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Garrus Vakarian
"I'm hard to kill. You should know that." 🔫👽👼 Was feeling more confident after the Raiden draw about art of 3D game characters,  so I drew one of the most reliable bros I could think of.
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laravanvagashepard · 10 months
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Wip of Flint comic
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spectre-shitposts · 2 years
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Bluesuns Merc: AhHH!! You bRoKe mY ARM!!!
Garrus: Your species has over two hundred bones. Calm down.
Merc: Oh fuck, oh fuck it hurts, ohhh ff-
Garrus: Now, tell me which dock you're using to transport the drugs.
Merc: Fffuck you, man, owwww.
Garrus: Let me rephrase. You have two hundred more bones.
Merc *alarmed*: ???
Garrus: Which dock-
Merc: D108! D dock, 108!!! Fuck!
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nerd-elf · 2 years
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Hey! I've been gone for a while because I'm obsessing with Mass Effect now.
From Solavellan Hell straight to Shrios hell!!!!!
I think I'll listen to the fandom and try to romance garrus next time.
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stormcallart · 3 months
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Thinking about how Garrus and Shepard are not exactly public with their relationship until ME3 and then suddenly someone with a camera sees two people sitting on the presidium with a sniper rifle doing target practice and at first thinks its just two random delinquents and then they zoom in AND ITS COMMANDER FUCKING SHEPARD KISSING A TURIAN.
what a way for the world to find that out. Especially with how the citadel seems to focus on ANY news but the imminent attack by the Reapers... the Press would have a field day.
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persephoneggsy · 2 months
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so i did this a while back, finally remembered it, and now i'm posting it
Mass Effect x Dragon Age AU
I did one of these already, sort of, for ME: Andromeda, but this one is set in the Milky Way.
Elaborations below:
Merrill is a quarian who was exiled from the Migrant Fleet. She's looking for a way not to destroy the geth, but to bring them back under quarian control, thinking they're too valuable a resource to just get rid of. Unfortunately, this made many quarians view her as dangerous, and she was exiled for the crime of experimental geth research. Making Merrill a quarian was the first choice I did for this AU, I think it fits really well.
Aveline is an asari. I'd considered krogan or turian, or simply keeping her human, but in the end I went with asari mostly because Aveline always struck me as condescending in the same way many asari are, lol. She's a commando who later moved to the Citadel to join C-SEC.
Isabela is a turian. She's a barefaced turian, meaning she has no association to a colony. Instead of following the typical turian tradition of proudly serving in the Hierarchy's military, Isabela instead ran off to become a space pirate, specializing in smuggling. She frequents the bars around Omega and has earned herself a fearsome reputation among the mercenaries.
Bethany remains a human; she grew up on a colony world with her siblings, and had a relatively peaceful childhood, despite the Alliance constantly badgering her parents to send her and her older sister to their biotic training program.
Marian, also a human, eventually ran away from home to become a mercenary. She resented her father for forbidding her and her siblings from joining the Alliance - not because she was particularly patriotic, but she felt like her father's grudge against the Alliance prevented her and her siblings from receiving the best training possible. Her powerful biotics made her both an asset and a target, and she soon caught the eye of a certain Council Spectre...
Fenris is a drell. He was raised under the Compact, an agreement between the drell and the hanar, and his purpose was to become a bodyguard... And then his training group was attacked by batarian slavers and he was taken captive. For many years, Fenris suffered under the batarians' rule, until he finally managed to escape. Unwilling to return home, he instead roams the galaxy, taking out as many batarian slaving operations as he can.
Anders is a human who escaped from a biotic testing facility run by Cerberus. Though this left him with a grudge against Cerberus, he also hates the Alliance, whom he sees as no better and will also use biotic children as weapons. He dreams of establishing a safe haven for biotics, and is willing to go to increasingly drastic measures to see that dream become a reality.
Varric is a volus. Unlike his business-minded brother, Varric does not spend his days negotiating trade agreements or doing finance consultations. Spending his days at the Afterlife bar on Omega, he's an information broker, and a pretty damn good one at that. With his specially crafted weapon Bianca, he's not too bad in a fight, either.
Carver, much like his older sister, left home to seek out his own path, and ended up joining the Alliance against his parents' wishes. He thrived in the military, quickly climbing the ranks due to his strength and competency. He's being primed for N7 training under the wathcful eye of Spectre Sebastian Vael.
Sebastian is a human, and a Council Spectre (I'm imagining this AU as a sort of nebulous period where humanity isn't as looked down upon as they were at the start of ME1, and there are a fair number of human Spectres running around). A wild child in his youth, his parents sent him to the Alliance to straighten him out, and to their relief, it worked like a charm. He specializes in covert missions and favors sniper rifles and tech powers.
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faejilly · 1 month
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Alright so ask box meme time! Garrus or Grunt?
[make me choose] oh look, you got me to write more Weaver! I've been wanting to do that, thank you. 💙💙💙 (In this case, you got first impressions of a cop from an Earthborn Shepard... 😅)
Vakarian makes Shepard feel old.
He’s probably about her age, though she’s not as good at reading turians as humans, for obvious reasons. (It’d taken her for fucking ever to figure out how to deal with humans, honestly. Which… is not a thought to help her feel less ancient.)
It also doesn’t help that he is systematically doing the absolute worst thing to make a good impression with her every time they’re in the same room.
She thinks she’s managing to hide that opinion.
Except maybe from Executor Pallin. Something in his eyes looks exactly as exhausted as she feels. (It's disconcerting to realize she identifies more with the politician-policeman than the reckless idealist, considering she's usually regarded as more of a reckless idealist herself.)
For all Pallin is the head of C-Sec, he's remarkably straightforward and pragmatic. Enough so that he doesn't ping against her instincts as cop, but Vakarian does.
And she’s (embarrassingly) still enough of a street kid to hate that.
A hypocritical street-kid, considering she’s basically Space-SWAT whenever Alliance Command sends her on a pirate-sweep.
Apparently the space part makes a difference to her lizard brain.
Vakarian’s also in space though?
No, her lizard brain doesn’t buy that.
Her lizard brain’s a fucking moron.
Do turians have lizard brains? She’s afraid that Vakarian doesn’t even have lizard sense. (She can suddenly hear Litty laughing in her head, ‘but common sense isn’t, you should know that by now,’ echoing out of a past Vakarian keeps reminding her of, a past that she thought she'd put to rest, a past she knows she'll never completely let go.)
Not helpful.
Every time he opens his mouth, she has to consciously resist the urge to sigh and knuckle her forehead or pinch the bridge of her nose. The physical pressure will not actually relieve the mental pressure, no matter how much it feels like it should.
But seriously, who introduces themself only to immediately complain about failing at their confidential assignment while very much in public?
Who follows that nonsense up by going right for an entirely unnecessary headshot in a hostage situation?
That had almost made her want to headshot him.
But she hadn’t. Because she has impulse control.
Doesn’t she?
Certainly more than Vakarian.
That’s not saying much.
She doesn’t have a problem dealing with the arrogance of people who are actually as good at their job as they think they are, but he seems to have no idea that he’s entirely failed to convince her that he might be one of them.
Despite all that, recruiting him is the right decision.
It is, she knows it is.
They need to make it clear this isn’t just a human vendetta. He’s Turian and Citadel and Police and makes this whole impossible situation reputable.
Closer to reputable?
But probably only to people who haven’t met him. He’s loud and brash and pulled out a sniper rifle in a med-clinic on the Wards.
He made the shot.
He took the shot because he saw it and he felt it and he wanted to protect Dr. Michel a hell of a lot more than he cared about himself.
He rushes into things because he cares.
Damn it.
That’s familiar.
He still makes her feel old.
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Lilith in N7 armor, though…
It may or may not surprise you to know that I actually have a whole mass effect au planned out in my head. I just…. Yeah. Ava Silva and the weight of the world on her shoulders. Ava Silva giving exclusive sponsorship to every single tech and weapons shop on the Citadel. Ava Silva with her aquarium and her pet hamster and a shadow longer than her life.
Ava Silva, waking up to fire in the sky above Mindoir. Ships blotting out the sky and the trees a smear of sound and heat and light outside her window. It’s enough to make them burst inward, waking her in time to save her life.
Boots in the hall of their little house and her mother running inside the room, pushing the dresser she made out of this planet up against the door they brought with them from the stars. Ava doesn’t know anything but this place – the grass crunchy in winter and the flowers in spring and the leaves in autumn and all the sunsets in summer.
Her mother has old scars on her hands and an old rifle she keeps under her bed and an old set of armour she wears now. It’s broken open across her chest and the gauntlets are cracked, falling onto the wood floor as she looks for Ava, finds her by the window in a halo of broken glass.
It’s weird, too see her smiling and bleeding at the same time.
There’s a second red heart on her chest, and when she speaks she leaves blood spatter on Ava’s forearms. Clutches at her so tightly that Ava is certain she could never let her go, but then she’s smoothing Ava’s hair off her face, tucking strands behind her ear.
She carries Ava to the window – she’s nine, too big for carrying and she squirms but her mother’s grip is iron. The grass is still wet from overnight rain, somehow, even backlit as they both are by fire. The shape of tall trees in her mother’s eyes which are just the same colour as hers. Brown like earth.
The door to Ava’s bedroom splinters and the last thing Ava hears as she’s pushed onto her back – out of sight and out of reach – is her mother telling her to run. This she knows how to do, running laps around the track at school while the other kids are still stretching out their legs. She knows how to do it alone in the woods around their house or down toward the lake, pretending to chase birds or her own shadow.
Ava, running and always, forever after this, running. Away from town, from home, with an old Alliance beacon in her hand, blinking like a red eye against her palm.
They’ll find you, she’d whispered, pressing it wet into Ava’s small hand, and they did.
When the Alliance come they find Ava. Just her. They ask her questions but all she can tell them about is fire, and sitting in the old cabin by the lake, underneath the floorboards with bugs the size of her hands crawling in the dirt around her. Staring at the beacon until she slept again. Woke again. Slept again.
Ten years later she’s on Akuze and everyone she trained with is dead around her. She’s fresh out of basic training and her armour belonged to someone else before her, ill-fitting at the shoulders and the hips. Her greaves rattle when she walks, and everyone teases her about it and then she’s running past pieces of them.
The creature responsible bleeds so much when it dies, and its insides burn where they touch Ava’s skin. When they find her, she’s carrying a fistful of dog tags, spends a week in a medi-gel bath regrowing a fifth of her skin. They recruit her straight into the N7 program, and some nights, sitting in various drop-ships eating expired ration bars, or gunning down mercs, she wonders if her mother would recognise her anymore. They were supposed to be farmers.
Then Eden Prime, the beacon and a Turian called Adriel who wants to bring about the end of the world. She meets an odd archaeologist on a lonely dig site and her name is Beatrice. A sniper on the Citadel called Shannon, who likes to wear blue. Their pilot, Mary, has a knack for pissing everyone off and a soft spot for Ava.
She sits in the mess late at night, when the ship’s circadian lights make everything dim and secret, drinking coffee with too much creamer and listening to Beatrice talk about the Protheans.
It's the wrong time to fall in love.
They win, eventually, and Ava is quietly side-lined for saying too much, too loudly about the Reapers, who want to come down from the sky and burn everything, like the slavers burned her home once upon a time.
And then she dies.
Her body, burned by the mouth of a planet upon re-entry, finds its way into the hands of a shadow organisation called Cerberus, who call her Lazarus and bring her back from the dead. She wakes up full of hairline fractures, her face trying to break open, bleeding red light like her once-small fingers, like running away again and waking up to flashlights, strange voices. Everything about life is circular.
She wakes in the hands of a girl with designer blood and bones not quite as handmade as Ava’s, but close. Her name is Lilith, and the first thing she tells Ava is that the galaxy hasn’t run out of ways to use her just yet.
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swaps55 · 9 months
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WIP Wednesday
Thank you to @favoriteblogonthecitadel and @katerinaalianovamindin for your kind words. <3
From Mezzo.
~
The Blood Pack have brute-forced the shutters blocking an underground tunnel right into the base, and the only way to close it is to walk right through the line of fire. It had worked on the bridge with one turian firing a sniper rifle.
It won’t work with charging krogan and a pack of varren out for blood.
Miranda takes cover beside Shepard behind a wall of shipping containers while Massani lays down cover fire.
“If I can create a dense enough field in front of that shutter, I can buy you enough time to seal it,” Shepard tells her. “Massani, cover me.”
“Shepard—”
He doesn’t wait for her protest before rising to his feet, fist deep in the gravity well. He spreads his palms and swings his arms up. The faint glow of his corona flickers like a candle.
But it doesn’t catch.
Massani’s attention gets caught on a varren that snuck through the maze of shipping containers to tear at his ankles, giving the vorcha leading the pack free and clear to take aim with his flamethrower.
A blast of heat hits Shepard square in the chest. He throws an arm up in front of his faceplate and stumbles backwards. Heart in her throat, Miranda leans out of cover, pistol gripped tight in both hands. A flamethrower doesn’t have a heat sink she can sabotage, but it has a fuel canister.
And she has excellent aim.
The vorcha screams as the fuel strapped to his back ignites in a fireball, but the smell of burning flesh is worse than the sound. There is no opportunity to celebrate her victory when a krogan comes charging through the wreck.
Shepard, driven to one knee, rises again, chest plate smoking.
That’s when Miranda witnesses what a krogan-trained human is capable of.
Where the krogan uses his body as a hammer, Shepard uses his smaller, quicker frame as a knife.
And cuts deep.
The assault is swift and brutal. Shepard takes a blow to the shoulder that flags a mexo alert on his transponder, but when he hits the ground he rolls, omni-tool glimmering, accompanied by the whine of a flash-fabricator. Miranda stares in horror and awe as Shepard swings his fist up at the krogan’s knee, knuckles wreathed in a haptic glow. The air shudders with a boom, like Shepard had just used his fist as a grenade. The krogan screams in pain, leg bucking.
No. His leg is in pieces.
He hits the ground as Shepard raises his shotgun and dumps a round into the krogan’s crest.
What did he just do?
Shepard gets back to his feet, shaking his hand with a wince, and steps over the body, jaw set, eyes on the shutter. The gravity well keens desperately as he flexes his wrists. Ahead of them, the next wave closes in.
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dispatchwithlove · 7 months
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📖
Okay, here's one I haven't talked about much, even with writing friends. It's playing with Beauty and the Beast a little (a lot). Setting: a small, isolated planet. Time period: the same week humans burst onto the scene and war breaks out between humans and turians.
Garrus is a sniper with a military unit taking out some batarians on said planet. It's not going well. The only way his team will get out is if he hangs back, gives them cover, and remains on the planet to die alone. Instead, though, he finds a strange hidden ship stocked with goods and possesses an AI (EDI). He can hold up there, but the ship won't fly. He’s protected, but stuck. Weeks pass.
Jane Shepard is on a small ship protecting some scientists and whatnot making a trip down to said planet. Something goes wrong, ship crashes, big flames. 
Back on EDI’s ship, EDI alerts Garrus to the crash, tells him there’s one survivor, unknown species who is unconscious and will die in the flames if he doesn’t rescue them. Reluctantly, he pulls Jane from the flames and brings her back to EDI’s ship.
Jane wakes up in the ship, terrified because she’s never seen a non-human life sentient life form before. And fuck is he big and scary. He gives her an omni-tool so they can talk and she nearly takes him out thinking he’s trying to kill her. He won’t let her leave, he keeps her locked in the ship saying it’s for her own protection. 
EDI swears she can’t make the ship fly. Jane is terrified of Garrus, Garrus can’t help but take it personally. But they’re the only company each other has. Weeks pass. Friendship develops, feelings grow, attraction happens. All while they learn of the first contact war raging throughout the galaxy via EDI. (no she can’t send messages to help them get rescued, how weird, hmmm). 
EDI feeds Jane romance books saying that’s all that’s available, gives Garrus tips on romantic gestures. And slowly Garrus and Jane grow suspicious of EDI’s strange behavior. Maybe they'd put more thought into it if they're weren't banging constantly.
Voila! Shakarian Beauty and the Beast. How will they break the spell I mean get off the planet. I WILL write this some day.
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sol-consort · 22 days
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I can imagine humans remaking beloved classic (in 2185 these are classics) movies and shows to include a mixed species cast so we can share those stories with the rest of the galaxy? Can you imagine version of The Office that takes place on the Citadel? Instead of Brooklyn 99 it’s Zakera 99? Imagine the MCU but we actually have aliens to fill in the alien roles. There’s currently a fully fleshed out version of space Hunger Games that exists solely in my head.
The elcor hamlet will always be my favourite and we were ROBBED by not being able to watch it in full in ME3. I would gladly actually pay for a dlc where you go to the theater to watch the elcor hamlet with a companion and keeping shushing them through the whole thing.
Can you imagine the comments Javik would say? The sass? The cuntiness? The audacity as he starts scoffing at the show but ends up being super invested at the end? Demanding to see more of these human theatre shows, it is a must now obey the protheon you primitive and take him on more theatre dates.
Can you imagine the insufferable person Garrus would be during it? Commenting on how this all could easily be solved if one of them just had a sniper rifle after every scene, saying how you should've booked the exclusive balcony tickets instead since they have the perfect position for sniping people.
Anyway so.
I think the aliens would find it so hilarious how we've depicted aliens in our medias so far before first contact. It becomes a widespread genre of shows that are just humans depictions of aliens. No matter what the show or movie genre is, it will always be treated as a comedy.
The only species not amused by this are the salarian who are actually offput by how close our alien depilation was of them and their technology. It's so uncanny and spot on for a mere guess so their government launched a secret program to check if salarians actually made any first contact with the humans by accident before.
Also the fact the elcor adapted helmet tells me that the aliens shows and movies just are boring at best and human widespread television will be a popular hit amongst the aliens who immediately get invested int the MCU, DC and especially these drama romance reality shows. It also spreads a misconception that this is how humans actually choose their mate, by bringing in a harem and eliminating them one by one by not offering a rose.
There's is an influx of species suddenly giving a single rose to their human crush.
The drell love aquaman, that's all I have to say.
Also spongebob, it becomes a great hit with their children. Turians kids prefer paw patrols while the asari claim they would never show their children human trash shows but turn on cocomelon in secret because it's the only thing that gets their screaming babies to quiet down.
Also batman will definitely become a great obsession to the turians, cough Garrus cough, who may or may not go through a batman phase.
It's not the asari who end up gravitating towards movies like the barbie movie or bridesmaids, but the salarians instead. They're absolutely invested in desperate housewives and drag shows, having full on scientific debates on the current drama in the show.
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omniblades-and-stars · 5 months
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Under the Rays of an Autumn Sun
It pulses, bass beats thrumming so loud they become the shared heartbeat of the dancers under strobing azure lights. The lifeblood of Purgatory's night scene. Sweating bodies press and writhe together in sensual, decadent harmony. An asari undulates and her jewelry glitters like starlight with every pass of the light. There are many beautiful women here tonight, but none are the one I am looking for.
"Amonkira. Lord of Hunters. Grant that my hands be steady, my aim be true, and my feet swift," I whisper from my seat at the bar. No one hears my prayers over the driving music that courses through our veins. "And should the worst come to pass, grant me -"
"Whiskey, straight please," she says with a voice that has the strength of a rushing river. My prayers are answered before I am finished saying them. She smells of jasmine, a fragile and small, white blossom from Earth. I look up and I am greeted by eyes that look like the desert sands glimmering under the rays of an autumn sun, and she is looking at me.
I have always had a weakness for beautiful eyes. Humans have a saying, "The eyes are the windows into the soul." It's a sentiment I wholeheartedly share. Hers are a light brown that I am unused to seeing in humans, but they are heavy. I can see the weight she carries within them, evident in the red lines lightly spidering over the white space around her iris.
Blue tinged glass presses to soft, bare lips, and she coughs as the liquid burns down her throat. A warm chuckle bubbles up after it, and she sits next to me. "I don't know if I'll ever learn," she shakes her head, chestnut waves brush against the sun-kissed and freckled skin exposed on her back. "Eden Shepard," she says and offers me her hand to shake. She is named after the holy garden of one of Earth's many creation myths. It suits her, I think, but the thought passes before I can fully understand why I feel that way.
A warm, calloused hand wraps around mine, rougher than most human women, evidence of a life spent in service to her military. I can imagine how she holds her standard issue assault rifle based on the strength of her hands alone. "Niké Taon," I lie very kindly. The fine hairs on her muscular arms rise above goosebumps in response to my voice. I'm pleased by this.
"What are you drinking, Niké? I'm already regretting my choice. I barely like Earth's whiskey." She swirls the glass around, minute amber waves rise up around the edges, threatening to spill over onto her fingers. The liquor in the glass is pungent, sharp, I would not want to drink it either.
"Serrice Ice Brandy, it is far gentler on the tongue," I say as I raise my own glass to my lips. She watches me as I drink, I can see her eyes move as she considers my actions, my words are a subtle suggestion.
The music changes, it is very different from the usual synthetically generated house music that is always playing here. The beat is slower, and the drums roll out in a cascading pattern over what I believe humans call "funk guitar" that is the accent to the music not the driving force, the movement is all in the drums. Shepard moves quickly, her hand wraps around my wrist, and I fight the instinct to break hers to free myself from her grasp. She smiles at me, she looks like the sun. One of her front teeth is chipped. "I love this song! Dance with me, Niké!" She is pulling me after her, and I oblige.
I watch Eden Shepard every time she comes to the Citadel. In everything, she is meticulous, careful, and guarded. She travels with well-armed companions most of the time, usually a turian with a sniper rifle and the apparent skill required to use it, and a quarian woman armed with a high end omni-tool and a shotgun. Occasionally, she brings a krogan battlemaster with deep scars cut into his crimson head plates. I am skilled, but I am not foolish.
The only time she is not meticulous, careful, and guarded is when she goes to Purgatory. Here, she is not a commander or a marine. Of the three times I have seen her dancing in the club, she has gone to a hotel with a stranger twice.
I will be the third. It is the only way to avoid unnecessary violence.
Her cerulean dress clings to her skin as if it is a part of her, hard planes of muscle, broad shoulders all on display. Long legs disappear into the fabric stretched across muscular thighs. Now that she is standing, I can see her pistol strapped to her leg, below the short hem of her dress. It is a HMWP, the kind of handgun only a Spectre can get. Her status as the Council’s agent may be the reason why she is allowed to wear it so brazenly here. She does not wear synthetic leather or latex like most of the other dancers. I can feel the breathable, light, organic weave of her dress, soft under my fingers as she guides my hand to her waist.
The music moves through her with a shiver and she is overtaken by a spell. Eden presses her back against me, her eyes are closed and she is adrift in an ocean of harmonic waves. Then, almost as soon as she started, she stumbles, loses the rhythm and she can’t quite seem to get it back. I'm surprised by this, I have seen how she moves during a fight, the rhythm of gunfire guides her and she sows violence with the grace of a ballet dancer. It is why I have chosen to isolate her, she has the skills necessary to be a challenge.
This is clumsy. I know she is not inebriated, her glass is still sitting on the bartop, the honey colored liquid vibrates with the pulsating beat.
She throws her head back against my shoulder, and she laughs. The sound is jubilant, it rolls out of her with reckless abandon, and I am infected. I have not felt unadulterated joy in so long, it awakens a fire within me. The curve of her neck, a fragile thing, easily broken with the right twist of my hands, is exposed to me, and my mind is filled instead with thoughts of suckling on the tender skin there. I want to hear what other sounds I can draw from soft, rose-colored lips.
“I’ve never been good at dancing,” she shouts over the oscillations filling the air around us, she is still laughing, still moving off beat. I find myself enraptured, she throws herself so fully into an endeavor that she is mediocre at without embarrassment.
I have forgotten why I am here. No, I remember, I cannot forget. My goal has changed very suddenly, to end a life such as this would be as snuffing out a sun. The galaxy would grow unbearably bleak without the light of her gold-flecked eyes and the pure, sonorous mirth of her laughter.
I pull her flush against me, I feel the way her abdomen tightens under my palms, and a pleased sigh escapes from her, barely audible over the noise. But I am listening for every melodious note that she will bless me with. I lean down, my lips play across the ridge of her ear, “I will lead you, Eden. We will move as one tonight.”
A shiver rolls down her spine, and her cheeks blossom with color. “Yes,” her response flows out on a gentle breath. She wraps her hands over mine, and we are moving in tandem. Her eyes close again and she gives in, she surrenders control. The way she moves against me is full of power and promise, but she wants to be led. I feel a cord being pulled taut within me, I am full of wanting, and I need to feel her writhe like this beneath me.
As we dance, sweat gathers in beads like crystals along the swell of her breasts, and they roll suggestively into the valley between, disappearing where I cannot see them any longer. She guides one of my hands up her body, it ghosts teasingly over her chest, before she brings our hands to a rest against the side of her neck. I apply the faintest hint of pressure, I can feel the strain of tendons and ridges of her throat.
She moans, a sound of pure desire, and her fingers tighten over mine. “I have a room nearby, stay with me tonight?” A panting and plaintive request, it sounds almost like a prayer. It is I who should be praying to her.
I do not want to deny her, I do not believe that I could. “I said we would move as one tonight. Have you slept with a drell before?”
“I’ve never even seen anyone who looks like you before,” she pauses for a moment before continuing, “You’re beautiful.” She does not seem embarrassed by the admission, and I feel my heart swell with pride.
“I have venom, on my skin, on my tongue. You will be exposed to it.”
She is silent for precious heartbeats, I can feel her pulse quicken with my hand still pressed against her neck. “Will it kill me? Make me sick?”
I am at her ear again, and I can feel her squirm to try to move closer. “No. Eden, it will rob you of your senses until all that you know is the pleasure that I will give you. You will soar to the cosmos with my tongue in between your legs.” Her body shudders and I can feel how she is squeezing her thighs together. Her heart is racing, excitement thrums through her veins, just as it is through mine.
“Fuck,” she groans, and I can feel the warmth rising from her cheeks down to her breasts. She has already come undone for me.
Her grip around my hand increases, and suddenly she is pulling me away from the dance floor and quickly out of the club. The sudden silence is shocking, and I have to shake my head to clear the momentary confusion.
“I know a shortcut, I hope you’re not afraid of back alley thugs?”
It is my turn to laugh, it’s a sound I have not heard in too long. “Not at all.”
Eden’s head tilts a little, and she grins. Something cocksure and self-satisfied falls over her features. She enjoys the risk, and invites the danger to meet her. I have now seen the two faces of the same goddess. “Good. I would much rather see a gun in my face than another reporter’s camera.” I understand now why she comes all the way here to escape her duties and the pressure of being the first human Spectre.
I allow her to lead me through the alleys, though I already know where we're going. The last two were not brave enough to go this way, but I remember the twists and turns of this maze. I have been here before. I know it so well, I can easily spend the walk watching the subtle swing of her hips, the robust curve of her ass, and the sinewy muscles working in her legs as she walks ahead of me. She never looks behind at me, she is alert, her right hand lingers next to her hip, ready to draw her gun in a moment.
It is unnecessary. We arrive at the small hotel, well known for hosting Alliance marines on shore leave, without seeing a soul. She unlocks the door and she surprises me by turning to face me and pulling me into the room after her. The omni-tool on her wrist glows amber, and the door locks behind us. She has me by the collar of my synthetic weave armor, and her lips press into mine and they are even softer than they look. She giggles as I pull her flush against me.
“Do you always wear armor to go clubbing?” She asks her question to my mouth, she sounds deeply amused, not suspicious.
“Do you always wear a gun to go dancing?” I respond with a question that does not answer her query. I am so hot and it is taking all of my willpower not to rush. It is taking all of my willpower not to reveal my true name.
I can feel her smile, but I cannot see it, so close she is to me. “Fair enough … You’re going to have to give me some guidance, I don’t know where I should touch you,” she admits, her breath still warm against my lips.
I am an assassin, not a professor, but I will teach her tonight. I take her hand in mine and bring it to the frills at my neck, "Here, gently." I feel as she runs her thumb slowly across the folds there, she is watching her hand move as though she is trying to memorize the experience. Her touch sends electrical pulses through me, and warmth follows her fingers in a trail. Eden does not notice that I have unzipped her dress until the small straps holding it up fall loose on her arms.
She is not shy, however. Her answer is to step back and pull the garment up and over her head, and simultaneously kick off her shoes. She is suddenly a few inches shorter, but I barely notice. Eden Shepard stands before me wearing only underwear and a gun holster, and she is resplendent. The cheap lights illuminate freckled skin and soft breasts, the rise and fall of her chest is hypnotic. The small cloth barely covering the rest of her is soaked with her arousal, and I am overcome by this burning lust that has been building inside of me.
I want to taste her, all of her, starting with her mouth. I take her, my hand finds its way into the soft hair at the back of her head, and her heat is pulled against me, I can feel it even through my armor. Before I can take her mouth for mine, her hand gently falls to my lips. "Wait," she says. Her lids are heavy and she has not moved away, but still I worry that I've offended her. "I want to see all of you first. I want to be able to remember what you look like, clearly."
"Of course," I answer, and soon she is helping me remove the pieces of my armor. I am now as vulnerable as she is, more, in fact. She is still wearing her gun, and I know she's a powerful biotic in her own right. If her plan all along was to put me under a spell and bring me here so that she could end me, it would have worked.
But that is not what she does. Hazel eyes sweep over my form, and she is unabashed in her hunger. "Beautiful," she whispers, and this time she does not stop me from breathing in her praise as I claim her lips. She tastes faintly of the whiskey, but underneath it, something like citrus, she must have eaten before going to Purgatory. I brush my thumb over the roundness of her cheek, it is rougher than I imagined. Chapped by the winds of some barely hospitable planet, I think. As I am contemplating where she must have been last, I reach and undo the buckles holding her gun to her leg. It falls to the floor, and she doesn't care.
Her hands are all over me, her earlier hesitation forgotten as they roam every surface she can touch. She uses feathering touches along my waist and I cannot stop the rumbling chuckle that moves out of me in response, I am ticklish there. Eden hums in delight, and I catalog it as another of her sounds that I will cherish forever after this night. I know I will never see her again after this.
I memorize her on this night. Every sigh, every groan, every pleasured shout. The way she smells, jasmine mixed with the salt of her sweat and the musk of her desire. I know her taste and every place that makes her quiver and shake. The strength of her grasp as she pulls me against her and shouts a name she believes is mine. I will remember her eyes. First, as they were in Purgatory, bright and earthy. Then, as they were as we found release together, pupils so wide, only a thin halo of hazel around depths so dark, I am forever drowning in them.
I am saddened that she cannot remember as I can, but I hope she will think of me fondly. I will always remember how she sleeps on her stomach, an arm and a leg flung over the edge of the bed. I will remember the faintest sound of laughter at something only she can see, her dream bringing her some joke or oddity.
I must leave before she wakes. I am thrice damned and banished from the Garden of Eden of my own accord. I do not deserve to bask in her holy light.
I think I will go to Illium next.
I am crawling through an air ventilation shaft. It is a trite, stereotypical way to conduct an assassination, but effective nonetheless. I am not above convention if it leads me directly to my target. There is a group of soldiers fighting their way up the tower. They are the perfect distraction, this will be far simpler with their unknowing aid.
When I arrive at her office, my target is talking to someone, offering credits in exchange for the opportunity to keep her life. I can't hear the voice of the one she speaks to clearly. Nassana Dantius does not hear me drop from the ceiling.
I land behind a guard. Human male, rear approach, check shoulder to prevent turning, hands to chin and base of skull, neck-snap. Heavy pistol fire to dispatch the remaining guard. Nassana turns, I hold her in my arms as one might while comforting a lover and I shepherd her to the waters so lovingly tended by Kalahira.
There are three soldiers staring at me, but prayers for the wicked must not be forsaken. To my surprise, they wait for me to finish. As I turn to face them, their leader, a woman, puts her hands on her verdant helmet. She is a freelancer, perhaps.
"Well, I'll be damned, what a small galaxy," she says after a surprised chuckle. Even through the gentle warp of her breather helmet, it is a laugh that I treasure in my memories. A gentle hiss as the seal around her bright green helmet is released and chestnut hair falls in a wave, framing a smile like the sun, but her tooth is no longer chipped. Eyes the color of desert sands glimmering under the rays of an autumn sun look back at me. Her cheeks are covered in spidering, but healing scars. There can be no denying it, Eden Shepard stands before me. "It's safe to assume that your name never was Niké, was it?"
She is amused, I can hear her pure, sonorous, mirthful laughter hiding there, just beneath the surface of her question. "I apologize for the deception, Eden. It seemed necessary, at the time." She raises an eyebrow at me, I think perhaps she understands the context, but she is not upset. "I thought you were dead," I remark, everyone knows that she was killed two years ago. And not by me. It seems that fortune favors the bold, and there is no one bolder than her.
"I was dead - spaced with a suit rupture. But apparently it takes more than that to stop me!" She raises her armored fist in the air, a victorious gesture. She is laughing again, soulful eyes twinkle, and I feel the fire awaken in me once more. She is merry in spite of her own mortality. "I'm taking on the Collectors. I need someone with your skills on my team, Thane." I am blessed by my true name on her soft, rose-colored lips.
It is only now that I fully comprehend her two compatriots, a turian with a sniper rifle and the apparent skill required to use it, and a quarian woman armed with a high end omni-tool and a shotgun.
It is a small galaxy, indeed.
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bagog · 5 months
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N7 Month, 2023 - Day 11: Crew
Post-war crew portrait.
++
No one wanted to be there, least of all Shepard, but it was a rare occasion where everyone was in one place again, and the air in the room reflected it. The artist was becoming panicked at how loosely the majority of the crew seemed to interpret her appointment time: Garrus was more than twenty minutes later, and entered impassive to his own tardiness. The artist tried several times to get everyone’s attention, but the old friends had taken to talking in a huddle nearby a refreshment table. She looked at Shepard helplessly.
“Alright everybody,” Shepard raised his voice over the cheerful din. “We’re all here to get this done, so let’s get started now that everybody’s here.”
“How do you want us?” Kaidan asked the artist, coming to stand beside Shepard.
It was for the official portrait—the Normandy crew—which was promised to the Smithsonian once it was completed. The majority of the crew had posed for a photograph earlier in the day, but for the Senior staff it was decided a massive painting was in order.
Hikka Haufika, the artist chosen by several planetary governments, busily arranged the reluctant aliens and humans into formation, explaining under her breath how she didn’t want to do the standard rugby line-up portrait, but wanted to create something dynamic, something that communicated more than simple likeness. All the while, a young intern stalked about the studio with a camera drone: recording the accompanying video which would be played beneath the portrait once it hung in the museum.
“I don’t understand,” Tali crossed her arms, tone threatening at boredom. “Couldn’t you just do a complete three dimensional scan of us? Then we won’t have to hold these poses for so long.”
“I’m an old fashioned painter,” Haufika declared, then quieter when the camera drone approached her face. “I’m not only trying to capture the look of your crew, but the energy.”
“Oh, you’ll get energy from this group,” Liara said cryptically as she was positioned standing at a computer console. The artist brought more laptops and data-pads and artfully strewn them about her.
“So how long is this going to take?” James asked, seeming to sink further into himself as he watched the crew members plucked out a lineup one by one to be placed in the scene
“Never thought I’d catch you afraid to hold a pose,” Steve chimed in.
“Very funny.” James rolled his eyes.
“You don’t have to stand completely still, James,” Kaidan was now standing in the scene, sleeves on his uniform rolled up, gripping a Valkyrie assault rifle awkwardly. “Nobody expects you up here holding your breath for two hours.”
“Two hours…” Javik groaned. He frowned at the artist and she returned the frown in kind, skipped over him to pose the next person instead.
“Yeah, Shepard’s not sweating about it.” Joker was seated on a stool to one side of the frame, the artist taking his hat on and off and on and off before finally leaving it on. “How many is this for you now, Shepard?”
“Two sculptures, fifteen holo-photos, but this is only my second painting.” Shepard stepped into the scene himself and took up a pose beside Kaidan.
“Commander Shepard,” Haufika tapped his shoulder. “Actually, I was hoping you would stand right over here.”
“Oh.” Shepard replied passively, but did not move. “Any way you can put me here instead?”
“I, um… it wasn’t really what I…” she stuttered as Shepard remained impassive. “Um. Sure. You can stand there. Whatever.”
This caused a chain reaction, however, that saw several people’s poses have to be recast and a few people moved around.
“You know,” Garrus droned, standing with one arm on James’ shoulder, a sniper rifle slung over his. “Whenever humans paint a turian, we always end up looking like monsters…” Haufika looked offended, but before she could speak up, Dr. Chakwas guffawed from her position.
“You’ve been on the extranet too much.”
“Miss Haufika recently opened a gallery in Cairo, and was a featured exhibit at the Volus neo-classicism museum last year.” Liara chimed in, and the artist seemed pleased. Took up sketching on her canvas again.
“Well, at least we know she knows how to paint an Evo suit,” Tali remarked dryly, a prop shotgun placed atop a fake console she was ‘reading.’
They continued to chat as Haufika set to work laying down the bones of the scene. A few people were shifted around. James was bored. Kaidan eventually leaned forward, whispered in Shepard’s ear:
“Well, is this about what you expected?”
“Javik hasn’t stormed out, yet, so it’s better than it could’ve been,” Shepard returned quietly.
“Hey there,” Tali’s voice rose, sparkling, above the rest of the chatter. “Shepard, Kaidan… if you two aren’t careful, the painting’s going to have you two whispering to each other.”
“Remember, this is for posterity,” Steve rejoined. “This is going to be the image of the Normandy crew to future generations.” His tone was tinged with irony, but Shepard smiled all the same.
He had never wanted to be the sort of person who was ‘remembered’ as a hero, or anything other than a friend. Whatever ‘energy’ it was Hikka Haufika captured, he hoped the image the future would remember would be one of him, surrounded by friends.
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clericofshadows · 11 months
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something to look forward to
description: Wrex asks Kaidan if he could win against Shepard in a fight.  The conversation goes into a turn he didn’t expect, and new insights are gained for everyone.
pairing: Kaidan Alenko/Regis Shepard (Mshenko)
I really need to start posting on AO3
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While in the elevator waiting to reach the Normandy from a quick visit from C-Sec, Wrex posed a question.  He turned to Kaidan with what was clearly a conspiring look.  “So, tell me, who would win in a fight between you and Shepard?  Since you two are both Sentinels and all.”
“Oh, I could take him,” Kaidan replied, not elaborating in the slightest.
Regis disguised his snort as a cough, a little surprised that Kaidan went there of all places.  But he was right.  Kaidan could definitely take him any day of the week.
“You mean in a fight?” Wrex asked, crossing his arms, narrowing his eyes. 
“That too,” Kaidan said, not missing a beat.  “You see, Wrex, Shepard and I have always been comparable on the biotic front.  If it’s just biotics, we’re evenly matched.  Now, in a fire fight?  He’ll nail me down with a sniper shot without a second thought.  It gets a bit tricky if we bring tech skills into the mix.”
“Don’t do yourself a disservice, Alenko,” Regis said.  “You know damn well you spike higher than me, and you have better control.”
“Fair enough, but your programs have always stressed the limits of the Logic Arrest.  It’ll have to be a best two out of three to really figure out who’d win between us,” Kaidan continued.  “Results may vary.”
“It’s a date.” Regis turned around and winked as the elevator doors opened.
They stepped outside, stepping to the side to continue their conversation, mindful of everyone who was working on the platform at the moment.
Kaidan rolled his eyes.  “Only you would consider acts of violence a date.”
“Sounds like a good time to me.  Better invite me so I can watch, heh.  Hell, I could probably learn a few biotic tricks from the two of you, after what I’ve seen from you so far.” Wrex laughed.  “But I only want to see the lightshow.  Not whatever the fuck you two will get up to after the fact.”
Kaidan smirked as Regis felt his cheeks heat up.  
“We’ll be happy to show you a few human ways of doing things,” Regis said, clearing his throat, trying to change the subject.  “Best way to learn is from each other.   A turian taught us, and while we owe a hell of a lot of our mnemonics to him, most of the shit Kaidan and I know we experimented on ourselves.”  It was hard to keep the venom out of his tone when bringing up Vyrnnus.
Wrex titled his head slightly, picking up on what Regis wasn’t saying.  “A turian taught humans how to use biotics?  What the hell were you guys thinking?  Anyone would’ve been a better choice,” he grumbled, “with the way they segregate their own biotics.”
Kaidan shook his head.  “It’s a nasty story, but it all boils down to humans not wanting to seem weak by asking the asari and the Citadel for help.  It was all very, uh, ‘hush hush’ so to speak.”
That’s one way to put it.  
“I’m smart enough to know when I’m digging into something that I probably shouldn’t.  I’ll ask you both one question: Is the bastard dead?” Wrex asked.
Regis nodded.  “Yes.”
Kaidan looked uncomfortable.  Understandable, considering he was the one who dealt the final blow, even if Regis made it easy for him in the end.  “Maybe one day we’ll tell you the story behind our biotic training.”
Wrex shook his head in a startling display of empathy.  “Unimportant.  All I care is that you two survived it, strong as any krogan battlemaster with those biotics of yours.  Say, Alenko, tell me how you Lifted up two krogan mercs at once without breaking a sweat.”
Kaidan took the change of subject in stride as they walked over to the Normandy, explaining to Wrex his personal method to managing his Lifts.  
----
Later that day, Regis received a message on his omni tool while settling down to eat dinner with Kaidan in his quarters.
WREX: I know I put you two in a difficult position today.  Tried to fix it but let Alenko know that I won’t use anything I’ve learned against him.  Or you, for that matter.
SHEPARD: Just a little, but we won’t hold it against you.  You caught us off guard.
WREX: I’ve heard rumors about the biotic training the early human gens went through.  I’m more surprised that I ended up working with the duo that shut that shit down.
SHEPARD: Officially, that’s all you’re getting.  Unofficially and off the record?  We’ll see.
WREX: Don’t worry.  I can read between the lines.  Good fucking riddance.  
SHEPARD: I’ll drink to that.  
Kaidan raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything about the messaging going on.  
Regis chose to break the comfortable silence between them.  “Are you sure you’re okay with Wrex knowing what happened?”  He explained what Wrex said in his messages.
Kaidan shrugged.  “I’ve made my peace with it a long time ago.  I trust him to not do anything with it, like he said.  He made a point to clear it up with me earlier, but I guess he wanted to clear the air with you just in case.”
Maybe so, but that doesn’t mean he and Regis necessarily have the same thoughts about the situation.  Kaidan may be at peace with it, but he still struggles with the fact that he took someone’s life at such a young age.
Regis only wished he were the one that dealt the final blow instead of going in with a botched Stasis.  
“Just checking in.”
“I know, and I love you for it, but don’t worry, I’ve already shown him I can do a better job Lifting than he ever will.”
Regis laughed.  “Good.  Show him who’s boss around here.”
“Oh, I think he already knows.”   Kaidan slowly smiled, his voice going low and raspy.
“I still can’t believe you said that to him,” Regis said, shaking his head.  “Fuck, I love it when you do shit like that, but I was not prepared.”
Kaidan’s expression changed to one of concern, his eyebrows furrowing together. “Did I overstep?”
“No, you didn’t.  Just caught me off guard.”
“Good.” Kaidan set his utensils down and leaned in to pull Regis into a kiss, taking the lead without a second thought.  Regis sighed as Kaidan pressed in further, the remnants of their dinner forgotten.  “How much time do we have until we get to Noveria again?”
“A few hours, maybe?  Not that long,” Regis said, breathless.  “Enough.”
Kaidan stood up from the table and pulled Regis up with him.  “Then, if you aren’t opposed...”
“Hell no, get your ass over here.”
Kaidan’s eyes glowed blue for a brief moment.  “Gladly.”
----
Later during the suit up before docking on Noveria, Wrex looked at the two of them and grinned.  “Ah, you were right, Alenko, you can definitely take Shepard.”
“Would I ever lie to you, Wrex?” Kaidan asked, looking very pleased with himself.
Regis sighed, rubbing his temples.  “Remind me why I hired you again?”
Ashley laughed as she polished her shotgun.  “Do I even want to know what I missed?”
“Same here,” Tali said, working on her omni tool.
“Just some friendly conversation,” Wrex said, ignoring Regis.  “I’ll fill you two in later.”
“Oooo, gossip.  Love it.  Thank you, Wrex!” Ashley said with a grin.  “More to tease the big bad Skipper with.”  
“I hate all of you.” 
“No, you don’t!” Tali sing-songed, moving to punch Kaidan in the shoulder.  “Glad someone is here to keep Shepard in check.”
“We’ve been keeping each other in check for years, but this is the first time in a while someone’s been able to witness it.” Kaidan said, wrapping his arm around Regis as he was finishing his mods on his sniper rifle.
Regis couldn’t help but smile.  “This is the only good thing about the Spectre authorization.  I can finally say fuck you to frat regs.”
“Love looks good on you.  It’s good being here,” Ashley said.
“I can echo that,” Tali nodded.  “This is nice.  I finally have someone I can debate omni tools with again!”
Wrex shook his head.  “Yeah, yeah, following you was a good idea.”
Regis looked at his team.  Kaidan.  Ashley.  Tali.  Wrex.  A good group, one he quickly grew to trust and rely on.  A crew he hoped to have even beyond this mission, this hunt for Saren.
“Only a few more leads,” Regis said, “and I wouldn’t be able to do it without any of you.”
“You’re damn right,” Kaidan said, holding out Regis’s red and black scarf, a ritual they have done many times before on this current mission.  “Let me fix this for you?”
Regis grabbed Kaidan’s blue and grey scarf.  “And I’ll do the same for you.”
Regis bent his head forward as Kaidan affixed his scarf to his armor.  They switched positions and he did the same for Kaidan.
“Every time I see you two do that, I feel like I just witnessed a wedding,” Ashley said.  “Do I need to give a best man speech?”
“This scarf was about as close to a marriage proposal as I was going to get in this mess,” Kaidan said, pulling at it fondly.  “I’m expecting a ring when we’re done.  That is, if I don’t get him a ring first.”
“Let me know so I can film it!” Tali said.  “Human marriage customs are so lovely.”
Regis knew he was looking at Kaidan with a besotted look on his face, but at this point, he couldn’t bring himself to put on his usual mask.  “And I look forward to it.  All of you here on his family’s property.  It’ll be a blast.”  
Ten years they’ve been together.  It’s about damn time they do something about it.
“That it will be,” Kaidan echoed.  “Something to look forward to.”
Regis nodded, finalizing his touches on his gear.  “Everyone ready?  We’re getting near the docking point.”
Everyone shifted back into combat mode, standing ready for his orders.
There’s a lot to look forward to once this mission is over, and Regis hoped that everyone will be here to witness it.  A crew of his own he could trust, and a ship he could call “home” one day.
Maybe this spacer will finally find some peace amongst the stars with this crew.
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iheartgarrus · 5 months
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N7 Month Day 10: Rifle
(AO3 Link - It's time for Calain to learn to shoot. Shepard isn't so sure.)
"I don't know, Garrus." Shepard shifted uncomfortably where she sat on the bed. "I still think 11 is too young for this."
Garrus was at the workbench, cleaning one of his older, lighter sniper rifles. "I get that, Vi. But most turian children start learning to shoot as soon as they're big enough to hold a gun. If she doesn't start now, she'll be behind when she gets to boot camp."
"It just makes me nervous. I wouldn't have trusted me with a gun at her age."
"You didn't have anyone to teach you," Garrus said gently. "But she's not even going to shoot today. We're going to go over gun safety until she knows it by heart."
When Shepard didn't respond, he set the rifle down and moved to kneel in front of her. "Hey. She's a smart kid, you know. She's ready."
Slowly, she nodded. "Okay. I trust you."
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westernlarch · 5 months
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garrus and shepard look at hats !! 👀👀
This is an unfinished one shot, very silly, but here ya go 😅
“Oh. Ohhhhh…I like this one. Yeah…” He turned to the side. “Damn. Looks good. Heya, handsome.” Shepard’s eyes gleamed. “I’ll take it.” Garrus took the hat off and searched for the price tag. “Nevermind.” His eyes would've been watering if he'd had any tear ducts. “But it looks so good on you!” “It’s twice the price of the human hat! The only difference is this one has holes in it!” The salesperson leaned over the counter. “That hat is specially hand-tailored for asari and turian antatomy, sir. We only employ the finest hatmakers in all the galaxy,” he said with a hint of contempt. “Why would I pay more for something that uses less material?” asked Garrus. Was there something he was missing? Had he stepped into some backwards world? The salesperson scoffed and turned away, and lavished his attention on another customer who had just stepped inside. “What if I buy it for you?” asked Shepard. “What, why?” “Just because.”  “’Just because’ is very unsound financial reason. Do you have any idea what inflation is like these days?” “I do.” “You know what we could do instead?”  Garrus placed the hat back on the rack. “What?” He leaned toward Shepard’s ear and whispered, “Buy the less expensive human hat, line it up at the top of a wall… then blast a hole through it.” He mimed taking a shot with his sniper rifle. “BOOM! Done!” he bellowed, proud of himself for having such a brilliant idea.
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