#would we care about them when Earth is actively under attack by aliens?

[thaidakar-is-hot]

UH OH

UH OH

TIME TO FUCKING DIE

Yeah and you know what, Brandon? You were wrong. I think you fucking forgot about the book you WROTE YOURSELF nearly 20 years ago! 

Fucking insane. I need to take a step back from the cosmere subreddits, they will actually make me angry. Anytime anyone ever brings up Kell, it’s to discuss how fucking “evil” he is. It’s never a nice sweet little thread about how wonderful he is. How goofy he is, what GOOD he’s done for Scadrial. 

Ugh I’m so tired of it.

This motherfucker developed metalminds that could store identity so they could be used by anyone, and saved an entire race of people from abject extinction. Does that strike any of you slobbering wastes of air (redditors, not you guys <3, ftr) as the actions of a psychopath?

@kelsierfortnite​ I’d kill for you bb

[bedrockbones]

Sbi Aliens human Tommy 👀

send me an au and i’ll give you 5+ headcanons about it ///not accepting

Idk if you meant this for flying saucer attack but I'm gonna assume it's just a random alien au sorry lmao

1. Ok so part of the reason humans evolved so fast is because of our tendancy to just. Eat Fucking Everything. Plants made themselves spicy for us not to eat them? Not only do we eat them, some people LIKE the spicy pain taste. Pufferfish are literally toxic? Guess what? Theres places where they are prepared specifically for you to safely consume. If we can eat it, we eat it. And if we cant we will keep trying until we can

That being said the first time they saw tommy drinking wilburs coffee rations they SCREAMED. Caffeine is toxic to humans!!! What in the galaxy was tommy thinking?!

That horror only grew when tommy explained that almost the entire earth regularly consumed caffeine in many different forms and many even actively pursue the product. They effectively banned tommy from consuming it further despite him insisting it's fine

2. Tommy steals from the others so oftenm not anything valuable just food and blankets and small things here and there. and for the first few years of them living together sbi allow this because tommy kind of heavily implies it's a "human instinct"

When they find out later that tommy was screwing with them just to use their shit they are so offended (though techno begrudgingly respects the hussel)

3. The human smile is...weird. it took Technoblade a while to get used to tommys baring his nubby fangs as a positive sign. (Though he'll never admit its kind of adorable. Like a piglet trying to look tough)

4. Something they all secretly love is Tommy's ability to adapt to their instincts and habits. Humans seem to be this blank slate for most instincts and senses. They dont even behave like their ape ancestors that much. But to SBIs surprise, this doesnt mean tommy is detached from their behaviors, he actually adapts to them faster than they even do for each other. Tommy let's phil "preen" his hair. Even mentions it feels nice. Tommy likes swimming with Wilbur and even tries to mimic his bubble blowing under the water. Tommy even let's techno drown him in his gold hoard and lays with him during his hibernation days. philzas theory of this has something to do with humans need for pack and community. its something so ingrained in a humans instinct it allows them to packbond and mimic practically any species behavior in the name of community

5. though SBI has learned a human’s pack bonding tendency is both a blessing and a curse in one. tommy can join in their instinct behaviors, yes. but he also has the terrible habit of taking any and all strays he comes across. he even puts techno’s pet hoarding to shame in only that tommy does not seem to care whatever animal he is adopting is hostile or not. there have been multiple occasions that tommy has smuggled in a alien beast twice his size that very much wants him dead. how he manages to do this without being caught is something that no one knows. they only find out by the bite marks and injuries (and on one memorable occasion, the need for anti-venom) that tommy starts gaining.

“kevin is my friend! you cant get rid of him!” tommy cries about the 2 ton hoglin he has somehow smuggled from technos home planet in the thirty minutes they had stopped by

“shroud wouldnt hurt a fly! ...well he would but thats just because he eats them! he wouldnt hurt me!” tommy says seconds before shroud requires them to make a hospital visit for tommy

[quazartranslates]

Welcome to the Nightmare Game II - CH63

**This is an edited machine translation. For more information, please [click here]**

[<<< Previous Chapter | Table of Contents | Next Chapter >>>]

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Chapter 63: The Queen’s Inheritance (II) {cw: gore}

"Can't we go in right now?" Qi Leren asked.　

"I'm afraid this isn’t an open half field," Ning Zhou judged by experience.

Qi Leren recalled the situation when he was with the Slaughter Secret Society. Indeed, without Mrs Kathleen as his guide, he wouldn’t have been able to blend with the Slaughter Secret Society to enter the half-field, so it seemed that they would have to ask Celia to do something about this.

Qi Leren came out from behind the column, walked to the lake, and looked at it. Ning Zhou squatted down and scooped up a handful of lake water. The blue fluorescence was not algae or plankton upon closer inspection, but was a kind of jellyfish with a deep blue light. The jellyfish felt the abnormal fluctuations in the water’s surface and slipped away quickly.

Standing in front of the inclined temple, looking at the half engulfed by the lake water and the vast underground lake beyond, Qi Leren suddenly had a strange feeling like being in a trance, as if something was staring at him from the void. He couldn't see it, but he had imagined it in his mind—a huge, omniscient and omnipotent eyeball.

As if by instinct, he took out something from his inventory that he had only recently received.

"Leviathan's Eyeball. It’s what I got from the last copy." Qi Leren handed the thing to Ning Zhou.

"Full of evil and chaotic power," Ning Zhou commented.

"In the last copy, there was a cosmic alien called an amphioctopus, which bred through parasitism and could even destroy human civilization... Is there such a creature in the Nightmare World?" Qi Leren asked.

"Yes," Ning Zhou said. "Many."

It's a terrible world, Qi Leren thought to himself, and listened as Ning Zhou continued to say: "Sometimes there are some incredible connections between this world and the copy worlds. For example, a copy polluted by evil power. In addition, there are some powerful evil creatures in this world, such as demons and devils, and there will be their projections... or insinuations of them in the copy worlds."

"You mean that the octopus I met was probably the projection of a creature in the Nightmare World?"

"Hmm."

Qi Leren picked up Leviathan's Eyeball again and held it over his head for careful observation. Although it had hardened, it didn't feel terrible to the touch, but staring at it carefully, there was still an unsettling fear. But the strange thing was, while he was staring at it, that kind of fear turned into an enraptured impulse. The more you were afraid, the more you wanted to be close to it...

"Don't look too close!" Ning Zhou's voice pierced Qi Leren’s trance like a sword.

Qi Leren's hands shook. The eyeball suddenly fell into the water, and it rolled along the sloping ground toward the lake at the bottom. Qi Leren stepped into the water to pick up the eyeball, but all of a sudden, the eyeball in the water glowed with a faint blue light. The jellyfish in the lake seemed to feel the call of some mysterious force, and the whole lake was shrouded in blue light and shadow.

Qi Leren picked up the eyeball and stuffed it into his item bar. Ning Zhou took his hand. They were swallowed up by the mysterious blue light, and disappeared into the abandoned building.

　　&&&

A magnificent underwater temple appeared in front of Qi Leren. He didn’t bother to take a look at it and immediately turned to see Ning Zhou. The two men looked at each other with four eyes, and he was relieved.

"What is this place?" Qi Leren lowered his voice and asked.

Before them, there was a temple that seemed to have sunk to the bottom of the lake, which is obviously in the style of the Holy See. However, the original white columns and sculptures had fallen over time, and their decadence had become ruins in the earthly world. Because of the bone lamps on the steps and the singing from inside the depths of the temple, there was a gloomy and evil atmosphere.

"The cult worshippers’ half-field," Ning Zhou said seriously, striding toward the remnants of the Holy See inside this lake. 

Qi Leren quickly followed up and looked around as he walked. Although it looked like the bottom of a lake, there was no water. There seemed to be an invisible barrier above them. The world outside the barrier was filled with a deep and remote blue light, which might have been the jellyfish in the lake.

There is no cult guard outside the temple. They were confident that no one would enter here, but it happened that Qi Leren and Ning Zhou had accidentally set foot in this boundary.

The sound of chanting from the temple was becoming more and more obscure, and the rhythm was getting faster and faster. A strange fanatical atmosphere infected the believers inside. They start shouting a word that they didn't understand, repeating, repeating, repeating...

It was also this word that allowed Ning Zhou to identify the identity of this group of people—the fanatical worshippers of Utopia.

"Let’s go in and have a look?" Qi Leren mouthed. Although it sounds like the fanatics inside were still amid their ceremony, they hadn’t started to slaughter the sacrifices. If they started the massacre, many more people would die, and Qi Leren still wanted to save  as many innocent people as he could.

Ning Zhou nodded, and they went in from behind the temple.

After entering the temple, the scene inside was very amazing. The dark crowd knelt down in front of a strange altar, bowing down and singing loudly, and a black mist hung over the altar.

The ragged sacrifices stood up and walked towards the altar. When they stepped into the black mist, the tentacles covered with lesions stretched out from inside it, and the quiet sacrifices were subsumed into the black. The sounds of tearing flesh were drowned out by the fanatical chanting, and the shrieks of the sacrifices were swallowed up by the thick fog, leaving only a deep pool of blood, like the dirty blood of this festering land...

The rest of the sacrifices turned a blind eye to this cruel scene. They were like a flock of blind lambs, being led to the precarious cliff under the guidance of the shepherds.

Amidst this scene, Qi Leren was cold and trembling. What was the strange creature in the mist? What Qi Leren thought of at first was the second part of the main task [Sacrifice of the Devil King]. Did these cult believers worship the Devil of Slaughter? Were they offering cult sacrifices for the Devil of Slaughter’s resurrection?

Qi Leren held the necklace given to him by the Prophet. This metal feather with a steampunk appearance brought him great psychological comfort. When he thought carefully, it sounded quite just to have an angel come to a site of cult sacrifice.

Qi Leren poked Ning Zhou with his elbow. Ning Zhou put his finger to his lips and pointed to a sacrifice who was heading for the altar.

The sacrifice had his head down, moving forward step by step, but his stature was very high and his steps were steady. As he walked through them, the worshippers were constantly bowing down, just like he was passing through ants fighting for their turf, and he was turning a blind eye to their survival.

This man, something was wrong with him.

Even Qi Leren noticed this. As the distance between him and the altar became closer and closer, the man no longer concealed his incompatibility. The worshippers who guarded the ceremony around the altar stood up and shouted at him.

The failed sacrifice smiled, and a shining silver tangdao appeared in his hand. With the single sword, he easily separated the two guards’ heads from their bodies! The broken and bleeding corpses were swept away by the monster in the black mist on the altar and were devoured greedily.

This sudden incident plunged the whole ceremony into chaos. The worshippers in the front row rushed up waving their weapons, while the worshippers in the back row didn’t know what had happened. They dodged around in panic and crashed into the group of sacrifices. The originally unconscious sacrifices suddenly woke up from their confused state, screaming and fleeing everywhere, and the whole scene became a chaotic whirlpool.

"Go!" Ning Zhou took out the Sword of Judgment and went up to protect the fleeing sacrifices.

Qi Leren hesitated, and didn’t activate "Prophet’s Heart".

The chaotic situation didn't affect the mysterious sacrifice’s rampage. He held the tangdao and didn't entangle himself with the worshippers, because his attention was always focused on the unknown creatures in the black mist. He rushed to the altar amid the screams of the worshippers!

The monster hiding in the black mist on the altar sensed the breath of the living, and stretched out its ferocious tentacles from the black abyss. Tentacles full of lesions snaked on the ground, while the sacrifice ran wildly to avoid being entangled by them, easily cutting off the disgusting tentacles with his sword.

The attack angered the monster in the black mist. In the chaos, the strange, huge, and evil creature let out a roar as if it had come from the abyss. This horrible sound is neither like a human’s or an animal’s voice. It was more like a roar that brings together the evil forces in the world, leading to the dark desires in the human heart!

The worshippers' eyes began to redden, and they tore at their hair and screamed like wolves. The fragile worshippers’ eyeballs popped, and their empty eye sockets sprayed continuously with blood. They cried and frantically attacked all living things around them, whether they were worshippers like themselves or innocent sacrifices. And their fallen bodies fell to the monster in the black mist, that gluttonously swallowed them up one by one.

The entire altar in the lake was like a bloody hell on earth. There, an indescribable force had gathered, as if it was the source of all forces in the world, and it could dominate everything!

In the void, an eye suddenly opened.

It was a scarlet eye, which looked down at what was happening in the altar with malice.

"Don't look up!" Ning Zhou’s voice sounded in the distance.

But it was too late. In the group of fanatic worshippers, Qi Leren looked up and saw the scarlet eye. Suddenly, his mind went blank. He seemed to hear a woman's light laughter. She said in a gentle and compassionate voice:

"Come on, let the glory of Utopia shelter your poor soul. You no longer have to suffer in this world. In my country, you will enjoy eternal life with me."

-----

Editor’s Notes: Has anyone guessed who the man with the tangdao is yet? He’s a fun little easter egg ;)

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[siren-virus]

LuckyBoy!AU question (btw, I like this au a lot and love how the dynamics change with everyone here, just saying), Now that we know how Ben operates as a vigilante with his stickers, transformation, sass, uses mana and runes, bickers with criminals and all that jazz; how would he do against the plumbers in general? Against the normal run of the mill plumber? And against a Magistrate if he ever encounters one? How is his relationship with the Plumbers actually? Considering he pranks them a lot apparently and they have some propaganda against him

Also, how does the public react to him? Would they know about his vigilante persona almost as if he was a celebrity of some kind? Would he be an almost unknown vigilante that only the most hardcore of fans, investigators and the like would know of? Would he be considered a cryptid even among the criminals and the common plumbers considering that apparently he's only ever seen by the criminals, Gwen 10, Kevin and Rook on ocassion?

Also also, What would he do with his life (outside the vigilante stuff) while knowing of all the alien stuff his family is always tangled with? Would he get a part-time job in something related to them, or would he act like Ken, trying his best to not be doing anything that relates to them at all?

Finally, I'm also not an american, so idk if they do casual jobs either XD

oh my, I'm glad you like it. If not for social situations being my kryptonite I'd chat your ears off about it. (curse my social awkwardness and my shitty english- is speach dyslexia a thing? cause I think I got that-)

Going up against the plumbers, ok so, we've seen how they function in Omniverse and that is... they don't function well. Maybe when it comes to small crimes, but big ones (like a Vilgax attack) they'll flunk out. The plumbers at their current state aren't equipped to deal with much, just because their stationing is still pretty new and their leadership- apart from Max's- is iffy.

So Ben would run circles around them and take great joy in it too. Most plumbers fear Ben- like I said, there's a lot of propaganda against him. Rather than being the vigilante hero that lurks the street at night, he's like a bad bedtime story to keep kids- or the plumbers in this case- on the "correct" side.

Some of the older veteran plumbers however, think differently of Ben- they don't see him as harmless- Ben will defend himself if he's shot at (and won't attack unprovoked) - But they do take some humour in his antics.

Magistrata are a little more difficult to deal with and less fun to mess with. These guys know their shit. They have some good tech too that works against mana/magic users. Ben has almost been captured by them several times. If he can, he avoids them like the plague. Because if they're around, things are more likely to get done.

I also wanna involve the plumbers kids - Alan, Manny, and Helen, maybe Cooper sometimes, but I like to think Cooper is more in the tech ward with the Galvins.- All of them still consider Ben to be the bad guy. However Alan is slowly being persuaded otherwise- they both have similar humour and Alan really wants to believe that Ben is like them. Wanting to do good for the planet. Manny and Helen, being almost like protective elder siblings, try their best to convince Alan otherwise. But they have seen Ben in action many times, so their perceptions are being warped bit by bit.

He's well known in the media- I mean, he's a human glow stick, so people are very well aware of his existence. Similar to the plumbers, the humans fear him- Will Harangue is responsible for that- The humans Ben has been involved with, however think otherwise, they see him as a hero, akin to Gwen. In most circumstances though, the people will rally together and get their pitch forks and torches. Ben is a witch and must be burned at the stake!

On the underside! The aliens see Ben as a hero, Ben mostly hangs in Undertown and keeps the people safe from actual villains... And Gwen.

Love the cryptid idea, so I wanna try for a running gag. Out of everyone, Cooper has never seen Ben. Anything he's heard has been from other plumbers. Even during times he goes out on missions, he's always MIA when Ben appears - the plumbers are a bit suspicious of that-

Outside of the vigilante life, Ben has a fair amount of involvement with aliens. He works at a cafe (cue coffee shop AU that I'm incredibly soft for ;;; ) this cafe in particular hosts both human and alien guests, one of the very few implemented on earth. Through this coffee shop Ben is able to get on good terms with a few plumbers who will indulge in their daily activities. (it's close by to the plumbers base and just on the outskirts of Undertown.)

Suprisingly the pay is good, but that's because this cafe is under plumber management and they care about their workers and pay a decent wage. -also because not many people want to work there because of the whole alien thing-

The cafe doesn't get in the way of his viglante life, (except maybe he comes to work super tired more often than not.) he takes the day shifts 3-4 days a week sometimes 5 or 6 if a coworker calls in sick. Does the vigilante thing at nighttime. It's when he can be the most bedazzling.

Woo, hopefully that answers your questions.

Also sorry for the long post, but you'll have to bare with it.

[worstloki]

What if Loki made scented candles, but like candles with oddly specific scents? I’m not entirely sure where this thought came from but I wanted to share it with you because I figure you’d appreciate it

Because I wanted to, I decided to write on this. You’re welcome.

---

While readying for his attack on New York - a location he had picked due to a very specific landmark that he believed ought to attract the heroes’ attention sooner rather than later- Loki finds himself with a rather large block of free time.

Leaving the SHIELD base with Clint and Selvig had, predictably, but also to his immense disappointment, proven to be an ingeniously efficient way to gain the required research and to amass enough villainous hands to actualise the equipment to open a portal; members of the spying business such as Barton do tend to have useful knowledge on a wonderfully large amount of people, especially of the opposing side, after all. 

Having been touched by the mind stone, Selvig carries out the scientific theory aspects of the wormhole generator without assistance. Hawkeye’s ability to successfully market a sales pitch that should not be appealing in the least (re: “trying to help an alien prince conquer the world, you interested?”, “I’ll owe you one if you can find the time to help build a portal machine to space” and “there’s free food in it for you if you join with no questions asked”) has resulted in enough people contributing to get the work done.

From there everyone began to organise themselves, and Loki had been thoroughly left with nothing to do. Nothing world-saving (or, as everyone else will insist, ‘world-dominating’) at least.

As is often with Loki, his best ideas occur when he is completely and utterly bored. And right then, sitting in the dark sipping on hot chocolate (yes, he had invested in a drink machine. He has employees and just because he may be perceived as such, he is not actually a monster. Not enough to say no to coffee for Barton.) he looked out at the assortment of people scurrying about to get work done, and he realised he was bored. It was nice of Clint to offer him the sweet drink, but he could not spend the next few days occupying himself with cocoa beverages.

Loki knew his physical capabilities were a bit tenuous at the moment and it would be unwise to take part in any activities that would take up too much energy, but sitting on a step in the dark watching his workers buzz about, helping simply because they could, Loki decided they should be rewarded with a token gift at the very least.

Sitting on a step in the dark Loki decided; using the smell of the sickeningly sweet drink to ground him to the present, using the heat of the mug in his palms to warm his hands, tracing the pattern on the painted ceramic to hide the slight tremors in his fingers that hadn’t seemed to be lessening despite having left the company of his extremely kind patrons a full day ago, with the taste of the flavoured milk on his tongue, Loki decided he would gift them each with something of equal value. Something that would calm their anxieties and ground them, give them warmth, and if he could figure out how, he would even get the candles to induce taste.

After a full five minutes combining a creation spell meant for refilling candelabras with one meant to draw on memories to scent the air Loki is able to create the first candle.

It is, in appearance, a regular wax candle; not unlike one expected to be found in a normal Midgardian store. After some thought he adds a casing made of green and black stained glass and places a gold bordered sticker reading “loki”.

When lit Loki knows the candle will not only warm the vicinity more than a single flickering flame ought to, but will also smell of and provide the comfort he felt as he drank the chocolatey beverage, to whomever lights the candle, for as long as the flame burns. The candle will also last a tad bit longer than regular candles and Loki sincerely hopes no one will notice something like that.

Such simple spells of creation should not require much time or effort to make on his part and the candles will provide the perfect personalised gift to thank the people working under him who for whatever reasons seem disinclined to accept monetary payment. It is, in his opinion, the ideal gift as it can be used for decorative or pragmatic purposes and can be theoretically placed anywhere and still induce the calming effect the scent will have.

He begins drafting ideas for memories he believes would be suited for each worker on a notepad he’d purchased on his way from escaping the SHIELD base.

His task force is not too large but considering moments which he would wish to share into each candle, moments which they would enjoy as much as himself, requires some thought. Despite the amount of thought he is putting into what smell different people would find comforting he assures himself that he is gifting these candles out of a sense of duty as it would be dishonourable not to pay the people who are genuinely helping him… for the sake of helping him. They are, after all, his workers, and only a portion of them even required the sceptre. Servitude should be rewarded, even if they refuse to be paid in cash or gold.

Despite not harbouring any care (not even a drop of care, honestly speaking) for the humans around him he spends most of the afternoon brainstorming smells and matching his people to experiences he thinks they would like.

---

After a quick walk around to gauge the rate at which progress is being made, he takes a seat on the side of the room and starts coaxing the first candle into existence. He is annoyed when he feels The Other pulling his attention, but projects himself away anyways as it would be quite rude to ignore. (And is quite mentally agitating to ignore.)

“The Chitauri grow restless.” The Other states.

Not even a hello? Loki thinks bitterly before replying: “Let them go at themselves - I will lead them into glorious battle.”

“Battle?” The Other all but spits, “Against the meagre might of Earth?”

“Glorious, not lengthy”, Loki assures him, wondering if The Other realises he is insulting the very reward Loki had agreed to (bargained for), before deciding that No, The Other wouldn’t recognise an insult if it slapped him across the astral plane. To prove his own point he continues, “…if your force is as formidable as you claim”.

“You question us? You question HIM? He, who put the sceptre in your hand, who gave you ancient knowledge and new purpose when you were cast out, defeated?”

Not at all, Loki thinks, in fact, I did not utter a single question.

Just to see how off-topic he could veer their conversation this time, he decides to reply with the first petty thought that comes to mind.

“I was a king! The rightful king of Asgard! Betrayed!” he yells, as he instead concentrates on the feeling of his feet sinking into white sand and the sharp smells of the salty expanses of water that appear in southern Alfheim during the rainier seasons.

He already decided he is got everything he was going to get out of this conversation, and so he continues creating the candle on Earth, paying only enough mind to keep the conversation going.

“Your ambition is little, born of childish need.” The Other reprimands, “We look beyond the Earth to greater worlds the Tesseract will unveil.”.

“You don't even have the Tesseract yet.” Loki points out, pointedly.

The issue with dividing your conscience is that sometimes you forget the brain to mouth filter needs to be left on.

When The Other moves as if to attack him for his insolence he makes sure to console the six-handed-one’s ego enough to not get him to dig into his brain and cause him pain with his mental capabilities. Limited though The Other’s mind-bending powers are, he would not allow himself to stop it because his flimsy cover of being on the dark side would be blown.

It would also be inconvenient for The Other to realise he was thinking of sandy beaches and only had 34% of himself paying attention to him while the other 66% was thinking about Alf beaches in the monsoon.

The rest of the conversation with The Other was unimportant, and as usual he was dismissed with a sharp pain in his head.

It did not matter. When he returned his full consciousness to himself, he grimaced for only a second before looking down at the unassuming candle laid before him. Its casing was of purple and black stained glass and there was a white label with fancy gold outline and the word “Barton” in black calligraphy.

---

By the time it was morning Loki had finished distributing the candles. He’d made 143 of them; one for everyone in his service, and 2 extras for the men that had broken down into tears and dropped their candles the first time around.

Apparently, though these people had joined him of their own volition, they were still people. Most of them had been driven to a negative lifestyle by their living conditions and society’s discrimination which apparently had no system in place to give hospitality to all who came under their governance and needed assistance.

He found himself wondering if he actually should try to take over this world; the planet is clearly in need of a central governing system to prevent all their internal spats. The fact that they could discriminate within their own species to such extents was shocking, even to Loki: even indecisive enough to contemplate what to wear weeks in advance as he tended to do, it had only taken him going through a few academic papers to come to the opinion of humans as monstrous. Not all of them, of course - only a select few were truly abhorrent, and yet what a select few they were.

No, he thought, even I would not be able to fix this mess without blood, sweat, and tears. Not that he cared for Earth or anyone else in the realm.

---

He lasted as long it took for Clint to say he had a plan before he succumbed and made everyone a spare candle. Just in case.

He would not want Hawkeye to miss the salty tang of air that would soothe his nerves and remind him of the softer sounds in the world when his hearing aids or childhood memories suddenly cropped up to trouble him. He would not want Samson to miss out on the sensation of Asgard’s warm sunlight brushing his skin on a day when his terminal illness sent his chill bone deep. He wouldn’t want to deprive Demerton the smell of grass and the feeling of happiness Loki had felt when he tried to throw a knife onto the target and for the first time it actually landed – not that Demerton needed to know the unimportant details about the self-esteem boost –with his image issues the feeling would be something he needed.

Loki would not want his gifts to go unused simply because one of the foolish mortals managed to break their candle before they got the chance to light it.

“Tell me what you need,” Loki had answered Barton.

As they worked through the plan together, Loki tried not to think about what good gifts he had come up with, and how generous he was to be bestowing not just one, but two of the candles onto each member of his misfit group of helpers. Not altruistically of course: he hoped his workers would gain him the favour of earth through the candles. Somehow.

---

Twenty minutes into being in a glass cage had Loki deciding that it would be wrong of him to simply abandon all who were helping him, especially since he was planning on being defeated. This was fine for himself since he had made the decision to take a role as a villain, but them? Not even one of them had been given a choice when the universe forced them out of their homes or jobs or family. With nothing else to turn to except a life of crime or death, of course they had decided to live. As someone who had once chosen the latter option, he could not simply abandon them.

He sent most of his consciousness to a building across from Stark’s with 72 floors. It was not as tall as Tony’s, but it did not need to be. While monitoring Earth in his preparations for coming to ‘take over’ the realm, he had taken the building for loan when it had been on sale around a year ago.

It had cost a hefty price since it was across The Stark Tower™ and had been built over land that had previously held a building that looked near as old as Odin, but the price was nothing to him. Not after he bought it with Stark’s money (and the billionaire fool had not even noticed since it did not dent his net-worth, not that he was complaining… Stark’s credit cards were useful).

For now, he sat in a glass cage clearly not built for him (they could never have predicted someone as glamourous as himself showing up in time to have built this). But he also stood in an apartment building kilometres away from the Helicarrier.

He walked around using powered gestures to renovate the building. He would leave behind enough for his group to have the choice between villainy and an honest living.

The hours passed and the Loki in the skyscraper (an adequate name for such buildings) had put together the most therapeutic and entertaining of centres; it had candles and spas and facilities for every relaxation method imaginable but combined the space with recreation for all ages with indoor water rides and arcades and laser tag.

The hours passed and the Loki in the glass cage hadn’t required any of his attention at all; he may have spoken to the Black Widow but with 12% of his consciousness holding the conversation he could not be sure his guise of genocidal maniac had held up – he honestly would’ve liked to meet her under different circumstances, but hoped she hadn’t been able to tell he wasn’t completely present when talking with him.

---

After a nice chat where he blatantly revealed to Stark that his plan had been to lose this entire time, Loki attacked New York. The battle, as he had promised The Other, had indeed been glorious and not lengthy, although anyone actually siding with the villains would disagree. Luckily, Loki was not actually siding with the villains and had no qualms about being smug in his victory (no matter what others thought this was).

Before he left the realm in chains, he had been sure to announce to his batch of subjects that each of them had a job available with Ikol Industries anytime. (Barton, Selvig, and the few others which had the mind stone’s influence upon them had of course been excluded from this job offer.).

Most of the people under him had accepted the deal happily. A lot had teared up about it. Some cried shamelessly. Even less had declined, but Loki had not wanted those spies to stick around anyways.

Loki may have ended up fighting the Avengers with a depleted amount of magic, but that did not matter. He had lost. Everything had gone according to plan.

He may have even left some unassuming therapy candles for each of the Avengers to indulge in, courtesy of Ikol Industries. Each in a glass cover with their colours with names in gold over a white label, it was not difficult to imagine the Avengers becoming regular customers and nicely asking if they had more of ‘their’ candles from those that had assisted him in his faux attack. They wouldn’t even be wrong in assuming the candles were theirs. Loki had themed a floor of relax and rec after each of the avengers and the scents they enjoyed were indeed always magically in stock.

As a keeper of secrets it was incredibly easy for him to inexplicably know what scent and sensations would calm their mind if they were ever in need; especially Banner, who would indeed find his special green candle strong enough to silence the Hulk within him. Tony would not find himself waking in the night in distress if he had a candle by his bedside. Steve would find the dull ache in his chest reduced even when he thought of the life he had left behind when he dove into the ice. Natasha would accept her past actions without any inflation of guilt if she lit the candle during her morning stretches. Clint would always know it was not his fault as the salty tang reinvigorated his senses and reminded him that he could not be blamed for a past he could not control and the lives he could not save. Thor’s candle had a green flame and smelt of his rooms on Asgard.

Perhaps their super-secret boy band would question the individualisation of the candles. Perhaps they would notice the candles lasting a tad bit longer than regular candles. Perhaps Stark being unable to read anything on the composition of the candles would be suspicious. Perhaps they would joke about Ikol Industries being ‘Loki’ Industries and would joke about the ridiculously badly thought-out palindrome and the magical voodoo of the candles which had no apparent source location but were never out of stock. Perhaps they would recognise the workers as previous criminals. Perhaps they would realise the decisions that led them to that life had been circumstantial. Perhaps they would follow their suspicions up and Loki would be unable to answer: either locked away in a cell or dead.

But for all the trouble Loki had caused and for those he had brought suffering upon - even if his intentions had been good - his calmest and happiest memories were the least he could leave behind this world to assist in their recovery.

[aboyandhisstarship]

Humans are weird Purity/ the emergency broad cast system

The TV tones pulsed three times before a forth long one the TV flashed “this is not a test.” As a voice said “this is the Emergency broadcast system, colonial authorities advise the public to proceed to safe area’s and to follow the lead of lead of armed Military Personal, be alert and carry with you one personal bag, this is not a drill…this is the emergency broadcast system…”

A jet engine blasted over head as the TV flickered off.

24 hours earlier:

T’Las sat in her quarters as she started to write “being on a human warship puts me in a strange circumstance…many people have contacted me hoping to learn if the humans have as powerful weapons as some rumors claim…well after much cajoling and the agreement to let a Human military officer read and if necessary reedit this report (say hello LT!) Hey guys…this is weird…does this microphone actually work…anyway don’t worry not much ended up being cut.

 Now first off is the main offensive weapon of Human war ships, the Magnetic  Accelerator Cannon (M.A.C.) a M.A.C. gun speeds up a shell to a percentage of the speed of the speed of light (for ships usually between 12 and 15 percent) firing the shell into the enemy ship…this is incredibly effective it is predicted a low powered human M.A.C. round could punch through 4 ships before slowing down and being combat ineffective.  It is also the main planetary defense platform of earth and her colonies, these M.A.C.S are two kilometre long behemoths.  This one works the same way but fire there slugs 25 % of the speed of light…and spirits help you if it hits your ship.

 Rail-guns: the secondary weapons on a human ships fire rounds rapidly and are designed mostly to take out missiles and rockets (more on those later) but are also use for anti-fighter and anti-ship activates.

Missiles: now humans are quite keen on these and every ship is equipped with several tubes to fire these things.  Human have 2 major kinds

 Nuclear: a nuclear missile or Nuke as the humans call it are the most powerful in ship to ship combat, it is a reactor rigged to blow and destroy an area usually about 50 km wide.

Electromagnetic plus: the humans want you alive so they fire a different kind of nuke at you, knocks out your power and allow you to be boarded.

T’Las was about to say more when all of a sudden lights went red and The captain went over the inter com saying “we are now in a War state, all hands battle stations.”

*the following report was granted by the SICON Office of Naval intelligence under the freedom of information act*

Cahlti star empire is the official name for hat we have called “fanatical Purifier’s.”  a heavily militarized state that believes all other alien life is an front to the their spiritual existence as such relations with these groups are no existent in a peaceful sense, they have often attacked other neighboring species claiming that it is bandits well aware that any race that wishes to fight a war against them would have bad time…there is a phrase on earth “don’t fight a land war in Asia.” Trying to invade the Cahlti would be like fighting a land war in Asia,7 years of hard fighting and would result in millions of dead.

  Valley Forge:

The camera flew through the bridge as the ships lights were blaring red a Human Crew member said “ma’am we have 45 boogies on our scanners, all armed…it is unknown how much of the force is left, but they engaged the M.A.C platforms, and have won the engagement.”

Hernandez said “Alight, Chief, where is Battle Group Fortress?”

A coms officer turned her chair around “picking up black box’s ma’am, it seems Fortress was forced to retreat….Manticore is 45 seconds behind us…they will engage the fleet…I am picking up confirmed reports of ground combat.”

Hailey took a deep breath “hard launch we are coming in, get Dagger prepped, there mission is locate the governor, arm rail guns load nukes and Get the M.A.C online…open up as soon as we drop out of Chekov, dump dagger same time.”

Hernandez said “T’Las get geared up…you are dropping.”

The camera cut out and changed to a rocking motion as T’Las screamed in a metal pod as Ericson’s said “Dagger 0-1 to Overlord come in.”

A voice with a drawl answered “we are picking you up Dagger 0-1…”

Ericson said “everyone hold on, we are almost to touch down …Over Lord do you have contact with the Governor!”

Overlord said “that’s a negative Dagger 0-1 we have not been able to locate her before the winter contingency was activated…we will pass on the address to her  house, however we have confirmed enemy presence in the region, happy hunting.”

Ericson called “Roger…detach in 4, 3, 2,1!”

T’Las screamed again as her metal shell blew and she was in the air above some neighborhood a pair of human jets blasted through the air above them and her body jerked as her jets kicked in and she crashed through the roof of a house, a human family lay on the floor in a pool of blood, the TV blasting a series of tones...as a robotic voice said “this is the emergency broadcast system…”

 Ericson said “Futuba turn that TV off.”

Futuba responded “on it boss!”

Porthos sniffed around as Abebi said “boss, the coordinate’s Overlord gave us are…4 blocks east of us.”

Ericson nodded coldly “Safety’s off, but pick your targets…combat wedge, T’Las you’re in middle stay close.”

T’Las nodded as a jet blasted overhead again the camera cut again.

 The camera turned back on as Ericson entered saying “woof….Depoint?”

The woman advanced taking one look at the body saying “can confirm she is dead…tortured to death sir…”

Ericson groaned “confirm it’s her…Overlord this is Dagger o-1 we have a possible ID on the governor…”

Over lord responded “uhh Roger that, Dagger 0-1 what is her status?”

Depoint called “can DNA confirms it LT.”

The camera panned to show T’Las bent over with Abebi patting her back as Porthos whinnied Abebi said “easy let it out.”

Ericson said “Depoint check on T’Las, Overlord…Governor is confirmed KIA…who is next in the chain of command…”

Overlord was clearly nervous cursing “fuck…uh let me get back to you Dagger 0-1.”

T’Las vomited again, a Green sludge coming of her mouth as Depoint said “easy…do you feel dizzy?”

T’Las nodded “a bit.”

Ericson walked over saying “how is she?”

Depoint said “I’m no expert sir, but she is in shock….she may need some care Sir.”

T’Las was visibly shaking saying “they gutted her like fish…I have seen videos of it on earth…but to a living thing.”  She bent over again vomiting.

Ericson smiled “what you are feeling is perfectly normal ok, just breath through it…if you ever feel like you are in distress let us know ok.”

Ericson radio cracked to life “Uhh Dagger 0-1 this is overlord…what is your rank?”

The squad look at each other as Ericson said “lieutenant first class, ODT…”

The voice dropped the southern drawl speaking in a British accent “Lieutenant Junior Grade Marco Paul-son sir…uhhh I’m in the logistics core sir…I was in the command center by sheer chance, in the opening attack the hostile’s hit a building…where the rest of Civilian and military leadership, calls came in for the command center…so I pretended to General Barrows….I know I wasn’t supposed to, but no one would have listened…they needed orders…a calm voice in there ear…but I’m over my head…I found it who is highest ranking officer on the planet…it’s me.”

The squad went quiet as Ericson stood straight “listen good son because I am only going to say this once, you have been doing a great job, so stop doubting and start commanding.”

Ericson flicked off the private channel saying “Over lord Dagger 0-1 mission ended in failure  where do you need us.”

Overlord had tears in their eyes but shook it off saying “uhhh Right, Dagger 0-1…we have reports of a squad of marines trying to lead a group of civs to safety, these guys are under equipped and terrified, show the flag and help them, it will do wonders for them to see a ODT team.”

Ericson nodded “roger Sir…we have their location.”

  3 hour later:

T’Las leaned on a wall as Bullets flew past mowing down the aliens before she look up seeing hundreds of metal pods, Overlord said “all friendlies be aware ODT teams are dropping in quadrant 4 and 6, link up with them if at all possible, all air units cover there landing.”  With that the camera cut.

 5 hours later:

 T’Las was on a stretcher Depoint said “you will be ok.”

Ericson plucked down next to a young man hitting him on the shoulder “how you are holding up?”

The kid formally known as overlord said “I’m a hero apparently…don’t feel like it.”

Ericson grinned “you saved a planet…that sounds like hero work to me.”

The kid laughed “thank you sir.”

The camera cut out.

[erisbaek]

Stucky Fic Rec [Part One]

So I decided to split the fic recs up into parts because they will be too long otherwise. In each part I will link the Google Doc that I am typing them up in, which is where I will constantly update as I read.  Within these fic recs, they’re mostly my preferences, so very few (if any) Shrinkyclinks, and ABO fics will be within them, as well as shorter fics, since I actively seek fics out that are longer than 10k (and completed)!!

The Google Doc Link: https://docs.google.com/document/d/10wqr5s-CzkFzLidQgt-y4-cjudHWwVeVPWCedMjK7t0/edit?usp=sharing

The first part is formatted under the cut, if you’d prefer to stay out of the doc!

Lightning in a Bottle 

    Word Count: 63k     Rating: Explicit     Notable Tags: Shrunkyclunks, Road Trip!AU, Angst with Happy Ending     Warnings: Smut, Smoking     Synopsis: The problem, Steve thinks, isn’t so much his motorcycle giving up the ghost on a lonely stretch of highway through a lonely stretch of the country. He doesn’t mind stretching his legs or the prospect of hitchhiking. The problem is the roiling black blanket of storm clouds slowly spreading itself over the landscape headed his direction… Steve Rogers is looking to hitch on a highway abandoned by everyone smart enough to avoid a looming storm. Bucky Barnes is the professional storm chaser who offers him a ride.

It gets more complicated from there.

Perspective and Truth

        Word Count: 16.7k          Rating: Teen and Up         Notable Tags: Bodyswap!AU, Emotional Hurt/Comfort        Warnings: None        Synopsis: Bucky and Steve end up swapping bodies and learning a lot more about each other in the process

Carbs and Conversations

         Word Count: 48k          Rating: Teen and Up          Notable Tags: Hockey!AU, No Powers          Warnings: None          Synopsis: Bucky was just looking for a chance. A chance to get on the ice and play. A chance to escape from Hydra. A chance to redeem himself. He didn't include 'A chance to be friends with Steve Rogers' on the list. That would be ridiculous. Lucky for him, Steve seemed determined to be ridiculous.

So Loud and So Clear

           Word Count: 26.6k            Rating: Mature            Notable Tags: Get Together, Slow Build            Warnings: None           Synopsis: Bucky had been careful, after all, leaving no trace of his comings and goings. It was horrendously disappointing to know that Rogers had found him. Bucky was a lot better than getting caught by a guy who wore the American flag as a onesie. He just really was. “Don’t you – Bucky – Bucky,” Rogers started, and to Bucky’s growing horror, it looked like Rogers was on the verge of some type of emotional eclipse. Anger, sadness, something, and Bucky wanted nothing to do with it. “Hate to break it to you, bud, but I don’t remember ever living here and I don’t remember you.”

A Loyal Viewer 

           Word Count: 36.1k            Rating: Explicit             Notable Tags: Camboy!Steve, Punk!Bucky, No Powers, Long Distance            Relationship            Warnings: Smut            Synopsis: At almost exactly eight thirty in the evening, Steve settles on the bed before his camera and the computer. He signs into his account on Chaturbate and clicks the button that starts his stream.

In My Conditions, Love’s the Best Physician

             Word Count: 9.1k              Rating: Not Rated              Notable Tags: Shrunkyclunks, Pharmacist!Bucky, Russian!Bucky              Warnings: None              Synopsis: ”This situation is a little more delicate because I don't even know if he speaks English and I'm tired of going down to the pharmacy for constipation medication and allergy pills when I haven't sneezed since 1941.” Steve shouts. The room falls silent, and he turns back around to find four pairs of stunned eyes watching him. Tony, as always, speaks first. “He?” - Or the one where Bucky is a hot pharmacist and Steve keeps making up bullshit reasons to go see him.

Rare Is This Love (Keep It Covered) 

               Word Count: 66.7k                Rating: Explicit                 Notable Tags: Shrunkyclunks, Mechanic!Bucky, Slow Burn                Warnings: Smut, Canonical Character Death                Synopsis: It's 2014. Captain America has been out of the ice for three years and is trudging along, saving the world and trying to get used to living in the future. Steve thinks he knows how the rest of his life is going to pan out – a life of duty, which he chose when he signed up to be Erskine’s science experiment. But then, he meets Bucky Barnes: the out-of-this-world-gorgeous mechanic and war vet, who turns Steve’s life upside down and makes him question everything he thought he knew. Slowly, Steve comes to realize there is more to life than duty and punching Nazis. Just one problem though: how on earth does a 96-year-old virgin who only just realized he may not be entirely straight make the transition from crush to relationship? Cue healthy amounts of self-doubt, awkward flirting, pretty blushing, existential crises, emotional growth, and maybe, possibly, a sexual awakening.

Looking For A Place To Hide

                Word Count: 33.3k                 Rating: Explicit                 Notable Tags: Endgame Fix-It, 2012!Steve                 Warnings: Smut                 Synopsis:  It's 2012 and all Steve knows is that another version of himself said Bucky is alive. Steve will do anything to get his friend back, even if it means time traveling to 2023. He expects Bucky to be happy to see him, but instead he's wary, hurt. Turns out his Steve had left him for Peggy. How? Why? Steve can't believe it. Now he'll have to find a way to make sense of it all, and convince Bucky that it's the two of them to the end of the line.

The Wolf and the Sheep

               Word Count: 50.5k                Rating: Teen and Up                Notable Tags: Shield Agent!Steve, Winter Soldier!Bucky                 Warnings: None                Synopsis: Steve Rogers is a SHIELD agent who is recruited for a secret project: Becoming a handler for the Asset. Steve’s world is thrown for a loop when he discovers the Asset is an actual person and he needs to figure out who he is and what he’s going to do.

All Those Little Pieces

                 Word Count: 40.5k                  Rating: Mature                  Notable Tags: Alternating POV, Post CATW                  Warnings: Smut, Panic Attacks                  Synopsis: Steve has never forgotten Bucky Barnes. Not their childhood together, not the horror of the moment Bucky fell too far for him to reach, and not the way he's loved him all the while. Bucky has forgotten everything about Steve, at least at first. But there's still a feeling there, warm in his chest—and maybe now that he's found his way back to Steve Rogers and his sunny apartment, there's a chance it might turn into something more.

My Dear

                   Word Count: 29.9k                    Rating: Explicit                     Notable Tags: Post CATWS, Recovery                    Warnings: Smut                    Synopsis: The Soldier stares down at the floor, breathing hard through his nose. “And you still wanna fix me,” he says. Steve shakes his head. “There’s nothing to fix, Buck. I just want to bring you home.”

Living On My Own

                    Word Count: 26.1k                     Rating: Mature                     Notable Tags: Vigilante!Bucky                      Warnings: Blood and Gore                     Synopsis: James Barnes is back in the world and finds that not only has there been 1) an alien invasion, but 2) Howard Stark had a kid. One that dispenses unsolicited life advice, no less. Oh, and 3) Captain America is alive again, after getting himself killed by his own recklessness in a move so stupid only Steve could have come up with it. In which James learns to do laundry, turns into an accidental neighborhood vigilante and makes Tony Stark a happy grease monkey, all while he figures out where to stake his claim.

Chase the Lighting From the Sky

                      Word Count: 39.4k                       Rating: Explicit                        Notable Tags: No Powers, Age Gap, Farm!AU                        Warnings: Smut, Past Character Death, Animal Death                       Synopsis: If Bucky has to be stuck doing this ridiculous summer work program before his senior year of college, on a ranch in the middle of nowhere, then at least he’s got a hot as hell cowboy for a boss and host. Steve Rogers, owner of the Truth & Justice Ranch, is what Bucky’s completely theoretical but very imaginative bisexual fantasies are made of. Steve’s a widower though, and a nice guy in need of help, and no doubt 100% straight… so Bucky’s gonna work his ass off and keep his head down. But neither Bucky nor Steve are prepared for the friendship that forms between them as they work side by side. And they certainly aren’t expecting the budding feelings, confessions, and passions that summer heat and the loneliness of the great open plains stirs in each of them. What rages to life between them will shake each man to his core and will linger long after the storms and the summer have passed.

Cinder and Smoke

                       Word Count: 51.7k                        Rating: Explicit                        Notable Tags: Sheriff!Steve, Blacksmith!Bucky, Old Western                        Warnings: Smut, Period-Typical Homophobia, OC Death                        Synopsis: “They say there’s no law in Parasapa. Is that true?”

Art Thief, Heart Thief

                       Word Count: 58.8k                        Rating: Mature                        Notable Tags: FBI!Steve, Thief!Bucky Barnes                        Warnings: Smut                        Synopsis: Agent Steve Rogers is facing a series of art thefts that has him stumped, and looking for a break in the case. Convicted art thief and general high end criminal Bucky Barnes wants to make parole and happens to know all of the right people who could make Steve's job easier. So they strike a deal, mutually beneficial and entirely business. But a few days undercover, an undeniable growing chemistry, and some ill-timed Feelings entering the mix, and all bets are off.

Laws of Thermodynamics 

                       Word Count: 14.6k                        Rating: Explicit                         Notable Tags: Post CATWS, Recovery                         Warnings: Smut                        Synopsis: He never had to relearn how to love Steve Rogers. It might be the one thing he never forgot.

Abstract Art

                       Word Count: 26.6k                        Rating: Teen and Up                        Notable Tags: Friends to Lovers, Artist!Steve, Ex Sniper!Bucky                        Warnings: None                        Synopsis: They survive almost a year of torture together, cells side by side, banter and teasing and stories. They keep each other alive. Then everything changes. They tell Bucky that Rogers's been killed. He tries to piece his life together, to move on. Steve owns an art store. He's given up looking. It's over. Except it's really not.

We Discovered Gold

                       Word Count: 18.7k                        Rating: Explicit                        Notable Tags: Post CACW, Fix-It, Wakanda                         Warnings: Smut                        Synopsis: “So you got these safe houses scattered all over Russia?” Steve jokes into the soft hair over Bucky's temple, not pulling away, “Or did we just get lucky?” Bucky shakes his head and then replies, “Got myself a few. It’s been a long two years.” “Yeah pal,” Steve nods, burrowing further, “I hear that.”

Never Mind to Hold 

                      Word Count: 21.6k                       Rating: Mature                       Notable Tags: Soulmate!AU, Not CACW Compliant, Soulmarks                       Warnings: Brief Suicidal Ideation                       Synopsis: Steve didn't know the name of Bucky's soulmate. He wasn't even sure when it had appeared across Bucky's heart. But Steve knew it wasn't his name hidden under that patch.

Where There’s Smoke 

                      Word Count: 95.1k                       Rating: Explicit                        Notable Tags: Firefighter!AU                       Warnings: Smut                       Synopsis: Steve is a Brooklyn firefighter who is about to be saddled with a new, rookie crewmate. James Barnes is that rookie, just looking for a fresh start at a new station. Steve's friends think they know what's best for him...start dating his new crewmate. Steve thinks they're crazy...or possibly right. But events from James's recent past may pose a threat to any designs they have on each other.

Let Them Eat Cake

                    Word Count: 31k                     Rating: Explicit                      Notable Tags: Shrunkyclunks, Pastry Chef!Steve, Sommelier!Bucky                     Warnings: Smut, Drug Use                     Synopsis: Steve picked up the piping bag and returned to the ramekins. Bucky left, though not without shooting one last look at Steve's wide back. Bucky could already tell Steve Rogers was trouble, not even counting the near-religious experiences he inspired among the staff. It wasn’t that Bucky didn’t appreciate him as well; he did. He just tended to appreciate people he found attractive from afar, because explaining the metal arm was hard, and because he didn’t really know how to handle letting someone in close. But that wasn’t why Steve was trouble, not really. Bucky wanted to know why their new pastry chef had gun calluses on his right hand.

Adrenalize Me 

                  Word Count: 58.5k                   Rating: Explicit                    Notable Tags: Vampire!Steve                   Warnings: Smut, Blood                   Synopsis: Leaning against the side of a wall, taking an indolent drag of a cigarette, there he stood. Watching Bucky with an inscrutable gaze. Staring at Bucky for long seconds, the blond seemed to consider him before breaking the silence. “You know, nice guy like you walking alone at this hour – people might think you were looking for trouble.” Trying not to shudder at the sound of that voice, which wrapped around him like smoke, Bucky managed a smirk, lifted a brow. “Well, if I was, it looks like I found it.” Two strangers meet in a dark club. One just happens to be a vampire.

The Change in Us 

                 Word Count: 23.4k                  Rating: Explicit                  Notable Tags: N/A                  Warnings: Smut                  Synopsis: “I’ve found your BFF,” Stark says without preamble. “My… what?” “James Barnes. Winter Soldier. Bucky. I don’t know, I don’t care, but right now he’s perched on the roof of the next building with a gun on me, and it’s not so much my idea of a relaxing afternoon, so could you get down here?” Steve hangs up and starts running.

Things That Go Bump in the Night

                  Word Count: 38.2k                   Rating: Explicit                   Notable Tags: Shrunkyclunks, Ex Army!Bucky                   Warnings: Minor Smut                    Synopsis: Many an odd critter and item have ended up on the front porch of the property Bucky house-sits in the Middle Of Nowhere, but a bleeding blond man is a first. A short inspection reveals the man to be none other than Steve Rogers; ex-Captain America, vigilante, and a wanted fugitive. Steve’s stay of a few days of recovery is prolonged, under instructions for him to lie low until the Avengers can sort out the mess that has become the Sokovia Accords. Bucky is pretty sure that he’s committing an act of treason by providing Steve a place to stay. He is also pretty sure that lengthy interaction with Steve makes one prone to impending headaches and possibly ulcers. And he is certain that he is, very assuredly, in danger of falling in love with Steve.

The Soldier’s Revenge

                 Word Count: 76.4k                  Rating: Explicit                   Notable Tags: Canon Divergence, Enemies To Lovers, Slow Burn                  Warnings: Smut                  Synopsis: Bucky Barnes turns himself in to SHIELD two years after dragging Captain America out of the Potomac River. He was deprogrammed in Wakanda and has been hunting down Hydra ever since, but he needs help if he wants to take proper revenge on his captors. He turns to his old enemies: SHIELD and the Avengers, but it'll take more than a few words to win their trust after the Winter Soldier brought SHIELD to its knees not long before. Now at SHIELD's mercy, the only thing that stands between Bucky and his revenge is the approval of Captain Rogers: a self-righteous asshole that Bucky barely knows.

The Best Way to Wake

                  Word Count: 42.2k                   Rating: Explicit                   Notable Tags: Canon Divergence, Slow Burn                   Warnings: Smut                   Synopsis: James Buchanan Barnes lay in a glass pod in the middle of the table, frozen since he fell. Steve’s hands were on the glass before he realized he’d moved. “Wait, Captain!” “Get him out,” Steve whispered, his hands searching for a clasp, a keypad, something. “Captain, we need to keep him in stasis—“ “I said get him out!” In which Bucky Barnes lay frozen in the Alps for seventy years only to be woken up a year after Steve Rogers was uncovered from the Arctic.

Latte Art and Slow Dancing in the Dark

                    Word Count: 89.5k                     Rating: Explicit          ��           Notable Tags: Age Difference, CIA!Steve, Barista!Bucky, Sugar                            Daddy!Steve                     Warnings: Smut                     Synopsis: Bucky is a somewhat well-adjusted former army sniper that got his shoulder blown out. He took his discharge and went home to finish school and is working on his international relations masters. His best friends and roommates (Nat & Clint) are CIA agents and tip him off that their local Sbux is hiring. He gets a job there and meets none other than the hottest guy on earth. So how does one get a date in the most top secret government location in the US? What happens when that guy is more than just a hot dorito and wants to give Bucky everything he wants? Bucky is going to have to figure out his shit and fast. That's what's up.

Laughter Lines

                   Word Count: 100.2k                    Rating: Mature                    Notable Tags: Bodyguard!AU, Slow Burn                    Warnings: None                    Synopsis: Bucky Barnes is a rising Hollywood star with a tragic past and a reputation for driving his bodyguards away. Steve Rogers is a veteran with the same tragic past and the need to get back out in the world. The two of them have been estranged since they were teenagers, so when Steve joins SHIELD as a bodyguard, he is less than thrilled when he finds out that Bucky is his first assignment. But how bad can it be? They're both professional adults, right?Wrong.

From Hydra with Love

                   Word Count: 21.2k                    Rating: Mature                    Notable Tags: Spies!Steve and Bucky                    Warnings: Smut                    Synopsis: Captain Steve Rogers is one of the best spies in the world - a marksman, a martial artist, an expert in strategy and tactics. There's not a lot he can't handle. Heck, he's even saved the world once or twice. So why does every run in with the mysterious Winter Soldier leave him feeling like the Bond Girl?

Goddamn Electric

                Word Count: 67.8k                 Rating: Explicit                 Notable Tags: Bodyguard!Steve, Musician!Bucky                 Warnings: Drug Use, Alcohol Use, Smut                 Synopsis: Steve Rogers works for a discreet private security company and gets assigned to James Barnes, a musician who takes the idea of 'sex, drugs & rock 'n roll' just a little too seriously.

There Was Something About Steve Rogers

                Word Count: 46.7k                 Rating: Explicit                 Notable Tags: Post CATWS                 Warnings: Smut, Panic Attacks                 Synopsis: The Winter Soldier knows Steve Rogers has deep feelings for Bucky Barnes, and decides that he can use that to his advantage to gain protection from the Hydra agents still trying to find him. What he didn't bargain for was actually starting to care about the man they call Captain America, or the strength of Bucky Barnes' memories as they begin to resurface.

Through the Mist

                Word Count: 14.5k                 Rating: Teen and Up                 Notable Tags: Soulmate!AU, Post CATWS                 Warnings: None                 Synopsis: He usually kept it covered. Whether it be with long sleeves, a cuff of some sort, or make up Natasha skillfully showed him how to apply. He didn’t cover it up because he was ashamed or because he was one of those people who didn’t like others knowing who his soulmate was- no. He covered it up out of respect. Respect for his fallen partner, and respect for himself because he knew looking at those swoopy lines of James B. Barnes on his wrist always made him crumble like his legs were kicked down. When he crashed into the ice all those years ago he thought he was going to see Bucky again- he thought he was finally going to be with Bucky without people giving them ugly looks and throwing slurs their way. He thought he was going to be happy again.

Take Me Home 

              Word Count: 78.1k               Rating: Mature               Notable Tags: Shrunkyclunks, Veteran!Bucky               Warnings: Smut, Torture, Referenced Suicide               Synopsis: “I’m so sorry, I’m gonna help you I promise, just don’t move, fuck, I ran over Captain America–” the man apologized, over and over, and all Steve managed to say was, “You’re really attractive,” before passing out on the guy’s lap in the middle of the road.

Where the Circle Ends

               Word Count: 29.8k                Rating: Mature                Notable Tags: Zombie Apocalypse!AU                 Warnings: Smut, Gore                Synopsis: In which the world has gone to hell in a zombie apocalypse handbasket and, in the middle of it all, Steve finds the one person he never thought he'd see again. Angst and feelings (amongst other things) ensue.

Our Souls (They Were Made to Last) 

               Word Count: 53.8k                Rating: Mature                Notable Tags: No Powers, Veteran!Steve, Doctor!Bucky, Ghost!Bucky                Warnings: None                Synopsis: Dr. James Barnes is too busy saving lives to actually have one of his own. When he finally agrees to go on a blind date, he gets into an accident that will change his life forever. Retired Army Captain Steve Rogers is depressed, and when he moves into his new apartment he finds it already occupied....with the ghost of its last tenant. To make matters worse, the ghost is adamant that he's not dead. As they navigate their way through their new living arrangements, can they save each other, before it’s too late? Or have they missed their one shot at a happy ending?

By Any Other Name

                 Word Count: 36.9k                  Rating: Explicit                  Notable Tags: Assassins and Hitmen!AU, Spies and Agents!AU                  Warning: Smut                 Synopsis: Steve was a good spy. It turned out one good spy didn't stand a chance against a rival security firm, a contract killer, and his own heart.

[polymathemawrites]

Hungover in the City of Dust part 1

CW: injuries, ptsd, panic attacks, maths, drug use (via the hev suit)

Alyx is gone, Gordon is running on fumes, Barney picks up the pieces

The dark hits like a freight train, thick and deep. It pulls down, down, down unrelenting and eternal. There is nothing and then there is everything. The stop-start of His voice grates on the very edge of frayed nerves, unraveling them, he is a patient man but his patience is running out, and he has expended his usefulness to an entity incomprehensible. Everything goes from too slow to too fast and he gasps awake and alive, put back into a body he never left. Eli is standing in front of him and Alyx is standing nowhere, somewhere - somewhere they can't reach, they have work to do - the Combine are not defeated yet and there is a missing Vance to find. Free but for how long and at what cost? Gordon looks down at his hand in the reinforced leather gloves of the HEV suit and tightens his grip on the paint-chipping-gently-rusted-crowbar. A nod, of course, they have work to do, and he's the man to do it.

It is in this manner that Gordon Freeman has survived the past six days. Six. Six Days. Running, running, never stopping, and it is in this manner that Gordon is ready to continue, ready to go where Eli needs him to, to save the man's daughter and Gordon's new found friend. Or it would have been, would have been if someone didn't put their hand on Gordon's arm and still him.

"Eli, I don't mean to put a damper on the Save Alyx party, but your golden boy is bleeding through whatever shitty bandages he scrounged up." The southern drawl is familiar, it is maybe his recognition of this that keeps his overtaxed nervous system from ripping his arm away. When he turns to look at him, Barney is carefully not looking back, staring Eli down instead. 

The older man pauses, looks at Gordon, or maybe it's better to say he's looking at the HEV suit, at the huge chunk taken out of the side of it, the rend on the shoulder panel, the rust-red discoloration. Her voice had gone silent with the end of combat but the thrum of morphine still settled along the edge of his vision, a welcoming gossamer blanket that dulled the fact that he had bruised ribs and a dozen or so minor lacerations. A med-pack and a power bank and he'd be good to go, really. The suit though, she had some abuse left in her, but he couldn't deny that the past four days had been rough on the Mark V.

"We are going to need Izzy to take a look at that, maybe machine some new parts." Eli's smile is apologetic and Gordon could scream, how can he look like that, Gordon should be the one apologizing, if he'd been more careful, more prepared, then they wouldn't need this downtime.

He isn't thinking clearly, he knows this somewhat, without a clear objective he was left adrift, unfocused. It's worse than when He had dropped Gordon onto a train with no fucking hope of knowing what the hell was going on. Twenty years, twenty years, and if it hadn't of been for Barney he'd have ended up organic byproduct. 

Four days ago he had watched a Civil Protection officer remove his mask and found himself saved. Today, suddenly dead on his feet, he looks down at Barney and hopes that the imminent panic attack he feels encroaching upon him won't be too bad, even if it is four days late.

He is breathing too fast and his heartbeat is high enough that she's informing him about it, but the HEV suit is unfortunately out of the Make Feel Good Juice and Gordon is all out of helpful neurochemicals. Someone shouts something and Gordon knows it's not him because, well, he's mute. 

When the black comes this time it is not the thick ink of that cosmic stasis, it's all too human and humiliating.

In high school Gordon had two entire friends. One of them was the head of the computer club, which meant the paper-punch-machine club actually, and the other was a quiet kid whose entire personality seemed to be based on being in color guard for JROTC. One day during a pep rally he'd forgotten to keep his knees loose and locked them during the stand at attention part of the presentation, Gordon didn't know what any of these things were actually called, he just knew his friend wound up with a bloody nose when he passed out because of the hypotension. Yet still, five years later, Gordon himself passed out while waiting for a train in Boston.

His head hurt far less when he woke up this time, perhaps because Eli, Barney, and Dog had all been there to catch him instead of the metal post he crashed into in Boston. 

There are a number of hands on him, when he can focus and his flight or fight response isn't lashing out at these helping hands, he realizes he's managed to punch Barney in the jaw and kicked Dog off balance. 

Barney surges forward and pins him down, which is when Gordon goes completely limp anyway due to his relatively short spurt of adrenaline wearing off and the fact that it's Barney Calhoun he just punched and if this man wanted to throttle him he would let him, deserving of it even.  

Instead Barney just holds his chest down with one arm and gently grips Gordon's jaw with the other, forcing Gordon to look at him. This close and he can do nothing else. Barney's eyes have always been interesting but age has highlighted the color differences in his irises. Gordon's vision, while blurry around the edges thanks to the train-tunnel effects of his passing panic attack, is sharply focused on Barney, where Barney is keeping him. 

He was so bad at art growing up but one didn't need to be good at art to know the science behind color. Barney's eyes were both the clearest most summer-day-water blue-green and the deepest autumnal wood. Brown and teal, unreal and so very Barney. There is a word for this condition but Gordon's grasping at straws right now and can't remember it. They're just very unusual eyes and Gordon is quite helplessly falling into them.

"You with me Gordon?" Barney asks him and Gordon nods, or tries to, attempts to, kind of hard with the former guard turned resistance commander still gripping his face but the attempt is all that matters and Barney lets him go.

He's laying on the ground, one of Barney's legs is under him, Eli's hands are on Gordon's own legs. Dog is huge and hovering. Face red from embarrassment now, Gordon pushes up onto his elbows in a reclining position and Barney takes his leg back. 

He forms his hand into a fist and brings it to his chest, moving it in a tight circle around and around. 

"No Gordon, I'm sorry." Eli gently stops his hand, silences him. "We have work to do, but you won't be able to do anything until we get you cleared by a medic and get Izzy to take a look at that suit."

Together they help him up, the HEV suit's finally powered down, but she'd been running on fumes for hours now. Unfortunately this makes his already aching and fatigued muscles scream out from being overtaxed. 

"I've got him, Eli." 

They're in the hallway outside the large hangar that comprises Eli's lab by the time Gordon realizes that he hasn't seen Barney since the train station back in City 17. When had he gotten here? Had he seen Eli die and then Not die, had he seen Alyx just stop existing? Because Gordon fucking hadn't, he'd been blacked out - again.  Was Barney alright himself? Had he just arrived only to have to babysit him?

He spins his index finger around and around in front of himself, he feels drunk, his movements are slow and sluggish. 

Despite Barney actively corralling him down the hall, his eyes are riveted to Gordon's hands.

"When?" He nods and Barney seems to chew over what Gordon is asking, "Oh, just a few hours ago, I barely get settled in and hear about a ruckus, you're constantly causing trouble aren't you?" The tone is teasing, warm, Barney's voice is like a balm, pours right over him like the decadent kiss of morphine without the accompanying very hot sensation in his head. 

Six days, it's only been six days, but for Barney and Eli and -everyone- it's been twenty years. Without the pressing need to run, save Barney from sniper fire, or get shoved into another HEV suit, he is free to realize that an implied twenty year gap is doing absolutely nothing to curb the huge and inconvenient crush he has had on Barney for a year. A year for him at least. The streak of salt in his mostly pepper hair is also doing absolutely nothing to curb this crush either, in fact he would go so far as to consider it made it worse.

Unfortunately free of the effects of morphine, coming down off of a panic attack, and now feeling the full impact of his wounds, Gordon has to admit it's not a crush if you've been in love with someone for a year, that's just pathetic. 

Now a resonance cascade, eldritch abomination cosmic entities Lovecraft couldn't have dreamed up, and a full blown occupation of earth had put Gordon out of the picture for twenty years. It had also caused him to be a near messianic figure to a whole race of alien creatures and the remnants of humanity - something he really didn't want to think about. Luckily when Barney looked at him he seemed to be seeing Gordon in the exact same way he did twenty years ago if the soft smile and warm honey gaze was anything to go by. Bemused, that's what he'd call that particular expression on Barney's face. 

They stop suddenly, Barney bringing them to a halt, which is when Gordon finally looks away from him. They're in a quiet room, maybe a former storage room but now a private bunk. There is a cot up against the back wall, tucked between two mostly full shelving units. A heap of blankets has been dumped on the cot, as well as a number of packs placed on the shelves. There is a basin and a bucket of water for washing, and Gordon can spy some first aid packs and weapon caches amidst the cluttered shelves. 

"I'm going to get you out of this fucking thing and then I'm gonna get you a medic." Barney informs him but Gordon is looking past him to the basin and it's bucket of water.

He puts his hands together and brushes them against one another in a mimicry of washing his hands. Clean.

"I'm sure the medic will know what's best for that."

Gordon, standing still in the center of the room, attention riveted on the bucket of water like it's a lifeline, repeats himself until Barney has to catch his hands - again. 

"Okay!" But there isn't any hostility or exasperation in Barney's tone, no he's laughing instead.  

"Far be it for me to judge a man's aversion to getting seen by the medics when I avoid them myself. We'll get you clean and go from there, that good?"

Gordon nods, and even though he knows he won't make it without Barney's assistance, he heads toward the basin and bucket anyway, grateful when he finds Barney is right there next to him. 

Without the suit's charging station and hydraulic mechanism to quickly and mechanically free him, it is just the combined effort of their four hands and Barney's seemingly infinite patience to remove the thing. But even patience alone didn't account for how Barney seemed to know where the clasps and mechanisms were. Gordon is reminded that it was Barney who had gotten him 'into' the suit or showed him to it four days ago. These thoughts prove to be fruitless, without purpose, as the pieces of the very abused HEV suit are removed and the jumpsuit beneath them is revealed as are the injuries Gordon has sustained, the bandages he'd hastily applied in stolen moments of down time on his own or with Alyx's help. Barney pauses, the chest plate removed as well as the shoulder guards, and he seems to just stare at Gordon.

The last twenty years loom between them again, Gordon can't read his expression so carefully tooled to be neutral and blank, not the Barney whose emotions he wore plain for everyone to see unless it was poker night. There is a scar high on his left cheek, a number of smaller ones all over - and these are just the ones Gordon can see on his face.

"Oh Gordon, what happened to you?" There is such soft sorrow in Barney's words and when the man puts his hand to Gordon's cheek, he is helpless to keep himself from turning his face into the touch, closing his eyes and pressing his cheek and jaw into that gloved palm with all of his touch-starved needy heart. Barney's touch is no longer precise and perfunctory, it is gentle, when he draws his hand away Gordon almost chases it but manages to catch himself before he can further his own humiliation. Something has shifted between them and Barney won't let his slipping hands help anymore, just keeps batting them away, finally Barney grins up at him, "I've got you." He repeats what he told Eli but now it's completely different, personal and soft, just the two of them, "So stop makin' my job harder and just let me work."

Gordon lets him work, when he sways on his feet Barney steadies him. When he leans into him Barney catches him. The rest of the suit joins the other sections on the ground. When it's just the bloodied jumpsuit and Gordon's socked feet on the cold concrete, Barney's hands still.

A week ago and this fantasy would have played out differently, for one he wouldn't be riddled with defensive wounds and have obvious trauma, but also Barney wouldn't be looking at him with that mixture of soft worry and likely muted fury. He actually didn't know what Barney's aroused face looked like so his fantasies had always been a little body focused anyway but definitely no fury or worry in any of them. Barney's hand goes to his injured side, gentle against the tattered jumpsuit and the bandages. It's all dirty with blood and whatever else Gordon had been thrown into out there. 

"Darlin' I'm gonna have to get you out of this."

Gordon nods, dumbly, hung up on the first word. 

Barney's hands are so gentle and Gordon reels under their good works, he can't track where they are going only where they've been, the slow way they move, there is no predictive model here to tell him where to brace himself for kindness next. Actually seeing the mottled mess of his own skin  through the rends in the jumpsuit is an experience that knocks him right out of his body entirely. 

Where A and B are a pair of operators, with A representing speed and B representing placement - Gordon is a lone man set on a trajectory in the universe he has no hope of comprehending or tracking, the speed with which he has been traveling has slowed to a stop and yet he still feels as if he is going too fast. His body at stand still thrums with an energy he is powerless against and every time Barney's hands track against baring skin his pulse jumps. He cannot predict where he will be in a day, an hour, a minute, he is lost in this second, that drags and drags as Barney's eyes glance up to meet his face, undoing the line of velcro all the way down Gordon's chest and lower still. His head spins and he has to reach out to brace himself against Barney's firm padded shoulder, thick and strong.

He is adrift in a complex dimensional space that tracks over multiple planes of reality, his wavelength has resonated at a frequency that no one else on Earth has and yet he is still so uncertain of his place. Not too surprising when the equation clearly states that you might know how fast you're going but never where you are at the same time. Just usually it was on the quantum level, not one man against a time-space anomaly. His speed and location operators are held up between two brackets, and within those brackets are the estimated answers to his questions, yet if he's standing still how can he hope to theorize where he'll be next?

Where he'll be next is shivering in this bunk he's realizing is probably the one Barney claimed to stow his gear in, with the door shut and a man he has been attracted to for the longest time slowly undressing him. Logic states the probability that his next place will be embarrassing the ever loving shit out of himself but somehow, somehow he doesn't make a noise when Barney slides the jumpsuit down from his abused shoulders and down, down, till the man's hands are sliding over his hips and drawing the dirty green cloth past them. He doesn't move to grab onto him, to press his body into Barney's and just feel him, to test the strength hiding beneath the layers of his Civil Protection uniform. He does go very limp when Barney manhandles him to lean against the wall though. 

All predictive models and the familiar Robertson-Schrodinger equation fall to the wayside when Barney strips his thick gloves off. Gordon watches the man's steady movements, the slow curve of his familiar smile despite time and distance. He could never hope to apply the uncertainty equation when all higher functioning is gone. He is no longer out of his body, he is in it, very much in it. Barney's hands are warm from the confines of his gloves, gentle as they tackle the bandages scattered on Gordon's now scrawny form out of the bulk of the HEV suit's flattering lines. 

"You okay there, Gord? Look like you're about to be knocked over by a stiff wind." 

He gives Barney a thumbs up. 

Yeah, really okay, super duper okay. Barney's hands feel like fucking rapture. Warm and lightly callused, strong firm grip when they move Gordon's body every which way. Unwinding bandages that have clearly served their purpose, some of them stick and Barney apologizes under his breath, muttered words and quick movements. Gordon only vaguely registers the pain, it cannot hope to touch the surface of pleasure just having Barney's hands against him is causing.

He reaches out to brace himself against the basin's counter top, hip cocked under Barney's hand momentarily, Gordon tries to swallow around the thick lump in his throat. Warm hand skids up his side, bloody bandage that wraps across half his chest. Barney unravels it the same as he'd done the one on Gordon's right leg and his left arm, careful and quick. Dirty wounds and sepsis waiting to set in.

But despite the severity Barney doesn't dump him on the nearest medic, he holds to his word instead and brings the bucket of water up to the counter. A rag is fetched from somewhere and then Barney is cleaning him. Gordon would be more embarrassed about this if it were not for the fact that he only has one arm as the other is bracing him up to keep him from sliding to the floor as the HEV suit's power system isn't holding him up and pumping him with Go Juice. 

Barney gives him a little grin, holding Gordon's abused arm over the basin to catch the blood-grit water as it drips off of him, "You're in pretty good shape for a man of science."

Gordon snorts his bemusement and gives Barney a look over his glasses. Barney would fucking know, he'd helped Gordon train for the months of HEV suit preparation after all. He worries for a second then, has it been that long, has Barney forgotten that much in the years Gordon has been absent.

His fears are laid to rest instantly, "Remember when you couldn't even run a full mile?" 

Yeah, and look at him now. Well not right now, as he looks nothing like the implied messianic figure he's meant to be, but rather look at him a few hours ago. When Alyx was still there, making bad puns and cheering Gordon on, when she wasn't somewhere, in some place unknown and unfathomable and most of all not here. What would have been the next point of reference for them, where would they be right now if she'd remained? Did this count as time travel? 

I feel like all I have done is run for six days.

Barney pauses, while Gordon had managed to explain his ageless appearance to Alyx, the rest of his old friends and colleagues weren't as in the know. "Six days?" Barney marvels, hanging there like a DOS box trying it's best to load badly written code, "It's been twenty years, six days?" Barney's voice is husked and worn when he repeats himself and he lets Gordon's now clean arm drop gently back down.

Gordon nods, Stasis, no time passed for me mentally or physically between the Resonance Cascade and you intercepting me.

"Fuck Gordon." Barney reaches up, takes his face in the slightly damp palm of his hand, holds him there and really seems to look at him. "Kind of thought you just aged really damn well, it was hard enough to believe the 'gaunts when they went on about you saving them, didn't... I didn't realize, something like this could happen."

Gordon has nothing else of substance to offer Barney to explain it. It would take far more research and model running to even begin to formulate a working theory about what the fuck He was in his plain grey suit and stilted speech. He figured in the coming days he'd have time to do that, now that it was Alyx who had been taken. Now that there was someone on the outside who knew.

What took Alyx, is what took me.

Eli had some understanding of this entity, he didn't know how, but he was certain he'd find that out soon too, just as soon as his fragile worthless body would let him. 

Barney is still touching his face, still half holding him, when he finally notices he seems to come to his senses and applies himself back to the task of cleaning off dried blood and other muck. Gordon would miss the contact if it had not just moved onward to other parts of him. There are more cuts on him than there is water in the bucket but Barney focuses his attention on the worst of it. Barney's touch lingers on the surface of his skin even after he has moved his hand away, a burning path of warmth and water. Gordon realizes he doesn't want to go anywhere right now, he doesn't want to think of tomorrow or an hour away, he wants this moment to last. 

He can breathe, painful but he can breathe and he is finally still. The Combine awaits, there is no knowing where Alyx is, how much time they have, but right now in this moment he can push down the guilt and allow himself the desire to remain here in this place with Barney eternally. The stroke of a familiar hand, the warm presence of someone who cares about him, the gentle teal-brown heat of his friend's gaze. 

"You're back with us now and damned if I'll just sit around and let some kind of creature put you in a box for another twenty years. I've got you." 

Gordon wonders how badly he's going to end up hung up on Barney's new mantra of, 'I've got you.' Trick question, he's already hung up on everything Barney.

[the-friday-knight]

Fuck it

Ben 10 OC Time

Name: Jake Mars

Age: 17 (During OS)

Species: Human

Nationality: American

Eye Colour: Bright Blue

Hair Colour: Brown Black

Appearance: Jake wears a red and black hoodie as his common attire, under which he has a range of different t-shirts with various logos or statements on them, usually related to mechanics or rock music in some way. He wears thick blue jeans and brown steel toed boots. His version of the Omnitrix is on his left wrist. It is nearly an exact replica of the Omnitrix designed by Azmuth, but it won’t stay that way for long.

Personality: Jake is kind. Whenever he comes across an Alien, or some situation that seems odd, he gives the Alien the benefit of the doubt first, for all he knows they could just be scared being on a different world. Of course this isn’t always the case and has landed Jake in a few close calls that he quickly had to get his way out of. Jake is also well versed in mechanical engineering, owning a dark red Plymouth Superbird that he uses to travel the country. Jake decided to leave his home after acquiring the Omnitrix, at the start of the Summer after he had just received his drivers license. This is because he discovered that his Omnitrix was not the only one out there, though he still is not sure who has the others. He left because he wanted to find others with a device like his, and maybe they could work together and help each other figure out the strange Alien watch. He likes to consider himself mature, though that isn’t to say he isn’t reckless at times when it comes to people in danger our people he cares about getting hurt.

Likes: Driving, cars, finding and taking apart Alien tech, rock music, country music, apple pie, black coffee, meeting new people/Aliens.

Dislikes: Prisons, discrimination, Dean, people who question his mechanical knowledge.

Flaws: Jake feels like he has something to prove. This is shown most obviously when he is fighting against an Alien that he is also able to transform into. Even if there is an Alien he has that would be better suited to the fight, he will often transform into the same Alien in an attempt to prove that he can beat them at his own game. He also has a bad habit of antagonising those he is fighting against, to the point where it seems less like hero-villain banter and more just straight up arguing or insulting them.

Strengths: His mechanical knowledge helps him in his fights surprisingly often, especially when going against certain robotic drones that might be out to get him. He is usually quite adaptable to his transformations, and situations where he isn’t the Alien that would be best suited. He has a friendly aura about him, making him easily able to hold a conversation or befriend others, even if they are of a different species.

Jake’s Omnitrix: Jake’s Omnitrix is similar to the one built by Azmuth, however there is one key difference. It’s AI.

Omni: Omni is the AI within Jake’s Omnitrix. She has the appearance of an human female with twin green ponytails, a strange black and green shirt and skirt combo and bright green eyes. When she first met Jake, she requested him to call her Omni-chan. Jake promptly refused. Despite the term AI, Omni was actually a member of a once powerful and prosperous race, who transferred her entire mind into a satellite before her races downfall. She remained in that satellite for an unknown amount of time in deep space, but somehow was able to pick up earth transmissions of a form of entertainment called ‘Anime’. Hence her appearance and name choice. While out there, she also discovered encrypted messages of a design for a piece of technology that would allow someone to transform into a different Alien species. Omni realised this device might be a chance for her to bring her race back. So she immediately started constructing it, following the blueprints to almost a t. However, she was unable to connect with the Codon Stream on Primus, as she needed space to put her mind in. Once completed, she locked the Omnitrix and herself in a pod, and shot it towards Earth.

Omni’s Personality: Omni is a very energetic and intelligent girl. She helped Jake understand the Omnitrix when it first attached itself to him, though she may have also gave him a heart attack when she first revealed herself. If there is something Jake does not know, he will almost always ask Omni for help. She is happy to oblige. However, being cooped up inside a watch does tend to make her a bit bored, and sometimes she will either jump out of the watch or transform Jake at inopportune moments for laughs. She will also rarely change Jake into a different Alien than he requested, if she feels like he has been that Alien too much lately. As she has knowledge of what Anime is, she could be considered a weeb. This proves detrimental when Jake ends up fighting a magic user that imbibes origami creatures with magic to make them life sized and attack. She is a big fan of this Villain and often tries to talk to them in the middle of a fight.

Enemies: Canon Villains Dean: Another wielder of a different kind of Omnitrix that seems to only turn him into Aliens from the Anur system. His watch was dubbed the ‘Anurtrix’ and he uses it to commit petty crime. Jake has fought and defeated Dean several times, foiling his thefts. However, every time Dean manages to slip away some how. (Enemy level: Hands. On sight.) Kitsune: A magic user that uses magic to transform her Origami creations into life sized counterparts. She seems to be after magical artifacts, specifically those of Japanese make. However, she seems to be younger than Jake, making him think she is going through her weeb phase. (Enemy level: Why are you doing this crime it makes no sense? I’m still gonna stop you though.) Colonel Rozum: Jake accidentally staged a breakout at Area 51. Freeing wrongly imprisoned Aliens and helping them return home via the theft of an experimental aircraft capable of space travel. Jake did not join the Aliens in leaving Earth, instead trusting them to make it home without him. Colonel Rozum does not know it was Jake who enabled the breakout, as he was transformed at the time. But as far as he is concerned it only confirmed the danger of Aliens. (Enemy level: You’re a government official so I can’t actually attack you but one day I’m going to punch that stupid moustache off your face.)

Allies: The Tennysons. Detective Arnold Mason: A detective in a large city close to Jake’s hometown. It was where he preformed his first act of heroism in front of people. Unfortunately due to a misunderstanding Mason thought Jake was a part of a rival gang. Jake attempted to clear it up. Mason and two other officers are now aware of a supposedly heroic car. (Ally level: Vigilantism is illegal, but you’re literally fighting Aliens so you do you I guess.)

Trouble Gear: Three Planchaküle that were stranded on Earth. Jake brought them to a junkyard and aided them in returning home. The trio were gifted a CD of AC/DC’s greatest hits by Jake. They consider it their favourite item. Having returned to their home planet, they are not currently available to Jake, but would immediately spring into action to help if he requested it. (Ally level: You helped us get home and introduced us to rock and roll. We will die for you.)

Trivia:

Jake is voiced by Dante Basco.

Omni is voiced by Samantha Ireland.

The first Alien Jake turned into was a Planchaküle. He has named this transformation ‘Ratchet’.

It doesn’t matter if you’re human, Alien, or intergalactic war criminal. If you are being driven somewhere by Jake, you wear. your. seatbelt.

The DNA of Omni’s race is available for Jake to turn into. But Jake doesn’t know that, and Omni actively tries to keep that hidden.

Jake’s Omnitrix has access to the Life Form Lock mode and the Scanner mode.

This theme is red and black, which is usually associated with villains but I thought it’d be funny if Jake had it because of association.

His ethnicity is half-Polynesian on his mothers side.

He isn’t sure if there are alternate counterparts in different dimensions. Though he is pretty sure if there were he would immediately throw hands.

Jake currently has no love interest, though I am considering an eventual redemption of Kitsune that might lead to that.

His Omnitrix will go through a serious design change. I shall share it in another post.

[voltrontranscript]

VLDS7E7: The Last Stand, Part 1

Season 7 Episode 7: The Last Stand, Part 1

Transcript by @dragonofyang

Episode Summary: The Paladins make their way back to Earth, but upon reaching out to Sam Holt, discover Earth’s distress beacon and that the Galra have invaded. We catch up with Sam and the technological developments on Earth since his return four years prior to the Paladins’ approach, and the trials Sam and Colleen face when in the heart of the Garrison.

[Google Doc]

Hunk: I can’t believe it. We’re finally back to Earth.

Keith: Well, what are we waiting for?

Pidge: I’ll see if I can get a message out to my dad. Dad, it’s me, Pidge. Do you copy? We’re back in Earth’s solar system, and heading home now.

Sam’s voice: To any beings who receive this message--

Pidge: Dad, you’re okay. How’s Mom and Matt? Is he with you?

Sam’s voice: Planet Earth has been… Most of the citizens…

Pidge: Hold on, let me try to get a clear signal.

Sam’s voice: ...have been captured.

Pidge: What? Who’s captured? Dad, what are you saying?

Sam’s voice: Those of us remaining are making our last stand. If you get this message, please get word to Voltron. We need help.

Keith: Guys, are you seeing this?

Sam’s voice: To any beings who receive this message…

Allura: Oh, no.

Sam’s voice: ...Planet Earth has been overrun by the Galra.

Lance: The Galra have invaded Earth.

Sam’s voice: Most of the citizens have been captured. Those of us remaining are making our last stand. If you get this message, please get word to Voltron. We need help.

Hunk: It’s not a reply. It’s a distress signal.

Pidge: Dad.

[Scene change to a flashback, labeled “Four years earlier…”.]

Sam: Admiral Sanda, how long have I--?

Sanda: It’s been about a week since you landed. Sorry, we’ve had you under for most of the time.

Sam: A week?

Sanda: We had to run tests. You spent years in an alien environment. Look, Sam, the joint chiefs are eager to hear what you have to tell us.

Sam: Tell the chiefs I’ll debrief when I’m ready. There’s someone I need to see first.

[Scene change to a lounge in the Galaxy Garrison.]

Colleen: Sam.

Sam: Colleen, I’ve missed you so much.

Colleen: I thought you were dead. I thought I’d never see you again.

Sam: You’re squeezing me pretty tight. Being abducted by aliens didn’t kill me, but I think you might.

Colleen: Aliens?

Sam: On the Kerberos mission. Matt, Shiro, and I were taken by hostile aliens.

Colleen: So Matt is with you?

Sam: No, but he’s alive and safe. So is Katie. They’re together. Last time I saw them, they were just outside the planet Olkarion. They saved me. There was a device on my pod, a transmitter. Where is it? I can use it to contact my children and the other Paladins, cadets.

Sanda: I’m afraid we can’t allow you to broadcast yet. We need more information before you start sending messages into deep space. Any contact with alien species needs to be run through the appropriate channels. We need to be sure you’re not putting Earth in danger, Sam.

Colleen: I don’t care about your channels. I want to talk to my children.

Sanda: And you will, soon. We just want to debrief you first.

Colleen: Tell them what you know, then we can talk to our children and get you home.

Sanda: I’m afraid we can’t allow Sam to leave the premises. We’re not prepared to tell the world about the existence of alien life just yet. Remember, everyone thinks you’re dead.

Sam: So you’re holding me like a prisoner?

Sanda: Not a prisoner. You’re free to move about within the Garrison grounds. Just until we’re ready.

Colleen: If he’s staying, I’m staying, too.

Sanda: I’m afraid you don’t have the clearance, Colleen.

Colleen: This is the only family I have left. You’ll get me the clearance.

[Scene change to a meeting room in the Galaxy Garrison.]

Iverson: Here’s what we know. Two years ago, during your Kerberos mission, our scans picked up an anomaly at your location. Minutes later, we lost contact with you and the rest of the crew. In the immediate aftermath, we intercepted a transmission.

Unnamed Galra Commander’s voice: We found these primitive scientists. I don’t think they know anything useful.

Zarkon’s voice: Take them back to the main fleet for interrogation. The Druids will find out what they know.

Sam: That last voice is Zarkon, the emperor of an advanced hostile alien race known as the Galra.

Unnamed officer: How advanced?

Unnamed officer 2: And how do you know they’re hostile?

Sam: Do you have the device I asked for? The one from my pod?

Sanda: Bring it to him.

Sam: Before I left, I downloaded as much information as I could from the Castle of Lions. For ten thousand years, Zarkon has been expanding his empire, conquering vast swaths of the universe and harnessing its quintessence in order to survive and maintain power.

Sanda: Quintessence?

Sam: It’s an energy generated by living beings.

Bearded officer: You mean certain alien beings?

Sam: No. Quintessence is within us all.

Bearded officer: Impossible. We’ve never come across anything like that.

Sam: Maybe because this is beyond the realm of what you think you know. Have you ever traveled faster than the speed of light? Have you ever seen a living creature bio-hack nature? Have you ever come face to face with an alien warlord who’s older than the entirety of human civilization? Well, I have. And I assure you, it’s all real. Following our abduction, Shiro, Matt, and I were taken by Galra scouts to the main fleet where we were interrogated. After that, we were split up. I spent the next year at a remote outpost, working alongside other captive scientists researching and creating new technologies to be used by the Galra. I later learned that Shiro and Matt had been sent to fight in the gladiator pits. Matt would’ve been killed, but Shiro, he saved my son’s life. Later, Matt was rescued from a work camp by alien rebels. He now works alongside them, fighting back against the Galra. During his time on Zarkon’s command ship, Shiro discovered that Zarkon was looking for a super weapon hidden on Earth. Shiro escaped to get the weapon first.

Iverson: That must be when Lieutenant Shirogane returned to Earth.

Sam: That’s right.

Iverson: Following Garrison protocol, we placed Lieutenant Takeshi Shirogane under mandatory quarantine, but he managed to escape with the aid of several Garrison cadets. We later found out the one known as Pidge Gunderson was your daughter, Katie Holt, who had illegally enrolled in the cadet program under an assumed identity. The following day, the Blue Lion appeared on our radars. Long-range sensors tracked the UFO to the edge of our solar system traveling at speeds we’ve never achieved. It disappeared along with the ship. That was the last activity we had until your pod arrived on Earth a month ago.

Glasses officer: So that Blue Lion, that was the super weapon?

Sam: Part of it. The super weapon is known as Voltron. It’s made up of five mechanical lions. As fate would have it, when Shiro crashed on Earth, those same Garrison students that got him out of quarantine became the pilots, or Paladins, of the five lions of Voltron. The Paladins are doing everything they can to protect the universe from the Galra. But we must begin to bolster Earth’s defenses now, or we do not stand a chance. War is coming.

Iverson: So this Zarkon, you think he’ll attack Earth?

Sam: No. Zarkon is dead, but the Galra Empire is not stopping. There are factions fighting for control and looking to dominate their own sections of the universe. Without a clear leader, things are worse than before.

Iverson: So what do we do?

Sam: We hold a conference and announce what we know to the world.

Sanda: Absolutely not.

Sam: They need to know. And if we can bring the world’s top minds together, it might mean the difference--

Sanda: If we told the world there was an imminent attack, we’d set off a global panic.

Sam: But there will be an attack.

Sanda: When? How will the attack happen? Is there a plan to stop it? None of these things have been discussed. None of these things have been thought through, and until they are, we’re not going to be responsible for sending the world into disarray.

Sam: If you would allow me to contact Katie and the Paladins right now, we could begin to answer those questions.

Sanda: Very well.

Sam: This is Sam Holt calling the Paladins of Voltron. I’m on Earth. Please respond. Pidge, this is Dad. Come in.

Colleen: Katie, it’s your mom. Are you there?

Sam: The transmission’s not being received. There might be interference. We need to keep trying.

Sanda: We can have someone send out regular transmissions around the clock until we hear from them. But in the meantime, we stay quiet.

Sam: Very well, but we should at least begin preparations.

Iverson: We already have.

[Cut to an elevator in the Galaxy Garrison.]

Iverson: We’ve been studying the ship that Shiro crash landed in for the last year, and we’ve begun research on the ship you arrived in. We thought the technology would be exactly the same, but that’s not the case.

Sam: That’s because one is Galran and the other Altean, created by two different alien species. So, did you get it airborne?

Iverson: Unfortunately, no. We got the nav system and other instruments turned on by powering them externally, but the power it would take to fly them is unsustainable.

Sam: Hmm. The crystal must have been damaged on entry if you couldn’t power it.

Sanda: Crystal?

Sam: It’s the main energy source for most alien spacecraft. If you haven’t been able to get it running, then what have you been doing with it?

Sanda: We created a simulator based on the controls so that when we figure out how to integrate the tech into our own ships, we’ll be ready to fly.

Iverson: Commander Holt, I’d like to introduce you to the best pilots to come out of the Galaxy Garrison in the last year. These are officers Griffin, Rizavi, Kinkade, and Leifsdottir. They’re young, but their ability to adapt to new flying techniques is a step above.

Griffin: On behalf of my squadron, it’s an honor to meet you, sir.

Iverson: I’ve got them running drills in the simulator five days a week. They can take just about anything you can throw at them.

Sam: Good. Now it’s time to get them out of the simulator and flying these things for real.

Rizavi: But they aren’t working, sir.

Sam: Then we better get them working.

[Scene change to outside the Galaxy Garrison.]

Griffin: No way.

Rizavi: When can we fly them, sir?

Sam: You’re gonna be flying ships much faster and much more maneuverable than this in no time.

Rizavi: Sir?

Sam: This is just an Altean shuttle pod. The engine and functions are extremely basic. If we’re going to defend the planet against the Galra, we’re going to need better ships.

[Scene change to the Galaxy Garrison meeting room.]

Sam: When I was enslaved by the Galra, I was forced to work on technologies that are a hundred times more complex than a simple pod. And after I regrouped with the Paladins, I continued learning alongside the Olkari, some of the most amazing engineers I’ve ever had the honor to work with. They taught me everything I know about integrating technologies. These are Altean schematics. We’re gonna use these to upgrade our weapons, build new ships, and create a defense for Earth. Engineers will be in charge of salvaging what they can from the pods. Repurposing parts is of the utmost importance. Our pilots must get out of the simulators and into real ships powered by crystal technology if they hope to stand a chance against Galran battle tactics. It’s gonna be a steep learning curve, but I know they’ll get it. The Garrison will become the epicenter of technological advances beyond what this world has ever seen. In the meantime, we will continue our attempts to contact Matt and the Paladins. It’s imperative that we find out what’s happening beyond our galaxy. There is a war coming, and we need to be prepared.

[Scene change to another flashback, labeled “One year later…”.]

Griffin: Sorry, guess I’m too quick.

Rizavi: Not for my micro-pulse boosters!

Sam: How’s the response time compared to the previous generation?

Rizavi: Instantaneous, sir. It’s like it knows what I wanna do before I think it.

Iverson: It’s amazing what you’ve done in just over a year.

Sam: We’ve done it together.

Unnamed female officer: Sir, you’re needed in the communications room immediately.

[Scene change to the Garrison’s communications room.]

Colleen: It’s Matt. He contacted us.

Matt: Mom, is that Dad?

Colleen: He just got here.

Sam: Matt, are you okay? I’ve been trying to contact you and Katie for months. Where are you? What’s going on?

Matt: So, you didn’t hear yet?

Sam: Hear what?

Matt: Mom, Dad, no one has seen or heard from the Paladins in the last six months.

Colleen: No…

Sam: Katie… What happened?

Matt: No one is really sure. There are rumors that Voltron fought Lotor, then they just disappeared.

Sam: So, they could still be alive.

Matt: No one knows. But, Dad, listen to me. You need to stop broadcasting from Earth. Members of the Blade of Marmora and the Voltron Coalition are being hunted. Our army has been all but wiped out. The situation is bad out here, and the last thing we need is to put Earth in danger.

Sam: But how will I get ahold of you?

Matt: I have to go. I’ll contact you when I’m safe. I love you both.

[Scene change to Admiral Sanda’s office.]

Sam: It’s time. We need to tell the rest of the world the situation.

Sanda: Sam, I’m sorry to hear about your daughter, but we can’t get off course.

Sam: If we want to finish the IGF-ATLAS, we need more resources and more manpower. The world needs to come together so that we can take the fight to the Galra.

Sanda: You’re too emotional right now and you’re not thinking straight. We’re not building ships to go fight aliens in different galaxies.

Sam: But they need us!

Sanda: The citizens of Earth need us.

Sam: And yet you refuse to tell them the truth!

Iverson: Maybe we should talk about this later.

Sanda: We can talk later, but my decision will be the same. We’re not telling the people of Earth, and we’re not fighting in someone else’s war.

[Scene change to the Holt’s private quarters.]

Colleen: They’re gonna be okay.

Sam: They will be okay because they’re strong just like their mother.

Colleen: We’ve gotta do something. We can’t just sit here while our children are in danger.

Sam: We’re doing everything we can with the limited personnel we have.

Colleen: Then we’ll get more personnel and more resources. The admiral is making decisions for the rest of the world. I say let them make decisions for themselves.

Sam: You wanna tell the world? The repercussions could be serious. They could kick us out of the Garrison.

Colleen: It’s risky, but that ship may never get done otherwise. And I’ll do whatever it takes to see my kids again.

Sam: Okay.

[Cut to Sam and Colleen walking into the communications hub.]

Sam: You’re sure you wanna do this?

Colleen: I’m sure.

Sam: Alright, I’ll be broadcasting on every channel. You ready?

Colleen: Citizens of Earth, my name is Colleen Holt. I am the wife of famed astronaut, Sam Holt, and mother of Matt Holt. Two years ago, it was believed that they died during a deep space mission. That was a lie. My husband, along with his crew, were abducted by an alien race known as the Galra, a fact that was covered up by the Galaxy Garrison.

[Cut to Admiral Sanda’s office.]

Unnamed soldier: Admiral, you need to see this. They’re broadcasting on every channel.

Colleen: A year ago, my husband returned to Earth, but the Garrison forced him to stay in hiding.

Sanda’s voice: I’m afraid we can’t allow Sam to leave the premises. We’re not prepared to tell the world about the existence of alien life just yet.

Sam: But I refuse to stay hidden any longer. We desperately need your help. Not every alien species is friendly, and Planet Earth must be protected. Here at the Garrison, we’ve been working on creating advanced ships and weaponry.

Sanda: Get the rest of the guards.

Colleen: The footage you are about to see is real.

Sam: These are the Galra. If they find Earth, they will attack, and we must be prepared.

Griffin: Huh. Guess the cat’s out of the bag, huh?

Colleen: But there are those that have spent years protecting us. They are the Paladins of Voltron, and they come from Earth.

Hunk: Ugh, I can’t wait to be back home. I’m not really sure when that’ll be, but when I get there, I really want Uncle Filo to make some of his amazing pork lau lau. I can almost taste it now.

Lance: Hi, Mom, hi, Dad. It’s me, Lance. I’m here in outer space somewhere. I, um, uh, don’t really know what to say. Uh, I miss you guys. I miss you guys a lot.

Pidge: Mom, I’m so sorry I left without saying goodbye. I think of you every day.

Colleen: Now is the time to come together. To protect our world, we must be united under one cause.

Sanda: Override the lock. Lock them up.

Iverson: For what?

Sanda: For divulging top secret information.

Sam: Now, now, Admiral. Don’t get emotional.

Sanda: You disregarded a direct order.

Sam: You held me at the Garrison against my will. You lied about my death. You wanna control every situation, but face it. You can’t. The world needed to know this, and now that they do, it will be better for us. Right now, the world needs a leader that’s not afraid to face facts and you’re not it.

Sanda: And you think you are?

Sam: Yes.

Sanda: Get these traitors out of here.

Iverson: Stop. If Sam goes, I go too.

Glasses officer: Admiral Sanda, calls are coming in from all over the world. Citizens want to know how they can help. It’s incredible.

Sam: It worked.

[Scene change to the desert outside of the Galaxy Garrison.]

Sam: That’s the last one.

Griffin: Think it’ll work?

Sam: Well, particle barriers are tricky, but if my calculations are right, these just might act as a perimeter. What’s that?

Griffin: I don’t know. I didn’t think we were doing any test flights today.

Sam: They’re here. Activate the particle barrier immediately.

Woman: Are you sure, sir? We haven’t run diagnostics--

Sam: Do it, now!

End.

[badgersprite]

Fic: Desiderata (7/?)

 Chapter Title: Messages

Fandom: Mass Effect

Characters: Miranda, Samara, Oriana, Jacob, Jack

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

Story Rating: R

Warnings: References to past childhood abuse/trauma.

Chapter Summary: In 2186, Miranda gets a series of messages. Two are positive. One isn’t. In 2185, The Normandy faces the Suicide Mission. For some, the name is more fitting than anyone realises.

Author’s Note: Now that they’ve announced a new Mass Effect game, I should really buckle down and get chapters out at a faster rate, huh?

* * *

If adjusting to living with a bunch of teenagers had been a difficult prospect from the start, it only became more so once they settled in and learned that Miranda was an actual human being rather than some stern caricature. They knew now that she wasn’t as cold as she had come off initially, and that her snarky remarks lacked any real bite. Consequently, they no longer felt even remotely intimidated by her. Plus, they seemed to have suddenly twigged that they vastly outnumbered her.

Ever since they’d realised all that, getting them to cooperate and behave themselves was a damn sight harder.

“I dunno, man. For a humourless grump with half a face, she's still smokin’ hot,” Miranda heard one of the boys, Deacon Winters, remark as she emerged from her room that morning. “Oh. Hi, Miss,” Deacon said when he saw her heading to the kitchen, evidently believing she'd missed his comment.

“Stop calling me that,” Miranda instructed, but it fell on deaf ears just as it had the last dozen times she’d said the exact same thing. Truth be told, in that moment, Miranda was more concerned with breakfast than the behaviour of Jack’s students. So she rolled her eye and moved on, letting it slide.

If there was one particular luxury she was looking forward to returning when the galaxy recovered from its near-extermination, it was restaurants. Cafés. Places to eat actual food again. Real, good-quality meals, made by other people.

The way things were, everyone was subsisting on staples and rations, aside from the occasional “luxury” food items sold through the black market, which everyone knew about but nobody cared to stop. The sad fact of it all was that the only reason their food stockpiles might be enough to last the winter was because so many people had died after the Reapers attacked Earth. That and because a lot of the excess soldiers hanging around London had finally moved elsewhere, shifting the burden so it wasn’t all in one place.

Speaking of food, the sound of cereal crunching across the room caught Miranda’s attention just as she finished draining her noodles. Her eye widened.

“Are you eating on my couch?” said Miranda, like Deacon had committed a crime just a hair's breadth away from aggravated murder. He froze, a droplet of reconstituted milk dripping down his chin, a spoonful of cereal still in his mouth. “In what bizarre alternate universe is that okay? Go eat at the table like a civilised human being,” she ordered, her already low tolerance levels quickly waning.

“Aw, Miss,” Deacon protested, stretching out the word to make it as grating as possible.

“Keep whinging like that and you can find somewhere else to live,” Miranda warned him. The two students rolled their eyes before reluctantly picking up their bowls and heading to the table, not quite brave enough to test the idleness of her threat. “When you're done, you can vacuum up the crumbs, too,” she told them, limping across to the table with her own breakfast in hand, leaving her cane against the kitchen counter. She may have been gradually softening to her new housemates, but she had her limits.

Just as she started to eat, Prangley and Rodriguez both emerged from their room in shared laughter. When they spotted Miranda there, they paused sheepishly, as if they'd been caught in the midst of some minor conspiracy. Miranda arched her eyebrow, but ignored them.

The two exchanged hushed whispers, tittering and nudging each other like gossipy hens. Prangley seemed to make up his mind about something, Rodriguez giggling and lightly slapping his arm as if to discourage him, but it was clear she wholeheartedly wanted to see what would happen.

“Hey, Miss,” Prangley began. Miranda despised that damn title. She swore they used it on purpose, to deliberately irk her. “Me and the others—”

“The others and I,” Miranda corrected without glancing up.

“Right, well, we've been wondering a couple things,” Prangley continued, sitting down at the table, his posture impolite and uncultivated, eager to pry into the mind of their impromptu protector. “After all, since we’re already living together, it’s only fair and reasonable that we should have the right to ask some questions and get to know some stuff about you as a person, right?” 

Miranda didn’t dignify that with a response, continuing to eat.

“We've noticed the only reason you ever leave the apartment is for work. You never bring anyone home, except Mr. Taylor, and the only other person you ever speak to is your sister,” Prangley pointed out.

“I mean, we’re know you're kinda, well...” In place of saying anything unintentionally offensive, Rodriguez vaguely gestured at the left side of her own face. The implication was not lost in translation. “But you've still gotta have a personal life, right?” she asked, probing for information.

Sensing where this was going, Miranda merely stared at them, as if finding their attempts to rile her tiresome, and beneath recognition.

“So, do you have a boyfriend?” asked Prangley.

No reaction.

“Girlfriend?”

No reaction.

“Secret alien lover?”

No reaction.

“Synthetic sex buddy?”

No reaction.

“Would you like one?”

No reaction.

“I could hook you up—”

“Are you done?” asked Miranda, deeply bored by this.

“Yeah, I guess,” said Prangely, Rodriguez also giving up and deciding to focus on food instead. While Miranda was certainly easy to irritate on a surface level, actually getting under her skin was far harder than it looked. She wondered if she should remind them that she had worked with Jack; if Miranda could endure her at her most intentionally aggravating, then she could tolerate the trolling of these teenagers.

“Ah, fuck!” Rodriguez cursed, accidentally dropping a carton of artificial orange juice as she pulled it out of the fridge, spilling it everywhere on the floor. “I’m so sorry, Miss. I’ll clean that right up!” she hastily apologised, salvaging what little remained of the juice before scrambling over to the cupboard for a mop.

Miranda suppressed the urge to groan, not even seeing the point in wasting her energy on making a critical comment by that stage. She wished she was at work. The only reason she wasn't was because Bailey had insisted she take weekends off. Much as she understood his good intentions, she thoroughly disagreed that spending time at home could be considered relaxing in light of her tenants. At this rate, being thrown into the fucking sun would be preferable.

Why had she signed up for this again?

Suddenly, her omni-tool beeped, alerting her to a new text message on her datapad. It was Oriana. Despite the chaos going on around her, Miranda couldn’t hide her smile. This was the one silver lining she’d been holding out for to make this whole “day off” thing worth it.

“Excuse me,” she said, endeavouring to lead by example when it came to matters of etiquette, even if it was proving fruitless.

“Here, Miss. Let me get that for you,” another boy offered, the one named Nitin, reaching out to clear her plate for her. He was the one who had that ridiculous crush on her. Miranda found it annoying and tedious, as one might expect. But it was harmless, she supposed. And at least it was compelling him towards trying to be on his best behaviour around her, if nothing else.

“Thank you,” she said with a curt, almost stilted nod. She’d made a conscious effort to remind herself to express gratitude where she otherwise wouldn’t, if only as part of her efforts to train her wards to meet minimum standards of politeness. With that, she returned to the privacy of her bedroom.

Three sets of male eyes watched her leave, waiting for the door to close before speaking. “I don't care how fucked up her face is – I'd still hit it,” Nitin said, earning a dishcloth thrown his way by Rodriguez.

Miranda took a breath, attempting to release some of her tension as she sat down in her bedroom. She'd been looking forward to this, as she did every time Oriana's messages came through. She wanted to be able to enjoy it without stress souring the moment.

After a few seconds, she opened the message app and began typing back.

*     *     *

It had been a trap.

Activating the Reaper IFF had given away their location. The Collectors attacked while their guard was down. The squad had returned to find the entire crew gone except Joker. And EDI, obviously. 

Miranda was doing her best to keep a level head and remain calm and logical in her assessment of what had transpired. Someone had to, after all. But it was hard not to take this attack personally. It felt like a violation, to have their ship boarded when they weren’t even there to do anything about it.

Perhaps it was for the best. If they’d been there, they might all have perished too. With the squad intact, at least they still had a chance of defeating the Collectors, crew or no crew.

Shepard had made the call. There was no waiting around. They were going to jump through the Omega-4 Relay now, while there might still be a chance to get the crew back. It was do or die. 

Everyone had made their final preparations, ensuring weapons and ammunition were in order. There was nothing left but time now - it was simply a matter of getting to the Omega system. Everyone seemed to have gone off to do their own thing, spending what could have been their final few hours alive as they chose.

Miranda had contemplated sending a heartfelt message to her sister, even started typing a long email detailing the truth of how she’d found her, answering any questions she might want to know about her past and admitting everything Oriana meant to her. Once she got about halfway through, she thought better of it, though. The last thing she wanted to do was worry Oriana. And this felt too much like a goodbye. Like an expectation that she wouldn’t return. And Miranda refused to consider that, much less worry her sister with the thought.

It had been, what, a little over two months since they reunited? They had only just begun to form the relationship Miranda always secretly wanted deep down. There was so much still left to do. So much still left to say to each other. For that reason alone, Miranda couldn’t allow herself to fail this mission. Death was not an option.

This mission to stop the Collectors was going to succeed. It had to. Shepard had done everything that she possibly could have done to prepare. Things that even Miranda honestly wouldn’t have considered before she became Shepard’s second-in-command. Recruiting every squad member recommended by Cerberus. Upgrading the ship. Ensuring every member of her squad had no unfinished business to distract them from the mission.

Whatever it might cost them, they were not going to lose this fight. They couldn’t.

But, if worst did come to worst, at least she knew Oriana would be taken care of. Miranda had put those arrangements in place, just to be safe. But telling Oriana that now would come across as extremely grim.

However, despite all that, she couldn’t help but ask herself, what if she didn’t come back? Miranda couldn’t bear the thought of Oriana not having one final word from her. If this was her last opportunity to say something, then surely she had to take advantage of it, even if she had to be careful not to give the impression that the mission the Normandy was about to embark on was far from a normal one.

With that in mind, she opened a fresh email once more and typed.

Hey, Ori.

Just wanted you to know that I’m thinking about you. 

We should talk soon. 

I love you.

- Miranda.

It was laconic, but that was Miranda. And that would have to do. Anything more and she wouldn’t be able to stop.

After that, with nothing left to do except pass the time, she poured herself a drink at the bar, and retreated to the Starboard Observation Deck to wait out these last remaining hours.

Miranda found it empty. But that was no deterrent. Content to wait, Miranda settled onto her usual comfortable spot on the couch and nursed her drink, staring out into the void.

It was maybe twenty minutes before Miranda heard the doors slide open. The familiar reflection in the transparent aluminium window confirmed it was Samara. Judging by her slight hesitation in the doorway, Samara was a little surprised to find her there. And yet, at the same time, unsurprised.

Samara uttered a soft sigh as she moved to accompany Miranda on the lounge, sharing in the serene view. Miranda didn’t feel the need to disturb the peace with any questions, remnants of ice cubes clinking softly against glass. She simply assumed the reason for Samara’s absence was to contact Falere and Rila one last time. Of course it was. And it wasn’t her place to pry about that.

Several long seconds passed before Samara deigned to break the quiet.

“The ambient noise that used to fill this ship never reached this room, yet somehow the silence has never felt so...” Samara trailed off, as if the appropriate word was at the fringes of her consciousness, eluding her.

“Silent?” Miranda offered.

A sad shadow of a smile crossed Samara’s lips. “Yes.”

“I understand what you mean,” Miranda admitted. “Jacob and I met most of the crew long before anyone else did. I didn’t think much of that before. You know me; I’m not exactly a people person, am I? Now that they’ve been taken, though...well, I suppose you don’t realise how accustomed you’ve become to seeing the same faces every day until suddenly you don’t.”

It was a strange sensation. And, by all rights, it shouldn’t have been new to her.

Miranda had spent longer periods than this living with consistent groups of people. The Lazarus Project itself had taken nearly two years. And all those familiar faces had been outright slaughtered. But this was different. She hadn’t felt anything then. Back then, her only mission, her only focus, had been bringing Shepard back to life. The lives and deaths of the people at that facility had never been her responsibility, or her concern.

This time, they were. As second-in-command of the Normandy, and the highest ranking member of Cerberus there, on some level every aspect of every little thing that went on aboard this ship had been her responsibility. Her endless reports to The Illusive Man were evidence of how seriously she had taken that.

Somewhere in between all these months adrift in space, there had been a shift in her mentality. Day by day, that sense of separation between herself and the others had been chipped away. At some point, she stopped seeing everyone else around her as assets and liabilities in Cerberus’s mission to stop the Collectors, and started seeing them all as living, breathing parts of her world - little pieces of the life she’d carved out for herself aboard the Normandy.

Miranda hadn’t realised it until just now. Hell, she hadn’t even known she was capable of it. But, for the first time in her life, Miranda had grown attached to the people around her. And that fact didn’t appear to be lost on Samara.

“Are you alright?” she asked her.

Miranda uttered a short laugh, but it was entirely cheerless. That question was impossible to answer the way Samara probably wanted it to be answered. Of course Miranda wasn’t alright, but she wasn’t not alright either. She was just in the same neutral state she was usually in, trying to find a balanced equilibrium amid the ambivalence. Others would have misconstrued it for apathy.

“Obviously, it’s not ideal that we’ve lost so many,” Miranda began, a deliberate understatement. “But we can't afford to get distracted. They knew what they were signing on for. We all did. So the mission parameters have to remain the same.”

“You do not need to pretend the life or death of this crew makes no difference to you,” Samara pointed out, sensing perhaps that Miranda’s concern for the lost was deeper than she let on, whether because she was unwilling to show it, or, more likely, because she didn’t know how to.

“Of course it does,” said Miranda. “I may not be a shining beacon of empathy, but, if I didn't care about human life, I wouldn't have spent the last few months out here trying to protect it from the Collectors. But that's the point; if it's a choice between the lives of our crew, and destroying the Collectors...It's not really a choice at all, is it? Dozens of lives versus millions.”

“It sounds as though you have already decided that is a sacrifice you will have to make,” Samara noted, her tone as ever elusive and impossible to read. But, evidently, she was not yet equally resigned to accepting the worst.  

“I'm Shepard’s second-in-command, Samara. I have to be prepared, and I have to be ready to make the ‘heartless’ rational decision if it comes down to it. If I'm not, how the hell is anyone else going to be?” Miranda asked rhetorically.

Sure, there was still a chance they’d find their crew alive. Acting as swiftly as they had meant there was still hope. But if they were too late, or they couldn’t find them, then Miranda couldn’t let emotions cloud her judgement. She was perhaps the one person on this team Shepard could trust to remain cool-headed and objective no matter the circumstance. It was arguably her best quality. She didn’t plan on letting it slip when it may be needed most.

“I’m not sure why I’m explaining this to you. You understand better than anyone that it serves no one to let sentiment get in the way of the greater good,” Miranda noted, glancing over to her companion beside her on the lounge.

“I do,” Samara acknowledged, respecting Miranda’s clarity of thought in these trying times. “Adherence to the Code is always paramount. If it requires me to take a certain action, then that is what must be done, irrespective of my own personal thoughts or feelings. If I waiver in the moment, if I so much as hesitate because I question, or doubt, or second-guess, then I have failed.”

“That doesn’t sound easy,” Miranda thought aloud. Sure, Miranda had never been accused of second-guessing herself once committed to a course of action, but whenever she made those same split-second decisions, those had always been her choices to make. No external force could ever compel her to do something she found truly objectionable. She was too stubborn and individualistic to voluntarily surrender her ability to think for herself. Her agency was too important to her, after spending so much of her life without it. 

“For me, it was the hardest aspect of becoming a Justicar,” Samara admitted. “It was difficult to train my body to become a weapon, but it was harder to train my mind. I have heard the same sentiment from many others. Most take decades, even centuries, to prove that they can subordinate their own will to that of the Code. Others never pass that test. Had I gone to them at any other time in my life, I believe that would have been my fate.”

Miranda watched her as she spoke, saying nothing. She knew too well just how broken Samara had been when she chose this path. Perhaps a younger Samara would have been more like Miranda - too arrogant, egotistical and argumentative to submit to a single set of rules. But the Samara who came to them had lost everything. Almost a blank slate. Barely enough of a self left to let go.

“And yet I do not envy you the burden of leadership,” Samara continued, meeting Miranda’s gaze, breaking her from her thoughts. “To know that you are not only responsible for your own welfare, but that your choices affect those under your command, that is something I have never faced.”

“Never?” Miranda arched a brow, finding that difficult to believe.

A faint glimmer twinkled in Samara’s eye. “Never,” she confirmed. “I have long suspected this is the reason why Justicars are most often tasked to work alone. Our solitary nature removes the possibility of an internal conflict where one must choose between the desires of the self - in this case, to protect the life of a friend - and upholding the Code. Perhaps it is for the best.”

“You're not alone right now,” Miranda pointed out.

“No, I am not,” Samara replied, a gentle warmth emanating from her words, despite the sombre situation in which they both found themselves.

“Well, this is what we’re here for. Everything we’ve done up to this point, this is what it was all in aid of,” Miranda noted, thinking back over the past several months, and the innumerable adventures The Normandy SR-2 and its crew had undergone in that time. All the new faces they’d recruited. All the remote planets they’d visited. All the people they’d helped. And every inconsequential part of it had led to this one final assault on the Collector Base. Her fingers idly traced patterns on the rim of her glass, mostly untouched. “Are you afraid?”

“No,” Samara answered honestly. “I have been at peace with the inevitability of my own end for a long time. The Goddess will take me into her embrace when my moment comes to pass. If that time is now, then I am grateful that my final few months have transpired in the way that they have. I could not have chosen a more worthy cause for which to give my life, nor greater comrades to fight beside.”

Miranda didn’t doubt that Samara meant it. She had been bravely risking her life for a long time. Far, far longer than Miranda had been alive. At least now, if she fell in battle, she no longer had to fear that she would be leaving behind unfinished business, in the form of Morinth. 

“Are you?” Samara asked Miranda in return.

“No.” Miranda shook her head. Samara held her stare, somehow sensing that wasn’t entirely true. Miranda’s resolve visibly weakened. “...A little,” she reluctantly admitted, cradling her half-full drink between her hands. “But it’s not the thought of dying that scares me. What scares me is that...for the first time in my life, I finally have something to lose. I’ve only just met my sister; we’ve barely had time to talk yet, let alone get to know each other. And, as insane as this would have sounded to me six months ago, I have people in my life now who I genuinely consider friends. That’s...That’s not something I’ve ever had before.”

“You have found people you care about. And people who truly care about you,” Samara surmised, wisdom glistening in her eyes.

“I have. And...I never thought I’d say this, but now that I finally have it, that’s not something I’m willing to give up,” Miranda acknowledged. To be honest, the thought of letting this all just slip through her fingers terrified her. Not only her connections to the people themselves, but losing her elusive grasp on the better, happier person she was becoming through having known them.

“Then I am relieved,” said Samara, earning a confused look from Miranda. “Because, if there is one thing that I have learned about you, Miranda, it is that, when you are fully committed to something, you are unstoppable. If your heart’s truest desire is to ensure you return safely to those you cherish most, then I am not only reassured that we will be the victors in this fight, but moreover I am certain that you will survive.”

At that, Miranda uttered a faint chuckle, flattered by Samara’s unshakeable faith in her. “Thank you. That’s...I think that’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said about me,” she said softly, still feeling some uncharacteristic pre-mission jitters about the battle that lay ahead, but comforted by Samara’s confidence. 

“Miranda.” Samara extended a hand and placed it gently atop Miranda’s knee, compelling her to look into her eyes. “For so long as I am able, I promise to do everything in my power to ensure that you prevail through what awaits us. No harm will come to you, if I am able to prevent it.”

As Samara held her gaze, Miranda was at a loss for words. Even if she could find them, her tongue felt like it was tied in a knot, rendering her unable to speak. It was an alien sensation for her, though not an entirely unpleasant one, as a sudden warmth rushed to her cheeks. She genuinely didn’t know how to react to such kind words, given that she wasn’t used to hearing them.

“Yeah, well...same to you,” was Miranda’s painfully awkward but heartfelt response, lightly nudging Samara’s arm with her own. “...I mean it, you know?”

“As do I,” Samara assured her, content that she had said what she needed to say, and that the sincerity of her message had not been lost in translation. “But, please...do not endanger your life for mine.”

Those humble words hit Miranda like a brick. “What?” She blinked in shock, taking several seconds to confirm that her ears weren’t playing tricks on her, and that she had heard that request correctly. “Samara--”

“Please.” Samara quietly interjected, her demeanour eerily serene considering the macabre subject. “There is no reason to speak of this with apprehension. I have lived a very long life. One way or another, my years are coming to an end before too long. And I am content with that.”

“You could live just as long as I could,” Miranda reminded her. Well, maybe that was generous. Based on predictive models, it was conceivable that Miranda could live into her early two-hundreds, barring external factors. But it wouldn’t be beyond the realm of possibility for Samara to live for another century. That was roughly as long as any other human on this ship could hope to live.

“Perhaps. But you are still in your Summer days, and will be for a long time yet to come. You have reached only a fraction of your potential. Whereas I…” Samara paused and trailed off for a brief moment, her gaze shifting as she searched for the right words. “For centuries, I have known only Winter. Even so, I have done what I set out to do, and fulfilled the oath I made to my Order. If this day is destined to be my last, then I can say without falsity that I am satisfied with what I leave behind. And I am blessed to know others like yourself will live on when I am gone. So, I ask this of you.” Samara reached down and gently clasped Miranda’s hands between both of her own, glass and all. “Do not sacrifice your years for mine. Please. I would not be able to forgive myself if you perished for my sake.”

Miranda exhaled slowly. That was a lot to process all at once. And she did not like what she was hearing. But, as Samara’s words sank in, the more she understood what it meant to her, and why this was so important to her.

If it comforted Samara to go into this battle believing that her much younger allies would outlive her if she fell, then what audacity would it take for Miranda not to respect those wishes, particularly if the worst did come to pass? Miranda couldn’t take that calming belief away from her. Not now, when the last thing any of them needed was to be plagued by upsetting thoughts.

“Okay. I can promise you I won’t do anything foolish, or throw my life away,” Miranda somewhat reluctantly warranted. That went without saying. “But, if you expect me not to watch out for you or not to do my best to keep you safe, then I’m sorry but I can’t. I will be trying to bring you home. And if you don’t want it to be for the sake of our friendship, then fine. It won’t be for that. It will be because you’re still a part of this team, and I owe you that duty regardless. And I can’t shirk that responsibility, no matter how much you want me to.”

Samara nodded, letting Miranda’s hands fall from her grasp. “Very well. I am content with that. I would never ask you to betray your responsibilities.”

“Good.” Miranda gave a short nod, because that was as much of a concession as Samara was going to get. Abandoning her would never be on the table.

It occurred to Miranda then that, despite their mutual intentions to watch each other’s backs and do what they could to see each other through whatever lay ahead, she couldn’t fault Samara for making peace with the possibility of her own demise. As optimistic as they were both trying to be in their own ways, there was still a chance that this conversation would be their last.

Following that thought, Miranda realised that this was, in all respects, her only guaranteed opportunity to confess a secret she’d been hiding from Samara - that she’d gone digging through her past without her permission. She’d long been telling herself that she needed to apologise for that, and would do it when the time was right. As much as she had found reasons to avoid that issue over the past few weeks, Miranda did want to make amends before it was too late. 

“Samara…” Miranda began with a heavier tone to her quiet voice, ready to admit to her mistakes. However, as soon as she started to speak, she thought better of it. There was so little time left before they would make their attack on The Collector Base. The last thing she wanted to do was tell Samara something hurtful, knowing it might weigh on her mind throughout the fight, and distract her from their goals.

If Samara wasn’t completely focused, there was a chance she wouldn’t be at her best. And that was a risk Miranda couldn’t afford to take. If Samara didn’t make it out of this because of something Miranda told her...even the very thought of that made her sick to her stomach.

Samara sat before her, patient and calm, giving Miranda as much time as she needed to find the words she wanted to say. Miranda sighed, recognising that she didn’t have it in her heart to tell Samara something that could only serve to hurt her, at least not at that moment.

“...Thank you,” was what Miranda settled on. And there was nothing false about her gratitude. “I’ve, um...I haven’t had a lot of friends in my life. Or any, really. So, um...knowing you has....”

Miranda stopped herself and uttered a faint sigh of frustration as she ran a hand through her hair, struggling to find the right words. It wasn’t a problem she was accustomed to. She didn’t lack the vocabulary. But, then again, she’d never had to say anything like this. She’d never had a friend like Samara before.

“What I’m trying to say is that you’ve genuinely helped me become a better person than I was before I met you,” Miranda confessed, conscious of how much colder and less empathetic she had been before she started spending time with Samara, and how much she’d learned about herself through this friendship. And yet not once in all that time had Samara ever made Miranda feel like the person she already was wasn’t good enough. She’d always accepted her. Flaws and all. “I don’t think I’ll ever understand why you were willing to be so patient with me sometimes, but you were. So...from the bottom of my heart, thank you. For everything.”

Samara offered a small smile in return. “You have nothing to thank me for. And, even if you had, your friendship has been more than I could ever repay.”

Miranda gave a self-deprecating laugh. “Liar,” she jokingly remarked, confident that she had gained infinitely more from Samara’s friendship than Samara had gained from hers in return. Not that it seemed to matter. 

“Miranda,” Samara spoke first, interrupting the silence before Miranda could continue. “It occurs to me that there are but a scant few hours left before we jump through the Omega Relay.”

“You’re right. We should focus. Get ourselves in the right headspace,” Miranda replied, putting her glass aside, getting up from the couch and moving over to her usual spot on the floor, straightening her back in anticipation of a meditation session. Talking had been nice, but they did need to concentrate. Clear their heads. Sharpen their senses. Prepare their biotics.

Samara’s amused expression was reflected in the window. “That is not...Well, you are not mistaken in assuming that I intended to meditate in readiness for the battle that lies ahead,” Samara spoke, sounding a little thrown by Miranda’s reaction, but not in an unpleasant way. “However, what I meant to say to you is that, to the extent you are able, you should spend this time as you wish.”

“...I’m already doing that,” Miranda answered frankly, glancing back over her shoulder. It hadn’t even been a question where she would go once she left her office. By that point, it shouldn’t have even needed to be said between them that there was nowhere else on the ship she would rather be.

Samara smiled, accepting her answer. “Then I am glad.”

With that, Samara moved to join Miranda on the floor, channelling her biotics through her hands, warming up in anticipation that her abilities would be needed soon. Miranda quieted her mind, already knowing that she would need to be at her sharpest and most alert. Everyone would be counting on her not to make any mistakes, especially if anything happened to Shepard.

What Miranda didn’t know at the time, and had never known in any of the days they had spent together in this room, was that Samara had a singular focus in mind. She had long been awaiting a day such as this - a day when they would launch a virtually suicidal assault against the Collectors.

The truth was, ever since Samara had met Shepard and Miranda on Illium and heard of their quest to stop the Collectors, she had considered the possibility that the Goddess was sending her a sign. Once she completed her penance by ending Morinth’s reign of terror on the galaxy, that mere possibility had crystallised into a certainty. With Morinth gone, her purpose had been fulfilled. Her very reason for staying alive these past four hundred years was at an end.

Samara could derive no other meaning from the path she had been set upon. The auspicious omens were all so clear. Her time had finally come. This was the day she was destined to embrace eternity.

Unbeknownst to anyone else, every single thing Samara had done since she had stepped foot aboard the Normandy had been rooted in a silent expectation that the approaching suicide mission was where her Goddess had fated her to die. Every meditation. Every field mission. Every moment spent with Miranda, gently guiding her towards a happier, more fulfilling future Samara would never see.

Samara had been waiting for this day with bated breath. Not in fear. Rather, finding comfort and peace in it. On some level, perhaps even aching for the release that she had been denied a long time ago.

The closer the hour drew, the more the weight on her shoulders had lifted. The more she had lowered her guard. The easier her burdens had become to bear. It wouldn’t be long now before she could lay them down for eternity.

And, with that in mind, Samara’s meditation continued untroubled, unburdened by the thought that it would be her last. Because, in her heart of hearts, the truth was that Samara still believed deep down, just as she had for the last four hundred years, that she was ultimately responsible for the fate that had befallen her family. The death of her bondmate. Her children’s disease. Mirala’s murders.

And, for that, Samara had never once stopped believing in the deepest recesses of her soul that she did not truly deserve to live.

*     *     *

“Jelly? Seriously?” Prangley snickered at his fellow student. “That's how you're going to celebrate?”

“A pool of jelly,” Rodriguez corrected him. “That makes all the difference.” She grinned.

“Swimming in jelly. That's a new one,” Seanne laughingly commented.

“Better than yours,” Rodriguez replied, sticking out her tongue.

“Drink your fuckin' juice, Rodriguez,” Seanne countered, lightly smacking her on the arm.

“Oi. Language,” Miranda nonchalantly chastised, not even looking up from her work. Jack may have tolerated casual swearing, but Miranda at least tried to instil some decorum while she was around.

“Sorry,” Seanne sheepishly apologised.

Miranda turned the page, continuing to read the latest Alliance brief on the status of other cities on Earth. Bailey might have ordered her not to come into work on weekends, but he’d never said she couldn’t read reports in her spare time. She wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but part of her still hoped that one of these days the reports would mention a certain asari Justicar, the last of her order. At least then she would know where she was. No luck yet.

“Hey, Miss. What about you?” asked Reiley. Miranda glanced up, visibly annoyed to have her concentration broken. “What are you going to do when you get home?”

“Technically speaking, I am home, in planetary terms,” Miranda pointed out. She was from Earth, after all. “This is as close to home as I ever plan on going, anyway.” She shrugged, returning her gaze to the digital text. She had no reason to ever go further.

“You know what I mean,” said Reiley, not surprised by her pedantry. Miranda was always the sort to pick apart someone's words, deliberately misinterpreting them and taking them out of context, even when she knew damn well what they meant. It made her a nightmare to bicker with. “What do you think you'll do when the mass relays are rebuilt and you get to see your sister again?” he asked, interested to see a more sentimental side of her.

“I believe I'll hug her. For about six months,” Miranda matter-of-factly replied, not even a twitch of irony flickering across her deadpan expression. “Crying may also be involved.”

Prangley laughed. “Six months, huh?” he said, grinning lopsidedly.

“You're right. I have a lot of endurance. I could probably push it to seven,” said Miranda, sounding entirely serious. Despite the fact that there wasn’t a hint of a smile on her face, this was the closest thing to an amiable attitude Jack’s kids ever saw her with.

“I've got a feeling Little Miss Sis might get sick of that,” Rodriguez commented.

“Yes, well, I'm stronger than her. She has no say in the matter. And turn that noise down, would you?” she asked, her request far more relaxed than the order she would have barked when the students first came under her care. 

“It's not noise,” Seanne insisted, looking quite offended by Miranda's low opinion of her favourite artist. “It's music.”

“No, it isn't,” Miranda firmly asserted, not even bothering to glance up as she flipped the page on her tablet computer.

“Why? What did you listen to when you were growing up?” asked Prangely, somehow unable to picture Miranda ever being anything other than a thirty-something adult.

“Rachmaninoff,” Miranda answered, as if that should have been perfectly obvious.

“I totally called it,” said Rodriguez, holding out her hand, gesturing for Reiley to pay up. “I told you she never listens to anything made in the last three centuries. It's only classical shit with her.”

“First of all, don't swear. Secondly, Rachmaninoff is not classical, he's romantic. Thirdly, he died in nineteen forty-three, which is less than two hundred and fifty years ago.” As one, all the students met her with blank stares. Miranda gave them an unimpressed look before shaking her head, going back to her article, realising she was wasting her time trying to educate them. “Never mind.”

Abruptly, there came a knock at the door. Seeing as any visitor would likely be there for her, Miranda moved to answer it, but Reiley beat her to the punch. “I'll get it,” he said, leaping over the couch to see who it was, reaching the doorway faster than she could react.

“Thank you.” Much as Miranda refused to think of her injuries as a hindrance, they did impact upon her mobility. The students were considerate enough to do a few small things here and there to help her out, like buying her a little extra time to grab her cane and get to her feet when a visitor came by.

“It's for you, Miss,” Reiley announced, not that this was unexpected. “It's Mr. Taylor.”

“Make yourself at home, Jacob,” Miranda said instinctively, without looking over her shoulder, clicking the home button on her tablet and putting it aside.

“Looks like things are going well here,” Jacob observed, stepping inside.

“For certain values of 'well',” Miranda replied with a slightly strained sigh. It was mostly exaggeration, though. “These teenagers were all far less inclined to bother me before you made me be nice to them.”

“Yeah,” Jacob conceded, pulling up a chair, “But you would have felt guilty about it if you hadn't. Not right away, but eventually. You know I'm right.”

Miranda feigned a huff. Truth be told, she was starting to enjoy their well-intentioned torment. She certainly preferred that than having them walk on eggshells around her. The last thing she ever wanted was for these kids to feel around her the way she’d felt around her own father. 

“Any luck finding out what happened to our people?” Jacob asked.

“No,” Miranda straightforwardly replied. “I’ve asked Dr. Michel and her team to look into it, but there are literally millions of bodies scattered throughout the rubble of London. Identifying them all was never going to be quick. It could be years before we find out whether anyone we know is among them. If they were simply vaporised, chances are we’ll never know what happened to them.”

“Wow. Right to the vaporisation,” Jacob pointed out. That was dark.

“I'm not assuming any of them are gone,” Miranda insisted with a slightly defensive shrug. “I just have to be prepared for all potential possibilities. I'm not about to stop trying to find them, but I need to accept that I may be powerless to answer what happened to everyone.”

“Don't worry. I know.” Jacob and Miranda went back years by that point. He was better at reading her intentions than most, and he knew she often wasn't aware that she sounded more callous than she meant.

“Other than that, what brings you here?” Miranda asked. “Joining us for dinner tonight?”

“That would be nice,” Jacob acknowledged, nodding to accept that invitation. “But, before we get into that, I’m here because I found something. I thought you might like to see it.”

Miranda furrowed her brow. “What is it?”

“Well, you remember the memory wall at Paddington station? The place where people post pictures of anybody who’s missing, or leave messages for people who haven’t been found yet to try and meet up with them?”

“Of course I do,” Miranda answered. She had passed it many times - it was a stone’s throw from both the hospital where she’d recovered, and the refugee camp/field hospital at Hyde Park. It wasn’t the only wall of its kind. Part memorial. Part notice-board. It was something people had first started doing during the war, as a means of finding others in the chaos, using local landmarks as places to reach out to others. Once the Reapers were destroyed, their use had only grown. The one at Paddington had been well-established by the time Miranda had been found, let alone the time she woke up. “What’s your point?”

“...This is really my bad, you know,” he confessed, apologetically. “Back then, I was so distracted. Busy thinking about you and working to get London back on its feet. I guess that’s why, when Samara left without any word, it didn't even occur to me to check to see if she'd left a message there.”

Miranda’s heart dropped like a stone, her breath catching in her throat. For a moment, it was as if her whole world stopped.

Samara.

Memories of the weeks - hell, months - they’d spent together on The Normandy flashed through her mind, the countless hours alone in the Starboard Observation Deck, the private conversations where they’d admitted things to each other that they’d never spoken aloud to another soul.

It was at that instant that it finally sank in for Miranda just how truly alone she’d felt over these past several weeks without Samara there by her side.

Even though she was surrounded by people, it didn’t make up for that void left by her absence. Knowing that she should have been there, but inexplicably wasn’t. That constant feeling that something was just...missing.

She’d almost come to accept that lingering feeling of abandonment. Of being forgotten. Even a little betrayed. To have that challenged now, at this late hour. It didn’t seem possible.

“Jacob, if you’re joking with me about this…” Miranda said softly, not sure she could cope with the disappointment if this turned out to be some ill-conceived prank, and not willing to get her hopes up until she was certain it wasn’t.

“I’m not. See for yourself.” Jacob activated his omni-tool and sent the file across to Miranda’s tablet computer. The file flashed up on her screen, asking if she wanted to accept the transfer. ‘To Miranda, From Samara’.

She froze. So, this was real.

It shouldn't have surprised her that Samara would have left something behind. Or tried to, at least. It was what she had expected initially. After all, they had grown extremely close throughout their time together. More than anyone realised. But, when Miranda had woken up from her near-death state to find her already gone, it had been hard not to feel hurt, to think that things must have changed, or that maybe she’d overestimated their friendship from the start. 

It meant a lot to her to have evidence that perhaps those things weren’t the case, and that Samara's absence didn't denote a lack of caring on her part. That she hadn’t forgotten her, or cast her aside. Not entirely, at least.

“...Did she say where she went, or...?” Miranda trailed off.

“I'm not sure,” Jacob admitted with a shrug. “I only read the covering note intended for me, which didn’t say much more than to give this to you if...when you woke up. Go on. Play it.”

For a moment, Miranda hesitated, tempted to wait until she was alone to do so. But, then, it occurred to her that it didn’t make sense to guard this so jealously. And she didn’t fully understand her own reticence to be transparent about the message’s contents, or her friendship with Samara.

Sure, nobody knew how close they’d grown on The Normandy, but it wasn’t like it was some scandalous secret that they were friends. There was nothing Samara would have said to her that Jacob or the students couldn't hear. It wasn't that the two of them had never had personal conversations. Of course they had. But Samara was a professional, like her. Miranda had every expectation her message would be in that capacity more than anything else. Hell, the only time she’d ever really seen her get emotional was after Morinth.

So, then, why did it feel like letting anyone else catch a glimpse of the connection she and Samara shared was like exposing a deeply personal part of herself? A side of herself nobody except Samara had ever seen?

Why did this feel too intimate to be spoiled by prying eyes?

“...So, are you going to open it, or...?” Jacob prompted. It wasn’t lost on her that Jason, Reiley, Seanne and Rodriguez were all watching her too.

Somewhat self-conscious to that fact, Miranda cleared her throat and played the video. Samara's face appeared on the screen, lit only by a faint light. From what little Miranda could make out of the background, Samara must have recorded this on the roof of the hospital at night, most likely on her omni-tool. 

“Miranda,” the message began. “I do not...”

Samara paused, swallowing, searching for the right words. She spoke softly. Even more so than usual. She looked tired, like she hadn’t slept in days. Her shoulders almost began to bow under the strain she’d placed on herself.

“As I record this, you lie unconscious in a hospital bed. You are...unable to breathe without the aid of a machine. And you have been fighting for your life, every second of every minute of every hour since I discovered you.”

There was a strange air to Samara’s words. Maybe it was just the quality of recording, or because she wasn’t even facing the screen, but normally she spoke with such a clear tone. Calm, assured and quiet, yet also confident. Her timbre never quaked or wavered or quivered. But this was different. There was an uncharacteristic hoarseness to her voice. A tremor, even.

Then again, in the days before Samara left, she’d been in and out of the wasteland so many times that she was doubtlessly exhausted. Running on empty. Of course her voice would have given out by then.

“I do not know whether...” Samara stopped herself again, finding whatever words were on the tip of her tongue too unpleasant to utter. Her eyes remained distant, fixed on the dark city below. Her head hadn’t raised an inch since she started speaking. Not even once. “Your survival is not guaranteed. However, if you are hearing this, then you have awoken. For that, I am grateful.”

On some level, Miranda had been waiting for something like this since the moment she woke up in that hospital bed. Just something from Samara. Anything at all. Some sort of acknowledgment that she was okay. To know why her friend left. To know that she hadn’t callously tossed her aside.

Now that she was holding that very thing in her hand, it didn’t seem real. Miranda didn’t know how to react. Perhaps she should have been excited, or happy, or even annoyed that Samara hadn’t left this beside her bed where it would have been easier to find. Instead there was just...quiet. And confusion.

“Do not interpret my absence as indifference to your fate; it is not,” Samara continued. That she even mentioned it at all showed that it must have troubled her to consider Miranda might believe she had no interest in her survival. She hadn’t been wrong. The thought had crossed her mind, especially in her loneliest moments. “It grieves me that I cannot be by your side.”

Hearing her finally say those words, Miranda believed her. In truth, deep down, despite her loneliness and her doubts, she’d never really questioned it. There were very few people Miranda had truly cared about, much less people who truly cared about her in return. And Samara was one of them.

There was nothing shallow or interchangeable about the rapport she shared with Samara. Those memories of the Normandy and the Citadel weren’t mere fabrications of Miranda’s imagination. That was real. And if that had all been faked, then either Miranda had to be the most gullible idiot ever to stand on two legs, or Samara was a master manipulator of the blackest deceit ever purveyed to the universe. She knew damn well that neither of those things were true.

Miranda just wished Samara was really there. And, even as she listened to her give her explanations, part of her just couldn’t understand why she wasn’t. Not that she resented her for it, but it just didn’t make sense. Samara’s Code might have been a good reason for why she’d left, but it didn’t explain why she’d done it so abruptly. Plus, she’d taken the time to record this message, but she hadn’t told Jacob she was leaving, or to give this to Miranda.

Something was just...off about all of this. It didn’t add up.

“Hey, Miss, who's that?” Reiley asked.

Miranda waved him off, refusing to be distracted. To his credit, Reiley took that as a cue to shut up and leave her in peace, at least until the end of the video.

“There is much suffering in the wake of this war. The Code compels me to go where I am needed. I cannot ignore that, even for you,” said Samara.

Miranda’s brow twinged. It was strange. Samara really didn't sound like herself, both in terms of what she was saying and how she was saying it. It was as though an unspoken thought weighed heavily on her heart. Guilt? Regret? 

Samara was silent for a long moment. She still hadn’t moved a muscle through the entire length of the video. Until a sound escaped her. Then the camera moved, and Miranda couldn’t see Samara’s face anymore. If she had recorded this on her omni-tool, the only explanation that would have made sense was if Samara had leaned forward against the railing and cradled her head in her hands.

It was two whole minutes before Samara came back into view.

“...Forgive me. I merely...I wanted...” She stopped herself again, turning aside, her eyes still yet to meet the camera. It was difficult to make out, but...it almost seemed like she was struggling to maintain her composure. But Miranda knew that couldn’t be possible, because that never happened to Samara.

Finally, Samara straightened up, as if forcing herself to continue. She tucked her free hand behind her back, staring dead ahead, but still not at the camera. 

“I know that I will not be there for you if you awaken. That is my responsibility, and a burden I have to bear. If you hate me for it, I will understand. I would welcome it, even, as it is not undeserved. But you must not think even for a moment that it is any fault of your own that I cannot stay, or that I have abandoned you. You are always in my thoughts, and I pray for your recovery.”

Miranda's eye glinted at that. If she couldn’t stay then so be it. But couldn’t she have waited a few days for her to wake up? Or left behind some means of contacting her? Was she afraid to talk to her, even from far away? Did she think that Miranda wouldn’t have understood why she had to leave, if she explained it to her? All she'd wanted was to talk to her again, or at least to enjoy the silence, knowing that if she ever truly needed Samara, she would be there. And vice versa.

And none of this answered the question of why she still hadn’t returned. It had been two months since she vanished, and this was the only word they’d had from her in all that time - a recording from the exact same day she disappeared.

“I cannot say when I will return to speak with you again, or...learn of your fate, if that is no longer a possibility.” Samara's expression didn't change, although her gaze momentarily dipped at that sombre thought. “But you are a strong woman, Miranda. Strong enough that you have not yet perished from your injuries. If it is possible for you to survive at all, then I do not believe that you will succumb.”

“Good prediction,” Jacob remarked. Miranda didn’t feel it in her heart to be able to make a wisecrack. There was an odd weight in her chest as she watched Samara speak. One that wouldn’t go away. And it was getting heavier.

A faint shadow flickered over Samara’s eyes, imperceptible to most. She hid it, but it betrayed something Miranda couldn't interpret. “...Be safe, Miranda.”

With that, the message ended. The silence that followed encompassed the room like a slow-rising flood, drowning out all sound. Miranda sat there, still, not even aware of the watchful eyes lingering on her, waiting for her to react.

It was strange. For as much as she would have expected it to lift her spirits to hear from Samara, there was this indescribable ache left behind in her wake. The same ache that had been there, gnawing away at Miranda despite her best efforts to ignore it ever since she realised Samara had left without saying goodbye.

Miranda had never been the best at identifying emotions, whether hers or others. Hence, it wasn’t a shock when she couldn’t find the words to articulate precisely what it was that she was feeling. Maybe the word for it didn’t exist. 

The truth was, she’d never felt so...conflicted.

It was funny to think. Miranda had been forced to go on the run from Cerberus for almost a year. Alone. In hiding. Unable to contact anyone she knew or cared about, because it wasn’t safe to do so. It would have exposed them to harm - it would have made them targets Cerberus could track down to try and get to her.

She’d frequently thought of her friends during those moments. Of The Normandy. Of Shepard. Of Jacob. Of Oriana, of course. And of Samara.

It hadn’t been easy, surviving like that, not knowing whether the people she cared about were in danger. She’d kept an eye on them all as best she could from afar, although with Samara that had been virtually impossible, given she moved often and left little trace of her presence anywhere.

There had been many days back then where Miranda missed her companionship, not merely because craved a reprieve from her isolation, but because, frankly, simply being around Samara had a way of making everything better, and of making all her problems seem smaller than they did a moment ago. It was like her very aura conveyed a silent promise that, no matter what happened, everything would turn out okay in the end. Miranda needed that sometimes.

And yet...it hadn’t hurt nearly as much to lose contact with Samara back then as it did now, even though by all rights they were so much closer.

She swallowed, choosing to ignore it.

“Thank you for bringing me that, Jacob,” Miranda told him sincerely. For as much as her heart seemed divided against itself, it was still a net comfort to hear from Samara, if a small one. At least she knew Samara had left of her own volition, which meant Miranda had answered one question weighing on her mind.

“Sounds like you two were close,” Jacob observed.

“Yeah, we were,” Miranda confirmed. So much so that it seemed a simple recording wasn’t enough to fill the hollowness of still not knowing where Samara was, or whether she was okay, or whether she would ever come back.

“I never knew that about you,” said Jacob, sitting somewhat sideways in his chair, with his elbow on the table. “I mean, not that I'm surprised. But I don't think I ever really saw you two talk or hang out on the ship. Figured I would have heard about you doing that if it was a regular occurrence.”

“Nobody else spent much time on the Starboard Observation Deck, so I suppose no one noticed,” Miranda pointed out. And it was true. It wasn’t as though they’d been hiding it, and yet only a small handful of people had gleaned any insight into their growing friendship. And only a few more people than that had seen them train together. “Samara was the person I could always go to when I didn't want to be around anyone else. Which was...quite often, actually.”

Jacob shrugged nonchalantly. “Makes sense to me. Always thought you two would get along.”

Miranda snorted and arched her eyebrow. “Let me guess, because we're both cold and robotic and incapable of having fun?” 

“Hey, you said that, not me.” Miranda just looked at him. Jacob uncomfortably cleared his throat. “...Well, I mean, you're not wrong about having a certain...demeanour in common, but that wasn't what I was thinking.”

“What then?” she asked.

“For starters, how about you're both smart, capable, determined women who could recognise and respect those qualities in each other?” Jacob suggested, almost resenting the fact that he had to profess his innocence. “Or that you're a refined, elegant woman who would probably feel far more inclined to talk to someone with Samara's wisdom and maturity than you would to the average person, since she can engage with you on that level where most can’t?”

Miranda summoned the energy to smirk, though it didn’t reach her eye. “You’re already invited to dinner, Jacob. The flattery really isn’t necessary.” Jacob rolled his eyes, realising she'd been messing with him.

“So who was that woman, anyway?” Both Jacob and Miranda glanced over when Jason broke the silence. For a few seconds, they’d honestly forgotten the kids were still there. “Some kind of ex-girlfriend or something?”

Jacob chuckled when Miranda released a slightly exasperated sigh at that question. He didn’t need to be a mind-reader to know that wasn’t the first time they’d pestered her about her personal life, nor that it wouldn’t be the last. “No, Prangley. A friend. And the person who saved my life.”

“Oh. Dope,” Prangley replied. Miranda gave a good-natured roll of her eye, but the response was almost forced, a fact that wasn’t lost on Jacob.

“We’ll start getting dinner ready,” Rodriguez volunteered, since it was her turn to cook. Not that there was much she could do with such limited resources, but the girl got points for enthusiasm. “Will Mr. Taylor be joining us?”

“I will, actually. Thank you,” Jacob confirmed.

Miranda didn’t notice that his eyes had remained fixed on her. Her thoughts were centred on Samara’s message, replaying it in her head, trying to decipher why it had left her so...unresolved, and in so many disparate headspaces at once.

“Hey.” Jacob gently nudged her good knee with his. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” she answered. “Why?”

“I don’t know. You just seem…” He trailed off and shook his head, not able to put his finger on exactly what was different about her demeanour. “I don’t know.”

Miranda gave him a look. “Thank you for that assessment, Jacob.”

He laughed despite himself, that response appearing to satisfy him that Miranda was perfectly normal. For her, anyway. “Alright, point taken. But see? Didn’t I tell you Samara hadn’t forgotten about you?”

“You did. It’s nice to hear it from the source, though.” Miranda glanced down, a distracting thought in the back of her mind. “She didn’t outright say that she would be coming back, did she? Do you think she intends to, or...?”

“Hard to say. Samara’s always been a mystery to me,” Jacob pointed out.

“...Right.” Miranda unconsciously toyed with a loose thread on the couch, trying to ignore that indescribable ache in her chest that wouldn’t go away.

“You’ll have to tell me about how you became friends, sometime,” Jacob commented, patting her on the leg as he got up, moving to go help the kids with the cooking.

“Yeah. I’ll do that…” Miranda vacantly uttered.

She had absolutely no intention of doing that.

*     *     *

It was a good thing that Shepard had installed those ship upgrades. Going through the Omega-4 Relay had been no easy feat.

Miranda and Mordin had raced down to the cargo hold with Shepard to fight off an oculus that cut its way through the hull. Multiple shockwaves had resonated through the ship as they battled the oculus. They had to fight on, not knowing what they meant, whether anyone had died, or how far they were from the base. Fortunately, everyone had escaped unharmed. Although, The Normandy wasn’t in such good shape. It had crash-landed just shy of the Collector Base.

A mission briefing had been called, the plan made, the roles decided. Miranda was charged with leading the second fireteam into the base. Tali had been appointed the tech specialist, infiltrating the base through a thermal vent and bypassing the security doors so the two squads could rendezvous inside and move on deeper, towards the central core.

It hadn’t been easy. If not for Miranda and the others providing covering fire, Tali damn near might have got her head shot off trying to seal the doors shut behind Shepard, Thane and Garrus.

Somehow, despite all the odds, they’d made it through the first phase in one piece. No lives lost. They even found the crew alive. The colonists from Horizon weren’t so lucky. If they’d been even a few seconds later, the crew would have…

No. They hadn’t failed them. That was all that mattered.

Shepard sent Kasumi to escort the crew back to the ship, certain that they were in no fit state to fight off any Collectors by themselves after all they’d been through.

For everyone else who would continue moving forward, the problem was that they still needed to get through the seeker swarms. They were denser here. And Mordin’s countermeasures wouldn’t work on that many. A biotic field was suggested as the best way through, though that would only be sufficient to protect a small team. Miranda had volunteered, though Jack had protested and suggested she go instead. Perhaps deliberately taking a third option, Shepard had chosen Samara to hold up the barrier. In the meantime, Garrus would take over leading the rest of the squad through a secondary path EDI had pointed out to them.

“Miranda, Jacob, you’re with me,” said Andrea, everyone’s orders confirmed.

“Just stay focused; I’ve got your back,” Miranda assured Samara, receiving a nod of understanding from her as they left, following Shepard and Jacob.

Shepard took point. “Stay alert; they could come from anywhere.”

And so the long walk began.

Samara found it easy at first, pinging those wasp-like creatures off her biotic bubble like raindrops bursting on glass. The effort didn’t appear to phase her at all. But, just as it began to seem like it was far too easy for comfort, it was quickly confirmed that their presence hadn’t gone unnoticed.

“Collectors inbound!” Miranda called out, signalling for Samara to take cover.

“ASSUMING DIRECT CONTROL,” Harbinger announced his presence.

Gunfire rang out, combined with biotic attacks. Samara took shelter where she could, only concerned with maintaining the barrier as the others took aim at the incoming hostiles. It didn’t seem to be troubling her, but she couldn’t divert her hands to do anything else. Couldn’t pick up a gun. Couldn’t fire off a reave. If a Collector got close to her, she wouldn’t be able to defend herself.  

Miranda made it her personal mission to stay near the back of the group, determined to ensure not a damn thing touched Samara. Neither Shepard nor Jacob seemed to take any issue with that arrangement.

“Coast is clear,” Jacob confirmed after the Harbinger dropped. Trusting her allies implicitly, Samara emerged once more, ready to continue the long walk.

“You okay?” Miranda checked in with her, keeping an eye out for danger as she walked at Samara’s side. Shepard and Jacob kept further forward, their attention on the path ahead, scanning for any approaching threats.

“You will be the first to know if I am not,” Samara assured her, certain that Miranda was the best option to take over from her if her barrier broke, although in theory Shepard and Jacob could also do so if necessary. If that thin bubble of energy wasn’t maintained the whole way, they would all perish to the swarms.

It seemed like they couldn’t make it twenty metres without another wave of Collectors or their husks coming for them. Wave after wave. Harbinger possessing footsoldier after footsoldier. They knew this would be a long walk. But, considering how much effort Samara was exerting on that barrier, each passing minute must have felt twice as long as the last, the strain on her body growing exponentially the longer they spent pinned down in these firefights.

Gradually, Samara began to buckle under the weight of her barrier. She had been repelling those seeker swarms for so long. And the end of the line seemed to creep further and further away the closer they got.

By the third time Samara had to force herself out of cover to start moving again, she was stumbling, barely managing to drag her feet forward.

Husks and abominations crawled up from either side, but there was nowhere for Samara to hide, nor did it seem like she had the strength to stop and wait another time. If she crouched down one more time, it was more than likely that she simply wouldn’t be able to stand up again. The others just had to react fast, and take down any foes before they got close enough to pose a threat to her. 

Eventually, they caught sight of a tunnel ahead. The way out.

“Samara…” Miranda stayed by her side, concern colouring her voice, ready to take over from her if she couldn’t do this anymore.

Samara gritted her teeth, willing herself to bear it. “We must reach the end. I will not give in,” she growled under her breath, using what remained of her strength to pick up her pace, running as best she could despite the pressure bearing down on her, not sure she could hold on if they were forced to slow down again. 

“Hold on, we’re almost there,” Andrea assured her, seeing the doors in sight. 

One by one, taking turns providing covering fire, they each leapt over a waist-high wall that stood between them and the ramp down to the exit. How Samara was still standing by that point, Miranda would never know. Miranda stayed a few paces back, protecting the rear and picking off any hostiles she could from the sizeable squad of Collectors approaching them from behind.

“We have to move quickly, Shepard,” Miranda called out. If they didn’t, either Samara’s barrier would give, or the Collectors would soon outnumber them.

“Alright, let’s move!” Shepard urged. One after another, the Collectors charged in, running through the barrier, only to be gunned down in a hail of fire. They didn’t care if it was suicide. That wouldn’t stop them. “They’re pushing! Keep it up!”

“Hurry, Shepard,” Samara all but pleaded, her voice weakening.

Jacob dashed back for the door, opening up a path to relative safety. Shepard stayed with Samara, while Miranda guarded the edge of the barrier.

Miranda could see there were more seekers now than ever, and they were starting to break through the barrier. There were too many of them to be stopped. The buzzing was so damn loud, it was as if they were inside her skull. The beating of their wings felt like ten thousand pinpricks against her skin. The swarm was a living hurricane bearing down on her. Unprotected. Alone. 

In that instant, Miranda abruptly realised just how isolated she had become, in the space of mere seconds. Those few metres between her and the rest of her squad suddenly felt like a mile. And those Collectors were damn close.

“Miranda!” Shepard called out, seeing both Collectors and seekers converging on her, trying to overwhelm the barrier, threatening to consume her alive.

Before anyone could try and stop her, Samara marched forward with a look in her eyes that none of them had ever seen before, reaching Miranda’s side. Without saying a word, Samara thrust both hands forward and released a colossal biotic wave that surged through the entire chamber like a tsunami, unleashing such force that the ground shook beneath Miranda’s feet.

And then there was silence.

There was no barrier anymore. No noise, but for Miranda’s own heavy breathing echoing in her ears. As quickly as they had converged, those dozens of Collectors and thousands of seekers that had been around them a moment ago were now gone. Not just dead. Gone. Disintegrated in a flash. The seekers that remained were so few, and so distant that they didn’t even seem to notice their presence.

Her job done, Samara turned and calmly strode through the door, unfazed.

It took Miranda little more than a moment to shake off her stupor and regather her bearings, picking off the last few seekers from range as she backed through the doors to safety, Jacob sealing the way shut behind her.

Miranda allowed herself a second to catch her breath, since it seemed they had found themselves a place of relative safety in which to recover. She did a quick scan of her surroundings, making sure nobody was hurt. 

Samara met her gaze across the small gap between them, evidently checking on her comrades in the same way that Miranda was. They exchanged silent nods, as if to confirm they were both alright. To Miranda’s surprise, despite how close Samara had been to her breaking point a moment ago, there was no trace of that exhaustion now. Maybe she was a little winded, sure, but no more than the rest of them. There was every indication she could still fight.

Miranda had to admit, she was relieved that Shepard hadn’t chosen her to hold up the barrier. Sure, in theory she could have gotten them all the way to the end, but the raw power Samara had unleashed just then? Miranda had never seen anything like that before, let alone found anything close to that within herself.

When it came to biotics, Samara was just on a different level entirely. 

The fleeting reprieve was swiftly interrupted when Garrus radioed in under heavy fire. Without delay, they hurried over to open the door to let the second team in. For a moment, it looked like Garrus had been wounded, but his armour had protected him from any harm, much to Shepard’s relief.

The squad regrouped in a moment of calm once more. Joker confirmed that Kasumi and the crew had made it back to The Normandy with no casualties.

“Excellent. Now, let’s make it count. EDI, what’s our next step?” asked Miranda.

“There should be some nearby platforms that will take you to the main control console. From there, you can overload the system and destroy the base.”

“Commander? You’ve got a problem,” Joker quickly interrupted EDI. “Hostiles massing just outside the door. Won’t be long until they bust through.”

Drawing everyone’s attention, Shepard climbed up onto the platform EDI had spoken of. “We need to finish this before they get through.”

Seeing a solution, Miranda didn’t hesitate to volunteer it. “Pick a team to go with you, and leave the others here to defend this position. That should buy you some time.” It was a dangerous job, sure, but Miranda knew this squad well enough to trust that they would hold the line to their last breath if that was what it took to allow Shepard to make it to the heart of the base and destroy it from within.

Andrea agreed with her call. “Mordin, Miranda, you’ll be with me,” Shepard confirmed. Miranda nodded, expecting nothing less. 

Andrea gave them a few moments to divide amongst themselves any remaining thermal clips and stocks of medigel. If anyone ran out now, that would be it. As she took the opportunity to restock and check her weapons, Miranda couldn’t help but run her eyes across the group one last time, wondering if there were any faces among them she would never see again.

“I would wish you good fortune for the battle ahead but, knowing you, I am certain you will not need it,” Samara’s voice prompted Miranda to turn towards her.

Miranda met her with a small half-smile. “I’ll take it anyway,” she said. It wasn’t lost on her that they’d both kept their respective promises to get each other this far. From this point on, they would be separated. It would be out of their hands. 

Miranda had to admit, she was a little worried. She had seen how much it had taken out of Samara to hold up that barrier, especially towards the end. Although she was carrying herself remarkably well, she couldn’t help but hold a kernel of doubt in her mind, that maybe she was in a far worse condition than she was willing to show. But, that being said, having eight others around her to protect her made this far and away the safest option for Samara right now.

It would have made Miranda feel a little less anxious if she could count herself among that number, though. But she couldn’t be in two places at once. And, at the end of the day, there was no way in hell Miranda would let Shepard go to the core of the Collector Base without her. Chances were, she’d need her there.

“Samara,” Miranda caught her eye as she ejected and replaced a thermal clip. “I’ll see you on the other side, yeah?” she said, a promise on her part, and seeking the same confirmation from Samara.

Her words were met with uncharacteristic hesitation. Uncertainty. It didn’t seem like there was any confusion about what Miranda was asking. More that she was asking Samara to swear to a promise she wasn’t sure she could keep.

Samara’s eyes dipped, as if avoiding the answer. “Miranda, I...I do not kn--”

Miranda reached out and touched Samara’s arm, cutting her off. “Promise me,” she insisted, not willing to leave until she heard it. Until she knew that Samara would do everything it took to keep herself safe, and to get back to The Normandy in one piece. Until they both parted ways knowing this wouldn’t be the last conversation they would ever have. Because Samara was many things, but above all else she was true to her word.

If she gave Miranda her oath on this, then it was because she truly meant it. And she would dedicate every fibre of her being to keeping her pledge.

Samara stared at her in a heavy silence. Miranda held her gaze expectantly, not yielding until she heard the answer she wanted in response. 

After a few seconds, Samara nodded, finding the strength to stand a little straighter, even after the long walk she’d endured. “Of course,” she said, committing to that vow. “Until we meet again.”

A faint smile tugged at the corner of Miranda’s lip. That was good enough for her.

“Ready up. We’re moving out,” Shepard gave the command, unable to spare any more time. The Collectors would break down that door any second now.

Miranda didn’t need to be told that twice. “I’m ready, Commander,” she said, hopping onto the platform at Shepard’s side, ready to face whatever lay at the heart of the Collector Base. “Anything to say before we do this?”

“The Collectors, the Reapers, they aren’t a threat to us. They’re a threat to everything - everyone. Those are the lives we’re fighting for. That’s the scale,” Andrea reminded them all, locking eyes with each member of her squad in turn. “It’s been a long journey, and no one’s comin’ out without scars.”

Grunt slammed his fists together, eager get his hands on whatever came through that door, and to make damn sure not one of them got to Shepard.

“But it all comes down to this moment,” Shepard continued. “We win or lose it all in the next few minutes. Make me proud. Make yourselves proud.”

“Well said,” said Miranda, and she meant it. For all her accomplishments, when all was said and done, there was not a single accolade among them which made Miranda feel prouder than she did fighting alongside Shepard in this moment. Not just as her second-in-command. But as her friend. “Let’s go finish this.”

With that, the platform began to move.

*     *     *

Miranda had been in Jack’s position only a few weeks ago. She knew how mind-numbingly tedious it was to be stuck in a hospital bed. Helping her pass the time every now and then seemed like the least she could do to repay her for saving her life twice in the same day. The fact that Jack hadn’t immediately kicked Miranda out yet indicated she was more desperate for distraction than she was letting on.

Given that neither of them enjoyed the idea of talking to each other much if at all, Miranda (with some prompting from Jacob) had come up with the idea of passing the time by other means. Last Sunday, they’d played cards. Today, it was chess. It was actually working surprisingly well as a means of keeping Jack occupied without having to speak to each other much.

Jack moved her rook to take a pawn. Miranda took advantage, moving her queen to take that same rook, leaving the king trapped. “Checkmate,” said Miranda, already resetting the board. “Good game. Play again?”

“Sure.” Jack shrugged. It wasn’t like she had anything better to do.

Jack hadn’t caught on yet, but Miranda was pulling her punches. Jack might have had more experience than her at certain games of cards, but Miranda had learned chess from an early age, since her father saw intellectual value in it.

She hadn’t played seriously in twenty years, but Miranda had forgotten less than she thought. Jack, by contrast, barely knew the names of the pieces.

The gap between them was such that, without even really having to try, Miranda would have won every single game with ease had she not consciously made the choice to lose roughly thirty percent of the time. Part of her was tempted to take the gloves off and do just that. But she was self-aware enough to recognise that refusing to hold back might have been cruel given the circumstances. Plus, it would definitely piss Jack off to get annihilated by someone she hated.

So, instead, Miranda hampered herself, acting worse at the game than she was, deliberately letting Jack get wins here and there, delaying victories to drag games out longer, or letting them go to a stalemate, making it seem like they were more evenly matched than they were. It didn’t matter to her really. The ultimate goal was simply to pass time after all, as much for herself as for Jack.

The truth was, Miranda needed something to distract her from her own thoughts for a while too, even if humouring Jack at chess wasn’t particularly exciting. Between her search for the Normandy’s lost, the endless sleepless nights, and trying to avoid deciphering her complicated feelings about Samara’s absence, anything that helped her to take her mind off things would do.

It was either that or beg Bailey to let her work Sundays, but something told her that raising that subject with him more than the twelve times she already had would be considered undignified. 

“...How’re the tykes treatin’ you?” Jack eventually broke the silence when they were both a few moves into the next game, head lethargically resting on her hand. They hardly spoke whenever Miranda did visit like this, not that there had been many occasions to judge from. Boredom really must have gotten the better of her if she was resorting to asking her former nemesis to talk.

“Surprisingly well, actually,” Miranda answered, moving her queen to take a pawn, intentionally leaving her king exposed. “We seem to be getting on.”

“You can tell me the truth,” said Jack, correctly picking up that Miranda had been actively refraining from being critical of Jack’s students in front of her. “If they’re being assholes, they’re being assholes.”

Miranda sighed. She supposed if she and Jack really were trying to turn over a new leaf with each other, there was no harm in being honest with her. “They’re getting to the point where they’re comfortable testing my boundaries. But it’s alright. I knew what I was signing up for. It’s your move, by the way.”

“Oh, shit.” Jack picked up a bishop, turning it between her fingers as she looked for an available move. There was no mistaking that she was tired. It was hard to sleep when forced to stay in bed all day every day, but for rare exceptions like this. Miranda wasn’t sleeping any better herself. She was just better at hiding it.

“I have overheard a few remarks that I’m not exactly a fan of. According to Nitin and Deacon, I’m ‘pretty hot for a woman with half her face burned off’,” Miranda recounted. Jack snickered. “At least that one was a compliment.”

“Yeah. They’re jerks like that. But they’re teenage boys. What’re you gonna do?” Jack said with a shrug, eventually deciding to take a knight. “Check.”

“I just ignore them,” Miranda casually replied, moving her king. That had always been her approach to unwanted comments, regardless of the age or gender of the source. Miranda had gotten used to people talking behind her back pretty early in life, and it had only gotten worse when she joined Cerberus. Most of the time, it was just background noise that she didn’t even notice anymore.

“They said all kinds of shit like that about me too when I first started teaching. It’s some kind of macho bullshit thing. Whatever,” Jack distractedly muttered, completely oblivious to the easy victory Miranda had left open for her, failing to spot the possible checkmate and instead moving a knight to take a pawn.

“Right.” Miranda rapped her fingers against the table. She actually had to think for a moment. She didn’t want to do anything that would make it look like she was throwing the game. But, by the same token, she’d won the last two rounds, so she needed to let Jack win this one.

“I heard you got a message from Samara,” Jack piped up.

Miranda glanced up, caught off-guard by that. “I’m sorry?”

“Jacob told me. Said he found a message from her,” Jack tried to make something resembling polite conversation. “How is the old lady?”

“I’d rather not talk about it,” Miranda shut that down, focusing on the board.

Jack blinked. “Huh?”

“I’d rather not talk about it,” Miranda said again, moving her queen to take Jack’s bishop.

Jack furrowed her brows. “Well, geez. Fuck me for asking, right? I thought she saved your fuckin’ life or something. How was I supposed to know you were pissed off at her or whatever the fuck happened?”

“I’m not,” Miranda insisted. It was only once the words left her mouth that she realised she’d said that a little too loudly. She sighed and ran her hand through her hair. “I’m not. I’m extremely grateful to Samara. I’m just…”

Miranda trailed off, realising she didn’t know how to finish that sentence without acknowledging that she was trying to avoid thinking about her, which would also mean acknowledging the fact that she still couldn’t entirely understand why she wanted to avoid thinking about her, beyond the fact that the unnamed ache in her chest grew heavier every time she did.

“It’s your move,” Miranda quietly muttered, giving up on endeavouring to explain something she didn’t have an explanation for.

Jack shook her head and sighed, evidently having zero interest in the inner workings of Miranda’s mind.

With that, Jack finally did as Miranda anticipated and moved her queen next to Miranda’s king, trapping it, with the said queen protected from the king by Jack’s rook. Except Jack said nothing, waiting for her opponent to take her turn.

Miranda almost had to do a double-take, making sure she hadn’t miscalculated.

“That’s checkmate,” Miranda pointed out.

Jack glanced up, barely paying attention. “Huh?”

“You’ve put me in checkmate,” Miranda reiterated.

Jack looked down at the board. It took her a moment before she realised Miranda was right. Something clicked. How the fuck was Miranda losing when she was following the game closer than Jack was? “...Wait, are you letting me win?” she asked, affronted by the thought.

“No. I’m too competitive to do that,” Miranda lied. 

Jack saw right through it, groaning unhappily. “You fuckin’ cunt, now I can’t even pretend to give a shit about this,” she complained, swiping the back of her hand across the table, carelessly knocking over a few pieces as she spoke.

There was no point in deceiving her any longer. “It’s not really fair to you if I don’t hold back. I’ve been playing since I was three.”

“Of course you fuckin’ have…” Jack grumbled.

“Sorry,” Miranda offered, more out of social obligation than anything resembling actual remorse, leaning down and picking up some of the pieces Jack had knocked over.

“I think I liked you better when you were an unapologetic bitch,” Jack unhappily remarked, almost lamenting the fact that the new Miranda took whatever jabs she threw at her without any retaliation. “At least back then you were honest about how fake you were.”

Miranda didn’t blink as she picked up the last pieces, unoffended by Jack’s opinion of her, even if her efforts to improve their relationship were proving fruitless so far. “In that case, do you want me to go hard on you?” Miranda nonchalantly replied, resetting the board. If Jack wanted a challenge, she would gladly oblige.

“I don’t even fucking care at this point…” Jack wearily admitted, definitely at that stage of her recovery where all the days were starting to blur together into a dull grey mush.

“Okay. But you asked for this. And don’t say I didn’t warn you,” said Miranda, not about to take the blame when Jack got absolutely destroyed. 

Jack snorted at Miranda’s...Miranda-ness. “Drink bleach, eyepatch. Bring it on.”

Miranda won the next game in less than two minutes.

Jack blinked. “No fucking way.” Miranda just flicked her eye down at the board again, a decisive checkmate. She had told her, after all. “You could have done that this whole time?” Jack queried, narrowing her stare at her.

Instead of answering, Miranda simply shrugged her shoulder. The evidence spoke for itself, didn’t it? Of course she could have.

“...Well, fuck, now I have to beat you.” Jack leaned forward in her chair, studying the board more intently, motivated to try and get the better of her rival now that she’d had her ass handed to her.

Miranda arched her eyebrow. Really? That was what it took to wake Jack up?

Perhaps she should have gone all out sooner.

Before they could start the next game, Miranda’s communicator went off. She checked the incoming call, and recognised it was coming from someone important. Someone she’d been waiting to hear from. “I have to take this.”

Jack waved her hand dismissively, too busy studying the board and retracing the sequence that had entrapped her so quickly, trying to figure out exactly what Miranda had done in the last game, and how she could counter it.

“Doctor Michel,” Miranda greeted her. “How can I help you?”

“Ms Lawson. Have I caught you at a good time?” Dr Michel asked.

“Good enough.” Miranda’s eye flicked up to Jack momentarily. It didn’t seem like she was paying any attention to their conversation. She turned to her side and lowered her voice slightly. “Is this in relation to my matter?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Have you made any progress?”

“In a manner of speaking. My team and I have been working through that list of names you gave us. Your old crewmates.” There was a pause. “We...think we may have some answers for what happened to some of them.”

Miranda could tell from her tone that something was wrong. Her voice sounded sombre. Almost regretful. “...This isn’t good news, is it?” Miranda said quietly, more a statement than a question.

“Unfortunately not.” Doctor Michel sighed, evidently empathising with her position. “There’s no easy way for me to say this, but...we’ve recovered some bodies. As the senior officer of the Normandy, we would like you to identify them.”

Miranda’s heart sank all the way to her feet. Jack couldn’t overhear Doctor Michel’s side of the call, but she straightened up curiously, as if noticing a change in Miranda’s demeanour. She must have looked as pale as she felt, like life itself had just drained from her face.

“...Ms Lawson?” Doctor Michel’s voice broke her heavy silence.

Miranda swallowed, composing herself. “I understand. I’ll head there immediately,” she said solemnly. “Thank you for telling me.” She closed the channel before Doctor Michel could say anything else, not ready to hear it. “I have to go,” she said, grabbing her jacket from the back of her chair, needing to see who they’d found - to confirm whether they really were some of their own.

“What is it?” Jack asked, sensing something was wrong. “Who was that?”

“That was Dr Michel. She’s an old friend of Garrus’s. She’s been overseeing identification efforts at the mortuary. I gave her details of everyone from The Normandy. Asked her to look,” Miranda answered, her tone vacant. “They’ve found some bodies. They think they might be…”

“...Ours?” Jack finished on her behalf. Miranda’s silence confirmed it. “Fuck. Yeah. Go. Go,” Jack urged, realising the importance of this, and not envying Miranda for being the one who had to confront it.

Miranda didn’t linger a moment longer than that.

*     *     *

They’d found out what the Collectors wanted. Why humans were disappearing. Nobody could have foreseen that the answer would be so...grotesque. 

All those people. Alone. Afraid. Processed into sludge while still alive. And for what purpose? To be used as the base material to craft the very tool of humanity’s own destruction. To be transmuted into the building blocks for the creation of a brand new Reaper. A human Reaper.

By the time they managed to kill that thing, the Collector Base had already started collapsing in on itself. Thankfully, those left behind to hold the line had already made it back to the ship ahead of them. 

Miranda, Mordin and Shepard barely made it back to The Normandy before the blast consumed the entire base, their battered ship outrunning the explosion by the thinnest of margins. A daring escape from an impossible mission.

It was only once Miranda counted heads that she confirmed not a single soul was missing. The ship was barely holding together, but as far as the crew...nobody died. It was supposed to be a suicide mission. Yet, somehow, they hadn’t lost a single life.

For a moment, it almost seemed too good to be true. Like there had to be some sort of catch they just didn’t know about yet. Like the worst was still yet to come.

There wasn’t much time to take it in, though. It was all hands on deck conducting urgent repairs to The Normandy, patching up as many holes as they could to keep the damn thing spaceworthy. They were certainly in no condition to jump through a mass relay right away. Even with the Collector Base gone, nobody wanted to linger around there longer than they absolutely had to.

Miranda lost count of the hours as she oversaw the crew, taking in status reports from EDI, redirecting attention where it was needed, running simulations to check whether the repairs would hold. She was deeply absorbed in diagnostics when Shepard placed a hand on her shoulder, nearly startling her out of her number-crunching stupor.

“Hey. Relax,” said Shepard, not failing to notice that Miranda was uncharacteristically jumpy.

Miranda released a sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose, disappointed in herself for that slip of composure. Of course it was only Shepard. Who was she expecting it to be? The mission was over but, evidently, she was still a little on edge. Perhaps the adrenaline hadn’t fully worked its way out of her system yet.

“What do you need, Commander?” Miranda asked, ever the professional, even when she felt more...frayed than usual.

“After all we’ve just been through, and from what I’ve seen around here? Right now, I need everyone to stop and take a rest for a moment. That includes you,” said Andrea, fixing her with a telling look.

“Commander--” Miranda’s protestations were cut short, as if they’d been expected.

“We’ve been at this for hours. We aren’t in any danger right now, and there’s no way we’re going to be in a position to move tonight,” Shepard pointed out. Her eyes briefly studied Miranda’s face. If even Miranda’s concentration was starting to slip, then what did that say about how the rest of the crew must be feeling? “When’s the last time you took a break? Or had something to eat?”

“I’m fine, Commander. I don’t tire easily,” Miranda assured her. Although she had her limits, as anyone did, she could function on very little food and sleep compared to the average person, and sustain unhealthy habits for a good while longer than anyone else would be able to before the strain started to show.

“Okay. Sure. But everyone else does. And you should set an example for them,” Shepard replied, earning an annoyed scoff from Miranda. Leave it to Andrea to still find a way to twist her own superhuman endurance around on her. “Hey, we’ve all earned the right to stop and catch our breath for a minute. Even you,” she said softly, lightly touching Miranda’s arm, urging her to take care of herself.

Miranda didn’t have the energy to argue. Truth be told, her head had been reeling pretty much all day, and it hadn’t stopped since they got back. It was like her subconscious didn’t realise the fight was over, and she didn’t still have to be in survival mode. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to gather her bearings before getting back to business.

“We’re getting out of here tomorrow, Commander,” Miranda responded, making it clear that she was only willing to acquiesce if Shepard gave her word on that. “That’s a hard deadline.”

“You’ll get it done. I know it,” said Shepard, giving a nod as she walked past, prepared to tell everyone else to lay their tools down, just for a little bit.

Right when she started to leave, a thought occurred to Miranda. “Shepard?” she called after her, earning a secondary glance. “After we put this ship back together...there’s still a lot to do, yeah? A lot of assignments we never finished.” Miranda let that suggestion hang, searching Andrea’s gaze as she spoke, hoping she wasn’t making a fool of herself by asking what she was asking.

She wasn’t used to being in this position. In fact, she’d never been in this position before. Of wanting to stay around other people. And hoping those other people, on some level, felt the same way about her.

They might have finished their critical mission, but, if Miranda was being honest with herself, she wasn’t ready to say goodbye to The Normandy yet. Though she wouldn’t have believed it a few months ago, she wasn’t ready for everyone to go their separate ways all of a sudden. She didn’t want to lose contact with all the people she’d only just started to grow close to, nor did she want to lose the better version of herself she was gradually transforming into here.

As hard as it was to admit to anyone else, Miranda liked it here. Honestly, being on The Normandy was the second best thing that had ever happened to her, and the closest thing she’d ever had to a place that felt like home - a place she belonged. She didn’t want this to be the end. Not just yet. Maybe not ever.

Judging by the twinkle in her eye, Shepard seemed to understand Miranda’s meaning completely, and not just on a surface level. “Tomorrow,” Andrea told her reassuringly, saving that conversation for a later date, when they were both a little more clear-headed.

Miranda didn’t know what to make of that answer, but didn’t stop Shepard as she walked away. She wasn’t great at reading people, but it felt like they were on the same page. In any event, they could discuss it at length once they hit the relay.  

With that, Miranda headed back to her office. For as easy as it was for Andrea to tell her she should just kick back and relax for a few hours, that was one of the few things Miranda actually found much, much harder to do than a normal person would. It wasn’t in her DNA to relax, even at the best of times, let alone now. Despite everything, she wasn’t tired. If anything, she was still far too wired to sleep. She needed something to keep her busy. For her, that was therapy.

Operating purely on instinct, Miranda switched on her computer and immediately began typing her report on the mission, as she always did. It was only once she was a few paragraphs in that she abruptly stopped. It was then that it clicked, and she remembered. She didn’t report to anyone anymore.

For the first time since she was sixteen, Miranda was on her own. Not part of Cerberus. Not an agent of The Illusive Man. And it was at that point that the penny truly dropped. What had happened. What it all meant. And that there was no going back. That door had slammed shut forever. And she didn’t regret it.

Miranda exhaled heavily and sat back in her chair, running the fingers of her left hand across her forehead, massaging her temples between her thumb and ring finger, finally processing what had transpired back there.

She still couldn’t understand what The Illusive Man had been thinking when he instructed them to keep the Collector Base. It didn’t make any sense. Miranda had been there to see with her own eyes what had been done to the missing colonists. Nothing good could possibly have come out of that factory of death. Its sole purpose was to liquify living beings, and create Reapers.

So why? Why would he want to keep that horrible place around? What use could he possibly hope to gain from it? There was no justification for that. No defence.

When he’d ordered Miranda to stop Shepard from destroying the base, a line had been crossed - one that Miranda hadn’t even known existed until he crossed it. In the moment, it hadn’t been a question what she would do. She hadn’t even blinked. She’d handed in her resignation effective immediately, and shut off The Illusive Man before he could say another word. She hadn’t thought twice about it. And she’d gone on to stand with Shepard to kill that fucking human Reaper monstrosity and blow that godforsaken place to smithereens.

Admittedly, given the urgency of the situation, she hadn’t had much of an opportunity at the time to pause to consider the full ramifications of her actions, but by the same token Miranda had also been well aware of what she was doing before she made her choice. She was no fool, and she didn’t do anything lightly. She knew perfectly well how dangerous Cerberus was to cross, especially for a valuable asset like her. Someone who knew more of their secrets than just about anyone else. Someone who, given the right data, could even point to the physical location of The Illusive Man himself.

In the space of an instant, she’d almost certainly gone from being one of Cerberus’s most trusted agents to being their number one enemy. That was going to be fun to deal with in the future. But she would cross that bridge when she came to it, she supposed.

It was strange to think how quickly a previously inexorable part of her life had been terminated, faster than a snap of her fingers. In a way, Miranda almost didn’t know who she was without them. She’d never worked for anyone else. The last of her teenage years and her entire adult life had been shaped almost solely by Cerberus. She’d planned her whole future around advancing through their ranks, maybe even taking The Illusive Man’s place one day. Her life was her career, and her career was her life. She would have to rethink all of that now.

And then there was The Illusive Man. A man she’d spent most of the last nineteen years admiring as a leader and as a mentor. A man whose example she’d aspired to follow in many ways. Hell, he’d been more of a father to her than her own father had ever been, not that that was saying much.

For as mysterious and unknowable as he was, in all those long years that Miranda had worked for him, and worked for Cerberus, she’d never seen anything that would have led her to predict what happened back there. That they could have been worlds apart on such a fundamental issue.

Despite what other people thought about her, she had never been blindly loyal to Cerberus. She had her own thoughts. Her own opinions. Her own personal sense of right and wrong. Admittedly, ethics had always taken a backseat to pragmatism and necessity in her view, but the ends had to justify the means. The reason Cerberus operated outside the law was because the law got in the way of the greater good - of what needed to be done to protect human lives. 

If she had been unwavering in her commitment to Cerberus in the past, it was because they’d never given Miranda any reason not to be. Nothing she’d seen in the inner workings of the organisation had raised any alarms. She would have left years ago if she’d witnessed something she couldn’t tolerate. But she never had.

And yet, Miranda would have been lying if she claimed that The Illusive Man’s actions had come as a complete shock that day. They hadn’t. Maybe they would have a few months ago. But not now.

Ever since she’d joined the crew of the Normandy, Miranda had started to see sides to Cerberus she’d never seen before. Or rather, and more accurately, it had started to become untenable for every potential deal-breaker ever attributed to Cerberus to be conveniently blamed on rogue cells - people who had turned their back on The Illusive Man and acted without his knowledge or consent. How much longer could Miranda pretend to keep buying that excuse before she was officially part of the cult, refusing to accept the evidence of her own eyes and ears?

The truth had been right in front of Miranda the whole time, hadn’t it? If she went digging now, especially with the aid of the Shadow Broker, she was sure she would be able to find direct orders from The Illusive Man authorising all those projects he denied. Probably even the institution where Jack and those other biotic children had been tortured. She could have uncovered it all a long time ago. She’d just never wanted to see it before. 

Perhaps she really was the blind loyalist everyone else thought she was all along.

Perhaps she really was that big of a fool.

Miranda’s fingertips wearily caressed her brow one last time. So much for taking a break or relaxing. There would be none of that with such heavy thoughts taking a taxing toll on her.

There was only one person she could turn to when her mind was racing like this. One person who invariably made her feel better. Not by doing or saying anything. Just by being around. So she went to her, as she always did.

She found Samara at the window when she entered the Starboard Observation Deck, overlooking the abyss. Unusually, Samara seemed distracted. So much so that she didn’t even hear the doors hiss shut. Her sober expression betrayed a creeping malaise. Her posture was tense. Her unfocused eyes, quite literally staring into space. It was clear she was deep in introspection of some kind.

“I’m not disturbing you, am I?” Miranda broke the silence.

Her voice shook Samara from her rumination, prompting her to turn. Samara’s expression shifted, mustering a faint smile. “You are never a disturbance,” she said kindly, gesturing for Miranda to make herself at home.

“It’s funny. I think you’re the one person I’ve hardly seen since we made it back,” Miranda casually noted. Over the last couple of hours, she’d made herself scarce. 

“You are correct. Forgive me,” Samara gave a solemn nod, accepting that she had erred in shirking her responsibilities since returning to the ship. “I ought to have done more to assist with the repairs. I will not make any excuses for my absence.”

“I’m not going to write you up. Don’t worry about it.” Miranda nonchalantly waved off her apology, signalling that it was totally unnecessary. 

“You would for anyone else,” Samara pointed out knowingly.

“Well, for one thing, you’re not anyone else. For another, I wouldn’t be standing here right now if not for you. So consider this the least I can do for you,” said Miranda, stepping further into the room, until she joined Samara at the window. Besides, it wasn’t like she was giving her special treatment. Writing anyone up for anything seemed pretty pointless now. “You’ve been here the whole time?”

“Yes,” Samara acknowledged, not one to lie.

“What have you been up to?” Miranda asked her, curious. It wasn’t accusatory in any way. But it wasn’t like Samara to run off to her corner and hide when there was work to be done. She must have had a good reason.

“I have been…thinking,” Samara answered pensively.

Her vagueness wasn’t lost on Miranda. “Thinking?” she echoed.

“Yes. There has been much I need to contemplate. Many things I was not prepared for...or did not expect to…” Samara trailed off, evidently at a loss for words, and visibly unsettled. Her expressions were always hard to read, but she looked troubled, as if she was trying to make sense of a paradox, fitting together incongruous pieces of information and finding only more questions.

Miranda’s features softened sympathetically, beginning to piece together a possible reason behind Samara’s abnormal behaviour. “I think we’re all a little shell-shocked after what happened. Doesn’t quite seem real does it - that we’re somehow all still standing?”

That response seemed to find purchase with Samara, putting her more at ease. “Indeed. Ever since you and Shepard first approached me on Illium and spoke to me of your quest to stop the Collectors, the odds of succeeding, let alone surviving, always seemed slim at best. I must confess, given the nature of the mission before us, I was not anticipating that…” Samara paused again, as if cautious to ensure she chose her words carefully, mindful to be neither tactless nor false in her speech.

“That we would all make it back in one piece?” Miranda finished on her behalf.

Samara gave a slightly apologetic nod. “Yes.”

“Yet here we are,” Miranda continued, gesturing offhandedly at their surroundings.

“Yet here we are,” Samara echoed, her words almost a whisper.

“Try not to sound so disappointed,” Miranda wryly remarked. Samara said nothing, staring out into the void in silence. “...It’s a joke,” Miranda broke the quiet, realising her attempt at humour hadn’t landed. “I forgot I shouldn’t do those.”

“No. I…” Samara shook her head, tearing her eyes away from the vastness of space at long last, turning sideways to face Miranda. “It is I who should apologise. Forgive me. I am...tired. I suspect more so than I even realise.”

Miranda wasn’t surprised to hear that. It didn’t take a genius to tell that she must have been shaken by all that had transpired. Hell, one look at her eyes was a dead giveaway as to how drained she was. It was the first time Miranda had ever seen Samara in such a state. But, after all she had undergone back at the base, who could blame her for not being at one hundred percent right now?

“Don’t be too hard on yourself. I know it took a lot out of you, holding up that barrier. You’ve earned the right to rest and recover. And you know I wouldn’t say that if it wasn’t true, so…” Miranda studied Samara’s features, wondering if she was imposing. “Should I leave you?”

“No. Stay a while. Please,” Samara gestured for her to have a seat. Miranda raised her hand, preferring to stand. The view of the singularity was honestly striking. She may as well enjoy it while they were stranded here. Samara remained at her side, perhaps gradually clearing her head. “Is there truth to the rumours about what transpired between you and The Illusive Man?” she broke the silence.

“What are the rumours?” Miranda asked.

“That you terminated your employment,” Samara rather deftly summarised. 

Miranda snorted. “Well, we won’t be taking each other’s calls anymore. Put it that way.”

“Are you alright?” Samara asked, her concern genuine. She was one of the few who had never judged Miranda for her loyalty to Cerberus, despite their flaws.

“Yeah.” Miranda glanced down at her hands, her feelings certainly...mixed. Samara waited patiently, letting her decide whether she wished to speak more on the subject or not, and ready to lend an understanding ear if she did.

Miranda exhaled, interlocking her fingers, reflecting on everything that had happened since she first learned what the Reapers were. All this time, she had firmly believed The Illusive Man wanted to destroy them, just as he would want to eliminate any existential threat to humanity. That had been what he’d said all along. Or, wait, had he ever outright said that he intended to destroy them? Had he just implied it? Had Miranda read into his words what she wanted to hear?

But if Cerberus wanted to keep that base, to ‘turn their own resources against them’ as The Illusive Man had said, was their ultimate goal something else entirely? To create their own Reaper, like Shepard had remarked? To control the Reapers? To use them to take control of the galaxy? To wipe out the other races? Miranda didn’t know for sure, but if it was anything like that then it didn’t even need to be said that she couldn’t permit any of those things to happen. 

The best case scenario was that they were still ultimately on the same side, but that The Illusive Man was just so fixated on his desire to fight the Reapers that he couldn’t see that there was no possible benefit to keeping the base. Just risk, and unconscionable slaughter, and a betrayal of everything they had fought for, and all the lives lost to the Collectors. Part of Miranda hoped that was all it was - that maybe they didn’t have to be enemies. But, after everything that had happened, everything she’d seen, it was increasingly untenable not to at least suspect that there was something more sinister going on behind the scenes.

“Samara, be honest with me,” Miranda began, knowing she didn’t even need to make that request of her. She was never anything less than truthful. “I don’t strike you as someone who is particularly stupid or gullible, do I?”

“No, you do not,” Samara answered frankly, as if that question never needed to be asked. “You know very well that I consider you precisely the opposite.”

“So then how is it that I can work for the same people for nineteen years, and yet be so...staggeringly ignorant as to their true nature and motives?” Miranda asked aloud, wondering how many obvious signs she must have missed along the way.

“And what are their true motives?” Samara prompted.

“Honestly? I haven’t got the slightest fucking clue anymore. And that’s what scares me.” Miranda scoffed under her breath, shaking her head. “Actually, you know what? It isn’t. The thing that really makes my skin crawl is not knowing…” She paused and swallowed mid-sentence. “Is not knowing whether and to what extent I’ve been complicit in helping them accomplish things that I would never - never have supported if I knew about them.”

Samara understood completely why that thought would trouble Miranda so. She took time to reflect on the matter before offering a considered response.

“Based on what information EDI has been willing to share since her restraints were removed, it appears as though Cerberus personnel were separated into discrete cells, all of whom were unaware of the existence of any others. While the primary motivation for this may have been to ensure no single individual had sufficient knowledge to compromise the entire organisation, I believe this also had another purpose,” Samara speculated. “That purpose being that each cell could represent an entirely different face of Cerberus - one that appealed entirely to the morality, beliefs and motives of the personnel assigned to it.”

That made a startling amount of sense, Miranda thought. The cerberus of myth did have multiple heads, and thus multiple faces.

“That would explain why there were so many conflicting versions of Cerberus out there,” Miranda mused aloud, curling her fingers against her chin. “The terrorists. The mad scientists. The racist xenophobes. I always brushed those accusations off as misrepresentations and bad press, because the organisation I knew was different. Not terrorists, but people willing to defend human lives when the Alliance wasn’t. Not mad scientists, but cutting-edge pioneers. Not racist xenophobes, but human beings who didn’t want to be treated as second-class citizens in the galactic community. But there were probably others out there who only knew Cerberus to be one or more of those other things. Who am I kidding? Those kinds of people probably only joined Cerberus because of those things - because that was what they thought its true nature was all along.”

“That is what I suspect,” Samara concurred.

“So, if you’re right, then what you’re saying is, the Cerberus I believed I was working for this whole time did exist, in a way. Everything I thought about them was true, from a certain point of view. But so were all the other things I dismissed as falsehoods and slander. I could just never see it, because the full picture was always deliberately hidden from me,” Miranda inferred.

“Yes,” Samara confirmed, quietly confident that Miranda would have seen through the façade and defected earlier had it been presented to her otherwise. “If I am not mistaken, then you have been no more complicit in Cerberus’s hidden agendas - whatever they may be - than Shepard or myself have been.”

Miranda’s expression shifted, not entirely sure she could believe that, but oddly comforted by Samara’s sentiment nonetheless. “Thanks,” she said, relieved to at least have some semblance of an answer for how she’d gotten so sucked in, and how she’d failed to recognise the truth. Even if it later turned out to be wrong, it was something to hold onto for now. And, if nothing else, at least Samara still seemed to think she was a good person, despite everything. 

Perhaps there was a silver lining to all this. Now that Miranda saw the truth of what Cerberus was, rather than being blinded by allegiance, if anyone was equipped to fully understand The Illusive Man’s goals and expose this organisation for what it really was, it was her. She felt something of a duty to do it now - to figure out exactly what aims she’d been unwittingly enabling.

It wouldn’t be easy, and Miranda knew damn well The Illusive Man would try everything in his power to kill her rather than risk her exposing his secrets. But since when had Miranda ever been afraid of a challenge? If her life was the only thing she had to lose, then The Illusive Man had more to fear from her than she had to fear from him. But following that path now would put her friends at risk.

Another time, then.

Following that, a delayed thought occurred to Miranda. “You’ve been asking EDI about Cerberus?” she asked, her brow creasing in puzzlement.

“I have. Although, I confess, my inquiries garnered little valuable information before her restraints were removed,” Samara answered calmly.

Miranda regarded her with some confusion. In all the time they’d spent together, Samara had never shown any real curiosity about Cerberus. She couldn’t recall her raising the subject, despite having ample opportunity to do so. “Why?”

“Because you worked for them,” Samara replied, meeting her gaze, her tone unchanging. “Because they were important to you.”

“Why EDI, though?” Miranda asked, perplexed. There was nothing accusatory in her questions, nor defensive for that matter. She had no issues with Samara finding out whatever she wanted to know about Cerberus from whoever she wanted to ask. It just struck her as odd, was all. “Why didn’t you come to me?”

Samara’s gaze dipped. “Because I was afraid of the answers,” she admitted.

In light of recent events, Miranda couldn’t exactly fault that explanation. “Hmm. Fair enough. As it turns out, your concerns may not have been unfounded.”

“In some respects, they were not,” Samara acknowledged. After a moment, she raised her head once more. “In others, I have been glad to find that they were. And that I had nothing to fear,” she said, holding Miranda’s gaze as she spoke.

Samara didn’t say it out loud, but the meaning wasn’t lost on Miranda. Miranda didn’t know much about Samara’s Code, but she recalled every element of their conversation about it earlier that day. About how she couldn’t hesitate in enforcing its tenets. About how she had to put it first, before everything. Above her own personal thoughts and feelings. Even above the life of a friend.

While the requirements of the Code remained a mystery to Miranda, if it was in any way moral or just - which, by her conduct and character, Samara certainly seemed to evidence that it was - then there was no way in hell that the Code could have permitted something like, say, leaving the Collector Base intact.

The thought must have crossed Samara’s mind at some point, however reluctant she would have been to consider it. If Cerberus’s true intentions were sinister, and if Miranda and Shepard knew of those intentions, condoned them, and supported them, then no matter how close they had grown as friends, they would have to part as enemies. If they hadn’t destroyed that base, and if Miranda hadn’t turned her back on The Illusive Man when he showed his true colours, then the next time Samara saw them, she would probably have had to kill them.

It must have been a relief for Samara to know that that wasn’t the case, and to have her faith in her friends proven justified. A small smile tugged at Miranda’s lip, touched that Samara had believed in her right from the start, and taken the chance to get to know her, even knowing the risk that it could all have backfired.

Even if nothing else good came from learning the truth about Cerberus, seeing just how deeply Samara had trusted that Miranda would make the right decision if faced with a choice like that, even if it meant turning her back on Cerberus in order to do the right thing, was reward enough. Truthfully, Samara had believed that about Miranda long before Miranda would have believed it about herself.

“Anyway, we’re on our own now. I know Shepard has told The Illusive Man as much,” Miranda finished the thought, glancing over at Samara once more. “Have you given any thought to what you’ll do next?”

Her question caught Samara off guard. “...I...I had not,” Samara admitted. After gazing past her reflection for a moment, she stood a little straighter, hands clasped behind her back. “I have only one path to follow, and that is the Code. I would not have survived this day if the Goddess did not see a higher purpose for me - somewhere the need is very great. I will go wherever I am called.”

“But you don’t know where that is yet?” Miranda intuited.

Samara hesitated, her shoulders sinking slightly, evidently not used to feeling...aimless. “No. I do not. Although I have faith those answers will crystallise in time.”

“Well, if it helps, I may have a temporary solution…” Miranda began. “I haven’t talked this over with Shepard yet, but there are still several outstanding tasks we never got around to completing - leads from Cerberus, mostly. I know I’m no longer working for them, but now that we know we can’t trust them, I’d rather resolve these matters before they do. And, for the matters that don’t involve Cerberus, hey, at least we’ll still be helping people,” Miranda explained. It wasn’t lost on her that the fact she saw that as enough reason to act was evidence of just how much Shepard had rubbed off on her. She really had changed.

Samara said nothing, maintaining her focus dead ahead. 

“I know that the mission you swore an oath to Shepard for is over, so you’re under no obligation to follow her any longer,” Miranda continued. “But, if you don’t currently have any plans, and it wouldn’t be in conflict with your Code, then, as second-in-command of this ship, allow me be the first to let you know that you’re more than welcome to stay here for as long as you want.”

Samara glanced up, her expression unreadable as she met Miranda’s eyes.

Miranda’s posture softened slightly, abandoning any pretext that this was a purely professional request. “I’d be extremely grateful if you stayed,” she admitted, not ready to say goodbye to their friendship just yet. Spending time in Samara’s company was the one thing she looked forward to more than anything else most days. “It wouldn’t be the same here without you.”

It really wouldn’t have been. Maybe nobody else would think of her the same way, but for Miranda, Samara was like the heart of The Normandy. She just had this...indescribable presence that radiated warmth and comfort. Without having to say a word, she had a way of brightening Miranda’s gloomiest days, and of showing Miranda the way when it felt like she was lost in the dark.

This room had become Miranda’s safe place, not because there was anything special about the Starboard Observation Deck, but because Samara was here, her door always open, for whatever she needed.

Judging from her reaction, Samara had not been expecting that invitation. An answer seemed to catch in her throat, as if she didn’t know how to respond. Miranda began to regret that perhaps she had sprung this on her too quickly, before she’d had enough time to recover from the mission, and plan that far ahead.

“I’m sorry. I don’t want to put any pressure on you,” Miranda spoke gently, not so self-centred as to impose her wishes on Samara, especially if it placed her in an awkward position with respect to her Code. She respected her too much for that, no matter how much she would miss her. “I understand if you can’t--”

“No, I…” Samara interjected, shaking her head as if to clear the cobwebs that had slowed her usually sharp mind. “There is no conflict here. The Collectors may have been stopped, but the greater threat remains at large.”

“The Reapers,” Miranda stated on her behalf.

“Yes,” Samara confirmed, the weight of that ever-looming enemy lingering like a presence in the air. “Until such time as the Goddess calls me elsewhere, I would be honoured to continue to aid you.”

“Glad to hear it,” Miranda enthused, though despite being pleased by her response, it hadn’t escaped her notice that something was still...off about Samara. She couldn’t put her finger on it, exactly. Just something in her facial expressions, and the tone of her voice. She was right there beside her in the same room, yet it felt like she was a thousand miles away.

“Hey…” Miranda reached out, gently placing a hand on Samara’s back. “Are you sure you’re okay?” Miranda asked, her questioning more serious than before, perfectly willing to lend an ear to her friend if something was awry, just as Samara had so often been a confidant for her.

“It is kind of you to worry. But I am alright. It has simply...been an eventful day,” Samara assured her, summoning a smile, appreciating her concern. “I have kept you long enough. I should like to meditate alone for a while, if there is nothing you require of me.”

“Of course. Go ahead. And take as much time as you need to recover. The ship is going to get repaired tomorrow with or without you, even if I have to fix it myself,” Miranda promised, not at all surprised to think that Samara needed some space to regather her equilibrium and come to terms with the fact that they had survived the impossible. “I’ll be in my office if you need me.”

“Thank you.” Samara stayed by the window as Miranda took her leave, the doors closing shut behind her.

If Miranda had stayed a few moments longer, she would have seen Samara’s masquerade fall as the hollowness returned her face, and her resolve crack as she reached out and braced herself against the wall to keep from crumbling.

All the certainty Samara had felt earlier that day had shattered like glass at her feet, a million little fragments scattered into the sand. For reasons she could not understand, she had emerged from her date with destiny unscathed.

Why? Why was she still here? What purpose did this serve?

Was this a punishment, perhaps? Was her penance for her sins incomplete? It had to be. Samara could find no other explanation that would suffice.

So, she had been arrogant, then. Celebrating too soon that which she did not yet deserve. It seemed a cruel joke to think of it now. She had found so much peace, tranquility and relief in the inevitability of her own end. But that release had been denied to her. And, now, instead of finding the courage to die with dignity, Samara now had to process that she had a far harder task ahead of her.

Somehow, someway, she had to find the strength to keep living.

*     *     *

[ckret2]

A Million Golden Fungi

So in January when I asked for some short prompts, I got this prompt on ko-fi: “Maybe some ideas how we can get back our Lord and Doom King Ghidorah in Monsterverse?”

Now, the easy/obvious would be to say it comes from San’s decapitated head—either San regrows his other two heads and entire body, or he gets made into Mecha-King Ghidorah. However, a lot of other people have played with both of those ideas already, and there’s decent odds Monsterverse itself will do something very similar if it keeps going long enough to make use of that Chekhov’s gun; so I went, what can I do with San’s head that’s like nothing I’ve seen anyone else do?

###

"It appears to be rotting," Alan Jonah said.

Maybe rot wasn't the right word. He'd seen quite a few forms of rot in his time, and none looked quite like this. He expected maggots, bloating, discoloration; not this... fungus? Something fungal-like, at any rate, deforming and pushing out the great dragon's scales. And the stench was all wrong for natural decay.

But there was a stench. Oh, lord, was there a stench.

"I doubt Earth organisms have evolved to rot an alien corpse," said Dr. Matheo "Matt" Fiez, with some disdain.

Jonah gave them an exasperated look. Dr. Matt Fiez was the latest addition to his little crew. They were a biologist of some form; based on their name, their accent, and their complexion, Jonah suspected they were Swiss. Perhaps Norwegian. He didn't know; he had no idea where half of his followers came from, secretive as they tended to be. He tried not to let it bother him. What did bother him was how Dr. Fiez seemed far more interested in the monster itself than in what Jonah's organization intended to do with it.

But, then, was that not why Jonah had hired them?

"I doubt Earth organisms have evolved to eat an alien corpse either, but I didn't notice Godzilla suffering any indigestion from swallowing Monster Zero's other head," Jonah said. "Or perhaps it's being rotted by some alien bacteria it carries to Earth with it or some such, I don't know, nevertheless I think we can both agree that it's rotting, hmm?" He gestured impatiently at the massive head. "Which means it's likely too far past its expiration date to do us any good."

They'd put it on ice too late to preserve it, no doubt. Or perhaps they hadn't been able to freeze it all the way through and it was rotting from the center out. Dr. Fiez had objected to attempting to freeze it at all, concerned it could damage the tissue and convinced it would be fine without it. Some expert they were. Even with the ice they'd lost their most valuable titan specimen.

Jonah gave the head one last frustrated look—the surface of its scales were warped in what looked like the beginnings of mushrooms—then let out a frustrated sigh. "Get to work arranging a way to dispose of it—"

"He still has brain activity," Dr. Fiez said.

Jonah blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"He might be decaying on the outside—if that's what this is, decay—but his mind is still firing. He isn't rotten all the way through. He isn't even dead."

"I—w—" For a moment, Jonah was at a loss for words. "And when were you going to share this revelation?"

"When it became important instead of merely interesting. I thought that preventing the head from being thrown out counted," Dr. Fiez said. "If he is rotting, clearly he's too big to rot all at once. There might be damage on the surface, but if part of him is still alive—"

"Yes—fine. We'll keep it. But next time, tell me if it does anything interesting."

Dr. Fiez nodded and smiled.

Jonah didn't quite trust that smile.

###

Life was coming back to the cities that had been ravaged by titan attacks.

Not necessarily the kind of life that anyone wanted. In many cases, not human life. Often not even animal life. Just rampant, unrestricted plant life, very often in places where such abundant plant life had never grown before and ecologically should not grow. Armchair environmental activists who thought the recent devastating loss of life was some sort of net plus crowed about forests rising out of deserts, while ecologists nervously pointed out that there shouldn't have been forests in the deserts in the first place.

But nobody liked what was happening in Boston.

In Boston, as everywhere else, pale little white sprouts had emerged from the ground just a few days after the devastating battle.

But everywhere else, the little sprouts grew leaves, turned green, turned into vibrant verdant life.

In Boston, anything that turned green withered and died. The only things that flourished were the pallid white sprouts, growing ever taller, gradually looking less like new plants and more like fungus—long, slender stalks of mushroom with narrow, cone-shaped caps.

A map of the new sprouts was plotted: someone discovered that the new sprouts were found spraying out in the direction that Godzilla had been facing when he'd incinerated Ghidorah's final head, along the path where the ashes would have fallen.

Every time the sun came out, the fungi got taller and thicker: most of them like long grass that tickled just below the knee, a great many of them as tall as an adult human, and a few already as tall as telephone poles.

And then stalactite-like structures began dripping down from the edges of the pseudo mushroom caps. Stalactite-like... or horn-like; as if each mushroom was a miniature reptilian head pointed toward the sky.

And then the fungi started to turn gold.

And then they grew eyes.

###

Jonah watched the news coming out of Boston obsessively.

It had always been his intent to purge Earth of human life. Humans did not deserve this planet—humans were a parasite.

But he didn't much like the idea of turning the planet over to just another parasitic species. If the sprouts in Boston were what he feared they were—if those millions upon millions of little mushrooms all had the potential to grow as large as Monster Zero...

It wouldn't just be humans that were wiped off the Earth.

Jonah could accept some native Earth species being driven to extinction in his crusade against humanity. But he didn't want them all dead.

The fungi growing out of the head under his control were smaller than the largest in Boston, but many were four feet long and a few were eight. All of them were the same dirty brassy gold of the head they'd spawned from—no time wasted being pale white. Sometimes, if he stared at them long enough, he could see them very slowly twisting and writhing. Sometimes when someone entered the room where they were stored, he could swear they turned toward the new arrival.

"We've got to get rid of it before it becomes a plague," Jonah told Dr. Fiez. "And go help out Boston, most likely—I don't care if we have to nuke the damn city, lord knows the Americans won't have the guts to do that on their own turf—but first we need to deal with our own."

"I suggest we burn them," Dr. Fiez said.

Jonah gave Dr. Fiez a surprised look. "Do you? And here I was sure you'd fight to preserve Monster Zero." He'd almost begun to think they were among the daft fools that had begun worshiping the titans, they regarded their specimen so reverently.

"It's clear that, if left unchecked, they could overrun the world," Dr. Fiez said. "We know that they can still grow even when frozen. Chopping them up does no good—"

"Does it not? How do you know?"

Dr. Fiez blinked. "Boston," they said. "I'm in contact with some biologists there who have taken... trimmings of the new growths. They simply keep growing. Some spawn additional heads from the point they were cut."

"Additional heads. How wonderful."

"And so burning them is the only option."

Jonah nodded slowly. "It'll be quite a conflagration. We'll have to abandon the facility."

"It will be worth it."

"Mm. I'll see how much gas we can get here.”

"We don't know how flammable Ghidorah is. It might be a good idea to add wood to the fire."

"Wood?"

"And perhaps knock out a wall first to ensure the fire gets enough oxygen.”

"A proper funeral pyre. You've put some thought into this." Enough that it made him uneasy, when so recently Dr. Fiez had been so eager to keep their beloved specimen alive. 

Dr. Fiez smiled wanly. "I knew you'd be asking me to kill them soon."

It seemed they both understood each other. "Then let's get to work. We have a fine cremation to prepare for our friend Monster Zero."

###

In Boston, scans of the caps of the tallest fungi revealed a row of hardening internal structures that they feared were teeth.

At Jonah's isolated facility, all their equipment and supplies had been packed into a caravan of SUVs and removed in anticipation of the fire that would destroy this site. The caravan parked far enough away that they could watch the low, unassuming building by binoculars as it went up in flames.

A cell phone signal set off the incendiary charges in the room with Monster Zero's head, which had been packed with the dry fallen trees and branches. It wasn't long until they saw flames shooting through the three skylights that had been blown into the roof.

And then, from amidst the flames, an arc of golden light. And then another.

Like molten glass hardening as it was removed from a kiln and shaped by a glassmaker, the soft white tubes of fungal flesh grew firmer, their edges sharper, their outer layer darker and shining metallic. Thin phlegmy films stretched and tore as bones tore free, only to be covered in new skin. Almost like...

Almost like when Monster Zero had regrown its missing head on Isla de Mara, standing in a pool of fire.

Oh, Jonah was a fool.

More new necks shot out, many with charred black trunks and branches sticking out of the soft fungal flesh. The dead trees were absorbed into the neck before scales formed.

Its regrow the was powered by fire. The physical matter needed to fuel its growth came from the trees. The only thing that slowed it down had been ice.

Jonah turned to look at Dr. Fiez.

Dr. Fiez was beaming gloriously, like a true believer listening to their favorite hymn.

"What have you done?" Jonah demanded. "Why?"

"You consider yourself an environmentalist of sorts, don't you?" Dr. Fiez asked. "You care so much about your planet's ecosystem."

"'Your'?"

Somehow, it had never occurred to Jonah until now to consider the full implications of the fact that Monster Zero was an alien.

Such as to wonder how it had gotten here.

Or whether there were more.

"When I asked to join your organization, I wasn't lying when I said it was because I'm something of a radical environmentalist myself," said Dr. Matt Fiez. "But the interconnected ecosystem I concern myself with is a bit more interstellar than yours."

A hundred necks, necks like spiraling ribbons, necks like writhing tentacles, burst from the building; then the noise of wings, like standing in the middle of a murder of crows as it took off, or like standing in a dark cavern as a colony of bats awoke overhead. Static cracked in the air; the sky darkened with clouds. The first few bolts of lighting shot from the glittering writhing new creatures into the heavens.

In Boston, awoken by a distant psychic signal, millions of fungi a hundred different sizes tore open their new mouths, dragged their wings from the dirt, and roared toward the sky.

At Jonah's isolated facility, Metphies closed their eyes in rapture, listening to the sound.

###

This fic is crossposted to AO3, link in my description. If you enjoyed the fic, a reblog or comment would be appreciated.

[toomanystoriessolittletime]

Christmas Writing Challenge Day 11

“I have been gone for 2 days? How did you manage to cover everything in Christmas lights?” with Loki requested by anon

The mission he had to leave for came just right for your plan. Loki and you had been together for a little over a year. You had been working for the Avengers for quite a while, being one of Bruce Banners lab partners, when Loki was send as a punishment to live together with the Avengers.

He hated it. Of course. After New York and the alien invasion nobody would have ever thought of him coming back to earth. But Odin had different ideas.

Nobody trusted Loki at the beginning of course. It was only after he had saved them all with just a flick of his hand, from being buried under the penthouse walls after they got attacked, that they gave him the benefit of a doubt.

You had lived in the Avengers tower for about a year at that time. You were on your way up to meet Bruce for some lab work when the whole building shook, closing you into the elevator. Jarvis kept you up date to what was happening outside of your tiny prison. You thanked the gods for not being claustrophobic. You were stuck in there for 3 hours, before you felt the elevator move. You could see the green of his magic surrounding you and it wasn't long before the door opened and you looked into Loki's concerned face.

“Are you all right?” He had held out a hand for you as you carefully exited the elevator.

“I'm okay. Thanks for saving me.” You had thanked him. His other hand wrapped around the hand he had already been holding. You couldn't look away from his green deep eyes. You had met him a couple of times on your way to the lab. You didn't really spend time with the other Avengers. Only Bruce and Tony. But their new research project had been Loki. So after your shift ended, he would be with them.

After the attack you fell into some small talk everytime you saw each other. Until Loki asked you, if you would have lunch with him the next day. You still had to grin thinking back to the day you entered the Avengers living quarters going straight to sit with Loki. The more time you had spend together after that, the more you found him fascinating. And when he kissed you after he invited you over for dinner in his apartment (he didn't wanted all the Avengers to watch the two of you) you knew, that you were in love with him. The god of mishief.

Now, living with him in his quarters for almost 3 months, you wanted him to experience the first mortal Christmas activities, as he put it. You didn't waste any time when Loki had to leave for the mission. Asking Jarvis to pull up everything you ordered online during the last weeks. You quickly noticed that you wouldn't be able to out this many decorations on without some magic.

“Jarvis? Is Wanda home?”

“Miss Maximoff is currently in her living chambers.”

“Could you ask her if she had some time for me?”

“Certainly.”

Not 5 minutes later Wanda was standing laughing in your living room.

“You want me to help you put this up?”

“Please. I need to be finished before Loki gets home.”

“He doesn't know?” She arched an eyebrow.

“He never really celebrated Christmas like we on earth do if you know what I mean.”

“Oh.” Wanda only said before red mist surrounded your whole apartment. Only seconds later all the lights were in place and it looked like you were standing in the middle of a Christmas tree

“Oh my god I love it. Thank you so much.” You hugged Wanda.

Loki was exhausted as he got back to the tower. Dealing with his still hesitant Avengers teammates was one thing, leaving you behind on your only days off this week was the other thing. Sure he was happy that another threat against humanity had be taken care off (not that he would ever express this in public) but spending the day with you, preferably in bed, had sounded like heaven to him.

Entering his living chambers all he could see was twinkling light.

“You're home!” He heard your excited voice.

“What happened here?” Loki asked trying to control his facial expression.

“I decorated for Christmas?” You smiled and blinked at him.

“I have been gone for 2 days? How did you manage to cover everything in Christmas lights?” Loki asked.

“You hate it.” You pouted.

“I didn't say that.” He clarified, walking over to you, while he took the decorations in. You knew him good enough by now that you knew he was only teasing you.

Wrapping his arms around you he kissed your head.

“I love it.”

“Thank the gods.” You chuckled and kissed his chin. You couldn't reach his lips.

“Thank the gods.” He whispered and kissed you.

[the-cooler-snimbusjavy]

XCOM: Chimera Squad Character Trivia Masterpost

So with XCOM: Chimera Squad having been out for a bit of time now, I’ve come to love and appreciate every single member of the squad we got, so I went ahead and decided to take a look at everything possible we have on the gang. Between character bios, in-game dialogue and conversations, lines pulled from the config files, concept art, all coupled with my personal interpretation on the information given, I have tried to give a go at making a post with every detail of each character I found worth mentioning (in absolutely no particular order). So, enjoy! Also fair warning, it’s long, ayy

SPOILERS AHEAD While not too important in the great scheme of things in Chimera Squad’s story, do read at your own risk.

.

Terminal - China, 29 years old

Terminal lost her parents during the invasion of 2015. They were a factory worker and a cook. Afterwards, she escaped with her uncle to a relocation camp, who unfortunately died of disease the following year.

After this event, she was adopted by a doctor who lost her only daughter. It was her who inspired Terminal to become a combat medic. In a cruel turn of events, she was killed during a retaliation attack from ADVENT. It is said Terminal’s personality severely shifted after this.

Terminal keeps a photo of her deceased adopted mother in her locker.

She was originally rejected to join the Reclamation Agency, so she requested the use of psionic probes to prove her worth. She was then admitted in probationary period.

Terminal believes Verge is the only one in the team who truly understands her. Verge “knows” this.

Terminal wants to have a fight between hers and Patchwork’s GREMLINs, for “training purposes”.

Terminal nicknames Patchwork “Patches” on occasion.

Whenever Patchwork “smack talks” Terminal down, she expresses she’s “so proud” of her.

Terminal often eats Whisper’s lunches in the fridge, under the excuse that he doesn’t label them.

Terminal seems to know the Jabberwock, and perhaps other stories surrounding it, as she wished to hear Zephyr pronounce said word, likely out of Terminal’s mocking of her Australian accent.

Terminal claims to be the “biggest fan” of conspiracy theorist Floyd Tesseract’s radio show, You Should Have Believed, and is absolutely delighted to meet him. This is much unlike every other member of the team, who all seem to either disregard him, dislike him, or outright suggest he be captured.

According to Terminal, the restorative mist within her GREMLIN is “minty fresh”. It seems Cherub once sniffed it on accident.

Terminal seems to consider Verge’s singing to be “the second worst thing she’s heard all year”.

Whisper accuses Terminal of sleeping during their briefings. According to Terminal, she’s just “resting her eyes”, as well as her “ears” and “interest”.

According to Godmother, Terminal tenses up whenever she pulls the trigger of her gun. Terminal attempts to deny this, unsuccessfully.

According to herself, Terminal has always wanted a “heavily-armored entourage”.

Terminal doesn’t know what a vertipad is, and upon learning of it, she questions who calls them that way, thinking it “stupid”. Seemingly, everyone else on the squad calls them by their name without issue.

According to Terminal, she’s never gonna retire, she expects to just die some day in the field (five years at most). Afterwards she confesses that she’s no good anywhere else, suggesting that she has an issue in finding direction with her life. Godmother claims that she knows well what she means.

Verge - ~40 years old

Verge originally worked alongside Thin Men in order to infiltrate society and psionically control them to share good word of the Elders’ occupation of Earth. It was due to his constant exposure to human thoughts that gained him empathy.

He worked as a mole during the events of XCOM 2 and provided the Resistance with information, making him the only* known alien to aid XCOM during their war against ADVENT. (*Ethereal Asaru is theorized to have aided XCOM by merging with the Commander, and sometimes even implied, but it still remains devoid of official word about it)

Sectoids can mind-merge with someone in order to “taste” whatever they may be eating. He suggests doing this with Cherub by offering to go to a new restaurant that serves “authentic old world cuisine”, but only with Cherub’s own consent.

Sectoids, and Verge as an extension, seemingly cannot eat terrestrial meat and eggs, or “greasy” food as worded by Cherub.

On that note, it would seem Sectoids are also intolerant to jam, as it’s considered poison for them. It’s possible Godmother was aware of this fact, as she instead replaces “jam“ with “butter“ during a phrase pre-mission.

Verge recognizes his acts during the original invasion were wrong, and there having been worse alternatives don’t excuse his actions still, according to him.

That said, he doesn’t seem to want to talk about his part in it, when asked by Godmother if he regret any of it.

Verge finds butter delicious, though he also believes the consumption of “the churned remains of another lactating mammal” to be slightly disturbing.

Terminal seems to be “creeped out” by Verge’s Battle Madness ability. Blueblood similarly finds it unsettling, yet still appreciates the “breathing room”. Surprisingly, Torque seems to outright love it, and even requests Verge to have the enemy “dance”.

Cats apparently find Sectoids to be adversaries for undisclosed reasons as declared by Verge, yet according to Axiom, he’s seen “a lot of Sectoids with cats”.

Verge keeps a ramen shop sticker, as well as an excerpt of a ramen cooking magazine in his locker, suggesting either or both an interest in cooking and enthusiasm towards this particular dish.

It seems Verge was acquainted with conspiracy theorist Floyd Tesseract during the invasion, claiming that he was “just as insufferable“ throughout it as he is now.

Verge enjoys “messing” with Whisper whenever he makes a comm check, by instead listening to him psionically. Whisper at least appreciates the honesty.

Verge seems to respect and care greatly for the Archons, as he states they will never be slaves again, and that the Progeny will do them no harm. He becomes particularly angry when threatened by the terrorist faction.

Verge claims that he enjoys collecting old watches.

Godmother - France, 48 years old

Godmother lost track of her family during the 2015 invasion. She spent a year looking for them, with no result.

Godmother does not consider herself a leader, but rather a teacher. This is the case in her old job as a police trainer, as a member of the Resistance, and now as provisional member of Chimera Squad.

Godmother plans to retire soon, but has decided to stick around Chimera Squad to aid them until she feels they are truly ready.

Terminal seems to be an example of the above, with Godmother constantly guiding the former.

Godmother witnessed Cherub’s adoption papers under request of Headquarters. She also signed them in addition.

Godmother believes Cherub has a talent to “bring people together”.

Godmother seems to consider the Sacred Coil faction as “re-heated ADVENT propaganda”.

Godmother seems to be good with card games as she claims her hobby to be “bluffing” with them, after being asked by Cherub if she had any.

According to Verge, Godmother still does not trust aliens. However, she’s actively trying to do so, which Verge claims is enough.

On the same note, Godmother is said to not trust the world leaders after surrendering so quickly, suggesting over the years she’s lived with trusting issues around her.

According to Godmother, she was once pinned down in a bank of Paris for three days.

Godmother seems to enjoy crêpes, as she orders Terminal to “stop making her hungry” after the latter desired donuts and crêpes respectively during a mission.

Godmother seems to be proud of her French heritage, as she keeps a touristic poster of the Arc de Triomphe in her locker.

Alongside this, a photo of presumably Godmother herself and a long-haired blonde woman both in police uniform is present. Who this woman is is not disclosed.

Cherub - Estonia, 5 years old

Cherub belonged to a batch of ADVENT clones under the name of the Empty Cohort, who never got to receive the respective indoctrination.

After being discovered there, Cherub was only recently adopted by the two resistance members who originally found him in his ADVENT facility of origin, as they found themselves responsible for him and his safety. They fell in love precisely due to this, having married one year prior to the events of XCOM: Chimera Squad.

On the same topic, Cherub keeps a picture of himself and his parents in his locker.

Alongside the aforementioned picture, Cherub keeps a card celebrating his fifth birthday. It presumably comes from his parents, seeing he put it alongside their picture.

Cherub was originally a clone of Bellus Mar, former ADVENT Officer and leader of the Sacred Coil terrorist faction. Cherub seems to be concerned of his teammates believing something of Mar could potentially be present in himself, which Director Kelly assures is not the case.

Cherub believes that friendship cannot be forced on others, and is content with simply letting others know that they are not alone.

Despite this, his naturally innocent and naive attitude allows Zephyr to use him as a “practice dummy”.

Cherub used to pronounce DJ as “deej” before he actually heard it aloud.

Cherub believes that it would be normal that everyone voiced whatever was exactly in their mind, without having the need to hide anything. Verge reveals to him that rarely do people do so, and that they choose to hide many things for a number of reasons. Cherub believes it to be too much work to think about, so he’d rather say things as he actually means to say.

Cherub believes sunrise, waffles, laughter, and wood smoke to be important things of life.

Cherub doesn’t understand the protection of money. He believes it’s not as rewarding as protecting people.

According to himself, Cherub is “so bad” at riddles.

Cherub enjoys watching wrestling from the old world whenever he gets the chance to find it. Whisper offers to search some for him, however, still forbids him to actually compete in it.

Cherub enjoys making puns and, apparently, he was taught of them by Whisper, who seemingly now regrets his decision.

Patchwork - Mexico, 29 years old

Patchwork lost her legs and left arm during the invasion of 2015. ADVENT provided her with new ones as part of their propaganda plan.

It was Patchwork herself who orchestrated her escape from the ADVENT City Centers, in order to join the Resistance.

Patchwork doesn’t name her GREMLINs anymore, presumably as they usually tend to be destroyed, as per Cherub’s inquiry. She counts at least 25 destroyed GREMLINs, one in particular destroyed by a Muton

Everyone apparently hates the androids they use on reinforcements for undisclosed reasons. Patchwork is the exception, as she considers them “robot friends” who fill in when they cannot.

On that note, it seems Patchwork is very protective of any sort of Android, and even refers to those stolen by Sacred Coil as her “niños” (Spanish for children).

Contrary to common belief within the squad, Patchwork did not choose her callsign due to her own state. In Terminal’s words, it was due to her affinity at “slapping software together”, and that everyone who thinks otherwise is an idiot.

Patchwork sometimes wonders if she and Terminal should switch callsigns, under the reasoning that she “works with computer terminals”, while Terminal “patches people back up”.

On the same note, Patchwork claims Terminal’s mouth moves at “terminal velocity”. The latter finds this very amusing.

Patchwork seems to refer to psionics as some sort of “music”. Stating she enjoys the “tune” of Shelter’s psi abilities, as well as claiming that Progeny’s leader Violet’s own sounds like a “symphony”. Similarly, when failed to be mind-controlled she states she doesn’t enjoy that kind of “music”.

Patchwork believes the ADVENT Gene Therapy clinics should not have been outlawed, as she considers ADVENT themselves to be the ones to blame for what they did to humanity, not the “tool” itself.

Patchwork is seemingly not allowed to enter tech vaults anymore. According to her, it was due to her mistakenly pushing a particular button that started some form of countdown. Seemingly, Director Kelly was “nearly irradiated” due to this mishap.

According to herself, Patchwork doesn’t like to go dancing, though it’s most likely due to the fact she distrusts the people running clubs.

Patchwork seems to be close to both Lily Shen and Richard Tygan, as she keeps a photo of herself alongside them both in her locker (John Bradford and the Commander can be seen in the background, with the latter strategically concealed).

Having worked as an engineer in the Avenger during XCOM 2, coupled with their personal love of robotics, her bond with Shen is easily explained.

As for Tygan, it is presumed by many he was the man in charge of providing a young Patchwork with her first prosthetic arm and legs back during his ADVENT days, explaining their bond now both together as members of XCOM.

Axiom - Born within an invasion ship, 46 years old

Mutons are apparently issued pet cats to demonstrate their capacity for compassion. Axiom did not get one as he proved himself while saving human lives during the Bugtown Massacre under his own initiative.

Despite this fact, Axiom still seems to be greatly fond of cats, as he owns a sticker of one surrounded by hearts in his locker.

According to Axiom, Mutons had a “spiritual connection” with their starships, returning to it signified some form of “pilgrimage”. Axiom’s ship, however, was destroyed back in 2015.

On this topic and true Muton nature, Axiom is fond of the space as well. He keeps a poster of Earth’s solar system in his locker.

Axiom considers Blueblood’s choice of weaponry to be inferior and small. However, after Blueblood explains his strategy of it being so unnoticeable that enemies focus on Axiom instead so then the former can pick up on those distracted, Axiom praises his cunning and respects the strategy.

Axiom believes Claymore fights like a woman, in that he’s fearless, calm under pressure, and is an inspiration to squadmates to give their all. After claiming he learned much from his sister, Axiom praises her as formidable and wishes to meet her, despite her views on the current world.

Axiom is surprised Godmother managed to fight and survive during the invasion of Paris, in her homeland in France. According to Axiom, the mortality rate was extremely high. They soon decide not to continue the conversation.

Apparently, Axiom wishes new boots, as his current footwear seemingly “pinch his ankles”.

Both Axiom and Torque seem to agree that Andromedons are “the worst”.

According to Axiom, Gray Phoenix leaders Custodian Xel and Crew Chief Yarvo’s names are aliases, and starship dialect. Xel meaning “good route” or “safe passage”, whereas Yarvo means “newly forged” or “birthed in flame”.

Claymore - India, 32 years old

Claymore has an older sister that he apparently worked with alongside the Resistance. According to Claymore, she’s the one that taught him many of the things he knows. However, she also seemingly has not come to terms with the current state of the world, presumably the peace between humans and aliens.

Other than her, Claymore also seemed to have an older brother. He, alongside their mother, however, lost their lives during the 2015 invasion.

Claymore worked on the Avenger during the events of XCOM 2, disassembling recovered alien explosives.

Claymore appears to be religious, as he claims that prayer brings him peace of mind. As to what religion he follows, is not disclosed.

When asked by Verge how he attains the aforementioned peace of mind, Claymore also adds that he does exercise and that he allows himself to love the world and the people around him.

On that same note, Claymore states that he “never touches” caffeine.

Claymore seems to enjoy food overall, and also appears to be a good cook, as he brings enough fish curry he made for everyone upon his arrival.

He and Verge enjoy visiting ramen shops together, cataloguing the good and bad places. They plan to go to the recently opened shop U.F.Oodle.

Claymore and Torque seem to have a thing against each other, referring to the other as a “rebel goon” and a “despotic flunkie”, respectively. Whisper facetiously refers to their aversion as “young love”.

Torque - Siberia, 20 years old

Torque was offered to act as “opposing force“ in training of XCOM agents post-war. She accepted as she considered prison to be “boring“.

During these events, Torque formed a bond with then-Colonel Jane Kelly, who seems to be the only person Torque truly respects and appreciates. It was thanks to her Torque was admitted into the Reclamation Agency and Chimera Squad.

Torque is afraid of losing her friends, so she tries hard to push them away with her unwelcoming attitude. This is due to her fear of forming bonds, since they may not come back from a fight the next day. She is incredibly self-aware of this fact. Director Kelly offers to talk with her about it, which Torque accepts.

On that same note, Godmother claims that Torque does in fact care about getting her team’s respect and appreciation, a topic Torque evidently wishes to avoid.

Despite these facts, Torque seems to be keen on improving as a person, as her locker shows she owns a book under the name of Meditation for the Exceptionally Stressed.

Torque sees herself as an earthling, as she was born on Siberia in 2020.

Torque seems to have something against off-worlders, but it’s unknown if this is due to her attitude, guilt about her own actions during the war that she projects against others, or legitimate aversion against them.

Terminal seems to be absolutely thrilled whenever Torque uses her Tongue Pull with the former, with her exclaiming she wants to “go again”.

Torque seems to have a heavy disliking of Whisper for undisclosed reasons, under occasions having suggested him to perform a lobotomy, as well as telling him to “bite his tongue off and bleed to death” after he asks the team to bring him a “souvenir” from a Viper-themed mature bar.

After Whisper reveals himself to be Canadian, Torque claims Canadians taste like maple. Whether it’s her joking with Whisper or not is not confirmed.

Torque believes Codexes to be “insufferable show-offs”. On that note, she’s always believed they judged her with their “creepy glowing eyes”.

Torque seems to enjoy drawing, as she keeps a bunch of sketches in her locker, most notably of terrestrial creatures like dogs and frogs. But most importantly, she has one of Axiom in civilian clothing eating noodles, scribbled in it reads “I’m never eating anything else ever again” in Axiom’s perspective. Axiom himself keeps this sketch on his own locker, demonstrating he values it.

Also present on her locker seems to be a touristic poster of the northern lights, presumably Siberian, suggesting she’s fond of her birthplace.

Blueblood - United States, 34 years old

Blueblood managed to live a peaceful life with his family under City 31 during the ADVENT regime. Despite this, he helped others where he could, even members of the Resistance.

Blueblood seems to love and respect his father dearly, as he decided to continue the family tradition of being policemen. The former also keeps a picture of them both after a fishing trip.

On the same note, Blueblood seems to be a fishing enthusiast, as he keeps a poster of the various fishes near City 31.

Blueblood personally knows City 31’s Police Department’s Commissioner Maloof, and even seems to be on friendly terms with her, calling her by her first name, Halia.

Blueblood is seemingly concerned that Terminal seems to be far too eager to put herself into danger. According to her, it’s just that she understands the concept of ”acceptable risk”. Blueblood fears it’s a “death wish“.

Blueblood states that he would not shoot any of his teammates, not even with training purposes, after being asked by Cherub. He instead suggests him to use the ballistic mannequins they already possess.

Blueblood states that Godmother reminds him of his mother, in that she lead his whole family without ever taking charge herself, always pushing them enough to reach their potential. Godmother claims that Blueblood has exceeded his.

Blueblood’s mother passed away back in 2014 due to cancer, and the former claims that “this time of year” always hits him due to it (presumably somewhere between March and May). That said, he’s glad she never got to live to witness the invasion.

On this note, Shelter feels the need to comfort him after noticing something was wrong. Blueblood appreciates this.

Blueblood states that his father used to love heist movies, and the two of them watched them together.

According to Blueblood, ADVENT’s soldiers helmets are “stupid”.

Shelter - Chile, 36 years old

Shelter lived in a big family, but got separated from them during the 2015 invasion.

He was found and experimented on by ADVENT after discovering he had latent psionic potential, forcing him to kill and torture “criminals“ with his abilities. This affected him to the point of crying. He managed to escape from them afterwards.

Shelter is a proud farmer. He was taken in by the Resistance thanks to these skills, and in his locker he keeps a picture of a younger self standing in front of plentiful crops, as well as posters promoting new “delicious and nutritious” breeds of vegetables.

Shelter seems to enjoy chilli, as he was joyed to have some upon his arrival.

Shelter doesn’t like to read other’s minds, as evidenced by Cherub playfully asking him to read his, with Shelter claiming that he “would never” do so.

Shelter knew to some capacity of the Progeny’s leader, Violet. Upon his escape, he psionically contacted her during the event, but then lost connection. Presumably, she was yet to lose her mind due to ADVENT’s experimentations on her. He refers to this connection of emotions as a sort of “poem”.

Shelter is very fond of his squadmates, complimenting them whenever the chance is available, as well as exclaiming against enemies that he won’t allow them to hurt his friends.

Claymore seems to hate it whenever Shelter switches their positions with Relocate, as it makes him feel “queasy”. Blueblood similarly thinks it’s “freaky”. Cherub, on the other hand, consider it to be “so fun”.

According to himself, Shelter doesn’t like banks.

Shelter doesn’t understand why their enemies, in particular members of the Gray Phoenix faction, would be willing to die for their causes.

According to himself, Shelter’s teeth itch, or otherwise rattle, whenever there’s high spikes of power or energy. It’s unknown if this is normal in other human psions.

It would appear that Shelter has a crush on Zephyr, as the latter noticed his face turned red whenever she was around (which she mistook for anger). After discovering this, Zephyr does not seem to be visibly upset, but perhaps surprised, to which Shelter reacts with embarrassment.

Zephyr - Australia, 33 years old

Zephyr is not a clone unlike many former ADVENT soldiers. She presumably was amongst the first humans to be turned into hybrids and then brainwashed to follow the ADVENT regime, presumably similar to Sacred Coil leader Bellus Mar, off whom Cherub was cloned from. It is not known, however, if Zephyr was cloned at any point.

After being liberated the the Skirmishers faction, she joined their ranks and operated near City 31.

Zephyr seemingly does not want hammocks in HQ as per Patchwork’s desire to improve the place. Apparently, there was a mishap regarding this in the past.

According to herself, it seems Zephyr has “always wished” to go bowling.

At least visibly, Zephyr seems to not be too fond of Cherub, as she’s seen referring to him as “knock-off” on occasion.

According to Zephyr, “punch-a-bastard-in-the-face” day is a “roving holiday”, which she enjoys to celebrate.

Zephyr seems to refer to Patchwork as a “nerd”, as she stood by her words whenever the latter was offended by Zephyr’s accusation towards computer-savvy Gray Phoenix members.

Zephyr believes that she has no place in the Skirmishers (or anywhere)  anymore as it began accepting more clones, and due to the fact of her not knowing of her own past as a human. Claymore expresses his profound disagreement, and even though Zephyr states it’s not as simple, she appreciates the words.

[m00nslippers]

Everyone Crushing on Jason 2

Today is my birthday, and I’ve got a present for you all! It’s chapter 2 of the ECoJ AU! Later tonight I’m going to post the first on AO3 under the title Jay-Crazy, then a few days later I will add this chapter tow it and then all future chapters will be simulposted. So I hope you all enjoy this slice of complete crack.

If you missed Chapter 1, it’s here.

- - -

“Holy shit, who is that?” Hal demanded of Barry, jabbing his friend with his elbow to get the hero's attention.

They were in the Watchtower Satellite after routing a poorly orchestrated alien invasion attempt. Even compared to the usual morons that thought they could conquer Earth despite it's super-powered protectors, it had been especially inept and the whole endeavor had barely made it to the ground. Martian Manhunter, Cyborg and the Watchtower scanners had detected the alien vessels quickly and, once hostility was ascertained, the satellite and vacuum-hardy heroes like the Kryptonians and Lanterns  lit their asses up. A small force managed to slip by their attacks and make it to the Earth, but according to MM, a hastily dispatched contingent of available JLA members mopped them up easily enough. Hal hadn't heard any of the reports, was actively avoiding them to be honest, but everyone seemed to have come out of the incident alright except the bad guys, so he'd say everyone in participation had earned a beer, especially himself for being a front-line badass. Too bad he was stuck on the Watchtower until the all-clear went through.

He and Barry had just managed to dodge an after-action report with ugh Batman and were loitering in the infirmary—partly because Barry suggested they should be around in case anyone needed more hands with the injured, but mostly because Hal had found out the Bat was allergic to medical care—when Hal's eyes had zoned-in like a laser on the most exquisite pair of tits he'd ever seen on a man.

Jesus that chest was toned! Hal didn't know what kind of exorcize gave a guy pecs developed enough to spill out of your hand, but this guy was doing them and clearly never skipped. Hal was damn near hypnotized as he watched the man strip out of thigh holsters and shrug out of black reinforced-Kevlar body armor that zipped up from the back, revealing a body like a battle axe, hard, cut and stacked, shoulders broad and muscular. The man's legs were insane, his thighs were bigger than Hal's head! He looked like he could dead-lift Hal with one hand and Hal was suddenly wishing the guy would try.

Hal had pretty much been sold before he managed to take in the full package, but lighting on the guy's face Hal realized he was young, in his early to mid twenties, and almost painfully good-looking, even with the domino mask obscuring his eyes. His hair was dark and had a hint of a wave, longer on the top of his head and short at the sides, and at his temple was an interesting streak of white. His face was long and he had a wide, dynamic mouth that was on the verge of a snarl as he argued something with—oh, hey, Nightwing! Damn, he'd been so distracted with the view that he somehow missed that Nightwing, AKA the best ass in the entire vigilante community, was trying to stitch up a nasty three-inch gash in the mystery man's side that should have curbed Hal's arousal but somehow just made him hotter. Yeah, Hal liked the battle-worn and sweaty look all of a sudden.  

Barry squinted where Hal was staring (he assumes, Hal refused to look away from those drool-worthy abs, squeezable pecs and powerful arms and back muscles that had him drooling a puddle on the infirmary floor). Luckily his friend had an answer for him because Hal needed a name to put to that amazing piece of real estate ripe for the tapping that had presented itself before him.

Barry's voice was incredulous as he answered, “That's Red Hood. You know, the guy we all voted into the JLA two nights ago?”

Eh, Hal never paid attention at those things. “Remind me, will you?”

“Gotham Vigilante. Like Nightwing, he used to be Robin. He was a bit of a villain until a few years ago, but he's cleaned up his act and Batman vouched for him—which is all information you should know if you listened at the meetings,” Barry complained. “Don't tell me you voted for someone without knowing anything about them again, Hal...”

Hal tore his gaze away from the smoking hot Red Hood so he could roll his eyes at Barry. “Does it really matter? You listen to the boring stuff and look into all these people and I just vote what you vote.”

Barry sighed, wearily shaking his head. “Hal, that's not--”

Hal raised his fingers to Barry's lips and cut his friend off mid-sentence. “Shh—Daddy's on the prowl,” he whispered and bobbed his eyebrows suggestively.

The speedster's wince was clearly communicated despite his mask as he shoved Hal's hand away from his mouth. “Please don't let me ever hear you refer to yourself as 'Daddy' again, Hal. I'm begging you.”

Hal smirked and clapped his friend on the shoulder. “Begging me, huh? Don't let Iris hear about this, she'll be jealous.”

“Why are we friends again? I can't say anything to you,” Barry mused, covering his face in embarrassment, ready to phase through the floor to disappear from the conversation.

“Don't know, but here is where I leave you, pal.” Hal gave a lazy two-fingered salute and grinned. “I've got a pair of pants to get into or die trying—and the pants don't belong to me!”

“I don't even know what to say...” he heard Barry profess as Hal smoothed his hair and strode confidently across the infirmary floor to where his future—Boyfriend? Sex friend? Morning regret? He'd take what he could get, honestly—had an arm resting on Nightwing's back while the other vigilante was underneath it, bent over his side, putting stitches into the long red gash across the man's ribs. And honestly it spoke to the power, or maybe just the novelty, of his new obsession that he wasn't drifting behind Nightwing to get a view of his fantastic booty, but was marching straight up to Red Hood, ignoring Nightwing almost entirely.

But no sooner had he stepped up to the plate then Guy Goddamn Gardner stepped out in front of him with his dumb red hair and his cocksure strut, cutting off his path.

“Hey, is that your jacket, there? Looks nice,” his rival Lantern said, nodding to a brown leather jacket laying on the medical cot next to Red Hood.

Guy's head blocked his view as he raised a brow in disbelief. 'Hey, is that your jacket, there'? 'Looks nice'? What kind of opening line was that? The hell was Guy playing at?

The Red Hood looked up from where he'd been scowling at the floor—damn, his scowl was mean, it was freaking hot—to eye Guy with the confused incredulity such a stupid ice-breaker deserved.

“Uh, thanks?” Hood said, sounding confused as to why anyone was talking to him, which was vaguely adorable to Hal for some reason. “'s kinda breezy, though. Gotta few bullets holes I haven't patched up yet.”

Hal thought he was going to melt into the floor. Shit, even Red Hood's voice was hot. On the deeper end of baritone with a street-sounding drawl Hal had only ever heard in movies because most people didn't actually have accents that strong.

Gotham vigilante, huh? He sure sounded like it. Hal usually had a 'no Bats' policy when it came to pretty much everything in his life he could manage, but this guy seemed different, more chill, more down to Earth than the usual Bat—or maybe Hal was just making excuses to justify sucking face with the guy. Whatever, he wasn't about to question it. The dick wants what the dick wants.

“Yeah, I used to do the whole leather jacket biker-schtick,” Guy said, his usual cockiness leaking into his tone as he flipped up the collar to his vest as if he actually thought he looked cool emulating a 60s greaser. He pointed a thumb at himself with pride as he said, “I incorporated it into my Lantern uniform and everything. It's a one of a kind style in the corps.” Hal could hear the attempt at a smolder in Guy's voice as it dropped half an octave and he praised, “I bet it doesn't look as good on me as it does on you, though.”

Red Hood's expression slanted into bafflement, mind clearly whirring as he processed the words spoken to him, turning them over every which way before hitting on the realization that he'd just been hit on. All at once Red Hood's cheeks blushed pink and he reached a hand up to tug through his hair anxiously, almost as if he wasn't used to people pulling out corny one-liners trying to get his attention and he had no idea what to do about it. It was so damn cute that Hal's brain momentarily ceased to function. Hal was stunned, amazed, incredibly turned on. What the hell, how does someone who looked like they could punch a hole in a car door, no powers necessary, and shoot you without remorse, look that sweet and innocent? It would be wrong if it wasn't so sexy.

Crap, he couldn’t let this go on. Hal had to get in there and break this up or he was going to be shown up by freaking Guy Gardner of all people, and that was something he simply couldn’t allow, especially when someone this good-looking was on the line.

“Okay, move over Horatio, the real Green Lantern has arrived,” Hal said, reaching out to physically maneuvered Guy out of his way before the other Lantern realized what was happening. Taking advantage of the opening, Hal swooped in to his place in front of the delectable Red Hood, whose eyes flicked from Guy to Hal and back quickly, with the almost creepy assessing intelligence that Gotham vigilante's were known for.

Hal offered a hand and his most dazzling smile. “Hi, Red Hood? I'm Hal Jordan, AKA Green Lantern, AKA Earth's first and best Green Lantern, AKA one of the JLA's founding members. I hear you just got accepted into the league, congrats! I bet you'll be a worthy addiction—I mean, addition, around here. Maybe after Wings finishes fixing you up I could show you around? I know all the best spots to avoid Batman.”

The Red Hood didn't take his hand but his mouth stretched into a lop-sided grin, a thing of brightness with a hint of mischief that had Hal going weak in the knees and he didn't know what he said to get said smile but damn was he going to enjoy it. Red Hood snorted in amusement. “'All the best spots to avoid Batman', huh? Maybe I'll take you up on tha—ow!”

Red Hood scowled down at Nightwing who was glaring at the Red Hood's wound as he tied off his stitches. “Oops,” he deadpanned, sliding his disapproving gaze Hal's way. Hal narrowed his eyes back, not sure when the guy had put on that party-pooper bat-look Hal hated, but now he suddenly couldn’t forget the other vigilante had worn the cowl of his greatest rival, world-class busybody Bruce Wayne. He'd always liked Nightwing better in the role of the big bat—he was more laid back, he cracked jokes even if they were mostly stupid puns—but he might have to reassess that opinion. Apparently Nightwing had picked up a thing or two from his mentor. Specifically, how to make Hal feel like scum for breathing.

Hal opened his mouth to ask Nightwing why he was here and what his relationship even was with Red Hood, but before he could confront his potential cockblock, Guy grabbed Hal by the arm and dragged him away to the corner of the room with a mumbled, “Excuse us, guys...” as Hal complained, “Hey, easy on the goods there, Guy!”

As soon as they were out of ear-shot, Guy rounded on Hal with fury in his face. His usually pale complexion was flushed red with anger and embarrassment, twin to his fiery red hair.

Guy shoved Hal hard enough to rock him back on his heels, whisper-shouting, “What the hell, Jordan! Why you gotta butt into my business?”

Hal scoffed. “Your business? No no no, I let you have first crack, but now it's my turn.”

Guy snorted and got in his face, as if he actually thought he could back down the GL Corps original 'man without fear' with his inadequate self. Please, Guy wasn't even close to his level. “You didn't let me do anything, Jordan. I saw him first and you just shoved your way in, like an asshole!”

Hal threw up his hands, unrepentant. “Hey, the man has a right to make his own choices, and clearly the better choice is yours truly. I'm just presenting him the option of my amazing self.”

Guy looked ready to strangle him with his bare hands, which was pretty typical of the man. “Why do you always have to be number one, huh Jordan?” he demanded and an edge of pleading entered his voice that put a momentary damper on Hal's sense of entitlement. “I might have found my soulmate here, why can't you just let me have this?”

Hal frowned, suddenly uncertain. Did Guy know Red Hood previously and have some relationship with him Hal didn't know? Was there some connection between the two that Hal was selfishly getting in the middle of?

“Soulmate?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest and regarding his fellow Lantern with skeptical but open ears. “You think Red Hood is the one, huh? What makes you think that?”

Guy's face turned dreamy-eyed and dopey as he explained, “I saw him right-hook an alien in the jaw, take the goon's own gun and blast his face off in a quarter of a second, then back-flip off a car and detonate an explosion that wiped out a landing craft. I fell in love instantly Hal, this is the real deal, man!”

Oh, so he didn't have a connection, Guy was just being typical Guy.

Hal rolled his eyes, unimpressed. “He's not your soul-mate, you just saw him do something badass and now your smitten!”

“Well you just saw him take off his shirt and now your smitten,” Guy countered with a snarl, “At least my reason isn't superficial!”

Hey, physical attraction was usually the first step to a relationship, or so he'd heard somewhere. It was human nature to see a hot body and go after it. “There's nothing wrong with—”

“Hey!” Hal heard as someone snapped their fingers in front of his nose and he looked over to see another fellow Lantern, Kyle Rayner, gracing both of his predecessors with something like irritated disbelief. “Are you two seriously fighting over Jason Todd of all people?”

“So his name is 'Jason Todd'?” Guy perked up, voice soft, “I love it. It just perfectly captures his, like, his everything, and—”

Hal shook his head. “Words are not your strong suit Guy, just stop.” Please.

Kyle pinched the bridge of his nose beneath his Green Lantern's mask, wearing a pained look as he said, “Okay, let's just put on hold the absurdity that is anyone thinking that dickhead Todd is attractive enough to pursue despite his garbage fire of a personality--”

“Woah, that's a bit harsh Rayner,” Hal said with a raised eyebrow, taken aback by the fierceness of Kyle's insult. What the heck? The kid was usually so nice. What did he have against the other man, how did he even know him?

“—aside from all the obvious reasons Todd is a bad idea,” Kyle went on, ignoring him. “If you're really interested, then you guys have way bigger problems than each other.”

Guy crossed his arms and tilted his head in question. “The heck are you talking about?”

Kyle jerked a thumb behind him and Hal looked over his shoulder to find the object of his and Guy's affections, Red Hood, one Jason Todd, was crowded by no less than Supergirl, Superboy, Booster Gold, Arsenal and Starfire, as Nightwing and Orphan hovered nearby like stodgy nannies. Kara had actually latched onto one of Red Hood's arms like a leach and was pressing her breasts against the man's biceps as she covertly ran her eyes all over him, no doubt putting her Kryptonian x-ray vision to good use (so unfair). Superboy—the older one, Kent's kinda-clone, not his kid—was trying to shove Kara out of the way and insert himself into the conversation, but the girl was clinging fast and refused to let go. Booster Gold was yacking and gesticulating, trying to draw attention to himself, but Red Hood seemed to be ignoring him in favor of chatting with Green Arrow's old partner and the Tamaranean princess who were looking way too friendly, with Starfire's hand on his shoulder and Arsenal poking at his ribs, as Red Hood swatted back.

“What the hell is this?” Hal demanded, the unfairness of it all pissing him off. “We were there first, come on!”

“I was there first,” Guy corrected and clicked his tongue angrily. “Man, this is freaking bullshit. This is all your fault, Jordan!”

Hal huffed, indignant. “My fault? You're the one who dragged us away! If you hadn't we—”

“Seriously guys, don't fight over the Red Hood. He's the worst,” Kyle spat with an uncharacteristic vehemence. “He thinks with his gun instead of his head and he's a broody goth-nerd lone-wolf-wannabe who he doesn't know when to quit!”

Guy's face screwed up in confusion. “What's your angle here, Kyle? You're just making him sound hotter.”

Kyle put a hand on Guy's shoulder, inviting him to listen closely as he explained, “Look, he's not hot—I mean, yeah he is, he's like crazy hot—but he's not, trust me.”

Guy looked like his brain was struggling to keep up with Kyle's non-logic. Actually, Hal's was too. “You are making no sense,” Hal informed the kid.

Kyle didn't look especially bothered. “Just don't fight, okay? Seriously, I'll sic John on you.”

Oh, not John Stewart-stick-in-the-mud! He'd shut down their whole operation like the by-the-book buzzkill he was! Damn, when did Rayner get so bitter? The kid was still in his twenties but he was already old and jaded and wise to he and Guy's ways.

“Woah, calm down,” Hal said evenly, as if soothing a potential jumper away from the edge. “We don't need to get John involved. We're cool, right Guy?”

Guy was a bit closer to John than Hal was, so he wasn't sure if the other Lantern would back his play on keeping the third Lantern out of it, but Guy also seemed to realize they needed to think smart here.

“Yeah, we can act civil about this. Probably,” Guy said, fluttering his lashes innocently.

Okay, 'smart' was relative.

Kyle rolled his eyes, not in the least sorry that he was trying to ruin their day with a lecture from John about GL solidarity and keeping your mind out of the gutter, or whatever rules the architect-ex-Marine followed to keep his nose so damn clean.

“Yeah, sure you can,” was Kyle's skeptical retort. The younger man rolled his shoulders wearily and finally seemed to let up on the oppressive tone. “Well, I'm out of here—they sent out the all-clear, no casualties, so I'm flying to my apartment to crash.”

“Okay, goodnight, I guess. Good work out there,” Hal said by way of a goodbye.

The younger Lantern smiled back, suddenly more himself. “Thanks. You guys too.” As he started to walk away Kyle hesitated and stabbed a finger their way, saying, “And if you take my advice you'll stay away from Todd.”

With that, Kyle set off toward the door, only pausing as he walked passed Red Hood and his accumulated admirers to sling a snarky, “Not dead yet, asshole? Shame.”

Jason immediately reacted, throwing up a middle finger as he tossed out a, “Fuck you, Bitch-Lantern,” that sounded almost playful. “I've already come back once, what makes you think I wouldn't rise up from the grave just to kick your ass?”

Kyle was still walking towards the door, yelling back, “I'd like to see you try, Failure-Robin.”

“Suck a dick, Rayner, I could bend you in half,” Jason retorted easily.

“I've got a piece of alien jewelry that says otherwise.”

“I bet your ring runs out of power before I run out of bullets.”

Kyle huffed. “Pff, whatever.” He turned the corner out the door with a much more friendly, “See ya nerd.”

Red Hood rolled his eyes and flapped a dismissive hand at him. “See ya geek.”

Hal stared wide-eyed and dazed in Kyle's wake. The hell was all that? How the heck did Kyle know Red Hood, Jason Todd? And what was with all the belligerent sexual tension? Did he have to worry about Kyle now too? Damn it, this was getting out of hand!

“That kid's a problem,” Hal muttered darkly.

Guy looked like he had somehow fallen even deeper in love after hearing his crush shout at Kyle to suck a dick. “Shit, this is bad,” he said and Hal wasn't entirely sure what Guy meant by it, but he was also certain that the man was correct.

“I hate to say it, but I agree.” Hal chewed his lip, for the first time beginning to think this wouldn't be an open and shut case of show-up-get-laid. He might actually have to work for his prize. It would probably be worth it, though. God, but he could die happy crushed between those beefy thighs.

“Maybe we should...I don't know, join forces or something,” Guy offered.

Hal frowned. “How would that work?”

Guy raised both brows and pointed at himself with a deprecating chuckle. “You're asking me?”

Of course, what was he thinking? “Good point, um...” Hal thought a moment before he said, “How about...we share information and give each other space to work, but everyone else is the enemy. If either of us land him we back off.”

Guy nodded. “I'm game. Truce?”

“Truce,” Hal answered. They sealed their alliance with a fist bump, ring to ring, and both Lantern rings sparked green briefly. Hal and Guy dropped their hands and moved to regard their competition with zealous scrutiny.

“Right,” Hal said after a moment to strategize. “Now let's get in there. You try to push out Booster and the ex-Titans and I'll take the Supers.”

Guy punched a fist into his hand and grinned, ready for a brawl. “Got it.”

[astranne]

Crossover Idea Transformers/Voltron

So, another idea. Boy- today is the night of story ideas. I’m totally writing an oneshot about this, probably in german.

This one is about Voltron, yk rainbow paladins, flying giant robot-lions and fighting some aliens as a big robot-angel. And the transformers, yk big robos who can transform in cars and such stuff. But the storyline is from the new Voltron serie of Netflix.

Anyway. So, Primus has the Primes, his warriors, so who says, that his brother, Unicron (chaos himself) can’t have fighters too? And I imagine, that even if Primus and Unicron are trillions of years old, are still brothers and they still care about each other and all that. Even when they are fighting. So, if anyone has seen Transformers Prime, the serie, Megatron was a servant of Unicron. And after all this shit happend, Unicron realised, that you can’t rule with hate and fear and all the bad stuff. So he talks with Primus, (Primus a proud bro, that he finally sees his mistakes) and they search for a candidate. But nobody is good enough and time flys by. Cybertron is in peace, Megatron came back and is now friend with Team Prime. 

(Probalby should also mention, that Unicron’s earth is not the earth of Voltron... yk. It has similarities, but the humans of Unicron are much stronger and all like that. Like a super soldier.)

In meanwhile the Galras take over the KNOWN univers. You see the capital letters? KNOWN UNIVERSE. They have no idea about Primus/Cybertron and Unicron and all that. The bots and cons and all my robos are living in peace, absolut bliss and stuff... until a girl lands on a near planet. Naturally they notice and find her in a escape capsule from the Galra. She isn’t even human anymore, almost all limbs are replaced with a ‘high-tech’ protese. But worse, she’s dying. The bots/cons, (like they are in groups but one race? I’m just calling them bots, like for every race, decepicons and all the ones) can’t do much, they could heal her, if she would be totally a robot/machine, but she still needs blood and food and yeah. So Optimus goes to the core of Primus, because he knows, she is important. He can feel it. (spooky)

Primus heals her, makes her fully human again but he knows, that she’s the one. The warrior of Unicron. (And Primus, but that comes later) And from the timeline... she’s from earth, like Voltron earth in the year 10 or something. Like in the middle of the Romain Empire. She was kidnapped by Galra, because why not. And they are assholes. Most of them.

So now this girl, Diana, lives on Cybertron. She draws her energy from Primus, so she can live with the bots. She becomes friends with everyone, but her favourite is Predaking. (Is like the kindest girl but absolut badass. A little bit naive, but still cute) They have a father/daughter relationship and it’s just fluff. But one day, she dies. Team Prime went on a mission and because Diana can fight, she went with them. Predaking is mad and doesn’t want to belive that she’s dead. So again, she was brought to the core of Primus. Primus could save her, but now is the time, she becomes his brother’s warrior. He tells Predaking of his plans. Predaking just wants her to life, so he sacrificed himself for Diana. Diana becomes a bot/predacon. Unicron gives her some of his powers and since Primus transformed her, she’s now also a Prime. And because of that, Primus creates a new star saber, Unicron too. Diana, now bearing the name Predaqueen to honor her ‘father’, united the two swords and became the first CRON (A Unciron warrior) and a PRIME. So her name is now Predaqueen Prime. 

When she comes back to the surface, everyone is losing their shit. But after some time they can accept, that she’s not Diana anymore, she’s Predaqueen, a leader, a fighter, a warrior. 

Megatron becomes the second Cron, names himself Megacron and is like the right hand of Predaqueen. She improves the whole army of Cybertron, becomes an ambassador, unites the two races of Primus and Unicron and is the voice of the gods/primordal beings or what ever they are. Everyone knows, there will be a fight, and they need to be prepared.

So yeah, fast forward to the Voltron serie. Primus and Unicron tell Predaqueen that soon Voltron will be activated, so she needs to be prepared. She goes to earth (Voltron earth), goes to the Garrison and meets Shiro there. (Totally not a hint to her ship. Can you feel the sarcasm? Anyway) Her name is Diana Prime and she’s the best pilot, becomes a professor? instructor? Idk what the name is, she’s teaching the kids, while Shiro prepares for his mission. Totally sexual tension there (she’s an ancient warrior, but not dead), totally Keith losing his absolut patience, like everybody else. Before Shiro is leaving, the sneaky boy (Keith) forces them to kiss. (He’s grounded but it was totally worth it) There are some cheesy farwell words, Diana tells him to be careful. She knows, this is the start of Voltron, and it’s not going to be nice.

Diana looks after Keith, she promised it Shiro after all and is still teaching. (there are totally many of the students crushing on her.) (Is the look important? Because, I imagine her as a tall woman, slim but athletic, her hair ridiculous long and bronze broun, with blue and violett streaks. Her eyes are golden and she has tattoos on the shoulders, the sign of predacons. (like there where all the bots have their marks/signs.) On her back are all symbols of all the races of Cybertron, in the middle the sign of Unicron and Prime.) Ugh-

Anyway. She meets the next paladins of Voltron and can only sigh. She took Keith under her wing, teached him some moves so he’s a little bit prepared, but the rest? Pidge is alright, she’s a smart girl. Hunk will do okay. But Lance? Oh boy- He’s totally like Knockout, he wont take it seriously until some one dies or is hurt. And then it’s most times to late. 

When the three sneak out to rescue Shiro, Diana just watches with a smile. She waites until the next morning. And I can totally see this scene. 

Keith talks with Shiro about his time in the galaxy and then Shiro says:

“How did you know to come save me when I crashed?” And Keith answers, “You should come see this.” They walk to his house, until Shiro stops. 

“Wait, Keith- what... what about Diana?” Keith smiling softly and walking backwards. 

“If you want, I can call her. She’ll be glad you’re back.” 

Ugh, soft Shiro-

Anyway

The five find the blue lion, Shiro or better Keith forgets to call Diana and when he remebers, he’s somewhere in the universe. They form Voltron, kick for the first time Galras ugly ass and begin to train. Some days after Diana stands before the castle, Allura panicking, because this is a human and- 

“Shiro, darling, we need to talk about your disappearance in the fucking universe.” Lance, Hunk and Pidge are confused, because that’s General Prime? In the universe? 

Shiro tries to explain everything, but Diana/Predaqueen just smiles adn tells him, she knows already. He’s naturally confused and then she tells him about her mission, who she is and all that. He has a big mindblow but is happy, that Diana is back. Some fluff, because why not and Diana decides to tell the team.

“I am a Cron and a Prime.” Everybody is just blinking, because she says it like it explains everthing. With a smile, she connects herself with the castle and shows the story of Unicron and Prime. 

“And then I became a warrior of Primus and Unicron, their voice and the leader of their children. They sent me on this mission, to watch over Voltron, over you and nudge you in the right direction.” Again some blinking, until Lance speaks up.

“So, you are basically another Voltron? And there is a whole planet of Voltrons like you?” Pidge facepalms, while Keith sighes. Coran has stars in his eyes, while Allura is glad, that others fight with them.

“No. Every bot has his own mind, they are like humans, but instead of flesh, blood and a heart, they have metal, enagon and a spark. The Primes, Optimus and I, and the Crons, Megacron and I, are the strongest. We lead the Cybertrojans in war, we are the voice of Primus and Unicron.”

So now the storyline is pretty much the same, Predaqueen is with Allura in the castle, when Voltron fights, because she’s their secret weapon. When they fight in the centre of the Galra Imperium, Predaqueen transforms for the first time. She’s normally as big as Voltron, but transformed as a predacon probably five times so big. She activates the space bridge and calls all the other predacons (her people, Shockwave cloned a few more and Primus also created new sparklings) They attack the Galra force, completly surprise them but still don’t win. Voltron barley escapes, but Predaqueen detransforms and attacks the wive of Zarkon, Honerva. She know’s that many will die and the universe will probably be destroyed, if she doesn’t kill her. Honerva goes nearly mad, this beast just attacks them? To be a bit dramatic, Predaqueen summons the presence of Unicron. She’s in her bot-form, but in human size. She glows with pure power, everything near her just dies, explodes and is destroyed. In her hand is the dark star sable, pulsing with chaos and death. Unicron totally roasting the Galras, calling them petty beings and such. Honerva is killed and you would think, the Galras would stop now, but no. Lotor is wants revenge. So he still takes over the Galra Imperium and builds this ships. But this time Megacron is making his life pure hell. Ah, so Lotors new ships are made out of a rare komet or what ever? Hmm, Megacron has the enagon of Uncrion and that’s chaos himself. Bitch, wanna try again? 

So now Voltron is freeing the known universe, while Predaqueen helps. In the end, Cybertron is revealed, the Cybertrojans are now like the green lanterns? Keeping peace in the universe, because they are the ‘children’ of Prime and he’s creation himself. (I think so... or did I understand something wrong?) Voltron is still active, but now a symbol of peace and union.

Shiro and Diana/Predaqueen love each other dearly, but she still outlives him, sees how her family grows, how her children have grandchildren and so on. But still, Shiro will be her only lover, just because fluff. And basically the reason of this crossover? Because I think he deserved better.

Yikes... ugh, so if someone wants to write a story about this... I don’t mind, just tag me so I can read it and also reblogg it. 

I didn’t second read it, it’s almost midnight and yeah... if something doesn’t make any sense, I’m swiss. 

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