#reaper (sleeping citadel)

[kishock-harpoon]

It's been over a decade and I still feel so Soft when Kaidan goes from admitting to having sleeping troubles during his date with Shepard on the Citadel to him asking Shepard to wake him up "next time" because he was left to sleep in a bit. Because he bunks with her now.

Plus! They're clearly cuddlers from what we see in their romance cutscene so not only is he sleeping more but getting a proper deep rest where he doesn't always feel Shepard leave/hear her get dressed the next morning.

Letting Kaidan and Shepard get a few moments of domestic bliss between shredding Reapers together is my favorite!!!

[camina-drummer]

So, years ago I made a series of gifsets, starting with this one:

Well, now they're available in fic format. Nobody asked for this half a decade later or so, but here we are! AO3 link here (chapters 2,3, 4 & 5 on AO3)

NO HARD FEELINGS

Summary:

Years after the Reaper War, a grieving Kaidan comes into possession of the files Shepard left for him.

CHAPTER ONE NIGHTCAP

Kaidan wakes up to a ping.

Nightcap.

Shepard’s nightcap messages rarely wake him up. They come as he is tossing and turning in his bunk or wandering around the ship. It’s not unusual behavior; everybody’s sleep cycles are fucked. He can always count on Vega for a late workout or on Tali to continue their little side project of building KEI-9’s a mech buddy. But on occasion, he does doze off, and the sharp beep rings through the starboard observation lounge, cutting him clean from his sleep cycle.

He sits up. One eye open, responding without reading the notification – because it’s always “nightcap?” And his eloquent reply is always: “omw.”

He taps on the keys blindly. A swooshing noise carries his response. He can’t bring himself to get up and slide into his sweats. He just leans against the bedrest in the soft darkness of an early summer morning. The bed creaks under his shifting weight.

Well, that’s funny, he thinks in the hazy reality of the half-awake. Furniture in space doesn’t creak – it whines, whirs, hums... 

He drifts away.

Another ping comes in.

His eyes are barely open, far away from where he believes to be. The light of a lazy sun has begun filtering through the blinds, and the air is far too humid and lacking the scent of citrus sanitizer that circulates and recirculates through the air ducts of the Normandy. It smells like pine needles, like sheets put away in a closet for years.

He must be dreaming because Shepard has just asked for a nightcap and he hasn’t seen this room, his childhood bedroom, in six years. He doesn’t even know if it still exists. If the house exists. If the orchard exists.

He’s at home. He’s on the Normandy. He’s in his childhood bed. He’s in his bunk.

The light dissolves behind his eyelids.

Now, this is it. He must be awake. Fully awake.

He’s up now. Hands buried in his sweatpants’ pockets as he makes his way to Deck 1.

He makes a point of engaging in eye contact and nodding politely to the crewmembers he passes on his way to the elevator. They know where he’s going, and he doesn’t give a flying fuck about the gossip it generates. Even if the rumors were true, what does it matter at this point in the game? He certainly wouldn’t care about who’s sleeping with whom when they could all be dead before their next sleep cycle.

When Shepard’s quarters door hisses open, he notices the distant scent of pine needles again.

And there she is, sitting with her back to the door.

Her hair is so short and shiny as it always is right after it has been buzzed. She shudders, donning her hoodie shortly after.

“Shepard, hey.” He says as if they had casually bumped into each other.

She doesn’t turn around but greets him in return.

This little ritual of theirs that nobody comments on – except for maybe Joker’s occasional “So you and the Commander are, uh, bumping uglies again, huh?” – began a few weeks after Udina’s attempted coup to seize control of the Citadel.

Too much had happened then. Two of Shepard’s former teammates from the infamous Cerberus-funded suicide mission had been lost. He had aimed his gun at her. She had aimed hers at him. They talk about it for the first time after Kaidan pours himself a glass of TM88 Peruvian whiskey and sits across from where she is.

“It would’ve been unbearable to continue without you,” she admits, curled up on her chair, feet bare, face obscured by her hoodie. Shepard never wears her armor to their nightcaps. “But I know I would’ve done it. I was going to gun you down.”

“Me too.” He replies in a whisper.

It’s something so terrible and shameful that had she been somebody else, he would’ve never admitted it. But it isn’t in Kaidan’s nature to conceal himself from Shepard, and in the last few weeks, he has learned that neither is it in hers.

“Good thing we got to keep our warm hearts,” she says.

That makes him smile.

Cool mind, warm heart is a phrase she has tattooed on her chest, over her left breast. Kaidan remembers discovering it under the dim blue lights of her cabin before Ilos. He never asked why she had chosen that phrase, why that was the only ink on her body. He had just kissed it softly every time they had made love. He began saying it to himself whenever he found himself in a dangerous situation, even after she was gone – especially after she was gone. It had crossed his mind, too, as he stared at her down the barrel of his gun.

The tip of his nose is chilly. There’s something wrong with the controlled temperature of her cabin. Too much moisture.

Golden light begins to bleed through the edges of her closed bathroom door.

“Have you asked EDI what that’s about?” he points at it with his chin, but Shepard doesn’t react. Instead, she stands up and walks towards the window that oversees the dark, starless expanse.

Birds twitter.

He walks up next to her; her hooded head faces the other way.

“How you doin’ these days, Shepard?” he asks because he always asks her, except sometimes they’re standing on the Starboard Observation Lounge or at the Med Bay of the first Normandy, and on really shitty occasions, they’re on Earth just moments before she leaves him behind and makes for the beam that will take her away from him forever.

“Still breathing, K,” she lies.

 It stings like alcohol on an open wound.

“Shepard,” he says pleadingly. He’s suddenly overwhelmed, exhausted. “Can I please look at your face? Just this one time.”

She doesn’t turn to see him. One of Shepard’s hands rests on the window, “Take my hand, Kaidan.”

He presses his palm against hers, except he can only feel cold glass. It’s as if Shepard’s molecules have been rearranged, dissolved with his touch.  

He sees then, out in the vastness of a dark galaxy, Shepard is there, in full armor, floating on the other side of the window, banging on it.

No. This was a nightcap. She’s never in armor during their nightcaps.

She beckons to him. Her arms cross in front of her chest, her fists ball. Then she stretches out both arms and hands and spreads her legs, making an X with her entire body.  It’s a signal people who grew up in space like her use when all other communication fails – it’s meant to signal danger or distress or imminent explosion – he should know what it means. Still, he can’t remember, and he bangs on the window, terror so sharp a violent sensation of pins and needles on the soles of his feet is all he can feel, “Shepard! Get out of there! Get out of there!”

There is no response.

She repeats the motion over and over, each time more desperately, more violently, banging her arms against her chest plate with the strength of a Brute.

There’s a pause.

Shepard does it one more time, slowly and almost affectionately, as if hugging herself and then, she lets go – defeat or acceptance or both.

Her helmet hisses as its vacuum seal breaks when she begins to remove it.

“You can see my face now, K.” He shouldn’t be able to hear her, but it’s as if the sound is being amplified, blasted in her cabin.

“No. Shepard! You’ve got twelve seconds! Twelve seconds to put it back on!”

This should not be the cost she should pay so he can see her face again. 

He can go on forever without seeing it again if she just gets herself back to safety. 

“Shepard, please!”

And just as she lifts it halfway along her nose, the helmet is overexposed under the blast of a nearby explosion.

He screams. Or he is trying to. Every sound dies in his throat.

He can never scream in his sleep.

His fists bang on the window. There’s nothing out there but an inferno and the twittering of birds.

“Every future moves in a different direction of time,” Shepard whispers in his ear, unseen. “All of these things happened. To you. To a different version of you. But you have to stop peeking through these windows, alright? It’s time to come back.”

“How do I make it stop?”

“We’ll figure it out. I promise. But for now, I need you to come back, okay?”

He nods and feels her fingers intertwining with his. She did that often towards the end, offering quiet reassurance for a few seconds in private, before the elevator doors opened, when they stood together at the Presidium, right before he said good night when their nightcaps came to an end.  Now she does it whenever he navigates unsettling dreams.

“Okay,” he agrees with the ghost.

The beep of a new notification fills the room and cuts him away from her grip.

He sits on his childhood bed, pressing his hand against his forehead. It’s soaking wet but not too warm. He feels a throb in his left temple – it’s always his left temple.

The birds outside his window are still chirping happily, as they always do in the early hours of summer mornings.  

He’s home. That’s the only place where he can be right now.

The blue glow of his hand terminal burns so bright he is reminded of that rare footage of the Citadel erupting in indigo, a surge of energy darting across the Milky Way, crippling one mass relay after another.

He taps hastily on his omnitool – concerned the pings have awoken his mom too. It’s always a gamble, she could be getting some shut eye at any time of the day. Ever since the war, she hasn’t been able to sleep for more than three hours straight, so instead, she takes a series of naps during the day. She’s told Kaidan that now that he’s home, sleeping has gotten easier. 

His back is drenched in sweat, and his throat is hoarse. The tingling in his feet has dimmed but not disappeared entirely. He reaches for the glass of water and a pill on his nightstand and gulps it all down in one go.

His hand terminal’s screen has gone dark at the inactivity, and only a tiny green dot blinks insistently, reminding him of the unanswered ping.

Liara T’Soni [06:46]: Are you awake? There’s something I’d like to discuss. [READ]

Kaidan Alenko [06:46]: omw [READ]

Liara T’Soni [06:47]: That won’t be necessary. Is your vidcom working?

Liara T’Soni [07:14]: Kaidan?

Kaidan Alenko [07:22]: Just a mo.

He stops himself from tapping on his omnitool to activate the coffee machine that may still be at his old apartment’s kitchenette in Kronos Station – he should really delete the coffee maker app. It’s been either a couple of days or a couple of weeks since he was at Kronos. It doesn’t matter. It’s hard to shake off his old routine and come to the realization that he doesn’t have one anymore. Plus, he should lay off caffeine for a while.

He runs a hand through his salt and pepper hair as if that alone would bury the evidence that he had been sleeping moments before and changes into a dry t-shirt. 

He opens the vidcom channel to Liara.

“Oh no,” Liara’s preferred form of greeting, “did I wake you?”

“It’s alright, doc. I needed to wake up.”

Liara doesn’t say it, but Kaidan knows she can tell he looks like shit. He feels like it too.

She moves on, doesn’t ask him what’s wrong – small kindnesses. Instead, she wants to know about the orchard and its recovery, and even though she’s never met her, she always takes the time to ask about his mom. 

Their conversation drifts to discussions of hydroponic apple trees and the growing obsolescence of farming drones in recent years; ever since the war, an interest in old farming techniques skyrocketed, and more and more people began favoring manual labor. Treasuring, more like. 

They’ve been fifteen minutes into the conversation and Liara continues to find new topics unrelated to the reason she messaged him in the first place. But Kaidan doesn’t mind, talking to Liara has grounded him back into the present, into reality. His heartbeat is steady, and his limbs are no longer tingling. 

Something chimes in Liara’s terminal, chaos and the weight of the universe reflected on her grimace as she reads a new incoming message. Kaidan has started noticing how much she’s starting to resemble her mother and he considers mentioning it every time they hold a vidcom conference, but the thought always dissolves in a whirlwind of other topics.   

“Do I need to let you go, doc?” 

“I–” she hesitates for a moment before tapping on her hand terminal with finality, tossing it onto a surface Kaidan can’t see. A racket off camera and a pained expression across her face tell Kaidan she had used more force than she had intended, but she blinks it away and stares back at him,  “No. I’m here. That is part of the reason why I needed to talk to you.”

“Well,” Kaidan rolls his neck. It cracks. He’s gonna need at least decaf. “I’m all ears. What’s up?”

“I have something for you, Kaidan. However, I am not sure if…if you’ll want it.”

“Alright. How illegal are we talking about, doc?”

They disconnect some time later but not before Liara asks him to be good to himself, which she could’ve done out of habit or because he’s still a sweaty mess.

The sun is up by then, and he hears his mom downstairs. Footsteps and the front door creaking open. She’s going to have a cup of tea on the porch like she used to do every summer morning with dad.

The air is crisp and clean; it still smells of pine needles and sheets put away in a closet for years.

He slides into a hoodie and walks towards the door. He might have breakfast, go for a walk, peel some apples, or talk to his mom. There’s much to do before he can go back to Shepard.

Before he starts his day, he unlocks his hand terminal to stare at Liara’s little offering – and there it is, a small icon containing God knows how many files with everything Shepard had left for him to read, to hear, to see.

Every future moves in a different direction of time, she had whispered.

Each decision, each action, each conversation brought him here. He stands in his childhood bedroom, and she fills the sky. And there may be other universes where he stretches across the cosmos, and she stands in his childhood bedroom. And there are some others where he read everything she ever wrote for him, heard every word she ever meant to say to him, and perhaps they’re both scattered across the galaxy together. Or they’re having another nightcap.

[sweatandwoe]

Penguins

A sort of sequel to Overflow (or takes place in the same universe in my mind)

Saren x GN!reader, 962 words. Fluff, mentioned past trauma, working through it, mentioned medication and therapy, this is some very fluffy winter nonsense

-

“What kind of creature is on your pants?” 

You glance down at your pajama bottoms - bright green fabric with little white and black birds decorating all over the legs of it. Some have hats on, and others have scarves. “It’s called a penguin.” 

Saren grunts in the doorway, and you only flick your gaze over to see if he needs help first, before glancing back to the extranet news report you had on. It takes a couple of minutes for him to remove his outerwear, and then he moves. Reaching you in moments, he only carefully lifts your ankles in his talons so he can slide his body beneath your legs. Letting your feet rest in his lap, while he rolls his head back against the couch. 

“Rough day?” You offer, and he pats your calf. 

“Nothing more than usual.” He pauses, his talons moving slowly along your leg. Then there’s a tilt of his head, and he traces one of the penguins. You hide your smile behind your datapad, as you watch him try to come up with something to say about them. His mandibles twitch when he thinks. “They’re very cute.” 

“That’s sweet of you.” 

He glances at you then. Metallic, cybernetic eyes gaze into your own. The fake irises shift, twitching almost like real eyes while he scans over your face. “I am trying.” 

You reach for him then, placing your hand over the top of his talons. Everything was still hard, but you were patient. This was all very new to him still, since the indoctrination - and even more so since his discovery of his attraction to a species he had openly despised beforehand. It had been rough, and things were still quite awkward. “You’re doing well.” 

The former spectre’s mandibles flare. “Am I?” 

You hum and tug him forward until you’re both lying on the couch. “Quite well.” You pause, to press a kiss to his mouthplates and he applies pressure in return. It’s the closest to a peck you’ll get, but you don’t mind. “Do you want to watch a documentary about them?” When he tenses, you smile. “You can say no.” 

“I wouldn’t mind it.” He says softly after a few moments of thought, moving to tuck his cybernetic arm over your waist. “Is it alright if we watch a documentary for the colony wars afterward?” 

You give another peck, enjoying the way his mandibles twitch against your face. “I’ll order us some dinner so we can watch both.” 

Today is an easy day. You listen to his comments on how turian fauna would easily rip apart penguins, and let him thrum with pride during the colony wars. You hold his hand when he has to take his medications and help tune up his arm before he has a shower. Falling into bed afterward is easy, with slow and thoughtful love-making before you both go to sleep. 

The next few days are harder. There are so many people on the citadel now, and he starts to get overwhelmed, fidgeting. You fight when he says he wants a gun because he isn’t allowed one - even if he can sneak one into your home. He roars and spits because he needs to protect you and himself. But you both know how he gets with guns now. It’s why they took away his biotic amps too. Not just out of fear of how strong he could be, but how he got when he had those tools. 

It was more of a fear that he’d hurt himself instead of just anyone. He had tried that a few times, shortly after the end of the Reapers and his indoctrination began to subside. It still hurt, to find him waking because you’d hear him. Sometimes mumbling and other times whispering. One time you heard him, repeating to himself after a nightmare: “Sovereign took my eyes. I can’t see anymore. None of the colors are real.” 

You manage to stop arguing each night before bed, so you never fall asleep angry at one another. The thought of phoning his therapist still lingers in your brain, but on the fourth day, you wake to find your bed has a much smaller, different figure lying beside you. 

It’s a penguin, you realize, reaching out to touch it. A toy penguin with a scarf that was far too big had been tied carefully around it. Your fingers run along the scarf, and a soft sound leaves your throat. 

When you go downstairs, he’s making breakfast for you both. You make sure your footsteps are loud, that he knows that it’s you before you move to wrap your arms around his small waist from behind. 

“I love you.” You whisper. 

“I know.” One hand comes down to rest upon your own. Talons gliding over your fingers. “I’m not good at this, I wasn’t even before - everything, but I… I want to try. I want to be better again.” 

He would never be the spectre he once was. But he could be better, be the hero that the citadel had once seen him to be. Charismatic, powerful; a leader. At the same time, if he didn’t want to be, you’d be fine with him like this. Just being your Saren, your partner, and trying to be happy. 

You think being happy would be a good ending for both of you. “I know.” 

Saren usually pauses now, before he speaks. As though reassuring himself that his thoughts are his own, to explain his own reasoning in his head before he lets it out. But this he says quickly, as though he feared when he had forgotten to say it. “I love you too.” 

Talons and fingers hold together, as the smells of two different meals fill the house.

[thatwildwolfwrites]

Reflections of Lost Stars

Category: M/M

Character(s): Nihlus Kryik, Saren Arterius, Commander Shepard

Pairing(s): Kryterius

Summary: After Sovereign's attack on the Citadel, Saren Arterius is captured and detained by Commander Shepard. He's later released into the custody of Spectre agent Nihlus Kryik, who plans to use that as an opportunity to study the effects of prolonged Reaper indoctrination... And maybe to see if the man he loves is still in there somewhere.

Yes I know it's been a while (a YEAR), but Chapter 5 is out now!!

Excerpt/sneak peek:

Alone. Every time Nihlus steps out of his sight, Saren can feel that cotton fill up his lungs from the inside out. Loneliness is suffocating. He needs Nihlus to stay close. He needs him right there, needs someone, because he can't be alone. He can't. His own thoughts echo in his mind too loudly, bouncing off the empty edges of the space Sovereign used to take up. If silence is a straightjacket, then loneliness is a noose. One can contain him and make him go mad, but the other could end his life entirely. He fears it. He fears the sting of loneliness, the empty space in his head and the empty space in his bed. Sovereign is not there. Nihlus is not there. He misses one or the other, or perhaps both. He misses their presence in his life. The two relationships that have defined him as a turian for the past two decades are seemingly both over, and now he's alone. Again. Every night, he looks into the right side bedroom, across the hall, where Nihlus sleeps. Out of sight but never out of mind.  Every night, he reaches into the corners of his conscious mind, searching for any remains of Sovereign's presence. Nothing. Nothing. Always nothing. If Saren isn't mad yet, he certainly will be soon.

[sol-consort]

Okay, but imagine Javik, literal prothean, with god status to the hanar, coddling this one human because "you obviously can't look after yourself."

He just ends up looking like your servant, when in his mind he is supposedly showing the lesser race—humans—their place. So stay still while he helps put the socks on your feet, tie your shoelaces for you afterwards.

Casually picking you up to carry after he notices a sluggishness to your steps. Do what if the two of you are in the middle of the citadel praesidium? Ignore the gaggle of hanars following closely behind, chanting his praises, and also ignore the gaggle of drell assassins following the hanar from the shadows to protect them.

He is still his condescending normal self, showing his love in acts of service instead. All while commenting on how weak humans are, how your kind should've stayed in caves, that at least the reapers wouldn't have been a threat to you now.

Getting you food when he feels that you're hungry, oh, yeah, he reads your emotions a lot. You're minding your business when suddenly, his hand is grabbing your face, cupping your cheeks, four eyes stare unblinking into yours... before deciding that you need to drink water, maybe grab a snack with vitamin C. Primitve human, what would you ever do without him around?

Here, give him the orange. He will peel it for you. Actually, forget that he asked. He'll just reach over and take it himself, silently peeling it with deadly focus. He'd even handfeed you the orange slices over some dumb excuses that protheons are superior...so uh, you see...therefore...you must let him do whatever he wants.

And what he wants just happened to be constantly looking after your needs and health, never asking for something in return.

You could stretch, lay your head on his lap, and Javik would let you stay for as long as you'd like. Observing how your eyelids grow heavy before fluttering shut, your breathing slowing down as you dirft off to sleep, face buried into his thighs, nose brushing against his stomach

Even as his legs start going numb, he never moves a muscle. Not wanting to disturb your comfortable nap, he endures it and remains still. This is nothing for a disciplined soldier like his.

Deep down, he really likes holding you in his arms. Protheans didn't get to see much of humanity before the reapers stole you away from them—abandoning their observation Mars base as the war grew in intensity and more forces where called back to fight, forced to forgo the opportunity to study your kind, this new species they just found out about.

Might as well get his fill now of this intriguing species, of their soft skin, the fire in your eyes.

[unfair-water-plane]

So, in the theme of sharing headcanons while I should be working, I would like to present my thoughts on the Prothean beacon, and what exactly it did.

We know that Saren is trying to find the relay that hides Ilos and the way into the Citadel that was locked, but if that’s the case why didn’t it explode when Saren activated it? We see that he activates it, and later that he is furious that Shepard gets their hands on it.

But he had to know Shepard doesn’t have what they needs to access it, and is unlikely to get the support needed to access it. So why the fury?

Or is it fear?

So my theory is this: at some point the Protheans on Eden Prime, which was clearly advanced enough to build a cryogenic facility that would shelter a million souls, figured out how to block indoctrination. By the time they managed it there was no salvaging their cycle, so they buried it for the souls who were sleeping, to prevent another reaper victory.

But that’s doesn’t happen. The Protheans don’t wake. And just like Ilos, the beacon can sense when someone already enthralled touches it, so Saren-who is maybe already feeling the creeping doom and is desperate for a way to prevent it- doesn’t get what he needs.

But Shepard does. For a prothean the shield would have settled in place in the space of a moment, but their human mind is less compatible with this sort of communication, and it takes hours. Hours that his brain is running at capacity, as every fiber with being costed and guarded by this last desperate gift from a race long dead.

And is now the galaxy has one person immune to the Reapers, and that changes everything. Of course the Illusive Man will pay anything to bring them back unchanged— brilliant leader or no he *needs* that ability. No wonder Shepard doodle their way around and never get a twinge.

Of course Harbinger knows Shepards name—and is afraid. This could change everything.

And so Saren hates them all the more— because he is doomed, and the commanders victory is Al the harder the quash.

[lovelywingsart]

Louder Than Thunder

-- Saren Arterius X Commander Shepard/OC (Transmasc Enby, They/Them) --

Eventually I'll write the very beginning of the timeline, and I'll edit this out when I finally do lmao- This takes place after they've stablished some sort of relationship/bond, so definitely quite a bit after meeting again.

Anyway, first official written story for these two! uwu Ended up... ALOT longer than intended (and probably the longest thing I've written thus far???), but was really fun despite the content.

Turns out I have a talent for writing nightmares and the reactions to them.

Who knew?

//Inspired by this image I did for them, which is also used as the cover for this one. uwu It hurts, but I love it very much.//

**You can find the Masterlist here!

-----

*Warnings?: Nightmare scene- terror, death, injury; panic attack/sickness, hurt/comfort (kinda?), massive vulnerability, small fluff at the end because I didn't know how else to end it

Summary: An unfortunately common-- and worsening- occurrence for Cam leads to admittance of details to the one they really didn't want finding out.

The Citadel in ruins.

The wreckage of ships- far too many ships to be possible.

Their teammates strewn across the ground, dead or dying.

The deep gash at the back of their neck, cut through the spine, making their body lose strength.

Laying paralyzed, bleeding out…

Hopeless.

Defenseless.

In front of them, a thin, gangly creature approaching, moving how no living creature should be able to- perhaps because it wasn't fully alive.

Dead eyes and mangled skeletal body aglow with Sovereigns Reaper technology, charred elongated claws dripping with crimson. And even without a jaw- without vocal chords or anything resembling a throat other than thick wires and tubes- a familiar, rasping growl of a voice from the entity as it descended upon them with clear intent to sever any ties to the living, arm hauled back and bloody claws spread-

"SHEEEPAAARRDD..." 

~~~~~ 

"Shepard-" 

A short scream echoed through the captains cabin as Cam bolted upright on the bed, reacting to the gentle voice in their ear. They scrambled back against the headboard, nearly tearing the sheets away from their body. Their eyes were wide, looking around frantically as they sucked in whatever air they could- though really, it felt like their throat was closing.

Movement next to them made them jump with a small yelp, whirling around and scooting away from what turned out to be Saren shifting into a somewhat upright position. The albino turians eyes, still somewhat blurry from sleep, searched their face with concern etched onto his usually stoic features. 

"Shepard...?" He repeated. "What happened?" 

They stared at him, chest heaving. 

Those silvery, ice blue eyes that were now bright and full of life and hidden emotion only they could read, often in waking hours filled with a gentle affection and curiosity- suddenly flickering back to the cold, dead, reddish-white glow and mangled face in less than a second, the vision disappearing as quickly as the still tired haze had brought it. 

The vision forced a small, yipping whimper from their throat as they scuttled away from him just slightly, and he moved again. Now nearly sitting up fully, no semblance of sleep left in his features, he was instead overtaken by an even greater sense of concern- and now confusion. 

"Shepard??" 

His voice made him flinch, and they opened their mouth to respond- only to cover it as a sudden rush of bile rose to their throat, their body jerking in such a way that made him draw back. He jumped as they suddenly launched themself off of the bed, throwing the covers off and nearly tripping over their own feet as they ran to the bathroom, leaving him with a small, confused trill. 

They nearly broke the door, yanking it open faster than the automated system could, dropping to their knees and nearly sliding to the toilet before the control finally gave way. Their body heaved, expelling whatever had been eaten for dinner prior to heading to bed- not that they could remember what it had been, nor did they care to at this point- only stopping once there was nothing to bring up. 

Their body trembled as they gasped for breath, coughing and spitting what they could until they knew it was over. Tears streamed down their cheeks, both from fear and vomiting, and a shaky sob finally forced its way out of their throat. A quick smack to the handle cleared the toilet with fresh water, and they slumped over with heaving, wheezing sobs, not entirely unaware of the light clicking of talons against the cabin floor approaching the door. 

They spit once more as the door opened, attempting to control their breathing as the sound of a small, concerned trill broke the otherwise silent air. The sound made them flinch- and with that flinch came a sudden pain in the back of their neck, the scar over it feeling as if it had sparked with a superheated flame. 

A small warble was heard as they suddenly whimpered, one hand moving to cover the back of their neck as they curled in on themself and around the toilet how they could. Their turian watched, emitting a concern that they could feel from where he stood at the door. He didn't move for a few seconds before taking a breath, slipping into the bathroom quietly and reaching for a cup at the edge of the sink. He filled it with water without a word before carefully approaching, staying to their side and in view- just in case. 

He only paused as their head shifted, simply crouching where he was and holding out the cup for them to take. There was silence between them still as they shifted to glance at him, their breaths wavering- but they still reached forward with a shaky hand, gingerly taking the cup from his with a mere whimper as thanks. He tilted his head as they leaned up to take a sip, watching as they swished the water around their mouth for a moment before spitting it into the toilet. 

Saren remained crouched, his naked pale form almost ethereal among the gentle fluorescent light and darker steel color of the bathroom, the contrast of the solid black metal of the left arm prosthetic giving him an even more otherworldly look.

"... What happened..." he said finally, careful to keep his voice low, though there was a small deeper purring twang as he spoke- sub-vocals, they assumed, something they were still getting used to picking out. They were silent, swirling the water around the cup with a small sniffle. They seemed to think for a moment before opening their mouth- but closed it as they couldn't bring themself to speak.

He took a moment to observe them, eyes quickly drifting over their hunched form, clad in only a large tee-shirt three sizes too big. They looked… small like this, far smaller than he was used to, and the large shirt certainly didn’t help. He then turned his head to look at the bathroom door, and then back to them. Of course he had a general sense of what had happened- nightmares were common for him as well, and even he had nearly gotten physically ill when woken up- but they never had.

… Or, as long as he had known them personally, at least…

Which, admittedly, he knew wasn't long at all.

His nose twitched, mandibles lightly flaring for just a moment before he looked around the bathroom. He tilted his head once he had an idea, bringing one mandible up to his jaw thoughtfully.

“... Would a shower help?” He questioned lightly. If he had learned anything about humans, it was that showers somehow seemed to ease quite a few more issues than he had imagined possible- baths moreso, so they were called, as he had learned from listening to other crew members from the side. 

Cam glanced at him for a moment before sighing and nodding just slightly, and he nodded back. He stood up, his brow plates shifting just slightly at the flinch they gave, but he made no attempt to point it out given how they currently shied from him. Whatever the nightmare had been, it was enough to frighten them into being skittish.

He moved to the open shower, reaching for the handle.

“It will be sufficiently warm, I would suggest staying-”

“... cold…”

Their voice was but a whisper, hoarse from vomit and sobs- it didn't sound like them.

He froze. 

He didn't like that. Not at all.

He looked at them for a moment.

“I'm… sorry…?” He tried, wondering ever so slightly if he had heard them right. They took a wavering breath.

“Cold.” They repeated, slightly louder this time. “Cold water.”

He blinked.

“I… Shepard…” he tried, taking a step away from the shower in confusion as he wracked his brain thinking of any sane reason why anyone would want a cold shower after such an awful awakening. “I must advise against that… Cold water would be incredibly counter-productive in terms of relaxation, and could put you in danger of-”

“Please, Saren...” they nearly begged, the voice quieting once more. He visibly froze for a moment before looking at the handle. While he thought it insane, he knew he couldn't have even attempted to fight with them… he didn't want to. 

He contemplated for a moment before giving a defeated sigh.

“... alright…” 

He said nothing else, though was now hesitant about reaching for the handle at the mere thought of cold. He couldn't be stingy right now, it wasn't FOR him. It was for Shepard… as much as he would have liked to attempt to convince them otherwise.

A moment was what it took to finally grab and turn the thing towards the small blue symbol, resulting in him yanking his arm away immediately as soon as the water started. He took a few steps back once more, avoiding the cold liquid almost like the plague. Well, it was one way to signal they wanted to shower alone… Not that it exactly bothered him at this point in time.

Cam watched him for a moment before taking a breath.

“... Thank you…” they said quietly, just barely audible against the rush of water. The turian nodded, backing away to the door.

“If you need me…” he started, and they nodded.

“I'll let you know.”

Cam watched as he stood silent for a moment, almost awkwardly, before finally retreating with a soft huff. The door closed behind him with a small *click*, and they couldn't help but relax- though almost shamefully so.

It took a few moments for them to move, though when they did, it wasn't much- stiff movements of their arms to slowly lift the shirt they wore off and away; even slower as they nearly crawled to the shower. It was almost at iff their legs had refused to work, resulting in the motion being more of a drag than a crawl, and the feeling of freezing cold water forced a startled yip from their throat. They resisted the urge to back away, however, instead forcing themself to keep scooting forward until they were entirely under the stream.

It caused a near immediate burning numbness of muscle even as they began to shiver almost violently with the shock. But even so, they stayed in place, pressing to the wall and pulling their knees up to their chest. The hope that the cold would shock them awake, or at least shock the vivid images out of their head was strong, but it didn’t seem to work. Not immediately, at least.

They let the water wash over them for a moment, giving in to the numb shivers until their chest heaved- once, twice, a third time before resulting in yet another sob.

And once the sobs began, this time they didn't stop.

For once they were grateful for the high pressured water, the sound of it drowning out their sobbing as they slumped against the wall entirely.

~

Cam sat there, curled and crying, for what seemed like hours, even though they knew it hadn't been. While the freezing water had woken them initially, the exhaustion was far too overpowering as they leaned against the wall half asleep with numb fingers and toes. It was only when they felt they had no tears left that they looked at the door to the bathroom- not once had it even been cracked open. Not once had he attempted to check on them, though they assumed it was from the aversion to the cold, as if asking for the coldest setting had driven him off temporarily, or until they came out.

And, while lonely, they couldn't stop the twisting feeling in their gut as they couldn't help but admit it was reassuring. 

He was willing to give them space.

They watched the door for a moment, mindlessly shivering, until they glanced at their own skin. It had gone a somewhat odd red-ish pale, and lifting a single hand had shown just how bad their shivering really was.

“... shit…”

Even they could barely hear their own voice over the water, looking up to the dial. Too high to reach like this…

With a sigh and a sniffle, they shifted.

It was, admittedly, somewhat difficult, the cold water having locked their muscles somewhat, but they managed to shift onto their knees and reach up. A few clicks of the handle in the opposite direction provided a quickly growing- and welcome- increase in temperature, though they didn't quite move any further. 

The water burned their skin as it heated, the contrast between the freezing and warmth sending another shock through their body, even as it happened slowly, and soon they slumped forward with a sigh as the water continuously heated to the point where steam immediately fogged the mirror.

They only moved again once the shivering had subsided, the feeling of warmth calming their muscles and giving them back what little strength they had to stand. It would have been easier with help, of course, but they couldn't bring themself to call out- once on their feet, however, it became easier, and another few moments of reveling in the warmth was all it took for them to sigh and grab a small bottle of soap.

~

Actually cleaning themself was a surprisingly easier task than standing up, and soon they spit toothpaste into the drain before switching the electric brush off and placing it back into the small nook it was in. A few more moments of standing in the water for a last rinse was enough, and soon they turned the water off and sighed.

They wandered across the floor to grab their hanging towel, running it along their hair first before draping it over their shoulders for a moment while stopping in front of the mirror-

Despite being freshly cleaned, they still looked like hell, with darker bags under their eyes than usual and reddish skin from both the heat and crying for so long. 

Another moment staring at the reflection led to a sigh, and they finally moved to the door, readjusting the towel before hitting the button.

Almost immediately the light of the bathroom filled the room as the door opened, and they stepped out hesitantly while wrapping the towel loosely around their front. Their eyes glanced over the room itself before fixating on Saren, his ghostly form sticking out clearly from the semi-darkness of the room- no lights save for the gentle blue glow of the fish tanks and the lighting from the bathroom itself, just like they had left it.

He rested on the couch, one leg crossed over the other as he casually scrolled through a datapad- but their interest was quickly drawn to the loose dark pants he wore that looked almost too big for him in a way, looking somewhat undignified on the irritatingly proper turian. They stared at him for a moment, and he looked up.

“Shepard.” He greeted calmly, sitting up near instantly and setting the pad down onto the table in front of him. “I was wondering if you were alright. Your shower was… long…”

Cam was quiet for a moment before clearing their throat, keeping a hold on the towel as they finally moved to the small closet area.

“I'm… I'm fine…” they replied, pressing open one of the drawers and digging until they found a new shirt- still as large as the other one, though this time a darker color with a colorful design on the front. “What about you?”

He tilted his head.

“Me…?”

They managed a small, amused smile as they glanced at him over their shoulder, though it was clear it was somewhat forced- they wanted to seem as if it were alright, to try and change the subject if they could. Avoiding the nightmare all together was optimal at this point.

“Yeah. I didn't think you'd be caught dead in those.” They joked lightly, gesturing to- what was essentially- the sweatpants he wore. “Never thought you'd own any, are you feeling ok?”

He stared at them for a moment, mandibles flicking, before his nose scrunched with a small huff.

“They were… ‘given’ to me.” He started, looking down at them and picking at the material with his talons. “... It was not my choice.”

They hummed with a small, curious tone.

“Aww, who gave them to you?”

He was silent again, though his mandibles fluttered in a way they couldn’t quite tell was more irritation or embarrassment.

“... Vakarian…” 

The shamed utterance of the other turians name earned a genuine snort from them.

“I'm surprised he was so nice…” they teased, and the new scrunched scowl on his face almost made them snort again.

“‘Nice’ isn't the description I would claim it to be.” He said flatly, watching as they wandered to the bed with the large shirt in hand. “Rather, they were forced on me to, in paraphrasing, ‘get the stick out of my ass and relax for once’ before he called my age a factor in my decision to avoid them.”

Cam paused for a moment. 

“... So he basically threw them at your head and told you to stop being a cranky old bastard?” They suggested, and he grumbled.

“... To put it far less eloquently, yes.”

They snorted again as they partially removed the towel from their front, saying nothing while feeling his eyes on their skin as they dried more completely- but not with need. No, his icy gaze still held large concern, watching them almost intently as if waiting for something to snap, to prove that his concerns were more valid than they had initially been from the moment they had woken up. It was clear he was thinking, his mandibles flicking opposite of eachother every few seconds as they fully dried and slipped the shirt on.

They wandered back over towards the bathroom, ruffling their hair with the towel in attempts to dry it more before they decided to lay down again, only to slow at the sound of a soft, concerned clicking. They tilted their head slightly, coming to a full stop as the sound of talons against the floor sounded behind them, and they could nearly feel him next to them within seconds. For such a large creature- large to them, at least, though he was rather small in species terms- he certainly moved far more silent than one would expect. A gentle touch to their arm with his knuckle made them flinch, though they didn't shy away from the touch entirely now. They flinched again, however, at the small click of his mandibles as he pulled them to his jaw.

“Please.” Saren said suddenly, his vocals a low, gentle purr meant to sooth- it wasn't something he did often, and it made them freeze. “Tell me what happened.”

They didn't move. Couldn't move, honestly. They felt their heart speed up in near panic for a few moments as they glanced over to him, tilting their head slightly to look at his face. Scarred, yes- but pristine otherwise. No severe damage. No soulless eyes. No missing mandible or jaw. Completely normal for an older- albeit specifically altered- turian…

They flinched again as more burning pain rushed to the back of their neck, and they forced themself to not move before taking a breath.

He had to know. He had every right to know, given the situation… And keeping it from him just felt… wrong.

“... Sit…” they nearly whispered, nodding to the bed. He tilted his head slightly, shifting it from one side to the next as he glanced over at the bed and then back to them before bowing his head in a small nod. 

Cam watched as he slowly backed away before he quietly padded to the bed, and they turned to enter the bathroom once more. They paused as they hung the towel, their mind racing with a new anxiety as the idea of telling him the details of their nightmare made them swallow hard. A small, fearful twist in their stomach made them back away from the wall- It was better to tell him now, but even they knew how sensitive he could be with things relating to… ‘that’ time.

Another few seconds of contemplation rendered them immobile until they shook themself out of it, building whatever courage they needed to walk out of the bathroom with a finality in the decision.

Saren sat calmly- almost ‘properly’, they noted- at the edge of the bed as they had asked, tapping his talons along his thighs just slightly in a mindless- yet distinguishable- rhythm. They wandered fully to the middle of the room, pausing mere feet from the bed as he looked up at them. The now reflective ice blue gaze had been filled with concern mixed with a wide, bright nervousness much like a child afraid of getting in trouble. It admittedly sent an arrow through their chest, and they managed to force back the choking feeling that threatened to close their throat once more.

Despite everything, that bright gaze meant the world to them now, and it hurt more than anything knowing what it turned into when their eyes were closed.

They were shaken from their pause as he shifted his head towards them and let out a gentle, warbling trill that held concern. Anyone who claimed the former Spectre was heartless clearly had never gained his trust.

They took slow steps towards him, managing to keep small confidence as they finally circled and sat next to him, one knee bumping his. A source of touch, for reassurance. They reached out hesitantly to take his hand, feeling his gaze shift between them as his fingers slowly curled around theirs.

So warm…

So gentle.

So alive.

Fuck, it hurt.

They were silent for a moment longer before releasing the breath they didn’t realize they held, and finally beginning to speak.

“... I know you don't… remember… but…” they started, attempting to choose their words carefully. “... When… When we destroyed Sovereign at the Citadel a few years ago… there was some… damage.”

They managed to hold back the flinch as they felt his grip on their hand tighten just slightly, glancing up at his face- he stared at them hard, mandibles pulled taught against his jaw, almost as if they'd snap from the pressure- but he was entirely still despite the clear spark of dread in his eyes, and more pain shot to their neck.

They sucked in another deep breath.

This would be harder than they thought.

“Obviously the place itself was more or less rebuilt… we had casualties outside…” they tried, prying their gaze off his and focusing on their hands. “Garrus and Wrex were a little banged up, but nothing some mild painkillers and medi-gel couldn't fix…”

They went quiet for a moment, chewing on the inside of their cheek. They could feel his eyes burning into them, and they squeezed his hand.

“... Medical said I got lucky.”

Suddenly his gaze was off them. They continued.

“You, uh… well… your… corpse got me pretty good…”

A small nervous chuckle came from them as they reached back with their other hand, rubbing the back of their neck with an awkward smile as if it were the punchline to a bad joke- but he made no movement. So, they took a breath and kept talking.

“They… Well…” they tried to search for words, but couldn't.

Nothing would have made this easy…

May as well rip off the bandaid, right?

They were silent before sighing, staring their hands with his fingers around theirs- looking at the pale talons that gripped their own skin so gingerly, as if he were afraid of slicing it-

As if he were afraid to do exactly what they feared.

“... You… It… It almost sliced through bone… through the spine.” They said finally, using their thumb to run along his. “It could have paralyzed me, but they said I moved out of the way just in time. It just barely nicked the bone, but hit a few nerves…” they cleared their throat, squeezing his hand, “I-I'm fine now, just… just a small tweak in the neck when I turn it, but it-... I…”

They trailed off, and glanced at him. He stared forward at the ground, a somewhat vacant look in his eyes. He barely remembered anything from then, of course- they were surprised he remembered ANYTHING… but it was always obvious he had never WANTED to remember.

They stared at him for a moment before looking away again, feeling their lip tremble.

“... Saren, I…” they tried, and could feel his body shift slightly as he glanced at them-

Another rush of pain to the scar, and another forced back sob.

“... Sometimes I dream that it worked…” they managed, their voice suddenly small. He flinched. They continued once more.

“I dream that… you… it…”

A small struggling breath and squeeze to his hand-

“... I dream it killed them… it killed them, and I didn't move, I didn't-”

A pause and a choked back sob-

“... I didn't move in time.”

He looked at them fully now, and they gripped the back of their neck.

“It got me. Right through the spine, I couldn't move and it knew that… It hurt so fucking bad, and then just… goes numb… but I can still hear everything… I can still see… and all I see is just…”

They trailed off again for a moment, feeling his fingers trembling- 

A flash of vision again. Them on the ground, bleeding out, mouth opening as if to speak, though no words escaped their lips. Watching in paralyzed horror as the Husk approached, the violent red-ish sparks from its chest aglow with Reaper energy. Claws poised to strike, already dripping with the deep crimson blood. His face glitching back and forth, mangled to pristine, red to blue, malicious intent in every movement. His wheezing voice so clear in their head, as if it were right in their ear-

They flinched out of the vision and finally took a breath and looked at him, welling tears stinging the corners of their eyes as they tried not to break upon seeing the sudden heartbreak in the ice blue once he understood.

“... You...” They finished, and they could see his jaw shift. “I see you. Even when I wake up, it's still there. Always for a few seconds.. and then I just… you're laying there with me… and it's a constant flashing of that… that thing… and I'm just…”

Tears spilled freely now, slowly at first before a constant stream flowed down their cheeks. They searched his face, the hurt they saw causing a pain in their chest.

“... I know its not you…” they nearly whispered and looked away again. “It's not real… it's just a stupid dream, but it… It feels so fucking real, and then I wake up and see you here, and I just… I get… scared…”

They paused.

That was a lie.

They took a breath.

“... I get terrified.”

There we go.

They were quiet for another moment, feeling his eyes on them- a quick glance revealed more than it needed to.

His eyes wide, brow plates raised in a way indicating surprise- the ever growing hurt and horror in the blue orbs as they stared. Mandibles flared just slightly in disbelief, though twitching ever so slightly as if he wanted to speak.

Cam looked away again, almost in shame.

“I wake up next to you and that's all I see, even for a moment before it goes away.” They said, their voice but a hoarse whisper. “I see that fucking thing, right out of my goddamn nightmares… It keeps getting worse every time, and it makes me sick and scares me and-”

“... You know… I wouldn't hurt you… right…?”

It was unusual for him to interrupt them, though it didn’t quite matter at the moment. What mattered was his now trembling hand still in theirs, and the almost wavering tone he held.

His voice was quiet. Scared.

Hurt.

Cam shook their head immediately.

“I… N-No, I know… I know that.” They said quickly, finally letting go of his hand to rub their face. “I know you wouldn’t, Snow… But I can’t… control what I see…” they fought to work through their words, feeling him shift next to them. “I can’t control whatever fuckery my head tries to get me to believe, even when it concerns you…” they shook their head again, “... especially when it concerns you…”

They went silent again, though soon shifted onto the bed fully, burying their face in their hands. They didn’t even look at him, but could feel his eyes burrowing into their skin.

“I told you before… the nightmares have only gotten worse…” they muttered, voice strained as they attempted to force back the sobs they could feel tightening their throat. “I thought it would be easier the more I knew you… That maybe they would just… go away, I guess.” a pause of breath, “... I was wrong…”

Silence filled the room once more, and they suddenly felt him move again- but no sound came from him. No warbling, no clicks… they could barely even hear him breathe. They couldn't feel his eyes on them anymore, and they slowly realized their own hands were shaking with the anxiety the feeling alone gave.

Did they fuck it all up by telling him…?

Slowly but hesitantly, they shifted their face to peek through trembling fingers, almost afraid of what they would find- and somehow, it was worse than if he had just left the room.

He sat silently in front of them, facing away from them with his head down, his arms at his front along his thighs. But they froze almost immediately with the one glaring detail-

His back was turned.

Completely.

A form of vaunerability that even the most suicidal turian wouldn't dare attempt depending on who they were around, and certainly not something Saren himself did willingly, if at all- even around them.

And yet, pale form striking in the near darkness, they could see a gentle tremble of his shoulders, making no move to shift even slightly to the side. It put a pit in their stomach, and suddenly they couldn't stop the new round of tears from falling, not even giving a chance to stop. He only seemed to flinch as they sniffled, curling more into himself. 

They felt their arm twitch just slightly, a small longing making them want to reach out, to press against the carapace over his back to cover that vulnerability, but they found they couldn't move- not easily, at least. 

“... Snow…?” They tried, their voice a near squeaky whisper, and he flinched again.

“... I'm sorry…”

It was the only response he gave, nearly weak in tone with a heavy layer of guilt, and it made their heart shatter. 

Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck.

“Snow…” they tried again, choking back a sob. “I… I don't… blame you for them…”

He shook his head, and they could tell from the small movements of his arms that he had reached to rub his own face.

“I… I still caused them.” He managed, shifting his head slightly to the side. “I caused all of it, Shepard. Even now, I know I'm blamed for it… perhaps not by you, but by everyone else. And you…” he paused, a small, seemingly involuntary warbling trill escaping his throat as he spoke, “... You were caught in the crossfire. Conscious or not, luck or not, you were close to death because of me… And that has affected you enough to feel terror where you should only be experiencing peace.”

“That wasn't the only thing that caused them-”

“And yet it is what you see the most often… It's what you saw tonight.”

They knew he wasn't trying to make them feel worse, only stating blunt facts with his own guilt, but it certainly didn't make them feel any better. They watched as he shook his head, a wavering inhale the next sound they heard. They flinched again, though this time couldn't stop the pained whimper they let out at the same time. It felt like their neck was on fire, pulsing and burning as if it were a fresh wound, and their hands shot back to cover it.

They doubled over with a sudden sob at another wave of nausea at the feeling, and felt the shift as his head nearly snapped back to look at them. They brought their knees up to their chest, driving their face into them while clutching the back of their neck with trembling muscles. But they opened their mouth anyway in attempts to speak.

“I... I'm s-so… so sorry, Snow…” they choked out, and this time he felt his own breath hitch in his chest. They shook their head. “I don't… I don't want this… I hate seeing you like… like that… I hate waking up to it…”

Another sob forced its way from their throat with the pain… then another… and another… and suddenly their body trembled and jerked with them, one arm moving to surround their head while the other stayed over the back of their neck.

“... You… You mean… the fucking world to me, Snow…” they forced out between sobs, unable to even lift their head to see his face. “I hate being afraid… I hate these… fucking… nightmares for making me afraid of you…” another sob, and their voice dropped. “... F-Fuck, it… it hurts…”

He couldn't. He couldn't just sit there any longer. Not like this. Not while the guilt ate away enough to make him similarly nauseous, to make his mouth dry and body ache. 

Something in his chest snapped, and it forced him to move.

A soft, bellowing trill was all Cam heard before they were nearly barreled into at lightning speed, the soft, blue-ish purple glow of Sarens biotics dancing on the outside of their closed eyelids before they even had a chance to open them. They were almost ashamed of the short, terrified scream they let out as they were grappled and pulled against bone-like plating, instinctively pushing away for a few seconds before their wrists were grabbed with a gentle force, pulling them in as close as possible-

Within moments of being ‘attacked’, however, their ears were assaulted with the sound of a constant deep rumbling that shifted between purr, warble and low keen. The albino turian sounded damn near feral as he somehow managed to curl around them, simultaneously tucking their head under his chin and vigorously nuzzling and prodding around their face and neck with his own face- but even so, he still trembled heavily, mandibles flaring and fluttering with every sound he gave.

Every trill.

Every warble.

Everything with a twinge of guilt and care and heartbreak, every emotion that he could even think to let out, even if they didn't fully understand.

While it caught them off guard- to say the very least, quite honestly- it didn't quite stop their own flood of emotion. Even as they relaxed against him, listening to the sounds he made that he certainly would have never would have dared make around other turians for both of their sakes, their own body still trembled, and sobs still forced their way out from their throat-

The only time they faltered, however, was when their hand was nipped and shoved away from the back of their neck with a desperate trill, replaced by his mouth plates.

It made them freeze entirely, suddenly coughing in a fit when their sharp inhale interrupted a heavy sob. An arm went around their shoulders defensively as they coughed and wheezed, still pressed to his chest as his neck craned to stay pressed to theirs. Mandibles fluttered with hot breath against their skin, small nuzzles and nips against the scar that burned with low warbling as if performing a ritual to take the pain away.

Soon a hand was pressed to their face, and, as the coughs lessened, they felt themself lean into the touch almost immediately.

Soon they were able to move, and their arms shifted against his chest.

Soon they managed to twist and wrap their arms around him, gripping tightly onto the ridge of his carapace while allowing him to keep his own grip and touch.

Soon they were a tangle of limbs and noises, his ‘feralness’ only lessening a small amount as they relaxed, keeping his face at the back of their neck, now nipping and dragging his tongue along the scar as if trying to lick a wound clean.

Cams sobs lessened as well, the warmth and pressure against the back of their neck providing the smallest amount of relief for the pain. But they still shook their head slightly at one point, and he let out another low warble.

“I… I'm so… so sorry, Snow…” they repeated, their voice wavering. He trilled, pressing his mouth to their skin.

“Don't… Don't apologize…” he said, his own voice strained, even with the obvious thrum of sub-vocals loud enough for them to pick up on, “Don't ever apologize…”

It felt like another arrow through their chest.

They managed to press their face to his own neck, the warm leathery hide almost comforting- especially with the vibrating purrs from his chest and throat. He said nothing for a few moments, though his desire to was clear with small hiccups and choked pauses in the sounds and shifting of his jaw.

“... I'm sorry, my little fox…” he nearly whispered finally, his purrs almost deafening his voice comparatively. “For causing this… for tainting your mind so deeply it affects you even now, and…” he trailed off for a moment, though kept his face pressed against the back of their neck, his mouth moving against the scarred skin, “... And for giving you a reason to fear me still… A reason that causes so much pain so often.”

He fell silent once more, and their grip on him tightened. But a sudden small, warm prick of moisture hit the base of their neck, and they froze.

Was that-

“... If I could go back…” he strained, curling tighter around them, “I never would have hurt you.”

It made their chest lurch fully, and another wave of tears began to stream down their cheeks as his own slowly landed on their skin.

“... I know…” they whimpered, clinging to him tighter. “I know…”

Silence fell between them again, other than the semi-feral sounds Saren still made- and seemed to not have full control over now in attempts to calm them- and Cams still slowing sobs. Only after a few moments did either of them move, despite not wanting to, Cam managing to move a single arm out from around his shoulders. They instead reached up to press their hand against the back of his neck, fingers tracing the edges of the scarred plating in a near soothing motion- both for him and themself. They felt him shudder involuntarily, pressing his face closer to their skin. But he said nothing, allowing them whatever touch they pleased, so long as it kept them calm.

They took a wavering breath after a moment, though kept their eyes closed.

“... I don't want to sleep again tonight…” they managed, voice taught and even somewhat pained. He let out a small, warbling trill.

“You need rest…” he replied just as raggedly, and they shook their head.

“N-No… I… I don't…” they tested, muscles beginning to tremble once more- but the tighter hold he gave was enough to halt them quickly. Their grip on him tightened, shaking their head once more, a bit quicker this time.

“... I don't wanna see it again, Snow…” they finally whispered, and he froze. “... I don't… I don't wanna wake up like that again… I don't wanna see you as that… thing again tonight…”

His purring seemed to halt for a moment as they spoke, his jaw and mandibles shifting slightly as he thought.

“... If you do…” he started slowly, hugging them closer, “Know that I am here. It will not harm you, and neither will I.” He gave another nuzzle to the back of their neck. “Dreams are not reality, Shepard… Despite how real they may seem.”

He never was quite the best with words, always more ‘blunt’ in a manner of speaking, but it seemed to work well enough.

Their breath caught just slightly as he spoke, though the trembling of their muscles slowly diminished. They let out a shaky sigh within a few moments, slowly slumping forward against him entirely. They were tired… Far too tired to even attempt to argue…

But they also knew he was right.

Slowly their grip on him loosened, simply curling and cuddling in his arms

“... I hate when you’re right…” they mumbled, and he gave a gentle, trilling huff.

“I’m familiar with such… experiences.” he sighed, finally releasing his hold just slightly. “It is better to rest while you can... And in your case, we can only hope a second attempt will be more successful than the first.”

That made them snort, and finally they pulled away from him slowly- despite not wanting to.

“Yeah, I guess…” they said, moving their hand to wipe at their face. “It might be the only ‘second attempt’ I get…”

A gentle trill made them look at him again, and they relaxed more upon seeing the gentle light in his eyes as he watched them. A small flare of his mandibles and tilt of the head eased them more, and he huffed.

“‘Second chances’ seem to be a theme with you in quite a few scenarios, little fox, are they not…?” he questioned lightly, and they couldn’t help but crack a smile.

“You’d know best, wouldn’t you, Snow?”

A soft warble and purr was his only response, and Cam smiled fully. They looked at the pillows for a moment, a small wave of anxiety washing over them once more- but they shook it off just slightly, and took a breath.

“... Alright… Ok.” they sighed, slowly managing to scoot away from him and closer to their pillow. Not like they wanted to, but their eyelids felt heavy and, goddamnit, now they wanted him to hold them again.

They shifted slightly back into the covers where they had been before waking, though kept them pulled away slightly and looked at him. He met their gaze for a moment before looking at the sheets, and back to them. “... I assume I am joining you?” he said, a hint of amusement behind the purr in his voice. They huffed.

“Consider it an order, Arterius.” they said, settling in where they were. They paused for a moment. “... please.”

His brow plates shifted just slightly, but he soon gave a small, warbling chuckle.

“Understood, Commander.”

There was a small fluttering in their chest as he spoke, the comfort of the gentle banter just slightly overtaking the anxiety that still churned their stomach as he simply pushed himself entirely onto the bed and back next to them. But the anxiety as a whole still remained, even as they lay down. Even as his presence was now more calming as he shifted under the sheets next to them, silently holding out an arm for them to come to him- but they couldn’t help but hesitate still. Not because of him now, no- it was simply the anxiety of falling asleep again. Of the second chance at rest betraying them despite his help. But a questioning trill was all it took for them to bite down that anxiety and shift into his awaiting arms, cuddling to the warmth he offered, albeit small.

They cuddled to his chest, resting their face against the bone-like plating- there was still a small feel of softness to it, much to their continuously appearing delight each time- and wrapping an arm around his torso as he rested his chin against the top of their head and did the same. They were silent for a moment before a small thought occurred, and they tapped gently against the lower mid section of his carapace as if getting his attention.

“... Saren…?” they started quietly, and he gave a questioning hum.

“Hm…?”

“Permission to shoot you?”

They felt him shift, glancing up to see him look at them with mild bewilderment.

“What…???”

They tapped again.

“In the dream.” they said, and he just stared.

“... I will ask you to elaborate.” he said slowly, and they simply cuddled to him again.

“If I do dream about it again…” they mumbled, feeling his prosthetic arm shift around them to gently drag its talons along their back in a soothing motion. “Figured it might… help maybe to ask… I guess…”

He said nothing for a moment before giving another hum, this time with a purr.

“So perhaps your subconscious self knows it is alright to do so, should you find the strength?” he said simply, and they nodded.

“Something like that, yeah…”

He seemed to think, though eventually set his chin back where it was.

“Yes.”

They couldn’t help but smile.

“That was fast…”

“I would prefer you shoot me again anyway should something like that happen again, may the spirits forbid it.”

His voice was quiet, but they hugged him tighter.

“... It won’t.”

“Oh?”

“I’ll make sure of it.”

A low, rumbling purr started in his chest at that, and his own body relaxed more than they thought it could have. There was relative silence otherwise for a few moments, and he tapped the back of their neck gently.

“... perhaps we will think of a way to ease this pain of yours tomorrow.” he said quietly, and it was their turn to hum.

“I’ll take just about anything you can throw at me…” they said. He tapped again.

“I may have a few ideas.” he said, going silent for a moment again before he let out a deep, purring sigh. “... get some sleep, little fox.”

They let themself relax, finally allowing the hint of exhaustion to take hold. They focused on the rumbling purrs and the somewhat muffled sound of a heartbeat in their ear.

“You got it, Snow…”

[litlunacy]

I don't have anything finished for N7 Day, but I do have this wip I've been chipping at for a while. Takes place immediately post Destroy ending. ~1200 words

It's deathly silent.

The quiet settles over her like a heavy blanket, thick enough to be suffocating. Though, that might be because the last time her world was this dark and silent she had been gasping for air in the vacuum of space. She remembers how her lungs had burned while she thrashed uselessly, panicking in a way she hadn't since she was a teenager watching her brother get shot in the face.

That same panic is lurking at the edges of her mind now, waiting to take over. But she won't let it. She can't let it. There are too many people waiting for her to come back. Friends, people she cares about and who care about her. A lover who would follow her to the end of the world, and practically has. A wild wrecking ball of an adopted son she has to keep pulling out of trouble. 

She is Commander Lorelei Fucking Shepard, and she did not save the whole damn galaxy just to leave it behind.

So she keeps calm. She takes slow, deep breaths to keep her heart rate steady. The wound on her side is still oozing blood between her fingers, and she tries to keep pressure on it as best she can. Her entire body hurts, but she's slightly more concerned about the parts she can't feel. Maybe they're just numb from blood loss, or maybe she actually lost them in the explosion, but she tries not to think about it. 

Instead, she thinks about her crew, her strange little family that she's built for herself. She thinks about Liara's gentle smile and Jack's rabid grin. Grunt's throaty laugh and Wrex's bone-crushing hugs. Traynor's babbling and her frightening dedication to strategy games. She thinks about Joker, and knows that he got them all out, somehow. She thinks about her hamster. Somebody better be feeding the little furball. And the fish.

But most of all, she thinks about Garrus. She thinks about his icy blue eyes, and the way they go all soft and warm when he looks at her. She thinks about the feel of his talons gently carding through her hair. His wry, sarcastic humor. His voice. The feel of his keelbone pressed against her spine, his thrumming subvocals lulling her to sleep. 

God, what she wouldn't give for that right now. She's so, so tired...

But she can't sleep. Not yet. Somebody will be looking for her, and she needs to stay awake. As long as she's awake she can remind herself to breathe. As long as she can breathe, she can get back to her people. Her family.

So Commander Shepard lays there in the rubble, and she breathes.

***

Most of the krogan teams were still on Earth when the Crucible fired. Wrex had been hip-deep in husks, blasting one to bits only for three more to take its place when the shockwave had rippled across the galaxy. 

And all the husks had dropped dead.

It's now too many hours and one cramped shuttle ride later, and Wrex is leading the search team combing the wreckage of the Citadel. Officially, they're searching for any survivors. People who were on the station when the Reapers had dragged it to Earth. Civilians, officials, even the damn Keepers need to be saved if they want any hope of getting the Citadel up and running again. 

But personally? Wrex is looking for Shepard. Wrex is only looking for Shepard, and anyone who has a problem with it can talk to his fucking shotgun. 

Thankfully, nobody has a problem with it. 

When he finds a corpse, he ignores it. There's nothing to be done for the dead and not enough time to waste on them. When he finds someone alive, but not Shepard, he calls for a medevac and moves on. There aren't many alive. 

He digs through piles of rubble, shifting hunks of metal and stone that other races would need machines for. There's smoke and the smell of blood in the air. The joy of victory is soured by the still-rising body count.

But he hopes. He has to. If anyone could survive this, it's Shepard. She's already come back from the dead and survived what should have been a suicide mission. His friend is still here. She has to be.

"I hate this," comes a grumble from behind him. Wrex knows that it's Shepard's whelp without even turning around. "It's too quiet. Makes me antsy. Like I wanna kill something, but there's nothing left to kill."

Wrex snorts. "It's called worry, kid. And it'll eat you up like fear if you let it, so stop worrying and keep looking." He moves some twisted hunks of metal out of the way and walks through the new hole. Grunt follows.

"Krogan don't worry. We shoot things, and then we die. We don't worry. We get angry. We get violent." He kicks the discarded scrap of metal as if to prove his point.

The older krogan heaves a tired sigh. "You've got a lot to learn, kid. Don't pull this tough-guy bullshit with me right now. You're worried about Shepard."

"Shepard is fine. She's here somewhere, and she's fine. Why would I be worried about her?"

Wrex whirls around and grabs him by the headplate. "Because we're all worried about her! I am worried about her! She's my friend--"

"And she's my Battlemaster!" Grunt shouts, wrenching his head free and throwing an angry punch that Wrex easily catches.

"Then you need to channel this worry like you do your battle rage. Focus yourself so we can find her." He shoves Grunt's hand away and keeps walking. But the next words out of the kid's mouth make him stop cold.

"And what if we don't find her?"

Wrex doesn't answer right away. He balls his hands into fists, biotics fizzling as he resists the urge to throw the tactless youngster. Of course he's aware of the possibility. He's not stupid. But he also knows that what-ifs won't help anyone right now. This is a rescue mission, not a retrieval, and this whelp had better get that through his head.

"We will find her," he growls, though his traitorous brain adds an unbidden dead or alive in his head. "And when we get back to Tuchanka, we'll build her the biggest fucking monument the galaxy has ever seen. Now let's go."

"How can you--"

"Shut up!"

Grunt narrows his eyes and makes to grab Wrex by the shoulder. "You can't tell me to shut up, you old fossil."

Wrex slaps a hand over his mouth. "I said shut up. I thought I heard something."

Grunt grumpily shoves the hand off his mouth, but stays quiet. He turns his head, straining to hear...anything.

The dead silence is unnerving. It reminds him of the tank. If Shepard were here, she'd be making noise. In all the time he's known her, Shepard was always making noise. Humming to herself, tapping her foot, muttering under her breath as she scoped out a target with her sniper rifle. The woman even made noise in her sleep.

Grunt hates this silence. The ash and dust floating in the air. The smell of burning and death. They just won the greatest war in galactic history, but this wreckage smells like loss.

[maxpilote]

Given that sleep is my greatest, my elusive foe, I regularly find myself deep in the weeds on my various fandoms. Thus, I find myself at some ungodly hour reading Mass Effect wiki articles and thinking about the Citadel DLC again. And HOW DARE the Council tell my to my face that the Reapers aren't a big deal but then secretly discuss the Reapers being a big deal. I get no fucking respect around here.

I JUST WANTED TO KNOW IF GARRUS'S MOM HAD A NAME! I fell in the rabbit hole again!

[n7cloacadestroyer]

Mass Effect's overall plot is a lot of fun, but any fan will tell you straight up that it isn't the tightest run ship. Major sections of the trilogy's overall plot are moved forward by contrivance, and established lore has a reputation for being tossed out the airlock because the dev team thought of something cool. That said, one (1) of the things that irks me the most is something I don't often see talked about--the Citadel Relay.

So here's the reaper's plan, in paraphrase:

Leave one (1) guy behind and fuck off to dark space to get that good sleep.

Oneguy turns on power saver mode and keeps an eye on the meatbags.

Fleshies find mass relays and citadel; use them.

Open murder hole to let the squad through.

Make meatbag soup

Return to step one

Now if something were to go wrong with step four, you'd have quite the pain in the ass in your future if you're a reaper.

Thought experiment: You're leaving your house for the day. You don't want anyone to just wander in, but you obviously need to get back inside later. Do you… A. Lock the door and take the key with you? B. Have someone house sit? C. Leave one of the back windows unlocked and hope no one notices? D. Train your cat to unlock the door when it hears you whistle?

Admittedly that last option would be cool, albeit contrived and prone to failure. For some reason though, the reapers went with that one. And surprisingly enough, someone eventually broke in and retrained their cats. The reapers don't have a single dialogue exchange in the entire series that doesn't include a small diatribe about their intellectual superiority, yet they have no contingency in place for this.

So it's already pretty silly at this point, but it actually gets a little sillier when you realize what the game takes care to avoid explicitly stating--the reapers obviously have a mass relay with them in dark space. One that links to the hub of the relay network but is for some reason isolated from it. They don't even have a backup that just like… links to the Serpent Nebula relay.

I know what some of you are probably thinking. That the closed circuit with the Citadel relay is meant to ensure that the reapers aren't stumbled upon while they're schleepin™. As Vigil states, "In this state, they are vulnerable." So turn it off. We've already established that relays can be deactivated, and that a capital ship like Sovereign can manually open them as it attempted to do with the Citadel. Link that bad boy to the whole network, turn it on when you get the signal, killallhumans.exe ggnore.

Now we turn our attention to Mass Effect 2, which establishes that there is an active relay beyond from which no one has ever returned. So the galactic community put their heads together and came up with a plan--stick some warning signs near it and let the problem take care of itself. Literally just throw hands up and move on. So if the reapers just killed everyone who came through their super secret clubhouse relay? Maybe put some of those weird Collector Laser Probes to take out the stragglers? They'd probably be fine.

Eventually we learn that the relay leads into the galactic core, and that it checks for a reaper IFF system to engage more accurate protocols to avoid throwing friendly vessels into a supermassive black hole or the hundreds of stars it's throwing around at nearly light speed. So now we've established that at least one relay has an Identify Friend Foe system. Mass Effect 3 further establishes that the IFF system is only usable by the Normandy because of EDI, who explains that the IFF is more of a thinking intelligence than a simple program. So if you aren't an AI, or don't have the help of one, you're kind of screwed.

Shame they couldn't use that technology for anything else. Barring access to certain relays, for example.

Recall the Arrival DLC. Commander Shepard vaporizes ~300,000 colonists because the Viper Nebula/Alpha relay is, and I quote, "their shortcut to the rest of the galaxy." If the reapers had even a single one of these contingencies in place, humanity would've likely arrived to an empty Citadel in a new cycle. They would've had their shortcut already, and there wouldn't be anything to be done about it.

Given that their plan is actually quite flawed, there are only a few explanations that I can think of:

The reapers are actually kind of stupid.

The Catalyst intentionally designed the "reaper solution" to be imperfect. To give the meatbags a chance, I guess?

The biomechanical nature of reaper construction has caused them to inherit more traits from the organics that facilitated their construction than any of them seem to freely admit. Namely arrogance, in this case. You'll notice that Harbinger does talk with the same aloof superiority that the Leviathan use when talking to Shepard in ME3, whereas Sovereign's dialogue reads as something more akin to disgust or hatred.

Development was rushed and somewhat troubled for every Mass Effect game to date, and many of the gaps we see are a result of content being cut to get the game out the door on time.

In all honesty, it's most likely some combination of 3 and 4, but it's kind of frustrating. It's not surprising that so many people write no reaper AUs and/or headcanon a Destroy ending that doesn't kill the geth and EDI simply to fit the framing as the Renegade option. Mass Effect, in the minds of most fans, is a character driven narrative. The reapers aren't really characters. There are only two of them that have names, and only three who actually speak. They're mostly just an excuse to make the plot happen.

If the intention was to imply that the reapers are literal mechanical mass graves haunted by the metaphorical ghosts of the civilizations harvested in their creation? I'm on board. The problem is that we're never told that, and we aren't given enough interaction with different reapers to come to that conclusion definitively ourselves. May as well just call 'em Harby and the Boys, cause it's clear from the outset that Harbinger is the only one that the narrative intends to give even the tiniest amount of weight after Sovereign is destroyed.

The reapers are a constant presence during the trilogy, and yet we only meaningfully interact with four, and that's if you're counting Sovereign's half brother Sluggard.

[passagesofthepluricosm]

Sleeping Citadel: Gray Magic

https://archiveofourown.org/works/61880812/chapters/158226067

Name: Sonorhc

Sexuality: Asexual

Gender: Cis woman (she/her)

Age at Start of Story: 16

Relationship: In queerplatonic polycule with Reaper and Nevermore

Status: Student of Resurrection

Hair: Short, straight, black, covers left eye

Eyes: Black

Skin: Pale

Body: Short, stout, stocky

Personality: Aloof, brooding, cynical, distant

Name: Reaper

Sexuality: Aromantic

Gender: Cis woman (she/her)

Age at Start of Story: 16

Relationship: In queerplatonic polycule with Sonorhc and Nevermore

Status: Student of Death/Decay/Destruction

Hair: Long, wavy, black, covers right eye

Eyes: Black

Skin: Pale

Body: Tall, thin

Personality: Friendly, happy, adventurous, playful, energetic, rebellious, carefree, devil-may-care

Name: Nevermore

Sexuality: Aro-ace

Gender: Genderfluid between cis woman (she/her) and agender (they/them) based on her/their shadow-power use

Age at Start of Story: 16

Relationship: In queerplatonic polycule with Sonorhc and Reaper

Status: Student of Shadow

Hair: Curly, black, midway down back

Eyes: Black, hidden behind large, round, white-lensed glasses

Skin: Pale

Body: Average height, plump build

Personality: Nerdy, kind, shy, introverted

[ripley95]

A Spectre's Proposal

Chapter 1

Pairing: f!Shepard/Kaidan Alenko

Rating: T

Chapter Length: 3.1K

Summary:

More than a year has passed since the Reaper War ended, and Kaidan and Jane have settled right into domestic life while they contribute to the rebuilding efforts on Earth. As normalcy begins to set in, so do old problems. News hits of piracy out in the Traverse when the Council calls on them for a secret mission only the two of them can fulfil. The nature of the mission leads them to think about what they want from their relationship.

Read the full chapter on AO3

Sample:

Jane woke up to her alarm in protest. She forced her eyes open despite wishing she could go back to sleep. It was a Tuesday. The worst day of the week. No longer rested from the weekend, and still with the majority of the week left to go.

This was never a problem she had on active duty. There was always so much to do that the days blurred together and the concept of regular sleeping hours was a fabrication. There was no such thing as a weekend, and they were lucky to get shore leave whenever it was granted. To have to wake up for a morning shift still felt so foreign, but here she was, still working the desk job that was assigned to her by Admiral Hackett almost exactly a year ago upon her return to Vancouver after the war. The only difference is that now it was a choice she made to stay here, rather than her only option.

When she was initially assigned the role, it was because her injuries from the war prevented her active status, but since then, she’d gone through rigorous physical therapy on top of her endurance and strength training. She ensured her certifications were up to date. She was fit for duty if she wanted it, but she and Kaidan decided they didn’t mind taking some time for themselves before getting back into it. It gave them a chance to reconnect without being pulled away on different assignments, desperate for some shore leave together. Being tied to a desk may not have been her first choice, but it granted them real and genuine time together, which was a gift she’d take a thousand times over.

As it was, there was no war to speak of, making the decision to stay at a desk a little more palatable, and this way, they got to carpool to work together. They ate lunch together most days and came home to each other every night. They went hiking up Grouse Mountain and went swimming in English Bay. And they even got to spend holidays with Kaidan’s family in the Interior. In fact, they’d be going back there soon for his sister’s one-year anniversary. Kaidan showed her Vancouver, and they took their time to appreciate life while still being able to contribute to the rebuilding efforts, of which there weren’t many left to speak of. Things were almost back to normal at this point. The relays were mostly repaired. The Citadel was back up and functioning in its new location over London. Things were better than she ever could have dreamed of, even if her job was a little monotonous and she hated waking to an alarm.

Jane was starting to feel sleep pull her under again when she finally fought against it. She’d spent enough time procrastinating in bed. Sun was already lighting up their room, and work beckoned. She turned over to see Kaidan’s side of the bed was already empty and tucked in as much as possible with her still sleeping on the other side. Jane smiled at the thought and how ingrained the habit was for him to do it even while she still occupied half the space. She stood up and tucked in her own side of the bed, not wanting to get a reputation for being the sloppy one, even though, of the two of them, she was definitely the one with that reputation already. When she was done, she went to take what was supposed to be a quick shower, and as with most mornings, she lost track of time. She got dressed in a hurry and ran to the kitchen. Her hair was still wet from the rush.

[breachinthesky]

The Art To Getting Over It - Ch. 1

Summary:

“I think,” She started, “I think Joker will never forgive me for it.”

Garrus took the hand he was holding and brought it closer to him. He saw right through her meaning and gave a small nod. “He will.”

He had sounded so sure of it. And just for a brief moment, she wanted to believe that he was correct. ☆ A fight that ended in a grudge between the Normandy's pilot and it's commander left things bitter on both sides. And a mutual desire to sight see with the Normandy in space for one last hurrah.

AO3 link

The nightmares never got better. 

The voices of the past calling out to her, whispers of ‘Shepard.’ The reapers. Crawling her way to the conduit. Losing Anderson. Preparing to sacrifice herself. 

“Had to be me, someone else might have gotten it wrong.” 

Maybe it was happenstance or maybe it was the universe's way of offering its punishment to her for all the wrong calls she had to make or all the lives she sacrificed. As Garrus had once put it, an eye for an eye was due and the universe planned to collect what it was owed. 

That’s what she told herself at least. 

2 years. It was over. They did it. The reapers were destroyed and the war had ended.  

“You did good, child.” 

Shepard blinked up at the small patch of glow in the dark stars on her ceiling, her eyes quickly adjusting to the small light they gave off. 

Garrus had put them up in her apartment shortly after she had been discharged from the hospital. 

“A little taste of home.” He had told her with a confident smile. “Until we get back out there.”

And for a time she truly believed she would have been home by now. Back on the Normandy. Reunited with her crew. 

Not in an apartment squirreled away on earth with minimal communication from space. 

Things didn’t turn out the way she expected them to.

Shepard let out a small sigh as she glanced over to the alarm clock on the bedside table, the red neon lights reading ‘3:00am’ . 

“Awesome.” she muttered under her breath, sleep already disregarded as she reached for omni-tool. At the very least if she wasn’t sleeping she could at least catch up on work. 

Old habits were hard to break, especially for an alliance soldier. 

She bit down on her lip - a nervous habit she never used to have-  as she read through her emails. Which mainly consisted of alliance affairs and a few various mission reports. 

Nothing about the war. Nothing about their impending demise. 

A new email appeared at the top of her inbox, and her heart dropped reading the subject line. 

"FWD: Jeff Monroe - Formal Resignation Letter.’  

She hadn’t meant to avoid Joker. Not at first. 

In fact, she had planned on being up front with him after she recovered from her injuries about what happened back on the citadel. Planned for him to directly hear it from her first, before the mission reports came out to the alliance public. 

  At the end of the day, the Normandy was still her ship and its corresponding crew was her responsibility.  She had to take accountability for her decision to destroy the reapers, sacrificing EDI in the process. 

Joker would never know just how sorry she was for making that call. 

“Hm Shepard?” Garrus murmured next to her, shuffling slightly closer. “What time is it?” He asked, sleep still evident in his tone. 

“Threeish.” she said quietly, snapping out of her thoughts and placed the omni-tool down on the bedside table.

“Did you want to try to sleep some more?” Garrus asked, eyes now half open. 

Shepard shook her head at him. “No point, but you should still continue sleeping. I’ll just catch up with some emails and see you in the morning.” 

It was a common bluff he never called her out on. She appreciated that. 

Guilt was a strange thing. 

Shepard wondered if she’ll ever make amends with it or if her new normalcy was waking up at 3am to stare at the faded glow in the dark stars on her ceiling, stuck with her thoughts about the past. About all of the ‘what if’ scenarios. 

“I can tell you’re frowning.” 

She gave a small sigh before turning on the bedside lamp, looking back over to Garrus. The turian’s blue eyes now wide open, watching her.

It seemed like sleep was in short supply these days. 

“I received an email from Hackett.” She started. “It was about Joker.” 

Garrus tilted his head, concerned. “What was the message?” he asked. 

Garrus knew that the Normandy and its pilot were a sore spot for Shepard. He knew that when both her and Joker had spoken it ended on bad terms and Shepard struggled to bounce back afterwards. 

Naturally, he wanted to deck Joker in the jaw for it, but restrained himself- for Shepard’s sake. 

  “He’s quit.” she mumbled.

Garrus sat up at that. “Wait really?” surprise clear in his voice. “He actually quit?” 

She nodded at him. “Yeah.” 

“Hm.” 

“It’s my fault.” She whispered. 

Garrus wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close to him. “It’s not.” 

“He’s probably still mad at me.” She stated.

“It was a pretty big fight you two had.” Garrus said, interlocking one of his hands with hers. “You two just need some time to adjust.” 

Adjusting. That was one way to put it. 

EDI was a friend, and a good one at that. And Joker was one of her closest friends and still she went and made the choice which gave him a devastating loss while she still managed to live.

  Most days she could barely stomach looking at her reflection in the mirror. 

Maybe it was the fact she was still recovering from her injuries from the war. Or maybe it was the guilt that gnawed away in the back of her mind that she could never quite shake. 

She preferred the latter. 

“I think,” She started, “I think Joker will never forgive me for it.” 

Garrus took the hand he was holding and brought it closer to him. He saw right through her meaning and gave a small nod. “He will.” 

He had sounded so sure of it. And just for a brief moment, she wanted to believe that he was correct. 

☆

Running helped. 

In fact it was one of the few things that kept her from absolutely losing it these days.  

The longer she ran the less she had to think about Joker or his stupid resignation letter. Didn’t have to think about the last time they spoke and the words that were exchanged in the heat of the argument. 

Shepard increased the pace on the treadmill and turned the volume up louder on her phone, drowning out the background noise. 

“Hey commander while you’ve only just woken up from a coma, can you give us a quick run down on what happened on the citadel?”

“Don’t push yourself too far, you’ve only just made it back to earth.” 

“Do this physical therapy program for 10 weeks.”

She was angry. 

At the reapers, at the amount of carnage left behind, at all of her friends who gave up their lives for the cause of it all. The alliance for grounding her. At herself . 

The Normandy was her ship and she could have sworn that they wouldn’t keep her grounded. For a time she truly believed that. But a ship needs a commander and she wasn’t fit or cleared for duty, no matter how much she tried to expedite the healing process.  

She could feel her heart racing. She knew she could do better than her last run time, and if she wanted to stop sulking on earth, she had to improve her physical fitness. 

The alliance reassigned the crew as they saw fit, but as a favor to her, kept Joker as the pilot for the Normandy. 

“Oh don’t worry Shepard! you’ll be reassigned back to the Normandy once you’ve been cleared by your med team!” 

2 years. 

“Sorry commander, there has been a delay, your implants need further analysis.” 

She had put on a fake front for everyone, save for Garrus who was good at seeing right through her. She had brushed him off when he had asked about her well being, assured him she was positively fine and was just getting her strength back after months of rehab. 

It was a load of bullshit.

“Shepard.” 

Shepard snapped out of her thoughts to be greeted by Garrus standing in front of her. He motioned for her to take out her headphones. 

“Garrus?” she asked “Something up?”

He gave a small nod. “Joker’s here.” 

Garrus already had an arm out ready to steady her and It took every bit of willpower in her to not faceplant off of the treadmill. 

“You gotta be shitting me.”

[skxrbrand]

"𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐃𝐈𝐃 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄, 𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐒𝐄𝐄𝐌."

Skarbrand's entire being seemed to vibrate before the power of his father's voice, the older entity encased in black-and-brass armor, looking down on him with cool disappointment. It was waning though, into the hot anger for which Khorne was known and the Reaper felt his hairs prickle in fear.

He didn't know what he was doing here. He didn't recall walking, as even he wasn't so brazen as to stride into the brass citadel and face Khorne again...yet here he was. He tried to speak, but found he could not. Something, perhaps the simple sheer terror of being in Kharneth's presence and the sole focus of his attention, had stolen his voice. Khorne curled a lip and spoke once more.

"𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐄𝐗𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐀 𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐘. 𝐀 𝐆𝐈𝐅𝐓 𝐈𝐍 𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐅𝐀𝐔𝐋𝐓𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐈𝐂𝐄. 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐈 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐍𝐎 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐘 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐄, 𝐄𝐗𝐈𝐋𝐄."

He couldn't move. Khorne hefted End of All Things off of his shoulder and he could not move. The shadow of the obscenely large sword fell over him, blotting out the bloody sun of the Skull Realm, and he could not move. The Blood God brought it down, the ensorcelled edge screaming through the air, cutting unreality itself apart to get to him and he could. Not. Move---

---

The Reaper jolted up with a sound between a roar and a yelp. The bloodied fur-hide cover fell off of him as he did, the daemon breathing hard. He looked around: darkness. Darkness, quickly fading into the familiar blackened shapes of his chamber and it's contents. He looked down at himself: uninjured. Slick with blood-sweat, heart throbbing almost painfully in terror, nostrils flaring in preparation to flee from a threat that didn't seem to be present, but whole.

The Reaper blinked. It wasn't until the thundering in his ears had quieted did he realize, with no small amount of embarrassment, that it had been a nightmare. A cruel trick, his own anxieties made manifest in dreams by an unwell and fractured mind.

He glanced over, unsurprised to find the purple form of the Keeper of Secrets who insisted on sharing his bed occupying the space next to him. Whatever ordeal the Reaper had gone through hadn't disturbed N'kari at all, the other daemon sleeping peacefully-- and snoring. Skarbrand sagged with relief. Being witnessed in such a state would compounded the irritation he'd felt with himself, but he had been spared that embarrassment at least.

With some reluctance, the Reaper eased himself back into the fine beast-furs serving the two Greater Daemons as a bed. He glared at N'kari's back, then ever so slightly writhed his way close to the other daemon, fitting himself against the Tempter's larger form. Breathing the Keeper in, Skarbrand felt the edge of his ire taken off immediately and a pleasurable drowsy haze cloud the edges of his vision. He inhaled and then exhaled deeply with a rumble, allowing his eyes to close again.

Hopefully this time, his father would not plague his dreams...

[zet-sway]

Or, Thane and Steve rebuild their lives in the chaos after the war.

[Read on AO3] - Rated E for EXTREMELY SPICY TIMES

Pairing: Thane/Cortez | Rating: 18+ | Words: ~3600

Made for @messydiabolical!!! Merry Christmas!!

Peace, while difficult in its own way, promised them a beautiful future. The memories would be enough until then. 

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The days after the war passed in a dreamlike trance.

No sooner had they released Steve from the field hospital, he was back to work - despite Thane's protests. Even Thane couldn't deny that ‘light duty' meant very little to either of them when so much needed doing. Today’s task was setting up more temporary shelters.

“You should rest,” he said softly to the man leaning against him, breathing heavily after staking a tent with his one good arm. The other hung in a sling made of little more than torn fabric. “Your arm will trouble you further if you continue to strain it.”

“I'm not letting these guys sleep in the rain because of a bad arm.” Steve's smile, although tired, brought him some measure of comfort.

After the reapers had fallen, one thing was clear: things could not be as they were. Not for a long time; perhaps not even in his lifetime. Surrounded by humans and a smattering of other species, Thane hadn't felt this alien in a long time. Illium, despite its myriad travelers and their questioning eyes, had felt more like home than Earth. There were humans here who had never even heard of drell before, much less seen one. Visiting travelers and refugees regarded him with blatant, uncomfortable stares.

But stranded though he may be, Steve Cortez was still by his side; the man who had brought color back to his life after ten long years.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

News of his son reached him early. Kolyat had helped organize an emergency evacuation from the Citadel, together with his partner Feron, and the pair were busy attempting everything they could to restore communications with the Shadow Broker and the wayward Normandy. Steve's arm healed before long, and Shepard, although grievously injured, was expected to make a full recovery.

The Alliance swiftly inducted any alien volunteers into their ranks. The designation was as official as a verbal agreement could be, but it allowed him a sense of belonging amid London's decimated infrastructure. So much of their life was focused on the necessities of survival. ‘Home’ became little more than whatever ground they could find to sleep on.

In the early days, it had been a creaky chair beside Steve's hospital bed, and then a cot in an Alliance field tent. One night it would be a threadbare bedroll, and another it would be a dusty floor beneath a creaky roof. But as he had for years, Thane began each morning with prayer and meditation. Precious minutes were spared to thank the gods - to beseech and implore his patrons to protect, nourish, and calm the minds of himself and his beloved, his son, and all of the unusual but remarkable people who now surrounded him. In this way, he slowly found peace.

Steve sat before him amid the many other Alliance soldiers sharing their current encampment, hands warm on his palms. Together, they spoke their morning ritual on hushed breaths, finding space to shut out the noise of tens of soldiers beginning the day's work.

“May Arashu protect and hold my beloved in the days to come, and may Kalahira watch over the lovers who have gone where we can not yet follow.”

Thane stood in silence, helping Steve to his feet in turn. They held one another for a brief moment - long enough for Thane to breathe a single word against his partner’s cheek.

“Melithas.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Many had asked him to define the word, but Steve was the only person to whom he had granted such a meaning.

“A shooting star,” he said one autumn evening, tracing his fingertips through Steve's hair, now grown out just slightly longer, as more important things needed doing. “A brilliant streak across the night’s darkness, fast and fleeting. My mother used to say that such stars choose who may witness them.”

“That’s beautiful. Anyone ever tell you you’re a hopeless romantic?”

Despite his words, the smile that lit Steve's eyes may as well have had the power to cure the afflictions of every person in their barracks.

“Only for you,” Thane whispered, kissing his palm. He allowed him to touch the sensitive ruby frills on his cheek, a desirous sound leaving him. “It suits you. You belong to the sky.”

“Now you're just buttering me up. Keep going like that and I'll follow you forever.”

“I think it may be too late,” he chuckled. “It's certainly too late for me.”

Steve tucked his head against Thane's shoulder, leaving a single, soft kiss against his throat. The warmth that spread through him ached in a distinct melancholic way.

“I want you,” Steve whispered.

“And I, you, Melithas.”

They sat in silence, desire glowing like coals in a dying fire. Outside, the rain poured over cold, muddy ground. Surrounded by dozens of displaced alliance soldiers with not even a curtain to separate them, there would be no sating their need tonight.

Thane pulled the blanket around them.

“Sleep now,” he whispered. “May we find each other in the world of dreams.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Space was cold, but London's winters felt colder. Though they had managed to find work under a sturdy roof, helping Steve repair shuttles for service, his scales ached in ambient temperatures his body was not made to endure.

“I found some new gloves for you to try,” Steve said one evening as he returned from a supply run, handing him a scrunched-up bundle of yellow material.

Thane frowned. Human gloves were, in the simplest terms, not made for drell hands. But closer inspection revealed that these were different. Thick fibers encased the outside of a hand-shaped object that had space for one thumb and what appeared to be four fingers inside one space.

“They're called mittens. The requisitions officer made them special for you. Not my favorite color, but she said it's what they had.”

Thane turned the object over in his hand, examining its construction. Already, he could tell that the loose weave would catch on his scales, but as he turned the cuff over he was surprised to find a tightly woven, pale-colored lining within. The material moved effortlessly against his fingertips. As he slipped his hand inside, it felt positively luxurious compared to every other garment he’d worn since arriving on Earth.

“She said if you like them, she'll try to knit you something with individual fingers.”

Never mind the implied lack of dexterity - the mittens were warm. So blessedly warm. At a loss for words, he wound his arms around his lover and pulled him tight.

“Thank you. Thank you, Melithas.”

“Don't thank me yet - I have one more surprise for you.”

Thane met Steve's eyes with curiosity.

“I got your flight assessment results. You're cleared for training,” Steve grinned.

Thane’s face split into a wide smile. He hadn't thought he would qualify.

“When will we start?”

“Tomorrow, 6am sharp. Don't be late, cadet. If you’re lucky, I’ll take you to the mile-high club.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Steve was strict about the Alliance SOP for flight training. As strict as he could be, at least.

As an entry-level trainee, Thane's primary task should have been to observe, learn his instruments, and assist his pilot. The difficulty was that he should have been doing it in a flight simulator - something they simply didn’t have access to.

“This is a little unorthodox, but we live in strange times,” Steve began. “Going up is easier than getting back down, so you'll pilot takeoff, I'll pilot landing. Shuttles like the Kodiak are typically only flown by one pilot, but assuming we fixed everything up right, I should be able to take control if something goes wrong.”

He clapped the back of Thane's seat, leaning over his shoulder as he settled in. It wasn’t his first tour of this particular shuttle’s cockpit, but he listened attentively as Steve recapped what they had gone over in the weeks before.

"Keep your eye on your instrument panel. This is your altimeter, here's your speed, artificial horizon and all that. Vertical stabilizers are to your left, horizontal to your right.” He indicated a set of controls adjacent to each armrest. “And here, this is your thrust lever.” The dual-handled lever was situated between them, well within reach.

Thane settled into the seat, touching each control and instrument one by one to commit the tour to memory.

"When this is green, we're on autopilot. For routine stuff like this, she’ll mostly fly herself. Things can be a little overwhelming initially, so focus on getting used to your instruments. We can move on to more advanced flying once you’ve mastered this."

Thane nodded, buckling himself into the seat as Steve did the same beside him.

Thane tapped the inputs as directed, felt the feedback in the haptic implants he’d gotten many years before. The shuttle hummed as they lifted off the ground, rumbling steady and even beneath them.

Steve opened his comm to their local traffic controller.

“Alliance Command, this is Steve Cortez with FRT requesting escape trajectory for UT-47 Kodiak test flight in vacuum.”

“FRT Cortez, you’re cleared for escape trajectory on heading two-four-zero to orbital station Triton. Fly safe out there.”

“Acknowledged.” Steve tapped the screen and met Thane’s eyes. "Set your heading here. And go easy on the gas,” he said with a lopsided grin.

The heading dial ticked up as they pivoted toward their given takeoff direction. Thane’s hand settled around the cold steel of the thrust lever.

“Take us up, babe.”

He breathed deep, set his shoulders, and pushed forward.

That first burst of speed was electric. They sailed forward, and he watched their altimeter tick up - slowly at first, and then faster and faster until their backs were glued to their seats at escape velocity. The engines roared beneath them like twin dragons, freed after months of confinement.

The ride was exhilarating. The shuttle shot through the clouds, the sun bursting into view like a fireball. And higher still they went, up and up and up. The digital windscreen cleaned up the distortion from the heat of their climb, but Thane could feel it - a corona of fire wreathed around them as they rocketed through the atmosphere until darkness overtook them at the final barrier between sky and stars.

And gods, the stars. He could never forget, as was his nature, but the stars were even more numerous than his memory. Their majesty commanded his reverence.

“Never gets old,” Steve said under a hushed breath.

Just how long had it been since he'd left the atmosphere? Thane counted back the months, long since accustomed to Earth's standard timescale - nearly one Solar year. Thane had never really considered himself a sailor, in a spacefaring sense, but perhaps he'd missed this more than he realized.

"Goddess of Oceans,” he whispered.

His teachers had said the cosmos was just an ocean by another name. An endless sea of stars, each created by Kalahira to guide the lost across her abyssal depths. He gazed upon them now, hand in hand with the wayward human he had come to cherish, and thanked the gods for smiling upon them. Steve's hand brushed his own, fingers slipping into his grip. The expanse of stars filled him with a warm, vibrant sensation, brighter than the rare sun of Kahje. He dared to call it hope.

"You're a natural, babe. You sure you've never flown before?" Steve kissed the back of his hand and gave it a tender squeeze. Thane’s cheek frills darkened.

"I suppose this means I’ve made it to the Mile High Club?”

Steve let loose a real, genuine belly laugh.

"Not quite," he said with a smile. Steve rose from his seat, twined his arms around Thane’s neck and brought his mouth to his aural ridge. “You're not in the mile-high club till you've made love at 5280 feet above sea level.”

There was a sultry edge to his voice that Thane hadn't expected, and he raised a brow (both brows, actually). He didn't dare hope for truth among those tempting words, but despite himself, they slithered with decadent heat beneath his skin.

“My altimeter says we're much higher than 5280 feet,” he said evenly.

“Your discipline never fails to amaze, but I’m putting this baby in standby.” Thane couldn't parse what ‘standby’ had to do with the situation at hand, but Steve quickly undid his safety belts and spun his chair around. “C’mere.”

The look in Steve’s eyes was telling.

“Do not tease me, Melithas.”

Warm breath washed over his throat, and Thane arched his neck on impulse. “Never, kitten.” And then Steve was on his knees before him, pulling their bodies tight, hands warm on his back.

The realization touched his mind as they drew close. Drifting among the stars, they were finally, blessedly alone. And in moments, their lips met as effortlessly as sea meets sand.

The kiss was everything they yearned for since the invasion began. Steve’s hunger for him parted the clouds of his mind, burned away the death and destruction of the war, and seeded life within his heart anew. Months. It had been months. The kiss flowed between them like a virile wine that slaked their long-buried thirst for one another that only the war could have put on hold.

With one hand on the back of his neck, Steve worked his other hand against the fasteners of his flight suit.

"Christ, Thane. If I have to go another night without you, I'm liable to fuck you silly in front of the entire barracks."

Thane hummed against his lips. "At this point, I don't believe I'd have the willpower to stop you.”

"I'll share a lot of things, babe. But you? Those sounds you make? Those are just for me. Only me."

Steve's mouth moved against his neck, licking a hot line along the most sensitive part of his throat. The cockpit, small as it was, quickly became their temple as they stripped each other bare by the low light of the haptic console.

"You're lucky," Steve said. "You have all those memories to fall back on." He dug his fingertips into Thane's pectoral frills, flooding him with need.

"Memories are far from sufficient," Thane groaned, wresting Steve's flight suit open, "Imagine yourself roused from a dream with naught more than your hand to satisfy you.”

"You poor thing," Steve whispered, gripping his chin as he drew their lips together. “Why don't you let me take care of you?"

"Please, Melithas," Thane whispered, his voice breaking on the knife edge of his need. "Whatever you wish of me is yours."

Steve’s answering murmur was low and laced with wanting. "I love it when you call me that."

Moments later, Thane found himself extricated from his suit, a warm hand sliding down along his shaft to his opening below, weeping with desire. Seeking fingers pushed inside him, collecting his wetness, massaging his walls. They emerged coated, smearing along the length of his cock, helping Steve's warm palm glide effortlessly along the length of him. Thane swore under his breath as he squeezed. Thank the gods for the well-placed perks of interspecies contrasts - he was beyond ready, aching and eager to be filled.

As quickly as he’d started, Steve suddenly pulled back. Thane met his gaze with concern.

"Hey,” he said quietly. “I'm sorry I haven't been as attentive as I should be."

There was a genuine apology in his eyes, reflecting the orange lights of the console. Thane scooched forward, thumb running along Steve’s jaw.

"You needn't apologize,” he said softly. “People are depending on us. We hardly have time for such indulgences."

"Yeah, but I just want you to know how special you are to me. I love you so god damn much. Some nights I want you so bad I can't sleep." To illustrate his point, Steve drew their bodies flush, making evident his own hardness beneath his shorts.

"I never doubted you,” Thane smiled, kissing him gently.

Steve’s answer was another kiss. On his lips, Thane could taste everything. All the love, the heartache, the frustration and desire and feeling that they’d been forced to set aside for the sake of rebuilding the basic pillars of survival. Steve’s hand gripped his waist, pulled him forward until they were both clumsily standing and stepping out of their clothes, neither of them willing to break this kiss they’d pined for all these months. The hard line of Steve’s cock pressed against his thigh as the man leaned against him, driving him backward one step at a time. Before long, he bumped the console and swore, reaching blind behind himself to lock the controls.

"Up," Steve ordered, and Thane was quick to comply. The instrument panel bit into his backside, but it didn’t matter as Steve reached between them, closing a fist around both of their cocks and stroking long and slow. “Let me make love to you,” he whispered.

“Please,” he said. “Gods above, please.”

He felt the way Steve’s lips curled into a smile against his mouth.

"Never done this in the cockpit before. But we'll make it work," he said as he lined himself up. He didn't hesitate, didn't tease - Steve's cock slid home, stretching him with the fullness he’d been denied for far too long. Warmth bloomed along his spine, crawling through his limbs and soul.

“Gods,” he panted. With some effort, he managed to raise one leg and splay his knee, altering the angle to an exquisite depth that made his dual eyelids flutter as Steve began to rock into him.

“That feel good, babe? You're so damn wet for me.”

There weren’t words for how fucking good it felt. Thane groaned incoherently, nipping Steve’s jaw, breath fleeing his lungs as another plunging thrust sent a wave of fire surging through him.

"You'll be good for me and wait to come till I’m ready, won't you?"

Steve’s fingers wrapped tight around his cock, pumping him in time with each deep, slow thrust. Thane's fingernails dug into the console, and he nodded.

"I know you can do it. Controlled guy like yourself, I gotta make it good for you. Make it worth the wait."

You were always worth the wait, Thane thought, unable to form the words. One hand gripped him by the hip, Steve's thumb slotting perfectly into his pelvic frill.

In the dim lighting, Steve's eyes reflected the myriad points of light from the windscreen and dashboard, twinkling as he moved with barely restrained purpose. His brows came together as he panted and leaned in, setting a pace that Thane felt would set them both aflame - long, plunging thrusts that hilted on every stroke, taking him to the stars and back as the seconds divided and multiplied into fathomless ecstasy.

“God, you are so damn beautiful,” Steve said, teeth scraping his lower lip. “I’d have you like this every day if I could.”

Thane returned the gesture, cradling Steve’s jaw as they kissed. "You'll just have to find more excuses to take the shuttle into orbit, then."

"I think I could swing that,” Steve panted. “I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of fucking you in front of a field of stars.”

A strangled, nearly pained gasp escaped him as Steve abruptly squeezed along his cock in a gesture he knew was meant to take him to the brink.

"Not yet," Steve leaned down to whisper. "Just a little longer, babe. You get so hot inside when you're close. Feels so damn good.”

"Melithas-"

He gasped when he pulled out, readjusted, and drove back home again, gaining speed until he was being well and truly railed into the dashboard. His ruined cries of desperation were lost to the frantic kiss they shared as Thane held on with what remained of his fraying control, wanting what they both needed - the visceral ecstasy of mutual release. And between them, the sweetest torture - Steve’s fist pumping him raggedly as his body was taken, filled again and again in the throes of bottled-up lust.

He couldn’t take it a moment longer. He never wanted it to end.

"Come for me, Thane."

His vision went white. Steve hilted one final time, swollen cock lodged deep inside his slick channel, dousing him from the inside out with thick, pulsing spend that warmed him within and without. Thane crested with him, gasping as his release poured into his lover's hand, rolling down over Steve's fingers and further still to the scorching heat of their joining. Steve pulled their bodies flush as they came, grinding out their mutual climax until they were both sated, panting, and spent.

Lucidity returned to him with the crawling chill of space and the silence of idle engines as they drifted in orbit. In contrast with the warmth of Steve’s body, he felt the instrument panel digging into his backside and began to stretch his limbs. Neither man wanted to separate.

“Melithas,” he murmured, palms pressed flat against Steve’s back, face tucked against his neck. “From the depths of my soul, I love you.”

Thane could hear the smile on Steve’s face as he held him tight and whispered back, “I love you, too, Thane.”

They dressed each other slowly, taking care to clean up as they went. Steve’s pupils were wide in the low light, his mind no doubt swimming with drell venom. Thane winced. In his haste, he hadn’t considered the logistics of returning to Earth in such a state.

“Plot a course for the Triton waypoint,” Steve said as they settled back into their seats. “We need their controllers to give us groundside status before re-entry.” He tossed Thane a wink. “I’ll be fine by then.”

Their hands met as the thrusters kicked on and they sailed forward. In the vacuum of space, they couldn’t feel their acceleration. If he closed his eyes, it felt like being aboard the Normandy again. Like home.

In the silence, Thane quietly wondered when he’d next have the opportunity to hold him, love him, worship him as they had in the months before the war. But peace, while difficult in its own way, promised them a beautiful future.

The memories would be enough until then.

[teddywesworl]

if you're still doing the wip thing... The last mile? your mass effect au makes me feral

I just tried to answer this and tumblr fucking ATE my response but yeah i'm working on it, it's set half at the beginning and half at the end of the Reaper War with the Hawkins assigned to Project Crucible (part 1) and the London assault (part 2). tonally it's very me3 so im gonna be kinda nervous about posting it, especially as it may require a MCD tag lmaoooooo (not them though. never them)

i have no idea when it's going to be completed, though, so here's a sizeable chunk of the opening, complete with epistolary-ish framing device to match DTA:

EDDIE 1

Fig. 1: Perspectives on Tayseri Ward, an award-winning photograph of the Citadel by acclaimed asari photographer Lidilya Ranis, ca. 2182. Note the near-atmospheric effect of the gas and dust of the Serpent Nebula creating depth of field between the camera’s lens and the Presidium Ring.

*

The Citadel is different than he remembers, but it’s also the same.

He and Steve see it differently. Steve thanks air traffic control in person on their way through security and comments on the Sur’Kesh native trees freshly planted in the commercial district. Eddie marks the C-Sec man tailing them while they eat tacos from a super gimmicky Thessia-Earth fusion restaurant and spots a pickpocket watching them from an alley. It’s a human girl, maybe thirteen. No visible tattoos or marks, but that doesn’t mean much when the kid is wearing a beanie and a scarf and a bulky jacket that’ll hide plenty of take. Eddie angles himself so the cop can’t see his face, makes eye contact with the girl, and shakes his head.

They’re in the Mid-Ward, a part of Zakera that Eddie should know intimately. It feels strange not to recognize the large majority of the storefronts, replaced as so many were in the aftermath of the geth attack in ‘83, but the longer he looks, the clearer it becomes that the bones are the same. Eddie rebuilds the map in his head from the position of keeper ports, maintenance panels, walkways—and vents.

He falls behind Steve just staring at a vent tucked between an Armax vendor and a pop-up shop selling the elcor equivalent of beer. Steve walks another dozen feet, maybe, before he notices Eddie’s not beside him and doubles back.

“You okay?” Steve says, fingertips brushing Eddie’s elbow.

Eddie shakes himself off and nods. “Yeah, sorry,” he says. “Um. I used to sleep in there, I think. I’m pretty sure that’s the one.”

Steve frowns, his eyes moving from storefront to storefront, gliding over the vent like it isn’t there until he remembers. “Oh,” he says. His hand slides down Eddie’s forearm, and he laces their fingers together.

Eddie feels oddly disconnected from his own body. He doesn’t think he would fit in that vent, now, but that’s sort of the point, isn’t it? That’s what a duct rat is. You stop being a duct rat when you can’t fit anymore. Or when the wrong fan powers up and chews you to pieces.

Eddie unfocuses his eyes and doesn’t quite look at the C-Sec man still pretending not to follow them. It’s a turian, hanging around some fifty paces behind them, and he’s obvious in a way that’s kind of aggravating, because turians make up something like half a percent of the Mid-Ward’s population, and the real residents don’t dress business casual. There’s a tension welling up, raw from the vents and the cops and the collision between memory and immediate reality. He bounces on the balls of his feet, indecisive. Then he squeezes Steve’s hand, locks eyes with the turian, and crooks his finger at the guy, beckoning.

There’s a strange hanging moment where the cop looks like he’s gonna try to disappear into the crowd, but then he accepts that he’s been made and approaches. Steve looks surprised to see him; his posture gets a little guarded, so Eddie squeezes his hand again.

“That’s close enough,” Eddie says at a distance of ten or so paces. He’s not in the mood for this, doesn’t feel like playing a game, so he just says: “Why?”

Steve stays quiet, apparently satisfied to let Eddie handle this.

The turian’s mandibles twitch. “I’m,” he says. “I don’t…”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Why’d they send you?” he says.

“They didn’t say,” says the cop. Eddie’s not sure he believes him, but at least he’s not playing completely dumb.

“Get out of here,” Eddie says. “Tell them you were made. Also tell them the Alliance doesn’t appreciate C-Sec harassing its N7s on shore leave.”

The mandibles twitch again. Turian hearts aren’t quite like human hearts, but the rhythm of this one changes enough to confirm Eddie’s suspicions that the guy at least didn’t know who Steve was. “Right,” he says. Leaving is an awkward thing, but he manages it, walking off in a straight line.

Eddie sighs when he’s gone.

“How long’s he been there?” Steve asks.

“Since security,” Eddie replies. “Fuckin’ amateur hour, sending a turian. Especially since there’s a ton of human cops now.”

Steve hums thoughtfully. “You ready?” he says.

“Yeah,” Eddie says, and it’s the truth. He wasn’t sure it would be, when Hop offered to call in a favor, when the message hit his inbox, or even when he stepped out of the Hawkins airlock and onto an Alliance dock this morning. He just kept saying yes and moving forward because he knew he’d regret it if he didn’t.

He keeps holding onto Steve’s hand as they move through and past the crowds toward Oji Way Warehouses, a row of storage units guarded by sectional doors and the occasional krogan hired gun. One such krogan, a scarred old brute with a cracked green frontal plate, approaches to grunt at them about what they’re doing down here, to move along if they don’t have business.

“We do,” says Steve. “We’re looking for somebody.”

“That so, soldier boy?” says the krogan. Eddie ducks his chin to hide a smile, because yeah, even in civvies, Steve sticks out like a sore thumb.

“Munson,” says Steve. “That’s the name.”

The krogan turns his head to get a better look at them out of a single eye. “What d’you want with Wayne?”