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idabbleincrazy · 3 years

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Go Out with a Bang Ch.3

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<--Chapter Two

Fandom: Angel (Buffyverse)

Rating: E

Pairing: Spangel

Word Count: 5691

Warnings: Smut, Sire/Childe dynamics, Vampire dynamics, bottom!Spike/top!Angel. Body worship, Hand job, Oral, Cum Eating, Rimming, Anal fingering, Anal, Claiming Bites, Blood drinking, Submissive Spike, d/s undertones, scratching, coming untouched, emoporn, smidge of angst, they’re both a pair of saps

Summary: Angel does things his way and Spike asks for something he never thought he could have.

A/N: marathon sex once again got thrown a bit off-course by the muse, who decided a Claim was necessary for more future drama. i swear i will get bottom!Angel in this fic if it kills me. “Tá tú mianach, William, mo mhaité. Always, forever. Agus tá mé mise, go deo na i gcónaí. (You are mine, William, my mate. Always, forever. And I am yours, forever and always.) mo ghrá (my love) ~ Irish Gaelic translations according to the internet ~

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Angel was on the bed, sitting back against the headboard, when Spike finally came out of the bathroom, his still-wet hair a mess of curls, rivulets of water tracing down his sculpted chest as he crossed the room. Angel mirrored the leer Spike cast over at him, his cock already twitching in interest as Spike sauntered over and stood at the foot of the bed. Spike’s leer grew as he caught sight of the items perched on the bedside table, wondered if more than the lube would get used before they left the suite.

“I’ll never get tired of seeing you like this, Spike. Naked and still half-hard as if we haven’t just gone two rounds in less than an hour.” Angel patted the bed. “Now, are you going to come over here, or am I going to have to come over there? Take into consideration whether you want to come again tonight before you decide; it’s not beyond my capabilities to leave you so desperate for it you’d barely be able to look at me without moaning but still well within fighting form, and you know it. Just like you know I don’t need you to come for me to do things my way...your choice.”

Spike’s eyes flashed a molten gold and he let out a low groan as he climbed onto the bed, his smirk turning sultry as he straddled Angel’s legs and slunk up the bed, his gaze not leaving Angel’s until he was sitting astride his hips. Angel grinned approvingly and Spike couldn’t help the shiver that ran down his spine as Angel’s hands made their slow way up his thighs to grip tight at his waist.

“Have I told you how much I love these bloody big hands on me, luv?” Spike moaned softly and rocked back on his knees. “Fuck, Peaches, show me. Show me how you wanted to fuck me, how you wanted to claim me.”

“Didn’t say I wanted to fuck you, did I, Spike?” Angel growled and pushed up quickly to roll them over, settling between Spike’s legs as they fell open against the mattress, and bracing himself over the length of his body to thrust his groin over the blonde’s. His voice was husky, gravelly yet honeyed at once. “What I want, William, is to make love to you. All we’ve done these past few months is fuck, I want to give you what I’ve been denying us both. What I’ve wanted to do for over a century.”

Spike let out a choked gasp at Angel’s hushed words. The soul flared in his chest at the prospect and the demon pushed against his ribcage in remembrance of the way Angelus used to reduce him to nothing but whimpers and monosyllabic pleading with his soft touches and slow thrusts. He rolled his hips, a shock of electricity zipping up his spine as his hardening cock slid against Angel’s.

“Christ, Liam...yeah, fuck, want that, luv.” Spike’s voice was already pathetically close to whining as images flashed in his mind. He fought to focus on the here and now, knowing he needed to get himself under control or it would be over before Angel even kissed him. “Love me, Angel, please.”

“So beautiful, my Will, my lovely boy.”

Angel dipped his down and pressed his lips to Spike’s forehead, trailing a path of soft, fleeting kisses along his hairline. He hummed quietly as he felt Spike relax further into the mattress beneath him, looking down to confirm that Spike’s eyes had indeed closed just as he figured the gesture would cause him to.

“My gorgeous Childe.” Angel kissed each closed eyelid in turn. “Perfect William.”

Spike fought back a sob as it rose in his throat, blunt teeth sinking into his tongue to keep from saying something he’d berate himself for later. Angel’s lips worked along his left cheekbone, feather-light against his skin.

“My sweet, pale prince. You were always a breathtaking sight, Spike.” Angel turned his head and kissed over his right cheek, determined to cover as much of his skin as possible with words of praise as his lips caressed him. “The moment I saw you, I understood just what our dark princess saw in you. Knew why our Dru sought you out. You complimented her so well, in nearly every way. Her dark, fiery beauty contrasting against your porcelain, angelic complexion.”

Angel felt a soft purr beginning to rumble in Spike’s chest and the corners of his lips tugged up in a pleased smile. He lingered by Spike’s ear, content to draw out the moment.

“The way your temperaments balanced each other out. Drawn to you like a moth, she was, and so was I. God, how I’ve always regretted I hadn’t been the one to find you. Been the first to taste you.”

“Sire…” Spike tried to turn his head, desperate to capture Angel’s lips with his own, quell his words before he drowned in the desire welling up in him. “Fuck. Luv, oh Christ, luv, please.”

Angel took a small pity on his Childe and pressed a light peck to the skin below his ear before shifting himself up and claiming his lips. Spike’s mouth opened readily for him, eagerly welcoming the sweeping strokes of Angel’s tongue over his own. Angel could still detect mild hints of hops, wheat, and whiskey lingering behind the more heady essence that was pure Spike, a mix of cigarette smoke and lust, combining sinfully with the barest traces of his own blood as he explored his mouth.

He ran his tongue over Spike’s soft palate and along his teeth before probing teasingly over his gums, pressing softly against each nub that hid his fangs. Angel smiled into the kiss as he felt Spike’s fingers winding into his hair, the heel of his palm digging gently into the back of his head to urge him closer. Spike’s other hand wound around his back, fingertips tracing lightly over his tattoo, a small moan starting at the back of his throat. Angel swallowed the soft sound, grinding his hips down against the pliant body beneath him to draw out a breathy gasp.

“Angel, fuck”, Spike panted against his lips, hands still clutching at him as he arched against the solid chest pressing him into the bed, as if he couldn’t get close enough to him. “More, need more.”

Angel nipped lightly at Spike’s bottom lip briefly before tilting the blonde’s chin up to press wet kisses along the bolt of his jaw, tongue and teeth trailing over the sharp line of bone and pale flesh.

“Jesus, I’ll never get enough of this, never get enough of you, Spike. Eternity isn’t long enough to take my fill of you, the way you feel, your scent, your taste. Mine.” Angel pressed his lips fleetingly to the point where his angled jaw melded into the slender line of his throat, hips bucking forward at the vibration of the soft moan Spike let escape. “Always been mine.”

“Ye-yeah, yes, all yours, luv. Your boy, Angel, your Will. My Sire.”

Spike tilted his head further back against the pillow, bearing his neck for Angel’s ministrations and let his eyes flutter closed, sinking into the feeling of Angel’s broad body pressed against him, at once too much and not enough. He wanted so badly to roll them back over and slam himself down on the stiff cock he felt brushing teasingly over his own, wanted Angel bucking up into him as he rode him into oblivion.

For so long he’d wanted to hear his Sire talk to him like this again, and now he didn’t know how much longer he could listen without sobbing out. Didn’t deserve it, the words, the love, the lips and teeth pressing cool, stinging blooms along his throat. Done too much bad, lived too long in the dark to be the light Angel proclaimed him to be. He bit his tongue to keep back his protestations, dug his fingers in deeper to prevent his hands from pushing him away.

“Your Liam, sweet William.” Angel nipped his way down the column Spike’s neck, avoiding his still tender siring mark on the curve of his shoulder before sweeping his tongue over and up the center of his throat, blunt teeth clamping down on Spike’s Adam’s Apple with just enough pressure to make him gasp, steely-blue eyes startled open to flash amber as Angel looked up at him. “Your Angel, yours.”

Angel bit back the epithet of Sire he had felt compelled to tack on at the end of that sentence, Spike’s claiming mark tingling on his neck, the shared blood in his veins sparking cool heat through his body, the word pressing at the back of his throat. They belonged to each other now, fully, completely, Darla and Drusilla’s eradicated scars no longer binding either of them to anyone but the other.

He worked his mouth along the other side of Spike’s throat, hips still working maddeningly slow against his. Angel inhaled deeply as he nosed along the curve of his neck, the delectable scent of Spike’s arousal prominent, even under the herbal notes of his fancy body wash and the slight salt-tang of sweat created by the exertion of Spike’s self-control. He let out a soft growl of lust-driven hunger as he laved his tongue over the dip of his clavicle, lapping up the bead of sweat from the hollow.

“Gonna taste every bit of you, Spike, want to know that you still taste as delicious as my memory insists.” Spike whimpered and his fingers clenched tighter as Angel shifted his body downward, quick nips of blunt teeth work a trail across his collarbone. “So far, the consensus is that my mind isn’t as sharp as it used to be. So much better than any mere memory, my sweet boy.”

“Christ, luv...you’ll be the death o’me yet.” Spike shivered beneath Angel as he pecked and licked his way down his chest. “Not even started on the good bits and ‘m already bloody ready to shoot off like a fuckin’ geyser, Peaches. Didn’t realize by ‘take your time’, you meant you were gonna cover every soddin’ inch of me with your saliva and teeth marks.”

“Mm, don’t try to pretend you’re not enjoying every second of the attention.” Angel breathed a soft chuckle against Spike’s sternum as he kissed between his pecs. “Consider this making up for all the too-quick fucks these last wasted months. Never should have denied you this, ever. If you really don’t think you can control yourself, again, the handcuffs are modified to be vampire proof.”

“You really do have all the best toys, don’t you, pet? Gonna miss all these perks.”

Another chuckle.

“I’ll let you take those and whatever else you think will fit in the Viper before we leave here for good. Now, be good for me and let me do this, for my sake if not your own? Still not above tying you down, but I rather like having your fingers digging and scratching at me, all needy and desperate. Like you said, Spike. Vampires like a little pain with their pleasure.”

“Oh, God…” Spike arched his back as Angel turned his head to lave his tongue over his nipple, suckling the pebbling bud between his lips and scraping his teeth tortuously over it. “Fuck. Yeah, okay, luv, I’ll be good. Wanna be good for you, Angel.”

“Thank you.” Angel turned to work the other nipple to a rigid peak, watching Spike’s face as he came to a decision. He shifted to hold himself up with one arm, letting his free hand slip between their bodies. “Want me to make it easier, give you a reprieve?”

His hand wrapped around Spike’s leaking cock and Spike shuddered out a broken groan as he stroked him slowly.

“Please, yes, oh luv, please! Lemme come, Liam, so soddin’ close.”

“Then come, Will. Let me see that beautiful face as you spill over for me.”

Spike was wound so tight already, despite his two previous climaxes, that Angel barely had to swipe his thumb over the pre-cum-slick slit, fingers twisting around the swollen head of his cock, and his body locked up, ropes of cum surging out to land on his stomach, lukewarm spurts cool on friction-heated skin, lips flushed and frozen in a silent cry of pleasure. Angel watched with lust-dark eyes as Spike came, demon purring deep in his chest as he saw his William there, open and bare, saw the pure wanton ecstasy in those stormy blue eyes before they slipped closed, dark lashes striking against the pale skin of his cheekbones. He squeezed the still-hard cock lightly, relishing the plaintive moan that fell from those parted lips, his fingers trailing up the long shaft to collect the final drops of cum as Spike’s orgasm tapered out.

“Look at you, three times you’ve come for me, and still aching for more.”

Spike’s eyes fluttered open in time to see Angel raising his fingers to his lips, a groaning gasp wrenched from his throat as his Sire sucked the digits clean. Angel collected the cum on his tongue and surged back up Spike’s body, lips crushing together bruisingly as he licked into his waiting mouth. Spike eagerly sucked the taste of himself off the thick, probing muscle with a growl.

“Want us to always taste like each other, lovely Childe.” Angel felt abnormally breathless as he panted against Spike’s lips. “Smell only each other’s scents twisted together.”

Spike hummed in agreement and nipped at Angel’s bottom lip before letting his head fall back against the pillow, his body lax, arms falling to the bed as he gathered his wits.

“Do love it when you get all possessive on me, pet. Makes me all kinds of tingly.” Spike wriggled teasingly beneath Angel’s bulk, eager to get back to it. “Thanks for that, Angel, ready for the rest of that time-takin’ if you are. Just don’t go startin’ all over, we’ll be here all bloody day ‘n night.”

“We make it through this battle, and we’re going to spend an entire twenty-four hours in the first bed we fall into.”

Angel pressed a final kiss to Spike’s lips and slid back down to continue his exploration of the lithe body beneath him. He nipped and licked his way down Spike’s stomach, tongue swirling around his navel, his eyes flicking up to Spike’s face as he dipped his tongue into it provocatively. Spike’s hands twitched at his sides, aching to dig his fingers into Angel’s ungelled hair and shove his head where he wanted it, raised his arms to shove them beneath the pillow under his head instead. Angel smiled appreciatively at the gesture and moved to suck a mark into his hip.

“You really do want to behave, don’t you Spike?” Angel lifted his head a bit to admire the bloom of color rising beneath Spike’s skin. He looked up at him, admiring the unusual restraint the blonde was showing; he had fully expected him to lock his legs around his head and squeeze, growling, until Angel had taken him into his mouth. He shifted himself between Spike’s legs, hands coming up to soothe over his thighs, sensing something unsaid in those lust-hazed eyes. “I won’t press the issue now, Will, but whatever’s going on in that head of yours, we will talk about it eventually.”

“Thank you, luv. I will, I promise, just not today, yeah?”

“Not today.”

Angel shoved down his curiosity and dipped his head back down, refocusing his attention on the pliant flesh laid out before him. He flicked his tongue out, flattening the muscle as he licked over coarse honeyed curls. He slowly worked his mouth between Spike’s legs, carefully avoiding his cock as he licked away the last traces of cum.

“Fuck, always such a tease, Angel. Don’t you ever change.”

“You’re just lucky we’re working within a somewhat limited timeframe.” Angel nipped at the inside of Spike’s thigh, his hands urging his legs further apart as he settled down flat against the mattress. “Seriously - twenty-four hours, you, me, naked. No distractions, no sparing a single thought for anything beyond whatever room we’re in.”

“And you call me insatiable.”

“Well, you do always claim I made you in my image. Like Sire, like Childe, sweet William.”

“Da...please.” Spike whined softly, hips wiggling despite his best efforts. “Touch me.”

Angel hummed and smirked up at Spike with a sly wink before pressing the barest of kisses to the tip of his cock.

“Hand me the lube. And you don’t need to tuck your hands away, Spike. Told you, I like it when you’re tugging and pulling at me.”

Spike dropped his hands from under his head and retrieved the tube of lubricant from the bedside table. He handed it over to Angel and bent his knees up towards his chest to give him easier access as he popped the cap and squeezed a decent-sized drop of lube onto his fingers.

As he rubbed his fingers together to warm the gel, Angel dipped his head back between Spike’s legs. He briefly suckled a light mark into the thin skin of Spike’s balls, chuckling at the gasping moan he exhaled before leaving off to trail his tongue further down. He slid his free hand under Spike and lifted him slightly, laving his tongue down his perineum and pushing between the firm globes of his ass to lick over the furled ring of muscle.

“Christ! Been a bloody age since you’ve done that, Da.” Spike’s hand found its way into Angel’s hair, nails scraping softly over his scalp, and he shuddered at the vibrations of Angel’s rumbled groan against the hidden flesh. He fought back the urge to buck down against the soft mouth that worked over him, choosing instead to drive Angel as desperate for it as he was. “Tell me, luv, your boy taste as good as you remember?”

Angel answered with a low, hungry growl and Spike yelped as he scraped blunt teeth over the sensitive skin around the clenched muscle before pulling away, his nose trailing up the inner curve of his thigh. The hand beneath Spike retreated to wrap around his cock, sliding slowly along the long shaft as his slickened fingers replaced his mouth.

“Just as divine as ever, Will.”

Spike moaned as Angel pressed the pad of one finger against his rim, relaxing into it as he slowly pushed the thick digit past the ring of muscle. Angel eased his finger in past the second knuckle as he took his aching cock into his mouth, tongue flicking over the tip to collect the pearl of pre-cum that beaded there.

“Gods, luv, Angel, so good.” Spike tightened his fingers, tugging at Angel’s hair as he restrained himself from bucking into the cool mouth that began to bob along his cock, the old obedient William of the past rising close to the surface as Angel worked him open. “Missed this. More than I ever bloody thought I did.”

Angel purred around his cock, thrusting his finger quicker as he felt the tight hole begin to loosen around it, his own cock hard and throbbing against his stomach. Spike’s free hand came to clutch desperately at his shoulder, nails scratching enticingly at his skin as he moaned, his hips pressing down against his probing finger.

“Fuck, please, Da, ‘nother, gimme another. Wanna feel you, Liam.”

Angel glanced up, his mouth still working over the throbbing length, and met with the dark gaze of his Childe, a groan rumbling in his chest at the need he found there. He took Spike’s cock further down his throat, his nose nuzzling into the coarse curls around the base as he eased another finger into his slick hole. Spike whimpered as Angel thrust his fingers deeper, crooking them as the pads found that bundle of nerves. A spurt of pre-cum coated his tongue as he rubbed over his prostate, soon easing up to start scissoring his fingers as Spike’s legs began to tremble. He hollowed his cheeks around his cock and suckled at the tip as he continued the tortuous preparation.

“Angel, luv, please! Too close, Sire...Da, please.”

Angel growled lustily at the sobbed pleas falling from Spike’s lips and released his cock with a lewd pop, his fingers still working within him as he lifted himself back over Spike’s body. He cupped Spike’s face with his free hand, his lips crushing to the blonde’s as he slipped a third finger into him, the slide quickly becoming easier as he thrust slowly.

“Being such a good boy for me, sweet Will”, Angel rasped against his lips. “Begging so pretty for me, instead of snarling and snapping at me to be done with it. Ready for me, my beautiful one?”

“Christ, yes, Da! Please, Liam...Angel, fuck-oh, sod it all, make love to me?!”

Angel’s groan hitched in his throat at the plaintive sentiment and he eased his fingers from Spike’s loosened hole, feeling blindly for the lube as he kept his gaze locked with his Childe’s. Out of sheer will, he managed to slick his cock up with one hand, the other braced against the pillow as he lined himself up. He watched Spike’s face closely as he pushed in slowly, forcing his own eyes to stay open as the tight warmth enveloped his aching cock. Spike’s lips fell open on a silent gasp, back arching and eyes flickering from blue to amber and back again as Angel bottomed out.

“Jesus, Spike”, Angel groaned out, his hips stilling as he felt the tight muscle ripple and clench around him. “Always so perfectly tight for me, my boy. Oh, William, no idea how long I’ve wanted to be with you this way.”

“Too long, I know, Da. Christ, I love you, Angel. Love feeling you like this, fillin’ me up so bloody well.” Spike’s hands gripped at Angel’s shoulders now, tugging him close as Angel wrapped a hand around his thigh. He nipped softly at Angel’s lips, kissing him languidly as Angel hesitated. “C’mon, luv. Need you to move now, please, Sire.”

Angel hitched Spike’s thigh up to wrap around his hip, his hand sliding down to grip at his waist as he began a slow pace. Spike moaned softly and clutched him tighter as Angel thrust into him, lifting his other leg to lock his ankles at the small of Angel’s back. Using the position for leverage, he pushed down to meet Angel’s thrusts on every upstroke, the tilted angle of his hips allowing the head of the thick cock stretching him to drag over his prostate.

“Bloody hell, Angel,” Spike groaned, one hand scratching sharp nails along Angel’s back as the other trailed up to card through his hair, his body moving in rhythm with Angel’s thrusts. “Right there, luv. Fuck, not gonna last, ‘s too much, feels too good.”

“I know, Will. Jesus, I was so stupid, so fucking stupid to keep myself distant from you for so long.” Angel kept his steady pace as he kissed and nipped his way along Spike’s jaw and dipped his head to nuzzle at the curve of his throat. His voice was muffled against the pale skin as he continued, unable to face his Childe as his tone threatened to turn sorrowful. “Oh, God, Spike, I’m so sorry. Please, William-”

“Shh, hush, luv.” Spike gently stroked his fingers through Angel’s hair, letting a soothing purr rumble through his chest. “Must I keep remindin’ ya? No sorrow, Liam. You’re forgiven; I forgive you. Look at me, Da, please.”

Angel slowed his pace minutely as he lifted his head to look down at Spike; Spike smiled up at him, and it was his William he saw there, the time between then and now gone as Spike urged Angel’s lips down to his. Too soon, Spike broke the kiss, his cool lips trailing softly along his jaw to press feather light below his ear.

“I’m gonna ask you somethin’, but I don’t want you to freak out over it, alright, luv?”

Angel stilled his hips, wishing he could see Spike’s face as he whispered but knew better than to move his head. He bit back a moan when Spike nosed at the spot behind his ear as he waited for a response.

“Okay, hmm, anything Will, ask me anything.”

Spike’s hold on him tightened, as though he were afraid that Angel would disappear from his embrace as soon as the words left his lips. Angel could smell a hint of fear threading between the still-strong scent of arousal that wafted off the blonde, so he returned Spike’s gesture of comfort and purred softly in encouragement; whatever his Childe intended to say, it was obviously of great importance to him to hold his tongue as nothing ever did.

“It’s okay, Spike, I won’t freak out. Don’t hide on me now, my glib Childe.”

“Will-will you...Angel, will you Claim me?”

Angel gasped softly and finally pulled back to look at him with wide eyes, thankful for a heart that didn’t beat and skin that didn’t flush to give him away.

“Spike...William, are you sure you know what you’re asking me? The Claim is-”

“Not to be taken lightly, I know, Da.” There was a nervous tremor to his voice as he spoke, his eyes pleading and earnest. “Wanted it for a long time, Angel, since before you got your soul, even. I may have loved Dru, but you were the only one I ever wanted to belong to that way.”

“The Sire mark was one thing, but if I do this now, with the battle looming...I don’t know if I should Spike. It will put you at risk, it’ll put the team, our family, at risk.” Angel shifted his weight and cupped Spike’s face, fingers tracing lightly over his cheek. “I want to, Jesus, how I want to, but even if you Claimed me back, I don’t know if I could bear the target it would put on your back. If the Partners send any vampires after us, they’ll know, and they’ll head straight for you.”

“Luv, you think I haven’t considered that? That I haven’t considered how it’ll vulnerate us as much as it will help us keep track of each other?” Spike’s voice was thick with held-back tears, his hand raising to cover Angel’s, squeezing. “Angel, I have faith in you, in us; I don’t wanna leave it up to bleedin’ chance that there’ll be time later to do this. We don’t know if there’s gonna be a tomorrow for any of us, and I’d rather meet my last death knowin’ I finally have all of you, that I gave you all of me. Please, Angel...Da...don’t deny me this, not now, after everything.”

Angel closed his eyes and let his face shift, his fangs extending. He dipped his head down and pressed his forehead to Spike’s, rubbing the ridges of his brow soothingly across the smooth skin.

“Seems I can’t find it in me to deny you anything, anymore, my beautiful Will.” Again the word Sire weighed on his tongue as he sighed heavily, the mark on his neck tingling. “My Spike. I love you too much.”

“Liam, Angel, I love you, too.” Spike kissed Angel deeply, avoiding his fangs with long-practiced precision. He dug his heels into Angel’s lower back, urging him forward and pulling a groan from Angel’s throat as he clenched around his still-seated cock. “C’mon, Da, make me yours, and yours alone. Claim me, Angel.”

Angel broke the kiss and slid his hands under Spike’s back, clutching the blonde to him as he started to thrust again, his cock hard as ever. He buried his face in the curve of Spike’s shoulder, inhaling deep and letting the scent of him fill his senses, that hint of fear gone as arousal surged.

“Tell me when you’re close again.”

“When it comes to you, luv, I’m always close. Oh, Christ, yeah, faster, Da.”

“Mine, you’re mine. Tell me, Spike, need to hear you say it. Oh God, William, my sweet, infuriating, lovely boy.”

“Yours, Angel. Only yours, always was. It was always you I came back to, sittin’ there at the back o’my mind. Your boy, Da, heart, body, and bloody soul.” Spike keened as Angel pumped his hips faster, bucking down to meet the deep thrusts. “Fuck, ‘m close, Angel, so close. Do it, please, Da!”

Angel pulled away from Spike’s neck and settled him back against the pillows, his pace steady as he bowed his head over Spike’s chest, his lips brushing softly across the skin over his heart.

“Tá tú mianach, William, mo mhaité. Always, forever. Agus tá mé mise, go deo na i gcónaí.”

Spike sobbed softly at the words, his body shuddering as Angel sank his fangs into his pale flesh and sucked that first mouthful of blood from the wound. The demon in him purred as the soul wept with joy as the Claim took hold, a shock of electric heat surging through him as Angel drank.

“Oh, gods, Angel, yes!” Spike’s hands cupped the back of Angel’s head, holding him to his chest. “Gonna come, luv, can’t hold it.”

Angel thrust his hips harder, his own climax bearing down on him as Spike’s blood filled his veins, the heady taste of it and the rush of the new bond that fused between them crashing over him like waves on sand. Every nerve wound tight, his body seizing on one last harsh thrust as he buried his cock deep within Spike’s clenching hole, ropes of cum spurting lukewarm as he clutched at the pliant body beneath him. He eased his fangs from the wound, rough tongue lapping over the punctures to clean the trickle of blood from the pale skin as it closed.

Spike came with a loud cry as Angel filled him, white light sparking across his vision as he rode the waves, coming harder than he ever had in all his long years. His fingernails scraped across Angel’s scalp as his muscles clenched, friction-heated cum splashing across their stomachs as his cock twitched between them.

“Angel! Oh, fuck...Christ, luv. Thank you, Da, thank you.”

Angel gave Spike’s chest one last lick and nosed his way back up to the crook of his shoulder, his orgasm finally petering out. Nosing along his throat and raining soft kisses across his clavicle, Angel murmured a quiet mantra of ‘mine’, his demon feeling a sense of peace Angel hadn’t thought possible to obtain. He could still feel his soul, though, so he let Angelus have his moment, content that the world was not yet in danger of him.

“All yours, luv. Forever.”

Spike whimpered mournfully as he felt Angel’s softening cock slip out of him, his own cock twitching feebly at the feeling of his dead seed slowly seeping out of him. Shifting back into his human visage, Angel quieted Spike with a loving kiss before rolling off of him, slender fingers reaching to tug him back into his embrace. Angel smiled down at Spike and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“I’m just going to go get a washcloth.”

Spike relaxed into the mattress as Angel disappeared into the bathroom, body near-boneless and tingly, his mind fuzzy and sated.

“I need to draw you like that someday, Spike, all splayed out, hair mussed and curly the way I always liked it”, Angel’s voice was light and teasing as he returned to the bed with a damp cloth. “You always did look way too beautiful when you were completely fucked-out, my sweet William.”

Spike harrumphed sleepily, hissing soon after as Angel wiped the cloth over his sensitive cock. Angel chuckled and made quick work of cleaning up their spend and placed a chaste kiss to the bend of Spike’s knee before straightening back up from the bed. As he went to toss the soiled washcloth in the hamper, Spike found his voice.

“Be a peach and grab my smokes from my jacket, will ya, pet?”

Angel rolled his eyes, glad to see the Claim hadn’t changed Spike’s nature the way he’d heard often happened. He wouldn’t be his William without the snark. Angel disposed of the cloth and sidetracked into the living room to retrieve the pack of cigarettes and lighter from Spike’s duster where he draped it over his chair. He shook one out and lit it up as he rejoined Spike on the bed, taking a drag before handing it over to him and setting the pack on the bedside table.

“Thanks, luv.”

The pair of them shared the cigarette in easy silence, Angel feeling his demon curl up to rest in its cage, content with the proximity of his mate. Spike stubbed the butt out in the crystal ashtray Angel kept on the table and turned to face him.

“Christ, Peaches, you’ve shagged my soddin’ brains out and it’s still daylight. Must be a new record.”

Angel laughed and looked over at the clock.

“Still got about six hours till we need to leave.” Angel felt his eyelids grow heavy and with a soft sigh, pulled Spike into his arms, draping his slender frame half-across his chest. Spike clucked his tongue in indignation and tried to scramble away but stopped as soon as Angel let out a displeased growl. “Sleep, Will. We’re far from finished here, and you’ll need a bit of rest after the Claiming. Behave, mo ghrá.”

“Ya know, all that sappy talk’s fine while you’re buggerin’ me blind, but I’ll be damned if I’m gonna put up with it elsewise. Even my poet heart can only take so much of that molasses.”

“Spike, will you just shut up and get some sleep?” Angel tugged him closer, pressing a kiss to his temple. “I thought the Claim was supposed to make you more endearing? So far, you’re just as impossible as ever.”

“And you wouldn’t have me any other way, ducks, admit it.”

“Sleep Spike.”

Chapter Four-->

~~~~

@thewhiterabbit42 @prose-for-hire @highonbandcandy

#angel: ts fanfic #buffyverse fanfic #spangel #spike/angel #spike #angel #lemon

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primergon · 4 years

Text

arrival of the birds , megatron/reader

Summary : “ Some people live more in twenty years than they do in eighty. Yes, we humans are insignificant, yes, we are imperfect, yes, we are small. Our lives end just as quickly as they started. Yet, we strive to create a life worth remembering, we try to create greatness out of simple ordinary things. We live, we die – but it’s what we leave behind that matters.”

How strange are human optics? Eyes, you’d call them – Megatron thought. It took him a while to realize that the light dancing across your eyes didn’t come from the stars scattered above. Instead, they reflected an emotion he never understood, one the pits of Kaon had denied him so long ago. How strange are humans, he thought, watching the way constellations seem to form around your lashes, how very strange indeed.

Rating: Not Rated

Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category: Gen

Fandoms: Transformers - All Media Types , Transformers: Prime

Relationships: Megatron (Transformers)/You , Megatron / Reader

“ You are far away from home aren’t you?”

The wind was picking up its pace, plowing through the trees, whose leaves shiver in anticipation. Their soft susurration awakened the nocturnal animals, and they chirped to life, moving in tandem with the sway of the grass. Megatron could hear your footsteps approaching, but he stayed where he was – letting you settle yourself next to him.

You were very small, he would have not heard you if it wasn’t for his attentiveness – old habits born out of violence were hard to kill. The former Warlord had initially wanted to spend the rest of his days in isolation, yet the natural need for Energon had inevitably anchored him to Earth. Unlike its natives, the little blue planet held far more pleasant surprises. He found it strange, how a planet born out of Unicron himself could hold such diversity – it was as if destruction had created a beauty of its own.

What a waste, he thought, what a waste that it must be given to such a miserable species.

In his peripheral, Megatron could see you wrap your arms around your body – no doubt to keep the cold out. You had found him by the cliffside one morning when the last drops of dusk were beginning to sink by the mountains. The sun had barely risen, yet there you were, quietly observing him from afar. He had sensed you from the very beginning, and had challenged you to react – yet for the first time in a very long time, he was proven wrong, by an organic no less. There was no screaming, nor were there any weapons fired – instead you were admiring him. Gazing up at him in what could only be called as awe.

After that, you were persistent in making him stay. In the beginning, the Warlord denied your request, leaving you alone to watch the sun crawl out of its slumber. After that, you made it a routine to drive and watch the sunrise every morning – hoping that you’ll get to see him again. Once he noticed just how determined you were, he decided that making a human liaison won’t do anyone harm – even if he was adamant to keep his distance.

Humans are weak, fragile, and small – they hold no meaning over him; a being who’s live through eons.

Yet, as the day bled into weeks and the weeks bloomed into moths – he found himself more and more drawn to you. The more he tries to keep you away, the more you are to stay. Like the gravitational pull of two heavenly bodies, you find yourselves stuck in each other’s orbit. He would choose to go the Pit rather than admit it, but he finds himself growing more and more curious. Humans are weak, fragile, and small – what could they possibly offer him?

“ Penny for your thoughts?”

He scowled.

There you go again, using strange human metaphors and idioms. He doesn’t understand the meaning behind your colorful pattern of speech – humans were expressive, more so than himself, you especially. He could never understand it, yet perhaps he doesn’t need to, as he finds himself inexplicably drawn to the way your teeth line like pearls whenever you smile.

“ Humans.” He spat, yet it came out as a sigh. “ Tell me. Does it not bother you, to know that you are nothing compared to the universe, with lives that come as quickly as they go ?”

The question was straightforward and even rude. Yet he could not care less, and neither did you.

If anything, it only provoked you to think over his words. You raised your head to the endless sea of black. Tonight, the stars were brighter than they usually were – and from below they seem to race with one another, trying to see just how fast they can light up the night sky before the sun wakes.

“ Stephen Hawking spent his entire life looking at the stars. All he ever wanted was to go back in time to the moment when the entire universe was born, in the end, he just wants to go back to the moment where he meets his wife for the first time.” You pluck a stray flower – Daffodils, Megatron noted, you had once referred to them as Daffodils.

You let the petals fall, the white buds barely reaching the soil before being swept away by the breeze, disappearing into the night.

You catch his eyes, craning your neck to accommodate his height.

“ Some people live more in twenty years than they do in eighty. Yes, we humans are insignificant, yes, we are imperfect, yes, we are small. Our lives end just as quickly as they start. Yet, we strive to create a life worth remembering, we try to create greatness out of simple ordinary things. We live, we die – but it’s what we leave behind that matters.”

How strange are humans? He thought, watching the way constellations seem to form around your lashes, how very strange indeed.

“ What do you want to leave behind, Megatron?”

His name on your lips was gentle – it always was. No matter how many times you’ve said it, whether it was out of spite or anger or sadness, you could always find it in yourself to cradle the syllables of his name as if they were not once feared by thousands.

You didn’t know his past, yet you didn’t seem to care either. He should have considered it strange, even foolish – yet the amount of trust you gave him was too valuable to ruin with the truth.

At times, he wonders what would happen if he were to tell you. He imagines you walking away from him, he imagines your dread, your shock, your look of betrayal – yet here, under the placid night, he could not bring himself to conjure those images.

He shouldn’t care what you think. Humans are weak, fragile, small – they mean nothing to him.

But he made no move to stop you when you rest your head against his arm, your hair fanning against the metal. What would happen if you knew how much blood those hands have spilled, would you pull away? Would you run? Would you leave?

Both of you stayed this way, for how long he did not know, but just before the first ray of golden grazed the surface – your eyes were already closed. Your breathing steady, the rise and fall of your chest almost hypnotic.

There was a moment where he was reluctant to get up and leave, yet when frightened by his hesitance, Megatron decided he has to.

He took one last look at your sleeping body, the cottage not far behind waiting for your return. The daffodils crowded your frame, its white petals standing out in the midst of yellow and green.

Optics skimmed the curve of your lashes, the flush against your cheeks, the freckles kissing your nose – before turning away.

Megatron left, and never came back.

Because how strange are humans ? He thought, with their short lives and expressive eyes.

How strange are humans, because the very thought of loving something so weak, so fragile, so small is enough to scare him away?

Humans, he sighed, how very strange indeed.

A/N : Daffodils : a symbol of truth and forgiveness wrote this at 12 am because I can't sleep. So naturally, I thought about Megatron and got really sad over him. I mean tfp Megatron is a jerk, but hey, feels Hope you liked this short one shot of him <3

AO3 link : arrival of the birds

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ineffable-endearments · 4 years

Text

The first light on the second day

Aziraphale/Crowley

Rated G

Fluffy fluff

Check the comments for the link to AO3!

===

Just like Crowley, Aziraphale must have a sense of unfinished business surrounding the bandstand. Otherwise, their walk wouldn’t have brought them here. Thank Somebody they can simply go unnoticed; attention will roll off them like water off the proverbial duck’s back, and passers-by will choose not to come near. They won’t even think to look at Crowley and Aziraphale.

It is the first hour of light on the second day after the world did not end.

Last night, after lunch and tea and dinner and dessert and a nightcap, Crowley hadn’t known what to do. He hadn’t known how to say goodnight. He hadn’t wanted to say goodnight. He’d suggested that they could go for a walk. Aziraphale, in a positively radiant mood, and Crowley, enchanted by the way that radiance washed over his newfound inner calm, had spent the entire night walking and talking.

Well. Six thousand years of unspoken words are a lot of words, even if they’re still tiptoeing around the most important ones.

Now the purple-grey light of dawn breaks over London, and Aziraphale and Crowley have gravitated toward Rendezvous Point Number Three. They try, it’s clear from the turns the conversation takes - weather, food, traffic - to stay casual as they approach the bandstand, but the conversation falters. They go entirely quiet upon stepping under the roof.

The silence makes Crowley antsy. Aziraphale takes a breath, starts to clear his throat, and Crowley acts on the urge to jump in before Aziraphale can say anything.

“Right. So. Last time we were here. We both said some stuff. Both panicked a bit, neither of us was very nice. Let’s just agree to forget it, yeah?” The truth of the matter is what transpired here had hurt Crowley at the time, but Aziraphale has his reasons to be wounded, too. It hasn't erased the way that Crowley is drawn to the angel, whether it's more like a moth to a flame or leaves to the sunlight, and things are going so well now; they should let sleeping Hellhounds lie.

Aziraphale raises his eyebrows. “Really. If you’re quite sure…” He peers around them, slower and less frantic than last time they were here, and seems to reach some kind of decision, turning his attention once again to Crowley. “Perhaps we could stay for a little while anyway?” he asks hopefully. He offers his hand, as if asking for a shake. Or a handhold.

Crowley shrugs, nonplussed, and reaches back. “Anything you like."

Aziraphale fidgets, both of his hands now on Crowley's. He’s using their hold as a point of focus to avoid eye contact, and as he caresses, he also appears to be comparing his plump fingers to Crowley's thin, knobby ones. The ease and warmth of his touch is intoxicating. A primal part of Crowley wants to bask in that touch, to curl up and fall asleep.

The rest of Crowley, who is waiting on tenterhooks to hear what Aziraphale might have to say, swallows nervously and asks, “Something on your mind, angel?”

“Yes. Sort of.” Aziraphale nods, leaving his head tilted thoughtfully as he touches the tips of their fingers together one by one and then again all at once. “Ineffability.”

Not this again. The word makes Crowley’s blood go cold. “What about it?”

He must have a nervous tell, because Aziraphale picks up on it, finally meeting Crowley’s eyes with an urgent shake of his head. “No, no, not like before.”

Cautiously, Crowley lets himself relax just a little.

“You see, it's the definition of the word. Heaven used it to refer to, ah, themselves, but I think we've seen that Heaven doesn't own it. People - humans - will use it to refer to anything indescribable."

"Hmm, now whose work could that be?" Crowley teases. There is comfort in their old patterns.

"Oh, the first time they heard me say it, they ran with it. But listen. What I’m thinking about now is how, in six thousand years, I’ve had some very happy moments on this planet, even feelings that I couldn’t contain.”

“I, um. I guess I’ve had my moments, too.” It’s not healthy for a demon to even have the range of emotions Crowley does, much less to express them. Still, Aziraphale is technically allowed to know.

“But this,” Aziraphale forges ahead, weaving their fingers together, “since surviving our Sides, this is the first time, Crowley. This is the first time I’ve been so happy that not only can’t I contain myself, but I am not even equipped to describe it to you.” Aziraphale is smiling, and there is a dangerously watery sparkle to it. “It’s...beyond words.”

Crowley feels a deep pull in his chest and attempts to rearrange his own sentimental features into a less vulnerable smirk, with moderate success. “You absolute sap,” he sighs, a little softer than intended and without the requisite distaste for it to be effective. Then he leans in to murmur, “Might be easier to convey in gestures, if you wanted?”, trailing off into an embarrassingly brittle question mark.

“Indeed," says Aziraphale. "But maybe you should show me exactly what you mean.”

Crowley takes Aziraphale’s hand fully in his and draws him even nearer, daring to slip his arms around the angel until they’re in a chin-on-shoulder, hearts-pressed-close embrace. Aziraphale squeezes Crowley, and this--

Oh. Crowley has never been truly held before, not by anybody who actually knows who and what he is. Words escape him, too...

They relax into it, almost melting together. Aziraphale ends up with his face nestled under Crowley’s chin, Crowley stroking his hair. It might be worth making a time bubble, just in case they’re being watched, but Crowley can’t rip his mind away from the brand new experience of being held. Hugging, for Someone’s sake - what a thing for a demon to enjoy.

During the time they spend in each other’s arms, the light of dawn turns from purple to gold.

“You’re breathing,” Aziraphale observes at last.

“Yeah, well, so are you,” Crowley answers. There’s so much more to it than that - warmth, chemistry, electricity - but “breathing” sums up “performing unnecessary biological tasks” nicely.

“It seems a part of the experience,” Aziraphale says. “For you, too?”

“Me, too,” Crowley agrees. He turns to look when Aziraphale lifts his head, and is met with a reflection of his own feelings laid bare across the angel’s face.

“Our side,” Aziraphale beams, eyes still a bit damp.

“Our side,” Crowley whispers. And Aziraphale’s face is so close; Crowley has wondered about a moment like this, whether it could ever happen, whether it might feel wrong because of the whole “hereditary enemies” bit. But it’s so natural, so lovely and right to close the last couple of inches between them, for Crowley to linger on Aziraphale’s mouth with his softest offering.

Aziraphale has had the same thought, obviously, parting his lips so they fit with Crowley’s like lush camellia petals sliding together. It’s the aching, delicate heat of two who’ve been desperate to drink each other in since before living memory.

As they kiss, Aziraphale emits a pleased little moan and wraps his arms even tighter around Crowley, whose wings unfurl into this world. In his excitement, he stretches them all the way between the pillars of the bandstand, and another light swishing sound indicates Aziraphale’s wings are doing the same.

Finally, Aziraphale pauses, leaning his forehead against Crowley’s. He is quite the sight, haloed in the rising sun, white wings fluttering. “You stopped time? Are you worried?” he asks.

Crowley huffs giddily. “What are you talking about? I didn’t do anything with time.”

“You didn’t?”

“No. Thought about it. Definitely didn’t actually do it.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale, already flushed, manages to look even more flustered. He tries to dismiss his error with a chuckle. “It rather felt like everything stopped except for us.”

Crowley takes a few seconds to pay real attention to their surroundings for the first time since Aziraphale took his hand; everything is brighter now, more awake. Though he hadn’t done anything on purpose, he feels it, too, the way the kiss had centered the moment, and Crowley does not bother to hide his embarrassing grin. “Nah. Everything’s still going, and we’re going right along with it.”

Aziraphale leans in again. “How lovely.”

Thank Somebody they can simply go unnoticed by all the beings of Earth except for each other.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #ineffable partners #ineffable spouses #aziraphale x crowley

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badgersprite · 3 years

Text

Fic: Desiderata (8/?)

Chapter Title: Reunion

Fandom: Mass Effect

Characters: Miranda, Samara, Oriana, Jacob, Jack

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

Story Rating: R

Warnings: This chapter confirms (and otherwise strongly suspects) some squadmate character deaths. This chapter also makes references to Miranda’s abusive childhood so as per usual that could potentially be triggering to some people.

Chapter Summary: In 2186, Miranda withdraws into herself after confirming what she already feared - that several of her former companions did not survive the battle for Earth. Just as it seems she’s at her lowest point, someone unexpected shows up at her door. In 2185, the Normandy continues its adventures after defeating the Collectors.

Author’s Note: I initially started writing this story right after Mass Effect 3 came out. Originally, it was sort of a channel for my anger towards the ending, although the story has since evolved beyond that into something constructive, positive and healing. But, as was suggested in the warning I put on the very first chapter, yes, this means that some characters did indeed die in the final battle of ME3, and you’re going to get confirmation of that in this chapter, as well as unconfirmed beliefs about the majority of other characters, and Miranda trying to cope with that. So, be warned. This chapter is probably the darkest one.

* * *

“Shepard?”

Miranda was running. Searching for her. Looking for her.

Had to reach her. Had to get to her. Had to find her before it was too late.

Couldn’t see. Could hardly move. The air was thick with clouds of black smoke, burning her lungs.

She was racing, yet moving so slowly. Every step seemed to take ten times longer than it should. Like wading through tar.

“Shepard! Where are you?”

Her own voice echoed in her ears, feet catching on the rubble and debris that littered the streets of London. Entire buildings had been reduced to cinders that still smouldered beneath her.

A hail of gunfire rained down around her from all angles. Body after body fell and faded to dust in every direction. But, somehow, even though it felt like the whole universe was stuck in slow-motion, Miranda kept running forward, persevering through all the death and destruction, even as blood began to pool at her feet.

The shadow of a mass relay loomed overhead, taking up the entire sky, blocking out the Sun. But that wasn’t what she was focused on.

She could see it ahead of her. The Conduit. That crater right beneath the Citadel.

Marauders marched right past her, as if they couldn’t even see her, firing indiscriminately into the crowds of soldiers Miranda left in her wake. A senseless massacre. A slaughter.

All species fought together. All creeds died together. Names Miranda would never even know.

A bellowing voice resonated in the emptiness. “I am krogan! Nothing can hurt me!”

In the black mist, she saw Grunt’s silhouette single-handedly fighting off what had to be a dozen husks with nothing but the strength of his fists. But every time he knocked one back, two more took its place. He fought valiantly, standing atop a pile of no fewer than a hundred enemy corpses, but with no ammunition left, he was quickly overwhelmed. He joined the growing army of shadows following in Miranda’s tracks.

The tide of blood rose to her ankles.

“Had to be me,” Mordin’s disembodied voice echoed in her ear as his ghost turned to ash in the peripheries of her vision, and scattered in the wind. “Someone else would have gotten it wrong.”

There was nothing Miranda could do. Couldn’t stop to save anyone. Couldn’t slow down. The crimson tide was rising, reaching her knees. Every movement became harder. Slower. Fighting the current. With every step she took, the Conduit seemed to be getting further away.

Had to get there.

Had to reach Shepard.

“Is that all you’ve got?” Zaeed emerged from the shadows, firing at the oncoming horde as his position was swiftly surrounded. He pulled the pin on a grenade. “Open wide, you ugly son of a bitch,” he said, charging at the nearest abomination, shoving the grenade in its face. The blast shattered the walls of the building Zaeed had been hiding in. It crumbled on top of him, and buried his enemies with him.

The blood was up to her waist. Miranda could no longer run. Each step she took was heavier than the last, physically dragging her feet through mud and blood. Ghostly fingers nipped at her heels beneath the surface, gradually getting closer, but not quite able to grab hold of her. She was just barely ahead.

“Do we deserve death?” A vision of Legion flashed before her eyes, vanishing into nothing as quickly as it had appeared. “Does this unit have a soul?”

As the thick blood came up to her chest, she had to swim, else risk succumbing to the shadows that threatened to swallow her. She dove forward into the sanguine sea, kicking her feet and powering through with her arms as hard and as fast as she could. But she was moving so slowly. At a glacial pace.

The harder she battled, the less ground she gained.

The shrieks of banshees pierced her ears as they waded past her, like she didn’t even exist.

A voice came over her comms. “What’s happening?” Miranda heard Kasumi say in her earpiece. “There’s something wrong with the mass relays. They’re--”

Her words were rendered silent when the mass relay exploded with devastating force in a blinding flash of light that ignited the atmosphere in a ring of fire. Miranda stopped long enough to shield her eyes.

When the bright light subsided, she glanced up just in time to see a field of debris spreading out from the epicentre, a blackness so thick that every patch of sky was covered in the wreckage.

Within seconds, the whole world was submerged in darkness.

Miranda shook herself from her daze. No. She couldn’t stop. She had to keep going. Had to reach Shepard. She kept swimming, drawn like a moth to that sole source of light that pierced the endless night.

Finally, at long last, the Conduit seemed to be getting closer. Two faint forms stood their ground against the piercing bright white, protecting the path.

“Go, Shepard!” Ashley Williams called out to her Commander, firing back at the army of the dead, whose fingers began to claw and grasp at Miranda’s body as she fought with all her might to elude their clutches. “We’ll cover you!”

Infrasound shook the ground beneath them. Darkness turned to crimson.

“Look out!” Javik tried to push Ashley out of the way, but it was too late.

The cruel eye of the Destroyer guarding the Conduit had seen them. Blinding red surrounded them both. And then they were gone. Vaporised in a flash.

Miranda didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop.

Nearly there.

She kicked harder, doing all she could to outpace the ghastly skeletal hands that threatened to drown her in their sacrifice.

She got closer.

She could see solid ground again.

As she neared her destination at long last, two figures came into view, battling in the black cloud before her, atop a small island in the red sea. Somehow, their actions were not slowed by the mist, but fast and graceful. A violent ballet.

Kai Leng, and Thane.

Even though Thane was already dying, he was able to get the best of Kai Leng for a time, even throwing him off-balance with his biotics, but it wasn’t enough. Kai Leng cut him down, the blade in his hand slicing through Thane like butter.

Kai Leng turned to face Miranda. And, unlike all the others she’d passed to get here, his eyes locked directly with hers. He didn’t look through her. He saw her.

Before she could even react, those eyes were mere inches from her face. Her breath hitched as pain seared through her abdomen. She looked down, and saw that blade penetrating her stomach, her own blood now melding with the lake of ichor and viscera that surrounded her.

She gritted her teeth and raised her head once more. His cold face stared back, unmoving.

Miranda’s rage boiled over. With both hands, she reached out. Her thumbs covered his cybernetic eyes. And they sank in.

She pushed deeper and deeper. And as she slowly cracked his mask and crushed her fingers into his skull, the skin around her hands began to wither and burn, like her very anger was incinerating Kai Leng beneath her touch.

She squeezed her fists shut, and he evaporated into the aether beneath her.

Miranda clutched at her wounds and battled forward, scarcely able to keep her head above the rising tide.

Miranda didn’t know how she’d made it, but she was so close. There was just one figure left ahead of her. One shadow in the light. Staring into the Conduit.

“Shepard!” she called out again, resisting the whispers of the dead as they grew ever nearer.

The familiar figure raised her head.

“Don’t go in there!” Miranda warned her, a sense of overwhelming dread encompassing every fibre of her being. She knew what would happen. Had to stop it. “You can’t.”

As Miranda reached out, her wounds overcame her. The sanguine sea suddenly vanished without a trace, and she dropped like a stone, no longer suspended. She fell to the ground in pain, her fingers digging into the dirt.

Miranda hesitated as the army of shadows at her heels infringed on her vision, casting an impenetrable darkness upon her. She didn’t dare turn and look behind her. She knew what was there. Couldn’t face it. Couldn’t face them.

“Shepard!” she called again, begging to be heard in the deafening silence.

Shepard slowly turned. Miranda froze in terror as she was met with red eyes.

That wasn’t Shepard. Not anymore.

She heard the sound. That same, bone-rattling sound she had heard in that shuttle. Saw that same red flash as the Reaper’s gaze fixed upon her.

Only, this time, Miranda screamed as the beams incinerated her.

Miranda jolted upright, throwing her sheets off herself in panic, stopping only once she realised that there were no flames to put out. That she wasn’t back in that shuttle again.

Her heavy breathing slowly subsided. It was dark. Her head was throbbing.

She sighed and leaned forward, rubbing her palm against her forehead. Drops of sweat left strands of hair clinging to her scalp. Her sheets were soaked.

‘Just a dream’, right? That was what people would say, if she ever told anyone.

Unfortunately, like with all Miranda’s nightmares since the war ended, she couldn’t say that about them. Couldn’t brush them off as ‘just dreams’. Because they weren’t lies made up by her mind. She wished that they were, but they were the furthest thing from it.

If they weren’t so cuttingly true, they wouldn’t have haunted her so.

Groggily, she checked her clock. 3am. Roughly twelve hours since…

By sheer reflex, Miranda leaned over in time to grab the wastebin near her bed, just before she threw up. Nothing but liquid spilled out. Nothing but claret red.

The contents of her stomach were no mystery. The only reason Miranda had been able to fall asleep that night was because she’d downed an entire bottle of wine to get the images out of her mind. The thoughts. The knowledge. The stark fucking reality of her friends’ last moments. Hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it. Hadn’t been able to eat after...

Miranda gagged as she put the bin down, wiping her mouth. Obviously, it hadn’t helped her forget. What could?

God, her head hurt so fucking much. It felt like death itself had left its mark on her when it visited her in the night.

She didn’t even remember getting up and walking to the bathroom, only realising where she was when she flicked on the light, and saw herself in the mirror. The next thing she knew, the tap was on, and she was rinsing out her mouth, splashing some cool water on her face, to grant some relief from the heat in her cheeks.

She braced herself against the sink, and looked up. She’d almost stopped noticing the scarring on her own face by that point. Burn treatment and synthetic skin grafts had come a hell of a long way, even within the last fifty years. But, that said, Miranda’s treatment had been a wartime one. Not one designed for aesthetics. One applied by necessity, as a matter of urgency, after days without care.

But, in that moment, her visible scars didn’t make her think about herself. They made her think of someone else she knew, who had suffered a similar injury long before she met him. One whose facial scars had healed a lot better than Miranda’s ever would.

Zaeed.

Fuck, Zaeed.

And then the thoughts she’d been avoiding came flooding back. She was there in that room again. And he was lying there motionless in a plastic bag on a table.

She nearly retched again, saved only by the fact she had nothing left to throw up.

Dr. Michel had not understated her call. There were bodies. And pictures. Pictures from when they were found.

Both Grunt and Zaeed, Miranda had identified by sight. She would never repeat to anyone how they looked when she saw them. Couldn’t say it. Wasn’t for anyone else to know. Wasn’t fair that anyone should remember them like that.

At least they left enough behind to bury. None of the others were so lucky.

Well, it was possible Javik had. Miranda never saw Javik personally. Dr. Michel confirmed that he had been identified by a genetic sample. There was only one possible match for Prothean DNA. No visual ID necessary.

Ashley could only be identified by her dog tags. They hadn’t found anything else. Not yet, anyway. That close to the Conduit, chances were they never would.

Miranda had taken those tags with her, sealed in airtight plastic. Given her position, it was her responsibility to deliver them to her family. To be the bearer of the worst news they would ever hear.

Right now, the tags were sitting in a drawer in her desk. Miranda didn’t know how long it would be before she could bring herself to look at them again. To confront the thought of Ashley’s final moments. She knew she would have to. Very soon, much as she dreaded having to write that letter to her family.

The Williams family had already lost people to this war, hadn’t they? And now this.

As for Kasumi, that information had come from Bailey, by way of The Alliance. It turned out that The Alliance had known, or strongly suspected, her fate for a long time. But they had only just broken their silence, over two months later. Bailey had told her and Jacob the news as soon as he found out.

Some of the ships that worked on the Crucible had remained in close proximity to the mass relay, right up until the time it exploded. None of those ships were in one piece anymore. That included the ship Kasumi had been working on.

As far as anyone knew, she was still on that ship when it was lost. While they had spent some time accounting for people who had alighted onto different vessels in the intervening period between completing the Crucible and the destruction of the mass relays, there was no record of her leaving, and certainly no one had made contact with her since. Now that more than two months had passed, her status had officially been moved from MIA to KIA.

Even though Miranda hadn’t been confronted with physical evidence of Kasumi’s death the way she had for all the others, in a way, her fate might have been the worst to discover. Of all the people they hadn’t found, she was the one person that both she and Jacob had been confident would be fine, because she was nowhere near Earth. Nowhere near the Reapers. Literal lightyears away from any of the fighting. And yet…

Yeah. And fucking yet.

The tap kept running while Miranda stared hollowly ahead. Eventually, the noise spurred her from her trance, and she turned it off.

At what point was the grief supposed to set in, she wondered as she gazed blankly at her own reflection. Should she have been more upset than she was? She hadn’t cried for any of her fallen friends. Tears didn’t come naturally to Miranda. Not unless her sister was involved.

One thing that hadn’t left her mind was how...selfish some of her thoughts had been when she learned their fates. When Bailey had told her about Kasumi, Miranda had thought that the day had been bad enough before that, but to add that too, it was like the universe was actively conspiring to make this the worst day of her life.

Hers. The worst day of her life. The one who was alive. As if her friends hadn’t experienced far worse in their last moments than being fucking inconvenienced.

This wasn’t the normal way to react, was it? Wasn’t right. Why couldn’t Miranda just...mourn like other people did. It wasn’t like she didn’t care. She did care. Didn’t she? She would have been lying if she said she felt nothing - no impact whatsoever. If that were the case, those inescapable thoughts and images wouldn’t be permanently seared into her like open, festering wounds.

From the moment she’d seen the first body on that table, and recognised it as Zaeed, it was like the last light of hope inside her - a flame she hadn’t even known she had been holding onto - had been swiftly snuffed out.

Losing Shepard had been one thing, but now? They might as well give up any prospect that anyone actively serving aboard the SR-3 had survived the war.

Not only did they have confirmation that Ashley and Javik were gone, but they also had definitive proof that any ships that were anywhere near a mass relay when the Crucible fired had been obliterated in the subsequent blast, even in other systems far away.

The last time the Normandy had been picked up on any sensors was...approaching the Charon relay.

So, that was it.

They didn’t know that was what happened. But they knew, didn’t they? They had always known. They had just refused to believe it. They had hoped.

But hope was a frail thing, and reality didn’t suffer hope to live long.

The thing was, Miranda hadn’t experienced much that could be considered loss in her life. A person needed to get close to other people in order to lose them. And, until about a year ago, she’d never done that. Until The Normandy. But then she had. And, now, of all the people who had ever served on The Normandy, only five had survived. Miranda. Jacob. Jack. Samara. Wrex.

There was nobody else left to find. They were gone. They were dead.

And, this time, nobody would be coming back.

All told, it was the first time Miranda had been confronted with death in anything more than a purely detached or clinical way. Certainly the first time on this scale. She hadn’t known how she would feel about it - finding out that so many of her friends hadn’t made it. But she would have expected it to be different than this.

It wasn’t that it wasn’t affecting her. It clearly was. But...she didn’t feel hurt. She didn’t feel pain. She didn’t feel upset. She didn’t feel angry. She didn’t really feel anything in particular.

Mostly, she just felt...less. Like everything had been diminished somehow. Like all noise sounded a little quieter. Like all colours had dimmed a few shades duller. Like every sensation had been numbed. Like the tips of her fingers were further away from her body, and like nothing she reached out to grasp could ever really touch her. Like if someone pricked her skin right now, she wasn’t entirely sure she would even bleed.

It was almost like she was nothing more than a machine, and every person she cared about was a little switch inside her. In discovering their fates, Miranda didn’t grieve or mourn or wallow in sorrow. But rather it was like someone had simply gone inside that part of her brain and flipped all those switches from ‘alive’ to ‘dead’, and parts of her had just...powered down as a result.

What did it say about her that this was as strongly as she could feel about them at this moment?

Maybe she really was just as cold and borderline sociopathic as ever.

Maybe friendship hadn’t changed her at all from the person she was a year ago.

With those thoughts swirling through her mind, Miranda didn’t even notice the bathroom door had opened behind her until she heard a voice.

“Hey, Miss. Are you okay in here?” Jason asked. It took Miranda a few seconds to process his sounds as words, and his words as an actual question. “I saw the light on and heard the tap running for a whi--”

“I’m fine,” Miranda answered starkly, albeit on a delay.

“Are you sure?” asked Jason. He knew what had she had gone through earlier. Not in precise details, no. But all the kids knew.

In all honesty, the thing that had prompted Miranda to go out and drink hadn’t been the deaths themselves, nor the sight of Zaeed and Grunt. Not initially. The thing that had driven her over that edge had been after she and Jacob, in loose terms, explained to the kids what had happened. That Jacob, Jack and Miranda had found out that several people close to them had died in the war.

They were shocked and saddened to hear it. They expressed their sympathies. A few of them, in fact every single one of the girls, wept when they found out.

It was at that moment that a sudden realisation had struck her. Jack’s students had been more upset when they heard the news that people Miranda knew had died - people they had never even met themselves - than Miranda had been to see them dead in front of her.

She hadn’t been able to be near them and their tears when that sank in. Couldn’t stand holding that mirror up to herself and confronting her reflection. Seeing how a normal human person should react when something like this happened to people they cared about, and comparing that to the blank void where her own emotional response should have been, but wasn’t.

“Miss?”

“I’m fine,” Miranda repeated herself.

She was always fine. Even when she wasn’t. That was the problem.

“I’m sorry to worry you.” Miranda straightened up (as best she could) and turned back to face him, her hand still on the sink. “None of you should be losing any sleep wondering if I’m okay. That’s not your responsibility. Nor should it be.”

He seemed confused by her response. “But I--”

“Don’t take that as a criticism. I know you mean well. And I appreciate that you care. That’s not me being sarcastic, I actually do. More than I let on. But you never need to waste any time worrying if I’m alright. I always am. And I’m always going to be,” Miranda said quietly.

Jason looked at her for a good, long moment. “...Miss, I’m not stupid. I know how much you drank tonight. I can see, and hear, how drunk you still are. And I know you probably woke up vomiting, and that’s why you’re here right now. And, from the short time I’ve known you, you don’t strike me as someone who makes a habit of this. So, respectfully, I don’t think you’re as ‘okay’ with everything as you seem to think you are,” he pointed out.

Miranda held his gaze for a moment. “...Go to sleep, Jason,” she told him.

“Sure. You probably won’t even remember this conversation in the morning,” Jason remarked, evidencing that he may have had a little too much experience dealing with drunk adults for a man so young.

“I remember most conversations,” Miranda muttered under her breath, looking at her reflection one final time, turning off the light as she left.

* * *

Miranda groaned heavily, the pulsing music of Afterlife doing her head in. The air stank of sex and sweat, like everyone in the club had gone three days without showering.

“I thought shore leave was supposed to be relaxing,” she muttered unhappily, leaning back against the bar.

“Would you prefer to go back to the ship?” Samara asked, needing to project her usually soft voice to be heard above the music.

“Yes!” Miranda answered bluntly, feeling utterly miserable in this place. “But, alas, that choice has been taken out of my hands.”

“It would appear so,” Samara commiserated. While she seemed to have a greater tolerance for the venue than Miranda, the expression on Samara’s face betrayed the fact that Afterlife was not exactly to her taste either. Or at least, it hadn’t been for several centuries.

After defeating the Collectors, the Normandy had limped back to Omega station held together with the engineering equivalent of double-sided tape and popsicle sticks and somehow hadn’t fallen apart in the FTL jump. They had no choice but to dock at Omega for urgent repairs. Since they couldn’t exactly fix the ship with everyone on board getting in the way, and given what they had all just survived, Shepard had seen fit to grant shore leave to anyone who wasn’t currently actively preventing the Normandy from collapsing in on itself.

Miranda had volunteered to stay back on the ship to help out, but Shepard had overruled her, ordering her to “please, for once in your life, take a fucking break”, in those exact words. She was officially banned from re-entering the ship until the repairs were complete. In fact, the only person who had been allowed to stay back on the ship despite a clear absence of engineering and technical skills was Kelly Chambers, for reasons Miranda neither fully grasped nor honestly cared to know.

Unfortunately, there was nowhere on Omega that was to Miranda’s liking. Afterlife was the least awful place by process of elimination given that, if nothing else, anybody who caused problems here would quickly find out what D.F.W.A. stood for, and why it was the one and only rule on Omega that anyone lived by.

Notwithstanding the above, Miranda had still known damn well that she wouldn’t enjoy her forced time off in this place. Accordingly, she had all but begged Samara to come and keep her sane in her misery, and she obliged. So far, even Samara had done little to improve Miranda’s state of mind, though.

The Normandy crew were already getting too relaxed for Miranda’s liking, and this was evidence of it. Surely Shepard should have realised that, even if Miranda wasn’t holding a soldering iron, there were still a million other things she could have been doing that would have been a productive use of her time. For one thing, she could have been preparing for what to do if Cerberus came knocking, or comparing notes on the organisation with EDI...

“Well, in any event, I appreciate you keeping me company,” Miranda elected to break the silence, preferring not to think about Cerberus in a moment where she was powerless to do anything about them and whatever they had in store for her if and when they caught up to her. “I can't imagine it's easy for you to be here, after...” Miranda trailed off, wondering if perhaps she was erring by bringing Morinth up so directly.

“It is quite alright,” Samara assured her, appreciating her concern. “In truth, it has given me an opportunity to contemplate my own future, and where I am needed. I had not thought of it before, but I would consider returning to this place when Shepard no longer requires my service.”

“Not anytime soon, I hope. You can’t leave me with these people,” Miranda remarked in jest, earning a small smile. “Is there any particular reason why?” she inquired, curious.

“A simple one; I can think of few other places in the galaxy that could benefit more from the presence of a Justicar,” Samara pointed out.

“That's very noble of you,” Miranda commented, though she was sceptical as to the wisdom of that virtuous path. “But don't forget how that turned out for Garrus. Omega's gangs aren't going to let you waltz in and disrupt the way of things. And that includes our friend up there,” she said, nodding her head up towards Aria’s makeshift throne room on the upper floor. Being an asari, Aria wouldn’t be ignorant to precisely how zealous and unyielding Justicars were when it came to the enforcement of their Code.

“I do not fear death,” Samara contentedly replied, undeterred by the prospect of failing in her quest. Miranda frowned, but voiced no further objection.

“Alright, that's it. One of you had better order a drink. You've been standing there long enough,” the turian bartender gruffly grumbled, looking at them both over the bar while polishing a glass. “Since the old lady over here doesn’t strike me as a drinker, I'm guessing it's gotta be you, human.”

“I'd rather not,” Miranda declined.

“It wasn't a request,” said the bartender.

Miranda glanced at Samara and saw a small smirk creeping onto her lips. Miranda sighed, reluctantly conceding. “...Fine,” she acquiesced. “Just one.”

“Coming right up,” said the bartender, pouring her a fresh glass.

At that moment, another song came on. This one was particularly loud and intrusive. The pulsing bass shook the glasses other patrons had on the counter. Several of the other club goers nearby began dragging each out onto the floor to dance. Miranda did not share the sentiment, or the enthusiasm.

“Why does all club music sound exactly the bloody same?” Miranda complained, finding the repetitive droning rhythms and predictable chord progressions beyond irritating by that point. “These people wouldn’t know an interesting interval or a complex time signature if it slapped them in the face.”

“Perhaps we should endeavour to find somewhere more...quiet,” Samara suggested, pointing up towards the speaker that was right above them.

“Quiet? Here?” Miranda remarked, with a sceptical glance at their surroundings. Afterlife was hardly subdued. That being said, though, she would have been lying if she said she didn’t see the appeal of finding a more secluded corner of the nightclub. She sighed as she took her drink. “If we can find a free booth that doesn't have a stripper dancing on the table, that would be a start.”

That was easier said than done.

“I am certain that, if we ask for privacy, we will be granted it. Come, this way.” Despite her doubts, Miranda followed Samara’s lead, trailing her through the club, in search of somewhere to sit.

As they were walking, Miranda recognised a few familiar faces from The Normandy. Garrus, Thane and Zaeed had commandeered a booth, and Thane appeared to be the only one of them who wasn’t already three drinks in. She didn't particularly feel like joining them, though. Everyone else who wasn’t currently working on the ship must have been on a different floor of the club, or somewhere outside.

Much as Miranda had predicted, the only empty table they managed to find had a dancer on it, no doubt hoping to attract customers.

“I beg your pardon,” said Samara, approaching the young asari. “Would it trouble you if my friend and I had this table to ourselves?”

“Get lost, grandma!” the dancer rudely shot back, turning her head to see who had spoken to her. Instantly, she froze in fear, and turned about three shades paler. “Y-Y...J-Justicar...?” she stammered, recognising her armour immediately. “I...I am so sorry. Of course you can...Please. Please forgive me,” she implored her as she hastily climbed down to the floor, bowing her head in respectful deference before running off to get as far away from Samara as possible.

Samara sat down without an issue, gesturing for Miranda to do the same. Miranda arched an eyebrow, impressed. “She thought you were going to kill her.”

“From what I have gathered about Omega, it is not unlikely that she has done something that would warrant my intervention pursuant to The Code. If I confirmed this and took such action, and she did not voluntarily surrender herself to my custody, then yes, my presence here would result in her death,” Samara acknowledged, serene as always. “Fortunately for her, my oath to Commander Shepard compels me to refrain from acting as I normally would.”

“Where does The Code draw the line on what kinds of people it considers criminals?” Miranda asked, sliding into her seat across from Samara. “Drug users? Sex workers?”

Samara shook her head. “The Code does not criminalise addiction – although this does not mean addicts cannot be held accountable for crimes they commit in support of their addiction. As for 'sex workers' as you referred to them, asari cultures are not human cultures. Consorts hold a high status in our society, and it is normal for many if not most young asari to do as these women are doing in their maiden stage,” she reminded her, gesturing broadly at the asari dancers working throughout the club. “Many among my kind still find it perplexing that such things have ever been considered shameful by other species.”

“Do you share those views?” Miranda inquired. Her question earned a slightly confused look from Samara. “I don't mean to sound presumptuous but my own cultural biases mean that, when I think of ancient religious orders, I tend to associate such things with conservatism and chastity. I guess I kind of assumed you might not look too fondly on young asari wasting their youth dancing in bars.”

“Only in the sense that age has granted me the wisdom to look back on my younger years and consider what I could have done differently, and how much more I could have accomplished if my priorities were not so self-centred,” Samara answered sagely. “Were I asked for my advice, I would counsel them from the benefit of my experience to focus on what they find truly fulfilling in their lives. However, this is not a moral judgement, nor do I object to their choice to dance or take lovers freely. To do so would be very hypocritical of me. And it would be folly of me to assume that this is not their calling. If this is their path to inner fulfilment, then I would never seek to turn them from that.”

Miranda's lips quirked against the rim of her glass. “Are you saying this was you once? Giving people lap dances in bars?”

“No. I preferred adventure and violence,” said Samara, being frank about her past indiscretions. “Any time I spent in places such as this, or in the company of women like this, was merely as a customer. But I was not so radically different from those who work here now. My maiden stage was spent such that I cannot righteously criticise how another asari spends hers. The only reason I did not follow this path, aside from the fact that I am not a particularly gifted dancer, is that becoming a mercenary offered far more excitement and more opportunities to travel far and wide. I also found myself...drawn to certain types of people at that age. The same sort of people I found myself fighting beside.”

“Yeah, you mentioned that once before,” Miranda recalled, though it was no less incongruous to picture it now. It was pretty crazy to think that the types of people Samara used to sleep with as a young woman were now the very same people she hunted down without mercy as a matriarch. That raised a thought, and Miranda was never one to not speak her mind, even where it might have been advisable not to. “Don't answer this question if you don't want to, but did you take many lovers when you were younger?”

“That would depend upon what you define as 'many',” Samara replied.

“By your definition?” Miranda asked.

“Yes,” Samara answered plainly. “Have you?”

“Yes,” Miranda responded in kind. Though whether they had the same definition of ‘many’ was anybody’s guess. Probably not, given that Samara’s maiden stage alone could have lasted close to ten times as long as Miranda had been alive. “But I don't think I enjoyed mine as much as you enjoyed yours. Most of them were nothing to write home about. I don't even remember their names, nor do I care to.”

Samara tilted her head thoughtfully. “I remember some vividly, though not all. And of those I have fond memories of, I have not thought of most in a very long time.”

“Do you ever miss it?” Miranda wondered aloud, curious whether Samara would ever even consider one day laying down her armour and living as...well, anything other than a Justicar.

“I miss my innocence,” Samara confessed. “I miss how it felt to live free from any cares or concerns. I miss being able to dance with strangers, never knowing how it felt to bear the burden of responsibility. But if you are asking me if I would choose to walk that path again, the answer is no. I cannot. And I would not.”

“You can still dance with strangers if you want to, though,” Miranda wryly encouraged, taking a sip of her drink. “And, no, I don’t mean that euphemistically. Just dancing. Surely that’s not forbidden by The Code. Is it?”

“No, it is not. But those days are behind me, as are so many others, and I am content with that,” Samara smiled, a mysterious, ethereal smile. “Do you dance?”

“No.”

“Never?” Samara queried, her eyes sparkling under the lights.

“I may have tried it once or twice.” Miranda shifted in her seat, averting her gaze. “...After I ran away from my father, I got a taste of freedom for the first time. So I did things he had never allowed me to do. Or tried to. Admittedly, I wasn’t very successful at it, and any desire to experiment and rebel was quickly outweighed by how much I like being in control of my faculties and how much I didn’t enjoy places like this, but...well, it was a phase nonetheless, I suppose.”

“You were with Cerberus at the time, were you not?” Samara asked, clarifying the time period.

“Yes but, as you may have noticed, they don't particularly care what you do in your personal life, as long as it doesn't interfere with your work,” Miranda explained. Cerberus had never imposed those kinds of rules upon her. They respected her and treated her like an adult. It was why it had been so hard for her to believe the worst about them, and sever her loyalties. “I was sixteen years old, with only a vague, malformed idea of what the world was like, what other girls my age were supposed to be like, and the experiences I was supposed to have had, together with a staunch determination to make up for lost time. And you should know when I set my mind to something, I don’t do it by halves.”

“And yet, in that time, you never danced with strangers?” said Samara.

“Mostly only in the euphemistic way,” Miranda replied. That was one thing that had never really changed, so much as she was simply more experienced, and had gotten more efficient about getting that itch scratched whenever she felt the need. “Let's just say I made some poor decisions in a short space of time, and it's not an aspect of my life I'm particularly proud of.”

“Many years have passed since then. You are older and wiser, but you are still young – too young to deprive yourself of such things. Perhaps this is not the place for you, but I know you enjoy music. You have told me as much. Surely there would be a place where even you would feel comfortable letting go and dancing freely. To do so would not mean you are repeating your past mistakes,” Samara advised.

“I know it wouldn’t,” Miranda acknowledged. She still didn't feel like it though. Plus, the concept of ‘letting go’ was about as antithetical to her entire existence as any concept could possibly be. “Tell you what, I'll dance when you dance. That's a promise.”

“Your promise sounds a great deal like an excuse,” Samara quipped.

Miranda smirked. “Nothing gets past you.”

* * *

Bailey had been surprised when Miranda showed up to work on Monday, less than a day after confirming the deaths of so many of her former comrades.

Before he had even opened his mouth to speak, Miranda had cut him off. “Whatever you’re going to say, don’t. Please, just...I need to be here. Please just let me work right now.”

To his credit, he had honoured her wishes, and that had been the end of any discussion about it.

Focusing on something else, anything else, had always been Miranda’s best and only coping mechanism. Her unyielding need to be productive, and to feel like she was in control of at least one aspect of her life even if everything else was falling apart around her, was a lifelong companion that never failed her.

There was no shortage of work to keep her busy. Some of the Alliance ships that had made the jump only a few lightyears away before the relays exploded had finally made their way back into the Sol system to study the wreckage of the Charon relay, and to begin working on reassembling and repairing it. They were in communication with other teams of varying sizes all over the galaxy.

The dextro races still stranded in the Sol system were starting to reach the point where food was becoming a concern. Several turians and quarians had already gone into cryostasis, and the number joining them was increasing day by day.

Of the levo races, more and more were settling into Earth in the expectation that their stay would be a long one. Many asari and salarians had joined with humans in moving out of cities into smaller towns and villages, working to restore infrastructure and agriculture, getting sorely needed supply lines up and running.

But London remained in tatters, still rebuilding. When any hospital had a shortage of beds or medicine or staff, Miranda knew about it. If there was a building that was possibly safe enough to move people into, Miranda knew about it. If a block didn’t have power or water, Miranda knew about it. If the black market jacked up the prices too much on luxury items, Miranda knew about it.

Bailey may have been the face of the operation, but she was his eyes and ears (well, technically only one of each), and she was the puppet master pulling the strings, making sure all resources and personnel were allocated precisely where they were needed. And if they didn’t have enough of either, she found them.

For as good of a distraction as all that work was, at the end of the day, she still needed to go home. And she still needed to deal with this.

She’d approached Wrex directly on Monday afternoon. They were in the same city, after all. There would have been no way to avoid speaking to him about it that wouldn’t have meant admitting to herself that she was deliberately putting it off. So she didn’t.

Miranda delivered the news to him personally, about everyone who had passed. As the leader of Grunt’s clan, he was the closest thing Grunt had to next of kin. It only seemed appropriate that Clan Urdnot should hear it from her first, and be given the right to decide how to honour their dead.

Miranda didn’t know Wrex well enough to be able to gauge his feelings on Grunt’s passing, or anyone else’s. And, whatever they were, Wrex certainly didn’t know Miranda well enough to show them around her. But he had expressed his brief thanks to her for informing him, respecting that she had taken her duties seriously and had the courtesy of bringing this to him face-to-face.

It was true that, as the highest ranking member of the Normandy left alive, she had big shoes to fill. And her job was far from done.

Unfortunately, Kasumi, Zaeed and Javik didn’t have any next-of-kin to inform. Not that Miranda had been able to track down, anyway.

Javik’s isolation went without saying. He was the sole survivor of a fifty thousand year old genocide. He was the one person who was never exaggerating when he said he was truly alone in the universe. Even if he had survived the war, who knew if Javik ever really intended to go on living? But, then, Miranda knew too little about him to speculate.

Kasumi, for as socially aware as she had been of everyone else aboard the Normandy, was a chronic self-isolator. She never truly got close to anybody, save for the love of her life who lived on only in the form of an implant inside her head. Miranda personally hadn’t even realised just how much of a distance she kept everybody else on the SR-2 at right up until that day when she’d looked around and suddenly realised that they were one head short because Kasumi had disappeared without a trace at the last place they docked.

If Zaeed had any friends or family who were still alive, he certainly hadn’t volunteered that information to anyone else aboard the Normandy. There were probably no shortage of people who he had met over his years, but, similarly to Kasumi, from all appearances it sounded like Zaeed would move on the moment it felt like he might be getting too attached. The terrible things he had seen wouldn’t allow him to settle down and live a normal life. He had probably always known deep down that he would die fighting in a war.

However, there was one among the confirmed dead who definitely did have a family. A family Miranda had already written to once before, to let them know she was searching. A family who it was now her responsibility to ensure those dog tags made it back home to.

Every single day, Miranda had sat down at her laptop with the intention of writing the letter nobody ever wanted to have to write. But the words just wouldn’t come. It was the one task that Miranda simply couldn’t seem to bring herself to start, let alone finish. And the screen would just stay blank until she inevitably convinced herself that tomorrow would be the day.

During the week, Miranda told herself it wasn’t her fault she wasn’t getting it done. She was busy with work. Clearly she wasn’t making progress because she didn’t have enough time to concentrate on doing this properly.

On Saturday, her reason for not getting it done was because she had helped Jack leave the field hospital and move in with Jacob in his apartment. Jack’s students had thrown an impromptu lunch to celebrate their teacher getting out of hospital, and as a courtesy Miranda had stayed for the whole thing.

Perhaps it should have said something about the state they were both in after learning what had become of so many mutual friends, and the extent to which Jack actually felt sorry for Miranda to have to be the one to identify what bodies there were, that, in those entire few hours they spent in each other’s proximity on that day, Jack didn’t insult Miranda even once.

Then Sunday came, a whole week since Ashley’s fate had been discovered, and Miranda didn’t have any excuses to put it off any longer.

Today had to be the day. There was no alternative.

And yet, despite not leaving her room even once that day, despite forcing herself to sit there until she finished this, she still hadn’t typed a single word.

Miranda had done a lot of things in her life that other people would probably class as difficult. Living with an abusive tyrant of a father. Pulling off countless life-threatening missions for Cerberus. Being captured and tortured by batarian slavers. Raising the fucking dead.

All of those things had been a cakewalk compared to writing to Ashley’s sisters.

She’d lost count of how long she’d been staring at that blank screen, or those dog tags, in the hopes that the words would just...come to her if she focused long enough. So far, it hadn’t worked. Any time Miranda thought of something to say, it just felt...wrong. Inadequate. Even if she couldn’t explain why.

At first, she didn’t know why she was finding this so bloody hard. After all, Miranda didn’t know Ashley particularly well. She’d only met her a handful of times, if that. She had no right to pretend otherwise.

But, then, it clicked.

In a way, the fact that she didn’t know Ashley at all was precisely what was making this so much worse. For one thing, if she had known her on a personal level, then no doubt she would have had no shortage of things she could say about her that would resonate with her family, to express understanding and sympathy for their loss. For another, and more significantly, because Miranda knew so little about Ashley, it meant that the only thing that she could focus on when thinking about her was the one thing she did know - that Ashley was a sister to three other sisters. And that they all loved each other dearly.

If there was one actual, honest to god human feeling Miranda knew all too well, it was the love she felt for her own sister. So, suffice it to say, she could relate.

And, although she’d never even seen a picture of Ashley’s sisters, every time the mere thought of them crossed her mind, all she pictured was Oriana.

This was one circumstance where Miranda didn’t have to fake empathy. For this, she had it in spades. It would have been easier to do this if she didn’t.

She knew what it would mean for them all to receive this letter. Because she understood better than anyone exactly how much it would have absolutely fucking destroyed her if she got the same letter. And it felt horribly, gut-wrenchingly cruel to be the one to write that letter, in full awareness of what it would do to those three sisters to receive it.

If that was what it was like for normal people to lose someone, then in a way Miranda felt lucky to be so numb to her own feelings compared to others. Maybe Kelly Chambers had been right when she speculated that becoming emotionally closed-off was as much a form of protection Miranda had developed to survive as it was something imposed upon her by her father whether she wanted it or not. It was certainly easier, and safer, to be cold on the inside, than to expose herself to a pain like Ashley’s sisters would feel when they learned the news.

Miranda wasn’t sure she would even have the emotional capacity to process losing Oriana, if the worst ever came to pass. It either would have broken her completely and caused her to jump off this mortal coil after her, or she would have withdrawn so much further into herself that she ceased to be recognisable as human. Maybe all of the above at once.

But Miranda wasn’t in that position. It seemed so strange to think about it. So many people had lost so much to this war. But not Miranda.

She was perhaps one of the people who least deserved to live, given her past allegiances to Cerberus, and given that she had never at any stage aspired or claimed to be, quote unquote, a ‘good person’. And yet, she was still there. Mostly in one piece. With three out of the grand total of five people she had ever truly cared about confirmed alive.

If anything, the fact that she had survived and others hadn’t was proof that the universe was not a fair place. There was no justice. No balance.

She knew it didn’t make any sense, and that it was impossible to trade her life for someone else’s, but she couldn’t help but think how much collectively happier more people would have been if Miranda had died and Ashley had lived. Or Shepard. Or most other members of the Normandy, really.

Oriana would have been the only person truly hurt by it, but even then she had lived nineteen years of her life perfectly fine, not even knowing Miranda existed. She’d only known about her for a year. She would have recovered eventually.

Speak of the devil, it was at that moment that a message popped up on Miranda’s screen. A message from Oriana.

“Hey, sis. What’s up? We haven’t talked in a few days. This a good time?”

It was true. This wasn’t the first text she had received from Oriana over the last few days, but Miranda hadn’t responded to any since she found out what happened to her comrades. Couldn’t bring herself to. Couldn’t bring herself to think about...precisely the sort of things she was thinking about right now.

It wasn’t that she couldn’t tell Oriana what had happened. What she was feeling. Of course she could have. She could have gone to Oriana about absolutely anything. On some level, that was all Miranda wanted to do. To talk to her. To feel a little less alone in that moment.

The problem was that Oriana would have listened to it all in a heartbeat. Every word. Without judgement. Without hesitation.

That wasn’t fair on her, and it wasn’t what Miranda wanted their relationship to be.

Oriana may have been the most well-adjusted person she knew, but she was still barely more than a kid. Only twenty years old. Still figuring things out. How was it fair for Miranda to burden her with all her problems, as if she could possibly know the answers, or the right things to say?

It was supposed to be the other way around. Miranda was supposed to be Oriana’s shoulder to cry on. Her protector. Her guide. Her big sister. Even if she wasn’t cut out to be any of those things. And she had foisted enough of her problems on Oriana already.

So she texted back.

With that, Miranda closed the messenger window, and switched back to the blank document. She’d been staring at it for so long without typing so much as a single word that she hadn’t even noticed the battery had almost drained down to zero. She reached down and plugged in the charger.

Just as she did that, another alert popped up on her screen. Message from Oriana.

“What do you get when a journalist cooks without reading a recipe?” Oriana asked. “Unconfirmed sauces.”

A small smile tugged at Miranda’s lips. Even if she was pushing Oriana away right now, it was comforting to know that Oriana would never take anything personally, and that she would be there waiting for her when she was ready to talk again.

With one last look at Ashley’s dog tags, Miranda began to type.

* * *

After finishing repairs to the Normandy, Commander Shepard seemed to have taken Miranda’s suggestion to heart. Or perhaps it was what she had always intended to do. They still had numerous leads on file that they never had the opportunity to investigate before the Collectors took them by surprise and attacked the crew. Why leave any of those assignments incomplete?

Miranda kept enough of an eye on things to know that, despite what had happened, The Illusive Man was still sending messages to Shepard (to which Shepard never responded) in an effort to cast himself in a good light. Evidently, Andrea was important enough to his plans that he considered it worth his while to continue trying to persuade her that they were on the same side. And maybe it was true that they were, at least where the Reapers were concerned.

By contrast, he had said nothing to Miranda whatsoever.

She knew what that meant.

Even if she came crawling back to Cerberus with a grovelling apology, which was never going to happen, she wouldn’t have been welcomed back anyway.

Despite now acting on their own, in a lot of ways, it was almost as if nothing had changed after defeating the Collectors. They knew the Reapers were out there, and the mutual intention of all concerned appeared to be that the best thing to do was carry on as usual in the hopes of finding out more about the impending threat, and hopefully to stop it from ever coming to fruition.

In fact, the only person who it seemed wasn’t exactly the same as before the Collector Base was Kelly Chambers. She had stopped making individual appointments with members of the crew (which Miranda knew from no longer getting any reports from her) and had been cut back to only light duties by Shepard. The last time Miranda had seen her, Kelly had jumped at the sound of the elevator doors opening behind her. Maybe that had something to do with it.

In any event, Miranda had concerned herself more with uncovering as much as she could about Cerberus’s true motives. Since Cerberus hadn’t made any effort to stop them from investigating any old leads so far, this certainly seemed like her best opportunity to take advantage of a position of relative safety and protection to arm herself with knowledge.

“Shepard, do you have a moment?” Miranda had begun, approaching Andrea after a meeting in the Briefing Room. Andrea had turned to face her, signalling for her to speak. “Do you remember that message you got from The Illusive Man last week, about the Overlord cell going off the grid without explanation on Aite?”

Shepard had sighed and rubbed her forehead. “You’re just not even hiding the fact that you read my emails anymore, are you?”

“No,” Miranda answered bluntly, but that wasn’t important right now. “I think we should investigate. The Illusive Man mentioned experimenting with highly volatile technology. It must be operationally sensitive, if he wouldn’t tell you anything more than that. Whatever the purpose of Project Overlord is, this is likely our only opportunity to learn about it. Cerberus will clean this up themselves if we don’t, and by then there’ll be nothing left.”

“You don’t think we could be walking into a trap?” Shepard asked.

“Possible, but unlikely. The Illusive Man asked for our assistance on this before we found the Reaper IFF device. Setting a trap for us before we had the intention or the ability to assault the Collector Base would take a level of prescience that nobody is capable of,” Miranda said confidently, folding her arms across her chest. “He’s many things, Shepard, but even he can’t see the future.”

“Fair enough. You’ve convinced me,” Shepard replied. “I’ll bring Tali with us. She’ll make sense of any tech we come across, no matter how ‘experimental’ it is.”

Miranda nodded her head. That was a sound choice.

What they actually found at the heart of Atlas Station, Miranda could not possibly have predicted.

Please make it stop.

Miranda hadn’t even been able to speak when she saw him there. David Archer. A completely innocent, vulnerable man hooked up to machines by his own brother as part of some sick experiment to see if his gifted mind could, what? Control geth? That was the reasoning that justified that level of cruelty and abuse?

This was it, wasn’t it? The true face of Cerberus. What they did to people. So many had said that this was the reality, and yet Miranda hadn’t listened before.

Reading between the lines, there was no doubt The Illusive Man knew exactly what was being done on Aite. While he made sure to say he didn’t condone Dr. Archer’s actions, he seemed to know perfectly well that David’s “unique talents” had “provided a breakthrough”, and he made sure to mention that Shepard’s actions had set back their understanding of the geth several years.

The only good thing that had come out of this was knowing that David Archer would be well looked after at Grissom Academy. Well, that and it was reassuring to know that, whatever Cerberus might have planned to do with an army of geth under their control, those ideas would never come to fruition now.

Evidently, Shepard really had done the right thing by not sending Legion to be studied by Cerberus, if it would have helped them. In retrospect, Miranda had never been more relieved that someone hadn’t listened to her advice.

It just made her wonder what else she didn’t know.

The door to Miranda’s quarters slid open, and she glanced up. “Forgive my intrusion. Am I interrupting anything?” Samara asked, always a sound question to open with when it came to Miranda, especially when she was in her office.

“No,” Miranda answered honestly. Not a damn thing.

Samara was too tactful to say it, but of course she knew that the number of people Miranda reported to had decreased drastically in recent days, and her requirements to Shepard had already been discharged several hours ago.

Since Miranda hadn’t objected to her presence, Samara took that as a cue to step inside. “I have not seen you since you returned from Aite. Is all well?”

Miranda sighed, interlacing her fingers in front of her. “I honestly don’t know.”

The truth was, ever since she’d seen David Archer in that state, there had been this lingering sense of unease that Miranda hadn’t been able to shake. She had never been an expert at being able to put labels to her feelings. But if she had to choose a word to describe this one, it would be ‘unsettled’.

It wasn’t a pleasant feeling at all. It was as if her own skin was no longer sitting properly on her body. Like there was an inherent...discomfort, that was impossible to rectify. Like these unwelcome sensations and thoughts wouldn’t stop wriggling around beneath the surface, disturbing whatever they touched.

Had this been any regular day, Miranda would have just worked and avoided thinking about it until it went away. But that option wasn’t available to her anymore. Besides, something told her this malaise wouldn’t vanish so easily.

Then again, if there was anybody who she felt safe sharing her thoughts with, and who could help her make sense of them, it was the woman in front of her.

Not about to just leave her standing there by the door, Miranda got up from her desk and gestured for Samara to follow her further inside her quarters. “Sorry there’s not a lot of room, here,” Miranda remarked.

“It is quite alright,” Samara assured her.

“By all means, make yourself at home,” Miranda invited her, electing to sit cross-legged near the head of her bed, tacitly giving Samara permission to join her.

Samara followed her lead, perching on the far end of her bed, as if to signal that she was in no hurry to be anywhere else.

“Do you know what happened down there?” Miranda began.

“Yes.” Samara nodded her head. Even though Miranda rarely if ever observed her speaking to anyone else, word always somehow seemed to reach her about what transpired on any mission she wasn’t a part of.

It certainly made things easier not to have to explain it.

Maybe that was why Samara had come here in the first place.

“...I don’t think a single person I’ve met would ever accuse me of being in any way compassionate. Not even you, and you give me the benefit of the doubt far more than anyone else. But…” Miranda trailed off as she reflected on the days’ events, her voice steady despite the grisly subject matter. “Even in the name of science, how could anyone do that to their own brother?”

David Archer had been begging his brother to make it stop. Begging him. And all Gavin cared about was continuing the experiment.

Why? What was the fucking point of taking it that far?

“I do not know,” Samara answered honestly. “I cannot fathom it either.”

“I suppose that’s the thing. I can fathom it,” Miranda pointed out. She knew all too well that people like that did exist.

She’d been raised by one.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Miranda shook her head, unable to even find the language to describe the uncomfortable twisting in her chest that came from thinking about David Archer, picturing him in that core with all those tubes sticking out of him. “Nothing normally ever...gets to me. Even things that probably should. I’ve always been like that. My whole life,

“Did you know, I don’t even remember crying as a child? At all?” Miranda asked. “Any time I ever came close to shedding a tear, my father made sure to ‘give me something to really cry about’. So perhaps I did do it more than I can recall, and I simply blocked those memories out. But I don’t think that’s the answer. I’ve always assumed that the reason I never cried was because I must have been...so isolated and neglected as a baby that one day I just stopped making any noise, because even then I must have known there was simply no point to it,

“So, if you ever pictured me being an emotional child, that’s not true. I’ve never known myself to be any different than the way I am now,” Miranda somewhat shamefully admitted. She’d never had the chance to be another way, from the moment she was brought into this world. “The one exception, the one thing that I can’t seem to stop from hitting me in whatever small, emotional part of me survived my childhood, is Oriana. Or anything that reminds me of her.”

“I see.” Samara needed no further explanation. Miranda may not have fully understood it herself, but to Samara, it made perfect sense. Why wouldn’t what Miranda saw down there on Aite remind her of her father, and make her think of her sister? “...May I ask, have you seen something like David Archer before?”

“Close enough,” Miranda said, the truth of those words leaving a bitter taste on her tongue. “Do you know, I’ve never told anyone about how I escaped from my father? I suppose you could’ve guessed. I’ve never had anyone to tell.”

Samara shifted, matching Miranda’s cross-legged position as she turned to face her, sitting opposite her. She didn’t even need to say anything. Her body language alone said that she was receptive to whatever Miranda felt comfortable sharing.

Miranda never allowed herself to look weak in front of anyone. To show vulnerability. Whenever she came close, she would brush it off with a deadpan quip or dry understatement, demonstrating that she was in total control.

Samara was the one exception to that. The one person she’d met who she trusted enough to reveal that flawed, softer side of herself around, and who had never judged her even slightly for her imperfections. Why Samara tolerated her at her worst, Miranda still didn’t know. But she always had, from day one.

Plus, Miranda knew better than anyone the grief Samara had somehow survived and how she had come to terms with the most intense sorrow imaginable. It was no wonder she was so understanding, given what she’d endured in her past.

So, for the first time in her life, Miranda began to tell her story.

“I always knew that I was an experiment, but I never really knew what that meant,” Miranda elected to start at the beginning. “My father said things, sure, but if you imagine anybody ever sat me down and explained to me my purpose, or the purpose of anything they put me through, then you’re sorely mistaken.”

“What were you told?” Samara prompted.

“The part about being genetically perfect. That I wasn’t the first he’d made, only the first he’d kept. And that my father wanted to create a dynasty - a great legacy that would ensure his name lived forever,” Miranda explained. “I always assumed that my father saw me as his heir. That he wanted me to be the perfect daughter. Someone he could trust to carry on his work long after he passed. It wasn’t until Niket put the thought in my head that I began to consider that I might be wrong - that maybe my father’s experiment wouldn’t end with me. If he ever did make another daughter, then I didn’t know what that meant for me, except that I knew it wouldn’t be good, and I may not be safe,

“So Niket and I began working on an escape plan. It took us the better part of two years to prepare. We had to get every detail exactly right, and we thought about every possible contingency. Niket already knew my father’s security systems intimately, so we knew what the weaknesses were there. Before he left, Niket gave me software I could use to hack into the camera system and make the monitors replay the feed from twenty-four hours ago. It would look like I was asleep in my bed, and any rooms I was actually in would look empty,

“We knew that most possible routes I could use to escape were patrolled by security at all hours. We actually had to scour the plans for the whole compound to find any potential ways out. The only option that presented any possibility was...well, perhaps I should go back a few steps.”

Not used to speaking this much without interruption, Miranda stopped briefly to make sure Samara wasn’t overwhelmed by the sheer amount of information being dumped on her all at once. But Samara’s position hadn’t changed at all. Her blue eyes had never left Miranda’s face, listening intently to her every word.

Miranda took that as implicit support to keep going.

“My father had a large research facility underground, beneath the estate, but I never saw most of it. Even when I started working in the lab, I was only ever allowed to enter certain rooms, and only under supervision. I assisted on some of my father’s research into gene editing, which is where most of the family money comes from. I was aware that there were some restricted projects that required special lab clearance, but that was the extent of my knowledge,

“Niket and I discovered from reviewing the plans that there were more levels to the lab than I would have expected. And, when you’re that far underground and working with potentially toxic chemicals, you need a very good ventilation system. We could see on the blueprints that there were air ducts that connected to the surface, which I could most likely fit through. Both ends of the air duct wouldn’t be patrolled by security, since they were only watched by cameras, which we already had a means to deal with. It seemed like my best option,

“Once everything was in motion, all I needed to do was steal an ID card from one of my father’s senior lab technicians, and memorise what passcode was used to enter the restricted part of the lab on the day I chose to escape. I don’t think I’m surprising you by saying that neither of those two things were a challenge for me. I even stole a gun to defend myself, just in case,

“It was exactly thirteen minutes past two in the morning when I got up and left my room. I knew that was the perfect time to leave, because there were the fewest people around, and I’d noticed that security tended to get tired and bored around that time and would start slacking off at their posts. I’d seen them sitting back in their chairs with their feet up watching TV to amuse themselves,

“Everything went precisely as I had planned it. I walked right across the entire house without anybody noticing I was there - which, however big you imagine the house I grew up in was, triple it and you’ll be closer. I got to the lab without incident, swiped the stolen card, entered the code for that day, and headed down to the restricted level where my designated escape point was.”

Miranda paused then. It was the first time she’d really, consciously thought about that day in a long time. And, certainly, it was the first time she’d ever spoken about it, beyond referencing it with flippant passing comments.

In the peripheries of her vision, she saw Samara shift closer. “May I?”

Miranda glanced up at Samara’s voice, and found her making a subtle motion towards Miranda’s left hand, where it rested in her lap. Miranda hadn’t even really been conscious of it until that moment, but in hindsight she had been gesturing more with her right while she spoke.

Admittedly, Miranda was far from fluent when it came to reading unspoken body language. Even though she didn’t fully grasp what Samara meant, she trusted her enough to follow along with whatever she intended. Accordingly, Miranda turned her left hand over, such that her palm faced upwards.

Interpreting that as tacit consent, Samara reached across the small gap between them and clasped Miranda’s hand between both of her own. For as strong as their friendship had become, neither of them were exactly the touchy-feely type. Quite the opposite. So, to feel Samara gently holding her hand with such kindness, well...Miranda imagined this must have been how it felt for other people who weren’t generally so averse to physical contact to be hugged.

“You do not have to give voice to any of the thoughts on your mind if you do not wish to,” Samara reminded her, one of her thumbs softly tracing circles at the centre of Miranda’s palm. “But I am here to listen if you do.”

“I know you are. Thank you,” Miranda said sincerely.

With that, she continued, difficult as it was to revisit this part of her memory.

“I remember the doors to that level sliding open and...I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. This wasn’t just a lab. It was a cloning facility. My cloning facility. The place where I had come from. And I just...froze,

“I completely forgot why I was even there. All I saw were...tanks with embryos in various stages of development. Photographs of dissected failures detailing the mutations and cancerous growths caused by element zero exposure. Pages of speculation as to the errors in their altered genetic sequences which made them...unviable. And then there were images of me. Reports on my behaviour. My progress. With a list of ‘imperfections’ that needed improvement in further cycles.”

Samara was nothing if not masterful at maintaining a neutral expression, but even she could not hide the visibly pained look that crossed her face when she heard that. Words could not describe how much that moment must have not only hurt Miranda, but shattered her entire perception of reality.

“All that time, I truly thought the project had ended with me. But it hadn’t. My whole life, I had been living in that house, while beneath my very feet my father was actively working to ‘improve’ upon my genetic code for god knows how many years. And the only reason he hadn’t replaced me sooner was, ironically, because any time he had a viable embryo, his insistence on exposing them to element zero to replicate my biotic abilities resulted in death and deformity.”

Even though she was silent, hanging on Miranda’s every word, it was evident that Samara was shocked by what she was hearing. Stunned. She’d always believed Miranda when she said her father was a monster, but she’d obviously never suspected it went to this extent. That it was this systematic. This calculated. This callous. What sane person would even comprehend a mind capable of something like this, let alone be complicit in it?

“I don’t know when exactly my father started perceiving me as a failure. In retrospect, I’ve learned things that make me suspect it was probably day one. But that was the first inkling I ever had that I was only ever intended to be a prototype, and nothing more. A test. A proof of concept. A first fucking draft.”

Samara squeezed Miranda’s hand a little tighter, as if to express her sympathy, and her apologies, both for the fact that Miranda had ever had to go through something like this, and that Samara hadn’t understood her history sooner.

Miranda’s eyes drifted out of focus, before she even knew they had. She wasn’t in her quarters anymore. She was there. She was sixteen. She was in that lab. Standing in that door. Discovering the truth. She saw it so clearly, down to even the smallest detail. She could hear the hum of the refrigerator, and the whirring of the fan. She could even smell the exact cleaning agent the staff had used earlier that day to sterilise their hands before they entered the room.

“When that realisation hit me, I just...I just saw red. I thought fuck him. Fuck him. That everything he had put me through, everything I had done for him to meet his arbitrary and changeable standards of perfection, it had all been for nothing. Nothing I ever did could be good enough. He never cared. There was nothing I could possibly have done to live up to the unreachable bar he set for me, because he never truly intended for me to be ‘the one’ no matter how well I did. I had been set up to fail my whole life. And this was the proof. So I paid him back,

“I destroyed it,” Miranda said with cold fury, a mere fraction of the rage she had felt nearly twenty years ago. “Everything he had worked so hard on, everything that mattered to him more than me, I destroyed it. I overloaded every computer. I threw every freezer to the ground. I shot out every one of those tubes. I broke the sprinkler system, grabbed every flammable substance I could find, poured them all over everything, and ejected my thermal clip,

“The alarms went off when the fire started. I didn’t regret anything that I had done, but I had been so angry that I had completely blown any chance I had of a quiet escape. I knew I had to move quickly. So I headed for my exit. But, then, just as I reached the air vent, I heard this sound. And I stopped.”

Miranda swallowed. Perfect memory was a curse as much as a blessing. She hadn’t relived this exact moment in years, yet she could still vividly remember every single detail as clearly as if this had happened ten minutes ago.

“I looked over and I saw this...incubator. I had thought it was empty, but...no. There was a child inside it. A seemingly newborn baby. Left alone in the dark, in this cold, sterile lab. Screaming and crying for attention that would never come.”

Miranda felt a sting in her eyes as she replayed those images in her mind.

“The first thing I felt was betrayal. This was my replacement. They hadn’t been able to improve upon my DNA yet, despite their best efforts, so they just made another one. And this was her. A genetic identical. A ‘do-over’. Well, actually, they made several. Like me, Ori was just the only one lucky enough to survive the element zero exposure - although, unlike me, she didn’t get biotics out of it,

“What did it say about my father that this was how I found her? She and I, we were the culmination of his life’s work. We should have been his most prized possessions. But then look at how he treated me my whole life. And he was already doing the same to her. The only reason she wasn’t dead was because there were machines there to perform the absolute bare minimum functions to keep her alive, so that she could be the next phase of the experiment,

“Neither of us had ever been, or would ever be daughters to him. My father wasn’t, and still isn’t capable of that. There is not a single shred of anything resembling love or kindness in Henry Lawson’s heart. He is devoid of anything right, or good, or redeeming--”

Miranda had to stop herself then, pulling both her hands away to wipe beneath her eyes. This was more raw than she had ever been with another person.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“Please do not apologise,” Samara implored her, beyond moved by everything she had heard so far. She reached out, but stopped just short of touching Miranda’s cheek, as if uncertain whether she would want her to.

“I feel so stupid,” Miranda cursed herself. It didn’t happen very often, but she hated the way it felt when her eyes burned with tears. It was a horrible fucking feeling. An alien sensation. Like she was stricken with some disease. Or like something inside her was broken. How the fuck did anyone find this cathartic?

“You are not,” Samara assured her, holding Miranda’s gaze, letting both hands fall atop her knees, compelling Miranda to look at her, and be with her in that moment. “Need I remind you, I came to you. I have chosen to be here.”

“Why?” Miranda asked, still not understanding why Samara of all people deigned to put up with her when she was at her most useless and pathetic.

At that question, Samara’s stoic expression faltered. “...Do you have to ask this of me? Do you not know?” she said quietly, her voice barely louder than a whisper. It was almost as if it hurt her to think that, after all this time, Miranda still didn’t honestly believe deep down in her heart that Samara cared about her.

Upon hearing that in her voice, Miranda knew that question had been unfair. Samara deserved better than that. And, after all, didn’t Miranda already know the answer to that question? Samara was here for Miranda when she needed her for the exact same reason Miranda had been there for Samara in the past.

Because she wanted to be.

Miranda took a moment, her thumb and forefinger running across her eyelids, and meeting at the bridge of her nose. “This is hard for me to talk about,” she confessed, her voice breaking, knowing she hadn’t even reached the most difficult part. She didn’t know if she would even be able to get through this.

“I understand,” said Samara, giving her as much time and space as she needed.

Miranda drew a deep breath, and willed herself to keep going, keeping her eyes closed beneath her fingers, unable to even look at Samara as she went on.

“So, as I was standing there, hearing glass explode around me in the flames, having only just discovered this baby even existed...I knew I didn’t have long, but I had to spare her from whatever came next. If I left her, she would die in the fire, or she would be deemed a ‘failure’ and be killed, or she would go through exactly the same thing that I had gone through with my father. None of those outcomes were acceptable. But I hadn’t planned for her. I couldn’t take her with me.”

Miranda hesitated, a single tear escaping and falling down her cheek.

“For a split-second, I thought...well, I have this thing in my hand, and the most merciful thing I could do for her is…quickly and painlessly…” Miranda couldn’t even say the words, “...And I really did think about it. I was going to...”

The fact that it had even crossed her mind, however briefly, was the one thing in Miranda’s life that she had never truly been able to forgive herself for, no matter how many years passed. It made her feel sick to her stomach.

Oriana didn’t even know. But Miranda would never be able to make that up to her.

Never.

“But I couldn’t.” Miranda shook her head, her breaths coming shallower. “I just couldn’t. Something inside of me just...physically wouldn’t let me. And I felt...I felt something I’d never felt before. A compulsion so powerful I’ve never felt it since. It was like my heart exploded in my chest. And I didn’t even have control over myself. The next thing I knew, I just put the gun away. And I took her,

“All I could think was, if I could just get her out of there, then she would have a chance at everything I never had. And the moment I had that thought, it was as if I didn’t have a choice. I had to do everything in my power to make that happen. It became the only thing that mattered to me, even more than my own life,

“So I opened the incubator, and wrapped her in my jacket. And the second I touched her, she just...looked at me, and she stopped crying.”

Miranda went silent for several, long seconds, fixed on the memory of the first time she’d seen her sister’s face. The first moment she felt that connection between them. A moment that changed her forever.

She exhaled, willing her voice to stop shaking.

“I didn’t read anything into it. I assumed the reason she stopped was because she’d never felt a human touch before, and was just surprised, but...I said to her, ‘I’m going to get you out of here. You’ll be safe with me. I promise,’

“Just as soon as I took her, I heard voices behind me. I didn’t look back. I bashed open the grate and got inside the vent as quick as I could. None of my father’s men could follow me through a space that small. I don’t know how long I was in there. But it felt like an eternity. I don’t know how I didn’t fall,

“When I got to the surface, I remember seeing searchlights in the dark. Either they hadn’t figured out where I was, or they just hadn’t made it out of the lab in time to beat me there. I had a whole route memorised in my brain. You can’t even comprehend how big my father’s compound was. The gardens had an actual, literal maze as one of the features. I tried to hide from them in there,

“Amid all the people searching for me, I carelessly wandered into a trip beam for the outdoor alarm system at one point. Spotlights fixed on me immediately. That’s when I heard my father over the loudspeaker ordering his men to shoot me. And they were live rounds. I could tell. But, if nothing else, all that training made me a lot faster and more agile than any of his men. I shot a few rounds blindly behind me to force them to take cover. That must have worked. And I lost them again,

“The only way I could get outside the walls was through a drain. Believe me, a lot of water went into those gardens. I jumped into the drainage ditch, and the water went up to about here.” Miranda put one hand at the point where her hip became indistinguishable from her abdomen. “Niket had already loosened the grate for me ahead of time. All I had to do was move it. And...I was out,

“I have never in my life run as fast as I ran then. I knew they wouldn’t be far behind me. I could hear them. Including my father. Niket had left a skycar for me in a hidden location nearby, where nobody would ever find it by accident. I got in, and I put my sister down beside me, and I said to her, ‘If we get shot down, I just want you to know, I don’t regret trying to save you. These last few minutes have been more freedom than I’ve ever known in my whole life’,

“I can still hear the bullets bouncing off the hull as we flew away. But that was it. That was my last memory of home, and the last time I saw my father.”

Samara visibly held back her own emotions as Miranda recounted the most pivotal day of her life. Miranda had long intellectually understood that feeling what others felt was something that came naturally to empathetic people, and Samara (as composed as she was) was definitely that. If anything, that response meant more from her precisely because she was usually so stoic.

It seemed clear that her restraint, in this case, was not born out of any desire to hide what she was feeling, or any shame at being seen in such a state, but rather came purely because Miranda was her priority in that moment, and she did not wish to detract, however unintentionally, from her and her feelings.

“I know it cannot have been long before you were separated from your sister,” said Samara, her voice calm, level and soothing. Her unwavering demeanour was oddly comforting. “I am sorry. That must have been very difficult for you.”

“It was,” Miranda confirmed. “She had never been part of the plan. I didn’t even know she existed until I found her. I was supposed to be off world with my fake ID immediately. But, with her, I couldn’t do that. I had a little money, but not much, and everything can be traced with enough effort so I was scared to use what I had. Once that money ran out, I had no plan for how to feed her, or clothe her, or care for her. And I was afraid that asking for help would attract attention.”

For a short while, though, she had really tried. They may have been genetically twins, but Miranda was old enough to be her mother. Teen mothers may have been a rarity in the twenty-second century, but they were certainly not unheard of.

The only problem with that idea was that Miranda barely knew how to take care of herself in light of how she had been raised, let alone a baby.

She shivered as she thought on those days. “I remember, this one night, I had bought us a room in a hotel with these...ludicrous purple walls. We never stayed in the same place twice, but this room, I remember. Because, for whatever reason, that night she just...would not stop crying. And not just crying, she was bloody screaming her head off. And I didn’t know why. I didn’t know what I was doing wrong. Whatever I tried to calm her down...nothing worked. I didn’t know if she was sick and going to die, and I was terrified that people would come and take her away from me if they heard her screaming like that. And I just...for the first time I can remember, I broke down and bawled my fucking eyes out until the sun rose. Because that was the point where I realised I couldn’t do this,

“I knew that, even if I managed to get her off-world with me, my father wouldn’t stop looking for us on Earth. He would follow us. We would always be in danger. And I had no means to care for her. Even if I did, how could I work? Who would I leave her with? I didn’t know anyone I could trust,

“...Until I remembered this man my father had spoken to two years earlier, who was an affiliate of Cerberus. English expat named Alan. He had said The Illusive Man was looking for ‘exceptional individuals’ like me. They knew who I was, and what I was. And, even though my father donated to Cerberus, I knew they had never returned the favour - they never funded his cloning research, probably because he was always so cagey about sharing any data with them,

“I knew it was a risk, but I didn’t have anyone else to turn to. I remembered enough about Alan to know his name and what company he ran. And, because he remembered me too, I was able to get in contact with him. I told him that I wanted to offer my services to Cerberus, in exchange for them helping me get my sister off world. I said I wanted them to make her disappear, and put her safely into the hands of a normal, loving family. So long as they kept their end of that bargain, they would have my undivided loyalty. And that was all it took.”

And that promise was kept, along with everything Cerberus promised. Oriana grew up with some fine, spacer parents, who were coincidentally of Australian origin themselves. Miranda watched over her, and her brilliantly, boringly normal life, seeing her grow from a happy child into a smart, popular teenager, and a well-adjusted adult. It was why Miranda trusted Cerberus so much.

“The woman who took her from me was very nice about it. In truth, other than Niket, she was the first person I ever met who had been kind to me. But that...that was the first time in my life that I remember crying. Really crying. The day that it hit me that I wasn’t fit to take care of her, when I knew that I had to give her up.”

And, nineteen years later, Miranda had tears in her eyes when she finally met her sister again, speaking to her for the first time at Shepard’s urging on Illium. She wasn’t kidding when she said Oriana was the only thing that ever brought that out of her. Such raw, intense emotion. Such...humanity.

Miranda had gone to Oriana that day to let her know she was loved, and she had done exactly that, but she had received something so much greater in return.

For nineteen years, Miranda had known what it meant to love someone. But it wasn't until then, at the age of thirty-five, that she finally knew what it felt like to have someone out there in the galaxy who truly and unconditionally loved her back.

Holding Oriana as a child had given Miranda purpose. But holding her again all those years later as an adult had given Miranda something far greater.

Family.

“You may not have been ready to take care of a child then,” Samara began. “But you were certainly an excellent sister to her, as you have been ever since.”

Miranda’s lips couldn’t find the strength to quirk, not even into the faintest shadow of a smile. “Thank you,” she said. If doing right by Oriana was the one thing that she ever managed to do with her life, then it justified her entire existence.

Giving Oriana up was, unequivocally, the hardest thing Miranda had ever done, before or since. Experiencing unconditional love for the first time, only to be forced by circumstance to give it up a few short days later. And yet, at the same time, it had been the only thing she could do. Because the real, selfless love she felt for Oriana didn’t allow Miranda to do the selfish thing. Not when it came to her.

She sighed and rubbed one eye with the corresponding palm. “Ah, god, how long have I been rambling at you about this?”

“As long as you needed to,” Samara answered with unfeigned warmth and compassion. “I cannot stress how much I appreciate you speaking of this to me. I know it was not easy for you, and that you do not share your burdens with others lightly. Everything you have told me, I treat with the greatest respect.”

“I know you do,” said Miranda. Even on the pane of death, Samara would never divulge anything told to her in confidence. Nobody ever needed to doubt that.

“Do you feel better for having spoken of it?” Samara asked.

Miranda stopped for a moment. “...Strangely, yes,” she acknowledged.

In retrospect, it now made sense why the incident with the Archer brothers had been so...for lack of a better word, ‘triggering’ for those past traumatic events. And, for as much of an emotional rollercoaster as it had been to relive the most mentally scarring day of her life, at least she had gotten to the point in her story where she and Oriana got their happy ending, reunited at long last.

“Then I am glad,” said Samara. That was all she wanted to achieve by coming here as she had, if it had been at all possible to do so.

“You’re not going now, are you?” Miranda asked, audibly disappointed. After all, when Miranda entered a conversation with a specific purpose in mind, she would generally leave immediately after accomplishing that goal.

“No.” Samara shook her head, hoping she had not unintentionally conveyed that impression. “I will stay for as long as you would like me here.”

“Would you stay forever?” Miranda wearily remarked. Samara hesitated, as if caught off guard by that. “I’m joking,” Miranda told her, assuaging Samara’s fears that she had to answer that question seriously.

Samara uttered something that sounded faintly like a chuckle. “My offer remains,” she replied. It was funny how something as simple as that kind twinkle in Samara’s eye was enough to make Miranda feel so much less vulnerable, despite the fact that this was the most she’d ever let her guard down. Ever.

Miranda exhaled heavily, running both hands through her hair as she leaned back, her head hitting the pillow behind her. She had no idea that the simple act of talking could be so exhausting. But, then again, it did feel like she’d just run an obstacle course through every single emotion she’d ever felt in her entire life, so maybe that explained it. No wonder she needed a moment to recover.

She heard movement, and felt Samara shift off of the bed, moving to stand by the window, almost like she was keeping a vigil at her side.

“Miranda?” Samara broke the silence after a minute or two. Miranda moved one hand just enough to allow an eye to open. “I am proud of you.”

Miranda arched an eyebrow in questioning.

“Of the decisions you made then. Of the woman you are now. And that you were courageous enough to be so open with me,” Samara elaborated.

“...You know, I think that’s the first time anyone has ever said that to me,” Miranda commented. And, if anyone else had, then it hit differently coming from someone, firstly, whose opinion she held in such high esteem and, secondly, who she knew wouldn’t have said that unless she damn well meant it.

“Then those people were unworthy of you,” Samara responded with stark honesty, and a terseness to her tone that Miranda had never heard before.

With her half-open eye, Miranda silently studied Samara’s expression. It took a few seconds for her to recognise that unyielding flame she bore. Now that Miranda had finished speaking, Samara no longer simply felt sorry for what she had gone through. No. She was angry about it - angry that people had treated Miranda that way, livid that they had made her even for a second feel as though she were worthless, and furious that they had seen so little value in her that they were prepared to dispose of her like she wasn’t even a living being.

That, she could evidently not abide.

Had she not known the reason for it and so agreed with the sentiment, it would have been a little intimidating to see Samara so righteously pissed off, even if the average person might have only perceived her as her usual, guarded self.

“That I ever dared compare you to the people in your father’s employ...” Samara trailed off, staring out into the void, her body tense. She hadn’t known Miranda’s full story at the time, but now that she did, she looked like she wanted to tear herself apart for letting those words leave her lips. “I apologise unreservedly.”

“You weren’t wrong, though,” Miranda acknowledged. When it came to Cerberus, she had been on the same path. She could have easily been complicit in the same, if not worse atrocities than were done to her as a child.

“No.” Samara turned to face her, stalwart conviction shining in her eyes. “I have never been more wrong. You are nothing like them. You are so far above them, and they are so far beneath you...the people who hurt you do not even deserve to breathe the same air as you,” Samara stated firmly, staring Miranda dead in her eyes, as if daring her to find a single shred of falsity or exaggeration in her gaze, because she knew that Miranda would find none. “I hope you know that.”

Miranda blinked, taken aback by the severity and seriousness of her response. Not having the strength to fight Samara on the validity of her past criticisms, which Miranda still thought were fair, all she said was, “Apology accepted.”

Satisfied with that answer, Samara folded her arms, and faced the void.

Miranda wouldn’t say it out loud, but it was weirdly kind of validating to see someone else react that way to her story. Whether it was intentional or not, it was almost like a reassuring acknowledgement in the back of her mind, saying, ‘See? You aren’t crazy, and you aren’t overreacting by not being able to let go of what your father did to you so many years ago. You actually are justified.’

Plus, on an entirely selfish level, part of her definitely enjoyed knowing that, in the very unlikely event Samara and Henry Lawson ever happened to cross paths after this day, Samara wouldn’t hesitate to fucking kill him.

* * *

It had been two weeks and a day since she identified the bodies. Writing to Ashley’s family and sending them the dog tags hadn’t been easy, but she’d done it. She’d personally given the letter to some contacts Jacob had within the Alliance from his days as a Corsair, so she knew it would get there.

She didn’t know when a response would come, but she wasn’t looking forward to it when it did.

Monday to Friday had been spent working, as usual. If nothing else, it was a reassuring constant.

Saturday, she had paid a visit to Jack. “What are we, fuckin’ wacky sitcom neighbours now?” Jack had complained when she showed up, signalling that things were back to whatever this new normal was between them.

Despite her initial reaction, Jack hadn’t otherwise objected to her presence. She actually felt up to going outside that day, to the extent that she was able to, so Miranda had walked with her and given her the lay of the land, including where her own apartment was. “If you ever want to stop by while I’m at work, feel free. I know your students usually visit you during that time, anyway, but--”

“Yeah. I get it. Thanks,” Jack brusquely cut her off. Even though they were so far sticking to their word to try and turn over a new leaf with each other, evidently she could still only take so much of Miranda being genuine towards her before it weirded her out.

Miranda didn’t feel the need to point it out but, for her own part, she had yet to be anything other than civil with Jack. It had not been fully reciprocated yet, but that was not unexpected.

Jack’s medical condition was an unusual one. Mainly because no human had ever suffered from it before. They actually had to go to the asari for aid to get insight on similar situations. Apparently it had been recorded within their species before that massive exertions of phenomenal biotic power in life-or-death situations could cause physical damage similar to what Jack had suffered, and it had been noted that such events could also cause a temporary ‘burnout’ of biotic abilities. Certainly, at the moment, Jack couldn’t so much as move a glass with her mind, nor was she to try to as the effort would only lead to migraine.

It was hard to put a timeline on it, but she was expected to be back to normal within a few months. Until then, she would have to take her headaches and fatigue day by day. Some days, she would barely have the strength to walk from one side of the apartment to the other. Other days, she would feel mostly fine.

On Sunday, Miranda had gone off to spend some time on her own. It turned out that her quiet spots where she hid at night when the tinnitus was too much to bear were just as isolated in the day as well. She tried to clear her mind, and not think about anything for a while, with limited success.

On Monday, it was back to work.

Oriana kept sending bad jokes as she thought of them over the course of the week. The latest one was, “How many colony developers does it take to screw in a lightbulb? Three. One to hold a committee meeting to decide whether screwing in a lightbulb is an efficient allocation of resources, one to raise rates on the colonists to fund the lightbulb replacement, and one to hire a private contractor to finally screw in the lightbulb five years after you needed it.”

Obviously things were going well at her job.

Miranda appreciated every message she got from her, but she still hadn’t had the heart to respond. Not just yet. Oriana would be able to tell something was wrong if she talked to her in her current state, even via text. She would just know. She would sense it, no matter how many lightyears away she was. And it was better not to talk to her than risk burdening her with her current troubles.

Throughout it all, it wasn’t lost on Miranda that the students were, suffice it to say, aware that Miranda hadn’t been acting the same these past two weeks. She couldn’t really tell the difference from her own perspective. She always buried herself in work. And she was always always rather detached, serious and quiet. But, for whatever reason, the students somehow just seemed to know that dark cloud was there, hanging over her head.

Maybe she was acting just different enough that they could tell. Or maybe it was the fact that the deaths of her friends hadn’t changed her behaviour at all that caused them to be concerned about her.

They didn’t openly express any worry. But they weren’t treating her as they normally did. Weren’t teasing her, or prodding at her, or trying to get a rise out of her. They were being...polite and respectful.

Miranda would never have predicted it, nor would she admit it, but she had actually started to miss the former. Just a little bit.

It was pretty late by the time Miranda got home from work that day. It was now November, so it was getting dark early, and it was colder than Miranda preferred. She took off her scarf and put her keys down when she came inside.

“Pardon me, Miss?” Prangley began.

“Yes, Jason?” Miranda inquired, too preoccupied to notice the somewhat awkward manner in which Jack’s students were gathered together in the living area. Why was it so cold in there?

“We're, uh...we're not entirely sure,” he admitted with a shrug, glancing over his shoulder towards the balcony outside. “She wouldn't tell us anything. Just that she wanted to see you. I get the feeling we couldn't have kept her out if we tried.”

At that, Miranda blinked and glanced up, suddenly paying more attention. “She?” Miranda echoed. “Who are you talking about?”

Miranda didn’t know it, but to the kids, that reaction was the first glimpse of the Miranda they knew they'd been able to get out of her in two weeks.

“I don’t know, but it’s not often an asari matriarch drops in unannounced,” Reiley remarked, scratching the side of his head. Miranda’s heart stopped. She couldn’t believe her ears. It couldn’t be. “I hope this isn’t some kind of mix up. It’ll be pretty embarrassing if she's got the wrong address.”

Miranda didn’t even hear the rest of his comment, much less respond to it. She didn’t say so much as another word to her wards, taking hold of her cane and marching straight towards the balcony, needing to see if it was her.

As soon as she got close enough to see outside, there was no mistaking it. Samara stood there beyond the open doorway, hands clasped behind her back, her posture upright and rigid, staring out over the ruined city that lay before her.

The second she saw her, Miranda halted in her tracks, unable to take another step. It was as if time stood still. And yet her pulse was pounding so fast.

Sensing that she was being watched, Samara turned to look over her shoulder.

Their eyes met.

Miranda wasn’t sure whose breath caught first, hers or Samara’s. For a long moment, they both just stared, Miranda frozen by the doorway, Samara motionless on the balcony, both of them scarcely able to believe that this was no illusion.

Micro expressions flitted across pale blue features. The night concealed much, but Miranda could have sworn she saw Samara’s eyes glisten with unshed tears.

“The last time I saw you...” Samara glanced down, unable to finish the thought. But, before long, a small smile unfolded across her lips. Miranda was there. Her fears had not come to pass. “...Truly, you never cease to amaze me.”

A faint laugh of astonishment and disbelief escaped Miranda as she stepped out onto the balcony, sliding the door shut behind her. “You don't call, you don't write,” she remarked, mostly in jest, moving to stand beside her in the cold night air, resting her arm on the railing. Honestly, Samara had been absent so long that Miranda had begun to suspect she would never return. “I suppose I did get your message, but you could at least have sent flowers.”

“My apologies,” said Samara, politely tilting her head in acknowledgement that the manner of her parting had been...less than ideal. “From what I have gathered, by the time you regained consciousness, I was already far from here. I could not linger when suffering was so widespread. The Code demanded that I go where I could assist. But I would not blame you if you do not forgive me for leaving,” she answered. She never made excuses, but those were her reasons.

“In light of the fact you saved my life, I think we can call it even,” Miranda commented, though her expression soon faltered, her features becoming a little more sombre and sincere. It had hurt for Samara to vanish as suddenly as she had, but it seemed so stupid to say that now that she was finally here.

She’d wanted this so badly for so long. It had almost driven her crazy at times, fixating on Samara’s absence as much as she had. And, now that she was here, she found it impossible to be angry with her, even if she ought to have been.

She was here. She was finally here. Not just in London, but here. With her. Where she should have been. And, even though there was about three feet of space between them, she was close enough that Miranda could have sworn she felt the warmth of Samara’s presence even through her jacket.

“You look well,” said Samara, genuinely glad to see the extent of her progress. Were it anyone other than Miranda she was speaking to, the rate at which she'd bounced back would have been astonishing, if not outright impossible.

Miranda snorted. “I look like I was nearly killed in a shuttle explosion. But I don't mind the scars, or the arm. Could have been a lot worse.” Miranda hesitated then, her fingers tensing around her cane as her tone turned serious. “I know I stopped breathing three times after you rescued me. If you hadn't...” She trailed off, not sure she wanted to reflect on just how close she'd come to death. There had been too much of that lately.

“Yes. I know. Far too well.” Miranda briefly glanced at her, and saw Samara staring ahead into the night, scant city lights reflecting against unfocused eyes. She seemed...preoccupied. Troubled, even. “The first time the medics told me you were not breathing was right as they took you out of my arms after I carried you to them. They revived you in the transport on the way to the hospital.”

“Mmm. Jacob told me about that after I woke up,” Miranda uttered in response.

Come to think of it, until just now, it had never really occurred to her how Samara must have felt in that moment. For a while, at least, Samara might well have believed she had felt the last of Miranda’s life force slip away in her hands.

A secondary thought tiptoed into Miranda’s mind. Something else Jacob had told her in the same conversation that had never sat right with her.

“Did you really threaten doctors that you would consider it attempted murder if they took me off life support?” Miranda asked, audibly sceptical. She’d long since assumed it must have been some sort of misunderstanding or exaggeration on Jacob’s part. It didn’t strike her as something Samara would do.

Samara didn’t answer, nor did her expression change.

Miranda interpreted her silence. “You know what? Forget I asked,” she said, regretting even bringing it up. Of course Samara wouldn’t threaten doctors. The entire purpose of The Code was to protect innocent people, not harm them.

“They did discuss it with Jacob and myself. Your condition had barely changed for several days. And you were very ill. They had lost faith that there was any prospect that you...” Samara couldn’t seem to bring herself to say it. “It was after that conversation that I...recorded that message you saw. When I left, I did not think...I was not certain you would recover,” Samara confessed, with a heavy heart. There was no mistaking how much that dark thought must have plagued her in the intervening weeks. “Every day I spent elsewhere, I thought...”

“Thought what?” Miranda prompted when Samara trailed off.

Samara blinked out of her daze and shook her head, quickly banishing whatever imaginings had distracted her. “That is not important now. What matters is that you are alright. You survived where most would have perished, and for that I truly cannot express how thankful I am. Though it saddens me to learn the same cannot be said of some of our former comrades.”

“Mmm.” Miranda's gaze dropped to the ground, swallowing as she leaned on the bannister. “I can't say I didn't expect it. Surviving with all of us intact was never going to be an option. I'm not a believer in miracles, by any means, but we're lucky that even the four of us made it,” Miranda explained, sounding more like she was trying to convince herself than anything, unable to help but feel a pang in her chest at the knowledge that she wouldn't even get to bury most of them. They were all just...particles, somewhere in space. “I assume you know about Jack.”

“Jacob told me where I can find her. I intend to visit her later,” Samara confirmed. Miranda secretly hoped Samara didn't know everything - that she'd very nearly gotten Jack killed by not trusting her own judgement. She could never have forgiven herself if she had left her behind, trapped beneath that building. Especially knowing they would never find anyone else. “There are no others?”

“There's Wrex from the original Normandy. He made it out in one piece. You probably already knew that. But from our lot? No. Just you, Jacob, Jack and I,” Miranda answered, silently counting the missing among the fallen. “I, um...I found Zaeed and Grunt. Javik and Ashley Williams from the SR-3 as well,” she broke the news, unable to raise her head, their fates an uncomfortable burden to bear. “...I can take you to where they're buried, if you would like to pay your respects.”

Samara's face fell. It wasn't clear whether that was because she didn't know before Miranda told her, or because she felt a sense of shame and regret for leaving Miranda to shoulder that alone. “I will do that before I go.”

Miranda swallowed, brushing a stray lock of hair out of her eye. “One more thing. The ship where Kasumi was stationed to work on the Crucible...it didn't make it. It was too close to a relay, and...” She didn't finish that sentence, letting the implication speak for itself.

“...I am sorry to hear that,” Samara said honestly. Another life, another friend, confirmed lost. She paused, and glanced back at Miranda. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I'm fine,” Miranda assured her, straightening up a little more.

Samara just stared at her, with silent compassion and understanding. Miranda didn't have to say anything. And Samara would never press her on it, respecting her space, but...she knew damn well that Miranda wasn't coping with this as well as she wanted everyone to think. Or even as well as she had no doubt tried to convince herself she was.

At that unspoken realisation, Miranda slumped forwards and uttered a humourless laugh, barely louder than a whisper, leaning more of her weight against the railing. “What can I say? Everyone's gone, Samara,” Miranda admitted, finally acknowledging it out loud. As much as she wanted to pretend the Normandy SR-3 was still out there somewhere, they would have heard from them by now if it was. Besides, finding Javik and Ashley had all but sealed it. She wasn't an idiot. She couldn't deny it forever. “Everyone's gone.”

“Not everyone,” Samara quietly replied, holding her gaze. “Not you.”

“I came pretty close,” Miranda murmured. The fact that she had lived where others died had been circling through her mind a lot lately, whether she wanted it to or not. Her survival in the war had come down to mere millimetres. If the bullet that hit her in the eye penetrated just a little deeper. If the red glare of the Reaper had moved just one degree counter-clockwise. If she’d landed on her neck when the shuttle crashed. If the infection had spread just a little further. If Samara had found her just a little later.

The truth was, Miranda hadn’t earned the right to be there in that moment anymore than the people who had perished. She didn’t deserve to live anymore than those who died. It had all come down to chance. Well, chance and genetic engineering, neither of which were her own doing. It was hard to feel like anything other than a thief, in a way - like, by avoiding what should have been certain death, she’d stolen time from others that didn’t truly belong to her.

“I keep thinking…” Miranda began, almost unconsciously seeking to give voice to thoughts she had never spoken aloud. She caught herself, hesitating, wondering whether it was too much to worry Samara with her morbid musings.

But, then, this was Samara. The one person she’d always been able to talk to honestly about anything. The person she’d opened up to about things she’d never told anyone else. The person who knew sides of her that nobody else knew, and probably never would. Not even Oriana.

She swallowed, and decided to continue.

“I keep thinking that I should be able to take the way I feel about losing everyone and channel it into...I don’t know, something fucking productive,” Miranda said, audibly frustrated with herself. “But there’s just...nothing. Nothing good is coming from this. There’s nothing I can do. And I can’t even see what it was all for. Did any of their deaths really matter? Did any of them truly die in a way that was ‘worth it’? Or is that just a comforting lie we tell ourselves?”

Samara considered her words for a long moment before breaking the silence.

“May I be honest with you?” Samara asked.

“Have you ever not been?” Miranda remarked in response. Samara didn’t reply to that. Assuming she was still waiting for her permission, Miranda eventually signalled for her to go ahead. After a few more seconds, Samara began to speak.

“In my own experience, the notion that grief can be transformed into something else - something that motivates you and drives you...that is a flagrant lie. It never happens,” Samara stated starkly. “Anger at losing someone, perhaps. A sense of injustice. Your love for that person. Even regret. But not grief. Even if channelled through some outlet, grief is never transformed into anything else. It remains as it is. An emptiness. A heavy hollowness. A missing piece that can never be replaced. A hole that never goes away, and never fully heals,” Samara spoke solemnly, her words carrying the weight of a long and painful life.

When Miranda looked at her then, she lost any semblance of the words she intended to say. In that achingly raw, real and honest moment, it was as if she was seeing Samara for the very first time. The warmth she felt from Samara’s proximity grew so hot that it began to burn. Everywhere that heat touched set Miranda's nerves on fire. Suddenly, it took great effort even to breathe.

Standing there in Samara's striking aura, it was as if that numbing sensation Miranda had carried with her recently - that diminishment - was not only stripped away, but flipped to its inverse. It was as if the world around her had never been so intensely tangible and corporeal as it was in that instant. Like she had never seen the colours and textures around her in such vivid detail. Like she was hearing sound at frequencies beyond the audible human range. Like she could feel the contours of every single atom and molecule beneath her fingertips.

And all because, for seemingly no reason at all, she had looked at Samara in a whole new light. Let her eye fall upon her in a way it had never gazed upon her before. And, now that she had, she was totally and utterly mesmerised by her.

“Forgive me,” Samara broke the silence.

Miranda shook her head, rattled by her thoughts and...whatever the hell it was about Samara in that moment that had left her temporarily spellbound. “What?”

“I know my words were not comforting,” Samara admitted. “For that, I apologise.”

“Oh.” A small smile crossed Miranda’s lips as she tried to hastily forget what had just happened and jump back onto the original train of the conversation, ignoring the flush of heat coursing through her veins. “No, actually. I’m glad you said it,” she quietly confessed. “In a weird way, it’s the first thing anybody’s said that’s made what I’ve been going through lately seem...normal.”

“It is. Whatever you are feeling, it is. There is no correct way to grieve,” Samara assured her. And she would know. “It may be futile to ask this of you, but please be gentler to yourself. Knowing you as I do, I have no doubt that you are doing the best you can given the circumstances. That is all anyone can ask of you.”

“Thank you,” said Miranda, not sure why she felt so on edge all of a sudden. She was never nervous around Samara. Or around anyone, for that matter. “Sorry for rambling at you about this. Ugh. I’m thirty-six years old and I sound like a child experiencing loss for the first time.”

“I did not lose anyone I truly cared about until I was over four hundred years old. When my mother died. So you are far ahead of me, if that is the measure,” Samara responded, putting matters into perspective. “Would that you were not. Inevitable though it may be, I would not wish loss upon anyone.”

Miranda swallowed heavily, keeping her gaze fixed on her fingers for a moment. She wasn’t sure how to respond to that. For a moment, she wasn’t sure if she remembered how to speak like a normal human person at all. What the hell was wrong with her all of a sudden? Why was she acting like this?

This was Samara. Samara. The one person she felt truly comfortable around, even at her very worst. So why did it feel like her skin could just jump clean off her body at any moment? Why did she already feel so naked and exposed?

“Jacob must have pointed you in my direction. He isn't joining us?” asked Miranda, electing to move to a lighter topic of conversation. Whatever was going on, she could at least have the decency to not let it affect her, or how she acted.

“I extended the offer, but he declined. He said he wished to respect our space and give us some time to speak privately, but I believe he finds the prospect of the two of us in each other's company rather disconcerting,” Samara answered. Her expression was always calm, collected and difficult to read, but Miranda interpreted that look as vague amusement.

“Sounds like him,” Miranda replied. Jacob may have been about the closest thing she’d ever had to a conventional best friend, but they were very different people. It made them a good team, but they also frustrated each other to no end at times.

“Whatever his reasons may have been, I am grateful for it,” Samara admitted, a fondness in her tone. So was Miranda. It gave them the chance to be alone, like they used to be. She'd missed that. Evidently, she wasn't the only one. “He also informed me that you contacted Falere on my behalf,” Samara continued, catching Miranda's eye. “I thank you.”

“I wouldn't have had to if you had just contacted her yourself,” Miranda pointed out. Sure, Samara had her Code to explain her actions, but in all seriousness at times it seemed more like a convenient justification for Samara's evasiveness than the definitive cause of it. Unless the Code had some rules against calls, texts and emails that Miranda didn’t know about.

Come to think of it, Samara’s disappearing act reminded Miranda of herself when she'd been on the run from Cerberus more than anything else.

“She’s probably still waiting to hear from you,” said Miranda, quietly searching for cues in Samara's unyielding exterior that would signal her intentions. “If you wanted to write to her, or even call her, I could easily arrange it,” she pointed out, subtly urging her to follow her heart and make contact with Falere, much as Shepard had done for Miranda when she'd rescued Oriana on Illium.

Samara bowed her head slightly, a momentary flash of sorrow creeping into her expression. “In time,” was all she said.

Miranda understood that sentiment. Or at least she thought she did. Their circumstances weren't entirely dissimilar. Both of them had only just reclaimed those relationships once thought lost forever; a chance at a new start with the one person they loved most. And self-deceit was the only thing keeping it from sinking in that it was entirely plausible that they might never be reunited. In spite of everything they'd fought for, in spite of outlasting all the odds, in spite of snatching victory from the jaws of defeat and saving the galaxy from annihilation, the one thing that they had nearly given their lives to protect might still be denied to them.

Their family.

If it weren't for the fact that Miranda refused to accept that possibility, it would have broken her heart. Never holding Oriana again. Never having that life together she'd worked so hard to make possible. Losing her would have drained her of everything she lived for.

So, yes, unless she was missing some important piece of the puzzle, Miranda knew all too well what Samara was feeling, and why talking to Falere was touching on too many raw, tumultuous emotions at that moment in time.

“Oh. I almost forgot,” Samara rather abruptly broke the silence, calling Miranda out of her thoughts. Samara extended her hand, holding out a small keychain shaped like Blasto the Hanar Spectre. “I promised to return this to you when next we met.”

Recognising it, Miranda couldn’t help but laugh. She’d completely forgotten about that before now. It was a cheap trinket she’d won at the arcade the last time she and Samara were on the Citadel together, when Shepard threw that party. That felt like a lifetime ago, even though it had only been three months.

“You do know that was a gift, right?” Miranda said through a chuckle.

Samara blinked, hesitant. “Justicars--”

“Eschew personal possessions. I know,” Miranda finished before Samara could. It was exactly what she’d told Miranda when she had first offered it to her. She thought they had resolved this dilemma the first time they had this conversation. “If your tenets require me to say that it’s still technically mine, then fine. It’s mine. But I insist that you hang onto it for me indefinitely. Does that work?”

“It…” Samara paused, evidently more than a little torn on the matter. Miranda would never understand how something so insignificant could be a breach of her Code. But, on the other hand, Miranda couldn’t fault Samara’s tireless dedication to her discipline. She didn’t cut corners. She didn’t cheat. She was who she was - what she had sworn to be. And that was nothing if not deeply admirable. “...I suppose that would be acceptable,” Samara eventually answered, with some slight hesitation, running her thumb over the keychain.

“I mean, unless you hate carrying that stupid thing around,” Miranda added offhandedly. She hadn’t considered that possibility.

“No,” Samara hastily assured her, not wishing to create that impression. “Of course I do not.”

Miranda couldn’t help but muster a smile at that response. Honestly, it was kind of incredible how a woman who was nearly a thousand years old, and who had experienced so much, could still have the capacity to demonstrate such pure, unfeigned innocence and earnestness. It wasn’t often that it showed, but Miranda had always liked that about Samara whenever it did.

“Then, please, keep it. Do this, in memory of when I still had both halves of my face,” Miranda remarked, mock-crossing herself, as if giving Samara her blessing. Samara stared at her blankly, caught in momentary shock. Miranda didn’t take long to realise why. “...Sorry. I forget you’re not used to seeing me like this. It’s fine. I’m in the ‘joking about it’ stage. Have been for a while, actually. You don’t need to…feel awkward about it.”

“No!” Samara interjected again, a little more urgently than the last time, loath to think that she had inadvertently hurt Miranda’s feelings, or made her self-conscious about her injuries. “That is not what…” Samara trailed off, pressing her hand to her forehead in annoyance at herself. “Forgive me. It appears that in this moment I can neither speak nor stay silent without making a fool of myself.”

“You could never appear foolish to me, Samara,” Miranda reassured her, speaking from the heart, so there could be no doubt she meant it.

Samara softened at that, glancing down at the trinket in her palm once more. “...I should not say it, but...in truth, this came to mean a great deal to me,” Samara quietly admitted, earning a raised eyebrow from Miranda. “Because you gave it to me,” Samara explained at her inquiring look. Miranda felt her pulse quicken at those words, the heat suddenly rushing to her cheeks. “It was all I had to remind me of you, when I did not know whether or not you would…”

Miranda couldn’t speak. Her mouth had gone dry. And her throat felt so tight all of a sudden. She had to turn away and cough to clear it.

Fortunately, Samara spoke again before she had to. “You are right. I will keep it. Even if it belongs to you, there is no reason I cannot carry this, if you wish it,” said Samara, mustering a smile as she closed her fingers around the keychain.

“Great. It’ll be our secret,” Miranda replied in a concerted effort to act normal despite feeling anything but, holding a finger to her lips.

Wait a second. Did her voice have a tremor in it, all of a sudden? God, she hoped not. What if Samara heard that? What on Earth was this? Was she sick or something and didn’t know it? Was that why she felt so off-kilter?

“Before either of us get carried away, I must let you know that my stay here will be short,” Samara rather sombrely confessed, aware it was not something Miranda would want to hear. “I do not wish to mislead you into believing otherwise.”

“You didn't; I suspected as much,” said Miranda. She would have been lying if she said it wasn’t disappointing. But at least she’d gotten to talk to her this time before Samara set off again, resuming her ceaseless quest to bring justice to the galaxy. That brought some amount of closure, if nothing else. “Where will you go? Come to think of it, where have you been?”

“Many places. Forgive me, I am not familiar with Earth's regions,” said Samara, powering up the omni-tool on her hand. “I have, however, found it helpful over my years to maintain a record of all my travels. You may be surprised how often it is necessary to know these things, and how easily one forgets,” she remarked with a small quirk of her lips that almost resembled a smirk, activating a holographic map that documented her travels.

“You're kidding.” Miranda stumbled backwards when the incalculably dense web of destinations formed over the hologram of Earth in front of her, her bad leg nearly giving out under her weight before she remembered to grab the railing to keep herself steady. “I'll be damned. You really did get the grand tour,” she commented, genuinely awed by how she'd managed to go literally all the way around the world in under three months. “How did you get to Dunedin?”

“On a ship, from the North Island of New Zealand,” Samara answered, her literalism containing no traces of irony. Miranda suspected Samara knew what she had meant, but was using that sneaky deadpan delivery of hers to play coy.

“Keep saving those frequent flier miles and you could get back to Thessia at this rate,” Miranda offhandedly remarked. Samara gave her a slightly odd look.

If the Earth could have opened up and swallowed Miranda whole in that moment, she would have let it.

Miranda shook her head in embarrassment, regretting that stupid comment as soon as she had said it. Why did she try to be funny when she wasn’t? “Please remind me never to attempt to make jokes again. That was horrendous.”

“It is quite alright,” Samara assured her, appreciating the intention, if nothing else. “It is good that you have maintained a sense of humour in these troubled times.”

“I...don't have one. Never have, never will,” Miranda awkwardly replied, letting go of her cane long enough to rub her neck. “But thank you for your tolerance.”

She couldn’t isolate what it was that was making her so anxious around Samara. This was the exact opposite of what it was ordinarily like - usually it put her so at ease just to be in her vicinity. Now, the mere act of existing in Samara’s proximity made her feel like she was tapdancing on hot coals, and they weren’t even standing that close. Inexplicable waves of heightened energy surged through her nervous system every time it felt like Samara shifted a little nearer. It made her heart race just to hear her voice, and to let each word she spoke wash over her.

Why was she feeling this way? What was she feeling?

Why hadn’t it gone away yet?

“For the most part, I have not found it difficult to acquire travel,” Samara explained. “I have found most people quite accommodating in light of these dark and troubled times. They do say adversity breeds camaraderie. And it would seem that quality is uniquely commonplace among your kind,” she said plainly, having developed a great affinity for the human species as a whole.

“Would it dim your view of humanity if I pointed out the locations where I think the Reapers' invasion actually caused several billion credits of improvement?” Miranda asked, hopeful that her dark quip would land that time. Perhaps she was imagining things, but she was pretty sure Samara cracked a smile at her dry remark, recognising the gallows' humour for what it was. Most of Samara’s facial expressions were extremely subtle at the best of times, though.

“The work you have done here is good,” Samara told her, looking out over the slowly recovering city once more. “Your ability and intellect have always been remarkable. Now that you have applied them to a more worthy cause than Cerberus, what you have accomplished is truly admirable,” she said, approving of Miranda's new direction in life. It pleased her to see she had found a path that seemed unlikely to ever put her in conflict with the Code.

“Yes. That's all true,” Miranda matter-of-factly replied, resting her hand on her cane once again. What could she say? Feigned humility had never suited her. “But I could always use help,” she said sincerely. “I could also use a friend. Are you sure I can't persuade you to stick around longer?”

They both knew the answer to that question already. But every part of Miranda really wanted to deny it.

“You cannot, though it is not for anything you lack. Quite the opposite,” Samara replied, earning a wrinkled brow. “Other cities on Earth do not have the benefit of your leadership and oversight. Any contributions I can provide will be limited here. My Code compels me to look for where aid is most needed.”

“...I see,” said Miranda. That explanation was fair enough, she supposed. So why did the thought of Samara's absence leave her feeling so hollow? Why did the thought of Samara going away again make her heart feel like it was contorting into a knot inside her chest? Why did it hurt so badly?

“We will have many chances to speak again before I depart. That would...” Samara paused, internally dismissing whatever she had been about to say. “For now, I fear I have lingered too long unannounced, and taken enough of your time. I can see you are responsible for many others. I would not keep you from it.”

For a split second, something surged inside Miranda – an intense emotional need she couldn't describe. But that ache in her heart couldn't go unspoken. She reached out to touch Samara's hand, covering it where it rested on the balcony, letting her cane fall from her grasp and clatter to the floor at her feet.

“Stay?” The word was softly spoken, a question that carried with it uncharacteristic vulnerability. “Please?” Miranda implored her.

“For how long?” Samara sought clarification, evidently unsure how to decipher Miranda's odd request. “Are you certain I would not be imposing?”

Miranda uttered something that amounted to a short, heavy-hearted laugh. “You know what I mean,” she said. She wasn’t talking about today. She wasn't asking for a few more hours, or even a few more days.

She didn’t want an end date at all.

Samara gazed at her for a long moment, her reserved expression as always difficult to decipher. Whatever her thoughts were, her features did not readily betray them. Miranda didn't know whether she gave the matter any consideration, or if her answer was already as clear as every rational part of her assumed it was. However, maybe it was just an illusion or a trick of the mind but...for a split-second, Miranda was sure that Samara looked conflicted. Even torn.

Samara withdrew her hand. With scarcely more than a thought, she drew Miranda's cane towards herself using her biotics, and extended it to Miranda.

“We each have a role to play in the aftermath of this war. These duties cannot be forsaken,” Samara spoke calmly, placing the walking stick in Miranda's grasp once more, and enclosing her palm around it. With her other hand, she reached out to cup Miranda's cheek, fingers softly brushing the scarred skin beneath her eye-patch. Miranda's breath caught at the contact. It was all she could do not to tremble beneath her touch as a tingling sensation flooded from Samara’s fingertips out to seemingly every single cell inside her body. “It grieves me that our paths do not align. Perhaps that will change in time.”

“...It's okay.” Miranda averted her gaze, willing her voice not to shake under Samara's gentle caress, unable to meet her stare, scarcely able to breathe. She knew little of what Samara's Code entailed, but still she regretted asking her to do something that would require deviating from it. That had been unworthy of her. Even if the non-Justicar part of Samara may have wanted to stay, what place of it was Miranda’s to put her in that difficult position? To ask her to turn away from her vows? “You don't need to explain. I understand responsibility better than most. However, I would like it if I saw you again sooner this time. Or if we stayed in touch while you were away,” she admitted, allowing herself that much.

Samara let her touch linger, grazing Miranda's damaged skin with such gentleness, never once breaking eye contact with her, even if it wasn’t returned. “As would I.”

Much as Miranda might have wanted to, she didn’t dare lift her head. Wasn’t sure she could handle it if she did. It felt like her entire being was disassembling under Samara’s fingertips. And, if Samara couldn’t feel her quivering, then it was a fucking miracle. Her heart was pounding like a drum, and her palm began to perspire against her cane, where it was covered beneath Samara’s left hand.

It wasn’t lost on Miranda that neither of them were the type of people who were entirely comfortable or natural around others. Even small gestures of physical affection were largely alien. They had never so much as hugged each other. A touch of hands here or there was the most they had ever...but that didn’t explain it either. Miranda hadn’t felt anything close to this the last time Samara gently clasped her hand. She’d never reacted this way around her before, or anyone.

Miranda had never felt anything remotely like this before. Ever.

What did it mean?

Miranda had to recoil from her touch just so she could breathe again. Samara didn't resist, nor seem offended, letting her hand fall from Miranda's cheek. “You take care of yourself out there, okay?” said Miranda, keeping her eye fixed anywhere but Samara, because she knew damn well by that point that she wouldn’t be able to control whatever it elicited in her to look at her in that moment. “And don't leave without saying goodbye this time.”

“I will try, on both accounts,” Samara replied, promising that much. “Farewell, Miranda.” Miranda didn't try to stop her, though she wasn't oblivious to the tension in her body as Samara passed her. The air had never felt so dense.

Miranda could feel from the sudden chill that filled the atmosphere in her absence that Samara had left, and only then did she dare to confirm it with a glance upwards, her gaze met by empty space where once she had stood.

Alone, Miranda finally released a deep exhale, that bizarre energy that had built up inside her at long last finding the space to wane, and subside, and work its way out of her, at least in part. She didn’t know how long she would need to linger out there to compose herself, but she felt no urge to hurry inside, despite the autumn air feeling bitterly cold having lost Samara’s warmth.

She didn’t even know where to start to untangle that messy jumble of unlabelled sensations and ambiguous emotions whose echoes still lingered inside her chest. She held her hand up to eye level and, sure enough, it was shaking. She clenched her fingers into a fist, which made that stop, at least.

She leaned against the railing and let her head fall into her hand. Miranda may have been comparatively unskilled when it came to deciphering even her own emotions, but she also wasn’t completely dimwitted, nor was she naïve. And the longer she stood out there, the more one possible answer for these nameless feelings began to emerge from recesses of her mind as the most obvious fit.

The thing was, she didn’t want that to be the answer. She wasn’t sure it made sense, or if it was even possible for her. And, if it was, then she had even bigger problems than she could have imagined. Because it could ruin everything.

Miranda’s hearing wasn’t quite good enough since the shuttle crash to notice the door sliding open behind her.

“So, Miss,” Seanne was the first of the students to ask, peering around the door to the balcony at the subtle urging of her brother. “Who was that?”

“A friend,” Miranda replied, staring out at the city, unmoving.

“A girlfriend?” Rodriguez said with a smirk.

“A friend,” Miranda repeated without inflection, as if reminding herself to remember that. Convincing herself not to dare begin to think otherwise.

“It's alright if she’s more than that,” Reiley teased. “Or if you've got a thing with Mr. Taylor. You can tell us, you know,” he prompted, grinning.

Miranda turned and arched her brow at them. “Have you got nothing better to do than gossip about my personal life?” she wondered aloud, beginning to understand the meaning of the old adage 'idle hands do the devil's work'.

“No. We really don't, no,” the group cheekily replied, happily falling back into the habit of having fun at the expense of their guardian now that it (hopefully) seemed like things were improving for her. With that, they closed the door and went back to report on her response to the others.

Miranda didn’t join them. Jack’s students were right, in a way, if they thought they’d perceived a sudden change in her mental state. For the first time in two weeks, Miranda wasn't being haunted by the dark spectre of death.

The problem was that now the only thing she could think about was Samara. And, the more she tried to reason herself into denying it, the louder that one increasingly isolated answer grew as it kept circling in her mind.

Somehow, someway, somewhere between all that time they’d spent together on the Normandy, and seeing Samara standing on that balcony again, and she didn’t know exactly when, where, why, or how it could possibly be true, but...

She’d fallen for Samara, hadn’t she?

She’d fallen for a woman she knew damn well could never love her back.

* * *

#fic #mass effect #femslash #miranda lawson #samara

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angstmongertina · 3 years

Text

His Lady Pirate

Happy posting day, @makarias-mom! I hope you had a wonderful winter holiday, and a great Friday! Also, I hope this is IC for your girl and that you enjoy it! <3

Disclaimer: I am definitely making broadly sweeping guesses about what’s up with Jasper because he’s a mysterious one and we know very little about him lol.

After years of living on Vail Isle and multiple rounds of serving as a butler during the seven year summits, Jasper had been fairly certain that precious little could take him by surprise anymore. He had witnessed the slow decay of the summits’ influence, the widening schisms not only among the various kingdoms but also within his own people, and the varying and contrasting delegates sent to represent the kingdoms, all with their own personalities, strength, and goals. He knew of the clashes between the kingdoms, the fundamental philosophical opposition between Arland and Jiyel, the impatience and intolerance of Wellin and Skalt. The infighting within Revaire and the long-simmering anger between Hise and Corval. He and his people had spent years, decades, understanding the conflicts that threatened to boil up once more across the kingdoms, and the young lords and ladies caught up within them. He had prepared himself, just as he had every time, armed with knowledge of his delegate, with a keen understanding on the most recent state of the world. He knew that his assigned lady, as with most of the other attendees, was, in most eyes, nothing more than one of a set of pawns or bystanders, but no doubt had grit and determination, if she had been so eager to attend the Summit.

And yet, even so, Lady Erin of Hise had managed to take him entirely by surprise.

It was a strange thing. She should have been, by all accounts, just another lady from Hise, trained, as many of their delegates were, in both sailing and etiquette, though with perhaps more of the latter than was entirely typical, no doubt on account of her proper Wellish father. There was nothing signaling that it would be an assignment that would be unlike that of any other summit, nothing indicating the maelstrom that would descend upon his neatly, carefully organized life, eroding all his pillars of beliefs, turning those familiar weights and expectations from his position into shackles.

Nothing until she arrived on the isle in a whirlwind of personality and determination.

From the beginning, she had shown herself, her true self, if not to everyone, but at least to them. To Ria and Sayra. To him. She treated her servants with kindness and respect, something that was not altogether unusual for the Hisean delegates, but it was one thing to be unaccustomed to servants and quite another to treat them, to treat him, as she did, inviting them to her events and reaching out to them and befriending them, seeing them not as servants but as people, friends. Even Sayra, cautious and withdrawn though she so often was, had softened around Lady Erin, drawn to her light, a helpless moth to her bright flame.

Just as he was.

And even beyond that… she was too curious by far, had an unnatural talent in finding out information that it were better she didn’t know, often for her own good. While he didn’t follow her at every moment of every day, he saw enough, knew enough, to know that she had a tendency to go where she perhaps ought not, to snoop on information that could be dangerous to glean. After all, she had heard him, had she not? Had overheard his conversation with the Dowager Countess and who only knew how many others.

Guided only by the dim torches and the weight of the tray in his grasp, he stepped into her room, turning to ensure that the door clicked shut silently behind him. With a light sigh, so quiet that he himself could scarcely hear it, he ran a hand through his hair. So early in the morning, so that the sun had only just begun to peek over the horizon, he could allow himself a brief departure from formality, safe in the knowledge that, at such a time, not even she would be able to see him.

No, indeed, between her tireless work to defend Imogen in the upcoming farce of a trial and her pursuit of her own personal interests, she was doubtless far too exhausted to wake up at such an hour, even for her seemingly boundless energy.

With another, marginally heavier sigh, he carefully placed the heavy tray on the table before turning, his gaze drawn inexorably towards the bed, though not even he could be sure if he wished for or feared to find her awake, the reminder of just the previous day, of the understanding and connection and something more, something that he wouldn’t—that he couldn’t, not now, not like this—put name to, echoing through his mind.

Judging from the dull twinge in his chest, it was disappointment that won out.

He shook his head, hands balling into fists at his side. It was, he was, foolish to even think of what had transpired. Foolish for him to even enter her room so early, before the dawn’s light had served to cut through the night’s dangerous mystique. And even so, he could do nothing to tear his gaze from the strands of dark hair, normally styled neatly under Ria’s skillful fingers, that fell across her face, from the soft curve of her mouth, in slumber, still rather than curled into a friendly grin or set in a determined line… or pursed, gentle and concerned, when she looked at him.

She was a delegate at the Summit, had goals and ambitions and a life beyond the seven weeks spent on Vail Isle, spent with him. He knew that, knew that it was all only a pleasant daydream, one that he had no time for, even if she had taken his advice into account, even if she did seem to search him out, time and time again—

No.

Closing his eyes, he drew a deep breath, letting it out slowly, but still he couldn’t seem to turn away from her sleeping form, couldn’t do anything to combat his awareness of her, the gentle rise and fall of her chest, the soft, peaceful rhythm of her breathing. The comforting warmth that, even in spite of the ever-present mantle of his duty, seemed to lift the weight of the week from his shoulders, at least for a few minutes…

A faint creak cut through his thoughts and he barely resisted the urge to jump. Instead, he whipped around, the tension returning so quickly that his body winced, only to freeze as a familiar voice drifted from the doorway.

“Jasper?”

Letting out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding, he inclined his head, taking the time to set his expression back to neutrality. “Ria.” His gaze darted to the taller figure waiting behind her. “And Sayra. Good morning.”

“Good morning.” The faint light from the hallway cast Ria’s face into shadow, but even so, he could picture the crease in her brow as she stepped closer. “You’re here early. Is everything all right?”

Ignoring the intensity of Sayra’s own knowing look behind her, he forced his face into a facsimile of a smile. “As well as they could be, all things considered.”

Her lips pursed into a faint frown. “I suppose so. After all…”

“I know.”

He hesitated, resting a light hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged it off, forcing cheerfulness back onto her face. “But I believe in Lady Erin.”

Glancing back towards the bed, he felt his mouth relax into a more genuine smile. “As do I.”

#7kpp #seven kingdoms the princess problem #7kpp secret santa 2020 #Jasper #Jasper/MC #7kpp secret santa #Tina writes stuff.#Tina plays 7KPP.

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salthaven · 4 years

Note

What do you think of this marinette is with both luka and kagami, she decides to use the fox to fake a short akuma battle where ladybugs defeats the villain and it turns into her so people don’t suspect she is ladybug; it backfires when both her loves once they end learn the news won’t let her out of their sight and keep asking if she was alright and they are now out for blood against hawk moth

Wow, that’s an interesting idea! I have a little drabble idea, so I’ll take it for a spin~

~~~~~

She just wants a break. A chance to keep prying eyes away, to relax, knowing that no one (cough cough Alya) will assume she’s Ladybug. After all, how could Marinette be Ladybug if she was an Akuma?! That’s like assuming Gabriel was Hawkmoth- a viable option, but then he became The Collector.

(Marinette does not see the irony.)

It all seemed so simple. All Marinette had to do was borrow the Fox Miraculous from Master Fu. Simple, easy peasy, unlike most things in life. Then she just had to wait, to find an excuse to use her powers, to find something that would upset her enough that she could even trick Hawkmoth himself.

The day came soon after she made her plan. It comes in the form of Lila Rossi, getting up to her usual antics. Marinette is easy to provoke, she let the Italian pull her woe is me act, let the girl bring up her lies, her friendship with Ladybug- and then she snaps.

Marinette lets out all the tears she’d held in the past, all the tears she’d hidden from her boyfriend and girlfriend when they’d tried to comfort her, and then she darts out of the school.

And then she hides, going straight to the park. It is silent. It is calm and empty and Marinette can only hear the breeze as she forced her enemy’s face into the forefront of her thoughts, can only hear her trembling breaths as she remembered the prideful smirk that quickly turned into a pitiful frown, can only hear the soft flapping of butterfly wings.

Marinette slips a necklace off of her neck, a beautiful, sweet, heart-shaped pendant that her beloveds, her dear Kagami and Luka, had gotten her recently-

She throws it at the Akuma. It catches, turns purple.

Marinette breaks down beside it. She sits beside it, lets it hear her woes, her thoughts.

“Yes, Hawkmoth,” she says, but it doesn’t do a thing.

Marinette runs away, runs away from the Akuma she should be...and makes up her own.

She dons the Fox Miraculous, and Trixx pops up.

“Ready?” He asks, and she is.

“Trixx, let’s pounce.” Then she smiles, letting her sadness fade away. “Tikki, spots on!”

She catches the Akumatized object in her yoyo, and stores it away for later.

Red and orange darts through the trees, elusive and fast, slipping through the city without anyone noticing. She’s agile, more so than before, and power courses through her. She’s ready, and eager to work her magic.

She lands in a tree outside of the classroom. And then she whispers a single word.

“Mirage.”

A ball of light hits the ground, but in the daytime sun no one sees it. They do, however, see the dark colors that contrast with the sky, the bold pinks and deep purples and flowing gowns. They see Marinette, no, Princess Justice, clutching her dear necklace and shouting at the school.

The window is shoved open, Alya sticking her head out and recording on her phone. It’s all perfect.

“And I’ll get my revenge!” Princess Justice is screaming by the time her class can hear her. “I’ll prove to you all that she is nothing but a liar, that she deserves to be punished for hurting you all, for lying and betraying your trust-”

“I’m not a fan of liars, either, but this isn’t the way to solve your problems,” Ladybug says, swinging in. “I’m sure I can help you, if you’re willing to-”

“What, talk?” Princess Justice scoffs. “I tried! I tried to tell them! I tried to let them know, but they refused to listen! My best friend is so hypnotized, so drawn in that she believes I’m simply jealous.”

From the trees, Scarlet Fox sees the way Alya flinches. She smirks, then glances back to her creations.

“I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding-”

“Exactly!” Princess Justice nods eagerly, ever the optimist. “She’s confused, so I’m here to show the truth! To bring justice. And I don’t want to hurt you, since you’re a victim of Lila’s lies, too, so-”

“Who?”

Princess Justice goes silent, then laughs. It’s broken and overjoyed, full of hope. “Who? Who?! Lila Rossi, your infamous ‘best friend’, that’s who!”

“I don’t know a Lila Rossi?” Ladybug shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter. What matters is that I’m here to help you, so if you don’t mind-”

Ladybug lunges forwards, Princess Justice goes backwards. They leap and tumble and dance across the grass, and Miss Bustier’s class watches in fear, sees the battle with growing tenseness.

And then Princess Justice stumbles, her clumsiness shining through even now. And Ladybug snatches her necklace and breaks it.

In the trees, Scarlet Fox unlocks the yoyo, lets the necklace fall out. It shatters when it hits the ground. The illusion and reality merge, and an invisible yoyo, Scarlet’s, catches reality just as Ladybug catches the fake. They cast the purifying spell.

Scarlet hears the telltale beep, and wraps everything up.

“Where am I?” Marinette asks, then frowns. “Wasn’t I in the park?”

“You were Akumatized,” Ladybug says, “but it’s alright now.”

“But my friends, they still believe Lila!” Marinette protests. “I can’t let them be toyed with, it’s not fair to them!”

Scarlet can see their guilt.

It worsens when Ladybug says, “Speaking of which, I have to talk with your blogger friend.” She looks up at Alya and says, “Alya! I’ve seen your blog, and I’d suggest that you take the fangirl and her ‘interviews’ off of it! I have only ever spoken to that girl when she was saved from Akumas, and I’d rather not be associated with someone who lies as much as that one.”

“You- you knew?” Marinette asks with wonder, and Ladybug nods.

“If I had known she was lying about more, I would’ve spoken up, but really! Her lies aren’t even obvious.” Ladybug laughs, then gasps as her earrings beep. “Oh, I’ve got to go.”

“Can- can you take me to the park?” Marinette asks. “I think I need a moment alone.”

“That I can do! Come on!”

Then they’re gone, and no one sees the way they disappear into thin air. Nor do they see Scarlet Fox, who races to the park before detransforming.

She’s met with teary smiles when she returns. Her ears are filled with apologies, all of which she accepts without hesitation.

And then she thinks it’s over. Lila is dealt with, her classmates believe her again, and no one will ever assume she is Ladybug again. Indeed, Marinette is happy, and she gives herself a mental pat on the back as her classmates lead her back to her spot, leaving Lila to fume in the back.

She didn’t expect such a reaction.

She should have calculated this into her results, should have foreseen this.

But how could she have known how much love her dear amours have? How could she have predicted the protectiveness in her parents?

This is how Marinette finds herself surrounded by those who love her whenever Akumas attack, all four angry at Hawkmoth- no, they’re downright pissed at the villain- for Akumatizing her.

Maybe Marinette shouldn’t have let Alya record?

She loves them all, of course, but it does get annoying when she has to, you know, de-evilize the Akuma victim and all, but she’s not allowed to leave her parents’ sights. And if not her parents, Kagami or Luka is always nearby, always waiting patiently.

They refuse to let Marinette be hurt ever again.

And it doesn’t matter where Marinette is. In the bathroom? Her mom is on the other side of the door, forcing Marinette to keep conversation. In class? Kagami just had to run an errand for her teacher- scratch that, she got permission from her teacher. Marinette doesn’t know how. Walking through the halls? Marinette will hear the telltale sounds of guitar strings, and she knows plenty.

Actually, it’s...it’s not even about Akumas anymore, is it? Marinette sees how angry they get when she’s upset in any way. Frustrated with homework? Kagami is there to help. Mentions Lila offhandedly? Tea with her mother, calm guitar lessons with Luka.

Marinette doesn’t get it. How did this backfire? Now it’s practically impossible to sneak off, to save the day. All because she was Akumatized?! SHE WASN’T EVEN REALLY AKUMATIZED!!!

But then the world stops, and that’s when Ladybug is greeted by her parents and her loves.

“We’re helping you,” her maman says, and Ladybug stills.

“I’m sorry?”

“We’re taking down Hawkmoth with you,” her father explains. “Our daughter is unsafe, and we’re going to get rid of him so she can finally relax.”

“She’s always stressed, her heart sounds like this.” Luka plays a chord, electric, rampant, angry.

“She always hides everything inside, so we need to get rid of Hawkmoth so she feels safe enough to let her walls down,” Kagami concludes, and Ladybug feels touched. She blinks her eyes, trying to hide her tears, trying to hide how moved she is.

(Even if they have the reason for her stress completely wrong.)

“That is very noble,” Ladybug starts, “and I’m sure this girl is very grateful to have all of you in her life, but I cannot put such a responsibility on you all. This is dangerous work, and I can not allow myself to force you into this mess.”

“We know,” her maman says, voice gentle but tone firm. “But you’re not forcing us, you’re allowing us.”

And that’s how Ladybug ends up with a permanent team of six. Chat Noir was surprised to see that the Dragon and Snake were no longer temporary, and even more startled by the introduction of the Ox and Mouse heroes.

But his surprise can’t match the shock Ladybug feels when the new four bring her Hawkmoth and Mayura’s brooches.

Well...it seems she’ll finally get her break?

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6v6taeminisloveshineeworld · 4 years

Text

House of the Damned Chapter One: BLOOD AFFAIR

Summary: Lust is neither love nor passion, it is but a starving beast driven mad by thirst and unyielding desire. A natural hunger akin to flame. As a daughter of the Church, a trial of purity is thrust upon you when a series of events leads you to live in a manor with six vampire brothers who are eager to possess you and claim their birthright as the strongest of the bat clan descended from Vlad.

Pairing: Taemin X Female Reader, SuperM X Female Reader

Genre: Vampire romance, Diabolik Lovers Crossover

Word Count: 7.2k+

Warning: Use of foul language and scenes with non consensual circumstances

Authors Note: Most dialogue in this story is from the Diabolik Lovers game Haunted Dark Bridal Translated by maichiruhanabira and used with permission. It is not all my original work and will follow the DL game story with some extended or altered scenes. For original content read my other works, this work will be a side project since I am a fan of the game. If you are unfamiliar with Diabolik Lovers then I hope you enjoy surprise aspects of the plot.

“Once beloved of mine, I never possessed you and yet you still haunt me.

Your absence stirs a great longing within me unquenchable by time.

Should fate take you from me again and into the shadow of another man’s arms I shall end this cruel existence.

I curse destined prophecy, I curse you in your winter’s grave.

Heartless temptress, mistress divine, your crimson kiss is now a distant shadow dancing across hot desert sands.”

You woke from your strange dream and the alluring voice that accompanied it in a haze as the car bumped along the uneven roads leading you deeper into the middle of nowhere. Since landing on the soil of Emberwater you’d asked residents of the small town for directions to Hawthorn Hill and every time they’d waved you away saying that the estate had been vacant for years or that the place was haunted. Finally, you’d found one old woman who’d been a little too willing to help at last. Her eyes had been glossed over and you realized then that she was blind. She’d told you that her son would be happy to drive you to the estate free of charge to which you graciously accepted.

You hadn’t placed much stock in the townfolk’s superstitions until you saw the manor from your window at last. This may be a mistake indeed. What could Father be thinking sending me off to stay in a place like this? Is this really where my relatives live?

You still remembered the look on your father’s face just two days before as he hurriedly packed not only his bags but yours as well, stuffing things here and there frantically as if he was running away from someone.

“I don’t understand why I can’t go with you to Europe, Father? What will happen to the church when you leave? You’ve only just come back from your last overseas trip, please don’t leave me again!” You could feel the tears forming in your eyes and you wiped them away angrily.

“Honey, don’t cry we’ve been over this.” His voice was surprisingly stern and it unsettled you further. He was always so gentle with you and his behavior now really set you on edge. “While I’m gone I’ll be passing on Church affairs to pastor Remiel. This job is simply one I cannot decline, they have requested that I go personally and in the meantime, you will be off at a nice private school and staying with distant relations of mine, the family is an old companion of the Church.”

“Which relations?” You asked.

“I haven’t told you about them since we are rather estranged, they are quite aristocratic but they will take care of you.” He said, running a hand through his graying hair and looking more tired than ever. “It’s painful for me to leave you as well but please try to understand my position. I go where the Lord tells me and you my daughter know better than to go against his will.”

He came closer then and kissed your forehead. His eyes fell to the delicate silver crucifix embedded with pink sapphires that lay around your neck. He’d given it to you at birth, ‘a prized Church heirloom made of blessed silver’ he’d said when you had asked him long ago if it had belonged to your dead mother. “Finish packing, you leave tomorrow night.” He said, before giving you a final hug and walking out the front door with his suitcase.

As you approached this pompous estate now, you were half-filled with awe and more than a little bit of hesitation. You thanked the old woman’s son for driving you so far and started walking up the path, duffel bag in hand. The manor was quite large and elegant in the way that a royal castle would be you supposed if the castle was one from a horror movie or gothic novel. Vines with small orange roses covered the yellow-painted brick in a pleasing fashion but you couldn’t shake the eerie atmosphere and dark windows that seemed to send a chill throughout your body.

Perhaps it only looks this way at night? You thought hopefully. Just then a loud crash of thunder boomed, making you jump. It began to pour so heavily then that even though you ran the rest of the way to the overhang you were already wet. You lifted the heavy brass knocker and pounded on the door.

“Excuse me?” You yelled when there was no answer. The storm must have muffled any sounds you made. Or maybe the rumors were true about the manor being haunted and you should just leave. But surely father wouldn��t send me to a haunted manor. The Church would never wish one of its members to be associated with such an unholy place.

Just then the door creaked open on its own and you wished for the thousandth time on your journey that your father had just taken you with him. But thinking rationally the door couldn’t have opened by itself, perhaps someone was hiding behind it?

“Excuse me!” You shouted again, even louder this time, “Is anyone home? My father pastor Gabriel, he must have told you I’d be arriving.” When there was still no answer you stepped into the manor and closed the heavy door behind you. No way could this door be unhinged by just the wind. You dropped your bag on the floor and entered the foyer. No one was there but the manor did seem lived in at least. You rubbed the cold away from your limbs as you explored deeper.

The hall was clean but dim, lit only by a few candelabras that you passed as you walked into the living room. You marveled at the plush red carpet and sofas as well as the tall ceiling, there was a grand staircase as well but what really caught your eye was the roaring fireplace. You hurried to it and dried off as best you could. This is getting a bit freaky no one is here.

You reached for your phone but another flash of lightning made you jump and it slid from your hands. In that single burst of light you could have sworn you saw the shadow of a person lounging on one of the sofas but perhaps it was just your mind playing tricks on you. You moved to grab your phone only to find you were not mistaken. There was a person laying on the sofa fast asleep. You must have missed him in the darkness but you’d been certain you were alone.

“U-um… E-excuse me?” You said, hesitant to wake him. The boy continued sleeping so you went on a bit louder, “I’d like to speak to the owner?”

When he didn’t answer you again you moved to touch his pale hand only to find it incredibly cold. You moved closer and waved your hand in front of his nose and felt nothing. He was so still his chest didn’t even rise and fall. Is he dead! You thought with alarm, your heart began to race frantically and painfully. You knelt on the floor beside the sofa and clutched at your chest. These attacks were happening more and more frequently and you knew it was best for your health if you didn’t freak out. There was a ringing in your ears like a voice repeatedly calling out for help. You breathed in and out trying to slow your racing heart.

You started to dial an ambulance for the boy when suddenly his eyes flashed open and his hand grabbed your wrist to stop you. You screamed loudly in surprise and tried to pull away but his grip was too strong.

“Shut up.” He said, turning his steely gaze on you.

“Excuse me! Let go now!” You shouted and tried to pull away again. He tilted his head and looked at you from head to toe curiously.

“What’s with you squealing in my ear?” He said sitting up on the sofa.

“But just a minute ago…” You said trailing off.

“Just a minute ago what?” He said with a small amused smile. “I was just sleeping comfortably in my own house. Is that a crime?

“J-just sleeping? But… I’m certain you were…”

“I was what?” The boy asked in a mocking tone, he leaned in closer. His eyes were a startling green and before you realized it he had pulled you by the waist onto the sofa and was towering over you, one hand gripping both of your wrists over your head against the pillows.

“Hey what are you doing! You said, wriggling beneath him, “Let go of me!”

“Damn, you’re noisy. It was you who suddenly broke into my house. What are you doing in a place like this?” He said, bringing his face closer to yours. “Are you a magnet for trouble? Is that it? A moth drawn to flame?”

“No! I’m not, I was supposed to come he-.”

“I’m hungry,” He said resting a finger from his free hand over your lips to silence you. “There’s nothing like getting a feast right when you wake up,” he said with a laugh that made your stomach lurch.

“Don’t touch me!” You said, trying to squirm away but his knees locked you down.

“You’re some pretty energetic prey aren’t you? Stop struggling, just be a little… quieter.” He said as he began to unbutton the collar of your blouse.

“Please, God help me!” You shouted.

Suddenly all the lights in the living room came on startling you both. You noticed the ornate chandelier above you for the first time, it’s flames twinkling and reflecting against the glasses of the man who had entered the living room. The boy above you narrowed his eyes, seemingly annoyed.

“What is all this clamor? I hope you have a sensible reason for causing so much ruckus and disrupting my reading, Mark.”

“Ah, Ten, it’s you.” Mark said with a glare.

You used that moment to pull away from the strange boy and ran over to the man.

“Please help me!”

“Hm? And you are?” The man pushed up his glasses as he surveyed you with a look that seemed both annoyed and disgusted. You gave your name hesitantly, you weren’t sure if you preferred his gaze to the boy, Mark or not. From their features you could clearly tell they were related, they shared the same sparkle to their eyes and lint of the chin but on all other accounts, they appeared quite different.

“Mark, how many times have I told you to keep your conquests to your private rooms.” Ten said.

“I Am not a conquest!” You said angrily. “I came here because my Father told me i’d be staying here from now on!” You said it as clearly and unwavering as you could, relieved that at least some of your confidence was coming back to you.

“Is that so? I know nothing of these arrangements.” Ten said, narrowing his eyes, he looked to Mark for an explanation. “Mark, what is the meaning of this?”

“Like hell should I know! You didn’t say anything about that earlier, Breastless!”

“Well, you suddenly attacked me and told me to shut up, and… wait, ‘Breastless’?”

“Yes, dummy, it’s 'cause you don’t have any tits,” Mark said with a smile.

“How dare you!” You shouted, your face turning bright red.

Ten cleared his throat, and ran a hand through his black hair, “Well, there clearly is some error and you were misinformed.”

“Oh, what do we have here?” Said another voice. You looked across the room to find yet another attractive face. His hair was bright red, he was sitting on the banister of the grand staircase. His eyes were alight with mischief as he slid down the banister and embraced you.

“Hey!” You said startled.

“Is there really a cute human girl in our living room?” The red-haired boy said. He stood in front of you and brought your hand to his lips, tipping his black hat as he did so. “Hello, pleased to meet you, Little Bitch.” You gasped in surprise as he proceeded to lick your earlobe!

“Taeyong, really now. For a woman you’ve only just met, wouldn’t you say that was a bit insolent?” Ten said crossing his arms.

“Aha Ten you’re as stiff as always. Isn’t this fine? I was just getting a quick taste of a delicious-looking girl.” Taeyong said, licking his lips. You glared at him, taking in the eyebrow piercing on the left side of his face. If it weren’t for the ornamentation and bright hair you would have said he looked almost innocent in appearance although his actions said otherwise.

“Shit, I’ll kill you, bastard,” Mark said, stepping toward Taeyong. “Fucking spitting on Breastless before me!”

Taeyong’s laugh was more of a giggle like the chiming of bells. When he’d finally stopped he said, “You’ve got to claim your food with spit before your barbaric brothers do, hmm? Otherwise, they’ll eat it all up. Isn’t that right, Baekhyun?”

Another boy just as pale as the rest walked up beside you from the shadows. His purple cotton-candy like hair gave him a youthful appearance, He looked to be as old as you but for some reason, he clutched a teddy bear in his hands. A creepy bear at that, you thought. It may have been cute once but it seemed worn out in places now and very discolored, it even had an eyepatch and you wondered if it was just for style like some pirate or had the bear really lost an eye? Baekhyun’s eyes themselves were filled with excitement as he came closer to you and said in a childlike voice, “Please let me have a lick too. Don’t move, okay?” He wasn’t really asking for permission you realized for in the next instant you felt his tongue along your ear, wet and ticklish.

You made an odd sort of squeaking noise as you tilted your head away from him. What was wrong with these boys.

“Mm.” Baekhyun said noisily, clutching his teddy tighter against his chest. “She’s sweet… It’s rare to find a tasty one amidst all those dirty humans, isn’t it?”

“What?” You said in an exasperated voice, you were tired and confused of this little game they all seemed to be playing with you.

“Hey, what is a girl doing here anyway?” Baekhyun asked.

“Isn’t she tonight’s side dish?” Taeyong said, licking his lips again.

“Dumbasses. Don’t go thinking she’s your “side dish” 'cause she’s mine. After all, ‘Yours Truly’ found her first.” Mark said laughing again.

“Oh?” Ten said in an imperious tone as he looked at Mark. “That may be so, however you failed to taste her first.”

“Fuck you, Ten! Stop saying unnecessary things!”

“Pathetic.” Ten said, shaking his head.

Listening to this banter was worse than the licking you thought and just when you had accepted that things couldn’t get worse for you yet another voice entered the scene.

“Oi, Lucas, come on out!” Mark said.

Lucas it seemed had just appeared into the living room you had no idea where he’d come from. It was all just further proof that you needed to get away from this house and fast.

“No wonder I thought I smelled a human. It was you.” Lucas said, his voice was deep and every word was quite sharp. “My sleep was interrupted thanks to you and your stench.” He said, his glare directed on you. “What’s even going on?”

When you didn’t respond Lucas yelled, “Speak, don’t ignore me!” His fist pounded against the coffee table and made you jump in surprise.

“Ahh my little bro’s as hot-blooded as usual,” Taeyong said.

“Shut up, you year-round slut!” Lucas shouted at Taeyong. “I don’t consider you my older brother at all.”

“This is making me mad. Baekhyun said in a considerably serious tone that set you more on edge than the child-like one. “If you don’t stop with this needless talking, I’ll mangle you, okay?”

“Heh. I’d like to see you try it, Lucas sneered. His blue hair was disheveled and dare you say it, mangy as if his rage had grown roots. What are you gonna do with that tiny body, pipsqueak?”

“Ugh… Look at that, Teddy.” Baekhyun said in an offended voice. “This guy will be our next prey.”

“Please be reasonable,” Ten told you sternly. As much as I try to be gentle with you, my patience can only last so long. I’d like to say they can cook and boil you as they see fit but I cannot tolerate letting my foolish younger brothers compete for you in my clean living room. Now, first of all, please tell us how you managed to stumble upon this place.”

“Well... That is… because I..” Your voice shook as you spoke. It seemed your brain was at last catching up to the mess you were in.

“What’s this, Breastless? Are you trembling?” Mark asked.

“Aha… You really are cute like this,” Taeyong said drawing close again. “Now I’d really love to eat you.”

Mark laughed. “Your teeth are chattering. We really frighten you that much, huh.”

“O-of course I am frightened! I’m in such a strange place and I can’t understand any of you at all!” You said.

“What don’t you understand? Mark asked. We’re easy to understand, aren’t we?” He said, looking at Taeyong.

“Well, the rest of us are probably not as easy to read as Mark, right?” Taeyong said, a teasing lilt in his voice.

“Now, now, please don’t interrupt. Ten said, rubbing his forehead. “This conversation is not progressing in the slightest. I truly will lose my temper if this doesn’t shape up.” He turned to you and said, “You aren’t so frightened that you cannot speak, yes? So hurry and explain your situation.” He said the words slowly as if you were dumb. “Unless you’d rather I strike you with my whip?”

“This is all some big mistake,” you said backing away. I’ll just excuse myself. I’m sorry for coming in so late and imposing.” If I don’t leave soon they may do something worse. They really don’t seem to be joking about enjoying my discomfort.

“Hold up.” Mark called out from across the room and in the next instant he was right beside you! It was as if he’d teleported. “You can’t just leave, stay here.”

“I agree,” Taeyong said immediately. “It’s ridiculously troublesome when this house only has men living in it. If Little Bitch stayed here well maybe it’d bring a little bit of elegance into our lives.” Taeyong gave you a charming smile that sent you into a panic.

“I refuse!” you said before bolting for the door. There was nothing else to do at this point but run.

“Oi! Wait!” You heard Mark shout behind you. As if you’d stay here and be their plaything! Before now you would have said ghosts and haunted houses were just legends but after seeing Mark just ‘appear’ beside you and after all of those strange encounters in this sinister house, you believed that it was indeed haunted. You’d made it all the way to the foyer before you heard another voice.

“You’re so fussy, it’s tiresome,” The voice whispered. As if from smoke a man appeared right in front of your path.

“Are you also with those other people in the next room?” You asked, barely suppressing the desire to roll your eyes at yet another person? Phantom? Blocking your path.

��‘With those other people’... Being told something like that is exceedingly upsetting.” He said, his voice was much more enjoyable to listen to than the others you thought. It was languid and reminded you of a lazy stream. Soothing and yet refined.

“Well? Are you?” You asked again. When he stepped into the light you saw that his light blue sweater matched the blue of his eyes; serene waters both stoic and cold. You shook your head to clear it, damn these beautiful faces were distracting.

“If I had to describe my relationship with them,” He said finally, “I’d say we share an undesirable but inseparable link to one another. Are you the woman that guy was talking about?” He asked.

“'That guy’?” You repeated confused.

“Oi, Taemin!” Oh no just what I need now.“You know something about her?” Mark said coming beside him.

“Maybe,” Taemin said.

“Don’t ‘maybe’ me. I would like a full explanation,” Mark demanded.

“That guy, he contacted me the other day. ‘A new housemate will be coming to live with you, so get along nicely with her’ or something along those lines,” Taemin said dismissively waving them all away with his hand. He pulled out a pair of headphones that were attached to the black choker around his neck and went to recline on a sofa.

“So then, Breastless is just another prospective bride from the Church.” Mark said.

“No wonder, this is bullcrap.” Lucas said huffily.

“She’s more of a sacrificial lamb than a bride.” Taeyong said, moving to nibble at your ear, when you tried to get away he whispered, “Isn’t that right, Little Bitch?”

Ten cleared his throat. “It appears that this is not a mistake after all.”

“Y-you’re kidding!” You said, looking at Ten imploringly.

“Stupid. What would be the use of lying to you?” Mark said.

“I’m not a bride! I’m not marrying anyone! I have no idea what you’re talking about but this is all very strange! My father is an official from the Church, and for them to send me here…”

“Isn’t it fine, being sent here by the Church?” Taemin asked as he took in your shocked expression.

“What about that is 'strange?’” Baekhyun asked in that child-like voice again.

“That would mean my father knew all about you guys and you’re all so strange.”

“What about us is?” Mark asked.

“Well…” You tried to think of a way to say in the nicest possible way that they were creeps and your father would never want you near any of them but before you could utter a word Taemin said, “Because we’re vampires?”

“What! Vampires?” You exclaimed.

“Ugh. He went and spoiled it.” Mark said, sounding completely annoyed once more.

“Spoiled it? Wait, I don’t really understand what you’re saying,” You said and you prayed silently that this was just another nightmare and perhaps you’d gone to the hospital due to heart failure and this was all your imagination.

“It’s just as Taemin said. We are part of the vampire species. The bat clan, descendants of Vlad.” Baekhyun stated seriously.

“That must be a lie! Vampires? That can’t be true…” Phantoms were one thing but you couldn’t handle this.

“It’s rather inconsiderate for you to insist that we’re lying to you.” Ten said, “Mark has already said this, but there is no reason for us to lie to a lowly human.”

“But!” Your mind was racing now. Of course, the explanation did make sense. There was the shadow apparating, the flawless features, and the pale cold skin. The Lifeless body of before and their melodic voices. Yes, it all made sense.

“Now, now, Little Bitch,” Taeyong said in that ever so charming way of his. “You just don’t want to admit it, right? That beings as superior as us exist?”

“I don’t care if she believes it or not, she’s still annoying and loud,” Lucas said.

Whatever they said, you needed to call your father and ask him yourself. You reached for your phone but found your pocket empty.

Mark held your phone out to you, “Oi, looking for this?” Mark said, waving it in the air above your head just out of reach.

“That’s mine! You yelled exasperated. “Please give it back to me!”

“Or what?” Mark said with a laugh. He continued to wave it over your head.

“Come on! Enough!” You screamed.

“What’s with that attitude? I kindly picked it up for you. Is that how you thank me? Mark said.

“Mark, hand me that.” Lucas said.

“Why?”

“I said, hand it over,” Lucas reached over and grabbed the phone from Mark.

“Wait, what do you think you’re doing!” You scream but it was too late.

“I’m doing this!” Lucas said, before crushing your phone in his fist.

“No!”

“You’ve been so annoying ever since you got here,” Lucas said, letting the phone drop to the floor.

“You bastard!” You shouted. How would you call for help now?

“Now, now, Little Bitch,” Taeyong said. “From now on, you’re going to be friends with us creatures of the night. So there’s no need for boorish things like cell phones. Right?”

“Who do you guys think you are!” You said as you bent down to pick up the remains of your cell phone.

“So,” Baekhyun said as he stroked his Teddy bear, “Are you going to leave this place?”

“That should be obvious.” You replied.

“Oh, I see. Well, that’s perfect, then.” Baekhyun said.

“Perfect?” You asked wearily.

“I’ve been very hungry for a little while now.” Baekhyun continued.

“So what?” You said, hoping to stall for time to escape and keep him talking.

“You really are a fool, aren’t you? It can only mean one thing when a vampire says he’s hungry and I do love a good chase.” And with that Baekhyun pushed you to the ground teddy bear and all. For such a small figure he had a lot of strength, most of it supernatural of course you realized. You tried to move from beneath him but he would not budge.

“Your blood smells so tasty and sweet,” Baekhyun said giggling like a child. His fangs prodded at your neck and you shuddered as you felt the tips brush against your skin. “I’ll drink it all without leaving a single drop behind. Okay?” His self imposed stupor was all you needed as you took just that moment before he would feed on you to move your hand to your chest.

“Stop!” You yelled, whipping your rosary out and using it as if it were a shield.

“Huh?” Was Baekhyun’s only reply.

Meanwhile, Taeyong was just about rolling on the floor laughing. “Little Bitch… you’re amusing! You carry a rosary with you?” He said between giggles.

“She seems to believe in the more archaic methods. Ten said. “Quite foolish, I must say.”

“But, vampires shouldn’t be able to tolerate crucifixes, garlic, or holy water…” Your voice trailed off at the look on their faces.

“What kind of fairy tale did you get that from? That’s stupid,” Mark said.

“I don’t want to hear that from someone who looks like a fairy tale character!” You shouted back.

“This is making me mad,” Baekhyun said again with a whine. He looked as if he was about to throw a tantrum. “My food is right in front of me but the dining table is getting chaotic. Why are you doing this?” He said.

“Your food! Don’t say terrible things like that! I’m a human being!”

“This is tiresome,” Taemin said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Baekhyun said that because humans are treats for us. Didn’t they lick you already?” Taemin said.

“I can’t accept that vampires exist!” You said quite stubbornly.

“Mm… That’s kind of sad. Little Bitch,” said Taeyong. “The only way to make you believe us is by doing this.” He leaned into your neck and you shouted, “I get it now, so just wait a minute!”

“Don’t wanna,” Taeyong said, running his tongue along your throat and collarbone.

“You say that, but… m-my blood is not that cheap!” You said, trying to work out a strategy that would buy you time. “Because I-I want to choose who… gets to drink my blood!”

“Heh?” Mark said in surprise.

Perhaps I shouldn’t have said that but it was the only thing I could think to say.

“That is quite displeasing. Ten said, pulling up his glasses again. “I have no clue what kind of blood you might have, but aren’t you behaving just like a high-class prostitute?”

“This is stupid. I’m out. You guys do whatever you want.” Lucas said with a huff.

“Oh!” Mark exclaimed. “A dropout already?”

“The human’s manners are deplorable,” Ten said, looking down at you. “It has been quite a while since I’ve had a woman this undisciplined.”

“Lavender's blue, dilly dilly, lavender's green, When I am king, dilly dilly, you shall be queen.” Baekhyun sang the folk song in a hauntingly beautiful voice before saying in his serious tone, “Hey… Teddy. If she doesn’t pick me, let’s both cut her to pieces, okay?”

“This has gotten interesting,” Mark said with a smile. “Naturally, you’ll pick Your’s Truly, right? It should be obvious.”

“Little Bitch, Taeyong murmured. “If you don’t pick me… you’ll definitely regret it later.”

“Whatever.” Taemin said with a tired sigh. “Just end this silly game already.”

I only suggested this in the spur of the moment, but now… what should I do?

You looked at Taemin then, listening to his headphones again trying to block out Baekhyun and Taeyong’s chatter. He seemed safer than the rest; you didn’t quite know if that was the best word for him but when those blue eyes caught your stare you said, “I choose Taemin.”

“What a pain.” He whispered before closing his eyes.

Taemin seemed lazy compared to the others, somehow he felt more normal to you and yet, well what was normal for a vampire?

“Ngh, why him? You’ve got terrible taste, Breastless!” Mark exclaimed.

“You know, he’s not usually motivated to do anything, and I do mean anything,” Taeyong said moving his hips suggestively.

“Quiet.” Taemin told him, to you he said. “Well, I don’t mind having a nice meal come to me without having to do anything. But,” He said, eyes narrowing. “If you want me to suck your blood you’ll have to offer your neck to me yourself.”

Your cheeks reddened. Right, normal. This will work out in my favor.

“Everyone listen up.” Taemin said, “If you want to touch her, well, go right ahead. But you can’t kill her.”

“Huh? We can’t? Why not?” Baekhyun asked.

“Like I know,” Taemin replied. “That guy is the one who said it. ‘Treat your guest with respect’.”

“You really should have said so sooner!” You said.

“Too troublesome.”

“T-troublesome.” You echoed. He really was very lazy, you realized.

“What’s that bastard thinking? Why do we have to treat this lame human girl with respect?” Mark said.

“There might be some meaning to it. Maybe that person is planning something,” Taeyong said.

“Like what?” Baekhyun asked him incredulously. What could such a plain girl have?”

“Who knows?” Taeyong said with a sigh. “I can’t ever understand what that guy is thinking at all.”

“You’ve lost me again.” You said, feeling confused once more.

“Shut up, Breastless. Mark said, “This is our family’s problem.”

Who was “that guy” was he the person with connections to the Church that Father told me about?

“Anyway,” Taemin said, bringing them all back to the initial topic. “That’s why you can’t go so far you kill her. And you,” Taemin said, meeting your eyes once more. “Try not to be so loud; stay out of my way.”

“The more I take, the more you fall captive to my will. When your body meets mine, this thirst, this depravity will it all fade? You are but a faint illusion on the horizon waiting for the midnight sun as you waltz further from me.”

You woke from the words of your nightmare to find yourself in an unfamiliar king sized bed and as all of the memories of yesterday night came crashing down on you at once, you wished you had just stayed asleep. Taeyong, Baekhyun, and Mark, had shown you to this extravagantly decorated room last night and you’d been so tired that as soon as they were gone you’d locked the door and fallen asleep as soon as your head hit the pillow.

You turned on the nightlight at your bedside table now and opened the curtains to find it was dark outside. You realized you must have slept the entire day away and given all the excitement you’d gone through yesterday you weren’t surprised. Without your phone you couldn’t contact your father and tell him about the trouble you were in and you knew that waiting for him to seek you out would take weeks or maybe even months. He always lost touch with you when he was traveling overseas and it incensed you to no end. His actions really show how little he truly cares about my well-being.

Settling for being vampire food felt like giving up but as long as you stood your ground they couldn’t break your spirit so easily. They would eventually get what they wanted but that didn’t mean you wouldn’t put up one hell of a fight.

Dear God, why have you given me this trial? This nightmare felt a lot like being thrown into a den of hungry lions you thought. Like some crazy test of purity.

“Hey,” Taemin said appearing in your bedroom out of nowhere.

You screamed and jumped into the bed ducking under the covers.

“Annoying woman,” Taemin said. “Don’t jump on the bed. You’ll break the floor and then Ten will throw a fit if you destroy the house.” You felt the edge of the bed sink in and you carefully peeked at him from under the pink frilly comforter. Really why would anyone decorate a place this obnoxiously. Everywhere you looked you saw stuffed animals and expensive furniture and it made you wonder how many other girls had been a guest in this room. You shuddered and moved your attention to Taemin. His eyes were closed and he was listening to his headphones again. He’d swapped his blue sweater for a school uniform and this had your mind buzzing with questions.

“Why are you wearing a school uniform? It’s nighttime already.”

“Classes start around now though.” He said, opening one eye to look at you.

Before you could ask him anything more the door swung open, even though you had been sure you locked it you supposed the lock was there more for your benefit than to really keep anyone out.

“What are you two still doing here?” Ten demanded, crossing his arms and glaring down at both of you. He was also dressed in a school uniform but unlike Taemin who wore his blazer around his shoulders, Ten's blazer was buttoned down and without a wrinkle in sight.

“The nuisance has arrived.” Taemin said, closing his eyes again.

“Taemin, would you please get in the car.” Ten said again, “I won’t ask politely again. If you two humiliate us all for being late I will-”

“Yes, alright. We’re coming now.” Taemin said.

When Ten left Taemin got up and took out a folded school uniform he’d been carrying under his arm. “Here put this on quickly and meet us in the front. I’ve already enrolled you for classes so you don’t need to worry about it.” He turned and started walking for the door.

“Thank you,” you said. You were amazed he went through the trouble. He waved your thanks away with a hand and closed the door behind him.

You hurried to dress, fearing that if you weren't downstairs in the next few minutes you’d have more vampires barging in, this time as you changed. It made sense that vampires attended a night school though you really hadn’t thought about it till now.

“Good evening, Little Bitch.” Taeyong said, greeting you at the front door with a lick to your cheek. You wiped it off with your sleeve and walked out the front door gasping when you took in the limousine parked in front. Well here’s to hoping that I will actually be able to study at this night school. Your mind anxiously wondered how many students would also be inhuman.

The School corridor was thankfully filled with a lot of normal looking people. No horns or fangs were on display but of course that didn’t mean they weren’t around if the guys were anything to go by since their fangs weren’t always on display. You’d only attended one class so far and yet you were already worn out from the bickering the boys had engaged in during the car ride earlier. The only thing that even made the day bearable was that Taemin hadn't mentioned sucking your blood. Not even once. He hadn’t even acknowledged you existed beyond giving you the uniform. Perhaps he wasn’t interested in you at all and maybe if you stayed quiet he’d end up letting you go himself without you having to beg him.

Just don’t make him mad, don’t get in his way, don’t look at his blue eyes…

“Hey you!” A girl shouted from across the corridor and you looked up.

“Me?”

“Yeah! you’re the girl who just transferred into our class today, right?”

“Oh, yes I am. Nice to meet you.” You said.

“Yeah, likewise! My name is Ellisyn,” the girl said smiling. She was tall with long tawny brown hair that fell to her waist in ringlets. “You know… I saw you when you came to school, and…” She leaned in close to your ear conspiratorially, “I was wondering, how are you related to the Hawthorn brothers?”

“What!” Well, some things happened… And Tae-”

“Ahh, yes! What about Master Taemin?”

“Huh? Are you interested in Taemin?” You asked.

Ellisyn looked at you as if you were from another planet. “Of course I am! The six Hawthorn brothers are super popular here! I am the president of Master Taemin’s fanclub myself!

“Oh I hadn’t reali-”

“I must inform you then that everyone calls Taemin the ‘Master of the Music Room’, he skips almost all of his classes to spend most of his time there. Also, he never talks to anyone that’s why I was so surprised when I saw you with him.” She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Are you perhaps dating one of the Hawthorn brothers?”

No Ellisyn, i’m their prey and i’m being held in that creepy place against my will and you can keep your ‘Master of the Music Room.’ These were your first thoughts but of course you replied with: “No, no! It’s nothing like that, truly!”

Ellisyn’s excitement deflated at this, “Really? Nothing?” She pouted, upset that she hadn’t come across some juicy piece of gossip. “Well, if anything does happen I promise I won’t tell anyone.” Her forked tongue escaped her mouth with a slither as she said it and you tried to look unfazed. Not a normal human then. She waved goodbye and walked off down the hall.

“I should try to steer clear of the music room.” You mumbled.

“What’s wrong with the music room?” Taeyong said, startling you as he came from behind you. “You shouldn’t let the gorgon girl bother you, I’ll keep you safe.”

“Would you stop sneaking up on me! You screamed. “Make some noise next time!”

“But the look of fear on your face is amusing, Little Bitch. Why would I go and do that?” Taeyong replied with a wink.

You rolled your eyes, “What do you want Taeyong?” Just when you said it you regretted asking.

“Instead of zoning out in the halls and talking to yourself, why don’t we have some fun together instead?” He said, eyes alight with mischief.

“Ah, no. I… I’m not free right now.”

“Then make some time to spare.” Taeyong said, stepping closer.

“I-I can’t. I still have my classes!” Ah damn it, you were stuttering again. God he unsettled you.

“Who cares about classes? Wouldn’t it be much more important for you and me to learn about our bodies instead?” He said with a smile.

You blushed and tried hiding it by opening one of your textbooks only to find yourself reading it upside down.

“You’re so cute when you’re embarrassed. Here, come over here.” He pointed down a hallway. “There’s a less-crowded classroom this way-”

You bolted, running in the opposite direction and calling over your shoulder, “I’m busy!”

Hah… That was too close!” Thankfully I got away… This time. You leaned against a classroom door trying to catch your breath. Then you noticed where you’d gotten to while you were distracted running away, it was of course, the music room. Just my luck.

You could hear soft playing coming from inside. Curious beside yourself you opened the door quietly to find Taemin playing on the grand piano, his back facing you. When he was playing he seemed quite the opposite of lazy, he was rather vivacious. You came further into the room and watched his fingers as they spirited over keys. Even the muscles along his back seemed to move with him beneath his shirt to the rhythm, it was all so mesmerizing you hadn’t really noticed he’d stopped playing until he said, “What do you want?”

“Did you hear me come in,” you asked, feeling a bit guilty to have disturbed him.

“Of course I did, you are ever so noisy. Stop looking at me, you’re making a weird face.”

You blushed and moved to look around the room knowing full well he was talking about how you had been openly gaping at him. It was cruel really how angelic these monsters could appear. Without his fangs and imperious attitude he really would have been quite admirable.

“Did you need something?” He asked, going to lay on the floor.

“Nothing. I don’t need anything really.” Perhaps you should start some conversation or it would only get more awkward. “What’s the name of the song you were playing? It was beautifu-”

“Get out if you don’t need anything. You’re fatiguing. You really don’t have any importance to me and I hate small talk.” He said, closing his eyes.

Well that was rather unfair. “I wouldn’t be in your way at all if it wasn’t for you and your brothers.” Forget not angering him, you were angry now.

“My brothers all seem to be in a frenzy over possessing your body and blood, but don’t lump me in with them. If you’re trying to use your body to gain control or whatever of our family, then it’d be pointless coming after me. Eldest or not, I don’t even care about this household. Does that change your mind? Do you regret choosing me now?” Taemin said.

You didn’t know what to say to that. You were stunned, it was almost a book coming from a man who supposedly never spoke and one who never revealed his thoughts.

“I assure you, I’m not here to gain leverage or power or anything! I just want my freedom, just like you want yours it seems.”

“Don’t act like you know me and as for trusting your word, what good is it?” He said.

“Just because you can’t take anyone else's word in your family doesn’t mean you have to shovel all of your experiences on me!” You shouted.

“I’m tired of talking. He said, getting off the floor and walking to the door. “I’ve already said what I had to.”

He really liked slithering out of conversation and being the one with the last word didn’t he.

You sat on the bench and moved your hand across the ivory keys. It’s best this way, I’ll have the best chance at escaping if he really doesn’t care about anything or anyone at all.

#taemin fanfic #superm fanfic #vampire fanfic #taemin #ten fanfic #mark fanfic #taeyong fanfic #lucas fanfic #baekhyun fanfic

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noocturnalchild · 3 years

Text

SEALED IN MARBLE Chapter V A little Devil and an Invitation

“Then the Lord God formed the man of dust from the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, -“

You recited the bible, blowing a slow breath on the white crevice you shaped on the curve of a marbled nostril, while looking at him, playful.

“…and the man became a living creature.” He completed, refined priest, always ready to reply with verses.

You had established a fragile familiarity throughout the last few sessions with “Vicente”. Slowly exploring each other’s character, both moths drawn to the flame of your attraction to each other but too cautious to burn your fragile wings if you let it consume you.

You gave him an admirative look, that faded slowly to suspicious as he averted his eyes again.

“You seem to know your bible, sir” you laughed.

“Pious man, I see” you added when your model didn’t reply, a frown gracing his beautiful brows, it was maddening. The sight in front of you was maddening, his muscular, graceful shape sitting on a rock, white linen cloth loosely thrown on his manhood, barely covering his thighs as light danced on his skin, seemed to kiss his flesh warmly.

“You seem equally knowledgeable –“

You puffed a mocking laugh, that earned you a deeper frown.

“I have my special reasons…“ you simply said, careful not to give away too much too soon.

“Would you enlighten an ignorant man?” Francisco was outdoing himself, he who had never had a private conversation with a lady before, let alone with a young beautiful one, that seemed to not waste a chance of displaying a plump cleavage for his eyes, more and more emboldened, despite his miserable self.

You stilled, brought your pointed chisel to your lip, faking thought.

“Who was Adam to you, my dear Vicente? I’m always interested in knowing my models’ point of view” you lied.

Francisco blushed, trying to focus. He didn’t have to think too much, as his idea was already shaped, solid as stone.

“The first man, father of all men, and… the first sinner” He added, the weight of his faults hidden under his detached tone.

“hum” you smiled.

“Adam was a thinker, the first thinker.” You resumed your work, carefully curling the point of your tool in the insides of the marble crevice.

Francisco was silent for a moment as he assessed your reply. He definitely knew that he was in the presence of an unconventional woman, but now he was starting to believe that that woman was also… a skeptical?

“Would you, please, …give me more insight…?” he narrowed his eyes, and shifted in his position, investigating, forgetting his purpose.

“Gladly” you smiled brightly, cleaning your hands on your work dress, making it slide higher up your legs, and Francisco’s eyes fell instantly on the newly exposed flesh, and he suppressed a gulp.

Now that you shared your secret with him, you went through your sessions lighthearted and unveiled.

You couldn’t wear all the silk and lace and satin you wanted him to see, but you made sure to be garbed in your work dress, the one you wore when alone in your atelier, a light one, leaving the first buttons of your corset open, revealing the fresh swell of your breasts. You did your hair so that it cascaded sensually on your shoulders, rebel strands caressing your face. You didn’t forget to wear perfume, a hint too much? Maybe, you shrugged when you saw your reflection in the mirror, a radiant smile gracing your lips this time.

“Do you think Adam ate the apple without doing a little bit of thinking? Just because Eve tempted him, used her charms on him?” –you rolled your eyes at the thought— “Or maybe he wanted company just because he woke up one day and felt lonely?” You spoke low, in a tone of confidence, and you noticed with delight how Francisco’s ears heated.

Francisco’s heart looped in his stomach. The woman was blasphemous. How dare she? How dare she question the bible’s telling? How dare she, above all, be so confident and poised about it? Anger heated in his blood for a moment, as his jaw worked a pointed answer, but he then softened. Was it sadness that invaded him suddenly? Or was it compassion? Francisco felt something warmer, maybe weaker than sadness and stronger than compassion, stronger than his anger with you, was it longing? A feeling between wanting and not wanting? He schooled his face, judged better not to dwell on it.

Silence lingered.

“Why did you let me?” He questioned at last, betraying his train of thoughts, nonetheless.

“Let you?” You didn’t expect this question. It took you aback, avoiding the former subject.

“Yes, you let me. I can’t believe it was an accident. What I mean… is that you succeeded to keep your secret away from the world for… years? How many people did you receive in here? During all this time?” His tone betrayed a hint of distrust that he corrected quickly “They… any one could have known, but I saw you, you are a real master of disguise.” he smiled. And then, when he noticed your unease, he pushed gently; “Clarissa? Tell me”. His voice deepened and softened as these last words left his lips, and something in you trembled and burned, very deep.

his voice.

“You are not like them.” You swallowed, faking composure.

“How could you know.. “

If only you knew.

“I wanted to take a risk… I guess. I was tired…” You started shyly. “No… I… I wanted you to be different.” you smiled a little and looked at him with confidence as you exhaled a deep breath. He couldn’t stop himself from smiling back, mirroring your expression, amazed by your sincerity.

Yes, you wanted him to be different. You wanted to give him a chance, and give a chance to yourself. You had been in love before, and you had been loved, or at least, that’s what you thought. You were so much younger and naive. You fell in the arms of a treacherous lover, older than you, Captain of the Guards, a beautiful but so arrogant a man, volatile and cunning. He fogged your head with deceitful words and promises just to toss you away like dirt once he took your innocence and all the love you could give. He left you broken and blank and even if your good-natured heart learned to live and laugh again, it could never feel the gentle tug of that sweet heady feeling, that special sensation deep in your heart and core with any other man. You took lovers after him, just played the game and never allowed any feeling to seep into your cracked soul again. They were all artists, they shared pleasurable time with you and entertained amicable relations with you even when it was over, and you were thankful for the easy and diverting life you were leading, well, until he knocked at your door…

To you, “Vicente” seemed unlike anyone. He looked noble, with a sober character, a stoicism in his manners that you missed in men of your company. Maybe too conventional, to your dismay, but smart and educated. You wanted to know everything about his life. You couldn’t imagine a man like him being a simple servant all his life.

Maybe he lied, you thought.

Why didn’t you think of it earlier? Some of your models presented themselves under false names to protect their privacy, it was common practice. Some were noblemen and women, sons and daughters of rich notable people of the city, and even when they hid their identity, you ended up knowing. Miguel being the little nosy devil he was, he would go and bring you information you never asked for. This time, though, Miguel didn’t seem interested in helping you at all. He just hummed, uninterested. Vicente seemed just like any other servant to him, and he was indeed one, absolutely nothing worth digging for, boring. You found his lack of enthusiasm for the new comer unlike himself, but you just believed him, there was no reason he would lie to you, after all.

“Dear god! you look like a brothel madam!“ Miguel exclaimed earlier that morning, incapable of holding his laugh, while you were preparing yourself in front of your mirror.

“You devil! You spying?! Come here!” you laughed back, caught him by his collar, tussling his hair as both of you lost balance and rolled together on the floor.

“I’m so happy, Miguel” you sighed once you regained your breath.

“So am I, my Clarissa” he snuggled his skinny frame into yours and sighed, before looking you in the eyes, a worried shadow covering his eyes “But please… be careful”

You frowned.

“Look who’s giving me advice, my little spy” you pinched his chin. You brushed away the worried expression that didn’t leave his face at your pleasantry, deeming it to his knowledge of your past mistakes.

“Clarissa?” Miguel asked at your door gate as you resumed arranging your hair.

“Hum?” you beamed at him

“Nothing, er…maybe I should go and buy some butter? We are still receiving tomorrow evening?”

“Yes, yes, of course”

And like that, he left in a hurry and you heard his light footsteps running down the granite staircase.

Miguel’s heart was racing as he waited in front of your front door. Of course, he was going to buy butter for tomorrow’s dinner, but before that, he had one thing to do.

Francisco saw Miguel’s familiar silhouette waiting for something, or someone, in front of the atelier’s door. The boy had a habit to stroll around, busy chasing after birds and frogs; Francisco smiled, ready to greet him, but Miguel didn’t seem to return the courtesy. Instead, his eyes sparkled with something severe as he puffed his frail chest.

“Miguel!” Francisco started, stretching one big hand to pat the boy’s hair, but Miguel recoiled from his touch, frowning.

“Why are you still lying to her?” He shouted, voice barely that of a teen, but the words were enough to freeze the blood in Francisco’s veins.

Francisco’s heart leaped in his chest as his hands gripped the gate’s cool iron to ground him.

“Wha…”

“You know what I am talking about here, I know.” Miguel stood his ground.

“What do you know boy?” Francisco couldn’t let a boy intimidate him, so he straightened, full length facing the little being, but Miguel didn’t seem to flinch. Francisco couldn’t help but admire his courage.

“I see how you look at her! and I know you are lying to her! so if you can’t be with her, why are you still coming? Why are you here?”

“You don’t know anything, what are you even trying to tell me?”

“I know you secrets, priest!”

Garupe’s hands were sweating now, barely standing as he felt his whole life going down a black vortex. He must do something. Anything. He grabbed the boy’s sleeve and pulled him to a corner down the road.

Miguel started to yell but Garupe’s big hand blocked his mouth as the other hand kept him in an iron grip.

“Shhh! Miguel, listen to me, I will not hurt you, listen to me!” But the boy tried to bite the priest’s hand, that only tightened on his small face.

“Leehht mmm goh! Mmmmghh”

“Miguel! listen! I don’t want to harm you, and I don’t want to harm her, especially not her” Francisco desperately tried to explain, and Miguel seemed to see some truth in the priest’s eyes, because his taut muscles suddenly loosened up, pressure leaving them as calm regained him, ready to listen to whatever the priest wanted him to know.

He saw how you and Garupe were dancing around each other. He knew about your growing affection for him and he discerned the heated looks he was giving you when you didn’t pay attention… and the looks you were giving him, him paying attention or not. He was knowledgeable of your feelings, knowing you well. What he couldn’t know, were the intentions of “Vicente”, and he was resolved to clear out the matter with him, now.

Being his nosy self, he followed Francisco. The newcomer couldn’t escape Miguel’s tradition after all. As the priest regained his church, he was none the wiser of the small shadow following behind, feather light steps in the blemished darkness of the first hours of dawn.

Miguel lived with that knowledge for weeks, battling with himself over whether he should tell you or not. Smart as he was, he calculated the risks and implications of such discovery. He kept silent, relatively reassured by the fact that you would never take a step and unveil yourself for any of your models. Never, he was sure, even when he saw you visibly falling for that one, every day growing obsessed, not even trying to hide it from him. But now he was panicking. You might be falling into a big trap, you were unaware of it, but he knew, and he was more than determined to protect you, with all his small, punny self.

Miguel took in a deep breath, as Francisco let go of his mouth.

“What are your intentions? Priest?”

It didn’t go unnoticed, the manner he spoke the word “priest”, pejorative and disdainful. Garupe tried to ignore his frustration and anger, as he narrated the complete story to a round eyed Miguel.

They were both sitting on a nearby bench now, Miguel twisting a leaf between his skinny fingers.

“So… how do I know you are telling the truth? How can I be sure this is not a scheme of the church? To bring my master down? Because that’s what it seems to me!”

“No. No, no, no, no, a scheme?” Garupe panicked. From where Miguel fished such mature ideas, would never stop to amaze him. “The church has nothing to do in this matter! It’s me. It’s just me, and I’m a simple priest, no one else is involved. I swear to God…. to you, no one else knows your master’s identity besides me, and you. And no one ever will. Priest’s word”

To that Miguel laughed, a boyish toothy laugh.

“Priest’s word”

“What is that so funny now, boy” impatience was clear in his tone.

“For a priest, you seem fairly enamored” Miguel smirked, mischief sparkling in his beautiful green eyes.

Francisco blushed violently. He couldn’t believe the way he was being played by a child. He gulped, trying to school his expression into something… respectable.

“If helping you cousin is the reason of you being here, then why are you courting my master, treacherous priest?!” Miguel continued without letting Graupe place a word.

“ Cour… I am not! Watch your language b-“

“Yes! You are!” Miguel stared, and Francisco stared back. Several seconds passed and Garupe wondered if he was entering a staring contest with a boy.

“Do you love her?” Miguel asked, soft. Francisco had never seen deeper eyes on a boy’s face.

Did he? Francisco didn’t know yet. What he knew is how his body reacted in your presence, how warmth spread through him whenever he was with you. He wasn’t familiar with this kind of feelings, how was he supposed to answer? Was it love? Or attraction? Or just mere lust? He couldn’t know. He was ignorant of the heart’s matters.

“Would you tell her?” He asked back, as the tacit answer sank deep between them.

“Not if you will. Priests don’t take wives, I know that even if you want to, you can not. Don’t break her heart. Tell her.”

“ I will.” Garupe sighed.

“ Promise me” Miguel insisted

“ I will! when it’s appropriate, I will”

To that, Miguel stood up, stretched his arms, and in an unexpected movement, he stepped on the priest’s foot and run away.

“Fuu- Holy Graal!” Garupe shouted in pain.

“I will keep an eye on you! Priest!” Miguel shouted back, as his lean legs hurtled down the street.

Francisco replayed that encounter in his head while he was dressing after the session came to an end, lost in his thoughts as you approached him.

Your hopes were that he would accept your invitation for the dinner you were holding the next day, and you were determined to get a positive answer.

“Vicente” You spoke softly as your fingers traced lightly his still naked back, making him gasp. You were destroying the little restrain he tried to preserve lately with you. Those little touches, now and then, always coming when never expected, making blood rush to inappropriate places of his body. Were you a witch?

He remembered the promise he made to Miguel.

He stepped back, in an effort to impose some distance between your bodies, when every inch of him wanted just the opposite thing. To surrender, to give in, to let your touch linger and wait for you to take more. But he couldn’t and Miguel’s words weren’t the sole reason. How many times had he tried to remind himself that he was a man of God? He seemed to forget who he was every time he stepped into your little corner of heaven. It was something about the silence, the peace of the garden, the gentle splash of the fountain water and the quiet concentration in your beautiful face, while you worked your marble.

Your face fell a little at his obvious rebuff. You had been growing impatient. You had tried all your tricks to make the shy man open up to you, and even if you had been given positive indications in the way he looked at you, you couldn’t get him to act on it. You thought that it would be the matter of a session or two before you could make him yours, but the man was stubborn, for god knows which reasons! Piety? For he wasn’t married, as he told you… But now that you started to suspect he was lying to you, you couldn’t be sure anymore. But what pious man would pose naked, and for a woman?!

That tall mystery of a man was driving you crazy, making you none the less more determined to break the ice of his fortress.

“So I am giving a dinner tomorrow evening” You tried your softest tone “…and I thought, since you are in the confidence of my secret now, that you might be interested in sharing my little company”

He turned to face you, confusion visible on his gorgeous features, or was it fear?

“You will love them. They are a small group of artists, you can only be pleased by their company” You added, hope slowly fading to embarrassment as you saw his head shake in refusal.

“Clarissa, you know that I am not a free man. My master will not allow me more time than he already has” He tried to sound convincing, and for the most part, he wasn’t lying. He couldn’t honor your invitation, even if he really wanted to, if only just to spend some leisure time with you. But seeing your countenance now, God, he wanted to try, he couldn’t stand the look of disappointment and sadness you gave him.

He reached out, he didn’t think of anything but brushing off the sadness on your face as his hand cupped your cheek, thumb gently caressing the soft skin there, and you leaned into the touch. You missed his hands, the warmth they spread in you. It was different, the feeling of them on your face, and you wondered how they would feel in different places, more intimate places. You sighed as your eyes fluttered shut and he spoke.

“I am going to try, no promises, child”

You smiled at the nickname this time.

#father garupe #francisco garupe #garupe #fanfic #adam driver fan fic #religious guilt #francisco garupe x you #this is a love story

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sparklesparklekoushi · 4 years

Text

Her Unconventional Prince.

A Kuroo Tetsurou x Reader

Warnings: None

Word Count: 806

It was never easy, being with a boy like him. It was a given as soon as you started dating the reckless raven haired leader of the Nekoma gang, Kuroo Tetsurou. He was beautiful and daring, like a moth drawn to a source of light she was drawn to him. He was your typical bad boy, but for some reason, you felt like there was more to him. Something in his eyes told you that this wasn’t his whole being when you both first made eye contact, it was intriguing to say the least.

No, it wasn’t your fairytale love or hate at first sight scenarios, you were just drawn to his aura, his ability to make the world seem so dull and his group so alluring. The first time you met them was when you took what others could say would be a wrong turn that day.

That fateful day, you were walking to the local bookstore to pick up a new manga and you decided to take a detour, the scenic route around Tokyo. You knew these back alleys like the back of your hand. No, you weren’t part of a gang, but you weren’t some goody two shoes either.

You were doing above average in school, subjects were easier for you than for most. You didn’t come from the ground nor were you born with a golden spoon. You were fairly capable of buying what you needed and what you wanted at any given time. You loved hanging out with your friends at some arcades in these alleys and on your way to the bookstore, you noticed a new arcade in an alley you thought wouldn’t have one.

The arcade had a good amount of students in it so you opened the glass door and entered the arcade, earning a few stares from the students in there. Soon enough, the realization as to why they stared at you oddly hits you; they were the Nekoma gang from your school. You awkwardly excused yourself and was about to open the door once more until you were called.

“Aren’t you from our school?” A voice said, causing you to look back.

You nodded once, “Yeah, I am.”

You looked at his eyes and he looked like more than a gangster to you...and that was how it all started. Once it happened, you never really got to look back.

Today you were in class with Kuroo, something that happened a lot more now that you were dating him. The teachers were very thankful for this, but sometimes he would drag you with him to skip class… This English class was going on forever for Kuroo but there was something in the way your eyes gleamed when the teacher explained something that made him stay.

You seemed to be very interested in this story and he found it amusing how your face lit up every time something you interpreted was pretty spot on. He loved the light in your eyes as you raised your hand to get a point across to the teacher when they ask about what the students interpret it as. He loved how much you loved the school he used to hate so much. Yes, used to hate, now, he doesn’t think it’s that bad. Not now, especially now that he has you.

His days weren’t exactly lifeless and dark without you, but they sure were missing something. Something he felt was vital, something, rather someone, who would prove to be a mark on his life no matter what… and that person was you. He loved your fiery eyes when you needed to be confident. You didn’t boast or depreciate yourself like anyone else. You knew you were beautiful and loved, yet Kuroo loved reminding you every single day, because he loved you so.

And like any other story, he was never given the familial blessing, but he wasn’t shunned out completely either. You couldn’t blame your family though, as you knew they would want a prince on a horse for their darling daughter. And in all honesty, a boy with a lip piercing and a red motorcycle wasn’t the option they were hoping for.

But you knew he was indeed, your prince charming. Your prince charming who didn’t know how to tie your hair at first, but now knows how to do a mean french braid. Your prince charming who would secretly stash milk and sweets in your locker if he ever saw you sad the day before.

Kuroo Tetsurou was in love, and the only person he truly did love was you. So he vowed to keep you safe no matter what, and when you both leave that high school, graduate from university and take on the world, he will be there, on his red motorcycle, to be your prince charming.

#haikyuu x you #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!!#haikyuu imagines #haikyuu #anime imagines #anime scenarios #anime x reader #kuroo scenarios #kuroo tetsuro x reader #nekoma x reader #kuroo testuro #kuroo fic

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dishonoredrpg · 4 years

Photo

Congratulations, NAY! You’ve been accepted for the role of THE LOVERS with the faceclaim of ASHLEY MOORE. Admin Cas: I think we can all agree that The Lovers is a difficult concept to pin down. It’s a task in itself to balance the devotion they have for The World, her world, while not sacrificing who they are at their core. But, Nay, you were certainly up to the task. There’s something so lovely about Prudence, so beautiful and admirable, but something hungry. So much of her life revolves around The World, but that does not mean that Prudence doesn’t have a story of her own to live out. I particularly enjoyed the way you likened her story unfolding to a caterpillar grows into its chrysalis; to become a butterfly or moth, either is possible. I can’t wait to see what you do with her!

Please review the CHECKLIST and send your blog in within 24 hours.

Out-of-Character.

NAME: nay

PRONOUNS: she / her

AGE: twenty-two

TIMEZONE, ACTIVITY LEVEL: gmt + 5 ; and i’d say my activity ( especially with quarantine, still ) is at a 7/10. lately, i have been trying to write every day, and that means at least a reply every day – even if posted through queue after being written on a better writing day.

ANYTHING ELSE?: i wrote this way too quickly, because i suck at being patient and didn’t want to wait a week to turn in an app, so forgive me for the sinful typos committed in my haste! this definitely isn’t as polished as i wish it were. also? there are possibly too many insect-facts in this and if that shit squicks you, i am so sorry.

In-Character.

SKELETON: the lovers

K E Y W O R D S

UPRIGHT: love, harmony, relationships, values alignment, choices

REVERSED: self-love, disharmony, imbalance, misalignment of values

| source: x

NAME: prudence “prue” luna lockhart

→ ETYMOLOGY ;

P R U D E N C E / “intelligence; discretion, foresight; wisdom to see what is suitable or profitable;” also one of the four cardinal virtues, "wisdom to see what is virtuous;" from Old French prudence (13th Century) and directly from Latin prudentia “a foreseeing, foresight, sagacity, practical judgment,” contraction of providentia “foresight” (see providence). Secondary sense of “wisdom” (late 14th Century) is preserved in jurisprudence.

L U N A / “the moon,” especially personified in the Roman goddess answered to Greek Selene; also, an alchemical name for “silver”; from Latin luna “moon, goddess of the moon,” from PIE *leuksna- (source, also: of Old Church Slavonic luna “moon,” Old Prussian lauxnos “stars,” Middle Irish luan “light, moon”), suffixed form of root *leuk- “light, brightness.” The luna moth (1841, American English) so-called for the crescent-shaped eye-spots on its wings.

L O C K H A R T / Scottish: of uncertain origin, probably from a Germanic personal name composed of the elements loc 'lock', 'bolt' + hard 'hardy', 'brave', 'strong'. English: occupational name for a herdsman in charge of a sheep or cattlefold, from Old English loc 'enclosure', 'fold' + hierde 'herd(er)'.

| sources: x & x

FACECLAIM: zendaya coleman ( or ashley moore or natali litvinova — in order of preference! )

AGE: three-&-twenty for zendaya / four-&-twenty for ashley or natali

→ BIRTHDATE: fantasy-equivalent of july 8th; the most cancer baby there ever was!

DETAILS: it took me forever to find a skeleton that made me feel the enduring love i’ve been searching for beyond the ability to see a story, and as it always, unfailingly, tends to happen for the rare occasion where i opt for a softer character, it caught me completely off-guard. initially, surveying the tags, i was leaning towards the skeletons of the wheel of fortune, the hierophant, the devil, the hermit – all of whom, in my opinion, are characters who have been shaped by a darkness, be it inherent or inflicted, that’s rendered them with shadows or edges. with the lovers, that’s not the case. they are tender: like a paramour’s kiss, or a bruise, or an overripe peach you can sink your fingers into. and maybe it’s my unflinching desire to subvert the stereotypical presumption of what it is to be soft, the fragility noted in their skeleton does not translate to weakness or meekness to me; i enjoy that they are both tender, and possess the ability to be chaotic, and manipulative, and impulsive and desperate and vindictive and defensive. what i love most about this particular skeleton is the sheer humanness of them.

that, and their love for THE WORLD. for a moment there, that was definitely what drew me to them; this idea of love as religion had my mind reeling like a siken poem, rhapsodising about a love so powerful, it can alter a person. this is partially because i am the most hopeful and shameless of romantics, and partially because love, its nuances, and its powers and vulnerabilities genuinely, deeply interest me. however, working my way deeper into this application-form, that changed.

it is the love that the lovers — or prue, to me, now — holds for THE WORLD is one that attracted me. it is her own potential for growth that’s kept me in her clutches, besotted, wishing to tell her story. hers is a tale, i believe, of metamorphosis: a question i posed in a later section, as well as what lurks in my mind, is whether that metamorphosis is one that leads to a moth or a butterfly. did you know it is moths who come from cocoons, but butterflies who come from a chrysalis? moths, who are drawn to light. butterflies, who drink nectar, also help spread the seeds to grow more of the flowers. both which come from a caterpillar, whose first meal is typically the egg they come from. what i enjoy is the ambivalence that presents itself — or, as i like to call it: potential. there are several directions that prue’s story could go in, several choices that could define her, and it’s all up in the air until it isn’t anymore.

i wish i could tell you that my EUREKA! moment wasn’t insect-research, but i can’t, because that would be a lie. i’m not even sorry.

BACKGROUND:

☉ CONTENT WARNING(s): infant death, stillbirth, body horror imagery, insects

come, dear reader, won’t you settle in? let me spin you a tale—a tangled web of one, indeed—about a girl who smells sweet as white roses and is as satiny to touch as her gossamer-thin garments. this girl is just a girl; she has never been the girl. even so, this story is her story, and though she is not equipped to be the heroine of a story, or so she believes, she is the heart of this one. like a heart, she is swollen with the fullness of blood: thus, let me etch this tale into parchment with the blood of love, in crimson-ink of metallic-reek.

it comes in three parts: a beginning, a middle, an ending; it is for you, dear reader, to decide which is which.

let us anoint this tale the title of METAMORPHOSIS –

✧✧✧

i. THE EGG ;

before there is the girl, there is a man and a woman who live in faerûn by the sahrnian sea, bound together by a contract that is decidedly not the forest-fire love faerie-tales herald. yet that is not to say that love never comes, just because love comes after. when it does, it is a calm love, a steady one; a love that has never cost one to lose one’s mind, and has been grown, meticulously, over the passage of time and the trials and tribulations have littered the path of a match made by those who are older and have witnessed so much more life than them. it is not for years that the woman feels nature stirring within her body’s vessel, and when it does, it is with the undying bestowing upon her a gift that makes up lost time.

when the girl comes, she comes from a belly more full than most. it makes sense that it is so, for there were meant to be two of them: a boy, and a girl. one might suppose that, in the end, there still were, yet only one in the way it mattered.

( you decide, dear reader: which is which? )

she is born — and it is days, and days, before her time. no matter, a name still awaits her. prudence, they call her. pierce, he would have been.

from the beginning, she emerges from the ruddy cave of her mother’s womb incomplete. a greyish pallor remains where life ought to be warming her skin; it is as if he leeched enough life from her for him to choke on, and she siphoned her brother’s death through the connection only womb-mates share – and this is what she will hear in later years, when she asks about him.

she will wish she hadn’t.

✧✧✧

ii. THE CATERPILLAR ;

( when you feel unforgiving, dear reader, remember: it is a caterpillar’s job to eat; without an abundance of consumption, it cannot survive. it is this abundance of consumption that allows for the production of silk. it is this same abundance of consumption that is its undoing. )

years do not care if one is ready to bear them; they come, when they must, as they must. and so comes to pass the childhood that tries to swallow prudence lockhart whole, over and over and over –

as an infant, blood is filtered out of her body and fresh blood poured into her veins. it helps, some. it does not help enough, yet there is nothing more to be done; her parents must take her home, and pray to the undying god for the rest. they pray, and pray, and pray, as two people of noble blood and lucrative business-dealings rarely stoop to, for lack of need to need it.

as a child, prue is still a frail slip of a thing, with bones jutting out against taut bronze flesh in protest. fill yourself up, her mother pleads. you must survive, beloved. she offers her savory meals and sweet decadence twice, and anything she takes a suggestion of a liking to just as many times more — and it works; it takes time, but work it does, and prue’s cheeks round some and at times flush rosily, some weakness giving way to the minute miracles that are her tardy signs of life. it is not much, but it is enough, isn’t it? it is to the mother who has warred for her existence. who still combats for prue’s survival.

when does the girl begin to feel that it might be her that her mother is fighting, when every frustration about her lessness, her inherent lessness, begins to steal the breath from prue’s lungs – for is it not her who is all poetry & rot, wisp-thin & about as flimsy? her heart fills with hot, vital blood then: it beats loud and clear as a belltower’s toll, cutting through all else with the potency of its truth. this is as much as i am, she beseeches in turn, as her mother had once done, except not, for graceless tears roll down her cheeks in impassioned rivulets and the voice that thickens with feeling.

how will you survive the world, beloved? her mother implores.

i might not, prue knows. i might not, she accepts.

it is the caterpillar’s destiny to unbecome –

✧✧✧

iii. THE CHRYSALIS ;

– unbecoming takes time.

it takes long enough that both mother and daughter grow used to it, initially, and then around it, ultimately.

there is, after-all, the distraction of warfare engrained in the backbone of their precious faerûn. there is the journey to tyrholm, the settling into the dregs of hightown – not quite lowtown-bound, and not-quite-not. it fazes her parents to not be profound upper-echelons of society; her father, a man used to running the business inherited by the men in the lockhart family, and her mother, who had spent all of her time worrying for prudence and never had to about wealth. but prue, for her part, is accustomed to the notion of not-quite-right / not-quite-enough; the feeling might not be home, per se, and yet she recognises the walls of the house all the same – could walk its rooms in the dark, if she had to.

it is circumstance that calls the lockharts to castle tyrholm.

it tears at her parents: her father believes in not squandering opportunity, and her mother would rather squander anything but prudence. even THE EMPRESS sees it, does she not, when she cants prudence’s head and observes her fragility? the king’s reputation precedes itself; would a heart as true and innocent as hers survive a court like his? within minutes, it is too late to ponder it any longer. within minutes, it is no longer a choice, but a deal already struck. just like a match: it cannot be unstruck. one can endeavour to douse a fire, but it is not the same as un-starting it.

for a time, the castle is one more place prue does not feel she belongs; it is alright, she tells herself. you are alright, she says – because her mother is no longer by her side telling her anymore, is she? silken thread ensnares the girl when THE WORLD knocks on her door one evening; it is lilly-white, the radiance of their smile. prue does not understand why, then; she is nothing exceptional, she flounders for the right thing to do, and even then, she gets it wrong so much more often than she ever gets it right. perhaps, she will never understand why – why they are so kind, why they make her feel seen, why…

and still, this once, there is no question of whether it is enough. they are more than enough.

for the first time in her life, prue discovers what it is to be warm.

✧✧✧

tell me, dear reader – is this a butterfly’s or moth’s metamorphosis?

PLOT IDEAS:

❂ “love, for you, / is larger than the usual romantic love. it’s like religion. it’s terrifying.” – richard siken

see, i told you: siken’s poetry reeling through my mind. religion is a really interesting ideology to link the notion of love to, because there are so many boundaries one crosses in the name of faith. at times, we call it the lesser evil. other times, we say it’s letting the end justify the means. we’re all trying to be holy.

this is where i want to start discussing potential plots for prue — but i want to, first, preface it by saying that though THE WORLD is very much at the centre of her story, it is because prue’s unparalleled love for them is central to her life-story; i treat it like an experiment, where prue is the dependent variable and her love for THE WORLD is the independent variable that incites action & reaction, placed in different situations. it is, that said, the most potent of variables, and can hardly be called controlled, despite how desperately prue herself attempts to keep it to the corner-alcove they hide the truth of their love in. this love is not a selfish love; it is strong, and all-consuming, and maddening – more than a soldier’s swearing fealty to a kingdom, it is the most devout of prophets bowing their head at the altar of the divine deity they put their faith in. that’s pretty intense stuff, right? i want to see what it elicits.

this can be a double-edged sword, and in fact, i’d be rooting for it to be. on one hand, i want to explore how this love has made prue strong. i want to see how it has made her braver, and more resilient. i want to explore that she took THE EMPRESS deeming her fragile-seeming, and how she’s donned it as armour, because it is that same delicacy that has made THE WORLD love them. i want to explore it through interactions with the royal family foremost — THE WORLD, of course, but THE EMPRESS, THE EMPEROR, THE CHARIOT, and if it works out, maybe even septimus himself. it’s rare for prue to not let things slip, and roll off her back, but that is when it comes to her. her love for THE WORLD makes her want to protect them, fiercely; it lights a fire in her soul that has never been lit before. and fire? yes, it warms – but oh, it burns, too, doesn’t it? it has the power to ruin. and i don’t want to limit that exploration to just the royal family; i want to explore it with the animosity-potential between her and TEMPERANCE as well, but that’s one plot i’ll talk more about further down.

there are little ideas floating around in my head that i would love to explore with the respective players, but i could imagine a friendship between prue ( probably due to her sweet-tooth luring her, too often, to the kitchens ) with THE HANGED MAN – and to explore a bond, that could further be complicated, potentially, by prue not being able to talk about what she and THE WORLD share. or, more chaotically: for her to share it, and for THE HANGED MAN to let it slip to THE DEVIL? how far would prue go to protect this? and would she, if it presented the opportunity for the future where she and her love get to be together is pushed closer by it? how selfless is her love? how powerful would fear be against it?

i’m honestly just a firm believer that, when our backs are against the wall, that’s when we find out who we really are. and that’s the main storyline i want to explore with prue, more than anything else, because i think that she has never been pushed to that edge and, because of it, she’s never copped up to her own identity. she met and fell in love with THE WORLD at such a young age, so quickly and wholly, that it has shaped so much of what her ideal self is. i want to see how her ideal self would differ from the reality of her. and i want to see her confront it.

❂ “you are going to break your promise. i understand. and i hold my hands over the ears of my heart, so that i will not hate you.” – catherynne m. valente

very recently, someone put forth an idea to me: love is a promise. that’s what i want to talk about here. there’s a sense i got — both from the lovers’ skeleton, and THE WORLD’s — that both of them know that there is a time-limit on their relationship. or, at the very least, whatever room there is for prue in their future, it isn’t a room where they share the bed. but i also get a sense that they know it, and neither of them talk about it. i think a part of prue feels like the amount of good that THE WORLD has brought her will last her a lifetime, and i think that isn’t true, so much as she’s hoping it is? i want to see the two of them talk about it. i want to see prue wanting them to fight her love. i want prue to admit she wants to be chosen over duty, or a marriage with someone who isn’t her, or fear, and i want to see what something like that would do to their relationship. or hell, i want someone who has power over THE WORLD, like THE EMPEROR, or THE EMPRESS, or THE CHARIOT or THE HIGH PRIESTESS to find out about the true nature of their relationship and force that choice once they even start talking about, so the situation can force their hands even if they don’t force one another’s.

there’s so much between the two of them i want to dissect and play with, it apparently needed to separate quotations. oops?

❂ “all things truly wicked start from innocence.” – ernest hemingway

we all have the occasional ( or perhaps more, no judgement! ) propensity for wickedness. i feel really passionately about softer people not being safe from cravings for chaotic behaviour, even if they might, in prue’s case, justify it through the innocence of intention. a lot of her initial effusion is of a heady amalgamation of sweetness and delicacy; i want to see her display a dash of something that takes leave from that, and surprises even herself. now, though not at all set-in-stone and totally up to be discussed with the respective player, i could easily see it rearing its head in the dynamic between herself and TEMPERANCE. how many times will she be shooed away from a room with a beautiful woman and the love of prue’s life? it terrifies prue, the idea that THE WORLD will slip out of her fingers like the sands of time, so much sooner than she is ready for. i’m curious: would there be a moment where she would not leave? where she would make the nature of their relationship known? would she ever snap back, or continue to smile tenderly, bow her head, and listen?

i’m also dying to explore the potential plot brewing between the lovers and DEATH. part of this is a total shot in the dark, so bear with me, but – imagine this: there is a darkness in them that tugs at the darkness in her; they are hungry, and she is a starving-thing, and what a pairing they could make. imagine prue venturing into lowtown with them, and for the alternative reality DEATH’s hunger dangles that could open a door to an actual future with THE WORLD? i want there to be temptation — towards darkness and chaos, yes, because i am a sucker for moral ambiguity, but also for the loyalist that prue is to be lured by the revolt.

❂ “you cut up a thing that’s alive and beautiful to find out how it’s alive and why it’s beautiful, and before you know it, it’s neither of those things, and you’re standing there with blood on your face and tears in your sight and only the terrible ache of guilt to show for it.” – clive barker

it is difficult for even me, as i delve into prue’s psyche, to be a wordsmith adept enough to encapsulate the sheer magnitude of her love for her lover. let me tell you this, though: it is love that is devout enough that prue would sacrifice herself before it. she would shirk what she believes she knows of herself to fight for THE WORLD. but there is little in the universe free of the shackles of consequence. it feels inevitable to me that, at some point, sooner or later, prue will commit an action or reaction in the name of love — and then, she will have to live with it. it’s even better to me for her to go beyond her limits for this love that is everything to her, and then find herself turning to them to sacrifice for her as freely as she does them… and for them to, perhaps, not be able to. or perhaps, for it to turn prue into a person she herself can no longer recognise. there was a part of me that wanted to already cook something up, and to toss it into the writing sample portion, but i decided otherwise. if i get to write this character, i want to start in a place that is different, and develop my way towards a darker pasture, so to speak.

a darker pasture, however, is where i want her to at least visit. in a setting such as this one, i don’t think it can be helped, truthfully.

❂ “each friend represents a world in us, a world not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born.” – anaïs nin

while i was trying to knit this application together into one whole piece, a recurring concern for me has been that i want this character to have its own story, and the lines of that can get awfully blurry when the character is one the feels as intensely as prue lockhart does. she is such a hypersensitive creature; more than anything, it is her interactions that penetrate her, and alter her, and cause the discord between the sides that are wont to tug at her, who stands in the most Lawful Neutral of spots. i’ve decided to lean into it, though, because i genuinely believe that it poses an intriguing dichotomy between her inherent nature and the nurture that moulds it beyond the obvious, magnitudinal parental hand in it. that said, there are actual several different potential connections i want to toy with here. ( one of which is THE HANGED MAN, but i already mentioned that above, and didn’t want to be repetitive! )

THE MAGICIAN / listen, prue is so used to being the Softest. but this little baby is even softer than her, and every time they flinch, she just wants to help. she tries, at every turn, to be kind and i really want to see her become a friend / confidant for them? maybe learn about their magic. to maybe give them a secret of her own back ;) gal pals, gimme. i need something wholesome; it can’t all be agony & ecstasy, god damn it.

WHEEL OF FORTUNE / it is pure coincidence that throws the two of them together as often as it does. but prue is the sort to believe the best in people, and is never too arrogant to admit where she’s been wrong. this bond is where her feelings towards magic first begins to see development, and i am so, so, so interested in toying with it. even more so when you throw in their bond with THE EMPEROR — does faze prue a little — and his relationship with THE WORLD in there. such potential for growth and drama.

DEVIL / for years, every time prue has seen them, she has walked in the other direction. otherworldliness is unnatural enough as it is, but the proof of what they can do scars them with evidence of it – and so, out of genuine fear, she’s evaded them. and yet, coincidental interactions with the WHEEL OF FORTUNE has made prue think twice. a look at the haunting in their eyes has made her think thrice. i want to play with that dynamic!!!

THE MOON / hers is the only magic that does not scare prue, i think. it is the only one she is not too intimidated to ask questions about, because she truly is extremely curious when she takes an interest in something, and a lifetime of listening in the background has given prue a taste for stories. i feel like she could bring out something adventurous and wild within prue? a part which prue never got to explore, because she grew up with a very, very cautious mother who kept a very close eye on her and treated her like glass because prue really does look fragile. i want a bond to make her feel stronger!

THE STAR / if there is one thing that prue has grown up to be, it is a true romantic. it makes him something of a kindred spirit; something in her could reach out to something in him, creating a kindred bond that makes her feel seen in a way that only THE WORLD has ever given her.

THE TOWER / because she was raised right by it, the sea is where prue feels most at home, and she always has. i could see there being something about THE TOWER’s stories making her feel warm inside, and thus, her braving a friendship with them. i think she could use the wisdom of someone older? and there’s just something about them that made prue shyly scuff her toe at the ground, like – an oliver twist moment of, “can i have more, please?”

THE FOOL / stories talk about princes and princesses. the dragon’s fire, the nobel steed. prue looks at him, and she wonders: where are the stories about them? the princess’ lover, and the king’s soldier – those who fight for the crown, without wearing it. it could make for such an unlikely bond, but such an intriguing one, i think? i got the idea, and i just could not shake it. humour me!

and 0f course, there is potential with literally every other character, too, but i honestly ran out of time before i could come up with something for them too. i’m down to flesh it out~

❂ “we grow. it hurts at first.” – sylvia plath

at the start of her story, prue starts off as a fragile underdog. she turns blossoms into a lover, and it turns her fiercer – which is not the same thing as being fierce, but it’s a start. what i want for her — what any writer wants for their muses, i reckon — is growth. i want prue, who has grown up sheltered and protected, to experience pain and hardship. i want her experiences to call into question what she thinks she knows, flip it on its head, and make her think. i want her to think, and to change her mind, and to change it again. i want her to confront her fears, and her uncomfortable truths, and to experience all the tempestuous emotions she’s spent her entire life keeping at bay, having convinced herself they could shatter her. i want her to unearth her endurance, to test its limits. i want to explore her undoings and remakings. what i enjoy most about her is the volatility of her that most would not see coming, because volatile and tempestuous and emotional is what she is. she is all heart, all the time, everywhere. can you imagine how visceral that has to make every experience?

imagine the potential for growth if she let herself just feel all of it. if she opened herself up, and let the universe rush in, instead of walking on eggshells as she does. just imagine. that’s what i want for her.

CHARACTER DEATH: i could, of course, see prue meeting an end. in fact, there are a couple of circumstances that could make it deliciously poetic, even.

Writing Sample.

They match each other: step for step; right, then left –

Hardly anyone turns to look at the two of them anymore. The two of them, making their way down the hall, with their dark heads leaned close together, like two plants growing towards one another when the sun leaves them for too long. It might be more peculiar to see them apart. There is a strange pride that twists a corner of Prue’s mouth at the unshakeable knowledge of the fact – a hint of tremendous pride at the small, precious claim THE WORLD makes with the statement of their proximity. It is everything to her, and perhaps it is what lends to the smoothness of her gait as they move past the portrait-eyes that scrutinise it, as if they await another of the many stumbles they’ve already witnessed. Prue floats beside them.

Her heart is gone, long-since pressed into the palm of their hand. Does it weigh them down? She could pretend it is why she keeps their fingers curled into the crook of her elbow, helping them carry the heaviness of the heart she’s given away to them; Prue holds fast to that touch with her own hand covering their fingers, unwilling to give up those four pressure-points that burn her flesh through the silk of her sleeve for anything, enough to shield it with the dome of her palm.

“ – Prudence?”

Their hand flinches at the same time as Prue’s grip on their fingers tightens. As if a chill blew in, and froze the marrow in her bones, the girl stills in place. It is not because she recognises the voice. It is because she ought to have done, for what the cant of her head finds is a woman whose gaze mirrors her own: amber-warm, almond-shaped. It is her same mouth that speaks the syllables of a variation of her names that does not belong to her, not as Prue does.

“Mama –” she says, her voice so quiet, she fears it might not reach her.

She is too far away now. Even mere footsteps away, she is too far.

Extras.

✦ INSPIRATIONS → anne shirley cuthbert – from anne of green gables; tiana – from princess & the frog; missandei of naath – from game of thrones; margaery tyrell / house tyrell – from a song of ice & fire; madame lebedeva – from deathless; effie trinket – from the hunger games series; jack pearson – from this is us; patroclus – from the song of achilles;

✦ INSPIRATION TAG → here;

✦ PINTEREST BOARD → here.

#accepted #accepted: the lovers

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