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osirian-rises · 10 months ago

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Shadow Of Mine Chapter Two

The school food at Amun academy looks a million times better than at his old school. Usually, a special supper there would be some kind of vegetable and meat stew with mashed potatoes. Here, that was just the first course. There was ham, green beans, buttered corn, bread with butter. Best of all, there was real knives to spread on the butter and cut the ham, and not plastic ones that broke off into the food.

“Everyone, this is Jerome.” Trudy spoke up after a few teachers and Mr. Sweet had given more speeches. “Jerome, this is Isabella, Esperanza, Matthew, Harry, Christopher, and Jada. Oh, but where are Zoe and Brandon?” Trudy looked around. “Victor! Do you know where Zoe and Brandon are?”

“Sneaking around I presume.” Victor said accusingly, standing and grabbing his coat. “I will go out to look for them, stay here Trudy.” He left, stopping only to mutter something to Mr. Sweet that Jerome couldn’t hear. His attention was a bit preoccupied besides, on the final girl at the table, the one he hadn’t already met.

“I…I like your jacket.” He said quietly.

“Mine?” Jada looked down at her leather jacket and grinned at him. “Thanks. I did all the patchwork myself. You should see the stuff I have at home. Way easier to be punk when you aren’t constricted by a school dress code.”

He nodded in immediate agreeance. “No one was allowed to wear anything like that at my old school. I like the pins.” Isabella and Esperanza were watching him with twin grins, snickering to themselves.

“You punk, kid?” Jada teased. Jerome reluctantly shook his head no. “What are you, exactly?”

“What…what am I?” Jerome repeated.

“You gotta find a style, little dude. “ Jada grinned. “Your clothes tell me nothing about you. Everyone’s clothes should represent them. Like Esperanza, she’s beachy and we all know she never shuts up about her vacations to the Bahamas to surf. Isa is preppy, but not in an academic way, only in a fashion way.”

“What can I say, I look good in a blouse and pleated skirt.” Isabella said with a coy shrug, smoothing out her already straightened hair.

“And Christopher is trying and failing to look like the school bad boy.” Jada teased, Christopher laughing at her.

“I am the school bad boy.” He said suavely, shooting her a wink. Jada rolled her eyes. “The hair gel never lies.”

“So, you must have had a nice summer.” Jada presumed. “Did you go anywhere on holiday?”

“No. I hung out with my little sister.” Jerome said simply. That was pretty much all he could do at home, that and watch TV for hours on end. Poppy certainly felt like the days were too short, with how much she talked her head off, about her friends, and her school, and the class hamster, and how her music classes were teaching the recorder-

“Lame.” Harry commented under his breath. “I heard Zoe and Brandon met up over the holiday. Didn’t their families go together?”

“Yup. Amsterdam. My family went to Germany.” Isabella nodded. “It was amazing. We went to Neuschwanstein Castle, I got so many good pictures.”

“What about you, Jada?” Jerome piped up.

“My mom lives in Scotland. I spend holidays with her.” Jada said, taking a bite of her food. Jerome stared at her. Did that mean she lived with her dad? Like, saw him all the time lived with? Got letters in the mail lived with? Got presents on Christmas lived with?

Victor walked back in with Zoe and Brandon, both talking his ear off trying to explain where they had been.

“Anza, tell him what we’ve been doing!” Zoe demanded, crossing her arms.

“Planning a welcome home party for all of us.” Esperanza said smoothly, the excuse suspiciously convenient. “Before lights out of course.”

“Oh, isn’t that nice!” Trudy said happily, cutting off Victor before he could protest about the party. “I could bake some cookies for you all.”

The dining hall began to clear out as people finished eating, Jerome tailing behind his housemates as they walked back to the house. The air was cold now, and a whisper seemed to drift through the wind. Brandon and Zoe started laughing as they reached the house, much to Jerome’s confusion. They followed him to the room, watching from the door as he got his pajamas out to change. His bed looked strange. There was a small lump underneath the covers, just by his pillow. Forgetting about the teens at the door, he reached out and pulled the blanket back. There was a dead bird in his bed. There was a moment where Jereome was no longer in the bedroom.

He was in the hallway, staring at Victor. Victor was holding the bird, but he was alive, ruffling his feathers. “Back to your room!” The strange Victor said in an echoing boom. The bird squawked, flying straight at Jerome.

Then, just as quickly as the vision had come, Jerome was back in the bedroom, his eyes pained and slightly blurry, staring at a dead raven in his bed.

Jerome screamed, stepping back so fast he tripped over his own feet and fell onto the ground. Zoe and Brandon burst out laughing.

“Aw, the shrimps gonna cuddle up with Corbierre!” Matthew cooed.

Jerome stood back up, wiping at his eyes and grabbing the bird. It was stuffed, he realized now.

“What’s going on-” Victor cut off as he looked into the room. “You. What are you doing with that Clarke?”

“I-They-” Jerome flounder, pointing at Zoe and Brendan.

“He must have snuck into your office and took him.” Zoe said smugly, smiling at Victor.

“No, it was them, they-”

“Enough!” Victor snatched Corbierre out of Jerome’s hands. “I have heard plenty of your reputation at Pine Hills, you are to go straight to bed once you finish with your homework each night and straight to school in the mornings for a week.” He said sharply. “Am I understood?”

Jerome’s breath swallowed in his throat. He sullenly stared at Victor, nodding his head as he grabbed his pajamas off the floor. “Yes sir.” He said stiffly, moving into the boy’s bathroom and locking the door behind him. He sat down on the floor, his back to the door and his pajamas hugged to his chest. Tears burned at his eyes and he sniffled, hiding his face in his knees.

This place was just the same as Pine Hills. The same as home with his mom. With dad-before he’d disappeared. No one would ever believe him. No one would be on his side. No one would look out for him. He’d had bullies at Pine Hills, it was stupid of him to think it’d be any different here. He’d let his guard down.

He was the infamous Jerome Clarke, no good kid that was destined to become nothing but a degenerate or drunk.

Words: 1,155

PREVIOUS CHAPTERS:

Chapter One

#house of anubis #hoa #jerome clarke

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5am-the-foxing-hour · 5 years ago

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Thomas Ships Week Day 6

Day 6 (March 27): Confessing feelings // Supporting each other

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Ship: Thvi Thomas x Virgil

Characters: Thomas, Virgil, Remus is mentioned

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Words: 714

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@tsxsidesweek

General Fanfic Tag list: @ebony-wolf, @nashiraneko, @i-sold-my-soul-to-thefandom, @rabbitsartcorner, @punsterterry, @sleepyssnail, @nightmaresides, @virgilswritings, @ninja-girl2846, @ninjago2020, @starryfirefliesbloggo, @garecc, @sympatheticdeceit, @cookiethedevil, @askthesnake, @all-bridges-will-burn, @tacohippy56900, @little-euro-girl, @aggressiveshipper, @imbasicallyshakespear, @slayerofspiders, @prinssess61, @underthesea73, @suicidalcitrusfruit,

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Virgil sat curled up on the couch, chewing on his lower lip and playing with the zippers on his hoodie sleeves as he distractedly watched the TV that showed some old reruns of the Simpsons, he was going to tell Thomas how he felt, even if his anxieties was trying to make him reconsider.

Thomas was singing to himself in the kitchen as he was cooking dinner for himself and Virgil.

Virgil blinked and looked at the kitchen when he heard Thomas start to hum along to Under the sea as he finished setting the plates. humming to himself before he stiffened and shook his head.

“I will not add tiepods to the food REMUS!” He shrieked, causing Virgil to snort and try to stifle a laugh behind his hand, nerves being pretty much blown away as Thomas continued to argue with Remus about what was edible and not.

Thomas huffed before he checked that everything was turned off before he took the plates and joined Virgil in the living room. And instantly the nerves were back.

Virgil was trying to psych himself up during the meal, repeating what he would be saying over and over in his head, to weed out the bad ways to say things or finding better ways to say it. Virgil’s grip on the silverware was so hard his knuckles were turning white when he opened his mouth.

“Thomas?”

“Yeah?” Thomas asked looking away from the TV to blink at Virgil.

“I… ah… I need to tell you something...” Virgil took a deep breath ready to speak again and tell Thomas his feelings, only to choke on his own spit that sent him into a coughing fit. Thomas made an alarmed noise and patted him on the back to try and help.

“You okay, Virge?” Virgil nodded as he cleared his throat a few times before he sighed. “What did you want to tell me?”

“I- well- It’s-” Virgil looked up at Thomas and stared into the brown eyes, feeling his heart do a small somersault in his chest. Gosh Thomas was so handsome and Virgil was very very gay. Thomas tilted his head at the prolonged silence.

“Do you want to use your band-aid method? to just ‘rip it off’?” Thomas asked. Virgil blinked before he opened his mouth.

“I love you...” he mumbled out, before he blinked, realising what he just said and felt his face burn with embarrassment.

“...What?” Thomas asked staring at him with wide eyes.

“NOTHING! It’s NOTHING!” Virgil called stuffing his mouth with food. “I said NOTHING!”

“You… love me?” Virgil made a flustered noise and tried to hide in his hoodie, cheeks full of food making him look a bit like a emo hamster. “and I take it, this isn’t the kind of familial love the others have for me?” Virgil gave a small shake of his head. chewing the best he could while not looking at Thomas. Face as red as a beat, but due to his foundation it appeared more pink. “So…” Thomas said slowly, pointing at Virgil with his fork. “You love me like a friend?” Thomas saw Virgil give a minimal shake of the head “Like a queer platonic partner?” another shake “as in romantic love?” Virgil tried to hide further into his hoodie and his cheeks and face grew even darker red. Thomas watched him, Virgil had chewed and swallowed the food he had been stress eating. “So romantic love. Okay.”

“Wha- Okay?! What do you mean by okay? Isn't’ it… weird?” Thomas pursed his lips as he frowned slightly

“I guess it is a bit weird-” Virgil deflated a bit “But you know how weird my life is, what’s one more weird thing added to the chaotic mix?”

“I… true...” Virgil ate slower this time.

“Also. Love you too, Virgil.”

And Virgil made a strangled noise as he almost choked on a piece of mashed potatoes whipping his head to the side to stare at Thomas again, making a garbled mess of noises around the food in his mouth. Thomas just laughed as he reached over and ruffled Virgil’s hair.

“Let’s talk more about this once we’ve finished dinner, okay?” Virgil was still blushing furiously but he nodded, both dreading and wishing for the talk to come.

#Sanders Sides #Thvi #Virgil #Thomas #text #the fox writes #Tsxsides #Thomas Ships Week #Thomas Ships Week Day 6

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tabula-rara · 6 years ago

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A thing I wrote a while ago, for a maybe book, called The Rigg:

*Chapter One*

Not all memories are sepia-toned like in films when they transport you to The Childhood through lenses of browns and yellows. But the landscape of Riggside, the small bungalow where we’d spend our summers as children, and the slate hues of the house and its surrounding dry-stone walls, make my recollection of the place a mood board of cream Formica and russet melamine; wind-burnt lichen, slippery in the drizzle; and small hands rifling through jigsaw puzzle pieces, framed by a window distorted by rain. Stretching out to the Rigg and up to Crossfell.

Whenever we arrived from Rhododendron Surrey, antsy from the journey, we exercised early courage as our parents unlocked the house and turned the heating on. Shivering, we’d tell ourselves that maybe, if we held out long enough, this cold outpost could become a home-from-home. Now we were here there would be warmth.

We’d unpack the shopping – never usually would we buy Wagon Wheels or, when we were older, Caramel bars. Was this our changing tastes or why the one and then the other? Did Caramel bars compete on price? Did it come down to the deals on at Safeway? And why are these eras of foil-wrapped treats so central to my memories (over, say, learning about my parents’ divorce)? With chocolate on my face, palms and leggings, I was forging my own Proustian pathways.

Once we’d done enough to help (which was generally, when especially young, just standing out of the way to provide audience), there’d be a moment of bewildered ‘and what now?’ Why had we been brought here and what were we to do with ourselves?

And the answer was always that we could go on a walk, go into the village, go on a bike ride, see our friends, read a book. Following the journey, our willingness to do anything but cover our knees with our t-shirts, shivering with inactivity, and complain was epidemic, frustrating our parents into sighs and shortened tempers.

Our best weapon against the cold and torpor, with an overnight to restore our good moods, was to get out and about, beyond the gate, chasing each other over the clods of earth and through the peat and the reeds. We’d often see hares dashing through the gorse and would stop to whisper their evidence to each other. And stop to hope ourselves friends enough with nature that they’d creep out of their fear and hiding to come and be stroked. Not so, and with the breeze’s deathly chill, our patience would be cut short and we’d once again run off into the landscape.

I’ve often wondered whether this is a shared need people have, to be validated by animals. Some people, I think, plainly like animals and enjoy, therefore, their proximity. But do they let their own value hang on the tameness and curiosity of something so small, so expendable, so wild and edible?

When I was very young, I remember a visit to a pet shop with Mum, enquiring about hamster husbandry – costs, upkeep, burden, and so on – and myself waddling over to explore the animals on display. They were all hiding and asleep, or behind glass, save for a chinchilla so big for its cage it couldn’t hide from the young and the curious.

However young I was, I was old enough (advanced enough!) to know the sign on the cage said “do not feed, do not put fingers into cage.” And not because I was rebellious, but because I was rapt student of Hollywood tales, I ignored the warning, certain that I’d found my seal, monkey, whale companion equivalent. Would we solve mysteries together? How would we!

I was young enough that up until that point, I’d communicated all my thoughts and emotions with the pride of someone who’s only recently communicated hunger, thirst and a wet nappy through tears.

So, the bite (clear through my fingerprint, to my bewilderment), and the blood, created a doubly seminal moment for my developing brain. I understood I’d wilfully ignored instruction, and that, for all of my pain and shock, I couldn’t tell mum what had happened, so intent was she on discussing the rota of sawdust replacement necessary for the routine defecation habits of Russian hamsters (the cutest looking! Also the cruellest), with the shop manager. I couldn’t admit what I’d done, and instead enjoyed my first repression. My first absorption of an impact.

The second lesson during this wildly formative moment, and one which continues to dog – or is that chinchilla? – me to this day, is that we’re not the impeccably cast protagonists in the films of our lives. Our narrative arcs are seldom those of the films. We don’t catch villains with simian best friends. Our lives are made up of disparate actions which we’re always trying to mould into meaningful narratives. We grew apart, a common one. Mooning about youth, another. “That was a summer of goodbyes. We were all going our separate ways, to our distant university towns, where we’d learn about sex and comedowns. Research we might never share with each other, though it felt, now, like it would be headlines.” I tap my pipe, and as I do so, my characterfully aged eyes shine.

The alternative arc – more recognisable as real life – reminds us of our powerlessness and mortality. It reminds us that no matter our bill payments being up to date, no matter the creams we apply to our faces, the pursuing a learned lifestyle, we might be winded by adultery, cancer, seemingly inexplicable and paralysing misery. We might choke one day on a kipper bone. Or be walking ambivalently enough before then being choked on a sense of our ephemerality. Mazel tov!

When we’d finished scampering about on The Rigg, spotting only the zoetrope-flicker of tails as they disappeared into the gorse, we’d return to hot baths and hot ‘suppers’ – you could take the family out of Surrey… – of mashed potato, peas and stews. Jigsaws, then bickering, then bed.

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forlornmelody · 6 years ago

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Double the Trouble Chapter 14 -- A New Name

Rating: Explicit (previous chapters have smut)

Ship: FemShep x Femshep Clone, Femshep x Kaidan, Femshep x Femshep Clone x Kaidan, OT3

AO3 Link: Here

Summary: It’s Shepard and Kaidan’s anniversary, and they invite Jane over for a special dinner.

Note: Two years and a prequel later, here’s the final chapter. Hope you all enjoyed my crack fic as much as I did writing it.

Anniversaries with Kaidan are always a tricky thing. Should they celebrate the anniversary of the night they committed mutiny and banged on the way to Illos? Or would it be more fitting to dress up and eat a fancy dinner one year after their first date on the Citadel? One thing’s for sure--neither of them want to remember the date they ran into each other on Horizon.

Somehow, it’s decided that their official anniversary happens every 365 terran days after the day the Normandy returned to Earth. Neither of them is super eager to go out. Besides, how are they to explain the third person on their reservation? So, they plan a candlelit dinner inside Kaidan’s apartment. Shepard picks up a white tablecloth and candle sticks, and Kaidan plans their menu. They schedule a time with Jane and wrap a very special gift inside a black box with a red satin ribbon. Before Jane arrives, they start a playlist on the radio--arguing over whether the music should be club music or jazz. Their argument devolves into “Hey, I saved the galaxy three times” and “I stood up for you when everyone thought you were a traitor” and “No, Anderson didn’t” and lastly “Anderson doesn’t count.” Somehow, Shepard wins the argument--Kaidan isn’t remotely surprised. “Next time we’re listening to jazz.”

“Hey, I brought some treats for Jeff. Hope you don’t mind.” Jane closes the door behind her, dropping a small bag next to the hamster cage. “Whoa. You weren’t kidding.”

“Too much?” Kaidan sweeps Jane up into a kiss as Shepard limps her way over. Shepard’s mouth is on hers as soon as Kaidan’s is out of the way.

“No. Though I’m still surprised you invited me to this. Isn’t this your night?”

“You mean a lot to us, Jane. And we couldn’t wait.” Shepard sits down at the table, already set with plateware, glasses, flatware, wine, and steaming hot food. Kaidan pulls out a chair for Jane.

“Wait for what?”

Kaidan and Shepard share a knowing glance, and the former reaches over to the coffee table, pulling out a box and handing it to Jane. “Open it.”

Shepard leans forward, fingers and biotics itching to open it for her--to make the process go faster, but she holds back.

Jane blinks at what she finds inside. She holds up a driver’s license to the candle light “ID? I thought everything was digital?”

“It’s more for sentimental value...and those low-tech places without readers.” Kaidan serves them both steak--unburned steak, for the record-- candied asparagus, and garlic mashed potatoes.

“What Kaidan means to say is that wanted to give you--”

“My own name,” Jane says it softly, reading the name on the ID card. “Allison Gunn. Who is that?”

“Keep digging.” Shepard grins widely, not touching her food, as delicious as it smells. She doesn’t want to miss a single moment.

Underneath a birth certificate, obviously forged, and a Social Insurance Number, printed on a letter--also forged, Jane finds a mint-condition Badass Weekly. On it, Jane finds a familiar face. “What the hell is this?” She smirks over at Shepard.

“A name isn’t anything without a reputation, right?”

Jane thumbs through the magazine quickly, nearly ripping the edges as she races to the correct page. She skims the words while Shepard starts to wonder if this was the best gift idea. “But why go to all this trouble? I already have both.”

Shit. This is why Shepard never gives gifts. She always ends up sending the wrong message. Is it too late to take it back?

“What Shepard means to say--is that we wanted to give you a name that was your own.”

“I only used it once.” Shepard says quickly, sitting up. “On Beckenstein.”

“What the hell did you do?”

Leaning forward, Shepard eyes her Clone with the most confident grin she can manage. “A heist. And shot up a crime lord and all his shit.”

“Damn. You never do things the easy way, do you, Shepard?” Jane runs her finger down the image of “Alison”, obviously photoshopped. Shepard would never wear her hair that long. Especially for when this magazine was published. “This was when you were with Cerberus?”

Shepard bristles at the mention of that name. “Yeah. I was helping a friend.” Kasumi still wrote her emails--heavily encrypted ones. One of these days she should write her back. “Same friend who helped make the ID for you.”

“For me? Or you?”

“For you.” Kaidan taps the picture on her ID card. It has Jane’s undershave, and her sun tattoo peeking out over her shoulder. And then Kaidan grins. “Actually. That’s Shepard’s gift for you.” He pulls out a second box, deeper than the last. Jane glances at Shepard, to find her equally dumbfounded.

“Don’t look at me.” What could have Kaidan found for Jane? Is it something related to their coffee dates? Shepard watches closely as Jane lifts the lid.

Jane gasps as she pulls out a well-worn journal, made from skin of some sea creature--likely an alien one. Tears spring from Jane’s eyes, and Shepard glances at Kaidan for explanation. He smiles. “How’d you find this??”

“Took some digging. But we still have connections to Thessia, especially now that coms are back up.” Kaidan frowns. “We...we couldn’t save everything. And a lot of things her parents wanted to keep. But they sent this. For...” he scrunches his nose as he searches his memory. “...Ana…”

“Fields.” Jane’s voice is thick with emotion as she traces the sun design on the front. With a jolt, Shepard realizes it’s the same one that rests on Jane’s left shoulder. Distantly, her clone looks up at Kaidan, a tear slipping down her cheek. “Did they say anything?”

Kaidan shifts in his seat, clearing his throat. “Well, they said she’d want you to have them.”

Jane tears the journal out of the box, digging for what lies underneath. She finds brushes and pencils, erasers, and a straight edge. A sob escapes her throat before she can stop it. “Thank you. Thank you both.”

Shepard reaches over, squeezing her hand once it’s free. “I wish I could have met her.”

Jane’s voice is thick. “Me too.”

So lost in running her thumb across Jane’s hand until her sobs subside, Shepard doesn’t notice Kaidan leaving the table. She doesn’t think much of it. Jane’s telling her some story about the hijinks her and Dreya got up to, and they’re both stirring their potatoes instead of eating them. Glancing over at Kaidan’s empty seat, Jane brightens, and Shepard sees a spark in her eye that makes her suspicious. Her clone never had a good poker face. “Jane? Is there something I should know?”

“Mm?” Jane says innocently, suddenly shoving potatoes into her mouth.

N school taught her to trust her instincts, and right now Shepard’s instincts are telling her that Jane is compensating. But for what? She scans the room, finding nothing particularly out of place. The hamster’s been fed. Nothing is on fire in the kitchen--for once. Kaidan’s chair has been empty for a while, though. “How long has Kaidan been gone?” She assumed he went to the bathroom, but even that diva didn’t take that long.

Jane shrugs.

“Shouldn’t we check on him?”

“He survived the Normandy crashing on an uncharted world, being run over by the Mako, and a Collector attack--I’m sure he’s fine.”

“Hey, Shepard,” Kaidan says softly from behind her. Shepard turns around to see him shyly watching her like with his hands behind his back--well, if she’s honest--like the first time he saw her naked. How far they had both come--and yet how little had changed.

“Hey, Kaidan.” Oh yeah. Something’s definitely up, but Kaidan is adorable like this so Shepard plays along. “What’s up?”

“I got something for you.”

A fork flips off Jane’s plate as she leans in closer to watch. Jumping at the noise, Shepard gathers herself and looks back at the man she loves. “Oh? What is it?”

“You... uh. You might want to turn your chair around.” Kaidan swallows hard, and a neuron fires in Shepard’s brain...only to miss its target. Something’s off-- but what. Shepard turns around anyway--and Kaidan sinks to one knee. Her heart plummets into her stomach.

“Jane Shepard, will you marry me?”

Shepard’s brain short-circuits. Her eyes catch on the sparkle of the gemstone as Kaidan pops open the box. Distantly she remembers ranting about the stupidity of diamonds when they passed a jewelry store on the Citadel. “Garnet?” She mutters.

Kaidan’s eyes widen and his mouth falls open. “Uh--sorry. I thought that was what you liked. Shit. Maybe I….” Her lover tailspins in a spiral, and Shepard’s jaw drops open as she finally realizes what’s happening. Link established.

“You’re asking me to marry you,” she says out loud. The words sound foreign coming out of her mouth. Marriage...always seemed to be something for other people. Better people. Not that Kaidan is a bad person--he’s amazing, better than her in so many ways. Kaidan would get married one day. But not to her.

“Yeah. Sorry. I thought maybe--” Kaidan puts on a brave face, but he could never fool her.

“Kaidan.” Shepard hooks her finger under his chin, turning his face toward hers.

“Shepard,” he whispers, his eyes wavering. An image flashes in Shepard’s mind of him looking at her that way--dressed in a tuxedo on an altar overlooking English Bay. Or maybe his family’s orchard--away from the Reaper’s destruction. The image scares her, and yet it thrills her to think the man she loves might look at her like that for the rest of her life.

Shepard should probably say something, but she doesn’t trust herself to speak. Not with the torrent of emotions raging through her brain. Instead she pulls him into a kiss--not unlike the one they shared when he hobbled off the Normandy after being MIA for months on end. Kaidan trembles at her touch, holding her gently as if she might slip away like cottonwood in the breeze. Squeezing his hands, Shepard kisses him harder, trying to say with her kiss what feels impossible to say with words. I love you, I love you, I love y--

Jane, or should she say--Alison, clears her throat. “Is that a yes or--?”

Kaidan’s smile slips again, and Shepard steals a quick kiss to reassure him. “Of course!” She is not good at this. But she wants to be better.

“Good. Cause I got to know if I need to get a nice tux.”

“Oh, so we’re inviting you?” Shepard swats Kaidan as he falls apart into laughter.

“Of course, she’s invited!” Somehow their playful argument dissolves into wrestling on the floor, and when Shepard has pinned Kaidan to the rug, she looks over to see her Clone brushing her fingers across her new ID. Alison Gunn, indeed.

#mass effect #shenko #ot3 #clone shep #shepard clone #femshep #kaidan alenko #melody writes

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