as I followed him down the corridor and into the wide kitchen that he rarely used. The stove was sizzling with meat and I saw the oven light on beneath it.

“I'm attempting,” he corrected me, walking to the stove and stirring a red sauce. “You know,” he called over his shoulder as I leaned against the opposite counter watching him intently. “We are going to be parents soon, so one of us needs to learn how to cook.”

I hoisted myself up on top of the sleek black marble top, pressing my hands in between my knees. “So, in other words, you called your mum?”

He shot me a glare before turning his back to me again. “Unless you want to take over this complex dish, I'd suggest you shut it.” I heard the playful undertone to his voice and it made me giggle uncontrollably.

“No, please,” I laughed. “feel free to do what you have to do.”

“Anything that I have to do?” he asked, his voice noticeably lower.

I pursed my lips. “Anything,” I repeated and pressed my mouth together to hide my smile when he turned around and watched me intently.

I was being observed carefully under his gaze and I saw the darkening of his eyes as they took me in fully. He stalked forward and pressed his palms to my knees. “Anything?” he whispered huskily, his eyes, that were burning holes into me, never leaving my own.

I nodded, unable to speak.

He smirked, and with his hands on my legs, pushed my knees apart so he could step in between them and pull me closer. He leaned forward and began kissing up the nape of my neck, following the valley of my collarbone. His hands left my legs to lay flat against the counter on either side of me as mine wandered up to his broad shoulders. I loved his shoulder muscles.

He released a sigh as his nose skimmed my skin until we were face to face, breathing each other in. I met his eyes before glancing down to his mouth, waiting for him to close the distance between us. I parted my lips, letting my tongue dart out to wet them in expectation.

This pulled him under, a groan rumbling in his chest as he pushed forward and pressed his mouth against mine, pulling my bottom lip between his as he pulled it playfully before reconnecting our mouths. It was so sensual that every time he found my lips again, my hands would find a new piece of his skin to explore. They danced down the edges of his back, through the curves of his spine to his inked arms and around again to his stomach. When my fingers skimmed underneath his shirt, he pressed closer to me, kissing me deeper as his tongue made its way into my mouth, causing a moan to slip from my throat.

Then an abrupt beeping sounded, piercing my eardrums with its high pitched shrill.

Harry cursed very colorfully as he pulled away, rushing to open the oven where smoke began to billow out. He grabbed a towel and waved it in front of the smoke alarm until eventually it went off.

He clenched his jaw, releasing a long sigh and I thought it was possibly the most adorable thing I had ever been privileged to witness: his hair easily disheveled, shirt rumpled and a look of pure frustration on his gorgeous features.

I hopped down from the counter, walking around him to grab the oven mitten before I reached into the smoke to pull out the tray of bread sticks. The ones around the edges were burnt to a crisp but the lucky pieces that sat in the middle looked perfectly fine.

I set them on the counter before turning to look at Harry who watched me. Reaching up I placed my hand on his cheek to pull him down to me so I could press a small kiss to the other. “Looks like dinner is ready,” I stated as he let out an uneasy laugh.

We sat at the end of his big dining table- that was never used- and ate the spaghetti and bread that he had made. It was his mother's recipe that I recognized and I ended up eating three servings of it, laying down on his couch with my hand on my stomach after.

Harry was in the kitchen putting our plates in the sink, the clinking of the glass the only thing filling his large apartment. The glass window across from the couch showed the busy streets of London still alive with the night, the moon bright in the ebony sky.

“What did you do today?” I asked Harry when I heard his footsteps sound in the doorway.

He walked into the living room, leaning over the back of the couch to look down over me. His lips twitched as he glanced away, avoiding eye contact.

I poked him in the chin, pushing his eyes back to mine. “Harry,” I groaned.

He shook his head. “A bit of Christmas shopping is all,” he said, his eyes shining with something that I didn't know.

I cocked an eyebrow. “Jeff said you're getting a serious present for me this year?”

Harry's eyes narrowed as he walked around the couch and lifted up my legs to sit beneath them. “What else did Jeff say?”

I shrugged, playing with the hem of my shirt. “He didn't say anything else about it…why? What is it?”

He rolled his eyes. “You know I won't tell you,” he said.

I smiled. “I know. I just thought I'd try.”

Harry grabbed the remote from the foot table and switched the TV on. “Move over,” he mumbled, grabbing a blanket and laying down behind me.

I rolled on my side for him to slide in behind me as the blanket draped over my legs, his arm following as it wrapped around my abdomen.

I yawned.

“Do you want to stay the night?” he whispered, his mouth by my ear and his chest hitting my back.

I snuggled deeper into him. “Is that okay?” I asked.

I felt his lips press to the back of my neck. “Why wouldn't it be?” he replied. “I'd rather you stay here so you aren't alone at your apartment.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

I sighed as his lips roamed the back of my neck. “Okay, I'll stay the night.”

He chuckled, his leg pushing between my own so we were tangled in every way possible. I felt his hand that was wrapped around me, traveling up the edge of my shirt to the skin of my hip.

“Thank you for dinner,” I murmured, the hum of laughter on the television being the only noise filling the room.

His fingers combed through my hair. “I want to provide for you, Jules,” he said. “You and the baby.”

I smiled.

“And you can,” I told him, savoring the feeling of his fingers dancing up my side. “when I finish college, I want to help out, though.”

“You're still going to go through with the year? Even while pregnant?” he asked. I didn't blame him for asking, I knew a lot of things we hadn't talked about yet. He wasn't reprimanding me, though, like I knew a lot of people would continue to do. He was just curious in the way people who cared about each other tended to be, always longing to know each other more.

I nodded. “Yeah, I'm going to finish it out and when I have the baby I can just do classes online. If it becomes too much, then… I guess I’ll take a semester off.” My heart ached at that though. I had pushed and studied so hard to be where I’m at now. Seeing the finish line of my degree was such a tangible thing now— that I swear I could taste it.

“Where will we be when you have the baby?” he asked abruptly, removing me from my thoughts of a not-so-distant graduation.

This caused me to still, my thoughts halting at the single question. Where would we be?

“Where do you want to be?” I ended up asking back.

He took a deep breath, his chest filling with air behind me and I could tell he was thinking. He swallowed, mulling over his words. “I want us to be living together by then...” he said.

My breath hitched in my throat.

“And to be in a steady relationship,” he murmured, continuing on with the fantasy that had my heart in quick beats like rain on a pavement. “I want us to be secure with each other when the baby comes so we can be the best parents we can be.”

I couldn't help the smile that found its way onto my lips. “I want to be where you are,” I told him back, knowing that I meant every single word with every cell in my body—including the bundle of cells that now had a heartbeat of its own.

He pressed a lingering kiss to my shoulder, his arm pulling me tight against him. “You always have been, Jules,” he whispered. “and you always will be.”

…

I'd never slept in Harry's bed before.

If it would have been up to me, I would have stayed cocooned into his chest on the couch, but Harry- unsurprisingly- being Harry, insisted until he forcefully carried me back to his bed.

It's not that I didn't want to sleep next to him. Obviously we've already had sex so it wasn't as if I was shy.

But it was difficult to think that less than two weeks ago, Elaine had occupied this space. Her body had dipped into the mattress and she fell asleep feeling the warmth of his body.

I shuddered.

Although I didn't say anything of the such, it was immediately obvious that her things had been moved out of his apartment. There was an empty space on the bathroom counter and plenty of blank picture frames around the walls. I meant to ask him about it- even if it was the last thing I wanted to hear, because he was still my best friend and I wanted to continue to be there for him like he was for me.

I let out a sigh, finally opening my eyes to the morning sunshine streaming through the open curtains, bathing the silk sheets of the bed in a warm glow. I turned to my left, rolling over my shoulder to catch eyes with an awake Harry.

My breath caught in my throat.

His spring green eyes were dancing with amusement, his hair ruffled and standing up messily and I could immediately tell he had been watching me for some time.

“G’morning,” I whispered, my vocal chords groggy from not being used in a few hours.

He laid on his side as well, his palm tucked beneath his cheek. “How did I get so lucky?” he murmured, his hand reaching out to skim a finger down my cheekbone, the shiver I felt echoing down to my toes.

I looked at him in question.

His hand found its way into my hair, brushing it back from my face. “How did I get so lucky? After everything that I have done of hurting people and... hurting you” He swallowed. “How come I can wake up in the morning to your beautiful face? To the person that I've dreamed about my entire life.”

I was speechless. What was I supposed to say? I had fucked up my own fair share in this bumpy road of the past few months and I didn't deserve this man lying in front of me—telling me how beautiful I was.

“Harry-” I started in an attempt to brush off his compliment and shed some light on the reality of it.

“No,” he cut me off, shaking his head and laying his hand flat against my cheek to keep my eyes on him. “Don't try to prove me wrong, I can see it in your face. Just let me have this moment of thinking I don't deserve you.”

My eyes widened. “I don't deserve you.” I couldn't help thinking of how compassionate he was, the pureness of his heart inside of almond green eyes. Here I was, his faithful sidekick after all these years, because I knew that I could never be better than him. I could never be as naturally good as him. I had been the one sentenced to detention in school for punching someone in the face for making fun of Harry- when he would never in his existence lay a hand on someone.

A smile pulled at the corners of his mouth, his flawlessly heart-shaped lips stretching into a small smile. “We deserve each other,” he compromised and even though I could argue against that for an entire lifetime, I felt the truth behind his words. It was clear that we were two pieces of a puzzle fitting together side by side and eventually it was fate that we would have ended up here- baby or not. I could feel it in my bones that somehow, some way along the road, we would've ended up awaking to each other’s smiles and wandering eyes.

“I love you,” I breathed, because I had no words to express this bubbling feeling of warm adoration I felt all the way through my blood.

His hand traveled down the side of my face, skimming my neck until it reached my shoulder and eventually my hand, holding it into his and intertwining our fingers. “And I love you,” he said with a grin. “And no matter how we got here… I'm glad we made it.”

…

Eventually, we both got out of the warm sheets, getting dressed for my ultrasound appointment that was around noon. Harry was beyond excited, running around the apartment, constantly asking me what he should bring.

Eventually we had to leave the warmth of the sheets—a little to premature if you asked me. Harry was sick with worry that we would be late to the ultrasound appointment that was only a short drive from his luscious apartment building. Currently, I struggled to keep up as he bounced around the flat excitedly, asking every question imaginable.

“Are you sure I don't need to bring anything?” he asked again, his head poking into the bathroom where I was brushing my teeth.

“I'm sure,” I said for the hundredth time.

“Do you think there will be any press there? Should I call security or somebody to come with us?” He searched my eyes.

I rinsed my toothbrush in the sink, placing it in the holder next to Harry's. “We'll be fine, Harry.” I told him, while pulling my hair into a high ponytail. “Stop worrying.”

He released a long breath, his shoulders slumping. “Sorry... I've just- I've never done this, you know? I want to get this right.” His eyes looked up to me under their eyelashes in that way that he knew tied me in knots.

“And you will,” I assured him. “You can hardly get an ultrasound appointment wrong. Just sit there and look pretty.” I laughed and noticed his steady gaze still resting on me. I bit the inside of my cheek, trying to stop myself, but failing, as I walked over to him and ran my thumb along his lower lip. “And stop looking at me like that,” I murmured. “it drives me mad.”

He smirked. “I know.”

I pulled his chin to me, placing a chaste kiss to his plump lips before walking out of the bathroom. After buttoning up my jacket, I followed Harry out to his car that had been brought around to the front door. We rode to the office in silence, listening to the radio playing softly through the speakers.

“This weekend,” he finally said. “when we are in New York… I'm going to tell the band about us and the baby.”

I turned to him pursing my lips. I could tell he had been itching to tell them for a while now, not wanting a secret this big between them. I nodded.

“And I also want to have a meeting with Jeff,” he continued. “He's going to be in the city as well and I want to get his opinion on how to protect you from the media the best we can through these next months.”

It was unspoken, but we were aware of how much the fans had loved Elaine. They had been wanting this wedding for years and now that it's been given, it would be hard for him to break the news of their separation. Surprisingly, Elaine had been keeping silent as she had moved back to America to continue her dancing tour-- but the speculations of the oceans between them didn’t cease.

“I understand.” And I did.

We sat a while in the waiting room, Harry's leg nervously bobbing up and down, that is until I quickly reached out and pressed my hand to it to stop the shaking, causing him to mumble a “sorry”. A few eyes strayed to us in the back corner, Harry had kept his sunglasses on—a gesture that he would normally be mortified for because of the rudeness—but he didn’t want any recognition. I could tell in the way he sunk in between the collar of his jacket whenever a new person walked in.

“Julia Lovewick.”

I glanced towards the nurse who patiently waited in the doorway.

Harry stood up immediately, looking back at me for approval. I chuckled lightly and moved to my feet, following the nurse through the door.

“I’m Amanda,” the nurse greeted us and lead us down a hallway. “I'll be your ultrasound technician today.” She gestured for us to enter the open room.

Harry pushed his sunglasses into his hair and extended his hand. “Harry,” he greeted. “Nice to meet you.” After shaking her hand, he nervously tapped his fingers against the leg of his pants, shifting his weight in an attempt to hide his anxiousness.

“Don't be nervous!” she assured, placing a gloved hand on his shoulder and ushering him to take a seat in the chair beside mine. “I'm sure you have nothing to worry about.” She looked at me. “Let's take a look, shall we?”

I took off my jacket, handing it to Harry who held it tightly in his grip.

Amanda gently lifted up my shirt. The bump wouldn't be recognizable if someone didn't know that I was pregnant, only looking like a minute amount of chubbiness at the bottom of my stomach. She placed her hands around my abdomen, giving it a small amount of pressure before reaching over to a bottle of blue gel.

“This is going to be a little warm,” she warned me as she applied it to my belly. “If we aren't able to get a clear view of the baby and the organs, would you like to do a transvaginal ultrasound as well?”

Harry coughed behind me.

I nodded. “Yes, please.” I distinctively remember my mother telling me to take the offer of the alternative ultrasound. I've tried not to give it much thought due to what it exactly entails, but it was apparently safer for the doctor to get a clear view of the baby.

When the microphone shaped instrument was placed over my belly, I glanced up at the screen to see black and gray images of my insides. It was fuzzy and hard to decipher, causing Amanda to squint and move the instrument around a bit more.

“Okay...” she mumbled and pointed to the screen. “if you look right here that's where the baby is… but due to the early stages of your pregnancy it's quite difficult to read a clear picture of it. That's why I would recommend the transvaginal ultrasound this early—just to make sure everything is progressing properly.”

I glanced over at Harry who was sitting forward in his chair, elbows resting on his knees and his eyebrows furrowed as he stared at the screen. “Are you sure you're okay with that?” he asked me.

I nodded, giving the doctor the clear as she handed me a couple of wipes. “Here,” she said. “use these to get the gel off yourself and I'll leave the room for a minute while you change into the gown. Have you drank anything at all today?”

I proceeded to wipe my stomach clean as I nodded. “I've been drinking water all morning.”

She reached into a cabinet and handed me a blue gown. “Alright, then, that's great. I'll let you change and I'll be right back.” She gave me a smile before walking out of the room.

Harry cursed.

“What?” I asked as I unfolded the plastic gown.

He looked pale. “What the-” he cleared his throat. “What the fuck is a transvaginal ultrasound?”

I chuckled lightly as I peeled my shirt over my head, looking up to see Harry's eyes on me. He stood up and helped me pull it over my ponytail. “Here,” he murmured, taking it from me and folding it lightly.

“It's an ultrasound,” I began, stifling my chuckle as I unbuttoned my jeans. “that— get this— goes up your... vagina.” I watched him squirm in front of me, knowing he hated that word. Slowly, I slid my jeans down my legs, keeping my eyes on him.

“I'm not into that kind of thing,” he murmured, watching my legs intently as I chuckled.

I smiled as I folded my jeans, standing in my underwear in front of him. “Not into what?” I asked innocently.

“Into other things going up your-” He stopped talking, his eyes widened as I slid my underwear off.

“Jules,” his voice cracked. “what are you doing?”

I pulled the gown over my head, silently laughing at my teasing banter. He was too easy to mess with. “Changing my clothes, Harry, what does it look like?” I turned around, giving him a clear view of my back side. “Will you tie this for me?”

He cleared his throat. “Yeah.” Harry's voice sounded high pitched as if pulled taut. He gently tied the strings along the back of the dress, his fingers brushing my bare skin. I could tell he was finished knotting it, but he still stood behind me, his hand skimming my spine. “You- uh. Are you nervous?” he asked and I could tell he was trying to distract himself.

I spun on my heel, not realizing he had been this close to me because we were now chest to chest. I shrugged, reaching up to run a hand along his chest. “A little bit. I guess I just want to see if everything's okay with the baby and all.”

He nodded, about to say something but there was a short knock on the door.

“Everyone decent?” Amanda's voice called.

I kept my eyes on Harry, willing him to not be nervous. “Yes!” I answered as the door opened. I reached up on my toes to place a kiss to his cheek and giving his hand a reassuring squeeze.

Amanda strolled back into the room, a man following shortly behind her. “Shane, this is Julia and Harry.” She gestured to the two of us.

I could feel Harry easing himself in front of me to hide my half naked body.

“Nice to meet you,” I replied, trying to cover for Harry's rude behavior as I stepped out from behind him to shake Shane's hand.

He was younger than I expected, sandy blonde hair and tanned skin. His smile looked genuine, though, his white teeth sparkling at me as he shook my hand.

“The pleasure is mine,” he told me. “I'm Shane Copperfield, I'm going to be assisting Amanda today in the ultrasound, I hope that's alright.”

“It's not,” Harry immediately muttered from behind me, but by the looks on their faces I knew they hadn't heard him

“It's fine,” I said sternly, casting Harry a wary look.

He clenched his jaw and looked away.

“Alright!” Amanda clapped. “If you'll just have a seat in this chair and place your feet up on these blue rests...” I pushed myself back into the chair, hesitating for a moment before place my ankles in the holders. I’ve had gynecologists appointments before, so this wasn’t a new concept for me, but there was always the uncomfortableness of the sudden vulnerability.

Harry glanced at me, sensing my discomfort, and causing a muscle in his jaw to twitch again. “Do you have anything to cover her with?” he asked rudely, crossing his arms and looking strictly at Shane, as if he was the sole perpetrator of my bare thighs being exposed.

“Yes! Here's a towel, love,” Amanda said at the same that I chastised him with a, “Harry.”

As the towel was placed over my lap, Amanda grabbed my ankles and steadied them on the designated platforms before pushing my legs apart.

“Dad,” Amanda addressed Harry, causing him to stiffen immediately. “you can have a seat and get comfortable. I'm sure Julia is as nervous as you and I know the support is always helpful.” She gave him another one of her famous grins and gestured to the seat next to mine.

With a huff, Harry dropped next to me, placing his hand over my arm.

“So how has the pregnancy been so far, Julia?” she asked me as Shane walked around hooking up the machine. “Any pains or discomforts?”

I shook my head. “No, besides a bit of morning sickness it's like I'm not even pregnant.”

She nodded as Shane handed her the wand. “That's completely normal, although you start feeling a difference very soon. Weight gain, hunger cravings, sickness... you know the likes.”

I nodded, trying to compartmentalize every small detail.

“We’re going to apply the lubricant on the wand before using it,” she said, nodding to Shane as he began the process. “You’re going to feel a slight discomfort but just remember to stay as relaxed as possible—when you tense up its harder for us to move around in there and will cause more pain for you.”

I fought against the urge to clamp my thighs together at the unfamiliar breeze drifting between my legs. Amanda and Shane both looked underneath my towel as she placed the wand where it was supposed to be, Harry's hand squeezing mine tightly.

Yeah, I'll admit that it was quite uncomfortable, but I didn't want to say anything to upset Harry further- he was still seething that a man was literally looking up my dress. The monitor showed another abundance of blurry images as Amanda then went to tell me of the few things she was looking for.

“Shane, please hold this while I show them the baby,” she said without a second thought, standing up for Shane to take her spot, his hand very close to my down under.

Harry's hand tightened even more as he watched Shane very closely to confirm that his eyes weren't straying further than acceptable.

“Right here, that pea-like thing, is your baby,” Amanda said, pointing to an area of the screen.

Harry's hand loosened in mine as his eyes left Shane to look at the monitor, I was watching him in wonder as his eyes grew wide.

I smiled.

“Jules,” he whispered, his eyes locked on the little lump that was barely the size of my finger. “look... it's our baby.”

My heart warmed in the most unimaginable way possible. “I know,” I replied, giving his hand another squeeze and moving my gaze back to pea. I couldn’t believe it was underneath the skin of my tummy

The rest of the appointment Amanda continued to tell us loads amounts of information involving the baby and my own body that I was unaware of. I watched as Harry's eyes refused to leave the screen the whole time she talked to us- except for when Amanda told Shane to pull the wand camera out gently, thus causing Harry to stand up.

I grabbed his arm. “Harry, sit,” I demanded, giving him the sharpest glare I could conjure, knowing that it would cause him to listen to me.

Shane watched us carefully, waiting until Harry was sitting- quite rigidly- before he extracted the camera.

I inhaled sharply and sat up straighter from the sudden pull of it.

“We'll let you two get cleaned up and changed and you can just meet us at the front desk,” Amanda announced, pulling Shane with her as she sensed the huffing Harry beside me. The door closed briefly after her exit.

I turned to Harry. “Could you seriously act more childish?” I scolded.

He sighed hanging his head and running his fingers through his hair. “I'm sorry, Jules.” He closed his eyes. “It's just- he was really close to you and- you know how I can get. I just hate someone else getting to see you that way.”

I pursed my lips at his confession, it was understandable. But he still didn't have to act so immature.

“And-” he swallowed. “you were undressing earlier... in front of me. I just got... frustrated.” He groaned, looking away from me as pink tinted his cheeks.

I sighed, walking over to him so I could wrap my arms around his waist and rest my head against his chest. “You're forgiven for being a jerk,” I murmured into the warmth of his sweater.

He mimicked my sigh, his arms encircling my body as his chin rested on the top of my head. “Thanks,” he muttered.

I looked up to him, pushing my lips against his in a soft kiss, trying to prove the extent of how much he really did mean to me- even if he was being immature.

Harry's finger tilted my head up further to deepen the kiss, his tongue greedily pushing into my own mouth. With my hands flat against his back I pushed him closer to me with all the strength I could manage. I wanted him as near as my body would allow.

As if sensing my thoughts, Harry groaned, his hands reaching down to the gap in the back of my gown, his fingers covetously pressing to every inch of skin he could find.

“I have to admit,” he breathed huskily as his lips moved from mine to press against my neck. “that seeing you in this gown- knowing you don't have underwear on- drives me insane.” His kisses contagiously moved across the muscles in my neck as I inhaled sharply at the effect his words had on me.

“Harry,” I moaned, trying to stop my eyes from closing. “we can't do this here.” I shook my head for emphasis, trying to convince myself more than anything.

I felt his smirk against my collarbone. “Give me ten minutes,” he said, before bending me over the arm of the chair and unzipping his pants.

…

“I want you to take my car.”

I glanced up from my spot on Harry's bed. I had been casually laying across the mattress as he packed a suitcase for New York, his clothes being thrown out of his closet to land in a messy heap on the floor.

“No way,” I answered immediately and sat up.

He poked his head around the doorway of the closet. “Why not?” he asked. “It beats paying for a cab or riding a bus up to Wolverhampton. I don't see what the big deal, that way I could have my car there when we leave after the holidays.”

I thought of his sleek sports car. And then I thought of my driving.

I shook my head, standing up to grab his clothes off of the floor in an attempt to fold them. “Harry, I don't mind taking a cab.”

He sighed, walking next to me to lay a pair of black skinny jeans on the bed. He placed a hand on each of my arms from behind, landing a kiss on my cheek. “I know, baby, but for my sake just take my car?”

My heart leaped in midair at the simple word. I couldn't fight the smile. “Did you just call me baby?”

He rubbed his hands up and down my arms as I continued to fold his shirts. “Maybe.” I could tell he way wary about the idea of it, not knowing whether I would like it. “Good or bad?” he asked.

My smile widened. “Good.”

Harry chuckled in relief from behind me. “Good enough for you to take my car?”

Rolling my eyes, I nodded. “Yeah, I guess.”

I helped Harry fold the rest of his clothes, placing them in his suitcase as he retrieved his toothbrush from the bathroom. Harry and the band were leaving tonight to arrive in New York tomorrow, Jeff and Adam were supposed to meet him here at his flat so they could drive to the airport together.

“Are you leaving first thing tomorrow morning for Holmes Chapel?” Harry asked, walking back into the bedroom.

“Probably,” I replied, busying myself with another shirt.

Harry sat down beside the suitcase, looking up to face me. “Will you go ahead and take all of my Christmas gifts with you? That way I don't have to take them all the way to the States and then back.”

“Sure, if you'll tell me what it is you got me for Christmas.”

He rolled his eyes as the ringing of a doorbell sounded through the hallways. “No chance,” he smirked and stood up to answer to the door.

I followed him down the hallway, smiling when I saw Glenne and Jeff walk through the entrance, suitcases in tow.

“Julia!” Glenne greeted, dropping her purse and dancing over to grab me into a gentle hug. She pulled back, a black beanie over her soft chestnut hair and her eyes alight with questions. She held my shoulders. “You and Harry official now?” She cocked an eyebrow in a way that suggested she knew the answer to her own question.

I shot a glance towards Jeff who was setting his suitcase down and talking to Harry. I assume he would have told Glenne—they were together after all.

I smiled, catching a glimpse of Harry's cheesy grin out of the corner of my eye, the beautiful man who was now mine. “Yeah,” I sighed. “I guess we are. Kind of have to be at this point.” I chuckled.

Her grin became wider. “Okay,” she let out a huge breath. “I'm glad you brought the pregnancy up first because I didn't know if you would have wanted me to know about it or not,” she laughed easily, her sharp accent making me feel at home.

I shrugged. “Harry was planning on telling the band this weekend- and it actually feels quite good to have someone else to talk about it with.”

She slung an arm around my shoulder. “Don't you worry,” she said. “you can tell me anything. I actually really adore this drama you lot have going on.”

“Glenne!” Jeff scolded, catching her sentence as he was walking over to us.

I laughed and shook it off. “No, it's really not a big deal. It's entertaining, I know.”

“Glad you guys find my life entertaining,” Harry grumbled.

I walked over to him, wrapping an arm around his waist and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “At least you're not the pregnant one.”

Glenne was biting back a smile, her pink lips pulled into her mouth as her eyes lit up.

“What?” I asked.

She just shook her head, looking to Jeff and saying, “Haven't we just waited for these two to end up together?”

There was another knock on the door as Harry rolled his eyes and moved away from the conversation. “I'm done with you guys!” he shouted, but there was playfulness residing in his voice.

“Is he going to tell Adam right now?” Perrie asked me, still smiling from Harry's attitude.

I shook my head. “I hope not, I really don't want to be here when he tells anyone else.” I thought of the awkward experience with our families and hoped I could be spared of a few more.

“The boys know Elaine and Harry are over,” Jeff said. “he already told all of us the other day. They weren't upset so don’t be nervous.”

That was news to me.

“Hello, lovely ladies!” Adam greeted, walking over to the little circle we had formed and throwing a hand on Jeff and mine's shoulder.

“Hi, Adam,” Perrie laughed as Jeff rolled his eyes. “Where's Emi?”

“She's on her way to the in-laws with the kids for Christmas,” he replied, looking over his shoulder at Harry who was walking into the kitchen.

“Want anything to drink?” he called.

“Can you get me a water, Harry?” I asked.

His response was immediate, his protective nature kicking in. “Yeah, sure, love.”

Adam pursed his lips just barely and I wondered if he was oblivious unlike Glenne and Jeff.

“How's everything been going, Julia?” he asked, something glinting in his eye.

I narrowed my eyes slightly at him. “Lovely, actually.”

Before he could say anything else, Harry came up from behind me, holding out a glass of water. “Here, Jules,” he murmured, rubbing his hand down my arm.

Adam’s eyes were on us, watching every move we made.

Jeff cleared his throat. “Do you know what song you’re going to be performing?” he asked Harry, walking over to the couch and taking a seat.

The boys jumped into a discussion over their Christmas special on NBC, what they were doing, talking about and the such. Harry sat down in the leather chair, causing me to glance around and realize that the rest of the spots were taken. I eased down on the armrest, leaning against his shoulder.

“So ready for Christmas, lads, you don't even understand,” Adam groaned, throwing his head back in exhaustion. “when you have kids it’s like you get more excited.”

I gulped.

Harry poked his head up. “Glenne, are you coming with us to New York?”

She nodded, giving Jeff a smirk. “Yep.” She popped the p. “Can't get rid of me.”

“And she's going to finish Christmas shopping in NY while we are doing the shows,” Jeff smiled.

It felt good to be surrounded by their friendliness and not have the threat of Elaine around. She had been so clingy- always wanting to be around Harry whenever he just wanted some time with his friends. I knew the boys hadn't been so keen of her either.

“So...,” Adam said, eyeing Harry and I when the room had gotten a bit quieter.

I took a sip of my water, trying not to meet his eyes.

“So?” Harry asked, oblivious.

“Are you two together now or something?” he demanded, his eyes on the space between us. I guess Adam had never been one for subtlety.

Harry pursed his lips as I started laughing.

“Go ahead,” I told Harry, nudging him in the shoulder as I continued to laugh. “tell him.”

He sighed, looking at Adam who had a cheeky smirk on his face. “Remember that time we agreed that we would never judge each other?”

Adam gave a single nod. “'Course I do, lad. I've done a few questionable things myself,” he said.

Jeff nodded in agreement.

Harry sighed and I could tell he was trying to his best to form the sentence in his head that could sum up the last few months for us.

Adam threw his hand out laughing at his hesitation. “Come on!” he shouted. “Spill! It's not like she's pregnant or anything.”

I cackled and Harry shot me a glare as if to say “it's not funny”.

Adam head circled to look at every one individually, each one of us looking down or to the wall.

“Harry?” he asked, his voice smaller and now remotely calmer.

Harry licked his lips. “She's pregnant,” he confirmed with a nod. Wow. We were getting better at this every day.

Adam let out a long breath, his cheeks puffing. “Well, damn,” he muttered.

I chuckled. “Things are getting better, don't worry,” I assured him.

He raised his eyebrows. “I can't believe you lot have been dealing with that all this time.” Then he shook his head, laughing. “Can't wait to see what Nialler is going to say.”

Jeff laughed along as Harry grumbled.

“Ah cheer up, mate,” Lou said. “it's not like he's going to steal her from ya or anything.”

I weighed my head from side to side. “Nothing's impossible.”

Harry immediately grabbed me from around my waist, pulling me down off the arm rest into his lap.

I squeaked as I fell backwards, hitting my head on the opposite armrest as Harry squeezed my sides.

“Stop,” I yelped with laughter, pushing his hands off me until he resigned from tickling me.

He smiled, popping a kiss onto my temple.

Adam made a gagging sound causing yet another eye roll from me.

After another hour of laying on Harry's lap and the occasional banter between Glenne and Adam, the boys all were ready to leave, gathering around the door as Jeff called the car to bring them to the airport. Harry handed me the keys to his car, telling me he had brought the presents down this morning before we had woken up and I could drive it to my apartment after they left.

“I'll meet you guys in the car!” Harry shouted to them down the hallway, grabbing my wrist to stop me from walking with them. When they for sure rounded the corner, he grabbed my face in between his hands, pulling my mouth to his to give me a long kiss.

I sighed at the contact, knowing that three days without Harry was too long and would be too long no matter how many times he would have to leave me. I deepened the kiss, winding my hand up to his muscled shoulder that I had memorized a plethora of times before.

“I love you,” I told him, feeling his grin across my lips.

He pressed another sweet kiss against my top lip. “And I love you,” he murmured, the words becoming so colorfully familiar to my ears. “Please be careful. I know I'll be far, but call me if you need anything or if anything happens-”

“Harry, I'm pregnant, not dying,” I laughed.

He blushed, looking sheepish. “You know what I mean, Jules.”

I nodded, wrapping my arms around his waist in a tight hug. “Just give me a hug,” I grumbled.

A/N: Long time no see! I had a tragic accident involving a full canteen of water and a very vulnerable laptop. Everything is fine now. The laptop is fixed and the water bottle is no longer trusted. I hope this chapter brings  a little distraction to your social isolation. Talk to me! I miss you guys!

taglist:  @harryspirate @hope-its-worth-it @ednaofearth @whipthemcurls @1d-tommo5 @mellamolayla @lmk12310 @nhhsltlpzm @juliassgem @backoftheroomandnotbelonging

[marshunter06]

Love Lockdown

V- Hello, It’s Nice to Meet You

The first thing she sees when she wakes up is a good morning text from Trent, he was up awfully early sending a text just before seven. It is now around eight, a little later than she would normally wake as she’s an early riser. She replies back with a good morning then starts her morning routine. She was just about done, ready to go get some coffee when she sees that he’s sent her another message along with a picture.

T: Toast and scrambled eggs are one of the few things I can make. That and I can use a coffee maker. Hope your breakfast is going to be better than mine (:

C: Looks great! I’m about to get a cup of coffee myself, I’m not usually big on breakfast, so toast and eggs actually sound perfect. I’ll send you a pic and we can compare.

Duncan was still asleep when she got downstairs, he did manage to clean up the wine and glasses before passing out. He stirs awake when he catches a whiff of the coffee. She always did make sure there was enough food for the both of them even though she couldn’t stand to look at him sometimes. Old habits die hard, eight years makes it difficult to just cut ties especially while they’re stuck together.

“What are you making for breakfast?”

“I’m thinking toast and eggs, there’s still bacon if you want that too.”

“Toast and eggs sound great.”

Once she plates both the toast and eggs, she brings them over to the dining table. She pulls out her phone and makes sure to get her coffee cup in view as she snaps a picture. Duncan keeps his mouth shut, he still finds it odd that she’s into food photography now, but she shrugged it off already. Besides, given how poorly last night went, she wouldn’t tell him anyways. They spend the rest of the breakfast in mostly silence.

“Let me do the dishes.”

“You did them last night.”

“Your hand is still burnt, and you made breakfast this morning.”

“Okay. I should probably change out the band aid anyways.”

“And I’ll make lunch today.”

“You’re making lunch?”

“Yeah, well I figured sandwiches and the rest of the soup would work?”

“Okay, I’m going to do some work until then. I’ll be down around noon.”

She heads upstairs to change out of her pajamas and send Trent her breakfast picture. She did feel a little nervous knowing that she would get to see what he looked like today, but it seemed silly, they were just partners for a project. With that thought in mind, she still wanted to make a good impression, so she settled on dark jeans and a red top. She didn’t normally bother with makeup, but a little didn’t hurt. Nothing too crazy, no red lipstick or winged eyeliner.

T: Thought I would let you know I got to venture to the outside world today and guess what? There’s no more pasta of any kind, so you got lucky.

C: Can’t say I’m surprised, the shelves were pretty scarce. As promised, here’s a pic of my breakfast. See, it’s almost the same as your’s.

T: I don’t know Court, your toast looks less burnt than mine…

Court… he called her Court. Only few people in life had the privilege of calling her that. She doesn’t mind adding him to the list. Is it odd to click with someone so quickly?

C: I’m sure it tasted fine, I’m going to go catch up on some intern work. Talk to you after lunch? Maybe around oneish?

T: Sounds good, I’ll wait for your call. You’re busier than I am.

C: Oh I don’t know about that, you had to pencil me in your schedule.

T: Lol, ok, I’ll call you at 1:30 then. Look forward to seeing you (:

That gives her about three hours before lunch would be ready and some time after before they work on their project. Plenty of time to make sure everything is in order. Time passes quickly, before she knows it, it is noon. She heads downstairs to see if Duncan needed any help.

“Hey Princess, soup’s already to go and the sandwiches are on the plate. I was just about to go get you.”

“Thanks. I’ll bring the plates over to the table.”

“I’ll get the water.”

Again they go back to this weird stage of being okay with each other. It’s extremely delicate and hard to navigate. One wrong move and it could break. There was a mutual agreement to keep meals civil, eating is important after all.

“Thanks for lunch, I’ll do the dishes.”

“What about your hand.”

“It’s fine now, but if you still won’t let me, then let me make dinner. I promise it’s not that bad.”

“Okay, you can make dinner. What were you thinking?”

“Probably just spaghetti, we still have a box of noodles left. I should be done by five, so I’ll have time to prepare the meatballs.”

She leaves him with the mess heading upstairs to make sure all of her notes are pulled up on her laptop. Right on time at one thirty, she gets a call front Trent.

“Hey Courtney! Nice to finally see you!”

“Hi Trent, nice to see you too.”

“So, what do you think about our case?”

“Well, I think she killed him, but since we’re defending her, we need to convince the rest of the class that she didn’t.”

“Really? I thought she was innocent. She doesn’t have a motive. She was already going to get half of his assets and the guy didn’t have any offshore accounts.”

“She did have a motive, besides with him dead, she would get everything.”

“So you think she did it for the money?”

“No, that was just a bonus, she did it for revenge.”

“I’m not following.”

“Think about it. Her husband cheats on her making her the laughing stock of the neighborhood. Stephanie Clarence prides herself on having the perfect image. They were the perfect couple, so how could she let Fred ruin everything. Especially since his mistress is considered to be beneath them.”

“Then why not make it seem like the mistress did it? If she really wanted revenge, wouldn’t she make sure Valerie suffers too.”

“Because, it would be cowardly of him to off himself, she’s all about image remember? Plus Valerie is already going to suffer knowing she wouldn’t get anything from Fred. She doesn’t really hate the mistress, she was technically innocent, Fred never let it be known that he was married.”

“Hm… I guess I can see that, it makes sense. That’s not going to be easy for the prosecution to prove though.”

“It’s not going to be easy to prove it’s suicide too. Why did you think it was?”

“The way I see it, Fred Clarence was depressed, and even though he was a success businessman, he made it through pure luck. Still, he wasn’t happy. He has the perfect image, but that never meant anything to him, he wanted something real. He found that with Valerie, but when she found out he was married, she wanted to end it. Then his wife finds out and files for divorce. His business starts to go down, that combined with all the bad luck he’s been having left him thinking there was no way out. His parents passed already and he didn’t have kids, there was nothing to live for. He had to know that the divorce case was going to fail, but it was his attempt at keeping something in his life that made it worth living.”

“When you put it that way, it does seem like he killed himself. You think we could message the professor and ask if we could speak to our client?”

“Worth a shot, we have all the statements, but he would leave things out to make the case more neutral when the prosecuting team sees it. I’ll email him now.”

[badgersprite]

Fic: Desiderata (5/?)

Chapter Title: Perspective

Fandom: Mass Effect

Characters: Miranda, Samara, Oriana, Jacob

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

Story Rating: R

Warnings: References to past childhood abuse/trauma, and people being shitty about it.

Chapter Summary: In 2186, Miranda spearheads the search and rescue operation she helped organise. In 2185, Samara gets Miranda to see an incident from someone else’s perspective.

Author’s Note: Miranda is still bad at people, but she’s trying. Shout out to self-isolation for giving me time to work on this.

*    *     *

“You’re sure this will work?” Miranda asked, examining her forged identity documents. A passport. A driver's licence. Even a birth certificate.

“Can’t be any surer than I am,” Niket answered with a slight shrug. “It’s not like I could test it, but I have nothing but assurances from everyone I’ve spoken to that these counterfeits are the highest quality. They never fail.”

“What if they do?” Miranda had imagined a hundred different ways her father might deal with them if they got caught. She still wasn't sure which one was the worst, or that he couldn't exceed her expectations of his cruelty.

“Relax.” Niket placed his hands on her shoulders. “Even if they do pull you up, I've spent months creating an online identity for you. The only thing left is to set up an account and wire some money into it. Enough to keep you on your feet for a while. We've thought of everything, Miri. You won't trigger any red flags. As far as anyone would be concerned, 'Jessica McMahon' is a real person.”

Miranda sighed uneasily. She’d been working on this escape for so long that it was making her paranoid. No matter how careful she was, it was simply impossible for her father not to notice what was going on, given enough time. For all his faults, he was a smart man. He had to sense something was awry, at some point. It always felt like she was moments away from her plot being uncovered.

“Are you forgetting something?” Niket remarked, expectantly waiting for her to say her thanks. To her credit, Miranda realised her oversight.

“You’ve done a lot for me, Niket. When I’m out of here, I won’t forget that,” she said sincerely. Niket was the closest thing to a friend she'd ever had. She was grateful towards him. She really was. She just wasn’t fantastic at expressing it. Her upbringing might have played a role in that.

“You’ve already helped, in a way,” Niket admitted, taking out another passport. “Got one of these for myself with your money. Figured I’d involved myself enough that I’m going to have to get out of dodge once you make your escape, or else your father’s going to find my fingerprints all over this.”

“Good idea.” Miranda nodded, signalling her approval, glad he’d protected himself. Besides, she didn’t give a damn about her father’s money. He had plenty.

Being the daughter of an extremely rich man did have its benefits. As part of her preparations, Miranda had been able to casually drop a few thousand dollars at a time here and there without raising suspicion.

There was no mistake about it, though - the money he gave Miranda to spend was a symbol of his own vanity, not a kindness. She was his daughter. That meant she had to fit a certain image, or it would reflect poorly on him. She had to indulge in expensive tastes, dress well, buy and read rare books, play music on the most expensive piano, or else people might not be impressed by how inordinately wealthy he was.

He framed it like a reward for living up to his impossible standards, but really it was another means of controlling her. Miranda had no freedom in what she spent money on. It was a test. He’d only given her access to her own money so that he could see for himself how well he’d trained her - to prove that his little experiment would continue acting in accordance with his designs and his preferences even when he wasn’t watching her over her shoulder.

But he’d underestimated her. Her father always had. As long as she remembered to keep her stories consistent with the fake transactions on the bills, he would never suspect anything, even if he was secretly going through her spending with a fine tooth-comb, which he did, of course. Provided that she appeared to be spending money on purchases he approved of, he wouldn't question it. And Niket had taught her how to manipulate that data.

“You know, don’t take this the wrong way, but not everyone would resent your fate as much as you do,” Niket spoke frankly. “You have a nice house. Nice room. Nice clothes. Fucking...palatial gardens. Provided you don't piss him off, your Dad usually gives you enough money to buy anything you want, within his rules.”

“That makes up for being an experiment?” Miranda shot back instinctively.

“For some people, it would, yeah,” he pointed out with a shrug. “Don’t get me wrong, Miri. I’m not saying it’s great to be raised by a loveless jackass or that you’re wrong for hating him and wanting out, but there are plenty of people who would trade their life for yours in an instant. I mean, you’ve told me how he treats you. And, sure, he’s strict, but not to where you’d say he’s violent or he beats you. Some people aren’t that lucky.”

Wow. Miranda was hardly a sensitive person, but that comment was a dagger in her heart. She’d confided in Niket about her father’s cruelty because she trusted him. Nobody else knew, who wasn't an accomplice to it. To hear him downplay what she went through only twisted the knife her father had put there long ago.

“If those people want my life so much, they can have it,” said Miranda, trying not to show how deeply it hurt to hear Niket undermining everything she endured under her father's toxic influence. “It’s not my fault they don’t.”

“It's not about fault. It's about reality. Some people not only have shit fathers, but they get to be dirt poor too. I should know. It was my reality,” Niket countered, his words chastening Miranda into silence. She didn't know enough about the outside world to compare experiences. She barely knew anything about the outside world that she hadn't read in books, or learned about from a screen.

Maybe Niket was right. Maybe other people did have it worse than her. Far worse. Maybe she was selfish, ungrateful and privileged. Then again, she’d never told him her very real fear that her father might…murder her one day.

Niket could probably only imagine her father throwing her out on the street if she displeased him, or if he decided it was time to replace her. At worst, he probably expected her father might sell her off to some stranger to be their “daughter” instead of his. Killing her, though? That wasn’t something Niket would have predicted, unless she brought it up as a possibility. And Miranda hadn’t.

She didn’t want Niket to know of that risk. If he did, Miranda could picture him acting rashly to protect her, dismantling their carefully crafted escape plan.

Niket wasn't like her. He was more passionate than she was. More emotional. Normal, presumably. Miranda may not have understood normal people very well at all, but she did have feelings. And she knew well enough that getting emotional could cause a loss of control. Bad judgement. So what did that mean for someone who lacked her restraint? Someone who didn't have years of practice at suppressing their instincts? At suffocating those feelings?

Miranda couldn't trust what Niket might do if he had a reason to hate her father as much as she did. That was why it wasn’t worth telling him the truth. But, even so, he was the last person she would have expected to second-guess her desire to escape this gilded cage.

“I’ve never claimed to have the worst life in the world. I know I don’t,” Miranda continued, her voice quieter, defending herself as calmly as she could.

“No. Don’t worry about that,” Niket assured her, regretting his poor choice of words. “I’m not saying I…Look, when it comes to getting you out of here, I’m with you all the way. Don’t ever think I’m not. That’s not an issue with me.”

“Good,” said Miranda, still offended by the fact he’d even brought it up. He’d explicitly confirmed that all the things she’d told him about her father didn’t qualify him as a cruel man in his eyes, and that Miranda's problems weren't real problems. What more was there to say? “Then let’s not discuss it.”

“Miri…” He reached out to her apologetically, but she brushed him off.

“We don’t need to talk about this,” she stated firmly, smothering her own emotions, putting up her defences. “Just get it done.”

*    *     *

“Come on. Where are they?” Miranda complained, growing tired of waiting for the bulk of her team to catch up. Honestly, she was faster hobbling on a crutch than these grunts were at full fitness. With tanks. “Ox team, report. I need an ETA on those bulldozers. We're in search grid V-44A. What's taking you so bloody long to reach us?” Miranda asked, impatience starting to get the better of her.

She'd used up her last political favour to organise this effort. This was the last big chance they would have to find anyone alive. If this failed, there would be no do-overs. No second chances. As far as they ventured in the next three days would be as far as they would go for a while. It might be months before they expanded the habitable zone of London any further again.

Every second counted. They had to make the most of what little time they had.

“Apologies, Director Lawson,” the comms crackled in her ear. “We picked up some readings of instability in the area. Almost like seismic activity. Our crew is checking it out. We're waiting on an all clear from them before the vehicles advance. Don't want to open up a sinkhole by accident.”

“A warning would have been nice. Run a scan,” Miranda commanded the soldier on her right. She would have used her own omni-tool to do the job, but her arm was busy supporting her weight, and she didn't have a spare. The soldier dutifully obeyed. “We'll continue searching the area on foot ahead of you. Keep me updated on your progress. Time is short, and this debris won't clear itself. Find another path to us if you have to.”

“Roger that. Ox out.”

“Useless,” Miranda muttered under her breath. This was why she preferred to work alone. At least she knew she could rely on herself to get things done. But this was the kind of operation that required a lot of bodies on the ground. Hers was just one of several teams conducting their wide-scale push across the city. Jacob was leading one. Wrex another.

The efforts to coordinate between the Council races had also paid off. The human, asari and turian military forces on the ground had all organised their own teams as well. Miranda's team was even partially comprised of Alliance soldiers, but mostly those who had already been working in close concert with Bailey. Nobody really seemed to care that they were taking their orders from him. What mattered was that, in total, their search and rescue must have consisted of at least a thousand people, if not more. It was a start.

“I'm not reading anything. Then again, their scanners are stronger than mine,” the soldier on her right remarked. Miranda rolled her eye, deciding to make use of the people already with her, and do the rest herself.

Bailey wouldn't like her doing any heavy lifting. Miranda was useful to him, after all. If she got hurt, he lost a valuable asset. But screw it. He could sanction her if he had a problem with it.

“You, do a full sweep of that building. You, over there,” she commanded, gesturing with her crutch, splitting the relief crew off into groups to search the street for survivors, supplies and paths through the wreckage. That way, the demolition, clearance and salvage teams could plough through without wasting any more valuable time when they finally did arrive. “You two, come with me,” she instructed impatiently, heading into a dilapidated ruin of a building personally, not bothering to wait for the bulldozers.

“Yes, Director Lawson.” Everyone followed her orders without question, including the two Alliance soldiers who began to follow her.

It was the middle of the day, but the skies were still dark from the dust. Miranda hadn't forgotten how difficult it was to tell time in the wasteland. Even the brightest hours of the day felt like dusk. And it was cold. It was always cold now.

Miranda approached the only building that hadn't half-collapsed. An office block, with a lobby and reception area on the ground floor. Its exterior was still largely intact, bar the windows, which were all gone, shattered during the battle. Parts of the outer walls had come down, exposing the insides, as if a Reaper had blasted a hole in one side of the building.

“Get a light in there, would you?” Miranda instructed. One of the soldiers complied, the other continuing to run scans as he had before. The flashlight washed over the inside of the building. It was a mess. Some of the upper floors had fallen down into the lobby. Broken desks, computers, wires and lights hung from a half-broken ceiling. The sad thing was, that was a vast improvement over most places they'd come across. At least this one was still standing.

“Director Lawson, my scan couldn't penetrate too deep, but I'm detecting a possible source of the instability,” the male soldier, Alexei Resnikov, told her. “There are cavernous openings right below us.”

“Cavernous openings?” his squadmate echoed, a woman named Keiko Yoshizawa. “You mean the London underground? Or a car park? Here on Earth, we don't all travel by skycar, space cowboy. It's not like a space station. In case you haven't noticed, some of us still use roads and rails to get around.”

“How rustic,” Resnikov remarked with a snort.

“Knock it off,” Miranda ordered, bringing their pointless chatter to a swift and sudden end. “You mentioned the underground. We haven't been able to access it this far out. But if there is a station near here, that would be a likely place to find survivors. It's safe, it may still have leftover food and water, and the tunnels provide an easy path across the city. Until you hit the cave-ins, anyway.”

“Yeah. That makes sense.” Yoshizawa nodded, bringing up a holographic map. “We're heading in the right direction. The nearest one isn’t far from here. Cutting through this place is probably the easiest way, since the streets are blocked.”

“Why are you standing around like you're waiting for a taxi, then? Get moving,” Miranda spoke curtly, prompting the two soldiers to go on ahead of her. They didn't hesitate to comply.

She followed them into the lobby. It was even darker than outside, the air filled with a heavy cloud of particles. Miranda paused long enough to lift up her scarf, covering her nose and mouth. Ceiling panels and broken light fixtures were dangling down from the floor above, like vines in a thick jungle. Thankfully, there was no electricity to worry about. But it still required a little caution not to get tangled up in the wires as they moved through.

Resnikov and Yoshizawa's torches were the only light source, beams flashing through the shadow as they examined the scene. They made it maybe halfway across the floor before their path hit a dead end.

“This could be a problem,” said Resnikov, torchlight finding no longer finding any promising gaps they could manoeuvre through. “The upper floors have completely caved in ahead of us. We're blocked.”

“There's an elevator shaft,” Yoshizawa pointed out, nudging her beam of light towards it. “Given this building has underground parking, there should be a ramp or a stairwell to take us out the other side.”

“Should be?” Resnikov emphasised, clearly sceptical. “Look, I already saw an entrance ramp near where we came in, and that was totally clogged. If there is another exit, we can't guarantee it won't be blocked by rubble too.”

“So let's check,” Yoshizawa insisted.

“Pry the lift open,” Miranda ordered, willing to chance it. Yoshizawa set to work.

A slight tremor passed through the building. Dust sprinkled down from above.

“Did you feel that?” asked Resnikov.

“Nothing to worry about,” Miranda assured him, shaking her head, clearing the dirt from her hair, blinking it out of her eye. “We're not going to be in here for long.” Even as she spoke, the strange ripple coursed through the foundations once again. She furrowed her brow. “...Wait a moment. That isn't coming from above us,” she observed, concentrating on the subtle disturbance.

It happened again, shaking the ground beneath her feet. These tremors were happening in steady intervals, their tempo too precise to be something random. It almost sounded like a slow, low-pitched drumbeat.

“It feels like there's something underneath us,” said Resnikov.

“Whatever it is, it's sending out a pulse of some kind,” Miranda murmured, thinking aloud. “A signal, maybe.” If she was right about this, that would suggest there really were survivors in the tunnels. Perhaps these vibrations were somebody's way of trying to get the attention of anyone on the surface.

“Alright. We're clear.” Yoshizawa backed away from the doors after wrenching them apart as far as they would go, gesturing for the two of them to go ahead.

Miranda took a quick look inside. The fortunate thing about this building being largely intact was that the lift didn't seem to have been destroyed, meaning there were no obstructions at the bottom of the shaft. By sheer luck, the steel cables were still in one piece, supporting the weight of the elevator, which must have been hanging somewhere above her, frozen due to lack of power.

It was odd to still see an elevator with this design. Miranda had forgotten how low-tech parts of Earth could be, especially in old cities like London, where past architecture often survived through retrofitting, or, as in the case of the underground, a sense of tradition. 

This building may have stood largely unchanged for a hundred years, for all Miranda knew. Maybe longer.

“Hold this,” Miranda stated. It wasn’t a request, giving her crutch to Yoshizawa before the soldier could ask what she intended. Miranda biotic-pulled the cables towards her, rappelling down the shaft and swinging out onto the level below. The landing wasn't particularly gentle on her knee, which was nowhere near healing from the shuttle accident, but she could live with the discomfort. It was dark down there. Pitch black, almost. But she saw sunlight ahead.

“You were right. There is a way out,” she told them, lowering her scarf long enough to be heard, leaning against the wall to take the weight off her leg while she waited for them to follow her lead. Part of the wall on the far side of the building had collapsed, leaving a hole and a pile of rubble that led back up to the surface. Probably where an emergency stairwell used to be.

“What would you have done if there wasn't?” Yoshizawa asked on her way down.

“Climb,” Miranda answered bluntly. She was one-armed and wounded, but she wasn't useless, for heaven's sake.

She felt the tremor again. It seemed louder than before.

It was oddly familiar to her, but far too faint to place. What was it? It was like a word on the tip of her tongue. If she could just put her finger on it...

Soon enough, the three of them made it back to the surface, manoeuvring around debris on their way to the station, which wasn’t far ahead. If someone was using the tunnels to get around, Miranda admired their cleverness. It would have saved her a lot of trouble if she could have done the same, but alas she hadn't found an intact tube station during those five days she spent crawling through the wasteland. Intellectually, she was sure she would have passed more than one, but they must have been buried under debris, or otherwise inaccessible.

On the other hand, if she'd gotten stuck down there, Samara never would have found her. Given the state of her injuries, even if there had been one nearby with any food and water left, it probably wouldn't have kept Miranda alive. She would have succumbed to her wounds eventually, and died alone of sepsis. Her bad luck had been good fortune, as it turned out.

“That's it right there,” Resnikov pointed out, approaching the steps that led to the underground. They were partially obstructed – debris from the very building they'd just left, most likely.

“Stand back,” Miranda said, using her biotics to clear a path into the station, blasting away the pile of loose rubble that blocked the entrance. It was then that something clicked in her mind.

Of course. Miranda knew what the sound she'd heard before was. That was why it seemed so familiar.

Detonations. Someone was causing biotic detonations down there.

But for what purpose?

“Still plenty to scavenge here,” said Resnikov, his flashlight moving over to a small, abandoned kiosk. The security grating had already been bent by looters, probably months ago. But they hadn't taken everything. “Hey, Tupari. Love this stuff.”

“I only drink Paragade,” Yoshizawa remarked.

“Your loss.” Resnikov bent down beneath the warped security shutter and picked up a can, stowing it away for later.

“There's that sound again,” Yoshizawa commented as they passed through the ticketing gates, heading down the stairs and towards the station platforms, following the sound. She activated her omni-tool, analysing the noise. “There. It's coming from that tunnel. North of here.”

Yoshizawa jumped down onto the tracks, quickly followed by Resnikov. Miranda ignored Resnikov's unspoken offer of assistance, easing herself down unaided.

This wasn't the first time Miranda had explored the underground since getting back on her feet. Her first search and rescue operation under Bailey's command had taken her through the carcass of a train, not far from Paddington station. Their hopes of finding anyone holed up inside the carriage had quickly dwindled when they realised the train had been swarmed by Reaper forces long before the final battle. There were no survivors.

“Hello?” Resnikov called out, his voice reverberating off the walls. “Is anybody there?” Squeaking rats scurried through the darkness. Miranda hid her growing physical discomfort as she limped behind her troops.

Yoshizawa went on ahead, leaving Resnikov to help light Miranda's way. Miranda watched her silhouette head further into the hollow, claustrophobic chamber, the small circle of light hitting the walls ahead. Abruptly, the sound happened again. This time, it shook the ground they were standing on.

“Director! That was right ahead of us!” Yoshizawa instinctively rushed towards the noise, disappearing around a bend in the tunnel. Miranda hastened after her, listening to the young soldier speak with whoever it was that was causing these detonations. “Hello? Can you hear me?” Yoshizawa paused. “It's alright; I'm a rescuer. I'm with two others right now, but there's more above us.”

That confirmed it then. There were survivors down here.

She came around the corner to see Yoshizawa at a thick blockage in the tunnel. It looked like part of the road above had collapsed, leaving an impassable obstacle of concrete, metal and earth. Probably the footprint of a Reaper.

“Please! You have to help us,” a muffled voice pleaded from behind the debris. Miranda could barely make it out, even as she got closer. But she sounded young. Younger than Oriana. “We're stuck back here!”

“Keep them calm; I'll call it in,” Miranda ordered. “Sweep team, we have survivors trapped in a collapsed metro tunnel in grid V-44A. We need a drill to get them out.”

“You're going to be fine,” Yoshizawa answered back to the anxious voice. “Just hold tight. We'll dig you out of here.”

“Teach, they're telling us to stop,” another voice spoke, a male this time. “Maybe you should cool it with the detonations? You've been at this for way too long. You're going to wear yourself out at this rate.”

“No. Screw that,” a third voice sharply replied. Older than the others, but no less impetuous. “Seanne needs help now, Prangley. Not later. I'm sure as hell not sitting here in the dark counting on a bunch of assholes who can't do a damn thing to help us to be our only way out. We're doing this my way!”

The entire tunnel shook as a brutal burst of biotic force smashed into the wall.

Miranda whirled around, startled by the shockwave that rocked the ground underfoot. “What the hell is wrong with you?! Are you trying to get us all killed?!” she shouted through the obstruction, livid at the woman’s recklessness.

“If I stop, Seanne dies!” the obscured voice answered back, followed by another biotic combination. Chips of concrete and dust sprayed everywhere. With so little time to react, Miranda didn't know whether she should prioritise keeping her balance or shielding her eye from the fallout. Instinctively, she ended up choosing the latter when a second strike occurred.

A small shard of concrete grazed her cheek, opening a cut. With one last roar, the rogue biotic slammed into the obstruction, finally blowing open a gap in the debris. Miranda saw her shadow fall forwards, onto her outstretched palms, panting for breath, visibly worn out.

The woman arose from the ground, onto her knees, holding up a hand and squinting against the blindingly bright beams of light that Yoshizawa and Resnikov were pointing at her, both soldiers staring at her, too stunned to move.

Miranda's breath caught.

It couldn't be.

This wasn't possible.

“Ow. Hey, cool it with the damn flashlights, will you?” the figure groaned in discomfort, turning away to let her eyes adjust after living in darkness for so long.

“Jack?” Miranda said in disbelief, astonished to see that all too familiar face.

Judging by the silence that followed, Jack recognised Miranda's voice immediately, now that there was no wall blocking the sound. “Oh, fu—crying out loud...” Jack reluctantly swallowed the urge to curse in front of her kids. Of all the people she could have run into...

Miranda quickly recovered from the shock.

“What were you thinking?!” Miranda scolded, marching right up to Jack, despite her impairment. Not the consummate professionalism her soldiers expected from her, but her anger was warranted. “Do you have any idea how unstable the buildings are above us? This whole area is on the verge of collapsing in on itself! While you were blasting away like a lunatic, this entire tunnel could have caved in on top of you, and taken me and my people with it.”

“So? It didn't. I didn't know you were up there, anyway.” Jack shrugged as she stood up, doing her best to block out the headache-inducing onslaught of those torches shining directly into her face, barely even able to make out Miranda's silhouette, despite standing right in front of her. “Hey you, point those fucking things somewhere else,” she grumbled at Miranda's team, clearly a threat.

“Language, teach,” one of Jack's group spoke up.

“Ah, ffff...” Jack trailed off into a groan.

“You'd been doing so well, too,” another student joked.

“Hey, laugh it up later. We aren't out of here yet. And we still need to get Seanne to a doctor,” Jack said, her tone stern but fair, calmer now that they'd made contact with someone she knew, even if it wasn't someone she liked. She turned back to Miranda, her eyes still adjusting to the light. “Isn't that the part where you come in? What's the hold up, cheerleader?” she asked, gesturing at her to hurry it up.

Miranda shook her head and sighed with exasperation, activating her earpiece once more. “Ox, this is Lawson. Belay that order on the machinery. It's no longer necessary,” she informed them. “We're extracting the survivors on foot.”

“Roger,” the earpiece crackled in reply. “We'll meet you back at the square.”

Miranda closed the channel, glancing at her old squadmate. “I'll get you and your students the help you need. You're welcome, by the way,” Miranda muttered.

She heard Jack snort. “I never thanked you.”

“I noticed,” Miranda curtly replied.

“Yo, you two know each other?” one of Jack's students asked, the entire group of them beginning to emerge through the hole behind her one after the other. There weren't that many. Probably ten all up.

“We're acquainted,” Miranda answered dryly.

Jack uttered a sardonic snort, evidently having more choice words in mind to describe her history with Miranda. To her credit, she refrained from sharing them. This wasn't the time. Not with her kids depending on her. That didn't escape Miranda's attention. It was a far cry from what the old Jack would have done.

In that moment, in the torchlight, Miranda saw Jack wiping beads of sweat from her brow. It was no secret that using biotics consumed a lot of energy. Biotics who actively used their powers might have to eat three times more than a normal person just to function, if not more. Jack was holding herself together admirably, but she looked drained. Miranda softened, reminded of how she'd battled with exhaustion during her own struggle to survive.

“Resnikov, give her that Tupari of yours,” Miranda said, thinking that might help Jack recover some blood sugar.

“Sure thing, Ms. Lawson,” Resnikov responded, handing Jack the can.

“...I could use a boost,” Jack reluctantly murmured, which was about the closest she could get to an admission of gratitude, at least where Miranda was concerned. She cracked open the drink, and started chugging it.

“We should get moving,” said Miranda, shifting focus to what mattered. This place didn't exactly scream stability. “I don't want to stay in this tunnel longer than we need to. Resnikov, Yoshizawa, give Jack's students a hand, would you?”

“Will do,” Yoshizawa responded, nodding her head, she and her comrade heading over towards the small gap in the debris, where the students were awkwardly squeezing their way through the hole one by one.

Jack's eyes widened when the two passing torches suddenly washed over Miranda's form. She nearly choked on her drink, taken aback when she finally saw her old squadmate illuminated as more than a dark silhouette hidden in shadow.

“Whoa. Holy shit. What the hell happened to you?” Jack coughed to clear the mis-swallowed drink from her throat, startled at the sight of Miranda's extensive injuries. She hadn't been expecting that.

“Looks worse than it is.” Miranda turned away, not sure she wanted to hear Jack's take on her condition. Not that she was bothered by how she looked. She just knew Jack would have a bloody field day with it.

“Yeah, no shit. 'Cause you look like you should be dead. I mean, seriously, what the fuck? Did you get in a fist fight with a thresher maw?” Jack questioned, in what sounded like a snicker, shock quickly giving way to twisted humour.

“Something like that,” Miranda drawled offhandedly, only half-listening to Jack's comments, concentrating on counting heads as Resnikov and Yoshizawa tended to the students. Jack's mockery didn't really matter to her. She had other priorities.

“Hey, if you ask me, having half your face blown off is a huge improvement.” Jack shrugged casually. “For you, anyway. Garrus would say it gives you character.”

“Right,” Miranda distractedly replied, scarcely paying attention.

“How bad's the scar?” Jack asked, trying to glimpse beneath the bandages.

“Don't know. Hasn't healed yet,” Miranda answered, gradually losing patience.

“From the looks of things, I bet it's real fuckin' ugly,” Jack said, smirking.

“Are you done?” Miranda ignored the comment, already bored with this.

“Not even close. I haven't even started making fun of your arm yet.” Jack grinned mischievously, enjoying this way too much to quit anytime soon. “Want me to shut up? Clap once for yes, zero times for no.”

Miranda just stared at her expressionlessly, not offended but not amused.

“Instructor?” a young woman called out. Miranda glanced up to see several of the students huddled over one of their own, the last one to be brought through the gap Jack had created. All appeared desperately worried. Their friend looked faint. Pale. Almost green. “Seanne's getting worse again. She's burning up.”

“I know, Rodriguez. You did good, taking care of her. But these jerks will handle it from here,” Jack spoke, calm and confident. “Drink your juice, and let them carry her. Except you, Reiley. You can stay by her side. Miranda will make sure she gets all the help she needs. Or, if she doesn't, I'll punch a hole in her stomach,” Jack assured them, and Miranda knew that threat was a guarantee. 

In Jack's mind, anyway.

“No need for that,” Miranda said, having no intention of impeding the girl's treatment. “Let's get moving. The sweep team will meet us on the surface. They'll take your friend to a hospital.”

“Okay.” Rodriguez nodded, comforted by that promise. The boy they’d identified as Reiley gave Seanne's hand a gentle squeeze, staying by her side as Resnikov and Yoshizawa picked her up, draping her arms over their shoulders. The poor girl could barely walk. She probably didn't even know where she was.

“The station's not far,” Miranda said, limping alongside Jack, ahead of the others. It was good that they were getting an opportunity to speak before meeting the rest of the team. Despite their strained history, there were details she wanted to know from her, and she was sure Jack could say the same.

Over a month had passed since the war ended. Jack didn't know a damn thing about what had happened in that time. About Shepard, and the Normandy...

“These are all your students?” Miranda asked, aware of Jack's role as a mentor to gifted biotics in the Ascension Program. She'd learned about that long ago, having kept tabs on her former squadmates while she was on the run from Cerberus, to the extent that it was possible to do so. Jack had spoken fondly about her 'tykes’ back at Shepard's apartment on the Citadel. That makeshift reunion seemed like a world away. It was strange to think how recent it was.

Shepard had invited them all to that party, gathering the whole gang together on a whim, knowing it would be the last opportunity to do something like that before they took on Cerberus and the Reapers. Back then, Miranda had wondered how many of those faces would never see the light of day again. Now, she knew at least part of that answer, but the fates of all but a handful of their group were a mystery.

“Yeah. These are my kids. All the ones who lived.” Jack instantly dropped what remained of her joking demeanour, an uncomfortable hint of stark seriousness crossing her face. Miranda recognised the shift in her expression – it betrayed the presence of a deep sense of responsibility.

She blamed herself for everyone she'd lost, a burden Miranda knew too well. The difference was, Jack actually cared about the people under her command. She loved those kids. And she'd had to watch some of them die.

“What happened?” Miranda encouraged, urging her to share her story.

“We were stationed a ways south of here during the fighting, managed to escape north when the big wave hit. There was an outpost near us. Emphasis on was. Went there first, but no survivors. We holed up there for a while because it had some food and water. We figured, if anyone else had survived, somebody would fly over and spot us eventually, but nobody ever did. Once there was nothing left above, I came down to the tunnels; I figured the train lines were our best chance of crossing the city,” she explained.

“You were probably right. Much of the surface is impassable, and our search and rescue teams would have had no chance of reaching you. This is the first time we've gone so far northeast,” Miranda commented. “You would have been stranded out there. Staying above ground would have meant certain death. It nearly was for me.”

“Not sure this was much better,” Jack mumbled to herself, crushing the empty Tupari can and throwing it aside, her frustration becoming evident. “I thought it was a good deal. I mean, we found shit to eat and drink, they were safe places to sleep in, and there's not as many dead things as there are in the streets. But we'd always hit blocks in the tunnels. We'd either find another station nearby, or dig our way through. Eventually, I figured we'd be better off staying in one place for a while. Hunker down. Try to radio out or something.” Jack drew a deep breath, releasing it in a heavy sigh. “But I fucked up. I got too comfortable, and I stayed put when I should have been making ground.”

“How do you mean?” Miranda pressed.

“A few days ago, Seanne started throwing up,” Jack told her. “For a while, I thought it was best to keep her in one place and hope it would pass. But it's gotten worse. Her fever is out of control. I know she's dehydrated, but any fluid we give her won't stay down. She just vomits it up again. Her brother has to sit there and watch her waste away. I don't know if it was dirty water or if the rats got to her...”

“Don't worry. A drip in her arm will do her a world of good,” Miranda assured her. Jack looked down at her feet, visibly troubled to think she'd caused this – that she might lose another student, through nothing but her own poor judgement.

Jack shook her head, hating how powerless she felt. “Shit, it's my fault. I should have moved faster,” she said, wishing she'd had the sense to realise that something like this might happen. “I could have gotten her to you days ago.”

“Don't blame yourself. You didn't even know we were there,” Miranda reminded her. It was in Miranda's nature to be critical of others, thanks to her father's influence. But she knew how hard it was to navigate the wastes. How desolate they were. How easy it was to get lost, or think you were the last person alive. “You did the best you could for her, and now you've found us. I'll pull whatever strings I can to ensure she gets the best care possible.”

Jack slowly nodded, swallowing as she absorbed that reassurance, setting her mind to the thought that Seanne was going to be okay. For as many issues as she'd had with Miranda, she knew she wouldn't have said any of those things just to be nice to her. Far from it. If she thought Jack was at fault, she would have been the first person to tell her everything she did wrong. Miranda wouldn't have told her things were okay unless she meant it. She took some comfort from that. Everything really was under control now. They were over the worst bit.

“...Yeah. Yeah,” was all Jack said, lost in her own thoughts.

Miranda's expression softened, well aware that this was the most genuine moment she and Jack had ever shared. Not that there was any competition. The loss of so many friends, and the near-destruction of an entire galaxy could put a lot of things into perspective like that.

“Jack?” Miranda spoke again, prompting her to look up. “I'm glad you're okay,” she admitted, willing to be the bigger person in this situation, and to extend the olive branch. And, oddly enough, she actually meant it.

Jack uttered a quiet but authentic laugh, letting her head fall back for a moment. “Yeah, you too,” Jack conceded. Strange, but true. “You're still a cunt, though.”

“Well, we can't change everything,” Miranda remarked, choosing to take that as a term of endearment rather than an insult. Judging from the light chuckle she gave, Jack probably intended it to be both.

For as irreconcilable as their differences had once seemed, they had parted on comparatively good terms the last time they met. Certainly, their brief interactions at Shepard's apartment hadn't magically transformed them into friends or anything like that, but it seemed to have quelled the bulk of the animosity between them, resulting in something perhaps not far removed from mutual respect and tolerance. They appeared to have reached the point where they could mostly co-exist, without lingering feelings of hostility. Miranda could live with that.

“Found anyone else of ours?” Jack asked, breaking Miranda's train of thought.

“No. Well, yes, but...What I mean is, before you, I was the most recent find,” Miranda clarified. “Samara brought me out of ground zero. Saved my life. That was four weeks ago. Jacob was already at the camp. Wrex is there, too. They're both fine. Physically, at least. Since I woke up, Samara's...disappeared, for unknown reasons. We think she's still alive. Everyone else? Not so fortunate. They're all unaccounted for.”

“Ah, shit.” Jack scuffed the ground with her boot. Miranda paused, wondering if she should share the news about Shepard's demise, but she thought better of it. This wasn't the right time. It would only upset her.

Honestly, Miranda didn't like to dwell on it, either. As far as she knew, the four of them were all that remained of the Normandy SR-2.

Her morose ruminations were swiftly silenced. A vicious crack echoed throughout the tunnel, as loud as thunder. She whirled around instinctively, as did Jack, unable to tell where it was coming from. Yoshizawa and Resnikov shone their lights back down the tracks. In the glow, Miranda saw dust trickle from the ceiling, from the same direction where Jack had demolished the blockage.

Oh, bloody hell.

“The tunnel's falling apart. This whole area could cave in at any moment,” Miranda spoke, her firm tone punctuated with an undercurrent of creeping urgency.

“Fuck,” she heard Jack curse beside her, realising she may have triggered this in her reckless haste to get Seanne into the hands of someone who could cure her sickness. “Come on! Double time it!”

Even if they weren't directly under the most precarious point, none of them wanted to take that risk, nor be trapped down there if anything should happen. All it would take was a building being tilted too far to one side, and then countless tonnes of collapsing concrete, glass and metal could leave them trapped inside. If they were lucky enough to survive.

They couldn't afford to let that happen.

“Move, move, move!” Jack pushed the students to run past her. Miranda also made sure Yoshizawa and Resnikov carried Seanne ahead of them, not about to leave anyone behind. Not again. Suddenly, Miranda felt a sharp pain in her injured shoulder. “You too, you crippled motherfucker,” Jack said.

“Hey!” Miranda instinctively protested through gritted teeth when she saw Jack draping her bandaged stump of an arm over her shoulder, all but carrying her out of there. God, it hurt. “Let me go.”

“Fuck that. Joker moves faster than you do,” Jack pointed out.

Miranda couldn't really argue with that. She couldn't run with her left knee practically demolished on the inside.

Miranda swallowed a gasp of pain, trying not to show how much her body was killing her. It felt like Jack was going to tear what little was left of her arm clear out of the socket, or snap her already wounded leg clear in two. Still, she could see the platform getting closer by the second. They'd made it back to the station in one piece, not far behind the others.

Jack jumped up first, extending her hand to pull Miranda up onto the platform behind her, the two of them ascending the stairs to the upper level. They'd made it about halfway through the concourse before Miranda heard the sound from the tunnels below. The very place where they'd been standing a minute ago was no doubt now completely buried under a mountain of earth, bitumen, concrete and twisted metal. It was a good thing they'd left when they did.

“I think we're in the clear for now,” Miranda said, wincing as she gingerly made her way out of the underground and into the ash-clouded sunlight.

“Director Lawson?” Miranda heard a voice over her earpiece. “What the hell was that? Are you okay?”

“We're fine here, Ox. One of the train tunnels collapsed. Fortunately, we weren't in it,” she informed them, taking her last few steps back out onto the street, easing herself back against a nearby skybus shelter, keeping the weight off her throbbing knee, her body reminding her just how injured she still was. “We've located eleven survivors. One critically ill. Can you get through to us at the station?”

“Negative, Director. With that tunnel caving in beneath you, this whole street is one giant catastrophe waiting to happen. Protocols prevent us from moving the dozers in your direction right now, which means we can't get to you. It's simply too dangerous,” the Ox team commander answered back.

Miranda hesitated. Objectively speaking, she understood their decision, and they were only obeying her earlier commands by keeping those priorities in order. But that left them stranded in a precarious position. If the ground shifted again, any one of these buildings could come crashing down on top of them.

“Is there another way around?” Miranda asked over the communicator.

“Another way? We don't have time for another way!” Jack pressed, as if that should have been obvious. “Our best bet is to cut through one of these buildings right now and meet them wherever they are.”

“Jack, please.” Miranda silenced her, focused on her conversation. She couldn't rush this decision. She needed to think. Exasperated, Jack threw her hands up in the air and began to pace back and forth impatiently, Seanne's health weighing heavily on her mind.

“I suppose we could circumvent the area, or try to meet you somewhere else, but honestly there's no telling how long that might take, or if those other paths to you are any safer,” the Ox team coordinator told her straightforwardly. “Besides, that still leaves you in a danger zone. Even if we hurry, it's risky.”

“Look, listen to me,” Jack began, coming back to her once more, trying to present as calm and rational of a demeanour as she could manage. “These structures are already unstable. The longer we sit here and wait, the shakier they're gonna get.” Miranda could hear the undercurrent of emotion in her voice. Jack was doing a good job of staying composed, no doubt knowing Miranda might disregard her advice otherwise. She did tend to be more amenable to a plan presented without yelling or swearing. “So why wait? Let's just punch through here nice and quick. Get out now, while this block still stands.”

Miranda paused, considering her words. A few months ago, she wouldn't have given her input much if any consideration. But that was a different time. Jack really had changed since then.

She wasn't the selfish, violent psychopath Miranda had met last year. Far from it. Instead, Jack had helped her without a second thought, making damn sure everyone got out of that tunnel in one piece. Hell, maybe the person Miranda once thought Jack was never existed. Maybe she'd always been wrong about her.

Plus, it wasn’t lost on Miranda that Jack had managed to do something she hadn’t during the war. She’d kept people alive.

Miranda’s breath shallowed, remembering the faces that haunted her nightmares. The team she’d led to Earth. The Alliance soldiers she’d fought beside at the barricade. The shuttle crew that had come to her rescue. One by one, they’d followed Miranda to their end, like lemmings off the edge of a cliff. Weren’t there enough deaths on her hands?

In that silent moment of reflection and regret, Miranda did something she’d never done before. She second-guessed herself.

“Alright,” Miranda agreed, making the decision to trust Jack's judgement over her own. “There's a car park underneath that building. That's how we reached you. The ramp is obstructed on the other side, but we can climb up through the elevator shaft. Once we're out, the rest of my team should be waiting for us there.”

Jack seemed relieved, though Miranda had a sneaking suspicion that it wouldn't have mattered whether she supported her idea or not. Knowing Jack, she would have disregarded any order to stay put.

“Remain where you are, Ox. We're going to try and reach you. Better that a few of us move through this area on foot than risk the bulldozers triggering a reaction that threatens us all,” Miranda informed them, straightening up once again. “When I return, we'll resume our operations on a different route.”

“Copy that. We'll keep our heavy machinery at a distance just to be safe, but a few of us can head your way to help get the survivors to safety.”

“One survivor is in critical condition. She needs an urgent evac,” Miranda relayed, not sure Seanne would be able to survive the journey back without medical attention. She didn't fail to notice Jack watching her as she spoke to her team, an unreadable expression on her face. Miranda turned away, electing to ignore her.

“Noted. We've already radioed for an emergency medical shuttle. Should be here soon, so just get her to us and we'll load her on. In any event, we'll make sure some medics are there to meet you.”

Miranda breathed a small sigh. That was all they could do. “Alright. Lawson out.”

“Let's go,” Jack didn't hesitate to instruct her kids, eager to get Seanne into proper care. Resnikov carried her through the street and down the loose slope of rubble into the car park unassisted, Yoshizawa focusing on lighting the way once they made it inside.

“Resnikov, you should take Seanne up first,” Miranda advised, recognising that getting the poor girl into the hands of a medic could make a huge difference to her odds of survival. “Get her to the rest of the team and have them bring her to a hospital. Letting her wait here for the rest of us is only an unnecessary delay.”

“I'll need someone else to help me get her up the shaft,” Resnikov answered.

“Reiley should go with her,” Jack spoke up, gesturing to him. “He's her brother.”

“Fair enough.” Miranda nodded. That was as good a reason as any. Without delay, Reiley went into the shaft, scaling the tight space with the aid of the cables. Seanne was still aware enough that she could extend her hands under her own power, letting her brother pull her up, while Resnikov pushed from below.

“We're up,” Resnikov called down. “I'll come back in a few minutes.”

“Hopefully we'll be out by then,” Yoshizawa answered. “Alright. Who's next?”

Two more students went up the cables. Miranda had a good internal clock, which was normally a blessing, but in this case made her uneasy as she took note of how long this evacuation would take. Six more students had to go, followed by herself, Jack and Yoshizawa. She knew why this space made her so tense. If something went wrong, this basement car park was not the place they wanted to be.

“Jack,” Miranda spoke in hushed tones, subtly pulling her aside in the darkness. “Now that Seanne is in good hands, the rest of us should consider taking the long way around,” she suggested. None of them had any pressing need to hurry.

“Why?” Jack shrugged. “We're, what, ten minutes away from getting out?”

“Maybe, but it does occur to me that we're right above that tunnel you inadvertently destroyed,” Miranda pointed out. “Call me overcautious, but that knowledge doesn't exactly make me comfortable about standing here for any prolonged period of time.”

“Don't be a pussy,” Jack said with a snort.

“Better than being dead,” Miranda retorted. Jack blew her off, moving to be with her students. So much for that conversation.

“Okay, you're next.” Yoshizawa gestured for the girl named Rodriguez to come forward. Miranda approached them, standing among the remnants of the group, contemplating running a structural scan on the building, if only to disprove her own doubts. Maybe Jack was right. Maybe she was just being paranoid.

Rodriguez reached out for the cables, a little unsteady on her feet. She caught one, but seemed reluctant to go into the dark space alone. Miranda had noticed consistent signs of anxiety in the girl. She reminded herself to have all these kids scheduled to meet with a crisis counsellor later for a mental health assessment, overburdened though those services were. Post-traumatic stress disorder certainly wasn't out of the realm of possibility for any of—

Suddenly her non-deaf ear pricked up, her thoughts snapping into silence.

Rodriguez flinched and glanced up. “What was that?” she gasped.

Miranda heard it too.

“What was wh—?”

“Get back!” Miranda darted past Yoshizawa, hastily pulling Rodriguez away from the doors, sending them both tumbling to the floor. They escaped the impact by mere moments, Miranda shielding the girl with her body as best she could.

Metal crashed into concrete with crushing force. A concussive blast resonated through the cold, dark space in a deafening echo. Miranda didn't need to guess what had happened. One of the elevator cables had snapped, and the lift had slammed into the ground. From a long way up, it seemed.

“Holy shit,” Jack's voice broke the silence, stunned with shock.

Miranda released a sigh of relief. Wounded though she was, her reflexes were still as fast as ever. She groaned as she picked herself up, resting back on her good knee. “You okay?” Miranda asked with a grimace, checking on Rodriguez.

“Yeah. Thanks,” the girl answered, shell-shocked, but unharmed. “What about you?” she asked in return, not so sure she could say the same about her saviour.

Miranda stifled a wince, trying not to let it show just how badly her body hurt after doing that. “I'll be fine. Just give me a minute.” She waved her off, not quite sure her leg wouldn't just buckle underneath her if she tried to stand.

Rodriguez didn't question her, silently handing Miranda her crutch for whenever she was ready to use it. She got back to her feet, giving Miranda her space.

Jack watched on. Miranda could feel her scrutiny, feel those eyes assessing her. She was painfully conscious of it, in fact.

Jack was the only one among them who knew what Miranda was capable of before the war. She'd seen her at her strongest. To everyone else, the fact that Miranda could do anything at all must have made her seem like a superwoman, which wasn't entirely inaccurate to be fair. But not Jack. Jack could recognise just how badly Miranda was struggling. How much pain she would have to be in to be unable to stand. How much weaker she truly was.

From her silence, Miranda knew it was already too late. Jack had seen through her efforts to keep it hidden as soon as her mask had slipped. The only saving grace was that Miranda was quietly confident that Jack wouldn't give a shit.

“Well, I guess we're not climbing out,” Yoshizawa broke the silence, shining her torch in the shaft. Sure enough, the cables were broken now.

Suddenly, Miranda heard a shrill, high-pitched scream. Followed by another, and another. The sound crescendoed, like the swell of a rising wave, voices yelling out in horror, but their cries were drowned out by sickening cracks from above. Yoshizawa pointed her flashlight upwards. What Miranda saw there made her blood turn cold, and the rest of her freeze in place.

The floor above them was crumbling. The entire building was breaking apart. And it was coming down on top of them.

People often said stupid things about how time slowed when death was imminent. Miranda could attest otherwise. It happened incredibly fast. Too fast for even her to possibly react, even with her heightened reflexes. She heard the upper levels cascading down on top of each other, entire storeys sliding loose and falling into the streets below, the levels of the building collapsing in on themselves one by one. Dust and debris rained down from above, filling up the elevator shaft. Deep gashes burst open in the ceiling as the immense mass bore down upon them.

Miranda instinctively raised her hand and looked away, realising it was too late. But nothing happened. Seconds passed, and she was still alive.

A faint blue glow washed across her face, prompting her to glance up and scan the area. All she could hear was the thunderous pounding of her own heartbeat, her thoughts racing to assess the situation.

Then she saw it. Miranda was awestruck.

Jack was single-handedly holding up the building, using only her biotics.

“What in the...How are you doing that...?” Yoshizawa gasped in awe.

Jack grimaced, her body shaking as blue biotic light dimly illuminated the darkness around her. “Whatever you're going to do, do it fast. I don't know how long I can hold this.”

Miranda knew that was no exaggeration. Frankly, it was a miracle she was doing this at all. Anyone else would have been flattened instantly. Anyone else but the most powerful human biotic ever to live.

A quick glance at their surroundings revealed that the way they'd just come in was sealed shut, too much debris having fallen behind Jack. That meant the other exit was their best hope – the only chance they had. But they wouldn't get anywhere unless Ox team could help dig them out from the other side.

“Over there!” Miranda pointed to their best way out, pushing herself up to her feet, leaning heavily on her crutch. “Everybody move as fast as you can. We'll need to dig our way out,” she urged, and Yoshizawa didn't hesitate to follow her direction.

“Come with me!” the soldier commanded, leading Jack's students towards the debris blocking the ramp. They quickly began pulling at every loose bit of rubble they could find, grabbing nearby bits of steel to help wedge fallen chunks of concrete out of place.

Miranda activated her earpiece. “Resnikov, do you read me?”

“Yeah. We're all okay over here. The top part of the building just collapsed and fell off, but it looks like it stabilised somehow,” Resnikov replied back.

“From where I'm standing, it's not looking very stable. We're still trapped in the car park underneath. And now the way we came in is blocked,” Miranda replied, keeping her tone as calm as she could, given the circumstances. Panicking would help nobody.

“What? Shit...” Resnikov swore on the other end of the line.

“Listen to me, I need you to gather everyone you can to start digging us out from your side. Everything. Bulldozers. Machines. People. There's still nine of us trapped down here, with no other way out,” Miranda instructed, tension running high.

“But...Director! I...The protocol—!” a different voice came over the channel.

“Override the fucking protocol!” Miranda snapped into her communicator, momentarily losing her cool. It was warranted. This situation was hanging on a knife's edge. If they didn't act immediately, they would die. They would all die.

Emergencies didn't come more urgent than this.

“...We'll do everything we can. Hold on,” Resnikov replied.

Then the channel went quiet.

Miranda swallowed, adrenaline coursing through her system. She didn't do fear. She didn't get scared. But the stakes of the situation were not lost on her. They should have already been dead. The only reason they weren't was...

She glanced back at Jack. Standing alone. Shaking under the strain. Burning with biotic light. Carrying the weight of an entire building on her back.

She was damn near tearing herself apart to try and save them. But she was a long, long way from that blocked exit ramp. Even if they opened up a gap, how the fuck were they supposed to get Jack out without the building falling down on top of them?

No. That wasn't an option. Past grievances between them meant nothing anymore. Jack was part of her crew. And Miranda wasn't about to let someone who'd fought at her side for the future of all organic life die if she could possibly help it. She would think of something. She had to.

With that in mind, she headed back for her. Miranda may have been crippled, but she still had her biotics. If she could just take the pressure off Jack for a little while, maybe she could buy them all enough time.

Jack eyed Miranda like she'd lost her mind, watching her hobble across the distance between them. “The fuck are you doing?” Jack asked, teeth clenched, barely able to move her lips given how hard she was concentrating.

“Saving your life,” Miranda coolly answered, raising her one good arm, adding her strength to Jack’s, beginning to feel just how tenuous the structure actually was through the 'fingers' of her biotic field. She couldn’t do much, but that dim blue glow grew a little bigger, and a little brighter.

“More like dooming us all,” said Jack, visibly wincing. Miranda didn't want to think about how badly it must have been hurting her, holding this building up by herself.

From Miranda's meagre contributions, she could tell that Jack was using her biotics in two different ways. First, to make the building lighter, to the extent that she could. Second, exerting force – a barrier to hold it up. Miranda was carrying only a fraction of the weight that Jack was, not from lack of trying. Even that was enough to give her a sense of just how monumental this feat truly was. How was it even possible to have this much power, let alone this much control?

“We don't have time for this. Get them out of here,” Jack said, jerking her head towards the ramp, the students and the soldier trying in vain to dig their way out. “I'd do it myself, but...” A tremor running through the building above them cut off whatever Jack intended to say. She looked like she was about to either throw up or pass out, but she endured. Somehow.

“We have a fleet of rescuers converging on our position as we speak,” Miranda assured her, not worried that the machines could dig out an opening. That's what they were there for.

“Yeah, good for you, but in case you haven't noticed, I'm kinda busy keeping us from getting flattened. If I move, we're toast,” Jack pointed out, managing a roguish laugh despite the stress her body was under. “Much as I'd like to bring this building down on top of you and take you down with me...” She trailed off, briefly meeting Miranda's gaze. She couldn't even pretend she was considering that anymore, much as the old Jack would have. “Well, that would set a bad example for the tykes. And I wouldn't want to do you the favour.”

“That's not going to happen. To either of us,” said Miranda, glancing over her shoulder to see a sliver of light as the team outside began clearing the ramp. A hiss escaped her as the weight of the building shifted again. “If we can just brace the ceiling long enough, they can get in a crane to hold this up for us, or knock the upper floors down away from us—”

“Are you serious?” Jack all but snapped. If her hands weren't otherwise occupied, she would have slapped Miranda on the mangled side of her face. “This building's coming down no matter what we do. I'll hold it as long as I can. But you need to get your stupid ass out of here.”

“Damn it, Jack. You stubborn—” Miranda cut herself off from unleashing any insults. As motivating as her mutual animosity towards Jack had been at times, now was not the time to bicker. “Just hold on.”

“What do you think I'm trying to do?!” Jack shot back, pushed beyond her limits, both mentally and physically. She was giving Miranda an out – giving her former enemy a chance at life by sacrificing her own – and she wasn't taking it. Miranda wouldn’t let her do it. It must have been driving her crazy. “This is fucking bullshit...” Jack commented under her breath, glancing down, as if the burden of her thoughts surpassed the weight of the building.

Miranda couldn’t argue with that assessment.

After a moment, Jack collected herself, and cast a sideways glance at Miranda. “Look, I'm stuck here, but you don't have to be,” Jack said, speaking with the kind of even, straightforward tone Miranda would normally have associated with Shepard. “I don't care about surviving. You just get these kids somewhere safe. Now clear the ramp and get them out before this building comes down on top of us,” she calmly instructed, looking her dead in the eye, though it went against every fibre of her nature to be so composed. Jack would talk to Miranda any damn way it took to get her to do what she told her.

Miranda stared at her. The selfish psychopath she'd met a year ago was nowhere to be seen. Either that, or she'd grossly misjudged her this whole time. Suffice it to say, Miranda was stunned by the depth of the change in Jack. She'd grown more than any of them. It wasn't even close.

Suddenly, Miranda felt a lot more riding on getting Jack out alive than mere duty to an old shipmate. These fleeting moments they'd shared since they'd reunited down in the tunnels, they'd forced Miranda to see Jack as a real person, a three-dimensional person, a complex person, a person who deserved better than the cruel hand life had dealt her. And, if the genuine concern and emotional connection those teenagers had for her was any indication, that person had a lot left to live for.

“Did I stutter or did you lose your ears too?” Jack challenged when Miranda didn’t move. “I'm not making a polite request. I'm giving you a fucking order.”

“I don't take orders from you,” Miranda persisted, refusing to abandon her.

“Get moving. Do it. Get the fuck out,” Jack said, her stance momentarily wavering under the burden of the half-broken building.

For once in her life, Miranda didn't know what to say. No perfect, prepared answers or replies. She was torn. Intellectually, she knew that the smartest thing to do was focus her efforts on clearing the ramp. Get the most people out. Save herself. But the other part of her knew that would mean leaving Jack to die. And she couldn't do that. She couldn't add another name to the list of people she'd lost. She couldn't add another face to the ghosts that haunted her dreams. The people she'd failed to save in this war. The team she'd led to their deaths in London. The friends and crewmates she'd never see again.

The old Miranda would have made the pragmatic decision in a heartbeat. Without hesitation. But Jack wasn't the only person who'd changed. Maybe Miranda's change hadn't been as drastic. But the person who could make that cold, calculated choice didn't exist anymore. Somewhere down the line, she'd learned to care. Sometimes she wished she hadn't. Because, even though she was terrible at it, it couldn't be unlearned.

What was she supposed to choose?

“Jack—”

“Do it or I swear to every fucking god what happened to your fucking face in life will be a fucking cakewalk compared to what I'll do to you in death if you don't get my kids the fuck out of here!” Jack finally snapped, her patience frayed to breaking point, and her meaning deadly serious.

A steely look came over Miranda. Like it or not, Jack was right. Miranda knew what to do; what she had to do. But she would be damned if she was just going to accept it that easily.

“I'm coming back for you, Jack,” Miranda vowed, reluctantly stepping away, much to Jack's relief. She moved as quickly as she could towards the others, adding her biotics to the effort to clear the ramp. The students had made progress, with help from the soldiers on the other side. Miranda could hear machinery through the wall of debris – it sounded like handheld drills. They were starting to cut through.

Pretty soon, they started to see light. Small holes. Each one felt like it was worth its dimensions in gold. Every ray of light was a beacon of hope. They worked frantically on both sides to try and wedge the holes open, digging wherever their hands and their tools found purchase.

“Come on. A little more and we can probably start squeezing through,” Yoshizawa encouraged the students, doing an admirable job of keeping them focused. She wasn't wrong, either. The holes were widening inch by inch. Miranda could hear her team on the other side barking directions to each other, working as hard as they could to get them out.

Just as Miranda tried to peer through the gaps to see what was going on outside, she heard a pylon not far behind her crack, everyone ducking instinctively, most of them certain they just saw the ceiling get about a foot lower. Miranda clenched her teeth, glancing back to Jack. Jack was struggling, the weight gradually pushing her closer to the ground. She was bending, bowing under the pressure. But she didn't buckle. Somehow, she was still enduring. But every passing second must have felt like an eternity.

“Where the bloody hell are those bulldozers?!” Miranda called out through the holes in the debris, slamming her fist into the concrete in frustration.

“They're coming as fast as they can. But I don't know if they can make it in time. The roads aren't clear,” Resnikov told her, from his position just beyond the rubble. Miranda growled, cursing internally. He was right. The street was blocked by too much debris, mostly from all the other buildings that had crashed into the ground during the war.

“Then we keep doing it the hard way,” said Miranda, grabbing her crutch and wielding it like a battering ram, bashing her way through the wall of rubble, even if her one-armed efforts were basically useless.

Eventually, their combined efforts managed to push through the debris, forming a gap just wide enough to get people through. About six different pairs of feet kicked at the hole, knocking away anything that someone could potentially get stuck on. It would have to do.

“Alright, let's move,” Miranda ordered, all but pushing one of Jack's students towards daylight, waiting for them to worm their way through the narrow crack before doing the same with another. It took time for each person to squirm through. It wasn't easy.

“Go, go, go!” Resnikov ordered, still working on wedging the crack open from the other side, stretching the gap further apart, knocking away loose bits of rubble, finding it easier now that they had a little more leverage.

“What about Jack?” asked one of the students, a young man. Miranda hadn't caught his name. “We're not leaving without her!”

“I've got her. Don't worry,” Miranda assured them, heading back for her, limping out across the floor to where Jack stood alone. “Come on, Jack,” she spurred her on, gesturing for her to make a dash for it now that they had a way out. The hole was getting bigger. The light was getting brighter. “There's enough space for us to get through. It's now or never.”

“What part of 'this building will collapse if I'm not standing under it' do you not understand?” Jack shot back, furious with Miranda for endangering herself despite her repeated efforts to get her to leave.

“Is sprinting intellectually beyond you?” Miranda sarcastically countered.

“I'll be dead before I take my first step,” Jack replied, knowing that if she moved for even a second the roof would immediately cave in right above her head. She could feel the crumbling structure like an extension of herself.

Miranda wasn't a fool; she'd felt what Jack was going through. And she knew she was right. But Miranda didn't care anymore. She'd lost too much already. Surviving the war had come at such a cost. She hadn't even begun to fully count the price. If this was going to kill her, then so be it. But she wasn't about to let the universe take one more god damn thing from her. Not without a fight.

“Well, I'm not leaving you behind,” Miranda vowed, a surge of power flaring through her wounded body. Without even thinking, she used her biotics to pull a largely intact column out of the debris pile that had been blocking the exit ramp, slowly prying open a massive, person-sized hole. She didn't even care that moving something so big and dense took a lot out of her, or that she was pushing herself beyond her limits. At a time like this, she couldn't afford to have limits. She strained with effort as she began to tear it free.

“What—?” If Jack had intended to ask what she was doing, she didn't need to. Yoshizawa and the remaining students had to quickly duck and dodge out of the way as Miranda abruptly pulled the column loose and dragged it across the floor. Her biotics were running on sheer determination alone, moving the column into position beside Jack, forcing it to prop up the ceiling beside her. Jack snorted. “Don't be stupid. You know that's not going to hold the building.”

“It doesn't have to. It just needs to last long enough for you to make it out,” Miranda answered her, steadfastly refusing to budge, even as she could feel the effort ripping at the muscles in her arm, and sending piercing jolts of pain through the implant in her brain. Miranda could take it; it was nothing compared to what Jack was suffering.

Jack uttered a hollow laugh. “You're a real fucking cunt, you know that?” she said. Yet again, coming from her that sounded almost like a term of endearment. As much of one as Miranda would ever get from her anyway.

Miranda tasted blood, her teeth grinding together from the exertion. She looked back over her shoulder, leaning heavily on her crutch for support. The person-sized hole she'd torn in the wall meant the last of the students had gotten out easily, together with Yoshizawa. Distant faces watched on from the other side, too sensible to risk going in after them. There was no one left to rescue. Just Jack.

Miranda's gaze narrowed to a glare when she turned back to find Jack still hadn't moved so much as an inch towards her. Both women stood their ground, as if fused to it in a game of self-sacrificial chicken.

“What are you waiting for?” asked Miranda, feeling her pulse quicken as time grew shorter. “Alright, Jack, you wanted to prove something to me? To show how much you've grown, and how much of a better person you are than I am? Well you have. You were right about Cerberus, and I was wrong about you. You're a better person than I am, and you've overcome things that I never could have,” she admitted, willing to acknowledge that Jack's ability to pull herself together and get her life on track had far exceeded anybody's expectations. She'd come the furthest out of all of them, which was a fucking miracle given where she'd started. Was that what she wanted to hear? “You don't have to kill yourself to spite me.”

“Spite you? Man, fuck you. You would win the gold fucking medal in self-centredness. But, news flash: everything isn't always about you,” Jack remarked, giving something between a sneer and a hiss.

“Then why won't you go?” Miranda challenged, her biotics beginning to falter from overuse. She wasn't alone in that. The strain of maintaining her biotic field for so long made bulging veins visible beneath Jack's skin, like her blood vessels were threatening to burst, or pop clean out of her flesh. She wouldn't hold out long, especially given how tired she'd been to begin with.

The more Miranda looked, the more she realised Jack was beyond exhausted. Even the last remnants of her energy reserves were long gone. She was running on empty. She should have been dead by now. Maybe she already was, and they just didn't know it.

“Look. Here's the thing. If I sprinted, I might make it out,” Jack conceded, breathing more heavily by the second, perspiration falling from her dehydrated brow like torrential rain, soaking the ground beneath her quivering feet. “Probably got about a one in twenty shot of making it. Not likely, but it could work. But what about you? You can't even walk, let alone run.”

“I can try,” Miranda replied, not concerned. She could handle herself.

“Or you'll just kill both of us,” Jack pointed out. She'd been watching Miranda, noticing the signs that belied her façade of strength. She knew exactly how sick and injured Miranda still was. She wouldn't make it two steps before being buried beneath the wreckage.

“I'm prepared to take that risk,” Miranda insisted, unwavering. It was worth it, if it gave Jack a chance. Miranda may have survived the war against all odds, but she'd made peace with death a long time ago. Besides, she'd led enough people to their untimely ends. Maybe she deserved to join them.

“Then where the fuck does that leave the tykes?” said Jack, her tone increasingly dark. “Those are my kids. They're mine.” Her stance kept getting lower, like there was someone pressing their hands into her shoulders, pushing her down with all their might. Her strength was slowly wavering. Her arms were shaking like they were about to break off. “Ugh. You know, you really do suck for making me go through this,” she grumbled, but if it was intended to sound resentful, it didn't. More like resigned.

Miranda didn't plan on giving up on her just yet.

“Is the building clear or not?” the voice of Ox team's commanding officer came over her earpiece. Miranda hadn't even been paying attention to the comms, too focused on herself and Jack.

“Ms. Lawson's still in there with a survivor,” Resnikov said. “Should we go back in?”

“No. It's too unstable. I can't send anyone else in after them,” the commander replied. Cold, but sensible. Exactly what Miranda would have instructed in any normal situation. “We can't afford casualties.”

Hearing that motivated Miranda to move closer. “Come on, Jack. Go,” she ordered, prepared to drag Jack kicking and screaming to safety if she had to. If she weren't one-armed and limping, she would have done that already. “I'll hold on to the pylon as long as I can.”

“That won't do shit and you know it,” Jack responded. For all her gifts, Miranda's biotics couldn't hold a candle to Jack's. Especially not now.

“Then what do you suggest?” Miranda snapped. Even when she was trying to save her life, Jack still managed to vex her to no end. Bloody nutcase. “Run for it now and you have a chance. The building is coming down whether you move or not—”

“Damn it, would you shut up and listen to me for five fucking seconds!?” Jack cut her off, sick of Miranda making everything about herself, and her guilt. At that, a spark of recognition flashed across Jack's bloodshot eyes. Maybe there was still away to appeal to Miranda – to talk her out of this senseless self-sacrifice.

“Hey. If you really do regret the way things went down between us, or if you feel the slightest bit of shame about working for Cerberus, then do this for me – you look after those kids,” Jack said, giving her one-time nemesis a long, unwavering look, as if staring into her soul, to see if any part of her deserved to be imbued with that amount of faith. Jack had long doubted that Miranda had any genuine redeeming qualities, but, if there was ever a time for her to show them, this would be it. Maybe saving her life would bring it out of her. “I need you to make sure they land on their feet, okay? They haven't got anyone else.”

“They've got you,” Miranda persisted, continuing to walk forward with her arm outstretched to hold up the pylon, her crutch long abandoned, her knee screaming in pain.

Jack gave a sardonic laugh. Of all the people she would have pictured entrusting her found family to, Miranda wasn't anywhere on that list. Hell, a year ago, Jack would never have pictured there being anyone she cared about, let alone a bunch of kids she considered her own, and protected as fiercely as a lioness defending her cubs. But things changed. She'd grown enough to gain a new perspective.

“Hey, cheerleader,” she began, channelling the Commander who'd given her a chance what seemed like a lifetime ago, “I'm going to be straight with you: part of me still wants to kill you, especially knowing that I'm already dead. Yeah, I admit, you're not as bad as I thought you were. We shared a few drinks, and we had a few laughs back on the Citadel. But I don't trust you for shit. Can't help that. What can I say? You're a fucking snake, alright?

“But, when we took down the Collectors, you showed me something, and that one thing is the reason why I think saving your life right now is worth it. And that's how much you love your sister. How much you gave up to keep her safe, without her even knowing you existed. I didn't understand it before. But I get it now. And that's why I know I can trust you to give my students a good life – a normal life,” Jack said, and she meant it. “Promise me. Promise me you'll take care of my students,” she implored her, blinking back tears that got lost in the sweat pouring down her face. “Treat them the way you'd treat your own sister. Do that, and we're cool.”

“Damn it, Jack,” Miranda didn't know what she hated more, Jack's foolhardy determination to be a bloody hero or the fact that, had she not been injured, she would already have marched over there, bashed her in the back of her head and forcibly dragged her out of the building. If she had just been in a better condition, Jack would already be safe. They wouldn't be having this conversation.

“Promise me, damn it!” Jack demanded, feeling her control beginning to slip.

“You can look after them yourself! Come on. On the count of three, we both let go. And you take my hand and run,” Miranda pleaded with her, in spite of the searing sting that shot through every nerve as she moved closer, biotics firing on overdrive as she reached out, extending her hand to Jack. She was within arm's reach. Fingertips away. “Just do it. Please,” she begged her, not sure how much longer her biotics could hold out. “We're getting out of this together. I won't leave you.”

For a second, it looked like Jack was considering doing exactly that, even if it meant risking them both. Miranda dared to feel hopeful that she'd succeeded in convincing her that she wouldn't take no for an answer. They would thrive together or perish together, just like the old days.

Who would have thought it would be just the two of them?

Suddenly, Miranda heard a sound above her, and felt a sheet of dust rain down onto her shoulders. Jack saw it too. The cracks in the ceiling were rapidly getting worse, spreading across the concrete, threatening to break like glass under the pressure. The roof was about to cave in directly on top of them. Jack's biotics were waning. She'd run out of time.

“Look out!” Jack yelled. Miranda threw up her arm and unleashed what little remained of her biotic reserves to brace the ceiling just a few seconds longer. She heard the roaring wave of destruction advancing towards her from the highest floors of the building. Gravity was about to catch up with them. Fast.

All of a sudden, a sonic boom cut the air. A beam of light shot into the darkness, and abruptly stopped. A hand grabbed Miranda about the waist. Green skin.

Her eye shot wide open with recognition. Shiala. And she was preparing a biotic charge straight back the way she came. Without Jack.

“Wait!” With her last burst of strength, Miranda lunged forward, just barely managing to seize the lapel of Jack's jacket and pull her forward. Reluctantly, Jack gave in, offering no resistance, letting herself be grabbed and dragged towards Shiala. She was still holding up a biotic field, although now it was serving more as a shield against the debris rapidly pelting down around them than a brace, doing little prop up the collapsing building.

Shiala took Jack in her other arm once she got within reach, securing them both as best she could amid the downpour of falling masonry. She crackled with energy, preparing for another charge.

“As soon as we stop, run,” Shiala warned them, her voice nearly drowned out by the cracks that tore through the foundations of the building.

At the last possible moment, she charged back towards the ramp. Less than a split-second later, the very place where they once stood was buried, engulfed in a tidal wave of rubble.

They came to an abrupt stop, a few yards short of the entrance ramp.

“Go!” Shiala pushed Jack ahead, almost throwing her. There were people waiting for them, countless hands reaching, frantically grabbing Jack and pulling her to safety as they all hastened to retreat and take shelter from the impending collapse.

Ignoring the pain in her still injured body, Miranda scrambled for the entrance, narrowly dodging the torrent of falling masonry. Her bad knee buckled, slowing her down. Shiala noticed that she was struggling. She reached back and physically pulled Miranda up the ramp by the scarf around her neck, the two of them dashing and diving out into daylight as the structure came crashing down behind them, barely escaping death.

Miranda didn't even utter a hiss at the blaring flashes of agony blazing through her body, too busy turning to look back at the disaster zone to care if she'd worsened her injuries.

A wall of dust all but exploded out from the collapsing building, swallowing everyone in the street. She raised her arm to protect her face as pieces of the broken building began to rain down onto the street. Shiala threw up a makeshift barrier, which diverted some of the shrapnel. Even so, a few stray projectiles hit Miranda in the side and in her good shoulder as everything that remained of the building fell down on top of itself, leaving only a pile of rubble. It sounded like a freight train driving straight into the ground.

It was all over in seconds. The silence set in, unrelentingly cold. The only thing Miranda could hear beneath the ringing of her ear was her own heavy breathing, and the thundering of her heart as she dared to look up through the dust cloud.

The building had been flattened. Everything had sunk into the basement levels.

A second slower, and that would have been her. A moment longer, and none of them would have survived.

As the dust settled, shock slowly giving way to a delayed sense of relief, Miranda glanced over to the familiar green face beside her, regarding her with silent recognition. She didn't know how or why, but Shiala had saved her life. And Jack's. And nearly killed herself trying to save people she barely knew.

Shiala looked back, as if sensing at least one of Miranda's wordless questions. “I heard you were in trouble,” she explained with a small shrug, somewhat awkwardly rubbing the back of her neck. “I came as fast as I could.”

Miranda's head was still reeling, scarcely able to make sense of the fact that she was still alive. Incredulous though she was, she wouldn't forget what Shiala had done for her. At least this was one saviour Miranda would be able to thank.

Her thoughts were quickly shattered by a loud scream.

“Jack?” Miranda barely heard herself saying her name beneath the ringing in her ear. Her focus shifted. She grimaced as she pushed herself forward, past Shiala, trying to see what was going on.

“Teach? Teach?” One of Jack's students was leaning over her, visibly concerned.

“What's going on? What's wrong with her?” another of them asked the soldiers.

“Move aside,” Miranda instructed, wincing as she dragged herself over, pushing her way between bodies. She looked down and saw Jack writhing in agony, her muscles all tensed, her limbs rigid. She was wide awake, and conscious, even though every fibre of her body seemed to be seizing up in pain – so much that she couldn't speak.

Miranda had never seen anything like this before, but she understood immediately. She had felt a fraction of the weight Jack had carried on her back for so many minutes – the biotic energy she had to exert to keep that up. Her body had been pushed beyond its limits and, for lack of a better word, overloaded. It must have felt like being struck by lightning.

“Give her a sedative and a muscle relaxant, and get her back to camp,” Miranda quietly commanded, figuring the best thing she could do for Jack was help ease her pain, and knock her out for a bit while her body began to heal itself. A nearby medic didn't hesitate to follow her orders.

“Will she be okay?” the student Miranda recognised as Prangley asked.

“I can't make any promises, but for what it's worth, I don't think she's done any permanent damage,” Miranda replied, watching as the sedative began to take effect, and Jack slowly began to calm down, her muscles going limp as the tension gradually left her body. “If my best guess is correct, then the worst she'll have suffered is a torn ligament here or there.”

“We've got it from here, Director Lawson. We'll take her to the medical evac shuttle with the other critical patient,” one of the medics told her.

Miranda gave them a nod. “Make sure the rest of the kids are okay, too. They've been through a lot. We'll wait here while you do.”

“Sure thing.” They got to work carrying out her orders, loading Jack up on a stretcher, taking her back to where the bulk of the team was waiting. The medics began to evaluate the health of Jack's students. Everyone else within sight...needed a few minutes to recover. A building just came down in front of them.

That had been a close call. Too close.

With that, Miranda hobbled a few paces back from the wreckage, as if finding physical space would give her the room she needed to think. She ran her hand through her hair, releasing a long breath, processing what had just happened while the tinnitus blared in her ear. She let her forehead fall against the cold stone of a nearby building, her mind voicing a thousand different thoughts of how close she'd come to letting things go horribly wrong, and the words she and Jack had exchanged when it seemed like their lives were about to end.

It didn’t seem real. It had just happened, but it felt like waking up from a vivid dream. She couldn’t quite fathom the things that had gone through her mind (or hadn’t gone through her mind) in the intensity of the moment. 

No matter how much she and Jack clashed in the past, there was a special bond between shipmates, especially those of the Normandy. No matter how much they still disliked each other, they'd been part of something. Everyone on that ship had seen things no one else in the universe could appreciate or understand.

And Miranda had been given an opportunity to save her, one of those people who'd walked through the fire with her, and she had so very nearly failed. Hell, in a way, she had. By sheer luck, Shiala had been there to bail them out from a situation Miranda should have seen coming, and should have prevented. Her mistakes had nearly cost them all.

What was worse was knowing that, with so many others she had served beside, she wouldn't get that chance to even try. They were already gone.

How had she come so close to wasting not only her own life, but Jack's, and her students'? What had she been thinking? What was wrong with her? Why had she doubted herself when she knew going underground was the wrong call?

Not only that but...what if Shiala hadn’t shown up? Jack was right. There would have been no saving either of them, let alone both. Miranda would have thrown her life away pointlessly, all because she would have rather died than live with one more person getting killed on her watch - one more person she knew. Realising that about herself was...going to take some time to process.

“Director?” Yoshizawa's voice penetrated her thoughts. “Director Lawson, are you okay?”

Miranda blinked herself out of her strange stupor. It seemed like an eternity that she had been standing there in thought, but, when Miranda broke herself out of it, it had probably only been a minute at most.

“I'm alright. I'm unharmed,” she answered, gingerly shifting her body around. She'd lost her crutch in the building collapse. That was annoying. But the job always came before anything else. That was just how Miranda did things. She couldn't function any other way. “Make a report, will you?”

“Report?” Yoshizawa repeated vacantly, still dazed by the events that had just occurred.

“Yes, report to base. Eleven survivors rescued. Two in need of urgent medical attention.” Miranda hesitated, looking over at the students, and at Jack. They were all watching their teacher get carried off towards the same transport as Seanne was on, going to get the help they needed.

Yoshizawa followed her gaze. For a moment, Yoshizawa seemed to consider whether to extend some word of comfort to her after nearly losing someone she knew, as well as nearly losing her own life trying to rescue Jack, but she apparently thought better of it, carrying out the order without another question, leaving Miranda in peace, letting her dwell on her thoughts in private.

Miranda noticed a few sideways glances in her direction from her team, some quiet words being discussed about her. She wondered if they thought her heroic and brave for staying behind with Jack. If so, little did they realise there was nothing courageous about it. Her reasons had been entirely selfish.

Funnily enough, Jack was the only person who had seen that.

“Could somebody fetch me a bloody walking stick?” Miranda acerbically remarked in the general direction of some of the privates who were hanging around the scene. They all stiffened, visibly scared of her. One of them saluted and ran off to fulfil her request. Miranda rolled her eye as she shifted around to lean back against the wall behind her. “Incompetents,” she muttered, because it was easier to snap at them than kick herself for letting this disaster nearly happen.

“Are you sure you shouldn't go with them too?” Shiala asked, moving to Miranda's side, nodding her head towards the medics. Miranda hadn't even noticed that she'd followed her.

“I'm fine,” Miranda assured her. Shiala sent her a look, as if to make sure she was telling the truth. “Really,” she added, trying to sound sincere, not failing to remember that Shiala had seen the vulnerability beneath the mask before.

“Then I'm glad,” Shiala replied, taking up a position beside her, almost matching Miranda's stance against the wall. She sighed, admirably calm, but understandably a little shaken by her near-death experience. “You are a very impressive woman, Miranda Lawson, but it would be my preference if for once we could meet under less...dire circumstances,” she remarked, sensing a recurring theme.

Miranda uttered a chuckle at that, unconsciously rubbing at her injured shoulder, trying not to aggravate her amputation site. “If I bought you a drink later, would that count?” she asked. That was the least she could do to express her gratitude.

Shiala summoned a small smile, as if liking the sound of that. “It would be a start.”

Miranda looked out over at Jack's kids again. Some of them were crying, wiping tears from their eyes as the shuttle carrying Jack and Seanne departed, the aftershock of everything they'd gone through passing over. 

It was funny. In all honesty, Miranda couldn't say her heart hurt for any of them, or what they were going through. She understood it intellectually, but seeing people cry didn't elicit any emotion in her. She didn't possess that latent empathy. She didn't even know most of their names.

But, that being said, that didn't mean she didn't feel anything. It would have been extremely easy for her to choose not to care but, well...that Miranda had been left behind many months ago. She wasn’t that person anymore.

Her past self wouldn’t have, but Miranda did feel sorry for these kids, and what they'd gone through. As much as she could, at least. She knew what they'd endured. She understood their loss. She'd seen how much they cared about each other – how much they meant to Jack. She'd nearly watched them all die avoidable deaths, because she hadn't trusted her instincts to get them out of that building. Because Miranda had been indecisive and taken a fucking shortcut.

It wasn't right. It wasn't right to just...walk away from any responsibility she bore, like it had never happened. To wash her hands, and absolve herself. Not now.

It wasn't lost on her that they were all only a little younger than Oriana. She was twenty now. They were, what? Seventeen? Thinking of Ori was always the ticket to bringing out Miranda's softer side – a side she wouldn't have even had without her.

Miranda thought about the things Jack had said to her mere minutes ago, in the heat of the moment. About looking after her students, the same way she would look after her sister. Protecting them. Keeping them safe. Giving them normal lives.

Miranda wasn't good with other adults, let alone kids. She'd never really been one. Or had friends at that age. Giving Oriana a normal life had meant staying far away from her. But when Miranda set her mind to anything, she could do it. Already, she had begun to think about how she could pull strings. Make sure their needs were looked after. Make sure they landed on their feet.

There were nine of them. Ten, including Seanne. Ten teenagers. And Jack.

Eleven. Eleven people might be feasible. Temporarily, anyway. That was how many housemates Miranda already had, after all. It was worth trying, wasn't it? Worth seeing if it worked out. Worth trying to do the one thing Jack had asked of her.

Miranda had never made any promises to Jack, so, technically, she wouldn't have been doing anything wrong if she ignored that request. She didn't have any obligation to honour her wishes. And Jack was still alive to take care of her students herself. But, frankly, those technicalities Miranda might once have clung to in order to easily rationalise this all away and to absolve herself of any sense of duty didn't seem to matter anymore. She didn’t want to take a pass on this.

She was sure something could be arranged. Miranda had a lot of pull with Bailey. She was his best agent. Surely, if she spoke with him, he would be willing to make a few special accommodations for her. Anything to ensure she continued working for him for as long as possible.

Even if her plan worked, that would take a few days, at a minimum. Not to mention that Miranda's work out here in the wastes wasn't over yet. They needed somewhere to stay in the interim. Someone to look out for them while Jack was out of commission. Someone she could trust.

“Shiala, you've already done a lot for me, so I wouldn't want to impose by asking anything further,” Miranda began, trailing off momentarily. Shiala tiled her head, listening intently. “Those nine kids need a place to stay. I know you and the Zhu's Hope colonists probably don't have enough room, but you have connections in the green zone. You know it better than I do. If you could put them up somewhere, just for a couple of days, while I get their affairs in order...”

“That's not an imposition at all,” Shiala stated plainly, thinking nothing of it. “I can take them on my shuttle, get them there faster.”

Miranda had to admit, she was a little taken aback to hear Shiala so readily volunteer her assistance again. She was expecting she'd have to work harder to convince her, or trade her something of value. Not that she was complaining but...why did Shiala keep helping her? What was she getting out of this?

“I appreciate it. I'll make it up to you,” Miranda offered, since it only seemed fair. That and she didn’t like feeling at a deficit in terms of favours to call upon.

“You don't have to do anything for me.” Shiala shook her head, dismissing the thought. “You've already earned my help. And...well, if you'll have it...you’ve earned my friendship too,” Shiala added, a little more self-consciously, as if wondering if she was saying too much, or being too awkward.

Miranda blinked. Oh. Was that what this was? Was that what she wanted from this?

Honestly, she had never contemplated that. Miranda had a habit of viewing all her dealings with other people as inherently transactional, due to how she was raised. It was a mindset she was slowly learning to change, but it still caught her off guard every now and then to be reminded that sometimes people just did things for others, not because they were repaying a favour or because they expected something in return, but just because they cared and wanted to help.

That and, in her entire life, Miranda had met maybe five people who actually seemed to like her as a person and enjoy her company. One of them was her sister, and two of them were dead. Suffice it to say, she wasn't used to it.

“...Sure,” Miranda said, not sure how else to answer that. She didn't know Shiala particularly well, and in all honesty she saw her purely as a useful contact. But she saw no reason to reject her offer. That would just hurt her feelings, and more importantly sabotage the inroads Miranda had made with her as a reliable ally.

If this was all Shiala wanted in return for assisting her then Miranda could...try the friendship thing, she supposed. It was less effort than the blackmail she usually had to resort to when securing third party contacts. Presumably.

Shiala turned a more bashful shade of green. “Uh, well, that's great! I'm...glad. And I will...take you up on that drink,” she said in that awkward, stilted way of hers. It was like she was always torn between whether to speak with traditional asari formality, or whether to emulate the more casual ways of speaking the Zhu's Hope colonists would surely have taught her to use with humans by now. That and it always kind of seemed like she was talking through a headache.

“I’m looking forward to it,” Miranda replied. She wasn’t really, of course, but Shiala didn’t need to know that. In any event, she wasn’t averse to the idea. And lying to be polite was a skill she still needed more practice at, unless she wanted to continue alienating people with blunt honesty for the rest of her life.

Tempting, but no.

“Me too.” Shiala nervously cleared her throat. “I will, uh...see you around. Stay safe this time,” she said, taking her leave. Miranda gave her a parting nod.

Judging from her reaction, Miranda got the sense Shiala hadn't had that many friends before either, Zhu’s Hope not included. She wasn't sure whether that would make maintaining this proposed friendship extremely easy, since her standards would be low, or whether that made this a terrible idea, because neither of them brought anything of value to the friendship table. Maybe both.

Miranda watched Shiala approach Jack's students, introducing herself and offering them a place to say. It was funny. Despite how much she'd grown over the past year, Miranda was still at a distance from all but a select few – looking from the outside in at people who could form bonds so much more easily. People who could just naturally relate to others.

She would never be able to do that. She just couldn't.

At the end of the day, did it really matter? Did it matter that she didn't genuinely care about these kids as much as Jack did? Did it matter that she didn't honestly reciprocate Shiala's feelings of friendship? She was doing good by her actions, wasn't she? Doing what Jack had asked of her. Somehow, despite a complete lack of effort, managing to be someone whose companionship Shiala enjoyed. Those positive outcomes had to count for something, right?

Progress was progress. After all, who would have ever thought that Miranda fucking Lawson would become a person who risked her own life for Jack’s, a protector of lost teenagers, and a person who made friends? Jacob would have been proud of her, if not for the fact that he would never believe it.

It was also a hell of a lot easier to focus her attention on those things than to confront the fact that she still hadn’t dealt with the phantom faces that haunted her in her dreams, or the missing names from the Normandy, or the tinnitus that made trying to fall asleep at night into a marathon of audial torture, and how those things were affecting her even in her waking moments.

Miranda swallowed, not ready to face those problems. Not yet.

“Alright. Playtime’s over. Let’s get moving,” Miranda called out to her team assembled in the square. “We still have a city to clear.”

*    *     *

Miranda was definitely in a mood that day when she stormed into the Starboard Observation Deck, her arms folded across her chest. She sighed and went to the viewport, leaning with one arm against the transparent window. Samara continued to meditate, undisturbed. That earned a somewhat suspicious glance back over Miranda's shoulder.

“What?” said Miranda, eyeing her. “You're not going to ask me about the fight I had with Jack?”

“I was not,” Samara replied. “Although I did overhear it, as did everybody on this deck of the ship.”

“Great.” Miranda shook her head, flipping her hair back. “I know Shepard managed to talk her down, but she walked into my office and physically assaulted me. She's unstable.”

“She did. And that was wrong of her,” Samara acknowledged, pausing for a moment. “Did you do anything to provoke it?” she asked, sensing Miranda was perhaps...minimising her role in the argument.

“Provoke it?” Miranda echoed, offended at the insinuation.

“It is merely a question,” Samara said calmly. “Jack is a volatile character. However, she has been a member of this crew for a considerable time without incident.”

“So I must have caused it?” Miranda sarcastically shot back, rolling her eyes and shaking her head when Samara didn't respond. Typical for her to get blamed for everything.

Samara waited a few moments, perhaps considering that she had erred in taking the direct approach. “I am aware that she recently revisited a place of immense childhood trauma,” Samara began, choosing a different approach. “This must be a sensitive time for her.”

Miranda sighed and glanced down, her arms stiffly folded across her chest. She could acknowledge that. “I never said what Jack went through wasn't horrible. I know it was. I went to that facility. I saw it for myself. No child should ever have to endure that. All I said was that it couldn't have been Cerberus. Or, if it was a Cerberus affiliate, then someone clearly went rogue and made a terrible mistake.”

That had to be the case. Cerberus didn't play by the rules, but the organisation had just aims. It was the first place where Miranda had been praised instead of criticised – allowed to make her own choices and do things her way. The Illusive Man had been a better father to Miranda than Henry Lawson ever was. Sure, they walked a morally grey line and did things other people weren't courageous enough to do, but Cerberus wasn't malicious or cruel, merely pragmatic.

“Do you think that distinction was important to Jack?” Samara's question broke Miranda from her musings.

“What?” Miranda regarded Samara strangely, finding her difficult to read. Samara let the question hang, waiting for an answer. Miranda had to admit, this wasn't what she had expected, given their growing friendship. If anything, she was a little hurt. “I thought you'd be on my side.”

“You sought me out to speak about this. If you did so and did not desire my honest opinion on the matter, then you have grave misapprehensions about my character,” Samara remarked. She would never give counsel that contradicted her morals.

“So you agree with Jack?” asked Miranda. That was the last thing she would have expected from someone as rational as Samara.

“It is not a question of agreement. You are focused on 'black and white' instead of seeing things from her perspective. And, with the greatest of respect, you must be aware that you are in a superior position, because the subject of what Jack endured does not affect you. This was not your trauma. You are detached – you can think about your words and actions in this situation, in a way that Jack, for whom these events are intensely personal, cannot.”

Miranda snorted. “Are you saying I should lie to her?”

“As a Justicar, I could never advocate for dishonesty, merely mindfulness. Like you, I am a hard woman. I have many honest thoughts. In the past, I have often voiced them carelessly, with little regard for their effect on others. There is wisdom in appreciating when our opinions are best kept silent, lest our words do harm,” Samara thoughtfully replied.

“If she can't handle my words, that's her problem,” said Miranda, staunchly believing herself to be in the right. “We've all been through bad things. That doesn't excuse attacking people.”

“No, it does not, but your own experiences should enable you to understand her better than most,” Samara dispensed her sage advice, encouraging sympathy.

“Exactly my point, though; I'm not the way she is. We turned out completely differently. We couldn't be more polar opposites if one of us was made of anti-matter,” Miranda pointed out, extending her hand to emphasise that. “My father did horrible things to me too. I'm not saying that it was on the same scale as what was done to Jack, but you don't see me losing control of my emotions.”

“Do not compare her reaction to yours. This is not what is important,” said Samara, dismissing that distraction. “Instead, try to empathise with her perspective as to why your words were harmful. For example, imagine speaking to someone about what your father did to you.”

“You don't know what my father did to me,” Miranda interrupted her before she could get started on that subject. “Nobody does.”

“Yes, precisely. They do not know. However, you do,” Samara continued. “You lived through those experiences. You understand how they affected you. Now, instead of listening to you and acknowledging what you endured, imagine someone giving you their unsolicited opinions on your childhood or your father, even with regard to something that may technically be correct.”

“Like what?” Miranda asked, shrugging her shoulders. Why would she be bothered by something factual?

“For instance, your father created the genetic code that exists inside you and your sister. Clearly, he is a brilliant scientist,” Samara observed. “Here is a hypothetical scenario: you tell me about his abuse towards you in your youth, I acknowledge that what he did was wrong, but I keep repeating to you that he was a brilliant scientist. How would you feel?”

Miranda's lips pursed, and she released a slight exhale. God damn it. Leave it to Samara to express things in a way that actually made her see what she was talking about, and see things from someone else's perspective.

“I would think that you're diminishing what I went through and defending the people who did it to me,” Miranda acknowledged. “I would probably find that very frustrating. If you or Jacob were saying it, I might even feel betrayed for confiding in you only to have you speak up for him.”

She knew, because it had happened before. Niket. The man she'd trusted to help her escape. The one person she thought understood the effect of her father's abuse. Instead of taking her side, he had accused her of being wrong for sparing Oriana all of that suffering. He'd even implied that growing up wealthy was a fair trade for her father's callousness and cruelty.

Miranda sighed, dropping her guarded posture as she raised one hand to rub her forehead. “Okay, so you have a point. Maybe I did inadvertently provoke her just a little bit. Not that it takes much.”

“You made a mistake. You are learning from it,” said Samara, not judging her for her imperfections.

“I suppose I have to; I didn't exactly learn social skills growing up,” Miranda admitted, never particularly happy with it when she realised there was something she'd done wrong. Her father had made certain that she despised failure, as he always went out of his way to make her dread the consequences. “That's becoming more apparent, lately. Being in such close quarters here with so many non-Cerberus personnel on The Normandy has forced me to do more 'socialising' than I have in the entire last thirty-five years of my life. People can be so...”

“Alien?” Samara supplied, somewhat wryly.

“I was going to say 'complicated', but that works,” said Miranda, slumping down on the floor beside Samara, chastened by her lecture, no matter how kindly put and...astute it had been. “You're lucky I trust you that none of this is going to leave this room,” she commented, glancing over at her companion. “If anyone else heard me acknowledge that I have weaknesses, I'd never live it down.”

“Everyone has weaknesses. To demand otherwise is unattainable,” Samara reassured her.

Miranda bit her lower lip. She thought about how much she already knew concerning Samara's past, and how she had obtained that knowledge behind her back. She still felt something resembling guilt about it. It only seemed fair to open up about some of her own secrets, so they could be on more even terms.

“I wasn't allowed to have anything he deemed a weakness. My father, I mean,” Miranda confessed, finally broaching that subject that she had long kept to herself. “The problem was, his definition of 'weakness' was anything that didn't directly benefit him. That included making friends, or smiling, or having my own interests, or feeling pain, or crying. Everything you can imagine really. All I knew throughout my entire childhood was control. I had to do everything exactly the way he wanted when he wanted it, even if I had absolutely no way of knowing what that was, even if it changed from one moment to the next, which it often did. And that was what I had to do just to be tolerated. Never anything more than that. Not loved, or praised, or accepted. Just tolerated. Anything less than his version of perfection and I would be punished, in some form or another.”

As she spoke, she felt Samara's eyes on her. It made her slightly self-conscious. She didn't want Samara to think she was heaping her personal problems upon her, or throwing a big pity party. That wasn't her intent. She just thought...Samara might actually understand her a bit better, if she told her the truth.

“I'm not saying any of this for sympathy or as an excuse,” Miranda explained. She didn't want those things. She didn't need those things. “I think it's just starting to crystallise for me that maybe I never really stopped listening to his voice, or obeying his vision. Perhaps there are some things I need to...reassess.”

“Much as the trauma of her youth is the source of the anger you experienced from Jack, you too carry the scars of your past, as I do with mine,” Samara spoke up. “Jack may not yet be ready to move on from it, but I believe that you are, if you so choose. You have already come further than you may appreciate. You have the capacity to identify what you need to change within you, and you have the will to see it done. This may take time and self-reflection, but it is achievable.”

“That's what you were talking about before, with the meditation, wasn't it?” Miranda surmised.

“It was one reason I suggested it,” Samara acknowledged. “It is a means of pursuing this kind of clarity – identifying aspects of oneself that the rigours of life normally distract one from perceiving and analysing.”

Miranda paused and glanced down, swallowing. “...I suppose I should thank you,” she said. Samara's silent response indicated she didn't know what Miranda meant by that. “For seeing the best in me, instead of dismissing me for my faults.”

“Could I not say the same to you?” Samara replied.

That thought managed to bring a small smile to the corner of Miranda's lips. She had a point. Then again, it wasn't hard to see the best in Samara. It was quite touching to think that maybe Samara would have said the same thing about her.

Maybe that was just what it was like when you met someone you felt instantly connected to. Maybe that was just how someone knew a rapport like this was real.

*    *     *

It was a few days before Miranda was really able to get back to the green zone and get her affairs in order. The operation had been a moderate success. They had found outposts of survivors who had hunkered down during the war, found pretty much anything resembling usable supplies that was left in the covered area, and found some habitable buildings to start moving people into.

Nobody had seen Samara though. Miranda was trying very hard not to let that concern her. It helped that she had other priorities to focus on.

Shiala had kept her updated on the status of Jack and her students. Thankfully, Seanne was recovering quickly from her illness. She was still in care, but expected to be released in the next couple of days.

Jack was...well, doing a lot worse than Seanne. Her condition was stable but her biotics had damn near destroyed her body. Almost as bad as the shuttle crash had destroyed Miranda's. No permanent damage, most likely. But her muscles were in a lot of pain, still slowly repairing themselves. From the sounds of things, it would take a lot of time and rehab to get her back to where she was.

Miranda was able to confirm all that with her own eyes. It wasn't hard to find Jack, even among all the beds, and all the sick and injured. She didn't look great. There were clear bruises where capillaries had burst beneath her skin. It did look like she'd been in a crash.

Jack must have sensed someone watching her, obviously not coping much better with bed rest than Miranda had. Bleary eyes glanced over in Miranda's direction, immediately turning with irritation when she realised who was standing there.

“Who the fuck let you in?” Jack groaned. Miranda was the last person she wanted to deal with when she was like this.

“It's a field hospital, Jack. Not much in the way of security.” Miranda thought about reminding her that she was known around here and people let her go wherever she wanted, but she had the good sense to realise that Jack would probably want to kill her if she said that. “How are you doing? Are you okay?”

“Fuckin' hurts,” Jack remarked, draping her arm over her eyes, hoping Miranda would just go away. “But I still look a damn sight better than you, fuckface.” 

That was debatable, honestly. “You're lucky you didn't tear yourself apart,” Miranda said quietly, moving closer. She was trying to be civil and understanding. “Not just limb from limb, but on a cellular level.”

Jack didn't respond, deliberately ignoring her in an effort to get Miranda to leave.

Miranda rolled her eye. So much for her efforts to be kind to her. Obviously her presence wasn't wanted. With that in mind, it was probably best to just cut straight to the point.

“Listen, I've spoken to Bailey. They're starting to house priority personnel in apartments in the city. That means Alliance officials, and people involved in the recovery effort. Civilians and non-essential personnel are the lowest priority. You'll be lucky to get a look-in on a place to live even a year from now, unless all of you are prepared to work for it. And, no offence, but you're not really in a condition to do that,” Miranda set out the facts.

“Why the fuck do you always talk like you're answering a question nobody fuckin' asked?” Jack grumbled. Despite her complaint, she reluctantly opened her eyes and shifted her head to listen to what she had to say.

Sensing she had her attention, Miranda continued. “I tried to convince Bailey to make an exception for you and your students, but he can't. Not unless someone who warrants high priority quarters chooses to take you in. Someone like me.”

“I'd sooner fucking drink bleach than live with you,” Jack shot that down.

Miranda had expected Jack to say that. “Okay. But what about your students? They don't have spare beds at this field hospital, Jack. There's barely enough room for them to breathe if they wind up in tent city. It's not safe for them out there by themselves. You don't know anyone else here. And, right now, you can't exactly look after them. Not without help,” Miranda explained. Much as she visibly hated it, Jack couldn't object to that. “I've already made the necessary arrangements. I can cancel them if you want, but I'm prepared to take them in, with or without you.”

“...Why are you doing this?” Jack asked suspiciously. It sounded like Miranda was being sincere, but it was hard to tell. Miranda never did anything for anyone without an agenda behind it. Unless it was for her sister. Or Jacob. Not for someone she didn't care about. Not for Jack.

Miranda pulled up a chair and sat down beside her bed. “There are only four of us left, Jack. If not for Shiala, that number would only be two; neither of us would be here right now. You nearly died the other day. And it would have been my fault if you had,” Miranda stated frankly. Jack had held an entire building up to keep her alive, and broken her body doing it. “That was why I couldn't leave you.”

Contrary to popular belief, Miranda had never hated Jack. Disliked her, yes, but the hatred had been entirely one-sided. Truth be told, she'd never cared about Jack enough to hate her. She hadn't cared about her at all. Not back then. In a way, that was a lot worse than hate. Jack would probably take it that way, if she knew. And Miranda had the decency to feel a tinge of regret about that, in hindsight.

Most of her memories of Jack were of conflict, or mutual avoidance at best. But Miranda had never set out to antagonise Jack, deliberately or otherwise. She hadn't sought her ought for anything, good or bad or neutral. Not once. She was completely uninterested in her. Apathetic. She didn't give Jack any unprovoked attention at all. Not that it mattered one way or the other. The fact that she was a Cerberus Operator had been cause enough to make her enemy number one.

Miranda hadn't batted an eye, save when things got violent. To her, not getting to know Jack was fine, and her hostile attitude had said more than enough about how little she was worth anyone's time.

Jack had loathed her. And Miranda had found her a nuisance at best. An insignificant insect who would be brushed aside as soon as the mission ended.

But she'd been wrong about her, hadn't she? Jack had been right about Cerberus the entire time, and Miranda had been too blinded by loyalty to believe her. And, while Miranda had been on the run from The Illusive Man and his agents, Jack had turned her life around. She'd set out to give the kids in the Ascension Program a far better shot at life than she ever got herself.

Miranda had done some growing of her own as well. She'd been cold and callous back then. Not just towards Jack but towards everyone. Whether she'd realised it or not at the time, she'd still been living in her father's shadow, letting the way he'd raised her shape how she treated others.

But things had changed. They weren't the same people they once were. Maybe they were never the people they'd assumed each other to be. But they were both working on being better people. And they'd lost almost all of their other comrades along the way.

Maybe Jack still wanted to hold onto her grudge, and maybe she was justified in doing that. But Miranda was tired. She wanted no part in this anymore. She couldn't carry on pretending her past grievances with Jack meant a god damn thing to her anymore. She didn't have the energy. If there was ever a time to bury the hatchet and move on, this was it.

“You said if I wanted to make up for all the bad history between us, and all the atrocities Cerberus committed against you, the only way for me to do that is to look after these kids the way I would look after my own sister,” Miranda recalled, knowing how much the students meant to Jack. “So...Okay. This is my answer. I want to honour that. I can't promise I'll be any good at it, but I intend to fulfil that bargain. This is me trying to make things...better.”

Jack looked at her for a long moment, a cold, hard stare, studying her face for any signs of duplicity. She didn't find any. Miranda wasn't lying. Her motives may have been self-centred, but that was to be expected. Jack would have been suspicious if they weren't. At least that reasoning made sense as to why Miranda suddenly wanted to be a less shitty person. For her, this was progress.

“...I never thought I'd say this, but you're actually fucking right about something,” Jack admitted, willing to put personal feelings aside for the well-being of her kids. “Living in a real fucking apartment is better for them. Better than being out here in this depressing shithole. So I'm going to tell them about you and what you’re offering. But I'm not going to force them. It's their choice.”

“Okay.” Miranda nodded. That was it, then. This was really happening.

She didn't want Jack to sense it, but she had mixed feelings about what she was getting herself into. Looking after teenagers was not high on her list of things she wanted to do. And she knew she was taking on a lot of responsibility. But this had been the one thing Jack had asked of her when she thought she was going to die. Doing her best to deliver on that request was the least Miranda could do, especially since Jack had saved her life that day.

“What about you?” Miranda asked, not sure whether Jack would be joining them. “I know we don't exactly get along, but you're welcome to stay too. I'll just make sure to hide the bleach before you do.”

That remark elicited a snort. “Yeah, about that. I don't think I'm gonna be going anywhere for a while,” Jack glanced down at herself.

Miranda gave a small, understanding smile. “I was in your position not long ago. I promise you, it will feel like an eternity. And your rehab will take time. But you'll be healthy enough to stay somewhere else sooner than you think. It doesn't have to be with me. Jacob is keeping my old bed free in case you'd prefer that.”

A conflicted look passed over Jack's face, a little bittersweet. “So I wouldn't be with the tykes?” she realised aloud.

Miranda suddenly recognised a possible flaw in her plan. “Jack, I'm not trying to separate you from them. I'm just offering them a place to stay. A roof over their heads. They're at liberty to see you whenever they want. And vice versa.”

“I know, dumbass,” Jack cut her off. “I'm just...I'm not sure they'll take it that way.”

Miranda softened. “You nearly gave your life to save them. If they don't know by now that you love them far too much to abandon them...well, I don't know, maybe tell them?” Miranda suggested. That's probably what Samara would have advised. “I don't know. I'm not good with people. Maybe don't listen to me on this subject.”

“I don't listen to you about anything,” Jack assured her, only half-joking. It hadn't escaped her notice that Miranda really was making an effort. Having some semblance of humility. Admitting that she sucked at something. The old Miranda never would have spoken to her like this. “...I'll think about it. I've got time. I've got some healing to do. I'll decide my living arrangements later.”

“Sure.” Miranda nodded, accepting that. “...Well, I'll start getting the apartment ready. There's still a lot to do, so...we'll talk another time.” Miranda elected to take her leave, getting up from her seat.

“Hey, Miranda.” Miranda paused, wondering if that was the first time Jack had actually called her by name. She turned and looked back. “We're not starting over at zero. It's too late for that. But I know you had nothing to do with what Cerberus did to me. And, if you're serious about trying to be straight with me, and you're not just going to throw my kids to the wayside the second you feel better about yourself, then...fuck it, I'll give you a shot.”

“This is you trying?” Miranda inferred. Jack didn't say anything, but nor did she protest. Miranda gave a nod, satisfied. She could live with that.

There was no chance they could ever become friends. But coexisting relatively peacefully would be good enough.

*    *     *

“Finally making use of the library, I see,” Miranda remarked, catching Samara in the act of reading.

Samara cracked a small smile as the doors closed behind Miranda. “I do reside on a human vessel. It would seem a terrible waste to remain ignorant of your arts and cultures when you have been so gracious in sharing these resources with me. That is if you do not object.”

“Knock yourself out,” said Miranda, not at all surprised that Samara appreciated what humanity had to offer based on their previous conversations, but glad for it nonetheless. Her long lifespan had not robbed her of her curiosity and adventurousness.

Despite their reputation for benevolence and co-operation with others, some asari Miranda had encountered could be incredibly patronising towards human cultures. Even if they welcomed other species into the fold, there were some who looked down on humans as effectively a novelty – like lost children taking their first steps on the galactic stage, whose beliefs and habits were cute, but would soon be a thing of the past once they were 'enlightened' by more ancient races. Thankfully, Samara wasn't like that. Her respect for other species was genuine and unfeigned.

“How many books have you read so far?” Miranda inquired, noticing that she was currently nearing the end of her copy of Moby Dick.

“Fewer than I would have liked,” said Samara, almost with a hint of self-deprecation.

At that point, EDI piped up. “Justicar Samara has requested my assistance in selecting texts from a diverse array of authors whose works were written in different cultural and linguistic contexts, as well as different genres and time periods.”

“This is correct. Thank you, EDI.” Samara nodded her head at EDI's holographic interface, which continued to operate silently. “I have heard that your species is far more diverse and varied than those who have come before. I did not wish to make the error of inadvertently and arbitrarily narrowing the scope of human literature available to me. This could lead me to draw false inferences, such as misconstruing humans as more homogeneous than you actually are.”

“Read anything by an Australian author yet?” Miranda asked, impressed by the care and consideration Samara had put into her decision to explore human literature for fun. That was thoughtful of her.

“Not at this time, no,” Samara confessed.

“You're not missing much.” Miranda shrugged nonchalantly as she joined her on the couch, not even sure there were any Australian texts in their small library. Out of curiosity, she brought up the database on her omni-tool. It contained a record of all available books aboard the ship and showed who had checked out what and when, so nobody could get away with not returning them.  Unsurprisingly, Samara was the most frequent user of the library, closely followed by Kasumi.

“I am sure that is not the case. I have yet to encounter a text that I have not enjoyed the experience of reading. Although I confess that, at times, certain details may have been lost on me,” Samara admitted as she closed her book and put it aside, acknowledging the effect that her own limited understanding of Earth and human history had on her comprehension of these stories.

Miranda tried not to smirk. “You had to ask EDI to explain to you what a whale is, didn't you?”

“She was very informative,” said Samara, which elicited a chuckle from Miranda. “Do you read?”

“When I have time, yes,” Miranda answered. It was also one of the few things her father had allowed her to do as a child, since he saw intellectual value in it.

“Are there any books you would recommend?” Samara asked, implicitly trusting her taste.

“Sure. I could send you a list, but I'm not sure that my preferences would be along the lines of what you're looking for,” Miranda acknowledged, earning a curious look from Samara. “For the most part, I don't read fiction anymore. There are some exceptions, but I rarely enjoy it.”

“I see.” Samara took a moment to contemplate that, choosing to seek elaboration. “Is there any particular reason why you tend to dislike it?”

“Well, on merit alone, ninety percent of all content produced is not worth consuming. As for the remaining ten percent, the vast majority of novels I've read are like being locked in a room listening to the inane thoughts and dialogue of annoying characters while the author either beats you over the head with their uninformed opinions or waffles on aimlessly while avoiding making anything that constitutes a worthwhile observation or statement,” Miranda explained, remembering how irritating she had found so many texts she was forced to study in her youth. “Even when the ideas and concepts are intriguing to me, I find it’s often ruined by the characters or the writing style getting in the way.”

“What makes a character annoying to you?” Samara pressed, curious about her comment.

“They make stupid decisions, they think things that I would never think, and everything is just a frustrating waste of time while you wait for them to cut the nonsense, realise the obvious and get to the point of the plot,” said Miranda. She hadn't anticipated an interrogation of her views on fiction. Fortunately, her frustrations were well-founded, and she never struggled to defend her positions.

Samara stared at her like she wasn't entirely certain whether or not Miranda was being facetious. “...Is that not, perhaps, the intent?” Samara considered aloud, prompting Miranda to glance up from the library database. “If the story reached its conclusion from the outset, bypassing all conflict and circumventing all faults and failings possessed by the characters, then would the author not have lost the opportunity to explore the – what is your term for it? – human condition?”

“It's not my bloody condition,” Miranda dryly remarked.

“You understood my meaning; do not be coy,” said Samara, mildly amused by her retort. “One of the benefits of literature over and above any other artform is that it allows you to experience life through the perspective of another, even down to their most private thoughts. It prospers empathy and understanding, even for those characters who are deeply flawed, as we all are. It is why I personally find that I have learned more about other species through reading their stories told in their own words than from any other source – certainly far more than I have gained from the detached academic writings of an asari anthropologist.”

Miranda shrugged, seeing her point. “I'm glad that you get so much out of it, but I never have,” she said honestly. “I can appreciate the themes of all these works on an intellectual level and the skills and techniques they've used in their writing, but I've never connected with a book or related to a character the way I've heard other people say they have. Fiction just doesn't resonate with me. Perhaps we're built differently like that.”

“Perhaps,” Samara replied, though if she had thoughts to the contrary she did not express them. “What is your preferred form of artistic expression?”

“Music,” Miranda answered without hesitation. “Not 'songs' per se, but I'm not as rigidly confined to the great composers as everyone seems to assume. I like my operas and my symphonies but I have a flair for the experimental as well. The theories and formulas that underpin music are there for a reason, but brilliant minds know how to break them in just the right ways.”

“Do you play?” asked Samara.

“Not since I was sixteen. But yes. I was classically trained in piano. I also did two years of violin before my father objected. Didn't like hearing me practice.” Miranda didn't feel the need to share that he'd ripped the violin out of her hands and thrown it across the room to break it in front of her because he'd decided she hadn't mastered it quickly enough and therefore wasn't taking it seriously. It wasn't relevant to the conversation and was more personal than Miranda cared to get.

“That is unfortunate,” Samara spoke sympathetically, evidently inferring why it was that Miranda had stopped playing nearly twenty years ago, given it held such a strong association with negative memories of her father. “One day, when the time is right, maybe you will play again.”

“I think you're the only one who wants to hear that,” Miranda commented, finding the thought of her other crewmates' reactions comical to ponder. “The rest of them out there would assume I was showing off and hate me for it.”

“Most likely. But you do not strike me as a woman who constrains herself based upon the opinions of others,” said Samara, with a knowing twinkle in her eye.

“Do I make it that obvious?” Miranda joked, unfazed by her unpopularity.

“Nevertheless, if the opportunity arises, perhaps you should consider it,” Samara quietly encouraged. “Your devotion to your work is admirable, but you should not squander the time you have by avoiding things that bring you joy. A day may come where you look back upon your years, and find them filled with regret for chances you did not take, and simple pleasures you let pass you by.”

“...I guess you'd know,” Miranda conceded, although in her heart she knew she had no intention of following through on playing again. Too close to home.

With that, Samara returned her attention to the book cradled in her hand, content to sit with Miranda in silence, as they often did. Miranda watched her for several seconds before speaking.

“Which one was your favourite?” she asked, prompting Samara to glance up at her in search of clarification. “Of the works you've read, I'm guessing either Don Quixote or Romance of the Three Kingdoms,” Miranda speculated. They seemed to her taste.

“Astute choices. But there was another I preferred. A poem, in fact,” she said. Miranda arched her brow, curious. “You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars. You have a right to be here. And, whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should. Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be and, whatever your labours and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul,” she recited.

Miranda's lip quirked in recognition. “That's Max Ehrmann, isn't it?”

“Yes,” Samara confirmed, meeting her gaze. “There is much wisdom in those words. I would do well to remember them when I stray. So too would it benefit many others to hear them.”

“You may have a point,” Miranda agreed, appreciating that Samara found meaning in those words, even if they did not particularly strike a cord with her. “It sounds like the sort of thing you could reflect on in your meditation.”

“I have,” said Samara. “Every day.”

*    *     *

[destiel-love-forever]

Hello! I saw your post about wanting prompts.... As a cheerleader in the midst of my competition season, I've recently been itching for some kind of cheerleading au, but it's kind of hard to find. I love your work and if you find time to write something like this, I'd def give it a read!

Thank you Anon!! Here it is (: 

Dean Winchester is the Angel's star quarterback. It's his senior year and he should be focused on one thing: getting a college scholarship. That's what his dad - and coach - has been telling him. Then a distraction in the form of a new cheerleader with bright blue eyes and a gorgeous body comes along and things change. Will Castiel ruin Dean's chances at a future, or will he turn out to be his lucky charm?

AO3 link:

Lucky Charm

The warm sun falls on Dean’s exposed back as he leans over his extended legs in the grass, stretching them out. He holds the position longer than necessary because of how good the lingering summer heat feels on his skin. Any day now, autumn will sweep its way into the small town and even though it’s his favorite time of year because of football, he’ll still miss the hot days out on the lake and the warm nights around bonfires with friends.

Nothing compares to football season, though. The freedom he feels out on that field. How everything melts away. And the cheerleaders. Oh boy, does he love the cheerleaders.

“Winchester,” his best friend Benny grunts, flopping down onto the field with him and beginning his stretches.

“Lafitte,” Dean says back in acknowledgment, looking over at him and grinning when he sees his best friend’s bare chest and neck is covered in scratches and hickies. “Better put a shirt on or coach will be pissed.”

Benny rolls his eyes. Dean’s dad is the coach and he’s a total hardass, but he has a soft spot for Benny. John Winchester gets a kick out of Benny, the young boy from wealthy parents, destined for greatness, no cares in the world. Sure, he gets pissed when the boy drops passes or shows up to practice hungover or late, but it’s always a few extra sprints and he’s letting it go.

Unfortunately, Dean doesn’t have the same privilege. John Winchester puts the weight of the world on Dean’s shoulders, the young boy with a widowed father, no money to send him to college, not intelligent enough for good grades, so many cares in the world he could suffocate on them. Dean’s father planned his future before the boy could even throw a football. The rage that comes out when Dean fucks with the plans is violent and terrifying.

“Where the fuck is Ash?” Benny asks, referring to their other best friend. The three of them are captains this year and John wanted them to come do drills and review plays before the first practice of the night tonight, when the entire town is welcome to come watch the season officially begin at midnight.

Dean pulls himself out of his anxious thought tornado and shrugs. “Probably getting laid. Or napping.”

“Fuck both of ya. I’m right here.” Ash throws his bag down and sits beside it, not bothering to stretch yet. Instead, he lays on his back with his four limbs spread out, soaking up the sun. “Can you guys believe school starts in a week? Senior year. I can’t wait.”

“We’re going to be kings of the school,” Benny adds.

Dean just looks over at the two of them, snorting. “We already were. But, yeah, it’ll be fun.”

Benny rolls his eyes and looks at Ash. “Someone’s being grumpy today.”

“This should cheer ya up,” Ash says with a smile in his voice. Dean looks in the direction he’s pointing and straightens his back, puffing out his chest without meaning to. It’s only a group of five cheerleaders but all five are scantily dressed and gorgeous. Especially the one with black hair and bright blue eyes, his strong legs sticking out from short-shorts in the blue color of their school. His belly button shows beneath his t-shirt he’s made into a cut off, the hem stopping where he cut through the team’s logo.

Fucking gorgeous.

“Who is that?” Dean half asks, half demands. Both of his friends just shrug, neither having any information on the new guy.

The group comes closer, since they’re sitting right next to the table set up with the water jug and the stereo. Jo, the squad’s captain, goes to the stereo and plugs her phone in like she’s going to play music. Benny, her nearly permanent on again/off again boyfriend, hops up and waves his hand in the air. “Woah, woah. No. We’re using that today during warmups.”

“Well, you can have it then, Benjamin,” she spits over her shoulder. Dean wasn’t aware they were off again, but it’s looking like that’s the case. “We have the field for the next forty minutes. We’re practicing our routine for Midnight Madness.”

“Right. Midnight Madness.” Benny walks toward her with a goofy smile as he talks about the kick off practice they have tonight. “I could drive you to that. Pick you up. Drop you off after.”

“Oh, you think so?”

They continue going back and forth, Benny’s flirting softening her up. Dean stops listening though. He can’t concentrate when blue eyes starts stretching. The boy brings an arm behind his head, grabbing his elbow and pulling, his gaze falling somewhere off in the distance. His shirt rides up and with Dean sitting on the ground he can see his rosy nipples. He licks his lips.

Something hard hits him in the side and he jumps, grunting before yelling, “What the fuck?”

Ash has a knowing smile as he wiggles his eyebrows at him. “Careful there. You’re popping a hard on.”

Blushing, Dean grumbles something generic about Ash’s mom giving him a hard on as he hurries to adjust himself. His friend laughs at him and he’s seriously considering punching him until he glances up to see blue eyes looking straight at him.

Act cool, Dean. Act cool. You’re the star quarterback of a team who won the State Championship last year. You can handle a cute boy. Act. Fucking. Cool.

“Hey,” he says with a - if he does say so himself - very casual head nod.

The boy’s cheeks turn pink and he looks at the ground. “Hey.”

High on the fact that he made him blush, Dean pushes further. “What’s your name?”

“Oh. Um.” The boy fidgets, looking at him with wide eyes. “Castiel. Cas. Castiel.” He laughs nervously. “Either works.”

“Alright, Cas. I’m Dean.”

“Hi, Dean.”

Dean gives Castiel the smile everyone tells him is charming. “You must be new? I’d remember a face like yours.”

He hears Ash whistle and say under his breath, “Smoothe.”

Ignoring his idiot friend, he waits for Castiel to respond. It takes the boy a minute. He rocks on his heels and looks at the grass instead of Dean before nodding and saying, “Yeah. New.”

“Where ya from?”

“New York.”

“Cool.”

“Yeah. Cool.”

Dean tilts his head, having decided this is definitely his conquest for the school year. There’s an irresistible pull to the boy and they’ve known each other for five minutes. Hell, he’s not even thinking about just hooking up with him. He’d bring this boy out on a date. Dean Winchester’s first ever date.

“So, you’re a senior?” The boy nods. Dean smiles. “Nice. Me too. And you’re a cheerleader. That’s exciting.”

Castiel blushes. “Yeah. Uh, are you a football player?”

Dean laughs softly. Understatement of the year. “Yeah. Quarterback.”

“Cool.”

“Yeah. So, I guess we’ll be seein’ each other often.”

The boy bites his lip and looks over at his new friends. They’re all staring at him in wonder, probably because they’ve gone to this school long enough to know Dean’s reputation. Castiel looks back at Dean with a nervous smile. “Great.”

“Great.”

“Yes. Great,” Ash says with a dramatic eye roll. “How about we put an end to the most boring conversation I’ve ever had to endure?”

“How about the football idiots stop talking to the cheerleaders?” Jo snaps, grabbing Castiel’s hand and tugging him. She tells a girl sitting in jean shorts and a shirt, presumably a friend not on the team, to start the music when she gives the signal. Then the group all heads out onto the field.

Free to look without any risk of getting caught, Dean tilts his head to the side and appreciates the view of Castiel’s ass bouncing slightly as he hurries with the others. “Fucking hell,” he whispers in amazement.

“Oh, boy,” Ash laughs. “You’re fucked.”

---------

Castiel’s thankful that the only obligation he has for Midnight Madness is the team’s dance routine. The rest of the time he can sit with his new friends and zone out on the hot as fuck quarterback that’s prancing around in a shirt with the sleeves cut off, the slits going to the bottom of his ribcage to reveal the tanned skin beneath the fabric. His black shorts hang loose on his hips and skim the tops of his knees. He’s the opposite of Castiel. Huge muscles, flirty smile, high confidence, extremely attractive, and popular. At his old school, Castiel wouldn’t have even been on the cheer squad. He was far too shy and geeky. But he promised himself at this new school he’d reinvent himself. So here he is. And now the quarterback was flirting with him. Surely only for fun, not because he’s actually interested, but it still has Castiel flustered.

“Popcorn?” his new friend Chuck offers, pointing the bucket in his direction.

With a thankful smile, Castiel takes a few kernels and pops them in his mouth. He’s not sure how he got so lucky. Chuck’s his neighbor so when he moved in earlier this month he had an almost instant friend. It was him who convinced Castiel to go out for the cheer squad. He had great logic. It was something Castiel actually thought he’d enjoy, and their school was the perfect place for a guy to be on a cheer team, because the popular kids at the school didn’t put up with any jokes about being a fag or whatever. At the time, Chuck had said it was because the most popular guy at the school is openly gay. Now he’s burning to ask if Chuck meant Dean.

The coach blows the whistle and all the boys hurry over to the sidelines for water. Castiel watches as Dean takes off his helmet and squirts his water bottle over his head before tilting his chin back to squirt some in his mouth. Once he swallows, he shakes his head, wet hair going wild. One of his friends - the one Jo claims she hates but Castiel thinks she loves - says something, and Dean laughs. Hard. It carries through the air and Castiel shivers at the sound.

“Damn, that boy is hot,” Chuck mutters, looking in the exact same spot as Castiel.

Castiel’s stomach drops. The way Chuck said that was wistful, a tone Castiel’s used himself multiple times. The sound of a gay man appreciating a straight one. Since there’s no harm in agreeing with Chuck, though, Castiel sighs wistfully himself. “Yeah. He is.”

“Great kisser too. God, his mouth, man. I’m tellin’ ya - you haven’t been kissed until you’ve been kissed by Dean Winchester.”

Nearly choking on his second bite of popcorn, Castiel coughs and asks in a squeaky voice, “You’ve kissed him?”

“Well, jeez. Don’t act so shocked. I’m an attractive guy.”

“No. I mean, yes. You are.” Castiel doesn’t bother being embarrassed by admitting that. Within days of knowing each other, Castiel knew nothing was going to happen between them. Ever. They’re just great friends. “Dean’s gay?”

“Yeah. Well, he’s bi, actually. But yeah.”

Castiel turns his gaze to the field, stunned by the revelation. The swirl of possibility makes him ten times more nervous about Dean Winchester. It was one thing getting flustered by a straight boy being flirty but an entirely different thing if Dean is someone he could realistically be with. That makes the fear of rejection so much worse.

“Did you guys date?” he asks quietly, eyes tracking Dean as he backs up with the ball in his hand, then throws it across the field in a high arc. The ball goes toward some other boy but Castiel keeps his eyes on Dean.

“No. We were just fuck buddies for a while.”

“Why did you stop?”

“I wanted to be exclusive, to maybe try and date. Dean Winchester doesn’t do that.”

“Why?”

Chuck shrugs. “He claims he doesn’t believe in love but he’s a great guy and I don’t believe that for a second. Once you know him, you’ll see what I mean. He loves everything. One of those people that’s just completely full of life, you know? Always smiling.”

Castiel nods, still watching Dean. He can definitely see that, yes, but he has a feeling there’s much more to the story. Dean stands in front of his coach now. His helmet is on so Castiel can’t see his face, but his hands are in a constant state of clenching and unclenching by his sides. He notices that when the coach begins to yell, Dean takes the slightest step back, a shiver running through him.

“Why do you think he doesn’t date, then?” Castiel asks, wondering out loud.

“Everyone thinks it’s because of his dad. Relationships are a distraction.”

“Distraction from what?”

Chuck gestures to Dean and the coach. “Football.”

“God forbid,” Castiel mutters, rolling his eyes.

“Really god forbid, though. Dean’s getting scouted by Division 1 schools. People think he could one day make it to the NFL. A long shot, but a possibility. He’s good. Wait until you see him play.”

The coach advances on Dean and grabs the front of his jersey, yanking him forward and screaming into his face. Castiel leans forward, alarmed. “Oh my god. He can’t do that, can he?”

“Who? What?” Chuck looks in the same direction as Castiel and cringes, his frown deep. “Oh. Actually, he can.”

“Dean’s parents don’t get upset?”

The look Chuck gives him is incredibly sad. “Cas, that is his parents. His mom’s dead and his dad is right there.”

“His dad is the coach?”

“Yup. Real loving guy, hey?” Chuck shakes his head. “Wait until you see him during a real game.”

Castiel looks at the field. Dean’s getting a drink again, along with the others, but this time he doesn’t laugh afterward. He just ducks his head and places his hands on his hips, glaring at the grass in silence. Everyone gives him a wide berth. They must know better than to bother him.

Castiel knows for sure now. There’s something else lingering beneath the surface of Dean Winchester. A version of himself that’s not happy all the time. That doesn’t smile. That believes in love. That desperately wants love.

In seconds, Castiel has fallen for the boy. The boy beneath the surface.

-------

A hand hits the back of Dean’s head and he snaps his head in the direction of the person hitting him, cheeks turning red as he worries he got caught. His dad looks at him with a scowl and his eyebrows pulled in. Dean prays he didn’t notice Dean watching a certain cheerleader on the sidelines. When his dad’s eyes look over his shoulder at Castiel, he deflates.

“Somethin’ more important than the game, boy?”

“No, sir. Of course not.”

“You sure?” His dad turns to gesture at the field, where the other team is only ten yards from scoring a touchdown and tying the game. There’s only three minutes left and the Angel’s defense is exhausted. It’s not looking good. “Because the game is this way. Not that way.”

Dean bites the inside of his cheek and tries to remain calm so he can play this off. “Someone was shouting. I looked over there quick. Sorry.”

His dad just stares at him, unimpressed and probably not believing him either. The ball is snapped and a play begins. His dad leaves Dean alone to start coaching. It takes everything inside the young boy not to look at Castiel again. He gets closer to the white chalk of the field’s official edge and tightens his fists at his sides. His dad is right. He has to focus.

The opposing team scores on the next play and Dean’s gut sinks. He glances at the clock. Now there’s only two minutes and ten seconds left. It’s not impossible but it’ll be hard. As the players start to switch, Dean’s dad grabs him and yanks him close before he can run off. “This is your fault. That interception in the first could cost us this game. Go out there and fucking fix it.”

“Yes, sir.”

His dad shoves him toward the field and Dean stumbles for a second before jogging to his position. The other players start to line up. He feels sick as he waits for the ball. His dad is right, this is his problem to fix now. They can’t start the season off with a loss. Especially when the loss would be his fault.

His throat clenches and makes it hard for him to breathe. He hears the crowd shouting and the cheerleaders cheering and his dad screaming at them. The cheerleaders. Dean sucks in a breath and takes a chance, glancing over at the sidelines. The cheerleaders are facing the team right now instead of the crowd. Castiel’s in the front, right next to Jo in the center. He’s shaking his pom poms but his mouth is closed as his eyes bore into Dean. When he realizes the quarterback is looking at him, he gives a wave of a pom and a nervous smile.

The anxiety in Dean’s chest unfurls and he’s left with a floaty feeling. When he turns back to the game, he feels invincible.

-----

Castiel stands on the sidelines, anxiously waving his pom poms. His knees are wobbling in anticipation as he keeps his eyes glued to Dean’s every move. The clock is winding down and Dean’s managed to push the team down the field a good amount. They’re only thirty yards from the end zone now. The problem? There’s also only twenty-four seconds left on the clock.

The coach calls a time out and Jo orders them to spin around and do a certain cheer. He goes through the motions, forcing his eyes to stay on the audience, forcing his mouth to stay in a perky smile. The second they’re turned back around to watch the game, his face is serious again, his heart racing.

“Come on, Dean,” he whispers below his breath. “You can do it. Come on.”

The ball is snapped and Dean takes his steps backward, arm cocking in the air. His head swivels and Castiel scans the players, trying to find an open spot, praying there is one. Praying wherever it is, Dean sees it.

Castiel holds his breath when the ball is launched through the air. He watches it’s slow descent, realizing it’s heading for Benny Lafitte. The entire stadium turns quiet. It’s as if the air is charged with electricity.

When the ball lands on the ground, two or three yards further left than Benny, the opposing team cheers and the whistle blows as Dean’s dad calls another timeout. From his left, Castiel hears Chuck suck in a breath and whisper, “Shit.”

He doesn’t have to ask what’s wrong. The second Dean’s within reach, the coach is grabbing his face mask and yanking him to the sideline. The boy’s neck twists in a way that must have been painful - and quite honestly dangerous - and then the coach’s bright red face is pressing right up against the face mask as he screams. They’re close enough to hear parts and bits but too far to make sense of much of it. Castiel hears something about a ‘goddamn failure’ and ‘home.’ Something else about ‘embarrassment’ and ‘benched.’

Castiel’s eyes burn as he watches the scene. He glances around, astonished that no one cares that this coach - this father - is manhandling his son and screaming at him. When he looks at Chuck, his friend gives him a sad smile. Castiel just shakes his head, still shocked, and looks back at Dean and his dad. The whistle blows to signal the timeout is over and Castiel wonders if the man even had time to tell Dean a play or what to do. It seems he spent the entire time berating him. He says something else, something not yelled, then slams the palm of his hand twice against the side of Dean’s helmet and sends him off.

Six seconds. Final play. Too far away still to kick a field goal. “Come on, Dean,” Castiel shouts without meaning too. His cheeks burn with embarrassment but the other cheerleaders join him with words of their own. Then the Angel’s side of the bleachers start shouting encouragement at the young quarterback. Dean glances at the crowd, scanning it, then his helmet drops lower and he looks at Castiel like he did earlier. Instead of getting flustered this time, Castiel nods once, reassuring, and yells, “You can do it!”

The boy’s shoulders straighten and he turns to the team. The ball is snapped. Dean falls back. His arm is cocked. The crowd goes silent. The air becomes electric.

The ball flies through the air. Toward Benny again.

This time, it lands right in the boy’s arms. Three steps and he’s in the endzone. The crowd freaks out, jumping up and screaming. The boys on the sidelines storm the field to celebrate. The other cheerleaders are yelling and kicking their legs up in excitement. Castiel sees Jo fly away from the squad, heading straight for Benny, and something idiotic takes over his own body. One second he’s wishing he could hug Dean and the next second, he’s sprinting toward the boy with the number one on his blue jersey.

He launches himself at the boy, taking him by surprise. Dean releases a soft grunt before chuckling and returning his hug. His large arms wrap around Castiel’s bare waist, huge hands spreading across the small of his back, and he shivers at the calloused touch. One of the hands leaves so Dean can pull his helmet off. His hair is all over the place as sweat clumps it together, and sweat is rolling down the side of his face from his temple. Castiel’s mouth goes dry watching it travel down to his strong jaw. He wonders what it would taste like it.

Staring up at him in awe, Castiel accidently whispers, “You’re amazing.”

Instead of the cocky or flirty response he expects, Dean smiles softly and holds him tighter. “I’m pretty fond of you, too, Cas.”

“Really?”

“Really.” Dean leans down, slowly, making sure Castiel understands his intentions. When the cheerleader does nothing but lift up on his toes to make the journey shorter for him, he smiles and closes the distance, molding his lips over Castiel’s. Dean drops his helmet to the field so he can use the hand to cup the back of Castiel’s neck and hold him steady, his other hand increasing pressure on his back to pull him in closer. When he breaks the kiss off, he stays with their lips almost touching, so he can breathe him in. He whispers against Castiel’s mouth, “I think you’re my lucky charm.”

Castiel leans back to look him in the eyes, grinning like a total idiot. “Then I guess you’ll just have to keep me around.”

“Yeah.” Dean nods, feeling dizzy with happiness. “I guess so.”

[purple-haired-faerie]

Mark and Helen are sibling goals part two

So this is the second part of the colab I gave been working on with the lovely @readwriteswim. I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as we enjoyed writing it.

Once emotions and life had settled after the events that had occurred in Idris, Mark and Helen had found themselves having a rather interesting conversation along with Aline, Kieran and Cristina. Helen had walked into her brother’s room to ask him a question only to find him making out with both Kieran and Cristina. Needless to say Helen had wanted answers and Mark was reluctant to provide, so he had turned the conversation round and got both Helen and Aline to discuss their engagement and wedding. When they had been separated they had been Girlfriends, and during his time with the Hunt, He had learned of his sister’s up-coming wedding. That for Mark wasn’t nearly enough information and thankfully it was a topic Helen and Aline were more than happy to discuss, in great detail.

Mark had started to feel confident, convinced he had gotten away with explaining why it appeared that he was simultaneously dating two people at once. But this was his sister Helen, who would never let him get away with not providing information. “So Mark” she said, once she and Aline had said everything they had wanted to. “What’s the deal with the three of you?” she asked and the reaction was simply brilliant. Cristina linked her fingers with Marks and having given him a small supportive smile, she lightly rested her head on his shoulder. Kieran on the other had seemed determined to distract Mark as much as possible. He’d positioned himself so he was holding Mark’s spare hand, and was running his other hand through Mark’s hair. Every time Mark attempted to speak, we would lean in, kissing Mark’s knuckles, neck, and cheek: anywhere he would reach. If Mark wasn’t flustered before, he certainly was now with his two loves beside him being very close and his sister asking questions of his relationship.

After a pause in which Mark tried to compose himself, (which was very difficult given his current situation) he found himself going “it’s complicated” which made Helen smile. “I can see that brother dear” Helen said and Mark blushed like a tomato. “Kieran and I met in the hunt. He looked after me, and it’s safe to say he saved my life” Mark started, which only made Kieran kiss him more, making Mark gasp slightly. “Cristina on the other hand” Mark continued but realised that Kieran and Cristina had gotten him so flustered he was past the point of have a sensible conversation, so he mumbled something about asking somebody else. Helen rolled her eyes and left, but made the point to ask Aline to stay and update her on her brother, a job Aline was more than happy to agree to.

***

Helen walked off to the kitchen at the same time as Gwyn and Diana. Gwyn just looked slightly awkward, whereas Diana took the entire situation I her stride. “Oh Helen, this is Gwyn, my boyfriend” she said simply and continued getting food out. Helen suddenly had an idea. Sitting down she asked “Gwyn do you know anything about Mark and his relationships?” causing Gwyn to shrug slightly before going “why yes. As it happens, I do know a little bit.” Helen sat forward, leaning her chin on her hands before raising an eyebrow. Gwyn found himself sitting down, and allowing himself getting questioned by Helen about Mark. Realising that they were going to be a while, Diana sighed before going “ok I’ll give you some time...” and shuffled off.

“So what do you want to know?” Gwyn asked Helen and Helen struggled to contain her excitement. She found herself blurting out “tell me everything” which made Gwyn laugh. Having gathered her thoughts, she tried again with “how did they meet exactly?” Gwyn made a move to answer when Helen put her hand up to pause him, only for her to grab a notepad and pen. Once she was ready to take notes, she allowed him to start talking. “Mark was the first to join the hunt. The courts wanted him. I knew because of his Nephilim blood he would not be treated with kindness, but I could provide him with some protection, so I took him into the Wild Hunt” Gwyn began.

Helen found herself with a slight lump in her throat. The prejudiced faced by both Mark and herself because of their mixed blood was always a sensitive topic for her. “Then Kieran joined. His Father, the Unseelie King owed a dept, and because Kieran was well liked within the Court, the King felt threatened by him so he decided that it would be Kieran who would pay the dept. Both as outcasts within the Hunt, both Mark and Kieran found themselves drawn to each other” Gwyn added, making Helen smile. Knowing Mark hadn’t been alone gave her comfort. But what Gwyn said next made her very happy indeed.

“They became friends and would always look out for each other. Mark had been beaten by some of the other hunters, and every time he did, Kieran would be there to clean and bandage his wounds. Kieran became highly protective of Mark and ensured what little of his privileges he had from being a Prince extended to Mark, meaning they spent a lot of time together. A lot of alone time together. It was incredibly obvious that they had fallen in love with each other, well, incredibly obvious to everyone except Mark and Kieran. We would purposely go to revels with the intention of leaving them alone together and hoping that it would be enough for them to declare their love for each other. We made bets on when they would finally get together. There were times I wanted to just scream “by the gods kiss you idiots” and I’m not sure how I didn’t to be honest” Gwyn told Helen, and when he paused for breath Helen found herself grinning.

“How did you know when they were finally together?” Helen blurted out, and Gwyn found himself smiling at the memory. “I had been at a revel with the rest of the Hunt. As normal, Kieran and Mark had not attended. The following morning, I summoned my Riders to the Hunt. Mark and Kieran arrived together, hair ruffled and their hands holding each other’s. The glances alone were enough to convince us all that they were not only in love but in a relationship” Gwyn explained and smiled at the memory. Helen just beamed. The Hunt had never sounded a pleasant experience so knowing that her brother had not only had a friend but a lover gave her comfort.

“So how did Cristina get involved into this relationship?” Helen then asked. Gwyn smiled then before going “I should warn you that where I was able to witness Mark and Kieran getting together, I learnt about what happened with Cristina through the boys telling me. They were quite eager to give me the updates, Kieran in particular” Gwyn said which warmed Helen’s heart intently. “So what did they tell you?” Helen asked. “When Mark returned to the Institute, Cristina was a great help to him. She’d not known him before so she had nothing to compare him to. She’d also studied faeries and these two things combined meant she was able to help Mark in a way the others were not” Gwyn began. It hurt Helen to be reminded of her families painful reunion with their brother, but it gave her comfort to know someone had been there to help them.

Gwyn continued to talk with “During those first few days Mark became quite fond of Cristina, but respected her when she initially turned him down. She believed Mark only wanted a physical relationship, and she wanted one that was based on love. Kieran found out, became jealous and to say that jealousy did not end well would be an understatement”. He did not want to pain Helen with what exactly had happened as a result of Kieran’s initial jealousy. If the Blackthorns wanted her to know the choice would be there’s to make. Helen frowned then. The Kieran she had left with Mark and Cristina certainly wasn’t jealous with Cristina, but rather quite in love with her. “So what happened? He certainly doesn’t seem to feel that way now” Helen said, and Gwyn nodded in agreement.

“He got to know her. The more he got to know her, the more he fell in love with her. I would get Kieran regularly coming to talk to me about his ‘princess of roses’ as he affectionately called her. He would constantly be saying how he thought she was beautiful. Originally he would say how he liked her as she made Mark happy, but then he would say how she made him happy too” and Helen just beamed at that. She continued asking Gwyn her questions, both of them blissfully unaware of what was happening in the other room.

***

Shortly after Helen had left, Mark and Cristina had found themselves in a corner, with Cristina sitting on Mark’s lap intently making out with him, leaving Kieran and Aline sitting along together. Kieran simply watched his two loves, and found himself asking “why are the Blackthorn’s so beautiful?” which made Aline smile. “I wish I knew. Helen has these gorgeous dimples when she smiles and I’m like ‘how did I get lucky enough to get to this woman?’ you know?” and Kieran nodded. “Mark might as well have come from the heavens as an angel, because that’s the only explanation I can think of to explain his beauty” he added, just as Cristina finished her kissing session with Mark, going “Mark is definitely the most beautiful of all the Blackthorns” which made Kieran pull her onto his lap, promptly giving his agreements.

Aline shook her head “No I have to disagree” she said, just as Emma walked passed. “What is it you disagree with Aline?” she asked, wanting to know what was going on. “We were discussing who the most beautiful Blackthorn was. Kieran and Cristina say Mark. I disagree. Have you all seen my wife?” she asked. Emma sympathetically patted Aline on the arm before going “I have Aline, but I have also seen Jules and that man is the definition of beauty and goodness” she said solemnly, which only caused more arguments. It was then Kit has walked in to find out what all the noise was about and on establishing the cause of the argument went “Why is this even an argument? You’ve met Ty, who has own level of being the best Blackthorn”. The great Blackthorn debate continued until Tavvy walked into the middle of the room and went “you’re all wrong. Dru is the superior Blackthorn. She’s the only one who plays with me” and promptly went over to hug his sister. Not a single person argued with the youngest of the Blackthorn siblings.

***

It seemed that once Helen had started asking questions, she couldn’t stop herself, totally unaware of how much time had passed. It wasn’t until Diana returned to the kitchen asking for her boyfriend back did she realise just how much time she had been there. Walking back to her brother and wife, she found that they had been joined by the rest of the Blackthorn’s and their partners. Slipping onto Aline’s lap, she gave a soft kiss on the temple as Aline held her closer. “Did you get the answers you wanted?” Aline asked and Helen found herself smiling. “I did, plus so much more. I’ll update you later. Did you like hanging out with Kieran and Cristina?” she replied, making Aline give her a protective squeeze. “We had quite an interesting debate” Aline said, before giving Helen a kiss on the lips. “I don’t care what a faerie prince says you’re still the most beautiful Blackthorn” she said before kissing her again.

[ussjellyfish]

Incarnadine

also on ao3

Philippa finally gets out of sickbay and has Katrina for a roommate, just for a few days.

I need another chapter after this one, because there were things Philippa and Kat needed to talk about. Also, I have a thing for Philippa learning to touch people considering how much she hated it at first but...it’s the soft universe, it gets to you. 

Sorry this comes slowly, it takes a lot of thought. Thanks for hanging in there! 

Afsaneh rolls her eyes and crosses her arms over her chest. "I'm fine. I don't need rehabilitation, I don't give a damn about my nice new liver."

Michael keeps her lips pressed tightly together to keep from smiling too hard. Afsaneh and her Philippa had a pleasant relationship. They teased each other relentlessly, of course, but it went back and forth. This time, Philippa's slow to retort, because she doesn't know her. Maybe they're not like that in their universe. They probably can't be. Death was so close, even Philippa's family was out to get her.

No wonder this is so difficult.

"I am fine," Philippa insists again, releasing her grip on the rail by the long line of windows. She stands steady now, walks evenly, as if nothing is wrong, but half the muscles of her stomach have new nerves, new tissues, and they don't work quite right yet. She doesn't shake off Afsaneh's glare, and they stare at each other again, that way far too intimate for people who have just met.

"You don't have to be fine," Michael says, keeping her hands back, just in case. "You can be angry too, if you want. I've been there, it hurts and everyone's fussing."

"In my universe, I could have you killed."

"Lucky for us, the worst you can do here is glare."

"If it helps, I'm still very afraid of you," Tilly offers from a safe distance behind Michael. "I'm very grateful, because you saved my life and I probably would not have survived if I'd been hit with that weapon because I'm not tough the way you are and I really wouldn't deal with it very well." She smiles a little, all frazzled from their lack of sleep. "So I think you're doing great, and you're still terrifying."

All the way around the docking ring is a good distance. It still hurts, it has to, and no matter what she says, and Philippa has to be tired. She's been through it, physically as well as mentally, and she's been helped, still needs it, and that's probably the worst of all.

She takes another breath, stops looking at Afsaneh's too-dark eyes. But she's steadily more pale, stiffer. Afsaneh tilts her head towards Michael, cautious and protective. Michael's heard stories, how Philippa had to drag herself back from some nasty injuries, and she wasn't even the harsh version.

Michael reaches out her hand, offering it to the woman who is not, yet is, her mother. "You're doing great."

"Walking should not be an accomplishment."

"At least you're used to having an entourage," Tilly says, and her brightness is a gift to all of them, even Philippa, who turns and looks at her, eyebrows raised. "I mean, if you weren't, you'd get really annoyed we were all with you."

Philippa lets her tone snap a little, but it carries no threat anymore. "I am surprised your great Federation doesn't have things for you to do."

Shrugging, Afsaneh smiles. "Having things I should do and deciding I do not wish to do them right now is the great privilege of becoming a captain."

Michael looks out at the stars, wondering how far Discovery is now, and when this strange interlude has to end. "We're on leave until Discovery can pick us up."

"Admiral Cornwell is working," Tilly says. "A lot, enough for all of us, really, and I think we should make sure she eats dinner."

"At least someone's keeping your Starfleet together."

"Single handedly, I'm sure." Afsaneh rests her hands on her hips, and evens her steps with Philippa. "I suppose I should make sure we're not swarming with spies or stuck in some kind of time-space anomaly that's filled the lower decks with sea creatures."

"Don't let me drive you back to work."

"Oh you can't give me orders, your Imperial Majesty."  They stop, eye to eye, staring at each other as if nothing else exists. Maybe it doesn't in that moment. Michael’s never really been able to look at someone that way."I just want to see how you fare without me."

Tilly watches her go, eyes wide, mouth half-open. "Her service record does not convey her personality adequately."

Michael catches her and grins. Philippa laughs a little, deep and dry until she winces. Michael shouldn't move, shouldn't grab her hand, because she'll hate it, but she reaches out anyway.

"I'm all right." That reassurance carries gently, not sharp or annoyed. "I shouldn't laugh."

"We should head back. Tilly's right, we need to make sure the Admiral's eating."

"Make sure I'm not over doing it?"

"I'd never say that." Tilly nods, firm and concerned, but she's behind Philippa, so it's safe. "I'm not insinuating, still afraid of you, remember? Terrified."

Their hands slip together, and to her surprise, Philippa squeezes her fingers. "All right."

Maybe she is tired, or it hurts, because she can't just need reassurance. She's the Emperor, she's-- maybe she's only human, tough Terran outside and all.

Michael stays long after they eat, even after Afsaneh's gone back to her quarters and Tilly's yawning into her hand. She's so young, this Tilly and her curly hair, but like the unruly mess of her curls, she's growing on her.

She's sweet; kind, everyone here is kind, and it clings to her; it itches, like pollen or the way that the light here is gentler. It's bright, often, and she's half-tempted just to let the doctors change her eyes so she'll blend it. Let go of the old world and her eyes that shy from too much light. She lies on the bed in the dark. The bed's too soft and the walls are thin enough that she can here Michael and Kat in the living room.

"Go to bed, Michael." That would Kat, being the good doctor and looking after everyone, because here she puts people back together instead of ripping them apart.

"Is she all right?"

"Yes, she's healing well, and her muscular response is much better than yesterday. There's no internal bleeding, and Doctor Rosyx is going to be able to use her case as a very compelling argument to further the ban on tetryon disruptors."

"Philippa will find that amusing."

"She might indeed. Go, I'll keep an eye on her, and you can come for breakfast, Afsaneh will be off then too,."

"Thank you, Admiral, tomorrow then. I'll see what Tilly and I can find on the " So polite, her Michael. Not her Michael, not her daughter, but she grows closer to this one every moment.

She drifts, her body dragging her into sleep against her will, as if that too is softening in this universe of light and laughter.

She wakes in that liminal space of unknown time. Her room's bathed in darkness, softened by stars outside her windows and it could be any time of day at all. On the  Charon she'd know what time it was by the sound of the ship but here she's lost. Adrift. The chronometer ner the bed reads just before oh three hundred, bu she has no ship to run, no empire to manage. It doesn't matter if she sleeps now or sleeps all day.

Getting up for something, maybe it's just for something to do, she leaves the too-soft bed and walks into the living room. Admiral Cornwell sits at the table, data PADDS spread out in front of her, exactly where they left her. Her mug sits nearly empty in front of her and Philippa clears her throat, so she won't be a surprise.

"Can't sleep?"

"I slept enough."

"You're still healing, be patient." Admiral Cornwell lifts her eyes from the PADD. "You look better."

"I was delirious when you arrived, the improvement would be obvious."

She smiles at that. "I'm glad you're not on the brink of death."

Even the platitudes here are different. Her Cornwell would be plotting a hundred different scenarios about her death and the line of succession. This one rubs her temples and looks back down at her work.

“I haven’t had a roommate since the Imperial Academy.”

“Me either, but...it got you out of sickbay. Dr. Rosyx was eventually willing to concede that thouh I haven't practiced medicine officially, I could recognize internal hemorrhage.” Admiral Cornwell, Katina, here she’s just Kat, raises her half-empty glass and smiles, but doesn’t lift her eyes from the data PADD.

“I’m grateful.” Philippa studies the shared living area, now that Michael isn't worrying her back to bed or the Doctor reminding her again she should sleep, she can actually look. It's far nicer than anything at the Imperial Academy, but it's nondescript. There are no marks of Starfleet or symbols of the Federation to inspire loyalty. There’s even Trill artwork on the walls, and all the furniture is less lavish than it would be in her universe, because here they do not care for materials. It's all fabricated, made to be functional and pretty. No one here cares about rank.

“Thought you might be.” Kat tilts her head towards the food synthesizer. “You can’t have whisky just yet, but It makes a good cup of Andorian tea, especially the south mountain blue.”

"Did she like that?" It wasn't in her journals.

"No, her favorite was the smoked valley something, I can't remember the name. Smelled a little like peat." Kat rubs her forehead again and sets the PADD down with a sigh. "It must be strange to also be compared to her."

"She was weak."

"She was an incredible person, a great leader and a good friend." Kat doesn't even look offended, just exhausted. Worn down by the war and all of her losses.

"Those murdered by their enemies are hardly remembered as well in my universe."

"No Emperors unfairly slain are remembered with wine and song?" Kat smiles a little. She's digging, searching for truths, but she does it without a dagger like the Kat she knows.

"Wrong empire."

"I suppose." Finishing her scotch, Kat sets down her glass. "How are you sleeping?"

"Fine."

"That's about as believable when I say it." Setting the data PADDs aside, Kat really looks at her where she stands in front of the replicator. "It's not poisoned."

"Synthesizers can be remotely programmed, and fell out of favor with the ruling classes." She scrolls through, looking at all the varieties of tea. There are far too many and she's tried none of them. Her slaves had the ones she'd chosen on the Charon, and her chef often introduced new ones after carefully curating a collection. Here, she'll have to try them all herself, while time winds around her, snaking towards whatever end.

Asking the synthesizer for a cup of the south mountain blue, she wraps her fingers around the mug, letting the warmth seep into her hand. Walking back towards Kat, she pauses when Kat tilts her head towards the sofa.

"I'm not making any real progress at this point anyway."

"Your war is over."

"Rebuilding is far more complicated. We've lost so many starbases and colonies that it's hard to bring materials to where we need them to rebuild."

"Convoys of cargo ships aren't enough?"

"So many of them were attacked by Klingons that we don't have the ships." Kat sits back, hands on her thighs. "I need to make sure the refugees have what they need first, and we need our defenses restored, but it's impossible to do both simultaneously." Her eyes are bright and determined, her jaw set, but there's a deeper exhaustion that makes her voice unsteady. "I'm supposed to stop losing people when the war is over."

"That's never how wars behave." Philippa stands, pacing over to the table and Kat's abandoned data PADDs, lifting them up one at a time, she finds the logistics problem Kat's been struggling with. "The Relva VIII colony?"

"It's agricultural, if we can get them self-sufficient, we'll save ourselves a headache a few months from now, and hopefully export food to the nearby colonies."

The Tellarite settlement four parsecs away could be raided and forced to serve the Terrans, but that's not how Kat does things here. Philippa reads through the trade routes and the available supplies in the sector while she sips her tea. The allocation of resources is entirely unsuited to war, or even readiness. More than half of their fleet is involved in humanitarian relief, something Philippa's fleet never even had words for. Colonies that were not self-sufficient were absorbed by other colonies, run by better governors.

Kat will never ask her people to move, or expect them to understand the need for war or safety.  It's a miracle they survived so long at all, this insidious Federation and their free will.

"The Halii and Garpar VII colonies should be merged, if only temporarily, that will allow you to focus your rebuilding efforts on one planet, which can then support the other with less assistance from your sector authority. A similar measure can be applied here, in at Gamma Hromi, if you ask one colony to be your beachhead, the others can be restored at an easier time in the future."

"I can't just--" Kat pauses, smiling a little. "I could ask them to determine amongst themselves."

"Let them use their lauded Federation principles and compassion."

"Sometimes I worry those are the first to leave us."

"Assassinating governors who disagree with you must be frowned upon here."

Kat leans forward until her head rests on her hands. "Don't tempt me."

"Michael says you've lost many that you knew." Touching her shoulder, Philippa nearly jumps when Kat's hand covers her own. Contact is so easy here.

"The admiralty was decimated when we lost Starbase One."

"Not sleeping will only carry you so far, Katrina."

"Kat, please." She pats Philippa’s fingers, then picks up the PADD, losing herself in the never ending business of saving the galaxy."How are you going to move duranium to Ardana?"

"With shuttlecraft tractor beams. You extend their navigational shields around the crates and fly them in formation."

"I didn't think of that."

"It was necessary when my Captain Tilly and I invaded Betazed, most of my cargo fleet was otherwise occupied."

Kat gets that look, but nods. "Thank you."

"Obviously this would be easier if you'd just destroyed Qo'Nos."

"Our way never seems to be easier."

The stiffness in her side insists that there are good things in this soft universe. Here she lived. Taking a hit like that back in her universe would have made Michael emperor. "You will tell me it's better."

"It's less cruel." Kat taps a few more thoughts into the PADD and sets it down. "We expand to explore, to better ourselves."

"Wandering right into everyone else's tetryon disruptors like lost antelope." Philippa finishes her tea and sets down the mug.

“They were lucky you were there.”

“You would like me to admit that there was no luck involved.”

“There’s no shame in keeping an eye out for Michael.”

“Section 31 has interests everywhere.”

“So I hear.” Kat yawns politely into the back of her hand. “It must be strange, looking into the face of your daughter.”

“A lover would be stranger.”

Kat stands and crosses to the table to pick up her scotch. “More dangerous.” She pours some in her glass and a splash in the bottom of Philippa’s mug. “You’d think I could tell the difference in the way he kissed me.”

Studying her lips, Philippa has to smile. “Gabriel as I knew him was endlessly adaptable.”

Guilting her whisky, Kat nods, loathing darkening her eyes. “I know he deceived many.”

“But it cuts deep when it is you.” She takes a sip, letting the whisky evaporate on her tongue. “Michael only pretended to be my daughter, and she did not achieve that well. She didn’t call me mother until I was bleeding out in front of her here.”

“Did it help?”

“What mother would not fight harder for her daughter?” The whisky burns her throat, warming her chest. “Even a shadow that has her daughter’s face.”

“I can’t say I know Michael well, but I know her through Sarek, and Philippa. She’s an extraordinary woman.”

“Worthy of my misplaced affections?”

“Who would protest another mother?” Kat’s smile warms her eyes, but there’s a wistfulness in the way her lips curl. “My parents were lost years ago.”

“As were my own.” Death comes quickly in all universes, but she can’t help her curiosity. Here Michael was raised by that Vulcan. At least he had a human wife. “Is Sarek a good father?”

“Exceptional.”

Philippa nods, biting back the complaint that he’s a Vulcan and can’t possibly understand what Michael would have needed emotionally. Perhaps his human wife is responsible for the depths of Michael’s compassion. “He must have grieved her in the time she was missing, in that Vulcan way.”

“We supported each other in our grief.” She shakes her head, eyes bright. “I don’t know what I would have done without him. My Gabriel was my best friend, one of so many lost in the war."

“Including the one with my face.”

"They all hurt." Kat taps her fingers on her glass, blinking too fiercely to clear her eyes. "War never takes in one battle, it's wearing, all these little losses chipping away."

"You wonder what you have left, and that's why you work so hard."

Kat's surprised smile makes Philippa roll her eyes.

"We're not entirely devoid of feeling in my universe. I know what it's like to lose those I command, to know my peers that I counted on are dead and I can do nothing to save them. Our losses during the Klingon war before we took their homeworld were incredible. I lost many I had trained and mentored." She's been where Kat sits, staring into her drink. Kat doesn't even have a daughter to live for.

Neither does Philippa, not here, but Michael holding her hand is fresh in her thoughts. This Michael loves without hesitation, and for some reason--

Taking a deep breath, Kat shudders, faltering. She's been controlling herself too long, keeping everything together. She should talk to Afsaneh more, find ways of letting her burdens go. She must be so alone.

Philippa reaches across the sofa, taking her hand. Compassion is destructive, so is empathy, but she has no Empire to protect here. This is what they believe in, and perhaps it feels less awkward than she thought.

"I lost three captains I'd promoted myself, good officers, that I watched develop into exceptional leaders."

Philippa knows how this must end. "You went to their families."

"I tried to, couldn't find all of them." That sends Kat over. "Kostyshyn had no family left, not even a distant relation. Her wife and children died on Kelfour VI, and I couldn't find her parents. Perhaps they were there as well."

"It's all right." That's what they say here, isn't it? They remind themselves that they've done their best. Ease their hearts. Kat’s is not fragile. She was willing to do what Michael was not, yet she bleeds for her people.

This is a universe of softness, of people who bleed.

She's already given her blood for Ensign Tilly and her curls, for Michael. Section 31 will ask her to bleed again. Shedding the blood of her enemies is easy, she's always had a knack for that, yet here she puts herself in the way.

Here she lets Kat squeeze her fingers, and they sit in the quiet darkness, not discussing the tears Kat has stopped fighting, or everything they've lost.

"What was he like? Your Gabriel. Mine was once my right hand, almost a father to my daughter." Kat doesn't need to know what came later. Let her remember the good.

"He was an ass."

That she can smile about. "So they were alike then."

"He wasn't just- Gabriel was thoughtful, funny. Once we watched the Perseids on Earth, lying in a field together in the middle of nowhere. It seemed silly at the time. We could have gone to a telescope or found a way to watch them better. The dew made it cold and--"

"You curled up together." She grins and Kat raises her eyebrows. "Oh come now, even in my universe, I know the trick of watching the stars outside when the air gets cool." She lifts her arm, resting it on Kat's shoulders as if she means to seduce her and that earns a laugh.

Kat doesn't shy away.

Michael holds her hand.

Afsaneh may have even kissed her, but her memories are vague. Her lips are so familiar that her warmth could be a memory of the other.

Or not.

Kat leans back, shutting her eyes. "The stars are beautiful on Langkwai and the nights are just cool enough, if I remember correctly."

"You've been to Palau Langkwai?"

"You took me. The other you, years ago, with Afsaneh and Gabriel. He didn't wear enough suncream and turned the color of a hibiscus blossom. Afsaneh kept putting them in his hair because they matched."

They must have laughed on the beach, walked through the water, sat up long nights and listened to the ocean. A lifetime ago they were alive and happy, now their little group is half lost, half battered.

Ka rests her head to the left, then on her shoulder. It could be the whisky easing her guard, or the months of loss and loneliness. Perhaps she sat close to her Philippa and talked about their feelings.

She wants to hate that, to roll her eyes and mock the admiral for her weakness, but it's late and her right side's still stiff and foreign. Kat's warm, pliant and vulnerable, and compassion creeps into her. Insidious and deep; even harder to remove then dying cells.

[suit-lady]

Enough.

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Summary: Reader and Tom meet several times, but refuse to admit any real feelings for each other. Alternatively, the 5-and-1 trope: Five times when one left in the morning, and one time when neither did.

Warnings: Swears, a lil innuendo I think, reader has anxiety over crowded spaces

Word Count: 3570 (I am so sorry)

A/N: Okay so this idea was supposed to be a quick bust-out lil brainchild of mine,,,, but it ended up being a MASSIVE fic... I’m sorry for the length, but I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

The first time you met Tom, you were at a watch party for Civil War. A good friend of yours was an extra in the film and, knowing how much you loved Marvel, had asked you to attend as her plus one. While there, you were introduced to a whirlwind of people, your friend speaking so quickly at times you could barely understand her. You found yourself just smiling and nodding as actor after actor after stunt double after cameraman after wait, what was that guy again? shook your hand and made small talk with you. Eventually, when your head was absolutely spinning from learning dozens of names and barely being able to recall one, you dismissed yourself to get a drink and a bit of air. You were afraid that, if you didn’t, you would faint.

As you leaned against the wall, holding an ice cold bottle of water, you surveyed the people in the room. The DJ was playing typical Hot 100 stuff, and the dancefloor was crowded with people having the time of their lives while they waited for the movie to begin. With a look at your phone, you figured you only had about an hour more of this to endure before you finally got what you came for. Then, you’d make the quickest break of your life back to the hotel. This just wasn’t your kind of scene, and you were beginning to feel quite anxious.

You noticed a silhouette lean against the wall next to you. “Hello, darling. Enjoying the party?”

You glanced at him from the corner of your eye and said, “Eh, it’s not really my style.”

“Parties, people, or Marvel?”

“People mostly. Not a huge fan of parties either. I’m here exclusively for Marvel.”

After sharing a laugh, he said, “Well, in that case, it’s nice to meet you, I’m Spider-Man.”

You turned to face him, rolling your eyes as you shook his hand. “Get real.”

“I am!” he huffed. When you just raised an eyebrow, he continued, “I guess you’ll just have to watch the movie and see.”

Shrugging, you replied, “Guess so. I’m (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

He smiled. “Tom Holland. Pleasure to meet you.” Then, after a moment, he asked, “You weren’t on the cast, were you? I feel like I’d remember eyes like yours.”

“Flirting already?” His eyes sparkled, and a smirk played on his lips. “No, my friend was an extra in the film.” You awkwardly mentioned what you knew about the scene.

“Oh, you mean (Y/F/N)? She’s great!”

“You know her?”

He nodded. “Yeah, I was on set that day, so I saw her!”

Rubbing your neck awkwardly, you asked, “Would you like to sit with us when they put Civil War on?” As a much quieter afterthought, you added, “I’d like to talk to you more, but I should get back to her…”

“Of course!” he exclaimed, wearing a smile like sunshine that made your heart melt.

It was nearly time for the movie to start when your friend finally answered her phone. In the dark, you and Tom were barely able to find her, but you sat down just in time. You watched the film with uncontained excitement, and Tom laughed at you, but it was the friendly kind of laughter that was fueled with love. Sticking your tongue out at him more than once, you kept shushing him, telling him to watch the movie. He insisted that he’d seen it already, but you wouldn’t hear it.

Then, he came on screen, following Left Hand Free by alt-j. You looked over at him, your eyes as wide as they could possibly be, and you gripped his arms in an “oh my god” with both hands. As a playful grin broke across his face, he wiggled his eyebrows. You turned back to the film in complete disbelief, relaxing your grip. He took this as a chance to slide his hand into yours, and your fingers stayed interlocked until you were leaving with him.

“I can’t believe it,” you said as you walked back to the hotel with him. “I just sat and watched Civil War with the one and only Spider-Man.”

The joy on his face was unmistakable. “That’s me!”

The walk had you so curious about this boy, and there was some unspoken agreement that you were spending the night with him. In his hotel room, you kissed several hours away until you fell asleep on each other in nothing but your underwear. He was absolutely lovely, but you saw no reason to stay when the sunlight streaming in through the window woke you. Leaving nothing but an “xoxo” and your phone number on a slip of paper, you left wondering if he would call you, half of you not being able to care.

Sure, he was intriguing, and he was the Spider-Man, but there hadn’t been any spark.

 -

 The second time you met Tom, you and your friend had been invited on set of Spider-Man: Homecoming for a day. Your friend had casually forgotten to mention that she had become decent friends with Marisa Tomei. On the way to the set, after you had stopped fuming about this secret, she told you she’d done it in the hopes that she could surprise you like this. You couldn’t help but forgive her, wondering aloud how you’d gotten so lucky to have her as a friend.

That day on set, they were filming an emotional scene between Tony and Peter. Peter had done something really big and really wrong, and Tony was scolding him for it. By the end of the conversation, Tony had basically revoked Peter’s privilege to be Spider-Man. The look on Tom’s face as he begged for forgiveness as Peter pulled at your heartstrings. In that moment, you knew that Homecoming was going to be an incredible film, even if it was for Tom’s acting alone.

Afterwards, Tom asked if you’d stay for a drink. Your friend encouraged you to, as you’d told her how good of a kisser he’d been a few months prior. In his trailer, you talked about life, about deeper things than favorite colours, books, and sports teams, like you had when you’d slept in his bed the first time. You each had a glass of moscato before Tom got a crazy idea.

“Do you trust me?”

“No, not really.”

“Okay, follow me.”

You ended up kissing under the stars, sitting on top of his trailer. Lying flat on your backs next to each other, you pointed out any constellations you knew. You made an offhanded comment about how you’d always wanted to kiss someone under the stars, and Tom muttered something that you just barely missed. You thought he’d compared you to the stars themselves, saying you were much more lovely, but you couldn’t be sure.

When you woke up in his bed for the second time, he was already gone, filming again. You took your time putting yesterday’s clothes back on because something was holding you there. Again, you felt no attachment to Tom himself, but the time you spent together was…nice. On your way out the door, you noticed a note on the fridge. Tom had written his number with a “maybe you’ll be more confident than me”. Though you pocketed the note, you threw it away when you went for lunch with your friend that afternoon.

 -

 The third time you met Tom, Harrison himself invited you to come to a film day. You were quite confused when the unsaved number had called you, but listened to the voicemail anyways. If it was a wrong number that called again, you wanted to be able to direct them away from your phone number. Harrison’s voice shocked you, and you called him back, accepting his offer.

Back on set, you hung out with Harrison and Jacob while Tom and Marisa acted out what you figured would be a “getting ready for an important event” montage. The three of you sat off to the side, paying more attention to the funny videos Jacob had of Tom than the scene mere meters from you. Though you hadn’t met Jacob or Harrison before this, you warmed right up to them. That didn’t stop you, however, from asking a question that had been pressing you.

“So, why did you ask me to come by, Harrison? This is a nice place to chill on my day off, but I don’t really have anything to do here.”

Harrison laughed. “You’re kidding, right?” When you looked at him blankly, he explained, “You’ve spent the night with Tom twice now… Jacob and I were just trying to be cool mates, y’know?”

“Maybe,” you said with a shrug. “I think it’s just a fling though. You called me before he did.”

Jacob and Harrison both laughed at that, Jacob saying, “Yeah, that’s Tom for ya.”

After his scenes were done for the day, it was quite late. Jacob and Harrison had long since gone home, but you waited until Tom was finished for good before telling him goodnight. Caught up in conversation, you ended up walking him back to his trailer. You were both incredibly intrigued with one another, but you felt nothing more for each other. Regardless, that didn’t stop you from following him into his trailer and spending another night.

The next morning, you woke up before him again. You had a bit of a lie in before finally pulling yourself out of bed. As you pulled on your jeans, you figured it was the squishy mattress and the ultra-soft sheets that made you want to stay so bad. The sleeping boy in the bed, for whatever reason, just wasn’t quite enough. While he was wonderful to kiss, was he more than that?

“Would you put a kettle on before you go?” you heard a muffled voice from the mound of sheets.

“Of course.”

You put the kettle, full of fresh water on the stove and left a note with a quick “take care of yourself” written on it. As you drove off, you wondered why you did that. He seemed a little tired and worn out, but why was that your problem? You forgot about it by going out for a lovely spontaneous brunch with your friends.

 -

 You barely thought about Tom again until he was in town for some sort of press. Instead of a drive of more than three hours, he was less than forty-five minutes away. Harrison texted you, asking if you’d wanna go out to dinner with him and the guys. With nothing better to do, you agreed, kind of wanting to see Harrison and Jacob after nearly six months. You had all really hit it off, but they hadn’t been around.

You met at a local place that you adored, but they didn’t know that. When the waitresses greeted you, however, giving your little group preferred seating, they figured it out pretty fast. You held the lady that sat you at the table for a while, who was trying to be secretive about asking you why you were here with the cast of Spider-Man: Homecoming. Though she didn’t do a great job, you just mentioned your old friend, and she took that as answer enough. She recommended a couple of your favorites to the group so that you wouldn’t have to do it yourself.

“Damn, (Y/N), you should have told us you were a prized patron here,” Harrison said as soon as the waitress was out of earshot, causing the group to laugh.

“Nah, I’ve just been coming here for the last several years… It’s got a nice atmosphere, and all the staff are really sweet.”

Jacob rolled his eyes. “Sure.”

“Okay, and I worked here for about a year and a half. The brunch manager still treats me like her favorite child sometimes, even though she’s got three of her own.”

You shared another laugh, the second of many, and you wished the trio lived closer. With no strings attached, they made quite lovely friends. Part of you, however, kept pushing the nights you’d spent with Tom to the forefront of your mind. You’d never talked about what you were, so you assumed that you were friends that kissed sometimes. For you, that was enough. You didn’t really want anything else with an up-and-rising star anyway. With your feelings as shallow as they were, you’d almost be dating him for the fun of it anyway, and he didn’t deserve that.

Harrison and Jacob left in one car while Tom headed back to your apartment with you. After making chamomile and filling up two mugs, you changed out of your slacks into sweats and let Tom borrow a pair that you’d bought a size up to make them extra comfy. The two of you sat out on your balcony and watched the sun set, talking about nothing really. A few times, he started talking about the film, but you refused to let him ruin it for you.

The next morning, Tom was already gone, so you wandered the apartment in lacy cream lingerie to find a cup of tea waiting for you next to a note. The tea was still quite warm, so you knew you hadn’t missed him by much. Taking a sip, you noted that he liked more sugar in your tea than you did in yours. The note said something about having to grab an early flight and a “thanks, you should too”. At first, you weren’t sure what he meant, but then you remembered your last-minute note from six months ago. He’d taken it to heart.

 -

 You saw Tom for the fifth time with Jacob invited you to the Homecoming watch party. When he’d given you a call, he claimed that Tom had been too nervous. You had laughed; it was the same excuse you used when your friends asked why you and Tom weren’t an item yet. Regardless, you had enthusiastically agreed, extremely excited to see the new film.

You met Jacob about a block from the entrance so that you could walk into the event together. The second you walked in, however, you remembered how much you had hated the watch party for Civil War. People were everywhere, the music was blaring, and the lights were just low enough that the coloured spotlights on the dancefloor were blindingly bright. Wrapping your arms around one of Jacob’s, you tried to use him as a shield from all the people. He could feel how uncomfortable you were, so he kept your introduction as simple as “(Y/N), my date, a friend”, and you really appreciated that. Since you were just a friend, the multitude of people that came up to talk to him paid no mind to you past that.

Harrison and Tom found the two of you about half an hour before the movie started. “Hi guys! Tom is so popular tonight! You’d think he was the main character in this movie or something!”

You all laughed at Harrison’s joke, but Jacob quickly went serious. “Is it cool if we sit early?” He whispered to you out of the corner of his mouth, “I might lose my left arm if not.”

You immediately released your grip with an, “Oh my goodness I am so sorry.”

Jacob laughed, making you realize he’d been completely joking. As you smacked his arm, he explained to the very confused-looking Tom and Harrison, “It turns out that (Y/N) is very anxious at large events like this.”

Tom’s eyes widened. “Shit, I knew that! I should have warned you, (Y/N), I’m sorry.”

You shrugged it off. “It’s whatever.” A pause. “So… seats?”

After an enthusiastic agreement from the boys, you found a good spot where all four of you were content. You sat between Tom and Jacob, Harrison on the other side of Tom. As soon as the full-orchestra Spider-Man theme started, you’d grabbed Tom’s hand out of excitement and never let it go after that. You left together, holding hands, just as you had the first time you met.

The night in your hotel room ended quickly, due to Tom being exhausted from all the talking that evening. Almost as soon as you walked in, he was pulling you towards the bed and shrugging his jacket off simultaneously. You mistook this for enthusiasm, but he’d just given a few sleepy kisses before falling asleep. Though you couldn’t understand why, you were pouty at this. You pushed it out of your mind, snuggled up to Tom’s warm body, and were asleep in moments as well.

Tom was gone when you woke up, leaving a note that said “months are too long of gaps for me” with no explanation. Though the note was terribly ambiguous, you threw it away and distracted yourself with one of your favorite playlists for the drive back home.

 -

 The sixth time you saw Tom, he was in town again for press. He didn’t call you, and you didn’t call him. Somehow, you ran into each other at a local coffee shop. He had a bit of time before he had to be somewhere, so he sat with you for a chat.

“(Y/N), it’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“It has.”

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Hasn’t been months though. A little less than two.”

“Yeah, think so,” you said, counting back the weeks since the last time you’d fallen asleep next to Tom. As an afterthought, you added, “Y’know, you left without giving me a proper kissing session last time.”

Flushing a light pink, he said, “I know. It wasn’t my choice; I had to be somewhere.”

“I figured,” you replied, running a hand through your hair.

The conversation turned light and happy after that, Tom having all kinds of things to tell you about travelling all over the world. Soon enough, you were walking through the streets, watching as summer was slowly fading into fall and sipping at your drinks. Everything seemed brighter and better with Tom like this. Suddenly, it hit you: You’d missed him. A lot.

You’d always missed him, you realized, but you’d never let it get to you. Right then, however, as you walked with him, hands tenderly almost touching, you realized that you might actually want more than…whatever you had with him right then. You chewed on your lip and tried to focus on something else to make the thought go away. Now wasn’t the time.

Then, Tom stopped walking. You’d ended up in a park several blocks away from the coffee shop. Here, the trees were still full with green leaves, but a few here and there were beginning to change colours. Tom was looking at you with a serious expression.

“What?” you asked.

“What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing? What do you mean?”

“You started tuning me out almost five minutes ago.”

You started to make some excuse, but he just put a hand up. Not breaking eye contact with you, he took your coffee cup and, along with his, set it on the ground next to you. He straightened and stepped up to you. Looking up at him, with sunlight shimmering behind him, you felt like you were really looking at him for the first time, and your heart melted. You felt a sort of giddy nerves flood your body as Tom put his arms around your waist, pulling you close to him.

“I’m sick of pretending that this is enough, (Y/N). We both know it isn’t.”

“What?”

He rolled his eyes. Then, his lips crashed onto yours. For the first time since you met, you were kissing before arriving home for the night. The kiss seemed to go on forever, the passion between you building until you could feel yourself shaking.

When you broke away from the kiss, both breathing heavily, you said at the same time, “I love you.”

Immediately, you broke completely away from one another, covering your mouths with both hands. You stared at each other, faces both bright red from embarrassment as well as from the kiss. Then, slowly, as the joy began to wash over you both, you stepped forward again. Your lips connected a second time, though the kiss this time was much sweeter and softer.

“You do?” Tom asked once you had pulled away.

Your heart spoke for you. “I think I have since I met you.”

He pulled you in for another kiss. “I’m almost sure I always have.”

After a day of interviews, Tom came over and spent the night in your apartment again. The kisses were slower and so much more passionate. At one point, you found yourself wondering why you let yourself miss out on this for so long. Everything was the same, but it was different at the same time.

The next morning, you woke up alone in bed. You felt panic and rushed to the kitchen. There, Tom was just putting a kettle on the stove and seemed to be making something for breakfast. You released the breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding and wrapped your arms around him from behind. He spun around in your arms to place a soft kiss on your lips, a smile breaking across his features.

“Good morning,” you told him for the first time since you met him.

“Y’know, (Y/N), that’s something I could get used to hearing.”

 Fin.

Tag List: @hufflepuffholland, @peterandchurros, @tomfooleryholland, @trackingthislamp, @lgbt-avengers, @hollandaised, @softnerdypeter, @peterfuckinparker, @peterfightmeparker, @nedslaptop, @1022bridgetp, @raindancer2004, @theweirdlunatic, @yosef-the-yak, @sachiparker, @homecunnings, @spideytingles, @spideygurl, @siennarossi

[liberifatalis]

Firsts (Noctis Lucis Caelum x Ignis Scientia)

WORDS: 3026 RATING: SFW PAIRING: Noctis Lucis Caelum/Ignis Scientia SUMMARY: He remembers the first time he met him, the first time he held him…the first time he kissed him. Ignis remembers a lot of their firsts, but he never thought there would be a first time where he had to say goodbye. NOTES: Ignis POV (third person), Heavy Angst, Major Character Death, Friends to Lovers, slight Episode Ignis spoilers.

[read on Ao3 here]

PREVIEW:

A Crownsguard should not be doing this. He was the royal advisor to the Prince; his job was to look over and care after him, and not to litter chaste kisses down his neck and all the way to his collarbone.

|one| the first time green eyes gazed into blue

He was not dressed like a Prince, that was certainly evident.

Although he was donned in the Royal colours, he almost looked like an Insomnian citizen. His father, on the other hand, was quite the opposite; he exuded regality, and he looked exactly like Ignis had pictured him (minus the angry glare and extremely arched eyebrows).

Outstretching his hand towards the Prince, he met his eyes for the first time. Bright, and blue. They were much more childlike compared to his own green eyes, which were slightly hardened from all the strenuous training and skill-building he had gone through growing up.

The Prince looked hesitant at first, but he smiles and takes Ignis’ hand in both his smaller palms.

“I’m Noctis,” he said. I know. “What’s your name?”

“Ignis Scientia. It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Prince Noctis.”

|two| the first time he showed him how to be a child

“Prince Noctis, you must be careful.”

Even though he was facing Noctis’ back, he knew he was rolling his eyes at him. He understands. He is ten, and will only grow more rebellious as he ages. Being the Prince of Lucis definitely adds more fuel to the fire.

Noctis stops, and turns slightly, balancing on the railing beneath the soles of his feet. “I’ll try…” he says, walking towards the direction of Ignis, ignoring his worried look. “…Mom.”

Ah, His Highness’ sarcasm is finally making an appearance for today. Ignis had thought that today must have been an awfully lucky day, blessed by the Six themselves, if the Prince wasn’t speaking back as usual. He did enjoy the sarcasm, though, for whatever reason, and he supposes it could be worse; he had heard stories of the lives of other royal advisors, and they were not something he liked to think about. He thought that maybe they were just stories, told to people like himself to scare them into always being prim and proper, but that was something he would never truly know.

“If you scrape your knees again, I’ll have to use that ointment that you loathe.”

That seemed to work. Noctis stood still on the railing, looking towards Ignis with curious eyes. He was weighing the options over, it seemed. And with a shrug of his shoulders, it seemed that the short-lived fun outweighed the inevitable tear stained cheeks and bloody knees.

Walking closer to Ignis with cautious steps, Noctis began to hum a tune that Ignis recognised instantly. It was one of his favourite piano pieces, and he played it on the grand piano in the Citadel’s music room various times throughout his stay there. Was the Prince sneaking around, watching him in secret?

“Y’know, you’re a lot older than you look,” Noctis says.

“How so?”

“You just…you’re meant to be a kid. I thought I could have fun with you, or somethin’.”

You could—can—but other, less dangerous kinds of fun. “Well, I am your advisor. My job is to take care of you, and look over you. I was told nothing of your ideas of fun.”

“Oh. I didn’t know there was a how-to-be-an-advisor booklet,” he retorts.

“There is not.” Ignis walks over to the railing and leans against it, looking up to Noctis with narrowed eyes. “It’s just…an unspoken rule, followed by all.”

He jumps off the railing, much more reckless than Ignis appreciates, and points to his knees. “See!” He says with a grin. “I didn’t fall this time.”

Yes, but he had fallen more than ten times before that, and that left some fairly noticeable scars. The blood was not fun to clean up, and Ignis could not for the life of him understand why the Prince kept balancing on the railings. He knew he would keep falling, hurting himself, and the tears had shown that he did not enjoy being hurt. So why?

Ignis clears his throat, and cocks his head to the side in confusion. “That was the first time you have not hurt yourself. Why do you continue to do this?”

Noctis shrugs his shoulders again, and leans against the railing beside Ignis. “I dunno.” He leans his head back and looks up towards the sky, glancing at the various shapes of the clouds above and humming in contentment. “Hey, look!” Noctis says, pointing towards a particularly odd-shaped cloud, one that looked almost like a—“It looks like a fat chocobo.”

“Yes, indeed. It, uh…” He clears his throat. He isn’t good at this, this…spontaneous rambling of sorts. It seemed so informal, not something you would engage in with a Prince. “It looks like a rotund chocobo has just finished eating its fifth meal of the day.”

Noctis laughs at that, eyes shut and mouth wide. His laugh suits him, it is joyous and pure and spontaneous. He turns to the advisor, and glances at him, smile still evident. They give each other a slight nod.

Friends? Friends.

|three| the first time he actually talks to him

Walking into his apartment, he noticed the blazer thrown nonchalantly on the floor and Noctis’ bag draped on the arm of the couch. He sighed, and walked over to where he was lounging and sat across him.

The Prince still had his eyes shut and arms behind his head, head facing the ceiling. Ignis could see he was in deep thought from the slight furrowing of his brow and clenching jaw. “Everything alright?” He asks, leaning back against the couch and getting comfortable.

He was expecting a groan, but he did not receive one. Noctis lifts himself up and replicates his position, albeit a lot more comfortably. “I guess,” he says, resting an arm loosely on his thigh and chewing at his bottom lip. “School is just…I dunno , worse, somehow.”

“Are you still friends with Prompto?”

He nods, eyes downcast. “He’s my best friend, it’s just that…” he trails off, hand lifting up to rest behind his neck. “Nobody else is my friend, at least not in the way he is. And Prompto is enough, he’s more than I could ever ask for. I just don’t understand why he’s the only one to treat me so normally.”

“I see.” He brings up his index finger and pushes his glasses higher up the bridge of his nose. He expected this, of course. Even though his father had enrolled him in a public school, nothing could change the fact that Noctis was the Prince of Lucis. Everyone would have seen him at least once in the papers, on the television, or online. Everyone knew what he looked like, and where he resided, and his birth date. Privacy and normalcy would be considered a privilege for somebody like Noctis, and unfortunately, he did not have that privilege.

Before he could continue on—give some words of consolation—he was cut off. “Do you like being my advisor, Specs?” Noctis asks, looking at him directly now, with hardened eyes.

“It can be difficult at times…” He exhales, crossing one leg over the other. “But I thoroughly enjoy it.”

|four| the first time his lips graced his own

He found him, in his room, feet tucked underneath his arms and tears staining his cheeks. He was trying to muffle the sounds of his cries by biting the inside of his cheek with his teeth. It did not work. Ignis could hear his cries as soon as he opened the front door.

Walking towards him with cautious steps, he sat next to him. The mattress shifted with his weight and Noctis turned around to face him with wide eyes, not realising that he had walked into the room. He couldn’t cover up that he was upset, and just lowered his eyes to his feet, fiddling with his fingers.

“I, uh—” his voice cracks. “Did you hear?”

Ignis nods. He did hear. Of course he did. It wasn’t pleasant news; no one would like to be informed that they were to be married for politics. Not only that, but to be told you could not even choose who you were to marry was not something anyone, especially a young man, would want to hear.

“I can’t believe this is happening to me, and Luna. She’s my friend, Ignis. I don’t see her in that way at all. I just—”

Ignis places a firm hand on his shoulder, turning him towards his own frame and looking at him in the eye. “It will be fine, Noctis.” His thumb rubs circles over the Prince’s clothed shoulder in comfort. “Things can still change. When will the wedding take place?”

“In two years.”

“When you are twenty, then.”

In all his years of being an advisor, Ignis had never acted out of impulse. Never. Until today. All he had to do was look into his blue eyes—that used to be so bright and full of life—which were now holding hundreds of untold emotions and pain, and he felt his resolve crumble into tiny, little pieces. He hated seeing Noctis like this…so fragile, and lacking hope. Pulling the Prince into his embrace, he wrapped his arms around his shoulders tightly, not wanting to let go.

He could feel his heartbeat against his chest, rapidly increasing and unsteady. His hands traveled up to the soft, black locks he had always wanted to touch, but never dared to, and lightly caressed the strands between his fingertips. He felt the younger man nuzzle into his neck, and his heartbeat had slowed down just slightly.

“I am sorry, Noct,” he whispers into his ear.

Noctis pulls away from him and looks up into his green eyes, face now confused. The corners of his mouth rise slightly, and he leans in—too close for comfort—inches away from Ignis’ lips. “Don’t be.” Before was able to voice his concern on what he was sure was going to happen, it happened.

Noctis pressed his lips onto his own, and his palms cupped Ignis’ face, tracing his thumbs over the line of his jaw; relishing the way his skin felt under his own fingertips.

Graceful hands trailed to the Prince’s chin, tilting his head upwards so he could taste more of him—kiss him deeper. He tasted unbelievably sweet, even sweeter than anything he had concocted before. But he wished he wouldn’t have tasted so sweet, so much like he imagined he would taste. Because a Crownsguard should not be doing this. He was the royal advisor to the Prince; his job was to look over and care after him, and not to litter chaste kisses down his neck and all the way to his collarbone.

|five| the first time he lied to him

“You alright, Specs?”

No.

He nods at the concerned Prince, avoiding eye contact.

He cannot bear to say it out loud. He saw it. Everything. What was going to happen to Noctis. And he should tell him, but he can’t. If he tells him—says it out loud—then that makes it real. And he does not want it to be real. It cannot be real, it should not be. But Ignis knows that it is inevitable, as Noctis is a good man…and a good King, just like his father.

Ignis hopes, silently, in the darkness of the night, that it will not happen.

|six| the first time he said ‘I love you’ without actually saying it

He knew he would awake from his decade long slumber, but he wished he didn’t—that meant that he would soon leave, for eternity.

But he couldn’t think about that, at least not focus on it, as he was finally back, within arms reach. Ignis could finally hear him again, smell him. He wishes he could see him. But hearing him, feeling the warmth of his skin is more than enough.

The smell of the salty water beneath the cliffside, and Noctis’ finely tailored suit engulf his senses. He can hear the fire crackling behind him, and the waves softly hitting against the rocky shores. He loves this sound, and the smell. It always calmed him, somehow. It felt homely, and warm, and safe. Sometimes, it made everything feel normal—as if his dear friend wasn’t going to pass shortly. It made him forget. Only sometimes.

“No,” Ignis says. “You won’t be going alone, I’ll—”

“No, you’re right.” He can hear Noctis turning towards him, leather shoes slightly scraping against the rocks beneath their feet. “I mean, I wouldn’t have made it all this way without you guys. Why stop now?” He can hear him walking closer to him now, and a warm hand is placed gently on his shoulder. “In the end, I might not have you at my side, but I’ll always have you in my heart.”

I love you.

Noctis’ hands trail down his arm and make their way to his gloved palms, and intertwines his fingers loosely in his own. Ignis can feel him leaning closer, just like before, and a chaste kiss is placed just underneath his most prominent scar. “Thanks…” Noctis says, lingering, breath fluttering against his cheek. “Thanks for everything, Iggy.”

Outstretching his hand towards the Prince, he met his eyes for the first time. Bright, and blue. They were much more childlike compared to his own green eyes, which were slightly hardened from all the strenuous training and skill-building he had gone through growing up.

The Prince looked hesitant at first, but he smiled and took Ignis’ hand in both his smaller palms.

“I’m Noctis,” he said. “What’s your name?”

“Ignis Scientia. It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Prince Noctis.”

Before he can stop himself, and not that he wanted to, a tear ran down his cheek, and he hears Noctis chuckle slightly, bringing his hand up and wiping away the tear with his thumb. He wishes this moment could last forever. He wishes it was ten years ago, when he had to wake up a grumpy Prince in the tent, or lecture him to eat more of his vegetables.

No. Thank you for everything, Noct.

|seven| the first time he said goodbye

When he sat on the throne—his throne—matured and ready, ready to enact his fate and save his people, Ignis was proud. So, so proud. Although Noctis had awoken from his decade-long slumber with a very similar attitude to his younger self, there were things that had changed; he was quieter, much more solemn. His appearance had changed, too, of course. From what he could feel beneath the tips of his fingers, he now had a beard, one that Ignis would have never believed he was capable of growing, and his hair was styled in a more suitable fashion for a thirty-year-old King.

Noctis had grown up.

Truthfully, Ignis had waited for this day. It was not that he disliked Noctis before, no, quite the contrary—it was just that Ignis had always believed that Noctis could become someone that was fit to rule over his people, and to see that now he had believed in himself, too, made the royal advisor feel a range of things that could not be described with words.

And Ignis thought that he was part of the reason for that, and that made him happy, but he was even happier knowing that most of it was because of Noctis himself.

But when Ignis walked up to the throne one last time, just feel His Highness’ decaying body and somehow comprehend and accept that he was really gone, he found himself struggling to do just that. He didn’t want to. He couldn’t. The world took away his best friend, his would-have-been lover, his King.

It was stupid, he knew that. He knows that if Noctis was here, and he was telling him how he felt, he would shake his head and tell him to snap out of it. But he couldn’t help it. He felt as if he had no purpose. Without Noctis, what was there left for him?

Without Noctis…

…without Noctis.

|eight| the first time he is without him

He has lived for longer than half a century now.

It should not have turned out like this, he thinks to himself every day. But thinking about it brings back the pain. He supposes he should have moved on by now, but how can he? He knows the others haven’t, either. The Shield is all smiles and laughter with his wife and three children, now making their way into adulthood, and he hasn’t heard from the blonde in a while, either; probably out on some hike again, with his camera and some friends, a companion, too, most likely. But he knows that they still think about him, and everything that happened once they rest for the night. And he knows that they are hurting just like he is.

It has been more than twenty years since the world took Noctis away, and every day, Ignis thinks of the years he spent beside him. The awkward first encounter, scolding him almost constantly for not eating his vegetables, the road trip which turned out to be their last moments together, and all the tiny things that happened in-between.

He hates that he has forgotten what he looks like. He can only remember tiny details, like how his hair was dark and had an almost-sapphire tint, and his bright, blue eyes. And the tiny mole on the right side of his face. He remembers the sound of his voice, the lilt in his tone whenever he talked about the constellations or pastimes. He remembers the words of affection spoken to him, and the saccharine taste of his lips.

He remembers the way it felt to have a hand on his shoulder, his thumb rubbing soothing circles across his soft skin. He remembers the first time he told him he loved him, without actually saying the words. And he remembers the first time he cried for him.

Most of all, he remembers that he didn’t die with him. And that above all else, that he wished he had gone instead.

[ashiversary]

And The World Will Turn To SAND EVERYWHERE - Part 2

“If you are attempting to shame me into changing my attire, it will not work.”

“You don’t know that!”

“It hasn’t worked in the ten years we’ve known each other, Candela. I highly doubt your pouting is suddenly going to become more effective.”

“I’m not pouting!” Candela protested, her pout increasing when they simply scoffed at her. “Come on, Blanche! Would it kill you to show a little skin?” Their reply was a derisive snort.

“Skin cancer is an epidemic, you know,” they drawled, adjusting the strap of their beach bag, “One that I’d prefer not to become a statistic for.” Their suit was perfectly functional for a day at the beach, thank you very much, and honestly it was offensive to even consider taking advice from someone who made a point to wear as little clothing as possible whenever possible.

Everyone else had already made for the beach, the siren song of the crashing waves too powerful to ignore even for their stalwart assistant. Granted, Go had apparently mentioned something about a cluster of Staryu he and Spark had seen on their morning run at breakfast – a meal they had missed due to their intrinsic inability to go to sleep before the Pidgeys started chirping – and the young woman had taken off sprinting. Candela apparently had never seen her move so quickly as was understandably impressed.

They, too, would have been proud of her drive if it hadn’t resulted in their tardiness to the day’s festivities. Lucky for them, their dear friend had opted to go wake them up and drag them down to the beach herself. It wasn’t the first time she’d flopped on top of them in the morning, and it wasn’t likely to be the last.

Said friend huffed a sigh and slung an arm around their shoulders, batting her eyelashes at them sadly when they glared at her. “Please darling?” she cooed, “Just for me?”

“No.”

“Oh, come on,” she said, sinking fully into whining (likely just to get on their nerves), “You look so cute when you get all your summer sun spots!”

“That is ridiculous. They do not alter my appearance in the slightest.”

“True, you’re gorgeous by default,” she acquiesced, her eyes going half-lidded as she used a finger to trace their jawline, “Still, they give me an excuse to stare at you all day.”

They cleared their throat, attributing the sudden rush of heat that blossomed on their cheeks to the weather. “How childish. They’re just freckles, Candela.” They glanced at her, sighing softly at the overly offended look she sent their way. “Besides, even if I wanted to change attire, it’s not like I brought a- what on earth are you holding?”

“A spare!” Candela said cheerfully, shaking the suit she’d pulled from her own bag at them, “I’m always prepared for a wardrobe change, darling!”

Blanche stared at the proffered garment dubiously (though calling it a ‘garment’ was honestly being far too generous - it was nothing more than loose collection of strings and three very small bits of fabric). “That is not an outfit, it is a sewing kit.” A pause. “No, wait, I take that back – it would be rude to compare the two seeing as a sewing kit actually serves its intended purpose.”

“Hey, this serves a purpose!”

“And that would be?”

Candela just grinned and waggled her eyebrows.

They rolled their eyes and looked away from her, brain still struggling to figure out how one would even go about wearing such a thing. Candela sighed in defeat and shoved the suit back into her bag, though Blanche knew better than to think it wouldn’t reappear at a later date. She was notoriously opinionated when it came to fashion, as well enjoying them suffer in basically any capacity, and that outfit would provide her with both easily.

They’d have to be on their toes.

The two of them continued walking in comfortable silence before reaching the end of the path, where the smooth concrete was overtaken by a swell of sand already mottled by several footsteps, and paused to take in the scene before them.

Go had somehow managed to join a group of what appeared to be over-privileged college kids in a game of beach volleyball. Carl had plopped himself into a seat nearest the bar and seemed quite contented – shades on, headphones in, drink in hand. Annie had a cluster of children near what they assumed to be a tide pool and was pointing to various sections and chatting amicably with them.

As they scanned the shoreline for the last member of their crew they saw someone they hadn’t expected to see and their heart made a delightful trip up to their throat.

“Candela,” Blanche rasped, “Why is Noire here?”

“Hm?” Candela hummed, already distracted by the other beachgoers.

They reached out the grab her arm, nails likely sinking into her skin from the force of their grip, still staring dumbfounded at their twin. “Why is Spark dunking Noire into the ocean?”

“Oh,” she said, blinking quickly as she finally focused in on what was causing them distress. She pursed her lips as she squinted down the beach at the duo, arms folding across her chest in apparent disgust. “A better question is why he isn’t holding them down longer,” she intoned, lowering her voice when she continued, “Though, ‘forever’ might still not be enough for that particular nuisance.”

They turned to her swiftly, eyes wide and ponytail flicking. “You knew they were here?!” they hissed, a sharp stab of betrayal spearing their chest. She at least had the decency to look uncomfortable, shifting slightly under their intense gaze. “Candela-”

“I only found out last night.”

“Last night?”

“We… ran into each other.”

“You ran into my twin last night,” they growled through gritted teeth, “And you didn’t think, for one minute, that I would need to-”

“Forgive me for attempting to afford you some blissful ignorance!”

“Ignorance is never blissful!”

“You guys talking about Blisseys or something?” chirped a voice and the two of them jumped. They turned and gawked at Spark, who was striding up to them with a quizzical look on his face. Seawater dripped off him, skin glistening in the midmorning sun. Candela let out an appreciative noise as Blanche suddenly found the sand under their feet to be incredibly interesting.

Spark quirked a brow at the two of them when neither answered him and shook his head viciously, running a hand through his hair and attempting to fluff up the sodden strands.

“Geeze, Spark, what are you? A Growlithe?” Candela said with a laugh, raising her hands to shield herself from the spray.

“You bet! Fiercest one there is!” He growled at her playfully, bringing his hands up to pantomime clawing, letting out a dramatic yelp when she laughed and punched his shoulder. The sound of shifting sand and muttered curses caused them all to turn slightly, reminded abruptly of the reason for the previous tension.

“Birdbrain, I swear to fuck-”

“Noire,” Blanche said coldly, cutting off their tirade.

“Blanche,” Noire replied, coming up to stand beside Spark.

“Rocket,” Candela growled.

“Valor,” they sneered back.

“Boss,” Amelie said, striding up to the group with an exasperated expression. Syric walked beside her, his tall frame dwarfing her more petite build to the point of hilarity.

“Amelie,” was the reply.

“Blanche, Candela,” the giant medic rumbled, offering each a courteous nod.

“Syric,” they replied simultaneously, Blanche returning the nod while Candela leered at his musculature admiringly. She hummed when he winked and flexed for her, returning the favor eagerly, the two grinning at each other after a moment of mutual oogling.

“Spark!” Spark cheered, scratching the back of his neck when the rest of the group turned to look at him, “Sorry, I was feelin’ left out.” The amount of eye-rolling he received would be felt by the next three generations.

“So,” Syric said slowly, looking around the group, “Looks like we’re all here. On vacation. At the same time… I don’t suppose we could all agree here and now to play nice, eh? For the sake of everyone having a good time and no one ending up in the hospital?” He sent a pointed look in the direction of his boss and the Valor leader, both of whom blinked back at him innocently.

“Depends,” Blanche said, lifting their chin as they stared him down, “Can you Rockets guarantee you’ll be on your best behavior?”

Noire jumped in before he could reply. “Only if you fuckers agree to do the same.”

“Oh, please,” Blanche scoffed, “Don’t lump us with you trouble-making troglodytes.”

“Oooh – troglodytes!” Noire jeered, throwing up their hands in mock-fear, “Look that one up in the dictionary before coming out today, did you, mon chou?” The smug effect was ruined slightly by their high-pitched yelp when both of their subordinates smacked them upside the head.

“Hey, c’mon guys!” Spark protested, reaching out to hold Candela back as she started for the Rocket Executive with fists at the ready, “We’re at the beach! The sun is shining, the waves are crashing on the shore, Carl’s getting sunburned as we speak!” He paused to wave at him, Valor Two raising his glass in acknowledgement. “It’s a beautiful day to relax and have fun!”

“Pounding this asshole into the sand could be both fun and relaxing, darling,” Candela said sweetly, her smile all teeth as Noire stuck their tongue out at her.

“Easy now,” Syric tried, only to be ignored completely.

“Bring it, Valor.”

“Boss-”

“Fine,” Blanche said suddenly, face an expressionless mask, “We’ll agree to a temporary cease-fire.”

“We will?” Candela asked incredulously, giving voice to the group’s confusion as the others simply blinked and stared at the Mystic leader dumbly.

They locked eyes with their twin for a moment, lips thinning slightly, then nodded. They then brushed past the others to head toward the beach at long last, long ponytail swinging behind them. Noire watched them go, face unreadable. The remaining two Team Leaders and two Rockets exchanged a bewildered look then gave a wordless, communal shrug.

“Awesome!” Spark cheered, turning to Noire, “Sooo, uh, what’s a troglodyte? Some new kind of Pokemon?” He pouted when they shook themselves out of their stupor and immediately laughed at him.

[prose-byanyothername]

Cloud Nine (Chapter Three)

Fandom: Mystic Messenger Pairing: Jumin/MC (you) Rating: Fluff Summary: The RFA members say that MC was trapped, but how could anyone claim to be trapped when she said so herself that she was in heaven? Retells the events of MC visiting Jumin in his pent-house. Set between days 7-11 in Jumin’s route. (* spoiler alert!)

[Chapter Two] | [Chapter Four]

Chapter Three: Promises

MC’s eyes fluttered open slowly as she felt a vibrating underneath her pillow. It must not have been long since she first fell asleep because the RFA chat started to blow up in notifications. The dark room contrasted greatly from the brightness of her phone, and she soon found herself squinting as she unlocked her phone. She took a quick look around the area, hoping that Jumin wouldn’t scold her for being awake at this hour. But when it seemed that the area was empty, she touched the RFA app on her phone and decided to see what was going on.

When she logged in, Yoosung immediately started gushing to her about how he played his LOLOL game that he always talked about but this time with incredibly smooth graphics and an immensely fast Internet connection. This indicated that he had probably gotten to Seven’s house safely.

Yoosung★: MC, are you okay?

Yoosung★: Isn’t it super uncomfortable sleeping at Jumin’s house?

Yoosung★: Zen seems worried…

“Zen has nothing to worry about~ I feel like I’m in heaven.” MC reassured him. She was worried that, now, yet another person was going to be overly concerned for her own well-being. After all, she was fine. She was practically enjoying herself here, over anything.

Yoosung later told the brunette that Seven apparently hadn’t moved from the computer all night since he got there and how his eyes were glazed over, as if in a trance. They exchanged small conversations back and forth, mostly bouncing back to the same rush of ardor he felt whenever he played a match. If Yoosung never got a girlfriend, it’s very possible that he could marry that God forsaken game. He stuck around until he was suddenly asked to get off for a reason left unexplained. She barely squeezed in her farewell as he exited the chatroom when in his place immediately came another member.

[Jaehee Kang has entered the chatroom.]

MC:  Hello, Jaehee

Jaehee Kang: Hello, MC

Jaehee Kang: You’re still awake

Jaehee Kang: I also heard that you’re staying at Mr. Han’s penthouse,

Jaehee Kang: but are you sure that you don’t want to go home?

MC: Don’t worry, Jaehee. I’ll go home once the sun rises.

Jaehee Kang: Yes, it will be dangerous to return home so late

Jaehee Kang: I do understand Mr. Han’s concern but if you still feel uncomfortable, you can be honest with me

MC reiterated, once more, that everything was fine and that there was no need to worry about her when she was perfectly safe. She tried to switch the topic over and asked Jaehee what she was also doing up so late, to which she replied saying that she was using her downtime to do more research on Sarah. The Chief Secretary went on to explain to her about how she asked around amongst both her colleagues and other business partners about her company “Sugar Round.” It was apparent that hardly anybody she knew could say anything about it. As for the few who did, however, they expressed their little knowledge about a place that had only been open for a few years. Some even went as far as saying that the it was a surprise that the business itself was still open.

Jaehee also shared that further digging allowed her to discover that Sarah is seen to own many expensive items, as shown in a lot of pictures taken by paparazzi and the like. Later, she goes on to say that there apparently was an “embarrassing situation” a few years back in which all of her credit cards were declined at a shopping mall that she was seen frequenting. It was established in her thoughts that she may make an attempt to check on her credit report, if time allows.

“That’s a smart way to go about it. I appreciate what you’re doing.” MC expressed her thanks for going beyond her means to help Jumin in matters aside from work as well

After some time having a girl-to-girl moment with one another, it was shown that yet a new person joined them in the RFA chat. It was Zen — and it looked like his overprotective mode was still kicked into high gear.

ZEN: Aren’t you really uncomfortable right now? Be honest

ZEN: He’s not comparing you to his cat, is he?

ZEN: It’s okay, you can tell me.

“Zen~ Don’t worry. He’s been incredibly nice.” MC was close to adding in the reasons from tonight’s occurrences in particular to explain how and why to further back him up on her comment, but she didn’t want to come off as a girl who wanted him for his luxury and privilege. After all, the only thing she wanted was him.

Although apparently it was made clear that he was different to her, according to Zen and Jaehee, but in a good way, it seemed. They collectively went back and forth talking about how Jumin “usually was” or how he seemed to look happier when he talked to her. It was odd for MC, because she never really picked up on it or thought about it that way — possibly due to her own feelings.

Zen repeatedly criticized Jumin for hiding away from his problems and work by leaving them all to Jaehee. MC could sense their frustrations. After all, Zen, himself, is overly protective out of his own nature, while Jaehee couldn’t even hide how stressed she was anymore. She felt that while she did agree that Jumin should go back to work, her heart told her that the workaholic he is doesn’t want to do this necessarily on purpose. His internal struggles, alone, are a big enough issue. Undeniably, she sympathized with him on how hard it’s been on him lately — and she made it clear that she would continue to defend him on that.

Jaehee Kang: Besides,

Jaehee Kang: I’m sure that Mr. Han is much more interested in

Jaehee Kang: protecting Elizabeth the 3rd

Jaehee Kang: or you, MC, now that you two have actually met

MC thought to herself how absurdly the latter sounded. Jumin? Interested? In her? Fat chance. Although it also seemed like Jumin Han wasn’t exactly the kind of person to just go out of his means for just anybody. Possibly. She made the decision to keep quiet rather than boast on that note. Sure, Jumin was incredibly polite to her, but she wanted to lay low on her feelings a bit more until she was sure.

“It must be so difficult to him to have his father involved.” She sighed aloud as she typed this in response to them, a clear look of worry spread across her face as the conversation went on about the current situation.

Zen also pointed out that “Mr. Trust Fund Kid” — as he called him — must apparently be pretty lucky to have someone who is always thinking about him even when he wasn’t around, to which she rebutted with her own concern to get him to stop thinking that way. She did, however, agree that Mr. Chairman was clearly making the wrong decision in this fixed marriage he was planning, as per Jaehee’s considered thoughts.

MC reiterated to the two that she was okay with staying until the morning — for she was tired, anyway — and she expressed that Jumin’s priority was her safety, anyhow. Secretly, she was enjoying this anyway, and since he seemed so inviting, why did she really need to leave so soon?

ZEN: You are too caring, MC… T_T

ZEN: He’ll be fine without you

Jaehee Kang: I don’t know if he will be fine…

Jaehee Kang: but I am concerned for your safety, MC

Jaehee Kang: Both you and Mr. Han are adults,

Jaehee Kang: So I trust that you two make the right decision

Jaehee prayed to God continuously that Jumin would finally make an appearance at the office in the morning. She even went as far as hoping that sending MC over to his penthouse wasn’t a mistake. What is it about Jumin that concerned them all this much? MC wondered. She said she would continue to watch for herself, but that there was really nothing to be concerned of.

“Don’t worry too much, guys. Jumin just needs time.” She affirmed this, sticking to her guns.

MC sighed in relief as the focus of the conversation finally shifted some time after. Zen proceeded to change the topic to brag about his new role, while Jaehee reeled in excitement. As one of his biggest fans, he seemed happy to talk more about himself to someone that he knew was always excited to hear news about him. It also appeared that this was a great stress-reliever for her as well, so naturally, it was a mutually nice feeling.

The brunette reassured them both that Jumin will come to his senses and even extended further thanks Jaehee for all of her hard work, because she knew she didn’t need validation but that she was still a human being. After some time, the thee of them came to the realization that it was growing later and later, as goodbyes were made and, one by one, they signed off of the messenger for the evening.

MC felt her drowsiness disappear as she stared ahead at her smartphone, checking her usual apps and even playing a few games afterwards. She had lost all sense of time until she heard a rustling noise from the couch, a head of jet black hair peeking from the other side of the room. So that’s where Jumin went to sleep. Of all places, however, why did he choose the sofa?

“MC? Are you still awake?” He looked over at her upon seeing the light from her cell phone.

“Oh, hey Jumin.” She shrugged as her eyes remained fixated on the screen, her fingers moving in a fixed, rhythmic pattern. “Yeah… I can’t sleep…”

Jumin’s own eyes squinted in both worry and focus as he dragged his pillow and blanket over to his bed. He took a seat in the empty spot next to her, peeking over at what has her attention.

“Hmm, I’ve never seen this feature before.” Jumin scratched his chin in confusion.

MC giggled, pausing her game as she finally took a lot at his face in this darkness. She pointed at her screen. “Jumin, don’t you play games on your phone, too?”

“Games… I don’t have time or interested for any those extra features.” He laughed lightly at her comment. “Still, it makes me curious as to what gets so many people to flock towards things like these that are so popular. The only other one of those ‘apps’ that I downloaded on my phone was the one we made for C&R, and of course, the RFA messenger.”

She took some time to show and explain to him what she was doing, even offering him to play a level for her so that he could try it for himself. MC started realizing more and more how almost-alienated he was from the life that she and other “normal” people lived. It seemed that she was more sympathetic rather than jealous, if anything. There were a lot of little gems in life that he was clearly missing out on.

They laughed together as she showed him more of the game and how far she had gotten. When she grew tired of it, however, she quit out of it and went back to the main screen. A moment of silence arose between them, to which MC proceeded to mindlessly swipe through her screen. She glanced at the time on the right-hand corner, locking her phone afterwards as she stared at the ceiling.

“What are you thinking about?” Jumin asked.

“Nothing…” She replied in a bit of surprise. With how dark it was, how did he even know that she hadn’t actually closed her eyes yet?

“It can’t be nothing.” He retorted, sitting up as he made further attempts to examine her expression.

MC sighed, wondering if she was a lot easier to read than she thought. “There’s too many things, to be honest. I’d be spending the rest of the night telling you what’s on my mind… Besides, shouldn’t you be going to sleep, Jumin? You’re going to the office in the morning.”

Jumin thought about how practically foreign it was to have someone who contained even the smallest ounce of worry to be showing some sort of concern for his well-being. “Touché, MC. But you have to promise me that you’ll get some sleep too.”

“Hmm… Maybe.” She playfully smirked.

“Well, I guess you don’t give me much of a choice. I’ll have to keep an eye on you and sleep here for tonight then.” He returned the tease, pulling a bit of the covers that she was under and inching in more towards the middle as he situated himself. “Who knows? Maybe it’ll be good for the both of us.”

“Uh…” MC froze, her eyes widening as she felt him motion himself closer. Her heart wanted to jump out of her chest. “U-Um… I don’t think this is very appropriate, Jumin.”

“But why not?” He shrugged as if this was casual. “Besides, this might be better for the both of us.”

“I… I just… don’t think…” She didn’t want to finish the sentence, hoping it wouldn’t drive him away or send the wrong message. Although, she was unsure of him being here when they weren’t even “a thing.”

Jumin smiled as the two of them now faced one another, although it was clear on her face that she was still uncertain of whether this was proper or not. His hand reached out to gently run his fingers through her hair. “Don’t be ridiculous. You know well that I am not that kind of man. It’s not like we’re going to do anything, are we not?”

MC admitted to him that she had never been in a relationship before, and that she wasn’t sure how things worked — without also trying to hint it out to him that she was implying anything about being with him, in particular. She always thought that people should not sleep in the same bed unless they were married.

“Okay, MC…” He said after some time of explaining that the thoughts she had were different than what actually happens. “If you feel so strongly promise me that you’ll go to sleep, and I’ll move back to the couch afterwards if it will really make you feel more comfortable.”

“Promise?” She pursed her lips, holding out a pinky close to her face.

Jumin chuckled amusingly at her gesture, having never really something like that before. He was quickly explained to about how the significance of the small action withheld a strong, rather profound agreement between both parties.

“I know that it sounds really silly.” MC twiddled with her thumbs. “But I’ll be honest, this has been something that I’ve been doing for a long time, and so far, it’s worked pretty well for me.”

“Alright…” The warmth in his smile was eminent. “Promise.”

“Promise!” She lit up as brightly as he did, her pinky out again. He held his own out of the opposite hand, and they joined fingers shortly after. They shared a laugh after doing so, the smile on their faces lingering.

MC then outstretched her arms as she made another big yawn, her eyes blinking slowly as she felt herself grow even more tired a lot quicker than she expected to.

“Sleep.” His voice lowered as he continued playing with her hair, watching her drift slowly into sleep from the comfort of his touch.

“O... kay…” She muttered softly, fighting sleep now.

And before he knew it, she was asleep. Her body gently rose up and down like the soft waves of the ocean, her soft breathing indicating that she slumbered peacefully. There was something about the way her vulnerability on her face that made him feel tranquil despite all of the stress he had in the world. There was something about her warmth — so sweet and welcoming — that made him want to stay close to her.  

“Sorry, MC, but I’m hoping that this is going to be the only time that I’ll ever have to break your promise.” He whispered to her, smirking lightly as he continued to find solace in watching her peacefully rest. In tow, he followed shortly after and he found himself calm enough to fall asleep with her.

[toastnekohime]

By The Pulse Of A Heartbeat

Part five of a 2018 Camp NaNoWriMo Yu-Gi-Oh! GX Elementshipping novel. Based on rp’s between myself ( @getyouraoion ) and my amazing, precious Twin’s Jaden ( @kiibx ), By The Pulse Of A Heartbeat tells the story of how Aoi and Jaden met at Duel Academy and formed their incredibly tight friendship, eventually falling into a relationship, and how they handle the various threats thrown at them over their three years of schooling.

There are currently no triggers, but should any arise, they will be tagged.

STILL IN PROGRESS. Please forgive any typos you may find~

Tagging @starisia, as this wouldn’t exist without my wonderful Twin <3

Summary:

Duel Academy is the place to be, the dream school for many kids. Be it through intense studying, duel prep schools, scholarships, or being rich enough to buy their way in, most kids have had their sights set on it for a long time, knowing it to be the perfect place to start towards a career as a professional duelist. Someone has to Dethrone Yugi and take the title of King of Games, and everyone wants a shot!

Except that is, for Aoi Sakazaki.

Falling in love with Duel Monsters when her father bought her several cards in her childhood, she makes the choice to try her hand at the entrance exams, despite having no idea what she wants to do with her life… And just barely squeaks her way in. Her poor exams scores, combined with even poorer grades, land her a solid spot in the Academy’s Slifer Red dorm - The lowest of the low, where students are almost expected to drop out if they don’t advance to Ra Yellow or Obelisk Blue, first.

The rank comes with the rest of the school looking down on them, as well as the worst lodging the furthest distance from the main campus and fewest privileges  compared to the other dorms. But it also brings a surprise friend in fellow Slifer student Jaden Yuki, who seems to have absolutely no problem with the hand they’ve been dealt.

It’s not long before Aoi and Jaden find themselves caught up in a whirlwind of an adventure, dealing with exams, classes, ‘evil’ teachers, and somehow still finding enough time to explore the island they now call home. But living on Academy Island isn’t all fun and games; shortly after their schooling begins, things around their home begin to change, and rarely for the better.

Neither friend has any idea what lies in wait for them in the next three years… But is it an adventure they’ll be able to tackle together, or will it end their time at the school - and them - before it’s even begun?

It’s time to put their skills where their mouths are and find out!

It took a day longer than she'd expected to finish her new uniform, but by the third day of classes, she'd swapped out her red skirt for the more familiar comfort of capris, blazer cut into a comfortable vest over a lighter shirt. As nice as her boots had been, it felt so much better to be out of those heels and into a different, flatter pair of calf-high boots. And though the outfit had gotten some stares and mumbles, it, thankfully, hadn't yet gotten her in trouble.

And yet, it wasn't worry of possible trouble that had Aoi outside her room the morning of their first saturday on the island, but the need for air and peace. Her room still stunk of the perfume Mia had used the night before... For such a petite girl, she wore an awful lot of perfume – Enough to drown a cow, never mind the slender teen. It wouldn't have been so bad if the scent was lighter, kinder to the nose, but a heavy dose of lilac and 'sunshine' definitely didn't help.

At least being outside helped ease the headache, the slight breeze coming off the sea more than refreshing. And it was quiet, to boot. Why was it a dorm with so few people still managed to be so loud? Music helped, although there was only so much it could do when the noise tried to drown it out in return.

Birds and waves crashing into the cliff behind the dorm was better for the time being, though she had to admit, she still missed her music—

Wait… That made no sense. Why was it so quiet?

“Last one there's a rotten fish!”

Pushing off the railing, Aoi tilted her head... Just to press herself back against it half a second later with a squeak of surprise, just barely avoiding a collision with a red blur that wasn't so lucky, stumbling over its own boots before finally catching itself. “Hey- Watch where y' go-”

“Hey sorry, I-”

Both comments came to a screeching halt, green-blue meeting long since familiar honey brown. She'd known he had a room on the second floor, but not that it was so close, or that he was even in it as often as it seemed he was... And for that matter, she couldn't even begin to remember where her voice had gone, or why she'd even stopped in the first place. “Y' couldda run m' over.”

Jaden gave a sheepish chuckle in return, scratching the back of his head. “Yeah, sorry 'bout that. Didn't think there was anyone out here. Aren't ya usually in your room?”

“I'm n' sure how y' know that, b' n' today. Smells like a flower exploded.”

“...Flowers can explode?”

“Sniff m' door an' tell m', 'cause I'm pretty sure it's a scracth n' sniff card.”

To her surprise, the brunette laughed, relaxing as quickly as he'd barreled out of his room. Just hearing him laugh helped her relax as well, but the second he actually did step closer and jokingly scratch at the door, she'd taken an even larger step of her own back and away from him – and that was all it took to make him pause and give her a look like she'd just grown another head. “...Did I step on you or somethin'?”

“...N'. Jus'...” Just what? How did she explain she was uncomfortable with strangers? Or even more so with guys, and that he fell into both categories? The better question, though, was why she felt like she could tell him, shooting Syrus a glance as he finally joined them on the balcony. Maybe it was the fact he was still leaning over and inches from sniffing her door, or the dozens of times in the last few days they'd run into each other...

Whatever it was, it was enough to make her shake her head and tug at the tie of one of her pigtails. “I ah... Don't d' good with strangers. Or guys. Or any combination of 'em,”, she finally admitted, watching his confusion turn into a broad grin. Like always, his bright and sunny outlook seemed to make things easier, tugging slowing until she could finally bring her hands down and shove them into her pockets. “Sorry.”

“Hey, I'm not a stranger, I'm a Jaden! Jaden Yuki.”

“...Aoi Sakazaki.”

“See? No strangers here! We're goin' to check out the surf shop on the beach. Up for coming with?”

On one hand, she wanted to tell him no. Despite the introductions, he was still, technically, a stranger, and she had little interest in being any closer.

And yet on the other, there was something about his grin she couldn't say no to. His cheer was infectious, bringing back her smile in just seconds. It had to be better than sitting by a scratch and sniff door she swore was absorbing every bit of the perfume smell as it was, right? “I'm... N' sure...”

This time it was Syrus who smiled, slipping past her – careful not to get too close, something she'd later have to thank him for – and Jaden both for the steps. “It's gonna be an adventure! There's supposed to be a nice beach and the tide's out!”

“S' we could find some crabs?” The words were out before she could stop them, and by the time she realized she was even moving, she was halfway down the staircase, Jaden laughing behind her with his hands behind his head. “I haven't seen any yet. Have y'?”

“Heard frogs,” the brunette chirped, chuckling at the snort he got in reply as he came up to walk beside her, Syrus leading the trio towards the beach. “Nah. We've been all over, but haven't seen crabs yet. Why, you like crabs?”

“Jay... Girls don't like crabs...”

Aoi shook her head, though she knew Syrus couldn't see it or her smile for trying to derail the conversation, lest it get uncomfortable. “Small ones're cute, b' n' my favorites. That's pigs.”

The blunette tripped over his feet, Jaden slapping a hand over his mouth to try and hide the sputters before he broke down laughing. Was it really so surprising she'd like pigs? “Look here, they're cute an' like t' b' pet.”

“That's dogs, Aoi.”

“Pigs t'! Back home we've got a petting zoo with a big potbellied pig. He loves it when people pat him on th' head. Hair kindda reminds m' of another student's, t'...” She had to bite her tongue before Chazz's name came out. In the last few days, she'd run into the Obelisk four or five more times, each meeting falling into nothing but pure insults and sarcasm flung at one another. She'd come to find it fun, even, getting the chance to be as creative as possible while he kept coming back with the reminder she was nothing more than a 'Slifer Slacker'.

But if either of the boys wanted to ask, they made no indication of it, Jaden even catching her attention  again with the most nonchalant shrug. “They're not bad. You don't play a pig deck, do ya? Though I bet that'd be somethin' to watch. A farm duel!”

Her next snort quickly turned into a laugh, winning her a look of surprise from both boys. Maybe these boys weren't so bad after all...? “Mm-mm. N' pig decks. I've got... Don't even have a theme, n' that I think 'bout it. Jus' m' favorite an' some backup.”

“Sounds like something fun to duel with! Hey, wanna see how your favorite is against my heroes?” he questioned, surprise quickly fading back into a smile, as always. She wasn't sure there was a second he could be anything but a ball of sunshine – And had they met for real at the exams, she was sure his cheeriness would've driven her crazy. Probably.

But even that wasn't enough to make her agree, head shaking as they followed the well-worn path towards the other side of the island. So he played a hero deck... “N' way, Jaden. Y' would cream m' in a second. I barely made it through th' entrance exams, an' definitely n' interested in getting' beat jus' yet.”

He seemed to take the rejection well, though she didn't miss the glimmer of disappointment in his eyes, hidden behind his usual grin. He was the kid who beat Dr. Crowler, famous among the school for that feat, or so she'd heard; why would she want to let Eria stretch her legs if all that awaited her was a hero punch to the face? And why did she feel the urge to say yes anyway when she knew he'd win in a single turn against her deck?

The brunette rolled his shoulders, the disappointment gone so fast she wondered if she'd imagined it. Either the idea of adventuring around the beach was enough to bring him back from it, or the sunlight was playing tricks on her... Whatever it was, she couldn't stop her own smile from pulling at her lips. “Maybe after I d' some tweakin'...?”

“Now you're talking my language! Need any help with it?”

“Considerin' I wouldn't know where t' start.... B' y' don't hafta.”

“Nah, it's totally fine. What's in your deck now?”

Her footsteps slowed, reaching behind her to flip open the case on her belt and pull her deck free. No more than half a second later, Jaden stopped with her, neither noticing Syrus continuing ahead without them. “Like I said, m' favorite,” she explained, passing the stack of cards to him as they came to a stop. “Eria th' Water Charmer an' Familiar-Possesed Eria. B' th' rest is jus' backup.”

And by the way he practically became the sun while he flipped through them, she could only imagine the plans he had in mind. “You've got a Luster Dragon in here? I've never seen one in person-! And there's an Aussa... Interested in help?”

“Y' really don't hafta-”

“Nope, I don't. But I want to. What's a friend for, right?”

Friend. They'd met all of possibly half an hour ago, and he already saw her a friend. Despite the fact she shouldn't have been surprised, she was, feeling her cheeks flush a bit. Again, if he noticed he didn't make any mention of it, rearranging her cards with Eria on top. “...Y' jus' met m'. How.. How can y' call m' a friend s' easily?”

“What, you need to know people forever to be friends?” His tone was light, lined with the barest hints of laughter. And when he gently took her hand, pressing her deck back into her palm, she couldn't find any reason to jump away from him. The defensive shell usually present whenever she was around others had melted off, leaving her to watch him run ahead a moment later, stop, and wave at her. “C'mon! Sy's already gone ahead!”

He had a point. What harm would there be in trusting him? He'd not given her a reason to keep her distance – yet, anyway – and even offered help... Her urge to keep away from him physically seemed to have fled, too, especially with how she was running ahead with a laugh to nudge his side. “Last one there's a rotten Mystic Tomato?”

Any surprise he'd had in her touch melted into a wicked grin, waiting for her to slide her deck into its case before replying. “More like does the others' homework for a day- and I'm gonna win that bet!” And in a flash he was off, Aoi giving a whine before following suit, quickly blowing past a startled  Syrus. “Cheater!”

“Gotta keep up!”

“I plan on it!” she called back, barely three steps behind him with a laugh. Maybe having a friend in the boy wouldn't be so bad- Though she'd have to get used to his excitement, her gaze drifting to the ground under his feet. Jaden Yuki... Oh, how wrong she'd been at the exams. There was nothing weak about him- though he was easy to lose track of, raven ducking under a branch as their race hit the forest.

“Still back there?”

“Trust m', I'm gonna keep up with y' if it's th' last thing I d'!”