#who needs his approval and deals with his worst and suspects he's fucking someone else but stays

[barnbridges]

Bunny has a great day every day. Marion, we knew, recognized the difference in Bunny's behavior as clearly as we did, and was puzzled and angered by it. If she'd seen the way he was around us, she doubtless would have realized that she was not the cause; but as it was she saw only the broken dates, the mood swings, the sullenness and the quick irrational angers which apparently were directed solely at her – Was he seeing another girl? Did he want to break up?

[tescraft]

Hey I’ve heard from someone that the daedra don’t really care about humanity and can be dangerous to work with? What’s it like in your case I really like hermaeus Mora but uh I’d be scared to approach because of this caution

Well, I don't have any experience with Hermaeus Mora personally. But I have worked with a few of the Princes (specifically Azura and Clavicus Vile, as well as honoring Sanguine, and I did an "open invitation" thing once that Someone took me up on... I don't know for sure, but I suspect it was Clavicus Vile then, too).

All my experiences have been fairly good. I made a deal with CV, and although He hasn't held up His end (nor do I expect Him to, being as it breaks the laws of physics), He's stopped poking at me about making deals, so that's a plus, cuz TBH He was getting kind of annoying about it.

Azura has been incredibly loving and supportive with me, and having Her in my life and my spiritual practice has been wonderful. (Although I've had to be careful about who I talk to about it, cuz one person offended Her and I kinda had to be like "plz don't curse my neighbor, she doesn't know any better.")

Actually my worst experience wasn't with one of the Princes, it was with Dibella. I'd made a deal with Her on behalf of a friend, promising to give Her an offering when I got home (I was visiting family at the time), and She held up Her end of the deal, but I ended up extending my trip by a month and for a couple weeks after that, until I realized what was going on, I started seeing stuff moving around outside the door (dark shadows, white mists) and it was super freaky. Once I realized it was Dibella being upset that I'd "broken" our agreement, I sat down and was like "I am still going to give You an offering, it's just going to be later than expected, please be patient" and I stopped seeing weird shit and it was all good. I gave Her the offering when I got home and haven't had a problem since. (I suspect that something similar -- or worse -- would've happened if it had been one of the Princes in that situation.)

I think when it comes to any of the Princes, you need to really understand who They are, as best you can. Dive into the lore, pay attention to what They approve and disapprove of, and don't do the shit They don't like. (Like, for example, while I like Meridia, I would never work with Her, or even set up a shrine to Her, because my apartment is haunted and I rather like the ghost. Meridia would make me get rid of him, and I don't want to do that, so I don't work with Her.)

Do keep in mind that yes, They can actually fuck you up. The open invitation I mentioned above? That resulted in the people it was directed toward going from being millionaires to being bankrupt. (Which is why I think it was Clavicus, that seems like something He'd do, esp since the people in question were very concerned with having money.)

But even so, just keep in mind that the Princes are actual beings, with likes and dislikes and moods. Treat Them the way you'd treat any other being more powerful/differently powerful than you, again keeping in mind Their individual preferences, and you should be okay. Respect goes a very long way, but respect also looks different to different Princes.

It would also be a good idea to work on communicating with Them before you actually start working with Them. If you have a godphone (ability to feel/hear deities), if you do divination, even having someone else do divination for you, all of that can be useful in figuring out how to approach your Prince of choice, and how to do it in the safest manner for yourself.

In the games, people don't really get to have boundaries from the deities, but this isn't Mundus, you are more powerful than you would be if you lived there. Boundaries are healthy, even with the Princes (although some will be better with them than others), and if you're uncomfortable, or your Prince pushes too far, you can disengage. It might take some time, some cleansing, and some wards, but it can be done.

So by all means, be cautious. You want to protect yourself. But don't be afraid. Nothing is set in stone unless and until you make a pact or deal that sets it in stone. (And if you do, you'd best be absolutely sure that's what you want to do, do not jump into something like that until, I'd say, you've been working with the Prince for years.)

And just to reiterate the point, the biggest, more important thing you can do, is understand the Princes as best you can. Game lore is your absolute best friend, that will give you the best idea of what each Prince wants, and what the risks are.

[ilcaeryx]

Cultist [Sukuna/Reader] - NSFW

Summary: You have one god on this earth.

Tags: Sukuna/Reader, NSFW, Smut, Humor, Size kink, Cock Warming, Body Worship,

Words: Cirka 2k

Author’s Note: What’s up, sluts? I’m back. This is NSFW, so beware.

---

Sukuna did regularly mention that domination and conquest were his pastime hobbies and you would tentatively add that he adhered to them with slave-like zealotry. Whenever he insulted Itadori Yuji by calling him simple-minded, your heart ached with the desire to tell him that he was not any greater regarding his obsessions with strength. However, your self-preservation kept you alive, since a bitch that talks back to Sukuna is a bitch that gets their head separated from their body, after all.

Having sex with Sukuna is somehow leagues safer than speaking to him, you thought, gaze surveying how the apex of his back muscles cast shades upon the trenches of his spine. Inhalation, the shadows grew and deepened. Exhalation, the light re-conquered its territory. You suspected he never slept, even though he physically seemed in deep slumber. His arms were splayed on his pillow, face turned away from you.

You had self-preservation to save your ass 99 percent of the time – this time was probably that one percent where he would snap.

“Sukuna,” you called out, very lightly stroking his biceps with your nails. No answer, but his arm muscles flexed subtly as he moved his arm.  “I want my side of the bed back. I can’t sleep on this side.”

You let out a shriek when his hand shot out at you, palm plastered over your lips. The sharp edge of his index nail hovered uncomfortably close to your eye, the thumb nail piercing your cheek. Out of reflex, your dug your fingertips into his upper arm and attempted to pull away from his show of force.

Sukuna turned his head to face you. His eyes glared with disinterest, though his grasp weakened slightly.

“You’ve been plenty loud during the night; why must you continue now?” he asked, squeezing your cheeks together to allow you to speak.

“I’ve slept like three hours max,” you said, ignoring his question.

“That is not my problem.” He let go of your face to return to his original position. “Go find somewhere else to sleep and I shall wake you whenever I have need of you.”

What an absolute dickhead. This was your bed, not his domination playground.

You released him and patted your face with your fingers carefully. There were no stinging scratches left behind, which was good considering his reasoning that if ‘you weren’t bleeding out, you didn’t need help’ would leave you with annoying scabs everywhere. Why you were even fucking this guy was beyond you, honestly. This was one of the top 3 worst life choices you had ever made.

You slid towards him beneath the covers and supported your upper body with your ribcage on his lower back and elbows on his upper back. His body heat intermingling with yours gave you a dull ache, from behind your breastbone flowing into a tidepool in the pit of your stomach. After pushing your hair to one side of your neck, you lowered yourself onto him. Your lips wet and breath hot across his skin, you blew softly before planting a kiss below his shoulder blade. Had it been another person under you, you would have had the gratification of seeing goosebumps forming across the area.

“Sukuna…” you said, barely audible between his skin and your lips.

The King of Curses arose from his relaxed position. “Did you not listen or are you an idiot?”

“Bit of both, to be perfectly honest.” You pinched a tuft of his hair strands between two fingers, pulling gently. “You don’t need to do anything – I just want your attention.”

He issued you a warning glare, daring you to pull some weird shit on him.

You shrugged one of your shoulders and gave him a lopsided smile. “It’s not like I can hurt you, right? I don’t have sharp claws.” To testify, you released his hair, buried your nails below his neck and dragged them down his back in one stroke. Four faint lines were left behind, a stylistic contrast to his dark markings. “I don’t have superhuman strength or speed.” You felt the muscular ridges above his ribs, your fingers travelling up and down each rib. “At my worst, I’m just very obnoxious.”

“How self-aware,” he mocked and laughed half-heartedly. He seemed to enjoy your tiny monologue, judging by the slight raise of his eyebrows. “Continue.”

His approval increased your confidence. While you scoured your brain for whatever concept that might amuse or interest him, you broke eye contact and directed your thumb to pad the black line running along his back. You followed it up to the crest of his shoulders and pulled yourself up over his torso. A low growl hummed beneath you, indicating that perhaps you were pushing your luck. When you brought your left hand down his chest the sound reverberated through your being, reminding you that you were not the apex predator in here. His eagerness showed as he willingly moved his hand into your range when you struggled to reach it.

“Look,” you said, just as eager to sate his curiosity, “at the difference.”

With his attention on your hand enveloping his, you settled your head on his shoulder, finally eye to eye with the King of Curses. You shifted so that your palms met. Even when ignoring his nails, his long fingers and thick wrist eclipsed yours. Finger pads with rough callouses created in combat, the evidence of a reign of lasting a millennium. You could feel the wisdom beneath your soft pads; you could’ve devoted your entire life to warfare and your hands would still not understand it the way his do.

“You know, I never used to consider myself a small person,” you lied, your voice perfectly stable, “but now I am not so sure anymore. It is quite overwhelming.”

Sukuna’s head tilted towards yours, almost tenderly grazing his cheek against your jawline. The movement gave you shivers, causing your toes to curl. You had no option but trusting his self-control when he dove below your jaw and put his lips to your neck. He sucked the flesh between his lips, occasionally tasting with his tongue.

You sighed, content for the brief attention you had earned. Sukuna’s heartbeat rate did not increase nor decrease beneath your hand, his chest just as firm. He detached from your neck, his saliva cooling down that particular spot. You were on the brink of complaining when the world swirled around and your back hit the mattress, your chest and stomach feeling the room’s chill without Sukuna’s body heat.

Sukuna was not playing around anymore; he aligned his forearms beside your face and blocked off whatever else existed outside with his mere presence, lips taut and eyes alert. He situated his torso on top of yours and separated your thighs with his knee. Not close enough to grind on.

“Tell me more,” he stared you down. “What does being completely outmatched feel like?”

You wondered if he meant how it physically felt or how the emotional part of being outmanned and outgunned felt like. Considering how his empathic ability was low-functioning to non-existing, you wanted to bet your money on a physical description… Yet, your tongue prepared to tell him about the terror and the uncertainty. It was not wise to divulge such details to Sukuna.

Scheherazade’s silver tongue might have saved her life a thousand and one times but not everyone’s talent was located in their mouth cavity. Like always, your hands bought you more time to think, to evaluate your words. You tentatively reached for his collarbones before changing your mind and guiding one hand to his lips. Perhaps he had meant to kiss your fingertips, perhaps he had yet another inquiry but his lower lip separated from his upper one and you cautiously pulled it downwards. A predator’s teeth greeted you.

“I can’t say it without sounding lame,” you said and crossed your arms across your chest. “Don’t laugh.”

Almost immediately, Sukuna leaned his weight on one forearm, allowing him to use the other to restrain your hand against the mattress. “I assure you,” he said, his eyes staring lazily at you, lids half-down, “you are not that funny.”

Suddenly, you wished Itadori Yuji would regain his consciousness to not have to deal with this asshole. Kind, encouraging Yuji would worship your existence. Perhaps you would eventually have learned to worship him in turn. ‘Learning’ being the key word, of course. You would fumble in the dark while attempting to appreciate him. This seemed like a good idea for about three seconds and then you returned to your occult god.

“I want to be inside you.” Sukuna, no longer interested in your thoughts, showed more interest in your body. He seldomly spoke of his wants, rousing your curiosity and – honestly – your arousal. The thigh between your leg shifted closer to your mound, touching your nether lips softly.

“You’re so demanding,” you complained, ending your sentence with a deep sigh. “You want me to be quiet, you want me to talk, you want to be inside me – will you ever be satisfied?”

You rolled your hips upwards in a slow movement, enjoying yourself as your lips parted against his flesh. It did not please you enough, so you continued to alleviate yourself.

“No.” His voice  was unusually quiet. His lower lip brushed yours as he spoke. “Do you think you deserve it?”

You moved your chin downwards, the movement nearly imperceptible for someone who was not expecting it.

“I agree… if it’ll keep you quiet,” he said, releasing your arm to steady himself above you.

And you did keep quiet. Although he remained stone-faced, Sukuna seemed attentive to the way you opened your mouth and frowned in frustration, his crimson gaze traversing across your face.

He angled his hips downwards, pressuring your clit as you ground against him. You had never been more thankful for the things he did than when he let you use his body as a tool to get off. Each upwards motion elected a pang of pleasure, a beach in ebb and flow.

You don’t know for how long he tolerated your grinding but your lower body ached and his thigh was slick with your fluid when he removed his leg from you, its absence pulsating throughout your stomach. Despite your fear that he would push you away, you grabbed onto his neck to heave yourself against him, anything to regain that comfort. The relief that accompanied the heartbeat after he brought you up with him to sit upright lightened your entire being. His hands felt excruciatingly hot, almost unbearably so, on your ribcage.

Although you felt ready for him, your grip on his neck remained hard as he lifted you up above his cock. Sukuna descended you slightly, his tip bulging at your entrance. You knew your limit and didn’t hesitate to sink onto him, a movement less gentle than you wished due to your legs being wrapped around his waist. Your breath was uneven, hitching up whenever you strained against him. Avoiding getting your insides impaled by a guy’s dick was surprisingly hard labour. Eventually you settled at his base, a sense of completion glowing off you.

There were no comforting touches or encouraging words from Sukuna, whose tranquil expression made him seem more like Yuji than himself. His eyes almost shut, jaw relaxed... This was the alternate universe version of Sukuna, a man who did not lust for domination and who would settle down with his loved ones for an eventless life. 

Hearing your dumb fantasies echo in your head, you rubbed your eyes with your knuckles until you saw stars. What idiocy. You had to cease these daydream scenarios or you’d be in deep shit in the future. You were an atrocious cultist.

---

I hope everyone enjoyed this. If you liked this, please give a comment/like/reblog. I listened to the Professor Tox remix of LOONA’s Girl Front and Ariana Grande’s Love Me Harder while writing this.

[simonsrosebud]

what if kevin & dalton had been set up instead of meeting on their own?

(pls accept this as apology for not posting any kalton for MONTHS)

kevin doesn’t have a date to the banquet.

normally, it’s fine.  he’s taken allison or renee to the last few, as friends.  but this year, renee has something going on with gwen, their freshman dealer who is somehow only a year younger than himself.  and allison got scooped up by ricky, the other freshman dealer. 

“what happened to us being dates?  i thought it was unspoken?”

allison shrugs and pushes her hair behind her shoulder.  she has her arms crossed as she leans against the doorframe to kevin’s bedroom.  “sure, but ricky has a crush on me and it’s fun playing around with it.”

kevin sends her a look.  “ew, don’t look at me like that.  as if, he’s like a baby to me.”  kevin opens his mouth, but gets cut off.  “you could get a date easily, it’s fine, we’ll help.”

and she’s right.  later that afternoon she shoots a text to the team groupchat.

allison:  kevin needs a date, any and all genders welcome.  must be hot, good at socializing, and able to withstand his complete lack of care for them esp once he starts talking exy. 

allison:  i expect a nominee from each of you.  good luck soldiers.

and kevin’s going to kill that girl.

the freshmen don’t answer, of course.  all of their friends are freshmen, and they’re also just too scared to respond to the foxes sometimes.

aaron responds first, suggesting he just take one of the vixens.  neil chimes in by saying that marissa girl is fucking social alright.

kevin doesn’t get why allison can’t just set him up with one of her friends.  she has a strict rule against any of the foxes dating her non-exy friends, but it’s just an banquet. 

matt comes in last, but instead of the groupchat it’s just to kevin.

matt:  i have a friend named dalton.  he’s in his masters to become a professor but he’s chill. he’s nice and fun too, the best guy i know

kevin knows he shouldn’t be shallow, but...

kevin:  picture?

matt responds almost instantly.  a picture of his friend sitting across from him at starbucks on his laptop.  he looks caught off guard, like matt took the picture without warning.

is he with him right now?

kevin:  maybe.

he drops his head back and rubs his eyes.

an hour later, the door opens.  neil comes in first.  matt is on his heels, and someone else trails in behind him.  kevin sits up.

neil looks at him.  in french, he says, “i wasn’t a part of this.”

kevin stands, and responds back in french.  “you let him in.”  neil shrugs at that, and continues down to the bedroom.

matt nods at him with a smug smile.  “do you still have your psych 101 workbook?  i have to take it next semester and i don’t wanna buy it.”

kevin frowns.  is he not going to introduce his friend?  “uh, yeah.”  he turns to his desk and rummages through the drawers to pull it out.

“oh, this is dalton, by the way.  he’s a friend from sophomore year.”

there it is.  kevin turns back, book in hand, and nods at dalton.

dalton smiles, calm and charming, and tilts his head a bit.  “he’s lying.  i was his TA.”

kevin gives a smile.  it’s small and faint, and mostly fake.  he can’t help it.  he doesn’t care for small talk like this.  how old does that make dalton?

also, how did matt befriend his TA?  kevin’s never spoken a word to the majority of his own.

“can’t imagine having to deal with him in class,” he says, jokingly.

matt doesn’t defend it, just shrugs and moves on.  “hey, did you find a date to the banquet yet?”  he wiggles his eyebrows.  

kevin’s gonna kill him.  he stuffs his hands into his hoodie pocket so he can ball his fists.  “not yet, no.”

he nods, nudges dalton.  “kevin’s on the exy team, too.  he’s the only one without a date to the winter banquet this year,” he says.  “allison, remember allison?  she’s on a manhunt to find someone she approves of for him.”

dalton considers it.  “that sounds like allison.”

kevin refrains from frowning.  “have you met her?”

dalton has, just one time when he and matt went to a football game this fall and made a pit stop to matt’s room.  it’s also when he met neil, albeit very briefly.  neil had too much going on to give him the time of day.

“once, a month or so ago.”

when matt and dalton get into the car, dalton turns halfway in his seat to fully face matt.  “he doesn’t have a date?”  matt shakes his head.  “is he into guys at all?”

matt glances at him.  “yeah, he’s bisexual.”

dalton raises his eyebrows.  “um, hello?!  why didn’t you set him up with me?!”

matt frowns and shoots his friend a look.  “why do you think we just went over?!  i took psychology freshman year!”

dalton’s gonna kill him.  “but you didn’t say anything about me to him.”  matt rolls his eyes and waves him off, and dalton sits back in his seat.

“i know kevin, i know what i’m doing.”

he crosses his arms.  “you’re the worst wingman i’ve ever met.”

but low and behold, kevin texts matt a few hours after his visit.

kevin:  how do u know dalton would want to be my date to the banquet?

matt:  bc he literally told me so

kevin:  fine, ask him if he wants to go and i’ll take him.

when dalton climbs on the bus behind matt, it takes him only a moment to spot kevin and make his way over.

the banquet is five hours away, so the foxes and their dates are changing into their formalwear once they arrive.

dalton has joggers on, and a long sleeve henley that’s a size too big.  his collarbone hangs out as the collar hangs low.  he wears a soft smile, and pushes a hand back through his hair. 

he looks hot.

dalton looks even more hot dressed up in his suit.  he keeps at kevin’s side at first, and talks to both matt and dan from time to time.  allison even pops up once to inquire about him, since he wasn’t one of her picks.

dalton and matt seem to joke around like they’re best friends.  but he doesn’t ever remember matt mentioning him.

then again, if kevin had friends outside of exy, he may not introduce them to the foxes, either.

he finds his way back to kevin’s side at their table, where he’s talking to a trojan player.  after a while, kevin turns to him.  “you don’t have to stick by my side, if you don’t want.”  he almost feels bad.

dalton shrugs and smiles.  “what if i want to stick by your side?”  the way that kevin reacts shows that he wasn’t expecting that, and dalton’s smile turns shy.  “um, i don’t mind, really.  i’d feel bad leaving you alone.  i’m your date.”  he takes a sip of his drink.

“okay.”  it barely leaves kevin’s lips, but it’s enough to make dalton happy.

“you can even talk exy to me, if you want.  i can pretend i know how it works.”

kevin’s heart seizes.  “you don’t know exy?”

dalton grins.  “i’ve never even seen a game.”  he leans closer.  “teach me?”

so he does.  for the next half hour, they sit and kevin blabbers on, and dalton listens and asks questions.  and then they sidetrack somehow to talking about marvel movies and what they suspect will happen in the next spiderman movie.

dalton swears to die on the grave that peter parker is a bisexual icon.

“you can take that title, instead, though.”  his grin is cheeky.  kevin lightly kicks his ankle and rolls his eyes, but he’s heavily amused.

“what about you?  what are you?”

“gay,” he shrugs.  “not much to it.”

“did you… when you told people, how did they react?”

dalton’s head tilts just a bit, and his smile starts to fade.  “some people don’t like it, but it was fine for the most part.”  and after a moment.  “why, are you okay?”

kevin nods.  

dalton doesn’t believe it.  and he supposes he doesn’t know kevin enough to say that, but there’s something about the way kevin doesn’t verbally respond to it that sits weird in his head.

he props his chin in his hand.  “i told my roommates i was gay the first week of freshman year.  my roommate knew, but we had two suitemates, and one of them kinda stopped talking to me after that if he could help it.”  he flicks his eyes up to meet kevin’s.  “my uncle asks me at every family function if i’ve got a girl yet.  he’s known for seven years, now,” he says.  “and thanksgiving is now hosted at my house because my grandmother told my mother that i was unwelcome in hers.”

harsh.  

“i’m sorry.”

he doesn’t know what else he’s supposed to say, really.  he barely has family as it is, but he can’t imagine losing them now because of something so small.

but dalton just shrugs a shoulder.  “it’s okay.  think about it this way, if i was still in the closet i wouldn’t be your date right now.”  he cracks a smile.  always smiling.

that’s when kevin notices just how close their faces are.  and how he keeps glancing at dalton’s mouth.  he sits back.  not here.

dalton goes to the bathroom, and matt takes his seat.  “how’s it going with dalton?”

kevin frowns.  “fine, why?  did he say something?”

matt’s face is indescribable.  “no, but i see you guys getting all close and stuff.  just flirt with him, dude!  he obviously likes you.”

yeah right.  “i-i don’t think so.  he’s just here because i didn’t have a date.”

matt drops his head for a second.  “kevin, after you first met him he scolded me for not setting you two up.  he doesn’t watch exy, and he’s not here for the famous kevin day, just give him a chance.”  kevin looks to the side, where dalton’s on his way back talking with dan at his side.  they’re getting closer, so he talks fast and quiet.  he stands.  “don’t fuck this up, he’s hot and nice,” he whispers, and grins when dan slides into his side.

“we wanna dance.  boys?”  she looks expectantly at both kevin and matt.  matt doesn’t have a choice, but he’d never say no anyway.

dan pulls kevin up and shoves him lightly into dalton, who catches a hand on his waist.  kevin wants to squirm out of it, but not because he doesn’t like dalton, or dalton’s touch.  just because the idea of liking dalton scares him a bit.

but dalton lets go when he finds his balance.

“i don’t- i can’t dance.”

“yeah right, i’ve seen you at eden’s before.”

when he was belligerently drunk.

“you don’t have to.” dalton’s voice is soft behind him.

matt slides his gaze to kevin.  don’t fuck this up.

he turns.  how has his life come to this?  “no.  i will, if you want to.”

dalton grins, lopsided and happy.  “yeah?”

he hopes he doesn’t regret it.  “yeah.” 

so dalton takes him by the hand and leads him after matt and dan.  the majority of the foxes are in the midst of the crowd as well, but they don’t pay them any mind.  there’s enough people that kevin can pretend he’s at eden’s.

kevin is a terrible dancer.  dalton notices it right away and laughs.  when kevin gives him a look he says, “follow my lead.  just sway a little.  nod your head to the music,” kevin looks up at him while he dances, but catches dalton’s eyes instead.

he looks away and falls out of rhythm.  “sorry,” he mumbles.

“it’s okay.”  dalton gently takes kevin’s hands and puts them on his waist.  it feels illegal.  his hands feel like dead weights, he doesn’t know what to do.

is he blacking out right now?

but then dalton’s moving his hips and dancing, and laughing.  he’s having fun and kevin wants to have fun too.

he moves his hands from dalton’s waist to around his neck, and dalton hesitates with his hands near kevin’s hips until kevin nods.

dalton’s fingers dip into his hips.  his one finger taps along the beat of whatever song is playing, while he lightly sings along and bounces back and forth.

it’s dark on this side of the court with the exception of some colored lights darting around.  the designated dancing spot.

kenna is kissing jack in the crowd.

kevin looks back to dalton, singing with a smile plastered on his face.

no one would notice.

kevin’s fingers twitch against dalton’s neck.  but someone could.

he’s already out, but that doesn’t mean he’s kissed a boy in public yet.

he drops his arms.  “i need some air.”

dalton let’s go, “are you okay?”  but he just nods and takes off, off of the court and down the hall to the locker rooms.  the foxes have their things in the away men’s locker room.

kevin sinks down on the bench.  he plays with the bracelet around his wrist, courtesy of betsy in case he needs something to fidget with.  opposed to panicking, that is.

that woman is never wrong.

kevin likes dalton, that’s not in question nor is it really the problem.  the problem is that he doesn’t know what his problem is.  if it’s what people will say when they see that he truly is into men.

being told something versus seeing proof that it’s real are two different things.  he’s learned that, dealt with it more than once.  the last time it was the proof of the raven’s bullying and abuse.  being told that kevin and riko’s relationship isn’t what the fans fantasize it is versus then seeing proof that it isn’t anything that they thought, for example.

kevin had to deal with backlash like that for months after the raven’s investigation post championship game.  him being bi isn’t the same, of course, but he doesn’t know how to predict the behaviors of his fans.  he doesn’t know what they’ll support or not.

but he likes dalton.

“hey.”

one of the freshmen, eva, stands in the doorway.  “stop running 

you don’t have to be scared of people seeing you dance, you know.”

kevin frowns.  “i don’t care about dancing.”

“yeah, but you care about dancing with your date.”  they cross their arms and lean against the doorframe.  “no one cares.  half this team is a little gay, anyway.”

once they’ve changed for the night in the hotel room, dalton hesitates from where he stands by the bed.  “are you okay?  you seemed a little jittery all night, i just... i wanna make sure everything’s fine, i guess.”

kevin looks up, but doesn’t answer. 

stop being so afraid of everything.

he opens his mouth to say something, but he doesn’t know what he can say.

he sighs.

dalton’s standing there, arms crossed, concerned.  kevin swallows his fears as he makes his way across the room until he’s standing right in front of dalton, and slides a hand behind his neck to kiss him.

dalton hums, surprised.  after a moment he brings a hand to kevin’s chest, and there’s a second where kevin thinks hes going to be pushed away.  instead his fingers dig into his hoodie and he pulls kevin closer.

dalton’s smiling as kevin pulls away.  “about time,” he mumbles, and kisses him again.

the back of dalton’s knees hit the bed by accident, but he drops down to sit and gently pulls kevin by the strings of his hoodie.

kevin isn’t new to sex, so to speak.  he’s not the most experienced, but he’s had his fun.  it’s the only reason he’s confident enough to scoot dalton further back and kiss him into the mattress.

dalton wraps an ankle around the back of kevin’s knee.  he curls his fingers into his hair and leans his head back when kevin kisses down his neck.

they wake up to kevin’s phone blaring.  matt’s calling.

kevin only acknowledges the fact that he has his arm around dalton for a second before he checks the time.

they’re late.

wymack’s gonna kill him.

kevin sits up and shakes dalton as he answers his phone.  “hey you guys are awake right?  coach is pulling the bus around then we’re loading up.”

kevin’s out of the bed and throwing his shirt on, tossing dalton’s hoodie to him.  “yeah, we’re coming.”  dalton’s eyes go wide and that kicks him into gear as he realizes the situation.

they look a mess as they run around.  they’ve really only got one pair of clothes and their suits to frantically shove into their bags.  kevin pulls his sneakers on without socks and dalton’s got his on with the laces all undone as they jog down the hall.

at least they brushed their teeth.

dalton drops down to tie his shoes in the elevator, and when he stands kevin takes the liberty of carding his fingers through his hair.

he shrugs.  “bed head.”

dalton can’t help but smile.  “might wanna pull this up a little,” he mumbles, and that’s when kevin realizes that he’d accidentally put on dalton’s long sleeve henley.  the shirt he’d been wearing last night before it got dropped to the floor.

dalton pushes the shirt up so it’s not hanging lower on kevin’s collarbone.  he’s got a nice hickey that needs hiding.

“they’re never going to let this go,” kevin says.

dalton leans back against the elevator wall.  “i’ve got some juice on matt if you ever need.”

kevin smiles, just a little.  despite him worrying all during the banquet, last night was so good.  he doesn’t want it to end as soon as they step off of the bus.  he doesn’t want dalton to be a one night stand, he doesn’t think.

he takes a step forward and kisses dalton against the wall once more.  he pulls away when the elevator dings.

matt smiles to himself as he watches them come around the corner.  he tries to tame it, at least.

kevin and dalton are the last on the bus.  kevin’s spot in the back is open, so they go back there.  dalton toes off his shoes as soon as he sits down.

kevin is on the aisle side.  his chest skips when dalton’s hand lands gently on his thigh.  he doesn’t hate it.

it’s dinner time when they get back to a rainy palmetto.  dalton had fallen asleep on kevin’s shoulder a half hour ago, and jolts awake when matt whoops and shouts to get out of his way so he can run off the bus for the bathroom.

“sorry,” dalton says quietly, scratching his head and yawning into the back of his hand.

“i didn’t mind.” kevin stretches his legs and pulls his shoes on.

dalton’s car is in the gated stadium parking lot.  kevin walks him to it, head ducked because all he’s got on is dalton’s henley.  no one anticipated rain.

dalton turns after unlocking his car, and sticks a ripped off folded note into kevin’s palm.  kevin puts it right into his pocket for safe keeping.  “so are you gonna call me after this?”  dalton’s hair is falling wet over his  forehead.

he nods, mouths the word yeah but nothing comes out.  and dalton can’t help himself, so he takes a step forward and kisses kevin one last time, gentle as he hesitates with his fingers hovering over his cheek.

kevin’s  got nothing to lose at this point, so he curls his hand alone dalton’s neck and steps closer.

he only pulls away because the team is most likely watching, and someone whistles.  “i’ll call you,” he nods.  he shoves his hands into his pockets and ignores the rain as he watches dalton drive out of the parking lot.

he turns towards the maserati and sees andrew shakes his head.  kevin looks down at himself.  he’s halfway to soaked.  not ideal for such an expensive car. which leaves one option.

kevin slides into the front seat of his father’s car.

wymack can’t wipe the smug look from his face.  “so-“

“no.”

[banashee]

Part 7 of my @badthingshappenbingo​

Square: Forcibly stripped

Please see more detailed warnings on the bottom!

Blindsided

 When he walks down the hallway, handcuffed and flanked by two security guards, Clint wonders if this whole thing really is supposed to be an undercover mission or just a clever ploy to get rid of him. On the outside, he remains calm, but on the inside, he is torn between laughing hysterically at how dramatic that sounds, and being utterly terrified because as ridiculous as it seems, it might be a very real possibility.

 His first mission in ages that doesn’t involve Agent Coulson, and look where it gets him - a prison with windowless cells and a brain full of triggers that are just waiting to be set off.

 *+~

     “What the hell do you mean I will go undercover? None of this was discussed beforehand. None of this was prepared for, I didn’t sign any related paperwork or agree to any of those things in any way shape or form.”  

     Clint is glaring at the senior agent in front of him. This comes as a complete surprise to him - and they’re already on the quinjet. Agent Taylor decides that now is the perfect time to drop that bomb, after hours of preparation for a mission plan that apparently won’t happen that way. Taylor shrugs it off.  

     “Plans change. You should get used to that, Agent Barton. It’s easy. You get in, listen around and then report back. We’ll get you out when the time comes.”  

     “‘When the time comes’ I will kick your ass to Director Fury’s office. Sir.” he bites out, not even bothering to keep the venom out of his voice, not even bothering to try and make the ‘Sir’ sound like anything less than an insult - it may be unprofessional, but even more so is blindsiding and agent like that. It endangers lives and entire operations.  

     “You do that. Until then, follow your orders, Agent.” Taylor says, then turns on his heel.  

     It’s not like Clint has got a choice at this point.  

 *+~

 Cold dread runs down his spine when Clint realizes that this fucking  idiot has given them his real name. No fake identity, no nothing. It doesn’t help his suspicions that all of it was intentional on Taylors part at all.

 Did Fury approve of this? Does he know? Did he plan this? Questions run wild in his head, but Clint manages to keep his facial expression neutral. It looks like he will be on his own for this. Not for one second does he believe that they will move a single finger to get him out “when the time comes”.

 God, he hates this choice of words.

 The room around him is cold and sterile. There are four people besides him - all guards, tall and strong looking. If he wasn’t handcuffed, Clint could easily take on two of them, possibly even three, but as it is, his hands are bound and he doesn’t have any time to move and get himself in a position that’ll favor him. If he had time, he might have been able to attempt an attack - but it won’t help.

 Besides, he is supposed to go in and get the intel - not escape. He needs to remind himself of it, even when every single one of his instincts scream for him to make a move, do anything to stop this.

 Then he’s shoved against a wall.

 “Hands on the wall in front of you. Don’t move.”

 Clint doesn’t obey - a pathetic attempt to resist, even though he knows it won’t be of any use. Seconds later, he regrets it, when his entire body cramps under the sudden hit of electricity - one of the guards tased him.

 The pain hits him, and it feels much longer than it takes in reality - it always does.

 “Hands in front of you. Now.”

 The man who talks sounds bored, and there is not a hint of emotion in his voice. This is just another part of the job for him.

 Clint doesn’t want to, but he still does as he is told - he will have to get in, eventually, and he can’t afford any unnecessary injuries.

 ‘In case they won’t come get you’ he very carefully doesn’t think, but he works with that assumption. It’s better than depending on people who will happily sell him out like that.

 Clint would love to have Phil’s voice in his ear - he’s the only person he knows for certain he can trust, has proven it over and over again over the course of the 5 years that Clint has worked with him, almost exclusively.

 But as it is, Phil is on a deep cover mission of his own - which is why Clint was sent out into the field with Agent Taylor in the first place. He didn’t particularly like or trust the man from the start, which isn’t surprising to him at all. He’s still weary, unsure who he can really trust in this shady organisation of spies.

 Agent Coulson, he knows, is a rare and wonderful exception in this place filled with cold and calculated people - he cares, on a human and personal level. Coulson never lets his Agents down, and he certainly would never blindside them like Taylor just blindsided Clint.

 Phil Coulson would never in his life send an Agent into a mission that involves one of the very few things that they requested not having to do.

 It just so happens, that Clint has a past that is both dark and messed up in many ways. He’s made mistakes, some of which still haunt him. He’s been on the wrong side of the law, simply in order to survive.

 This isn’t the first time he’s been sent to a prison, either - 6 years ago, he’d assumed he’d either rot there or die an early death, before he was even old enough to legally drink.

 Back then though, he was told there was a visitor, and that fateful day was the first time he’s ever shook Phil Coulson’s hand and his life has changed for the better.

 He’d gotten a job, a home, and a new squeaky clean criminal record.

 Clint had actually been stupid enough to think it would last.

 But now, he’s back into one of those godforsaken sterile rooms, knowing exactly how this is going to go. His brain screams panic and he has to use all the self control and training he can find in himself as rough and uncaring hands remove his clothes, one after one in a swift and efficient motion.

 The cold air hits his skin, and then the same rough hands, covered in rubber gloves, start searching him for any hidden weapons. They search him thoroughly, so much so that he suspects they take their time in doing so on purpose, just because they can.

 This entire process is painfully humiliating, but the worst part is the complete loss of control. Clint is familiar with that, too, and he does his best to retreat back into the back corner of his head - the safe space where he can go when everything else just hurts and hits all the wrong buttons in his brain.

 Strange and unwanted hands all over him have been part of his life for too long - drunk foster parents, or even worse, the countless “customers” that visited the circus late at night, for something entirely different than a show in the big tent - Clint has learned early on to shove all emotions aside, deal with them later on,

 If and when he will be able to deal with all of this now, he doesn’t know. He still won’t allow himself to let any of it show -       they     will always come up with something worse if they notice that they actually get to him.

 Clint knows that, too.

 Then, he’s hit with the cold spray of disinfectant and can’t suppress a flinch at the sensation.

 “Get dressed.”

 Someone shoves a pair of pants and a shirt at him. Even though he longs for a bit of fabric shielding him from view and hands, the process of getting it on feels just as humiliating as being forcibly stripped.

 ‘Loss of control’ a voice in the back of his head supplies, and it is just that.

 When they walk him into the cell, Clint moves mechanically, not registering anything around him.

 ‘Focus’ he tells himself in the privacy of his mind, ‘Don’t forget your mission!’ but as it is, he is busy trying to not fall apart. ‘Keep it together’ the voice instructs, and he gives his best effort to do just that.

 He only looks up when the handcuffs are removed, and the door slams shut behind him. Several locks click into place.

 Clint expected a cold room in isolation, but as it is, there is another person already there, lazily sprawled on one of the thin cots.

 The man looks up, scruffy and unwashed, and there is a dark look in his eyes. When recognition hits him, the smile turns downright predatory, revealing brown and yellow teeth, and quite a few missing.

 Clint steps further into the room, and cold dread hits him once again, because he, too, recognizes the man in this cell. He keeps his face carefully closed off, but the alarm bells in his head are deafening.

 This is going to go badly - he just knows it.

 *+~

     Bingo Square: Forcibly Stripped  

*+~

Trigger warnings:

- violence - power imbalance - being forced into a triggering situation - references to childhood sexual abuse - references to forced prostitution - Trust issues - PTSD references - please let me know if you would like me to tag anything else

[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.”

*    *     *

[evien-stark]

✧I Need You✧ Chapter 84

Eventually realizing that Coulson ignoring your calls meant he was too busy to get back to you, you had to resort to other methods of finding a SHIELD employed therapist to snatch up. ...assuming there was one. But there had to be. Or you hoped there was, otherwise all this time delaying waiting for Coulson had just been a waste. Fury was out, of course. Preferring not to speak to Nick unless absolutely necessary. That was the way your relationship with him worked best. You were sure he’d agree. You were also sure he wouldn’t totally approve of you trying to steal someone under his employ. 

It was one of the first afternoons in April that you found Nat and Clint sitting at the Avenger’s Mess-hall kitchen table, eating sandwiches, talking and laughing amongst themselves, that you decided it was time to stop waiting and time to start making moves. And, you also decided, in the effort of not wasting any more time… 

“Hey, does SHIELD have therapists?” Asked as you pulled up a chair. Getting right to the point. 

They both looked at each other and then back at you. Nat arched her brow. “I don’t know if we’d call them therapists by… regular standards. What we have are more… field evaluation mediators.” 

Tipping your head, “Meaning?” 

Clint slung an arm over the back of his chair. “Meaning they’re the people in between you and going back to work, once you get off a particularly…” Hanging on the end of the word as he thought. 

Nat helped, “Messy mission. You know. Lots of people put in the ground. That sort of thing. After that, before your next mission, you have to sit down with one of those people to evaluate your mental state.” 

“They’re the worst.” Clearly Clint was not a fan. “Why do you want to know, anyway?” 

“I’m trying to get a therapist for the Avengers.” And at that, Nat and Clint shared a side-eye with one another before making an effort not to burst out into laughter. But there was laughter. “I’m serious!” Feeling frustrated. And perhaps embarrassed. “I don’t think I can just get someone off the street for the shit we’ve been through- even if you guys don’t like the idea- I would like one. And I think some of us would benefit from having someone qualified to talk to, too.” Taking one for the team, practicing what you were trying to preach. So on and so forth. Hoping if you came out and just said it, everyone else would feel more confident about it. 

Clint took a bite of his sandwich, shaking his head. Mouth half full, “You mean Tony. Right?” 

“I mean all of us.” Immediately not okay with the idea of them piling on him. Sure… even he had said it himself a while back. He was a piping hot mess. But so was everyone else. You were sure of it. “Aliens came to New York. I don’t know about you guys, but that’s not normal. And I’d like to start trying to unpack all of it.”

“What’s there to unpack?” Clint seemed hard pressed to give in to this idea. 

“Something beyond our understanding tried to take over earth. And there’s probably more where that came from. There were- I don’t fucking know- armored space whales and tech I’ve never seen before- and we killed like- a lot of them without thinking about it- and I’d like to talk to someone about it.” It all sort of just came out of you, as you assumed it might. 

“You’re talking right now. Don’t you feel better already?” Clint, grinning at you. 

Nat put a hand on his arm, silencing him. Perhaps sensing his humor wasn’t going to help the situation. “I think I know someone. You want me to set up a meeting?” 

“Yes. Thank you.” 

                                                       ----

Deja, the therapist’s name was. “Vu, I assume.” Tony had said the night previous, while the two of you lingered around the edge’s of sleep, wrapped in each other’s arms. Making jokes to ease his own discomfort. He’d promised he’d see a therapist. Now you had one- provided everything went okay. So… he had to go. 

“Linit, actually.” You’d corrected him, and tried to soothe him. You guessed it was normal to be nervous. You were sort of nervous too. But this was good… right? 

Of course you’d prepared just about a mountain of paperwork for her to get through, and secured her her own private office- just in case this was a permanent thing. Maybe it would be. Maybe it wouldn’t. But before you could even get down to making sure she was a good fit, she had just about a hundred NDAs to sign. Because maybe this was foolish. Maybe superheroes were just meant to suffer.

Because trusting a stranger to listen to all their problems, all their secrets… that was foolish, wasn’t it? What if she decided an NDA and whatever salary you were going to pay her wasn’t enough? What if she went to the press? Wrote a book? Exposed every little thing you or any of the other Avengers told her in confidence? How could you be so sure that she wouldn’t? Even if she was legally not allowed to do that… had that stopped people before? 

But Nat had recommended her- and wasn’t this the reason you’d went with a SHIELD employee? To assuage these fears? So with all that in mind- and all the paperwork signed in triplicate… 

You tried to ignore everyone else hovering about nervously as you sat down in her office- door open. This wasn’t a session. It was more an introduction. You just weren’t in the right state of mind to make a good impression, unfortunately. Where you perhaps should have handled this with more care, your Stark Industries business sense was driving your motion. Your thoughts. 

“Thanks for agreeing to meet- and signing all those papers. Let me just start off by asking what you hope to get out of this?” Wrong. Wrong wrong wrong. You were not welcoming her into your proverbial home. You were probably going to scare her away. But, at the same time, she wasn’t the last resort. And maybe she wasn’t a good fit. You couldn’t let yourself just get comfortable yet. 

She seemed to take it in stride, smiling. “The same thing as you, hopefully. But let me be frank, and just between us… I’m happy to get picked up from SHIELD. I went there thinking I was going to make a difference. But signing off on soldiers’ mental states just so they can go back out into the field… that’s not why I wanted to become a psychologist.” 

Was she being too open? Divulging too much to lull you into a false sense of security? Saying exactly what you wanted to hear so that you’d give in and tell her all your secrets? 

Or perhaps you were being too paranoid. And perhaps she was just trying to be frank, honest, and open about her desires. What had led her here, to you. Genuinely happy for a turn of events. ....hard to say which was the truth. Or was it? 

Maybe this was the perfect time to utilize a little sense. So you focused in on her. Just a little. Was she being honest? ...sure seemed like it… sure… felt like it… but maybe this, too, was an act. After all, even if Tony had obliterated your files with SHIELD, surely they had rebuilt them by now. Had them hidden on some secret server. Maybe she knew all about you, and knew just what to do to try and fool you-

“You seem hesitant.” Said after a lengthy pause of your own. Too in your head. “I understand the process of finding the right person for a position this… delicate must be challenging.” 

“Delicate is putting it mildly. I’m sure you’ve seen the news, and considering your employer, you know who you’d potentially be dealing with. Let me just ask, do you think you could help them?” Them including you of course, but that didn’t need to be said right now. Just trying to be the intermediary for your team. You wanted the best for them… 

“That’s a loaded question. I could smile at you and say yes, sign more paperwork and take a check. Come in every week and listen and try my best- but it isn’t that simple. And… I suspect you understand that. Every person is going to approach my services differently. Let’s start here- what do you want out of therapy?” 

What you wanted? -or, simpler put, what was the point of this? Why, everyone else aside, were you trying to hire someone to help you? What kind of help did you want? What did you want to accomplish? 

Fanning your hands out over your pants, you realized you were fidgeting. Just a little. Was it your anxiety you wanted to work on? Your jumbled thoughts? Your… “I need someone to help me process all of this. I… need help unpacking all of it. My life wasn’t like this, even just six years ago. And I need help… adjusting.” Everything had happened in so short a time. Tony had gotten kidnapped. Tony had come back. You’d fallen helplessly in love. People kept trying to kill one or the both of you. The world had changed. There were superheroes and aliens and gods. 

How was a person supposed to deal with all of that? 

Deja went quiet for a moment a little too long- long enough to make you uncomfortable, in your vulnerability. She put her hands together. Her smile was delicate. “Therapy isn’t a one-and-done. I can sit here. And I can listen. And I can try to help you put things in order, to prioritize, to make sense. But part of the work is on you, too. Do you think you’re ready?” 

Ready? Ready for what? To make changes? To unpack? Unload? Try and make sense of it all? “I’ll get less ready to more I keep putting it off- and- I want to emphasize. This isn’t just about me.” 

“I understand that. But you can’t force them to sit here and try and help themselves any more than I can. If they want to sit down, I’ll focus on them when they’re ready. But while I’m speaking to you, I want to get a sense of what we can accomplish together.” 

“Are you scared of any of them?” You had no idea why that had come out of you so suddenly. Maybe in an attempt to cover up your own insecurities while she was reading you so openly and trying to get you to commit to plans. You were dodging her. 

Such a good sign that you needed help, right? 

“Are you?” She looked over you, casting a serious glance over the rim of her glasses. 

“No.” But you worked with them. Knew them intimately. Loved them. They were part of your family now. 

“Then why ask me?” Calling you out. 

“This job will no doubt be tougher than the ones you did for SHIELD, regardless of if you liked those ones or not. I’m just… trying to get a sense of things.” Sort of lying, but sort of not. 

“I’m not afraid of a challenge. ...Banner makes me a little nervous. If you want my honesty. But clearly he has a handle on… everything. I think I’ll be fine.” Her blunt honesty made you feel a little better, somehow. “And, listen… I’m no stranger to my clients being distrustful. I think it tends to go hand in hand with the locales. But this can’t work unless you do trust me, and decide you can be open with me. I’m willing to come as long as it takes until you get there. As long as you think you will. Eventually.” 

You understood what she was saying. Trying to impart that she didn’t want this to be a waste of her time any more than you wanted to waste yours. Were you willing to put in the work? Were you willing to let your guard down? Were you willing to be open and honest? ...that was the whole point of this, right? What were you looking for therapists for the Avengers in the first place, if not for all that? But maybe it had been easier just trying to do the scouting and not… thinking about what it all actually meant, had it ever come together. 

“What I know is…” You took a deep breath. Deciding… deciding it was time, now, to start trying. “I haven’t been doing well. I’m not a complete mess, I can go about my life. I can work. I can get things done. But a few months ago, I was having meltdowns of slightly epic proportions. I can’t continue to live like that.” Not just for you, but for the consequences it unearthed for the innocent people around you. “And I just have the feeling that my life is going to get harder, the longer we- ...the longer the Avengers are a thing.” 

Her eyes drifted low, seemingly in thought. Her hands folded together again, and she sat back. “Do you envision a time when the Avengers aren’t a thing?” 

“I don’t know. It seems impossible right now. Like we might be doing this forever. Because threats don’t just disappear.” 

“Do you want to do it forever?” 

The question stopped you cold. You’d been thinking about this, a little frantically and disjointedly, a few separate times. Was this your life forever now? Was there a future outside of this? What about you and Tony? What sort of future could you have as a couple if crazy world-ending shit was happening all the time? Or kidnappings and attempted murder? 

“No.” 

The answer hurt you. Surprised you, too. But it was honest. 

“Not forever.” 

“But you don’t think you can stop?” 

Your anxiety spiked, a cold tightness in your chest. Flight response pushed at the corners of your brain. You didn’t want to be with the Avengers forever. That was out there now. Out there in the world. “Hey- this seems like a session- I think we’d better finish up your paperwork and get you on payroll- make it official.” You were on your feet. Knowing how obvious this all was, to someone like her. Hell. Anyone. You weren’t being terribly secretive right now. 

 “Is this official?” She let you get away with it anyway, smiling up your way. 

“I think we can move forward. We can’t tell if it’s not a good fit until we work with each other a little more- and- them too- don’t forget.” 

“I’m not forgetting.” She stood, offering her hand out. “It’s been a pleasure. When can I look forward to sitting down with you again?” 

You gave her hand a firm shake. “How about next week. Monday work for you?” 

Her laugh surprised you. “Technically I work for you now, once I sign my name on a few more dotted-lines. What’s best for your schedule?” 

“Monday evening.” That was a lie. Nothing was ever going to be good for your schedule. But you’d push things around to make an attempt at making this a regular thing. You had to. For your own sake. “I’ll try to push a few of the others your way, too.” 

“Not too hard. I don’t want them to reject the idea of this outright. It won’t help anyone.” 

Nodding, “Understood. I’ll send Pepper in here to help you get set up. You like the office?” 

“It’s very nice. Thank you.” 

“Good.” 

Great. Wonderful. Fantastic. 

                                                         ----

Because everyone seemed to be avoiding you, for no reason at all, you and Tony opted for a quiet dinner at the penthouse. While you’d ordered in, you still unboxed everything and plated it. Dinner was eaten in the living room in front of a TV neither of you was really listening to. In fact, Tony had been talking about something. Research in the lab- suits- you were listening. Honest. But… it wasn’t all sticking. You were still thinking about what Deja had said. More importantly, what you had said. And after dinner was over, you followed him into the kitchen. Leaning your elbows onto the counter in a slow slide, you put your chin in your upturned palms, watching him as he washed the dishes. Just as he got to drying the last plate, you couldn’t hold it in anymore. 

“Do you think we’ll be part of the Avengers forever?” 

He lowered the plate, looking up for a moment, then grinned lightly, shaking his head. “You spoke to her like what- twenty minutes? She that good?” 

“I think I like her.” Honestly you weren’t actually sure yet. But she seemed honest. And nice. And willing to work hard. And try and help. What more could you ask for? “But… it wasn’t really a session.” 

“Yet here you are after not listening to anything I said this evening, thinking about our future with the superfriends.” 

“I listened.” Protesting. But you sensed he didn’t believe you. ...he was right. “I just… what’s the point we’re working towards? Are we going to be on-call for the rest of our lives? Or are we… are we going to reach a point where we don’t have to worry anymore?” 

He set the plate down in the drying rack, slinging the dish towel over his shoulder. Going to you as you stood and then sat back atop the counter, his hands cradled your hips. “If you’re looking to me for guidance on this… I don’t have any right now. I’ve been thinking about this, too. And I don’t know.” You appreciated his honesty, even if it was blunt and put an unease in your heart. You would rather that  than him lying. “Do I want to live in a world where eventually we finish and get to go home? Of course I do. ...do we live in that world?” 

Your eyes left his. Feeling almost guilty. Because it seemed obvious. How could you? How could evil ever just be gone from the world? Not even the small threats that didn’t concern a team like the Avengers. But the bigger ones. How could you believe they’d just one day be gone forever? 

You couldn’t. “No.” Feeling a forlorn sense of sorrow over this realization. 

Reaching one hand up, he tipped your chin, angling your eyes back towards his. “I love you.” Despite the grimness of the situation, this, as always, got a small smile out of you. Made you feel better. “Do we live in that world right now? No. I don’t think so. But that doesn’t mean we won’t ever.” 

“That’s pretty optimistic, for you.” Sliding your hands up his chest, you beckoned him closer. Eventually wrapping your arms around him, resting your head on his shoulder. 

He gave you a squeeze, his head laying atop yours. “Realism is more my thing. You’re saying it’s not realistic to think we could achieve a… balance?” 

“I don’t know.” Mumbling into his shirt. “I hope so.” 

“I can work with hope.”

[ghost-chance]

TITLE:              Still Waters

AUTHOR:          Infernalitae FANDOM:          Friday the 13th, movies.     Hence why I’m posting this on Friday, December 13th. I totally planned this...at the last minute. RATING:            M (no smut yet but I’m eagerly a-waitin’ for it.) PAIRING(S):      Jason Voorhees/OFC FOUND ON:      FFNet, AO3 (AO3 has pictures with each chapter)

DEETS:  Mild spoilers. This story has everything I look for in fanfiction. To start with, the basics: Spelling/Grammar/formatting/punctuation are all on-point, or mistakes are sparse enough I haven’t noticed any yet. (It takes maybe one mistake per chapter or something for me to miss those, or I have to get so sucked in by the story I won’t even notice smoke alarms going off. It’s happened.) Syntax is creative and widely varied, there are plenty of music and culture references to chew on, and there’s enough well-chosen purple prose to make me want to hold up a lighter and sway in place like a stoner at a Grateful Dead concert. ...yes, I’ve managed to refrain so far. No promises I’ll always refrain. This writer is KILLING IT, here, and I’m loving every sentence! They reportedly went to school for writing and it freakin’ shows. I just about cried when I found out this was their only published story on either site. The OC is well-rounded, believable, and in full possession of her faculties and a functional (if eventually more flexible) moral compass. The romantic connection is NOT rushed in the slightest - it’s dragged out every step of the way - and sexual tension is not used as a substitute for romantic interest and emotional connection. S.L.O.W. burn here, folks, and it’s a Work in Progress. Face it. It’s easy to say “I’d hit that” when talking about a fictional anti-hero with biceps like trees and issues out the ass, but given the chance, most of us would reach for the mace and run away shrieking like ninnies. That is, after all, the rational response to running into an armed person covered in blood, guts, and grey matter. The OC, Whitney, behaves more rationally than the average horny fan. She overthinks things. She broods. She second-guesses herself, has mood-swings, makes mistakes, she fucks up royally, she does and says things that sounded better in her head, and sometimes she makes absolutely no sense, because that’s how people are. She endlessly debates between right and wrong, between hormones and Stockholm Syndrome, and between heart and mind. She never approves of Jason’s killing sprees (I mean, come on, people seriously think approval is a healthy reaction to finding out someone put a machete through your boyfriend’s skull?) and she’s spent a great deal of time silently assessing his mental and emotional capacity and acting accordingly. Nope, no pedo-squick here, yay! (- because pairing a mentally challenged adult with someone who literally baby-talks to them is just...I mean...ew. Just ew. The very idea makes me want to bathe in bleach.) I strongly suspect when the sparks finally start flying between these two (as opposed to simmering under the surface) we’ll see one of two scenarios: He’ll make the first move purely out of instinct and she’ll swallow her tongue from surprise, or she’ll finally lose control, think “OhshitIbrokehim,” and swallow her tongue when he reciprocates. Either way, she’s totally gonna choke on her own tongue and I’m gonna need popcorn. FYI, the most recently-posted chapter, Six Feet Under, is going to go on my headstone as cause of death should I kick the bucket in the next seven days. I don’t know how else to put it, the story is just that awesome.

WARNINGS: First off, let me make something clear. Being a small fandom, there are far more bog-awful Friday the 13th fics than there are good ones. (No, I’m not naming names of bog-awful ones, you’ll have to find them yourself.) Naturally, I went into Still Waters expecting something like that manky majority or, if I was lucky, something at least halfway decent. When a fandom is small enough, your normal standards tend to...eh...lower...just so you have reading material. Most stories I’ve found before have absurd middle-school-drama plots, paper-thin OCs, excessive glorification of senseless violence, and frankly shitty spelling and grammar. The worst have squick-twigging childlike Jason/creepy adult pairings that poke my gag reflex; some even have pedo-flavored smut that makes me run away screaming and craving the taste of soap to wash away the bile. They literally make me throw up a little in my mouth. There are some absolute HORRORS in this fandom. Again, I’m not naming names.

THIS story, while not disgusting, does need some warnings. Obviously there’s violence - sometimes graphic, sometimes less graphic - and other topics common to the movies. (meaning references to drugs, sex, drinking, asshole boyfriends, bullying, and some cursing, etc) There’s occasional disturbing imagery, mostly regarding injuries and environmental hazards. The toughest bit to chew on is what drives the first part of the story, plot-wise: Whitney coming to trust, accept, and even, perhaps, fall in love with, the hockey-masked hooligan we all know by heart. It’s gritty and bloody, and there are a lot of moments where you can almost feel your own moral compass wavering according to the plot. Angst, some horror, (I mean, you’ve gotta expect that much) some suggestive content, controversial topics, etc. Hopefully we’ll get some smut in the future, or at least some fade-to-black limes. Basically, if the idea of the story, pairing, or fandom squicks you, don’t read it; if you read and you’re squicked beyond recovery, back out and find something else to read, you were warned.

RECOMMENDATION LEVEL: 10/10. Yes. Ten. out. of. farkin’. TEN. It DOES exist! THIS is the kind of fan-writing that gets a perfect rating from my picky self. Seriously, I can’t find a single thing to complain about in this other than I’m impatiently waiting for new chapters. I’ve laughed, I’ve cried, I’ve bitten my nails, I’ve argued with the characters while reading on the bus and looked like a nutcase, the works. (Yes. I’ve literally bitched at the characters while reading on the bus. I’m probably on a list now. In my defense it was an intense chapter and I was immersed to the scalp. Worth it.)

Just read it. Seriously, just read it.

[thenugking]

Hi! For Amity's worldstate, please, 3, 9, 14, 17, 25

3.What would your Inquisitor generally think of your warden and your Hawke?

I haven’t played my Inquisitor for that worldstate yet but her concept is Nice Vashoth girl who makes good decisions and brings a lighter mood than Amity’s bullshit. She does Not like Amity at all, and finds the things she hears about her terrifying. I’m not sure about Griffon (the Warden in that world state yet). I suspect they’d get along and generally approve of each other.

9. Would your warden or Hawke have actually accepted the role of inquisitor if Cassandra had located them as she’d planned to? Would they have been a good leader for the Inquisition?

Griffon would absolutely not have agreed. Their whole story in Origins is about people attempting to force them into the role of Leader in a Social Setting and they’re incredibly uncomfortable with that, because it means a lot of trying to be cis and allistic and failing even apart from that, feel extremely unqualified and uncomfortable with leading the miserably while not being able to be themself either. They’re not going to go for that again, and Inquisition. They’re not Andrastian and while they support the mages, they feel like they’re too far removed from the situation to really try to bring a peace about here.

Amity would have jumped at the chance, with her number one goal being to become the most powerful person in the world. Her own personal army dedicated to stopping the mage war however she wants sounds great! She would have been a good leader in that she’s charismatic and skilled in leadership. But like, she would use the Inquisition to either enslave or genocide mages and conquer half of Thedas. Which is not so good.

14. If they’d been in each other’s places would they have made the same or different choices? And who would they have romanced, if anyone?

I don’t know about Vashoth yet except that yes she would very definitely have made different choices to Amity in DA2 because she is a decent person, and would possibly have romanced Merrill? Griffon is also a decent person and would have supported mages (and Anders and Justice) in everything and would probably have romanced Fenris or Isabela. They’re not really into any of the Inquisition romance options. Their main choices in Inquisition would be ally with the mages, recruit the Grey Wardens, have Briala rule Orlais, and find an elf to drink from the Well of Sorrows. They also wouldn’t kill any of the dragons because dragons are good and wonderful. I think they actually get the Pools of Sun turned into a wildlife sanctuary sometime before Inquisition. No hurting dragons there allowed.

It is really fun discussing Amity in other games though, so have a Lot of rambling about that. Apart from trying to take over Thedas, Amity as Inquisitor would go to the mages because she wants them, rather than the templars, under her control and would conscript them into the Inquisition. She’d recruit the Wardens to have them under her control too, and set up the alliance between Celene, Gaspard and Briala and try to use the blackmail information she had to control them all, while playing them off against each other. I’m not sure about the Well of Sorrows, if possible, she’d get someone she felt was harmless and who she could easily control to drink.

Regrettably, Amity is attracted to Solas and Dorian. She’s not interested in Blackwall at all until after the Reveal, when he sits in his cell full of self loathing and feeling very easy to manipulate and abuse, and then he’s really hot. Whatever “romance” she goes for will Not go well. Also, Amity would never see Cole because he takes one look at her and goes “NOPE”. He sticks around at the Inquisition and helps all the people she’s abusing see they still have worth and don’t deserve to be treated like this. And now I really love this idea and want to make a villain Inquisitor to do this with and I’m struggling to come up with a concept that’s as awful as Amity without just being Amity 2.0, oops.

Her decisions in Origins are harder because she can’t really see a reason to make many of the “bad” decisions. She’d save Redcliffe and be a Hero to them and then let Isolde sacrifice herself for Connor so she can tell Connor all about how his mum’s death and the shit that happened in Redcliffe was all his fault and make him hate himself. She’s swaying towards Harrowmont for Orzammar, because he’ll keep the casteless down and seems easier to manipulate, but she’d easily go for Bhelen instead if she thought that would make her look better, because she’s not intending to come back to Orzammar, so it doesn’t really matter what’s going on there. She also doesn’t see any reason to keep the Anvil of the Void, sure, it could make people suffer, but she doesn’t need to visit Orzammar to watch people suffer, so it’s better just to kill Branka to watch Oghren suffer right now, and be able to guilt him over his part in it.

I’m really not sure what she does with the werewolves and elves. Like, sure, she’s racist towards elves and would like to kill them but she also feels the same way about the werewolves. I think it comes down to whether she thinks she can’t justify genociding the Dalish enough to make her companions not realise she’s awful, or whether she’d rather hurt Zevran a lot. It could go either way. Amity wouldn’t desecrate the Urn because there’s no benefit to that. She’d kill Loghain because he could be dangerous and she wants to keep Alistair onside, and she’d make Alistair king, if possible with herself as queen.

She thinks Alistair and Zevran are both very good romance options (by which we mean very easy to abuse) but in the end I think she’d go with romancing Alistair, but fucking Zev because he did swear an oath to her. And then, presuming she treats Alistair the same way she treated Anders, things get Interesting, because there’s no way she’s going to let someone who belongs to Her fuck Morrigan. Which, in Amity’s opinion, means there are four ways the end of the game could go.

Alistair kills the Archdemon and dies. Amity loses both her favourite toy and her shot at being queen, while Alistair is remembered as a great hero.

Alistair kills the Archdemon but Riordan is wrong. Alistair survives and is held up as a great hero, surpassing Amity.

Amity kills the Archdemon and dies. This sucks for her, but she’ll be remembered as a great hero and if she guilts Alistair about it before she goes, he’ll hate himself for ages and potentially never get over her. So all in all it’s about as bad as option 2.

Amity kills the Archdemon but Riordan is wrong. She survives and gets everything.

So that’s how the actual worst person in the world would end up doing the Ultimate Sacrifice. It’s also how the Blight doesn’t actually end, because like the Darkspawn, Amity doesn’t have a soul.

17. If Origins and Inquisition had the 3 personalities (Diplomatic, Sarcastic, Aggressive) which would your warden and inquisitor have predominantly been? And what one did your Hawke have?

I suspect my Vashoth is going to be mostly diplomatic. Griffon would likely be a mix of diplomatic and direct-red. They’re not very aggressive but they don’t understand why they can’t just say what they mean. Amity was almost exclusively sarcastic; she’s just everyone’s good mate who tells shitty jokes and doesn’t take anything seriously, and not a total monster at all!!

25. What is/was their relationship with their family like?

I don’t know about my Vashoth yet. Amity gets along well with her family to make her life easier. She doesn’t give a shit about Leandra and Carver though, because there are very few people she actually gives a shit about at all. She’s delighted when Leandra gets kidnapped by a murderous blood mage because this gives her an excuse to be even grosser to mages, and wastes time looking for Leandra to raise the chance of her being dead by the time Amity got to her. She hates Bethany probably more than she hates anyone. Bethany got magic that gave her power Amity didn’t have, and their parents’ desire to protect their mage daughter dragged Amity back for years.

Griffon’s relationship with their family is not great. At the start of the game, they’re trying to be a good daughter but not even managing to be a daughter at all, and their parents aren’t willing to consider that their child isn’t allistic or cis. There’s a lot of stuff like having to wear fancy dresses that give Griffon dysphoria and unpleasant sensory stimulation, and then Griffon has a meltdown and their parents get disappointed in them for behaving like a child and embarrassing everyone.

Griffon loves their family though and is distraught about their deaths. They continue to try and be a Good Noble Girl to honour their family’s wishes, letting Eamon arrange for them to be married to Alistair (so that he can rule through Two easily manipulated politically un-savvy people) until the end of the game. At the end, they let themself free of what their parents and Eamon and everyone else wants, and go to rebuild the Wardens and marry Zevran. They’re very happy to discover Fergus survived, as well as relieved that he can now rule Highever instead of them, but let him know that they’re Griffon and they/them now, and if he can’t deal with that then they’re not going to get along anymore, sorry.

[rosyredlipstick]

gift wrap optional (1/1)

It's December 23rd. It's December 23rd, and Will Solace is just realizing this fact. Will hasn't done any Christmas shopping, Nico's just looking for an excuse to quit his crappy sales clerk job, and there are worst ways to meet during the holidays.

AO3 Link Here

i wrote this for tumblr user @xthis-rebelle for the @pjosecretsanta2k17, hope you enjoy your gift!! happy holidays! shoutout to my homegirl tumblr user @rinarraven for beta reading, cheerleading me through the writing process, and taking my drarry fic recs seriously i have a lot of emotions over them ok

“I need your help.” Never before had a sentence been so utterly true to Will Solace as the one he uttered then. He suspected it never would be so true ever again in his life.

The clerk at the help desk only sighed greatly, leaned forward onto the dull plastic surface of the counter, and gave Will a bored look. If the color gray could be held in someone’s voice, it would lace his next words. “Of course, sir. How can I help you?”

Will needed this retail worker - this poor, poor retail worker tasked to deal with people like Will himself two days before Christmas in an overly bright department store - to understand. Understand what was at stake at this moment in time.

His look was intense, his voice even more so, when he leaned down to better meet the workers bored gaze. This, at least, seemed to catch his attention more.

“It’s two days before Christmas,” Will stated obviously, the calendar on the wall proving this statement. “It’s the day before Christmas Eve, I have four younger sisters, and I have not bought a thing.”

He buried his head into his hands, stupidly grateful that this area of the store was mostly empty of customers for now, and let out a shaking breath. No one should see his shame.

“I need to get four awesome gifts for my four awesome sisters, and I need to do it soon. Like, yesterday soon. And I need them gift wrapped. I could honestly care less about the cost.” Will was well aware of the pathetic vibe that he was putting off. Maybe that would help his cause. His voice was weak as it rushed out of him. “Please help.”

The worker - Nico, his nametag read off in a neat font - gave him a considering look. Much more considering than Will would have thought. “Okay, I’ll help you.”

Will nearly wilted with relief. “Thank you.” He slumped against the counter, his breath rushing out of him. “I was looking at your online catalog - wait, where are you going?”

Nico, surprisingly, was pulling off his nametag and visor with a grin, dropping them both on the counter. He ignored Will’s question and turned in place only to cup his hands around his mouth.

“Tracey!” A scowling woman turned from the front counter, looking already ready to snap at him. But Nico only grinned gleefully in response to her piercing glare. “I quit!”

Will stuttered in shock, his hands coming up. “Wait - what - I - you said you were gonna -”

“I am,” Nico jumped over the counter, grabbing his arm and beginning to pull him down the long, glossy front aisle of the store. Around them, people were staring. “But you’re not going to find anything worthwhile in here, I promise.”

Will, for some unknown reason, allowed himself to be dragged out, casting a desperate look to the store around them as he was pulled through the front doors. Once outside, Nico stopped, pulling the other boy in front of him. Will cast a desperate look back towards the department store.

“We’ve got to game plan,” Nico made a motion of thinking it over. “And coffee. That shift felt like it would never end.”

Will was still sputtering along, making high pitched noises of confusion.

He just wanted to buy his sisters Christmas presents. Was that so hard?

“Starbucks,” Nico decided on, wrinkling his nose in disgust. “Overpriced and usually burnt, but it’ll work. Decent cider, if anything.”

“I -” Will’s eyes were wide and confused and settled on the stranger standing across from him. Well, at least he was cute. “There’s one the next street over.”

Nico grinned slightly, a crooked sort of thing, and was still holding onto Will’s arm - perfect, as he dragged the other boy along. “Great. Let’s go.”

“Name’s Nico di Angelo,” He shot Will a horribly lopsided, terribly handsome grin as they walked, their strides matching together nicely. “And what’s the name of the guy I just quit my job for?”

Was that Will? It had to be. Right? Yes.

But why?

“Will,” he finally choked out, still being led along by the arm. “Will Solace.”

Nico shot him a small grin over his shoulder. “Nice to meet you, Solace.”

After only a few more minutes of walking, and Will questioning his life decisions, they came across the familiar green and white logo. Nico wrinkled his nose again at the familiar coffee bean scent that was already hitting them from the streets. Nico pulled him in before, finally, releasing Will’s arm.

“Perfect,” Nico declared after a moment, jumping forward to snag an empty table. Rare, so close to the holidays. “What do you want?”

Will took a seat, blinking. “Um,” it seemed he would be needing caffeine for the day ahead of him. “White chocolate mocha, hot. Please.”

Nico nodded once, taking to the short line, leaving Will alone at the table.  

Okay. So. This changed his plans.

He was with a stranger in a Starbucks, still no closer to finishing up his gift list, two days before Christmas.

This was weird, right? Should he just… leave? Probably not after the other boy quit his job to help Will… but, like, who did that?

No one normal, right?

Nico was returning, two cardboard cups in his hands, a thoughtful look on his face. Looks like Will was staying.

He set the matching red cups on the table, taking the seat across from Will. He took his cup, mostly just to have his hands busy with something, and the other boy spoke up.

“We need to game plan,” the other boy pulled out his phone, frowning at the screen. “No major stores should have any major hour changes but the lines are going to be crazy. We need to figure out what stores we’re going to hit.”

Will’s eyebrows came together, “We were just at a store -”

“I’m never stepping into a Macy’s ever again.” Nico refused, “Anyways, there’s no such thing as a life-changing, bomb-ass present in a department store.”

Will sighed, sinking back into his chair. “I’m usually like, so good at this. Months in advance, personalized-designer-wrapping-paper good at this.”

Nico only looked mildly interested. “And? What happened?”

Will let his head hit the dark, glossy wood of the table, a satisfying thunk following. “Med school happened.”

Nico winced. “Ouch. My sister’s boyfriend is in med school right now and like, I think he died. I haven’t seen him in… weeks, probably.”

“That sounds accurate,” Will’s voice was one of a broken man. He lifted his head from the table. “I can’t believe I just...forgot.”

“At least you’re not trying to collect from the premade gift aisle,” Nico gave him a sympathetic look. Will could already tell it was a rare expression for the other boy.

“No, I just have to somehow provide four thoughtful, wonderful presents for my equally great sisters.” He groaned, “I really, really don’t know how I’m gonna do this.”

Nico took a long drink from his coffee. “Guess we’ll just have to get started then.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and seemingly got in the mindset.

“Alright,” Nico pulled a napkin from the stack he had thrown down in between them, followed by a pen from his jacket pocket. “Who are we shopping for?”

Will was still quickly adjusting to the ‘we’ factor of the equation but hey, he was a pretty adaptable guy.

“My sisters, four of them.” Will held his fingers, ticking them off as he listed their names. “I’m the oldest. Then it’s Hina, at twenty-one, then Kayla at seventeen, Selena at sixteen, and Marisol at eleven.” Nico was writing down the information in neater handwriting then Will would have thought.  

“What did you get them last year?” Nico paused, his pen hovering.

Will thought about it for a brief moment, “Subscription boxes, six months worth each.”

Nico considered that for a moment. “Not bad,” He finally settled on, “What kind?”

“Uh,” He squinted, thinking back to the horde of confirmation emails probably still sitting in his inbox. “Well, Hina got a music one where she got new CDs and like, music note socks or something every month. Kayla got one where they send you like, a new book every month, Selena got a make up one that she specifically asked for, and Marisol got one of those international snacks and candy ones, where you get a new country every month? It was cool.”

Nico scrawled a few more words on the napkin, nodding his head in approval. “Okay. We should be able to go off this.”

Will pursed his lips, giving the other boy a questioning look. “Seriously, like, not that I don’t appreciate it but -” Will moved to biting his lip instead. “Why are you doing this? I mean, quitting your job and helping me?”

Nico stopped writing and set his pen down, looking up to meet Will’s waiting gaze. “Wanna know something?”

Will blinked, “Uh, sure?”

Nico gave him a single nod, “I’ve had six jobs in the past year, and I’ve hated every single one.”

“What?” At that, Will’s voice was sharp and surprised. “What - I - how? How do you even like, pay bills? Survive?”

He gave Will a casual shrug, “My dad helps pay for everything I do. My sister decided to go to art school with it, but I’m not really cut out for school. So I -” He gestured to his surroundings, “work at department stores and quit on a whim to take a cute boy out for coffee.” Nico took a slow drink of his coffee, apparently not noticing Will’s rough blush. “I’m just looking for something that sticks, I guess. And it definitely wasn’t going to be fucking Macy’s. This sounded fun.” Nico gave him a look. “Can you blame me?”

Will blinked a few times, processing. “I guess not,” he finally decided. “...What else have you done this year?”

Nioc held out a hand, ticking off one with each job he named. “I’ve been a barista, waiter, assistant librarian, surf shack employee, gas station clerk, and uber driver.” His eyes lit up fo a quick second. “Hey! Seven jobs now. Got one in just before the year was up, nice.”

Will didn’t even know how to respond to that. He only shook his head, taking a long sip of his drink.

Nico seemed to take that as his que to turn back to the wrinkled napkin in front of him. He cocked his head to the side, chugging the last of his coffee, and looked back to Will in question.

“Who’s easiest to shop for?” Nico asked, absentmindedly rolling his pen between his fingers.

“Selena,” Will knew nearly instantly, because it was true. Selena would happy cry over a wilted flower if Will put enough effort into picking it.

Nico looked satisfied with that. “Selena, what does she like?”

Will chewed on his lip, “Makeup, usually. Reading - she and Kayla are always trading books - and, uh, science? She’s won her school’s science fair like, twice already.” There was a barely hidden note of pride in his voice. What? His sisters were awesome.

“Makeup, reading, and science.” Nico mused, his hand coming up to his chin and everything. He pocketed his pen and napkin. “Let’s start with the first.” He went quiet. “You know what that means, right?”

Will sighed. He did. Vividly, often through nightmare.

“There’s a Sephora in the mall,” Will set his shoulders like a man going off to war. He collected their cups and threw them towards the trash. “Let’s do this.”

Five steps in and Will Solace was truly feeling the definition of regret.

His eyes were wide, taking in the bright lights, the blinding glossy white interior, the crowded aisles, and he needed to take a deep breath.

“This is… a lot of options,” Nico stated the obvious, looking unsure for the first time during the whole experience. “Do you know what she wears?”

Will glanced around the brightly lit store, frowning, probably a little close to desperate tears. “I mean, I just, I don’t really know what she wants - she’s very particular about the ingredient lists and brand or stuff. For her birthday I just let her loose in here and let her get a handful of whatever.” He stepped hesitantly forward, some of the brand logos looking a bit familiar. “Maybe…?”

Did Selena even wear - he quickly read the label of the nearest bottle - setting mist? What even was that, and why in the world did a 4 oz plastic bottle cost thirty two dollars?

He set it down with a sigh, incredibly aware of the other boy’s waiting presence at his side.

He cast a look around the store - so close to the holidays it was near bursting. The line to the register was reaching nearly them, at the front of the store.

Will didn’t know the first thing about makeup. What the hell was he thinking?

He let out a sigh, his head hanging. “I should give them all cash or something. Admit defeat.”

Nico was clearly just as lost in the brightly lit store, but turned to the other boy with a fierce look on his face. “No,” he boldly declared, grabbing onto Will’s sleeve to pull him out of the store, something that was quickly becoming commonplace. “No.” he repeated once they were clear of the crowd, the look still on his face. “We’re only, what, an hour into shopping? We can’t give up yet!”

Will let his head hang, “I have no idea what to get her.” He gestured towards the store, “I don’t know the first thing about all that, and I’d rather let her get herself something she’d actually use rather than just play an expensive round of a guessing game.”

There was a beat of silence as Nico clearly thought that over. “Okay,” he said after a moment, “Okay, let’s give up on the makeup. You said she likes, what else, reading and science?”

Will let out a breath, nodding. “Yeah. She, uh, wants to go into chemistry and stuff.”

Nico was already nodding with thought. “Yeah, yeah.” His voice was absent-minded. After a moment, his eyes lit up. “She likes science?”

Will just said that. “I just said that,” Will agreed, a bit confused. Nico grabbed onto his wrist yet again and began pulling him along.

He let himself be guided, catching up to walk in stride with the other boy. “Where are you going?” Nico pulled him to the curb, already calling for a taxi. “Nico?”

“Trust me,” Nico shot him a quick half-grin, pulling him into the street as a taxi pulled over. To the driver, he flipped his phone to show the driver the screen, and shared a quick grin.

Despite the fact that he probably shouldn’t trust the total stranger pulling him around the streets of Chicago, Will kind-of, sort-of, did, just a little. Nico, already slid across the back seat of the car, gestured for him to get in after him. And Will, after only a quick moment of hesitation, did.

“Here,” Nico declared, leaning forward to pass the driver some folded bills. “Will, out on your side.”

Will, still staring out the window, blinked in surprise. “Here? What -”

“C’mon,” Nico pushed against his back, urging him forward. Will did as told, stupidly grateful the driver had managed to park to close to the sidewalk. They paused in front of the building, taking it in.

“The Museum of Science and Industry,” Nico announced after a moment, gesturing towards the grand building. “Here we are.”  

Will stepped back to better view the large building, apologizing as he nearly bumped into a few other people. He smiled, glancing to the other boy.

“I haven’t been here in forever,” he shot a fond look towards the building. “I always mean to come back. Their Christmas exhibit is up, isn’t it?”

Nico grabbed his wrist, just above his palm, and began pulling him up the stairs. “Every year.”

Will allowed himself a grin at the sight of the familiar building, even as the dunked through the crowded doorway. He bit his lip, thinking.

“I love this place but...why are we here?” As the words were coming out, Will realized. “Selena.”

Nico nodded in triumph, still pulling Will along. The crowd was nearly worse here then in most of the stores Will had seen. “She loves science right?”

Will was regaining the energy that Sephora had seeped out of him. “Totally! We can get her a...t-shirt?” He winced at that idea, “Or something cooler. I’m sure their gift shop has a lot of stuff.”

“Ooooor,” Nico dragged out, finally stopping in front of the ticket counter. He pointed towards the large sign that hung from the wall. “You can get her a membership. The exhibits are always coming and going, and she can come see them whenever she wants.”

Will paused. That wasn’t a...horrible idea.

Nico plucked a pamphlet from from the nearest desk, flipping through it for a moment before passing it along. The membership page, listing all the perks of each tier.

“This...might be a good idea,” he finally admitted, his hand rubbing along his chin as he thought. “She does love it here, I think she’s had like, three birthdays here. And free year round tickets would like, bind her here.”

Nico nodded in satisfaction, leading them towards the back of the line, letting Will continue to look over the paper. “If you wanna keep looking, I’m sure there’s somewhere else we can go. But this sounds good for her, at least from what you’ve said.”

“It does sound good,” Will agreed, holding the pamphlet into his pocket. “I think this is something she’ll definitely like.”

Nico shot him a grin, stepping forward as the line went up, and rolled his shoulders. “One down, three to go.”

They made some mindless small talk as they waited - Will was still basically spending his day with a stranger at this point - and learned a few things about Nico himself. He had a sister as well, younger, who’d he’d actually managed to shop for weeks ago. He added on the last bit with a grin, his eyes dancing and voice teasing, and Will only rolled his eyes goodheartendly in response.

Soon, thankfully, the line died down, and it was their turn at one of the many front desks. Will explained which membership he wanted - the dual, so she could bring along one of her nerdy friends whenever she wanted - and answered the few questions they asked as Nico stood at his side. The clerk, a tired but kind older woman, only shot the both of them a small, knowing grin as she typed into her ancient keyboard.

When the time came, he reached for his checkbook, glad he always kept a pen on his person, and filled out the accompanying paperwork quickly. It was mostly basic information, nothing too serious, and before long they were handing over a thick packet with bound papers and a rectangular membership ID with Selena’s name spelled neatly across.

He stuffed it all into the side packet of his coat, careful not to let anything spill out, and followed the other boy through the thick crowd out the front entrance. They pulled themselves to a corner without much crowd, close to a few of the neighboring buildings.

“Alright,” Nico tapped away at his phone screen for a moment, the Uber app screen flashing back at him, before turning his attention back to Will. “Who’s next?”

Will thought about it for a moment before deciding. “Kayla, she should be easy.”

Nico nodded, and Will could almost see the other boy mentally returning back to the quick list he had made in the coffeeshop. “What does she like?”

“She likes reading and exercise, mostly.” Will leaned his head back in thought, “She’s really gotten into archery this year so I was thinking maybe something related to that? I mean, she treats her bow like a literal baby so maybe not that but something with her arrows?”

Nico considered that, “That doesn’t sound bad,” he finally decided. There was a moment of silence before he spoke again. “Do you particularly know anything about archery that could help us shop for her gift?”

Will bit his lip, giving him a look that said everything.

Nico sighed, pulling his phone out, “Looks like I’m calling for help.”

Nico wandered off to side, his phone pressed to his cheek, leaving Will on his own, leaning against the side of the building. The crowd was much thinner than it had been inside the building, probably due to the harsh chill of the wind, but due to Will’s traditional layers-upon-layers for warmth, he didn’t mind much. At a bit of distance, Nico was laughing sharply into his speaker. Will huddled into himself, shielding himself for warmth.

Only a few minutes had passed before Nico returned, hitting the bright red end button on his screen, a small smile in place. Before Will could ask, Nico spoke up.

“My sister’s boyfriend,” Nico explained, pocketing his phone. He began heading in their opposite direction, purpose in his step. Will, pushing himself off the side of the building, followed.

“The one in med school?”

Nico nodded, seeming knowing the way. “He’s also pretty into archery when he’s not drowning under a flood of textbooks and essays, so I figured he might give us an idea.”

Not the worst idea. Will nodded in approval, “And?”

“And,” Nico continued, his hand finding Will’s to better pull him across the sidewalk. Will, with his hand circling loosely around the other boys, couldn’t find it in himself to pull away, or mind in the slightest. “He’s texting me some ideas which, coindeicently, will help serve as a benchmark to find his own gift. So -” he flashed a smile at Will, “win-win situation here.”

Will was still a bit thrown off from the other boy’s grin, “Yeah,” his voice wasn’t nearly as sure as he’d like. He cleared his throat, “Good idea. Where are we going now?”

Nico had paused on the side of the sidewalk, his phone back in his hand. The other one was still firmly holding onto Will’s, and Will wasn’t too sure on how to handle that. “Some sports shop Frank recommended, says its where he gets all his stuff. Our Uber should be here soon.”

Will hummed, “Where is it?”

At that, Nico paused, his free hand hovering in the air over his phone. He shot a quick look over at Will, almost like he had been hoping Will wouldn’t ask.

Will raised his eyebrows, a bit suspicious now. With a bit of regret, he pulled his hand away to cross his arms. “Nico?”

The other boy let out a large sigh. “Frank swears this place is great,” Nico’s voice took on a convincing tone, “and the prices are great.”

There was shoe Will was waiting to drop and swiftly kick him in the face. He kept his eyebrows raised. “But?”

Nico let out a breath, “But it’s...it’s in the Water Tower.”

Will’s arms dropped to his sides. “No.”

Nico grimaced, “Yeah.”

If Will was a weaker man, there would be tears in his eyes. “Nico, no.”

“Listen,” Nico was trying to keep his voice high, “I’ve worked in a Macy’s, a goddamn Macy’s, all through their holiday season. I have faced screaming soccer moms, shoplifting teens, and middle aged customers willing to do anything for a ten percent discount.” Nico took a breath, almost trying to convince himself now. “What’s that gotta have on one of the biggest malls in the city?”

“One of the biggest malls in the city, if the biggest, two days before Christmas.” Will corrected the other boy, a bit more back in himself now. “Nico, we can’t.”

“Will,” Nico’s hands were back on him, now one resting on each of Will’s shoulders. “Will Solace. Do you love your sisters?”

There was no hesitation. “Of course.”

“Okay,” Nico’s hands gripped at his shoulders. At the curb, a gray car was pulling up, an Uber sticker in its window. “You love your sisters. And because you do,” Nico glanced over his shoulder very quickly before returning his much-too-intense gaze back to Will. “Because you do, you’re going to get into that car. And we’re going to go the Water Tower Place two days before Christmas, and we’re going to get your sister the best present ever, alright?”

Will stared at the other boy with wide eyes, holding his breath, before letting it all rush out of him. His shoulders, pressed down my Nico’s gripping hands, fell. “Alright. Let’s...let’s go.”

It was worst then Will had imagined.

When he was a teen, Will’s best friend had convinced him to go Black Friday shopping in order to score some new winter clothes. They had lined up a few hours before with cups of hot cider in their hands and were both bundled in thick coats, scarves, and hats. They had made friends with a few of their fellow customers in line, even splitting a candy bar with one, and everything had been going relatively smooth and simple and calm.

But once those doors opened?

Chaos.

The end of the world will come in chaos and craze and Will was ninety percent sure it would be from the trigger of a shopping sale post-holiday.    

And this? The sight of one of the most notorious malls in the region, two days before Christmas?

This was worst.

As soon as they had entered through the doors, Nico had gripped onto Will’s hand, pulling him along. Will didn’t feel the flutter in his chest, the blush in his chest this time around at the other boy’s hand in his. No, this was for survival.

Nico led them into a department store, not Macy’s, never Macy’s with Nico at his side, that was thankfully a bit more deserted then the rest of the building. Sure, they were still bumping shoulders with strangers every few seconds, but no longer in the immediate danger of being trampled. So, like, that was an improvement.

Nico shot him a look, his chest heaving. “A breather?” It was more of beg then a question. Will only nodded, following the other boy as he found them a quiet bit of store.

Which was the women’s sock department, apparently.

They caught their breath, perusing the section out of boredom, and it wasn’t long before one of them spoke up.

“What time is it?” Nico asked a bit absentmindedly, shifting through a nearby rack of clothes. All violently covered in sequins and glitter so like, probably not for his personal style.

Will dug out his phone, squinting at his screen. “Around noon, I thin-”

“What is that.”

Will glanced up to Nico staring straight at him, his gaze intense. Will followed his eyes a bit down to his phone, cradled in his hand.

“My...phone?” Will answered as a question. He held it up for evidence.

Nico was staring at it in disbelief, “That’s not a phone. That’s a fossil. I think I’ve seen that exact phone in a museum.”

Will rolled his eyes goodheartedly, “Ha ha.” His voice was coated in sarcasm, “Very funny, Nico.”

Nico was still staring at it, squinting at it now as he examined it. “Can you even text off this thing?”

Will clicked his tongue, pocketing the piece of old tech. “Very slowly.” He finally admitted, “It takes awhile.”

The other boy looked almost fascinated, “But why?” He asked with gross fascination, “Like, you’re getting your sisters nice gifts. You’re wearing designer, and Macy’s sells the exact boots you’re wearing for like, a triple figure price. Can’t you afford a phone made before 2003?”

“I need it for work,” Will bumped his hip into the other boy’s, “It had to be able to work with my pager, or whatever.”

At that, Nico’s eyes went impossibly wider. “Your pager? My gods, Solace -”

“Aren’t we here for Christmas shopping?” Will interrupted impatiently, “Kayla, remember?”

Nico still looked lost as he processed this information. Will impatiently snapped his fingers in front of his eyes.  

Nico scowled, mostly playful. “Ignoring the travesty of your phone situation -” Will snorted, “we should be almost there. Just have to cut through this store’s escalator and Frank said it’ll be on the next level.”

Will nodded, not bothering with an answer, and let the other boy take the lead. He seemed to have more of an idea of the mall anyways, whereas Will hadn’t stepped foot in here in years. After going up the escalator and through a few more minutes through the department store, the crowd was back as they entered into the mall space. Screaming children, rushing adults, teens that were determined to travel in inflexible packs. Gods, Will hated it there.

But Nico was nearly immune to the heavy crowd, definitely in part to his job in retail, and only squared his shoulders and pushed them forward, his hand back around Will’s hand. They paused once to look over the mall map, a glowing screen pillar in the middle of the crowd, but were soon able to stop, their hands clenched again (for survival), and take a much needed breath.

“Here we go,” Nico gestured to the store, some kind of sports outlet. “Frank said the stuff we’re gonna look at will be towards the back wall.”

Nico lead them through, stopping to look over their supplies.

“What do you think she needs?” Nico asked, looking over the wall of supplies. “Maybe some arrows?”

Will shook his head already, “I don’t know her exact bow type or anything, or like if she has a preference for anything. Maybe something safe?”

Nico thought it over, still facing the wall. “Some gloves?”

Will shrugged, looking over the few pairs they had hanging. That wasn’t a bad idea, and Kayla would probably love a spare pair, but it didn’t seem enough.

Nico pointed to the wall, towards the bottom. Along the wall, they were displayed in a glass case. “What about one of those?”

Will looked up, following his gaze, and paused. Not bad. Pretty good, actually.

“Those are nice,” Will admitted, taking a step forward with the other boy.

“Does she have one?”

“A quiver?” Will turned back to the ones in the case, “I think she uses like, the beginner quiver that came with her arrows.” Will wrinkled his nose in thought, “It’s like, plastic and cheap fiber. She’s complained about it.”

Nico snapped, “That’s perfect. They’ve got some opinions here…” He turned to examine the wall better, bending down. “They’ve got some heavier duty ones, some metal or plastic ones but…” He straightened up, letting Will get a good look in. “The best looking one seems to be those leather ones.”

“They are pretty nice,” Will agreed, the more traditional ones proving most pleasing to the eye. They seemed to fit Kayla better, rather than the dull single colored cases they had on display.

“They do personalizations,” Nico nodded in approval at the small pinned sign declaring so, “You can get like, a name of symbol or whatever stitched in the leather. That would be cool.”

Will considered that, doubtful. “But can they get it done on such a short notice?”

Nico tapped the sign hanging on the wall, having already read it through. “If you put in your order before five, it says it can be ready for pick up tomorrow. It’s just a quick name stick, but I’ll look awesome.”

“But that means…” Will let out a breath, “That means I’ll have to come back.”

Nico’s face took the opposite of pity, a bit smug. “Have fun with that, then.” He pulled the stitching request form off the counter, waving one of the workers closer.

Will went through the motions, filling out the papers quickly, sliding his ID and card over to the bored looking sales teen. He ended up throwing in the gloves, she would be needing a new pair eventually, as well as some polish for her bow. A good gift, all in all, that would be ready once he was back to pick it up tomorrow afternoon.

He had to nearly suppress his sudder.

The mall. On Christmas Eve.

He would be having nightmares tonight in anticipation, he could already tell.

Will paid and grabbed his bags, pulling Nico away after the boy made his own similar purchases for his friend, and after rushing through the building and elevator at top speed, they were out again on the streets, the chilled air harsh against their faces. It had never felt so loving.

“We’re free,” they both shared a sigh of relief, collapsing on a nearby bench. Around them, the traffic was loud, and their breath curling in front of them.

“Two more,” Will let a small, victorious smile take place. He was doing better than he’d thought he’d do this morning.

They relaxed on the bench, Nico on his phone, Will’s feet aching a bit but relieved for the moment.

A bit of time had passed, long enough for Will’s leg to fall asleep, before Nico was clicking off his phone, looking up to the other boy. “Who’s next?”  

Will sat up at that, thinking it over, “I thinking Hina.”

Nico gave him a look telling him to go on, nodding a bit. Will sighed, his hands coming up.

“Hina is probably the hardest to shop for,” Will groaned, rubbing at his greasy eyelids. “Everything she wants, she just buys for herself.”

“We just have to find something she doesn’t know she wants,” Nico announced, like that was easiest thing in the world to do. “What’s she like?”

“She’s…” Will trailed off, a flicker of surprise flashing in his eyes, “She’s actually kind of like you.”

Nico raised both eyebrows, “Oh? And that is...?”

Will couldn’t suppress an eyeroll. “Attempts to be cooler than she actually is.”

Nico didn’t even bother to look annoyed, “But what does she like?”

Will shrugged, mostly to give himself a few more moments to think. “Music, mostly. She works at a radio station, and she’s obsessed with music quality or whatever. She likes cooking and poetry, and she collects gemstones.” He lifted his shoulder in a half-shrug, “But still, I have no idea what to get her.”

“Music, huh?” Nico went quiet for a moment. “I think I have an idea.”

“Are you actually going to tell me about it this time, or simply drop me off in front of it again?”  Will shot him an unimpressed look, crossing his arms.

Nico only matched Will’s bored look, “Sweetums, you already know the answer to that.”

At that, he turned, grabbed Will’s hand, and began to pull him along. At least with this, Nico couldn’t see the subtle flare of color that burst into Will’s cheeks.

The small victories, he supposed.

“I...don't think I've been here before.” Will finally admitted after a long period of silence standing in front of the small shop. Nico scoffed out a laugh.

“I didn't think so,”  His voice was amused, “but I know this place pretty well. Follow me.”

That seemed to be his task of the day, and he did so without complaint, following the other boy up the stairs and through the doorway. Nico did seem to know the aisles well enough, his pace determined as he lead them to the back of the store.

He paused as they reached the back wall, shooting an expectant look towards Will, and waited.

“A record player?” Will stated obviously, looking at the lined up boxes more closely. Distantly, a soft song from playing from the shop’s speakers, someone was popping their gum, and a group of teens were laughing as they flipped through dusty records. An odd soundtrack, but not an unpleasant one.

Nico seemed to almost take offense at his comment, “It's not just a record player. His hand came up to trace the cardboard box, the closest thing Will had seen to a loving gaze in his eyes. “It's the best record player.”

“I'll take your word on it,” Will muttered. Finally, after a few more moments of staring it down, he gave the other boy a doubtful look. “Are you sure? Do you think she'll like it?”

“I've never met your sister,” As if Nico had to clarify, “But I know any music fanatic would love this.”

Will was still looking doubtful, and Nico continued.

“It’s the only way music should be played,” At that, Nico stuck his nose in the air, angling up his chin. “No one should have to suffer through horrible music quality.”

“Gods,” Will nearly groaned out, “you two are so alike, I can’t believe it.”

Nico was unfazed by that, “Well, if we're so alike, then she'll love it. I got one for my birthday a few years ago and I haven't been able to go back.”

“Go back?”

Nico only rolled his eyes, “To horrible song quality, duh. I can hardly bear to listen to anything off my old iPod anymore.”

Will scoffed at that, but actually thought it over. “This isn't your worst idea.” He finally admitted, examining the box more carefully. It seemed to be nice quality, a dark purple color, with a leather case. He could already imagine it on Hina’s bookshelf. “This seems like something she'd actually use, at least.”

“You can thank me later,” Nico shot him a smug look.

Will, resisting the urge to roll his eyes, reached for his wallet.

His arms were weighed down by his few heavy bags - Nico had insisted on a few more additions to Hina’s record player, basically essentials the other boy had claimed, and it was nearing the late afternoon as they made their way down the street, Nico already thinking through the rest of their afternoon.

“We can drop these bags off at your place, regain our energy a bit - are you hungry? - and then we can -” Nico cut himself off almost violently with a choke, stumbling in place, and finally came to a halt. His hand came down to clench at Will’s wrist.

Will tripped back, a question on his lips, before following his line of sight. There was a moment of silence.

“No,” Will was already denying, shaking his head. “I - I can’t.”

“It would be perfect,” Nico was almost in awe of the idea, incredulous that he hadn’t realized it earlier. “Marisol - from what you said - this is perfect.”

A pained expression crossed Will’s face. People were making annoyed noise at them, paused in the middle of the sidewalk. Unwillingly, Will took a step forward if only to get them out of the way. He said nothing, Nico easily taking the step forward with him.

“She would love you forever,” Nico remarked, leaning against the side of the building, staring down into the box. He buried his hands deep in his pockets.

Will shook his head again, already too weak in the face of the idea. “No, I really can’t -”

“What did she ask for?” Nico asked innocently, despite already memorizing the small Christmas list Will had provided.

Will sighed, his head dropping. “A pony.”

Nico gave him an elaborate sweep of his arm, “A puppy comes close enough, doesn’t it? She can even name it pony, bet the poor thing won’t even care.” At that, he squatted down at the box, the cardboard ‘Free Puppies!’ sign moving in the cold wind, and let a wide smile break across his face. He gave Will a look reading hurry up already and thrust his hand down so, presumably, the pup could get a smell of him.  

A small puppy, probably the runt from the size of it, jumped up from where it had been curled into the pile of blankets at the sight of them bending down, excitement and boundless energy evident in every line of its tiny body. A chocolate colored pup, with lighter colored spots down its back and nuzzle, and dark, shiny eyes.

Marisol would adore it.

“I…can’t.” It was much, much less sure than it was moments before.

The small pup pushed its front paws on the side of the box, panting happily, its tag wagging behind it. It stared directly up at Will, despite Nico’s gentle hand rubbing up and down its back. The meaning of ‘puppy eyes’ was suddenly so intensely clear to Will.

“I can’t.”

“Thank you so much, Cecil.” Will’s voice was weary and exhausted, “I’ll bring everything over in an hour or so.”

Will flipped his phone closed, Nico not even bothering to hide his obvious distaste with the outdated piece of tech, and sighed. Nico perked up. “So?”

Will sighed, his gaze dropping down to Nico's lap. “The puppy is going to stay with my neighbor until Christmas morning, it seems.” The tiny puppy stared up at Will from under Nico’s hand, panting happily. A bead of dog drool started dripping onto Nico’s dark jeans, unknown to the boy himself. Good.

Nico gave him an amused look as he scratched behind the puppy’s ears. It was, to Will’s despair, stupidly cute. “Now?”

Will sighed, already mentally finding his way to the nearest shop. “Now, we pet shop.”

“There’s… a lot of opinions.”

Will’s eyes had fluttered close after being faced down with the vast aisles, more out of desperation. “Have you ever had a dog, Nico?”

“My dad got one after my sister and I moved out, but I’ve never had one personally. My roommate has a cat?” Nico’s voice was, at least, trying.

“They need…” Will finally opened his eyes, the aisle no less numerous than they had been before. This Petco could go on for miles, he swore. “They need a lot.”

The puppy was squirming in Nico’s hands as they both took in the sight, Nico finally just letting the pup to the glossy tile. He wouldn’t be running off it seemed, with its tiny body and smaller legs.

Will was resigned, “I’ll get a shopping cart.”

We’ll need it, he didn’t add despite the truth in the statement.

And truth did he think.

“I don’t think, like, a kid even needs this much stuff.” Nico was poking around the cart as they wheeled out of the store, as if surprised to find the amount of stuff Will had managed to collected. It was a truly remarkable mountain of stuff. He began pulling the many heavy plastic bags out, adding to Hina and Kayla’s bags already hanging around his wrists.  

“So that’s everyone,” Nico said, the pup still in his arms. “What next?”

“Next is…” Will trailed off. What was next? “Home?” He tried.

“Oh,” Nico blinked back in almost surprise at that. What had he been expecting? “So this is...over?”

Was it? What even was this?

Will bit his lip, shifting his weight in hesitation, before holding up the bags in his arms with a shrug. “Help me get these home?” The puppy in Nico’s arms squirmed around, somewhat answering the question for both of them. There was no way Will could get all the bags, and a puppy, up to his shared apartment by himself. Will was almost grateful for that.

For the first time that day it was Nico following him somewhere, as Will leaned forward to gesture for a taxi, Will relaying the address to the rushed looking man. Nico was, surprisingly, mostly quiet the entire time. Not even on his phone, just...quiet, with his hand softly petting the now sleeping pup in his nap.

Did that mean something? Or was Nico just tired, tired of leading a stranger around all day, of playing nice with him?

Will bit his lip, clenched at his plastic bags, and ignored the silence - if it even meant something, something worth ignoring - from the other boy. The driver had a radio station of soft, sad sounding Christmas music playing, so at least the silence was not the dead sort.

It was their longest drive of the day, a little over twenty minutes, before the driver was pulling to the cub in front of Will’s apartment building. He paid and tipped, getting a firm grip on all his bags, before leading Nico out down his familiar sidewalk, up the worn stone front steps. The walk was thankfully short, the elevator thankfully in order. Fourth floor, as Nico cooed softly to the whining pup in his hands. Will bit his lip.

They dropped the puppy off first, Cecil winking and grinning towards Nico in a way that told Will he’d be facing questioning later on. When they finally made it up to Will’s fourth floor apartment, they paused.

Nico set the bag he’d been carrying on the ground. Kayla’s stuff, he thinks. All the puppy stuff had been stored at Cecil’s, just to be careful about Marisol’s prying eyes, so that left them only with a few remaining bags. They went quiet.

“Thanks for…” Will just gestured to the air itself, “everything today, I guess.”

Nico gave him a crooked grin, a bit too casual. “Gave me an excuse to never return to that crap hole of a department store.” He gave Will a half-shrug. “Maybe I should be thanking you.”

There was a beat of silence. Almost awkward, surprising as it hadn’t been awkward nearly all day. Confusing, yes. Annoying, a bit. Frustrating, probably too much. Fun, completely.

But not awkward, not until now. Both boys seemed to be equally uncomfortable with this new emotion.

“I’ll....see you around?” Will bit his lip, suddenly unsure. Will wanted to say more but had no idea where to find the words. What would he even say? He’d only known the other boy a day and everything he thought of seemed...too much.

Nico began walking backwards, still facing him, with his hands deep in his pockets. “Sure, Solace.” There was a small smile on his face. He was almost to the elevator now, almost gone. Where Will was biting his lips with a hesitant look, Nico had the air of nonchalance. “See you around.”

Will held up a hand in goodbye, not a wave, just a simple goodbye in motion.

And with that, Nico turned into the silver elevator doors, and disappeared as they closed after him.

And with that, he was gone.

And that was it.

That was the end of it.

Or at least, that should have been it.

That should have been the end of it all, the crazy adventure Will had had with a stranger who dragged him all around Chicago and made for a funny, amusing Christmas story to tell his sisters around the tree and over hot chocolate.

That would have been it, as far as both boys were concerned in relation to their stupid stubbornness, their silly uncertainty. Would have been it, the end of their little story together, had Nico di Angelo not gone home and the next day been forced to explain his recent unemployment to his younger sister. Had his younger sister not been forced to watch her brother’s face glow and light up and positively radiate as he told her all about his day, a break in his usual eyerolls as he laughed and relayed funny lines the two had them had shared, the gifts they’d picked out, the places they’d gone.

Had his sister cared a bit less, impossible for a girl such as she, or had she been late to that holiday, or simply forgotten to ask about Nico’s job, maybe it would have all gone differently. Nico wouldn't have had that moment, that moment where he paused, his words still half-spilling out of him, looked up and met his sister's knowing gaze, and had known. He wouldn't have had that, remembering how Will’s eyes sparkled through laughter, the crease between his eyebrows that left when he grinned. He wouldn’t have had the moment when he realized that oh, he didn’t want that to be the end.

But he did have that moment, so this could not be the end. 

“Will, your boyfriend’s here!”

Will paused, his hands deep in soap and suds, hot water up to his wrists. Doing the dishes on Christmas morning after Hina’s chocolate pancakes was nearly a tradition at this point, a chore Will never really minded on the holiday.

Marisol yelled again from the living room, now sounding annoyed, and Will snapped back to attention. He rinsed his hands quickly, wiping them on his pajama pants, and stepped away from the kitchen sink. Calling back, he stepped over wrinkled wrapping paper in the hallway. “I don’t -”

He cut himself off as he stepped into the living room, blinking back in surprise.  

A leather jacket.

Nico was looking away from him, grinning as he bent low to more closely examine a construction paper ornament. Fifth grade, Will’s braces period. Great.

The other boy straightened up as Will paused in the doorway, still twisting his damp hands in the fabric of his shirt. There was a beat of silence as they took each other in. Will, still in his Christmas morning pajamas with messy bed head and zit cream still doting his face. Nico, however, looked as if he’d come straight off the runway, because of-fucking-course he did.

“Nice pants,” Nico was the first to break the silence, a shit-eating grin on his face.

A bright red color crawled up Will’s neck, and his words were numb with surprise. “They were a gift.”

Nico stepped forward, close enough to take a bit of the fabric and rub it between two fingers. “The Grinch. Nice. Very festive.”

“Thanks,” Will could barely speak. “How…” Will blinked a few times, “How did you know where I lived?”

Nico gave him a casual shrug, “Peeked off the address on your checks and hoped for the best.”

Will stared at him for a long moment. Nico grew just the slightest bit uneasy, before huffing out a laugh. Will broke out into a small grin, “Of course you did.” There was fondness in his tone. “And you just decided to show up Christmas day?”

It was Nico’s turn to look amused. “Well, I had to give you this.” He pulled out a perfectly squared box from his pocket. Will hadn’t even noticed it in the dark jacket. It was neatly wrapped, with ribbon spilling from the top.

“My sister wrapped it,” Nico explained, seeing the look on Will’s face. “She’s pretty good at crafts.

Will took the box with reverent fingers, peeking a look back up at the other boy. He was still in disbelief that Nico was here, in his living room, on Christmas morning.

Slowly, Will peeled back the wrapping paper, and had to stifle up the laughter crawling up his throat. He let the rest of the paper fall to the carpet, shooting the other boy a look.

“An iPhone,” Will’s voice was laughter filled despite himself. “Really.”

Nico gave him a look that matched Will’s tone. “It was fitting.” He ran a hand through his hair, glancing back before meeting Will’s eyes again. “Anyways, I have a reputation to uphold, and I can't date anyone still using a Nokia.”

An electric shock jumpkicked Will’s heart in his chest. “Date?”

Nico smiled. “Yeah, that’s what I was thinking. If you’d like?”

Will nodded slowly, his hands tightening around the phone box. “I’d like that.”

Nico’s smile became a grin, small and a bit shy. “Me too.”

They stared at each other for a long moment, just absorbing the other’s presence.

“I’m not getting rid of my flip phone,” Will finally got out, “I need it for work.”

“Guess you’ll be the weird guy at parties with two phones,” Nico smiled goodnaturedly through the entire exchange. Guess Christmas did that to you.

Nico’s face suddenly scrunched up with laughter, his eyes drifting to the ceiling “Look up.”

Will glanced up. Green leaves, bound with a bright red ribbon.

Will’s eyebrows came together. “How did that -”

Nico cut him off before he could question the decoration that had definitely not been there before but, well, Will could hardly complain.

With their lips pressed against another’s on Christmas morning, really, who would?

Will forced himself to break away from the other boy, only with a fierce reminder to himself that his sisters were most definitely still in their not-very-big-apartment and bound to wander in at any moment. He stared at the other boy, so close and smelling of winter and snow and cinnamon, and resisted the urge to lean back in.  

At that moment Pony bounced into the room, barking loudly at the sight of Nico, instantly going to jump around Nico’s feet. Will took a step back for some much needed room, and took a deep breath.

“I -” Will cut himself off, glancing away, his cheeks flared up. Just beyond the hallway, Marisol and Selena were peeking around the corner, giggles in their eyes that only made the blush on Will’s cheeks turn darker. Kayla, from the kitchen, was grinning behind her hand with Hina at her side. Hina was not even bothering to be secretive about the entire ordeal, staring straight ahead at them with a half-raised eyebrow. Will cursed his sisters and took another quick breath, glancing back.

Nico, of course, was now cradling the small puppy to his chest, smiling softly. Fuck. He looked up at Will.

Will swallowed. “Hot chocolate?” He asked, nodding his head to the side where, hopefully, Kayla and Hina weren’t waiting. “I have no idea how to work this phone anyways, I’ll need someone to show me.”

Nico only snorted at that, still running a gentle hand over Pony’s furry tummy. “Smooth, Solace.” But he followed Will into the kitchen nonetheless, smiling softly the whole time.

Will’s sisters still lingered in the kitchen, making an attempt to act like they hadn’t been eavesdropping the entire time. Marisol only beamed. “Merry Christmas!”

notes:

listen chicago is my bae and i fully understand that there is not an actual store in the water tower place that sells archery supplies/personalized arrows. i also understand this is fanfiction and nothing is real and i wanted a scene in a mall. so there's that. i! love! my! ocs!!!! pry them away from my cold, dead fingers. happy holiday season y'all!!! here's my obligatory solangelo holiday fic. it was intensely fun to write. reblog and review if you liked! i need validation to live so. feed me.

[yakumtsaki]

Well that was.. abnormally fast. Turns out I had downloaded some shorter semester mod in fucking August and then forgotten all about it! Why would I download such an unholy concoction in the first place is beyond me. It’s back in hell where it belongs now so we’re getting the full college experience going forward but ugh, upsetting nonetheless..

I mean is there enough time in the world to enjoy this crazy bitch that was slapping Gunther yesterday (for ‘cheating on her’ even though they’re not even friends) heartfart over him now? Girl what is wrong with you.

-I’M A WORK IN PROGRESS OK

Aren’t we all.

-NOT I. I’M ABSOLUTELY PERFECT THE WAY I AM, EVERYONE IN CAMPUS IS LUSTING AFTER ME AND I HAVE THE HEIR VOTE IN THE BAG

You also keep washing dishes that aren’t your own.

-A girl sees you voluntarily cleaning up, she starts to wonder what else you could offer without her asking ;)

Ew yea that’s definitely not a thing.

-IT’S A THING

YEA OK IT’S A THING. NOTHING SEXIER THAN ROTTING FOOD AND OTHER PEOPLE’S SALIVA

-Ah there you are <3 I saw you washing worm covered dishes earlier, you have to keep that for my eyes only baby <3

GODDAMMIT BLUE MEATBALLS WHY ARE YOU ALWAYS SHITTING ALL OVER MY POINTS

UM OK JOIN US WHY DON’T YOU

LOL looks like you got yourself a girlfriend, Gunther! Congrats, didn’t think you had it in you.

-Help. me.

No can do baby. And I actually mean that, I wouldn’t know how to break you two up even if I wanted to. I mean you slept with someone else in the middle of your date and she stood there smiling, there’s obviously no stopping this crazy train. See you at the wedding!  

Meanwhile Daniel is making a very important call that I’m sure is gonna fail.. but you never know if you don’t try..

OMG SHE SAID YES. STEP INTO OUR HAMMER-&-SICKLE-SHAPED-WEB BRITTANY. 

LMAO see you never, nerds.

-Ooooh a love letter for me from a secret admirer <3

Yea that’s obviously for Gunther from a very special lady. I legit don’t remember which one but PUT THAT DOWN BRITTANY IS COMING, she’s gonna think you’re some kind of player. 

-Well 2 minutes of conversation are gonna take care of that misconception.

Yea you can say that again.

UUUUUUGH this can’t NOT work they’re perfect for each other I know it!!! COME ON BRIT DON’T LET ME DOWN

-FOR THE LAST TIME DANIEL, PRETTY WOMAN IS NOT ABOUT THE LUMPENPROLETARIAT 

-UGH you could not be more wrong, comrade Brit Brit, but bourgeois college apathy has obviously crushed whatever critical thinking skills managed to survive the sorority confirmation process.

Good god. Ok that’s enough, time to see what we’re really dealing with here. GET UP.

THAT’S BETTER. HOPE THOSE HEARTS AREN’T FOR THE BIRD

FUCKING BYE I KNEW IT. I KNEW THEY WERE MEANT TO BE. I mean both popularity and both suck ass at it + polar opposites at everything else?? Romeo and Juliet who.

Marvin Gaye - Let’s get it on.mp3

Interrupting our wonderful time is the cow harassing the girl Gunther woohooed in the middle of his date with Meatballs. I love college <3

Time to move this party to the bedroom! Just us, Brit, and our new best friend. Judging from the positions in the above photo, Daniel’s first sexual experience isn’t going to be a conventional one.

Aw come on Brit, don’t be like that, there’s plenty of Dan to go around!

Ok now you’re just making Mr Cow sad. Stop excluding him!!

UGH he left, hope you pillowchested assholes are happy with yourselves.

That’s right, get them, crazy secret society blonde!

-HEY I’M TRYING TO SLEEP HERE YOU DICKS

-WELL CLOSE YOUR FUCKING DOOR GIRL, GAWD

-NO, I’M TRYING TO SLEEP *HERE*. GET OUT OF THE BED

Hope you enjoyed the view, blondie!

The love juices have yet to dry as Wyatt rushes to occupy the bed. I feel the need to remind readers THAT DORMIES HAVE THEIR OWN BEDS. You literally wouldn’t know from looking at my game.

Case in fucking point, immediately after Wyatt awakens, another one of Jojo’s semi-lovers helps himself to our communal bed. Remember Ti-Ning? He’s stinking under the covers and as I suspected, Jojo ‘hates him’ aka is secretly into him. Good to see the Blue Meatballs stalking method gaining more fans!

WELL WELL WELL look who moved in. After Gunther ‘cheated’ on the redhead lunatic sis, the responsibility of getting us into the secret society has fallen squarely on Jojo’s frail shoulders. 

-HEY

SORRY, on Jojo’s buff, well-defined shoulders. 

-Thank you.

You keep your eye on the prize, right?

-Of course. Every step she takes, every breath she takes-

-So as I was saying, it’s an absolute disgrace that there isn’t A SINGLE flat earth class in this college. Of course we all know who’s responsible.. Starts with -I, ends with -lluminati..

-Yea, I’m out.

NO YOU DON’T. Must I remind you what’s at stake here??

-Must I remind you I don’t care about resurrecting that stupid cat? I mean if it was Victor, we’d be having a different conversation.

Ugh fucking Victor istg. But NO, I’m talking about finally getting what your tiny, murderous heart has been craving all those years.. THE COWPLANT. Just think about it, Jojo..

-Oh god, the power, the unlimited power.. Fucking Ti-Ning is first on my list.

Yea we all know you want to fuck Ti-Ning but I don’t think you have to threaten him with a cowplant, he’d probably say yes if you asked him out-

-I MEAN FIRST ON MY KILL LIST STFU

-You know what repulses me, dear Jojό? Musique classique, is absolutely the worst, no? I mean who likes it apart from bores and killers seriàl? 

-Oh yea, you’re so right, Ti-Ning WYATT.

God Jojo are you so committed to this charade of denial that you’re gonna date someone who hates creepy classical music? What’s next? Does he hate bow-ties and oedipal complexes too?

-’Scuse me, my.. girlfriend.. is waiting for me.. When did life get so unfun :(

-Oui, I think it’s imperative that you sever all relationships with anyone wearing plaid pantalons, Jojό.. Très unseemly..

-Oh my <3

Well this stamp of approval is the fucking deathblow, JOJO GET OUT NOW. TI-NING’S DOOR IS RIGHT THERE

-NEVER. IN FACT..

-My god, Wyatt, your manipulative criticism of my interests and family is attractive to say the least! 

NOP I don’t accept this, even you can’t keep this bullshit up!

-WATCH ME. I’M GOING TO BUY A RING TOMORROW. ONE MADE OF CHEESE SINCE HE’S FRENCH

</3

Speaking of ‘</3′ looks like Meatballs hired a sniper to hit Gunther with the arrow of love. I extremely have other plans for him so this is obviously not happening but NICE TRY MEATBALLS

...........OMG. WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO HIM, YOU BROKE HIM

-HA. Watch and learn bitch, first I let him be his gross whoring self.. and now that I have him.. the era of Blue Meatballs.. BEGINS.

WHERE THE FUCK IS THAT FUCKING COWPLANT

[scripttraumasurvivors]

Hi! This character's life is messy, but I figure it's important to elaborate so as to double-check if her reactions make sense. My tritagonist was sold to a cartel at age 6 by her abusive rural family, where she was used as a slave (menial labor/sex), tortured to the point that she's disfigured and in chronic pain, before finally being dumped in a slum, having given birth to her first kid at age 11. She abuses her daughter, partly from resentment and constantly being reminded of her captors 1/?

(2/?) And partly because she’s modeling parenting from the cruel people she’s known and is currently living with. Specifically, she is callous to her daughter’s emotional needs, verbally & physically abuses her if she isn’t submissive, forces her to dress inappropriately. She wants her daughter to conform, believing she’ll avoid the same abuse the mom suffered. She’s stuck in a job at a slaughterhouse where she kills terrified animals whilst the manager abuses and robs her. (more)

(3/?) She bears a 2nd kid from the manager, but when the kid’s deformed and he denies being the dad, she decides to keep the kid anyway to raise her more kindly - although she still struggles with feeling affection for her first daughter. Eventually, the manager sells her out to the police, leaving her in jail for a week, but another middle-aged man - the father of her first daughter’s girlfriend - bails her out and looks after her while she’s delirious. (One more ask after this!)

4/4 Got a few questions for this set-up - wanna show how, once removed from her abusive situation at the slaughterhouse, this abusive mother struggles to mend broken bonds and form new relationships. How could she try to reach out and apologize to the daughter she used to mistreat? How to trust the older man who looked after her while she was weak? How to deal with constant flashbacks of death, pain and abuse - of herself and others - without lashing out violently? Thanks for reading all this!

(5/5) Sorry, forgot to specify - by this point, the mother would be 21. Perhaps that can give a better idea of how she can process all that trauma and guilt? While under stress she’s impulsive and sadistic, once removed from her job she’d be far quieter and sensitive; although her emotional state would still be heavily warped. I figure she might try to hug her older daughter or speak intimately with the older man, only to either clam up immediately because of her remaining insecurities.

—-

(For clarification, I have touched base with the asker re: the ages that everything happened.

To summarize: Daughter#2 was born 7 years after the first.  So kid number one at 11 and kid number two at 18.

The majority of this ask takes place a few years later when she’s left the slaughterhouse)

So your oldest kid is going to be 10ish when her mother decides to well… be a mother.

Which is good for you in terms of ‘likelyhood daughter wants to make amends’ bad for her in terms of ‘very likely already had severe trust issues.’

I am going to say- I think it’s in our other correspondence that you mention one of the… things that makes mom wake up us a single incident where someone else mentions how nice her daughter is to his kid…..

That’s not very likely. Outsiders complimenting abused kids doesn’t usually make abusers realize they’re being irrational or cruel- it just makes them think that their kid has the wool pulled over someone’s eyes. The kid may even get punished for that or pulled away from that person because clearly, they’re too lenient/a bad influence. Or even the abuser taking it as the fact that the abuse is working.

Which isn’t to say that it should cause that reaction in your story- just to keep in mind that it will take a lot more than a single person’s good word to convince them.

Back to the present question

How can mom try and mend things?

Honestly, just think of Awkward Mom things, and add in ‘child wildly distrustful that this isn’t a trick to get them hurt.’

Mom might try and mimic behavior she sees the man doing or even the other girl doing. Oh? They pat her back when she’s upset- mom’s going to try and do that now.

Mom trying to compliment the daughter, but the daughter flinching back after years of being told she’s horrible.

Mom maybe giving the girl something? Poverty limits what it might be, but even picking a flower or trying to make a homemade toy.

Mom might try and apologize for some of the behavior, though keep in mind that while some abusers are willing to do this- if pushed on what they’re apologizing for or pushed to apologize for more than what they’re offering- they often become defensive and aggressive again.

Mom might overly apologize. Which is also.. not a good because the kid will most likely feel required to try and soothe mom. And now you’re building a cycle of ‘I have to help people not feel bad about hurting me’ in the kid. It is, however, a realistic cycle.

A lot of this also depends on what sort of… abused kid you want your eldest to be.

Fun fact, I used to volunteer heavily at an elementary school. I was well known and for the most part, I worked with one type of child. Children teachers suspected something was wrong with. some of them just needed extra attention, some had a bad case of ‘I fell behind and now I’m acting out’, we had kids whose families were in bad financial situations… 

General profile of abused kids I’ve known/kids I suspected were being abused but could never get enough evidence to report:

- Soft, sad little boy who literally brightens up the moment anyone says a kind word to him ever. Often accused of being violent and aggressive when the worst he was was… well.. hyper and maybe a little unaware of his body. (….. racism also played a big role there.)

- My overly friendly thief. 

- Angry little girl who was well… Angry. At school. Didn’t want to work with anyone, didn’t want to have friends. Very angry. Very defensive. Very dead eyed and personalityless at the end of the day when she knew she’d have to go home.

- Big Guy trying to make himself small. Hunched shoulders, tucked in knees, didn’t want to play with the other kids.

- Mr. Sleep All Day.

- ‘What do you mean I can’t come home with you? I’ll wash your floor. I’ll do the dishes. I’ll do whatever you want I just want to come home with you so bad. You’re so nice, TS.’

- Class clown that cried when the other kids were told not to pay attention to his antics.

- Kids who cut off stories in the middle and suddenly jump somewhere else because they realized that the story they were telling involves a Bad Event. Pulling them back to the story they were telling is damn near impossible.

- Mr. ‘I’m going to climb the book shelves and try to escape out of the window’

I’ll break down possible responses to Mom trying to make things better by general…. profile.

Your ‘I do my best to try and please my abuser’ types are still most likely going to be distrustful. This may be in the direction of ‘I know you could flip on me at any second’ or ‘I can’t figure out what’s different now so I may fuck up at any second and then you’re going to hurt me again’.  There’s going to be some confliction in these types too. They want their abuser’s approval and kindness, they’ve been fighting for it- but it usually doesn’t feel as good in real life as it does in our heads. In our heads- now that they approve of us, we’re safe. and when that feeling of safety doesn’t follow…. This may cause the child to avoid the abuser more often. It may cause them to double down on trying to win approval.

Your acting out types is where… you have a lot of potential issues. The mother doesn’t currently have coping skills to deal with normal child behavior. If the child lashes out? Abusers will often revert back to abuse and take it as a clear ‘see, they behave better when I hurt them.’  Or, if they do feel guilt- ‘they made me do it’

Depressed sad kids .. might not even realize that an attempt is being made. A lot of them have just… checked out.

As for the mother trusting the man… Do you want her to trust him? Because you could have her go the route of ‘I would not be surprised if you touched me inappropriately, but at least you’re kinder than the rest, let me try and make you happy’

Do you want her not to trust him and him have to win her over? Small acts over a long period of time. Her trying to sleep with him (because that’s why she thinks he has her) and him turning her down, small pieces of kindness.  There won’t be a quick fix.

Either way, in general, if he gets extremely upset (say… he witnesses her being Not Great to the oldest), expect a fear response. Or argument and then recant of the ‘you can’t tell me what to fucking do with my kid- oh god I’m so sorry I’m a horrible person you’d be right to kick me out’ variety.

As for flashbacks, you have two general… routes here.

One: She learns coping skills or at least to pull back. Possibly because there are other people there that can take care of the kids, possibly he’s told her to go to another room if she feels like that, or he does get upset with her over something she lashed out over- and she’s trying to avoid that.

These don’t have to be good coping skills. Nails biting into her own arms, smoking/drugs/drinking. They also don’t have to be ‘therapy’ coping skills- deep breaths/imagine a _____ place. They can also just be ‘now that I’m in a safer place… throwing myself into cleaning/cooking at least makes some of the flashback recede.’

Two: In a different environment, her response to flashbacks change. She doesn’t lash out. She gets quiet or she gets scared or she just freezes.

Maybe the man encourages her to talk about what happens. Maybe he validates where she’s been and tries to soften the blow re: how she treated her daughter. She was doing the best she could at the time with the information she had- but now? Now she has to do better because she knows better.  Now if she wants to stay, she needs to try.

Hopefully that helps,

TS

[anghraine]

“per ardua ad astra” - chapter four

Wherein Jyn Erso and Cassian Andor perform their best impressions of the galaxy’s most obnoxious duo.

last chapter:

Perhaps he hated this near as much as Jyn. But Cassian had the cause to live by, even his darkest paths lit by that clear, shining purpose. Jyn—she didn’t quite know what she had, even if she managed to claw their way out of this place. She believed, she hoped, she cared about the fight. She did now. And she wouldn’t give up, ever. She just … she couldn’t see herself existing in Cassian’s stark simplicities, everything bleak or brilliant.

In any case, she felt as if she walked backwards, back to Lianna. None of this for the cause, for some great end, just survival.

this chapter:

She didn’t much like intelligence work, either. Not this undercover nonsense. It was one thing to become another person; it was quite another to just pretend, ceaselessly.

But it had to be done, if they were to have any chance of accomplishing anything in here. Jyn thought of Jedha, of Chirrut and Baze and Kaytoo, the laser striking Scarif, her father dead in her arms. Cassian in her arms, too, gasping out codes and blood.

She squared her shoulders and marched on.

chapters: one, two, three

As Bodhi marched out of her quarters, Jyn stayed in the middle of the room, staring at the door. It slammed down behind him, and she still did nothing.

With a low whirr, it locked. Jyn staggered to the nearest bed and collapsed.

It was hard, and narrow, and an unimaginable relief. Finally, she let her muscles relax, soreness cascading through her body. She’d learned long ago that it was a worthwhile, and necessary, trade for constant tension. When you lived off your body, you had to take care of it. Pretty rich coming from Saw, but still.

A vague thought that she should remove her uniform touched the edges of her mind. A wrinkled uniform would draw more attention than none at all. But she let her tired eyes close, just for a moment, and immediately sunk into unconsciousness.

Jyn slept like the dead for ten hours. It might have been more, if not for the banging on her door.

Blearily, she opened her eyes and fumbled for a chronometer. Nothing. Nothing at all, just air. Her other hand lay numb under her cheek.

“Sergeant!” someone shouted. “This is Requisitions!”

The Death Star.

Grumbling to herself, she crawled out of bed and made it to the door. A pair of stormtroopers stood outside, a long metal cart between them.

“Here are the supplies requested by Captain Willix,” one of them said.

“How punctual,” said Jyn, in her closest approximation of chilly approval. She’d have to ask Cassian how he did it. “Bring them in, troopers.”

Obediently, they wheeled the cart into her quarters. She chose to assume it wasn’t an elaborate plot to kill her; that seemed unlikely, when they could just shoot her if they wanted. No elaborate plots needed on the Death Star, except her own.

Again, she couldn’t help but imagine Kaytoo. A seventy-one percent chance against being riddled with holes may be technically favourable odds, but I would hardly consider them good. Not that I’m the one with weak fleshy organs at stake.

She didn’t think they’d exchanged above three civil sentences, but she’d give an arm to have him back.

Not an invitation, she thought at the Force.

At a gesture from her, the stormtroopers unloaded piles of uniforms and underclothes onto Cassian’s bed, along with chronometers, communicators, standard-issue datapads, a cylinder, emergency packages, and assorted other kits she didn’t recognize. Last, they lifted a long, flat, evidently heavy metal box off the cart.

One of the stormtroopers gestured at the passkey on the large box. “The code is”—he checked his datapad— “Zero six one five eight five six two seven nine two. Any questions?”

“No.”

“Then sign here.”

She paused. Everything she’d managed so far had passed under the shield of Cassian’s persona. The more of a data trail she left, the more likely it was to be caught. But she couldn’t think of anything else to do, so she went over and scribbled out Isidar Lyr as indecipherably as possible. The stormtroopers just saluted her and rolled the cart out.

Jyn seriously considered going back to sleep. There’d be no standing orders for the nonexistent Sergeant Lyr, after all, only whatever Willix was supposed to be doing. By now, though, she felt decidedly awake, and almost queasy with hunger. She showered and dressed, the fitted uniform actually more difficult than the other one. She’d just have to say she’d gained weight on Scarif, she decided, trying to replicate the regulation folds.

On the way out, the new lockbox caught her eye. She stopped, then turned back and ran the stormtrooper’s code through. Sure enough, the box clicked open.

Jyn smiled. Not the tight half-smile she allowed herself now and then, not the amusement that sometimes broke through reserve or fear, but a real, open smile.

The box was full of blasters. A good long rifle with assault and sniper settings. Three mid-sized ones, variations on the usual Imperial standard. Two smaller ones. Still grinning, she set aside the blaster she’d stolen from Cassian two weeks ago, and shoved the smallest of the standard-issue blasters into her belt.

Imperials didn’t do much well, in Jyn’s view. But they made damn good weapons.

Snatching up her comlink and a datapad, she headed out to find a mess hall. It didn’t take long; each floor of each quadrant turned out to have one, full of mildly repellent smells, humans crammed into lines and clusters, and cooking droids. Jyn didn’t like crowds, but she was very hungry. She headed in, ignoring the little flashes of pain as people jostled her bruises.

It took forty minutes to acquire some sort of slop. In the meanwhile, she listened as closely as she could to the conversations around her. But even the other NCOs—no, just the NCOs—didn’t talk about anything important. She learned that a new speeder had come out, and either rendered the old model obsolete or made it seem like a Corellian fighter. She learned that Brakas’ conviction that no fraternization existed on the Death Star was a pleasant fantasy. She learned that nobody much cared about Scarif beyond the archivists, and even some of those viewed the disaster as a blessing in disguise, should it further their dreams of overhauling the filing system.

“No standardized format,” a tall man said heatedly, “yet no decent encryption, no redundant systems, no duplicate copies, no failsafes, nothing! No wonder that place looked like a gold mine to the Rebels.”

“Not any more,” said the woman he spoke to. “It’s all gone now.”

The man groaned.

Also, Jyn learned that everyone hated the food. She couldn’t judge them for that much. It tasted as awful as it smelled and looked. She’d had worse, though, and she was starving. Jyn all but inhaled it, to the amazement of the Imperials around her.

“Been awhile?” said a corporal.

Jyn wiped her mouth. “Just a day. But it was a long one.”

“Scarif?”

She nodded.

Indifferently, he said, “Heard it’s hell down there.”

She just nodded again. Even for their cover, Jyn wasn’t about to willingly dredge up memories of the little bit she’d seen from their vantage point in the Citadel. The corporal, in any case, seemed no more interested than he was in his stew, but he kept talking pleasantly enough. To her annoyance, however, he said nothing of substance beyond his opinion that things would be better with Governor Tarkin running the Death Star.

“Can’t be worse than Krennic,” said a sergeant across from them, one of the only female ones Jyn had yet seen. “Backwater creep who thinks he’s better than the people doing the real work. I saw him flouncing around in that cape once, like he’s Darth fucking Vader. Ugh. It’ll be just our luck if he made it off. I bet he has.”

Jyn felt an unexpected glow of benevolence. Cheerfully, she said, “No, he didn’t. Some Rebel shot him in the back.”

“Good riddance.” The sergeant poked her fork into an indistinct mass at the bottom of her stew, and lifted it up to peer at it. “Think it’s safe?”

“No,” said the corporal.

She ate it.

“Let me know if you get the runs,” he said.

“Fuck you, Zekheret.”

He grinned. “Is that a promise or a threat?”

Pointedly turning towards Jyn, the sergeant said, “Anyway, who are you?”

“Isidar Lyr,” said Jyn, fear spiking beneath her rib cage all over again. She let her smile turn roguish. “I’d tell you what I do, but I’d have to kill you.”

“I’m Bain Efrah,” she said. “Mind killing him for me?”

Jyn laughed. “No problem. But you’ll have to hide the body.”

“It’s a deal.”

“You can try,” said Zekheret. Jyn glanced at his hands, wrapped as loosely as possible around the utensils, as if they might contaminate him. His skin was pale and smooth. She doubted he’d seen a day of action in his life. “I’ve got a foot on you both and twenty pounds of muscle.”

“Because that matters so much against a blaster,” Efrah replied. Leaning towards Jyn, she said in a perfectly audible whisper, “This is why he’s still a corporal.”

“Hey!” he protested.

An indistinct alarm touched Jyn. She rose, mumbling something about her commander, and picking up the metal dishes. “I’ll see you around, maybe.”

Zekheret winked at her. “Hopefully.”

Behind him, Efrah rolled her eyes. “Later, Lyr.”

As Jyn strode away, her muscles remained strung tight. She didn’t think anything of moment had occurred, much less that they suspected her. She didn’t feel like she escaped death with each body she passed. Yet something in her screamed danger, and it didn’t stop until she made it out of the mess hall.

Far too many people, Jyn decided. For as much of her life as she’d spent in cities, Jyn didn’t like them, the way you got stuffed in with strangers at best and left to rot at worst. And the Death Star seemed like nothing so much as the unholy spawn of Imperial City and every military base in the galaxy.

Beyond that, she—she didn’t much like intelligence work, either. Not this undercover nonsense. It was one thing to become another person; it was quite another to just pretend, ceaselessly.

But it had to be done, if they were to have any chance of accomplishing anything in here. Jyn thought of Jedha, of Chirrut and Baze and Kaytoo, the laser striking Scarif, her father dead in her arms. Cassian in her arms, too, gasping out codes and blood.

She squared her shoulders and marched on.

With little else to do, Jyn stalked the halls of the Death Star, trying to listen to everything without drawing suspicion from anyone. In two hours, she heard nothing but the tedious or inane, and finally gave up, wandering down to the med-bay. A new medic was stationed at the door, both less irritable and less accommodating than Pralit. But he added her comlink code into Cassian’s information and said someone would contact her when he woke, so she supposed it counted as success.

Nevertheless, she started when the comlink buzzed. Thankfully safe—safeish—inside an elevator, Jyn switched the button to accept the channel. Cassian shouldn’t be awake yet. Had something happened? Had …

“Sergeant Lyr?” said Bodhi.

She smiled. “This is Lyr. What is the situation?”

“Uh … normal. I’m in a fresher.”

Jyn stayed silent for a moment. Then she said, “Good for you?”

“Alone,” he added. “So. It, uh, turns out I have substandard aim, but that’s not as unusual as I thought it would be.”

Jyn, who had outrun her share of stormtroopers long before Jedha, nearly snickered. “I imagine not. Well, as long as you aren’t demoted to sanitation …”

“You can’t be, really,” he replied. “There’s a rotation, so nobody gets—we’re supposed to be equal, right? My unit’s rotation ended just before I arrived.”

She said, “Lucky you.”

Bodhi’s laugh was a little shrill. “That’s me.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, my commander decided to just have all the new transfers practice with the rookies until they can get us straightened out. So I am … fine? I think.”

“Glad to hear it,” said Jyn. “Does your commander have a name?”

“JA-1813.”

“JA-1813,” she repeated.

“We mostly just call him the Commander.” His nervous whisper dropped still lower. “It’s quiet around here, but he says we should be ready. Darth Vader himself is bringing Princess Leia here to be questioned, and anything could happen after that.”

Darth Vader. The name sounded vaguely familiar, apart from Efrah’s sneer at Krennic. Must be someone important, since she’d never paid much attention to the inner workings of the Imperial hierarchy. And not military, with that … title? It sounded like a title.

Whoever he was, if he managed to extract this woman’s secrets—Jyn’s stomach roiled. Maybe she’d hold up. If she had anything like Cassian’s resolve, she might. But Cassian was extraordinary. Jyn trusted him; that trust did not extend to everyone else in the Alliance. It didn’t extend to anyone else in the Alliance. And she knew nothing of Leia Organa.

“He’s right,” said Jyn. “Be ready. Whatever happens, we’ve got to be prepared for it.”

“I’ll try,” Bodhi said.

We’ll need to do better than try, thought Jyn, but—it wouldn’t help. Bodhi’s nervous attempts had accomplished more than all her years of escapades, anyway.

They clicked off, and Jyn checked the time. 13:05. Still early, but just in case, she headed to the med-bay and lurked outside. Fortunately, as it turned out: not fifteen minutes later, her com buzzed again.

A toneless voice said, “Sergeant Isidar Lyr.”

“Yes?”

“You are the primary contact for Captain Cassein Willix. Captain Willix is currently being removed from his final full bacta immersion.”

Another jolt in her chest, this one a mix of relief and anxiety and hope. “Thank—”

The channel broke. Undoubtedly it had been a droid, and not one with Kaytoo’s sophistication. She sprang up, barely pausing for the gatekeeper’s authentication before racing into the bay.

I’m his sergeant, she had to remind herself. Three times. His aide, not his—whatever she and Cassian were. More than ally, less than … she didn’t know. Something in her prickled at the idea of them as less than anything. They’d lived more in these three weeks than most did in decades. Risked more, done more, for the fight and for each other.

That wasn’t helping. Lyr, she reminded herself. She had to be Sergeant Lyr, faithful right hand to a difficult but heroic captain. She had never been anyone like that, but she had been people unlike herself many times. She could do this.

Slowing her steps to a confident stride, Jyn pushed welcome home and all the way and your father would be proud of you to a distant corner of her mind. Isidar Lyr did not care about such things. She cared about serving the Empire in general and her commander in particular. She respected the captain’s good qualities and worked to ameliorate the bad. She valued the good working relationship built up over a half-dozen years. In those capacities, and those alone, she concerned herself with Cassein Willix’s welfare.

“Ah, Sergeant. You are extremely punctual.”

At the door to Bed 31, Jyn halted, then turned around to sneer at Dr Esten.

“Yes, I am.” She compressed her lips. “I received the alert about Captain Willix. Has he regained consciousness?”

“No.” Esten jabbed at the passcode panel so quickly that Jyn almost couldn’t track the numbers. Almost.

50477.

She led Jyn into the room, very much as it had been before. An assistant waited in the corner. Machines hummed, if fewer of them, only attached at the wrist. And Cassian lay in the bed, still disturbingly pale and tranquil.

Jyn blinked. “You shaved him.”

“Yes,” the assistant said. “It’s standard procedure.”

“He’s going to murder me.”

A muscle in Esten’s jaw twitched. “He will not be murdering anyone soon, Sergeant. Now—”

“Don’t underestimate him.” With a glance at the vitals, Jyn barrelled past to sit herself in the chair beside Cassian’s bed. It was the only chair.

“If you have any higher concerns than the state of your commander’s beard,” said Esten, “we have placed a full medical log in his file. It contains a complete list of his diagnoses, the treatments prescribed and given, and his status at each stage. He should regain consciousness at any moment, but you may wish to consult it while—”

Jyn made a dismissive gesture. “Later, perhaps. I trust you haven’t killed him.”

“No,” Esten said tightly.

Cassian’s hand lay within inches of hers. Foolishly, Jyn recalled grasping each other after he shot Krennic, his fingers clutching at her waist as they waited to get blown out of the sky, her nails digging into his palm and wrist every time he faded. She felt swamped by the impulse to reach out again, comfort herself with their lives running together, hold that link fast and corporeal. Instead, she clasped her hands in her lap.

The minutes ticked by, silent but for Cassian’s slow breaths and the others’ shallower ones, and the assistant checking on Cassian’s vitals now and then. Nothing, Jyn had thought, could seem longer than those hours in Requisitions, but this did, stretching on and on and on.

Something beeped on one of the machines, and Jyn tensed up.

“Is he—”

Cassian opened his eyes.

Now, she couldn’t help it. Jyn seized his hand, the tension in her body at once dissolving into relief and tightening still further. He blinked several times. She’d never seen him less like himself—dazed, pale, beardless. Nevertheless, here he was. She just had to hope for the best.

Jyn retained the presence of mind to say loudly,

“Captain Willix? Do you recognize me?”

Cassian’s dark eyes focused, glancing from the machinery on his right, to Esten, to Jyn, to the data station and assistant behind her. Then they settled back on Jyn.

“Yes,” he said. Trying to sit up, he immediately started to cough.

“Water,” snapped Jyn.

Although the doctor could not have appreciated the usurpation, she said nothing, just gestured at her assistant, who filled and brought a cup to them. Esten herself handed the cup to Cassian.

His hand shook—not enough to spill the water, but until the fall, Jyn had never seen him anything but steady. He regarded either his grip or the water with distaste.

“No contaminants, sir,” she assured him. “We’re safe on the Death Star. All friends here.”

Esten snorted.

“Allies,” Jyn amended.

“Good enough,” said Esten. “I may not say this again, but for now, listen to your sergeant. This is Medical Bay Three on the finest Imperial facility in the galaxy. You’re in good hands, Captain Willix.”

Cassian’s gaze flickered to Jyn, and she nodded. Without another moment’s hesitation, he gulped down the entire cup of water.

There was trust, she thought, and then there was trust.

He coughed again, but when he spoke, he sounded more human. “What … happened?”

“You were shot in a Rebel attack on Scarif,” said Esten. “You fell a considerable distance and fractured many of your bones in the process before Sergeant Lyr rescued you. You’re lucky to be alive.”

“Lucky?” Cassian looked down at himself. “Clearly.”

With a triumphant smirk, Jyn said, “I loaded you into a shuttle and tried to escape Scarif, but I wasn’t sure you’d make it, sir. Thankfully, the Death Star showed up then, and I took the liberty of seeking access. You’ve been in bacta ever since.”

“Not the entire time,” said Esten. “But frequently, yes.”

“How … long?” His careful speech might be affected, but Jyn didn’t think so. His breathing remained shallow, every exhalation near a pant, and his voice hoarse.

Belatedly, she detached her hand. “Just over a day, sir. I requisitioned a set of quarters and equipment, so everything will be in order once you get discharged.”

Cassian looked at Esten, who had walked to his other side and now studied him with a neutral expression.

“I am ready to go now.”

“Absolutely not,” said Esten. Jyn, to her own dismay, agreed with her. He looked even paler than he had asleep, drawn and exhausted.

She forced a laugh. “Captain, I feel certain you don’t get discharged until you can walk under your own power.”

“I can—” Breaking into another coughing fit, he scowled.

“Mmhmm.” Esten sounded even more unimpressed than when she spoke to Jyn. “We didn’t spend all these hours and resources on you to see you throw it away. I know your sort.”

Even through his coughs, his eyebrows rose.

“I doubt that,” said Jyn scornfully.

Esten ignored her. “And you can go back to working yourself to the bone after I’ve washed my hands of you, Cassein Willix. You will remain under observation until all possibility of complications has been eliminated.”

Cassian glared at her.

“I rescind my doubts,” Jyn said. She levelled a stern look at him, noticing his increasingly heavy blinks as he tried to keep his eyes open. “Captain, you’ll be no good to anyone in this state. You need to rest. We’ll get everything straightened out once you’re better.”

“Quite so,” said Esten.

He mumbled something that couldn’t have been complimentary to either, but didn’t protest further. Jyn could only consider that proof that he had no business going anywhere, and nearly said so. Instead, she held her tongue like a proper aide, a half-dozen poorly defined emotions churning inside her as he leaned his head back against the pillows. In moments, he was asleep again.

“Some exhaustion is to be expected,” Esten said coolly. “He should be more himself once he gets real sleep and the bacta finishes its work.”

“Very well,” said Jyn, the flash of panic subsiding into mere worry. She rose, and turned to Esten. “I will leave him to rest, but remain nearby. Contact me when he wakes again or if his condition changes.”

A flicker of irritation crossed the doctor’s face. “Of course.”

“Also,” said Jyn, watching the irritation deepen, “I would make a suggestion, though naturally I would not dream of questioning your expertise.”

Esten’s mouth pursed so tightly that her lips all but disappeared. In a voice dryer than Jedha, she said, “Naturally.”

“I gather that excitement of any kind can have dangerous effects in this stage of recovery.” Jyn dared another glance at Cassian, working to hold her blank expression. “It would be best, I think, if those around him refrained from mentioning any news. Good or bad, I fear the effect on him may be harmful.”

Don’t tell him about the princess.

Esten looked startled, annoyance fading into a sort of reluctant respect. “Very likely. I already reached that conclusion, but your judgment does you credit, Sergeant. You may be assured that he will hear of nothing from us.”

Jyn nodded and left. Sooner or later, he’d have to hear about the fate of the plans—sooner, certainly. But not yet. And not from a stranger.

Her thoughts briefly drifted to Esten. She seemed as competent and disciplined a physician as Jyn first hoped. Part of her, in fact, wished it hadn’t been necessary to hide behind antagonism. She didn’t want to make friends of Imperials, but she respected skill. Skill wasted on the Empire, though.

Why did someone like Esten do it? The pay? She imagined so for Brakas, but surely Esten could find work anywhere. Maybe she just wanted reliable equipment and regulations. Maybe she wanted to see the galaxy. Maybe it had seemed the most straightforward career for whatever reason. Maybe anything. But it didn’t seem malice, at all. Jyn couldn’t help but wonder how many people like that filled the Empire. How many Bodhi Rooks were there with just that bit less awareness and courage, and no Galen Erso to prompt them down another path?

More of them than men like Krennic, she felt sure. And far more of them than resisted the Empire in any capacity. Those like Esten probably never harmed another person in their lives, while Force knew how much blood Cassian had on his hands. No doubt she lived a life of conscience, while Cassian only clung to desperate hopes every time he pulled a trigger. But, well, if you could live a life of conscience under the Empire, what was your conscience worth, anyway?

Already tired, Jyn stalked into the waiting area. Three others sat there; all of them looked like murder when she tapped her fingers on the arms of her chair, but she had to do something. She couldn’t just sit here and torment herself with ethical philosophy. Finally, she took out the datapad and brought up her supposed commander’s profile. She’d have to learn it all, anyway, and sooner better than later.

Cassein Willix, she discovered, was a thirty-four-year-old man from some Alderaanian backwater. He’d attended university in the ancient planetary capital itself, and still listed Aldera, Tiratlan as his off-duty residence. He spoke something called Serepta natively, along with Basic, Huttese, and for some reason, Rodian. He was an only child, both parents dead, with no other kin. He owned a KX droid. His skills mixed command training, actual field experience, and proficiency with data programming, specializing in droids. He’d occupied posts throughout the galaxy, under a wide variety of commanders, his record of service detailed enough that even she would have readily accepted his existence had she not known better.

Jyn, something of a connoisseur of false identities, nearly whistled. It was one thing to manufacture a basic one, though even that could be difficult enough. But to manufacture one at this level of complexity, and maintain it—that took doing. Cassian aside, Rebel intelligence must have some first-rate people.

Not that she hadn’t learned that much on Scarif. But though all the Partisans had some experience of everything, she’d specialized in slicing. This would have taken her months with far better equipment than she’d ever touched. And the records went on past that, seamlessly linked to real outposts, real bases, real officers. Yet nobody had ever broken the identity. Amazing.

Jyn spent the next hour admiring and memorizing Cassein Willix’s information, until Bodhi contacted her. She left the med-bay to talk, however discreetly, in some semblance of privacy. They had little enough to exchange, however, beyond assurances of mutual survival. He hadn’t discovered much today except the name of the planet where Darth Vader caught up with Princess Leia—Tatooine. Some Outer Rim hellhole controlled by Hutts, but more to the point, astrographically near to Scarif. She hadn’t gotten far. The only thing like good news were rumours that Vader sent troopers to the surface of the planet. But the Death Star stormtroopers neither knew nor cared about the details; they only mentioned it at all in sympathetic dismay at the idea of a mission on Tatooine. Rather to her horror, Bodhi apologized for the paucity of news.

“I’ve learned less than that,” said Jyn. “Most of all, I want you to take care of yourself. Don’t do anything dangerous.”

“Anything dangerous? On the Death Star? No, ma’am.” He laughed, then hurriedly said, “I didn’t mean—”

“I know what you meant,” said Jyn. Then, as far as she dared, she told him about Cassian waking up. “A great relief to us all, of course. He was tired, but acted exactly as Captain Willix ought.”

“Thank the …” Bodhi coughed. “Uh, the doctor. That’s—that’s great.”

“Yes,” said Jyn. The word felt harsh in her mouth, and entirely insufficient, yet nothing else fit.

He started to ask more, but broke off. Jyn couldn’t quite hear; by the low murmur of voices, it didn’t seem disastrous. Bodhi returned with a groan. “We’re headed to the shooting range. I’ll report again soon, Sergeant.”

“See that you do,” she replied, in her most sergeant-ish tones. She hoped he didn’t take them too seriously.

Afterwards, Jyn thought of exploring or eavesdropping more, but she couldn’t bring herself to stray that far from the med-bay. With the drugs and bacta draining out of Cassian’s system, anything could change. If he needed her, she meant to be there.

It was evening, or what went for evening on the Death Star, when her comlink rang again. This time, the voice that came through sounded very human.

“Sergeant Lyr? Please come to Bed Thirty-Nine immediately.” Jyn could hear raised voices in the background. “The captain is, uh, alert.”

“Of course.”

Cassian causing trouble sounded vastly more hopeful than Cassian wan and accommodating. In what might be record time, Jyn rushed down the now-familiar route to 39. On the way, she wondered if Esten had noticed her memorizing the code, or simply forgotten. Instead, she found the door still withdrawn into the frame, the passage open.

Even before she got there, she could hear Cassian.

“I am an officer in his Imperial Highness’s fleet,” he was saying, his accent much heavier than usual, and his voice much quicker. But there was nothing thin or breathless about it. “I have much better things to do than sit here wasting my time and yours!”

Jyn laughed outright.

“Please speak more slowly, Captain Willix,” said Esten, in the tone that Jyn already recognized as striving for patience. “I cannot understand you.”

“I—am—a—Starfleet—captain. Can you understand that much?”

“Of course, but—”

“Good evening, sir,” Jyn said, walking up behind the doctor.

For the first time, Esten seemed relieved to see her. “Sergeant Lyr. Perhaps you can talk some sense into the captain.”

Doubtfully, Jyn turned to look at Cassian. The moment she did, relief washed over her. He sat as straight as ever, features set into the same unimpressed glower, colour high, and arms crossed over his chest. It was somewhat more impressive when he wasn’t wearing a hospital gown—somewhat—but she’d never been happier to see Cassian Andor scowl. Jyn bit down hard on a smile.

“Perhaps, Lyr, you will talk sense into the doctor,” he snapped, still in that deliberately thickened accent.

Jyn glanced between them. “What am I talking sense about?”

“I am healed, but—”

“He is not healed! Three of his ribs are still fractured, and the regenerative process has not completed on that wound. There remains possibility of infection, and considering the history of septicemia—”

“Not a history,” he insisted. “One incident.”

“One incident yesterday!”

“The Empire doesn’t pay me enough for this,” Jyn muttered. The assistant, huddled in the corner, gave her a look of intense agreement. “Captain, you demand an immediate discharge?”

“Captain or not,” said Esten, “he does not have the authority to demand anything within these walls.”

Jyn rubbed her forehead, pretending to ward off an incipient headache. In reality, it had long since arrived. “He demands it of me, I meant.”

“You don’t have any authority, either.”

She wasn’t sure, but she thought Cassian might be genuinely annoyed.

“Doctor,” he said, “you do not seem to comprehend the urgency of—”

“I beg your pardon, sir,” said Jyn, deference already grating on her, “but may I have a moment with Dr Esten?”

He stared at her, eyes narrowed. Then he grumbled, “Fine.”

Willix seemed a hell of a charmer, thought Jyn, amused as well as tense. He and Lyr made quite the pair.

“Doctor,” she said, tugging Esten aside, “what is his real status at the moment? He seems much more … energetic.”

“Of course he does, after that much bacta,” Esten muttered. “Anything but a drastic improvement would be disaster.” She hesitated. “I do not expect major problems at this point, but I am not in the habit of paranoia. The ribs will be extremely painful as they heal. Infection is a real danger. And for the sake of his lung in particular, he must be kept from over-exertion.”

“I can manage the exertion,” said Jyn. “I requested shared quarters because I knew I’d need to keep an eye on him. If he no longer needs specific medical care, perhaps we can move him to his quarters and he can recover there. Could you provide me the necessary instructions?”

“Certainly not,” Esten said, though she seemed thoughtful. “You have no training. You won’t know how to recognize infection.”

“He’ll need some exercise, won’t he?” She glanced at Cassian, who was giving an exceptionally good impression of a man on the verge of bolting. “I can bring him here for a daily examination if you think it necessary. It seems an unfortunate waste of valuable space and equipment to just keep him shut up here.”

That seemed to give Esten more pause than anything else. “How far are his quarters?”

“I’m not sure of the distance. There’s about half an hour of walking altogether,” said Jyn. “The rest is just waiting in the elevator for an hour.”

“Hm. That’s still too long on his feet, I think, at least immediately.” Esten’s mouth twisted to the side. “With a hoverchair, perhaps …”

Jyn did her best not to look too excited.

“And I don’t want him eating that refuse in the mess hall. I’d have to send a pack of nutrient milk with you.”

Cassian stopped pretending not to listen and said, “I will not live off nutrient milk.”

“If it’s good enough for Darth Vader,” retorted Esten, “it’s good enough for you.”

He regarded her with even more disgust than before. “I am not a cyborg.”

“You will be if you try my patience much further,” she said, turning back to Jyn. “You’ll need to keep him drinking water, too. No alcohol.”

Jyn could nearly have punched the air in victory. Instead, she dared not even smile, just giving a dutiful nod. Cassian, whom Jyn doubted had been drunk a day in his life, groaned.

“Or you can stay here another three days,” Esten told Cassian severely.

“Ah, no.”

At a word from Esten, the beleaguered assistant ran for a hoverchair. The doctor, meanwhile, triple-checked Cassian’s vitals and re-bandaged his wound. To Jyn’s surprise, it hardly existed at this point, beyond a long scab and still-shiny skin.

“Will his ribs need bandaged while they heal?”

“No,” said Esten. “That actually impairs recovery. They’ll fuse on their own. Just have him take deep breaths in regular sessions to help the lung.”

“I’ll put it in his schedule,” Jyn promised.

The assistant returned in short order, pulling a large, floating chair after her, the arms and undersides covered in buttons and panels that Jyn couldn’t have begun to understand. Beneath the seat, a metal bar extended in winding circles until it reached a flat black surface. Cassian eyed the chair with suspicion.

In fairness to Cassian—or rather, Willix—it did look like it might double as an execution device. But most things on the Death Star did.

Esten, her mood improving by the moment, extracted a square metal box from a cupboard, then marched over to the chair. When she pushed one button very much like all the other buttons, the metal circles on the chair somehow bent aside, and she set the box on the bottom surface. With another touch of the button, the bar wound back around.

She and Jyn both moved to assist Cassian, but he rolled his eyes and walked over to sit in the chair, wincing as he did so.

“I hope your pride was worth that,” said Esten dryly.

“It was.”

While he made himself comfortable in the chair, or some approximation of thereof, Esten reached into the cupboard once more. This time, she extracted two black bottles that she handed over to Jyn as Cassian peered at the panel nearest his hand.

“You’ll want these, Sergeant,” she said.

Jyn squinted at the bottles, but she couldn’t see any identifying labels. “What are they? Nutrients?”

Esten lowered her voice. “Sedatives.”

[aurulenthuntsman]

-- aurulentHuntsman [AH] 8egan pestering decastichAmazifier [DA] at 17:38 --

AH: Greetings, Kavi! ~}==>

DA: o hey

AH: How are you faring this fine afternoon? ~}==>

DA: lmao uh like ngl im p much blastd

DA: so i mean its a thong

DA: 8thing

DA: wow

DA: charasistic typos

DA: fuckin noice

AH: Hmm???????? ~}==>

AH: It seems a little early in the day for drinking! ~}==>

DA: hey listen

DA: friend

DA: man

DA: len me ur ear

DA: consider this

DA: concept: its night in at least 5 places rn

AH: A fair point... Time is relative! ~}==>

AH: And perhaps that is a social construct that we put too much weight into ~}==>

AH: But traditionally, early drinking is something of a red flag... ~}==>

AH: I beg your pardon if I'm being presumptuous, but is everything alright? ~}==>

DA: uh lol i mean hello no

DA: well yeh but no

DA: idk its complicated

DA: so

DA: shrugmojis

DA: jus think about me like the fun winemom on Facebook

DA: or like those old sitcoms where its funny

DA: and not a issue like yah kids w/e

DA: u n your bottlerockets and blowin up hotdogs in microwaves

DA: i'll go get my xanex and gin

DA: laughtrack

DA: or Karen

DA: you saucy bagel u

DA: fuckin #relatable #classic #same #mood

AH: I see... So, if it's purely recreational, then the fun would only be doubled with company, correct? ~}==>

DA: oh uh....... yah gimme

DA: 45 mins

AH: Certainly! ~}==>

AURYHN: *exactly 45 minutes later, there's a little CLUNK at his window... followed by another a few seconds later.* ~}==>

KAVI: *Shitpissufck now he's gotta... he's gotta... SHOWER. And clean up. He can't be a mess anymore that's enough of that. He got all gross and pathetic on Nellie and he doesn't think he can take looking like a goddamn fool in front of another one of his friends. He quickly got showered and stumbled about his room. Now he only SLIGHTLY smells like vodka. NICE.*

KAVI: *Jumps at the window clunk.... o fuq. He goes to the window and opens it*

AURYHN: *on the ground, waving up at him with a big stupid grin on his face* ~}==>

KAVI: *WOW that's far.... also he's a smiley guy.... lays right against this window sill... Leans and lays, sliding down to chinhands at him..... casually* hhhhhhhhhheeeeeeeeyyyyy *calls while sliding*

AURYHN: ... HELLO, KAVI ~}==>

AURYHN: If you would please stand aside so I can climb in through your window, that would be much appreciated! ~}==>

KAVI: o

KAVI: yah

KAVI: *flumps back.... but at least he didn't see that*

AURYHN: *scurries up the tree like he had the night he slept over until he's swoocing through the window, landing gracefully on the other side.* I've arrived! ~}==>

KAVI: *Stays right here on the floor... WHY? HE DOESN'T KNOW..... but his leg is on the wall*

KAVI: *peace sign* sup

KAVI: hey

KAVI: ur sup

KAVI: is was up

KAVI: for me at least

KAVI: wbu

AURYHN: *stands over him, hands on hips, for a moment... before he drops down next to him with his feet propped against the wall as well.* Oh, you know! Exploring the city and what not ~}==>

KAVI: *Hello mountainous man tiddies, oh, hello the whole Auryhn* o... yeah sounds fun

KAVI: still gogogoin

KAVI: none naps n shit

KAVI: s'not good

AURYHN: *chuckles a little, turning his head towards him* I've managed to find time for sleep in my busy schedule... At your behest ~}==>

KAVI: *grins a lil* hah really? well damn... good yeah

KAVI: that's good, i'm glad you r

AURYHN: It was sound advice! After all... Early to bed, early to rise... Makes a man strong, wealthy and wise ~}==>

AURYHN: *grins cheesily some more, but then looks back up at the ceiling... not without a little side eye, though* I do hope you're exercising similarly healthy habits... ~}==>

KAVI: ............. *Feels the side eyeing and sweats mildly* i mean

KAVI: lol

KAVI: so

KAVI: i can

KAVI: i have some off dayz

KAVI: zzzz

KAVI: ss

AURYHN: Ah ha, so you are having an off day! ~}==>

KAVI: ...... *oh gdi* uhhhh

KAVI: alternattitvely.....

KAVI: what the fuck are on days even???????

AURYHN: Kavi, PLEASE ~}==>

AURYHN: You must know, I don't fuss over others often... ~}==>

AURYHN: I only wish to know if you're alright ~}==>

AURYHN: And if you aren't... then I would like to offer you comfort in whatever way would best help you ~}==>

AURYHN: You're my friend! And a very important one ~}==>

KAVI: *Makes a face... why does everyone have to be so supportive... why can't he just be sad and miserable and he kinda feels like shit for just dancing around it when Auryhn DOES give a shit. Even still it makes him sad to talk about and just the friendfection and the sad feels his face gets a little red.. sighs*

KAVI: *rubs his face up so he doesn't start crying again. So he just.... rubs the tears back in his eyes with his palms. Ace strats* me and.. Den, broke up. guess i'm bein a pissbaby about it idk w/e w/e

AURYHN: *oh... now he feels bad prying so much, but maybe he would have felt bad no matter what kavi said. he only knows this wasn't what he expected to hear, and he gazes at the other boy sympathetically* Oh... I... am sorry to hear that ~}==>

AURYHN: Kavi... It's only natural to feel so hurt over something like that, isn't it? ~}==>

AURYHN: *offers him a hand to hold* I certainly can't blame you ~}==>

KAVI: *Looks at the hand then at Auryhn, his brain still going way faster than his mouth can currently keep up but he looks incredulous? And definitely teary* how can u be so sure? how, how do you know i didn't fuck everything up? i can fuggin blame me easy,

KAVI: gee Kavi, maybe you can't shut the hell up about how goddamn gay you are for p much everyone??

KAVI: or maybe ya try so fuckin hard for the approval of others that you backflip off the fuckin deepend as far as people close to u are concerned

KAVI: oh, oh, here maybe you just plain weren't fuckin good enough to handle anyone on an intimate level because you're too wrapped up in your own shit to connect really?

KAVI: or just that you THINK relationships can fix anything and everything and that's myth goddamn busted because look at you!

KAVI: you can definitely blame me, i can blame me and it's deeper than that and why the fuck does anyone GIVE a shit for a fakeass dumbass when they just DON'T. KNOW. *And he's being hysterical... nice. Good job. Just. Gurgles and puts his hands back over his face, get back in there tears. Maybe it was for the best Auryhn kept seeing him like this. An Ass. His final form* i'm, fuck

KAVI: i'm sorry i, ffffffuugghhhh *gibberish and just rolls over, good bye forever*

AURYHN: *stares at him stunned for a good long moment. he doesn't have that much experience dealing with high emotion coming from other people... but listening to all this, he did understand one thing: how it felt to be critical of yourself, the need to always be impressive, the self preservation... he knew those pressures, even if he always denied them. seeing how they effected someone he cared so deeply

AURYHN: for, it sure put things into perspective for him.* ~}==>

AURYHN: Perhaps I don't know you quite as well as I think I do... As well as I would like to ~}==>

AURYHN: *flexes the hand kavi didn't take, deciding to place it on his shoulder* 8ut I have seen your compassion... When you treat me with kindness, do you mean to say it's out of selfishness? I dou8t that very much ~}==>

AURYHN: If you've made mist8kes, that's all that they are! You are not defined soley 8y your worst moments... Nor are you defined soley 8y your 8est ~}==>

AURYHN: I only mean to say... You should allow yourself this heart8r8k, Kavi ~}==>

KAVI: *While he tries to hide his shame and cry lowkey. super lowkey like... no one would suspect. He listens to Auryhn's words. Quietly sniffing and trying to keep his breathing even. They made sense.... which was good but he also didn't feel like he deserved those kind words. Like he's dropping this plate of Hot Mess(tm) that's his own damn self and no one is backing up with their hands in the air*

KAVI: ....why're u so nice..

AURYHN: *scoffs* You know, not many people would agree that I am... I know that for a F8CT... ~}==>

AURYHN: *sighs* But it is easy to be kind to someone who has been kind to you, I believe ~}==>

KAVI: *that's so.. cheesy but also.. it helps. He loves cheese. Sniffs again and wipes his hands on his shirt, trying to calm down* cheddar... pure... 100% milk gdi, ugh... i'm so gross rn

KAVI: you came here for a good time and now idk ur nice you probably don't feel attacked rn

KAVI: it's like playing the floor is lava and we're laying in this shit right now

KAVI: because we're on the floor

KAVI: no imagination required on that part

AURYHN: *snorts* Then what are we doing on the floor? Allow me to rescue you from a fiery demise! ~}==>

AURYHN: *rolls to sit before scooping up kavi with no real warning* I used to play "the floor is lava" when I was a wriggler ~}==>

AURYHN: And I would pretend to be a wise dragon sentinel in my castle upon a volcanic mountain! ~}==>

AURYHN: Which I later went on to insist upon a hive of my own... Though I could not find a volcano, the snowy Avalon mountains suited me just fine ~}==>

AURYHN: *carries kavi over to his plush pile and sets him down. there. he's safe here.* ~}==>

KAVI: *Oh he got scooped. His face is all red from the crying as he looks up at Auryhn while he talks and walks with him. The story is a cute one, he breathes out a short laugh then looks away. Not now dokis gdi* wow... hah

KAVI: yeah they, they did you good *sniff* that's pretty cute tho

AURYHN: *kneels in front of the pile, grinning at him* A young Auryhn would disagree... It was quite a noble pursuit ~}==>

AURYHN: But present Auryhn has the insight to agree that, yes, it was rather adorable... ~}==>

AURYHN: Also, are you comfortable? ~}==>

KAVI: its cute and noble lol he'd have to deal with it *settles back in all this gd plushness*

KAVI: also

KAVI: hell yes

AURYHN: Excellent! ~}==>

AURYHN: Would you like anything else? A blanket, perhaps? A pair of strong arms to cry into? ~}==>

AURYHN: *FLEXES* ~}==>

KAVI: .....

KAVI: yes

KAVI: *lifts arms*

AURYHN: *here he comes, leaning in for the snuggles. welcome to his STRONG embrace.* ~}==>

KAVI: *This is a nice embrace..... He cuddles into it. Nice.... :'S :') :'S *

AURYHN: *squeezes him close, resting his cheek against his head. the closeness makes his face flare with heat, but... that's hardly appropriate right now! he ignores it as best he can.* There there... ~}==>

KAVI: .....*SNRK*

KAVI: where is my broom?

KAVI: where are my pets

KAVI: i need my awkward distant pets

AURYHN: Your broom???????? I thought you were a wizard, not a witch ~}==>

AURYHN: *LAUGHS. he might not get the Reference, but he thinks he's hilarious...* I can provide you with sincere, close range pets, however ~}==>

AURYHN: *rubs at his back* ~}==>

KAVI: lol i'll take those..... and also i'll show you memes later *snuggles into him*

AURYHN: Memes, hmm? Well, I look forward to it... ~}==>

AURYHN: *rumbles a little in his chest. he tries not to chirr much, but... now seems like a good time to break out the comforting bug sounds.* ~}==>

AURYHN: For now, you relax ~}==>

KAVI: you'll regret it... but we're makin it happen *laughs softly and cuddles up here against these bug noises... he does like him some bug noises...* kk i'll do that

KAVI: you're cozy

KAVI: great cuddlemate

KAVI: a plus plus smiley face

KAVI: and thanks lol

AURYHN: You're welcome, Kavi... You're welcome for my comforting embrace... ~}==>

AURYHN: *gentle snickering, but he's starting to get relaxed enough to nap himself...* ~}==>