captainderyn

[captainderyn]

@tolkienocweek Day 3: Forgotten Characters

My first two posts for the week have been introducing my Ranger OC, Tindîliel, who gets severely messed up by an orc attack and finds herself in Rivendell for healing. Elrond finds her to be familiar and determines her to be a distant niece. Here is a snippet from the fic where they figure out that she is descended from Tindómiel, Elros' only daughter who there is almost nothing about in canon beyond her name.

picrew credit

"Tell me about Elros?"

For a moment Elrond did not look up at her, although that might have more to do with the fact that he was preoccupied with the glass cup and the candle creating suction to work on the scar tissue in her legs. He set the candle down and began slowly moving the cup over her scars, and she grimaced as it pulled uncomfortably at her skin.

"I am not sure where to begin," he said finally. "We had 500 years together. At one point he was everything to me, but now I have been without him for five thousand seven hundred and ninety four years." He gave Tindîliel a small, sad smile. "But who's counting?"

"Why did he choose to be a Man?"

Elrond sighed. "It was not so much that he chose it, it was just who he was. Always. It was difficult for him sometimes in our childhood. A lot of the time, really. After we were taken from Sirion, which had been a mixed settlement, we were mostly around Elves for the rest of our childhood. That was fine with me, I felt comfortable around them as kin, even as we were both uncomfortable, especially in those early days having essentially been kidnapped. But Elros... In his heart he was never an Elf. I have always felt like something more in between, but having been forced to choose, I embraced my Elven heritage. I am comfortable to be perceived as an Elf by other races, and to be perceived of mixed heritage by other Elves."

Elrond released the suction from the cup, and shifted his focus to her.

"Elros was never comfortable being perceived as an Elf. Even before we had to choose, he got drastic sometimes. One time I walked in on him cropping his hair short, in a more Mannish style. We fought over it, we liked being near identical in appearance, but what we wanted for our appearance was just too different for both of us to be happy like that. I cut my hair shorter to match him for a while. I hated it. But I knew he hated having his hair long in an Elvish style. We just had to make our peace with being different."

He pulled the cup into suction again, and Tindîliel made a face.

"I have cut my hair shorter a few times since then, when I really miss him. It helps to see my reflection look more like his own then."

They sat silent for a moment.

"Were you ever told anything about who your family may have descended from? Any tales from Númenor? I am certain you are descended from one of his children, but I am curious if there are any clues as to which one."

Tindîliel thought for a moment, if there was anything that might be relevant.

"I have been told I am descended from an unbroken line of mothers and daughters, but I do not know how far back that goes. I know the name Tindîliel has been passed down sporadically through many generations, and that it means daughter, and friend of the stars in Sindarian."

"No, not Sindarian." The truth became evident to Elrond simultaneously as he spoke. "Quenya. You are of an unbroken line of women, starting with Tindómiel, Elros' only daughter. The name must have become Sindarized over time, the original meaning was "daughter of Twilight'" He reached for her unbroken arm and squeezed her hand. "We could find nothing of Tintilariel, her many-greats granddaughter after Númenor fell. We thought she had drowned."

[captainderyn]

Prompt: squishing the other’s cheek

*rises from the pits of writers block and hyperfixation drought with Shakarian*

I am so sorry that this has languished in my drafts for an embarrassingly long time. Like, a painfully long time. Hopefully some Shakarian makes up for it ;--;

Summary: ME-1 fledgling Shakarian. Garrus and Ryn share a night of good natured drinking on the Normandy while the rest of the grew takes their shore leave out on the Citadel. Garrus realizes that Ryn has dimples. Science experiments about inter species smiles ensue.

---

Humans were something of a mystery.

Well, not really, in the twenty-five years since the First Contact War they'd discovered a whole lot about humanity. The newcomers to the galactic world had quite adeptly squirmed their way into the narrative.

That still didn't mean that Garrus totally understood the human standing in front of him. Shepard was something outside of all the other humans he'd met.

The way she carried herself was like the rest of the Alliance military officers, with a straight back and an uncanny ability to easily slide into combat mode at the flip of a switch. He supposed that came with the N7 emblem emblazoned on her armor.

No, it wasn't Commander Shepard that confused him, he understood Commander Shepard at a very baseline, turian level.

Ryn Shepard though...Ryn Shepard was a mystery he had yet to unravel.

They sat together on the floor of the Normandy's lower decks, the metal cold beneath them. Ryn leaned back against the side of the Mako, swinging a half-empty beer bottle precariously between her fingers.

Garrus waited for it to go flying, watching out of the corner of his eye, but it hadn't yet. The more empty bottles piled up between them, the less inclined she seemed to drink. Instead she played with the bottle, rolling it between her fingers, sloshing the liquid within.

Occasionally she took a sip, but she seemed to prefer the act of having something to hold in her hands and as an emphasis to her sentences.

In every battalion Garrus had been with during his mandatory service time before going to the Citadel, they drank until every decision seemed like a good decision and loosened their tight laces until they could get every bit of wild energy out of their system. More often than not, Garrus had watched from the sidelines as the training decks had devolved until sparring matches if shore leave wasn't an option.

He'd never enjoyed getting the shit beat out of him while drunk. So when Ryn had gestured to him with a pack of whatever humans drank in one hand and a dextros pack in another hand, a shudder of foreboding had gone through him.

But Ryn just wanted to...talk. Despite the several bottles buzzing in their systems, she'd get to challenge him to an ass kicking or thrown a punch at him once.

During their service time together, Garrus had pinned her as stoic. Friendly and impassioned if you got her on the right subject, but locked down just like every other military officer he'd interacted with. Occasionally he would a genuine smile out of her, even a laugh if he perhaps said something a little too straitlaced.

"He didn't even win the restaurant's steak challenge to boot!" Ryn was saying, wildly waving her half-empty beer bottle for emphasis. "Bastard was three bites shy and tapped out! But you know what he did have to do? Poor guy had meat sweats for days and got stuck lugging the resupply from base alll the way back to that restaurant to make up for eating them out of house and home on a dare."

Ryn snickered to herself, her cheeks flushed with drink and amusement. "We called him Meatlug after that. He hated it."

Her smile pulled her cheeks back into what he was pretty sure the humans called dimples. A small pockmark at the corners of her mouth. He hadn't seen her smile wide enough to bring those out.

Garrus didn't realize what he was doing until he was already leaning forward and poking her cheek, curling his talon down so his knuckle met her soft human flesh instead of his talon.

Her skin was warm to the touch, soft and silky compared to his rough, leathery skin.

He jerked backwards, feet scrabbling on the floor to scoot back until his back slammed into the Mako.

"Commander, I'm--" He gasped out, horrified as he wondered if he telekineticly vaporize himself on the spot. "I'm so sorry."

Ryn stared at him with owlishly round grey eyes, her cheeks going even pinker as she brought her free hand to where he'd poked.

Great, on top of every other stupid thing he'd done in the span of three seconds, he'd probably gouged a hole in her skin to boot. He waited for the rush of blood, for her to start yelling, something.

Instead, she tilted her head back and howled with laughter. Her shoulders shook so violently that a splash of her drink sloshed from the bottle and over her hands.

She laughed until she could hardly breath and when she looked back at him her eyes were watering, her face so flushed that her freckles stood out like individual stars spattered across her skin.

"Garrus." She wheezed, brushing away the tears that had gathered in the corners of her eyes. "Why do you look like I'm going to kill you?"

"I shouldn't have done that." Garrus pressed himself further back against the Mako, as if he could dissolve into the metal. "I don't know why I did that."

Ryn started giggling all over again, and the sound scratched something in his brain. He wanted more of that light, carefree sound.

He pulled down the hatch on that thought. Pushed it far, far away.

"It's fine." Ryn reassured, catching her breath. "You just caught me off guard. What were you doing?"

She tilted her head, still smiling.

Garrus helplessly shrugged, flailing with his hands. "I uh...argh, well. When you smile..." he pressed the tips of his fingers on either side of what he approximated a human would read as the turian's visible mouth.

Ryn brought her own hands to her cheeks, eyes thoughtful before understand a lit like a fire in them.

"Oh!" she gasped, setting down her beer bottle and scooting across the floor until she knelt in front of Garrus. She was staring at him with such beer-fueled sincerity, as if this was the most important knowledge that should be gained. "They're dimples, I've had them since I was a kid. They come out when I'm smiling."

Garrus struggled to find something to say to explain exactly why he was so transfixed by the details of her human smile, but the intensity that she was inspecting his face threw out any words that crossed his mind.

"So how do turians smile?" she asked before holding up a hand. "Or, well, how do turians do your equivalent of smiling? Do turians smile? I think every turian I've ever spoken to has been very serious, given the situation."

Garrus couldn't suppress his own laugh, deep in his chest and more of a rumble. His mandibles flared as he said, "Don't tell me you think turians are so tightlaced that we don't smile."

"No!" Ryn denied with indigence before horror of her own washed over her face. "No, that's not what I meant. I just...with..." Helpless in her own right, Ryn used her hands to mimic his mandibles. "They didn't really teach us anything about alien expressions in N7 school."

He laughed again and without thinking held out his hands, gesturing for hers. She laid her hands, palms up, in his and he brought them to rest lightly against his mandibles.

"This is neutral for a turian." he explained before 'smiling', his mandibles flaring again. "And this is what you would call smiling. Though context matters--sometimes our mandibles flare when we're pissed off."

"So have you been smiling at me all those times, or been really pissed off with me since you joined the Normandy?" Ryn teased.

Garrus' mind short circuited. He hadn't realized that despite having no idea what it meant, that Ryn had picked that up. No doubt as she'd worn down his hard line pragmatism with her impassioned optimism.

Her expression had started to falter when he was finally able to force out a shy, "Smiling."

"Oh." Ryn's cheeks went a bright, flaming red brighter than her hair. Her thumbs twitched against the edge of his mandibles and if Garrus was capable of blushing himself, he would've burnt bright as a sun at the thrill the touch sent through him.

"And, hrm, are dimples just when you smile? Because they come out when you're concentrating too." The stream-of-conscious question left Garrus' mind through his mouth as a distraction before he could stop it.

Ryn went even redder, if that was a possibility. Garrus contemplated the merits of shooting himself out the airlock at the next opportunity once again. He'd heard the empty void of space was great this time of year.

"They do not." She spluttered before faltering, "Do they?"

"They do. When you're programming routes into the galaxy map or fixing something in your guns." Garrus supplied.

Ryn dropped her hands and gave his shoulders a light shove, "You're too damn observant, Vakarian!" she barked, though it lacked heat.

"I could say the same about you, Shepard." Garrus shot back, his mind a complicated mess of circuits and parts as Ryn leaned back to get her beer and started rambling on another story from her time training in the N7 program.

It took several minutes for the blush to leave her cheeks, and Garrus couldn't read the looks she shot his way for the rest of the way as anything except bashful.

Humans were something of a mystery.

Ryn Shepard though, she was the most curious of them all.

[captainderyn]

Prompt: squishing the other’s cheek

*rises from the pits of writers block and hyperfixation drought with Shakarian*

I am so sorry that this has languished in my drafts for an embarrassingly long time. Like, a painfully long time. Hopefully some Shakarian makes up for it ;--;

Summary: ME-1 fledgling Shakarian. Garrus and Ryn share a night of good natured drinking on the Normandy while the rest of the grew takes their shore leave out on the Citadel. Garrus realizes that Ryn has dimples. Science experiments about inter species smiles ensue.

---

Humans were something of a mystery.

Well, not really, in the twenty-five years since the First Contact War they'd discovered a whole lot about humanity. The newcomers to the galactic world had quite adeptly squirmed their way into the narrative.

That still didn't mean that Garrus totally understood the human standing in front of him. Shepard was something outside of all the other humans he'd met.

The way she carried herself was like the rest of the Alliance military officers, with a straight back and an uncanny ability to easily slide into combat mode at the flip of a switch. He supposed that came with the N7 emblem emblazoned on her armor.

No, it wasn't Commander Shepard that confused him, he understood Commander Shepard at a very baseline, turian level.

Ryn Shepard though...Ryn Shepard was a mystery he had yet to unravel.

They sat together on the floor of the Normandy's lower decks, the metal cold beneath them. Ryn leaned back against the side of the Mako, swinging a half-empty beer bottle precariously between her fingers.

Garrus waited for it to go flying, watching out of the corner of his eye, but it hadn't yet. The more empty bottles piled up between them, the less inclined she seemed to drink. Instead she played with the bottle, rolling it between her fingers, sloshing the liquid within.

Occasionally she took a sip, but she seemed to prefer the act of having something to hold in her hands and as an emphasis to her sentences.

In every battalion Garrus had been with during his mandatory service time before going to the Citadel, they drank until every decision seemed like a good decision and loosened their tight laces until they could get every bit of wild energy out of their system. More often than not, Garrus had watched from the sidelines as the training decks had devolved until sparring matches if shore leave wasn't an option.

He'd never enjoyed getting the shit beat out of him while drunk. So when Ryn had gestured to him with a pack of whatever humans drank in one hand and a dextros pack in another hand, a shudder of foreboding had gone through him.

But Ryn just wanted to...talk. Despite the several bottles buzzing in their systems, she'd get to challenge him to an ass kicking or thrown a punch at him once.

During their service time together, Garrus had pinned her as stoic. Friendly and impassioned if you got her on the right subject, but locked down just like every other military officer he'd interacted with. Occasionally he would a genuine smile out of her, even a laugh if he perhaps said something a little too straitlaced.

"He didn't even win the restaurant's steak challenge to boot!" Ryn was saying, wildly waving her half-empty beer bottle for emphasis. "Bastard was three bites shy and tapped out! But you know what he did have to do? Poor guy had meat sweats for days and got stuck lugging the resupply from base alll the way back to that restaurant to make up for eating them out of house and home on a dare."

Ryn snickered to herself, her cheeks flushed with drink and amusement. "We called him Meatlug after that. He hated it."

Her smile pulled her cheeks back into what he was pretty sure the humans called dimples. A small pockmark at the corners of her mouth. He hadn't seen her smile wide enough to bring those out.

Garrus didn't realize what he was doing until he was already leaning forward and poking her cheek, curling his talon down so his knuckle met her soft human flesh instead of his talon.

Her skin was warm to the touch, soft and silky compared to his rough, leathery skin.

He jerked backwards, feet scrabbling on the floor to scoot back until his back slammed into the Mako.

"Commander, I'm--" He gasped out, horrified as he wondered if he telekineticly vaporize himself on the spot. "I'm so sorry."

Ryn stared at him with owlishly round grey eyes, her cheeks going even pinker as she brought her free hand to where he'd poked.

Great, on top of every other stupid thing he'd done in the span of three seconds, he'd probably gouged a hole in her skin to boot. He waited for the rush of blood, for her to start yelling, something.

Instead, she tilted her head back and howled with laughter. Her shoulders shook so violently that a splash of her drink sloshed from the bottle and over her hands.

She laughed until she could hardly breath and when she looked back at him her eyes were watering, her face so flushed that her freckles stood out like individual stars spattered across her skin.

"Garrus." She wheezed, brushing away the tears that had gathered in the corners of her eyes. "Why do you look like I'm going to kill you?"

"I shouldn't have done that." Garrus pressed himself further back against the Mako, as if he could dissolve into the metal. "I don't know why I did that."

Ryn started giggling all over again, and the sound scratched something in his brain. He wanted more of that light, carefree sound.

He pulled down the hatch on that thought. Pushed it far, far away.

"It's fine." Ryn reassured, catching her breath. "You just caught me off guard. What were you doing?"

She tilted her head, still smiling.

Garrus helplessly shrugged, flailing with his hands. "I uh...argh, well. When you smile..." he pressed the tips of his fingers on either side of what he approximated a human would read as the turian's visible mouth.

Ryn brought her own hands to her cheeks, eyes thoughtful before understand a lit like a fire in them.

"Oh!" she gasped, setting down her beer bottle and scooting across the floor until she knelt in front of Garrus. She was staring at him with such beer-fueled sincerity, as if this was the most important knowledge that should be gained. "They're dimples, I've had them since I was a kid. They come out when I'm smiling."

Garrus struggled to find something to say to explain exactly why he was so transfixed by the details of her human smile, but the intensity that she was inspecting his face threw out any words that crossed his mind.

"So how do turians smile?" she asked before holding up a hand. "Or, well, how do turians do your equivalent of smiling? Do turians smile? I think every turian I've ever spoken to has been very serious, given the situation."

Garrus couldn't suppress his own laugh, deep in his chest and more of a rumble. His mandibles flared as he said, "Don't tell me you think turians are so tightlaced that we don't smile."

"No!" Ryn denied with indigence before horror of her own washed over her face. "No, that's not what I meant. I just...with..." Helpless in her own right, Ryn used her hands to mimic his mandibles. "They didn't really teach us anything about alien expressions in N7 school."

He laughed again and without thinking held out his hands, gesturing for hers. She laid her hands, palms up, in his and he brought them to rest lightly against his mandibles.

"This is neutral for a turian." he explained before 'smiling', his mandibles flaring again. "And this is what you would call smiling. Though context matters--sometimes our mandibles flare when we're pissed off."

"So have you been smiling at me all those times, or been really pissed off with me since you joined the Normandy?" Ryn teased.

Garrus' mind short circuited. He hadn't realized that despite having no idea what it meant, that Ryn had picked that up. No doubt as she'd worn down his hard line pragmatism with her impassioned optimism.

Her expression had started to falter when he was finally able to force out a shy, "Smiling."

"Oh." Ryn's cheeks went a bright, flaming red brighter than her hair. Her thumbs twitched against the edge of his mandibles and if Garrus was capable of blushing himself, he would've burnt bright as a sun at the thrill the touch sent through him.

"And, hrm, are dimples just when you smile? Because they come out when you're concentrating too." The stream-of-conscious question left Garrus' mind through his mouth as a distraction before he could stop it.

Ryn went even redder, if that was a possibility. Garrus contemplated the merits of shooting himself out the airlock at the next opportunity once again. He'd heard the empty void of space was great this time of year.

"They do not." She spluttered before faltering, "Do they?"

"They do. When you're programming routes into the galaxy map or fixing something in your guns." Garrus supplied.

Ryn dropped her hands and gave his shoulders a light shove, "You're too damn observant, Vakarian!" she barked, though it lacked heat.

"I could say the same about you, Shepard." Garrus shot back, his mind a complicated mess of circuits and parts as Ryn leaned back to get her beer and started rambling on another story from her time training in the N7 program.

It took several minutes for the blush to leave her cheeks, and Garrus couldn't read the looks she shot his way for the rest of the way as anything except bashful.

Humans were something of a mystery.

Ryn Shepard though, she was the most curious of them all.

[captainderyn]

Sketch Spread commission of Boingus for @shiremenace! He's a good lad Commissions open!

[captainderyn]

Prompt: squishing the other’s cheek

*rises from the pits of writers block and hyperfixation drought with Shakarian*

I am so sorry that this has languished in my drafts for an embarrassingly long time. Like, a painfully long time. Hopefully some Shakarian makes up for it ;--;

Summary: ME-1 fledgling Shakarian. Garrus and Ryn share a night of good natured drinking on the Normandy while the rest of the grew takes their shore leave out on the Citadel. Garrus realizes that Ryn has dimples. Science experiments about inter species smiles ensue.

---

Humans were something of a mystery.

Well, not really, in the twenty-five years since the First Contact War they'd discovered a whole lot about humanity. The newcomers to the galactic world had quite adeptly squirmed their way into the narrative.

That still didn't mean that Garrus totally understood the human standing in front of him. Shepard was something outside of all the other humans he'd met.

The way she carried herself was like the rest of the Alliance military officers, with a straight back and an uncanny ability to easily slide into combat mode at the flip of a switch. He supposed that came with the N7 emblem emblazoned on her armor.

No, it wasn't Commander Shepard that confused him, he understood Commander Shepard at a very baseline, turian level.

Ryn Shepard though...Ryn Shepard was a mystery he had yet to unravel.

They sat together on the floor of the Normandy's lower decks, the metal cold beneath them. Ryn leaned back against the side of the Mako, swinging a half-empty beer bottle precariously between her fingers.

Garrus waited for it to go flying, watching out of the corner of his eye, but it hadn't yet. The more empty bottles piled up between them, the less inclined she seemed to drink. Instead she played with the bottle, rolling it between her fingers, sloshing the liquid within.

Occasionally she took a sip, but she seemed to prefer the act of having something to hold in her hands and as an emphasis to her sentences.

In every battalion Garrus had been with during his mandatory service time before going to the Citadel, they drank until every decision seemed like a good decision and loosened their tight laces until they could get every bit of wild energy out of their system. More often than not, Garrus had watched from the sidelines as the training decks had devolved until sparring matches if shore leave wasn't an option.

He'd never enjoyed getting the shit beat out of him while drunk. So when Ryn had gestured to him with a pack of whatever humans drank in one hand and a dextros pack in another hand, a shudder of foreboding had gone through him.

But Ryn just wanted to...talk. Despite the several bottles buzzing in their systems, she'd get to challenge him to an ass kicking or thrown a punch at him once.

During their service time together, Garrus had pinned her as stoic. Friendly and impassioned if you got her on the right subject, but locked down just like every other military officer he'd interacted with. Occasionally he would a genuine smile out of her, even a laugh if he perhaps said something a little too straitlaced.

"He didn't even win the restaurant's steak challenge to boot!" Ryn was saying, wildly waving her half-empty beer bottle for emphasis. "Bastard was three bites shy and tapped out! But you know what he did have to do? Poor guy had meat sweats for days and got stuck lugging the resupply from base alll the way back to that restaurant to make up for eating them out of house and home on a dare."

Ryn snickered to herself, her cheeks flushed with drink and amusement. "We called him Meatlug after that. He hated it."

Her smile pulled her cheeks back into what he was pretty sure the humans called dimples. A small pockmark at the corners of her mouth. He hadn't seen her smile wide enough to bring those out.

Garrus didn't realize what he was doing until he was already leaning forward and poking her cheek, curling his talon down so his knuckle met her soft human flesh instead of his talon.

Her skin was warm to the touch, soft and silky compared to his rough, leathery skin.

He jerked backwards, feet scrabbling on the floor to scoot back until his back slammed into the Mako.

"Commander, I'm--" He gasped out, horrified as he wondered if he telekineticly vaporize himself on the spot. "I'm so sorry."

Ryn stared at him with owlishly round grey eyes, her cheeks going even pinker as she brought her free hand to where he'd poked.

Great, on top of every other stupid thing he'd done in the span of three seconds, he'd probably gouged a hole in her skin to boot. He waited for the rush of blood, for her to start yelling, something.

Instead, she tilted her head back and howled with laughter. Her shoulders shook so violently that a splash of her drink sloshed from the bottle and over her hands.

She laughed until she could hardly breath and when she looked back at him her eyes were watering, her face so flushed that her freckles stood out like individual stars spattered across her skin.

"Garrus." She wheezed, brushing away the tears that had gathered in the corners of her eyes. "Why do you look like I'm going to kill you?"

"I shouldn't have done that." Garrus pressed himself further back against the Mako, as if he could dissolve into the metal. "I don't know why I did that."

Ryn started giggling all over again, and the sound scratched something in his brain. He wanted more of that light, carefree sound.

He pulled down the hatch on that thought. Pushed it far, far away.

"It's fine." Ryn reassured, catching her breath. "You just caught me off guard. What were you doing?"

She tilted her head, still smiling.

Garrus helplessly shrugged, flailing with his hands. "I uh...argh, well. When you smile..." he pressed the tips of his fingers on either side of what he approximated a human would read as the turian's visible mouth.

Ryn brought her own hands to her cheeks, eyes thoughtful before understand a lit like a fire in them.

"Oh!" she gasped, setting down her beer bottle and scooting across the floor until she knelt in front of Garrus. She was staring at him with such beer-fueled sincerity, as if this was the most important knowledge that should be gained. "They're dimples, I've had them since I was a kid. They come out when I'm smiling."

Garrus struggled to find something to say to explain exactly why he was so transfixed by the details of her human smile, but the intensity that she was inspecting his face threw out any words that crossed his mind.

"So how do turians smile?" she asked before holding up a hand. "Or, well, how do turians do your equivalent of smiling? Do turians smile? I think every turian I've ever spoken to has been very serious, given the situation."

Garrus couldn't suppress his own laugh, deep in his chest and more of a rumble. His mandibles flared as he said, "Don't tell me you think turians are so tightlaced that we don't smile."

"No!" Ryn denied with indigence before horror of her own washed over her face. "No, that's not what I meant. I just...with..." Helpless in her own right, Ryn used her hands to mimic his mandibles. "They didn't really teach us anything about alien expressions in N7 school."

He laughed again and without thinking held out his hands, gesturing for hers. She laid her hands, palms up, in his and he brought them to rest lightly against his mandibles.

"This is neutral for a turian." he explained before 'smiling', his mandibles flaring again. "And this is what you would call smiling. Though context matters--sometimes our mandibles flare when we're pissed off."

"So have you been smiling at me all those times, or been really pissed off with me since you joined the Normandy?" Ryn teased.

Garrus' mind short circuited. He hadn't realized that despite having no idea what it meant, that Ryn had picked that up. No doubt as she'd worn down his hard line pragmatism with her impassioned optimism.

Her expression had started to falter when he was finally able to force out a shy, "Smiling."

"Oh." Ryn's cheeks went a bright, flaming red brighter than her hair. Her thumbs twitched against the edge of his mandibles and if Garrus was capable of blushing himself, he would've burnt bright as a sun at the thrill the touch sent through him.

"And, hrm, are dimples just when you smile? Because they come out when you're concentrating too." The stream-of-conscious question left Garrus' mind through his mouth as a distraction before he could stop it.

Ryn went even redder, if that was a possibility. Garrus contemplated the merits of shooting himself out the airlock at the next opportunity once again. He'd heard the empty void of space was great this time of year.

"They do not." She spluttered before faltering, "Do they?"

"They do. When you're programming routes into the galaxy map or fixing something in your guns." Garrus supplied.

Ryn dropped her hands and gave his shoulders a light shove, "You're too damn observant, Vakarian!" she barked, though it lacked heat.

"I could say the same about you, Shepard." Garrus shot back, his mind a complicated mess of circuits and parts as Ryn leaned back to get her beer and started rambling on another story from her time training in the N7 program.

It took several minutes for the blush to leave her cheeks, and Garrus couldn't read the looks she shot his way for the rest of the way as anything except bashful.

Humans were something of a mystery.

Ryn Shepard though, she was the most curious of them all.

[captainderyn]

[Fictober24] Day 2: "It's been a long time."

Prompt: "It's been a long time."

Fandom: LOTRO

Pairings: Wulfwryn/Raenor

Warnings: None

Summary: A young Faewryn spins tales of the Dunedain, playing pretend in a grand adventure. Along the way she learns of old friends of Raenor and Wulfwryn.

Translations:

Telellë: little elf Ada: dad henig: my child emil: mother

----

Tales of the Dunedain were fraught with danger, adventure, and feats that defied what seemed possible. The stories swirled vividly in Faewryn’s mind, spun by the skillful voice of Aragorn to a rapt Eldarion and her the afternoon prior. Both her ada and mother had told her bedtime stories of rangers as well, and she knew the songs her ada sang of them by heart. 

This afternoon she was not Faewryn, the Gondorian half-elf, but one of the Dunedain, proud and tall, forging through distant lands, searching for a foul creature that threatened all of Man. The stone around her did not make up the walls of her family home in Minas Tirith; it was a forgotten hideout in the deep woods. Within her hideout she peeked through the windows—watching for the signal that marked a sighting of her mark. 

There! A bird call. That was the signal, she had to move now! 

Faewryn scrambled down from her perch by the window, scanning the room for her supplies. She snatched her wooden sword in its cloth sheath from the doorway of her bedroom as well as the dark brown throw blanket from the foot of her bed. Slinging the blanket around her shoulders, she tied it in a fumbling knot, only for it to come undone and fall around her feet as soon as she moved. 

That wouldn’t do, it wouldn’t do at all. She had to make haste! The Enemy could escape at any time. 

The bird call sounded again, more urgent this time, and Faewryn gasped. She hurried into her parents room, tugging along the small stool from the corner of her own bedroom. 

Using the stool, she stepped onto it and reached for an ornate wooden box sitting on the dresser. Her mother had taken it down several times for her to sort through the broaches and cloak pins, and if there was something she needed urgently now it was a pin. 

Her mother had always cautioned her not to prick her fingers on the sharp edges, but she’d never cautioned Faewryn about using one at all…

A shining cloak pin caught her attention and she picked it up, balancing it in her palms. It was a black broach emblazoned with a six-pointed white star. It reminded Faewryn of her mother’s daily uniform—the colors matched and the star echoed the ones that surrounded the White Tree on all the banners around the city. 

She let the box drop closed and hopped off her step stool, running back to her discarded cloak. Once more the bird all sounded and she fumbled with the pin. 

“I’m coming!” she called, finally getting the clasp to snap. With that she ran for the door, shoving it open with a grunt. Just to slam into a veritable wall of heavy fabric. 

The Enemy was here!

With a great battle shout, Faewryn freed herself of the Enemy’s clutches, shaking the cloth sheath off of her sword after wild waving it about and taking up her stance for battle. 

“Come no further, Enemy!” she cried, brandishing her sword. 

Her mother rocked back on her heels before an amused glint flashed through her eyes. 

“Telellë, you have caught me unarmed!” Wulfwryn exclaimed. 

Faewryn grinned, gesturing broadly with her sword. “Surrender, you can’t win!” 

Wulfwryn gave a beaten sigh, lifting her shoulders up and down dramatically with the motion. “So it would seem…” She said before smiling. “But you’ve underestimated me, warrior!” 

Before Faewryn had the chance to react she was scooped off her feet and hoisted over Wulfwryn’s shoulder. She squirmed but couldn’t free herself and her sword clattered out of her hands. 

“Ada!” She howled, tossing herself around. “Ada, I’ve been captured!” 

Wulfwryn grunted, letting Faewryn down. 

”You’re getting big, henig, I won’t be able to capture you much longer.” she said. 

Faewryn scampered over to her ada, who appeared around the corner. Raenor ran his fingers through her hair as she melted into a hug. She glowered at up at him from beneath furrowed brows. 

“Your warning call didn’t say the enemy was right there.” 

Raenor tossed his free hand up in an oh dear gesture. “Ach! I was never made for scouting. You fight bravely though, henig.” 

Wulfwryn eased herself into a crouch, waving Faewryn over, “What’s the broach you’ve chosen today? Let me see.” 

Faewryn protested when Wulfwryn went to unclip it, tugging her ‘cloak’ more tightly around herself, so she leaned closer to inspect it instead. Her lips pressed together in a wistful smile as she ran her fingers over the six pointed star. 

“Ah, have I ever told you of the story behind this one?” she asked. 

Faewryn shook her head but pointed to the embroidery on Wulfwryn’s overcoat, “No, but I thought it looked like yours, emil.” 

Wulfwryn pushed herself out to her feet, holding out her hand to Faewryn. “Would you like to hear the story?” She asked. 

Grabbing her hand, Faewryn held out her other hand for her father. Raenor fell into step alongside her, holding her hand even as they had to bend and stretch to go single file though the door. 

“Of course I want to hear it!” Faewryn exclaimed, clambering onto her mother’s lap as Wulfwryn pulled out one of the chairs at the table. 

Wulfwryn wrapped her arms around Faewryn, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. Raenor settled in on their other side, leaning his forearms onto the tabletop. 

“That star is that of the Dunedain.” Wulfwryn started, tapping her finger against the cloak clasp. “This one in particular came from a group known as the Grey Company.” 

Faewryn looked down at the broach, mouthing the name to etch it into her memory, “Did you travel with them, emil?” 

“Ay, both your ada and I traveled alongside them for quite a time, through Dunland and times before. It’s been…I’m not sure I can put a count on how many years ago that was.” 

“It’s been a long time.” Raenor agreed. “It is a great honor to receive one such star, and I’m ashamed to admit my own was lost to a place dark and foul during our travels.” 

Faewryn ran her fingers over the indentations of the engravings, eyes wide. 

“Does that mean you’re Rangers?” she asked in awe. 

Wulfwryn laughed, “No, alas, we were simply honored with a token of their kind.” 

A sorrowful look crossed her face and Faewryn shimmied closer, wrapping her arms around her mother’s shoulders. Wulfwryn held her close, deep in thought for a long moment. 

“They were very, very good people.” she finally said. “Would you like to hear some more stories?”  

[captainderyn]

Prompt: squishing the other’s cheek

*rises from the pits of writers block and hyperfixation drought with Shakarian*

I am so sorry that this has languished in my drafts for an embarrassingly long time. Like, a painfully long time. Hopefully some Shakarian makes up for it ;--;

Summary: ME-1 fledgling Shakarian. Garrus and Ryn share a night of good natured drinking on the Normandy while the rest of the grew takes their shore leave out on the Citadel. Garrus realizes that Ryn has dimples. Science experiments about inter species smiles ensue.

---

Humans were something of a mystery.

Well, not really, in the twenty-five years since the First Contact War they'd discovered a whole lot about humanity. The newcomers to the galactic world had quite adeptly squirmed their way into the narrative.

That still didn't mean that Garrus totally understood the human standing in front of him. Shepard was something outside of all the other humans he'd met.

The way she carried herself was like the rest of the Alliance military officers, with a straight back and an uncanny ability to easily slide into combat mode at the flip of a switch. He supposed that came with the N7 emblem emblazoned on her armor.

No, it wasn't Commander Shepard that confused him, he understood Commander Shepard at a very baseline, turian level.

Ryn Shepard though...Ryn Shepard was a mystery he had yet to unravel.

They sat together on the floor of the Normandy's lower decks, the metal cold beneath them. Ryn leaned back against the side of the Mako, swinging a half-empty beer bottle precariously between her fingers.

Garrus waited for it to go flying, watching out of the corner of his eye, but it hadn't yet. The more empty bottles piled up between them, the less inclined she seemed to drink. Instead she played with the bottle, rolling it between her fingers, sloshing the liquid within.

Occasionally she took a sip, but she seemed to prefer the act of having something to hold in her hands and as an emphasis to her sentences.

In every battalion Garrus had been with during his mandatory service time before going to the Citadel, they drank until every decision seemed like a good decision and loosened their tight laces until they could get every bit of wild energy out of their system. More often than not, Garrus had watched from the sidelines as the training decks had devolved until sparring matches if shore leave wasn't an option.

He'd never enjoyed getting the shit beat out of him while drunk. So when Ryn had gestured to him with a pack of whatever humans drank in one hand and a dextros pack in another hand, a shudder of foreboding had gone through him.

But Ryn just wanted to...talk. Despite the several bottles buzzing in their systems, she'd get to challenge him to an ass kicking or thrown a punch at him once.

During their service time together, Garrus had pinned her as stoic. Friendly and impassioned if you got her on the right subject, but locked down just like every other military officer he'd interacted with. Occasionally he would a genuine smile out of her, even a laugh if he perhaps said something a little too straitlaced.

"He didn't even win the restaurant's steak challenge to boot!" Ryn was saying, wildly waving her half-empty beer bottle for emphasis. "Bastard was three bites shy and tapped out! But you know what he did have to do? Poor guy had meat sweats for days and got stuck lugging the resupply from base alll the way back to that restaurant to make up for eating them out of house and home on a dare."

Ryn snickered to herself, her cheeks flushed with drink and amusement. "We called him Meatlug after that. He hated it."

Her smile pulled her cheeks back into what he was pretty sure the humans called dimples. A small pockmark at the corners of her mouth. He hadn't seen her smile wide enough to bring those out.

Garrus didn't realize what he was doing until he was already leaning forward and poking her cheek, curling his talon down so his knuckle met her soft human flesh instead of his talon.

Her skin was warm to the touch, soft and silky compared to his rough, leathery skin.

He jerked backwards, feet scrabbling on the floor to scoot back until his back slammed into the Mako.

"Commander, I'm--" He gasped out, horrified as he wondered if he telekineticly vaporize himself on the spot. "I'm so sorry."

Ryn stared at him with owlishly round grey eyes, her cheeks going even pinker as she brought her free hand to where he'd poked.

Great, on top of every other stupid thing he'd done in the span of three seconds, he'd probably gouged a hole in her skin to boot. He waited for the rush of blood, for her to start yelling, something.

Instead, she tilted her head back and howled with laughter. Her shoulders shook so violently that a splash of her drink sloshed from the bottle and over her hands.

She laughed until she could hardly breath and when she looked back at him her eyes were watering, her face so flushed that her freckles stood out like individual stars spattered across her skin.

"Garrus." She wheezed, brushing away the tears that had gathered in the corners of her eyes. "Why do you look like I'm going to kill you?"

"I shouldn't have done that." Garrus pressed himself further back against the Mako, as if he could dissolve into the metal. "I don't know why I did that."

Ryn started giggling all over again, and the sound scratched something in his brain. He wanted more of that light, carefree sound.

He pulled down the hatch on that thought. Pushed it far, far away.

"It's fine." Ryn reassured, catching her breath. "You just caught me off guard. What were you doing?"

She tilted her head, still smiling.

Garrus helplessly shrugged, flailing with his hands. "I uh...argh, well. When you smile..." he pressed the tips of his fingers on either side of what he approximated a human would read as the turian's visible mouth.

Ryn brought her own hands to her cheeks, eyes thoughtful before understand a lit like a fire in them.

"Oh!" she gasped, setting down her beer bottle and scooting across the floor until she knelt in front of Garrus. She was staring at him with such beer-fueled sincerity, as if this was the most important knowledge that should be gained. "They're dimples, I've had them since I was a kid. They come out when I'm smiling."

Garrus struggled to find something to say to explain exactly why he was so transfixed by the details of her human smile, but the intensity that she was inspecting his face threw out any words that crossed his mind.

"So how do turians smile?" she asked before holding up a hand. "Or, well, how do turians do your equivalent of smiling? Do turians smile? I think every turian I've ever spoken to has been very serious, given the situation."

Garrus couldn't suppress his own laugh, deep in his chest and more of a rumble. His mandibles flared as he said, "Don't tell me you think turians are so tightlaced that we don't smile."

"No!" Ryn denied with indigence before horror of her own washed over her face. "No, that's not what I meant. I just...with..." Helpless in her own right, Ryn used her hands to mimic his mandibles. "They didn't really teach us anything about alien expressions in N7 school."

He laughed again and without thinking held out his hands, gesturing for hers. She laid her hands, palms up, in his and he brought them to rest lightly against his mandibles.

"This is neutral for a turian." he explained before 'smiling', his mandibles flaring again. "And this is what you would call smiling. Though context matters--sometimes our mandibles flare when we're pissed off."

"So have you been smiling at me all those times, or been really pissed off with me since you joined the Normandy?" Ryn teased.

Garrus' mind short circuited. He hadn't realized that despite having no idea what it meant, that Ryn had picked that up. No doubt as she'd worn down his hard line pragmatism with her impassioned optimism.

Her expression had started to falter when he was finally able to force out a shy, "Smiling."

"Oh." Ryn's cheeks went a bright, flaming red brighter than her hair. Her thumbs twitched against the edge of his mandibles and if Garrus was capable of blushing himself, he would've burnt bright as a sun at the thrill the touch sent through him.

"And, hrm, are dimples just when you smile? Because they come out when you're concentrating too." The stream-of-conscious question left Garrus' mind through his mouth as a distraction before he could stop it.

Ryn went even redder, if that was a possibility. Garrus contemplated the merits of shooting himself out the airlock at the next opportunity once again. He'd heard the empty void of space was great this time of year.

"They do not." She spluttered before faltering, "Do they?"

"They do. When you're programming routes into the galaxy map or fixing something in your guns." Garrus supplied.

Ryn dropped her hands and gave his shoulders a light shove, "You're too damn observant, Vakarian!" she barked, though it lacked heat.

"I could say the same about you, Shepard." Garrus shot back, his mind a complicated mess of circuits and parts as Ryn leaned back to get her beer and started rambling on another story from her time training in the N7 program.

It took several minutes for the blush to leave her cheeks, and Garrus couldn't read the looks she shot his way for the rest of the way as anything except bashful.

Humans were something of a mystery.

Ryn Shepard though, she was the most curious of them all.

[captainderyn]

⚠️Commissions are open! ⚠️ Slots are unlimited at the moment! To do so, you just need to go to my ko-fi page! -----> https://ko-fi.com/rohavon PLEASE read my terms of service before requesting anything! --- *link* ✔️Can do: OC’s and Fanart.  Animals/furry/anthro. Humans/humanoids. Fantasy creatures. Weapons, armor, accessories. Light machinery like vehicles. Light architecture. Mild gore and light nudity/sexual content. ❌ Won't do Excessive gore . Explicit NSFW.  Anything to do with racism, homophobia, transphobia, pedophilia, or incest. (cousins are fine, but please ask.)  Fetishes. Complex machinery such as mechs.

[captainderyn]

Tolkien OC week: Relationships. A silvan elf recovers after a near fatal attack from a maddened huorn. It's unnatural malaise and his earlier arrogance and inexperience will leave a literal scar on his body however. It just so happened he was near Rhosgobel when the attack happened, and was subsequently found by Radagast the Brown. I like to think that the istar wouldn't leave a very obviously dying elf alone, and with no one else nearby, he'd take Daerhovan to his own residence to heal. But there's a reason that Radagast lives alone (save for beasts) and while Daerhovan loved his time there and ate up the istar's teachings of wild things, I imagine Radagast was happy to see him go once he was recovered.

[captainderyn]

I’m planning to go to my local anime con in November in cosplay and I’m hardcore considering testing out making some umamusume and maybe Fate stickers just to hand out for funsies 🤔 gives me an excuse to practice making them and test out a printing service

[captainderyn]

Commissions Are Open

Exciting announcement my friends: My mustang project mare is officially becoming part of the Deryn family! As such I’m trying to sell out the last of my commission slots to prepare now that I have a working tablet again.

What does that look like?

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[captainderyn]

What was your obscure chatroom/forum that you used before social media? Don’t say Gaia Online or Club Penguin. I’m talking obscure.

[captainderyn]

Commissions Are Open

Exciting announcement my friends: My mustang project mare is officially becoming part of the Deryn family! As such I’m trying to sell out the last of my commission slots to prepare now that I have a working tablet again.

What does that look like?

Pay What You Can: $20+ Unlimited Slots

YCH Horse Commissions: $25, 2 Slots Left

Umamusume: Pretty Derby Style: $40, 3 Slots Left

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[captainderyn]

Fandom: The Lord of the Rings Online Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Braigiar & Banfuir (Lord of the Rings Online) Additional Tags: Torture, Aftermath of Torture, Rescue, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, No beta we die like Narndir, (offscreen in a ditch that is) Summary: Braigiar has been captured by the forces of the Iron Crown desiring the location of Gath Forthnir, and he, like any Ranger, would sooner die than give it up. Thus, seemingly beyond any hope of rescue, he must ready himself to meet a cruel end.

(I rolled Braigiar + Torture Devices on the Ranger Plinko thing ok look this is the wheel's fault not mine)

[captainderyn]

Commissions Are Open

Exciting announcement my friends: My mustang project mare is officially becoming part of the Deryn family! As such I’m trying to sell out the last of my commission slots to prepare now that I have a working tablet again.

What does that look like?

Pay What You Can: $20+ Unlimited Slots

YCH Horse Commissions: $25, 2 Slots Left

Umamusume: Pretty Derby Style: $40, 3 Slots Left

Orders are on my ko-fi if interested!

[captainderyn]

i think getting an undergrad degree should come with a free "second try" voucher, where if you want to go get a second different degree from any school because you picked the wrong thing as a 17 year old, its totally free to try again

[captainderyn]

is it weird to kiss the statue of ur 8 month situationship that happened a decade ago

for dragon age kiss week - day 4: famous landmark