#might make a predictions list at some point today or tomorrow
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For the people going to the Lupin Zero screening at Anime NYC tomorrow:
Wear a mask
Tag your spoilers!! I will be filtering the "lupin zero spoilers" tag until it premieres on HIDIVE
#might make a predictions list at some point today or tomorrow#but honestly the only thing i really want is 'make it manga accurate'#by which i mean if there is not a single mention of lupin ii or lupin i making his grandson give him his organs i want my money back#(jk i'll probably still like it anyway)#also let me know if that interview with tony and richard mentions p6e23 at all i really wanna know what recording that was like#lupin iii#lupin the third#lupin the 3rd#lupin zero
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26 III 2023
I had a lot of headaches recently, idk why. probably something to do with muscle tension, because my back, neck and jaw just lock up sometimes to the point that every movement hurts. I need to see a doctor about it, maybe I injured something or there is some other underlying cause
I wasn't very strict with studying this week, because a lot of stuff we did was a review of what I already knew but obviously it needs a refresher. if I keep ignoring it, I will end up in a situation where I won't know what's going on at all
I picked up some side hustles along the way, one of which is reading the extra topics from hatcher. one of the lecturers recommended a book to me, about galois theory in the context of covering spaces, I'm reading it right now, seems pretty good
tomorrow I'm seeing my advisor to discuss my progress with solving the problem for my thesis. I think I found the basis for the module, at least I proved that the set I chose generates all the other elements, remains to show that it's linearly independent. the second part of the question is the rank of the module, which is how an algebraic topology problem turned into a nasty cominatorics problem eh
today I completed the first "serious" task for my IT job, which was translating the code from java to python. I have never seen java before, but it looks a lot like c++, so I managed. I wrote 500 lines of code but I haven't tested it yet so debugging might be very painful. lol I guess that means I shouldn't say I completed the task
I am wondering if I should go to a conference, I have until the end of the month to submit a presentation. I am not sure if I can handle a trip to another city, it would be in a month, so there is no way to predict how I'll be feeling. this week I am giving a presentation about some knot theory (skein modules, bracket and jones polynomial) and it's a good pick for the conference too, which makes it a really touch choice as the hardest part will already be done. idk I guess I'll toss a coin, like I did about the IT job lmao
other than that, big thanks to everyone who interacted with my post about book recommendations! there are many great suggestions, it turned out much better than I expected tbh, I thought I would get like 2 or 3 notes. I will post a list of the books mentioned in that post, so it will be easier to find for anyone interested
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Summer of Strawberry Shortcake: Berry Bitty Adventures episodes 5-7
I don't know if I can pick a best one out of these three, like I did last time, but I can say that the first one, Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow, is the weakest. While a good Lemon episode, it's one of those 'foregone conclusion' episodes, where the ending is incredibly clear from the moment the catalyst is introduced. Of course Lemon will get rid of the Salon-o-matic, because the human touch she adds is more important to her friends than perfectly perfect haircuts and manicures. I do like that the show made a point of saying that the moral wasn't that technology was bad, as Blueberry worries that she'll also have to send back roomba-equivalent, and Strawberry assures her that's not the point she was making.
Pop Goes the Garden was a less predictable episode, but sadly is the first of many occasions where Blueberry Muffin, the smart one of the group, is forced to carry the idiot ball so she can learn a lesson, in this case that no one is exempt from making mistakes, whether they be book publishers or seed companies. It's episodes like this that made me think the series would be better served in 11 minute episodes, since Blueberry stubbornly clings to the notion that the packaging must be correct until about the halfway mark, then the episode switches to the problem of how to get rid of all this corn, ending with Strawberry and Blueberry getting trapped in a ravine with an ear of corn, which they use to escape by popping all the kernels and riding them up and out. (See, I would not have predicted that was how the episode would end.)
The Berry Best You Can Bee introduces a number of new characters, Postmaster Bee, Jadeybug, Sadiebug, and Kadiebug, and they're the highlight of this episode (not too much really happens in this one). Rewatching the series now, I'm surprised it took this long to get to them. Back in the day, by the time Berry Bitty Adventures was airing on The Hub, at least three DVDs had already come out, so I already knew these characters and it didn't really occur to me that this was their debut episode. Something interesting I noticed: the scripts for Berry Bitty Adventures are color-coded, with changes from various drafts denoted by color, and according to the script for this episode and the next one (I looked ahead to confirm), Jadeybug, Sadiebug, and Kadiebug all had their names changed during the second draft phase, probably once the writers decided they would all be related. And Kadiebug was apparently going to be Katiebug at first, which is what I assumed her name was for a while, despite her being listed as Kadiebug in the credits.
Another fine batch of episodes, even if though there's no clear winner this time. Pop Goes the Garden gets points for being so unpredictable but loses some for making Blueberry seem OOC for the sake of the lesson, and The Berry Best You Can Bee introduced a bunch of important characters but didn't do much else. Looking ahead, it might be another close one, as the next batch has two of my favorite episodes of season one. But it's been a while since I've watched any of them, so we'll see.
#strawberry shortcake#summer of ssc#berry bitty adventures#hair today gone tomorrow#pop goes the garden#the berry best you can bee
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day 50
Omg I can’t believe I’m halfway. As predicted, I’m freaking out about the lack of progress and how much is left to do.
I messed up today a bit. I worked in the office all day (points for that), I decided to stay home tonight instead of going to side job because a blizzard took over and I have my doubts about the buses (ok), then I was tired and I didn’t want to do stuff (clean cat litter boxes, yoga, clean up my apartment, and have a conversation that I really didn’t want to have but I told myself I would on day 50) so I .... sat around all evening listening to audiobooks and talking to Bae on the phone? Did nothing.
Sooooo my 50% progress is not so hot. Actually the area that’s worst right now is my workout plan. I’ve been doing a bit every day but I’m behind. I’m trying to gain weight right now but the thing is, the deal is I get extra food in exchange for working out, otherwise I’m just getting chubby. I guess earlier in this project I was prioritizing workouts every day above everything else, even to the point of getting to work late or staying up too late at night etc -- whereas right now I’m so overwhelmed with the things I have to do that working out is just another thing on the list and doesn’t seem like the priority.
Oh and I had my February taco today, haha. Also discovered that I sorta missed girl scout cookie week, so that decision was made for me. We shall see.
Well, might as well face the music. 50% review:
HOME:
I successfully bought and built a shelf in person. Never found the time to do the online shopping or get the computer advice. I sewed a slipcover for my chair but I didn’t finish it. I haven’t mopped the floor.
Next: Just those same things I guess, plus redoing the sisal rope on the cat tree.
WORK2:
I got a helper and we got rid of another entire category! I have high hopes that it will continue to go well. I also successfully utilized the small bedroom for storage/organizing space. I decided to wait on the electrician.
Next: I have some more organizing that I can do by myself to make the cooperative work more efficient. I was going to work on that tonight but then we got a blizzard. Maybe tomorrow if the roads are clear, and certainly this weekend. Definitely hoping to get rid of all the art stuff this tenth, and whatever else we can do if I can keep getting help.
ME:
Need to start prioritizing workouts again. There just isn’t enough time in a day but I have to make it fit somehow. I still didn’t change jewelry lol. I’ll get to it. I did a bunch of research on the therapeutic botox but I need to make some more phone calls about that.
Next: call dentist, call insurance, get caught up on my workout goals.
CONCLUSION:
I’m faltering. Life is hard. Weekdays have to be tightly focused on office, sleep, and exercise; then I guess pack in as much side job as I possibly can on the weekends. (BTW I successfully worked remote from side job not with my BF, are you proud of me?)
Next: I have a doctor appointment this tenth, which I’m not thrilled about because it’s expensive, takes time away from work, and hasn’t been helping. I tried last time to not let them schedule a follow-up but I’ll try harder this time. I have no more holidays (3 day weekends) for the rest of the 100 days so I need to tackle the weekends I have with a ton of energy. That is going to mean a goal of scheduling help every weekend. My goal for tomorrow is to get someone lined up for sure this weekend, then as soon as the weather clears/my work schedule allows, to get up to side job to prep as much as I can for that.
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What's the vibe? #12
Hi hello,
Today we're gonna be running down fashion week, so strap in. Might be some cool reads at the end. In the news, the UK might narrowly avoid a recession due to a rebound in the services industry (restaurants/bars etc) but I still think artistically...we're in a recession. A spiritual recession a la Thatcher-era. It's gloomy, people are scrapping together to make something beautiful.
Fashion we're going back to basics. Film wise, there's some good stuff - recently saw Blue Jean which was refreshing and enveloping.
Luar
Burberry - imo too many looks, could have been reduced to something more potent. I feel like if you knew when Daniel did at Bottega you could have predicted a certain amount of what was going to happen at Burberry. A colour for the brand to be attached to, an accessory, something for airport vision to be like “ah, that’s the new Burberry”. It’s a house that never really changes much but interesting anyway.
Mowalola - extravagant!
Dilara Findikoglu
Sinead O'Dwyer
JW Anderson
Simone Rocha
Discourse du jour: Thrifting and education on where our clothes go if they don’t get sold at second hand stores.
Origin?
A good response:
Reading List:
Boldly not going: zero-travel ‘touring’ play paves the way for eco theatre - The Guardian
Op-Ed | When Sustainable Fashion Does More Harm Than Good
This Is What the Cool Girls Were Wearing Circa Y2K - Vogue
The Hottest Accessory at New York Fashion Week? A Point-and-Shoot Camera - WSJ
BRENDA'S BUSINESS with RICK OWENS - 032c
LONDON A/W 23 WOMENSWEAR: DAILY ROUND-UP - Showstudio
Deinfluencing: Is the end nigh for beauty influencers? - Dazed - a lot of talk about deinfluencing right now - maybe next week we discuss what that means for creativity or just the internet in general?
Suggestions:
If you're in New York this weekend, the wonderful Dweller festival is back. If you're in Berlin, there's a wonderful line up at Berghain. If you're in London, Still House Plants are playing tomorrow.
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The time has come once again
The Bloodbath
“I’m simply one hell of a butler” says Sebastian as he starts cleaning as usual
Okay so Agni’s taking no prisoners
Work Nerd, Science Nerd, and Jock Nerd team up to form the Nerd Trifecta
Team One Brain Cell joins up with Phipps, who is quite possibly their only chance for survival
Ran-Mao remembers how Harcourt beat everyone in the unfortunately deleted round and said “Not in my backyard”
So far, everyone else has simply run away unscathed or grabbed a weapon they won’t use because the game doesn’t record weapons. Rip Tanaka
Day 1
Ran-Mao bringing the canon energy by adding a second weapon to her arsenal
Phipps somehow always turns into Team Dad during these, so I’m glad to see he’s finding time for his favorite hobbies
Undertaker up to his usual Sneaky Antics
It hasn’t even been twelve hours yet. Kind of impressive honestly
Considering Harcourt lost his mace, I’ll just assume the attack Grell “escaped” from was the vicious stabbing of his trim little schoolboy fingernails
Bad vibes
It appears that Lau also brought his canon game
Sebastian in the most recent chapters be like
I’ve actually never had this event come up before and it has to happen between two of the more innocent characters in the series;;;; god Lizzie you deserve better even in the Hunger Games Simulator
Where’s a Safety Nerd when you need one
What’s better than this? Guys bein dudes
This is probably what happened after Ciel left Weston
Sebastian will take care of this for ya, huh bud
Other events:
Agni practices his archery
Wolfram goes fishing
Othello finds a cave
Soma goes ‘splorin
Edward goes huntin
Day 1′s Deaths: Tanaka, Sieglinde, Lizzie, and Macmillan. Someday one of the ladies will win
Night 1
Butler slumber party in the woods, BYOYM (bring your own young master)
It takes a lot of energy to be this blond
I’m happy for her :)
Yeah I’ll bet you probably do Lau
A tonal shift so abrupt I got mental whiplash
Can we go back to when Grell was looking at the sky pls
Thought about science too hard. Got a concussion
Thought about Ciel dying too hard. Got an infection
Aww dad :( Hope you caught some fish tho
Looks like Harcourt won’t be winning this one, gang
I stg the hunger games simulator is misogynist because the ladies always DIE /j
Ran-Mao is hopefully here to prove the previous statement wrong
Other events:
Bard gets a hatchet
Undertaker also passes out from exhaustion
R!Ciel goes to sleep in a tree
Day 2
Oh you five are SO going in my burn book for this. It’s what Grell would’ve wanted
Ahaha just like in the real manga... right guys (;
Idk about you but I’m rooting for her
I don’t think the simulator could’ve picked four people who were less likely to team up than this
I would too if I saw my best friend was palling around with an opium dealer, a grim reaper with a lawn mower, and another grim reaper that the first grim reaper doesn’t like
Other events:
Othello chases Wolfram
That’s the only other event actually
That means today we lost O!Ciel, Mey-Rin, Harcourt, and Grell. ffs, I hope Ran-Mao kills all of you
Night 2
I’ve missed you, rare pair simulator
The “unknown sponsor” was Undertaker and the “fresh food” was O!Ciel
Confirmed: Lau doesn’t get high off his own supply
Once again a ceasefire between the strong hungry boys is formed
Girl, you don’t have to do that
“Did you kill Ciel?” Sebastian asks
“No that was William,” Othello says
Sebastian punches a tree so hard that it combusts. “God damn. Fuck” Sebastian says
Wolfram just realized I put him in the Hunger Games simulator
Other events:
Phipps thinks about “Are you winning son”
Undertaker gazes at space
Ronald becomes Lost Ronald
Soma passes out
Bard gets some water
Day 3
Damn Agni who haven’t you flirted with
Finny sees that Bard has water and thinks Bard cooked it himself, so he wants no part of that (might be burnt)
What did he even have that was worth stealing? A fish?
Well I can tell you who isn’t creating that smoke: Lau
“What’s worse than two young masters? No young masters. Now get over here and make a contract”
Everything about this sentence is a fever dream
Other events:
Undertaker decides he wants a slingy shot too
Edward chases Dad I mean Phipps
Othello gets some ouchies from picking berries
Night 3
When your young master dies, you just get an infection apparently
damn Finny’s playing hardball
I don’t think anything bad has actually happened to Bard yet. It’s just been a grand frolic the whole time
I barely remember reading the first Hunger Games but Ran-Mao’s the Foxface of this journey: she deserves to win and I just know she’ll die in the stupidest way possible
Sebastian’s like a cat that can’t reach the bird it wants to attack, so it attacks the nearest other thing instead. Poor Dad
Two white-haired anime boys and a not-white-haired anime boy talk about who will die tomorrow. Anime doesn’t exist yet so the white-haired anime boys don’t know their hair color automatically spells their doom
Other events:
Edward starts a fire, which means he’s capable of smoking opium
Ronald gets some medical supplies
Othello gets a hatchet
R!Ciel thinks about winning
Lau gets an entire explosive, but he won’t be able to light it, so no it’s no big deal
Day 4
In Soviet Hunger Games, white-haired anime boy kills you
But why murder someone when you could just mess with them
Other events:
Grey scares Bard
Finny goes hunting
Night 4
Have you four even killed anyone yet
The list of “people who didn’t start the manor fire and also don’t smoke opium” now consists of Lau and R!Ciel
The mood is too light now. Someone needs to die and it better not be Ran-Mao
At last, Father Phipps has chosen his son for this round
Agni gushes about all the hot guys he’s simultaneously in love with, giving Ran-Mao a clearer idea of who’s still alive
Day 5
Girl, it’s about time, go claim some trophies
Finny’s easily got the longest kill streak and it’s a little unnerving
Father Phipps finds a new secret fishing hole
Othello doesn’t
Lau continues to put in all the efforts of a kindergarten bully
Oh no. He’s a yandere
Other events:
Sebastian fucks around and explores the arena
Bard fucks around and hunts for tributes
Undertaker fucks around and sleeps
R!Ciel fucks around and picks flowers
Night 5
I’ve never met anyone who ships Sebastian/Undertaker but I know you’re out there
Okay, maybe these four are even less likely to team up than Phipps, Ronald, Undertaker, and Lau
Edward sees I’m making jokes about people who build fires and stays hidden
Day 6
Canonically, that is the only way R!Ciel would win a fight, so
I probably could have predicted this
I hope these are the faces they made when it happened
The “unknown sponsor” is R!Ciel and the “fresh food” is an ear that fell off his own head
I’m not sure if I should be concerned or unsurprised that Bard’s Hunger Games life is more chill than his canon life
the “unknown sponsor” was the fish and the “clean water” was “fish water”
Other events:
Ran-Mao gets her third weapon that she doesn’t want to use, which is a hatchet
Finny finds a river
Agni practices archery again, but he doesn’t kill anyone because he wants this to go on forever
Night 6
Ran-Mao I beg you please. Release us from this purgatory of mediocrity
And suddenly we’re back to canon Bard
I guess not everything can be canon
Other events:
Both Agni and Phipps pass out from exhaustion. It’s 2:50 a.m. so I should really be taking a page from their book, but unfortunately everyone refuses to die
The Feast
Finny has been a stone cold killer this entire match, so I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that the girl I wanted to win would get eliminated by him, but it still hurts ✌️😔
If you cheat on Othello, he will overpower you, killing you
Everyone else decided not to go to the Feast. Honestly, I don’t remember what the Feast is, but everyone who did go either murdered someone or got murdered, so I guess that was probably a good call
Day 7
I’ve had enough of this dude
Jesus Finny I can’t wait to see how many kills you got, I feel like you and Agni were the only two who took anyone down
Bard, Undertaker, Sebastian, and Phipps all hunt for other tributes but they’re useless and don’t kill anyone
Arena Event: Volcano Eruption
In one fell swoop, we lose Sebastian, Undertaker, R!Ciel, and Finny, jeez. But... that means it comes down to.............
FATHER PHIPPS VS. BARD
FATHER PHIPPS !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Wow... Unlike his manga counterpart, this boy coasted the whole time and won... He basically went on vacation and he actually won... But then again, it’s Hunger Games Simulator and nothing is sacred
Well I hope you learned a valuable lesson today. I hope you did at some point before you read my post, because you sure as hell learned nothing from this. Thank you for wasting precious minutes of your life with me 😏
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A Little Rest II
Characters: Xiao, Zhongli, gn!reader
Word Count: 2,104
Warnings: Swearing
Premise: Sometimes life is just unbearably tiring. And a comforting shoulder can be the perfect substitute pillow. In which the reader falls asleep on their partner.
Author’s Note: Second part!!! I realize the first didn’t get a ton of traction, unfortunately, but hopefully, this’ll still be welcomed. I realize since most of these are basically pseudo fics, would you guys prefer it to be bullet-pointed or paragraphed? I’m just wondering if one format is easier or more pleasant to read than the other.
Also, adepti’s rules and personal needs are kinda nebulous to me so I sort of made them up myself. Watches also weren’t a thing until the 1800s, and specifically didn’t really become a thing in China until the mid-20th century. But this is fantasy so I do what I want.
Xiao
You loved Xiao more than you could say. Every little moment spent with him made your heart flutter, every habit of his that you’d noticed, every little way he revealed his soul to you.
It seemed so improbable to you sometimes, than an adeptus, someone so very disconnected from the world of humans, should choose to love you. Although Xiao would never let you think you were any lesser than him, would never let his nature put you down, you were still somewhat in awe of the whole setup, and little reminders of his adepti status often brought you back to when you two had first begun to fall in love, when Xiao had explained that he didn’t quite understand the human way of life.
And one of those things that he didn’t understand appeared to be the concept of sleep itself.
It wasn’t that Xiao didn’t know what sleep was. Nor was he unable to sleep, he once told you. Theoretically he could sit down and take a nap much like any normal human. It was more that he didn’t need to sleep, and didn’t see the need to do something that took up so much time and left one so vulnerable.
Not that he didn’t pay attention to your needs; he wasn’t about to disrupt your sleep schedule on purpose, in fact you often joked that Xiao cared more about your rest than you did. It was only that, after spending so many years simply not thinking about things like sleep, it became hard for him to suddenly remember that he had a partner who needed said sleep every day. And a day was oh so short in Xiao’s mind.
It was a beautiful evening at the Wangshu Inn. The air was warm without being stifling and a breeze blew, light and cool. You were on the roof with Xiao, the place that had become your normal meeting spot. For as much as Xiao adored you with every fiber of his soul, he was still an adeptus, and his comfort level around most humans was that of an anxious cat – always ready to bolt.
Besides, the roof of the Inn was such a lovely place to relax. You gazed at Xiao’s profile as he looked up at the stars, noticing the way that the wind ruffled his hair slightly, the way his posture seemed so relaxed, so comfortable. One of his hands was clasping yours, fingers linked together, his palm nice and warm; the other pointed out constellations to you, each bearing a story, some which had long been forgotten by the residents of Liyue.
It wasn’t often that Xiao was so talkative, so open. Although he still barely mentioned his past – keeping that part of himself shut away with only the occasional crack through which you might learn of his sorrows – he’d become much more willing to disclose his everyday thoughts to you, as well as share stories that he knew. The latter was something you always loved to listen to, not just because the stories he told were always interesting and so full of life, but also because they gave you the sense of knowing him better, something that always made you happy.
Unfortunately, tonight was one night where, though you were more than happy to listen to Xiao talk about the stars, you were kind of dying of fatigue. A headache slipped in and out of your consciousness, and you found it more and more difficult to concentrate on Xiao’s words, finding they were all melting together into some semi-coherent monologue.
Your fatigue must’ve been very apparent, for when Xiao glanced over at you his whole demeanor changed; the carefree look on his face was gone, replaced with one of slight confusion and definitive worry. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine!” You shook your head. “Just a bit tired, that’s all.”
“Then you should rest.” Xiao squeezed your hand slightly before moving to stand up. However, as tired as you were, you cared more about spending time with him, and weren’t about to cut said time short.
“Wait!” You exclaimed, causing Xiao to pause, looking at you in a puzzled way. You smiled, slightly sheepish, but pressed forward. “I’ll be fine. If you don’t mind though, may I, uh, may I lay my head on your shoulder.” You gazed up at him, but inside you were struck with the urge to suddenly look away. Xiao was still a bit reticent with affection, not that it bothered you. He’d told you that he was simply unused to it, not averse to it. You weren’t about to pressure him into anything though, no matter the cause, and thus you waited for his response, hoping your expression conveyed that it’d be perfectly fine if he declined.
Your worries proved to be without ground however, for Xiao’s expression grew only fonder. Lying back down he gestured towards you. You gladly scooted closer to him, laying your head on his shoulder, hand once more in his. “You were saying about the boar constellation.” You murmured.
Xiao smiled, kissing the top of your head, before once more going on speaking about the stars. You smiled too, allowing his stories to carry you off to sleep, your head already swirling with half formed dreams about creatures who walked among the stars.
Xiao listened to your breathing even out, still talking a little after it seemed you’d dozed off, making sure that the sudden stop of his voice didn’t wake you up.
Gazing down at your peaceful face he pondered for a moment how much his life had changed so quickly. Even a month ago the idea that he would become friends with a human seemed impossible, much less that he would fall in love with one.
When he’d first met you it was as if something that had been frozen inside him for a long time began to thaw. He was terrified at first, terrified of you, terrified of himself, terrified of the unknown that loomed before him like a vast chasm. It had taken every ounce of courage to hold your hand at first, and every ounce of courage for every step after that.
But he would do it again if he had to, for being with you was the best part of his long, often cruel life. And he would do anything to protect you, anything to make sure you were comfortable and happy and healthy.
“Goodnight.” He spoke softly. Up above the stars kept silent vigil along with him. Tomorrow would be a bright new day, but for now he was simply going to enjoy the moment he’d been given with you.
Zhongli
For someone who’d lived thousands of years, you’d think Zhongli would remember that tea had to be decaffeinated sometimes.
Not that you could really blame him for forgetting. After all it’s not like he needed to pay attention to whether or not his tea was caffeinated. To one of the Seven sleep was something more akin to a perk than a necessity. Sure, it was nice to sleep. But it’s not like Zhongli was going to feel regret if he accidentally downed five cups of tea right before midnight and spent the rest of night starting at the ceiling, wondering where he went wrong.
Unfortunately, you were definitively not a god, and did, in fact, need sleep. So, when you found yourself staring out the window at 5 am, having long come to the conclusion that sleep was just not going to happen, the emotion going through your mind was something more akin to: “Oh. Fuck.”
This turned into an “Oh you’ve got to be fucking kidding me” when you saw the list of your daily commissions. Yeah, someone had to go to Jueyun Karst and Qingyun Peak to collect Cor Lapis, and considering your relationship with Zhongli and the adepti it should’ve been unsurprising that you were going to be the one to do it. But your sleep addled brain was having a difficult time processing things logically, and all you saw when you looked at the list Katheryne gave you was the fact that today was going to hurt.
Your prediction turned out to be only too true. No adepti came to ask why you were mining outside their front doors – honestly what would you even respond to something like that – but the amount of treasure hunters that ran into you began to feel less like a likely coincidence, considering the location, and more like a targeted attack. Thankfully there was nothing you couldn’t handle, but by the end of your expedition you were more than ready to go home and take a nap.
Hurrying through the rest of your day, barely responding to the people you interacted with, by the time you’d finally finished up with your adventuring duties you felt like the most irritated person on the planet.
Arriving home, throwing your pack haphazardly onto the floor you almost tripped and fell flat on your face in your hurry to get to the bedroom. Not bothering to take off your adventuring gear you threw yourself onto the bed and quickly found yourself lost in long overdue sleep.
Zhongli glanced at his watch, frowning as he saw the lateness of the hour. The sun was already beginning to set, and though he’d walked as fast as possible, he still found himself feeling vaguely guilty about being so late. You two hadn’t spoken much in the morning, you’d seemed a bit restless and hurried out right after breakfast, so Zhongli was anxious to spend as much time with you after work as possible.
“Darling?” He called out, walking into the home you two shared. He glanced around uncertainly, surprised that you hadn’t greeted him at the door. The sight of your pack sprawled about the hallway only made him more confused, and vaguely alarmed, and he hurried down the hall, checking each room to see if you were there.
His worry immediately faded upon seeing you, curled up above the covers, evidently fast asleep. Unsure as to whether or not to wake you up he instead headed towards the kitchen, thinking you might like something when you got up.
You woke up in the dark, something that surprised you. You’d been out for a long time. Seeing that the door had been opened you shuffled down the hall, still a bit groggy from the extended nap you’d just taken.
Zhongli smiled as you entered the kitchen. “Did you have a good nap my darling?” He asked, kissing you on the forehead. You nodded sleepily, propping yourself up by your elbows on the counter. Zhongli chuckled. “Here, something to warm you up.”
Yours eyes widened as the cup of tea was placed in front of you. For a moment there was silence, then you glanced back at him.
“Zhongli?”
“Yes?”
“Uhm, is this tea, well, does it by any chance have caffeine in it?”
The look on Zhongli’s face was enough to make you burst into giggles. Perplexion melted into realization, which evidently caused some sort of embarrassment, for the former god blushed a bright shade of red before bringing his hand to cover his mouth.
“Ah, I see. That’s why you were so tired this morning.”
“It’s alright.” You finally replied, the initial fit of giggles having passed. “I know that you don’t have to think about these sorts of things normally. Only me making the same mistake two times in a row would be a bit hilarious, wouldn’t you think” You placed a kiss on Zhongli’s cheek, finally causing him to calm down a bit.
“I suppose you’re right. I’m sorry. Next time I promise to pay more attention.”
“Thank you.” You smiled, fatigue coming back after the initial burst of energy. Leaning into Zhongli’s neck you sighed slightly.
“Still tired?” Zhongli asked, voice soft and caring.
“Yeah, a bit.” You admitted. Zhongli nodded, before scooping you up.
Carrying you over to the couch you both settled in a bit. Zhongli began humming a sort of lullaby, and you smiled despite yourself. “You’re too good for me.” You mumbled.
“Nonsense.” Came Zhongli’s reply, just as full of love and affection. “You’re too good for me. And I won’t hear otherwise.”
“If you say so.” You replied, too tired to really fire back, already drifting off.
“I do. It’s only the truth.” And with that he began to hum again. As you fell asleep one last thought lingered in your mind.
If such contentment comes from staying up too late, then I’d be glad to do it again.
#I was today years old when I realize Xiao's VN is Soma from Food Wars#I can never unhear it#That show is my guilty pleasure#anyways... yeah#I hope people like this#xiao#zhongli#xiao x reader#zhongli x reader#genshin impact#genshin impact fanfiction#scenarios#my writing
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BnHA 6th Popularity Poll Reaction Post - Risky Spoiler-Dodging Edition
hey guys, so seeing as the results from the 6th popularity poll were leaked today, I figured I would do a separate reaction + analysis post this year, rather than piling it in as an extra on top of the chapter reaction post tomorrow. I figure this makes more sense anyway, since they’re really two completely different things. also this way I can write as much as I want lol.
also, just fyi, I am still completely unspoiled for chapter 293. and probably the smart thing to do to keep it that way would be to log off tumblr and hold off posting this until tomorrow, but I apparently have no impulse control today so oh well. anyway, so I’m hoping you guys will keep this spoiler-free if you don’t mind! as always, I would prefer to just jump right in completely unaware tomorrow like Troy returning to the study room with the pizza boxes lol.
okay so this first part is just going to be my predictions. fyi I am writing this part on Wednesday night, and then I’ll add on the results part on Thursday or Friday (ETA: Thursday, apparently, since I am impatient.)
okay so first of all, just as a refresher, this poll was open to Japanese voters from Aug 3 to Sep 30. meaning chapters 279 through 285. meanwhile last year’s poll took place around the tail end of the MVA arc. so between then and now we had Heroes Rising, the Endeavor Agency arc, and the War arc up to the part where the 1-A kids took on Gigantomachia in Gunga, and started battling Tomura in Jakku. so technically only a couple of arcs, but a LOT of stuff going down in them. oh and season 4 of the anime as well
so! firstly, I predict that my truculent africanized honeybee son will hold on to his crown at #1, coming off a year in which he did some internship-boosted soul searching, borrowed OFA in movie canon, and finished out the voting period as the my-body-moved-on-its-own character development MVP. like CALL ME CRAZY lol, but I’m pretty sure his title is safe. and then after him will be Deku and Shouto as usual
Aizawa should hopefully also have a strong showing because the dude had a banner fucking year. reunited with his old dead friend, took on Tomura with his hopelessly inept hero pals, and then chopped his fucking leg off. he had better be in the top 10. his fucking leg died for this, idk what else he has to do
Endeavor also stands a decent chance of doing well given the internship arc and the final episode of season 4. which I’m sure will go down just swimmingly if that does happen lmao. especially if he somehow manages to rank higher than...
Dabi, which I don’t think he will btw, but you never know. anyways though, but I’m thinking Dabi’s going to have a stronger showing than in past years (in the last poll he only got 367 votes and was ranked 19th). mostly because of his fight in the Gunga mansion, and his cheekily censored name reveal to...
Hawks, who is also going to rank pretty high here, I think. might be he loses some points for killing off Twice, but his back was basically to the wall there. and he has always been very popular, and I think season 4 will also give him a boost, along with his heavy involvement in the first half of the War arc
Tomura was already in 6th place last year and I think he cracks the top 5 this year. he’s gotten exponentially more popular since the MVA arc, and got a boost in the last poll even though his flashback had only just barely happened, and he hadn’t finished Awakening yet and all that stuff. anyway, so he’s only gotten cooler and more tragic since then so I think he makes a big play here
Kirishima, Momo, Tokoyami, and Mina should also hopefully do well, since the poll opened right in the middle of all that Gigantomachia action, and Toko had just got done being an absolute badass and protecting his birb dad. I don’t think he’ll quite make it to the top ten, but he should
and last but not least, I’m hoping that Mirko will come out and take the polls by storm, although I have no clue how popular she is in Japan lol. she’s clearly Horikoshi’s favorite though. she SHOULD be everyone’s favorite, but I mean, we’ll see how it goes
anyway that’s it as far as predictions! and so now, through the magic of writing stuff at different times, we will fast-forward to the part where we actually find out the results!
OH MY GOD YES, STEAMPUNK KHLKSLLKL. HERE FOR IT. JOLLY GOOD SHOW. 5 STARS
Kacchan looks SO COCKY and SO HAPPY and SO ADORABLE, YES I SAID IT. he is adorable as FUCK. I don’t quite know what it is about this particular Kacchan that just screams “LOOK HOW FUCKING CUTE MY STUPID, LOUD SON IS WITH HIS BIZARRE WINDOWPANE-LOOKING CONVERTIBLE SUNGLASS GOGGLES and his POORLY TIED CRAVAT”, but I think it’s because he looks like if a Digimon character and a FMA character had a baby
anyway, so it looks like most of the people present here are more or less who we expected to see. except that I can’t tell for sure if that’s Dabi or Shindou, and if it’s Shindou I’m going to punch somebody in the face so you will have to excuse me
Iida wearing a TRENCHCOAT and a TOP HAT with ENGINE EXHAUST GOGGLE ACCENTS is my new favorite Iida of all time. take note how there is no possible way he can wear those goggles with them sitting on top of his hat like that. plus he’s already got glasses on. these are just purely for aesthetic and IF THAT AIN’T JUST THE STEAMPUNK WAY
Deku out here speaking softly and carrying a lead pipe. Kacchan you best look out. seems like he’s done watching you take first place year after year while he languishes in the number two spot. your only hope is that he trips while attacking you because his boots are unbuckled
Shouto’s standing over there with the rest of the non-first-and-second-place characters, but what are the odds his results are actually within spitting distance of Deku’s same as always. anyway he doesn’t mind, though. also his outfit is by far the most sensible one here, but if you look closely he’s got some sort of fire extinguisher/jet pack thing strapped to his back that’s got a control switch on his belt. Shouto are you jetpacking or putting out fires
Kirishima out here all “I’m not sure what steampunk is so I’m just going to take off my shirt and pose”
AIZAWA WITH THE EYEPATCH SKLKSDLKFJLSKJLDFKJSLDFFJLDKSJFL:KS. SIR. SIR. also, lowkey furious that Horikoshi refuses to show us the automail leg that he is clearly sporting here but which we just can’t see, SHOUTO MOVE GODDAMMIT
Endeavor has TWO fire extinguisher-slash-jetpacks. THE BETTER TO... WHATEVER. look at you here in the top ten again. you really live for that controversy
HAWKS OUT HERE WITH HIS STEAMPUNK BEATS BY DRE AND HIS WEARING A RING ON EVERY FINGER. nice to see you’ve still got your wings there, kiddo. then again Deku still has both of his arms too so who even knows what is going on
BUT SERIOUSLY THOUGH, IS THIS DABI OR SHINDOU. as if I don’t know the truth deep down in my heart. y’all I am gonna flip lmao. it’s not that I dislike Shindou, strictly speaking. but just... I can’t explain what it is, but if you put him and AFO next to each other and told me “you can only punch one”, I would be having a serious crisis. just, THIS FUCKING GUY, idek. STOP SMILING
Tomura looks like he just wandered onto the set here by mistake and has no idea where he is or what is going on. it’s because you’re wearing a bigass severed hand that’s blocking your entire view, Tomura. just take the hand off your face my sweet murder dumpling
anyway! so I managed to also find a link to the full poll results while somehow managing to avoid spoilers, and then I wanted to compare the results to last year’s poll, and so I made... this
hopefully you can all see this. if you’re on desktop you might be screwed, but on mobile you should be able to click and enlarge it. I mean, assuming you actually give a fuck about boring poll analysis spreadsheets lmao
anyway, so there were actually 13k fewer votes cast this year which is a bit of a surprise. is the series not still growing in popularity? do people apparently have better things to do during their quarantine lol
anyways but despite this, and despite getting 8k fewer votes overall, Kacchan still managed almost twice as many as his closest competitor. well fought, Deku. please put down that pipe
I somehow always underestimate the power of ship popularity to influence these things. but for example, it looks like Present Mic got that Vigilantes Trio bump. ride that wave for all it’s worth my man! hell, you got me on board
Iida fucking Tenya somehow got some sort of POWER BOOST out of NOWHERE which I can’t explain at all lmao, but I’m here for it. NOT BAD FOR AN OLD MAN
Sero managed to get the exact same number of votes in both 2019 and 2020. clearly the most loyal fans in the business
Mirko being all the way down at #20 is, of course, a travesty, and I hereby nominate her to be the one to punch Shindou in the face
ngl though, the lack of a single female character in the top ten hurts just a bit. it’s not overly surprising, but still. the worst part of it is that even if you kicked Shindou to the curb and moved everyone else up one slot, it would still be all dudes since Mic beat out Momo by a margin of a little more than a hundred votes. hard to stay mad at Mic for too long, though. ah well
Tomura actually lost a bunch of votes which is a genuine surprise to me. I know the villain standom isn’t as dominant in Japan as it is in Western fandom, but still. you can go ahead and punch Shindou too I guess
Tokoyami lowkey doubled his vote count over the past year while hiding down there at #18. he is slowly becoming more powerful. biding his time
anyway so I think that’s it! I mean not really, but I’m getting kind of tired lol. so just, you know, insert the usual gripes at Overhaul’s ranking here, although we can be happy about Magne making her way onto the list (r.i.p.), and Mineta and AFO taking a very satisfying slide down (all the way out, in AFO’s case; good riddance you bum). Hadou also got a huge boost which is awesome. Mustard’s persistent ownership of the #36 spot will forever remain a mystery to me, but oh well
anyways, this was fun. and I really do feel like everyone is looking away on purpose so that when Deku brains Kacchan with that pipe in about two seconds from now, there will be no witnesses, oh my fucking god
#bnha 293#bnha popularity poll#bakugou katsuki#midoriya izuku#todoroki shouto#aizawa shouta#shigaraki tomura#bnha#boku no hero academia#bnha spoilers#mha spoilers#bnha manga spoilers#makeste reads bnha
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Broken Mirror: Part Three
Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader
Word Count: ~2k
Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill, and angst
Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there is any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them. If you’ve seen the show, then it’s the same level of angst unless otherwise stated.
Feedback is gold, and it’s the only currency I take
“Everything will be done by Cheryl. Cheryl will gather the money packets. Only she will touch the money. Cheryl will make the drop. If she is wired or if you use a look-a-like, Patricia dies. Cheryl will get in her car. No one is to be in the car with her, no one is to follow her no air surveillance, and no car surveillance of any kind will be tolerated. I will give directions over a cell phone as Cheryl drives. She must make the drop at exactly 3:00 A.M. She will follow each instruction to the letter.”
The unsub’s message was clear, and Cheryl did just that. She packed the money into one duffel bag, making sure to fill it to the brim with every single stack. Just for good measure, Derek and Hotch were going with her to make sure that everything was in place. The unsub might not do what he says or there could be more than one person so it was smart to take the two agents.
Spencer was hooking the computer up to the GPS in Cheryl’s car so he could track it wherever it went, even if she got lost or the unsub hijacks her in any way shape or form. No matter what happens, Cheryl will be covered in every way there is. As soon as the trio left, you called Derek on his phone just to keep in contact with your teammates.
“Cheryl's car has GPS. We'll be able to track her,” Spencer said as you leaned over his shoulder to look at the computer screen. The phone was close to his mouth so Derek heard every word he said.
“The first thing he's gonna do is have her switch cars. Where are we headed?”
“Where are they headed, Spence?” you asked.
“Let's see,” he muttered, typing on the computer until the map popped up. “An address which appears to be a rental car lot.”
“Keep an eye out and be careful please,” you told Derek right before hanging up. Sighing, you fell into the seat next to Spencer and looked at him with careful eyes.
“What?”
“Nothing, just trying to figure you out,” you muttered to yourself, but he heard you loud and clear. All you could do at this point is wait, but you couldn’t help but notice something odd. Evan’s security team was inside the house, but there was one person who keeps missing all of the action.
“What’s wrong?” the doctor asked, noticing the look on your face.
“Isn’t is kind of weird that Vincent is missing all of this? He seems to disappear right when the calls or something important is happening.”
“You’re right. Where is he?”
“That’s what we have to figure out.”
Just like you predicted, the drop didn’t go as planned. Instead of it being about the money, it was set up as a second kidnapping. Cheryl was almost taken from the car lot if it hadn't been for Derek and Hotch there. The unsub got away, and the first thing they did was bring Cheryl back to her house where she was safe. When her father heard about this, he visibly and emotionally freaked out until he could see her for himself.
“Cheryl’s alright,” Derek assured when the trio returned. Evan immediately went to his daughter who held the duffel bag of cash in his hand. It was never about the money. The phone started ringing and you knew who it was and what they had to say. Everyone headed over to the machine, and you made sure the room was silent before pressing the button.
“That was fun, wasn't it? A little running around and getting our pulses racing. Are you there, Cheryl? Are you there?! Tell me you didn't feel a slight tingle, a thrill run up your spine. Huh? But those clever and cunning FBI agents deduced my little plan just in time. They figured it out. If they hadn't, I would have had you both. The whole set. The matching pair,” the unsub laughed. Looking over at Spencer, you noticed he typed ‘collector’ since he was trying to take notes on the unsub the more he revealed about himself.
“Why are you doing this?” Cheryl blurted out.
“Because you asked me to, Cheryl. You asked me with your glances. The way you talk. Those little gestures.”
Reaching over, you pressed the mute button which only confused the young girl.
“What are you doing?”
“Do not answer this man.”
“You asked for this! You asked for it, Cheryl!” the unsub yelled. She jerked away from you and pressed the button to speak. Derek reached out for her, but she managed to evade his capture at the last minute.
“Cheryl!” Derek hissed, but covered his mouth when the call was unmuted.
“What do you want?” she screamed.
“What do I want?! You! It may not be today, it may not be tomorrow but I promise you, we will be together!” he yelled back and hung up. Sighing, you scratched the back of your neck and looked at Gideon for further guidance.
“We can not let Cheryl speak with him any further.”
“Why not?”
“It's only feeding his psychosis to allow your interaction,” Spencer answered. “Was Trish involved in any serious relationships prior to the kidnapping?”
“With the boy that was killed. They were together for 2 years,” Evan answered.
“Trish didn't want me to tell you. They were getting engaged,” Cheryl sighed.
“Well, that certainly could have been the unsub's stressor,” you pointed out.
“What does that mean?” Evan asked, but nobody answered him. “Will someone please tell me what we're dealing with here?”
“De Clerambault's syndrome, otherwise known as erotomania which is the belief that someone, usually of a higher social status but not necessarily a celebrity, is in love with you. Erotomanics believe that the objects of their affection are subtly professing their love for them through looks, gestures, and glances. The unsub truly and full-heartedly believes that Cheryl and Trish are in love with him. They don't tell him this with their voices. No, with gestures and looks. He's obsessed with them.”
“What does this mean?”
“He’s the most determined kind of criminal,” you stated. “Which is the most dangerous since there isn’t anything that they won’t do.”
“Crime of obsession. Your specialty, your lead, Morgan,” Hotch said from the other side of the room. Leaving the group you were with, you approached the other one to voice your opinion on what should be done.
“I think we should recheck everyone on Davenport's staff against the profile of a stalker,” Derek said once you got there.
“No need. Just do one: Vincent. I don’t like him,” you shrugged.
“That may be, but we need to be open minded here,” Hotch dismissed.
“Aren't stalking behaviors pretty diverse?” Elle asked.
“There's overlap. Narcissistic, inflated sense of self-worth, and history of bad relationships.”
“What do we know so far?”
“He's probably white, and obviously male sophisticated speech patterns.”
“Sophisticated, yet bizarre. He rarely uses contractions. It's not ‘you're’, it's ‘you are’. He’s pretentious,” Gideon added in his two cents. “He wants to sound smarter than he actually is. Whatever position of authority or level of success this guy has, he had to struggle for it.”
“We also have to face the possibility at this point that Trish may already be dead,” Hotch whispered so that Evan couldn’t hear him.
“I don’t feel it, though. She’s close, and I can feel her fear, Hotch. She’s not dead… not yet.”
“You know, so far he's called every play. I say we apply some pressure, make him sweat,” Derek suggested.
“Well, there's only one way to do that,” Gideon smiled. As if on cue the phone started ringing, and everyone gathered around it. Gideon was the one who was in charge here, and he let it ring, and ring, and ring, and ring. Evan was getting impatient and went to answer it, but Gideon interjected him.
“Hold on, hold on, hold on,” Gideon muttered, answering the call but hanging up right away.
“What are you doing?” Evan asked. The phone rang again, and you could sense the anger coming from the unsub through the phone. When the older agent didn’t answer, he tried again. “Agent Gideon.”
“Hello?” Gideon asked once he answered the call.
“Tell me there was a technical issue with the line because if you actually just hung up on m--”
“What the hell are you doing?” Evan screeched. Gideon hung up while the unsub was talking which would surely get him angry enough to reveal something important about himself.
“Are you gonna answer it?” Cheryl asked.
“Why is he doing this? What is he--what--you're gonna drive this guy crazy!”
“Just, quiet. Please, quiet,” Gideon whispered.
“Cheryl, he knows what he's doing,” Elle tried assuring her. The phone started ringing again, but Gideon made no move to answer it.
“Somebody has to answer it!” Cheryl shouted.
“Just answer the phone, for god's sake!” Evan yelled, reaching for the phone. Gideon was on him in seconds because it was important that he doesn’t touch the phone.
“Don't touch it!”
“He knows what he's doing!” Derek held Evan back from touching it.
“Davenport residence,” Gideon finally answered.
“Are you out of your mind? You do realize, you do understand, that I'll kill her?! Do you--”
“You're killing my daughter!” Evan cried. He didn’t understand what was going on, and you were kind of overwhelmed by the amount of emotions that were in the room. The phone started ringing once more, and Evan almost lost it. “Pick up that phone!”
“Get him quiet. Mr. Davenport, get a hold of yourself.”
“Answer the phone!”
“Quiet him!”
“Evan! Stop! Trish isn’t dead! Please, let us do our jobs!” you stated, putting yourself between Gideon and Evan. He could only whimper at this point, and Cheryl was a silent mess all on her own. However, she had Elle there to lean on in case she needed to. Gideon finally answered the phone, but the unsub was the one to speak first.
“She is dead! You hang up on me again, and I rip her open!”
“I'm sorry. You must have the wrong number,” Gideon chuckled, hanging up once more. Evan was a crying mess, but Derek helped him try to stay on his two feet.
“Come on, Gideon,” Derek sighed.
“You killed her.”
“No, he isn’t.”
“Oh, yeah? Then what--what the hell does he think he’s doing?” Evan directed his question at you.
“I'm saving your daughter, Mr. Davenport. Have a little faith,” Gideon answered. The phone rang for the last time, and Gideon gladly answered it.
“Put Cheryl on the phone.”
“No, you're finished talking to Cheryl.”
“Listen to that tone of authority. Just like your published work, agent Gideon. Fascinating to hear the same arrogant quality in your own voice. You are a bit of a pedant, Jason, a bit didactic.”
“Well, that's a very interesting conclusion. You sound intelligent, and you certainly sound educated, but we both know that's not true.”
“Oh, I know all about all of you. The ambitious agent Hotchner? Do you wanna be director of the FBI someday, agent Hotchner? Would you step on Jason Gideon to get there? I think you would. Posttraumatic stress is a very good excuse. Even your sick, pregnant wife can't get you to leave your post.
“Jason Gideon, an expert in the criminal psyche yet unable to diagnose the autistic leanings of the very insecure Dr. Reid. Well, maybe he can make money counting cards in Las Vegas. The lovely Elle was promoted too soon. She doesn't have what it takes to make it in the B.A.U. Boys club. Let’s not forget Y/N and that gift she calls psychic when we all know it’s pure shit! She is overcompensating for something truly terrible, isn’t that right? You're no threat to me, you're no threat to anyone!
“And Token Derek Morgan wants to be taken seriously, but he is just a pumped-up side of beef. I know who you are, I know how you think and I know what to do next! Do you?” the unsub finally finished, slamming the receiver down. Everyone was in shock that he knew this much about you which could only mean one thing…
He was one of you, and you were right.
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#broken mirror#series rewrite#criminal minds series rewrite#spencer reid#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid fic#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid angst#criminal minds#criminal minds fic#criminal minds fanfiction#criminal minds angst#criminal minds fluff#cm#cm fic#cm fanfiction#cm fluff#cm angst#season 1 episode 5#s1e5
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you’d come back to me
chapter fifteen: romance
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Summary: Seto Kaiba has been presumed dead for four years after the events of Dark Side of Dimensions. His return causes both unresolved feelings of grief to be brought to the surface and the past to be dragged right back up. In hopes of helping Seto move on and reintegrate back into society at large, Mokuba asks Yugi to work on Spherium II with Seto. Never one to leave a friend hanging, Yugi agrees. Over the course of the project, Seto and Yugi both come to terms with their mutual grief and grow towards a better understanding of each other.
Rating: T
Ships: Yugi Mutou/Seto Kaiba, Mokuba Kaiba/Rebecca Hopkins, Katusya Jonouchi/Mai Kujaku
Warnings: aged up characters, grief, references to suicide
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Seto had never really had time for romance before. He’d always had some sort of project and some reason to put it off. It had been easier to avoid dating when no one ever really appealed as someone to have around Mokuba. Between his duty to Kaiba Corp and Mokuba, Seto had dozens of reasons to not date. Now he had none of those reasons. He was starting to find that he actually liked going on dates with Yugi. Most of the time Yugi would take him to dinner. This time, Yugi had asked him to go to a concert with him. Seto had been tempted to turn down the offer simply because the idea of being near people in a standing only capacity gave him hives. Yugi, however, had predicted this and said they had seats.
On the day of the concert, however, Yugi had abruptly said that he needed to get his camera from his childhood bedroom. “Why didn’t you get it before?”
“Forgot about it til now,” Yugi said with a shrug as they entered the Kame Game Shop. Instead of Suguroko, a woman was there with an apron on. “Hi, mom. This is my boyfriend, Seto. Seto, my mom, Yui Mutou. Mom, I thought grandpa was supposed to be working today?”
Seto would have expected that this was a ruse to introduce him to his mother if it wasn’t for that last sentence. Regardless, Seto stiffened as Yui’s eyes went wide. “He was,” she said as she stepped out from behind the counter. It struck Seto how almost everyone in the Mutou family was short. This woman could not have been more than 5’5”. “I wish I’d known you boys were coming over! I would’ve had snacks!”
“There’s no need,” Seto said as Yugi bound up the stairs, leaving Seto behind to fumble with Yui on his own. “We are merely here to pick up a camera from Yugi’s room.”
“Oh,” Yui exclaimed, looking a little embarrassed. “You should probably go tell Yugi that his grandfather took it for repairs. I’ll find another camera for him to use. Oh, also, you two absolutely have to come over again tomorrow. I’ll make dinner and we can get to know each other! I’ll make sure Shogi is here so he can meet you as well.”
Seo was grateful for the excuse to follow Yugi up the stairs, not bothering to wonder who Shogi might be. He supposed in addition to telling Yugi about the camera, he should tell Yugi that his mother wanted the two of them over for dinner. Following Yugi up the stairs of the Kame Game shop felt strange. Partly because he’d never been this far in the shop and partly because it was so much smaller than he’d expected. His head almost grazed the top of the staircase. It was as if he was unwelcome in this home.
It was hitting Kaiba that he’d never actually been in this room. He was too tall for this room designed for someone who was under six foot. The bed looked as if it could barely contain Yugi now that he’d gotten taller than 5’5” and it was neatly made. Yugi turned to him, a raised brow and a look that Kaiba could finally read: vulnerability. “Sorry it’s not much,” Yugi said as he shrugged. “We only need to be here for a moment, anyway. I just… needed to get my camera before we go to the concert.”
Kaiba noted the photos of his friends on the pinboard. Anzu was the most prominent featured across all the photos and the second most prominent was Jonouchi. He noted that the youngest photo of Yugi featured Anzu and Yugi at some sort of playground that Kaiba was certain no longer existed. The photos where Anzu appeared to be about thirteen had Yugi starting to blush around her and Kaiba felt a stab of jealousy. He knew that Yugi had a crush on Anzu at one point but it was strange to see the proof in the photos. Jonouchi did not show up until Anzu appeared to be sixteen while Yugi still looked rather young.
In fact, the only way to date the photos was by how old Anzu was until the year the Pharaoh had left. “I didn’t realize you’d have so many photos in your room.”
Yugi shrugged as he looked around. “I guess I do have a lot of photos,” Yugi remarked, frowning as he stared at one that was clearly taken before the Pharaoh left. “It’s nice to hold memories to your chest, I guess.”
A stabbing ache entered his chest as he thought of the memories he had. Very few of them he’d considered worth preserving on a bedroom wall like this. “Interesting.” Then he remembered what he was here for. “Your mother said your grandfather took your camera for repairs. She’s getting you another camera to borrow.”
Yugi stopped looking through the draw and slammed it shut. “Wish she’d told me that before I started looking for that,” Yugi remarked. “Alright, then let’s go downstairs. Anything else I should know?”
Seto shifted awkwardly. “She also wants us to come over for dinner tomorrow.”
Yugi had explained that Shogi was the name of his father. Seto supposed he should have known that. Yugi had scoffed when Seto showed up to his apartment in pressed slacks and a button down shirt, remarking that he looked like a dork. Seto would have been more annoyed if it hadn’t led to Yugi reaching out to unbutton his shirt. “You’re just meeting my parents, not pitching a new Duel Disk,” Yugi said and it took everything Seto had to focus on what Yugi was saying. “You don’t need to dress for a board meeting.”
The shirt came off and Yugi handed Seto one of his black turtlenecks that he’d left here. “Isn’t this dirty?”
“Don’t worry, I made sure the clothes you left here got dry cleaned,” Yugi said as he tossed Seto a pair of pants that he’d left behind. “The ones that survived, anyway.”
A blush crept across his cheeks at the mere mention of what tended to happen to his clothes whenever he came over to Yugi’s place. Rather than comment, he instead shuffled off to change as Yugi called out that Seto could’ve changed in the living room. Absolutely not. It gave Seto a chance to think over what he was going to say and do when he met Yugi’s parents. How much of their past did they know? What did they know of the Millennium Puzzle and who had occupied it? He supposed the only way to know those answers would be to ask Yugi directly about it. He exited the bedroom, feeling rather dressed down to meet his boyfriend’s parents. “What do they know about the Puzzle, anyway?”
“Not much,” Yugi said with a shrug as he grabbed his wallet and keys. “They know that you’re why grandpa doesn’t have his Blue Eyes card anymore and they know that I did tournament circuits in high school. They also know grandpa and I went to Cairo in my senior year but they never asked why. I think they think that grandpa was just sharing his love of Egypt with me.”
“They don’t know anything about the Pharaoh?”
Yugi shook his head. “Never bothered to tell them,” he admitted as he led Seto back to his car. Despite everything, Yugi still insisted on driving himself instead of letting Isono drive. “I think they suspected that something was up… after Atem left but they’re under the impression it was simply a break up.”
A break up. Seto supposed it made sense that on top of what little he knew about Yugi that of course his relationship with the Pharaoh had been different from what he thought. He’d assumed Yugi had been irrelevant in the equation, that Yugi had merely been a vessel for the Pharaoh. The more Yugi talked about the Pharaoh, the more Seto realized that Yugi had been more involved than he’d previously thought. “I see.”
“I doubt it’ll come up,” Yugi said with a shrug as the car started. “You don’t have to worry about anything with my parents, I promise.”
Regardless, Seto remained nervous as they arrived at the Kame Game Shop. Instead of going in through the game shop part of the home, Yugi led him through a backdoor that opened into a tiled entryway. The two of them took off their shoes and Seto noted that none of the house slippers would fit him. The pair that apparently were used by Jonouchi was still just a bit too small, leaving his feet still hanging off. Once again, the home’s size was rather small and felt like it was trying to reject him.
The walls were constantly too close and he found himself bumping his elbows against a lot of things. It shouldn’t have been surprising to discover that Shogi Mutou was also short. In fact, Yugi was taller than his father. Shogi, for his part, seemed surprised to see Seto standing in front of him. “I see,” Shogi remarked. “When you said Seto, Yui, I wasn’t expecting it to be Seto Kaiba.”
Yui nudged Shogi with a roll of her eyes as the group sat down at the table. Seto didn’t bother to comment that he wasn’t bothered by Shogi’s reaction. It was entirely possible that most people did not expect a formerly dead CEO to be their son’s date. “Dad, please,” Yugi said and it struck Seto how much Yugi sounded as if he was still a teenager whenever he was around his parents. Was this the impact of parents? Did they make someone act younger? “Don’t embarrass me in front of my boyfriend.”
“Fine,” Shogi said with a grin and Seto saw exactly where Yugi got his smile from. “So you’re still working for Kaiba Corp, right? I heard your brother wouldn’t give you back the CEO position when you came back.”
Seto wasn’t expecting an immediate question on his line of work. “Mokuba felt that I was not yet prepared to return to work at full capacity,” Seto responded, figuring it would be better to not lie to Yugi’s parents. “Instead, he asked me to work with Yugi on Spherium II. I suppose it was to see how I could handle any level of workload.”
“You say that as if you didn’t attempt to stay late several days to work on Spherium II,” Yugi remarked and Seto noted the food in front of them. As Yui promised, it was clearly home cooked and Seto realized that Yugi must have learned to cook from her. He took an experimental bite. It was delicious. “And before you ask, dad, it’s in the beta phase. We’re hoping it’ll be ready for general public release next year. Mokuba and I have been talking about making sure that the Kame Game Shop gets exclusive first launch rights.”
“I’m sure our franchisers will be grateful to have access to such an exclusive launch,” Shogi remarked. “Have you talked to your grandfather about the display?”
“How many times do I have to tell you and Yugi no shop talk at dinner,” Yui said, sounding rather fond instead of truly angry. “Where’s Mokuba, by the way? I was hoping to see him again.”
“He’s having a date night with Rebecca,” Yugi remarked. “I’ll invite him and Rebbeca next time.”
Next time? As in, Yugi expected Seto to come to dinner with his parents again at some point in the future? Seto didn’t understand why Yugi would just assume that this was going to end well. Seto still wasn’t sure that this dinner wouldn’t go south. “Oh, good,” Yui said, looking rather pleased. “I’m glad Rebecca and Mokuba are still together. How is Rebecca’s studies going?”
“She’s hit a wall in her dissertation and has been talking it over with her postgrad supervisor,” Seto answered before Yugi could. “I don’t know why she’s so concerned about the contents of it, however. She’s concerned that the discussion of the AI that Duel Links runs might have been a topic someone else sniped. As if anyone else could understand it the way Rebecca and I do. Aside from that, she’s doing fine.”
If this was news to Yugi, he didn’t show it. “You’ve been helping her, then,” Yui asked. “That’s nice.”
Yugi rolled his eyes in response to that. “Well, Seto did build the entire AI for Duel Links,” Yugi remarked and for a minute, Seto thought he might bring up the AI version of the Pharaoh. Instead, Yugi had a grin on his face. “Makes sense that he’d be able to help Rebecca write a paper on the subject.”
It was strange how this conversation seemed on surface level to be rather low stakes. Nothing either Shogi nor Yui asked ever felt like it was out to get him. Despite this, Seto felt like he was being tested on something he had not prepared for. If Yugi’s parents didn’t like him, would Yugi break up with him? He had to impress Yugi’s parents, if not for the sake of his relationship with Yugi. His entire future with Yugi was at stake. Everything seemed to be going well until Suguroku showed up halfway through. “Sorry about being late,” he remarked, looking rather jovial. “You know how I get caught up with the slots at the casino.”
“Dad, you know how I feel about that joke,” Yui responded, her exasperated sounding voice not pairing right with the fond expression in her wide, soft eyes. “You should know better than to go to the casino.”
“Ah, it’s not gambling if I win,” Suguroku said, eyeing Seto with a twinkle in his eyes. Seto instantly thought back to how Suguroku had wiped the floor with Seto when playing poker. If there was anyone that could win at a casino, Seto would imagine it would have to be Suguroku. “Isn’t that right, Seto?”
Yugi looked embarrassed. “Grandpa, don’t tell me you swindled Seto out of his money.”
“Dad,” Yui said, looking shocked. “Did you play poker with Seto?”
“He’s a fantastic poker player,” Seto said, figuring that there was no point in hiding that Suguroku had indeed pulled one over on him. “I wasn’t expecting him to be that much of a challenge.”
“If you want another challenge, you know where to find me,” Suguroku said, looking rather gleeful. Seto was surprised to find that he did, in fact, want to try to beat Sugoroku again at his own game. “Don’t worry, Yui. I won’t ruin dinner by schooling Seto in the art of poker.”
“And yet no one seems to ever learn,” Shogi remarked. “You know, Seto, when I first met Suguroku, he immediately took all the money I was planning on using for my date with Yui in a game of poker. Instead of taking her to the movies as I planned, I wound up taking her to the park for a walk.”
Suguroku laughed as if this was a funny story. “Well, at least it proves you were good at thinking on your feet,” he added on. “Besides, Yui thought it was sweet!”
“I thought it was charming and unique,” Yui said, a fond look in her eyes. “I wouldn’t trade that first date for anything. Besides, you made up for it with the next date. He took me to this wonderful restaurant that served the best crab legs you’ll ever have.”
“See,” Suguroku said with a wink at Seto. “Always a second chance to make a better impression.”
There was something buried in that and Seto couldn’t understand it. Was Suguroku still angry with him for what had happened? No, that couldn’t be it. It was very clear that Suguroku was well past everything that had happened all those years ago. “This is true,” Shogi said. “Not only that, you might find that it’s for the best that things happened the way they did.”
“Though I do have to ask,” Suguroku said, looking mischievous. “When are you planning on making an honest man out of my grandson?”
“Dad,” Yui exclaimed, looking mortified. “Sorry, he did that to Shogi too,” she said, sounding as if she was trying to smooth things over. Despite Yui and Yugi’s mortified expression, Seto couldn’t relax. The concept was overwhelming and he wasn’t sure how to feel about it. “You don’t have to answer that.”
“Yeah, don’t worry about it,” Yugi said in a rush, a bright red flush appearing across his cheeks. “Seriously, grandpa, there’s no need to pressure anyone here.”
Despite the assurances from Yugi and his parents, Seto started to wonder when that would be expected of him. Was he ready for that? Seto did want a future with Yugi. That was all he knew. He didn’t know what marriage would mean here, nor did he know what that would feel like. What he knew as of right now was that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with Yugi. What was marriage if not a promise of that? Still, it was not something he wanted to discuss with Yugi’s parents as of yet. Not until he knew for sure that he was ready.
In fact, he was certain that if he wanted to be worthy of marrying Yugi, there were still a few more things he needed to do before he could reach that point. Seto could only hope that Yugi would be willing to wait for Seto to be certain that he could provide a stable future for the two of them. And as the night went on, Seto started to realize that perhaps he could settle into having a family again. It was strange to feel so welcome.
At the end of the night, Yui grabbed him by the cheeks, pulling him down so she could press a kiss to his forehead. She shoved leftovers in his hands, fretting about how he was simply too skinny. No matter how much he stammered that he was fine, she insisted on trying to take care of him. Was this what a mother was? She told him that he could come over any time if he needed more food. For some reason, he thought that he might actually take her up on the offer if only because dinner had been fantastic.
Shogi had given Seto a polite bow, telling him that he was often out of the city for work and gave Seto his cell phone number. This came with a demand that Seto use it if he needed to talk to anyone. Seto wasn’t sure what use that would be to him. Shogi had pulled Seto aside after Yui finished fretting over Seto. “I know that you don’t have a father in your life,” Shogi said, sounding concerned. Seto had no idea what this had to do with anything. He hadn’t had a father for years. It was the one thing that he knew for sure about this new world he’d come back to. “But if you’re dating my son, that makes you my son too. That means I’m going to be here for you, Seto.”
Despite the temptation to state that he had no need for a father, he couldn’t bring himself to say that. It was strange how it felt like he wanted to both shove Shogi away and start crying in gratitude for the approval. Instead of doing either of those things, he merely nodded. “I’m glad to have your approval of my relationship with your son,” Seto said softly. “Thank you for welcoming me into your home.”
#rivalshipping#rivalshipping fanfic#myfanfic#fanfic: you'd come back to me#fic: you'd come back to me
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Hopefully, Yours (part 1) | MLQC Victor
Fandom: Mr Love Queen’s Choice
Pairing: Victor/Fem!Reader
Rating: Mature
Word Count: 8823
Summary: A fight between co-stars leads to you taking their place, along with the man you’ve been carrying a rather fervid torch for. A happy accident—except it’s a dating show and you have to pretend your feelings aren’t real. | Part 2
Warnings/Tags: language, fluff, oblivious behaviour, dating show, social media, Victor might be a little OOC because I’ve written him differently, some making out in the next part hence the rating, no smut though, my sense of humour
A/n: as always, I’m here to clown around. I tried something a lil new (for me) in this one 👉👈 something I picked up quite recently from works I adored, so I hope you like it! It got longer than I intended so I had to split it into 2 parts ;.; Victor said: keep writing, hoe.
ALSO!!! Yours by Ella Henderson is. THE Victor/MC song for me. I felt it in my bones when I listened to it again after all these years. brb crying
It’s the incessant buzzing of your phone that lures you out of the warm cocoon of your blanket.
You don’t really want to come out of your haven. Not after the week you’ve had, and because you know what awaits you. But as Anna had told you, there’s no way you can avoid this. They had finished editing the episode on Thursday, and Jason had already texted you last night to let you know it would be ready to be uploaded at 7:00 pm today.
Reaching listlessly for your phone, you squint at the bright screen through bleary eyes; it’s 9:00 pm already, and you’ve managed to sleep most of your Sunday away. It’s been a whole week since you filmed the episode, and while you were able to keep your thoughts at bay through it, it’s finally caught up to you.
After all, this is the episode you’re going to be in.
Pulling your laptop towards you, you open the tab that has the streaming site open. Your heart begins its anxious thump against its cage, a beat all too familiar to you by now. As the video begins playing, the memories of that day rise up to the forefront of your mind, refusing to be outdone by this meticulously edited version.
It started with a plan. A very well-thought-out plan.
“He called me a bitch. How can you still expect me to shoot with this jerk?”
Things were not going according to the very well-thought-out plan.
From your place next to Homer, the camera guy, you watched with mounting apprehension as Hollow resisted the AD’s attempts to placate her. But she did seem calmer, the scalding rage of her glare simmering down as he continued to reason with her.
And then her partner for the episode walked back onto the set.
“She said my songs are predictable! You want me to work with a hater?” Kai protested loudly, and Hollow turned back to him in a fury. The AD looked back at you in dismay, the rest of the staff watching with varying levels of exasperation.
“This is supposed to be a cheesy, ultra-romantic show,” Kiki whispered from her place at your side.
“This is what the reality is. All that sappy crap is for the camera,” Willow snorted, shaking her head in disenchanted disappointment.
There may be more than a kernel of truth in that. Hopefully, Yours was your company’s latest project; the second season, the first one having been produced by a different group. It’s a romantic web-series that featured different couples going on dates around town. The couples featured ranged from non-celebrities to people who are household names. So far, there hadn’t been too many issues with the participants—so you really should have expected this.
“Not always!” you cut in, fiddling nervously with your planner. “Some of the couples have gone on to date for real. Raymond and Liliana got married!” A lovely couple from an episode that aired last year. They’d been in the news recently too.
“They’re getting divorced,” Homer piped up in response. You hoped the look on your face let him know how unhelpful that was and turned back to the clashing couple. The AD looked harrowed and harassed as things turn increasingly hostile.
“Willow, do we have a backup couple?” you asked after a long moment of watching them spit insults. “Or just one person to replace either of them. What about Carlson?”
“He won’t be in town until tomorrow.”
‘Can I leave town?’ You wondered in a fit of desperate, wishful thinking.
“And we’ve got everyone here, with everything set up. Can we really waste time?” Kiki wondered out loud.
“No, we can’t,” answered a strained voice from behind you. All four of you turn to see Anna striding towards you, her hassled expression sending a frisson of worry through your stomach. “___, we’ve got guests.”
“Guests?” you repeated numbly. “What guests?” From the look on her face, it couldn’t be good news.
Anna held your gaze for a second, looking vaguely apologetic, before stepping to the side, allowing you to get a look at who Jason, the director, had rushed off to greet. You felt the ground shift beneath you, throat drying rapidly and the surrounding noise dimming as you focused on the new arrivals—your friend, your boss if you insist on the technicalities, and the star of most of your daydreams. LFG’s very own CEO, Victor, and his loyal secretary, Goldman.
In other words, people you hadn’t expected to see today.
“Why?” you whimpered, mostly panicked, but distantly amused by how enthusiastically he’s being greeted. It gave you a few moments to get it together, a familiar buzz coming to life underneath your skin.
This is terrible. Surely, this is karmic retribution for some misdeed committed by you.
“Boss, get it together,” Kiki hissed in an echo of your thoughts, and you realized you had half-fallen back into her and Willow’s arms, their hands steady on your shoulders.
“This is really bad timing. Like, really bad,” Willow pointed out unnecessarily as you straightened up, running a quick hand through your hair.
“Goldman said they just dropped in to see how it’s coming along. I don’t really understand why, this is not at all Victor’s cup of tea, but he’d been hesitant about the show, so...” With a sympathetic smile, Anna placed a hand on your elbow, squeezing lightly. The comfort it brought is chased away almost immediately by a furious screech.
“That is it. I’m done!”
Turning just in time to watch Hollow stalk off the set, you tried to restart your thought process. You just needed to solve this.
“How do we solve this?” Kiki asked in a low voice, and Willow shook her head helplessly.
With no answer for her, you could only watch as Jason led Victor and Goldman towards the set. You knew the exact moment he saw you; there was no smile, but a slow blink. It was still early in the afternoon, and his patrician features were alight with a soft glow in the golden sunlight, the curve of his lip relaxed and his clever gaze taking in you and everything happening around you in seconds. You’re not sure what he saw in your face but it made the corners of his mouth pull downwards.
Your stomach plummeted, seized by a sudden urge to flee.
But with his long strides, he reached you before you could take a step back. Kiki and Willow retreated silently, greeting him like newly registered soldiers coming face to face with their general and leaving you at his mercy. You would have felt miffed, but the way the sunlight softened his features was a little distracting. His lips moved, and you’re certain he said something, but couldn’t quite hear him over the sound of your heart drumming in your ears.
Homer coughed loudly, popping the bubble.
“Good morning, Victor!” Certain your lack of actual delight was obvious, you tried to inject as much enthusiasm into your voice as you could while your project went up in flames behind you. Not that you weren’t happy to see him, as the sudden thrill twisting through insisted on reminding you, but the prospect of disappointing him was one you would rather not face.
There was no visible reaction from Victor, but Homer looked a bit disturbed by the attempt. Goldman just looked like he pitied you, while Jason looked oddly contemplative. This was probably his first time seeing you this…dazzled.
“Good morning,” Victor replied evenly. His eyes, a constant, focused storm and his silken hair falling artfully over his forehead form a picture so lovely, almost beyond words. It’s never stopped you from waxing poetic about them, or his long list of admirable personality traits, but he had a way of knowing when you’re not paying attention. “Looks like I picked a bad time to check in.”
You couldn’t quite pin down the inflexion in his tone, but your immediate guess was that he was either severely disappointed or was low-key mocking you.
With how quickly things derailed, it’s understandable.
“Haha,” you laughed—an unfortunate coping mechanism that seems to flare up most often in his presence. Also, because Victor looked unfairly gorgeous, as always and you were a fool with a worryingly erratic pulse. “Just a few bumps. Nothing we can’t fix.”
Behind you, Kai declared his intent to leave as well. There’s a contract, so they would have to look into this, but that would take time. At that moment, Victor was eyeing the singer leaving the set and your nervous smile with his brows steadily climbing higher.
“Right. Anything I can do to help?” he offered, and the shame that elicited is so fierce you felt like you’d shrunk. This was supposed to be a casual visit, for him to see how the filming was going and instead you made him feel the need to step in and clean up the mess.
“No,” you said, firm, immediate, vehement. He frowned down at you. “We’ll come up with something. Why don’t you two take a seat, we’ll get you some drinks and Anna can go over the ratings and numbers with you.”
Victor seemed to hesitate, still frowning at you, but relented when you mustered up a small but convincing smile for him. “Alright. Let me know if you need anything,” he insisted, because he’s nice like that, before following Goldman and Anna into the small room you’ve converted into an office. You have a small but closed set for the first meeting of the couples, before the crew moves to whatever location has been picked out for the date.
“He’s nicer than he looks,” Homer observed as the two of you watched him leave.
“He’s lovely,” you said miserably. Who would have thought there’d be a day when you said that about Victor? He was still an evil capitalist, but he’s a kind man.
Homer didn’t get the chance to reply as Jason rushed up to you.
“Okay, so we’re gonna have to sit those two down for a talk, but we don’t have time for that today. We need substitutes,” Jason said, not nearly as panicked as you would expect from a director who had no one to direct. It was admirable, this ability to keep his head even when he hits what looks like a dead end.
“I’ll make some calls.” Reaching into your pocket, your mind ram through your options as your hand closed around your phone.
“I want you to do it,” Jason declared.
It took you a few seconds to realize you hadn’t misheard. He looked back at you steadily, already resolute in his decision. You looked around, expecting protests, but the staff members only looked eager.
“…I don’t like this joke,” you said, slowly.
“Good thing it wasn’t one!” Jason returned cheerfully. “Before you turn it down, let me say—please? And don’t go off with the ‘I’m nobody!’ thing. People know who you are.”
“Um.” You really, really didn’t know what to say to him.
“My brother thinks you’re hot,” Homer offered, and Jason beamed at him.
“Okay, we’ll do this. You’re the producer of one of the oldest and most popular shows. You’ve gained more media presence over the last two years. You’re also friends with Kiro and Professor Lucien, so people have been quite curious about you for a while! This is just a fun little thing. Please?” Jason pleaded.
In the spirit of fairness, you took a minute to think about it. It would solve half the problem. And today’s location was a local fair, where the couple got to try out anything they want to, with all the expenses covered by the company. The very thought of stepping in front of the camera left your cheeks flushed, but you couldn’t deny the bud of excitement that seemed to have taken root.
In the end, your stomach made the choice for you.
“If you think it’ll be fine, then sure,” you acceded, thoughts filled with stir-fried noodles and holding hands with a faceless person. “But what about the other person?”
“Hmm,” Jason looked in the direction of the office, reminding you that you don’t have all day to decide.
“I could call Gavin and ask if he’s free,” you suggested. People adore him. “Or Lucien?”
Jason nodded as if truly considering it, his gaze sharp on you. “Good choices. What about Victor?”
“Yeah, no. That is a bad idea,” you said at once, without giving it a moment’s thought. This was a dating show, where people go on cute dates and act adorable on camera. The very thought of Victor doing that at all, let alone with you…was something you couldn’t think of because it was ridiculous. And bad for your poor heart.
“It is an excellent idea,” Jason disagreed. You hated to be the bearer of bad news, but this was necessary. You’ve known Victor for a while now, and felt responsible for Jason’s well-being that would inevitably be threatened if he embarks on this particular path.
“He’d never agree to it,” you told him solemnly. The man barely agrees to do interviews; a show like this? Out of the question. “You know who he is, right? He doesn’t have time for this.”
“Why don’t you leave that to me, and go get ready. I’ll go get your man,” Jason said, loud and bright, shooing you in the direction of the dressing rooms. You stood there for another minute, dazed and afraid. What if Victor thought it was your idea?
The horror.
The terror.
“I’m still texting Lucien!” you called after him, voice pitched high in your alarm. Before you could follow Jason to make sure Victor knows you would never suggest this, an arm slid around your shoulder.
“Darling,” Arnold, the head stylist, cooed at you. “I heard the good news.”
“How?” It had been two minutes. People shouldn’t be spreading this without the director’s confirmation.
“Forget the hows. This is your time to shine. Come, we’re going to make that CEO drool,” he proclaimed, shepherding you towards the dressing rooms. “And I can finally do something about this hair!”
“He’s not going to agree.” You were absolutely certain of that, even as your mind continued to conjure cutesy images of you sharing cotton candy with the reticent man.
Taking a seat at the vanity, you reached for your phone over the cotton pads, watching Arnold’s reflection in the large mirror as he flitted about the small room, picking out different outfits. You hadn’t gotten a chance to check it for a while, and scrolled through your texts swiftly, pausing on a few in particular.
Victor [9:00]: Hello. I’ve got some time off today.
Victor [9:02]: Is it alright if we drop by the set? What time is your lunch break?
Victor [9:20]: You must be busy. I spoke to Anna. I’ll see you later.
Victor [9:25]: Also, good morning.
Oh.
He had actually let you know he’d be dropping in. Taciturn and domineering he may be, but Victor’s quiet consideration often left you glowing with warmth. In comparison, your own clumsiness often left you embarrassed. In this instance, it made you feel doubly determined to do this right.
Y/N [12: 05]: Hi, sorry I missed these. Don’t worry, I’ll get us back on track.
Closing Victor’s chat, you took a moment to consider your options before making your choice.
Y/N [12:07]: Lucien! Are you free?
Lucien [12:15]: Hello. Just wrapped up a lecture. I thought you were going to be shooting today?
Y/N [12:16]: I am. Actually, I had a favour to ask.
You stared down at the screen of your phone, shoulders relaxing as one of the assistants fussed with your hair. Should you wait for Jason before asking him? You knew what the outcome will be, regardless of what you wanted. You’ve always known, always kept your thoughts safe behind a barrier, never letting them spill out in Victor’s presence.
You thought back to his disappointment, and something fragile in your chest tightened.
Your phone buzzed in your hand, and you prayed to all the powers above that this works out.
Victor [12:18]: Dummy. I’m not worried.
There was a knock at the door as you opened the chat, thrown off but pleased by Victor’s confidence.
“Guys, can I come in?”
It was Jason.
With trembling fingers curling tight, you sat up straighter as he was let in. Your pulse quickens, your emotions jumbling together until your can’t tell them apart. You kept your expectations low. You knew what the answer would be. It couldn’t hurt if you expected it.
You just hoped it wouldn’t change anything. It wasn’t your idea.
“He agreed!” Jason announced with a flourish, and your heart halted its despondent march. “His secretary’s picking up his outfit, they said it won’t take too long. We’ll do his hair and mak—uh, are you okay?”
You swallowed your heart back down. “He said yes.”
“Yeah,” he confirmed, stretching out his answer, nodding as Arnold thrust an outfit at him.
“And he…knows it’s with…me?” you asked carefully.
Jason’s brows climbed a notch higher. “Yes, of course.” His eyes gleamed with something you couldn’t quite read.
“Right, right. That’s great! Fantastic. Wonderful,” you said admittedly weakly, turning your gaze back to your reflection. The colour seemed to have drained from your skin, and you ignored the concerned glance exchanged by Jason and Arnold.
“___, hey,” Jason began gently, coming up to stand behind your chair. “Are you okay with this?”
You studied his worried expression, thoughts turning inward. You shifted aside the panic, the disbelief, the prickling nerves, and shushed the sparks of excitement.
A date with Victor.
It sounded wonderful. But the problem was never about you not wanting it. It was that you’ve wanted it for so long and so badly. Could you really have this?
“It’s okay to say no. It’s just…I don’t think it’ll be as awful as you think,” Jason said. His brow furrowed as the lines of your face smoothed out.
Oh.
“It’s for the camera,” you remembered, and Jason hummed thoughtfully. Regardless of what he may think of you, Victor wouldn’t let it show on the screen. You knew he was aware of what the show entails. So, perhaps, you could have this. It was for work. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s okay.”
Your breath evened out from its shallow state, and you smiled up at Jason, who still looked concerned.
“It’ll be okay.” Your phone buzzed again, and you gathered yourself once more.
Lucien [12: 23]: What can I do for you?
Victor [12:24]: And I look forward to working with you.
It wouldn’t be real.
Telling yourself it wouldn’t be real was easy.
Sitting next to Victor, your high stools positioned close together as you tried to keep your thoughts away from dangerous paths, was not easy. But the light notes of his scent, sandalwood and myrrh if your nose hadn’t led you astray, threatened to lull you into a state of near-intoxication.
Jason had wanted to film the ‘first meeting’ and, for the sake of authenticity, decided to have Victor wait in front of the camera while you got to be the one to walk in. Which meant it was straight from the dressing room to the set. While you were thankful you wouldn’t be filmed drooling on camera, it still meant you wouldn’t get a chance to talk to him until after, or in between takes.
You were a lot more grateful for the arrangement when you did walk to the set, because the sight of Victor—clad in a slim-fit black shirt, paired with a dark grey jacket and black pants that stretched deliciously over his muscled thighs—stopped you dead in your tracks, your thoughts wiped blissfully clean.
The look on his face, bright under the studio lights, had been unreadable, but it didn’t look like his usual unimpressed poker face, so you decided to take it as not quite a win, but not a loss either. Then the small upturn of the corners of his lips, however, threatened to overload your system, prompting you to avert your gaze slightly as you walked to him, for fear of losing yourself.
Your hi had been shyer than intended, but his hello had been the gentlest you had ever heard it.
And then he handed you a bouquet of red, fragrant roses and you felt yourself grow weak.
It was a short take, where you both introduced yourselves, and discussed where you’d be going for the date.
“Do you like fairs?” he’d asked, gaze intent as if your answer was of the utmost importance.
“I love them,” you’d answered, meaning it completely, and he’d looked glad.
Even through the wild beating of your heart, you had managed to feel impressed. He was doing wonderfully already. Who knew Victor had these acting skills? Hopefully, he thought the same of you. You weren’t acting, though, and this, you were quickly realizing, could be a wonderful way to lift the lid off the pot just a little, and let your real feelings shine through.
You would be filming the individual, interview type scenes last, after the date.
With the first meeting done, with Jason going over the take to make sure he had everything he needed, you would be moving to the location soon. But first-
You looked around quickly, covering your mic and making sure nobody was paying too much attention to you, before turning to Victor—only to nearly jump in fright when you met his eyes. How he’d known you wanted to talk, you’d never know. His own eyes had widened when you’d turned around all of a sudden, the tips of his ears reddening slightly. He had probably been startled by your reaction.
“Hi,” you whispered, grinning up at him, and his lips twitched as he covered his mic.
“You’re doing well,” Victor told you, giving you a firm nod, and you couldn’t quite keep from beaming at him.
“Thanks, you too. I never knew you were hiding such a skilled actor in there!” You really meant it, but your words gave him pause, mouth opening and closing as he considered his response. Strange, as modesty was something he didn’t often bother with. Not to say he’s arrogant, just that he knew his strengths.
“…thank you,” he finally said. “You too. I didn’t know you could…act.”
Because you weren’t acting. The blushing, the shy giggling, the warmth buzzing through you, they were painfully real.
You shrugged, smiling slightly, and he looked away.
“Just…thank you, Victor,” you murmured. “I know this isn’t really your thing. But I promise I’ll do my best to make it enjoyable.”
The light, airy sound that escaped his mouth could almost be a laugh. He did shoot you a small smirk, facing you once more. “Well, you’re not wrong. But it can’t be too bad. I’ve heard they’ve got good street food.”
“Good street food,” you repeated blankly. Wasn’t he taking this acting thing too far? This was bordering on alarming, coming from the man who used to look down on you for eating instant noodles.
“Yes.” He looks at you as if daring you to argue, and, well, who are you to argue with an actor’s method?
His smile faded slightly as yours widened, eyes fixating on yours, your voice pitching higher in your excitement. “I know, yeah, great food. Literally the only reason I agreed to do this!”
Victor’s face shutters at that, his lips pressing tightly together. “Hm.” He turned back to face the camera, leaving you confused, before realisation dawned.
“Hey, don’t worry! I won’t be too much of a glutton, we’ll be on camera, after all,” you told him, as reassuringly as possible because you and good food were a dangerous combo.
He arched a sharp brow at you. “We’ll see about that. I may spend most of my time in kitchen, but Mr Mills has much to tell me about some of your reactions.”
It was only through the sheer power of your offence that you were able to scowl at him even with the heat flaring up in your cheeks. “Well, there’s no way the food there will be as good as the one in Souvenir, so we have nothing to worry about.”
You resisted the urge to cross your arms, keeping your hands neatly folded in your lap as you turned away from him. But when he said nothing for a whole minute, you couldn’t resist the urge to sneak a peek, only to be left with your jaw slack.
Victor was still facing forward, but the corners of his mouth seemed to be curling up despite the effort he was clearly putting into keeping them neutral, his tiny smile still managing to spill through the seams. It enraptured you, a willing captive to the sight of him so pleased, and you wondered if you could make it through this with your heart intact.
But then, you told yourself through your daze, any chef would be happy to receive such praise for their food.
[video]
hopefully, yours, episode 3, part 1: Introductions (Victor and Y/n)
450,569 views • Feb 8th, 2020
JTV ✓
1.19M subscribers
51,509 comments
Jason P ✓
pinned comment
This is a special one guys ♡
needwater 45 minutes ego
AM I HALLUCINATING OR IS VICTOR LI ACTUALLY ON A DATING SHOW?
view 50 replies
somsom 23 minutes ago
omg it’s y/n! We rarely get to see her on TV. She’s so cute!!!!
orangeismycolour 16 minutes ago
!!!! Victor and Y/n!!! Omg ever since I saw them attend the Loveland gala together last year, I knew there was something there!!
tooktiktook 8 minutes ago
um. isn’t this kind of an odd combo?
cheribb 5 minutes ago
@tooktiktok I thought so too but they look pretty cute together. I mean…he totally blushed when he saw her! And his eyes went so soft!
tooktiktok 4 minutes ago
@cheribb Well, she seems sweet but I think he was just being nice.
By the time you were shuffled into a van and driven to the site of the fair, your nerves had mostly settled.
Of course, that may have had something to do with the pudding cup Victor had handed you once you were in your seats. Goldman had brought over a paper bag, with Victor plucking two cups from it like a magician with a hat. With that said, while it’s a trick you’ve seen many a time, it never fails to bring a sparkle to your eye.
With Arnold’s permission, you were more than happy to dig right in. Your makeup would have to be retouched once you got there even if you didn’t eat.
It was easy to relax in the steady familiarity of Victor’s presence. A dangerous notion, your unwavering faith in Victor, that dictated everything would be okay if he was there because he would either make it so, or you, with confidence half-drawn from him, would make sure of it yourself.
It was only once you were halfway through the treat, humming and wiggling in your joy, that you realized Victor hadn’t started on his. Rather, his eyes were fixed firmly on you, intent in observing your devouring of the pudding.
The next bite went down a little heavier as you turned to him.
“Is something wrong?” Your enthusiasm surely couldn’t have come as a surprise.
He hesitated, seemingly on the verge of saying something, before clearing his throat and looking out he the window at the slow-moving traffic.
“No. Just…eat slowly,” he muttered, refusing to look at you. You squint at him, at the pink creeping up the back of his neck, sucking on the spoon thoughtfully. “There’s no need to rush.”
“Sorry. I got a little too excited.” Your laugh is a little hollow, and you muffle it with another mouthful of the soft, sweet dessert, missing his quick glance back at you.
He sighed, sudden and a little ragged.
“No, I meant that you should take your time and savour it,” he told you, looking at you out of the corner of his eye. “I can make it for you anytime, so there will be many more chances in the future.”
The next spoonful remained frozen by your mouth as you struggled to process his words. Warm fingers came to rest against the back of your hand, guiding it, and the spoon, to your lips. Your skin tingled, but what was more damning was the way he held your gaze as your lips parted, the metal spoon warm against your tongue as you tasted the sweet delicacy.
It felt all the more sweeter, however, because of the little smile dancing across Victor’s lips.
You were rescued from attempting to respond to that by the van slowing to a stop, with Jason and Homer climbing in before they got moving again. Homer would be the one following you around the fair, as they only needed to get a few takes of you indulging in various activities.
“We absolutely need one with the ferris wheel, of course. A little cliched, but still damn cute. Maybe we can fix a camera in the cabin…” Jason trailed off, turning to Homer for his input. “If you think it’ll be better without you there.”
‘How would it be better without Homer there?’ you wanted to protest. ‘I’ll screw it up if left to my own devices! Professional environment aside, that’s a little too romantic!’
Something prickled at the back of your neck, and you realized Victor seemed to be trying to get your attention, albeit in a very silent way you probably wouldn’t have caught on to if you hadn’t spent so much time studying him.
He said nothing even when you met his gaze, but a reassuring warmth calmed you all the same. I’ll be there, he seemed to say. Trust me.
You were worried about the romantic atmosphere getting to your head, but surely Victor, the ultimate voice of reason, wouldn’t let you get carried away?
“Okay, we won’t crowd you guys too much, but remember to avoid turning away from the camera!”
That had been the last thing Jason said to you both before he retreated to his place behind Homer, who was ready with the camera propped over his shoulder. Your mics were affixed to your clothes, and people were already beginning to shoot curious looks your way. It wasn’t an uncommon sight; many vloggers and people working for food channels could often be found in places like these, flitting about with their cameras out as they partook in the activities available.
While being around cameras was nothing new, it was a little strange to be on the other side of them. Nervousness weighing on your chest, you reminded yourself over and over: be natural, don’t act like a lovesick fool, don’t stare at Victor for too long. Turning to the man himself as Homer adjusted the camera settings, hoping to draw inspiration from his steadfast composure, you could only stare in confusion at the intent way in which he was staring at the entrance to the fair.
Following the trajectory of his gaze, you squinted, hoping to see what had caught his attention. Nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary, with people milling about, the welcoming sign high above their heads bright and welcoming.
“Victor?”
“Hm?”
“Is everything okay?” you asked hesitantly, and he nodded, almost distracted.
“Are we ready?” he asked Homer, who gave him a thumbs up.
Jason grinned at you, winking in what he seemed to think was a discreet manner. “Have fun, you two.”
You couldn’t quite pretend there were no cameras, not with Homer keeping up with you as you began to walk through the entrance arch. Looking at Victor was easier, just to block out the awareness of your companions, of course.
Catching your nervous glances, he inclined his head towards you and made an abortive movement, hand rising and falling midway. His jaw clenched, and then he offered you his arm, elbow bent.
As your hand curled around his arm, you focused on your vibrant surroundings. A task made more difficult when, after a short pause, you felt him tuck his elbow into his side, the broad span of his shoulders relaxing when you tightened your grip.
“I’ve been meaning to come here for years, but never really got the chance to,” you told Victor, your voice still edged with nervousness. But Victor nodded at you again, the usual stern line of his mouth quirking up, and your mind stuttered, committing itself to memorizing the precious curve of his mouth.
“In that case I’m glad we got to come here together,” he told you, and it took a good deal of effort not to gape at him. “It’s a first for both of us.”
You nodded, stunned by this unforeseen acting prowess. Seemed like you’ve discovered another one of his many talents.
“Hopefully, it’s the first of many,” he added, a smug lilt to his voice, and this time, you did gape.
“Y-yeah,” you answered, face heating up as you turned away for the sake of your dignity. “Hopefully.”
bandanaman @headaccs
are we all seeing this?? he’s such a gentleman!! I was not expecting this man to be smooth. #HopefullyYours
mintmadness @mintsallover
@headaccs HAVE YOU SEEN HIM? He doesn’t even need words, one look and I would be on my knees. #HopefullyYours #VictorLi
srirachafire @hotsauce
@mintsallover calm yo thirsty ass down lmao
raspberrydream @berryberry
“the first of many” omg what does he mean???? #HopefullyYours
freshasnow @crystalmoon
Yeah, I’m not really feeling this. I thought we were going to get Kai and Hollow this week? #HopefullyYours
teatime ✓ @spillit
For those of you asking, yes, we knew Victor Li and Y/n were going to be on Hopefully, Yours. Don’t worry darlings, we’ll have some quality tea for you soon! #HopefullyYours
Spotting the first of the food vendors, you both headed over to it, peering at the fresh dumplings. The vendor straightened up at the sight of the camera, a benign smile spreading across his face when you asked him for permission to film, nodding and plating plump, steaming dumplings with the utmost grace.
Gordon, as he introduced himself, was more than happy to talk about his family business, their two restaurants in Loveland, while Homer took close-ups of the dumpling that Victor broke apart for a better look.
“My daughter comes here every year with me, insisting she can handle things by herself, but honestly, I just enjoy coming here,” he chortled, before fixing the two of you with a knowing look. “It’s a completely different atmosphere from the restaurant! And it’s always nice to see sweet young couples such as yourselves. Reminds me of my own fair dates with my wife…”
You couldn’t stop sneaking glances at Victor, who seemed content to chew on his snack. He caught your eyes, before his flickered over your head towards Homer and Jason. Inexplicably, his ears began to tint a deep crimson, as he swallowed with some effort and stepped closer to you.
It began to make sense when he lifted the other half of the dumpling to your lips, Gordon gasping an oh my! in the background, and even as your heart began to race, your eyes widening, you felt…bad. Jason had obviously asked him to do this, and you felt terrible about him having to embarrass himself like this. But he did it, and so you took a small bite of the dumpling, the juicy filling suddenly tasteless on your tongue.
And then there was a soft sensation on your chin, your eyes lifting to see Victor dabbing at your skin with a napkin, the little motion taking all his concentration until he stepped back with a satisfied glint in his eyes, which seemed to linger around your mouth.
When you were unable to do anything more than flush deeply and try to stammer out a thank you, Jason ended the shot.
The glint in Victor’s eyes didn’t fade, and something within you quivered.
raspberrydream @berryberry
he looks like he wants to eat HER #HopefullyYours
bandanaman @headaccs
@berryberry I CAN’T BREATHE. I thought he was going to kiss her LOL. And she looked so nervous and then he just wiped her chin THIS IS TOO SOFT I CANT #HopefullyYours
mintmadness @mintsallover
god I wish that were me #HopefullyYours
only4food @bananabread
Okay I HAVE TO go to this place. I NEED TO EAT EVERYTHING. Who’s in??
midnightmachine @musiclover
Gordon knows what’s up. We stan a hard-working man. #HopefullyYours
Things continued in much the same direction. With no signs of reluctance, Victor rolled up his sleeves and dived into the bustle of the fair. And with his hand curled around your wrist, you couldn’t bring yourself to doubt him. You’ve learned to read the signs of his displeasure, subtle and obvious, and they were nowhere to be found. He looked relaxed, trying out mini doughnuts, accompanying you to any shops you want to browse, frowning when you looked longingly at the ring toss.
“Let’s go,” he said, guiding you over to the booth. Well, you were supposed to try out the games too, but you hadn’t thought Victor would agree to play them. It seemed a little too childish for him.
“I haven’t come here in years either,” he told you when you looked at him curiously, the two of you standing in line with Homer right next to you. “I love my job, but I admit it takes up most of my time. I rarely have time to indulge like this.” He paused, as if wanting to say more, but his eyes flicked towards Homer and he ended it there.
While a part of you was startled in by his words, another softened at his truthful admission.
Victor seemed to have thought of something else, giving you a meaningful look. “But, of course, I always make time for the people in my life.”
You blinked, a little taken aback by sudden turn in direction.
“Even if they want to come to places like these, I don’t mind.” Victor seemed to be hinting heavily at something, and you smiled at that, almost excessively fond. Because it’s true that Victor makes time for the people in his life, especially his family. And even for you—he’s there for you, no matter how small the matter might be; huffing and puffing and going out of his way to help you.
Falling for someone like that, someone who effuses such stoic confidence and noble compassion in equal measure, it was all too easy.
“Then we’ll make sure to come again,” you told him, a wide grin blooming across your face at the thought. It was unlikely that it would actually happen, but it was nice to think about. You stepped up to the cashier, greeting him politely.
You finally got your turns after fifteen minutes, with Homer and Jason taking a quick snack break while you waited. You’d run a quick eye over the prizes available, quickly drawn to two pusheen cat plushies, a soft grey and a dark ebony. You didn’t think he’d judge you on camera, but would it really be okay to admit that’s what you want? The hair pin would be a more sophisticated pick, something more to his tastes.
Silently despairing over your proclivity for soft cute things, you turned to Victor for his choice.
Only to realize he seemed to have taken his jacket off while you were preoccupied and handed it over to Jason, his thin black t-shirt fitting him like a glove—and your words died a swift death at the back of your throat, shrivelling in the sudden dryness of your mouth. Silhouetted against the light of the late afternoon sun, his features seemed sharper, his gaze keener as he twirled the ring in his hands carefully.
As Homer began to roll the camera, and Victor prepared to toss the ring, you panicked with the realization that he didn’t ask you which prize you wanted like Jason had asked him to.
The ring landed around a bottle with a loud clink, and you hoped the surprise you felt wasn’t clear in your loud cheer. With the look he gave you, you knew he caught it even if others wouldn’t.
And then he handed you the dark pusheen plushy, which you took with trembling fingers and a sheepish smile. “Oh, thank you.” It was exquisitely soft to the touch. “This is the one I wanted.”
“Hm.”
“It looks like you.”
“What-” His head snapped toward you as you laughed, clutching the toy to your chest. Whatever outraged retort he’d been about to spit out was held back as he saw you hugging it contentedly, your eyes twinkling at him. “…I suppose.”
You handed him the toy, rolling your shoulders as you were given the ring. “Which one do you want?”
“I’m fine with anything,” he said, eyes locked on the grey pusheen plushy, the other half of the pair. So it was with a laugh, helpless in the face of his clear yet unspoken demand, that you tossed the ring. You got it on the second try, handing the toy to Victor with a triumphant grin, who took it primly and tucked it into his side.
“Thank you.”
“Isn’t this too childish by your standards?” you teased, unable to help it, but he only smirked down at you, stealing your breath with devastating ease.
“It is. But childish is…nice, sometimes,” he admitted carefully.
Your mind helpfully supplied you with all the instances of him calling you childish. “Oh?”
He shrugged, elegant, one shoulder lifting as he looked back down at the toy, before looking back up at you through dark, half-lidded eyes. “It’s grown on me.”
Kiro ✓ @kiromusic
Wow! This seems like so much fun, I kinda wish I got to go there too! :D @miracley/n invite me next time!! #HopefullyYours
Savin @agents
@kiromusic You just want to eat junk. And...well, I guess we can make an exception for today.
bandanaman @headaccs
Before I proceed to scream over the clip, I just wanted to let y’all know I did some digging and apparently, they are friends! They’ve been spotted together in public many times, including the Loveland Gala last year. You know what this means. #HopefullyYours
bandanaman @headaccs
THE PUSHEEN TOYS. They won each other toys!! Y/n’s right, that does look like him with the dark fur lmao. BUT. Look at Victor’s heart eyes!! And she looked so happy omg T_T
raspberrydream @berryberry
@headaccs NO WONDER. It seems like they already like each other but it seemed too soon!! They’re so cute omg please date!! #HopefullyYours
bandanaman @headaccs
@berryberry With how they look at each other? I smell pining ;) I’ve compiled a list of all their public appearances. He even took her to Souvenir! How are they not dating????
raspberrydream @berryberry
@headaccs DM ME!!!!
srirachafire @hotsauce
@headaccs I feel like that’s a bit of a reach. They certainly seem comfortable with each other, but that could easily just be friendship, which is nice too. I feel like we should allow people to be friends instead of just shipping them.
mintmadness @mintsallover
@hotsauce they’re on a dating show, though.
srirachafire @hotsauce
@mintsallover yeah but plenty of other ‘couples’ were just friends or went on to be good friends. I just think these two are comfortable with each other, which is probably a good thing because Victor doesn’t strike me as the sort of person who can have fun with just anyone, you know?
You ended up having a lot more fun than you thought you would. Victor was always great company, but you could tell he’d tried his best to relax for the show and you didn’t know how to thank him for it. The warm gratitude bubbled up at the base of your throat, your heart sinking deeper into the ocean of affection you already held for him.
He’s so kind. His aloof demeanour, his nagging, his precise instructions and advice were things you’ve come to appreciate. But beyond those lies a heart so caring, so considerate, it made you yearn so deeply, to find yourself a place in it. But Victor had come to treat you as a friend and you could never ruin that because of your own feelings. It was precious, his friendship, and you wanted to treat it as such.
The line you’d drawn with so much care seemed to be straining, however, ever since you found out you would be riding the ferris wheel together, without Homer.
“The people in charge told us if we could just wait until closing time, they could keep things going until we’re done shooting!” Jason had told you as he briefed everyone. A bunch of the crew had left after packing up, as this would be the last take for the day. “That way Homer can fix the lighting and equipment in the cabin and won’t need to join you two! Give you some privacy, yeah?”
‘For what,’ you’d screamed internally, nodding along with a smile on the outside.
Looking to Victor for his opinion had been futile, because he seemed to have withdrawn into his own head, looking up at the ferris wheel absently. You were supposed to shoot the individual parts, but with how late it had gotten, Jason had asked the two of you to drop by the studio the next day. Only, you had a free slot in the morning while Victor would only be able to make it sometime during the late afternoon.
So you wouldn’t get to see what Victor said about you. That was perfectly fine. Things had gone well, and Victor wasn’t the sort to badmouth someone anyway.
It was supposed to be his day off. And he gave it up to participate in a show that was, for all intents and purposes, pointless for him. You felt terrible, heart aching at the thought that once again you had made him waste his time.
How on earth did Jason even get him to agree to this?
“You’re thinking something ridiculous,” came a low voice, and Victor seemed to have come back from his mental journey.
“I’m sorry,” you blurted out, the guilt getting to you.
“For what?” He seemed genuinely baffled, and it made you feel worse.
“For this entire day. You just came for a visit and now it’s after 8 pm and your day off is gone and you rarely get free time…” your shameful rambling tapered off as the furrow between his brows appeared to grow deeper and deeper.
His response was interrupted by a staff member, who came to let you know the ride was ready for you two. Walking together in complete silence, you wondered what he was about to say.
“Do you regret it?”
You arrived at the ride, and Victor had stopped in front of the open door. “What?”
“Do you regret it?” he repeated patiently, holding his hand out to you. “This entire day. Our date.”
Our date.
It was silly, how him calling it a date, with no cameras in sight, seemed to affect you so deeply. It was ridiculous but it was so real, how your heart fluttered and hope unfurled in the garden where you’ve buried your affection.
“Because I’m not sorry,” he added when you failed to do anything other than flush horribly. There was a question in his gaze, one you didn’t know how to answer, so with a deep breath, you focused on the one he’d asked out loud.
“No,” you said softly, your hand coming to rest over his as he helped you into the cabin. “I don’t regret it.”
How could you, when he was everything you wanted?
You settled on the plastic bench, watching Homer fiddle with the settings and light, making sure the camera’s fixed in place, basking in the heat emanating from Victor.
“Alright, that should work. You guys ready?” he asked.
“Yeah!”
“Yes.”
Homer stepped back to let Jason poke his head through the door. “We’re all set guys. Just call us if there are any problems. Be yourselves, don’t worry about the take. And remember, make sure to make it as romantic as possible!”
As the door closed behind him, with the camera rolling, silence rose to take the place of the sounds now cut off, the rest of the world falling away as the ride began and you began to ascend.
Outside the window, the stars shone in a twinkling blanket across the night sky, and Victor’s arm pressed into yours. Meeting his eyes was difficult, astoundingly so after the entire day you spent together.
This close, it would be so easy to let the words tumble from your lips. You didn’t know what your eyes could give away right now, and you were just as afraid of the softness in his gaze.
It looked too real.
“I’m glad we finally got some peace,” he muttered, and just like that a bright laugh broke out through your fear.
“This was not your kind of place at all, was it?” you said, snickering at the look he threw your way, because it’s so easy to make him huff like that.
“It was…lively,” he said, glaring at you as you stifle your smile behind your hand. “Exactly the kind of place you enjoy.”
“That’s true.”
“Then that’s that.” He shifted a little, trying to face you, his knee knocking into yours. “As long as you had fun, we’ll come again.”
Despite your warnings, your heart skipped a beat.
You tried to laugh it off, changing the subject to your childhoods, swapping lighter stories and carefully avoiding the heartbreaks. Your hands moved somewhere in between, in the dim lights, and your fingers had found each other’s. Make it romantic, Jason had said. That was the only reason. You talked about work, about Miracle Finder, about his public projects, how your busy lives don’t give you the chance to find love.
“I wouldn’t say that,” Victor cut in, still looking at you in that quietly dangerous away, his gaze a heated cloak over your skin.
You stilled. “You wouldn’t?” There was a tremor in your voice, one you hoped went unnoticed.
“I think, regardless of how busy we are, however reluctant…love finds us when it has to,” he said, his voice deep, unwavering, and you forgot how to breathe. Somehow, despite doing your best to avoid it, you had wound up on the proverbial cliff’s edge.
And it was time to take a leap.
“Victor...have you ever been in love?” you asked, part of you ready for his outrage, for him to brush it off with a roll of his eyes, and the other curling up in fear at the thought of the answer he might really give you.
He hummed, tightening his grip on your hand when you tried to tug it back, searching your face. His thumb swept over your knuckles, rubbing gently, and you wondered if he was preparing you for heartbreak.
“Yes. I have.”
Kiki @kikiki
@smilingwillow WHAT THE FUCK
Anna @miracletv
@kikiki Language.
Kiki @kikiki
@miracletv did you see the episode?? im going to collapse WHERE IS BOSS @miracley/n
raspberrydream @berryberry
DID HE JUST???? OH MY GOD @headaccs DID YOU SEE THIS? ARE YOU OKAY? #HopefullyYours
bandanaman @headaccs
THIS MAD LAD ACTUALLY DID IT. @berryberry I will never recover from this #HopefullyYours
srirachafire @hotsauce
@headaccs @berryberry He just said he’s been in love before. He didn’t say he’s in love with her lol
raspberrydream @berryberry
@hotsauce what will it take for you to finally see the light
mintmadness @mintsallover
I could listen to this man talk all day. Y/n, you’re one lucky girl <3 #HopefullyYours
cocoloco @chocolatedelite
I’m late to the party but lmao at everyone freaking out. Uhhh honestly I’m not sure. These things are usually scripted. They could just be faking it. #HopefullyYours
srirachafire @hotsauce
@chocolatedelite Thank you!!!!
victorshoe @mrsli
My heart is broken but their cuteness has mended it. I’ll give them my blessings. #HopefullyYours
bandanaman @headaccs
oh thank god they just uploaded the individual bits!!! THANK YOU @jtv
bandanaman @headaccs
...wait
raspberrydream @berryberry
omfg
bandanaman @headaccs
????? IS THAT IT??? COME BACK @jtv that can't be it!!
Thank you for reading!
MC/You: it’s a fake date. chill.
Victor: Goldman I need NINE roses and an outfit that makes me look like a sex god I HAVE A DATE
#mlqc#mlqc victor#mlqc fanfic#mr love queen's choice#mr love li zeyan#mlqc victor x reader#queue are my sunshine
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Flower Shop AU, part 3
See part 2 here.
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Monday morning found Bracken back at the shop again. He normally had Sundays and Mondays off, but the sister who worked with him and their mother had had a conflict that day and asked him to cover her shift. “Besides,” she’d reasoned, “You’re always there, anyway.”
He’d made to protest that, despite her comments, he did in fact have a social life (not an entirely truthful statement), but then he saw her excited face and remembered that she was planning to surprise her girlfriend with a lunchtime marriage proposal, so he ultimately smiled and told her he’d be happy to take her shift if she promised to bring his soon-to-be sister-in-law over that night for dinner.
Today’s list of tasks included signing for a delivery of several different types of lilies, making some general “have a good day” and “I love you” bouquets for passersby who might wish to stop inside and pick up some flowers for their friend or significant other during the day, put together a special birthday order to be delivered tomorrow, purchase more flowers which would be needed for a couple of large arrangements that had been ordered for an upcoming funeral, call a few customers to let them know their orders were ready to pick up, and of course, more corsages and boutonnières for the coming weekend. His father would be arriving later that morning to assist, but Bracken always opened the shop, so he’d be on his own for another two or three hours.
Bracken took a peek into one of the refrigeration units inside the shop and pulled out two vases with arranged flowers and colorful ribbons. He placed those on top of the front counter and returned twice more to pull out a total of four additional vases, all of which he placed on the countertop. His trained and careful eye examined each of the arrangements to check for droopy buds, wilting leaves or other problems, but he found none; his mother had assembled these particular arrangements, and her work was flawless as usual. He called the first customer to let them know their order was ready to be picked up, and was midway through dialing the second customer’s phone number when a flurry of motion caught his eye and caused him to turn his attention to the street outside. The shop itself was located alongside a relatively busy street which usually experienced a lot of pedestrian, bicycle and vehicle traffic, but Bracken’s jaw dropped when he saw what had managed to pull him out of his work mindset.
Kendra. She was being pulled by a taller man - a bit roughly, Bracken noted, and also very obviously against her will - from the cafe across the street toward a car which had been parked not far from the very flower shop where Bracken was located.
Well. That wasn’t going to stand.
He was out the door in a flash, without bothering to lock up. Kendra looked like she was in trouble, and although he still didn’t really know her, he’d be damned if he sat back and witnessed anyone being forced to go anywhere or do anything against their will.
“You think that was funny?!” Bracken heard the man yell at her. “You leave those crazy ass flowers on my doorstep, then ghost me all weekend?! What the hell is your problem?!”
“Leave me alone!” she cried as she struggled to break free of his hold on her. “Stop!”
Run faster.
“Hey! Kendra!” Bracken called as he ran. His hail grabbed the attention of both parties, and he managed to intercept them before they made it all the way to what Bracken figured was the man’s car.
“Get lost,” the man told him.
“Let me go!” Kendra shouted, tears streaming down her face.
Bracken placed his hands on top of Kendra’s arm, then pried the man’s hand off of her and set her free. “The lady wishes for you to leave her alone,” he said simply. The man, who had dark, curly hair and what would probably have been handsome features if his face weren’t contorted in rage, yanked his hand out of Bracken’s grasp and moved to take hold of Kendra again. Bracken stepped between them, effectively blocking the man’s access to Kendra with his own body. “Excuse me,” he said. “I don’t know who you are, but it’s time for you to leave.”
“I told you to get lost,” the man positively seethed. He looked like he was going to hit Bracken, who was prepared to defend himself, when another man suddenly dashed in front of Bracken and knocked Kendra’s assailant to the ground. Bracken knew the newcomer - his name was Warren, and he and his brother owned the cafe across the street.
“Who the hell do you think you are, dragging Kendra around like a ragdoll?!” Warren yelled. “I warned you. I straight up warned you. Get out of here. If you know what’s good for you, you will never come around here again. Got it?!”
The man on the ground held a hand to his cheek. Bracken could see a bruise already forming below his eye. “You’re psychotic,” he said to Warren.
“And you’re an astounding piece of trash. If I hear about you hurting Kendra ever again, you’ll be buried trash. Have I made myself clear?” Warren’s face was flushed, and his fists quivered with what Bracken recognized as barely-concealed rage.
Bracken turned toward Kendra, whose cheeks were wet from continued tears and who also cradled her arm - the one the man had grabbed - in front of her. “Are you injured?” he asked as gently as he could.
She shook her head no.
“Do me a favor and get her out of here, Bracken,” Warren said, his eyes trained on the guy who was still lying on the ground. “I’m going to stand here and make sure this loser leaves.”
A small crowd of people were gathering to watch the show, and Bracken agreed that it would be best to remove Kendra from the situation. With a careful hand, he lightly touched her back and gestured toward the flower shop. “Would you like to come inside for a moment?” he asked.
Kendra didn’t verbally respond, but she let him guide her away from the scene and into the store. Bracken led her into the back room, the one he and his family primarily used to store their tools and miscellaneous supplies (vases, plastic wrappings, ribbons, the die-cut machine and materials, shears and scissors, etc.) and pulled out a chair for her to sit on. He then retrieved a couple of water bottles from the refrigerator in that room and passed one to her. She accepted it, but didn’t say anything, and continued to weep.
Concern flooded Bracken’s brain. He didn’t know who that guy had been, but after witnessing the altercation outside, he could understand why Kendra wasn’t in a condition to speak at the moment. “May I see your arm?” he asked.
Kendra hesitated, then stretched her arm out in front of her. It was red around her wrist, and looked tender. He wouldn’t be surprised if bruises started to form later. “It looks alright,” he stated. “I don’t have any ice, unfortunately, but I do have another chilled water bottle I can offer you, if you’d like to use it as a cold compress for now.”
“Th-th-thank y-you,” she gasped as she tried to control her sobs.
His heart went out to her. Was it inappropriate for him to hug her? Probably. She didn’t know him! And he was positive that he was making her feel awkward while he just stood there and watched her cry. He placed a tentative hand on her upper arm. “Would you like to have some time by yourself?”
She gave an emphatic nod at that question.
Bracken withdrew his hand and said, “You’re safe here. Stay as long as you need to. I can order in lunch for the both of us, later, if you’d like. My father will be here in a couple of hours, but I can tell him to leave you alone.” He cast his gaze around the room and found a few boxes of tissues, opened one, and set it down on a countertop near Kendra. “For you,” he said. “I’ll be right outside this door, making phone calls and otherwise managing the front. Feel free to call for me if you need anything.”
A shaky “thank you” was received, and he pulled the door shut as he exited. Later, when she’d calmed down, perhaps he’d ask her some of the questions which were bouncing around in his mind. Who was that guy? Did she want to press charges? Get a restraining order? Was her house safe from him? What had she been doing around this area?
Not that he was upset she’d been right outside - he was actually glad for that. He had no idea how she knew Warren, and couldn’t have predicted his involvement, but at the very least, Bracken was glad to have been able to help in some way.
Speaking of Warren. His entrance into the store caused the little bells at the front to ring. Bracken greeted him and said, “She’s safe, she’s in the back room here,” and pointed to the door behind him. “She wanted some privacy.”
“Thanks for your help out there,” Warren said. “That piece of shit finally fled the scene after he screamed some more. Dumbass thinks he can hurt Kendra. She’ll be staying with me, at least until he’s no longer a threat. Idiot.”
“I’m glad she has someone like you to help her,” Bracken replied. “Her wrist, where she was being pulled around, may start to bruise later. I didn’t notice any other injuries, thankfully.”
Warren placed a hand on Bracken’s shoulder. “Seriously,” he reiterated. “Thank you for your help. If you hadn’t intervened…” he trailed off. “You gave me the extra few seconds I needed in order to jump over some customers and get out there. Thanks again.”
“It was no trouble,” Bracken said. “I couldn’t watch that happen and not do something about it. Kendra doesn’t deserve that treatment. No one does.”
“It was trouble, but I’m grateful you were there.” Warren removed his hand. “Is it okay if I go see her?”
“Be my guest,” Bracken replied. “If you know her well, I really think she could use a hug.”
“That girl is my honorary baby sister,” he said. “She’ll get as many hugs as she wants, and then I’m taking her to my house where she’ll get all the comfort food she could ever need, along with the TV remote. I’ll give her the rest of the week off, if she wants.”
“She works for you?” Bracken asked, unprepared for that particular realization. She worked across the street?
“Yeah,” Warren said. “That douchebag showed up and took hold of her right when she was walking in for her shift. Busiest time of the day. She didn’t even make it to the front door.” He looked at the door behind Bracken again, who caught his cue.
“Go right inside,” Bracken told him. “Stay as long as you’d like.”
“Thanks again,” Warren repeated. “Seriously. Thank you.”
It wasn’t much longer before Warren and Kendra exited the flower shop, with the former shielding the latter from view. Bracken bid them both farewell, and best wishes, then resumed making phone calls to his customers.
Later that afternoon, shortly before Bracken left for the day, an email popped into the store’s mailbox. He recognized it as an answer to one of the surveys they always sent out after someone picked up their order. This one was from Kendra.
A five-star ranking, accompanied by the simple words, Thank you.
He broke protocol and responded back to her. You’re welcome. Please be safe.
—————
Read part 4 here!
#brackendra#fablehaven#aerinm writes#flower shop au#part 4 is mostly written already as well#apparently this is my therapy project 🤷♀️#imma go back to work now
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Cravity’s League of the Universe Theory UPDATE
Season 3 Hideout: Be Our Voice & The Awakening: Written in the Stars
Hello! My name’s Ori and I write k-pop theories and fanfics and today I’m revisiting my Cravity theory cause apparently I didn’t update for Hideout Season 3 even though I thought I had lol This is going to be a mini update since there isn’t much to add, but let’s get right into it.
Arc 1: Hideout Season 3 Main Plot Points
During the prologue of Season 3 we finally get to see more about Woobin, Seongmin and Minhee. At the beginning they hear their names being called by Wonjin, who’s probably using his power to convince them to meet the others. Then we get to see a little of their private lives.
First Woobin is studying in his room when he spots a dead butterfly and revives it. He then tries to take the elevator to leave his apartment building but he ends up getting too scared and gives up; the instagram account also confirms his fear of elevators. He then presumably leaves to spend some time at the arcade. From Minhee, we get to see how carefully he cleans and takes care of his room, making sure even the smallest object is in place, before his alarms sound and he has to get ready to leave.
[Gif: Woobin picks up a dead butterfly, the scene cuts and we see the butterfly flying again.]
Seongmin is at the bus stop at night, waiting for it. We know from the Instagram posts he doesn’t want to go home so ends up choosing to go to the arcade and he forgets his cellphone. Minhee finds the cellphone and upon touching it discovers Seongmin’s plans and goes to meet him there. At the arcade, Seongmin struggles to play with the dart, but when he closes and opens his eyes again, suddenly he’s nailing every single shot.
[Gif 1: Minhee picks up Seongmin’s cellphone at the bus stop and has a vision of Seonming playing with darts and failing all his shorts.
Gif 2: Seongmin is at the arcade playing darts, he closes his eyes and after he opens them he does a perfect shot.]
Minhee arrives during this and gives Seongmin his cellphone, which is when they notice they both have similar stones. Woobin also notices this and joins them. They notice Seongmin’s injured hands and Woobin heals him, revealing his power to them.
[Screenshot: Woobin standing with his back to the camera. His arm is up as he shows Seongmin and Minhee his stone.
Gif: Woobin grabs Seongmin’s injured hands in his and his hands start to shine as he heals Seongmin. The scene fades to white with the light coming from his hands.]
After a cutscene, we see the other six at their hideout. Wonjin is explaining that Seongmin and Minhee are a year younger than them and that Woobin is his and Hyeongjun’s classmate. He also mentions already calling them and Allen adds that he’s dreamt of them as well. Finally, the three of them arrive and introduce themselves.
[Instagram screenshot: A picture of a table with pictures of Minhee, Seongmin and Woobin sprawled on it. The caption reads “The friends from Allen’s dream that he talked about. Friens that Allen introduced to me. I’m sure they could hear my voice will they? Finally today! #photo taken by Hyeonjun
Screenshot from Epilogue: The nine members sitting around a table in their hideout.]
In the epilogue, they’re all spending time together at the hideout. Wonjin and Taeyoung are talking. Seongmin is repairing something for Hyeongjun. Serim, Jungmo and Minhee are with Revue when Jungmo tests Serim’s power by asking him what is the color of the third cloth in his wardrobe. Serim correctly guesses it’s a purple hoodie. We also confirm Jungmo’s ability to communicate with animals. Finally, Woobin is asking Allen if he can predict which team will win tomorrow’s game, to which Allen responds that’s not how his power works, before they’re interrupted by Seongmin asked to be healed by Woobin.
The scene cuts to them playing a board game. Taeyoung tries to cheat by freezing time but Hyeongjun discovers and stops him. Suddenly, Allen looks up and all the lights around them begin to turn off before they look at the camera and the final light goes out. Then, Allen wakes up to Woobin calling him. Finally, in the Hidden Film we see all but Seongmin and Minhee celebrating their graduation.
[Gif: The members look around as the lamps they were using for light start to turn off on their own.]
What is happening?
Before we update the character profiles let’s talk a little bit about what’s going on. First of all, they’ve finished reuniting and Hideout is over just as we had predicted. This means the stasis stage of the story is over and now we need a trigger. While I think that The Awakening: Written in the Stars is sort of a little break while they work on the next part of the story, because we didn’t get any films or updates on the Instagram account, I also think that the title has more meaning to it than that.
First of all, the simple phrase “the awakening” already feels like a trigger because the word itself alludes to the start of something. I also think it might be literally referencing Allen waking up from the vision he has in the Season 3 Epilogue. Yes, I’m pretty sure the whole last scene is a vision, and while it’s a little different, it does preserve that 4th-wall-breaking aspect we’ve seen in some of his visions before, so it’s not a stretch.
What does this mean for them? Well, simply put, danger is coming, and whether they like it or not, they might have to start learning real soon how to better use their abilities. To be honest, I’m still not sure Starship is gonna go full superhero on them, because most of their powers are very passive, but we’ll see!
Updating the profiles
Now that we know a bit more about our last three characters, let’s summarize what we know and then make a list with their powers.
Minhee
He is an extreme perfectionist, to the point that every single thing must have its place and it seems that he has a very detailed routine to keep order in his room. We can also see that he has quite a lot of alarms that establish the order of his day. He doesn’t seem to have an adverse reaction to disorder though, and simply seems to enjoy the act of keeping his space clean and perfect, because we don’t see him do that with the hideout.
[Instagram screenshot: A picture of a perfectly organized shelf with the caption “Neat and tidy. Finished cleaning up my room.”]
Seongmin
Seongmin hates being home, to the point we don’t even get to see his house in any of the videos. He doesn’t mention it in the videos but he’s pretty verbal about it in the Instagram posts. It is quite likely he has a bad relationship with his parents and he seems to wander around a lot. He is also extremely prone to getting injured apparently. Someone help the lost puppy.
[Instagram screenshot: A picture of Seongmin sitting on a bench at a bus stop with the caption “Not yet... don’t wanna go home like this, should I go there again?”]
Woobin
Woobin lives in an apartment complex and he seems to be a good student. The one thing that definitely stands out about him is his fear of using the elevator. It’s still unknown if it comes from any particular elevator-related trauma or if maybe he has major claustrophobia caused by something that isn’t specifically related to elevators. However, he’s pretty terrified of them and although he’s been trying to overcome it, it hasn’t worked for him at all.
[Instagram screenshot: A picture of Woobin’s hand as he presses the button to call the elevator with the caption “Please, just for today...”]
The powers
Finally, the list:
Serim - People-focused psychometry, he obtains information about others, seemingly by accessing their knowledge and memories. So far his ability has only been seen with the members.
Allen - Precognition through dreams, he has dreams in which he’s able to see the future. All dreams seem to be tied to the members so far.
Jungmo - Animal Telepathy, he’s able to understand and communicate with animals.
Woobin - Accelerated Healing, so far we’ve seen him heal small injuries and bring back to life small creatures.
Wonjin - Telepathy, he can communicate with others through the mind, even if they’re far away. So far his ability has only been seen with the members.
Minhee - Future-focused psychometry, this one is still in doubt since we’ve only seen him use it once, but he seems to be able to see the future of the person who last touched the object.
Hyeongjun - Legit, no idea, what is your deal, child?
Taeyoung - Time stopping, he’s able to completely stop time for everyone else except Hyeongjun. He can continue moving and doing things normally when he does it.
Seongmin - Enhanced accuracy and precision, again this one is still in doubt since we’ve only seen him use it once, but he seems to be able to perfectly nail every shot he makes.
Conclusions
Cravity might actually be in danger, depending on what Allen’s vision meant. One thing is for sure though, the story is starting to move forward. On the other hand, someone help me with Hyeongjun, I accept suggestions.
#cravity#cravity theory#kpop theory#kpop#cravity serim#cravity allen#cravity jungmo#cravity woobin#cravity wonjin#cravity minhee#cravity hyeongjun#cravity taeyoung#cravity seongmin#serim#allen#woobin#jungmo#wonjin#minhee#hyeongjun#taeyoung#seongmin#bluenicorn does theories#theory
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Album Discussion- Shinjuku Mad
Usually on a Tuesday I like to take my time with a blog post. Listen to a full album, do a little research, put some real effort into it.
Unfortunately, time is not my ally today. So I kinda have to do one that’s a bit easier- in this case, I think I’d rather go after one of the ones that’s already on my phone, in case I have to do this on the bus or something.
(wait, I drove in today…)
Today we’re going to go into a self-titled album that is somehow not the artist’s debut. Rather, Shinjuku Mad is the second of two albums released under the name- the reason I specify as such is that one of the two (and later, the vocalist would help out again) members would go on to relative fame under a different name- Vaportrap pioneer Blank Banshee.
Peering into this album is like looking at a beta version of what was to come. It’s very much a different genre, an IDM album that completely predates Vaporwave’s explosion of popularity and Blank Banshee’s seminal album, Blank Banshee 0. It’s a solid enough album in addition to this, but it’s kind of hard to talk about seeing as there’s basically nobody who knows about Shinjuku Mad that didn’t learn about it through Blank Banshee. As such, expect a lot of BB coming up in this post.
Also a block of words, because no music videos exist for this at all. It’s one of those obscure albums.
This album opens on Cure for Fear. It’s one of those introductory tracks you often get in albums, at about a minute and a half long, with very reverb-y percussion and vocals and an almost ethereal haze of noise. It’s got these chimes that occasionally come up, reminiscent of some of the tracks from the AKIRA soundtrack, but beyond that there’s not a huge amount going on here. It does introduce a problem, however, one which we’ll get to later. It’ll be pretty evident if you’re listening along, though.
Track 2: Kowloon. I really did forget how short a lot of these songs were, with this being 2:13- the whole 10-track album clocks in at under half an hour. There’s a mix of drum machine and hollow wood percussion on this track that gives it a really interesting sort of feel, and some of the effects on the vocals feel extremely vaporwave- it’s no surprise that the dude behind this went on into that genre. Here’s where I can’t help but hammer on that issue I mentioned earlier, though.
The vocals on this album are quite weak. I know they’re very much trying to be ethereal, the reverb and falsetto make that much clear, and that style very much suits the instrumentation. But it just doesn’t sound great. It kinda comes and goes, but by and large I’d label them as subpar. I don’t really think it’s the fault of the performance either, it’s not like the bloke is missing his lines or mumbling more than is necessary for the album’s aesthetic, but there’s just something about them. They might be too loud in the mix for this kind of genre? I’m not 100% sure.
Resistor, the third track, is the best known song from this album by an order of magnitude. I mean that quite literally, as the track as over 540,000 monthly listens on Spotify as compared to Kowloon’s 32000. It’s kind of shocking, I mean for such an obscure album with zero singles, why is this of all tracks the one people suddenly latched onto?
As it turns out, it’s because again of the artist’s future work as Blank Banshee. Resistor would be reworked into one of the more popular tracks from BB0, Dreamcast, and it would appear that people got curious as to what the source was.
The thing is, aside from sharing a vocal performance, the tracks are very different. As it is, Resistor is a much faster track than the previous, driven by this fast percussion and bassline, making for a genuinely solid exercise track of all things (I say from experience). It’s got a fun little synth solo in the middle, the vocals are pretty solid (aside from like right at the end of the last chorus, holy shit), and the song’s coda and outro are a fun little bit of controlled chaos. I’d put Resistor as one of the better tracks on the album, is what I’m saying.
I’m going to do something I haven’t done in a while when discussing music on this blog- I’m going to jump through a few things. As much as I like this album, the songs aren’t nearly interesting enough to justify a song-by-song breakdown. I think if you listen to Resistor and like it, it’s probably worth chucking on the rest of the album- it is, again, less than half an hour long. But its an album where it’s more valuable on a meta level than it is sonically.
Shinjuku Mad as an album feels a lot like a hybrid between older IDM trends and the synth/vaporwave elements that would become popularised in the 2010s. There’s also tracks like Inductor, which border on rock songs with the power behind that bassline and percussion- in general much of the instrumentation is cleaner than you’d expect from an artist like this, especially considering how muddied much of the vocals get. There is a real focus on the vocals, which as I’ve discussed is a weakness of the album, but I do think it’s possible to look past that issue. There’s some really fun synth lines, some excellent percussion, and real aesthetic. Songs like Human Wave Attack feel stark and lonely, notes echoing into the void, which ironically is not at all like Track 4, Void- with synths and vocals disguising a guitar and drum line that feels extremely garage band. As in, the concept, not the program. Singularity is a song that feels again predictive of Blank Banshee’s future work, a low, slow synth track reminiscent of BB songs like Hyper Object or Metamaterial.
There are some genuine gems on here in addition to Resistor, though. City of No Tomorrow, the eighth song, has got to be one of my favourites- somehow, despite featuring none of the instrumentation typical of the genre, it’s extremely cyberpunk, a sense of struggle and futility resonant through the track. It’s the one song on the album I listen to regularly, getting myself lost in the groove of the bass and tapping my foot along to the percussion. It’s just really good, man.
If this isn’t your first time encountering Shinjuku Mad, reading this might cause you to go back and have another listen, upon which you may notice a few somethings missing. I don’t expect that to be the case for literally anyone reading this…but I needed a segue. This is because, upon the reintegration of Shinjuku Mad and its predecessor Organic Thoughts from the Synthetic Mind into Hologram Bay’s catalogue for the 2019 reissue, two songs were cut, likely for fears of legal issues regarding sampling. The version of this album that I remember has those tracks!
Those songs are Negatives (formerly track 6) and Neon Exodus (formerly track 12). Negatives is another one that’d show up as a Blank Banshee track (in this case, Gunshots), and is actually really solid? Like it integrates a raid siren into the instrumentation without having it sound weird, out of place, or, well, alarming. Neon Exodus is…wow I just don’t know this track at all. It’s fuckin aesthetic though. Welcome to this spontaneous live-reaction, I guess. I recognize the sample this is built around (and thereby why it isn’t on the album anymore) but I cannot name it for the life of me. It’s, uh, interesting. I dunno, 6.5/10?
Anyway, part of the reason I bring this up is that before I want to close this out I have some complaining to do. Said 2019 reissue was something I tracked at the time, and noticed both SM albums were releasing on Vinyl, Cassette (because, you know, nerds), and digitally. But not CD. I threw an email at the website about it, and they did eventually respond (it genuinely took like two months though), but not in the positive. The reissue had no plans to include a CD, unlike all three previous Blank Banshee albums.
But the original 2010 version of the album, along with a few slight differences in songs and in album order, does have a CD release, albeit an extremely limited one, according to Discogs. These CDs have to exist, they’re now listed on the new Shinjuku Mad website. Apparently one sold 6 months ago through Discogs. I need to find a copy, though considering on that site 7 people list it as owned and 72 (including myself) list it as wanted, it’s probably not going to happen.
And that, ultimately, is Shinjuku Mad. It’s a very odd piece of history as far as vaporwave goes, considering it’s both a prototype and also something completely, utterly different. The album is pretty decent on its own, but not mindblowing, and something you could probably live without. There are like two tracks (three if you include Negatives) that are 100% worth it, but the rest are skippable. Which is a shame, but mediocre music has to exist somewhere, right?
That I apparently haven’t discussed Blank Banshee on this blog before (aside from when I was talking about Vaperror) is actually kind of shocking. I suppose, then, that there might be some lacking context. I probably will have to do that at some point, though I probably won’t do BB0 because I like picking the hipster options- so either BB1 or MEGA. Metamorphosis didn’t really pique my interest, and I somehow missed GAIA existing in the first place and still haven’t listened to it. So if you’re interested in seeing me ramble over some of that, I’ll see you then. I mean, it’ll still happen if you aren’t interested, but nobody’s going to make you read it.
Or am I…?
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Fic: Desiderata (10/?)
Chapter Title: Collide
Fandom: Mass Effect
Characters: Miranda, Samara, Oriana, Jacob, Jack
Pairing: Miranda/Samara, I told you it was a fucking slow burn
Story Rating: R
Warnings: I don’t think any specific warnings apply for this chapter. Certainly nothing that doesn’t apply to the fic as a whole. Just assume any past warnings remain relevant.
Chapter Summary: The ‘flashback’ storyline comes to an end at the party on the Citadel. In London, Miranda’s insomnia is affecting her worse than ever before. Then Samara shows up at her door. And everything implodes.
Author’s Note: “If I'd have said I love you, she'd have said it back. And then everything would have been different.” - Sue Trinder, Fingersmith. Featuring Citadel dates that aren’t dates except they’re totally dates part II. I’m not going to lie, I’m kind of proud of myself here with the contrasts and parallels going on between the flashback scenes and present day scenes. People at their best, versus, well, close to their worst. Spotify playlist below the cut again.
(Link to Playlist)
*. * *
Miranda had been on the run from Cerberus for so long that it still hadn’t fully sunk in. She wasn’t hiding anymore. Wasn’t looking over her shoulder every waking moment. Didn’t get startled awake by every sound she heard in her sleep.
Somehow, she’d done it. She’d turned against The Illusive Man, and lived to tell the tale. For now, anyway.
The events at Sanctuary were so fresh in her mind that she’d barely had the chance to stop and catch her breath since. The bruises had mostly healed, but she still felt lingering echoes of her fight with Kai Leng, which could have ended a lot worse had she gone in unprepared. Not even ten days had passed since she hugged Oriana on Horizon and said her goodbyes, perhaps for the last time.
And yet she wasn’t thinking about what lay ahead. Not really.
Miranda was here. Living in the now.
For this one night, she was able to just...stand in one place, and enjoy the moment. That was something she had never taken the time to do previously, before all this came to pass. On an unconscious level, she had always taken tomorrows for granted. Never stopped or cared to appreciate today.
Suffice it to say, her head hadn’t quite fully caught up to where her body was, and that this was no mere illusion. It felt like at any second she would wake up and find herself alone in the dark again, scurrying like a rat through the shadows in hidden passages of the Citadel where nobody but the keepers could find her.
But this wasn’t a dream. It was really happening.
It meant all the more that at this particular moment she was surrounded by familiar faces from The Normandy she hadn’t seen in months, plus a few new ones. For a while there, it had felt like she would never see them again.
It was something to savour. So she did.
Miranda drew a deep breath and allowed herself to be present. To exist. To not be in her own head. She took in the scene as she made her way through Shepard’s apartment, letting her eyes wander the party going on around her, her gaze landing on each person she could see as she passed them by.
Liara and James Vega had spent a good portion of the evening arguing whether biotics were superior to brawn, or vice versa, with Jacob and Ashley having joined in on the great debate earlier. That still seemed to be ongoing, from what she could tell. The answer should have been eminently obvious to anyone, Miranda thought. Then again, she didn’t feel the need to convince anybody why her own preference was correct when she already knew she was right, as usual.
On a related note, Miranda might not have been the best judge when it came to reading signals between people, but even she was starting to get the sense that James and Ashley might be more than just shipmates by the end of the night, if they weren’t already. Good for them.
Tali, the last time she’d seen her, had been very much enjoying how uncomfortable EDI was making Samantha Traynor, talking openly about the crush Sam had on her voice. Although, come to think of it, Miranda was pretty sure Traynor had at long last managed to escape that awkward conversation and gone to hide under a table somewhere. Or maybe she’d just locked herself in the bathroom until she felt safe to emerge again. Either way, fair.
Speaking of potential couples, it hadn’t eluded Miranda’s attention that EDI and Joker had definitely become, shall it be said, a lot closer ever since EDI got a body. In retrospect, that wasn’t surprising, although the idea of the two of them becoming...entangled in that way had obviously never occurred to her before. Why would it have? But, come to think of it, the two of them had always bickered like an old married couple even when EDI was just a disembodied voice. From that perspective, Miranda supposed it kind of made sense.
And lastly on the list of possible relationships, there was also a...vibe coming off of Tali and Garrus, which was by far the most unexpected. And a little weird. Jacob had picked up on it before Miranda had, and she wished he hadn’t pointed it out. It was like finding out that two people she had thought of as more of a brother and sister might be hooking up. But it was none of Miranda’s business. In any event, the two of them seemed to mostly be avoiding each other. Perhaps they hadn’t confronted whatever this was between them yet.
She’d also caught sight of Zaeed and Samara admiring the artwork adorning Shepard’s new apartment. Miranda had thought about intruding on that, since that duo included the one person at this party she had been hoping to speak to tonight above all others, but she ultimately elected not to disturb them just yet. There would be other opportunities to catch up with her.
Somehow, she got the sense that Zaeed had finally been brave enough to shoot his shot with Samara after all this time. Judging by the expression on his face, and given that he was now drinking alone and very much not with Samara, presumably it had gone exactly as smoothly for him as had been predicted a year ago. She would be lying if she said she felt sorry for him.
A big group that included Joker, Garrus, Wrex, Steve Cortez and Javik had been arguing about guns and target practice or some similar nonsense, which hadn’t sounded particularly riveting to her in all honesty. Boys and their toys. They were still in that discussion from what she could hear. Unfortunately, Shepard seemed to have encouraged that line of thinking, which Miranda wished she hadn’t. Guns and alcohol were not the best mix.
Meanwhile, Kasumi had been popping in between all groups almost as much as Shepard had, like the perpetual snoop she was. She always loved getting up in everybody’s business. Miranda would have been a pretty big hypocrite to take issue with that, though. Although, when Miranda spied on people, it was for entirely professional reasons, not because she liked to gossip.
She had heard Grunt yelling at party crashers over the intercom a while back too. Who better to be a bouncer for a party than a genetically perfect krogan? She didn’t care to interrupt him. He’d done a good job of keeping the riff raff out.
And, honestly, for as much as Jack still grated on her nerves, a small part of Miranda had been somewhat relieved to see her there too, because if nothing else that meant she had survived long enough to attend this reunion. Miranda may not have liked Jack in the slightest, but if anybody thought she was actively rooting for any of her former Normandy comrades not to make it through this conflict, even Jack, then they really didn’t know Miranda at all.
Sure, they had instinctively traded barbs when they unintentionally crossed paths, because god forbid Jack actually behave like a fucking adult for once. But then Shepard had appeared out of nowhere and, for some bizarre reason, suggested that they, quote unquote, ‘work out all that unresolved tension between them’ and go have sex, or words to that effect.
In a weird way, that stupid comment had inadvertently somewhat doused the animosity between herself and Jack because, for once in their lives, they finally agreed on something - being that that would never fucking happen, and they would sooner drink broken glass than even think about it.
Credit to Shepard, though, Miranda and Jack hadn’t fought after that.
Maybe that had been the point.
Unfortunately, not all members of The Normandy had made it this far. There were missing faces. Only a few, but too many. From what she knew, they had all gone out like heroes, whatever that meant, and if it made any difference.
Thane had died giving his life to protect the Council from Kai Leng when Cerberus attacked the Citadel. Mordin had sacrificed himself to end the genophage, undoing what he had in retrospect come to believe was his greatest mistake. And Legion, well, to the extent that Legion could be considered ‘dead’, he had certainly ceased to exist in any recognisable form - giving up his ‘individuality’, for lack of a better word, to achieve peace between the quarians and the geth.
It wasn’t until after being forced to go into hiding for so long, believing some Cerberus agent would find her and put three bullets in her head before she saw any of her Normandy comrades again, that Miranda began to regret that she never took the chance to get to know her shipmates better, especially now that there were some with whom those lost moments could never be reclaimed.
What was that saying - you don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone?
Yeah, this was definitely one of those instances.
She’d always liked Thane, come to think of it. There was little to dislike. He had been one of the few on the ship who had never been anything other than extremely civil towards her, even when, admittedly, Miranda hadn’t been particularly courteous in return, misjudging him as a man of tenuous loyalty.
He never complained or questioned any task he was given. He just did it. A consummate professional. Exactly the kind of person she would want on any team.
Mordin, she respected. Hadn’t trusted, no, nor completely understood, but respected. They’d teamed up on a fair few field missions with Shepard early on when they were still studying the Collectors. Between her warps and Mordin’s incineration tech, they could tear through any armour in seconds. And he was undeniably a genius. Back on The Normandy, he was probably the only other person who’d spent as much time hard at work as Miranda. Maybe more.
With the benefit of hindsight, she wished she had taken more of an opportunity to pick his brain, and work with him on his endless list of projects. Even if he did talk at a million miles a minute, it was only because he had so much to do and no time to waste doing it. A sombre smile came to her face as she thought how many of the galaxy’s ills the two of them could have solved given enough all-nighters and enough pots of coffee between them.
And then there was Legion. In truth, she hadn’t had much time to speak to him, much less get to know him. He had been on The Normandy so briefly. Less than a month had elapsed between finding him, and Miranda being forced to leave. He was the one she knew the least. But he was unique.
She had been wrong about Legion, hadn’t she? Miranda still didn’t fully know where she stood on the whole question of whether machines could be considered ‘alive’, but that wasn’t the point, was it? Did it even matter if they weren’t? Either way, it would have been wrong to send him to Cerberus, like Miranda had initially suggested. If that had happened, Rannoch might not be at peace right now. With his final sacrifice to unite the quarians and the geth, Legion had definitively proven himself to be more than the mere sum of his programs.
So the question remained. Why hadn’t Miranda taken the initiative to get to know them? To speak to them? It wasn’t as if she hadn’t known that the time Thane and Mordin had was short, irrespective of intervening events. She’d just...not bothered.
It hadn’t occurred to her back then to think that was something she ought to have done. The old Miranda hadn’t cared to do such things. Because other people didn’t really matter to her.
By the time Miranda had started to defrost and emerge as a more tolerable (and, in turn, more tolerant) person to be around, it was already too late. The mission was over. The Alpha Relay was destroyed. And everyone went their separate ways.
But there was no changing the past. Perhaps there was no sense in wondering what could have been, or what she would have done differently if she had known then what she knew now, or if she had been the person back then that she was now, because that just wasn’t possible. And Miranda could do many things, but even she couldn’t make the impossible possible.
Well, not usually.
She couldn’t have those days back. But she still had this day. This one night. Best not to dwell on what was missing or the mistakes of yesterdays gone by when there was so much that she had to be thankful for. And, moreover, so much which she had, for once in her life, finally learned to appreciate.
And it wasn’t lost on her that this one night of joyful reunion was almost certainly the last one they could ever have like this. The last time they would all be together. The last time that all the faces in this room would still be here to celebrate as one.
Because they wouldn’t be alive much longer.
The reality was, the whole galaxy was at war. And it was a war they were currently losing. Their chances of victory were slim to none. From what Miranda had gathered, all organic life was essentially banking its hopes on some ancient miracle superweapon passed down from previous cycles called The Crucible that they didn’t even fully understand or know how to use yet. And if that failed?
...There wasn’t a plan B. Not yet, at least.
Even if The Crucible worked and they somehow defeated the Reapers, the chance that more than a handful of people in this room would survive the war was infinitesimally small. And, perhaps more than anyone else at that party, Miranda had no expectation that she would be among the living when the dust settled. Because Miranda had never been happier than she was right then. Never had more to live for. And if that wasn’t a curse that put her right at the top of the list of ‘most likely to die’, then she was not only naive, but delusional.
The universe was a cruel place. The people who had the most to live for were always the first to die. There was no way that Miranda could rationally believe that the future she now saw for herself and Ori after the war might ever actually come to fruition. Because, if there was one thing that Miranda’s thirty-six years had taught her, it was that she would never get to be that fucking happy.
Things like that just didn’t happen. Especially not to people like her.
Or, if they did, then they shouldn’t.
Seeing what Cerberus had become, knowing she’d spent just shy of twenty years of her life working for them? No, she didn’t deserve a good ending.
As that thought went through her head, Miranda glanced up, and spotted a singular, solitary figure standing alone by the second floor balcony, watching the scenes playing out below. Samara. Somehow, that she was by herself was the least shocking thing Miranda could have imagined.
Finally sensing her long-awaited chance to catch a private moment with the one person she had been more eager to spend time with than any other, Miranda ascended the stairs, a glass of wine curled in her grasp.
“Not mingling?” Miranda asked as she joined Samara’s side.
“I am content to observe,” Samara replied, maintaining an upright posture with her hands clasped behind her back. She seemed to mean it, preferring to watch and listen from a distance than to be directly involved in the action for the most part. Considering she was about four hundred years out-of-practice when it came to this sort of thing, being a passive onlooker probably genuinely was the most enjoyable way for her to experience this party at her own pace.
“Normally, I would do the same.” Miranda leaned on the railing beside her.
“Yet you appear to be enjoying the festivities,” Samara noted, pleased with that.
“I know. It feels incongruous, doesn’t it? Me, being social? A year ago I would have been telling you all to stop wasting time and focus on the mission,” said Miranda, finding it rather bizarre to consider how far she'd come from the cold, aloof person she was previously. Well, not that she couldn't still be those things. But she was less so now. Especially among this dysfunctional bunch of misfits she had reluctantly become fond of, despite her better judgement.
Being part of The Normandy crew had changed her irrevocably. More than she'd realised at the time. Meeting her sister had done that too. And Samara, of course. And so had losing all those things when she went on the run. It made her appreciate aspects of life she wouldn't have otherwise.
It was almost enough to make her call them all her friends. Even Jack.
...Almost.
“You do not need to deprive yourself for my sake,” Samara assured her, gesturing towards the party going on beneath them, as if believing Miranda was only approaching her out of a sense of obligation to ensure she didn't feel excluded.
“I'm not. I enjoy your company. I always have.” Nothing had changed in that respect. No matter how much time had passed, Miranda would never feel any less at ease in Samara’s presence. She just had that effect on her. A vague smirk came to her as she thought back on the last time they spoke, toying with her wine glass. “I was right, you know?” she said, recalling her own words from all those many months ago. “I did miss you more than anyone else.”
“Even Shepard?” Samara inquired, her lip quirking with amusement.
“Even Shepard,” Miranda confirmed, taking a sip. “Don't pass this on, but Shepard was always barging into my office when I had a lot to do. Ask Garrus and he'll tell you the same thing about his calibrations.” She gestured to their comrade, currently setting up a number of glasses on the bar, resembling a firing range. That was going to end badly. “That was something I always liked about you.”
“What was?” asked Samara.
“You might be the only person I've ever met who never wanted anything from me,” Miranda explained, having had plenty of time to think about that in her loneliest moments this past year. “Not to be presumptuous, but it wasn’t because you simply didn't care, or wanted to get rid of me. You just...accepted me, as I was. I never felt as though I had to earn your approval, whether through my usefulness, or my accomplishments, or even through keeping you entertained with conversation. I could just...do nothing around you – literally, just sit there and say nothing in your presence, and that was fine with you.”
That was no exaggeration. They had spent hours together in serene silence, or in meditation. Maybe more than they had spent talking. It never mattered what they chose to do. One was never any more or less welcome than the other.
“It was,” Samara confirmed, her voice soft and reflective. “And, no, you are not being presumptuous. You may be more forthright than I am about such things, but, if I ever desired to be left alone, believe me, I would not have made a secret of it.”
“Ah, good, so you weren’t secretly dreading it whenever I showed up because you were too polite to tell me to bugger off this entire time,” Miranda joked. She already knew that, of course, but it was nice to have it on record.
“I am unfamiliar with that term. But no, I was not,” Samara answered kindly. “I would be a fool not to value your abilities. The things you have accomplished are remarkable, let alone what you have yet to achieve. But such things are only possible because of who you are. That is what is truly important. And I asked nothing of you, because I already enjoyed your companionship.”
Miranda wasn’t prone to blushing like an idiot, but it took an uncharacteristic amount of effort not to glow at such sincere praise. “You aren’t so bad yourself,” Miranda wryly replied, gently nudging Samara with her shoulder.
“No, I am terribly dull. I assure you, I am aware of this,” Samara replied, a self-effacing smile tugging at the corners of her lips at the misplaced compliment.
Miranda snorted at that assertion. “Are you kidding? You were the only one out of this lot I found even remotely interesting to talk to most days. And, considering the company we keep, that’s saying something,” she said, indicating their cohorts below, who included some of the most famous heroes and infamous outlaws in the galaxy. “You’re one of the most fascinating people I’ve ever met. Besides, I owe a lot to your wisdom and advice. More than you know.”
“It pleases me that you feel that way. However, if I may, I do not consider myself especially wise,” Samara humbly responded, downplaying her role. “If I appear so, it is only because experience has taught me one lesson that can make even the most dimwitted person appear well-considered in their thoughts, and that is to speak as little as possible, until I have something worthwhile to say.”
“See? That’s the most intelligent thing I’ve heard all evening,” Miranda pointed out, earning a faint chuckle from Samara. “In all seriousness, though, I really have been looking forward to catching up with you.”
“And I you. Much has come to pass since last we met. For both of us, I suspect,” Samara reflected, as if she had often wondered in her journeys where her friends were, how they were faring, or what they might be doing. Miranda knew, because she had done the exact same thing. “If it would not trouble you to share it--”
“I killed my father,” Miranda nonchalantly answered, filling in the gaps of what had transpired over the past few months before Samara could even ask her to, bringing up the subject about as casually as she might remark on the weather.
“Good,” Samara enthused, without a hint of hesitation. She didn’t even need to ask whether or not he deserved it. She already knew the answer.
That Samara took it so in stride almost made Miranda laugh. That exchange would have sounded so bizarre out of context. “Couldn’t have happened to a nicer man,” Miranda commented, taking another drink from her glass, nearing half-empty. “So, yeah, I’ve gone from having the absolute worst year of my life so far to feeling pretty bloody wonderful, if I’m being honest.”
“I am glad to hear you say that. However, if I may...are you sure you are alright?” Samara asked with the warmth and gentleness Miranda had come to expect from her. Although her own experiences with Morinth were very different, no doubt they gave her an insight that, irrespective of how much Miranda hated her father or how justified she was in her actions, killing the man who had been her only family for sixteen years of her life might unearth some complicated feelings. “It would be no failure on your part whatsoever if you are not.”
“Yeah. I’m fine. Believe me, if there was any small part of me left that might have wanted to let him live, or might have felt something resembling an attachment to him, that part of me died the moment he hurt my sister,” Miranda declared, her voice unwavering. She glanced down. “Unfortunately, I...should have gotten there sooner. Oriana’s adoptive parents weren’t spared. They didn’t make it.”
“I am sorry,” Samara said, her sympathy sincere. “Is there anything you could reasonably have done to prevent this from happening?”
“No, probably not,” Miranda acknowledged. She had been fighting so hard just to survive some days. To stay one step ahead of The Illusive Man and his agents. She’d kept an eye on her as best she could, but it hadn’t been possible to watch over her and protect her the way she used to from such a position of powerlessness. She hadn’t even known she was in danger until it was too late.
“Then you must not blame yourself,” Samara encouraged, ever the voice of compassionate wisdom. “If your actions could not realistically have changed anything that transpired, then you cannot be held responsible.”
“I suppose not,” Miranda conceded, staring down at her glass.
More than anything else, Miranda hated that feeling of helplessness. Knowing that Oriana had suffered and felt pain she never wanted her to experience, and there was nothing she could do to shield her from it. She would have traded her own life in a heartbeat to take it all away and wind back the clock for Ori and her family, if it were within her power. But such things weren’t. It couldn’t be undone. It couldn’t be fixed. They just had to keep moving forward.
“Enough about me. How about you?” Miranda changed the subject. “I tried to keep tabs on everyone but...you are a hard woman to find, Samara.”
“That is my way,” Samara affirmed, calm and quiet. “I have no possessions, but that which you see before you. And I often journey through very remote places.”
“You’re off-the-grid,” Miranda translated. Certainly, Samara was about as disconnected from galactic society and unplugged from the network as it was possible to be in this day and age, short of eschewing those things completely.
“You could say that, yes,” Samara gave a firm nod, accepting that description. She stepped away from the balcony, gesturing with her hand as she spoke. “You may not know this, but there are villages in remote parts of asari space where people have...returned to a simpler way of being, rejecting modernity and embracing tradition in every facet of life. Even though their ancestors may have come to those worlds by spaceflight, they prefer to live as their predecessors did thousands of years ago. It would not be an exaggeration for me to state that several such places I have visited recently would still not currently be aware there is a war going on as we speak, and would never have heard the term ‘Reaper’.”
“Doesn’t sound that strange. There are people and places on Earth that haven’t changed at all in the past two hundred years, if not longer. As long as they aren’t holding back social and scientific progress for anyone else, why force them to adapt?” Miranda shrugged. If people wanted to stay stuck in the past, that was their business. She would happily continue moving forward and enjoy all the trappings and privileges of modern life that they rejected.
“...I have always liked such places, at least since I became a Justicar. They remind me of my temple somewhat,” Samara confessed, her eyes losing focus, drifting into thoughtful contemplation. “Just as there is tranquility in being surrounded by nature, there is truly no wiser woman than she who is content with her life, however humble it may seem. Would that we could all achieve such harmony.”
The hint of sombreness in Samara’s final words wasn’t lost on Miranda.
“Speaking for myself, give me twenty-second century technology any day,” Miranda remarked, both because it was true, but partly in an effort to lighten the atmosphere. It wasn’t clear whether Samara even heard her, in all honesty. “So where did you go after that?” Miranda asked casually. Given that she was here, she must have run into Shepard again somehow.
At those words, a sudden flicker of sorrow passed across her features. Samara turned away, one hand falling across her face, as if struck by a surge of sadness, and needing a moment to collect herself.
Needless to say, that reaction definitely didn’t escape Miranda. She moved closer to Samara, concerned. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”
Samara summoned a heartbroken smile as she looked up at her once more. “Forgive me. My thoughts turned to the day I encountered Shepard,” she began, a hard story to tell. “I heard that the monastery where my daughters were taken four centuries ago had issued a distress signal, and none who had been sent to investigate had returned. As soon as I knew they were in peril, I did not hesitate. I had to go to them. I feared the worst, and my fears were not misplaced. The Reapers were indoctrinating Ardat-Yakshi, turning them into…” Samara couldn’t even say it. There weren’t words to describe those creatures.
Miranda listened to her recount the events in heavy, dread-filled silence. Nobody had told her that. She had no idea about any of this.
“Fortunately, both Shepard and I arrived in time to rescue Falere from that fate. However, we were not quick enough. I lost...I lost Rila.” Samara’s voice caught in her throat, choked by a sob as she relived the all-too-raw pain of her death.
Her oldest daughter. Gone.
Miranda’s heart sank. “Samara, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know,” she said with heartfelt remorse. Miranda never would have brought this up if she had suspected anything had happened to what little family Samara still had left. Why hadn’t anybody said anything? Why had no one told her about this?
“No, it is…” Samara shook her head, raising a hand as if to signal that it was not her fault for inadvertently touching upon an open wound. As if she thought the only misstep made was her own for letting grief cloud the moment, when she had so much still to be thankful for. “I should not. Not today.”
Miranda didn’t quite know what to make of that reaction, but if Samara didn’t want to talk about the death of her child, she couldn’t exactly blame her. She certainly wouldn’t force her to.
Their moment of quiet was interrupted by glass shattering somewhere below.
“Oh, God,” Miranda groaned miserably, getting the sense that the boys were in fact about to break out the guns and start shooting after all. She was not particularly keen to be near them when that happened. “Do you want to go somewhere a little quieter?” Miranda asked, thinking that would be best.
“As you wish,” Samara replied, gesturing for her to go ahead, composing herself as she followed in Miranda’s footsteps. With that, they retreated into Shepard's bedroom, seeing that it appeared empty.
Out of the corner of her eye, Miranda glimpsed something. Shepard's closet was open, but the clothes were shifting ever so slightly as they hung there. Hmm. She had a fair idea what was causing that. However, this wasn't the time to address it. Not when this moment with Samara could be one of the last they ever had. She made a mental note to file her theory away for a little later.
Ignoring the disturbance, Miranda stepped inside. She supposed they could have sat on the bed, but, somehow, that just didn't seem fitting. “Here, for old time's sake,” she said, sitting down on the floor, her legs crossed, patting a spot beside her. “I know the view isn't as good, but—“
“I have spent many years gazing out over the stars, and I will see them again before my days are at an end,” Samara interrupted Miranda, joining her by her side, mirroring her posture. “In comparison, I have spent far less time with you. This is more worthy, do you not agree?”
“Definitely.” Miranda glanced down, having reflected on that sort of thing a lot recently. “Cutting myself off from...everything like I did made me appreciate the value of how I spend my limited time in this universe. I’ve come to understand what I want to do with my life, after all this is done. Assuming there is an ‘after’. And it turns out you were right, but you probably already knew that.”
“I...do not,” Samara replied, mildly perplexed. “If I said something in the past that you are referring to, I am afraid that I do not recall it.”
That happened a lot, Miranda thought. She had a near-perfect memory, by human standards. It felt entirely natural to her to harken back to conversations that had taken place long ago as if they’d happened only yesterday when, almost invariably, by that stage, the other party had forgotten them completely.
“You remember how you would encourage me to concentrate less on devoting all my energy to my work and other external achievements and to focus more on my inner development instead? Well, you asked me once which of those two things ultimately has greater meaning to me,” Miranda refreshed her memory.
“That does sound like something I would say,” Samara acknowledged, certainly remembering words to that effect, even if a few more specific details had faded.
“You did. And you were right,” Miranda continued. “I had a lot of time to myself these past several months. Completely to myself. And when that crushing isolation was just starting to tip me over the edge, I thought of you. I thought of us, our time together. And so I tried my hand at meditating again. It succeeded at calming me down and clearing my head but, more importantly, finding that state of tranquility gave me the first chance I’d had since leaving Cerberus to really stop and think about my life, and the direction it was heading, even before this.”
Samara’s expression revealed she knew that epiphany all too well, as if she had undergone something similar in her own life. Possibly more than once. It was no wonder she considered meditation such an essential facet of her existence.
“Serenity is the key to mindfulness. The only key. Even the simplest truths are often lost to us in the noise and chaos of life, or clouded by impenetrable shadows of anger and despair,” Samara spoke sagely, from the benefit of experience.
That was the truest and most astute thing Miranda had heard anyone say in a long time. And beautifully poetic. And, as she looked at Samara then, Miranda had to once again wonder how she could possibly believe herself to be dull or unwise, even if she had only made those disparaging remarks about herself in jest.
“What came to you in the silence?” Samara prompted, keen to hear it.
“I thought of the person I was before I met you, and, out of nowhere, it suddenly hit me - really hit me - that all that time I spent working for Cerberus was...wasted. It meant nothing. And I knew it meant nothing because all I could think was that, if Cerberus did catch up to me and kill me, then I would be leaving behind absolutely nothing that I could look back on and say, ‘Yeah, you know what? I’m satisfied with that.’ Not one thing. Except for bringing Shepard back, but any contentment I feel about that has less to do with me, and more to do with Shepard.”
“Because you were never satisfied with anything you produced,” Samara intuited, sensing what Miranda had come to terms with. “Nothing could ever truly meet your own unattainable standards that you set for yourself. And no amount of work could ever fill the void that you felt inside. A void that festered because you were...completely avoiding focusing on your inner life.”
“Yes, I was. And, no, it couldn’t fill it,” Miranda confirmed, seeing now what she had been too distracted to see before. “And, although I didn’t realise it at the time, I really did not like the person I was when I was working for them. I was not happy. I thought I was, compared to the life I had before. But, in actuality, I wasn’t any less trapped with them than I was with my father. I was like Shepard’s stupid hamster, running in a wheel, doing the same things over and over again, thinking I was getting somewhere, but going nowhere. Deep down, I was...I was fucking miserable. And...honestly, I think I was lonely.”
Samara watched on, her eyes glistening with unfeigned sympathy and understanding. “I gathered as much,” Samara admitted, barely above a whisper. Miranda wasn’t surprised to hear her say that. She wasn’t sure at precisely what point it had occurred to her to suspect that Samara’s spiritual intervention in her life might be intentional, but she’d made no secret of her guidance.
“I’m glad you noticed, because I never would have. It was you who gave me that gentle push that made me re-examine what I was doing with my life, how badly I was treating myself, and reflect on what really mattered to me,” said Miranda. Hell, Samara had known what Miranda was missing better than she knew it herself. “So, as I was having this moment of insight and meditating on all those things you said to me, it made me think, maybe the path I’ve been taking until now isn't what's fulfilling to me. That's why, once the Reapers are defeated, if I make it out alive...I think I'm done,” she stated frankly, shrugging her shoulders.
“Done?” Samara echoed, curious as to her meaning.
“Done being that person,” Miranda clarified. “Done leading my life that way. Or at least I’ll try to be someone different for a while, until I figure out what I really want to do now that there’s nobody controlling me anymore. I'm not planning to be a puppet for another shadowy organisation. I'm not going to go off on some grand mission to save the galaxy. I’m not going to spend sixteen hours a day hunched over my computer screen, stressing over worthless administrative tasks to meet the arbitrary standards of people who don’t care at all if my crippling addiction to perfectionism sends me to an early grave,” Miranda announced, voicing that commitment aloud as though it were a vow. “If I’m finally going to take charge of my own life, then I'm going to focus on what's most important to me.”
“And what is that?” Samara asked, suspecting she already knew.
“My sister,” Miranda answered without hesitation. Oriana was her be all and end all. Whether she knew it or not, she always had been, ever since she was brought into this world. She made Miranda feel complete, or as close to whole as she had ever felt, anyway. “I made a promise to her that, when this is over, we're going to find some nice, quiet place on a colony world and start living our lives together as a family. And that's the only thing I want to do. The only thing I know will make me happy. I don't care about anything else.”
“You are...retiring?” Samara inferred, tilting her head in questioning.
“In a manner of speaking, I guess you could say that,” Miranda affirmed. As she glanced over at Samara then, it wasn’t lost on her that, while she was clearly impressed with the level of growth Miranda was demonstrating, suffice it to say that there was a hint of scepticism. “What?” Miranda prompted her, always preferring people to be direct rather than refrain from speaking.
“Forgive me. It delights me to hear that you have chosen a path which you believe will bring you inner fulfilment, but...with greatest respect, after our many conversations, I find it difficult to imagine you content with embracing idleness,” Samara noted with interest, even though she obviously supported her decision. She knew it drove Miranda crazy when she didn’t have enough work to do. She was perpetually busy, by choice. She hated being bored more than anything.
“No, I'm not saying I’ll be idle. I mean, I am only thirty-six, and...well, you've seen what I'm like,” Miranda conceded that fault, aware of her workaholic tendencies. She didn’t expect those qualities to fade, and she wasn’t sure it would be a good thing if they did. They were part of her personality. “But the point is that I’ve been doing the exact same thing for twenty years and getting nothing in return - except money, I guess. Before that, I was my father’s prisoner. I’ve never had the chance to be my own woman. I need a clean break. A hard reset. To steer things in a new direction. I need some time to...do or be something else, for the first time in my life. I need to…” She trailed off, struggling for the right words.
“Find yourself?” Samara suggested.
“Something like that,” Miranda confirmed. She’d never had a chance to discover herself and her identity except insofar as it related to her upbringing, or to her career with Cerberus. What else was there? Who was Miranda Lawson when she wasn’t working? Or wasn’t busy solving all the galaxy’s problems?
She would have loved to know. It was a shame she wouldn’t get to live long enough to meet that person. But, God, did it feel good to live in denial, and allow herself to hope, for just one night.
“I don't know how long this experiment will last, or what this phase of my life will look like,” Miranda continued, “And I'm sure that at some point in time I'm going to find ways to keep myself productive, because I probably can't do otherwise. But, whatever I decide to do with my time and my skills, I'll be doing it of my own volition. Not because I'm tethered to anybody else. Not because somebody else is running my life and telling me what to do. It will be because I took time to think about it, and found a way to devote myself to something that actually makes me feel good when I do it. Whatever that ends up being.”
That was the core of it, when it came down to it. She wanted to be her own master. To have control over her own life. To be her own boss. Wanted the freedom to cut ties with anyone or anything that was toxic to her quest for self-actualisation.
“Either way, from now on, all those other things are going to be secondary, because my family is my priority. Oriana is,” Miranda professed, and that was immutable. “And, while I already knew that, you helped me realise what that means. So thank you for that.”
“If I was able to be of any assistance, then seeing you embrace your innermost desires is thanks enough. I am glad that you and your sister have found one another,” Samara said, her sincere smile reaching her eyes. “Truly, you have come so far from when I first met you. Wherever your path takes you, I wish you nothing but happiness. And I hope you both lead very long and peaceful lives.”
“Don’t we all?” Miranda remarked. That was the hard part, though. The entire galaxy was under attack by genocidal, unknowable cosmic horrors. But nobody wanted to think about them right now. Not tonight. “What about you and Falere?” Miranda asked, hoping she wasn’t treading on too sensitive ground by asking that question. “Will you do the same with her?”
“...I cannot; my adherence to The Code does not end with the salvation of the galaxy,” said Samara. Though it was clear she accepted that, her response left her visibly conflicted. No doubt, she wished it could have been otherwise. “I am the last of my Order. When I perish, so do the Justicars perish with me. It may seem futile to continue to walk this path when there is no one left to demand it of me, but I must. I must, for those who can no longer walk it with me.”
Samara’s devout pledge carried a hint of sadness, but it was well-camouflaged. What she personally wanted was irrelevant, ever since she'd renounced her former life and sworn her service to the Justicars. Being their sole living legacy only further cemented what had already been true. She wouldn't turn her back on her obligations, no matter how tempting it was to savour every moment she could with her daughter. She could never forgive herself if she did.
“However, I have also promised Falere that I will return, if I survive – when I am able,” Samara continued, though her tone did not change. It remained distant. Almost resigned. Layered in over four hundred years of history between them.
Miranda couldn’t quite make sense of the mixed emotions she sensed in Samara’s voice. Perhaps she was disappointed that they couldn’t be as close as she would like - that there were restrictions standing in the way of them fully reuniting in the same kind of way Miranda and Oriana had. Falere was still an Ardat-Yakshi, after all; she could never live a normal life. It was too dangerous.
“But you will see her? You will have a life together?” Miranda surmised, in a subtle attempt to encourage Samara to think of her circumstances more positively.
“...Yes,” Samara answered hesitantly, deciding that was indeed true, in part.
“Then, if both of us have reasons to survive, I don't like the Reapers' chances,” Miranda spoke with false confidence. If she said it with enough self-assuredness, perhaps she might actually start to believe it. But she wasn’t trying to convince herself. Only Samara. “If we've said we're going to do these things, then we already know what the outcome of this war has to be.”
Samara didn't share in her display of bravado, but she did appreciate her sentiment. “Though I am not afraid of death, I certainly have found a great deal more to live for than I ever thought I would have again...” Samara trailed off at that thought, her eyes briefly drifting out of focus, almost pensive in her reflection.
“Here's to living,” said Miranda, raising her mostly empty glass in a salute, finishing the last of her drink.
At that, Samara shook herself from whatever temporary trance had come over her. “Yes. Indeed. As you once said to me, I will…’see you on the other side’,” Samara echoed Miranda’s words from The Collector Base, nodding her head in agreement. There was nothing more worthy of affirmation than the desire to emerge from the ashes when all this was over. “The hour grows late, and I fear I have kept you too long. Do you wish to return to the festivities?”
“You go on ahead,” Miranda encouraged. “And don’t just sit in a corner and meditate all night. Go...fucking have fun, Samara. You deserve it.”
Samara uttered a soft chuckle. “I am not entirely sure what that means, but if you are insistent, then...I will try to avail myself. The atmosphere is certainly...energetic,” she commented, as if sounding faintly overwhelmed by the party.
Miranda didn’t need to be a genius to recognise that it had been a long, long, long, long (too many longs to possibly put into a sentence) time since Samara would have experienced anything like this. The young Samara she had heard tales of had definitely been a wild child, but she had ceased to be that person even before her personal tragedy befell her. As a Justicar, she had been travelling alone, in total solitude, for over four hundred years, barely even speaking to anyone for most of that time, except as required to carry out her duties.
How many centuries had it been since she was able to get together like this with a group of friends? Since she even had a group of friends? Since she...relaxed and unwound? It was no wonder that, so far, she seemed content to watch from the sidelines more than actively participate in the unfolding chaos.
Still a little sad, though. At least from where Miranda was sitting.
“Will you join me?” Samara asked, extending her hand as she got to her feet.
“In a bit,” Miranda declined. “There's something I have to take care of first.”
Samara didn't ask what Miranda meant by that, respecting her decision. “Very well. May we speak again soon,” she said, taking her leave and rejoining the others.
Once Samara was gone, Miranda uttered a faint disgruntled sigh. “I know you're there, Kasumi,” she said, annoyed. “Samara may not have noticed, but I did.”
“Aw, what gave it away?” Kasumi playfully whined, de-cloaking in front of Shepard's closet.
“The movement as you rifled through those clothes,” Miranda answered plainly.
“Ooh, you're good,” Kasumi acknowledged. Most people wouldn't have seen it.
“Genetic enhancements. Superior vision. You've heard this story,” Miranda explained, waving that nonsense away. She elected not to ask what Kasumi was doing by rifling through Shepard’s clothes. That was the least unusual thing about this. “So, were you riveted by our conversation?” she asked.
“Actually, yes,” Kasumi replied, her answer apparently unfeigned. “Samara wasn’t kidding; you really have changed your perspective for the better. This new you, it's nice. You seem happy. I hope everything works out for you and your sister.”
Miranda couldn't quite manage to be cross with her after that kind response. “Yeah, well...I’ll never hear the end of it if the crew thinks I’ve gone soft and sentimental, so don’t go telling anyone. Besides, I haven't changed so much that I won't be capable of making your life hell if you let word of this spread around,” Miranda idly threatened, not meaning it at all.
Kasumi lost any trace of heartfelt sincerity after that. “On the other hand, I was also enthralled because I thought your little love session was going to end with you and Samara christening Shep's sheets,” she teased.
Miranda arched an eyebrow. Her and Samara? How absurd. “Of all the comebacks you could make...Really? A gay joke? In this day and age? What century are you from?” Honestly, it was the lack of creativity and wit that disappointed her more than anything. Kasumi was normally funnier than this.
“Who’s joking?” Kasumi wryly replied. “I was going to take bets from the others on which one of you topped. I picked you, for the record.”
Miranda snorted, not even humouring this nonsense. “Sure. If you say so.”
“Be dismissive if you want, but I was right across the hall from Samara. I overheard more than one of your conversations. I know nobody else knows how much time you spent together, but I do. Besides, Shepard has it all wrong; Samara's a much better match for you than Jack would ever be,” Kasumi nonchalantly commented.
Miranda sighed heavily and let her head fall in her hand, massaging her forehead in visible annoyance. “What is it with everyone tonight--”
As soon as Miranda began to utter the question, she found that Kasumi had already cloaked herself and disappeared, leaving her by herself. Miranda rolled her eyes, not even slightly shocked. Kasumi had done that to everyone all night.
Seriously, though, why was everyone suddenly so intent on getting her to sleep with women at this party? They knew she was straight, right?
* * *
Drip.
Drip.
She stirred at the disturbance. Her right eye flickered open, but the other didn’t respond. Twisted metal and exposed wires loomed over her against the backdrop of an empty sky.
Drip.
Drip.
A body hung out of the seat above her. Half a body. A cracked ribcage visibly protruded from a burned uniform. Entrails dangled from the open corpse. Droplets of blood ran down a lifeless arm swaying limp in the light breeze.
Drip.
Drip.
Miranda had been here before. So many times. But this time, she was frozen in place. Trapped. Stuck. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t shift her body. Could only feel the blood and the viscera. It surrounded her. She was practically floating in a pool of it beneath her.
It was still warm.
Drip.
Drip.
She could taste copper in her mouth. She was covered in sanguine from head to toe. She wasn’t sure how much was hers, and how much was the pilot’s.
Drip.
Drip.
Her eyelid fluttered as a drop landed directly in her iris. As she blinked, she noticed something she’d never seen before. The pilot’s neck was bent back the wrong way. But there was a head. Half a head. Split clean open. Down the middle.
Her helmet had come off, exposing blonde hair. Stained with a crimson mask.
Drip.
Drip.
Miranda’s instincts reacted before she did. Her heart began to race - her pulse quickening with a deep, abiding dread. Adrenaline surged through her veins. And she didn’t know why. Until she saw.
Until she saw the body above her move.
Drip.
Drip.
That bent-backwards broken spine shifted consciously. And, with a wilful snap, suddenly that limp neck was above her. Hanging. That half-skull hovered directly over her. Looking at her. Appraising her.
Drip.
Drip.
Miranda tensed with the urge to fight or flee, but she was frozen in place, as if made of stone. She couldn’t move a single part of her body below her neck.
Drip.
Drip.
That torn face, broken in two, shifted back and forth, as if studying Miranda. Examining her. Asking itself…why did this stranger live, when I died?
Drip.
Drip.
With one click of a button to release her harness, the pilot dropped to the floor, freed from her restraints. Miranda could only watch as that unliving corpse of the woman blasted in half by the Reaper unnaturally positioned itself above her. Then the thing looked over to one side. Its eye was fixed on Miranda’s left arm.
Her wounded limb hung like dead weight from her shoulder. Fractured. Lifeless. Her forearm was twisted around completely the wrong way from the elbow down. Miranda couldn’t so much as twitch her fingers in self-defence.
Drip.
Drip.
Without warning, it seized her left hand.
“Ah!” Miranda gasped in pain, but couldn’t fight her off. Couldn’t move.
All she could do was lie there helplessly and watch as this dead creature lifted her broken, mangled arm. She willed herself not to scream from how much it hurt. Not to give it the satisfaction of breaking her.
Drip.
Drip.
The pilot stared down at her, unmoved by her anguish. It felt nothing.
It never broke eye contact with her as it lifted her backwards-twisted hand towards itself. Until Miranda’s fingers were almost touching that split-open face.
Miranda would have resisted if she could, but it felt like her arm would rip clean in half at the elbow if she pulled back with even the slightest force.
Drip.
Drip.
And then the pilot opened her mouth.
And a river of maggots came pouring out.
Wriggling.
Writhing.
Miranda could do nothing except watch as those horrible, crawling larvae spread from her fingers, down her palm, and to her wrist. And everywhere they touched, her flesh was consumed with rot. Infection. Disease. Death.
She could smell it.
She could fucking smell it.
And they just kept coming.
Drip.
Drip.
Some of the vile things fell onto her abdomen, there were so many of them. And the rot took hold there too. Turning her skin sickly septic. Pestilent. Necrotic.
The pilot let go of her arm, letting it fall to the floor as the maggots swarmed her.
That half-body reached down and grabbed a fistful of the squirming things that were feasting on her still living corpse. It held that pulsating mass above her.
Drip.
Drip.
“No,” was all Miranda could say, knowing what it intended.
But there was nothing she could say that would stop it.
Drip.
Drip.
It shoved that handful of maggots directly onto her face.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Instinctively, Miranda reached over and slapped the alarm off before anyone else would hear it. The next thing she did was bite down on her pillow to keep from screaming, or vomiting, stifling the lingering echoes of her nightmare.
Once the panic subsided, Miranda flopped onto her back, catching her breath.
Four forty-five in the morning.
This had been her bright idea to get some sorely-needed rest. She’d set her alarm to go off every half hour - to wake her before she could dream. It worked for the first three cycles. That was the fourth. Another failed solution. Another plan that hadn’t helped. Every time she slept, it was hell. It was always hell.
Miranda lay there in darkness, staring at the ceiling, listening to her ear ring. At least she’d got two hours before the nightmares struck this time. Thank Christ for that small mercy. But she was still so tired. She was so fucking tired.
Miranda could run on far less sleep than the average human. Persevere longer before frayed edges started to show. But even she had limits on what she could withstand. The longer this went on, the harder it got just to function.
How long did she have before she was physically incapable of staying awake?
Miranda had given up trying to pass time during the night. With anything. Didn’t use her computer. Didn’t read. Didn’t listen to music. Didn’t go out for walks by the river. Didn’t do any of the things she turned to in the past.
It was all so...boring. Everything was. Every single thing in her life that she used to use as a crutch to ward off these dreams had lost its lustre. Nothing was worth the effort of doing anymore. Expending the energy. All she had to keep herself awake anymore were her thoughts. And that sound.
That relentless
Fucking
Sound.
Days bled together in a blur. It almost didn’t feel like the past few hours had even happened. Fresh memories were like watching scenes from someone else’s life. What little release she’d had from getting off with Shiala earlier that night had already worked its way out of her system. It had been nothing more than a fleeting distraction, which offered scant relief from the problems that plagued her. And now she was back to this. A torment she’d been living with for so long that she no longer even remembered how it felt to be rested.
But thinking about literally anything else was preferable to dwelling on the nightmares, and she could only count the same cracks in the ceiling so many times before that would drive her clinically insane. So Miranda replayed the night in her head, trying to make sense of it all, and where it left her.
If sleeping with Shiala had accomplished one thing, it had proven that her feelings for Samara weren’t just in her head. No, the desire she’d felt when she imagined Samara in Shiala’s place, picturing her body beneath her, had not been some mere delusion. Those physical reactions couldn’t be faked or exaggerated. The sheer fucking want. That was real, vivid, stark, and intense.
So that was just great. After all that, not only had she not managed to convince herself that she was any less in love with Samara, she was now painfully conscious that she was sexually attracted to her. Extremely so.
It was the opposite of what she’d hoped to achieve. Fucking Shiala hadn’t been a release for her feelings. If anything, it had only crystalised them.
It was no wonder why Samara was dominating her thoughts. This obsession with her was about the only thing Miranda could feel at all anymore, outside of her nightmares. When it came to everything else in her life - all the death, the destruction, her own survival, her injuries, and the loss of all but a small handful of people she knew - everything else that should have provoked her to feel something, anything...there was nothing there. A hole. A void. An empty space.
She was just so fucking…
Blank.
Neutral.
Numb.
She couldn’t feel anything at all. Just hollowness. Except when Samara was there. And then, when she looked at her, when she felt her standing by her side, everything got so intense and so achingly real and corporeal that it burned. She came so alive in her proximity that she damn near couldn’t stand it.
But Samara wasn’t there.
She had gone again, leaving her to wilt in the dark.
And there Miranda lay. Staring at the ceiling. Avoiding her dreams. Listening to her ear ring. And she felt dead inside. Like every breath she took, she wasn’t getting enough air. Like she was asphyxiating, bit by bit. Suffocating so slowly that nobody would even notice if she simply stopped breathing. Not even herself.
But what the hell did she have to complain about?
She was still here.
Millions of others weren’t so lucky. Hell, billions.
As her mind began to wander in the way that minds could only wander when they were desperately tired and teetering on the verge of sleep, she thought about The Normandy. About the shockwave that had destroyed the mass relays, and all ships anywhere near them. The faster-than-light blast that killed her friends.
Miranda hadn’t even been conscious when it happened. She’d only heard descriptions of what it looked like when the Crucible fired. It painted a pretty grim picture. Jacob had told her how he’d seen people standing only a few feet in front of him scream as they disintegrated in front of his very eyes. Torn apart on a cellular level, in a single, bright, flash.
Was that what happened to The Normandy? Had it been sudden? Had they been scared, in their last moments? Had they felt pain? Did they even know that they were in danger? That they were going to die? Or did they just...blink out of existence, blissfully quickly?
Did it matter?
People didn’t go anywhere when they died. There was no soul. No afterlife. No heaven. No hell. There was just...nothing. People were, and then they weren’t.
They would never even find any trace of them, would they? They would never have anything to bury or lay to rest. Even reading out their names as she had done hadn’t added a sense of catharsis or closure to it. It still didn’t feel entirely real, even though Miranda knew it had to be. The Normandy would have either reported in or been found by now if anyone had survived.
And then she thought of the people who were serving aboard The Normandy when it disappeared. People she had spoken to only a few months ago - a mere matter of days before the battle for Earth. People she would never speak to again. People she probably hadn’t earned the right to call her friends.
Tali, Miranda had never had a problem with. They only talked when it was directly related to the ship or the mission, which had been an ideal working relationship from her perspective. She wasn’t on The Normandy to make friends. That wasn’t something she wanted or thought she needed back then. It was only around the time of Shepard’s party on the Citadel that Miranda had finally begun to twig that Tali actually did not like her at all, and never had. To her credit, she had simply been far too professional to let it show, or interfere with her job.
That was perfectly fine, honestly. And, if Tali really did hate Miranda this whole time, that made her not a bad judge of character, in fairness. She hadn’t realised it about herself when they served together but, in truth, Miranda hadn’t liked herself all that much either. Still didn’t, on some level.
Garrus, by contrast, was notoriously snarky and sarcastic towards her. She’d never thought turians could smirk before, but Garrus had proven they could. He would meet her commands with smart-arse quips and a wry glint in his eye. He never took Miranda’s shit. Needless to say, she hadn’t been his biggest fan because of that but, in retrospect, she couldn’t blame him. With the gift of hindsight, she now recognised she had been pretty intolerable to be around at times. If she’d had a better sense of humour, they could have traded some witty banter. But the old Miranda took herself far too seriously for that.
Liara, Miranda had met earlier than any other member of The Normandy, save Jacob. Miranda had enlisted her help to retrieve Shepard’s body from the Shadow Broker, before it fell into the hands of the Collectors. It was strange to think that that brief crossing of their paths had set all subsequent events in motion.
Miranda had been so focused on her own goals at that time that she never formed particularly strong impressions of Liara, beyond a mixture of respect for her capabilities, tinged with appropriate suspicion and mistrust. That mistrust had mostly faded through a combination of being there when Liara took down the Shadow Broker, and perhaps more importantly from getting to know Shepard well enough to trust her judgement about the company she kept.
She didn’t know Liara well enough to speculate as to whether she shared that sentiment. Miranda rarely cared to ponder others’ opinions of her. Presumably Shepard didn’t have quite as many positive things to say about Miranda as she did about Liara, given their relationship. But they’d never had any issues.
James, Javik and Ashley, Miranda obviously didn’t know. She’d barely been introduced to them, really only meeting them when Shepard threw that party. She hadn’t formed particularly noteworthy opinions of any of them, beyond that James was a bit of a meathead (albeit, a fairly charming one), Ashley was what happened when the quintessential military brat grew up and became a soldier, and Javik was coping with being the loneliest man in the universe by staying alive through the sheer burning willpower to avenge the destruction of his people.
Then again, maybe she was wrong about them.
Joker and EDI, though, Miranda definitely knew. Joker had never been shy when it came to talking shit about everyone on the ship. Miranda was no exception, although he was more cautious about her than most, given that she scared the crap out of him. Still, that hadn’t stopped him from spending an entire week humming the Wicked Witch of the West theme every time Miranda approached - a reference Miranda hadn’t understood (because of course she didn’t) until Jacob explained it to her, which led to her swiftly putting a stop to that.
And EDI? Well, EDI was The Normandy. The closest thing it had to a soul.
It was difficult to say whether Miranda could truly consider her a ‘person’, but on some level she supposed she did. She did think of her as one. Miranda had always found herself being instinctively polite to EDI, even in moments when she didn’t extend the same politeness to anyone else. But for as calm and helpful as EDI could be, she also had a personality. A sense of humour. Desires. Wants. In some ways, maybe she was more human than Miranda herself.
And then there was Doctor Chakwas, and Gabby and Ken, and Engineer Adams, and Kelly Chambers, and Mess Sergeant Gardener. So many people. So many faces that had become part of her world. She didn’t even like all of them, but they were there. And now they weren’t.
And Shepard.
Where did she even start when it came to Shepard?
Meeting Shepard had changed Miranda’s life on a fundamental level. She’d led by example, and shown her a different way of being. She was the undeniable proof that being kind and empathetic wasn’t a weakness, but a strength. That making friends with the people around her wasn’t a distraction from more important work, but an essential tool she used to build a strong and loyal team.
She was, without exaggeration or qualification, as close to a perfect human being as Miranda had ever met. If humanity strived to be more like Andrea Shepard, then the galaxy would be a better place.
Huh. What would Shepard say if she could see Miranda now?
Do you even miss us?
At all?
Good question, Miranda thought. Was this what it was like? Was this how a normal person was supposed to act when they missed people who had died? Because it didn’t feel that way. If this was a test, she was failing. Despite what Samara had said about there being no correct or incorrect way to grieve, it certainly didn’t feel like she was mourning the right way, whatever that meant.
Do you even care that we’re gone?
You haven’t cried.
Not once.
Not even the faintest sting in your eye.
No, she hadn’t. She’d never really been able to do that. Only Oriana ever brought that out of her. And Miranda wasn’t speaking to her right now. Because she still had nothing positive to say.
At this rate, it wasn’t looking like that was going to change anytime soon.
Miranda lay there in the dark for two more hours, forcing herself not to slip into slumber. It was seven in the morning when she finally willed her weary limbs to get her up and out of bed. She had already heard the pipes going, so she knew some of the kids were awake. Sometimes she got up before them, but she usually waited for them to stir as her signal to stop pretending to sleep. It aroused less suspicion if she wasn’t the first one up every morning. And her ruse must have been working because so far none of them had noticed.
She got up, had her shower, got dressed, and joined the early risers for breakfast.
“Morning, Miss,” Leah Brooks greeted her.
“Morning.” Miranda opened the fridge, her voice slightly hoarse. She stopped, blinking as she glanced back at the students. “...Is that actual fresh milk in the fridge?” she asked, wondering if she was just hallucinating from insomnia.
“Sure is,” Rodriguez confirmed.
“How on Earth do we have that?” said Miranda, on a slight delay.
“Black market,” Rodriguez answered with a shrug.
Miranda gave her a single nod of approval, grabbing the glass bottle. “Good girl.” She was teaching them well. It was worth every credit to have food that didn’t come in powder form whenever they could manage to get their hands on it.
With that, Miranda poured herself a bowl of cereal and joined the kids at the table. They ate in silence for a solid two minutes. Despite not paying the students much mind, she didn’t fail to notice that they were sneaking surreptitious glances at her, and being awkwardly quiet. They were usually chattier. She didn’t ask them what this was about, because she didn’t care. It was always some teenage nonsense with them. As long as it was harmless.
“...Screw it, I’m gonna ask her,” Reiley eventually broke the silence.
“Don’t! Don’t fucking ask her,” Rodriguez warned, hushing her voice as if that would somehow make her imperceptible, even though Miranda was sitting right across the table and could see her and hear every single word uttered between the two of them. “I’ve played this game, it doesn’t go we--”
“Miss…” Reiley began, completely ignoring Rodriguez’s protestations. “Is it true you banged an asari last night?”
Miranda fumbled her spoon.
Fuck.
“First of all, that’s a very inappropriate question,” Miranda responded, not at all impressed with Jack’s students. And she stood by that assessment, even if she knew damn well she was being a giant hypocrite, because she was also prone to asking questions she wanted to know the answers to without caring who she offended in the process. But the key difference there was that she did that to other people, and this was now happening to her. And that was obviously unacceptable. “Secondly, where is this even coming from?”
“I overheard you talking to Mr Taylor last night,” Leah solved that mystery.
At that, Miranda’s normally faultless composure cracked. “You...what?”
“We sleep right there.” Leah pointed at her room. “Voices carry.”
Instead of coming up with some elaborate fiction, which she was far too drained to do, Miranda simply ran her fingers through her hair and uttered a frustrated groan. Damn it, Jacob. She should have guessed at least one of them might be awake and listening through the door when she came home.
“Holy shit. You were right. She did,” said Rodriguez, finding all the proof she needed in Miranda’s reaction, and complete lack of any defence.
Leah made a gesture with her fingers. “I told you. Pay up.”
“You know it's rude to eavesdrop on people,” Miranda pointed out, displeased.
“Pfft. You would do it to us,” Reiley remarked.
“No, I wouldn't. None of you have anything remotely interesting to say,” Miranda countered, going back to her cereal, seeing little point in denying the truth, although there was no way in hell she was going to divulge anything further.
“Yeah, well, if we did, you would,” Reiley replied with a shrug.
Miranda never liked admitting when other people were right so she didn’t respond.
“Was it Samara?” Rodriguez asked, immensely intrigued, or at least pretending to be for the purposes of screwing with her. “I know I sensed a vibe between the two of you. So were you lying when you said she wasn't your girlfriend?”
Miranda rolled her eye. She hated her life. She hated everything.
“You will run out of cereal eventually, and then you’ll have to talk,” Leah teased.
Miranda fixed her with a one-eyed glare as she ate, making it plain that this pestering would get them precisely nowhere but ignored. She really did wish that Jacob hadn’t made her be nice to these teens. Back when they were intimidated by her, they never would have pulled this stunt.
At that instant, Prangley emerged from his room, half-asleep, rubbing his eyes.
“Jason. Good to see you,” Miranda called his attention to her, seeing an opportunity to escape this torment. “Do me a favour. Bring my pistol over here and shoot me with it, would you?” Miranda requested with an entirely straight face.
Prangley blinked blearily, certain he must have misheard. “What?”
“Kill me,” Miranda reiterated, in the same tone. “I don't want to live anymore.”
“What? Why?” asked Jason.
“She boned an asari last night and Leah overheard her and Mr Taylor talking about it,” Rodriguez explained. “It was totally Samara,” she added in an aside.
“Oh. Nice,” said Prangley, continuing his march to the kitchen, unfazed.
Miranda exhaled in annoyance. “Damn it, Jason.” He’d been her best hope of backing her up and putting a stop to this. And he’d failed her. She was disappointed. “You were this close to being my favourite,” she complained in jest, holding her thumb and forefinger a small distance apart.
Jason shrugged. He wasn’t about to interfere with this. She was on her own.
“Samara seems really cool, Miss,” Reiley commented, nodding in approval.
“And also super hot,” Leah chimed in. “And I mean that in both a feminist way and a lesbian way. So, you know...good for you.”
Jason snorted. “Did you just congratulate her on who she had sex with?”
“Yes. Absolutely,” Leah confirmed. “I mean, have you seen Samara?”
“It wasn't Samara!” Miranda insisted, finally getting fed up with this.
Rodriguez gasped excitedly. “So you're seeing someone else? Who is it? Is she your girlfriend? Is that why you and Samara aren't together? Wait, oh my God, Miss, are you cheating on Samara? Is that why she left London?”
Miranda let her head fall forward and hit the table with a thud. This was why she normally chose to stay silent when they tried to get a rise out of her like this. Shame she’d forgotten that strategy in her exasperation.
“Wow. You’ve officially done it. You’re all dead to her now,” Jason noted.
“Oh, I crossed that boundary a long time ago,” Rodriguez assured him, evidently proud that she’d finally managed to break Miranda. “I have nothing to lose.”
“How about the roof over your head,” Miranda retorted, picking up her cereal, deciding she would rather starve than continue to be subjected to this.
“Pfft. You don’t mean that,” Rodriguez brushed her off. Miranda just silently arched her eyebrow at her as she limped away. Rodriguez began to sweat, turning to her partners in crime. “She...She doesn’t mean that, right?”
Jason just pulled a face, as if to say he’d warned her.
* * *
“I heard a rumour about you,” Shepard began, approaching Miranda near the lounge on the second floor.
The party had gone fairly late into the evening by that point, and the energy was starting to wind down. Miranda hadn’t asked but somehow she got the sense that everyone was planning on crashing at Shepard’s for the night, since nobody had made any motions to leave yet.
“I’m the subject of many rumours, Shepard,” Miranda dryly replied, sitting back against the armrest. “You’re going to have to be more specific. Although, if it’s the one about the incident with the drop bear, I swear that only happened one time and only three people died.”
“Drop bear?” Shepard echoed curiously, tilting her head, as if trying to work out whether that was Miranda’s serious voice or her sarcastic voice. Miranda just gave an ambiguous shrug. If Shepard couldn’t tell, then she wasn’t going to spoil it. “Nah, it was nothing that exciting. Although remind me to ask you about that later. I’ve been told you’re considering an early retirement?”
Miranda sighed, not needing to guess where that had come from. “Kasumi...”
“Mhmm,” Shepard confirmed the source of her information. “And, from that look, I'm starting to think it's true. So, this is really it for you, huh? Once we get rid of the Reapers, you're out – you're done.”
“Well, not immediately. I'm not about to leave people dying in the streets. But yes, you heard correctly,” Miranda replied, taking a sip from her freshly refilled glass of wine. It was a relief that not every single bottle or glass had been destroyed when Garrus set up that makeshift shooting gallery. “I’m my own woman now.”
“Really?” Suffice it to say, Shepard didn't seem to be buying it. “Not working for anyone at all, other than yourself. Ever. You're sure?”
“I haven’t made up my mind about ‘ever’, but yes. As of right now, that's the plan,” Miranda answered.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but who are you and what have you done with the real Miranda Lawson?” Shepard teasingly remarked, since this was the single most uncharacteristic thing the Miranda she had come to know a year ago could possibly have said or done.
“Oh, she’s dead. I buried her under the floorboards. I probably should have mentioned, I’m also an escaped Cerberus clone. You are the fake Shepard, right? Because if you’re not, then this is a joke and you should forget I said that,” Miranda responded, her tone completely deadpan.
Shepard laughed, moving to sit across from her on the opposite sofa. “Seriously, what brought this on? Where is this coming from all of a sudden?”
Miranda exhaled, shifting until she was seated on the armrest, deciding to stop being snarky and start being direct. “Being on the run this past year...It's been the worst year of my life. Including all the years I lived with my father. But if nothing else, being on my own for so long made me realise that, for as long as I've been alive, everything about me has always been controlled by other people. In one way or another, I've never been free to make my own choices. Except for a few months with you. I need to take some time away to breathe. Just be me, without anyone expecting anything from me. Figure out how to be...”
“What?” Shepard prompted, when Miranda fell silent.
“I was going to say ‘an actual fucking person’ and then I realised how depressing that was,” Miranda muttered with appropriate self-awareness, earning a light chuckle from Shepard. “I guess that’s the whole point. I don’t even know who I am when I’m not working myself to the bone. I could be anybody under all this.” Miranda vaguely gestured at herself.
“And what if you can’t stand having nothing to do?” asked Shepard.
“Then I change plans,” Miranda answered plainly. She wasn’t so attached to this idea that she couldn’t be flexible if it didn’t work out, and she wasn't sure why it mattered. As it stood, the chances of any of their dreams for the future coming to fruition were slim at best. “But how can you be so certain that I'll hate it? I'm not; I've never had the freedom to do nothing before. Maybe I'll thrive.”
“But you were always putting yourself under pressure to stay busy, even when you didn’t have to. You love how much of a workaholic you are. Don’t deny it. You were practically begging me to give you more stuff to do towards the end there. What would you even do with your time if you’re no longer devoting yourself to some kind of high-powered career?” Shepard wondered aloud.
“I don’t know. There are a lot of things I’ve never done before, and never thought I’d do.” Miranda shrugged. “Maybe I’ll try being a blonde for a while. Maybe I’ll get a tattoo. Maybe I’ll become Wiccan. Maybe I’ll get fat.”
Shepard stared at her sceptically, sensing the obvious sarcasm.
“What? Don’t think I couldn’t do it if I set my mind to it. I’m secretly a foodie at heart, you know,” Miranda pointed out, her tone drier than her wine.
“And you have a superhuman metabolism,” Shepard countered.
“Ah. Right. Scratch that one off the list then,” said Miranda, taking another sip from her glass. “Blonde, tattooed Wiccan it is.” Shepard laughed, entertained.
“Well, when Hell freezes over a million years from now, I look forward to meeting that version of you. But, until that happens, you know it’s not a two-party system, right? You don’t have to choose between going in a totally new direction forever, or staying exactly as you are right now. There's a lot you can do that isn't either of those things,” Shepard reminded her, gesturing as she spoke. “You'd excel at anything you tried. It doesn't have to involve life or death struggles over the fate of the galaxy. And, if you’re sick of bringing people back to life, you can retire from science and move onto something else. I could definitely see you taking well to life as a lawyer, or a CEO, or even a political leader.”
“Politics?” Miranda snorted, reaching out across the gap with an insincere handshake. “Hi, I’m Miranda Lawson, former terrorist. Vote for me.”
“Point taken,” Shepard conceded.
“You also realise that all the professions you listed have a higher than average ratio of sociopaths compared to the general population,” Miranda noted.
Shepard scratched the back of her head. “Sunday school teacher?” she offered.
“Can’t do that. I’m becoming Wiccan, remember?” Miranda quipped. “Did you really come and find me just to try and talk me out of this?”
“No. No, I didn't. It's...actually the exact opposite,” said Shepard, shaking her head and leaning back against the cushions. “Because the truth is I've been thinking the same thing; that this is the end for me too,” she confessed, piquing Miranda's intrigue. “If I make it through this...I don’t know if I can keep fighting other people’s battles anymore. If I can, I don’t know if I want to.”
“I guess after stopping a galactic genocide, all other conflicts start to look petty in comparison,” Miranda mused, swirling her glass, strangely empathising with that sentiment. What would be the point of Shepard saving the entire goddamn galaxy from the Reapers, only to then continue imperilling her life, risking getting shot and killed day after day over some insignificant political squabble that didn’t matter the slightest bit in the grand scheme of things?
Shepard had been lucky enough to get a second chance at life. Literally. She had more reason than anyone to realise how precious that was. And also how fragile.
It would have been beyond tragic if Andrea wouldn’t get to savour a calm, peaceful future if the war with the Reapers ever ended - a future that would only be possible because of her. Because she was the one person who saw what truly mattered, and valued collective unity over selfish, shortsighted division.
“Don’t take anything I’ve been saying about you as an attack. It’s not,” Shepard assured her. “I'm just surprised, and maybe projecting a little, because...I have no clue what I'm going to do after this, and it's terrifying to me. I’ve never...I’ve never not been a soldier. I don’t even know how to be an...an ‘actual fucking person’, like you said. And neither do you. And yet here you are, and that doesn't bother you at all. I thought it would have been the other way around.”
“Me too,” Miranda conceded. “But things are different now.”
“You mean you're different now,” Shepard added, impressed by Miranda’s growth.
“You helped,” said Miranda. She crossed the floor and sat down beside Shepard, sinking into the seat, leaning her head back on the lounge to look up at the ceiling. “I’ve been cognisant for a very long time that I’m not a normal person, Shepard. Not only that, but...I don’t have the faintest clue how to pretend to be normal,” Miranda elected to be frank about that flaw. Though she rarely showed weakness, she felt safe sharing that with her. “My whole life, I’ve never seen the point trying to fit in with other people when I know I can’t, and don’t even want to. So, while I might not be showing it...I am more scared than you think. But I’m also just kind of over worrying about anything anymore? Maybe because I’ve spent most of this past year living in constant fear. I think I got sick of it.”
Shepard paused, considering Miranda’s words. “Can I be honest with you?” she began, after several seconds had passed. Miranda gestured for her to go ahead. “I also have no idea how to be a normal person. I think that’s what’s freaking me out about what comes next. What if I’m bad at it?”
“What a horrible thought. Being bad at mundane problems,” Miranda dryly commented, hoping her sarcasm would help Shepard put her anxieties into perspective. “What if you mix up your recyclable plastics with your non-recyclables? Perish the thought. That’s a disaster, right there.”
“I’m being serious,” Shepard insisted, though it was obvious she got the meaning behind Miranda’s comment. “Look, you get what I’m going through better than anyone. You and I, we’re both...not to sound arrogant, but we’re both fuckin’ good at what we do,” Shepard stated plainly. And she wasn’t wrong. They were the best of the best. “What if we suck at everything else?”
Miranda shrugged. “Then it was a fun experiment, both of us trying to be ordinary people for a while. I think it will be worth it.”
Shepard exhaled, and rested her head on her hand. “So...what does being a regular, everyday person look like to Miranda Lawson?” she wondered aloud. “What does a nice, safe, boring future look like to you?”
That was a question Miranda had no problems answering. She had a singular vision. “I’ve promised Oriana that we’re going to find a quiet spot on a colony world. We’ll buy a big plot of land far away from anyone else, and build our dream house. Somewhere with a view, where we can sit out on the deck, watch the sunset, drink wine and eat sashimi while we talk about our day,” Miranda revealed, trusting Andrea enough to tell her what she said to Ori before she left.
“...That sounds pretty great,” Shepard said softly. In that simple description of what life after the war meant to her, and the goal she was fighting for, it had instantly clicked into place why Miranda was so content with the idea of ‘retiring’.
“What about you?” Miranda asked, gently nudging Shepard’s knee with her own. “Where does Andrea Shepard see herself in five years’ time?”
“That’s the million credit question, isn’t it?” Shepard spoke quietly, barely above a whisper. She sat forward, electing to just give voice to what was in her heart. “Honestly, this is going to sound corny as hell, but...when I think of my future, I can’t see anything but Liara. That’s it. Nothing would make me happier than just...I don’t know, having a boring fuckin’ house with a yard and a white picket fence, and lots of little blue children running around.”
“Maybe I’m getting sentimental in my old age, but that might possibly be the most adorable thing I’ve ever heard in my life,” Miranda commented, eliciting a sheepish chuckle as Shepard rubbed the back of her neck.
“Oh, God, we are getting old, aren’t we? And we’re only in our thirties,” Shepard realised aloud, as if it had hit her that both of them had been through enough to fill several lifetimes. No wonder they both wanted to ‘retire’ so young.
“Mhmm. And I’ve got five years on you, so I can promise you it’s all downhill from here,” Miranda confirmed, taking another sip of wine. “But I meant that, though. Don’t be ashamed of that dream. Lots of people would kill for something like that.” Herself included, she thought. “And you will make an excellent…father? Father’s the correct word in this context, right?” Miranda asked aloud, earning a nod. “Take it from someone who killed hers: you would be the best Dad ever.”
“Now you’re just making fun of me.” Shepard gave her a light knock on the arm.
“I’m not. I’m really not. Okay, I know it sounds like I am, but…” Miranda trailed off for a moment, a thought occurring to her. “Huh. You know what? I just realised something. You and I actually both have the exact same dream,” she pointed out, turning to face Andrea. “We want a family.”
“...Yeah. Yeah, we do, don’t we?” Shepard nodded in agreement, seeing the clarity in Miranda’s words. “Ours just look a little different from each other.”
“So, that settles it. We’re both going to hang up our weapons and retire somewhere nice and dull so we can each have the families we always wanted,” Miranda reiterated. Despite her efforts to be hopeful, at those words, she couldn’t keep a pessimistic sigh from escaping her. “Now, we both just have to convince ourselves that we'll live long enough to do that.”
“I'd bet on you,” Shepard acknowledged, glancing over at her.
“And I’d bet on you,” Miranda replied with a bittersweet smile, but it lacked the conviction to reach her eyes. “Don't get me wrong; I haven't given up, and I'm going to fight for that future as hard as I can. But I can't believe that it's going to happen until I'm standing in the rubble and the Reapers are all gone.”
Shepard exhaled heavily, sinking lower against the couch. “That makes two of us.”
The more Miranda thought about it, the more it became painfully apparent that their odds of getting to lead those lives they were imagining were slim to zero. Even if by some miracle they did find a way to defeat the Reapers, it was virtually impossible that both she and Shepard would survive whatever came next. At best, it seemed like a binary choice. One or the other. And Miranda knew which of the two of them was least likely to endure if push came to shove.
Her body tensed imperceptibly. An apprehensiveness fell over her. A sense of urgency rose in her stomach. Words she couldn't leave unsaid.
“...Shepard,” Miranda began, her tone serious. “If anything happens to me—“
“Miranda,” Andrea attempted to cut her off, but Miranda ignored her interruption. She couldn't forgive herself if she stayed silent about this.
“Just listen, Shepard. If I can’t be there for her, for whatever reason, promise you'll keep an eye on Ori for me?” Miranda persisted, needing to hear Andrea give her word on that, because she understood what this meant to her, and she would absolutely follow through. Even if Andrea had to die to honour her commitment to Miranda, it wouldn’t stop her. “Make sure she's okay.”
“You can do that yourself,” Shepard replied, either refusing to fear the worst, or determined not to let her crew see that she possessed any doubts that they would live to see those tomorrows, come what may.
“Hypothetically, then,” said Miranda, rolling her eyes at Shepard’s reluctance to answer the question. “If something happened to me, whether now or twenty years from now...I need to know: would you look out for Oriana if I couldn't?”
Andrea relented, realising what she was asking, and why. “Of course I would.”
“Do you swear?” Miranda pressed.
Shepard sighed, and held up her pinkie. “I swear.” Eyeing that gesture somewhat peculiarly, Miranda eventually extended her own little finger. However, Andrea pulled away before they could interlock. “Uh uh. But before we do that, I need you to make the same promise to me. So, if--”
“Liara does not need protecting, Shepard,” Miranda reminded her.
“You had your turn. Let me finish,” said Shepard. Miranda signalled for her to take the floor. “Thank you. Now, if anything ever happens to me...you’re the one person I trust more than anyone else to step in for me when I’m gone. No matter what, you’ll have your shit together, and you’ll do what needs to be done. So, if I can’t be here…” Instead of articulating it all in words, Shepard flicked her gaze out towards the balcony, down to the lower floor, where everyone else was. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but...just do what you can for them. Watch over them for me. Make sure they’re alright. And, if they’re not...do what you think I would do.”
At that request, Miranda softened. It hadn’t been what she’d anticipated Andrea would say, but perhaps she should have seen it coming. Shepard loved her crew like family. She was their North Star. A guiding light who united so many disparate personalities in a common cause, and brought out the best in all of them.
Shepard really was a hero.
A bloody icon.
How could Miranda possibly say no?
“What else is a second-in-command good for if not that?” Miranda extended her hand once more. At that, Shepard finally locked pinkies with her, swearing on it. “You know I’ve never done this before - pinkie promised,” Miranda noted, finding it a bit juvenile.
“Of course you haven’t.” Shepard shook her head, not at all shocked by that. It was at that particular moment that a certain AI came up the stairs, into view. Shepard called out to her. “Hey, EDI. I have a question for you.”
“What would you like to know?” EDI asked.
“What the hell is a drop bear?” said Shepard.
Miranda arched her brow, and took a long drink, saying nothing.
“One moment.” By the time she finished saying ‘one moment’, EDI had already concluded her search of the Extranet. “Here is what I’ve found: the drop bear is a hoax Australian folklore creature. The origins of the drop bear hoax are unknown, though it appears it may have originated as a campfire story in the early-to-mid-20th century. Australians have been known to pretend the drop bear is a real creature so as to frighten and confuse tourists and non-Australians for their own amusement.” EDI paused for a beat. “It is a joke.”
“Thank you, EDI,” said Miranda, concealing a smirk. Way to ruin the fun.
Shepard slowly turned to her, eyeing Miranda in quiet bewilderment. “...Did you of all people just prank me with a two-hundred-year-old joke?”
“Not that I’m that attached to it, but I’m pretty sure I would be stripped of my citizenship if I didn’t do that at least once before I die,” Miranda informed her.
Shepard’s expression didn’t change. “Mhmm.”
* * *
“So are you gay now?” was the first thing Jack said to her the next time they saw each other, a week after their last meeting.
Miranda sighed. God damn it. Nobody could keep their mouths shut about anything, could they? “I’m something,” she muttered, taking off her wet jacket. It had been raining all day. And not the usual soft English drizzle that didn’t even warrant mentioning, but actual rain.
“Good for you,” Jack replied, not actually interested. “Let’s play.”
Miranda slumped down into the chair across the table from Jack, the raindrops pittering off the windows behind her. “Your advice was terrible, by the way,” she told her as she moved her first piece.
“Nah, you’re just a shit lay,” Jack countered, making her own opening.
Miranda flicked her eye up at her, unamused, but decided it was best not to validate that comment with a response.
All of a sudden, Jack started laughing at something unsaid.
“What?” Miranda asked suspiciously.
“...‘Meh’-randa,” Jack remarked, making an appropriately nonchalant gesture.
Miranda exhaled heavily, rubbing her temple in annoyance. “Jack, I need you to understand this,” she began, placing her elbow on the table and leaning forward as she spoke, eerily calm. “One of these days, you will forget that this conversation ever happened. You will go on with your life, and there will come a day when you are blissfully ignorant and happy. And on that day, I will come to wherever you live. And I will break into your room. And I will suffocate you in your sleep.”
“Fair,” Jack conceded. “Worth it, though.”
Miranda leaned back in her chair, oddly relieved to have gotten that off of her chest after biting her tongue for so long. “God, that felt good. Why did I ever stop insulting you?” she wondered aloud, starting to think she should snap back at her more often instead of taking every jibe Jack threw at her in stride.
“Because you’re a fucking pussy now apparently.” Jack shrugged, focused only on the game. “Shut up and play me.” Miranda didn’t need to be asked twice.
She didn’t know what it was about that particular day. Maybe it was the dreary weather, and the sound of the rain making the tinnitus a little less abrasive for once. Maybe it was how long both of them were taking between moves. But, for whatever reason, Miranda found herself stifling yawns as the game went on.
She moved a pawn, and leaned her head against her hand as Jack studied the board, weighing up her strategies, keen to avoid falling into another trap.
God, she was so fucking tired.
It had been three days since she last slept. Or...wait, was it four? She couldn’t remember. Six or seven days seemed to be her absolute limit before she started passing out irrespective of willpower, and that was because she was, quote unquote, a ‘genetic freak’ as Jacob had once put it. She’d only managed two hours of thirty-minute naps the last time she got any rest at all.
Her eyelid felt so heavy. Every single time she blinked, it stayed dark a little longer, and it took a little bit more effort and time to open it again.
What harm would it do to just rest her eye for a second, she wondered? It wasn’t like she was going to fall asleep, sitting up like she was. Although, leaning on her hand felt so fucking comfortable. She didn’t want to move.
So Miranda let her eyelid drift shut for a moment, listening to the rain.
…
…
...
“Hey, eyepatch.”
…
…
...
“Eyepatch?”
Miranda was vaguely aware that someone was talking, but it didn’t reach her in the darkness. That was, until Jack hit the table, hard, and startled her awake. Miranda’s head slipped off her hand. At that jolt, she panicked and reflexively reared back so hard that she damn near fell out of her chair.
“What? What? What is it?” Miranda took a few moments to blink and remember where she was after being shaken from her stupor. It only clicked when she found Jack sitting across from her, looking thoroughly unimpressed.
“Am I boring you?” Jack remarked, arms folded across her chest impatiently.
Miranda shook her head, trying to save face. “It’s called ‘thinking’, Jack. You should try it sometime,” she retorted, moving a piece quickly as if to prove she hadn’t just blacked out for a couple of minutes.
Jack glanced down at the board. “You can’t do that.”
“What?”
“That’s not a legal move,” Jack pointed out. Miranda checked the board. She honestly didn’t even know what piece she’d just touched. Jack reached across, and dragged her knight back to where it should have been. Jack sat back in her chair and fixed her with a stare.
“...Fuck me dead,” Miranda muttered under her breath, realising she actually had to stop and concentrate to figure out her next move.
“Forget it. I’m out.” Jack pushed her chair back from the table and stood up.
“No, no. I’ve got it,” Miranda insisted.
“I don’t care. I don’t want to beat you when you’re like this. That wouldn’t even count,” said Jack, gesturing listlessly towards her, having lost all interest.
“I’m not ‘like’ anything. I’m just…” Miranda trailed off, staring at the board, stuck for a move. Her head was so full of fog that she couldn’t see any options. The whole table was a blur. A featureless mush. Every piece looked the same. She couldn’t even fucking think. If someone asked her to name a single rule of the game in that instant, she would have drawn a complete blank.
“Go home. Take a fucking nap or whatever. Don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you look like death, by the way. More even than usual,” Jack casually observed, opening her fridge and pulling out a can of energy drink.
“I’m fine!” Miranda barked, a little too loud, willing that lie to be the truth.
“I honestly don’t care. You could jump off a bridge for all the difference it makes to me. I wouldn’t stop you,” Jack said frankly, nonchalantly gesturing with her drink in her hand. “All that matters to me is making sure you don’t have a fuckin’ excuse when I destroy you. So get the fuck out of my apartment, and don’t come back until you stop sucking at the only reason I keep you around.”
Miranda swallowed a groan, the pain in her head only growing. Jack obviously wasn’t going to change her mind. This game was over. “Alright. Fine. Suit yourself,” she grumbled as she got up, collecting her things. “See you next week.”
“Only if you don’t look like complete shit by then,” Jack commented, prepared to close the door in her face if she wasn’t going to play her at her best.
Miranda left and went out into the cold December rain, which showed no signs of easing. The problem was, she didn’t have anywhere to go. She couldn’t go home. There was nothing there to keep her awake. And she absolutely was not ready to fall asleep, and contend with the nightmares that awaited her.
She couldn’t go to the bar, because drinking would make her tired. The last time she got drunk, the nightmares were so visceral that she woke up vomiting.
She thought about it a bit longer, and then one option came to mind. She still had a key to her office. Bailey had banned her from working weekends out of concern for her wellbeing if he didn’t, sure, but he wouldn’t be there. Even if he was, she could avoid him seeing her. Nobody else would question her presence. She ranked above them. They would just assume something had come up, and most of them were too intimidated by her to talk to her anyway.
So Miranda fell back on her one and only crutch. Her only coping mechanism. Her favourite distraction from her problems. She buried herself in her work.
“Director Lawson,” the man at reception greeted her. She glanced at his name tag to remember who the hell he was. “What are you doing here on a weekend?”
“Losing control of my life, Ian,” Miranda remarked as she limped right past him, heading straight for the lift without stopping.
He chuckled at that. “Aren’t we all? You have a good day, now.”
Miranda rolled her eye as soon as he looked away. As predicted, there were no interruptions between her and her office. Nobody thought to question her.
She didn’t even glance at the clock as the hours ticked by, and file after file went across her desk. Task after task got done. When she finished her own matters, she moved onto work delegated to her subordinates, just to stay there longer. Nobody bothered her. Even without distractions, it was hard to concentrate. Her mind was full of fog. Everything she did was lost in a haze, forgotten mere seconds after she did it. But, in the present, it was something to focus on.
It wasn’t easy, though. She had instances where she...lost time. Just drifted into space for a few seconds, here or there. When that happened, she would go and fill up on coffee. She only decided she’d had too much when she started to feel her heart beating a little too fast in her chest, and her fingers got jittery, and she had to flex her hand to keep it from shaking. If she had any more she would probably start hallucinating, as if she wasn’t on the verge of that already.
So maybe she’d hit her limit as far as caffeine toxicity went.
But she was awake.
She was fucking awake.
It was dark out, and still raining by the time she was snapped out of her work-induced daze by a text message alert. She already knew who it was. Miranda squeezed her eye shut, resting the base of her palm against her forehead, fighting off the constant, nagging pain that had become her permanent companion. She knew she shouldn’t look. But she had to. She couldn’t resist hearing from her.
Miranda opened her message tab on her computer, and clicked on Oriana’s name.
“Still not talking, huh?” said the first message. And then a second and third popped up. “Okay. That’s fine. Take your time. I’ve got more jokes.”
Oriana could see that Miranda was reading her messages in realtime. She would know that she was there on the other end at that very moment, not replying back. And yet, in typical Oriana fashion, she wasn’t calling her out on it or judging her for it or demanding a reason for her silence. Just letting her be.
“A horse walks into a bar and the bartender says, ‘Why the long face?’ And the horse says, ‘I have crippling depression, Steven. I’ll thank you not to mention it’.”
When that joke garnered no response, Oriana sent another.
“A glazier invited me to high tea. It didn’t go well. Turns out people in glasshouses shouldn’t throw scones. Eh? Worked on that one for ages.”
Miranda felt the warmth of a single, stray tear trickling down her cheek. God, she loved Oriana. She loved Oriana so much it physically hurt. No one else could be so...bright, and radiant, and happy, and genuine about it. Her positivity and cheerfulness wasn’t faked, or feigned, or insincere. She was just like this. Just funny, and kind, and...and fucking perfect.
“Why did the funeral director need to go to the doctor?” Oriana asked. “Because he couldn’t stop coffin--okay, no, that one was atrocious even for me. I’m sorry. Please delete that. You deserve better.”
If she were in a better mental and emotional state, all of this would have brought a smile to her face. Of course it would have. Oriana always did. Miranda thought about finally texting her back. Saying something. Anything. Even started to type. Just wanted to let her know she was okay. Just wanted to talk to her. Needed that connection with the person who mattered to her most.
But she stopped herself.
What the fuck did she have to offer Oriana right now? What could she say to her that was worthwhile when she was this dour and miserable?
She could just see how it would play out. She would say something, and then Oriana would eventually start asking questions. She would need, and deserve, some sort of explanation as to why Miranda had been so quiet. So distant. Any half-hearted excuses would be recognised for the lies they were.
Oriana would ask her if she was okay, because of course she would. And, then, if Miranda started telling her the truth, that she really wasn’t, and hadn’t been for a long time, she didn’t see how she could stop the floodgates from opening. Everything she’d been holding back since the shuttle crash, Oriana would bring it out of her, like a torrent after a storm. And she just...refused to be that person. Refused to drown her little sister in her unresolved trauma.
Oriana was the Sun. She was light, and warmth. Basking in her presence for even a few minutes could make even the lowest person feel uplifted, and stronger, and brighter. She was doing just fine without Miranda. She always had.
Why bother her? Why disturb that?
In fact, all the best times in Oriana’s life had been the moments when Miranda had pushed her as far away as possible. When she wasn’t involved. When she kept herself at a distance. Ever since Miranda introduced herself to Oriana on Illium, Ori’s life had only gotten worse. Never better. A downward spiral.
Perhaps that was a sign.
What did she really think was going to happen when they met up with each other again anyway? That they were going to spend the rest of their lives together? As if. Oriana was twenty. She would be twenty-one before too long. She was only just starting to grow into her own as an independent adult. She would want to go do things normal twenty-one-year-olds did, without anyone cramping her unique personal style, or getting in her way as she formed new connections.
The Reaper Invasion had cut short her degree and compelled her to start work earlier than expected, but she probably planned to finish her education at some point. Chances were she would want to move in with friends her own age. Eventually, of course, she would meet some boy she liked (who Miranda would absolutely hate) and she would want to find a place with him. Statistically speaking, that would happen more than once over the course of her life.
She wasn’t a kid anymore. Oriana was an adult. At exactly the age where families like theirs...tended to drift apart from one another. When young women like Ori wanted to go out into the wider world and discover themselves, and carve out an identity free of any ties to their childhood. And it was at that moment that a thought abruptly struck Miranda that had never connected before.
When she and Oriana had talked about finally getting to be a family, they probably had very different ideas of what that looked like.
And Miranda’s vision of that future was completely fucking delusional.
It always had been.
She wasn’t helping Oriana by being near her. Wasn’t protecting her, because the man who posed a danger to her was dead. With Henry Lawson out of the picture, Ori didn’t need her in her life. In many respects, she never had.
Miranda wasn’t some noble self-sacrificing big sister anymore. She was a fucking leech. Sucking her sister’s energy and her positivity, consuming it for herself. She was a chain holding Oriana down, when what she truly deserved was to spread her wings and fly wherever she wanted like the free spirit she was.
Wasn’t that precisely why Miranda had denied herself the connection she craved with Ori in the first place? Wasn’t that why she had given her up? Because she knew it was the right thing to do? Because, deep down, she knew that the best thing she could do for Oriana was to ensure that she grew up completely isolated from her - so that she could become as unlike Miranda as possible?
She’d succeeded at that, at least.
Where Miranda was cynical, Oriana was optimistic. Where Miranda was closed-off and antisocial, Oriana was outgoing and friendly. Where Miranda was rigid and concrete, Oriana was creative and open-minded. Where Miranda was bitter and sarcastic, Oriana was lighthearted and funny. Where Miranda was cold, Oriana was warm. Where Miranda was dark, Oriana was light. Where Miranda lacked empathy, Oriana was sensitive, and the kindest person she knew.
They couldn’t have been more different.
And Miranda wanted it to stay that way.
None of her qualities were things she would wish upon Oriana. And, if Oriana did become more like her, Miranda wasn’t sure she could ever forgive herself.
The most loving thing Miranda could do for Oriana was just let her live her life in peace, the way she had done for her before. She really would be better off just being cut loose, without her older sister weighing her down, shackling her to the weight of despair, damage and loneliness.
So Miranda didn’t text. She deleted the message she’d started typing, and the three dots to signal that she was writing were erased. She closed the app, got up and left her desk, deciding to head home.
She didn’t see the next message her sister sent.
“Miranda? Whatever is going on with you right now, please just remember that you are my most important person. I love you more than anything. And I’m here for you whenever you need me. You do know that, don’t you?”
Miranda limped home in the dark in the rain. It was freezing. She didn’t know how late it was. She hadn’t kept her eye on the time. She dragged her weary body up the stairs. Aside from the fact that her head was killing her, parts of her body that had never hurt before were starting to feel sore, and tight, and tense.
“Hey, Miss,” Seanne greeted her when she heard her key in the door. A few of the kids were gathered together in the main lounge, watching some sort of movie on the television. “We saved dinner for you. It’s in the fridge.”
“I’ll have it later,” Miranda muttered, not hungry at all. Just tired.
“No problem,” Seanne replied, too focused on the film to pay her any mind.
Without another word, Miranda retreated to her room, and shut herself away, prepared for another night of staring at cracks in the ceiling in the darkness in a desperate attempt to ward off her dreams.
She slumped on her bed and ran her hand through her hair, staring into space.
And that was when it hit her. She didn’t...know what she was doing with her life anymore. Or why. She didn’t have a plan. A goal. For the first time since she’d reunited with Oriana, she no longer had a future she was working towards. Because that hope, that dream, had been snuffed out. A lie. A delusion.
The one thing that had made getting up every morning worth it since the shuttle crash - believing that, one day, she and Oriana would start a new life where nothing tore them apart ever again - had been exposed as a figment of her imagination.
With that dream dead, when she pictured her future now, there was...nothing.
Absence.
An empty, black abyss. Filled only by the ringing in her ear.
Miranda lay down on her bed. Curled up. And stared. And listened to that perpetual sound. And her mind, like her future, was blank. She watched the time tick by on the clock. Barely even registering it in her fatigue.
One hour.
Two hours.
What was the point of anything anymore?
What was the fucking point?
Three hours.
Four hours.
It was after midnight when she was disturbed from her near-catatonic state by an urgent knocking at the front door. It came once, such a strange and unexpected sound that, at first, she wondered if it was just a trick of her mind. But then it came again, even more insistent.
Reluctantly, Miranda dragged herself out of bed and shuffled into the entryway, not even bothering to grab her cane. She saw the door to one of the students’ bedrooms was open. Jason was leaning out, as if to go investigate.
“I’ve got it,” said Miranda with a dismissive wave as she limped to the door, assuming it was probably for her. “Go back to sleep.”
Jason gave her a nod, but lingered in the doorway, just in case.
The frantic knocking came again. With an annoyed grunt, Miranda undid the lock, wondering who the hell was bothering them at that ungodly hour.
“Jesus Christ, what is it--?” The words caught in Miranda’s throat the second she flung the door open. Her weary eye flickered wide awake. “Samara?”
* * *
Miranda stepped over snoring bodies and discarded glasses on the floor, not keen to wake anyone up when half the crew were spread out at various points on the spectrum between ‘fast asleep’ and ‘passed out drunk’, and all of whom were likely to be very cranky if awoken. Miranda hadn’t drunk as much as most of the others, and neither was she prone to going to bed early.
Indeed, she was very much awake, not even close to tired. And it was not her idea of a fun end to the night to hang around being as quiet as a mouse, forced to pretend to doze off because everyone else was such a goddamn lightweight.
With that in mind, Miranda crept over near the door to where Shepard kept her keys, pinching them for herself so she could let herself back into the apartment. Shepard wasn’t going to miss them. She and Liara had gone to bed some time ago for very obvious reasons. They wouldn’t be seen again until morning.
However, Miranda’s cunning plan was not one concocted purely for herself. A thought had occurred to her while she waited for everyone else to nod off, being that there was one other person she expected might be awake. Someone who, by all appearances, had not been a drinker for centuries. Someone who Miranda was eager to spend a lot more time with one-on-one, particularly given that it was not lost on her that this might well be the last opportunity they ever had to do so - the last time they might ever see one another.
Sure enough, she found that very person meditating under the stairs.
“Samara,” Miranda whispered just loud enough to be heard. Blue eyes opened, and shifted her way. “Can’t sleep?” Samara did not respond verbally, but let her current state speak for itself. “Me neither.” At that, Miranda held up Shepard’s keys and made a signal towards the door. “Feel like going out?”
Samara glanced at her slumbering companions scattered over the lounge. After a moment, she held a finger to her lips, and silently stood.
Taking that as acceptance of her invitation, Miranda stealthily snuck over to the door, and held it open for Samara. She closed it behind them as quietly as she could. There was a faint ‘click’ as it automatically locked.
“Do not mistake my surprise for protestation, for it is not, but...to what do I owe this?” Samara asked, once they were safely out of earshot of the others. Evidently she had not been anticipating this - that Miranda would seek her out.
“What, did you really think I’d just forget about you after a single conversation?” Miranda rhetorically remarked. “I told you I missed you more than anyone else.”
Samara allowed herself a small smile, touched by her intentions. “You did.”
“Since you and I are both still awake, and I have way too much energy to sleep, I figured, hey, the Strip is right here, and nothing ever closes - let’s go enjoy it while we can,” Miranda offered, circling Shepard’s keys around her finger before slipping them into a discreet pocket. “Nobody will even notice we’re missing.”
“No, they certainly will not,” Samara concurred, clearly not regretting her temperance when it was apparent most of the crew would be nursing hangovers come morning. “I must admit, given I saw you partaking earlier, I did not expect you to be in such a better state compared to our other comrades.”
“Good genes, plus I know how to pace myself,” Miranda casually explained. She gestured for Samara to follow her. “Come on. Let’s go be stupid for a while.”
Samara suppressed a chuckle. “An enticing prospect. Very well. Lead the way.”
“I was planning on taking you back to my favourite sushi place - you know, the one we went to before. Unfortunately, it’s not open right now.” Miranda sighed, putting a hand on her hip. “There was an incident. Shepard was involved.”
“I see. That is unfortunate,” Samara commiserated, needing no further explanation as to what had happened. For as much as they both loved Shepard, it was no hyperbole to say that trouble followed her everywhere.
Ultimately, Miranda didn’t have a preference as to where they went, or what they did. This entire venture was little more than a flimsy excuse to spend time with Samara without anybody else interfering. A throwback to those intimate moments on the Starboard Observation Deck, and a means of paying her back for all her kindness, assuming Miranda succeeded in showing her a good time.
“There is the casino,” Miranda thought out loud. She’d been there before, and didn’t mind the atmosphere of the place. Plus another drink or two wouldn’t go amiss to kick things off - she was still a fair few away from her limit.
“After you,” Samara gestured for her to go ahead, trailing in Miranda’s footsteps. A reverse of the last time they had visited the Citadel together.
Unlike the Presidium, the Wards didn’t operate on artificial day and night cycles. Virtually everything on the Citadel stayed open at all hours, with everyone resting and working shifts according to their own personal needs and wants. Thus, when they came to the casino, to nobody’s shock, it was still as busy as ever.
The people here had been affected by the war, of course, but there was a sense of safety and security that existed nowhere else. As all the homeworlds fell, the Citadel stood strong as the heart of Council Space - the one place most species would unite to protect. If anywhere would survive the war, this was surely it.
“Can I get you anything? The food here’s not bad, if you’re hungry,” Miranda offered as they both made their way up to the bar.
“Just water, thank you,” said Samara. Miranda ordered something much stronger for herself, and the bartender filled up their respective glasses.
“So, how have you been, Samara? Really?” Miranda asked, keen to make up for lost time. Now that they were alone, they were free to talk as long as they wanted, which was something they couldn’t really do at the party. That was precisely her intent in sneaking out like this. It would be several hours at least before anybody else woke up and wondered where they were. The Silver Coast Casino was no Starboard Observation Deck, but it would serve well enough.
“That is a...complicated question,” Samara acknowledged, still a little caught off guard by Miranda’s genuine eagerness to catch up with her, as if she hadn’t expected to warrant her attention. “Some days have been kind to me. Others have not. Many somewhere in between. I imagine you could say the same.”
“Most of my days have ranged between terrible and awful since I left. I’m glad you had some good ones.” Miranda took a sip of her drink.
“Forgive me. I am aware this past year must have been difficult for you.” Samara bowed her head, as if she had misspoken. “As a Justicar, I am not unfamiliar with the peril of knowing there are many people who would seek to have me killed, nor am I a stranger to looking over my shoulder expecting to see a gun each time I turn my head. Although, by the same token, my status affords me many privileges. Many asari will lend me aid or support without question, for no other reason than because they see my armour, and know what I am. You do not have that luxury.”
“No, sadly,” Miranda confirmed. Hiding like a cockroach in parts of the Citadel not fit for human habitation had not been fun. Having any allies she could have safely turned to, beyond her few limited contacts with Shepard, would have made a world of difference. “But I’m out in the open now. If anybody still wanted me dead, I would have been executed days ago. I think it’s safe to say what little is left of Cerberus no longer sees the point in targeting me.”
“I hope you are correct.” Samara instinctively cast her eyes about the place as she said that, scanning for signs of any suspicious activity. Miranda picked up on that, of course. “If it would be safer--”
“Samara, seriously. It’s fine. You can let your guard down. You don’t need to be on alert. Not for my sake,” Miranda assured her, reaching out to touch her hand to make sure she understood that. Nobody was hunting her anymore.
“If you are certain…” Samara took her at her word, despite a hint of hesitancy.
“Yes. Relax. I insist. If you don’t, it somewhat defeats the whole purpose of going out,” Miranda pointed out. At that, Samara seemed to concede she was right. Being paranoid would only spoil their time together. “Enough talk of serious subjects. Have you kept up reading human literature?”
“When I have been able, yes. Although, I must confess, I did not have such access when I was travelling in asari space. The Citadel libraries have been a source of great assistance. Tell me, I must know, was this ‘King Arthur’ a real person?” As soon as she asked, Samara just as swiftly changed her mind. “No, no. On second thought, I would prefer you do not answer. I fear I would be disappointed.”
Miranda laughed, endeared by Samara’s odd, childlike fascination with such figures. If it wouldn’t have sounded so patronising to describe a woman in her mid-to-late 900s as ‘adorable’, that label definitely would have applied.
“Oh. That reminds me. Kurosawa,” said Miranda. Samara tilted her head in questioning, not sure what that meant. “Not an author, but a director. I’ve been told, if you’re interested in samurai media, his films are the place to start.”
“I see. Thank you.” Samara nodded, taking that recommendation on board.
“What is it with you and this sort of thing anyway?” Miranda decided to finally broach the question that she had been wondering for a while, earning a curious glance. “Knights. Samurai. Why are you so interested in them?”
Samara did a poor job concealing a grin. “Yes, why would I, a lone wanderer who adheres to a strict moral code and seeks to bring justice to the places she visits, see any appeal whatsoever in stories about virtuous, heroic wanderers who adhere to strict moral codes and seek to bring justice to the places they visit?”
Miranda couldn’t argue with that logic. “I withdraw the question.”
“You did not withdraw it. I answered it,” Samara corrected.
“No, no. I withdrew it,” Miranda maintained in jest, as if she had come to that conclusion entirely on her own, without any assistance. Samara affectionately shook her head. During that pause in the conversation, the song changed. “You know, I saw you dancing before,” Miranda said with a smirk, indicating the dancefloor. “I’m glad you listened to me about enjoying yourself tonight.”
“I did. However, if I remember correctly, you once stated to me that you would dance when I danced,” Samara reminded her. Miranda raised her eyebrows and took a drink, averting her gaze. She’d really hoped Samara had forgotten that conversation. “And yet you did not join me. How perplexing.”
“Oh, so you haven’t noticed that I’m a pathological liar until just now. Good to know,” Miranda joked, toying with the stem of her glass as she placed it down.
“You must be. You keep insisting to me that you are not funny, even though you clearly are,” Samara cleverly countered, a glimmer of mirth in her kind eyes.
“I--” Miranda stopped before she could retort, taken aback by that comment. Nobody had told her that before. Nobody thought she was funny, because she wasn’t. According to everyone else, she was just mean and sarcastic and unpleasant to be around. Eventually, Miranda awkwardly rubbed the back of her head, managing to mumble a response. “I think you have a very different definition of ‘funny’ than everyone else in the galaxy, but...if you say so.”
It didn’t seem lost on Samara just how much that compliment actually meant to her. But she didn’t harp on it, letting it stand unchallenged. “There is still time for you to keep your promise to me before we part ways,” Samara pressed and, though her tone was lighthearted, it was evident the offer was genuine. “After all, there is a dancefloor here, and I am finding this music rather persuasive...”
“Still time for me to continue breaking my promise forever, you mean? Yes. I intend to. Glad we’re in agreement,” Miranda remarked. Samara’s enquiring gaze didn’t shift. “...Okay so I did dance at Shepard’s tonight, just a little bit.” Miranda reluctantly held her thumb and forefinger slightly apart.
“Good. I am delighted to hear it,” Samara enthused, pleased to see that Miranda had heeded her own advice and let herself go, and allowed herself to have some fun at the party. “My only regret is that I did not witness it.”
“You didn’t miss anything,” Miranda assured her. “But I fulfilled my end of the bargain.”
“No, you did not. This imbalance must be rectified immediately,” Samara persisted, getting up from her seat and extending her hand. Miranda did not accept the invitation, quite intent on not moving anytime soon. “You made a promise to me, Miranda Lawson. As a Justicar, I must insist that you keep your word. You said you would dance when I danced, and I am going to dance. Hence...”
“No. You knock yourself out, but I am very comfortable on my stool.” Miranda shook her head, waving Samara off, making her stance plain.
“Then hand me the keys, and I will return to the apartment,” said Samara.
That got Miranda’s attention. “What?”
“You were the one who said, and I quote, ‘let us go and be stupid for a while’, and it was you who suggested we both sneak out after midnight for this purpose,” Samara noted. “That was the evening that was represented to me - one spent in inane, ridiculous frivolity. Yet, so far, you are being extremely sensible. If you are not going to do this with me, then I fear I have in fact been misled.”
Miranda saw right through Samara’s feigned disappointment. “You’re evil.”
“In this moment, perhaps,” Samara conceded, but she still extended her hand.
“This is peer pressure,” Miranda complained.
“Yes, it is,” Samara confirmed, without shame, her mischievous smile widening.
Miranda sighed, but it was hard not to be uplifted purely from seeing Samara this outgoing and cheerful. That was a rare privilege. The last time she’d seen her like this was...well, the last time they visited the Citadel together, which must have been around nine or ten months ago by that point.
“You’re in an abnormally good mood tonight, aren’t you?” Miranda observed, certainly not complaining, but wondering what had made her so upbeat.
“Why would I not be?” Samara asked plainly. “I am with you.”
Miranda’s heart skipped a beat. Honestly, Miranda was so thoroughly charmed by that response that Samara could have asked her to do anything in that moment, no matter how embarrassing, and she would have been powerless to resist.
“...If you’re trying to butter me up to get me to dance with you...good strategy, because it’s working,” Miranda admitted defeat, seeing no point in even pretending to warn her otherwise. No doubt Samara could tell the warmth in her cheeks had nothing to do with the alcohol. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”
Samara was evidently entertained by that reaction, but equally quick to dismiss any notion that her words were coming from an insincere place. “It is not falsity. The time you and I spent together aboard The Normandy was the most I have enjoyed myself in many years. Longer than you can possibly imagine.”
“Oh, wow, that's depressing,” said Miranda. “Because I am not fun at all.”
“Neither am I. Perhaps this explains it,” Samara quipped.
Miranda didn’t agree with that, but that wasn’t the point. “You’re not dropping this are you?” she deduced, realising she didn’t have a choice in this.
“I am afraid I cannot,” Samara confirmed, as if the decision was out of her hands. “Just as you have sensed that I am in a good mood, I have also been astounded by the change in you tonight. I have never seen you so unshackled from your burdens as you are now. So, if we are ever going to keep our promise and share a dance together, I fear this will be our only opportunity. We may not get another. And I cannot abide a broken promise,” she pointed out.
She wasn’t wrong. Tomorrows weren’t exactly guaranteed.
“Well, you bloody got me, alright? Now that you’ve accused me of being good company, I feel compelled to live up to the hype.” With that, Miranda threw back her head and downed her drink, determined to be ‘fun’ for once in her life. “You get one song.” She held up one finger. “And only because it’s you.”
“One song will suffice,” said Samara, taking Miranda by the hand at long last, leading her to the dancefloor. That was all she had been promised.
Maybe it was just the drinks talking, but as she let go of her inhibitions, started moving to the music and surrendered to not caring whether she looked stupid, Miranda found herself having a far better time than she would have thought.
Most of all, the best thing about it was getting to see Samara let go of her usual restraint, and glean a rare escape from the harsh and austere lifestyle that she was required to abide by as a Justicar. It went without saying how much she deserved this reprieve. Not merely to have fun and enjoy the evening, but to have a chance to let her walls down and be herself. Her real self, beneath the armour. Just one fleeting night in however many centuries, free of worries or cares.
If Miranda could give her that, then making a fool of herself would all be worth it.
Miranda didn’t know what had suddenly made Samara so open to things like this she would have politely declined a year ago, aside from the same ‘carpe diem’ reason that applied to everyone at the moment, nor did it really matter. The point was that they were here and they were doing it while they could. And any time spent with Samara, no matter what they were doing, was never time wasted.
One song turned into two. And two into three.
In truth, because the music all blended together with similar rhythms and chord progressions, it was hard to tell where one track began and another ended. And, for the first time, Miranda began to understand that perhaps that was the whole point. It would have been pretty jarring and moment-ruining to have the flow disturbed by each new song. So, for now, she stopped being critical of that.
It was as the music changed to a fourth song that they were rudely interrupted.
“Heyyyyy, ladies,” a complete stranger wandered up to them, making finger guns and clicking his tongue. “Can I be the meat in your sandwich?”
Miranda gave the man an unimpressed look. “Mate, if that line ever actually works on a woman...she deserves you,” she said, earning a confused expression in response as the insult went over his head.
“...Is that a no?” he asked, clueless.
“Yeah, look, I’m in a good mood, so just save yourself some embarrassment and…” Miranda signalled for him to walk away, not particularly keen on wasting time and effort verbally destroying him when she would rather not bother.
To his credit, he took that rejection without a fight and left without causing a scene.
“Sorry about that.” Miranda turned to Samara. Unwanted male attention was something that happened to her a lot, so she was used to dealing with it.
Samara seemed more perplexed than perturbed. “He made this gesture.” Samara somewhat awkwardly mimicked his finger guns, as if she’d never seen anyone do that before. “...I assume I should not interpret that as a threat.”
Miranda blinked. Then, as soon as it clicked that Samara was in fact joking, cracked up with laughter. She’d never forgotten how funny Samara could be, but that sneaky delivery of hers still took her by surprise when it came out.
“Why are you laughing? We may be in grave danger,” Samara feigned ignorance.
“Alright. That’s it. That was the last song,” Miranda declared, taking that disruption as their cue to leave. “Since neither of us are gamblers, I think we’ve seen as much as there is to see of the casino. We should move on.”
“Where should we go next?” Samara prompted, letting Miranda take the lead.
“Hmm.” Miranda pondered that. What she would ordinarily do versus what Samara would expect of her on a night devoted to frivolity were two very different things. Fortunately, the Strip did serve the latter quite well. “There's an arcade not far from here. Did you know I've literally never been to one?”
Samara looked rather impressed with that suggestion, given that it was entirely out of step with Miranda’s usual character, and hence very much in keeping with the evening of inane silliness she had been promised. “I believe you humans have a saying that 'there is a first time for everything'.”
“Alright. Arcade it is.”
It certainly wasn’t far to get there. And Miranda wasn’t kidding when she said she had never had the simple pleasure of playing these games in her childhood. Or any games. She had been deprived of anything resembling fun growing up.
That being said, the lightgun game came pretty naturally to her, even if Miranda did maintain the only reason she didn’t score higher was because the controller was a shitty piece of plastic and the sensor must have been broken. If Samara thought otherwise, she just smiled and didn’t correct her.
By contrast, Samara definitely did recognise some of these games from her youth.
“You’re telling me that some of these machines basically haven’t changed at all in nine hundred years?” said Miranda, arching a sceptical eyebrow.
“No, they have not,” Samara happily confirmed, an audible tinge of excitement colouring her voice at the prospect of coming across something familiar.
Miranda snorted. So much for creativity.
“Oh. This. I remember this.” Samara went over to a particularly old-fashioned machine in the corner. ‘Whack The Thresher Maw’. “It was not thresher maws when I played it. I do not recall what it was. But I was very little. I could not have been more than...twelve? I remember vividly; it was shortly before my father left Thessia to come live here on the Citadel. That was the only day I spent together with both my mother and father - the only day that they ever both took me out together,” she spoke softly, nostalgic for that fond memory.
Miranda’s eyes twinkled as she stood by her, listening to Samara reminisce about her past. She said nothing as she waived her credit chit over the machine, spurring it to life. When Samara glanced at her in questioning, she leaned against the wall, and gestured for Samara to go ahead and play. And she did.
The next game they played was a version of what Miranda would have called air hockey, using a virtual puck. Miranda was winning up until Samara cheated, using her biotics to subtly move Miranda’s wrist away from the goal.
“I would never cheat,” Samara professed, not even trying to conceal her guilt.
“Mhmm.” Miranda fixed her with a knowing look. Two could play at that game. The very next round, she used her own biotics to move the table right when Samara least expected it, allowing her to get her goal back. “I would never cheat,” Miranda echoed back to her, mirroring Samara’s false innocent voice.
“Hey!” At that, one of the arcade workers pointed at a sign behind the counter which clearly stated ‘no biotics’, giving them no further warning than that.
Keeping track of the scores kind of went out the window when they could hardly make it through the next few rounds without cracking up. They called it a draw and gave up before they did something that got them both banned for life.
They moved on. The next thing that caught Samara’s eye was the claw machine.
“I used to be very good at these,” Samara noted, examining it.
“Really? I thought they were all rigged.”
“No, not at all. Certainly made to be difficult, yes. But if you could not win, that would be illegal. There is a skill to it,” Samara explained. Miranda gestured for her to go right ahead and show her. “I have no money,” Samara pointed out. “And I could not keep the prize even if I won.”
Miranda sighed. “...Just because I’m doing this doesn’t mean I don’t know this is a waste of money on the same level as gambling,” she said, making it clear that nobody was to know she had done this. She put credits into the machine.
Samara appraised the prize spheres to see which would be the easiest to grab. “Aim for that one,” she advised, indicating a sphere that was higher up than the others. “It may take more than one attempt, but if you line it up correctly…”
“Yeah, yeah. I’ve got it,” Miranda waved off her backseat driving, still sceptical that it was even possible to win.
The first time, she didn’t get it at quite the right angle, and the claw slipped off. The second time, she was sure she lined it up properly, but the claws snapped shut above the prize sphere, without picking it up, like the prize was too heavy.
“See? The machine is rigged,” Miranda insisted. “It’s not possible.”
“You are very close. And you have one play left,” Samara encouraged. Miranda rolled her eyes, reluctantly deciding she may as well use the game she had already paid for. “Try coming at it slightly more from the left.”
Miranda did as Samara suggested, and this time, the claw grabbed it. She blinked as the claw lifted the prize and took it all the way to the chute. “Huh.”
“I believe the appropriate phrase is ‘I told you so’,” Samara teased.
“Alright, alright. No need to get cocky,” said Miranda, opening up the prize sphere to see what she’d won. It was a keychain in the shape of Blasto the Hanar Spectre. She uttered a tssk. “I’ve never seen any of these movies. They look like rubbish.”
“Sometimes, that is precisely the appeal,” Samara advised. Miranda didn’t share the sentiment. “I think that triumph signals that we have overstayed our welcome here,” said Samara, aware they were still being watched by the same employee from before in case they cheated again. “Where to next?”
“Hmm.” Miranda glanced around as they left the arcade, thinking of options.
“There is a combat simulator here, is there not?” Samara piped up, as if she’d been holding onto that idea for a while. “I would be eager to try that.”
“By all means. Though what people find fun about a laser arena is somewhat lost on me,” Miranda remarked, probably because her father had subjected her to similar combat programs when she was a kid. “It just feels like training.”
“Its intent is to recreate something we experience as a regular part of our lives. It is fun for them because it is unfamiliar. For us, it is not a deviation from the norm, save that for once we have the liberty of not being in any actual peril,” Samara astutely observed. She had a point, Miranda thought. It wasn’t the most relaxing pastime, but Miranda could run combat sims in her sleep. She had no problems teaming up with her if that was what Samara wanted to do.
“Okay, that absolutely was rigged,” Miranda loudly complained as they emerged from the combat arena a while later. “I hit that soldier dead between the eyes, and he still had twenty percent health left? That's nonsense. No human being could possibly survive that,” she argued, gesturing as she spoke.
“We still did extremely well,” Samara pointed out, content with their performance.
“If this program was realistic, my name would be on top right now,” Miranda proclaimed, waving her hand towards the scoreboard. She was nothing if not competitive, when she wanted to be anyway. Her rant was interrupted when Samara uttered a quiet, amused chuckle. It was impossible not to soften, seeing the unfeigned affection shimmering in Samara’s gaze. “What is it?”
“Nothing.” Samara shook her head, her smile reaching her eyes. “I simply...I did not forget how much I missed spending time with you, but...in a way, I forgot just how much I missed spending time with you,” Samara acknowledged, well aware of the contradiction in her own words, but unable to say it another way.
Miranda knew exactly what she meant. Memories of the Starboard Observation Deck were no substitute for the real thing. They didn’t do justice to just how at home she felt in Samara’s company. “Yeah. Me too.”
“And do not think I did not notice,” said Samara, a very proud look coming over her. Miranda tilted her head in questioning. “Reave. You mastered it,” Samara clarified, somehow wholly unsurprised to witness that.
“Oh. Right. That.” Miranda brushed that off. It wasn’t a big deal.
“Do not undersell yourself. It is not an easy feat,” Samara told her, not about to let this go unremarked upon. “Well done, Miranda. You are the first, and I suspect only human ever to learn this ability. And it would be a great achievement even if you were asari. Indeed, I have personally never met anyone, other than some fellow Justicars, who have mastered it.”
“Well, I owe that entirely to you. So here. Present for you.” Miranda held out the Blasto The Hanar Spectre keychain she'd won from the claw machine earlier, as a token of her appreciation for Samara’s teachings a year ago.
Samara smiled, politely raising her hand to decline. “Although I am grateful, I am afraid I cannot accept this; Justicars eschew personal possessions.”
Miranda's brow crinkled, looking down at the stupid thing in her hands in abject incredulity. “...It's a keychain.”
“That is not the point,” Samara reminded her, although clearly not at all shocked or offended why someone who had not chosen a religious life might fail to understand this. The fact that the gift had no material value did not make it any less of an indulgence. “I have sworn an oath to the Goddess. I can own nothing but what you see before you - my weapons and my armour - for that is all that is essential for me to carry out my duties as a Justicar.”
“Alright. Allow me to rephrase,” Miranda began, sensing a solution to this issue. “This is a...tactical keychain,” she informed her, arching an eyebrow as she twirled the chain around her finger. “It provides an entire additional square inch of armour plating. So I insist that you take it for your own protection.”
Samara laughed, more freely than Miranda had ever seen her do so. “There is that sense of humour you maintain you do not have again,” Samara wryly commented. “I will never comprehend why you insist on claiming that you are not funny.”
“Because I'm not.” Miranda shrugged, wearing a small, self-deprecating smile. “You also described yourself as ‘terribly dull’ earlier when you’re by far the most captivating person I’ve ever spoken to, so if we’re going to start this debate right now, then I’m pretty sure I’m going to win.”
“You would not be a stranger to that, would you?” Samara sighed, realising Miranda would not relent from her position. “Very well, then. You have convinced me.” She took the keychain, clasping it in her fingers. “Make no mistake, this is still yours,” she said, pointedly. “However, I will hold this in safekeeping on your behalf. And I will return it to you the next time we meet.”
“See? Was that so hard?” said Miranda, glad they'd reached a compromise.
Samara tried not to smile, because it was evident that she knew she was technically stretching the rules by accepting this gift, even on loan (though Miranda naturally assumed that she was kidding about intending to return it later), but despite her intentions she couldn't really fight it off. Not tonight.
“If you do not mind my asking, I know what your plans for the future are in the long term, but what of the short term?” Samara asked her, curious to know where Miranda would go when she left the Citadel.
“What else is there to do but get ready for whenever Shepard needs us?” said Miranda, leaning against a nearby railing overlooking a lower section of the strip. “I’ve taken command of a small ship and started putting together a team of Cerberus defectors. So, whatever happens, I’ll be there.” She looked over at Samara. “I suppose I don’t need to ask you, but...what about you?”
“I am as I am,” Samara answered, confirming Miranda’s assumptions. “When the day comes, I will walk into the fire, alone, with nothing but what you see before you, and fight to my last breath. And, should I die, I can only pray that my final acts honour the memory of all the Justicars who perished before me.”
“...I don’t see how they wouldn’t,” Miranda said softly. “I mean, you’re you.”
Samara didn’t respond to that. “Miranda, I...” Samara hesitated. Her expression was unsettled, but she swallowed, quickly finding an equilibrium and settling on what she intended to say. “Though I imagine we will be fighting on the same battlefield in the near future, it has not eluded me that we may not get a chance to speak like this before that time comes to pass. Or...ever again.”
“I know,” Miranda admitted, glancing down. The same thought had been swirling in her head even before Shepard’s party. She wasn't sure if they were meant to address that, or if that looming spectre of death was an open secret they weren't supposed to confront, but she was glad Samara had raised it. The problem was, there were too many things she wanted to say if this was going to be the last conversation they ever had. Thoughts she hadn’t even put into words in her mind, and could never fully express. “...I really am sorry about Rila,” was where Miranda chose to begin. It would have felt wrong not to tell her that.
Samara swallowed and nodded her head, trying to stay strong. Then her resolve cracked, and the tears came. Her hands went to her face, unable to stem the tide. Even the strongest woman in the universe could only carry so much.
For a split-second, Miranda thought she had made a mistake bringing this up, seeing how much Samara was hurting over her recent loss. But then it occurred to her. Maybe Samara breaking down in front of her didn’t mean she’d done anything wrong. Maybe it showed just how much she needed this moment of connection with someone she trusted - to allow herself the vulnerability to be hurt.
Had anyone even comforted Samara at all since it happened?
Had anyone given her the chance to grieve for her daughter?
“I did everything I could to save her. Even though I should not have. Even knowing it might mean putting myself in the position of choosing between my children and The Code. Even while the rest of my Order gave their lives to save so many on Thessia.” Samara drew a deep breath, but it wound up shallower than she intended in her sorrow. “...I violated one of my Oaths, Miranda.”
“What do you mean?” Miranda asked, not knowing enough about the Justicars to understand what that meant. “You mean you broke The Code?”
“No. No, I would never...never break The Code. Not while I draw breath,” Samara insisted, making that clear, even through her tears. “But the first step to becoming a Justicar is to take the Oath of Solitude. That means you are forsworn from any family, including children. I did not utter a single word to Falere or Rila in four hundred and thirty-one years, save for when I wrote to them a year ago to let them know Mirala was dead. However, when I heard their monastery may be under threat...I did not go to them as a Justicar.” Her breath hitched as the moisture trickled down her cheeks. “I went to them because I am their mother.”
“Of course you did,” said Miranda, feeling nothing but sympathy for her, and a touch of anger towards the Justicars for subjecting Samara to that dilemma in the first place. For depriving her of the shattered, broken remnants of a family she had left, and making her feel ashamed for protecting her daughters from certain death. “There’s no oath in the universe anyone could swear that would make a mother stop loving her children. Not a mother like you.”
“No, there is not,” Samara confirmed, her voice breaking under the strain as her body was racked by another sob. “I saw so little of Rila before she died, but what I saw...I could not be prouder of the woman she became, in spite of the cruel hand fate dealt her. I always knew her to be the most responsible of my daughters, always taking care of her younger sisters, though she was barely any older than they were. But she was so strong, Miranda. I never knew she was so fearless. So ferociously protective. She gave her own life so that Falere could live.”
“And you,” Miranda added. “So that you could live too.”
Samara didn’t reply to that.
“How’s Falere?” Miranda asked, after Samara didn’t respond.
“She is well. Alone, but well.” Samara glanced down at her hands, her tears beginning to dry on her cheeks. “She was always a gentle and sensitive soul, so much like her fath--” Samara’s voice caught on that word. She couldn’t say it. It hurt to speak of her. “The woman she has grown into...she is so much kinder than I could possibly have imagined. She had not seen my face or heard my voice for four hundred and thirty-one years. She had every right to hate me. But, instead, she...when all was said and done, she embraced me.”
“Why wouldn’t she?” said Miranda, thinking that should have gone without saying. “She’s your daughter. She loves you.”
“That is more than I deserve.” Samara’s voice was low, barely above a whisper.
Miranda couldn’t stand to hear her talk about herself that way. “Samara--”
Samara raised a hand to silence her. “Respectfully, Miranda...It is no fault of yours, but there are some things that are beyond even your understanding. I believe this is one of them. I would prefer not to argue with you.”
Miranda sighed. She hated to admit it, but Samara had a point. If she felt that way, it wasn’t like it was a poorly-considered opinion. She had lived her own life for nearly a thousand years, and the disconnect between Samara and Falere had been there for centuries. It wasn’t Miranda’s place to debate with her about her perception of herself, or where she stood with Falere, much as she wanted to.
“...But you weren’t lying before, right?” Miranda pressed, unable to leave that thought alone. When Samara said things like this, it made her worry about her. “You are going to keep seeing Falere, aren’t you?”
“My Oaths say I should not,” Samara acknowledged.
“But you will,” Miranda intuited.
Samara held back the last of her tears, the first signs of a conflicted, broken smile coming to her lips. “I have no choice. In truth, there is no power in the universe, nor within myself, that could force me to stay away,” she said honestly, recognising she did not have the willpower to resist seeing her daughter again, especially knowing Falere had nobody else to look after her.
“Good,” Miranda forcefully enthused. For as much as she respected Samara, she might have had to slap some sense into her if she said otherwise. “No offence, and I know this is easy for me to say because I don’t have a single religious or spiritual bone in my body, but any oath that would compel you to stay away from the one person in your life who makes you happy isn’t an oath worth keeping. For me, that person is my sister. For you, that person is Falere.”
At long last, Samara allowed herself to smile again, her eyes glistening from her tears, but shedding no more. “She is.” Her voice was soft, perhaps even fragile, but Miranda had never heard it filled with so much tenderness. “I should not permit myself to feel this way, but...if you thought you perceived a change in me tonight, Miranda, you did,” she admitted. “Though losing Rila broke my heart, and my wounds for her will bleed until my dying days...even so, I have never felt more at peace than I do at this moment. Or, if I have, then I cannot remember it.”
Miranda could only imagine. In her own life, she had gone without seeing Oriana for nineteen years. And, the moment they met on Illium, it was like a weight she hadn’t even known she was carrying had been lifted off her shoulders. That was nothing compared to what Samara had endured.
Going four hundred and thirty-one years not seeing her daughters, the people who mattered most to her...it must have been torture. Now, that torment had finally stopped. Even though Rila hadn’t lived long enough to be part of this new reunion, Samara had still regained a connection with Falere she never thought she would have again. She had some semblance of her family back.
That was life-changing.
“I’m glad to hear you say that,” Miranda said sincerely. After everything she’d lost, Samara had more than earned her just reward. "And, for what it’s worth, I hope this is merely the start of newer and brighter things for you and Falere.”
After recollecting her composure, Samara faced her. “Thank you, Miranda.”
Miranda was not anticipating that shift in focus. “For what?”
“For this. For tonight,” Samara clarified, gesturing at their surroundings. “For allowing me to enjoy myself more than I have in centuries. And for reminding me to savour these effervescent glimmers of happiness while I still can.” She paused for a moment, averting her gaze down towards her hands on the railing. “I think, perhaps, on some level, you sensed I needed this. But perhaps you do not appreciate just how much I did. So, again, I thank you for spending your night in the company of this poor, tired old woman, when it was not required of you.”
Miranda hesitated at that. Of course, it meant a lot for Samara to tell her that she had gotten so much out of their time together, and that it had helped her in some way. But Miranda never liked it when Samara made those resigned, self-defeating comments about herself. They made her sound like some washed up, retired old racehorse about to be put down with two barrels behind the garden shed. And that was the furthest thing from reality.
Samara was amazing. Beyond compare. She had not lost a step. Aside from being a matriarch and continuing to get stronger with every passing year, she did not show a single sign of age. It certainly hadn’t hindered her yet, and probably would not for many decades yet to come. Asari regularly lived to be over a thousand years old. Hell, although hitting eleven-hundred was rare by most accounts, even that wouldn’t be unheard of. Not by a long shot.
Not that Miranda was an expert, but just from knowing her, she would guess Samara was still a long way off from the natural end of her life. About as far off as any of the human members of The Normandy. So why did she so often talk about herself like she was past the point where she had anything of worth left to offer - a broken relic of a bygone age to be carelessly discarded and cast aside?
Did she think Miranda was just doing this because she felt sorry for her?
“...I didn’t invite you out with me because I pity you,” Miranda broke the silence, glancing over at Samara. That had never been what this was, and she would correct any such mistaken assumptions as promptly and frankly as possible, so that there was no chance for misinterpretation. “I wanted to spend time with you because I like you, and I care about you. You know that, right?”
“I do,” Samara confirmed, returning Miranda’s gaze. “And I hope you know that I did not spend time with you because I was merely seeking some distraction from what has come to pass in recent weeks.”
“I do,” Miranda replied in kind. She folded her arms across the railing, seeing no reason not to continue being so transparent. “This probably isn’t going to be a shock to you, because there aren’t exactly a lot of contenders for the title, but did you know you might very well be the best friend I’ve ever had?”
Jacob may have been her friend for longer, sure, but they butted heads a lot, often on pretty fundamental things. There were some things she hadn’t told him, and may never tell him. Some things she couldn’t go to him about. Whereas Samara just...knew her so intimately. She got her on an entirely different level. One that didn’t even require words, a lot of the time.
Samara’s eyes dipped slightly. “It...occurred to me, some time ago, in fact, that...I could possibly say the same thing about you,” she replied. Miranda was taken aback by that, and it must have shown on her face. “You doubt me, but you have a stronger claim to that position than you know.”
Miranda brushed that off, finding it too hard to believe. Samara had been alive for over nine centuries. She’d definitely had better friends. “You’re just being nice.”
Samara squinted at that comment, visibly perplexed. “I do not know where you have garnered this impression that I am ‘nice’, or would say things I do not mean just to be thus. I can assure you, I have never at any stage of my life been renowned for being particularly ‘nice’ to anybody. Quite the contrary,” Samara assured her, wanting to clear up that mischaracterisation. “I mean no offence, but...in that regard, you and I are more alike than you seem to think.”
“None taken,” Miranda nonchalantly replied. She supposed she understood where Samara was coming from by not accepting that description. If anyone tried to tell Miranda she was ‘just being nice’, she would have looked at them like they had grown a second head. “And I guess you do have a point. I mean, the first time I met you, you crushed a woman’s skull with your foot.”
“You would have used a gun,” Samara noted.
“Yeah, probably,” Miranda conceded. “You were always nice to me, though.”
“Not always. There were times when I challenged you. Like you, I am not prone to remaining silent when I disagree with someone. If I am less stubborn and stern than I once was, it is only because experience has humbled me, and I have spent many centuries practicing patience and mindfulness,” said Samara.
Samara wasn’t wrong about any of that, Miranda thought. Samara had indeed called her out on her bullshit a couple of times, although whenever she did offer advice she had always treated it as something constructive rather than an exercise in judgement, which was largely why it had been so effective.
“However, if despite all that you perceived me as being especially nice to you...I probably was,” Samara admitted with a small sigh, willing to concede that wasn’t misplaced. “It is easy to be nice to a person you are already fond of.”
“Why though?” Miranda couldn’t help but ask, earning a confused look. “That’s something I’ve never been able to figure out. Look, I know I’m not the most self-aware person, but I’m better than I was. And, God, I could be fucking intolerable sometimes.” Miranda grimaced in annoyance at her own memory of herself, eliciting a faint smirk from Samara. “But even at my worst, you never had a problem with me. So, why did you like spending time with me?”
“How long do we have before our absence will be noticed? Because, if I answered that question comprehensively, we would be here a very long time,” Samara stated. That was, without question, the most heartwarming thing Miranda had ever heard another person say about her. “If I am being truly honest, I have often wondered the same thing about why you chose to spend your time with me.”
“Is that a joke?” Miranda asked, not sure how Samara could even question that.
“You know very well that it is not,” Samara said astutely. She wasn’t a liar.
“Well, then, you and I remember things very differently, because you had countless things to offer me. Wisdom. Insight. Friendship. A place where I could just sit in silence for a while. You've taught me so much, but somehow you never made it feel like you were lecturing me. Even when you clearly were,” Miranda remarked, with a hint of teasing to her tone. “The only problem is that I've gained so much more out of knowing you than you have from knowing me.”
“That is not true,” Samara firmly insisted, the quickness of her response catching Miranda somewhat off guard. “The life of a Justicar is a solitary one. We meet many people, but have no companions. I had no companions. Until you. The connection we share is unlike any I have known in centuries. Or...even before that. You have enriched my life. I am better for having known you.”
“You don’t mean that,” Miranda instinctively replied. Samara was...well, she wasn’t a ‘perfect’ person per se, because they didn’t exist. But she was as close as Miranda had ever seen to one. She was a perfect version of what she strove to be. So how could Miranda make her better than she was? How could she possibly do anything to improve upon such sheer mastery of the self?
“Goddess, you do not even know…” Samara’s suddenness took Miranda by surprise. She watched as she let her fingers fall across her face, sighed deeply and shook her head, choosing her words carefully. “Forgive me. It is difficult for me to say this, but...when we travelled together, there were times where I thought…” Samara stopped herself, as if reconsidering what she intended to say. “Perhaps I did not always recognise it then, but in hindsight there were days where I do not know how I could have withstood my burdens if you were not with me.”
Miranda didn’t know what to make of that. It just...didn’t make sense. Samara was so strong. “But I didn’t do anything,” Miranda pointed out.
At that, Samara uttered a quiet sound, almost like a short, sombre laugh. “But you did,” she said, meeting Miranda’s gaze once more. “You were there. And you have shown me nothing but kindness from the moment we met.”
Miranda still couldn’t accept what she was hearing. Besides, she didn’t remember doing anything that would strike a normal person as especially compassionate, because that wasn’t who she was. “But I’m not kind,” she said.
“No, perhaps you are not,” Samara acknowledged, never blind to the person Miranda was. She was not known for being sensitive or sympathetic, for good reason. “But you were to me,” she stated plainly. That was all that mattered.
Miranda didn’t completely agree with that. But she was glad Samara thought so. And, if nothing else, it was true that Samara did make her want to try to be a better person than she was, and had brought different shades out of her in a way that nobody else had, irrespective of whether they came naturally to her.
That was the thing about people like Samara, Miranda thought. When a person had a special connection with someone else, a special relationship, then they got to know a version of them that didn’t exist for anyone else. Parts of them nobody else ever saw. Truths nobody else ever knew. So maybe the Miranda reserved for Samara's eyes only really was gentler than the one everybody else had met. But, if so, that was only because their friendship brought that out of her.
As the silence lingered, the memory of one very unkind thing she had done emerged in Miranda’s mind. It wasn’t lost on her that there was still one regret she had in their friendship. One mistake for which she’d never made amends.
It was not something she had forgotten about. She recalled with discomforting clarity how she’d never taken her numerous chances back on The Normandy to confess to Samara about looking into her past without her consent. She’d never apologised for it, though she had intended to do so, eventually. She would have done it after The Collector Base but, when the Alpha Relay was destroyed, the thought had genuinely completely fallen from her mind amid so much death. By the time she thought about it again, it was too late. They had already parted ways.
So many months had passed since all of this transpired that part of her just wanted to let sleeping dogs lie, and not raise the subject now. But Miranda knew this was the only chance she would get. If she was ever going to apologise, this was her moment. She had to take it, or live with being a coward.
“...Samara, can I say one more thing?” Miranda broke the silence.
“You may always speak freely with me, Miranda. Indeed, that you always say precisely what is on your mind is perhaps my favourite thing about you. Certainly, one of them,” Samara said with a charming twinkle in her eye.
“Okay, then.” Miranda took Samara’s encouragement at face-value, and elected to come out with it, even if it was a heavy subject. “What happened to your family wasn't your fault,” Miranda began, deciding to approach the topic from that angle. The unexpected shift in the conversation caused Samara to stiffen visibly. “And you know I'm not the sort of person who'd say something I didn't think was true purely to make you feel better, no matter how much I like you. But you didn't do anything to make that happen. None of it is your fault. None. So please stop blaming yourself for what happened four hundred years ago.”
Samara didn't seem to know how to react to Miranda’s words, as they were the last thing she had anticipated. It was obvious it was a message she struggled to accept, even after all this time. Of course, she had no idea how much Miranda knew about her past, beyond the broad picture she’d painted. Not yet.
“Has anyone ever told you that before?” Miranda asked, curious.
“...They have not,” Samara answered, no less taken aback. From prior conversations, Miranda knew she had scarcely spoken about her past. Her daughters’ diagnoses made her a pariah as soon as they happened, leaving her nobody to turn to, and Justicars did not discuss the people they were before they swore their Oaths. Samara had carried her burdens alone every day since.
“Then I'm glad I said it,” Miranda replied, already feeling a sense of relief just from stating that out loud, though she knew she was far from finished when it came to things she had to get off her chest. “I should have said it a long time ago.”
“Then may I also say something I should have said a long time ago?” Samara cut her off, speaking rather quickly. Miranda gestured for her to go right ahead. If she was being that abrupt, then it must have been important. “I wish you loved being Miranda Lawson as much as everybody else believes you love being Miranda Lawson,” Samara spoke plainly. “Because she is and has always been a far, far better person than you seem to think she is. And there is not a single thing about her that makes her a ‘failure’. It wounds me whenever you think otherwise.”
Miranda was totally blindsided. She hadn’t expected Samara’s response at all, since she would never say anything unless she truly meant it. In fact, any prior thoughts Miranda had were completely ripped from her mind.
Samara didn’t need to ask whether anybody had told Miranda that before. She knew they hadn’t. Evidently, that knowledge bothered her a great deal.
“Miranda, I...” Samara reached out and touched Miranda's arm, as if considering saying something more. She swallowed, glancing away for a moment before meeting Miranda's eyes. “I think we have been gone longer than we ought. We should return before our absence becomes a cause for concern,” she said, mustering a faint smile, sensing they had both lost track of time.
“Of course,” Miranda concurred, too dumbstruck by Samara’s confession to remember that there were words she had left unsaid. “After you.”
With that, Samara led the way back towards Shepard's apartment.
As she trailed behind her, Miranda discreetly wiped at the corner of her eye, maintaining her composure, masking any lingering signs that betrayed any frailty, and just how much Samara’s words had touched the core of something she hadn’t even known was as raw and vulnerable as it was.
It may have been a scant two hours that they’d shared there alone on the Silversun Strip, but stealing that precious time together felt like the best decision Miranda had ever made. It may have been over sooner than she would have liked but, if nothing else, at least she could look back on this night in the coming days and feel content with the way she left things between them.
She wanted to part ways with Samara on a high note. After all, deep down in her heart, Miranda knew it was the last time Samara would ever see her again.
* * *
Of all the people Miranda had expected to be banging on her door in the middle of the night, Samara was not high on that list. She hadn’t expected to see her anytime soon, given she had left only two weeks ago. And, when they eventually did meet again, Miranda hadn’t imagined Samara would look like this.
“Samara, what are you doing here? It’s freezing out, and you’re drenched--”
“I must speak with you,” Samara cut her off, her voice firm, and her eyes ablaze with a strange intensity Miranda had never seen in her before. It seemed as though Samara didn’t even feel the ice-cold rain on her. “It cannot wait.”
Judging from her tone, that wasn’t a request.
“Uh...Of course,” was all Miranda could mutter as she held open the door for her, closing it behind her. It wouldn’t have even occurred to her to say no. Not when Samara was in such a state, moving with such urgency. “In here.” Miranda gestured towards her room. Samara marched in without hesitation.
Suffice it to say, Miranda was a little stunned. What the hell was happening?
She followed her inside, and clicked the door shut. There wasn’t much space in her small room, but Samara found enough to pace back and forth. She was uncharacteristically wringing her hands as she wore wet tracks in the floor. These were things Miranda had quite literally never seen her do before.
“Samara, what is this? What’s going on?” Miranda asked.
“Forgive my intrusion. But I needed to see you. I could not...the way we left things, I…” Samara paused for a moment, meeting her gaze. “I fear that perhaps you already know what has brought me here, and what I wish to discuss.”
Miranda said nothing, too disoriented and sleep-deprived to be capable of doing anything other than staring at her in a dazed silence. She had no idea what she was talking about, or what could make her act so out-of-sorts. Miranda had never seen Samara so dishevelled. So discombobulated. So...frazzled.
“Oh. Oh, I see. You do not. I see. Very well, then. I…” At that realisation, Samara resumed her pacing, running her hand along her crest. “I suppose I shall have to start from the beginning, then. I do not know why I expected to avoid this.”
“Samara, please slow down.” Miranda raised her hand, her mind far too clouded with fog to make sense of any of this. Even just watching her march back and forth felt like running a marathon, which would have been an exhausting prospect even if she had slept in the past four days. Her request fell on deaf ears.
“Miranda, I was...I was dishonest with you the last time we spoke,” Samara began. “No, worse than dishonest. I have been deceiving you, for no other reason than because I have been too craven to admit the truth. What is worse, I fear that you have sensed my deceit, and that this is what has damaged our friendship. I cannot...I cannot abide this. I cannot continue to lie to you.”
Miranda could barely even make out what she was saying as she paced. She was speaking so quickly, and with such adamance that it felt like she might spontaneously combust from internal friction if it weren’t for the rain soaking her skin. Miranda had never seen Samara in this state. She was like a completely different person. A stranger wearing the face of someone she knew.
Samara was so restrained. So dignified. So elegant. She was a woman who had walked alone, unflinching into mortal peril thousands of times with no regard for her own life, and somehow emerged unscathed, even where countless others had fallen around her. She was the most fearless individual Miranda had ever met.
There was none of that here.
She was...overcome.
Her proverbial armour had cracked.
“Samara, respectfully, you’re a category five hurricane right now. I need you to bring it down to a stiff breeze,” said Miranda, gesturing for her to cool her frantic energy just a little bit, because right now this was impossible to follow.
At last, Samara halted, and stood still. “...Yes. Yes, of course. You have my apologies,” Samara replied, no less anxious, but at least she seemed able to recognise what an incoherent onslaught her words must have sounded like.
Miranda leaned back against the chair that was tucked into her desk, gripping it with her hand to take some weight off her bad leg. Whatever could have left Samara so shaken, it had to be serious. Nothing ever rattled her.
Except apparently this.
“What have you been lying about?” Miranda asked, that being about the only thing she had managed to make out of Samara’s hasty, jumbled rant a moment ago.
At that question, Samara held her stare, a distant expression falling across her face. “...After all this time, you truly do not suspect, do you?” she asked aloud, the realisation sinking in, as if that was a possibility she had not contemplated.
“Suspect what?” was all Miranda could say, tempted to utter a desperate laugh as she shrugged her good shoulder, not because there was anything remotely funny about this, but because she was so fucking tired, and so fucking lost.
“Why I abandoned you as I did. Why I fled this city and deserted you. Why you have been forced to contend with so much pain, suffering and death alone, when I ought to have been here to share those burdens with you, and taken care of you when you needed me by your side,” said Samara. Her voice was shaking.
Miranda softened when she heard that. Did Samara really think she was angry at her for leaving? “Samara, no.” Miranda shook her head, unconsciously gesturing with her amputated arm as if to strike that thought from history. “Of course I understand why you left. You’re a Justicar. You have your Code--”
The moment that word left her lips, Samara laughed a humourless laugh, laced with turmoil and despair. Miranda was struck mute by that. It was so unlike her.
“Oh, my sweet Miranda, you truly still believe that about me?” said Samara, her hand on her forehead, as if she couldn’t fathom what she was hearing - that even now people still trusted her at her word. “No. No, my dear, it is a fiction. A comforting lie. A shadow I hide behind.”
Miranda damn near recoiled in abject confusion. “But you are a Justicar.”
“Yes, but that is not why I acted as I did. When I turned my back on you, it had nothing to do with The Code,” Samara unburdened herself at long last, revealing a secret that had been silently killing her. “When I left, it was for one reason only. And that was because I...because I could not be here to watch you die…”
Samara’s voice cracked on the last word, and her hands covered her face as tears began to swell from beneath the surface.
Miranda was dumbfounded - rendered speechless from utter astonishment. She had only seen Samara break like this twice before. Had only seen her cry twice before. That was when she killed Morinth. And when she opened up about losing Rila. Only the deaths of her daughters affected her like this.
Samara trembled, her hand over her mouth. Her eyes shone with remorse as she met Miranda’s frozen visage across the room. “I am so sorry,” Samara told her sincerely, her words cut by the hitch of a breath. “I know my contrition means nothing, but I am so deeply, deeply sorry. I do not blame you if you despise me. You should. I know I deserve it, because the truth is that I failed you. I failed you because I am weak, and I am broken, and I could not...I could not lose you.”
Miranda’s heart tore in half when she heard that. Her head fell, and she pressed her palm to her eye, squeezing it shut. Was this why Samara thought Miranda had snapped at her the last time they spoke? Was she responsible for hurting her like this? God, she regretted that day even more now than she already had before.
“You didn’t fail me, Samara,” Miranda quietly assured her. “You saved my life.”
“That, too, was selfishness,” Samara confessed, owning up to her sins. “When the dust settled, I saw you had not returned. When I realised how close you had been to the Conduit, I went searching for you. And only for you.”
“That’s not true,” Miranda interjected, refusing to let Samara denigrate herself for what had been unparalleled heroism. “You saved dozens of lives in the wasteland.”
“Because The Code demanded I must, and my life would be forfeit if I did not. Every time I came across another survivor, I had to stop and render aid. But, though The Code compelled me to do everything in my power to rescue those in need, I tell you plainly I did not want to. I did not care about any of them. I would have abandoned every single one of them if I could,” Samara said starkly, stripping bare her truth. That revelation hit Miranda like a shockwave. It was something Miranda would have said. Not Samara. “People thought me brave, but I was not. People thought I was saving lives, but that was never my goal. My deeds should not entitle me to praise, but rather scorn, because I was selfish. I was so selfish. My only reason for going out there again and again was to find you.”
Samara swallowed. Miranda would have, but her mouth was suddenly dry.
“...And I did,” Samara continued, her features softening as she gazed upon Miranda. “You were caked in blood and dirt when I found you. So much so that I could barely recognise you. And then you...and then you stopped breathing.”
Samara took a moment to compose herself, affected by those painful memories. She drew a deep breath, and wiped a stray tear from her cheek.
“I did not merely believe that you would die. I knew it. I was certain of it,” Samara quietly admitted. “The infection had already reached your blood. It was shutting down your organs. There seemed to be no hope that you would survive. The only reason you were breathing was because machines were doing it for you. Your pulse was so weak. Your condition showed no signs of improving. As I sat by your bedside, I came to understand that I was doing nothing but watching your life slip away before my very eyes. Every day, you were slowly dying in front of me. And I could not endure it. I...I broke. I ran away, rather than face it.”
“But you left me that message,” Miranda pointed out, struggling to fit the puzzle pieces together in her clouded head between things she already knew, parts of the story she had been told by others, and what Samara was saying now.
“A lie,” Samara said bluntly, her voice too strained to speak louder than a whisper. “To convince myself that I had not forsaken you. That I was not hiding in the shadows from my fears. That I was merely doing as I ought to, as a Justicar. A lie that rang hollow.” Samara glanced down at her feet, ashamed of her actions. “If I truly believed that you had any chance of recovering, I tell you from my heart, I would not have left. Never. And, if I had sincerely been forced into some temporary departure by my Code as I claimed, I would have placed a much better message beside your bed for you to find when you awoke. But I did not do so. I did not do so, because I could not bear to step into your room again. I was afraid each time I went near you, it would be the moment you would…”
Samara couldn’t even finish that sentence. She didn’t have to.
Miranda didn’t interrupt her, too overwhelmed to respond.
“This is why I have returned now. To apologise for my selfishness. Not to seek your forgiveness. Just to apologise,” Samara explained, repentant for her recent failings. “You have earned nothing less than that.”
“I…” Miranda didn’t know what to say. Couldn’t...form the words. It was a lot to take in. She could scarcely process it in her heavily fatigued state. She couldn’t think. She was so tired. So confused. “I still don’t understand. You’ve seen death before. Why couldn’t you be here? Why did you have to leave?”
“Goddess…” Samara turned away, facing the wall. “You truly do not know…”
“No, I don’t. So tell me,” said Miranda, growing exasperated with how Samara kept doing things like that. Acting like there were things she should already know, which she didn’t. She wasn’t psychic. She couldn’t read her mind. Obviously not. Samara had come all this way to throw this confession at her feet out of fucking nowhere. Why hold back now? “You’ve already said so--”
“Because I could not bear the pain of losing you!” Samara snapped back, her voice sharper and louder than before, as if she had to force the words out, fighting against herself to speak them. But, once they were said, they couldn’t be retracted. “I did not trust what I would do. How I would withstand it. Goddess, Miranda, I was coming apart. I had already broken The Code for you!”
Miranda’s eye widened. “What do you mean?”
“You know this. You said it yourself.” Samara faced her once more, moving a step closer. “I...I threatened to murder doctors, because they wanted to turn off your life support,” Samara confessed, hard as it was for her to say. “You were functionally dead, and I was prepared to harm innocents rather than accept it - to use violence against healers so I could keep you hooked to those machines.”
Miranda’s heart stopped in her chest.
Wait, what? That wasn’t something Jacob had just misunderstood? Her weary mind went black. She couldn’t even comprehend that revelation.
“I breached two tenets, in total. Not only by threatening innocent medics, but that I lied about The Code in order to compel them to spare you,” Samara confided in her, exposing her transgressions, her shame. “This is not permitted. I was unjust. Had I any sisters left to judge me, I might be expelled from the Order for this. At worst, perhaps even executed. Though, if there is but one small mercy to be found, it is that my words, evil though they were, were only words. I took no violent act, drew no weapon, and made no attempt to carry out my threats. Had I done so, The Code would not suffer me to live. Nor should it.”
“...You…wait…” Miranda couldn’t hear herself, her ear was ringing so loud.
What the fuck was happening? This couldn’t be real.
“In what small part of me was still capable of thinking rationally, I knew my behaviour had made me a danger to myself and others,” Samara continued. “If you passed, I could not take the risk of what I might do. At least, that was what I told myself. In truth, by that stage, I was simply too afraid to stay. Afraid of how much it would hurt when you...” She trailed off into silence, her meaning clear.
Miranda didn’t even catch all of that, her thoughts blank. No, this didn’t make sense. Samara was a Justicar. A servant of her Code. She was the embodiment of her way of life. She stuck to it rigidly. She never bent the rules, much less broke them. She would never do that. She was so disciplined. So loyal to it.
Samara hadn’t even broken The Code when it came to her own daughters. An Oath, yes. But not The Code. From what Miranda understood, that was the difference between breaking a promise, and breaking the law. She had told Miranda straight to her face that she couldn’t do the latter. That she would never.
And yet now Samara was standing there in front of her telling her that she had not merely violated The Code, but that she had done so consciously. For her.
Twice.
“Now you see me for what I truly am. Frail. Weak. A fraud.” Samara glanced aside, accepting that what she had done would forever tarnish her in Miranda’s sight, as it should. “So, like a coward, I ran. As far as I could. Every day thinking, is this the day she died? Is this the day? Surely, she must have passed by now, Samara. Just go back. Just go. Confront this. Be with her. But I could not. I could not return, because I was not ready to know. Because I was not ready to feel--”
Her voice caught, rendering her unable to finish that bleak thought.
Miranda felt a heavy tide rising inside her. Like she was swimming in a maelstrom. Sucked in under the water. Unable to breathe. Unable to think or react. It was so much all at once. It was as if she’d been consumed by a tsunami.
“...Why are you telling me this?” Miranda asked through the haze.
“Because you do not deserve to believe you are at fault,” Samara insisted, taking another step towards her. “I abandoned you in your hour of need, not because you mean nothing to me, but because you...you are so important to me it scares me. But that is my burden, not yours. You should not have to suffer for my lack of bravery. I could not bear it if you thought that I have treated you so carelessly because you have slighted me in some way. You have not. I am to blame. Only me. The failure is mine, and mine alone. I am the monster here. Not you.”
“Please don’t say that,” said Miranda. It hurt to hear Samara berate herself like that. She was the opposite of a monster. “I wouldn’t even be here if not for you.”
“But I should have been here.” Samara took another step. As the space between them shrank, Miranda felt a shiver pass through her body, but not because it was cold. “I should have watched over you. Cared for you when you awoke. Been by your side as you rebuilt this city. Weathered the terrible news with you when you learned what became of our friends. But I could not. Instead, I left you. I let fear take hold, and surrendered to despair. Worst of all, I gave up hope. I did not have faith in you, when I should have known you are beyond extraordinary.”
“You don’t owe me anything--”
“Please.” Samara quietly cut her off, refusing her forgiveness, feeling unworthy of it. Even so, she could not refrain from reaching out, curling stray strands of hair back behind Miranda’s ear. Miranda’s pulse spiked, thundering like a drum. “I was distraught for so long. Too paralysed with sorrow to return, and face the news. So convinced that everything I dreaded had come to pass. That I had been too late when I found you in the wastes. That you had succumbed while I was away. That I would find nothing here but your grave.” Samara’s eyes shone as she looked upon her, a warm smile coming to her face. “I do not know how I ever doubted you would defy the odds. You are truly incredible. You always have been.”
Miranda didn’t dare to breathe, Samara was so close. All those bottled up feelings came flooding to the surface. It felt like somehow Samara should just know. That she should be able to lay eyes upon her, and glean from a single glance how easily Miranda came undone in her presence.
God, the things it did to her for Samara to be this near, her fingers on her skin. It was too much. She should have withdrawn and pulled away, but she couldn’t. She didn’t want Samara to stop. She needed her, with every fibre of her being.
Miranda couldn’t take it. For her own sanity, she had to force herself to turn her head away. To look somewhere else. Anywhere else but Samara.
"Do not hide from me.” Samara’s fingers curled beneath her chin, lifting her head, compelling Miranda to lock her eye on Samara once more. “I know I ran before, but it was not because of you. Do not think it was ever to do with you.”
She realised then that Samara must have assumed the reason Miranda averted her gaze was because she’d felt self-conscious in that moment. Of her wounds. Of the scars on her face. Little did she know that had nothing to do with it.
It became achingly apparent then as she got lost in that shimmering sapphire stare that Samara had no idea what Miranda felt towards her. And that those feelings were so powerful and intense that they were threatening to devour her.
How could Samara not see what she was doing to her?
She was laid open. Bare. Exposed.
Samara’s fingers combed through Miranda’s hair until they grazed the cord that held her eyepatch in place. Miranda was so transfixed that she almost didn’t even feel her touch it. “May I?” Samara asked her permission to remove it, gauging whether Miranda trusted her enough to show the extent of her scars.
Miranda swallowed and nodded, giving her consent. That was never the problem. Least of all with Samara. Miranda stood stiff against her desk, knuckles turning white against her chair as Samara carefully slipped it off.
Samara released a slow exhale as she set that black cloth down on the table, a wave of heartfelt warmth washing over her features as that barrier fell by the wayside. As if on instinct, her fingers reached out to touch her face, but she stopped her hand just short of Miranda’s scarred cheek. “Will it hurt if I…?”
Miranda shook her head, almost too tense to speak. “Not if you’re gentle,” was all she could manage. And when was Samara ever anything less?
With Miranda’s tacit approval, Samara softly cupped her cheek. Miranda’s breath hitched. How could she be so on edge that such a feather-light caress could make her feel like her entire world was on the verge of exploding?
“I have been devout in my faith for a very long time, and yet...Believe me when I tell you, the only time in my nine hundred and seventy-one years of life that the Goddess has ever answered my prayers was when I turned around on that balcony, and saw you standing there in front of me,” Samara professed.
If she moved so much as a single muscle, Miranda wasn’t sure there was any power on Earth that could stop her from crashing her lips against Samara’s, no matter how wrong she knew it was, or how bad of an idea. She willed her body to stay stone still, because it was all she could do to control herself.
If Miranda hadn’t been leaning so heavily on the desk and chair behind her, she was certain her legs would have given out right from under her. Samara’s skin was still so cold from the rain, but her touch was hotter than fire, and Miranda like wax beneath her fingertips. She could have melted into a puddle on the floor.
“I know I should not, but…” Without another word, Samara tilted Miranda’s head down, and pressed a tender, savouring kiss to her forehead. Miranda’s palm shook against her desk. She was trembling like a leaf. When she parted from her, Samara let her head rest against Miranda’s, cradling her jaw. “...I am sorry, but that is all I have wanted to do ever since I learned you were alive.”
Miranda’s heart wasn’t just pounding. It was screaming.
Somehow, she just knew, if she dared to utter a single sound, she wouldn’t be able to keep from shouting the truth at the top of her voice. The desire to say those five pivotal words seeped from every pore. She was bursting at the seams.
“No, I should not have done that.” Samara shook her head, taking a step back. It was only then that Miranda realised she hadn’t taken a single breath in the last minute, and sharply gasped for air. “I have been selfish. Allowed myself to…” Samara stopped herself, as if suddenly coming to her senses. “Forgive me, Miranda. I have said all I needed to say. I should--”
The instant she turned to leave, Miranda’s hand shot out and seized Samara by her wrist, grabbing her as tightly as she’d ever held onto anything in her life.
“Don’t you dare walk away,” Miranda growled. “Don’t you fucking dare.”
Samara hesitated, caught off guard. “...I thought you did not want me here.”
“Why would I not want you here?!” Miranda shot back, her tension built to breaking point. She felt like she was going insane, trying to find her balance on shifting sands. Nothing made sense anymore. For all Samara’s honesty, she still didn’t understand what the hell was going on.
“Because I abandoned you,” Samara answered. That had been the whole reason for her confession. Her apology. “Because I hurt you. Because you hate me.”
“Hate you? Samara, you idiot, I’m in love with you!” the words tore themselves from Miranda’s chest before she could stop them. Samara froze. Miranda released her tight grip on Samara’s wrist. Her hand flew to her mouth in horror as she realised what she’d said. But it was too late to stuff that confession back in.
God damn it. She’d really just said that out loud, hadn’t she?
“Fuck…” Miranda cursed under her breath, realising there was no going back. It was out there now. She had to confront it. “I’ve never...you’re the only person who’s ever made me feel this way. It’s like a kind of madness.” She wasn’t sure what to say, or whether it was even a good idea to keep talking. But she had to. Now that she’d said it, she had to. “That was why I asked you to leave me alone before. Not because I hate you, but because...I feel the exact opposite.”
Miranda pressed her hand to her forehead, fighting off the incessant pain in her skull. The insomnia that made it so hard to think. To put these complicated feelings into words. She was so not in the right frame of mind to have this conversation.
Yet here they were.
“I’m pretty sure I have for a long time, actually. I was just too bloody stupid to figure it out any earlier. But...” In place of adding anything further, Miranda simply gestured, leaving her feelings out there, in the open, for Samara to do with as she wished. It was a horrible position to be in. She hated every second of it.
“...No,” was the first thing Samara said. Her voice sounded so distant. And it was tinged almost with a sense of...dread. “No. You do not. You should not.”
“I know I shouldn’t, but I do. I do. I think about you all the time. And I don’t...I don’t know what to do about it,” Miranda admitted, shrugging her shoulder.
“No,” Samara repeated herself, more insistently. Her suddenness startled Miranda a little. “You...you are mistaken.”
“I’m not,” Miranda reflexively answered back. She couldn’t help but get defensive, hearing Samara tell her she was wrong about her own feelings, when she knew painfully well she wasn’t. “I tried to convince myself that I was, but--”
“You do not know what love is. And you do not know who I am,” Samara coldly shut her down, refusing to hear this. “If you did, you would know there is nothing about me that is worthy of you.”
“Fucking hell, Samara…” Miranda ran her hand through her hair. This was not how she would have planned this to go. For one thing, she never anticipated she would have to contend with Samara being in staunch denial about her dramatic love confession. But then she paused, as the final part of Samara’s sentence gradually registered in her tired mind. “...I’m sorry. What did you just say?”
“You…” Samara swallowed heavily, realising she had perhaps revealed more than she ought. Maybe because she thought her own feelings had already been blatantly obvious, and it hadn’t occurred to her to think Miranda wouldn’t have realised them by now. But she didn’t take it back. “No, I cannot do this.”
Samara moved for the door as if to leave. In response, Miranda extended her hand, biotically lifting Samara six inches off the ground, holding her in place.
“No,” Miranda sternly commanded her, not letting her run off and hide again. She was getting pretty bloody sick of that. “We’re talking.”
Samara could have overpowered her easily if she wanted to. Miranda was no match for her biotic prowess, especially not in her current state. She could have broken out of this grip with little more than a shadow of a thought. They both knew that. But she didn’t fight. She didn’t resist.
After a moment, Samara just gave her a nod, as if to confirm she would stay. Miranda let go. Samara’s feet hit the floor. She didn’t so much as stumble.
“You were saying,” Miranda prompted, losing patience for her evasiveness.
“...You heard what I said. It is as it seems,” was all Samara could bring herself to say, not denying Miranda’s suspicions. She would not lie to her.
“Do you feel the same way about me?” Miranda asked, forcing her to acknowledge it out loud. To put it into words. There was no room for misunderstanding here.
“That is not the point,” Samara responded, tersely.
Miranda sighed heavily, intuiting what she meant. “Of course. You’re a Justicar,” she said. It didn’t matter what Samara felt about her, if The Code forbade it.
Samara’s eyes narrowed in confusion. “I...am uncertain what you mean by this.”
Miranda’s expression mirrored Samara’s, equally bewildered. “Doesn’t the Justicar Code forbid...?” Miranda didn't finish that sentence, simply glancing down at the space between them, choosing to be deft in her words. Using any specific term that entered her mind might be perceived as demanding or presuming too much, or too little, and she wouldn’t risk that.
Samara stared at her, the open-ended meaning not lost in the silence. It was obvious from looking at her expression that she wished her status as a Justicar permitted her to speak falsely. That would have made things so much easier. “...It does not,” she replied to Miranda's myriad unspoken questions, and the words running through her mind. It was the same answer for all of them.
At that, relief dared to trickle through Miranda’s skin.
“That was never the problem,” Samara continued, not allowing Miranda to think that information changed anything. It didn’t.
“Then what is?” Miranda replied. “There’s obviously a connection between us. We both feel it. And if your Code says there’s nothing wrong with that, then--”
“Because I deserve to be alone!” Samara professed. “That is my penance.”
Miranda recoiled. It actually, physically hurt to hear that. “How can you say that?”
“Miranda, listen to me,” Samara implored her, holding her focus. “You are a remarkable woman. You are brilliant and exceptional, in every respect--”
“So are you,” said Miranda.
“No, you are not listening.” Samara raised her hands, determined to continue. “You are so young. You still have so much life ahead of you. So much potential. When others see you, as I have seen you, the entire galaxy will fall at your feet. As it should. You have nothing to gain from me. I am...I am regret, and ruin,” Samara told her, a faint glint of unshed tears in her eyes. “If you truly saw me for what I am, you would know there is only death and misery for you here.”
“I do know you, Samara,” Miranda spoke quietly. “I know that, despite all the tragedy you’ve endured that would break a lesser person, you somehow still manage to wake up each day and choose to be warm, and kind, and good--”
“I am none of those things,” Samara assured her.
“You are to me,” Miranda persisted, undeterred. “I know you are, because you found me when I was at my most jaded, my most cynical, my most closed off--”
“Miranda, no.” Samara shook her head, pleading with her not to feel this way.
“And, instead of rejecting me, you...you reached out to me,” Miranda continued, talking right through any interruption, or resistance. Because this needed to be said. “You made me smile more than anyone has ever made me smile. You showed me that...that opening up to someone you trust and letting yourself be vulnerable around them isn’t a weakness, but that it takes bravery and strength.”
“Please stop this,” Samara begged her, her voice a whisper.
But Miranda didn’t stop. “You single-handedly made me a better person than I was before I met you.” There was no denying that. Without Samara, she wouldn’t have learned from her past mistakes. She would have kept perpetuating the same cycles, and never stopped to reflect on her preconceived notions about what mattered to her, and what made her happy. “So, if you’re unworthy of love, then what does that make me? Because, from where I’m standing...Samara, there aren’t enough superlatives to describe you.”
“Enough!” Samara swept her hand across her body, signalling for this to cease.
But Miranda wouldn’t.
“No.” Miranda pressed forward. She was pouring her heart out. She’d never done this before, because she’d never felt this way about anyone. And, now that she’d started, she couldn’t stop. “Don’t you get what I’m saying? You’re it. You’re it for me. I will never feel the way about anyone else that I feel about you, and I know because I’ve tried, and those efforts failed so hard I didn’t even think the ability to fall in love with someone existed in me, until I met you. You’re not just beyond comparison to everyone else. God, you’re...you’re fucking transcendent.”
“Do not...say these things!” Samara cut her off, her voice so loud and forceful that there was no doubt it bellowed through the whole apartment. Miranda had never heard her raise her voice before, let alone like that. “You know not of what you speak. You love a shadow. Nothing more.”
Miranda’s gaze narrowed. “What is it you think I don’t know, Samara?” she challenged, determined to prove herself. “I know more than you think.”
“I killed the last person I loved!” Samara shot back, refusing to subject herself to that indescribable agony a second time. She would never let that happen again.
“No, you didn’t, Samara. She killed herself,” Miranda curtly replied.
“You know nothing of it!” Samara insisted through her teeth.
“I know everything,” Miranda interrupted, unshaken by what Samara thought were secrets. They weren’t. “I know every little fucked up detail you didn’t want me to know. I know you tried to kill yourself too, and the only reason you failed is that your neighbour found you. I know you blame yourself for Mirala becoming Morinth because you think whatever you said to her the night before her test scared her into running away and melding with her best friend to prove she wasn’t an Ardat-Yakshi. I know the police blamed you and wanted to charge you with something, anything, and that you broke down during your interrogation and told them you blamed yourself for everything too. I know the whole world turned against you for something that wasn’t your fault. I know it all.”
Miranda’s response thrust Samara into stunned silence. Miranda had the decency to look contrite, already seeing the fire of betrayal in steely blue eyes. Exactly like she expected. Exactly why this admission had been so easy to put off.
“There’s nothing about you that’s a mystery to me,” Miranda continued, quieter than before. “I looked into your past when we were aboard the SR-2. I’m surprised you didn’t already assume I did. I mean, this is me we’re talking about.”
As that slowly sank in, Samara stepped away and shook her head. “I am disappointed in you, Miranda. Yet I suppose you are correct; I cannot claim this was a shock,” said Samara, in a tone Miranda had never heard before. “After all, you have at all times been nothing if not transparent about your duplicity.”
Miranda’s eye darkened. That hurt.
“Fuck you, Samara. You don’t get to turn this around on me right now. In case you haven’t noticed, between the two of us, I’m not the one lying.”
“Yes, how very dare I be hurt by your treachery,” Samara countered, looking her in the eye once more, her words laced with biting sarcasm. “I should know better than to criticise you, or confront you with consequences for your actions. After all, you are Miranda Lawson. You can do nothing wrong.”
“I’ll apologise as much as you want later. But that’s not what this conversation is about. So don’t change the subject,” Miranda snapped.
“What more is there to say?” said Samara, her arms folded across her chest, unwilling to discuss it further. This hadn’t helped. “You know my answer.”
“There is so much more to say, because you’re pulling away and I don’t even know why. To punish yourself for some imaginary sins? Is that it? Look…” Miranda crossed the distance between them, reaching out and gently clasping Samara's hand, guiding it to rest upon her chest, where she could feel her heartbeat. “Whatever this is, I...I want this,” Miranda assured her. “Do you?”
Samara withdrew, resisting the temptation. “What I want is irrelevant.”
“Why is it irrelevant?” Miranda pursued her. “You’re a person, Samara. An incredible one, but still just a person, with feelings, and wants, and needs. You've spent four hundred years being selfless, to a greater degree than your Code required you to be. You don’t have to do that. You’re allowed to feel things. To want things. To need things. You’re allowed to...to move on with your life.”
“Move on?” Samara echoed incredulously. She turned her body away, refusing to look at her, visibly caught up in a tempestuous tumult of conflicting emotions.
Hurt.
Anger.
Grief.
“If you knew me half as well as you claim to, you would understand what an insult it is to me that you would tell me such a thing,” said Samara, shaking her head in contempt and disbelief. “‘Move on with my life’. The audacity...”
“I'm not saying that to get something from you. Genuinely, I'm not. You don't have to...” This wasn’t working, was it? “What I’m trying to say is that, whatever this is between us, this doesn’t have to go the way I want it to. I’m not even sure what that is, or what that would mean. I was so convinced this could never happen. But don't you deserve a bit of happiness?” she asked, trying to catch Samara’s eyes, though she was intent on avoiding her. “If I bring that to you, then—“
Before she could finish, Samara exhaled heavily and stepped closer, until the space between them virtually evaporated. Miranda trembled as she stumbled backwards on instinct, until she could go no further, and hit the wall near the door.
“Do not speak of happiness.” Samara pinned Miranda in place without exerting any force whatsoever. Without touching her. Whatever Miranda had intended to say before swiftly fled her mind. “My happiness died centuries ago. And I promised myself -- I promised myself, I would never...never betray that.”
Miranda moved to protest, but stopped abruptly when it became apparent Samara wasn’t really talking to her, but rather that she was arguing with herself.
“But, I...you were not...you were not part of that plan. I did not foresee how much I would...how much I would come to...” As her dilemma tore at her soul, Samara grimaced and braced herself on the wall, as if in physical pain. “I do not know what to do. I know I do not deserve this, but...perhaps we can, without...”
“Yes,” Miranda all but whimpered. Whatever she meant, her answer was yes.
She wanted this. So bad. Even if it might have been a terrible mistake. Even if it might have ruined everything they already had. At that moment, she didn't care.
Miranda wanted to kiss her. To sink her teeth into her neck, and tear her armour off. Her body was screaming at her to do those things, desperate to touch her, and powerless to resist if this was what Samara chose. But, in what little part of her brain could still think, she knew she had to let Samara take the initiative for whatever happened next. If she didn’t, she would push her away forever.
They probably only stood like that for a few seconds, but time moved so slowly it felt like minutes. Miranda could see the cogs spinning in Samara’s head. The conflict. The indecision. Temptation. Torn between resistance and surrender.
Samara’s fingers brushed her bare arm. She’d leaned so close Miranda felt her breath against her lips. Then, blue eyes went black. And Miranda felt the magnetic sensations she recognised as a meld beneath Samara’s fingertips.
In an instant, everything changed.
A wave of sheer, uncompromising despair crashed over Miranda, plunging her into the deepest, darkest, blackest abyss she had ever known. It felt as if her very soul had been ripped from her body and murdered in front of her, leaving behind only a hollow, empty shell. Any memory of happiness or joy was stripped from her mind, and shattered into a million pieces at her feet.
She had never felt more devastatingly, crushingly alone.
Bereft of hope.
And, although it had come over her as suddenly as the blink of an eye, it felt like she had never known anything else.
Abruptly, Samara glowed blue, her biotics repelling Miranda, like a barrier between them, pressing her back against the wall. The meld ended only a fraction of a second after it began, leaving both of them visibly shaken. The moment they separated, Miranda's hand flew to her lips, trembling as tears spilled from her eye, coursing down the unscarred side of her face, beyond her control.
Samara staggered backwards, as if she had seen a ghost. “No, I...I cannot.”
“No, don't...” Miranda could hardly speak, overcome by a grief that she could not name. She shook her head. What was happening? She never cried, unless her sister was involved. But this sorrow. It had lasted only a fleeting moment, but it was intense and crushing and it dwarfed any sadness she had ever felt. So much so that it hurt just to breathe. Just to be alive. “I'm sorry, I don't...I'm not...I'm not normally like this. I don't know why this is happening.”
“Because it came from me,” Samara answered, her lips scarcely moving.
“...What did you say?” Miranda lifted her head, staring at Samara, shellshocked. But she hadn’t misheard. Whatever she was feeling, these weren’t her own emotions. In that brief instant that they had started to meld, Samara had inadvertently transferred whatever she was currently feeling onto her.
“I did not mean for this to happen. I am so sorry. I...I thought I could contain myself. My boundaries. I never wanted you to experience this...” Samara whispered until her words trailed off into silence, confirming it to be true.
That realisation struck Miranda to her core, that agony still permeating her being.
“...Is this how you feel about me?” Miranda asked, a deep, dull ache pooling like lead at the base of her heart at the very thought - that this was how miserable she had made her by putting her in this position. Samara didn’t respond, neither confirming nor denying it. “Is this how you feel all the time?”
“It does not matter. This cannot happen,” Samara stated, her voice hollow.
“Samara.” Miranda reached out for her, but Samara raised her hand, signalling for her not to come closer, convinced this had been a terrible mistake.
“In another time, or another life, this would have been...” Samara didn't finish that thought, shaking her head. “I cannot contemplate this. I must not.”
“So, what? You’re just going to run off again?!” Miranda’s shout was enough to momentarily stop Samara in her tracks. Her throat was strangled with emotions that weren’t entirely her own. But some of them sure were. “Tell me, Samara, when did the strongest woman I’ve ever met turn into such a pathetic coward?”
“This is what I have always been!” Samara hissed in response, despising herself for this horrible misdeed. There was no hint of the stoic, composed, restrained person Miranda previously knew. “I have always been a coward. A fraud. A monster. A mistake. A worthless, selfish waste! I have the blood of over a thousand murders on my hands! I am nothing! I should not even be here!”
“Then why don’t you just fucking go!” Miranda shot back, lashing out in pain.
Samara took her at her word, looking at her one last time before she stormed out. Miranda heard the front door slam. The instant it did, Miranda slid down the wall, tears spilling from her eye, the weight of what just happened combining with Samara’s despair, still coursing through her body.
She felt so cold. Like everything right, or good, or light was just...absent.
There was only shadow.
Only grief.
A shaky exhale escaped her lips. What had she done? This was exactly what she’d been afraid of. She’d told Samara the truth, and pushed her away forever. They would probably never speak again. Not after this.
She didn’t even realise that the door to her room was still open until a few heads peeked around the corner to see her. Obviously, they’d been roused by raised voices, and the door slamming. The walls weren’t that thick. They probably hadn’t heard everything. But they would have heard enough.
“Are you okay, Miss?” Reiley asked, visibly concerned.
Miranda wiped her eye and picked herself up to her feet, refusing to let herself look vulnerable in front of them. Even though it was too late for that. “I’m fine,” she said through gritted teeth, taking her eyepatch off the desk and putting it on.
“You don’t look fine,” Jason pointed out as Miranda limped her way past them.
“Samara left in a hurry. And we heard fighting,” Rodriguez noted, not really sure how to approach this. “...Did you fuck things up between you?” she asked, in what sounded like an effort to be understanding and comforting. It wasn’t. Jason chastised her insensitivity with a light slap to the back of her head. “What? It’s fucking obvious they just had a fight…”
Miranda ignored them, grabbing her things, pulling on her jacket and scarf.
“What are you doing?” said Jason, shaking his head at her. For a second, it almost sounded like he was the responsible adult in the house. “Where are you going?”
“Out,” Miranda answered stonily.
“It’s 1:00am,” Jason pointed out, as if convincing her to see reason.
“I don’t care.” Miranda slipped on her shoes, and took hold of her cane. She couldn’t stay there. Couldn’t lie there and think about this. Couldn’t feel this.
“Are you coming back?” said Reiley, confused.
Miranda was tempted to lash out at them and say no out of sheer bitterness and spite, but she couldn't. Unlike Samara, she didn't run from her problems.
“...I'll see you in the morning,” she said, before she closed the door and left. None of them knew it then, but they would not, in fact, see her in the morning.
And, when they did see her again, they would wish they hadn’t.
So would Miranda.
* * *
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a beer buds series: chapter 6
Timeline: takes place during chapter 5 of ‘apu’ just before Lexa and Clarke get a little too drunk while watching movies (oops!) in which they fall asleep on Clarke's couch together (oops again!), subsequently commencing what I like to call The Separation
Beer: Free Rise
(MOSAIC) DRY-HOPPED SAISON
This edition of Free Rise highlights locally sourced Danko Rye from Valley Malt and Mosaic in the dry hop. A nuanced fruity hop profile is balanced with subtle, crisp malt character and expressive notes of pepper and clove. Light in body, with a clean, bone-dry finish.
ABV 7.3%
Posted on AO3 here or below the cut :)
Free Rise: Trillium Brewing Co (Fenway/Boston, MA)
:::
“This newer location is great, but you really need to experience their beer garden next summer on the green. Clarke is obsessed with it—chances are she’ll probably drag you there at some point.”
Lincoln says it so casually, and the image that Lexa begins to paint comes effortlessly.
She and Clarke on a day trip to Boston in mid June, sharing sips of beer and sampling local food trucks in the afternoon sun. Clarke’s rasping laughter drifting through the park as Lexa is further charmed, relaxing in the warm sun and nearby ocean breezes.
She would allow Clarke to drag her any number of places, Lexa thinks. Given the opportunity.
“I’m excited to see both locations,” she says to Lincoln, as if her mind hadn’t drifted into an idyllic landscape of some potential future.
It’s what she’s begun to sense as of late: possibility.
A recent glimmer of hope has been sparking at the periphery of Lexa’s consciousness. There’s the exhilaration of what might be possible for her and Clarke, even in its uncertainty. Even if she doesn’t have any control over it. She can feel the potential of things to come buzzing through her even now, as she and Lincoln walk under the looming, green shadows of Fenway Park.
“Have you been?” Lincoln asks, nodding towards the infamous baseball park that sits in the heart of the city, surrounded by bars and businesses and gawking tourists.
“Not yet.”
“We should go—I haven’t had anyone to hate watch the Red Sox with in years.”
Lexa smiles up at him. “A cherished pastime.”
They swap baseball stats and playoff predictions while walking down the stretch of Brookline Ave between historic Fenway and Trillium. The city air is crisp and cool, and Lexa almost wishes for a jacket, but the chill invigorates her already vibrant mood. Upcoming plans with Clarke have filled her with an unchecked buoyancy.
Costia had left that morning for her weekend away with a parting kiss to Lexa’s temple, a warm hand cupped around the back of her neck.
Safe, perfunctory. Everything that Lexa has begun to associate with Costia.
“Can we try to talk about this again when I get back?”
For once, Lexa hadn’t flinched at the mention of Costia’s research grant and its implications for their relationship. “Sure.”
The extent of their goodbye at the door of their apartment had been Costia’s soft look and Lexa’s small smile as she briefly squeezed Costia’s fingers.
There had been a time when impending distance felt torturous—longing would spring up after only hours apart, and Lexa would ache to see her again.
Those moments for them, like so many others, are gone now.
And, if they have lost their weight, if they are no more than performative interactions between them, Lexa has begun to wonder: what’s left?
What is it that has kept her clinging to Costia so willfully?
Lexa has always excelled at making sense of her life and maintaining control, even amidst the chaos and unpredictability that has so often plagued her. She considers herself a rational person with a reasonable sense of the world, particularly the mechanics of her interpersonal relationships.
Being with Costia had been no different. From the very start, they just made sense. Lexa has always found comfort in the expected, seeking logic and practicality in her daily life.
At least, historically.
Ever since Clarke (clumsily) breezed into her life, Lexa hasn’t felt entirely reasonable about much of anything. Clarke is still unfamiliar in many ways. Her entire friendship has been fortuitous, unprecedented. It’s the first time in Lexa’s entire life that she has been irrevocably drawn towards such palpable uncertainty.
“This weather is perfect—I love it up here at this time of year,” Lincoln says.
Lexa breathes in deeply, anchoring herself to this moment and quieting the thoughts of her indeterminate future. “It’s great,” she smiles and continues in stride with Lincoln’s comforting shadow cast over her.
:::
The taproom is stunning: polished wood in every direction, exposed light bulbs hanging from an open ceiling, and thirty-foot glass doors stretching along an entire wall. In the warmer months, Lexa imagines the doors opening to a cluttered patio. In the early autumn temperatures, the patio is empty and half of the room inside is bathed in natural light while the other remains dim and cozy.
Lincoln heads straight for the bar counter. While a handful of other patrons have favored the couches near the windows, the bar sits empty.
“Hey guys.” A woman around their age approaches from behind the bar. She slides two menus in front of them as Lexa takes her seat beside Lincoln. “Here’s what we’re currently pouring on tap. Cans are listed at the bottom. You need a minute?”
“That’d be great. Thanks,” Lincoln answers.
The woman walks away with a smile that Lexa catches only as she looks up from her menu.
Lincoln drums his hands against the counter top. “Oh shit, I know what I’m getting.”
“That was quick,” Lexa says, returning her attention to the draft pours.
“Their gose is ridiculously good.”
“I think I’m going to do the farmhouse.”
“Did you two decide?” The bartender is already approaching as Lexa glances up from her menu. “Sorry—I wasn’t trying to hover, but it’s pretty dead in here today.”
“No worries.” Lexa offers a brief smile and watches the woman’s face transform, brightening as she stops directly in front of her and braces her arms against the edge of the counter.
“I’m gonna do the gose,” Lincoln says.
“And, I’ll do the Free Rise,” Lexa adds.
“That one is my favorite,” the bartender responds, grinning at Lexa as she retrieves their menus. “Be right back with those for you.”
“Thank you,” Lexa says while reaching for her phone that has buzzed twice from the front pocket of her jeans.
She’s fighting a grin at the messages she finds, simultaneously typing her response as Clarke continues her barrage of nonsense, and doesn’t catch the odd look Lincoln is giving her until she slides her phone onto the bar top.
“What?”
“Nothing,” he shrugs, still looking too pleased for Lexa’s comfort. “So, what else are you up to this weekend? You wanna come check out the new poke bowl spot with me and O tomorrow?”
“I’m supposed to watch movies with Clarke tomorrow night—what time were you thinking of going?”
“No idea. I’ll let you know though. Or, you know, bring her with you. We can make it a foursome.”
His suggestion has her ridiculously flustered for what could be no more than an invitation to hang out with three of her friends. But, it’s Lincoln, and Lexa knows better than to underestimate his scheming.
“Yeah, I mean, I’ll, um, I’ll ask her,” Lexa answers, almost immediately distracted again by the vibration of her phone.
She’s still rolling her eyes at Clarke’s entirely ridiculous diatribe about the validity of poorly written screenplays of the early 90s when the woman behind the bar returns with their drinks.
“Here we go. Should I start a tab for you?”
“Um, sure,” Lincoln responds. He fishes out his debit card from his wallet and slides it across the bar counter.
“I really love your sweater, by the way.”
There’s a brief, weighted pause following the sound of the woman’s voice, and Lexa looks up from her phone when she realizes the compliment was meant for her.
“Oh. Thanks.” She flashes another momentary smile before reaching for her beer and sending off her scathing rebuke for Clarke’s lack of cinematic prowess.
The absolute ire that it will produce and the irritated messages that will follow almost make Lexa giggle in public. Pushing Clarke’s buttons has become an accidentally honed skill.
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but are you not the same person who told me—not two weeks ago—that having beautiful women flirting with you typically grabs your attention?”
Lexa closes her phone instantly, replacing it to her jeans pocket where she hopes it will be safe from Lincoln’s insightful observations. Like getting caught with her hand in the cookie jar, she attempts to clear her face of any guilt as she looks over at Lincoln because Clarke had not been flirting with her in the first place. They have merely been discussing preferences in film through a medium of quick wit and lightly antagonistic banter.
“What are you talking about?”
Lincoln’s voice drops to an even lower volume as he leans towards her. “That bartender has been chatting you up since we walked in, and you seem to be on another planet right now.”
“She was not—”
“Oh-ho-ho,” Lincoln laughs. “Believe me. She definitely was.”
Lexa chances a quick glance down the length of the bar towards the woman polishing glassware. She looks up before Lexa can avert her gaze, and that same smile is back. Lexa’s stomach drops regretfully.
She hadn’t registered the blatant interest from their bartender nor her physical features, which are, objectionably, quite attractive.
Damn it, Lincoln.
“How is it?” the woman calls out, and Lexa raises her glass with a forced smile.
She takes a sip, pretending it isn’t her first, and can actually feel Lincoln fighting a smile to her left. “It’s great. Thanks.”
“Maybe having multiple beautiful woman flirting with you simultaneously is throwing you off,” Lincoln stage whispers, gleefully watching Lexa’s discomfort until she kicks his leg with the toe of her sneaker.
“I’m ignoring you now.”
“Oh good,” Lincoln laughs, “this should be a fun hang then.”
Lexa’s phone continues to alert her of Clarke’s persistence, or so she assumes by the rapidity at which it vibrates. Clarke never sends one, moderate length text when she could send 12 fragmented messages in quick succession. She reaches into her pocket to silence her notifications when Lincoln gently pokes a finger into her tricep.
“I’m just giving you a hard time. You know I don’t give a shit if you text Clarke while we hang out. She’s my buddy.”
“Why are you assuming I was texting with Clarke?” Lexa can hear the edge to her voice and reaches for a drink of her saison to lessen her defenses.
“Wild guess.”
Even Lexa is relatively powerless to Lincoln’s smirking charm and fights a smile of her own when their eyes meet.
“We’re debating movie selections for tomorrow,” she shares. “Her taste in film is generally abhorrent.”
“You two are always fighting about something.”
“Not intentionally. But, Clarke can be very … frustrating,” Lexa admits with a soft scowl into her beer. Lincoln laughs in response and she exhales. “We’re extremely different people.”
“Yeah, but differences are good. At least she keeps things interesting.”
Lexa barely manages not to choke on her beer, swallowing inelegantly. “That is one way to put it.”
“So, Costia is gone until Monday?”
Lexa tries not to let the abrupt change in conversation jar her. “Yeah.”
“Where’s the conference again?”
“D.C.” Lexa clears her throat, tracing a ring of condensation with her index finger against the bar. “Johns Hopkins.”
“How have things been? Any better?”
“Define better.”
Lincoln grimaces sympathetically at Lexa’s unmasked cynicism, and she exhales a cleansing breath. She’s determined not to make this yet another installment of airing her grievances of a stalled relationship, like so many times before. Lincoln is too kind and too selfless—she doesn’t want to take advantage of his friendship by making everything about herself all the time.
“Sorry,” she says softly. “I guess I don’t know how to determine if things are improving or not. But, we’re trying to be more realistic about our relationship at the very least. Talking a bit more. She’s been pursuing this research grant, which would mean almost a full year apart as she works abroad.”
“Damn.”
“I know. I took the news spectacularly well, as you might imagine.”
“Lost your shit a little bit?”
Lexa huffs a laugh and pulls on the sleeve of her sweater. “I think you accused me of being particularly homicidal that morning?”
Lincoln tips back in his stool with a laugh. “Ah, yes—I knew it.”
“Thank you for gloating at my expense,” Lexa responds drolly.
“Sorry.” Lincoln clears the laughter from his voice and attempts composure. “So, what’s the plan? Wait and see if her proposal is accepted?”
Lexa swallows down a mouthful of beer and runs a hand through her hair. “I think we have plenty to talk about even if she doesn’t get the grant, but yeah. We’re supposed to talk when she gets back.”
“That’s really good, Lex.” Lincoln’s gentle timbre is warm and reassuring, all prodding humor gone from his tone. “I mean, it’s tough, but avoidance is also generally unhelpful.”
“Yes, I’ve realized.” Lexa smiles over at him, feeling better already.
Lincoln then asks, “What about Clarke?” and her momentary sense of relief vanishes.
She’s either gone extremely pale or is blushing fiercely because she feels both an icy chill and too hot all at once. She barely manages to respond without her voice shaking awkwardly. “What about Clarke?”
Lincoln is unfazed, lightly flicking his finger against her forehead as if they’re still thirteen and riding a noisy subway car. “She’s supposed to be your best friend, dummy. You should talk to her about this stuff.”
She’s never considered mentioning anything of significance about Costia to Clarke. It’s always seemed to Lexa, unsurprisingly, like a conflict of interest. Clarke will often inquire about Costia’s schooling, graciously concerned for her well-being within a demanding graduate program. In turn, Lexa offers her standard replies, never wanting to delve too far into their dynamic for fear it would reveal too much and ruin everything. Her life for the past several months has relied entirely on a delicate balance. Saying too much too soon could be perilous.
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Hey guys, are we ready for another round?”
The unexpected sound of the bartender’s voice startles Lexa out of her thoughts, and she looks up to see that her beer is, in fact, empty.
“I’d like to try what he was drinking, actually,” Lexa tells her.
“You know what? I’m going to do the farmhouse,” Lincoln announces and slides their glasses closer to the woman standing in front of them.
She laughs easily while reaching for their empty glassware. It’s a nice laugh, ringing pleasantly in the quiet taproom. Even still, Lexa can’t help but register how much it pales in comparison to the addicting notes of Clarke’s distinctive laughter.
“Okay so two more of the same but in reverse,” the woman confirms. “Got it.”
As she leaves them, Lexa spins in her stool, determined to shift gears away from her indecisiveness. “Things with you and Octavia are going well?”
“Yeah,” Lincoln smiles. “Really great. She’s probably way too good for me, but I’m going to keep my mouth shut and hope she never figures it out.”
Lexa arches an eyebrow. “Do we need to sort through your abandonment trauma now? Because I thought we promised each other years ago that we would stop belittling our own self-worth.”
“No, no,” Lincoln laughs. “I’m good, I swear.” He shrugs a moment later and scratches his head. “Old habits.”
“There is no one too good for you, but if there were ever a perfect match out there, it’s Octavia.”
The bartender returns with their drinks before Lincoln can respond, but he looks at her as if Lexa has just gifted him the cosmos and reaches out to squeeze her shoulder. Their next beer turns to idle chatter, old memories, sports, and shop talk. Lexa checks her messages while Lincoln is in the bathroom and finds that Clarke has not conceded any of her poorly formed arguments by even a fraction. The fiery retorts on her screen breed a smile so wide that she doesn’t manage to temper it by the time Lincoln returns.
If she were at liberty to be more honest, she would tell Clarke that it doesn’t matter what movies they watch. She’s just happy to be spending more time together. Instead, she slides her phone back into her pocket and stands beside her stool, stretching the stiff muscles of her back.
“You ready to go?”
Lexa smiles in response and nods.
They thank their bartender and exit the taproom into a setting sun. The foot traffic down Brookline Avenue is busier at the 5:00 hour as city workers rush towards their staggering commutes home. Lexa is lost in thought, still pondering her evening with Clarke the following day, when Lincoln abruptly pulls her down a side street with his hand wrapped around her elbow.
“Oh wait—this way.”
“Um, where the hell are we going?” Lexa asks when their course has been rerouted away from Lincoln’s car.
“I just decided I’m gonna take you for the best burger of your life. Storrow Drive is a parking lot right now anyway—it could take us hours to get home if we leave now. Let’s eat first and then drive back.”
In no rush to return to her empty apartment, Lexa shrugs easily. “Yeah, sure.” Being in Lincoln’s company is almost always preferable to anything else anyway.
After a moment’s pause, he nudges her with his elbow as they walk and is grinning stupidly when Lexa looks up at him. “If you really want to make Clarke mad, tell her we’re about to walk into Tasty Burger.”
Lexa has spent the better part of the year feeling unmoored by a lack of purpose. She has been draped in uncertainty and self-doubt after abandoning her life in New York. And while she still feels plagued by indecision, she’s also grateful for the choices she’s made that have brought her here, walking in stride with an old friend.
She returns Lincoln’s smile and reaches for her phone.
:::
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