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#i meant to make this playlist just about drew and sam

wkemeup · 3 years

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Sunrise (8)

summary: After an explosion takes his arm and his only sense of belonging, Bucky is content to live out the rest of his days in the hollow comfort of the dark. This is, until Sam drags him down to the local VA and he meets you. (Modern AU) pairings: bucky x reader chapter word count: 5.3k warnings: sweet happy beautiful bucky, a unpleasant reminder of the past, whiplash of emotion, the angst I warned you about 🧡 series masterlist / series playlist

Bucky wasn’t quite sure how to hold onto this feeling without suffocating it.

It had been nearly a year since he’d felt even an ounce of the relief like what washed through his body when you walked through the door. All it took was a single smile from across the room, the soft brush of your hair over your fingers as you nervously tucked it behind your ear, and he was gone.

Enough for his cheeks to ache from smiling. Enough for his stomach to twist and knot from laughter. Enough for the wrinkles by his eyes to draw long and pronounced— the physical embodiment of joy upon his face.

He wasn’t walking on eggshells, waiting for the carpet to be dragged out from under his feet, for the paralyzing darkness of an empty void to consume him whole. The shadows weren’t lingering in his wake, itching to clench their claws into his spine and drag him away from the one thing that finally drew light back into his life.

For the first time since he stepped back on American soil, Bucky Barnes was happy. Truly and honest to God, happy.

“So! What do you think?” your voice called to him, breaking the trance he’d been in.

“Hmm?” Bucky blinked a few times to adjust to his surroundings. You were laughing at him, a hand over your lips in an effort to muffle the sound. Behind you, a woman directed a pointed stare in your direction despite the busy chatter inside Luciana’s.

“The book, Bucky,” you grinned, tapping on the edge of the binding.

He glanced down. The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue sat propped in his right hand, the clip you’d given him the first day of book club nestled in at the center to keep the pages open. Truthfully, he hadn’t read a single word of it since he sat down with you an hour ago. His attention had been better kept watching how you tugged your lower lip between your teeth in concentration, how your eyes widened at a particularly suspenseful part of your chapter, how you clicked your nails against the coffee mug in perfect rhythm with the café music.

“It’s good,” he said, though you pouted at him.

“Bucky you’ve been on the same page for twenty minutes!”

Busted. He shrugged, a laugh in his breath.

“Guess there were better things to look at.”

Your lips parted for a second, caught off guard, before you settled back into your seat. Your hands wrung out in front of you, eyes darting down the floor. It wasn’t easy to make you flustered, but damn if it was Bucky’s favorite feeling in the world.

“Don’t insult my books like that, Barnes,” you teased, lingering smile upon your face.

“Wouldn’t call it an insult,” he said simply. “There’s not much that can hold a candle when you’re around.”

The stun didn’t leave your face for a few seconds. You stared at him, then glanced around the room nervously as if he’d said something incredibly intimate. He couldn’t remember the last time this came so easy to him – the flirting, the charm. It was something he’d thrived on before the war and now, it seemed you brought that side out of him again.

“You’re a charmer today,” you observed, laughing through the nervous energy. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Nothing.” Bucky shrugged, reaching across the table to break off a piece of your pastry and plopped it into his mouth. “I’m happy. Can I be happy?”

You nodded quickly, almost a little too enthusiastically, with a smile so wide on your face he wondered if it were possible for it to touch your ears.

“Yeah. Yeah, you can be happy.” The words left your lips almost breathlessly. You were looking at him like he was the goddamn sun and damn if that didn’t tug straight at his heart. “I like you happy.”

“I like me happy, too,” Bucky chuckled. He glanced up at the clock. “Come on, we should head over to the VA.”

You downed the rest of your coffee in a single chug and set the cup on the counter. Luciana waved at you as you moved towards the exit, Bucky in tow, and she winked at him as he passed by. He nodded, offering her a tight-lipped smile as he stepped out into the cool Autumn air. Your hand naturally slipped into his and you tugged him along the sidewalk.

“Promise me you’ll actually pay attention to Steve’s spiel instead of staring at me the whole time,” you teased him as you walked over the crosswalk, nudging his side.

Steve was giving a presentation at the VA for the open house; explaining the benefits, the groups, different opportunities, and the respite rooms. It was a big deal apparently and helped to bring a lot of former soldiers into the fold. It was one of your favorite days because there was usually an increase of members at book club for a few weeks after.

“No guarantees,” Bucky replied, face as even as he could manage it. That was, until you swatted his chest and he burst into laughter, drawing the attention of a group of teenagers who eyed him as they walked by. Their lingering stare meant nothing to him when he stood at your side.

When you reached the VA, you pushed open the door, considering his hand was otherwise occupied, and led him inside. There were dozens of people in the lobby, certainly more than he’d ever seen inside. Men and women were mingling around the tables, some sitting on the couches, with paper plates of cheese and crackers from the grocery store.

Tony stumbled by carrying about four boxes filled with cookies, barely keeping his balance.

“I could use a little help, kid!” he called, eyeing you as he frantically made his way to the kitchen.

“Coming, Tony!” You turned to Bucky, smile still present on your face as you ran a hand along his arm in comforting sweeps. “Will you be alright?”

“Yeah, I’m good. Go.”

Maybe if he looked close enough, he might have seen a well of pride on your face, but you didn’t give him the chance before you leaned up and pressed a kiss straight to his lips— no cares for the crowd in the room or the fact that Sam and Steve were lingering around the VA somewhere. Bucky couldn’t find it in himself to worry about the stares because, hell, maybe he wanted people to know you were the woman he had the privilege of kissing.

“Go,” Bucky said again, pulling away from you reluctantly as a clanging could be heard from the kitchen, followed by an aggravated moan which could have only belonged to Tony Stark. You pouted, stealing one last kiss before bolting down the hall and out of sight.

Bucky spent a few extra seconds staring down the end of the empty hallway before he turned back to the room. The crowd didn’t bother him as much as it might have a few months earlier. He didn’t feel the same rush of anxiety in his veins as he felt on busy streets, but it didn’t mean he was explicitly comfortable either.

So, he kept to the outskirts of the room, standing along the wall and observing quietly from the corners.

The event seemed to be going well. He’d spotted Steve mingling with a group of older guys with long white beards and biker jackets, laughing as they told him about their adventures biking cross country. Sam found his way over to the couch beside a few of the guests who had busied themselves with the food instead and even found a way to get them talking to one another. Bucky kept his hand pressed into his pocket, a semblance of a smile on his face as he watched Sam pick a chip of the plate of the woman he was talking to without reservation.

It was a good place. A respite. Just like Sam had told him it would be. Bucky found a sense of normalcy in this building he couldn’t have hoped to find out in the real world alone— a belonging – and he knew a lot of that had to do with you.

He was just about to head down to the kitchen to see if you needed any help when he heard a voice that ran like ice through his veins. What it had said was indistinguishable, but Bucky could recognize the thick grovel of the tone almost anywhere. Slowly, he glanced over his shoulder, trying to remain as small as possible, as he spotted Jack Rollins emerging from the entrance.

With slicked jet-black hair, hardened angular lines upon his face, and a permanent scowl etching down on his features, Jack Rollins was not a man Bucky ever wanted to see again. He spoke with the two men in his wake, gesturing to a woman who was standing quietly by herself, reading the flyers on the bulletin board, as if he were stalking prey.

Bucky’s heart was thunderous as he took a step back. His black slammed against the wall, catching the breath in his lungs. His fingertips brushed over the chill of the pealing wallpaper, trying to find his grounding before Rollins noticed he was there. But luck was never so kind to him.

It only took one scan of the room before Rollin’s eyes landed on Bucky. He stilled, just as surprised to see him, but then, something dark twisted upon his features.

“Sergeant Barnes!” he called over the crowd, a jeering sort of laugh in his voice.

Bucky gritted his teeth, forcing himself to meet Rollins in the eye. “Jack.”

“Been over a year, man. How you been?” Rollins was conversational only in statement. His tone was near threatening, his men following behind him like a shadow. Dark eyes trailed down along the empty sleeve on Bucky’s side, a smile rising on his face.

Bucky tried to pretend as though he didn’t notice. “Recovering. You?”

“Yeah, I bet you are.” Rollins chuckled. Then, he puffed his chest up. “I’ve been working for the private sector.”

That didn’t surprise him. Rollins always had an affinity for the darkest parts of the job overseas. He took too much pleasure in the use of his weapon, paid no mind to the destruction left behind in his wake. Rollins was exactly the sort of man the military hoped to produce; follow chain of command without question, find purpose in your mission, execute without remorse. Seemed he found more of the same when he returned home. Only this time for a bigger paycheck.

Bucky could still picture him dressed in army camouflage with the weight of near forty pounds of combat gear on his back, finger always on the trigger. It felt a bit like that now, Bucky realized, as Rollins narrowed his eyes as if he were going in for the kill.

“You know, Barnes,” Rollins shrugged, exchanging a snide grin with his friends, “I’m a little surprised you’d even show your face around here after what happened. Takes guts.”

Bucky swallowed as though there weren’t blades in his throat. He tried not to let the hitch in his breath show or how his stomach dropped about ten feet below the surface. Instead, he pressed his lips together into a thin line, holding Rollins’ stare as if he were made of stone.

“You should leave,” Bucky said, his voice low enough to break gravel.

“Me?” Rollins mocked, laughing as he turned to his friends. Then, facing Bucky again as a darkness clouded over his features. “That's rich, coming from you.”

Bucky held his breath. He tried to draw on images of you sitting across from him at Luciana’s, how you smiled at him, how you made him feel like he didn’t carry such a heavy weight upon his back. He pictured you curled up next to him in your bed, imprints of the pillow on your cheeks and the covers pulled up tight to your chin. He imagined how your hand felt in his, how it brushed along his back, how your lips felt on his cheek, on his mouth.

But those pictures started to fade the longer Rollins stared at him, that devilish smirk upon his face as he ran a hand along his jawline, cracking his knuckles against the bone. Those comforting images of you sunk into the darkness, pulled from him somewhere far beyond where he could reach and suddenly, he felt like he was standing on a pillar at the center of the ocean, nothing but violent waves surrounding him for miles. Alone.

“I mean, what the fuck are you doing here, Barnes?” Rollins jeered, picking up a cookie from the table, inspecting it for a moment before he tossed it back on the platter. It crumbled on impact. “You think you even deserve to step foot in this building after what you did?”

“It didn’t go down like you think,” Bucky shot back, his voice uneven, wavering, as if he didn’t quite believe it himself.

He tried to repeat the words that Sam had worked to instill in him again and again for months after he came home. They never seemed to stick until the last few weeks but now – now they felt as far away as ever.

I did everything I could.

Some things are outside of my control.

It wasn’t my fault.

He wasn’t sure he believed that with Jack Rollins circling around him like a vulture, amused by the distress quickly forming against Bucky’s features.

From across the room, Sam stood up from his place on the couch, a hand gesturing over to Steve as he caught sight of Rollins. Bucky retreated in his stance, feeling as though Rollins was towering over him, his chest caving in. Rollin smirked, teeth bared and ready to strike.

With venom like precision, Rollins spat, “You’re the reason half our unit is dead, asshole.”

It hit like a sucker punch to the gut, made him stumbled back a few paces as if he were clocked in the chest. The initial blow only lasted for a few seconds before the overwhelming sense of shame seeped back into his veins, slipping through his blood like muddied waters and stealing away the careful, steady progress he’d made.

Then, a lingering acceptance as it cleared him to the surface.

A numbness took over, casting back to the shadows inside his mind. It was what he’d been waiting for since the day he’d stepped foot off that plane – for someone to confirm all the destruction and self-loathing he’d felt since that day.

Rollins was right.

I could have saved them.

I could have prevented all of it.

It was my fault.

He’d been foolish to convince himself otherwise.

“Hey!” Sam barked, jutting out in front of Bucky and shoving a hand to the middle of Rollin’s chest as he attempted to draw closer. “What the fuck is your problem, man?”

“My problem? My problem is you’re letting just about anyone walk through those doors!” Rollins shouted, pointing an accusatory finger at Bucky. “Your buddy here is responsible for eight of our own coming home in caskets!”

Bucky flinched, visibly recoiling as if something had burned him, and it seemed to be the reaction Rollins was looking for because a snide grin slid up along his cheeks.

Steve was suddenly on his left, a hand pressed to his shoulder. He was whispering something in his ear, but he couldn’t quite hear him. He could hardly make out what Sam was shouting as he attempted to push Rollins towards the door. A crowd was gathering – standing in watch to observe the shame of a soldier who should have burned in the desert with his friends.

“What’s going on?”

Bucky’s heart dropped at the sound of your voice as you appeared on his right. He didn’t know how long you’d been there or what you heard, but it was the first time he ever regretted allowing himself the luxury of your presence, of your warmth and kindness. You should have been an anchor beside him, but he could feel the rope slipping from his grip, letting him sink down into the ocean or float high into the clouds – somewhere far away from where you were.

You ran your hand along his arm, trying to thread an ounce of comfort back into his body, but he was rigid as stone. The touch was paralyzing. It was a reminder of his emptiness, of his ill attempt to be worthy of your affection. You seemed to notice as you stared up at him, worry filling your eyes.

“Ah, so you’ve got a girl now, too?” Rollins sneered towards Bucky, shoving Sam aside.

“Leave her out of this,” Bucky warned, his voice returning to him only in your defense. He stepped out in front of you, shielding you from Rollins’ gaze.

It only seemed to amuse him more. “Tell me, sweetheart. What’s it like? I mean, can he even get the job done? You wanna try being with a real man again?”

It was Sam that roared in response. “Watch your fucking mouth!”

Your hand rested on Bucky’s shoulder blades as if you were trying to ease him but he felt like he was on fire. Rollins shoved Sam aside to get a better look at you, a predator going in for the kill.

Rollins’ cold eyes stared directly into yours and Bucky felt his breathing stop.

“Did you know half of our unit died under his watch?”

Everything became white noise after that. Bucky didn’t dare turn to look at your reaction, nor could he hear Sam’s defense or Steve’s angry shouts as Rollins continued his taunts. He didn’t know how it happened, but suddenly, Rollins was on the floor. Sam was shaking his hand out, holding his fist against his chest.

Rollins stumbled his way back to his feet with a vengeance, folding his hands into fists as he charged at Sam.

“Get him out of here!” Steve’s muffled voice called to you as the crowd began to swarm in. Former soldiers joining the chaos, cheering or barreling fists. A man bumped into Bucky’s shoulder, but there was no trace of a reaction on his face. He was empty. He was numb.

Bucky could vaguely feel your hand as you slipped it into his pocket, drawing his own to intertwine between your fingers and you tugged him down the hall. He knew better than to look over his shoulder at the mess he was leaving behind.

***

You took Bucky into the empty library, quickly closing the door behind you to muffle the sound of the shouting down the hall. Bucky stood at the head of the couch, his eyes downcast.

“Are you alright?” You knew there was no good answer. It was a foolish question. And still -- you asked.

Your hands slid along Bucky’s chest, up to his shoulders to try and draw some of the tension away, and for the first time, he recoiled under your touch. Your hands quickly dropped down to your sides as you took a few steps back, hands held tightly in front of you. A flash of remorse covered his features as he looked at you, but then the stone swept back in its place and hardened the softened edges you adored. You pushed aside the splinter inside your chest.

“Who was that guy anyway? He seems like a real piece of work.” You laughed, though it was tense and forced. Bucky didn’t so much as crack a smile.

It was silent for a moment. The only sound coming from the low hum of the radiator in the corner of the room. Bucky’s gaze was fixated on the carpet, staring at the years’ faded stains and the dust bunnies at the foot of the couch. A terrible aching tugging down on his lips, on his eyes, on his cheeks, and he barely resembled the man who had teased you over coffee at Luciana’s just an hour earlier.

“He was right, though.”

You swallowed, daring to ask, “what do you mean?”

“I'm the reason half my unit is dead,” Bucky replied flatly. When he looked at you again, you found his eyes were red, his lips swollen from chewing on the edges. His right hand had indents in his palm from where he’d dug his nails into the skin. Your stomach lurched.

“Oh, Bucky.” Your heart broke at the sight of him. “That... That can’t be true.”

He didn’t say anything, but the grit in his teeth was enough to tell you that he believed it. You’d only seen glimpses of how the war had touched him, how it cast shadows over the man he’d been before he stepped on that plane and adorned the uniform, but now – now, it felt like those shadows had consumed him whole. He couldn’t so much as see the soft rise of the sun over his shoulder. He was too swept up in the embrace of darkness. The light couldn’t touch him where he stood shielded by night.

“Why don’t we go to my place?” you offered, inching a step closer. When he didn’t retreat, you gathered his hand into your own. While he didn’t pull away again, you could feel the reluctance in his grip, the rigidity in his stance. “I can make dinner and we'll throw on a movie, okay? Let’s just get out of here.”

Your right hand slid along the side of his face, cupping at his cheek. He usually leaned into the touch, pressed a kiss to the inside of your palm. Instead, the most he could force out was a tight-lipped smile that did not touch his eyes. You could practically feel how hard he was clenching his jaw, the muscle tired and aching. Still, he nodded.

As you led him out the back exit of the VA, you glanced behind you to see Rollins sitting on the floor, nursing a bloody nose as a police officer stood over him, jotting down notes as he spoke with Steve. Sam caught your eye for a second, nodding in your direction. A relief washed through you and you tugged Bucky outside before anyone could notice him slip out.

It was silent the whole walk to your apartment. It wasn’t entirely unusual, but it was the first time the air carried a lingering sense of discomfort in it. You wondered what was going on in Bucky’s head, how badly he’d construed whatever Rollins had said to him, even before you arrived. Sam had told you of Bucky’s self-destructive habit of carrying guilt far heavier than he could carry, guilt that didn’t belong to him. He seemed to welcome it like it was made for him. He didn’t mind if it ripped him apart and left him broken and empty when it was done. He seemed to think it was what he deserved.

You squeezed his hand, hoping it might draw back a sense of comfort, but he kept his eyes forward on the empty streets ahead. His hand was little more than limp in your hold.

***

Bucky was just on the edge of sleep when it began to creep up on him. Slow at first, and then, sudden, in violent flashes.

Sweltering heat. The low rumble of a jeep. An infectious laugh on his left and the cold compress of a gun in his hands. A sudden stop.

Bucky gritted his teeth, trying to turn away from the images attempting to draw him under, to sweep him beyond the current, to drown him in the darkest parts of the depth. But the riptide caught hold of his leg and forced him underwater.

Heavy equipment on his back. Sand under his feet. The sun blinding in his eyes.

He swallowed, but his throat was lined in rust. It burned. He couldn’t breathe.

A reflection over a valley. Someone shouting. Screaming. Warning. Frantic.

The kid. Get to the kid!

Then – the heat of a fire scorching his skin. Ringing in his ears. Muffled. Agonizing silence. Blood on the sand, on his shoes, dripping down his side and soaking into his uniform.

Pain. So much pain. So much pain. So much—

Bucky’s eyes shot open. He sucked in a breath of air and it came in short and shallow, barely filling his lungs, and he was panting for more. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, gasping for breath until he took enough in that the dizziness started to subside. His forehead was lined in sweat, his right hand shaking uncontrollably as he gripped at the sheets.

It was as mild as it’s ever been – the nightmares. Usually, he woke up screaming, his voice so raw it ached until morning. He thrashed and kicked and drew blood until something finally jarred him awake. He’d broken the lamp beside his bed four times in the weeks after he came home. It was violent and messy, and it was a damn miracle he’d only felt a sliver of it tonight.

But it had been so long since he had one. He almost thought they had finally released him from their hold before Rollins showed up. For a while, they let him be happy. He should have known better than to expect it to last.

The mattress dipped slightly behind him and with a sharp hilt, Bucky suddenly remembered where he was.

He turned over his shoulder to find you laying on the bed beside him, hair cast up and around you against the pillow, eyes closed, the steady rhythm of your breaths indicating you were still fast asleep. He stilled for a moment, watching the gentle rise and fall of your chest, the light scrunch in your nose.

You’d tried so hard to get him to smile the whole evening after what happened at the VA. Constant touches to his cheeks, along his arm, playing absentmindedly with his hand. You made him dinner and curled up against him as you put on a movie that you were certain would turn his mood around, but he remained stoic and cold until you finally resigned to the bedroom.

He could tell how exhausted you were. Even reaching for his hand, there was a helplessness in your grasp, but you’d begged him to stay, insisting you didn’t want him to be alone after what happened at the VA. You held him tight to your chest, told him over and over again that you didn’t care what Rollins said, you knew he was a good man and that was all that mattered.

Bucky wanted so badly to believe that.

But here you were – so beautiful, a light, something good in his life he didn’t deserve.

Sam would kill him for giving into those thoughts again, but all he had in his head was violence and agony and there you were – so peaceful and soft and kind. He'd taint you with all the mess threatening to break through his seams. He’d hurt you. He'd break you. You couldn’t hold him together no matter how hard you tried. He didn’t deserve such kindness. Today reminded him of that.

Bucky leaned in and pressed a short kiss to your temple. It was feather light and still, you sighed in your sleep. He tried not to notice when the corners of your lips curved up into a smile.

Then, he crept out of the room, stealing one last look at you as you turned onto your side, arms crossed over your chest protectively. Something tugged inside his chest, begging him to stay. He could feel it pushing him back toward the bed, to your embrace and the comfort it brought, but he turned his back. He ignored his every instinct to return to your side and dragged his feet of the bedroom instead.

Despite his reluctance, he found himself lingering on the photograph in your hallway of the Air Force pilot; sandy blonde hair, a tight-lipped smile, features that made him look younger than he probably was. A pang of jealousy wretched into his stomach at the sight of this nameless man. Shame quickly followed.

You never spoke of the man in the photo – the nameless Air Force pilot who stood at your side in front of your parents. The way you pressed out a smile despite your tears, the position of your stance angled closer to the pilot as if to preserve your last remaining moments together, made Bucky question what had happened to this man. This was clearly a man you had loved. Might still love.

Bucky didn’t dare allow himself to wonder if he had ever measured up. He supposed now he would not get the chance.

Bucky let out a sigh as he turned away from the picture. He made it all the way to the door before he heard the squeak of the floor boards behind him.

“Bucky?”

Sleep was still etched in your voice. You yawned as you folded your arms, squinting at him to adjust to the dim light in the kitchen. Bucky clenched his jaw, reluctantly turning to face you.

“It’s the middle of the night,” you said, eyes flickering to the clock above the stove. It was then you must have noticed the jacket draped over his shoulders, boots on his feet, hand begrudgingly releasing the door knob. Your face fell. “Where are you going?”

He didn’t know what to say. Was there an easy way to break your heart? Was there any excuse that could allow both of you to walk away from this unharmed? There was no good answer, but his silence certainly was worse.

“Bucky?” you tried again and he could hear the inflection of concern etched into your tone. You took a step closer to him and he held himself firm. He was stone now. It was what he had to be.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered out, voice low, though he met your eye. “I can’t do this.”

If you were still half asleep a moment ago, you weren’t anymore. Your eyes widened, lips parting. Your arms fell down to your sides.

“What... What are you talking about?” you exhaled, barely above a whisper. He could hear the hurt in your voice, the confusion, and he hated himself for it. You stepped closer, reaching out for his hand. “Please, just come back to bed. You look like you haven't slept for—”

Bucky pulled his hand away the moment you touched his fingers. It forced a hitch in your breath, a step back. You hadn’t expected him to recoil from you like that. Two times in the same day. You were losing him, the realization clear in your eyes. He was slipping and he would not take the tether as you threw it to him.

“This is about what that man said at the VA, isn’t it?” you asked timidly, your lip quivering. You shook your head, trying to hold back tears though Bucky could practically hear the tension from the lump in your throat. “He was... he was just being cruel. I don’t believe a word of it. And neither does Sam or Steve – the people that love you, Bucky. Don’t give in into him. Don’t let him win.”

Bucky didn’t say anything, rendering his reaction colder than you deserved.

You reached out for him again, a habit, though you pulled your hand back to your chest before you could touch him. It was shaking.

“Honey, please,” you tried again, unwilling to give up on him like you should. “Come get some rest and maybe you’ll feel better in the morning. Just... don’t go. Don’t be alone with this.”

You were begging. He could hear it in your voice. The desperation. And still—Bucky offered you nothing in return.

He sank so far inside himself you couldn’t reach beyond the cliffside to offer your hand. All it took was a single push. He was already standing so close to the edge. Rollins had set a hand on his back, like an old friend, like an enemy, and shoved. Bucky didn’t even try to catch his fall.

“Whatever this is...” Bucky murmured and eyes focused down at the tile, unable to look at you as he broke your heart, “it’s over.”

His heart was splintering as he said it and still, he turned and left without another word. He didn’t wait for your response, didn’t wait to see whether his cruelty had ended in tears, and closed the door behind him. You didn’t attempt to follow.

You’d understand eventually, he convinced himself. Even a woman as compassionate and loving as you couldn't possibly love a man so broken, with jagged edges and open wounds, with shards of glass embedded inside him and poison in his touch. Empty and hollow. Broken.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes

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wizkiddx · 3 years

Text

your song blurb

hello!! sorry ive been so inactive and I have got a number of req that I am trying to work through - I am sorry, please be as patient as you can with me. general life shit and all hasn't been ideal. I am aware I reaaallly need to update my master list and will get round to it when I can I promise ;)

also have lots of asks abt the t + z situation but all I have to say is im so very happy for them and hope people respect their privacy ;)

harryhollandxreader // friends --> lovers blurb

summary: harry never sings in front of you, until you need it

//////////////////////////

There were some things that Harry, even after being friends for years, kept close to his chest. The one that you always tried to catch him out on was his singing. For some unknown reason, he was super self conscious of it. Every time he was nonchalantly humming along to himself, all it took was for you to make a single sound, and he’d immediately lock his mouth shut. From those fleeting moments, you had thought he didn’t even sound half bad, hence where your frustrations drew.

Because whilst you, who sounded like a cat being tortured, would scream your lungs out - Harry, who wasn’t even that bad, refused to make a fool out of himself.

It was exactly what had happened this evening when you had let yourself into Tom’s house otherwise unannounced. It’d been years since you’d been given a spare key by Harry - when they were both away, you often ‘house-sat’ for Tom; plus, you spent most evenings there too because that was where your best mate was.

Tom had messaged on the group chat to say he would be out for the evening, and Haz was around his girlfriends tonight, meaning on arrival, you’d known it’d just be you and Harry. So once you heard the quiet tune of a song, that you couldn’t quite place yet, safe to say you were on stealth mode. Sliding your shoes off and wincing as the floorboards creaked a little, you slowly crept through the house to find your frizzy-haired friend.

Sure enough, as you made your way through the kitchen, you found him stood over the hob, stirring round a wooden spoon of a saucepan - presumably filled with pasta he’d promised to have ready for you. Pouting as you leaned on the doorframe and crossed your arms, marvelling at him. He was dressed just in grey joggers and his favourite pink hoodie, arms rolled up to his elbow as the poor boy slaved away at the stove.

You stayed silent, to what you now recognised as billy joel, only unable to stifle a giggle when he reached a particularly high note. Like a rabbit caught in headlights, he jumped around and yelled, eyes fiery and pointed at you.

“OH fuck off Y/n!!”

“Billy Joel, an old school choice.” You smirked, now walking into the room to greet him properly.

“How long have you been stalking on me?”

“It’s not stalking if the stalkee gave me the key.”

“I don’t think that’s admissible in court.” He deadpanned back, pouting for a couple more seconds before finally shooting you a wide grin. The boy held his arms out, welcoming you into a proper greeting hug. Happily reciprocating, you inhaled deeply with your face pressed into the crook of his shoulder.

“How was work?” He murmured, already guessing the answer correctly.

“Shit. Exhausting. Hell, you want any more adjectives?” Harry just snorted back as you leaned away from his warmth.

“Nah rule of three is quite enough. Did you never pay attention in GCSE english?”

“Fuck off you can’t even spell GCSE.”

That was always how your friendship had been; it had always been a piss-taking battle. You simply were one of the boys - or at least that’s what you thought. Said boys though (meaning Sam, Tom, Harrison, Tuwaine and even Paddy) disagreed. You didn’t know, or didn’t believe, that Harry did NOT treat you like one of the boys. He cared about you differently, too. Tom thought it didn’t stop there, that Harry did in fact love you.

And yes, you might’ve admitted to Harrison on one very, very drunken night that you had occasionally thought of Harry as something more than your sarky friend. He had been since sworn to silence, though Haz had in fact, told Tom - who only replied with an ‘i told you so’.

Even though everyone else saw your relationship as complicated, to you and Harry it was just simple. You were just the best of friends.

And that’s how the evening went. The two of you were just messing around as usual; after eating the tomatoey pasta creation Harry had tried, you both made a right mess of the washing up - water ending up coating the floor and maybe one of the walls too (Tom would never know). And just like usual, it ended with you sprawled out on one sofa, Harry mirroring you on the adjacent one.

It was love island season, which meant every night at 9 pm there was only one place on earth either of you would be. On your respective sofas, watching the most trashy tv in the world.

Tonight though, no matter how excited you were for the next instalment of who-likes-who, your day of work caught up with you. Not that you noticed, but you’d pretty much passed out as soon as the opening scenes started. There were only two minutes of silence before Harry registered something was up - typically, he was trying to make you shut up so he could actually hear the TV. To investigate, he jumped off the sofa and leaned over the couch, the sight making him pout.

He knew work had been super stressful recently; and he also knew that your insomnia had been coming back with a vengeance. So instead of treating you like ‘one of the boys’ and throwing things until you woke up - Harry used a different approach. He draped the blanket that hung off the side of the sofa over you, biting back a slight smile as you huffed in appreciation for the soft quilt. Then Harry left you alone, knowing you could do with every little bit of rest you could get.

That was all good until it reached the third set of adverts when Harry heard you huff and move about on the sofa. And then again and again. Then again with what sounded like a bit of whimper too.

Brows furrowed, he paused the TV and slowly got up, rounding the sofa to see you somewhat matching his expression. Your face was contorted in one of distress, and you kept thrashing your head from side to side of the pillow. It didn’t take a genius to work out; this was your nightmares rearing their ugly heads.

Harry just wanted to stop this for you. Although the two of you were never particularly ‘mushy’ or vulnerable with each other - he knew just how much you were suffering recently. So without much thought into it, Harry knelt down to sit on the floor, side leaning up against the sofa as he looked towards you. Trying to hush you, he ran his hand over your forehead and over the top of your hair, though it seemed to take little effect. And then, again entirely without hesitation, Harry started to softly sing.

It’s a little bit funny

This feeling inside

I’m not one of those who can easily hide

Why Elton John was the first that came to mind was a mystery to Harry - except maybe that the lyrics ran true a little.

And you can tell everybody

This is your song

It may be quite simple, but now that it’s done

I hope you don’t mind

That I put down in the words

How wonderful life is while you’re in the world

You’d always loved old 70s music, you were the one that had properly got you into all that stuff - the beatles, billy joel, elton, even a bit of springsteen. He owed half his music taste to your Spotify playlists, even if he’d never admit it to your face.

So excuse me forgetting

But these things I do

You see I’ve forgotten, if they’re green or they’re blue

Anyway the thing is, what I really mean

Yours are the sweetest eyes I’ve ever seen

With a final huff, you finally settled down, Harry swore he could see all the discomfort literally melting away from your face. It took a minute but your breath evened out, mumbling something incomprehensible as you curled up toward him on the edge of the sofa.

This wasn't the first time he’d sang to you in your sleep - and he sort of hoped it wouldn't be the last either.

feedback is really appreciated <3

harry taglist : @euphorichxlland @lovehollandy12 @pandaxnienke @msmimimerton @crossyourpeter @hallecarey1

#harry holland #harry holland x reader #harry holland imagine #harry holland fluff #tom holland #harrison osterfield

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remmysbounty · 3 years

Note

Hi angel! Thank you for the Joaquin content, I very much appreciate it!

Can I request a very fluffy fic or headcannon of the reader + Joaquin at Disneyland or World???

I am so done today and it’s not even 7 pm for me.... I’m just gonna do this one as a HC but i promise I’ll get to all the other requests sitting in my inbox this week... anyway ENJOY :)

It started as a road trip

You and Joaquin were finally back in the states together, Joaquin was on leave, and Sam had invited the two of you and Bucky down to his family’s place in Louisiana

But Joaquin being Joaquin decided the two of you should make a whole road trip out of it, which meant Polaroid cameras, playlists galore, and all the snacks you could imagine sitting in the back of the car.

You’d spend the morning splitting the driving and then find a place to crash for the night, but honestly most of the time was spent being in one another’s arms just enjoying one another’s presence or talking softly about your dreams for the future. Whispers of forever were shared under the starry nights

Then you arrived, Sam more than overjoyed at seeing the two of you- especially when you realized Bucky had gotten there earlier cause he decided to fly and of course had spent most of his time there flirting with Sarah

Even if it was your first time with Sam’s family it was as if you were with your own family. You and Joaquin quickly being adopted by Sarah and her kids

And then.... someone brought up DisneyLand. You don’t quite remember who it was, it was after a night of many drinks around a bonfire when someone out of the five of you brought it up, so now Joaquin declared you had to go on a road trip to Orlando

Only it wasn’t just the two of you this time. This became a Wilson family trip including the new extended family (aka you, Joaquin, and Bucky)

You and Joaquin left your car at Sarah’s place and threw in the money to help rent the van. Of course you didn’t realize all the hijinks that would occur when you accepted (read coerced by Joaquin’s puppy dog eyes)

But at least this time around you and Joaquin didn’t have to drive as much

This time the two of you took over the back row, filling it with your blankets and snacks and headphones. If someone were to look back they were bound to find one of you looking at the other, a hand resting on the others body, and at some point your foreheads leaning against one another.

Bucky, the still very sneaky ex-assassin, even drew a picture or two of you which you happily thanked him for and then made your phone’s background

And once you made it to DisneyLand, it was a day of following Joaquin around, and then being attacked by both his kisses and puppy dog eyes.

But at night you always had the upper hand, and with a small pout coming from you, you had Joaquin willing to do anything you asked for.... which was mostly just laying in bed once again whispering about your future

By the end your camera roll held countless of photos and videos of everyone goofing off together, Joaquin trying and failing to prank you, and Bucky and Sam just being their usual selves. You were pretty sure there was one picture where Bucky and Sarah seemed rather close in the background.... of course the next time you checked that photo was gone, luckily enough it wasn’t your top photo so you weren’t gonna chew Bucky out for it.... yet

Either way, this was a trip that you cherished for the rest of your life

——

Joaquin Torres: @pascalpanic @cleversturmhond @booksmusicteaandanimals @cooluncleboba @autumnleaves1991-reads @marvelouss-marvel @mischiefmanaged71 @the-and-sign-anon @barzal-burakovsky @young-romanoff

#remmys bounty #remmys writings #remmys requests #joaquin torres request #joaquin torres x you #joaquin torres imagine #joaquin torres x gn!reader #joaquin torres x reader #joaquin torres

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writethelifeyouwant · 4 years

Text

Dive Bar, Ch. 1/?

Pairing: Dean x OFC (Dany) x Sam (brief), Dean x Sam (eventually) Rating: 18+ Prompt/Summary: @spnkinkbingo square - Gay Panic (eventually, I don’t know how to write short things, so the gay panic comes later). Dany and Dean hit it off at a bar and Dean is confident it’s a sure thing. But Dean doesn’t know that Dany’s has a dare to complete, and he definitely didn’t imagine his night would end with his pull inviting his little brother to come home with them too. WC: 3278 Tags: alcohol, cheesy flirting, tags will change next chapter 😉😏🍆 A/N: Okay, let’s be real. Anyone who knows me by now, knows I can’t fucking cut to the chase. Welcome to part one of who knows how many. If you want the smut quickly, I encourage begging 🤣(and so does Sam 😏) Ambience: Really want to set the mood? Welcome to a dive bar in Nowheresville, USA: Playlist and Ambience

***

Sam told Dean he was crazy for even trying but Dean had a sense about these things; Sam didn’t. He was too considerate. Sam thought the fact she was out with her girlfriends meant she wasn’t interested, she wouldn’t want to be bothered, but Dean knew better. The ones who went up to get the next rounds were the ones who were looking to be bothered. They were separating themselves from the pack on purpose, to give guys the opportunity to pick them up and show them a good time. They wanted to prove to their friends that they were desirable. It wasn’t a bad confidence boost either, even if the guys that came on to them weren’t what they were after.

So, when the girl with the flirty eyelashes that had been staring over at Sam and Dean’s table for the past half-hour spun off her stool and went to lean against the unpleasantly sticky bar, Dean knew his window had opened.

“Watch and learn Sammy,” Dean smirked and slapped Sam’s shoulder as he sauntered over to his target, fixing his best smoulder in place.

The girl felt movement behind her when Dean slid up and motioned to the bartender that he was after another round, and she turned with a coy but almost predatory twitch to her smile. She knew exactly who was behind her.

“Hi there,” Dean was almost leering at the girl.

Across the room, Sam was resisting the urge to put his head in his hands and pretend he’d never met his brother. This was gonna be a train wreck. At the very least, Dean was about to end up with one of those margaritas the bartender was laying down in front of her thrown in his face.

Deciding to spare himself the second-hand embarrassment of watching Dean crash and burn with the coed he’d been eyeing since they arrived, Sam let his eyes wander the rest of the bar absentmindedly. He was nursing his second beer of the evening, after pounding back his first one with Dean in their stupid post-hunt ritual.

It was new, their whole ‘who can down their beer the quickest’ routine. Before Stanford, Sam was lucky if his dad let him split a beer with them after a hunt, let alone chug one. But ever since he and Dean had been back on the road, it was like Dean was trying to make up for a bit of lost time, and things that absolutely smacked of immaturity were becoming part of how they lived their lives. Like how now, after a successful hunt, they always raced to the bottom of the first beer bottle, leaving the loser to buy the rounds for the rest of the night.

When Dean started it, it was because he figured he obviously had the upper hand. He had years more drinking experience than Sammy, and there was no way the little geek had drunk that much at college.

What Dean didn’t know is that, for a while there, Sam and his friends had gone through a bit of a mental breakdown that manifested itself in endless parties, borderline alcoholism, and a very brief experimentation with some drugs on the ‘gateway’ end of the spectrum. Really, it was Sam’s best friend Brady pushing all of that, but with how he had grown up, Sam felt he was due some kind of breakdown, and it had felt good to let go for a little while. So, when Sam beat Dean in that first chugging contest, it became a whole different ball game. Now every time they did it, Dean was defending his honor. And he defended it about half the time but that night, Sam had won.

Exhaling quietly in amusement at the absurdity of their routine, Sam spared a glance back towards Dean at the bar. He quickly ducked his head down when he realised Dean and the girl were looking over at him, like Dean was talking about him. Why would you spend time telling the girl you’re trying to bang about your weird kid brother? Maybe she had asked who Dean was there with, just making small talk.

Yeah, that must be it, Sam thought to himself as he took another swig and realised he’d finished it on the sip before.

Torn between wanting another drink and not wanting to walk into the middle of a Dean Winchester flirt fest, Sam tried to quietly observe his brother again, hoping he would have struck out by now and it would be safe to approach. Peeking out from behind his hair Sam could see them leaning against the high wooden bar quite cozily, and laughing all nice and friendly-like.

Damn. It looked like Dean was gonna be right about this chick; she was into him. Really, she shouldn’t be surprised. Everyone’s into Dean. And now he was gonna have to sleep in the Impala tonight. For once he’d like to just have a drink with his brother and go home (to the motel) and sleep in his own (motel) bed. Just perfect.

When Dany turned around to acknowledge Dean, who had just sidled up behind her at the bar, she was very pleased with herself.

Guys are just too simple, she mused.

“Hi there,” Dean smiled down at her (he was considerably taller, despite her heels), charm turned on full blast.

“Hey yourself,” she smiled back. She was friendly, but careful not to be too forward. Dean was the kind of guy that felt proud of winning the chase, she could just tell. And considering how forward she was planning on being after she made sure this guy wasn’t an axe-murderer, she figured playing coy for a little wouldn’t hurt.

“So, this is kind of embarrassing,” Dean leaned down conspiratorially but still had to speak quite loudly to be heard above the noise of the bar. “My brother over there is a little shy.” Dean jerked his head behind him, to indicate where he had left Sam a moment before.

Taken by surprise, Dany leaned back to look at Sam sitting alone at his high-top, who happened to look over at the two of them at the same time. Sam quickly ducked behind his bangs, trying very hard not to make eye contact. Dany giggled to herself. She had figured this guy was about to chat her up but he was over here asking for his brother who, based on his reaction a second ago, definitely was shy. How cute.

“And,” Dean continued speaking and pulled Dany back from her thoughts of his shy and cute younger brother, “he wanted me to ask you for your number, so he knows how to get a hold of me tomorrow morning.”

It took a second, but when the penny dropped Dany burst out laughing. Dean beamed, proud of his choice in pick-up lines, and let Dany get the giggles out of her system. “I know, I’m adorable.” Dean shrugged as if to say ‘what can you do?’ and leant back against the bar, bringing himself closer to Dany’s level. “I’m Dean.” He held out his hand and she took it, still stifling the last of her laughter.

“Well, let me congratulate you on your originality Dean. I genuinely have not heard that one before.”

“Do I get a prize?” Dean’s eyebrows arched cheekily.

“I don’t know,” Dany shrugged. “What do I get out of this deal?”

“Sweetheart, you get whatever you want.”

“How about we start with a drink?”

“Sure your friends won’t mind me taking up all your time?”

Dany looked behind her to where she’d left her friends. They were all giggling and looking at her and Dean at the bar but trying to look like they weren’t paying attention to them at all. She shook her head despairingly at how unsubtle they were. Her friends were the worst. But she supposed they had more of a vested interest in how her night went than usual. Tonight was her dare night.

“I think they can live without me for a little while.”

“Wow, you’re really putting ‘em back sweetheart,” Dean laughed as Dany drained another beer. She was matching him round for round.

“Well, I came out to have a good time tonight,” Dany shrugged, smiling mischievously.

“How’s that working out for ya’ so far?”

“I’d say, so far so good, Dean.”

Dean made finger guns at the empty glasses. “Get you another?”

“Yeah, thanks,” she grinned as tucked her hair behind her ear.

Dean rocked up to the bar and motioned to the haggard looking student behind it that he was after refills. When something brushed against his shoulder he jumped, reaching under his jacket until he realised it was just Sam.

“Hey,” Dean drew out the ‘y’ on the end of his word. “Ma’ man Sam.” Dean smacked Sam’s shoulder and his brother tried to tamp down his bemused grimace.

“How buzzed are you, dude?”

“Just the right amount Sammy,” Dean grinned wolfishly as he accepted the new beers from the bartender. The kid tried to take Sam’s order but Sam brushed him off. “Woah, you’re not tapping out?” Dean’s concern was almost comical.

“Yeah, I’m just gonna go back to the motel. Grab some shut eye.” Sam tried to sound sage, like he was making this move because it was the smart, responsible thing to do, and not let on that it was his loneliness driving him home too early for Dean’s approval.

“No, come on man, I’m not letting you be a sap tonight.” Dean waved over to the bartender for another beer, over Sam's objections. “N- listen. You’re gonna take this beer, bring it over to my table with Dany, and we’re gonna pick you out one of her friends.” Again, Sam tried to protest but there was a cold glass sloshing into his hand and a commanding grip on his shoulder and… he was always gonna follow Dean. “They’re all college chicks Sam. One of them has gotta be geeky enough for you.”

When Sam got dragged to the edge of the table where Dean had left Dany a moment ago, something felt off. Sure he felt a little awkward becoming the third wheel while Dean sealed the deal on his sleeping arrangements for that evening but that wasn’t what he noticed the most. Dany looked far too happy to have the extra company at the table. Most girls with Dean in their tractor beams didn’t want anyone interfering, he’d been on that end of the stick one too many times to forget how it felt. But Dany was relaxed and smiling, beaming even, when Dean pushed Sam into a chair between them.

Sam tried to settle into the easy conversation that Dany and Dean were having but he’s too preoccupied trying to suss Dany out to contribute much, despite Dany’s attempts to bring him into the discussion.

“So Sam, Dean said you were the college goer in your family, what did you study?” Dany sipped her beer with her eyes trained on Sam.

“Uh, pre-law,” Sam’s answer turned up at the end like a question. He wasn’t questioning what he studied at Stanford but he was questioning Dany’s motives in talking to him. Why wasn’t she just ignoring him and flirting with Dean?

“Ah, smart guy. Interesting.”

“What are you studying?”

“Media and communications. I want to go into news or television.”

“Well you definitely have the face for it,” Dean cut in smoothly. Dany flushed but she didn’t look embarrassed. She knew what she looked like.

“Okay captain obvious,” Dany laughed. “You usually try this hard to get girls?”

Sam snorted into his beer, highly amused someone was calling Dean on his shit besides him.

“Well I’m sitting here drinking with a beautiful woman. I don’t see any reason to pull punches,” Dean grinned. “Speaking of,” he leant forward craftily, “you got any other beautiful friends we can hook him up with?” Dean jerked his thumb towards his little brother. “I feel bad leaving him high and dry for the night.”

“Dean!” Sam objected loudly, rolling his eyes. Dany just giggled.

“Yeah I think I can help with that.” She drained her remaining drink and stood up. “Let me grab us one more round.”

“Sounds great sweetheart,” Dean swatted at her ass as she passed him on the way back to the bar, ignoring Sam’s further objections to Dean’s new-found mission to get him laid.

“Dude what are you doing?”

“Helping you!”

“I don’t want your help!”

“Well trust me, you need it.”

“Do not!”

Sam’s objections were cut short when Dany returned with three beers and three shots on a tray; one clear and two amber. Dean reached for the drinks to help her unload. “What are we celebrating sweetheart?” He nodded to the shots.

“We’ll find out soon,” Dany hedged, without giving up any more details. “So Sam, what’s your type?”

Sam nearly choked on his beer. “Look Dany, ignore Dean please, I don’t need-”

“No, come on, I’m invested now. What are you into? Boobs? Ass? Both?” Dany’s questions were curious but clinical. None of the teasing that Dean usually injected into the conversation when he tried to get Sam to open up about his sex life. Something in her tone was compelling.

“Are we actually having this conversation?” Sam glanced between Dean and Dany astonishedly. “Did you slip something in my drink?”

Dany laughed at Sam’s attempts to deflect but she could also see something in his face twitch, like his brows tugged up the corners of his lips. Something in him wanted to answer the question, wanted to open up to her. So she pushed.

“Well?”

Sam chuckled once ruefully, more to himself. Cracked his neck and settled back in his chair. Dany could tell he’d made up his mind, he was playing now.

“Both,” Sam smirked. He was invested now too, and he wanted to see where Dany was taking this. Plus, it had been ages since he’d gotten any.

“Okay,” Dany nodded and processed the information, deciding how that affected her line of questioning. Dean was keeping to himself in his corner, but he was having trouble hiding his grin behind his beer. This was already more than he’d ever been able to tease out of Sam.

“Okay, so, not specific about body type, what about attitude? Feisty and forward?” Dany leant forward and trailed her finger down Sam’s arm. He smirked. “Or shy, and sweet?” She withdrew her hand, and ducked behind her hair.

“Okay, why do I feel like I’m getting shut out here?” Dean laughed from his over his drink, not sounding as cocky as he hoped he did.

“Don’t worry Dean, I’m not letting you go anywhere,” Dany smirked. “I’m just doing what you asked, making sure Sam here is sorted out for the night too.” Dany turned her smile back to Sam. “So which one? You like feeling in charge? Or you like getting a little roughed up like Dean over here?”

Now it was Dean’s turn to choke on his beer. “Excuse me sweetheart, what makes you think-”

“Come on Dean,” Dany batted her eyes back in his direction. “I know what you’re after. I know you’re a boob man, that’s why you picked me. Your pick up lines and bravado, they’re looking for validation. You’re looking after your little brother, trying to make sure he’s happy, taken care of… you want someone to do the same thing for you.”

Sam and Dean were both a little speechless. Dany reached past her empty beer and grabbed the shot glass with the clear liquor.

“You sure you don’t actually study psychology or something?” Sam drained the last of his beer, impressed.

“I’m not a shrink,” Dany smiled and shrugged. “I’ve just spent some time with some people, I know what to look out for.”

“So, who are you picking out for me then?” Sam leant forward, now profoundly interested in what Dany may have deduced about what he wants in the bedroom.

“Come clean time,” Dany knocked back her shot with a grimace and let the courage that came from lower inhibitions bubble up. “My friends and me, we play a game most weeks, pick a dare out of a hat. This week mine… was ‘have a threesome.’” Dany peeked up from behind her hair to look at Dean, who looked like he had just won the lottery. Sam’s expression was cautious.

“Okay, so who else we taking home with us sweetheart?” Dean rubbed his hands together and turned to look back at Dany’s group of friends.

“Sam.” Dany answered simply.

“Which one’s Sam?” Dean was still scanning the group of coeds.

“Uh Dean, I think she means me…”

“My dare was a threesome with two guys.” For the first time that evening, Dany’s grin was a little sheepish. “Look I uh- I’m not just doing this because of the dare, it’s not coercion or anything. I wouldn’t be asking you both back if I didn’t want it.”

Dean hadn’t found his voice yet. He was just staring at Dany, mind clearly running a mile a minute, and resolutely not looking at Sam. Sam, on the other hand, couldn’t take his eyes off Dean. The only recognisable emotion on Sam’s face was the tinge of fear in his eyes, like he was waiting for the bomb to go off, and getting more and more anxious by the second the longer it didn’t.

“Why don’t I give you guys a minute to talk,” Dany stood up and pushed the shots she had bought towards them, “and I’ll go grab my purse and meet you by the door?”

“And by ‘you’, you’re speaking in the strictly plural sense?” Sam checked, fingering the whisky in front of him.

“That’s up to you guys,” Dany smiled and rounded the table, dragging her fingers over Dean’s shoulders on her way back to her friends. That seemed to be enough to jumpstart Dean back into speaking.

“Dude what the hell?” Dean’s voice was so, so close to a squeak, Sam really had to hold in his laughter.

“What?” Sam was good at poking the bear.

“What do you mean what? What the fuck?”

“Yeah, I think that’s what she wants Dean. She wants to fuck.”

“Yeah with me and my little brother!” Sam could tell Dean wanted to be shouting but he was keeping his voice to a hiss as best he could.

“Yeah, so?”

“So?!”

God Dean was so easy to wind up, Sam grinned. “Dean, have you never had a threesome before?”

“Uh, yeah, of course.”

“You’re lying,” Sam was astonished. He figured of course Dean would have done this kind of thing before. “You’ve never done one before?” Sam had to double check.

“What, like you have?” Dean defended angrily.

“Uh, yeah,” Sam’s grin was an unusual combination of sheepish but proud. “I um- I have actually, yeah.” Sam reached back and rubbed his neck, at a loss of what to do with his hands right now.

“What the fuck did you do at that college?”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me Dean.”

“Okay, so what, you’re saying you’re okay with this?”

“I’m saying, there’s a real pretty girl over there by the door that wants to have sex. And she wants it so much, she wants two dicks in the equation.” Sam fixed Dean with a firm, decided stare. And he was pretty sure that Dean’s uncertainty was about to evaporate. Dean finally met Sam’s eyes and Sam saw the fight melt out of him.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean breathed, then downed his shot.

***

Tags: @negans-lucille-tblr @hawkerz12 @akshi8278 @babybrotherandthedemon @dylansbabygirl24 @mineshinamary @popsensationnicole23 @spn-problems @donthateme454 @doyouknowsamw @peridottea91 @delightfulbakeryaliendeputy @fictionallemons

I tagged everyone who liked my ‘announcement’ post. If you want to be tagged or you want me to take you off tags, just lmk!

#spn #dive bar #dean x ofc x sam #dean x sam #wincest #spnkinkbingo #gay panic

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words-for-holland · 4 years

Text

Quarantine Series: The Birthday Week

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Summary: It’s Tom’s Birthday Week! So much planning, food, and surprises....and a special promise from our favorite Q.S. Couple.

A/N: It’s been long overdue...Is it too late to say Happy Belated Tom?! 🥺

A/N: Happier Part 3 comes out this weekend!!

Check the Rest: Burnt Out | A New Look | Secret Cuts & Kisses | Breaking Friendships

May 25, 2020 (T-Minus 7 Days)

An almost average Monday. Its the start of Tom’s Birthday Week and Y/N is trying her best to get ahead of the game and prep up for an over-the-top birthday party for her boyfriend. Well as over-the-top as it can get when you’re stuck in Quarantine because...well...Covid.

The only problem, she didnt know where to start. What party to throw, games to play, food to make, playlist to create, and above all the gift. This year Y/N wanted to give Tom something that held a lot of sentimental value to represent all the love she had for him. While Y/N was lucky enough to have someone like Tom to spoil her and show her just how much she meant to him, she wanted to do the same for Tom. So, she went to the spare room, which had now become her new work space and started googling away.

May 26, 2020 (T-Minus 6 Days)

The next day, Tom and the boys went out for their daily Golf match, while Y/N stayed behind to continue party planning. She made sure to be discreet about it and pretended that she had to take care of a few things for work. In reality, Y/N facetimed her best friend, on advice of what to get Tom for his 24th.

“C’mon Im serious Nico. I want to give him something special this year.” Y/N groaned when she knew her best friend wasn’t giving her the answers she wanted.

“Im sorry, Y/N. I dont know what you could give him. You’ve know him better than anyone else.” Nico reasoned, as Y/N continued her helpless groans, banging her head on the table. “Look Im sure what ever you come up with, Tom is going to love it no matter what.”

“But that’s the problem I don’t know what I can come up with. Our first year together I got him clothes, last year it was golfing gear, I don’t know how I can top that.” Y/N continued to stare at the desk picking up and dropping her pencil repeatedly. “I just know that I want it to be something he can always look back at and know that I’ll always be there for him.”

“Wow. You really like this kid don’t ya?” Nico questioned, but of course she knew the answer to that...anyone did.

“Yeah...more than anything.” Y/N smiles back as she thinks about Tom.

“Well what about a promise ring?” Y/N’s ears perk up at the suggestion.

“Like uhhh a men’s promise ring? Do they even make promise rings for men?” She questions, though isn’t opposed to the idea.

“No, Im talking about a donkey’s promise ring.” Nico rolls her eyes. “It’d be cute and not to mention empowering because you’d be making the first move. Empowering women is super attractive.”

Y/N stops to give it some thought. It would be cute to have a ring for him and see him wear it everywhere knowing he would carry a symbol of her love. Of course it’s nothing like the real thing when couples get married and all, but it’s a step toward that direction. “Ill think about it.” She says.

May 27, 2020 (T-Minus 5 Days)

Y/N had finally given the idea a good 8 hours when she decided to find the ring. She scrolled through pages and pages to find the ring but none of them spoke to her or looked like it was meant for Tom. The more she scrolled the more anxious she got, slowly biting ther thumb nail as she continued.

“You know if you’re gonna do birthday shopping for someone in the house, the kitchen might not be the best place to do it.” A deep british voice popped up from behind.

Y/N shrieked and jumped, quickly closing her laptop, afraid she had already ruined the surprise. Until she turned around and saw it was just Harrison. “Ugh, was it reallg necessary to do that?” She whined. “You almost gave me a heart attack.”

“Of course wheres the fun in simply asking what you’re doing.” He laughed, pulling a chair next to Y/N as he watched her scroll through pages or rings. His smile growing ever so slightly. Y/N looked at him with suspicion.

“Okay I know that smile...clearly you know something I don’t.” She states. “Is this a bad idea?”

Harrisons smile dropped quickly as he profusely shook his head. “What? What? No...I just uhh — actually yeah the rings are not a good idea.” He blabbers. Y/N looks at him, waiting for Harrison to continue. “I mean think about it. If you buy a ring for Tom and he starts wearing it everywhere. People are gonna suspect that he’s getting married or worse find out about your relationship. I don’t know if you wanna risk that.”

Harrison was lucky to be a gifted actor as he improv-ed his answers on the spot in hopes that Y/N did not find him to be too suspicious. If she called his bluff and found out, Tom would make sure Harrison would never see the light of day. “You should go for this necklace. I think it suits him and has a touch of your style.” Harrison points out to a necklace he truthfully thought she should get him. With that, he quickly left Y/N to be on her own in gift shopping.

May 28, 2020 (T-Minus 4 Days)

Y/N’s planning was 70% in the clear. The necklace was ordered, Sam was helping out in planning the food, Harrison and Tuwaine were arranging the golf diversion plan, and Harry was keeping Tom busy making sure he wasnt suspecting anything. Although that didn’t stop Tom from bothering his girlfriend a couple of hours of the day. How could he not, the boy missed his girl.

“Y/N..” Tom cooed as he wrapped his hands around her, kissing a small part of her shoulder. “Can you take a break from whatever arts and crafts thing you got going on and cuddle with me?” He continued as he placed another kiss.

“Babe, I’d love to more than anything but I wanna finish this up so I can at least accomplish one thing during Quarantine.” She explains.

“You accomplish a lot of things darling, and you can accomplish another if you just come and cuddle with your needy boyfriend, who happens to be turning 24....in 4 days.” He hinted, places kisses by ear.

“Oh and I suppose that gives you special treatment?” Y/N challenges, letting out giggles as Tom continued to kiss where she was ticklish the most.

“I would hope so. Now, what do you say?” He smiles at her, placing the small strand of black hair behind her ear.

“Okay you win.” She whispers.

May 29, 2020 (T-Minus 3 Days)

Tom and Harry were busy hosting the Pub Quiz, while Y/N and Harrison took the time to create the decorations for Tom’s party. The theme... Spiderman, but what else was new. Harrison drew up webs and spiders on the deflated red and blue ballooms, stashing them in a paper bag to be inflated the day of. Y/N started on the birthday pub quiz answer sheets, customizing them to have that personal touch of Tom. Everything was going smoothly until, she needed more glue.

“Crap, Im gonna check the closet. I think we have a few spare sticks of hot glue.” Y/N stated, as she got up.

Harrison eyes started to display signs of panic as he quickly got up and raced her to it, guarding the closet door. “Uh...there’s no more. I already checked.” He squeaked.

Y/N raised her one eyebrow in suspicion. “I’m pretty sure there’s a couple.” She fired back, trying to pry Harrison off the closet. “C’mon Harrison. This isn’t funny.”

“I think it is.” Harrison continued to stall. Y/N rolled her eyes, coming closer to him, wiggling her fingers. She tickled his sides, knowing it was his weak spot. His grip started to loosen as he let out fits of giggles. Y/N took the opportunity to quickly open the closet, and grab her glue sticks. She looked around to find if anything was suspicious or worth hiding, but there was nothing.

“You know...you’re acting really weird.” Y/N stated as she walked back to the table to continue her project. Once she was out of Harrison’s sight, he quickly texted Tom about the dilemma. Only to receive:

Time to find a new spot then.

May 30, 2020 (T-Minus 2 Days)

It was Tom & Y/N’s turn to wash the dishes after dinner. The irony both had no clue what one was planning for the other. They were always the type to be truthfully honest to each other, but a few little playful secrets couldn’t hurt. “So, is it just me or is Harrison acting really...strange?” She asked her boyfriend. Tom looked at her, pretending to not know what she was talking about.

“Umm..not sure. He seemed fine to me....Why? What’s happened?” Tom asked casually, focusing on the dishes.

“You know for someone that’s really good at acting, you’re a terrible liar.” Y/N laughed out loud, only to get splashed with water. “Touche. But seriously, he gets so nervous around me. Like someone’s out to get him if I do something he doesn’t expect. I wanted to get glue sticks yesterday in the closet and he straight up guarded the door, saying I wasn’t allowed....in out own closet?! I swear it’s like he’s hiding something in there.”

“Haz, you div.” Tom muttered under his breath.

“What was that babe?”

“Uhh nothing. I was just saying Harrison is a piece of work. Even I couldn’t tell you why he was acting like that.” He lied.

“Uh..huh.” Y/N responded, not buying anything but rather just letting it be.

Tom placed the dishes on the rack, while he came up behind his girlfriend, huggling her tightly from behind. “It’s whatever. But, lets just go back to our room, lay under the sheets, watch some Netflix....have a good time.” He smirked, kissing her temple. “And just cuddle like there’s no one watching.”

“Mmmm. Now that sounds like a plan.” She whispers pulling him to their room.

May 31, 2020 (T-Minus 1 Day)

Y/N only had 1 day left to prepare everything for Tom’s big day. She made sure to stay on top of everyone’s tasks and prepped her gifts for Tom tomorrow. Y/N was extremely proud of everything and everyone that was taking part of her little project. A rare sight anyone would ever see, but the most thing she was proud of was how secretive they were able to keep it that Tom didnt suspect a single thing.

“So, got anything planned for tomorrow?” Tom asked Y/N as she was cooking pancakes.

“Mmm I dont know. Am I supposed to have something to do tomorrow?” She teases.

“Well..” He starts as he takes the spatula out of her hands. “I hear it this div’s birthday tomorrow.” Tom grabs Y/N’s waist, picking her up and placing her on the counter. “And I hear he just wants to spend it with his girls all day long.” Y/N’s legs locked around Tom’s waist as he continues his not-so-obvious birthday wish.

“Oh there’s gonna be more than one girl at this birthday of his huh? He must be quite the player.” She smiles at him, fingers thresding through the small brown hairs at the nape of his neck.

“Well yeah because Tessa is his princess but Y/N, this really cute adorable hot girl who doesn’t think she’s hot but should really start seeing it...that HIS princess.” He explained, kissing every visible spot on her face. “It would make his 24th. Trust me.”

Y/N pretends to stall and think about his wish. He knew he was going to get Y/N and Tom time together no matter what, but where’s the fun in just expecting it. “We’ll see about that birthday boy.”

June 1, 2020 (Party Time!!)

The boys were all out celebrating Tom’s birthday at the golf course at the start of the day. Of course that wasn’t until Tom made sure to get some extra love and attention from his girlfriend first thing in the morning. Y/N quickly rushed to get the decorations in place, while Nikki, Tom’s mother helped in setting the table and getting the food ready with cleR and concise instructions from Sam to ensure they couldn’t mess it up.

“Y/N this was such a wonderful idea. I cant wait to see his face when he comes home.” She exclaims, giving Y/N the most comforting hug.

“Thank you Nikki, I just want it to be perfect for him this year. I mean we’re all in Quarantine and all of us are finally together in one place.” Y/N explains as she places the final ballons up by the doorway.

“Well of this is how you prepare for a birthday, I can’t wait to see how you prep for your wedding.” Nikki responds, only half joking.

“He hasn’t even proposed yet!” Y/N laughs, though the thought makes her stomach flutter in the best way possible. Being married to Tom was all she could ever want in life.

“Well, dont you worry. Im sure it’ll happen, that boy can’t gona second without you I’d be surprised if he doesnt....May just have to chastise him if he takes too long.”

Y/N was starting to grow a bit suspicious. This whole week alone was filled with suspicion. Harrison acting weird, Tom being extra needy and cuddly, Nikki talking about marriage. “Was Tom going to propose soon? “ she thought to herself.

Just in the nick of time, the boys had all arrived after an intense game of golf. They came in bursting in conversation about how great it was, who deserved to win, and of course how Dom was always getting beat at his own game by his sons. Of course the festivities didnt start yet, until Tom took a moment to shower and dress up. It wasnt that he needed to, but for him..it was extremely necessary for today.

Y/N went up to grab her presents for Tom in the work closet, when all of a sudden, a small box landed on her head. She looked up then down towards where the item fell, only to see a sparkling pink and clear diamon cut ring. “Oh my god” she muttered.

“Bullocks.” Tom spoke out loud wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his torso.

“I...uh..Im sorry Tom. I swear I wasn’t looking for it I was just trying to get my gift so I could give it to you. I didnt know this was your hiding spot.” She frantically explains picking up the box and giving it to him.

Tom looked a little disappointed as he stared at the ring. He had worked so hard to keep it a secret from everyone only to get it ruined on his brirthday. “No no no. It’s fine Y/N, really. I just...I was planning on giving this to you next month on your birthday.”

Y/N opens her mouth realizing how bad she messed it up. “Oh my god. Tom Im so sorry.”

“It’s fine.” He laughs. “Actually kinda glad you found it. So now I can do this”. Tom gets down on one knee, his towel still wrapped around his torso. “Y/N, I have loved you more than I could ever love anyone in the past 3 years I’ve known you. I swear I could have sworn I was going to marry you the day I met you at the Marvel office with your little black Dell notebook in your hands. Your humor, your kindess, your sympathy and empathy for all living things makes me love you even more. Will you make me the happiest birthday man on earth, and marry me?” He proposes.

Y/N tears up and shakes her head vigorously. “Yes! Yes! Yes!” She cries, repearing the words as she hugs him on the floor. They lean in giving into a passionate kiss, still holding onto each other. Y/N and Tom couldn’t believe it was real. Just a couple of seconds they were boyfriend and girlfriend..now they’re engaged. “Wait. I almost forgot about your presents.” She quickly speaks out grabbing the bag.

“Darling, believe me you were my present. I am beyond satisfied right now.” He chuckles.

“I know, but I got you these too!” Y/N pushes the bag to him. Tom shakes his head as he opens it up find a silver necklace with a retangular pendant, and a major jar full of post- it notes. He observes the necklace and opens up the retangular pendant to find a picture of Y/N and him during their firsf year together. He smiled back at the memory, now seeing as to where they’ve ended uo. Stronger and better than before. Next, he opened the major jar pulling out a small card that read:

For whenever you’re down, need a laugh or missing me.

He picked up a post it note that more pictures of them during their time together with a note saying:

“Remember that you’re the reason we all smile. You are a warm loght of happiness that does not stop giving to the world.”

Tom tears up at the gift. In all his years, no one has ever given him soemthing that held so much sentimental value. “I love you so much Y/N. Thank you for this...for all of this.” He whispers, placing a gentle kiss on her lips.

“Your welcome. I hope you know you mean the world to me too, and I just wanted your birthday to be perfect.”

“It already is...because I have you.” He looks back at her and smiles.

“Cmon birthday boy. Get dressed, we have a party to attend to and news to share .” Y/N laughs as she helps her boyfriend...I mean fiance up. Who said that quarantine birthdays were boring?

Taglist:

@hollanddolanfangirl @parkerspillow

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland imagine #peter parker #peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader

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badgersprite · 3 years

Text

Fic: Desiderata (10/?)

Chapter Title: Collide

Fandom: Mass Effect

Characters: Miranda, Samara, Oriana, Jacob, Jack

Pairing: Miranda/Samara, I told you it was a fucking slow burn

Story Rating: R

Warnings: I don’t think any specific warnings apply for this chapter. Certainly nothing that doesn’t apply to the fic as a whole. Just assume any past warnings remain relevant.

Chapter Summary: The ‘flashback’ storyline comes to an end at the party on the Citadel. In London, Miranda’s insomnia is affecting her worse than ever before. Then Samara shows up at her door. And everything implodes.

Author’s Note: “If I'd have said I love you, she'd have said it back. And then everything would have been different.” - Sue Trinder, Fingersmith. Featuring Citadel dates that aren’t dates except they’re totally dates part II. I’m not going to lie, I’m kind of proud of myself here with the contrasts and parallels going on between the flashback scenes and present day scenes. People at their best, versus, well, close to their worst. Spotify playlist below the cut again.

(Link to Playlist)

*. * *

Miranda had been on the run from Cerberus for so long that it still hadn’t fully sunk in. She wasn’t hiding anymore. Wasn’t looking over her shoulder every waking moment. Didn’t get startled awake by every sound she heard in her sleep.

Somehow, she’d done it. She’d turned against The Illusive Man, and lived to tell the tale. For now, anyway.

The events at Sanctuary were so fresh in her mind that she’d barely had the chance to stop and catch her breath since. The bruises had mostly healed, but she still felt lingering echoes of her fight with Kai Leng, which could have ended a lot worse had she gone in unprepared. Not even ten days had passed since she hugged Oriana on Horizon and said her goodbyes, perhaps for the last time.

And yet she wasn’t thinking about what lay ahead. Not really.

Miranda was here. Living in the now.

For this one night, she was able to just...stand in one place, and enjoy the moment. That was something she had never taken the time to do previously, before all this came to pass. On an unconscious level, she had always taken tomorrows for granted. Never stopped or cared to appreciate today.

Suffice it to say, her head hadn’t quite fully caught up to where her body was, and that this was no mere illusion. It felt like at any second she would wake up and find herself alone in the dark again, scurrying like a rat through the shadows in hidden passages of the Citadel where nobody but the keepers could find her.

But this wasn’t a dream. It was really happening.

It meant all the more that at this particular moment she was surrounded by familiar faces from The Normandy she hadn’t seen in months, plus a few new ones. For a while there, it had felt like she would never see them again.

It was something to savour. So she did.

Miranda drew a deep breath and allowed herself to be present. To exist. To not be in her own head. She took in the scene as she made her way through Shepard’s apartment, letting her eyes wander the party going on around her, her gaze landing on each person she could see as she passed them by.

Liara and James Vega had spent a good portion of the evening arguing whether biotics were superior to brawn, or vice versa, with Jacob and Ashley having joined in on the great debate earlier. That still seemed to be ongoing, from what she could tell. The answer should have been eminently obvious to anyone, Miranda thought. Then again, she didn’t feel the need to convince anybody why her own preference was correct when she already knew she was right, as usual.

On a related note, Miranda might not have been the best judge when it came to reading signals between people, but even she was starting to get the sense that James and Ashley might be more than just shipmates by the end of the night, if they weren’t already. Good for them.

Tali, the last time she’d seen her, had been very much enjoying how uncomfortable EDI was making Samantha Traynor, talking openly about the crush Sam had on her voice. Although, come to think of it, Miranda was pretty sure Traynor had at long last managed to escape that awkward conversation and gone to hide under a table somewhere. Or maybe she’d just locked herself in the bathroom until she felt safe to emerge again. Either way, fair.

Speaking of potential couples, it hadn’t eluded Miranda’s attention that EDI and Joker had definitely become, shall it be said, a lot closer ever since EDI got a body. In retrospect, that wasn’t surprising, although the idea of the two of them becoming...entangled in that way had obviously never occurred to her before. Why would it have? But, come to think of it, the two of them had always bickered like an old married couple even when EDI was just a disembodied voice. From that perspective, Miranda supposed it kind of made sense.

And lastly on the list of possible relationships, there was also a...vibe coming off of Tali and Garrus, which was by far the most unexpected. And a little weird. Jacob had picked up on it before Miranda had, and she wished he hadn’t pointed it out. It was like finding out that two people she had thought of as more of a brother and sister might be hooking up. But it was none of Miranda’s business. In any event, the two of them seemed to mostly be avoiding each other. Perhaps they hadn’t confronted whatever this was between them yet.

She’d also caught sight of Zaeed and Samara admiring the artwork adorning Shepard’s new apartment. Miranda had thought about intruding on that, since that duo included the one person at this party she had been hoping to speak to tonight above all others, but she ultimately elected not to disturb them just yet. There would be other opportunities to catch up with her.

Somehow, she got the sense that Zaeed had finally been brave enough to shoot his shot with Samara after all this time. Judging by the expression on his face, and given that he was now drinking alone and very much not with Samara, presumably it had gone exactly as smoothly for him as had been predicted a year ago. She would be lying if she said she felt sorry for him.

A big group that included Joker, Garrus, Wrex, Steve Cortez and Javik had been arguing about guns and target practice or some similar nonsense, which hadn’t sounded particularly riveting to her in all honesty. Boys and their toys. They were still in that discussion from what she could hear. Unfortunately, Shepard seemed to have encouraged that line of thinking, which Miranda wished she hadn’t. Guns and alcohol were not the best mix.

Meanwhile, Kasumi had been popping in between all groups almost as much as Shepard had, like the perpetual snoop she was. She always loved getting up in everybody’s business. Miranda would have been a pretty big hypocrite to take issue with that, though. Although, when Miranda spied on people, it was for entirely professional reasons, not because she liked to gossip.

She had heard Grunt yelling at party crashers over the intercom a while back too. Who better to be a bouncer for a party than a genetically perfect krogan? She didn’t care to interrupt him. He’d done a good job of keeping the riff raff out.

And, honestly, for as much as Jack still grated on her nerves, a small part of Miranda had been somewhat relieved to see her there too, because if nothing else that meant she had survived long enough to attend this reunion. Miranda may not have liked Jack in the slightest, but if anybody thought she was actively rooting for any of her former Normandy comrades not to make it through this conflict, even Jack, then they really didn’t know Miranda at all.

Sure, they had instinctively traded barbs when they unintentionally crossed paths, because god forbid Jack actually behave like a fucking adult for once. But then Shepard had appeared out of nowhere and, for some bizarre reason, suggested that they, quote unquote, ‘work out all that unresolved tension between them’ and go have sex, or words to that effect.

In a weird way, that stupid comment had inadvertently somewhat doused the animosity between herself and Jack because, for once in their lives, they finally agreed on something - being that that would never fucking happen, and they would sooner drink broken glass than even think about it.

Credit to Shepard, though, Miranda and Jack hadn’t fought after that.

Maybe that had been the point.

Unfortunately, not all members of The Normandy had made it this far. There were missing faces. Only a few, but too many. From what she knew, they had all gone out like heroes, whatever that meant, and if it made any difference.

Thane had died giving his life to protect the Council from Kai Leng when Cerberus attacked the Citadel. Mordin had sacrificed himself to end the genophage, undoing what he had in retrospect come to believe was his greatest mistake. And Legion, well, to the extent that Legion could be considered ‘dead’, he had certainly ceased to exist in any recognisable form - giving up his ‘individuality’, for lack of a better word, to achieve peace between the quarians and the geth.

It wasn’t until after being forced to go into hiding for so long, believing some Cerberus agent would find her and put three bullets in her head before she saw any of her Normandy comrades again, that Miranda began to regret that she never took the chance to get to know her shipmates better, especially now that there were some with whom those lost moments could never be reclaimed.

What was that saying - you don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone?

Yeah, this was definitely one of those instances.

She’d always liked Thane, come to think of it. There was little to dislike. He had been one of the few on the ship who had never been anything other than extremely civil towards her, even when, admittedly, Miranda hadn’t been particularly courteous in return, misjudging him as a man of tenuous loyalty.

He never complained or questioned any task he was given. He just did it. A consummate professional. Exactly the kind of person she would want on any team.

Mordin, she respected. Hadn’t trusted, no, nor completely understood, but respected. They’d teamed up on a fair few field missions with Shepard early on when they were still studying the Collectors. Between her warps and Mordin’s incineration tech, they could tear through any armour in seconds. And he was undeniably a genius. Back on The Normandy, he was probably the only other person who’d spent as much time hard at work as Miranda. Maybe more.

With the benefit of hindsight, she wished she had taken more of an opportunity to pick his brain, and work with him on his endless list of projects. Even if he did talk at a million miles a minute, it was only because he had so much to do and no time to waste doing it. A sombre smile came to her face as she thought how many of the galaxy’s ills the two of them could have solved given enough all-nighters and enough pots of coffee between them.

And then there was Legion. In truth, she hadn’t had much time to speak to him, much less get to know him. He had been on The Normandy so briefly. Less than a month had elapsed between finding him, and Miranda being forced to leave. He was the one she knew the least. But he was unique.

She had been wrong about Legion, hadn’t she? Miranda still didn’t fully know where she stood on the whole question of whether machines could be considered ‘alive’, but that wasn’t the point, was it? Did it even matter if they weren’t? Either way, it would have been wrong to send him to Cerberus, like Miranda had initially suggested. If that had happened, Rannoch might not be at peace right now. With his final sacrifice to unite the quarians and the geth, Legion had definitively proven himself to be more than the mere sum of his programs.

So the question remained. Why hadn’t Miranda taken the initiative to get to know them? To speak to them? It wasn’t as if she hadn’t known that the time Thane and Mordin had was short, irrespective of intervening events. She’d just...not bothered.

It hadn’t occurred to her back then to think that was something she ought to have done. The old Miranda hadn’t cared to do such things. Because other people didn’t really matter to her.

By the time Miranda had started to defrost and emerge as a more tolerable (and, in turn, more tolerant) person to be around, it was already too late. The mission was over. The Alpha Relay was destroyed. And everyone went their separate ways.

But there was no changing the past. Perhaps there was no sense in wondering what could have been, or what she would have done differently if she had known then what she knew now, or if she had been the person back then that she was now, because that just wasn’t possible. And Miranda could do many things, but even she couldn’t make the impossible possible.

Well, not usually.

She couldn’t have those days back. But she still had this day. This one night. Best not to dwell on what was missing or the mistakes of yesterdays gone by when there was so much that she had to be thankful for. And, moreover, so much which she had, for once in her life, finally learned to appreciate.

And it wasn’t lost on her that this one night of joyful reunion was almost certainly the last one they could ever have like this. The last time they would all be together. The last time that all the faces in this room would still be here to celebrate as one.

Because they wouldn’t be alive much longer.

The reality was, the whole galaxy was at war. And it was a war they were currently losing. Their chances of victory were slim to none. From what Miranda had gathered, all organic life was essentially banking its hopes on some ancient miracle superweapon passed down from previous cycles called The Crucible that they didn’t even fully understand or know how to use yet. And if that failed?

...There wasn’t a plan B. Not yet, at least.

Even if The Crucible worked and they somehow defeated the Reapers, the chance that more than a handful of people in this room would survive the war was infinitesimally small. And, perhaps more than anyone else at that party, Miranda had no expectation that she would be among the living when the dust settled. Because Miranda had never been happier than she was right then. Never had more to live for. And if that wasn’t a curse that put her right at the top of the list of ‘most likely to die’, then she was not only naive, but delusional.

The universe was a cruel place. The people who had the most to live for were always the first to die. There was no way that Miranda could rationally believe that the future she now saw for herself and Ori after the war might ever actually come to fruition. Because, if there was one thing that Miranda’s thirty-six years had taught her, it was that she would never get to be that fucking happy.

Things like that just didn’t happen. Especially not to people like her.

Or, if they did, then they shouldn’t.

Seeing what Cerberus had become, knowing she’d spent just shy of twenty years of her life working for them? No, she didn’t deserve a good ending.

As that thought went through her head, Miranda glanced up, and spotted a singular, solitary figure standing alone by the second floor balcony, watching the scenes playing out below. Samara. Somehow, that she was by herself was the least shocking thing Miranda could have imagined.

Finally sensing her long-awaited chance to catch a private moment with the one person she had been more eager to spend time with than any other, Miranda ascended the stairs, a glass of wine curled in her grasp.

“Not mingling?” Miranda asked as she joined Samara’s side.

“I am content to observe,” Samara replied, maintaining an upright posture with her hands clasped behind her back. She seemed to mean it, preferring to watch and listen from a distance than to be directly involved in the action for the most part. Considering she was about four hundred years out-of-practice when it came to this sort of thing, being a passive onlooker probably genuinely was the most enjoyable way for her to experience this party at her own pace.

“Normally, I would do the same.” Miranda leaned on the railing beside her.

“Yet you appear to be enjoying the festivities,” Samara noted, pleased with that.

“I know. It feels incongruous, doesn’t it? Me, being social? A year ago I would have been telling you all to stop wasting time and focus on the mission,” said Miranda, finding it rather bizarre to consider how far she'd come from the cold, aloof person she was previously. Well, not that she couldn't still be those things. But she was less so now. Especially among this dysfunctional bunch of misfits she had reluctantly become fond of, despite her better judgement.

Being part of The Normandy crew had changed her irrevocably. More than she'd realised at the time. Meeting her sister had done that too. And Samara, of course. And so had losing all those things when she went on the run. It made her appreciate aspects of life she wouldn't have otherwise.

It was almost enough to make her call them all her friends. Even Jack.

...Almost.

“You do not need to deprive yourself for my sake,” Samara assured her, gesturing towards the party going on beneath them, as if believing Miranda was only approaching her out of a sense of obligation to ensure she didn't feel excluded.

“I'm not. I enjoy your company. I always have.” Nothing had changed in that respect. No matter how much time had passed, Miranda would never feel any less at ease in Samara’s presence. She just had that effect on her. A vague smirk came to her as she thought back on the last time they spoke, toying with her wine glass. “I was right, you know?” she said, recalling her own words from all those many months ago. “I did miss you more than anyone else.”

“Even Shepard?” Samara inquired, her lip quirking with amusement.

“Even Shepard,” Miranda confirmed, taking a sip. “Don't pass this on, but Shepard was always barging into my office when I had a lot to do. Ask Garrus and he'll tell you the same thing about his calibrations.” She gestured to their comrade, currently setting up a number of glasses on the bar, resembling a firing range. That was going to end badly. “That was something I always liked about you.”

“What was?” asked Samara.

“You might be the only person I've ever met who never wanted anything from me,” Miranda explained, having had plenty of time to think about that in her loneliest moments this past year. “Not to be presumptuous, but it wasn’t because you simply didn't care, or wanted to get rid of me. You just...accepted me, as I was. I never felt as though I had to earn your approval, whether through my usefulness, or my accomplishments, or even through keeping you entertained with conversation. I could just...do nothing around you – literally, just sit there and say nothing in your presence, and that was fine with you.”

That was no exaggeration. They had spent hours together in serene silence, or in meditation. Maybe more than they had spent talking. It never mattered what they chose to do. One was never any more or less welcome than the other.

“It was,” Samara confirmed, her voice soft and reflective. “And, no, you are not being presumptuous. You may be more forthright than I am about such things, but, if I ever desired to be left alone, believe me, I would not have made a secret of it.”

“Ah, good, so you weren’t secretly dreading it whenever I showed up because you were too polite to tell me to bugger off this entire time,” Miranda joked. She already knew that, of course, but it was nice to have it on record.

“I am unfamiliar with that term. But no, I was not,” Samara answered kindly. “I would be a fool not to value your abilities. The things you have accomplished are remarkable, let alone what you have yet to achieve. But such things are only possible because of who you are. That is what is truly important. And I asked nothing of you, because I already enjoyed your companionship.”

Miranda wasn’t prone to blushing like an idiot, but it took an uncharacteristic amount of effort not to glow at such sincere praise. “You aren’t so bad yourself,” Miranda wryly replied, gently nudging Samara with her shoulder.

“No, I am terribly dull. I assure you, I am aware of this,” Samara replied, a self-effacing smile tugging at the corners of her lips at the misplaced compliment.

Miranda snorted at that assertion. “Are you kidding? You were the only one out of this lot I found even remotely interesting to talk to most days. And, considering the company we keep, that’s saying something,” she said, indicating their cohorts below, who included some of the most famous heroes and infamous outlaws in the galaxy. “You’re one of the most fascinating people I’ve ever met. Besides, I owe a lot to your wisdom and advice. More than you know.”

“It pleases me that you feel that way. However, if I may, I do not consider myself especially wise,” Samara humbly responded, downplaying her role. “If I appear so, it is only because experience has taught me one lesson that can make even the most dimwitted person appear well-considered in their thoughts, and that is to speak as little as possible, until I have something worthwhile to say.”

“See? That’s the most intelligent thing I’ve heard all evening,” Miranda pointed out, earning a faint chuckle from Samara. “In all seriousness, though, I really have been looking forward to catching up with you.”

“And I you. Much has come to pass since last we met. For both of us, I suspect,” Samara reflected, as if she had often wondered in her journeys where her friends were, how they were faring, or what they might be doing. Miranda knew, because she had done the exact same thing. “If it would not trouble you to share it--”

“I killed my father,” Miranda nonchalantly answered, filling in the gaps of what had transpired over the past few months before Samara could even ask her to, bringing up the subject about as casually as she might remark on the weather.

“Good,” Samara enthused, without a hint of hesitation. She didn’t even need to ask whether or not he deserved it. She already knew the answer.

That Samara took it so in stride almost made Miranda laugh. That exchange would have sounded so bizarre out of context. “Couldn’t have happened to a nicer man,” Miranda commented, taking another drink from her glass, nearing half-empty. “So, yeah, I’ve gone from having the absolute worst year of my life so far to feeling pretty bloody wonderful, if I’m being honest.”

“I am glad to hear you say that. However, if I may...are you sure you are alright?” Samara asked with the warmth and gentleness Miranda had come to expect from her. Although her own experiences with Morinth were very different, no doubt they gave her an insight that, irrespective of how much Miranda hated her father or how justified she was in her actions, killing the man who had been her only family for sixteen years of her life might unearth some complicated feelings. “It would be no failure on your part whatsoever if you are not.”

“Yeah. I’m fine. Believe me, if there was any small part of me left that might have wanted to let him live, or might have felt something resembling an attachment to him, that part of me died the moment he hurt my sister,” Miranda declared, her voice unwavering. She glanced down. “Unfortunately, I...should have gotten there sooner. Oriana’s adoptive parents weren’t spared. They didn’t make it.”

“I am sorry,” Samara said, her sympathy sincere. “Is there anything you could reasonably have done to prevent this from happening?”

“No, probably not,” Miranda acknowledged. She had been fighting so hard just to survive some days. To stay one step ahead of The Illusive Man and his agents. She’d kept an eye on her as best she could, but it hadn’t been possible to watch over her and protect her the way she used to from such a position of powerlessness. She hadn’t even known she was in danger until it was too late.

“Then you must not blame yourself,” Samara encouraged, ever the voice of compassionate wisdom. “If your actions could not realistically have changed anything that transpired, then you cannot be held responsible.”

“I suppose not,” Miranda conceded, staring down at her glass.

More than anything else, Miranda hated that feeling of helplessness. Knowing that Oriana had suffered and felt pain she never wanted her to experience, and there was nothing she could do to shield her from it. She would have traded her own life in a heartbeat to take it all away and wind back the clock for Ori and her family, if it were within her power. But such things weren’t. It couldn’t be undone. It couldn’t be fixed. They just had to keep moving forward.

“Enough about me. How about you?” Miranda changed the subject. “I tried to keep tabs on everyone but...you are a hard woman to find, Samara.”

“That is my way,” Samara affirmed, calm and quiet. “I have no possessions, but that which you see before you. And I often journey through very remote places.”

“You’re off-the-grid,” Miranda translated. Certainly, Samara was about as disconnected from galactic society and unplugged from the network as it was possible to be in this day and age, short of eschewing those things completely.

“You could say that, yes,” Samara gave a firm nod, accepting that description. She stepped away from the balcony, gesturing with her hand as she spoke. “You may not know this, but there are villages in remote parts of asari space where people have...returned to a simpler way of being, rejecting modernity and embracing tradition in every facet of life. Even though their ancestors may have come to those worlds by spaceflight, they prefer to live as their predecessors did thousands of years ago. It would not be an exaggeration for me to state that several such places I have visited recently would still not currently be aware there is a war going on as we speak, and would never have heard the term ‘Reaper’.”

“Doesn’t sound that strange. There are people and places on Earth that haven’t changed at all in the past two hundred years, if not longer. As long as they aren’t holding back social and scientific progress for anyone else, why force them to adapt?” Miranda shrugged. If people wanted to stay stuck in the past, that was their business. She would happily continue moving forward and enjoy all the trappings and privileges of modern life that they rejected.

“...I have always liked such places, at least since I became a Justicar. They remind me of my temple somewhat,” Samara confessed, her eyes losing focus, drifting into thoughtful contemplation. “Just as there is tranquility in being surrounded by nature, there is truly no wiser woman than she who is content with her life, however humble it may seem. Would that we could all achieve such harmony.”

The hint of sombreness in Samara’s final words wasn’t lost on Miranda.

“Speaking for myself, give me twenty-second century technology any day,” Miranda remarked, both because it was true, but partly in an effort to lighten the atmosphere. It wasn’t clear whether Samara even heard her, in all honesty. “So where did you go after that?” Miranda asked casually. Given that she was here, she must have run into Shepard again somehow.

At those words, a sudden flicker of sorrow passed across her features. Samara turned away, one hand falling across her face, as if struck by a surge of sadness, and needing a moment to collect herself.

Needless to say, that reaction definitely didn’t escape Miranda. She moved closer to Samara, concerned. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

Samara summoned a heartbroken smile as she looked up at her once more. “Forgive me. My thoughts turned to the day I encountered Shepard,” she began, a hard story to tell. “I heard that the monastery where my daughters were taken four centuries ago had issued a distress signal, and none who had been sent to investigate had returned. As soon as I knew they were in peril, I did not hesitate. I had to go to them. I feared the worst, and my fears were not misplaced. The Reapers were indoctrinating Ardat-Yakshi, turning them into…” Samara couldn’t even say it. There weren’t words to describe those creatures.

Miranda listened to her recount the events in heavy, dread-filled silence. Nobody had told her that. She had no idea about any of this.

“Fortunately, both Shepard and I arrived in time to rescue Falere from that fate. However, we were not quick enough. I lost...I lost Rila.” Samara’s voice caught in her throat, choked by a sob as she relived the all-too-raw pain of her death.

Her oldest daughter. Gone.

Miranda’s heart sank. “Samara, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know,” she said with heartfelt remorse. Miranda never would have brought this up if she had suspected anything had happened to what little family Samara still had left. Why hadn’t anybody said anything? Why had no one told her about this?

“No, it is…” Samara shook her head, raising a hand as if to signal that it was not her fault for inadvertently touching upon an open wound. As if she thought the only misstep made was her own for letting grief cloud the moment, when she had so much still to be thankful for. “I should not. Not today.”

Miranda didn’t quite know what to make of that reaction, but if Samara didn’t want to talk about the death of her child, she couldn’t exactly blame her. She certainly wouldn’t force her to.

Their moment of quiet was interrupted by glass shattering somewhere below.

“Oh, God,” Miranda groaned miserably, getting the sense that the boys were in fact about to break out the guns and start shooting after all. She was not particularly keen to be near them when that happened. “Do you want to go somewhere a little quieter?” Miranda asked, thinking that would be best.

“As you wish,” Samara replied, gesturing for her to go ahead, composing herself as she followed in Miranda’s footsteps. With that, they retreated into Shepard's bedroom, seeing that it appeared empty.

Out of the corner of her eye, Miranda glimpsed something. Shepard's closet was open, but the clothes were shifting ever so slightly as they hung there. Hmm. She had a fair idea what was causing that. However, this wasn't the time to address it. Not when this moment with Samara could be one of the last they ever had. She made a mental note to file her theory away for a little later.

Ignoring the disturbance, Miranda stepped inside. She supposed they could have sat on the bed, but, somehow, that just didn't seem fitting. “Here, for old time's sake,” she said, sitting down on the floor, her legs crossed, patting a spot beside her. “I know the view isn't as good, but—“

“I have spent many years gazing out over the stars, and I will see them again before my days are at an end,” Samara interrupted Miranda, joining her by her side, mirroring her posture. “In comparison, I have spent far less time with you. This is more worthy, do you not agree?”

“Definitely.” Miranda glanced down, having reflected on that sort of thing a lot recently. “Cutting myself off from...everything like I did made me appreciate the value of how I spend my limited time in this universe. I’ve come to understand what I want to do with my life, after all this is done. Assuming there is an ‘after’. And it turns out you were right, but you probably already knew that.”

“I...do not,” Samara replied, mildly perplexed. “If I said something in the past that you are referring to, I am afraid that I do not recall it.”

That happened a lot, Miranda thought. She had a near-perfect memory, by human standards. It felt entirely natural to her to harken back to conversations that had taken place long ago as if they’d happened only yesterday when, almost invariably, by that stage, the other party had forgotten them completely.

“You remember how you would encourage me to concentrate less on devoting all my energy to my work and other external achievements and to focus more on my inner development instead? Well, you asked me once which of those two things ultimately has greater meaning to me,” Miranda refreshed her memory.

“That does sound like something I would say,” Samara acknowledged, certainly remembering words to that effect, even if a few more specific details had faded.

“You did. And you were right,” Miranda continued. “I had a lot of time to myself these past several months. Completely to myself. And when that crushing isolation was just starting to tip me over the edge, I thought of you. I thought of us, our time together. And so I tried my hand at meditating again. It succeeded at calming me down and clearing my head but, more importantly, finding that state of tranquility gave me the first chance I’d had since leaving Cerberus to really stop and think about my life, and the direction it was heading, even before this.”

Samara’s expression revealed she knew that epiphany all too well, as if she had undergone something similar in her own life. Possibly more than once. It was no wonder she considered meditation such an essential facet of her existence.

“Serenity is the key to mindfulness. The only key. Even the simplest truths are often lost to us in the noise and chaos of life, or clouded by impenetrable shadows of anger and despair,” Samara spoke sagely, from the benefit of experience.

That was the truest and most astute thing Miranda had heard anyone say in a long time. And beautifully poetic. And, as she looked at Samara then, Miranda had to once again wonder how she could possibly believe herself to be dull or unwise, even if she had only made those disparaging remarks about herself in jest.

“What came to you in the silence?” Samara prompted, keen to hear it.

“I thought of the person I was before I met you, and, out of nowhere, it suddenly hit me - really hit me - that all that time I spent working for Cerberus was...wasted. It meant nothing. And I knew it meant nothing because all I could think was that, if Cerberus did catch up to me and kill me, then I would be leaving behind absolutely nothing that I could look back on and say, ‘Yeah, you know what? I’m satisfied with that.’ Not one thing. Except for bringing Shepard back, but any contentment I feel about that has less to do with me, and more to do with Shepard.”

“Because you were never satisfied with anything you produced,” Samara intuited, sensing what Miranda had come to terms with. “Nothing could ever truly meet your own unattainable standards that you set for yourself. And no amount of work could ever fill the void that you felt inside. A void that festered because you were...completely avoiding focusing on your inner life.”

“Yes, I was. And, no, it couldn’t fill it,” Miranda confirmed, seeing now what she had been too distracted to see before. “And, although I didn’t realise it at the time, I really did not like the person I was when I was working for them. I was not happy. I thought I was, compared to the life I had before. But, in actuality, I wasn’t any less trapped with them than I was with my father. I was like Shepard’s stupid hamster, running in a wheel, doing the same things over and over again, thinking I was getting somewhere, but going nowhere. Deep down, I was...I was fucking miserable. And...honestly, I think I was lonely.”

Samara watched on, her eyes glistening with unfeigned sympathy and understanding. “I gathered as much,” Samara admitted, barely above a whisper. Miranda wasn’t surprised to hear her say that. She wasn’t sure at precisely what point it had occurred to her to suspect that Samara’s spiritual intervention in her life might be intentional, but she’d made no secret of her guidance.

“I’m glad you noticed, because I never would have. It was you who gave me that gentle push that made me re-examine what I was doing with my life, how badly I was treating myself, and reflect on what really mattered to me,” said Miranda. Hell, Samara had known what Miranda was missing better than she knew it herself. “So, as I was having this moment of insight and meditating on all those things you said to me, it made me think, maybe the path I’ve been taking until now isn't what's fulfilling to me. That's why, once the Reapers are defeated, if I make it out alive...I think I'm done,” she stated frankly, shrugging her shoulders.

“Done?” Samara echoed, curious as to her meaning.

“Done being that person,” Miranda clarified. “Done leading my life that way. Or at least I’ll try to be someone different for a while, until I figure out what I really want to do now that there’s nobody controlling me anymore. I'm not planning to be a puppet for another shadowy organisation. I'm not going to go off on some grand mission to save the galaxy. I’m not going to spend sixteen hours a day hunched over my computer screen, stressing over worthless administrative tasks to meet the arbitrary standards of people who don’t care at all if my crippling addiction to perfectionism sends me to an early grave,” Miranda announced, voicing that commitment aloud as though it were a vow. “If I’m finally going to take charge of my own life, then I'm going to focus on what's most important to me.”

“And what is that?” Samara asked, suspecting she already knew.

“My sister,” Miranda answered without hesitation. Oriana was her be all and end all. Whether she knew it or not, she always had been, ever since she was brought into this world. She made Miranda feel complete, or as close to whole as she had ever felt, anyway. “I made a promise to her that, when this is over, we're going to find some nice, quiet place on a colony world and start living our lives together as a family. And that's the only thing I want to do. The only thing I know will make me happy. I don't care about anything else.”

“You are...retiring?” Samara inferred, tilting her head in questioning.

“In a manner of speaking, I guess you could say that,” Miranda affirmed. As she glanced over at Samara then, it wasn’t lost on her that, while she was clearly impressed with the level of growth Miranda was demonstrating, suffice it to say that there was a hint of scepticism. “What?” Miranda prompted her, always preferring people to be direct rather than refrain from speaking.

“Forgive me. It delights me to hear that you have chosen a path which you believe will bring you inner fulfilment, but...with greatest respect, after our many conversations, I find it difficult to imagine you content with embracing idleness,” Samara noted with interest, even though she obviously supported her decision. She knew it drove Miranda crazy when she didn’t have enough work to do. She was perpetually busy, by choice. She hated being bored more than anything.

“No, I'm not saying I’ll be idle. I mean, I am only thirty-six, and...well, you've seen what I'm like,” Miranda conceded that fault, aware of her workaholic tendencies. She didn’t expect those qualities to fade, and she wasn’t sure it would be a good thing if they did. They were part of her personality. “But the point is that I’ve been doing the exact same thing for twenty years and getting nothing in return - except money, I guess. Before that, I was my father’s prisoner. I’ve never had the chance to be my own woman. I need a clean break. A hard reset. To steer things in a new direction. I need some time to...do or be something else, for the first time in my life. I need to…” She trailed off, struggling for the right words.

“Find yourself?” Samara suggested.

“Something like that,” Miranda confirmed. She’d never had a chance to discover herself and her identity except insofar as it related to her upbringing, or to her career with Cerberus. What else was there? Who was Miranda Lawson when she wasn’t working? Or wasn’t busy solving all the galaxy’s problems?

She would have loved to know. It was a shame she wouldn’t get to live long enough to meet that person. But, God, did it feel good to live in denial, and allow herself to hope, for just one night.

“I don't know how long this experiment will last, or what this phase of my life will look like,” Miranda continued, “And I'm sure that at some point in time I'm going to find ways to keep myself productive, because I probably can't do otherwise. But, whatever I decide to do with my time and my skills, I'll be doing it of my own volition. Not because I'm tethered to anybody else. Not because somebody else is running my life and telling me what to do. It will be because I took time to think about it, and found a way to devote myself to something that actually makes me feel good when I do it. Whatever that ends up being.”

That was the core of it, when it came down to it. She wanted to be her own master. To have control over her own life. To be her own boss. Wanted the freedom to cut ties with anyone or anything that was toxic to her quest for self-actualisation.

“Either way, from now on, all those other things are going to be secondary, because my family is my priority. Oriana is,” Miranda professed, and that was immutable. “And, while I already knew that, you helped me realise what that means. So thank you for that.”

“If I was able to be of any assistance, then seeing you embrace your innermost desires is thanks enough. I am glad that you and your sister have found one another,” Samara said, her sincere smile reaching her eyes. “Truly, you have come so far from when I first met you. Wherever your path takes you, I wish you nothing but happiness. And I hope you both lead very long and peaceful lives.”

“Don’t we all?” Miranda remarked. That was the hard part, though. The entire galaxy was under attack by genocidal, unknowable cosmic horrors. But nobody wanted to think about them right now. Not tonight. “What about you and Falere?” Miranda asked, hoping she wasn’t treading on too sensitive ground by asking that question. “Will you do the same with her?”

“...I cannot; my adherence to The Code does not end with the salvation of the galaxy,” said Samara. Though it was clear she accepted that, her response left her visibly conflicted. No doubt, she wished it could have been otherwise. “I am the last of my Order. When I perish, so do the Justicars perish with me. It may seem futile to continue to walk this path when there is no one left to demand it of me, but I must. I must, for those who can no longer walk it with me.”

Samara’s devout pledge carried a hint of sadness, but it was well-camouflaged. What she personally wanted was irrelevant, ever since she'd renounced her former life and sworn her service to the Justicars. Being their sole living legacy only further cemented what had already been true. She wouldn't turn her back on her obligations, no matter how tempting it was to savour every moment she could with her daughter. She could never forgive herself if she did.

“However, I have also promised Falere that I will return, if I survive – when I am able,” Samara continued, though her tone did not change. It remained distant. Almost resigned. Layered in over four hundred years of history between them.

Miranda couldn’t quite make sense of the mixed emotions she sensed in Samara’s voice. Perhaps she was disappointed that they couldn’t be as close as she would like - that there were restrictions standing in the way of them fully reuniting in the same kind of way Miranda and Oriana had. Falere was still an Ardat-Yakshi, after all; she could never live a normal life. It was too dangerous.

“But you will see her? You will have a life together?” Miranda surmised, in a subtle attempt to encourage Samara to think of her circumstances more positively.

“...Yes,” Samara answered hesitantly, deciding that was indeed true, in part.

“Then, if both of us have reasons to survive, I don't like the Reapers' chances,” Miranda spoke with false confidence. If she said it with enough self-assuredness, perhaps she might actually start to believe it. But she wasn’t trying to convince herself. Only Samara. “If we've said we're going to do these things, then we already know what the outcome of this war has to be.”

Samara didn't share in her display of bravado, but she did appreciate her sentiment. “Though I am not afraid of death, I certainly have found a great deal more to live for than I ever thought I would have again...” Samara trailed off at that thought, her eyes briefly drifting out of focus, almost pensive in her reflection.

“Here's to living,” said Miranda, raising her mostly empty glass in a salute, finishing the last of her drink.

At that, Samara shook herself from whatever temporary trance had come over her. “Yes. Indeed. As you once said to me, I will…’see you on the other side’,” Samara echoed Miranda’s words from The Collector Base, nodding her head in agreement. There was nothing more worthy of affirmation than the desire to emerge from the ashes when all this was over. “The hour grows late, and I fear I have kept you too long. Do you wish to return to the festivities?”

“You go on ahead,” Miranda encouraged. “And don’t just sit in a corner and meditate all night. Go...fucking have fun, Samara. You deserve it.”

Samara uttered a soft chuckle. “I am not entirely sure what that means, but if you are insistent, then...I will try to avail myself. The atmosphere is certainly...energetic,” she commented, as if sounding faintly overwhelmed by the party.

Miranda didn’t need to be a genius to recognise that it had been a long, long, long, long (too many longs to possibly put into a sentence) time since Samara would have experienced anything like this. The young Samara she had heard tales of had definitely been a wild child, but she had ceased to be that person even before her personal tragedy befell her. As a Justicar, she had been travelling alone, in total solitude, for over four hundred years, barely even speaking to anyone for most of that time, except as required to carry out her duties.

How many centuries had it been since she was able to get together like this with a group of friends? Since she even had a group of friends? Since she...relaxed and unwound? It was no wonder that, so far, she seemed content to watch from the sidelines more than actively participate in the unfolding chaos.

Still a little sad, though. At least from where Miranda was sitting.

“Will you join me?” Samara asked, extending her hand as she got to her feet.

“In a bit,” Miranda declined. “There's something I have to take care of first.”

Samara didn't ask what Miranda meant by that, respecting her decision. “Very well. May we speak again soon,” she said, taking her leave and rejoining the others.

Once Samara was gone, Miranda uttered a faint disgruntled sigh. “I know you're there, Kasumi,” she said, annoyed. “Samara may not have noticed, but I did.”

“Aw, what gave it away?” Kasumi playfully whined, de-cloaking in front of Shepard's closet.

“The movement as you rifled through those clothes,” Miranda answered plainly.

“Ooh, you're good,” Kasumi acknowledged. Most people wouldn't have seen it.

“Genetic enhancements. Superior vision. You've heard this story,” Miranda explained, waving that nonsense away. She elected not to ask what Kasumi was doing by rifling through Shepard’s clothes. That was the least unusual thing about this. “So, were you riveted by our conversation?” she asked.

“Actually, yes,” Kasumi replied, her answer apparently unfeigned. “Samara wasn’t kidding; you really have changed your perspective for the better. This new you, it's nice. You seem happy. I hope everything works out for you and your sister.”

Miranda couldn't quite manage to be cross with her after that kind response. “Yeah, well...I’ll never hear the end of it if the crew thinks I’ve gone soft and sentimental, so don’t go telling anyone. Besides, I haven't changed so much that I won't be capable of making your life hell if you let word of this spread around,” Miranda idly threatened, not meaning it at all.

Kasumi lost any trace of heartfelt sincerity after that. “On the other hand, I was also enthralled because I thought your little love session was going to end with you and Samara christening Shep's sheets,” she teased.

Miranda arched an eyebrow. Her and Samara? How absurd. “Of all the comebacks you could make...Really? A gay joke? In this day and age? What century are you from?” Honestly, it was the lack of creativity and wit that disappointed her more than anything. Kasumi was normally funnier than this.

“Who’s joking?” Kasumi wryly replied. “I was going to take bets from the others on which one of you topped. I picked you, for the record.”

Miranda snorted, not even humouring this nonsense. “Sure. If you say so.”

“Be dismissive if you want, but I was right across the hall from Samara. I overheard more than one of your conversations. I know nobody else knows how much time you spent together, but I do. Besides, Shepard has it all wrong; Samara's a much better match for you than Jack would ever be,” Kasumi nonchalantly commented.

Miranda sighed heavily and let her head fall in her hand, massaging her forehead in visible annoyance. “What is it with everyone tonight--”

As soon as Miranda began to utter the question, she found that Kasumi had already cloaked herself and disappeared, leaving her by herself. Miranda rolled her eyes, not even slightly shocked. Kasumi had done that to everyone all night.

Seriously, though, why was everyone suddenly so intent on getting her to sleep with women at this party? They knew she was straight, right?

* * *

Drip.

She stirred at the disturbance. Her right eye flickered open, but the other didn’t respond. Twisted metal and exposed wires loomed over her against the backdrop of an empty sky.

Drip.

A body hung out of the seat above her. Half a body. A cracked ribcage visibly protruded from a burned uniform. Entrails dangled from the open corpse. Droplets of blood ran down a lifeless arm swaying limp in the light breeze.

Drip.

Miranda had been here before. So many times. But this time, she was frozen in place. Trapped. Stuck. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t shift her body. Could only feel the blood and the viscera. It surrounded her. She was practically floating in a pool of it beneath her.

It was still warm.

Drip.

She could taste copper in her mouth. She was covered in sanguine from head to toe. She wasn’t sure how much was hers, and how much was the pilot’s.

Drip.

Her eyelid fluttered as a drop landed directly in her iris. As she blinked, she noticed something she’d never seen before. The pilot’s neck was bent back the wrong way. But there was a head. Half a head. Split clean open. Down the middle.

Her helmet had come off, exposing blonde hair. Stained with a crimson mask.

Drip.

Miranda’s instincts reacted before she did. Her heart began to race - her pulse quickening with a deep, abiding dread. Adrenaline surged through her veins. And she didn’t know why. Until she saw.

Until she saw the body above her move.

Drip.

That bent-backwards broken spine shifted consciously. And, with a wilful snap, suddenly that limp neck was above her. Hanging. That half-skull hovered directly over her. Looking at her. Appraising her.

Drip.

Miranda tensed with the urge to fight or flee, but she was frozen in place, as if made of stone. She couldn’t move a single part of her body below her neck.

Drip.

That torn face, broken in two, shifted back and forth, as if studying Miranda. Examining her. Asking itself…why did this stranger live, when I died?

Drip.

With one click of a button to release her harness, the pilot dropped to the floor, freed from her restraints. Miranda could only watch as that unliving corpse of the woman blasted in half by the Reaper unnaturally positioned itself above her. Then the thing looked over to one side. Its eye was fixed on Miranda’s left arm.

Her wounded limb hung like dead weight from her shoulder. Fractured. Lifeless. Her forearm was twisted around completely the wrong way from the elbow down. Miranda couldn’t so much as twitch her fingers in self-defence.

Drip.

Without warning, it seized her left hand.

“Ah!” Miranda gasped in pain, but couldn’t fight her off. Couldn’t move.

All she could do was lie there helplessly and watch as this dead creature lifted her broken, mangled arm. She willed herself not to scream from how much it hurt. Not to give it the satisfaction of breaking her.

Drip.

The pilot stared down at her, unmoved by her anguish. It felt nothing.

It never broke eye contact with her as it lifted her backwards-twisted hand towards itself. Until Miranda’s fingers were almost touching that split-open face.

Miranda would have resisted if she could, but it felt like her arm would rip clean in half at the elbow if she pulled back with even the slightest force.

Drip.

And then the pilot opened her mouth.

And a river of maggots came pouring out.

Wriggling.

Writhing.

Miranda could do nothing except watch as those horrible, crawling larvae spread from her fingers, down her palm, and to her wrist. And everywhere they touched, her flesh was consumed with rot. Infection. Disease. Death.

She could smell it.

She could fucking smell it.

And they just kept coming.

Drip.

Some of the vile things fell onto her abdomen, there were so many of them. And the rot took hold there too. Turning her skin sickly septic. Pestilent. Necrotic.

The pilot let go of her arm, letting it fall to the floor as the maggots swarmed her.

That half-body reached down and grabbed a fistful of the squirming things that were feasting on her still living corpse. It held that pulsating mass above her.

Drip.

“No,” was all Miranda could say, knowing what it intended.

But there was nothing she could say that would stop it.

Drip.

It shoved that handful of maggots directly onto her face.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Instinctively, Miranda reached over and slapped the alarm off before anyone else would hear it. The next thing she did was bite down on her pillow to keep from screaming, or vomiting, stifling the lingering echoes of her nightmare.

Once the panic subsided, Miranda flopped onto her back, catching her breath.

Four forty-five in the morning.

This had been her bright idea to get some sorely-needed rest. She’d set her alarm to go off every half hour - to wake her before she could dream. It worked for the first three cycles. That was the fourth. Another failed solution. Another plan that hadn’t helped. Every time she slept, it was hell. It was always hell.

Miranda lay there in darkness, staring at the ceiling, listening to her ear ring. At least she’d got two hours before the nightmares struck this time. Thank Christ for that small mercy. But she was still so tired. She was so fucking tired.

Miranda could run on far less sleep than the average human. Persevere longer before frayed edges started to show. But even she had limits on what she could withstand. The longer this went on, the harder it got just to function.

How long did she have before she was physically incapable of staying awake?

Miranda had given up trying to pass time during the night. With anything. Didn’t use her computer. Didn’t read. Didn’t listen to music. Didn’t go out for walks by the river. Didn’t do any of the things she turned to in the past.

It was all so...boring. Everything was. Every single thing in her life that she used to use as a crutch to ward off these dreams had lost its lustre. Nothing was worth the effort of doing anymore. Expending the energy. All she had to keep herself awake anymore were her thoughts. And that sound.

That relentless

Fucking

Sound.

Days bled together in a blur. It almost didn’t feel like the past few hours had even happened. Fresh memories were like watching scenes from someone else’s life. What little release she’d had from getting off with Shiala earlier that night had already worked its way out of her system. It had been nothing more than a fleeting distraction, which offered scant relief from the problems that plagued her. And now she was back to this. A torment she’d been living with for so long that she no longer even remembered how it felt to be rested.

But thinking about literally anything else was preferable to dwelling on the nightmares, and she could only count the same cracks in the ceiling so many times before that would drive her clinically insane. So Miranda replayed the night in her head, trying to make sense of it all, and where it left her.

If sleeping with Shiala had accomplished one thing, it had proven that her feelings for Samara weren’t just in her head. No, the desire she’d felt when she imagined Samara in Shiala’s place, picturing her body beneath her, had not been some mere delusion. Those physical reactions couldn’t be faked or exaggerated. The sheer fucking want. That was real, vivid, stark, and intense.

So that was just great. After all that, not only had she not managed to convince herself that she was any less in love with Samara, she was now painfully conscious that she was sexually attracted to her. Extremely so.

It was the opposite of what she’d hoped to achieve. Fucking Shiala hadn’t been a release for her feelings. If anything, it had only crystalised them.

It was no wonder why Samara was dominating her thoughts. This obsession with her was about the only thing Miranda could feel at all anymore, outside of her nightmares. When it came to everything else in her life - all the death, the destruction, her own survival, her injuries, and the loss of all but a small handful of people she knew - everything else that should have provoked her to feel something, anything...there was nothing there. A hole. A void. An empty space.

She was just so fucking…

Blank.

Neutral.

Numb.

She couldn’t feel anything at all. Just hollowness. Except when Samara was there. And then, when she looked at her, when she felt her standing by her side, everything got so intense and so achingly real and corporeal that it burned. She came so alive in her proximity that she damn near couldn’t stand it.

But Samara wasn’t there.

She had gone again, leaving her to wilt in the dark.

And there Miranda lay. Staring at the ceiling. Avoiding her dreams. Listening to her ear ring. And she felt dead inside. Like every breath she took, she wasn’t getting enough air. Like she was asphyxiating, bit by bit. Suffocating so slowly that nobody would even notice if she simply stopped breathing. Not even herself.

But what the hell did she have to complain about?

She was still here.

Millions of others weren’t so lucky. Hell, billions.

As her mind began to wander in the way that minds could only wander when they were desperately tired and teetering on the verge of sleep, she thought about The Normandy. About the shockwave that had destroyed the mass relays, and all ships anywhere near them. The faster-than-light blast that killed her friends.

Miranda hadn’t even been conscious when it happened. She’d only heard descriptions of what it looked like when the Crucible fired. It painted a pretty grim picture. Jacob had told her how he’d seen people standing only a few feet in front of him scream as they disintegrated in front of his very eyes. Torn apart on a cellular level, in a single, bright, flash.

Was that what happened to The Normandy? Had it been sudden? Had they been scared, in their last moments? Had they felt pain? Did they even know that they were in danger? That they were going to die? Or did they just...blink out of existence, blissfully quickly?

Did it matter?

People didn’t go anywhere when they died. There was no soul. No afterlife. No heaven. No hell. There was just...nothing. People were, and then they weren’t.

They would never even find any trace of them, would they? They would never have anything to bury or lay to rest. Even reading out their names as she had done hadn’t added a sense of catharsis or closure to it. It still didn’t feel entirely real, even though Miranda knew it had to be. The Normandy would have either reported in or been found by now if anyone had survived.

And then she thought of the people who were serving aboard The Normandy when it disappeared. People she had spoken to only a few months ago - a mere matter of days before the battle for Earth. People she would never speak to again. People she probably hadn’t earned the right to call her friends.

Tali, Miranda had never had a problem with. They only talked when it was directly related to the ship or the mission, which had been an ideal working relationship from her perspective. She wasn’t on The Normandy to make friends. That wasn’t something she wanted or thought she needed back then. It was only around the time of Shepard’s party on the Citadel that Miranda had finally begun to twig that Tali actually did not like her at all, and never had. To her credit, she had simply been far too professional to let it show, or interfere with her job.

That was perfectly fine, honestly. And, if Tali really did hate Miranda this whole time, that made her not a bad judge of character, in fairness. She hadn’t realised it about herself when they served together but, in truth, Miranda hadn’t liked herself all that much either. Still didn’t, on some level.

Garrus, by contrast, was notoriously snarky and sarcastic towards her. She’d never thought turians could smirk before, but Garrus had proven they could. He would meet her commands with smart-arse quips and a wry glint in his eye. He never took Miranda’s shit. Needless to say, she hadn’t been his biggest fan because of that but, in retrospect, she couldn’t blame him. With the gift of hindsight, she now recognised she had been pretty intolerable to be around at times. If she’d had a better sense of humour, they could have traded some witty banter. But the old Miranda took herself far too seriously for that.

Liara, Miranda had met earlier than any other member of The Normandy, save Jacob. Miranda had enlisted her help to retrieve Shepard’s body from the Shadow Broker, before it fell into the hands of the Collectors. It was strange to think that that brief crossing of their paths had set all subsequent events in motion.

Miranda had been so focused on her own goals at that time that she never formed particularly strong impressions of Liara, beyond a mixture of respect for her capabilities, tinged with appropriate suspicion and mistrust. That mistrust had mostly faded through a combination of being there when Liara took down the Shadow Broker, and perhaps more importantly from getting to know Shepard well enough to trust her judgement about the company she kept.

She didn’t know Liara well enough to speculate as to whether she shared that sentiment. Miranda rarely cared to ponder others’ opinions of her. Presumably Shepard didn’t have quite as many positive things to say about Miranda as she did about Liara, given their relationship. But they’d never had any issues.

James, Javik and Ashley, Miranda obviously didn’t know. She’d barely been introduced to them, really only meeting them when Shepard threw that party. She hadn’t formed particularly noteworthy opinions of any of them, beyond that James was a bit of a meathead (albeit, a fairly charming one), Ashley was what happened when the quintessential military brat grew up and became a soldier, and Javik was coping with being the loneliest man in the universe by staying alive through the sheer burning willpower to avenge the destruction of his people.

Then again, maybe she was wrong about them.

Joker and EDI, though, Miranda definitely knew. Joker had never been shy when it came to talking shit about everyone on the ship. Miranda was no exception, although he was more cautious about her than most, given that she scared the crap out of him. Still, that hadn’t stopped him from spending an entire week humming the Wicked Witch of the West theme every time Miranda approached - a reference Miranda hadn’t understood (because of course she didn’t) until Jacob explained it to her, which led to her swiftly putting a stop to that.

And EDI? Well, EDI was The Normandy. The closest thing it had to a soul.

It was difficult to say whether Miranda could truly consider her a ‘person’, but on some level she supposed she did. She did think of her as one. Miranda had always found herself being instinctively polite to EDI, even in moments when she didn’t extend the same politeness to anyone else. But for as calm and helpful as EDI could be, she also had a personality. A sense of humour. Desires. Wants. In some ways, maybe she was more human than Miranda herself.

And then there was Doctor Chakwas, and Gabby and Ken, and Engineer Adams, and Kelly Chambers, and Mess Sergeant Gardener. So many people. So many faces that had become part of her world. She didn’t even like all of them, but they were there. And now they weren’t.

And Shepard.

Where did she even start when it came to Shepard?

Meeting Shepard had changed Miranda’s life on a fundamental level. She’d led by example, and shown her a different way of being. She was the undeniable proof that being kind and empathetic wasn’t a weakness, but a strength. That making friends with the people around her wasn’t a distraction from more important work, but an essential tool she used to build a strong and loyal team.

She was, without exaggeration or qualification, as close to a perfect human being as Miranda had ever met. If humanity strived to be more like Andrea Shepard, then the galaxy would be a better place.

Huh. What would Shepard say if she could see Miranda now?

Do you even miss us?

At all?

Good question, Miranda thought. Was this what it was like? Was this how a normal person was supposed to act when they missed people who had died? Because it didn’t feel that way. If this was a test, she was failing. Despite what Samara had said about there being no correct or incorrect way to grieve, it certainly didn’t feel like she was mourning the right way, whatever that meant.

Do you even care that we’re gone?

You haven’t cried.

Not once.

Not even the faintest sting in your eye.

No, she hadn’t. She’d never really been able to do that. Only Oriana ever brought that out of her. And Miranda wasn’t speaking to her right now. Because she still had nothing positive to say.

At this rate, it wasn’t looking like that was going to change anytime soon.

Miranda lay there in the dark for two more hours, forcing herself not to slip into slumber. It was seven in the morning when she finally willed her weary limbs to get her up and out of bed. She had already heard the pipes going, so she knew some of the kids were awake. Sometimes she got up before them, but she usually waited for them to stir as her signal to stop pretending to sleep. It aroused less suspicion if she wasn’t the first one up every morning. And her ruse must have been working because so far none of them had noticed.

She got up, had her shower, got dressed, and joined the early risers for breakfast.

“Morning, Miss,” Leah Brooks greeted her.

“Morning.” Miranda opened the fridge, her voice slightly hoarse. She stopped, blinking as she glanced back at the students. “...Is that actual fresh milk in the fridge?” she asked, wondering if she was just hallucinating from insomnia.

“Sure is,” Rodriguez confirmed.

“How on Earth do we have that?” said Miranda, on a slight delay.

“Black market,” Rodriguez answered with a shrug.

Miranda gave her a single nod of approval, grabbing the glass bottle. “Good girl.” She was teaching them well. It was worth every credit to have food that didn’t come in powder form whenever they could manage to get their hands on it.

With that, Miranda poured herself a bowl of cereal and joined the kids at the table. They ate in silence for a solid two minutes. Despite not paying the students much mind, she didn’t fail to notice that they were sneaking surreptitious glances at her, and being awkwardly quiet. They were usually chattier. She didn’t ask them what this was about, because she didn’t care. It was always some teenage nonsense with them. As long as it was harmless.

“...Screw it, I’m gonna ask her,” Reiley eventually broke the silence.

“Don’t! Don’t fucking ask her,” Rodriguez warned, hushing her voice as if that would somehow make her imperceptible, even though Miranda was sitting right across the table and could see her and hear every single word uttered between the two of them. “I’ve played this game, it doesn’t go we--”

“Miss…” Reiley began, completely ignoring Rodriguez’s protestations. “Is it true you banged an asari last night?”

Miranda fumbled her spoon.

Fuck.

“First of all, that’s a very inappropriate question,” Miranda responded, not at all impressed with Jack’s students. And she stood by that assessment, even if she knew damn well she was being a giant hypocrite, because she was also prone to asking questions she wanted to know the answers to without caring who she offended in the process. But the key difference there was that she did that to other people, and this was now happening to her. And that was obviously unacceptable. “Secondly, where is this even coming from?”

“I overheard you talking to Mr Taylor last night,” Leah solved that mystery.

At that, Miranda’s normally faultless composure cracked. “You...what?”

“We sleep right there.” Leah pointed at her room. “Voices carry.”

Instead of coming up with some elaborate fiction, which she was far too drained to do, Miranda simply ran her fingers through her hair and uttered a frustrated groan. Damn it, Jacob. She should have guessed at least one of them might be awake and listening through the door when she came home.

“Holy shit. You were right. She did,” said Rodriguez, finding all the proof she needed in Miranda’s reaction, and complete lack of any defence.

Leah made a gesture with her fingers. “I told you. Pay up.”

“You know it's rude to eavesdrop on people,” Miranda pointed out, displeased.

“Pfft. You would do it to us,” Reiley remarked.

“No, I wouldn't. None of you have anything remotely interesting to say,” Miranda countered, going back to her cereal, seeing little point in denying the truth, although there was no way in hell she was going to divulge anything further.

“Yeah, well, if we did, you would,” Reiley replied with a shrug.

Miranda never liked admitting when other people were right so she didn’t respond.

“Was it Samara?” Rodriguez asked, immensely intrigued, or at least pretending to be for the purposes of screwing with her. “I know I sensed a vibe between the two of you. So were you lying when you said she wasn't your girlfriend?”

Miranda rolled her eye. She hated her life. She hated everything.

“You will run out of cereal eventually, and then you’ll have to talk,” Leah teased.

Miranda fixed her with a one-eyed glare as she ate, making it plain that this pestering would get them precisely nowhere but ignored. She really did wish that Jacob hadn’t made her be nice to these teens. Back when they were intimidated by her, they never would have pulled this stunt.

At that instant, Prangley emerged from his room, half-asleep, rubbing his eyes.

“Jason. Good to see you,” Miranda called his attention to her, seeing an opportunity to escape this torment. “Do me a favour. Bring my pistol over here and shoot me with it, would you?” Miranda requested with an entirely straight face.

Prangley blinked blearily, certain he must have misheard. “What?”

“Kill me,” Miranda reiterated, in the same tone. “I don't want to live anymore.”

“What? Why?” asked Jason.

“She boned an asari last night and Leah overheard her and Mr Taylor talking about it,” Rodriguez explained. “It was totally Samara,” she added in an aside.

“Oh. Nice,” said Prangley, continuing his march to the kitchen, unfazed.

Miranda exhaled in annoyance. “Damn it, Jason.” He’d been her best hope of backing her up and putting a stop to this. And he’d failed her. She was disappointed. “You were this close to being my favourite,” she complained in jest, holding her thumb and forefinger a small distance apart.

Jason shrugged. He wasn’t about to interfere with this. She was on her own.

“Samara seems really cool, Miss,” Reiley commented, nodding in approval.

“And also super hot,” Leah chimed in. “And I mean that in both a feminist way and a lesbian way. So, you know...good for you.”

Jason snorted. “Did you just congratulate her on who she had sex with?”

“Yes. Absolutely,” Leah confirmed. “I mean, have you seen Samara?”

“It wasn't Samara!” Miranda insisted, finally getting fed up with this.

Rodriguez gasped excitedly. “So you're seeing someone else? Who is it? Is she your girlfriend? Is that why you and Samara aren't together? Wait, oh my God, Miss, are you cheating on Samara? Is that why she left London?”

Miranda let her head fall forward and hit the table with a thud. This was why she normally chose to stay silent when they tried to get a rise out of her like this. Shame she’d forgotten that strategy in her exasperation.

“Wow. You’ve officially done it. You’re all dead to her now,” Jason noted.

“Oh, I crossed that boundary a long time ago,” Rodriguez assured him, evidently proud that she’d finally managed to break Miranda. “I have nothing to lose.”

“How about the roof over your head,” Miranda retorted, picking up her cereal, deciding she would rather starve than continue to be subjected to this.

“Pfft. You don’t mean that,” Rodriguez brushed her off. Miranda just silently arched her eyebrow at her as she limped away. Rodriguez began to sweat, turning to her partners in crime. “She...She doesn’t mean that, right?”

Jason just pulled a face, as if to say he’d warned her.

* * *

“I heard a rumour about you,” Shepard began, approaching Miranda near the lounge on the second floor.

The party had gone fairly late into the evening by that point, and the energy was starting to wind down. Miranda hadn’t asked but somehow she got the sense that everyone was planning on crashing at Shepard’s for the night, since nobody had made any motions to leave yet.

“I’m the subject of many rumours, Shepard,” Miranda dryly replied, sitting back against the armrest. “You’re going to have to be more specific. Although, if it’s the one about the incident with the drop bear, I swear that only happened one time and only three people died.”

“Drop bear?” Shepard echoed curiously, tilting her head, as if trying to work out whether that was Miranda’s serious voice or her sarcastic voice. Miranda just gave an ambiguous shrug. If Shepard couldn’t tell, then she wasn’t going to spoil it. “Nah, it was nothing that exciting. Although remind me to ask you about that later. I’ve been told you’re considering an early retirement?”

Miranda sighed, not needing to guess where that had come from. “Kasumi...”

“Mhmm,” Shepard confirmed the source of her information. “And, from that look, I'm starting to think it's true. So, this is really it for you, huh? Once we get rid of the Reapers, you're out – you're done.”

“Well, not immediately. I'm not about to leave people dying in the streets. But yes, you heard correctly,” Miranda replied, taking a sip from her freshly refilled glass of wine. It was a relief that not every single bottle or glass had been destroyed when Garrus set up that makeshift shooting gallery. “I’m my own woman now.”

“Really?” Suffice it to say, Shepard didn't seem to be buying it. “Not working for anyone at all, other than yourself. Ever. You're sure?”

“I haven’t made up my mind about ‘ever’, but yes. As of right now, that's the plan,” Miranda answered.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but who are you and what have you done with the real Miranda Lawson?” Shepard teasingly remarked, since this was the single most uncharacteristic thing the Miranda she had come to know a year ago could possibly have said or done.

“Oh, she’s dead. I buried her under the floorboards. I probably should have mentioned, I’m also an escaped Cerberus clone. You are the fake Shepard, right? Because if you’re not, then this is a joke and you should forget I said that,” Miranda responded, her tone completely deadpan.

Shepard laughed, moving to sit across from her on the opposite sofa. “Seriously, what brought this on? Where is this coming from all of a sudden?”

Miranda exhaled, shifting until she was seated on the armrest, deciding to stop being snarky and start being direct. “Being on the run this past year...It's been the worst year of my life. Including all the years I lived with my father. But if nothing else, being on my own for so long made me realise that, for as long as I've been alive, everything about me has always been controlled by other people. In one way or another, I've never been free to make my own choices. Except for a few months with you. I need to take some time away to breathe. Just be me, without anyone expecting anything from me. Figure out how to be...”

“What?” Shepard prompted, when Miranda fell silent.

“I was going to say ‘an actual fucking person’ and then I realised how depressing that was,” Miranda muttered with appropriate self-awareness, earning a light chuckle from Shepard. “I guess that’s the whole point. I don’t even know who I am when I’m not working myself to the bone. I could be anybody under all this.” Miranda vaguely gestured at herself.

“And what if you can’t stand having nothing to do?” asked Shepard.

“Then I change plans,” Miranda answered plainly. She wasn’t so attached to this idea that she couldn’t be flexible if it didn’t work out, and she wasn't sure why it mattered. As it stood, the chances of any of their dreams for the future coming to fruition were slim at best. “But how can you be so certain that I'll hate it? I'm not; I've never had the freedom to do nothing before. Maybe I'll thrive.”

“But you were always putting yourself under pressure to stay busy, even when you didn’t have to. You love how much of a workaholic you are. Don’t deny it. You were practically begging me to give you more stuff to do towards the end there. What would you even do with your time if you’re no longer devoting yourself to some kind of high-powered career?” Shepard wondered aloud.

“I don’t know. There are a lot of things I’ve never done before, and never thought I’d do.” Miranda shrugged. “Maybe I’ll try being a blonde for a while. Maybe I’ll get a tattoo. Maybe I’ll become Wiccan. Maybe I’ll get fat.”

Shepard stared at her sceptically, sensing the obvious sarcasm.

“What? Don’t think I couldn’t do it if I set my mind to it. I’m secretly a foodie at heart, you know,” Miranda pointed out, her tone drier than her wine.

“And you have a superhuman metabolism,” Shepard countered.

“Ah. Right. Scratch that one off the list then,” said Miranda, taking another sip from her glass. “Blonde, tattooed Wiccan it is.” Shepard laughed, entertained.

“Well, when Hell freezes over a million years from now, I look forward to meeting that version of you. But, until that happens, you know it’s not a two-party system, right? You don’t have to choose between going in a totally new direction forever, or staying exactly as you are right now. There's a lot you can do that isn't either of those things,” Shepard reminded her, gesturing as she spoke. “You'd excel at anything you tried. It doesn't have to involve life or death struggles over the fate of the galaxy. And, if you’re sick of bringing people back to life, you can retire from science and move onto something else. I could definitely see you taking well to life as a lawyer, or a CEO, or even a political leader.”

“Politics?” Miranda snorted, reaching out across the gap with an insincere handshake. “Hi, I’m Miranda Lawson, former terrorist. Vote for me.”

“Point taken,” Shepard conceded.

“You also realise that all the professions you listed have a higher than average ratio of sociopaths compared to the general population,” Miranda noted.

Shepard scratched the back of her head. “Sunday school teacher?” she offered.

“Can’t do that. I’m becoming Wiccan, remember?” Miranda quipped. “Did you really come and find me just to try and talk me out of this?”

“No. No, I didn't. It's...actually the exact opposite,” said Shepard, shaking her head and leaning back against the cushions. “Because the truth is I've been thinking the same thing; that this is the end for me too,” she confessed, piquing Miranda's intrigue. “If I make it through this...I don’t know if I can keep fighting other people’s battles anymore. If I can, I don’t know if I want to.”

“I guess after stopping a galactic genocide, all other conflicts start to look petty in comparison,” Miranda mused, swirling her glass, strangely empathising with that sentiment. What would be the point of Shepard saving the entire goddamn galaxy from the Reapers, only to then continue imperilling her life, risking getting shot and killed day after day over some insignificant political squabble that didn’t matter the slightest bit in the grand scheme of things?

Shepard had been lucky enough to get a second chance at life. Literally. She had more reason than anyone to realise how precious that was. And also how fragile.

It would have been beyond tragic if Andrea wouldn’t get to savour a calm, peaceful future if the war with the Reapers ever ended - a future that would only be possible because of her. Because she was the one person who saw what truly mattered, and valued collective unity over selfish, shortsighted division.

“Don’t take anything I’ve been saying about you as an attack. It’s not,” Shepard assured her. “I'm just surprised, and maybe projecting a little, because...I have no clue what I'm going to do after this, and it's terrifying to me. I’ve never...I’ve never not been a soldier. I don’t even know how to be an...an ‘actual fucking person’, like you said. And neither do you. And yet here you are, and that doesn't bother you at all. I thought it would have been the other way around.”

“Me too,” Miranda conceded. “But things are different now.”

“You mean you're different now,” Shepard added, impressed by Miranda’s growth.

“You helped,” said Miranda. She crossed the floor and sat down beside Shepard, sinking into the seat, leaning her head back on the lounge to look up at the ceiling. “I’ve been cognisant for a very long time that I’m not a normal person, Shepard. Not only that, but...I don’t have the faintest clue how to pretend to be normal,” Miranda elected to be frank about that flaw. Though she rarely showed weakness, she felt safe sharing that with her. “My whole life, I’ve never seen the point trying to fit in with other people when I know I can’t, and don’t even want to. So, while I might not be showing it...I am more scared than you think. But I’m also just kind of over worrying about anything anymore? Maybe because I’ve spent most of this past year living in constant fear. I think I got sick of it.”

Shepard paused, considering Miranda’s words. “Can I be honest with you?” she began, after several seconds had passed. Miranda gestured for her to go ahead. “I also have no idea how to be a normal person. I think that’s what’s freaking me out about what comes next. What if I’m bad at it?”

“What a horrible thought. Being bad at mundane problems,” Miranda dryly commented, hoping her sarcasm would help Shepard put her anxieties into perspective. “What if you mix up your recyclable plastics with your non-recyclables? Perish the thought. That’s a disaster, right there.”

“I’m being serious,” Shepard insisted, though it was obvious she got the meaning behind Miranda’s comment. “Look, you get what I’m going through better than anyone. You and I, we’re both...not to sound arrogant, but we’re both fuckin’ good at what we do,” Shepard stated plainly. And she wasn’t wrong. They were the best of the best. “What if we suck at everything else?”

Miranda shrugged. “Then it was a fun experiment, both of us trying to be ordinary people for a while. I think it will be worth it.”

Shepard exhaled, and rested her head on her hand. “So...what does being a regular, everyday person look like to Miranda Lawson?” she wondered aloud. “What does a nice, safe, boring future look like to you?”

That was a question Miranda had no problems answering. She had a singular vision. “I’ve promised Oriana that we’re going to find a quiet spot on a colony world. We’ll buy a big plot of land far away from anyone else, and build our dream house. Somewhere with a view, where we can sit out on the deck, watch the sunset, drink wine and eat sashimi while we talk about our day,” Miranda revealed, trusting Andrea enough to tell her what she said to Ori before she left.

“...That sounds pretty great,” Shepard said softly. In that simple description of what life after the war meant to her, and the goal she was fighting for, it had instantly clicked into place why Miranda was so content with the idea of ‘retiring’.

“What about you?” Miranda asked, gently nudging Shepard’s knee with her own. “Where does Andrea Shepard see herself in five years’ time?”

“That’s the million credit question, isn’t it?” Shepard spoke quietly, barely above a whisper. She sat forward, electing to just give voice to what was in her heart. “Honestly, this is going to sound corny as hell, but...when I think of my future, I can’t see anything but Liara. That’s it. Nothing would make me happier than just...I don’t know, having a boring fuckin’ house with a yard and a white picket fence, and lots of little blue children running around.”

“Maybe I’m getting sentimental in my old age, but that might possibly be the most adorable thing I’ve ever heard in my life,” Miranda commented, eliciting a sheepish chuckle as Shepard rubbed the back of her neck.

“Oh, God, we are getting old, aren’t we? And we’re only in our thirties,” Shepard realised aloud, as if it had hit her that both of them had been through enough to fill several lifetimes. No wonder they both wanted to ‘retire’ so young.

“Mhmm. And I’ve got five years on you, so I can promise you it’s all downhill from here,” Miranda confirmed, taking another sip of wine. “But I meant that, though. Don’t be ashamed of that dream. Lots of people would kill for something like that.” Herself included, she thought. “And you will make an excellent…father? Father’s the correct word in this context, right?” Miranda asked aloud, earning a nod. “Take it from someone who killed hers: you would be the best Dad ever.”

“Now you’re just making fun of me.” Shepard gave her a light knock on the arm.

“I’m not. I’m really not. Okay, I know it sounds like I am, but…” Miranda trailed off for a moment, a thought occurring to her. “Huh. You know what? I just realised something. You and I actually both have the exact same dream,” she pointed out, turning to face Andrea. “We want a family.”

“...Yeah. Yeah, we do, don’t we?” Shepard nodded in agreement, seeing the clarity in Miranda’s words. “Ours just look a little different from each other.”

“So, that settles it. We’re both going to hang up our weapons and retire somewhere nice and dull so we can each have the families we always wanted,” Miranda reiterated. Despite her efforts to be hopeful, at those words, she couldn’t keep a pessimistic sigh from escaping her. “Now, we both just have to convince ourselves that we'll live long enough to do that.”

“I'd bet on you,” Shepard acknowledged, glancing over at her.

“And I’d bet on you,” Miranda replied with a bittersweet smile, but it lacked the conviction to reach her eyes. “Don't get me wrong; I haven't given up, and I'm going to fight for that future as hard as I can. But I can't believe that it's going to happen until I'm standing in the rubble and the Reapers are all gone.”

Shepard exhaled heavily, sinking lower against the couch. “That makes two of us.”

The more Miranda thought about it, the more it became painfully apparent that their odds of getting to lead those lives they were imagining were slim to zero. Even if by some miracle they did find a way to defeat the Reapers, it was virtually impossible that both she and Shepard would survive whatever came next. At best, it seemed like a binary choice. One or the other. And Miranda knew which of the two of them was least likely to endure if push came to shove.

Her body tensed imperceptibly. An apprehensiveness fell over her. A sense of urgency rose in her stomach. Words she couldn't leave unsaid.

“...Shepard,” Miranda began, her tone serious. “If anything happens to me—“

“Miranda,” Andrea attempted to cut her off, but Miranda ignored her interruption. She couldn't forgive herself if she stayed silent about this.

“Just listen, Shepard. If I can’t be there for her, for whatever reason, promise you'll keep an eye on Ori for me?” Miranda persisted, needing to hear Andrea give her word on that, because she understood what this meant to her, and she would absolutely follow through. Even if Andrea had to die to honour her commitment to Miranda, it wouldn’t stop her. “Make sure she's okay.”

“You can do that yourself,” Shepard replied, either refusing to fear the worst, or determined not to let her crew see that she possessed any doubts that they would live to see those tomorrows, come what may.

“Hypothetically, then,” said Miranda, rolling her eyes at Shepard’s reluctance to answer the question. “If something happened to me, whether now or twenty years from now...I need to know: would you look out for Oriana if I couldn't?”

Andrea relented, realising what she was asking, and why. “Of course I would.”

“Do you swear?” Miranda pressed.

Shepard sighed, and held up her pinkie. “I swear.” Eyeing that gesture somewhat peculiarly, Miranda eventually extended her own little finger. However, Andrea pulled away before they could interlock. “Uh uh. But before we do that, I need you to make the same promise to me. So, if--”

“Liara does not need protecting, Shepard,” Miranda reminded her.

“You had your turn. Let me finish,” said Shepard. Miranda signalled for her to take the floor. “Thank you. Now, if anything ever happens to me...you’re the one person I trust more than anyone else to step in for me when I’m gone. No matter what, you’ll have your shit together, and you’ll do what needs to be done. So, if I can’t be here…” Instead of articulating it all in words, Shepard flicked her gaze out towards the balcony, down to the lower floor, where everyone else was. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but...just do what you can for them. Watch over them for me. Make sure they’re alright. And, if they’re not...do what you think I would do.”

At that request, Miranda softened. It hadn’t been what she’d anticipated Andrea would say, but perhaps she should have seen it coming. Shepard loved her crew like family. She was their North Star. A guiding light who united so many disparate personalities in a common cause, and brought out the best in all of them.

Shepard really was a hero.

A bloody icon.

How could Miranda possibly say no?

“What else is a second-in-command good for if not that?” Miranda extended her hand once more. At that, Shepard finally locked pinkies with her, swearing on it. “You know I’ve never done this before - pinkie promised,” Miranda noted, finding it a bit juvenile.

“Of course you haven’t.” Shepard shook her head, not at all shocked by that. It was at that particular moment that a certain AI came up the stairs, into view. Shepard called out to her. “Hey, EDI. I have a question for you.”

“What would you like to know?” EDI asked.

“What the hell is a drop bear?” said Shepard.

Miranda arched her brow, and took a long drink, saying nothing.

“One moment.” By the time she finished saying ‘one moment’, EDI had already concluded her search of the Extranet. “Here is what I’ve found: the drop bear is a hoax Australian folklore creature. The origins of the drop bear hoax are unknown, though it appears it may have originated as a campfire story in the early-to-mid-20th century. Australians have been known to pretend the drop bear is a real creature so as to frighten and confuse tourists and non-Australians for their own amusement.” EDI paused for a beat. “It is a joke.”

“Thank you, EDI,” said Miranda, concealing a smirk. Way to ruin the fun.

Shepard slowly turned to her, eyeing Miranda in quiet bewilderment. “...Did you of all people just prank me with a two-hundred-year-old joke?”

“Not that I’m that attached to it, but I’m pretty sure I would be stripped of my citizenship if I didn’t do that at least once before I die,” Miranda informed her.

Shepard’s expression didn’t change. “Mhmm.”

* * *

“So are you gay now?” was the first thing Jack said to her the next time they saw each other, a week after their last meeting.

Miranda sighed. God damn it. Nobody could keep their mouths shut about anything, could they? “I’m something,” she muttered, taking off her wet jacket. It had been raining all day. And not the usual soft English drizzle that didn’t even warrant mentioning, but actual rain.

“Good for you,” Jack replied, not actually interested. “Let’s play.”

Miranda slumped down into the chair across the table from Jack, the raindrops pittering off the windows behind her. “Your advice was terrible, by the way,” she told her as she moved her first piece.

“Nah, you’re just a shit lay,” Jack countered, making her own opening.

Miranda flicked her eye up at her, unamused, but decided it was best not to validate that comment with a response.

All of a sudden, Jack started laughing at something unsaid.

“What?” Miranda asked suspiciously.

“...‘Meh’-randa,” Jack remarked, making an appropriately nonchalant gesture.

Miranda exhaled heavily, rubbing her temple in annoyance. “Jack, I need you to understand this,” she began, placing her elbow on the table and leaning forward as she spoke, eerily calm. “One of these days, you will forget that this conversation ever happened. You will go on with your life, and there will come a day when you are blissfully ignorant and happy. And on that day, I will come to wherever you live. And I will break into your room. And I will suffocate you in your sleep.”

“Fair,” Jack conceded. “Worth it, though.”

Miranda leaned back in her chair, oddly relieved to have gotten that off of her chest after biting her tongue for so long. “God, that felt good. Why did I ever stop insulting you?” she wondered aloud, starting to think she should snap back at her more often instead of taking every jibe Jack threw at her in stride.

“Because you’re a fucking pussy now apparently.” Jack shrugged, focused only on the game. “Shut up and play me.” Miranda didn’t need to be asked twice.

She didn’t know what it was about that particular day. Maybe it was the dreary weather, and the sound of the rain making the tinnitus a little less abrasive for once. Maybe it was how long both of them were taking between moves. But, for whatever reason, Miranda found herself stifling yawns as the game went on.

She moved a pawn, and leaned her head against her hand as Jack studied the board, weighing up her strategies, keen to avoid falling into another trap.

God, she was so fucking tired.

It had been three days since she last slept. Or...wait, was it four? She couldn’t remember. Six or seven days seemed to be her absolute limit before she started passing out irrespective of willpower, and that was because she was, quote unquote, a ‘genetic freak’ as Jacob had once put it. She’d only managed two hours of thirty-minute naps the last time she got any rest at all.

Her eyelid felt so heavy. Every single time she blinked, it stayed dark a little longer, and it took a little bit more effort and time to open it again.

What harm would it do to just rest her eye for a second, she wondered? It wasn’t like she was going to fall asleep, sitting up like she was. Although, leaning on her hand felt so fucking comfortable. She didn’t want to move.

So Miranda let her eyelid drift shut for a moment, listening to the rain.

…

...

“Hey, eyepatch.”

…

...

“Eyepatch?”

Miranda was vaguely aware that someone was talking, but it didn’t reach her in the darkness. That was, until Jack hit the table, hard, and startled her awake. Miranda’s head slipped off her hand. At that jolt, she panicked and reflexively reared back so hard that she damn near fell out of her chair.

“What? What? What is it?” Miranda took a few moments to blink and remember where she was after being shaken from her stupor. It only clicked when she found Jack sitting across from her, looking thoroughly unimpressed.

“Am I boring you?” Jack remarked, arms folded across her chest impatiently.

Miranda shook her head, trying to save face. “It’s called ‘thinking’, Jack. You should try it sometime,” she retorted, moving a piece quickly as if to prove she hadn’t just blacked out for a couple of minutes.

Jack glanced down at the board. “You can’t do that.”

“What?”

“That’s not a legal move,” Jack pointed out. Miranda checked the board. She honestly didn’t even know what piece she’d just touched. Jack reached across, and dragged her knight back to where it should have been. Jack sat back in her chair and fixed her with a stare.

“...Fuck me dead,” Miranda muttered under her breath, realising she actually had to stop and concentrate to figure out her next move.

“Forget it. I’m out.” Jack pushed her chair back from the table and stood up.

“No, no. I’ve got it,” Miranda insisted.

“I don’t care. I don’t want to beat you when you’re like this. That wouldn’t even count,” said Jack, gesturing listlessly towards her, having lost all interest.

“I’m not ‘like’ anything. I’m just…” Miranda trailed off, staring at the board, stuck for a move. Her head was so full of fog that she couldn’t see any options. The whole table was a blur. A featureless mush. Every piece looked the same. She couldn’t even fucking think. If someone asked her to name a single rule of the game in that instant, she would have drawn a complete blank.

“Go home. Take a fucking nap or whatever. Don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you look like death, by the way. More even than usual,” Jack casually observed, opening her fridge and pulling out a can of energy drink.

“I’m fine!” Miranda barked, a little too loud, willing that lie to be the truth.

“I honestly don’t care. You could jump off a bridge for all the difference it makes to me. I wouldn’t stop you,” Jack said frankly, nonchalantly gesturing with her drink in her hand. “All that matters to me is making sure you don’t have a fuckin’ excuse when I destroy you. So get the fuck out of my apartment, and don’t come back until you stop sucking at the only reason I keep you around.”

Miranda swallowed a groan, the pain in her head only growing. Jack obviously wasn’t going to change her mind. This game was over. “Alright. Fine. Suit yourself,” she grumbled as she got up, collecting her things. “See you next week.”

“Only if you don’t look like complete shit by then,” Jack commented, prepared to close the door in her face if she wasn’t going to play her at her best.

Miranda left and went out into the cold December rain, which showed no signs of easing. The problem was, she didn’t have anywhere to go. She couldn’t go home. There was nothing there to keep her awake. And she absolutely was not ready to fall asleep, and contend with the nightmares that awaited her.

She couldn’t go to the bar, because drinking would make her tired. The last time she got drunk, the nightmares were so visceral that she woke up vomiting.

She thought about it a bit longer, and then one option came to mind. She still had a key to her office. Bailey had banned her from working weekends out of concern for her wellbeing if he didn’t, sure, but he wouldn’t be there. Even if he was, she could avoid him seeing her. Nobody else would question her presence. She ranked above them. They would just assume something had come up, and most of them were too intimidated by her to talk to her anyway.

So Miranda fell back on her one and only crutch. Her only coping mechanism. Her favourite distraction from her problems. She buried herself in her work.

“Director Lawson,” the man at reception greeted her. She glanced at his name tag to remember who the hell he was. “What are you doing here on a weekend?”

“Losing control of my life, Ian,” Miranda remarked as she limped right past him, heading straight for the lift without stopping.

He chuckled at that. “Aren’t we all? You have a good day, now.”

Miranda rolled her eye as soon as he looked away. As predicted, there were no interruptions between her and her office. Nobody thought to question her.

She didn’t even glance at the clock as the hours ticked by, and file after file went across her desk. Task after task got done. When she finished her own matters, she moved onto work delegated to her subordinates, just to stay there longer. Nobody bothered her. Even without distractions, it was hard to concentrate. Her mind was full of fog. Everything she did was lost in a haze, forgotten mere seconds after she did it. But, in the present, it was something to focus on.

It wasn’t easy, though. She had instances where she...lost time. Just drifted into space for a few seconds, here or there. When that happened, she would go and fill up on coffee. She only decided she’d had too much when she started to feel her heart beating a little too fast in her chest, and her fingers got jittery, and she had to flex her hand to keep it from shaking. If she had any more she would probably start hallucinating, as if she wasn’t on the verge of that already.

So maybe she’d hit her limit as far as caffeine toxicity went.

But she was awake.

She was fucking awake.

It was dark out, and still raining by the time she was snapped out of her work-induced daze by a text message alert. She already knew who it was. Miranda squeezed her eye shut, resting the base of her palm against her forehead, fighting off the constant, nagging pain that had become her permanent companion. She knew she shouldn’t look. But she had to. She couldn’t resist hearing from her.

Miranda opened her message tab on her computer, and clicked on Oriana’s name.

“Still not talking, huh?” said the first message. And then a second and third popped up. “Okay. That’s fine. Take your time. I’ve got more jokes.”

Oriana could see that Miranda was reading her messages in realtime. She would know that she was there on the other end at that very moment, not replying back. And yet, in typical Oriana fashion, she wasn’t calling her out on it or judging her for it or demanding a reason for her silence. Just letting her be.

“A horse walks into a bar and the bartender says, ‘Why the long face?’ And the horse says, ‘I have crippling depression, Steven. I’ll thank you not to mention it’.”

When that joke garnered no response, Oriana sent another.

“A glazier invited me to high tea. It didn’t go well. Turns out people in glasshouses shouldn’t throw scones. Eh? Worked on that one for ages.”

Miranda felt the warmth of a single, stray tear trickling down her cheek. God, she loved Oriana. She loved Oriana so much it physically hurt. No one else could be so...bright, and radiant, and happy, and genuine about it. Her positivity and cheerfulness wasn’t faked, or feigned, or insincere. She was just like this. Just funny, and kind, and...and fucking perfect.

“Why did the funeral director need to go to the doctor?” Oriana asked. “Because he couldn’t stop coffin--okay, no, that one was atrocious even for me. I’m sorry. Please delete that. You deserve better.”

If she were in a better mental and emotional state, all of this would have brought a smile to her face. Of course it would have. Oriana always did. Miranda thought about finally texting her back. Saying something. Anything. Even started to type. Just wanted to let her know she was okay. Just wanted to talk to her. Needed that connection with the person who mattered to her most.

But she stopped herself.

What the fuck did she have to offer Oriana right now? What could she say to her that was worthwhile when she was this dour and miserable?

She could just see how it would play out. She would say something, and then Oriana would eventually start asking questions. She would need, and deserve, some sort of explanation as to why Miranda had been so quiet. So distant. Any half-hearted excuses would be recognised for the lies they were.

Oriana would ask her if she was okay, because of course she would. And, then, if Miranda started telling her the truth, that she really wasn’t, and hadn’t been for a long time, she didn’t see how she could stop the floodgates from opening. Everything she’d been holding back since the shuttle crash, Oriana would bring it out of her, like a torrent after a storm. And she just...refused to be that person. Refused to drown her little sister in her unresolved trauma.

Oriana was the Sun. She was light, and warmth. Basking in her presence for even a few minutes could make even the lowest person feel uplifted, and stronger, and brighter. She was doing just fine without Miranda. She always had.

Why bother her? Why disturb that?

In fact, all the best times in Oriana’s life had been the moments when Miranda had pushed her as far away as possible. When she wasn’t involved. When she kept herself at a distance. Ever since Miranda introduced herself to Oriana on Illium, Ori’s life had only gotten worse. Never better. A downward spiral.

Perhaps that was a sign.

What did she really think was going to happen when they met up with each other again anyway? That they were going to spend the rest of their lives together? As if. Oriana was twenty. She would be twenty-one before too long. She was only just starting to grow into her own as an independent adult. She would want to go do things normal twenty-one-year-olds did, without anyone cramping her unique personal style, or getting in her way as she formed new connections.

The Reaper Invasion had cut short her degree and compelled her to start work earlier than expected, but she probably planned to finish her education at some point. Chances were she would want to move in with friends her own age. Eventually, of course, she would meet some boy she liked (who Miranda would absolutely hate) and she would want to find a place with him. Statistically speaking, that would happen more than once over the course of her life.

She wasn’t a kid anymore. Oriana was an adult. At exactly the age where families like theirs...tended to drift apart from one another. When young women like Ori wanted to go out into the wider world and discover themselves, and carve out an identity free of any ties to their childhood. And it was at that moment that a thought abruptly struck Miranda that had never connected before.

When she and Oriana had talked about finally getting to be a family, they probably had very different ideas of what that looked like.

And Miranda’s vision of that future was completely fucking delusional.

It always had been.

She wasn’t helping Oriana by being near her. Wasn’t protecting her, because the man who posed a danger to her was dead. With Henry Lawson out of the picture, Ori didn’t need her in her life. In many respects, she never had.

Miranda wasn’t some noble self-sacrificing big sister anymore. She was a fucking leech. Sucking her sister’s energy and her positivity, consuming it for herself. She was a chain holding Oriana down, when what she truly deserved was to spread her wings and fly wherever she wanted like the free spirit she was.

Wasn’t that precisely why Miranda had denied herself the connection she craved with Ori in the first place? Wasn’t that why she had given her up? Because she knew it was the right thing to do? Because, deep down, she knew that the best thing she could do for Oriana was to ensure that she grew up completely isolated from her - so that she could become as unlike Miranda as possible?

She’d succeeded at that, at least.

Where Miranda was cynical, Oriana was optimistic. Where Miranda was closed-off and antisocial, Oriana was outgoing and friendly. Where Miranda was rigid and concrete, Oriana was creative and open-minded. Where Miranda was bitter and sarcastic, Oriana was lighthearted and funny. Where Miranda was cold, Oriana was warm. Where Miranda was dark, Oriana was light. Where Miranda lacked empathy, Oriana was sensitive, and the kindest person she knew.

They couldn’t have been more different.

And Miranda wanted it to stay that way.

None of her qualities were things she would wish upon Oriana. And, if Oriana did become more like her, Miranda wasn’t sure she could ever forgive herself.

The most loving thing Miranda could do for Oriana was just let her live her life in peace, the way she had done for her before. She really would be better off just being cut loose, without her older sister weighing her down, shackling her to the weight of despair, damage and loneliness.

So Miranda didn’t text. She deleted the message she’d started typing, and the three dots to signal that she was writing were erased. She closed the app, got up and left her desk, deciding to head home.

She didn’t see the next message her sister sent.

“Miranda? Whatever is going on with you right now, please just remember that you are my most important person. I love you more than anything. And I’m here for you whenever you need me. You do know that, don’t you?”

Miranda limped home in the dark in the rain. It was freezing. She didn’t know how late it was. She hadn’t kept her eye on the time. She dragged her weary body up the stairs. Aside from the fact that her head was killing her, parts of her body that had never hurt before were starting to feel sore, and tight, and tense.

“Hey, Miss,” Seanne greeted her when she heard her key in the door. A few of the kids were gathered together in the main lounge, watching some sort of movie on the television. “We saved dinner for you. It’s in the fridge.”

“I’ll have it later,” Miranda muttered, not hungry at all. Just tired.

“No problem,” Seanne replied, too focused on the film to pay her any mind.

Without another word, Miranda retreated to her room, and shut herself away, prepared for another night of staring at cracks in the ceiling in the darkness in a desperate attempt to ward off her dreams.

She slumped on her bed and ran her hand through her hair, staring into space.

And that was when it hit her. She didn’t...know what she was doing with her life anymore. Or why. She didn’t have a plan. A goal. For the first time since she’d reunited with Oriana, she no longer had a future she was working towards. Because that hope, that dream, had been snuffed out. A lie. A delusion.

The one thing that had made getting up every morning worth it since the shuttle crash - believing that, one day, she and Oriana would start a new life where nothing tore them apart ever again - had been exposed as a figment of her imagination.

With that dream dead, when she pictured her future now, there was...nothing.

Absence.

An empty, black abyss. Filled only by the ringing in her ear.

Miranda lay down on her bed. Curled up. And stared. And listened to that perpetual sound. And her mind, like her future, was blank. She watched the time tick by on the clock. Barely even registering it in her fatigue.

One hour.

Two hours.

What was the point of anything anymore?

What was the fucking point?

Three hours.

Four hours.

It was after midnight when she was disturbed from her near-catatonic state by an urgent knocking at the front door. It came once, such a strange and unexpected sound that, at first, she wondered if it was just a trick of her mind. But then it came again, even more insistent.

Reluctantly, Miranda dragged herself out of bed and shuffled into the entryway, not even bothering to grab her cane. She saw the door to one of the students’ bedrooms was open. Jason was leaning out, as if to go investigate.

“I’ve got it,” said Miranda with a dismissive wave as she limped to the door, assuming it was probably for her. “Go back to sleep.”

Jason gave her a nod, but lingered in the doorway, just in case.

The frantic knocking came again. With an annoyed grunt, Miranda undid the lock, wondering who the hell was bothering them at that ungodly hour.

“Jesus Christ, what is it--?” The words caught in Miranda’s throat the second she flung the door open. Her weary eye flickered wide awake. “Samara?”

* * *

Miranda stepped over snoring bodies and discarded glasses on the floor, not keen to wake anyone up when half the crew were spread out at various points on the spectrum between ‘fast asleep’ and ‘passed out drunk’, and all of whom were likely to be very cranky if awoken. Miranda hadn’t drunk as much as most of the others, and neither was she prone to going to bed early.

Indeed, she was very much awake, not even close to tired. And it was not her idea of a fun end to the night to hang around being as quiet as a mouse, forced to pretend to doze off because everyone else was such a goddamn lightweight.

With that in mind, Miranda crept over near the door to where Shepard kept her keys, pinching them for herself so she could let herself back into the apartment. Shepard wasn’t going to miss them. She and Liara had gone to bed some time ago for very obvious reasons. They wouldn’t be seen again until morning.

However, Miranda’s cunning plan was not one concocted purely for herself. A thought had occurred to her while she waited for everyone else to nod off, being that there was one other person she expected might be awake. Someone who, by all appearances, had not been a drinker for centuries. Someone who Miranda was eager to spend a lot more time with one-on-one, particularly given that it was not lost on her that this might well be the last opportunity they ever had to do so - the last time they might ever see one another.

Sure enough, she found that very person meditating under the stairs.

“Samara,” Miranda whispered just loud enough to be heard. Blue eyes opened, and shifted her way. “Can’t sleep?” Samara did not respond verbally, but let her current state speak for itself. “Me neither.” At that, Miranda held up Shepard’s keys and made a signal towards the door. “Feel like going out?”

Samara glanced at her slumbering companions scattered over the lounge. After a moment, she held a finger to her lips, and silently stood.

Taking that as acceptance of her invitation, Miranda stealthily snuck over to the door, and held it open for Samara. She closed it behind them as quietly as she could. There was a faint ‘click’ as it automatically locked.

“Do not mistake my surprise for protestation, for it is not, but...to what do I owe this?” Samara asked, once they were safely out of earshot of the others. Evidently she had not been anticipating this - that Miranda would seek her out.

“What, did you really think I’d just forget about you after a single conversation?” Miranda rhetorically remarked. “I told you I missed you more than anyone else.”

Samara allowed herself a small smile, touched by her intentions. “You did.”

“Since you and I are both still awake, and I have way too much energy to sleep, I figured, hey, the Strip is right here, and nothing ever closes - let’s go enjoy it while we can,” Miranda offered, circling Shepard’s keys around her finger before slipping them into a discreet pocket. “Nobody will even notice we’re missing.”

“No, they certainly will not,” Samara concurred, clearly not regretting her temperance when it was apparent most of the crew would be nursing hangovers come morning. “I must admit, given I saw you partaking earlier, I did not expect you to be in such a better state compared to our other comrades.”

“Good genes, plus I know how to pace myself,” Miranda casually explained. She gestured for Samara to follow her. “Come on. Let’s go be stupid for a while.”

Samara suppressed a chuckle. “An enticing prospect. Very well. Lead the way.”

“I was planning on taking you back to my favourite sushi place - you know, the one we went to before. Unfortunately, it’s not open right now.” Miranda sighed, putting a hand on her hip. “There was an incident. Shepard was involved.”

“I see. That is unfortunate,” Samara commiserated, needing no further explanation as to what had happened. For as much as they both loved Shepard, it was no hyperbole to say that trouble followed her everywhere.

Ultimately, Miranda didn’t have a preference as to where they went, or what they did. This entire venture was little more than a flimsy excuse to spend time with Samara without anybody else interfering. A throwback to those intimate moments on the Starboard Observation Deck, and a means of paying her back for all her kindness, assuming Miranda succeeded in showing her a good time.

“There is the casino,” Miranda thought out loud. She’d been there before, and didn’t mind the atmosphere of the place. Plus another drink or two wouldn’t go amiss to kick things off - she was still a fair few away from her limit.

“After you,” Samara gestured for her to go ahead, trailing in Miranda’s footsteps. A reverse of the last time they had visited the Citadel together.

Unlike the Presidium, the Wards didn’t operate on artificial day and night cycles. Virtually everything on the Citadel stayed open at all hours, with everyone resting and working shifts according to their own personal needs and wants. Thus, when they came to the casino, to nobody’s shock, it was still as busy as ever.

The people here had been affected by the war, of course, but there was a sense of safety and security that existed nowhere else. As all the homeworlds fell, the Citadel stood strong as the heart of Council Space - the one place most species would unite to protect. If anywhere would survive the war, this was surely it.

“Can I get you anything? The food here’s not bad, if you’re hungry,” Miranda offered as they both made their way up to the bar.

“Just water, thank you,” said Samara. Miranda ordered something much stronger for herself, and the bartender filled up their respective glasses.

“So, how have you been, Samara? Really?” Miranda asked, keen to make up for lost time. Now that they were alone, they were free to talk as long as they wanted, which was something they couldn’t really do at the party. That was precisely her intent in sneaking out like this. It would be several hours at least before anybody else woke up and wondered where they were. The Silver Coast Casino was no Starboard Observation Deck, but it would serve well enough.

“That is a...complicated question,” Samara acknowledged, still a little caught off guard by Miranda’s genuine eagerness to catch up with her, as if she hadn’t expected to warrant her attention. “Some days have been kind to me. Others have not. Many somewhere in between. I imagine you could say the same.”

“Most of my days have ranged between terrible and awful since I left. I’m glad you had some good ones.” Miranda took a sip of her drink.

“Forgive me. I am aware this past year must have been difficult for you.” Samara bowed her head, as if she had misspoken. “As a Justicar, I am not unfamiliar with the peril of knowing there are many people who would seek to have me killed, nor am I a stranger to looking over my shoulder expecting to see a gun each time I turn my head. Although, by the same token, my status affords me many privileges. Many asari will lend me aid or support without question, for no other reason than because they see my armour, and know what I am. You do not have that luxury.”

“No, sadly,” Miranda confirmed. Hiding like a cockroach in parts of the Citadel not fit for human habitation had not been fun. Having any allies she could have safely turned to, beyond her few limited contacts with Shepard, would have made a world of difference. “But I’m out in the open now. If anybody still wanted me dead, I would have been executed days ago. I think it’s safe to say what little is left of Cerberus no longer sees the point in targeting me.”

“I hope you are correct.” Samara instinctively cast her eyes about the place as she said that, scanning for signs of any suspicious activity. Miranda picked up on that, of course. “If it would be safer--”

“Samara, seriously. It’s fine. You can let your guard down. You don’t need to be on alert. Not for my sake,” Miranda assured her, reaching out to touch her hand to make sure she understood that. Nobody was hunting her anymore.

“If you are certain…” Samara took her at her word, despite a hint of hesitancy.

“Yes. Relax. I insist. If you don’t, it somewhat defeats the whole purpose of going out,” Miranda pointed out. At that, Samara seemed to concede she was right. Being paranoid would only spoil their time together. “Enough talk of serious subjects. Have you kept up reading human literature?”

“When I have been able, yes. Although, I must confess, I did not have such access when I was travelling in asari space. The Citadel libraries have been a source of great assistance. Tell me, I must know, was this ‘King Arthur’ a real person?” As soon as she asked, Samara just as swiftly changed her mind. “No, no. On second thought, I would prefer you do not answer. I fear I would be disappointed.”

Miranda laughed, endeared by Samara’s odd, childlike fascination with such figures. If it wouldn’t have sounded so patronising to describe a woman in her mid-to-late 900s as ‘adorable’, that label definitely would have applied.

“Oh. That reminds me. Kurosawa,” said Miranda. Samara tilted her head in questioning, not sure what that meant. “Not an author, but a director. I’ve been told, if you’re interested in samurai media, his films are the place to start.”

“I see. Thank you.” Samara nodded, taking that recommendation on board.

“What is it with you and this sort of thing anyway?” Miranda decided to finally broach the question that she had been wondering for a while, earning a curious glance. “Knights. Samurai. Why are you so interested in them?”

Samara did a poor job concealing a grin. “Yes, why would I, a lone wanderer who adheres to a strict moral code and seeks to bring justice to the places she visits, see any appeal whatsoever in stories about virtuous, heroic wanderers who adhere to strict moral codes and seek to bring justice to the places they visit?”

Miranda couldn’t argue with that logic. “I withdraw the question.”

“You did not withdraw it. I answered it,” Samara corrected.

“No, no. I withdrew it,” Miranda maintained in jest, as if she had come to that conclusion entirely on her own, without any assistance. Samara affectionately shook her head. During that pause in the conversation, the song changed. “You know, I saw you dancing before,” Miranda said with a smirk, indicating the dancefloor. “I’m glad you listened to me about enjoying yourself tonight.”

“I did. However, if I remember correctly, you once stated to me that you would dance when I danced,” Samara reminded her. Miranda raised her eyebrows and took a drink, averting her gaze. She’d really hoped Samara had forgotten that conversation. “And yet you did not join me. How perplexing.”

“Oh, so you haven’t noticed that I’m a pathological liar until just now. Good to know,” Miranda joked, toying with the stem of her glass as she placed it down.

“You must be. You keep insisting to me that you are not funny, even though you clearly are,” Samara cleverly countered, a glimmer of mirth in her kind eyes.

“I--” Miranda stopped before she could retort, taken aback by that comment. Nobody had told her that before. Nobody thought she was funny, because she wasn’t. According to everyone else, she was just mean and sarcastic and unpleasant to be around. Eventually, Miranda awkwardly rubbed the back of her head, managing to mumble a response. “I think you have a very different definition of ‘funny’ than everyone else in the galaxy, but...if you say so.”

It didn’t seem lost on Samara just how much that compliment actually meant to her. But she didn’t harp on it, letting it stand unchallenged. “There is still time for you to keep your promise to me before we part ways,” Samara pressed and, though her tone was lighthearted, it was evident the offer was genuine. “After all, there is a dancefloor here, and I am finding this music rather persuasive...”

“Still time for me to continue breaking my promise forever, you mean? Yes. I intend to. Glad we’re in agreement,” Miranda remarked. Samara’s enquiring gaze didn’t shift. “...Okay so I did dance at Shepard’s tonight, just a little bit.” Miranda reluctantly held her thumb and forefinger slightly apart.

“Good. I am delighted to hear it,” Samara enthused, pleased to see that Miranda had heeded her own advice and let herself go, and allowed herself to have some fun at the party. “My only regret is that I did not witness it.”

“You didn’t miss anything,” Miranda assured her. “But I fulfilled my end of the bargain.”

“No, you did not. This imbalance must be rectified immediately,” Samara persisted, getting up from her seat and extending her hand. Miranda did not accept the invitation, quite intent on not moving anytime soon. “You made a promise to me, Miranda Lawson. As a Justicar, I must insist that you keep your word. You said you would dance when I danced, and I am going to dance. Hence...”

“No. You knock yourself out, but I am very comfortable on my stool.” Miranda shook her head, waving Samara off, making her stance plain.

“Then hand me the keys, and I will return to the apartment,” said Samara.

That got Miranda’s attention. “What?”

“You were the one who said, and I quote, ‘let us go and be stupid for a while’, and it was you who suggested we both sneak out after midnight for this purpose,” Samara noted. “That was the evening that was represented to me - one spent in inane, ridiculous frivolity. Yet, so far, you are being extremely sensible. If you are not going to do this with me, then I fear I have in fact been misled.”

Miranda saw right through Samara’s feigned disappointment. “You’re evil.”

“In this moment, perhaps,” Samara conceded, but she still extended her hand.

“This is peer pressure,” Miranda complained.

“Yes, it is,” Samara confirmed, without shame, her mischievous smile widening.

Miranda sighed, but it was hard not to be uplifted purely from seeing Samara this outgoing and cheerful. That was a rare privilege. The last time she’d seen her like this was...well, the last time they visited the Citadel together, which must have been around nine or ten months ago by that point.

“You’re in an abnormally good mood tonight, aren’t you?” Miranda observed, certainly not complaining, but wondering what had made her so upbeat.

“Why would I not be?” Samara asked plainly. “I am with you.”

Miranda’s heart skipped a beat. Honestly, Miranda was so thoroughly charmed by that response that Samara could have asked her to do anything in that moment, no matter how embarrassing, and she would have been powerless to resist.

“...If you’re trying to butter me up to get me to dance with you...good strategy, because it’s working,” Miranda admitted defeat, seeing no point in even pretending to warn her otherwise. No doubt Samara could tell the warmth in her cheeks had nothing to do with the alcohol. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”

Samara was evidently entertained by that reaction, but equally quick to dismiss any notion that her words were coming from an insincere place. “It is not falsity. The time you and I spent together aboard The Normandy was the most I have enjoyed myself in many years. Longer than you can possibly imagine.”

“Oh, wow, that's depressing,” said Miranda. “Because I am not fun at all.”

“Neither am I. Perhaps this explains it,” Samara quipped.

Miranda didn’t agree with that, but that wasn’t the point. “You’re not dropping this are you?” she deduced, realising she didn’t have a choice in this.

“I am afraid I cannot,” Samara confirmed, as if the decision was out of her hands. “Just as you have sensed that I am in a good mood, I have also been astounded by the change in you tonight. I have never seen you so unshackled from your burdens as you are now. So, if we are ever going to keep our promise and share a dance together, I fear this will be our only opportunity. We may not get another. And I cannot abide a broken promise,” she pointed out.

She wasn’t wrong. Tomorrows weren’t exactly guaranteed.

“Well, you bloody got me, alright? Now that you’ve accused me of being good company, I feel compelled to live up to the hype.” With that, Miranda threw back her head and downed her drink, determined to be ‘fun’ for once in her life. “You get one song.” She held up one finger. “And only because it’s you.”

“One song will suffice,” said Samara, taking Miranda by the hand at long last, leading her to the dancefloor. That was all she had been promised.

Maybe it was just the drinks talking, but as she let go of her inhibitions, started moving to the music and surrendered to not caring whether she looked stupid, Miranda found herself having a far better time than she would have thought.

Most of all, the best thing about it was getting to see Samara let go of her usual restraint, and glean a rare escape from the harsh and austere lifestyle that she was required to abide by as a Justicar. It went without saying how much she deserved this reprieve. Not merely to have fun and enjoy the evening, but to have a chance to let her walls down and be herself. Her real self, beneath the armour. Just one fleeting night in however many centuries, free of worries or cares.

If Miranda could give her that, then making a fool of herself would all be worth it.

Miranda didn’t know what had suddenly made Samara so open to things like this she would have politely declined a year ago, aside from the same ‘carpe diem’ reason that applied to everyone at the moment, nor did it really matter. The point was that they were here and they were doing it while they could. And any time spent with Samara, no matter what they were doing, was never time wasted.

One song turned into two. And two into three.

In truth, because the music all blended together with similar rhythms and chord progressions, it was hard to tell where one track began and another ended. And, for the first time, Miranda began to understand that perhaps that was the whole point. It would have been pretty jarring and moment-ruining to have the flow disturbed by each new song. So, for now, she stopped being critical of that.

It was as the music changed to a fourth song that they were rudely interrupted.

“Heyyyyy, ladies,” a complete stranger wandered up to them, making finger guns and clicking his tongue. “Can I be the meat in your sandwich?”

Miranda gave the man an unimpressed look. “Mate, if that line ever actually works on a woman...she deserves you,” she said, earning a confused expression in response as the insult went over his head.

“...Is that a no?” he asked, clueless.

“Yeah, look, I’m in a good mood, so just save yourself some embarrassment and…” Miranda signalled for him to walk away, not particularly keen on wasting time and effort verbally destroying him when she would rather not bother.

To his credit, he took that rejection without a fight and left without causing a scene.

“Sorry about that.” Miranda turned to Samara. Unwanted male attention was something that happened to her a lot, so she was used to dealing with it.

Samara seemed more perplexed than perturbed. “He made this gesture.” Samara somewhat awkwardly mimicked his finger guns, as if she’d never seen anyone do that before. “...I assume I should not interpret that as a threat.”

Miranda blinked. Then, as soon as it clicked that Samara was in fact joking, cracked up with laughter. She’d never forgotten how funny Samara could be, but that sneaky delivery of hers still took her by surprise when it came out.

“Why are you laughing? We may be in grave danger,” Samara feigned ignorance.

“Alright. That’s it. That was the last song,” Miranda declared, taking that disruption as their cue to leave. “Since neither of us are gamblers, I think we’ve seen as much as there is to see of the casino. We should move on.”

“Where should we go next?” Samara prompted, letting Miranda take the lead.

“Hmm.” Miranda pondered that. What she would ordinarily do versus what Samara would expect of her on a night devoted to frivolity were two very different things. Fortunately, the Strip did serve the latter quite well. “There's an arcade not far from here. Did you know I've literally never been to one?”

Samara looked rather impressed with that suggestion, given that it was entirely out of step with Miranda’s usual character, and hence very much in keeping with the evening of inane silliness she had been promised. “I believe you humans have a saying that 'there is a first time for everything'.”

“Alright. Arcade it is.”

It certainly wasn’t far to get there. And Miranda wasn’t kidding when she said she had never had the simple pleasure of playing these games in her childhood. Or any games. She had been deprived of anything resembling fun growing up.

That being said, the lightgun game came pretty naturally to her, even if Miranda did maintain the only reason she didn’t score higher was because the controller was a shitty piece of plastic and the sensor must have been broken. If Samara thought otherwise, she just smiled and didn’t correct her.

By contrast, Samara definitely did recognise some of these games from her youth.

“You’re telling me that some of these machines basically haven’t changed at all in nine hundred years?” said Miranda, arching a sceptical eyebrow.

“No, they have not,” Samara happily confirmed, an audible tinge of excitement colouring her voice at the prospect of coming across something familiar.

Miranda snorted. So much for creativity.

“Oh. This. I remember this.” Samara went over to a particularly old-fashioned machine in the corner. ‘Whack The Thresher Maw’. “It was not thresher maws when I played it. I do not recall what it was. But I was very little. I could not have been more than...twelve? I remember vividly; it was shortly before my father left Thessia to come live here on the Citadel. That was the only day I spent together with both my mother and father - the only day that they ever both took me out together,” she spoke softly, nostalgic for that fond memory.

Miranda’s eyes twinkled as she stood by her, listening to Samara reminisce about her past. She said nothing as she waived her credit chit over the machine, spurring it to life. When Samara glanced at her in questioning, she leaned against the wall, and gestured for Samara to go ahead and play. And she did.

The next game they played was a version of what Miranda would have called air hockey, using a virtual puck. Miranda was winning up until Samara cheated, using her biotics to subtly move Miranda’s wrist away from the goal.

“I would never cheat,” Samara professed, not even trying to conceal her guilt.

“Mhmm.” Miranda fixed her with a knowing look. Two could play at that game. The very next round, she used her own biotics to move the table right when Samara least expected it, allowing her to get her goal back. “I would never cheat,” Miranda echoed back to her, mirroring Samara’s false innocent voice.

“Hey!” At that, one of the arcade workers pointed at a sign behind the counter which clearly stated ‘no biotics’, giving them no further warning than that.

Keeping track of the scores kind of went out the window when they could hardly make it through the next few rounds without cracking up. They called it a draw and gave up before they did something that got them both banned for life.

They moved on. The next thing that caught Samara’s eye was the claw machine.

“I used to be very good at these,” Samara noted, examining it.

“Really? I thought they were all rigged.”

“No, not at all. Certainly made to be difficult, yes. But if you could not win, that would be illegal. There is a skill to it,” Samara explained. Miranda gestured for her to go right ahead and show her. “I have no money,” Samara pointed out. “And I could not keep the prize even if I won.”

Miranda sighed. “...Just because I’m doing this doesn’t mean I don’t know this is a waste of money on the same level as gambling,” she said, making it clear that nobody was to know she had done this. She put credits into the machine.

Samara appraised the prize spheres to see which would be the easiest to grab. “Aim for that one,” she advised, indicating a sphere that was higher up than the others. “It may take more than one attempt, but if you line it up correctly…”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ve got it,” Miranda waved off her backseat driving, still sceptical that it was even possible to win.

The first time, she didn’t get it at quite the right angle, and the claw slipped off. The second time, she was sure she lined it up properly, but the claws snapped shut above the prize sphere, without picking it up, like the prize was too heavy.

“See? The machine is rigged,” Miranda insisted. “It’s not possible.”

“You are very close. And you have one play left,” Samara encouraged. Miranda rolled her eyes, reluctantly deciding she may as well use the game she had already paid for. “Try coming at it slightly more from the left.”

Miranda did as Samara suggested, and this time, the claw grabbed it. She blinked as the claw lifted the prize and took it all the way to the chute. “Huh.”

“I believe the appropriate phrase is ‘I told you so’,” Samara teased.

“Alright, alright. No need to get cocky,” said Miranda, opening up the prize sphere to see what she’d won. It was a keychain in the shape of Blasto the Hanar Spectre. She uttered a tssk. “I’ve never seen any of these movies. They look like rubbish.”

“Sometimes, that is precisely the appeal,” Samara advised. Miranda didn’t share the sentiment. “I think that triumph signals that we have overstayed our welcome here,” said Samara, aware they were still being watched by the same employee from before in case they cheated again. “Where to next?”

“Hmm.” Miranda glanced around as they left the arcade, thinking of options.

“There is a combat simulator here, is there not?” Samara piped up, as if she’d been holding onto that idea for a while. “I would be eager to try that.”

“By all means. Though what people find fun about a laser arena is somewhat lost on me,” Miranda remarked, probably because her father had subjected her to similar combat programs when she was a kid. “It just feels like training.”

“Its intent is to recreate something we experience as a regular part of our lives. It is fun for them because it is unfamiliar. For us, it is not a deviation from the norm, save that for once we have the liberty of not being in any actual peril,” Samara astutely observed. She had a point, Miranda thought. It wasn’t the most relaxing pastime, but Miranda could run combat sims in her sleep. She had no problems teaming up with her if that was what Samara wanted to do.

“Okay, that absolutely was rigged,” Miranda loudly complained as they emerged from the combat arena a while later. “I hit that soldier dead between the eyes, and he still had twenty percent health left? That's nonsense. No human being could possibly survive that,” she argued, gesturing as she spoke.

“We still did extremely well,” Samara pointed out, content with their performance.

“If this program was realistic, my name would be on top right now,” Miranda proclaimed, waving her hand towards the scoreboard. She was nothing if not competitive, when she wanted to be anyway. Her rant was interrupted when Samara uttered a quiet, amused chuckle. It was impossible not to soften, seeing the unfeigned affection shimmering in Samara’s gaze. “What is it?”

“Nothing.” Samara shook her head, her smile reaching her eyes. “I simply...I did not forget how much I missed spending time with you, but...in a way, I forgot just how much I missed spending time with you,” Samara acknowledged, well aware of the contradiction in her own words, but unable to say it another way.

Miranda knew exactly what she meant. Memories of the Starboard Observation Deck were no substitute for the real thing. They didn’t do justice to just how at home she felt in Samara’s company. “Yeah. Me too.”

“And do not think I did not notice,” said Samara, a very proud look coming over her. Miranda tilted her head in questioning. “Reave. You mastered it,” Samara clarified, somehow wholly unsurprised to witness that.

“Oh. Right. That.” Miranda brushed that off. It wasn’t a big deal.

“Do not undersell yourself. It is not an easy feat,” Samara told her, not about to let this go unremarked upon. “Well done, Miranda. You are the first, and I suspect only human ever to learn this ability. And it would be a great achievement even if you were asari. Indeed, I have personally never met anyone, other than some fellow Justicars, who have mastered it.”

“Well, I owe that entirely to you. So here. Present for you.” Miranda held out the Blasto The Hanar Spectre keychain she'd won from the claw machine earlier, as a token of her appreciation for Samara’s teachings a year ago.

Samara smiled, politely raising her hand to decline. “Although I am grateful, I am afraid I cannot accept this; Justicars eschew personal possessions.”

Miranda's brow crinkled, looking down at the stupid thing in her hands in abject incredulity. “...It's a keychain.”

“That is not the point,” Samara reminded her, although clearly not at all shocked or offended why someone who had not chosen a religious life might fail to understand this. The fact that the gift had no material value did not make it any less of an indulgence. “I have sworn an oath to the Goddess. I can own nothing but what you see before you - my weapons and my armour - for that is all that is essential for me to carry out my duties as a Justicar.”

“Alright. Allow me to rephrase,” Miranda began, sensing a solution to this issue. “This is a...tactical keychain,” she informed her, arching an eyebrow as she twirled the chain around her finger. “It provides an entire additional square inch of armour plating. So I insist that you take it for your own protection.”

Samara laughed, more freely than Miranda had ever seen her do so. “There is that sense of humour you maintain you do not have again,” Samara wryly commented. “I will never comprehend why you insist on claiming that you are not funny.”

“Because I'm not.” Miranda shrugged, wearing a small, self-deprecating smile. “You also described yourself as ‘terribly dull’ earlier when you’re by far the most captivating person I’ve ever spoken to, so if we’re going to start this debate right now, then I’m pretty sure I’m going to win.”

“You would not be a stranger to that, would you?” Samara sighed, realising Miranda would not relent from her position. “Very well, then. You have convinced me.” She took the keychain, clasping it in her fingers. “Make no mistake, this is still yours,” she said, pointedly. “However, I will hold this in safekeeping on your behalf. And I will return it to you the next time we meet.”

“See? Was that so hard?” said Miranda, glad they'd reached a compromise.

Samara tried not to smile, because it was evident that she knew she was technically stretching the rules by accepting this gift, even on loan (though Miranda naturally assumed that she was kidding about intending to return it later), but despite her intentions she couldn't really fight it off. Not tonight.

“If you do not mind my asking, I know what your plans for the future are in the long term, but what of the short term?” Samara asked her, curious to know where Miranda would go when she left the Citadel.

“What else is there to do but get ready for whenever Shepard needs us?” said Miranda, leaning against a nearby railing overlooking a lower section of the strip. “I’ve taken command of a small ship and started putting together a team of Cerberus defectors. So, whatever happens, I’ll be there.” She looked over at Samara. “I suppose I don’t need to ask you, but...what about you?”

“I am as I am,” Samara answered, confirming Miranda’s assumptions. “When the day comes, I will walk into the fire, alone, with nothing but what you see before you, and fight to my last breath. And, should I die, I can only pray that my final acts honour the memory of all the Justicars who perished before me.”

“...I don’t see how they wouldn’t,” Miranda said softly. “I mean, you’re you.”

Samara didn’t respond to that. “Miranda, I...” Samara hesitated. Her expression was unsettled, but she swallowed, quickly finding an equilibrium and settling on what she intended to say. “Though I imagine we will be fighting on the same battlefield in the near future, it has not eluded me that we may not get a chance to speak like this before that time comes to pass. Or...ever again.”

“I know,” Miranda admitted, glancing down. The same thought had been swirling in her head even before Shepard’s party. She wasn't sure if they were meant to address that, or if that looming spectre of death was an open secret they weren't supposed to confront, but she was glad Samara had raised it. The problem was, there were too many things she wanted to say if this was going to be the last conversation they ever had. Thoughts she hadn’t even put into words in her mind, and could never fully express. “...I really am sorry about Rila,” was where Miranda chose to begin. It would have felt wrong not to tell her that.

Samara swallowed and nodded her head, trying to stay strong. Then her resolve cracked, and the tears came. Her hands went to her face, unable to stem the tide. Even the strongest woman in the universe could only carry so much.

For a split-second, Miranda thought she had made a mistake bringing this up, seeing how much Samara was hurting over her recent loss. But then it occurred to her. Maybe Samara breaking down in front of her didn’t mean she’d done anything wrong. Maybe it showed just how much she needed this moment of connection with someone she trusted - to allow herself the vulnerability to be hurt.

Had anyone even comforted Samara at all since it happened?

Had anyone given her the chance to grieve for her daughter?

“I did everything I could to save her. Even though I should not have. Even knowing it might mean putting myself in the position of choosing between my children and The Code. Even while the rest of my Order gave their lives to save so many on Thessia.” Samara drew a deep breath, but it wound up shallower than she intended in her sorrow. “...I violated one of my Oaths, Miranda.”

“What do you mean?” Miranda asked, not knowing enough about the Justicars to understand what that meant. “You mean you broke The Code?”

“No. No, I would never...never break The Code. Not while I draw breath,” Samara insisted, making that clear, even through her tears. “But the first step to becoming a Justicar is to take the Oath of Solitude. That means you are forsworn from any family, including children. I did not utter a single word to Falere or Rila in four hundred and thirty-one years, save for when I wrote to them a year ago to let them know Mirala was dead. However, when I heard their monastery may be under threat...I did not go to them as a Justicar.” Her breath hitched as the moisture trickled down her cheeks. “I went to them because I am their mother.”

“Of course you did,” said Miranda, feeling nothing but sympathy for her, and a touch of anger towards the Justicars for subjecting Samara to that dilemma in the first place. For depriving her of the shattered, broken remnants of a family she had left, and making her feel ashamed for protecting her daughters from certain death. “There’s no oath in the universe anyone could swear that would make a mother stop loving her children. Not a mother like you.”

“No, there is not,” Samara confirmed, her voice breaking under the strain as her body was racked by another sob. “I saw so little of Rila before she died, but what I saw...I could not be prouder of the woman she became, in spite of the cruel hand fate dealt her. I always knew her to be the most responsible of my daughters, always taking care of her younger sisters, though she was barely any older than they were. But she was so strong, Miranda. I never knew she was so fearless. So ferociously protective. She gave her own life so that Falere could live.”

“And you,” Miranda added. “So that you could live too.”

Samara didn’t reply to that.

“How’s Falere?” Miranda asked, after Samara didn’t respond.

“She is well. Alone, but well.” Samara glanced down at her hands, her tears beginning to dry on her cheeks. “She was always a gentle and sensitive soul, so much like her fath--” Samara’s voice caught on that word. She couldn’t say it. It hurt to speak of her. “The woman she has grown into...she is so much kinder than I could possibly have imagined. She had not seen my face or heard my voice for four hundred and thirty-one years. She had every right to hate me. But, instead, she...when all was said and done, she embraced me.”

“Why wouldn’t she?” said Miranda, thinking that should have gone without saying. “She’s your daughter. She loves you.”

“That is more than I deserve.” Samara’s voice was low, barely above a whisper.

Miranda couldn’t stand to hear her talk about herself that way. “Samara--”

Samara raised a hand to silence her. “Respectfully, Miranda...It is no fault of yours, but there are some things that are beyond even your understanding. I believe this is one of them. I would prefer not to argue with you.”

Miranda sighed. She hated to admit it, but Samara had a point. If she felt that way, it wasn’t like it was a poorly-considered opinion. She had lived her own life for nearly a thousand years, and the disconnect between Samara and Falere had been there for centuries. It wasn’t Miranda’s place to debate with her about her perception of herself, or where she stood with Falere, much as she wanted to.

“...But you weren’t lying before, right?” Miranda pressed, unable to leave that thought alone. When Samara said things like this, it made her worry about her. “You are going to keep seeing Falere, aren’t you?”

“My Oaths say I should not,” Samara acknowledged.

“But you will,” Miranda intuited.

Samara held back the last of her tears, the first signs of a conflicted, broken smile coming to her lips. “I have no choice. In truth, there is no power in the universe, nor within myself, that could force me to stay away,” she said honestly, recognising she did not have the willpower to resist seeing her daughter again, especially knowing Falere had nobody else to look after her.

“Good,” Miranda forcefully enthused. For as much as she respected Samara, she might have had to slap some sense into her if she said otherwise. “No offence, and I know this is easy for me to say because I don’t have a single religious or spiritual bone in my body, but any oath that would compel you to stay away from the one person in your life who makes you happy isn’t an oath worth keeping. For me, that person is my sister. For you, that person is Falere.”

At long last, Samara allowed herself to smile again, her eyes glistening from her tears, but shedding no more. “She is.” Her voice was soft, perhaps even fragile, but Miranda had never heard it filled with so much tenderness. “I should not permit myself to feel this way, but...if you thought you perceived a change in me tonight, Miranda, you did,” she admitted. “Though losing Rila broke my heart, and my wounds for her will bleed until my dying days...even so, I have never felt more at peace than I do at this moment. Or, if I have, then I cannot remember it.”

Miranda could only imagine. In her own life, she had gone without seeing Oriana for nineteen years. And, the moment they met on Illium, it was like a weight she hadn’t even known she was carrying had been lifted off her shoulders. That was nothing compared to what Samara had endured.

Going four hundred and thirty-one years not seeing her daughters, the people who mattered most to her...it must have been torture. Now, that torment had finally stopped. Even though Rila hadn’t lived long enough to be part of this new reunion, Samara had still regained a connection with Falere she never thought she would have again. She had some semblance of her family back.

That was life-changing.

“I’m glad to hear you say that,” Miranda said sincerely. After everything she’d lost, Samara had more than earned her just reward. "And, for what it’s worth, I hope this is merely the start of newer and brighter things for you and Falere.”

After recollecting her composure, Samara faced her. “Thank you, Miranda.”

Miranda was not anticipating that shift in focus. “For what?”

“For this. For tonight,” Samara clarified, gesturing at their surroundings. “For allowing me to enjoy myself more than I have in centuries. And for reminding me to savour these effervescent glimmers of happiness while I still can.” She paused for a moment, averting her gaze down towards her hands on the railing. “I think, perhaps, on some level, you sensed I needed this. But perhaps you do not appreciate just how much I did. So, again, I thank you for spending your night in the company of this poor, tired old woman, when it was not required of you.”

Miranda hesitated at that. Of course, it meant a lot for Samara to tell her that she had gotten so much out of their time together, and that it had helped her in some way. But Miranda never liked it when Samara made those resigned, self-defeating comments about herself. They made her sound like some washed up, retired old racehorse about to be put down with two barrels behind the garden shed. And that was the furthest thing from reality.

Samara was amazing. Beyond compare. She had not lost a step. Aside from being a matriarch and continuing to get stronger with every passing year, she did not show a single sign of age. It certainly hadn’t hindered her yet, and probably would not for many decades yet to come. Asari regularly lived to be over a thousand years old. Hell, although hitting eleven-hundred was rare by most accounts, even that wouldn’t be unheard of. Not by a long shot.

Not that Miranda was an expert, but just from knowing her, she would guess Samara was still a long way off from the natural end of her life. About as far off as any of the human members of The Normandy. So why did she so often talk about herself like she was past the point where she had anything of worth left to offer - a broken relic of a bygone age to be carelessly discarded and cast aside?

Did she think Miranda was just doing this because she felt sorry for her?

“...I didn’t invite you out with me because I pity you,” Miranda broke the silence, glancing over at Samara. That had never been what this was, and she would correct any such mistaken assumptions as promptly and frankly as possible, so that there was no chance for misinterpretation. “I wanted to spend time with you because I like you, and I care about you. You know that, right?”

“I do,” Samara confirmed, returning Miranda’s gaze. “And I hope you know that I did not spend time with you because I was merely seeking some distraction from what has come to pass in recent weeks.”

“I do,” Miranda replied in kind. She folded her arms across the railing, seeing no reason not to continue being so transparent. “This probably isn’t going to be a shock to you, because there aren’t exactly a lot of contenders for the title, but did you know you might very well be the best friend I’ve ever had?”

Jacob may have been her friend for longer, sure, but they butted heads a lot, often on pretty fundamental things. There were some things she hadn’t told him, and may never tell him. Some things she couldn’t go to him about. Whereas Samara just...knew her so intimately. She got her on an entirely different level. One that didn’t even require words, a lot of the time.

Samara’s eyes dipped slightly. “It...occurred to me, some time ago, in fact, that...I could possibly say the same thing about you,” she replied. Miranda was taken aback by that, and it must have shown on her face. “You doubt me, but you have a stronger claim to that position than you know.”

Miranda brushed that off, finding it too hard to believe. Samara had been alive for over nine centuries. She’d definitely had better friends. “You’re just being nice.”

Samara squinted at that comment, visibly perplexed. “I do not know where you have garnered this impression that I am ‘nice’, or would say things I do not mean just to be thus. I can assure you, I have never at any stage of my life been renowned for being particularly ‘nice’ to anybody. Quite the contrary,” Samara assured her, wanting to clear up that mischaracterisation. “I mean no offence, but...in that regard, you and I are more alike than you seem to think.”

“None taken,” Miranda nonchalantly replied. She supposed she understood where Samara was coming from by not accepting that description. If anyone tried to tell Miranda she was ‘just being nice’, she would have looked at them like they had grown a second head. “And I guess you do have a point. I mean, the first time I met you, you crushed a woman’s skull with your foot.”

“You would have used a gun,” Samara noted.

“Yeah, probably,” Miranda conceded. “You were always nice to me, though.”

“Not always. There were times when I challenged you. Like you, I am not prone to remaining silent when I disagree with someone. If I am less stubborn and stern than I once was, it is only because experience has humbled me, and I have spent many centuries practicing patience and mindfulness,” said Samara.

Samara wasn’t wrong about any of that, Miranda thought. Samara had indeed called her out on her bullshit a couple of times, although whenever she did offer advice she had always treated it as something constructive rather than an exercise in judgement, which was largely why it had been so effective.

“However, if despite all that you perceived me as being especially nice to you...I probably was,” Samara admitted with a small sigh, willing to concede that wasn’t misplaced. “It is easy to be nice to a person you are already fond of.”

“Why though?” Miranda couldn’t help but ask, earning a confused look. “That’s something I’ve never been able to figure out. Look, I know I’m not the most self-aware person, but I’m better than I was. And, God, I could be fucking intolerable sometimes.” Miranda grimaced in annoyance at her own memory of herself, eliciting a faint smirk from Samara. “But even at my worst, you never had a problem with me. So, why did you like spending time with me?”

“How long do we have before our absence will be noticed? Because, if I answered that question comprehensively, we would be here a very long time,” Samara stated. That was, without question, the most heartwarming thing Miranda had ever heard another person say about her. “If I am being truly honest, I have often wondered the same thing about why you chose to spend your time with me.”

“Is that a joke?” Miranda asked, not sure how Samara could even question that.

“You know very well that it is not,” Samara said astutely. She wasn’t a liar.

“Well, then, you and I remember things very differently, because you had countless things to offer me. Wisdom. Insight. Friendship. A place where I could just sit in silence for a while. You've taught me so much, but somehow you never made it feel like you were lecturing me. Even when you clearly were,” Miranda remarked, with a hint of teasing to her tone. “The only problem is that I've gained so much more out of knowing you than you have from knowing me.”

“That is not true,” Samara firmly insisted, the quickness of her response catching Miranda somewhat off guard. “The life of a Justicar is a solitary one. We meet many people, but have no companions. I had no companions. Until you. The connection we share is unlike any I have known in centuries. Or...even before that. You have enriched my life. I am better for having known you.”

“You don’t mean that,” Miranda instinctively replied. Samara was...well, she wasn’t a ‘perfect’ person per se, because they didn’t exist. But she was as close as Miranda had ever seen to one. She was a perfect version of what she strove to be. So how could Miranda make her better than she was? How could she possibly do anything to improve upon such sheer mastery of the self?

“Goddess, you do not even know…” Samara’s suddenness took Miranda by surprise. She watched as she let her fingers fall across her face, sighed deeply and shook her head, choosing her words carefully. “Forgive me. It is difficult for me to say this, but...when we travelled together, there were times where I thought…” Samara stopped herself, as if reconsidering what she intended to say. “Perhaps I did not always recognise it then, but in hindsight there were days where I do not know how I could have withstood my burdens if you were not with me.”

Miranda didn’t know what to make of that. It just...didn’t make sense. Samara was so strong. “But I didn’t do anything,” Miranda pointed out.

At that, Samara uttered a quiet sound, almost like a short, sombre laugh. “But you did,” she said, meeting Miranda’s gaze once more. “You were there. And you have shown me nothing but kindness from the moment we met.”

Miranda still couldn’t accept what she was hearing. Besides, she didn’t remember doing anything that would strike a normal person as especially compassionate, because that wasn’t who she was. “But I’m not kind,” she said.

“No, perhaps you are not,” Samara acknowledged, never blind to the person Miranda was. She was not known for being sensitive or sympathetic, for good reason. “But you were to me,” she stated plainly. That was all that mattered.

Miranda didn’t completely agree with that. But she was glad Samara thought so. And, if nothing else, it was true that Samara did make her want to try to be a better person than she was, and had brought different shades out of her in a way that nobody else had, irrespective of whether they came naturally to her.

That was the thing about people like Samara, Miranda thought. When a person had a special connection with someone else, a special relationship, then they got to know a version of them that didn’t exist for anyone else. Parts of them nobody else ever saw. Truths nobody else ever knew. So maybe the Miranda reserved for Samara's eyes only really was gentler than the one everybody else had met. But, if so, that was only because their friendship brought that out of her.

As the silence lingered, the memory of one very unkind thing she had done emerged in Miranda’s mind. It wasn’t lost on her that there was still one regret she had in their friendship. One mistake for which she’d never made amends.

It was not something she had forgotten about. She recalled with discomforting clarity how she��d never taken her numerous chances back on The Normandy to confess to Samara about looking into her past without her consent. She’d never apologised for it, though she had intended to do so, eventually. She would have done it after The Collector Base but, when the Alpha Relay was destroyed, the thought had genuinely completely fallen from her mind amid so much death. By the time she thought about it again, it was too late. They had already parted ways.

So many months had passed since all of this transpired that part of her just wanted to let sleeping dogs lie, and not raise the subject now. But Miranda knew this was the only chance she would get. If she was ever going to apologise, this was her moment. She had to take it, or live with being a coward.

“...Samara, can I say one more thing?” Miranda broke the silence.

“You may always speak freely with me, Miranda. Indeed, that you always say precisely what is on your mind is perhaps my favourite thing about you. Certainly, one of them,” Samara said with a charming twinkle in her eye.

“Okay, then.” Miranda took Samara’s encouragement at face-value, and elected to come out with it, even if it was a heavy subject. “What happened to your family wasn't your fault,” Miranda began, deciding to approach the topic from that angle. The unexpected shift in the conversation caused Samara to stiffen visibly. “And you know I'm not the sort of person who'd say something I didn't think was true purely to make you feel better, no matter how much I like you. But you didn't do anything to make that happen. None of it is your fault. None. So please stop blaming yourself for what happened four hundred years ago.”

Samara didn't seem to know how to react to Miranda’s words, as they were the last thing she had anticipated. It was obvious it was a message she struggled to accept, even after all this time. Of course, she had no idea how much Miranda knew about her past, beyond the broad picture she’d painted. Not yet.

“Has anyone ever told you that before?” Miranda asked, curious.

“...They have not,” Samara answered, no less taken aback. From prior conversations, Miranda knew she had scarcely spoken about her past. Her daughters’ diagnoses made her a pariah as soon as they happened, leaving her nobody to turn to, and Justicars did not discuss the people they were before they swore their Oaths. Samara had carried her burdens alone every day since.

“Then I'm glad I said it,” Miranda replied, already feeling a sense of relief just from stating that out loud, though she knew she was far from finished when it came to things she had to get off her chest. “I should have said it a long time ago.”

“Then may I also say something I should have said a long time ago?” Samara cut her off, speaking rather quickly. Miranda gestured for her to go right ahead. If she was being that abrupt, then it must have been important. “I wish you loved being Miranda Lawson as much as everybody else believes you love being Miranda Lawson,” Samara spoke plainly. “Because she is and has always been a far, far better person than you seem to think she is. And there is not a single thing about her that makes her a ‘failure’. It wounds me whenever you think otherwise.”

Miranda was totally blindsided. She hadn’t expected Samara’s response at all, since she would never say anything unless she truly meant it. In fact, any prior thoughts Miranda had were completely ripped from her mind.

Samara didn’t need to ask whether anybody had told Miranda that before. She knew they hadn’t. Evidently, that knowledge bothered her a great deal.

“Miranda, I...” Samara reached out and touched Miranda's arm, as if considering saying something more. She swallowed, glancing away for a moment before meeting Miranda's eyes. “I think we have been gone longer than we ought. We should return before our absence becomes a cause for concern,” she said, mustering a faint smile, sensing they had both lost track of time.

“Of course,” Miranda concurred, too dumbstruck by Samara’s confession to remember that there were words she had left unsaid. “After you.”

With that, Samara led the way back towards Shepard's apartment.

As she trailed behind her, Miranda discreetly wiped at the corner of her eye, maintaining her composure, masking any lingering signs that betrayed any frailty, and just how much Samara’s words had touched the core of something she hadn’t even known was as raw and vulnerable as it was.

It may have been a scant two hours that they’d shared there alone on the Silversun Strip, but stealing that precious time together felt like the best decision Miranda had ever made. It may have been over sooner than she would have liked but, if nothing else, at least she could look back on this night in the coming days and feel content with the way she left things between them.

She wanted to part ways with Samara on a high note. After all, deep down in her heart, Miranda knew it was the last time Samara would ever see her again.

* * *

Of all the people Miranda had expected to be banging on her door in the middle of the night, Samara was not high on that list. She hadn’t expected to see her anytime soon, given she had left only two weeks ago. And, when they eventually did meet again, Miranda hadn’t imagined Samara would look like this.

“Samara, what are you doing here? It’s freezing out, and you’re drenched--”

“I must speak with you,” Samara cut her off, her voice firm, and her eyes ablaze with a strange intensity Miranda had never seen in her before. It seemed as though Samara didn’t even feel the ice-cold rain on her. “It cannot wait.”

Judging from her tone, that wasn’t a request.

“Uh...Of course,” was all Miranda could mutter as she held open the door for her, closing it behind her. It wouldn’t have even occurred to her to say no. Not when Samara was in such a state, moving with such urgency. “In here.” Miranda gestured towards her room. Samara marched in without hesitation.

Suffice it to say, Miranda was a little stunned. What the hell was happening?

She followed her inside, and clicked the door shut. There wasn’t much space in her small room, but Samara found enough to pace back and forth. She was uncharacteristically wringing her hands as she wore wet tracks in the floor. These were things Miranda had quite literally never seen her do before.

“Samara, what is this? What’s going on?” Miranda asked.

“Forgive my intrusion. But I needed to see you. I could not...the way we left things, I…” Samara paused for a moment, meeting her gaze. “I fear that perhaps you already know what has brought me here, and what I wish to discuss.”

Miranda said nothing, too disoriented and sleep-deprived to be capable of doing anything other than staring at her in a dazed silence. She had no idea what she was talking about, or what could make her act so out-of-sorts. Miranda had never seen Samara so dishevelled. So discombobulated. So...frazzled.

“Oh. Oh, I see. You do not. I see. Very well, then. I…” At that realisation, Samara resumed her pacing, running her hand along her crest. “I suppose I shall have to start from the beginning, then. I do not know why I expected to avoid this.”

“Samara, please slow down.” Miranda raised her hand, her mind far too clouded with fog to make sense of any of this. Even just watching her march back and forth felt like running a marathon, which would have been an exhausting prospect even if she had slept in the past four days. Her request fell on deaf ears.

“Miranda, I was...I was dishonest with you the last time we spoke,” Samara began. “No, worse than dishonest. I have been deceiving you, for no other reason than because I have been too craven to admit the truth. What is worse, I fear that you have sensed my deceit, and that this is what has damaged our friendship. I cannot...I cannot abide this. I cannot continue to lie to you.”

Miranda could barely even make out what she was saying as she paced. She was speaking so quickly, and with such adamance that it felt like she might spontaneously combust from internal friction if it weren’t for the rain soaking her skin. Miranda had never seen Samara in this state. She was like a completely different person. A stranger wearing the face of someone she knew.

Samara was so restrained. So dignified. So elegant. She was a woman who had walked alone, unflinching into mortal peril thousands of times with no regard for her own life, and somehow emerged unscathed, even where countless others had fallen around her. She was the most fearless individual Miranda had ever met.

There was none of that here.

She was...overcome.

Her proverbial armour had cracked.

“Samara, respectfully, you’re a category five hurricane right now. I need you to bring it down to a stiff breeze,” said Miranda, gesturing for her to cool her frantic energy just a little bit, because right now this was impossible to follow.

At last, Samara halted, and stood still. “...Yes. Yes, of course. You have my apologies,” Samara replied, no less anxious, but at least she seemed able to recognise what an incoherent onslaught her words must have sounded like.

Miranda leaned back against the chair that was tucked into her desk, gripping it with her hand to take some weight off her bad leg. Whatever could have left Samara so shaken, it had to be serious. Nothing ever rattled her.

Except apparently this.

“What have you been lying about?” Miranda asked, that being about the only thing she had managed to make out of Samara’s hasty, jumbled rant a moment ago.

At that question, Samara held her stare, a distant expression falling across her face. “...After all this time, you truly do not suspect, do you?” she asked aloud, the realisation sinking in, as if that was a possibility she had not contemplated.

“Suspect what?” was all Miranda could say, tempted to utter a desperate laugh as she shrugged her good shoulder, not because there was anything remotely funny about this, but because she was so fucking tired, and so fucking lost.

“Why I abandoned you as I did. Why I fled this city and deserted you. Why you have been forced to contend with so much pain, suffering and death alone, when I ought to have been here to share those burdens with you, and taken care of you when you needed me by your side,” said Samara. Her voice was shaking.

Miranda softened when she heard that. Did Samara really think she was angry at her for leaving? “Samara, no.” Miranda shook her head, unconsciously gesturing with her amputated arm as if to strike that thought from history. “Of course I understand why you left. You’re a Justicar. You have your Code--”

The moment that word left her lips, Samara laughed a humourless laugh, laced with turmoil and despair. Miranda was struck mute by that. It was so unlike her.

“Oh, my sweet Miranda, you truly still believe that about me?” said Samara, her hand on her forehead, as if she couldn’t fathom what she was hearing - that even now people still trusted her at her word. “No. No, my dear, it is a fiction. A comforting lie. A shadow I hide behind.”

Miranda damn near recoiled in abject confusion. “But you are a Justicar.”

“Yes, but that is not why I acted as I did. When I turned my back on you, it had nothing to do with The Code,” Samara unburdened herself at long last, revealing a secret that had been silently killing her. “When I left, it was for one reason only. And that was because I...because I could not be here to watch you die…”

Samara’s voice cracked on the last word, and her hands covered her face as tears began to swell from beneath the surface.

Miranda was dumbfounded - rendered speechless from utter astonishment. She had only seen Samara break like this twice before. Had only seen her cry twice before. That was when she killed Morinth. And when she opened up about losing Rila. Only the deaths of her daughters affected her like this.

Samara trembled, her hand over her mouth. Her eyes shone with remorse as she met Miranda’s frozen visage across the room. “I am so sorry,” Samara told her sincerely, her words cut by the hitch of a breath. “I know my contrition means nothing, but I am so deeply, deeply sorry. I do not blame you if you despise me. You should. I know I deserve it, because the truth is that I failed you. I failed you because I am weak, and I am broken, and I could not...I could not lose you.”

Miranda’s heart tore in half when she heard that. Her head fell, and she pressed her palm to her eye, squeezing it shut. Was this why Samara thought Miranda had snapped at her the last time they spoke? Was she responsible for hurting her like this? God, she regretted that day even more now than she already had before.

“You didn’t fail me, Samara,” Miranda quietly assured her. “You saved my life.”

“That, too, was selfishness,” Samara confessed, owning up to her sins. “When the dust settled, I saw you had not returned. When I realised how close you had been to the Conduit, I went searching for you. And only for you.”

“That’s not true,” Miranda interjected, refusing to let Samara denigrate herself for what had been unparalleled heroism. “You saved dozens of lives in the wasteland.”

“Because The Code demanded I must, and my life would be forfeit if I did not. Every time I came across another survivor, I had to stop and render aid. But, though The Code compelled me to do everything in my power to rescue those in need, I tell you plainly I did not want to. I did not care about any of them. I would have abandoned every single one of them if I could,” Samara said starkly, stripping bare her truth. That revelation hit Miranda like a shockwave. It was something Miranda would have said. Not Samara. “People thought me brave, but I was not. People thought I was saving lives, but that was never my goal. My deeds should not entitle me to praise, but rather scorn, because I was selfish. I was so selfish. My only reason for going out there again and again was to find you.”

Samara swallowed. Miranda would have, but her mouth was suddenly dry.

“...And I did,” Samara continued, her features softening as she gazed upon Miranda. “You were caked in blood and dirt when I found you. So much so that I could barely recognise you. And then you...and then you stopped breathing.”

Samara took a moment to compose herself, affected by those painful memories. She drew a deep breath, and wiped a stray tear from her cheek.

“I did not merely believe that you would die. I knew it. I was certain of it,” Samara quietly admitted. “The infection had already reached your blood. It was shutting down your organs. There seemed to be no hope that you would survive. The only reason you were breathing was because machines were doing it for you. Your pulse was so weak. Your condition showed no signs of improving. As I sat by your bedside, I came to understand that I was doing nothing but watching your life slip away before my very eyes. Every day, you were slowly dying in front of me. And I could not endure it. I...I broke. I ran away, rather than face it.”

“But you left me that message,” Miranda pointed out, struggling to fit the puzzle pieces together in her clouded head between things she already knew, parts of the story she had been told by others, and what Samara was saying now.

“A lie,” Samara said bluntly, her voice too strained to speak louder than a whisper. “To convince myself that I had not forsaken you. That I was not hiding in the shadows from my fears. That I was merely doing as I ought to, as a Justicar. A lie that rang hollow.” Samara glanced down at her feet, ashamed of her actions. “If I truly believed that you had any chance of recovering, I tell you from my heart, I would not have left. Never. And, if I had sincerely been forced into some temporary departure by my Code as I claimed, I would have placed a much better message beside your bed for you to find when you awoke. But I did not do so. I did not do so, because I could not bear to step into your room again. I was afraid each time I went near you, it would be the moment you would…”

Samara couldn’t even finish that sentence. She didn’t have to.

Miranda didn’t interrupt her, too overwhelmed to respond.

“This is why I have returned now. To apologise for my selfishness. Not to seek your forgiveness. Just to apologise,” Samara explained, repentant for her recent failings. “You have earned nothing less than that.”

“I…” Miranda didn’t know what to say. Couldn’t...form the words. It was a lot to take in. She could scarcely process it in her heavily fatigued state. She couldn’t think. She was so tired. So confused. “I still don’t understand. You’ve seen death before. Why couldn’t you be here? Why did you have to leave?”

“Goddess…” Samara turned away, facing the wall. “You truly do not know…”

“No, I don’t. So tell me,” said Miranda, growing exasperated with how Samara kept doing things like that. Acting like there were things she should already know, which she didn’t. She wasn’t psychic. She couldn’t read her mind. Obviously not. Samara had come all this way to throw this confession at her feet out of fucking nowhere. Why hold back now? “You’ve already said so--”

“Because I could not bear the pain of losing you!” Samara snapped back, her voice sharper and louder than before, as if she had to force the words out, fighting against herself to speak them. But, once they were said, they couldn’t be retracted. “I did not trust what I would do. How I would withstand it. Goddess, Miranda, I was coming apart. I had already broken The Code for you!”

Miranda’s eye widened. “What do you mean?”

“You know this. You said it yourself.” Samara faced her once more, moving a step closer. “I...I threatened to murder doctors, because they wanted to turn off your life support,” Samara confessed, hard as it was for her to say. “You were functionally dead, and I was prepared to harm innocents rather than accept it - to use violence against healers so I could keep you hooked to those machines.”

Miranda’s heart stopped in her chest.

Wait, what? That wasn’t something Jacob had just misunderstood? Her weary mind went black. She couldn’t even comprehend that revelation.

“I breached two tenets, in total. Not only by threatening innocent medics, but that I lied about The Code in order to compel them to spare you,” Samara confided in her, exposing her transgressions, her shame. “This is not permitted. I was unjust. Had I any sisters left to judge me, I might be expelled from the Order for this. At worst, perhaps even executed. Though, if there is but one small mercy to be found, it is that my words, evil though they were, were only words. I took no violent act, drew no weapon, and made no attempt to carry out my threats. Had I done so, The Code would not suffer me to live. Nor should it.”

“...You…wait…” Miranda couldn’t hear herself, her ear was ringing so loud.

What the fuck was happening? This couldn’t be real.

“In what small part of me was still capable of thinking rationally, I knew my behaviour had made me a danger to myself and others,” Samara continued. “If you passed, I could not take the risk of what I might do. At least, that was what I told myself. In truth, by that stage, I was simply too afraid to stay. Afraid of how much it would hurt when you...” She trailed off into silence, her meaning clear.

Miranda didn’t even catch all of that, her thoughts blank. No, this didn’t make sense. Samara was a Justicar. A servant of her Code. She was the embodiment of her way of life. She stuck to it rigidly. She never bent the rules, much less broke them. She would never do that. She was so disciplined. So loyal to it.

Samara hadn’t even broken The Code when it came to her own daughters. An Oath, yes. But not The Code. From what Miranda understood, that was the difference between breaking a promise, and breaking the law. She had told Miranda straight to her face that she couldn’t do the latter. That she would never.

And yet now Samara was standing there in front of her telling her that she had not merely violated The Code, but that she had done so consciously. For her.

Twice.

“Now you see me for what I truly am. Frail. Weak. A fraud.” Samara glanced aside, accepting that what she had done would forever tarnish her in Miranda’s sight, as it should. “So, like a coward, I ran. As far as I could. Every day thinking, is this the day she died? Is this the day? Surely, she must have passed by now, Samara. Just go back. Just go. Confront this. Be with her. But I could not. I could not return, because I was not ready to know. Because I was not ready to feel--”

Her voice caught, rendering her unable to finish that bleak thought.

Miranda felt a heavy tide rising inside her. Like she was swimming in a maelstrom. Sucked in under the water. Unable to breathe. Unable to think or react. It was so much all at once. It was as if she’d been consumed by a tsunami.

“...Why are you telling me this?” Miranda asked through the haze.

“Because you do not deserve to believe you are at fault,” Samara insisted, taking another step towards her. “I abandoned you in your hour of need, not because you mean nothing to me, but because you...you are so important to me it scares me. But that is my burden, not yours. You should not have to suffer for my lack of bravery. I could not bear it if you thought that I have treated you so carelessly because you have slighted me in some way. You have not. I am to blame. Only me. The failure is mine, and mine alone. I am the monster here. Not you.”

“Please don’t say that,” said Miranda. It hurt to hear Samara berate herself like that. She was the opposite of a monster. “I wouldn’t even be here if not for you.”

“But I should have been here.” Samara took another step. As the space between them shrank, Miranda felt a shiver pass through her body, but not because it was cold. “I should have watched over you. Cared for you when you awoke. Been by your side as you rebuilt this city. Weathered the terrible news with you when you learned what became of our friends. But I could not. Instead, I left you. I let fear take hold, and surrendered to despair. Worst of all, I gave up hope. I did not have faith in you, when I should have known you are beyond extraordinary.”

“You don’t owe me anything--”

“Please.” Samara quietly cut her off, refusing her forgiveness, feeling unworthy of it. Even so, she could not refrain from reaching out, curling stray strands of hair back behind Miranda’s ear. Miranda’s pulse spiked, thundering like a drum. “I was distraught for so long. Too paralysed with sorrow to return, and face the news. So convinced that everything I dreaded had come to pass. That I had been too late when I found you in the wastes. That you had succumbed while I was away. That I would find nothing here but your grave.” Samara’s eyes shone as she looked upon her, a warm smile coming to her face. “I do not know how I ever doubted you would defy the odds. You are truly incredible. You always have been.”

Miranda didn’t dare to breathe, Samara was so close. All those bottled up feelings came flooding to the surface. It felt like somehow Samara should just know. That she should be able to lay eyes upon her, and glean from a single glance how easily Miranda came undone in her presence.

God, the things it did to her for Samara to be this near, her fingers on her skin. It was too much. She should have withdrawn and pulled away, but she couldn’t. She didn’t want Samara to stop. She needed her, with every fibre of her being.

Miranda couldn’t take it. For her own sanity, she had to force herself to turn her head away. To look somewhere else. Anywhere else but Samara.

"Do not hide from me.” Samara’s fingers curled beneath her chin, lifting her head, compelling Miranda to lock her eye on Samara once more. “I know I ran before, but it was not because of you. Do not think it was ever to do with you.”

She realised then that Samara must have assumed the reason Miranda averted her gaze was because she’d felt self-conscious in that moment. Of her wounds. Of the scars on her face. Little did she know that had nothing to do with it.

It became achingly apparent then as she got lost in that shimmering sapphire stare that Samara had no idea what Miranda felt towards her. And that those feelings were so powerful and intense that they were threatening to devour her.

How could Samara not see what she was doing to her?

She was laid open. Bare. Exposed.

Samara’s fingers combed through Miranda’s hair until they grazed the cord that held her eyepatch in place. Miranda was so transfixed that she almost didn’t even feel her touch it. “May I?” Samara asked her permission to remove it, gauging whether Miranda trusted her enough to show the extent of her scars.

Miranda swallowed and nodded, giving her consent. That was never the problem. Least of all with Samara. Miranda stood stiff against her desk, knuckles turning white against her chair as Samara carefully slipped it off.

Samara released a slow exhale as she set that black cloth down on the table, a wave of heartfelt warmth washing over her features as that barrier fell by the wayside. As if on instinct, her fingers reached out to touch her face, but she stopped her hand just short of Miranda’s scarred cheek. “Will it hurt if I…?”

Miranda shook her head, almost too tense to speak. “Not if you’re gentle,” was all she could manage. And when was Samara ever anything less?

With Miranda’s tacit approval, Samara softly cupped her cheek. Miranda’s breath hitched. How could she be so on edge that such a feather-light caress could make her feel like her entire world was on the verge of exploding?

“I have been devout in my faith for a very long time, and yet...Believe me when I tell you, the only time in my nine hundred and seventy-one years of life that the Goddess has ever answered my prayers was when I turned around on that balcony, and saw you standing there in front of me,” Samara professed.

If she moved so much as a single muscle, Miranda wasn’t sure there was any power on Earth that could stop her from crashing her lips against Samara’s, no matter how wrong she knew it was, or how bad of an idea. She willed her body to stay stone still, because it was all she could do to control herself.

If Miranda hadn’t been leaning so heavily on the desk and chair behind her, she was certain her legs would have given out right from under her. Samara’s skin was still so cold from the rain, but her touch was hotter than fire, and Miranda like wax beneath her fingertips. She could have melted into a puddle on the floor.

“I know I should not, but…” Without another word, Samara tilted Miranda’s head down, and pressed a tender, savouring kiss to her forehead. Miranda’s palm shook against her desk. She was trembling like a leaf. When she parted from her, Samara let her head rest against Miranda’s, cradling her jaw. “...I am sorry, but that is all I have wanted to do ever since I learned you were alive.”

Miranda’s heart wasn’t just pounding. It was screaming.

Somehow, she just knew, if she dared to utter a single sound, she wouldn’t be able to keep from shouting the truth at the top of her voice. The desire to say those five pivotal words seeped from every pore. She was bursting at the seams.

“No, I should not have done that.” Samara shook her head, taking a step back. It was only then that Miranda realised she hadn’t taken a single breath in the last minute, and sharply gasped for air. “I have been selfish. Allowed myself to…” Samara stopped herself, as if suddenly coming to her senses. “Forgive me, Miranda. I have said all I needed to say. I should--”

The instant she turned to leave, Miranda’s hand shot out and seized Samara by her wrist, grabbing her as tightly as she’d ever held onto anything in her life.

“Don’t you dare walk away,” Miranda growled. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

Samara hesitated, caught off guard. “...I thought you did not want me here.”

“Why would I not want you here?!” Miranda shot back, her tension built to breaking point. She felt like she was going insane, trying to find her balance on shifting sands. Nothing made sense anymore. For all Samara’s honesty, she still didn’t understand what the hell was going on.

“Because I abandoned you,” Samara answered. That had been the whole reason for her confession. Her apology. “Because I hurt you. Because you hate me.”

“Hate you? Samara, you idiot, I’m in love with you!” the words tore themselves from Miranda’s chest before she could stop them. Samara froze. Miranda released her tight grip on Samara’s wrist. Her hand flew to her mouth in horror as she realised what she’d said. But it was too late to stuff that confession back in.

God damn it. She’d really just said that out loud, hadn’t she?

“Fuck…” Miranda cursed under her breath, realising there was no going back. It was out there now. She had to confront it. “I’ve never...you’re the only person who’s ever made me feel this way. It’s like a kind of madness.” She wasn’t sure what to say, or whether it was even a good idea to keep talking. But she had to. Now that she’d said it, she had to. “That was why I asked you to leave me alone before. Not because I hate you, but because...I feel the exact opposite.”

Miranda pressed her hand to her forehead, fighting off the incessant pain in her skull. The insomnia that made it so hard to think. To put these complicated feelings into words. She was so not in the right frame of mind to have this conversation.

Yet here they were.

“I’m pretty sure I have for a long time, actually. I was just too bloody stupid to figure it out any earlier. But...” In place of adding anything further, Miranda simply gestured, leaving her feelings out there, in the open, for Samara to do with as she wished. It was a horrible position to be in. She hated every second of it.

“...No,” was the first thing Samara said. Her voice sounded so distant. And it was tinged almost with a sense of...dread. “No. You do not. You should not.”

“I know I shouldn’t, but I do. I do. I think about you all the time. And I don’t...I don’t know what to do about it,” Miranda admitted, shrugging her shoulder.

“No,” Samara repeated herself, more insistently. Her suddenness startled Miranda a little. “You...you are mistaken.”

“I’m not,” Miranda reflexively answered back. She couldn’t help but get defensive, hearing Samara tell her she was wrong about her own feelings, when she knew painfully well she wasn’t. “I tried to convince myself that I was, but--”

“You do not know what love is. And you do not know who I am,” Samara coldly shut her down, refusing to hear this. “If you did, you would know there is nothing about me that is worthy of you.”

“Fucking hell, Samara…” Miranda ran her hand through her hair. This was not how she would have planned this to go. For one thing, she never anticipated she would have to contend with Samara being in staunch denial about her dramatic love confession. But then she paused, as the final part of Samara’s sentence gradually registered in her tired mind. “...I’m sorry. What did you just say?”

“You…” Samara swallowed heavily, realising she had perhaps revealed more than she ought. Maybe because she thought her own feelings had already been blatantly obvious, and it hadn’t occurred to her to think Miranda wouldn’t have realised them by now. But she didn’t take it back. “No, I cannot do this.”

Samara moved for the door as if to leave. In response, Miranda extended her hand, biotically lifting Samara six inches off the ground, holding her in place.

“No,” Miranda sternly commanded her, not letting her run off and hide again. She was getting pretty bloody sick of that. “We’re talking.”

Samara could have overpowered her easily if she wanted to. Miranda was no match for her biotic prowess, especially not in her current state. She could have broken out of this grip with little more than a shadow of a thought. They both knew that. But she didn’t fight. She didn’t resist.

After a moment, Samara just gave her a nod, as if to confirm she would stay. Miranda let go. Samara’s feet hit the floor. She didn’t so much as stumble.

“You were saying,” Miranda prompted, losing patience for her evasiveness.

“...You heard what I said. It is as it seems,” was all Samara could bring herself to say, not denying Miranda’s suspicions. She would not lie to her.

“Do you feel the same way about me?” Miranda asked, forcing her to acknowledge it out loud. To put it into words. There was no room for misunderstanding here.

“That is not the point,” Samara responded, tersely.

Miranda sighed heavily, intuiting what she meant. “Of course. You’re a Justicar,” she said. It didn’t matter what Samara felt about her, if The Code forbade it.

Samara’s eyes narrowed in confusion. “I...am uncertain what you mean by this.”

Miranda’s expression mirrored Samara’s, equally bewildered. “Doesn’t the Justicar Code forbid...?” Miranda didn't finish that sentence, simply glancing down at the space between them, choosing to be deft in her words. Using any specific term that entered her mind might be perceived as demanding or presuming too much, or too little, and she wouldn’t risk that.

Samara stared at her, the open-ended meaning not lost in the silence. It was obvious from looking at her expression that she wished her status as a Justicar permitted her to speak falsely. That would have made things so much easier. “...It does not,” she replied to Miranda's myriad unspoken questions, and the words running through her mind. It was the same answer for all of them.

At that, relief dared to trickle through Miranda’s skin.

“That was never the problem,” Samara continued, not allowing Miranda to think that information changed anything. It didn’t.

“Then what is?” Miranda replied. “There’s obviously a connection between us. We both feel it. And if your Code says there’s nothing wrong with that, then--”

“Because I deserve to be alone!” Samara professed. “That is my penance.”

Miranda recoiled. It actually, physically hurt to hear that. “How can you say that?”

“Miranda, listen to me,” Samara implored her, holding her focus. “You are a remarkable woman. You are brilliant and exceptional, in every respect--”

“So are you,” said Miranda.

“No, you are not listening.” Samara raised her hands, determined to continue. “You are so young. You still have so much life ahead of you. So much potential. When others see you, as I have seen you, the entire galaxy will fall at your feet. As it should. You have nothing to gain from me. I am...I am regret, and ruin,” Samara told her, a faint glint of unshed tears in her eyes. “If you truly saw me for what I am, you would know there is only death and misery for you here.”

“I do know you, Samara,” Miranda spoke quietly. “I know that, despite all the tragedy you’ve endured that would break a lesser person, you somehow still manage to wake up each day and choose to be warm, and kind, and good--”

“I am none of those things,” Samara assured her.

“You are to me,” Miranda persisted, undeterred. “I know you are, because you found me when I was at my most jaded, my most cynical, my most closed off--”

“Miranda, no.” Samara shook her head, pleading with her not to feel this way.

“And, instead of rejecting me, you...you reached out to me,” Miranda continued, talking right through any interruption, or resistance. Because this needed to be said. “You made me smile more than anyone has ever made me smile. You showed me that...that opening up to someone you trust and letting yourself be vulnerable around them isn’t a weakness, but that it takes bravery and strength.”

“Please stop this,” Samara begged her, her voice a whisper.

But Miranda didn’t stop. “You single-handedly made me a better person than I was before I met you.” There was no denying that. Without Samara, she wouldn’t have learned from her past mistakes. She would have kept perpetuating the same cycles, and never stopped to reflect on her preconceived notions about what mattered to her, and what made her happy. “So, if you’re unworthy of love, then what does that make me? Because, from where I’m standing...Samara, there aren’t enough superlatives to describe you.”

“Enough!” Samara swept her hand across her body, signalling for this to cease.

But Miranda wouldn’t.

“No.” Miranda pressed forward. She was pouring her heart out. She’d never done this before, because she’d never felt this way about anyone. And, now that she’d started, she couldn’t stop. “Don’t you get what I’m saying? You’re it. You’re it for me. I will never feel the way about anyone else that I feel about you, and I know because I’ve tried, and those efforts failed so hard I didn’t even think the ability to fall in love with someone existed in me, until I met you. You’re not just beyond comparison to everyone else. God, you’re...you’re fucking transcendent.”

“Do not...say these things!” Samara cut her off, her voice so loud and forceful that there was no doubt it bellowed through the whole apartment. Miranda had never heard her raise her voice before, let alone like that. “You know not of what you speak. You love a shadow. Nothing more.”

Miranda’s gaze narrowed. “What is it you think I don’t know, Samara?” she challenged, determined to prove herself. “I know more than you think.”

“I killed the last person I loved!” Samara shot back, refusing to subject herself to that indescribable agony a second time. She would never let that happen again.

“No, you didn’t, Samara. She killed herself,” Miranda curtly replied.

“You know nothing of it!” Samara insisted through her teeth.

“I know everything,” Miranda interrupted, unshaken by what Samara thought were secrets. They weren’t. “I know every little fucked up detail you didn’t want me to know. I know you tried to kill yourself too, and the only reason you failed is that your neighbour found you. I know you blame yourself for Mirala becoming Morinth because you think whatever you said to her the night before her test scared her into running away and melding with her best friend to prove she wasn’t an Ardat-Yakshi. I know the police blamed you and wanted to charge you with something, anything, and that you broke down during your interrogation and told them you blamed yourself for everything too. I know the whole world turned against you for something that wasn’t your fault. I know it all.”

Miranda’s response thrust Samara into stunned silence. Miranda had the decency to look contrite, already seeing the fire of betrayal in steely blue eyes. Exactly like she expected. Exactly why this admission had been so easy to put off.

“There’s nothing about you that’s a mystery to me,” Miranda continued, quieter than before. “I looked into your past when we were aboard the SR-2. I’m surprised you didn’t already assume I did. I mean, this is me we’re talking about.”

As that slowly sank in, Samara stepped away and shook her head. “I am disappointed in you, Miranda. Yet I suppose you are correct; I cannot claim this was a shock,” said Samara, in a tone Miranda had never heard before. “After all, you have at all times been nothing if not transparent about your duplicity.”

Miranda’s eye darkened. That hurt.

“Fuck you, Samara. You don’t get to turn this around on me right now. In case you haven’t noticed, between the two of us, I’m not the one lying.”

“Yes, how very dare I be hurt by your treachery,” Samara countered, looking her in the eye once more, her words laced with biting sarcasm. “I should know better than to criticise you, or confront you with consequences for your actions. After all, you are Miranda Lawson. You can do nothing wrong.”

“I’ll apologise as much as you want later. But that’s not what this conversation is about. So don’t change the subject,” Miranda snapped.

“What more is there to say?” said Samara, her arms folded across her chest, unwilling to discuss it further. This hadn’t helped. “You know my answer.”

“There is so much more to say, because you’re pulling away and I don’t even know why. To punish yourself for some imaginary sins? Is that it? Look…” Miranda crossed the distance between them, reaching out and gently clasping Samara's hand, guiding it to rest upon her chest, where she could feel her heartbeat. “Whatever this is, I...I want this,” Miranda assured her. “Do you?”

Samara withdrew, resisting the temptation. “What I want is irrelevant.”

“Why is it irrelevant?” Miranda pursued her. “You’re a person, Samara. An incredible one, but still just a person, with feelings, and wants, and needs. You've spent four hundred years being selfless, to a greater degree than your Code required you to be. You don’t have to do that. You’re allowed to feel things. To want things. To need things. You’re allowed to...to move on with your life.”

“Move on?” Samara echoed incredulously. She turned her body away, refusing to look at her, visibly caught up in a tempestuous tumult of conflicting emotions.

Hurt.

Anger.

Grief.

“If you knew me half as well as you claim to, you would understand what an insult it is to me that you would tell me such a thing,” said Samara, shaking her head in contempt and disbelief. “‘Move on with my life’. The audacity...”

“I'm not saying that to get something from you. Genuinely, I'm not. You don't have to...” This wasn’t working, was it? “What I’m trying to say is that, whatever this is between us, this doesn’t have to go the way I want it to. I’m not even sure what that is, or what that would mean. I was so convinced this could never happen. But don't you deserve a bit of happiness?” she asked, trying to catch Samara’s eyes, though she was intent on avoiding her. “If I bring that to you, then—“

Before she could finish, Samara exhaled heavily and stepped closer, until the space between them virtually evaporated. Miranda trembled as she stumbled backwards on instinct, until she could go no further, and hit the wall near the door.

“Do not speak of happiness.” Samara pinned Miranda in place without exerting any force whatsoever. Without touching her. Whatever Miranda had intended to say before swiftly fled her mind. “My happiness died centuries ago. And I promised myself -- I promised myself, I would never...never betray that.”

Miranda moved to protest, but stopped abruptly when it became apparent Samara wasn’t really talking to her, but rather that she was arguing with herself.

“But, I...you were not...you were not part of that plan. I did not foresee how much I would...how much I would come to...” As her dilemma tore at her soul, Samara grimaced and braced herself on the wall, as if in physical pain. “I do not know what to do. I know I do not deserve this, but...perhaps we can, without...”

“Yes,” Miranda all but whimpered. Whatever she meant, her answer was yes.

She wanted this. So bad. Even if it might have been a terrible mistake. Even if it might have ruined everything they already had. At that moment, she didn't care.

Miranda wanted to kiss her. To sink her teeth into her neck, and tear her armour off. Her body was screaming at her to do those things, desperate to touch her, and powerless to resist if this was what Samara chose. But, in what little part of her brain could still think, she knew she had to let Samara take the initiative for whatever happened next. If she didn’t, she would push her away forever.

They probably only stood like that for a few seconds, but time moved so slowly it felt like minutes. Miranda could see the cogs spinning in Samara’s head. The conflict. The indecision. Temptation. Torn between resistance and surrender.

Samara’s fingers brushed her bare arm. She’d leaned so close Miranda felt her breath against her lips. Then, blue eyes went black. And Miranda felt the magnetic sensations she recognised as a meld beneath Samara’s fingertips.

In an instant, everything changed.

A wave of sheer, uncompromising despair crashed over Miranda, plunging her into the deepest, darkest, blackest abyss she had ever known. It felt as if her very soul had been ripped from her body and murdered in front of her, leaving behind only a hollow, empty shell. Any memory of happiness or joy was stripped from her mind, and shattered into a million pieces at her feet.

She had never felt more devastatingly, crushingly alone.

Bereft of hope.

And, although it had come over her as suddenly as the blink of an eye, it felt like she had never known anything else.

Abruptly, Samara glowed blue, her biotics repelling Miranda, like a barrier between them, pressing her back against the wall. The meld ended only a fraction of a second after it began, leaving both of them visibly shaken. The moment they separated, Miranda's hand flew to her lips, trembling as tears spilled from her eye, coursing down the unscarred side of her face, beyond her control.

Samara staggered backwards, as if she had seen a ghost. “No, I...I cannot.”

“No, don't...” Miranda could hardly speak, overcome by a grief that she could not name. She shook her head. What was happening? She never cried, unless her sister was involved. But this sorrow. It had lasted only a fleeting moment, but it was intense and crushing and it dwarfed any sadness she had ever felt. So much so that it hurt just to breathe. Just to be alive. “I'm sorry, I don't...I'm not...I'm not normally like this. I don't know why this is happening.”

“Because it came from me,” Samara answered, her lips scarcely moving.

“...What did you say?” Miranda lifted her head, staring at Samara, shellshocked. But she hadn’t misheard. Whatever she was feeling, these weren’t her own emotions. In that brief instant that they had started to meld, Samara had inadvertently transferred whatever she was currently feeling onto her.

“I did not mean for this to happen. I am so sorry. I...I thought I could contain myself. My boundaries. I never wanted you to experience this...” Samara whispered until her words trailed off into silence, confirming it to be true.

That realisation struck Miranda to her core, that agony still permeating her being.

“...Is this how you feel about me?” Miranda asked, a deep, dull ache pooling like lead at the base of her heart at the very thought - that this was how miserable she had made her by putting her in this position. Samara didn’t respond, neither confirming nor denying it. “Is this how you feel all the time?”

“It does not matter. This cannot happen,” Samara stated, her voice hollow.

“Samara.” Miranda reached out for her, but Samara raised her hand, signalling for her not to come closer, convinced this had been a terrible mistake.

“In another time, or another life, this would have been...” Samara didn't finish that thought, shaking her head. “I cannot contemplate this. I must not.”

“So, what? You’re just going to run off again?!” Miranda’s shout was enough to momentarily stop Samara in her tracks. Her throat was strangled with emotions that weren’t entirely her own. But some of them sure were. “Tell me, Samara, when did the strongest woman I’ve ever met turn into such a pathetic coward?”

“This is what I have always been!” Samara hissed in response, despising herself for this horrible misdeed. There was no hint of the stoic, composed, restrained person Miranda previously knew. “I have always been a coward. A fraud. A monster. A mistake. A worthless, selfish waste! I have the blood of over a thousand murders on my hands! I am nothing! I should not even be here!”

“Then why don’t you just fucking go!” Miranda shot back, lashing out in pain.

Samara took her at her word, looking at her one last time before she stormed out. Miranda heard the front door slam. The instant it did, Miranda slid down the wall, tears spilling from her eye, the weight of what just happened combining with Samara’s despair, still coursing through her body.

She felt so cold. Like everything right, or good, or light was just...absent.

There was only shadow.

Only grief.

A shaky exhale escaped her lips. What had she done? This was exactly what she’d been afraid of. She’d told Samara the truth, and pushed her away forever. They would probably never speak again. Not after this.

She didn’t even realise that the door to her room was still open until a few heads peeked around the corner to see her. Obviously, they’d been roused by raised voices, and the door slamming. The walls weren’t that thick. They probably hadn’t heard everything. But they would have heard enough.

“Are you okay, Miss?” Reiley asked, visibly concerned.

Miranda wiped her eye and picked herself up to her feet, refusing to let herself look vulnerable in front of them. Even though it was too late for that. “I’m fine,” she said through gritted teeth, taking her eyepatch off the desk and putting it on.

“You don’t look fine,” Jason pointed out as Miranda limped her way past them.

“Samara left in a hurry. And we heard fighting,” Rodriguez noted, not really sure how to approach this. “...Did you fuck things up between you?” she asked, in what sounded like an effort to be understanding and comforting. It wasn’t. Jason chastised her insensitivity with a light slap to the back of her head. “What? It’s fucking obvious they just had a fight…”

Miranda ignored them, grabbing her things, pulling on her jacket and scarf.

“What are you doing?” said Jason, shaking his head at her. For a second, it almost sounded like he was the responsible adult in the house. “Where are you going?”

“Out,” Miranda answered stonily.

“It’s 1:00am,” Jason pointed out, as if convincing her to see reason.

“I don’t care.” Miranda slipped on her shoes, and took hold of her cane. She couldn’t stay there. Couldn’t lie there and think about this. Couldn’t feel this.

“Are you coming back?” said Reiley, confused.

Miranda was tempted to lash out at them and say no out of sheer bitterness and spite, but she couldn't. Unlike Samara, she didn't run from her problems.

“...I'll see you in the morning,” she said, before she closed the door and left. None of them knew it then, but they would not, in fact, see her in the morning.

And, when they did see her again, they would wish they hadn’t.

So would Miranda.

* * *

#fic #miranda lawson #samara #mass effect #femslash

3 notes · View notes

corancoranthemagicalman · 3 years

Note

IDK how prompts work......i pick number 12! With destiel? Or do you need more than that??

That’s perfectly great!! Since this prompt list is based on the song (associated with that number) on my playlist, that’s the “prompt” as it were. If that makes sense. LMAO.

So the number you picked is twelve and that’s Marbles by The Amazing Devil on my Spotify Wrapped!! So here’s some Destiel with a hint of Marbles. And I am literally already dying because the first line of Marbles is “I've held your hand since 1979.” Dean Winchester’s birthday? Jan. 24, 1979. So. Destiny and all of that. Other things of note: Cassiel - the angel Castiel is based on - is the angel of tears and solitude. That doesn’t matter here but it made me sad. Another thing is that since Aneal was thought to be Anna’s name but was later introduced in season 13 as a different character, I named her Ananiel who is considered to be a “watcher.” I thought that was fitting since Anna watched humanity and fell.

You can read it on AO3 if you’d prefer. This one got longer than I meant it to. :|

And you can prompt me here for some writing!! 700 followers and 100 songs!!

**********

It was a cold night in January when it began. Castiel recalled the humans had recently marked the year 1979. The evening was an ordinary one save for the birth of one, small child. Crying, the babe called out for his mother. Like most humans, the babe hungered. Humans milled about before affixing the newborn into the arms of a tired but brightly smiling mother.

Castiel approached Ananiel as the Garrison Captain watched in silent awe. It was an emotion unfathomable to Castiel in regards to humans. Ananiel’s fascination with humanity was not something Castiel could grasp, but their order from God was clear. They were to be humanity’s keepers. In this regard, Ananiel’s ever-watchful eye over humanity was something that Castiel could understand.

Even this aside, the birth of the Righteous Man was a sight to behold and witness. Castiel was certain many an angel had paused in their duties to watch on as the Michael Sword drew in his first breath.

“They’re so unassuming, aren’t they?” Ananiel spoke. When Castiel did not respond, Ananiel continued. “He’s so small. Fragile.”

Castiel cast his gaze, watched on as the small babe’s cries silenced at the hushing of his mother. “It is… difficult … to understand that this one will one day become Michael’s sword against Lucifer.”

Ananiel looked displeased at Castiel’s response, turning to face the future Righteous Man. “No, it’s not just that, Castiel.” The Captain furled their body into something smaller, a reflection of the vessels they would have to wear as they walked the Earth. Wordlessly, Castiel followed suit and moved forward with her.

“All of them.” Ananiel’s words were but a whisper. “All of humanity. So small and frail.” The Captain turned their gaze away from Kansas, to Paris, to Istanbul, to Sweden, and to everywhere and nowhere all at once. “Look at them, Castiel. Look at all that they have done on their own.”

But Castiel did not see what Ananiel was gazing upon. Where his Captain saw monuments and civilization Castiel only saw desolation and despair. A people crying out and misguided as they turned away from God. Castiel told Ananiel this, spoke about the heinous atrocities of humanity that he saw reaped and sowed in equal measure. Again Ananiel was displeased.

“Castiel,” Ananiel spoke. “One day you will see.” Ananiel looked upon the Michael Sword once again.

“What will I see?” Castiel inquired as Ananiel knelt from their position over Michael’s True Vessel. They sat beside Ananiel, eyes becoming unsteady as they tried to observe the same things Ananiel did.

Ananiel offered a smile, eyes kept to the small hospital room. “They are God’s greatest Creation.”

Humming, Castiel was not sure that he could dispute that. Their father had ordered Humanity to be their priority. Lucifer had rebelled because Humanity had been loved more. Certainly, God had viewed Humanity as His greatest Creation. Why would Castiel assume differently?

Castiel kept their assumptions to themselves. They did not wish to lessen Ananiel’s view of them. Their Garrison Captain had humored them enough with their lack of understanding. They were still young. Perhaps with age, Castiel would know. For now, they would wait with the hope of understanding one day.

Then it continued in a motel. The year is 2018 and this is where the End begins. Castiel had not wanted to stay beside his brethren as they let Lucifer rise to destroy Humanity. They had been commanded to protect Humanity, God’s favorite Creation. He would continue to do so besides the Winchester brothers.

He wondered if he now understood what Ananiel had meant all those years ago. Watching the Righteous Man, shoulders heavy and eyes dim, Castiel was reminded of the crying child. Only this time, the child did not allow themselves to cry when they needed something. Instead, Dean Winchester held his tongue. He cleaned his gun as Sam Winchester lay sleeping in the opposite bed.

Dean Winchester was… peculiar . He was an enigma wrapped in mystery only to be thrown in the deepest, darkest depths so that his secrets might never see light. But Castiel had seen Dean’s secrets. He had held the man’s very soul in his hands, putting it together piece by piece. He was nothing that Castiel once thought the Michael Sword should have been.

But with that in mind, Dean was not the Michael Sword, was he? He was not the Righteous Man , but a good man . One who was willing to sacrifice everything for his brother and most everything for Humanity. He had fought harder and longer than some of the angels within Castiel’s own Garrison to protect Humanity as God commanded. In this way, perhaps Dean was a soldier of Heaven. A true warrior of God, fighting for His command.

“You should rest.” Castiel finally spoke, watching as Dean continued his meticulous work.

“You should too,” Dean responded as his gaze remained upon his work. His hands were rough, calloused, but handled his weapon with care. A silent duality to an ever curiously crafted man.

Castiel held his words for a moment, thoughts forming and imploding all at once until he could speak. “I do not require rest, Dean.” He spoke eventually, the human voice granted to him by James Novak restrained as he tried to let Sam sleep. Whispering, Dean had referred to it as once. To let humans sleep.

“Well,” Dean sighed, setting aside his tools before beginning to reassemble his weapon. “I guess that means we can just stay up late. Braid each other’s hair and talk about the new High School Musical coming out.”

Furrowing the brow of his human vessel in curiosity, Castiel leaned forward from where he sat at one of the chairs placed by the table. Dean removed his things from atop the bedsheets before meeting his gaze. “I do not think that is what you want, Dean.”

Dean rolled his eyes, standing and taking his things to be placed within his bag. “It’s a joke , Cas.” He huffed. “No one actually cares about Senior Year anyway.” There is a muttering of words that Castiel does not strain himself to understand but Dean turns to face him and continues. “Seriously, go on. You perch on some telephone wire while Sam and I get a few hours.”

Castiel felt annoyance trickle along his very being at the insinuation of birdlike habits. But this was how Dean Winchester communicated. In the same way he referred to Sam as a bitch , he meant brother . It was something Castiel was beginning to grow accustomed to.

Standing, Castiel nodded in understanding. Dean did not like to be watched over so closely while resting. Perhaps it was an instinct ingrained into him through his life as a Hunter. “Of course,” he whispered. “Sleep well, Dean.” With an unfurling of his wings that Dean could not see, Castiel cast himself outside of the motel room.

He stared for a moment at the old paint that marked the motel’s wall. He could almost hear Dean sigh, the Righteous Man allowing his shoulders to sag now that there was no appearance to keep up. Dean Winchester would staple a steel bar to his back if such a thing were possible and if it were viable for keeping his posture upright when facing anyone, kin or not.

It was… admirable , Castiel considered. That Dean Winchester would not allow himself to be viewed as vulnerable. He had been charged to watch over his brother much like Castiel had been charged with watching over Dean. It was… familiar , in an oddly disturbing way. That Castiel could see so much of himself within Dean. When first touching Dean’s soul, Castiel had assumed this was because Dean himself was like an angel. Now, though, Castiel could not help but wonder if it were because he was like a human .

He could remember Ananiel’s fall too freshly. Turning to face away from the motel, Castiel could do nothing but wait and hope that they could defeat Lucifer. That he would not stray as Ananiel did.

In Heaven, while the Earth has reached its year of 2020, so much has changed. An aching amount of years had passed with much too much love and pain chained along with those years. Castiel watched and waited, hope catching in his throat. Perhaps, now with Chuck finally defeated and Jack residing over Heaven as God, the Winchesters could rest. They could find peace.

Castiel rubbed at the place over his chest where his heart resided. His chest, he considered it, as it had been a long time since he considered his body a vessel . There was a beautiful sort of ache knowing that someone you loved would finally get to achieve their happiness. Perhaps this is what Anna had meant all those years ago. Perhaps she too had seen the man that Dean Winchester would become, or the hope of the man he could be. Or perhaps she had no idea whatsoever what it meant to fall in love with a human.

Jack turned from the board he had been staring at blankly. Castiel had no clue as to where the young God’s gaze had turned, but he welcomed him back with a warm smile. Jack, however, greeted his smile with something small and bittersweet.

Furrowing his brow, Castiel placed his hand on Jack’s shoulder. “What is it?” He asked softly. Had already there begun a war to fight? Was there no time for rest as Heaven had been recrafted and Humanity given their Free Will?

“It’s Dean,” Jack spoke gently. “He’s… here.” His words eventually drew out from him, reaching Castiel’s grace and morphing his hesitant spirit into one of sorrow. Already Dean Winchester was dead, resigned to Heaven when there was still a full life on Earth to have been had for him.

“Oh,” Castiel let out in a breath. He felt Heaven spin around him, vision swirling until he was forced to take a seat. Jack followed him, arms reaching out but withheld as not to touch Castiel. “Dean Winchester is…”

“Dead.” Jack nodded as that bittersweet smile remained. “Yes. He’s at the Roadhouse with Bobby Singer now.”

Castiel swallowed heavily. The thought that Dean was being greeted by a familiar and warm face was a soothing balm to the gaping wound left in his heart. “That’s good.” His throat felt constricted around his words. With these thoughts, he could understand the bittersweetness to Jack’s smile. Perhaps this was how Dean Winchester found his peace and true rest. It was unfair , certainly, that Dean should pass so young and not see his peace out on Earth. It was almost cruel when Dean wanted nothing more than a family . Then a home .

Jack smiled then, inhaling a deep breath and transforming his expression. “Time passes differently here, doesn’t it?” He contemplated after the long silence. “I mean, I see everything all at once and yet I experience things in both Heaven and Earth.”

“I… suppose.” Castiel bobbed his head for a moment, folding his hands to rest on his lap. “When I was in Heaven, before all of… everything … there were moments of time that would pass that to the Winchesters was months, or sometimes the reverse was true. And I would be fighting for months and have only been gone a few minutes.”

There was understanding, soft like a new dawn, across Jack’s face. “He’s here now too. Sam, I mean.”

Releasing the breath that he had not known he was holding, Castiel smiled. “Good.” He spoke genuinely with his throat less dry and his words less hollow. “Now he can have peace.”

Jack furrowed his brow, blinking in something akin to surprise at Castiel’s words. “No.” His words were firm but gentle, reminding Castiel of the displeasure Anna had displayed to him many lifetimes ago. “He doesn’t have everything to complete his Heaven yet.”

Castiel could remember watching Dean rake leaves. Waiting with a silent hope that somehow Dean would see him , despite hiding himself from Dean’s gaze. He could remember avoiding Dean’s presence in Purgatory with the blind hope that waiting his time would save Dean . He could remember Naomi and the tablets and countless other things that had left Castiel waiting and hoping .

He could wait and hope for this too. For Dean’s happiness. Perhaps in that short time before his arrival in Heaven - had it been short at all? - Dean had lived something of a life, had met someone. There was a hope that all Dean would have to do was wait and he could have his peace.

“He’s waiting.” Jack’s voice rang out, resonating within Castiel’s grace. Once a meager captain, once a seraph, now an archangel for Jack’s reign as God, Castiel could equate his grace to a soul . The very core of his being despite how much it had been rebuilt and replaced to keep him alive, to keep him powered.

“How much longer will he have to wait?” Castiel asked, fearful of the answer but desperate for it all the same.

Smiling, Jack took the seat across from Castiel and mirrored the templing of his hands. “Soon.” He answered instead. “Did you know that when you rebuilt Dean’s soul you stitched him together with your grace?”

Confused, Castiel slowly nodded. “Yes, but…” he cut his words short, furrowing his brow as he tried to puzzle Jack’s words. “But Dean’s soul and my grace are not what they once were.”

“No,” Jack agreed, tilting his head and gathering his thoughts in a single breath. “No, you aren’t the same. Except you are. You’ve… grown, I suppose. But at your hearts, you’re the same.”

Castiel could concur to that, thinking on how they had not changed. They had continued in their patterns until their deaths. The only thing that had differed in their twelve years of kinship was Castiel’s deathbed confession. He grimaced at the thought, thinking of the weight he must have placed upon Dean’s shoulders, knowing that his love for the man had been what sentenced Castiel to death. Yet Castiel could not regret any actions that might have spared Dean.

Suddenly, Castiel heard a faint voice. It was quieter than a songbird’s first tune but thrice as precious. Dean Winchester’s voice called out, a silent prayer, a calling of longing. Castiel’s eyes widened and yet Jack looked as if he had been expecting this.

“You didn’t forget where you placed your marbles, did you?” He teased, a smile bright stretching his face into something that felt close to Heaven in Castiel’s heart.

“No,” Castiel answered without hesitation. Dean’s longing called again, asking for Castiel. “But…”

Jack laughed, standing and placing his hands on Castiel’s shoulders. “Go find out where Dean Winchester placed his marbles.” He winked and released his grip on Castiel before turning back to the board they had been working over. “I’ll be here when you’re done.” Jack grinned. “Think of it like a 9 to 5 for God.”

Huffing a surprised laugh, Castiel stood. His hands shook and his knees felt weak. “I’ll… see you soon.” He promised, unfurling his wings and stretching his form before taking flight.

It continued like this. Castiel was in Heaven, staring at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. The blue eyes contained within his body reminded him of the river not far from the cabin. The lines on his face reminded him of crow’s feet as he smiled. The hair atop his head was askew from a good night’s rest before, sleeping heavily with content in a large room on a large bed.

Arms, warm, wrapped around his waist. Dean’s chin rested atop his shoulder and a green gaze met his own in the reflection. “Mornin’, sunshine,” Dean mumbled, smiling sleepily to which Castiel could do not much more than return it.

“Good morning, Dean.” Castiel rumbled, felt his happiness roll out from him like thunder, before turning in Dean’s arms to run his fingers through golden hair. “What are we going to do today?”

Dean hummed, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against Castiel’s own. He peered one eye open carefully to catch Castiel’s before closing it again with a smile. “How about you and I go to the lake.” He offered a breathy chuckle. “Off by the pier. Just you and me.” A sharp nose ran gently across Castiel’s cheek, a kiss of skin as Dean tightened his arms around Castiel’s waist.

“That sounds wonderful,” Castiel murmured, closing his eyes and inhaling sharply this scent of familiarity in their shared bathroom.

“Good.” Dean drew back with a smile but not before placing a soft kiss to the corner of Castiel’s mouth. “I’ve got a good feeling about today.”

Offering a blinding smile, Castiel threaded his fingers through Dean’s hair. “Me too.”

#c answers #destiel #c writes #merpancake #spn spoilers #700 followers/100 songs

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yelena-bellova · 5 years

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She Won’t Be Forgotten - Avengers Endgame Fix-It

Summary: The team holds a small funeral/memorial for Natasha and they share their memories with her.

Requested by anon: Can i have one where the avengers hold a funeral for Natasha? We were deprived of that scene in the film Warnings: endgame spoilers (and some direct quotes), heartbreak, just general sadness and pain Word Count: 2,806 Note: WOW. This took a while to write because I wanted to take my time with it. Natasha deserved a funeral scene SO BAD and I’m still bitter she didn’t get one…So here’s what I think it would look like. I originally started writing it taking place at the compound and then I went “crap, the compound is gone” I listened to this really great playlist I found while writing it, it’s called Goodbye Natasha Romanoff and it really put me in the right head space to write it. ENJOY! *passes tissues around Tumblr*

“It’s okay…”

  Natasha’s final words had been playing back in Clint’s head on repeat for the past few days. They had won the battle, Thanos was gone and he was reunited with his family, yet it still felt like a hollow victory. His best friend was gone. He was currently sitting in the guest room of Tony and Pepper’s house, trying to collect himself before going to out to be with the team. Tony’s funeral had happened just hours before, but everyone had been adamant about giving Natasha one as well. He was dreading leaving the room because once he did, it became real. He’d have to say goodbye to her, he’d have to speak about her in past tense…He’d have to come to terms with the fact that Natasha was gone and he wasn’t sure if he could do that. There was a quiet knock at the door, breaking Clint from his frantic thoughts. He mumbled a “come in” and Steve entered the room.    “Hey, we’re ready when you are.” he stated solemnly, putting his hands in his pockets. Clint hesitantly pushed himself out of his chair, walking towards Steve but stopping them both before they exited the room. They hadn’t had time to speak about Natasha’s passing between the battle and dealing with the loss of Tony. Clint didn’t know where to start, feeling like he had failed Steve by being unable to bring Natasha home.

“I really tried to stop her…But it didn’t matter what I did, she…” Clint began to choke up, unable to finish his sentence.   “We both know nobody could have stopped her.” Steve said quietly, staring down at his feet. They stood there for a moment, Clint replaying the moments on Vormir back in his head and Steve trying not to picture what Natasha’s final moments looked like. Steve put his hand on Clint’s shoulder and squeezed it,  “You did everything you could, Clint. Nobody blames you. And I think if Nat could see you right now, she’d kick you for feeling guilty about any part of this.”   Clint chuckled, knowing that Steve was right. They walked out of the house, a comforting arm around each other’s shoulders. Once outside, they saw the team sitting together in the grassy area near the lake. The sun was setting into shades of orange and red that reminded Clint of the color of Natasha’s hair, it was a picturesque scene. They didn’t have chairs, they didn’t have anything of Natasha’s to send in the lake as they had with Tony’s arc reactor, they didn’t even have a picture of her. But that wasn’t going to stop them from taking the time to mourn their friend. In the circle, Steve took a seat in between Sam and Bucky while Clint sat between Wanda and Thor. Clint’s wife and kids hadn’t joined, the Barton’s had decided to have a private funeral once they returned home where the kids could mourn their Auntie Nat in the way they needed. Pepper had wished to join but was in no shape to be around anybody other than her daughter and Happy at the moment. Everyone understood, of course, the loss of Tony obviously still weighing heavily on everyone.   Silence had fallen over the group, Nobody really knew who should start first, but they were all expecting Clint to direct them. Under normal circumstances, he would have been the one to arrange a proper funeral for Natasha. He drew a deep breath and began,   “I, uh, don’t really know where to start. I guess whoever wants to get the ball rolling can go first…”

There was more silence, everyone had something to say but they collectively felt the same as Clint…Once they grieved her, it would become much more real. Everyone’s heads went up once they heard Sam clear his throat and begin speaking,   “I didn’t used to know Natasha all that well, I never really spent that much time with her when I first joined the team. Then when we went on the run, we were together pretty much 24/7 and I got to know her really well. And man, she was an amazing woman. We had so many great conversations, she always made sure she had my back, and she really was one of the most loyal friends you could ever ask for.” he began to tear up and tried to swallow the ball forming in his throat.   “She really became family to me…And I’m gonna miss getting to talk to her.”   Steve patted him on the back, trying his best to comfort his friend. The three of them had formed such a strong bond when they were on the run after the Accords. Bucky began speaking next,   “Natasha and I didn’t have a great first meeting…” he flashbacked to the first time he interacted with the redhead, trying to shoot her down on a Washington highway while he was the Winter Soldier. “But once I came out of the cryo-freeze, Steve and them would come to visit every once in a while, and I really got to spend time with her. She and I would sit by the lake on Wakanda sometimes and we’d talk about what we’d been through. Her in the Red Room, me in Siberia. It was just really nice to talk to somebody who understood…She really tried to help me move on, best I could, and for that, I will always be thankful. I really wish that we could have spent more time together.” Bucky looked down at the grass and began fidgeting with a piece in his metal hand.   “I remember whenever you and she would walk into a room, you’d start speaking Russian and pointing at me and Steve to freak us out.” Sam replied, causing Bucky to chuckle and Steve to form a sad smile.   “Yeah, she had a good sense of humor…” Bucky said wistfully.   “Yeah, she was funny. When we’d be away from the compound,” Rocket said, gesturing towards Nebula who was seated next to him, “I’d email her updates on anything we found. Sometimes I’d try to say something in ‘em that would maybe make her smile…She didn’t smile a lot, but when she did, it would kind of make the rest of us want to...I’m gonna miss that.”

Nebula put a hand on Rocket’s shoulder, she had grown to respect Natasha over the past five years of working alongside her.   “She was an exceptional woman.” was all that Nebula felt like saying. She was still trying to process all of her emotions from the past few days. And knowing that Natasha had to die the same way her sister had was a little too hard for her to deal with at the moment…

“I didn’t get to spend that much time with her but the little I did, wow…” Scott spoke up, “I was blown away by her dedication to the team. I mean, she really loved you guys.”

There was a collective nod around the circle, Natasha had been the one over the past five years to keep the team going best she could. She was the one who stayed up late every night while planning the Time Heist, pouring over new information and thinking up new strategies. If Tony had been considered the heart of the team, Natasha was most definitely the soul…   “I’ve lived over a thousand years, I’ve traveled across the nine realms, and never have I met a fiercer woman.” Thor remarked. “She truly was the embodiment of the word “hero”. It was an honor to fight alongside her…”   There were nods of agreement as everyone thought back to their shared memories with Natasha on the battlefield. No one could deny how much of a badass she was…  

Rhodey was struggling to find the words to explain what Natasha meant to him. They had always had a tight bond and aside from Tony, she was his closest friend. He’d lost the two people that meant the most to him, leaving him to a degree of speechlessness.

  “She was…Nat.” was all he could get out. Everyone smiled, no explanation was needed. Wanda reached over and squeezed his hand warmly before starting to recount her memories…

“I remember when I joined the team, I was so scared and intimidated by everyone, but especially her. She was so fearless, I was afraid to even speak around her. Then she and I started training together, being paired up on missions and before I knew it, we became friends. I’ll always be thankful for the time I got with her, and…” she began to tear up, quickly trying to pull herself together. Clint put his arm around Wanda and pulled her into his side and she began to quietly weep, letting her sentence trail off. Silence fell over the group, the ones who knew Natasha the best were starting to say their goodbyes and there weren’t many dry eyes left.

Bruce adjusted his arm in its sling and cleared his throat,  “Natasha was…She was the person who showed me that I wasn’t the monster I thought I was. She was warm, like the sun…” he fought to continue, but when he talked about the sun, it only reminded him of the special trick she had to calm Bruce down when he went into Hulk mode. It hit him in that moment that he’d never get to hear her speak those words to him again. He’d never get to hold her in his arms again. He’d never get to see her smile again. He’d never get the life he imagined having with her…He would have to walk through life with only the memories of their time together. He carried on, “I just wish I could have gotten a little more time with her. Just to see her one more time…I’d give anything just to have one more minute with her. I miss her more than anything…”

Nobody could stop themselves from shedding tears after Bruce had bared his soul. They knew how he and Natasha had felt about each other and they all wanted to see them get their happy ending. Knowing Bruce had to carry on without her broke each of their hearts.

Steve sat there, tears silently streaming down his face. He didn’t know how he was going to be able to share how he felt about losing her…The pain of losing both Natasha and Tony had almost been too much for him to bear. Bucky put an arm on his friend’s shoulder, Steve took a deep breath and began to collect himself…   “I don’t know what to say about her because honestly, I don’t know if there’s enough words to describe how much I’m gonna miss her…She was my partner but more importantly, she was my friend. Even when she didn’t think she was worthy of trust, I knew I could trust her with my life. I owe so much to her…To be honest, I’m not really sure what to do without her here.” Steve wiped his wet cheeks and sniffled, “I wish she was here.”   The sunset was nearing its end and the solar-powered lights Tony had installed around the house were kicking on, giving the area a warm glow. Clint was the only one who hadn’t spoken and after hearing everyone else talk about his friend, he was even more emotional. He didn’t know how he was going to get through this…Wanda squeezed his hand and removed herself from his embrace, giving him the space to say what he needed to say how he needed to say it. He took in a deep breath and, to everyone’s surprise, let out a small laugh.   

“You know, if she were here she’d be yelling at us for wasting time sitting around mourning her. She’d be telling us to get off our asses, go mourn Tony, do something…Then again if she were here, none of us would be…She didn’t just save half the population, she saved us all too. I know she saved me, so many times…” Clint swallowed the ball in his throat and picked at a blade of grass, “And the one time I try to save her, she goes and saves the whole damn planet.” He thought back to his attempts to outrun her on Vormir, picturing a world where he was gone but Natasha got to live. He smiled thinking of the life she would have lived. He liked to think that she would have ended up with Bruce, maybe he could have convinced her to move out near him and his family. Maybe she would have settled down and gotten the life she never thought she was deserving of. Maybe she’d retire totally from hero work and finally get to rest. Maybe she and Bruce would find a way to become parents, fulfilling both of their hopes to have a child. Maybe she’d take back the life that was stolen from her at such a young age. Maybe she’d find happiness finally.

It was then that Clint broke down.   “It was supposed to be me…I tried so hard. I didn’t let go when she told me to, how could I? How could I let her go? I wanted to save her so badly, but I couldn’t…” he wept into his hands, he hadn’t let himself fall apart over her until now. It finally began to feel real that she was gone. Wanda placed a hand on his arm, wishing she could take away his pain. After a moment, he sniffled and tried to continue speaking,   “It’s not like it would have worked anyway, she would have brought me back to life only to kill me again if I had been the one to make the sacrifice play.”

That time the whole group let out a small laugh, imagining Natasha doing that wasn’t difficult to do.

Clint smiled, “She was a pain in my ass, but I loved her…She meant the world to me. And I’m so happy my kids got to know her, that they have memories with her. And knowing how many lives she touched here makes me real happy because I know she’s never going to be forgotten.” He looked off towards the lake, watching the remnants of the sun begin to disappear. “I wish there was a way to tell her that we won.” he said wistfully.   “She knows.” Wanda replied.   “She would have whipped Thanos’ butt, wouldn’t have needed any help from us.” Sam remarked, causing everyone to laugh. Even Clint was able to crack a toothy smile at the thought of her singlehandedly taking down the titan and his entire army.

“We’re all going to miss her…But we sure as hell aren’t going to let her legacy die.” Steve said, everyone mumbling their agreement.

“Oh, I almost forgot!” Wanda exclaimed, standing up and rushing over towards the porch. She lifted a medium-sized object off of a chair and walked back towards the group. It was revealed to be a paper lantern and a lighter, “Pepper found this in the garage and thought we might like to use it.”   Everyone stood up from the ground and collectively walked towards the edge of the lake. Wanda handed the lantern to Clint as she tried to get the lighter to flicker on. She handed it to Steve eventually who struggled with it as well, finally getting it to give off a flame after several tries. Rhodey pulled out his phone quietly and found a soft song to play. Steve lit the lantern and it began it’s controlled blaze. Clint held it in his hands for a few seconds, taking a deep breath. To him, it felt that once he let the lantern go, he’d be letting the last piece of Natasha go. He put his face as close as he could to it without burning himself,   “I love you, Nat.” he whispered.

And then he let go.   They watched as the lantern floated into the sky, emitting a much needed light into the darkness. Tears were shed, hugs were shared, but there was a comforting warmth to the moment that everyone reveled in. They felt Natasha with them as if she was wrapping her arms around all of them. Clint smiled as he watched the lantern go higher and higher, knowing that she was smiling down at them.

The Barton’s held a private memorial and the kids never let go of their memories with Auntie Nat. Pepper financed a memorial statue for her alongside the one she’d commissioned for Tony. Bruce decided he was going to live every day for her, every one of his scientific breakthroughs was dedicated to her. Steve told his and Peggy’s daughter, Natasha, bedtime stories of the heroic Black Widow.

Natasha could never be forgotten. Her family made sure of it.

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melyaliz · 5 years

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Canary 8

Canary Masterlist

Fandom: Marvel / MCU

Summary: All I had meant to do was make a friend smile, guess that’s not even ok anymore.

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Notes: This was going to be something different and then it turned into this. Like so different that I even had cover art that totally didn’t fit.

Loki and Canary wanted this I guess.

💛PLEASE: Like, Comment, and/or Reblog 💛

All Masterlists @melyalizarchive

Connect with me! AO3 / Instagram / Pinterest

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“So this is it”

“This is it!?! This isn’t just it... this is the AVENGERS!”

“Yeah, ok it’s pretty great isn’t it?”

“More like pure amazing.”

“Well don’t act all fangirly, we do have a reputation around here.”

“Aye Aye captain.”

“And leave that captain stuff for the boy in blue.”

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Ok so I’m not going to lie, I mean at this point I feel like we have all gotten close. We have seen some real shit together and well…

When I first met Steve Rogers I was smitten.

But like if we are all being really honest with ourselves… who isn’t?

Have you seen that man? Those abs? Those baby blue eyes?

That ass?

And let me tell you, all that stuff is EVEN MORE gorgeous up close and personal.

Plus he was just so nice to me when I first came. Back then, when I was so nervous and young. My powers had just become basically viral thanks to some kids who were quick on the draw with their phones. (But that’s a story for another day) My whole world had been shifted from the small-town girl to an Avenger. During those days I didn’t feel like I fit in here or there.

But Steve took the time to help me feel right at home. Making time ask me every day how I was settling in and taking the time to lean my interests and finding ways to bring them to the base.

He was also the one who pushed Wanda and I to hang out and now we are basically best friends.

Every morning I would look forward to our breakfasts together where we would talk about our past lives. How we were adjusting to the changes we had gone through and ways to cope. I would always feel my heart skip a beat when he would be waiting for me to train during the day.

Those first days were so awkward because every single touch would set my body on fire.

Then slowly, as the days stretched into months my flames started to dull into embers.

Somewhere along the line my infatuation with him slowly faded into adoration and then a friendship.

When that happens, though, I’m not quite sure. Feels recent but I can’t be for sure. It was as if one day Steve turned from the most beautiful man I had ever seen into just... a man.

---------

“So how is the music Sam has been forcing… I mean letting you borrow?” the Canary asked as she helped Steve unload the new equipment Tony had brought back. More fun trinkets for him to tinker with in his evil lair.

Which he, of course, had dumped on Steve to unload, claiming to be too busy at the moment.

“Good but there is something about those big bands that I miss.”

“Ohhh back in my day”

Steve laughed at her playful tone, “There is something about just a good song that makes you want to dance to it.”

“Were you a good dancer back in the day?”

Steve shrugged thinking back to the days when he could barely get a woman to look at him. When Bucky would basically force him on millions of dates with uninterested women. But as the night wore on, and the music would play he would always find that one wallflower who would be swayed by herself and take her across the floor.

“My mom taught me a few moves and Bucky and I use to go dancing all the time.”

“You know I took swing back in the day too.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, some woman from our school decided to teach it over a summer as a way to keep wayward teens from getting into trouble.”

Steve burst out laughing at her tone, making it the perfect pitch to sound like some slightly uptight busy body. “You never told me that.”

Canary shrugged as the last box was put into place. It felt like a lifetime ago. Her mother giving her a dress and dance shoes. The other girls and boys standing in line trying to follow the movements. That was before her powers had shown up.

Before she was the canary.

“Well, may I have this dance?”

“There’s no music.”

“Well, I know a place that does.”

“Then you’re on.” then true inspiration struck, “Actually,” the wheels turning in her brain, a plan. A way to give back to the man who had given her so much when she had first come here, “Let’s say six in the gym.”

“Ok, can I ask why?”

She let out a sort giggle shaking her head as she skipped toward the door, “Nope!”

------------------------------------

Sam grumbled the whole time. Tony didn’t even show up. But Vision was game and Wanda was always happy to help.

After all, Steve always did whatever he could to fit into our time, why couldn’t we try and fit into his?

Plus I needed a distraction from a certain green-eyed (not so) God.

And that look on Steve’s face when he walked in was a nice bonus. It was as if his whole body light up at the sight of the balloons, lights and the music blasting from the speakers with a little help from your’s truly.

“Spotify is a magical thing,” I told him taking his hand dragging him into the room. “They had a whole playlist of top 40’s songs.”

“Can I have this first dance?” Steve asked

“Of course”

An hour later and I was breathless swinging around the room. The music flying around matching the bright lights, sharp horns and deep drums with clean voices. My fingers buzzed with the sounds as flowed around me as I danced. The rest of the team enjoying themselves just as much.

I’m sure the liquor Tony brought helped. (Yeah, he ended up showing up a while after Steve. Not one to miss out on any fun.)

“Oh now I LOVE this one,” Steve said as another tune came on grabbing my hand swinging me around. Sam tipped his glass.

“This brother sure can sing”

It took all my willpower to make the music swallow my laughs as Steve moved me around the room. It helped he was so strong, being able to pick me up and spin me around, it almost felt like I was flying.

My feet hit the ground in time with the music pulling close and then spinning out.

And hitting something.

“Mind if I cut in?”

The music seemed to wash down around me, cold like ice water dripping with sing like poison. Those green eyes looked down at me like a snake about to strike a mouse.

------------------

They were so loud Loki wasn’t surprised they hadn’t woken up hell itself. Screaming and yelling while the music blasted from the gym. The sight that greeted him was no different.

The loud music filled the room as the team of dorks stood around drinking and talking. The Witch and robot were swaying comfortably while the soldier moved in time around the room with his partner.

Loki’s Canary.

A huge smile on the young woman’s face as she looked up at Mr. America. Eyes shining and bright as the music seemed to follow them. Spun around in rhythm as if she was controlling it, maybe she was.

He had never seen her this way.

She was glowing.

And it made his sick.

Standing in the doorway he waited, bided his time. Waiting for that opening, that moment when he could pounce on his prey.

The song swelled up and then came crashing down, the beautiful horns making their last trumpets as the chorus was sung. Spinning around them as Justice Man and his partner moved across the dance floor.

Loki was a snake in the grass, moving so smoothly and deliberately he went undetected until his sound mistress was colliding with his chest.

The look of shock she gave him was so beautiful he allowed himself a small smile. She (almost) always had a way of reacting just how he planned.

“Mind if I cut in.”

-----------------

Of course, the song changed to a slow one.

Of flipping course.

Steve shot me a concerned look, making sure I was ok with the turn of events.

It was like all my walls came flying up so fast I almost didn’t see them happening. They knew they knew how uncomfortable I was and had come rushing to my defense.

“Don’t” Loki’s voice was gentle but firm. Razors cutting into me as his eyes roamed me.

“Don’t what?”

“You know what,” he said, his eyes never leaving mine. The walls, how did he always know? His hands were cold angst my warm ones as he intertwined them lead me to the center of the room. It was a good thing my face was already flushed because being this close while Billie Holiday crooned about love was adding a layer to my already confusion emotions that I didn’t want to have to justify at the moment.

Couldn’t I just have one day of peace?

“I’m honestly surprised you know how to do the waltz” change the subject, focus on anything but his large hand on my back.

“I know many things” his voice was thick and deep, like chocolate. Bittersweet in my ears as he leaned in just a bit closer. “I am after all, much older than anyone else in this room.”

“I just can’t see you in a 40’s club.”

“I would never lower myself to be with mortals, but I do happen to be a collector of the arts.”

“Well, then what drew you to these mere mortals today?”

“Like I said, I’m a collector of the arts.” Maybe it was the tone in which he said it, of the way his tongue flicked out for a moment over his lower lip, or how his eyes seemed to wash over me but I suddenly felt very… naked.

And I was very aware of everyone around me.

“I’m not a piece of art.” my words were strong and blunt. No more games, no more veiled innuendos. I’m tired.

His eyes narrowed at my tone as I tugged at his hand. “What? You can spend hours dancing with boy bland there but when someone with real class…”

“I set this up for Steve thank you very much.”

I could feel the anger boiling around me, the music seemed to fade away into silence, just the two of us locked in a staring contest. “And I don’t appreciate you talking about him like that. He’s my friend.”

“Is he now? Is that all he is.”

How dare he… I could feel my face lighting up hot. Memoires of me crushing on Steve for weeks. Thinking about ways to be around him, just be in his beautiful presence. That past me was just so pathetic and even the thought that somehow Loki seemed to be able to see that sent me into a whole new furry. Fight or flight.

I mean he couldn’t really see it but… It felt like he could.

“This sort of dancing will never get you what you want.” he said leaning forward his face only inches from him, “the kind of dancing you need soft and slow, somewhere alone.”

I wanted to blast him across the room. I wanted to run. I wanted to… I wanted to…

“Why do you care?” my heart was racing so fast I could barely hear my own words as I spoke them. I could barely hear anything but that pounding of my heart in my ears.

Gently his hand reached up brushing away a few strands of my hair out of my face, letting them get tangled in his long fingers “Because you’re mine.”

My hand grabbed his pulling it away, “I’m no ones.”

-GET TAGGED!-

Tagging: @royslittleharper @the-shadow-of-atlantis @coffee-randomness @daisyboobear @nilthanious @jason-redhood @hello-i-lovespiderman-blr @ocelysium @pinkwitch21 @tomhncharliep

Loki: @wayward-hell

Canary: @baybay123455 @rizanendoza808 @dragonrosegardens @6-daughter-of-a-witch-6 @califorina-grown @2s0uls @oh-no-a-whovian @it-jinxed-us @pixiehex1985

#Loki #Loki fanfic #loki x reader #Loki x You #Loki x oc #Loki fanfiction #loki laufeyson #Marvel #Marvel x oc #Marvel x reader #Marvel fanfic #mcu x reader #MCU x oc #MCU fanfic #my writing #my story #canary

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growningupgeek · 7 years

Text

Bitch of the Trees

Word Count-3,293(It might have gotten away from me just a little)

Characters-Sam, Dean, Elaina(OC), Crowley

Warnings-implied smut, runaway Moose, drinking, Crowley being Crowley.

Prompt-Dryads

A/N-This one is for @sisterhoodofsam Rejects of Supernatural challenge. There was a surprising lack of lore to be found on the subject of dryads, so I took what I found, made some up and borrowed a couple of things from David Eddings. Hey, you do what you have too. Title is taken from a bit I did find online that dryads were know as the “ladies of the trees.”

Tags under the cut, as always if you want on or off drop me a message or an ask.

-JediCat

Sam cleared his throat to get my attention. “I think I found us a case, Laine”

“Really,” I asked. “Or is it a thin lead that will get us away from gimpy?”

Sam rubbed the back of his neck and gave a lopsided smile. “A little of both.”

“I heard that, bitch,” Dean called from his bedroom. He’d dislocated his knee about a week before while he’d been chasing a werewolf and stepped in a hole. He could walk again but wasn’t up to a hunt quite yet and he was getting restless. At this point Sam and I just need to get away from him.

“Jerk,” Sam called back to him by reflex.

I leaned over his shoulder and looked at the screen. “So what have you got?”

It seemed like a whole lot of nothing at first, until I noticed the pattern. A man would disappear without a trace in the woods near a little town named Fredrick. His body would turn up a few weeks later with no trace of foul play just after another disappearance. For close to four years it had been going on through the spring, summer and early fall only to stop in the winter. Definitely our kind of thing but it was like nothing either of us had ever heard of. Sam’s eyes met mine and I nodded.

“Let’s go pack,” he said as I was already heading for our room.

As we were putting clothes in our duffel bags I could hear Dean’s limping steps coming down the hall from his room. I braced myself, knowing what was coming next. And I was right.

“I’m coming with you.” Dean said. It was probably meant to sound firm, but given that he was white with pain and leaning against the doorframe, it just sounded like a little boy demanding to not be left behind.

Without turning from packing Fed suits I replied, “Sure. If you can walk to your room and back here without the knee brace and still stand up.”

I heard Sam snicker under Dean’s groan, “Oh, come on-”

“You aren’t at 100%,” I scolded him, turning around. “What if something goes wrong and someone gets hurt because you couldn’t move fast enough?’

Dean’s face fell. “But I can stay…”

I shook my head. “Don’t say you’ll stay in the room. I’d believe Crowley before I’d believe that.”

I walked over and put my hand on his forearm. “Dean, you’re white and sweating so don’t even try to tell me that you aren’t hurting. Sam and I can take care of ourselves, just this once.”

I watched the emotions play across Dean’s face, until he finally came to the conclusion he wasn’t going to be able to talk his way onto this trip. He turned away and headed for his room growling, “Fine, but you guys had better check in every night.”

“Yes, mother,” Sam laughed as I turned back packing. We finished up quickly and headed for the garage before Dean could come up with any more arguments as to why he should come with us.

We were in the process of loading up my jeep when we heard Dean come into the garage. Sam turned around and drew in a sharp breath that made me turn to see what was going on. Dean was standing there with a determined look on his face, holding out the keys to Baby.

“Take her.” was all he said.

Sam started to protest, “Dean,-

“Don’t argue with me,” Dean snapped. “The only way you’ll get me to stay here is if you take Baby.”

It took me a second to understand but when I did I got choked up. This was his way of protecting us if he couldn’t be there. I touched Sam’s arm with one hand as I held out the other for the keys. Dean dropped them in my hand and limped away without a backwards glance. Sam gave me a puzzled look, but loaded the bags into Baby’s trunk while I climbed into the car. Sam slid into the driver's seat, started the engine and the two of us were off.

Sam stared at his computer screen; we’d been at this a week and we were no closer to finding an answer than we’d been when we’d left the bunker. The local sheriff had been more than happy to turn the case over to us and the county coroner had given us the reports on the three victims from this year, all of whom had died of heart failure and malnutrition. There was nothing else wrong with them; no signs of demons, sirens, poltergeists, ghosts or any of the hundreds of things that go bump in the night that we were familiar with. I sighed as I put my laptop to sleep, attracting his attention.

“What’s up, baby,” he asked.

I ran my hand through my hair, “I’ve got eye strain, I’m tired of looking at that damn screen and I’m hungry. Let’s take an hour and grab some food. That bar is supposed to have good food and if Dean asks we can say we were talking to the locals.”

His face clouded a little and for a moment I thought he was going to squash the idea, but it seemed like he had enough research tonight too. “I think we can even spare two hours and have a drink.”

I was out of my chair and had my jacket in my hand before he finished his sentence. I could hear him laughing at me as I ran for the car.

It was a typical small town dive bar, decorated in neon with a jukebox that had a playlist from the last century. There was a small dance floor over in the corner with one side raised to form a small stage for a live band or DJ booth. In our flannels, jeans and leather jackets we fit right in and it didn’t take the locals long to forget we were supposed to be Feds. One guy even got up the nerve to approach me while Sam was up at the bar getting us some refills. He was nice enough and I got a little information out of him about the latest disappearance before Sam came back and chased him away with a scowl. I hid my smile behind my drink, watching the man scurry away.

“You didn’t have to scare the poor guy to death,” I said giving Sam a smile.

He mock growled at me, “He was making a move on my partner.”

I leaned over and kissed his cheek, running my hand up his thigh under the table. “You know you’ve got nothing to worry about, love.”

His arm snaked around my waist as I cuddled a little closer to him and he kissed my temple. We sat like that, people watching and drinking our beer for about half an hour, and that’s when she came in. I noticed her as soon as she came through the door because she was dressed way too high end for this bar and that set off my warning bells. She was wearing a brown dress that looked like it was silk with matching heels. Her blonde hair was piled on top of her head and seemed to have a slight green tint to it; leaf green eyes were highlighted by Egyptian style make-up. The way she moved towards the bar could only be described as slinking. She placed her drink order with the bartender, who made a face as I nudged Sam and pointed with my chin.

He eyed her and I saw the same suspicion form in his eyes that I had. I reached for the empty glasses. “My round.”

His nod had a double meaning and I headed to the bar finding an empty space next to the woman. The bartender set her drink in front of her and at the slight shake of my head turned to take an order from another customer. I gave an exaggerated sigh that caused her to look at me with no little curiosity.

“Perils of being an outsider,” I said with a half-smile. She returned the smile sympathetically.

“I know how you feel,” she replied. “I’ve lived here forever and still feel like an outsider.”

Her voice had a slight accent that I couldn’t quite place so I turned on my phone's voice recorder under the guise of checking my messages. “They always serve the locals first and then the outsiders.”

She nodded and took a sip of her drink. “So are you here on vacation?”

“Mixed with a little business,” I not quite lied. “We own a curio shop so we’re always on the lookout for things we can make a profit on.”

She nodded politely and put out her hand, “I’m Xelina.”

“Elaina Simmons,” I replied shaking her hand firmly.

The bartender returned and took the beer glasses to be refilled, quickly placing them in front of me. I nodded to Xelina and returned to Sam. Under the guise of kissing his cheek, I whispered what little I’d learned into his ear. Instead of replying he kissed my jaw, nipping just enough to leave a pleasant sting behind. It didn’t take us long to finish off our beer and leave the bar; Sam’s arm around my shoulders, mine around his waist heading for the car. Before he went around to the driver’s side he pushed me against the car, took my face in his hands and kissed me.

I leaned into it, getting my hands up into his soft hair and pulling myself up closer to him, brushing my tongue against his lips. Sam’s mouth opened with a soft moan as he let me in for just a minute before pulling back. “Let’s take this back to the room.”

I nodded, too breathless to speak, and got into the car. When he got in I slid across the seat so I could be as close to him as possible while he was driving. He looped his arm around me, untucking my shirt and sliding his hand under the fabric. His fingers absently made lazy circles on my skin leaving goosebumps and sending heat straight to my core. I began running my hand up his thigh reveling in the feel of his muscles under his jeans, not stopping until my hand rested on the bulge of his cock. Softly I moved my hand along the bulge putting just enough pressure on it to tease him.

Sam growled low in his chest and his fingers changed their pattern from circles to sliding across my stomach underneath the waistband of my jeans. With each pass his hand went a little lower until he could unfasten the button with his thumb. I moaned softly his fingers slid under the elastic of my panties and began to tease my lower lips. He echoed my moan as he felt how wet I was already.

Thankfully it was a short trip back to the motel because we’d have had to pull over. As it was Sam barely let me get the door closed before he was pressed up against my back. “You are so going to pay for teasing me on the way here.”

Morning sun through the window blinds woke me to a body that ached in the best way possible. Sam was curled against my back snoring softly one arm around my waist. After a few minutes of gentle wiggling I managed to get out of his grasp without waking him up. I stopped for a minute to stare at Sam. Asleep and relaxed he looked ten years younger, though the scars on him told a different story. Part of me wanted to crawl back into bed with him, but there was work to do. I started the coffee pot and headed for the shower to get cleaned up and do some thinking. As much as I’d enjoyed last night something felt off and I wouldn’t relax until I found some answers.

I let the hot water run over me as I let my mind drift where it would. I went through every memory of the night before with an eye to the details until it hit me. The only thing that had been different last night had been Xelina and some things about her tickled some very old memories of Grandma and her stories of the creatures that shared the world with us. I dried off and grabbed a cup of coffee on my way to my laptop, if I was right we might need to call in some reinforcements. Sam wasn’t in bed when I came out of the bathroom, I assumed that he was out for his morning run and went to work. The first thing I did was send off emails to family and friends still involved with the more gentle side of the supernatural world, then I buried myself in the internet.

A dozen emails, three phone calls and a pot of coffee later, I had my answers. We were dealing with a dryad and one that was relativity young. Judging from the size of the trees in the area she could be upwards of a hundred years old, but look no older than twenty-five or thirty. I also learned that by killing her conquests she was breaking an ancient pact with the white witches. I looked around only to realize that Sam still wasn’t back and a glance at the clock on my computer made my heart freeze. Two hours had passed; even Sam couldn’t run that long which could only mean that he had been called to her. I couldn’t call Dean; even if he could get here in time I’d just put him in danger and Cas still didn’t have his full mojo back so I didn’t know if she could affect him or not. That left me with one choice; it wasn’t one I was very happy with, but I was going to need help and Crowley was the only one who could get here fast enough.

He answered his phone on the third ring, “What can I do for you, Lark?”

“I need your help,” I managed to get out. “I’m calling in that favor you owe me.”

“Now why would you want to do that, darling,” he said from behind me.

Quickly I outlined my theories. “You’re my only option at this point. You owe me for helping with the rogue angel that came after you last year. You wouldn’t want word to get out that you had to call a human, and a hunter at that, in for help would you?”

Crowley rolled his eyes, then narrowed them. “And what would Moose and Squirrel say if they knew you helped me?”

I had known that this would be his hole card. I gave him my best smirk. “What makes you think I didn’t tell them?”

Another eye roll as he sighed, “You tell that Moose everything don’t you? I guess I’m in, but this clears my debt to you.”

“Until the next time you need a hunter for something, Gramps,” I said, knowing how much it would annoy him to be reminded that I was the only hunter he could completely trust.

I gave him a quick rundown of my plan and he agreed that it might work, if Sam had his phone with him and it didn’t have a dead battery. The luck goddess was with me because when I tracked his phone down it was working. I quickly transferred the location to my mapping app, because it was deep in the woods. After a quick stop at the gas station Crowley and I were off.

We followed signal from Sam’s phone deep into the woods surrounding the town. It took nearly an hour to walk from the road to the coordinates from Sam’s phone. If I hadn’t been so worried about him I might have enjoyed the hike, Crowley was clearly not happy with it though. I could hear him behind me muttering about his suit and shoes, like he couldn’t fix them with a snap of his fingers.

The forest finally opened onto a glade surrounded by oak trees and what I saw there almost broke my heart. Sam was leaning against one of the trees with Xelina in his lap and a goofy smile on his face. As I watched she leaned over and kissed him that was the straw that snapped my temper. I pulled my gun and fired a round into the tree behind them, well above their heads. Two sets of eyes turned my way; Sam’s fogged with the spell she’d cast on him, Xelina’s full of malice. She got off of Sam and started towards me and I wasn’t waiting to see what she intended on doing. I reached into my shoulder bag, pulled out the king size Hershey bar I’d bought and tossed it at her. She caught it when it hit her square in the chest, her whole face lighting up when she saw what it was. Greedily, she tore through the wrapper and took a bite of the chocolate, chewing it with a look of bliss on her face.

I kept one eye on her and the other on Sam; I could gauge the effects of the chocolate on her system. When he had some sense back in his eyes, I crept around Xelina and made my way to him praying that he was recovering quicker than it looked like.

I finally reached him and put my hand on his shoulder, whispering his name. When he turned to me I could see he was still a little foggy but fighting it. He reached for me and I grabbed his hand with a reassuring squeeze.

“Can you stand,” I asked in an urgent tone.

When he gave me a tentative nod, I draped his arm around my shoulder and helped him up. Sam wobbled like a newborn baby moose and leaned most of his weight on me so I was basically carrying him. We struggled along but hadn’t gotten more than a few yards when a wall of branches sprang up in front of us.

“Naughty, naughty, little girl,” Xelina giggled. “Trying to steal my new toy.”

I shot her the dirtiest look I could muster up. “Sorry, he’s spoken for. And I’d rather not have him broken like your other toys.”

She meandered over to us, not even able to walk a straight line at this point. As Xelina’s control of herself slipped so did her hold over Sam who was carrying more of his own weight now. He glanced down on me with questions in his eyes.

“Dryad,” I said softly, hoping she wouldn’t hear me. “Chocolate acts like booze on them.”

Xelina giggled, “Smart too, girly, you figured me out.”

“It’s not hard with my connections,” I smirked at her. “You broke your people’s pact with the Mason Clan, Xelina. I claim my rights as the injured party.”

I pushed Sam to the ground, probably the only time that it would ever be easy, and shouted, “Now, Crowley!”

Crowley appeared near the tree that Sam had been leaning against and snapped his fingers. The tree exploded in a shower of splinters as Xelina vanished in a flash of flame and a puff of pollen that left Sam and I both coughing.

Crowley strolled over as we got our breath back. “Now that you have your Moose back, I trust this discharges my debt to you, Lark?”

I waved him off. “Yeah and we’re just fine, thanks for asking.”

With that he vanished leaving behind a slight smell of sulphur.

The Usual Suspects- @darkcastersruletheworld @black-shad0w-w0lf @imagine-that-supernatural @ladysaraharper @thedepthsoffandomminds @kbrand0 @soaringeag1e @supernaturalismalife @iwantthedean @jojomonsterbunni @little-red-83 @growleytria @ashleymalfoy @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @halespecterwinchester @driverpicksthemuusic @isometimeswritesomethings @whyisleepacesoamazing @mist-and-echoes @sassysupernaturalsweetheart @kaylas-obsessions @aerisawriting @letsgetoutalive @divinitycas @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid @jodyri @soab1967 @busybee612 @appleschloss @kazchester-fanfiction @oriona75 @screeching-pterodactyl-fangirl @deandoesthingstome @littlegreenplasticsoldier @sammy-moo @for-the-love-of-dean @mrswhozeewhatsis @kittenofdoomage @sandlee44 @apeshit7x @purgatoan @fast-times-in-the-impala @wereallbrokenangels @wonderless-screwup @dontsassmecastiel @cherrie-liquor @deascheck @mrssamfuckingwinchester @winchesterprincessbride @tjforston @babi-correia @helixiaray @writingthingsisdifficult @mysaintsasinner @mogaruke @wheresthekillswitch @skybinx-blog @bohowitch @hexparker @jensen-jarpad @ellen-reincarnated1967

#sos rejects challenge #sisterhood of sam challenge #dryads #sam winchester #elaina mason #dean winchester #crowley #sam x oc #sam x elaina #bitch of the trees

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musicdeejaysorceress · 5 years

Text

Dangerous or Risky Luv Music Playlist originally from July 2018

To all viewing this I originally started this Dangerous or Risky Luv music playlist via both googplus affiliated blogspot and on iheartradio by July 2018 and I am following my creative intuition to reshare on one of my youtube channels, tumblr, and wordpress for both present and future reference. Slight updates-info on when andor where I first heard these songs, added two versions of the corrs songs Dangerous or Risky Luv By Stella Carrier July 2018 iheartradio lists 46 songs Catch Me by Pretty Poison-I first heard this enchanting song around the time I was either 7 or 8 years old via local radio one night when I was actually meant to be sleeping though that is something for another post.

Halo by Depeche Mode(live version)-I am fortunate to have first heard a variation of Halo by Depeche Mode by the 2004/2005 timeframe after hearing a remixed version I think that featured the singer from Goldfrapp. Strangely enough for some reason the song unexpectedly grew on me the more and more I heard it these recent years and I confess that I owe it to my one of a kind/angelic husband in a positive way on why I enjoy multiple songs by Depeche Mode multiple years later. I’m fortunate to have seen this group live at least twice and they do sound phenomenal live.

Invisible Touch by Genesis-For some unexplained reason I unexpectedly got into this song started to like it more by the 2014/2015 timeframe, I understand that others may take this song to symbolize other meanings, I take this novel type of song to be about some type of woman who has some type of ability andor talents in someone’s eyes that maybe she has yet to be aware of yet for whatever reason the narrator of the song is drawn to her.

Promiscuous by Nelly Furtado and Timbaland-This bold song is still thrilling for me to listen to multiple years later despite the boldness of this song, I first heard this song on the radio around the 2006/2007 timeframe.

Follow Me by Uncle Kracker-I am definitely glad that I actually unexpectedly discovered this song on a cd that I had in my early 20s because I rarely hear this song on any of the local radio stations where I currently reside, despite the nature of this song it is underrated as far as I’m concerned.

Dangerous by Cascada-I luckily heard this song by the 2011/2012 timeframe via one of her music collections. The music story of how one person can have such a strong effect on the heart despite being very “dangerous” makes for enthralling music.

SOS by Rihanna-I heard this song multiple times on local radio by around the 2006/2007 timeframe to where I got use to hearing this song and liking the song the more I heard it. Strangely enough it took me hearing this song multiple times to really understand the song’s meaning. Despite this song appearing to be almost about romantically obsessing over someone, SOS by Rihanna is very entertaining to listen to.

Come Undone by Duran Duran-The ardent singing and smooth music with this song is probably one of the multiple reasons why I still enjoy this song multiple years after first hearing it (I first heard this song by around the 1993 to 1995 timeframe). Duran Duran is also great to see live, I am lucky to have gotten a chance to see one of their concerts by the October 2011 timeframe.

Sensual Seduction by Snoop Dogg-The soulful music and the smooth lyrics definitely give this seductive song an energy of its own, I happen to have unexpectedly heard this song on local radio around the late 2007/early 2008 timeframe.

03 Bonnie & Clyde by Jay-Z & Beyonce Knowles-I admit that I am probably going to always find this song exhilarating to listen to especially since one of my earliest memories of first hearing this song was during the first year that I was dating my husband(by around the 2003 timeframe).

Like a Prayer by Madonna-I am blessed to have originally heard this moving/meaningful love song by around the 1989/1990 timeframe though I admit to only intuitively being at least somewhat aware of some of the meanings of the Like A Prayer song after the 2016 timeframe for some. A dynamic song about how being in love with someone can be almost like a powerful spiritual experience.

This Kiss by Carly Rae Jepsen-The upbeat poppy energy of this song makes This Kiss by Carly Rae Jepsen uplifting to listen to, I just wish that I could remember if I had first heard this song on iheartradio andor amazon music by around the 2014-2017 timeframe.

Into by Ariana Grande-Ariana Grande definitely takes some brave chances with creative effect with both this song and music video. I’m so glad that I am lucky to have first heard this song by the May 2016 timeframe. Undercover by Selena Gomez-I am charmed to have first heard this enchanting song by around the 2014/2015 timeframe I think from one of the pop music channels via iheartradio.

Dress by Taylor Swift-I am fortunate to have had the chance to pre-order the music collection containing this song some time before the November 2017 timeframe. This passionate yet terrific song definitely is one of Taylor Swift’s more bolder songs, a heads up to the curious music listeners who are novices to this song, your image of Taylor Swift being both a wild and creative woman at least in secret may be on your mind after hearing this song.

Nirvana by Sam Smith-I definitely heard this distinctive love song by around the April andor May 2014 timeframe, one of the elements I enjoy about this sing is how innovative he is with this song even with the unconventional meanings in this song.

Perfect by One Direction-I still enjoy listening to this fun pop love song in 2019 and probably am going to continue to do so for multiple months to come. I first heard this song by the 2015 timeframe either from iheartradio, radio, andor amazon music and I do feel that this song is definitely a creative tribute to Taylor Swift.

Physical Attraction by Madonna-I have been a Madonna fan since around the age of 14 though for some reason I mainly happened to notice the Physical Attraction song by around the April andor May 2017 timeframe either from iheartradio andor Amazon music. Either way this push the envelope type of song is amusing to listen to.

Love On My Mind by Xscape-I actually first heard this exhilarating song sometime by the time I was around 13 to 16 years old and this was because I happen to have unexpectedly heard this song either from television (BET?) andor radio.

Your Love by Outfield-A classic rock song that I first heard either during my sophomore andor junior year of high school though for some unexplainable reason I started to enjoy this song much more after the 2017 timeframe after hearing it enough times either from iheartradio andor Amazon music.

Kinda I Want To by Nine Inch Nails-I am previously familiar with this song because I was around 16 or 17 years old when I purchased a music cd by Nine Inch Nails that contains this song. This song appears to touch on some taboo andor unconventional elements still I find this song very magnetic and exciting to listen to multiple years later.

Kilometer by Sebastien Teller –I happen to have some previous familiarity with this brilliant song because I surprisingly heard and noticed this song by the 2012 timeframe after hearing it on a various artists chillout music collection that I had purchased.

All About You Hillary Duff-I confess that I started to enjoy this impressive song after unexpectedly hearing it featured on a radio show by around the 2014/2015 timeframe. Who knew that a song about being fascinated with someone that is mutually fascinated andor interested in you can be an astounding pop song.

Point of No Return by Expose-This is a stunning come hither type of pop dance song that I am truthfully glad to have had the opportunity to first hear by the time I was 7 years old via radio.

A certain “Je ne sais quo” by the Pet Shop Boys-I first heard this magnificent song by around the July/August 2016 timeframe either from iheartradio andor Amazon music by around the July/August 2016 timeframe. I wonder if this song happens to be about being romantically drawn to someone with a mysterious positive quality about them, self confidence, andor charisma.

Raindrops Extended Mix by Stunt-Raindrops by Stunt-This dance song is very amusing to listen to and I am very glad to have discovered a version of this song by the 2007/2008 timeframe. Irresistible by Fall Out Boy-I admit that I enjoy both this version and the one featuring Demi Lovato. Both songs tell spectacular stories of rollercoaster love.

I Would Like by Zara Larsson-I happened to have unintentionally discovered this exciting song after seeing it featured on an electronic dance music themed website and enjoying this daring melody on the first listen. Zara Larsson’s powerful vocals and self confident energy really bring this song to life in a vibrant way.

FTPA by Gorgon City feat. Erik Hassle-Thank goodness the group made this exciting yet sensational song into an acronym in order to be more safely and easily discussed in written form online. I admit/confess that this song drew me in-made a mark on my music listening soul when I first heard this song by the late 2014 timeframe (after hearing one of Gorgon City’s music cds that contains this song).

Circle in the Sand Belinda Carlisle-I am very lucky to have actually heard this song by the time I was 7 years old on local radio around the time I had heard her Heaven on Earth song. I then started to get into this song much more after the late 2007 timeframe after purchasing one of her greatest hit music collections that contained this Circle in the Sand song. One of the reasons why I enjoy this remarkable song is because this song makes me think of a connection to a destiny andor mystical type of situation that appears to be implied in a creative way with this song.

I See Right Through To You DJ Encore feat. Engelina-This song is a very unique/distinctive love song to listen even multiple years after first hearing it (I am fortunate to have first heard a version of this song online by around the 2005 to 2007 timeframe).

Something Kinda Ooh Girls Aloud-This bold song definitely has some energetic and innovative energy in this song, I first heard this catchy song by around the January 2011 timeframe.

Come Go With Me by Expose-I was definitely around 7 years old when I instantly took a liking to this song after hearing it on local radio. Multiple years later, one of the additional reasons why I enjoy this song is because this incredible song makes me think of this being in a love song in a captivating storytelling type of format.

Only When I Lose Myself by Depeche Mode-I am lucky to have become more aware of this dazzling song after hearing it and enjoying this song multiple times via a Depeche Mode greatest hits by the late 2008 timeframe. The theme of how another person can sometimes help you more insightfully understand yourself metaphorically speaking was one of the multiple elements of the song that attracted my attention.

Crush by Dave Matthews Band-I am very charmed/lucky to have first heard this song by around the late 1999/early 2000 timeframe both from a music cd that I purchased that contained this song and getting an opportunity to hear it enough times via radio. Then multiple years later (by around the 2008 timeframe) I started to hear and notice this song play on the radio when my husband and I were residing/living in Norfolk Virginia. The self confident energy of this song appearing to symbolize telling another person how they really feel was one of the multiple themes that touched my soul with this Crush song by Dave Matthews Band.

Gimme All Your Lovin by ZZ Top-I confess that this radiant classic rock song started to grow on my music listening soul the more frequently I heard it via a classic rock radio station and online channels (iheartradio andor Amazon music) by the 2017 timeframe. I also enjoy the courageous energy of the song where the group paints a music story of someone coming right out to tell another how they feel filter free regardless of what may transpire/come.

Addicted to Love by Robert Palmer-I actually heard this song either from radio andor television sometime by the time I was between 8 to 10 years old. Then multiple years later, I started to enjoy this song more after I had purchased one of Robert Palmer music collections by the July 2011 timeframe.

In My Pocket by Mandy Moore-I have to agree with those online who implied that this lively pop/dance song was definitely ahead of its time and is definitely underrated. I am fortunate to have first heard of this song by around the 2001/2002 timeframe because I was at/inside a navy exchange store before on the Yokosuka Japan naval base that was playing this song on one of the televisions inside the store.

Physical by Nine Inch Nails-I have some previous familiarity with this controversial yet also fascinating type of industrial rock song because I first heard this song from a music cd that I purchased by Nine Inch Nails by the time I was between 16 to 17 years old.

Only When I Sleep by the Corrs MTV unplugged version youtube comment from 3 months ago I confess that I happen to have the MTV Unplugged version of Only When I Sleep by the Corrs by the May 2018 timeframe after finding this version online via Amazon of the album version of Only When I Sleep. However, I am obviously delighted that this creative MTV unplugged version is also on youtube. It is tricky for me to pin down whether I enjoy the MTV unplugged version or the album version more of this song for each version has brilliant music and vocals to the song. As for when I first heard the album version of this song, that timeframe was around the 2001 timeframe by unexpected chance after I bought some type of various female artists pop cd from Phuket Thailand. Obviously I wish that I would have held on to that cd because that situation is for another post. Anyhow, I still obviously enjoy listening to this magnificent song multiple years later and I never thought that this song (both the unplugged and album versions of Only When I Sleep)would ever take on multiple meanings in my own life in my sleeptime dreams multiple years after hearing this beautiful song with gorgeous vocals.

Only When I Sleep by the Corrs album version youtube comment from around 1 year ago I was actually around 20 years old when I first heard this original poppy love song that is Only When I Sleep by the Corrs unexpectedly via a music cd that I purchased in Phuket Thailand before I spotted their greatest hits collection at a shopping mall in Singapore around the same week I turned 21 years old. I am saying this far from reasons pertaining to bragging andor showing off, rather I am just sharing to illustrate how I found out about this fascinating story type of love song that is Only When I Sleep by the Corrs as this tune seems to be a pleasant tune of seeing someone who makes your heart skip a beat, gives you the butterflies in your sleeptime dreams.

My comment for today Wednesday October 21 2019 Only When I Sleep by the Corrs-It was extremely unexpected how I discovered this remarkable/mindblowing type of love song because I happened to purchase a music cd in my early 20s featuring various female pop artists from Phuket Thailand when I heard this song. Multiple years later, this memorable song still resonates in my music listening soul.

Animal by Hysteria-I admit/confess that I am so late to the party with this song because although I have been familiar with their pour some sugar on me song (since I was around 8 years old) the Animal song became more enjoyable to me after hearing it enough times via classic rock radio, iheartradio, and Amazon music by around the summer andor winter 2017 timeframe.

Because the Night by Patti Smith-The vocals and music are very melodic in this deep and insightful classic rock song that I admit to enjoying more by around the summer 2017 timeframe (either from iheartradio andor amazon music).

Revolver by Madonna feat. Lil Wayne-I have definitely been familiar with this song since at least January 2011 after listening to one of the music collections by Madonna that contains this song. This music collaboration of Madonna with Lil Wayne in the Revolver song definitely gives this song a distinctive and one of a kind type of dance club music energy.

Dangerous by Big Data feat. Joywave-I confess that I started to enjoy this charismatic song by around the summer/autumn 2014 timeframe after hearing the song via a local Washington DC alternative rock radio station and viewing the music video online-the music video is definitely one of a kind as well despite the shocking overtones mixed with advertising elements.

Bad Man by Pitbull feat. Robin Thicke Joe Perry Travis Barker-I am very charmed/blessed/lucky to hear this fun loving song by the early 2016 timeframe. The music collaborations in this song add an exhilaration type of energy to this song.

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stellacarrierimaginationbuilders · 5 years

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Dangerous or Risky Luv

By Stella Carrier July 2018 iheartradio lists 46 songs

Catch Me by Pretty Poison-I first heard this enchanting song around the time I was either 7 or 8 years old via local radio one night when I was actually meant to be sleeping though that is something for another post.

Undercover by Selena Gomez-I am charmed to have first heard this enchanting song by around the 2014/2015 timeframe I think from one of the pop music channels via iheartradio.

Point of No Return by Expose-This is a stunning come hither type of pop dance song that I am truthfully glad to have had the opportunity to first hear by the time I was 7 years old via radio.

Raindrops Extended Mix by Stunt-Raindrops by Stunt-This dance song is very amusing to listen to and I am very glad to have discovered a version of this song by the 2007/2008 timeframe.

Irresistible by Fall Out Boy-I admit that I enjoy both this version and the one featuring Demi Lovato. Both songs tell spectacular stories of rollercoaster love.

Something Kinda Ooh Girls Aloud-This bold song definitely has some energetic and innovative energy in this song, I first heard this catchy song by around the January 2011 timeframe.

Only When I Sleep by the Corrs MTV unplugged version youtube comment from 3 months ago

I confess that I happen to have the MTV Unplugged version of Only When I Sleep by the Corrs by the May 2018 timeframe after finding this version online via Amazon of the album version of Only When I Sleep. However, I am obviously delighted that this creative MTV unplugged version is also on youtube. It is tricky for me to pin down whether I enjoy the MTV unplugged version or the album version more of this song for each version has brilliant music and vocals to the song. As for when I first heard the album version of this song, that timeframe was around the 2001 timeframe by unexpected chance after I bought some type of various female artists pop cd from Phuket Thailand. Obviously I wish that I would have held on to that cd because that situation is for another post. Anyhow, I still obviously enjoy listening to this magnificent song multiple years later and I never thought that this song (both the unplugged and album versions of Only When I Sleep)would ever take on multiple meanings in my own life in my sleeptime dreams multiple years after hearing this beautiful song with gorgeous vocals.

Only When I Sleep by the Corrs album version youtube comment from around 1 year ago

I was actually around 20 years old when I first heard this original poppy love song that is Only When I Sleep by the Corrs unexpectedly via a music cd that I purchased in Phuket Thailand before I spotted their greatest hits collection at a shopping mall in Singapore around the same week I turned 21 years old. I am saying this far from reasons pertaining to bragging andor showing off, rather I am just sharing to illustrate how I found out about this fascinating story type of love song that is Only When I Sleep by the Corrs as this tune seems to be a pleasant tune of seeing someone who makes your heart skip a beat, gives you the butterflies in your sleeptime dreams.

My comment for today Wednesday October 21 2019

Only When I Sleep by the Corrs-It was extremely unexpected how I discovered this remarkable/mindblowing type of love song because I happened to purchase a music cd in my early 20s featuring various female pop artists from Phuket Thailand when I heard this song. Multiple years later, this memorable song still resonates in my music listening soul.

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narisjournal-blog · 7 years

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Jog on, Sam Winchester (Part Four)

Sam X Reader Word Count: 1,133 Warnings: language, SPN typical violence

A/N: Sorry this took a little longer. It got long and I had to sleep and stuff.

Feedback welcome. I like feedback. 😊

Part One ||Part Two ||Part Three

***

You stared at your phone, cheeks burning with disappointment. Your stomach knotted and you exhaled roughly.

Of course. Of course it was too good to be true.

Sam: So sorry, I can’t make tonight. I have to work :(. Can we reschedule?

He’s realised his mistake, or got something better to do. Or he’s found someone better, you thought.

You glanced at the outfit you had picked out ready and your jaw clenched involuntarily.

Was he messing with you? Was he playing games and trying to get into your head? Something about the look in his eyes when he teased you meant you wouldn’t put it past him. Maybe it was all some kind of power play.

Whatever, you thought. Fine. You swallowed back against the lump in your throat. You would just have to do something else.

Glancing around your room, your eyes fell on your running shoes, discarded from earlier. You looked out the window at the receding light and huffed again.

Fuck it, might as well use this energy, you thought.

You put your headphones in this time, listening to your ‘feel good’ playlist. Your feet fell into rhythm with the music.

It was nice, actually, being out running as it was getting dark. There was a kind of thrill to the air. You took a different route this time, not trying to ‘accidentally’ run into sam as you had been. You would never admit it but you had.

You followed the path through a grassy area and lost yourself in Your thoughts.

You wondered what he was doing. Whether he really did have to work.

And what did he do anyway? Early in the morning, late at night, fancy car and suits. FBI or something?

You realised that while you had been lost in thought you had stopped paying attention to where you were going. The trees had thickened and the sun had all but gone, meaning you were alone in a dark, heavily wooded area.

You stopped and looked around. You still had your headphones in, so you didn’t hear the low growl from in amongst the trees. Your head snapped towards the movement, though, and you ripped out the headphones to boost your senses.

Your heart was pounding in your chest. You could hear your pulse racing in your ears, but the rest of the night was still.

There it was again - the rustling behind the trees. Ok, time to go home, you thought. You twisted round and started running back the way you had come, with a little more urgency in your step than before.

You glanced anxiously back and gasped when you noticed the figure emerging from the woods.

You cried out, not quite a scream or a shout, but some strangled, startled sound in between. Your legs pumped hard as you ran full pelt away from whatever it was. You didn’t care to look or stop to ask it.

Adrenaline pumped through your veins and you started as you saw two more figures emerge in front of you.

You recoiled, considering which was more dangerous. A glance back told you that another wolf- like creature with wild eyes and sharp teeth had joined the first and that you would rather take on the two humans with guns in front of you. So you pushed off again towards them.

Then you heard your name. As you drew closer, the taller figure said your name again, panic in his voice.

'What are you..? Oh god,’ he said, glancing back at the creatures. 'Ok, just run! RUN!’

It was Sam. You heeded his instructions and began to sprint, while he and the other man ran towards the creatures.

What? Why would they…?

'We have more silver bullets this time, you bastards,’ Sam’s gruff friend called to them.

Silver bullets? What the fuck was this?

Gunfire. One. Two. Three. You lost count. They seemed to be emptying the chambers.

You heard growling whimpers and turned to see three of the creatures dead on the ground.

'Dean,’ Sam called across to his friend. 'There’s more.’ He signalled where they needed to go and Dean followed as he moved cautiously, gun raised towards the trees. They were both coiled, ready to jump into action.

A growl closer to you on your right made you whirl round to see another creature bounding from the trees. It was heading straight for them.

'Sam!’ You yelled, trying to warn him of the incoming attack.

Sam spun round, alarmed, searching for you in the dark. He saw you just before the creature turned at the sound of your voice. It bounded at you and you lost your balance, falling backwards and landing hard. BANG.

It dropped to the floor, dead. 'Sammy!’ You heard from in the trees. 'Coming your way look ou-’ but his voice was cut off by a growl and sounds of a struggle. Sam was reloading his gun when another creature launched at him from the trees.

'Sam!’ You yelled again. The gun was knocked clean out of his hand and landed somewhere in the trees. Silver bullets scattered everywhere.

'Fuck!’ You said. Sam pulled a knife from his belt and began to fight with the creature.

It was clearly strong and out of control, but he was holding his own. Really holding his own.

It was impressive.

Your heart raced. Who the hell was this man?

You pushed yourself up to stand just as another creature bounded over to Sam. He sunk the knife into the first creature’s heart. But then the second was on him and caught him slightly off balance.

Panic coursed through your veins as you watched the knife fly out of his hands and land in the mud.

'Dean!’ He yelled.

But dean wasn’t coming.

You made a snap decision. Your legs were moving before you could talk yourself out of it, ignoring the burn In Your thighs.

You sprinted as sam lay on his back, wrestling with the creature. He must have been incredibly strong, you found yourself thinking. But the gap was closing and you feared you might not get there in time.

You pushed your legs harder, imagining you were holding off sam from overtaking you again. You skidded and almost tumbled as you reached the knife, snatching it into your grasp. Sam’s grunts of exertion were turning into cries of pain.

'Heart,’ he gasped out.

Adrenaline controlling your movements, you launched at the creature and plunged the knife through its heart.

It fell sideways to the ground and stopped moving.

You stared at it, then at Sam, eyes wide in disbelief.

The wind rustled through the trees and everything was peaceful once more.

Sam’s chest heaved, and he smiled. He smiled, for fuck’s sake. Your head span.

Who the fuck was this man?

Part Five

*** Tags: @afanofmanystuffs @quixoticcat @trashforwinchesters @yourewelcomeforbeingmyfriend @impala-dreamer

#sam x you #sam x reader #sam winchester #spn fanfic #spn #fanfic #fanfiction #spn fic #supernatural

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literaryinspiredwebserieslove · 7 years

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LIW Review: Twelfth Grade (or whatever)

Twelfth Grade (or whatever) aired for much of 2016, with the first episode on January 6 (twelfth night) and the epilogue exactly one year later.

Source material/premise:

Based pretty closely on Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night, or what you will, one of Shakespeare’s darker comedies, a story about twins, cross-dressing, and love triangles. In this version, Viola Messing disguises herself as a cis guy, Sam, in order to attend the all-boys boarding school that rejected her trans brother, Sebastian. If you’ve seen She’s the Man, you know the basic plot already.

Spoiler-free plot overview:

Viola/Sam’s roommate and best friend, Oren, has a crush on local girl Olivia “Liv” Belcik and sends “Sam” to be his wingman, which results in Liv’s developing a crush on “Sam.” Meanwhile, Viola definitely doesn’t have a crush on anyone... All sorts of adventures ensue.

Format:

Uploaded without any sort of regular pattern on three different YouTube channels: S Messing (Viola/Sam, Oren, and their other friends at school), Liv Belcik (Liv and her family and friends), and S-messing around! (Sebastian). The whole thing is available in one playlist, which I will link below. All of the videos exist in-universe, but there’s quite a lot of creativity that goes along with that: there are a couple gaming videos, one filmed entirely in the dark, and one that, in-universe, was deleted shortly after being uploaded.

Realism:

Fairly strong. A few things stretch belief, but those issues ended up actually being dealt with (like why people weren’t watching each other’s videos and what happened when they found them) and actually became part of the plot. Though the lack of communication between Viola and Sebastian was a little hard to believe. The different types of videos also helped improve the realism factor, but something else that took away from it was the fact that many of the actors seemed to be looking at the script in several episodes. The characters themselves, however, are very realistic as both high school students and Shakespeare characters, and all of the casting and acting was great.

Representation/diversity:

So, so good. So many characters are played by minority actors, and race is just a total non-issue. Liv has agoraphobia (Confirmed! They use the word!).

LGBTQ+ representation is almost at an all-time high here. The series starts out with everyone being straight and ends with no one being straight (also no endgame heterosexual relationships whatsoever, which meant that both my ship and Shakespeare’s were wrecked, but I was still happy with the ending).

Sebastian is trans and interested in men. Viola is bisexual and demiromantic and probably a demigirl, though she doesn’t end up finding the right label for her gender before the end of the series. Liv is also bi. Oren is eventually questioning/(spoilers). Drew is gay. Vic and Curt are assumed to be gay. Tammi is a lesbian. Maria is pansexual. Foster uses they/them pronouns but I am unsure of their official gender label and so won’t use one here. Viola and Sebastian also have two moms (named Hermia and Helena because this is a Shakespeare webseries after all). Malcolm might be straight but we don’t care about him.

Film quality:

Not great. They only had one camera, and it wasn’t a very good one, but it was pretty realistic to what the characters would have realistically had, and it’s hard to make visually high-quality content without a budget.

However, what they lacked in camera, they made up for by having very creative episode titles (lots of references to SO MANY THINGS) and actually utilizing the description boxes, which is still not done nearly often enough. Sebastian’s titles are very in-character. The others are relevant and could potentially have come out of the heads of the characters, though it’s nothing on the level of NMTD/LLL episode titling.

My three favorite things about 12gw:

1) The first episode. Everything about it is perfect and sets the tone so well for everything to follow.

2) All of the internal shipping that happens in this series. These people come up with occasionally intentional, occasional accidental ship names for themselves, they talk about ships in ways that torture the audience to extremes, there’s an episode called “Ship Steer” – need I say more?

3) Oren Douglas. The acting, the character development, Julian Hermano’s face (sometimes I’m shallow). I love the man so much.

Less great things about 12gw:

The low film quality and the actors’ occasional script glancing are definitely the big ones here. Another negative aspect is that the actor who played Sebastian couldn’t be in the same location as the rest of the cast, so he isn’t in any group scenes, which is extremely disappointing. I personally am also sad that they changed Shakespeare’s endgame so much in this particular series, just because I came into this with a ship already formed, but regardless you will ship everything and be disappointed by something, because they can’t all be endgame.

Viewing time: about three hours, easily bingeable in a day.

Verdict:

3.5/5 stars, edging toward 4. I highly recommend this series to lovers of bisexuality, crushing the patriarchy, extreme sassiness, and shipping absolutely everything with absolutely everything else.

AWARDS!

Twelfth Grade (or whatever) is up for the Literary-Inspired Webseries Awards this year! Go nominate them by April 15th and then vote for them afterwards! Eligible categories (plus the full cast list) below:

Best Actress: Sarah Taylor as Viola Messing and Kristen Vagahos as Liv Belcik

Best Actor: Julian Hermano as Oren Douglass

Best Supporting Actor: Jon Steiger as Drew Aguecheek, Andres Cordoba as Vic Caius, and Eliot Barnhardt as Sebastian Messing (you may also recognize him from The Adventures of Jamie Watson and Sherlock Holmes).

Best Chemistry: Sarah Taylor and Julian Hermano or Sarah Taylor and Kristen Vagahos

Best Script

Best Ensemble Cast

Best Set and Costume Design

Best LIW

The rest of the cast:

Justin Linville as Curt Slender

Derya Celikkol and Michelle Persoff as Tammi Belcik

Adriana Figueroa as Maria Waites

Evan Neiden as Malcolm Volinsky

Jeremy Stewart as Anthony Capozzoli (this beautiful man also played Henry Tilney in Northbound)

Daniel Golden as Foster Page