#shep fanfic

[listentothelittlebird]

so I have been avidly following the lovely dbhc au that @shepscapades has made and I have made a little drabble fanfic of Doc and Xisuma because I feel very normal about them :)

setting: hermitcraft season 10, while Doc is in skyblock jail

word count: 1361

-

Doc is grumbling to himself, ramming his fist into the newly-sprouted tree with not an insignificant amount of prejudice, when he hears the distinct whistling of fireworks crescendoing towards him.

“Have you come to watch me punch wood like an imbecile?” Doc snarks, expecting to hear Scar’s fumbling denials, or Cleo’s cackling assent.

“That wasn’t the plan, no.” The quietly amused voice is far from his first prediction. An oversight on his part, really.

[Vocal Recognition: Xisumavoid.]

“Xisuma!” Doc’s next punch misses the trunk of the cherry blossom tree, glancing off the side and chipping off the bark instead. He blinks away the vocal recognition pop-up, glancing behind him just to check it really is him and not Tango with a goat horn. “Hey, man!”

“Hey! You’ve been busy.” Xisuma’s boots scuff against the cobblestone as he inspects the progress of his miserable sky island. A shulker box thunks onto the stone, freeing his hands up to brush against the cherry wood planks.

“Hardly anything else to do besides work.” Doc throws the words over his shoulder as he continues to gather his cherry wood, not one to leave a project half-done. 

His visitor is content to hum and haw at whatever he finds as Doc works away. It has only been a few days, but the one-sided commentary is surprisingly comforting. After all, no touching the ground means no redstone, which also means no time in the lab. The thought has Doc speaking up, slipping between Xisuma’s quips.

“It’s not been too busy, yeah?” Doc clambers onto the tree as he plucks off the highest branches. He pauses to flick open a calendar overlay, skimming the dates. “Nobody’s scheduled for maintenance checks until next month.” 

“It’s been alright.” The fuzzy wolf-shaped wool mask pops into view as Xisuma emerges from Doc’s pink abode. “Been a bit too quiet, even. It’s weird not having you around.”

Doc snorts to hide the way his thirium pump hiccups at the words. Logically, he knows the sound is far too soft for Xisuma to hear. Having emotions, Doc has found, is hardly ever logical.

“So you came over ‘cause you missed me?” The words are out before Doc can even try to edit the response. It instills in him the same kind of floundering exasperation he feels when trying to recall a comms message already seen by everyone.

“Well.” When Xisuma ducks his head, one ear of the knitted wolf flops to the side. “I mean. I suppose so.”

[Emotion Identified: Shyness.]

“But I did come with an agenda!” Xisuma reaches for the shulker behind him, pulling out a mobile scanner from the lab.

“You’re right about having no maintenance checks on the schedule,” Xisuma says, waving around the scanner. “With you out here roughing it out, though, I figured I should check on you.”

“Ah.” Doc chuckles, ignores his cooling vents spinning faster. “I see.”

“Well, don’t keep me waiting! You look about done with your tree.” 

“I am, I think.” Doc squints through the already-thinning leaves, nodding when he finds no branches left. “Alright, one moment.”

Dismantling the remains of the trunk takes only a few seconds. Doc gathers the wood and plonks them into the chest in his shabby house, with Xisuma trailing behind. 

With two people inside, it only reminds Doc how small the shelter is. Turning around after closing his chest puts him directly in Xisuma’s space.

“So, uh.” Doc shifts back, as much as he can. He ends up plopping down on the edge of his bed, which, well. “Go ahead, then.” 

A check-up does not require much space, really. Doc has done maintenance with the hermits in caves, in redstone farms, in underwater bases and nether bases. This is just the first time Doc himself has been examined outside of the yawning expanse of their labs. The change in routine leaves him uncertain, like recalibrating on angled terrain. 

The ease that Xisuma slips into the motions does well to settle Doc’s stress, however mild. The mobile scanner takes a while to gather results, so Doc answers Xisuma’s laundry list of questions. The list of questions is one curated by both Doc and Xisuma. Most of it is data, which Doc rattles off easily from the numbers that he pulls up in the corner of his vision.

The mobile scanner beeps cheerfully just as they reach the end of the lengthy questionnaire.

“Clean bill of health.” Xisuma shows Doc the display, which focuses less on internal processes and more on external damage or abnormalities. “Although, your average temperature is a bit lower than your usual.”

Doc shrugs. “It’s the altitude, man. Going from spending significant amounts of my time in the deserts and swamps to this is quite the change. Not to mention the wind chill.” 

As if to prove his point, a gust hits the shelter hard enough to make the planks rattle and creak. With no door, the icy breeze rushes in quickly. He tucks his metal arm into his lab coat with a sigh, the exposed components always prone to freezing the fastest.

“It’s not that bad,” Doc states flippantly, knowing without looking that Xisuma is taking in his every move. “I’m working most of the time, which keeps me warm. Plus I have my lava pool to sit beside when I need to warm up.”

“If you say so.” Xisuma shifts, leaning against his crafting bench. “The moment you start to experience temperature glitches, though, call this off. The rest will understand.”

“I know, I know.” This is all in good fun, when it comes down to it. He plays along for his own amusement. “I’ll be fine, Xisuma. I know how to take care of myself.”

“That you do.” Xisuma nods, then, with an “ah” of realisation, pulls his wolf mask off his helmet. 

“Here!” It only takes a step for Xisuma to be back in Doc’s space, pulling the wool over Doc’s head before he can react. 

“Uhm.” The mask is large enough that it goes over his horns easily, fitting loosely around his face. He has to lift and adjust it slightly to get his eyes back through the openings. “What?”

“To keep you warm!” Xisuma draws back again, settling against the crafting bench and tapping his heel against its side. “I mean, even over my helmet, it sure retains the heat. I know it doesn’t quite help with your metal arm, but it’ll at least warm up your horns and face.”

Doc does feel warmer, in fact. Though that is not necessarily correlated with the wool mask itself, and more the action of gifting it to him.

“But it’s your mask,” Doc replies, a flimsy rebuttal. “For your Woolves of Wool Street.”

“I have spares,” Xisuma chimes, eyes squinting happily through his helmet. “I’m sure the others won’t mind if you’re wearing it. Take it as a souvenir, of sorts.”

“Right.” Doc reaches a hand up to the wool. The material is soft, slightly worn from use. It smells a bit like Xisuma’s armour, the polish that he uses to clean it at the end of the day. “Thanks.”

“No problem, Doc.” 

Xisuma’s communicator chimes. A quick look has Xisuma turning back to Doc with an apologetic sigh. “Sorry, I’ve got to go. I’ll come back soon, though, if you don’t mind?”

“Come back anytime,” Doc replies. He tries to reel it towards comedy with a gesture to his surroundings, his meager belongings. “You won’t be interrupting anything.”

The dry quip draws out a laugh from Xisuma, even as he gathers his shulker and activates his elytra.

“See you, Doc!” Xisuma waves from the edge of the cobblestone, then nosedives away, a rocket propelling him rapidly out of sight. 

Doc takes a moment to watch the clouds, then laughs at himself. Did he not poke fun at Tango last season, when he stared longingly at the portal Jimmy left the server with? Now look at him.  

He draws a hand up to the wolf mask, rubbing the soft knitting between his fingers, and decides that Tango absolutely cannot see him wearing this.

He can keep it on for now, though.

[the-lonelyshepherd]

oh outlaw, oh spur in side by @natscatorrcio

made this in a frenzy last night after reading something that was specifically made to be crack for me i think

[shepards-folly]

I wanted to draw them again so yeah

[just-here-with-my-thoughts]

Comfort Zone

@summer-of-bad-batch week 2 alt prompt 'Comfort Zone'

Fandom: The Bad Batch Characters: Hunter, Shep Hazard Set after the finale when everyone is living happily on Pabu Word Count: ~1735 Read Here on AO3

Synopsis: Hunter is restless, and Shep invites him to take a walk.

Even on rest days Shep liked to be up early, circulating among the island community, greeting the early risers. He made it his personal mission to ensure that every member of Pabu’s population was well-cared for, always ready to lend an ear or a hand, whatever the situation called for.

This morning this usually quiet stretch of Lower Pabu echoed with the noise of some singular industry, banging and sawing acting as his beacon as he wound his way around the curving paths until he found the source of the noise.

His melodious voice floated to the man on the roof, lilting in query.

“Hunter? What are you doing up there?”

There was no pause to the sounds of Hunter’s work, and he replied without venturing to where he could see the other man. “Fixing the roof.”

“Yes, but… it’s a day of rest, Hunter.”

“Roof’s not going to fix itself.”

“It will be there tomorrow.”

“What if it rains tonight?”

Shep paused and glanced out at the endless sky that stretched from the isle, cloudless blue in all directions reaching down to meet the sea in a horizon which blurred to infinity.

“Rain,” he repeated, his voice faint with humour.

The sounds of work continued from above.

Shep glanced about for a ladder, thinking to climb and try to make Hunter speak with him face to face. He didn’t see one. Unsurprising that the clone commando would forgo such things – Shep had seem him swarm up cliff-faces in pursuit of flowers which caught Omega’s eye, and he doubted their low buildings posed as much of a challenge as that.

He settled for repeating the clone’s name again. “Hunter.”

The hammering ceased. Hunter’s face appeared at the edge of the roof, guilty apology writ large across his features.

“Sorry. Am I disturbing people? I can come back to this later. I’ll find something else to do in the meantime…”

Shep couldn’t help the chuckle that bubbled up at Hunter’s stumbling explanation, words tripping over themselves as he looked anywhere except at Shep.

“Come walk with me, Hunter,” he said, his smile infusing the invitation with warmth.

“Maybe later, Shep,” said Hunter, swinging down from the roof and immediately stalking past him, still avoiding his gaze. “I noticed one of the cliff fences was down too, could be a danger if the kids roam near it. I’ll go fix that, it’s out of the way-”

“Hunter.”

The gentle force to his name stopped Hunter and he wheeled round slowly, head down but eyes glancing up from beneath the shadow of his bandana.

“This… isn’t something I have a choice about, is it.”

Shep smiled and shook his head. “Glad you caught on.”

Hunter groaned, but a faint grin lit his tired face. “I’m used to using that voice on the others.” He shook his head ruefully. “Never thought I’d have someone use it on me.”

Gesturing with his head, Shep turned and started walking and let Hunter fall into step beside him. He picked a path which wound away from the inhabited areas of the island, one he knew would eventually turn from paving to dirt as they reached the wilder spaces beyond the sprawl of Lower Pabu’s housing.

The silence between them was companionable, although it was easy to sense Hunter’s reticence in his stooped shoulders and the hands dug into his pockets. His eyes shifted restlessly over everything before them, mouth part-open to sample the scent of the air, and Shep could almost feel the busy thoughts whirring away behind his tattooed visage.

Eventually he opened with a question which was really a soft command.

“Tell me what’s bothering you, Hunter.”

The clone almost startled, jerking in surprise at his voice after the quiet of their walk. Hunter glanced up at him quickly, then let his gaze go long over the horizon, slowing to a halt as he dug his boots into the ground, nudging a rock with his toe.

“Nothing. Nothing’s bothering me.”

“You’re not happy,” pressed Shep gently.

Hunter’s defensive snort was almost too quick. “Of course I am. What’s not to be happy about? We’re finally free of the Empire. Omega is doing great. We… we have the lives I always wanted for us.” His words slowed and trailed off, before his gaze dropped from the seascape to the ground. “What’s there to be unhappy about?”

“You’re restless, then.”

At that, Hunter gave a small nod. His voice was gravel, the words reluctantly dragged from him as he agreed, “I guess you could say that.”

Shep looked about and found a broad boulder to settle his weight against, leaning comfortably back against the rock. There was plenty of space for Hunter to join him if he wished, but he didn’t press the invitation onto the man.

For a moment he sat, surveying the tense line of Hunter’s shoulders, before he spoke his next words carefully.

“It can be hard to make the adjustment. Hard to step out of your comfort zone, even if… especially if your comfort zone was hardship.” He watched carefully for Hunter’s reaction, but the clone kept his back to him. “When it’s all you’ve known for so long, the familiarity of danger can sometimes seem like a friend. It’s hard to know what to do with yourself when you don’t need to be alert all the time.” He paused, left time for the thought to sink in before adding, “Hard to know what to do with yourself when others don’t need you all the time.”

Hunter’s shoulders shifted with a soft snort. “You could be talking about yourself there, Shep.”

“I could be,” he acknowledged. “Perhaps that’s why I recognise it in you too.”

Now Hunter turned to him, and there was gentle devastation written across his features. His stern façade had fractured, and beneath it there was uncertainty, and loss.

“Who am I if I’m not their leader?” he asked, his gruff voice little more than a whisper. Now his storm-grey eyes met Shep’s at last, piercing, searching.

Shep pushed to his feet again, stepping towards Hunter and letting a huge, warm hand settle on his shoulder. He squeezed lightly, a reassurance.

“You’re their brother. Their friend. A father-figure to Omega.” A smile tugged at his lips as he added, “Don’t mistake me, she looks to all of you, but her bond with you is different to the rest. She needs you, in a different way now to perhaps how she did before, but no less important.” He let his grip tighten, pressing his words into Hunter. “I’d say more important.”

The line of Hunter’s shoulders was still tense under his hand. “Echo and Crosshair are out there fighting the Empire,” he said reluctantly. “I should be doing more.”

Letting his hand drop, Shep stepped past Hunter to gaze down at the town, the houses stretching down to the docks and the small boats bobbing there, less now than before the Empire attacked, but the small fleet recovering with each new craft they built.

“Do you begrudge Wrecker the life he leads now?”

“What?” He almost felt Hunter’s startled flinch. “Of course not.”

Shep smiled as he thought of the big clone, the first refugee to come to Pabu who rivalled him in stature. Wrecker had thrown himself wholeheartedly into island life, and not a day went by without him turning his hand to some new skill, eager to learn, ever-willing to lend his strength to the community. He could most often be found down at the docks, but a love of Pabu’s food had seen him turn into a surprisingly good chef as well, and he was beginning to return Shep’s gifts of food baskets for the clones with cooked platters of his own.

“Or the clone cadets? The three boys you rescued?”

“That’s different,” said Hunter sullenly. “It’s not the same.”

“Isn’t it?” said Shep mildly. He chuckled at the thought of the mischief the three boys wrought, seven and eight years old in teenagers’ bodies. They had tried fostering them with parents, but the three of them had been fending for themselves so long they were happier on their own. Instead, Shep had settled them in a central location, ensuring that they had islanders around them to help them adjust whilst giving them their own space.

“It’s not,” insisted Hunter stubbornly. “They’re just kids. They shouldn’t have to fight. I want them to have normal lives… just like I want for Omega.”

“Hmm.” Shep let the thoughtful noise hang in the air between them. “They are trained. Capable soldiers. Why do you feel you should compare yourself to your brothers in the Resistance, yet not expect them to join?”

He heard the intake of breath that was Hunter getting ready to argue, then the click of his teeth as he jaw clamped shut. He tried not to smile.

“It sounds like you hold yourself to different standards than you do the rest of them, Hunter,” he offered, and continued with Hunter’s grunt of acknowledgement. “It’s hard not to, when you’ve been their Sergeant so long. You’ve seen them through so much. But…”

Now he turned back to Hunter, expression gentle and unjudgmental as he said, “Couldn’t you extend yourself the same grace? To give yourself the chance to lead the life you want, not the life you feel you ought to?”

Hunter’s face was shadowed with doubt, and he worried at his lower lip as conflict showed in his eyes.

Eventually he looked up at Shep.

“How do you do it?” he asked softly. “How do you be who people expect you to be… and still find the right path for yourself?”

Shep smiled benignly, clapping a hand to Hunter’s upper arm reassuringly.

“With practice, Hunter. You’ll get the hang of it.” His smile broadened. “Perhaps you can start by taking a rest day… on the rest day.”

Hunter grinned sheepishly with a rough chuckle. “Alright, Shep. Consider me lectured.”

Shep turned back to the island vista, draping his arm over Hunter’s shoulders. The clone relaxed into an easier posture, one hand on his hip, some of the tension bleeding from his frame.

“It will take time,” Shep told him softly. “But you’ll learn. I’m sure of it.”

A soft smile tugged at the edge of Hunter’s lips, lifting some of the tiredness from his expression.

“I’m sure I will.”

[continuous-spec]

100 word drabble from the Mass Effect Fanfiction Writer discord. Prompt: Begin/Beginnings

The Alliance cruiser roared from Earth’s surface. Crammed to the brim full of teenagers unaware they signed their lives away. Excited yells echoed from the walls as the ship shook.

Shepard rubbed her shaved head where once red hair curled along her skull. She bounced her newly issued steel-toed boots, adding to the chaotic humm.

The ship cut through clouded smog. Shepard locked her feet in place. A quiet hush followed as hundreds of eyes locked on the port's window.

Millions upon millions of stars poured into view. Shepard's laugh broke the silence—This would be her new beginning.

[ginbiscuit]

Multiclass

Fandom: Mass Effect Pairing: Jeff "Joker" Moreau & James Vega Rating: Gen Warnings: none Word Count: around 1,000 Summary: When Alenko suggests an evening of D&D, Jeff is game, if only to keep his mind off things and not spend his free time brooding. He didn't expect to have any revelations while playing, though.

Tags: Characters playing Dungeons & Dragons, this is just a silly little fic, introspection

Written for @spacebunshep/ @hatboyexcha

[katkat030]

There’s a fond tilt to his lips as he begins carding his fingers through Bdubs’ hair, the sensation of the strands slipping through his fingers and the weight of the head pillowed on his chest grounding. It feels right, just so, a surety that seeps into his bones and nestles there. With Bdubs curled up on the grass beside him, face turned outwards and the sleepy smile tugging at his expression just barely peeking out from beneath the arm thrown over his eyes, the irony isn’t lost on him.

Six months in the making! :) An Ethubs-focused one shot based on @shepscapades' Detroit Become Hermitcraft au!

[hana-bobo-finch]

ADRESS THE LEEETTERS TO TYE HOOLES IN MY BUTTERFLY WINGS NOTHINGS FOR EER NOTHINGS AS GOOD AS IT SEEMS AND WHEN THE CLOUDS WONT IRON OUT AABD THE MONSTERS CREP INTO YOUR HOUSE A D SCSRG FOOR IS HARD TO CLOSE

FUCKIING DIIIINGOOOO

[valka-arialitan]

Clone Shep 🫶

Poorly redrawing stock photos because low quality content is still content. Season 1, episode 3.

Feel free to send me stock photos and characters to redraw !

Ref under the cut.

[lonesurvivorao3]

Eris Shepard & Captain Anderson

January 2175

Anderson harboured suspicions of fraternisation, but in public, she treated Kaidan no differently than anyone else - with utter disdain - so he had no way to prove it. After his transfer, Eris seemed more scraped out and more volatile than when he first encountered her.

Being summoned as NOK to the military police station on Arcturus was the final straw, and he seethed with anger. "I don't remember 'stab a fellow marine' being on the agenda this morning."

It wasn't her fault that four of her new colleagues underestimated her, deeming her a gobshite and an easy target. She continued to laugh. “The Geth are a bloody revelation that meets every criterion for life, regardless of their origin.”

The woman could start a fight in an empty room. Although it was possible that was her opinion, it was more likely that she deliberately provoked them by expressing controversial crap out loud. He slammed his fist onto the table in front of her. "You have no respect for me or the job I perform!"

Eris swayed on the bench, her words slurred. "Oh, give it a rest. I didn’t knife anything important. They'll live. Probably."

That vicious little blade she always carried saved her life - again. After carving two of them up, she snatched a bottle of top shelf whiskey and drained the bottle before the cops showed. The optics of four male soldiers attacking a lone, petite female soldier meant she wouldn’t be charged, and she knew it.

He shook his head. "And that's supposed to make it alright?!"

In an instant, her head snapped up and she went rigid. Anderson noticed the muscles under the straps of her N4 vest tensing, the twitch of the scar on her face. Eris had never attacked him, didn't have a weapon at hand, and the cuffs dampened her biotics, but he still braced himself for whatever might come next.

It frightened him when she suddenly erupted into noisy tears and wailed. "Nothing is alright! Nothing will ever be alright."

[newwwwusername]

Fanfic requests OPEN for Steven Universe

I am currently taking fanfic requests for Steven Universe, Steven Universe : The Movie, and Steven Universe Future

I will write : - Hurt/comfort - Fluff - AUs - Canon divergence - Songfics - Sickfics - Any other trope (so long as it follows my rules) - Any headcanon (so long as it follows my rules) - Whatever ship you want (so long as it follows my rules)

I won’t write : - Smut or fetish fics - Pedophilia (yes this means no shipping Steven with any gems)/incest (including adopted family, and including step-siblings)/beastiality ships (or anything like that) - OCs - Crossovers - Y/N - Explicit depictions of self-harm or suicide - Drowning (personal trigger of mine) - Werewolf AUs (werewolves are also a trigger of mine)

Other things to note : - I do not guarantee I will write every request I get. Sometimes requests will just not click with me, and sometimes I don’t feel qualified to fulfill it. I will try to write as many as I can, though - You can also submit any requests to this prompt meme on AO3 if that’s more your style : https://archiveofourown.org/collections/newwwwusernamerequests or to this Google form : https://forms.gle/3K7STap3v715Hidu5

The following is a list of ships and headcanons I particularly like. I’ll write anything, but I’m much more likely to write it if it has one or more of the following

Pairings (/ for romantic, & for platonic) : Lapis/Peridot, Steven/Connie, Ruby/Sapphire, Pearl/Bismuth, Pearl & or / Amethyst, Shep/Sadie, Sadie & or / Lars, Lars/Sour Cream, Lars/Buck Dewey, Buck Dewey/Sour Cream/Jenny, Steven & any of the Crystal Gems, Steven & Spinel, Lapis & Bismuth, Peridot & Bismuth, Steven & Jasper, Amethyst & Jasper, Sour Cream & Onion, Connie & any of the Crystal Gems, Connie & Greg, Steven & Greg, Pearl & Greg, Steven & Sadie, Steven & Centipeedle

Headcanons : Autistic!Peridot, Autistic!Pearl, FTM!Lars, Autistic!Lars, pretty much all of the gems have PTSD, Connie has OCD, Autistic!Centipeedle, Chronically Ill!Lapis, Chronically Ill!Centipeedle

[acciokaidanalenko]

I would love to hear more about your Merc AU, I hear some things from you but this one really intrigues me.

WIP game: Title Edition

Oooooh, this one has me so excited!! It was inspired thanks to some friends in the Hatboy discord server, and just keeps growing, honestly. It was just going to be a one shot, but has quickly grown into a short fic of its own.

The premise of it is that Natasha left the Alliance after the way they handled the aftermath of the Skyllian Blitz. She becomes a Merc and meets several of our Merc/Assassin friends much earlier than in canon. Including her lover, Thane. For seven years she takes various jobs around the galaxy, until she saves up enough money to get some info from the Shadow Broker; the name and location of the man responsible for the Blitz.

The fic picks up on the day she receives that information, which is right at the start of ME1. Here's a little snippet:

The door to her right chimed lightly, and hissed open. She turned her head as the bright light from the hallway flooded into this darkened area and illuminated everything within its reach. She felt the breath catch in her throat as she recognized his slender frame, outlined by the light until he stepped forward and the door shut behind him. The alleyway once again shrouded in darkness as she listened to his footsteps, almost imperceptible if you weren’t listening close enough. Shepard remained still as he approached, keeping her back against the wall and arms crossed against her chest. Her heartbeat quickened at the sight of him, suddenly nervous as she wondered how this interaction would end. “Thought you were done with this business, Krios,” she purred with a smirk as he stopped in front of her. The shadows that the dim lighting cast against his face would’ve terrified any target, and yet somehow sent her heart aflutter. He leaned forward, pressing his forearm against the wall as his other hand fell to her hip. He trailed his finger along the waistband of her jeans, feeling the gentle tingle of her biotic aura against his fingertips. “Is one ever truly free from this life, Shepard?” He leaned his head closer until his lips were next to her ear. He felt the tickle of the stray hairs that had fallen from her ponytail against his face, smiling to himself as she held her breath. “Though I found my revenge long ago, I still find myself seeking out what is familiar to me,” he added in his deep, ragged voice. She thought it sounded rougher than the last time they’d spoken. His Kepral’s must still be progressing.

[just-here-with-my-thoughts]

"Get out of my room!" / "You're a bad liar"

@summer-of-bad-batch week 6 alt prompt/week 5 main prompt

Fandom: The Bad Batch Characters: Shep, Lyana, Omega Set after season 3 when everyone is living happily on Pabu Word Count: ~310 Read Here on AO3

Synopsis: Teenage girl sleepovers should not be interrupted by well-meaning fathers.

When the shrieking from Lyana’s room increased in both volume and pitch, Shep rose from his armchair to go investigate.

“Girls?” he questioned by way of greeting, reaching out to push the door fully open. “Is everything okay!”

He had barely glanced into the room before his daughter was on her feet, planting both hands on his chest and shoving him backwards.

“Dad!” Lyana’s voice was tinged with expected teenage embarrassment. “Get out of my room!”

“Sorry!” Shep couldn’t help a chuckle as he backpedalled. As soon as he was clear of the threshold Lyana dropped her grip and quickly slammed the door in his face.

He waited a moment before leaning towards the now-shut portal, calling, “Is everything okay in there?”

Muffled shrieks of laughter. That wasn’t reassuring.

“Everything’s fine,” came Lyana’s voice in the end. “You can’t just barge in here! What if me and Omega were changing?”

Shep rolled his eyes. He was not reassured.

“Okay,” he said with trepidation. “Let me know if you need anything.”

*

Lyana and Omega sat with hands stuffed in their mouths, trying to control their laughter until they heard Lyana’s father retreat.

The moment they felt safe they fell into hysterical giggles on the floor once more, faces aching from laughter.

“I’m so sorry Omega!” said Lyana again. “I thought I could cut a straight line!”

Omega flopped onto her back, grabbing the mirror once more and holding it up, looking at herself this way and that.

“It’s not so bad,” she reassured her friend. “I’m sure I’ll get used to it.”

Her reflection looked back at her, a slanting fringe skimming her eyebrow on one side but rising to reveal her forehead on the other.

“You’re a bad liar. It's awful.” Lyana pounced on her, reaching to grab the scissors. “Stay still… I’m sure I can get it even if I try…”

[emrisemrisemris]

Liara came into the little exercise room, where Shepard was grimly doing the same set of awkward physiotherapy stretches she'd been doing twice a day every day for the last two years, and said "I thought we could visit Earth next year. For the eclipse."

[sugarstitchplush]

finished mass effect 3 and I’m not okay 😭

[ljandersen]

Pairing: FemShep/Kaidan Alenko

Available: AO3

Summary: It’s a hard time of year for Shepard. This year especially. Since losing her family on Mindoir, she’s come to dread Christmas.Kaidan can’t take it away, but damned if he won’t try. This year he has an idea.

Excerpt: 

Kaidan opened the glass slider to the balcony. Winter air hit him in the face. Light snow -- barely snow at all, more like flecks of crystal -- shimmered in the hazy moonlight, suspended over the city lights and the gray ocean in the distance.

“What are you doing out here?” He stepped out in bare feet. The icy cement sent a cold shock up his body, and he reached back inside for a blanket.

“Just . . . sitting.”  Shepard sat on a bench with her back to the wall. A hand resting on her stomach, she gazed out at the hazy, dark skyline.

“It’s freezing out here.” He came over with arms full of chenille.

“If you’re not wearing a shirt, it’s going to be cold anywhere.” She glanced up at him.  

Her loose white T-shirt and baggy sweatpants were hardly a step up in winter wear.  She was having a hard time fitting the clothes she already owned, too stubborn to commit to maternity wear yet.

He dropped down onto the bench beside her and wrapped her in the blanket. “When you see your breath, it’s cold by anyone’s definition.”

“Especially to a guy without a shirt.” She shrugged the blanket up higher over her opposite shoulder and held it out to him with her other arm, like a chenille batwing. “Share some body heat?”