#pre ME1

[squigglysquidd]

Nice Night For A Black Wedding

I commissioned @palavenmoons for a preME1 Juxtaposed Jane and Garrus for the rewrites. I absolutely love what Palavenmoons did with this! It fits perfectly with the gothic style wedding I have planned for the Jux rewrites so I'm happy to share this.

It's definitely a nice boost to get to the rewrites!

[lonesurvivorao3]

Acta Non Verba Ch15

In another life, or bubble universe, Kaidan didn’t visit Eris after Torfan, and she stayed locked up until Nihlus Kyrik sprung her for Spectre training. Thane played a much larger role in this story than I initially thought he would, and he is much darker.

The warm wind carried her scent to him; still and somnolent, he observed her. She moved silently but uneasily along the marble pavement, past the walled, hedged gardens blooming with the same blood-orange roses of Arcturus.

A voice echoed through the silent, high-end residential area. "You are lost, Commander Shepard."

It was an infrequent occasion when someone managed to sneak up on her, and she internally kicked herself after visibly startling. She whipped her head around to see who had the ability - and audacity - to approach her like this.

Sitting on a bench twenty feet away, a member of possibly the most secretive - and deadly - race in the Galaxy. "Not a Commander any more," she said blithely, "Not lost, either. That's oh-for-two."

Through the darkness and despite her manner, he could see the vein in her neck pulsing faster. No doubt racking her brain for any scant lore she knew about Drell. A common reaction. He expected better from her. And from Kyrik's tuition. Meeting her whilst she looked like a drug runner from Illium had not been part of his plan, but no matter.

For the second time recently, she was staring at someone who was actually a threat to her, and she was thrilled. "Do you want something, or are you just enjoying the view?"

The precise, rhythmic drumming of his fingers on his thigh as he considered his response was damn near hypnotic. He responded evenly. "Perhaps it is both." The tapping hand stopped as he leaned, arm across the back of the bench, gesturing for her to sit.

She perched on the opposite end.

The impatience to get to C-Sec to chase down that alert started to die down as she stared at him. Inside the hood, she was reflected back in his large, entirely onyx eyes. Momentarily becoming rigid, horror-struck by the sinister figure as every cell in her body urged her to run. If not for a faint rattling sound when he breathed, Shepard would have sworn he was a holo.

His movement was almost imperceptible when he smoothed his cloak, but the threat was not. "I could have killed you in twenty-one ways over the last seventeen minutes, and you would not have made a sound as I did so."

[x-royal-sovereign-x]

So, I had a thought

Original characters are always a pleasure to make, but they never seem to feature in any of my fics. I'd like to do something about that. Introducing Captain Victrisis: a turian soldier whose best interests lie with his people. He believes where he has the capability, he should do right by the demands of the greater good, but has a sharp edge to his personality as he treats his crew sternly, and with discipline.

To him, failure is never an option.

[Picrew link: https://picrew.me/image_maker/1200072]

Captain Octavius Victrisis commands the Celestial: a turian frigate that patrols territory within Utopia, Exodus Cluster (Terminus Systems) as they transport people and resources between Eden Prime and Earth. Given the pre-ME1 state of being, this relationship with the Alliance is purely experimental, and will eventually lead on to a partnership with the turians as a whole, and thus the creation of the SSV Normandy (SR-1).

[cr-noble-writes]

Title: New Stars Series: I’ve Got You Fandom: Mass Effect Characters: kid!Alex Shepard, Pathfinder Ishara Tags: kid!Shepard, angst, near-death experience, maybe fluff?, homelessness, dumpster diving in space, Asari colony, cross-species adoptions, earthborn, Alex Shepard (OC)

Summary: Twelve year old Alex Shepard grew up in a New York City orphanage and spent a lot of time running the streets, but he’s always wanted to go to space. The first opportunity he saw, he took, and ended up on an unfamiliar planet, surrounded by unfamiliar people. It changed the course of his life forever.

Notes: This is a look into Alex Shepard’s childhood for a series of novelization fics that I just recently started writing. Currently, the longer fics that take place during the timeline of the game have not been finished, and therefore aren’t posted yet, but I had this in my brain and had to get it down on paper. Thanks to thelordofdarkreunion for beta-reading this for me!!

Read it on AO3!

[rooksrocks05]

Getting to Know Each Character (Current WIP)

Commander J. Shepard

Name a song that describes him:

Dream Theatre - Burning My Soul

Artist(s)/genres he would listen to:

Doesn't really listen to music, but has a soft spot for anything his mother/love interest listens to, as it reminds him of them.

Language(s) spoken (or would have learned) besides mother-tongue:

Bits and pieces of salarian dialect due to time spent surviving ruthless training exercises and missions gone awry.

Thing that makes him go weak at the knees:

When someone stands up and treats him as an equal: no malice, no trying to 'fix' him; just taking the time to gradually thaw him out, at Shepard's own pace.

Most obscure thing he hates:

Strong scents/flavours, certain textures.

Childhood experience that defines an aspect of his life:

Father was a well-respected Major in the Alliance military, and Shepard always lived in his shadow with the expectation that he would grow up to become the new Major Shepard. Despite Shepard's admiration for his father's work (love/hate relationship with the man, himself), his father was ruthless and abusive. He was declared MIA around Shepard's fifteenth birthday, and is one of the main influences of Shepard's harsh command [Renegade].

Assign him a smell:

Smoke

[shadoedseptmbr]

six lines for sunday

six-ish, my head hurts so i’m not counting

“She never calls you, never sets up a get together.” Ianya had worried, once. Only to be met with Gerte’s gentle smile.

“She doesn’t know how.” And as Aedan had just recently tweaked Gerte’s security and comms system to her own exacting specifications, Ianya had felt justified in her impatient sniff. “She would never want to interrupt my life, make me take a call when I don’t have a moment. If I contact her, she knows she’s...allowed.” “That doesn’t make sense.” “It does to her. Which is enough for me, beloved.” And while there was always a stolid solidity to Gerte, in this with that heavy note in their voice, they were rooted like a mountain. This was not negotiable. To be with Gerte, Ianya had to accept the mote of fire that flickered through their atmosphere.

[vorchagirl]

If you want to: what if they had met as children for Rennah and James? (or any characters that spark joy with you!)

Okay - so this works pretty well because Rennah and Vega actually discovered that they were both in San Diego at the same time when they were kids. She was in the Reds, and he would have been younger - a kid who's drug addled and abusive father drove him out of the house more often than not.

Also this turned out longer than I thought, so I've put it behind a cut! The art is by Alex Coggin Art :)

James kicked a rock along the beach, too disappointed and angry that he'd come home to an empty house again to pay attention to the night sky like he'd planned. When his mother was alive she would have greeted him with a warm hug and a snack, but since she'd died he had to fend for himself.

But still, he'd hoped that this time, on his birthday of all days, maybe his father would have cared enough to be there.

James sighed.

His father had gone out the night before on a red sand bender and still hadn't returned. For all he knew, his father was dead in a gutter. And for all he cared, he could be. He didn't give a shit anymore.

Nothing felt right in the world since his mother died. His father couldn't be bothered buying him clothes, shoes or anything he needed for school, and the other kids gossiped about it behind his back. They didn't dare say anything to his face; he was too big and scary for that. But they talked about him, sometimes not even bothering to wait until the 'urchin' was out of the room.

He kicked the rock even harder, tears filling his eyes as his ill aimed kick hit more sand than rock, and the pale beach sand sprayed out around him. He heard a muttered curse from the dune near him, and someone sat up, scrubbing their eyes and shaking sand from their clothes.

"Watch it, or I'll knock your teeth down your throat, asshole!"

The shape in the dunes formed into a tall woman with long dark hair as she stood up. No, James amended as she stumbled out, looking every bit as high as his father had the last time he'd seen him, it wasn't a woman, it was a girl. She looked to be only a few years older than himself, but she was tall - easily the same height as him.

She swayed unsteadily, the crackle of biotics in her eyes as she sank back to the sand with a curse and lay back. Her eyes were red, whether it was from the red sand she'd obviously taken, or the tears running down her face he didn't know. She groaned and let out a sob as she flopped back, milky white skin showing through her ripped black jeans.

James hesitated awkwardly, half-wanting to run away from this reminder of his father's own addiction, and half-wanting to help a girl in distress.

"Are you okay?" he asked hesitantly. "I can call someone if you need help-"

She let out a choked sob that slowly turned into a laugh and held up her hands, making a square with her fingers as she framed something in the night sky.

"No one can help me," she muttered thickly. "But one day I'll get away. One day I'll go up there." The girl pointed up at the stars. "Fuck 'em all. They can't stop me."

Her hands were bloodied, he noticed. Her knuckles were raw as though she'd been fighting, and her pale face was dotted with blood.

He had a feeling the girl was in trouble, or that she'd been through something awful. But he wasn't sure what he should do, so he just stood there, listening as she rattled off the constellations above them, her voice slurring more and more.

"One day I'll see them all," she finished. "One day..."

"Yeah," James wasn't entirely sure what he was agreeing to as he interrupted her gently, but he looked up at he night sky. The stars were brighter than usual tonight, and they shimmered above. "One day I'll get away too."

The girl seemed to find this funny and she glanced over at him, tears shining on her cheeks. "What's your deal, kid? Looking to join up?" She flashed a gang tattoo at him and James stumbled back a step when he recognised the mark of the Tenth Street Reds. She laughed again. "Didn't think so. Go home."

Stubbornly, he stepped closer again, embarassed that he'd almost run. "I don't have a home," he muttered. "Not anymore."

There was an awkward silence, filled by her sniffing as she made an effort to fight back tears. Slowly, she sat up again and looked him up and down, looked properly and nodded at what she saw. The girl's eyes flicked up at the stars, and then back in his direction, and she pulled something from her pocket and threw it at him. It was a wad of cash, and James caught it awkwardly, not sure what she expected him to do.

In the distance he heard angry yelling and the revving of bikes.

"Get out of here, kid," she muttered, her voice breaking. "Get out of here before they find me. Use that to get some dinner and don't fucking end up like me." The girl lay back with a grunt and put her hands behind her head, apparently unconcerned with the trouble heading her way. "And if you do make it to the stars, come find me and say hi."

James stumbled back, clutching the money the weird girl had given him and nodded. He didn't know who was coming for the girl, but she was in a gang and covered in blood, and he had street smarts enough to know when trouble was brewing.

One day, he vowed, he would make it to the stars. And if he ever met the tall scary girl again, he'd say thanks.

[niriaveil]

hayley in me1 is far too focused on stopping saren to consider a romantic entanglement, plus regulations. she doesn't keep people at arms length but she's very careful when talking off the record, ash evens calls her out on it, says "she spends so long looking for a script in her head". there's just too much at stake. she has to put aside her own heart for the sake of the cause.

she's friendly to everyone. helps wrex get his armor with no qualms, has no problem giving tali a copy of the data from the geth, helps garrus put down dr heart. she listens and recites poetry back to ashley, listens and encourages kaidan to talk about his past if he wants.

but for all that. no one really knows anything about her. she's shepard, commander and spectre and survivor of akuze. I think the only one who knows hayley, who she is okay with someone knowing her as that, is anderson.

anyway virmire is coming up and I'm stalling

[mtreebeardiles]

Trials & Tribulations, WIP

Finding little bits and pieces I can start writing and idk when I'll be done with it since I got A Lot Happening but this character started talking randomly today and who am I to ignore him? From "Trials & Tribulations," Everett Shepard's pre-ME1 story

Finding time for yourself was virtually impossible on a ship that crewed nearly 300 people. Despite a plethora of decks, messes, lounges, and quarters divided up amongst the different command chains, there was always someone somewhereeven when they probably weren’t supposed to be.

Exhibit A: fighter pilot Jordan Keens, sneaking into the officers’ mess after hours.

Exhibit B: unknown white boy in an oversized hoodie already in the mess hall, eating what appeared to be some honest to god chocolate chip cookies while he read a data pad.

And not the shitty air sealed ones Dario ordered last time.

Jordan narrowed his eyes at the same time his stomach gave an audible rumble. Either it was louder than he thought or the guy had amazing hearing, because his head jerked up a split-second later.

“Uh.” 

Gray eyes seemed to pin him to the spot, an intensity in that gaze that made Jordan hyper aware of himself in a way that bordered on uncomfortable. It eased as the scrutiny did, however, and he exhaled slowly. 

“Sorry,” he went on, flashing the stranger a lopsided grin. “Usually no one’s here, uh. I’m um. I’m Jordan Keens — Flight-Second Jordan Keens, with Torrent Squadron.”

He inwardly cursed at how jumbled his words were getting, but it was kind of the other guy’s fault for not wearing any uniform with clear rank markings. Jordan may have shown up in his varren slippers, but the rest of his uniform was technically appropriate. 

“Lieutenant Commander Everett Shepard,” the stranger replied. The words didn’t come easily from his lips, almost as if he wanted to hold them back. Jordan didn’t think much of it, too busy flashing a hasty salute the moment he heard “commander,” brain trying to remember why the rest of it sounded familiar, too. He wasn’t part of the regular Tokyocrew; maybe he was the newcomer Merrick had mentioned earlier?

“Ah, shit, sorry — erm, I mean, sir. Sorry, sir. Ah, fuck.”

Jordan was now keenly aware of his slippers, especially as the Commander finally glanced down and took note of them. 

A small smile tugged at the man’s lips, his guard slipping ever so slightly before he smoothed his expression back to neutral.

“At ease,” he murmured. “Wasn’t expecting anyone, either, if I’m honest.” His gaze flicked down to the plate of cookies before him before glancing back at Jordan, and Jordan could sense his hesitation even as he added, "did you… would you like some?"

"Cookies?"

"They're fresh-baked."

Sold. 

"Don't mind if I do!" Jordan knew he needed an actual snack, but a lifelong sweet-tooth skewed his priorities at the best of times and he'd been standing there long enough to pick up on the faint scent in the air that all but confirmed the guy was telling the truth -- these were fresh, still warm to the touch as he scooped one up, chocolate going deliciously gooey in his mouth at that first bite. 

"Oh mah gahd…" A hand over his mouth saved some of his dignity, though he caught the return of the small smile on the Commander's lips when he opened his eyes again. He swallowed, flashing him a wide grin of his own. "These are so good -- er. Sir."

"Thank you."

Jordan blinked, taking a moment to piece it together. A glance around the mess confirmed that they were alone, and if these were fresh, and the Commander seemed pleased that he liked them…

"…wait. You made these?"

A faint flush rose in Shepard's cheeks. "I did."

"Holy crap like -- holy crap!" He looked towards the kitchenette, spotting honest to god sugar, mixing bowls… "You made these from scratch!"

"Um. Was that a question or a statement?"

"On a ship! Who bakes on a ship?"

"Not every meal is from a box…"

"Well okay, sure, we get some good stuff every now and then as a treat but like! Not actual treats! Hey, what division are you with? I don't think I know you."

It occurred to Jordan as his mouth went off a mile a minute that he was being pretty forward, if not blatantly familiar, with a superior officer. But Shepard didn't seem to mind, another twitch of that smile tugging at the corners of his lips, and that steely gaze he'd greeted him with had eased into something almost…

Kind. Maybe even a little shy. 

"Marine detail," he replied.

"Ah, damn." 

An eyebrow cocked, and Jordan hurried to explain, "Was kinda hopin' you were with the flight crew."

"Oh." A pause. "Why?"

"Because if there's gonna be some crazy talented baker just hanging out on the ship, I want dibs on that friendship, y'know?"

Jordan's smile was back, and he waggled his eyebrows for good measure to assure the other man that he was joking -- mostly. 

"We can't be friends if we're not in the same division?" Both eyebrows were raised now.

"Welllll sure, but Marines, y'know?" Jordan wrinkled his nose for added effect.

"Traditionally assholes, sure," Shepard replied without missing a beat. He met Jordan's eye and this time the smile did more than twitch, and the next thing he knew they were laughing. Shepard gave the plate a nudge towards the center of the table, an open invitation for Jordan to take as many as he liked. The young pilot wasted no time helping himself to another. 

"But all jokes aside, these are so good -- Shepard, was it?" The Commander nodded. "And I'm not just sayin' that 'cause I usually eat that cardboard crap the mess sergeant gets us from time to time. My grandma's the best baker I've ever known, so trust me when I say I know what I'm talking about."

"Can't argue against grandma's baking," Shepard agreed easily enough. He snagged a cookie for himself, Jordan only belatedly realizing he'd already worked through three while Shepard had just finished his first, and he watched as the Commander's fingers delicately broke that one in half. 

He has really nice hands, he thought, unbidden, and shook his head. He rested his elbows on the table, cradling his chin in his hands as he observed the other man a moment. He didn't seem much older than Jordan himself -- somewhere in his early to mid-twenties, maybe? Pale-skinned, hints of freckles along a strong nose, with dark, reddish-brown hair that seemed to want to curl at the ends but couldn't thanks to how short it was cut. He looked familiar, but Jordan couldn't quite place him.

"So you new to the Tokyo?"

"I am."

"Hmm…" 

Shepard's eyes met his briefly before looking down again as he carefully took another bite of his cookie. He shifted a little in his seat and Jordan shook himself again. 

"Sorry, I'm staring, aren't I? I just feel like… Maybe I've seen you somewhere before?"

"…possibly."

The atmosphere seemed to change then, a subtle shift from something approaching friendly banter to something more…reserved. Closed off. Shepard's lips were flattened into a thin line, and there was a tension creeping over him as Jordan watched. 

Okay, stumbled on a bad tack. Jordan was just opening his mouth to redirect the conversation back to more comfortable waters when Shepard got to his feet. 

Fuck, he's tall. Probably a good head taller than Jordan was, at least.

"You, um. You can have the rest of these." 

"I --"

"Good night, Flight-Second."

"…good night…" Jordan blinked after him, bemused, until Shepard had slipped out of the door opposite and out of sight. 

It was only then that Jordan remembered he should've saluted, but then...  Shepard hadn't seemed to expect him to.

What an odd duck.

He looked down at the plate of cookies and shrugged, helping himself to another before going to search for a bag to keep them in.

[serabellyms]

" do i know you? "     ⤷ @dutyworn ✧ wren shepard.

Not the words Miranda was hoping for, that was for sure. Here she was, with Wilson of all people having attempted to destroy all of her handiwork… and she had to take care of it. She was already on thin ice when it came to the Illusive Man; her earlier… defection, of sorts, had put her in a difficult position. Part of her wondered why he’d given her the task he had, but at the same time, he knew she had a personal stake in the Lazarus Project.

But if Wren didn’t remember… god, she wasn’t sure she wanted to consider that fact. There were so many memories; memories Miranda hadn't expected to just be... gone. Memories she certainly couldn't erase, that was for sure. Remaining stoic as ever, Miranda blinked a few times, raising an eyebrow like Wren ought to have remembered her, but masking just how distraught the thought made her. "You should," she replied calmly, glancing down at the floor. "Wilson should have, too, but he's already paying for that mistake." She'd never liked Wilson, anyway; she wouldn't have put it past the man to sell them all out to the Shadow Broker, or something like that.

"Now, we have a meeting to get to. The Illusive Man is certainly going to want to speak with you after this... development." And her too, probably. She'd been on thin ice since coming back, but she hoped her desire to keep Shepard alive had earned herself back in his good graces. After all, as far as he was aware, she hadn't been able to give the Alliance any valuable intel, or at least not any that would compromise their operations. Of course, that wasn't true in the slightest; unfortunately, the Alliance had to keep their source a secret in the process, and as far as anyone was concerned, Miranda was a ghost.

Stepping into the shuttle, Miranda nodded to the seat beside her for Jacob, who took a seat without saying anything; perhaps he, too, could sense the tension in the room.

[commander-krios]

Tell Me A Story, Cowboy

Finally, I get to reveal my story! I wrote this for @shepardsummer exchange 2022 for @dandenbo! Here is the link on AO3 if you’d rather read it there.

Summary: Ashford Shepard has enlisted the help of many unsavory characters over his long decorated career in the Alliance, but one man sticks out more than the others.

Words: 4466

Rating: Mature

Relationship: Male Shepard & Zaeed Massani

Additional Tags: Violence, Blood, Pre-canon, Pre-ME1, Custom Shepard, Blue Suns

“You look like shit.”

Shepard glanced up from the drink in his hand, raising an eyebrow at the mercenary who stood in front of him. He noticed his one good eye was bloodshot even in the dark of the bar. “Still look better than you.”

“Ouch, Shepard. That’s a goddamn low blow.” Zaeed Massani grinned even as he said it, sliding onto the chair opposite. 

“The truth can hurt like a bitch, Massani.” 

“I didn’t come here for you to bust my balls.” The mercenary waved the asari waitress to their table, clearly hoping to get an order in at the bar before they got too tied up.

“Why did you come here?” Shepard twirled the alcohol in his glass, a dark honey colored whiskey that didn’t have quite the bite he was looking for, but it was good enough that he was even thinking about a second glass. Hell, after the week he had, he might end up with a bad hangover and a few more notches on his belt.

Zaeed shot him a quick glare before turning his attention to the waitress that hovered at his side. “Hey, beautiful. Can I get two glasses of bourbon and a refill for my friend here?”

Shepard rolled his eyes when the asari smiled widely, leaning her entire body against Zaeed, her breasts so close to the grizzled merc’s face that he was half expecting him to just bury his face in her cleavage. She tapped Zaeed’s crooked nose with her index finger before leaving to get the drinks, a swing to her hips. 

When Zaeed met Shepard’s gaze once more, he frowned at the glare aimed at him. “What?”

“Was that necessary?” Shepard asked before draining the last of his glass. Zaeed only gave him a strange look at the question. “You were practically drooling on her.”

Zaeed snorted. “I’m capable of self control, Shepard.”

“Uh huh.”

“Fuck off.” He snapped, leaning his arms on the table. It might’ve been intimidating to anyone else, but Shepard didn’t scare easily. Especially when it came to Zaeed Massani. He knew too much about him to fall for the act.

Shepard leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “Already getting to the climax of the night, are we?”

“Goddamn it, Shepard.” 

Zaeed couldn’t help the rough laugh that escaped his mouth despite his exasperated tone. Shepard smirked in response, subduing himself only slightly when the waitress returned with a tray of drinks. Her violet eyes glanced between the men briefly as she set each drink in front of them. Her hand brushed against Zaeed’s arm, lingering for a moment before she tucked the tray under her arm.

“So how does a military type get caught up with the likes of him?” 

“Eh, that ain’t nice, Daia. After all of the credits I spend here-”

Shepard barked out a laugh. “You really shouldn’t admit to that, Massani.”

“Somehow, it just makes it sadder.” Daia agreed, sitting down in the vacant chair next to the mercenary, crossing her legs and dangling a hand over her knee. “Come on, we’re slow tonight. Tell me the story. It has to be more interesting than anything Zaeed has planned.”

Daia was probably correct in her assumption, but he wasn’t going to tip his hand. Biggest reason he was still alive was his decision to trust little and keep a gun close. While he had these random encounters with Zaeed, most of the time he was on his own. Which was preferable. Less risk that way.

Shepard took a long sip from his glass, letting the whiskey roll on his tongue before he swallowed. Daia’s gaze lingered on him, a mischievous glint to her eyes as she waited. “Well?”

He sighed before taking a moment to find a more comfortable sitting position. “It’s a long story.”

The asari laughed, crossing her legs at the knees. “Honey, I'm over five hundred years old. Try me.”

Shepard had met many asari over the long years he’d been in the military, but he had to admit, he actually liked Daia. Anyone who could make Zaeed squirm in his seat was alright in his book. With a hand motion to indict he would humor her. “If you insist-”

~~~~

The archaeological camp was nestled in a valley surrounded by mountains on all sides. The team that had been sent there had found a Prothean artifact, much like the one on Mars, and were attempting to study it. Shepard doubted they would find much more than they already had with the other archives, but if the scientists wanted to pick the dig site apart, that was their problem. No, he was only there to clear out the pirates that had set up on the other side of the mountain. No doubt looking to steal the artifact for themselves.

It would probably get a pretty price in the Terminus.

With a sigh, he laid down on the cot, tucking his arms behind his head, and stared at the ceiling of the prefab. He had already been stationed on this planet for over two weeks and the pirates had yet to make a move. He wasn’t sure if the Alliance uniforms had them hesitating or perhaps they weren’t there to steal anything.

The moment he had the thought, Shepard immediately dismissed it with a snort. Of course they were there to steal the damned thing. Mercenaries and pirates never did an honest day’s work in their entire lives. No, most likely, they were waiting for an opening in the Alliance patrols. 

The door to the prefab slid open and in walked one of the archaeologists, an asari in a white lab coat with the look of a child that had recently received a new exciting toy. She couldn't have been much older than 60, maybe 70 years. She wasn’t wearing the weariness of a long life like so many other asari did in their matriarch years. He figured maybe another fifty years and that might change for her.

When she noticed him on the cot in the corner of the building, she paused, blue eyes wide as if she was a trapped animal. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt your rest. I can come back later.”

Before she could take a single step back, Shepard put a hand up to stop her. “Feel free to stay. There is plenty of room and I’m not in the only bunk.” 

“Uh, well, yes, thank you.” She muttered, sinking down on the cot closest to the door. “Please, don’t let me keep you up.”

Shepard didn’t respond as the asari pulled a datapad from her coat pocket, flicking it on and scrolling through whatever was written. After a moment, she typed her own set of notes before continuing on as before. He watched her in the dark, silence descending upon them comfortably. Eventually, he drifted off to sleep.

Some hours later, he woke abruptly, his skin crawling. He blinked at the ceiling, his eyes coming into focus as he spied the outdoor lights painting patterns on the prefab’s ceiling. He didn’t know what had woken him, but he felt uneasy, almost sick to his stomach. With a groan, he sat on the bed, feet planted against the flimsy floor. He caught sight of the asari sleeping in the cot a few feet away, soft snores the only sound he heard.

He was beginning to think that he had imagined whatever woke him and was prepared to lay back down when something moved outside. Checking his omni tool with a glance, he knew it was too early for shift change. Someone was sneaking around when they shouldn’t be.

The pistol on his hip wasn’t the weapon he wanted, that one was locked up in the safe that was labeled the armory at the guard stand, but it would have to do if a mercenary was in their camp. With a quick glance at the asari, he was grateful that she hadn’t woken yet. With luck, he would be able to handle this without her being any wiser.

Outside of the prefab, it was quiet. There weren’t many animals or insects that had survived the original bombardment of the planet centuries ago so not much stirred around him. Shepard could hear the voices of the other Alliance soldiers at the guard post and the soft footsteps on the dusty ground in the distance was the guard on patrol. 

With all sleep gone from his head, Shepard’s eyes scanned the empty space in front of the building. Multiple prefabs had been set up in a semi-circle facing the dig site. The prefab in the center of the valley was the guard station, lights shining brightly like it was a beacon in the darkness. Perhaps it seemed that way to the archaeologists that worked on the other side of the valley. The illusion of safety was good enough for some people, but Shepard knew that if it came down to it and the pirates attacked the camp, there wasn’t any guarantee that they could protect the civilians.

Grumbling about the lack of resources wasn’t going to help his current situation so he pushed the thought to the back of his mind, casting another glance in the direction of the prefabs where the archaeologists slept. That was when he saw it.

A shadow moved in between two of the buildings. With a grin, Shepard went around the back of the prefab he’d exited, pistol ready in case he needed it. It could just be a grunt or a bored archaeologist trying to find some fun, but he couldn’t take the risk if it wasn’t.

As he reached the end of the building, the shadow transformed into a man with full body armor, but it wasn’t the color of Alliance or Blue Suns. It was a faded yellow, almost white at this point, so scratched that Shepard was positive it was practically useless as protection.

The man hadn’t noticed him yet so Shepard knelt down in the shadow of the building, waiting for his moment to strike. The man rounded the corner, his eyes glancing backward over his shoulder, and the second he came into striking range, Shepard let his fist fly.

~~~~

The mercenary was cuffed and seated on a chair in the guard house. Shepard could now see the raised and puckered scar that ran from his right eyebrow and curved around his eye, only to split his cheek. It was a nasty scar and one that he didn’t want to look at for too long. 

“Where the hell did he come from?” One of the younger Alliance soldiers asked, Corporal Travis, he thought the name was. 

He gave the Corporal a sharp look. “From over the mountain.”

“But how?”

“Well, there’s this thing called ‘climbing’-” His partner teased, laughing when the Corporal blushed in embarrassment.

“Quiet.” Shepard snapped, aiming a glare in the direction of the two men. “He’s waking up.”

The mercenary groaned, his head rolling back as he woke. It wasn’t long before a curse broke the silence.

Shepard knelt before him, meeting the merc’s gaze once his eyes were opened. The sight of his blinded eye didn’t surprise him as he took another glance at the scars. Someone had tried to either kill him or seriously injure him. Whatever the intention, the violence had left its mark. 

Surprise crossed the man’s face quickly before his eyes slanted, anger curving his mouth. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He tugged at the omni cuffs, furious that he couldn’t move. 

“Calm down. You trespassed on Alliance protected property. State your business here.”

The mercenary grumbled under his breath, leveling those slanted eyes in Shepard’s direction. It wasn’t that difficult to figure out who was in charge. “You’re makin’ a big mistake, cowboy.”

“You’re not in the position to make threats.” Shepard warned him, cocking his head in the man’s direction.

“I don’t care if you’re the Queen of Omega, kid. If you don’t let me out of these goddamn cuffs, the Suns are going to slaughter everyone here. Startin’ with me!”

As the scarred man struggled some more, trying and failing to escape, Shepard stood and glanced at the two young marines with him. There were barely a dozen of them on this site to the twenty archaeologists and scientists that went to the artifact daily. “How many pirates are we talking about? Did they send you here to scout for them?”

With a curse, the man spit blood on the floor, a tooth with it. Finally, he met Shepard’s gaze again. “There’s more than fifty of those bastards and you don’t have the manpower or the firepower to take them on. Even with your asari scientists.” He didn’t acknowledge the slight raise of Shepard’s brows. “But I know how these idiots operate. I used to be one of them.”

Ah, so there it was. 

“So what is this? Revenge for them ousting you?”

“They shot me in the fucking head!” He roared, nearly toppling the chair in his fury. “I don’t want revenge. I want to obliterate the entire lot of them.”

“That doesn’t explain why you were sneaking around.”

“I-er” The merc coughed, almost as if he was embarrassed. “I came to help.”

“I highly doubt that.” Shepard turned his attention to the guards. “Go finish your shifts. I can handle this from here.”

“Sir, are you sure?” The Corporal glanced at the mercenary warily.

“He’s cuffed and unarmed. I’ve handled worse.” He could count multiple situations just in the First Contact War alone that were infinitely worse. “Leave.”

They scrambled to leave the prefab as fast as they could and Shepard sighed quietly when the door slid shut. He hated interrogations and he especially hated having an audience. Turning back to the mercenary still cuffed to the chair, he paused. One white eye and one blue eye were staring out of a hardened face.

“You gonna shoot me?”

The question surprised Shepard, and he wasn’t a man easily shocked. “I don’t usually murder the people in my care.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time Alliance murdered people who surrendered.”

The mutter was loud enough so he could hear it. It was meant for him. Shepard frowned at the insinuation, recalling the Battle of Torfan that happened barely a few months before. It was still a sore spot to any who had survived that awful day. Shepard hadn’t been there himself, but he knew it for what it was: a shitshow.

“You’re not endearing yourself to me.” 

“Fuck off.” 

For some reason, Shepard found the entire situation ridiculous. A small laugh slipped past his lips before he could stop it. The man in front of him tried to hide the confused look that flashed briefly over his face, but even though it was quick, Shepard still saw it.

“Look, you want revenge against the Blue Suns? Fine. As long as the people here aren’t caught in the crossfire, I don’t care what you do to pirates. The question still remains: Why are you sneaking around here when your enemy is on the other side of the mountain behind you?”

With a huff, the mercenary glanced at the closed door. “Fine. I didn’t come to help you.”

“What a surprise.”

Those strange eyes glared at him again. “I came for me. But if you help me, you get rid of your pirate problem. Win-win.”

Shepard didn’t know how much of that was a ‘win’ for him, but he couldn’t help as a plan formed in his mind. 

Perhaps this could work in the Alliance’s favor.

“I’m listening.”

~~~~

The pair of them laid near the edge of a ridge overlooking the Blue Suns camp. From Shepard’s point of view, the scope on his rifle magnified enough so that he could almost see the sweat on the skin of his target, he watched as the pirates patrolled the perimeter. With the help of his new partner, Zaeed Massani was what he said the name was, they had figured out when the pirates did their shift change. It would be the only opportunity they had to strike without giving the Suns a chance to put up a defense.

Shepard’s pale eyes found the marines he’d brought with him on this mission. Four of them in total, not including him and Massani. The rest were protecting the archaeologists in the off chance that they failed. 

“We have ten minutes to set the bombs before the next patrol.” He reminded them. “Teams of two. Baker and King take the north building. Massani and I have the south building. That leaves the west to Tate and Young.”

“And once the bombs are in position, sir? What’s next?” Shepard was positive that Young had asked the question.

“We regroup in the east quadrant and get ready to take down whoever survives.” It was a risky plan, but then again, Shepard seemed to excel at those. He only hoped that if they did fail to bring down the Blue Suns, the other marines would be able to protect the civilians or at least evacuate before a counterattack.

“Aye aye, sir!”

Once the others had their orders, they hurried to complete them before the window closed. Zaeed followed Shepard down the trail that led to their target. The south building looked like the armory or something similar. At least, some weapons were stored there. Shepard chose the one that had the biggest chance of danger for himself. If there were guns in that building and someone saw him, he’d have a hell of a time defending himself, but he didn’t want to risk his marines more than he had to.

He glanced at Zaeed as they took turns covering each other’s back, ducking from rock to rock, keeping low and out of the direct view of the spotlights. It was slow moving, but they made it to the side of the building without detection.

“Keep an eye out, I’m going to arm this.” Shepard muttered, not bothering to check to see if Zaeed had heard. His fingers worked quickly. The explosive was a simple design. A detonator attached to a block of explosive material, wires connecting both. All three bombs were made the same way. Once set, they would only have a few minutes to get clear before the blast went off.

Once he was certain all was set, he returned to Zaeed’s side.

“South is armed. Status report.” Shepard spoke into the comm as loud as he dared. Zaeed had a rifle tucked close to his body, prepared to use it should he need to. The mercenary dared a glance at him, waiting for an update since he didn’t have a comm.

“Baker reporting, sir. North is armed.”

After a brief moment, another voice came on the comm. “Tate reporting, sir. We ran into a snag.”

Shepard felt his chest tighten, in fear or anxiety he wasn’t sure, but it wouldn’t matter in the end. Not if the plan went awry. “What happened?”

“Wiring came loose before I could set it, sir.” Young was the one to respond. “Fixing it now.”

They didn’t have time for this. “You’ve got 3 minutes to get to the east quadrant, Young. Get it done.”

“Yes, sir.”

Shepard turned to Zaeed, face grim. “We’ve got a problem on the west side.”

“We can’t go back for them.” Massani whispered, eyes hardened with the realization that if they failed, it was all of their lives, not just the marines on the west building. “That bomb needs to go off.”

Shepard felt a surge of anger, but he knew that the man was right. He didn’t want to leave them, but if they couldn’t get the bomb set and get out of there, they would get caught. He knelt in the silence next to Zaeed, trying to find a way out of the situation, a way that they would all survive this, when his comm buzzed.

“Tate reporting, sir. West is armed. On the move.”

With a quick breath to fill his lungs and relief crashing over him, Shepard felt a swell of pride in his marines. “Fall back to the east quadrant. Hurry.”

Knocking his elbow against Zaeed’s, the two of them moved east, using the fallen rocks at cover once more. Shepard noticed a few pirates here and there as they moved and whenever they came upon one, they had to wait for a clearing to keep going. 

They arrived at the easternmost building in the camp. Baker and King were already waiting for them, hiding behind a line of shrubbery. Shepard and his mercenary partner dropped next to them, quiet even as they tried to catch their breath.

“Young and Tate?” Baker asked, trying his best to not show his concern.

“Should be here soon.” Shepard assured him, glancing at the clock on his omnitool. “We have to blow the place now.”

Both men beside him gripped their guns tightly, ready for the fight that was going to happen after. If they didn’t die here, they were certainly going to remember this for the rest of their lives.

The explosions rocked the valley, each building taking the majority of the damage. But it didn’t stop there. Whatever was in the buildings, around the buildings, vehicles or people, was destroyed instantly, leaving nothing but a fiery carcass behind.

Chaos erupted around them. The final building, the one they were set up in front of, became a flurry of activity. Some pirates were looking for survivors while others tried to find the cause of their troubles. Still, others were mounting their defense, scrambling to grab whatever weapons they could. Pulling his sniper rifle from his back, Shepard motioned for the others to prepare to fire. Lining up his shot, he counted to three before the marines unleashed a volley of gunfire.

The pirates at the front of the line fell in a pool of their own blood, some blue, some red. The dusty ground was slick with it, causing even more confusion amongst the Suns, the heat of the fires and the sound of rifles causing some to run for the relative safety of the mountain. Others lifted their own rifles and fired, causing Shepard to have to abandon where he hid. The shrubbery wouldn’t protect him. 

A large boulder sat a few feet away and without hesitation, he rushed to cover, using every bit of his genetic modifications and his tactical cloak to his advantage. He disappeared briefly, only to reappear once he was safe. He took a moment to check on his squad. Zaeed had managed to tuck himself behind an overturned and burnt out IFV, leaning out of cover to shoot into the crowd of mercenaries looking for their own cover.

Baker and King had separated, taking up positions to flank the pirates as best as they could.

He was so concentrated on trying to end the threat as quickly as possible that he hadn’t noticed Young and Tate running in their direction. A pirate saw them immediately, putting up a shout to rain fire down on the marines. Shepard turned to fire on the closest pirate to them, but before he could hit the trigger, Zaeed was there, barrelling into their enemy taking them down with either a rifle blast or a fist. 

Taking advantage of the distraction, the marines managed to get behind cover. After that, it was over in a matter of minutes. Shepard didn’t have an inkling how many of those pirates had been in the other buildings, but the plan had been solid. The resistance wasn’t as much a threat as he expected which meant they had probably hit their barracks with a bomb.

And it was all thanks to the help of a mercenary.

“Sweep for survivors.” He commanded, letting Baker take control while he walked to Zaeed’s side. 

The merc was breathing heavily, a sheen of sweat coating his skin. He gave Shepard a lopsided grin when he noticed him approaching. “Helluva battle, eh?”

“The intel was good. Better than I expected. I owe you one.” 

Zaeed raised an eyebrow. “Well, how about that? Cowboy owes me? I like the sound of that.”

Shepard rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help the smile that crossed his face. Despite knowing that he was probably getting himself into trouble with owing a mercenary something, he figured that it would make for quite the story.

~~~~

“Wow.” Daia muttered, a look of awe on her face. “That was- I mean, I never served as a commando so I don’t know much about war, but that was intense. Is it always like that?”

Shepard sighed, draining the final sips of his whiskey. “Not always, but when you are in a fight for your life, things can get dicey. It’s a dangerous life.”

Daia glanced at Zaeed who sat quietly beside her. Shepard was surprised that he hadn’t said a single word during the entire story. “And you helped those Alliance marines, huh? That’s more bravery than I believed you were capable of, Massani.”

“Zaeed’s capable of many things.” Shepard muttered, looking at his empty glass longingly. “Sadly, I’ll have to get going. I have an early shuttle flight off of this decrepit rock.”

“It was nice to meet you!” Daia said as he stood and stretched his back until it popped satisfyingly. “You should come back sometime, have a drink with me.”

Shepard smiled at her, thinking that he might just take her up on that. “Thanks, Daia. Have fun with this guy. Make sure he treats you right.”

Daia laughed as if he was telling a joke and Shepard took his chance to leave. He had only cleared the threshold of the bar into the stifling halls outside when he heard footsteps behind him. Turning, he saw Zaeed standing there, arms crossed over his chest.

“What?”

“Why did you lie?” He asked, not angry exactly, but certainly unsure of what Shepard was playing at. “You could’ve told Daia the truth about how we met, but you didn’t. Why?”

Shepard rubbed his forehead, feeling the weariness of a man who was used to living a difficult life. “She seems to like teasing you, Zaeed, I mean I don’t blame her in that regard. But you like her. I’m not going to ruin your good thing.”

Zaeed’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “That’s decent of you, Shepard.”

With a low laugh, he brushed the words off. “I’m not that decent. I had to tell a fake story to cover for you, Zaeed. I’m going to collect one day.”

As he turned away and continued down the halls of Omega, he could swear he heard Zaeed curse his name.

[cr-noble-writes]

Title: Verisimilitude Series: Virtue and Volatility Fandom: Mass Effect Rating: Explicit Characters: Jackson Shepard, Garrett Coats Relationships: mShepard/Coats Tags: pre-canon, childhood friends, trans male shepard, idiots in love, bickering, sexual content, dirty talk, blow jobs, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, oral sex Word Count: 7171

Summary: Verisimilitude- the appearance of being true or real Jackson Shepard and Garrett Coats have history. And chemistry.

Notes: The full fic has posted! It's the first chapter of Jackson's canon, which will be my Commander Kaidan verse. I'm so excited to share it! Special thanks to @rotschopf-thedrow for wallowing with me in our mutual Coats obsession, and to @ad-astra13 for beta reading this fic for me! Read it here!

Excerpt:

“I didn’t realize my company was so difficult to bear,” he replies drily, pulling his glass closer to him. His heavy brow lends his face a serious countenance, and if not for the familiar mischievous humor in the bright blue eyes set beneath it, Jackson might believe he actually took offense. He’ll have to try harder, then. “Forget it,” Jackson says instead. He downs his fourth drink and slides off the bar stool, ignoring the slight dizziness that comes when his feet hit the floor. “I’ll find somewhere else to drink.” He’s only made it two steps when a hand wraps around his forearm, sparking a heat in his skin and belly that he’s definitely blaming on the liquor. “Jackson, wait.” “What?” Jackson hisses, turning to find himself face to broad chest. Absolutely unfair the way Coats’ t-shirt stretches taut against it. He’s had enough to drink that it takes him a moment to look up into his equally unfair face instead. “I don’t need a fucking babysitter, Garrett.” “That’s not—” Jackson snatches his arm away and raises an eyebrow. “Do you have some other explanation for why you keep showing up?” “I…” Coats sighs and moves back to the bar, retaking his seat. The silence is long enough that Jackson turns to leave again. If they were in the type of place he usually goes, he wouldn’t have heard it. “You and I used to be thick as thieves, you know. What happened to that?” The underlying melancholy in his voice curls Jackson’s fingers into fists at his sides. He whirls on his childhood friend. “You started sticking your nose where it didn’t belong. That’s what happened.”

[rooksrocks05]

Commander J. Shepard (Current WIP)

Pre-Service History

Both of his parents were in the Alliance military, and Shepard's childhood was spent on ships and stations as they transferred from posting to posting, never staying in one location for more than a few years. Following in his parents' footsteps, he enlisted at the age of eighteen.

Psychological Profile

During Shepard's service, a mission he was on went horribly wrong; trapped in an extreme survival situation, the commander had to overcome physical torments and psychological stresses that would have broken most people. Shepard survived while all those aroung him fell - and now he alone is left to tell the tale.

Military Specialisation

Adept - adepts are biotic specialists. Through upgradeable implants, they are able to lift and throw objects, shield the squad, and disable (or destroy) enemies. Adepts can only use light armour, and can only receive weapons training with pistols. Bonus talent: Decryption.

[crimsonshield75]

So I've been sitting on this piece for a really long time ... it was actually the first piece of Mass Effect fanfiction I ever wrote. I was keeping it in my library because I wanted to finish more of the greater story before I started posting it, but with how my priorities have shifted, I'm not quite sure I'll ever complete the full series. But I have two stories already written, so I figured, why not post them? At least get them out there, because they're serving me no good just sitting in my folder. So without further ado, here's the first chapter of my interpretation of Kaidan's time at BAaT. I hope you enjoy!

Fandom: Mass Effect Pairing: Kaidan Alenko/Rahna Rating: General Chapters will be updated every Monday!

[anderwhohn]

@dutyworn asked: ❝ hey— look at me. why are you all upset? ❞ / nihlus (jealousy/possessive meme but can be out of that context also)

He hesitates for a moment, mandibles pulled in tight against his jaw, before forest green eyes finally meet hers once more. The intensity of his gaze surprises even him, as if his very spirit were laid bare before her. He wants to speak, to articulate the complex emotions swirling within him, but the words catch in his throat.

Nihlus swallows hard, looking away again to stare out the observation window of the lounge. "It's just..." he begins, his voice a raw whisper, "In the time we've worked together, I've seen you go through so much. I've watched you fight, bleed, and rise again. And every time you risk yourself, it's like a knife in my chest."

A low growl of frustration rumbles deep in his chest as he smooths a hand over his fringe. "Spirits, it's like the entire damn galaxy is determined to take you away from me in one way or another. If it's not mercs or geth or the Reapers, it's the damn prothean beacons and tech. How much more can the galaxy take before...?"

He cuts himself off, the words barely on the tip of his tongue, as he almost asks how much more it can take before it takes her from him, and he loses her completely. The only problem? She's not his to lose...

This possessiveness he feels, while undoubtedly brought on by the close bond they've formed ever since Eden Prime, is pure instinct, almost as if she were his mate. Except she's not, and despite the flirtatious banter they've shared, it's a huge leap to go from playful flirting or even maybe relieving stress together to asking a human to be his mate...

[kaidanalenkosprmanager]

RATING: Explicit (Graphic Violence) Word Count: 21k Pairing: Shenko Characters: Female Shepard, Zaeed Massani, Aria T'Loak, David Anderson

“Josie!”

The sounds of his shrieks are muffled, but guttural- hoarse even. It’s a picture of blurred feet kicking and flying in nearly every direction in a desperate attempt to shove them off of him. A flash of violet light in his hands that twines its way up his arms disappearing just as quickly as the sounds of his radius cracking deafens the room. The smell of thick, ebony smoke and burning flesh clogging lungs- and then the taste of iron.

The taste of blood.

“Josie- help! I- need you- to help me-” He cries through huffed gasps of pain. Heavily armored hands close in around him. A blurry pair grasps at a bunch of onyx-colored hair from the top of his head, slamming it against the hefty aluminum refrigerator door. It sends a flurry of drawings, magnets, and half-torn pictures fluttering to the ground like leaves during early Mindoiran autumn. Vermillion streaks from his brow, trailing toward his lips. Armored bodies close in around him, but he pushes himself against the refrigerator with a pained grunt.

Another flash of hazy violet light permeates the room, filling it briefly with the muted sounds of pained moans as the bodies hit the floor- one after another. His hand grabs the table, vaulting himself to his feet with a slight stagger. He begins hobbling- a blurry image limping closer and closer. His eyes are fuzzy as they shift from violet to sable- the edges starting to meld together in a haze of mish-mashed, murky colors. Then, the blur is replaced by a feeling of warmth as his hand reaches down.

“Josie, we have to-“

His voice is cut off by a shriek as his body comes careening down towards the floor. Surprise is replaced by anguish as one of them smashes their boot into his back. His agonized bellows cut throughout the room, as another one of them grabs his right leg and begins dragging him further and further away.

“No- Let- Let me- Josie- Help me!”

An arm reaching out, but it isn’t his. Another flash of violet light that begins snaking its’ way from palm... To wrist… To elbow as the hand tremors violently through the blur. Chipped jade nails covered in dried blood- a bracelet made from multicolored rubber bands loomed together caked in mud. There’s an attempt to focus that light- to use it. Trying to find some way to protect him.

But then the violet light fizzles out just as quickly against the blur. The hand falls as the edges begin to shift from blur to darkness.

“Josie! Please- help- help me!” He screams- a muffled, croaked sound that begins to fade against the edges of the blur. Then, a flash of nails- bloodied claw marks in the wood of the floor made by the resistance of his hands as his body fades further and further away.

The blur is gone now- replaced almost completely by a wave of darkness. The jade-nailed arm feels heavy – a weight that can’t be lifted as a high-pitched noise envelopes the room and the large hydraulic door whooshes open with a soft metallic whir.

“Josie!”

His last shriek.

His last expression is a picture of pain- of anguish- of agony. Through the darkness, his eyes showcase something worse than fear as the hydraulic door slams closed, and his bloodied face disappears into the void.

Then, his final image is replaced by a wave of onyx. The smell of smoke returns- the scent of burning flesh, and the taste of iron. His screams ring over and over through the void of darkness on the other side of the hydraulic door for those few moments as the heaviness settles and breath becomes shallow. He calls again and again, but the words are hollow- nothing more than sounds being swallowed whole by the blackening vacuum.

And then just before the darkness fades to nothingness and the heaviness overtakes, one more sound- one short, resounding crack that deafens the room, echoing for what feels like hours through the darkness.

And the sound of his voice goes silent.