#vidcalls fic

[commanderquinn]

Good Space Chapter 3: Hey Gringo

! i dont! keep these posts! updated! like i do! ao3!

that means you're going to find typos and shit (and possibly minor detail changes) that don't match the ao3 version! that's because im not going to bother fixing the tumblr posts until i finish good space as a whole. im only uploading them here as a backup tbh

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master list / ao3 chapter link

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warnings: ayyy!! none this time!! unless you wanna count Highly Disrespectful Thoughts ❤️ tho!!! the flashbacks are shuri, heads up for anyone who is a big baby (like me) and still crying over WF. also (shocker) bucko angst/panic attacks

song: it KALEO time!! istg there are golden oldies and hippie classics on this intended playlist, we just havent gotten to them yet. this choice is mega self-indulgent on my end ngl, buuuuut thats the whole fic in general lbr (side note: every time i write Angy Ava, i want you to imagine the vocal intensity of jefferson airplane’s lead singer, grace slick)

the timing of this chapter could NOT have been better with the probably-russian hackers knocking out ao3 that long. i mean it dude, im pretty sure the universe had a good chuckle over this one bc i sure as shit had to sit here and go “youre pullin my leg bud”

also now feels like a good time to mention, for absolutely no reason in particular (definitely not bc of Bucky being a Huge Simp this chapter), that i hc bucky as a dom with service top leanings. i just didnt wanna give the impression that reader is dom for this and accidentally get anyones hopes up with no payoff. i try to avoid that as much as i can bc god knows i drop Big Honkers on y’all every damn chapter, id hate for you to get all the way to the end of this and not get your cookie, y’know? (i am, ofc, down to write mega sub bucky for smut-shot requests)

also remember when i mentioned giving ava a HANDFUL of physical details for writing fuel? 🌝 (ur gonna think im funny rlly soon, dw)

anyways if you dont have adhd, good luck and god speed with the idiots thinkin abt each other in this chapter ❤️ im so sorry in advance 🥺😔

—

Febuary 17th, 2015

"Good morning, Sh—"

"Have you left your worthless husband yet?" Shuri impatiently taps a finger against her elbow, where her arms are crossed over her chest. 

She watches Ava sigh on the other end of the vidcall. The woman looks too tired. She needs rest. Shuri wants to stab Alec all over again. She's going to make a new, self-lacing, possibly electrified dagger just for the occasion. "I know you're just trying to—"

"We can come to get you. I will send T'Challa. You must promise me that you will have him get me something from Washington." Shuri raises a stern finger, pointing it directly at the camera. "Do not let him pick it out himself—"

"Shuri, honey, I love you with all my heart, but please—"

"I want you to pick it. The furniture in your office is ridiculous; I want something like that."

A smile far too small pulls at the corners of Ava's lips. Her smile used to move freely, and it will do so again if Shuri has any say in the matter. Which she does. "Well, thank you, I work very hard to keep it ridiculous. Now—"

"It will make me think of you whenever you are not around to make fun of my brother with me. My mother will get the lawyers you need to start your divorce—"

"I—sweetheart, please, it's been a very long night—"

"It is the afternoon where you are. You have not even had breakfast, have you? Of course not. You are busy doing the work while Alec—"

"Shuri!" Ava puts a hand over her eyes and takes an unsteady breath in. "I'm sorry. This is—it's been a long night. I didn't mean to yell at you—"

"You need to start yelling much more, Ava. Aim it at your worthless husband while you tell him you are leaving," Shuri argues, entirely fed up with how the doctor allows the spineless dickhead to make her miserable. "T'challa will remove him for you while you stay here with us."

Alec—she refuses to call him Ryder; the man does not deserve to have taken the doctor's name—leans into the camera view, his expression bored. Dismissive. Shuri wants to smash his wrinkling, greasy face in with her fist. "While I appreciate the offer, your majesty, my wife and I can handle our private life alone."

Shuri glares back at him, one of her eyebrows hiked as far up as she can comfortably get it. "Do you really think being aware of your presence on this call will deter me from reminding my friend that you are a demon?" She looks pointedly at Ava, who's still covering her eyes. "He is a demon. A pasty, rude demon."

"Alec is going to shut the fuck up now, I promise." The fingers over Ava's eyes pull in until she's pinching the bridge of her nose tightly. She looks as if she's fighting off a migraine. She probably is. And it is Alec's fault. "That way, we can get this over with, and I can finally get some sleep—"

"Which you need and are not getting enough of." The words slip out before Shuri can stop them. 

Ava's shoulders deflate slightly. Her hand drops, and she attempts another smile that doesn't reach her eyes, making Shuri feel a pang of guilt. "No, I'm not. But I will, just as soon as we finish the basic adaptation matrix. I promise."

Ava always encourages her to speak her mind, no matter what. Sometimes it gets her into trouble. She is not looking to berate her favorite Canadian; she loves leaving the vidcomm between their labs on. The open connection is a comforting window into the outside, one that lets Shrui indulge in any question or raving that passes through her mind. 

Alec is a poison in her friend's life, and Shuri will not back down from reminding her of that. But mother and Nakia have sat with her over this, explaining that sometimes, an abused heart will cling to what hurts it. They have to be supportive while Ava works through this. She's getting there. Just not nearly fast enough for Shuri's patience.

Father has been reminding them all that Alec is a risk, given what he knows. Trusting Ava means trusting her for the duration, and they can't go back now. If she says she is handling the issue of separating the man from her work, they have to allow her room to do that. But T'Challa has been ordered to keep close, or at the very least, ready to go.

As much as she despises Alec, Shuri does not wish to see Ava hurt in this. Not any more than necessary. She is also not interested in trying to control her friend the way her mother sometimes tries to control her. It is infuriating. 

So, taking a deep breath and squaring her shoulders, she lets some of the fight leave her. For the sake of Ava, not the pasty demon. "I have the latest build ready for transfer." 

"You're sure you've secured the connection on your end?" Alec has the audacity to question, even outside of the frame. "I'm not interested in spending my week chasing traces of this—"

"Do I look as if I will hesitate to strike you, colonizer?!"

—

"I'm just saying, Humpty Dumpty."

"Fuck off," Bucky wheezes at the billionaire, compressing the towel he grabbed from his new medkit against his ribs. Why he expected to make it through his first mission back without having to crack it open, he's not entirely sure now that he's sitting in the hindsight. Getting shot today was, if he's honest with himself, entirely predictable. It's his luck, after all. 

"We let you out of the house again for five minutes, and you've already broken yourself." Tony shakes his head as he tsk's, making Bucky roll his eyes lazily. "What's Ryder going to think? If you keep this up, you'll give the woman a complex about draining your mojo."

"She's going to think I throw myself in front of armor-piercing rounds for idiots that don't notice when they're being shot at." The mention of Ava brings the doctor's smiling face to the forefront of his mind. Bucky leans back against the Quinjet's co-pilot seat, letting his eyes fall closed. 

He could take care of this latest injury himself. That's what he usually does. Thanks to the serum, all he has to do is keep the wound clean for a few hours while his body stitches itself back together. Nothing's broken, and he'd be in much more pain if anything were punctured. Hell, he'd probably be dead already. The fix for this is so easy it'll practically handle itself.

"You always get so cranky after you've played the hero." He hears Tony kick his feet up on the Quinjet's main controls. "Take a breather. Maybe a bow or two. Believe it or not, it's possible to accept a compliment now and then."

"Grandstand more often, got it."

Ava's probably going to hear about today's incident now that Bucky thinks about it. If anything, Steve's going to make sure of it. He doubts she'd guilt him for not being comfortable with an optional trip to medical. They've been having more conversations about boundaries and comfort, and she's been unwaveringly supportive of him moving at his own pace. 

"You don't have to grandstand, you gigantic baby," Natasha chides from between the chairs. Her hand smacks against his shoulder, making Bucky grunt softly. "A whole new world is going to open up for you when you relearn to accept praise."

Tony snorts, long and loud. "Has he reached that stage of modern education yet?"

"I reached that stage of education before you were born, Stark." Bucky's not territorial over his reputation anymore; those days are long since passed. The grand majority of his mojo got left in the 40s. He's just tired of Tony's shit. That's all it is.

He shifts uncomfortably in his seat. Ava might feel bad that he didn't come to her for something like this. He doesn't... want that. He doesn't want her thinking that he doesn't welcome her help or that he doesn't trust it. He... he does. He doesn't just appreciate having the option; he enjoys it. The new routine is a breeze, and his neck feels better than it ever has. At least that he can remember.

"I'm confused," Tony mumbles around a mouthful of snacks. The man never stops eating. "Are we talking about your no-no years, or did you and Rogers hit up underground bars before Germany?"

"I know all his secrets from the vanilla days; they never went to any of the fun ones," Natasha confirms. It's not like Bucky was going to take the verbal bait anyways. Steve still falls for it regularly. 

"I like how you don't deny having the rest of the answer; I feel like it tells me all I can tolerate about the icicles when it comes to this. That's my favorite part about you, Romanoff. You know when I don't need to know, you know?"

His dumbass friends might as well be background noise with Bucky's mind this firmly in the memory of Ava's office. She's been so good to him, especially over this last week while she pushed through all the red tape for him. He'd been expecting it to take an eternity of hounding Steve all by his lonesome, but she got him back in the field in under two weeks. His best friend had actually been kind of pissy about it behind closed doors. For Bucky, it was like getting sprinkles on top of his cake. 

He's been thinking about getting flowers delivered to her lab for the trouble. It feels like too much whenever his thumb hovers over the confirmation button. He's reached the part of staring at the order details four times.

"I'm pretty sure your country doesn't appreciate it as much as you do. They tend to fight cold wars over it."

"Well, yeah, but our country—you see what I did there? That was a pretty funny communism joke. And it works as a reminder for both of us that you're actually an American citizen these days; isn't that wild? Back to the point here, our country fights wars over stuff we do ourselves all the time, so that doesn't feel like a fair reason to dismiss our friendship."

The doctor's forcing him to expand his music library. Her taste there is as scattered as her taste in movies, but she's got some leading themes he's been able to pin down. The 60s and 70s are huge for her, expectedly, and she's got a lot of nostalgia over the 90s. Paige keeps her versed in all things pop, folk, and country, according to her. 

"If I start referring to the US as my country, you people will expect me to do things like register to vote. Or put up wallpaper."

"I don't think anyone's expecting you to be legally allowed to do that. The voting thing, not the wallpaper. In most states. For multiple reasons. Although, the wallpaper might be a good call."

Ava invited him to their absurdly large archive of playlists during his second session. The ones Paige curates are nothing but insanity. Not one of them makes a lick of sense. Bucky decided that he should have expected that, given her Energizer Bunny reputation. Ava's are less scattered; more organized. Soothing for his mind to digest. He's been using them as workout music ever since. And driving music. And general background noise. 

"I don't think I'd know where to start buying wallpaper. Do you even want me putting that shit on your expensive building?"

"Not really, but the idea of walking in on you rolling paste on the living room walls is worth anything it could take to fix them later."

God, she's funny, too. He could listen to the woman's awful, soul-crushing puns and subsequent cackling for hours. He'll never say that to her face, not for as long as he lives, but they've made him feel lighter every morning that he's gone to let her work him over. He's already stolen two of them to torture Sam with. Another thing he's not going to tell her.

"Maybe I should start smaller. Bruce keeps suggesting a car that has legal registration."

"Heeey, that could work. You'll be signing up for mailing lists and bitching about state tax in no time. You know what?" He hears Tony snap his fingers. "We should get you a houseplant. Work you up to having a fish or something."

Alright. Maybe he'll go to Ava. He doesn't want her to think he's trying to blow off her expertise again. Or that he's avoiding her. He's not; he really does like hanging out in her office. Even if it's technically a medical appointment. He's a lot more eager to visit her than his therapists, that's for sure.

"I am not paying taxes," Natasha scoffs. "If you think I'm tying a legal address to my name, you're out of your fucking mind. Moreso than usual."

"You don't think you'd enjoy having a cave to lurk in?"

"What makes you think I don't have one already?"

"I'm talking about a real house, not a safe house."

This injury isn't related to his cybernetics. It's his ribs, well below any of his implants. He's not entirely out of the loop when it comes to what doctors have to do to get their licenses. She no doubt had to pull a lot of hard hours during her residency. Maybe she doesn't want to patch up the tower's notorious grouch every time he takes a hit. But he doubts she'd ever be impolite enough to refuse him walking in.

"I have my space here: bathroom, laundry room, small kitchen. If I haven't bothered decorating that, what makes you think I'll want to do it for an entire house?"

"Aww, come on. Look at Ryder! She's having all kinds of fun making her place as obnoxious as possible. That could be you after a few online shopping sprees."

Bucky's eyes open slowly, his brows drawing in when the second verbal mention of Ava pulls parts of his attention back to the conversation. 

Fuck, not going to medical still leaves the option of her taking offense. Okay. Alright. So, he'll split the difference and go to emergency intake. He's pretty sure she's listed as his surgical contact in the tower now—he can't stomach looking at his own medical file, not even the written records. Any injury this big will get flagged for trauma support, and she'll be notified. Then it's up to her what she wants to do. That feels like a good compromise.

"She's doing that to reclaim it from Alec; that's different. I don't have the same motivation. For me, it's just going to be extra work.

"Who's Alec?" Bucky asks without thinking. If the universe doesn't hate him today, Natasha's just going to assume he's being his usual kind of paranoid.

"She hasn't mentioned him?" Tony sounds surprised. "Alec's her ex-husband."

Ex-husband? She was married? And she's not anymore, meaning she might be—

He shuts down that train of thought immediately. 

Reclaiming the space of her house implies they lived in it long enough to form some heavy memories. She hasn't mentioned having a kid, and she strikes him as the type to bring up something like that pretty fast. So it was just the two of them, most likely.

"People usually don't like talking about the egocentric sack of shit they used to coexist with," Natasha points out. Of course, she already knows about the doctor's history. It's her.

"Bad divorce?" he prods, trying not to sound overly invested in the answer. These assholes will take it as an invitation.

"Oh, the worst," Tony confirms. "Shithead tried fighting her on it tooth and nail. She had to borrow my legal team just to get the guy to fuck off and leave her alone. He even kept her surname after the divorce; can you believe that?"

An uneasy feeling starts to rise in his gut, making Bucky look over at him. Then up at Natasha. "What kind of won't leave her alone are we talking about?"

"Down, fido, my lawyers took care of it. There's no need to start tailing him. Aside from being a self-absorbed asshole that insists they'll," Tony's voice turns scornful as his fingers form air quotes, "work things out with time, he's toothless." 

"She's got concealed carry permits she earned properly if that makes you feel better," Natasha offers up. The thought does help ease the tension building in him. 

He won't read Ava's file, no matter how bad the buzzing gets. But he might check in with JARVIS about her home security. He's noticed her name on the system logs. She, or at least her house, is linked to SHIELD's network despite her general distrust of the organization. He understands the opposing priorities completely.

He caved and read Wyatt's file two nights ago. The buzzing had been building since Ava mentioned him wanting an autograph, and it finally got to be too much. Nothing's lurking there aside from an impressive list of historians from all the fuck over Georgia and Alabama. The kid's got more family than some towns have population. 

Bucky leans forward with a muted groan to change the autopilot's intended LZ of the Avenger's balcony to the entrance hanger for medical. If he's going to grit his teeth through the antiseptic over a couple small holes, he's damn sure not going to haul his ass through half the tower while his ribs leak. His patience has limits, and that's pretty fucking far over the starting line. 

Tony looks over at him with a deep, suspicious frown. Bucky frowns at him right back with the same level of scrutiny. He can feel Natasha staring a hole into the side of his head, even if he can't catch her in his peripherals. He hates both of them with a passion at the moment. He knows what's about to happen—

"Did you just… prioritize your own health," Tony questions like he's baffled by the very idea. His whole upper body turns in the seat as he looks up at Natasha excitedly. "Oh my god. He's doing it. All by himself." He raises a hand to his chest and looks back at Bucky. "They grow up so fast."

It's good that the autopilot is on. If it weren't, Bucky would be tempted to crash them out of spite, mostly because he's sure he'd survive it. "Very funny."

"All it took was a hippie that gives him candy," Natash adds, her voice dripping with smugness. "Who knew."

"Both of you can fuck off." Bucky doesn't like how close she just got to his primary motivation on the first try. Old habits die hard, et cetera. And he hates that he can't tell if she was trying to guess. If he's lucky, which he isn't, she was just making fun of him.

Natasha knows about his visits to the florist's website; he's fucking convinced of it now. He doesn't know how, and he can't outright call her on it. If he does, he could fuck up and make himself right. There is nothing worse than having the Black Widow as metaphorical family. Not even Steve's hovering.

She and Tony harass him for the remainder of the flight. It's not long, mercifully, and he's starting to regret not grabbing something for the doctor. They were in Montreal, of all places, so it would have been fitting. He figures she'll understand once he shows her his side. The train of thought makes him wonder what part of Canada she's originally from. She hasn't brought it up.

His foot is already bouncing by the time he reaches the elevator. He's still got the surgical towel shoved tightly against his ribs. He hopes she gets there fast if she ends up taking the call. The last thing he wants to do right now is sit around in the burn of antiseptic and bleach while he fights off the urge to bolt. 

This is good, Bucky reminds himself as he takes his first few steps into medical. He's sat through plenty of trips to emergency intake. He can handle walking into his first optional one. It's a non-issue. Completely.

When JARVIS informs him that his file and general vital scan have been submitted for intake, the buzzing gets so intense that he almost leaves. The pace of his sergeant walk, as Sam likes to designate it, slows to a crawl. Then he thinks about a doctor with concealed carry permits. One that lets her house be monitored by a government organization she's actively pushing herself to trust. All in an effort to contribute something good to the world. The buzzing eases, and he picks up his pace, headed for the solo observation room JARVIS listed for him.

There's no moment of standing involuntarily from nerves this time. He doesn't have to force himself to sit back down and wait, even though the room smells wrong. His skin is crawling, and he wants nothing more than to put a throwing knife in his hand like a goddamn security blanket. But he doesn't panic. He doesn't try leaving.

Baby steps.

When the door opens, it's devastating. There's no diminutive hippie with UFO-sized glasses smiling at him on the other side of it. It's a guy in a plain white lab coat without artistic stitching, one that Bucky's never met before in his life. He's already squinting down at a tablet, meaning this will be his doctor for the duration.

This was the worst plan he could have possibly conceived. The universe is humbling him for thinking he could get away with something like this without some kind of suffering. He just wanted to make up for being dismissive of her help initially. Now he gets to sit through this. How fucking grand.

"Barnes?" The doctor that's not Bucky's doctor looks up, his heart rate elevating by a few notches. He's putting in a lot of effort to look confident. It's not exactly working. "I'm Dr. Erickson. I'm guessing you're here for the bullet wounds JARVIS detected?"

"Yup." Bucky's not about to volunteer for small talk at the moment. It's a miracle he hasn't jumped off the biobed yet. "Where's Ryder?"

"Your primary is in a staff meeting at the moment." Erickson puts his tablet down on the supply cabinet's main counter. He's already starting to gather what he needs, leaving Bucky to figure out real quick if he's actually willing to do this. "Don't worry; I'll get you sewn up and on your way in no time."

He doesn't want it getting back to Ava that he bailed the moment she couldn't show up. He doesn't want to leave her with the impression that he's only going to take on medical care if it's her; that's not anywhere near fair. The woman is a brain surgeon, not his private physician. He can grow the fuck up and accept help from people that haven't gone through his gauntlet of verification.

"Great," he pushes out, lifting the side of his undershirt to offer an unobstructed view.

It's not great; it's fucking horrendous. The first touch of the new doctor makes the overly physical memory of the buzzing build so high, he can feel it in his teeth. They're not actually rattling in his jaw the way they did back then, he knows that, but it doesn't matter because his body is screaming at him that it's happening.

The first stitch going through his skin makes him want to put his fingers through the doctor's eye sockets. His mind goes over all the ways he can violently put at least ten feet between them without having to get up. Looking back, it's probably good he didn't reach for the throwing knives. He's not unhinged enough to stab someone unprovoked; he's better than that. But they'd have been distracting to his impulse control, that's for sure.

Dr. Handsy is pulling the first suture in tight when the door to the observation room opens again. Bucky doesn't look up, his eyes locked on a random point on the far wall while he focuses on his breathing. He only looks over when a billowing, maroon pant leg enters his peripheral.

Thanks to a bunch of dead Nazi scientists that used to hide out in the mountains of Russia, Bucky Barnes has a trigger in his brain that is entirely out of his control. One that, when activated by his own interest, lets him process his surroundings in a sliver of the time that it should for a human mind. It is exceptionally helpful in the field. 

Watching Ava Ryder walk in, wearing a suede jumpsuit that mercilessly frames her curves, proves to him that having it in the 30s would have gotten him shot by someone's father. Definitely before he left Brooklyn. Or before he got chased out by several fathers banding together with baseball bats. In the time it takes her hand to come off the door handle and make its way to her hip, his mind goes on one hell of a fucking journey.

He already had more than a vague idea of the shape of her before now; he can't help it. Comes with the territory of doing threat assessment for a living. God knows his eyes have slipped down to her chest on a shameful amount of occasions. Her tits are being held up and pushed together fucking beautifully at the moment. Typically, that would hold all of his attention.

But this is the first unobstructed view of her that he's gotten, thanks to the lab coat being nowhere in sight, and good fucking god. Holy fucking shit. Godfuckingdamn.

She's half turned from him at this angle, so he's only getting a side view. That's more than enough to show off an obscenely rounded ass and the cushy thighs it rests on that are going to haunt his fucking dreams. It's bigger than his hands by a margin that's outright glorious. The mental image of his fingers digging into it, of how it would make her skin dip under the pressure, makes his blood race.

He can't spot the outline of any underwear at first. Then her hand makes contact with the jumpsuit, and his eyes pick up on it. Right there, above the top of her finger, pulled up high over her hipbone. There's a thin band leaving an impression in the fabric. An extraordinarily thin band. There is nothing else in sight.

Pulled between Ava's legs, right at this very moment in time, is a strip of fabric that Bucky's tongue would fit against perfectly. Right under that is a taste he's been catching himself wondering about for two weeks now. One good, long drag of his nose. That's all it would take to push in whatever she's picked out for the day and soak it with that taste. He could get it back out from between her lips with his tongue, pull it to the side with his teeth to give himself room to feast—

Bucky tries to shift his weight as nonchalantly as possible while his brain slows back down. The comeback from tactical analysis is always jarring, with this one being especially so. 

He's the worst kind of bastard. An awful, selfish, perverted sonofabitch. There's not shit he can do to change that. How unfortunate.

"David," Ava greets, the name coming out as tense as the closed smile plastered on her face. "You can put that down."

The other doctor doesn't look up from the work his hands are doing. "That you, Ava? I heard you were—"

"Now."

Bucky's back straightens up as David looks at her nervously, taken aback. Bucky doesn't blame him; he didn't know her voice could get that forceful.

David sort of laughs, which feels like the worst possible choice to Bucky. But, hey, not his call. "What, do you want me to just—"

"I want your hands off my patient right now. I'm not asking." She watches with unwavering intensity as the other doctor lets the needle and thread drop from his hands. She visibly bristles at the patronizing expression on David's face, her head tilting aggressively. Bucky kind of wants to watch her hit him. "I'll be back in less than a minute, sergeant. I need a word outside with Dr. Erikson."

"Take your time," Bucky assures, the tension bleeding out of him already. His ribs are leaking, and there's a piece of doctor floss looped through his skin that he's going to have to cut out of himself tomorrow morning. The immoral evaluation of her outfit that his head threw at him is going to eat him alive. Forever. Especially when he's trying to fall asleep for the foreseeable future. 

All things considered, though, he feels fan-fucking-tastic.

David still looks somewhat shell-shocked, and there's real insult starting to creep into his posture, but the guy doesn't argue. He follows Ava back out of the room, not bothering with a goodbye in Bucky's direction. When the door closes behind them, his super hearing picks up on Ava reaming David about prioritizing patients before ego. She goes into detail about the deep shit he'll be in with her if he keeps ignoring her written orders, long before it ever gets him fired. She tacks on why her anger should scare him a hell of a lot more than the idea of that. Then she instructs him to keep his damn hands off her patients and get back to the intake desk. 

The protective streak makes Bucky's chest feel warm, a half-smile pulling at his lips. She's a handful, alright. One he'd give anything to be brave enough to send flowers to.

Ava is calm, cool, and collected when she leans back in through the doorframe, hanging off it with a soft smile. "Hiya, stranger. I hear you picked a fight in my motherland today."

"I hear it has an arms dealer problem. I wanted to see if I could help." He gestures down at the needle swinging from his ribs without looking at it. "Not all Canadians are as welcoming as you, turns out."

"Eh?" she fires back, hamming up the accent. "Wellll, I'm not about to let a few cranky arms dealers tarnish our reputation. What do you say you push that bandage against your new bragging rights, and we head for my office?"

Licking his bottom lip nervously, he tries to give her a confident smile. "You were busy with something."

"Not too busy for my favorite popsicle." One eyebrow raises sternly. "You are not allowed to tell Steve I'm playing favorites." God, she's cute when she tries to deflect. It's never worked. At least not on him.

"That's—" Shit, where to even find the fucking words for her. "You don't have to do this. Go out of your way like this. I don't mind getting patched up by random medics. Comes with the job."

Her smile turns impish. "That's cool and all, but I mind when people ignore basic ethics just to have a story about stitching up an Avenger. If you need to tell yourself I'm using you as fuel for a workplace pissing contest, go for it. Whatever gets you off that biobed." She leans back, leaving the door open wide behind her. "Come on; I can't stand the way they organize these damn shelves. I wouldn't patch you up in here even if you did pay me. Next time, head for my office first."

Bucky does as she ordered, pushing the surgical towel she packed for him against his side, not minding the sting in the least. He swallows down the point that, by every definition there is, he's not an Avenger. "I'll follow you, doc."

—

"Alright," Wyatt plops his hands down on the glass of the holo, his expression determined. His tight curls bounce with the motion, making their resident gumdrop look adorable, even through the discomfort. "Let's get to dissectin' this cacophony. All in one go, preferably, so I don't feel like yackin' up my lunch two days runnin'."

Ava's head tilts sympathetically. "Oh, honey, tell me you didn't—"

His hand comes up, with his index finger pointed to the ceiling. "Nope. But I got close a couple'a times thinkin' about this." He mutters several things under his breath about creepy Nazi bastards while he pulls up the raw data from Bucky's implants. "All the more reason to get it the hell over with."

"A whole day of digging through coded war crimes," Hannah deadpans quietly, raising a steaming mug to her lips. "I'm glad we get the fun assignments."

"You'd ditch us if we didn't," Ava jokes. She scrolls through the sergeant's file absentmindedly on her tablet, reviewing the vitals added just a few hours ago. He actually came to medical. For something as minor as a field injury. Of his own volition.

"Mmm. I don't know. It's pretty fun watching a brain move like Jell-O. You might have been able to convince me to stick around just for that."

SHIELD's primary system makes a blaring noise of disagreement as Wyatt loads the main file structure. He frowns, looking over at Ava with concern. "Its askin' for administrative override."

"Heeey, that's that thing Tony says I'm not supposed to abuse. That's probably not a good sign." Ava pushes her glasses further up the bridge of her nose and leans over to get a look at the error. "JAR, I'd like some reassurance we're not about to trigger an ancient LoJack if you wouldn't mind advising here."

"There are safeguards in place for importing code with an unknown source," JARVIS reports in. The warning on the screen is dismissed, presumably by him, and a new window comes up. A log of the programming in Bucky's cybernetics going through digital quarantine loads rapidly, with line after line being highlighted in red and labeled HYDRA Suspected. "I will process them for you. One moment."

"We have to clean the Nazi code before we can beat it to death," Hannah mumbles against the rim of her mug. "I think I kind of like that."

"Please, Hannie, I'm hangin' on by the skin'a my teeth here." Scrubbing his hands over his face, Wyatt groans exhaustedly. He drags them down slowly, giving Hannah a pleading look over the tops of his fingers. "You know I'm always here for supportin' you—"

"I'm aware." The ex-marine's clipped tone makes Ava snort and look back down at her tablet. They both know stopping him now isn't going to cut off the word vomit.

Wyatt's hands thunk back down onto the glass. "I'm so proud'a ya, y'know that—" And there's the thickening of the accent.

"I know."

Ava's eyes skim over the list of everything detected in Bucky's wound, locking on the word leather in particular. Today was her first look at his work gear—she's got a feeling he doesn't call it a uniform—in person. It was hard to keep professional in front of six and a half feet of Hi, how are ya? wrapped up in that much heavy black. The sounds that his vest made when he dropped it on the coffee table— Jesus. He's got to be packing enough in there to arm a small country. 

"All's I'm sayin' is that if I have to hear about murder right now, I might actually upchu—"

"Please don't."

Ava's too scared to ask what's in the sergeant's pants for a multitude of reasons. Professionalism is lower on the list than it probably should be. It's a shame, too. He's downright hilarious when he lets himself talk. There's not a doubt in her mind that he'd come up with something unbearably good—and unwaveringly dry—in response to the loaded question.

"A'right then. We're in agreement. No bad thoughts today. We go in like—like excavators, right? With our helmets and our 'lil pickaxes, and we get what we need so we can—" The way he cuts himself off makes Ava look back up in concern. She finds the most horrified expression on Wyatt's face. "That—ah shit, that didn't come out all that right. That was mean, wannit? Insensitive. I'm not tryin' to belittle what the sergeant's been through."

"You weren't belittling anything," Ava assures, reaching out to rub his arm. "I think he'd be the first one to race you to a fossil joke about this."

"You'll tell 'im I'm takin' this serious, won't ya—"

A small chuckle escapes before she can stop it. "Wyatt, sweetheart, it's not like he heard you—"

"You take your pills today, Combs?" Hannah's calm question makes the gumdrop freeze in place. She blows on her coffee, taking a small sip. "If you say you don't remember, I'm going to—"

Wyatt snaps his fingers, his expression shifting to relief. "I didn't, and I remember why, too." He rolls his chair back with a sudden push, aiming for his desk. He reaches out before the chair finishes the trip to grab his patch-covered messenger bag. "One'a the cats got int'a my coat closet; dumbass got stuck on a shelf for reasons I'm still not real clear on." He pops open his medication bottle, tossing a pill into his mouth with a level of dexterity that makes her jealous. "The hollerin' was s'damn loud, I thought the landlord was gonna come knockin'."

"Which one was it?" Ava asks. "Not the new kitten?"

"No, no—Juno's been'a dream. It was Galileo again. I love that furry little bastard, but sometimes he can drive me nutty ." He pauses to take a swig from another glossy vacation mug. Today's is advertising a campground Ava's never heard of that's the best in the Rockies, according to the swirling font. "I got new pictures of Juno if you want 'em, though."

"Yes, please," Ava confirms happily. Holding the teacup-sized ball of fur made her whole month when he last brought Juno in. Hannah ended up hogging most of the cuddle time, but the sound of little meows filling the day had been enough to make up for it.

Wyatt pulls his phone from his back pocket and brings it around to hook up to the holo. The system dings with the sound of a successful transfer after a moment. He loads a collection of new photos, zeroing in on one of Juno clawing her way up a window curtain—

The power to the lab shuts off with a loud, electric click. Everything plunges into darkness with the privacy setting on the glass walls keeping the sun out. It comes back on before Ava can react, the building's primary system switching to the emergency power grid. She and Wyatt lock eyes in panic.

"Oooh man, boss, did I just—"

"I'm sure you didn't," Ava comforts, trying to push down her own panic. It helps that she's heard Tony rambling about the work he's put into making this place indestructible. "JAR?" 

There's no response from the AI. She trades another nervous glace with Wyatt.

"I know it was probably the Nazi shit, but I'm hoping it was the cats," Hannah says, sounding sincere. "I feel like that'll make a much better story."

"Oh my god, did I break JAR?" Wyatt looks between them frantically. "How often does he back up his servers? Did I kill'a piece'a JAR?!"

"I have not been murdered," the AI confirms after nearly a minute of being gone. "The safeguards reported a false positive regarding the programming of Sergeant Barnes' cybernetics. It has been handled."

Ava gives the hologram wall of code a warry look. "Handled by you?" There's a suspicion building in her gut around his phrasing, one that she's not planning on letting out of her teeth. 

"Mr. Stark has a protocol in place that cuts off my servers in the event of any irregular activity. Given the nature of the programming's origin, the system is designed to er on the side of caution."

"That's a really fancy way of dancing around the point, JAR." She's trying to stay civil about this. It's not an easy venture, and she's pretty sure it's not translating at all. Even she can hear the frustration in her voice. "How about we cut the shit, and you tell me what the false positive was."

"There are automated routines running for Sergeant Barnes' implants. They are not harmful; I've taken the liberty of checking them personally now that they've been cleared through quarantine. I am creating a stable update to forward to—"

"How long have they not been harmful, JARVIS?"

Hannah sits up from her relaxed position at the avoidance of their favorite nickname for the AI. Wyatt's brows pull in nervously, his eyes never leaving Ava. They both know exactly what she's digging at.

There's a long hesitation from JARVIS. Short by normal social standards but an eternity for a sentience with quantum processors. "There is not currently a risk posed within the Sergeant's—"

Ava's out of her chair and halfway to the door before he even finishes the omission. Fueled by some of the most intense rage she's ever felt in her life, she marches out on swift feet. She's going to kill him. She's going to string him up—maybe hang him off the side of the tower.

America's fucking Sweetheart, her ass. America's Doomed Liar is a lot more like it.

"Where is he," Ava nearly growls, still stalking down the halls, leaving the medical wing in a hurry. "JARVIS, I know you're still listening; you tell me where that puffed-up, hypocritical—oooh , you tell me where Rogers is right the fuck now. And then you tell me where Stark is—"

"Dr. Ryder, I know you're not inclined to believe this at the moment, but I assure you—"

"You're right; I'm not inclined to do that at all." She takes a deep breath as she passes through the front entrance, slowing herself to a stop. With genuine effort, she pushes down her anger. "I don't want to keep yelling at you. I don't like doing it in the first place. If you don't want to tell me where they are, I'll find them myself."

Ava heads for the elevator to do just that. She's not expecting a response as she pounds the side of her fist against the button for the Datacrux's floor. It's likely to be her best bet to find any of them. There's not a chance in hell that she's letting her team dedicate any more time to this until she gets some fucking explanations.

Halfway along the ride up, the light around the button goes dim. A flash of anger rises in her until she sees the one for the executive level illuminate. 

"Mr. Stark is not currently in the tower, but you will find Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes debriefing in the Situation Room," JARVIS informs her over the elevator's intercom, making the SHEILD agents around her pretend not to look over. She's tempted to ask them if it's the outfit.

"Thank you, JAR," she offers as an olive branch. Regardless of what's truly going on here, she doubts the AI is all that comfortable with the subject.

"You're welcome, Ava."

She's only been to this part of the tower once before. Tony dragged her up to the Avenger's balcony for a party after her divorce was first finalized. That's about the extent of her experience with this section. It's not hard to find her way with everything denoted like it is in the rest of the building.

The palm of her hand smacks against the door marked Situation Room, and she shoves it open aggressively. Both super soldiers, the Falcon, Black Widow, and a scattered group of SHIELD agents stare back at her in surprise. It doesn't slow her down any.

Ava points an irate finger at Steve in the uneasy silence of the room. "Unless New York just caught fire, you and I are about to have a very blunt conversation, captain."

"Hiya, doc." Bucky, unsurprisingly, is the only one in the room smiling at her while she glares daggers at Captain America. He's still in his not-uniform. There's still blood on it. The charm he's throwing her way reminds her that they won't want an audience. 

"I'm going to ask the rest of you to leave," she continues, but her eyes stay on the sergeant as her finger lowers. "I don't think you'll want to be here for this, Bucky."

"What makes you think I don't wanna watch you beat up my best friend?" He leans back in his chair, his hands coming up to rest on his stomach as his smile deepens.

"Can I stay?" Sam asks, his voice eager. It's a damn shame this is how she gets to meet him. She doubts the Falcon has any clue about unethical research.

"Come on," Natasha insists with a serene nod in Ava's direction, grabbing Sam's shirt to drag him up from his chair. "You heard her."

"I—hey!" Steve looks so insulted as he watches his friends and various coworkers abandon him with zero hesitation. "You're just gonna—I don't even know what I did!"

"Neither do I, but I am very ready to hear about it," Bucky assures Ava, not an increasingly distressed Steve.

Ava taps her foot impatiently as the room clears out, leaving her alone with the super soldiers. She ignores the nerves radiating off of one of them and focuses on the one that looks delighted. "I'm serious. This is about your case. Specifically, the work HYDRA was trying to finish."

The mirth leaves Bucky almost entirely. His posture doesn't adjust from its reclined position. "Alright. Tell me what's got you livid about it."

"Steve here made me a promise that was broken in my lab a few minutes ago."

Steve's eyebrows pull in with confusion. "Which promise? Wait—a few minutes ago—Is this about that blackout? Ava, catch me up here; what the hell is—"

"You swore to me that the intention of HYDRA—at least where Bucky's case is concerned—was to make an army of super soldiers, nothing more." She's letting him process this one step at a time. It'll make yelling at him for lying a lot easier. That, and she's honestly worried the technophobe doesn't understand the gravity of the situation.

"I—" Steve hesitates, and she watches the switch to tactical assessment come over him. It's startling to see it directed at her from a face that isn't Bucky's. "As far as I know, that was the intention."

"Yeah? You're sure about that? You're sure you're not omitting something pretty fucking important to my job, Steven?"

"JARVIS, what was the blackout?" Bucky questions at half the volume he started at when she first came in.

Ava points at the sergeant insistently. "See? I'm guessing he doesn't even know, but he's sure as hell already on the right track."

"There was an incident regarding the coding found in your implants, Sergeant Barnes. It has been handled. I have prepared an update to their systems whenever you're ready to undergo a transfer."

"As your doctor, I'm ordering it. We can go back to my office after I'm finished ripping your friend a new asshole for lying to my face." Her eyebrows lower at Bucky in indignation. She's doing this for him, but that doesn't mean she's going to let him off the hook if he knew. "We should probably figure out if I need to do the same to you before we get there."

"Hey, hang on now." Steve raises one hand, likely to try to calm her, but changes his mind and puts it back under the table. She's guessing someone's finally clued in the out-of-time man about that practice making women want to throw something. At his head. "We might not always be able to talk about classified information—something you agreed to, I might add—but I've never lied about HYDRA's intent as far as I comprehend it. I've been very careful to hold up that end of our deal."

"Let me tell you how I know, for a fact, that someone involved in this case is doing a piss-poor job of lying to me about it. Since you haven't quite figured out modern tech, I'm going to try to keep it simple." Ava points a far less aggressive, more instructing finger at Bucky's arm. "In order for that hunk of metal to work, it needs to be programmed. The hardware needs software that can tell it how to read brain signals. A few decades ago, some Nazis sat in a room and wrote a bunch of code for that software. That's what was supposed to be in Bucky's implants. That's all that was supposed to be in Bucky's implants."

"Wait—what the hell else is in them?" The flicker of fear that creeps into Bucky's expression breaks her heart. There's not a doubt in her mind that he could sell her on any lie he wants to with his mind set on it. That's the point of infiltrators like him. 

But Ava's willing to bet everything she's got in this world that the fear in him at the moment is genuine. He doesn't know. And it makes her feel awful.

"Given the size of your implants, I'm guessing not much," she tries to reassure. "We can always purge whatever is there later. However, if the code were as simple as 'read this signal, do this thing,' it wouldn't have been flagged as untouchable by Tony's security measures. The ones put in specifically to prevent JARVIS from being corrupted." She crosses her arms over her chest in exasperation, her eyes moving to one of the small security cameras on the ceiling. "Would you like to explain to the captain what kind of code it would take to accomplish that, JARVIS?"

There's another human-length moment of hesitation from the AI in response. "It would take adapting code."

"The part he's holding back—definitely because he's under orders not to break SHIELD protocol—is that something has to be driving the adaptation. There is such a thing as self-adapting code; that would absolutely explain it. If we weren't talking about something made in the 40s when HYDRA needed entire warehouses just to house a few terabytes of data." She glances over at Bucky. "While I'm sure the agents you scare the piss out of would disagree, your head isn't actually big enough to hold that much."

"You flirtin' with me to stop the panic or to apologize for not being Canadian for a minute?"

Ava blinks in surprise, the slightest hint of heat coming up the sides of her neck. That—she hadn't been—well. Steve's head turns to him, his eyebrows raising in mild shock.

Bucky clears his throat, then tries for a quiet chuckle, his eyes floating between her and the table. "Sorry—it's this damn room. Puts me in sergeant mode, makes me—let's get back to yelling at Steve."

"Thanks, asshole, I appreciate—"

"What makes you think I won't yell at you just because I'm Canadian?" Ava counters, finally recovering. "You trying to stereotype me, Barnes?"

The relief that comes off of Bucky is palpable. "I'd go for the hippie thing first if I was trying to do that."

"Didn't you sleep through the McCarthy era?"

"HYDRA gave me the long and short of it between naps."

Her hand flies up to her face to block a loud snort. Damn him, this is serious. But she's not about to begrudge him the gallows humor. She lowers it again while he smirks at her. "Do you mind? I'm trying to make an angry but valid point here."

"About a bunch of code that my head isn't big enough for," he continues for her dryly, one hand coming off his stomach to gesture up at it.

Ava sighs, the amusement from getting sidetracked by the Brooklyn heartstopper fading fast. "Not big enough by the standards of the 40s. By today's standards?" Her head tilts to the side sadly, readying herself to watch that fear in him get more substantial. "You tell me, Buck. Did the Nazis work in the mindset of single projects, or did they work in the mindset of generations that would lead a global empire?"

The words are the last piece to complete the puzzle in Bucky's mind; Ava can see it happen in his eyes. The expression of horror it yanks out of him will haunt her for the rest of her days. "Zola." 

It's said in a whisper, and Ava's not even sure what the word is. 

It takes Steve longer to reach whatever conclusion Buckys come to, and he looks resistant to the idea at first. "No, that's... no—Buck, you've been to what's left. You know what it took—"

"That's the point she's making, stupid. Look at how small everything's gotten." He stops, and Ava doesn't miss the sight of a hard swallow. "It makes sense. Think about it. It makes sense. They took care of the car until they could find an engine that fit. I was the prototype. Or—was going to be, at least."

The comparison—the one he's using on himself—is revolting. Accurate, but astoundingly revolting. She pushes past it, leaning down to tap a condescending nail on the table. "Hi, there. Still here. Still looking for some answers. What the hell is Zola?"

With Steve watching him like a hawk, Bucky breathes a long, tired sigh. "Not what. Who." 

"I can fill her in," Steve offers to him quickly. "You don't have to do this."

"Oh, I'm not doing shit. She's going to do it all." Bucky locks eyes with Ava, his expression passive. Having the Winter Soldier himself that focused in on her makes her breath catch involuntarily. "How's your Russian, doc?"

"I don't speak a word of it. Do I need to for this?"

"No, I'm sure you've got plenty of ways to translate anything you feel like reading. You should look up doveryai, no proveryai while you're at it." He leans forward, resting his arms on the table. His eyes never once move away from hers. "JARVIS, transfer a copy of my archive access to Dr. Ryder. Full permissions. And the next time she asks you a hard question, you don't have to bullshit her. Tell her to call me."

—

April 6th, 2015

"I want you to bring me with you next time."

"No."

"Is that a no because you do not agree or because you are afraid of mother?"

"Both."

Shuri frowns at the security feed, ignoring the quiet laughter she can hear coming from Nakia on the other end. "Coward."

The camera mounted on T'Challa's dashboard shakes as he turns it back to his face, his expression annoyed. "Say that to my—"

"Coward."

T'Challa rolls his eyes and turns the camera back around as Nakia laughs harder. He will be mopey now, for sure. "I am not taking you to stare at a soldier's office with us."

"Why not?"

"To start with, I refuse to be trapped in a car with you for that amount of time."

"You should be so lucky! Now, what is the real reason."

"What part of royal family do you not—"

"You get to go to these things."

"And when you leave your lab long enough to learn to use the spears of your foremothers, that privilege can extend to you."

"Okoye is always ready to teach you, Shuri," Nakia offers up diplomatically. 

"I do not need a spear to sit in a car annoying my brother," Shuri argues. They always do this to her. She is tired of it.

"You do not need to sit in a car annoying your bother at all." The moping has already started. She can hear it in T'Challa's voice.

"Fine. I will go to Ava's house and stay there while—"

"No."

Shuri slams her hands down on her desk, making the various instruments on it rattle precariously. "She is my family, too!"

There's silence on the other end in the wake of her anger. Then the camera turns again, this time by Nakia's hand. She doesn't stop the spin until it's pointed to show her and T'Challa. He does not look as annoyed anymore. He looks guilty.

Nakia gives her a sympathetic smile. "No one is trying to take that from you. We are only trying to keep you safe. We do not know how far Alec is willing to take things."

"And I am not willing to present the man with more temptations of power," T'Challa adds, the guilt on his face shifting to resignation. "It is not simply because I am afraid of our mother. I agree with her. And with our father. Alec Harlow is a man that is losing everything. That is a powerful motivator, Shuri."

"I am not afraid of that spineless demon," Shuri insists angrily. "I could handle him myself, thank you very much."

"Half the school children in Wakanda could," Nakia mocks under her breath.

She gets a stern look from T'Challa before he focuses it on Shuri. "It is not his strength we are concerned with. It is the allies he can call upon at any time. Men with strength and resources that we do not wish to deal with."

Some of the fight leaves her. Not much, but it does ebb. Her brother might be an idiot, but he is right about this. Ava would not be this afraid for no reason. She has been trying to disguise it when Nakia brings her for visits, which is how Shuri knows it is serious.

"I hate that man, brother." The word is far too inadequate. The contempt she holds for the worm who put fear in the heart of her favorite mad scientist feels immeasurable.

"As do I. As do we all." T'Challa smiles at her finally, his face softening. "I promise to bring you to hit him if he is ever arrested. That is when I will deem it safe enough."

"How many times?" she chases after quickly. "Can I bring a weapon?"

"You can bring exactly one weapon. Can you guess what it is?" The smile turns sarcastic as he reaches out and turns the camera back around to face Alec's office window. 

"I do not need a spear to break that man."

"No, you need it so I can stop being lectured by Okoye for enabling your avoidance of tradition."

"That will not help. She wishes for me to sit through her lessons. I would just bring the spear to hit him over the head with."

Nakia laughs, the sound light and soothing. "I am surprised you did not go straight for the idea of skewering him."

Tilting her head down at her desk, Shuri hesitates. She picks up the ridiculous coffee mug Ava got her, spinning it around in her hands with somber movements. 

Ava's last visit had been especially hard to stomach. The woman had looked so... empty as she talked about the start of the divorce. There had been no vengeful joy in her as she told Shuri's father she understood the gravity of the situation. No hard-won victory in her posture. There had only been grief and shame.

Shuri sighs, turning away from the screen to head for her lab's kitchen. She is going to fill the mug with one of the teas that Ava brings her. It will be a nice change from the energy drinks she has been binging. "No. I... I do not wish the man dead. I only wish to see him locked away somewhere he can never smile again."

—author end notes—

there’s one sentence in this chapter that is 14 words long (including contractions) that is the entire foundation of their incoming dom/sub and oh my g o d when i tell you that shit was cathartic to write 😫🤌 some day when this is finished, im gonna write a whole goddamn dissertation on that one sentence and all the narrative shit that tied into it in this fic so help me (YOURE ALLOWED TO GUESS BTW)

anyways, everyone is alive in wakanda bc i said so. and nakia and t’challa are really stupid uber mega important to ava’s backstory

i feel like we’ve all, as a species, Been Through Enough. you can talk my ear off abt anything, but dont talk to me abt the opening of wakanda forever i will Literally Die, i havent cried that hard over the first watch of a movie in so fucking long and i dont think im strong enough for a second. all i ever need for binging is winter soldier and black panther anyhow (FATWS is still growing on me and i only like it so far bc im a sambucky shipper. and a stucky shipper. and a 3 musketeer shipper. and a—i like making buckaroo be in love a lot. lets just. leave it at that). we can stop with the big owies thanks. let me escape to the fictional world where everyone is alive and Nothing Hurts, t h a n k s.

well. okay. some things are gonna hurt in this. probably really super bad too and youre gonna be really really mad at me when it hits. but like. theyre set up for comfort pay off so does it even really count??? i didnt think so, ty for agreeing 😌

ily 💖 tyty for reading 💞 and tyty in advance for yelling at me when i eventually hurt u ❤️🥰 i will understand, its okay, u are entitled to the emotional compensation on that one

#chapter update #good space

[ohlawsons]

vidcalls | 04

[ RE: DRAFT DELETED ]

SUMMARY. Business might keep Sophie and Reyes separated after the conclusion of their work on Kadara, but that doesn’t mean they can’t take time for the occasional message or visit. Or: some f!Ryder/Reyes interactions post-Kadara, because Bioware didn’t give us enough in-game. Spoiler warnings will be marked at the beginning of each chapter. NOTES. in which reyes has thinky thoughts, sophie avoids thinky thoughts, and kheema doesn’t get paid enough for this shit. takes place directly after ch. 2.  hey so guess who finally finished this chapter after literally three months. i’ve been so stuck on it but maybe this + doing a second playthrough with sophie will mean semi-regular updates LINKS. [ ao3 ] [ ffn ] [ sophie’s tag ] [ vidcalls tag ]

Love.

It was a word Reyes had almost let slip the last time he’d spoken with Sophie, when she’d been driving through Elaaden and called just to share the view. It was just a figure of speech, a meaningless phrase that held no significance. Not really. It had caught him off-guard, is all.

Things like that are why I love you.

He’d caught himself, had managed to redirect the conversation without any comment from Sophie; still, several hours later as he attempted to read through reports coming in from various agents, Reyes couldn’t quite clear his mind of the vidcall. What he had with Sophie was… it wasn’t yet at that point, he didn’t think. The problem was, he wasn’t sure what point they were at.

The two of them had spent a few scattered weeks together before removing Sloane, and in the months since then Sophie had only been back to Kadara once; in some ways, they were still testing the boundaries of their relationship, especially in the wake of Reyes’ confession about his involvement with the Collective. He was still adamant that he wouldn’t be keeping any more secrets, that he would be entirely open with Sophie and tell her anything she wanted to know. The problem, he was finding, was that Sophie didn’t seem to want that openness, and seemed even less interested in reciprocating. It didn’t bother him too much — Reyes was well aware that he still had a ways to go in re-earning Sophie’s trust, and besides, he wasn’t going to pry into a past that he had just enough information on to know was filled with pain and bad memories.

When Sophie felt comfortable enough to share, she would, and if she never reached that point, Reyes wouldn’t force the issue.

He was a patient man, and Sophie — as reckless and stubborn and impulsive as she could be — was worth waiting for.

“Are you buying anything, or are you just going to sit there and pout at my bar?”

Reyes looked up, finding a rather cross looking Umi staring down at him, one hand on her hip and the other planted on the bar. “I’m waiting for someone,” he lied, flashing her the most charming smile he could conjure up. There was some truth to it, he supposed, in that he was beginning to feel like he was constantly waiting for Sophie — for her next visit, next call, next message — but it was always easy to feign an unreliable business contact. “And I’m not pouting, my dear Umi.”

“Whatever.” She rolled her eyes and gave one hand a little wave. “I’m not running a charity here. Either buy a drink, or wait somewhere else.”

He made a show of inspecting the comm display on his omni-tool, checking the time before transferring a few credits to Umi. “If my contact shows up looking for me, let them know to be more punctual next time.” With a wink — and a grin at the asari’s resulting sigh — Reyes left Kralla’s Song, taking the long way through the port and giving himself plenty of time to organize his thoughts before returning to Tartarus and Collective business.

Falling into a slow, leisurely pace, Reyes let his gaze follow the Kadaran rooftops, running along the edge of darkening skyline. There was so much out there, and where before he would’ve only seen outposts and smugglers in the wastes of the Kadaran wilds, his mind now wandered to mountains and horizons and the wide open sky that seemed so much bigger away from the lights of the port; it was Sophie’s influence — her excitement and passion and fascination with the unknown — that had rubbed off on him, so that some part of his mind was always at least a little bit occupied with her.

(Sophie would love this view, when he was meeting a contact out in the mountains above some of the sulfurous pools that dotted the sprawling plains of the Kadaran wastelands. If Sophie were here, that definitely would’ve turned into a fight, whenever he was faced with a disagreement, whether business-related or a simple misunderstanding at a bar. Hard to believe that Blasto collectibles count as contraband… but Sophie would probably appreciate if I got my hands on some, when a strange but profitable shipment crossed his path.

He even occasionally woke with her on his mind, an aching amplified by the sense of sleeping in an otherwise empty bed. She always apologized for calling in the middle of the night, but some part of him didn’t care — not when it meant her voice was the first he heard upon waking.)

There was no sense in denying that he cared for her, or that he trusted her unconditionally, or that when she was gone he missed her to the point that it was almost embarrassing — except it wasn’t, because he didn’t care and it was Sophie and anyone with any sense would’ve missed having her around — but he was stuck on this one little word, on love, because he wasn’t quite there yet but he was certainly headed in that direction. There was something off about it, something he couldn’t quite place; maybe it was the fact that they’d actually spent so little time together, or that he’d promised to be completely open with her and she hadn’t seemed interested, or that he knew Sophie wasn’t in the same place and trying to breach the subject before she was comfortable would be the very opposite of helpful.

When Reyes reached Tartarus, his thoughts were even more scattered than when he’d left Kralla’s Song, and it was with some hesitance that he forced it all out of his mind in favor of Collective reports.

Or, at least, he tried, but with every email and message and call his thoughts wandered back to Sophie.

[ Draft 1 of 3 ]

To: Ryder, Sophie ([email protected]) From: Vidal, Reyes (Error) Subject: Up for another party?

Sophie,

Kadara’s been calm lately. I won’t complain about the lack of raids or attacks, but I could use a little excitement. I’m thinking about throwing another party — and I know you like yours to be loud and crowded, but I was considering something a bit quieter. You, me, a bottle of wine? After dealing with the krogan on Elaaden, a night in has to sound at least somewhat appealing.

—Reyes

PS: if that’s too romantic, I could always be persuaded to track down some more Milky Way whiskey.

Two days later and Reyes was still mulling over the problem in his mind.

He’d talked it over with Kheema, and she’d scoffed and said something that his translator hadn’t picked up. “Ryder already knows,” she reasoned. “You laid out the truth for her, didn’t you? Even if you hadn’t, there’s no way you could hide… this.” She waved a hand in his direction and made a sound of indignance. “I’m not sure if it’s sad, or adorable.”

“Hide what?”

“Oh, Reyes.” She didn’t say anything else after that, simply giving her head a slow shake.

“What?” he repeated flatly, crossing his arms and leaning back in his seat. Even at such a relatively early hour in the morning, the slow, steady beat of Tartarus’ bass-heavy music was bleeding into Reyes’ upper room; it wasn’t a song he was fond of, but the rhythm conjured up an image in his mind, one of Sophie dancing in the driver’s seat of the Nomad as they drove through the Badlands, singing along with the wrong words as Liam encouraged her from the backseat.

Pulling himself back out from his thoughts, Reyes glanced back up at Kheema to find her giving him a pointed look, lips down-turned into a frown that was more exasperation than disappointment. “You’ve talked of nothing but the Pathfinder since meeting her,” she sighed, “and here I was thinking you were holding something back. But you really haven’t figured it out, have you?”

“And here I thought we’d established that it isn’t helpful when you’re this cryptic.”

“I’m not trying to be cryptic. Just tell me, then — when it comes to Ryder,” Kheema challenged, “what? What is it that you want out of this?”

The question caught Reyes off-guard, and he looked away as he thought. When it came to Sophie — and him, and their relationship — he wanted… what? For her to stay on Kadara with him?

No. He frowned to himself, not missing the twitch of Kheema’s lips as she held back a wry smile. He couldn’t ask Sophie to stay on Kadara, in part because he knew she wouldn’t ever agree and in part because it wouldn’t ever be what she wanted; Sophie was too much — so much passion and energy and personality — to ever stay in one place, and she belonged out amongst the stars and the unexplored planets and not here, in a dirty port city filled with people who would never be good enough for her.

Like Reyes.

You’re a better man than you give yourself credit for, she’d told him once, in her quarters on the Tempest as they’d worked everything out after confronting Sloane. You’ve got a big heart under this rugged exterior. The most important part right now, though, is that I don’t give a shit. I never expected you to be a saint. I want you, and I mean all of you — even in a mushy feelings way. Look, you’re making me talk about feelings. If that doesn’t convince you that I’m serious, I don’t know what will.

It had convinced him; he believed Sophie when she said that she didn’t care, but that didn’t magically make things better. She knew he was the Charlatan, yes, and she had an idea of what that meant, but she didn’t know everything. Reyes had blood on his hands — mostly figuratively, but it wasn’t like he couldn’t claim responsibility for more than a few dishonorable kills — and looking the other way didn’t change that. By contrast, Sophie was the closest thing to the physical embodiment of hope that Reyes had ever seen; the entire Nexus looked up to her, as did many of the exiles, and a good amount of the angara. It was difficult for her to have such a burden on her shoulders, and she hadn’t ever been shy about confiding that much in him, but it all came so naturally to her and all of the positivity and dedication that she exuded was just so genuine that, for a moment, Reyes felt his heart clench at the thought of it.

“I want her to be happy,” he said slowly, finally able to take his feelings about Sophie and force them into words.

To his surprise, Kheema sighed, her expression twisting into one of dissatisfaction. “Well, I suppose that’s a start.”

[ Draft 2 of 3 ]

To: Ryder, Sophie ([email protected]) From: Vidal, Reyes (Error) Subject: Umi says “hi”

Sophie,

Kralla’s Song is losing business without you there to start bar fights. Umi and some of her regulars keep insisting that they’re glad the Pathfinder isn’t on Kadara anymore, but I think they actually just miss all the excitement you cause.

I know I do.

—Reyes

PS: To be clear, it isn’t the bar fights I miss. It’s you.

“I mean, can you believe it? Half the reason I even came to Elaaden was for the chance to fight a goddamned krogan overlord, and instead I’m working with her. Eugh.” Sophie’s image on the vidscreen disappeared momentarily as she leaned backwards, rubbing at her eyes.

Reyes looked up from his datapad, most of his focus once again aimed at the vid call. It had only been a few hours since he’d spoken with Kheema that morning, and he couldn’t shake the conversation from his mind. “You, Sophie Ryder, backed down from a fight?” he teased, forcing a lighthearted tone.

She shot back up, peering at him from between her fingers. “Uh, did you miss the part where I’m single-handedly ensuring the survival of the Nexus?” One hand dropped into her lap and the other raked through her wind-tousled hair as worry began to creep into her expression. “Wait — is everything okay? I didn’t call in the middle of the night again, did I? I should—”

“It’s fine,” he assured her quickly. “I just… There’s a lot on my mind.” A perfectly reasonable excuse, and one that happened to also be entirely true; Reyes had found Sophie occupying most of his thoughts, moreso than usual, and Kheema’s question had left him restless and unfocused. Opting for a bit more sincerity, he added, “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about us, actually.”

“Us?” Sophie echoed, one eyebrow cocking upwards as the concern smoothed from her face. “I almost start a war with the krogan one time and you start having second thoughts? I should warn you,” she said with a grin, eyes alight with the sort of mischief Reyes’ missed, “picking fights is a habit I don’t plan on giving up.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to.”

“Good.” She paused, and when Sophie spoke again there was a hesitance to her words. “So… what exactly have you been thinking about? With us? Because if it involves sex I want to hear all about it, and if it’s… bad, then, you know, I would appreciate the heads up.”

Reyes schooled his expression into one that was carefully neutral, hiding the way that Sophie’s words stung; it was unintentional, he knew, but every reminder of Sophie’s discomfort and mistrust left Reyes cursing the way she’d discovered his Collective ties. He’d meant to tell her, and even if his good intentions had come far too late he was now doing his best to make up for it, by being as open with her as he could, every step of the way. “It’s not bad. Or, it doesn’t have to be. I’ve been wondering where this is going.” He did his best to hold back a frown, carefully watching as Sophie’s expression became more closed off. “If that’s even something you’ve considered.”

“I… sure!” Sophie flashed a lopsided smile, but her voice was forcibly chipper and her grin faltered and twisted into a grimace. “I’ve definitely… done some considering.”

He gave his head a slow shake; he hadn’t expected her to have put much thought into the future — or any — given how little planning ahead Sophie ever did. “It’s not a conversation that has to happen right now. It’s just a heads up, as you put it.”

“Right. Okay. Good, because you caught me off-guard, there.” Looking away for a moment, Sophie pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs. She looked thoughtful — if a bit uncomfortable, cramped in the driver’s seat of the Nomad. “Could it? Happen right now? Because if it did, I’d say this whole going somewhere thing sounds pretty good. I don’t know where the hell something like this goes, but one thing at a time, right?”

“One thing at a time,” Reyes agreed.

“I have thought about it, you know,” Sophie informed him quietly, resting her chin on her knees. “Any time I’ve had something like this before, I… It—” She paused, letting out a little huff of a sigh before continuing. “Most people like neat little relationships where you plan and commit and celebrate anniversaries and shit. I… I like how things are with us. It’s so…” she trailed off again, ruffling her curls as her expression twisted with thought.

A dozen words came to mind — fragile; distant; careless — but outwardly, he offered, “Unpredictable?”

“In the moment.”

“Oh?”

“If I want to talk to you, I just call. If I don’t, I don’t,” she explained, her discomfort finally seeming to lift somewhat. “We never have more than a few days together at a time, so we don’t ever waste time on plans that would just get fucked over by Nexus or Collective business anyway —  we just do whatever sounds best right then. It’s like… this whole thing, it’s not about having a relationship, it’s just… about us.”

There was a bitterness to Sophie’s words that piqued Reyes’ curiosity, but he pushed it aside; it wasn’t the time, and besides, for the moment he was more interested in Sophie’s logic than the reasoning behind it. “So if I were to begin planning lavish date nights and elaborate declarations of my affections…?” He kept his tone light — casual but not quite joking — in an attempt to encourage this brief moment of complete openness from Sophie.

Her brow furrowed, and she simply watched  him for several seconds, the silence just beginning to creep towards awkwardness when she finally spoke, voice barely audible over the vid call. “I don’t know.” Sophie’s demeanor was nearly impossible to decipher; she was clearly still deep in thought, but between the dim interior of the Nomad and the less-than-perfect connection, Reyes couldn’t gauge whether her hesitance was borne of discomfort or uncertainty.

“Should I try planning something and we’ll see how it goes in the moment?”

“I don’t think it would matter,” she said slowly, eyes dropping from the vid screen to stare at something out of Reyes’ view. “I think… I think I trust you, and I think you should know that, and I don’t want to ruin this by obsessing over the future.”

Something about her choice of words made things click into place for Reyes; an equally stilted conversation from weeks before came to mind, and all of Sophie’s rage at her father and grief over her mother became once again relevant in an entirely new way. Perhaps, he wondered, admitting that she feared following in her parents’ footsteps and sabotaging their relationship was the closest Sophie would get to admitting she believed they had a future, and one she wanted.

But that was a topic better suited to a conversation that didn’t take place over vid comm.

Reyes’ brow knit together and he studied Sophie’s image as he contemplated exactly how to answer. It ached, the way Andromeda seemed to continuously poke and prod at old wounds that Sophie had only haphazardly mended back in the Milky Way, and for a moment all he could think to do was to curse the Initiative and Sophie’s role as Pathfinder and his distance from her. All he wanted was to hold her and comfort her and help her in any way he could, but she wasn’t the sort to take the time to heal properly; no, Sophie would go down fighting, whether against the kett or against the memory of her father,  without any backup or contingency plans.

In combat, all Reyes could do was stand at her side; now, however, he suspected he might be able to at least steer her from the topic that was causing her so much frustration. “Then I’ll do only the most spontaneous of planning, from here on out.”

“Bullshit.” The corner of Sophie’s lips curled into the slightest grin, and some of the spark returned to her eyes. “You breathe plans, Reyes. Just don’t… don’t make the relationship more important than us.”

He’d once been prepared to let her walk away, both for his beliefs and her own happiness; it would only be harder, a second time — especially now that they’d begun to mend the damage done when he’d confronted Sloane — but it was a path Reyes was prepared to walk if it became necessary. “That, at least, I can promise.”

[ Draft 3 of 3 ]

To: Ryder, Sophie ([email protected]) From: Vidal, Reyes (Error) Subject: Do Pathfinders get vacation days?

Sophie,

Think you can spare some time to come back to Kadara?

We never got the chance for a proper date night, and I’d like to have a conversation that’s actually in person.

—Reyes

PS: It’s nothing bad. Promise.

#reyes vidal #sophie ryder #otp: steal the stars #reyder #mass effect #andromeda #brooke writes things #fic: sophie #vidcalls fic

[imnotasuperhero]

First of all, WOW! I can’t believe I’m over 600 followers, considering my blog’s been dead for the last few weeks/months. Lol. 

Thank you so much to my new followers and the old ones for staying here. I might not interact with everyone, but I want you guys to know that i see you! Thanks for taking a moment from your time to read and leave your mark on my stories. You don’t know how happy it makes me that people enjoy the things I create. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.

Second, I won’t go deep in this, but I want you guys to know that I’ll be back full force. I’ve just been having troubles to keep my head out of the things happening in my life, which took me apart from the internet in general. Legit, all my free time is spent between my friends and vidcalling and watching movies/tv shows with my girlfriend. 

I promise I’ll catch up with all the works you guys had tagged me in, and I’ll get out all the requests I have pilled up in my inbox. A few will be drabbles, others will be fics.. but they all will be out (hopefully in the next few weeks).

Third, I have created a tip jar where you can buy me a coffee (or a few, if you wish). Of course, all my content is and will always be free. But if you want to support me with something else than kudos, reblogs or comments, I thank you big time. It will be helping me greatly.

And to finalize this, I’m working on a little request to celebrate the milestone, which will be out in the next minutes/hours. Thanks for staying and reading till the end. I’ll be tagging a few peeps to boost this under the cut.

Once again THANK YOU!

@summergeezburr @rooskaya-yelena @marvelfansince08love @natasha-danvers @incredibeale @empyreanwritings @frostedfavesmain @marvelsdc22 @aaron-despair @lovelyladyships @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @caws5749 @nervousspiderling @creepingwolfberry @bechloesupercorp @veteranwerewolf95 @lesbian-deadpool 

#vee is a mess #600 followers #wow #thank you

[heroofshield]

100 Days of Writing Day 22

worked on the never ending fic chapter lol. @the-wip-project

--

“You say that we’ll deal with this together but that’s not the reality of the situation. I’ll be alone in this. I’m always alone.”

“You’re the one who said you wanted to move out here. ‘Learn how to be alone’ were your exact words.”

“Well that was before I caught feelings, okay!?” Anna blinked back the tears that were starting to form. “You’re here a few days or even two weeks if we’re lucky enough. We have fun and then you go back to Rio and I’m back to being alone. I work double’s for weeks after you leave, to make up for all the shifts I trade so I can spend as much time with you when you’re here. They always joke about how they can tell when my boyfriend’s here because I’m begging people to take shifts.”

“You wanted to keep this quiet.”

“I know. And I don’t mind the cracks because it means that I actually get to see you in-person instead of through a screen.” Vision blurring, she hastily wiped the tears away. Hearing movement, she felt James wrap his arms around her and pulling her close to him. Taking another steadying breath she continued, “Sometimes it’s hard for me to get out of bed after you leave, I miss you so much. Sometimes the vidcalls and messages aren’t enough and I wonder why I keep putting myself through this.”

James felt his stomach twist with her admission. He knew it was hard, that long-distance with the uncertainty of when they’d see each other next. Running a hand through Anna’s hair he said, “I asked for the extra time because of that. Because I hate leaving just as much. Because I love you enough that if it’s a bad outcome then you won’t have to go through it alone.”

It took a second for Anna to realize what James had just said. Looking up at him she asked, “Did...did you just say you loved me?”

#100daysofwriting #mass effect #vega/ryder #wip #ryder.exe has stopped working #lol

[queen-scribbles]

OTP questions #17, 19, 23, & 28 for Bry & Jonas!

17. Who says I love you first?

Bry, I’m pretty sure. But I haven’t set that 100% in stone yet, so I might change it if I ever write the fic with the first I love yous. We’ll see.

19. Who tells their family/friends about their relationship first?

Probably Jonas, just bc Bry’s not really on speaking terms with her parents thanks to the “Whaddya mean I have a sister who’s a Jedi?” bombshell when she was seventeen. And she’s never even spoken to Vica, cuz, y’know, Jedi.

23. Who comes up with cheesy pick up lines?

Oh, both of them. They’ve even had contests to see who can be he cheesiest. It’s always a tie.

28. What do they do when they’re away from each other? 

Sulk, first off. xD Write each other when they can. Or vidcall, but that’s even rarer than a chance to write. Bry absconded with borrowed Jonas’ jacket, so she’ll wear that when she misses him a lot. Jonas watches movies or sports matches he doesn’t really have any interest in bc he knows it’s stuff Bry likes.

OTP Question Meme

#otp question meme #brykar #briyoni nerai #jonas balkar

[shionch]

Fic title: Killing Me Softly and Viva la Resistance

Oh, good ones… I had to think for a while to come up with something at least somewhat appropriate!

“Killing Me Softly”Angst. Thane misses Shepard. Six months; a blink in a healthy human’s lifetime, an eternity for a dying drell. Thane figured that Shepard was court-martialed and imprisoned, but it didn’t make the fallout any easier; Shepard is gone, unreachable. All letters are confiscated, all vidcalls blocked, all contact denied. Thane is ill and alone, stewing in the thoughts about Shepard and that night, their first and their last, not knowing if they’ll see each other again or what becomes of Shepard, of the world…What really kills Thane is not the illness, but the gnawing uncertainty and his own helplessness in the face of it.

“Viva la Resistance”Crack! Vladimir Lenin/Voldemort. Both are bald; both are bold; both want to change the world. Voldemort time-travels to pre-revolution Russia, has a steamy romance with Lenin and inspires him to fight for what he believes in. Then they have a falling-out, Voldemort zips back into his own time, Lenin has a threesome with Krupskaya and Trotsky, with Russia being the one truly fucked in the end.

Thank you, Raven

#theravenofwynter #ask #shionch memes

[bioticfox]

Heads I’m Yours, Tails You’re Mine (Ch. 2)

Here’s part two of the Venko fic @bardofheartdive and I are writing for Leather & Lace Romance week, hosted by @vorchagirl and @blueteaparty. Chapter 2 is for the Fake Relationship/Engagements/Marriage trope.

| Part 1 |

Heads I’m Yours, Tails You’re Mine, Chapter 2 (also on AO3)

There was a pot of coffee and plate of French toast and bacon waiting on the counter when James, freshly showered and dressed, made it into the kitchen. Kaidan’s plate was washed and sitting in the drying rack, the man himself was sipping a cup of coffee while looking over a print out from one of the many machines. James dropped into the chair next to him and immediately began shovelling the food into his mouth. Kaidan looked from the fork, to James’ plate, and back again, eyebrows raised and a smile on his face.

“Nothing exciting next door,” Alenko said, “but I got a message from Shepard. Apparently Liara found some new intel. They should be calling back with the details in the next hour so. Oh, and you forgot something.”

He tossed a small plastic bag across the table. James emptied its contents, a plain gold band, into his hand.

“Apparently the building has very strict tenant policy,” Kaidan continued. “Singles and married couples only. No kids, roommates, no pets.”

“I was hoping for an emerald, you know,” Vega teased, sliding it the ring finger of his left hand. “At least a decent proposal.”

Kaidan snorted. “I’ll take it under advisement.”

—

An incoming vidcall interrupted their research into the processing of red sand. Kaidan finished up a final note on his datapad aside while James answered the call. Shepard came into view with Liara at her side.

“Sitrep, Major?” the commander asked, getting right to business.

“We’re set up in the apartment,” Kaidan answered. “Naples left her apartment at 0845 local time. No activity since then.”

“That fits with her work schedule,” Shepard said, nodding. “We’ve hacked the traffic cam across the street from the restaurant. The feed shows her entering the building just after 0900.

“We’ll make our approach when she returns this afternoon,” Alenko continued. “Unless this new intel changes the plans?”

“On the contrary,” said Liara. “Our recordings have picked up three interesting conversations. Nothing yet on what they are cutting the red sand with to make it so lethal. We’re still working on breaking the the code but from what we’ve managed to decipher it appears Naples is much higher in the organisation than we initially suspected. We’ll continue to analyse the transcripts but we want you to focus on her specifically, not the ring as a whole. Get close and see what you can find.”

“Roger that.”

“Right then, we’ll leave you to it. Good luck, Major Alenko,” Shepard said. She kept a straight face but her eyes twinkled as she added, “And, Lieutenant Alenko, I suppose.”

Liara chuckled at the joke, placing a quick peck on her bondmate’s cheek. Kaidan sat stoney faced, just a barely rolling his eyes. James glanced to the band on his finger, twirling it around a few times with his thumb.

“And who says I’m taking his name, huh Lola?” he asked with a grin. “How come it’s not the other way around?”

Shepard and Liara burst into giggles and the commander cut the line without answer.

—

A meticulous plan formed for them to ‘bump into’ their neighbour.

At 1400, James went out for a run.

At 1408, the office security feed showed Gillian Naples leaving Freda’s Steakhouse and Bar to get changed before the dinner rush and Kaidan called him back.

At 1424, Kaidan greeted his ‘husband’ at the door, lingering until they ‘eventually noticed’ their neighbour and politely introduced themselves as Kaidan and James Olsen.

At 1426, the three of them were sitting in the Olsen’s living room, having coffee and getting to know each other. Just as planned.

“We just moved in yesterday,” Kaidan said. He was next to James on the couch, leaning against the lieutenant with his hand resting on his knee. “We don’t really know the area.”

“If you knew any places,” James adding, picking up where he left off. “Shops, restaurants, things to do - we’d love some suggestions.”

“Well, my family actually own a steakhouse downtown,” Naples said. “It’s the best in my completely unbiased opinion.”

“We’ll have to check it out,” Kaidan said.

James laughed and leaned toward Gillian conspiratorially. “I’m pretty sure he would have married a steak sandwich if I hadn’t asked him first.”

“We’ve got a great special going on tomorrow for Valentine’s Day,” she continued. “You should come by.”

“Sounds good to me,” James said. “What do you think, cariño?”

“Yeah, definitely,” Kaidan agreed. “We’ll do that.”

#mass effect #venko #leather&lace2018 #james vega #kaidan alenko #fake relationship/engagements/marriage #my fic #also bard's fic #fic #fluff

[bethagain]

Cloud City cleaning crews (or, how DID Luke’s lightsaber end up on Takodana?)

What the heck, I haven’t posted any fic in ages.

@culturevulture73​ mentioned the possibility that a cleaning crew at Cloud City found Luke’s (Anakin’s) lightsaber, and that that’s part of the story of how it found its way to Maz.

I just happen to have a WIP that includes exactly that scene! It’s the beginning of a long chain of events that ends with the lightsaber in that trunk in Maz’s basement.

TW for original character death, and for this being just a first chapter. I’m still figuring out the rest of it!

Maz knows what it is.

It's only existed for--her bartender’s mind does the math easily--one fifteenth of her life, but its importance looms far larger.

She doesn't know what she'll do with it. She's certainly not the one to wield the thing. But someone will. She pays the few credits that the junk dealer is asking, then stows the lightsaber in the bag with the rare ambarra juice that was the actual purpose of this trip.

It's got to be safer at her place than here.

At Cloud City. Thirty-one standard years ago.

Why Calrissian let those white-armored soldiers in, the maintenance worker didn't know. Something political, probably.

There had been a lot of excitement earlier in the day. People running around with blasters. Ships taking off without their sound dampers on, firing their propulsion engines too early and blowing out windows all across the central tower.

And now the maintenance crews would be cleaning up after it.

The maintenance worker didn’t care much for politics. As long as Calrissian signed the paychecks, he didn’t need to know what else went on. Most of the money went home to his family, the rest to the Underground Bar, where he went at the end of each day. “Underground,” that made him chuckle every time. The planet was a swirl of gases, the city floating in its sky. There wasn't any ground here for something to be under.

It wasn’t a bad life, this Cloud City gig. Steady work, nothing too complicated. Generous pay. Still, he’d be glad when his five year contract ended and he could go home. Vidcalls were good, but they weren’t the same. His little girls were growing up without him.

The maintenance worker’s team had spent the morning scrubbing scorch marks off white corridor walls. The others were still up there in the central tower, mixing repair gel to fill the holes in the duraplast. “Duraplast,” that was another good one. Aim a blaster at it and there wasn’t anything “durable” about it. Repairs were tricky, too. You had to get the gel just the right consistency, then stand there holding the flat press until it hardened up.

To be honest the whole thing could have been automated, done by droids who wouldn’t mix the gel wrong or get impatient. But the Outer Rim still respected a union.

Even a guy like Calrissian wouldn’t go up against the Anoat Maintenance Workers’ Alliance.

That was why humans were sent to clean the air vents, too. This was simple work, but work a man could do and earn a living. And just because there was a new mess to clean up, didn’t mean the regular maintenance could wait.

It was the maintenance worker's turn to go down into the shaft today. Clearing the vent was a straightforward job but it had to be done efficiently, because it meant turning off the fans that cooled the antigrav generators. Leave the fans off too long and the generators would overheat, seize up, and--nobody in Cloud City would be seeing their families, ever again.

He suited up, safety harness over a thermal jumpsuit, self-heating socks under boots with gripper soles. He slid his arms through the straps of a carry-sack that would rest against his belly, making it easy to deposit fallen items and bring them back up again. His buddy would stay at the top, roped in to the railing, feeding out the safety line.

They both wondered at the break in the rail at the end of this catwalk, at the antenna that was sheared off clean. The maintenance worker made a note in his pocket tablet. Repair needed, to be assigned.

Then he stepped off the edge, rode the rope down a few dozen meters, and nudged the power on his portable jet-pack to swing over to the first tunnel entrance. Stepping carefully on his gripper soles, he walked his way slowly down the curving wall. From the top the ventilation shaft looked endless, but it wasn’t really all that long. It was the illumination panels, with their tiny, pale lights in repeating patterns, that made it look that way. The panels were designed to go dark when a part of the system malfunctioned. Today, a quick scan told him that, in spite of the morning’s chaos, the electrical systems remained online.

He swung into the vent tunnel, gripper soles letting him walk along its slanted surface. Reaching the grid, he found a dropped pair of pincer tongs and the usual collection of wrappers from manufactured protein bars. The wind from the fans down here would whip a wrapper right out of your hand and, if you weren't careful, take your lunch along too.

The air was nearly still now, just the slightest breeze as the cooler air in the tunnel met the sun-warmed air outside.

He finished picking the slippery wrappers from the vent grating, tucked them in his carry-sack, then pulled twice on the safety line. His buddy up top let out more slack, and the maintenance worker leaned back out into the main shaft, making his way down to the next level.

This grate, too, was covered in yellow and dark green wrappers, but there was something else as well. It was something heavy, because it was down near the bottom of the grate instead of plastered against the middle. He nudged it with his foot and it made a clanking sound against the metal lattice.   

The maintenance worker tugged once on the safety line and felt the rope loosen just a bit, enough for him to shift position. He reached down and picked the thing up.

It was heavy.

The thing was a silver-colored cylinder, open at one end, with a flat disk recessed into the opening.

The disk was thin but stiff, some metal or alloy that took a clean edge and didn’t bend. Its surface was polished, like the rest of the thing. The cylinder was smooth except for the black stripes that seemed to be intended as a handgrip, and a bit of metal on a slider that seemed to be a switch.

Peering into the cylinder, he thumbed the slider toward the opening.

When the maintenance worker didn’t tug again on the safety line, his buddy called for assistance, then went down to check on him.

The wound through the maintenance worker’s head was obviously, irrevocably fatal. It was cauterized around the edges. There was nothing nearby that could have made it, just an oblong hole in the floor beside him, the metal around it still glowing with heat.

[renwritesstuff]

nanowrimo day 7: 1746 words

I feel bad not having QGA 31 up on N7 Day. Especially on the 10 year anniversary of one of the best game series’ ever: Mass Effect. It’s still a lingering love for me, all those awesome characters surrounding the awesome Commander Shepard. A love that, years later, has still stuck with me.

Here’s to you, Shepards and Ryders. You’re the best of us. Thanks for the memories.

Instead of a snippet of the WE fic I’m still jamming on, I present: the introduction to QGA chapter 31. (595 words)

To: ['Traynor, Geoffrey'; ‘Suresh-Traynor, Priya’]  15:48:31 GST, 02/05/2186 

Subject: All fine. …Seriously. 

Mum & Dad, I’m sorry I haven’t written/called/texted. I really am. I got your seven vidmails and twelve emails, thanks. Admittedly, I’ve been a little distracted. And admittedly, it hasn’t 100% just been work-work-work. …I’ll tell you later, when/if I’m ever allowed. (Not all bad news. Promise.) 

I’m staying safe and doing well. My responsibilities on the Normandy have expanded, so I’ve been quite busy as of late. I’m even something of an amateur forensic data analyst. Perhaps I missed my calling. Think the Alliance will pay to send me back to Oxford for a master’s degree? I wonder if the Fishbone Pub is still there… Kidding! I know how much you hated me working there, Mum. It was really good money, though! Another potential calling your precious daughter missed out on. I’m keeping a tally. 

I’m sorry to hear you’re pulling double shifts now, Mum. I can relate. How is being rotated from the clinic to the hospital going? Is it utter madness? I pray things will quiet down so you can return to physical therapy, your first love. That’s what happens when you’re a wicked nurse, Mum. If you were rubbish, they wouldn’t want you for everything. 

Glad to hear you’re keeping busy, Dad, even though they cancelled class at your uni indefinitely. That local citizens watch sounds like a good idea, plus you love organizing things. Our neighborhood couldn’t ask for a better unofficial copper, yea? Maybe I’m not the only one who missed their calling. We should have a Traynor family meeting and hash out all these feelings next time I’m on shore leave. 

Yes, I promise I’ll look into that “Sanctuary” thing. I think I’ve seen adverts around the Citadel as well, though I didn’t think much of it. And you say it’s stationed on Horizon? Strange. Wouldn’t we have heard about something like that being built? Especially if it’s as incredible and safe as it claims to be? And speaking of feelings, you mentioned Dr. Harper and his wife left for Sanctuary already? Have you heard any word from them about it? I’ll run some filters on social media to see if there’s any buzz about it. 

Please don’t do anything rash. As far as I can tell, Horizon has kept off the radar for the… you-know-whats. You don’t need some potential scam artists taking your money and leaving you out in the cold. 

Stay safe. I love you both. 

- Alpha Sprog (Sam) 

P.S. Rxd7, Dad. Check.

Samantha hit [Send] for the fifth time and drummed her nails on her console in irritation. These new security measures were incredibly frustrating for the Comms Specialist. 

I just want to send a bloody email to my bloody family. 

You’re the one who almost touched an incredibly dangerous Reaper artifact, Traynor. 

I know, I know. I’m already banned from vidcalls until I’m cleared of being an indoctrination threat. And I can’t even use the word “Reaper” in a bloody email. 

…Better bloody safe than bloody sorry. 

Hmph. 

Sam almost did an air fist-pump in the middle of the War Room when the process bar transitioned to “SENT.” She’d been off the clock for close to 30 minutes now, except “just gonna send one email” had turned into a tedious fiasco of rewrites. 

There was a ping to her Omni-tool from a direct message. 

[“You better not be late, Traynor. I don’t tolerate tardiness. 1600 on the dot. Tick tock.”]

The clock on Sam’s wrist read 15:51 GST.

Eep!

[”Eep. I’ll be there ASAP.”]

#ren writes #nanowrimoren #2017 #qga #qga 31 #15934/50000

[goingknowherewastaken]

Crescendo

Title: Crescendo 

Fandom: Star Trek

Relationship: Bones x Reader

Prompt: (from @kaitymccoy123) ‘Okie you get the colour orange* and the prompt “I never believed in soulmates until I met you.”’

*Orange - enthusiasm, fascination, deceit, creativity, a cold popsicle on a hot day (I interpreted this one as ‘not standing a chance’), success, jumping-up-and-down-in-your-chair-excitement, shifty eyes

Warnings: vulgarities, mentions of sex, Bones made a very stupid decision, a poor hotel room got wrecked, it got a little angsty

A/N: This is for @kaitymccoy123 ‘s The Spring Has Sprung Challenge (if for some crazy reason you still aren’t following her, go follow her! you won’t regret it!)! I already knew that I wanted to write for Bones, but when got my color and prompt I whooped because how can I have that assignment and not write a Soulmate fic??????? Soulmate fic’s are my weakness!!

In this Soulmate!AU, you receive a small, black, capsule-like Pill on your eighteenth birthday. Once it’s ingested, your Mark will appear within 24 hours and it will be your primary way of finding your Soulmate. Although, it’s not the only way you can find them. Skin-on-skin contact with your SM will result in a Bond snapping into place. The Bond will allow not only a sharing of emotions, but also a sharing of thoughts. It’s next to impossible to ignore the Bond once it’s been started.

Hope you enjoy!! :D

Crescendo

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You hissed. The eyes of your fellow medical personal could be felt staring at you from all over the hospital floor you were on, but you only focused on the pair before you. Beneath your skin, your body was thrumming from the Bond, telling you to go to him.

Hug him.

Love him.

All your mind wanted you to do was punch him.

Or worse.

“[Y/F/N],” Leo pleaded, his hands held up in front of you as if you were a startled animal. “[Y/F/N], let me explain.”

“NO!” You roared. “You - You knew - YOU KNEW! YOU FUCKING BASTARD!”

That had him wincing, but it didn’t quell the hurt in your body. Your heart. “I - Yes, [Y/F/N], I did, but you have to -”

“How long.” You cut him off, clenching your fists to hide the shaking. A movement of red by the door in your peripheral alerted you that someone called security, but you didn’t care right now. Besides, from the looks of it, they too wanted to see what was happening.

Leo gave you a pleading look. “[Y/F/N]...”

“How. Long,” you demanded.

Defeat crossed his face, and he sighed. “Since the academy.”

When the words left his mouth, you went rigid, setting your jaw and tried to blink back the tears forming in your eyes. Without another word, you whipped around and marched on out of the Yorktown Medical Center.

You didn’t stop until you were back in your hotel room and, once the door closed, you lost it.

Crash!

The tulip filled vase hit the wall.

Crack!

Your Padd smacked the bathroom door.

Thud!

The coffee table was flipped onto its top.

On and on the destruction went. Boom! Bang! Snap! Rip! It wasn’t until the entire room was in shambles that you collapsed against the wall, sliding down to curl up on the floor, cheeks soaked from your torrent of tears.

Ever since you were little, you dreamed of finding your Soulmate. 

Of finding that person who was your predestined other half and having the Bond snap into place at first touch. Your parents were Matches; their twin snowflake-like marks located on their arms. You had front-row seats to their beautiful romance, proof of the strong soulmate Bond, and you ached to have your own. So when the Pill arrived on your eighteenth birthday, you downed it without hesitating and locked yourself in your room, completely undressing, before pacing around your room in anticipation.

And when it finally happened, you nearly mistook the itch on the back of your neck as a bug bite. It was a sweep of your hand - revealing no lump - that had you hastily scrambling for a mirror. When you didn’t find one, you settled for snapping a photo with your Padd and prayed it was in frame and focused.

There weren’t rules for displaying Marks. Some people covered them, using clothes, high-grade makeup and or the special patches. Those that did were usually traditionalists - who believed that only your Soulmate was privy to your Mark - or were in law enforcement. You, though? You bared it all for the universe to see - those beautiful lines that swooped, curved, and flicked in just the right way to remind you of a soaring phoenix. Neck-exposing hairstyles became your staple and there was hardly a single piece in your wardrobe that inched up your neck.

In fact, Starfleet was difficult to adjust to. The red uniform felt like a noose around your neck and your friends were always telling you to stop pulling at the collar. The day you were cleared to begin training at the hospital, and getting to wear low-collared scrubs, was a relief.

Until you met Leonard - Leo. He was a year ahead of you - well, years ahead of you - and the moment you met his hazel eyes across the floor you knew you were fucked.

Everything about him - his sharp facial features and soft brunet hair, his broad shoulders and lean torso, his long legs and built up muscle mass - had you itching to touch him.

But you shoved it down. You had a soulmate and he, as you soon found out, an ex-wife. 

It felt wrong to want him.

So you banked on the whispers of his less-than-pleasurable personality to nip the attraction in the butt, but the months passed and the two of you grew closer - a doctor-nurse duo that ruled the ‘Fleet hospital.

More time passed.

Nero happened and Leonard got promoted, leaving you behind. You hoped the old phrase was a lie, but - alas - it wasn’t.

Each vidcall, each Comm, each message, had your heart aching more and more. Quick hookups didn’t help. Not in the least. So you did the only thing you could do; you pushed your feelings into a tiny box and threw away the key.

Then the Enterprise received new orders and he came back, but Khan’s attack fucked over your plans to meetup.

And after, between the confidential meetings and caring for Kirk, you barely saw a hair of him.

The documents declaring your posting to the Enterprise for her five year mission - to work under Leo - had you sobbing with joy.

It was then that you knew that there was no way you could ever be with your soulmate. Not after knowing Leo.

So life continued. The days blending together the deeper into The Black the ship traveled. Each moment falling more and more, your secret locked up tight inside you. Your body physically aching for anything more, but never trusting yourself with skin to skin contact.

Before you knew it, the Enterprise was docking at Yorktown just shy of her third year in space, but soon she was warping off again for an urgent rescue mission.

And then the ‘bees’ came, stealing your pod only seconds after it deployed, your captors herding everyone into holding cells once on planet. You should have been more focused on your captured crewmembers around you, but your body moved on autopilot as you checked each one over. Your thoughts had been consumed by What if?’s that you couldn’t control, each one worse than the one before it.

Then the air filled with shouts and the sound of phaser fire. You had stumbled when the crew around you pushed back to avoid being hit with metal when the lock was blasted off.

God! You wanted nothing more than to throw your arms around him right then, but everyone was too frantic to get transported away.

The Franklin’s Medbay didn’t give you your chance either. Just a few hurried looks before Leo was called away, not to return as you, Christine, and M’Benga tried to keep everyone calm during the onslaught.

When the ancient ship gave it’s final shuddering crash, everyone was in motion again. It felt like hours before you finally collapsed onto the mobile biobed in Yorktown’s hospital, physically and emotionally beat. There was something in your gut that had you picking up your head and glancing down the hectic corridor just in time to see him burst out of the turbolift, all scratched up and in a panic.

Then Leo’s eyes met yours, his shoulders dropped, and your heart lodged itself in your throat at the sight of him shoving his way to you. And, standing before you, his hand brushed briefly against your face...

Your body trembled again from the new Bond and another sob ripped its way out of your throat.

He knew! God dammit, he knew!

He knew the entire time and he never told you.

All these years - wasted - believing that you could never have him...

A rattling breath was drawn into your lungs, distracting you enough that you missed the knocking at your door. You did, however, hear the voice that filtered through it.

“[Y/F/N]? [Y/F/N], open up!”

You sucked in another breath, the Bond buzzing with the close proximity of Leo, and yelled, “Go away!”

“[Y/F/N]!” A soft thump echoed through the door. “Please let me explain,” he begged.

“No!” Your heart squeezed.

“Darlin’, please!” Your head tipped back against the wall, a new wave of tears running down your cheeks as the Bond reacted to the pain lacing his voice.

Shit! 

It was several more seconds before you weakly projected, “Okay.”

The door open, but you kept your eyes shut. You felt his shock even before he spoke. “Good God, [Y/F/N]!” When he finally spied you, a cocktail of concern and guilt wracked over you as he picked his way through the destruction. “[Y/F/N]...,” he trailed off.

A sudden spark jolted up your arm and through your body. Tugging it closer to your chest, your eyes snapped open in time to see a distraught Leo retract his hand. “Don’t,” you spat out. “Don’t touch me.”

Hurt flashed through you.

“Darlin’...,” he sat down before you, his legs folded only inches from your own. You had to grip your arms tightly around your legs to keep yourself from touching him. “I’m sorry.” You took in a measure breath, trying to keep your turmoil at bay as he continued. “I - I shouldn’t have kept this from you.”

At least he had the decency to look ashamed. 

“Why,” you ground out the word, not sure if it sounded like a question or a demand.

Leo reached down, grabbing a stray tulip and began picking at the purple petals. “It...It was too soon. The damage from the divorce was still too fresh.” 

Your jaw ticked. “You still could have told me; I would have understood.”

He sighed. “I know, but ya gotta understand - Joce and I...we were stupid.” A low chuckled rumbled from him. “Young and stupid. We met in high school - first loves and all that - thought we knew everything. Thought we’d be soulmates. She sat with me after I took my Pill.” Leo dropped a petal, moving his hand to sit above his heart and you tipped your head with faint intrigue. He never went into detail about his marriage; just called it one of his biggest mistakes. “We were both in awe of the Mark when it appeared and she started counting down the days until her birthday. God, we should have known.” Regret. “We knew people who were together with mis-matching Marks -”

“- And you thought you could be one of them,” you finished. Leo met your eyes and nodded. They were stupid, but you didn’t say that out loud. The only time people with mis-matching Marks were together was if one had lost their Mate or if they were passing the time until they met theirs. 

“She found her Mate a few years into our marriage. I didn’t know it then; I was working too much.” Anger. Frustration. “Only found out ‘cause I got off shift early and found ‘em fuckin’ in our bed -” he sucked in a breath, glancing back up to you as affection flooded your veins, causing you to draw in your own shaky breath from the intensity. It took a few seconds to realize why. Having moved on it’s own accord, your hand now sat upon his wrist; boosting the emotional transference by tenfold. You wondered silently how long it would be until actual thoughts would be shared. Leo seemed to be waiting for you to remove it, but - when you didn’t - he slowly lowered his other hand to cover your own. He watched as his thumb circled around your skin. “I was a broken man, [Y/F/N],” he continued. 

Then he met your gaze - joy. attraction. joy. love. love. love. - and you were barely able to hold back a sob at what you felt. Hazel eyes glistened with tears and a tender smile grew on his face. “And then I saw you; God, I’d never seen anyone as beautiful as you, [Y/F/N] - like an angel glowin’ under the lights. And when you turned around and I saw your Mark - I thought my heart was going to burst. I was so thrilled and so - so scared. How could anyone as beautiful as you be with someone as old and broken as me?”

You wanted to open your mouth, to disagree, to counteract his thoughts, but you couldn’t form the words. 

“I - I tried to stay away from you, but you were everywhere - on the same shift, at the same bar, in the same class - and I couldn’t help myself. Darlin’, I had to get to know you.” Leo glanced down for a moment and you took the opportunity to wipe the tears from you face. He gave your hand a small squeeze. “[Y/F/N], after the divorce, I never believed in soulmates until I met you. It was so hard to be with you and not be able to touch you, but our time apart was the most grueling time of my life and I couldn’t stand the thought of being separated any longer. I fought to get you on the ship with me - had Jim back me up. 

So - so many times I just wanted to spill everything and - I just - [Y/F/N], I’m so sor-ry,” He voice broke with his final apology and every single feeling you had locked away over the years burst forth. With a cry as your only warning, you surged forward to wrap your arms around his shoulders, burying your head into his neck. The Bond soared when his arm wrapped themselves snugly around your body, drawing you in closer.

“Oh, you stupid - stupid man,” you jabbered, swatting the back of his shoulder. “You had no fucking right to keep this from me and we -” you pulled back and grasped his teary, hopeful face “- we will be discussing your stupidity later because right now I have to kiss you because I have been denied that for way too fucking long.” And with that, you tugged his head forward to smash your lips against his. The kiss - a bruising one of desperation - had the two of you lost in a whirlwind of emotions as the Bond - ignored for so long - swelled up in your hearts like a beautiful crescendo. 

It would be hours before the two of you finally left your quarters and weeks before he was left off the hook, but never again did the two of you allow your crescendo to break. 

Let me know if you wish to be added to my taglist in general! :)

Permanent Tags: @wonders-of-the-enterprise @igiveupicantthinkofausername

#kaitymccoy123 #springhassprungchallenge #bones x reader #leonard mccoy x reader #bones #reader insert #Leonard McCoy #fanfiction #fanfic #star trek #goingknowhere #goingknowherewastaken

[starlit--dreams]

What’s Bred in the Bone: Part IV

Mass Effect: Andromeda

Jaal x Sara Ryder

A 600 year nap and a 2.5 million light-year journey to find out the answer: are humans and angara genetically compatible?

Rated M for strong language, some sexuality and violence. Alien-human pregnancy fic.

Spoilers for Jaal’s romance and loyalty mission, and end of game.

Part IV of ??? - Part I - Part II - Part III - Part V

“What do you mean that intel wasn’t sent by you?” Jaal growlled at the vidcom. Evfra’s holo-image crossed its arms, scowling.

“It. Wasn’t. Sent. By. Me,” he said again, emphasising every word. “In fact, I believe I distinctly told you that I would not involve the Resistance against Akksul.”

“If it wasn’t you, then who did?” Scott cut in.

“It came from the Resistance’s Headquaters,” Jaal said. “Code Kya-Teem-Uni. Only high ranking Resistance officers would be able to use that.”

“Damn it,” Evfra muttered.

“Sounds like you might have a mole,” Scott said. “But what I still don’t understand is why. Why would Akksul warn us? Why not lure us there, and go after Sara while we were busy? Or just try to get us out of the way right then?”

“He claimed it was for honor,” Jaal snorted. “But I believe it’s more for his Roekaar’s benefit than ours. I doubt they could all stomach such a thing without a warning issued first.”

“And I don’t appreciate you accusing my men and women of being moles for the Roekaar,” Evfra growled.

“What other explanation is there?” Scott asked, irritated. “If the code is only for high level Resistance -- ”

“Be at peace,” another voice broke in, and a new figure appeared in holo, next to Evfra’s image.

“Moshae Sjefa -- ”

“I sent the message,” she said matter-of-factly. “Though I didn’t think Akksul would even consider such a thing.” Jaal could hear the strain in her voice, a break in the undertones. The sorrow. He let out a deep breath. All of this and she still loved Akksul so much. She still harboured such a blind spot for the man. It was… disappointing. And heartbreaking, in a way.

“Really? You didn’t think the man with the anti-alien agenda would consider hybrid children to be anathema?” Scott started, voice getting heated.

Three pairs of hard angara eyes locked on him, and the human abandoned the train of thought.

“I thought Akksul just wanted to exchange words with Jaal,” the Moshae sighed. “I was wrong.”

“He did,” Scott sighed, letting go of his anger. “But now I think he’s going to back up those words with action.”

“And what will you do?” the Moshae asked. It was not in her usual sharp, unfettered tone. It was soft, almost defeated.

“We plan to bring Sara back onto the Tempest,” Jaal explained. “Then Akksul can’t find her so easily.”

“Well, good enough for now,” Evfra grunted. “But that’s not a long term solution.”

“We thought -- ”

“The answer is no. The Resistance will not get involved in this. Take her back to her own people, Jaal.”

“She is my wife,” he said slowly. “She is family.”

“No. The Council certainly has not decided such a thing. The Assemblage hasn’t even begun to discuss it. She has no rights under our laws.”

“She could become it,” the Moshae spoke up, a hint of her old fire back in her voice. “The Council and the Assemblage will most certainly have to address it, especially if the Ama Darav family puts pressure on the Provincial Governor. Aren’t they related by marriage to your sister’s husband’s family?”

“To my cousin Tael’s husband, they are,” Jaal confirmed. “I will speak with my mothers about it. Certainly the family has taken Sara in as one of us.”

“Use that,” the Moshae said, her voice getting stronger. “Sara must gain citizenship if you are to protect her from Akksul.”

He nodded at his former mentor, but a wave of sadness washed over him. He wasn’t entirely sure she was giving him advice for his and Sara’s sake, or Akksul’s. And the thought was crushing.

Scott ended the vidcall with the press of a button. “That went well.”

Jaal just glanced at him, and the human visibly flinched. He realized after a moment that he had misread Jaal’s guarded expression for anger, and the angara turn to face him more openly.

“I’m not angry,” he explained. “Just… weary.”

Scott ran a hand through his short hair -- the same color as his sister’s. They looked remarkably alike, although he still had trouble telling some humans apart. But they were twins, there was no mistaking that. Even from the way their eyes flicked as they were thinking about what to say, or how they rocked on the balls of their feet when they were excited about something.

“Look… Jaal. I know we don’t know each other very well. But we both love Sara, and I think we both will do whatever it takes to keep her safe. And the twins, too. I’d like us to be friends. And to trust each other.” He offered Jaal his hand.

It was all Jaal could to laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Scott asked, sounding a little hurt.

“You sister did the same thing when we first met,” he explained, grinning at him. And he took Scott’s wrist the same way he did Sara’s so long ago, correctly positioning it before laying his arm against it.

“We’re family now, Scott,” Jaal said. “And angara take that seriously.”

“I think it’s a good idea,” Lexi said as Sara lay down on the medbay bed.

“Of course you do -- so you can monitor me all the time.”

“Yes,” the asari said, “but I also think it’s good for you, Sara.” She pulled Sara’s shirt up, revealing her rounding belly in all its glory. “The Tempest is your home.”

“I just… wanted Havarl to be, too.”

“It can be, one day,” Lexi soothed, putting her hands on Sara’s belly and beginning to feel. She measured from public bone to the top of her belly -- the fundal height, she told Sara -- and said she was measuring well.

“Besides, we’re hoping it will give the marriage legitimacy,” she said. “There are… political benefits, too.”

“Wouldn’t actually living with your husband do the same?” Lexi deadpanned.

“Well… I don’t know. Maybe.”

“And you are Pathfinder. They can’t exactly expect you to give that up, legitimate or not. Pregnant or not.”

“Weren’t all of you telling me that I shouldn’t be doing a Pathfinder’s work anymore?”

“Well, certainly not the getting shot at part,” Lexi said, sighing and starting a full body scan. “Your levels look good. Iron’s a bit off… SAM, please bring up the comparison stats for angara. Looks like it’s within range for both species, although I think you need to add more iron-rich foods to your diet.”

Sara groaned. “I’m already eating enough, doc.”

“Just add some more spinach to your morning breakfast shakes,” she teased. “Has the nausea passed?”

“Mostly, but -- ” the rest of her sentence died on her lips. There was something… something different. A fluttered feeling, in her stomach, but lower. Like a butterfly caught in a net. “Oh.”

“What?” Lexi asked sharply, turning her attention back to Sara.

“I-I think… I think I felt them.” Her voice was a choked whisper, eyes wide. She felt like vomiting.

“Let’s see what they’re up to,” Lexi said, bringing up a scan of Sara’s womb. Two tiny figures appeared in 3-D in a holo. It shocked Sara to see them.

They weren’t human. They looked far more angara than that. But they didn’t look like angara either. Sara covered her open mouth in shock.

“It’s alright, Sara,” Lexi soothed. “They actually look a lot like the scans of angara fetuses I’ve seen.” The doctor looked amused at her, and Sara flushed with heat. Tears stung in her eyes. How could she laugh at her like this? So much worry came crashing out at once, releasing as angry tears.

Lexi was taken aback. “Oh, Sara, I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.” She went immediately to Sara’s side and wrapped her arms around the woman’s shoulders. “I apologize. I should have been more sensitive about your worries. But just from glancing at the scan, they look fairly normal, Sara. I still need to do an in depth anatomical scan, but I think they have a chance.”

That only made Sara cry harder, and curse the pregnancy hormones. Exasperated. Lexi asked SAM to call Jaal to the medbay to calm Sara down, only to get a reply that he was in a vidcom call and couldn’t come at the moment.

She called Suvi instead, who brought three mugs of steaming tea and a blanket for Sara, which the women wrapped her in.

“I’m sure Jaal will come when he can,” Suvi said in her soothing brogue. “Meanwhile, do you mind if I be in here Sara? I don’t want to impose, but -- ”

“It’s fine,” Sara replied, sighing as she finished her tea. “It’s the least I can do for you sharing your tea with us.”

“I never studied much biology,” Suvi said, sitting next to Sara and holding her hand. “But, oh, what miracles these wee things are.”

Lexi started up the scan again, and Sara’s heart lurched. She gave Suvi’s hand a squeeze, and the other gave her one in return.

The legs were digitigrade, curled up against their bellies. Tiny fists were curled up in little balls at the end of thin, tiny arms. Sara could see that their hoods were starting to develop, though they would only really develop after birth, she was told.

“Fraternal twins,” Lexi said.

“Like Scott and I,” Sara said, blinking back tears. One of the twins stretched out their legs, and Sara could actually feel it as she watched it happen. It was amazing.

Lexi began to measure on the scan, taking images and making notes on each.

“Everything okay?” Sara asked nervously.

“I’m not seeing any major defects, but I am still somewhat unfamiliar with angaran fetal development. I am working with several colleague within the Initiative as well as the Angaran government on your pregnancy. When we’ve discussed the scans, we’ll know more.” She looked at Sara, and sighed. “I don’t want to give you false hope, Sara. There could be something I’m not seeing.”

“But right now, there is still hope?”

“Yes,” Lexi said, smiling softly. “There is still hope.”

The medbay door slid open, and Jaal stalked through. “I am sorry I didn’t come...” his voice trailed off when he saw the holo image of the twins in Sara’s womb. Transfixed, he stepped closer, mouth slightly ajar.

“Those are…?”

“I’m sorry we started without you, Jaal,” Lexi said. “But I really needed to get this scans off to Aya and the Nexus to get them back at any reasonable time.”

He broke off to fix Lexi with his stare. “Those are my children,” he said plainly.

“Here, Jaal,” Suvi pipped up, wanting to break the sudden tension. “Come take my place.” She scrambled out of the way, dropping Sara’s hand. “Sara just needed a little moral support while you were busy.”

Wordlessly, Jaal went to his wife’s side, taking her hand and smoothing back her hair.

“Do you want to know the genders?” Lexi added, trying to lighten the mood.

“No -- ”

“Yes -- ”

“Ah,” Sara said, flushing. “You don’t want to know?”

“You do?” Jaal returned.

“I -- yes, I do. You know, so we can pick out names and get clothes ready.”

Jaal sighed. He sounded so… tired. “If it makes you happy, dearest. I only care if they are healthy.”

Lexi looked to Sara.

“I’ll… hold off on it, doc. Just for now. Maybe when you get the results back we can find out to celebrate.”

“Sounds like a good plan to me,” the asari said. She resumed her notations, and Sara watch Jaal’s face as he studied the holo.

“Do they look… normal?” she asked timidly.

“I… haven’t seen many fetal scans. They are considered very private, Sara.”

“Oh. Humans love to share theirs. I always thought they looked like al-- uh, like little demons or something.”

Jaal gave her a bemused look. “Don’t go showing them around Aya. Although Sahuna will probably ask to see them, in a roundabout fashion.”

“Do angara share the scans with their family?”

“It depends on their bond. Do you share your very personal, intimate details with your brother?”

“Not… all of them,” Sara said, making a face.

“And there is your answer.” He still chuckled at her. She sighed, starting to relax despite herself. Somehow, he always made her feel safe. When they had first met, he could be prickly and sarcastic, but even when his words were the same, his tone of voice was never mocking. She felt she could be the most honest person she was with him.

Lexi was very thorough with her scan, but Sara didn’t complain. She didn’t want a single thing missed, either. When she was finally allowed up off the bed, she had to pause a moment. Tenderly, she took Jaal’s massive hand in hers and pressed it firmly to her belly, just in time to catch the end of a large flutter of movement: the twins protesting at Mama changing position so quickly.

The grin that spread across Jaal’s face was indescribable. He pulled her into his arms, cradling her tenderly. Only Sara’s protests of needing the bathroom in a hurry made him let go.

#jaal x sara ryder #jaal ama darav #rydarav #mass effect andromeda #sara ryder #whats bred in the bone

[ohlawsons]

'Desire is no light thing' for sophie and reyes?

VIDCALLS 03 | re: you move me more than any song [ ao3 ] [ ffn ]

It’s heavy, and it pulls her down like a comfortable weight and she surrenders without a thought. It presses in on her, coils in her chest and the pressure is so familiar – so normal – that it’s intoxicating. Tartarus is loud but it can’t drown it out; the deep bass thrums in her ears, keeping time with her pulse, but when he speaks his voice cuts through the noise and she’s enraptured.

She runs a hand through sweat-damp hair, catches a lip between her teeth when she knows he’s watching, and when he leaves for the bar she follows. He orders a beer – makes it two – and she lounges back against the bar and loudly mourns the loss of all the good tequila she had back home. He watches her as she talks, spinning stories out of half-truths to keep from crumbling beneath the weight of the desire; she returns his gaze, doing less to hide the way her eyes linger.

The beer’s cheap but she drinks it anyway, because he’s finally paying and she never turns down free alcohol, and sometime after her third bottle the atmosphere begins to get to her again; the slow beat of the music, the heady energy from the dance floor, the occasional brush of contact she shares with him – it pulls at her, tugs her down, and her patience bends and buckles and snaps.

Let’s get out of here. 

She manages coy where she feels desperate, feigns composure where she has none, and the locks on the door to his upstairs room haven’t even clicked into place before she’s reaching for him; she grabs at his shirt, pulling him closer as she lets herself back flush against the wall. One of his hands rests on the wall beside her and the other grips at her waist and her hip and the small of her back, pulling her in and holding her close as if she isn’t already pressed against him. 

It’s a distraction – an excuse, something to hide behind so they don’t have to trip and stumble over their words – but she doesn’t care, because the way he moans against her parted lips is so much better than fucking up a conversation about her feelings, anyway. It’s a conversation that’s long past due, and she thinks about stopping, thinks about the well-rehearsed opening line that’s worn itself into her thoughts – I’ve been falling in love with you and it’s crazy but everything in Andromeda’s been crazy and I think if anyone has a chance, it’s us – but instead she tugs at his bottom lip with her teeth, rolls her hips against him, and prays to Suvi’s god for the courage to have that conversation one day.

He says something she doesn’t catch, something whispered – maybe a curse, maybe a confession, maybe a prayer of his own but it’s lost beneath her own labored breathing. He says her name, next, and she catches it, catches the heat and desire in that single word and her heart stutters in her chest as that warm pressure encircles her again; she doesn’t beg but she demands, and as one of his hands slips beneath the waistband of her shorts she instructs him, and her voice shakes as she gasps but it doesn’t matter, because he knows her as well as she knows him and so much between them goes unspoken yet understood.

And it isn’t just the sex – and this isn’t just sex, it’s more than just drinking and fucking and leaving – but she doesn’t admit that, doesn’t allow herself to have someone who knows all of her flaws and secrets and shortcomings. She’s reckless, and she’s ruined whole parts of her life because of it, but this one stupid, thoughtless decision to trust a man who wouldn’t even pay for his own whiskey is one of the best choices she’s ever made, and it isn’t fair that it’s a liar and a criminal who’s completely unraveled her and so effortlessly drawn the truth from her.

Except he’s gone and made a liar out of her, too, because she holds her confession back and it holds her down and she sometimes wonders if she’ll collapse under the weight of it or if the stress of being Pathfinder will get to her first.

It would be a simple thing to admit – she’s said it before, after all, to other men and women only half as deserving – but it’s his name that rolls off her lips, falling quieter as she steadies herself and his hand withdraws and her gasping breaths grow calmer. But her heart still races and her mind keeps pace, because she wants him but she’s always wanted him and it’s different now – there’s a weight to it, like everything between them is at stake and it pulls at her until she can’t ignore it.

I love you. I love you and it scares me and I don’t know how to tell you.

So she doesn’t tell him – she kisses him and says your turn and presses a hand to his chest to guide him backwards to the couch. The words stick at the back of her throat so she drops into his lap and kisses him again, because they have nothing but time and she is, occasionally, capable of being patient, so rather than speak she gives in and surrenders to the comfortable weight of the desire that’s settled over her.

#sootspritesprinkles #brooke replies #i apologize bc 1) this prompt is way old and 2) i have no idea where this concept came from but tumblr ate my first attempt #and this one is Not As Good #brooke writes things #sophie ryder #fic: sophie #otp: steal the stars #vidcalls fic

[lafaiette]

Under Stars

I feel like there were some scenes missing in the game, such as Ryder talking about their LI to their sibling or even introducing them to each other. So the first fic of this series is about the latter! More will come later.

The title comes from the awesome ending song of the game, "Under Stars" by AURORA.

Also on AO3

In which Jaal meets Scott Ryder, brother of his Darling One, still trapped in his comatose state.

“Would you like to meet my brother?”

She asks the question with hope mixed to anxiety, as if she almost expects him to say no.

What Jaal feels is incredible joy, followed by gratefulness. He feels flattered, honored, and hurries to tell her so, grabbing her hand and placing it against his chest, holding it there.

“My Darling One!” His eyes shine with enthusiasm and he gives her a loud, full kiss that leaves her cheeks adorably red.

Then he remembers Scott’s actual conditions and he calms down a bit, asking softly: “How is he?”

“Harry said he is recovering quickly, but he still needs time.” Ryder – Chloe, Jaal corrects himself – looks down, sadness replacing the relief and happiness that appeared in her eyes when Jaal accepted her offer.

He makes a low sound and rests his forehead on hers, smiling when she looks up at him again and smiles back.

“If he is as strong and stubborn as you, he will awaken in no time.” he says and that causes her to chuckle and nod.

Her sadness goes away and Jaal breathes better. He doesn’t like seeing her sad; only joy and smiles should be on his Darling One’s lovely face.

“You were able to talk to him thanks to SAM, last time.” he recalls as he puts on his Rofjinn that he neatly folded and left on her bed.

“Yes, but it still took a toll on him.” she explains, busy with her shoes that she refuses to wear when she is in her quarters, far from responsibilities and vidcalls. She stops, looking at his Rofjinn, then giggles and helps him smooth a corner of it and buckle the last clasps.

Jaal’s cheeks grow hotter at that and Chloe knows him well enough now to see when he’s blushing; she smiles smugly at him, presses a playful peck on the scar on his face and continues placidly, pretending to ignore the fire in his eyes and his own smile: “I’d like to hear his voice again and introduce you to him in a better way, but Harry and SAM said we shouldn’t use our implants to communicate again.”

“That would be the most advisable course of action, Chloe.” SAM confirms and Jaal could swear there is a hint of sorrow in his modulated voice. “Scott is still weak and interacting with the outside world, even via implants, would be a strenuous activity for his body.”

“It is alright. Even if he cannot hear me, I will never stop telling him how wonderful and special his sister is.”

He cradles her face in his large hands and rubs his thumbs on her cheeks, watching as her previous playfulness turns into that sweet, delicate look she has only for him, her eyes – so full of love - brighter than the stars shining over Havarl, richer than the deep waters of Aya, more beautiful than anything Jaal ever saw in his war-filled life.

“I… I told him about us, although he still couldn’t hear me then.” she admits, resting her hands on his chest, right where his heart is. “And then I thought you should really meet him, since you are now part of the Ryder family too.” She grins at him, remembering what they consider it to be their first date, the visit to his family house.

“You introduced me to your family, after all! It’s only fair I do the same with mine.” She smirks and glances affectionately at where SAM’s holographic figure is. “Although you already met one of its members.”

A short pause, then SAM replies: “Thank you, Chloe.”

Jaal didn’t know AI could sound so emotional.

Again, he is overwhelmed by that great feeling of gratification and love that she provokes in him; the fact that she wants him to meet the only (human) member of her family left, the most precious thread to her old home that she has, leaves him unable to speak and think coherently.

It’s such a big honor that he doesn’t quite know how to react, so he follows the angaran way: a wide, bright smile and a tight hug followed by a kiss, so loud and wet that Chloe giggles through it and later comments that probably everyone on the Tempest heard them.

She doesn’t look bothered by it. On the contrary, she is more open than ever now and she calls him “sweetheart”, “love”, and “darling” in front of everyone just as much as he does, even when they are on the Nexus.

He knows it’s a great deal for humans, to be so open with their emotions and relationships in public.

To be honest, it seems it’s a big deal for all the aliens coming from the Milky Way, especially turians and salarians, who often look at him and Chloe with surprise, mixed to confusion and sometimes annoyance, every time they walk through the Nexus hand in hand.

Or perhaps it’s simply because of him: he is the alien, according to them, so it must be strange to see him and a fellow human from their same galaxy stroll around while sharing sweet stares and kisses.

But he isn’t ashamed of their relationship – he would announce it through the comms of the Initiative base if he could - and he is incredibly relieved that she isn’t either. It fills his heart with a sensation akin to bliss, a flutter of suns that burn in him whenever she kisses his cheek or squeeze his hand or calls him “love”.

When he is with her, it’s like he is standing under the stars, a veil of light and sparkles that covers him like a mantle, a warm blanket of space dust, and nothing bad can ever come from that: only love and joy and peace, a gift from the stars themselves, a reminder that not all arrivals are bad, that beyond the endless vastness of the sky there are also kindness, beauty, and wisdom.

A new home, he thinks as the Tempest softly lands on the docking bay of the Nexus and Kallo and Suvi wave at them as they head out.

Chloe is nervous and she readily tells him so: not because he is finally going to see her brother – even if he is in a comatose state -, but because that’s exactly what the problem is. His comatose state, that deep, medically induced sleep that prevents him from sharing her experiences, traveling with them on the Tempest, living his life as he dreamed to do before the departure from the Milky Way.

SAM, calm and collected as always, offers reassurance about Scott’s conditions and Jaal gets the impression that happens fairly often; he frowns, ashamed he didn’t see the signs before, and offers comfort in his own way, holding tightly her hand and sending light electricals impulses through her skin.

Chloe snorts, ticklish, and elbows him, but never lets his hand go.

“He is going to wake up soon.” Jaal promises her, even though he isn’t a doctor, even though he doesn’t actually know the details about Scott’s conditions. But he stills feels it is true, he believes it, and Chloe does too.

SAM agrees as well and Jaal is sure to hear gratefulness in his tone as the AI says: “Mr. Ama Darav is right. There is no need to worry.”

He wonders for a moment what role SAM fills in this little family – uncle? Cousin? Brother? -, then Chloe steals all his attention with her words, touch, and voice.

They don’t let anyone take this moment from them. They know she will have to go talk with Tann and the others soon, that there are many people she needs to meet, many duties and tasks she needs to perform.

He feels guilty: he wants to take off some of that weight from her shoulders, but he is not a Pathfinder, he is not even human or part of the Initiative. He can only be there to support her, give her advice, be sure she is safe from any danger, eats, drinks, rests, and has fun.

“Jaal, that is already too much.” she told him once, after he talked to her about this.

“How could it be, my love?” he replied and he knew his guilt and sorrow were transparent on his face, because she sighed fondly and stroked his cheek – the scarred one -, saying: “Jaal. You help me immensely just by being here with me.”

“I will always be with you.”

Another promise he knows will come true and she knew that too, because she blushed, smiled, and cuddled into his arms.

That memory causes a mild electromagnetic surge in his body and she feels it through her hand; she squeals and he gasps, horrified, but before he can apologize and check her hand for any wound or burn, she starts laughing and kisses him, arms wrapped around his neck.

They are on the tram, on their way to the Cryo Bay, alone: Jaal wraps his arms around her, feels the soft, but toned skin under her shirt, and the curious bumps on her chest – Liam told him they are called breasts – are pressed against him.

Their kisses are always sweet, sometimes languid, often deep with a lot of tongue, but there is a certain innocence to them that is born out of their inexperience: he only ever got and gave one kiss, so long ago, and Chloe never even did that, at least until they kissed in his room.

When he learned that was her first kiss, he apologized for half an hour straight, cursing himself for choosing such a bland, silly, embarrassing place and way to ask her to be together.

“It should have been more poetic.” he lamented, mortified, almost on the verge of tears, but Chloe hugged him and held him, saying softly, the stars outside the Tempest reflected in her beautiful, alien eyes: “It was. What’s more poetic than becoming part of your boyfriend’s past and family?”

This kiss in the tram isn’t much different from the many others they shared before, but Jaal realizes they are reaching that stage of a relationship where things can only go two different ways: either remain as they are or proceed further, into that mysterious territory where bodies meet and souls are laid bare as well.

He still hasn’t gotten the courage to ask her what she would like to do – no matter what she chooses, he would be immensely happy all the same.

But should she be happy and willing to become one with him physically too, he would need to be prepared, know everything about the human body, to avoid her any discomfort and pain.

He believes she would like to enter such a stage with him, if the way she kisses him and touches him is anything to go by, but he doesn’t dare assume, so he will wait until he has gathered more courage to ask her and the moment is right.

Making out – that’s how humans call it – in a tram heading to the Cryo Bay where his brother is sleeping in a coma surely isn’t the right way to initiate this conversation, but her lips are so soft and the little moans that escape her mouth whenever his bioelectricity flows through her send sparkles of love and pleasure through his heart and body.

The tram is slowing down and Jaal forces himself to gently pull away; her cheeks are flushed red, her smiling lips are shiny with saliva, and there is a dreamy glint in her half-lidded eyes.

He groans and goes back to kissing her, broad hands moving to the small of her back.

“Darling One.” he breathes, nuzzling her cheek after breaking the kiss. “I adore you.”

“I adore you too, Jaal.” she says, her smile softer, eyes as clear as the sky of Aya.

He wonders if the sky of Earth was like that too.

The door of the tram opens just as they pull away from each other and they get out, ignoring the curious stares they get from the humans boarding the tram.

Hand in hand once again, they walk down the stairs, the white space of the Cryo Bay laying open in front of them, just through the door, a welcoming, but also somewhat cold sight.

People are supposed to be asleep only for a certain amount of time, Jaal thinks. So much can happen in just one second, so many things can be missed in a single moment. Six-hundred years are already too many.

Chloe seems to think the same as they enter the room and her eyes move to the only body laying down on one of the beds.

The doctors and the rest of the staff of the Hyperion stare at Jaal, mostly because he is a new, unexpected sight on the human Ark.

Everything here feels and looks different to him: from the beds to the colors – the Resistance infirmary on Aya looks much warmer -, from the machines and equipment to the screens and scans.

But among that slight unfamiliarity, he glimpses something that he knows well too, even though it shouldn’t be: Chloe’s same hair color and nose, resting on a white bed.

“Scott.” she calls softly, before exchanging a look with Harry, the doctor standing near the bed.

“Hello, Chloe.” the man greets her, putting his datapad aside. “No changes, I’m afraid. But his conditions are stable and his brain activity is as good as ever.”

“Thank you, Harry.” She smiles and the doctor smiles too, before looking at Jaal, head slightly tilted sideways.

“And your friend is…?”

“Jaal Ama Darav.” Jaal responds, keeping his voice low. He knows his usual booming tone would be badly appreciated in such a place. Infirmaries, no matter the species, are places of rest and comfort.

He knows he should add something to his name. The reason why he is here or perhaps his role on Chloe’s ship – Jaal Ama Darav, angaran envoy? Jaal Ama Darav, member of the angaran Resistance?

What he most wants to reveal is his role in Chloe’s life.

He glances at her for a second, mouth opening without letting any sound out, but she comes to his help and her words ignite an unquenchable flame in his heart.

“He is my boyfriend.” One of the human words for taoshay. His chest swells with pride and joy. “I wanted him to meet Scott.”

Harry looks admirably unfazed by the news; his lips curl into another smile, genuine affection and respect in his eyes, and he says: “I see. I’m happy to meet you, Jaal. I’m sure Scott will be too.”

Jaal smiles back and thinks this human is a good man. He already likes him and he feels the urge to clasps his arm or pat his back, but he holds himself back, not wanting to embarrass him or Chloe.

Harry nods at her and Jaal and goes away – “I’ll give you a moment, then.” -, moving to the other side of the room to take care of another patient who just got out of cryo.

Scott looks paler than Chloe or perhaps it’s the bright light that makes him look like that, but Jaal can’t help but think about the snow-white flowers that grow on Havarl, whose frail, delicate petals can be broken by the faintest of winds, whose life lasts only a few days, a perennial cycle of death and rebirth.

He pushes that morbid thought out of his mind and takes the chair that Chloe offers him; she sits at his side and together they look at her sleeping brother, at his chest slowly moving up and down, at the slight twitch of his brow that indicates he’s dreaming.

“Hi, Scott.” Chloe starts, reaching out for one of his hands on his chest. “This is Jaal. Jaal Ama Darav.” A smile splits her face in half. “He is my boyfriend. Don’t freak out, he is the best man in this galaxy. You’ll love him.”

Jaal laughs, blushing hard, and takes her hand, holding it on his thigh. He clears his throat, looking at the familiar face of Scott and tries to speak.

It’s difficult to talk to someone who cannot reply and probably even hear what he’s saying.

Angara never talks without a reason and when they speak to someone they always send their message across loud and clear; there are intention and meaning behind their words and to just pronounce them without receiving a reaction makes Jaal feel nervous, as if there is no real communication with the other member of the conversation.

Even when they want to stay silent, angara announce it before doing so and the others around them know how to act and react. Here, Scott is trapped in his silence and Jaal’s words cannot reach him, like a signal sent through the stars never really arriving anywhere, forever traveling through space without someone to catch it.

But, he suddenly realizes, someone is here: Scott, even if he cannot hear and answer, and Chloe, who can hear everything.

She is the stars which will bring his message home, which will guard it through its journey through space, until Scott can finally hear it. She is, after all, his twin, his specular image, another half of him. She is partially made of his same stardust.

“Hello, Scott.” Jaal starts and he hears Chloe let out a relieved sigh. She probably feared she had put him in an embarrassing situation and he squeezes her hand to let her know everything is alright.

“It’s an honor to meet you, brother of my Darling One.” he continues, moving his other hand and resting it upon the man’s shoulder. “Chloe told me many things about you! You were born a few minutes after her and your favorite color is green, because that’s what your favorite story character liked to wear.”

Chloe lets out a tiny giggle and Jaal grins.

“You will have to tell me a lot about your sister once you wake up. She refuses to reveal her embarrassing secrets to me, even after I showed her mine.” He shoots her a pointed look, pretending to be offended.

He fails terribly, he knows that, because Chloe giggles harder and shakes her head at him.

“They were not embarrassing, Jaal.”

“I know.” He grins and looks at Scott again. “I’ll show them to you too. You are family now.” He pauses, then starts again: “My true mother and siblings will want to meet you. You know, Teviint, one of my sisters, is an amazing woman. You might like her.”

“Jaal. Are you seriously trying to matchmake our siblings?” Chloe sounds astounded, but in a good, amused way.

He smiles innocently, already imagining their joined families.

“Maybe?” He turns back to Scott. “Lathoul is a great man and warrior too. He would treat you well.”

“Jaal.”

He gasps, a sudden thought coming to mind.

“I want to know how Chloe was like when she was little.”

“I can tell you that!” she protests, laughing and smacking his arm. “I even have pictures!”

“You, my love, are a biased source.” Jaal smiles smugly, pinching her hand. “I know you would only show me the pics you consider the best, ignoring the rest.”

“The rest is a terrible collection of me with snot on my nose and messy hair sticking out in all directions.”

“So? I love that too. That is part of who you are as well.” He brings her hand to his chest, momentarily forgetting about Scott, and saying with all the sincerity in the universe: “I love everything about you.”

Chloe splutters and blushes, hiding her face against his shoulder. He laughs, the sound echoing in the vast room, and many turn to look at them, surprised by that noise that surely isn’t heard often there, at least not so loudly.

“Ah! I apologize!” Jaal babbles, hoping nobody will ask them to leave the Cryo Bay, but Chloe is smiling and her blush has spread to her neck.

“You are adorable.” she says, making him smile happily, then she turns to her sleeping brother: “Just so you know, he is always like this. So prepare for a lot of genuine, heartfelt compliments.”

Scott doesn’t answer, but Jaal knows he will someday. Soon.

He watches his Darling One talk, her smile wide and bright, her composure relaxed as she leans onto him and slides her arm under his. Jaal brushes his cheek against her hair, enjoying its texture and scent, and he often intervenes in the one-sided conversation, which now feels natural, as if Scott can really hear them thanks to some magical intervention, even though he knows it’s not true.

They talk about simple, small stuff; the fact that Alec Ryder is dead and Chloe is the new Pathfinder is a secret, but Scott knows about the busted Golden Worlds, so they feel relaxed and tranquil enough to talk about those.

Their efforts are giving good results and hope is growing in Heleus. Even if Scott cannot hear them, it just feels right to inform him.

They spend more than an hour there, until SAM informs them that Tann is looking for the Pathfinder after learning of her presence on the station.

With a sigh, Chloe stands up, followed by Jaal; she squeezes her brother’s hand and gently places it back on his chest, murmuring: “See you later, little bro.”

Jaal stares down at the pale human for a long time. He likes to think of him as his brother-in-law and tries to imagine what his reaction will be, after learning of his sister’s relationship with him.

From what Chloe told him, he is fairly sure it will be good.

His respect and affection for the young man grow, even though this is only their first encounter and their peculiar conversation was rather short.

After a moment of hesitation, he leans down and wraps his arms around the still, warm body, slightly lifting him from the bed. Chloe and SAM don’t protest, so he guesses it’s alright and that he isn’t putting the young man in danger.

He gently lies Scott back onto the bed, pats his shoulder and says: “We will come back soon, brother.” A short pause, then: “I will take care of Chloe, I swear it to you.”

That’s his third most important promise and there in the Cryo Bay, hand in hand with his Darling One under a sea of stars, Jaal knows Scott believes him too, because there is the faintest hint of a smile on his dreaming face.

#mass effect #me:a #jaal ama darav #jaal #jaalryder #lafaiette's fic #My Chloe Ryder isn't actually customized #I chose the default/Sara look for her #but changed her name into Chloe because Sara is my little cousin's name and it would have been too weird to hear it in the game #especially during romantic scenes #The default look really grew on me by the way ; v ; #English isn't my first language so I apologize for any typo and mistake! It's also 4AM here right now so I should probably head to bed. ;_;

[acequeenking]

Andromeda: Eos mission + Tempest thoughts

Observations on the second mission in the game and the first run through of the tempest. Cut for Andromeda spoilers, though I’m pretty sure I’m one of the last to clear this at this point:

Thoughs on Eos:

- I overall liked the introduction of Peebee and Drack. I kind of wish they joined you sooner (particularly Drack, who literally goes "no like I'll ever join you" only to join you about fifteen minutes and maybe half a mile later...) , but I feel like both had good introductions that show off their characteristics. Drack is a competent warrior AND combative, volatile; not a fool. Peebee is intellectual, quick-witted, curious and has more than a few commitment issues - heh.

- The squad-mate conversations pop up more frequently than in Inquisition, and are pretty delightful. I triggered one with Liam admitting he's more protective of Ryder around Peebee, and one of Cora and Vetra chit-chatting about the Nexus/Initiative.

- Still a lot Shady about the Initiative. The two first colonies seem woefully unprepared. Loved poking around the old colonies and seeing the memory files, reading the emails, etc. It really does give the place a feeling of history. And not a positive one.

- I really, really don't like the "radiation" gimmick as a way to keep you out of places. It makes it frustrating to travel far at all, and I feel like once I fix the atmosphere, the radiation should well, be gone. Was v. disappointed to see that was not the case.

- Mining is...not well explained. I sent out a couple probes but also felt like it was a total waste because despite it marking the land as SUPER RICH I got like two aluminium. The chart never seemed to change driving along? Also tbh kind of think it made way more sense the way ME2 did it, with the probing being from space rather than from the planet itself.

- Love the failed settlements quest-lines; wish it was easier to scan the bodies for the remembering teh dead one. Twice the game told me "oh there's a body" in dialogue only for it to be nowhere near me, and lead to half an hour of scanning. Quite like how side-quests are labeled tasks; like that these tasks feel more meaningful than the fetch quests in DAI. (For example, DAI would have a LOT of missions that are just "find a logging camp!" and in this one it's more "find my brother's favorite spot and put a memorial down for him"; it feels more connected to the characters and the world.)

- I am a bit addicted to scanning. So. Much. Flavor. Text. PLUS IT REWARDS ME FOR DOING IT. It's goign to Be a Problem. Also I'm a bit paranoid I'll miss something if I don't scan it.

- You can very much tell this is Bioware Montreal's first big game. It's a good game, but man there are a few things I wish were more obvious, like which doors work in settlements and which don’t; the lack of explanation in the mining mini-game and the bit about removing the energy fields (which had me quite flummoxed, especially since one of them never activated, because it was waiting for kett reinforcements to pop up, which ...didn't the first time I played the game, and led to me having to redo it), and the odd double-steps to do some things, like telling Kandros you'll help with strike teams, only to get "ERROR PERMISSION DENIED" when you try it on your ship...because you didn't vidcall him to listen to him say "YOU CAN CHECK YOUR TERMINAL PATHFINDER =D". ME1-3 sidestepped most of these issues through just more solid game design; glowing green/red doors and explaining about deviating-from-the-norm segments with either onscreen directions or by popping out puzzles into their own game-play segments. That doesn't make Andromeda bad, but it does show that Andromeda 2 will likely be better if they're smart. ;)

- Bioware needs to patch in the fix for not being able to save in priority missions yesterday.

- I love, love, love the murder-mystery quest. The twist was very well done, and I enjoy turians that don’t fit into stereotypes (even if this seems to go against the earlier games codex, kind of?). 

- JUMPJETS ARE THE BEST.

TEMPEST

- The updating Codex/journal is quite nice. Love that the quests actually update, and, even more than that, love that the ARTICLES in the database update. Only problem: I wish I had more control over what's marked new and what's not.

- Gil and Kallo are fighting and it really isn't putting Gil in my good graces. You can't just re-wire the ship because you're bored, Gil! Stop breaking systems! I don't care if you put them back together "better"; you'd think on a ship as big and as understaffed as the Nexus, you'd have something else to do.

- Getting no-homo'ed by Cora is disappointing. Seems odd to me given her obvious enjoyment of the Asari culture. (Not that I believe Cora could "choose" to be gay, because I don't believe that's a choice, BUT: it's weird to hear her talk about her asari crew-mates and how she loved them and how they opened her eyes to so many things - but then suddenly 'lol no homo'.) It also means Bioware really hasn't learned form eh fan reaction to Cassandra that there's a huge segment of women who would love to romance butch women, which is really disappointing.

- Suvi is adorable and I love her. I love her so much. The first flirt with her about helping her learn to survive and shoot a gun? A+ amazing and I will definitively fic it. Plus she's religious, which I find fascinating. Will definitively fic a lot about her, and she'll probably be my space wife in my next run-through.

- Liam's a hard nut for me to crack. He kind of seems uncomfortable with the first flirt, and I haven't flirted with him again because of that. He's very unprofessional on the field, and his freakouts on Habitat 7 are hard to reconcile with his past as a trauma first responder. He seems woefully unsuited for his main profession, but he doesnt' seem like a bad guy: I loved his bit about the coach and the movie night.

- Cora being an asshole to Drack in the scene post his recruitment made me :/. I feel like Cora will be the new Ashley in terms of fandom hate, though I hope it doesn't come to pass.

#Mass Effect Andromeda spoilers #Spoilers: MEA

[probablylostrightnow]

Chaos and Adventure (ME Fic)

I was @qbert0​‘s Holiday Harbinger gifter, and wanted to write something to go with the dice bag. You mentioned that you liked fShep/Liara and Garrus/Tali as a secondary pairing, that you enjoyed the whole gang’s adventures in the Citadel DLC, and requested no heavy emotional angst, so I tried to write a bit of fluff that captured some of those themes. It was a fun piece to write and I hope you enjoy it!

Post-game, ambiguous as to ending but Shepard is alive, pretty much pure fluff.

Judging from the length of the line outside, the rebuilt Ryuusei’s Sushi Bar was even popular than the old one. Even in civvies, Shepard was quickly recognized and waved to the front of the line. Liara had wondered if she would prove to be on some sort of restaurant blacklist, but if the maître d’ was aware of Shepard’s role in the demise of the sushi bar’s previous incarnation, she gave no sign. “Welcome, ma’am, Ryuusei’s is honored to have you,” she said smoothly. “This way, please, the rest of your party is waiting for you.”

Liara took a moment to look over the place. The renovation had been extensive (and doubtless expensive). Fish swam contentedly below her feet, unaware of the tragic fate of their predecessors. The wood paneling was carefully aged as if to suggest that the restaurant had been in continuous operation for decades, and certainly had not been invaded by mercenaries or swarming with Reapers at any point.

The maître d’s brow was furrowed in a look Liara had learned to interpret as impatience. She fell in beside Shepard as they made their way across the restaurant. Garrus Vakarian gave a quick wave from across the way – of course, he had spotted them first. Tali’Zorah’s attention appeared to be completely absorbed by the “NEW Dextro Menu!” in her hands, but she quickly glanced up as the maître d’ pulled out Shepard and Liara’s chairs.

“Shepard! Liara!” she said. “It’s so good to see you!” Liara didn’t need to be able to see Tali’s face to know that she was smiling. “It’s been too long.”

“Well, if some people could tear themselves away from their homeworlds more often…” Shepard said teasingly.

Garrus spread his hands. “You know how it is, Shepard,” he said ruefully. “One meeting after another, datapad after datapad filled with decisions to be made… It’s enough to make a turian think about resuming his vigilante career. I’d have thought the Reaper advisor would be, eh, off the hook with the Reapers gone…”

“Ah, ah!” Tali waved a finger in mock indignation. “No Reaper talk.”

Liara thought back to the vidcall she’d received from Tali. “We’re coming to the Citadel!” Tali had blurted excitedly as soon as Liara took the call. They’d brainstormed about plans, and Tali had proposed a double date. “Some casual time together,” she’d suggested. “No fate-of-the-galaxy stuff, no Reapers, no bringing each other up to date on every aspect of rebuilding this and that. Just friends spending time together. Do you think you can get Shepard to sign up for this?”

When Liara had mentioned the location Tali had in mind, Shepard had countered with a “no discussing past sushi-restaurant shenanigans” condition, which Tali had accepted. Joker would be so disappointed when he heard they’d passed up the chance to rib her.

“I wasn’t talking about the Reapers,” Garrus complained mildly. “I was talking about my job, the one I still have for some reason. The position seems more escape-proof than Purgatory. Do you think the Admiralty Board would accept my application for asylum?”

“I’d have to ask the Admirals,” Tali said primly.

Liara brought to mind the reports of the Shadow Broker’s agents in the no-longer-Migrant Fleet. “I hear a certain young Admiral is the deciding vote more often than not, these days.”

“Time to upgrade our security systems again,” Tali said. She sounded rather as if she was looking forward to it.

The waiter arrived to take their order, and the conversation paused. Liara ordered something called the “Asari Delight,” which the waiter assured her was carefully selected to please to asari palates. He seemed unamused when Shepard asked if it contained any actual asari.

“Really, Shepard?” Liara asked after the waiter stalked off.

“Just looking out for you,” Shepard said unapologetically. “For all you know, Javik could be the head chef.”

“I can’t imagine that he could find the time,” Liara said. She turned to Tali and Garrus. “He sends me a new book chapter every week or so. Usually with instructions to throw the previous draft of the chapter out of an airlock.”

“How are they to read?” Tali asked skeptically.

“Arrogant, but interesting,” Liara said, smiling. She definitely found Javik easier to deal with at a distance.

“I guess you must be keeping busy, between editing and your Super Secret Other Job.” The capital letters were audible, and Tali went so far as to make air quotes. “What have you been doing, Shepard?”

Shepard waved a hand in the air. “Oh, you know. Lots of rehab, consulting on that thing we’re not supposed to be talking about, following the research on those other things that are banned from this conversation…”

The table was silent for a bit. Liara wondered if she should bring up their news, or if Shepard would. She felt oddly nervous at the prospect.

“So, ah, biotiball?” Shepard ventured. Apparently it wasn’t just Liara. “How about those Seattle Sorcerers?”

Garrus shook his head. “I don’t really follow the sport, Shepard.” Tali and Liara shrugged their agreement. “Has Cortez made a fan out of you?”

“I’ve really just watched a game or two,” she admitted.

Silence fell again. Maybe now she should…

“The, eh, weather has been nice,” Garrus offered.

Tali elbowed him. “We’re on a space station.”

“That’s a fair point,” Garrus granted. If he’d been a stranger, Liara might have thought the comment a cranky grumble, but she knew his subharmonics well enough to hear the underlying affection. So did Tali, clearly, as she inclined her head toward him. Liara glanced at Shepard and found her smiling fondly at her friends.

“I’m so glad you two are doing well,” Shepard said.

Tali said a warm, “Thank you.”

The waiter returned with their drinks. Shepard raised a glass. “To friends who fell in love.”

Tali and Liara clinked their glasses against Shepard’s, but Garrus’s attention seemed to be drawn by something to his right.

“Ah, don’t all look at once, but that turian tending bar – isn’t that Rolan Quarn?”

Liara, Shepard, and Tali glanced toward the bartender, more or less surreptitiously. The bartender did look rather like the turian she remembered from the casino. Quarn appeared to be engaged in animated conversation with a few of the patrons, but Liara couldn’t catch any words.

“Sure looks like him,” Shepard confirmed.

“Hmm. Think that he’s gone straight and is now earning an honest living serving drinks in a sushi bar?” Garrus asked.

Shepard snorted. “Want to make that a bet, Garrus?”

“I should go check in with him. Let him know I’ve got an eye on him.”

“Or,” Tali countered, “you could enjoy our date, and not plunge us into chaos and adventure.”

“It’s not as if you’re in C-Sec anymore,” Liara said.

Shepard added innocently, “I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for his being here.”

“Perfectly reasonable and highly illegal, at a guess,” Garrus said. He stirred restlessly in his chair.

Tali put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sure he would never break the law. If it weren’t for a good cause, I mean.”

“How long are you two on the Citadel?” Shepard asked.

“Nice change of subject, very subtle,” Liara teased.

“Not very long, I’m afraid,” Tali said, keeping a firm hand on Garrus’s shoulder. “Just making some diplomatic contacts, attending some meetings, then heading back to the homeworld.” She sighed. “I think I preferred it when you were in charge and I could spend all my time in engineering.”

“Daniels and Donnelly got married last month, did you hear?” Shepard asked.

“I did,” Tali said. “I sent Gabby a card saying, ‘Good luck.’” Shepard barked a surprised laugh.

“What about you two?” Garrus asked, finally looking away from Quarn. “Are you here for long? I thought you were going to be on Earth a while longer.”

“We were,” Shepard said. “But the Extranet connections are still pretty unreliable, and that was making it too hard for Liara to get work done. And, uh” – she paused, smiled a bit nervously, and went for it – “there are much better asari physicians here.”

“Asari doctors? You aren’t ill, Liara?” Garrus asked. His visible eye narrowed. “Your vitals look all right…”

Liara shook her head quickly. Trust Garrus to wear his visor to a casual date. “No, no! Nothing like that, I’m fine.”

“Then why…” he trailed off.

Tali got it first. Liara could have sworn to the Goddess that she saw Tali’s smile radiating from under her helmet. “Oh, I’m so happy for you two!” She looked Liara up and down. “Is this something you’re planning, or are you already…”

Garrus looked back and forth between the women, still wearing a puzzled expression.

Liara nodded. “Yes.” She patted her belly. “Early days yet, but I can sense her in there.”

The light dawned for Garrus. “Oh!” He raised a glass. “Congratulations, you two.”

This time Shepard was the one who didn’t clink. Liara turned to see why and found her staring at the waiter taking a nearby table’s order, brow furrowed.

“I think he’s packing a sidearm,” she said with a frown. “At least, there’s a suspicious-looking bulge in his pocket. Liara, can you…”

“No,” Tali said, quietly but emphatically. “No chaos and adventure, remember? If he pulls a gun out, Garrus can overload it and Liara can dangle him from a singularity until he spills whatever he’s up to. Let’s talk about the important things. Do you have a name picked out? Have you told your father?”

“Not yet, and not yet,” Liara said. “It’s traditional to wait until there’s enough of an empathic connection to get her reaction to the name.” And as for Aethyta, or any asari for that matter, Liara was dreading the potential for aren’t-you-too-young-for-your-matron-phase conversations.

Garrus looked fascinated by that. “Your children get to vote on their names?” In the background, the suspicious waiter was conferring with a member of the kitchen staff.

“Mmm, it’s more of a vague empathic feeling, as I understand it…” Liara trailed off as she realized who the waiter was talking to. “Wait, what is Maya Brooks doing here?”

The words came out louder than she intended, and Brooks turned their way. As soon as she saw their table, she frowned and reached for something in her pocket, and the muffled thump of an explosion came from the direction of the kitchen.

“Chaos and adventure it is, then,” Tali said ruefully, as all four diners pushed back from the table and sprang to her feet.

“Someday I will actually get to eat here,” Shepard grumbled as they ran for the kitchen.

#mass effect #masseffectholidaycheer #qbert0 #lost wrote a thing #shiara #talibrations #i hope you enjoy this! #and sorry to post it so close to the deadline #the muses have been a little cranky this month

[vorchagirl]

Hmm ... so this chapter of Sweet Little Lies has turned out really quite long.

I think I’m going to have to split it up. I wasn’t going to ... but the chapter ends really perfectly at about the 4000 word mark. The plus side? It means that this chapter is done and most of the next chapter is written (I’m about 1k away from being done).

I’m undecided though. 

The downside, is that it means that you guys won’t get Liam’s POV until the next chapter, and won’t get he and Siri’s sad discussion until then.

BUT. It does mean that you do get a vidcall between Liam and Reyes next chapter which I won’t be putting into the fic otherwise.

Decisions decisions.

#sweet little lies #mass effect andromeda #reyder #freyder #reyed vidal