#Like if they give a 'bad' character an abusive dad be assured I will protect that character with my life I can't help it

[enjoltrwolfstar]

VegasPete is reminding me that I basically have no morals when it comes to fiction, I'm always one abusive dad backstory and one kind of good action away from forgiving and forgetting everything, I'm sorry 😭😭

[illiana-mystery]

WIP Wednesday

Recently I started a new fic, Bloodlust, which is about Lionel "Elvis" Cormac (Willem's character from Daybreakers) saving and falling in love with a human woman while he's still a vampire.

But now, I've also began writing a request for a mutual about Bud Carter (Willem's character from Bad Country) protecting a local baker he has a crush on from a dangerous gang after she witnesses a drug deal gone wrong.

So I have decided to give you a sneak peek of Chapter 3 of Bloodlust and a little taste of what's to come with the Bud fic I'm calling: Love and Beignets.

And I will be posting the first chapter of the latter tomorrow, so stay tuned. 😉

@ghnaim24 @iobsessoverfictionalmen

---

Bloodlust

As for me, I had some trouble catching zzz's. It wasn't anything new though.

I've always been a barely functioning insomniac.

But there were plenty of nights when I had a decent sleep, long before my infection. I still fondly remember Tyler waking up some nights and cuddling me even closer to help me fall asleep.

I got so used to sleeping alone though, that the memory was only a very faded thought that crept in my mind to taunt me.

So I was only half asleep when I heard faint cries and a loud scream coming from the bedroom. I jolted up and scurried into the room, fearing what I would see when I walked in.

She was shaking, sitting in a fetal position with her arms wrapped tight around her bent legs. Her breaths were shallow and deep and her eyes looked out in a trance-like state.

I wondered if she even knew that I was in the room, until she stared at me with the same fear in her eyes as when she was in The Velvet Room.

"Get away from me!" she yelled and next thing I knew I had a pillow smack me square in the face.

She must have had a night terror and seeing me probably didn't help.

She obviously wasn't in her right mind.

"Brandi, Brandi, look it's me. Elvis. It's okay, I'm here. I won't hurt you."

"Elvis?"

"Yes, it's me. You remember?"

She looked down in confusion, before looking back at me with a small smile on her face. She didn't speak though, so I slowly walked over to her.

To my surprise, she moved over and pat the side of the bed she was on so I followed her request.

And once I was next to her, she moved over to my lap and rested her head on my shoulder. I held her closer and kissed her forehead, then noticed how red and puffy her eyes truly were.

She had to have been crying longer than I thought.

But about what? Was she still trying to process what happened earlier or was it deeper than that?

Either way, I wasn't gonna judge. Seemed like she had a hard life. I really had no idea...until she started talking.

"I'm sorry for throwing that pillow at you."

I snickered.

"It's okay. It was just a pillow. Didn't hurt me at all."

"I know, but I still feel bad. I shouldn't treat you like that."

"I promise it's fine. No need to apologize," I assured her, before asking, "Did you think I was someone else?"

She looked down after I asked and sighed before saying,

"Remember how I was telling you about my big break earlier?"

"Yeah, what about it?" I asked as I gently worked my fingers through her afro.

"Well, I wasn't completely honest about it...what I mean is I left out some details."

"Like what?"

"To answer that, I kinda have to start back at my childhood."

"Okay, I'm listening."

"You probably already assume that I had a rough life and you wouldn't be wrong. You see from the time I was born to when I was about six, I grew up in a broken home. My father was an abusive drunk and he would constantly beat my mother. And I witnessed it every time, but when I would try to stop him, he would hit me too and lock me in my room without food. But when I was six, my mom had enough and called the cops on him. He was arrested and locked away for a couple of years and my mom moved on and married my step-dad. Life became better for me and my mom and I loved my step-dad. He even adopted me and I took his last name. But good things never stay good for me."

Her lip quivered and her eyes began to water as she took a hard breath.

I could tell she was trying to keep herself together.

"You don't have to go on if..."

"No, no. It's fine. I just needed a moment," she claimed before she went back to explaining.

---

Love and Beignets

"But until we bust them, we need to keep Miss Broussard safe."

"Of course, Stan. She can stay with me," he quickly offered. "I don't mind the company and I got plenty of room at my place."

The Sheriff rolled his eyes and smirked at him. He was more than aware of what Bud agreed to this.

"Well, what do you say, Miss Broussard? You'd be putting your life in Bud's hands."

She softly smiled before agreeing.

"Sure, I trust Bud. But what's gonna happen with my business? If I have to stay hidden, can my shop even open?"

"Yes, your assistant manager will be allowed to open and we will have police presence hidden around the store. We will get in contact with her to let her know."

"Oh, okay. Thank you so much. I really don't want my patrons to have to suffer."

Bud smiled, admiring her selflessness he loved so much. She really did like giving back to the community, hell she always donated to local charities, held coat drives for the homeless, collected school supplies for poor income families, and gathered canned foods for that same demographic. She was an angel in human form and he was so glad he was gonna get to spend even more time with her.

"Of course. You're one of the backbones of the community," the Sheriff said. "And as for you Bud, looks like we're gonna have to cut your vacation short."

"Fine by me. I'm more than happy to help put those lowlifes away. And I figured you would make that executive decision."

"Right, well I think we got all we need for now. You're free to go, Miss Broussard."

"Okay," she softly said. "Should I leave my car here?"

"Oh yes, glad you asked. Yes, you can keep it here. Don't want to tip off any gang members. We'll keep it safe from harm."

"Thank you, Sheriff."

The Sheriff nodded before he noticed Bud walking out with her but he stopped him in his tracks.

"Bud, can I have a word with you?"

"Sure. Can you wait for me outside, Miss Broussard?"

She nodded and left to two men alone.

"What's up, Stan?"

"Bud, I know you're in love with her, but you have to remember that you're keeping her safe because that's your job. I don't want you to make her uncomfortable while she's in your care. You have to keep it professional, got it?"

"I know, Stan. I'm not some hormonal teenager. I know how to control myself. And I also know that no one is gonna hurt her. I'll make sure of it. No harm will ever come to her," he declared. "Now, I need to make my home comfortable for my guest. See you bright and earlier tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow," his superior replied as Bud left and went back by Mona.

"Thank you for letting me stay with you. It really means a lot," the young lady said as they were walking to his car.

"Of course. I'm just glad you trust me enough to agree to stay with me."

She giggled.

"Why would I not trust you? You're a good man, Bud and a damn good detective. There's no one else in this world that I would trust more."

He blushed.

"Thank you kindly," he replied as he walked over to his car. Swiftly, he unlocked it and held the door open for Mona which she took before he went over to the driver's side.

"I've always loved your car," she chirped after he got in.

"Thanks. This is my old girl. I've had her since my first day of academy. But she still drives like the first day I got her."

She only giggled in response before asking,

"Can you take me to my house? I just need to grab some clothes before we go back to your place."

"Oh, I know. I was gonna take you there. You do still need clothes," he jokingly said before snickering.

"Right," she sighed as he pulled out of his parking spot and began to drive. "I just wasn't sure how this witness protection thing works."

"No worries," he quickly said, eyes still watching the road. "If you get confused about your current situation, don't hesitate to ask."

He grabbed her hand after and tightly squeezed it, just to insure that she knew she was in safe hands.

---

Tagging: @imwithyoutiltheendofthelinebucky and @writingkitten

[babyjakes]

forever and a day | 37. a call with nat and peter.

〈 disclaimer: this blog posts content not suitable for individuals under the age of 18. minors are strictly prohibited from viewing, sharing, or interacting with this blog. for more information on this blog's commitment to protecting minors, read our full statement here. 〉

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summary | a story in which america’s favorite captain gives a new life and family to a five-year-old girl who has suffered well beyond her years at the hands of hydra.

characters | dad!steve rogers, girl/willa rogers (original character)

warnings | AU similar enough to OU to include spoilers to many Marvel movies (Age of Ultron and beyond). action and fight scenes with violence and killing. injuries/mild gore. mature themes related to and semi-graphic depictions of child abuse/neglect, past CSA and CSM, and their aftermath (emaciation, wounds, scarring, etc). medical abuse and experimentation. ptsd/trauma symptoms in a child (developmental discrepancies, de-humanized behavior, detachment, extreme fears). medical treatment of CSM and other aftermath of abuse.trauma-informed therapeutic treatment of ECT. minor mentions of disordered eating. themes relating to abuse of power/authority and immoral interrogation tactics. evil!Tony Stark.

[Steve]

“Steve,” Natasha’s comfortingly familiar voice rings through my ear as I adjust my phone slightly against the side of my face, trying to hear her as clearly as possible.

“Hey Nat,” I say, a small smile finding its way across my lips. Shifting myself on the uneven mattress of the old bed, I turn to lean up against the wall. We’ve been staying in Bucky’s secret hide-out for a week now, and this morning my spy friend reached out and asked if we could have a call. Of course I said yes; I’ve been missing her like crazy. Been missing them all like crazy. I don’t know if I could ever get used to not living with a bunch of my closest friends. Of course, being with Bucky and Willa is great; I adore them both, but there’s so much to miss about the others. Clint’s dry humor and childish pranks. Bruce’s unmatched intelligence and warm demeanor. Peter’s chipper attitude and unmistakable innocence. Wanda’s wise, timeless soul. Thor’s… peculiar personality. “It’s really great to hear your voice.”

“Yours too,” Nat breathes, her relief evident in her tone. “Are you guys okay? I won’t ask where you are; it probably wouldn’t be wise to tell anyone that kind of information right now, but at least- are you alright? How’s Willa?” she rushes out, seemingly quite worried for the child.

“We’re alright,” I assure her. “We’re somewhere safe. Willa’s okay. Tony burnt her up pretty bad, but she’s healing quickly. Hopefully the scarring won’t be too permanent.” Natasha hums on the other end of the line, letting out a sigh.

“I still can’t believe… I’m never going to forgive him for that, you know,” she tells me seriously.

“I know,” I nod. “I’m right there with you. I had no idea he would take things that far.” I think what Tony did shocked everyone, regardless of allegiance.

“He’s got some serious self-control issues,” Nat seethes. I nod again, knowing she’s right.

“How are things over there?” I ask carefully. “Is Wanda okay? What about Clint and Sam?” Though I’ve sent a few hopeful texts over the past few days, I haven’t heard anything from the people who were on my side, which has been cause for great worry.

“Tony had them… detained,” Nat reveals. I sigh heavily, my head hanging in defeat.

“Are you serious? He had them arrested?”

“He turned them in to Secretary Ross,” she explains. “They’re being held in a secure unit offshore. Tony and I went to visit them yesterday. It’s- I don’t know what to say, Steve. They’re in prison uniforms, locked up in high-security cells.” Raising a hand to my mouth, I let out a muffled groan, guilt and anger building in my gut.

“What on earth are they being held for?” I ask.

“Helping you escape. And Ross is convinced they know where you are, which means they’re supposedly withholding information regarding fugitives.” I can hear the frustration in my friend’s voice, and it becomes clear to me that she’s truly just as unhappy about all this as I am.

“They don’t know where we are,” I tell her firmly. “I didn’t even know where we were going until Bucky landed the plane. Are they- oh god, Nat. Please tell me they’re not interrogating them; please tell me they aren’t trying to extract information from them like-”

“I don’t know, Steve,” Nat tells me quietly. “Clint said they were all questioned. Sam was pretty upset about the way he and Clint were being thrown around. And Wanda… Wanda wouldn’t say anything.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, my voice dropping to almost a mere whisper.

“She- she wouldn’t even look at us. They have her tied up in some sort of straight jacket to keep her from using her powers. She just kept herself huddled in the corner of her cell. I don’t want to assume anything, Steve, but she… she looked pretty rough,” Nat admits. My heart drops into the pit of my stomach as I swallow hard, a lump forming in my throat.

“Do you think they hurt her?” I ask, my entire body filling with dread. Natasha sighs and stays silent for a moment, a million worries beginning to swirl around in my head. “Did she have any marks, any bruises? Did she look like they were feeding her and taking care of her okay? She really didn’t say anything, didn’t even look at you?” I bombard my friend with questions, not wanting to believe that anyone could harm Wanda, especially because of something I caused.

“I don’t know, Steve. I’m sorry,” Nat says. “I wish I knew. I tried to negotiate and get her out of there, get them all out of there, but Ross won’t budge. Tony even tried; there’s nothing we can do.”

“God,” I huff, shaking my head and brushing my hair back anxiously through my shaking fingers. “This is all my fault. I should’ve known they would take them; I should’ve gotten us all on board-”

“Hey, don’t,” Nat warns, “none of this falls on you. If anyone’s to blame, it’s Tony. He should’ve been helping you resolve this whole mess with Bucky, not shooting at you as you tried to board the Quinjet.” I swallow again, wanting so badly to believe that Natasha’s right, but unable to fully convince myself that I truly hold no responsibility. “We’re gonna figure this out, okay? I’ve been doing as much digging as I can about what happened in Vienna. Bruce is helping me; he doesn’t think it was Bucky either. We don’t have anything solid yet, but we’re getting there. We will get through this. You’ll come home. And so will Wanda. So will all of them.”

“Thank you Nat,” I whisper softly, touched that she and Bruce would be putting in so much work to prove Bucky’s innocence. “I just hope this’ll all be over soon.”

“It will be,” she promises me. “Oh,” she adds, a sudden perk of interest clear in her voice. “Someone wants to say hi. You got the time?”

“Sure,” I shrug, not knowing who she’s talking about. “Not like I’ve got a busy schedule these days, anyway.” There’s a shuffling noise on the other end of the phone, and soon, a new voice pops up.

“H-hey Cap.”

“Peter,” I murmur, another smile forming on my face, this one laced with warmth and tenderness. “Hey buddy, how are you?”

“’m fine, sir. How are things over where- where you are? How’s Willa? And- and Bucky?”

“Things are just fine over here. We’ve got a safe place to stay with a roof over our heads, food to eat, and even a TV to watch. Willa’s getting her daily fix of Paw Patrol, so she’s all good. We’re alright, pal,” I tell him, not wanting him to worry excessively about us. Peter worries about practically everything under the sun, so whatever I can take off his plate, I’m happy to reassure him about. “How are you doing? Are things okay back at the tower?”

“We’re alright, sir,” the boy tells me, his repeated use of the title breaking my heart. It’s a well-known fact that Peter slips into a quite submissive state whenever he feels frightened, so his use of the word ‘sir’ is always a bad sign. “It’s… um… it’s weird, not having you here,” he admits. “Miss Willa, too. It’s- she-… I found one of her toys under the couch when Thor and I were playing hide-and-seek,” he mumbles. I soften at the sadness in his voice.

“Willa misses you too, bud. She talks about you a lot,” I tell him.

“She- she left her teddy bear here; he’s just sitting on her bed,” Peter sniffles, his voice cracking. “I-I know it’s probably weird that I go into her room but I… I do it anyway, just to s-see her stuff, and I-I… I sit on her bed and- and just think about when she was here, w-with me, y'know?”

“Oh Peter,” I breathe gently, the shakiness of his voice ripping my heart to shreds. “I know, buddy. I know how bad you must miss her; you love her a whole lot, don’t you?”

“M-more than anything,” he croaks, the pure vulnerability in his voice causing tears to build in my own eyes. “E-ever since she got here she- I-… I’ve tried to be her best friend, like a big brother for her. I h-hate that she’s gone. I can’t t-take care of her when she’s… I can’t make sure she’s safe, and…” His words turn into muffled sobs as he breaks down entirely. “I-I’m sorry, sir- Mr. Ro- Ste- C-C-Cap,” he hiccups.

“Hey, hey, take it easy, Peter. It’s okay; you can cry. You don’t have to be sorry,” I murmur. “I’m sorry for taking Willa away from you. I don’t like that you’re not with her, either. I promise, I’m gonna do everything I can to get her back to you soon, okay? She needs you just as much as you need her.”

“I h-hate this,” Peter cries, the exhaustion and anger evident in his voice. From the boy who’s always so positive and bright, this shift in attitude is deeply concerning. “They took Clint and S-Sam and Wanda. Th-they took them and now- now they’re… I-I don’t even know, I just- I w-want everything to go back to normal,” he whimpers. “P-please, sir. Everything’s so messed up and- and I can’t take it.”

I swallow hard, wishing I could offer more to the boy than what I currently have. “I know, Pete. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, buddy. I want everything to go back to normal, too. More than anything. I hate it too.” Peter takes in a shaky breath and I sigh, hating myself for all the stress this is causing the poor kid. “I promise you, okay? Remember that, please. I promise you, this is all gonna be sorted out, and things will go back to normal. We’re gonna figure it out, Peter. I swear.”

“Please,” the boy pleads, fatigue building in his voice as he begs one last time. “C-can’t take this. Please sir, can’t take this anymore.”

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[mirkwoodshewolf]

Give her the life I never had; Harry Potter x child reader

*Author’s note*

So this came from my Wattpad requests and this is my first Harry potter (character not fandom) fic that I have written so I hope I didn’t mess this up for any hardcore Potterheads out there.  So this takes place during the Battle at Hogwarts so expect some death and violence involved, other than that not really much anything really. I know it’s been awhile since my last update but I hope to pick up the pace and post up some more stuff and then HOPEFULLY open up requests here since I know you all have been waiting patiently for that.

Taglist:

@plethora-of-things​

@waddles03​

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels​

@ixchel-9275​

@psychosupernatural​

@queen-paladin​

_____________________________________________________________

It was finally over. All of it.  Voldemort was now dead, the Death eaters defeated, and now the Elder wand was destroyed and lost to the sea.  I looked towards the ruins of Hogwarts knowing that the stone and walls can be rebuilt, some of our friends would be able to heal their physical wounds, however some mental wounds won’t.

The Weasleys they’ll always have to live with Fred’s death for the rest of their life and grieve over the fact he’ll never come back, especially George.  I had seen just how close their brotherly bond was, even when they had nothing they had each other, now George was gonna have to make do on his own, if he could.

And Hermione, while she doesn’t want us to know I had a feeling at what she had done to protect her muggle parents, thankfully with her and Ron seeming to repair their growing relationship, I know the Weasley’s will welcomingly be the family she needs now more than ever.

As I walked along the school grounds that’s when I came across (Y/n) getting looked over by one of the healers.  When she looked towards me, she gently smiled and I smiled softly back at her thinking back on how I found her in all this chaos.

The battle was pure hell.  Spells and curses being blasted, bodies dropping like flies, and rubble from the school walls crumbling down as repercussions from the spells firing out.

I had pushed back a Death Eater with an Stupefy spell which sent him flying all the way across the Great Hall.  Another death eater soon came right at me but I quickly disposed of his wand first before giving him the paralyzing spell.

That’s when I heard it.  The sound of a young girl crying.  I quickly ran around the corridor and saw just down the stairs where I once found the Mirror of Erised, a young girl around maybe her 1-2nd year hovering over an older girl who looked almost like her but had longer hair.  The young girl with shorter hair was weeping hysterically as she kept crying.

“Liz? Lizzie. Get up sis. Oh please get up.” From the pale skin and the soulless eyes that Lizzie had, I knew immediately she had been hit with the Killing curse. Cautiously I walked over to her and said.

“Are you alright?” the young girl looked up at me and she sniffled.

“Yes. But my sister she—she won’t wake up yet her eyes are open.” Knowing how I hadn’t learned of the 3 unforgiving curses until my 4th year at Hogwarts, she must’ve not known what exactly happened to her sister.

“What’s your name?”

“(Y/n). (Y/n) (l/n).”

“Well (Y/n), I…….I’m afraid to tell you this but……..your sister’s—she’s dead.”

“What? No but….if she were dead her eyes would be shut, the spell that hit her just made her collapse. Like the paralysis spell.”

“But it wasn’t a blue light that hit her, was it?” she looked back down at her sister and touched her cheek.  “I’m afraid it was the most dangerous of all unforgiving curses. The Killing Curse.” She sniffled and hugged her sister’s corpse and choked out.

“But—she was…..she’s all I have left!” I looked around and two more Death eaters spotted us.

“Get behind me.” I urged (Y/n).  Without question she got behind me and I held out my wand and as they charged toward us I called out, “Stupefy!” which sent one Death eater flying backwards but then I felt a shock to my hand which sent my wand flying towards the second Death eater’s hand.  She sneered at me but then a voice exclaimed.

“Petrificus Totalus!” the female Death eater soon went stiff and fell to the ground.  I turned and saw that it was (Y/n) who had casted the curse.  I ran over and took my wand back from the witch and told her.

“Come on. We can’t stay here.” She took one last look at her sister.  I knew she was hesitant to leave her but if she remained here, she’d be a sitting duck.  “Your sister would want you safe (Y/n).” she turned to me and nodded before taking my hand and we raced out of the hallway.

Together the two of us worked together to fend off the oncoming Death Eaters, but one Death eater used an Inferno spell which burnt (Y/n)’s arm pretty bad.  I shielded her from the next oncoming Inferno attack but the heat of the flames was almost too strong for me to hold back.  That’s when a wave of water came and extinguished the flames and the Death Eater was flown backwards till his back hit a column and he collapsed dead.

We turned and there stood Professor McGonagall.

“Professor.”

“Harry, Ms. (L/n) are you both alright?”

“I am, (Y/n) however got burnt on her arm.” She walked up to us and she examined (Y/n)’s arm. She let out a painful hiss and the Professor said.

“I’ll take care of her from here Potter.”

“Thank you Professor.” Just as I was about to leave, I felt a hand grab the sleeve of my shirt and I saw that it was (Y/n).

“Thank you, Harry Potter.” I smiled down at her and nodded to her.  She released my sleeve and I ran off to finally end this once and for all.

I walked over to her just as the healer cleared her off and moved onto the next student that needed medical treatment.  I sat down beside her and asked her.

“How are you doing (Y/n)?”

“Shaky but—alive.” She softly scoffed.  “But at what cost? My sister’s dead. She was the only family I had left. Now the ministry will probably put me in the Magic for Orphans facility, and with me almost being a teenager, no one will want me.”

I was probably the only one who knew what she must be going through.  Even though we were orphaned in different circumstances, we still lost our loved ones to Voldemort.  Now I must be crazy because I had no clear idea of what to do next but what I did know was that I couldn’t leave (Y/n) alone anymore.

“What if—” I started off by saying.  “What if you…had someone to look after you?”

“But, but Harry I—I have no other living relatives. It’s always just been me and my sister since our parents died three years ago at the Quidditch world cup.”

“I know, but what if there was someone who wanted to help you out. Give you a home so that you wouldn’t have to suffer any potential abuse or neglect.”

“And just who would that person be?” I sighed softly before telling her.

“You’re looking at him.” Her eyes softly widened before she let out a soft gasp.

“But-but why? I mean no offense Harry but…..why would you want to help me out?”

“Let’s just say, from one orphan to another I know how lonely it can be. I had no clue about the magic world till I was just your age, and though I may not know how the Ministry of Magic deals with orphaned wizards, I do know a thing or two about living in terrible conditions. I lived practically my whole childhood in a tiny hall closet in my aunt and uncle’s place. And I wouldn’t want you to potentially go through that type of abuse in a stranger’s home.”

(Y/n) was silent for a moment, taking in what I just said.  Weighing out her options before thinking about what answer she would give me.

“If not I’ll understand, I’ll check in whenever I can. But just know you won’t go through the rest of your life alone.” She looked up at me.  Her eyes that were once filled with tears, but now filled with courage and strength as she said.

“If it won’t be too much trouble with you, I’ll go with you.” I softly smiled at her and told her taking notice of her robes.

“Spoken like a true Gryffindor.”

After that, the Weasley family, Hermione, myself and (Y/n) returned to the Weasley’s old home the Burrow and decided to rebuild it, a symbol as a fresh start to all our lives after this whole war.

We also had a memorial service for both Fred and (Y/n)’s older sister, each of us speaking for both Fred and (Y/n)’s sister before finally burying them and summoning a beautiful garden around them of their favorite flowers and plants.

As the sun was starting to set I saw (Y/n) still standing over her sister’s grave.  I walked out to her and said.

“Mrs. Weasley’s prepared supper for all of us. She says you best come in before it’s all gone.” (Y/n) remained silent.  I softly sighed and without another word I just stood there beside her.  She may not want to talk, but she should at least know that someone was there when she was ready.

“I—never thought I’d have to face this world without her. Even through our fights, especially after mom and dad died, she was always there for me. She especially liked to tease me about my crush on Joey Matarazzo, saying we’d get married one day and have kids of our own. Now she won’t ever see me grow up, or achieve any dreams I’ll have for the future.”

“Let me tell you something my Godfather once told me. He told me that the ones that love us never really leave us. And we can always find them, in here.” I pointed to her heart.

She looked up at me and finally for the first time I saw a true, genuine smile.  She came closer to me and wrapped an arm around my waist and rested her head against my ribs.  I wrapped an arm around her and we stood there for a few more minutes before walking back inside the Burrow to join the Weasley’s for dinner.

*FF 19 years later.*

It was like any other year, but this time it was my second son’s first time doing this.  I could already see from the look on his face that he looked anxious about his first year going as we came up to platform 9¾.

“Together.” I assured him as we took hold of his cart and we both ran straight through the brick wall and found ourselves right by the Hogwarts Express.  As we walked closer to the train, we soon found Ron and Hermione with their kids, I spotted Draco and his wife and son bidding their goodbyes.  He and I looked at each other, neither of us speaking a word but he gave me a point nod, and I nodded back to him.

“I was beginning to think I’d have to write my own brothers up for detention already.” A female voice soon spoke up and coming right towards us was (Y/n), all grown up and in her Professor robes.

Since the battle she continued on her Hogwarts education and excelled in both Magical creature knowledge and potions making.  By the time she was in her 4th year at Hogwarts, Ginny and I had agreed to legally adopt her as our own child and she was beyond thrilled at the news.  After graduating, she worked with me at the Ministry of Magic to focus on potion brewery before enrolling to be the next Potions Professor and this would be her second year teaching that class.

I’m told she’s kind but firm when it comes to students goofing off in that class, but she is always there to make sure no student messes up a potion and causes injuries either to themselves or others.

“Not in the slight.” I assured her.

“Good. I would hate to have to write them up to Headmaster McGonagall.” She told me.  She looked down at her brothers and asked them, “So boys, you ready?”

“Oh yeah!” exclaimed James while Albus was more reserved and didn’t really say anything. Instead he walked away and sat down with his arms hugging his legs close to him.  (Y/n) and I looked at each other and I told her to get James onto the train as well as herself while I talked to James.  She nodded and guided James as well as his things over to the train while I walked over to Albus and knelt down beside him.

“Dad,” he spoke. “What if I am put in Slytherin?”

“Albus Severus Potter. You were named after two Headmasters of Hogwarts. And one of them was a Slytherin. And he was the bravest man I had ever known. But if it means to you, you can choose Gryffindor. The sorting hat does take that into consideration.”

“Really?” I nodded. “But how would you feel? If I was sorted into Slytherin?”

“Then Slytherin will have gained the best wizard they could ask for.” He smiled and embraced me and I hugged him back.  “Now come on, off you go.” We then walked towards the train and Albus got himself situated inside with his brother and Ron and Hermione’s kids, and riding alongside them to keep an eye on them to Hogwarts was (Y/n).

As I stood by my friends and we watched the train leave the station, waving goodbye to our kids I couldn’t help but feel like we had done it.  The war ended almost 2 decades ago and now our children can learn magic in a better world, a world without Death Eaters, a world without darkness and death, a world without a Dark Lord.

A peaceful time in our world.

[ilikekidsshows]

Hey, I was wondering if you could talk more about what you thought about the conflict that happened between Ladybug and Chat Noir in the new york special?

Certainly. Mainly, it’s the same issue we saw in ‘Glaciator’ but manifesting in a different way: these two tend to misunderstand the relationship between them because of their personal experiences and expectations, which tend to naturally be in conflict because of the very different pasts the two characters have. I also think the conflict was two-sided and only one side of the issue at hand was solved. We had Cat Noir’s dishonesty and Ladybug’s inability to act as a comforter, with only the former being solved.

Since it's the one that gets resolved and it's more straightforward, let's start with Cat Noir's side. He's the child of a strict, emotionally abusive father and we've repeatedly seen that he projects his relationship with his father into his relationship with Ladybug, and here it happens again. Gabriel would not let Adrien do what he doesn't allow and we've seen what he does when Adrien disappoints him: punishes him severely.

Strict parents don’t raise obedient children, they raise children who lie well. And Adrien had more of a motive to be deceitful than most. This special was the first time Ladybug gave him responsibility over something. If he said he couldn’t do it, would she ever trust him with anything again? Or, would she simply tell him to suck it up and do as he’s told, forcing Adrien to choose between her and his father in their demands of him? And Plagg, who I will point out, has been actively more helpful in season three, actually helped Adrien come up with a plan that, to their reasonable expectations, would not have led to anyone being hurt or disappointed, so Adrien obviously saw that simply not letting Ladybug know that he wouldn’t be physically present in Paris would work out. Adrien even was responsible about it; he kept himself actively informed of the situation in Paris up until he was made to put his phone away. And then things went to hell in a handbasket at the worst possible moment.

However, here comes the fault in Adrien’s reasoning, which was very reasonable to him and his implied-to-be equally abused Kwami: Ladybug is nothing like Gabriel. Marinette would have heard him out and they’d have come up with a plan together to deal with the situation, as long as Cat Noir got a hold of her soon enough for them to meet up and make a plan. We don’t really know what the time frame is between Adrien finding out and the departure of the plane to New York, but, considering Plagg stopped Adrien from contacting Ladybug, and no time constraint was mentioned, they’d have had plenty of time.

This is the beginning and end of Adrien’s half of the conflict. After this point, he’s merely reacting to what he thinks are clear signals from Ladybug. He tries to help with the villain the best he can, while Ladybug keeps distracting him by berating him in the middle of the fight, finally breaking his will to fight entirely by declaring she can’t trust him anymore, one of the nightmare scenarios I mentioned earlier. Add to that the villain using his power to harm Uncanny, he was convinced that Ladybug would be better off with any other partner. When Ladybug didn’t refute his assessment that he was a failure and no good hero, he decided he was right and abandoned his ring. However, when Uncanny revealed to him that Ladybug did, in fact, still need him specifically as her partner, he came back, deciding that it didn’t matter if he was a worthless failure as long as Ladybug would find a use for him anyway. Adrien repeatedly describes himself negatively in comparison to others, his self esteem is awful, but that wasn’t really a matter being handled in the special.

When Cat Noir made it to Ladybug and was instantly welcomed back, he apologised for not being honest and Ladybug signalled her forgiveness with a fistbump. This gesture signalled to Adrien that he could trust Ladybug and that Ladybug trusted him back, that the things she’d said in anger were just that. This showed Adrien in a blatant way that Ladybug was nothing like Gabriel, who would have lorded Adrien’s failure over him and punished him, instead of accepting his assurance that he’ll do better next time. This was an important lesson to Adrien, because he needs to be as honest with Ladybug as their secret identities allow because they’re a team and can’t go doing things independently when it affects them both. Adrien’s experiences in the special are ones that will specifically help him overcome his character flaw of being too distructful of others’ intentions when it comes to Ladybug.

Then comes Marinette’s side, and this one is more complex. While how badly she was distracted in that fight and how badly she distracted Cat Noir was an issue in and of itself, it wasn’t the thing on her part that escalated the conflict. It was merely what set up her state of mind. What escalated the conflict were the things she said in anger that she didn’t take back while Cat Noir was clearly falling apart. Marinette was understandably upset by what happened in Paris, but she made a very big mistake with how she handled that: she focused only on herself. Marinette needed comfort because she couldn’t heal Paris, but Cat Noir needed comfort because they could do nothing to help Paris, he’d just temporarily killed someone and he felt like a failure as a partner. But, when Cat Noir didn’t instantly move to assure her that she was fine, Marinette turned her back on him and walked away. She wanted space, because Marinette usually finds a quiet corner to think when she’s dealing with something, but Adrien saw that as a rejection. And when Cat Noir voiced all these things going on in his mind, she was silent, making him feel like she was condemning him, seeing him as worthlessly as he did. So he decided to leave her so that she could find a better partner.

Marinette also has her own misconceptions about her and Cat Noir’s relationship. This is another thing I noticed in ‘Glaciator’: Marinette doesn’t think Cat Noir is an actual human being with real human emotions and problems. She got better about it after ‘Glaciator’, like accepting his feelings for her as genuine, but she still doesn’t understand that Cat Noir can get hurt emotionally and might need a bit of support every once in a while. In fact, in ‘Timetagger’, she blatantly shuts him down when he’s looking for affirmation, claiming he “already knows he’s the best”, when Adrien actually has very poor self esteem. I mentioned in another comment that Marinette sees Cat Noir as a fae-like being, someone who only goofs around and supports her, and is never touched by worldly things like pain and sadness. The only threat to him are the supervillains they face. Every time one of them has shown a need for comfort, it’s been Ladybug, and Cat Noir has always been the one to comfort her. They’re stuck in these roles, and Marinette doesn’t know how to break out of them when Cat Noir is the one needing comfort and support. To drive this aspect of the conflict home, this is the direct reverse of the situation in ‘Miracle Queen’. In ‘Miracle Queen’, Marinette makes a mistake with real consequences, gets Fu’s identity revealed to Hawk Moth which led to his capture, but Cat Noir overlooks that to support her instead. In the special, Cat Noir’s mistake causes property damage in Paris that they can’t undo, but Marinette can’t overlook it to support her partner through his mistake.

Here’s the thing: Marinette has a good life. She has a supportive family and supportive friends. This gives her a solid foundation as a superhero and it means she’s used to people picking her up when she falls down. It’s not just her relationship with Cat Noir that’s characterized by the idea that support just shows up when she needs it. Heck, at the end of ‘Love Hunter’, Luka seemingly magically appears for the sole purpose of giving Marinette some comfort. However, we’ve seen some hints, mostly in ‘Weredad’, that at least her dad wants to overly protect her. We don’t know how well Marinette would actually take Adrien rejecting her, but, considering how miserable she was repeatedly in season two over just not getting to see him, I suspect not well, and her dad was convinced she’d go as far as being easily shattered by that. Children need to feel small disappointments to be able to handle the actual hurdles they’ll face later in life. The way Marinette becomes an anxious mess over failing at something reminds me of myself as a teenager, and I was a very shielded child. My mom pampered me, not by much, but enough that I had to learn to pick myself and others up at a later age. And I feel that’s a lesson Marinette needs to learn as well.

We saw from what Marinette said to Uncanny that she didn’t think Cat Noir’s mistake was irreparable. She didn’t mean the gestures I described earlier as how Adrien saw them. She didn’t mean to turn her back on him to reject him and she didn’t mean her silence to be read as her agreeing that he was a bad partner. But she never once considered that she might be sending Cat Noir these signals, even as Cat Noir told her how he felt about himself in relation to her. Instead of supporting her partner by saying anything to refute his self-disparaging comments, or even sharing their pain together, Marinette remains silent, experiencing her own pain alone and leaving Cat Noir with his. Marinette is a good leader, but she’s not a good partner, because she lacks the ability to support Cat Noir. This isn’t her fault, it’s a character flaw like Adrien’s distrust of others to consider his well being in any scenario. However, it’s one that’s harder to fix than Adrien’s, because Adrien’s flaw is one of perception, so he just needs to see contrary evidence to learn better. Marinette’s issue is that she lacks important skills for comforting someone: spotting a need and responding to it. I’m pretty sure we haven’t seen Marinette actively comfort anyone during the entire series. It’s very likely she’s never had to do so before the moment with Cat Noir in this special.

This is why Adrien leaving her was so important to Marinette’s future growth as a partner specifically. Technically Marinette needed it to happen. Marinette had to learn that you can’t expect someone to be there indefinitely if you never let them know you want them there, and she had to learn that Cat Noir needs her to reciprocate the supportive relationship between them instead of only enjoying the benefits of her partner’s almost unwavering support. An unequal relationship will not last. If you just keep someone around for their comfort, they’ll leave you once they have none left to give. If you just keep someone around for their good days, they’ll leave you once their bad days come. But in this special we saw Marinette taking the first steps towards realizing her partner’s humanity, ergo, fixing the part of the issue that’s in her perception: she was still thinking about him when she was Marinette. I noted in ‘Glaciator’ that Marinette usually stops thinking about Cat Noir once she’s Marinette again, which is part of that whole “seeing him as otherworldly” thing. Breaking out of that mindset is as important as it is for Adrien to break out of the “everyone would turn on me if I didn’t please them 24/7” one.

Basically: the conflict was resolved, but it showed where development still needs to happen.

[criminalmindsismynextfoundfamily]

Heyyyyy congratulations on 200!!!!! That’s amazing!!! I’ll do 🐬 and 🐳 both for hotch oops, and 💙 for (if I can use your example, I liked it haha) types of bread, 🦕 for CM season-long type characters, so like characters that were main characters, but weren’t on for very long, like Elle, Alex Blake, Kate Callahan, etc., 🦋 for JJ, and 💚 for what’s your favorite kind of weather and why?

I hope that wasn’t too many! If it was you can shorten it :) Congrats again, and I hope you have a great day! <3

thanks so much!!! it's not to much at all, I love answering asks 🥰

🐬: Send me a character and I’ll give you sad headcanons about them

Poor Hotch, all I do is make him sad...

Okay so we all know that Hotch's dad abused him. I think the tension we see between Hotch and Haley in the first couple seasons, about Hotch not being there for Jack, was 100% about Hotch's fear he was going to end up like his father. He subconsciously (or maybe consciously) distances himself from Jack at first because he's terrified of hurting this small fragile thing that they made, terrified of traumatizing Jack like his father did to him.

In revelations when Hotch asks the whole team to tell him his worst traits, he acts like he doesn't care, but I think their words stay with him for years. He repeats them in his head whenever he screws up, like a mantra to do better.

Hotch has long lasting damage to his ear after the explosion in Season 4. He didn't properly take care of it, or rest at all, so he definitely had some long lasting issues. Being deaf in one ear absolutely terrifies Hotch, when he was a kid he relied on his hearing to sense when his Dad was angry, and protect Sean. The first time someone effectively startles Hotch and comes up behind him without him noticing, it sends Hotch into a full blown panic attack.

🐳: Send me a character and I’ll give you happy headcannons about them

Okay I'll do happy headcannons related to the sad ones above, because hurt + comfort amirite

I think Haley and Hotch have similar dynamics to Penelope and Derek. When Derek says goodbye, Penelope says "You make me feel brave," and he responds, "You make me feel safe".

Hotch fell in love with Haley because she made him feel safe, even back in high school she would tenderly clean him up after a fight with his father. She was the first person he felt safe with. He and Haley eventually sit down and talk, Hotch confesses how scared he is of messing Jack up and Haley assures him that she knows he's a good father because he worries so much about messing up, "you worry because you care, silly".

After Mayhem, eventually the team figures out about Hotch's long term hearing loss, and do their best to help him out without making a big deal of it. Right after, JJ and Penelope will always leave him Advil on his desk after a case which they know has his ears ringing. In the field everyone always cover him on the side he has bad hearing. They all make sure to approach him so he can see them, or on his good hearing side so he can hear them. Spencer learns sign language and teaches it to Hotch. Hotch then teaches it to Jack, which catches on to Will and Henry as well, JJ learns for her kids, and eventually almost everyone on the team knows ASL.

🦕: Send me cm things and I’ll rank them

1. Elle Greenaway, I'm in love with her, and I feel like she was the only one they really showed having accurate trauma to the things they went through. I do have a problem with the glorification of her shooting the rapist, though. Obviously yes I don't really feel bad about her shooting a rapist, he's a rapist. But I'm not okay with it because of the power she held being a member of law enforcement, and how she abused that power and was allowed to quit without an investigation. Police brutality is never okay, even when it hurts the people we want to be hurt.

2. Kate Callahan, I loved her so much, she was such a badass and I loved her friendship with Morgan. She was an amazing mom, and I loved her goodbye hug to Hotch, he looks so touch starved smh

3. Alex Blake, she is so incredibly talented amazing, showstopping, intelligent. She's been through so much, and managed to keep a straight head, and even mentor Reid.

4. Stephen Walker, he deserved so much better I can't believe the writers did him like that.

🦋: Send me a cm character and I’ll tell you how I relate to them

I relate to JJ because I also lost someone close to me to suicide, and I think they handled that issue for her character really well. The guilt, the resurfacing memories of what things were up leading up to it, the realizations of all the things happening in their life you didn't know about.

💙: Send me a category and I’ll cast the bau ( I feel like that was confusing, but like I'll do bau as songs or like types of bread etc.)

okay I'm gonna do this in a separate post cause I think it'll get to long but I love this idea.

💚: Ask me anything about myself, and I’ll answer honestly

I love thunder storms, with super loud rain and wind and rumbling thunder. It's the most soothing weather to me and it puts me right to sleep. When I was younger my little brother was scared of thunder so he'd crawl into my bed and we'd stay up together so it brings me good memories. I also highly recommend lying on your back looking up at the sky during a thunder storm. It is so emotionally cathartic and a main character moment.

[sepublic]

Understanding Willow!

           Big surprise- ANOTHER great episode!

           You know what, let me just try to process what happened, by going through the beginning and from there! Firstly, it’s funny that the show confirmed that Amity is only tolerating Boscha and Skara at this point (and I guess some of those other friends), and she’s making it pretty clear to them as well- At BEST, her expressions are neutral around them! Honestly, Boscha and Skara’s parents being friends with Mr. and Mrs. Blight makes sense, it’s messed up but not surprising that they’d use their kid to try to establish connections with OTHER families! I have to wonder what Boscha and Skara’s parents are like… We know Boscha’s mom is, well…

           Also, I was wondering why Dana confirmed Skara’s name, and now we know- It’s because she’s slightly plot relevant in this episode! I love the details of the literal butterflies being converted into birthday invitations, that’s always neat… Apparently Skara is also considered ‘popular’, too? Anyhow, I also noticed that the one girl in the Healing Track with glasses, who was also at Amity’s Moonlight Conjuring, got the haircut we saw Matthieu Cousin draw her with! THAT was a neat little easter egg! We also see a young Bo with Boscha at some point, and this is super-pointless… But would their ship-name be BOscha? Boschabo? Bo squared?

           Gus’ little B-plot was pretty funny, and I’m glad we’re getting more interactions between the cast now! I love the callback to Sense and Insensitivity, with Not-Dana/Tiny Nose being ‘missing’ ever since her deal with Piniet… I can only imagine what happened there! Honestly, there’s not much for the dude to squash into a cube, but you get the idea! Eda and King competing for Gus’ interview was also hilarious, and DANG IT KING, answer the question- WHEN were you born, I know a couple of people, myself included, who are VERY interested in this answer…! I suspected Hooty would be chosen and I was right, but also not surprised, when Gus quickly regretted his decision! But hey, at least Hooty is happy!

           (Also, that Eda dance.)

           Luz is such a dork as always, loudly declaring that she’ll stick her face into something random, and then just going NYOOM when Inner Willow chucks her in- I wouldn’t have her any other way, and I love that we have ANOTHER picture of her when she was younger! Season 1B just keeps giving… Although let’s be real, it’s an extension of Season 1, and THAT gave us this entire show and Luz to begin with!

           Onto the meat of this episode! First off… WILLOW’S DADS ARE GAY! Honestly didn’t see that coming, but I love it and I wish we got to see more of them! I’m also interested to see which dad (assuming it’s not both) has a Magic Staff, and if it has a Palisman, but that’s another discussion for another day! I WANT MORE WILLOW AND HER LOVING PARENTS, dang it! Parents who put her in Abominations but also still mean well and have Christmas morning with her! I want to see Willow’s house and life at home, dang it! I want to MEET her parents properly, see them react to Luz!

           YOUNG WILLOW AND AMITY! YOUNG WILLOW AND AMITY! That’s just adorable… I love their little memories together, and the egg-pit gag was hilarious! It’s also super-minor but I adore that we got a cameo from the librarian during their past memories as well!

           Inner Willow, though… At first I thought the flame-being was just, like, the incarnation of Amity’s spell. But then Eda mentioned the Inner Willow, and was like, OHHH… Oh boy. She was out for BLOOD, too! Angry Willow is pretty terrifying, but rightfully so- I’m glad the show didn’t shy over her anger and her genuine grievances with Amity! That had to have HURT, being on fire, but at the same time you can tell that Willow also genuinely wanted to burn her memories with Amity, too… Oof. How many years of pent-up rage and grief, manifesting, before spilling over at this final straw of being burnt? Amity is thematically associated with Fire, which burns plants, and her last name literally refers to a plant disease! You can tell just how BADLY Willow has been hurting on the inside, possibly even hating herself in the process, and I...!

You know, I doubt there’s any substantial connection between Willow and Belos beyond this, but I think it’s interesting to see that they BOTH have glowing green eyes- It’s interesting that such characters are shown (or at least implied) to be powerful, and now I can’t help but imagine Willow meeting Belos, and Willow going HAM for her friends… I wonder if the glowing eyes are a sign of being emotionally repressed, until it all just comes flowing outwards? Given how Belos values control, this may also apply to himself as well… Anyhow, I adore Willow’s friendship and love of Luz though, she has NOTHING against her and I love how even after almost losing her mind she still jokes with her! Willow’s got that scary side, but she’s also sweet and I love the show acknowledging how gangly Luz can be!

           Amity! Looks like her dad got to have a voice, after all! Not much to her memories (Makes sense, we’re going into Willow’s here), but we clearly had insightful character moments! I have to wonder, did Amity know about how destroying the photos would destroy the mind as well? We don’t know if she’s in Photo Class and if she knows about the Memory Tweezers, so who knows? Either way that was NOT cool…

           Honestly, I like that the show doesn’t shy away or forget what Amity did to Willow! I love Amity with all my heart, but I was definitely anxious to see how these two felt about one another- I had a feeling that Amity may not have totally gotten over her issues and still felt a little harsh towards Willow, which makes sense! She’s a flawed, messed-up character with her own problems. But speaking of problems…

           DANG, her parents really made Amity get rid of her friend, on her own BIRTHDAY?! Jeez, at least wait until tomorrow at least… And not a big fan of them apparently deciding Amity’s guest list for her, it’s like they’re using their kid as a means to heighten their social status! Not that I’m shocked, I’ve already suspected this, but c’mon. I wonder how Emira and Edric felt about the whole thing with Amity breaking ties with Willow- Were they concerned for Mittens? Did they know about the parents threatening Willow, or to them did their little sister just suddenly become so cold and distant? I can only imagine how harsh Mr. and Mrs. Blight could be to them, but the twins seem a lot more independent and self-assured; It helps that they have each other!

           ALSO, Amity is in the Owl House for the first time! She gets to see how weird the shenanigans are, and I love how she makes the choice to enter a wanted criminal’s home to fix what she did wrong! I really have to wonder what went on in her head, when she chose to burn that photo of her and Willow… SUPER MESSED UP, of course, and I love how Eda just unapologetically gives Amity flack for it! But at the same time, I wonder if that moment was Amity’s greatest regret… It’s unlikely, but perhaps there was the tiny hope in Amity’s heart that if Willow forgot (assuming that was the intention), maybe they could be friends again? Again, not likely- What is more likely though is Amity not wanting Luz to think badly of her and ‘lose’ THAT friendship, but I digress!

           Poor Willow… I can only imagine how much PAIN she was in, both beforehand and when her Inner self was on fire! It was cute seeing her young and current Inner Selves interact, but at the same time it hurts because Willow is clearly someone who is used to being quiet and not noticed, and she just bottles up her rage and wrath inside until it manifests! I wonder… Could this be related to her glowing eyes? Could this apply to Belos? I dunno.

I appreciate the detail of Willow and Amity not exactly being willing to be friends again, I half-expected it and it makes sense! Amity clearly regrets what she did, it wasn’t her choice to begin with and she partly did it to protect Willow (Seriously, Mr. and Mrs. Blight were going to abuse their power to RUIN Willow’s education, what the heck?!) but she still let Boscha and Skara bully Willow. I’m glad she apologized for it, it shows a lot of growth on her part… It’d have been easy for Amity to blame her parents for what happened (and she wouldn’t even be WRONG, either) but she still owns up to not only her mistake of burning the memories, but just in general of being apathetic to Willow’s plight!

(Unrelated but I appreciate the Azura poster in her bedroom)

Overall- A fascinating episode, as expected! I did have issues with DisneyNOW constantly cutting the episode off with its Error symbol… And recently, every time the Error thing shows up and I click back in, instead of resuming the episode as always, the website is now forcing me to watch a few ads EVERY SINGLE TIME- I had to watch, like, seven times the ads I normally would have! Near the end it got pretty bad too, although I suspect this is because a lot of people are watching the episode! And I know it only became available at 2:08 AM or so (yeah I was EARLY and checked) but let’s be real here- We’re ALL pulling all-nighters for this show!

(I mean, I didn’t, I slept and woke up at the most convenient time without meaning to, but you get the idea.)

I didn’t touch on it as much earlier, but I love Luz’s whacky antics (or should I say shenanigans?) and how Willow and Amity are just… USED to it at this point! Willow totally expects Luz to try to repair her friendship with Amity, her kindness is just so well-known at this point and she’s so unconditionally well-meaning! Luz could’ve easily relegated the task of fixing Willow’s memories to Amity, who caused the problem- But her friend was at stake! And yeah she also wanted to experience Willow’s memories too, but still.

Honestly, with how much Luz is willing to do for both of these girls, it’s no wonder they love Luz so much! And with Enchanting Grom Fright up next… Even if there is no ‘declaration’, I can see their being the beginnings of a certain crush… for Amity, Luz is an anomaly who came out of nowhere but offers her unconditional love and support and has been changing her life for the better!

[the-light-finds-its-way]

Magnus Thorbjorn

Guardians name: Magnus Thorbjorn

Age: Roughly 34 when resurrected, currently unknown

Race: Awoken

Call signs/alias: Peacebroker, Traveler’s Favored, Evocate General

Pronouns: He/him

Class: Titan

Preferred subclass(es): Solar

Ghost’s name: Einar

Their Vanguard: Zavala, Ikora, Cayde-6

Fireteam name: Harbingers of Destiny

Fireteam teammates: Magnus, Dominus Ghaul, Anthem-99, Velliks, Gadrax, Kahun

Favorite legendary weapon: Steelfeather Repeater

Favorite exotic weapon: Ace of Spades

Favorite exotic armor: Crest of Alpha Lupi

Favorite ornament armor set: Empyrean Titan

Favorite weapon ornament: Glee Barrage

What stats do they focus on: Resilience, Recovery, Strength

Are they offense, defence, or support: Offense

Do they prefer being close, mid, or long range: Mid range

Do they lean more “Element of Surprise” or “Upfront and Aggressive”: Upfront and aggressive

Strikes, Gambit, or Crucible: Strikes and Crucible evenly

Who was their mentor(if they had one. If it is a character you created, tell us about them!): Ikora and Zavala

Who are they mentoring(if they are. If it is a character you created, tell us about them!): Dominus Ghaul

What ship do they have: Saint’s Invocation

What is their Sparrow: Praxic Finery

Favorite Ghost shell: In Memoriam

Favorite shader: Circadian Chill /Virtified Chronology

Favorite color: Blue

Favorite food: Pizza

Favorite piece of Pre-Collapse tech(if they’ve seen any): None, Magnus hasn’t really seen any

Favorite Pre-Collapse music(if they’ve heard any): Anything from Twilight Force

Favorite place in The Last City(if it’s a place you created, give a little description!): The Hollow Cairn. This is a place where many once-invading species have attacked throughout history, and it has sunken into the ground since due to the massive destruction created over centuries. However, the place has since become a point of unity for everyone, with communities of Hive, Cabal, Humans, Eliksni, etc. all building shelters within the crater and living together. It’s a bustling district, and only because Magnus sacrificed so much of himself and his efforts to unify everyone.

Favorite NPC(s): Zavala, Ikora, Cayde-6, Saint-14, Banshee-44, Eris Morn, Mithrax, Spider, Failsafe, Devrim Kay, Suraya Hawthorne, Sjur Eido

Favorite patrol location: Anywhere on the Tangled Shore

5 things your Guardian likes(can be anything): Diplomacy, metal music, leading, sleeping, using the Hammer of Sol

Least favorite food: Steak

Least favorite shader: Lilac Bombast

Least favorite patrol location: Braytech Futurescape on Mars

Least favorite Pre-Collapse tech(if they’ve seen any): N/A

Least favorite NPC(s): Oryx, Savathun, Mara Sov, Lakshmi-2

Least favorite weapon ornament: Jade Countenance

Least favorite ornament armor set: Pandemonic (skeletal Titan) set

Least favorite legendary weapon: Literally any fusion rifle ever

Least favorite exotic weapon: Telesto

Least favorite exotic armor: One-Eyed Mask

5 things your Guardian dislikes(this can be anything): Dishonesty, disloyalty, feeling hopeless, giving up, loss

Your Guardian has to rest. What is their living space like: It’s well-managed, with a LOT of collectibles from all around the galaxy in display cases, organized on shelves and wall hangers, and on tables. Magnus loves to collect trinkets that have meaning to him.

Does your Guardian have any casual wear?(Y'all remember Polyvore? The website URSTYLE works very similar if that helps!):

What hobbies and/or skills does you Guardian have: Writing and reciting poetry, learning languages (speaks English, Ulurent, Eliksni all fluently), fighting, crafting armor, singing

What would your Guardian’s lore book be called: Broken Broker

Where was your Guardian reborn?(If you created the location, give us a little description!): Sector 25 in The Last City

What were they wearing when they were reborn: Scorched black cotton hoodie, worn-out black jeans, beat-up sneakers

What was their reaction to being reborn: FIGHT, AND DEFEND THE PEOPLE!!!

What was their reaction to their first rez: Sheer confusion, then immediate duty

After being reborn, did they meet friendlies first or hostiles: Both. He met Vex who were attacking and rampaging The Last City, but fought them and was then met by Zavala who’d come to handle the situation, only to see a new Guardian had already done this. Zavala saw the distress on Magnus’s face at this, and assured him over and over again.

Who was the first other Guardian they met?(Same thing! If you made them, give a little description!): Zavala

Did your Guardian get reborn with, or find, any indication of their past life? If so what do they have/found: Magnus has no indication of his past life, and knows nothing about it. He assumes he wasn’t Reefborn, but he partially wonders if he was just because of his vehement hatred for Mara Sov. Magnus can’t find anything on who he was, nor does he really care to know.

How did your Guardian get their name(if they didn’t rez with past life momentos): He knew/remembered it, and also Einar addressed him by “Magnus” when he was first revived and woke up.

Going back to your Guardian’s lore book, what would be some some quotes or passages from their book: Two passages are actually readable at my Ao3, dawnbreakerdystopia! Most of the lorebook passages would recount the tales of Magnus’s efforts to join the warring species of the galaxy together in unity, and would likely use the Hammer of Sol which he wields as a metaphor, leading those who read them to wonder if Magnus actually wielded it (he does). The passages would also recount the daring exploits he’s done to protect his friends, family, the training he put Ghaul through to be a strong and independent Guardian, and overall they’d just be written like poetic legends.

Does your Guardian have a significant other: Cayde-6, and they’re married.

Did your Guardian go explore first before going to The Last City? If so, where to: Magnus never explored until he was resurrected.

What was their reaction to first seeing The Last City: This place needs defenders.

Is your Guardian a part of a clan: Not officially. He’s sort of a part of every group regardless of whether he chooses to be or not. Life finds a way to drag him into them all.

Does your Guardian’s clan have a back story? If so, what is it?(if you want to or able to share): N/A

If your Guardian would have a quote as a flavor text for a weapon and/or piece of armor, what would they be: “I’ve got a thousand years on me, and for each year, a million lives. I can’t bear to sacrifice any one but my own.”

If your Guardian has had any interactions with any civilians (The Last City/The Farm), Eliksni, Cabal, Vex, Hive, Taken, Scorn, Rouge Lightbearers, or Iron Lords/War Lords(if your Guardian is an Old Light) tell us about it!: Magnus has unified Cabal and Humankind, mostly, because he was brought by the Traveler to Ghaul who was resurrected as a Guardian himself. He’s had plenty of rough encounters with them, but nowadays, they accept him as their Evocate General, and bend to his every command (Magnus NEVER abuses this). Magnus has had very few positive interactions with Hive, as Savathun and Oryx have constantly tried to seduce him with Darkness and ruin him. He struggles to trust Hive, but knows that there is good in everything just as there is bad, nothing is inherently evil, and thus, he has to and does accept Hive who are willing to be his allies. Magnus’s interactions with Eliksni have always been positive, and he’s always gotten along with them. Scorn and Vex, he has yet to meet any who’d be willing to work with him. Magnus personally hates the Vex entirely, but still holds out the belief that there is at least one out there who’s good and friendly.

Does your Guardian have any unconventional allies or connections(By Vanguard standards): PLENTY!!!! Ghaul, Spider, being Evocate General of Cabal, you name it.

How does your Guardian feel about themselves or others using Stasis: Magnus is against himself using it. He understands that others can make use of the power, but he HATES the Darkness, and would never trust a single thing from it, let alone a “gift” which would inevitably corrupt him, not to mention bring him nearer to it which he refuses to do.

Did they run The Last Wish raid? How did they react to seeing a live Ahamkara a.k.a Riven: Magnus has not run this raid yet.

Did they run The Deep Stone Crypt raid? How did they react to the Crypt and seeing Exo Eliskni: Magnus has not run this raid yet, either.

Is your Guardian from D1? How did they react to seeing Taniks alive once again: He’s not from D1

Where did they go and what did they do during The Red War: Magnus followed the main story, and was the only Lightbearer, thus he spearheaded the entire operation and literally held the fate of every single life on his shoulders and his alone. He fought, nonstop, and never gave up or slowed down.

Here are some characters that are either polarizing or have created a strong enough mass emotion within the community. What opinion does your Guardian hold on each of them(These are only a handful of characters!)>>>

Osiris, First Warlock Vanguard, originally exiled: Magnus looks up to Osiris for his wisdom, only a little, though, and he’d never tell Osiris this. Both of them know it, though, and words are not necessary to convey their mutual respect.

Eris Morn, Bane of the Swarm: He loves her, he wants to help her at all costs, and he knows to never pity Eris, or try protecting her without asking if she needs protection first, as she’s highly capable and strong-willed.

Cayde-6, Sixth Hunter Vanguard: Magnus is fucking head over HEELS for him, and would lay his life on the line for Cayde. He was devastated beyond words when Uldren killed him, but came to understand that it was the Darkness’s doing, not Uldren’s. And thus, he forgave him.

Ikora Rey, Second Warlock Vanguard: Mom. She’s just straight-up his mom.

Commander Zavala, Second Titan Vanguard: Mentor, dad-like friend, always reliable.

Saint-14, legendary Titan, First Titan Vanguard: Extreme respect, love, honors him deeply, aspires to be like him, MUST PROTECT!!!

Lord Saladin, Iron Banner handler, One of the last remaining Iron Lords: Indifferent. Magnus entirely disagrees with and somewhat hates what the Iron Lords did, but he senses good in Saladin and sees it as well. He holds onto that good, as he does for everything and everyone.

Lord Shaxx, Crucible handler, Hero of Twilight Gap, living megaphone: FRIEND!!! Always a good motivator, always reliable, selfless af which Magnus respects, and Magnus aspires to be so much like him. Is also slightly intimidated by Shaxx.

The Crow, New Light, Ex-Enforcer to The Spider: Friend, must be protected, is a new person and not Uldren, is capable of great things and must be guided to do just that. Magnus sees Crow follows his heart, and that’s more than enough for him to know this man is on the right path.

The Spider, The Shore’s Only Law, founder of “House” Spider: DAD!!! Spider adopted Magnus after (reluctantly at first) he went to Spider with a bounty from the Vanguard saying to kill him. Magnus knew this had to be a setup, it was, and Spider was immediately thankful, and then began calling Magnus his son. Both of them trust each other with everything and anything, and Magnus knows Spider is a good man at heart.

Uldren Sov, Prince of the Reef, Master of Crows: No. Don’t trust him, he’s misguided as FUCK!

Mara Sov, Queen of the Reef, Queen of the Awoken, Ex-Kell of Wolves: FUCK! YOU!!! Magnus would throw her off the throne and take it himself if he wasn’t so busy being Evocate General. He’d imprison her until her natural death. The things Mara has done, to the Awoken, the galaxy, and her brother, are unforgiveable, and she MUST pay for that.

Variks, the Loyal, founder of House Judgement: A friend, an ally, someone Magnus can rely on. He values Variks, even if he made mistakes in the past, but Magnus is a firm believer in destiny, and thus thinks Variks’s actions have been done for a reason which is to bring the world to the present it’s at.

Mithrax, the Forsaken, Kell of Light, founder of House Light: Absolutely reliable, always a good friend, Magnus will drop everything and go help protect Mithrax or aid him in his endeavors if he’s able. Magnus loves him as a close friend, and is deeply bound to House Light.

The Exo Stranger/Elizabeth “Elsie” Bray, Granddaughter of Clovis I and Sister to Ana Bray: Can be trusted, must be trusted, and Magnus also takes pity on her for what she went through both in the future, and by the hands of Clovis Bray.

Eramis, of House Salvation, Kell of Darkness: FUCK NOPE, don’t trust, avoid at all costs.

Empress Caiatl of the Cabal Imperial Empire: An ally and definitely trustable. Her motives are questionable, but Magnus understands where she’s coming from, and therefore believes she can be a great companion with some compromise.

Taniks the Scarred, the Perfected, the Abomination, the Shadow Thief: Nooooooooooooo get away get away get away GET AWAY!!!

The Darkness is fast approaching. How is your Guardian handling it: A N X I E T Y! !! !!!! ! !! But Magnus is taking action, fighting it head-on and never backing down for even a moment. He refuses to let the Darkness take hold, and aims to destroy it entirely once and for all.

And finally, does your Guardian have any advice for any New Lights: “The Darkness is a lie, but the Light is true. Nobody can see in the shadows of night, so it’s your duty as a Guardian to eclipse the world in endless sun, and create a world everyone can see within and beyond.”

[momentofmemory]

FICTOBER 2020 - day one

Prompt #1: “No, come back!”

Fandom: Teen Wolf

Triggers: Parental Abuse (negligence), alcoholism

Characters: Melissa McCall, Rafael McCall, Scott McCall

Words: 1407

Author’s Note: Me? Flatly refusing to play a prompt straight? it’s just as likely as you’d think. Set pre-series, exploring the event involving Scott & a staircase as discussed in 3x23. Melissa POV, character study.

>> never just the one

There’s only so many times Melissa can say get out before it becomes synonymous with stay out.

She just wishes she’d known how many times it’d take before she started.

They start small. Get out of bed, your breath smells bad. Get out of the room, I don’t want you drunk in front of Scott. Get out of the house, we have company over. Just get out, the neighbors are going to hear us.

Get out, you’re scaring Scott.

She doesn’t realize it’s an escalation until it’s too late.

Instead, all she knows is that one moment Raf’s drunk, screaming at her in the middle of the hallway, and the next, Scott’s lying on the landing, blood soaking into the floor and terror into her veins.

He doesn’t get up.

California Nursing Practice Act, Article III, §15630. Welfare and Institutions Code. Registered nurses must report known or observed instances of abuse to the appropriate authorities.

“Scott!”

She’s flying down the stairs, faster than she’s ever gone but not faster than Scott fell, and he’s just lying there and he’s not moving and there’s so much blood and—

She drops beside him and cradles his head on her lap—he’s breathing, but he’s not conscious. How long has it been? Fifteen seconds? Twenty? She’s a nurse, for God’s sake, she should know better—

“Scott? Scott, c’mon baby, can you hear me?”

There’s a cut on his head, a dent in the floor. Then he stirs and there’s tears in his eyes, but they’re open.

“Mom?”

Relief floods through her and she’s halfway through a prayer of thanks to St. Raphael, when she realizes her Rafael is still standing, dumbly, at the top of the staircase.

The staircase he just threw their child down.

“Mom?” Scott repeats, face scrunched up in part confusion, part pain. “Why am I on the floor?”

“You…” The cut on the back of his head’s still bleeding, but only sluggishly. It won’t need stitches. “…You fell, honey.”

Scott considers this, but his eyes don’t focus. “Mom, why am I on the floor?”

Melissa decides.

“Raf,” she says, gathering Scott to her chest and lifting them both up off the ground, “I’m taking him to the hospital.”

Her husband (the ex the drunkard the abuser) just blinks at her. “I can—”

“He was out for twenty seconds and is showing signs of memory loss and confusion.” Melissa snatches her keys off the hook, one arm still wrapped protectively around Scott. “Cut looks like it’s already healing, but I’m going to recommend they keep him overnight for observation.”

“Listen, ’Lissa,” he says, and he’s slurring, God how could Melissa have let this happen, “we don’t need to do that, you said he’s healing—”

“I am recommending an overnight stay,” Melissa says, “because when I come back, I don’t want to see you here.”

It takes a second. Then, understanding, and not a little fear—now he shows fear?—finally cross Raf’s face, and he starts stumbling down the stairs.

“No, come back, Mel.” Treacherously, he keeps his footing, unlike Scott. “Let’s just think about this—”

She’s thought too much about this. “Get out.”

She slams the door in his face and all but runs to the car, cursing her husband’s chemically depressed cerebral cortex, while simultaneously praying her son’s physically concussed cerebral cortex isn’t permanently damaged.

California Nursing Practice Act, Article II, § 11160. Report of Injuries. Report by telephone to local law enforcement agencies shall be made immediately, or as soon as practically possible, and a written report shall be prepared on the standard form developed in compliance with state agencies.

Scott asks her what happened at least a dozen more times between the fall and his examination in the ER, none of which he remembers.

The doctor, who Melissa works with every week and has only been told Scott fell down the stairs, assures her this kind of short-term memory loss is normal. Melissa nods politely, and waits until Scott falls asleep on a too-big hospital bed to break down.

She calls the sheriff and tells him everything she knows, and it kills her when she realizes she doesn’t know enough. Later, Raf will insist that Scott was the one that pulled away, that he never tried to hurt him. Melissa will never know if it’s true, because Scott doesn’t remember, and worse, she wasn’t looking. Worser still, she’s pretty sure that Raf himself was too drunk to remember it with certainty.

So how much she believes him depends on the day.

But what she says this time is, “It doesn’t matter if he meant to. He did, and all he’s done is try to cover his own ass.”

The sheriff agrees.

The second call Melissa makes that night is to a divorce lawyer.

California Nursing Practice Act, Article II.V, §11165.2. Child Abuse and Neglect. “Neglect” means the negligent treatment or the maltreatment of a child by a person responsible for the child’s welfare under circumstances indicating harm. The term includes both acts and omissions on the part of the responsible person.

Raf, and a good portion of Raf’s things, are gone when Melissa and Scott get back to the house the next morning. Melissa doesn’t know if she should be pleased or even more upset, until Scott frowns and looks around the empty foyer.

“Where’s dad?”

Melissa looks down at her son, who’s still a bit shook up but received a clean bill of health, then her eyes drift to the dent in the hardwood. She thinks about how many times she’d had to tell him to get out before he finally did.

She’s definitely more pleased.

“I think we have avocados leftover in the fridge,” she says. “Want to help me make some sopa azteca?”

Scott’s face immediately brightens—she tries not to think about how easy it is to distract him from his already-absent father—and launches himself towards the kitchen.

They toast the chile and blend it with the tomatoes, heat the oil and sprinkle in garlic, onion, salt. She lets Scott pour in the stock all by himself, and while it simmers, he carefully divides the tortilla chips into two bowls, and sets out all the toppings.

And while he’s busy, Melissa finds every single last bottle of alcohol in the house, and tips it down the drain.

Child Custody Agreement, Melissa McCall and Rafael McCall, Section II, para 1. Residential Custody & Access Rights. The mother shall have residential custody of the child; as such, the child will reside at the mother’s residential address, provided the mother is capable of performing her responsibilities as custodial parent.

It takes Raf a full week to show up on their doorstep, which honestly is still a lot sooner than she had anticipated. She immediately tries to shut him out again, but this time he manages to wedge a foot between the frame and the door before she can get it all the way closed.

“Come on, Melissa,” he begs. “I haven’t even had one drink since—”

“You think this is about one?” She pushes the door harder against his foot. “Raf, if we only had to worry about one we wouldn’t be here.”

Her ex flinches. She hopes he gets it.

Then he just sighs and slips his hands into his pockets. “Can I at least see him? Let him know I didn’t mean it?”

Her good will vanishes. “Not much of an apology if it’s all about you.”

“Melissa—”

“No.” She opens the door, not enough to let him in, but enough for him to get his foot back without breaking it. “Come back when you can give him a real apology. Until then, don’t think for a second I won’t add a restraining order to that custody agreement if I have to.”

A door opens upstairs—they both hear it—and Melissa tightens her grip on her own door. A low growl builds in her throat and she jerks her chin towards the driveway.

“Get. Out.”

It’s not the first time she’s said it. It won’t be the last.

But this time, he does.

Child Custody Agreement, Melissa McCall and Rafael McCall, Section I, para 1. Legal Custody & Decision Making. The mother shall have sole and exclusive custody of the child and all final decision-making authority related to significant matters impacting the welfare of the child, including but not limited to, matters of education, religion, health care, and location.

[foreveralwaysanauthor]

What Love Is

September 22, 2020

Prompt - Turn to page 61 of the book you’re currently reading. The first line is how you will start your story.

Book Used - The Outsiders by S.E. Hinton

Characters - Mick, Miles, Royce and Bentley (OCs)

Notes - It’s good to be back writing like this. I missed this a lot more than I thought I would. It’s shorter than I had originally planned, but I had a long day today, so I took it a little easier on the writing tonight.

“The last guy to suggest it lost three teeth,” Mick told Royce and Bentley. The two boys had chosen to spend the afternoon with their “new sister” as Miles had been called down to the shop to work on an emergency job for a friend of the owner. The boys had quickly taken to Mick just as she had to them. Mick had been asked by the boys to talk about what Miles had done since coming to Florida and, as Mick only knew about what he’d done since meeting her, she chose to stick to telling them what stories she knew.

“Really?!” Bentley asked, a look of amazement coming over him. “I can’t think of Miles hitting anybody like that.”

“I can,” Royce claimed, looking up from the journal he’d been writing in. “He used to get really mad when dad would drink. If Miles thought we were in danger because of it, he’d keep us in our room and confront dad head-on.”

“Oh, I remember that,” Bentley said, nodding to himself. “He used to come back to our with bruises and cuts from dad’s rings.”

“Mhm,” Royce hummed, turning back to his journal. “And the first-aid kit.”

Mick sat silently on the couch, absently watching as Bentley played with a set of horse toys and some cowboy figurines that Miles had bought for him and Bentley wrote in his journal. Mick had been kept in the dark about Miles’ childhood since the day she met him and, for the most part, she was fine with that. She never figured that abuse would be in the picture, especially not with how gentle and caring Miles and his brothers were.

“Did he drink often?” Mick questioned softly, looking between the boys.

Bentley shook his head while Royce nodded. Bentley looked up to Mick, his steel blue eyes shining with the same brilliance Miles’ eyes did when he was happy. “Miles never drinks alcohol.”

Royce reached over and tapped Bentley on the head with his pencil. “She meant dad, Benny. And, yeah, Mickie, he did. He used to get mad and yell at us because we were too young and couldn’t buy him alcohol on our way back from school or church. Not that we would’ve gotten it for him if we could. He was always worse when he had alcohol in him.”

“He hit you guys?” Mick asked, her eyes burning at the thought of these sweet little boys being hurt by someone who was supposed to love them. “Just because you weren’t able to get him a drink?”

Once again, Bentley shook his head and Royce nodded. Royce sighed, shutting his journal and rolling his pencil around on the coffee table. “He never hit Benny, that’s for sure,” he assured, watching Mick slide over the edge of the couch so she could sit between himself and Bentley on the floor. “Miles and I made sure to keep Ben from dad when he was mad. When Miles was there, he protected us, but when he left, it was up to me instead.”

“That shouldn’t be anyone’s responsibility, Royce,” Mick stated gently, taking the sixteen-year-old’s hand in her own as he watched her. “Parents should love their kids-”

“He loved us,” Bentley interrupted softly, leaving his toys on the coffee table in favor of joining the conversation. “Maybe not the same way that Miles does, but he did love us.”

“People show love differently, I get that,” Mick said to the youngest of the Murphy brothers, “but, trust me, Benny, when I say that if he gave you all real love the way he needed to as a father, he never would’ve hit any of you to begin with.” 

Royce played with the fraying hem of his jeans, unsure of what to say in response. Mick had a point and he knew it. He never really thought of parental love as anything different than what he knew; parents care about you when they remember you’re there or when they want something from you, even if it means they want to use you as a punching bag. Royce had never had a lot of friends in school because he couldn’t spend time with them outside of school, so he always thought other kids had the same kind of experiences with their parents.

“If that isn’t the kind of love you’re supposed to get from your parents,” Royce mumbled, “what kind of love are they supposed to give you?”

“That kind of love is precious,” Mick began, smiling at Royce as his caramel colored eyes met hers. “It’s when you feel like nothing bad can happen when they’re with you. Like, when I’m sitting with my mom, she puts her arm over the back of the couch so she can hold me every now and then. And she always sits closer to the door in case something happens and she needs to protect me. Or when they listen to you when you’re blabbing on and on about something they don’t have any interest in, but they knows you like it, so they listen anyway.”

If he took a moment to think about what Mick had said, it wouldn’t take Royce long to figure out that love was when Miles was there to protect them and take care of them, giving them hugs and making sure to tell them they were loved by him. Real love was what they had as brothers. The kind love that nobody could take away from the three of them, no matter how hard they tried.

Bentley perked up, his eyes brightening as though he’d come up with a brilliant idea. “That’s how Miles loves us! He loves us like dad should.”

“Yeah, buddy, that’s right.” Mick ran a hand through Bentley’s hair, smiling as he leaned into her hand with a cheesy grin. The fourteen-year-old moved, sitting next to Mick and leaning his head on her shoulder as he draped an arm over her stomach. “He loves you both so much more than you realize.”

Mick tucked an arm over Bentley’s shoulders, giving him a squeeze before reaching over with her free arm and pulling Royce over to her as well. The three of them stayed that way for a few minutes, Mick allowing the two boys to stay with her as long as they wanted. Royce had sat beside Mick, resting his head on her arm and talking softly with her while Bentley simply listened to them talk. A few minutes after Mick and Royce’s conversation began, Bentley moved from the group hug as he heard a something from behind the couch. He smiled up at Miles as the oldest of the siblings climbed over the back of the couch and settled himself on the floor.

“What did I miss?” Miles asked, getting his ribs squished in a hug by his baby brother the moment he had sat on the floor. The confused twenty-year-old looked to Mick with a look of confusion laced with concern, rubbing a hand over Bentley’s back while the other held the younger boy’s head.

“Not much,” Mick said with a knowing smile as Royce climbed over her and attached himself to Miles the same way Bentley had. “I was just telling the boys about what love feels like.”

[badgersprite]

Fic: Desiderata (5/?)

Chapter Title: Perspective

Fandom: Mass Effect

Characters: Miranda, Samara, Oriana, Jacob

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

Story Rating: R

Warnings: References to past childhood abuse/trauma, and people being shitty about it.

Chapter Summary: In 2186, Miranda spearheads the search and rescue operation she helped organise. In 2185, Samara gets Miranda to see an incident from someone else’s perspective.

Author’s Note: Miranda is still bad at people, but she’s trying. Shout out to self-isolation for giving me time to work on this.

*    *     *

“You’re sure this will work?” Miranda asked, examining her forged identity documents. A passport. A driver's licence. Even a birth certificate.

“Can’t be any surer than I am,” Niket answered with a slight shrug. “It’s not like I could test it, but I have nothing but assurances from everyone I’ve spoken to that these counterfeits are the highest quality. They never fail.”

“What if they do?” Miranda had imagined a hundred different ways her father might deal with them if they got caught. She still wasn't sure which one was the worst, or that he couldn't exceed her expectations of his cruelty.

“Relax.” Niket placed his hands on her shoulders. “Even if they do pull you up, I've spent months creating an online identity for you. The only thing left is to set up an account and wire some money into it. Enough to keep you on your feet for a while. We've thought of everything, Miri. You won't trigger any red flags. As far as anyone would be concerned, 'Jessica McMahon' is a real person.”

Miranda sighed uneasily. She’d been working on this escape for so long that it was making her paranoid. No matter how careful she was, it was simply impossible for her father not to notice what was going on, given enough time. For all his faults, he was a smart man. He had to sense something was awry, at some point. It always felt like she was moments away from her plot being uncovered.

“Are you forgetting something?” Niket remarked, expectantly waiting for her to say her thanks. To her credit, Miranda realised her oversight.

“You’ve done a lot for me, Niket. When I’m out of here, I won’t forget that,” she said sincerely. Niket was the closest thing to a friend she'd ever had. She was grateful towards him. She really was. She just wasn’t fantastic at expressing it. Her upbringing might have played a role in that.

“You’ve already helped, in a way,” Niket admitted, taking out another passport. “Got one of these for myself with your money. Figured I’d involved myself enough that I’m going to have to get out of dodge once you make your escape, or else your father’s going to find my fingerprints all over this.”

“Good idea.” Miranda nodded, signalling her approval, glad he’d protected himself. Besides, she didn’t give a damn about her father’s money. He had plenty.

Being the daughter of an extremely rich man did have its benefits. As part of her preparations, Miranda had been able to casually drop a few thousand dollars at a time here and there without raising suspicion.

There was no mistake about it, though - the money he gave Miranda to spend was a symbol of his own vanity, not a kindness. She was his daughter. That meant she had to fit a certain image, or it would reflect poorly on him. She had to indulge in expensive tastes, dress well, buy and read rare books, play music on the most expensive piano, or else people might not be impressed by how inordinately wealthy he was.

He framed it like a reward for living up to his impossible standards, but really it was another means of controlling her. Miranda had no freedom in what she spent money on. It was a test. He’d only given her access to her own money so that he could see for himself how well he’d trained her - to prove that his little experiment would continue acting in accordance with his designs and his preferences even when he wasn’t watching her over her shoulder.

But he’d underestimated her. Her father always had. As long as she remembered to keep her stories consistent with the fake transactions on the bills, he would never suspect anything, even if he was secretly going through her spending with a fine tooth-comb, which he did, of course. Provided that she appeared to be spending money on purchases he approved of, he wouldn't question it. And Niket had taught her how to manipulate that data.

“You know, don’t take this the wrong way, but not everyone would resent your fate as much as you do,” Niket spoke frankly. “You have a nice house. Nice room. Nice clothes. Fucking...palatial gardens. Provided you don't piss him off, your Dad usually gives you enough money to buy anything you want, within his rules.”

“That makes up for being an experiment?” Miranda shot back instinctively.

“For some people, it would, yeah,” he pointed out with a shrug. “Don’t get me wrong, Miri. I’m not saying it’s great to be raised by a loveless jackass or that you’re wrong for hating him and wanting out, but there are plenty of people who would trade their life for yours in an instant. I mean, you’ve told me how he treats you. And, sure, he’s strict, but not to where you’d say he’s violent or he beats you. Some people aren’t that lucky.”

Wow. Miranda was hardly a sensitive person, but that comment was a dagger in her heart. She’d confided in Niket about her father’s cruelty because she trusted him. Nobody else knew, who wasn't an accomplice to it. To hear him downplay what she went through only twisted the knife her father had put there long ago.

“If those people want my life so much, they can have it,” said Miranda, trying not to show how deeply it hurt to hear Niket undermining everything she endured under her father's toxic influence. “It’s not my fault they don’t.”

“It's not about fault. It's about reality. Some people not only have shit fathers, but they get to be dirt poor too. I should know. It was my reality,” Niket countered, his words chastening Miranda into silence. She didn't know enough about the outside world to compare experiences. She barely knew anything about the outside world that she hadn't read in books, or learned about from a screen.

Maybe Niket was right. Maybe other people did have it worse than her. Far worse. Maybe she was selfish, ungrateful and privileged. Then again, she’d never told him her very real fear that her father might…murder her one day.

Niket could probably only imagine her father throwing her out on the street if she displeased him, or if he decided it was time to replace her. At worst, he probably expected her father might sell her off to some stranger to be their “daughter” instead of his. Killing her, though? That wasn’t something Niket would have predicted, unless she brought it up as a possibility. And Miranda hadn’t.

She didn’t want Niket to know of that risk. If he did, Miranda could picture him acting rashly to protect her, dismantling their carefully crafted escape plan.

Niket wasn't like her. He was more passionate than she was. More emotional. Normal, presumably. Miranda may not have understood normal people very well at all, but she did have feelings. And she knew well enough that getting emotional could cause a loss of control. Bad judgement. So what did that mean for someone who lacked her restraint? Someone who didn't have years of practice at suppressing their instincts? At suffocating those feelings?

Miranda couldn't trust what Niket might do if he had a reason to hate her father as much as she did. That was why it wasn’t worth telling him the truth. But, even so, he was the last person she would have expected to second-guess her desire to escape this gilded cage.

“I’ve never claimed to have the worst life in the world. I know I don’t,” Miranda continued, her voice quieter, defending herself as calmly as she could.

“No. Don’t worry about that,” Niket assured her, regretting his poor choice of words. “I’m not saying I…Look, when it comes to getting you out of here, I’m with you all the way. Don’t ever think I’m not. That’s not an issue with me.”

“Good,” said Miranda, still offended by the fact he’d even brought it up. He’d explicitly confirmed that all the things she’d told him about her father didn’t qualify him as a cruel man in his eyes, and that Miranda's problems weren't real problems. What more was there to say? “Then let’s not discuss it.”

“Miri…” He reached out to her apologetically, but she brushed him off.

“We don’t need to talk about this,” she stated firmly, smothering her own emotions, putting up her defences. “Just get it done.”

*    *     *

“Come on. Where are they?” Miranda complained, growing tired of waiting for the bulk of her team to catch up. Honestly, she was faster hobbling on a crutch than these grunts were at full fitness. With tanks. “Ox team, report. I need an ETA on those bulldozers. We're in search grid V-44A. What's taking you so bloody long to reach us?” Miranda asked, impatience starting to get the better of her.

She'd used up her last political favour to organise this effort. This was the last big chance they would have to find anyone alive. If this failed, there would be no do-overs. No second chances. As far as they ventured in the next three days would be as far as they would go for a while. It might be months before they expanded the habitable zone of London any further again.

Every second counted. They had to make the most of what little time they had.

“Apologies, Director Lawson,” the comms crackled in her ear. “We picked up some readings of instability in the area. Almost like seismic activity. Our crew is checking it out. We're waiting on an all clear from them before the vehicles advance. Don't want to open up a sinkhole by accident.”

“A warning would have been nice. Run a scan,” Miranda commanded the soldier on her right. She would have used her own omni-tool to do the job, but her arm was busy supporting her weight, and she didn't have a spare. The soldier dutifully obeyed. “We'll continue searching the area on foot ahead of you. Keep me updated on your progress. Time is short, and this debris won't clear itself. Find another path to us if you have to.”

“Roger that. Ox out.”

“Useless,” Miranda muttered under her breath. This was why she preferred to work alone. At least she knew she could rely on herself to get things done. But this was the kind of operation that required a lot of bodies on the ground. Hers was just one of several teams conducting their wide-scale push across the city. Jacob was leading one. Wrex another.

The efforts to coordinate between the Council races had also paid off. The human, asari and turian military forces on the ground had all organised their own teams as well. Miranda's team was even partially comprised of Alliance soldiers, but mostly those who had already been working in close concert with Bailey. Nobody really seemed to care that they were taking their orders from him. What mattered was that, in total, their search and rescue must have consisted of at least a thousand people, if not more. It was a start.

“I'm not reading anything. Then again, their scanners are stronger than mine,” the soldier on her right remarked. Miranda rolled her eye, deciding to make use of the people already with her, and do the rest herself.

Bailey wouldn't like her doing any heavy lifting. Miranda was useful to him, after all. If she got hurt, he lost a valuable asset. But screw it. He could sanction her if he had a problem with it.

“You, do a full sweep of that building. You, over there,” she commanded, gesturing with her crutch, splitting the relief crew off into groups to search the street for survivors, supplies and paths through the wreckage. That way, the demolition, clearance and salvage teams could plough through without wasting any more valuable time when they finally did arrive. “You two, come with me,” she instructed impatiently, heading into a dilapidated ruin of a building personally, not bothering to wait for the bulldozers.

“Yes, Director Lawson.” Everyone followed her orders without question, including the two Alliance soldiers who began to follow her.

It was the middle of the day, but the skies were still dark from the dust. Miranda hadn't forgotten how difficult it was to tell time in the wasteland. Even the brightest hours of the day felt like dusk. And it was cold. It was always cold now.

Miranda approached the only building that hadn't half-collapsed. An office block, with a lobby and reception area on the ground floor. Its exterior was still largely intact, bar the windows, which were all gone, shattered during the battle. Parts of the outer walls had come down, exposing the insides, as if a Reaper had blasted a hole in one side of the building.

“Get a light in there, would you?” Miranda instructed. One of the soldiers complied, the other continuing to run scans as he had before. The flashlight washed over the inside of the building. It was a mess. Some of the upper floors had fallen down into the lobby. Broken desks, computers, wires and lights hung from a half-broken ceiling. The sad thing was, that was a vast improvement over most places they'd come across. At least this one was still standing.

“Director Lawson, my scan couldn't penetrate too deep, but I'm detecting a possible source of the instability,” the male soldier, Alexei Resnikov, told her. “There are cavernous openings right below us.”

“Cavernous openings?” his squadmate echoed, a woman named Keiko Yoshizawa. “You mean the London underground? Or a car park? Here on Earth, we don't all travel by skycar, space cowboy. It's not like a space station. In case you haven't noticed, some of us still use roads and rails to get around.”

“How rustic,” Resnikov remarked with a snort.

“Knock it off,” Miranda ordered, bringing their pointless chatter to a swift and sudden end. “You mentioned the underground. We haven't been able to access it this far out. But if there is a station near here, that would be a likely place to find survivors. It's safe, it may still have leftover food and water, and the tunnels provide an easy path across the city. Until you hit the cave-ins, anyway.”

“Yeah. That makes sense.” Yoshizawa nodded, bringing up a holographic map. “We're heading in the right direction. The nearest one isn’t far from here. Cutting through this place is probably the easiest way, since the streets are blocked.”

“Why are you standing around like you're waiting for a taxi, then? Get moving,” Miranda spoke curtly, prompting the two soldiers to go on ahead of her. They didn't hesitate to comply.

She followed them into the lobby. It was even darker than outside, the air filled with a heavy cloud of particles. Miranda paused long enough to lift up her scarf, covering her nose and mouth. Ceiling panels and broken light fixtures were dangling down from the floor above, like vines in a thick jungle. Thankfully, there was no electricity to worry about. But it still required a little caution not to get tangled up in the wires as they moved through.

Resnikov and Yoshizawa's torches were the only light source, beams flashing through the shadow as they examined the scene. They made it maybe halfway across the floor before their path hit a dead end.

“This could be a problem,” said Resnikov, torchlight finding no longer finding any promising gaps they could manoeuvre through. “The upper floors have completely caved in ahead of us. We're blocked.”

“There's an elevator shaft,” Yoshizawa pointed out, nudging her beam of light towards it. “Given this building has underground parking, there should be a ramp or a stairwell to take us out the other side.”

“Should be?” Resnikov emphasised, clearly sceptical. “Look, I already saw an entrance ramp near where we came in, and that was totally clogged. If there is another exit, we can't guarantee it won't be blocked by rubble too.”

“So let's check,” Yoshizawa insisted.

“Pry the lift open,” Miranda ordered, willing to chance it. Yoshizawa set to work.

A slight tremor passed through the building. Dust sprinkled down from above.

“Did you feel that?” asked Resnikov.

“Nothing to worry about,” Miranda assured him, shaking her head, clearing the dirt from her hair, blinking it out of her eye. “We're not going to be in here for long.” Even as she spoke, the strange ripple coursed through the foundations once again. She furrowed her brow. “...Wait a moment. That isn't coming from above us,” she observed, concentrating on the subtle disturbance.

It happened again, shaking the ground beneath her feet. These tremors were happening in steady intervals, their tempo too precise to be something random. It almost sounded like a slow, low-pitched drumbeat.

“It feels like there's something underneath us,” said Resnikov.

“Whatever it is, it's sending out a pulse of some kind,” Miranda murmured, thinking aloud. “A signal, maybe.” If she was right about this, that would suggest there really were survivors in the tunnels. Perhaps these vibrations were somebody's way of trying to get the attention of anyone on the surface.

“Alright. We're clear.” Yoshizawa backed away from the doors after wrenching them apart as far as they would go, gesturing for the two of them to go ahead.

Miranda took a quick look inside. The fortunate thing about this building being largely intact was that the lift didn't seem to have been destroyed, meaning there were no obstructions at the bottom of the shaft. By sheer luck, the steel cables were still in one piece, supporting the weight of the elevator, which must have been hanging somewhere above her, frozen due to lack of power.

It was odd to still see an elevator with this design. Miranda had forgotten how low-tech parts of Earth could be, especially in old cities like London, where past architecture often survived through retrofitting, or, as in the case of the underground, a sense of tradition. 

This building may have stood largely unchanged for a hundred years, for all Miranda knew. Maybe longer.

“Hold this,” Miranda stated. It wasn’t a request, giving her crutch to Yoshizawa before the soldier could ask what she intended. Miranda biotic-pulled the cables towards her, rappelling down the shaft and swinging out onto the level below. The landing wasn't particularly gentle on her knee, which was nowhere near healing from the shuttle accident, but she could live with the discomfort. It was dark down there. Pitch black, almost. But she saw sunlight ahead.

“You were right. There is a way out,” she told them, lowering her scarf long enough to be heard, leaning against the wall to take the weight off her leg while she waited for them to follow her lead. Part of the wall on the far side of the building had collapsed, leaving a hole and a pile of rubble that led back up to the surface. Probably where an emergency stairwell used to be.

“What would you have done if there wasn't?” Yoshizawa asked on her way down.

“Climb,” Miranda answered bluntly. She was one-armed and wounded, but she wasn't useless, for heaven's sake.

She felt the tremor again. It seemed louder than before.

It was oddly familiar to her, but far too faint to place. What was it? It was like a word on the tip of her tongue. If she could just put her finger on it...

Soon enough, the three of them made it back to the surface, manoeuvring around debris on their way to the station, which wasn’t far ahead. If someone was using the tunnels to get around, Miranda admired their cleverness. It would have saved her a lot of trouble if she could have done the same, but alas she hadn't found an intact tube station during those five days she spent crawling through the wasteland. Intellectually, she was sure she would have passed more than one, but they must have been buried under debris, or otherwise inaccessible.

On the other hand, if she'd gotten stuck down there, Samara never would have found her. Given the state of her injuries, even if there had been one nearby with any food and water left, it probably wouldn't have kept Miranda alive. She would have succumbed to her wounds eventually, and died alone of sepsis. Her bad luck had been good fortune, as it turned out.

“That's it right there,” Resnikov pointed out, approaching the steps that led to the underground. They were partially obstructed – debris from the very building they'd just left, most likely.

“Stand back,” Miranda said, using her biotics to clear a path into the station, blasting away the pile of loose rubble that blocked the entrance. It was then that something clicked in her mind.

Of course. Miranda knew what the sound she'd heard before was. That was why it seemed so familiar.

Detonations. Someone was causing biotic detonations down there.

But for what purpose?

“Still plenty to scavenge here,” said Resnikov, his flashlight moving over to a small, abandoned kiosk. The security grating had already been bent by looters, probably months ago. But they hadn't taken everything. “Hey, Tupari. Love this stuff.”

“I only drink Paragade,” Yoshizawa remarked.

“Your loss.” Resnikov bent down beneath the warped security shutter and picked up a can, stowing it away for later.

“There's that sound again,” Yoshizawa commented as they passed through the ticketing gates, heading down the stairs and towards the station platforms, following the sound. She activated her omni-tool, analysing the noise. “There. It's coming from that tunnel. North of here.”

Yoshizawa jumped down onto the tracks, quickly followed by Resnikov. Miranda ignored Resnikov's unspoken offer of assistance, easing herself down unaided.

This wasn't the first time Miranda had explored the underground since getting back on her feet. Her first search and rescue operation under Bailey's command had taken her through the carcass of a train, not far from Paddington station. Their hopes of finding anyone holed up inside the carriage had quickly dwindled when they realised the train had been swarmed by Reaper forces long before the final battle. There were no survivors.

“Hello?” Resnikov called out, his voice reverberating off the walls. “Is anybody there?” Squeaking rats scurried through the darkness. Miranda hid her growing physical discomfort as she limped behind her troops.

Yoshizawa went on ahead, leaving Resnikov to help light Miranda's way. Miranda watched her silhouette head further into the hollow, claustrophobic chamber, the small circle of light hitting the walls ahead. Abruptly, the sound happened again. This time, it shook the ground they were standing on.

“Director! That was right ahead of us!” Yoshizawa instinctively rushed towards the noise, disappearing around a bend in the tunnel. Miranda hastened after her, listening to the young soldier speak with whoever it was that was causing these detonations. “Hello? Can you hear me?” Yoshizawa paused. “It's alright; I'm a rescuer. I'm with two others right now, but there's more above us.”

That confirmed it then. There were survivors down here.

She came around the corner to see Yoshizawa at a thick blockage in the tunnel. It looked like part of the road above had collapsed, leaving an impassable obstacle of concrete, metal and earth. Probably the footprint of a Reaper.

“Please! You have to help us,” a muffled voice pleaded from behind the debris. Miranda could barely make it out, even as she got closer. But she sounded young. Younger than Oriana. “We're stuck back here!”

“Keep them calm; I'll call it in,” Miranda ordered. “Sweep team, we have survivors trapped in a collapsed metro tunnel in grid V-44A. We need a drill to get them out.”

“You're going to be fine,” Yoshizawa answered back to the anxious voice. “Just hold tight. We'll dig you out of here.”

“Teach, they're telling us to stop,” another voice spoke, a male this time. “Maybe you should cool it with the detonations? You've been at this for way too long. You're going to wear yourself out at this rate.”

“No. Screw that,” a third voice sharply replied. Older than the others, but no less impetuous. “Seanne needs help now, Prangley. Not later. I'm sure as hell not sitting here in the dark counting on a bunch of assholes who can't do a damn thing to help us to be our only way out. We're doing this my way!”

The entire tunnel shook as a brutal burst of biotic force smashed into the wall.

Miranda whirled around, startled by the shockwave that rocked the ground underfoot. “What the hell is wrong with you?! Are you trying to get us all killed?!” she shouted through the obstruction, livid at the woman’s recklessness.

“If I stop, Seanne dies!” the obscured voice answered back, followed by another biotic combination. Chips of concrete and dust sprayed everywhere. With so little time to react, Miranda didn't know whether she should prioritise keeping her balance or shielding her eye from the fallout. Instinctively, she ended up choosing the latter when a second strike occurred.

A small shard of concrete grazed her cheek, opening a cut. With one last roar, the rogue biotic slammed into the obstruction, finally blowing open a gap in the debris. Miranda saw her shadow fall forwards, onto her outstretched palms, panting for breath, visibly worn out.

The woman arose from the ground, onto her knees, holding up a hand and squinting against the blindingly bright beams of light that Yoshizawa and Resnikov were pointing at her, both soldiers staring at her, too stunned to move.

Miranda's breath caught.

It couldn't be.

This wasn't possible.

“Ow. Hey, cool it with the damn flashlights, will you?” the figure groaned in discomfort, turning away to let her eyes adjust after living in darkness for so long.

“Jack?” Miranda said in disbelief, astonished to see that all too familiar face.

Judging by the silence that followed, Jack recognised Miranda's voice immediately, now that there was no wall blocking the sound. “Oh, fu—crying out loud...” Jack reluctantly swallowed the urge to curse in front of her kids. Of all the people she could have run into...

Miranda quickly recovered from the shock.

“What were you thinking?!” Miranda scolded, marching right up to Jack, despite her impairment. Not the consummate professionalism her soldiers expected from her, but her anger was warranted. “Do you have any idea how unstable the buildings are above us? This whole area is on the verge of collapsing in on itself! While you were blasting away like a lunatic, this entire tunnel could have caved in on top of you, and taken me and my people with it.”

“So? It didn't. I didn't know you were up there, anyway.” Jack shrugged as she stood up, doing her best to block out the headache-inducing onslaught of those torches shining directly into her face, barely even able to make out Miranda's silhouette, despite standing right in front of her. “Hey you, point those fucking things somewhere else,” she grumbled at Miranda's team, clearly a threat.

“Language, teach,” one of Jack's group spoke up.

“Ah, ffff...” Jack trailed off into a groan.

“You'd been doing so well, too,” another student joked.

“Hey, laugh it up later. We aren't out of here yet. And we still need to get Seanne to a doctor,” Jack said, her tone stern but fair, calmer now that they'd made contact with someone she knew, even if it wasn't someone she liked. She turned back to Miranda, her eyes still adjusting to the light. “Isn't that the part where you come in? What's the hold up, cheerleader?” she asked, gesturing at her to hurry it up.

Miranda shook her head and sighed with exasperation, activating her earpiece once more. “Ox, this is Lawson. Belay that order on the machinery. It's no longer necessary,” she informed them. “We're extracting the survivors on foot.”

“Roger,” the earpiece crackled in reply. “We'll meet you back at the square.”

Miranda closed the channel, glancing at her old squadmate. “I'll get you and your students the help you need. You're welcome, by the way,” Miranda muttered.

She heard Jack snort. “I never thanked you.”

“I noticed,” Miranda curtly replied.

“Yo, you two know each other?” one of Jack's students asked, the entire group of them beginning to emerge through the hole behind her one after the other. There weren't that many. Probably ten all up.

“We're acquainted,” Miranda answered dryly.

Jack uttered a sardonic snort, evidently having more choice words in mind to describe her history with Miranda. To her credit, she refrained from sharing them. This wasn't the time. Not with her kids depending on her. That didn't escape Miranda's attention. It was a far cry from what the old Jack would have done.

In that moment, in the torchlight, Miranda saw Jack wiping beads of sweat from her brow. It was no secret that using biotics consumed a lot of energy. Biotics who actively used their powers might have to eat three times more than a normal person just to function, if not more. Jack was holding herself together admirably, but she looked drained. Miranda softened, reminded of how she'd battled with exhaustion during her own struggle to survive.

“Resnikov, give her that Tupari of yours,” Miranda said, thinking that might help Jack recover some blood sugar.

“Sure thing, Ms. Lawson,” Resnikov responded, handing Jack the can.

“...I could use a boost,” Jack reluctantly murmured, which was about the closest she could get to an admission of gratitude, at least where Miranda was concerned. She cracked open the drink, and started chugging it.

“We should get moving,” said Miranda, shifting focus to what mattered. This place didn't exactly scream stability. “I don't want to stay in this tunnel longer than we need to. Resnikov, Yoshizawa, give Jack's students a hand, would you?”

“Will do,” Yoshizawa responded, nodding her head, she and her comrade heading over towards the small gap in the debris, where the students were awkwardly squeezing their way through the hole one by one.

Jack's eyes widened when the two passing torches suddenly washed over Miranda's form. She nearly choked on her drink, taken aback when she finally saw her old squadmate illuminated as more than a dark silhouette hidden in shadow.

“Whoa. Holy shit. What the hell happened to you?” Jack coughed to clear the mis-swallowed drink from her throat, startled at the sight of Miranda's extensive injuries. She hadn't been expecting that.

“Looks worse than it is.” Miranda turned away, not sure she wanted to hear Jack's take on her condition. Not that she was bothered by how she looked. She just knew Jack would have a bloody field day with it.

“Yeah, no shit. 'Cause you look like you should be dead. I mean, seriously, what the fuck? Did you get in a fist fight with a thresher maw?” Jack questioned, in what sounded like a snicker, shock quickly giving way to twisted humour.

“Something like that,” Miranda drawled offhandedly, only half-listening to Jack's comments, concentrating on counting heads as Resnikov and Yoshizawa tended to the students. Jack's mockery didn't really matter to her. She had other priorities.

“Hey, if you ask me, having half your face blown off is a huge improvement.” Jack shrugged casually. “For you, anyway. Garrus would say it gives you character.”

“Right,” Miranda distractedly replied, scarcely paying attention.

“How bad's the scar?” Jack asked, trying to glimpse beneath the bandages.

“Don't know. Hasn't healed yet,” Miranda answered, gradually losing patience.

“From the looks of things, I bet it's real fuckin' ugly,” Jack said, smirking.

“Are you done?” Miranda ignored the comment, already bored with this.

“Not even close. I haven't even started making fun of your arm yet.” Jack grinned mischievously, enjoying this way too much to quit anytime soon. “Want me to shut up? Clap once for yes, zero times for no.”

Miranda just stared at her expressionlessly, not offended but not amused.

“Instructor?” a young woman called out. Miranda glanced up to see several of the students huddled over one of their own, the last one to be brought through the gap Jack had created. All appeared desperately worried. Their friend looked faint. Pale. Almost green. “Seanne's getting worse again. She's burning up.”

“I know, Rodriguez. You did good, taking care of her. But these jerks will handle it from here,” Jack spoke, calm and confident. “Drink your juice, and let them carry her. Except you, Reiley. You can stay by her side. Miranda will make sure she gets all the help she needs. Or, if she doesn't, I'll punch a hole in her stomach,” Jack assured them, and Miranda knew that threat was a guarantee. 

In Jack's mind, anyway.

“No need for that,” Miranda said, having no intention of impeding the girl's treatment. “Let's get moving. The sweep team will meet us on the surface. They'll take your friend to a hospital.”

“Okay.” Rodriguez nodded, comforted by that promise. The boy they’d identified as Reiley gave Seanne's hand a gentle squeeze, staying by her side as Resnikov and Yoshizawa picked her up, draping her arms over their shoulders. The poor girl could barely walk. She probably didn't even know where she was.

“The station's not far,” Miranda said, limping alongside Jack, ahead of the others. It was good that they were getting an opportunity to speak before meeting the rest of the team. Despite their strained history, there were details she wanted to know from her, and she was sure Jack could say the same.

Over a month had passed since the war ended. Jack didn't know a damn thing about what had happened in that time. About Shepard, and the Normandy...

“These are all your students?” Miranda asked, aware of Jack's role as a mentor to gifted biotics in the Ascension Program. She'd learned about that long ago, having kept tabs on her former squadmates while she was on the run from Cerberus, to the extent that it was possible to do so. Jack had spoken fondly about her 'tykes’ back at Shepard's apartment on the Citadel. That makeshift reunion seemed like a world away. It was strange to think how recent it was.

Shepard had invited them all to that party, gathering the whole gang together on a whim, knowing it would be the last opportunity to do something like that before they took on Cerberus and the Reapers. Back then, Miranda had wondered how many of those faces would never see the light of day again. Now, she knew at least part of that answer, but the fates of all but a handful of their group were a mystery.

“Yeah. These are my kids. All the ones who lived.” Jack instantly dropped what remained of her joking demeanour, an uncomfortable hint of stark seriousness crossing her face. Miranda recognised the shift in her expression – it betrayed the presence of a deep sense of responsibility.

She blamed herself for everyone she'd lost, a burden Miranda knew too well. The difference was, Jack actually cared about the people under her command. She loved those kids. And she'd had to watch some of them die.

“What happened?” Miranda encouraged, urging her to share her story.

“We were stationed a ways south of here during the fighting, managed to escape north when the big wave hit. There was an outpost near us. Emphasis on was. Went there first, but no survivors. We holed up there for a while because it had some food and water. We figured, if anyone else had survived, somebody would fly over and spot us eventually, but nobody ever did. Once there was nothing left above, I came down to the tunnels; I figured the train lines were our best chance of crossing the city,” she explained.

“You were probably right. Much of the surface is impassable, and our search and rescue teams would have had no chance of reaching you. This is the first time we've gone so far northeast,” Miranda commented. “You would have been stranded out there. Staying above ground would have meant certain death. It nearly was for me.”

“Not sure this was much better,” Jack mumbled to herself, crushing the empty Tupari can and throwing it aside, her frustration becoming evident. “I thought it was a good deal. I mean, we found shit to eat and drink, they were safe places to sleep in, and there's not as many dead things as there are in the streets. But we'd always hit blocks in the tunnels. We'd either find another station nearby, or dig our way through. Eventually, I figured we'd be better off staying in one place for a while. Hunker down. Try to radio out or something.” Jack drew a deep breath, releasing it in a heavy sigh. “But I fucked up. I got too comfortable, and I stayed put when I should have been making ground.”

“How do you mean?” Miranda pressed.

“A few days ago, Seanne started throwing up,” Jack told her. “For a while, I thought it was best to keep her in one place and hope it would pass. But it's gotten worse. Her fever is out of control. I know she's dehydrated, but any fluid we give her won't stay down. She just vomits it up again. Her brother has to sit there and watch her waste away. I don't know if it was dirty water or if the rats got to her...”

“Don't worry. A drip in her arm will do her a world of good,” Miranda assured her. Jack looked down at her feet, visibly troubled to think she'd caused this – that she might lose another student, through nothing but her own poor judgement.

Jack shook her head, hating how powerless she felt. “Shit, it's my fault. I should have moved faster,” she said, wishing she'd had the sense to realise that something like this might happen. “I could have gotten her to you days ago.”

“Don't blame yourself. You didn't even know we were there,” Miranda reminded her. It was in Miranda's nature to be critical of others, thanks to her father's influence. But she knew how hard it was to navigate the wastes. How desolate they were. How easy it was to get lost, or think you were the last person alive. “You did the best you could for her, and now you've found us. I'll pull whatever strings I can to ensure she gets the best care possible.”

Jack slowly nodded, swallowing as she absorbed that reassurance, setting her mind to the thought that Seanne was going to be okay. For as many issues as she'd had with Miranda, she knew she wouldn't have said any of those things just to be nice to her. Far from it. If she thought Jack was at fault, she would have been the first person to tell her everything she did wrong. Miranda wouldn't have told her things were okay unless she meant it. She took some comfort from that. Everything really was under control now. They were over the worst bit.

“...Yeah. Yeah,” was all Jack said, lost in her own thoughts.

Miranda's expression softened, well aware that this was the most genuine moment she and Jack had ever shared. Not that there was any competition. The loss of so many friends, and the near-destruction of an entire galaxy could put a lot of things into perspective like that.

“Jack?” Miranda spoke again, prompting her to look up. “I'm glad you're okay,” she admitted, willing to be the bigger person in this situation, and to extend the olive branch. And, oddly enough, she actually meant it.

Jack uttered a quiet but authentic laugh, letting her head fall back for a moment. “Yeah, you too,” Jack conceded. Strange, but true. “You're still a cunt, though.”

“Well, we can't change everything,” Miranda remarked, choosing to take that as a term of endearment rather than an insult. Judging from the light chuckle she gave, Jack probably intended it to be both.

For as irreconcilable as their differences had once seemed, they had parted on comparatively good terms the last time they met. Certainly, their brief interactions at Shepard's apartment hadn't magically transformed them into friends or anything like that, but it seemed to have quelled the bulk of the animosity between them, resulting in something perhaps not far removed from mutual respect and tolerance. They appeared to have reached the point where they could mostly co-exist, without lingering feelings of hostility. Miranda could live with that.

“Found anyone else of ours?” Jack asked, breaking Miranda's train of thought.

“No. Well, yes, but...What I mean is, before you, I was the most recent find,” Miranda clarified. “Samara brought me out of ground zero. Saved my life. That was four weeks ago. Jacob was already at the camp. Wrex is there, too. They're both fine. Physically, at least. Since I woke up, Samara's...disappeared, for unknown reasons. We think she's still alive. Everyone else? Not so fortunate. They're all unaccounted for.”

“Ah, shit.” Jack scuffed the ground with her boot. Miranda paused, wondering if she should share the news about Shepard's demise, but she thought better of it. This wasn't the right time. It would only upset her.

Honestly, Miranda didn't like to dwell on it, either. As far as she knew, the four of them were all that remained of the Normandy SR-2.

Her morose ruminations were swiftly silenced. A vicious crack echoed throughout the tunnel, as loud as thunder. She whirled around instinctively, as did Jack, unable to tell where it was coming from. Yoshizawa and Resnikov shone their lights back down the tracks. In the glow, Miranda saw dust trickle from the ceiling, from the same direction where Jack had demolished the blockage.

Oh, bloody hell.

“The tunnel's falling apart. This whole area could cave in at any moment,” Miranda spoke, her firm tone punctuated with an undercurrent of creeping urgency.

“Fuck,” she heard Jack curse beside her, realising she may have triggered this in her reckless haste to get Seanne into the hands of someone who could cure her sickness. “Come on! Double time it!”

Even if they weren't directly under the most precarious point, none of them wanted to take that risk, nor be trapped down there if anything should happen. All it would take was a building being tilted too far to one side, and then countless tonnes of collapsing concrete, glass and metal could leave them trapped inside. If they were lucky enough to survive.

They couldn't afford to let that happen.

“Move, move, move!” Jack pushed the students to run past her. Miranda also made sure Yoshizawa and Resnikov carried Seanne ahead of them, not about to leave anyone behind. Not again. Suddenly, Miranda felt a sharp pain in her injured shoulder. “You too, you crippled motherfucker,” Jack said.

“Hey!” Miranda instinctively protested through gritted teeth when she saw Jack draping her bandaged stump of an arm over her shoulder, all but carrying her out of there. God, it hurt. “Let me go.”

“Fuck that. Joker moves faster than you do,” Jack pointed out.

Miranda couldn't really argue with that. She couldn't run with her left knee practically demolished on the inside.

Miranda swallowed a gasp of pain, trying not to show how much her body was killing her. It felt like Jack was going to tear what little was left of her arm clear out of the socket, or snap her already wounded leg clear in two. Still, she could see the platform getting closer by the second. They'd made it back to the station in one piece, not far behind the others.

Jack jumped up first, extending her hand to pull Miranda up onto the platform behind her, the two of them ascending the stairs to the upper level. They'd made it about halfway through the concourse before Miranda heard the sound from the tunnels below. The very place where they'd been standing a minute ago was no doubt now completely buried under a mountain of earth, bitumen, concrete and twisted metal. It was a good thing they'd left when they did.

“I think we're in the clear for now,” Miranda said, wincing as she gingerly made her way out of the underground and into the ash-clouded sunlight.

“Director Lawson?” Miranda heard a voice over her earpiece. “What the hell was that? Are you okay?”

“We're fine here, Ox. One of the train tunnels collapsed. Fortunately, we weren't in it,” she informed them, taking her last few steps back out onto the street, easing herself back against a nearby skybus shelter, keeping the weight off her throbbing knee, her body reminding her just how injured she still was. “We've located eleven survivors. One critically ill. Can you get through to us at the station?”

“Negative, Director. With that tunnel caving in beneath you, this whole street is one giant catastrophe waiting to happen. Protocols prevent us from moving the dozers in your direction right now, which means we can't get to you. It's simply too dangerous,” the Ox team commander answered back.

Miranda hesitated. Objectively speaking, she understood their decision, and they were only obeying her earlier commands by keeping those priorities in order. But that left them stranded in a precarious position. If the ground shifted again, any one of these buildings could come crashing down on top of them.

“Is there another way around?” Miranda asked over the communicator.

“Another way? We don't have time for another way!” Jack pressed, as if that should have been obvious. “Our best bet is to cut through one of these buildings right now and meet them wherever they are.”

“Jack, please.” Miranda silenced her, focused on her conversation. She couldn't rush this decision. She needed to think. Exasperated, Jack threw her hands up in the air and began to pace back and forth impatiently, Seanne's health weighing heavily on her mind.

“I suppose we could circumvent the area, or try to meet you somewhere else, but honestly there's no telling how long that might take, or if those other paths to you are any safer,” the Ox team coordinator told her straightforwardly. “Besides, that still leaves you in a danger zone. Even if we hurry, it's risky.”

“Look, listen to me,” Jack began, coming back to her once more, trying to present as calm and rational of a demeanour as she could manage. “These structures are already unstable. The longer we sit here and wait, the shakier they're gonna get.” Miranda could hear the undercurrent of emotion in her voice. Jack was doing a good job of staying composed, no doubt knowing Miranda might disregard her advice otherwise. She did tend to be more amenable to a plan presented without yelling or swearing. “So why wait? Let's just punch through here nice and quick. Get out now, while this block still stands.”

Miranda paused, considering her words. A few months ago, she wouldn't have given her input much if any consideration. But that was a different time. Jack really had changed since then.

She wasn't the selfish, violent psychopath Miranda had met last year. Far from it. Instead, Jack had helped her without a second thought, making damn sure everyone got out of that tunnel in one piece. Hell, maybe the person Miranda once thought Jack was never existed. Maybe she'd always been wrong about her.

Plus, it wasn’t lost on Miranda that Jack had managed to do something she hadn’t during the war. She’d kept people alive.

Miranda’s breath shallowed, remembering the faces that haunted her nightmares. The team she’d led to Earth. The Alliance soldiers she’d fought beside at the barricade. The shuttle crew that had come to her rescue. One by one, they’d followed Miranda to their end, like lemmings off the edge of a cliff. Weren’t there enough deaths on her hands?

In that silent moment of reflection and regret, Miranda did something she’d never done before. She second-guessed herself.

“Alright,” Miranda agreed, making the decision to trust Jack's judgement over her own. “There's a car park underneath that building. That's how we reached you. The ramp is obstructed on the other side, but we can climb up through the elevator shaft. Once we're out, the rest of my team should be waiting for us there.”

Jack seemed relieved, though Miranda had a sneaking suspicion that it wouldn't have mattered whether she supported her idea or not. Knowing Jack, she would have disregarded any order to stay put.

“Remain where you are, Ox. We're going to try and reach you. Better that a few of us move through this area on foot than risk the bulldozers triggering a reaction that threatens us all,” Miranda informed them, straightening up once again. “When I return, we'll resume our operations on a different route.”

“Copy that. We'll keep our heavy machinery at a distance just to be safe, but a few of us can head your way to help get the survivors to safety.”

“One survivor is in critical condition. She needs an urgent evac,” Miranda relayed, not sure Seanne would be able to survive the journey back without medical attention. She didn't fail to notice Jack watching her as she spoke to her team, an unreadable expression on her face. Miranda turned away, electing to ignore her.

“Noted. We've already radioed for an emergency medical shuttle. Should be here soon, so just get her to us and we'll load her on. In any event, we'll make sure some medics are there to meet you.”

Miranda breathed a small sigh. That was all they could do. “Alright. Lawson out.”

“Let's go,” Jack didn't hesitate to instruct her kids, eager to get Seanne into proper care. Resnikov carried her through the street and down the loose slope of rubble into the car park unassisted, Yoshizawa focusing on lighting the way once they made it inside.

“Resnikov, you should take Seanne up first,” Miranda advised, recognising that getting the poor girl into the hands of a medic could make a huge difference to her odds of survival. “Get her to the rest of the team and have them bring her to a hospital. Letting her wait here for the rest of us is only an unnecessary delay.”

“I'll need someone else to help me get her up the shaft,” Resnikov answered.

“Reiley should go with her,” Jack spoke up, gesturing to him. “He's her brother.”

“Fair enough.” Miranda nodded. That was as good a reason as any. Without delay, Reiley went into the shaft, scaling the tight space with the aid of the cables. Seanne was still aware enough that she could extend her hands under her own power, letting her brother pull her up, while Resnikov pushed from below.

“We're up,” Resnikov called down. “I'll come back in a few minutes.”

“Hopefully we'll be out by then,” Yoshizawa answered. “Alright. Who's next?”

Two more students went up the cables. Miranda had a good internal clock, which was normally a blessing, but in this case made her uneasy as she took note of how long this evacuation would take. Six more students had to go, followed by herself, Jack and Yoshizawa. She knew why this space made her so tense. If something went wrong, this basement car park was not the place they wanted to be.

“Jack,” Miranda spoke in hushed tones, subtly pulling her aside in the darkness. “Now that Seanne is in good hands, the rest of us should consider taking the long way around,” she suggested. None of them had any pressing need to hurry.

“Why?” Jack shrugged. “We're, what, ten minutes away from getting out?”

“Maybe, but it does occur to me that we're right above that tunnel you inadvertently destroyed,” Miranda pointed out. “Call me overcautious, but that knowledge doesn't exactly make me comfortable about standing here for any prolonged period of time.”

“Don't be a pussy,” Jack said with a snort.

“Better than being dead,” Miranda retorted. Jack blew her off, moving to be with her students. So much for that conversation.

“Okay, you're next.” Yoshizawa gestured for the girl named Rodriguez to come forward. Miranda approached them, standing among the remnants of the group, contemplating running a structural scan on the building, if only to disprove her own doubts. Maybe Jack was right. Maybe she was just being paranoid.

Rodriguez reached out for the cables, a little unsteady on her feet. She caught one, but seemed reluctant to go into the dark space alone. Miranda had noticed consistent signs of anxiety in the girl. She reminded herself to have all these kids scheduled to meet with a crisis counsellor later for a mental health assessment, overburdened though those services were. Post-traumatic stress disorder certainly wasn't out of the realm of possibility for any of—

Suddenly her non-deaf ear pricked up, her thoughts snapping into silence.

Rodriguez flinched and glanced up. “What was that?” she gasped.

Miranda heard it too.

“What was wh—?”

“Get back!” Miranda darted past Yoshizawa, hastily pulling Rodriguez away from the doors, sending them both tumbling to the floor. They escaped the impact by mere moments, Miranda shielding the girl with her body as best she could.

Metal crashed into concrete with crushing force. A concussive blast resonated through the cold, dark space in a deafening echo. Miranda didn't need to guess what had happened. One of the elevator cables had snapped, and the lift had slammed into the ground. From a long way up, it seemed.

“Holy shit,” Jack's voice broke the silence, stunned with shock.

Miranda released a sigh of relief. Wounded though she was, her reflexes were still as fast as ever. She groaned as she picked herself up, resting back on her good knee. “You okay?” Miranda asked with a grimace, checking on Rodriguez.

“Yeah. Thanks,” the girl answered, shell-shocked, but unharmed. “What about you?” she asked in return, not so sure she could say the same about her saviour.

Miranda stifled a wince, trying not to let it show just how badly her body hurt after doing that. “I'll be fine. Just give me a minute.” She waved her off, not quite sure her leg wouldn't just buckle underneath her if she tried to stand.

Rodriguez didn't question her, silently handing Miranda her crutch for whenever she was ready to use it. She got back to her feet, giving Miranda her space.

Jack watched on. Miranda could feel her scrutiny, feel those eyes assessing her. She was painfully conscious of it, in fact.

Jack was the only one among them who knew what Miranda was capable of before the war. She'd seen her at her strongest. To everyone else, the fact that Miranda could do anything at all must have made her seem like a superwoman, which wasn't entirely inaccurate to be fair. But not Jack. Jack could recognise just how badly Miranda was struggling. How much pain she would have to be in to be unable to stand. How much weaker she truly was.

From her silence, Miranda knew it was already too late. Jack had seen through her efforts to keep it hidden as soon as her mask had slipped. The only saving grace was that Miranda was quietly confident that Jack wouldn't give a shit.

“Well, I guess we're not climbing out,” Yoshizawa broke the silence, shining her torch in the shaft. Sure enough, the cables were broken now.

Suddenly, Miranda heard a shrill, high-pitched scream. Followed by another, and another. The sound crescendoed, like the swell of a rising wave, voices yelling out in horror, but their cries were drowned out by sickening cracks from above. Yoshizawa pointed her flashlight upwards. What Miranda saw there made her blood turn cold, and the rest of her freeze in place.

The floor above them was crumbling. The entire building was breaking apart. And it was coming down on top of them.

People often said stupid things about how time slowed when death was imminent. Miranda could attest otherwise. It happened incredibly fast. Too fast for even her to possibly react, even with her heightened reflexes. She heard the upper levels cascading down on top of each other, entire storeys sliding loose and falling into the streets below, the levels of the building collapsing in on themselves one by one. Dust and debris rained down from above, filling up the elevator shaft. Deep gashes burst open in the ceiling as the immense mass bore down upon them.

Miranda instinctively raised her hand and looked away, realising it was too late. But nothing happened. Seconds passed, and she was still alive.

A faint blue glow washed across her face, prompting her to glance up and scan the area. All she could hear was the thunderous pounding of her own heartbeat, her thoughts racing to assess the situation.

Then she saw it. Miranda was awestruck.

Jack was single-handedly holding up the building, using only her biotics.

“What in the...How are you doing that...?” Yoshizawa gasped in awe.

Jack grimaced, her body shaking as blue biotic light dimly illuminated the darkness around her. “Whatever you're going to do, do it fast. I don't know how long I can hold this.”

Miranda knew that was no exaggeration. Frankly, it was a miracle she was doing this at all. Anyone else would have been flattened instantly. Anyone else but the most powerful human biotic ever to live.

A quick glance at their surroundings revealed that the way they'd just come in was sealed shut, too much debris having fallen behind Jack. That meant the other exit was their best hope – the only chance they had. But they wouldn't get anywhere unless Ox team could help dig them out from the other side.

“Over there!” Miranda pointed to their best way out, pushing herself up to her feet, leaning heavily on her crutch. “Everybody move as fast as you can. We'll need to dig our way out,” she urged, and Yoshizawa didn't hesitate to follow her direction.

“Come with me!” the soldier commanded, leading Jack's students towards the debris blocking the ramp. They quickly began pulling at every loose bit of rubble they could find, grabbing nearby bits of steel to help wedge fallen chunks of concrete out of place.

Miranda activated her earpiece. “Resnikov, do you read me?”

“Yeah. We're all okay over here. The top part of the building just collapsed and fell off, but it looks like it stabilised somehow,” Resnikov replied back.

“From where I'm standing, it's not looking very stable. We're still trapped in the car park underneath. And now the way we came in is blocked,” Miranda replied, keeping her tone as calm as she could, given the circumstances. Panicking would help nobody.

“What? Shit...” Resnikov swore on the other end of the line.

“Listen to me, I need you to gather everyone you can to start digging us out from your side. Everything. Bulldozers. Machines. People. There's still nine of us trapped down here, with no other way out,” Miranda instructed, tension running high.

“But...Director! I...The protocol—!” a different voice came over the channel.

“Override the fucking protocol!” Miranda snapped into her communicator, momentarily losing her cool. It was warranted. This situation was hanging on a knife's edge. If they didn't act immediately, they would die. They would all die.

Emergencies didn't come more urgent than this.

“...We'll do everything we can. Hold on,” Resnikov replied.

Then the channel went quiet.

Miranda swallowed, adrenaline coursing through her system. She didn't do fear. She didn't get scared. But the stakes of the situation were not lost on her. They should have already been dead. The only reason they weren't was...

She glanced back at Jack. Standing alone. Shaking under the strain. Burning with biotic light. Carrying the weight of an entire building on her back.

She was damn near tearing herself apart to try and save them. But she was a long, long way from that blocked exit ramp. Even if they opened up a gap, how the fuck were they supposed to get Jack out without the building falling down on top of them?

No. That wasn't an option. Past grievances between them meant nothing anymore. Jack was part of her crew. And Miranda wasn't about to let someone who'd fought at her side for the future of all organic life die if she could possibly help it. She would think of something. She had to.

With that in mind, she headed back for her. Miranda may have been crippled, but she still had her biotics. If she could just take the pressure off Jack for a little while, maybe she could buy them all enough time.

Jack eyed Miranda like she'd lost her mind, watching her hobble across the distance between them. “The fuck are you doing?” Jack asked, teeth clenched, barely able to move her lips given how hard she was concentrating.

“Saving your life,” Miranda coolly answered, raising her one good arm, adding her strength to Jack’s, beginning to feel just how tenuous the structure actually was through the 'fingers' of her biotic field. She couldn’t do much, but that dim blue glow grew a little bigger, and a little brighter.

“More like dooming us all,” said Jack, visibly wincing. Miranda didn't want to think about how badly it must have been hurting her, holding this building up by herself.

From Miranda's meagre contributions, she could tell that Jack was using her biotics in two different ways. First, to make the building lighter, to the extent that she could. Second, exerting force – a barrier to hold it up. Miranda was carrying only a fraction of the weight that Jack was, not from lack of trying. Even that was enough to give her a sense of just how monumental this feat truly was. How was it even possible to have this much power, let alone this much control?

“We don't have time for this. Get them out of here,” Jack said, jerking her head towards the ramp, the students and the soldier trying in vain to dig their way out. “I'd do it myself, but...” A tremor running through the building above them cut off whatever Jack intended to say. She looked like she was about to either throw up or pass out, but she endured. Somehow.

“We have a fleet of rescuers converging on our position as we speak,” Miranda assured her, not worried that the machines could dig out an opening. That's what they were there for.

“Yeah, good for you, but in case you haven't noticed, I'm kinda busy keeping us from getting flattened. If I move, we're toast,” Jack pointed out, managing a roguish laugh despite the stress her body was under. “Much as I'd like to bring this building down on top of you and take you down with me...” She trailed off, briefly meeting Miranda's gaze. She couldn't even pretend she was considering that anymore, much as the old Jack would have. “Well, that would set a bad example for the tykes. And I wouldn't want to do you the favour.”

“That's not going to happen. To either of us,” said Miranda, glancing over her shoulder to see a sliver of light as the team outside began clearing the ramp. A hiss escaped her as the weight of the building shifted again. “If we can just brace the ceiling long enough, they can get in a crane to hold this up for us, or knock the upper floors down away from us—”

“Are you serious?” Jack all but snapped. If her hands weren't otherwise occupied, she would have slapped Miranda on the mangled side of her face. “This building's coming down no matter what we do. I'll hold it as long as I can. But you need to get your stupid ass out of here.”

“Damn it, Jack. You stubborn—” Miranda cut herself off from unleashing any insults. As motivating as her mutual animosity towards Jack had been at times, now was not the time to bicker. “Just hold on.”

“What do you think I'm trying to do?!” Jack shot back, pushed beyond her limits, both mentally and physically. She was giving Miranda an out – giving her former enemy a chance at life by sacrificing her own – and she wasn't taking it. Miranda wouldn’t let her do it. It must have been driving her crazy. “This is fucking bullshit...” Jack commented under her breath, glancing down, as if the burden of her thoughts surpassed the weight of the building.

Miranda couldn’t argue with that assessment.

After a moment, Jack collected herself, and cast a sideways glance at Miranda. “Look, I'm stuck here, but you don't have to be,” Jack said, speaking with the kind of even, straightforward tone Miranda would normally have associated with Shepard. “I don't care about surviving. You just get these kids somewhere safe. Now clear the ramp and get them out before this building comes down on top of us,” she calmly instructed, looking her dead in the eye, though it went against every fibre of her nature to be so composed. Jack would talk to Miranda any damn way it took to get her to do what she told her.

Miranda stared at her. The selfish psychopath she'd met a year ago was nowhere to be seen. Either that, or she'd grossly misjudged her this whole time. Suffice it to say, Miranda was stunned by the depth of the change in Jack. She'd grown more than any of them. It wasn't even close.

Suddenly, Miranda felt a lot more riding on getting Jack out alive than mere duty to an old shipmate. These fleeting moments they'd shared since they'd reunited down in the tunnels, they'd forced Miranda to see Jack as a real person, a three-dimensional person, a complex person, a person who deserved better than the cruel hand life had dealt her. And, if the genuine concern and emotional connection those teenagers had for her was any indication, that person had a lot left to live for.

“Did I stutter or did you lose your ears too?” Jack challenged when Miranda didn’t move. “I'm not making a polite request. I'm giving you a fucking order.”

“I don't take orders from you,” Miranda persisted, refusing to abandon her.

“Get moving. Do it. Get the fuck out,” Jack said, her stance momentarily wavering under the burden of the half-broken building.

For once in her life, Miranda didn't know what to say. No perfect, prepared answers or replies. She was torn. Intellectually, she knew that the smartest thing to do was focus her efforts on clearing the ramp. Get the most people out. Save herself. But the other part of her knew that would mean leaving Jack to die. And she couldn't do that. She couldn't add another name to the list of people she'd lost. She couldn't add another face to the ghosts that haunted her dreams. The people she'd failed to save in this war. The team she'd led to their deaths in London. The friends and crewmates she'd never see again.

The old Miranda would have made the pragmatic decision in a heartbeat. Without hesitation. But Jack wasn't the only person who'd changed. Maybe Miranda's change hadn't been as drastic. But the person who could make that cold, calculated choice didn't exist anymore. Somewhere down the line, she'd learned to care. Sometimes she wished she hadn't. Because, even though she was terrible at it, it couldn't be unlearned.

What was she supposed to choose?

“Jack—”

“Do it or I swear to every fucking god what happened to your fucking face in life will be a fucking cakewalk compared to what I'll do to you in death if you don't get my kids the fuck out of here!” Jack finally snapped, her patience frayed to breaking point, and her meaning deadly serious.

A steely look came over Miranda. Like it or not, Jack was right. Miranda knew what to do; what she had to do. But she would be damned if she was just going to accept it that easily.

“I'm coming back for you, Jack,” Miranda vowed, reluctantly stepping away, much to Jack's relief. She moved as quickly as she could towards the others, adding her biotics to the effort to clear the ramp. The students had made progress, with help from the soldiers on the other side. Miranda could hear machinery through the wall of debris – it sounded like handheld drills. They were starting to cut through.

Pretty soon, they started to see light. Small holes. Each one felt like it was worth its dimensions in gold. Every ray of light was a beacon of hope. They worked frantically on both sides to try and wedge the holes open, digging wherever their hands and their tools found purchase.

“Come on. A little more and we can probably start squeezing through,” Yoshizawa encouraged the students, doing an admirable job of keeping them focused. She wasn't wrong, either. The holes were widening inch by inch. Miranda could hear her team on the other side barking directions to each other, working as hard as they could to get them out.

Just as Miranda tried to peer through the gaps to see what was going on outside, she heard a pylon not far behind her crack, everyone ducking instinctively, most of them certain they just saw the ceiling get about a foot lower. Miranda clenched her teeth, glancing back to Jack. Jack was struggling, the weight gradually pushing her closer to the ground. She was bending, bowing under the pressure. But she didn't buckle. Somehow, she was still enduring. But every passing second must have felt like an eternity.

“Where the bloody hell are those bulldozers?!” Miranda called out through the holes in the debris, slamming her fist into the concrete in frustration.

“They're coming as fast as they can. But I don't know if they can make it in time. The roads aren't clear,” Resnikov told her, from his position just beyond the rubble. Miranda growled, cursing internally. He was right. The street was blocked by too much debris, mostly from all the other buildings that had crashed into the ground during the war.

“Then we keep doing it the hard way,” said Miranda, grabbing her crutch and wielding it like a battering ram, bashing her way through the wall of rubble, even if her one-armed efforts were basically useless.

Eventually, their combined efforts managed to push through the debris, forming a gap just wide enough to get people through. About six different pairs of feet kicked at the hole, knocking away anything that someone could potentially get stuck on. It would have to do.

“Alright, let's move,” Miranda ordered, all but pushing one of Jack's students towards daylight, waiting for them to worm their way through the narrow crack before doing the same with another. It took time for each person to squirm through. It wasn't easy.

“Go, go, go!” Resnikov ordered, still working on wedging the crack open from the other side, stretching the gap further apart, knocking away loose bits of rubble, finding it easier now that they had a little more leverage.

“What about Jack?” asked one of the students, a young man. Miranda hadn't caught his name. “We're not leaving without her!”

“I've got her. Don't worry,” Miranda assured them, heading back for her, limping out across the floor to where Jack stood alone. “Come on, Jack,” she spurred her on, gesturing for her to make a dash for it now that they had a way out. The hole was getting bigger. The light was getting brighter. “There's enough space for us to get through. It's now or never.”

“What part of 'this building will collapse if I'm not standing under it' do you not understand?” Jack shot back, furious with Miranda for endangering herself despite her repeated efforts to get her to leave.

“Is sprinting intellectually beyond you?” Miranda sarcastically countered.

“I'll be dead before I take my first step,” Jack replied, knowing that if she moved for even a second the roof would immediately cave in right above her head. She could feel the crumbling structure like an extension of herself.

Miranda wasn't a fool; she'd felt what Jack was going through. And she knew she was right. But Miranda didn't care anymore. She'd lost too much already. Surviving the war had come at such a cost. She hadn't even begun to fully count the price. If this was going to kill her, then so be it. But she wasn't about to let the universe take one more god damn thing from her. Not without a fight.

“Well, I'm not leaving you behind,” Miranda vowed, a surge of power flaring through her wounded body. Without even thinking, she used her biotics to pull a largely intact column out of the debris pile that had been blocking the exit ramp, slowly prying open a massive, person-sized hole. She didn't even care that moving something so big and dense took a lot out of her, or that she was pushing herself beyond her limits. At a time like this, she couldn't afford to have limits. She strained with effort as she began to tear it free.

“What—?” If Jack had intended to ask what she was doing, she didn't need to. Yoshizawa and the remaining students had to quickly duck and dodge out of the way as Miranda abruptly pulled the column loose and dragged it across the floor. Her biotics were running on sheer determination alone, moving the column into position beside Jack, forcing it to prop up the ceiling beside her. Jack snorted. “Don't be stupid. You know that's not going to hold the building.”

“It doesn't have to. It just needs to last long enough for you to make it out,” Miranda answered her, steadfastly refusing to budge, even as she could feel the effort ripping at the muscles in her arm, and sending piercing jolts of pain through the implant in her brain. Miranda could take it; it was nothing compared to what Jack was suffering.

Jack uttered a hollow laugh. “You're a real fucking cunt, you know that?” she said. Yet again, coming from her that sounded almost like a term of endearment. As much of one as Miranda would ever get from her anyway.

Miranda tasted blood, her teeth grinding together from the exertion. She looked back over her shoulder, leaning heavily on her crutch for support. The person-sized hole she'd torn in the wall meant the last of the students had gotten out easily, together with Yoshizawa. Distant faces watched on from the other side, too sensible to risk going in after them. There was no one left to rescue. Just Jack.

Miranda's gaze narrowed to a glare when she turned back to find Jack still hadn't moved so much as an inch towards her. Both women stood their ground, as if fused to it in a game of self-sacrificial chicken.

“What are you waiting for?” asked Miranda, feeling her pulse quicken as time grew shorter. “Alright, Jack, you wanted to prove something to me? To show how much you've grown, and how much of a better person you are than I am? Well you have. You were right about Cerberus, and I was wrong about you. You're a better person than I am, and you've overcome things that I never could have,” she admitted, willing to acknowledge that Jack's ability to pull herself together and get her life on track had far exceeded anybody's expectations. She'd come the furthest out of all of them, which was a fucking miracle given where she'd started. Was that what she wanted to hear? “You don't have to kill yourself to spite me.”

“Spite you? Man, fuck you. You would win the gold fucking medal in self-centredness. But, news flash: everything isn't always about you,” Jack remarked, giving something between a sneer and a hiss.

“Then why won't you go?” Miranda challenged, her biotics beginning to falter from overuse. She wasn't alone in that. The strain of maintaining her biotic field for so long made bulging veins visible beneath Jack's skin, like her blood vessels were threatening to burst, or pop clean out of her flesh. She wouldn't hold out long, especially given how tired she'd been to begin with.

The more Miranda looked, the more she realised Jack was beyond exhausted. Even the last remnants of her energy reserves were long gone. She was running on empty. She should have been dead by now. Maybe she already was, and they just didn't know it.

“Look. Here's the thing. If I sprinted, I might make it out,” Jack conceded, breathing more heavily by the second, perspiration falling from her dehydrated brow like torrential rain, soaking the ground beneath her quivering feet. “Probably got about a one in twenty shot of making it. Not likely, but it could work. But what about you? You can't even walk, let alone run.”

“I can try,” Miranda replied, not concerned. She could handle herself.

“Or you'll just kill both of us,” Jack pointed out. She'd been watching Miranda, noticing the signs that belied her façade of strength. She knew exactly how sick and injured Miranda still was. She wouldn't make it two steps before being buried beneath the wreckage.

“I'm prepared to take that risk,” Miranda insisted, unwavering. It was worth it, if it gave Jack a chance. Miranda may have survived the war against all odds, but she'd made peace with death a long time ago. Besides, she'd led enough people to their untimely ends. Maybe she deserved to join them.

“Then where the fuck does that leave the tykes?” said Jack, her tone increasingly dark. “Those are my kids. They're mine.” Her stance kept getting lower, like there was someone pressing their hands into her shoulders, pushing her down with all their might. Her strength was slowly wavering. Her arms were shaking like they were about to break off. “Ugh. You know, you really do suck for making me go through this,” she grumbled, but if it was intended to sound resentful, it didn't. More like resigned.

Miranda didn't plan on giving up on her just yet.

“Is the building clear or not?” the voice of Ox team's commanding officer came over her earpiece. Miranda hadn't even been paying attention to the comms, too focused on herself and Jack.

“Ms. Lawson's still in there with a survivor,” Resnikov said. “Should we go back in?”

“No. It's too unstable. I can't send anyone else in after them,” the commander replied. Cold, but sensible. Exactly what Miranda would have instructed in any normal situation. “We can't afford casualties.”

Hearing that motivated Miranda to move closer. “Come on, Jack. Go,” she ordered, prepared to drag Jack kicking and screaming to safety if she had to. If she weren't one-armed and limping, she would have done that already. “I'll hold on to the pylon as long as I can.”

“That won't do shit and you know it,” Jack responded. For all her gifts, Miranda's biotics couldn't hold a candle to Jack's. Especially not now.

“Then what do you suggest?” Miranda snapped. Even when she was trying to save her life, Jack still managed to vex her to no end. Bloody nutcase. “Run for it now and you have a chance. The building is coming down whether you move or not—”

“Damn it, would you shut up and listen to me for five fucking seconds!?” Jack cut her off, sick of Miranda making everything about herself, and her guilt. At that, a spark of recognition flashed across Jack's bloodshot eyes. Maybe there was still away to appeal to Miranda – to talk her out of this senseless self-sacrifice.

“Hey. If you really do regret the way things went down between us, or if you feel the slightest bit of shame about working for Cerberus, then do this for me – you look after those kids,” Jack said, giving her one-time nemesis a long, unwavering look, as if staring into her soul, to see if any part of her deserved to be imbued with that amount of faith. Jack had long doubted that Miranda had any genuine redeeming qualities, but, if there was ever a time for her to show them, this would be it. Maybe saving her life would bring it out of her. “I need you to make sure they land on their feet, okay? They haven't got anyone else.”

“They've got you,” Miranda persisted, continuing to walk forward with her arm outstretched to hold up the pylon, her crutch long abandoned, her knee screaming in pain.

Jack gave a sardonic laugh. Of all the people she would have pictured entrusting her found family to, Miranda wasn't anywhere on that list. Hell, a year ago, Jack would never have pictured there being anyone she cared about, let alone a bunch of kids she considered her own, and protected as fiercely as a lioness defending her cubs. But things changed. She'd grown enough to gain a new perspective.

“Hey, cheerleader,” she began, channelling the Commander who'd given her a chance what seemed like a lifetime ago, “I'm going to be straight with you: part of me still wants to kill you, especially knowing that I'm already dead. Yeah, I admit, you're not as bad as I thought you were. We shared a few drinks, and we had a few laughs back on the Citadel. But I don't trust you for shit. Can't help that. What can I say? You're a fucking snake, alright?

“But, when we took down the Collectors, you showed me something, and that one thing is the reason why I think saving your life right now is worth it. And that's how much you love your sister. How much you gave up to keep her safe, without her even knowing you existed. I didn't understand it before. But I get it now. And that's why I know I can trust you to give my students a good life – a normal life,” Jack said, and she meant it. “Promise me. Promise me you'll take care of my students,” she implored her, blinking back tears that got lost in the sweat pouring down her face. “Treat them the way you'd treat your own sister. Do that, and we're cool.”

“Damn it, Jack,” Miranda didn't know what she hated more, Jack's foolhardy determination to be a bloody hero or the fact that, had she not been injured, she would already have marched over there, bashed her in the back of her head and forcibly dragged her out of the building. If she had just been in a better condition, Jack would already be safe. They wouldn't be having this conversation.

“Promise me, damn it!” Jack demanded, feeling her control beginning to slip.

“You can look after them yourself! Come on. On the count of three, we both let go. And you take my hand and run,” Miranda pleaded with her, in spite of the searing sting that shot through every nerve as she moved closer, biotics firing on overdrive as she reached out, extending her hand to Jack. She was within arm's reach. Fingertips away. “Just do it. Please,” she begged her, not sure how much longer her biotics could hold out. “We're getting out of this together. I won't leave you.”

For a second, it looked like Jack was considering doing exactly that, even if it meant risking them both. Miranda dared to feel hopeful that she'd succeeded in convincing her that she wouldn't take no for an answer. They would thrive together or perish together, just like the old days.

Who would have thought it would be just the two of them?

Suddenly, Miranda heard a sound above her, and felt a sheet of dust rain down onto her shoulders. Jack saw it too. The cracks in the ceiling were rapidly getting worse, spreading across the concrete, threatening to break like glass under the pressure. The roof was about to cave in directly on top of them. Jack's biotics were waning. She'd run out of time.

“Look out!” Jack yelled. Miranda threw up her arm and unleashed what little remained of her biotic reserves to brace the ceiling just a few seconds longer. She heard the roaring wave of destruction advancing towards her from the highest floors of the building. Gravity was about to catch up with them. Fast.

All of a sudden, a sonic boom cut the air. A beam of light shot into the darkness, and abruptly stopped. A hand grabbed Miranda about the waist. Green skin.

Her eye shot wide open with recognition. Shiala. And she was preparing a biotic charge straight back the way she came. Without Jack.

“Wait!” With her last burst of strength, Miranda lunged forward, just barely managing to seize the lapel of Jack's jacket and pull her forward. Reluctantly, Jack gave in, offering no resistance, letting herself be grabbed and dragged towards Shiala. She was still holding up a biotic field, although now it was serving more as a shield against the debris rapidly pelting down around them than a brace, doing little prop up the collapsing building.

Shiala took Jack in her other arm once she got within reach, securing them both as best she could amid the downpour of falling masonry. She crackled with energy, preparing for another charge.

“As soon as we stop, run,” Shiala warned them, her voice nearly drowned out by the cracks that tore through the foundations of the building.

At the last possible moment, she charged back towards the ramp. Less than a split-second later, the very place where they once stood was buried, engulfed in a tidal wave of rubble.

They came to an abrupt stop, a few yards short of the entrance ramp.

“Go!” Shiala pushed Jack ahead, almost throwing her. There were people waiting for them, countless hands reaching, frantically grabbing Jack and pulling her to safety as they all hastened to retreat and take shelter from the impending collapse.

Ignoring the pain in her still injured body, Miranda scrambled for the entrance, narrowly dodging the torrent of falling masonry. Her bad knee buckled, slowing her down. Shiala noticed that she was struggling. She reached back and physically pulled Miranda up the ramp by the scarf around her neck, the two of them dashing and diving out into daylight as the structure came crashing down behind them, barely escaping death.

Miranda didn't even utter a hiss at the blaring flashes of agony blazing through her body, too busy turning to look back at the disaster zone to care if she'd worsened her injuries.

A wall of dust all but exploded out from the collapsing building, swallowing everyone in the street. She raised her arm to protect her face as pieces of the broken building began to rain down onto the street. Shiala threw up a makeshift barrier, which diverted some of the shrapnel. Even so, a few stray projectiles hit Miranda in the side and in her good shoulder as everything that remained of the building fell down on top of itself, leaving only a pile of rubble. It sounded like a freight train driving straight into the ground.

It was all over in seconds. The silence set in, unrelentingly cold. The only thing Miranda could hear beneath the ringing of her ear was her own heavy breathing, and the thundering of her heart as she dared to look up through the dust cloud.

The building had been flattened. Everything had sunk into the basement levels.

A second slower, and that would have been her. A moment longer, and none of them would have survived.

As the dust settled, shock slowly giving way to a delayed sense of relief, Miranda glanced over to the familiar green face beside her, regarding her with silent recognition. She didn't know how or why, but Shiala had saved her life. And Jack's. And nearly killed herself trying to save people she barely knew.

Shiala looked back, as if sensing at least one of Miranda's wordless questions. “I heard you were in trouble,” she explained with a small shrug, somewhat awkwardly rubbing the back of her neck. “I came as fast as I could.”

Miranda's head was still reeling, scarcely able to make sense of the fact that she was still alive. Incredulous though she was, she wouldn't forget what Shiala had done for her. At least this was one saviour Miranda would be able to thank.

Her thoughts were quickly shattered by a loud scream.

“Jack?” Miranda barely heard herself saying her name beneath the ringing in her ear. Her focus shifted. She grimaced as she pushed herself forward, past Shiala, trying to see what was going on.

“Teach? Teach?” One of Jack's students was leaning over her, visibly concerned.

“What's going on? What's wrong with her?” another of them asked the soldiers.

“Move aside,” Miranda instructed, wincing as she dragged herself over, pushing her way between bodies. She looked down and saw Jack writhing in agony, her muscles all tensed, her limbs rigid. She was wide awake, and conscious, even though every fibre of her body seemed to be seizing up in pain – so much that she couldn't speak.

Miranda had never seen anything like this before, but she understood immediately. She had felt a fraction of the weight Jack had carried on her back for so many minutes – the biotic energy she had to exert to keep that up. Her body had been pushed beyond its limits and, for lack of a better word, overloaded. It must have felt like being struck by lightning.

“Give her a sedative and a muscle relaxant, and get her back to camp,” Miranda quietly commanded, figuring the best thing she could do for Jack was help ease her pain, and knock her out for a bit while her body began to heal itself. A nearby medic didn't hesitate to follow her orders.

“Will she be okay?” the student Miranda recognised as Prangley asked.

“I can't make any promises, but for what it's worth, I don't think she's done any permanent damage,” Miranda replied, watching as the sedative began to take effect, and Jack slowly began to calm down, her muscles going limp as the tension gradually left her body. “If my best guess is correct, then the worst she'll have suffered is a torn ligament here or there.”

“We've got it from here, Director Lawson. We'll take her to the medical evac shuttle with the other critical patient,” one of the medics told her.

Miranda gave them a nod. “Make sure the rest of the kids are okay, too. They've been through a lot. We'll wait here while you do.”

“Sure thing.” They got to work carrying out her orders, loading Jack up on a stretcher, taking her back to where the bulk of the team was waiting. The medics began to evaluate the health of Jack's students. Everyone else within sight...needed a few minutes to recover. A building just came down in front of them.

That had been a close call. Too close.

With that, Miranda hobbled a few paces back from the wreckage, as if finding physical space would give her the room she needed to think. She ran her hand through her hair, releasing a long breath, processing what had just happened while the tinnitus blared in her ear. She let her forehead fall against the cold stone of a nearby building, her mind voicing a thousand different thoughts of how close she'd come to letting things go horribly wrong, and the words she and Jack had exchanged when it seemed like their lives were about to end.

It didn’t seem real. It had just happened, but it felt like waking up from a vivid dream. She couldn’t quite fathom the things that had gone through her mind (or hadn’t gone through her mind) in the intensity of the moment. 

No matter how much she and Jack clashed in the past, there was a special bond between shipmates, especially those of the Normandy. No matter how much they still disliked each other, they'd been part of something. Everyone on that ship had seen things no one else in the universe could appreciate or understand.

And Miranda had been given an opportunity to save her, one of those people who'd walked through the fire with her, and she had so very nearly failed. Hell, in a way, she had. By sheer luck, Shiala had been there to bail them out from a situation Miranda should have seen coming, and should have prevented. Her mistakes had nearly cost them all.

What was worse was knowing that, with so many others she had served beside, she wouldn't get that chance to even try. They were already gone.

How had she come so close to wasting not only her own life, but Jack's, and her students'? What had she been thinking? What was wrong with her? Why had she doubted herself when she knew going underground was the wrong call?

Not only that but...what if Shiala hadn’t shown up? Jack was right. There would have been no saving either of them, let alone both. Miranda would have thrown her life away pointlessly, all because she would have rather died than live with one more person getting killed on her watch - one more person she knew. Realising that about herself was...going to take some time to process.

“Director?” Yoshizawa's voice penetrated her thoughts. “Director Lawson, are you okay?”

Miranda blinked herself out of her strange stupor. It seemed like an eternity that she had been standing there in thought, but, when Miranda broke herself out of it, it had probably only been a minute at most.

“I'm alright. I'm unharmed,” she answered, gingerly shifting her body around. She'd lost her crutch in the building collapse. That was annoying. But the job always came before anything else. That was just how Miranda did things. She couldn't function any other way. “Make a report, will you?”

“Report?” Yoshizawa repeated vacantly, still dazed by the events that had just occurred.

“Yes, report to base. Eleven survivors rescued. Two in need of urgent medical attention.” Miranda hesitated, looking over at the students, and at Jack. They were all watching their teacher get carried off towards the same transport as Seanne was on, going to get the help they needed.

Yoshizawa followed her gaze. For a moment, Yoshizawa seemed to consider whether to extend some word of comfort to her after nearly losing someone she knew, as well as nearly losing her own life trying to rescue Jack, but she apparently thought better of it, carrying out the order without another question, leaving Miranda in peace, letting her dwell on her thoughts in private.

Miranda noticed a few sideways glances in her direction from her team, some quiet words being discussed about her. She wondered if they thought her heroic and brave for staying behind with Jack. If so, little did they realise there was nothing courageous about it. Her reasons had been entirely selfish.

Funnily enough, Jack was the only person who had seen that.

“Could somebody fetch me a bloody walking stick?” Miranda acerbically remarked in the general direction of some of the privates who were hanging around the scene. They all stiffened, visibly scared of her. One of them saluted and ran off to fulfil her request. Miranda rolled her eye as she shifted around to lean back against the wall behind her. “Incompetents,” she muttered, because it was easier to snap at them than kick herself for letting this disaster nearly happen.

“Are you sure you shouldn't go with them too?” Shiala asked, moving to Miranda's side, nodding her head towards the medics. Miranda hadn't even noticed that she'd followed her.

“I'm fine,” Miranda assured her. Shiala sent her a look, as if to make sure she was telling the truth. “Really,” she added, trying to sound sincere, not failing to remember that Shiala had seen the vulnerability beneath the mask before.

“Then I'm glad,” Shiala replied, taking up a position beside her, almost matching Miranda's stance against the wall. She sighed, admirably calm, but understandably a little shaken by her near-death experience. “You are a very impressive woman, Miranda Lawson, but it would be my preference if for once we could meet under less...dire circumstances,” she remarked, sensing a recurring theme.

Miranda uttered a chuckle at that, unconsciously rubbing at her injured shoulder, trying not to aggravate her amputation site. “If I bought you a drink later, would that count?” she asked. That was the least she could do to express her gratitude.

Shiala summoned a small smile, as if liking the sound of that. “It would be a start.”

Miranda looked out over at Jack's kids again. Some of them were crying, wiping tears from their eyes as the shuttle carrying Jack and Seanne departed, the aftershock of everything they'd gone through passing over. 

It was funny. In all honesty, Miranda couldn't say her heart hurt for any of them, or what they were going through. She understood it intellectually, but seeing people cry didn't elicit any emotion in her. She didn't possess that latent empathy. She didn't even know most of their names.

But, that being said, that didn't mean she didn't feel anything. It would have been extremely easy for her to choose not to care but, well...that Miranda had been left behind many months ago. She wasn’t that person anymore.

Her past self wouldn’t have, but Miranda did feel sorry for these kids, and what they'd gone through. As much as she could, at least. She knew what they'd endured. She understood their loss. She'd seen how much they cared about each other – how much they meant to Jack. She'd nearly watched them all die avoidable deaths, because she hadn't trusted her instincts to get them out of that building. Because Miranda had been indecisive and taken a fucking shortcut.

It wasn't right. It wasn't right to just...walk away from any responsibility she bore, like it had never happened. To wash her hands, and absolve herself. Not now.

It wasn't lost on her that they were all only a little younger than Oriana. She was twenty now. They were, what? Seventeen? Thinking of Ori was always the ticket to bringing out Miranda's softer side – a side she wouldn't have even had without her.

Miranda thought about the things Jack had said to her mere minutes ago, in the heat of the moment. About looking after her students, the same way she would look after her sister. Protecting them. Keeping them safe. Giving them normal lives.

Miranda wasn't good with other adults, let alone kids. She'd never really been one. Or had friends at that age. Giving Oriana a normal life had meant staying far away from her. But when Miranda set her mind to anything, she could do it. Already, she had begun to think about how she could pull strings. Make sure their needs were looked after. Make sure they landed on their feet.

There were nine of them. Ten, including Seanne. Ten teenagers. And Jack.

Eleven. Eleven people might be feasible. Temporarily, anyway. That was how many housemates Miranda already had, after all. It was worth trying, wasn't it? Worth seeing if it worked out. Worth trying to do the one thing Jack had asked of her.

Miranda had never made any promises to Jack, so, technically, she wouldn't have been doing anything wrong if she ignored that request. She didn't have any obligation to honour her wishes. And Jack was still alive to take care of her students herself. But, frankly, those technicalities Miranda might once have clung to in order to easily rationalise this all away and to absolve herself of any sense of duty didn't seem to matter anymore. She didn’t want to take a pass on this.

She was sure something could be arranged. Miranda had a lot of pull with Bailey. She was his best agent. Surely, if she spoke with him, he would be willing to make a few special accommodations for her. Anything to ensure she continued working for him for as long as possible.

Even if her plan worked, that would take a few days, at a minimum. Not to mention that Miranda's work out here in the wastes wasn't over yet. They needed somewhere to stay in the interim. Someone to look out for them while Jack was out of commission. Someone she could trust.

“Shiala, you've already done a lot for me, so I wouldn't want to impose by asking anything further,” Miranda began, trailing off momentarily. Shiala tiled her head, listening intently. “Those nine kids need a place to stay. I know you and the Zhu's Hope colonists probably don't have enough room, but you have connections in the green zone. You know it better than I do. If you could put them up somewhere, just for a couple of days, while I get their affairs in order...”

“That's not an imposition at all,” Shiala stated plainly, thinking nothing of it. “I can take them on my shuttle, get them there faster.”

Miranda had to admit, she was a little taken aback to hear Shiala so readily volunteer her assistance again. She was expecting she'd have to work harder to convince her, or trade her something of value. Not that she was complaining but...why did Shiala keep helping her? What was she getting out of this?

“I appreciate it. I'll make it up to you,” Miranda offered, since it only seemed fair. That and she didn’t like feeling at a deficit in terms of favours to call upon.

“You don't have to do anything for me.” Shiala shook her head, dismissing the thought. “You've already earned my help. And...well, if you'll have it...you’ve earned my friendship too,” Shiala added, a little more self-consciously, as if wondering if she was saying too much, or being too awkward.

Miranda blinked. Oh. Was that what this was? Was that what she wanted from this?

Honestly, she had never contemplated that. Miranda had a habit of viewing all her dealings with other people as inherently transactional, due to how she was raised. It was a mindset she was slowly learning to change, but it still caught her off guard every now and then to be reminded that sometimes people just did things for others, not because they were repaying a favour or because they expected something in return, but just because they cared and wanted to help.

That and, in her entire life, Miranda had met maybe five people who actually seemed to like her as a person and enjoy her company. One of them was her sister, and two of them were dead. Suffice it to say, she wasn't used to it.

“...Sure,” Miranda said, not sure how else to answer that. She didn't know Shiala particularly well, and in all honesty she saw her purely as a useful contact. But she saw no reason to reject her offer. That would just hurt her feelings, and more importantly sabotage the inroads Miranda had made with her as a reliable ally.

If this was all Shiala wanted in return for assisting her then Miranda could...try the friendship thing, she supposed. It was less effort than the blackmail she usually had to resort to when securing third party contacts. Presumably.

Shiala turned a more bashful shade of green. “Uh, well, that's great! I'm...glad. And I will...take you up on that drink,” she said in that awkward, stilted way of hers. It was like she was always torn between whether to speak with traditional asari formality, or whether to emulate the more casual ways of speaking the Zhu's Hope colonists would surely have taught her to use with humans by now. That and it always kind of seemed like she was talking through a headache.

“I’m looking forward to it,” Miranda replied. She wasn’t really, of course, but Shiala didn’t need to know that. In any event, she wasn’t averse to the idea. And lying to be polite was a skill she still needed more practice at, unless she wanted to continue alienating people with blunt honesty for the rest of her life.

Tempting, but no.

“Me too.” Shiala nervously cleared her throat. “I will, uh...see you around. Stay safe this time,” she said, taking her leave. Miranda gave her a parting nod.

Judging from her reaction, Miranda got the sense Shiala hadn't had that many friends before either, Zhu’s Hope not included. She wasn't sure whether that would make maintaining this proposed friendship extremely easy, since her standards would be low, or whether that made this a terrible idea, because neither of them brought anything of value to the friendship table. Maybe both.

Miranda watched Shiala approach Jack's students, introducing herself and offering them a place to say. It was funny. Despite how much she'd grown over the past year, Miranda was still at a distance from all but a select few – looking from the outside in at people who could form bonds so much more easily. People who could just naturally relate to others.

She would never be able to do that. She just couldn't.

At the end of the day, did it really matter? Did it matter that she didn't genuinely care about these kids as much as Jack did? Did it matter that she didn't honestly reciprocate Shiala's feelings of friendship? She was doing good by her actions, wasn't she? Doing what Jack had asked of her. Somehow, despite a complete lack of effort, managing to be someone whose companionship Shiala enjoyed. Those positive outcomes had to count for something, right?

Progress was progress. After all, who would have ever thought that Miranda fucking Lawson would become a person who risked her own life for Jack’s, a protector of lost teenagers, and a person who made friends? Jacob would have been proud of her, if not for the fact that he would never believe it.

It was also a hell of a lot easier to focus her attention on those things than to confront the fact that she still hadn’t dealt with the phantom faces that haunted her in her dreams, or the missing names from the Normandy, or the tinnitus that made trying to fall asleep at night into a marathon of audial torture, and how those things were affecting her even in her waking moments.

Miranda swallowed, not ready to face those problems. Not yet.

“Alright. Playtime’s over. Let’s get moving,” Miranda called out to her team assembled in the square. “We still have a city to clear.”

*    *     *

Miranda was definitely in a mood that day when she stormed into the Starboard Observation Deck, her arms folded across her chest. She sighed and went to the viewport, leaning with one arm against the transparent window. Samara continued to meditate, undisturbed. That earned a somewhat suspicious glance back over Miranda's shoulder.

“What?” said Miranda, eyeing her. “You're not going to ask me about the fight I had with Jack?”

“I was not,” Samara replied. “Although I did overhear it, as did everybody on this deck of the ship.”

“Great.” Miranda shook her head, flipping her hair back. “I know Shepard managed to talk her down, but she walked into my office and physically assaulted me. She's unstable.”

“She did. And that was wrong of her,” Samara acknowledged, pausing for a moment. “Did you do anything to provoke it?” she asked, sensing Miranda was perhaps...minimising her role in the argument.

“Provoke it?” Miranda echoed, offended at the insinuation.

“It is merely a question,” Samara said calmly. “Jack is a volatile character. However, she has been a member of this crew for a considerable time without incident.”

“So I must have caused it?” Miranda sarcastically shot back, rolling her eyes and shaking her head when Samara didn't respond. Typical for her to get blamed for everything.

Samara waited a few moments, perhaps considering that she had erred in taking the direct approach. “I am aware that she recently revisited a place of immense childhood trauma,” Samara began, choosing a different approach. “This must be a sensitive time for her.”

Miranda sighed and glanced down, her arms stiffly folded across her chest. She could acknowledge that. “I never said what Jack went through wasn't horrible. I know it was. I went to that facility. I saw it for myself. No child should ever have to endure that. All I said was that it couldn't have been Cerberus. Or, if it was a Cerberus affiliate, then someone clearly went rogue and made a terrible mistake.”

That had to be the case. Cerberus didn't play by the rules, but the organisation had just aims. It was the first place where Miranda had been praised instead of criticised – allowed to make her own choices and do things her way. The Illusive Man had been a better father to Miranda than Henry Lawson ever was. Sure, they walked a morally grey line and did things other people weren't courageous enough to do, but Cerberus wasn't malicious or cruel, merely pragmatic.

“Do you think that distinction was important to Jack?” Samara's question broke Miranda from her musings.

“What?” Miranda regarded Samara strangely, finding her difficult to read. Samara let the question hang, waiting for an answer. Miranda had to admit, this wasn't what she had expected, given their growing friendship. If anything, she was a little hurt. “I thought you'd be on my side.”

“You sought me out to speak about this. If you did so and did not desire my honest opinion on the matter, then you have grave misapprehensions about my character,” Samara remarked. She would never give counsel that contradicted her morals.

“So you agree with Jack?” asked Miranda. That was the last thing she would have expected from someone as rational as Samara.

“It is not a question of agreement. You are focused on 'black and white' instead of seeing things from her perspective. And, with the greatest of respect, you must be aware that you are in a superior position, because the subject of what Jack endured does not affect you. This was not your trauma. You are detached – you can think about your words and actions in this situation, in a way that Jack, for whom these events are intensely personal, cannot.”

Miranda snorted. “Are you saying I should lie to her?”

“As a Justicar, I could never advocate for dishonesty, merely mindfulness. Like you, I am a hard woman. I have many honest thoughts. In the past, I have often voiced them carelessly, with little regard for their effect on others. There is wisdom in appreciating when our opinions are best kept silent, lest our words do harm,” Samara thoughtfully replied.

“If she can't handle my words, that's her problem,” said Miranda, staunchly believing herself to be in the right. “We've all been through bad things. That doesn't excuse attacking people.”

“No, it does not, but your own experiences should enable you to understand her better than most,” Samara dispensed her sage advice, encouraging sympathy.

“Exactly my point, though; I'm not the way she is. We turned out completely differently. We couldn't be more polar opposites if one of us was made of anti-matter,” Miranda pointed out, extending her hand to emphasise that. “My father did horrible things to me too. I'm not saying that it was on the same scale as what was done to Jack, but you don't see me losing control of my emotions.”

“Do not compare her reaction to yours. This is not what is important,” said Samara, dismissing that distraction. “Instead, try to empathise with her perspective as to why your words were harmful. For example, imagine speaking to someone about what your father did to you.”

“You don't know what my father did to me,” Miranda interrupted her before she could get started on that subject. “Nobody does.”

“Yes, precisely. They do not know. However, you do,” Samara continued. “You lived through those experiences. You understand how they affected you. Now, instead of listening to you and acknowledging what you endured, imagine someone giving you their unsolicited opinions on your childhood or your father, even with regard to something that may technically be correct.”

“Like what?” Miranda asked, shrugging her shoulders. Why would she be bothered by something factual?

“For instance, your father created the genetic code that exists inside you and your sister. Clearly, he is a brilliant scientist,” Samara observed. “Here is a hypothetical scenario: you tell me about his abuse towards you in your youth, I acknowledge that what he did was wrong, but I keep repeating to you that he was a brilliant scientist. How would you feel?”

Miranda's lips pursed, and she released a slight exhale. God damn it. Leave it to Samara to express things in a way that actually made her see what she was talking about, and see things from someone else's perspective.

“I would think that you're diminishing what I went through and defending the people who did it to me,” Miranda acknowledged. “I would probably find that very frustrating. If you or Jacob were saying it, I might even feel betrayed for confiding in you only to have you speak up for him.”

She knew, because it had happened before. Niket. The man she'd trusted to help her escape. The one person she thought understood the effect of her father's abuse. Instead of taking her side, he had accused her of being wrong for sparing Oriana all of that suffering. He'd even implied that growing up wealthy was a fair trade for her father's callousness and cruelty.

Miranda sighed, dropping her guarded posture as she raised one hand to rub her forehead. “Okay, so you have a point. Maybe I did inadvertently provoke her just a little bit. Not that it takes much.”

“You made a mistake. You are learning from it,” said Samara, not judging her for her imperfections.

“I suppose I have to; I didn't exactly learn social skills growing up,” Miranda admitted, never particularly happy with it when she realised there was something she'd done wrong. Her father had made certain that she despised failure, as he always went out of his way to make her dread the consequences. “That's becoming more apparent, lately. Being in such close quarters here with so many non-Cerberus personnel on The Normandy has forced me to do more 'socialising' than I have in the entire last thirty-five years of my life. People can be so...”

“Alien?” Samara supplied, somewhat wryly.

“I was going to say 'complicated', but that works,” said Miranda, slumping down on the floor beside Samara, chastened by her lecture, no matter how kindly put and...astute it had been. “You're lucky I trust you that none of this is going to leave this room,” she commented, glancing over at her companion. “If anyone else heard me acknowledge that I have weaknesses, I'd never live it down.”

“Everyone has weaknesses. To demand otherwise is unattainable,” Samara reassured her.

Miranda bit her lower lip. She thought about how much she already knew concerning Samara's past, and how she had obtained that knowledge behind her back. She still felt something resembling guilt about it. It only seemed fair to open up about some of her own secrets, so they could be on more even terms.

“I wasn't allowed to have anything he deemed a weakness. My father, I mean,” Miranda confessed, finally broaching that subject that she had long kept to herself. “The problem was, his definition of 'weakness' was anything that didn't directly benefit him. That included making friends, or smiling, or having my own interests, or feeling pain, or crying. Everything you can imagine really. All I knew throughout my entire childhood was control. I had to do everything exactly the way he wanted when he wanted it, even if I had absolutely no way of knowing what that was, even if it changed from one moment to the next, which it often did. And that was what I had to do just to be tolerated. Never anything more than that. Not loved, or praised, or accepted. Just tolerated. Anything less than his version of perfection and I would be punished, in some form or another.”

As she spoke, she felt Samara's eyes on her. It made her slightly self-conscious. She didn't want Samara to think she was heaping her personal problems upon her, or throwing a big pity party. That wasn't her intent. She just thought...Samara might actually understand her a bit better, if she told her the truth.

“I'm not saying any of this for sympathy or as an excuse,” Miranda explained. She didn't want those things. She didn't need those things. “I think it's just starting to crystallise for me that maybe I never really stopped listening to his voice, or obeying his vision. Perhaps there are some things I need to...reassess.”

“Much as the trauma of her youth is the source of the anger you experienced from Jack, you too carry the scars of your past, as I do with mine,” Samara spoke up. “Jack may not yet be ready to move on from it, but I believe that you are, if you so choose. You have already come further than you may appreciate. You have the capacity to identify what you need to change within you, and you have the will to see it done. This may take time and self-reflection, but it is achievable.”

“That's what you were talking about before, with the meditation, wasn't it?” Miranda surmised.

“It was one reason I suggested it,” Samara acknowledged. “It is a means of pursuing this kind of clarity – identifying aspects of oneself that the rigours of life normally distract one from perceiving and analysing.”

Miranda paused and glanced down, swallowing. “...I suppose I should thank you,” she said. Samara's silent response indicated she didn't know what Miranda meant by that. “For seeing the best in me, instead of dismissing me for my faults.”

“Could I not say the same to you?” Samara replied.

That thought managed to bring a small smile to the corner of Miranda's lips. She had a point. Then again, it wasn't hard to see the best in Samara. It was quite touching to think that maybe Samara would have said the same thing about her.

Maybe that was just what it was like when you met someone you felt instantly connected to. Maybe that was just how someone knew a rapport like this was real.

*    *     *

It was a few days before Miranda was really able to get back to the green zone and get her affairs in order. The operation had been a moderate success. They had found outposts of survivors who had hunkered down during the war, found pretty much anything resembling usable supplies that was left in the covered area, and found some habitable buildings to start moving people into.

Nobody had seen Samara though. Miranda was trying very hard not to let that concern her. It helped that she had other priorities to focus on.

Shiala had kept her updated on the status of Jack and her students. Thankfully, Seanne was recovering quickly from her illness. She was still in care, but expected to be released in the next couple of days.

Jack was...well, doing a lot worse than Seanne. Her condition was stable but her biotics had damn near destroyed her body. Almost as bad as the shuttle crash had destroyed Miranda's. No permanent damage, most likely. But her muscles were in a lot of pain, still slowly repairing themselves. From the sounds of things, it would take a lot of time and rehab to get her back to where she was.

Miranda was able to confirm all that with her own eyes. It wasn't hard to find Jack, even among all the beds, and all the sick and injured. She didn't look great. There were clear bruises where capillaries had burst beneath her skin. It did look like she'd been in a crash.

Jack must have sensed someone watching her, obviously not coping much better with bed rest than Miranda had. Bleary eyes glanced over in Miranda's direction, immediately turning with irritation when she realised who was standing there.

“Who the fuck let you in?” Jack groaned. Miranda was the last person she wanted to deal with when she was like this.

“It's a field hospital, Jack. Not much in the way of security.” Miranda thought about reminding her that she was known around here and people let her go wherever she wanted, but she had the good sense to realise that Jack would probably want to kill her if she said that. “How are you doing? Are you okay?”

“Fuckin' hurts,” Jack remarked, draping her arm over her eyes, hoping Miranda would just go away. “But I still look a damn sight better than you, fuckface.” 

That was debatable, honestly. “You're lucky you didn't tear yourself apart,” Miranda said quietly, moving closer. She was trying to be civil and understanding. “Not just limb from limb, but on a cellular level.”

Jack didn't respond, deliberately ignoring her in an effort to get Miranda to leave.

Miranda rolled her eye. So much for her efforts to be kind to her. Obviously her presence wasn't wanted. With that in mind, it was probably best to just cut straight to the point.

“Listen, I've spoken to Bailey. They're starting to house priority personnel in apartments in the city. That means Alliance officials, and people involved in the recovery effort. Civilians and non-essential personnel are the lowest priority. You'll be lucky to get a look-in on a place to live even a year from now, unless all of you are prepared to work for it. And, no offence, but you're not really in a condition to do that,” Miranda set out the facts.

“Why the fuck do you always talk like you're answering a question nobody fuckin' asked?” Jack grumbled. Despite her complaint, she reluctantly opened her eyes and shifted her head to listen to what she had to say.

Sensing she had her attention, Miranda continued. “I tried to convince Bailey to make an exception for you and your students, but he can't. Not unless someone who warrants high priority quarters chooses to take you in. Someone like me.”

“I'd sooner fucking drink bleach than live with you,” Jack shot that down.

Miranda had expected Jack to say that. “Okay. But what about your students? They don't have spare beds at this field hospital, Jack. There's barely enough room for them to breathe if they wind up in tent city. It's not safe for them out there by themselves. You don't know anyone else here. And, right now, you can't exactly look after them. Not without help,” Miranda explained. Much as she visibly hated it, Jack couldn't object to that. “I've already made the necessary arrangements. I can cancel them if you want, but I'm prepared to take them in, with or without you.”

“...Why are you doing this?” Jack asked suspiciously. It sounded like Miranda was being sincere, but it was hard to tell. Miranda never did anything for anyone without an agenda behind it. Unless it was for her sister. Or Jacob. Not for someone she didn't care about. Not for Jack.

Miranda pulled up a chair and sat down beside her bed. “There are only four of us left, Jack. If not for Shiala, that number would only be two; neither of us would be here right now. You nearly died the other day. And it would have been my fault if you had,” Miranda stated frankly. Jack had held an entire building up to keep her alive, and broken her body doing it. “That was why I couldn't leave you.”

Contrary to popular belief, Miranda had never hated Jack. Disliked her, yes, but the hatred had been entirely one-sided. Truth be told, she'd never cared about Jack enough to hate her. She hadn't cared about her at all. Not back then. In a way, that was a lot worse than hate. Jack would probably take it that way, if she knew. And Miranda had the decency to feel a tinge of regret about that, in hindsight.

Most of her memories of Jack were of conflict, or mutual avoidance at best. But Miranda had never set out to antagonise Jack, deliberately or otherwise. She hadn't sought her ought for anything, good or bad or neutral. Not once. She was completely uninterested in her. Apathetic. She didn't give Jack any unprovoked attention at all. Not that it mattered one way or the other. The fact that she was a Cerberus Operator had been cause enough to make her enemy number one.

Miranda hadn't batted an eye, save when things got violent. To her, not getting to know Jack was fine, and her hostile attitude had said more than enough about how little she was worth anyone's time.

Jack had loathed her. And Miranda had found her a nuisance at best. An insignificant insect who would be brushed aside as soon as the mission ended.

But she'd been wrong about her, hadn't she? Jack had been right about Cerberus the entire time, and Miranda had been too blinded by loyalty to believe her. And, while Miranda had been on the run from The Illusive Man and his agents, Jack had turned her life around. She'd set out to give the kids in the Ascension Program a far better shot at life than she ever got herself.

Miranda had done some growing of her own as well. She'd been cold and callous back then. Not just towards Jack but towards everyone. Whether she'd realised it or not at the time, she'd still been living in her father's shadow, letting the way he'd raised her shape how she treated others.

But things had changed. They weren't the same people they once were. Maybe they were never the people they'd assumed each other to be. But they were both working on being better people. And they'd lost almost all of their other comrades along the way.

Maybe Jack still wanted to hold onto her grudge, and maybe she was justified in doing that. But Miranda was tired. She wanted no part in this anymore. She couldn't carry on pretending her past grievances with Jack meant a god damn thing to her anymore. She didn't have the energy. If there was ever a time to bury the hatchet and move on, this was it.

“You said if I wanted to make up for all the bad history between us, and all the atrocities Cerberus committed against you, the only way for me to do that is to look after these kids the way I would look after my own sister,” Miranda recalled, knowing how much the students meant to Jack. “So...Okay. This is my answer. I want to honour that. I can't promise I'll be any good at it, but I intend to fulfil that bargain. This is me trying to make things...better.”

Jack looked at her for a long moment, a cold, hard stare, studying her face for any signs of duplicity. She didn't find any. Miranda wasn't lying. Her motives may have been self-centred, but that was to be expected. Jack would have been suspicious if they weren't. At least that reasoning made sense as to why Miranda suddenly wanted to be a less shitty person. For her, this was progress.

“...I never thought I'd say this, but you're actually fucking right about something,” Jack admitted, willing to put personal feelings aside for the well-being of her kids. “Living in a real fucking apartment is better for them. Better than being out here in this depressing shithole. So I'm going to tell them about you and what you’re offering. But I'm not going to force them. It's their choice.”

“Okay.” Miranda nodded. That was it, then. This was really happening.

She didn't want Jack to sense it, but she had mixed feelings about what she was getting herself into. Looking after teenagers was not high on her list of things she wanted to do. And she knew she was taking on a lot of responsibility. But this had been the one thing Jack had asked of her when she thought she was going to die. Doing her best to deliver on that request was the least Miranda could do, especially since Jack had saved her life that day.

“What about you?” Miranda asked, not sure whether Jack would be joining them. “I know we don't exactly get along, but you're welcome to stay too. I'll just make sure to hide the bleach before you do.”

That remark elicited a snort. “Yeah, about that. I don't think I'm gonna be going anywhere for a while,” Jack glanced down at herself.

Miranda gave a small, understanding smile. “I was in your position not long ago. I promise you, it will feel like an eternity. And your rehab will take time. But you'll be healthy enough to stay somewhere else sooner than you think. It doesn't have to be with me. Jacob is keeping my old bed free in case you'd prefer that.”

A conflicted look passed over Jack's face, a little bittersweet. “So I wouldn't be with the tykes?” she realised aloud.

Miranda suddenly recognised a possible flaw in her plan. “Jack, I'm not trying to separate you from them. I'm just offering them a place to stay. A roof over their heads. They're at liberty to see you whenever they want. And vice versa.”

“I know, dumbass,” Jack cut her off. “I'm just...I'm not sure they'll take it that way.”

Miranda softened. “You nearly gave your life to save them. If they don't know by now that you love them far too much to abandon them...well, I don't know, maybe tell them?” Miranda suggested. That's probably what Samara would have advised. “I don't know. I'm not good with people. Maybe don't listen to me on this subject.”

“I don't listen to you about anything,” Jack assured her, only half-joking. It hadn't escaped her notice that Miranda really was making an effort. Having some semblance of humility. Admitting that she sucked at something. The old Miranda never would have spoken to her like this. “...I'll think about it. I've got time. I've got some healing to do. I'll decide my living arrangements later.”

“Sure.” Miranda nodded, accepting that. “...Well, I'll start getting the apartment ready. There's still a lot to do, so...we'll talk another time.” Miranda elected to take her leave, getting up from her seat.

“Hey, Miranda.” Miranda paused, wondering if that was the first time Jack had actually called her by name. She turned and looked back. “We're not starting over at zero. It's too late for that. But I know you had nothing to do with what Cerberus did to me. And, if you're serious about trying to be straight with me, and you're not just going to throw my kids to the wayside the second you feel better about yourself, then...fuck it, I'll give you a shot.”

“This is you trying?” Miranda inferred. Jack didn't say anything, but nor did she protest. Miranda gave a nod, satisfied. She could live with that.

There was no chance they could ever become friends. But coexisting relatively peacefully would be good enough.

*    *     *

“Finally making use of the library, I see,” Miranda remarked, catching Samara in the act of reading.

Samara cracked a small smile as the doors closed behind Miranda. “I do reside on a human vessel. It would seem a terrible waste to remain ignorant of your arts and cultures when you have been so gracious in sharing these resources with me. That is if you do not object.”

“Knock yourself out,” said Miranda, not at all surprised that Samara appreciated what humanity had to offer based on their previous conversations, but glad for it nonetheless. Her long lifespan had not robbed her of her curiosity and adventurousness.

Despite their reputation for benevolence and co-operation with others, some asari Miranda had encountered could be incredibly patronising towards human cultures. Even if they welcomed other species into the fold, there were some who looked down on humans as effectively a novelty – like lost children taking their first steps on the galactic stage, whose beliefs and habits were cute, but would soon be a thing of the past once they were 'enlightened' by more ancient races. Thankfully, Samara wasn't like that. Her respect for other species was genuine and unfeigned.

“How many books have you read so far?” Miranda inquired, noticing that she was currently nearing the end of her copy of Moby Dick.

“Fewer than I would have liked,” said Samara, almost with a hint of self-deprecation.

At that point, EDI piped up. “Justicar Samara has requested my assistance in selecting texts from a diverse array of authors whose works were written in different cultural and linguistic contexts, as well as different genres and time periods.”

“This is correct. Thank you, EDI.” Samara nodded her head at EDI's holographic interface, which continued to operate silently. “I have heard that your species is far more diverse and varied than those who have come before. I did not wish to make the error of inadvertently and arbitrarily narrowing the scope of human literature available to me. This could lead me to draw false inferences, such as misconstruing humans as more homogeneous than you actually are.”

“Read anything by an Australian author yet?” Miranda asked, impressed by the care and consideration Samara had put into her decision to explore human literature for fun. That was thoughtful of her.

“Not at this time, no,” Samara confessed.

“You're not missing much.” Miranda shrugged nonchalantly as she joined her on the couch, not even sure there were any Australian texts in their small library. Out of curiosity, she brought up the database on her omni-tool. It contained a record of all available books aboard the ship and showed who had checked out what and when, so nobody could get away with not returning them.  Unsurprisingly, Samara was the most frequent user of the library, closely followed by Kasumi.

“I am sure that is not the case. I have yet to encounter a text that I have not enjoyed the experience of reading. Although I confess that, at times, certain details may have been lost on me,” Samara admitted as she closed her book and put it aside, acknowledging the effect that her own limited understanding of Earth and human history had on her comprehension of these stories.

Miranda tried not to smirk. “You had to ask EDI to explain to you what a whale is, didn't you?”

“She was very informative,” said Samara, which elicited a chuckle from Miranda. “Do you read?”

“When I have time, yes,” Miranda answered. It was also one of the few things her father had allowed her to do as a child, since he saw intellectual value in it.

“Are there any books you would recommend?” Samara asked, implicitly trusting her taste.

“Sure. I could send you a list, but I'm not sure that my preferences would be along the lines of what you're looking for,” Miranda acknowledged, earning a curious look from Samara. “For the most part, I don't read fiction anymore. There are some exceptions, but I rarely enjoy it.”

“I see.” Samara took a moment to contemplate that, choosing to seek elaboration. “Is there any particular reason why you tend to dislike it?”

“Well, on merit alone, ninety percent of all content produced is not worth consuming. As for the remaining ten percent, the vast majority of novels I've read are like being locked in a room listening to the inane thoughts and dialogue of annoying characters while the author either beats you over the head with their uninformed opinions or waffles on aimlessly while avoiding making anything that constitutes a worthwhile observation or statement,” Miranda explained, remembering how irritating she had found so many texts she was forced to study in her youth. “Even when the ideas and concepts are intriguing to me, I find it’s often ruined by the characters or the writing style getting in the way.”

“What makes a character annoying to you?” Samara pressed, curious about her comment.

“They make stupid decisions, they think things that I would never think, and everything is just a frustrating waste of time while you wait for them to cut the nonsense, realise the obvious and get to the point of the plot,” said Miranda. She hadn't anticipated an interrogation of her views on fiction. Fortunately, her frustrations were well-founded, and she never struggled to defend her positions.

Samara stared at her like she wasn't entirely certain whether or not Miranda was being facetious. “...Is that not, perhaps, the intent?” Samara considered aloud, prompting Miranda to glance up from the library database. “If the story reached its conclusion from the outset, bypassing all conflict and circumventing all faults and failings possessed by the characters, then would the author not have lost the opportunity to explore the – what is your term for it? – human condition?”

“It's not my bloody condition,” Miranda dryly remarked.

“You understood my meaning; do not be coy,” said Samara, mildly amused by her retort. “One of the benefits of literature over and above any other artform is that it allows you to experience life through the perspective of another, even down to their most private thoughts. It prospers empathy and understanding, even for those characters who are deeply flawed, as we all are. It is why I personally find that I have learned more about other species through reading their stories told in their own words than from any other source – certainly far more than I have gained from the detached academic writings of an asari anthropologist.”

Miranda shrugged, seeing her point. “I'm glad that you get so much out of it, but I never have,” she said honestly. “I can appreciate the themes of all these works on an intellectual level and the skills and techniques they've used in their writing, but I've never connected with a book or related to a character the way I've heard other people say they have. Fiction just doesn't resonate with me. Perhaps we're built differently like that.”

“Perhaps,” Samara replied, though if she had thoughts to the contrary she did not express them. “What is your preferred form of artistic expression?”

“Music,” Miranda answered without hesitation. “Not 'songs' per se, but I'm not as rigidly confined to the great composers as everyone seems to assume. I like my operas and my symphonies but I have a flair for the experimental as well. The theories and formulas that underpin music are there for a reason, but brilliant minds know how to break them in just the right ways.”

“Do you play?” asked Samara.

“Not since I was sixteen. But yes. I was classically trained in piano. I also did two years of violin before my father objected. Didn't like hearing me practice.” Miranda didn't feel the need to share that he'd ripped the violin out of her hands and thrown it across the room to break it in front of her because he'd decided she hadn't mastered it quickly enough and therefore wasn't taking it seriously. It wasn't relevant to the conversation and was more personal than Miranda cared to get.

“That is unfortunate,” Samara spoke sympathetically, evidently inferring why it was that Miranda had stopped playing nearly twenty years ago, given it held such a strong association with negative memories of her father. “One day, when the time is right, maybe you will play again.”

“I think you're the only one who wants to hear that,” Miranda commented, finding the thought of her other crewmates' reactions comical to ponder. “The rest of them out there would assume I was showing off and hate me for it.”

“Most likely. But you do not strike me as a woman who constrains herself based upon the opinions of others,” said Samara, with a knowing twinkle in her eye.

“Do I make it that obvious?” Miranda joked, unfazed by her unpopularity.

“Nevertheless, if the opportunity arises, perhaps you should consider it,” Samara quietly encouraged. “Your devotion to your work is admirable, but you should not squander the time you have by avoiding things that bring you joy. A day may come where you look back upon your years, and find them filled with regret for chances you did not take, and simple pleasures you let pass you by.”

“...I guess you'd know,” Miranda conceded, although in her heart she knew she had no intention of following through on playing again. Too close to home.

With that, Samara returned her attention to the book cradled in her hand, content to sit with Miranda in silence, as they often did. Miranda watched her for several seconds before speaking.

“Which one was your favourite?” she asked, prompting Samara to glance up at her in search of clarification. “Of the works you've read, I'm guessing either Don Quixote or Romance of the Three Kingdoms,” Miranda speculated. They seemed to her taste.

“Astute choices. But there was another I preferred. A poem, in fact,” she said. Miranda arched her brow, curious. “You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars. You have a right to be here. And, whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should. Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be and, whatever your labours and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul,” she recited.

Miranda's lip quirked in recognition. “That's Max Ehrmann, isn't it?”

“Yes,” Samara confirmed, meeting her gaze. “There is much wisdom in those words. I would do well to remember them when I stray. So too would it benefit many others to hear them.”

“You may have a point,” Miranda agreed, appreciating that Samara found meaning in those words, even if they did not particularly strike a cord with her. “It sounds like the sort of thing you could reflect on in your meditation.”

“I have,” said Samara. “Every day.”

*    *     *

[apiratecalledav]

Okay, reluctantly leaving my happily ever after AU/denial land for a minute because it’s been like two months and I still see people say bullshit like, “If Jaime was going to go back to Cersei, then Brienne should have died” and urgh. No. Just... no.

I won’t even get into how awful it is to reduce Brienne to that as a character within her own right because trivializing and misinterpreting her relationship with Jaime is bad enough. The main reason being that it completely overlooks one of the most important and poignant parts of Jaime’s character:

That even though Cersei was “the end of” Jaime, Jaime was in a lot of ways “the beginning of” Brienne.

While Cersei and Jaime were like kindling and oxygen getting devoured by fire and were destructive and toxic, Jaime and Brienne were like music and lyrics; complete individuals in their own right, but when they’re combined they created something new and amazing. Like two Valyrian steel swords reforged from one greatsword. If fate had been kinder, they would have been very happy together.

Unfortunately, growing up with Tywin (and Cersei), serving Aerys, and spending half his life being unjustly reviled, Jaime had a lot of issues with guilt and self-loathing that no one who didn’t take several advanced psychology classes would have been able to help with.

But despite Jaime’s personal demons, he tried as hard as he could to build up Brienne, not drag her down the way that Cersei did to him. Instead of using his relationship with Brienne for his benefit, he used it to benefit her: He helped Brienne to fulfill her oath to Cat and indirectly led to her being able to avenge Renly. He made it possible for her to go from being regarded as a failure and an oddity to being successful and respected. He knighted her. She fell in love with him and he loved her, too. No, it wasn’t enough to “fix” him (news flash: love isn’t a cure), but it was way, way more than what everyone around her ever expected. He loved her, not her father’s title or lands. And he loved her not in spite of her unusual, knightly demeanor but because of it.  And it wasn’t wishful thinking or all in her head or “but only as a friend.” Jaime Lannister, who was like, a five time winner of Westerosi Weekly’s “Sexiest Man Alive,” looked at Brienne of Tarth like this (so fuck you, Ronnet): 

Cersei saw Jaime as an extension of herself— her “other half” who got to have the kind of power and autonomy in society she desperately wished for herself because he was a man. Her feelings for him stemmed from narcissism and selfishness, dooming Jaime to virtually never being “good enough.”

Jaime also saw Brienne as everything he wished he could be— a true knight who was valiant and honorable, not because she was sworn to do so, but because she wanted to be. The difference here is that Jaime’s feelings for Brienne developed from admiration and respect and he is the one who didn’t feel worthy of her.

Because while Tyrion saw Jaime being with Brienne as Jaime finally allowing himself to be happy, I felt like Jaime saw it as being selfish. Telling Tyrion to “say something snide” made me think he was looking to be chastised. When Brienne tries to talk him out of dying with Cersei and tells him that he’s a good man, he nearly bursts into tears and reveals all of the worst things about himself. The most genuine and heartbreaking “it’s not you; it’s me” speech, like... ever.

If he truly believed that Brienne needed him, he would have stayed with her. We saw a long time ago that he was willing to leave the road that led back to Cersei to save Brienne from the bear pit, and risk his own life in the process. Just as he lost his right hand, his sword hand— when he believed that he “was that hand” and once said he’d rather die than be “grotesque”— to protect Brienne and keep her “whole.”

Even if it was only on a subconscious level, he obviously believed Brienne deserved to live more than he or Cersei did. But Brienne is safe after 8x03; the dead are defeated and she’s not only on the side with a damn dragon, she won’t even be expected to leave Sansa and Arya to fight. The only thing Jaime believes he’s doing for her is clouding her judgment, i.e. “tricking” her into thinking that he’s good and that he deserves her. In his mind, he did the same thing to Brienne that Cersei did to him. He thought Brienne would start making excuses for him, just as he had done so many times for Cersei. Look at his face and eyes when she says “You’re a good man.”

When Jaime told Tyrion that he “never cared” for innocents, I don’t believe he’s a Scooby-Doo villain removing his mask and saying, “Surprise! I’ve been an asshole all along.” It’s just the way he saw himself because he didn’t know how else to explain his mistakes, the (innocent) people he had hurt, or his inability to stop caring about Cersei even though she was horrible. We know that Jaime’s attachment to Cersei is unhealthy and the result of emotional abuse and other factors resulting from trauma. But Jaime saw it as proof he was a bad person.

He did for Brienne what (I can easily imagine) he wished Cersei had done for him— He tells Brienne that he’s hateful and effectively sets her “free” of him. When he perceived himself to be perpetuating the cycle of abuse, he stopped it (more “break the wheel” imagery?). Yeah, he did it in an awful, hurtful way but we have to remember that Jaime had no access to therapy, self-help books, advice columns, google, etc. He hadn’t had or even really seen a healthy relationship since his mother died when he was like seven. On top of that, his last real moment of pure love and acceptance was with Myrcella... about thirty seconds before she died in his embrace. That alone would screw up anyone. It’s tragic and devastating, but Jaime wasn’t in a place to make Brienne happy long term and he had absolutely no idea how to change that. It was easier to shut down those negative feelings when he could say, “I have a noble purpose: help stop ice demons and zombies from destroying the world.” When he couldn’t say that anymore, it got to be too much for him.

I’ve long thought that applying the “redemption arc” label to Jaime (or any asoif/got character, really) was a little too... simplistic. Like most major characters, Jaime has undoubtedly done some reprehensible things, the worst being his attempt to kill Bran. But unlike say Joffrey or Ramsay, Jaime’s thought process wasn’t, “Hey, let’s push this kid out of a window and see if his bones make a sweet crunching noise when he lands!”

He was thinking, “Oh, shit. This kid is probably too young to ‘play it cool’ for long around his parents after being threatened or bribed... And if he blabs, that’s my head cut off, Cersei’s head cut off, and if Joffrey, Tommen, and Myrcella aren’t immediately executed right behind us, they’ll be locked up until they’re old enough that people are less squeamish about chopping off their heads, too. And gee, I bet dear old Dad isn’t going to take that lying down...”

In a world as brutal as theirs, it’s difficult for me to condemn anyone too harshly for trying to protect themselves or their loved ones, provided they aren’t cavalier about collateral damage (for example, Cersei blowing up the sept with more than just her enemies inside and people in the surrounding area ending up getting crushed by the debris).

Early on, Jaime appeared to be arrogant, callous, and convinced that violence was an “easy solution.” As the series progressed, mostly through his growing friendship with Brienne, we discovered that a great deal of Jaime’s behavior was a defense mechanism.

After his “Kingslayer” persona slowly falls away, we eventually see “Jaime” (re)born in Brienne’s arms.

Soon, we even saw him gain a shiny, newly reforged Valyrian steel sword to go along with his new beginning . But he didn’t even have the sword very long before he turned around and gave it to Brienne— and kept the “tainted” Widow’s Wail for himself.

And when Brienne tried to return Oathkeeper,  that precious symbol of hope and honor and second chances, Jaime refused it and told her, “It’s yours. It will always be yours.” (Emphasis mine)

I know we were hoping that Brienne would “save” Jaime— and I firmly believe she was instrumental in saving his soul— but Jaime ended up ultimately saving Brienne. He saved her life, but he also saved her from an existence of loneliness and ridicule. In 4x02 (written by GRRM btw), Brienne tells Cersei, “In truth, he rescued me, Your Grace. More than once.”

Jaime was a flawed and deeply troubled person, but he tried his damnedest to give Brienne everything. No, he couldn’t literally do so— he couldn’t give her his whole, undamaged heart— but he still gave her so much: His admiration; his faith; his trust; his sword; his right hand; her protégé Podrick; helped her fulfill her vows and find good friends like Sansa, Tyrion, and Davos, and a kindred spirit in Arya; and made her dearest wish come true. What is that, if not love, of the truest and deepest kind?

Though Jaime likely thought his knighting of Brienne was merely a nice thing to do for her on their supposed last night on earth, it ended up having an unexpected and incredible impact once the North gained independence: Knights were already mainly a Southern thing and Brienne’s knighthood would have been absolutely worthless in an independent North. Sansa, being completely safe and secure and obviously knowing how much being knighted meant to Brienne, would assure her that she was released from her vow to Catelyn’s daughters. And so Ser Brienne is free to return to the Six Kingdoms, and offer her services to the new King, Cat Stark’s last surviving son. To Bran.

While Jaime once hurt Bran for Cersei’s sake and accidentally paved the way for years of war and destruction, Brienne, thanks to Jaime knighting her, will be able to dedicate herself to protecting Bran, insuring peace, and helping to rebuild.

All of the best parts of Jaime live on in Brienne and not just because she finished his entry in the Book of Brothers. She, and the doors that Jaime opened for her, are his legacy.

Brienne will be able to do the kinds of things Jaime wanted to do but couldn’t. She’ll help restore honor to the knighthood. There will be more Ser Briennes and Ser Davoses and Ser Podricks and fewer Ser Gregors, Ser Armorys, and Ser Meryns.

It truly baffles me to see people bitching about “wasted character arcs” and yet in the same breath are ready to throw Brienne and everything Jaime did for her away. Jaime’s character was frustrating and heartbreaking and maddening but it wasn’t a waste precisely because he made it possible for Brienne to have a bright future and a good life and it’s the proof that he truly was ultimately a much better person than his sister.

TL;DR:  If we must pigeonhole Jaime into the whole “redemption” thing, can’t we see that he did redeem himself through Brienne— by supporting her and validating her and making it possible for her to do the kind of great things he wished he could do himself?

PS: I’m fairly certain Jaime and Cersei’s ending was “softened” for the show, the way so many other characters and events have been. I highly doubt she’ll be pregnant and the idea that he was largely motivated to save their child certainly helped make the whole thing easier for me to swallow. As  Tyland Lannister, hand to the “broken King” Aegon III,  screams “Tyrion and Bran,” and Elissa Farman appears to be foreshadowing Arya’s similar journey/let’s us know it’s very possible she’ll survive... Aelora and Aelor Targaryen make me wonder if book Jaime will accidentally kill Cersei and then freak out and commit suicide. And if that’s the case, I’m glad the show went with something different, as rushed and clumsy as it was. I am glad that Jaime’s last moments weren’t violent or angry or otherwise cruel and didn’t have to add more to his overwhelming guilt and despair.

If he had to die, and especially if he had to die with Cersei, then it’s a good thing that he got to die as Joanna’s son— not Tywin’s— and as Tyrion’s brother— not Cersei’s. He got to die as the man who Brienne fell in love with: Someone who was brave and compassionate, fulfilling his oath, and being honorable in his way, even if it’s not in the way society (or the audience) understands or likes. Even though he was with Cersei, he remained as the man who could see— and love— the vulnerable human being beneath their “monstrous” exterior, just as he did for Brienne and Tyrion. Maybe Cersei didn’t “deserve” that, but Jaime certainly did. And in the White Book, when it’s said that Jaime died protecting his Queen, it’s not a lie. Which is the last thing Jaime would have wanted: “I'll hack the bloody book to pieces before I'll fill it with lies.”

I don’t know if Old Jaime would have intentionally hurt or murdered Cersei, but I definitely think he would have at least hurled out one last massive fuck you in a similar “why have the gods made me love a hateful woman?” way. He’d have reminded her that none of this would have happened if she wasn’t such a stubborn, vindictive wretch: If she hadn’t pushed Joffrey to ditch Sansa for Margaery, whose grandma ended up killing him; if she hadn’t tried to get Tyrion falsely executed, she wouldn’t have set off a chain of events that led to Tywin and Myrcella dying; if she hadn’t tried to screw over Margaery by giving the High Sparrow power; if she hadn’t blown up the Sept, Tommen wouldn’t have killed himself; if she had kept her promise to fight in the North; if she had just stepped down when Dany arrived, etc then maybe they wouldn’t about to damn near literally get crushed to death by all of Cersei’s bad decisions.

Old Jaime talked a lot of shit to people, presumably trying to make himself feel better. But he realized at some point, all it did was make them as miserable as he was. So in the end, when Cersei is so pitifully scared and sad, instead of getting pissed off or bitter, Jaime comforts her the best he can; an ability I don’t think he would have developed if it hadn’t been for his relationship with Brienne. We even see some rare moments of genuine selflessness from Cersei (“You’re bleeding” and “I don’t want our baby to die”). In Jaime and Cersei’s final moments, they act as close to normal siblings as they are capable, seeing as they don’t even try to kiss (thank goodness). This leaves Brienne as the last person Jaime kissed. And to me, that says it all.

Okay, back to our regularly scheduled “Grey Worm and Missandei said ‘fuck you, Westeros’ after The Long Night and dropped Jaime and Brienne off at Tarth on their way to Naath” way of life. 

[animemangasoul]

Reason To Live

By Black aka Darkness my Sorrow (a very talented artist!) - thank you for this hun!!

Summery: In which Akutagawa meets a 7 year old Dazai and tells him what he would have liked to hear.

Characters: Akutagawa & Dazai

Gen

Akutagawa didn’t know exactly how he’d ended up here in this particular moment, in this particular time. He’d touched something he was sure. A falling object? Him and Dazai-san, then it had glowed and right in front of Dazai-san widening eyes, he’d disappeared.  

Dazai-san had said something. Shouted? Akutagawa couldn’t tell, but he hadn’t heard.  

Just vanished.

And now he was here. Staring up at what was undeniably Dazai-san. A tinier, more wide eyed, more scared, but undeniably Dazai-san.  

“Are you suicidal,” the kid snapped, looking at him like he was insane where he was bopping up and down in the cold polluted river water.  

Akutagawa snorted; coughing lightly into his shoulder. The irony. The kid glared in turn, and the hellhound just shrugged. “No,” he answered mildly, looking around curiously and noting how he was still in the same city, Yokohama.

The past then?  

Abilities didn’t affect Dazai-san, so he couldn’t have been turned into a child, and if he was, why weren’t they still in the warehouse?

‘I’m in the past,’ he concluded with a slightly more assurance swimming closer to shore and hauling himself up on too thin arms and on even thinner wrists. He coughed.

“Are you ok Mr?”

Mini Dazai-san didn’t sound concerned, more curious really.  

Of course he did.  

Akutagawa shrugged, glancing down at him. “That depends,” he mumbled.  

“On what?”

“If I can get home.”

Brief flash of disappointment skimmed across the kid’s eyes. “Oh,” he said. “Yeah I guess you have to leave now.” The jacket he was wearing was too big on his too tiny shoulders, his eyes light but still fighting back shadows unseen. He looked young, scared, alone.

Small

“Not right now,” Akutagawa blurted out before he could really think through his words. His stomach twisting into painful knots just by looking at his former mentor. “I need the break anyways.”

‘Why?’ he thought as the kid sent him a beaming smile that could hide the sun itself. ‘I don’t want to stay. I don’t want to talk to this Dazai-san.’

But-

He frowned at what appeared to be the seven-year-old version of his mentor. ‘I don’t want to leave either. Not yet, not until-’

“Why are you here kid?”

Mini Dazai-san shrugged, kicking his feet around, letting them skim across the water surface as he sat down with a flurry of movements. “Hiding from my dad.”

Akutagawa took a short intake of breath. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” the kid smiled up at him where Akutagawa had taken to sit next to him in his wet cloths and tired body. “It’s not too bad all the time,” he said loudly; like he was trying to convince himself. “But it is what it is. It doesn’t really matter anyways, I’ll kill myself before he finishes the job. Less painful that way.”

Akutagawa’s eyes stung. He pursed his lips. “You could run away?” The words tasted like ash on his tongue. ‘You ran away,’ the traitorous words whispered in his ears. ‘What good did that do you.’

“Naah,” Dazai-san shrugged. “I don’t mind. Just when it gets too much. Besides, it’s interesting.”

“What so interesting about fucking abuse,” Akutagawa snapped without thinking, unable to hide the bitterness in his voice.

The kid looked up at him curiously. “Speaking from experience?”

Akutagawa snapped his mouth shut and turned away from him. He couldn’t look him in the eyes. Those too wide eyes on too young face. ‘He’s almost the same age as you were when-’ He shut that thought process down real quick.

“Not really,” he breathed. “Mine had a purpose.”

The kid gaped up at him. “There’s no purpose in abuse mysterious water-man.”

A startled laugh escaped Akutagawa’s lips, and he snapped his head back in the kid’s direction. He was still looking up at him. Mild curiosity mixed with humor shining in his eyes. ‘He’s so much easier to read now,’ he thought absentmindedly. Somewhere deep down; where his heart used to be, hurt at that observation. ‘What had rubbed that openness out of your eyes Dazai-san?’

“Then why do you stay kid?”  

“I told you, I find it interesting. His reactions, his reasons, my mother’s excuses. It’s all so fascinatingly human.”  

Sighing, Akutagwa leaned back on his arms and looked up at the evening sky, the red and orange draping over them both like an old friend. “You’re weird kid.”

“I get that a lot.”

Akutagawa snorted. “Can I ask you something?”

Little Dazai shifted in his position next to him. “Sure,” he’d said. Turning around fully to face him as he spoke. Head tilted slightly, making bruised cheek quite visible where the sun hit his face.

Akutagawa in turned moved too. Now they were face to face, legs crossed and knees almost touching. “Do you want to die?”

The kid didn’t even contemplate the answer for a second. “Yes.”

Akutagawa’s stomach lurched. “Why?”

“There is nothing to live for and I’m curious about death. Maybe it will welcome me with more life then life itself. Do you want to die?” The question was asked mildly, but there was something behind those brown eyes. Something more old and much more tired.

Akutagawa swallowed. “No,” he whispered.  

Mini Dazai-san flinched back in confusion. “Why?”

“I found a purpose to live.”  

The kid bit his lip in thought, a string of powerful and confusing emotions flittering too fast across his eyes to decipher. “How do you know when you’ve found your purpose?”

“You don’t.”

“Then how do you live till then? How do you make sure it’s enough?” The question was nothing more than a soft whisper in the air. Spoken as if the fear of speaking it into existence terrified the younger.  

Akutagawa exhaled. His chest hurt, he coughed. It didn’t let up. It felt like he couldn’t breathe. ‘Have you always felt that way Dazai-san,’ he thought. ‘Have you always questioned your existence like I do. Like Jinko?’

“Sometimes,” he started slowly, desperate to get it right for reasons he didn’t know why “when it’s too hard to live for yourself you can live for someone else. Just for the time being just till you have a reason, a strong reason to carry on.”

The kid blinked, a watery glint in his eyes. He looked vulnerable. ‘Like Gin’ his mind whispered. He could say anything now. He knew with full certainty that he could say anything to the kid right now and Dazai-san would believe him. The thought was sickening. He didn’t want to do that to him. He wouldn’t even do that to the Jinko. It hit too close to home.

“I don’t have someone else,” his young mentor whispered. “I don’t have anyone.”

I had Gin

Exhaling loudly, he scrunched up his nose. “Then you can live for me in the meantime,” he blurted out. Akutagawa didn’t know why he’d said it, had no reason or thought process behind it at all. All he knew was-

He’d had Gin.  

He knew love because he’d had Gin.

Dazai-san hadn’t had anyone. No one and nothing at all.

Mini Dazai-san looked up at him incredulously. “I don’t even know you,” he scoffed; his words coming out wobbly and the tiniest but unsure.

“No,” Akutagawa muttered. “But you will. Someday down the line, you will. So till then, I’ll be your reason to live. Until you find your own, I’ll be your stepping stone.”

Soft tears were trailing down the kid’s gaunt cheeks and Akutagawa had to force himself not to try and brush them away. Dazai-san still had No Longer Human, touching him would probably send him back to wherever he’d come from. He couldn’t do that, not until he said what he had to say.

“What’s your name Mr?”

He blinked. Should he tell him? Would that mess up the timeline? Would Dazai-san even remember this, or would it all be forgotten as soon as he left?

“Atsushi.”  

The words tasted right on his lips.

For the first time in forever, Akutagawa said that name with something that wasn’t hatred. Atsushi. Jinko. If anyone could save Dazai-san from himself it was the weretiger. “Keep going till you hear that name.”

Mini Dazai-san looked confused as hell, but Akutagawa had said what he wanted, and he couldn’t linger here any longer. “Wait for Atsushi,” was his last parting words.

Before the kid could protest against the dumb and very useless answer, Akutagawa impulsively leaned forward and wrapped both arms around the kid’s back, bringing on hand to rest atop of his brown locks.  

Dazai tensed, and Akutagawa breathed. “You have to go?” The kid pressed his cheek into his shoulder as he asked the question. Tiny childish arms coming up to circle his waist.  

Swallowing thickly, the older male nodded quickly. “Yeah, I do.”

The arms around him tightened even more. “Don’t go.” He’d never heard Dazai-san so vulnerable, so scared, so alone.

“I’ll come back,” he muttered, eyes stinging even as the effect of No Longer Human took a hold of him and started to drag him back. “You’ll find me, so please don’t cry. We’ll find each other, and you’ll give me a reason to live.”

That was the last he saw of the kid.  

His tiny frame trembling in his arms as he was forcefully pulled away from the tiny child by the riverbank. The tiny child who bared his soul to him. The tiny child with too wide eyes and just enough hope in his eyes to make Akutagawa want to protect him.

---

When he next opened his eyes, Dazai-san; his Dazai-san was hovering over him, mild sense of curiosity framing his eyes. Akutagawa swallowed down the bile rising up his throat. “You ok down there Akutagawa-kun~”  

He didn’t even think before he acted. Not paying attention to the Jinko, Chuuya or any of the other members of both organizations lingering around them. He reached up and promptly dragged his former mentor into a hug. The startled sound that escaped past the ex-mafia member was almost funny, but Akutagawa didn’t have it in him to laugh at that. “I’m happy you found a reason to live,” he whispered into his shoulder. “I’m happy you found Atsushi,” before he quickly let go and got back on his feet.  

Leaving a very confused Dazai-san sprawled on the floor.

Chuuya-san looked at him like he’d just lost his mind. “Are you suicidal,” he snapped.

Akutagawa paused-  

Then burst into an uncontrollable laughter. Oh the irony.

[daringyounggrayson]

Family Dinners

Ok so @flashhwing has this really cute headcanon that Dick and Wally have dinner together every night. They were also kind enough to let me take that sweet headcanon and angst it up a little bit

Warnings: Mentions of past abuse, character injuries and intubation

(AO3)

Wally always loved the idea of family dinners. He remembers being very little—maybe six or seven—and going over to his friend Jeremy’s house one day after school. He had stayed for dinner and Jeremy’s whole family was there. Both of his parents and his younger brother. It wasn’t this magical moment straight out of a movie, but it was . . . nice. And so, so different from the few family dinners he’s had. He doesn’t remember what they ate, but he remembers the atmosphere of the room. They were relaxed and the parents asked all of them about their day and they listened. There was no yelling or tenseness, just a family eating dinner together.

Jeremy didn’t see the novelty and kept asking to be excused so they could play outside before Wally had to go home. Wally remembers feeling nervous as he waited for the inevitable yelling, but it never came. Instead, Jeremy’s dad was smiling and shaking his head in what seemed like amusement, assuring Jeremy that there would still be time to play after dinner. After the second or third time, Jeremy’s mom pursed her lips and took a look at his plate, then told him to take three more bites.

Jeremy shoveled the forkfuls into his mouth and then they ran outside to play, Wally offering a quick thank you to Mr. and Mrs. Whoever as he went. Later, he saw the couple talking quietly as they did the dishes and put away the leftovers together. They both had soft smiles as they caught up and listened to music—and Wally knew right then that he wanted that. He wanted the family dinners, wanted the shared clean up as soft music played in the background. He wanted the normalcy of happy, comfortable family dinners.

He didn’t really think about how he didn’t have family dinners until that night. A lot changed that year, though. He started to realize that his family wasn’t normal. He realized that other dads didn’t hit their kids and threaten their moms. He realized that family dinners that ended in broken glass and tears weren’t normal, and fuck, he just wanted a little piece of normal.

When Aunt Iris started dating the guy who would soon become Uncle Barry, he got to see that little piece of normal more often. He spent a lot of time over there. They had happy family dinners and routine clean up with soft music playing in the background just like Jeremy’s family. Wally knew that those dinners didn’t happen every night, but they always happened when Wally was around, and he got the feeling that they happened a few nights a week even when he wasn’t there.

Dick had family dinners, too. Alfred made them dinner every night, and Bruce was there almost always. Dick used to joke that Alfred forced him into it and that if Dick hadn’t been there waiting, Bruce wouldn’t leave his study. Wally would laugh, never once bringing up how much he wanted that. Wanted family dinners, wanted a dad who would force himself to do things just because his kid would be there.

He never got them, and he’s still working on accepting the fact that he never will.

He’ll never forget that first family dinner he was invited to. He and Dick had just been kids back then, far too young for dating. It had been intimidating, eating chicken across the table from the Batman, but Dick brought that feeling of comfort and normalcy Wally’s come to associate with other people’s family dinners. He talked about his day and traded dumb jokes with Wally that made Bruce’s lips twitch, but mostly they ate and sat in each other’s company.

He had a lot of family dinners at Dick’s after that. The first time after they started dating had been weirdly anxiety-inducing, but Dick had later assured Wally that it was just him and that Bruce didn’t hate him. Though, looking back, it had still had those key components of family dinners. Maybe even more so with Bruce acting as a protective father. (Another thing Wally would never get.)

Now that he’s older, he thinks about family dinners a little differently. He still looks at them with this sense of longing, but he’s also able to step back and analyze why he feels the way he does about them. Where it’s all coming from. And yeah, he knows those dinners won’t make every night magical or ensure that he’ll have a happy (healthy, safe) relationship, but getting to spend every evening catching up with and just being with someone he loves sounds amazing.

When he and Dick decide to move in together, it dawns on him that he’s now in a position where he can have that if he wants. And he does.

The two of them just finished dinner and are currently doing the dishes—that soft music playing in the background and those small smiles pinned on their faces—when he lets it slip. “I really like getting to spend time with you like this. We should do dinners together every night.”

“Aww, babe that’s really sweet,” Dick says, drying off a pan with a towel. “We should definitely do it as often as we can.”

“No.” Wally shakes his head firmly. “Every night. I mean it.”

“Look, I just don’t think it will work realistically. I mean, we’re vigilantes. We both have day jobs, you have school. It just won’t happen every night. Maybe we move our goal to twice a week?” Dick tries to comprise.

Wally wraps his arms around him, pulling Dick close against his chest with still damp hands. “You eat dinner every night, right?”

Dick huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, usually.”

“Then I’ll just eat whenever you eat dinner. I don’t care if it’s six p.m. or three a.m., I want to make time for this.”

“Wally,” Dick starts with a sigh.

“Look, relationships take time and work, and I know how both of us can get; if we don’t make it a priority, we’ll push it off until we solve all of the world’s problems. Dinners are just one way to prioritize us, and we are so worth the effort.” Wally turns Dick around and leans his forehead against his. He ends his speech in a quieter voice, saying, “Plus, I really like knowing I’m going to get to be with you at the end of the day.”

Dick tilts his head up and catches Wally’s lips in a kiss. When he breaks, he nods and says, “Okay. We’ll make time for it.”

And they do. They don’t even miss when Dick is in space for three days (thank you video chat). It’s hard, and sometimes they eat dinner from hospital beds or rooftops. Dinner schedules are weird, and what food counts as dinner really cut it close some nights, but they do it anyway. They catch up, talk about whatever’s on their minds. Some nights they’re too tired to talk, but even just sitting with each other is enough to give Wally that now-familiar sense of warmth and calm.

Wally also learns a lot about Dick during those dinners. The third week into it, Dick had actually thanked him for talking him into it. Apparently, it reminds Dick of his parents; they had always made sure they ate dinner together, too. Even with their crazy performance schedules, they would find time to eat together, even if it was cold spaghetti on the porch at two in the morning with Dick fed and tucked into bed hours earlier.

Dick still has his family dinners at Wayne manor, too. A few times a month they go over and have dinner with everyone. It’s usually fine, but every so often, Dick and Bruce get into a fight. The first time it happens, it makes Wally unreasonably angry, like they were ruining something sacred. It isn’t until a few weeks after the second one that he realizes it’s because it reminds him of his own family dinners, the ones with his dad.

Dick found him crying in the living room that night. He tells him about the secret “family” dinners he never told anyone about. Dick holds him tight and listens and whispers loving promises to him that Wally clings to. Wally never said anything back when they were kids, but he’s sure Dick had suspected; that night on the floor was just confirmation. And it feels good to finally acknowledge it out loud. It’s out there and real now, and Dick is still here. Things are going to be okay, and now Wally is getting those family dinners that Dick tells him he always deserved.

One night, Wally is at the library with a few classmates, trying to finish up a group project. It’s mostly finished, but it’s due in two hours—so cutting it close. He and Dick haven’t eaten yet, and it’s looking like it will end up being a too-tired-to-talk kind of dinner.

Wally’s phone buzzes. He drags his eyes away from the laptop and slides his phone off the table to check it. He knows it’s going to be a message from Dick, and really, Wally is just expecting a picture of something funny he found on patrol. He usually does that when Wally is stressed with school and stuck in the library. Sometimes he’ll also send pictures of a finished dinner that will be waiting to be reheated when Wally gets back, but it’s still a little early for that.

He doesn’t get a picture tonight, though. Instead, what he gets two words: Home early

Those two words alone are code for “Something bad happened and you need to get to the cave now.” It’s so that, if something happens on patrol, they can get ahold of each other’s civilian identities without drawing attention to themselves. But Wally still knows what it means. He knows it means Dick is hurt. Badly.

Wally feels dizzy. “I need to go.” His voice sounds weird and his mouth is dry. He swallows and starts packing up his stuff.

“What do you mean? We still have like an hour left on this.”

“It’s fine.” Where are his keys? He knows he put them in the front pocket—where did they go?

“Is everything okay?”

“Don’t go, you’re the only one who knows what we’re doing.”

Screw the keys, he’ll leave his car here. Not that he was actually planning on driving all the way to Gotham anyway. “See you Tuesday.”

“Shit, he is actually leaving right now.”

He’s gone.

oOo

He calls Dick’s cell, but, unsurprisingly, no one answers. He tries one of his comms, but no one is on. Calling the cave is no good either. When he comes racing into the Cave, he finds Tim sitting on some sparring mats, hands gripping his hair like that alone is keeping him together. His Robin uniform is torn and covered in blood.

He should ask if Tim’s okay, he should make sure the kid’s okay. “Dick?” is all Wally can manage to croak.

Tim’s lip quivers. “I don’t—it happened so fast, I—” he shakes his head and his eyes are staring at a memory Wally can’t see. He sits on the mats next to Tim and they wait in silence.

oOo

He doesn’t know how long he and Tim sit there like that. Long enough for the adrenaline to start tapering off and make Wally yawn.

When Alfred comes out of the makeshift OR, Tim immediately tries to run past him and toward Dick, but Alfred grabs him by the shoulders and says something to make Tim head toward the showers instead. Then Alfred is walking toward Wally, but Wally can’t bring himself to stand and meet him halfway.

“Has Master Tim told you anything?” Alfred asks.

“No.” He couldn’t bring himself to ask. He didn’t even know Dick was going to be in Gotham tonight, and after getting a look at Alfred, he’s wondering what Dick’s chances of ever leaving Gotham again are.

“Alright then.” Alfred sits down next to him on the mats and fills him in.

Apparently, they had been breaking up an underground auction, but comms went down. Dick had gone to find Tim, but when he did, Tim was caught in a losing fight. Dick got him out, but not before a bigger group had gotten Dick down. Tim left to get Bruce’s help, and by the time they got back and found Dick, he was beaten unconscious and being auctioned off. He hadn’t been breathing when they got him back to the cave.

As far as injuries went, recovery would be long. One kidney had been hit so badly they had almost needed to remove it. On top of that, he had a bruised liver, a broken femur, a linear skull fracture, blood loss, a crushed left hand that might require more surgery later on, and then too many bruises and cuts to count. His chest got the worst of it, though: significant bruising, multiple rib fractures, flail chest, one punctured lung, and pulmonary contusions. He has a chest tube in and is intubated, and probably would be for the next few days.

And now Wally has to go in and see it.

Alfred had made sandwiches at some point, and somehow one has been pushed onto his lap. He has one of Dick’s hands trapped within his own, rubbing it with his thumb like that back and forth motion will remind Dick’s heart to keep beating.

He hasn’t eaten for hours and his stomach is starting to feel like it’s collapsing in on him. He rips off a piece of the sandwich and pops it into his mouth. He eats his dinner next to his boyfriend, but they don’t catch up and the silence is far from comfortable. He doesn’t really taste the food, just rips, chews, and swallows. Then repeats that mechanical process until it’s gone and his stomach is temporally silenced.

This is the worst family dinner he’s ever had. And he’s had a lot of bad ones.

oOo

“How’s your IV?” Wally asks the body lying in front of him. “Does it taste nutritious?”

It’s just him right now. Him and Dick. Bruce and Tim are on patrol, and Alfred is manning the comms. It’s day three of this, and Wally just misses him.

“Oh, mine is okay. Some kind of vegetable soup and bread with what you would think is too much butter. But really, is there such a thing?”

The monitors beep and Dick doesn’t smile around the tube.

Wally sets the empty bowl down on the table, then leans forward onto the bed, right next to Dick’s head. “You know, you promised me family dinners. You’re really going to quit, what, four months in? That’s not like you.”

The monitors beep and Dick stays still.

“I know you’ll be okay and you’ll get through this, ‘cause you’re you and I personally think you have some kind of contract with Gotham where in exchange for protecting her she protects you, but that’s not the point. The point is that I’m going to be here no longer how long it takes. We’re a team now.”

He looks over his shoulder, not quite sure why. Whatever he finds or doesn’t, he decides it’s safe to climb up onto the cot. He pushes himself close to Dick sets his hand on top of Dick’s hair. He reaches for his phone with his other hand and pulls up some music. He turns the volume down low, then settles the phone between their ears. He relaxes against Dick again, stares at him until a small albeit pained smile comes to his face.

“You’ll never guess what I found in the library earlier.”

oOo

Dick is on the ventilator for five days. Wally doesn’t leave the manor during that time, and Wally eats all of his dinners down there right next to Dick for every single one. He spends most of his time there with Dick, dinner or not, but he always makes sure to be there for dinner. He knows it must be ridiculous, but it’s habit. He finds he can’t eat dinner without Dick anymore. And maybe the routine will help Dick heal. Talking is supposed to help, right?

This has been the first time that talking to Dick hasn’t been easy. Part of that is that most of the time someone else is down there with them, the exception being dinner; everyone has caught on that that’s Wally’s time. Wally doesn’t know why it surprised him—house of detectives and all that. Everyone has carved out their own alone time with Dick, and everyone respects it. But being apart from Dick is hard, being with Dick is hard. It all comes down to the fact that while Dick’s body is there, Dick isn’t. And that’s what’s putting everyone on edge.

Needless to say, he doesn’t even have the energy to think or worry about the lectures he’s missing. He’s sure he received an angry email from his classmates about their project, but that’s for later-Wally to deal with. Right-now-Wally is watching his unconscious and unbreathing boyfriend.

That last part should change soon, though. Alfred started weaning Dick off the ventilator yesterday afternoon, just a few hours after he removed the chest tube. Dick’s lungs have been doing really well, too, so Alfred has decided it’s safe for him to come off of it.

“All right,” Alfred says as he puts on a pair of gloves. “Will you be staying for this, Master Wally?”

Wally nods and squeezes Dick’s hand a little harder. “Uh-huh.”

“Very well.” He turns to Bruce, tells him, “You can suction now.”

The procedure doesn’t take long, and Wally can’t help but grimace when they finally pull the tube from Dick’s throat. They put an oxygen mask on him and adjust the medication (again) so that it will be easier for him to wake up. The fingers on his right hand start twitching not even an hour later, but he’s still nowhere near consciousness. Wally sits and waits in a tense silence, Bruce and Alfred right across from him. They have no idea what to expect when Dick wakes up. He could be fine, there could be serious deficits, he could be vegetative.

These facts swirl around Wally’s head, but they don’t seem to have an effect on him. None of it will be real until it’s happened, and right now, Dick is just sleeping. (Just sleeping.)

Wally has switched to petting Dick’s hair when Dick’s arm suddenly jerks and his head turns to the side. Wally straightens and takes his hand away while Bruce leans forward, his chair squeaking against the floor in his haste.

“Dick?” Bruce asks, and he’s rubbing his thumb into the side of Dick’s wrist. “Dick, if you can hear me, open your eyes.”

“Nngh,” Dick mumbles through half-closed lips.

“Dick,” Bruce says, louder and firmer than before. “C’mon, chum, you need to wake up now.”

Dick’s eyes peek open, then fall again before rising again and focusing on the face in front of him. “Hhh.”

“Shh.” Bruce pushes Dick’s hair back. Tells him, “You’re alright. Does your throat hurt?”

Dick nods.

“You had a tube in for a few days. But you’re okay now.”

“Breathing hurts,” Dick insists, closing his eyes again and bringing his hands to hover shakily over his chest. And his voice, fuck, his voice is so quiet and barely there. Like it hurts too much to breathe deep enough to talk.

“Your chest took most of the damage. Broken ribs, flail chest, pneumothorax, bruised liver,” Bruce lists off. His eyes flick to his watch, then he stands. “I’ll get you something to help the pain.” He rests his hand in his hair for a moment, then Bruce looks over at Wally, saying, “Wally’s here.”

Dick follows his gaze and finds Wally. He reaches out his hand. “Waa.”

Wally just buries his face in Dick’s offered hand, kissing it gently and never letting go. “Thank god.”

Alfred checks Dick over, eases their worries by confirming that there are no signs of brain damage. The biggest problem will be preventing pneumonia, but with everything Dick’s chest has been through, there’s not much else they can do but wait and see. (And by see, Wally thinks they mean start treatment as soon as something looks suspicious.)

Just coming out of sedatives, Dick isn’t really with it. He’s in a lot of pain, though, and he falls asleep again pretty quickly. After his vitals remain stable for three hours, he gets switched over to a nasal cannula and Alfred says it’s okay to move him up to his bedroom. Wally couldn’t anticipate how relieving that little change in scenery would be.

oOo

Late that afternoon, Wally is just starting to doze off when he hears the sheets rustling.

He pushes himself off of the arm of his chair and sees Dick’s blue eyes scanning the room. “Babe, hey.”

“Hey,” Dick says with a smile, eyes focusing on Wally. His voice is still quiet and soft, both from exhaustion and the pain Dick must be in whenever he inhales.

Something makes Dick frown. “Did I miss dinner?”

“You’ve been out for almost a week, babe.” Wally frowns and blinks at him, thrown and concerned by the question. He woke up during Bruce’s designated time, and while he had still been in a lot of pain, Bruce had said he was coherent. Had things changed? Is something wrong? Where’s Alfred?

“I meant tonight,” Dick clarifies, nodding over at a tray where Wally’s dirty dishes are still sitting. Wally lets out a relieved breath as discreetly as he can. “But, yeah, I guess I missed a lot of dinners. Sorry about that.” He brings his hand up to rub at his throat.

“Don’t worry about it.” Wally pushes a strand of Dick’s hair back. “But—and this is just for the record—I ate dinner next to you every night, so, technically, our streak is still going. And you didn’t miss tonight’s dinner; that was just from lunch. Well, second lunch.”

Dick breathes a laugh through his nose, but it still makes him wince.

“Do you need anything?” Wally asks. “I can go find Alfred if you need more meds.”

“No,” Dick is quick to assure.

“Are you hungry?” Wally asks.

“I don’t know. I guess I should be.” Dick rubs his forehead with his non-broken hand. “Definitely nauseous, though. Morphine?”

“Think so,” Wally answers, peering over at the bags. “Alfred gave you some anti-nausea stuff. I take it it’s not doing anything?”

Dick is biting his lip and staring into space; Wally knows he’s not really listening anymore. “It was bad this time, yeah?”

“Yeah. Recovery is going to be a few months, and I don’t think Alfred is going to let you out of the manor anytime soon.”

Dick closes his eyes, shakes his head slowly instead of speaking.

“Do you want to rest some more?”

Dick shakes his head again.

“We could watch something, or—”

A knock on the door and Alfred steps in.

“Good afternoon, Master Dick. How are we feeling?” Alfred asks, a tray in his hand.

Dick looks over at him, shakes his head and mumbles something too quiet to make out.

“I know it hurts, sir, but you must try to take deep breaths.” Alfred inclines the bed a little more and then hands Dick a pillow. “Try placing this over your chest while you take some deep breaths; it will help with the pain.”

Dick does as he’s told, and while it doesn’t make him wince, it doesn’t look comfortable.

“Has the pain been tolerable?” Alfred asks. “It’s about time for your next dose, so now would be a good time to adjust it.”

“What you gave me last time was fine,” Dick says. Wally was told he asked for more when he woke up with Bruce, and that in itself says something. “Talking just hurts.”

“Yes, between your chest and the intubation, it likely will for a while longer. Is it in your throat or your chest?”

“Both, but more here.” Dick points to his chest, which the pillow is still covering.

“I brought up some ice chips and a throat spray. Would you like those now, too?” Alfred asks.

“Uh,” Dick looks over at the tray. “Just the ice, thanks.”

Alfred nods and starts checking Dick over while Dick soothes his throat with the cool ice. When Alfred finishes, he starts stacking Wally’s dishes onto the other tray and hands Dick his lunch. “Anything else?”

“Is Tim back yet?” Dick asks. He stayed home for school on Thursday and Friday, but Bruce has been forcing him to go since Monday. Dick hasn’t seen him yet, and the last time he did see him, he was pulling him out of a mob. So, understandably, he’s been a little anxious.

“Master Bruce should be back with him in less than twenty minutes.”

Dick nods, checks the clock.

“I’ll be back in an hour. Do call if you need anything.” And then the man is gone.

They end up putting on some nature documentary, and Dick does his best to eat a sufficient amount of food while breaking for the occasional deep breath. When Tim comes home, Bruce pops in to check on Dick and then he and Wally excuse themselves to give them some space. After that, it’s Alfred’s turn, and by the time everyone else comes back in, Dick’s sleeping again. He sleeps through the regular dinner time, so Wally snacks on an apple to tide himself over.

The others are having a pre-patrol nap and Wally is finishing up some reading for tomorrow’s class when Dick finally wakes up.

“Hungry?” Wally asks, snapping his book shut with a grin on his face.

Dick smiles back. “Starving.”

Alfred made some kind of noodle casserole for dinner. Easy to swallow and absolutely delicious. Seeing as Dick can’t really focus on breathing, eating, and a conversation right now, it’s one of those quiet dinners where they mostly just enjoy the other’s company. But it doesn’t matter, the shared dinner still makes Wally feel all warm and like Dick’s finally home.

When they’re done, Dick asks him to put on some music. Wally does, then he puts their dishes on the side table and lies down next to Dick. Wally tells him about all the weird things his family did while he was out, and Dick makes a comment every now and then, but mostly just listens to Wally talk. When he runs out of things to say, he pulls Dick a little closer and they just listen to the music and take each other in.

They have full bellies, small smiles, and soft music. For the first time in days, Dick is truly here and Wally is truly happy. Everything is as it should be.

[feraldivine]

The Bear and The Queen

This was a request from the lovely @fussy-and-a-writer-sometimes

“reader/character is running away after their mother dies, and it’s the middle of winter. Their friends try to stop them and follow them to a frozen river where they then fall in, right after they tell their friends, they love them”

Thank you so much for this. Writing has become my therapy and I needed some therapy today. 

As always my request remain open. 

WARNING: Talks of abuse, suicide, death. 

If you look around you would see an absolutely beautiful scene.

When I look around snow is everywhere. It's like a white blanket comforting the earth. In the distance a couple of kids having a snowball fight. A few meters from the kids sits a group of women. 

The sight of the women brings the tears back full load. I’m doing the right thing here. My momma was the only thing that kept me going. She was my warrior. The only person who could protect me from my father. 

I guess she’s in a better place now, right? That’s what people say when others die at least. They claim the good people go to heaven and the bad get sent to hell. How can we say which is which? How can we as humans go about defining the difference between good and evil. They claim there is a God watching. If that is true then where is he? Where was he when my father was beating my mother and I senseless.  

In my opinion, my mother was a wonderful woman. My dad though, he was the epitome of evil. He beat and abused the both of us. Which caused my mother to end it before he could end us both. 

They found my mother with her stomach sliced open. In her hand, was the gun whose bullet ended my father. 

All of this has led me here. Time to run I suppose. Not sure where I will end up, but it sure as hell is not in the arms of another evil man. 

There is this place my mother would always take me in the summer. This beautiful lake in the middle of the woods. It was our safe place when dad drank too much.

I guess it's the only way I have to say goodbye. I chuckle to myself while running my fingers through my hair. I have been walking for hours. Normally we would drive here, but I know the cops are probably looking for me. They wish to question the integrity of my parents. They want to know why. Funny thing is, I would love to know the answer to that as well.

I can finally see the lake in the distance. Sadly yet poetically, the lake is frozen over much like my heart at the moment. 

As I make it to the edge of the lake I take in everything around me. Can I honestly do this?

I am scared, bruised, and i'll most likely never accept the touch of another person ever again. 

“Kouver!” I hear a shout in the distance, causing me to spin around and step back onto the ice. 

When I turn I see my friends there, all running to me with their hearts on their shoulders.

I smile sadly while shaking my head. “Please just go home you guys. I can't do this without her.” I hear myself cry out. I slowly take more steps onto the ice as they walk closer. 

My friend Amelia steps forward with both of her hands up in surrender before she drops to her knees. “K, please sweetie, get off the ice I'm begging you. We can help you. You know we would do anything for you” she begs while tears fall from her eyes. 

I can see the rest of my friends agreeing. Luke is nodding his head with tears of his own coating his face. Ava is is hesitating, crying while opening and closing her mouth. She wants the right thing to say and I get that, having been there myself many times with her. Diesel looks angry, clenching his fist with his jaw locked. I wonder if its because of my state or my actions. Char, short for Charlotte, hanging onto his arm like she's attempting to stop him from coming over here and grabbing me himself. 

Then there is my Abel, bear as I call him.. My sweet, caring, and protective Abel. He has fought so hard to save me. As I look to him I see his mouth moving. Most likely trying to stop me as I continue to take steps back. I look down when I hear a crack. 

“Baby please listen to me” I finally hear my bear’s voice break through “Kouver, think about what you’re doing. If anything think about how it’ll break me. The rest of our friends. Kouver we love you can’t you see that? We’ll run, I’ll go with you. No one is forcing you to stay here. Just me and you until we’re eighteen, we only have two months left” he cries out to me. 

When I look back to him I see he is on his knees. The look on his face only shows one emotion - heartbreak. Did I cause that look? He’s the only person I have let close to me and yet I hurt him.

My heart breaks a little more before I respond “Bear, you promise we could be safe? My heart will not make it through any more trauma bear.” I yell out to him. My feet started to walk back towards him. I have to console him. I don’t want to cause anyone hurt. They all look so broken, is it because of me?

Abel stands up before responding to me again, the tears falling freely. “Kouver, I promise you that nothing will happen to us. I’ll keep you safe, we can get a puppy, I’ll assure that no one ever hurts you again princess. Please just get off the ice.” he cries out, sounding broken yet relieved. 

By the look on his face I can see he seems happier than before when he was on his knees. I can make him happy, and I know he would never hurt me. With that thought I take another step forward when I hear the ice crack again. 

“Bear the ice is cracking, I don’t think I can make it off the ice” I cry out, the tears coming back full force. I have to say goodbye. I smile sadly before I continue “Luke, you use to be a complete jerk. You’ve slowly become one of my favorite people though. You’re a football player, but with a conscious. Don’t ever let people phase you because I promise you are meant to be a fucking star.” I choke out while smiling at my friends. 

“Kouver, baby you can do it please just take slow steps. One foot at a time please you can do this” Abel sobs out to me while looking at the ice.

I smile sadly and take another step towards them, the ice cracking a bit more. I look up and continue “Amelia you beautiful queen, keep your head up. Stick close to the group here and please be there for Abel after this. You’re my best friend, and please be careful of the music they play at the funeral.” I take another step forward now, feeling the crack get a bit bigger. My entire group of friends are crying now. Luke is holding Abel from coming onto the ice now. “Ava you beautiful butterfly, grow your wings and show your colors. Express yourself and let people see the real you please. You’re kind, loving, and absolutely stunning. Any male would be lucky to have you.” I take another step now, halfway to them from where I started. “Diesel you angry giant, do your best not to kill anyone. Please take care of Char for me yeah? You two are meant for each other. I know you are mad at me right now and that’s okay. I would rather you hate me then cry for me. Char keep him from going on a rampage for me?” I start while turning my gaze to her, every step I take the ice cracks a bit more. “You are the only calm to his storm babygirl. We both know you two fit perfect. Kind of like all the love novels we’ve read right? The angry ruff male falls for the bubbly sweetheart” at this we both chuckle before I look around again. I take another step before the ice cracks again. One more step and it will bust fully most likely. “I love every single one of you guys. If I could make it off of this ice I would live for you all. Every single one of you are worth living for and I am so sorry that I can’t prove that by living. Abel, my sweet bear I need you to listen, okay?” I yell out to them. The steadiness of my own voice surprises me. I guess I have truly accepted my fate. Abel deserves a girl who can come to him as a whole. Not one that will forever be fearful and broken. 

He stops fighting Luke as he looks to me, I can see that he knows what is about to happen as I take him in. I may not believe in a heaven or hell, but I know I will watch over my bear from beyond. “I love you Kouver. You can do it baby just be careful please come to me.” he begs me while trying to pry Luke away from him. 

“We both know the ice will break handsome. I want you to know something okay? I love you. You are the only thing that has kept my heart hopeful. You have been my rock, my constant and my solid okay? You’re a king and I wish I could've been your queen, but life doesn't always work out how we want. You’re made to be loved and cherished so please don't let this stop you. Be my precious, protective, amazing bear that can give the world to the right world. I’m truly sorry my love.” As the word love escapes my lips I take another step. 

As I expected the ice breaks with this step plunging my world to a cold nothingness that is strangely comforting. In a way it’s soothing my aching muscles while it attempts to break into my lungs.  I can hear Abel scream in the distance and vaguely here running steps before everything goes dark. 

I suddenly feel arms around me before I hear a voice “You are my Queen Kouver, and you're damn right that i’m protective” I hear before blacking out again. Abel? Oh please tell me he did not come into this water. Maybe this is just my form of heaven? We’re the religious heavy tropes right after all?

I suddenly hear this loud annoying beeping sound. I slowly opened my eyes and looked around. I’m in a hospital? What kind of hell is this? I feel something tighten around my hand. 

“Kouver, oh fuck you’re awake” I hear a relieved cry from my left. When i'm suddenly in a bear hug. 

“Bear?” I cry out before looking at the figure holding me. “Oh my god Abel is that you? I’m not dead or are we both dead. Bear what did you do? I’m not worth that baby how could you?” My mother tone comes out while I give him a crazy look.

He stops my fright by giving me a long passionate kiss before responding to me. “Kouver baby we are both alive I promise. I never want you to doubt your worth ever again you hear me? You are my queen, my world, and my rock. I will never allow anything to happen to you ever again you hear me?” he scolds me before placing his fingers under my chin. He sits by my side before grabbing something from his pocket. He opens the small box exposing an absolutely beautiful ring before looking at me again. “Be my queen Kouver, marry me.” he gasps out before smiling at me.

I choke on air before allowing a tear to fall down my cheek. He wants me, Kouver, forever? He wants me to be his wife? I smile brightly before grabbing his collar and pulling him into another kiss. “Of course I'll marry you Abel, I couldn't be happier to do so baby.” I say while rubbing his cheek with my thumbs.

His smile mirrors a child on christmas before he slides the ring onto my hand. “I am so glad you’re okay baby. You scared me half to death. You ever start thinking like that come to me okay? Me and you are always and forever baby.” he says while playing with my hair. 

I smile gratefully at him before taking his hands in mine “always and forever bear.”

I hope you enjoyed, credit to the gif owner.

[lay4decolonisation-blog]

She-Ra: Princesses of Power (2018) and the Representation that I Want

 **CONTENT WARNING:  ABUSE, VIOLENCE**

When I heard She-Ra was back and GAY, I had to jump straight or not so straight into it. The amazing characterisation and themes of the show fit the modern audience perfectly. She-Ra: Princesses of Power (SPOP) did what Voltron: Legendary Defender wish it did. RIP. 

The SPOP series was written by Noelle Stevenson, and produced by Dreamworks. Season 1 aired on the 13th November 2018 via Netflix. 

There’s two things I want to discuss, so I’ll split this up into sections: visual character design & complex characterisation.

Visual Character Design

80’s She-Ra         

 2018 She-Ra

 She-Ra is the hero alter ego of Princess Adora, who transforms when she calls forth “For the Honour of Grayskull!” with The Sword of Protection. 

When I saw the visuals for the series and the new outfit for She-Ra I nearly screamed. It was perfect. I will always prefer Marvel cinematic movie adaptations on the basis that women wear full body armour, and not a skirt. So it was natural for me to fall in love with the shorts, flowy skirt, useful boots and 80’s influenced shoulder flares on She-Ra’s new threads. 

She looked PRACTICAL, and totally badass. I see no male gaze in the update. She-Ra isn’t wearing heels, or red lipstick, her dress doesn’t look like it’s about to give her a nip slip, and her hair still flows like golden threads in the wind! 

Notice how I just used the ‘Male Gaze’. The Male Gaze is essentially a patriarchal control of representation of women and/or other genders in media, and can be applicable to historical documentation (Mulvey 1989). Ponterotto (2016) describes it expands on the media’s control of feminine bodies as: 

“The invisibility of women has been accompanied in an extraordinarily inversely proportionate manner by the visual display of her physical appearance, of her body as material object, to be observed, judged, valued, appreciated, rejected, modified and essentially commodified, for socially-constructed purposes. From a feminist point of view, this purpose can be claimed to be essentially male pleasure, concomitant social benchmarking and commercial profit.” (134)

From the ‘controversy’ from predominantly male audiences on the release of She-Ra’s costume it’s obvious that it’s doing its job (Lenton 2018); with men reacting with things like: 

“The character designs for this show are god awful. She-Ra looks too much like a man.” MECCA_Studios @ twitter

“if you're trying to make your girls look like boys for your show then you are not actually fighting for equality you're proving that men is the superior gender and taken more seriously than a beautiful women, you're only helping sexism not fighting it” - iamconsumer @ twitter

I wanna acknowledge this was mainly white, cishet males reacting to a show that is predominantly AIMED AT YOUNG GIRLS. SPOP’s visual design of She-Ra was so key in getting this show right. She is a woman icon for young girls growing up and seeing her on screen wearing a non-sexual costume whilst being feminine, strong and beautiful will mean something for them growing up. Women/Feminine peoples can look at the screen and say “I’m She-Ra!” and not have to feel like they have to look good for male gaze to do that.  

People Of Colour (POC) Representation

Bow, Mermista, Frosta, Netossa and Catra’s - along with ethnically ambiguous characters - redesign was kind of glossed over with the amount of objections about the Queer and Feminist arguments going around. 

So here’s some of my babies:

Bow 80s 

                                                            Bow 2018

Mermista 80s

                                                            Mermista 2018

Catra 80s                                                  

Catra 2018

Frosta 80s

                                  Frosta 2018

Bow stood out to me alot because I empathize alot for my dark skinned brother’s who don’t have any or many examples of good representation on screen that explores queer identity, gender performativity, body image and positive masculinity that is casual and fun. (I speak of course from an Indigenous background, but a lot of my community look at the African-American community on TV for dark bodies representation.) Imagine a young dark skinned boy watching Bow being fun loving, supportive, gentle, obsessed with crop tops, hanging out with girls and embodying positive masculinity, then using as a mold to treat their sisters, mums and cousins. Incredible. 

 SPOP centers ethnic looking characters amazingly with their characterisation. Having POC on screens breaks out of normalizing whiteness, and de-centers it as the default way of being (Scharrer & Ramasubramanian 2015). People might argue that fantasy worlds don’t overlap with real worlds because race mightn’t exist in the fantasy world, but when you’re a ethnic kid growing up watching/ reading white bodies being superheroes and warriors and People of Colour don’t exist you have no representation, or worse POC are negatively stereotyped. Representation is IMPORTANT. Representation is the ability to control the way the world perceives a group of people, or yourself - white people often struggle understanding this because whiteness as an identity is invisible by normalization (hooks 1992, Dyer 1997). It can be compared to men as ungendered compared to women, or non-cis and queer people with heteronormativity. So it can only be visible when colour is involved, and depending on whether it’s good or bad POC representation it can create racial stereotypes (Brigham 1971, Nosek 2007). 

LGBTQIA+ Visual Representation

I feel like you can find a lot of this, but not any by me! 

I will start with Scorpia cause she’s such a dear. 

JUST LOOK AT HER. 

Everyone is screaming ‘butch lesbian’ little to know that she is a total femme (anyone can fight me on this). Her open attraction towards Catra was loud, unapologetic and was super ultra normal. Despite her giant crab claws, I just want her to hold me gently. I think it’s another good example of different body types. Like it’s not just an exterior what makes a woman a woman or a good person a good person. Before I die of thirst, let’s move on to my Bow’s dads. 

OH MY GAWD. Bow resembles Lance and George so much. Like the perfect little mix between their two personalities UGH. Both very different individuals who share a common obsession with history. Two gay Black dudes just be out here owning the biggest collection of ancient artifacts, studying the classics and raising 13 kids like wojefdikewajfaij

Lance out here rocking dreads and the glasses with sandals *bathump* and George with his little moustache and fancy hair. They go on like a normal couple picking on one another and knowing each other’s personalities, caring about their son and reflecting on their parenting when they realize they messed up instead of blaming their kid for not understanding them okmfoerngfa

Sorry, my heart nearly went into cardiac arrest thinking about them. 

I won’t miss the exceptional drop of them telling Bow their disappointed that he had to hide a part of himself because he was afraid of what they’d think of him or do. I remember that feeling….*glances at my physical wooden closet*

SPINNERELLA AND NETOSSA.

Netossa is the only character (I’m pretty sure) who was originally dark skinned in the 80s She Ra - she also had no powers. 

Now rocking up with powers and gf, she is out here living her best life. Look at them. Just look at my babies. They swapped chokers, like wow, what a lesbian power move. Plus sized, buff queer women rocking their femininity being loyal and totally badass. Their actual appearances on screen are limited but impactful as they are seen as people seem to question more what the heck they do in the Rebellion rather than their queer relationship. 

Complex Characterisation

Let’s start with Shadow Weaver’s relationship with Catra and Adora. 

Starting off at Mystacor as Light Spinner, she a teacher and getting one of her students, Micah, to perform a spell that conjured evil magic - The Spell of Obtainment - ultimately decided her path as Shadow Weaver. She became an abusive, manipulative and self righteous authoritative figure to Catra and Adora. 

Shadow Weaver is an abuser. Abuse works differently in each situation but is defined by White Ribbon Australia in categories of:  Physical, Financial, Emotional, Verbal, Social, Sexual, Stalking, Spiritual, Image based, Dowry and Elderly Abuse. 

The emotional, verbal, social and I’m going to add economical (instead for Financial) abuse she inflicted on Adora and Catra made them stick together as companions through the hardships. Adora upon realizing the Horde’s actions and motives rejects and calls out Shadow Weaver’s abuse. Catra, on the other hand, looks for something like approval from Shadow Weaver. Catra grew up neglected and constantly compared to Adora in her duties to the Horde by Shadow Weaver, so when Adora left a shift happened in Catra. Adora was her main source of comfort and sense of safety in Shadow Weaver’s irract attitude towards her. Adora was her constant feeling of affection and comfort, when she went against the very codes that kept them together their entire lives - Catra was betrayed. Finally, maybe she could get the parental approval she was seeking from Shadow Weaver she never got when Adora was around. Also looking for validation of her moral that has been cause her actions other than rage and sadness that Adora had left her alone. Catra sort out her Abuser’s approval because that’s the only way she knew how to get validity and self assurance of her identity as a member of the Horde - all she ever knew. 

Catra feels alone and like she can’t depend on anyone, and because she knows how that feels she was also able to emotionally manipulate Entrapta into join the Horde. It’s a consistent cycle of isolation that stemmed from one person’s influence. 

The thing that differs Adora and Catra, was more Adora being given opportunities to lead and step up where Catra was always on the side. Adora gained leadership skills and an emotional capacity where she was able to trust others and trust herself. This ultimately allowed her to do the right thing and join the Rebellion. Catra on the other hand had to quickly use her head and be more aware of things other than herself which made her falter in the leadership role of Shadow Weaver, but that is her coping mechanism of isolating herself and having to immerse herself with other people and the world to take action. 

Adora’s culture shock between the way the Princesses live and the way it was in the Horde only shows how she’s been manipulated through learning the knowledge and behaviours that were enforced on her in the Horde. Princesses aren’t evil. The Horde is evil.

Adora’s role of She Ra has put a lot of pressure on her, and she is fighting her own self. 

What happened with Adora was she was specifically chosen because she’s had the experiences she’s had. She knows what it's like in the Horde. How their systems work. What type of people and kids are there. She knows all of that to use to win the war. She’s not gonna break into it, but out of it. 

When Adora breaks out of the Horde’s learning, and the truth telling begins the walls will crumble and there will be internal upset. There’s a good and evil battle going on inside of each character. Adora wants to protect her friends and do the right thing, but sometimes those two things aren’t the same thing. 

Another character I wanna bring up is Glimmer. Glimmer has been fighting to fight. She’s having to fight a struggle in her internal kingdoms. She’s been trying to tell the truth to the other Kingdoms and unite the Kingdoms so they can beat the Horde and save everything they love. She needed to stand up to her mother, the other Princesses, and herself. She is so damn strong and I love her so much omg. 

When Bow went to the ball with Perfuma and she was upset, this was because she was afraid Bow would leave her. She’s been isolated also by her mother into doing Princess things that don’t actually have a big impact, but Bow has been consistent in her life and training to be a leader. When he left her side, she was scared that she was going to be isolated again. She knew it was irrational, but that kind of stuff just happens. Sometimes our feelings don’t always make sense to us at first, and we have to look somewhere else to understand what we’re feeling right then and there. But the besties will prevail. 

The other thing I didn’t touch on earlier, but will now is age. The Princesses age from around 11-18 (?). The thing about having young people saving the world is really where we’re at. Kids are rioting in the streets trying to get big corporations led by greedy bastards who want resources and exploit people to stop, and save their entire world - yeah, you know I’m talking about situations like the climate strike. We will learn from our elders mistakes and do it right. 

We shouldn’t give up because our parents did. We will be the ones to win, just like Glimmer, Adora, Bow and the gang.

Representation isn’t a debate - it’s a necessity.  

Thanks for reading babes. 

Reference List

Dyer, Richard. (1997) ‘The Matter of Whiteness’ in White, London: Routledge.

Brigham, John C. "Ethnic stereotypes." Psychological bulletin76.1 (1971): 15.

Nosek, Brian A., et al. "Pervasiveness and correlates of implicit attitudes and stereotypes." European Review of Social Psychology 18.1 (2007): 36-88.

Bell, Hooks. "The oppositional Gaze: Black Female Spectators." Black Looks: Race and Representation (1992): 115-131.

Mulvey, L. (1989). Visual pleasure and narrative cinema. In Visual and other pleasures (pp. 14-26). Palgrave Macmillan, London.

Ponterotto, D. (2016). Resisting the male gaze: feminist responses to the" normatization" of the female body in Western culture. Journal of International Women's Studies, 17(1), 133-151.

Scharrer, E., & Ramasubramanian, S. (2015). Intervening in the media's influence on stereotypes of race and ethnicity: The role of media literacy education. Journal of Social Issues, 71(1), 171-185.

https://www.whiteribbon.org.au/understand-domestic-violence/types-of-abuse/