squigglysquidd

[squigglysquidd]

Juxtaposed Snippet

The wind wails with the sound of faceless screams. A foreboding miasma she doesn’t remember settles above the ground like a thick shroud, gripping their legs as they trudge through. 

It seeps into their bones with its icy touch. 

They are fifty-strong, but nothing more than toy soldiers in the hands of some unseen force with an unbreakable hold. It guides them ever forward against a nagging sensation prickling at their skin that whispers warnings and demands that they turn back. 

Duty, they call it. They feel more like slaves to the controlling force and its frightening curiosity than men and women moving of their own accord and bravery.

Akuze isn’t the budding colony as its reputation would have anyone believe. It’s a ghost town full of shadows and questions, instead. 

Prefabs watch them pass with darkened, lifeless eyes that reflect back into houses bereft of families to fill its empty, yet furnished rooms. Life filled this place only moments before the distress signal that brought them here was sent out. 

All that’s left is a vacuum from the sudden disappearances that seems to call to them to sit down, relax, and become one with the eerie peace of purgatory that now surrounds the colony. They don’t fall for the ruse, though, too afraid to become prisoners to the mystery that’s taken hold and brought them here.

After searching the entire colony for clues, they grow tired of scouring through the bones of the colony. Then comes the time for them to make camp for the night after they grow tired of searching. A storm is rolling in to interfere with their extraction’s visuals so they can’t call for it to free themselves of this place until the sky clears. 

They are restless, but that nagging force that calls itself ‘duty’ grows ever stronger despite each and every attempt to convince a majority decision to leave despite the storm.

They are here for a reason. They have to see things through.

They station themselves at the base of an incline leading to the surveillance station just outside of the colony’s extended perimeter. It was the last of their most obvious sources for clues.

The failure of being no closer to an answer to what happened here wears on them. It seeps into their very core. Their nerves have whittled down to nothing more than needle-thin strands straining against the burden of their overall weight. 

Many of them can’t seem to get their armor off fast enough. They sigh out into the thick air when they’re released from their confines but it doesn’t completely free them of the stifling feeling of their surroundings.

She just wants to sit for a moment, losing herself in the effort to breathe slowly and shrug off the eeriness of Akuze. 

Her shotgun lays in her lap like lead, impossibly heavy and cold enough to leech through her gloves. She moves her hands from it and leans back. 

Holding herself upright, she drops her head back with her eyes closed and wills herself to calm the fluttering of unnecessary anticipation in her chest. The still, deadly silence within the moment between breaths is comforting like a warm kind of suffocation wrapping itself around her.

That’s until she hears the piercing scream cutting through the air like a knife. 

It stabs straight into that trembling part of her that’s been so ready to jump forth and flee.

Snapping up to her feet, she watches the squad that has set up camp further down the incline and closer to the colony disappear beneath the corrupted fog with horror flooding her veins. She freezes until another sound splits the sky and the surveillance station begins to crumble far too close to her position. 

Stumbling away from the building as it comes crashing down, her feet catch on her abandoned shotgun and she falls. She lands perfectly positioned to watch as her own squad leader is caught beneath the rubble. 

Its jagged teeth slam down over his legs and steal an anguished howl from his lips.

Someone shoves her aside as they rush forward and fear’s tight grip around her is shattered. A now panicked sense of duty springs forth in its wake. 

She rushes to aid her fellow squadmates in trying to pry open the debris’ jaws around their leader’s legs but it’s too heavy and their grips are too weak to free him quickly. The sounds of his pained grunts and sudden bursts of cried agony send bolts of burning cold through her hands. It numbs her fingers, whispering of the futility of freeing him while so much noise echoes behind her from the others as unseen horrors engulf them.

The ground suddenly shakes beneath their feet, jostling the rubble further, but their minds are lost in the inhuman shriek that rattles their bones and freezes them with terror. 

Dropping the lid of her leader’s coffin and spinning in place, her eyes widen at the way the ground buckles. It jerks violently enough to send the ground’s thick shroud into crashing waves. 

That fearful thing within her springs to life and she abandons the fallen. She runs alongside the few others of their number who are quick enough not to be swallowed up by whatever beast splits the sea of thick smog, cracking open the rocky surface of Akuze with a massive quake that nearly knocks her off her feet.

Guilt washes over her when the song of gunfire rings behind her from the few who stand their ground. She doesn’t have the strength to turn around, face the fear, and defend her fellow man, though. She follows the cowardly into the colony and through the streets that now feel narrower than before. 

The prefabs crawl in around them the further from the beast they run like a trap readying to close with a deadly snap.

Dread washes over her as the ground begins to roar and tremble beneath her feet. She can’t stay out here to wade through the miasma that clings tighter to her legs and holds her in place for the beast barreling towards her. 

Glancing over her shoulder in hopes of seeing any faces, she locks gazes with what remains of her squad. They all silently debate what fate may befall them. They could die fleeing into the nearest prefab, like some of the others, or they can try to get close enough to their only means of escape, which is the communications station that’s a frighteningly far distance away.

A scream builds in her throat, rising with the violent ways the ground bucks beneath their feet. Terror quickly chokes her as she spends her last strength on reaching the station, though. 

Bolting up the steps and into the building—barely having the mind to leave the door open for her squadmates—she doesn’t stop running until she trips over a chair thrown down from its desk. She crashes down onto her hands and knees and finally lets the scream surface as the deafening sound of destruction sings in a nightmarish duet.

She sucks air into her burning lungs and waits for the end. She knows it’ll be their own shelter that will come crashing down beneath the beast’s wrath, but it doesn’t happen. 

Opening eyes that had been clenched shut, she looks around a room left abandoned save for the few survivors of their escape. 

She recognizes some faces. Despite serving with them for a long time in a life far from these past hellish seconds, she can’t place their names. Confusion clouds her mind as she watches a man step forward and offer a hand, his eyes glazed with fear and a tremble shaking his grip.

“What do we do now?” Someone asks, but everyone seems too scared to answer. 

No one wants to acknowledge death as it waits just beyond the door, looking for the key that will unlock it and let it in so it can destroy their desperate sense of safety. 

She looks around the room, inevitably drawn to the window of the prefab where she can gaze out on the devastation. The glass is clouded with grime, but she can see the stillness of the colony has returned with only the faintest cries of gunfire ringing out in the distance, but it might as well be an entirely different world away. 

She can almost imagine the buck of a weapon in her hand, yet it was left far behind in that other place. She has only a pistol on her hip now and its strength is incomparable to whatever lay within the rocky ground below.

Muddled speech surrounds her, trying to break through the repeated sounds of the screams from man and beast ringing in her ears, but she doesn’t hear or acknowledge them until her name is called out. 

The sound is sharp and urgent. 

Looking back to the others, she sees a woman missing her chest piece. 

“What do we do now?” the woman asks her as if she holds any authority. At her confused look around the group, she sees some older soldiers and realizes the question isn’t asked based on age.

Another person speaks. “You’re the senior officer here now that ….”

She knows what he means and looks away, eyes inevitably moving back out to the dead waiting just outside. 

She isn’t meant to lead, not here and not now. Against an unknown, she has no idea how to proceed or how to keep those still around her alive. 

Eyes moving back to them, she sees nothing but frightened animals, huddled together just outside of the reach of the window and world beyond. She wishes she could be one of them, nothing more than a burden seeking direction and saving, but she can’t be.

There is still enough left in her to care enough about another life, even if she’s already proven herself a coward before.

[squigglysquidd]

When I tell you I was pissing my pants laughing at this.

“This wallpaper is so cute, we could live here” ME IN A NUTSHELL I have ADHD (I’m medicated for it) but when I’m off it this is me 😭

[squigglysquidd]

Juxtaposed Snippet

The wind wails with the sound of faceless screams. A foreboding miasma she doesn’t remember settles above the ground like a thick shroud, gripping their legs as they trudge through. 

It seeps into their bones with its icy touch. 

They are fifty-strong, but nothing more than toy soldiers in the hands of some unseen force with an unbreakable hold. It guides them ever forward against a nagging sensation prickling at their skin that whispers warnings and demands that they turn back. 

Duty, they call it. They feel more like slaves to the controlling force and its frightening curiosity than men and women moving of their own accord and bravery.

Akuze isn’t the budding colony as its reputation would have anyone believe. It’s a ghost town full of shadows and questions, instead. 

Prefabs watch them pass with darkened, lifeless eyes that reflect back into houses bereft of families to fill its empty, yet furnished rooms. Life filled this place only moments before the distress signal that brought them here was sent out. 

All that’s left is a vacuum from the sudden disappearances that seems to call to them to sit down, relax, and become one with the eerie peace of purgatory that now surrounds the colony. They don’t fall for the ruse, though, too afraid to become prisoners to the mystery that’s taken hold and brought them here.

After searching the entire colony for clues, they grow tired of scouring through the bones of the colony. Then comes the time for them to make camp for the night after they grow tired of searching. A storm is rolling in to interfere with their extraction’s visuals so they can’t call for it to free themselves of this place until the sky clears. 

They are restless, but that nagging force that calls itself ‘duty’ grows ever stronger despite each and every attempt to convince a majority decision to leave despite the storm.

They are here for a reason. They have to see things through.

They station themselves at the base of an incline leading to the surveillance station just outside of the colony’s extended perimeter. It was the last of their most obvious sources for clues.

The failure of being no closer to an answer to what happened here wears on them. It seeps into their very core. Their nerves have whittled down to nothing more than needle-thin strands straining against the burden of their overall weight. 

Many of them can’t seem to get their armor off fast enough. They sigh out into the thick air when they’re released from their confines but it doesn’t completely free them of the stifling feeling of their surroundings.

She just wants to sit for a moment, losing herself in the effort to breathe slowly and shrug off the eeriness of Akuze. 

Her shotgun lays in her lap like lead, impossibly heavy and cold enough to leech through her gloves. She moves her hands from it and leans back. 

Holding herself upright, she drops her head back with her eyes closed and wills herself to calm the fluttering of unnecessary anticipation in her chest. The still, deadly silence within the moment between breaths is comforting like a warm kind of suffocation wrapping itself around her.

That’s until she hears the piercing scream cutting through the air like a knife. 

It stabs straight into that trembling part of her that’s been so ready to jump forth and flee.

Snapping up to her feet, she watches the squad that has set up camp further down the incline and closer to the colony disappear beneath the corrupted fog with horror flooding her veins. She freezes until another sound splits the sky and the surveillance station begins to crumble far too close to her position. 

Stumbling away from the building as it comes crashing down, her feet catch on her abandoned shotgun and she falls. She lands perfectly positioned to watch as her own squad leader is caught beneath the rubble. 

Its jagged teeth slam down over his legs and steal an anguished howl from his lips.

Someone shoves her aside as they rush forward and fear’s tight grip around her is shattered. A now panicked sense of duty springs forth in its wake. 

She rushes to aid her fellow squadmates in trying to pry open the debris’ jaws around their leader’s legs but it’s too heavy and their grips are too weak to free him quickly. The sounds of his pained grunts and sudden bursts of cried agony send bolts of burning cold through her hands. It numbs her fingers, whispering of the futility of freeing him while so much noise echoes behind her from the others as unseen horrors engulf them.

The ground suddenly shakes beneath their feet, jostling the rubble further, but their minds are lost in the inhuman shriek that rattles their bones and freezes them with terror. 

Dropping the lid of her leader’s coffin and spinning in place, her eyes widen at the way the ground buckles. It jerks violently enough to send the ground’s thick shroud into crashing waves. 

That fearful thing within her springs to life and she abandons the fallen. She runs alongside the few others of their number who are quick enough not to be swallowed up by whatever beast splits the sea of thick smog, cracking open the rocky surface of Akuze with a massive quake that nearly knocks her off her feet.

Guilt washes over her when the song of gunfire rings behind her from the few who stand their ground. She doesn’t have the strength to turn around, face the fear, and defend her fellow man, though. She follows the cowardly into the colony and through the streets that now feel narrower than before. 

The prefabs crawl in around them the further from the beast they run like a trap readying to close with a deadly snap.

Dread washes over her as the ground begins to roar and tremble beneath her feet. She can’t stay out here to wade through the miasma that clings tighter to her legs and holds her in place for the beast barreling towards her. 

Glancing over her shoulder in hopes of seeing any faces, she locks gazes with what remains of her squad. They all silently debate what fate may befall them. They could die fleeing into the nearest prefab, like some of the others, or they can try to get close enough to their only means of escape, which is the communications station that’s a frighteningly far distance away.

A scream builds in her throat, rising with the violent ways the ground bucks beneath their feet. Terror quickly chokes her as she spends her last strength on reaching the station, though. 

Bolting up the steps and into the building—barely having the mind to leave the door open for her squadmates—she doesn’t stop running until she trips over a chair thrown down from its desk. She crashes down onto her hands and knees and finally lets the scream surface as the deafening sound of destruction sings in a nightmarish duet.

She sucks air into her burning lungs and waits for the end. She knows it’ll be their own shelter that will come crashing down beneath the beast’s wrath, but it doesn’t happen. 

Opening eyes that had been clenched shut, she looks around a room left abandoned save for the few survivors of their escape. 

She recognizes some faces. Despite serving with them for a long time in a life far from these past hellish seconds, she can’t place their names. Confusion clouds her mind as she watches a man step forward and offer a hand, his eyes glazed with fear and a tremble shaking his grip.

“What do we do now?” Someone asks, but everyone seems too scared to answer. 

No one wants to acknowledge death as it waits just beyond the door, looking for the key that will unlock it and let it in so it can destroy their desperate sense of safety. 

She looks around the room, inevitably drawn to the window of the prefab where she can gaze out on the devastation. The glass is clouded with grime, but she can see the stillness of the colony has returned with only the faintest cries of gunfire ringing out in the distance, but it might as well be an entirely different world away. 

She can almost imagine the buck of a weapon in her hand, yet it was left far behind in that other place. She has only a pistol on her hip now and its strength is incomparable to whatever lay within the rocky ground below.

Muddled speech surrounds her, trying to break through the repeated sounds of the screams from man and beast ringing in her ears, but she doesn’t hear or acknowledge them until her name is called out. 

The sound is sharp and urgent. 

Looking back to the others, she sees a woman missing her chest piece. 

“What do we do now?” the woman asks her as if she holds any authority. At her confused look around the group, she sees some older soldiers and realizes the question isn’t asked based on age.

Another person speaks. “You’re the senior officer here now that ….”

She knows what he means and looks away, eyes inevitably moving back out to the dead waiting just outside. 

She isn’t meant to lead, not here and not now. Against an unknown, she has no idea how to proceed or how to keep those still around her alive. 

Eyes moving back to them, she sees nothing but frightened animals, huddled together just outside of the reach of the window and world beyond. She wishes she could be one of them, nothing more than a burden seeking direction and saving, but she can’t be.

There is still enough left in her to care enough about another life, even if she’s already proven herself a coward before.

[squigglysquidd]

Through the Mist | Part 2

pairings: Femshep x Garrus

summary: When a routine mission to rescue and recruit a handful of scientists goes wrong, Shepard and her team are left to fight against something they had never expected to face. Now stranded on a heavily fog-covered planet, they realise there is more to the strange weather than they originally thought, especially when they hear things from beyond the fog; calling for them.

word count: 4,257

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60592000/chapters/155122225

Part 1

They quickly return to the previous room before stopping dead in their tracks, dread seeping into their bones.

The once-clean room is full of dust. Inches of it cover the surfaces, building up in piles against the corners of the room. Some of the grey flecks begin to float around them in the air. Wires now hang from the ceiling, bright sparks cascading into the room. The flickering lights illuminate a dozen corpses scattered around them.

She warily steps into the room, doing her best to avoid treading on the bodies. Every step is muffled by the dust, deep footprints trailing behind her. She crouches down to closer inspect the deceased group. Everybody happens to be dressed in the same pristine uniform, matching the one from the first base. Not a single spec of dirt mars the white fabric, despite the state of the room around them. They show no signs of injury, but as Shepard looks closer, she feels her heart plummet.

The sparks of dying light shine down on their expressions. Their eyes are glazed, wide open, and their mouths are agape in a silent scream. 

This time, their jaws hang open far too wide for any human. As if they broke the bone in their fright, the jaw hanging open to accompany what must have once been a chilling sound.

“Garrus…?” Her voice is low, yet he picks up on her unspoken question.

“I see it too, I think we found the rest of the team.” His voice is tense as he pulls his mandibles tight against his face, every muscle in his body becoming as tight as his voice. “We were only in there for a couple of minutes. Eight minutes according to my visor.” 

“Vega?” She calls out, her voice taking a high note when her gaze falls upon the chair he had claimed. Now empty and just as dilapidated as the scenery surrounding them. “He can’t have gone far. We need to get out of here.”

“Why would he just wander off without telling us…?” Garrus mutters before falling silent, his head tilting as if straining to hear something.

Shepard watches him carefully, her face guarded as his head whips around to face the exit. Without saying a word, he creeps towards the door and hits the lock. The door is quick to open, revealing the black void beyond, the damn fog still sitting thick in the air.

“How is it so dark already? The sun was just starting to set when we got here,” she questions, only to cut herself off when Garrus silently holds up his hand, his eyes wide. She tilts her head and silently moves to stand next to him, but all she can hear is the muffled buzzing of the damaged wires.

He gently grabs her wrist and drags her out of the building, following something into the fog. She moves alongside him, peering around for danger as she lets him guide her. She squints and swears she sees the fog moving around them, swirling into different shapes deep into the night. Garrus suddenly stops moving, his shoulders sagging when he turns to look at her. 

The sight unnerves her. The confidence he tends to wear on missions has now been replaced with an expression she has never seen before. One she never wants to see again.

“I’m sorry… I could have sworn…” He trails off, rubbing his neck awkwardly before clearing his throat and continuing, “I thought I heard my mother. Which is impossible since she died before the war started.” 

She stares up at him, unsure of what to say. He rarely spoke about his mother to her, always moving the subject to a less painful one instead. She had always complied, not wanting to hurt him, especially when she couldn’t be there to comfort him during the worst of the pain when she was in Alliance custody.

Now she stands in front of him, and for the first time in their relationship, she finds herself lost. It's rare for her to be at a loss for words, yet this planet finds every way to drain them out of her. She silently raises her hand to caress his scarred face, her thumb gently gliding along the blue marking under his eye.

“Hey, it’s okay. I don’t exactly know what is happening, but what I do know is that we need to grab Vega and then get the hell off this planet before we can find out.” She says, grabbing his hand and flaring her biotics. The subtle smell of ozone surrounds them, a bright blue light erupting from her and causing the black braid behind her to rise as she covers them in a small barrier. The fog curls around it, relentlessly trying to get through to them as they push through its murky haze. 

“Comm…der… She..pard?” Liara catches their attention, her voice frantically trying to cut through the interference, “...Can’t reach…Don’t know…but it’s bad…”

Her words are jumbled, crackling over the line and being swallowed by whatever is trying to block their communications, yet one sentence manages to come out as clear as day, causing all the hair on Shepard’s arms to stand up. “You… need…Commander? You need to get out of there.”

“Fuck,” Shepard breathes out, the air around her tasting bitter. “Liara, I need you to get Cortez to land the shuttle exactly where he did last time. Garrus and I will try to find the first research base to guide us in the right direction.”

Her command is met with silence.

“Line’s dead again,” Garrus adds unhelpfully, his voice more subdued and lifeless than usual.

“Let’s just keep moving, there was only one entrance to the base, so we must be heading in the same direction that we came from. With any luck, Cortez has already had the same idea and has landed already.”

They stumble blindly for what feels like hours, pushing forward with no discernible landmark in sight. No more research bases, no trees or bushes, and no shuttle. Just them and the hard stone beneath their feet. And the fog, Shepard thinks bitterly while she drags Garrus around in the dark. As she opens her mouth to complain, her foot collides with something solid. The blind fall startles her and the shield around them quickly collapses, the blue light shimmering before fading out. She lands on the ground with a small crash, groaning when a sharp pain flares through her ankle.

“Shepard?” Garrus shouts, rushing around the object to help her up. His hands flailing through the fog as he tries to find her. He holds her steady while she stands and hesitantly puts weight on the injured ankle, wincing when more pain shoots up her leg.

“I’m fine, it's just a sprain.” She watches as Garrus lights up his omni-tool, waving it close to the object. “Great, another dead scientist. I’m getting fed up with this fucking planet,” she grumbles as she pulls him away and continues her march into nowhere, albeit now with a noticeable limp.

They come across more and more bodies, each in varying stages of terror. No matter which direction they walk in, they are greeted with corpses, almost as if they were being directed by them. 

Lured, a small voice whispers in the back of Shepard's mind.

They swap directions, turning left and right, yet each route leads to more of the missing research team. They must have stumbled across hundreds of them now, but as Shepard thinks back on the mission debrief, she is met with a worrying realisation. Hackett had only mentioned a small group, no more than twenty members stationed on the planet. 

Without warning, static flares up in the silence between them, causing the pair to jump.

“Vega? Liara? EDI?” Shepard yells into her comm, hope flaring in her chest.

A laugh interrupts her attempts. A soothing laugh, yet it causes her throat to tighten with an emotion she let die years ago.

“Raven.” It calls out through the static, warm and welcoming.

She glances at Garrus and he gives a small nod, confirming her fears. This time he had heard the voice as well.

“Raven… Shepard?” It repeats, the voice growing more desperate. More familiar.

She feels herself grow pale, looking as if she's seen a ghost, and instinctively reaches out to grab Garrus’ wrist, pulling him closer. He leans down, his breath ghosting her cheek as he whispers, “Shepard, do you recognise the voice?”

She squeezes her eyes shut tight as if she could block out the voice. As if she would wake up in her cabin beside Garrus, with the events of the day being nothing more than a bad dream.

The laughter crackles through the static once more, growing louder and demanding her attention. She can feel Garrus moving next to her and hears the click of his rifle being filled with a fresh heatsink. She reluctantly opens her eyes and the laughter dies.

“Mom?” She grits her teeth, trying to stop her voice from shaking, yet it does regardless. She feels Garrus stiffen beside her, his hand itching to grab her properly.

“Why did you leave us to die?” The voice is no more than a whisper but somehow echoes around the space. The sentence is thrown out so gently, yet Shepard can feel the reprimand hidden deep within. 

A cold fury and sweltering blame hiding in the words.

She hangs her head, somehow feeling like a child being lectured by her mother all over again. A mother who she had watched die sixteen years ago.

“Excuse me?” Garrus growls, eyes glaring through the fog as his fear fades into anger.

“Shh, it’s not your time yet. I’ll get to you later, boy.” The voice retorts, stunning him into silence. “Now, baby bird, why did you let us die?”

“I don’t understand, why are you saying this?” She bites out as her traitorous hands begin to shake, her lungs begging for more oxygen as she holds her breath.

“Look at you, such a well-known and beloved hero. Who does everything she can to save people she doesn’t even know. A shining paragon of justice. I’m so proud of you darling, you were always good at climbing over a mountain of corpses to survive. Akuze, Virmire, Earth, Thessia…” The gentle, almost nurturing voice becomes harsh, mocking her with every word. “Where was that strength, that heroism, when you hid and watched as we died? Where was the determination to help when you did nothing but listen to our painful screams as flesh fused into bone?”

“You told me to…I was sixteen, what was I supposed to do?” She yells into the air.

“You should have died with us. The Shepards were never supposed to live. You’ve learnt that yourself already, haven’t you, darling? When you lifelessly floated over Alchera, cold and alone.”

“Alright, that’s enough.” Garrus grabs Shepard by her forearm, turning her to face him as he disconnects the comm from her suit. Silencing the voice while Shepard stands frozen, her own eyes wide with unshed tears. She can see the disturbance on his face; in the way his mandibles twitch, the way his eyes frantically check their surroundings –despite all previous attempts being futile– before locking onto her again.

“That wasn’t her, Garrus. She would never… How did…” She clears her throat and swallows down her unease with a practised composure, “How did it know all that?”

“I don’t know, Shepard. And frankly, I don’t care. Let's just get away from this damn fog in case it’s somehow the source and clear our heads.”

She nods weakly, deferring to his lead as a familiar and unwelcome numbness flows through her veins. She swallows roughly, limping close next to him, his arm tight around her waist for support, as he sets off on a warpath. His subvocals are loud enough for her to hear and from her best guess, none of them are positive sounds as they stagger through the uncomfortable darkness, side by side.

Her skin feels clammy, the cool fog sticking to her as her vision blurs. She tugs on his arm, catching his attention when her throat tightens, allowing no words to pass. Stumbling to a halt, Shepard raises her left foot, relieving herself of a fraction of the pain she endured from walking on it.

“I just need a moment, damned medi-gel isn’t being applied by my suit.” She groans out as she rolls her foot in a small circle, testing the mobility she has left.

“I’ll carry you,” Garrus says softly, already forcing his rifle into her hands.

“Absolutely not. It’s not broken, I’ll be able to finish this mission on my own two feet.” She argues, her classic stubbornness leaking into her words.

“Shepard,” he sighs out, feeling and sounding years older already. “We don’t know how long we will be trapped here. At this rate, you’re going to end up being stuck in Chakwas’ med bay for a lot longer than you’d like if you keep walking on it.”

She stares at him for a moment, then tilts her head to frown down at his Revenant lying heavy in her hands. The air around them is growing colder and Shepard can’t tell if it's simply because it's getting late or if it’s due to the sheer pain thrumming up her leg. She considers her options: hobbling along for god knows how long, or being pressed close across a warm turian’s chest, even with his metallic armour blocking most of the heat. She hates appearing weak on missions, especially after being thrown off-kilter already, but it’s not like there's anyone nearby to see. 

Not with the thick fog surrounding the pair.

“Fine.” 

Without missing a beat, Garrus is quick to scoop her up. He takes care to not jostle her injured leg while she wiggles around in his grip until she’s as comfortable as she can get. She leans his rifle across her torso, keeping the muzzle aimed outwards, her index finger tapping impatiently against the trigger guard.

“Aww, isn’t that sweet?”

A feminine voice rattles through the air and Shepard’s finger twitches. The voice is old and frail, almost as if speaking is a great effort to her. There is no malice in this voice, only a painful longing. Shepard growls out a curse while what remains of her brittle patience begins to crumble. She hears Garrus take a sharp inhale, holding it as he ignores the voice and forges ahead.

“Why don’t you talk to me?” It begs as a soft whine rumbles under its words. She hears a second whine coming from above her and the myriad of tones within causes her chest to ache.

“Garrus? The comm, you disabled it.” She whispers, not missing the way his grip on her tightens. He pulls her as close as their armour physically allows, moving faster despite the ache that must be setting into his muscles. She raises her hand to gently stroke his mandible, breaking his concentration for a moment. He flicks his eyes down at her briefly, sadness evident in his gaze, before looking back to the distance, giving her a small shake of his head. 

“Garrus… Yes, that’s the name…” The voice mumbles, recognition fluttering in its words. “Garrus, my wayward son.”

“Stop,” He snaps.

“Why did you never visit me? Why did you never come home?” The frail voice becomes stern, the subvocals buzzing angrily. 

“Instead of visiting, instead of returning to where you belong, what did you accomplish? You’ve left nothing but a trail of bodies in your wake: Your entire squad died because of you, and let’s not forget about your precious Commander. Where were you when she was snuffed out?” The voice grows harsher with each passing second. “You’ve been so busy playing a burnt-out cop, turned vigilante, turned soldier. But never my son. No wonder your father never looked at you with pride.”

“Stop,” he begs instead, his voice is almost drowned out by the deep rumbling. Anger, disappointment, and admonishment, all flaring out at him from the fog.

Shepard can feel her vision wavering, tears leaving a damp trail down her cheeks as she watches his brow plates pull together in despair.

“Hey,” Her voice is soft as she captures his attention, not missing the shakiness of his breath. “Don’t listen to it. It’s not real, it’s just doing this to hurt you.”

“Shepard, do you… Do you know what’s happening?” He asks, his hold on her still impossibly tight.

She shakes her head, not missing the defeat that sneaks into his eyes. She bites her lip, trying to find the right words to say, but the mission has left her too frazzled, too out of her element to think straight. Her mind is a mess of old nerves that had once been buried but have now been dragged back to the surface. Fresh and raw all over again.

The planet doesn’t give them a chance to gather their wits when a heavy shuffling begins to circle them.

Shepard squints to gaze into the darkness and spots movement. Something approaches with jagged and inhumane movements, almost twitching as it draws closer. She flicks her gaze around and feels her blood rush to her ears, her throat tightening as her treacherous hands begin to shake.

The once dormant bodies now stand around them, facing them with their mouths hanging wide, a low groan echoing from them. Their eyes sunken locking onto the duo, staring at them with unseeing eyes. 

“Shepard, do they look familiar to you?” Garrus asks, his voice kept low to avoid alerting the dead. 

“I don’t know. And frankly, I don’t care right now,” she echoes as she struggles against Garrus’ hold, tapping his arm to signal for him to release her. She instantly raises the weapon and aims it at the closest figure, her grip on his gun is tight and her knuckles audibly crack when it tightens even more. She glares at as many corpses as she can, refusing to back down. She can feel the reassuring weight of her rifle against her back lessen as Garrus unlatches the mag locks, following her lead and aiming it towards the group.

All of a sudden, one of the strange figures twitch. Its arm jerks to the side, bent at an unnatural angle before being pulled close to its torso. Its head falls to the side and the thinly stretched lips rise into a wide smile.

Shepard doesn’t hesitate, a loud bang rings through the small crowd as a hole cuts through the figure's head. Her eyes are sharp as she watches it go stiff before falling backwards. She blinks slowly when it vanishes, almost turning into dust as it hits the cold ground. Not a trace of the strange body is left behind. 

Another one steps forward, only to be instantly cut down by Garrus’ perfect aim. It lets out a hollow gurgle as it melts into the fog, ceasing to exist once more.

"Commander," the voice is amplified by a dozen unmoving mouths, causing her eyebrows to furrow as she grinds her teeth. Garrus shoots out at another figure, only for a new one to take its place.

Shepard watches, momentarily frozen, as multiple bodies approach from beyond the fog. The more they take down, the more they seem to materialise out of spite. Shepard furrows her eyebrows and for the first time in her life, she finds herself struggling to think of a split-second plan. Almost as if the fog had invaded her mind and ripped out her hidden weapon.

A low growl rips through her throat as she sends a bright blue shockwave hurtling towards the figures, taking very little satisfaction as they fly back. They remain prone against the cracked floor, but she can still hear the chat of her name emitting from them. Garrus manoeuvres his arm around her waist and helps her to quickly limp through the clearing as he scatters proximity mines behind them, just in case.

The figures turn to watch, and what remains of those of them standing slowly advance; their limbs jolting into unnatural angles with each slow step.

Garrus quickly slots her gun into its position on her back before taking his own from her, almost dragging her in a random direction until he spots something. A small prefab standing against the dark haze like a lighthouse welcoming them to safety. Shepard can’t help but stare at it in suspicion but makes no effort to pull away from Garrus as he kicks open the door, rushing to place her down on a chair before fortifying the only entrance.

The prefab is surprisingly bright as a small lamp floods the room with a warm glow. The furniture within is sparse, but Shepard isn’t too keen to stick around long enough to worry about what it’s lacking. Its design is sickeningly corporate, with stark white walls broken up by faded green details. Something flutters in the back of her mind, the memory dying before she can even begin to focus on it. 

She watches Garrus double-check, then triple-check, the security systems in a pained daze. Her head drops back against the headrest, a dull throbbing beginning to make itself known as she tries to let her body relax. She rubs at her temple, feeling more lost than ever before. Garrus kneels in front of her and gently grabs her ankle, raising it slightly to help reduce the swelling. He flicks his mandibles out in a silent apology when a small hiss falls from her lips.

“How are you feeling?” He asks, watching her carefully. She gives a wordless groan before waving her hand around in the air, gesturing wildly.

“Besides the obvious?” She retorts, her defences still firmly in place, even within relative safety. He gives her a stern nod, his eyes not moving away from her as he urges her to continue. “Ankle’s throbbing, head’s pounding, and I feel like I’m about to have a heart attack if just one more… thing decides to mess with us. You?”

“Uh, pretty much the same. Besides the ankle part, I didn’t manage to get myself injured by something already dead.” He grins up at her and it takes Shepard a surprisingly long second to catch his playful teasing, even longer to recognise that it’s for both of their benefit. That he’s just as scared as she is and is seeking comfort in familiarity.

“Okay, big guy, you can laugh about that all you want once we get out of here safely. You can even be the one to tell Joker, how about that?”

“That certainly is an honour, are you sure you’re feeling alright, Ravs? You’re not normally that self-sabotaging.” 

The sound of her nickname on his tongue washes over her like a cooling balm, bringing part of her mind back to the present.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m being overly nice, I know.” She laughs, revelling in the way it releases some of the pressure building in her chest. The fog in her mind recedes despite the relentless –and very much real– type awaiting them outside. “Okay, we’ll take ten minutes to rest up before walking into hell again.”

Garrus stands and spots the nearby coffee table, dragging it over to her so Shepard can rest her ankle while keeping it elevated. 

“Don’t move, I’m going to look around and see what’s been left behind.” He fixes her with a knowing look before moving to the back of the room, his eyes and fingers darting through the display cases and bookshelves lining the walls.

Never one for sitting still, Shepard silently rises from the chair and hobbles around the room, willfully ignoring Garrus’ groan. She keeps the door in her line of sight at all times while limping her way over to him, his arm automatically reaching to hold her steady once she’s close enough.

“Find anything useful or is it just like the previous buildings?” She asks as her eyes scan over various books. He simply hums in response.

“Well…” He states slowly, “There are a bunch of old research reports, some dating back to three years ago.”

“Please don’t tell me that any of these reports mention the Reapers,” She groans out, squinting to skim-read over the one in his hand.

“Nothing has mentioned them yet, thankfully. I’m hoping it stays that way as well.” He mumbles, his voice faltering for a second. “Though, those… things back there didn’t exactly resemble husks. They didn’t glow… or hiss, for that matter. There’s no dragon's teeth around either.”

“No, it’s also not like the Reapers to play around with people like this. We’ve not been outright attacked yet.”

“Which is a first, all things considered.” He adds, earning himself a small laugh. “Are we going to… talk about what happened back there?”

Shepard flinches at his question, suddenly hyperaware of every movement she makes when she feels his grip around her reflexively tighten in response.

“Later. When we’re back on the Normandy, we can’t… I can’t afford to open that can of worms while we are still stuck in the lion's den.”

“Shepard…” He groans out in exasperation, raising a hand to rub at his face, “I have no idea what half of what you just said is supposed to mean. But I think I can understand… We’ll talk once we’re safe?”

She nods in response and doesn’t miss how his eyes dart to the door.

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im reading about cowboy phrases and sayings and like 95% of them are just solid life advice

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yapping about fics and commenting

sorry to yap but work is boring today and tumblr isn't blocked on my work computer LOL

ok it's abt that post where the writer friend stopped writing because they weren't getting the comments/kudos they wanted.

i'm like. an overeager fandom person. like i cannot get into a fandom without wanting to meet new people and make friends. i love yapping about whatever silly gay idiots i'm hyperfixating over. i'm all about community, and sharing the joy of fandom, and all that fun positive stuff.

i don't post my art for stats but like. that means nothing coming from me tbh. i get stats. i can't accurately predict what would happen if i stopped getting notes on my art, but i would probably keep drawing and keep posting, just maybe less confidently, and less often. i recognize that stats make it much easier and while it’s not my primary motivation, it definitely motivates me to keep posting.

and yet. for years, i never commented on fic. i think i left kudos? and i saw posts like this all the time about how writers were so sad they didn't get comments. and i would feel super guilty about it all the time. but i still wouldn't do it! it sounds stupid, but i would feel pressured. if i liked a fic a lot, it felt even more difficult to comment, because i thought i would have to somehow give back to the author everything that fic gave to me. i wanted to craft the perfect comment that could perfectly encapsulate everything a fic made me feel. and that was way too much pressure so i would just not say anything.

when i got into drarry, i started reading a shit ton of fic. and i still wouldn't comment. i left maybe... 2 or 3 comments, maybe, i think. i can't remember. but i had a lot to say and i WANTED the writers to hear that i had read it and liked it. i just... didn't comment! u know what i did instead? i just fucking straight up DM'd writers on discord and started gushing to them that i liked their fic. somehow i was confident enough to do that, but writing a comment still felt like too much pressure. ?? i don't understand it either, but in my head it felt like a writing assignment, but when I was in DMs it felt more like a conversation and so there wasn't any pressure to make it "good"? idk!! it's very weird.

then i wrote and posted my first complete fic. just a oneshot, nothing special, and i was like. UNREASONABLY nervous about posting it. like. i am a confident person, okay? i was going to make a burner AO3 account and post it under a different name so nobody would know it was me, and then never mention it to anyone except MAYBE super close friends. i got talked out of doing that (thanks i feel a bit silly about considering that now). and then i received my first comment on it, which was basically a two-liner where someone said they liked it and thanked me for writing it.

and i was like. ??...?????? ???????? ...??!!! because i felt like... uncontainable glee? i was freakishly happy. the amount of serotonin those two sentences gave me was definitely unnatural.

is that healthy? idk. will it continue? idk. LOL. i hope so? but idk, some people said it wears off if you write/post for a while. but whatever, the fact that one little comment like that could make my entire day blew my mind. tbh i thought writers were just exaggerating when they said stuff like that.

ever since then i started leaving comments! that shit's easy! like what was i overthinking for? i'm such a fucking tryhard! all i gotta say is that i liked it, and even the bare minimum can bring lots of joy to someone.

so basically what im trying to say is that negative reinforcement doesn't do shit!! it just makes people feel bad about themselves. that post is nasty for guilt-tripping readers like that, and i bet you it's going to have the opposite effect (or no effect tbh).

YAPPING FINISHED. for now.

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They’re unbearable

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bound ch 2- the circumstances of status

Shepard and her benefactor, Lord Anderson, discuss the status of Normandy House and the upcoming marriage season.

pairing: female shepard/ garrus vakarian

rating: explicit

tags: regency au, marriage of convenience, enemies to lovers, slow burn, eventual smut, fake dating, mutual pining, hurt/comfort, fluff and angst

lil text blurb:

“The seamstress was here today,” Anderson said, worn as if it caused him great fatigue to speak. “I had to turn her away, as you were nowhere to be found.” 

“I fired the seamstress,” Shepard said pleasantly. 

Anderson gave her one very long, very hard look. “You fired the seamstress?” 

“Indeed. Turned her away down at her storefront. I brought along some spare credits I had sitting around as a compensation of course-- I am not a monster. But I stand to figure: no fancy new dresses, no ball for me.” It was a plan that, in her own private rationale of her head, sounded much more sane than how it did on her lips. Still, Shepard did her very best to look unperturbed. 

Anderson gave a great, heaving sigh. His entire chest cavity looked significantly skinner without the breath in his lungs, his clothes nearly baggy on his shoulders. “Jane…” 

“Do not Jane me,” Shepard snapped. She knew she was being unfair, and could do very little to stop herself. She felt once more as a tiny child with dessert being taken away for being snarky at the dinner table. As if to lean into the image, she crossed her arms in front of her chest. “You expect me to take this sudden shift lying down. Well I won’t! I will fight and kick and claw, as it is my nature.” 

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Being obsessed with your own ocs is so so good for you i seriously can't recommend it enough

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The full piece as intended. Happy sh2r launch day 🩸🔪

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I'm opening commissions! ( •̀ ω •́ )

Info here! Feel free to DM me if you're interested.

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I remembered to add his freckles this time

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trying to remember how to draw

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Jane and Garrus like to think they're the funniest people ever while doing shit like this

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Yes, yall are allowed to bop

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Chubbyheart for the people