#AND YOU GIVE ME NO SHEPARD CAN LIVE ENDING????

[thefallennightstars]

Hey guys... so what the fuck were those choices for the ending of ME3? Die, die or die?

Not one ending where Shepard could live? The person who gave so much to the world, to the universe, who got ignored and scoffed at until people got too scared at the last moment. Where is her happy ending?

This is why I am a artist bc I can ignore the fucking ending and just make up my own shit bc wtf-

[nrnyx]

PROMPT: How about Derek and Stiles meeting at a dog adoption event and falling in love over the same dog.

Thank you @steelcodewolf-blog for the prompt!

Stiles ran up to the counter and slammed his application down. “For Sparky!” he gasped out of breath as he’d just sprinted the entire mile to the adoption agency after his jeep broke down. It was finally the day. Stiles was free of his lease agreement and moving into a pet-friendly apartment. He could have a dog - his dog because he’d been visiting Sparky for months now after seeing his cute picture online. 

The animal shelter staff held Sparky as long as they could for him, but he’d been warned that today was their big adoption fair, and Sparky would be part of the group being pushed hardest for adoption. Sparky had already been with them for nearly a year before Stiles showed up, and before that, poor Sparky had been shipped from another shelter in New York. The shelter couldn’t hold him if someone wanted to adopt him. 

Stiles hadn’t been too worried. One of the reasons Sparky was still around was because he was a rather large and somewhat alarming German Shepard mix that might have actually been a wolf-dog, but the shelter didn’t have the funds to test his genetics, to be sure. Sparky had never been aggressive or tried to attack anyone. He was a chill dog that loved belly rubs, so he remained up for adoption. 

The staff even said that Stiles was the only person Sparky had ever shown an interest in. Sparky didn’t really like toys, wasn’t interested in other dogs or attention of any kind really, but he liked Stiles. The staff said he already knew the sound of Stiles's jeep and only ever bothered barking to alert them that Stiles was coming. Stiles adored the old grump right back and had visited him at least once every few days with the hopes that no one else would take notice of just how awesome Sparky was. 

Being a newly graduated college student and an intern with the FBI didn’t exactly bring in the big bucks yet, so Stiles had to wait for his lease to be up in order to find a new place to live that allowed pets. He’d managed to scrape up enough extra money for the rather hefty pet deposit and had Sparky a new bed, food, and dog tags waiting for him in the jeep, which they would have to walk back to, but he was sure Sparky would like the chance to stretch his legs.

It was going to be awesome.

Martha’s face fell as soon as she realized it was him, and Stiles felt his heart falling right along with her look of pity. “Stiles…” she started, but Stiles didn’t give her time to finish.

“Where’s Sparky? Please tell me you didn’t give him to some stranger off the street! I’ve been coming in for months!” Stiles protested in disbelief. How could they betray him? He thought they were all rooting for him and Sparky. He’d told them he would be in by the end of the day. They promised that even if someone tried to adopt, they wouldn’t let Sparky leave the same day. They’d make an excuse to hold him as long as they could for Stiles.

“I’m so sorry, Stiles. I know how excited you’ve been. This must be so heartbreaking for you, but his dad showed up,” the woman explained with actual tears in her eyes. 

Stiles couldn’t find his voice. That had been the last thing he’d expected to hear. “His dad?” he finally managed to get out. “His dad?”

“Yes, he had proof -” 

“He lost him! He lost him for over a year, and you’re just going to let him walk in and take him! Just like that? Clearly, the guy wasn’t a responsible dog parent to begin with. I mean, what kind of evidence did this guy have?”

“Uh Stiles…” Martha tried to interrupt, but Stiles was on a roll. There was no way Sparky was going anywhere with anyone but him. 

“Because photos can be photoshopped, and videos can be falsified. I know! I work for the FBI. Who is this guy? I want to see some I.D. and this so-called evidence. No one is leaving here with Sparky until I hear this assholes side of the story because there’s no way Sparky - ”  

“Jacks,” a male voice spoke up from beside him, and Stiles was momentarily left speechless as he turned and caught sight of, frankly, the most attractive guy he’d ever seen in his entire life, and he’d gone to school with Jackson Whittmore. 

“Holy shit, adopt me,” Stiles mumbled before his brain-to-mouth filter could catch up.

The guy's eyebrows did something impressive. “What?” 

“What?” Stiles asked back equally as dumbfounded. Honestly, he was just as surprised as anyone at what came out of his mouth sometimes. 

“Stiles, uhh… meet Sparky’s…  I’m sorry. I mean Jacks’s dad, Derek Hale,” Martha introduced as Stiles's big brain tried to get back online. “Apparently, Jacks was stolen about a year ago. His dad’s been looking for him ever since. He tracked him down here all the way from New York. Crazy, right?” Martha laughed nervously as she looked between the two.

Stiles eyed Derek Hale for a long moment and already felt himself accepting this new disappointing reality. The guy looked like Sparky’s dad. They both had a certain wolfishness about them that was undeniable. Honestly, Derek Hale had to be the most dedicated dog dad in the world to have tracked his lost dog all the way across the continent. 

Stiles felt himself deflating. “I’m glad you guys are reunited. I’m sure Sparky - I mean Jacks is pumped to see you again.”

Derek fished his phone from his pocket and turned it so Stiles could see the screen saver, which was truthfully the most adorable picture of the two together and obviously happy. “After he was taken, it took me a while to track him down. I found out that a shelter in New York shipped him to the West Coast, thinking he’d have a better chance of being adopted, but they couldn’t tell me where he ended up. I started checking shelters in Washington and was working my way down the coast when I saw an ad for today’s event. Jacks picture was part of it.”

“I’m glad you found him,” Stiles offered again, unable to look at the guy as he said it even though he did mean it. He couldn’t even get that kind of dedication out of a boyfriend. This guy was like a superhero or something. “Cool, well I gotta go…” 

Derek opened his mouth to say something, but Jimmy from the back was calling for him. Stiles knew Jimmy was the one who typically got the adopted dogs ready and brought them out to greet their new owners. He needed to get out of there. Stiles didn’t think he could say goodbye to Sparky- well, Jacks, which was a much more suitable and dignified name, he supposed. 

Derek, with his man stubble and leather jacket, looked like a guy who would own a dog named Jacks. 

More proof that they fit together.

While Derek was distracted, Stiles slipped away, shoulders slumped as he started the long walk back to his jeep. About halfway there, a familiar bark froze him in his tracks. Stiles turned just in time to see a black pickup slowing down to a stop beside him. The passenger window was down, and Jacks's big head was sticking out of it. 

“Do you live around here?” Derek called from the driver's side as he leaned out of the way of Jack’s aggressively thumping tail. 

Jacks whined, and Stiles immediately reached out to soothe him, running a hand over his massive ears and scratching how he knew Jacks liked. This earned him a great big lick across his face in return. Stiles laughed, swatting playfully, but Jacks only pushed closer, beginning to lick Stiles in earnest.

“That’s amazing. The shelter told me about you visiting him. I didn’t believe them at first. Jacks has never taken to… well, anyone else really,” Derek spoke up again, amusement clear in his voice as Stiles tried to fend off all the affection being lavished on him. Jacks had never been quite this excited to see him either, but it was a very welcome shift after the heartbreak he’d been feeling a moment ago. 

At least Stiles knew Jacks would miss him too. “Yeah, me and him… we kind of bonded while he was waiting on you.” Stiles shrugged in reply taking a small step back and almost giving in again when Jacks whined in protest.

Derek glanced at Jacks, before reaching out and patting him on the back in a reassuring way. “They said he was pretty depressed before you came around. Wasn’t eating much or leaving his kennel,” Derek explained. Stiles hadn’t known that part, but he was glad he helped Jacks until Derek found him. It was at least some comfort he could take home with him.

“I should uh… get back to my jeep,” Stiles said, pointing his thumb in the direction he was walking. 

As much as he liked seeing Jacks he really wanted to get home and have a good cry in private. Not only was he losing Jacks, but Jacks owner happened to be an insanely hot guy right out of Stiles's fantasies and entirely out of his league. It just reminded Stiles of exactly how lonely he was these days. Loneliness and his last breakup had been the whole reason Stiles was on the shelter’s page looking at adoptable dogs in the first place. 

“It’s parked a little down the road. I need to call a tow,” Stiles felt the need to explain, hoping his ears weren’t as red as they probably were. It was a bit embarrassing, but the jeep had been his mom’s, and he only had a few more years as a lowly FBI intern before he could afford to get it fixed properly. Maybe he could get his pet deposit back. That would help pay for the tow truck he was going to need to call. 

 Derek leaned over to unlatch the door. “Hop in. I’ll drive you down there and take a look. I’m a mechanic.”

Stiles couldn’t help how his mouth fell open. Could this guy be any more perfect? The only thing that would be better was if he were - 

“And maybe you’ll let me and Jacks take you to dinner… you know, as a thank you for looking out for him.” Derek sent him a wolfish smile that had probably seduced the panties off of hundreds of college co-eds back in his day. Stiles wasn’t embarrassed to admit that he could now be bunched into that category. 

“Uhh yeah okay…” Because what else was he going to say. Jacks moved over a bit to give him room, and as soon as Stiles settled, he had a lap full of wolfdog. 

Derek threw his head back and laughed. “Doesn’t look like he’s going to be letting you leave so easily.”

Stiles cleared away the lump in his throat and buried his face in Jacks soft fur. “I don’t mind.”

[gloryofdawn]

Pretty much everybody on Tumblr seems to look at Garrus and be like, "Hm, yes, the optimal love interest." And that's fair! Garrus is great. Date him if you want.

But goddamn, have I just always had brainrot for Shepard and Garrus platonically. Their dynamic is just so flawless. I have never believed a game more when it has told me "These two people are best friends." They are the most found family siblings I've ever seen.

Every party member in Mass Effect 1 (who lives) goes on to achieve greatness above and beyond pretty much any party member introduced in subsequent games (except that I do specifically think the human party members are outstripped by Mordin), but you get to watch it happen with Garrus and Tali because they never leave you. Garrus starts off as "That loose cannon cop who signed on to help get Saren." After Shepard dies, he decides he's just going to casually end organized crime and is alarmingly successful. When Shepard shows up again, Garrus' reaction is to fucking shoot them and then joke about it when they finally make it to him. Shepard deflects Garrus' near death experience by calling him ugly. During his loyalty mission, you have the opportunity to have some absolutely raw conversations with him about ethics and morality that you don't really ever see with another companion except Jack, and she basically completely ignores everything you say until you see her in 3. With Garrus, he'll resist what you're saying, but you can see him trying to find the line between justice and revenge, law and chaos. If you put him in charge of the second team during the suicide mission, you can see how much he's grown with you as he effortlessly coordinates his team with yours. And all that is just in Mass Effect 2.

Once you get to 3, you really start seeing it. Garrus has made his way up in the Hierarchy and is leading their efforts against the Reapers, just like Shepard. When you ask him about it, he immediately starts talking about it as the shared work you've had since the first game. No other companion identifies themselves with you through this struggle. Sure, other companions will mention the previous games and what you did with them, but there's always something else. Liara is the Shadow Broker now. Tali has the Geth to worry about. The Virmire Survivor is bound up in the Alliance and becoming a Spectre. Wrex has the Krogan. But Garrus? Garrus is here with you. He's standing right next to you, giving the Reapers his full attention. And as you go throughout the game, he's consistently the one there for you. When you're struggling to get the Council Races to work together, he's there. When things go tits up on Thessia, he's there. Even you're going into the final run, he's there. When the two of you die, if Turian heaven is the same as human heaven, he'll meet you at the bar.

There is no Vakarian without Shepard. There is no Shepard without Vakarian. These two soldiers are bound together with blood, sweat, and the sheer Terminator-grade determination to save the galaxy, no matter how much it kicks and screams. There is no fire they won't jump into for the other one, and they'll make fun of each other the whole way. There's no other relationship like it.

I'm Glory of Dawn, and this is my favorite platonic ship on the Citadel.

[mountainsandmayhem]

Frankie x Santi x Female Reader

Summary: Your boyfriends take care of you while you have your period

WC: 1.6k

AN: This is 100% a self indulgent fic that I wrote in about 20 minutes. It’s not BETA’d and I’ll probably end up just deleting it in a few days. But, I’ve had my period for 8 days now (tmi, but deal with it) and you can thank @for-a-longlongtime and @lotusbxtch for sending me an interview with these dummies and now all I want is for Frankie to be my boyfriend and Santi to be my boyfriend and I want them to be boyfriends. Dividers and support banners by @saradika-graphics.

Tags: pure fluff, mentions of period cramps and taking painkillers, men kiss (again, deal with it)

“Santi?” You called, your voice echoing through what you’re sure is a dark and empty house. “Pope?” You try, hoping he’ll respond to his nickname. When you get no response you try his full name.

A light flicks on in the kitchen. “Babe?” Your boyfriend says, the concern in his voice mirrors yours.

Francisco comes into view. “I need Santi,” you mumble as he pulls you into a hug.

“His flight was delayed. He’s not going to get back until after midnight.” His lips press to your forehead. “You’re warm. Are you feeling ok?”

Of your two boyfriends, one is a chaotic golden retriever, the other is a calm German Shepard. You love them both, but when your period surprised you three days early you knew you needed Santiago tonight.

“I need Santi,” you whine, a new wave of cramps and nausea coursing through your body.

“Did you get your period?” His voice is sympathetic but as you look up at him he has a mix of fear, and something akin to excitement, in his eyes.

You nod, noting that it’s definitely excitement in his eyes. Which makes absolutely no sense since Frankie cannot stand to see you in pain or sick.

“He left me a note!” He exclaims. “I’m going to make you all better.”

“A note?” He pulls you towards the couch, getting you all cozy in the corner of the plush sectional. He leaves the living room for the kitchen. “Fish! What do you mean a note?”

He comes back in with a piece of yellow lined legal paper in his hands. He starts to read, using his best impression of Santi’s bossy serious tone. The two of you tease him about it relentlessly, which usually ends in the three of you fucking like rabbits until every hole between your happy trio is full and spent.

“Fish, our girl was exceptionally horny earlier than normal so she might get her period while I’m gone. I know you’ve been with her longer, but she’s going to come home calling for me the day my flight lands. Just in case I get delayed I’ve left you some instructions.”

Frankie rolls his eyes, “I hate when he’s right.”

“Same,” you giggle, feeling so damn in love that tears start to burn behind your eyes.

“First, help her change into something comfy. Give her some of your sweats and that waffle knit Henley that usually makes her feral. Let her take whatever sweater she wants from me.”

Your hand peeks out from the blanket and Frankie pulls you to your feet. After you’re changed, wrapped in clothing that belongs to your men, Fish takes the note out again.

“Get her situated back on the couch, rookie move getting her all settled in her work clothes originally, Fish.” His hands fall to his sides defeatedly, he rolls his eyes, “Does this fucker have a crystal ball or something?”

You laugh, clutching your side and holding back a wince. “Don’t make me laugh, Francisco.”

He rushes to your aid, “Lo siento mi amor.”

The two of you leave your bedroom and head back to the couch. He helps you arrange the pillows and then gets your favourite blanket, tucking you in. After sponging his lips softly to yours he heads back into the kitchen.

He reads silently, “Give her one of those little blue pain killers. She has to drink a full glass of water, rub her back in small circles to help her. She’s going to fight you on the water, Fish, but you’re a soldier, stay strong.”

“No,” you whine, seeing the large glass of water in his hands. “Water makes me nauseous, Frankie. Pope lets me have a Diet Coke.”

“No he doesn’t, carinõ. Sit up a bit. I got you.”

His strong hand rubs small circles on your lower back, exactly how Santi does when he forces you to drink a whole glass of water with your pain killers. Once you drain the glass, Frankie takes it from you with a whispered ‘good girl’.

“The next part of the note is two options, depending on how your feeling.”

“Oh?” You ask. You hadn’t realized just how close Pope had been paying attention. He’s always there, calm and bringing you exactly what you need, but you hadn’t realized the extent of what was going on behind his eyes.

“Get her the heating pad and then she’ll either want to watch Dirty Dancing while eating gummy worms or The Departed while eating salt and vinegar chips. If she drank all the water she can have the Diet Coke she wanted originally.”

You snatch the note out of his hands. “There’s no way I’m that predict-“ your words falter as you read exactly what your boyfriend was saying aloud. You smile as you read the next sentence, “Seriously, Fish, if you didn’t make her drink all that water I’m going to punish you once she’s asleep.”

You look up at him mischievously. “I’m gonna tell him you didn’t make me drink any water.”

His mouth opens then shuts, contemplating whether or not to go along with it. “No, I want him to be proud of me, and you.”

“I’m a good girl,” you joke, “Our boyfriend is always proud of me.”

“What’s it gonna be, baby? Dirty Dancing or The Departed?”

You clench your teeth as a sharp cramp pierces at your side. “Dirty Dancing.”

Panic crosses his face as he rubs your knees that are curled tight to your chest through the blanket. “Ok, I’ll be right back.”

Frankie checks the note one more time. “Her snacks are on the top shelf of the pantry, tucked behind the cereal that you say tastes like old carpet. I’m going to have to find a new hiding place now. Let her curl up to you, she’s going to fall asleep about 20 minutes into the movie but don’t turn it off, she’ll know if you turn it off.”

He shakes his head and keeps reading. “Take care of her, please. I know you can’t handle seeing her in pain and I’m hoping you won’t have to. I love you, Frankie. Tell her I love her, too.”

He strolls back out to the couch with all the supplies. “Santi says he loves you.”

“You talked to him?”

“No, it was in the note.”

A sharp pain shoots through your back waking you up. You don’t know how you got to bed. You roll towards where Santi sleeps. He’s sitting, reading a book. He’s shirtless and for a second you think you’re dreaming with how good he looks.

His forefinger comes to his lips, signaling for you to stay quiet and then mouths ‘Hi’ at you with a soft smile.

“Hi,” you whisper, your hand coming to the small of your back.

“Bath?” He whispers, leaning forward to try to massage the cramps away.

With a nod of your head he pads to the bathroom. You see him in just loose fitting pajama pants, something about Santi shirtless and barefoot causes your heart to thunder behind your ribs. It’s homey and so domestic, and for a long time you thought he wouldn’t stay. Tonight, he’s once again proved to you and Frankie that he’s doing more than staying.

You sink into the warm water, Santi climbing in behind you. He knows you’re going to get all sleepy and the last thing he needs is for you to drown.

“I missed you. Frankie was so sweet tonight.”

“Ya? Did he follow my instructions?”

“He did. Even the water. I can’t believe I’m that predictable though.”

He chuckles behind you, his soft plush lips meeting your temple. “You’re not. I’m observant and I love you and Frankie. I’m sorry I was delayed tonight.”

“Mmm, it’s ok. It’s not your fault. I’m just glad you’re home.” The water is the perfect temperature and it doesn’t go unnoticed that he used the unscented bubble bath instead of the rose scented one that gave you a migraine last month. Your muscles start to relax, the cramps easing. “Santi?”

“Yes, querida?”

“Thank you for staying with us. A few months ago I wasn’t so sure. I hope you know how much I love you and how much I didn’t know I needed until you came along.”

He runs a soft washcloth up and down your body under the bubbles, addicted to the way you melt into him every time he does it. “I know. I love you, too.”

Frankie stirs awake, something feels wrong as he eyes blink over. He rolls to find the bed empty. He sits up in panic, only the light under the bathroom door calming him.

He usually sleeps naked, so after slipping his boxers on he creeps to the en suite and knocks softly before testing the handle. The door pops open and he shakes his head at you and Santiago in the tub together. There’s no bubbles left and you’re both sleeping soundly. As he dips his hand in the water to pull the plug the water is just slightly above room temperature.

The sound startles Santi, his arms wrap around you protectively as he looks at Fish.

“So worried about her drowning and you’re sound asleep,” he says softly.

“I got her,” he says back.

“I know. I was teasing you.”

“C’mere,” Santi rasps. Frankie, like you, was sound asleep when Santi crept into bed a few hours ago. Fish crouches beside the tub, Santi’s hand comes out of the water to wrap around his boyfriends neck.

“You’re gonna get me all wet, Pope!”

“You’re always wet around me, little puta.” he whispers against his lips and then kisses him passionately.

They’ve been so wrapped up in one another that they haven’t noticed that you’ve woken up. You snort quietly, “He’s got you there, Fish.”

[kaunis-sielu]

Small Town, Big City: 8

You make it home fine but you know that Steve is fired up about the driver. You can’t say that you blame him, having a vehicle zoom that close to you more than once had ruined the comfortable vibe that you’d had before.

You’re surprised when Steve comes out of his room in his uniform.

“I didn’t know you worked tonight.”

“Technically, I don’t. I’m gonna go out and see if I can find that truck.”

“It was a truck?” You hadn’t looked because you didn’t want to give them any more fuel to go after you and Steve. He must hear the alarm in your voice, it’s not like there’s only one black truck but you just have a bad feeling.

“Yea, why?”

“Black?”

“T. What’s going on?”

“It’s probably nothing but, there was black truck just sitting outside the bakery today. I just clocked it because it was the only car on street.”

“If you see it again please try to get the plate.”

“Okay? It’s probably nothing.”

“Just in case Sweetheart.” You nod and he comes toward you, “I can stay in if you want.” He offers but you know he’d feel better if he could go out and try to find the black truck, even if they’re probably long gone by now.

“No, I don’t want him to hurt someone else just because I’d rather hang out with you and watch a movie.”

“Rain check okay?” He promises and you nod then follow him to the door, he kisses you softly at the door before cupping your face in one of his hands. “Lock the door behind me.”

“I always do.” You assure him, “Be safe.”

“Yes ma’am.” He tells you with a little wink and you can’t help but laugh softly, which you know was probably his goal.

You take Fury out to go potty before you hunker down to watch a movie. You think about calling Maria but when you check the time you realize it’ll be a bad idea. It’s too close to bedtime for Peter and you’ve learned that lesson. Instead you call Carol, you’d gone to Veterinary school with Carol and had just clicked.

“Hey! How’s it going in the middle of the desert?” She answers and you laugh,

“It’s good. I got to birth puppies the other day and they had their first checkup today. I might need you to send me some vaccines.”

“Yea, how many will you need?”

“Six. Actually why don’t you send me seven just in case anything happens.”

“Six puppies!”

“Yea. They’re adorable, mom is a lab and dad is a Shepard. I’m tempted to adopt one.”

“Yea that doesn’t surprise me.” You can’t help but grin,

“Excuse me I’m not the one that ended up with an orange cat before graduation.”

“Yea, yea, yea. How’s your hot cop?”

“Sheriff. They’re different.”

“Excuse me. How is your hot sheriff?”

“Really good. We went for a ride tonight and got a little harassed by a truck. Steve wasn’t happy so he decided to go out and see if he could find them.”

“Ooh, protective. That’s hot.”

“Mmhmm.” You agree with a little hum, “I know this was a total fluke to end up here but fuck I’m happy I did.”

“You think you’ll stay there even when you have the money to move home?”

“I’m not in a hurry to leave that’s for sure. Do I miss more consistent vet work? Yea, but if I end up staying it would make more sense to actually open something. You know?”

“You’re not completely committed to staying?”

“I mean Steve is certainly making it harder to want to leave. And I’ve started to make friends here that are cool, you’d like Nat. She’s snarky and funny and owns the mechanic shop. I don’t know. Is this where I thought I’d end up? No but I thought I’d still be with Brock.”

“That asshole.”

“At least he’s not reaching out every single day anymore.” You point out and she hums, “and at the end of the day if it wasn’t for him I’d never have met Steve.”

“Who sounds like a walking green flag.”

“You’d like him.”

“I can’t wait to meet him at your wedding.” She teases and you laugh,

“Oh my god. We just started dating.”

“And you already live together. You’re gonna get married in the next like, six months, then he’ll tell you he loves you.”

“You’re a dumbass.” You laugh, “but for real, if I’m here when you wanna take your vacation you could come visit.”

“Stay in your spare room?”

“We don’t have a spare room. I’m in the spare.”

“You’re not sharing a room yet?”

“We haven’t done more than make out on the couch.”

“How do you feel about that?”

“I don’t mind. He’s a really good kisser and I don’t think I’d be moving faster if we didn’t live together. Like, just because we’re living together that doesn’t mean that we have to be moving faster than we would in any other situation.”

“That’s a good point.” Carol concedes, “as long as you’re happy right?”

“Exactly.”

The movie you’d been playing ends before you’re done talking with Carol. When you do finally hang up you start another movie and get comfy on the couch.

You’re petting Fury when the back door opens.

“Any luck?” You call and when Steve doesn’t answer you look toward the door. Horror floods you as you clock that it’s not Steve standing in the kitchen of your home.

It’s Brock.

Tag list:

@foxyjwls007 @andahugaroundtheneck @also-fangirlinsweden @pagina16ps @zaraomarrogers @princesssterek @valsworldofcreativity @dumblani @inkedaztec @loving-life-my-way @animegirlgeeky @shinycupcakebaker @eralen @sophham @gh0stgurl @wonderlandfandomkingdom @patzammit @abschaffer2 @capsiclesdoll @killcomet @sass-masterkittenmama

[drghostwrite]

I just read ur Arizona fic and yesss I love it, I love Arizona but why isn’t there more Arizona fics tho?! :’(

Can I ask for Arizona x reader with the prompts "Just put the [weapon] down, I'm not going to hurt you." With like the reader protecting the peds area and especially protecting Arizona During the ‘u know what’ episode (🔫 ) And idk a fluff prompt because why are ur prompts all so good I can’t choose. And please angst but fluffy ending😭 I hope ur doing well and keeping yourself healthy! <3

Omg yea, I’m so sorry that I missed this in my inbox but here it is and I hope you enjoy!

Pairing: Arizona Robbins x reader

Summary: above, but basically during the you know what and reader is being a scary protective wifey lol

********************************************************

Bang!

You heard a shot ring out and then another and another, you hit the floor behind the large nurses station, watched as people ran out hearing sneakers squeak on the floor. You sat waiting listening your ears straining to hear anything more after people cleared out you came out from under the desk. You knew Arizona had no idea what was going on, she had got out of surgery and was now it peds helping her tiny humans.

you turned making your way to the atrium, you could hear talking and looked up seeing the gunman standing there, you heard another shot ring out watching Derek hit the ground and then you listened as you could hear another voice and higher, fragile voice… it was Kepner begging for her life.

You raced to the stairwell knowing you had to make it to your wife before the psycho with the gun could, you heart raced as you ran up the stairs your legs burning as you propelled yourself forward, after several bounding flights you burst through the door running down the winding hallway.

you ran past a patient room and that’s when you saw her the blonde hair whipping around, you quickly backtracked and burst through the door.

“Y/N?!”

“Arizona, thank God.” You breathed a sigh of relief as she approached you and you pulled her into a hug.

“what’s going on? Y/N I heard…”

“gunshots it was gunshots… Derek and a few others have gone down…”

“What…” she whispered.

“Yea we need to get out of here…”

“I can’t a lot of these kids can’t be moved, Y/N we’re sitting ducks.”

“no… I’ll figure this out just keep them calm we’ll get through this., I’ll be right back.”

“Wait Y/N no…”

“I’ll be right back…I promise.” You looked into her ice blue eyes, kissing her lips before turning and running back out and down the hall, you made your way to the front of the pediatric floor the desk where the shooter would have to make his way through. You picked up the phone and started dialing but not before you heard the shuffling of shoes, looking up you saw the glint of the barrel standing not 10 feet in front of you.

“put the phone down…” he spoke almost in a calm manner.

“okay… okay…” you reached back over the desk hanging up the phone, surrendering your hands in the air. “Just put the gun down, I’m not goi to hurt you, I won’t try anything…” You saw the wound oozing blood from his shoulder, you eyes scanned him from the blood running onto his hand to the way his gun shook as if it was becoming to heavy.

“Are you a surgeon?”

“I-I…”

“ARE you a surgeon?!” He got more stern.

“Yes I am.”

“So how does it feel?… how does it feel to hold lives in your hands and now you’re standing here watching me as I decided what to do with yours.”

“I don’t hold lives in my hands… I save them, I take patients… no not patients... people and I save their lives I give them another chance to live an-and to love, I give people another chance... I'm no God”

“That was taken from my wife… your chief took that from me, he pulled the plug as if she was just another device in the room, killing her taking her from me.”

"Mr.Clark, You're Gary Clarke your wife came in and had brain surgery she was a patient of Dr. Shepard, I remember her case..."

"You remember?" he asked tears coming to his eyes, the gun starting to lower, but before you could continue Arizona ran in seeing the standoff happening, "Wait, wait..."

"Arizona, no...

"You can't do this... There's only children here... you can't do this." she spoke, her voice breaking tears running down her face.

"Who are you?!" He said raising the gun at her.

"NO, no..." you said pulling her behind you, sheilding her with your body.

"Is she a surgeon too?"

"Sh-she is... she's also MY wife, this is the woman I love..."

"They took my wife."

"I know, I know but I'm asking you... Mr. Clark I'm asking you to spare my wife, the mother of my children...err my future children... I want to live a life with her by my side..." You watched as SWAT filled the hall behind him, "I want to travel and show her how much I love her and that she deserves so much better than me..." before he could make a move or you could say another word you heard gun shots and glass shattering, you turned shielding Arizona, you could hear boots stomping in behind you.

As you pulled apart you could hear the chaos around you but you were too focused on the concerned face of your wife, your expression changed from relief to pain when you felt her quickly press her hand to your abdomen.

"Arizona?"

"Y/-Y/N you've been shot... Oh my God you've been shot." you looked down at her hand applying pressure, blood leaking through her fingers, your blood running down her wrist.

"Y/N please no, please no... I can't lose you."

"Arizona?"

"No, God why did you have to be such an idiot, I shouldn't have let you walk out of that room, you'd be safe and with me."

"Arizona I-I ca-an't" your eyes started to flutter and your legs felt weak, the last thing you remembered was hitting the floor and watching as she scrambled, she yelled at the SWAT team trying to get help, any help and then as your eyes closed you could see her above you.

---12 hours later---

You felt a pressure holding your hand and felt tear drops as they hit your arm. you moved your fingers wrapping them around her hand feeling both of her hands tighten around you.

"Y/N?

"Arizona, baby"

"Oh my God Y/N you're awake, I thought I lost you."

"You can't loose me, you're stuck with me for life remember."

"For life?" she said holding you so tightly yet she was so gentle as if she would lose you.

"Forever and Always."

"Forever and Always." she repeated, she was still so gentle with you as if in a moment you would fade away.

"Love I'm right here, I'm not going anywhere, I'm right here, with you."

"I-I thought..." she looked at you and then your lips, leaning in ghosting so close to you, you could feel her breath on your lips.

"You won't break me," you said closing your eyes, she leaned forward making contact, lips on lips. when you pulled apart you moved over the best you could and motioned for her to climb up with you, she laid on her side placing her head on your chest, and you wrapped her in your arms.

"I really thought I was going to lose you, I thought that was it."

"I swear to you Arizona I will always be here for you, I will always fight for you... for us, I will always love you."

[your-unfriendlyghost]

Angela & the Runaways

Chapter 1

Summary:

After the events of That Was Then, This is Now, Angela decides she’s done with Tulsa. But she can’t make a clean break- whether she likes it or not, Mark Jennings has invited himself along for the ride.

or as I’ve been saying for the past two weeks- after reading That Was Then, This is Now, I couldn’t stand the thought of Angela being stuck in some awful loveless marriage. So I’m giving her an escape, and a companion she may or may not want lol, because upon rereading I really really like Mark Jennings. Anyway, I’m really having fun with this duo, and I hope you like ‘em too :))

Roughly 4k words, with a good 8k more already typed and a lot more in the works. Cross posted to Ao3

-

  She ran into Bryon a few days ago. It must’ve been more than three years since she saw him last. He was pretty shocked.

  She’s just standing there on the boardwalk when he comes up to her, staring wide-eyed, and says “Angel Shepard? That you?”

  Angela blinks. “Yeah?” she says without thinking. And then she looks a second time, and really sees him. “Oh…yeah,” she says slow. (Not stammering- even now she don’t stammer hardly ever- but slow is close as she gets to it.)

  “Real funny seein’ ya so far from Tulsa, Angel- what’re ya doin’ here?” Bryon says, looking at her like she’s a cartoon that took a wrong turn into the real world.

  “I live here, what’re you doin’ here?” she says back without any heat. 

  “Been goin’ to school, few towns north. Boy, ain’t it funny we both wound up here?” he says, a glimmer of humor in his big brown eyes. (Like a Saint Bernard puppy-dog was how Mark had described them.)

  Not really, Angela wants to say. It’s not so funny at all. Seems to her everyone ends up in California. The edge of the land, the cliff where the vast expanse of America drops off into the sea, the dead end you find yourself in when there’s nowhere left. 

  A land of opportunity for the smart boys like Bryon and movie stars down south, and the end of the road for folks like her. 

  “Suppose it is,” Angela says, exhaling and watching smoke curl out over the sand.

  “You look nice. You ain’t aged a day since I saw ya last,” he smiles.

  “Well, my hair’s grown,” she says dryly, and his smile drops a fraction. She almost feels a bit bad for that. “What’re ya goin’ to school for?”

  He takes the olive branch. “Journalism. Writing.”

  That checks out. For a hood, Bryon Douglas always loved reading. It was part of what Angela liked about him back before everything that went down- he was more sensitive than other guys in their neighborhood. Well, not more sensitive. More observant, maybe. 

  “You gonna be like Curtis?” Angela says, referring to a kid from the East Side who wrote a book about some gang violence from when they were kids.

  “Nah. I ain’t no novelist.” Bryon shifts his weight. “You read his book?” 

  “Nah,” Angela shakes her head. “I hate Curtis,” she says, which isn’t exactly true.

  “You oughta read it. He’s real smart, that kid,” Bryon sighs, tilting his head up. “But I’m just goin’ for newspapers. It’s easy. Pays decent. That sort of deal.”

  “Ah,” she says. 

  He must be waiting for her to say more, because after a few seconds, he says “You?”

  “Hm?”

  “What’re you doin’ here?”

  Angela snuffs out her cigarette on the rail of the boardwalk. “Hangin’ round,” she shrugs. There’s a lotta good places for all sorts of hangin’ round here. Enough to keep her from getting bored. It’s why they’ve stayed for so long.

  “But like…for work?”

  “I dance,” Angela says flatly. 

  “Dance?” Bryon repeats, laughing. “Didn’t take ya for that type. What, ballet?”

  “Not like that,” Angela says, and she can see the moment Bryon gets what she’s saying, because his face drops.

  “Oh…”

  She chuckles. “It’s not so bad. I get real good tips. If I wanted, I could buy me a Stingray.”

  “Do ya wanna?”

  “Nah.” She’s got more important things to spend her well earned money on. “Ain’t my only work, neither- I got a gig at a diner off Main Street. And y’know- the husband’s got an okay income too.”

  “Husband- oh gee, Angel, how’s that goin’?” Bryon says, eyes soft. He’s still cute, she notices. Taller than her boy by nearly a foot. Darker. Less pretty, more handsome.   “Alright,” she says tightly.

  “I’m…I’m real sorry you had to marry that guy.”

  Angela starts. Oh. Right. He thinks she means that guy Tim made her marry all those years ago. 

  “Oh, he ain’t that one. I left that one a long long time ago,” she says airily. 

-

  Angela re-met Mark Jennings on a burning hot summer day. She was stepping out of a drugstore in Bixby, when she saw a flash of blonde in her car’s front seat.

  Someone was trying to hotwire it!

  She wanted to scream- not with fear, but frustration- she didn’t have time for this! She bit her tongue and snatched her brother’s switch outta her pocket, flicking it open, and held it just outta sight of the thief.

  “Get outta the car,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

  The blond sat up, back still to her, and raised his hands up. “Sorry,” he said, although he didn’t sound it. His voice was familiar. 

  “Turn around,” Angela commanded.

  He did, and Angela’s heart sank into her boots.

  “Oh…hey hey, Angel,” he said, face cracking into a smirk. “Fancy meetin’ you here.”

  How the hell was he here?! Last she heard of Mark Jennings, he was locked in the Tulsa “Criminal Justice Center”- got caught with drugs or something. That was fine by her. Last she’d seen of Mark Jennings, he’d cut all her hair off and left her drunk in a yard. She’d been real pleased when Curly told her he was locked up.

  “Get outta the car, Jennings,” she spat.

  “Cool it, baby,” he grinned. “What’re you doin’ ‘round these parts? Your baby daddy don’t miss ya?” he said, doing a scratchy high-pitched voice and batting his eyelashes.

  Angela’s stomach twisted, feeling her own heart race in her chest. (Was Ricky back from work yet? No, no, he couldn’t be- but what if he was- No, no, no. He- he had to be at work still. He had to be. He wouldn’t find out till late, and by then Angela would be long gone…)

  “He ain’t. I wasn’t pregnant, Mark,” she growled, focusing on that instead.

  “Oh? And the shotgun weddin’ was just for fun, then?” Mark said, eyes wide with mock curiosity.

  Angela shifted, clenching the switch tighter beneath the window. “You ain’t far off,” she said, forcing her voice gentler. “Besides, this way I ended up gettin’ a free Chevy outta the deal, see?” she said, smiling the way she smiles when she’s trying to get a guy to pay for her drinks. Go away go away go away.

  “Ah, that’s how ya got yer mits on this completely cherry car! I was wonderin’,” Mark said, beaming with sharp teeth.

  And I’d like you to get your mits off of it! Angela thought. She swallowed back her irritation and tried her damndest to stay sweet sounding. “Oh, yeah, it’s fantastic, really boss.”

  It was a nice car. Off-white and spacious- a Chevy Nomad or something, although she didn’t remember the year. Ricky’s other car was nicer, though- bright red and sporty-looking, and she really really liked it…but the Chevy blended in more. So it was the Chevy she stole. “Speakin’ of which! I’m runnin’ late, gotta go…bring Ricky his…lunch. So again, I gotta ask ya to get outta the car.”

  “Oh man, little Angie Shepard’s gone domestic! That’ll be the day,” Mark hooted.

  “Not that domestic,” Angela said, touching his shoulder. He stiffened. “You know, I always thought you were Bryon’s cutest friend, Mark,” she said, laying it on thick. “If ya get outta here, I think I’d just have to keep in touch…”

  Mark stared at her blankly. “Are you…” he laughed. “Are you tryin’ to flirt?” Angela tore her hand away, face hot with embarrassment. “Boy, you must think I’m really stupid,” he drawled. 

  He said a few other things too, about Curtis or something, but Angela was distracted- a bright red car zoomed by in the corner of her peripherals. She watched it, heart pounding, till it vanished into the horizon.

  She exhaled, hands trembling. Not Ricky.

  “Just get out of the car, Mark Jennings!” Angela snapped, nervous, ashamed, and losing her patience. “I’m runnin’ late!”

  “Fine, I’ll wire some other piece of junk,” Mark shrugged. “And you’d best not call the pigs, Angel,” he added, lowering his voice. “I do still know where ya live,” he said with his unsettling little smile.

  “Wouldn’t dream of it,” she sneered. And because she couldn’t tell him his threat was pointless, to get the last word in, she said “Bryon’ll do it for me.” 

  But she regretted the words soon as they were out, not wanting to drag this out any longer. The sun was lowering on the skyline. She needed to get the hell out of Bixby if she was gonna cross the stateline by nightfall, and provoking Mark Jennings was a surefire way to slow things down.

  But Mark didn’t flinch, didn’t drop his easy, pleasant voice. “Bryon’ll do it for both of us. Ain’t like he treated you any better.”

  Angela’s stomach twisted at that, taking her by surprise. Detachedly, she noted that it still hurt, thinking about Bryon. She knew she was still mad at him, but she thought it had stopped hurting. And yet there was a dull discomfort in the back of her mind. 

 She played it cool. “I’m late. I ain’t got time for this.”

  “Right, right. Gotta feed the husband,” Mark said mockingly. He swung the car door open, looking her up and down, and she tried not to fidget under his strange gold stare. “Jesus, Angel, I never did take you for the type…” He raised an eyebrow, and looked back into the wagon of the car, and then back at her again. He stood up, eyes narrowing. “You…hey…what sorta domestic grocery run needs a whole luggage along?”

  “That’s not a luggage. That’s my father-in-law’s,” Angela said fast.

  Mark scanned the car again, and then stared at the single grocery bag in Angela’s hand and the switch in her other. 

  “What kinda construction worker eats first aid kits and…rope?” he continued, tilting his head curiously. 

  “This ain’t-”

  “...You’re kinda far from Tulsa for a grocery run…” Mark said slowly. “Oh Angel!” he laughed, high and mean. “You’re runnin’ away! Oh boy, you’re- Ha!”

  “I’m not!”

  “Then why didn’t ya call for a store clerk when ya saw some dude in yer car? It makes perfect sense, I get it, I get it, you’re tryin’ to cover yer tracks!” Mark giggled. “Oh glory, that’s- that’s funny!”

  “What’s so funny about it?!” Angela snapped. 

  “C’mon, Angie, you’re bright- what the hell d’ya think I’m doin’ out here?” he said, leaning towards her. “Ya think I got out of the cooler on good behavior? Hell no!”

  “You broke out,” Angela said.

  “Pshhyeah I did,” he scoffed, grinning. He grabbed her shoulders. “An’ you can be my ride to the state line!”

  “No,” Angela murmured, feeling sick. 

  She was no stranger to jailbreaks and convicts- they came with the neighborhood she grew up in- but driving Mark to the state line? While she was already in enough trouble as it was?

  “What?” Mark said, voice and face still breezy, but his grip on her shoulders tightened.

  Angela shoved him off, knocking the bag into his stomach, before tossing it into the backseat.

  “You heard me. No. I ain’t gonna be your ride. I ain’t puttin’ my neck on the line for you, kid.”

  “Angela, please,” he said, glancing desperately back at the convenience store. 

  “Just wire another car, that’s what you were gonna do, wasn’t it?” she sighed, folding the switch and jamming it back into her pocket. “Don’t see why I gotta be dragged into it.”

  “Well- I- I don’t want to wire a car, not so soon after breakin’ out- they’ll be on the lookout for me!”

  “What, can’t get away with everythin’ no more?” Angela snipped. “Anyhow, they’ll be on the lookout for me, too,” she muttered. 

  “Yeah, but not for twenty four hours at least. You’re gonna be a missin’ person. I’m,” he said, pausing, “an outlaw.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself, Clint Eastwood, you’re nothin’ but a scummy dealer,” Angela scoffed. 

  “Well you need me for when those twenty four hours are up,” Mark pointed out, regaining his self assuredness. 

  “Why the hell would I need you?”

  “You’re gonna want someone to wire you a new car. In twenty four hours, this here Nomad’s goin’ straight into the system, and they’ll be on the lookout for ya from here clear to California.”

  That was true. Tim never bothered teaching her to wire. And until now, she never thought she’d need to. Still, she held steady, glaring at Mark.

  “C’mon, Angel,” he said, leaning close. In the bright sunlight, his gold-brown eyes look yellow, like a jungle cat’s. Like a sweet-talking tiger, luring her in like prey. “That’s not all you need me for. Think about it. Bryon’s ex-girlfriend and his ex-brother- runnin’ off without him…God, can you imagine? We could send him a postcard…can you picture the look on his face?” Mark grinned. Angela wondered faintly if his eyeteeth had always been so pointed.

  Mark was a dangerous person to get involved with. Angela knew that. Of course she did. He was bright and fast, golden and near-untouchable. He’d laugh his head off on a highway to hell, chewing people up and spittin’ ‘em out. He was exactly the sort of louse she wanted to leave behind in Tulsa, a dot in her rearview mirror that would disappear with the rest of ‘em.

  But she pictured Bryon, Bryon who held her, who kissed her, who loved her better than any guy she’d seen before. Bryon who read books, who could be softer than the others, sweeter than the hoods she knew. Who promised her once that he’d get her outta that town someday…

  She ran a hand through her hair. It was longer now, barely brushing her shoulders, but still too light. Too vulnerable. She remembered waking up in that yard, hungover and head pounding, and seeing her long locks in the mud, and feeling absolutely gutted.

  At least with Mark she knew she was making a deal with the Devil. At least Mark wasn’t trying to hide.

  And anyway, Angela was just as bad as he was, wasn’t she? She was going to hell in a handbasket side by side with him regardless. 

  She told herself then at the time that it was to get back at Bryon, to get back at Tim, to get back at Tulsa and everyone in it.

  But looking back, she suspects that maybe a part of her, just a small, little voice inside of her, didn’t wanna go it alone.

  “Let’s send him a photo reel,” Angela said, finally looking at Mark. “He’ll be horrified.”

  And with a sinister grin, Mark Jennings climbed back into the car. “Boy, you’re cold.” He leaned back. “I dig it.”

  “Jennings?”

  “Hm?”

  Angela jammed the sharp end of her car key into his bare shoulder, and he jolted out of the seat, eyes wide with shock. 

  “What the hell?!” he spat.

  Angela smiled, feeling just a little better about everything. “I’m drivin’.”

-

  They reached Texas by nightfall. 

  “Park there,” Mark muttered, rubbing his eyes.

  “Hm?”

  “The uh…the grocery store lot. Get a chance to uh,” he yawned, “sleep…”

  The grocery store lot was across the road, sort of smallish and mostly empty. Angela wrinkled her nose. Past it there was a neon sign, shaped like a cowboy hat, shining gold and red over the asphalt and houses. Angela squinted- Vacancy. 

  “There’s a motel just a few lots down,” Angela argued. 

  “Hm. No…motels…getcha caught,” he grunted. “ID’s ’n all.”

  “Well when the pigs come knockin’ at this here door, yer gonna be caught all the same, Billy the Kid,” Angela said, and Mark must’ve been real tired, because he didn’t argue. “C’mon, you got a fake ID anyhow, don’tcha?” she said.

  “Not in this jacket, babe,” he scoffed, folding his arms around his middle. 

  “How’d ya get that back, anyway?” Angela said, frowning. He was in the old letterman jacket he used to wear- Dark blue and gold, with the sleeves cut off. He used to say he’d stolen it offa some Soc, but blue and gold were not the colors of any school anywhere near Tulsa. So she’d always been pretty sure he’d just happened upon it at a charity shop.

  “Broke into Bryon’s,” Mark mumbled, eyelids drifting shut.

  “You what?” Angela said, pulling into the motel lot. But Mark was either too sleepy to register it or pretending to be. 

  Whatever. She had a fake ID along with her. 

  “C’mon,” she hissed once she parked, poking Mark’s shoulder with her keys. 

  He blinked an eye open, and gave a small sort of sigh, but let her haul him to his feet. 

  “Get my bag,” she ordered. 

  “Get it yourself, princess,” Mark scoffed. Angela sighed- oh well, it was worth a try. She grabbed her own bag and locked the car. 

  Inside, the clerk looked them over. 

  “A room, please,” Angela barked.

  “How old are you, m’am?” the clerk frowned.

  “Twenty two,” Angela lied, sliding her fake ID across the counter. The clerk looked past her at Mark skeptically. 

  “How old is he?”

  “Forty-six,” Mark said, grinning. 

  “Pardon- what?” The clerk said, eyes narrowing.

  “The secret’s to stay outta the sun and drink only rabbit blood,” Mark winked. 

  “Excuse me?” said the clerk.

  “He’s twenty,” Angela said, elbowing him. “Sorry. He thinks he’s funny.”

  “I am,” Mark smirked. Angela elbowed him harder. Mark caught her elbow and linked arms with her, smiling innocently. “Sorry, she’s in a lousy mood- did ya wake up on the wrong side of the bed, babe?” he said, voice dripping sickly-sweet. 

  “Uh…Okay,” the clerk said, raising his eyebrows. “I’ll just uh…one room then. One bed?”

  Mark’s grin dropped just a fraction, but through gritted teeth, he said “Oh…yeah. That’ll be just fine.”

  Ugh. Great. Now she had to share a bed with Mark Jennings. As if her night couldn’t get any worse.

  “Yes, that’ll be lovely, hon,” she said, wrapping her arm around his waist, relishing in how he flinched just a bit. She fished out Ricky’s card- she figured she could use it for just a little longer before it was deactivated. 

  The clerk scanned it, wrote something down, and gave Mark the room key, giving him another weird look. 

  “Thanks,” Mark said as they stepped outside, with a final nod at the clerk. 

  Outside, Mark quickly detangled himself from her, and walked a few paces ahead. Good. 

  “Hey hey, I get the bed!” Mark called over his shoulder. 

  “You ass!” Angela snapped, racing after him. “Get back here, you little bastard-” But she was wearing heels and carrying her trunk, and he was in his old tennis shoes and empty handed, so there was no contest, and he practically flew up the stairs while she hobbled. 

  “Aw- c’mon, hurry up,” he said, darting back down the stairs to grab her trunk. 

  “Thanks,” she said- but then he slid the trunk down the walkway till it hit the far end, and let himself into the room, smirking like a cat.

  Angela cursed under her breath and stormed off after her luggage. By the time she made it into the room, Mark was sitting cross-legged on the bed, smiling that awful sharp-toothed grin. 

  “Don’t worry darlin’,” he drawled, “the couch is real comfy.”

  Angela flipped him off. “I drove, I get the bed.”

  “Ah, but see, Angel, one of us is on the bed, and one of us isn’t…seems to me that person’s you,” Mark said, shrugging. 

  “Mark Jennings, I don’t have to take you with me- I can still call the fuzz, you know, and they’ll be really thrilled to have you-”

  “But you won’t,” Mark said, smugly. “I know you won’t.”

  Angela seethed. “Why shouldn’t I?!”

  “You won’t,” Mark hummed, stretching out on the bed. “G’night, Angel.”

  “You- ugh!” Angela shrieked. She kicked the bed as hard as she could, and went into the bathroom with her bag, slamming the door.

  “Okay, go pout, princess,” Mark said, muffled by the door. 

  Angela scowled. “I ain’t! I’m changing, you dick!”

  “Su-ure,” he said, laying the sarcasm on thick. Angela bit her tongue to keep from screaming. 

  She took a deep breath. It was gonna be okay. She just had to travel with him till they stole a new car, and then it’d be good riddance, and she’d never have to see him again.

  She set her bag down on the faux-marble counter, and pulled off her shirt and skirt. She dug out an old silky slip dress instead, and tugged it on over her bra- she wasn’t gonna be braless around Mark Jennings.

  The slip was longer than it was meant to be, as it was a hand-me-down from her friend, tall ol’ Evie Peterson. Back before Evie went to college, she’d let Angela raid her closet. 

  Angela smiled at the thought, smoothing the slip over herself. She missed Evie…Evie and her stupid happy endings. Evie got out of Tulsa a year ago, with a partial scholarship to ASU and a pretty boyfriend to boot. (Back in the day, Sylvia and Angela ragged on him nonstop, because he was shorter than Evie, dumb as rocks, and had crooked teeth. Well, next to Mark Jennings, Bryon Douglas, Ricky Corrigan, and all the other awful boys Angela had been around since, Steve Randle was starting to look like a real prince charming.)

  She sighed, brushed her teeth, and closed her bag. She didn’t bother washing off her smudgey faded makeup. She didn’t particularly care to impress Mark, and more importantly, she just didn’t have it in her to. She fluffed her hair a bit, still sad about it, although it did look good.

  Angela emerged from the bathroom and set the trunk down, curling up on the couch. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t that good either. She could feel a spring sticking into her back.

  “G’night,” Mark hummed, buried under the quilt, still in his jeans and cut-sleeves sweatshirt. He didn't bother brushing his teeth. Idiot. 

  He was a little guy- taller than her, sure, but everyone was- and on the big king-sized bed he looked tiny. Resentfully, Angela thought, we could have both fit on that damn bed and there’d still be a yard between us. She rolled her eyes. That was fine. She didn’t want to share a bed with Mark. 

 “Give me a blanket,” Angela said flatly. Mark tossed her a fuzzy throw blanket. It didn’t quite reach her feet. She would have argued more, but tonight, she was tired, so she just quietly wrapped it around herself and tried to fall asleep.

[swaps55]

After I read your latest Mezzo chapter (Chef’s kiss!) I started another reread of the whole series. (The fifth? Sixth? I lost track ^^) Anyway, I just came across the “MSV Fleur de Lis” incident that ends in Wong being expelled from the team and consists of one of the few (if not the only) glimpses we get on how Sam is around children.

Not for the first time I thought about your take on whether or not he and Kaidan will be having kids in the future. I can totally relate to Kaidan’s way of thinking - not wanting to “burden” Sam with another responsibility but making it possible for him to live a life just for himself. And nobody else.

I was wondering - do you think they’ll talk about this? Is that a decision they make together? Or is it just Kaidan who decides for the both of them without actually telling Sam? Will that ever be a topic? What would Sam do if he realizes at one point that Kaidan gave something up for him? Assuming Kaidan would like to have kids ..

This is a really excellent question with a complicated answer because their writer makes it complicated. Kids are unfortunately a very sensitive subject for me to write about (this question is absolutely fine or I wouldn't have answered it), so in essence I am making this decision for them and backing into why it's in character, because a life with kids is not something I can write about.

I'm saying this mostly to give a peek into some of the writing process. Especially in fanfic, where events and decisions and character beats can come predefined, sometimes the question you have to ask yourself isn't "how does this character respond to X," it's "this character responded to X with Y, why did that happen?" In this case I am defining the character response to this question because it's a boundary for me, but now it's my job as the writer to make sure that decision feels in character.

Anyway - do Sam and Kaidan talk about this decision? Probably, even if it doesn't wind up on the page. You're right - Sam is good with kids. I wanted that glimpse you get in Cantata to show that. There's a Cantata-era story I really, really want to find the time to write that is based around the thought that sometimes we become the people we needed when we were young. I think part off the reason Sam is good with kids comes from the fact that he grew up with an inattentive, distant parent, so he gives kids his full attention. Also, he had an interrupted childhood. There's a part of him that didn't get to be a kid, so kids bring out the kid in him that never got to be.

But I do think the fact he is so much like his mother would scare him when it comes to the possibility of parenthood. He might bring up kids thinking that it's something Kaidan might want, and Sam's a giver. But he'd probably feel a lot trepidation over the suggestion, and relief when Kaidan kindly, but firmly says no.

Kaidan knows Sam, and knows how easily he'll compromise himself to make someone he cares about happy, so he might keep it close to the vest why he doesn't want kids. Because if Sam sniffs out that it's because Kaidan doesn't want Sam to have to feel that pressure, he'd probably push back thinking he's taking something away from Kaidan.

But I think Kaidan believes it for himself, too. They have given up so much and done so much, that they deserve to be a little selfish. He's shared Sam with an entire galaxy for years. In many ways, Commander Shepard will always belong to other people. So wanting to keep Sam for himself is something I can see him feeling, and wanting to relieve Sam of the need to give up more of himself for kids would make it easier for him to want that out loud.

I think I might have said this before, so forgive me if I'm repeating it, but I do think that Sam has a lot of contact with Tuchanka after the war, and a sort of unspoken trend of krogan mothers bringing their young to Sam as a form of "pilgrimage" gains steam in the aftermath. He makes a lot of trips to Tuchanka, and krogan are known to bring their children to the orchard.

Helping to bring future generations to the krogan would be a type of 'fatherhood' Sam would be very, very proud of.

[milkywayes]

dreamt a cipher

a shepard/garrus post-destroy ending longfic.

[AO3 link]

I’ve debated a while about when to start posting this. Now it’s the new year, and I’ve been working on Cipher for over a year and a half, and I’ve waited long enough to start sharing it with you all. I’ve decided it’s finally time to start uploading while I work on the final chapters.

I started writing this before I ever drew a single piece of fanart for Mass Effect. It’s all the things that were bouncing around in my head after choosing the destroy ending with a mostly-paragon Shepard—consequence and responsibility and self-recrimination; her relationship with Garrus and with herself; their ties to each other and how much weight they can bear; their differing perspectives and how they slot together—all that fun stuff—compressed into a story, a place, a narrative. 

I believe in the power of love, and I promise a happy ending. They’ve just been taking the long way to get there. Feel free to yell at me in the meantime.

A huge thank you to @callista-curations for her meticulous and invaluable beta work, and to @that-wildwolf and @gammaraydeath for being the best hypemen I could ask for!

A more detailed list of warnings can be found on AO3.

I've posted the full cover art here.

────

Summary:

Pairing: Female Shepard/Garrus Vakarian Rating: M (subject to change) Important Tags: post-destroy ending - angst with a happy ending - slow burn (of sorts) - arguing - reconciliation - survivor guilt - minor original characters Her own personal Noverian peak. That’s what it was supposed to be. Nothing but the discovery: no distractions, no comfort, no windows looking out—no familiar faces. But it's starting to look like her winning streak might have ended in that pile of Citadel rubble, if it ever extended that far to begin with. ──── “How does the Earth idiom go? No use beating a dead—” A long-suffering sigh. “What was it again?” “A dead horse. And yet, you’re here. Beating it.” Pot, kettle. She wishes he’d just fucking say it.

-> AO3.

Read the start of Chapter 1: Constant Velocity under the cut!

────

The overhead lights flicker as they always do when the data screens are up and running. It’s not something one gets used to, even so. It stings at her ocular nerves—or something like that, anyway, somewhere along the delicate wires that extend from her eyeballs into her brain—but her focus on the data doesn’t waver.

“In that case,” says Shepard, squinting against the ache, “what we need is salvage from a relay outside the immediate burst zone. Four jumps away. Five, if possible. There’s no point to any of this if we can’t scrape together a control group.”

She glances back at Elsawy, who so far hasn’t made it more than a meter into the room. She nods without looking up from her omni-tool; orange shimmers off her shiny, black hair, giving her the uncomfortable air of a Cerberus operative. Not the worst comparison, except that Miranda would waste no time letting her know if her logic took a faulty turn somewhere. Elsawy’s just as likely to agree now and write a message detailing all her crap conclusions later.

Leaning her hip against the conference table, Shepard shifts her weight off her left leg, bites down on the sigh that almost manages to slip out. Once in the clear, she grouses, “Where the hell is Meyer? He’s the one that called this meeting.”

As it is, it’s three people in attendance and she’s the only one talking. She could’ve achieved the same results with a voice call from her quarters, where she could elevate her leg in peace and without witnesses. In the dark.

“Lab Two,” answers Elsawy, finally ripping her attention off the omni-screen and gracing Shepard with a second of eye contact. Maybe in another life she could appreciate the effort—Jesus, as if she hasn’t had her fill of lives already. “We’re close to a breakthrough on the initial output patterns. Sorry. He’s been feeding his data to me.”

“Right.” She blinks once, twice, in time with the flickering. It doesn’t help; it never does. “I’ll swing by later, then. Anything else he asked you to relay?” 

“Just that, Commander.” Elsawy is mumbling just enough that her voice has to compete with the drone of the air vents. The translator takes a second to filter out and amplify it. The result is less than perfect: “More salvage—” bzzrt—“bigger picture, you got it.” She narrows her eyes, and Shepard raises a brow. “Left leg or—” bzz!—“left hip?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Commander.”

“It’s nothing relevant,” she says pleasantly, forcing herself to stand up straight again. There’s a brief tremor shaking up her hamstrings; she waves a hand to distract from it. In the frenzy of the lights, the movement looks jerky, nervous. She soldiers on. “Old field injury. Unrelated. Anything can set it off.”

Funny, kind of, since it’s that very leg that ends in the most perfect, cooperative example of a foot she’s ever had the pleasure of treading on. It’s cloned; a replacement. Not the only one either. They should’ve just done away with the whole limb, but she hadn’t been consulted. Same with her trick shoulder. Not even Cerberus had managed to get that one back on the straight and narrow.

“I’d rather you bring it up with the doctor,” replies Elsawy. This is, apparently, what it takes for her to finally speak at a reasonable volume. “If we manage to fill even one of the data gaps…”

“I know,” she says. “I know, and I’m telling you, it’s unrelated.”

-> continue reading on AO3

[fictionalcharactergraveyard]

Please do the gang+Shepards with a s/o who likes to bake/cook 🙏🏼🙏🏼

bet bet

Ponyboy

tries to help

actually ends up pretty fun

flour was everywhere tho

devours your chocolate chip cookies like that

"did you just-"

"sorry."

"...they came out of the oven an HOUR AGO-"

Johnny

devours

bc he doesn't get fed

you make him some pretty damn good meals/desserts

doesn't ask for more than you give him

but you give him more anyways

you teach him how to make some stuff

Dally

Takes second and thirds without asking

“How much have you taken?”

“Enough.”

“Dallas-“

doesn’t help

he’d prob set the whole place on fire if he did

Darry

cooks with you

and bakes

you guys are the best cooks fr

you got a 'kiss the cook' apron for him

y'alls chocolate chip cookies >>>

Sodapop

'helpful'

man just licks the spoon with the batter

just to see if it tastes good

you have kick him out of the kitchen

never shuts up abt the food tho

Steve

is actually pretty helpful

man can GRILL

and you make the ice tea

its so cute oml

Tim

"make me a sandwich-"

"I will cut off your tongue."

"..."

loves your steaks omg

devours

Curly

eats whatever you give him

lives for your lemonade

spikes it tho

Angela

she loves to help!

you two make soup

all the time

they make her feel better LOL

[small-sinclair]

Hiii🌙🌙Wanted to ask if you can write headcanons of Johnny Slaughter😖 🙏 of course you don't have to do it🤗⭐ it was just a question.. ☺️😶

I can do that. I don't mind!

Headcanons of Johnny Slaughter

tw: mentions of killings, blood

He is the biggest goofball you'll meet if he doesn't want to kill you. He has a lot of bad puns and jokes.

Just for the heck of it, he says something so out there and watches his family argue/fight. He'll stay quite for a moment with a shit eating grin and leave the madness.

Banned from touching the radio.

Banned from Cook's kitchen.

Banned from Sissy's room (don't ask what happened).

VERY knowledgeable about flowers and butterflies. He has a lot of books over butterflies.

Johnny does like to go to a certain house in town to visit an old woman that reminds him of his grandmother when she was alive. He'll sit with her on the front porch in the summers and listen to her stories even if she already told it. She lives by herself and her family doesn't visit her often, which makes both her and Johnny a bit sad.

I have an hc of him having a long scar on his back that stretches from his upper back and curves to the left side of his bode like a 'J'. He got it when he fell out of a tree.

This man knows how to play the fiddle.

Ask him about his bottle cap collection.

h

I think he is a bit overprotective of Bubba. If a victim is making fun of him or taunting him, Johnny would not show mercy as they kill them.

HATES milk. He will never drink it.

He enjoys reading (tell no one).

Can't cook, but knows how to bake! Loves making muffins and cookies!

Johnny has a soft spot for dogs and cats. There's an orange cat that lives in the barn named Froggie; she's Johnny's cat.

He has another cat named Lucky; she's a turtle cat.

Johnny has a dog, too. A German Shepard named Cain.

I actually think he was once in love, but not with the girl he kidnapped (can't remember her name for the life of me). She and Johnny used to play by the watering hole before it dried out. When she got older, she had to move away. Before she did, she kissed Johnny goodbye, giving him his first kiss. He thinks about her from time to time, but shakes it away. If she really loved him, she would've came back and visited, but she hasn't.

Has kissed a guy before when he was drunk. May or may not had a make-out session behind the bar. (He enjoyed it?)

When he's not killing, he's working part time at the town's car shop. He's really good at it, too!

He actually loves kids and wants kids of his own one day, but he won't be able to stay around because of his way of life.

There's a family photo folded in his back pocket he keeps.

Whenever he as a dumb idea, he says it out loud, gets a look from Sissy and Nubbins, and they do it. All three of them share 1 brain cell when it comes to doing something dumb together.

He knows he's adopted, but he's okay with it... sometimes. He does think about what could've been from time to time, but he shakes it off. Nothing tastes sweeter than blood on his lips and Nancy's apple pie.

Johnny is touch starved.

There was this one kill that he remembers and thinks about a lot. It was with a girl about his age. Instead of running with her friends, she went to Johnny. He knew it was an easy kill, but he didn't expect that her last moments was giving him a hug and promising that everything will be okay. He didn't know why he held her close for a while and stayed with her until her last breath. His family ended up having her for dinner, but Johnny made sure he took her bones and charm necklace. He put her bones in a shoe box and buried her in the family grave. Sometimes, he wears the charm necklace and thinks of her, remembering her promise that everything was going to be okay.

[in-faithwe-conquer]

Shepard: [Seriously, I sound like that?]: How come nobody told me this before? I'm open to feedback here. Garrus: I'm not really one to talk, I've been told that I say "calibrating" more than a turian should. Kaidan: I'm gonna guess we've got an hour of air in here, tops. Shepard: Maybe it's: I should GO, I SHOULD go. "I" should go... Kaidan: Shepard! Hey! Why aren't you more worried about this?

[ Full transcript ⇩ ]

Kaidan: This can't be good. Shepard: Brooks! The vault sealed us in! Garrus: What about an override? Kaidan: Not seeing one. Shepard: Cortez? Brooks? Do you read? Is anyone on this frequency? Clone: The short answer is no. They're not. The longer answer involves your friends trapped in iridium vaults and forgotten for... well, forever. Shepard: Others know about this. About you. The Alliance will stop you. Clone: What do you think, Staff Analyst Brooks? Will the Alliance stop us? Brooks: I wouldn't know. I don't actually work for them. Shepard: [Who are you so I can end you?]: Who the hell are you? and do you really think I won't track you down? Brooks: My name doesn't matter. I never keep the same one for more than a few days. And if the Illusive Man hasn't found me yet, you never will. Shepard: You're Cerberus? Brooks: Was. Mr Illusive and I didn't see eye to eye. He's a ruthless madman, whereas I'm just ruthless. Shepard: Why not come to me? We could've worked together. Brooks: In a way we did. I'm the one who put together all those dossiers on your "suicide mission." Shepard: The collector base? Brooks: There was the salarian doctor, the asari justicar, the turian... Nice to have finally met you, Archangel. Garrus: Charmed. Brooks: They were all mistakes. We were a pro-human group who started looking to aliens for help. So I bided my time, and when I found another you who agreed... I woke her up. Shepard: [Why the deception?]: What was the point of it all? Brooks: All we really wanted was your Spectre code. - I got Shepard! - Spectre code accepted - But then you survived the hit and insisted on bringing your damned asari into it, so I had to tie up loose ends. Shepard: The arms dealer... Brooks: Elijah, it's me. We need to talk. Elijah Khan: What the hell's going on? I swear if those guns get tracked back to me... Brooks: They won't. But then your sex bot just had to go and recover the data, So here we are: forced to... contain the situation. Shepard: [I will end you]: Fair warning: nobody who's betrayed us has ever survived. Garrus: And yet, oddly, they keep trying. Shepard: You two may think you're clever. And yeah, you were-- just a bit-- but clever doesn't beat a bullet. And yeah, maybe I am trapped in here, but don't get comfortable. Because the bull's eye on your back is getting bigger by the second. Brooks: That sounds very dramatic. And if someone like, say, Commander Shepard made the threat, I'd be worried. But you're not Shepard. Not anymore. Clone: You had Miranda, I have her, Mine has more bite. Brooks: It was fun while it lasted. Shepard: What are you doing? Clone: Setting things right. Remember this? Asari Councilor: "You are the first human Spectre, Commander. This is a great accomplishment for you and your entire species." Clone: Except somewhere along the way you forgot about your entire species. You saved more alien lives than you have human. Shepard: I don't care what species they are. Every life counts, but maybe a clone wouldn't understand that. Clone: You know the one thing they can't duplicate? Our handprintprint. Life gives it its shape, not DNA... which is a problem. Computer, update Council records. Subject Shepard, human Spectre. Computer: Accessing record. Please input new data. Biometric identifier updated. Good day, Commander Shepard. Clone: Now, if you'll excuse me, the Normandy needs its captain, So... I should go. Brooks: Farewell, Commander. I guess this is where "legends" go to die.

Garrus: So that went rather well. Shepard: She said. "I should go." Do I sound like that? Garrus: Yeah, kinda. Kaidan: And now, maybe let's turn our attention to the impregnable vault we've just been sealed in forever. Shepard: [Seriously, I sound like that?]: How come nobody told me this before? I'm open to feedback here. Garrus: I'm not really one to talk, I've been told that I say "calibrating" more than a turian should. Kaidan: I'm gonna guess we've got an hour of air in here, tops. Shepard: Maybe it's: I should GO, I SHOULD go. "I" should go... Kaidan: Shepard! Hey! Why aren't you more worried about this? Shepard: Hm? Oh, Glyph, are you still out there? Glyph: Yes. Commander. Shepard: Unlock this damn thing, and go find the others, No one steals my ship. Not even me.

[kittynomsdeplume]

Hi tumblrinos, welcome to my fiction master list. You can of course find everything at AO3, where you can make use of their handy filters - Kitty's Archive of Our Own

Full list under the cut.

Major tags key: Smut 🌶️ | Fluff 🍬 | Angst 🎭

Mass Effect

Exposed: 🌶️🍬 [Garrus Vakarian/FemShepard] Mass Effect 3 | F/M | Explicit | 5.7k - Garrus meets Shepard for a date at Anderson's apartment, where she surprises him with a private dance.

Working Out The Kinks: 🌶️🍬 [Garrus Vakarian/FemShepard/Nihlus Kryik] ME3 Nihlus Lives AU | F/M/M | Explicit | 5.2k - Shepard invites Nihlus to join her and Garrus in her cabin.

Dragon Age

Cullen Rutherford Fics: Under Her Mask: 🌶️🍬(minor 🎭) [Cullen Rutherford/Solona Amell] Post DAI | F/M | Explicit | 80k ongoing - Cullen and Amell reunite a decade after the events of Origins.

Wounded Pride: 🌶️🍬 [Cullen Rutherford/Solona Amell] Regency AU | F/M | Explicit | 13.6k - In which Cullen and Solona resolve a misunderstanding.

A Surprising Reunion: 🌶️ [Cullen Rutherford/Kiara Trevelyan/Warden!Alistair] DAI | F/M/M | Explicit | 6.4k - Part 1 of The Surprising Series. Featuring @knuttydraws' OC Kiara Trevelyan. The night before the siege of Adamant Fortress, Kiara, Cullen and Alistair begin a sexual relationship.

Ding Dong Desk Dick Down: 🌶️ [Cullen Rutherford/Kiara Trevelyan/Warden!Alistair] DAI | F/M/M | Explicit | 6.3k - Part 2 of The Surprising Series. Alistair wants to test the limits of a rickety desk.

All Wrapped Up For Satinalia: 🌶️ [Cullen Rutherford/Kiara Trevelyan/Warden!Alistair] DAI | F/M/M | Explicit | 5k - Part 3 of The Surprising Series. Kiara has a surprise for Cullen, but receives a delightful surprise in return.

Shelter From the Storm: 🍬🎭 [Cullen Rutherford/Arhea Lavellan] DAI | F/M | General | 6.2k - Featuring @smashingpigeons' OC Arhea Lavellan. Cullen searches for Lavellan after the avalanche covers Haven.

Templar Vows: 🍬[Cullen Rutherford/Warden!Alistair] Origins | M/M | Teen+ | 1.6k - Alistair is recruited into the Grey Wardens, abandoning the Templar Order.

Constant Cravings: 🍬[Cullen Rutherford/Elowen Trevelyan] Modern AU | F/M | General | 0.9k - Slice of life, Elowen has pregnancy cravings.

Strategic Manoeuvres: 🌶️ [Cullen Rutherford/Elowen Trevelyan] DAI | F/M | Explicit | 3.1k - Elowen mercilessly teases Cullen, and is rewarded for her efforts.

Coercive Tactics: 🌶️ [Cullen Rutherford/Elowen Trevelyan] DAI | F/M | Explicit | 3.4k - Who knew that the best way to keep Cullen from working too hard, was to keep him tied to his desk?

Solas Fics:

Crestwood Have Been Nice: 🌶️🍬🎭 [Solas/Ellana Lavellan] DAI | F/M | Explicit | 5.2k - Solas and Lavellan do not break up at the end of the infamous scene.

In The Dark: 🌶️🎭 [Solas/Elluin Lavellan] Post-DAI | F/M | Explicit | 4.2k - Featuring @noire-pandora's OC Elluin Lavellan. Unable to stop thinking of her, Solas returns to visit Elluin before the events of Trespasser.

Dread Wolf Guides You: 🍬🎭 [Solas/Ellana Lavellan] DAI | F/M | General | 1.9k - Solas attempts to comfort Lavellan after the Temple of Mythal.

Lover's Knot: 🌶️ [Solas/Eludysia Lavellan] DAI | F/M | Explicit | 5.2k - Solas gifts Dysi a magic sex toy, which she never gets a chance to use, until the ball at Halamshiral.

Solas Doesn't Play: 🌶️ [Solas/Ellana Lavellan] DAI | F/M | Explicit | 6.5k - Ellana invites Solas to play Diamondback. She loses, just as Blackwall warned her... but still wins in the end.

Paint Me: 🌶️ [Solas/Ellana Lavellan] DAI | F/M | Explicit | 2.1k - Ellana wants Solas to paint her, unfortunately he wants to draw her first.

Ar Lasa Mala Revas: 🍬🎭 [Solas/Sulahnean Lavellan] DAI | F/M | Teen+ | 3.2k - Solas is torn between duty and desire. To give in to desire, he would have to reveal a truth that he fears would cost him the love of his vhenan.

Express Desires: [Solas/Eludysia Lavellan] Steampunk AU | F/M | Mature | 1.6k - Solas and Dysi hopelessly pine for one another, the tension between them reaching breaking point.

Hedge Wizard: 🌶️ [Solas/Sulahnean Lavellan] DAI | F/M | Explicit | 3.2k - An alternate version of a chapter from an incomplete longfic. Solas gives in to his desire for Maera, a Fade aspect of Inquisitor Lavellan.

Embers of the Sun: 🎭 [Solas/Ellana Lavellan] Post-DAI | F/M | Teen+ | 2.1k - Utter misery. Former Inquisitor Lavellan visits the final resting place of Solas.

Blackwall Fics:

Cole Is A Knavish Lad: 🍬[Blackwall/Evelyn Trevelyan] DAI | F/M | Teen+ | 1.7k - Even Cole is fed up with the oblivious pining of Blackwall and Evelyn, and decides that its time they confessed their feelings to one another.

Hairy Potter: 🌶️🍬[Blackwall/Evelyn Trevelyan] DAI | F/M | Explicit | 2.0k - Evelyn is obsessed with Blackwall's hands, and with good reason, for he's very, very skilled with them.

The Warden's Taint: 🌶️🍬🎭 [Blackwall/Evelyn Trevelyan] DAI | F/M | Explicit | 2.6k - Blackwall tries to confess to Evelyn, but he can't bring himself to do it. He wants only to be the man she believes he is.

Awakening: 🌶️🍬 [Blackwall/Evelyn Trevelyan] DAI | F/M | Explicit | 4.6k - Cole embarrasses Evelyn. Blackwall assures her that the Inquisitor doesn't have to give a fuck what anyone thinks - especially not in her own castle.

The Promise: 🌶️🎭 [Blackwall/Evelyn Trevelyan] DAI | F/M | Explicit | 3.8k - After she passes judgement on him, Blackwall vows to spend the rest of his life proving himself worthy of her forgiveness.

Exaltation: 🌶️🍬 [Blackwall/Evelyn Trevelyan] Trespasser | F/M | Explicit | 2.7k - Blackwall and Evelyn have a little reprieve from all the politics during the Exalted Council.

No Safe Haven: 🍬(Minor 🎭) [Blackwall/Hrafn Lavellan] DAI | F/M | Teen+ | 9.7k - Featuring @inky-does-art's OC Hrafn Lavellan. Scared and horny, Blackwall starts to fall hard for a mystifying and dangerous rogue.

Rylavellan Fics:

All fics featuring @knuttydraws' OC Farie Lavellan

Captured: 🌶️🍬 [Knight-Captain Rylen/Farie Lavellan] Post DAI | F/M | Explicit | 5.4k - Farie and Rylen enjoy the great outdoors on the eve of the summer solstice.

A Curious Bird: 🍬🎭 [Knight-Captain Rylen/Farie Lavellan] DA Series Modern AU | F/M | Teen+ | 15.2k - Rylen attends the house warming of his old friends from University, and meets the very pretty and interesting friend of his co-worker Solona.

A Light That Never Goes Out: 🌶️🍬 [Knight-Captain Rylen/Farie Lavellan] Veilguard | F/M | Explicit | 5.8k - Coming to Minrathous to foil the Venatori, Farie and Rylen seek a reprieve at the Lighthouse.

Cousland Fics:

Excuse me, Archdemon: 🍬 [Alistair/Elissa Cousland] Origins | F/M | General | 1.5k - Alistair and Elissa both wake in the middle of the night, haunted by the commanding call of the Archdemon.

Loghain Comes Calling: 🌶️ [Loghain Mac Tir/Elissa Cousland] Origins: Awakening | F/M | Explicit | 3.9k - Loghain knows exactly how to make the Warden Commander's pulse race.

Brave Ser Gilmore: 🍬[Roderick Gilmore/Brianna Cousland] Origins | F/M | Teen+ | 1.2k - Doing her best to avoid her parents, and Arl Howe and his son, Brianna and Rory sneak a quiet moment alone in the kitchens.

Howe Did It Take So Long?: 🌶️🎭 [Nathaniel Howe/Brianna Cousland] Origins: Awakening | F/M | Explicit | 7.1k - Childhood friends, now at odds due to his father's choices, Nathaniel finally accepts the friendship that Brianna has tried to offer to him.

The Bann of Harper's Ford: 🌶️🎭 [Nathaniel Howe/Brianna Cousland] Origins: Awakening | F/M | Explicit | 5.6k - Nathaniel finds himself feeling insanely jealous and insecure about all the attention that Brianna receives in Denerim.

Eating Crow: 🌶️🎭 [Nathaniel Howe/Brianna Cousland] Origins: Awakening | F/M | Explicit | 14.1k - Zevran arrives at Vigil's Keep, and though Nathaniel tries his hardest to not let jealousy get the better of him, with deadly precision, the smug assassin gets under his skin.

Never, My Love: 🍬[Nathaniel Howe/Brianna Cousland] Origins: Awakening | F/M | Teen+ | 887 - A quiet, tender moment between Nathaniel and Brianna.

Dorian Fics:

Adamant Hearts: 🍬🎭 [Dorian Pavus/Fenris] DAI | M/M | Teen+ | 5.2k - As Dorian seeks out Fenris in the wake of disaster, he reflects on the changing nature of their rocky relationship.

Fics featuring @inquisitoracorn's OC Jonathan Trevelyan. The Inquisitor's Anchor: 🍬[Dorian Pavus/Jonathan Trevelyan] DAI | M/M | Mature | 1.8k - Dorian and Jon discuss the nature of magic and the Anchor.

The Inquisitor's Gift: 🍬🎭[Dorian Pavus/Jonathan Trevelyan] Post-Trespasser | M/M | Mature | 4.3k - Jonathan surprises Dorian with a visit to his home in Minrathous.

Fics featuring @nivenor-krosis' OC Arthur Trevelyan.

Nobody's Fool: 🍬(Minor 🎭) [Dorian Pavus/Arthur Trevelyan] DAI | M/M | Teen+ | 3.2k - Dorian has given away his Pavus birthright and stubbornly refuses to let anyone help him get it back. Arthur can't let something so clearly important to him, slip from Dorian's grasp.

Not So Wicked Hearts: 🍬[Dorian Pavus/Arthur Trevelyan] DAI | M/M | Teen+ | 1k - Dorian fusses over Arthur at Halamshiral.

Hawke Fics:

A Pirate's Tub: 🌶️🍬[Female Hawke/Isabela] DA2 | F/F | Explicit | 1.6k - Isabela surprises Hawke with a romantic gesture.

Blood of the Hawke!: [Female Hawke/Fenris] DA2 | F/M | Teen+ | 0.6k - Hawke is embarrassed, Carver is traumatised, Fenris is quietly smug and Varric is taking notes for his book.

Hail The Conquering Hero: 🎭[Female Hawke/Fenris] DA2 | F/M | Teen+ | 1.9k - Frenemies shouldn't spar. Sex is the inevitable outcome.

Tooth and Claw: 🌶️ [Female Hawke/Fenris] DA2 | F/M | Explicit | 2.6k - Hawke likes it rough, and in the dirt. You can take the girl out of Lowtown...

The Dangers of Rosewood: 🌶️🎭 [Female Hawke/Anders] DA2 | F/M | Explicit | 5.7k - Hawke gets herself into a spot of difficulty and turns to Anders for help. Anders shows a gargantuan amount of professionalism and self-restraint. Until he doesn't.

I'll crawl home to her: 🎭🍬 [Female Hawke/Anders] DA2 | F/M | Teen+ | 2.5k - Hawke has a surprise for Anders for Satinalia.

Pour Away the Ocean: 🎭 [Female Hawke/Anders] DAI | Referenced relationship | Teen+ | 1.6k - Hawke is lost in the Fade and Anders is desperately trying to reach her.

Miscellaneous Pairings:

The Inexorable Tide: 🍬[Dirthamen/Ixchel Lavellan] Arlathan AU | F/M | Teen+ | 4.6k - Featuring @dreadfutures' OC Ixchel Lavellan. Dirthamen ponders his mysterious houseguest.

Fools Rush In: 🌶️🎭🍬[Morrigan/Aedan Cousland] Origins | F/M | Explicit | 2.3k - Aedan discovers that Morrigan's prickly shell hides a tender heart.

Sweet Whispers:🎭🍬[Alistair/Solona Amell] Origins | F/M | Teen+ | 4.3K - Featuring @inquisimer's OC Solona Amell. Alistair grows increasingly concerned that the family he has found, is turning out to be as scornful of him as the one he knew as a boy.

[dairsmuids]

— if i could hold you for a minute, i’d go through it again

It feels like a laughable paradox. A bitter, haunted old mercenary's calloused palms cradling the face of a fellow soldier with seemingly-effortless affection. For this split second in time, it's as though they can pretend tenderness is a mutual proficiency. “Twenty years on my own, then I meet you and you turn me into some sentimental bastard.”

At Shepard's party, Zaeed finally comes clean about his true feelings for her. (or, alternatively: they're horny and in love, your honour)

Fic based loosely on this, which lives in my mind rent free. So many moments in the Citadel DLC canonise the idea that Zaeed is a secret softie, so I'm taking that canon and running to the end zone with it. Also, for a visual reference, Zaeed is dressed in this, because wearing full armor at parties is sociopathic.

Some context, for anyone new: my canon Shepard is Lucrezia "Ezi" Shepard, a Renegade vanguard with a Spacer background & Ruthless service history. Ezi had a fling with Zaeed during Mass Effect 2, but as a pair of grumpy idiots who'd rather blow something up than be vulnerable, they struggled to express their feelings. So the romance fizzled out, and Ezi ended up with Garrus.

Fic title comes from Hozier’s song Francesca, which is so Ezi and Zaeed coded that it gives me chest pains.

Content warnings: some brief smut. Also, Ezi and Zaeed both like to use swear words like punctuation. Another also, this is 5.3k words. Apologies, I'm a yapper.

Swirls and flurries of dark shadows and fluorescent lights filter through the floor-to-ceiling open blinds of Anderson’s — no, Shepard's — penthouse apartment, a combination of the Citadel’s artificial night cycle with the Silversun Strip’s vibrant, flickering billboards. On the ground floor of this ample dwelling the party is still very much in full swing, the cacophony of dance music and drunken laughter mingling as it wafts upward. Shepard is stunned that there hasn't been a complaint yet; though after Grunt’s earlier command of the front door comm, she's sure her neighbours are simply too afraid to risk the retaliation of a krogan airdrop through their living room window.

Shepard herself leans idly against the balcony railing, glancing downward into the empty living area, her gaze slowly trailing across the clutter of empty glasses and beer bottles strewn across Anderson’s — her — usually pristine coffee table.

She doesn’t know if she’ll ever get used to calling this place her own.

The rest of the Normandy crew are gathered in various spots around the apartment: some are dancing in the kitchen whilst some are gathered around the poker table in the back room. Grunt is fast asleep in Shepard’s shower, no doubt racking up a water bill that could easily eclipse the water usage of the entirety of Zakera Ward. Kasumi has been suspiciously unaccounted for for the past half an hour, and Shepard can't help but wonder what secrets are going to end up on the extranet thanks to the thief’s snooping.

The slight frost of Shepard's mostly-full whiskey glass chills the inside of her palm as she clutches onto it, resting both her arms against the railing as she allows herself to revel in a few moments of relative solitude. She loves her friends and crewmates, but she can't fully get her mind off the war tonight. She thinks of Anderson, out there in the thick of it on Earth, drenched in sweat and blood fighting off Reaper forces with no reprieve. He should be here, sitting in front of the fire with Kahlee. He's earned that. More than I have.

The guilt gnaws unrelentingly at her insides.

Her head tilts to the side slightly as she gazes out towards the obscenely large windows. As she begins to lose herself in her thoughts, her reverie is broken by the sound of boots thudding against the polished floor. 

“Wondered where you'd got to,” comes Zaeed's trademark rasp as he comes to a stop beside her, their elbows briefly brushing as he leans against the railing next to her. He doesn't have a drink in hand, which surprises her, since he's had a steady stream of beer bottles and liquor glasses in his hand since he arrived.

Shepard doesn't turn her head to look at him, but she gives a soft grunt in response to his greeting, chest gently jolting with the sound. The smell of him permeates around the pair of them, that sharp combination of cigarette smoke, sweat and alcohol, and for the very briefest of seconds she's sure she could close her eyes and perfectly imagine that she's back in the Normandy’s starboard cargo hold again, listening to another one of his ridiculous stories. 

“Needed a breather from all the excitement,” she mutters in response, “And from Kaidan’s dad-dancing.” She forces out a laugh as she brings her glass to her lips, taking a slow but ample sip. The skyline in front of her glitters and pulses, a kaleidoscope of searing and engaging colour, and she suddenly remembers James’ comment from months ago upon his first visit to the Citadel. There's no war here. 

Below, the muffled sound of Tali’s alcohol-slurred voice shouting “Nerrrrd!” — followed by Garrus’ equally slurred response of “Speak for yourself, vas Normandy!” — drifts upwards. The corners of Shepard's lips quirk ever so slightly in a mixture of amusement and affection. It's a reminder that this party, this shore leave, this break from everything… it isn't just about her. It's for them, too. The ones she cares for, those who have been fighting this war alongside her. And, particularly in Garrus and Tali’s case, they've been with her longer than most. 

The silence between her and Zaeed feels surprisingly comfortable as they stand there side-by-side, staring out over the balcony. A C-Sec surveillance drone wails as it whizzes past the window, the shrill sound fading away in a matter of seconds. 

Shepard turns her head toward Zaeed, finally taking the opportunity to drink him in. His attire is pretty simple and casual, just a sleeveless dark shirt, a pair of matching cargo pants and some scuffed old combat boots — it's hardly party wear, but she knows that Zaeed barely comprehends the idea of attending a party these days, unless it's to shoot up the place or take out one of the attendees. But, even despite his usual roughness and the obvious exhaustion etched on his face, she can't deny that he looks good out of his trademark armor for a change.

Her stomach gives a sudden fluttery twist, that familiar feeling of desire pooling low — though it's certainly not the first time tonight that the sight of him has made her feel this way. It's the same feeling she used to get whenever he'd corner her on the Normandy in stolen moments of intimacy. If she concentrates hard enough, she can remember the taste of his tongue sweeping across hers, the surprising softness of his short greying locks against her fingertips. 

She internally chastises herself, trying to will her mind to focus on anything but those unbidden memories.

“So, are you enjoying yourself?” she asks him, making conversation as a distraction for her thoughts. The beginnings of a grin play at her lips, growing slightly wider as he scoffs in mild amusement. 

“S’pose so,” he mutters gruffly in response, though the amusement on his face morphs into slight disdain as he gestures at the sculpture and canvases further down the balcony. “Be better if this place wasn't so fuckin’ sterile. I've been in asari museums with more life.” There's a hint of a slur in his words, a reminder of the copious amounts of liquor he's already consumed tonight.

Shepard gives a soft snort at that, turning her body so she's fully facing him now, resting one of her arms against the railing as she leans on it. “Never expected you of all people to care about interior design, Massani,” she teases, to which he just responds with a smirk, folding his arms as he turns to face her in kind. 

She knows better than to probe him on his knowledge of asari museum interiors: she's confident it would lead to a lengthy recount of one of his old contracts. As much as she enjoys the tales of his exploits, the thoughts in her own head are too loud for her to focus on anything right now. (Plus, the mental image of him taking down a target with his usual jarringly-cold confidence would only serve to exacerbate her lusts, though she'd never admit that to him).

Shepard brings her whiskey glass to her lips once again, barely noticing the burn of the alcohol anymore as it slides down her throat. She shifts her weight slightly, the fabric of her leather dress groaning with the movement. It's hardly her favourite piece of attire, but it's not like she had a huge selection of partywear to choose from. She lives out of fatigues and armor. Clothes shopping is hardly her forte. She still cringes thinking about that dress Kasumi made her wear to Donovan Hock’s party last year.

She notices the way Zaeed's gaze quietly skims down her body, but she doesn't comment on it. Doesn't trust herself to do so. The view of his arms in that sleeveless shirt has suffered her enough salacious thoughts since he got here.

“What do you think of the music? Great? Bad? What?” she asks then, gesturing around them in question of the obnoxious thumping dance number blaring over the speakers.

Zaeed's eyes lazily flick back up to find her face once more, and his expression is something she can't quite place. If she trusted him less, it might’ve almost unnerved her.

A pause of tentative silence brews between them. 

“You don't really want to know what I think, Shepard,” he finally says, his words slipping out with an obvious hesitance, one of his hands coming up to rub absently against the barely-there scruff on his cheek. 

Shepard gives a questioning head tilt at that, eyebrows knitting together as she emits a nervous chuckle. “Sure I do,” she replies, her teeth worrying over her bottom lip as she allows her eyes to dart between his own, searching, trying to figure him out.

Zaeed lets out a rough exhale, giving a gentle shake of his head. It almost seems as though he's going to back off, end the conversation here, walk away. 

And then he doesn't. 

“I’ve always thought you were beautiful,” he admits at last, his voice a low, intimate rumble between them, the smell of alcohol strong on his breath. His knuckles turn white where they grip the balcony railing, shoulders taut with obvious tension. “Beautiful and goddamn magnificent.”

He lets out a soft huff, a sound that's suspiciously like self-deprecation. “Never could walk away from you, Ez, not really,” he mutters, rubbing a hand over his face, almost like he’s fighting exhaustion — the exhaustion of feelings, despite swearing for years that feelings were a weakness he couldn't afford, not again. His weighted gaze flickers back to hers. “Fuckin’ hell… you’re it for me, sweetheart. Always have been.”

As if suddenly realising he might have said too much, he shifts back half a step. His brows twitch upward as a short, rough breath escapes his lips, almost like he's been sucker-punched by his own words. “There. I said it.”

The sudden admission hits Shepard like the force of a krogan charge she hadn't seen coming. She gives a blink, her expression nothing short of stunned as she searches his eyes again. But there's no amusement there, no sneer, no sarcasm. His words just hang there between them, a raw and fragile thing, like an unpinned grenade that threatens to obliterate them both with each second that passes. 

“Zaeed…” she starts, but then she falters, internally berating herself for not being able to find the right words. Talking down the quarians from going back into war with the geth felt less daunting than this.

And then, it seems, she hesitates far too long for his bruised ego to cope any longer.

“Shhh, don't say anything, just forget it,” he mutters bitterly, straightening up as he moves to take a step back from her, breaking the eye contact between them. “Just an old man chatting shit. Forget I said anything.”

Logically, she knows that he's not wrong — she probably should forget it. Let bygones be bygones. Let that be the end of it, perhaps for good, if she doesn't see him again after this party. And then her body tenses up, muscles in her shoulders tightening, stomach doing acrobatics to the point of making her nauseous. She knows, deep down, that this sudden tension in her bones isn't a reaction to his confession. It's a reaction to the thought of letting him slip away after all this.

As he begins to turn around, preparing to walk away, she lets the logical part of her brain scream, ignored, into a silent void. Her heart wins out. She reaches for him, fingers pressing against the inside of his wrist as she grabs onto his arm. His pulse hammers beneath her fingertips, faster than it should be for a man at rest, betraying his attempt at outward nonchalance.

He immediately freezes on the spot, unable to bring himself to look at her, a muscle in his scarred cheek visibly twitching.

“No,” Shepard says firmly. “How the hell can I? How am I meant to forget this, Zaeed?”

When he still won't turn back around or look at her, she feels suddenly irritated, her jaw clenching tightly as her mixed emotions swirl almost violently in her chest. She downs the rest of her glass of whiskey — in a quick shot that makes her grimace — and lets the empty tumbler drop to the rug-covered floor, silently grateful when it makes a thud sound instead of a smash. 

“You never said anything before,” she accuses as she takes a step closer, though the tone of her voice gives way to a desperate hurt rather than any kind of genuine anger. “Why? Why say it now? Why not last year?”

Memories of moments spent with him on the Normandy flood Shepard's mind — hours of laughing through alcohol-fuelled swapping of war stories, sparring matches that left them both bruised and breathless, the husky growl of her name escaping his lips as he pressed her up against the weapon bench, his weathered hands mapping the scars of her rebuilt body. For a while they'd been the worst kept secret on the ship. Falling in love might’ve been easier than either of them expected, if only they hadn't given so easily into their mutual cynicism. 

“What would you have done, eh?” Zaeed challenges, voice raw as he finally braves turning his head just enough to meet her confused stare. “If I'd actually fucking said it then?” He shakes his arm out of her grip so he can fully turn around to face her. “You'd have told me to piss off —”

“You don't know that,” she counters sharply, talking over him before he's even finished his sentence. 

“I do,” he argues. “We had the Collectors on our arses, we had a job to do, and now you tell me you expected time for bloody hearts and flowers? Since when were you such a goddamn idealist, Lucrezia?”

Shepard's eyes narrow at his pointed use of her name. Their mingled breaths in the space between them are sharp and short, tension like a rubber band threatening to snap.

“Besides, you're telling me a woman like you would throw her life away on some old ghost?” Zaeed continues, folding his arms defensively across his chest as his ruined stare hits the floor. His tone is marginally less argumentative now. “What a fucking joke.”

Shepard's lips part as she prepares to shoot back a response, but then a flicker of sudden hesitation washes over her. Bright blue eyes bore into the crown of Zaeed’s head as he remains staunchly focused on the ground, his jaw working like he's chewing gravel, and it occurs to her then — like the flicker of a light bulb — that this insolence isn't just Zaeed being his typical difficult self. It's insecurity. A fear of rejection.

Her shoulders sag, any lingering shred of antagonism immediately draining out of her. 

The two of them stand there in the tense silence, unspoken emotions stifling their shared air. Shepard loathes Zaeed's notion that they're too different, that she's some impossible dream he couldn't dare to hope for. They're cut from the same cloth, forged in war and violence: he was once a respected leader, co-founder of the most feared merc band in the galaxy. She's an Alliance hero, a human band-aid for the galaxy's biggest problems. Similar experiences, shaped by them in hugely different ways. 

The specter and the Spectre. 

In another life, with other choices, perhaps they would have met as equals. She wonders if that's a part of his insecurity, his reluctance to pursue her. 

I am all you could've been, and you are all I might be, she thinks.

“A part of me always waited and hoped, you know,” she starts, breaking the silence, and immediately she hates how painful it feels to be emotionally vulnerable with him. It's not their thing: it never was. That had always been their unsolvable problem. “For you. Even when I kept telling myself I didn't give a shit, that I had Garrus, that he was enough. Even with all that, I still kept hoping. I couldn't stop. I… I don't think I'll ever fucking stop.”

Downstairs she can hear the distant sound of Garrus’ modulated baritone as he engages in conversation. She pictures the turian in her mind, hopeful eyes, the gentle flicker of his mandibles whenever he says something clever or just looks her way. She loves him, so deeply that sometimes she doesn't know what to do with the feelings.

And yet. And yet.

Zaeed slowly unfolds his arms, finally meeting her eyes again, his previous defensive posturing replaced with an action that threatens to take Shepard's breath away: he gently reaches upward to cup her cheeks tenderly between his hands, thumbs brushing against her cheekbones. She doesn't hesitate, immediately pressing her hands against his to keep him there. She knows she's playing with fire — any one of her friends could come up the stairs or round the corner and see this display at any moment, after all. Or even Garrus, to make matters worse.

“Stubborn bitch, you are,” he mutters gruffly, but there’s no heat behind his words. “Could have your pick of any man in the galaxy, but you'd rather waste your time on a washed-up old merc. You're ridiculous. Should've never joined up with you in the first place.”

Shepard gives a soft huff at his words, holding his stare, her fingers tracing idle patterns against his rough, tattooed knuckles. “Admit it, your life would've been boring if you'd never met me,” she challenges playfully.

Zaeed scoffs at that. “Boring and a damn sight shorter, probably,” he concedes. He strokes his thumbs against her cheekbones once more, giving an almost resigned sigh. “You're the only thing in the galaxy that's ever made surviving worth the goddamn trouble.”

It feels like a laughable paradox. A bitter, haunted old mercenary's calloused palms cradling the face of a fellow soldier with seemingly-effortless affection. For this split second in time, it's as though they can pretend tenderness is a mutual proficiency. “Twenty years on my own, then I meet you and you turn me into some sentimental bastard.” His voice cracks, dry and rough, like the infertile land in the northernmost reaches of Tuchanka. He searches her gaze, assessing it with a kind of scrutiny that's not a far cry from assessing raid plans in his Blue Suns days. “Is he enough? Vakarian? I'll accept it if it's a yes, beautiful, but I need you to tell me.”

She doesn't know if it's the alcohol in her system, or the close proximity to him, or the way he calls her beautiful in a way that makes everything south of her belly button tighten up — but the whirlwind of emotions make her want to throw caution to the wind and fuck the consequences. 

“I don't… know the answer to that,” she admits, and it's a bitter yet somewhat unsurprising truth on her tongue.

As if surrendering to the inevitability of it all, Shepard lets her hand drift downward between them, tracking the movement with her eyes as she toys with the hem of Zaeed’s shirt before slipping beneath. Her fingers splay over the sharp jut of his hip bone, her thumb tracing slow and deliberate circles, teetering on a knife edge between affectionate and indecent. Her hand moves with a kind of uncharacteristic reverence, fingertips ghosting over the expanse of his abdomen.

Once she slowly lifts her head back up her breath catches in her throat, as if it suddenly dawns on her how close he is, their faces hovering mere inches apart. She doesn't mean to stare at his lips, but their proximity almost feels like a dare to do otherwise. 

“Tell me to fuck off, Ez. Do us both a favour,” he says, his gritty voice barely above a whisper. He reaches to tilt her chin upward, forcing her gaze back to his.

“I can't,” she manages. “Damn it, Zaeed, you know I can't, not when it comes to you.” Her fingers continue their journey across the warmth of his skin, tracking dangerously low down his abdomen until her palm brushes the soft curls of hair at his waistband.

And that’s what finally strips away the last shred of Zaeed's restraint. He lets out a low growl, immediately crowding her backwards until she hits the back wall with a soft sound of surprise, knocking against some ridiculous looking piece of canvas art that Zaeed definitely wants to use as a convenient place to put out his next cigarette. He acts with zero hesitation, not a care in the world for the fact that they're not alone in this apartment, his palm pressing possessively against the sharp line of her jaw as he catches her in a rough kiss.

There's no finesse to it in the slightest, teeth clashes and sloppy tongues, a rhapsody of mutual frenzy. Shepard arches upward, grabbing roughly at the front of his shirt as though she'll die all over again if he dares to let her go. 

Zaeed's hand slips upward, disappearing under the hem of her dress, calloused fingers slipping past the barrier of her underwear to slide between her slick folds.

“Soaked through for me already, just like always,” he rasps against her lips. He probes two fingers inside her without warning, giving a gruff sound of predatory satisfaction when she responds to the breach with a needy gasp and a flutter of her eyelids. “Been like this all night, have you, sweetheart? Bet Vakarian never gets you this wet.”

Shepard opens her mouth with full intention to respond to his vicious and unnecessary remark, until his thumb begins to brush insistent circles over her swollen clit in a way that makes her whimper — actually whimper. A sound that she's sure most people wouldn't expect from the ruthless, volatile Commander. He remembers just how she likes to be touched, almost as though he's been keeping this knowledge carefully stored away for future use. Arrogant fucking asshole. She lets her head drop back against the wall behind her, her hand coming up to claw at his bicep, the skin beneath her fingertips an intricate tapestry of fading tattoos and healed wounds.

“Tell me to stop,” Zaeed utters gruffly as he leaves a path of kisses and nips up her jawline. The low, gravelly timbre of his voice rumbling against her skin only exacerbates the building pleasure he's coaxing between her thighs. “Tell me to let you go back to your turian.”

But she doesn't. This behaviour is a perfect representation of their mutual recklessness: the kind that rivals even their agreement to ignore the screams of those refinery workers on Zorya. A penchant for destruction in the name of immediate gratification.

The brief mention of Garrus is a whisper of guilt at her ear. A whisper she’s all too eager to ignore, muffled by a large amount of alcohol and even larger amount of repressed primal desperation.

Her lack of response makes Zaeed smirk smugly against her throat. “That's how it is, then,” he rasps, the sound practically vibrating against the pulse point of her neck. “Still mine, after all this time.”

Shepard's immediate scoff is a quiet, breathless thing between them, barely audible over the thumping vibration of the party music’s bass line. “I was never yours, Massani,” she retorts, bringing her hand down between them, groping at the rigid outline of his cock as it strains eagerly against the confines of his trousers. The sound he emits in response against her ear — a low, lingering groan of a curse followed by her name — is so delightfully obscene that it threatens to undo her then and there.

But even despite her retort, her hips continue to jolt upwards into his clever touch, her nails leaving crescent-shaped dents in his shoulder as she clings to him for dear life. The friction of his scruff against the pale expanse of her clavicle easily erases her lie in the space between them. She may have arisen on that slab at the Lazarus Project facility, but it was meeting Zaeed that truly reanimated her, and they both know it.

Some heated minutes pass, time that feels like hours. He's three fingers deep, his teeth grazing her neck, grinding his insistent erection eagerly against the palm of her hand, when the sounds of loud laughter and multiple pairs of footsteps coming from the upstairs hallway makes her body tense up and freeze. A stark reminder that they aren't alone in this place. A stark reminder that their actions have consequences. 

A frustrated whine tears from Shepard's throat, and she gives a final deliberate clench around his fingers before moving to gently press her hand against his chest, signalling to him that they have to stop. His equally frustrated growl rumbles in the space between them, but he respects her too much to refuse her silent request. He laments the loss of her around him as he slips out his fingers, bringing them to his lips to suck them clean — an act of casual brazenness that makes her huff with surprise despite herself.

She reaches up to stroke her fingertips against his scarred cheek, letting the gesture and the look in her eye say all the soft things she knows she can't say. She's visibly trembling, heart thudding wildly in her chest, body running on a dangerous combination of adrenaline and arousal that almost makes her stupid with a want to pull him back in, wrap her legs around his waist and rut against him like an animal in heat.

He opens his mouth to speak, and she almost braces herself for whatever it is he's about to say — until the familiar figures of Tali, Garrus and Kaidan come striding round the corner, a low murmur of amused conversation between them. 

Shepard drops her hand from Zaeed's face and the two of them swiftly separate as though they've been burned. She straightens herself up, forcing a jovial smile as she meets the faces of her closest friends and boyfriend.

“Hey, there you are Ez,” comes Kaidan’s warm greeting, his voice its usual raspy timbre with an addition of an alcohol-induced slur. “Hey, Zaeed. Good to see you.”

Zaeed just gives a simple nod, folding his arms across his chest in his usual guarded manner, making a gallant effort to act as though his heart isn't currently thudding manically against his rib cage. “‘Ello there.”

Shepard deliberately refuses to look in his direction, focusing her eyes on Kaidan’s face instead. She's grateful that her friends appear to be far too inebriated to notice the way Zaeed's pants are currently fitting a little too snugly in the crotch area, or that her own face and neck are flushed as though she's just returned from a shuttle bay sparring session with Vega. If this wasn't such a shitty situation, it might almost pass for comical.

“Ezi, tell this bosh’tet that Fleet and Flotilla is one of the greatest vids of our generation —” Tali suddenly pipes up as she gestures in Kaidan’s direction.

The Major responds with a here we go again eye roll and a quirk of his lips, interjecting before Tali’s even finished talking. “It's terrible, and you and Shepard were lucky I stayed to watch the entire thing. You have crappy taste in vids, Tali.”

“I do not! The only one with crappy taste here is you. In vids, in omni-tools —”

“Hey now, I already told you, the Logic Arrest trumps anything else on the market...”

Shepard doesn't even bother to interject between her friends’ ridiculous bickering, her gaze hitting the floor as Garrus moves toward her, slipping an arm around her shoulders in an affectionate yet protective manner. From beneath her lashes she sees Zaeed turn and saunter away with a gruff mutter of “I need another fuckin’ drink”, and she hates the way her chest suddenly aches with a mixture of guilt and loneliness once he's out of sight.

“You okay?” Garrus’ rumbling voice is like a warm blanket between them, his gentle eyes drifting across the side of her face as he drinks her in. He reaches out, talons brushing ever so delicately against her temple as he pushes back a strand of her dark hair. “What were you and Zaeed talking about?”

The weighted secret of her infidelity hangs over her, heavy and stifling like one of those dust storms on Mars. She's suddenly grateful that Garrus is in casual wear instead of being armoured up: she knows that if he was wearing his visor he'd be able to clearly read how fast her heart is hammering in her chest, a combination of lingering arousal and intense guilt that she doesn't want to be held accountable for, even if she knows she should.

“Just the old days,” she replies, and she automatically leans her head to rest against his carapace, still pointedly avoiding his gaze. She can't look at him. He always looks at her like she put every single star in the sky, and right now it'd be more than she can bear. “You know how Massani gets with his reminiscing.” She forces out a laugh, the sound almost brittle and excruciating.

It's not a complete lie, she tries to tell herself, as though the technicality will make any of this better.

Out of the corner of her eye she can see Garrus still gazing at her concernedly, almost assessing her, and for a painful split second she's sure he's going to probe her further — but then the sound of Tali’s voice rings out as she loudly asks for his opinion on dextro cheese, and as he turns away to amusedly engage in their friends’ conversation, Shepard lets out a barely-audible sigh of relief. 

As her gaze drifts downward, she catches sight of Zaeed stepping into the living area. He moves with his typical nonchalance, settling onto the armrest of the couch, a fresh bottle of beer in hand. He takes a slow swig, eyes lifting to meet hers, and the way she gazes down longingly at him feels like a second infidelity to the fiercely-loyal turian standing next to her. She thinks of the betrayal Garrus suffered through with Sidonis, and a sudden and intense self-loathing gnaws at her gut as she realises she's no better.

Shepard finally tears her eyes away from Zaeed as she moves to cuddle against Garrus’ form, slipping her arm around his waist. The turian immediately relishes the closer contact, mandibles giving a contented flicker as he leans in to press his forehead against hers for a brief moment. 

For once, she’s startled by the way his affection doesn't immediately ground her like it usually does. But she knows that this change is nobody’s fault but her own, a consequence of the lingering guilt that seeps into her bones.

When she turns her head back around to chance another look over the railing, the space is once again devoid of Zaeed's presence. She swallows hard, a fight to ignore the hollow ache creeping into her chest, the same one she’d felt the last time they went their separate ways. A fight that somehow seems more bleak than pushing back the Reapers.

Back then — after Aratoht, when she prepared to go face the music on Earth and her suicide mission comrades all began scattering their separate ways — she’d told herself that distance between her and Zaeed was for the best. She’d told herself she’d moved on. But as she stands here now, the heat of his touch still lingering on her skin, she knows she’s only ever been lying to herself.

When she awakens early the next morning to make the rounds with her hungover friends and crewmates, Shepard's stomach drops as she realises Zaeed has already gone. No goodbyes, no words, just… gone. And despite everything — despite the warmth of her friends’ company, and the stabilising comfort of Garrus’ love for her — she can’t ignore the way this loss stings like no other.

[average-mako-enjoyer]

Or Mordin (for the character ask) since we're having Mordin feels this morning.

From the character ask game.

This is very, very interesting, thank you! Finally, I have a chance to talk about him.

Favorite thing about them He's one of The Characters. One of my top 3.

He's so complex, so morally ambiguous, so intelligent and yet so short-sighted at times.

He heals and he kills, but not with medicine.

He has to see the results of his actions for himself, to see with his own eyes the people whose lives he has impacted.

He's passionate, he's asexual, he's ruthless, he's one of the most compassionate people you'll ever meet.

He's everything at once.

Love him, love him, love him. Least favorite thing about them Don't get me wrong, I like his redemption arc, but it feels half-baked and toothless to me.

He's the best damn character in ME2, and I feel that ME3 kinda forgets how badass he actually is. So he takes a back seat in his own ME3 story until the final climactic moment and that's it.

I think this is the only instance where making completely atrocious renegade choices (killing or betraying Wrex, killing Maelon, destroying his data and thus killing Bakara, and pushing Mordin to sabotage the cure) feels more rewarding because it has the same moral ambiguity that is an essential part of Mordin's character. Favorite line "Life is a negotiation. We all want. We all give to get what we want."

"No tests on species with members capable of calculus. Simple rule, never broke it."

"Hard to see big picture behind pile of corpses." brOTP Bakara, obviously.

I think their relationship is incredible. It's based on mutual respect and care, and I think it's one of the rare cases where Mordin doesn't just see her as a patient or a curious piece of research, but as a person, and that person interests him as much as her genetics and physiological reactions. OTP I've seen someone suggesting Aria/Mordin, and yes, this sounds like FUN.

But realistically? Mordin/Immortality. Just give my man all the time in the universe so he can continue his studies.

I think he would have been fascinated by the post-control ending Shepard. nOTP Mordin/Shep.

I've seen some cute art, but… how about no? He's clearly not interested in romance or fucking, leave him be. Random headcanon He's also a painter and he does abstract art with names like "The Presumption of Anger p.3", and you look at it and it's just a long vertical black line on a purple background. And he's very serious about this stuff. Unpopular opinion I don't think it's that unpopular, but Gilbert and Sullivan plus the seashells quote did some irreparable damage to his image in the eyes of the fandom.

Yeah, the games portray him as this quirky, babbling genius. Oh, he tests biological weapons, but not on the crew, of course not, why are you so nervous, Joker? But that's just the surface.

There's so much to Mordin behind his mannerisms and behind his sweet relationship with Bakara. There's really so much darkness in him. And all that just gets ignored, and it's so shitty?

He gets babyfied a lot, and considering the fact that he's also a positive autistic+ADHD rep in these games, it's a little insulting tbh. Song i associate with them I don't really have one, but in the spirit of pulling random indie music recommendations out of my ass, I think he would've enjoyed the sheer ridiculousness of Hydrogenuine by USS Favorite picture of them This one.

[sharp-silver4795]

Creepypasta Killer Pets

We all love our animals, but what if those animals were violently aggressive? Or maybe even ate people? Or they were known to be able to quarter someone?

General/List:

[Pet/Monster] - [‘Owner’]

There are quite a few little pets and each of them have a different relationship with their ‘owner.’

Dream Horse - Judge Angels

Seed Eater - Eyeless Jack

Grinning Cat - Scarecrow

Smile Dogs - Liu Woods and Jeff the Killer

Dream Horse

(Link to the Wiki in case you don’t know)

More like a warning to her victims.

She believes that, after seeing the horse, they either change their “wicked ways” or suffer the consequences.

They don’t interact much outside of Judge’s dreams.

It’s more of a mutual agreement.

This started when it showed up her dreams to torment her for her crimes, but she made a deal:

Since she finds them guilty… if Dream Horse gets them to change in 4 nights, they’ll live. If not, they die justly.

Seed Eater

EJ and Seed met in the same distress: running from humans trying to kill them.

EJ saw the people trying to use guns to kill Seed Eater and (since he isn’t scared of guns) slaughtered the mass of them.

In return, Seed Eater used its beak head to yeet the scientists trying to get EJ all Polyphemus style (let’s see who gets that reference)

After that, EJ would bring his “left overs” to Seed Eater.

They’re not really left overs since he doesn’t eat the head or bones and a lot of other organs.

Seed Eater becomes his protector and EJ becomes Seed’s

Grinning Cat

The birds that are scared of the cat that will kill and eat them are also scared of the living scarecrow that will swallow them whole.

The Grinning Cat originally appeared to catch mice and birds in the plains where Scarecrow resided before the Dungeon.

Scarecrow found it and chased as fast as it could.

When the cat got away, it decided to bribe it with dead birds afterwards.

And so it did. The cat and Scarecrow became good buddies. Although, there is no defensive/caring relationship between the two.

The Smile Dogs

There’s 9 of them!

Ngl, each of them is mildly based on some of my pets that passed away, don’t judge me!!

I also have my own story as to how they came to be and why their photos give people nightmares.

Lmk if you wanna hear it~

Inte (German-Belgian Shepard mix)

The oldest of the smile dogs

Ends up getting stabbed (accidentally) by Helen he will never forgive himself for killing a dog

He’s known to be the most aggressive and most dangerous of them

He was always thankful to Liu for helping them

Atlas (Siberian husky)

Inte’s mate

Her jaw can unhinge, so she helps to kill people quickly and efficiently just by biting them

She has a great relationship with Liu since he helped her deliver her first round of puppies

Gamma (German-Belgian Shepard/Siberian Husky)

Shes one of Inte and Atlas’ original pups

She’s known for being ridiculous strong and fast

When helping in quartering people, she usually is the one to make sure they don’t get away

Rye (F), Aries (M), and Sparks (M)

From Atlas’ round of pups after Inte’s death

Liu tried his best to take care of them and protect them.

And he did them good.

Theta (Samoyed/German Shepard)

She’s Inte’s, but not Atlas’

She’s a baby. She will always be a baby.

Liu spoils her

Divider Creds: Sister-Lucifer

Header Creds: MEEEE!!