#Is it actually called his mouth though- Not sure! Know just about all of Turian (at least outwards

[ushidoux]

Good Teacher - Sugawara x Reader

Summary: You meet Sugawara on an online dating app expecting something tame, but get more than you expected. (~3.1k words)

Warnings: fem pronouns, fem!reader, some features are described ***, dom/sub dynamics, collaring, daddy kink, breathplay, dacryphilia, spanking, edging, toy use, restraint use, sub drop

A/N: Again, this was a commission so some features are described!! Otherwise, please enjoy my first longer BDSM fic.

---

Being alone in your bedroom at 9pm on a Friday night may have felt like a loss on any other day, but today, with your phone buzzing non-stop and every neuron in the sexy parts of your brain firing, you could not think of anything else you would rather do.

Well, actually you could think of a few, and most of them involved slipping out of your pajamas and slipping under your new flame.

Sugawara Koushi.

A name like that sounded sweet. Maybe even bland. Safe.

When you’d swiped right on his profile on the tamer of your social media apps, you’d expected someone mild-mannered and easy to speak to. He was an elementary school teacher with soft features, white hair and a cute mole under his left eye. He couldn’t possibly be as forward as the other guys you’d dealt with over the years. A tame, responsible choice.

You’d started texting back and forth quickly, with polite, formal introductions which progressed to cute messages and long phone calls, and you’d even managed a very chaste first date where he’d picked you up at 8pm on the dot and taken you to a fine restaurant on the water.

You normally would have expected to be dicked down that night, and had paired sexy lingerie under your silky mauve dress for exactly that, but you weren’t too surprised when he left you at your doorstep with a peck on the forehead.

The only unsettling thing about the kiss was the way his eyes had lingered on your lips, just as his fingers trailed the curve of your jaw as he tucked your hair behind your ear. It was too practiced, too… dominant.

You suspected he was holding something back.

And he was, because once you’d ventured to call in the middle of the night, a little bit tipsy and yearning for a little bit more than a smile and a gentle touch from him, you’d broken some sort of dam.

He’d called you a needy, desperate, pretty little slut, desperate for Daddy’s cock but needing to prove herself that she was willing to ride with Daddy’s very, very strict set of rules first, and you’d practically cum at the sudden turn of his voice.

Now anything was fair game.

I have… particular taste. Are you sure you can keep up, princess?

The warmth between your legs and the image of full balls and a weighty, rigid cock told you, you would absolutely be ready for anything he had in store for you. 

Yes, daddy. I’m up for anything you want.

You, of course, couldn’t see the wide smile spreading across his face on the other end, as he palmed his cock slowly while reading your texts and admiring your nudes, and texted back:

We’ll need a shit ton of rope.

---

Sugawara’s hands are much larger than you’d anticipate, and rougher, and you wonder how much of it is due to high school athletics or from the fact that he’s quick to slap or spank you at any chance he gets. Your skin is sometimes red, sometimes bruised, and always marked, and it’s exactly the way you like it.

The first time you have sex, he starts you off as though you are the most shy of virgins even though you claim that you’re not exactly inexperienced.

“I wouldn’t want to break you, pretty girl,” he teases, as his hands worship your body, tracking down your waist to the center of your legs, and patting your cunt softly. Today, he’s promised to focus on your pleasure only because he wants to “break you in.” You wonder how many he’s “broken in,” then you realize you don’t really care. You’re his one and only princess right now, and you intend to be for quite a while. 

The pleasure of being a good dom is that he can choose to serve - he can choose to be doting and he can choose to be harsh with punishment. Since it’s your first day since you’ve entered this contract with him, he’s decided to focus on the catering part of his personality, and familiarize you with his desires.

The rose-gold Turian collar on your neck compliments your skin well, he takes note, as he takes one of your nipples in his mouth and leans you against him while you are seated on the edge of the bed and he’s kneeling just so before you, fingers deep in your cunt.

“You’re gonna keep that pretty little thing around your neck, aren’t you, pretty baby?”

His fingers move so fast that it’s hard for you to speak, and the arm that’s wrapped around your waist and keeping you flush against him is tightening the longer he continues. He’s a lot stronger than he looks, you know from every heavy spank he’s given you.

“I-I will, daddy, every day and every night,” you pant out, your tongue lolling as his fingers curve upwards and his lips leave your nipple with a soft pop and make their way to your quivering mouth.

“Good,” he whispers as he bites your lower lip. “You’re so obedient… I like that in a little one,” he affirms.

---

He’s kind when he teaches, patient even. 

He’s also generous; he gifts you with your first corset, a dark, lacy and tight thing that almost takes your breath away initially, especially when he tightens it onto you himself. Even if it’s constraining, you feel empowered from the very moment you look in the mirror. Your breasts sit high, and you spin once in a gesture of delight; he kisses down your neck as you admire yourself.

“This is only to get you used to a little bit of restriction,” he reassures, as he pulls you into his lap. “But I can’t deny that you look breathtaking.”

---

Since you’ve been so bold as to take his breath away, it isn’t too long until he decides he wants to see what you look like when you’re truly struggling for air. After all, the little shiny thing around your neck catches his eye way too often for his comfort, and his pants suddenly feel too tight for a casual grocery store run.

Your safeword is red, like the blood that courses through your veins as his fingers tighten around your throat.

He thumbs your pink, puffy lips, and it would be loving if he wasn’t calling you a stupid little cocktease.

“Pretty little bambi, prancing around like you’re free to be with anyone other than me.”

The breath that tickles your face is a taunt, because you’re slowly getting lightheaded, barely able to focus on the long index finger he’s commanding you to suck. 

The pressure he puts on your neck is varying; for moments you can draw a single staccato breath, which encourages him to press his lips to yours and absorb you in a kiss before he reapplies pressure; his naked body presses against yours, rolling painstakingly slow. He hasn’t even entered you yet.

Breathplay, he calls it.

You gasp as his cock slips into your wet entrance just as fast as his hand leaves your throat, and he too draws a deep breath as he fills you to the hilt. 

He lets out a soft laugh as he caresses the hair that is sticking to your face, and readjusts himself yet again - of course, he’s also better endowed than you’d expect him to be - before he picks up speed and chokes you again.

---

“I… Kou-”

“Daddy,” he stresses, unphased as he continues to press a small clitoral stimulator to your tender, overworked bud.

“D-Daddy~” you cry out in a soft, drawn out whine, and you shift a little bit because the ties that keep your ankles attached to the legs of the chair, your pussy exposed and vulnerable with your crotch wide open, are starting to dig into your skin. But you can’t move all that much, there’s additional rope around your waist that keeps you against the back of the chair and you think the soft satin that keeps your wrists behind you is probably overkill, even if you have to admit you like the color.

“Yes, sweetheart~” he whispers in a voice accented with assertive sweetness, his eyes still lowered and focused on the heave of your chest as he watches you drip before him.

“I-” 

You scream.

He’d angled the toy upwards, and somehow within the small bundle of nerves he’s targeted an even more precise cluster of endings - there’s a flash of white you see before you cum practically violently, lurching forward so rapidly that he has to keep the chair steady so that you won’t fall over on the pretty little face he adores.

It’s possibly the fourth time he’s had to ground you in the past hour, and it’s an act of mercy because he had been edging you repeatedly, forcing your pussy to clench desperately around nothing but air.

The way you gush and spray so lewdly onto the chair, onto the floor, onto the hand he plays on your sopping wet pussy reminds him he chose very, very well.

---

It’s nearly silent and it’s dark now, far too dark for you to see. 

Your Koushi has prepared you for this next step lovingly, sometimes not so lovingly over the past couple of weeks to build up to this.

The blindfold that obscures your vision is soft and slightly sweet smelling, as though spritzed with a floral scent about a day ago prior to this. Again your hands are bound, but he’s used lined handcuffs instead of ties, and your wrists are before you, not behind you. 

But you’re lying on your belly, a spreader forcing your thighs apart. He must really love the way your pussy looks staring him in the face.

“You seem to be a glutton for punishment, princess,” he says, accenting his words with a hard slap on your inner thigh. You gasp, but his hands linger tighten, and are then followed by what can only be the press of his tongue against the stinging portion.

“Daddy, I’ll behave, I’m so sorry,” you moan as his hand grips a generous portion of your asscheek.

But you won’t behave, because you’ve learned that Suga likes just a touch of bratty behavior and that gets him quite physical with you. He knows this just as much as you.

He slaps your ass fervently, the slight jiggle drawing a pleased sigh from his lips.

“You’re a silly little slut, though…” he starts, rubbing a hand along the length of your thigh, “how can I trust any of your promises?”

His finger travels to your open center, and when he sees you tense up, he stops.

“You need a firm hand to guide you always…”

His right hand curves again around your cunt and his middle and ring finger finds its way into your slippery hole, while his index taps your clit and his little finger (he’s dexterous like this), taps ever so lightly around your asshole. 

You shudder.

“Arch your back, you little cumslut. Make it easy for daddy.”

As you inch backwards slowly using your elbows and knees to rise up, his right hand continues to move with you, but then his other hand lands heavily on your other asscheek.

It breaks your concentration and you almost fall because it takes quite a lot more energy than you would expect to move this way with your hands bound and your legs spread, but you persevere. 

For him.

Before you can whine once you’ve gotten into position, he withdraws his hand from your cunt.

“No!” You find yourself shrieking before you realize. You can’t have him edge you again, he’s absolutely cruel, you can’t…

“Oh, I thought I called the shots here, princess,” Sugawara reminds you, voice honeyed and cruel. You can feel his fingers weave into your hair and the warm tip of what must be his cock prod at your entrance.

“Sir, please~”

“Beg.”

He spreads you open with a hand massaging your ass, again tapping teasingly all around your vagina, but he won’t push in to give you the pleasure of having his cock inside you.

Your heart is pounding with desire.

“Please!”

“Please what?”

“Please fill me up, daddy!”

That statement of desire earns you an inch, an inch that makes you swallow saliva hard and your muscles tense with need and want.

“M-more, more please!”

“You’re so demanding. I would say your eyes are bigger than your pretty little pussy, but you can’t see, can you?”

He laughs, but he pushes in further another inch, than another, moving painstakingly slow, slow enough that you’re biting your lower lip until blood is drawn. The stretch is achingly delicious but it leaves you starved for more.

You’re begging and whining, and soon you’re trying your best to sink onto him further but he’s got you restrained for a reason.

“Greedy little bitch,” he murmurs, but he kisses your neck lovingly as he fills you to the hilt.

The unmistakable noise of flesh hitting flesh and minimal friction fills the room but you care less about sound, only about the slap of his balls against your cunt as he thrusts into you from behind.

More. Deeper. Faster. Harder.

He’s a master at drawing desire out of you, you wonder if you even needed these toys and ties and other accoutrements. You’re already so utterly wrapped for him. 

---

There’s a movie playing on your screen that you had both been pretending to watch, cuddled together on the couch, your legs resting across his lap. You had barely gotten through the opening credits before he pulled you onto him fully and had you straddle him.

“You want a snack, pretty baby?” He whispers, as though it weren’t just the two of you staring in each other’s eyes.

Your eyelashes bat and you nod.

He doesn’t break eye contact while he reaches for a strawberry, fresh from the farmer’s market you’d strolled through this morning, from a bowl set on the table. 

This one is drizzled in chocolate, and he runs it along the length of your collarbone, eye contact still heavy and unflinching before he dips down to catch it in his mouth.

It hangs out halfway from his teeth and he cues you to take it from him mouth to mouth. You split half of it, letting the sweet tartness permeate your senses.

His arm hooks around your waist and pulls you in close as he presses his lips against yours. You weren’t aware of the glob of strawberry-flavored saliva he’d collected until he draws away, tilts your head back and tells you to open up wide so he can spit directly into your mouth.

---

“Swallow.”

Suga’s relentlessly pounding an erect, frustrated and thick cock into your mouth, past your teeth and down your poor throat, and he’s close to his release now, you can tell by the way he’s now pressed your face so far against him that his carefully cropped pubes prick your face.

He’s warning you beforehand, and you’re thankful for the warning because when he cums with a soft, almost angelic moan, his penis jerks inside your mouth ever so slightly, and there’s a gush of hot, slippery liquid that slides down your throat.

You breathe through your nose. He tastes sweet, maybe it’s because of the strawberries from just earlier today, but nevertheless it’s a pleasant liquid you gulp down around his cock.

He loves the way your throat feels when it clamps around him, especially when you initially gag once accepting his cock.

You’re perfect.

“Come up, darling,” he bids you, pulling you up from your position on your knees.

“Are you gonna fill me up, daddy?” You mewl softly as he lifts up and carries you before laying you on your back.

“Yes, pretty baby, but let me taste your juicy little cunt first,” he says before he dives in between your legs.

---

“You’re so good for me, you know that, don’t you?”

He kisses your neck softly as he holds you close to him while you lay in bed together. It’s close to 1am and he’s focused on aftercare, caressing your arms and waist and the curve of your hip gently. You’re facing away from him, not because you’re upset, but because you’re exhausted.

He’s worried you’re having a sub-drop; after all, he’s spent the last two hours slapping your face and calling you disgusting. He wonders if you forgot to use your safe word.

You’re new to this and he’s put you through a lot in the past few weeks.

“Sweetness,” he whispers, directly into your ear. “Look at me?”

You turn, cheeks still flushed from particularly hard slaps. His heart aches a bit for you, because those sweet lips are pulled downwards into a frown and he’s not sure if those are fresh tears that wet your eyelashes. 

He kisses your eyelids then rests his chin on the top of your head.

“Are you doing okay, my princess?”

You nod and reach for his face with your fingertips. Your dom softens under your touch because you are so precious to him. His fingers close around yours and he kisses your forehead.

“The most important thing is your comfort,” he asserts. He taps the collar around your neck that suggests in some way that you are his and he is yours. “You can take this off at any time.”

You wrap your arms around his waist and bury your face into his chest. It’s been fun and it’s also been freeing to have him take care of you. There’s a soft haze that wafts around your brain lately as you surrender to him. You are in love with him, deeply, in such a short amount of time.

“I would never,” you say, finally. 

His heart skips a beat.

“Unless you want to buy me a nicer one, of course.”

He chuckles. 

“You’re a feisty little one, aren’t you?” He remarks. He’s glad to look down at you and see you smiling again, eyes bright and brown. He reaches for your ass cheek, then raises your leg so that it lies across his hip. 

Your eyes twinkle with mischief.

“Well, that’s why you picked me to teach, isn’t it?” You raise an eyebrow, and the cheeky grin on your face is enough to make him get absolutely hard again.

Of course, only if you’re up to the task.

Suga bites gently on your lip again, his hand on your thigh. 

“I didn’t expect you to learn so quickly.”

“Maybe you really do have the gift of teaching,” you reply, as you stick your tongue into his mouth.

[mtreebeardiles]

Touching Prompt #34: washing the other’s body

I decided I'd challenge myself a bit with this one and give some Turians a try. Thanks for the request/helping me get out of that block!

Also on AO3

Suit VI screeching a warning as the distortion blast ripped through his armor and Avitus's first thought was well, shit.

The second may have been ow as the follow-up attack further sundered his armor all the way down to the undersuit, a hail of bullets finding their marks to the softer, less protected hide below, but he didn't give himself time to dwell on it. Flash of an omni-tool followed by the relief of medi-gel and painkillers and he had enough presence of mind to hurl the last of his grenades towards the Eclipse merc prepping for another biotic assault, blinding her and her buddies long enough to slip away.

Mission parameters shifted from confiscate contraband to get out of this warehouse alive.

Wedging his body between two shipping containers a moment to collect himself and formulate a plan, Avitus chanced a glance up, way up, to the high windows that offered a slice of the Illium skyline beyond. A fancy, clean, white-collar sort of place on the surface presented a convincing façade to those who didn't know better. For all Omega was dirt and filth and desperation, it was honest about what it was, and the one Avitus preferred of the two. He had little patience for puffery, and even less for corporate conniving.

He probably should have thought about that before agreeing to this assignment.

He'd become less choosy in the jobs he took, less invested in the why's presented by the Council and more interested in the where's and when's and how's, the what's another means to an end. What that end was, he still wasn't sure, but work was work and he needed it, needed that focus to his thoughts before they drifted, before the questions came back, the doubts, an echoing cacophony at the edges of his thoughts --

--Spectre Everett Shepard has asserted Spectre Saren Arterius murdered Spectre Nihlis Kyrik --

--Confirmed: former Spectre Saren Arterius has been killed --

Avitus shook his head. Thoughts of the reports would only conjure up thoughts of his deceased friends, and it was a long, agonizing route downward from there. He didn't have time for it.

Calling up his omni-tool, he tapped out a quick message, shorthand, an exchange of information in a language he'd developed with the one friend who had been there when everything else had fallen apart around him.

Was in the market for a vacation home on that hoity-toity Asari planet -- you know the one. Suggestions?

No contact information, no tracers, the message self-erasing upon successful delivery. He didn't have to wait long for the response, thank the Spirits, memorizing the coordinates sent before these, too, deleted.

----

"You know, maybe an actual vacation wouldn't be a bad idea."

Avitus grunted as hands moved to steady him, the door to the safe house whirring shut behind him, locks re-engaging.

"You can get alcohol with tiny umbrellas just about anywhere if you look hard enough."

This response earned him a huff of laughter, and he felt his shoulders relax for the first time in months.

"I didn't realize you were in town," he went on as the other Turian carefully guided him through the space. Harsh light overhead revealed he was being led to the bathroom.

"I was in the neighborhood," Macen Barro replied lightly. "Sit."

Avitus said nothing as he did as he was bid, though he couldn't help the flare of his mandibles as he regarded the man before him. Macen was an old friend, one he'd met and made back in bootcamp what felt like a lifetime ago. A good soldier, but unconventional, with a tendency to run his mouth when he would have been better off staying quiet. Black ops had been a natural fit for him, restrictions looser and better suited to someone with his skillset of stealth and sabotage. Not too unlike Avitus himself, and he rather thought he would have followed Macen to Black Ops if Saren hadn't handpicked him for Spectre candidacy.

Avitus swallowed, willing thoughts of his old mentor away, and refocused on the armor Macen was carefully peeling off his body.

The damage was worse under the cruel lights of the bathroom, their sharp glare highlighting the scope of what his armor had been subjected to. A hiss as the final piece was stripped away, dark blue blood blossoming on his undersuit, and Macen's own mandibles twitched in concern.

"I'm going to need to take all of this off," he began, eyes flicking up to meet Avitus's. Avitus was already nodding, seeing the necessity of it. Illium might pretend to be clean, but its warehouses were just as dirty as their corporate dealings. Avitus wasn't interested in an infection.

"Do it," he verbalized, knowing Macen was waiting for the words. It was rare for a Turian to be completely stripped down, bearing the more vulnerable parts of their bodies even in private. The carapace that offered some level of protection around their heads and shoulders softened over the belly and at the joints, the same lightness that gave Turians greater speed than other species offering weak points easily exploited if not sufficiently guarded.

"Can you stand?"

Macen's hands on him were gentle and he swallowed, pushing the surge of other thoughts away as firmly as he had those of his dead compatriots. It was harder with Macen right there, Avitus's eyes drawn to the curve of the other's clan markings, the burning blue of his eyes, the way his mandibles twitched with obvious care and worry as he assessed the damage to Avitus's body. Hard not to lose himself in the idea of being seen, a safe spot in the light carved out by their history and things unsaid thrumming below the surface and --

-- don't go there, Rix.

Macen's eyes flicked up to his, mandibles pulling in tight a moment. "Think you can stand on your own to shower?"

It was a valid question. He wanted to say no, wanted to accept the help Macen was clearly offering, but the feelings he had for the other Turian were hard enough to force down as it was. So he shook his head, stepped away from those careful, gentle hands -- and nearly fell on his face.

Macen caught him with arms looped around his waist, a hand steady on his chest, and Avitus's blood was surging through his veins, his distracted thoughts of Macen Macen Macen interrupted by thank god for Medi-gel.

A quiet laugh, and he could feel Macen shake his head. "You know, stubbornness is liable to get you hurt one of these days."

"I already am hurt," Avitus retorted gruffly, infinitely grateful that Turians, unlike humans, couldn't blush.

"Is that from stubbornness or a miscalculation in your mission?"

"They weren't supposed to be there," he grumbled.

Another quiet laugh, and Avitus felt himself relaxing in spite of himself. Macen rearranged his hold on him, supporting him over to the shower stall.

"So that's how you got hurt? Clerical error?"

"Basically."

Macen started the water, checking the temperature before helping Avitus under the spray. The other man stepped away long enough to remove the upper portion of his own armor, leaving him in his undersuit for greater mobility as he returned to help his wounded friend.

"I do wish you'd be a bit more particular in the sorts of jobs you take, Avi," Macen murmured, and Avitus swallowed at the nickname. Two-syllables, a simplification of his given name, should not have had the effect they did, but wrapped in Macen's voice, murmured just so, and he thought maybe he better understood the humans and their brittle knees when it came to objects of affection. "Corporate bullshit isn't your usual bag."

"Maybe I'm just branching out, stretching my legs."

"More liable to get them blow off. These white-collar fucks play dirty with the mercs they hire to protect their shit."

Avitus merely grunted, watching as the other Turian disengaged the showerhead's detachable wand to run the water with greater focus over the worst of his wounds. The pressure was gentle enough to not hurt, blue blood sliding off his skin to swirl around the drain at their feet.

"It's not so bad," he began, trailing off as Macen sighed. Quiet save for the running water fell between them, Macen gently sponging him with soap next before another rinse.

"I'm getting worried about you, Avi," the other Turian admitted once he had him seated again. He knelt to better towel him off, having left to grab the medkit from the wall opposite first.

"I'm fine, Macen."

And maybe it was blood loss and pain and memories of friends too difficult to think of anymore, but the sight of Macen's shoulders tensing, mandibles fluttering in clear agitation, were too much for Avitus to take in that moment. He wasn't sure what he was doing, exactly, only that he had to do something, offer some sort of reassurance, and his hands were moving, talons as gentle on Macen's chin as Macen's had been on his wounded body. He tilted his head up, and Macen didn't resist, blue eyes smoldering with the words Avi was still too scared to say.

He rested his head against his, heard a different sort of sigh, and murmured, "I'm okay, Macen. I'm going to be okay."

[xfandomwritingsx]

Being Human - James Vega/F!Shepard

Description: James and Shepard finally stop dancing around each other. AKA; a rewrite of the Citadel DLC.

Warnings/Labels: None really. Some super minor sexual stuff.

Approx. Word Count: 4,500

A/N: Look... this is at best a rough draft that I typed up and didn’t edit, but I will forever be bitter about how they made the Citadel play out with these two. And while I know it won't happen, I really wish they'd fix it in the remaster. I mean if you're going to remaster the games, that sounds like a damn good time to fix anything inappropriate and rape-y right?! I would love to do a whole slow burn of Shepard and Vega spanning from Earth to the end of the game, but if you know me, you know I'm SLOW AS MOLASSES to update and I'm not lying when I say it would take me years to finish. So instead... have a poorly written snippet. I tried to keep it as much in “canon character” as I could. 

Shepard stands on the balcony of her new apartment, mind gently jogging around the events of the last few days which bleeds into the events of the last few years. Resting her arms on the metal railing, she drops her head and sighs, trying to pull herself from the black hole that is her memory anymore. She wants to let it all go, just for a night.

“Hey, Lola,” James calls, pulling her back to the present. She looks up briefly wondering how long he’d been there before she sees the door closing behind him. How had she not heard it? “Nice place,” he comments, looking around the open layout. “Might not look so nice after that party you were talking about.” He walks further in, headed for the stairs to join her on the balcony.

“You wouldn’t trash my new apartment, would you James?” she jokes lightly, pushing herself upright off the railing.

“Me?” He spins a little, keeping his eyes on her as he continued to travel backwards to the stairs. “Nooo. Never,” he draws it out, the sarcasm a little thick. Shepard rolls her eyes at him, but he sees the little smile at the corner of her lips too.

James has always had that effect on her. No matter what dumb thing came out of his mouth, he managed to make her smile. It was something she’d craved over the last few months more than ever. While everyone else gave her pep talks that only managed to remind her how much the galaxy rested on her shoulders, James was more likely to tell her that her pants hugged her curves just right. He let her forget about being Commander Shepard even if for just a few moments.

He whistles as he approaches her side, looking out over the balcony with her.

“Nice view. But this place?” He shakes his head just slightly. “It’s just so... not what I’m used to.” He gives a small shrug, still looking out over the scenery and the lights outside the large windows.

“Which is?” Shepard prods. They don't talk about their pasts very often. Everyone already knew hers and James was never extremely open about his own. He puts his hands on the railing and leans into his arms a little.

“I grew up on the beach in the Pacific,” he shares. “So, you know; water, sand, real air.” She thinks there’s a hint of bitterness in his voice.

“You miss it?” He doesn’t look at her this time and instead she watches as he loosens his grip on the rail a little bit and sighs.

“Yeah. And the people.” She catches the undertone, the longing that implies he’s thinking of someone specific when he says it.

“So, what’s her name?” she asks. She means it to be teasing, but there’s an unexpected pang in her gut that feels all too much like jealousy for her liking and it ruins the lighthearted joke in her voice. She shifts her weight a little and slips a hand into the pocket of her pants.

“No! No.” he clarifies through a bark of a laugh, easing her tension a little. “I stopped... fraternizing when I joined the military. The two don’t seem to go well together.”

“Hasn’t stopped you from being a shameless flirt.” It had taken a short amount of time after they’d first met on Earth for him to relax around her and once he did, the comments, the winks, the innuendos and double entendres never ceased. The only thing he never seemed to do, was be physical with his flirting. He’d never so much as run a hand down her arm or let his hands linger when they sparred. Though Shepard had found herself wishing he would recently.

“Yeah, well... that’s just my way. I don’t mean anything by it.” There’s something in the way that he still won’t look at her that makes her think maybe that’s not all true.

“Too bad.” She drops her tone a little and takes a step towards him. “I wasn’t complaining.” He cracks a smile and lets out another short laugh.

“Who’s the shameless flirt now?” He gives her a single glance and then looks back down to his hands on the railing.

“So you can give it, but you can’t take it?” The flirting had never been completely one sided, but it certainly came heavier from him and it wasn’t uncommon for him to get a little flustered when she returned it.

“No, it’s just...” He releases the railing and pushes away, adding a little distance between the two. “You’re my commander, por dios. I can never tell if you’re yanking my chain.” He looks at her, really looks at her this time and the mood shifts. The air gets thicker, heavier and it feels like an opportunity, one she doesn’t want to slip away again.

“And what if I’m not?” she asks, voice dipping down again. “Not just yanking your chain?” James swallows thickly and there’s a mumble of a noise from his lips, but he doesn’t give a response. Instead, she’s pleased to watch as his eyes travel down from her eyes to her lips, down her neck and through the valley between her breasts that he can see all too well in her black tank top. “Are you going to tell me you’ve never thought about it?”

“Uhhh… I mean you’re one hell of a woman and I’m still just flesh and blood, if you know what I mean.” She can see a bit of redness creep up his neck and Shepard wonders if the implication is just that his body reacts to her or if he’s actually done something about it when his body reacts.

“So am I, James. And you are one hell of a man yourself.” She slips in front of him, putting herself between himself and the railing, all but begging him to pin her there. He makes no move to do so however. Instead, his eyes drop down to their feet and Shepard feels like she’s sinking. “But you’re not interested.” She leans back into the railing, wanting to retreat. James snaps his eyes back to hers and his mouth flops for a few moments as if he’s going to say something, but after a minute of silence, Shepard gives up. She slinks away off to the side and as far away as she can get without feeling too awkward. “Well, now that you’ve shot me down, was there anything else you came here to talk about?”

“Uhhh, yeah,” he stutters, shaking his head. She feels a little bad to have put him on the spot, but she’s just as embarrassed as he is. “I wanted to show you something.”

He turns away from her and pulls his shirt over his head. It takes Shepard longer than she should admit to notice he’s not just showing off the well-toned muscles in his back and shoulders, but trying to show her the new and finished N7 tattoo. He looks at her over his shoulder.

“What do you think?”

“Looks good,” she says honestly. “You’ve earned it.” She sees him smile a little at her approval. She crosses her arms over her chest and tries to lighten her tone. “Though I think it’s a little mean to flaunt yourself to the woman you just turned down.” He chuckles, taking her teasing easily.

“Here I was thought I was being nice giving you at least a little something,” he jokes back before turning to face her, shirt still in his hand. “Thought you liked the show.” She rolls her eyes, but even after him turning her down, the flirting still makes her feel better. “Anyways... Just wanted to show you that bad boy.” He slips his shirt back over his head and she resists the small urge to tell him to keep it off. “I gotta get back to the Normandy,” he says. “Esteban wants my help working on the shuttle.” Shepard shuffles her feet for a moment and then sticks out her hand towards him.

“Thanks for coming by, James.” She uses a formal voice, hoping the gesture and tone will clearly communicate a no hard feelings vibe. He reaches out and takes her hand. The handshake lasts for less than a second before he brings her hand up into a fist grab and pulls her closer. He locks her eyes with his and that tension rises again.

“Lola,” he whispers. “I’m not not interested.” She loosens her grip in his, going from firm comradery to something softer. “It’s just that… you’re Commander Shepard, you know?” He watches her shoulders fall and he knows instantly it was the wrong thing to say.

“I get it, James,” she says, attempting to hide her dejection. It’s the title, the legend that again stands in her way from being a regular woman. So much for him being the person who makes her forget it all. “Don’t worry about it.” She withdraws from him quickly and a little more coldly than she intended. He again opens his mouth, but doesn’t form words. “I’ll see you later,” she dismisses him and he nods. He moves to leave before trying once more to end on a friendly note.

“This is gonna be a perfect place for a fiesta.”

~~~

For a guy who all but told her no, James is sure as shit staring at her an awful lot like he wants to rip her clothes off.

“Is constant staring customary to the human mating ritual?” Garrus teases him as he pours drinks on the other side of the bar. “Because if so, you’re doing a damn good job, Jimmy.” James grimaces and throws a peanut shell at the Turian.

“Shut it, Scars.”

“He’s still convinced regs are a problem to worry about,” Steve chimes in, clapping his friend on the shoulder.

“Regs? Really?” Garrus asks. “You realize breaking regulations is pretty much Shepard’s specialty, right?” He slides the drink towards James who just shakes his head at it and passes it to Steve. “And even if it wasn’t, we’re quite possibly facing the end of the galaxy here. Who’s kissing who isn’t something anyone’s worried about, even the brass.” James mumbles something and picks at the label on his nearly full beer bottle.

He can barely see Shepard at the kitchen entrance from his spot at the end of the bar and every time she moves, his neck cranes to follow her. He’d either purposely or accidentally kept her in view all night and has spent the better part of it kicking himself for not just throwing her against a wall earlier that day.

She catches his eye and he instantly looks away, back to his bottle. She chose to wear a dress of all things tonight. A god damned dress. A little black number that fit her better than it had any right to. The woman was trying to kill him.

“Boys,” he hears her greet them casually, having approached them at the bar while he was attempting to ignore her. “How are things going?” James doesn’t hear their response. He’s too preoccupied trying to keep his eyes off of her chest as she leans her hip against the edge of the bar. “You seem quiet, Vega,” she comments.

“Just enjoying the party.” He shrugs and takes a drink of his beer, thinking about how he could kill Garrus and Steve for the look they shoot each other.

“Steve,” Garrus interrupts. “Let me show you that data pad I mentioned earlier.” Garrus had, of course, mentioned no such data pad in their prior conversations, but Steve agreed eagerly and James really thought about strangling at least one of them when they left him alone with Shepard.

“We good?” she asks him so casually that he almost feels bad.

“Yeah, why?” He takes another drink of his beer and it quickly turns into a large gulp.

“You seem to be avoiding me,” She squints and forces a smile. “And also staring, which is odd. Just want to make sure we’re good.” She takes a sip of her own drink and shifts her eyes to the Turian alcohol bottle, investigating it curiously.

James chews on his tongue for a moment. She wants them to be good. Good means normal. Normal would mean telling her those squats she’s been doing have done wonders for her ass and that was dangerous tonight.

“It help if I tell you that you look damn fine in that dress?” He never was too good at avoiding danger.

“Maybe,” She shrugs and leans forward towards him just a little. “Probably help a little more if you called me Lola.” Damn if her voice didn’t sound husky and smooth. Despite his better judgement, he followed her lead and leaned in as well, lowering his voice if nothing more than to make sure eavesdroppers wouldn’t hear.

“Well, that dress is definitely giving me ideas… Lola.” A smile breaks on her lips and he’s not entirely sure, but he thinks he sees her shiver just the slightest. He takes another long drink, but this time doesn’t take his eyes off her.

“You going to keep a girl guessing or are you going to share with the class?” She takes a step forward, getting close enough for him to notices she actually put on a light layer of perfume too. He chuckles, but curses internally.

“You’re making it real hard to remember why this is a bad idea,” he warns.

He starts listing the reasons in his head. Fraternization regs. She’s his commander. She’s fucking Commander Shepard and he’s just a nobody lieutenant who makes a shitty leader. She’s probably looking for some kind of easy fling. Distracting her like that would be selfish. It’d look bad. The rest of the crew might start to question her judgement. The list goes on and on.

“I never pegged you to be a guy who runs hot and cold,” she says, breaking his train of thought. “And yet today you’ve given more mixed signals than a broken comm transmission.”

“Sorry, Lola.” And he is, honestly. He’s a tangled-up mess of thoughts and emotions and even the little bit of alcohol he’s consumed tonight is making him think with his dick first.

“Want me to put on a wig? Change my name? Maybe lay on an accent?” He can tell by the wiggle in her eyebrows as much as the suggestion itself that she’s had a little too much to drink, but it twists his stomach in a bad way all the same. “I don’t have to be Commander Shepard for a night.” And now he feels guilty, so much so that his neck and his face turn red and he looks down again, embarrassed at himself. She gives a quick pat to his forearm. “Come find me if you change your mind.”

She grabs her drink and leaves to mingle with her other guests, leaving him alone to feel like an asshole. He could never find the right thing to say around Shepard. Not when it came to this. He wanted her and lately he had to admit it was more than just a sexual attraction. He wanted more than that, but the idea of being selfish enough to pursue Commander Shepard was intimidating. Maybe, he admits, he needs to stop separating her and realize that Commander Shepard and his Lola are one and the same. Maybe then he can stop being a dick.

“Fucking pendejo,” he whispers to himself before swiping up that Turian bottle.

~~~

She can feel the headache before she even opens her eyes. Had she really drank much last night? No, she’s sure she didn’t. She even remembers everything, including climbing into her bed after barely having the energy to change clothes.

She throws on her N7 sweatshirt and slowly treks her way to the kitchen, making sure to note all the remnants of the party, including some of her friends scattered amongst the apartment. It makes her smile.

She smells bacon as she rounds the corner and sees James at the stove already in the full throws of making breakfast. He beams a smile at her when he sees her in the doorway and flips the pan a little.

“Lola!” he greets. “Eggs?”

“You’re awful cheery,” she comments dryly, and a little bitterly, as she steps further into the kitchen. She rounds the island the stove is on and snags a piece of bacon from the plate there.

“Been a while since you knocked that many back?” he teases, watching the way her eyes squint uncomfortably. “Breakfast will help.” He shovels some of the fresh eggs onto a plate and passes it her way. She takes them gratefully and reaches for the salt. James’ hand wraps around her wrist, stopping her reach. “You really gonna do me like that?” he scolds playfully. “Add salt before you even try them? That’s my abuela’s recipe. It doesn't need more salt.” She cracks a smile, but doesn’t move her hand away just yet, the warmth of his hand feeling too comforting to pull away from. There’s a gentle swipe of his thumb over her pulse before he lets go on his own. He empties the rest of the eggs on a communal plate before clearing his throat. “Hey, let me know when you have some time,” he says. It sounds surprisingly awkward. “I’ve got something I want to talk to you about.”

~~~

Never being one to put things off, Shepard returned to her room as soon as she’d finished eating and made the rounds to make sure everyone was awake or, at the very least, breathing.

I’m in my room. Got some time. She sends the message before even making it through the door. It doesn't take more than a few seconds for him to respond.

Be up in a minute.

She makes herself busy with her omni-tool while she waits. She feels a bit like a fool, practically throwing herself at him a second time only to be left alone again last night. She wouldn’t blame him if he came to talk to her about how uncomfortable she had made him.

She’s left the door open for him, but he still gives it a gentle knock to get her attention when he arrives.

“Nice room,” he comments, sticking his head over the threshold and looking around. “Bit different than the Normandy. Less fish.” He cracks a smile at her and the simple gesture puts her at ease a little. He can’t be pissed at her if he’s still making jokes, right?

“You’re just jealous you don’t have fish in your room.” She isn’t about to admit that she actually misses the blue glow and gentle whir of the filter when she falls asleep. Not right now at least.

“Yeah, well, maybe we should trade rooms sometime.”

Or maybe we could share mine. Shepard physically bites her tongue to stop herself from saying it aloud. Still unsure of exactly where they stand and just how awkward she made things for him, it is not the time to let the flirtations rise up that quickly.

He takes her brief silence to enter the room and close the door behind him. That makes her a little nervous, but not nearly as much as when he says, “So... we should talk about last night.”

“I owe you an apology, Lieutenant,” she says instantly, nearly cutting him off. The way she snaps back to professionalism with a straight back, pushed down shoulders, and a commanding tone makes him pause for a moment, his eyes widening just a fraction. “I was inappropriate with you and should not have taken advantage of my rank.” It takes an extra moment for her apology to sink in and his brow furrows as he sorts it through his brain.

“What? No!” he huffs and takes two large, hurried steps her way. She must not have held her surprise well enough because he suddenly stops again. “Lola,” he sighs. “I didn’t come here to... register a complaint.” His face crunches up as though he doesn’t like the way the word taste. “I came to apologize to you,” he says firmly. “And hopefully not fuck up my words this time.”

The intensity in his eyes and the way he’s not shying away from her makes Shepard feel like she’s a young girl again. Any and all experience she has with men and relationships seems to just melt away and suddenly she’s got butterflies and a blush. There’s a nervous heat in her stomach that makes it hard to regain her composure.

“Okay,” she says slowly, not completely sure of where he’s going, but hoping to every God in the galaxy that he’s not turning her down again.

“I can’t hook up with you.” The butterflies die and the excited heat turns to an anger.

“I promise you don’t have to reject me again for me to understand.” She says it harshly, bitterly even. She barely manages to contain throwing her arms in the air when she turns away from him, moving towards the desk in the corner as if she has something better to do. She hears him mutter under his breath and while her Spanish is terrible, the inflection makes it sound like a string of curses.

“Shepard!” He follows her footsteps and when she spins to sit in the desk chair, his arm is extended as though he reached out for her just a moment too late. “I can’t hook up with you,” he emphasizes. “I can’t do just one night and that’s what would have happened last night. Would have been a drunken hook up that one of us or both of us would have brushed off in the morning. I don’t want that.” Her anger starts to dissolve and her spine loses some of its rigidness as she slinks back into her chair.

“What do you want then?” she asks, voice softer and quieter now. She’s afraid of the answer. He chews on his tongue and grinds his jaw and she wonders if maybe he’s afraid too.

“You,” he finally says.

“You sure about that?” She can’t help but scoff. “I am Commander Shepard, after all.”

“Yeah, you are.” His sigh this time seems more like a pained groan. Shepard watches carefully as he turns and sits himself on her unmade bed. “Which is why it feels completely selfish and impossible to ask you to commit to anything more, let alone to an insignificant lieutenant like me.”

“Commit?” She suddenly feels lighter again.

“When I go for something, I go all in,” he tells her. “That would include you...this...us.” He waves his hand out awkwardly and avoids her eyes as though he’s nervous. She bites down on her lip to swallow down the smile. She knows it’s not exactly fair to enjoy his nervousness, but at least it’s not just her. She slowly pushes herself up from her chair.

“You’re not insignificant,” she assures him.

“I’m not some hero of the galaxy,” he admits. He doesn’t say it with a self-conscious, but rather states it just as a simple fact. “I haven’t been with you since the beginning like most of these guys.”

“You know that’s one of the things I like about you James?” He looks up at her curiously. “Sure, you’ve heard the stories, but we didn't meet on the ship in the midst of wars. We met on Earth.” She rounds the desk slowly, walking closer to where he sits still using caution in case he backs out. “You didn’t just get to know Commander Shepard. You got to know Jane, to know me. You treat me like I’m human.”

“You are human, Lola.” He’s not looking away from her now and it gives her a little burst of confidence.

“Yeah. What was it you said? Just flesh and blood?” There’s a tease of a smirk on her lips as she comes to stand in front of him, legs stopping just short of slipping between the gap of his spread knees. He chuckles and the weight of everything starts to lift.

“You sure about this, Lola?” He reaches out and curls his hand around her hip. It's the first time he’s ever really touched her and it makes her heart skip just a little. She leans into his touch, pushing her hip into his palm and leans forward to put her hands on his shoulders. He feels solid beneath her and she can’t resist the need to squeeze just a little, to feel the muscles at the end of her fingers.

“I’ve thought about it in great detail.” He cocks an eyebrow at her and tugs her in-between his legs. He watches her with an unbridled desire in his eyes and for the first time in a long time, she feels real excitement. She traces one hand up the side of his neck so she can run his fingers along his jaw. “That party shouldn’t be the last bit of happiness we get to indulge in.”

He moves quickly; his hand on the back of her neck before she knew he moved it, using barely any strength to pull her down to him. She follows him easily, all too eager to kiss him heatedly. Months of suppressed desires pour out into each other and for the first few moments, they merely hold onto each other and soak in the relief of letting go. And then James’ hands start moving, pulling her closer and sliding over the curve of her ass. Shepard is compliant and carefully climbs into his lap, one knee on either side of his hips on her bed. He bites gently at her bottom lip before using a hand on her jaw to tilt her head back, allowing him to kiss down her neck.

Eyes closed and succumbing to the pleasure he’s offering, Shepard is unprepared for when James moves again. He rolls to the side and pushes her onto her back on the bed. She lets out an actual squeak of surprise and James chuckles, still pressing kisses to her skin. With her legs still around his waist, his hips grind almost unconsciously and she doesn’t hold back her moan.

James peels himself away from her slowly, leaving a cold trail of air where his body had been on top of her. She opens her eyes and glares at him, but the smirk still on his face and the bulge she manages to catch a glimpse of through his pants, make sure no fear of rejection rises back in her.

“And where are you going?” she asks, attempting and failing to use her Commander tone. She tries again after clearing her throat and pushing herself up on her elbows. “You’re not leaving this room for a while.” James laughs and flashes her a smile as he keeps walking to the door.

“Is that an order?” he teases, pressing the lock for the door and waiting until it flashes red before turning back to her.

“You bet your ass it is.” She smiles back at him. She could have locked the door from right here with her omni-tool and he knew it. He was just being a teasing bastard. “You’re not leaving her until I say so.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he laughs again before coming back to her.

[frecklef0x]

Mass Effect 1: Playthrough Masterpost

At last, I have finished Mass Effect 1!

I have heard some mutuals say they wish they could play it again for the first time, and you kind of can--through me! I’ve been posting little “episodes” of live-tweet-stream-of-consciousness as I play, and now I’ve compiled them into one post to make my life easier.

Anyway, here’s the first one, the rest are under the cut. :)

frecklef0x plays mass effect: (ME1) episode one

My ass looks great in this uniform, first of all

Impaled robo zombies, yikes

Cheap shot, Saren, smh. How will I pass my spectre test now?!

Why does he have robot eyes? Is he like, Geth-Turian? Why? Is he a robo zombie also? Was it the beacon???

Cool beacon nightmares, I'm sure this is fine

This Kaiden guy has implants? ORTEGA?!??!?

"Call me princess again and you'll be picking your teeth up off the floor" lol obliterated

The citadel elevators are very realistic, five minutes of tense silence huh

Ya girl got a PROMOTION and a DOPE SQUAD time to catch a TRAITOR

frecklef0x plays mass effect: (ME1) episode two

First things first, gotta go find the blue scientist to join the gang

This galaxy is HUGE! How many of these places will I actually be able to go?!

Only two friends at a time????? D:

Ah, a distress signal, let's see wha--A DESERT CENTIPEDE NOPE ABORT ABORT

Robo aliens? In MY Theronian mining facility? Its more likely than you think

Running over dudes in my Mako is extremely satisfying tbh

*runs over geth troopers* *runs over geth armature* *runs over geth colossus* ... *backs over geth colossus*

Working elevators in the ancient ruins ✔

Oooooooh man hope this nerd is gay

Wrex, a friend of yours? Nope, not a friend, too murdery

"ShAaaAame about the ruins Shep, sOooOo much collatoral damage, SHEP" stfu Council, "ruthless" was in the resume when you promoted us, 10/10 would shoot lasers through archeological digs again

When Kaiden calls us "ma'am" I am, uh, into it

frecklef0x plays mass effect: (ME1) episode three

Time to talk to the gang! Gotta meet the fam proper

Oh dear seems we got a shmee of racism on board, compatriots

Wow Raina, good foot-in-mouth moment with Wrex there huh...sorry about the eventual extinction of your race, lost this round of Pain Olympics

OH SHIT OH SHIT BLUE HOTTIE BIGENDER? THIS IS NOT A DRILL???

“hi I’m Kaiden wanna hear about my last crush ;)” “hi I’m Liara wanna hear about Asari mating rituals? ;)))” damn we really slidin right into the DMs no chill

Garrus: fuck rules and red tape amiright Raina: oh u right ;)

Guess I’ll actually do a mission now LETS GO LESBIANS LETS GO

Honestly rolling out with Tali and Liara is a mood, squad goals

Raina @ every corporation on Noveria: I would sell you to satan for one(1) corn chip

This reactivation puzzle is some shit

I see some Mistakes were made

We already killing moms at this stage damn BioWare

FUCK FUCK BENEZIA KILLED ME AND I LOST A FUCKTON OF PLAYTIME

THERES LIKE NO AUTOSAVE IN THIS BITCH FUUUUUUUUU

fuck fuck fuck god damn it gotta shoot a bunch of deranged baby bug people again god DAMN IT

Okay we killed Liara’s mom in front of her hope that’s fine

And we let mama bug go free because after talking to Wrex, Raina’s like “this galaxy is a little trigger happy with the genocide, good luck out there bug mama ❤️ be cool please”

I have literally watched the scientist in the hot labs get killed three times now

So far the debreifs with the council have not gone very well

“You let bug mama go?! How many generations until they take over everything???” “My money’s on two :D Place your bets now assholes or stfu :DDD”

Asked Liara if she was okay and she seems pretty Cool With It

I hope to one day return to Noveria and Death Star it into oblivion

frecklef0x plays mass effect: (ME1) episode four

Talked with Tali and this situation with the Geth and the Quarians is giving me an existential crisis

You “inspect” my beautiful ship? You got somethin’ to say about my crew??? Talk shit get hit, bitch I will kill you

Yoooo my old earth gang, yeah what the hell, I’ll help ou—oh nope nvm he’s a xenophobe, you hang him and I’ll shoot his friend in the face, thx for your time

Went to the citadel to finish some assignments, left tasked with twice as many

“dOn’T cUt CoRneRs” fear not dear Kaiden, I have a permit: this piece of paper that says I do what I want

Still with the elevators, I really cannot with this

“You make it all sound so...dangerous...” ;) ;))))))

frecklef0x plays mass effect: (ME1) episode five

Headin’ to Virmire to rendezvous with the Salarian team

A cure for the genophase?!?!?! :D

Oh wait oh no are we for real gonna talk about destroying the cure like Wrex isn’t standing right here omg

SHIT GUYS NO NOT LIKE THIS WREX PLEASE

Phew for a conversation that basically started with guns drawn, it went pretty well... “What Saren has isn’t even a proper cure, he’s just fucking with the Krogans at this point. Are we gonna stand for that? Or are we gonna murder?” “Damn Shep, you right, we gon’ murder”

Okay Ashley, go join the aliens, try not to die

Shadow Team!🎵 tearing through the base 🎶 disabling all the     defenses 🎵 (you gotta sing it to the tune of the Trogdor song)

We free the prisoners!!! :)

We shoot the prisoners??? :(

“Raina? How can you shoot them where they stand?” So it’s more merciful to let them explode? NAH FAM

This scientist is responsible for the mind control stuff? For Benezia? Fine     I’ll let her go but I hope she explodes

We did not learn our lesson concerning beacons I see

Wait if even Saren is worried about his mind control ship does that mean there are larger forces involved here?

Oh. Oh fuck

Ugh Ashley I EXPLICITLY TOLD YOU NOT TO DIE

(so we really never found any info about that genophase cure huh? disappointing)

Oh Seren, you dumb dumb. You absolute fool. Clown man.

When Raina slings Kaiden over her shoulder to carry him to the ship—mmmmmmmmwoooow I am very bisexual

Bruh Raina takes every council call and she disconnects pissed off every time

WAIT I literally just hung up with the council, ASHLEY is DEAD, and Kaiden needs a DTR RIGHT NOW?!?!? Boy, NO, READ THE ROOM

This has been a stressful day

frecklef0x plays mass effect: (ME1) episode six

Shepard will avoid her feelings and go to Faros instead

Seeing Ashley’s figure greyed out and her locker inaccessible makes me sad

Wrex and Garrus, let’s go shoot some geth 💪 

A mind controlling planet—of course!

Shep gets all her renegade points shooting capitalists

Saved, uh, about half the colonists

If I have one more bad acid trip I stg

Oh nope here’s another one

Shep needs a nap

frecklef0x plays mass effect: (ME1) episode seven

Ah, the council. Curse your sudden but inevitable betrayal.

At least Liara is good at pep talks ;)

Joker, you cockblock

Haha DUDE we airborne, you THOUGHT

Now that I am exiled from the Citadel, guess I’ll run some galactic errands:

o   Killed corporate scientists who though we would rescue them lol

o   Destroyed a bunch of geth camps helping Tali on her pilgrimage

o   Disabled a nuke and killed some pirates

o   Shut down some evil Cerberus experiments

o   And illegally traded information!

Okay time to get back on track

So we may or may not be flying to our doom

OH GOD LIARA LOVES ME!!! RAINA, YOU DISASTER, YOU DID IT AAAAAH ❤️❤️❤️

frecklef0x plays mass effect: (ME1) episode eight

You know what I love? Being murdered by geth armatures

All these Ilos ruins be looking the same

Security panel is only kinda helpful

Oh, luckily I know Prothean now!

“CANNOT BE STOPPED” wow very encouraging, thanks

After that super motivating message and disabling security, its time to go down, down to goblin town

Vigil? Oh word?

My girlfriend is GEEKING out

I knew something what wrong with that fucking Citadel

Vigil: information is power. Also Vigil: What does it matter why they do what they do? All that matters is you stop them

“non-essential” personnel die first, huh? GROSS, VIGIL (gotta be honest that hits different in 2020)

Garrus gets it, I knew we liked that guy

Okay, find conduit, save galaxy, break millennium-old genocide cyle, nbd

Ugh Mako you gotta do me dirty one last time I see, I hate this thing

THE CONDUIT STRAIGHT YEETED MAKO

The citadel robot says we’re doomed : )

This shootout is SO fun, seriously

Saren get it toGETHER

Renegade Raina can kill with a conversation apparently, well done then

Concentrate on the Sovereign—why am I gonna save a council that hates my guts, sorry, but I have a JOB to DO that you ACTIVELY HINDERED

Great, zombie husk Saren, just what I needed as I mull over the possible consequences of my galaxy-altering decision

GO JOKER GO

Humanity-only council seems…questionable. Raina didn’t love the council but this sits wrong. Couldn’t we just appoint a more diverse council, including a human?

Anderson seems like a good enough dude, so…we’ll see.

TIME FOR WAR BOYS, GODDAMN WHAT A GAME

[thelordofdarkreunion]

Magnificent Scoundrels- Let Us Begin

Here we go!  The first meeting!  If you have any confusion or want any clarification, feel free to ask.  If you have any requests, comments, concerns, questions, or criticisms, feel free to tell me those as well.  Enjoy the story!

“There’s no way that this is gonna end well.”

“Really?  You think?  Governments from nine different separate realities, crossing every political spectrum imaginable, from theocratic xenophobes to neo-socialist utopians to democratic federalists and everything in between meeting in the same space with a ton of guns?  What are you talking about?  There’s no way this could end poorly!”

“Are we ready to go?”  The cameraman gave a thumbs up.  The news anchor smoothed a back mop that was probably more gel than hair at this point.  “And here we are, outside the beautiful Citadel Tower, where the governments of the nine new galaxies are meeting for the first time!  We already covered their arrival on the station, and what an arrival it was!” he continued with intense fake-cheerfulness.  “Now, they are meeting to discuss policy and open diplomatic negotiations.  And while we aren’t allowed inside, I’m sure it would be a sight to behold!”

Well this is certainly a sight to behold, thought Commander John Shepard to himself.  Not necessarily a good one, but a sight to behold nevertheless.  The meeting had started out well enough.  The various governments had filed in accordingly, filling the enlarged space completely.  He had been shocked at the sheer amount of different factions and races; there were over a hundred by his last count.  Governments he worked for, governments he knew of, governments he didn’t, governments that he had been told to keep an eye out for: everyone was here.  Dear lord.  

They all had their own bodyguards, of course, so the Council had ordered the Spectres all back to the Citadel.  Most of them, Shepard included, were now standing watch over the meeting.  Guns were out, ready to fire if something should happen.  The bodyguards were all tense, accustomed to being watched by professionals.  Well, most of them.  The mercenary Pilots hired by the Frontier Militia and the IMC looked relaxed enough, as did Drake.  The Galactic Empire’s Death Troopers were completely unreadable.  And the Imperium’s Tempestus Scions?  They seemed to be lining up firing solutions, eager to kill a room full of heretics and xenos on the drop of a hat.  Bloody great.  

The meeting had started off as well as could be expected.  The Council had opened with a greeting, welcoming everyone to the Citadel in the name of peace and cooperation.  Most of the governments had responded in kind.  Shepard had to admire the Imperium, who had given a rather weak and sickly greeting, then settled back to give death glares at everyone else.  At least they were honest, for the most part.  (Or maybe not.  He still didn’t know what was on board their ship.)  

It had steadily gone downhill from there.  The United Federation of Planets had objected to most everyone else's governing practices, especially the exclusion of other species.  The Galactic Assembly had pointed out that they let everyone join, no strings attached, and the Federation had conceded the point.  The IMC and Militia had objected, stating that there simply weren’t any aliens in their galaxy, otherwise they would let them join.  The Imperium had taken offense to this, stating that if a galaxy was ruled by humanity, there should be no reason to give it away to filthy xenos.  

The Nova Empire diplomats and Asari Councillor snapped back that their governments were older than humanity itself, and much more advanced, so show some respect.  The “sit down and let your betters talk” was left implied.  The Imperium had pointed out that they were ten thousand years old and ruled the galaxy with a fist of iron, and had actually told their detractors to shut up and sit down.  Adam Vir had interrupted with an utterly magnificent speech preaching the benefits of tolerance and cooperation.  That bought some respite… at least until the New Republic pointed out that since the entire delegation of the Galactic Empire was made up of war criminals, shouldn’t there be some restrictions on them?  The Militia had quickly followed suit, saying that they would not deal with the entirely criminal Interstellar Manufacturing Corporation.  At that point, all semblance of order had broken down.  

Currently, it was a scene of complete chaos.  The Imperium of Man was alternating between very pointedly not speaking to any non-human diplomats and screaming at the non-human diplomats about the honourless nature of aliens.  The Militia and IMC were yelling at each other about territory disputes and war crimes, and threatening to air out each other’s dirty laundry while Cooper and the 6-4 bodyguards of the Militia talked in underhanded tones to Kuben Blisk, leader of the IMC’s bodyguard detachment.  Why that was happening, Shepard had absolutely no idea.  Cooper and Blisk seemed to have some sort of history, and the 6-4 seemed nice enough.  

Thomas Drake and the Merchant’s Guild were presently sitting back with shit-eating grins on their faces, probably wondering how much money they could make if they sold weapons to everyone there.  Getting involved was bad for business.  

The New Republic was relatively calm, any of their diplomats who seemed to be ready to start something being stared down by Leia Organa, their de-facto leader.  Luke Skywalker sat nearby, looking alternatively amused at the chaos and annoyed at everyone’s incompetence.  

Their opposite number, the Galactic Empire, was one of the calmest groups present.  Several of the obviously military members of that delegation were itching to join in the conversation, nodding along with the Imperium of Man’s points.  However, every time one of them seemed to be on the verge of speaking up, their leader, a neatly uniformed blue-skinned man (Grand Admiral Thrawn, if Shepard remembered correctly) glared down at them with such intensity that they meekly went back to their seats.  At least someone had control of what they were doing.  

The United Federation of Planets seemed to be split evenly into two groups.  One was arguing constantly with everyone, pointing out with shocked voices all the horrible things each group had done.  They wore the faces of people who believed that they were completely morally superior in every respect, and having groups whose idea of a good government was “if they’re different, they’re inferior” did not resonate well with them.  The second group was made up of Kirk and several of the more level headed individuals trying to keep the peace.  They had just convinced the first sub-faction not to bring up the subject of xenophilia; if they had, Shepard was almost certain that a war would have started.  So thank whatever gods are up there that Kirk can read a room.

The galactic Assembly was presently fractionated and trying to argue with just about every group present, including themselves, simultaneously.  Adam Vir sat with his head in his hands, hopeless expression on his face.  At least he tried, though Shepard, unlike literally every other person here.  

The UNSC delegation looked lost, clearly seeming to think that the human supremacists had a point but realizing that it would be politically unwise to say anything.  Master Chief stood behind them, gold visor as expressionless as ever.  In fact, if Shepard did not know for a fact there was a man inside that suit, he might have mistaken the Chief for a particular large and detailed green statue.  

And his own government?  The Citadel Council?  The Turian representative was vehemently arguing with Anderson over the issue of human military supremacy and treaty violations while the Asari and Salarian Councillors shouted at everyone present, including each other.  

Quill and his crew were seated in between the human diplomats from his galaxy and those of the Nova Empire, and kept trying to make probably snide and inappropriate comments every time someone said something, only to be slapped down by an annoyed Gammora.  Vir actually mouthed ‘help’ in Shepard’s direction, as if he could do anything about this.  

Utter madness.  Fun times.  

It was around the point where people began going towards the extremely hot topic of A.I. legality when Shepard noticed something out of the corner of his eye.  One of the Spectres, guiding a group of armed figures in black body armor and full face masks into the room.  He looked closer.  The Spectres weren’t supposed to leave their posts unless it was for a very good reason.  What the…  The black armored soldiers stepped into the middle of the room, and in one fluid motion, drew their weapons from their hips, each aiming at a different delegation box, ready to fire… and were promptly turned into red paste from at least twenty different points.

Every diplomat in the room stopped what they were doing, looks of utter shock plastered on their faces.  It was quiet for one single, eternal moment, then everyone began shouting at once.  The bodyguards still had their weapons raised, ready to open fire on command.  

“What is this?  You had us come to kill us?”

“Treachery!”

“You obviously paid them off!  No one except you would do this!”

“How did this happen?  How did they get in here?”

“Inside help!  Who did this?”  Aw, shit.  Guns were at the ready, various guardians and even some of the diplomats squaring off against each other.  

“Whoh, hey!”  A singular voice called above the din, startling everyone.  Thomas Drake, black coat billowing, hands raised placatingly, addressed the various stunned and still twitchy diplomats.  “Calm down, everyone.  If any of you decides to do something stupid, we all lose.”  At least that had bought a little time.  “Now, if any of you actually noticed before you started to jump to conclusions, there was at least one assassin aiming at everyone present.  They were planning on killing everyone here.  I know quite a few of you present, and I know for a fact that none of you had anything like this planned.”  A few more bodyguards lowered their weapons.  “The question is, who did this, and why?”  Some of the diplomats nodded along with him.  Shepard saw Vir and Quill moving towards his position for a better vantage point.  But before anyone could say anything, the console of the Council started rapidly beeping.  Tevos answered it with alacrity.

“Yes?”

“Councillor!  The Citadel is under attack!  We have unknown and armed hostiles in the open!  There’s some sort of fleet coming, too!”  

“Great,” muttered Shepard.  But before anyone could react to this new information, the message abruptly cut off, along with most of the power save the lighting.  

“Double great,” muttered Vir, as he slid into position next to him.

And here.  We.  Go.  

[love-of-fandoms]

Don’t Tell Ryder; XVIII: Parting is Such Sweet Sorrow

Chapter 18 of Don’t Tell Ryder (Master List)

Pairing: Evfra de Tershaav + OC

Words: 2076

As Cassiel exited the shower, Colin’s voice rang around the Tempest.

“Alright, we leave for Voeld in an hour or so, get ready!” he announced, and Cassiel’s eyes widened.

“Fuck!” she muttered, almost slipping on the tile floor as she frantically threw on her clothing. After looking around to make sure no one had seen her blunder, Cassiel raced out of the bathroom and down the hall, racing through the nomad bay and down the Tempest ramp. Mr. Tumnus, who had been in the nomad bay, trotted after her when he saw her rush past. 

“Where are you going?” Liam called after her.

“I gotta say goodbye!” she responded over her shoulder, patting Mr. Tumnus when he caught up to her.

When Cassiel and her flanjaak companion reached Daar Pelaav, they immediately went into the main building. As expected, Aarvos was there, as well as Kiraan.

“Cassiel!” he stood from his station when he saw her, walking over and giving her a hug. “I didn’t get to say earlier, congratulations on activating the vault!” Cassiel smiled brightly at him.

“Thanks,” she chirped. “And um… actually,” Aarvos pulled back with a frown at the apprehensive tone in Cassiel’s voice. “Since the vault is all in working order now, Colin wants to get moving on to Voeld,” she said, and Aarvos pulled her back in for another, tighter hug.

“So you’re leaving?” he asked, and Cassiel nodded into his chest. Aarvos let out a displeased noise, pulling away again. “Well, goodbye then, Cassiel,” he muttered, and Cassiel gave him a sad smile. Mr. Tumnus took his opportunity to trot up to Aarvos and rub against him. The angara smiled at the flanjaak and gave him some soft pats on the top of his head.

“We’ll still keep in touch though!” Cassiel assured him, and Aarvos’ sad expression morphed into a teasing smirk.

“Oh, we must!” he agreed. “I need to be kept updated on developments between you and Evfra!” Cassiel’s eyes widened as she sputtered.

“Wh-what?! What’re you talking about?” her cheeks were flaming red, and Aarvos sniggered. “Aarvos!” Cassiel whined, crossing her arms over her chest with a pout. He just continued to smirk, before he straightened up.

“Speaking of…” he began, and Cassiel’s brows pinched together in confusion.

“What?” she asked.

The door behind them opened with a swish and Cassiel turned to see who was walking in. Evfra walked in, a datapad in his hand had his avid attention, but when he glanced up from the datapad and saw Cassiel standing with Aarvos, he froze.

“Cassiel,” he muttered, as if to himself, and Cassiel blushed.

“H-hi,” she murmured to him. Aarvos was sniggering behind her, and Cassiel subtly stepped back and stomped on his foot. He hissed at her, but she ignored him. “Um… we’re off to Voeld, so I’m just saying some goodbyes,” she explained, and Evfra’s brow ridge raised in interest.

“Oh, of course,” he grunted, trying and failing to pretend that he didn’t really care. Cassiel grinned.

“I mean, I’m sad to leave Havarl, it’s beautiful! But I’m super excited for Voeld!” she cheered, and Evfra’s head tilted much like a confused dog.

“Really?” he asked, disbelief in his tone. “Most people are loath to set foot on Voeld,” he said, and Cassiel scoffed.

“They’re wimps,” she said, and Evfra’s eyes widened in shock at her declaration. Was she saying people who didn’t want to deal with the kett were wimps? Cassiel blushed, immediately going to fix her error. “I mean! Um… I just really love the cold… and snow! I love snow! I didn’t mean… yeah,” she shrugged, averting her gaze, and Aarvos sniggered again. 

“Fitting,” he said from behind her, and Cassiel’s face pinched in confusion, she tilted her head up to look at Aarvos.

“What do you mean?” she asked, and a smirk appeared on Aarvos’ face.

“Voeld is Evfra’s homeworld,” he winked one of his galaxy-like eyes at her, but Cassiel didn’t see his teasing. She was already whipping around to face Evfra again.

“Do you like snow too?” she asked with an excited grin, and Evfra tilted his head down to meet her eyes. He almost looked lost.

“Of course I like snow,” he scoffed, as if even the idea that he wouldn’t like the staple feature of his homeworld was ridiculous. Cassiel’s grin widened.

“Awesome!” she cheered, and Evfra still looked entirely lost. “Most humans, and a lot of the other initiative species hate the cold,” she explained, and Evfra nodded in understanding.

“I see,” he muttered.

Cassiel jumped when her tool pinged.

“Oh!” she gasped, lifting her wrist to take a look at the message on the screen.

Colin: Where are you?

“It’s Colin, I have to go!” she said, frowning a bit. “I’ll see you around!” she chirped, turning to give Aarvos another hug before trotting over the Evfra and giving him one as well. It was an unconscious movement, and before Cassiel really realized she was hugging Evfra her arms were around his waist. She froze, going to pull away, but large, muscular arms encircled her much smaller form and squeezed her slightly.

“Goodbye,” he said to her, voice incredibly soft. Cassiel pulled away with a shy grin, before she heard a cough. She turned to shoot a glare at Aarvos, who was looking around as if he were the picture of innocence.

“Um… goodbye,” she murmured, before booking it out of the research lab and back across the bridge. Mr. Tumnus followed after her with a confused chirp, rubbing against Evfra before he was out the door.

Back on the Tempest, after the Tempest had departed from Havarl, Cassiel was finally fixing the steering mechanism on the nomad. She paused as she checked a switch under the wheel, glancing around the nomad’s bay.

“Um… SAM?” she called. “Where is everyone else?” she asked.

“Lieutenant Harper is in the plant lab, Peebee is in the escape pod, Gil, Drack, and Liam are in the crew’s quarters, Suvi, Vetra, and Kallo are on the bridge, and Colin and Jaal are in the tech lab,” he answered her, and Cassiel let out a breath.

“Thank you,” she said to him, before darting over to a crate pushed to the side behind one of the work benches. She quickly pried the lid off of the crate, depositing it to the side with a grunt at the weight. Cassiel reached in, having to stand on her tiptoes to reach all the way into the crate, and pulled out a smooth white case, a little shorter than her arm and the width of her wrist. She set it on the ground before kneeling in front of it, hands going to the seal, before she paused. She looked over her shoulder, making sure that there was still no one who would see her, before opening the case just an inch, so she could make sure the contents were all intact.

Inside lay the body of a sniper rifle, with a scope and an extending barrel packed in as well. Cassiel sighed, snapping the case shut again and making her way back over to the nomad.

The center console was designed for transporting weapons, the nomad being a military vehicle. It was actually more of a compartment that went behind the front two seats and spanned the length of the nomad. Because of this Cassiel was able to slide the case down into the bottom of the compartment. After she did this, she walked back over to the crate and pulled out a sleek black panel that happened to match the inside of the rest of the compartment. She slid that down to cover the case, before sighing.

“Alright, now I can cover them,” she muttered to herself, jumping at the voice that sounded behind her.

“What was that?” she whipped around to see Jaal staring at her quizzically.

“Huh?” she asked eloquently. Jaal’s head tilted, face pinched in confusion.

“What did you say?” he asked, and Cassiel shook her head.

“Oh uh… nothing! Just talking to myself!” she giggled nervously, hoping Jaal hadn’t seen her with the panel.

“You need what?” the turian in the machine shop had asked, looking at her skeptically.

“I need a black panel, two meters by half a meter,” Cassiel repeated, holding out a note with the specifics scribbled out on it.

“Uh… why?” he asked, and Cassiel’s face pinched. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other nervously.

“I can’t tell you,” she said, and his mandibles clicked as he narrowed his eyes at her. “No really!” she insisted. “It’s for the Tempest, I’m on the Pathfinder team, but its use is classified!” she said, the bullshit spewing out of her mouth. The turian still looked skeptical.

“I don’t know…” he started, but Cassiel cut him off.

“Look, I know I’m not the Pathfinder but he’s got a lot of shit to get done so he sent me to get this, so I’d really appreciate it if you could just take the order!” she pressed, and he sighed, raising his hands in the ‘I surrender’ motion.

“Alright, alright!” he acquisced. “I’ll make your panel!” he grunted, snatching the piece of paper from her hand. 

“Thank you!” Cassiel chirped, transferring the credits to him before skipping out of the machine shop.

“Ah, yes,” Jaal nodded, his face smoothing out. “I’ve noticed you Meel-key Way species tend to do that,” he acknowledged. Cassiel scoffed.

“Not just us!” she argued back. “I’ve heard Aarvos muttering to himself plenty of times!” she said, and Jaal shrugged.

“Okay, maybe it is not just you aliens,” he acquiesced, and Cassiel sniggered slightly.

“So what’s up?” she asked, and Jaal stood straighter.

“Oh, yes!” as if he had just realized he had come down to the nomad bay for a reason. “I heard you were working on the steering mechanism again, and was wondering if I could be of any use?” he asked, and Cassiel grinned at him.

“Of course!” she agreed. “I could always use an extra pair of hands!” she waved for him to come over. He walked over to her, an excited look on his face.

“Thank you!” he exclaimed. “I can’t wait to learn more about your tech!” Cassiel nodded. 

“I’ll explain what we’re doing as we go, alright?” Jaal nodded thankfully. Cassiel smiled at him before pulling out a rolling board for them to lay on as they worked under the nomad. “Let’s get to it!”

A little later, Cassiel was standing next to Jaal as he tweaked a few things in the engine.

“Okay, now twist that knob-no, the other one-yeah that one, until you heard a click,” click. “Good, now flip that switch,” Jaal nodded, doing as he was told. Cassiel grinned at him. “And that’s it!” she cheered. “We’re done!” Jaal looked up at her in surprise.

“Really?” he asked, and Cassiel nodded.

“Yeah, we even got some extra stuff done,” she told him, and a mirroring grin appeared on Jaal’s face.

“Wonderful!” he cheered, before seeming to remember something. “Oh! Earlier I got a message from Aarvos…” he started, and Cassiel raised her eyebrows for him to continue. He didn’t.

“And…?” she prompted, and Jaal smirked, a teasing glint in his eyes now.

“Apparently you and Evfra have gotten even closer!” he said, and Cassiel blushed, sputtering.

“Wh-what? What do you mean? What did he say?” she demanded, and Jaal sniggered.

“You hugged him!” he said, and Cassiel’s face smoothed out, the tension leaving her body.

“Oh, yeah,” she shrugged. “That’s not a big deal though,” she said, and Jaal raised his brow ridge at her disbelievingly. “It’s not!” she insisted. “Angara hug all the time, right?” Jaal nodded.

“We do,” Cassiel raised her arms as if to say ‘my point!’. “But-” Cassiel’s shoulders slumped. “Not Evfra,” he said, and Cassiel tensed once more.

“Should I not have hugged him?” she asked, worriedly. “Did I make him uncomfortable?” Jaal shook his head.

“No!” he was quick to assure her. “He hugged you back!” he said, and Cassiel relaxed once more, smiling softly as she remembered how warm he was.

“He did,” she agreed, and Jaal nodded.

“He doesn’t hug people! But he hugged you!” he insisted, and Cassiel rolled her eyes.

“Probably doesn’t wanna offend me or something, angara-nexus relations and shit,” she excused, and Jaal scoffed, shaking his head but otherwise saying nothing more on the subject.

[forlornmelody]

Take Your Girlfriend To Work Day

Rating: E (it’s smut with a little bit of plot thrown in)

Fandom: Mass Effect Andromeda

Ship: Sara Ryder/Suvi Anwar

Summary:   Sara Ryder has Concerns™ about taking Suvi with her on a mission. But she's always wanted to show her the badlands of Kadara. What could go wrong?

Linkage: clicky

Note: Written for FallingOverSideways over at @spectre-requisitions-exchange. Now that reveals have happened, I can finally share this all with you!

-*-*-*

Sara would give Suvi the entire galaxy right now. The way she stretches across the tangled sheets, the light of a distant sun making her hair glow like fire. How the light glistens on her sated body, and catches in her eyes like the pools on Kadara. It’s probably why Sara sticks her foot in her mouth while her breaths are still ragged.

“I wish you had been there with me.”

Suvi’s smile vanishes and Sara feels it like a pain in her gut. “Sorry?”

Shit. “I’m not mad.” Sara swallows, pushing an errant lock out of Suvi’s eyes. “It just would’ve been nice to have you on Kadara with me, before the vaults went online.”

“When the water was toxic with sulfuric acid?” Sufi’s brow wrinkles like it did when she poured over the Scourge data, looking for solutions to a big-ass problem. 

Just keep digging your grave and lie in it, Sara. “I mean. I loved the look on your face when you looked over the data I gathered.” Sara traces the line of Suvi’s swollen lips, smug knowing their romp made them that way. “It would have been even better for you to see it in person.”

Suvi’s lips twist as she bites the inside of them in thought. “I’m sure there’s still useful data for us. Maybe we could go together next time?”

“I would love that!” Sara rolls them so that her hands are braced on either side of Suvi’s pillow, and she peppers her face with kisses, imagining them swimming together in a hot spring, or a cold one, with bikinis on, or not. Drying off on a ridiculously large beach towel and licking that now potable water right off her--

“You’re going tomorrow, right? Maybe I could come with you.”

Sara’s lips freeze on the hollow where her neck meets her shoulder, and Suvi giggles at the slack-jawed expression she gives her. “Tomorrow?”

“Aren’t you going to Ditaeon to talk with Tate about trade?”

“...Yes.” Christmas Tate’s not what sets the Pathfinder's heart racing. It’s not his colony, either. It’s all the mayhem around it. Sara can all too easily imagine an eiroch crushing her girlfriend against a boulder or rylkor whipping her off a cliff with its tail. She needs to find a reason for Suvi to stay behind. Maybe she needs more arms training? Or they could wait until they fit her with some armor? Watch some training vids? 

“Why don’t I go with you?” Suvi trails her fingertips down Sara’s spine, and suddenly she’s spineless. 

“Sure!” Sara says brightly. This is a bad idea, isn’t it? 

----

Turns out Cora’s not much different in height or build than Suvi, so the human commando loans her a set of armor, and a manual on how to care for it. Suvi walks around in it stiffly, and Sara would find it comical were it not for how the components accentuate some of Suvi’s best features. As much as she shouldn’t, not right now, Sara can’t help but imagine removing it piece by piece as she kisses her senseless. 

“Worried about me, Ryder?” Suvi says as they make their landing. 

The airlock disengages, and Sara looks around for any sign of danger. “Just don’t lick any rocks,” she says wryly. 

“But--”

“No, Suvi.” Both her and Vetra say it together.

“Fiiine.”

-----

Suvi loves Kadara. Or maybe she loves being on the ground for a change. Either way, Dr. Suvi Anwar sits on her knees, scanning a small rock, and Sara Ryder can’t look away. The sun catches in Suvi’s flame-colored hair, making Ryder wish she had brought her here sooner. She aches at the soft smile on her face, the warm glow in her blue eyes. Ryder’s in the middle of pulling out her omni tool to take a picture when--

Sara. There are weapons warming up behind you. It appears they are aiming for you, Vetra Nix, and Dr. Anwar. I suggest-- 

“Got it, Sam.” Sara Ryder says nothing to Suvi, only dropping her in a tackle and ruining the picture-perfect moment. Actually, whatever exiles who were shooting at them ruined the moment, and the thought makes Sara’s blood boil. 

Suvi squeaks from underneath her, but she doesn’t protest, especially after the first rounds hit the rocks behind them, and their shields shimmer with the ricochets. “Pathfinder?” she whispers cautiously.

“Exiles,” Sara growls under her breath. This is not how she pictured pinning Suvi on Kadara. 

“I thought--”

“They’re still around. Still wanting to shoot us, apparently.” Sara shoves Suvi behind a bolder, and squats next to her, pulling out her pistol, and deploying her combat drone. It dashes over, firing beams at their assailants, the cool evening air warming in its wake. 

Vetra looks at Sara sideways. “Really, Ryder? A drone?”

“What? Peebee showed me how to use it last night.”

Suvi glances between them, her eyes widening. “Sara?”

“It’ll be fiiiine.” On cue, the drone crumbles to the ground. Peebee will kill her later. “Well, shit.”

“We’re doomed.” Vetra sighs, powering up her assault rifle. 

“Oh ye of little faith.” Sara switches to her shotgun, firing off shots while her biotics cool down. 

Suvi giggles, and Vetra groans. “At least one of us is having a good time.”

Ryder really shouldn’t have brought Suvi with them. A little skirmish like this rarely fazes her anymore--more like target practice than a fight worth worrying about. Waste of ammo, really. But her heart thuds in her chest and her neck and shoulders tighten up at the thought of a bullet hitting the scientist next to her. Suvi’s so gentle, and kind. She’s not made for violence like this. Sweat gathers beneath Sara’s hard suit and her under armor, and itches around her joints. Her arm aches and her temples start to throb. Just a little bit longer---

There.

One exile remains, a sharpshooter with a sniper rifle that tries to pick them off like drops of water torture. Ryder ducks back behind their bolder, counting the seconds between shots. One Andromeda...Two Andromeda...Three--

Sara Ryder charges full force into her enemy, smashing him with a nova that sends his innards flying every which way. Turning with an adrenaline-fueled, shit-eating grin on her face, Sara looks at the boulder, craning to see the look on Suvi’s face. “Not bad, huh?”

“RYDER!  MOVE!” 

The ground rumbles beneath Sara’s feet, throwing her off balance. Enemy Krogan. 

“Shit!” Ryder screams as the berserker hauls her up in the air. Blood rushing to her head, Sara looks down at the battered Krogan growling up at her. “I thought I put you down already.”

“RAAAAH.” 

“Shit’s right! I’m out of ammo.” Vetra glowers, letting out a litany of Turian words SAM can’t translate. 

Don’t panic. Just grab your pistol and--One problem. It must have fell from her holster when she left the ground. The Krogan swings her back like a wet towel. 

Don’t panic. Don’t panic. 

Her biotics won’t fire--still cooling down. Ryder’s neck and temples still flare with heat. 

Sorry, Suvi. I--

A shot rings out, and Ryder sucks in a breath, bracing for a bullet wound. 

The Krogan drops her, and Sara rolls out before his body falls on top of her. What the hell??

Her eyes meet “SUVI??”

Nudging the Krogan’s body with her toe, Suvi blows the steam off the barrel of her pistol, and holsters it. She glances down at Ryder, a shy smile on her face. “You alright, Sara?” Suvi reaches out with her hand to help her up. 

“Damn, Anwar. Didn’t know you had it in you.” Vetra comes out from behind the boulder, brushing herself off. 

Sara doesn’t take her hand, too busy doing the math in her head. “Who taught you how to shoot?”

“Drack. He took me out on Elaaden. Said it would help my skills as a geologist if I learned how to shoot rocks.”

“Of course he did.” Ryder groans as she stands, checking herself for injuries. Her shoulder throbs from being yanked around like a rag doll, but other than that. “Anything I should see Lexi about, SAM?”

My scans indicate nothing but some swelling and inflammation. Though a visit would--

“I’ll see her later, SAM.” Sara has an idea. “Hey, Vetra. I think the Nomad needs an oil change.” She walks over, rummaging through the storage compartment for a very conspicuous picnic basket. 

“The Nomad doesn’t even...oh. Yeah. I’ll get right on that.” Turians don’t roll their eyes, but the way her mandibles twitch, Ryder bets Vetra would be right now if she did. Swinging into the driver’s seat, she starts the engine, and Sara scrambles to get the storage compartment shut in time. 

“Catch ya later!”

-----

“Do you ever miss them?” Their picnic long over, Sara and Suvi stretch out on the blanket, watching the sun set. 

“My parents?”

“Yeah.”

“All the time.” Suvi stares out across the lake, and Sara gets the feeling she’s not watching the clouds change color. 

“How did you find the strength to leave them?”

Suvi says nothing, and Sara wonders if she went too far as she listens to birds call in her silence. When she finally does speak Sara strains to hear her over the lap of the shoreline. “I couldn’t stay behind when there was a whole galaxy out there to explore.” She looks at Ryder, sorrowful, but without regret in her eyes. “I was miserable when I considered staying behind. My parents could tell. I was making them miserable with me.” A small laugh escapes her mouth. “It was them who told me to go. Told me they’d miss me if I left, but they’d miss me even more if I stayed with them.” Her smile slips away, and Sara would give anything to bring it back.

Think, Ryder, think. “Nice shooting earlier. You saved my life.” Sara runs her fingers down Suvi’s cheek, holding her breath as she waits for her face to change.

The smile doesn’t come back. Suvi pulls away, looking off towards Kadara Port. “Sara, I don’t think violence suits me.”

Sara drops her hand. “Oh.”

Suvi immediately draws it back to her cheek. “Don’t get me wrong. I admire what you do--the risks you take, the hard decisions you make.” She closes her eyes, taking a settling breath. “But I’d rather make my hard decisions in a lab, not with a gun.”

“I understand.”

Biting her lip, Suvi dares to search her eyes. “You do?”

“Yeah. We’re different. I’m better out in the field kicking ass, and you’re better in the lab…. doing...sciency stuff.”

Suvi’s laugh spills from her mouth like a bubbling brook. “Ryder.”

“I mean it.” Sara takes her chin. “I don’t want you to change who you are just to please me.” She’s already nose to nose with her before Suvi realizes she’s being kissed. And Sara wouldn’t have it any other way. 

While Suvi’s usually slow to kiss back, when she does, she makes up for lost time, always. She presses in, already reaching for Sara’s hair tie, pulling her hair out of that perky ponytail and winding her fingers through her hair. The motion pulls Sara closer, tighter against her mouth and she can’t help but part Suvi’s lips with her tongue, grabbing the collar of her uniform in her fist, and holding her close. 

Their hands and mouths move like binary stars, so close, but never close enough. Sara groans in frustration as her fingers roam across Suvi’s lab coat, searching for that elusive zipper. Suvi giggles, taking her hand and guiding the zipper down with her, her eyes dark with want. As the uniform falls from Suvi’s shoulders, Sara traces her tongue across her now bare skin, smiling at her goosebumps and drinking in her sharp breaths. Each freckle pattern forms new constellations, and Sara writes the racy mythologies to go with them. 

In Suvi’s sighs and goose-bumped skin, Sara finds a paradise better than the Initiative could have ever hoped for. She unhooks her bra, and finds the path between her breaths, scanning the terrain with her eyes and making contact with her hands. Suvi arches into her touch, and Sara smiles against her skin. “You mean the world to me, you know that?”

Suvi opens her mouth, but her sweet nothing is lost in her moan as Sara’s lips close around her tit. She should really take her time. They have little to interrupt them here, with the Tempest far away and Sam scanning the perimeter for trouble. But it’s been days since Sara had the chance to make love to the center of her universe, and so she dives headfirst into the gravity well, pulling the rest of Suvi’s uniform down with her. 

“I’ve missed you,” Sara whispers, trailing her lips down Suvi’s stomach. 

“Ryder. You see me every day.” 

“Not the same thing, and you know it.” Sara gives her a pointed look, and she can’t help but smile at Suvi’s parted lips. She sits up, running her fingertips up and down Suvi’s thighs, outside and inside, gently nudging them apart. 

Suvi sucks in her breath, and Sara pats her skin as she leans down. “Breathe, Suvi. I swear the air here is safe.” 

“Shh, you.” Suvi chuckles. 

Sara breathes in the scent of her pubis mons, grinning wickedly. “Make me.”

Suvi’s eyes widen, and for a moment Sara wonders if she should apologize, but then Suvi’s fingers grip her by her ponytail, pressing her between her legs and it is glorious. Holy shit holy shit holy shiiiiiiit. She never took Suvi for a dominant one, but Sara definitely want to explore more of this side of her. Tasting her, Sara gives her folds those nice long licks that Suvi loves so much. Her pushup routine comes in handy as her lover writhes beneath her. Just as Suvi starts to moan louder, Sara pulls back to wet her finger.

“Is this too much?” Suvi asks breathlessly. 

Her own mouth feels dry, and Sara reaches over to gulp some water from her cannister. “Not at all. Keep going.” She blushes at her own words. 

Suvi pushes her hands away, sitting up. Sara blinks, watching her go. “Actually, I have new experiment I want to run by you.” Grabbing Sara’s shoulders, Suvi presses her onto her back. 

Laughing, Sara replies. “Oh? What’s your hypothesis?”

“That you’ll love me sitting on your face.” Suvi’s cheeks redden as much as her hair. 

“Mm, that’s hard to quantify.” Sara smudges her lips together playfully. “But we can try it.”

Suvi crawls over her, and Sara groans as her scent overwhelms her senses. She whispers her name into her folds, sliding one finger, then two into her warmth. Gasping, Suvi grinds against her, gripping the top of her head. Sara fingers faster and harder, sucking on her clit until Suvi’s nails dig into her scalp and she calls out her name. 

The sun’s far too bright when Suvi rolls off her. “Holy shit. Holy shit,” Sara swears breathlessly. 

“Mmhm.” Suvi kisses her sloppily, running her hand down Sara’s side. “And what are...mm... our findings? 

Sara laughs into the crook of her neck. “I think your hypothesis may be right. But further tests are needed.���

“Mm.” Suvi presses a finger to her lips, looking up at the clouds as if the answer might be found there. “Perhaps we should increase our sample size?”

That notion jolts Sara off her back. “You mean like a threesome?”

“No!” Suvi laughs so loudly Sara swears the whole valley can hear them. “I meant you. Sitting on mine.” 

“Oh.” Sara stretches. “Maybe next time.” She kisses the pout right off Suvi’s lips. “Right now, I want to kiss you while you…” She grasps Suvi’s hand, guiding it between her legs. “While you…. demonstrate your expertise on the subject.”

“Sara!” Suvi shakes her head in mock humility. “I’m hardly an expert.”

Sara leans over, stealing another heated kiss. “Then maybe you should…” She can’t help her laugh. “....do a more in-depth study?” Their laughs sink into moans as Suvi trace and probes between Sara’s legs, putting just the right amount of pressure to make her beg. 

Suvi grins against her mouth, teasing her long and light, until Sara’s gripping her so hard, she swears she’ll leave bruises. Thank the stars Suvi wears long sleeves. “You like it rough, Sara?”

“Yes, please. Please.” 

Suvi’s teeth graze the skin of her neck in reply, hooking her fingers inside her and beckoning her to come undone. 

Maybe it’s minutes, maybe it’s hours later, when Sara’s always pushing Suvi’s bangs out of her eyes just to watch them fall again. “Y’know. I definitely learned something today.”

“What’s that?”

“I should bring you planetside more often.”

[ramblinganthropologist]

N7 Day 29 - Legacy

Summary: Sheapard and crew finally get to Archangel. Except... that’s not Omega, and he’s not Commander Shepard. Nor for the matter, is that Archangel. Hooray for TV magic?

---

To say it was hell there was putting it mildly.

“Hurry it up or he's gonna fucking shoot us too!”

Bo pushed him forward as they dove for new cover. All around them, it was chaos as all three merc packs converged on them. Every so often, a clear shot would take one out. One even hit him in the shoulder – thank you kinetic shields, for keeping his arm on. They were moving closer to the stairs, to their goal.

To Archangel.

The last push up the stairs was the hardest as he dove behind a partition and fired at a Blood Pack merc. They groaned, and then went down when Bo shot them again. One more remained, and he was soon put down by their guns. All they had to do now was head in.

He was in first, pounding on the door. Once it opened, they were in the sniper's nest. There he was, in blue armor with a modified rifle. Archangel only paused to aim once before he fired and a man went silent below.

Then there was the quiet as they got a break between waves.

Their small group faced him. He got up, and then his helmet was down on his seat. The harsh lights reflected off his carapace and the blue tattoos that matched the armor. His mandibles were twitching, like he couldn't believe it.

“Shepard.”

Garrus.

“I thought you were dead.”

The glowing implants embedded in his face were proof of that. Still, his heart pounded as he approached the turian. There was still too much space between them – especially with the mercs coming.

“Garrus Vakarian?”

He chuckled weakly – they had hit a few times. “In the flesh, what's left of it.”

His mouth went dry. “What are you doing here?”

The turian shrugged. “Just killing mercs. Nice of you to join me, there's plenty to go around.”

Clearly – the next wave was going to be coming shortly. If they didn't act fast – he glanced over his shoulder to check. They weren't there yet. He had time, and with time came the chance to ask a few questions.

He had been dead, they were warranted.

“What are you doing on Omega?”

Another weak chuckle from Garrus as he shifted position. “I got fed up with...”

And then his face went blank. “Shit... line?”

“Cut!”

There he went again, forgetting his fucking lines. They were never going to get through this scene alive.

At least this time, the director called for a break so the mighty Archangel could get himself together. Only he was pretty sure the real Garrus would be able to get his lines right. He'd probably also carry the fucking rifle right too – a shot like that would take his head off.

And here he thought turians went through training...

Ok, so he wasn't actually Alistair Shepard either, and this wasn't Omega. Instead, his name was Alex and he was still on the Citadel. They had gone to Omega for planning, though – Aria had even given her input. How they had gotten it out of her, he didn't want to know. He didn't need to know either; all he had to do was act and remember where he had to shoot.

“Is that the third time today he fucked his lines up, or am I seeing shit?” Bo – actually named Beau, ironically enough – was eating something to get her energy back. “Doesn't he normally have a stick up his ass about that?”

Alex rolled both his eyes and his sore shoulders. Even though it was just prop armor, it was still fucking heavy. He had been working out, but clearly it wasn't enough yet. Maybe he needed to do a few more push-ups...

Ugh, he hated push-ups.

“Maybe he had another one night stand and forgot to learn his lines.” He shrugged. “It's no business of mine.”

Beau rolled her eyes. “It is if you ever want to get out of here. Maybe you can bash his reason out of him.”

Ah. So they were sending him in. Last he checked, he didn't have Alistair Shepard's ability to talk someone to death. Still, they had time. So he shrugged his shoulders as he headed off to give his costar the come to Jesus moment.

Though was it still called a come to Jesus moment if the person getting the talk came from a planet where Jesus wasn't a thing?

Alex was soon on his way, looking around the set of the popular historical drama Mass Effect. It wasn't the first show based on the Reaper War of 2185 and what came before it, but it was being touted as the most accurate thanks to relying on primary sources and journals from the participants. Why nobody had  read the journals before, he wasn't sure. Even before getting the role, he had practically memorized them.

Maybe it was the whole gay, transgender man saving the universe thing that had interested him. Wasn't like he was also gay or trans... oh wait, yeah, he was.

Well, whatever. He was in armor, and he was trying to hunt down a turian who didn't want to be found. Most of his costar's usual haunts were empty. So he was forced to keep going, wondering how uncomfortable the real N7 armor must have been to walk around in. His fake version was really starting to ride up a little in some crucial areas.

It was one of those “glad he didn't have testicles” times.

“Virius? Where are you, you couldn't have gotten far in 5 minutes!”

This set was empty. It was supposed to be Afterlife, but not even the asari playing Aria was lording over it. Instead, he found a turian sitting towards the back, half hidden in shadow. He too was still wearing uncomfortable armor – or at least it looked that way.

Turians just looked uncomfortable in general.

There was his costar. Normally, Macen Virius was the consummate professional bitching at him for every minor mistake. To say they hated each other was putting it mildly – the two couldn't stand each other on a good day. Every moment they weren't acting, they were sniping at each other. Maybe it was a difference in personalities, maybe the turian didn't like humans.

Either way, the feeling was mutual and he was a fucking bastard.

“I didn't ask to be followed, Jones.”

His voice was shaking. So was the rest of him for that matter. Alex cocked an eyebrow as he realized Macen was actually shaking the table he was in front of. Maybe if they had been friends he would've noticed and been worried.

Mostly he was just annoyed.

At least the couch stopped shaking when he added his weight to it. “Well, tough. For some reason people think a dye job and the fake implants give me Commander Shepard's gift of gab.”

“I'm here to inform them they missed the mark.” Macen's voice was a little stronger, though he was still shaking. “Here to gloat? I'll get it right when we start over, don't worry. Just remember to sound appropriately horny when you get there, it felt a little flat.”

That got Alex rolling his eyes. “Appropriately horny? Are we reading the same damn journals, Virius?”

“Yours may have been downplayed because Shepard was easily embarrassed.”

Yeah, and he doubted Garrus had written down 'Shepard wanted to get into my armor on sight' in his. The long-dead turian was a total sub, first off. Besides that, both of them were trying not to get killed by the merc alliance from hell. Even if they had been horny, there really hadn't been time to lay it out on the table.

Besides, Alistair had been dead for two years. Horny was definitely not one of his problems.

“Yeah, sure, whatever you say, Virius.” Alex rolled his eyes as he brushed hair from his eyes. He hated the season 2 look, but it was what the records said. He was having bad flashbacks to older roles, ones he didn't like to think about. “So, do you have a vibrator in there or something to make you shake so much?”

Macen scoffed, but he didn't stop shaking. “I believe a vibrator as a tool is in your character description, not mine.”

His voice lowered. “Shit... it won't stop.”

Honestly, Alex was amazed he hadn't noticed earlier just how tense the turian looked. His talons were clenched so tightly over his prop greaves that it was a miracle he wasn't puncturing right through the lightweight metal. His voice was coming out higher too – the translator was struggling to keep up.

If he didn't know better... he'd swear Macen was nervous.

…

“Shit. This is really freaking you out, huh?”

The words came out before his brain really had time to think about it. Even Macen looked surprised that he had said it – that made two of them. Alex had to wonder if he had been temporarily possessed by the ghost of his role to make him say it. Nope, it had been his accent...

Shit.

“Why do you care?”

That got the human groaning. “Because you're shaking like a fucking leaf and it's not like you! Something about this scene is freaking you out and I want to make sure we don't have to keep redoing it, because I know we're both fucking uncomfortable in this damn armor.”

Seriously, he had one hell of a wedgie and he was pretty sure he had a blister forming in more than a few places.

Much to his surprise, Macen chuckled weakly. “Well at least you're honest. I can give you that, Jones. No bullshit here.”

He stood, leaning over the railing that overlooked the fake club. “Playing Archangel... it's a  really big deal. No one's really gotten him right over the years. He's either mad with power or lost with grief. They never get close to the mark and then suddenly it's thrown into my lap and they tell me good luck with it.”

His talons rasped against the metal as he twisted his hands uselessly. “If I mess up... I'm not doing one of Palaven's greatest heroes justice. Garrus' story deserves to be told the right way. And it scares the shit out of me to think I screw up and be one more fuck up in a long line of them.”

Briefly, Macen looked back. The look he gave almost knocked Alex back. To say he was desperate was putting it mildly. The turian was absolutely terrified as he felt the weight upon his carapace. No wonder he had been shaking so badly, it was a miracle he hadn't been crushed by it. Yet there he was, still in one piece.

…

“It's a heavy weight, getting it right.”

Alex joined him at the railing. He sighed, leaning forward. “I kind of get it... I mean, it's probably different playing Garrus... but Alistair's difficult too.”

Much to his surprise, Macen nodded. At least they could agree on that.

“Like... I'm playing one of the most famous transmen in human history. Somehow I have to pull it together and be the hero everyone expects. If I fuck up... shit, it's going to be nasty.”

Now he was starting to shake a little. “But... we both have to do it, don't we? We have to push through the anxiety and get it right. They gave us the job... so it's up to us to do it right. We have to bear the weight of history and make it look easy.”

He gripped the railing as tightly as he could. There, in that darkened set they both felt the weight pressing down on them. Though they were dressed for the part, neither probably felt anything like what they were supposed to portray.

But... he supposed that was the part of actors. They had to step into the role and do it right. After all, people had put faith in them. And there were countless people waiting for this scene and getting to see Archangel in action.

No pressure or anything.

“You know... maybe you have a little Shepard bullshit in you after all.”

Macen's voice was a little bit stronger as he straightened up. “Bear the weight of history, huh? What a human way to put it.”

Alex felt his cheeks color as he glanced to the side. “Excuse me for not knowing how a turian would refer to it.”

Another chuckle rang out through the dark room, but it didn't sound nervous. Nor for that matter was it particularly malicious. If he had to guess... maybe Macen sounded relieved? With turians, it was hard to tell. They had all that subvocal shit going on that he would never pick up.

But he had stopped shaking.

“You did your best, Jones. Nobody's ever going to come to you for a motivational speech, but you tried.”

There was that tone back. Yep, Macen was back to being an asshole. He was on the mend at last. Now maybe they could get back to wrapping this scene up. They had plenty of fight scenes to get through before Alex would enjoy him getting shot in the face. Oh... he was living for that moment right then as he stood up.

“You coming or what? Our break is almost over.”

Alex jogged to catch up, his shorter legs having to almost double to catch up to his turian costar. They shared a brief dirty look as they left Afterlife behind, heading back to where people were waiting for them.

“Also... thanks.”

Macen was gone before Alex could register what had happened – someone needed to touch up his makeup, his actual orange tattoos were starting to show under the blue face paint. He was left standing there, confused.

That... was weird.

Oh well. He returned to his original position, slamming his prop helmet back on for the reshoot. Beau was next to him, also setting up. Both got to watch as their turian costar moved up the stairs with the gait of a man on a mission. At least he was holding his gun right this time.

Good, someone told him.

“Whatever you did, it worked.” Beau had whispered that – the lights were dimming as things set back up for the big reveal. “Nice going.”

Sure... he wasn't sure what he had done, but why not?

Anyway, it didn't matter. In that matter of seconds, Alex had gotten himself back into Shepard's mindset as they started rolling. There were mercs in his way keeping him from Archangel, and he wasn't going to let him down.

Just one wave to go... and then the door would be safe to approach.

“And action!”

Time to become the guy who saved the universe again. No problem.

[expertmakodriver]

30 Day Mass Effect Challenge: Day 9

9. Favorite romance?

Alright everyone it’s time to fucking cry.

Garrus and Femshep just HHNFGHHN they make me HNRHGhHH I love them.

Let me break down each part of their romance and why I (and like the entirety of the Mass Effect fandom) love it so much.

I already talked about Garrus’s relationship with Shepard in my “Day 5: Favorite Character” post, so I’ll refrain from repeating myself too much here. The bottom line is that Garrus is Shepard’s most loyal and trusted ally and that “There’s no Shepard without Vakarian” is one of the few good things to come out of ME3 (which, again, I will not really be including in this discussion).

When Shepard responds to Garrus’s story about him easing tension with a recon scout years ago (probably back when he was a teenager during his compulsory military service) with a proposed plan to test his “reach” and her “flexibility”, he doesn’t even realize what she means, at first; he thinks that she’s referring to sparring. Why? Because he doesn’t think that she would want him. It seems like he might get the idea that she’s propositioning him, but he can’t bring himself to believe it because he thinks it’s impossible. When she clarifies (and possibly confirms his suspicions), he is surprised at first, but recovers quickly and expresses that he is very much interested in ”blowing off steam” with her. It makes you wonder whether or not Garrus would have ever made a move onto Shepard, had she never expressed interest him first, since he is obviously attracted to her. The reason he provides as to why he is interested is because he respects her more than anyone in the galaxy. Their relationship is built off of mutual trust and respect and Garrus is acknowledging it; he doesn’t say, “Well, sure, Shepard! I think you’re really hot and I would love to bang you”. That’s really important, as it shows how deep their companionship is. This exchange between them is very quick, but it’s intimate nonetheless. 

Look at how he backs up when she walks by him and completely keeps his eyes on her. He looks like he’s wondering if he’s actually dreaming hhnngh he’s just in absolute shock

The next time he talks to Shepard in the Main Battery, he seems nervous. He says that he’s been thinking about what they had agreed to, and that he wonders if they’re crazy for even considering having an inter-species hookup. Even though different-species relationships seem fairly common in the galaxy, Garrus is still bewildered by the idea and states that “cross-species intercourse” isn’t something that he would normally consider. Here’s the thing, though: he’s not questioning whether or not he would enjoy sleeping with Shepard (though he does seem to be considering their compatibility and whether or not they could “make it work”) - he’s wondering why Shepard would ask him as opposed to someone who is a bit more like her. Shepard sees that he’s sort of doubting himself and she assures him so gently and warmly that he’s the one that she wants and it’s fucking adorable (especially if you play Shepard to have a lot of Renegade moments, as seeing her be a total badass who is almost sadistic when it comes to punishing her enemies to then seeing her be so gentle and soft with Garrus is just insanely cute). When she tells him that she wants him, he suddenly seems to gain some of his confidence back despite still being very flustered. 

An important thing to note here is that he uses humor to hide his nervousness and says that if their “steam-blowing” goes well, it’ll be something to cherish, but if their anatomical differences end up making things awkward, fighting the Collectors would be a “welcome distraction”. I’ll bring this back up again later.

So Shepard gives Garrus an opportunity to back out of the plan if he’s feeling uncomfortable (which is very thoughtful of her. She doesn’t want him to feel pressured and wants to make sure he’s completely okay with sleeping with her. She really cares about how he feels), but he refuses to. Again, he brings up how important their companionship is to him and tells her that the matter at hand has nothing to do with a “fetish for humans” - meaning that while he is obviously attracted to her, he’s not sleeping with her just because she’s an attractive human female - it’s about him and Shepard using this opportunity to be close and intimate. This is when he starts to hint that he has deep feelings for her, but he approaches her with it very subtly because he doesn’t want to chase her away with his feelings. He almost seems conflicted: “Do I tell her and risk making things awkward, or do I keep my mouth shut and risk never knowing if she feels the same way? I’ll compromise and drop subtle hints.”

It’s kind of hard to tell with the way the camera moves, but she’s stroking his chest as she smiles fondly at him while he kinda sorta lets it slip that she has all of his uwus. Talk about pure-yet-intimate. 

It’s hilarious to see Garrus’s composure slip when he catches himself making an unintentionally dirty pun (”You know me, I always like to savor the last shot before popping the heat sink”). This entire romance is just filled with hilarity. 

Shepard says that she’ll let him get back to work, and he jokes about how he’s all hot and bothered by talking about sleeping with her and that he can’t focus on his calibrations because he’s too horny. She just grins like a goofball at him as she backs away dramatically and waves goodbye.

His final dialogue with Shepard in the Main Battery before the suicide mission is where he finally starts to make it clear that he loves her. He doesn’t try as hard to hold himself back anymore, he just up and says that he wants to give “cross-species intercourse” a try with her out of all people and that he wants to spend his final moments with her and only her before they possibly all die in the suicide mission. He still flounders around a bit when she reciprocates his enthusiasm, probably because he’s still in shock that she even wants to sleep with him, and Shepard continues to tease him in good nature. Their relationship is just… so healthy and good and pure… hhhgh

AND THEN. THE SCENE BEFORE THE OMEGA 4 RELAY

As Shepard is taking a shower and gettin ready for Garry, he’s literally standing there waiting for her with a bottle of wine AND HE LOOKS SO NERVOUS LIKE HE DOESNT KNOW WHAT TO DO HHH

and then he like jogs up to the stereo system and plays the same cheesy club music that he had made fun of in the previous game. Yes, when he said that he’ll “find some music” for them to bang to, that’s what he had in mind AND SHE CALLS HIM OUT FOR IT BY SHAKING HER HEAD IN AMUSEMENT 

AND HE’S STILL PRETENDING THAT HE’S ALL SUAVE. HE’S LIKE “C’mon Shepard I’m a natural seducer, look at my strut. Lemme smash”

Shepard is so humored by the whole thing. It’s very wholesome. I love seeing them enjoy themselves like this, especially after Garrus’s recruitment and loyalty missions, which were both very emotionally charged. 

Shepard thinks Garrus’s bad flirting is endearing as he tries to apply his knowledge of turian courtship to his current situation and then immediately regrets it because he worries that he might have said something offensive by human standards (WHOLESOME). She calms him down and assures him that he doesn’t need to worry about impressing her (as if to say “Garrus, it’s me. It’s okay. You’re my best friend, not some random dude that I’m hooking up with. We’ve been through hell together man, relax), and then he immediately starts to confess to her that he wants their two or so hours before almost-certain doom to “go right”.

PAUSE FOR A MOMENT. Remember when I said to hang on to Garrus’s line about how if their “encounter” turned awkward due to their differing anatomy, they could just laugh it off and use the Collectors to keep themselves distracted? Yeah, so that line was a fucking lie. 

Garrus is coming clean to Shepard about his feelings in this final scene. He does want things to go right between them, but he was just too nervous and shy to admit that their time together would mean so much more to him than “blowing off steam”, so he uses humor to cope with it. The best part is, Shepard understands. It almost seems like she can read him because of how well she knows him; she’s aware of how he feels, but she wants him to feel ready enough to tell her on his own. ADORABLE.

LOOK. LOOK HOW GENTLE AND TENDER SHE IS WITH HIM. SHE JUST WANTS TO CALM THE NERVOUS BOY DOWN AND HE’S SO MOVED BY IT THAT HE JUST STOPS TALKING AND LIKE STARES AT HER SO INTIMATELY. IT’S SO BEAUTIFUL. 

She’s not just stroking his face, either; she’s stroking his scars - the ones that he got from an event which almost took his life - as if to comfort him and say “I was there for you back then, and I’m here with you now. I’m glad you’re okay. You’ve been through so much”. I DIE!!!!! I DIE. 

And finally, the famous head-butt of love (the first gif). I’m not sure if touching foreheads is something that turians do to show affection, but since they don’t have lips, it would make sense. Either way, it’s obviously a very affectionate and loving gesture and I cannot handle it. This to me is one of those things in life where I can think about it and immediately feel happiness no matter how bad of a mood I’m in. Do I care that it’s a fictional relationship? Nope, because it’s a very well-written (up to this game, I mean), healthy, believable, and profound relationship, and I think it’s absolutely adorable. I’m not normally into shipping or romance but this?? This is just on a whole other level. Nothing comes close to this. 

A few people feel robbed that the scene fades to black right as Garrus gently grips her shoulder (or something? With flycam enabled, he looks like he’s grabbing her boob, but that’s obviously not what’s supposed to be happening) and that we don’t even see a kiss, but I’m totally fine with it. It’s nonetheless an emotionally charged and wholesome scene and that’s exactly how it should be for them. I’m glad we didn’t get anything sleazy or fanservicey. 

If Garrus is the squad member who starts to fall after Shepard kills the Reaper-Larva thingy, it just fuels the feels. They have each other’s backs :’)

Aaah, yes, and let us not forget the post-ending canoodling. Again, not exclusive to Garrus, but seeing them so content is really euphoric, man. They’ve been through hell and really do deserve each other. 

I really like that their relationship hasn’t changed that much, even after confessing/sleeping together. We don’t ever see them acknowledge being in a committed, official relationship, but I think they do - just offscreen. I know there’s really not much post-main story romance in this game, but they still seem to interact normally. They’re very comfortable with each other; when Shepard goes to talk to him after the suicide mission, he assures her casually (but giddily) that he’s down to keep going with cuddlin and love-makin (aka, “what [they’d] talked about”). There’s nothing super romancey or cheesy, and that suits them (unlike ME3, but I’m not going to ruin this post by talking about that.)

Garrus’s romance being perhaps the most popular in the entirety of Mass Effect isn’t a surprise at all. He and Shepard are such a great match for each other, even with the romance aside. No other relationship fills the heart the way this one does. They build their relationship and really establish that same mutual respect and trust that I keep raving about before they move their companionship into a romantic light, and that’s such a great way to write a romance. 

Wholesome raptor lad and his badass, ass-kicking girlfriend own my heart. 

[pigeontheoneandonly]

Jane & Sam, Part 5: Back Home

This is the next installment of my Shaynor series, Never Marry a Soldier. It’s a post-destroy, hearts-and-rainbows, everyone lived version of Mass Effect, exploring Jane and Sam’s relationship as well as the lingering mysteries the reapers left behind. (Please see the masterpost for links to all parts!)

As it turned out, Jane’s little favor was more than willing to make a slight detour to the Citadel and pick them up.

Ash gave her a full-body hug as soon as she cleared the airlock.  “Damn, skipper, it is good to see you.”

“I should be calling you that now.”  She slid away, not without a smile.

“Yeah, well, it wasn’t like I asked for it.”  Ash rubbed her head, uncustomarily self-conscious.  She hadn’t asked— but she sure as hell was not disappointed when Jane recommended her to the post after she retired from the Normandy. She turned her attention to Traynor. “Sam.”

They embraced briefly.  Sam tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.  “This feels so strange.  I never thought I’d be back here.”

“We’ve missed you,” said Ash, sincerely.  “The new kid’s alright.  Learning the ropes.  But he’s not you.”

“Flatterer.” But Sam looked pleased all the same.

Jane cleared her throat.  “I really appreciate this.  You just can’t get a flight out to Rannoch, even in the fleet.”

While most forces had dispersed back to their homeworlds after the relays were repaired, the Citadel fleet had been reinvigorated, as bonds forged in war proved difficult to break.  And Jane Shepard had a berth on any of them.  The quarians, however, had turned inward, focused on rebuilding their civilization.

Ash shrugged. “It’s not a problem.  The Council’s asked me to check out a little problem on the outer rim.”

Jane suppressed the twinge of jealousy.  She was, technically speaking, still a spectre, her experience valuable even though her body had betrayed her.  “You do much work with Kaidan these days?”

“Less than you’d expect.”  She sat back on her heel and crossed her arms.  “Pretty sure he’s still, uh, acting as the Council’s unofficial line to the Shadow Broker.”

Sam let out a dry hah.  “He’s got a line into something, alright.”

Jane nudged her. Ash let out a chuckle.  “Kind of a shocker when he and Liara turned up together at your wedding.  I spent half the reception wringing that story out of him.  Apparently, they got together not too long after Liberation Day, it started getting serious, and they realized they’d never actually told any of us.”

“And it was a good excuse, the whole team together in one place for the first time since the war.” Jane shook her head.  “Makes sense, though.  They’ve been close for years.”

“Liara spent a lot of time with him while you were in the hospital,” Sam volunteered.  “His father had just passed away.  I think she saw giving him a shoulder as a chance to repay him for consoling her after she lost her mother.  And, well, things grew from there.”

“They’re just both so damn private,” Ash griped.  “C’mon.  Let’s get you squared away.”

Jane shouldered her bag and ambled after her with her usual thumping limp, into the CIC. Sam sighed.  “I hope they’ve fixed the water pressure in the ladies’.”  

Ash shook her head.  “Nope, but you two get top billing.”

Jane stopped. “I’m not taking your bed, Ash.”

“No offense ma’am, but it’d be just plain weird to have you bunking with the crew.  For all of us.”  She coughed.  “And you do not want to witness what Vega’s done to the X.O.’s quarters.  It’s got that bachelor stank.”

Sam wrinkled her nose.  “How is that possible?  I didn’t think anything could smell worse than that gym of his, in shuttle bay.”

Ash shrugged. “The shuttle bay’s big and open. The X.O.’s cabin is small.  And saturated.  Believe me.”

They reached the elevator.  She tagged the door and stepped aside, offering a salute.  Jane tchted.  “I’m retired.”

“Be that as it may, ma’am.”  Ash held herself at attention.

She rolled her eyes and returned it, before stepping into the elevator.  “As you were, marine.”

“Aye aye.” Ash turned neatly on her heel, and went to the galaxy map, as the doors shut.

Jane bit her lip, feeling abruptly very tired.  Sam slid her arm around her waist.  “It’s strange, being back here.”

“You said it.” She bent, scratching idly at the spot where the prosthetic met her flesh.

Then Sam touched her face.  Drawing her eyes to her own.  “Nobody can take away what you did on this ship, or the woman it made you.  Some turian ships are over three hundred years old. Think about it.  Long after we’re both gone, this will still be Commander Shepard’s ship.  A coveted posting.”

Her mouth thinned. She pulled away, watching the elevator register its arrival on Deck 1.  “I never thought I’d be almost thirty-four and already buried, while I’m still alive.”

The doors opened. Sam took her hand and drew her out onto the utilitarian foyer.  “Enough is enough.”

“I don’t—”

She rose up on her toes and kissed her, drawing her fingers through her hair, forcing Shepard to drop the bag.  Not that she minded much.  Her hands found her waist.  It might have been a minute or an hour later when Sam drew back, cupping her face and looking her in the eye.  “Jane Shepard, you have your entire life before you.  You’re a woman with all the choices in the world and you’re acting like you’ve been backed into a corner, because one of those endless doors closed.”

Shepard started to look away, but Sam turned her face back, refusing to let it go.  “And I’ll be there, every step, whatever you decide. But I won’t watch you waste away moping. I won’t have it.  Are we clear?”

For a long moment they stood like that, fierce brown eyes boring into stubborn green.  Then Shepard took a step forward, maneuvering Sam back into the bulkhead, and lavished a kiss on her neck.  “I love you, you know that?”

Her eyes fluttered shut.  In a slightly strangled tone, she managed, “I am not explaining to Ashley why we had to wash her sheets.”

Shepard mumbled into her collarbone.  “That’s what the shower’s for.”

[incorrectly-quoted-queers]

Drunk Punch Love: Chapter 4

Pairing: FemShep and Garrus Vakarian (Shakarian)

Rating: PG-13 (with some tossed F-bombs)

Summary: Their awkward, badass journey through saving the galaxy and accidentally falling in love

Chapter 4: Drunken Heroes

After all her damned talk of avoiding booze forever, here she was, taking her whole crew to get wasted at a bar.

To give herself credit, this was 100% about letting her friends blow off steam before they headed to Virmire, not about her. She didn't even have any plans to drink, just play babysitter and have some fun with them. After all they'd done for the mission, they deserved some shore leave.

Anya almost wished she could be as hyped as Ash was. The soldier kept talking about how she was itching for a good Citadel blue cocktail mixed with classic Russian Vodka. Kept on saying she'd call it "The Shepard".

She stuck back, watching Ash drag Tali, Ash, Joker, Liara, Kaidan, and Garrus to the bartender. The only one left was her favorite cranky Krogan, an old man among youths. But he already knew that without her pointing that out. He chuckled low next to her, "You look like a mother Varren with her pups."

"What, do I look like I'm gonna eat them?"

Wrex grumbled with distaste, but Anya felt pretty satisfied, annoying him. "Varren are dedicated to their young. And so are you, Mother Shepard."

Anya nearly gagged at the thought. Her, a mom? Hardly. She was just a pathetic lonely soldier who had friends for the first time in a long time. A hard mission does that to people; it bonds them. "I'd prefer you never call me that again."

"No promises."

"What do you even do at a bar?"

While Wrex barely reacted, she knew his was peering at her with confusion. "I drink, just like everyone else."

"I can't picture it."

"Well if you need a picture, I'll be over there, drinking ryncol. I'll tell the waitress you're buying." Wrex patted her back and walked off without any confirmation.

Under her breath, Anya grumbled, "I mean, I am buying, but you could've asked..." She just shook her head and accepted the inordinate amount of credits she was about to lose on that tab. But at least, when she turned to look back at the bar, her entire crew seemed to be enjoying themselves. Ash was being the leader of the pack. Liara was sticking closing, admiring the entertainment, and Tali looked like she was roped into being her wingman.

Garrus, of course, was the one in some sort of arm wrestle with Kaidan while Joker egged them on. Who knew what the hell that was about.

Shepard just nabbed a glass of water and joined Liara in watching Ash try to flirt with guys and/or flirt with them for Tali, who seemed far less interested. She noticed T'Soni stiffened up a little the second she sat down, but she tried to ignore it. "Everyone looks like they're having a good time, huh?"

"Absolutely. I've never seen Gunnery Chief Willaims so loud. Not outside of a firefight, at least."

Though she didn't mean to, every time she sat down next to her crew, she turned full Commander mode. And Liara's somber mood was a prime target. "I know you said you were doing better, but how are you really holding up?"

Staring down at her glass, Liara kept on looking at the liquid in it like it would say something profound to her. Anya remembered that look; probably a little too well. "Worse than I expected. Benezia and I weren't close for a long time. I knew losing her would be hard but not like... this. I feel like a fundamental part of me is now being washed away a little more every day and there's nothing I can do to stop it."

Anya normally wasn't one for opening up deep, old wounds, but she couldn't just let Liara sit there, haunted and alone, on their last night of peace before the storm. She was very deliberate in putting her palm gently on Liara's shoulder and not her hand. "After Akuze, I used to have a drinking problem. Or lack of drinking problem. I'd used to come here, buy the drink my squad used to always get, and stared down into it until the bar was empty and I was kicked out. It was like I was trying to find meaning to fill that empty space in me. But nothing really fills it. You just find other things that give you meaning and eventually they motivate you more than the emptiness does."

Before Shepard could react, Liara put her own hand on hers and was giving her this sweet smile. "Thank you, Shepard."

Anya pulled her hand away and scooted an inch or two back, trying to diffuse any cute moment Liara might've thought they were having. "I'm here to help anytime. That's what friends do."

After she said that, Anya didn't want to look up and cringe at the disappointment painted on Liara's face. It already fucked her up inside. But when she did finally look up, she felt a lot more weird feelings than she meant to.

Sure, there was Liara's conflicted face, but past her ear Anya could see the boy band of Joker, Garrus, and Kaidan sitting around a table and laughing. Well, they were, but then a female turian walked up and looked at Garrus like he was a snack.

Not that she fully disagreed but that wasn't the damn point.

While she didn't mean to go comatose, and she was pretty sure Liara might've said something, she felt like everything blacked out except him. And he was doing that awkward smiling thing, and she could tell he was flustered, and she could tell the turian was hitting on him. And where the bro in her was happy for him, that fucked up part of her that woke itself up on a Noveria bar had its eyes wide open and was screaming.

Before she could make any expressions that made her make a fool of herself, and so she didn't have to look at it anymore, Anya went to staring down into the glass of water in front of her.

"By the goddess, how did I not notice?"

Shepard shook her head and gave Liara her best clueless look. Oh boy, how she didn't want her to be noticing what she thought she might have noticed. ANya asked, "Notice what?"

Even though there was this sadness in her eyes, there was also clarity. Liara said it so plainly that it hurt, "You have feelings for Garrus."

Anya covered Liara's mouth with her hand and closed her eyes, like if she wished it hard enough she'd wake up and this nightmare would be over and no one would know her dumb, dirty little secret. "No, nope, I don't. You saw nothing."

"And your cheeks are even getting red. I never-"

Giving up, because clearly her cover-up skills were piss poor, Shepard just held her hands and tried not to look too desperate. It was embarrassing enough. "Please don't talk about it. He doesn't feel the same way and it doesn't matter. You're all my friends and we're on a mission and that's what we need to focus on."

Liara frowned, but didn't seem too keen to pry. "I won't make you talk more, mostly because I feel embarrassed for chasing after you now, but if you need to talk, I'm here."

If Anya was in peak Commander mode, she'd stay shut up, let it end at that, but after so much time keeping it to herself and feeling so frustrated, and now seeing him get looked at like that by some attractive turian... Well, maybe she'd be better off not keeping it inside. "He's my best friend, Liara. It complicates everything."

"Clearly people think that complication is worth it. And here I was, hoping it was me."

"I'm sorry, Liara."

"It matters more to me that you stay my friend."

Of all the stupid things tonight, that made her smile. Even under all the "getting caught looking at Garrus" embarrassment. "That's what matters to me, too. And not just with you, with him."

"I can understand that."

Anya winced and kept her eyes down, not wanting to look at Garrus, knowing he probably was flirting back. He had every right and... And, well, it wasn't like he owed her anything. They said it didn't happen, she was just a squishy human, and they'd just stay friends, right? "So, I'd just prefer we talk about other things to distact me from saying anything dumb about Garrus Vakarian-"

"Somebody saying my name?"

Startled, Anya jumped in her chair and almost fell off. Liara started giggling like the funniest shit just happened, but hearing him pop up behind he was so unfair. More unfair was the fact she noticed his hand was holding her chair straight. Anya just sunk down into it, real low, and tried to hope that Saren would take her down with him. At least it was an honorable death.

Lucky for Shepard, Liara winked at her and saved her ass. "We were wondering who won the arm wrestling, you or Lieutenant Alenko. The Commander was betting on you, even though I said Kaidan would win."

"You wound me, Liara."

Trying to act casual, Anya raised an eyebrow. "So who won, then?"

Garrus scratched the back of his neck and admitted, "Okay, fine, Alenko won. But only because he's a dirty cheat and used biotics."

She didn't know what it was about his wounded pride, but it helped unwind all the knots she'd put herself in. Anya patted his shoulder, saying, "Don't worry, you're still my number one turian."

"He's not a turian and I'm your only turian. That statement means nothing, but sure, thanks, Shep."

Watching him scowl at her, like nothing was weird or wrong, it made her laugh in a way that vibrated throughout her entire body. But maybe she also didn't want to admit how much it warmed her up, knowing he turned the flirting turian down and came over here to her.

After she got out her nerves and laughed like that, the rest of the night was a fun blur. The crew started sharing embarrassing stories of first kisses and first posts, and they all danced and Tali made fun of her for being terrible. Garrus was the only one who gave her a wink during that, because he knew her actual skills. Not like she was going to tondue at a club, though. And then later they even got Wrex to join in on an argument on who had the wildest battle scars. No surprise, the Krogan won. But Joker's surgery scars almost gave him a run for his money.

That night, she was the one helping carry Ash back to the Normandy while everyone else was walking or stumbling in front of them. Everyone enjoyed themselves, but Ash was definitely the one that hit the booze the hardest.

But Anya didn't mind too much. She saw how Ash made everyone smile and brought them together. The spitfire would be a great leader someday, once she got more experience under her belt.

Leaning into her shoulder, the Gunnery Chief started to mumble. "We're going to save the galaxy, Shep. I'll get to be a hero. The Williams name is gonna go down in history for great reasons this time."

Anya held onto Ash's side, tight, and said, "You're going to be a great hero, Ash. Probably a better one than me. You don't have the baggage weighing you down."

When Ash laughed, it bubbled through her body and almost shoved them too close to the railing. Garrus gave her a look, like asking if she wanted help, but Anya shook her head. She and captain realism didn't need to burst Ash's hopefulness here. It was honestly kind of nice to hear someone talk about the future like this. Ash wasn't thinking about dying; just about the good she'd do.

How could Anya not admire that?

"I'm gonna have a tough time beating you, Shep, but I'll do my best."

"You better. Second human Spectre, Ashely Williams, Sounds good, right?"

Ash was still so wobbly. Anya wasn't quite sure she'd remember any of this in the morning. That only made it so much easier to compliment her. "Don't get crazy, Commander." She rolled her eyes in a very exaggerated way, but then hiccuped so hard some of her hair fell out of her bun. "But yeah, it kinda does sound good."

"Well, let's get back on the Normandy and make you a hero, Ash." When she finished carrying Ash onto the ship, she kept on seeing the drunk cadet she used to be, laughing with her friends anytime they got shore leave, all swapping stories on how they'd become heroes. None of them would've ever guessed Anya'd get it because they all died. She'd gained honor in an awful, horrible way. But she hoped Ash could become someone great by her side, instead.

That was one of the few things she'd enjoy seeing, at the end of all this.

///

Author's Note:

Thanks so much for reading, and double thanks to my lovely patrons:

Danyell Jones

Amy Connolly

If you'd like to support my work, please go check out my patreon: patreon.com/gracejordan

I also write original stories and am trying to build a community of fandom lovers on writing sites, in Discord, and (in the future) on Twitch :) any help is appreciated

[squigglysquidd]

🌼 for the OC Asks, but imma be a brat and ask if we could have a snippet of when Fibonacci prince Garrus met Jana?

༓･*.☽25 OC QUESTIONS☾.*･༓

🌼 Write a short drabble from your OCs POV meeting their LI (or if they don’t have a love interest, their best friend. If you don’t want to do a drabble, describe their first meeting instead!)

He’s not sure what happens when he sees her, just that something does. It’s like the first time stringing Nightingale and successfully loosing an arrow straight into the center of the target for the first time. With no other way to explain the rush of heat that blossoms in his belly, Garrus let’s out a soft breath to calm himself and regain his composure. 

“Looks like you need someone with some actual pull around here,“ he says, attempting to mask the shake in his hands with some barely veiled humor as he approaches Jon, Liara, a muscular bear of a man, Councilor Sparatus, an unknown person in strange armor, and the female human who has his full attention.

Spirits, who is she?

Jon calls out joyfully, but Garrus is paying half of his attention to the man, flaring his mandibles in relief at seeing the man as they grip each others’ forearms in greeting.

Jon says something about being grateful for the assistance and Garrus hears a cocky response come out of his mouth, but he doesn’t know what as his mind races, wondering when the man will introduce her instead.

Severus, the irrumator and - as Jac puts it- massive pain in his ass, says something about professionalism and Garrus has to finally pay attention, snapping at his cousin. That shuts him up as Jon gets a nervous look on his face at the confrontational tone between the two, but he quickly recovers as he tries to introduce people of his group.

Garrus sees no one else but this woman, though. He doesn’t even hear Jon’s words as he steps past his friend, blocking Jon out as he thrums in interest and intrigue and finally greets her.

“Salve ,” he purrs with a slight dip of his head as he stands before her, ignoring the scoff of disgust from the other two turians that he would dare use the proper words to address some stranger. “My name is Garrus Vakarian of Cipritine. May I ask yours, dominae?”

He swallows heavily as she stares up at him and he uses the silence that seems to stretch on forever to truly look at her, take in her beauty. 

With hair like fire, barely tamed in her braid, and eyes like the very earth of Alysim. Green dances within brown in them and it’s a color he’s never seen before, so mysterious and wild. She is wild, a barely tamed power he can see even without needing to fight beside her.

He’s never even dreamt of such a being, never seen someone or something like her in all his life. Not even the beauty of the blazing, setting of the sun can compare.

“Jana .... Jana Shepard ….”

“Jana,” he repeats, his vocals singing.

Jana ....

[meticulouswriting]

Helpless

Pairing: Jaina Shepard x Garrus Vakarian Fic Summary: Garrus has rarely ever felt helpless. But Shepard has a way of turning the galaxy upside down. Rating: SFW Warnings: None

AO3

There have been very few times in his life that Garrus Vakarian had ever felt helpless.

The first time red tape had blocked him from stopping a man he knew was guilty; he’d felt it then. Like all his training and skill and effort meant nothing at all. The man had been caught eventually, but not before claiming one more victim. A victim that might’ve gone on living for decades more if Garrus had been allowed to act. He’d hated that feeling, hated knowing that he could’ve helped people if there hadn’t been so many damned rules getting in his way. Remembering that moment, and the others like it that followed in his years at C-Sec, had made going with Shepard an easy decision to make. It felt like freedom, being able to act as the situation called for, without waiting for half a dozen superiors to approve every move he made. Even when they were done hunting Saren, when he left the Normandy and tried going back to work on the Citadel, he’d felt lighter.

He’d felt helpless, again, when he found out that the Normandy had been shot down. That Shepard had been shot down. Even though he knew that his presence probably wouldn’t have been enough to save her, he still felt like he should’ve been there, should’ve been able to do something.

Should’ve been able to tell her how much she’d meant to him, at the very least.

Then he was on Omega, and he was finally getting back a sense of control, leading his men and actually making a dent in the crime that seemed to be everywhere. Until Sidonis’s betrayal, where he was helpless again, unable to see through the ruse or act fast enough to save his men. He couldn’t even hunt down the traitor and avenge them. In a way, it felt right that he should go down fighting, not far from where his men had done the same. At least then he was doing something, and maybe he’d take enough of the mercs down with him to cripple the organizations for a long while after he was gone.

But he didn’t die on Omega. He was saved by a ghost with an assault rifle, the one person he’d never expected to see until he ended up in whatever heaven was waiting for human Spectres and Turian vigilantes. Shepard came with a mission, and just like that he had purpose again. A way to actually do something that mattered, just like the good old days on the SR-1.

Well, not just like them. This time, he was the one who came to Shepard’s cabin in the night, interspecies awkwardness forgotten while they “blew off steam” in the best possible way. This time, he realized that she was more than his best friend, more than a soldier he looked up to. This time, Shepard was his, and he was hers.

Knowing that made leaving the Normandy easier. Garrus was frustrated when the Alliance seized the ship, furious that they couldn’t see that she’d had no other choice but to blow the Alpha relay, but this time he didn’t feel helpless. The Turian Hierarchy was finally ready to listen to the warnings he and Shepard had been giving for three years, and, token task force or not, he felt like he was actually doing something. He missed her, desperately, but he knew that if anyone could find a way out of the situation and back into the fight, it was Shepard.

But then came the invasion on Palaven. And on Manae, Garrus watched Palaven burn. He realized then that, skilled as he was, there wasn’t a single thing within his power to do that could even put a scratch on the enemies they faced. Even seeing Shepard again--and Spirits, was it good to see that woman--didn’t help the crushing weight of the lives that were lost every day on his home while they were forced to make nice with politicians.

Fighting the Reapers helped. Working with Shepard, with Tali, Ashley, and Liara, it felt a little bit like it used to, like it was them against the galaxy, but this time they had the resources and support to make a real difference. The Crucible was coming together, and after months of running errands, making threats, and gritting her teeth through negotiations, Shepard somehow managed to get every race in the galaxy to fight at their backs. Garrus didn’t know if they’d survive the final assault, but at this point he thought only an idiot would bet against Shepard.

Of course, things started to go wrong as soon as they landed on Earth. Shepard’s team fought their way through wave after wave of husks and Reapers, only to be nearly crushed by one of their own tanks, sent flying by a Reaper beam. 

He tried not to see the irony in the fact that, after so many times fearing for his life in a Mako with Shepard at the wheel, it was one she wasn’t even driving that finally managed to put him out of commission.

And now Garrus was helpless again, limping onto the Normandy while Shepard went on to the beam. He didn’t miss the fact that she hadn’t promised to come back. More than ever before, he felt useless, sitting in the med bay while the only woman he’d ever loved was facing off with whatever last defense the Reapers were throwing at her.

Garrus heard the shouts of triumph over comms when she managed to open the arms of the Citadel, then of confusion and despair when, for a few long minutes, nothing happened. He limped his way to the CIC, where Traynor was doing everything she could to get some information on what was actually happening. He waited for what seemed like hours, waited for orders, for answers. 

Then a blast of energy fired from the Crucible, and in the chaos that came in reaction, Garrus had a few glimpses of the vids from the assembled fleets.

Vids of Sovereign-class Reapers, powering down mid-attack. Vids of Reaper forces on the ground collapsing without taking a hit.

Vids of the Citadel, large chunks breaking off and falling out of orbit to the planet below. 

Even in the middle of the celebrations starting to break out, he couldn’t help but imagine Shepard on every one of those falling sections of debris, drifting through space again, but this time with no Cerberus to find and revive her.

The thoughts were harder to banish the longer they went without hearing anything, and soon people started to murmur, things about a heroic sacrifice and a noble death. And Garrus was totally, completely helpless.

Somehow he had found his way to the mess, gazing blankly into the cup of something hot someone had set in front of him. As if from a distance, he heard Liara confer with Ashley and Joker about “making arrangements.” About the memorial wall that seemed to laugh at him from its place in front of the elevator.

They put up Anderson’s name first. Ashley, as the highest-ranking Alliance member on board, putting it carefully into place in the center, under the Alliance crest. She said something about Anderson’s commitment to humanity, his tenacity fighting the Reapers, his pride in the Normandy and her crew. 

Truthfully Garrus didn’t really hear any of it. He was too busy staring at the nameplate Liara had pressed into his hands. Commander Shepard. It seemed too small to represent everything she was. Everything she used to be. Not just to him, but to the galaxy that now owed her everything. And if he did nothing else with what was left of his life, he was going to make damn sure they remembered that.

He realized that Ashley had stopped speaking, and that everyone was staring at him expectantly, with mixtures of sadness and pity on all of their faces.

He took a step forward, wiped an invisible speck of dust off of the plaque he clutched like a lifeline. No words came out when he tried to speak. But then again, he didn’t know that there were words for this, in any language.

The ship’s comm chimed to life, EDI’s voice coming over the system. “I apologize for the interruption,” she said, “but there’s something you all need to hear.” 

Garrus was opening his mouth to demand why she thought now was an appropriate time to give a status report, when he heard it: ragged breathing, distorted by interference. And a voice. One that he’d recognize anywhere, from a hundred firefights and dozens of nights spent together. “This… is Commander Shepard. Broadcasting on all channels…” her voice was weak, interrupted by hacking coughs, but it was hers and it was there. “Time… unknown. Location… unknown. Somewhere…” she drew in a long, shaky breath, “somewhere on the Citadel. Condition… not great. But alive. Repeat, I am alive.”

She repeated the same message several times, EDI leaving the comm line open as the crew went into a frenzy of activity. In just a few minutes, Ashley, Tali, and Liara were all on comms with their people, trying to pinpoint the signal, to set up a rescue team as soon as possible. One of Liara’s Shadowbroker agents got ahold of Miranda, transporting her to the best hospital facility available to wait on standby. The Quarian fleet was ready to bring in any supplies she needed to restore Shepard once again, and an Alliance emergency team was dispatched to the source of Shepard’s signal. A squadron of Turian fighters volunteered as escorts for the medical transport that would be rescuing her.

And Garrus, once again, was left helpless, not able to do a thing to speed up or assist with the rescue. The ship was too far away to make it to the Citadel quickly, their shuttles not equipped with what was needed to get her out and keep her alive. All they could do was monitor the rescuers over comm, listen to Shepard still gasping out her message, and make their way to the hospital as quickly as possible to await her arrival.

He sat with the rest of Shepard’s people in the waiting room, perched on one of the molded plastic chairs that were clearly not designed for anxious Turians. He waited as they brought her in, as Miranda and a team of surgeons did their job. They wouldn’t let him--or any non-medical personnel, for that matter--in the room, so he was forced to rely on reports that one of the doctors gave every few hours.

Extensive physical trauma, they said. Her Cerberus implants had staved off the beginnings of infection, but even the Illusive Man’s tech and Miranda’s expertise could only do so much. Broken bones, internal bleeding, lacerations from falling debris. Even with his admittedly limited knowledge of human anatomy and medicine, Garrus knew that none of what they said was good.

But this was Shepard, and so as awful as the waiting was, he believed that she would make it through this, too.

He had to believe it.

After seventeen long hours--seventeen hours of waiting, of sleeplessness, of ignoring the dextro rations someone had found for him--Miranda herself finally entered the room, still in medical scrubs. Garrus straightened in the seat, nudging Tali, who at some point had fallen asleep leaning on his arm, and waited for Miranda to speak.

The woman was more exhausted and less put-together than he’d ever seen her, with her hair in an untidy bun and dark circles under her eyes marring her flawless complexion. But she was smiling. “She’s going to make it,” she said. “It wasn’t easy, and she’ll need time to recover, but she’s awake, and she’s coherent. A few of you can go see her now, but…”

Garrus didn’t hear the rest of what she said, already halfway out of his chair by the time she spoke. He stormed through the doors to the hallway, exhaustion forgotten as he made his way to Shepard’s hospital room. One of the guards at the door almost tried to stop him, but the other--one of the women who had been stationed at the Normandy’s war room--waved him through and whispered something to her companion.

He stopped in the doorway, taking a moment to look at Shepard before she noticed him watching. She looked… tiny, in the sterile hospital bed. She was propped up by pillows, her red hair fanning out beneath her head. Nearly every bit of skin he could see was covered in either bruises or bandages, and even under her thin blanket he could make out a bulky cast on one leg.

But she was there, in one piece, and, most importantly, alive.

She turned her head at the sigh of relief he gave, smiling weakly when she saw him. The right side of her face was nearly covered by ugly scrapes and deep purple bruising, and there was a line of stitches curving from the edge of her brow to just past her cheekbone. But her eyes were as bright as ever, even with one surrounded by battered flesh. He took a few steps closer, almost afraid that a sudden movement would make her disappear.

“You look like shit, Vakarian,” she said, her voice hoarse.

He laughed at that, crossing the rest of the distance to stand at her side. And if the laugh sounded a little bit like a sob, she didn’t mention it.

“Look who’s talking, Shepard,” Garrus replied, and gently took her unbandaged hand in one of his.

“You should see the other guy.” And she was still bloodied and bruised, but the crooked, cocky way she grinned up at him was undeniably Shepard, and he practically collapsed into the chair beside her bed. She pointed at the injured side of her face. “Look,” she said, “we match.” And he laughed again, not caring that this time it was undeniably watery.

She squeezed his hand as tightly as she could--and he tried not to think about how much stronger that squeeze should’be been--and listened as he told her about what had happened after they’d parted, that the crew were all alive, all waiting to see her, that the ship was in one piece and the Reapers were disabled. She didn’t say much, seemed too exhausted to do more than smile and squeeze his hand periodically, but she was awake and clear-headed enough to listen. He rambled on about everything he could think of, and sometime between telling her that Vega had cried when they’d heard her message, though he denied it, and describing how loud Tali snored, even through her mask, she drifted off to sleep. 

He panicked for a moment when her grip on his hand relaxed, but a nurse who was monitoring her life signs assured him that there was nothing wrong, and that the sleep would do her good. Garrus refused to leave her side, even when one of her doctors tried to usher him out. But apparently someone important enough to give orders backed him up, because after a little while a Turian-style cot was brought in and set up less than a foot away from Shepard’s bed.

He stayed there, at her side, for as long as she was there, only leaving for quick showers or when his family managed to get a comm through. Even then, he made sure someone he trusted was with her, and he was never gone for more than half an hour. When the hospital staff brought in meals for her, they also brought a tray of dextro food for him. Their friends visited, a few at a time, whenever they could, bringing small gifts and stories about the beginnings of the rebuilding effort.

The galaxy still seemed to still be reeling; the Mass Relays had gone dark for about seven Earth-days in the wake of the Crucible blast, then had started come back on with no warning, one by one. Some of them had taken damage, but the relay system was on its way back to being fully operational. Most civilizations seemed to be focused on cleaning out the remains of Reaper forces and securing safe places for their people; true reconstruction of what they’d lost would take a few months to get underway.

Shepard didn’t like to talk about what she’d seen and done after entering the beam to the Citadel. But after a few days, she started opening up a little when the two of them were alone. From what they could piece together, they figured what she’d seen had been some kind of security protocol programmed into the Citadel itself, a last-ditch effort by the Reapers to turn her away from her goal. The consequences she’d feared hadn’t seemed to come true, other than the Mass Relays shutting down, but even that had been temporary. Her cybernetics were still working, EDI was still running the Normandy, and the few messages they’d gotten from Rannoch showed that the geth were still functioning and helping the Quarians reclaim their home. More than anything, Garrus wished that he’d been there to help her through her encounter with whatever the child had been, instead of waiting on the Normandy and feeling helpless.

And Garrus still felt helpless, whenever the pain medication didn’t cover the worst of her aches, or when the doctors gave each other concerned looks over Shepard’s chart. But Shepard was making progress, recovering along with the rest of the galaxy.

And Garrus was by her side, every step of the way.

[akiwisfics]

In the Middle Chapter 8

Notes: No longer a crosspost, technically, but chapter already written. If you get annoyed by this, please savior ‘kiwi crossposts’ to save your eyes.

Description:  The war's over, but the mess is still left behind. Kasumi finds herself among the wreckage with unexpected companions and questions that seem almost impossible to answer for. Life keeps moving forward, however, and the surprises it leaves behind aren't always pleasant ones.

Pairing: KasumixSha’ira

--

Kasumi was never a cook. Oh she craved good food like anyone that had the taste of fine life, fine wine-- an opportunity to know the difference between a perfect cut of perfect temperature of steak to scraps left behind from a meal between bored batarian slavers more concerned with profits than artistry and fine dining. But she didn’t have the chance to know how to make it herself. Not surprisingly-- she was a child when she was taken, and by the time that she was freed of her shackles, she was more concerned with the constant burning and itching  at the back of her skull than the differences of various fish filets.

Ah, but soon, she would taste riches, and sometimes, it enraptured her in a way that only art came close to.

But the richest of the rich didn’t know either. They couldn’t until that food was taken from them. No doubt many of those old blood capitalists and tyrants craved now, now that the old system was gone. 

She enjoyed taking samples when she crashed dinner parties, flirting with the idea of being among their elite and making people guess how and where they had seen her before. It was part of the fun. She learned the differences and specifics of turian, asari, quarian cuisine-- the history of different cuts and fishes that once passed alien hands in their own celebrations. She would say it was for research, to keep the guessing game going, but well.

Nothing compared to her grandmother’s cooking.

They only knew each other for about a month or so before she passed, when Kasumi was trying to figure out how to be human in the deepest dark of her despair. At times, she thought on the time and wished she’d been kinder. Spoke more, shared love and affection with her grandmother and aunt more freely. But she hadn’t known how to do it, not after losing someone so tremendous so recently. 

But every day, her grandmother would pull her from the reaches and into their tiny apartment kitchen, the thick smell of salty broth and noodles pulling her back into reality. The mere reminder of it could make Kasumi’s mouth water-- rich, melting in her mouth, leaving a soft warmth behind in her chest.

She would find out over time more specifics of what she made. It was a style of miso ramen, made specifically for the harsh winters in Japan’s northern region. Her grandmother had a restaurant for a time on Earth before moving her family to the Citadel after humanity discovered the Mass Relays and made contact with the rest of the galaxy. She had tried running a few shops there in the Wards, but had retired early to help the family adjust to life in space. 

Her grandmother served them ramen in two large, expensive bowls, chopsticks and spoon-- as was traditional back home. Kasumi would get a fork the first week until she learned how to move the chopsticks with ease (it wasn’t much different than any other work she did honestly; a little practice and a little deft work and it was done). The broth-- a thick combination of miso and fish-- easily overtook the small space between them as it soaked rich wheat noodles. Her grandmother claimed the sliced pork inside was fresh, even if that was probably impossible, topped with sweet corn, sprouts, and plenty of garlic. If she was really lucky, there would be a sliced boiled egg floating on top.

It was divine. A true labor of love each and every day. 

“You’re starting to get some meat on your bones.” Her grandmother had a sharp eye too. She could see the resemblance between them. Thick brown eyes that had been hers once, the same nose and round jaw. Her hair had lengthened well past her shoulders after decades, though Kasumi rarely saw it free from the loose bun she wrapped it in. Much the same reason she had kept her own short-- easy and out of the way of work.

She had carried her age with grace, and in her most optimistic moods, she had imagined herself looking much the same, perhaps with a grandchild of her own lingering in the kitchen, waiting for the ramen to soak like she so often did. 

30 short days, and yet they seemed to have known each other for years.

“Nanami?”

She had looked over the bowl of steam, mirroring a smile that she knew now was a family trait. “Sorry, I just--”

“What were the colonies like?”

Kasumi hadn’t known. What specks of memories she still had about her first home weren’t concrete enough to give. There was similar thick aromas in her father’s kitchen, late nights where her mother returned home covered in oil and grime. Fights and games shared with her sister. A bundle of blankets tightly wrapping around a baby boy, keeping him warm and secured. 

The mines and fields she worked after weren’t colonies. Not the romanticized ones so often advertised over the vids. Sometimes it sickened her so badly that she had to switch the channel-- something that hadn’t been lost by the other two occupants in the home.

“Mom and Dad were happy,” she said instead.

“I don’t doubt it. They would be happy to see us all here again.”

She could’ve asked a million things. What were they like? Why did they go out into the colonies in the first place? Had she kept contact? Questions that another day, another season, Kasumi would have been happy to be occupied in finding out, but as it stood, she was hurting, and as it stood, they never asked her how she came to be there.

She’d been afraid then. Unfortunately for her grandmother, the geth would find her before Kasumi had the strength to ask.

--

Dark fell quickly over their campsite-- clear as the day had been with leftover spring warmth that made it easy for her group members to stay out longer than usually. Many of them mingled awkwardly with their salarian counterparts, though fewer in number as the day wore on. If Kasumi had to guess, they were moving their camp closer. Strength in numbers. Their preoccupation would make it easy to get out, though increased her chances in running into a member or two later on in her venture.

The sea of stars above was stunning with constellations and lights that likely hadn’t been seen on London soil in decades, freed of manmade pollution and electricity. If she had time, it wouldn’t be so bad to make her way to a mostly intact building or two to stargaze. How much time she would actually have though entirely depended on how urgent someone would be to find her though. How much Major Kirrahe actually trusted her to behave.

Considering she was in her catsuit already, the lack of trust was right, however irritating it might have been. It wasn’t as if she trusted any of the STG either. Still, the catsuit felt nice after so long, fitted perfectly and adjusted for whatever tumbles and climbs she would need to make throughout her trip. 

No one was keeping a close eye to her tent. Big mistake. She activated her cloaking immediately and kept her steps quiet as she made her exit. The heavy darkness and night that blanketed the rest of the empty streets was felt immediately as soon as she crossed the perimeter, but the stars and moon were perfect for the occasion. Just enough light to help guide her way. 

There were lots of little signs of life along the way. Nests of different finch birds, a quick sonata of crickets somewhere in the distance-- out of sight and out of mind. She could see holes dug in on old gods where animals tried to make them home. Plants, grass, weeds worming their way through the cracks of broken concrete. The art that would be inspired by this wonderful rejuvenation would be wonderful to see.

The smoke that permeated so much of the asphalt seemed to fade just a bit once she did reach the graffiti wall again, as if the world was also calming down the further she left her little pocket of civilization. There weren’t any more names left on the wall, though the fact hadn’t surprised her. From here, her and Sha’ira had gone about a half-block down, over the fallen reaper. It would be a tight squeeze still, but she could move faster without someone trailing behind. She really should get something to thank the consort. Though Kasumi wasn’t sure what all could be found that was… luxurious in the ruins, there may have been a nook or cranny or two that the Alliance hadn’t touched yet--

And oh. Her omni-tool was beeping. She let the cloak fall for now as she recognized the name on the other end. Just the girl she wanted to talk to.

“Evening!” Kasumi answered into her ear piece, eyes keeping watch of the area around her. Just in case. “I thought you might be asleep already.”

“Bullshit. You wouldn’t have called at all if you thought that.” Khalisah’s voice was groggy. She felt sort of honored that she would wake up just for little ol’ Kasumi. “If this is about the murders, I already planned on moving my camp in the morning. But you know if I get close, STG will be on my ass within minutes.”

Kasumi ignored it. “Do you know about the other groups around here?”

The hissing sigh on the other end was long and exasperated, but she heard her rustling through her belongings, grumbling the entire time. “My notes are around here, hold on… Couldn’t you just ask for this when it’s not in the middle of the night?”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“You fucking suck,” but there wasn’t as much bite as there was usually. Kasumi smiled. She heard pages (paper? Oh how old-school) being quickly flipped through before Khalisah finally spoke again. “There’s another volunteer group southwest from you guys? Pretty much the same. Only thing that stood out was an older guy with half his face scarred to shit.”

“Yellow armor? Real terminus system vibe to it?” Not ideal, but if Zaeed was close, he might be bored enough to lend a hand. Security detail for a volunteer group seemed a bit low energy for him, but maybe their benefactor had about as much credit as theirs did. 

“Yeah. Figures you’d know the only other shady person in the area.”

“Be nice. He’s just cranky, usually.” And had a lot of guns and explosives on hand. He also was real handy with booby traps. If she could get her hands on another proximity mine, he could tell her something that she wouldn’t know already. Especially if their batarian neighbors were more mercenary than refugee. “Could you do me a favor?”

“I’m starting to think you don’t know what blackmail means, Ms. Goto.”

“I could’ve just let the batarians kill you, you know,” she teased. Good-naturedly. Promise.

Khalisah sighed. “Fine, fine. Whatever. What do you want?”

“Be happy. I was going to keep you up for the night before you told me that,” and suppressed a snort when she heard the snarl. “Make sure it’s Zaeed Massani, of course. And if you would, ask him to come by my camp tomorrow… morning is probably good. Before the others wake up.”

“What? You want me to wake up an angry mercenary now? I’m sure he’ll love the camera light in his face.”

“I have his channel. Assuming he hasn’t changed it anyway.”

“Then call him yourself!”

And risk him getting worked up without confirming anything? Clearly the woman hadn’t worked with many mercenaries before. Kasumi tsked. “I’m busy--”

“So was I. Sleeping!”

“Just send a nice, friendly email saying… ah.” Hmm. What should it say actually? If he was early, she wouldn’t exactly want him asking for her directly. Sure, it was about a 50-50 shot on finding someone that knew who she was at camp at this point, but Zaeed wasn’t exactly quiet. “Tell him Ms. Goto’s looking for him at camp, and if he doesn’t see me, just ask for Sha’ira or Kirrahe. Then wait til I get there.”

“And he’ll just go?”

“If you’re that worried, you’re welcomed to toss 500 credits down for me. Money does talk.”

She hung up on her instead. Rude. Kasumi was going to offer to pay her back, but maybe the message came off a bit strongly. She still sent a quick message off with his channel information, in case the reporter did decide to follow through on the request. If not, he probably wouldn’t be hard to find. Guess she couldn’t fault her for getting antsy though. Since their deal was made, Kasumi hadn’t actually followed through with anything, though in her defense, she was spending that time warning her instead. 

It could and would wait for now though. She reactivated her cloaking device and continued her trek toward the murder scene, mentally wording whatever apology email she’d need to make to Khalisah later along the way. The hushed landscape made it easy to concentrate on it, disappointingly absent of any tracks or evidence of others that may have passed through in the meantime. 

If this was newly staked batarian territory, they weren’t using obvious wider paths. Either they didn’t want to be found, or were acutely aware of the possibility of someone tracking them. Could be both, or neither. 

She shimmied around the dead god’s head, and found little had changed in the last few days. It was still a clearing, shadowed by crumbled buildings, half-shapened concrete blocks-- debris of either the buildings around them or elsewhere. She had spent plenty of days memorizing the reach of reaper lasers and various weaponry for the many, many runs she did for the Alliance. Sometimes, the fact that they had won at all still seemed utterly surreal. They were creatures perfectly suited for Lovecraftian lore, hulking, massive creatures  that extended and did things beyond human imagination.

And yet… they were like any other piece of machinery. Artificial, metal, wires. A very scary thought, that over the years, they wouldn’t just dispose of the pieces, but reuse them. Shape something new out of it. With any luck, Kasumi would be dead before that bit humanity in the ass.

She shook those thoughts away and located the alleyway from before. There was still a blackened spot from where the proximity mine had gone off, stretching out like tendrils toward the slab that Kasumi landed on. Noticeably, however, was that any shrapnel had been picked up. The slab looked clean and dusted off. Someone was trying to cover their tracks.

Just at her feet, another red light stretched across the width of the alleyway. It was so easy to spot now that there was evidence of a previous detonation. It wasn’t meant as a trap then. More like a security measure. The sound would be picked up by any guards in the area, allowing them to retaliate to whoever wasn’t hurt by the mine, or move the group before they were found. Their camp may be close by then, if they hadn’t been spooked by their visitation from the other day.  

Nothing special. Kasumi had disabled hundreds of mines in her lifetime. A quick scan of her omni-tool and it short-circuited, allowing her to pick up the mine safely and quietly. Initial look and it seemed… simple. Looked to be scrapped together with various shrapnel from old signs if she had to guess. The circuitry of the actual proximity program would be hard to see without opening it up, but she doubted there was anything unique about it. The maker was experienced, that much Kasumi was sure. If they had any resources from outside Earth however, it was probably gone by now.

She kept it for now, and made sure to study the alley closely for anymore. None on this side. Rationing carefully then, or just that confident in whatever guards they had in the area to act quickly. 

The alley opened up to an even larger clearing than the one before, in what Kasumi could only figure was a rather nice square before. There was still remnants of old cobblestone, ones that had been there centuries and lived through more wars than she could count. Street ways that had been there once, brushed over by dirt and grime, cracked into pieces where weeds and grass sprouted in between. The fountain in the middle was in about the same shape, once wondrous and calming, spouting water from a jar a… cherub perhaps? Was holding into a pool that had been empty for some time. Much of the smaller details were lost by the throes of time and war. The curvature of marble surrounding it still stood enough to be a tempting seat for weary walkers.

Likely why she found the spatter of dried blue blood on its rim. Sura mentioned Thyra wasn’t much for walking for long periods. Yet she managed to dodge the proximity mine…?

The east entrance was blocked by a section of broken highway, but the west was clear enough to come through it looked like. She doubted their killer would cover the alleyway and not such a wide berth of area. Too wide for a simple proximity trip though. Perhaps more traditional mines? Kasumi would have to check as she investigated then. A good thing Major gave her mods back.

Well, presumably she died there, unless there was another turian victim in the interim. That narrowed the scope a bit. A sniper would want the highest building they could get. Probably wasn’t any building on the other side of the fountain. Then…

Ah. A parking deck about a 60 degree angle. It was a good place to start, though maybe not the easiest to climb. It was structurally sound, and compared to most parking decks found in say the Citadels or Illium, wasn’t too high. Most parking decks on Earth had been converted to top level access only once skycars became commonplace. Valets would take over parking once an individual skycar landed on the roof, and would be retrieved by the valet when the visitor returned. 

However, employees and visitors still needed an entrance on the ground level. That would be the place to start. She brought up her omni-tool once again to scan the area between the fountain and the parking deck, but kept her eyes on the rooftops and upper levels just in case. No obvious red lights, and a glint of armor would be difficult to spot in the moonlight. She couldn’t see any signs of smoke ventilation or fire, but toward the very top, it looked like there was… haphazard plating maybe? Someone covering holes that were left from various skirmishes. The metal didn’t fit the rest of the building. Where she’d find her camp then.

And no mines based on the scan. Made sense if they have kids or just regular people with them. That lended credence to what Darshan had told them before about it being a settlement. Mines were also extensive to maintain and keep from dumb mercenaries from accidentally killing themselves though. They could just have them installed along the openings. If they had a shuttle or skycar handy, they wouldn’t have to walk out of the clearing ever, though to rely on enough clearance to land was risky in a ruined city. 

The actual entrance facing the square looked caved in sadly, but after a few minutes circling the building, she noticed a discreet sheet of metal ever so slightly askewed. A very small crack in the corner. Peeking inside only showed a thick blanket of darkness within. Could be wearing night vision goggles, but more than likely, the lower level here was unguarded. No obvious signs of tampering for a trap or bomb of some kind. With careful hands, Kasumi peeled the metal back.

Sure enough, no guns suddenly pointed in her direction. Risky to leave their entrance unmanned. If they had a sniper on the roof though, they may have noticed the metal moving. So long as she was careful though, they wouldn’t find her. Any explosive trap was unlikely at this point, unless they wanted to risk blowing the support beams with it. They were left mostly intact, but if Kasumi studied close enough, she’d see the beginning cracks of wear and tear. 

Most of the skycars inside were gutted and cut open, eviscerated of their wiring and circuitry. Where they were getting the shrapnel to make the bombs then. Smart. They had enough there to last them a good while. There was a ramp further back, though it took some climbing to get to it. 

Mostly climbing over corpses. Not human, at least… not anymore. The wiring that stuck out of rotting flesh told her exactly what sort of things that were littering this parking deck. … It looked like they were being gutted too. She hoped just for the wires and not… anything else. Husks and cannibals mostly, one brute that she nearly tripped over as she navigated the darkness, it’s jawless turian skull another of plenty of images that she really, really wished wouldn’t be haunting her to her grave.

She had dreams about it sometimes. Sometimes of being forced onto one of many pikes, feeling it rip through her chest and continue to breathe and survive until she was more metal than bone, more wire than flesh. Other times, it wasn’t the reapers. Other times, it was Cerberus. Finding her again, trying to entice her with a contract, only to--

Oh. Hm. Rudimentary, but effective when electricity wasn’t always available. A simple wire strewn across the bottom of the ramp. Likely went up further to the higher levels. Properly paranoid, then. Kasumi could respect it. She had been fortunate to keep several back up generators for her various security systems at both locations that survived the invasion. She stepped over the wire easily, and then noticed the lone light further up the ramp, stretching long and lonely on the asphalt.

Though the cloak would keep her from being spotted, Kasumi still kept to the outer wall, eying the ground carefully for any scattered rocks or pebbles-- anything that might give away her presence to the guard above. The catsuit wasn’t just for style, fortunately, equipped with various sound dampeners from the padding to her shoulders to the soles of her shoes. A listless guard or two would have a hard time picking up muffled steps.

Just one it seemed. Batarian, as Darshan said. He looked younger, fuller face on him with scuffed up navy armor. The vindicator loose in his hands was in good shape, a couple of mods that focused on power and increased ammo in the thermal clip. Trying to make the best out of every shot it seemed. He sat on an old lawn chair with a flashlight by his feet, the harsh shadows making him seem more intimidating than he actually was. Even from her distance though, Kasumi could see those dark eyes drooping, just a minute or so from dozing off. She slipped past him easily.

Fewer corpses on this level, and she doubted she’d seen any on the next. They were making it a home for themselves clearly. Two more batarians sat on crates around a campfire west from their sleepy friend, conversing to themselves. No tents, but sleeping bags it looked like. She ducked behind a gutted car and tried to listen in.

“Dinner was rough tonight.”

“We’re running low on rations. It’d be nice to go out and actually hunt soon, but…”

“Yeah, I get it. At least the salarian had some nice shit on him--”

“Dumbass, that’s precisely why. You saw the datapads in there yourself!”

Sounded like the STG murder was an accident then. They had plenty of resources as far as scrap metal and wiring went here, so why were they bothering with that? Medical and food supplies maybe? Information would’ve been an obvious decision if it’d been on purpose, but.

“... What are we going to do…?”

“... Just let boss work it out. Everything will be fine, Sakul... alright?”

“Guess we don’t have much choice.”

Didn’t seem worse than the run-of-the-mill mercenary group then. Inconsistent armors, so not likely to be from any major organization or anything. She would be reluctant to just kill a bunch of dumb people for the whole mess, but STG would likely disagree. And they weren’t exactly innocent. They hadn’t regretted Thyra’s death. Not yet anyway. 

They would soon enough though. She crept past their campfire with as much ease and stepped over another wire alarm as she continued her trek up. All too quickly, the dim light that was swallowed by the darkness above. Quiet, too temptingly so. She made sure to wait long enough for her vision to adjust to the change in light. As Kasumi suspected, there weren’t any reaper remnants on this floor. The batarians were doing some clean up, at least. With as much work as they’ve done with their security systems, it wouldn’t surprise her if they planned to stay for a while.

She spotted a glint in the darkness though, off in the corner. A quick flash of her omni-tool and she recognized the turret installed there. Seemed to be turned off though. After a few minutes of menial work, taking and pocketing a wire or two, and Kasumi made sure it would stay that way. 

The fourth and fifth floor were set up much the same, blanketed completely in darkness with a few turrets stationed in various corners and hiding spots. It confirmed that the group was small at least, and the area was too large to cover with manual resources. Sneaking past was hardly a challenge, but she hadn’t had one in a while. Not in the technical aspects anyway. Still, it felt… nice going back to normal for her. She really wasn’t suited for civilian life. Too much monotony and people were just strange. Or hurt to see them.

She wasn’t sure how Sha’ira thought she would be okay with it. Being a consort wasn’t nearly as violent or illegal as her job, but it wasn’t normal either. It wasn’t the 9-5, or just trying to pick up the pieces with family and friends. She was meant for something. 

Maybe they could talk about it later. Maybe it would get the consort from prying too much about the greybox. 

She finally found the camp on the sixth level, just one floor short from the roof. Kasumi could understand the choice. The enclosed space protected them from exposure and the higher elevation kept them from running into vermin species that likely still scurried around London streets. Any lights had long since been extinguished by the time she arrived, save for the campfire that was still glowing brightly, right in the center of the halo of tents. They were close together-- any sound from one would obviously carry to others. 

More batarian guards sitting at the actual fire, too quiet to hear as she watched on the outskirts of the camp. While tempting to listen in on their conversation, it was probably too risky with the amount of tents that were around. By her estimate, there were about 20 or so located in the tents themselves-- a rather large camp for as decimated the hegemony had been by the war. 

She crept along the edge of the camp, hugging the makeshift walls facing the square and the outer walls of the tents. No one would likely pick up any movement at this late from within, but Kasumi wasn’t one to overstay her welcome. The firelight danced lazily against the white, offering brief flickers of shadows inside. Most didn’t have cots or personal effects, it looked like-- sleeping on simple bags or pallets made out of well worn blankets and pillows.

Smaller shapes, others a more feminine contour. Women, children. Not many, but enough. Their tents were closer to the fire, to keep the little ones from getting cold at night. 

… Darshan’s story checked out then. That was going to make this a lot more complicated. STG specialized in extraction though, missions especially like this. While she would have trouble kidnapping someone tonight, perhaps they had a few suggestions that wouldn’t end in unnecessary bloodshed. Or they wouldn’t care-- though Major Kirrahe didn’t strike her as cold. 

The other option of course, would be to take care of the sniper herself. She knew how to make it clean and efficient enough-- perhaps frame the scene as an accident to avoid backlash from the batarians. They were already a bit flighty, considering they murdered one person for just going into their territory. … They might put the blame on STG if she did do it though. If they kept them busy for a while,  it would give her the opportunity to get the logs they had on her and destroy them. Hmm. Didn’t exactly avoid the whole bloodshed thing, but, ah shit. Samara knew she was coming out here tonight.

She would have to meet this sniper and go from there, she supposed. 

Kasumi slipped past the camp, it’s final tent about ten feet or so from the ramp that led up to the roof. She was surprised to see that it was in as good of shape as it was. There was some crumbling along the edges, faded lane paint, but it had little in way of debris. If not for her dampeners, her steps would probably echo on such an empty expanse. The moonlight was bright and clear in the sky above, crescent with all the stars and constellations she had admired before. The view of the city alone must be spectacular. It wouldn’t be so bad as a dating spot, honestly. 

One last wire alarm at the top of the ramp, easily stepped over. The roof had been cleaned up about as well as the lower floors it looked like. A skycar or two that had yet been cleaned of materials. A decrepit alcove where steps were before, now resembling more like a jagged spike sprouting on the pavement. 

Her target was laying on their belly, the concrete rim cleared away to allow the sniper rifle freedom of movement. They had a pale lavender sheet over them to stave off the cold. As Kasumi approached, more personal touches became clearer. They had a flashlight off to the side, keeping them illuminated for any other snipers that could be stationed on neighboring buildings. Stench of overcooked varren meat from a plate left abandoned on the hood of a skycar cleaved in two from a reaper beam. Canteen by the front fender. Yellow tulips beside it. Cute.

By their feet, she recognized the model of the sniper rifle. Standard M-98 Mantis, though the scope looked modded for extended range. Whoever was handling their weapons was very familiar with the modding process. Taking it might have some advantages, but she would need to distract the actual gunman holding it. 

She retreated back, and careful not to alert the guard, picked up the canteen. With a quick under-handed toss, she chucked the canteen closer to the ramp, clinking against the hard ground and denting the well-worn equipment further. She ducked around the other side of the cleaved car, just as the sniper’s head shot up.

“What the fuck?!” 

He looked young too. Small. Smaller than the first guard she ran into on the way up the deck. He had plenty of fat left on his cheeks, not quite developing the small hairs and thick folds that signified adulthood in a batarian. The armor, a deep olive green, barely fit him as he stood to his feet and approached the canteen cautiously. His steps were heavy on the pavement, but he stumbled on every third. 

Just the rifle then. Kasumi moved quickly and quietly to his nest. The rifle was easy to swipe from underneath the sheets, same weight as a typical mantis. She folded it to its resting position, ready to holster it to her back.

Then she heard ringing. Her eyes snapped to the ramp, where the boy had bent over and tugged at the wire with two fingers. Then his eyes caught on hers-- or more likely-- the sniper rifle that appeared to be floating in the air. 

She was too greedy for her own good sometimes.

The young batarian kicked off in a sprint toward her position, fast, but only fists raised. Should be easy enough to incapacitate him and split, but now the batarians would know someone came by. She would have to make this quick. She snapped the sniper rifle to her back and stood, quickly reaching for a flashbang grenade in her back pocket. It’d disorient him and hurt, but--

She thought it was a lunge at first, clearly on a fight response already, but as she saw the sheer panic in his eyes as the momentum took him past her, Kasumi realized he tripped over his own shoes. On his own shoes toward the edge. Without thinking, she snapped a hand out, tightly gripping onto the back of his chest armor, one foot dangling in the open air of the square below. 

“I’ve got you,” she hushed as she noticed his slacked jaw as he stared down. His panicked panting, just at the edge of a scream, wasn’t helping matters any. He looked to the empty space holding him up, already too big eyes comically larger in his panic. Just a kid. Any other time, he may not have even known how to use the rifle she’d stolen from him. 

She released the cloak as she brought him closer, back onto safer ground, just as his ear piece crackled to life.

“Hey. We heard the cans from the roof. Everything alright?” much older voice on the other end. Either one of the more veteran guards on the lower floors or maybe Mr. Boss himself.

She pressed a finger to her own lips, “Just want to talk. Don’t do anything that’ll hurt someone. Especially you.”

The boy looked behind him, to the open air he had been just a split second from tumbling into, and just to emphasize her point, she tightened the grip on his collar, locking it tightly in her fingers. He gulped, visibly. “... Everything’s fine. Just accidentally tripped it dropping my canteen.”

“Be more careful, will you? Had about half the building in a panic.”

“S-sorry.”

The communication cut off, and Kasumi released him. His shoulders sagged immediately, though looked a bit lost now without the rifle in his hands. He kept looking at it on her back, as if trying to decide how to pry it off. “... What-- who are you?” though he kept his voice quiet. Smart.

She shrugged. “Oh, I was just in the neighborhood. How old are you?”

The boy hesitated before sitting down on the lavender sheet, rubbing the back of his neck. It looked a bit too warm for spring, with wool like texture. Maybe they nabbed it in the city somewhere. Kasumi was half-tempted to ask where they got it. “... 13.” His eyes wouldn’t meet her, even under the shade of her hood.

“Bit young to be killing people, isn’t it?” Still, she sat down across from him, trying to keep him calmed down, keep him from alerting those below. “How long have you been using this rifle?”

“What’s it to you?” He pressed on his ear piece, but Kasumi quickly held a finger up, tsking.

“Let’s not do that,” and she flashed her omni-tool, just enough to illustrate her point. “Overloading comms can knock out your hearing for a long time.” The boy deflated, arm loosely dropping, knuckles slightly scraping against the concrete. “I appreciate it. And really, I’m not trying to cause trouble. Just need to get a few details before I go.”

“About what?”

“Oh, just a couple things, really. Are you always the one manning this roof?”

“... Me or my dad. We take turns.”

“Do you remember a turian girl that came by a few days ago? Was it your dad that shot her?”

“... Oh…” He turned away from her, stretching out on the blanket as he peered over the edge. Back to her-- one of the worst things anyone could do in the terminus systems. He hadn’t been raised in the worst of it then. “... Figures you’d come for that.”

“Unfortunately, I’m not the worst of it, but I can keep your dad out of trouble,” she tilted her head, trying to catch his gaze. “You don’t have to protect him, and if you can convince him to--”

“I shot her.”

She was afraid he’d say that. On the bright side, STG would handle it better than the Alliance would, she’d imagine. They were a calculating bunch, but they didn’t have as much history as humanity did with them. It churned her stomach to even consider putting some teen in handcuffs though, not when he was just trying to protect his family. “I’m sorry. That’s a lot to put on you. Was that your first time?”

He finally looked at her, and the fragility behind his heavy gaze broke her heart. “... The wind’s different here than back home. I just meant to scare her off…”

“No one’s perfect.”

“... You’re weird for a human.” Still, he seemed pretty calm, and no one else had noticed her yet. Kasumi had located her suspect, but the others didn’t have to know, did they? “Dad said I need to be more careful. Batarians always get the bad rap, so we have to assume the worst and behave the best.”

“He sounds like a smart man,” ah but the fact that he was still alive, “Was he… well, you know.”

The boy’s brow furrowed. “He learned his lesson, if that’s what you’re asking. Said a-- a miskha -- a monster, I think is what you guys say? … Roughed him up real badly. He can’t really move much anymore, so we use sniper rifles instead.”

She’d heard that word before, though from where Kasumi couldn’t quite place. Legends from her old masters perhaps, horror stories they’d share with one another around the campfire as the varrens nipped at her heels and the whispers tugged and pulled at her. It wasn’t a kind word. Heavier than monster. Like a beast, beyond comprehension. 

“... Thank you,” Kasumi said and stood. She had plenty enough to think in any case. Easier to target the dad then. Easier to spin a former slaver back in the business, or… just trying to survive. It wasn’t pretty, it wasn’t nice. But she would take a former slaver’s blood over a kid’s any day. 

“Ma’am?” He called after a moment, just before she could really make the move to leave. “... What are you going to do now?”

Talk with Zaeed. See if he had any experience framing someone for murder. It wouldn’t do him any comfort. Telling him the truth, or even bringing up the STG would just hurt him. “Couple more passes around the neighborhood, I guess~. Night’s still young.” She stretched her arms, ready to switch the cloak back on, then heard the click of a heavy pistol behind her.

Oh, kid. Don’t do this. She offered a placid smile as she glanced to his hands. Carnifex, standard model. It was a favorite of hers back on the Normandy. Unfortunately for him, she had assembled and disassembled, modded, and overloaded far too many to be worried about it pointed at her face. 

“You’re gonna tell those salarians right? … I’m gonna die.”

“It doesn’t have to be that way. Don’t.”

Finger too close to the trigger. She sighed and swiped her omni-tool quickly, efficiently. Kasumi had done it hundreds of times at this point. Just a second delay, almost where the boy was squeezing the trigger, before the carnifex sparked and exploded in his hands. 

The jolt of electricity and fire was quick and immediate. The boy screamed out in pain as he threw the pistol aside. The charred, burning flesh nauseated her, a stench that had permeated constantly throughout the war. Please. Let it be enough. 

He dug his heel and charged her. Kasumi braced for the weight against her, but she wasn’t a heavy woman. Her head hit the ground hard as he toppled them both over, burned hands fumbling between strangling her or reaching for the sniper rifle behind her back. She curled her fists tight and threw it as hard as she could against the boy’s jaw, but he just wouldn’t get off. Instead he matched blow for blow, cracking a burnt knuckle against her eye socket.

She gritted her teeth and squirmed best she could for her back pocket for a flashbang, but suddenly felt one of those hands on sleek metal around her waist. The locust!

The omni-blade barely registered before it sank into the side of his chest, sliding perfectly between plates of armor and rib bones. His hands froze immediately, and he slumped against her, blood gurgling from his mouth. Kasumi sucked in a deep breath, trying to soothe the heavy pounding her heart. Let the adrenaline wash out of her. Eyes closed. Counted a few seconds. 

He was still alive, but not for long. Where the omni-blade landed would’ve punctured his lungs. While quick, it would be very painful. Numbly, she took the boy’s shoulders and pushed him off. He flopped like deadweight onto his back. Not much longer. She was sorry. So, so sorry.

She replaced her carnifex when she had left. Swiped a suppressor from a drunk soldier on Illium. That man was probably dead now too. She placed the muzzle on his temple and squeezed the trigger once. Any gasps, gurgles, halted movements of his chest-- they stopped immediately. 

Sloppy. So, so sloppy. So messy.

She took the earpiece.

“Korem?! What’s going on up there?! The guys on sixth said they heard screaming.”

What the fuck was wrong with her?

They would be up there any minute. It would be tricky to get out without a distraction splitting some of the forces. She peered over at the corpse beside her and sighed. 

Korem’s body crunched on impact, red and flesh mingling with the white pavement as it spattered in wild directions. 

“What the hell was that?! Someone go check that! Sixth floor, roof ASAP!”

“Oh, god, I’m sorry--”

Kasumi spared one last glance to memorize the shape of the broken body, his face frozen in horror as he stared unblinking to the starry sky, and tossed the ear piece over the roof with him. By the time the guards arrived to scope out the horror Kasumi left behind, her cloak was already activated, and she walked past-- letting the unfolding chaos and anguish distract from her exit.

--

Someone was calling again.

Somewhere, somehow in her hazy mind, Kasumi found herself sitting atop the graffiti wall, legs dangling over and staring upward. The air had cooled, and her right eye kept tearing. Bruising probably. Maybe some irritation from dirt and grime on that child’s hands. Child. She killed a child. What was she--

“Kasumi?”

Her hand clasped over her mouth as she felt the bile rise in her throat and swallowed, ignoring how the acid burned in her throat. No. Not right now. Deep breath. “Hey…” and she hated how steady her voice sounded. “I thought you’d be asleep already.”

Sha’ira sounded unsteady, as if unsure how to broach the topic. Her voice had more air to it than usual too-- still tired probably. “I couldn’t sleep,” she admitted, “I was worried, but wasn’t sure you would answer a call right now.”

 “I… I was lonely, I guess. I usually don’t.” 

“Are you okay?”

 No. She was going to have to spend the rest of the night trying to find a canal or something to scrub the catsuit while trying not to vomit. She would have to explain her black eye in the morning to everyone, and she would have to explain that one of their big scary killers was a child, and she had just used his body to escape a hellfire of bullets. She wanted to scream. She wanted to go home and hold Keiji, or his image, or just feel something, anything else right now. 

“... Where are you right now?”

“I’ll be back soon. I don’t want you to get hurt. It’s kinda hard to see right now.”

“Kasumi.”

She didn’t want to be alone. But then Sha’ira would see this, and -- “Do you know where the nearest river is? Or like… a body of water?”

No hesitation, no pauses. Kasumi could even hear the smile on the other side. “I’ll bring a change of clothes. Whatever happened… we’ll get through it. Together.”

At least, it’d give her a chance to plan. They would be coming back for her, and she sure as hell wouldn’t fault them for it. 

--

As it turned out, an actual, functioning canal wasn’t super far from there. It was hardly clean, and absolutely guaranteed, she would smell like sewage or worse if she even tried. The canal’s water was moving though, which meant it had a better chance of being sterile than any other body of water that wasn’t an actual fucking river. It was water. It was flowing in a canal that was only holding itself together by the seams. Bridges connecting one side to another completely fallen apart, edges and sidewalks broken, husk corpses-- some of which were not-so pleasantly floating in the water.

It didn’t matter, because the blood was coming off. She had found a spot where the sidewalk had partially caved, providing a perfect ramp to the water. She had stripped off her catsuit with frightening efficiency and submerged the whole thing-- allowing her balled fists to stretch against the leather. The pads would take longer to dry, but fuck it. She didn’t care right now. She just wanted the blood off.

The first time it happened was on Omega, and she was a lot fresher faced and a lot more stupid. Eclipse merc used a hostage. Thought she wouldn’t go that far. Had, and wished she hadn’t. Kiera lectured her for days for how sick she felt. Kids didn’t know better. They couldn’t know better. They were just put in places by dumb adults and then dumber adults killed them. The recovery should have made them more important, but it didn’t and now a thirteen year old was dead. 

She couldn’t blame his father for it. He should have been safe on the roof with six floors of batarians with more experience between. Korem was old enough to want to contribute, and so he did. 

What could, should she tell the others? There wasn’t any framing to do now, but with how she left the place, the batarians would be going after STG next. Convenient for the shit she needed to get back, but it wasn’t their fault. They didn’t tell her to go. They didn’t tell her to kill a kid. And the truth… she wasn’t sure she could admit it. She never needed to the few times it had to happen. It’d been so long. It hurt. It hurt so bad. She didn’t even realize how badly until she was sitting on that stupid wall and that stupid call came in.

She shouldn’t care. It should be easy to just walk away. Take the shuttle, let them deal with the mess, and forget this ever happened. But she did care. She cared before those stupid batarians took her, before she met Keiji, before he died, before the fucking normandy. She wasn’t a monster that could just remove those thoughts and feelings aside. She wasn’t--

“Kasumi, I brought-- oh!”

And to Sha’ira, she probably looked a bit crazy at the moment. It’s not like she had a change of clothes with her when she stripped. So here was the consort, coming to help her friend in the middle of the night and finding her hunched over by a canal in her underwear, scrubbing at a catsuit and mumbling to herself. This was not a great look. Yeoman Chambers would’ve had a field day with that psych write-up. She wondered how she was doing. Probably not great. Few former Cerberus operatives were these days.

“Apologies. I imagine someone in your occupation would prefer some courtesy. I can turn around if you’d like. … I just thought you would be in the water already.”

The stench in her catsuit was going to be hard enough to get rid of. She didn’t need her whole body smelling like it. Did the consort seem a bit flustered? That surprised her. She peered over her shoulder, making out the curvature of Sha’ira back as she faced away and poised as gracefully as ever, and tried not to smile so wide. “The sewage smell isn’t the most appealing,” Kasumi remarked and pulled her catsuit from the water. Most of the blood was off, but a few spots were staining the pads. Ugh. “You can look by the way~. Just no cameras, of course.”

“Promise.” Though the offer was made, Kasumi didn’t really expect her to take it. The turn was quiet, barely discernible, but curious eyes studying her was obvious enough. It seemed fair after dragging her out of camp in the early morning hours, even though the offer had been reluctantly accepted on her part. She kept at her work however, this time finally separating the padding from the rest of the leather. The dried blood and stench nearly made her gag. 

Sha’ira stepped closer, less subtle steps, until standing just above her and studying the fabric that Kasumi was so desperately trying to get the stains out of. “... You’re injured.”

“Oh, it’s just bruising. It’ll be gone in a day or so.”

“Not a scratched cornea?” Probably not. Fists usually didn’t do that… she didn’t think. In any case, she could see fine, even if it was just a little blurry sometimes. What cybernetic work she had usually covered any surface hurt that could come out of a fight. Though the black eye would be hard to explain away once she did make it back to camp. Zaeed wouldn’t give a shit at least. “... I really am glad you’re alright.” 

She was never really in danger in the first place. It’s what she hated about thinking on her feet. Sometimes, Kasumi would come back and find about ten different plans that would’ve been plenty better than whatever stupidity adrenaline put her in. That ability to act, to not be paralyzed by fear or the unexpected, kept her alive for so long. But a great thief would never be in that situation in the first place. 

Sha’ira gripped her shoulder, squeezing once. The touch on her bare skin was temptingly warm, and distinctly, Kasumi remembered how much she craved.

Then she heard clothing shift as Sha’ira stood, and she turned her head back to her companion just in time to spot bare blue skin. Kasumi bit the urge to bawk as Sha’ira tossed her dress aside. “What are you doing?”

“It’s not ideal. I would agree with that. However, I do have perfumes to help mitigate the smell,” she offered casually, and Kasumi tried, very hard, to remember that nudity was more a human issue of decency than an asari one. This was fine. As if to emphasize its casualness and not a continuing symptom of Kasumi’s spiralling madness, Sha’ira stepped to the water’s edge, and without so much as a toe dip to test the temperature, submerged herself in murky depths. 

It was only a second later that she re-emerged by Kasumi’s hands, taking the soft padding between her own fingers and eying the fabric with a critical eye. The water was about chest-level, though Sha’ira hardly paid any mind to how odd the situation looked as she squeezed the fabric, letting the water it held to drip back into the canal. “I may have stain remover back in my tent. Though for blood, I would recommend bleach. I suppose if I had an idea on the material, I could make do with a combination of agents...”

The plain black bra was already soaked through. Kasumi was a bit surprised the fabric wasn’t sheer enough to be translucent from the water. Her freckles extended down to her shoulders, only becoming a lighter dusting as they approached the valley of her breasts. She… wasn’t in shape. It was actually sort of nice to see. She clearly took care of her body, but it wasn’t hardlined of muscle, of scars nicking her skin, and old war stories that never really went away in a person’s head. Her eyes curved easily with her smile, even as it looked odd examining bloodied material. Her hands weren’t calloused, long fingers that didn’t know strain as well as she did. 

Her smile widened just a little as Sha’ira spoke. “You must have a lot on your mind.”

She considered the padding between them and shrugged before tossing it back on the concrete shore. It landed in a rather unimpressive thump, joining the rest of the leather of her catsuit. Then, Kasumi eyed her with a half-hearted skepticism. “If I still stink after your dosing when we get back, I’m going to be pissed at you.”

“In my defense, your hands have already been in the water for a while, but I promise. You won’t leave my tent until you smell like roses, Kasumi.” And she waded herself a few feet back, giving Kasumi enough space to join her in the water. 

She slid in the water feet first and drew in a hiss as the chills ran up her spine. It wasn’t like ice, which she counted her blessings for, but cold water on an even colder evening was not pleasant. And Sha’ira had to have a damn good poker face not let that show when she dipped in.

The consort chuckled as she came closer, though refused to address Kasumi’s discomfort directly. “When was the last time anyone had seen you completely?”

An odd way to phrase nearly naked. “... Not since my partner? I’m sure Cerberus was a bit displeased with me disabling their cameras to ensure that.”

Sha’ira looked taken aback. “I… I can’t imagine you working for them for very long.”

“Oh! Oh no. That was with Shepard. And it was very much in the contract that it was a one-time deal. I just needed some extra help getting the…” Kasumi hesitated, though there was little point in it. “... Getting the greybox.”

“... Your partner was killed then?”

“Yeah. For the greybox.”

Sha’ira seemed pensive for a long moment, clearly different thoughts and suggestions coming together. Some being disregarded, others entertained more. She settled on one eventually though as she reached out, thumb lightly grazing against her bruised cheek before reaching the back of her skull, tracing the horizontal scar gnarled and aged in her olive skin. “... Is that how you got this?”

“No,” Kasumi admitted. “... That one’s been there for a while.”

“It’s deep. How old?”

“Ten.”

There was understanding there, sad but not pitying. It hadn’t surprised her that up close, Sha’ira recognized the scar for what it was. In her worst days, she thought she still heard the whispers and threats to her life if she didn’t obey. Sometimes, it felt like the plate was still there-- burning and itchy. But it wasn’t, and truly, it did make getting the greybox surgery much easier. The pain and recovery was nothing compared to that plate burning into her skin. Nothing compared to that. 

Her hand brushed through the shaved underside, through the short wisp of hair that had grown long enough in the front to brush into her eyes sometimes, and found the long, thin scar across her temple. “And this?”

“Sniper just barely missed. You know you’ll be at this for a while if you do this for everything?”

Sha’ira pulled her hand away, though the hum in her voice hadn’t completely left. “I hadn’t known until…”

“Yeah. My back tends to scare a lot of people. That’s what the tattoos are for.”

“This may surprise you, but you are remarkably well put together for someone that has gone through as much as you have.” She hesitated again, and she could feel her eyes following the path and lines of her skin-- what was undoubtedly a stark contrast to her own. Not just in the color either. Her olive skin had paled even further over the years of being in the shadows, and her skin had toned. Light enough to carry herself through the smallest nooks and crannies, but muscled just enough to get her from point A to point Z without taking the sidewalk. However, learning how to be a thief was hardly an easy walk in the park.

Some were from varren bites, lashes and beatings from old masters. She had the bullet holes and burns to prove her disastrous run-in in Illium, more from small incidents like tonight, others…

The tattoos were meant for covering others. She wasn’t the full body treatment like Jack, but she had a few. It was nice when she was younger and hated the skin she had been left with after so long. Abstract paintings were needled in mostly, splashes of color and whims that an old Omega roommate had illustrated beautifully. They dotted from the back of her neck to her shoulder blades, and even now when she would get the chance to look, she would admire the handiwork. There were other, smaller touches. Rose and thorns-- cliched but sentimental along her other hip, and her most recent addition, ‘SR-2’ on her right bicep. It took a lot of haggling to keep that artist quiet.

Her haircut was something more impressive once, but it wasn’t as if she had access to a hairdresser at the moment. The undercut did enough of a job, no matter how much Khalisah wanted to tease her about it. She used to have it longer, tied up in a bun like her grandmother had done before-- but it was so impractical. A few untimely somersaults and she would have wild black strands getting everywhere. It was a liability more than anything.

It was also very strange being studied like she was. There hadn’t been as much pressure as it was back when Kasumi had enough clothes to cover the most identifying parts of herself. Yet, there was something so inherently benign in the way Sha’ira observed her-- as if natural, as if there wasn’t anything else to do or worry about. 

She tried to lighten the mood. At least a little. “You make me feel like I should be posing or something~”

“It’s not necessary.” And Sha’ira smiled, and oh, there were only a few inches between them. She saw the water droplets slip lazily along the curvatures of her skin, separating in one valley and joining at another. Her hand fit easily along the lining of her jaw, nails lightly scratching as she held her. “... I want to memorize this. Like a rare flower found in the depths of a forest. I know how unique this is.”

So. Kasumi was being pampered. She knew this game too well to be bashful. She held her gaze, letting the smile ease onto her lips.

“Your arms were shaking before,” Sha’ira observed. “This is much better, isn’t it?”

It was hard to say. 

“Tell me what happened?”

“I killed a kid today.” The confession came out without a thought.

She felt the other hand fit around the other side, this time more careful, deliberate. “What happened?” she asked again. Maybe too close. It didn’t matter. The very look dared her to try and pull away. 

“I told him not to, but I freaked him out. … He killed Thyra. He just wanted to live.”

“Was he trying to--”

“I stabbed him and dumped his body over the parking deck.” Didn’t matter what he was doing. Samara would kill her for that alone, and the batarians would assume it was the STG. They didn’t know who she was. No matter how that conflict ended, more people would die and it would be her fault. The boy’s body was a broken jigsaw by the time it crunched against the pavement. If she studied close enough, pulled it from the depths of her own greybox, she could see every detail, down to those empty eyes starring above and how his arms and legs weren’t supposed to bend like that-- wondered how long Thyra’s death had stuck inside him, like every first kill did to someone. 

Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad if she didn’t remember every detail, fully knowing she always would. She always would remember the exact shape his body made on the pavement, the way he gurgled and suffocated from the puncture in his lungs, from the beginnings of rot and blood overtaking the overcooked varren still left on his plate. She remembered everything because she had to. 

Sha’ira wrapped her arms around her neck and pulled her tight against her. She barely registered her head resting against the crook of her shoulder, but as she felt those same uncalloused hands comb through black hair, soothing and gentle, she let her eyes flutter closed.

She didn’t deserve it, but Kasumi couldn’t find it in her to turn Sha’ira away.

[crassussativum]

ooc: Enemies and Allies- Chapter 8

((We’re on a quick roll now that I have a plot that’s not just character development lol

Chapter 8

Blackwatch operatives used code-names in the field. Crassus’ was Overseer because as a sniper primarily, he tended to hang back. To oversee the whole of the battlefield so he could act tactically on-the-go as the situation called for it. The Blackwatch called Mav Mayhem because six grenades in the span of half an hour- while certainly effective- was excessive. His wild laugh rang through the comms with every boom and Crassus grit his teeth together as the reverb shook his cover.

Geth limbs and servos and whatever else it was that had the machines up and moving with continuous deadly purpose were now just bits of metal and wiring scattered to the winds. Mav had told him they’d only face a handful or two units of the bastards, give the Alliance soldiers a little back up and then be on their way. When they’d touched down on this outpost though it hadn’t been near that simple. The Alliance soldiers were dead or had simply retreated with no word left behind and the Geth numbered near to fifty. Or they had before Mav had planted himself behind an outcropping of rocks and started lobbing grenades one by one.

Crassus covered his head with one arm as the scaffolding above him groaned and shifted. A few large pebbles bounced off his helmet and he cursed hotly. “Six is enough!”

Mav’s laugh echoed in his ears. “That was lucky number seven, big guy!”

And just like that, the area was quiet. Crassus scanned around with his scope as Mav left his cover to explore. There were Geth pieces everywhere, the grenades had seen to that, and some of them twitched sporadically before going still again. The death-throe similar movements had Crassus’ mandibles tight to his face and his stomach in a knot. Geth were borderline sentient but they were still only machines and machines didn’t feel pain: they shouldn’t be twitching like that.

“I’m callin’ this in to Command,” Mav said. “They need to know the Alliance up and left and just how many of these fuckin’ Geth were kickin’ ‘round.”

Crassus hummed an agreement, avidly watching the fingers of a disembodied arm as they  spasmed. It made his plating crawl and he turned away from it, his eyes roving across the high rock walls of the canyon and all the embedded and stationary construction equipment. He guessed the Alliance had hoped to build a real outpost here but they had only just started to before the Geth had arrived. He spotted an eezo powered crane at the top of the canyon, dormant for the moment but he could imagine the hum of the machine when it powered up. They had been common on Invictus and if he remembered correctly, it had been one of the machines to inspire Taren into engineering…

Mav paced by in front of him. “I can’t get a damn signal,” He snarled.

“The Geth probably planted a jammer somewhere.”

“Them or the Alliance-”

The glint of metal registered in the corner of Crassus’ eye. He turned and lifted his rifle without thinking, muscle memory and something like instinct. At the top of that eezo crane he saw the Geth sniper through the scope and he squeezed the trigger twice. His rifle kicked hard against his shoulder but Crassus didn’t lose his stance, watching and waiting… He saw the Geth fall and lowered his rifle.

“I bet the jammer is by that crane,” He told Mav. “High ground, a defensible position and a sniper to protect it. I’d place it under the machine.”

Mav didn’t reply. Crassus turned toward him with a question on his tongue and saw the smaller turian sprawled on his back on the ground. The Geth sniper had gotten him in the split second before Crassus had returned fire. He couldn’t believe it… Spirits, what was he supposed to do? Obviously he’d contact Command and tell them but, Mav… He blinked several times and almost jumped clean out of his armor when Mav lifted his head off the ground and rolled slowly to his feet.

“By the Spirits!”

“I can’t hear a damn thing you’re sayin’, my fuckin’ ears are ringin’ so damned loud.” Mav growled, brushing himself off. “Dunno if you can hear me either actually.”

Crassus reached him in half a step and grabbed the front of Mav’s chest armor, holding tightly to it as he looked the smaller turian over. At the same time, Mav reached up under his jaw and unclasped his helmet to pull it off.

“Fuck, look at that.” Mav pointed to the streak of embedded debris that peeled away the matte black finish of his helmet along the side of it. The Geth’s bullet had only grazed him but it had done enough to send him to the ground and knock out his comms. “I reckon that might legitimately be the closet I’ve gotten.”

Crassus stared at him. “...Really?”

Mav hung the helmet off his belt and shrugged. “Maybe so. I dunno. Lotta folks try to kill me.” He stretched. “What were you sayin’ while I was makin’ sure my head was attached?”

He blinked at Mav again, his mandibles working along his jaw inside his own helmet. A half centimeter in either direction and…  Sometimes he genuinely didn’t know if he wanted to shake Mav or strangle him. “You’re welcome,” He said tightly. “I said if the Geth installed a jammer, the best spot for it would be under that crane.”

The smaller turian looked up at the canyon walls and sighed. “You feel like takin’ a climb up there?”

…

An hour later after they’d climbed up an almost straight incline, Crassus bent forward with his hands on his knees and huffed as he tried to catch his breath. Mav was doing the same next to him.

“I hate this Spirits forsaken place,” He panted. “My fuckin’ head is poundin’, I’ve got sweat poolin’ in my boots and these fuckin’ humans can’t even build proper fuckin’ stairs. And it smells like fuckin’ decomp up here!”

Crassus straightened up and his mandibles flared widely. “That’s because there are bodies up here.”

“...Ah for fuck’s sake.” Mav spat on the ground.

They’d found the Alliance soldiers and even more dismantled Geth. Along with scattered pools of dried blood and what could almost be called a swarm of insects. Mav strode past him with a hand over his mouth and nose, giving bodies a poke with his foot as he went. Crassus followed him more sedately, respectful of the dead even if they weren’t his own species.

“Fuck, I feel bad sayin’ shit ‘bout the stairs now.” Mav muttered. “This ain’t no way to die. Look at this mess.”

“I’d rather not.” Crassus muttered. The Geth had torn them apart and literally in a few cases.

Mav loitered by the operating cab of the crane, running his hand back and forth over his fringe. “Yeah, fair ‘nough I reckon. Shit.” He said. “Alright. I’m gonna wiggle my way in under the crane and see if I can’t find that damn jammer. You just don’t let nothin’ else shoot at me.”

Crassus nodded his head and pulled his rifle down into his hands again. The smaller turian muttered a few more things to himself as he got down on his belly and did indeed wiggle in under the crane, his feet kicking against the dirt until he was out of sight. That he could fit beneath it in his heavy armor was a testament to how small he was. Crassus paced a tight loop around it, his head tilted as he listened to every sound… The buzz of those insects, the creak in the joins of his armor as he sifted, Mav displacing dirt and rocks and whatever else beneath the crane… A footstep not his own. Crassus stopped pacing. The insects had gone silent.

“Mav,” He called. “I think you should forget about the jammer. We need to leave.”

“In a sec, big guy!” He yelled.

Crassus’ every instinct in the seconds that followed told him to run and he marched over to the crane, knelt and reached under. He found Mav’s ankle and wrapped his hand around it, Mav cursed and kicked at him.

“Spirits! You scared the shit outta me!” He snarled.

“Shut up and put your head down so I can pull you out.” Crassus snapped back at him.

“Let me the fuck go.”

“Yes. You should let him go.” There was a click and a whir sound and Crassus stilled even his breathing.

[smolbiotic]

Flowers and Thorns Ch. 2

I’m probably way too late in the game to be writing OC headcanon fanfiction for Mass Effect, but here we are. At least it’s fun to get it out of my system?

---

Loathe as she was to admit it, Molly knew that she had completely misjudged Avinthus Flos. She wasn’t exactly sure when it happened, but at some point in the past two weeks he had grown on her. They spoke occasionally at Nova, but he often acted instead as a quiet buffer for her while she studied on her breaks, sitting nearby and people-watching so he wouldn’t disturb her. It was during one of these now-familiar encounters that she swiped away her notes for the evening and caught herself watching the snow-white turian watch the crowd, wondering what he was looking for in a sea of strangers. He seemed lost in his own thoughts, but at the same time he seemed so focused, almost as if he could hear every conversation happening around them. 

Huh. 

“Something on your mind?”

She searched his face for the slightest hint of his mood, a challenge thanks to his limited range of expressions. The best clues were in his habits: he had a tendency to wring his hands, and sometimes he fussed with the hem of his coal-black shirts.

“Mmmm,” the sound that came from him was ponderous and purring, and she felt it thrumming through her in a way that made her avert her gaze, skin flushed. No fussing over hems tonight, it seemed, but he was determined to keep her off-balance with that damned voice of his.

Turians and their damned voices. 

Ice-blue eyes fixed on her, took in her reaction before he let go of whatever train of thought had passed through him. She was grateful for that, because every time Avinthus looked straight at her she felt as though he could read her thoughts like they were projected on a screen in front of her.

“I don’t understand you,” the answer finally came, something in the turian’s subvocals shifting and finally releasing her from her momentary captivation, “Why you’re working so hard in a place like this to go through a brutal and unforgiving program when you’re already so good at something you love. Something you could make a career out of.”

Tilting her head at him, Molly’s small fingers instinctively went to her hair to comb through her long, auburn locks, a habit of hers when she started mulling over her thoughts. Huh. She hadn’t expected that from a turian, even an unemployed turian who didn’t seem to have a place in the Hierarchy. After all, Molly would be a much greater benefit to society as a xenomedicine surgeon than she would as a dancer, and weren’t turians all about that sort of thing? Die for the cause and all?

After a long pause the dancer shrugged. 

 “Well, it’s nice to hear you think I could make a real career from the silks,” she smiled up at him warmly, catching him watching her twirl her hair. He glanced away and she shrugged it off before continuing, “And I’d be happy enough doing that, sure, but…”

“But?”

Pale grey eyes glanced at the time on her omni. She wasn’t really sure she had the time to get into all the details. Looking over to Valla, who confirmed her doubts with a nod, Molly found herself leaping into a decision she hadn’t taken the time to consider. 

“If you have it in you to stay until we shut down, I’ll tell you. We can go somewhere after I change, if you’re up for it.”

His face hadn’t changed, but an energy rang through his subvocals that was hard to miss, almost like a quickening in his blood. A quick glance downwards revealed he was picking at the loose threads of his burgundy pants. Nerves. His mandibles twitched and he nodded, apparently not trusting himself to say anything aloud. 

“Good then,” Molly smiled at him again, relishing the way it gave pause to his fussing talons, then released her hair and stood to make her exit. She wondered fleetingly if she was making a bad call here, the guarded and mistrustful voice in her head calling out for attention. Avinthus was still a stranger, after all, even if they went someplace public she still felt a thrill race through her at the thought of being someplace outside of Valla’s watchful gaze with him. She was so used to being on her own on the Citadel, so used to keeping people at arm’s length, and yet...

“I’ll tell the guys to let you hang around until I pick you up.”

.

If only the second half of Molly’s shift had been as forgiving as the first. It was as if the universe was punishing her for trying to make a new friend when she still had countless responsibilities to juggle. The moment she had told Valla about Avinthus (ignoring the scathing arch of the asari’s bald, blue brow) she was dealt one shitty hand after another. Firstly, a foul-breathed batarian booked her for a dance, barely left her a tip, then dared to grab her ass as she was walking away. The bouncers got him, sure, but the moment they turned their backs on Molly some young asari who couldn’t hold her liquor opened her mouth to flirt and wound up puking on her instead. It left her red, sticky, and horrified in a way she had no words for, if only out of concern for what the poor thing had been drinking. Something with too much sugar, no doubt. 

That was on top of a wicked headache and a growing pain in her chest which seemed determined to remind her that dancing on a pole while her ribs were healing was a huge mistake. By the time she had clocked out and grabbed a shower in the changing room Molly was ready for bed, ready to leave her crap evening behind and sleep in. She didn’t have any classes the next day and the idea of cozying up at home to study was the only thing that had kept her going all night.

The silhouette of a huge, broad-shouldered turian leaning against the roundbar while the bartender swept up was the final nail in the coffin of her rotten night. 

Right, she thought miserably, Vinth. 

Deep down, she knew no matter how sorely tired she was that if she bailed on the guy it would crush him and the resulting guilt would crush her. The nervous way he was wringing his three-fingered hands was proof enough of that, so she forced a weak smile when she shouldered her duffle and slunk up to him. “Rough night?” He looked her up and down, clearly startled by her appearance. Very few outside of Nova’s staff saw Molly Thorne after a shift, with her wet hair braided back from her face and not a trace of makeup covering the purple bags under her eyes. When she caught his eyes lingering on her mouth a violent flash of doubt raced through her until she realized that he was probably just noticing the angry red scar that Briggs had given her. Shrugging it off, she simply nodded and headed towards the door, pausing only to look back when she felt the heavy weight of her bag lift from her shoulder. “Er, let me?” the worried trill that rung through Avinthus’ tone immediately crushed whatever argument she was about to slap together, so she let him take her duffle and sling it across his chest (a little awkwardly, considering his cowl and long fringe) and kept walking. “Thanks, Vinth,” she said instead, yawning, “I’m exhausted.” “How about I just see you home then?” he asked, his tone equally pleased with the nickname and disappointed by his own proposal, “You have class tomorrow, don’t you? I appreciate you taking the time, but-”

Molly waved a hand to interrupt him, “No classes tomorrow,” she corrected, “I’ll spend the whole day studying, but I can spare an extra hour or two tonight.” Truth be told, no matter how exhausted and miserable she felt, a part of her really wanted to stay up a little later to spend time with him. Even if she had her guard up high and tight she was enjoying getting to know this strange man, or more aptly she was enjoying having someone to talk to who wasn’t a coworker or a classmate, someone who just wanted to know her. When she had lived on earth, Molly had an abundance of friends and a very active social life, and the isolation of life on the Citadel had been wearing on her. She didn’t have much free time to meet people outside of work or school, but the people in her xenomedicine program were too competitive to afford getting close to. Her program was a shark tank and she couldn’t trust them not to use anything they learned about her against her, something she wouldn’t put past any of them. 

There were the girls at Nova, of course, but she never wanted to spend more time in that place than she had to. This was mostly out of fear of Briggs and his thugs, who wandered about the place prowling for easy entertainment. Easy entertainment normally meant scaring the dancers, so Molly was always quick to leave when her shifts clued up. They all loved and looked out for each other, but they were all quick to leave when their shifts were done too. There wasn’t much time for small talk. 

So here she was, strolling through the quiet wards with Avinthus Flos, a strange turian that had taken a liking to her thanks to his fascination with the acrobatics she had a knack for. Perhaps she was just eager to spend time with him because she was starved for companionship, but at the very least the prospect of making a real friend on this accursed station was chasing away her foul mood. Besides, a part of her that she was still too stubborn to listen to was reminding her that Vinth hadn’t actually done anything terribly suspect. All of her doubts around him came down to the fact that she judged him based on what she expected of a typical Nova customer and the fact that she wasn’t particularly adept at reading turians. “You sure?” Molly snapped out of her thoughts and looked up, blinking hard. Vinth was standing in front of the exit, buffed talons kneading her duffle while he stared hard at her with ice-blue eyes. The small dancer simply smiled up at him and punched his arm playfully before charging out of the club, softly enough to avoid hurting herself on his plates. Some of his tension eased away with that simple gesture, at least. “Not really, no,” she teased with a wicked grin, ”but I’ve answered so many of your questions now that it’s about time you answer some of mine.” The bright chuckle that rumbled in his chest made the hair on Molly’s neck stand on end, so she made a point not to look back at him, fearing that he might read her a little too easily. Some of the sounds he made resonated with her too well, something she was not very eager to unpack or reveal to him, though if he turned that discerning gaze of his on her she might not be able to keep that to herself. 

“Hmm. I guess that’s only fair. Can I at least ask where we’re going?”

“There’s this hole in the wall pub near my apartment that’s levo/dextro-ish and has these really plush booths,” Molly’s mood was improving with every step that carried her away from Red Nova, even if she had to take longer strides to keep up with her turian companion, “I could use a cushy seat right about now, and the old guy who runs the place never charges me for tea, even if it’s all I drink. Er, I’m not sure what the dextro options are like though. There’s a really heavy emphasis on the ish of levo/dextro-ish.”

“Hey, as long as the beer is cold I won’t complain,” he turned to look down at her and slowed his steps so quickly he almost stopped in his tracks altogether, “Er, sorry, I’ll slow down. I forgot how small you are-”

“Watch yourself, snowball,” the dancer cut him off, narrowing her gaze into a challenging glare, “I’m a little shorter than average, sure, but I am not small.”

She hated the way his laughter seemed to echo and flutter in her chest, so she donned a haughty air and raised her chin indignantly. That only seemed to knock his subvocals up an octave while he laughed, which made her bury her face in her hands and release an agitated groan. Thankfully he seemed to think her frustration was because of his teasing, not because she hated the way his voice moved through her like liquid gold. 

“Alright, alright. I’m sorry,” he trilled, “But you have to admit that by comparison…”

“That by comparison you’re freakishly tall, even for a turian?”

Another chuckle, “Not freakishly, just above average. It’s pretty useful, too. There’s always a great vantage point from up here.”

The way he looked down at her, bright-eyed with his mandibles half-cocked, she could have sworn he was smirking. Unfortunately all of her lessons in reading turian body language for proper bedside manner revolved around delivering bad news and delicately navigating fatal injuries or terminal illness. She never learned to recognize a smirk, but she was convinced that was what she was looking at.

“Stuff it, snowball,” she sniffed, “And be careful where you’re looking with that vantage point of yours or I’ll get the wrong idea about your intentions.”

She watched his eyes roam away from hers and trace down towards the generous curve of her breasts peeking out of the v-neck of her loose, lilac tunic. He just shrugged and looked ahead once more, completely disinterested. 

“No worries there, Thorne,” he sounded far too amused, “Turians don’t much care for those flesh sacks you humans seem so fond of.”

Shuddering at the hideous implication that her breasts were just empty sacks of flesh, Molly groaned, “Be still my heart. I’ve found the most charming turian on the Citadel. I can feel it in my flesh sacks.”

“They feel? Disgusting.”

“Wow. I’m so happy I decided to stay up late to spend time with you instead of taking advantage of a day where I can get a little extra sleep.”

“Er.”

Right on the mark. The moment Vinth wondered if he had taken his joke too far he was wringing his hands again, whirring apologetically. That was a tone she knew in turian subvocals, if only because of how many times she had heard her classmates grovel for a professor’s forgiveness after butchering a surgical cadaver. 

“Come on snowball,” she punched his muscular arm again, winking so he’d catch on that she was just trying to meals him squirm, “We’re here.”

Avinthus looked up at the door she had stopped in front of. A stuttering pneumatic hiss from a failing mechanism was the first thing to greet every patron, and judging by the way he squinted his pale eyes the turian’s first impression was a poor one. He studied the door that was struggling to slide open for them with its jarring sounds, the handle that was bolted on so haphazardly it was a wonder it was still in place, and the buzzing fluorescent sign overhead that read Len’s. A skeptic’s trill sounded within Vinth’s carapace but Molly shrugged off his reaction and moved to push the door open, gasping at the lance of pain that sparked through her chest when she leaned her weight in. 

“You okay?”

His confusion was apparent and replaced his distaste almost immediately. Sure the door was a little heavy but Molly was hardly frail and he knew that very well from having seen her hold her entire weight up by her hands while she danced on a pole. A door shouldn’t be able to stop her. She waved him off, not wanting to get into any sort of explanation as to why she was nursing some cracked ribs. 

“I sprained something at work,” her tone was dismissive but not convincing enough since it made him narrow that ice-blue gaze of his on her. She felt him staring straight through her lie and looked away guiltily; she had always been a decent liar, but apparently not enough of one to fool Avinthus Flos and his sharp senses. 

“Uh-huh,” it was clear he wasn’t buying it, but he didn’t push. Instead he got the door and held it open for her, that discerning gaze following after her, seeking the truth the way a hunting dog follows the scent of its game. 

“Really, Vinth,” she reassured him, “I’m fine.”

“Right,” he conceded, voice whirring with soft tones that she felt sure were meant to comfort her, “But if you’re ever not…”

A ping came up on her omni shortly after he pulled the door closed again, his name and contact card flashing on the screen and causing the dancer to fall still. Wordlessly, she saved the info and peered up at her new friend, her grey eyes wide and soft. Her heart was fluttering warmly, a pleasant feeling she hadn’t known in...well, since she had left earth years ago. 

“Look, I’ve heard the rumours about Nova and its owner. It’s no secret how he runs that place, Moll,” the nickname sounded uncertain on his tongue as he tested it, but he stopped faltering when she touched the rough hide of his forearm, reassuring him with the shock of an unexpected touch and the gratitude in her expression. 

She couldn’t help herself. She was so worried about letting anyone see her weakness for so long that she forgot how good it felt to have someone in her corner. At school she had to stay strong to stay on top of her classmates for every opportunity presented to them, and Nova was a den of criminals and monsters. There was always Valla, of course, and Dineen, but when they got too close Briggs’ thugs always intervened. Violently. They weren’t safe lingering around that place before or after their shifts.

Vinth was the first to see straight through her lies to the frailty she had been guarding so carefully for years, and instead of exploiting it he was offering to help her. If she could rely on him… well, that thought was something that simultaneously unearthed and burned away the loneliness she had been harbouring for years. She knew she was rushing into the comfort of his offer, his friendship, but she didn’t care. She had denied herself long enough, and now she just wanted a friend.

Vinth looked down to where Molly’s hand rested on his arm, her fingers small and frail in comparison to his size and build. It shifted his subvocals to something indecipherable, and for a moment they lingered in the shadowed doorway, her eyes held captive by the intensity of his icy stare. 

“I’m, ah, between jobs,” he finally spoke up, watching with keen interest as she skirted her soft touch down his arm to clasp his large hand in hers, “And I’ve got an impressive military record. If you need anything-”

“You’ll put yourself on Briggs’ radar to spare me another scar just to end up bleeding out on the dance floor days later?”

Her smirk was hollow and lifeless as she wrapped both of her small hands around his large palm, kneading the tough skin with her thumbs as she sighed, “It wouldn’t be worth it. But I appreciate it all the same. I really do, Vinth. It’s been a while since I’ve had a friend I could rely on.”

If I can rely on you. 

He opened his mouth as if to speak, intensity burning in his eyes while his mandibles twitched, but some thought she could never know silenced him. He kept his mouth shut and sighed, shoulders sagging. Her words had come out far more bitter than she intended or felt, but it was too late to take them back, and things left unsaid hung heavy in the air between them. 

“It’s fine, snowball,” she did her best to reassure him as she pulled him through the dark hallway by his hand, “I’ve only got a couple of months left before I start at Huerta Memorial.”

A protective hum sounded through the darkness behind her as she tugged him into the low, yellow light of Len’s, a dingy little pub with a small bar and just a few plush, round booths. The comfortable seats she had praised earlier were wrapped around circular tables, with wild green plants hanging overhead and nik-naks cluttering every inch of free space in the joint. Len was behind the bar cleaning glasses when he spotted them come in, and when he looked up he beamed at Molly. He was dressed in worn old clothes, his mustard-yellow shirt peeking through holes in his knitted navy cardigan. 

“Hey Len,” she greeted him warmly, finally releasing Vinth’s hand so she could go and pry one of Len’s hands away from his work, planting a gentle kiss on his gnarled old knuckles, “I brought a friend. Would you mind dusting off the dextro?”

“You’ve got it, little duck,” came the gravelly, affectionate response as the old man looked up, and up, and up again until his watery brown eyes finally landed on Vinth’s face. He let out a low whistle, impressed (but mostly amused) by the turian’s height as he hunched down to avoid hooking his sleek fringe in any of the plants hanging in pots from the low ceiling. 

“Welcome, ah-”

“Avinthus Flos,” the pale turian filled in, reaching out a massive hand to shake Len’s.

“Welcome, Avinthus Flos,” the gent chuckled before pulling away and stooping to open the cooler, running a hand through wisps of thin, white hair, “All I’ve got worth drinking is Sphaera Frigus.”

“Ah yes, brewed in the furthest reaches of the coldest planet of turian space, guaranteed to refresh even the most battle-worn turian soldier,” Vinth tapped a buffed talon against the bar top, “Their ads are shit but it’s good beer. That’s great, Len.”

The old barkeep cracked open a bottle and set it down once he was standing at the bar again, then winked at Molly when he clicked the kettle on. 

“Tea will be ready soon, love,” he informed her before nodding at the speakers hiding between the unchecked hanging plants, “Requests?”

They both laughed, leaving a very confused turian looking between the two of them as he stooped low to avoid hitting his head off of low-hanging clay pots. 

“Len only has one playlist,” Molly explained, grabbing his hand again and pulling him towards the corner booth so they could talk out of sight of the bar, “All old Earth classics. Real jazz, the stuff from a couple centuries ago. From a time before humanity had even reached our moon.”

Avinthus’ eyes widened inquisitively at the thought and Len called out after them as they slid in an old, plush booth, “From a time when the stars were little more than the lights that shone down on our dreams.”

Ah yes, Len, ever the romantic. 

Neither one of them had a chance to respond before the volume crept up from the speakers, filling the room with a bright bop punctuated by wild drums and purring vocals. Vinth finally released himself from Molly’s duffle while the music picked up. He left it at the edge of the booth before scooting in close enough for them to talk. 

Molly watched him for a moment as he slipped the slim neck of the beer bottle between his rigid lips and sharp teeth, tilting his head back to take a swig. Despite the limited range of turian facial expressions it was impossible to miss the fascination that gleamed in his eyes and had his mandibles flicking open every time the music went off the beaten path. 

Right, Molly noted with amusement, turian. 

The uninhibited improvisations of jazz, the revelry of charging outside the realm of strict musical structure, it was probably something completely foreign to her new friend. He didn’t seem to have a lot of experience with art for art’s sake, so this was likely just as far outside of his scope as her silks were. 

“This is music?” he interrupted her thoughts, a thrill buzzing in his subvocals, “There’s no...where’s the structure?”

Molly chuckled and pulled her braid apart, combing her fingers through her damp hair to encourage it to dry, “You ever listen to anything that wasn’t an anthem?”

“Er.”

“These guys knew the structure and the rules,” she continued without waiting for a proper answer, eyes lighting up, “Well enough to know how to shape their raw expressions in a way that was informed and unrestrained all at once. Jazz is alive, or was if you ask Len. There’s new, evolved stuff out there but he won’t have it.”

“Because it doesn’t have the same soul,” Len interrupted them when he set down a tray with a large periwinkle teapot, packets of cream and sugar, and a white cup painted with flowers, “It’s not bad, just not for this old fool.”

The lovely scent of bergamot curled out of the teapot in ribbons of sweet steam and Molly grinned up at the barkeep, “Thanks Len.”

“Anything for you, little lady Thorne,” he winked at Vinth before hobbling away, back behind the bar and out of sight. Vinth was leaning over the teapot, plated nose scrunching as he pulled in the richly perfumed steam. Molly arched a brow at him and tilted her hair. 

“Pretty bold of you. No levo allergies then, I take it? Or just tempting fate?”

He shook his head before pulling back, drumming his talons along with the rhythm bouncing from the speakers, “I checked before I left Palaven. Seemed like a good idea.”

“It was. How many rounds have I shadowed where the doctors here were dealing with levo/dextro reactions?” she tapped her chin thoughtfully and shrugged, “Too many to count. It happens, living in close quarters on the Citadel. You’re lucky you don’t have to worry about it as much.”

“What about you?” 

Molly paused for a moment, wondering at the curious expression her friend was wearing, “I’m also fortunate. No severe dextro allergies. But I’m not going to try to steal your beer if that’s what you’re worried about.”

He chuckled and took another long pull while Molly set about making her tea, filling her cup with earl grey then adding a generous splash of cream and sugar.

“Smells good,” Vinth commented, and she noticed his nose was scrunching and pulling at steam again. She grinned and slid the cup to him, her amusement clear as day. 

“Did you want to try it?”

“Er,” his response was eloquent as always, “Well, yes, but I have no idea how to use that tiny cup...I’d just make a mess.”

The subtle drop in his subvocals reminded Molly of a whining pup, which made her chuckle. Her eyes were crinkling from the force of her smile when she slid her cup up until it was just below Vinth’s face. He peered down at it, mandibles flicking. 

“You just want to taste it, yeah? Just use this.”

“Uhhh,” he pulled back and eyed the spoon she balanced on a fingertip before him, the drumming of his talons now more anxious than rhythmic, “Are you sure?”

Odd, to be nervous over a sip of tea, but she assumed it had more to do with him having spent little time around humans and human utensils than anything else. She nodded and handed him the spoon, politely averting her gaze while he filled it with tea then slowly tipped it into his mouth. He did this a second, then a third time. 

“Good, huh?” she asked when she set her cup down again. 

“Not as good as it smells, but yeah.”

“Too rich?” she chuckled and traced her thumb over the lip of the cup idly. She liked her tea sweet and creamy. 

“Mmm, a little.”

“So.”

Molly rested her chin in her hands and peered up curiously at her large turian companion, who looked back at her just as curiously. He was waiting for her to continue. 

“So.”

“Well, you didn’t come to the Citadel just to sip human tea, right?” she turned the cup around on the table, “So why? I can’t imagine why you’d leave your supposedly impressive military background on Palaven to be jobless on the Citadel. Hanging out at Nova must feel pretty bleak with your background. Supposed background.”

She let that accusation twist through the space between them like bitter smoke, arching a brow at her new friend. 

Avinthus’ subvocals stopped and switched to something more energetic, more difficult to place. His posture hadn’t changed, but she knew she had struck a nerve. She didn’t know what that sound was saying exactly, but it resonated with her, made her feel alarmed. Curious. Was that how he was feeling?

“Would you believe I’m having, mmm, a crisis of identity? That I don’t know what I want?”

“Good turian like you? You want what’s best for your people on principle, right? So no. I don’t believe it.”

He drummed his talons nervously again, “If I said I don’t feel up to talking about it?”

He seemed to want to, though. Molly didn’t know how she knew, but she did, or at least felt confident that she did. 

“You know a hell of a lot about me, Vinth,” she grumbled, “And I’ve agreed to tell you more. Did it occur to you that I might want to get to know you as well?”

He looked away from her challenging gaze, shame-faced, or at least she assumed so by the way his plates shifted downwards. 

“I just...can’t talk about work. Not right now. I fucked up bad, Moll.”

She stared hard at him for a moment, rolling his words around her mind the way one might roll wine around their tongue, testing the sincerity. 

“I won’t push, then,” she gave in, deciding to believe him, then sipped her tea and made a decision.

“I came to the Citadel when I was a kid.”

Her announcement startled Vinth and he stilled his drumming talons to pay attention, pale gaze bright with curiosity.

“And I almost died. But, ah, I guess I should start a little earlier than that,” Molly fussed with her hair a little as she pondered over where she should start, until eventually she nodded to herself and continued, “I grew up in a little town nestled in the cliffs by the ocean back on Earth. A small town on an island in Eastern Canada. We didn’t have much, and really the freak school was the only unique quality our town had compared to other rural communities. 

“Freak school is what we called the school where I learned acrobatics. It’s an affectionate nickname. The woman who ran it was actually a part of Cirque du Soleil, the oldest staple in circus culture back home. Cirque is the pinnacle of acrobatic arts, and she was a big deal during her time. When she retired she just wanted to live somewhere quiet, so she came to our island and started a school for kids. It was just supposed to be a fun school for us, but there were enough talented kids that she started bringing us to competitions. 

“When I was fourteen we won enough competitions that we were invited to come represent humanity for an expo here on the Citadel. None of us ever expected we would end up here, so when we got the news we were thrilled. Turns out we were just a big PR stunt for humanity.”

She wrinkled her nose at the memory, recalling the way the human ambassadors belittled them to make a good impression. They were from such an isolated place that people assumed they were just hicks, so it was all the more impressive when they climbed their silks and flew from their trapezes like birds taking wing. After all, with leaders like Mia Ripley (a Cirque veteran), humanity could flourish anywhere they chose to live in space. That was the shallow and weak take-away of their performance , that humanity’s leaders could shape the galaxy for the better and uplift even the most rugged and uncultured communities. 

“Even with all the bullshit politics, though, we had a blast. I even dreamed of opening my own circus here on the Citadel. Briefly. On our way back to our hotel after the expo the cab I was in got flattened by an asari trying to run from C-sec. She had been smuggling drugs and was speeding to get away. One minute I was laughing with my friends, the next I was trapped in a car that was hanging out the side of an office building with a huge piece of glass wedged in my lung.”

Avoiding the snowball’s worried expression, Molly fussed with the long sleeves of her tunic, revealing glimpses of her tattoos. That pulled Vinth out of the story for a moment, but she charged on and ignored his curiosity. 

“I was saved by a salarian doctor. I remember feeling terrified because how could an alien know what to do to save me? Except he was so calm and he seemed to understand what I was thinking because he told me just how many humans he’d treated. He did everything with practiced hands and he explained it all step-by-step so I’d understand it. Soon enough the fear melted away and just like that I forgot about bringing a human circus to the Citadel.

“I picked his brains so much during recovery, too, that he started visiting me and sharing some of the work he was doing, some of the research. I was completely blown away by...well, all of it. I had always been able to evoke feelings from people through performance, but he had made me feel safe, something I could never do by dancing, so I had a new dream that was only fuelled by all of his visits and his vast knowledge. I wanted to make people feel safe the way he made me feel safe, I wanted to know all the things he knew, so I asked him what I had to do to be a doctor like him, then when I got back home I recovered and did it.”

Silence stretched between them when Molly went back to her tea, letting the heat and the sweet flavour soothe her dry throat. Avinthus was looking at her, his thoughts indiscernible once more, though it didn’t bother her. This quiet was a comfortable one, with a softer song from the speakers overhead filling the space between them. 

“That’s quite the story,” he finally said, his tone soft, “And pretty impressive.”

“Tell me about it. It seems unbelievable, huh?” she chuckled, still a little raw with the vulnerability that followed sharing so much of herself with someone new. It had painted her cheeks a pretty shade of pink, “The circus freak turned doctor who shakes her ass to pay the bills? I’m surprised anyone at Huerta was willing to give me a chance.”

“I imagine you interview well,” his turian mouth couldn’t grin like she could, but his tone of voice said it all. 

Flatterer. 

“One of the asari doctors remembered me. Dr. Farrhe, the one who saved me, had been their lover. I think they just wanted to give me a chance.”

“No way,” he waved away her words, “There’s no chance they’d risk their reputation to hire you based on sentimentality, no matter what kind of impression you left on their lover.”

“Hmmm,” Molly hummed over her cup, pouring out some more tea, “So you’re saying I’m just that good, are you?”

“Of course.”

It was Molly’s turn to be disarmed. He was looking straight at her, no trace of his bumbling discomfort or his uncertainty to be found. Once more she felt as though he was staring straight through to the truth of what she was thinking and who she was, as though her whole self was laid bare and he could see it all. She had to break away from it, from the way it made her stomach flip and her nerves fray.  Ironically enough, Molly hated feeling exposed. 

“So then,” she fiddled with her cup, lowering her gaze, “Tell me about Palaven.”

The intensity of his gaze broke away from her as he drifted back through his memories, searching for something to talk about. 

“I don’t have any stories worth telling. Not like yours,” he shrugged, an apology ringing through his tone, “Which may sound like a cop-out, but...well, my parents taught me how to fire a rifle when I was a kid, taught me how to keep in line. Then I just followed the path that my family set before me. We’re old military. More than a few names from the Flos bloodlines have been generals, spectres, you name it.”

“And what did you do for fun?”

“Uh...I learned how to fire a pistol?”

“For fun.”

“Mmmm, shotguns are actually pretty fun, too.”

“You’re hopeless.”

“I prefer dutiful.”

She arched a brow but didn’t voice her thoughts. Unemployed yet dutiful. There’s definitely a missing piece here, one that will make sense of this overgrown snowball when it clicks in place. 

Momentarily, she entertained the idea of organized crime, but...nah. Somehow that just seemed terribly ill-suited to her mystery turian. 

They stayed in that booth far longer than either one of them intended. They exchanged stories from their childhoods or from past jobs, filling the gaps between stories with idle chat. It took a while to coax it out of him but Molly did eventually manage to hear a bit about Vinth’s time as a soldier. Mostly those stories had to do with tough survival situations, rationing, impressive killshots...not a whole lot of insight into who he was outside of the military. She had a sneaking suspicion he never really gave himself the chance to figure that out for himself, given his background. Maybe he left work or fucked up because of some identity crisis after all?

They talked their way through countless pots of tea and all the Sphaera Frigus that Len had on hand. Eventually the bags under Molly’s eyes deepened until they were nearly bruises, and even Vinth’s spartan-straight posture began to sag. Neither one of them seemed willing to be the first to break the spell, though, to call it a night and head home. It wasn’t until the small woman found herself fading in and out of consciousness that it occurred to her she had stayed out too late. Even then, she didn’t move. 

Long, pointed fingers wrapped firmly around Molly’s arm, jostling her lightly. 

“Moll?”

“Mmmmrrrrnnnnn.”

“Hey, Moll.”

She buried her face into the hot, tough nook she had curled up into, hiding from the gentle light that was trying to poke through and interrupt her sleep. When the hands squeezed her again she tried to bat them away, her efforts amusingly pathetic. 

“Spirits! Wake up,”

The jostling was no longer gentle and sleep was no longer within reach. Groaning, the small woman moved curtains of auburn waves away from her eyes and pushed herself up from where she was lying.

Wait. 

Wasn’t she with Avinthus? Why was she lying down? Blearily, she blinked until the details started filtering back in and she clued in to her surroundings. Dim lighting, a wild growth of barely-tame house plants, and the smell of bergamot told her she was at Len’s. And beside her-

“Oh,” she turned an impressive shade of pink, “I am so, so sorry.”

Molly had fallen asleep in Avinthus’ lap, which was the nook that she had been trying to burrow into. The unfamiliar staccato of his subvocals seemed vibrant with nerves, not that she could blame him. She had effectively just attempted to squirm her way into his crotch, leaving them both miserable with embarrassment. 

“How about I take you home?”

A momentary flash of panic traced through her. Nobody, not any of her classmates nor any of the girls at Nova, knew where she lived. 

“That sounds like a good plan.”

The panic had disappeared as quickly as it had sprung to life. Avinthus had earned her trust by now, or at the very least he had won enough of her favour that she no longer felt compelled to push him away. 

They squared up with Len, who beamed and waved them farewell as they crawled back into the pale lights that warned them the day cycle would be starting soon. Molly let Vinth place a steadying arm around her shoulders, leaning into him as she told him where they were heading. Luckily her apartment building was a stone’s throw away and it was only a few moments before they were at her door. 

After she punched in a long code the door sighed open and the smell of flowers and herbs rolled out to accost their senses. They both hesitated, wondering if they could steal a few extra moments in each others’ company. Molly smiled up at her tall new friend sleepily before a yawn bubbled up with so much force it caused her to wobble. He steadied her again, this time letting his talons trail along her arm for a moment until they could push up her sleeves. 

“Your uniform covers these up,” he commented quietly, “I had no idea.”

When she didn’t protest, he had pulled the sleeves of her long tunic up far enough to expose both her forearms. There was something different in the way he was moving and looking at her, something she was too tired to catch onto. A blunted talon delicately traced the lines of black flowers dabbed with colour on her left arm, his subvocals rumbling so deeply that she felt them swallowing her heart. She gulped. 

“I like them,” she was so tired she just let herself tip forward to brace herself against Vinth’s wide chest. He picked her up with ease, walking her inside with vague directions. Through a haze of exhaustion she told him where her bed was and apologized for the state of her apartment. 

It was tiny, crowded with plants that Len had been giving to her over the years. She had a very small kitchen area where she kept a cot (that was covered in data pads and study materials), and all of her possessions aside from the plants were kept in a suitcase. A tiny bathroom was the only extra room she had, and she knew her life looked pretty bleak inside her home. Vinth said nothing, however, instead he pushed aside her data pads and laid her gingerly down on her cot, tugging her sleeves back over her forearms. He did take a moment to read some of the text on her right arm, however. 

“My grandma wrote down all of her recipes before she died,” she explained sleepily, “I had them tattooed all over my arm, illustrations and all.”

Another indiscernible rumble sounded within his carapace and he crouched next to her for a moment. She reached out a small hand and placed it on his chest, her pale skin practically glowing against the rich black of his shirt thanks to the lights filtering in from outside the apartment. The rumbling grew a little louder and a giddy part of her was reminded of a purring cat. 

“Are you far from your apartment?” she managed to get out despite how heavily her words were slurring together. When he shook his head she moved her hand from his chest to his face, tracing over the hard ridges of his plates, “I’ll probably be asleep by then, but message me when you’re home safe anyhow?”

“Sure thing, Moll.”

And just like that he was gone, leaving her apartment still and cold. As she drifted off to sleep she longed for Vinth to come back, for the comforting presence of his subvocals to flood her cramped and lonely apartment, speaking to her in ways she could not grasp yet yearned for all the same. 

Instead, she pulled her blankets around her to drown out the chill and the loneliness she was left with once he had gone. Funny, that. She slept alone in her cramped apartment for years, never dwelling on the emptiness or the loneliness. Now, after one night in the company of Avinthus Flos, it felt like something was missing. 

When she finally managed to drift off, the slow crescendo of the morning bustle was just starting to reach its peak. People going to and from work, chatting over coffee, or just taking calls on their omnis was the usual lullaby that saw Molly off to sleep. It just took a little longer for it to pull her under this time.

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