#this is me complaining about people posting *all* content behind what they perceive as a purity wall by adding a dni banner image to it.

[momentsofamberclarity]

If you're putting dni banners or bright dni wording on the bottom of all of your posts in 2024 believing this will actively stop people from interacting then we are on entirely different wavelengths and I'm automatically determining that you do not have critical thinking skills and blocking you regardless of your self-proclaimed stance on anything.

This is the internet. The internet is a free-for-all, always has been, always will be. People are going to interact with content regardless of their age, regardless of their stances vs your stances. In fact, the more you draw attention to not wanting attention the more troll attention you are actively inviting in.

It is up to you to curate your own online experience and use your block button when you are uncomfortable with people interacting with your content. And you are under no obligation to offer an explanation to anyone as to why you've blocked them.

[veliseraptor]

If you haven't done so already, do you have any particular headcanons for Xiao Xingchen?

I've always seen him as a very interesting character, from his fife as the pupil of an inmortal master, to his views about the world. I specially find the image of the folk hero he seems to have incredibly appealing, although I feel it gets left behind in the background of the story. But what do you think?

boy do I!!! I have a stack of Xiao Xingchen headcanons that just might together stack up longer than the entire yi city arc in canon. I have long experience with building a large edifice of headcanon upon a relatively slim amount of actual text, and I have spent a lot of time thinking about Xiao Xingchen. I'm sure this comes as a complete surprise to everyone.

one important headcanon to me is the sort of...pair that Xiao Xingchen is a very sociable and extroverted person, and he has major abandonment issues. I feel like the first one is something where the perception is otherwise because he's not exactly boisterous and he has this "untouchable immortal" reputation following him around making him out to be something more than human (which also renders him less than human, but I've talked about that before).

but Xiao Xingchen loves people, I think - he believes in people, yes, but he also just generally genuinely likes them. he likes to talk to people. now, this doesn't always mean he's good at it - the other thing about Xiao Xingchen is that he's kind of weird and socially graceless - but he's a very friendly person by nature.

this makes his utter isolation post-baixue even sadder, because I don't think it's because he can't make connections, or doesn't want to - I think he's not letting himself try. he's cut himself off from trying to make friends. prior to that I think people tend to hold him at a distance, because other people perceive him as untouchable/distant and project that onto how they interact with him, and if they do interact with him he's weird and socially graceless which can be a turn-off for further interaction. afterwards he's just doing the same.

and meanwhile! all this is happening and Xiao Xingchen is in a state of continual low-level homesickness (the world is harder and meaner than he thought it would be, he can never go home, he genuinely believes in his decision to descend but also it hurts sometimes), and he has his one companion who is the best ever but even so...that's one person and I think Xiao Xingchen craves more connection than that. but because of who he is and who he's chosen to be, he doesn't have that community that he desperately misses, and he's not willing to compromise himself in order to find it the simplest way (i.e. by joining a sect).

the dream of creating a sect is, I think, a little more Xiao Xingchen's than Song Lan's - not that Song Lan's not in favor of the idea, but I think he'd be more content without it, continuing to be independent, than Xiao Xingchen is. but he also has his temple to go home to (until he doesn't).

and for extra spicy fun my headcanon has always been that Xiao Xingchen is very tactile while Song Lan is...the opposite, and while Xiao Xingchen would never complain and might not even acknowledge it to himself, he is perfectly content with the non-physical state of their relationship, of course, he would like to be cuddled and that's just not something Song Lan generally feels up to doing.

and then!! and then Song Lan lashes out at Xiao Xingchen, pushing him away, and the closest person Xiao Xingchen has to home is torn away from him, and then his actual home is taken away again (because he goes back for Song Lan only to have to leave again, really forever this time), and he's on his own wallowing in guilt and self-loathing and very determinedly being Alone until a-Qing shows up and basically goes "mine now" and adopts Xiao Xingchen as very much hers. A-Qing is so important for the way that she walks into Xiao Xingchen's self-imposed solitude and just moves in without taking no for an answer. that's, I think, part of why Xiao Xingchen loves her so much.

but after Song Lan there's definitely a low key assumption for Xiao Xingchen, I think, that people will leave him eventually. I think he always tended toward a little bit of clinginess, but after he gives up his eyes that clinginess both increases exponentially and also becomes an exercise in intense self-denial. he won't let himself be clingy with the people he cares about even if that is what he desperately wants to be. nobody would want to live with us in this coffin house.

there's an exchange that I'm really quite proud of in The Care and Keeping of an Unexpected Captive:

“You like - you like feeling like a hero. Like you’re - saving the world, all the pathetic people too weak to save themselves, there’s you, righteously battling evil, kind, generous–” Words that would be compliments from someone else Xue Yang spat like insults. Xiao Xingchen drew back. “That’s not it,” he protested. “I don’t care who knows me, or if anyone does. I’m not looking for fame or glory–” “No,” Xue Yang said, his voice harsh, “you just want people to love you.”

and I don't think Xue Yang is wrong. he's not 100% right either - Xiao Xingchen does believe in his mission, and does just genuinely want to help people and do the right thing.

but he also really, really, really wants to be loved, and is very afraid that he won't be.

[deprivedwithjoy]

She Who Embraces Envy

A U T O B I O G R A P H Y

No one admits to feeling envious. The word itself is often highlighted by devils as a sin that ruins interpersonal relationships and progress of some sort. Once a toddler grows older, she realises that it's easier to point fingers at another toddler who seems more suspicious than she is to escape the consequences of taking the blame. Carrying an adorable teddy bear in her right arm, the little girl with purple ribbons greets her father with a warm hug; behind them is the bruised figure of an older brother who is currently lying on the floor naked. He cries in agony. His wounds are open which causes immense bleeding. Any longer now, he might lose his consciousness—all because of receiving the punishment for something he did not do. The same applies to envy.

My name is Joylyn Valencia, and this is the Autobiography of an odd girl who likes self-deprecating jokes relating to suicide. I was born on the 25th of July, 2006 at the Manila Hospital. Recapturing the past, I would understand if parents were to lock their doors just to prevent their children from conversing with me. At the age of 12, I began suffering from a mental health condition known as "Trichotillomania" which involves frequent, repeated and irresistible urges to pull out hair from my scalp. As a consequence, bald spots began to occupy a wider range of my head. I was forced to cover the whole thing with a black headband, and since Aphrodite's grace didn't perceive me as the chosen one for authentic beauty, I was merely a mortal who had no right to complain. I had to accept my fate. The fate that most of us had to accept... mediocrity.

Until now, I remained a loser to temptation. Imagine opening social media just to deliberately compare yourself to other flawless models who have a foreign ethnicity and a wealthy status. I don't know them, nor do I care about their roast turkey dinner on Thanksgiving, and their desperate attempts to advertise their lousy content infuriates the heck out of me. Either way, I envy them. Sometimes, I wonder to myself. Did they work hard for it? What is happening behind the scenes before they post one of these "perfect" pictures of an extravagant event? Who knew that back then, I was foolish enough to believe the quotation "Beauty does not define who you are"(?) For me, that is nothing but a sugarcoated lie. People do treat you differently when you're conventionally attractive. I can approve since I've landed on both sides of the coin.

Back then, attending class daily looking like a cancer patient with the shortest stature... made an impact on my self-esteem and how others treated me. Well, sort of. They don't even have to say anything. I'm not that dumb to not know the difference between envy and pity. Unfortunately, it took me some time to get a strong grasp of reality. According to a dictionary I found on Google, Envy often involves feeling resentment towards another person since they have something you do not have; it is a mix of admiration and discontent—if you've hit rock bottom before, you would know what I'm talking about. On the other hand, pity usually connotes feelings of superiority. Others call it compassion, but isn't it odd how you feel quite "better" the moment you've realised that some malnourished kid is suffering way worse than you in a rural area? For the second time, the majority of us find it difficult to accept these negative emotions. Accepting it is just too painful, this contradicts the title we have placed upon ourselves as "good people".

What is more shocking is that—denying the dark side of human nature ironically makes things worse. Instead of going through the process of dealing with these negative emotions and healing yourself from within, the majority of people I know would rather blame others because of a common false assumption: that everyone is hostile towards them for the reason of envy and they pity them for it. Withholding a sense of grandiosity, they claim everyone to be self-proclaimed and evil but for some reason, they are an exception. Stop denying it. Don't despise or hate me for being honest. How can an individual change themselves without a hint of self-awareness? They can't.

[mariaiscrafting]

You know, what think I like when you are critical of a content creator is that you know how to separate a fact from especulation, unlike a blog out there that took especulation as facts.

Example, that night when we were critical of Karl, or any instance you have discussed about him, a lot of anons were saying that he gave them clout chaser vibes to them, and despite your opinion, you expressed that those were only especulation and not the truth, and to keep that in mind. That's good critical thinking.

But this blog had some similar anons, saying that he only is friends with the Feral Boys gro clout- In fact, they said the Feral Boys were only in it to benefit from clout and money. And they took it as a truth. I know you instance on them is neutral, but come one, they are friends. All of them. Karl isn't friends with them for clout. Like today Karl was playing golf with salad gang plus Sapnap and George at first and then Quackity and Dream joined bc they had spared time and it all devolved into typical chaos (Poor Corpse and Tina and Brook, had to endure those children lol/lh /j). Like, the stream wasn't planned with the 5/5 yet they joined, missing Karl and just having fun.

Idk, I guess that blog's superiority (They were a SBI focused blog) just irritated me. It's as if they were putting both groups at each other as if those streamers aren't friends or close. They were singing prayers of one while shunning the other based from especulation. Criticissism is fine, in fact recommended to be critical of your interests, but taking rumors as facts to base your crit is yikes. It's as if I wanted to crit SBI and base it only of "Philza hanging only with people younger than him is kinda weird ngl.." or "Sbi doesn't care about Tommy cuz he joined late" like that dumb Tumblr post did or some fuckers in Twitter imply.

The main reason I take so much care to separate speculation from evidence-backed theories and confirmed truths is because I feel like that separation is what distinguishes us from mcyttwt the most. One of the main reasons for mcyttwt's toxicity, imo - for its relentless cancelling of everyone, for its bandwagon campaigns - is that people oftentimes criticize and defend based on their personal feelings rather than rationale or evidence.

For example, I complain a lot about Dream stans on here, but you know the reason I didn't stop watching Dream directly after the cheating scandal broke loose, even though I thought he cheated? Because of mcytblr Dream stans. Mcytblr Dream stans engaged with me in discussion, both publicly and in DMs, about the cheating scandal, and even those who eventually came to the conclusion that Dream didn't cheat accepted the facts and statistics they were given and kept a healthy skepticism throughout the process. On Twitter, Dream stans were defending him before he even made a video following up to the mods' initial accusations because they felt that Dream wasn't the kind of guy to lie or cheat. They were replying to screenshots of statistical analyses from subreddits and to articles from mathematicians and staticians with extremely reactionary responses because of that feeling, which they believed in so adamantly, they had accepted it as fact. The thing is, to believe that Dream didn't cheat in the face of all the statistical and rhetorical evidence to the contrary is, in itself, speculative. Usually we think of speculation as a baseless theory that something is a positive truth- that is to say, that something did happen. But speculation also applies to those theories of someone not having done something, when the opposite has been nearly proven to be true.

For this same reason, I chose not to ignore the anti-technotwt threads with screenshots of Techno's old tweets in them. For me to have simply ignored these screenshots and continued supposing that Techno never expressed bigoted beliefs and/or currently doesn't would have been speculative on my part, and to boot, blatantly wrong, given the evidence to the contrary.

People in this fandom, and in all RPF/RPF-adjacent fandoms need to understand that almost everything they believe about the CCs they watch is speculative, at least to some extent, because of the nature of the content they make. Even if someone, in your opinion, displays evidence of some aspect of their personality - whether that be some form of bigoted, sweet, rude, clout-chasing, or anything else - because of the extremely one-sided nature of sharing one's life through a screen, that theory of ours will almost alwyas only ever be speculation, not a solid conclusion that can be drawn. We will never know these people's true intentions behind something shared to us via the Internet.

That vagueness leads to virtually every viewer creating a different theory in our heads about the CCs we watch, and we can't treat those theories as facts, especially not when sharing them with the rest of a fandom. I'm not a very big blog, but I consider even over 50 followers to be way too many people to spread a theory too, without at least clarifying that what I'm posting is speculation. If I have evidence, I like to list it or, if I can, provide sources; but otherwise, I take care to qualify most things with phrases or disclaimers that will clue followers into the speculative nature of whatever it is I'm saying. This is because theories and "feelings" can blaze through a fandom like wildfire, especially somewhere like Twitter, where so many things are word-of-mouth or based on summary due to character limitation.

You know why mcyttwt was cancelling Andi? Only a handful of original Tweeters under the cancel Andi hashtags actually knew what clips or tweets to criticize her for, or tried to elaborate on that criticism. But because every other mcyttwt user was getting bombarded by their mutuals hate-posting about Andi on their TLs, the "negative feeling" towards Andi grew and grew, even if most people didn't even know what they were supposed to feel negative about, exactly. Our judgement works on a quick trigger on the Internet because of the amount of information we're receiving, and so, even a single bad word against someone you don't have too strong of an opinion on can fundamentally alter your perception of them, usually subconsciously. If the first thing you see about Andi, who you've only seen on a couple LOH's or a couple Punz streams before then, is a tweet along the lines of, "disappointed in Andi for her homophobia and joking about suicide," despite you having no context, you will most likely be pushed to the negative side of her. Thus begins the cycle of hatred, building up and up, leading to you searching for more and more criticism about Andi, whether speculative or not, until you solidly and genuinely believe she is a Horrible Person. It all starts with the vaguest fucking feeling, because that's all speculation has to go off of, and it snowballs into a fucking wildfire across an entire fandom. I'm not about to be another person to let feelings snowball and spread like that.

Now, I don't know what exact blog you're referring to, but as an adamant SBI enthusiast, let me flip the argument many SBI stans have for their speculation upon the genuity of Karl's friendship with the Feral Bois, onto SBI. What do we have to go off of for the genuity of SBI's friendship, anyways? Our perceived brother dynamic between Tommy and Wilbur could very well just be Tommy capitalizing on Wilbur's brand and continuing the charade until now because it's been profitable. Maybe Techno only continues to associate with SBI because he knows how much his fanbase likes headcanon'ing about SBI, so he puts up with streams with them so he can continue to feed his fanbase with dynamics he knows they're obsessed with. Maybe Phil would rather play MC with people his age, and actually dislikes that he's friends with a teenager, but sticks around because he profitted so much off of Dream SMP and SBI-related content. And what could any SBI stan have to argue with me on any of these theories? Just because SBI laughs around each other and seems fond of each other doesn't mean they're actually like that behind the cameras. They so seldomly stream or make videos together anymore, anyways, so maybe they've grown tired of keeping up the dynamic.

Everything I said could be interpreted as utter bullshit, and that's because it fucking is. I don't actually know what Techno wants to do with his life, or how Wilbur and Tommy actually feel about each other, or who Phil wants to fucking befriend. The same goes for Feral Boys. There's nothing wrong with stating your theories or speculation, but to treat them as fact or not at least qualify such posts with the fact that this is all based on your bias and opinion, and no substantive evidence, is irresponsible. Just because you feel like one or more of the Feral Boys is "clout-chasing" doesn't mean you have the right to tout that feeling as truth. I feel a lot of things about a lot of CCs, both negative and positive, but no matter how strong my feelings, unless they have substantive evidence backing them up, I have no right to treat them as facts with my followers.

[coldmorte]

Hey! I really really like your blog and all the Dutch content, and I read your posts on Molly and Dutch and I just felt like sharing my thoughts :) If you don’t feel like it, just ignore this

I like Molly, even though I agree that she’s very much a snob and very paranoid at times.

It’s always felt very clear to me that Molly really, truly loves Dutch. And love makes you do stupid, desperate things (just look at Arthur).

Molly’s interaction with Abigail is about Dutch’s love for Molly, not the other way around. It’s Abigail saying that Dutch doesn’t love her and Molly lashing out (probably to protect herself from the truth).

This is brought up again in An Honest Mistake, when she talks to Arthur about Dutch, questioning how Dutch seems to him. When Molly says, “I really love him, you know,” Arthur averts his eyes and doesn’t look at her. I’ve always seen this as Arthur knowing Dutch doesn’t love her in the way Molly wants him to, if he loves her at all.

I’ve always seen Dutch as being kind of ahead of his time when it comes to certain progressive ideas (especially as it pertains to race), but when it comes to women, he’s very much a product of his his time. The way he talks about them and to/at them, whether it’s Molly or Abigail or Mary-Beth or Sadie, is often either dismissive or condescending.

While he doesn’t outright say it, the way he acts around the women at camp has always left me feeling like he prefers women (at least the ones he takes an actual interest in) to fit into the roles society has carved out for them; they have to be beautiful and docile and romantic-minded for him to take an interest.

You’ve said yourself, that Dutch deals with a lot of self doubt and that stems from wanting to be seen as a great and powerful man, who the people in camp can look up to, and women (especially young women) were (and to some degree stil is) seen as symbols of status. Molly is a beautiful woman from a wealthy family; she could have anyone she wanted, and she chose Dutch and ran away with him, leaving her old life behind – that’s the ultimate powermove on Dutch’s part.

I’ve always thought of Dutch as a romantic, the way he talks about love and how it’s the one thing worth living for, and I believe that he may have at some point actually loved Molly or at least convinced himself that he did, but the second he grows tired of her and realises that he doesn’t actually love her, he’s moving on to another, younger woman.

His inner romantic and his ego and need to be perceived as powerful are at odds with each other, and as the game progresses we see how his romantic and kind side wilt under the weight and pressure of his responsibilities as a leader and his need to be perceived as powerful and a great leader.

Those are my thoughts at least :)

Hello!

Thank you for the ask and the kind words! That really does mean a lot!! 💜💜💜

I am very grateful for your message, and no!!!! I don’t want to ignore it!! That wouldn’t be very fair of me, as I feel like you bring up some good points to discuss. Also, I appreciate the respect in your message and for taking the time to write so much out! I’d be happy to give you some of my time in return 🥰

(Warning: SPOILERS below)

I’m going to take your points one at a time here. So, starting with liking Molly, it’s totally fine! I don’t want to be too negative on my blog, and I don’t want people to feel like they have to think the same way I do. That wouldn’t be any fun, so it does make me happy that you can enjoy her character. I don’t want to take that away from you!! By all means, love her to your heart's content!!! ❤️

Furthermore, though I don’t personally like Molly, I don’t think she was a truly bad person. Just like every other character in the game, she had flaws and made mistakes. I primarily wish I could have gotten to know her better because she was presented during a very dark time in her life. I feel like this affected my perception of her, and I might have seen her differently, if I had gotten the chance to interact more with her character (especially outside of the RDR2 timeframe). Everybody deserves not only to love somebody, but everybody also deserves to have faith that the person they love can truthfully say the same back to them. I felt bad that Molly died such an unhappy, loveless death.

About the love Molly had for Dutch, I agree that she loved him. My point in bringing up infatuation was to primarily highlight the reason and the degree to which she honestly loved him. Did Molly love Dutch for the man he was, or for the idea of the man he was? Maybe, it was a mix? I am not sure there is enough information to give a conclusive answer to this (as I somewhat mentioned before).

To be fair, the same thing could (and should) be asked of Dutch. Did he truly love her, or did he just love the idea of having her at his side? Again, it would be fascinating to see the early part of their relationship. It would answer a LOT of questions. You mention that Dutch arguably saw Molly as a symbol of status, and I agree that it was very plausible. I think, to some degree, both Molly and Dutch saw each other as being favorable for what they represented, unfortunately.

In regard to the interaction between Molly and Abigail, I realize my response was unclear about this (that’s my bad). I'll try to write it better here, but this is really complicated to put into words! I'll do my best!!

What I said was that Molly got angry at people she “perceived” as challenging her love (this was subjective to her POV and not necessarily reflective of true reality). My original answer was not objective (nor was it meant to be - I was trying to write this part from her POV), and there are a few layers I want to analyze here. First of all, from an objective perspective, you are correct. The conversation between them was ultimately about Dutch not loving Molly the way she wanted to be loved. However, the first thing Molly did was state to Abigail that she loved Dutch. If she didn’t see this point as being in question, why did she feel the need to immediately justify it before saying anything else? To me, it seemed like she needed to actively prove that she loved him to others.

This was also seen with Karen and Arthur. The conversations with Karen were confusing because they didn’t have much context, but perhaps, that was the point - to show the extent of Molly’s paranoia (in other words, that there was no context and that she was imagining Karen to be against her out of insecurity). Molly continually complained that Karen said bad things about her, and she insisted that she not only loved Dutch, but that he loved her as well. Then, as you mention, Molly emphasized to Arthur that SHE loved Dutch (it was not directly about his love for her). Again, by constantly having to profess her feelings, it was as if she thought people were doubting her on some level.

But here is where the contradiction comes in - I believe that Molly was smart enough to know that this doubting wasn't entirely genuine. She knew it was never really her love that she should have been concerned about. Although, by focusing on herself, it was a way to deflect from her insecurity regarding Dutch and the fact that she knew, deep down, he didn’t truly love her (at least, not anymore). That’s why she got so upset when Abigail, for instance, brought this point up. As soon as the conversation shifted from Molly’s love to Dutch’s love, she lashed out and stormed away.

So, to try to summarize this all up, what I am trying to say is that Molly “perceived” challenges to her own state of emotions as a means of shifting away from her concerns about Dutch’s feelings. She knew her "perceptions" were really more like lies to herself. Molly wanted the conversation with Abigail to seem like it was about her because she felt she was more in control of that and could handle it better. From a neutral perspective, the conversation was definitely not about Molly - it was entirely about Dutch, which Molly knew (she just didn’t like Abigail directly pointing it). I hope my response makes more sense? Sorry, if I am still being confusing!

Now, as for Dutch and his progressive ideas, I think a lot of them were formed in his youth. Little information was given about his childhood, but he did seem pretty sensitive about the fact that he grew up fatherless. His dad died in the Civil War (a conflict primarily centered around the issue of slavery and states’ attitudes towards it), while fighting on the side of the Union. One reason Dutch was probably so progressive in regard to race was because of his anger over losing a parent to racially-motivated violence. Racism seemed like a waste of time and life, so he was bitter towards people who still harbored racist sentiments. He knew firsthand how destructive they could be.

Minimal insight was provided into Dutch’s relationship with his mother, other than the fact that it was quite strained and unhappy. He left home at a young age and essentially disowned her. He obviously didn’t keep in touch with her, judging that he didn’t even know she died until years after the fact. Could this have affected his attitude later in life (towards women)?

I suppose it’s possible. Maybe, Dutch would have looked better on women, had he been closer with his mother. I consider his attitude towards women as pretty average for the era. It’s not entirely fair to compare him to Arthur, who was very progressive for the time and definitely above normal standards. As you say, I think Dutch was a product of his time. In RDR2, he didn’t come across as physically abusive, nor did he overtly sexualize women. However, he did seem to expect women to act in a subordinate manner. It's not great (and I certainly do not agree with his attitude), but again, the contemporary standards in regard to gender roles did not exist in 1899.

Lastly, I COMPLETELY agree about Dutch being VERY romantic, sentimental, and idealistic. This wasn’t just limited to interpersonal relationships either - it also fit his entire perspective of America and the values he held dear. Just take a look at some of his quotes:

“The promise of this great nation - men created equal, liberal and justice for all - that might be nonsense, but it’s worth trying for. It’s worth believing in.”

And:

“If we keep on seeking, we will find freedom.”

In the beginning, he had such high hopes and strong faith that he could find a way to live free from social and legislative demands. Compare that to the end, where he started to say things like:

“You can’t fight nature. You can’t fight change.”

And:

“There ain’t no freedom for no one in this country no more.”

Dutch wanted to believe that there was a chance to live free from the threat of control, but as he started to lose people he loved and got closer to losing his own battle, he started to take on a much more cynical tone. He began to realize that his romantic notions and idealistic visions of life were not always obtainable - no matter how hard he tried to reach them - and it broke him. This change in his life outlook was kind of similar to his interpersonal relationships. When he realized they were a lot of work and not always happy/perfect, he seemed to grow frustrated. Love requires a lot of patience and energy. Despite full effort, love still does not always succeed.

Also, I just want to add that I think Dutch knew he had a problem with his pride, but he tried his best to maintain his tough, confident persona because he didn’t want to be perceived as weak. He definitely realized he messed up in putting his pride first in the end, but at that point, it was too late. Whatever was left of his idealistic aspirations in life died with Arthur up on that cliff.

Anyhow, I’ve said more than enough. I’d like to once again thank you for the ask!! I hope my response was worth the time to read and that it makes sense. Feel free to share any more thoughts you may have!!!

~ Faith 💜

[crazy-loca-blog]

Personal thoughts on Open Heart Second Year… and the mess with the Ethan plot

Note: As the title says, these are just personal opinions on Choices books and chapters. Of course, you may agree or disagree with them, I only use this platform to express my thoughts on what I read every week and what I’d like to see in the next chapters, because none of my friends play Choices so I have no one to comment the books with.

What can I say? That Ethan thing escalated quickly. And for some reason, after romancing this character for two books already, I feel like I need to share my POV about all of this.

In all of my posts about Open Heart, I try to do my best to cover or at least to have some knowledge of what’s happening on every LI route. I watch videos on YouTube or I ask people to share screenshots or to tell me what happened so that I can understand how everyone is progressing. And I don’t do it just to please everyone or to try to be neutral… I do it because I’m convinced that the Open Heart series has given us one of the best sets of LIs in this app. Trust me, I’ve been playing Choices for over three years now and there are only a few books where I’ve seen people this level of confused about who to romance because every LI is awesome.

But the truth is, even though I make my best efforts, my MC is romancing Ethan (and I’m a sucker for that man), so his plot is the one that I know the most. So welcome to my TED Talk about why Ethan’s route seem to be all over the place now. I really hope this post help people to understand why Ethan stans are mad (because I feel like everyone is arguing or complaining, but no one has taken the time to explain this thing) and also to understand that this isn’t something against the rest of the LIs, but only something very specific about Ethan’s route, especially in the last few weeks.

In case you’re not romancing Ethan, let me explain this to you to put things in context: even though after the hiatus there was some stuff that was already weird, during the last two chapters, people who’ve been romancing Ethan have been feeling that something just doesn’t add up. We all know he’s the slow burn of the series and we’ve been dealing with it for a long time now, so that’s nothing new to us as we signed up for it. But after the incident, the romantic relationship between the MC and Ethan moved forward and then you had the choice to have a “secret relationship” or to “keep things informal” (they’re literally “whatever they want to be”). And things seemed to be fine until Chapter 17… the gala. Not only we got a very public display of affection, but there were also some dialogs that led us to think that Ethan had finally got rid of his morals and that they were finally having their “happily ever after”. But then, Chapter 18 felt like going back to Book 1 all over again, you had this constant feeling of Ethan pushing our MC away. The same behavior was repeated during Chapter 19 and it was especially evident when they had their last scene at Edenbrook. Sure, it worked perfectly fine if you’re not romancing him, but to see them basically saying stuff like “goodbye”, “thanks for everything” and “you’ll be a great doctor” sure sounds like “wtf” after all you went through if you’re romancing him.

As you may see, things felt so weird, that it got us all wondering what happened between Chapter 17 and 18 that their relationship changed so much. And today, there was a post where someone (sorry, I can’t remember your user now!) explained what the original plot for Ethan and the MC was and why now there are so many things that don’t make any sense if you’re romancing him. The original plot was basically Ethan and the MC having a secret relationship that was discovered by someone. After they’re discovered, this person blackmails them and Ethan breaks up with the MC to save their career. In the original script, by the time of Chapter 18 and Chapter 19 they are not together, that’s why Ethan is so distant… but what about the gala? The gala was originally meant to be part of the final chapter. Does this make any sense to you now? I really hope so!

Now, in my very, very personal opinion… I think this actually stopped being about Ethan a long time ago. To me, this is now about all LIs in this book and how awful has been the rewrite for all of us, despite all the content that was added. When I look at this series, I always felt like the relationships were moving differently. I always perceived like Bryce and Jackie were the ones that were going faster, Rafael was like two steps behind them, and then Ethan was like five steps behind them all (because slow burn, you know). But during Book 2, I felt like Ethan was moving, Rafael just disappeared for half of the book (the worst and most disrespectful move ever!), and Bryce and Jackie sure made some improvements, but overall the relationship seemed to be a little stuck. And this is where I think there are two brilliant moments that were awfully wasted:

1. The incident: this was the opportunity where we all had a chance to deepen the bound with our LI, not only during the incident, but also after the funeral. And honestly, I’m still wondering why the writers only took that route with Ethan and not with the rest of the LIs. I assume it has to do with the original plot that I explained before but still… why the relationships with Bryce, Jackie and Rafael didn’t progress into something more serious at that time? What was the excuse to just not doing it?

2. The gala: this is another great milestone that could have worked even better than the first one. This was THE moment of the book where FINALLY all LIs seemed to be at the same level in their relationships, like… it was so evident to me that everything was there for them to move on… and sure they did, they went “public”. But it almost felt like a Cinderella story where after midnight everything goes back to what used to be normal a year ago: if it weren’t for the individual scenes we had with the LIs in Chapter 18, you could say that not only Ethan was pushing your MC away, but also that your MC was only having a hook up with Jackie, Bryce and Rafael. Too much work at the hospital? Maybe. But we had just taken this huge step in our relationships during the gala and then it felt like “nothing” happened for a long time!

If you follow my posts, you know that I adore Bryce with all my heart and soul, that I was the happiest person when Rafael wasn’t killed (and that I’m dying to see PB exploiting this new bound with the MC), and that I couldn’t be more proud to see how much Jackie has evolved as a character throughout the series. So I really hope you know I strongly disagree with people who want the original book back because no, I’m really glad that they didn’t kill Rafael and I’m really, really happy that the rest of the LIs got more scenes and that we had more bonding time with our friends, that’s absolutely out of question to me. However, I don’t know if I’ll ever understand why the writers had to quit that Ethan plot to make room to that new content, especially when Open Heart is by far the most popular series in the app at the moment and a lot of people not only would have loved to see extra long chapters, but also wouldn’t have had a problem with paying for those extra diamond scenes that could have been part of the plot.

[melwritesbadly]

With Wings in All Black

After a tragic turn of events,  Kazama Kaori , AKA Hex, has her  investigation swept out from under her by the #2 Pro Hero. Reluctantly  she joins Hawks in the pursuit of justice. On top of trying to solve the  biggest case of her career, Kaori is still a young woman struggling to  find her place in the world. Life is turned upside down as her  professional and personal lives start to blend.

Rating: T (subject to change)

Content Warnings: slight language, implied violence/death

________________________________________________________

‘Are you aware of the hour?’

                       ‘As if you were sleeping. ANYWAY, I’ve got another one for you!’

‘We’ve discussed your cryptic messages, another one what?’

                         ‘Why another little bird for the nest. I think you’ll like her.’

‘Somehow I doubt that.’

__________

Two for Some Luck

Hex decided to take the 20 minute walk back to her apartment rather than the much shorter flight. It was thankfully peaceful. No assaults, no muggings, just bustling city life despite the late hour.

She thought about her next steps and her current situation. Despite her perceived annoyance she was grateful for the help. She just hated that it cost Kenji’s life to get it, and that was not ok with her…

So why now, after weeks of posting to the Hero Network? And why him. When now, in all honesty, it seemed like a case for the police.

Pro Heroes usually didn’t investigate murders, at least not top charters like Hawks.

Heroes like Hawks were better suited for grandiose villains, not the everyday kind of monsters. That’s what the underground was for.

Because people like Kenji’s mother didn’t get happy endings, no heroic flourish at the end of it all. No triumph. Only grief.

Hex couldn’t protect her from that, just like she couldn’t protect Kenji, and she is no closer to helping all the other missing people either.

Some Hero she was…

The walk was not as calming as she hoped as her mind swirled with guilt and more questions she was not going to find the answers to, at least not that night. Instead she decided on a shower and hopefully a few hours of sleep before she went with the police to the Takei house…then to wherever Hawks decided to meet with her.

From the front of her building Hex could see the light on in her apartment.

Mayu must have got home early from the bar.

Soon her key was slipping into the lock and opening the door to her small shared apartment.

Kaori didn’t have much in the way of money when she left her father’s agency. Without an agency supporting you, hero work did not pay well, if at all. The odd jobs she took around the station were barely enough to cover her portion of the rent and her groceries but bless Mayu. Her roommate didn’t complain when her payments were late or if she had to pick up some extra costs. Her new job at the swankiest Hero club in the city paid big bucks and Mayu was a generous young woman.

“Kaori?” her roommate called from behind the closed bathroom door.

“Yeah, it’s me Yu.” her voice tired as she called back to the other woman.

“You’re early!” a muffled gasp “Bad night?”

“You have no idea…What are you doing in there?” Kaori kicked off her shoes and placed her black coat on the simple rack Mayu kept her various jackets and purses on.

“Oh you know, having another identity crisis”

“Are you dying your hair again?” Kaori asked sitting on the small but comfy couch Mayu had ‘acquired’ during her brief stay at University.

Stretching out along it Kaori pulled one of the colorful throw pillows over her face and briefly contemplated screaming into it.

She heard the door to the bathroom open followed by the barest hints of hair dye and floral shampoo that snuck under the decorative square.

Mayu lifted Kaori’s legs high enough to wiggle under them, setting them back down over her lap.

“What’s wrong pretty bird?” Mayu asked in her sweet voice then gasped “Wait don’t tell me-” she reached for one of Kaori’s hands and held it in her own.

[Glimmers of hope, new links on a chain, soft, red, light as a feather]

“You met someone!” Mayu gasped.

“You know I don’t like it when you use your quirk on me.” Kaori’s voice muffled through the pillow and wiggled her hand free from her friends.

“Sorry PB, you know I can’t help myself. Anyway back to the matter. You met someone!”

“It’s not like that. It’s work stuff” Kaori finally pulled the pillow from her face holding it to her chest instead.

Mayu’s head was wrapped in a ratty dye stained towel. Her round face and large blue eyes made her seem like one of those painted cherubs.

“What color this time?” trying to redirect the conversation away from herself.

“Baby blue to match my other baby blues” she clasped her hand and fluttered her lashes for effect. “And what do you mean work stuff?! Didn’t feel like work stuff.” she prodded, tickling her fingers along her friend’s shins.

“Yu” a sigh “I don’t want to talk about it right now. It’s probably going to be on every tabloid by the end of the week anyway…”

Kaori pulled herself up and stood up from the couch and made her way to her bedroom forgoing the shower tonight and resigned herself to wake earlier while Mayu was sleeping to avoid further questioning or quirk prodding.

“Tabloids, what? What?! PB!”

“Too tired, going to bed.” Kaori ignored her roommate who had jumped from her spot and charged at her rapidly closing door.

Mayu drummed her hand along her door and whined.

“You never go out with anyone and now you tell me the media is involved. What did you dooooo?” she whined dramatically, scratching along the door.

Kaori stripped her dark clothes and slid out of her flight suit and brushed out her hair.

“It’s nothing Yu, just… let me sleep, I’ll talk to you in the morning.”  she paused  “Don’t touch my stuff!” knowing her roommate could use her quirk on inanimate objects too.

“No fun” came one final whine from Mayu who then admitted defeat, for now.

______

The next morning Mayu waited until Kaori had finished her breakfast and headed to the  bathroom to shower. On the kitchen table was a box filled with various pictures, notes, maps and other handwritten details. Mayu held one in her hand not so much reading it but feeling what that paper represented activating her quirk.

She felt the hopelessness, the frustrated exhaustion. The perseverance. Strings and connections winding and wrapping leading nowhere and everywhere.

‘I will save them’

Mayu pursed her lips and placed the paper back in the box.

If Kaori had taken down her pinboard was she giving up? No, there was no way. In the 2 years she had known her if someone needed help Kaori would help them. Hex would help them.

[New links in the chain, hope, feathers] she recalled from last night. Hmm, the first part was easy to decipher. It had to represent whoever Kaori had met, someone new. The chain could maybe mean she was trapped, which would explain why she was so gloomy last night. Hmm, hope and feathers…

As Mayu thought through the abstraction of her quirk she noticed the unfinished cup of coffee and Kaori’s phone which just emitted several pings indicating she had just received messages.

Mayu knew she shouldn’t look but…

It’s not like she was snooping through her phone (it has a passcode and she could not for the life of her crack it)

She would just- check her lock screen for the time and…

Mayu hit the button on the side lighting up the screen. Kaori didn’t have a custom  background, just whatever came default with the phone but it did show a preview of the texts she had just received. The sender’s name caused her to make a confused but amused face.

The nosy young woman was not paying attention and did not hear the shower switch off as she scanned over the small blurb of text. Mayu gave a startled jolt as Kaori swung open the bathroom door and came out in a towel. Kaori was equally shocked to see Mayu up.

“What are you doing?” Kaori asked, eyeing her roommate suspiciously.

Mayu hastily grabbed the used mug and brought it to the kitchen under the guise of washing it.

“Oh nothing, couldn’t really sleep so I figured i’d clean up a bit.” She was a terrible liar and knew it.

“Yu…” the tone of her voice was enough to make Mayu fidget.

“Err, well” Mayu scratched her nose then twisted the ends of her hair. The now blue hair is a little frazzled but fluffy from letting it air dry.   Kaori stood arms crossed waiting for her to continue.

“You see…” she reeled “I was…cleaning up,” she gestured to her the mug in her hand “and well your phone went off and I just happened to see the screen when I was leaning over and…” She spun the mug between her hands, a small smile sneaking onto her lips “Who’s ‘Unsolicited dick pics’”?”

Kaori blinked confused.

“What?”

“That’s who texted you- well that’s their name in your phone!” Mayu giggled.

“My phone?”

Who could possibly be named that Kaori thought. Then stopped when the obvious answer hit her, face falling with an un-amused expression. She shook her head and picked up her phone and flicked it on going to her message app to see the full message.

She replied,

Hawks’s response was immediate and Kaori shook her head setting her phone down.

Mayu was watching her expectantly.

“Well?”

“Well what?” Kaori crossed to her bedroom and closed the door enough for some privacy but enough to continue the conversation.

“Who’s dick pic guy?!” Mayu asked, leaning against the wall next to Kaori’s door. She heard Kaori click her tongue.

“He’s not ‘dick pic guy’. Just some smartass who thinks he’s cute.”

“Ah, so he’s cute now.”Mayu teased “Who is he! You said you’d tell me in the morning!”

From inside her room Kaori sighed adjusting her bodysuit making sure the fabric wasn’t bunched before slipping on the rest of her clothes.

“If I tell you, you can’t make a big deal because it is NOT a big deal and this is strictly for work. Pro Hero business”  A dressed Kaori- rather Hex stepped out and pointed a finger at Mayu.

“Super secret and super dangerous!”

Mayu blinked but nodded.

“I’m serious. It’s no big deal” now it was Mayu’s turn to roll her eyes.

“You keep saying that but It’s making me think it is a big deal. Now spill!”

Kaori breathed in and touched her fingers to each other in front of her face at the brim of her nose.

“Hawks” Mayu’s mouth dropped.

“What.”

“I’m not saying it again.”

“No I heard you, just- what, as in, WHAT? Isn’t he mega hot and like the number 2 hero.”

“Yup, that’s the one” Kaori grimaced, speaking through her teeth.

“So you finally agree that he’s hot?” cheeked Mayu recalling a tipsy conversation they had when the popularity ratings were last posted.

“Just because I’m a bird and he’s a bird doesn’t mean I automatically find him attractive.”

“Attractive you say” Yu tried to fish further casting her a lewd look raising her eyebrows suggestively.

“Stop.” Kaori moaned, annoyed reaching up to smooth over the feathers at the back of her neck. They tended to tense and puff up when flustered, or in this case, annoyed.

“He’s not my type- too flashy” This caused Mayu to scoff.

“So says miss ‘I’m black as night spooky-spooky bird lady!”

“I’m not flashy and I certainly don’t like the attention!” Kaori waved her hands to maybe try and physically dismiss the subject. “This is why I didn’t want to tell you. I’m late already, I need to go.” brushing past Mayu and started to pull on her gear.

“We will continue this conversation later young lady” Mayu mock scolded,wagging a finger at her, Kaori shook her head

“Yes mom… I’ll see you later Yu”

______

Hex met with two officers just outside of Takei’s apartment complex. They did not speak to her but offered her a curt nod before gesturing to her to go on ahead of them.

She had never done something like this. To tell someone that their loved one… had died. It wasn’t something Hero’s did. Hero’s swooped in, stopped the bad guys and swooped back out. In and out of people’s lives, never lingering, never personal…

She hesitated, knuckling inches above the door, letting out a tense breath but finally rapt her fist against the worn door.

A soft ‘just a moment’ was heard beyond.

It seemed like an eternity but finally the door swung open and Kenji’s tired mother was revealed.

“Oh Hex.” she said softly, almost surprised to see her at her doorstep. Mrs. Takei’s eyes drifted to the officers who stood formally behind the Pro Hero. She gave a sad, knowing nod.

“Please… come in.”

They had waited for Mrs. Takei to make herself a cup of tea and settle into a seated position before speaking.

“Mrs. Takei…” Hex paused trying to find the right words “Your son- Kenji” She looked down unable to meet the woman’s gaze.

“Kenji’s body was found last night.” Hex said softly. A sad sigh came from the older woman.

“I see…” was all the woman could muster, Hex saw a slight sad shine at the corner of her eyes.

Hex stood and bowed her head low.

“I promised you I would find your son and bring him back to you. I not only failed you. I failed him. I beg for your forgiveness.” the officers bowed as well.

“Oh, no, please.” Mrs. Takei sniffed “Kenji, my son, he died the moment he went missing, I could feel it in my heart. At least now…” she paused again to compose herself. “Now I can lay him to rest properly.”

“I’m so sorry you are going through this Mrs. Takei. If there is anything I can do?” Hex offered a soft and sympathetic look in her eyes.

“You’ve done more than anyone Hex, I’ll be ok.” She sipped her tea.

“I can do more, for Kenji, for the others. Us Hero’s are not giving up-I’m not giving up.” Hex leaned forward and took Mrs. Takei’s hands and spoke sincerely, meeting her eyes “I will get justice for Kenji and for you.” It was a sad but welcome comfort to the woman.

“I know you will Hex, thank you.” Mrs. Takei squeezed the younger woman’s hands and finally let a few tears slip out.

“These officers will help you as best they can with any questions you might have and you can call me anytime you like ok?”

Mrs. Takei nodded sniffing once more then released Hex’s hands and brushed away her tears.

“Before I leave, I wanted to ask you…” Pulling out her phone Hex opened the picture she snapped the previous night of the business card “Does this mean anything to you?” The older woman examined the picture but shook her head no.

Worth a shot.

______

After excusing herself and leaving the apartment Hex made a quick stop back at her apartment to gather her evidence, she loaded it into a knapsack snapping it to one of her buckles and took flight to the hotel just in time for lunch.

Here we go…

Taking a deep breath is Hex strode into the hotel lobby. A quick stop at the concierge pointed the way to one of the conference rooms on the upper floors. The elevator ride was spent admiring how ritzy the place was and how she would put forth her evidence without sounding like a conspiracy theorist.

The conference room had frosted glass preventing her from seeing anything but shadows.

Should she knock? No- Jeesh why was she so nervous?  She felt the feathers on her neck creep up. She shook her shoulders working out the jitter and opened the door.

An impressive spread of food was laid out on the long table. She felt all attention on her as 3 sets of eyes took immediate notice of her intrusion.

Duke Amazing had a mouth full of some sort of sandwich and lifted his bread in salut and continued to chew, a few crumbs in his mustache.

“Hey! It’s the star of the show!” Hawks called out.

He was kicked back in one of the executive chairs, legs propped up on the table and a can of some sort of energy drink in his hand. His other hand gestured to the projector screen at the front of the room showing videos of… well her.

The other person in the room sat next to Hawks upright and smartly dressed in fitting business attire. Her eyes meeting hers seemingly stared at something Hex could not see. Just at a glance she was certain this woman never smiled.

Hawks noted his manager’s dead eye stare and casually elbowed her causing the woman’s focus to drop and lose whatever it was she was looking at.

“This is June, the agency manager.” Hawks gestured to her then to the table “Take a seat, grab some grub, I think we’re getting to the good part.” he swiveled in his chair a bit, rocking himself side to side as he turned his attention back to the screen.

Hex placed her pack on the table and took a seat opposite to Duke.

“This data is old.” She commented idly picking through the food to find something she liked.

“Well,” the manager clicked a remote rewinding a certain part of the video and letting it play again “You’re about as underground as someone can go. The name Hex doesn’t even register on any hero chart. A nobody” she played the next bit in slow motion.

Every beat of her black wings taking up a frame. The familiar motions slowly rolling through her shoulders and hips as the Hex on screen slowly spun and let loose several pointed feathers as projectiles into the villain on screen sending them back and into a wall subdued. June rewound it and played it in real time, the motion as fast as a blink.

“However…” fast forwarding again and video Hex zoomed along the screen, and two other figures joined her. June paused it. Hex frowned as she started at the on screen version of herself.

“Aello,” the picture zoomed in on the blond in the middle. She fluttered in the air, quirk similar to Hex’s but her wings were white and blue.

“ Ocypete” June zoomed in on the other fair haired winged woman on screen. Her wings were green with sparse flecks of black.

“Finally, Celaeno.” June zoomed one final time, this time on Hex. Her jet black wings a stark contrast to the white and green of her partners. Her dark hair is also in conflict with their uniform blond-ness.

Hex did not speak and only stared at her past self posed perfectly behind her flashier partners. Their costumes matched in every way but color. Blue, green, and black. The black of her suit  and her headgear were the only thing she had retained from this past persona.

The only thing worth keeping

Hex though as she eyed her past smile and eyes, perfect for the camera. Remembering how she had felt presenting herself that way.

“The Harpy Sisters- affiliated with King Crow Agency. Currently holding the number 112th slot on the boards despite missing a member.” She let the footage roll again switching to ground combat.

“Celaeno’s such a pretty name.” June mused more to herself then resumed speaking to the room “Still you’re very on brand for this agency.”

Take your brand and stuff it. Is what Hax wanted to say but felt that was a bit unprofessional. But still wanted to make sure the manager understood her stance on the matter.

“I told Hawks last night I don’t do agencies” Hex shoved a bunch of chips into her mouth making a point to crunch loudly.

“Well, as much as it is his agency. I handle all the logistics. And I’m telling you,” she paused folding her hand neatly on the table “We don’t ‘do’ Freelancers and since you don’t ‘do’ agencies  we can’t ‘do’ a team up.” using the same tone to match Hex’s.

“And why not?” Hex questioned trying her best to not let her tone get too uneven “You said yourself I’m nobody. You have nothing to gain by trying to brand me- no one cares. No one cared that I left King Crow, and no one cares now.”

June tutted and had a constrained grimace on her face.

“True no one gives a damn about you Hex. But people care about Hawks. And it’s my job to protect his image so people continue to care about him. I know things are different working underground but topside? This is his world.” She gestures to hawks who simply shrugs “He’s the number 2 hero. Society chose him to be their hero- whoever is represented by his agency is a reflection on him. If we have ‘nobodies’ skulking around his agency it could make a bad impression”

Hex stood abruptly and walked towards the other end of the table.

“June, look now what you’ve done. Scared the poor girl off.” Commented Duke finally brushing his face free of crumbs.

Instead of leaving, Hex grabbed her bag and stomped to where June and Hawks were sitting. Locking eyes with the woman, Hex undid the fastening and dumped the contents out on the desk before her creating a mess.

“This is what I think of your stupid charts and pretty pictures of Hero’s.” quickly rifling through the paper and pulling out the pictures.

“ Taichi Mizo, missing 6 weeks. Ochiro Honda, missing 4 weeks, Ben Darma missing 7 months.”

Hex listed about a dozen people holding a picture to correspond to the names.

“I have been begging for help for weeks on the HN. For one of your ‘top charters’ to notice. To do something about this. But no.” she tossed the pictures on the pile “You were too busy posing for pictures, and worrying about what others think about Hero’s rather than being an actual Hero. Then you get caught with your pants around your ankles. Go “Woops, my bad.”

“I think you’ve made your point”

“Have I?” Hex huffed “Someone died because the only person who cared was me and I was too much of a nobody to help. Then you come at me and tell me how to do things when I’m the only person who’s done anything to try and fix this problem!” The room was awkwardly silent. Hex felt puffed up but resisted the urge to press down her neck and stood firm eyes never leaving June’s.

Duke stood silently and tip-toed out the room, an extra sandwich and bag of chips in his hand closing the door with a soft click.

“Well, that was intense!” Hawks tried to break the tension taking a loud sip from his can. Hex sighed in frustration and began collecting her papers.

So much for being cool.

“Listen, Hex. It’s bullshit, it’s all bullshit.” Hawks started fiddling with the tab of the can “The glitter, the glory. You’re right, we’re caught pants down, dick out-”

“Language” chided June causing Hawks to gesture towards her.

“See what I mean I can’t even tell it how it is without getting my wrists slapped.” June swatts his hand away “Anyway. I asked you to help. I want you to help. Because you care. I admit I have to drink the kool-aid every now and then but that’s the price we pay as Hero’s. The trick is not to chug.” He sips at his own drink “A sip here, a sip there and even bullshit is bearable if it means I can be the Hero I want to be. Now you said last night you needed resources. If it’s one thing this kool-aid man has is resources.” Hex tutted and  finally smoothed down her neck.

“So It comes down to ends and means huh?”

“Seems so Chickadee”

She placed her hand on her hips and looked up and let out a deep breath.

“Fine then. Limited term contract- my previous conditions still stand. Full access and availability to this case.”

“Very good, a 12 month term with the agency.”

“6 months and I retain and manage my own promotional material” It was June’s turn to tutt.

“Unacceptable, the agency manages any and all images associated with the Hero’s under its employ. 9 months with lodgings.”

“I like my apartment, commuting isn’t so bad. 6 months and I can Veto any publicity I deem unnecessary.”

“8 months and you get 1 veto.”

“8 months and I get 2 vetoes” Hex stood firm and crossed her arms.

“8 months, you get 1 veto, and you get to retain your costume and persona. Even though Celaeno would be better branding for the agency.”

June pulled out a pen and pulled out a folder that was buried under the mess of papers Hex had dumped out.

“8 months, 1 Veto, Hex stays and you,” she pointed at Hawks, “no longer call me Chickadee.” It was his turn to tut resuming his twisting in his chair.

“Ah, there is no way I could sign off on a ‘no Chickadee’ clause in your contract Chickadee. Then I’d have to think of a new nickname for you and frankly that’d be too much work.”

“Worth a shot.” She nodded “Ok, deal”

“Fantastic, welcome aboard Hex.”

June quickly filled out the form then handed it along with a sort of stamp to Hawks. He didn’t bother looking over the contract and simply put his stamp to where it needed to be signed then  used a feather to move the contract over to Hex letting it hover until she grabbed it. Once she did he made the feather do a lap around her prompting her swat it away like a fly. Pleased with her annoyance he recalled it and it zoomed back into place among his other vibrant plumage.

She read through its entirety making sure the agreed upon terms were fairly stated. Those stale management courses she took finally came in handy it seemed.

She was as satisfied as she was going to be given the situation and put a pen to the paper.

“Bottoms up Kool-aid man” she said and signed her hero credentials

“Cheers” chimed Hawks cracking open another can.

______

End Notes: I hope you guys are liking this so far. Sorry if it seems a little slow right now.  Chapter 3 is almost done, and four has some agency fun. Also the text parts might seem a little weird since I’m on android and there is no good social dummy app to make fake texts. Anyway, I’m planning to do little fun half parts in between the larger chapters to give myself some time to work on the next parts so looks for that next week.

Thank you!

[irinapaleolog]

Star Wars Fans Use May the 4th to Send a Message to Lucasfilm: 'Do Better'

Twitter users are urging Disney to do right by its diverse Star Wars characters in the future.

It's May the 4th and Star Wars hashtags are all the rage on Twitter. Along with posts that celebrate the films or advertise the arrival of all nine Skywalker Saga titles on Disney+ is a more complicated topic: Star Wars' lingering problem with issues of representation. #DoBetterStarWars is trending, too, as story-minded and socially-conscious fans see the holiday as an opportunity to address Lucasfilm and Disney head-on about changes they'd like to see made between the last phase of Star Wars and the next.

A number of Twitter users are still rankled by how the Sequel Trilogy played out and are using the hashtag to complain of the supposedly shoddy planning that led to Episodes VII-IX feeling too disconnected. However, the majority want to speak to the franchise's treatment of women and people of color.

Star Wars has long found itself in a cultural and political limbo of sorts. George Lucas's own politics shaped the two trilogies he oversaw. Those films are widely thought to be reactionary to America's involvement in Vietnam and Iraq. The Original Trilogy made Leia Organa one of the most iconic female characters of all time. It granted her more agency and authority in the '70s and '80s than women in film often get now, but it also relegated her to a sex symbol in a space bikini.

Episodes IV-VI left something to be desired in terms of racial diversity. Things got worse in the Prequel Trilogy. Though Lucas added Mace Windu, finally giving fans a black Jedi, he also included problematic alien races like the Gungans and the Toydarians, who reeked of reductive stereotype. Episode I-III's thin characterizations of Padme and Shmi, as well as its few female characters otherwise, didn't help.

The Sequel Trilogy tried to course-correct with John Boyega's Finn and then Kelly Marie Tran's Rose Tico (as well as a more ethnically and gender diverse background cast). In the end, neither character fulfilled their initial promise. Many fans were underwhelmed with Finn's arc. There were implications he could have been Rey's love interest or even Poe's, not to mention strong hints that he was destined to become a Jedi himself. There was even the subtextual storyline that stormtroopers like Finn are apparently enslaved children trained as soldiers. All of this was left on the table and Finn did little more than become allegiant to the Rebellion and tag along.

More of #DoBetterStarWars's ire is reserved for Star Wars' treatment of poor Rose, the first woman of color to have a major role in a Star Wars film and the moral heart of The Last Jedi. Fans argue the team behind The Rise of Skywalker caved to pressure from toxic corners of the fandom and sidelined the altruistic mechanic, to the film's detriment. After internet harassment on a massive scale forced Tran off of social media, Rose had only 76 seconds of screen time in Episode IX and didn't factor into the plot.

Some commenters saw even deeper into the Rose erasure. "I'm sure it's only a coincidence that Rose Tico being a working class POC rising up against the tyranny of a fascist regime is the 'most hated' character in Star Wars," wrote ADarkly83.

Several fans tweeted about the misogyny they perceive not just from the films, but from the fandom at large. @cardiganvixen wrote, "There were women I believed in […] Leia. Ciena. Rey. Amilyn. Rose Tico. Star Wars started to feel like it had a place for me. It doesn't feel like that anymore."

Rey's power was another point of contention. Some predominantly male fans have been critical of Rey's strong connection to the Force and her early ability to use that power without what they consider to be proper training. Defenders of Rey take issue with how The Rise of Skywalker explains away her innate ability with her familial connection to Palpatine. Others lamented that there's still an unfair double standard, in general, when it comes to the galaxy's female heroes.

While plenty of Reylos use Twitter to express their regret that the new trilogy's two leads didn't get their happy-ever-after, a few are trying to raise awareness around the issue of Ben Solo's mental health. The character has become an inspiration to those who have suffered abuse and survived difficult circumstances. These fans see his death as a slap in the face, in which imperfect people are somehow more disposable and perhaps even undeserving of life after the point of their redemption.

By some measures, Star Wars is trying to do better. So far, The Mandalorian seems to be doing right by its characters, with new players like Cara Dune and Grand Moff Gideon sitting well with fans. That series will reportedly add a live-action Ahsoka Tano to its cast list in its second season, which has already been and will surely continue to be a widely discussed topic on Twitter.

With the Skywalker Saga complete, the future of Star Wars is uncertain, but one thing remains true: its devoted fan base is as diverse and opinionated as ever.

[donnerpartyofone]

I know I never sound older than when I complain about the internet, but I cannot deal with the perpetual increase in everything I do being fed back to me as an ad. My gmail account has over 23,000 unread messages in it, because every time I so much as breathe on my phone, my address gets sold to a zillion scammy little lifestyle companies that swarm me every day for the rest of my life. I started a separate account purely for a project I never started, and now that one is full of spam even though I've never used it. I've gone through a few rounds of unsubscribing/blocking/deleting, but it's just not worth it. This is life now, and it cracks me up to think about these legions of parasites who think they're sooo smart for accumulating all these email addresses, because data is the new crude oil, but because they did this, I can't even use the fucking address they stole at all. So good job, suckers, I'll never read any of your emails or sign up for your contests or become aware of your brand or do anything that could affect my engagement or spending habits or whatever, because you guys specifically made it so that I'm totally paralyzed. I imagine like a bunch of cavemen passing the same huge bag of rocks back and forth between themselves forever, with no change or increase in anything, and they think that's "business"...

The most recent Facebook debacle was extra traumatic for me. I had this moment where I was making fun of a Tumblr ad for some shitty mobile game with a few of my friends; I didn't know the name of the game or anything about it really, but I sent some screenshots around and we all had a laugh. Next thing we knew, all of us were seeing ads for it on Instagram. Then I had this thing happen where I was looking up exercises for a strained elbow using this little indie web browser that's not supposed to sell your shit, and suddenly I had ads on every platform I use for athletic compression sleeves. That type of thing had been happening more and more recently, but my personal worst version of it came when I ordered breakfast on Seamless one morning. My food included a chili crisp dressing, which I had never heard of. It was really good, and my husband and I talked about it as we ate. Within a day, I saw an Instagram ad for some extremely off-brand-looking recipe site telling me how to make this chili crisp dressing. So either the contents of my Seamless order, or our actual voices, had been converted into an advertisement immediately. With each new incident, my friends and I racked our brains to remember if we had truly Googled something or clicked on a link to associate ourselves with the ad we're seeing, or if it could only have been leeched out of personal conversations, financial transactions, or something else you normally think of as relatively private. It created this churn of paranoia and unease, it made me really fucking sick and I hope it was all the fault of the new "off-Facebook activity" function that gives that app the right to your entire life, and not a bunch of other things that I have yet to be unpleasantly surprised by.

Whenever I get ambushed by ads, I fly into a rage and rant to myself about how fucking stupid these incredibly invasive marketing techniques are, because their main effect is to make me not want to use the internet AT ALL. I basically abandoned my email address, and the more I see an ad for something the more angry I get about it, so that there is absolutely no chance I will ever Engage with that Brand even if it's something I could have really used. Basically what's happening is not only creepy and awful, but it's having the exact opposite effect of what's supposed to happen. And like, you don't have to be smart or political or whatever to feel like something bad is happening when "private" chats get turned into ads. Do the people behind this stuff really think that the average user will go, "Oh wow, it seems like I was just THINKING about X, and now I see a link to buy it everywhere I go online! This is extremely convenient and it makes me feel catered to, which sure puts me in the mood to spend money. I am grateful for this and I love the future!" I mean is that how it was sold to the companies who adopt this practice or buy information from virtual spies, do people believe that happens? Probably not, it's probably all exactly the same as the douchebag who tells you to hit on every single girl you see no matter what you think could happen, because it's all just a numbers game.

But yeah, this shit makes me want to leave the internet forever. It makes me want to delete all my user profiles, wipe my phone, and only keep it in case I need to dial 911. You'd think that would be counter to the original purpose of all this spying, but I actually have a personal conspiracy theory about it. It involves the post office, and net neutrality too. On the surface, it seems like the deliberate Republican-backed degradation of the USPS is designed to make the government some money, when they completely defund it and sell it off. On the surface, attacks on net neutrality seem like they're designed to make money by further commodifying internet access as it already exists. On the surface, relentless spying seems designed to make more money by constantly feeding your perceived desires back to you as spending options. But let's say the actual effect of all this is you want to be online less because it's such a creepy, intrusive experience, and because it's becoming too expensive, and also you stop sending and receiving as much mail because that's too expensive now that it's privatized. And let's take the Republican "EARN IT" bill, that would mandate that the government scans every single message sent over the internet--on the surface it seems designed to collect more data than ever, but let's say its actual effect is to make people stop communicating as much, out of fear and disgust. Wouldn't it be a huge accomplishment for a fascist state, to establish a scenario where people just don't talk to each other almost at all, because it's so cumbersome and invasive and costs too much money? Wouldn't it be great for such a government if people had less access to information than ever before, and the people who do have information were less willing and able to transfer it to others? I'm not saying I truly think that everything that's going on is NOT just business as usual for capitalism, but that capitalism is the cover for a conspiracy to prevent civilians from being able to communicate with each other. I mean, nobody's ever NOT trying to make more money. I'm just saying, like, I would not be surprised, at all.

[soyouareandrewdobson]

Digging through the archives 1: The ReBoot drama

Hello and welcome to one of the first “subsections” of posts I am going to make on this tumblr for the sake of an easier overview. This one is titlted “Digging through the archives”, because it will always relate to something I will find by literally looking for some of the oldest “opinion” or personal related stuff about Dobson that there is. So think of this here less as me tackling his comics and more of my own version of what the Hypocrisy of Andrew Dobson does.

With that explanation out of the way, lets just briefly talk about Dobson and his idea of fan entitlement; If you have followed Dobson throughout the last year or so, you know he has a very low opinion on fans of the original She-Ra and He-Man, 80s cartoons in general and Star Wars, to the point he thinks the people behind it are all potential alt righters (link red flag comic) or basically man children.

 To anyone who knows Dobson however, it would be no surprise now to learn that he has a tendency to be the same kind of way to other people and creators. Like when he whined to an actual writer on a Frozen related property about the necessity of giving Elsa a girlfriend, which even resulted in Aaron Sparrow being involved at one point, a professional animator and comic writer on the Boom Comics related Darkwing Duck issues. A prime example on how Dobson will literally make himself also unsympathetic to the people he wants to work for/with.

 But then there is what I found in relation to a little animated series by the name of ReBoot and that is really where both his entitlement and egotism kinda shine.

For those unaware: ReBoot was a computer animated adventure show produced by Mainframe Entertainment and ran from 1994 to 2001. It is actually listed as the first fully computer animated cartoon out there and is fondly remembered by a lot of people. Unfortunately, I myself have never watched it so I can’t give a “valid” opinion on it. All I have seen so far are clips on youtube but I will admit that what I have seen in them looks fun and intriguing, even if the animation at parts (especially in season 1 related content) has not aged that well. But hey, early computer animation, that is forgivable. And any media that manages to make an episode that is also in a way a huge tribute to Evil Dead of all things in a children cartoon is a big win for me.

Now, how is ReBoot connected to Dobson? Dobson has been a fan of ReBoot, a fact he made publicly known when in 2007 rumors of a continuation of ReBoot emerged. Something Dobson, again, the man who is pissed about the entitlement of She-Ra fans, has not been very happy about.

But Dobson, what is so wrong about being “different” from the past? After all, let the past die! The original show had terrible artwork! And not everything back in the day was good, right?

 Yeah, it is pretty obvious how his complaining and stands against “modern” fans ring pretty hollow when he himself acted as the entitled brat he thinks critics of new She-Ra and Thundercats Roar are, back in 2007 already. Also I honestly feel that at the very least the creators of that idea gave their fans still more “control” than Rian Johnson did. And we all know how much Star Wars suffered in terms of reputation because of it.

BTW, this webcomic continuation mentioned? It is actually not just a rumor that went nowhere, but one of the most fascinating aspects I found when reading up on ReBoot via Wikipedia. The idea was that of the five potential pitches (so again, there was variety given that even could have been expanded on) people could choose one that would be further adapted. Additionally the people behind the idea were looking for more active input by fans, giving people the chance to apply as artists working on it if they decided to submit samples people could vote on. Something Dobson jumped actually on. And tried to manipulate in his own favor

 The thing that catches my attention at first is how hyperbole Dobson is. Claiming the fate of the show is in their hands and treating voting on this thing like it’s a live or die situation, with pointlessly writing stuff in caps as if we are reading the headline of some trashy newspaper article. It just comes off less as someone who is a fan and more of a fanatic of the show. Second, I just find it hilarious that of all the plattforms online Dobson decided to post that “VERY IMPORTANT” information people should act immediately on, was deviantart. Did he genuinely expect people would flock to what he wrote in order to immediately do something about the vote? Deviantart even back then was mostly for posting fanart, few people read journals and even less people cared for ReBoot. I don’t know if the /co/ board of 4chan existed back in 2007 already, but he would have had more success posting on there and get the information out, than on dA.

 Lastly, the shameless self promotion. Stating he does not care which pitch wins, when only three day prior he whined how they all suck and he wishes the show would be done justice by someone. That someone obviously being him, the person who is so hardcore as a fan, because he already waited 8 years just to watch season 3. Damned be any other artists or pitches that may be better or more popular than him, HE is the true messiah and that is his chance to shine. So don’t be “neutral” and judge fairly based on actual competence, talent and effort, just vote for him blindly or else Trump wins the second term and your beautiful nation turns into the fourth rei- I mean,  Dobson will be a very sad guy who has come to terms with the fact he is not talented enough to work on a reboot/continuation of his favorite children show.

Well, it seemed to have had some impact though, as four day later he posted this

 And obviously Dobson is pissed his favorite pitch did not win and instead of being grateful for the good ratings some of his artwork got he focuses instead on the fact that his Enzo and Megabyte pic had the lowest rating. Which in my opinion it kinda deserved. I mean, look at those artpieces:

Enzo is okayish looking but the rest? That is not Megabyte and a genuine background, it is a cola light version of the entire Ripley disaster with the Samus Artwork commission. Also, Enzo’s hands just look weird. His fingers more alien than they need to be and the position of his legs not really adjusting to how the hip is supposed to move. The comic sample page that Dobson drew being okay overall, aside of the fact that Enzo in one panel HAS FOUR INSTEAD OF FIVE FINGERS ON ONE HAND DESPITE HAVING FIVE FINGERS IN A PREVIOUS PANEL. I am also not really a fan of how Dobson puts emphasize on the word “FAN” and “PAGES” in the post, indicating he thinks he is a better and bigger fan than any of the people who submitted their entries too, off handedly praising them but also making it obvious he thinks he is the most fit for the job, because he can also “copy any artstyle” and adjust to the needs of his superiors. Yeah, sure. That’s why you are nowadays and with even more time and effort put into your work so “good” at imitating Ladybug, your comics look exactly like in the show…

 Now considering that Dobson does not have ReBoot under his resume and likely tried his best to bury any enthusiasm for it, you can imagine how this chance at being an official artist ended up.

 Not even much of a follow up or introspective in why he may have not won. His enthusiasm died within two days.

And honestly, I am surprised that as a result he did not fake depression and rage quit doing comics for a month or so as he did here and there.

And that is pretty much the end of the ReBoot drama, at least as far as I know.

If you are interested what happened with the comic project, here is what I managed to gather:

The project did actually not die in development, but “ReBoot: Arrival” would be reimagined under the name “Code of Honour” and be published online in three “issues” over the course of the next few months. The comic’s status as “canon” continuation of the show is however very much in the air, as quite a lot of people think it is something of a fanfiction, others think it is a good enough continuation that unfortunately still does not deliver on an “ultimate” ending of the franchise. That said, with additional plans like a movie trilogy never been realized and the “reboot” known as “ReBoot: The Guardian Code” having been perceived as an insult by fans and a disappointment by most audiences (which Dobson was surprisingly silent about) this comic seems to be the best thing fans can still hope for and read.

Yeah, I am not even kidding. The comic is still up. Here, have two links to independent pages if you want to either read it for the first time or revisit it for the sake of nostalgia.

As for Dobson, if he reads this, I just have one thing to say to you: Don’t you ever again try to whine about how entitled fanboys are, if you felt entitled enough yourself you tried to manipulate a competition in your own favor in the hope to become a writer and then exploit ReBoot for your own agenda and benefit.

[golbrocklovely]

Complain about Elton? 👀👀

first off, love that emoji lmao secondly, this is gonna be long so grab a snack.

now, before i complain, i want to say that there is a lot of good things about elton and in all honest, i don’t hate him or anything like that. i think his content is extremely unique and unlike anything i’ve really seen on youtube. i also have to thank him for introducing me to sam and colby. i also think that the fact he donates a lot to so many charities and has done live streams dedicated to raising money is great. he’s amazing in that regard and overall, i do like him.

HOWEVER, everyone has their faults. these, in my opinion, are his.

anymore, it feels like all he does is complain. i think he puts a lot of effort into the trips he takes and thus the videos he produces. the thing is is that he will then get upset if anyone disagrees with him about anything. do some ppl hate on him to hate? definitely. but some are just giving constructive criticism, but to him, that’s hate (and fun fact… no it’s not). if he can’t complain about the trip itself, it’s always the reaction to the content. one time, he complained that a video’s comment section was all hate and it was annoying him, which is understandable. however, many fans went to the comment section and saw literally almost no hate. it’s like he actively tries to find the negative in every video he makes. if it’s not the trip, it’s the reaction. if it’s not the reaction, it’s something else. this is where recently, he has started to really annoy me.

he wasn’t liking ppl’s reaction to the “”“prank”“” videos he posted from the queen mary. now, i personally don’t like pranks and have never found one funny. that’s just not my cup of tea. the problem is, these videos were not set up to be pranks, they were set up to be an investigation into the paranormal. and then all of sudden, ppl were calling him out for them being fake, and his response was ‘lol it’s just a prank bro’, as if somehow we have been transported back to the year 2016. if you’re gonna prank your audience, you’re not allowed to be upset if they don’t like that. pranks are controversial to begin with, some see them as a positive, some see them as a negative, so regardless of how you see it, your audience is gonna be split. he LITERALLY tweeted “I did it because I wanted to make something enthralling, agitating & unique for y’all to watch.” well then… there you have it. people are AGITATED. you can’t be upset when that was your whole purpose for this fucking video.

to top it off, he also complained about the fact he lost money making these “”“pranks”“”, but the thing is… no one is asking him to spend all this money and possibly go into debt for a fucking video. no one is asking him to do that. HE is doing that himself, but still feels the need to complain about it.

also, it doesn’t sit well with me that he blocks ppl very quickly over trivial tweets. fans were calling him out over the videos being fake, and he would just block them. like… why tho? they are fake.

NOW this next opinion is really just an assumption about him and could be 100% wrong, but this is just how i perceive him.

i fully believe that when you get older, you mature. however, being older doesn’t mean you are more mature. and that’s how i feel about him. he comes across as someone who thinks that just because he is almost thirty and the people he surrounds himself with are not, he is thus more mature than them. that’s not the case AT ALL. you can tell literally by how he reacts to ppl he disagrees with: arguing on twitter, getting upset over “hate” comments, and blocking ppl. i mean, do whatever you want, but focusing on all that negativity is never gonna help you bc negativity is EVERYWHERE. you’re never gonna be happy arguing with someone that hates what you make, so don’t do it.

and to go along with this, snc talked about in podcast of theirs that the reason corey and elton stopped being friends for a while was bc he and corey would bicker over dumb stuff, which is understandable. but what broke the camel’s back was their gfs at the time, amanda and devyn, both had a similar shirt and one of them lost it, accusing the other of stealing it. obviously, elton sided with amanda and corey sided with devyn and they got into a huge fight and somehow that was enough for them to just stop talking to each other and for elton to move out. like…. talking it out would have taken so much less effort. and the same thing with aaron kinda happened too where elton would try to film serious spooky videos and aaron would kinda goof off in them, which elton didn’t like. so instead of talking it out and telling him to not do that, he just stopped including him in them.

AND THEN, there was this one time a couple fans followed snc, corey, and elton to their hotel which i 100% believe is uncalled for and stupid. but the fans stood outside their hotel, then went into the hotel, waited in the lobby and got photos with them. elton kinda told them then that doing that wasn’t something he liked. he complained about it on twitter (which he’s allowed to do) and the fan responded to him. he then tweeted back to her, his fans attacked her, and it was a whole messy ass situation. my problem with the whole thing is… you’re almost 30. he could have easily dmed her and did it all behind the scenes but instead you did it out in the open, knowing fully your fans would attack and that’s not cool.

i don’t agree with what the fans (who followed/stalked them) did either, but it just could have been handled better if he would have been more mature about it.

okay… i think that’s enough for one night/morning lol

send me some other stuff! i’d love to chat :))

[jchall110]

So ordinarily I would put something like this on my Twitter, as that’s kind of turned into my personal vent/diary platform as of recent, but this is going to be much longer than Twitter can allow, and I need to write this all out without losing my train of thought. It’s gonna go behind a Read More, and I’d like to request that you only read it if we’ve been mutuals for a while, and only if you really want to. I’m not expecting any response, hell I don’t want any responses, I just need to put my thoughts down somewhere, and if I put it in a Google doc or something I’m gonna come back to it later and dwell on it, but if I just put it somewhere and immediately delete it, I’m not going to be able to talk to my therapist about it on Monday. Anyway, content warnings abound, as I’m gonna be talking about depression, anxiety, self-harm, suicide, covid-19, stalking, emotional abuse, and a pretty negative experience I had in a partial hospitalization program at a local mental institute. You’ve been warned. (Also for those of you who are new here, “ignore me” is my personal rant/vent tag, feel free to blacklist it to avoid seeing future posts like this)

So. Here’s a brief recap of the past year and a half in my life. Back in October of 2018, my best friend went through a very bad breakup with her emotionally abusive ex, while another of my friends was struggling very much with his mental health and attempted suicide. I was miserable working at Target and was gearing up to return to school in the Spring. I had also had feelings for the friend who went through the breakup, and she sort of had feelings for me, but she also had feelings for the other friend, and I had some vague kind-of feelings for the other friend as well, so in December we all decided “fuck it, let’s all date.” I won’t recap the full details of the relationship but it was a goddamn shitshow. His mental heath continued to deteriorate and he wasn’t seeking treatment for any of it, her mental health was extremely poor as well as a result of two years of emotional abuse and extreme codependency issues, and my mental health suffered greatly because of the expectations placed on me, as well as his frequent mood shifts where he would go from wanting to spend the rest of our lives together to, at one point, telling me things in an effort to get me to hurt or kill myself. Not a good situation by any measure. School was good, though, and the two classes I took last Spring were excellent, and I was ready to go back to school full-time in the Fall. Flash forward to September of 2019. My mental health is terrible, though my academics are very strong. I decide, after a few specific incidents, that I can’t be in the relationship with the both of them anymore and break up with him. A lot of bad things happened. She ended up leaving him as well. Then, about a month later, she left me as well and moved out of the state with someone she had met on OKCupid only a few weeks prior. At this point I need to take a medical leave of absence from school and move back in with my parents because I’m so depressed and traumatized that I can barely function. You see, since breaking up with him, he had been harassing me, even after I had attempted to get the police involved. He would call me, text me, make new Facebook accounts to send me message requests, anything to try to get in touch with me. So with all of this happening, and with me basically unable to do anything, I decide to look into a partial hospitalization program at a mental institution not far from where I live. Insurance covered most of it, my parents said they’d pay for the rest, so I started the program in early November. Ordinarily it’s only a three or four week program. I was there for at least 5. It was essentially a day program, so I would be there from 9 to 3 every day Monday to Friday. It was a really great program, except for a few things. Firstly, because it was a program both for mental health and addiction, a lot of the programming wasn’t really applicable to me, as the only thing that I’m addicted to is sugar, and I have no plans to break that habit. There’s a history of temporary psychosis caused by mind-altering substances in my family, and I don’t want to even find out if it applies to me as well. I barely even drink. So anyway, I was one of maybe three people who was there exclusively for mental health, so my options for programming were a bit limited, until a bunch of us complained about the repetitiveness of that aspect of the program and they switched things up a bit. Unfortunately it was at the tail end of my time in the program, so I didn’t exactly get much benefit from that. Secondly, and more importantly, close to the end of my time in the program, one of the mental health workers, a pre-doctoral intern who was running most of the “classes” that I was in, said a few things to me that were really frustrating and upsetting. Firstly she said that “ADHD doesn’t exist, it’s just a reaction to trauma. Too many kids are getting diagnosed with it when they just have regular attention issues, and in adults a diagnosis is almost always accompanied with trauma. And of course people are going to perform better when they’re on a stimulant.” Which. Is wrong on so many accounts. First of all, it’s overdiagnosed in the wrong people and massively underdiagnosed in the people who actually have it, especially young girls. And secondly, of course it’s paired with trauma when adults are diagnosed with it. They’ve had to deal with it for their entire lives up until then without knowing why they couldn’t do things the same way as everyone else, and there’s also a lot of trauma in general that comes with having ADHD considering how many people say “Oh, you’re just not trying hard enough” or “You’re just making excuses,” not to mention the self esteem issues that come with it. And thirdly, yeah people will perform better when on stimulants, but does taking a stimulant make everyone else tired? Cuz it does for me because it lets me slow down my brain enough to actually sleep. So yeah, that was fucked up. But the second thing she said was probably worse, and it didn’t actually occur to me how much this impacted me until earlier today when I realized something, but I’ll get to that realization soon. So it’s my second-to-last day in the program. I had gotten almost no sleep the previous night because I had a massive panic attack right before bed because my asswipe ex messaged me some really fucked up stuff. So I’m way out of it, and my ability to concentrate is pretty shit. I’m doing my best, though, and I’m paying attention to the discussion. We were talking about the parts of the brain and how they’re impacted by trauma. There were a few times during that day where I had forgotten words but still knew what I was talking about, and at least one of them had happened in front of this woman. So she asks “Does anybody know what the part of the brain is that connects the two hemispheres?” I say “Oh, I do” cuz I do know what it is, but for the life of me I can’t remember what the name is. (It’s the corpus callosum.) So she looks at me and says, out loud, in front of the entire group, “You know, it’s okay if we don’t know everything.” So I get all flustered and embarrassed and mad at myself because, in my ADHD people-pleaser brain, the teacher just failed me in front of the whole class and now they all hate me. So I don’t say a goddamn word for the rest of the day, and the next day I leave without saying goodbye to that one woman, after leaving a glowing review in the exit survey. So the thing about this that’s really fucked up is that like two days before, I sat down with her and told her how I have a lot of specific trauma around rejection and failure, especially relating to my dad and how he constantly asserts that I don’t try hard enough or that I need to do better, shit like that. Like, that was a major theme with me the whole time I was in the program. It was like, getting over the intense rejection of my best friend/girlfriend running away with a guy she just met, and my relationship with my dad. That was it. (Of the two, the one there that’s still a major thing in my life is my relationship with my dad. At this point, she can fuck off with whoever she wants. I’m more pissed at her than anything else now.) So for her to turn around and embarrass me in front of the entire group like that, when there was solid evidence that a) I did know what I was talking about and b) I was having a very off day was really messed up. In thinking about it, there was quite a few messed up things that she did in the last week or so that I was there. Probably more during the rest of my time there but I don’t actually remember most of it because working on your trauma can be traumatizing itself, go figure. Anyway, I had almost completely forgotten about that until earlier today when I was thinking about how I was getting much more sensitive to rejection and perceived failure recently than I was before all this had happened. Part of it is probably my increased estrogen dose fucking with my mood, but the majority of it, I think, stems from that one incident of her pretty much violating my trust and invalidating me in front of like twelve people that I really trusted and felt close with. Fucked me up, yo. Anyway, so I leave the program and start working for my dad at his machine shop. Things are going super well, I’m making a fair bit of money, keeping in touch with my friends as best I can, and doing my best to avoid my ex harassing me further. About midway through December I change my phone number so that he’ll stop calling me (he had several ways to get around me blocking his number), and in the middle of February I change my name on Facebook so he won’t be able to find me and send me more message requests, cuz there’s no way to stop that from happening either, and the police were useless because “I wasn’t in any physical danger.” At this point he had moved away from my town, presumably back with his parents but I don’t really know, and I really don’t care. So he messages my siblings on Facebook trying to get my phone number, and then somehow finds my Facebook again and sends me a picture of him cutting his wrist. So I get fed up, go to a local domestic violence prevention nonprofit, talk with one of their advocates, and file a restraining order against him. It gets approved, and the messages stop. A court date is set for us both to meet with a judge to discuss everything and see if it needs to stay in place or not or whatever, and for about 2 weeks everything is great. Then covid-19 starts hitting. I get what was probably just the flu or a cold or whatever a few days before the court date. Then the state that I live in announces that most court hearings are postponed until mid-April. I check on the website and find that stalking and domestic violence, among a few others, are exempt from this and will be going on as scheduled. Because I was recently sick, I call the courts the day before and ask if I can appear over the phone. They say yes, it’s all good, great. So the next morning I call in and things get moving. It turns out that my ex didn’t show up to the hearing, even though he definitely knew about it. So I talk with the judge for a few minutes and we decide that I don’t need the restraining order anymore because he’s not likely to start harassing me again, and if he does I can always get a new one or get the police involved. And so far I haven’t heard a peep from him so I’m assuming that chapter of my life is closed for good, which is excellent. But then more things start to close down, and my dad basically tells me that he doesn’t really need me at work and it’s best if I stay home. So since then I’ve been staying at home. It’s been 15 days total that I’ve been home, with only minimal trips to work for an hour here and there. And I really don’t do well with isolation. It’s not all bad, because I live with my parents, so I have some social contact, but as was mentioned above I don’t exactly get along with my dad, I don’t have a lot in common with my stepmom, and my grandmother is a grumpy old lady who isn’t very good for conversations about much else than knitting and Jeopardy. I’ve been doing my best to stay in touch with folks online, and it’s been decent, but it’s still pretty rough. And when Animal Crossing came out and all of my friends started playing it, I started feeling even worse because I’m poor as shit and don’t even have a Switch, and they’re fucking $400, which is a whole student loan payment for me. So I’ve been pretty miserable the past two weeks. To top it all off, I have to register for Fall classes next week, and I don’t think I can even imagine that far into the future right now. The world is supremely fucked, and there’s almost no way that I’ll even be able to afford to go back to school. I’ll probably have to drop out entirely. For at least a few years. And I’m really not ready to give up on school right now. Like I said above, I’m really sensitive to failure, and this is the third time I’ve tried, and failed, at college. And I’m getting real frustrated about it. The first time it was my ADHD, which at the time was undiagnosed. The second time it was mental health and my asshole ex harassing me. Now, when I finally have my ducks in a row, it’s money. The one thing that no amount of treatment or medication or court hearings will change. Plus there’s all the political bullshit going on still, and the impending collapse of society as we know it, and any number of other global crises (yes, that is the proper plural of crisis) going on. Oh, did I mention I’m an empath and the moods and emotions of the people around me, and of the world in general, pretty heavily impact me? I’ve been able to tell when some massive tragedy occurred even before the news story breaks. So yeah, all in all I’m doing about the worst I’ve been doing since high school before I was on antidepressants, and it’s really hard to see any end to this tunnel. I know I’m one in several hundred million people who are struggling right now, and I’m lucky that I’m at least moderately healthy with a steady place to stay and things to eat, but goddamn if things aren’t shit for me right now. Like I said, I’m not looking for any kind of response, and if you even read all of this I’m legitimately surprised. I just needed to put this all down somewhere because keeping it in is getting to be almost too much.

Don’t worry, friends. I promise you I’m safe. I’m just scared, lonely, and really lost right now.

I love you all.

[icedcappujaeno]

11: with Ten

“That’s exactly what a gang member would say.”

genre: doctor!au 

words: 3.5k

pair: Ten & reader

warnings: language, reader being pretentious lmao

( a/n: another request! this time, it was a doctor!au with our beloved Ten. i honestly had a hard time writing him so from the bottom of my heart i am sorry. )

Being a new resident pediatrician at the new hospital you’re working was quite a struggle, but you weren’t complaining about it.

You knew the consequences of transferring to another workplace: it is harsh - everyone will look down on you unless you prove something worthwhile to your new colleagues. It’s not that the staff and your fellow doctors aren’t being welcoming, but - it’s in human nature. You’re new to their eyes, new to the atmosphere, so they’re still on the phase where they’re still evaluating you – a prey to the predators.

The whole concept was not new to you. You’ve been assigned to different hospitals back in your junior and senior internship, adjusting in no time would be no problem at all.

Just don’t mess up anything.

But that’s exactly what you did.

Doctor Chittaphon stood there, frozen, looking down at his white coat – covered in patches of brown from the coffee he’s holding…which you bumped straight into.

His jaw was dropped while his eyebrows were furrowed, a clear sign how irritated he was. His hands were still raised, one with the now lessened amount of coffee in a cup in the right, the other, the charts of the patients’ records.

There was nothing but a bunch of ‘sorry’ was the only thing coming out of your lips as your tried to wipe the stains away with your handkerchief, but the cloth of his white coat had already absorbed the liquid.

It was an accident, on your point of view. It was time for your rounds and you still have a clinic to attend to, so you need to be brisk. Time is gold. That was a golden rule, especially in your profession.

But it happened suddenly - you were about to go out of the quarters and didn’t notice the person coming in as you were checking in your phone the progress of your patients’ prognosis which was texted to you last night. That’s when you bumped straight into Doctor Chittaphon – who was a colleague of yours, another resident pediatrician – and spilled the contents of his venti americano on his white coat, which you miraculously managed to dodge.

Few minutes have passed until he spoke, and you know the smile forming on his lips was not anything positive. His eyes were still focused on the brown patches of coffee on his coat.

“Good morning, Doctor (Y/N),” he said, gritting his teeth. You looked up to him and crumpled your now stained handkerchief and smiled apologetically.

“I’m so sorry, Doctor Chittaphon, I swear I didn’t mean it,” you blurted. “I had to admit I wasn’t looking at where I was going, but, well, you are too, so I think we’re both to blame in this accident?”

Chittaphon took a few steps until he reached the nearest table to place his cup of americano and metal chart down, then took off his white coat. You saw tiny patches of brown staining on his blue button up shirt as well. His eyes were truly threatening behind those slick, black frames, and he sat on one of the chairs.

“And I still have to do rounds,” he sighed, pinching the bridges of his nose while his brows were remained furrowed. “God damn it. What a pain,” he said, throwing his coat in the hamper, which made one of your brows raised. “I only brought one with me.”

You were so confused. “What does that have to do with your rounds? You could just say an accident happened.”

“Actually,” he stood, towering over your smaller figure and you could tell, the smile etching on his lips was not genuine. “I had to go somewhere after my supposed duties for today, but I can’t go now because of these stains, thanks to you,” pointing out to the stains.

You scoffed (it occurred naturally, even the situation wasn’t calling you to do it), with matching roll of your eyes. Your hands grabbed the patients’ charts he was holding along with yours and turned away, the sound of your heels clicking as you walk down the hallway.

A hand grabbed your arm which made you turn, and it was Doctor Chittaphon, an eye brow raised in your direction.

“What are you doing?” He asked.

“I’m doing your rounds,” you replied, trying to let go of his grip. “You could go home and take the day off and I’ll just say I filled in for your duty today,” there was a tone of irritation in your voice, but the guilt of ruining his day just because of a petty accident (which you conclude he’s going to be dramatic about) was tripping you. “Do you have any endorsements, Doctor Chittaphon?”

His face seemed to lighten up as his smile was curving upwards and his lips was stretching to smile wide. He loosened his grip around your arm and put his hands on his pants’ pockets.

“Well, there is none, all of their information is written on the charts,” he pointed out to the metal clipboard in your hand. “Most of my patients are running with diarrhea anyway, just keep them in IV and hydrated – well, I think you know that.”

“I do,” you scoffed, for the second time around.

You want to wipe off the smug-looking grin on his face as he was explaining those to you, but you don’t want to be assertive no further - you don’t really know how this colleague of yours work, and a single move might ruin the good reputation you’re building so far.

“If that’s all then okay, Doctor Chittaphon. I’ll be going now. If you ever forgot some endorsements, then you can ask for my number at the main nurse station and message me the details.”

With one last look at him and his smug face he’s making (which you want to punch so bad), you walked away to start your doubled duty for today.

“I’m called Doctor Ten by the kids, too!” you heard him shout, but you just rolled your eyes.

Later that tiring day, when you’re about to clock out, you received a text notification from no other than the devil himself.

from: Dr. Chittaphon 

[ Thanks doc 😘😘 I’d be more than glad if you spilled coffee on my coat again 😉 ]

You groaned, scratching your head a little violently in annoyance.

“Ah, fuck you Ten!!!”

to: Dr. Chittaphon

[ I’d be more than glad to punch you in the face Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul 🖕 ]

from: Dr. Chittaphon

[ that’s so pro of you 😛😘 ]

▫▫▫▫▫

When you opened the door to your quarters one night for your night shift, you met eye to eye with the person you want to see the least.

It was Chittaphon.

He was grinning ear to ear when he looked at you, while you tried to ignore him and prepared your things for your ER duty. As you noticed he was preparing as well, but you couldn’t care less to what post he is assigned for tonight.

Hopefully, not the ER.

When you finished packing up and preparing, you went out of the room, but he followed you, the grin never leaving his face. Oh, how annoyed you are. You seriously, really, want to at least land a blow on that glowing, smooth skin of his and wipe that grin off his face.

You continued to walk your way to the emergency room, but he kept on following you like an enthusiastic dog.

You can’t help it anymore.

“Why are you following me?!” You turned around and stop in your tracks. He halted his steps as well, looking utterly surprise with your outburst. The people around the hallway who was nearby was surprised too, as their heads turn to your direction with questioning looks.

“What?” He sounded so confused, he even held up his hand in the air like a criminal.

He looks so lost.

But so do you. You’re just more aggressive.

Well, only to him.

“Why are you following me?” You said, more gently this time, noticing how eyes are on you which made you so embarrassed.

Chittaphon chuckled and lowered his hands down, continuing to stride to wherever he’s heading to, which was in the same direction as the ER.

No way.

You paced faster, and when you caught up to his steps, you looked at him with almost pleading eyes. “No, please don’t tell me you’re on ER duty too.”

You never noticed that you’ve already at the front of the ER doors when Chittaphon pushed it open – and you felt like all the luck for tonight’s shift has been gone. He walked straight to the doctor’s table and started the endorsements from the morning shifters, while your feet have been leading you to the table as well, your mind was still thinking how unfortunate you are for tonight.

You took a seat when your morning shift colleagues left and tried to regain focus.

Be professional, you thought, while reviewing the patients’ charts.

“They said it was quite toxic in the morning,” Chittaphon informed you, sliding down on the seat next to yours. “I hope it won’t continue to our shift.”

“I hope so,” you replied. You genuinely hoped that it wouldn’t be. To be honest, you’d prefer toxic shifts in the morning than toxic night shifts. A single graveyard shift could be so stressful and tiring, your weariness could make you sleep for days literally.

Meanwhile, Doctor Chittaphon kept silent beside you, and while the time pass without any patient coming in, he was reading a book, and you’re surprised that he’s actually…not annoying as you perceive him to be. When you took a glance at him, he’s actually…handsome and cute? When his brows furrow at times, when he pushed his glasses upwards while he’s seriously submerged in the book he’s reading, he really looks smart…

And admittedly, sexy.

He glanced your way with a smile, and you immediately turned your head fast that it would cause you a vertigo.

▫▫▫▫▫

It was around 3 A.M., and since you’ve made it a habit to drink a venti of cappuccino, 2 shots, your eyes are wide awake, and your insides are tingling, your legs shaking and bouncing uncontrollably - as someone caffeine-driven individual would do (feel), and much to your irritation - you can observe everything you see.

And your eyes fell to your next victim, which was the ears of the man sitting beside you while his head was buried in his arms. Like a microscope, you noticed the tiny holes on this side of his ear, and your curiosity piqued in. Instinctively, you reached for his ear, and he didn’t even move an inch – you figured he was sleeping.

Oh my god, who would sleep on his duty so publicly like this? Why is he so tired?

You continued to play with his ear, and you were amused that he wasn’t even moving an inch. The tiny piercings really fascinated you, especially how he got away with it. Although it’s quite common nowadays for men to have piercings, (even doctors, they have lives outside the hospital too, and you understand that, no judgement), but Chittaphon’s…he doesn’t have it only in the lobule, he also have it in the helix, scapha, antihelix – you could basically perfect an ear anatomy exam if he was your partner with all these holes as labels.

“Are you in a gang?” The question was merely a whisper, but then his head shifted to the other side that caused your hand to retract from playing his ear. He groaned something, but his voice was muffled because of his arm.

“What?” You asked him, and his head bounced up and he looked at you with those scrutinizing eyes back when you first met.

“I’m not, what the fuck? What kind of question is that?” He groaned, placing his chin on his hand.

You were quite embarrassed. So, he knew you were playing with his ear, but he didn’t do anything or even say something about it.

“I’m kind of awake, you know. I don’t sleep on duty without telling,” he said.

“Oh,” you resigned, looking downwards and played with your stethoscope’s bell that was hung around your neck. “Sorry.”

There was an awkward silence until you heard him sigh, and he called out to your name in a whisper. You leaned closer to him as what his hand is gesturing you to do.

“(Y/N), I swear, don’t tell this to anyone, or else I’d kill you,” it almost sound like a threat, but it didn’t scare you. To your ears, he almost sounded like pleading, plus it’s not that he’d actually kill you.

“That’s exactly what a gang member would say,” you teased, and he just rolled his eyes.

“Okay, I’m just curious,” you cut him off, and you can’t help but ask. Your curiosity about his piercings have really consumed your thoughts. “How many piercings do you have?”

There was a pause before he answered. “Eleven.”

Your eyes went wide for a moment, and then you nodded. “Cool,” your lips puckered as your curiosity was slowly eating you alive. “What for?”

He sighed, thinking the interrogations were over. “You’re actually talkative, huh?”

▫▫▫▫▫

It was your day off today, and you took the time to relax by some window shopping downtown. Of course, you’d pass by your favorite library, though a bit crowded, the aesthetic vibes it gives somehow soothes your soul.

But when you’ve left, just outside the library doors, you spotted a familiar figure just a meter away that caught your attention. They share the same built, the same height, the same hand gestures – it must have been him.

By the time you know it, you’re already walking in his direction – and you noticed the people he’s bidding goodbye and saying thank you to – they were holding a folded umbrella-like equipment and a bag that most likely contain a camera which was obvious on its cover. They were exchanging smiles and handshakes – and when the crew bid good bye to your colleague, you called out his name, and when he looked at you, he didn’t look pleased at all.

You can’t help but notice how he looked – his glorious forehead showing, and his hair was styled up that it almost looked like a whole bottle of hairspray was used on it. He was wearing a white shirt that enhanced the built of his torso and those broad shoulders you’ve never noticed before. It was matched with dark blue ripped jeans, a chain hanging from one of the belt holders, one of the kids’ trend these days.

His ears…now you understand and know what those piercings are for. Though the earrings didn’t count as equal as the piercing count he told you – it was really fascinating to look at. It is very sexy and cool in your eyes, you had to admit that.

He looked…very different from the nerdy look he presented in the hospital – and you’ve never thought that you’d see this side of him – all dolled up and looking like a model from a magazine. You remembered the Doctor Chittaphon back from the night duty at the ER with the black framed glasses that rested on his nose, how his side profile looked so ethereal and clean…but looking at him now, the terms “there are two sides of the coin” made sense to you now.

He took your arms, and when you looked at him, he was in distress.

“I swear, if you tell this to anyone I’ll—”

“You’re a model?!” you exclaimed, pointing a finger at him. The people around shoot glances at your direction, and Chittaphon put a hand over your mouth to silence you while giving the people apologetic smiles while he muttered “sorry”.

It was like déjà vu.

You struggled free from his hand – shooting him a glare while he continued apologizing to anyone around. You took out your phone, pressing the camera app – but alas, his reflexes were faster than yours and he grabbed the phone out of your hands.

“Hey! Give it back!” you tried to snatch it back, but he held it higher, using the height difference as an advantage, a smug grin etching on his lips.

“I’ll tell Nurse Lucas about this,” you said, and that seemed to wipe off the grin from his face. Everyone in the hospital knew how no secret is safe with Nurse Lucas.

“Okay, look, I’ll treat you to anything you like – just don’t tell anyone about this,” he reconciled, giving your phone back. Your lips stretched into a wide grin – dragging him to the zoo-themed café you wanted to try for some time now.

When you’ve both settled and got your orders, there was silence in the space between you, and noticed he looked tired as he took a sip of the drink he ordered.

“You’re really a model?” you really can’t help it. It was a new concept to you – a doctor and a model sharing the same body.

“Yeah, only part-time,” he replied.

“That’s cool. How did you find the time? I mean, the hospital’s load is already heavy…”

“It’s not often though in general, but lately, the star for the job had to leave because of some personal issues, so I had to fill in. The pay is good enough for my wants, so,” he shrugged.

“That’s…very practical,” you said, taking a sip of your drink. With the events happening so suddenly, it was the only word you could think of. Technically, it isn’t wrong, his modelling job, though part-time, would be another source of income. What really made you think he was amazing was because he managed to commit to it even though the hospital work is exhausting enough.

Chittaphon looked very worried – his fingers are fidgeting against the table top, so you held his hand in assurance, along with a genuine smile. “Don’t worry Doc. I promise I won’t tell anyone.”

He seemed to relax with your action, thus mirroring the smile you flash on him. “Thanks doc.”

“On one condition though,” a smirk curving the thin line of your lips. Meanwhile, he raised a brow.

“What’s that?”

 “I think you’re cute, so, well,” there was a sudden pang at your chest – it was supposed to be a smooth pick-up, but now that you’ve fucked it up, you retracted your hand – but only to be stopped by his bigger one.

“Ah, you were saying?” The smug attitude that you had earlier seemed to have transferred to him, as there was a smirk on his face right now while he held your hand quite tightly.

“Nothing, I was just joking--, “

“Jokes are supposed to be half-meant, doc,” he chuckled, and it sounded so sexy in your ears to have your cheeks heat up. “What was that? What’re you gonna say?”

“Oh god, shut up, Chittaphon! Forget that!” You whispered, trying to free your hand away from his grip. He did let go, but his voice boomed into laughter, his eyes curving upwards and nose scrunching. He looked so bright and bubbly, very different from the haggard, zombie-looking doctor that roams around the hallways of the Pedia ward.

When his laughter halted, he glanced at your physique that’s now a blushing mess, and held both of your hands in his, which made you look into his vibrant brown eyes (it was the contact lenses).

“I think you’re like an appendix!”

“What kind of –”

“I have a gut feeling I should take you out!”

▫▫▫▫▫

“Make sure that Chae-rin of bed 4 had her antibiotics administered on time,” you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. You were about to clock out much to your glee. “That would be my last endorsement for today.”

“Hey,” Ten called out, (a name he insisted you to call him as you two got closer), walking towards you as if the hallway was a runway. His white coat was lightly being flew by the air as he continued his stride, and when you glanced at him, he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

You lightly hit his arm to which he feigned in pain, placing a hand on it as if to exaggerate what he felt.

“What was that for?” He pouted (how you wanted to kiss that lips of his – but you’re in front of the nurses’ desk). “Anyway, you’re clocking out too?”

“Yeah,” you muttered, reviewing the metal charts for endorsements. “Just finishing up. Also,” you clicked your tongue, your eyes still focused on writing on the chart. “The hallway’s not a runaway, you’ll blow up your cover.”

Ten could only chuckle as you did as well.

With a click of your pen, you took off your coat and headed to the doctor’s quarters to pack things up. He followed and did the same, and when you’re finally off duty, he led you to his car. With the seat belts all fastened up and the engine running, before driving off, Ten shot a look in your direction.

“I should have been an ophthalmologist, not a pediatrician,” he sighed. You raised a brow in his direction.

“Are these one of those corny pick-up lines night again cause if it is—”

“Oh my god, let me finish first, (Y/N).”

“Okay,” you resigned, but you could feel your embarrassment circulating in every vessel of your body right now. “Go on.”

The car started to move though, and there was a disappointed look on Ten’s face when you glanced at it. “No, I won’t, it’s ruined now.”

You could only laugh and pinch his cheeks, earning a smile on his lips as he drives.

[kimmysfandomblog]

Kamunami, NanaMiki, Izuru x Kaede, KomaMiki and ChiMondo. You don't have to answer all of them if you don't want to.

Thank you so much, Kibou ^^ Glad you put some interesting ones in there!

From here!: https://kimmysfandomblog.tumblr.com/post/184813268322/send-me-a-ship

Kamunami

10 = One True Pairing (OTP). I will fight to the death for this ship.

I know I just don’t make a lot of content for this ship and I don’t talk that much about it, but KamuNami is really one of my favorite pairings in the series! It’s one of my top pairings because of how important it has become to me! I think their dynamics can be SUPER interesting, and I also think they just look good together (whether it’s their human or AI forms). It’s a really important pairing for me, and I wish I had the energy and capability to actually show it more ^^; And I’m glad the antis have lost their energy, too. It was exhausting looking at people complaining about it and I’d always have the urge to fight back hahaha)

NanaMiki

4 = I could see why others like it, kinda cute I suppose.

I don’t really ship it, but I do find it cute! If Nanami and Mikan had more interaction, I’d like to see Mikan increase in self-esteem and also taking care of a Nanami who is for sure neeglecting her own health to play video games XD In general, I see why people like it, but it doesn’t resonate with me that strongly. I don’t have any really strong ships with Mikan, though, so technically this is the ship I find the strongest involving her.

Izuru x Kaede

6 = Nice ship, I ship it but as a side ship to other ships.

It’s something I ship in a very small way, because their interaction in UTDP was actually really good! And someone made a comic where Izuru kinda nods in acknowledgement to Kaede in the hall and she’s kinda shocked/lovestruck by it XD It’s kind of adorable! But I do ship other pairing involving Izuru and Kaede more.

KomaMiki

1 = NOTP, Disgusting.

eheheh... no thanks ^^; I guess I might be able to see why people would ship it? But I can only think about what Tsumiki says to Komaeda right before her execution, and then Komaeda seems to have some kind of grudge against her in his dream world and in Hope Arc XD I’m not a fan at all, and I feel like sometimes those that ship them together it is partly because they are among the most hyper-sexualized characters in the game. I can see in some Alternate Universe where Despair never happened that Tsumiki becomes Komaeda’s nurse or something, but even then I just don’t see Komaeda ever liking her? Even if Tsumiki liked him? And obviously it isn’t because of whatever their perceived sexualities are, I just think that Komaeda wouldn’t be comfortable with Tsumiki’s more destructive personality hidden behind her willingness to help. Feel sorry for her, yes, but there’s got to be a limit to what is and isn’t okay, even for Komaeda, right?

ChiMondo

7 = I like it, would read a fanfic with them if it was well written.

I think it’s really adorable! Mondo, if he’d had a way to talk out his aggression rather than use physical force, would have probably been a great friend to Chihiro, and he always blushes because Chihiro is really cute! Even once he realized what he’d done, I don’t think he was ever disgusted that Chihiro was born male and only presented himself as female for protection. He was more ashamed at his own weakness and what it caused him to do to someone as innocent as Chihiro. He tries to prevent Chihiro’s secret from being revealed by switching up the locker rooms, but he still unconsciously slips up and calls Chihiro a “dude” because at the time of his death, Chihiro wanted to be seen as male again (taking steps to eventually get there). I can’t remember if they had any known interaction with each other the year before the world fell to Despair, but I bet they were close! I can see it happening given time, time they didn’t have unfortunately.

[badgersprite]

Fic: Desiderata (2/?)

Chapter Title: Aftermath

Fandom: Mass Effect

Characters: Miranda, Samara, Oriana, Jacob

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

Story Rating: R

Warnings: Some graphic imagery people may find disturbing, allusions to past child abuse, references to character death.

Chapter Summary: In 2185, Samara joins the crew of the Normandy, and Miranda doesn’t waste time in evaluating her new squadmate. However, Samara soon picks up on the fact that Miranda is distracted by more personal concerns. In 2186, Miranda wakes up to confront the stark reality that awaits her after the war, including the extent of the injuries she suffered in the shuttle crash, and the question of whether anyone else from the Normandy survived.

Author’s Note: From this point on, the story is essentially going to alternate between the present (post-ME3) and ME2, with a few other flashbacks to various relevant points in Miranda’s life interspersed for good measure. Just to clear up any possible confusion, every single Miranda/Samara flashback is taking place in chronological order. All good? No worries!

*     *     *

A day never went by that Miranda didn’t update The Illusive Man on their status. It was essential that he was kept informed of all material facts at all times. That included any weaknesses Miranda observed in Shepard’s team.

Stopping the Collectors was paramount. Preventing more humans from disappearing was too important to be compromised by anyone. They had to remain on track no matter the cost. Hence, it fell to Miranda to identify whether the very individuals they were recruiting could potentially imperil that.

Fortunately, it seemed their latest acquisition’s integration with the crew was progressing smoothly so far. But that didn’t make her exempt from scrutiny.

Miranda distractedly typed on her datapad as she entered the Starboard Observation Deck, scarcely taking notice of Samara, who sat in the centre of the room with her legs folded beneath her, bathed in a blue biotic glow.

“Jacob told me you’d requested a room with a view,” Miranda said as the doors closed behind her, without raising her head. No thought was spared for whether she might be interrupting Samara’s meditation. That didn’t matter, and it wasn’t her job to care. “I assume this will suffice.”

“Yes,” Samara answered, content. “It is peaceful here.”

“Soundproof walls, for the library,” Miranda offhandedly explained, wishing her room shared the same insulation. Being right next to the mess hall meant she was frequently disturbed by chatter and ambient noise. Genetically enhanced hearing had its drawbacks. “But that’s not pertinent to why I’m here; I’ve nearly finished my mission report to The Illusive Man.”

“You work quickly,” Samara noted, her radiant aura flickering under the light. A shade over three hours had passed since they brought her aboard.

“I work to my ability,” Miranda brushed her comment aside.

In truth, she was running later than she would have liked. Her ordinary routine had been disrupted when she was ordered to sickbay to ensure she wasn’t suffering side-effects from Minagen X3 exposure at the Eclipse hideout.

“I just have a few questions to ask you,” Miranda continued, intent on making up lost time. “Have you seen Kelly Chambers and Doctor Chakwas?”

“Yes, both of them, separately,” said Samara.

“Good.” Miranda checked that off. She would chase them up for their preliminary assessments shortly. By now, they both knew the tight schedule Miranda preferred to operate under, so she didn’t expect they would keep her waiting long. “Do you have any issues working with Cerberus?”

“No,” Samara replied, as still as a statue

“You’re sure?” Miranda pressed, her tone conveying her mild scepticism. Cerberus had been branded a terrorist organisation. She wasn’t familiar with the Justicars and their beliefs but she doubted they looked fondly upon such things.

“I am aware that Cerberus is reputed to have engaged in criminal activity. However, rumours are not evidence. I intend to judge your organisation for myself, not based upon the word of others,” was Samara’s serene response.

“That makes you more reasonable than most,” Miranda remarked. Finally, someone who talked sense.

“Even if I do observe such accounts to be true, it will not interfere. Defending humanity from the Collectors is a noble cause. I could not have allowed myself to join you if my presence could place your mission in jeopardy,” Samara assured her, electing to address Miranda’s justifiable misgivings in their entirety. “I have sworn an oath to Commander Shepard. I am bound to her decisions, and must carry out her orders until I am released from her service.”

“Even if her orders violate your Code?” Miranda queried with an astute quirk of her brow, suspecting that risk factor couldn’t be dismissed out of hand.

“…Yes,” Samara answered without inflection, though her hesitation did not evade Miranda’s shrewd perception. She left that item unmarked, not convinced that she could rely on Samara to remain loyal if such circumstances arose.

“You’re aware that the team we’ve assembled consists of several criminals – assassins, mercenaries, thieves, whatever Jack is,” Miranda commented with casual disregard. She’d long since grown accustomed to the fact that criminal background was one area in which Cerberus didn’t discriminate, though she certainly wouldn’t have complained if they chose to be a little more discerning in future. “If you’re going to work with us, we can���t have any problems.”

“You are asking whether I might pose a danger to those persons, or if I would be tempted to kill them if provoked,” Samara inferred, having anticipated that inquiry. Miranda’s silence confirmed her intent. “I will not.”

“That makes one of us,” Miranda muttered under her breath. They tested her patience sometimes. Samara did not react, maintaining her perfect posture. “Unless you have anything to disclose, that’s all I had to cover.”

“Not at this time. If I become aware of any matter that may affect the mission, you have my word that I will inform you at once,” Samara vowed.

“Glad to hear it,” Miranda approved, holding her to that.

For a woman who had been willing to massacre her way out of a police station a few hours ago, Miranda had to admit Samara was surprisingly easy to deal with. She’d displaced Thane as the quickest, most painless interview to date.

“Do not hesitate to come to me if there is anything else you require,” Samara cordially continued, never changing her tranquil tone of voice. “You will not be imposing. It has been many years since I have worked in concert with others. I would be pleased to lend my assistance wherever I can.”

“I...appreciate that,” Miranda thanked her, an act that did not come naturally to her. She was not in the habit of expressing gratitude; it was a rarity aboard this ship that anyone warranted it. “But I’ve taken up enough of your time. I’ll leave you to it,” said Miranda, her focus already shifting to the dozen other tasks she had on her plate that she planned on finishing by the end of the day.

“I beg your pardon,” Samara spoke up when Miranda turned to exit, prompting her to pause and glance over her shoulder. “I do not believe you ever told me your name,” Samara pointed out, unoffended by the oversight.

Miranda blinked, quickly scouring her memory before realising that Samara wasn’t lying; she couldn’t remember introducing herself at any point. “Miranda Lawson. Operator of the Lazarus Cell,” she remedied her omission.

“Miranda,” Samara gave a respectful nod of her head, bidding her farewell.

Sensing the conversation was at an end, Miranda returned to her office, paying no attention to anyone else as she passed through the crew deck. She sat down at her desk, transferring her draft report from her datapad to her laptop.

Only one section remained to be finished: Miranda’s personal evaluation of Samara. That involved recording her overall opinion of Samara as a prospective teammate, and disclosing to The Illusive Man whether she perceived any risk factors that might make her a liability in certain circumstances.

Miranda revisited their short conversation, replaying it in her mind as she pondered her analysis. Her fingers rapped rhythmically on the desk, contemplating the sole unresolved question on her checklist.

Could she count on Samara not to stab them all in the back if they failed to adhere to her Code, even if violating it was necessary to save human lives? Nobody else on the ship knew what her Code entailed. It was entirely possible they could break it unwittingly, and that Samara might be compelled to take action against them for even the most innocuous of breaches.

However, Miranda wasn’t about to waste The Illusive Man’s time with baseless speculation. It didn’t assist him to be told of a hypothetical scenario which he had surely already foreseen. That wasn’t why he sought Miranda’s judgement.

Anyone could threaten the mission in theory. What he needed to know was whether that danger existed in reality. And did it? For the first time, Miranda wasn’t sure one way or the other. All she had to go on was Samara’s word, given her own observations of the woman were limited up to that point.

Samara had said that Shepard’s orders took priority over her Code when it came to stopping the Collectors. Normally, Miranda was predisposed towards caution, since it was better to be safe than wind up dead, but, in this case, she didn’t detect any deceit in Samara’s assurances of fealty. She didn’t strike her as a liar, nor as someone who lacked the insight to predict her own behaviour.

After a brief pause, Miranda reached her conclusion: ‘There is no indication that Samara’s subservience to the Justicar Code places our operations in jeopardy or compromises her in the field. I have no concerns about working with her.’

Comfortable with that answer, Miranda allowed her mind to wander as she jotted down a concise closing paragraph. It wasn’t often that she gave her companions aboard the Normandy a second thought, beyond their contributions to the mission. Not even Shepard. But Miranda had to admit, having someone like Samara aboard the ship was a refreshing change of pace.

Frankly Miranda wasn’t used to people being so cooperative with her. It was rare that her instructions weren’t met with some form of antagonism. And, unlike Thane, who was equally polite, Samara didn’t ask irrelevant questions or provide ambiguous answers when a simple yes or no would have sufficed.

Needless to say, Miranda was an excellent judge of character. She trusted her instincts. And, when it came to Samara, her first impressions were largely positive. And why wouldn’t they have been?

Samara was intelligent, composed and rational. Focused. Disciplined. Humble. Courteous. Restrained. Temperate. Dedicated, self-sufficient and competent, with nearly a millennia from which to draw wisdom and insight. And, unlike some asari, she didn’t come off as smug or condescending when interacting with other species. Nothing about her demeanour struck Miranda as false or insincere.

Miranda could respect a woman like that. Those were the sorts of qualities she would have liked to have seen in more of her teammates, given the option.

As if to drive home the point, her reflections were immediately shattered by raucous laughter outside her door. Miranda’s jaw tensed at the nuisance, the latest in a long line of repeated incidents. Her tolerance wore thin. She got up and stepped out into the mess hall to see what the fuss was about.

Several crew were hanging around the table, including Garrus, Donnelly and Joker. Judging from one of the gestures she saw, they seemed to be trading raunchy anecdotes. Miranda folded her arms across her chest, annoyed.

“Am I the only one who does any work around here?” she asked, cutting through the conversation like a knife, attracting several stares. “What are you doing? Why are you all sitting around making arses of yourselves like human colonists aren’t being abducted as we speak?”

“It’s called dinner, Miranda. Have you heard of it?” Garrus wryly remarked. It was hard to tell with turians, but he seemed to be smirking. “Some of us even require it to live. Maybe you don’t.”

“You can’t eat while you work?” said Miranda, ignoring his jibes. That was what she did, and she didn’t make a commotion doing it.

“Actually, no, I can’t,” Joker replied, gingerly adjusting himself in his chair to sit more casually. “EDI would lock me out of flight controls if I worked through a mandatory break. She says it ‘affects my performance.’”

“I just worked my third eighteen hour shift this week,” Donnelly pointed out, mildly intimidated though he was by Miranda. “Err, not that I’m complaining.”

Miranda rolled her eyes, recognising that she couldn’t kick them out, even if they were being disruptive. “Fine. Take your break. But if any of you are still here at one minute past the hour, I’m writing you up,” she warned them, making certain they knew she was serious before returning to her office.

“You know, she’s been on so many field missions lately, I almost forgot what a massive bitch she is,” Joker muttered in an aside.

“Did you also forget water is wet?” was Garrus’s reply, eliciting chuckles.

Miranda didn’t care, sighing in irritation and running a hand through her hair when the door closed. Why couldn’t everyone on this ship do her a favour and collectively agree to never talk again? It wasn’t like it would be any great loss.

Come to think of it, maybe Miranda did have good cause to go back to the Starboard Observation Deck sooner rather than later. If nothing else, at least it was quiet there, and she could probably rely on Samara to keep it that way.

Besides, anything Samara had to say would surely be vastly more interesting than the drivel that most people on this ship had to offer, even if that wasn’t a particularly high threshold to exceed.

*     *     *

“There's no time! We have to get her to the OR!”

Movement.

Miranda's head spun. Groggy. Flat on her back. Racing. Surrounded. People.

She couldn't open her eyes. Couldn’t breathe. Could barely hear. She tried to tell them, but her lips didn't move. Couldn’t speak. Couldn't ask for help.

Or, maybe she did, but the ringing blocked it out.

“We need intravenous antibiotics, stat. And someone get the ultrasound. We've got to get this medi-gel off.”

Where was she? What was happening?

Confusion clouded her thoughts, faint echoes of memory stirring to the surface. Desperation. Desolation. A crash. A crater. A glow. A glimmer of hope.

Samara. Where was Samara?

“Shit. Her pulse is dropping. We're losing her again.”

The world was creeping further and further into darkness. Slipping away. Diminishing. Fading. Waxing and waning like the phases of the moon, or the ebb and flow of the tide. Threatening to surrender her to eternal silence.

Kuh-hhhhh.

What was that noise?

Kuh-hhhhh.

Her ear was still ringing. Loud. So loud that what little else she could hear sounded like it had been crushed beneath the deepest trenches of the ocean.

But she detected speech. Muffled. Scarcely intelligible.

Kuh-hhhhh.

“We may have been too late. Her system is on the verge of shutting down. Even with a full course of antibiotics, I can't promise her body can fight it off.”

Kuh-hhhhh.

“You don't know her. She’s no ordinary person.”

Kuh-hhhhh.

That voice. Who was he?

Kuh-hhhhh.

“You’ve seen the state we’re in. We don’t have enough resources to spare. We have to make the hard choices. Even if we do keep treating her, her chances of survival are...maybe ten percent, at best. Think of how many other lives—”

“Don’t you dare talk about other lives like they’re already worth more than hers! She’s alive right now, and you’re willing to write her off like she’s as good as dead over a one in ten? No way. You can’t give up on her like that!”

Kuh-hhhhh.

Recognition seemed to dance past the edges of her fingertips. Miranda tried to reach for it, but it eluded her grasp. She fell under the waves, swallowed beneath the surface, adrift, stranded on the sea of shadow.

Kuh-hhhhh.

She couldn’t tell if she was awake or asleep. Everything faded in and out like half-remembered dreams. A million faint drops would coalesce into one constant stream of noise, rushing by so fast that she couldn’t keep up, and yet it seemed to be frozen in place, making it appear as though no time was passing at all.

Kuh-hhhhh.

Her mind filled with fragmented visions that just as swiftly scattered into dust and vanished into thin air. Collectors. Cerberus. The Normandy. The Citadel. Shepard. Her father. Oriana. Niket. Jacob. Samara. The war.

Her entire life. Her past. Her future. Everything she ever could have been.

Memories. Fantasies. Reality. She couldn't distinguish one from the other.

Kuh-hhhhh.

Faces leered at her in the mists. Her team. The ghosts of their demise.

She relived it all in gruesome detail, watching the people she’d led to Earth perish under her command. Unable to intervene. Cursed to lament everything she could have done differently. Powerless to put right her mistakes.

Bright eyes turned to ash, incinerated in flames. Skulls exploded under sniper fire. Flesh and bone burst like grapes beneath rampaging brutes. Viscera poured from gaping holes where banshees impaled their victims, lifting them off the ground, ripping their jaws clean off their skulls while they screamed.

Kuh-hhhhh.

“Ms Lawson! Stop! Don’t leave me!”

She turned and looked back, realising a member of her crew had fallen behind, tripped up by the debris, but it was too late. Husks descended on her like a pack of wild dogs, clawing her limb from limb. They literally tore her apart.

Her harrowing howls marred Miranda’s very soul, emblazoned on her conscience like a branding iron. The ringing in her ear grew louder.

Kuh-hhhhh.

“Help me...” the wounded soldier begged her, clutching at her with the last of his strength, strapped into his seat. “Please. Please help me. Please.”

“I can’t. I’m sorry,” she told him, knowing it was futile.

“You could have saved me,” he mumbled, his throat gurgling as his hand clamped down on her wrist. His skin began to rot, every inch of his tissue withering and decomposing. Maggots crawled from his eye sockets, wriggling down to his thin, desiccated lips. “You just left me there. Why didn’t you help?”

Miranda had no answer for him.

Kuh-hhhhh.

Kuh-hhhhh.

“Goddess, heed my prayer.” Miranda emerged from her daze, roused by a familiar presence. “Do not call her to your embrace. Not yet. Not now.”

Miranda felt a tender touch on her left arm, below her shoulder. She tried to stir by flexing the tips of her fingers but to no avail. She couldn't move her hand.

Was this real?

Why couldn't she feel her fingers?

Kuh-hhhhh.

“I came to Earth expecting that you had chosen this to be where I met my end, as the rest of my order met theirs on Thessia. Yet here I stand, unscathed, while Miranda...” Samara’s breath faltered, unable to say it. “I do not understand.”

Kuh-hhhhh.

Miranda heard her speak, yet she could barely comprehend the words that left Samara’s lips. It was as if language held no meaning, or she had forgotten how to make sense of it. Her mind felt so heavy inside her head.

Kuh-hhhhh.

“I beseech you: if you must take a life, take mine. I offer it freely, if it would spare hers. My life for her life. My years for her years. Please. For my many sins, I deserve none of your mercy. But...Goddess, if you would grant me any wish, I beg of you, do not take her. She is young, and has so much...”

Samara's voice faltered. Her words failed her. Her hand was trembling.

Kuh-hhhhh.

Miranda tried to take a breath to tell her it was okay, but couldn’t. She couldn’t even swallow. Her throat hurt. Her limbs felt as heavy as lead.

Kuh-hhhhh.

“Why do you do this? For centuries, I have asked you, and yet you never answer my prayers. Why am I spared? Why do you punish those who least deserve it when I am right here? Why do I survive while all around me perish?”

Kuh-hhhhh.

“My daughters. My bondmate. My Order. My friends. So many innocents. They all suffered for my failure. Yet I linger on. Weak. Weary. And for what purpose?”

Kuh-hhhhh.

“It should have been me...It always should have been me...”

Miranda didn’t hear Samara utter anything more.

Her awareness dissipated into the aether, until it was altogether gone. And yet, when it returned, it felt like only the merest blip of a moment had passed.

Kuh-hhhhh.

That strange sound stirred at the fringes of her consciousness.

Kuh-hhhhh.

What on Earth was that? And why wouldn’t it go away?

Kuh-hhhhh.

No. No, this wasn’t right. She couldn’t sleep. She couldn’t lie there like this.

Kuh-hhhhh.

It all came back to her at once. The shuttle crash. The pilot. The wasteland that stretched on forever, toying with her like a predator toyed with its prey.

Kuh-hhhhh.

Hopelessness. Despair. Death loomed over her, an ever-present spectre, taunting her with the imminence of her own impending doom.

Kuh-hhhhh.

There was no escape. No food. No water. No rest. No relief from the pain.

She wouldn’t last another day. Not like this.

Kuh-hhhhh.

Adrenaline coursed through her veins, compelling her not to submit. Not yet. Not now. Not after she had come so far in her desperate fight for survival.

Kuh-hhhhh.

She had to find help. Fast. She would die if she didn’t keep moving. Enough bodies littered the streets to emblazon that harsh fact on her nightmares.

Kuh-hhhhh.

She tried to raise her arm, to no avail. Her cheek twitched, contorting in discomfort. “Nnngh.” Her throat tightened on an obstruction. Was she choking?

Kuh-hhhhh. Kuh-hhhhh.

Instinctively, she resisted, aching to remove the blockage from her windpipe, but her body wouldn’t respond. When her head shifted, it felt like the whole planet collided with the moon, sending her equilibrium spiralling into orbit, unable to gain a sense of balance, of which way was up and which was down.

Kuh-hhhhh.   Kuh-hhhhh.   Kuh-hhhhh.

Panic mounted in her chest, her heart rate spiking, immobilised, paralysed, unable to break free from what felt like a ten tonne weight on top of her.

Why couldn’t she move? Why couldn’t she breathe?

Kuh-hhhhh. Kuh-hhhhh.   Kuh-hhhhh.

“Easy, Miranda,” a voice came to her. A man’s voice. Familiar. Comforting. Someone gently gripped her right hand, as if in a promise that she wasn’t alone. “Take your time. You don’t have to wake up yet.”

“Mmnh....” Her fingers tensed. She couldn’t open her eyelids.

Kuh-hhhhh. Kuh-hhhhh.

“It’s alright,” her nameless vigilant assured her, sensing her distress. “Don’t worry about anything. You’re safe now. And you’re going to be okay.”

Strangely, when he said it with such softness, she believed him.

Kuh-hhhhh.

“I’m right here,” he whispered to her, almost too quiet to hear beneath the ringing that lingered unrelenting in her ear. His thumb stroked the back of her hand. “And I’ll be by your side when you wake up later. I promise.”

Tentative though she was, she allowed her body to relax and sink into the clouds, trusting that someone was watching over her, and wouldn’t let her go.

Kuh-hhhhh.

A sense of peace emanated from her core, chasing away the restlessness.

And then all was still.

Until...

Kuh-hhhhh.

Light.

White light.

Kuh-hhhhh.

Why was it so bright?

Kuh-hhhhh.

Kuh-hhhhh.

Kuh-hhhhh.

That noise was back, but it was fainter now.

Kuh-hhhhh.

Her right eye fluttered open. An indistinguishable haze filled her sight.

Kuh-hhhhh.

She blinked, and blinked again, the blur above her gradually coming into focus.

Kuh-hhhhh.

A ceiling. White walls chipped and degraded, but intact. Beams of sunlight filtered in though a window, maybe ten feet away. It was dim and dull, but it hurt to be met with the rays. Miranda groaned and avoided looking that way until her vision adjusted, keeping her head squarely tilted to the right.

After being on the run from Cerberus, assessing her surroundings was an instinct. It didn't matter that Miranda's skull was pounding; her addled mind figured out exactly where she was almost as soon as she took it in.

She was in a hospital. That didn't take a genius to deduce. A quick glance confirmed that other patients shared this makeshift medical ward. There were eight, including her, crammed into the one room.

There was a drip hooked into her arm, and something was covering her left eye.

Kuh-hhhhh.

Ah. That explained the sound. Three patients had ventilators beside their beds.

Not everyone was comatose, though. She made eye-contact with the patient directly across from her, but he rolled onto his side and went back to sleep, ignoring her. Apparently he wasn’t in the mood to answer her queries.

Miranda wasn't intubated, but there was something attached to her nose. A nasal cannula? A quick touch confirmed her suspicion as correct. Why did she need one of those? She wasn't having any trouble breathing.

She winced, cobwebs and a pulsing headache preventing her mind from operating at full speed as she tried to piece together what had happened. She couldn't remember, or differentiate the memories from the dreams.

Ugh. What time was it? And what day? She couldn't see a clock anywhere.

Miranda attempted to get up, but the only response from her nervous system was pain, which forced her to abandon that idea before she had moved more than a few muscles. Every bone in her body hurt. Some worse than others.

Then it dawned on her.

Visions returned to her in a flood. Her last waking moments emerged from the fog. She remembered Samara gathering her in her arms, rescuing her, like something out of a fantasy.

Miranda inhaled sharply. There was no way that could have been real. The odds of Samara finding her were a million to one. Smaller, actually. But there Miranda lay, in a hospital bed. How could she explain that, if not by Samara’s intervention? By all rights, she should have been dead.

Come to think of it, how was she alive?

Miranda glanced down, keen to evaluate her condition. She hadn't been able to properly examine any of her injuries after the crash, much less tend to them. Still, she was under no illusions about how serious her wounds had been. She didn't imagine the damage to her limbs had miraculously healed overnight.

Her right arm was fine, hooked into a drip and a heart monitor. She couldn't see either of her legs well enough for her liking, what with both of them covered by the blanket, which was a little frustrating. But they seemed okay.

Her left arm was...

Miranda’s eye widened, and her mouth went dry.

She didn't have a left arm. Not anymore. It was cut off above the elbow.

...Oh.

Shaking off her shock, Miranda tried to inspect the amputation site, but her shoulder ached too much to raise even that reduced weight off the bed. The stump at the end of her bicep was wrapped up in a dressing. There were some slight blood stains on the bandages. Leakage. Seepage, from the stitches.

Huh. Well...this was new.

Once she got over her initial stunned reaction, Miranda had to confess that this outcome wasn’t unexpected, given the mangled state her arm had been in before she lost consciousness. It had gone too many days without treatment. For the rest of her injures, it was much harder to predict how bad they might be.

She couldn't hear out of her left ear, or see out of her left eye. A definitive diagnosis as to why would have been preferable. In light of her missing limb, Miranda was braced for the worst. God, her face stung on that side, though.

She reached up to touch her brow, wincing when her fingers met gauze. It covered her eye, her ear, her cheek down to her mouth. That was discouraging.

If there was one thing Miranda detested, it was feeling powerless – like she wasn't in control, and couldn’t do anything to seize it. Being in the dark about the status of her own body? Yeah, that amounted to being out of her comfort zone.

She didn't know a damn thing about where she was or how she'd gotten there or how many days had passed. All she could remember was Samara's voice, and the shape of her silhouette above her as she lifted Miranda up out of the crater.

Was it true? Had Samara really discovered Miranda's broken body? Or was that encounter nothing more than a figment of her imagination as she lay exhausted, on the verge of death? They’d spent a lot of time together on the Normandy, more than any of the others knew. If Miranda was going to conjure up false visions of a saviour, Samara would have been a leading candidate.

Either way, the only thing Miranda was sure of was that she had to get out of that bed as fast as possible. Other mysteries could wait. She had to get back out there. She had to know what kind of world she'd awoken to, and find out if anyone else from the Normandy had escaped the battle with their lives.

Shepard. Jacob. Samara. Everyone. Anyone.

Miranda tensed, her throat tightening on mounting bile and dread.

When they stood together for that photo in Shepard’s apartment, Miranda knew chances were slim that she would live to take another. At most, only a scant few of those faces would remain after the dust settled. It was simple maths.

Miranda had come to Earth certain that she wouldn’t be counted among the lucky ones. It was too much to expect that they’d win, let alone survive. She’d accepted her death long before she ever set foot on the battlefield.

Yet there she was, on the other side of the vanishing point. So many things that should have killed her...somehow hadn’t. She was still here.

But what about the others?

If Miranda was alive, despite the odds, did that mean...?

No. She couldn’t be the only one left. She’d already lost her whole team. She couldn’t go through that again. Not with them. She just...She just couldn’t.

Suddenly, a shadow at the foot of her bed caught her attention.

Miranda turned her head, causing the figure to jump, startled by her movement. A medic stood there, a hand to her heart. Miranda hadn’t heard her enter, thanks to the constant piercing tinnitus that resonated in her right ear.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realise you were awake,” said the woman, calming her nerves after that surprise. Miranda scanned the stranger, gauging her. She didn't look like a doctor or nurse, nor a member of the military. A volunteer? “Can you hear me?” the medic asked. A fair question, if she’d been out for a while.

“Yes,” Miranda answered, trailing into a cough. Her voice sounded different, unfamiliar to her. Raspy. Scratchy. Her throat was sore, which indicated a tube must have been inserted recently. It wasn't pleasant. She cleared away the discomfort before continuing. “But you’ll have to speak up. My ear’s ringing.”

It was good to hear herself say that, even if her left side did seem deaf as a post. At least her mental faculties were more intact than her body.

“Wonderful. I'll go and fetch the—“

“Before you say anything else, I need information. Don't interrupt me. Just tell me what I want to know. And keep it concise,” Miranda commanded brusquely, despite her fatigue slowing her speech, determined to gain insight into her current circumstances. That was where Miranda was in her element.

“Uh...okay?” the medic stammered, evidently compelled to comply. Even confined to a hospital bed, Miranda possessed that air of authority that prompted obedience. Good to know she hadn't lost that trait.

“We're still in London, correct?” Miranda ventured, believing it safe to assume they wouldn’t have flown her elsewhere.

“Yes. You're in St. Mary's,” the medic confirmed.

“St...What...?” Miranda wondered if she’d misheard. Bloody hell. Just how short of a distance had she covered in her efforts to crawl away from the crash site?

The medic nodded. “Given the high number of casualties, our first step was to occupy the centre of London and reopen as many medical facilities as we could. For the most part our efforts have paid off.”

“The most part?” Miranda sharply echoed. That was a faint endorsement.

The woman sighed. “In truth, most hospitals are in ruins. The majority of people who need help are out on the street in field hospitals because we're short of beds. But you were a high priority patient. So it’s...lucky you were so unlucky.”

Miranda chose not to respond to that. “How long have I been here?”

“A week, I believe,” the young woman replied. “You've made a remarkable recovery. Given how poorly you were when you arrived...well, the average person who came to us in your condition would have been out far longer,” she said, oblivious to the guarded expression her words elicited.

The average person would have been dead. But Miranda wasn’t average.

Her genetic code gave her the edge. It always did. There was no mistaking that it was the sole reason she had withstood her wounds. Her father’s perpetual legacy. It made it hard to process the appropriate reaction. She couldn’t feel proud, since she couldn’t take credit for it. So was she supposed to feel guilty that other people didn’t have the same undeserved advantages? She didn’t.

Perhaps that ambivalence was why Miranda couldn’t find it in her to form any particular emotional response to her survival at all. Not happy. Not sad.

She didn’t feel anything. It just...

It was what it was.

“Yes, that’s right, your chart says you've been here for eight nights, Ms Lawson,” the medic continued. “I remember when they brought you in. Even a few minutes later and you would have...” She trailed off, evidently reconsidering whether it was wise to disclose that to a patient who might find that news distressing. “All I can say is thank God Justicar Samara found you when she did.”

At her name, Miranda froze.

“What?” she spoke breathlessly, not daring to believe it.

“Justicar Samara,” the woman eagerly repeated. “She's incredible. Her efforts to look for survivors out beyond where anyone else dares to tread have been tireless. Dozens of people owe their lives to her. Hundreds, even.”

“...Including me,” Miranda quietly acknowledged. The medic didn’t address that, but it was etched on her face that that was beyond dispute. "Where is she?”

“Out there, as always,” the medic told her, gesturing to the window, and the destruction beyond. “She said her Code demands that she must not rest while she is capable of averting the suffering of innocents. Or words to that effect.”

A relieved smile slowly unfurled across Miranda’s lips, all lingering incredulity evaporating. Yep. That was definitely Samara.

Miranda was a woman of facts, not emotions, but words couldn’t describe how she felt then, rendered speechless to realise that it hadn’t been a dream. It was confirmed. Samara was alive. Miranda wasn't alone.

Honestly, that meant far more to her than her own survival ever would. It wasn’t even close. Miranda couldn’t be happy for own sake. But for Samara? For her friend? Bloody oath, she could. And she was. No confusion. No ambivalence.

“Don't feel too bad that she’s not here,” a warm voice followed from the doorway. She recognised it instantly. Miranda would have sworn her heart stopped when she heard him, only to start again when she spied him standing in the corridor, watching her contentedly. “She stayed as long as she could."

The sheer gratitude that coursed through her veins at the sight of him was beyond compare, almost beyond comprehension. “Jacob...”

He flicked his fingers at her, halfway between a wave and a salute. “Hey.”

In that moment, she was glad that she had never been the most expressive individual. Were she any different, Miranda didn't imagine her response to seeing Jacob there unharmed would have been in any way dignified.

“It's okay. You don't have to say anything,” Jacob assured her.

“Right,” Miranda murmured through the gravel in her throat. He didn't need to hear it because Jacob already knew. Everything she felt now was no doubt exactly what he’d experienced when the doctors told him Miranda was going to make it.

Words weren't essential. They couldn't tell each other anything they didn't already understand. And Jacob knew Miranda better than to permit redundancy.

“Ugh. My face hurts,” Miranda half-groaned, recovering the wherewithal to speak, briefly touching her bandage between her cheekbone and her eye.

Jacob snorted as he stepped inside. “Yeah, you think?”

Miranda sent him a feigned glare as he approached. In retrospect, it was probably best to try not to smile until her burns healed a bit. “Could you leave us?” she addressed the medic. She and Jacob had a lot to discuss. Privately.

“Um, now that you're awake, I should call the doctor in to see you.” Aside from getting a full update on her health, waking up likely meant they would be keen to shuttle Miranda out of there as soon as they could manage it. After all, the medic had made it plain that they needed every available bed they could get.

“Don't worry about that,” Jacob said, casually folding his arms across his chest. “I won't be in your way for very long, I promise. Just give us thirty minutes to catch up. That's all we need.” Miranda nodded, silently vouching for that. Perhaps some people would have wanted longer, but half an hour would suffice.

Jacob and Miranda had been friends for...was it coming up on four years now? Perhaps that wasn’t significant to an ordinary person, but that was the longest continuous bond Miranda had formed with anyone, by quite a large margin.

He wouldn't sugarcoat the truth or tiptoe around the facts. Not for Miranda. He understood her like few others did, if any. No matter what she asked him and no matter how hard the reality was to confront, she knew she would get an answer she could trust. For that reason, Jacob was exactly the right person to field her myriad questions, and there was no one she'd rather hear it from.

“Well, alright,” the medic acquiesced, not cruel enough to deprive them of their reunion. Friendly faces were a rare thing following the devastation the Reapers had left in their wake. It was only humane to grant them this small solace.

The medic stepped out into the hallway, leaving the two of them alone. Well, aside from the other patients. But Miranda didn't care if they eavesdropped.

“So what happened to you?” Jacob ventured first, taking up a seat on the right side of Miranda's bed, which was closest to the door. It must have plagued his mind ever since Samara found her out in the wasteland.

“I got caught in a shuttle crash. The Reaper guarding the Conduit shot us out of the sky,” Miranda calmly filled in the blanks, piecing together the seconds before the explosion. “If it had hit us straight on, I doubt I'd be here. Luckily, it just grazed the pilot's side. Her body must have shielded me from the blast.” Miranda paused, glancing down at her left arm. “Well, not all of it, obviously.”

Jacob chose not to indulge that remark. “I'm going to take a wild guess and say your landing didn't go too smoothly either.”

“Can't say. Wasn't conscious,” Miranda spoke frankly, forcing herself to sit partially upright, resting her back against the headboard. Sore as she was, even that minor adjustment hurt. Jacob knew her too well to bother offering assistance, correctly anticipating that she would have refused. “Given how the shuttle looked when I woke up, I'd say that's an understatement.”

“I can imagine,” Jacob mumbled, plainly drawing his own conclusions about the severity of the crash. The proof was permanently scarred into Miranda’s flesh. “How in the hell did you survive out there for days in the state you were in?”

“With great difficulty,” Miranda muttered, gingerly clutching her shoulder.

Jacob shook his head at her in amazement, not quite ready to laugh but managing to summon a small smile. “Somebody should have warned the Reapers it takes more than that to keep Miranda Lawson down.”

“Not much more,” Miranda conceded. This had nearly been enough.

“Yeah, but you made it. Who cares about anything else?” he said, resting his hand on her uninjured shoulder. And he was right, she supposed.

There was nothing to gain from fixating on how close she’d come to death, or on why so many others had been slain while she hadn’t. What mattered was that she'd pulled through. Now, she had to focus on more pressing concerns.

For starters... “...What happened?” Miranda asked him, keen to unravel the many facets of the recent past that remained totally shrouded to her. “How did it end? I was knocked out; I didn't see anything but the aftermath.”

“I don't know for sure. Nobody does. I'll tell you everything I've heard, though.” Jacob leaned forward in his seat, tenting his fingers together. “The Reapers were destroyed, right down to the last husk. I bet you figured that out days ago. But it wasn't without a cost.” He took a deep breath before reluctantly expanding on that ominous statement. “Something went wrong; the Crucible backfired.”

“Backfired?” Miranda repeated, arching the eyebrow that wasn't covered in gauze at his ambiguity. Jacob’s gaze was evasive. “Tell me,” she urged.

He shook his head, his expression grim. He looked tired. Resigned, even.

“There was this...explosion of energy from the Citadel. Pretty much any ships that couldn't get out of Earth's orbit in time got annihilated. And on the ground? I saw entire buildings obliterated, like that.” He snapped his fingers to illustrate what he’d witnessed. “Hell, people too. When the wave hit, they just...disintegrated. All we find are their shadows. Sometimes not even that.”

“I don't understand,” Miranda interjected, struggling to wrap her head around this. “I wasn’t that far from the Conduit. We were all right below the Crucible. If it caused that level of destruction, how is it that any of us survived?”

“Don't ask me; you're the smart one.” Jacob shrugged.

“I was being rhetorical, but you seriously can’t even volunteer a theory?” Miranda retorted, not particularly impressed by his blase response.

“I don’t know. It only seemed to get people who were out in the open. Maybe it's because you were sheltered by the shuttle, maybe not. But we didn’t...” Jacob hesitated, his posture drooping, staring at his feet. “Nobody thought anyone was left after that. Not where you were. Not when we saw whole buildings fry.”

Miranda regarded him strangely, not sure what he was getting at.

“Samara was the only one who looked for people that close to ground zero. For a while, anyway,” Jacob elaborated, audibly regretting his role in that. “It wasn’t until she started bringing back survivors that our rescue teams joined her.”

A shiver ran down Miranda’s spine. “You mean me?”

“Nah, you weren’t the first she found.” Jacob lifted his head, grateful for Samara’s persistence in the face of scepticism. “But it makes me wonder how many people died because nobody listened to her. Because you could have been one of them,” he finished, remorse glinting in his eyes, blaming himself for having written Miranda off when she was out there on her own that entire time.

Miranda swallowed pensively. So that was why she had crawled for so long without any sign of another living soul. No shuttles. No tanks. No voices.

If not for Samara, nobody would have come for her.

Miranda already knew she owed Samara her life, but it made her wonder. Maybe it wasn’t coincidence that she had stumbled upon her. Samara would never have searched for her to the detriment of anyone else, of course, but maybe she had deliberately concentrated on scouring the areas near where Miranda was last seen, committed to either finding her, or else confirming her demise.

That was the sort of thing friends did for one another, wasn’t it?

“That doesn’t answer my question, though,” Miranda pointed out, staying focused. “A shockwave that powerful should have killed everyone in London. Surely somebody can explain why we aren’t all a pile of ash right now?”

“No, they can’t, and I don’t care,” he countered, his tone taking Miranda aback. “We're stretching ourselves thin enough as it is. We can’t even begin to count the dead, much less figure out why some died and others didn't. Scientists can debate it and get their PhDs off the back of it later, I guess. But I don't give a rat's ass. Not when I'm still pulling the corpses out of the mud.”

“Fair point,” Miranda acknowledged. They were in crisis. Their cycle had nearly ended, and they were all who were left to pick up the pieces. There were crucial priorities to contend with before they could ponder more abstract issues.

“Sorry. You had every right to ask. I'm just...” Jacob trailed off, shaken by the horrific events he'd been exposed to over the past fortnight. He soon elected to get back to business rather than ruminate on it. “Most of our galactic forces were wiped out, but we have a lot of folks stranded here from every species. Well, every species except the geth,” he corrected himself. “There are no geth.”

Miranda’s brow creased. “No geth?” He didn't say, 'All the geth are dead,' or 'We haven't found any geth.' Jacob's exact words were, 'There are no geth.'

No ships. No platforms. No programs. Nothing.

“How does an entire species cease to exist?” Miranda asked, baffled by the sweeping implication. “You're telling me they've been...what, erased?”

“Yeah, that about covers it,” Jacob matter-of-factly confirmed. “Whatever the Crucible did to the Reapers must have taken them out as well,” he reasoned, though it was clearly speculation on his part. “Shame, too. You know I was never the biggest fan of the geth, given my experiences, but we could have used them. I mean, they can work non-stop and they don't tire or get sick or need to eat.”

“But the Reapers are gone,” Miranda pressed.

“All of them. For sure,” he gave his word.

At that, Miranda dared to release some of her tension, relaxing against the wall behind her. Perhaps it was harsh to deem the loss of the geth insignificant but, when it came to stopping the Reapers, no sacrifice was too extreme.

If one species had to die in order to preserve the fate of every other species that would ever come to exist in this galaxy, then that was a price that had to be paid. Even if that meant wiping out humanity, Miranda would have said the same thing. They all knew that peace would come at a grave cost, if it would come at all. What mattered now was protecting those who had prevailed.

“Good,” Miranda said, bolstered by the knowledge that they were safe from any further cosmic threat. “With the Reapers exterminated, we should see an influx of aid from the other homeworlds. Yes, they have their own problems, but they can afford to send it. There are survivors from every Council race here; they have an obligation to provide disaster relief, if not for us then for them.”

“Miranda...” Jacob sombrely cut her off, looking her square in the eye, bearing a heavy burden. “The Crucible didn't just destroy the Reapers and the geth. It also destroyed the mass relays. They have no way of getting to us.”

His answer made Miranda's blood run cold. The mass relays? No. That couldn’t be right. Oriana was on Horizon, thousands of light years from Earth. Without the mass relays, how would Miranda ever get there? How could they...?

Oh, God. If the mass relays had been destroyed, then...

“Jacob. The Alpha relay...” Miranda felt her heart pounding, the most horrible thought imaginable stirring chaos in her mind. “When the asteroid hit it, it took out an entire system. If the Crucible did that to every other relay—“

“No. That didn't happen,” he assured her, firmly quashing her fears.

“How do you know?” she challenged through gritted teeth.

“Because we’ve received messages from other systems through the comm buoys, though the network is shot to shit so bandwidth is extremely limited. By all accounts, only ships that were very close to the mass relays when they blew apart were destroyed. Your sister should be fine,” he told her.

Miranda ran her hand through her hair amid a heavy sigh, willing an unshed tear not to trickle from her eye. If all but a few ships were intact then that meant Oriana shouldn't have been in any danger. For that, she was infinitely thankful.

Nothing was more terrifying to her than the prospect of life without Oriana.

“Hey, it's okay.” Jacob clutched her right arm in reassurance. “I know. Believe me, I do,” he murmured, fully grasping what she was going through.

Of course, Miranda thought. Jacob had a child on the way. A child who, without the mass relays to bridge those colossal distances, Jacob might never get to see, or speak to, or hold in his arms. This must have been killing him.

If only they'd spent more time perfecting the Crucible, gathering more intel—

Miranda stopped, regaining her wits before grief got the better of her composure. Facts first. Feelings could wait. Now was not the time to let paralysis set in.

“What about the others?” Miranda spoke up, her tone professional, endeavouring to leave her fear of being separated from her sister temporarily to one side. “Samara's alive. I know that much.” Miranda counted her blessings on that, thinking back on their conversations on the Normandy, and the rapport that had evolved between them. “How is she? Does she seem alright to you?”

“If I was half as strong as she was, I’d be doing good. Nothing bends her. Nothing breaks her,” Jacob said, admiring her for that. Miranda gave a short nod. It meant a lot to know Samara was okay, not just physically but emotionally, to the extent that anyone could be given what they’d endured.

“Did she say when she’ll be back?” Miranda wondered, eager to see her. Not only was Samara her closest friend from the Normandy apart from Jacob, but she owed Samara her life. That was a debt that could never be repaid.

“No, she never mentioned. Both of us are always coming and going without notice. I haven't bumped into her in a few days, though,” Jacob nonchalantly answered, unable to give specifics. Miranda's features twinged beneath her bandages. “Don't take that as a bad sign. It just means she's busy rescuing people.”

That response wasn't sufficient to dismiss Miranda's apprehension, but she chose not to dwell on it. Maybe Jacob was right; maybe Samara had been visiting her bedside every day, just at times when Jacob wasn’t around.

“Have you found anyone else?” Miranda asked.

“From our crew? No.” He shook his head. “I mean, there's Wrex from the original Normandy. He's keeping the krogan in line. And, uh, you know...I can't confirm anything, because I haven't heard from her, but I have to figure Kasumi's fine. She never got anywhere near the fight. She just worked on the Crucible. Other than that, everyone else we know is MIA for the time being.”

“But no confirmed deaths?” Miranda noted, inferring as much.

“We haven't found any bodies. Or, if we have, we haven't identified them.” Jacob's voice didn't betray it, but Miranda could tell he was keeping the faith that the others would turn up alive. Maybe he hadn't believed it before, but Miranda's survival appeared to have rekindled his hope for the best.

“...Alright, then.” Miranda nodded, not so heartless as to deny him that small mercy, even if she knew it wasn’t realistic. With anyone else, she would have been brutally honest, but she cared about Jacob too much.

Besides, Earth was a big planet, and there were thousands of ships strewn throughout the solar system. Other members of their old crew could be out there, living on stored food and water, too far away to have made contact. Not all of them, of course. But one or two, maybe. That was better than zero.

...Great, now Miranda was starting to fool herself into becoming a bloody blind optimist too. False hope didn't suit her.

“Yeah, well, that's half the story, anyway.” Jacob muttered humourlessly, earning a curious glance from Miranda. “When I say everyone is MIA, that’s...You should know, Admiral Hackett confirmed that Commander Shepard was in the Crucible when it fired. Right at the centre of the blast. Admiral Anderson too.”

“Makes sense,” said Miranda. "I always thought that, if anyone was going to stop the Reapers, Shepard would be the one to do it. That’s what she does.”

“I know. That’s not why I’m telling you.” The sobriety on his face spoke volumes. She hadn't been awake when the wave of destruction devastated the city. She hadn't seen what he had. “Believe me, I don't say this lightly: there is no way anybody could have survived being on the Citadel when it went off.”

“Isn’t that what you thought about me too?” Miranda pointed out. “Shepard has accomplished things nobody thought she could before. She can’t...”

Jacob didn’t argue with her. He didn’t have to. His stark silence said it all.

The gravity of the situation rapidly sank in. Jacob wasn’t lying.

Miranda’s stomach churned, triggering a sharp pain in her chest. So, Shepard was gone. That was...difficult to comprehend, despite the fact that Miranda knew firsthand that Shepard's life could be snuffed out as easily as anyone else's.

Shepard had died once before. So why didn't the possibility of that happening again seem real? It wasn't a surprise. It wasn't unexpected. But it felt wrong.

Shepard was dead. Miranda couldn't help but feel like the universe had been fundamentally and irrevocably diminished. Yet the Earth was spinning normally. Life went on. The sun rose and fell as if nothing had been lost. But it had.

People like Shepard were...

No. There were no other people like Shepard.

“I'm afraid that's not all.” Jacob clasped his hands together, prepared to deliver more bad news. Miranda signalled for him to go on. Things could hardly get any worse than what he’d already told her, could they? “The Normandy is lost.”

Miranda paled. “Lost?” she said, struck to the core by his admission.

Miranda was as far from sentimental as could be, but it didn't seem possible. Miranda had gone into the fight expecting to die, and she had absolutely believed that every last member of the crew would willingly make the same sacrifice if it came to that. But to lose the ship hurt more than she'd anticipated.

And then there was EDI.

People often talked about ships as if they had a mind of their own. The Normandy actually did. Miranda had never previously believed that an AI should be considered a person, but EDI was the counterargument that had altered that view. Irrespective of any abstract concepts of what constituted ‘life’, EDI was unique – an individual unlike anyone else, before or since.

After everything the Normandy had steered them through during the suicide mission, this was how it ended? It wasn’t fair. And what about Joker? What about Garrus? Liara? Tali? Chakwas? Daniels? Donnelly? Adams? Traynor? Vega? Cortez? Losing EDI was bad enough, but everyone stationed aboard—

“Lost as in lost,” Jacob intervened, sensing she had assumed the worst. “We have no idea where it is, and we haven't heard a peep. They've just...vanished,” he said, not sure what to make of that. “No wreckage, no bodies that we know of. But we lost all communication with it after the Crucible fired.”

“What?” Miranda's one-eyed stare narrowed in abject confusion. “They're linked to Hackett’s ship by quantum entanglement. If the Normandy exists at any point in the universe and has power, they should be capable of sending messages.”

“Yeah, but they aren't, though.” Jacob reiterated, stumped for an explanation. “I don't know what else to tell you. Until we hear otherwise, that's the situation.”

That didn’t exactly lend itself to a positive interpretation. Either the Normandy had been destroyed, or it was too damaged to function, which was as good as a death sentence unless they’d landed on Earth. There was nothing to say where they might have ended up, or if anyone would ever discover the wreckage.

“What about me?” Miranda asked at last, unafraid to broach that grisly subject. Gingerly, she pushed herself forward into a proper sitting position, wincing as she did so, adjusting to only having one arm with which to balance her weight.

“Take it easy; you just woke up,” Jacob noted, respecting her space, but keeping watch in case she was expecting too much from herself too fast.

“I can manage,” Miranda assured him somewhat stonily, resenting her frailty. She hated being sidelined, which made being injured an inconvenient state of affairs. The sooner she bounced back and could go contribute something useful, the better. Jacob was glad to see she hadn't changed.  “How am I?”

“You weren't doing so hot when Samara brought you in,” Jacob admitted, a shadow momentarily flickering across his features. “Nothing the docs couldn't handle, though. They patched you up nicely.”

Miranda fixed him with a stern look. “Jacob, you do realise that I have, in fact, noticed my arm is missing?” she deadpanned, unimpressed by his efforts to soften the blow. “I have tinnitus in one ear, I'm deaf in the other, and half my face hurts like hell. Don’t coddle me; save your understatement for someone else.”

Jacob chuckled at her scolding. Of course Miranda didn't need to be comforted. She wanted to hear the full extent of the damage she'd sustained in the crash, and her prognosis for how quickly she would recuperate.

“Well, your face hurts because you suffered some nasty burns there, plus minor ones to other parts of your body. But you knew that,” Jacob straightforwardly began, aware that Miranda would rather be slapped hard by reality than patronised. “Could have been a lot worse, but your eye wasn't so lucky.”

“I probably should have mentioned, I think I got shot there at one stage,” Miranda casually chimed in, as if they were discussing the weather.

“That must be why it couldn't be saved. They had to remove it.” Miranda nodded, perfectly fine with that. “You haven't got much of an ear on that side either. A lot of the outer cartilage was burned off, and your eardrum was perforated. I'm guessing that's the ear you meant when you said you're deaf on one side.”

“Sorry, can you repeat that?” Miranda facetiously cupped her intact ear.

Jacob snorted, lightly punching her in the arm. “Fuck off. I’m just going to assume I always need to talk to you from the right from now on.”

“At least I finally know what my good side is. It was always a curse being so symmetrical,” Miranda dryly quipped, unfazed. Jacob smirked, glad to see she was taking it in stride. He probably hadn't expected anything different.

“You tore your rotator cuff in your left shoulder. That'll take some healing,” Jacob continued, listing off everything he could remember. “As for the rest of the arm, well...the problem was, by the time they got to it, infection had already set in. Your arm was basically dead below the elbow. Amputation was the only course.”

“I anticipated that,” Miranda acknowledged. "I could have lost a lot more.”

"Yeah, you could. But your forearm got twisted around so much that it had virtually detached from your body. That might have been what saved you,” Jacob postulated. “Anyway, it's not going to hinder you in the long run. You know how far cybernetic limbs have come in the last couple of years.”

“Not by choice, but Kai Leng was quite eager to acquaint me with his enhancements. But prosthetics can wait,” Miranda filled in on his behalf. With Earth in disarray and countless casualties, that wasn't a priority. “Keep going,” Miranda encouraged, not forgetting that there was more. She wanted a full report, from head to toe. “How are my legs?”

“Better than the rest of you,” Jacob summarised. “Your right one is fine, but your left knee is busted – torn ligaments, stuff like that. Problem is, that falls under the 'elective' category. Hopefully, the worst of it will heal up by itself. But, put it this way, I wouldn't make plans to start wearing heels again any time soon.”

“Slap a pair of crutches on me and I'll be right as rain,” Miranda practically scoffed as she spoke. A busted knee barely warranted mentioning after all of that. “Well, one crutch,” Miranda belatedly added.

Jacob’s expression shifted, like he couldn’t decide whether to be amused or bemused. “This isn’t a criticism, but...you’re processing all of this way too well.”

“Why shouldn’t I? It’s not like I can change what happened to me,” Miranda noted with a nonchalant shrug, perplexed by the implication that her reaction ought to be otherwise. “Besides, disability and disfigurement are hardly the end of the world. They’re a fact of life that have formed part of the human experience for as long as there have been humans. There’s no need to be melodramatic.”

“Maybe not, but I think you owe me an apology for snapping at me before. You're the one brushing off these injuries like they're nothing,” Jacob commented, crossing his arms, not that he was shocked by her hypocrisy.

“They are nothing. I’m fine,” Miranda insisted.

“Whatever you say, Two-Face,” Jacob countered.

Miranda dismissively rolled her eye. “Okay, so my left side isn't what it used to be. So what? I'll cope. Other than what you've already told me, what else is there to keep me here? Superficial cuts and burns?”

All levity fell from Jacob's face, his complexion turning pale grey.

“What?” Miranda prompted at his stark silence, beginning to grow annoyed.

“...Miranda, you had sepsis,” Jacob solemnly revealed, his features deadly serious. He swallowed, finding it hard to confront those stomach-churning memories. “You’re recovering, but you...You nearly went into organ failure.”

His words were strikingly bleak, and his directness left Miranda appropriately chastened. She hadn't realised it was that dire. For the first time, Miranda grasped just how terrified Jacob had been that he was going to watch her die.

“Samara told me you’d stopped breathing when she got you to the paramedics,” Jacob went on, dodging her gaze, no longer able to deny how close he’d come to burying his best friend. “Any slower, and it might have been too late to resuscitate you. Hell, even after you got out of surgery, you were so far gone that the doctors were going to take you off life support, until Samara stepped in.”

Miranda creased her brow. “Stepped in how?” she asked in a hoarse whisper, suddenly remembering the bitter taste of ash and dust in her throat.

“She said, if they stopped your treatment, they would be sentencing you to certain death. Her Code would consider that attempted murder, and she would be compelled to prevent it, by any means,” he recounted, oblivious to the bewildered look that befell Miranda. “I made sure they knew she wasn’t joking.”

Miranda glanced aside, troubled. Her insight into Samara’s Code was limited, but...threatening doctors didn’t sound like something she would do. Then again, Samara would never act other than in strict accordance with the Code, much less misrepresent it. Maybe Miranda had misjudged its tenets.

“That’s three,” Miranda softly muttered, prompting Jacob to utter a confused hum, not following her. “Three things Samara did to save my life.”

“Yeah, well, you ever scare me like that again and you’re gonna answer to my left hook,” he warned, with the kind of tone that only came from a genuine bond. “Seriously, the way you stress me out can't be good for my heart.”

“Really? Mine's fine,” Miranda remarked, tilting her head at the monitor as proof.

“One of these days you're going to be the one worrying about me. And when that day comes, you're going to be – what would you call it? – a blubbering wreck,” he playfully teased her, imitating her accent, poorly.

“First off, that was cockney; that’s not even close to how I sound. And, secondly, I don't think 'blubbering' is in my genetic sequence,” she replied.

“Liar.” Jacob wore a knowing smirk, wagging a finger at her. “I was there on Illium, when Shepard talked you into meeting your little sister.”

“Clearly you're an unreliable witness,” Miranda persisted with a mock huff. “I recall being perfectly composed that entire time.”

“Your concussion must have been worse than I thought. Looks like your memory isn't quite as sharp as it used to be,” he joked, tapping her lightly on the head. “Excuse me, nurse, the patient is exhibiting signs of delusional thinking—“

“Get out of it.” Miranda swiftly swatted his hand away. “On second thought, Jacob, I can guarantee that I won't be a blubbering wreck if you end up on an operating table because, at this rate, I'm going to be the one who put you there.”

Jacob snickered. “I’d deserve it, too, but it’d be worth it.”

Miranda tried to feign vexation, but she couldn’t. Having Jacob’s company made a world of difference in these dark times. Their relationship had never been simple, especially after they broke up, but after all they'd been through together they were practically family, with all the ups and downs that entailed.

As a consequence of her upbringing, companionship was exceptionally rare for Miranda. In thirty-six years, there were no more than five people with whom Miranda could say she had formed any kind of intimate personal connection: Niket, Jacob, Shepard, Oriana, and Samara. That two of them were alive and on Earth with her meant far more than she would have thought up until a year ago.

And yet, there was one absence that could not be so easily overcome. The most important person of all. Even the other four combined could never fill that aching hole. Not through any fault of their own, but because they weren't her.

Her sister – her genetic twin.

She couldn't banish the thought of Oriana, stranded out there on Horizon. With the mass relays gone and the comms down, the colony must have descended into total panic. It set her teeth on edge to imagine what she was going through.

Fear. Confusion. Grief. Mourning.

“Jacob...” Miranda sat forward, a horrible heartache swelling inside her, making her nauseous. But she couldn’t let herself faint. “Does Oriana know I’m alive?”

“I sent a message to her as soon as Samara found you, but public email service isn't a priority. Military and diplomatic channels take precedence when it comes to bandwidth. We're trying as hard as we can, but...” He trailed off.

There had been no progress. They were no closer to contacting the people they loved. And he couldn't tell her when that was likely to change.

Suddenly, the vast distances of the galaxy had become so much greater.

It had barely been a month since Miranda had wrapped her arms around Oriana outside the spaceport on Horizon, letting her thumb gently graze across her forehead, brushing stray strands of hair out of her sister’s eyes as she told her that this wasn’t goodbye. Was that the last time she would ever hold her?

With the Extranet crippled, there was no guarantee Miranda could get through to her. Even if she could, who knew how long it would take to reach Oriana?

Until they knew the answer to that question, time would be her prison. Through all her crushing isolation, Oriana could only sit there, held captive by the clock, waiting day after day for a call that may never come. And it was Miranda's fault.

Even if they lived another two hundred years, they might never set foot on the same ground again. If the mass relays couldn't be fixed, then they would never get to start that new life together that Miranda had dreamed of for so long.

“I lied to her, Jacob,” Miranda murmured. Vacant. Distant. “I promised I’d come back to her. But I was lying.” She shook her head, tumultuous emotions stirring inside her. “Our father killed her adoptive family. I'm all she has. I knew that. And I left her. I only just found her, and now it's possible I’ll never see her again.”

Jacob put his arms around her, letting her head fall on his shoulder. Miranda didn't cry. She almost never did, and this was no exception. But she felt a tightening in her chest that wouldn't go away. The guilt was suffocating.

“You aren't the only one breaking promises,” he said, perching on the edge of the bed beside her. “It's fitting. My father was gone for ten years. Longer, actually. He was never the most present guy, even when he was around. After I saw what he'd become, I swore...Well, no, I didn't swear not to be like him; I knew I wasn't. How could anybody be like that? Except here I am.”

“Jacob, don't say that,” Miranda protested, pulling away. How could he even think that? “You're nothing like your father. Not what he became.”

“Why not? I might be away from Brynn and our child a damn sight more than ten years,” he pointed out, gesturing at his surroundings indicatively. “I'm abandoning them, just like he abandoned me.”

“Your circumstances are somewhat different from his,” Miranda noted. Sympathy wasn't a trait she possessed in any great abundance, but she did demonstrate it occasionally. This was one of those moments. “You’re not your father and I’m not mine. He was a manipulative criminal. You’re not. He could have activated that beacon at any time if he wanted to come home. You can't.”

“Doesn't change the fact that I chose to leave. I knew I was risking a lot coming here to fight the Reapers, but I chose to be here instead of with them. Maybe I shouldn't have,” Jacob confessed his doubts, getting up and moving away from her bedside, his hands perched on his hips as he chastised himself.

“You don't mean that.” Miranda sat forward to try and catch him by the sleeve, but he stepped out of her reach, refusing to be consoled.

“I'm not sure what I mean,” he shot back, unable to distinguish between fleeting manifestations of grief and what he really believed. “You made the same choice. Are you telling me that you're certain it was the right one? If you could rewind time, would you still say that coming here to fight the Reapers was worth leaving Oriana behind? Is that how really you feel?”

“...I can't ask myself that. Not yet,” Miranda quietly conceded, a rare glimmer of vulnerability. “I’ve lost a lot to this battle, Jacob. Not just what you can see.” She glanced aside, not ready to talk about watching her team die. “Call it cowardice, but I'm not keen to examine the issue only to decide it was a mistake.”

“No, you're right.” Jacob sighed, regretting the tone he’d taken with Miranda then. “We are where we are. We're stuck here, and we can't change that. Beating ourselves up won't get us any closer to our families.”

“Would that it could,” said Miranda, her fingers combing through her hair. She and Jacob, they really were in the same boat, weren't they?

She wouldn't wish these regrets upon her worst enemy, much less her best friend, but that was out of their control. Jacob couldn't stem his pain, nor Miranda hers. They had both been separated from their only family, possibly for good.

If their grief was going to consume each of them, at least they could endure it together, sharing the load. Perhaps the despair wouldn't hurt so much if they faced it side by side. Or maybe carrying each other’s burdens on top of their own would make it hurt twice as much. But hey, misery loved company.

*     *     *

There was a rumour on the Normandy that Miranda never stopped working, but to perform basic necessities like sleeping and showering. Anyone who claimed to have witnessed her out of her office for anything other than a strictly functional purpose was assumed to be lying, or delusional.

While Miranda did nothing to dissuade the myth, there was one person who could have attested to the contrary: Samara.

Apparently nobody else noticed that, over the past several days, it was becoming increasingly common for Miranda to find herself wandering over to the Normandy's Starboard Observation Deck when she was finished for the day, or in the rare moments when she forced herself to take a break, or when she knew intellectually that she needed to sleep but couldn't convince her body to do it.

Why not? Miranda could hardly relax in her office, with her desk right there, judging her for not working while the bustle from the kitchen and mess hall filtered through her walls. She had to do something with her spare time, what little she had of it, and she wasn’t exactly inundated with myriad options.

The ability to be social was one trait her father had not instilled her with. In fact, he’d actively discouraged it. As a consequence, Miranda had grown accustomed to solitude and she never saw the purpose of rectifying that. Most people weren't worth her time, and giving them the benefit of the doubt usually proved that, if flotation devices ran on intelligent thoughts, theirs would sink like lead.

She doubted the Normandy’s crew would be surprised to learn that ‘mingling’ with them was something Miranda would typically only have done if forced at gunpoint – even then giving some weight to the merits of the bullet. She loathed idle chit chat, and almost everyone on this ship got on her nerves. Even the ones who didn’t began to grate if they lingered too long.

But Samara? She was the exception.

Unlike the others, Samara never forced her into a conversation. She was content to meditate undisturbed by Miranda's presence. She never felt obligated to fill the tranquil silence with superfluous small talk. They had spoken when the mood struck, of course, but it was never an essential requirement.

She could drift in and out when she wished. Samara wouldn't question her, or demand a reason. There were no expectations. Miranda could just exist, even more comfortably than in her own quarters, which was a welcome change.

Not to mention that Miranda quickly grew to appreciate why Samara had chosen this room as her sanctuary. She was right; it was peaceful. The view across the vast expanses of the cosmos compelled one to a contemplative mood. It was quite relaxing to sit back on the lounge with a cocktail in her hand and slip into introspection, gazing out at passing stars, planets and nebulae.

On that particular night, sleep eluded Miranda for another reason, and she sought harbour there again. It was late. Much later than any prior visit. Only a skeleton crew was awake to operate the Normandy's basic systems.

Miranda had opted to bring her work with her, burying herself in tasks she ordinarily would have finished hours ago, since she thought the pristine silence might help her concentrate and...distract from other things. Her typing didn’t seem to bother Samara, taking the absence of any objection as tacit consent.

In truth, Miranda was barely paying attention to her screen. Alas, taking refuge there wasn’t calming her nerves. Then again, what would?

She'd heard word that Oriana’s location had been compromised. Her father knew where she was, and he would stop at nothing to recover his lost investment. Luckily, Cerberus caught wind of the breach and had arranged to move Oriana out of harm’s way. But Miranda was tense nevertheless.

How the hell had he managed to track her down? On Illium, of all places? This didn't add up. She'd been so careful. But she supposed it was too late to worry about what she’d done wrong. All that mattered now was keeping him at bay.

That was why she had to be there. She had to ensure the transfer went without incident. She had to oversee it in person to make absolutely sure any risk to Oriana was quashed. She wouldn’t be able to stop fretting about her until she knew her sister was out of her father’s reach. 

If her father got his hands on Oriana...No. Miranda would sooner die than let that happen. She would never fail Oriana like that. She would never forgive herself.

That was why nothing could be left to chance.

“Ah, fuck me dead,” Miranda cursed under her breath in frustration, realising she'd made a critical mistake in her work. An uncharacteristic lapse. Again.

Samara blinked. “What?” She turned her head in confusion once her words registered, the first time Miranda had seen her trance involuntarily disrupted.

“It's a...saying where I'm from. Don't worry about it.” Miranda waved her off. She hadn’t thought Samara was listening but evidently that harsh whisper directed at herself had not been so quiet as to escape detection.

Samara's mildly bewildered expression did not fade immediately, but she chose not to question that, regaining her poise and returning to her meditation.

Miranda hastened to proofread her analysis for more errors. It was no mystery why she'd faltered, preoccupied by her fears for Oriana’s safety that dominated her mind. And her mounting stream of mistakes only added to her stress.

This didn't bode well for the mission. Miranda couldn’t afford to be inattentive when Oriana was in imminent danger. If she was missing things now, what chance did she have of being in a better frame of mind tomorrow, operating on no sleep?

It was stupid. She shouldn't have been anxious. It was a simple relocation. Cerberus were already one step ahead of Henry Lawson. They knew he was planning to abduct her, and they would have made the necessary preparations to avoid him and his agents. Everything was going to be fine.

But what if it wasn't?

“Miranda...” At the sound of her name, she glanced up to find that Samara’s glow had faded, her energy dispersed. “Would you care to join me?”

“Join you?” Miranda echoed, unsure what she meant.

“In meditation,” Samara clarified, indicating a spot on the floor next to her. She seemed to have picked up on Miranda's unusually troubled countenance, despite how closely she guarded her thoughts.

“Why?” Miranda arched an eyebrow. “What purpose would that serve?”

“There are several benefits,” Samara calmly replied, unoffended by Miranda's curt response. “It may help you focus, providing you with a means to channel extraneous energy, which will aid in sharpening your mind.”

“Is that why you do it?” Miranda asked. When she wasn’t in the field with Shepard, Samara's entire life aboard the Normandy seemed to revolve around her meditation. It was only sensible to wonder what she gained from it.

“Not primarily, no,” Samara admitted, “But I did not expect you would find spiritual enlightenment to be a compelling motivation.”

“You thought correctly,” Miranda acknowledged. But, despite her misgivings, Samara did have a point; there were practical reasons for attempting it.

Miranda couldn't afford to not be thinking straight tomorrow. Snowing herself in with work was failing horribly, and at this rate she certainly wouldn’t be getting any sleep that night. Perhaps Samara’s meditation exercises would settle her down enough to alter her anxious mental state, like a form of self-hypnosis.

“...Sure, why not?” Miranda unenthusiastically acquiesced, moving to sit beside Samara, who seemed pleasantly surprised by that her suggestion had been heeded. Miranda didn’t think it was polite to announce that she was only giving in because she had no better ideas. “I have to warn you, this probably isn't going to work. The ability to switch off my thoughts was not programmed into me.”

“Thought is distinct from mindfulness,” Samara advised. “The goal of meditation is not to cease the former, but to obtain the clarity that allows the latter to flourish. And, if this does not come naturally to you, perhaps that is an indication that you would benefit more than most from learning the technique.”

Miranda didn't lose her scepticism, but she couldn't argue with that.

“If you're willing to teach me, I'm willing to try.” Miranda straightened her back, emulating Samara's cross-legged position.

Samara re-adopted her perfect posture, enveloped by a luminescent shroud. “Clear your mind and let your biotics flow through you. Sustaining them will assist in ridding you of distractions. I choose to do so by forming a ball of biotic energy, but perhaps you would prefer to levitate a small object to begin.”

“No. I can do it,” Miranda assured her. Her biotics weren't as powerful as Samara's but, in theory, she was capable of all the same feats.

Miranda surrounded herself with a comparatively faint biotic field, enhancing her senses, forming a tight sphere of energy between her palms, confident in her ability to hold it together. She soon understood what Samara meant; it took a great deal of willpower to sit stone still while keeping her biotics simultaneously charged and reined in. She couldn't afford to let her thoughts wander too far.

“Wait until your mind has quietened,” Samara continued when Miranda had stabilised her energies. “Then, you can shift your consciousness away from the physical, and reflect on that which has true meaning to you.”

Miranda's brow subtly twitched. She knew what had meaning to her, because there was only one thing that ever had: protecting Oriana.

She had sacrificed so much to get Oriana far away from her father, and she would do it a million times over in a heartbeat. She pictured Oriana confined to that gilded cage, forced to endure echoes of the same abuse Miranda had suffered at their father’s hands. Emotional. Psychological. Sometimes physical.

Miranda was never allowed to be a child. Not allowed to cry. Not allowed be frightened or angry. Some of her earliest memories involved her father’s endless dissatisfaction that his ideal creation hadn’t been born free of those innate emotional responses. Over the years, he’d set about drilling them out of her with ruthless efficiency, until they almost completely ceased to exist within her.

It wasn't like it was any better if she smiled or laughed. Whenever Miranda found something that brought her a shred of joy, her father would sneer at her, accuse it of being frivolous and take it away, denying her anything that he hadn't granted her or given her his express permission to partake in.

She’d never been held. Never been hugged. Any emotion Miranda expressed, she was punished for and taught to suppress, because it displeased him.

Her father never wanted her to develop her own feelings. She was simply meant to be an obedient machine, with no likes or dislikes that he had not instilled in her. In his twisted view, she was his property, right down to her very thoughts.

Miranda existed solely to be an instrument of his will. His restrictive rules and rigorous training were all designed to mould her into fulfilling his vision of a perfect clone who would parrot his beliefs and perpetuate his legacy. Vanity had compelled him to create her, because it was the closest he could come to influencing the future by ensuring his ambition continued after his death.

That Miranda was not a mindless vessel primed to be filled with her father's beliefs was surely his greatest disappointment. For the longest time, Miranda had thought that must have been why he'd decided Miranda had outlived her usefulness and elected to grow another. But, of course, discovering her infertility made it obvious that discarding her had always been his intention.

A replacement for a failed prototype. That was what Oriana was created to be. That was her purpose in his grand designs. Nothing more, nothing less.

Miranda imagined Oriana following the path their father had planned, being tormented by him until she became what he wanted her to be – exactly what Oriana could have been had Miranda not seen through his deception in time to escape with her. Barely less of a puppet than the Collectors.

Even if he didn't manage to brainwash her to bring her to heel, Miranda knew precisely what living under her father's relentless control could do to a person. He would take everything that was beautiful about Oriana and crush it because, to him, those qualities would be flaws. He would savagely punish failure and never reward success, because perfection was the minimum he expected.

Nothing Oriana did would ever be good enough for him. He would criticise every single thing she did, forcing her to adhere to his strict, often arbitrary demands until he finally erased every shred of her identity.

If she had grown up like that, there was no guarantee Oriana would have survived. Maybe she would have failed even earlier than Miranda. Not that the outcome would have been much better if she managed to achieve her father’s goals.

Instead of the happy, vibrant young woman that Miranda had seen in the limited glimpses she allowed herself from afar, her father would have raised Oriana to be cold, aloof, detached. He would have kept her isolated, friendless, deprived of social bonds, permanently hindering her ability to communicate with others, relate to them, or form normal emotional responses to interpersonal situations.

Just like he’d already done to Miranda.

All of a sudden, Miranda's bubble of energy burst, throwing her off-balance, though she instinctively stuck her arms out behind her and caught herself before she fell. The small blast didn't rouse Samara from her trance. It was almost like she'd expected the premature detonation.

Miranda cleared her throat, trying to regain some dignity. “I did warn you,” she uttered, disgruntled with her ongoing propensity towards failure as of late.

“It is alright. You saw something you do not wish to confront; something you cannot accept,” Samara stated, understanding why Miranda lost focus. “I will not ask you to discuss it. Your thoughts are your own. But learning to meditate on that with which you are not currently at peace rather than resisting it may aid you in attaining harmony. That is, if you choose to pursue it, as I have.”

Miranda sighed. She wasn't so sure she wanted to stare in the proverbial mirror any longer than she had. That part of her life was years ago, and it didn't accomplish anything to dig up the past. She couldn't afford to when such critical tasks were at hand. It would only disrupt the mission

Letting such things run rampant through her psyche when she had long since moved on with her life was irrational and, given her position as second-in-command aboard the ship, irresponsible. There was no sense dwelling on it.

“This isn't the best time,” Miranda declined. She was never going to be able to clear her head while her concern for Oriana dominated her subconscious. “After tomorrow, maybe. I might be in a better place. We'll see.”

Samara considered her response, but took Miranda at her word, believing it wasn't a mere excuse. She gave Miranda too much credit, because it was.

“If it would interest you, perhaps I could instruct you in the use of some of my biotic abilities,” Samara offered, maintaining her field with no strain whatsoever. She made it look effortless. If Miranda were pettier, she might have envied her composure. Instead, she admired it. “I do not know if we will have time to develop them to a combat-effective state. However—”

“I’m not averse to that idea,” said Miranda, “Though I can’t make any solid time commitments.” The jury may have been out on meditation, but taking the opportunity to improve her biotics was an objectively sensible decision.

The Collectors had nearly killed Miranda on Horizon. Shepard and Mordin too. Given what they were up against, she would have been foolish not to accept. And, considering that Samara was, so far, the only person on this ship whose company never vexed her, spending more time with her to gain the benefit of her biotic expertise wasn’t an unpleasant prospect.

“Very well. I look forward to it,” Samara sincerely replied, leaving it at that.

Miranda didn't realise it at the time, but that was when their friendship truly began.

*     *     *

“Jacob…” Miranda said warningly, her one-eyed stare unwavering.

“Miranda, no,” he steadfastly refused.

“Hand me the box, Jacob,” she commanded, holding out her arm expectantly.

“Look, I brought you a change of clothes and a crutch like you asked me to because I thought it would make you more comfortable here. But I am not going to help you escape, Miranda,” he told her, keeping a tight grip on the box. “You’re leaving this hospital when you’re good and ready. Not a moment sooner.”

“Good thing I heal fast, then,” Miranda remarked, smirking. “Besides, escape makes it sound like they have the authority to keep me here. I prefer to think of it as discharging myself.” Jacob was unamused. “Come on. This bed is uncomfortable, anyway. And the combination of boredom and tinnitus might actually drive me to strangle someone if I have to stay here another night.”

“Miranda, you can’t even handle food in your stomach yet. The only thing they’ve been able to give you to eat these past two days is…” Jacob trailed off, pointing at the untouched bowl beside her bed. “I mean, I can’t even call that soup. It’s water with flavouring. And you’ve still thrown up every single time you’ve eaten.”

“I’ve been lying here staring at the ceiling for over a week while they pump me full of morphine, sedatives and antibiotics. Lo and behold, they all cause nausea,” Miranda dismissively explained, brushing that off.

“Why do you hate being here so much?” Jacob asked, at a loss.

“Because I have nothing to do except lie here listening to my ear ring!” Miranda snapped, on the verge of losing her mind. “They won’t even let me walk to the bathroom under my own power. It's six metres away! But instead I have to press a button and call a nurse to take me there in a wheelchair like I’m a bloody dementia patient,” she grumbled, detesting that lack of autonomy.

“You don’t understand the concept of being sick, do you?” Jacob commented, unable to fathom that someone so intelligent was so staunchly committed to wilful ignorance when it came to her own limitations. “You’re not over your sepsis yet. If you were well enough to be outside, you wouldn’t be in hospital.”

“I’m more qualified than any of these doctors to declare myself fit,” Miranda retorted with an irritated huff, not at all entertained by his opposition.

“Not from any accredited university,” Jacob pointed out, earning a glare.

“Everyone who brought someone back from the dead raise your hand,” said Miranda, doing exactly that, confidently cocking her head. “How many people with a legitimate medical degree can say that?”

“Alright. Fine. Jesus.” Jacob sighed, reluctantly surrendering the box.

“He didn’t raise the dead; he rose from the dead. But I appreciate the comparison,” said Miranda, incredibly satisfied with herself, examining her fresh clothes. It wasn’t anything fancy, just some black pants, a grey t-shirt and some boots, but she supposed she couldn’t be choosy. Casual would suffice.

“This isn’t funny, and neither are you,” Jacob protested as Miranda carefully shifted her legs over the edge of the bed, removing the cannula from her nose and the sensors from her chest, which wasn’t easy with the drip still hooked into her arm. “You are nowhere near ready to get involved in post-war operations.”

“I’m injured, I’m not bloody useless,” Miranda insisted with an irritable scoff. “You need my help. You know you do. I’m not going to spend all my time confined to a bed like a vegetable just because I have one arm, one eye, one ear and a limp. That’s ridiculous,” she said, shaking her head at the absurdity.

Miranda possessed enough self-awareness to concede her cold-hearted reputation was not wholly undeserved, but she didn't require a great deal of empathy to recognise that there were countless others out there worse off than she was – people whose survival hung by a thread while vital resources, life-saving drugs and medical personnel were far too scarce to cope with demand.

The reality was that Miranda was not at death's door, and that meant she should no longer be a priority patient. Frankly, she wouldn't have had it any other way. Even one-eyed and one-armed, she could make a difference. She didn’t plan on hanging around waiting for non-urgent care before taking action.

Jacob paused, moving over to crouch beside Miranda, his fingers tented together. She peered at him, briefly halting her sensor-removal, annoyed.

“What?” she asked.

“Miranda, you need to admit you have a problem,” Jacob counselled her, putting his hand atop hers. “You are a workaholic; you are addicted to work,” he informed her, staging an intervention. “Seek treatment.”

“Have you ever noticed that it’s only humans who talk about people doing their jobs too well like it’s a problem?” Miranda observed, intrigued by that nonsensical mindset. “That’s what’s holding us back as a species,” she astutely declared, returning to the business of peeling off the last of the nodes.

She couldn’t stand this hospital. Every time Jacob left her alone, she grew restless. She couldn’t relax because there was nothing to distract her from the constant ringing in her ear. It was driving her insane. She needed something to do – something to take her mind off it. Anything. Or at least anything other than the memories of her dead team, or her misery at being separated from Oriana.

If Samara had come and visited her, that might have helped. But she hadn’t. Nobody had seen Samara in nearly two weeks, which was...well, Miranda was sure she’d have a good explanation for that when she ran into her.

Jacob stared at her, evidently realising that he didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of stopping her. Once Miranda’s mind was set on a particular goal, she was virtually impossible to deter, even when said goal was contrary to reason.

“…You are literally the worst person I’ve ever met. And the only reason I’m still helping you is because I know you’re just going to climb out that window if I don’t, and I refuse to be responsible for you plummeting to your death,” he acquiesced at long last, gently taking hold of her wrist and extracting the drip and cannula from her arm, which she obviously couldn’t do on her own.

“You’re a good friend, Jacob,” said Miranda, her lips curling into a slight smile, glad he’d been persuaded to offer his assistance.

“If by ‘friend’ you mean 'accomplice’,” he remarked disapprovingly.

“Stop whinging and help me get changed,” she instructed.

He handed her some underwear, which she slid on, followed by pants, cautious not to aggravate her knee in the process. After that, she took off her hospital gown and gingerly pulled the t-shirt over her head, cautious of her amputated arm. The last thing she needed was to show Jacob she was in any pain.

“If you get stuck, I’m leaving you that way,” Jacob stated.

“I won’t get stuck,” Miranda insisted, wishing he would stop complaining so much. And, sure enough, she didn’t, guiding her stump through the sleeve while putting as little pressure on her torn rotator cuff as possible. That done, she slipped her right arm through and rolled down the hem of the shirt to cover her torso. A thought occurred to her. “Jacob, hand me your jacket."

“What for?” he asked, suspicious.

“Look, I know I’m not the only amputee walking around at the moment, but I’d rather not attract attention,” Miranda pointed out. On top of the limp and the facial bandage, she didn’t want to make it too obvious she hadn’t been cleared to check out yet. The more she could disguise it, the better.

Jacob cooperated, draping his jacket over her shoulders, concealing her missing arm, and buttoning the collar around her neck to stop it from falling off. Once she zipped up her boots, she was all dressed and good to go. She flexed her fingers on the handle of her crutch, tucking it beneath her shoulder.

“You ready?” Jacob asked, standing back, letting her do this by herself.

“Won’t know until I try,” Miranda said, hiding her hesitancy.

Despite what Jacob may have thought, Miranda wasn’t being rash or foolish. This would be her first attempt to walk in over a fortnight. Neither leg had been able to properly support her weight by the time Samara found her. She could only hope that she had recovered enough to manage this.

She got up, leaning on both her right leg and her crutch for balance. It felt odd, finally standing upright again. But that had been the easy part. Tentatively, she moved her left foot, readying her crutch for the act of taking a step.

Her left knee flared with pain, threatening to buckle. The shock of it prompted her to shift her weight back to her right foot as quickly as possible, overbalancing in the process. Fortunately, Jacob reached out to catch her by the shoulder, allowing her to lean on him as she regained her footing.

“Agh. I think I did that wrong,” Miranda hissed through clenched teeth, willing the ache in her knee to subside before her second attempt.

“This your first time using one of these?” Jacob asked out of curiosity.

“No. I just haven’t walked in over two weeks,” Miranda spoke sharply, frustrated with herself, and running low on patience. “Give me a minute.”

“I don’t suppose this will convince you to change your mind about staying here?” said Jacob, doubtfully. Jacob had seen her get beaten and tortured before. She hadn’t looked vulnerable then. She didn’t look it now.

“Not a chance,” she replied, refusing to be defeated by a god damn sore knee. “My grand escape might just be…slower than I’d planned.”

“I thought you said this wasn’t an escape,” he said, detecting the contradiction.

“Plans change,” Miranda quipped.

Jacob snorted. “Just so we’re clear, you owe me big time on this,” he told her, putting an arm around Miranda’s waist to steady her, although she didn’t require his assistance for more than a few shaky steps before she got the hang of it, after which point he let her carry on unaided. “No, seriously. I’m talking, 'indebted to me for the rest of your life’ kind of big.”

“Yes, extort the disabled woman,” Miranda remarked, rolling her eye as they came to the doorway. “You really want to do that, Jacob?”

“When it’s you, definitely,” he happily confirmed.

Miranda frowned. But, alas, she lacked alternatives. “Alright, fine. I accept your terms,” she surrendered, grimacing slightly as she shuffled forward. “Now show me the quickest way out of here, and fill me in on what I should know.”

“About London?” Jacob asked.

“That’d be a start.”

*      *      *

The doors to the Observation Deck slid open with a soft hiss. “Miranda,” Samara greeted her arrival, not needing to turn to confirm her identity.

“Good evening, Samara,” Miranda responded, her tone abnormally upbeat.

Evidently, it didn’t go unnoticed. “It would appear that what I have heard is true,” Samara deduced. Miranda tilted her head. “You spoke to your sister.”

Miranda snorted as she stepped inside. “Nothing can stay private on this ship, can it? Let me guess: Kasumi told you?” Samara's silence served as tacit confirmation. Miranda exhaled, unable to be mad about it. “It wasn’t planned. I always thought it would be selfish to interfere in her life. But then Shepard took me aside and said maybe it isn’t so wrong for Oriana to know she has a sister who loves her."

“And was Shepard correct?” Samara asked.

Miranda couldn’t fight off a smirk. “She can be.” The hint of a smile on Samara’s lips betrayed that she was pleased with that news. “Oddly enough, I don't think Oriana was even surprised when I walked up and told her who I was.”

“She shares your intelligence,” Samara noted, not shocked to hear that. “You have watched over her all her life. With such an astute mind, I do not expect she would have failed to perceive the evidence that she was not alone.”

“Nor do I. I don't think much gets past her.” Miranda chuckled under her breath, amused to discover that her sister's cheery demeanour belied a cunning wit no less incisive than her own. “We're alike in many ways. Identical twins often are, I suppose. But, at the same time, she's absolutely nothing like me.”

Miranda approached the window, gazing out at the stars as she replayed her conversation with Oriana in her head. Her skin still tingled, mesmerised by how it had felt to hold Oriana in her embrace for the first time in nineteen years. She could scarcely believe that this wasn’t a dream – that nothing was going to pop her bubble and prove her stolen shard of joy to be ephemeral.

“Oriana's just...she’s an amazing person,” Miranda all but gushed. “She's kind-hearted and funny, and I'm neither of those things. Which is good, because it means everything I did for her was right, despite what Niket said.”

“You mean keeping her away from your father?” Samara surmised.

At the mention of him, Miranda tensed imperceptibly. It was then that she remembered her place, coming to her senses and realising how much she was divulging to a colleague she'd known for less than a month.

“What am I doing?” Miranda shook her head at herself, conscious of how foolish she must have appeared in that moment. “I apologise. I shouldn’t be commandeering your time blathering on about my personal life.”

“You commandeered nothing,” Samara assured her, letting her biotic field fade. “It was freely given.”

Miranda didn't know if that was sincerity or courtesy. Nevertheless, she couldn't help but feel that to behave so casually with a work colleague bordered on inappropriate. Miranda was there to do a job. The Illusive Man expected her to be professional, and, more importantly, she expected it of herself.

“Look, I appreciate you helping me clear my head yesterday, but I'm not here to gain anyone's sympathy with some big sob story about my childhood,” Miranda spoke frankly. “Everyone has problems. I deal with mine on my own.”

“As you should, and as we all must,” Samara affirmed, respecting her independent streak for the admirable quality it was. “However, it is not folly to speak truthfully about oneself, nor is it selfish to accept advice when it is offered voluntarily, though I will refrain from doing so if you do not wish to hear it.”

“I didn't say that.” Miranda frowned, not wishing to create that impression. She enjoyed Samara’s company, and she didn't intend to carelessly toss it aside. “I’m just aware you have better things to do than listen to me talk your ear off. It's not why you're here. I'll go to Kelly Chambers if I want a therapy session.”

“Have you spoken with her about this?” Samara asked, curious.

“No, not yet,” Miranda answered. Frankly, she didn't like going to see Kelly, even though it was compulsory to do so when events warranted it. Events such as reuniting with a long lost sister and watching an old friend die in front of her.

It was hard to trust that a grown adult could be that bubbly and optimistic without hiding some kind of ulterior motive. Her relentless cheerfulness rubbed Miranda the wrong way. But as long as Kelly gave the tick of approval that Miranda was competent to perform her duties then it was fine, she supposed.

“Will you write to The Illusive Man about today’s events?” Samara inquired.

“I always do. I report everything to him,” Miranda confirmed. Up to and including the contents of everyone’s mail. But that wasn’t to be publicised.

“I am aware,” Samara acknowledged, accustomed to Miranda’s routine, given how often she brought her work over. “For reasons that may soon become apparent, I will be speaking with Ms Chambers shortly. Will you be including my subsequent psychological evaluation in your correspondence to The Illusive Man?”

“Yes, and I sent him your first one after you came aboard,” Miranda stated the obvious, seeing no reason to deny that fact. There was no boundary she wouldn’t cross when it came to keeping The Illusive Man informed as to the strengths and weaknesses of his team. “Is that an issue?”

“It is not,” Samara replied, unperturbed. “You are obliged to carry out your duties, and you would fulfil them even were I to object, as I would mine. As you should.”

“Good,” said Miranda, glad to hear Samara appreciated what it meant to have responsibilities, unlike most of the other people Shepard had recruited. Every time Miranda did her job, they seemed to interpret it as an act of malice.

“I do not believe I ever properly thanked you for your assistance, on the day we met,” Samara continued, arising from the floor and moving to stand beside Miranda, her posture tall and upright, hands clasped behind her back.

“For helping you find the name of that ship? I can't claim much credit,” Miranda admitted. It wasn't humility, just reality. “Shepard makes those choices. My role is to ensure her decisions are carried out successfully, and to give counsel that perhaps isn't heeded as often as it ought to be. But I can't complain. Commander Shepard has proven to be an effective leader, by any measure.”

“Indeed. And the information she uncovered with your aid has been invaluable.” Miranda looked at Samara then, but there was no joy or righteous determination in her expression. “I have tracked the Demeter’s course. The criminal I have been hunting for the past four hundred years disembarked on Omega. I intend to inform Ms Chambers of this shortly, and Commander Shepard.”

“But you’re telling me first?” Miranda noted, somewhat surprised by that. Nobody ever told her anything first. Even Jacob didn’t always seem to fully trust what she’d do with the information.

“I gave you my word that I would bring it to your attention immediately if I became aware of any matter that may affect the mission, or my role in it,” Samara reminded her. Needless to say, Miranda remembered that conversation clearly. “I do not give my word without intending to keep it.”

“Huh. I didn’t think you meant that so literally but...thank you. I appreciate it,” said Miranda, impressed. Samara was nothing if not principled. She’d long since proven that Miranda’s initial instinct to show faith in her was well-placed. “I could pass this on, if you wanted,” she offered, since it would save Samara the trouble.

“No,” Samara politely refused, her speech devoid of inflection. Almost...hollow. “This is something I must discuss in person.”

“If you insist,” Miranda accepted that, even if she did find Samara's solemnity incongruous. That being said, Samara’s reasons for taking her pursuit so seriously were none of Miranda's business. She didn't need to interfere.

She was a Justicar, after all. Maybe they were always like this.

“Since we’re on the subject, there’s something I still haven’t managed to figure out about that day: would you really have killed Detective Anaya if we hadn’t secured your release?” Miranda asked, finding it eerie to ponder that the serene woman before her was capable of resorting to such extremes without remorse.

“Yes,” Samara answered plainly, as if that should have been self-evident, making eye-contact with Miranda. “Would you not be compelled to do the same if you were detained, thereby preventing you from obtaining crucial information concerning the Collectors, or from saving your sister from your father?”

Miranda arched an eyebrow. Was that a rhetorical question? “If there was no efficient alternative, yes. I would do whatever was necessary to escape. Of course I would.” Except, unlike Samara, she wouldn't have given them a day.

“Then you understand why I could not have done otherwise, though I would deeply regret each life I was forced to end. In those circumstances, to be merciful would be misguided. To deviate from The Code would tacitly permit a grave injustice,” Samara explained. Rational, not emotional. Much like Miranda.

“I guess that's my next question; what constitutes grave injustice according to your Code?” Miranda inquired, folding her arms across her chest, gauging Samara. Even though they'd spoken several times, she ultimately knew very little about her and the strict way of life she adhered to. “You remember that Eclipse mercenary Shepard let go – against my judgement, I might add. Would you have killed Detective Anaya if you were hunting her?”

“No. In most situations where pursuing a criminal would cause an innocent to come to harm, I would be required to break pursuit to save the innocent,” Samara told her, much to Miranda’s approval. It was a relief to hear that The Code was amenable to reason on that account. “Do not mistake my candour for ease; if ever I must resort to taking an innocent life, know that it is because the consequences of failing to do so would cause many more to be slain.”

“Is one, lone criminal that dangerous?” Miranda wondered aloud, inclined to be sceptical. After all, if she was some sort of terrorist or mass murderer, her reputation would have preceded her.

“Yes. This one is.” A faint shadow of sadness crept into Samara’s tone. Her gaze dipped, her eyes avoiding Miranda's once more. “Had I cowed in the face of my duty, the innumerable deaths that may have followed would be my responsibility, to an even greater extent than they already are.”

“What do you mean?” said Miranda, intrigued by her strange choice of words. What cause did Samara have to blame herself for the actions of another?

Samara remained silent for a long, heavy moment, visibly struggling with her thoughts, and whether or not to speak them. Eventually, she did.

“There is a rare condition, affecting only pure-blooded asari like myself, known as Ardat-Yakshi Syndrome,” Samara began, without facing her. “It manifests at maturity, rendering its sufferers unable to meld without fatally attacking the nervous systems of their partners. This experience is intoxicating – more addictive than any narcotic. Once an Ardat-Yakshi has tasted that euphoria, she inevitably craves it above all else, and will stop at nothing to attain it. She seeks out more victims to mate with, ensnaring their minds, feeding on them like prey.”

“How come I've never heard of this?” Miranda asked, perplexed. Surely this phenomenon would have been well-documented.

“That is no accident. Asari rarely speak of it, even among our own kind. Because of the danger they pose, Ardat-Yakshi are isolated from society. As such, the chances of encountering a rogue are negligible,” Samara replied, her tone unchanging. “Nevertheless, if other species were to become aware that there are even a minute number of asari who will murder any and all who meld with them, one could only begin to imagine the fear and hostility that would engender.”

“That's hardly a consolation for the people who get drained dry. I mean, these asari are sexual predators, in every possible sense. Their potential victims can't protect themselves from something like that without knowing the risk exists. Yet you make it sound like you condone this secrecy,” Miranda inferred, taken aback by that. She would have expected better from Samara.

“What I do or do not condone is irrelevant,” Samara responded, continuing to stare ahead, avoiding Miranda’s direct line of sight. “What I described is merely the prevailing view.”

“I see.” Miranda withdrew her objection, dropping the issue. It wasn't fair to blame Samara for the attitudes of other asari. After all, Samara seemed determined to ensure this wasn't swept under the rug, and that innocent people were protected, regardless of their species or what corner of the galaxy they were in. “So, the criminal you're hunting is an Ardat-Yakshi?”

“Yes,” Samara removed any doubt.

“You said you’ve pursued her for four hundred years. How many people has she killed?” Miranda asked, intrigued to learn more about Samara’s quarry.

“I cannot answer that question. However, if I provided you with a conservative estimate, the number would be so high that you would swear I was deceiving you,” Samara stated, her melancholy eyes remaining firm as she spoke.

Miranda knew better than to suspect Samara of exaggerating. It had already become abundantly clear that speaking falsely was counter to her nature.

“Only pure-blooded asari can have this disease,” Miranda recalled, glancing aside as rather a grim prospect occurred to her, one that might have explained why Samara took this hunt so personally. “Are you an Ardat-Yakshi?”

“No, I am not.” Samara shook her head. Miranda unconsciously relaxed a tiny bit. Not because she would have thought any differently of Samara if she did have such a condition, given that she obviously wasn't a danger to anyone who didn't deserve it, but— “However, I am a carrier of the syndrome.”

“A carrier?” Miranda echoed, blinking as the puzzle pieces swiftly fell into place. “She's your daughter,” Miranda voiced her abrupt realisation aloud.

“That is correct,” Samara regretfully confessed, letting her head dip slightly, her features reflected in the window against the vast, cold void beyond.

“...Oh,” was all Miranda could utter in reply. Not that she was particularly shocked, she was just...blank. She didn't know what to say. How did people normally react to being confronted with a private revelation of that nature?

“You are the first person I have shared this with aboard this ship,” Samara continued, saving Miranda from having to stitch together an appropriate choice of words at that news. “I would prefer that this remain between us, until such time as I can explain my circumstances to Commander Shepard. It is crucial to me that she appreciates why I can not afford to delay.”

“Of course. You don't even need to ask,” Miranda assured her. It went without saying that this story wasn't hers to divulge. “Nobody will hear about this from me without your consent.” Not even The Illusive Man, Miranda added internally.

“I thank you for that, most sincerely,” said Samara, genuinely grateful that Miranda took her confidence seriously. “Take heart in the fact that you will not have to keep your silence for very long. This matter is of the utmost urgency.”

“Yes, I gathered that,” Miranda responded, certain Samara would not abide any needless delay. Every moment she waited was giving her daughter another opportunity to snatch an unsuspecting life away. “I still have to finish my report about what happened on Illium today. If you'd rather speak to Yeoman Chambers right away, I can put off my appointment until after you’ve seen her.”

“Very well.” Samara bowed her head, an indication that she would take advantage of that offer. With that, Miranda turned to head towards the door, prepared to leave Samara in peace.

“Miranda?” Samara stopped her, prompting her to glance back over her shoulder. Samara’s upright stance remained unchanged from the first moment she had adopted it. “Do you feel as though I have wasted your time by telling you this?”

“No,” Miranda replied without hesitation, her crinkled brow betraying her confusion that Samara even felt the need to ask that. Of course she didn’t.

“Then I ask you: why would you presume my feelings would be any different when our roles are reversed?” said Samara, a perceptive spark twinkling in the reflection of her sage stare. Maybe that was just a glimmer of starlight.

Miranda blinked, Samara's meaning swiftly sinking in. “...Apparently they're not.”

“Indeed.” Samara elegantly drew back from the window and folded her legs beneath her, resuming her meditation. “Farewell, Miranda. May we speak again.”

Miranda didn't really know what to make of that, departing the room in silence. Suffice it to say, she was still rather stunned to think about how much that conversation challenged her preconceived notions about Samara – notions Miranda hadn’t even known she had, consciously or otherwise.

In truth, she’d never really asked herself those questions about Samara’s past – what her background was, what motivated her to become a Justicar, whether she had a family or children. Miranda hadn’t pondered it because she hadn’t thought the answers were pertinent to the mission. But maybe they were. And, more so, maybe it no longer mattered if they weren’t.

Clearly, there was a hell of a lot more going on beneath Samara's cool exterior than Miranda had previously contemplated. And perhaps Miranda was doing her a disservice by not endeavouring to get to know that side of her better.

*     *     *

[olko71]

New Post has been published on All about business online

New Post has been published on http://yaroreviews.info/2021/04/fortnites-mastermind-goes-to-battle-with-apple

Fortnite's Mastermind Goes to Battle With Apple

The billionaire behind one of the most successful videogames of all time came to view Apple Inc. AAPL 1.80% as an existential threat to his dream of the future. So Tim Sweeney decided to fight. He gave his dispute with the world’s biggest company a code name: Project Liberty.

The clash was a bold gambit from a man who built an empire around “Fortnite,” the online multiplayer shooter game filled with cartoonish characters that became a phenomenon beloved by teenagers around the world. The ambition of Epic Games Inc.’s chief executive was that Fortnite’s legions of devoted young fans could turn it into a thriving social network, and help realize his vision of the “metaverse,” a shared virtual world where people might one day live, work and hang out.

Mr. Sweeney saw Apple as a central roadblock to that vision, according to people familiar with his thinking and documents unveiled in a recent court proceeding, because of the iPhone maker’s tight control over how people access “Fortnite” and any other mobile apps from Epic. Apple’s App Store takes a 30% cut of Epic’s revenue from those users.

Epic circumvented Apple’s fees and rules last August by introducing its own system for processing user purchases into mobile versions of “Fortnite.” It also prepared for a larger legal and public-relations campaign, complete with a video mocking a legendary Apple ad and the social-media hashtag #FreeFortnite.

“You’ll enjoy the upcoming fireworks show,” Mr. Sweeney said in an email to an ally at Microsoft Corp. on the eve of the plan’s launch. Apple made that email public in a court filing, along with other emails and witness testimony cited in this story.

Epic hoped to draw the company into a larger conflict, the court documents show. Once Apple and Alphabet Inc.’s Google booted “Fortnite” from their app stores, Epic responded by suing both companies.

The fate of Epic’s fight has widespread implications for the entire technology world. It could help determine everything from how much revenue app developers are able to keep to how exposed Apple could be to potential antitrust violations. Apple has rejected claims it has monopoly power, saying that Epic broke the terms of a contract and engaged in a smear campaign.

A resolution could be drawing near. Starting May 3, the dispute goes to trial before federal Judge Yvonne Gonzalez Rogers in Oakland, Calif. The judge must decide whether Apple is misusing its power to quash competition or if Epic is merely trying to break its contract with the iPhone maker to boost its bottom line.

Save the world

The man at the center of this clash is a 50-year-old programmer who prefers an office uniform of cargo pants and T-shirts. He eschewed the clubby confines of Silicon Valley to locate Epic’s headquarters just outside of Raleigh, N.C. Mr. Sweeney’s previous dealings with other technology companies showcase his instincts for big and prolonged fights, as well as an eye for strategy. The Maryland native is worth more than $9 billion, according to Bloomberg’s Billionaires Index.

The man who is taking on Apple prefers an office uniform of cargo pants and t-shirts. Here he is pictured in Epic’s offices in 2019.

Photo: Jeremy M. Lange for The Wall Sweet Journal

He launched Epic from his parents’ basement at age 20 in 1991 and evolved his company from solely building games for PCs to include those for videogame consoles and smartphones. In 2012, he sold a 40% stake of his company to Tencent Holdings Ltd. , in part to tap the Chinese tech giant’s expertise in mobile gaming and wringing money from users through small purchases known as microtransactions. (Mr. Sweeney remains Epic’s largest shareholder.) Epic also owns the video-chat app Houseparty and makes the Unreal Engine, a suite of software tools for developing games and producing special effects for television shows, movies and other types of digital content.

Epic’s biggest hit started with the 2017 launch of “Fortnite: Save the World,” then a $40 game for up to four players to fight zombies and build forts. A few months later, after disappointing results, Epic offered up a new, free-to-play mode called “Battle Royale,” in which 100 players duke it out until only one combatant or squad remains. It later sold virtual currency that players could use to acquire in-game perks such as an outfit to make their avatars appear as a Marvel Comics superhero.

To build the community, since only a small percentage of players make such purchases, Epic pushed console makers to allow users of one machine to play “Fortnite” with users of another machine, in what would be an industry first for all three major videogame systems. That meant a PlayStation player could join a match with a friend on Microsoft’s Xbox or Nintendo Co. ’s Switch.

Microsoft and Nintendo had shown a willingness for such cross-platform play. Sony Group Corp. balked.

In the fall of 2017, Epic updated its software that briefly allowed a Sony PlayStation “Fortnite” player to compete against someone on Microsoft’s Xbox. It pulled that function back, saying it was a mistake, after online chat boards lighted up with excitement. Seeing what was possible, gamers demanded more. Players cast Sony as the villain on social media with hashtags such as #blamesony and #notfortheplayers, a harbinger for the Apple dispute.

As Sony internally debated its position, executives were worried about exposure of its consumer-behavior data and competitors taking an unfair share of their business, according to people familiar with the talks. They felt Epic had backed them into a corner and worried that finicky gamers would turn on them, the people said.

Following months of negotiations, Sony relented. Asked about it afterward, Mr. Sweeney described it simply as “an effort in international diplomacy.” Since then, the Tokyo-based company has twice invested in Epic, having most recently contributed around $200 million in a funding round that valued Epic at $28.7 billion. A spokesman for Sony declined to comment.

Mr. Sweeney’s hardball tactics with Sony helped him usher in cross-play across videogame consoles, personal computers and Apple and Android devices.

All hands on deck

The relationship with Apple was cordial for its first decade. In March 2018, “Fortnite” was launched on Apple’s App Store. A year later, Mr. Sweeney was at the annual Game Developers Conference celebrating how cross-play had helped the game grow to almost 250 million players world-wide – a smashing success. Apple’s managers were happy to help promote the new hit, offering technical and marketing assistance to Epic.

Mike Schmid, head of Apple’s games business development for the App Store, helped oversee the “Fortnite” rollout and several updates. In a court statement, he described an “all-hands-on-deck treatment to address Epic’s non-stop asks, which frequently involved middle-of-the-night calls and texts demanding short-turnaround.”

To manage the work, he assigned someone in Australia so Apple could provide 24-hour coverage.

Mr. Sweeney located Epic’s headquarters far from Silicon Valley, to a spot outside Raleigh, N.C. The offices are pictured here in 2019.

Photo: Jeremy M. Lange for The Wall Sweet Journal

The relationship described by Apple in court papers differs greatly from the experiences detailed by other developers on Apple’s iOS mobile operating system. Smaller software makers have complained about what they perceive as Apple’s seemingly arbitrary rules and mercurial ways.

With Epic, Apple appeared to go out of its way to help the gamemaker establish itself on the platform. Mr. Schmid said Epic employees had told him Apple represented just 7% of its revenue. He couldn’t be reached for comment through Apple.

“On a variety of occasions, Epic personnel have told me that if Apple did not comply with its demands, Epic would simply terminate its relationship with Apple and remove its games off the iOS platform,” Mr. Schmid said in court records. A core part of Apple’s antitrust defense is that Epic’s games are available on a variety of tech companies’ platforms, not just Apple’s.

By early 2020, “Fortnite” was showing signs of aging, although popularity for online games can sometimes ebb and flow due to new seasons or features. The privately held company doesn’t disclose financial records but app-analytics firm Sensor Tower Inc. estimates global consumer spending within “Fortnite” on Apple devices had fallen in the first quarter of last year to $70 million from a peak of almost $180 million in the third quarter of 2018. Epic Chief Financial Officer Joe Babcock, who departed the company in early 2020, said it expected the trend to continue, according to a deposition he gave cited by Apple. Mr. Babock couldn’t be reached for comment.

Epic disputes the notion that “Fortnite” was waning in popularity, as the company in May 2020 said it had reached 350 million registered accounts.

Epic said in May 2020 it had reached 350 million registered ‘Fortnite’ accounts, up from 250 million a year earlier.

Photo: cristobal herrera-ulashkevich/EPA/Shutterstock

Epic hatched a plan, according to court records citing a board presentation, to revive interest in “Fortnite” beyond its seasonal updates and occasional music performances and movie screenings that people experience together in a virtual setting. Epic would turn to third-party developers to create new content for “Fortnite,” essentially turning it into an open platform unto itself.

But for this new plan to work, the company needed to find a way it could afford to compensate its would-be partners. Apple’s 30% share, the presentation concluded, was an “existential issue” for its plan and needed to be cut so Epic could share a majority of the profit with creators.

The battle begins

Last spring Epic began sharpening its plan to wrest itself from Apple’s fees and control. Its team investigated ways to surreptitiously add an alternative payment system to the versions of “Fortnite” on Apple and Google’s app stores, according to court records. By May Epic decided it would deploy the new system through a so-called hotfix, an important software update usually reserved for security bugs, records show, and do so just before the debut of the game’s new season.

Epic executives initially considered targeting Google alone, according to court records citing internal emails. But later they decided to include Apple, which in time would become the focus of the effort.

From an early stage, the plan depended on Epic’s payment system being rejected, read an email between Epic executives disclosed in court records. At that point: “The battle begins. It’s going to be fun!”

Epic co-founder Mark Rein predicted there was a greater than 50% chance Apple would immediately remove “Fortnite” from its platforms, according to an Epic employee deposition cited in court records. “They may also sue us to make an example.” Mr. Rein declined to comment.

While it worked on the technical attack, Epic also planned to cut prices on certain items in the console and PC versions of “Fortnite” by 20%— essentially creating a reason for players to eschew the mobile alternative offered by Apple.

But first, Epic would go to the front door and ask a favor of Apple and Google: The company wanted permission to run its own competing store and payment system.

In a late June email to Apple CEO Tim Cook, according to court records, Mr. Sweeney sought an exemption from App Store rules. Most important, he wanted to stop paying Apple’s 30% fee.

Apple rejected the request in a July 10 letter, laying out many of the same arguments it would make in defending itself against the eventual Epic lawsuit. Epic had other ways to sell its game, Apple’s lawyer added, as well as noting Epic collects royalties from games built on its software.

“Yet somehow, you believe Apple has no right to do the same, and want all the benefits Apple and the App Store provide without having to pay a penny,” the letter concluded. “Apple cannot bow to that unreasonable demand.”

‘Fortnite’ became a phenomenon beloved by teenagers around the world. Here fans cheer during the 2019 ‘Fortnite’ World Cup inside Arthur Ashe Stadium in New York City.

Photo: johannes eisele/Agence France-Presse/Getty Images

Mr. Sweeney on July 17 responded with another email to Mr. Cook and others calling the response a “self-righteous and self-serving screed.” He promised to “continue to pursue this, as we have done in the past to address other injustices in our industry.”

Behind the scenes, Epic’s Project Liberty team met regularly and devised a way to present their plan to a judge and the public. The team included as many as 200 Epic staffers, outside lawyers and public-relations advisers. It developed an argument that Apple violated antitrust laws with its requirements that all apps offered on its iPhones and iPads go through its App Store and that all purchases of digital content go through the tech giant’s in-app purchase system.

It wasn’t a unique gripe. Other app makers, including Netflix Inc. and Spotify Technology SA, have also butted heads with Apple on its slice of fees and control. Apple says the walled mobile-software garden it built in 2008 is now responsible for more than a half-trillion dollars in commerce.

Epic’s team worried it wouldn’t be a sympathetic character in a public fight and that gamers would blame the company if Apple and Google ultimately decided to yank “Fortnite.” So it strategized on how to bring in additional companies, including smaller, sympathetic developers, to advocate for its cause, records say. It also studied past Apple responses to major public fights, focusing on its battle with the Federal Bureau of Investigation over demands to create a backdoor into the iPhone of a shooter in a 2015 terrorist attack in San Bernardino, Calif. The controversy subsided when the government found an alternative way into the device.

The Epic team concluded that Apple could be thin skinned when it came to its public image. “Nothing moves Apple to change other than notable consumer pressure,” an Epic memo noted.

Share your Thoughts

Do you think Apple is misusing its power to quash competition? Why or why not? Join the conversation below.

As August approached, Epic’s board of directors was briefed on the project’s final pieces in a presentation dubbed “battle plan.” By this point, the board was told, Epic had spent time helping form the Coalition for App Fairness, an advocacy group, to support its crusade and it tested the payment system that would eventually be uploaded to Apple’s and Google’s app stores.

Mr. Sweeney sent emails to Sony, Microsoft and Nintendo alerting them to the upcoming price changes in “Fortnite,” a prelude to the “fireworks show.”

On Aug. 13, he lighted the fuse. “Epic will no longer adhere to Apple’s payment processing restrictions,” Mr. Sweeney wrote at about 2 a.m. in an email to Apple. Hours later, Epic flipped the switch on the new payment system and a public-relations campaign to rally gamers to its fight.

Project Liberty was in play.

Apple and Google both booted the game by day’s end, springing the second part of Epic’s plan: a legal battle.

A trial date hasn’t been set in Epic’s lawsuit against Google, though the situation is distinct. Devices that run Google’s Android operating system can download software from other app marketplaces in addition to the Google Play store. Google has said that Epic violated its app store’s policies as well, which are designed to keep it safe for users.

In the months after its lawsuit, Epic pursued complaints with regulators around the world and supported lobbying efforts among statehouses and Congress for changes that would crimp Apple’s power. It also released an online video that echoed Apple’s famous 1984 ad, a nod to George Orwell’s dystopian novel, that framed the computer maker as the underdog against the then-mighty IBM.

This time around, the image of a televised Big Brother was replaced by one of a talking Apple wearing glasses similar to those of Mr. Cook. The call to action at the end read: “Join the fight to stop 2020 from becoming ‘1984.’ ”

Write to Tim Higgins at Tim.Higgins@WSJ.com and Sarah E. Needleman at sarah.needleman@wsj.com

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