#instead it was just... Garrus trying to keep her from going over the edge and losing ground day by day | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dearophelia · 3 years

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there is an indentation in the shape of you

long live :: knight of cups :: there is an indentation in the shape of you

testing reach and flexibility for the first time. rated m for some nudity, but we fade to black before the fun stuff; godspeed to me and my notifications after the bots get hold of some search terms in this post

Olivia realizes, as she leaves the battery slightly mortified that she actually said we can test your reach and my flexibility, that she doesn't know how to do this.

Sex, yes. Well, sex with turians, no, but she has a few people she can ask and, failing that, the extranet's sure to have porn she can get the basic ideas from. So she can figure out the sex.

But after she’s just laid an immensely cheesy line onto her friend and propositioned him – and after said friend had stumbled surprisingly toward agreeing with her – how does she initiate the encounter? An email: You are cordially invited this Saturday to Commander Shepard's quarters for sex and light drinks. Or, and she's not sure if this is actually worse, a text: wanna bang? 😉

Fortunately, there’s a bit of a distraction with Miranda’s sister. Then, few days later, Garrus handles it. A text: Dinner? And research?

She quickly sends back an affirmative and feels herself relax just the smallest bit. Unfortunately, when the night arrives, she’s lost track of time with her own research and is in the middle of watching an impressive climax scene when her doorbell beeps. Rubbing her eyes – as if that could reset her short term memory away from porn – she pauses the video. Then she closes it, closes the program, and mutes and restarts her terminal for good measure before she lets Garrus in.

She smiles up at him. Something about Garrus always sets her at ease. As promised, he's brought dinner for both of them. He hands her an OSD. Olivia steps aside, gesturing for him to set up on the table.

His talons brush across her hip as he passes, a touch far too specific to be an accident. Delightful sparks shiver up her spine. She plugs the OSD into the wall and the fish tank fades opaque, turning into a screen. His file directory automatically pops up. Olivia feels a rush of heat to her cheeks.

Garrus is very, very organized with his media files. And he's been descriptive. Her cheeks get hotter and she’s glad for the relatively dim light of her quarters.

"I, uh," he says, "was doing some research and it turns out you and I are different enough that doing the research together seemed wise." He pats the seat beside him. "Sit, eat."

Olivia sits beside him. He's even brought wine. It's enough to distract her, for the moment, from the fact that there are several gigabytes of porn listed on her fish tank.

***

She raises her eyebrows. The woman on the screen is moaning her head off, but all Olivia can think about is chafing: as the woman bounces up and down, her inner thighs scrape against her turian partner's hips with each bounce. Nothing about the man's position looks pleasant either: his back is curved at a strange angle and his leg spurs push flat against the bed.

Their research stopped being arousing about fifteen minutes ago.

Glancing up at Garrus, she has to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. He looks horrified.

"Okay," she says, pausing the video. It freezes with both actors' faces contorted into unfortunate expressions. She turns off the screen entirely and, though it's been really nice cuddled into his side with his arm around her shoulders, slips out from underneath his arm.

Garrus looks at her and tilts his head.

She slides one leg over his and settles into his lap. The position immediately brings her to eye level with him. She smiles. "How about some hands on research?" Olivia suggests.

His mandibles flicker and Garrus nods. "Yeah," he says, setting his hands on her hips, "sure."

Olivia rests her hands on his shoulders and leans in to kiss him. She pauses. "Do turians kiss?" She should've looked that up. Vids have been nonspecific about it.

"Not really," he says. Her shirt's ridden up a bit and his fingers gently brush against the bare skin of her lower back.

Doing her best to ignore the way Garrus is trailing his fingers over her waist and hips, and instead focus on her inquiry, she purses her lips. "Is there an equivalent?"

"Shepard," he says. He's not even pretending now and boldly pushes her shirt up a little, getting at the very sensitive skin of her lower spine.

She feels a quiet whine start in the back of her throat, but she swallows it down. She also makes a great effort to steady her hips and not grind down on his surprisingly-comfortable lap. Get a hold of yourself, Olivia. It's been a while, but that's no reason to dry hump your friend. "I'm just trying – ” she doesn't know what she's trying, honestly.

Trying to make this not weird. And failing, mostly.

"Shepard," he says again. Quieter this time, lower, deeper. His voice rumbles through him. Through her.

One hand slides over her shirt and up her back, threading carefully through her hair, as the other continues exploring the skin of her waist and hips. She swallows.

Garrus gently tugs her forward, encouraging her to finish what she started a moment ago.

Olivia's eyes flutter shut and she presses her lips to his mouthplates. They're stiffer than human lips, drier and not quite as pliable; he returns the kiss as best he can. She smiles against him and lets her arms settle around his shoulders. Her fingers dance across the back of his neck – bumpy, but softer than she expected. Garrus draws her closer, pulling her hips against his as he presses up ever so slightly into her.

"So," she says breathlessly. She brings her hands forward, letting her fingertips ghost over his mandibles, mindful of his still-healing scars. "That seems to work okay," she smiles. She feels a lot more confident than she did a moment ago, calmer, and less like she's going to pull out a checklist and ask about turian sexual behavior.

A low, pleased rumble rolls from his throat. "It does," he agrees. "But I think there was something about hands on research?" He tugs on her shirt.

Grinning, she leans back and grasps the hem of her shirt. In one fluid motion, she pulls it over her head and discards the shirt aside, revealing a pink and black lace bra. She lost all of her cute underwear when the Normandy crashed (and Cerberus hadn’t supplied her with any), but she had time to kill in Nos Astra the other day.

Garrus inhales sharply and drags his talons across her hips, marveling at the smooth skin he finds there. His hands coast up and down the slope of her sides and across her stomach; her breath shakes as she keeps herself still. He pulls his eyes away from her waist and back up to her face. "Soft," he says.

"Is that good?" she asks, hesitantly.

"Different," he says. He traces the edge of her pants, dipping just underneath the fabric at the front. She gasps. "But good," he murmurs as he brushes his thumbs across her hipbones.

Garrus draws his hands away from her hips and up to her breasts. He trails his finger over the outline of her bra, taking note of every sound and movement. He sets his whole palm over her breast itself and her breath catches in her throat.

"Good?" he asks, cupping her breast.

"Good," she breathes, "but." She twists in his lap, showing him the clasp of her bra. She flicks it open, so he knows how, and then turns back around.

Garrus lightly drags the straps down her arms and then pulls the whole thing off. She takes from him and tosses it near her shirt.

"That was good," she murmurs, "but this is better." When Garrus looks perplexed, she takes his hands and sets them on her breasts again. His ungloved hands are warm, soft, and he squeezes gently. His talon skims across her nipple and her breath catches.

He tilts his head in fascination and does it again, watching as the sensitive bud grows tighter. He brings his attention to both nipples, playing and teasing until they're both hard and Olivia's squirming in his lap. Looking up from her chest, he grins at her. "I take it that's good?" He leans into her, nuzzling his mouthplates against her neck.

If he slid his hand into her pants, he'd find her panties soaked. "Yes," she breathes.

As Garrus licks a slow line up her neck, she continues her own exploration. Frustrated by his shirt in the way, she leans back and tugs at it. "Can I take this off?"

He nods and lets go of her breasts, which sends a bolt of disappointment through her until she realizes that he's showing her how to get his shirt off. A few toggles and a hidden clasp, and the shirt practically falls away. Garrus casts it aside and then draws her back for another kiss, holding her tight to him.

His hide feels strange against her bare breasts: drier, warmer than human skin, and a little rougher, but not so rough that it hurts. He tugs her closer and she gasps as her nipples graze against his chest – just rough enough to feel amazing. Olivia slides her hands over his newly-exposed skin, across his shoulders, his chest, the back of his neck. She finds a soft spot just beneath his crest and strokes her fingers over it.

Garrus shudders and breaks the kiss.

"Sorry," she says, dropping her fingers away.

He bumps his forehead against hers. "It's nice," he breaths. "Really nice." He slowly drags the tip of his talon down the length of her spine, settling his palm comfortably on her ass. "But it's also a good spot to kill a turian," he whispers. "So be careful."

Nodding, Olivia smiles. She lightly draws a spiral over the spot and Garrus shudders again. This time, she can discern the arousal in it. "Where else is nice for you?"

Garrus hums and settles his hand beside the other on her ass. He squeezes gently. "Might be easier if we moved off the couch." He brushes a kiss to her cheek.

She slides off of him and nearly trips over the table. Garrus catches her arm, steadying her. Once she has her balance, she takes his hand and leads him over to the open space beside the fish tank. She doesn't want to presume anything about the bed, not yet.

"Here," he says, taking her hands. He sets them on his slim waist, just above the fabric of his pants.

Her hands fit perfectly on his hips. She lets her fingers dip into the space between his plates, finding soft, smooth hide. Garrus breathes heavily and she looks up. His eyes are closed, mouth slightly open. She presses a little harder. He groans.

Garrus settles his hands on her own hips, trailing his fingers over the edge of her pants. He opens his eyes. "Can I take these off?" he asks, dipping a talon just slightly below the waistband.

"Yeah," Olivia whispers. She's wearing sweatpants; no buttons, no zippers. "Just push them down."

He does, ever so gently and ever so slowly. He drags her pants down over the curve of her ass and lets them fall to the floor. She steps out and kicks them aside, standing in front of him in only her panties.

He's seen her in her underwear before, changing in and out of armor, and she thinks he might have even seen her naked once on the SR-1, when showers were limited and the urge to not smell like scorched rachni was more important than modesty. But this is different. This is intentional, this is under dim lighting, touching each other. This is cute underwear that matches the bra.

Garrus lightly draws her closer, tracing her curves as his eyes roam over her almost-naked body. "What do you like?" he asks as his hands once again settle on her hips. He gently brushes his fingers over the thin fabric of her panties.

She actually had a list. It seemed practical, knowing what she likes and doesn't like, so she could give him an answer to this exact question. But she can't think of anything on it right now. She can’t think of anything other than getting her panties off and getting someone – Garrus or her own hand, she really doesn't care – between her legs. "Want me to show you?"

She's a little surprised by the sultriness in her voice, but the heat between her legs is far more to pay attention to.

Garrus nods, but doesn't move, keeps stroking her hips, her ass, every bit of panty-covered skin he can reach.

Smiling, she gestures. "Then these need to come off."

Taking half a step closer toward her, he hooks his fingers into the waistband and, once she nods again, happily obliges.

***

Several hours later, Olivia lies on her back with Garrus' head resting on her bare stomach. A sheet lightly covers them from the cool air of her quarters. She's idly tracing his crest while he draws patternless designs across her skin.

"So, not a horribly awkward interspecies thing," she says. Quite the opposite.

Garrus grins. "It's nice to be wrong sometimes."

#shakarian #s:long live #s:2021 #s:words #another one that's been in the works for years #love how some fics for this series are like 600 words long meanwhile this one clocks in at 2200

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scars-of-the-hart · 3 years

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Tempest on the Shore: Shakarian angst on the Citadel

Her legs had finally stopped trembling. Shit. Shepard tried to hold onto the last tendrils of the woozy, tingling, mind-wiping high. But it was like trying to hold water in cupped hands, it slipped away through the cracks no matter how tightly she tried to hold it, leaving emptiness behind. And the emptiness was loud. She let out a frustrated sigh and rolled over shifting to the edge of the bed, remembering exactly where she had dropped her pants and tank top. She hadn’t bothered with underwear for this in ages.

“Um...excuse me?” Demanded the salarian in the bed pressing himself up onto his elbows.

Shepard gave him a puzzled frown.

The salarian (he had a name but she’d intentionally failed to commit it to memory) imperiously raised a scaled brow at her. “What the hell was that?”

“What?”

“That noise you made.”

“What noise?”

“You sighed.”

“Oh...um did I?”

The salarian scowled at her. “Yes, you did. Look honey, I don’t know what your problem is but two hours with me will not result in the most quad-rung overstimulated krogan feeling dissatisfied so you better get that little viscous crack looked at.” He narrowed his eyes at her, and cast a disgusted look between her legs. “Because it is the problem. Not. Me.”

Shepard just stared at him. She was tempted to pay him double because she was close to laughing, which was more of a service than anything he’d done in this bed. But the spark went out as quickly as it had come.

She shook her head as she tucked a hand between her legs. Not too wet. Manageable for the walk back to the Normandy. That was the handy thing about salarians. The females created enough moisture of their own that the blokes were pretty dry in the bed. As she pulled her pants on she gave the salarain a hard look. “I appreciate that you take so much pride in your work, but you're worrying your giant head over nothing. You were great. Thanks.” He still looked pissed as hell. She vaguely tried to care, but just couldn’t. “Keep to working with people's bodies, you’ve got no natural ability with their heads.” She pulled her tank on, bound her tangled mane of red hair in a messy bun on top of her head, crossed to the door and waved her omnitool across the payment console. It registered her transfer of credits and the door clicked as it unlocked and hissed open. She gave the salarian a mocking salute as she left.

“See you in two weeks, freak.” He called after her, his voice full of venom.

She tried to ignore it. She wouldn't be back, she lied to herself as she made her way along the wards. The streets were wet from the rain that had been falling before she started her session with the salarian. The layer of moisture almost made this part of the Citadel beautiful. There was something about the extended blur of the neon lights that made them romantic, instead of just... seedy.

A human who passed her made the mistake of eyeing the motion of her breasts under her tank and she gave him a look that told him exactly what kind of retribution that attention merited. He turned instantly pale and hastily turned down a different street. She should care-about the way he had looked, or his reaction or...or anything. She pushed away that thought as she tried to push away every other, shifting her focus to the way walking made her recently stimulated vagina feel. She shifted her stride, trying to stir any lingering feelings of pleasure, to tease out a last rush of dopamine, but it wasn’t working. Between the bitchy salarian, and the oggloing tool...or maybe it was just her. Just the empty, broken, piece of shit she was. She glanced at the time on her omnitool. She had half an hour before the end of their shore leave. Fuck. She could be fast but that wasn’t going to give her enough time for a session with anything if she wanted to avoid judgmental looks from Miranda and the Cerberus goons for coming back late when she was the one who had threatened to depart without any stragglers.

You know what, fuck it. I didn’t ask to come back from the dead.

She pulled up the booking page that had become the top listing for her “frequently used” extranet sites, and started typing in her preferences. Doesn’t matter if I pay for a full session and only use a few minutes. What am I gonna do with credits when the Reapers get here? Try to pay them off? She filled out the request sheet as she walked: either gender, cunnelingus. There literally wasn’t time to fuck around with penetration. Species. The form asked. Shepard grunted impatiently, didn’t really matter, she just needed something waiting for her when she got to the back rooms of Chora’s Den. She selected turian by accident, and then physically collided with one.

Shepard rubbed her forehead where it had collided with the offending turian’s armor as pain lanced through her head. Ok, any lingering effects of the salarian generated dopamine were definitely gone now. She glowered up at the mandabled idiot she had run into, preparing a curt, ufelt apology, and fell silent as she caught sight of the glow of a blue visor.

SHIT

“Commander…” Garrus’ browplates furrowed as he stared at her in surprise. Shepherd’s mind went completely blank as she just stared at him. His crystalline eyes widened in concern and more than a little shock. A steadying hand went to her arm and his rough tipped fingers round her brow, testing gently. “Are you...I’m sorry I should have-”

Shepherd’s gut clenched and she quickly brushed away his hands. “Been watching where the fuck you were going. Yeah. Work on that.” His head cocked ever so slightly at her harsh tone, his eyes narrowing a fraction.

“I’m sorry, Shepard.” His mandibles flared in irritation. “I was endeavoring to make it back to the Normandy as you-”

“-yeah, well if you're that careless while carrying out an order you're not gonna last two minutes against the Collectors.” She snapped. His eyes narrowed further, every calculating thought clear in those eyes. Fucker. Shepard though. Her stomach clenched. She didn’t have time for this. She didn’t have the energy or the...anything, for this. “ I’ll have to put what’s left of your cold ass carapace in a box.”

And then she saw his chin set: slightly raised, head tilted ever so slightly to the right. His pissed off defensive posture. She was too tired and empty and furious and stressed and scared and-

Shepard turned on her heel and started stomping towards the nearest tram station that would lead her to the Citadel docks.

“Yeah,” Garrus called after her, “if you can still afford a box and you haven’t spent every last Cerberus credit at Chora’s.”

Ice shot down her spine. She stopped, turned slowly and stared at the turian. “Excuse me, Vakarian?”

His chin was still set. “I’m sorry, is there something inaccurate in my assessment?” He drawled.

She hadn’t ever been followed...not that she cared if she had, you just didn’t survive the shit she did and remain capable of not checking for tails and hostels and whatever. She didn’t care. She shouldn’t care. Why would she care if he knew? Especially if it was Garrus. Garrus who had gotten his whole crew killed. Garrus who’s medical chart after taking a rocket to the face had shown just what crap the turian had been pouring into his body (well...Moria wasn’t going to point fingers there..unless certain taloned fingers were already pointing at her), but that wasn’t the point why should she care? Except he shouldn’t know.

She gritted her teeth. “I would say there is as I have no idea what you are talking about.”

His eyes were cold as they narrowed. He casually lifted the hand that had, only minutes ago, brushed tenderly against her forehead, and sniffed it. His nostrils flared. “Salarian. Human sweat, yours, by the way, we’ve spared enough for me to recognize it. “

“Oh, fuck you, Vakarian.” She spat. “I probably smell like you, dipshit, after running into you. Who the fuck do you think you are throwing accuzations at your commanding officer?”

“You do smell like me.” Garrus snarled, “but it's different, and there's also a little krogan, asari and batarian-” she opened her mouth to snarl at him but he spoke over her “-not that those are from today, or you, not quite in the same way as the salarian. My guess is those scents are left over from whoever else was in the room before you.”

Rage washed through ther. “If you want to get back on my ship you’ll shut that pincushion of a mouth right now.”

Garrus’ nostrils flared, and she didn't think it had anything to do with him smelling her this time. “You asked me to come aboard!”

“Yeah,” Shepard snarled, “and I remember someone saying that he couldn’t exactly doubt my judgement.”

“That was before you were fucking everything and anything on the wards.”

It was like the world bottomed out around her. Nothing existed but his eyes and those words. She saw fear flash through them for a second, before being replaced by that same rage as before.

“And what the hell makes you think what I fuck is any of your goddamn business?”

There was some hurt in the rage. “Because I’m your friend Shepard.”

“Yeah. Friend. And crew. Neither of which has anything to do with the personal choices I make.”

“Look,” he said, “taking on the Collectors, everything with the Council, coming back from the dead I get that its a lot to deal with-”

Heat rushed through her cheeks. “And I'm dealing with it so back the hell off.”

“You’re being reckless there’s-”

Why was this happening? Why was she having this conversation? Why did it matter- she shoved the thoughts a way and glared at him. “Don’t talk to me about “being reckless” Archangel.”

It was a direct hit. Garrus blinked, a different type of pain in his expression. Shepherd’s gut twisted. It was a low blow. A fucking dirty low blow.

He looked away from her, staring out at the skycars soaring past the walkway, then gave her a long look out of the corner of his eye. “You are reckless in the field. You are tense on the ship. Its behavior I recognize. I was there recently, as you have so kindly reminded me.”

She wanted to say something. But she didn’t. She just held his gaze.

He slowly closed the difference between them, staring down at her. She refused to give ground: she didn’t move her chin an inch, and continued to glare up at him. He tilted his head so that he could meet her gaze and said slowly. “I don’t care who you fuck.” They were inches apart. “I care why you make bad calls when you know there are better ones.” She couldn’t breathe. His long slow breaths tickled her nose. “You asked for my help.” The challenge in his eyes made her blood sing. “So I’m going to call you on your bullshit, Shepard.”

He’d been the one to support her after Eden Prime. Someone who had seen through Saren’s lies on his own. The one she wanted on her side on every mission. The only one who hadn’t questioned her using Cerberus…An feelings the salarian had left in her body were gone, the vague numb bliss replaced with the electric currents those eyes sent racing through her. She was rooted to the spot and ready to rush him all at once. She wanted her hands on him, to tear, to push against that immovable impossible weight and solidness of him. That was what she wanted. She wanted something real, something strong, something constant, something she could unleash herself against without fear. Her lips parted as a breath escaped them, crashing against his like a wave.

But something broke the spell between them and Garrus pulled back. “No one on that ship is in their right mind.” He said quietly. “I have a feeling we’re all going to have to grapple with spirits that haunt us if we want a shot at taking the fight to the Collectors and coming back in one piece.” He gave her a last long slow look. “But I think you need to figure out what the hell you're actually fighting for.” And with that he turned away, walking towards the docs without so much of a backwards glance. His crest cast a long shadow on the ground in the slowly dimming lights of the Citadel promenade, and Shepard felt herself fall into darkness as it slipped away.

#shakarian #garrus #Femshep #angst #romance #interspecies sex

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lopithecusfanfiction · 3 years

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Dissension

Author: Lopithecus Pairing: Kaidan Alenko/Male Shepard Rating: General Audience Word Count: 1670 Alternate: AO3 Summary: Shepard and Kaidan argue over how a mission went Warnings: N/A Author's Note: This is for Day 4 of Mass Effect Trilogy Appreciation Week! Please enjoy! Prompt: Day 4 - Argument

Kaidan watches silently as Doctor Chakwas slaps some medi-gel onto a deep cut that is on Shepard’s side, arms crossed and leaning against the opposite bed to the Commander. Shepard hisses at the sting, flinching away and then regretting the movement immediately as his entire side shoots fiery pain through his body. There’s a huge black and blue that spreads all the way past his naval and up into his chest. Broken ribs, Doctor Chakwas had supplied and then lectured Shepard on the ideals of not falling off high places. Shepard had sat there and taken it, feeling the tension coming off of Kaidan in waves.

“There,” Doctor Chakwas pulls away, inspecting her handiwork of wrapping Shepard’s abdomen up. “It’ll hurt to move and breathe for a while but you should be fine.” There’s a hint of flabbergasted amusement in her voice, as if she doesn’t expect anything different from Shepard. Shepard has the feeling Kaidan wouldn’t appreciate the tone, however, so he’s grateful the Doctor keeps it mostly hidden. “And because I know there’s no way I’ll be able to keep you on bed rest for six week, I will give you some potent painkillers. Just don’t overdo it, Commander. Your ribs do need to heal properly.”

Shepard grunts and then hops off the table. He eyes Kaidan, who still hasn’t spoken a single word, and gestures with his head to follow him. Shepard might as well bite the bullet and confront whatever is bothering Kaidan now instead of waiting for it later. So, he leads the way to the elevator and half expects Kaidan to start in on him while they are alone in there but the biotic waits until the door is completely shut to Shepard’s quarters before he speaks.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Kaidan’s voice is low instead of raised like Shepard had expected.

“There was no other choice, Kaidan,” Shepard says, as if that’s the final word on it and if he was half the Commander he should be with Kaidan, it would have been.

But Kaidan doesn’t like that answer and he knows he gets more leeway with Shepard because Shepard cares about him in a different way than the rest of the crew. “There were plenty of other options,” his voice is starting to rise now, his muscles tense. “I even suggested another option but you chose to ignore it.”

“That’s because the last I knew, I was the Commander and you’re supposed to listen to me.” The words are out of Shepard’s mouth before he can even give it some thought and Kaidan’s jaw clenches shut, eyebrows furrowing dangerously. The silence between them drags on for a long time, neither of them wanting to admit defeat. Both of them have always been stubborn.

Soon, Kaidan gives a small shake of his head, as if he is fed up or maybe disappointed that Shepard isn’t the first one to break. “Well… sorry I overstepped, Commander .” He leaves then, turning on his heels and exiting the room with a straight back and stiff strides.

Shepard sighs and carefully sits down on the edge of his bed, one hand holding onto his side where his broken ribs are. He probably shouldn’t have said that to Kaidan, especially not to him and especially not when all Kaidan was trying to do was keep him safe. He can’t blame Kaidan for that. Still, it would probably be best to let the biotic cool off some before confronting him.

Shepard begins busying himself with going over mission reports, filling one out for their latest mission in which he got injured on, and trying to nurse his aching ribs. Eventually, he gets impatient, however, and he can’t help but go searching for Kaidan once the last report is filed away. He doesn’t like Kaidan being mad at him, never has, and he doesn’t want another argument to last as long as the Horizon one did ever again.

He finds Kaidan in the Mess Hall with Liara, Garrus, Tali, and James. They are all eating, James laughing loudly about something. Shepard doesn’t even bother greeting the others and instead strides up to Kaidan. “Kaidan.”

Kaidan doesn’t even look his way. “Something you need, Commander?”

So, he’s definitely still angry. “Can we talk?”

“I don’t know, is this about work?” He finally looks up at Shepard, eyes hard and unreadable. “Anything else would be inappropriate for a Commander and a subordinate to talk about.”

Shepard winces at Kaidan calling himself a subordinate since he really isn’t anymore. Shepard eyes Liara, Garrus, Tali, and James, all of whom have fallen silent and are watching closely. Well, if Kaidan wants to play that game, then fine. “Starboard. Now.” He walks away before Kaidan can respond to him but Shepard doesn’t miss the audible sigh the biotic lets out.

Kaidan follows him into the Starboard Lounge quietly, not even speaking when the door shuts behind them. Shepard turns to face Kaidan, surprised to see just how defeated the man looks. He crosses his arms, allowing the silence to drag out between him and Kaidan until Shepard thinks it’s been long enough.

“Are you done being passive aggressive?” he asks, because he really doesn’t want to do this if all Kaidan is going to be is stubborn.

Kaidan sighs again and his shoulders relax. He takes a step forward and doesn’t stop until he is walking past Shepard and to the window. “I’m sorry, Shepard, it’s just… what you said…”

Shepard bites his lip and joins him at the window. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know,” Kaidan says. He’s still looking out the window, not meeting Shepard’s eyes. “It made me feel like that though.”

“I’m sorry.” Kaidan glances at him, maybe trying to gauge whether Shepard actually means the apology or maybe it’s as simple as the biotic coming around. “Look, I know what I did on that mission was reckless and I know it scared you-”

“You don’t get it,” Kaidan interrupts, turning back towards the window.

“Then make me get it, Kaidan, because I don’t know what you want me to say here.”

Kaidan shakes his head, bowing it to now look at the floor, and for a second, Shepard is afraid he won’t and they’ll be back to square one. Then Kaidan takes a deep breath, to steady himself Shepard supposes, and starts talking quietly as if he doesn’t actually want to think about what he’s about to say. “It was terrible the first time you… when you died, Shepard. Everyone was… we all grieved for you, we didn’t know what to do with ourselves except sit there on a frozen planet waiting for rescue.”

“I thought you found out after you all got rescued,” Shepard says, confused.

Kaidan shakes his head again. “No. Joker, he…” Kaidan sighs, the memory obviously painful to think about. “He told us what happened through the comms. It wasn’t that hard to guess what happened next.”

“I didn’t know.”

“That’s the thing, Shepard.” Kaidan now turns, full body and looks into Shepard’s eyes. “You don’t know. You don’t know what it was like for the crew, for Joker, for me. I-” He swallows, takes a breath. “I loved you, even back then, and I know we weren’t together then and you didn’t know how I felt, but you dying, Shepard… I wasn’t joking when I said back on Horizon that it felt like losing an arm and a leg. It tore me up, I couldn’t do my job properly for months , and then when Hackett finally let me back on duty, it was just like going through the motions. It took me a long time to get past that and I can’t… I can’t do that again, Shepard. I can’t lose you again, especially now that we are together.” Kaidan takes a deep breath, realizing just now how much he actually said. “I don’t think I’d be able to survive it this time, Shepard, so… yeah, you taking unnecessary risks is going to worry me and piss me off. I’m sorry, that’s just… that’s just who I am now.”

Shepard moves, feels the ache in his ribs, and sighs. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you like that. I can’t guarantee I’ll get out of every mission unscathed, though, Kaidan, you know that.”

“I know, I’m not naive, I’ve been doing this almost as long as you have but… if there’s an alternative, a safer , more practical alternative, then I don’t see a reason to not try that first,” Kaidan states, turning back to the window.

Shepard watches him, the frown that is set on his face, the grey hair that has started showing up at his temples, the new wrinkles that weren’t there when Shepard had died the first time. He reaches out, runs his fingers through that black hair, feeling how soft it is, and pulls Kaidan’s head towards him just in time for Kaidan to eye him suspiciously. Shepard kisses him, just above the temple and then rests his own forehead there

“I’ll try to listen to you more.”

“That’s not what I-”

“I know what you meant but… your idea on the last mission was a good one and I should have listened.” Shepard pulls back to make eye contact with Kaidan. He gives the biotic a small, reassuring smile. “I’m sorry I didn’t.”

Kaidan doesn’t say anything and he doesn’t have to. It’s all written in his eyes; how terrified he is, how much he worries, and just how much he loves Shepard. Kaidan steps closer, wrapping his arms around Shepard’s middle carefully, making sure not to squeeze. He then rests his chin on Shepard’s shoulder, holding him, and Shepard mimics the stance, holding Kaidan back.

Shepard doesn’t know how long they stay there, just hugging each other, but he doesn’t mind. As long as he and Kaidan are okay and the biotic is back in his arm, nothing else matters.

—————————————————————————————————

A/N: Thanks for reading!

#trilogyappreciationweek #MShenko #Mass Effect #Commander Shepard #Kaidan Alenko #My Fanfiction #Dissension #Mass Effect Trilogy Appreciation Week

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anosrepasi · 3 years

Note

For the fic prompt #18 This will be my last confession, 'I love you' never felt like any blessing , fandom of your choice

Hey anon first of all bless your patience I’m so sorry this is like 3 months in my inbox. I’m hoping you still see it!!! At first i thought about doing SPN with this given the insanity of the last few months but I decided to do this with my au I want to write for mass effect in the future called: Despite all of their money, and all of their men, Cerberus could never really put Shepard back together again. :) -- She’s been awake too damn long already. Shepard can see it, in the way the edges of her vision get fuzzy when she doesn’t focus on them, the way only the sentence she’s currently reading off of the datapad in front of her is in sharp contrast to the glow of the projection. She should have gone to sleep hours ago and regrouped afterwards to get through the latest pile of reports and needs for their suicide mission. But as per usual, there’s far too much to do and the universe has given her too short a deadline to chance putting off what can be done now for later.

Next to her, Thane sleeps like a statue. His breathing is quiet, just the barest hint of air brushing on her arm to let her know he’s still breathing. He hasn’t moved since he closed his eyes a few hours ago and hasn’t made a sound, every inhale and exhale deep, silent and clear. Shepard finds herself losing focus on the requisition request before her and staring openly at Thane instead.

It’s funny, when he sleeps, there’s nothing to indicate that his lungs are on a trajectory to drowning him alive. No stutter, no rasp, no persistent cough. Just quiet, easy breathes.

Her gaze wanders from his face to her own hands and the irony there is as easily apparent. There’s no outward indication that she’s dying either. That someday all her fancy cybernetics and body reconstruction will burn her alive as they short circuit trying to keep up with the rate of cellular decay. For all of their money and all of their men, Cerberus couldn’t even put Shepard back together again. Fuck. She’s too tired for this.

After all, there’s only so many ways you can rationalize being a dead woman walking. Sara’s been through this, done her grieving. It’s not even like she particularly deserved to wake up again after what happened over Alchera. All this is a bonus, borrowed time and all that. Her gaze drifts back to Thane again, everything she’s got now is explicitly an exercise in entropy, the end date more prominent than any other milestone.

She wonders sometimes, when she can’t help it, if that’s why she loves him.

Shepard’s not blind, she can see the chemistry she’s had with the people who have come into her life, she’s knows that she could have pursued something with a number of different option. That she could find someone in the life who she could have loved without sacrificing what she needed to do. Hell, sometimes she finds herself just sitting in the battery with Garrus, cleaning their rifles side by side in silence and thinks, if I had to have a partner for life, I’d want this.

That’s the catch though, she doesn’t get life.

“Siha, shouldn’t you be asleep?”

Emerald and onyx eyes catch hers and Shepard realizes Thane’s been looking back at her for a moment or two, sloppy work on her part. She shrugs, “I’ll sleep when I’m dead again.”

And here’s the reality of why she loves him, why these last months are going to be spent with him and no one else. Thane laughs, loud and unrestrained and with a freedom that no one else in the world can understand than between two people who’s imminent deaths live with them like a house guest. Someone who can understand the joke here is that she was dead and this is just a short stint before being dead again. No one else Shepard has met and could love would have laughed, they don’t understand the language.

Thane smiles, “Very well. Tell me about what’s keep your attention?”

She holds out the datapad so Thane can see it as well as her, “Normandy upgrades, trying to balance finding the time to have the ship out of commission along with the latest mission docket.”

Thane scans the list and Sara can tell he’s mentally balancing the pros and cons of each options, same as she had been doing earlier. “Personally, I think the additional shielding on the reactor core is a good idea.”

“Don’t want to get fried in life support by a reactor overcharge?”

“I’m sure everyone in engineering has similar wishes.” Thane replies easily, “Though in terms of final moments it wouldn’t be a loss, I’ve heard that seeing a reactor core overload up close is envisioned to be terrifying and very beautiful.”

Shepard thinks of spinning out to the light of stars and the fires of her ship in pieces, choking on the lack of oxygen and all on the backdrop of the deep overwhelming darkness of empty space. Terrifying and beautiful and at the line where terror becomes awe.

“Yeah, I can think of worse.”

#writing prompt game #ano answers #ask meme #ask game #mass effect #shrios #I one day would love to write an entire fic about these two. I think shepards story could have been a lot more impactful if Cerberus had scr #Anon asks #Ano Asks

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ferociousqueak · 4 years

Note

may I get flower prompt Daffodil for Hannah please?

I know it’s taken a bit to put this together, but I finally have something for you :D Thank you for the prompt, and I hope you like it!

Also on AO3!

Daffodil: A new beginning

The two years that passed between the first call and the second had felt more like twenty. It had been like a pocket dimension, not apart from but beside her main reality. While Hannah had noticed some grays starting to glisten in her hair after the Battle of the Citadel, a shock of white now streaked her hair, a constant reminder of what Alchera had taken from her.

Not that she hadn’t known at least some of what happened after the attack. Right when she’d started to put her life back together, her eyes and ears on the inside of Cerberus had broadsided her with the news: Alli was alive. That archeologist had helped those terrorists to recover her daughter’s burned and broken body, and they proceeded to do unspeakable abominations to her.

“Han, I can hear you grinding your teeth from here, and I’m several mass relays away,” Dess’s voice called Hannah back to the present.

She shook her head to clear her thoughts. “Sorry, sweetheart. I was just . . . Alli’s remanded herself to the Alliance. She’s under house arrest while a tribunal figures out whether to indict her for treason.”

“So when do you plan to go see her?” Dess’s voice was carefully even, but Hannah heard the question all the same. Are you going to see her?

“I . . . don’t know.” Hannah untwisted her hair and let it fall over her shoulder so she could run her fingers through it. “What if . . . what if it’s not really her? What if she’s a clone? Or worse, what if she’s not all there anymore? What if Cerberus did something to her to make her easier to control, emptied her out? What if she’s . . . not Alli, anymore?”

Dess hummed as she considered. “But what if it is her?” she said at last.

Hannah nodded. “You’re right. I’ll leave first thing in the morning.”

Hannah had been part of the Alliance Navy her entire adult life, and still, the brick wall walking her down the hall to the brig, his face gently lit by the haptic interface of the datapad he held, was a rare specimen. The tattoos, the muscles, the yellowing bruises and pale pink, healing scars across his face. She wondered briefly if those were Alli’s handiwork, but dismissed the idea. However bulky this marine was, Alli could take him down using only her feet if she really wanted to, and it would be a while before he could walk upright again.

“I’m glad you’re here, Ma’am,” the walking mountain—Lieutenant Vega, that was his name—said as they progressed toward Alli’s cell. “The commander has been pretty antsy since she arrived.”

That sounded like Alli. A wave of nausea overtook Hannah, and she had to place a hand on Vega’s substantial arm to pause for a moment.

“I guess it’s been a while since you’ve been on Earth, huh,” he said, his demeanor more casual than Hannah was used to. “If you need to use the head, it’s just around the corner on the right. I’ll wait here.”

She nodded and walked stiffly in the direction he’d pointed. By the time she pushed open the door, she was sure she wouldn’t need to make use of the facilities, but she’d take the time to collect herself all the same.

Running a paper towel under cool water, she pressed the compress against the back of her neck and closed her eyes. As she leaned over the counter, Hannah wondered if Vega had just been trying to be delicate. Was it obvious how nervous she was to see her daughter—her dead daughter, no less—for the first time in more than two years, knowing what she did about how Alli had become not-dead again?

Part of Hannah wanted to run to Alli, hold her as tightly as her body would allow, never let her go again. The other part was terrified of what she would find when she looked into Alli’s eyes. No one goes from death to life unaffected by the transition.

Taking a final deep breath, Hannah tossed the now-warming compress and returned to Vega, her hands only shaking slightly. No time like the present.

They walked the rest of the way to Alli’s quarters in silence, not that Hannah had said much at all up to this point. She was saving all her words for her daughter.

Finally, they came to a stop in front of what Hannah could surmise was her daughter’s door. “You ready?” Vega asked, his hand hovering above the red lock.

“Yes, thank you, Lieutenant,” Hannah nodded. “I’m ready.”

The door hissed open and Vega walked inside ahead of Hannah. “Commander Shepard, you have a visitor. Captain Hannah Shepard.”

Whatever opinion Hannah had been forming of Vega, his insistence on referring to Alli by her rank had permanently endeared him to her. He saluted, and Hannah returned it, dismissing him. The door closed behind him, and Hannah finally brought herself to look at the woman standing in front of her.

For a moment, it felt like she was looking in a mirror of herself from twenty years ago. Alli had let her hair go back to its vibrant red—or perhaps she just hadn’t had a moment to dye it black again. She had the same straight posture from the years of training Sana had given her, her shoulders square and her knees loose. Light scars criss-crossed her jaw and cheeks—those were new . . . and glowing? And her eyes. They were determined and curious and pleading all at once.

There was no mistake.

“Alli.” Though barely a whisper, Hannah’s voice broke as the tears welled and spilled freely.

It was a blur after that. Alli rushing across the room and sobbing into Hannah’s shoulder. Hannah hardly able to breathe as she held the child she feared she’d never see again. Tear-soaked sorry’s and pleas for Hannah to believe her.

Hannah stroked Alli’s hair and breathed deep, taking in her scent the way she had when Alli was a baby. It was a different smell now—standard-issue shampoo, sweat, and a hint of sweet pea blossoms, the same subtle perfume she’d always worn. She shuddered to think what Alli had been through, what she’d seen waking up lassoed to Cerberus’s whims. No amount of shushing or cradling would heal anything Alli had been through in the last months and years, and Hannah felt helpless to soothe her.

“Tell me everything, Starshine,” Hannah said instead.

And Alli did. The destruction of the SR-1. Lazarus Station. The missing colonists and the Collectors. The battle at the Galactic Core. Project Rho and the three hundred thousand batarians. Hannah had heard some of it from scant intelligence reports and her moles in Cerberus itself, but nothing like what Alli described.

“They want to try me as a war criminal,” Alli said as she swiped at the tears that had started to dry, her voice deflated and overworked. “But I swear, Mom, I did everything I could. It was either the colonists or the rest of the galaxy. Not both.”

Hannah squeezed Alli’s hands. “I know, Starshine. I know.”

A flash of anger came into Alli’s eyes and she began to pace the small room. “The Hegemony has had it out for me ever since Torfan. What they can’t seem to get into their thick, wrinkly heads is that I’m trying to save them too.”

Hannah sat at the edge of the bed and let Alli work off some of her energy. Alli never had been one to take a breath and calm down. She was like a hurricane—once she’d started there was no stopping her. All anyone could do was let her burn herself out.

“This Harbinger,” Hannah said instead. “Did they say how long we have?”

Alli crossed her arms and shook her head. “Of course not. But it’ll be sooner rather than later. And the more time I’m sitting in the brig waiting for this stupid tribunal to figure out which platter they want to serve my head on to the batarians, the less time we’re out there hardening our defenses and comm buoys and supply lines.”

“What about your team?” Hannah prodded. Alli had always inspired such trust and loyalty from the people she led. If any one of them took some initiative, they might be able to make progress where Alli couldn’t right now.

She let out a long breath, like the oxygen escaping a compromised air lock, and dropped next to Hannah, leaning forward with her elbows resting on her knees. “I honestly don’t know. Tali went back to the Fleet, and even if I was on the outside, I doubt I’d have much communication with her. Miranda and Jacob disappeared almost as soon as we landed to get away from The Illusive Man and his goons. Everyone else pretty much scattered, and I don’t really have a way to communicate with them. I’m sure the Alliance even has this conversation bugged.”

Hannah hummed. Alli was probably right about that. “What about Garrus? Do you think he still has contacts in C-Sec?”

“If his dad still worked there, then maybe.” Alli’s eyes lit up. “Yes! Dess could help him! Do you think she would pull some strings?”

Hannah bit her lip and slowly shook her head. “She’s volunteering on Taetrus, Starshine. She hasn’t been to the Citadel in months.”

Her brows knit together in apology. “Oh, Mom, I didn’t know. How are you holding up?”

Hannah shrugged and swallowed whatever emotion threaten to rise in her throat. “We’re not talking about me.” She reached over and placed her hand behind Alli’s head, pulling her close to kiss her forehead. “We’ll figure something out. I’m just so happy to see you, Starshine.”

“Oh, come on, Mom,” Alli said, a tone of embarrassment in her voice that belied her leaning into the affection. “You’re going to start crying again if you keep that up.”

Hannah chuckled. “Believe me, I’m not done crying over you. Now. Speaking of Garrus.”

“Mother, please,” Alli said, pulling away from Hannah this time. “I’m not a teenager anymore.”

“I met him at your . . . before.” Hannah still couldn’t bring herself to say funeral. “He seems like a good sort. A little confused, but earnest. I think he was taken with you.”

“I’m not talking about this with you.” Alli stood and paced toward the small desk by the window, color starting to creep up her cheeks. “And whatever you do, don’t . . . speculate with Dess, okay? She’ll probably threaten to break his mandibles if he hurts me or whatever.”

“So, there is something going on!”

“Mother!”

Hannah put up her hands in surrender. “All right, all right. I won’t pry. I promise.”

Alli turned around again, her shoulders visibly relaxing. “Thanks. I’ve got enough on my plate. I don’t need . . . distractions.”

Before Hannah could respond, the door to the room opened and Vega stood with all his hulk on the other side with an apologetic look in his eyes. “Time’s up, Ma’am.”

Hannah nodded. “Thank you, Lieutenant. Just one more minute, please.”

He nodded and stepped aside, leaving the door open. Hannah stood and walked the few steps to Alli, putting her arms around her daughter one more time.

“Sometimes the important things look like distractions when you’re not paying attention,” she said lowly in Alli’s ear. “We have some very hard times ahead of us. So pay attention.”

Alli returned the embrace and buried her face in Hannah’s shoulder. “Thanks, Mom. I will.”

Hannah did an admirable job, if she did think so herself, of not falling apart as she left Alli’s room. For as dark as the future looked, a dizzying lightness had overtaken Hannah.

She had Alli back.

#Mass Effect #my fic #Between the Letters #Hannah Shepard #Allistair Shepard #hows about a meme thingy #thank you <3 #ferocious replies #bronzeagelove

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athelari · 4 years

Text

6½. drala’fa

Day 6?/7 of the Mass Effect Trilogy Week : alternate entry for the Alternate Universe theme *Inception music intensifies*. 1.4k words; gen; instead of just Archangel, the whole gang is a vigilante group on Omega; Shepard/Thane in the background; no content warnings.

Omega. Home and battleground to countless gangs and merc groups, constantly embroiled in the Sisyphean struggle for supremacy. A place inhabited only by the desperate and those who prey on them, where crime drips and permeates every layer of society like water from a leaky pipe.

At least, before they arrived.

She leans against the railing and watches the crowd ebb and flow, bathed in the flickering neon lights. Just another day in their lives, filled with jobs and errands and the mundane realities of daily existence. To the average onlooker, the Gozu District looks no different from the rest of the station: packed, unwashed, and poor as dirt. But there's one key difference, one thing the Gozu has that the rest of the station lacks: safety.

“Shepard. Kasumi's here.”

She turns to see Kolyat, leaning against the doorway to the balcony. “Already?” Then, nodding at the datapad in his hand: “What’ve we got?”

He falls into step with her, long strides matching her brisk, militaristic pace. “Blue Suns harassing the clinic again. They haven't made any big moves, just loitering and showing off their guns, trying to look intimidating.” He sniffs, indignant. “As if Mordin would bat an eye.”

“Tell Garrus to escort the next shipment. Ten credits they'll turn tail the moment they see Archangel in the area.”

He hums a wordless acknowledgement. They round the corner, turning into a narrow corridor, footsteps echoing hollowly against metal walls. “Tali's finished cracking the new grid. We should be able to get in and out with no problem now. Word on the street says the warehouse is somewhere in the Fumi District.”

“Word on the street?” she echoes, raising an eyebrow. “Not Ish?”

“No. The quarian with the junk shop, and one of the dancers in Afterlife.”

“Kenn? He's reliable. Send someone discreet to give a quick look around. Better yet, reach out to the Talons. It's their territory Eclipse is breaching. If Kandros takes the bait, tell her they can have the loot as long as all the red sand is destroyed. I don’t wanna see a single crate make it to the market.”

The door swishes open, and they step into a small, square room. Like the rest of the base, it is sparsely decorated and serves a specific purpose; unlike most of its ilk, it contains a low table by the far wall, an old-fashioned calligraphic scroll in the old Rakhana style, and no other furniture.

As soon as they enter, Kasumi Goto whirls round to face them, a slight smirk on her painted lips. “Hey, Shep.” Her eyes flicker towards Kolyat, and her smile breaks into a grin. “Bō. Good to see you again.”

“Likewise,” Kolyat inclines his head towards her, and then turns to Shepard. “Dad's supposed be back any time now. I should go and see if his shuttle's arrived.”

She nods, and he makes his exit. Only after the doors shut behind him does Kasumi stir, head tilted at a jaunty angle and one hand on her hip. “Did he just say ‘I should go’? My, my. Sounds like you're infectious.” She gestures towards a box lying on the floor. “Here you go, everything as we agreed. Call it proof of my sincere loyalty.”

A large white case, emblazoned with the Cerberus logo, its lock forced open and jury-rigged shut again afterwards. Shepard eyes it over, noting the unscathed finish and clean, glossy paint. “I take it the mission was a success?”

Kasumi makes a dismissive noise. She kneels by the case and pops it open before adding, over her shoulder: “Don't get me wrong, the lock was triple-encrypted and the base security key changes every week. But even Cerberus' best and brightest is no match for the best thief in the galaxy.”

“Obviously,” Shepard agrees. She steps forward to peer into the case, before emitting a low whistle. “Is that what I think it is?”

“If you're thinking ‘one-of-a-kind custom sword with monomolecular blade’, then yeah.” Kasumi lifts it from the case, and lights dance on the ceiling where it reflects off the blade. “Snatched this baby from right under their noses. It was supposed to be for some wetworks guy, Ken or Kay or… something.”

She passes it to Shepard, who accepts it quickly, turning it in her hands and examining it with meticulous attention. “No curvature, no distinct marks… crossguard's ugly as they come. Does everything have to be black, white, and yellow?” She runs her thumb along the hilt until she finds the sensor. “Hah. Electrified. Did you hack the user key?”

“Not yet, but I'm sure our quarian friend will have no problem with it.” Kasumi pauses, waiting for a reply. When none seems forthcoming, she adds: “Or I can do it now if you want.”

“That won't be necessary.” Shepard lowers the sword again, placing it on the table. “And the rest?”

“Mostly Talons, Hornets, a few Eviscerators under the cloaking devices. I left them with Zaeed in the hangar.” Kasumi’s eyes sparkle with a professional’s pride in a job well done. “Told you I can do it.”

Shepard nods. “All right. You’ve proved your point. Just tell me one more thing.”

“Shoot.” Beat. “Not literally, I hope.”

“Why us?”

Their gazes meet. Shepard keeps her expression neutral, but she knows there’s no ambiguity in her silence. It says: you’re going to tell me exactly what I want to know, and you’re not going to lie, because we both know that won't be good for your health.

Kasumi shrugs. “At first? Just curiosity. Everyone knows the Drala'fa keep tight control over Gozu. I didn't think much of it at first. Sounded just like another protection racket to me. When Liara hired me to do the New Dawn heist, I was just in it for the score. Then you funnelled the entire shipment to the local clinic, pro bono. That’s when I knew you weren't just any gang.

“So, I started digging deeper. Turns out there’s more to you guys than robbing pharmaceutical corporations and monopolising the district. Aria may be the queen of Omega, but you’re the closest thing this place’s got to oversight. You don’t just keep the area under watch, you actually care about the people who live in it. Do you know how many escaped batarian slaves live in your district?”

“About two hundred and twenty,” Shepard answers readily. “At least half of them in Nictus’ apartment complex.”

“See? That’s what I mean. You’re not some big boss type. You’re…” Kasumi waves a hand in the air vaguely, “a shepherd. People don’t follow you because they’re scared of you. They follow you because they know you care.”

Shepard snorts. “Nice speech.”

“Thanks. I practiced in my bathroom this morning.”

“You really came prepared. I'm impressed.”

There's a bottle of elasa on the table, along with a single cup. Shepard uncorks the former, pours it into the latter, and takes a long sip. The alcohol buzzes in her mouth, bitter and fragrant, before burning its way down her throat to leave a sweet aftertaste.

Then she proffers the rest to Kasumi, a silent offering. There's a moment of perfect, breathless stillness.

(Does she know what accepting it would mean? She does. The faint glimmer of recognition in her dark eyes says so. She still remembers the old traditions, then. Good. Someone has to.)

Slowly, with great care, Kasumi takes the cup and downs its contents in one shot. She doesn't return the empty cup, but keeps it in her lap, holding it with both hands.

“Welcome to the Drala'fa, Kasumi,” Shepard leans forward to offer her hand, which the other woman promptly shakes. “Remember why we're here. Remember who we are. Remember who we stand for.”

“I will.”

A protracted pause. The cool air whirs like static.

Finally, it’s Kasumi who breaks the silence. She clears her throat and begins, almost apologetically: “You know, if you wanted the real deal, I can probably find you a crate or two. Human drinks are getting pretty popular in Thessia lately.”

Shepard chuckles. “Tempting. But maybe later. Right now, I’ve got a couple other jobs open. Word is Eclipse has a red sand warehouse somewhere in the Fumi District. Feel like doing a little recon work? Just recon; locate the warehouse, count heads, gauge their strength, the usual.”

“Sure.” Kasumi grins, and they both rise to their feet. She tugs the edge of her hood, pulling it deeper over her head, before adding: “You’re the boss, Boss.”

#mass effect #trilogyweek #commander shepard #kolyat krios #kasumi goto #they're the only one actually appearing so.#mikaela shepard #it's mika #athelari writes #self-indulgent twaddle probably #it's taking space in my head. i'm making headcanons for an alternate au.

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nonopiimagines · 4 years

Text

confidant

Fandom: Mass Effect Pairing: Jeff “Joker” Moreau x fem!Shepard Warnings: swearing Word Count: 2063 Author Notes: for my Mass Effect Holiday Cheer giftee, @andersonsbiceps. i hope you like it and i’m sorry for the aggressive use of italics. <3

---

"Hey, choose me."

She turned to look at him, complete confusion on her face. Her hand was paused above the array of paperwork on her desk. He wondered for a moment why paper still existed. Perhaps for moments like this one, providing a period of time where a person could bother another person without really interrupting what they were doing.

“What?”

He was impressed that he was still able to look at her, tamping down the desire to turn his head away and blow off his next few sentences in favor of a joke. He cleared his throat, shifting slightly in his chair, “You heard me. Choose me.” He wished that he could be leaning nonchalantly on the wall or sitting on the edge of her desk, something that evoked confidence instead of sitting too straight in the weird minimalistic furniture that adorned the Normandy.

She turned back towards her desk and away from him, a chuckle and a smile swiveling out of view. "I don't know what you mean, Joker. Choose you for what exactly?" She picked up her pen but didn't start writing, waiting for him to answer the question, placing the pen by her mouth, completely unaware of what was coming.

The rehearsal of words he had repeated to himself over and over just hours before left him entirely, leaving his mind empty but words bubbling up dangerously from his heart. But he wanted to know. "What would you choose me for?"

"You're being really weird," she scoffed, throwing her pen down and turning back to him to face him fully. It was getting really difficult not to look away, especially when determination lit up her face and her eyes wore into him, searching for the answer to his cryptic questions. "But I'll play along."

He nodded at her to keep going, willing her to find the truth he was suddenly too afraid to say outright. God, she was intimidating, even right now, even when it was just the two of them, from the beginning to the end. He could feel the rapid pace of his heart and he was keenly aware of the other times in his life when he felt like this, like this was the moment that would change him forever, but this time it was something good. Not being chased by praetorians, not watching the destruction of the Normandy, not watching her die. No. It was a confession.

It took her a few moments, but it was clear that she knew her answer almost immediately. She leaned forward, closer to him, resting her forearms on her knees, keeping her clear, keen eyes on him. "Most people might say they'd choose you for a pilot and they'd be right," she paused, her gaze roaming around his face as she searched for her words. "But I'd choose you for a therapist."

Now it was his turn. "What? Commander, despite what you may believe, I'm not a therapist, I just play one on TV." That earned him what would've been a shove in another life, but ended up as a swift pat on his hand. She was always careful, always thoughtful, but still unwilling to take his bullshit.

"No, listen to me." She was serious, all joking and smiles aside, her face went back to it's stoic demeanor, but fondness poured from her eyes. "You know all my secrets, you've seen me at my best and my worst, you've even seen me dance! But you always treat me the same. You're always one hundred percent real with me, you don't sugar coat anything, and I trust you to stay that way. I may not show it all the time, but I need you more than you know. You're more than just my pilot."

He was taken aback by the way the words just erupted from her mouth, no fear or unease behind them, just pure organic unbound emotion. Emotion towards him, about him, for him. It was too late by the time he noticed his cheeks felt hot and his mouth was opening and closing much like a fish.

"Maybe therapist isn't the right word. I don't want you to have to listen to all my fucked up shit, but I trust you with it, is what I'm trying to say." She almost looked embarrassed for a moment, floundering for the right words, but he couldn't count it as a win because he was sure he looked just as mortified as her. "Confidant might be more realistic."

Therapist? Confidant? What he wanted to hear was aggressively sexy bed and life partner, but he knew those words would never come out of her mouth in that order. He took off his hat and scratched the back of his head as an excuse to look away for a moment, wondering what he should say next, if he was allowed to read into her words for more than their surface value. Yeah, they knew each other for a long time. Yeah, he knew just as much about her as she knew about him. Yeah, there was a mutual layer of trust connecting them always. They always knew all that, but hearing Jane say it to him, a confirmation of the last few years they've spent together, a confirmation that she had seriously thought about their relationship beyond their rank and title, a confirmation that she didn't just think of him as a co-worker or even a friend. You're more than just my pilot.

"Did I give you the answer you wanted? Did you come up here just to fish for compliments?" Her teasing tone and broad smile were back, doing what should’ve been his job of diffusing a tense situation with jokes and sarcasm.

He smiled back at her, placing his hat on the table next to him. He felt exposed, no brim to hide his face but he needed the rush of adrenaline to keep him going. The conversation couldn't end here. He had gotten this far, all that was left was the hardest part.

"Uh, yeah kinda and no." Keep going, she won't stay here forever playing this weird close-quarters eye contact and bare your heart game of tag with you, he begged to himself. Keep going.

"Yeah kinda?" She rolled her eyes and sat back, leaning her head on her fist. "Then what should I choose you for, Jeff?" There was a little twinkle in her eye every time she said his name, his real name, like she was bragging, everyone knows Joker, but only she knows Jeff. It ignited a fire inside him, pushing him forward. Keep going.

“I see the way they look at you. Garrus. Liara. Kaidan. Even fucking Javik. Everyone loves you. And I, uh,” he looked at his hands, knowing that this declaration wasn’t as momentous as it sounded in his head. But it needed to be out there. “I want you to know that I’m looking at you too.”

She was quiet and he was too afraid to look up to see what she was thinking, to see if he had truly messed up or not. Maybe all she wanted was a confidant. That would be okay. He could walk out of here, back-pedal everything he said, and carry on like nothing changed. Him and the commander are just really good friends, the kind that don’t sleep together, but the kind that still share everything with each other. He would be okay with that (but only after a few days of staring into the abyss of space, listening to whiny pop punk songs, wondering what could have been so he could push it all away and continue).

“So,” she began, her voice suddenly quiet and small. He heard her movements as she got up out of her chair and knelt in front of him, to take his hands in hers, to force him to stop staring at himself and do what he claimed he was doing all along: looking at her. “You’re saying if I choose anyone at all, choose you.”

“Yeah, choose me.” Those words alone took everything out of him, to keep his voice steady, to not be a total creep and word-vomit out his feelings, to say just enough that he got the point across. Her eyes were darting over his face again, perhaps wondering if he was joking with her but he wasn’t. He wouldn’t joke about this. “I can be your therapist, I can be your confidant, I can be the pilot you bang on occasion, whatever you want.”

She laughed at that, her face close enough to his that she had to turn her head. He felt the whispers of her stray hairs on his cheeks and for a moment his heart stopped when she looked back at him, nothing hurtful or distrustful in her face, just a smile that was always there when he looked at her. Was it overconfident to think it was him that made her smile? A boy could dream.

“Okay,” she nodded, still so close to him.

“Yeah?” He had to be sure.

“Yeah.”

“I think we should kiss, just to seal the deal.”

“You’re right, it’s the diplomatic thing to do.”

He watched her and she watched him. But she was always the one to move first, to react quickly to situations, to make the most of a pivotal decision. Her hand lifted, gripping the couch to hoist herself up, to straddle his lap, always hovering just above him, pushing his head back just by the sheer force of her willpower. Jane was all muscles and scar tissue and cybernetics and everything about her screamed that she could rip him apart if she wanted to, but her lips were soft and her hair was softer when he put his hand in it, to let it slide through his fingers, wanting the moment to last forever, to feel her breath on his and the warmth radiating from her body above him. She was life and she was death and then it was over. One chaste kiss and then she was pulling away, he could only see her smirk before she pushed his hat back on his head, using the brim to cover his eyes while she moved away, back to her chair, back to her desk, back to the paperwork that made this all possible.

And all he could think was everything was worth it. Every part of this was fucking worth it.

“Now, don’t you have a ship to pilot?” Jane said after a moment of watching each other, waiting for someone to say something, to break the spell, to interrupt the satiated feeling of telling someone your last secret.

“I can stay here all day. EDI can take care of things.” He wanted to stay forever. He felt reborn, ready to take everything head on, but also ready to spend an extensively long time laying around, being in her presence, soaking up her existence into his, as they lay together face-to-face. He felt like a goddamn teenager, but there was no better feeling.

“You’ve become a distraction, Joker,” she stood up again, offering him a hand to help him up too. “Especially in the last 10 minutes.”

He smiled at that. Who else could distract the commander Shepard? His thoughts turned to Anderson and what sort of hell would be raised when he found out that the one guy he trusted to keep Shepard out of trouble might be the same asshole who’s getting her into trouble. That could be distracting too. He grimaced but continued, “I’m happy to be a distraction for you anytime.”

She seemed to think about that as she walked him to the elevator, his hand still holding hers purposefully, full of intent, finding it really difficult to let go, even when the sound of the elevator doors welcomed him into its cold, empty embrace.

“You could distract me later, when I’m done being commander and I’m ready to be Jane,” she offered, finally letting go of his hand, but keeping her body weight against the door of the elevator to prevent it from closing. “I’ll call you up.”

“Looking forward to it, commander.” He hoped he didn’t sound too eager, too puppy-like in his infatuation. He waved at her as she stepped back, her arms folding as the doors began to slide close.

“Me too.”

#mass effect holiday cheer #mass effect #mass effect fan fiction #andersonsbiceps #jokerxfem!shepard

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ramblinganthropologist · 4 years

Text

What’s in a name

Summary: So, when is it the right time to call your boyfriend by his first name? Garrus finds out the hard way when that moment is. At least it helps.

---

Google Search: When should you call your b-

“No...”

Google Search: When is the right time to use-

“No...”

Google Search: When is it appropriate to use your commanding officer's first name?

Garrus groaned and resisted the urge to smack his faceplates to the desk in front of him. He should have been doing anything other than making the search engine think he was being insubordinate. After all, there were Reapers all over the place and he...

He glanced over to the other tab. An email had been sitting there for the last ten minutes. It was from Shepard, checking up on him after some... activities. The tone was polite, casual, but something about it sent shivers up the turian's spine as he read through it again.

Garrus,

Just checking in – you're not having any allergic reactions, are you? I read there a rare possibility in human-turian interactions.

…

Sorry, that was a little clinical. I guess I didn't know how to say that. Hope you're doing ok down in the battery. They've been keeping me busy all over the place, so I'll try to stop by later to chat. Thanks for the... well, thanks.

Someone's calling for me, talk to you later.

Alistair

“He used his name in the email... that should make it ok, right?” His mandibles twitched in confusion as Garrus pushed away from the table. This was clearly outside his range of expertise. Big guns, sniping things, and apparently having sex with Spectres – those were the things he was good at. Interpersonal relationships, not so much.

Culture told him to never use the man's name. After all, Shepard was his commanding officer. Then again, culture also told him not to stick his anatomy in a commanding officer either. The two were kind of in conflict with each other to say the least. It wasn't a great feeling as he left the battery on the pretense of going to give Tali a report she had asked for earlier. At least on the way he could think.

The Normandy was buzzing with activity. Right then, they were in deep space. It was the safest place for them to be as they planned their next move. It was going to get messy on Rannoch, to say the least. Of course with all the geth it was probably already a nightmare, so what would a few more craters do to the resale value?

As Garrus hopped in the waiting elevator, he ignored the sight of the memorial plaque. There was a new names there, people he knew. Mordin's name shouldn't have been there probably – he wasn't Alliance after all – but Shepard had stuck it up there himself. It was hard to argue with the man when he had that look in his eyes.

He had that look a lot. Haunted, maybe. The thought of it made the turian frown as he waited for the doors to open again. He was probably being a bad... whatever he was... by not helping more with that. But how could he help?

“Maybe I should google that instead...”

The doors slid open to show him that engineering was just as busy as the rest of the Normandy. Tali had her back to him, bent over the console and typing away. She didn't even notice as he stepped up to place the file at her side. It was only when their sleeves brushed that she jumped up.

“Garrus! I didn't see you there.” She was tense – it was a miracle her suit didn't rip from it. Guess admirals were made of some stretchy stuff. Honestly, he had to hand it to her. She was handling it well on short notice.

He nodded, stepping back. “Sorry, didn't want to interrupt you. Brought you the files you needed.”

“Thank you...” she was giving him that look. “You could have just emailed them.”

He looke back towards the door, mandibles twitching. “I needed the walk.”

Off to the side, two techs snickered. Rumors had clearly started to go around concerning himself and the ship's commanding officer. He didn't even want to know what they were hearing, so he shot them a blank look. The flinch was worth it as they turned back to their consoles as if the whole thing had never happened.

Petty, maybe. Worth it, absolutely.

“If you're looking for Shepard, he was here not too long ago. If he's not in his quarters, check around. He's probably following up on a problem we saw before deck. I would have done it myself when I finished, but he said he was free.” Tali was already back to her work, typing away at her console. She left him, mandibles twitching, standing there like the biggest idiot in engineering.

Well, he probably was the biggest idiot in engineering.

Garrus shook his head as he left the battery, eyeing the elevator. Shepard, like everyone in engineering, was damn good at his job. No doubt he would've had the work done long before the turian ever got down there. It was foolish to go looking when he had more important things to do...

…

That of course explained why he turned his talons to the steps that would lead him under the engineering floor. Because it was perfectly logical to go look for the genius tech he was currently having sex with where he probably wasn't. But hey, who had ever said attraction between species was a logical thing?

Underneath, it was dark. Once, Jack had stayed there six months prior. She was gone now, off helping biotic kids in a move he hadn't seen coming but applauded none the less. There was only boxes there now, left by the crew charged with retrofitting the Normandy for Alliance requirements. Maybe if they survived, they could turn the space into something else.

And if they died, that was technically space confetti. Maybe it would hit a Reaper on the way to the next solar system.

“Shepard, are you down here?”

His voice echoed across the space where it wasn't stopped by boxes. It wasn't loud enough, however, to cover up the sound. Garrus wasn't sure what it was as he crept closer. To him, it sounded like breathing, but it was way too fast and shallow.

Turns out, Shepard was down there after all.

The commanding officer was hidden behind some boxes, doubled over and hugging his knees and shaking. A datapad was beside him, broadcasting details of another attack on a nearby solar system. Even from where he was standing, the death toll was high and getting higher.

“Shepard, is it your sugar?”

Shepard didn't answer, and his omni-tool's built in CGM wasn't blaring a warning for the man attached to it to eat something. He just kept shaking and clutching his knees tighter, tears streaming down his pale face.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Garrus remembered seeing a poster in the medbay about how to spot a panic attack in humans. If he was right, the man in front of him was showing a good number of the signs.

So he knelt down, though he still gave him space. Shepard didn't react, but he got the feeling the Spectre was aware he was there. His leg shifted to allow him a little more room, though that might have been a reflex. He was shaking pretty badly.

Shit... what to do... what to say even? A thousand things rushed through Garrus' mind, and then it went blank. But one remained as the reboot finished, and he nodded as he looked around the small space. Maybe...

“Alistair, is there medicine you take for this?”

There was a nod, barely, to match the bottle that had rolled away probably at the start of the attack. It still had pills in it, but far too few for the time of the month. Garrus felt his stomach drop as he reached across to grab it. Luckily, the lid wasn't one of those that needed human fingers to open. It was child proof, not turian proof.

Luckily, the label only mentioned one. He shook it out and nudged the man's knee. Alistair's shaking hand accepted the pill, and then swallowed it. Where he got the water, Garrus had no idea. It didn't really matter then.

“Alright so... I'm not sure how humans breathe.” That was on the poster. “So I'm going to count slowly and you try to match me. Sound good?”

It was the longest ten count Garrus had ever been through – the numbers stretched to eternity. But he kept it slow, watching the human in front of him. His breathing was struggling to match, but he was winning.

Just like a Spectre.

“Alright... ten.” His breathing was slower. “You just keep breathing, Alistair. I'm right here if you need me.”

Something about the name helped him focus, so Garrus wasn't going to shoot himself in the foot there. Instead he just sat there, listening to breathing that was starting to slow down. The man still looked way too tense, but he was breathing. That was important.

A few more minutes – maybe 10, but who was counting - passed before Alistair let go of his knees and wiped the tears from his face. He nodded slowly to the turian but made no mood to stand. Instead, he held out a hand in the direction of the pill bottle. This Garrus was more than happy to hand over.

“Need another?”

“Can't. Don't want to lose it, though.” He was speaking now, good. The pill bottle disappeared into his jacket pocket, where all things went in the end. Those pockets must contain a gravity well for how much he kept in there. It was kind of impressive.

Ok, Garrus was just trying to focus on anything with that one... it was kind of awkward.

“Uh... how are you-”

Alistair didn't let him finish. “Not great.”

He looked down at his knees. “Guess the report got to me. Been kind of on edge.”

“I think anyone would freak out with numbers like that. It's rough out there.” Garrus looked around to see where Tali's repair might be. “I can fix that if you can't get up right now.”

A nod sent the turian to his feet, omni-tool scanning what needed to be fixed. One eye stayed on the human, though. His breathing was still a little fast, but it was acceptable in Garrus' mind. Maybe one of these days he'd look up what was normal.

Figuring out another species' vital signs...that didn't mean anything, right?

“Thanks.”

Garrus nodded as his talons worked. “It's kind of in a hard place to reach for a human. Your wrists-”

“No... for you know. Talking me down.” Alistair was standing now as he gathered his things. “I guess I needed to hear my own name for once.”

Well... that settled it then. Garrus nodded to himself as he continued to work. If the Spectre needed to hear his name sometime, he would provide it as much as needed. Damn the rules on that. They were made to be broken anyway.

Just like this damn wire... really, what the hell had the retrofit team been doing down there?

#ramblinganthopologist's writing #Alistair Shepard #hopefully i did ok on the panic attack #I haven't had one like Al's before

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clansayeed · 4 years

Text

Bound by Circumstance ― Chapter 8: The Tower Upright

PAIRING: Nik Ryder x trans*M!MC (Taylor Hunter) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Circumstance ⥽

Taylor Hunter (MC) has made it good for himself in New Orleans; turns out moving to a new city fresh out of college to reinvent yourself isn’t as hard as people make it out to be. Things only start to get confusing when he finds himself the target of a malevolent wraith. Good thing someone’s looking out for him though — because without Nighthunter Nik Ryder as his bodyguard he definitely won’t survive long in the twisting darkness of the supernatural underworld he’s tripped into.

Bound by Circumstance and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the book Nightbound and the rest of the Bloodbound series. Find out more [HERE].

Note: Circumstance only loosely follows the events and plotline of Nightbound, and features a separate antagonist, different character motivations, and further worldbuilding.

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Circumstance/series tag list!

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

Ryder and Taylor head to local out-of-the-way voodoo vendor Laveau’s for the final ingredient in their protection ritual. While he waits, Taylor gets his fortune told by the real deal—a spirit medium descended from Marie herself.

[READ IT ON AO3]

Krom’s barely through the threshold before Taylor pounces; hovers around him comically short and buzzing like a gnat.

“So, what did they say? Do I need to call — I don’t have my phone, shit — please tell me I’m not cut from the show.”

Luckily the stone troll looks freaked-out enough to get him to stop and apologize. “Sorry,” he mutters, “I just…”

“No, no I completely understand!” Krom scratches the tips of his head and laughs it off, “I just didn’t want to step on you.”

“He’s not that short.” calls Ivy from her booth at the back.

Taylor shrugs it off. “But I appreciate it.”

“Anyway; the company manager’s a little mad no one could reach you but I convinced them to give you a week of sick leave? Even though there was this one weirdly giddy guy…”

They join Ivy on either side. Taylor groans and rubs his hand over his face.

“That would be Antoni. He doesn’t matter. I really appreciate you doing this for me, Krom.”

“It’s no trouble!” And the troll’s voice is so filled with sincerity he has no trouble believing it.

“That’s our darling Krom.” Garrus returns behind the bar with his tray of collected dirty steins and beer glasses. “He’s like an angel; always helping others. You’ve got nothing to prove sweetheart — you know that.”

Ivy answers Taylor’s question before he even has the chance to ask it; “Stone trolls have a bit of a rep’ around here. You saw their natural element at Persephone.”

“Bodyguards, hired muscle, and the like.” Krom agrees; pointedly trying to keep his voice his usual baritone despite Garrus’ casual compliments.

“So you’re a pacifist?”

“In the flesh — so to speak.”

There’s a thud from behind and all eyes turn to see a stack of crates stumbling out from behind the back room curtain. Not hovering in midair as Taylor originally thought but carried by a very red-faced Cal. Who still forces on a smile through his gritted teeth at Garrus.

“Where… where?”

The fae gestures with a bony finger. “Just leave ‘em behind here. I’ll unpack before the evening rush.”

He slams them down before Taylor can even try to offer help — grumbles under his breath about something he can’t quite catch but he knows Cal’s grateful to Garrus for giving him a place to stay. He must be paying off the stupor he drank himself into following their return as less-than-triumphant heroes.

“I should start taking in strays more often — pun not intended,” Garrus teases but all in good humor; especially when he slides a cool glass of water for Cal to chug when his hands are free, “someone to do the heavy lifting around here and all that.”

Krom shifts in his seat. Something so subtle only the two beside him notice it. But Ivy doesn’t give him the chance to let it go and kicks his rock of a leg with her heels.

“I — I could help with whatever you need, Garrus?” Even though it comes out as more of a question than anything.

The look the two exchange is strange but fond. Garrus’ eyes softening under the twinkling lights. Maybe he regrets what he said — or the implications behind it.

“But if you’re laboring around here then what would I have to look at for inspiration?”

Not the smoothest save, in Taylor’s opinion. But Krom acts like it’s the highest form of praise and brushes the compliment off with a wave.

“Are they always like this?” Taylor whispers to Ivy. The revenant just sighs and nods. A long-suffering struggle on her end no doubt.

Heavy footfalls on metal steps herald Ryder’s arrival from the apartments above. He looks around and beelines towards Taylor in a way that almost has him jumping and hiding.

“You, me; let’s go.”

“That’s not how you ask a man out on a date, Nik.” chides Ivy as she pushes the mortals together.

“What?” He blinks; shakes himself out of whatever thoughts compelled him to seek Taylor out. “Wh — shut up, Iv’.”

“Right,” she winks, “he’ll go with you anyway. It’s part of your brutish charm.”

“Shut up, Iv’.” Taylor parrots with a glare. “Is the spell finally ready?”

Not that he’s not enjoying his time at the Shift. And following the disaster that was the Bayou and Persephone he’s not exactly eager to go into other supernatural spaces any time soon.

But he’s never been one to stay cooped up for long.

Ryder huffs. “Not quite. Damn toad wart expired. Luckily though there’s a shop down the road that carries simple ingredients — so put away that grin Iv’. I’m done owin’ you for now.”

Probably a good thing judging by the low witchy cackle she gives instead.

“So let’s get goin’, hustle hustle.”

“But wait — is it safe?” Taylor follows anyway. Keeping at the Nighthunter’s heels is practically his new job. “You didn’t even want me leaving for the theater.”

“I’ll be right there.”

“With your hallelujah arrows, right?”

“Holy light arrows, Rook. You sound like an idiot when you say that.”

“Well now I’ll keep doing it to piss you off.”

“‘Course, because why would you do anything else?”

Their bickering continues out onto the ruins of another day of Mardi Gras fun. At least some things never lose a sense of normalcy.

It’s a small shop — one of those ‘blink and you’ll miss it’ types. The shop name LAVEAU’s is hand-painted above a doorway embellished with the classic purple, green, and golden plastic beads of the season’s parties.

Taylor stops Ryder before he opens the door. “‘Laveau’s’ like…?”

“Read the signs, Rook.”

There they are clear as day; painted by the same hand as the top sign but with an artist’s frustration behind every black-painted stroke. One on the door declaring ‘Yes, like Marie herself’ and then one blue-tacked beneath it; ‘Not Affiliated with Marie Laveau’s House of Voodoo.’

“Oh. Got it.”

While the outside may lack the flair and panache that attracts the usual tourist crowds the inside is a whole other looking glass. Probably looks the way it does to differentiate between those who want fake dolls to poke with pins and those who want a real hex to mess with.

God, he’s talking about real hexes. When had this become his life?

Together they weave through the cluttered mess of uneven shelves and their uneven products. Books stacked flat where they’d fallen over at some point and left that way with little concern. A bundle of glass-looking orbs balancing precariously without cradle to keep them from rolling off the edge. A plant hanger in the middle of the room holds a pile of sage sticks just there. At second glance some look a little used.

The back ‘counter’ isn’t even that. It’s a folding table with a frayed tablecloth unevenly distributed atop and an old and rusting register in the corner.

First Taylor sees the joint resting in an ash tray made out of a mason jar lid. Only when it’s picked up and placed between two pink lips does he realize the man sitting kiddie-corner to the till.

“Welcome, wayward souls, to another side of the witch you know,” he recites as if from a script; monotone — doing everything he can to dissuade those who might darken his doorstep, “everything you see is one hundred percent bona fide authentic to the craft. Don’t do the rhyme if you can’t do the wiccan time.”

Ryder stops abruptly. Arms folded and a raised eyebrow looking over the pile of scattered tarot cards strewn across the table. That which holds the proprietor’s attention more than customers.

Unbidden he reaches out and plucks a card at random. Turns it over to stare at glittering golden words ‘The Emperor’ upside-down.

There’s no way the shop owner should know what card was grabbed — not like he can see though the matte black backing — but he gives a low and throaty chuckle. Lets smoke billow in a thin stream around the same lips now curled in a smirk.

“You always picked predictably, Ryder.”

Ryder who frisbees the card back onto the table carelessly. “I’m not still unconvinced you don’t set me up every time, Luc.”

“For all the shit you see…”

“I’ll always be skeptical of some damn cards, yeah. What else is new?”

“Good question.”

Luc finally drags his gaze up and away from his reading. Gives Ryder an easy and lazy smile that might possibly be the friendliest greeting to the Nighthunter Taylor’s seen so far. Had he not joined Ivy in teasing Krom only a short while ago he might have run himself ragged trying to understand the electric connection he’s witness to.

There’s definitely a history here.

Ryder sighs; knows Luc isn’t going to answer him until he answers himself. “The usual, man. Another day another job. Not much changes for me.”

“That’s not what I hear. In fact — I hear quite the opposite.”

“Sure those aren’t just voices from a bad trip?”

Luc laughs and kicks himself up to balance on the back two legs of his chair. Teeters dangerously close to falling backwards. “Could be, brother, could be. But I ain’t talkin’ ‘bout the spiritual radio this time. Everyone who’s anyone heard tell of a gutsy break-in among the city’s most elite. And all the chaos that followed.”

Ryder’s teeth grind together; his brow gives an almost imperceptible twitch.

“What did I tell you about listenin’ to the rumor mill, Luc?”

“Are they wrong?”

Not giving an answer is answer enough. Makes Luc give a haughty grin so wide Taylor likens him to a shark.

“I said what I said; another day, another job. It got me a rare ingredient I needed. I figured I could get the rest from your sorry ass if I could get you to look away from that damn deck long enough to ring me up.”

Luc makes everything look easy; from getting on Ryder’s bad side to letting his chair fall forward so he can stand. Like he’s not moving through air and gravity but dancing through deep watery depths.

But there’s a defensive edge to his voice — the first emotion beyond amusement — as he starts to gather up his cards.

“I’ll have you know I’m fond of this deck in particular. They were given to me as an apology from someone who never apologizes.”

“Oh yeah, what for?” Judging by Ryder’s tone, though, he already knows.

Still he lets Luc’s bright hazel eyes bore into his soul.

“Skippin’ out come dawn without so much as an adieu.”

Taylor laughs because, well, it’s funny? Only to quickly realize it’s not the right thing to be doing when he catches the strange look Ryder throws back at him; halfway and in profile — like he stops himself before he can make it a whole confrontation.

The teasing’s gone, now. “Yeah — listen, any chance I still have that standing credit here? I need frog warts and a few other things for a protection spell.”

“Ain’t like you to run around on an empty wallet.”

“Yeah, well… this job ain’t just another.”

And as ‘Another Job’ Taylor kind of takes offense to it.

Luc jerks his head towards a doorway shrouded with a curtain of thick wooden beads and the occasional bird feather. “You know where the stores are, cher. Just consider ya’self lucky Mardi Gras is a prosperous time for us all.”

“You’re a lifesaver, Luca. And if it makes you feel better the life you’re savin’ ain’t even mine.”

Taylor’s a step behind his heels when Ryder turns and keeps him at bay with a palm to his chest. His heartbeat stutters; spandex yielding to the firm press, but Ryder says nothing of it.

“Stay up here.”

Taylor scoffs. “Why? I’m not going to accidentally cast a spell or anything.”

“Maybe not, but the last thing I need is you gettin’ clumsy on the wrong object and fuckin’ us both even deeper.”

While he fumbles for a retort worthy of the witty comeback, though, Ryder makes his escape. Calls back; “don’t touch anything, don’t look at anything — and don’t let him suck you up in that damn deck!” before he’s gone in a clatter of beads.

They both know he’s not going to listen — he only says it so he can tell Taylor off when something inevitably happens. That seems to be how they function. Not that he plans on flailing his arms and messing with the first thing he hits, but…

“Since you ain’t dead I’m gonna assume Ryder’s not takin’ on the role’a teacher of the nighthunting arts.”

Snaps Taylor’s attention back to Luc; back in his chair and shuffling the deck in long and ring-adorned fingers.

“No.”

“Good. You might just stay alive then.”

“Apparently that’s a hard thing to do so, sure.”

Luc gestures to the chair across from him. It’s an offer, not a demand, but out of spite for Ryder’s twenty different moods — follow me, don’t follow me, around and around again — he takes it up. Watches Luc shuffle and reshuffle with naught but the soft collision of the cards as music.

When he realizes Ryder’s going to take his time, he figures the best way to start might be an introduction.

“I’m —”

“Pick a few cards for me, Taylor.”

He hadn’t even realized the man had started a spread; each card turned down and black as the void in a soft arc reaching out to him across the table.

Luc is courteous enough not to blow smoke in his face. Sits back slightly hunched and letting his focus flicker between Taylor and the cards. Like both are equally likely to speak to him in the silence.

“It’s probably useless asking how you knew my name, huh?”

“Smart boy. Sometimes they whisper an’ sometimes they scream, but I gotta say it’s been a good long while since I heard the cards call out the way they do to you, Taylor Hunter.

“So help me out here. Pick a few and let them show us why they’re so damn chatty.”

He wants to point out that the only chatty one around is Luca himself, but again that’s one of those useless things he’s finally starting to come to terms with. Knows another useless thing would be to ask why he can’t hear anything… but that’s because hearing is the only word he can think to describe it too.

They’re cards — just plain tarot cards. But like inky tendrils they’re reaching out to him across the table on another plane of reality. One where they have soft black fingers that wrap around his wrists and bring his hands to hover over them. Like safety.

Ryder said… “Well, Ryder said…”

The look Luc gives him cuts him off. Yeah, that was a bit of a stretch, wasn’t it?

He points at random; watches Luc pull a card out without flipping it over. Keeps going until a curt nod cuts him off and nine rectangles of shadow form a square across from him.

“This ain’t your average reading,” that much being obvious by the reverent way the shopkeep looks down at his selection, “and I ain’t your average reader. You’re not from around here.”

“Are you asking?”

“No. But I figure that means you did what all newcomers do — got yourself one of those back room phony shows at the House of Voodoo.”

He wants to say he hasn’t only for how ashamed Luc’s tone makes him feel about it. But yeah — yeah he had. Doesn’t remember much about the event itself but knows somewhere buried in the clutter of his desk back at his place there’s a piece of paper from whatever the alleged ‘psychic’ had him ask.

Luc nods slowly. “Mmhm. Sometimes — ‘bout as oft’n as pigs fly — the cards they play don’t listen and give out an ounce of truth. Nothing life-changing, but a slip enough to tempt the handler into believing.

“You won’t get none’a that here. Whatever’s shown when I flip these babies around has been, is, or will be whether you know it or not. But they only tell as much of a tale as you’re ready to hear.”

The unasked question: are you ready to hear it? And Taylor isn’t sure he knows how to answer.

He knows a lot about himself; inside and out. Has lived through too much and shoved too much inside for too long not to. It’s something he’s proud of. A lot of people spend their lives with no understanding of their inner self but he’s never had that problem.

But there’s a difference between knowing it and seeing… whatever these cards might show him.

What if what he knows isn’t what they say?

Life would be easier if Ryder took that opportune moment to reappear and save him the trouble of having to make the choice.

But life isn’t easy.

He nods — but before Luc can flip over the first card he reaches out and stops him.

“I’m not, like, sealing a deal with a demon or something, am I?” Judging by the look he gets he really shouldn’t have asked.

“Do I look like a demon?”

“I don’t know what demons look like.” He knows it’s a lie but says it anyway; can think only of that skeletal face sneering at him under the moonlight.

Luckily it’s not enough to deter the shopkeep who just bats Taylor’s hand away. “Judgin’ by your ghostly pallor I’m gonna call your fib on that one. But if it eases ya mind; no. No deals here. I get as much outta this as you do.”

Well that’s okay then, isn’t it?

Luc flips the first card over and has himself a little laugh. And why wouldn’t he — The Fool isn’t just an apt card but an apt description.

Taylor’s humor is, however, short-lived. “Seriously?”

“You drew the card. Only one to blame is you.”

“So I’m gonna be even more of a joke in my future or something?”

Luc shakes his head; spreads his fingers as far as they’ll go as the shadow of his palm casts over the center card. “This ain’t your future, but your self. This is you, Mister Hunter.”

“A fool.”

“A man of innocence,” comes the quick correction, “and oftentimes a free spirit. You do your own thing; march to your own drum. Ev’ry Sally and Joe likes to laugh at the Fool but he’s got his eyes set on the horizon and that’s worth admirin’. So don’t sell him — or ya’self — short.”

Innocent — not quite. But the rest Taylor doesn’t disagree with. Seems he knows himself as well as he thought.

Luc’s painted nail traces along a jagged line on the image. “But see here; the Fool stands at the cliff’s edge. He’s a card so it ain’t in his nature to look anywhere but where he’s told but you’re not a card, are ya?”

“What do you mean?”

“Are you lookin’ forward at the horizon or down into that abyss,” — he flips over another card before Taylor can answer — “or maybe you see the Tower on the other side.”

The Tower card is actually at the Fool’s back but he’s learned enough now not to question the metaphors.

“All that love for life might come at a cost. An’ hey — maybe it’s one you’re willin’ to pay. I don’t judge.”

No matter how hard he looks he knows he isn’t going to see the same thing as his reader. But… “I’m gonna need you to be a little less cryptic and a little more straightforward.”

“This ain’t science. Everything’s up for interpretation when the cards are involved.”

“Okay so interpret what exactly you mean by a cost. What cost?”

His rings drum on the plastic surface slowly before Luc clicks his tongue. “Looks to me like you’ve been through some shit lately. Life-changin’ shit — shit that skips right over dippin’ a toe into destiny and pushes you right in the deep end tied to an anchor — or ten.”

Finally Luc looks back up but his gaze is guarded; carefully and excellently so. He can’t get a thing out of just a look.

“I could have told you that.” He mutters a defensive reply. “A couple of days ago everything was fine and then my best friend’s in a coma, I find out the shit I’ve been hallucinating my whole life is real, and on top of it some big scary Ugly wants my skinny ass for a meal.”

“That explains our friend Ryder, then.” Luc almost seems to peek at the row’s last hidden card. When he turns the Eight of Cups over the hum he hums reminds Taylor of endless weeks of therapists and their noncommittal noises failing to cover the scratching of pen on paper. “And it’s all a helluva lot, I bet.”

It’s a bit hard to play off the full-body adjustment to hide his discomfort but Taylor likes to think he pulls it off pretty well.

“Understatement of the century.”

“Makes a world ‘a sense. You’ve tried gettin’ away from it.”

“Actually I haven’t really had the time.”

Only Luc disagrees; shakes his head curtly and offers the Cups to Taylor like it’s written on the surface in plain sight. “The cards ain’t just talkin’ ‘round the physical. Sometimes we do all the runnin’ in our minds and we don’t even know it. It could be as simple as connecting new things in ya life to old ones and convincing ya’self they’re the same; whether they are or not.”

Oh, there it is — on the surface and in plain sight. Struggling for Cal and Donny. Taking blame for what happened (not that he’d tell Cal, he’s got enough to feel bad over). Jumping down Krom’s throat about the theater company.

“Don’t beat ya’self up too bad,” continues Luc in a way that makes him freeze in the sudden fear that he can read thoughts as well as tarot cards, “a little escapism is good for the soul. The hard part’s when you gotta come back to reality an’ doin’ it without a fight.”

Taylor offers the card back and watches it settle home beside the Fool. The same Fool he’s now a little reluctant to identify with so quickly. “Yeah. I guess.”

“Got it — now cut the ramblin’; you’re talkin’ over the cards.”

Only hasn’t he been the one doing all the talking? Arguing won’t help but that little nugget of petulance persists.

This time Luc reveals three cards one after the other. Makes sure to let each one rest face-up before moving on. Letting them breathe. Letting them speak.

Strength. The Hermit. The Two of Swords. The first two facing Taylor this time as if in judgment. No; they haven’t drawn that card just yet.

He realizes he’s waiting on bated breath when his lungs start to burn and beg for fresh air. Why is he so quiet all of a sudden?

“Tell me more about those hallucinations ya mentioned, Taylor.”

That’s not where he was expecting that to go at all; catches him off guard. “Sorry?”

“Don’t be,” but the other man sounds distant; lost in his thoughts, “jus’ tell me. Said you been seein’ things ‘your whole life’ right?”

“Yeah. But I’d really rather not, uh, go into…” Wasn’t his life story down on the cards? It was hard enough explaining everything to Kristin — and they knew things about one another bound to secrecy by the sanctity of roommate-dom. So he tries to keep it all in the realm of the reading; “I mean I know what they are now. I was seeing glamours. Like through them — without a charm or spell or whatever. I dunno, Nik can explain it better.”

When Luc doesn’t give the same shocked jaw-drop the trio at the Shift had he entertains the brief hope that the same talent runs through the psychic’s veins. But that’s dashed when he catches sight of the unconscious way Luc grabs onto one of the numerous stone pendants draped over his neck — the way he thumbs over the polished surface and tugs on the leather cord.

It’s not the same one Ryder has but pretty damn close; close enough to assume his glamour-charm used to have a home in this very shop.

“That kind-a inner sight’s awful rare.” He practically mumbles.

“Yeah, it’s been mentioned.”

“Not unheard of, mind you. Not in things that ain’t entirely mortal by blood and bone. When you draw Strength in reverse it’s not the opposite like you’d think; it ain’t sayin’ you lack strength.

“Think of it more like the meanin’ is just turned about. Upright’s outside and the other is inside.”

“So it’s inner strength.” He can get behind that.

“Or lack of it.”

I’m fucking sorry? “Who—what-now?”

“This row,” he gestures a little too grandly for the subject matter, “is your past, present, and future. I told you the cards were screamin’ — and they still are — but not this one,” — not Strength — “this’un’s more of a whisper. And it makes sense given that you called ‘em ‘hallucinations.’”

“And an explanation for us ‘card’-of-hearing?”

Luc bites his tongue — really and without metaphor; wince and all. Grabs a stray bit of crumpled receipt from god-knows when his last sale was and scribbles on it in blocky letters.

“‘Note to self,’” he enunciates his writing harshly, “‘add sign to shop: ‘Owner Has the Right to Refuse Service on Account of Shitty Fucking Puns.’”

The glare that follows tells Taylor it won’t be long before that sign has his name added to avoid confusion.

No regrets. None at all.

Puns aside, though? The level eye he gets across the cards takes a turn for the serious.

“I think it tells me a lot more than you’re ready to share. About ya life before this; about the things you done to make the pain go away. Some of us may be human but that don’t mean we ain’t still animals. And animals lash out when they’re scared.”

He’s right. It’s a lot more than Taylor’s ready to share. Makes him want to scramble the deck — flip the table on its end. And maybe the old version of him, the version in those cards, might have.

In his silence Luc gets the answer — “moving on…” he almost sing-songs — lets his fingertips dance on the card showing the present: the Hermit.

Which Taylor tries not to take personally. Who is there to be angry at other than himself?

“So since that one’s reversed too that means… what, that I’m a hermit on the inside?”

“I can see how you’d think that,” laughs Luc, “but not quite. How about we let the professional do his profession?”

Taylor gestures. The professional carries on. “It ain’t easy comin’ into this life so late. ‘Specially when you end up seein’ all the bad before a lick’a good comes your way. But you’re drownin’ in it — that’s what the Hermit’s tellin’ us. No time to ruminate?”

He scoffs. “Something like that.”

“Well make time. Lest it all starts crashin’ down and you get the proverbial water in ya lungs.”

“It’s not by choice. There’s things after me and —”

“And excuses ain’t gonna keep you afloat.” The man reaches over faster than Taylor can move back; actually flicks his forehead dead center.

“Ow!” He swats Luc’s hand away.

“It ain’t me sayin’ this, Hunter. It’s them,” he gestures to the cards, “and they know more about this world than either of us could learn in a hundred lifetimes. Take ya damn time and really work out how you feel. Else you won’t be able to face this here future with a clear head.”

Luckily Taylor doesn’t have to ask; isn’t certain he’d be able to as he looks at the Two of Swords card and feels sweat start to bead at his temples.

Playing with tarot cards is all fun and games when you don’t believe. Even when you do — a measure of healthy skepticism is good for the soul. But with everything he’s seen; been told?

Who would willingly ask for their future foretold after that?

“I think we can skip to the next cards.”

“Oho, this don’t work like that.”

“Why,” doing his best to keep his voice level, “it’s my reading, right? I don’t want to know.”

“Sucks to be you, then. You draw; you listen. That’s how all true readin’s go.” Luc leans back on the creaky chair and lets the Swords card flip and twirl between his fingers.

He could make it easy on them both; stop arguing and just get up and leave the reading unfinished. Find Ryder in the back and apologize for doing what he said not to do — again — and book it out of there right quick.

But he doesn’t.

“Now I get why Nik said not to do this.”

“Ha — well, hindsight ain’t much use in a house of foresight baby. So listen; an’ listen well.

“In proper tarot some cards are real close in meanin’. That’s where the spread comes in — the order, the intent; not to mention the cards all ‘round it. The Swords in your future point to some hard fuckin’ choices. And if ya keep on the path ya’re on you won’t be makin’ ‘em with all your marbles.

“I ain’t talkin’ about decisions that can be made for you, neither. When it comes down to it you’re likely to find ya’self alone — not only in the act a’ choosin’ but in dealin’ with the consequences.”

“So what kind of choices? What do the cards scream about that?”

“They don’t —” he tosses the card back down and it’s probably not a coincidence that it slides magically askew back in the reading’s place, “— on account of all the changes between now and when that time comes.

“The cards give truths where mortals lie; hope where the world pushes despair. But at the end’a everythin’ they’re just cards — bound by the same circumstances as you or I.”

It’s probably meant to be poignant; something that might be sold on a re-purposed wooden palette hand-painted and polished. In a shop similar to this — right between the mismatched crystal balls and Ryder’s coveted frog warts.

But all Taylor can think is; “Well that’s absolutely useless to me beyond freaking me out.”

Luc gives another one of his gap-toothed grins — “C’est la vie, mon petit,” — and doesn’t wait for permission or argument to reveal another card.

“If it makes ya feel any better —”

“Doubtful at this point.”

“— Fair. But they won’t leave ya hangin’. Unless the Hanged Man is drawn, a’course. Naw, rest easy knowin’ you won’t be goin’ the journey alone.”

He frowns; confused. “But you just said —”

“Hush. All the best journeys are made with friends. Though I… I ain’t sure I’d call the Nine a’Wands a friend…”

Curiosity replaced by twists and turns of his bewildered head; Luc bites down on his thumb nail and scrutinizes the seventh draw. “In fact, I’d call whomever this bad draw represents —”

“Ryder!”

The Nighthunter emerges in a wave of beads carrying a pearly sphere the size of his head tucked in the crook of his arm. At the same time Taylor jumps — a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar — and swears when his knee bangs under the table.

Luc doesn’t notice — or doesn’t care; still fixated on the black-and-gold design in front of him. Mutters “could be him, but…” under his breath so low that no one catches it.

Taylor fumbles for an explanation — which is a pretty stupid move seeing as he was ready to just come clean only a minute ago — but doesn’t get the chance. Though he would like to state that it probably would have been an extremely convincing and well-versed one had Ryder not just held up a hand and rolled his eyes.

“I figured you’d ignore me. Already took out my anger with a mortar and pestle in the back.”

Well he’s a little offended now. “I wasn’t blatantly disobeying you or anything,” then; “I’m a grown adult and can make my own choices.”

And doesn’t that karma come around to bite him in the ass pretty damn fast. He makes a great effort not to look at what is no doubt a haughty look of ‘I told you so.’

“Yeah yeah, cry me a river.”

He props the sphere on a large cushion nearby to keep it from rolling and drags the last free seat over into Taylor’s personal bubble. Already looking at the spread like he, too, can hear these alleged screams from the deck. “So, Luc? Any tell on whether or not I’m gonna get paid for this gig?”

“Wha — hey!”

Taylor knows he doesn’t hit Nik’s arm that hard but the offended look he gets back is more than enough.

“Ouch. That hurt.”

“If that hurt I need a new bodyguard.”

“Don’t tempt me to pawn you off.”

“Please do.”

A tinny click draws their focus away from each other and to Luc’s newly lighted blunt. No longer puzzled by the cards — his eyes are brighter; they shine with understanding.

“Nevermind. I get it, now.”

“Get what?” barks Nik a little too defensively.

“Didn’ I jus’ tell ya not to mind it?”

Taylor cuts Nik off before he can continue arguing. They’ve been here too long already. “If we can’t leave until this is finished — can you finish?”

Two cards remain to be revealed. The fortune teller takes his sweet time with a few puffs before agreeing, if reluctantly. Maybe he just doesn’t like an audience?

All sense of the mysterium is gone. Luc flips the cards one at a time with one hand while sucking in his joint with the other.

The Five of Swords. The Wheel of Fortune.

It’s totally the secondhand high that makes the golden wheel glitter and seem to turn before their eyes. Totally.

He braces himself for another round of cryptic semi-explanations. Only they don’t come. Luc’s eyelids droop heavy — almost closed. And judging by Nik’s frown that’s not a normal part of the reading.

“Luca? Hey —” — he snaps in front of the man’s face — “— Laveau!”

He doesn’t quite jerk out of his momentary trance; eyelids flutter as if awakening from a dream.

“Maybe you had a point, Hunter,” after a throaty cough, “maybe it’s best this go unfinished.”

“What seriously? After all that earlier shit?” He balks. Beside him Ryder grabs the Swords and looks it over back to front.

“You’ve never left a reading hanging. What gives?”

“He’s still new to the life. I think he’s had enough bad news for today.”

Taylor practically snatches the card from Nik. But it seems just as reluctant to give up its secrets to him, too. Makes him toss it back down in frustration.

“Just tell me,” even he can’t believe what he’s saying, “since I dunno if it’s worse to know or to guess.”

“Trust me. The worst one’s knowin’.”

“I’ll take that as you’ve never encountered crippling anxiety, then.”

In rare sympathetic form Ryder reaches out and rests a hand on Luc’s exposed forearm. They aren’t hiding behind quips or dancing words any longer; you could see the remnants of intimacy between them from space.

“Luc — come on. For my sake, too.”

The doubt doesn’t ease off from the fortune teller’s brow. In fact it looks deeper than ever before. Finally he yields. “All right — but don’t blame me or the cards. We’re jus’ messengers after all.”

No longer in need of a familiar touch Luc shakes the hand off. Mutters something unintelligible under his breath and takes another few puffs to calm himself down before he covers the Five of Swords like he can’t do the reading while looking at it.

“There’s more than difficult choices ahead for you — and for those what end up around you. A fight looms —” he turns the Swords card on its back atop the revealed Wheel of Fortune, “— on a bigger horizon than that’a the Vieux Carre. Might even be one bigger than this world of ours.

“Not so much a fight as a battle; a war. Turnin’ and churnin’ at the banks of the river and out into the ocean. Ready to flood the whole damn city — every corner of the earth. And it’ll keep ragin’ and screamin’ with every body what falls to it.”

Ryder goes still as stone beside him. Taylor finds himself revisiting the notion of it being better not knowing.

“What does any of that have to do with me?”

“You, Mister Hunter — you’re smack dab in the middle of it. More’n that… you belong there.”

Apologies. Sympathy. Condolences. Luc can��t seem to settle on one way to look at Taylor so instead he just focuses on packing his deck back up. He isn’t as careful this time around — like he’s angry at the cards and what they had to say; to scream. Two separate entities working off of one another but, at the very least, both unhappy with the outcome.

“I’ll get a box for that crystal ball — the warts are yours but I’ll need interest on that relic.” He can’t get away from the pair fast enough. Shuffles the tarot deck in his hands as he goes.

He wants to be surprised that Nik doesn’t follow; doesn’t go to check on someone he obviously has a past and present connection with. But in the goody bag of his emotions he just keeps pulling out resignation — even when he cheats and peeks inside.

That’s all there is. All he can feel.

Where’s that opportunity for escapism the cards had mentioned earlier? He could use a bit of that at the moment.

Doesn’t know when exactly Nik started trying to comfort him; hand on his upper back, the gentle back-and-forth of his thumb. Taylor’s not a big fan of touch but that seems to be how Ryder connects to the world; through the physical.

And oddly it’s working. The comfort thing.

“You okay?”

He’ll sass such a ridiculous question later. “Uh, honestly I don’t really know what I am right now.”

Ryder’s face is unusually close when Taylor looks his way. The barest flicker — a crack in the bravado. Nik is worried for him.

“That can happen after Luc’s readings. You think I warned ya away to keep you from somethin’ fun? Knowin’ his connection with the spirit world makes it all really…”

He struggles for the right word. Weird, coming from him.

“‘Real?’” offers Taylor, and gets him a nod.

“Yeah, really real.”

Noises of shuffled boxes and Luc’s grunts draw them out of Taylor’s personal space and back to the world around them. Up near the back curtain Luc gently eases the crystal ball into a wooden box.

“So, question.”

“Yeah Rook?”

“What do we do now?” Because if turning tail and running like a shameless coward away from this war is an option, he’s taking it.

“We keep on going,” Nik answers, “We get back to the Shift and finish up this blasted protection spell and then we dive into findin’ your attacker and punch a bunch’a holy light holes in it’s ugly-ass face.”

This time when he reaches into the bag of emotions, luck gives him a break and lets him pull out the barest ghost of a smile.

“Man, it is ugly. Like — fugly ugly.”

Ryder’s smile is just as small — but no less sincere — than his.

“It damn sure is.”

#nightbound #nik ryder x mc #nik ryder #playchoices #choices fanfiction #cal lowell #garrus #krom #ivy #nightbound mc #mc: taylor hunter #oblv: bound by circumstance #oblv: new chapter #; my fics

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ljandersen · 4 years

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(Femshep/Kaidan Alenko, Mass Effect 3, Chapter 1 but works as a one shot)

Shepard’s ribs shrank tighter each passing minute. Each minute they hadn’t reached the Citadel. When it happened the air had stopped moving. The only sound she could hear was her own heartbeat. Then he fell limp, helmet lolling to the side. The reality of it – Kaidan dead – felt like getting torn out an airlock. One moment everything’s safe, your boots are on solid ground, each breath alive with oxygen. As it should be. The next, everything’s depressurizing, alarming, and you’re sucked into the vacuum of space, spinning and clawing at emptiness, gasping for breath. Like dying. Her experience of it anyway.

But he wasn’t dead. He lay on a metal bed in front of her chair. The med bay’s fluorescents flickered overhead giving his skin a waxiness she only saw on corpses. She hunched forward. The folding chair wobbled and tipped her forward. One leg was too short. It would drive Kaidan crazy if he was sitting here.

She smiled despite herself. “You remember the folding chairs, Kaidan? Our ground team debrief. I’d always set up a circle in the corner of the cargo hold. And after Feros? You can’t pretend you don’t remember. The wobbly chair. I could see it eating at you the whole time. Each time you shifted your face would get more strained, jaw tightening, nostrils flaring. You started to sit ramrod straight. Absolutely still. May have kept the meeting going a little longer than needed, I admit. Began to walk around as I spoke, brush against your shoulder. Your chair would wobble. About the fourth pass, you started shooting me a death glare every time I came by your chair. Ha.

"The moment the meeting ended, you smacked the chair upside down and started working at the feet. I bent down, opened my palm. The missing cap for the back chair leg. Your face! You were all sputtery. How did I even know where you would sit? I pointed around at all the chairs and dropped a pocketful of caps at your feet. One for each chair, every back, right leg. Every one but mine. No one else even noticed. It only bothered you. Like I knew it would.”

She laughed and folded her hands on the edge of the metal table. Bruises marbled his features, dark and growing like a shadow. Her laughter choked. She cleared her throat and gave him a tight smile.

“Remember the next debriefing? Do you remember, Kaidan? You thought I wasn’t looking when you came in. You exchanged our chairs. You had this cute, little canary-savoring smile when I turned around. Adorable. But I suspected what you’d do. I even looked away so you could do it. You plopped down, smug smile, and … well, we both know what happened, don’t we?”

Shepard scrapped her seat closer to him. “I just meant to bother you, you know. Another wobbly chair, and I knew you’d be checking out the chair’s feet when you came in. Couldn’t pull the same trick. I just … ha, I didn’t mean for it to break on you. Not completely. A little too much aplomb in your victory drop onto the seat, I guess. I still remember Liara yelling, ‘Oh, Goddess!’ and clutching her chest like she’d seen you shot. Garrus had to figure out what the hell happened. He bolted over, flipped the chair over, and found the loose hinge with an ‘ah ya.’ Then there was Ash, tearing up and pounding her leg. If Wrex and Tali had been with the ground team, you really would have had an audience. Krogan laughter shakes walls. You frowned at me, then dusted yourself off with an ‘oh, clumsy me’ shrug for everyone else. You were so pleased with yourself before your ass hit the floor. I remember you lurking in the doorway, seeing which chair I sat in. It didn’t wobble on me. Kept all my weight on my heels, pal. I knew your methods.”

He was so still. For one cold second, she thought he was dead. She lifted her fingers to his face and felt his breath, soft and faint. The pressure released from her lungs. Her fingertips crested over each lip. Just a second to feel the softness of – She sat back sharply and cleared her throat. ,

“Anyway, you’re a good sport, Kaidan. Still sorry it broke on you. Said as much when I caught you alone later raiding the mess.” Shepard worked his gauntlet off and dropped it on the floor. She held his hand. His skin was cool, like his blood was already slowing. Shepard bit her lips and concentrated on his face instead.

“Remember how you got back at me? And don’t tell me it wasn’t premeditated. I still don’t believe you. It was Noveria, remember?

“They let me keep my gun, then put me through that little security tap and dance number. I was posing for my dumbass clearance badge, and you cracked that stupid birthing cow joke. For the record, I was laughing at you, not the joke. That joke might be a showstopper at a seven-year-old’s birthday party, but uh, you need to adult-up your jokes. Seriously, as a marine, I’m embarrassed you don’t know more dirty jokes. Or maybe you do. You better not have a cache of dirty jokes and still chose to give me the birthing cow one.”

She traced his fingers. She remembered his fingers intertwining with hers. His hands holding her face. Remembered the way he stroked her hair when Ash died, his face pressed down in her hair, his breath wet and catching. She worked her fingers between his and squeezed his palm.

“Anyway, stop getting me off topic. I’m complaining about Noveria. You told me your damn decalf-einated joke. I laughed. At you. And that was the snapshot they got. I hollered for a redo, but you tap this sign on the wall. Then that bitchy security guard started tapping it too. No retakes. No retakes! Like a delete and re-click takes more time than walking over to tap a plastic sign on the wall. Your picture, Ash’s picture – both serious, stern, soldierly. Me? You can see the back of my throat. Hair in my mouth, one eye half closed. It’s lucky I didn’t have snot bubbling from my nose. Now, you can’t tell me that wasn’t premeditated, Alenko. Maybe premeditated by minutes, the seconds between seeing the sign and dredging up your kid’s birthday party joke, but still. Premeditated.

“I had to clip that picture to my chest. Got barked at every time I tried to turn the picture around. I just acted like it was an accident. ‘Oh, really? Turned around again? You don’t say.’ And the screens, Kaidan! If their greeting wasn’t a warm enough welcome, they flash my face over every screen in the compound. A friendly reminder to let everyone know a Spectre was on the premise. To encourage compliance with my investigation. You never bought that either, right? Yeah, no. I didn’t think so. Clearly keeping everyone on alert so they wouldn’t comply. And that lovely security picture? ‘Spectre Shepard is here.’ The dignified Spectre on all the giant screens haw-hawing, one-eye squeezed shut. We’d come around a new corner and bam! Another screen of it. Then I’d hear the punchline of the birthing cow joke. You whispering ‘decalf-einated’ at my back. Ash snickering. Imagine if the press had a copy of that picture? You have a copy somewhere, don’t you? Don’t even answer. I know you do.”

She pressed his hand between hers and drew in a shaky breath. His eyelids were blackening, no movement, not even dreaming. The bruises deepened over his entire face. She squeezed his hand and forced another smile. He had changed so much.

“You had a nice trick back there, Kaidan,” Shepard whispered. “Liara called it Reaving. Fancy. Trying to impress me? You did. You’re so confident too. Bearing, voice, no more oscillating, hesitancy. Good idea with the tram, with the short-range radio, that ambush in the control room. I’d like to see you on the field directing a team. Always knew you were special. Leadership material if you’d only ever make a decision and not hold back, believe in yourself. I always believed in you. But you knew that didn’t you, Kaidan?”

His skin swelled across his cheeks and around his eyes. His face was expressionless. Vacant. Because he’s dying. Her heart twisted. She sucked in a breath.

“It can’t end like this, Kaidan.” She touched his jaw. A light touch. She didn’t want to make anything worse. If his face was swollen, broken, and bruised, what did his brain look like? That sharp, intense mind she missed. She may have come back from the dead but he wouldn’t. “The last thing we say to each other can’t be our words on Mars. I’m not a husk, Kaidan, or the Illusive Man’s puppet. Against all odds, I’m really, really not. And I’m alive. Maybe some new parts. No one should see machinery glowing through their skin, but I’m still me. What counts is here. Right here.”

“Commander?” Jokers’ voice came overhead.

Shepard rocked back in her chair. “Joker? ETA?”

“Seven minutes out. Medical transport standing by.”

“Good.” Shepard stood. She brushed her fingertips on his lips and felt the slow breath. “Keep that up. The breathing. Unconscious part? I’ll allow it for now, I guess.” She ran her eyes over him. Scuffed and bloody armor, black and blue face, his hair in disarray. She touched his hair. A faint energy crackled across her skin. His biotics. Her heart lifted. It was like feeling the pulse of his heartbeat. It showed he hadn’t gone. He had to live. She wanted to remember him face flushed and alive, not a shell with the soul draining away.

“Seven minutes, Kaidan,” she said. Something from Mars came to mind, and her lips curve up. She looked him in the face. “I’m the person you loved, huh? Said the same thing on Horizon. Might have been nice to hear when it was present tense. Before I died. I’ll give you a pass though. I’ve only told my parents that. So, you got me beat even by putting it in the past. Is it really so past, though, Kaidan?”

She brushed his hair back again and chuckled. “And, just so you know, Major, the hell I will ‘Kaidan’ you again. You haven’t heard the last of it. Ha. And, I’ll mess with your folding chair. Don’t put it past me.” She bent down, hesitated – maybe she shouldn’t – she stamped a kiss on his check and pulled back with a snap. “Five second rule. So, uh, doesn’t count. Not taking advantage of you. If this was a fairy tale, you’d be thanking me right now.”

The med bay door slid open. Liara swished into the room. “Shepard, we’re almost there. We should get him down to the bay. Is he still …”

“Yes. He is.”

“I’ll get James with the stretcher.” She dashed away.

Shepard turned back to Kaidan and squeezed his shoulder. “Hey, what do you call a cow that just gave birth?” She rubbed a hand across her face and sniffled. “I’ll find you some better material, Kaidan. So … stand by.”

James and Liara burst into the med bay with a stretcher. Shepard took the end from Liara and angled it next to his bed.

“Let’s move him out.”

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21369139/chapters/50901124

FF: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13428855/1/About-Mars-Mass-Effect

Cover art (my sister): @ande2339 (Instagram)

#shenko #kaidan #Mass Effect #About Mars #fanfic #fshenko #angst #humor #femshep

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incorrectly-quoted-queers · 4 years

Note

Ooo Ooo Ooo!!! Shakarian dancing in the rain and saying their first I love yous!!!!!!

I like this lots, especially since my Anya Shepard Femshep is an ex-ballerina. I am so hyped, thank you for the prompt! It’s sooooo cute

It kinda got out of control but oh well!!!

....

The last time she had been on Anhur, it wasn’t a great memory. Her new unit had been sent there to keep an eye on the racial unrest between the Batarians and humans on the planet. She spent half of it stressed and lonely, the other half still mourning the unburied squad on Akuze.

But fuck, was the planet beautiful. Late night walks across the city gardens, staring up at the stars, were the thing that kept her floating. And the first time she felt an Anhur rain on her skin, Anya found a secluded park bench and cried for the first time since her friends died.

Then she got transferred to Captain Anderson’s ship and she became the Commander everyone needed her to be.

While it wasn’t a paradise, Anhur was dear to her heart. And today was supposed to be special, too.

Of course, though, the rain wasn’t exactly agreeing.

Tucked under a large tree, Anya was cuddled up close to a carapace she knew very well, his arm resting lazily behind her back, her arms crossed over her knees. As the water poured from the skies, masking them under the boughs, it was so heavy and thick, Anya Shepard sighed.

There went her wholesome date idea. Leaning into Garrus’ shoulder, Anya said, “Sorry that the date’s ruined.” She snorted and threw her arms out, gesturing at the wet landscape around them. If she didn’t laugh, she might’ve been frustrated enough to cry, so that was definitely off the table. “Typical that I try to show off my favorite planet and instead it starts raining.”

“When has a mission ever gone quite right?” Garrus met her eyes, those bright blue irises of his one of her favorite views in the galaxy. He was doing his smirk thing, where he was being snarky and sarcastic to try to cheer her up. Anya hated it, but it worked every time. He shrugged and chuckled, adding, “Granted, this is a date, not a shoot-off with mercs, but hey...” The Turian cocked his head sideways, looked around like trying to find some silver lining. “At least it’s pretty, underneath all the....wetness.”

Again, Anya found herself snorting out a laugh before bumping his shoulder with hers. “Thanks for pretending this is still a good date.”

Behind her back, his talons grabbed her waist and squeezed. “Every date with you is a good one.”

“Has a single one not ended in disaster?” Rolling her eyes, she did add, “I mean, it’s not mercs this time, but still.”

Garrus didn’t seem to have an answer for that. He didn’t have to. They were meant to have a romantic little nature walk and to head to her favorite spot and dance in the moonlight. It was embarrassing and cheesy, but finding new places to dance was sort of their... thing now. And she couldn’t even override the bittersweet aftertaste of Anhur without everything going sideways.

There was something beautiful about this place, that it was somewhere where she fell apart and got her first glimmers of hope back in her life. But Anya brought Garrus here because she wanted to like it even more.

Instead, they were idiots, hiding under a tree. Frowning into her palm, Anya exhaled before rubbing her neck and asking the obvious, “What are we supposed to do now?”

After a thoughtful, still moment, Garrus stood up and said, “What we came here to do.”

“Garrus, I don’t think this starlight waltz on Anhur is going to work when it’s pouring.”

“Says you.” She didn’t know what this idiot was up to. She opened her mouth to ask him what the hell he was doing, but he was faster than her.

And with a swift, gentle grab of her hand, he pulled her up off the ground and into the rain.

When the lukewarm rain hit her face, Anya squeaked in surprise. “Oh my god!” On instinct, when he launched her up here, her hands grabbed onto his shoulders. But not his talons were on the small of her back, holding her close. Anya couldn’t help but sputter, “You’re insane.” Then, she caressed his cheek with his hand and was the practical one here. Because no matter how cute whimsical rain-dancing was, she knew Turian physiology by now. “You’re going to get a cold.”

“You’re worth it.” He pressed his forehead to hers, a soft, easy gesture that they’d picked up from Turian customs and made their own. For Turians, it was a sign of trust, letting people that close. But for them? It was a promise.

Garrus pulled her free hand to his own and, using his stupid, handsome smirk to his advantage, said, “Now get to the dancing part, ballerina.”

Even though every bone in her wanted to stay the responsible one, it was in her nature when it came to her team, she couldn’t resist that damned smile of his. Anya took the lead and started twirling them around the soaked courtyard, side-stepping left and right and giggling as her bigger steps made waves of water ripple at their feet.

Years ago, when they started this dance of theirs, Garrus somehow had three left feet instead of two. Her toes were always getting stepped on and he was so self-conscious. But here, dancing in the rain?

He was no professional, but he was taking her breath away and sweeping her off her feet. But maybe it was because she was laughing so hard she could barely breathe.

After more dancing than she’d done in years, and the edges of her dress were making miniature rainstorms with each twirl, they collapsed back under the tree.

And if almost on cue, Garrus sniffled.

With a sigh, Anya wiped his already dripping nose with her sleeve (fuck that jacket anyway) and said, “I told you that you’d get sick.”

Normally, Garrus took sniffling very seriously. Turians weren’t good patients, and even more so hated colds. The one time he caught the flu, Chakwas had to practically restrain him and every three minutes she kept getting texts about him being pissed about isolation, feeling chilly, and how he would kill Grunt for giving it to him.

It was cute, honestly, especially when she got to torment him about it.

But today, he was still smiling and his talons moved to play with the ends of her hair. Anya’s breath caught in her throat. Garrus shook his head and said, “Did you see you out there, though?” Then his eyes flicked to hers and he looked overwhelmed, in a way she hadn’t seen before.

Scratch that. She did. The first time he looked at her after thinking she’d been two years. It was like seeing her alive after losing her. “I just want to see you smile like that again. With everything going on...”

Anya scooted closer and nodded. “I know.” She pulled his free talon into her lap and ran her fingers across the creases, the knuckles, until she couldn’t help but twine her hand with his. Though she wasn’t even looking at him, she couldn’t shut up the smile creeping onto her lips. “To think, a Turian was willing to dance in the rain just to make me smile.”

Twirling a large, wet collection of strands around his talon, he said, all smug: “A rare sight indeed. You should feel honored.”

“Fuck yes I do. You’re shivering.” Anya moved closer, trying to share her body warmth with her stupid, cold, wonderful Turian. But there was more to it, this swelling in her chest she felt before on Anhur, but this time it didn’t hurt. This time, it was a beacon of warmth in the cold autumn rain.

Before she’d dare to chicken out, because she couldn’t keep fighting this war without telling him, Anya looked up in Garrus’ eyes and admitted, “I love you, you know, Garrus Vakarian.”

His eyes widened a little before he coughed. “I didn’t know. But I like knowing.” She almost started laughing at the thought of him not knowing. Of all things, Anya was pretty sure she’d always been tragically obviously about it. He buried his talon in her hair, though, pulled her face closer to his, and pressed their foreheads together. “I love you, too, Anya Shepard.”

And then they promised the human way, mouths pressed together, too.

While Anya could spend forever under this tree, basking in the glow of loving someone and being loved, she could feel his chest shiver again under her palm.

Pulling away, Anya cocked her head towards the city.. “Now let’s get you somewhere warm. If I learned one thing from your bitching on Noveria, it’s that Turians do not like the cold.” Anya stood and pulled Garrus up from the ground. With expressive, waggling eyebrows, she promised, “We can even get you cuddled up in our hotel room with extra blankets and the heater turned up.”

Garrus slung an arm around her shoulder with a contented noise. “Mmm. Now I really love you.”

Raising an eyebrow, Anya peered at him and asked, “Oh? You didn’t really love me before?”

“Can you blame me? Promises of warmth takes romance to a whole new level for a Turian.”

“Sure it does, big guy.”

And they walked back to their room, cuddled close, giggling about all their stupid banter, making every little touch and promise that made them smile.

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mrs-pissoff · 4 years

Text

Your eyes (part 3)

Part 1, Part 2

Thane Krios x Reader (3rd person POV)

Disclaimer: I don’t own Mass Effect or its characters, they belong to Bioware.

Warning: Long. Many words (2.91k).

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A handful of slow days passed since the breakdown in the kitchen and remembering the dispute didn't help understand the situation any better. If anything, it made her more dubious. Thane had no logical reason to feel any sort of fascination towards her as far as she was aware. The only good thing was, that no one witnessed any of it happening.

On the other hand, she was now pretty damn uncomfortable when she had to leave her room for anything and contemplated asking EDI to let her know who was lounging on Deck 3 before she'd go up. She didn't of course, as EDI would probably ask why it was necessary to know who was present and she really didn't have an answer that would be satisfactory. It was ridiculous really, and she began ironically thinking about requesting stealth training from Kasumi as another solution to avoid bumping into anyone, but especially Thane.

The universe was not having any of that however and she still came face to face with the assassin a few times. Of course she would. Life support was on Deck 3, impossible to miss or avoid. Lucky her.

They silently passed each other without a single word of acknowledgement every time they did meet, just like before, but instead of simply being unaware of one another, now it was more out of tension. At least on her part. She felt his dark eyes on her, and she caught herself glancing at him out of reflex as well. She really didn't enjoy being watched. Luckily they were never alone. No need to have another confusing conversation where either of them had to make a fool out of themselves. Not yet anyway. The man was reserved, and she was glad for that. Still, his presence was enough to unsettle her. Thane was a difficult man to read after all. His expression was always distant and she couldn't tell whether it held malicious intent or if he was simply lost in thought. According to what little she knew of him, it was likely the latter, but instincts are hard to ignore and being watched sets her on edge.

Nonetheless, he does possess a cold sort of allure that's difficult to ignore once one becomes aware of it. A realization that only served to confuse her more. She really didn't need another person to consume her thoughts now. She needed clarity. An emotional clean-up was in order, but nothing seemed to cooperate with her. If only she trusted others enough to talk to them about it, but her pride got in the way every time. 'I'll deal with it. It's my problem.'

When she was alone and could think to herself peacefully, she was constantly interrupted, taken on a mission, or called up for debriefing to get the team up to date with the next move against the Collectors. There was always something that distracted her. It seemed like Shepard came by more frequently as well. The Commander really needed someone to talk to these past days, and not just about the personal problems of the squad that needed to be taken care of before venturing beyond the Omega 4 Relay. She never took the Commander for someone who complained a lot, but it seemed Shepard was getting bogged down quite a bit and needed to drop some of that burden. She didn't mind talking to Shepard of course, no, but it was hard to bear when the Commander would talk about certain things. Like their developing relationship with Garrus. Oh the disadvantages of becoming a confidant.

It hurt, but she'd never admit it. No, she played the part of a supportive friend and wished them luck instead. That was the peaceful and mature way to handle this. It was just so damn hard to shake the desire to touch Shepard's face sometimes, or the need to hold them close. She wasn't even sure when these feelings developed or how deep they were. Maybe she was just getting desperate? Knowing the dangers of this mission and that there's a chance none of them will make it back. But she knew herself enough to know that these sorts of feelings never came quickly for her. Shepard is just so damn remarkable that it's hard to ignore. She was convinced that at least half the crew must have a crush on the Commander, if not all of them. The rest of the crew... Thane. Her thoughts came back to him.

For once she wished she could read minds. She wanted to know the intent behind his words, but without having to ask. An impossible task. Maybe she'll wake up one day and feel determined enough to ask him to clarify. It's harder to guess endlessly, than to face the music. At least that's what brave people say.

She decided to tempt fate and go take a shower after successfully snapping out of her thoughts. This time tends to be calm with less through traffic, though out here in space mornings and nights don't hold much meaning. Still, every ship tends to have its own rhythm and schedule and figuring out that rhythm does have its advantages.

Unbeknownst to her, others took advantage of learning that schedule as well, and the opportunity to gain insight would present itself sooner rather than later.

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He adopted the habit of pacing in his room restlessly. It eased his mind and helped tire his body at the same time. If only it gave him a solution to his problems as well.

Kolyat didn't answer his call today. He knew it wouldn't be easy, that his son had every right to be disgruntled with him, but he still had to try. Even if he ended up asking the same questions twice on some days, even if he had little to no knowledge about how to be a good father to him. Shepard urged him not to give up and he knew he can not give up. If there was even a slight chance to make things right, he'd have to take it. He knew, he really did, but some days his thoughts just weighed too heavy on him. Today was one of those days.

All of his past mistakes decided that today was the day to come back and haunt him and even if he's become accustomed to the feeling over the years, somehow recently it's been harder and harder to bear. He thanked the gods and goddesses that Kolyat could be saved, and even more so that his son was willing to forgive him after all the things he'd done, but he still couldn't soothe himself. Thoughts of what ifs flooded his mind and he wondered what else he could have done to make things better. Had he not left, Irikah would still be alive today and Kolyat would have grown up with them both. He wondered how much better it would have been if he stayed. He wasn't exactly a model father before either. All he had were his skills as an assassin, and those didn't help him in his day to day life. Perhaps he just needed more time to learn the ropes. He should have tried for the sake of his family. For Kolyat.

A flash of light blinded his mind as he recalled the day of their reunion in perfect detail, the face of his crying son ripping into his soul. He was the reason behind all that pain, although he never meant to be the one to cause Kolyat anguish. He's asked for his forgiveness many times since then, but it will take much more than that. Kolyat needs time, but he's wondering whether he has enough of it to spare. To think he was ready to depart his body, now even that is questionable.

Suddenly another memory enters his mind, a memory of that very same day, but not of his son. It's the memory of her words crashing against him like a violent tidal wave against a crumbling wall of stone. Those words have haunted him ever since. He tried shaking her image out of his mind without rest, as he believed he had moved past such things long ago, but the memory kept coming back relentlessly and soon he found himself thinking about her more and more. He'd listen to her voice and seek her gaze constantly, hoping to take as much of her in as he could. Perhaps that is what led him to confess his interest so prematurely. He should have kept silent. If he had, then at least he could still see her around more. Now it seemed as if she was no longer aboard the ship at all.

He was reminded of her puzzled face as he voiced his thoughts, and wanted nothing more than to let her know he would understand if his interest was unwanted. That he would keep it to himself. It was beyond selfish of him to want attention after all, especially now as he is nearing his life's end. And yet, the selfish part of him still yearned for affection, perhaps more so than he wished to admit.

The sound of the elevator reached his ears, and he could tell by the soft footsteps that whoever it was, they wished to remain unnoticed. That could only mean one person, and it was someone he desired to talk to. He approached his door, but by the time he reached it, she was gone, the bathroom door closing behind her. Having missed his chance he decided to head for the kitchen, he has yet to eat, so he might as well do that. Perhaps deep down he hoped she'd join him. A slim chance was better than none.

He finished his meal rather quickly and sat back down, feeling unusually tense again, and becoming aware of every little sound around him. The faint sound of conversation coming from the crew quarters, the low hum of the lights, the occasional drip coming from the tap. He could even hear Miranda walk around in her room. Perhaps it would be better to leave, instead of forcing a conversation. Everything will happen in its own time.

As he stood up, ready to head back to his room, the door to the bathroom opened and his legs carried him towards the sound. She was heading to the elevator but threw an absent-minded glance in his direction. Humans seemed to have this so called sixth sense where they would feel someone else's presence without actually meaning to. He's seen this occasionally with some of his targets as well. It was a fascinating occurrence to withstand. Of course that meant she wasn't actually aware of him standing there, and when she saw him, a small sound of surprise escaped her lips. He seemed to have a habit of startling her.

"When's your birthday? I'll get you a pair of clown shoes that honk with every step as a present." Surprisingly her voice held a hint of amusement, and a small smile indicated that she was more than pleased with her remark. A rather unexpected reaction.

A barely audible and contented hum left him before he responded. "I think I'd like that."

"Then remind me the next time we're on the Citadel. I know a shop. Goodnight."

And with that, she headed for the elevator.

He really didn't want her to leave, this seemed like the perfect opportunity to discuss the situation he's created, so he approached her and motioned towards his room.

"Can I have a moment of your time?"

A glint of panic crossed her face as she followed the line of Thane's outstretched arm with her eyes until they settled on the door to life support, lingering on it for a few seconds before answering.

"Alright, but I won't stay long."

"Of course."

He opened the door motioning for her to step inside, before closing it behind her, then taking a seat at the table, facing her direction. She stood by the door looking rather uncomfortable, something he anticipated would happen.

"Please, take a seat."

With a curt nod, she took the seat opposite of him and leaned back in her seat with her eyes closed.

He placed his hands on the table and linked them together, carefully putting the words together in his mind.

"I believe I owe you an apology first. It was not my intention to make you feel uncomfortable. I let my thoughts escape me when I should have stayed silent."

"It caught me off guard, but it hardly warrants an apology. Especially after the things I've said to you. It wasn't my place to get involved in your private business. That said, I won't pretend I understand what you meant by it."

"I find you rather remarkable. Your words... they were harsh, yes, and I did not anticipate such a reaction. Though perhaps I should have. My actions were far from acceptable."

"Very far, but it still wasn't my concern. It was a lapse of judgment on my part. I should have stayed silent as well, so I guess that makes us even. That is hardly reason enough to find anyone remarkable, though."

She leaned forward and put her elbows on the table, slightly dipping her head down to avoid his gaze. He wanted to tell her how her act of compassion for his son moved him. How it was difficult to find people who genuinely cared about others even when they gained nothing in return. Or how he found her support of Shepard's happiness admirable, even if it was apparent to him how much it hurt.

"On the contrary. It is rare to find people who would show such compassion for a stranger, or support a loved one's happiness even at their own expense."

Her eyes shot up and bored into his after hearing the last part. He couldn't have meant... but before she could ask him to elaborate, he spoke again.

"I'm drawn to you, but I will understand if it's unwelcome."

It has been a long time since he felt affection towards another, and the first time his feelings were for a human. He barely knew how to live a normal life among his own people and in his own culture in the past, much less how to present himself to someone of another species when it came to romance. He spent the last decade alone and deep in his battle sleep. This sudden change was as unanticipated to him as his words were to her now.

She remained silent for a while, avoiding his curious eyes, heart beating rapidly in her chest as she desperately urged her brain to come up with a coherent reply, and fast. She was still in the middle of sorting herself out, managing and understanding her own feelings for Shepard, and now another grenade was thrown at her feet. Sure, she considered there could be more behind his words. Just not this. There was no way she could get to a conclusion here and now. She needed more time.

"I can't tell you if it's unwelcome. Not yet, but you've certainly invaded my thoughts recently..."

"Of course, I understand. It must be overwhelming."

He placed one of his hands on top of hers reassuringly and felt her hand jump slightly at the sudden contact. He pulled his hand back up, but she took a hold of it and placed it back down onto hers. Her hand was trembling and her eyes were closed, but the contact made his body fill with hope and warmth.

She realized just how touch-starved she was now. This simple interaction almost made her heart burst out of her ribcage and she made a mental note to lecture herself for it later. For now she enjoyed the moment before she broke the silence.

"You know, Shepard made quite the effort to bring you up in nearly every discussion we had. I've been told a few things about you that I've never even considered. They probably contributed to your decisions, even if I still think they were bad decisions. It never occurred to me that your son wasn't the only one hurting. That you've both suffered more than enough."

She took a deep breath and looked at his hand resting on hers. Somehow it felt right.

"I abandoned my family. My wife was killed and Kolyat suffered because of me."

"Yes, you've paid a steep price. One that will haunt you until your last day. But you feel regret and have a desire to right your wrongs. Those are more important than you might think, even if they can't help you change the past. It might sound strange coming from me, but you deserve to feel happy. Don't deny it to yourself."

"You... you are very kind. I will keep your words in mind."

Relief washed over her and the burden on her consciousness lessened. Thane made many mistakes, none of which will be forgotten, but as long as he yearned to correct what he could, it could be forgiven. She was interested in seeing him change for the better.

"I really should let you be now, but I wouldn't mind talking to you again."

"I'd like that."

With that, she slid her hand out from underneath his, both of them missing the sensation immediately after it was gone. She shook the feeling off and stood up to leave, muttering a faint 'Goodnight' as she headed for the door. He watched her retreat as excitement settled into his chest.

The future was uncertain and yet hopeful.

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I think this will be the last part. I don’t really see the point of continuing it since I’m pretty unhappy with the whole thing hahhaaahaa.

In any case, if someone is reading this, I hope it was at least a bit enjoyable C:

#mass effect #mass effect 2 #Thane Krios #Thane x Reader #fanfic

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lopithecusfanfiction · 3 years

Text

There For You

Author: Lopithecus Pairing: Kaidan Alenko/Male Shepard Rating: General Audience Word Count: 1003 Alternate: AO3 Summary: Kaidan comforts Shepard after the Thessia mission Warnings: N/A Author's Note: This is for Day 6 of Mass Effect Trilogy Appreciation Week! A little late in the day again but I hope you all enjoy anyway! Prompt: Day 6 - Thessia Aftermath

“Should someone go talk to him?” Tali questions, sitting at the table in the Mess Hall. The only ones currently there are her, Garrus, and Kaidan. “He seemed pretty… well, after he talked to Liara I just feel like maybe someone should talk to him too.”

Kaidan watches his coffee, the steam from the liquid reaching his face. “Yeah, you’re right.” He sighs, standing up. “I was trying to give him some time alone but if what you’re saying is true… he might need a shoulder, huh?”

“Now more than ever, probably,” Garrus replies, popping a piece of Turian chocolate into his mouth.

Kaidan walks over to the sink with his mug and dumps his coffee. He didn’t really want it anyway, not right now, at least. He had only gotten it to keep himself busy and give Shepard some space. By the sounds of it, however, maybe that was the wrong choice to make. He says goodbye to his crewmates and walks towards the elevator, taking it to the first floor.

When he knocks on Shepard’s door, there’s no answer and Kaidan tries again, knocking a bit more forcibly by now. Usually he would just walk in. The room has become his just as much as it is Shepard’s nowadays but in this kind of situation, in which he isn’t even entirely sure if Shepard would want to be bothered, it feels wrong to just barge into the room unannounced.

Still, no answer comes, so Kaidan decides he’s at least made his presence known and opens the door, entering slowly. He finds Shepard sitting on the edge of the bed, head in his hands and covering his face. Kaidan approaches quietly until he’s standing in front of Shepard, close enough to touch. He sits down, the bed dipping and causing Shepard to tilt towards him slightly.

He rests a hand on Shepard’s back. “Shepard?” He gives the Commander’s back a couple of strokes. “You okay? Or well… you’re not going to be okay but are you… okay?” Kaidan cringes at his own words.

Shepard lifts his head, eyeing Kaidan and Kaidan is almost compelled to apologize to him. But Shepard’s eyes aren’t angry or annoyed. They’re just sad and tired, with a hint of amusement at Kaidan’s antics. His eyes wander the entire length of Kaidan’s face and Shepard doesn’t say anything when he eventually leans forward and wraps his arms around Kaidan’s middle. He leans his chin down onto Kaidan’s shoulder, Kaidan pulling him close and into his arms, and feels as Shepard shakes in them.

Small, choked off sobs escape from the Commander’s mouth and Kaidan’s shirt is getting wet where Shepard’s tears roll down his cheeks, but Kaidan doesn’t say anything about it. Shepard would hate Kaidan bringing attention to it so, instead, he buries one of his hands into Shepard’s hair at the back of his head, and uses his other hand to rub at Shepard’s back soothingly, staying quiet. Shepard’s cries fill the room, the only sound there is.

Kaidan isn’t sure how long it lasts, doesn’t really care, but eventually Shepard does stop crying. He doesn’t let go of Kaidan, however. Instead, he sits there, now resting his forehead against Kaidan’s wet shoulder, arms still wrapped around his waist as if Kaidan is currently Shepard’s only lifeline.

And maybe he is, after what devastation that has happened on Thessia, after Earth and Palaven. Maybe Kaidan is the only thing keeping Shepard afloat at this very moment, and though Kaidan is positive that the Commander will bounce right back from this eventually, he is happy to be that rope that Shepard’s got ahold of at the moment. So, he sits there and goes at Shepard’s pace. He doesn’t try to pull away or pull him closer, he doesn’t try to direct Shepard to lie down or get a glass of water, though Shepard probably should rehydrate after crying, and he doesn’t give Shepard any comforting words because he knows that’s the very last thing Shepard would want to hear right now, nor would they work anyway.

They sit there quietly, with Shepard’s face buried in Kaidan’s shoulder and Kaidan massaging the back of his head, for several minutes before Shepard finally pulls away. When he looks at Kaidan, his eyes are puffy and red, still wet with unshed tears that Shepard is trying desperately to not let fall. He sniffles, reaches up, and wipes at his eyes.

Kaidan’s hands have found purchase on Shepard’s waist but he can’t help but lift them to Shepard’s face to help clear it of any more tears. Shepard’s own hands fall away, letting Kaidan take over and he gladly rids Shepard’s face of any moisture there. He then smiles at him, runs his fingers through his hair again, and finally braves speaking into the silence.

“Better?” Kaidan asks in a low voice.

Shepard clears his throat, no doubt it being dry now. “A little,” he answers, giving Kaidan a tiny smile. “Thanks.”

“Hey,” Kaidan swipes his hand one more time over Shepard’s cheek. “That’s what boyfriends are for, right?”

Shepard’s smile grows, not into a full one, but happier nonetheless which relieves Kaidan. “Yeah.”

“Do you want me to go?” Kaidan then asks, looking around the room. He’ll leave if Shepard does truly want to be left alone right now but he suspects he already knows the answer to the question.

Shepard shakes his as Kaidan predicted. “I want you to stay.”

Kaidan leans forward, pressing a light kiss to Shepard’s forehead. “Of course.”

They both scoot back then to lie down on the bed, ignoring the fact that they both are still fully dressed, combat boots and all. Shepard allows Kaidan to wrap him up in his arms again, to pull him closer and bury his nose into Shepard’s hair while Shepard hides his face in Kaidan’s chest. And if Shepard starts crying again and Kaidan holds him through it once more, well, no one else really needs to know.

—————————————————————————————————

A/N: Thanks for reading! I hope you all enjoyed this little series!

#trilogyappreciationweek #Mass Effect #Commander Shepard #Kaidan Alenko #MShenko #My Fanfiction #There For You #Mass Effect Trilogy Appreciation Week

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seacabled · 4 years

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send ❣️ for a kiss on the cheek for garrus... u kno i had to do it to em... || @cheatdeaths

Garrus hates clubs. Too loud, too dark.... dirty. He didn’t see the point in going out for an overpriced drink when you could enjoy time with friends in the safe privacy of your own apartment.

“She really knows how to work a mark, Boss.” “You know she can hear you right? And I hope you’re keeping an eye on that entrance.” “Shit, sorry Six. You’re doing great, by the way.”

Garrus shakes his head, walking his path on the upper level of the club, trying not to smile at the chatter in his ear. The mark is some pharmaceutical runner wannabe who, despite what an idiot the guy is, has kept his hands too clean to get caught on Omega... well caught by most. This was a special favor for Miss T’Loak... a boon to let them keep street cleaning.

This was also a “cakewalk” of a job according to Six (whatever the hell that was), and she was happy to take point on it. The damn issue with that was no weapons in the club and no sightlines from the outside given the subterranean nature of the place. So everyone was working in person… real up close and personal.

(which garrus hated her being in such… direct danger, but they’d argued about that already at length and he of course lost.)

“Hey Blondie, your friend has friends coming over,” Garrus warned, leaning on the railing, cradling his drink over the edge as he kept his eyes on the new additions. “Hey, Isa, the mark looks like they need a refill on their martini, can you send one of his friends to the dry cleaners?” Garrus ventured, watching with a grin as Isa spilled the new drink of the suit of one of the two new men as they brought it over.

“I hope you’re making up for that tip, Boss?” “Course, what is it like two credits?” “Cheap ass.”

Garrus’s grip tightened on his glass, watching the mark starting to get too handsy. He knew Six would signal if she needed him, and he should wait— oh there it was. He didn’t need to play the hero and piss her off more. He pushed himself off the bar and headed down the stairs at an easy, but quick, pace to get to her.

“Babe—“ he called out, extending a talon, voice a muted worry as she took it, the other Turian behind the bar only giving an indication of hearing the extra layered whines to his speech. Garrus pulled her in close, out of the hold of the other man, and tucked her into his side. An arm came to rest around her, talon finding her hip like second nature. They fell into an easy tandem then, he leaned on the stool, and Six curled around him too, one of her hands coming to rest in his fringe and he shivered just a little as her curious fingers gently stroked against the soft exposed skin there. She was really selling the whole thing with that little detail. The even softer press of her lips to the curve of one of his mandibles damn near made him lose character.

It just… felt so damn nice. He turned his gaze briefly to her in wonder, curiosity, and nearly asked her to do it again. He swallowed thick around his heart in his throat, “Who’ve you been making friends with, sweetheart?” Garrus ventured instead.

Six caught him up like he hadn’t been listening in. “Huh… pain killers, really? You guys ever… sell for fun, or is this all above board kind of fun where I gotta break an arm first?”’ Garrus wondered, his grip shifted slightly at Six’s hip, thumb rubbing against her side to reassure her more than anything that he was here now.

The night ended without much fanfare. Garrus took a punch to the eye, which was slightly bruised, but more rugged than anything. The mark got his just desserts at the hand of Aria’s people once confirmation of them stepping on her toes got to her via Six’s body cam.

“Ow,” Garrus complained, as Six pulled the bag of frozen peas back from his eye, giving him a proper ice pack. “You could at least kiss it better” he half-joked, mandible fluttering at the memory of the gentle kiss to it from earlier.

A soft shocked exhale left him when he felt a kiss against the mandible once more and watched as the woman sauntered off with a too satisfied look on her face. “That’s not the side the bruise is on—“ Garrus complained mildly grin on his features as he folded the pillow under his head in half to prop himself up better. He lifted his legs as she returned to give her space on the worn couch, putting them back in her lap after she settled.

“You okay? Nothing too nasty?” he wondered. He hadn’t seen her take any hits, but damn if she’d say so.

#cheatdeaths #guess i ALSO gotta do it to em #Character: Garrus Vakarian

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scars-of-the-hart · 4 years

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Mass Effect 3: From The Ashes -Chapter 2: Burnout

Chapter Two

Burnout

She knew she looked like shit. The dreams had come again last night, with a vengeance. She could barely look Garrus in the eye as they ate together in the mess, the rest of her crew cheerfully discussing their options for shore leave when they arrived at Palaven. She had done her best to show the usual “Shepard” bravado. Ordered Ash and Vega to get a room in a different building than hers so she didn’t have to hear any of their “recreation,” asked what the best sushi restaurant was, and made comments about taking in the “native scenery” with a pointed, slow scrutiny of Garrus that she swore had actually made him blush. If Turians could blush… to her horror, she had learned they could bruise.

Once upon a time, once upon a different “Commander Shepard,” she probably wouldn’t have been so casual with her crew. Would have kept her liasons - no fuck “liasons,” her dating life - more private and encouraged others to do the same. She never would have striven for the uptight (in her opinion), stupid professionalism and lack of… liasing… that she knew other officers expected. These were warriors. All of them. Whether they charged out behind her with a gun or made sure the water-filtration system stayed funcional, they had all faced death day in and day out. And… it was a bunch of mostly humans stuck together in a tin can flying through a vacuum, with things outside (and sometimes inside) that wanted to kill them - spirits knew they needed to take the edge off somehow.

“Spirits”… she’d started swearing like him… well… like he did when he thought she was asleep and couldn’t hear him.

But trying to keep that “professionalism” in the face of so much death, loss and destruction, to stifle anything that might make someone laugh, feel something other than fear, make someone blush... that pursuit seemed petty now.

She felt exhausted at the thought of trying to keep up that bravado when they reached Palaven. Garrus had assured her that she would have a place of honor among Turians till the end of time for what she had done to save their planet, not to mention the personal services she had done for the Primarch. He told her that she’d better not worry what they thought. But to be honest, that just felt like more pressure. She had a feeling she might miss being the rogue, back-from-the-dead Spectre everyone thought was crazy, saying that there were monsters hiding under everyone’s cars, rather than the all-saving “Shepard.”

Maybe she should just spend a few months on Tuchanka. At least if she threw a fit and yelled “GO AWAY I SAVED YOU ALL I’M TIRED STILL” she would get some begrudging respect for her level of aggression. She had a feeling the same behavior on Palaven would have them looking at her with pursed mandibles and thinking her “primitive.”

But she wanted to go back now, for his sake. He tried to play it cool, but she knew he was worried. He never for a moment gave any sign that he wanted to be anywhere but her agonizingly slowly healing side. You would think being “synthesized” and full of these little… strands of… something (it was infuriating that no one could tell her what they were) would make you heal fast or some shit like that, but no. The organic part of her stuck with being very organic and patched up at a snail's pace. But she could tell that he felt he urgently needed to get back to Palaven. His father and sister had made it out when the Reapers attacked, barely, but his sister had a broken leg, and the two of them had been very guarded when discussing the health of his mother.

Waking up in his arms in the engine room that morning had been like taking a punch to the gut. He must have taken a seat on the floor at some point, back resting against the wall of the control panel. She had awoken to find herself folded in his arms, her cheek against his bare torso, a sheet from her (no… their bed) half tangled around her but still showing far too much of her underwear-clad body. She had no memory of being brought into the engine room, no understanding why he was topless; thank the spirits, at least he was wearing pants. She was mortified. She knew he had found her when she had fallen asleep here earlier this week. She’d woken briefly as he walked down the hall from the engine room, perhaps when she could no longer feel that gentle thrum that surrounded her now.

After waking she had just sat there. Listening to the slow, strangely soothing beating of his heart. At least he was sleeping. After all these fucking dreams… letting him sleep was the least she could do. He was starting to look like shit too.

And oh god, did she look like shit, she thought as she passed a painfully reflective wall panel, as she made her way towards the bridge. An engineer passed her with a respectful nod which she returned with a slight smile. They seemed tense, but thankfully said nothing. Well, maybe that was the upside of dying in universe-saving wars… twice. Your crew were impressed or scared of you enough to avoid commenting when you looked like crap.

She snorted to herself. She’d have to tell Anderson to use that strategy the next time he had to deal with all the damn politicians. Maybe they could take some shore leave and she could bring him up to speed over a long night of drinks; although he’d probably drink her under the table, coming from London…

The city's name in her head was like a biotic blast to the chest. London. Anderson. Her steps faltered and she grasped the walkway railing with one hand for a moment. Had she really just….was she that stupid? She cursed herself. No, no. There would be no telling Anderson. No seeing that twinkle in his eye behind his Spartan countenance; no hearing him grumble dryly, “I knew it was a bad idea letting them make you a Spectre.” The pain at that thought was… heavy, as if his absence left yet another mantle of responsibility on her already straining shoulders. Well, she would just have to settle for giving him something interesting to watch from wherever he was now.

She neared the helm and heard EDI and Joker laughing up ahead. Now that was a sound she would never tire of. Garrus thought EDI’s laugh had become eerily human since the synthesis, but Shepard thought it had become delightfully human. She owed the AI an eternal debt of gratitude for what she’d done - not to mention the fact that it meant that Shepard wasn’t the only one changed in ways that no one could understand.

“Hey Shepard!” called Joker as she drew level with them, “Ash told me you were asking for sushi recommendations on Palaven. I’m really sorry but I have something super important to do at the exact time you’re going, so you’ll have to find someone else to be your decoy this time - I mean date.”

At hearing this, EDI began to - no… really? Yep, Shepard wasn’t seeing things - the AI had just rolled her eyes at their pilot.

“Joker continues to think that any kind of combat training, including simple target practice, is a terrible idea,” she said. “Despite Garrus’ and my recommendations.”

“Look,” chided Joker, “I have lived through all these disasters as a pilot. No way am I messing up my survival streak with this one still around and wreaking havoc.” He grinned at her, “With all due respect Commander, I for one think the galaxy would actually be a whole lot safer and quieter if you would stay dead one of these days.”

Her lip twitched. Things would suck without Joker. It would be a hell of a lot harder to deal with all this without him: someone who knew when she couldn’t take any more gentle voices, respectful nods, or awe-filled stares and instead needed a good old ribbing. Needed to feel human for a few minutes.

“I’ll take your feedback into consideration, Lieutenant Moreau.” Shepard said dryly.

“If you want a quieter galaxy, you should accompany her on a mission, Jeff,” EDI offered. “Your lack of cross training is probably the most efficient way to get her killed.”

“Ha, ha, ha,” he shot back at her.

“Well, Lieutenant,” Shepard asked, “Are we still on schedule for our arrival on Palaven? Or have you drifted several days off-course while griping about your untenable world-saving workload?”

EDI snorted. Now even that one surprised Shepard.

“No, Commander. We are on schedule, Ma’am.” he answered. She cringed despite herself. She was fine with that usually, but it never sounded right coming from Joker. “Although, we’ve had a message from Tali.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, she was wondering if there was any way we could make a stop on Rannoch on our way to Palaven.” Shepard frowned. “She said she had something she wanted to discuss with you and Liara in person about the… Reapers settlement.” His voice tensed as he mentioned the Reapers. She had shared her full account of what happened on the Crucible with the closer members of her crew after they picked her and Garrus up from Sur'Kesh and began their current journey. It had been a long night and somehow, despite being in a private room of a Salarian bar, there hadn’t seemed to be enough alcohol. Joker, despite being obviously horrified by the option to destroy all higher functioning synthetics and the ramifications that would have had for EDI, still seemed very distrustful of the idea of giving intellectual freedom to the Reapers. She didn’t blame him. The damage they had wreaked on Earth’s surface had been horrifying, but she heard several people, even Garrus, say that the carnage in the skies, Reapers ripping through dreadnaughts like they were made of paper, was like nothing he had ever seen before. And Joker had been in the heart of that maelstrom the whole time.

“Did it sound urgent?” she asked. She hated the thought of Garrus waiting longer to see his family.

“From her tone… yeah.” he sighed. She wondered if, underneath all his blustering, he was as worn out as she was. Garrus had talked about retiring on a beach. But you needed to be able to breathe on your own, and walk on your own to go to a beach, and that had taken her a while. Then there were questions to answer, and people to check in on and… oh well. She’d never spent much time on beaches. Maybe she’d have hated sand and it would have been a waste of time.

“Alright,” she said. “I’m going to check in with Garrus, see if he thinks we can spare the time.” She started towards the back of the ship, “Don’t have too much fun you two,” she called back over her shoulder. “Moreau, you have the bridge.”

As her footsteps rang on the walkway she heard poorly restrained laughter and grumbling.

“You got Moreau’d” sniggered EDI.

“Yeah well you-”

“Twice!”

“Shut up!”

* * *

“The engine room?” Liara asked incredulously. Garrus rubbed his eyes and squinted at the equations he had been pretending to try and pay attention to. He should really just throw in the towel. He was only kidding himself at this point.

“Yeah…” he sighed. “Two nights in a row now. So I guess that’s progress.”

Liara gave him a long disparaging look. She pushed off the wall of the main battery where she had been leaning and took a step towards him.

“I’ll talk to her about assisting with her sleep,” she said.

“No. We’re not there yet.” He sighed.

“I don’t think that’s your call to make,” she said softly.

He closed his eyes, shook his head to clear it and continued after a deep breath, “I… look that’s not what I meant. She’s proud.” He fixed his eyes on Liara. “You know she is. Do you really think she wants to be asked that now? When who the hell knows who is going to want to meet with her when we get to Palaven?”

She frowned. “All the more reason for her to actually be getting rest on the way there.”

Garrus felt trapped. “Maybe we put a cot in there...”

Liara snorted. “Oh, so having everyone on the ship knowing-”

“We could hide it and when she’s ready to go to sleep-”

“What? Have her sneak into the engine room? That’s better for her pride than biotic assistance?”

“I don’t know, ok? I’ve had as much time to work on this problem as you have!” he snapped.

“And I’m telling you I have a better solution for her,” she retorted.

Garrus could feel his irritation growing. “And, why exactly do you think you know what is going to be better for her?” he growled.

“Because I actually-” she stopped herself and let out a long, suffering breath.

Garrus raised his brows, leaning forward on the console with his forearms, fingers laced before him to prevent them becoming fists. He forced nonchalance and drawled, “Oh? Because you actually what?”

Liara just stared at him coldly.

“What?” he pressed, his temper getting the better of him. “Come on, what were you about to say?”

“It’s not important.”

“Really?” he stood up, crossing his arms, “Because I’m pretty sure we were just fighting about how to best protect and help the Commander of this ship and the person who just saved the whole damn galaxy... and whatever it was you were about to say seemed to be the crux of your argument for your recommended course of action… so I’m pretty sure it’s at least a little noteworthy.”

“It’s not.”

“Then we go with the cot.”

“Are you really making jokes about this?” she scowled.

“A little humor can’t hurt.”

Liara shook her head. “A little humor? She’s having traumatic night terrors and you’re cracking jokes-”

“Don’t you judge me! I’m the one watching her wake up screaming-” he snarled.

“Oh poor you!” she bit back. “If it's so hard on your precious sleep then let me-”

“Liara, that dependance is going to crush her-”

“How do you know until you ask-”

“Because I know her-”

“NO YOU DON’T.”

It was his turn to go silent, to freeze as the anger coiled within him. “Is that what you were going to say? “Because I actually know her?” Better than I do? Is that it.” He could feel his head pounding.

Her jaw was tight. “You two had one fling nearly a year ago and now a few months of-”

“But your fling years ago makes you the expert-”

“It wasn’t a fling,” she hissed. “I was completely invested-”

“But was she?” He cut back. Liara’s face stilled. Damn. He… he knew it had been a low blow… he was just so-

“At least it didn’t take her dying the first time for me to notice her.”

Cold outrage filled him, but also a whisper of fear, or regret. She seemed to sense it, she laughed bitterly.

“Incredible.” She walked towards the door but stopped before it, not even bothering to look at him, like someone taking a shot there was no way they could miss; someone who knew there was no outcome besides the bullet finding the mark. Quietly, she added, “and I never would have waited to further things with her. Not if there was even one chance that we might not have much time.”

She tapped the panel on the wall and the doors slid open. Good, he thought. Leave. Leave him to do something useful and distract him from the all-to-real fears she had mocked. But to his frustration she closed the panel and looked at him, this time with the barest trace of pity, which actually pissed him off more.

“She needs sleep, Garrus.” she said, her first words without venom in a while. “And so do you.”

“I sleep fine.” He growled.

“No you don’t.” He opened his mouth to retort but before he could, she added, “And I know you don’t because I’ve been sitting outside her cabin doors at night, and I can feel you lying there watching her,” she sighed. It did nothing to dispel the air of tension in the room. Her pity deepened, “and you said that you're the one who’s ‘watching her wake up screaming.’”

The doors to the battery snapped open and Shepard stared at them. “Did I miss something about a meeting?” she asked dryly.

“Ah - no we -” stammered Garrus.

“You sure? I’ve been sleeping like shit, it’s totally gonna make me miss something. I need to see Chakwas or someone about it later…”

“No,” Liara said smoothly, stepping past Shepard, “Garrus was having some trouble with his calculations.” She gave him a meaningful look. “...but I was just able to show him he was wrong.” And with that she left, sealing the door behind her. Garrus seathed silently. He’d have to see if the shooting range had a blue practice dummy.

Shepard gazed at the closed portal for a moment, looking perplexed, “Ok,” she said at last, then crossed to him. “Garrus, I wanted to ask you something.”

“Anything for you, Shepard.” he said, forcing the damned Asari from his mind and focusing on the woman before him. Damn, she looked more tired than she had been earlier that morning.

She smiled at him, then grew serious. “I know that we were trying to get back to Palaven as quickly as we could to check on your family. But… we just got a message from Tali. She needs Liara and I for something on Rannoch. I think it has something to do with the Reapers, and Joker said it sounded urgent.”

The Reapers, of course she’d have to deal with them even now. His chest was tight but he purred mischievously. “Commander, you flatter a grunt like me by coming here, but our headings are your call.”

“You’re pretty, but don’t think you’re that important,” she said, smacking his arm lightly, then adding seriously, “I just know you’re worried about them and it's been a while since we had any news.”

His heart warmed at her concern. “They’re Vakarians, Shepard. We’re hard to kill. Haven’t you dragged me through hell enough to learn that yet?”

“Clearly not,” she laughed, “Guess we’ll have to keep getting into trouble till it sinks in. But seriously, you’re sure?”

“Yeah,” he said, squeezing her hand. “It’ll be fine. Besides… Reapers.... who else are they going to call.....”

She groaned and rolled her eyes. Then squinted at the calibrations on the screen. “So you really needed math help from Liara?”

“No!” He snapped, before he could help himself, “Uh- well- she was exaggerating.” Yeah, he had definitely seen a blue target practice dummy in the back of a locker somewhere….

“Oh my god, you did!” she teased, “Wow, you must be more worn out than I am.” She squinted at him. “You look like shit, Vakarian. I’ve learned by now Turians can blush and bruise but I didn’t know you could get eyebags too.” He growled at her. “You’re lucky I like scars so much.”

That was it. He grabbed her and pinned her to the wall.

“Really, Shepard?” he breathed. “Well, then let’s take a look everywhere and see who has more….”

The light dancing in her eyes made his mouth dry. He pushed away his worries and the small, self-conscious voice Shepard had just woken up, and focused on her. Although, it was a bit of a struggle. Did she really have to go there? He knew he looked like shit.

#mass effect #mass effect fanfiction #shakarian #garrus vakarian #liara t'soni #synthisis #jokerxedi

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