#gv fic

[atinylittlepain]

Prologue

jackson!joel miller x witch!oc

series masterlist

series playlist

He thinks he might fall in love with her. She can't let him fall in love with her. Or: a reimagined take on an infamous Practical Magic au by yours truly.

wordcount | 1.8K

series content info | 18+ slowburn-ish, strangers to friends to lovers to estranged acquaintances to ???, discussions of death and grief, a little magic, just a little, jackson era joel and all that entails, eventual smut, angst obviously, and love that requires a little elbow grease.

a/n | thank you folks for your patience while I was being a little worm about this. Very excited to kick off this series, and I'd love to hear what you think <3

....................................

There is the after, and there is the before. This is the before. In the before, there is a town nestled down in the purple-blue belly of a mountain, all shade and damp, cool green. A small town, everyone knowing everyone and everyone knew everyone as far back as history could reasonably stretch. And in this town sits a house at the end of a string of houses, sidewalk curling up in waves under the old force of tree roots, wrought iron gates and sleepy porches. Kids dare one another to step through the gate of this house. Only the bravest make it up to the porch, a quick clambering tap to the front door, wanting, but not really wanting, to see who might answer. All but one child, that is. She has no problem walking through the gate, but she’s learned to be quick in getting through the front door and slipping it shut behind her. The other kids like to throw rocks if she lingers, so she doesn’t. But there is always a sweet suspension of disbelief on the walk, before the gate, and the porch, and the slip through the front door. How nice, to have all her classmates walking her home after school. 

“Did you get into any trouble today?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Well, always another chance tomorrow.” It’s just enough to coax a smile out of her, her aunt and all her tuts and tsks, turns of her nose and we need a brownie before we do your homework, little choice but to follow after her into the kitchen, warm and sticky, the smell of fresh yeast and something richer. Even now, even in the first gasps of Summer, a pot always boils on the stove, spoon stirring lazy inside it. 

Her aunt moves like a bird she thinks. But not the delicate kind. She saw a blue heron once, at the lake outside of town. Like that, she thinks. Graceful but sharp, big and sweeping, the tails of a linen shirt, and the braid woven gray and black that hangs between her shoulder blades. All so familiar, she can’t help but sigh, cheek propped in the clammy cup of her hand. 

“Something happened today.” 

“You don’t say.” Her aunt, always knowing before she can tell her, sometimes even before she knows herself. She picks a chocolate chip out of the brownie split between them, holds it on her tongue and lets it melt. 

“Andy Nichols broke his arm. He said there’s pins in his bones.”

“Is he the one who–” She nods before her aunt can finish her question. Yes, the one who never threw rocks at her. Yes, the one who would sit with her at lunch, not because his other friends dared him to, but because he wanted to. The one who, last week, sitting on the bleachers during recess, pressed a quick, there and gone kiss to her lips, all shy, all sweet, wings fluttering fierce in her chest. Yes, that one. 

“Now he won’t even look at me. All his friends are saying I did something to him.” 

“Oh, Maggie, I’m sorry. People can be, well, people suck, to speak plainly.”

“Did I?”

“Did you what?”

“Did I?” And the silence is enough of an answer, isn’t it? Her aunt’s eyes melt a little, lips pressed in a thin frown. Her aunt, who is as tired as she is, though she may do a better job of hiding it. After all, while she lost a mother, her aunt lost a sister. And the thing, that thing, this thing, that is threaded like a dark cancer through the sinew and snapping pulse of their hearts, contagious, careful or you’ll catch it. Everyone in town knows not to fall in love with a Campbell woman, a long history pocked with strange deaths, unexplainable misfortune. Her father wasn’t from town though, the first mistake of many.

‘It’s best if you don’t think on it, hmm?” Quiet and close in the kitchen, she does her best not to cry, feeling weak, a little wilted. One of those hugs that presses all the air out of her lungs, she needed it, breathing in deep, soap and sweat and soil and my little witch, we have work to do. 

Homework doesn’t really mean homework in their house. Not the paper she’s supposed to be writing on the civil war, not studying for the math test she has on Friday. Homework means her and her aunt in the greenhouse, and her aunt quizzing her on the plants they tend to. What is what, what does what. 

Lemon balm for stress and sleep. Also used to treat cold sores. 

Echinacea for immunity.

Peppermint for nausea and headaches.

Belladonna for sleep, handle with care. 

It comes easily to her, the same way that knowing things comes easily to her aunt. Plants, she thinks, make more sense than people do. It takes them a few hours to work through the greenhouse, night coming on in a swath of orange that smolders purple, cool shadows filtering in through green glass. They prune, they water, they propagate, and her aunt must think her extra pitiful tonight because she offers to teach her a few new tricks. The offer falls flat, however, when the prickled sound of scratching shivers up her spine. She knows it well, imagines that she could hear it from all the way across town at this point. The back door, nails skittering over its window panes, face pressed to glass, smeared shame, or maybe just a secret. All that’s needed, a look shared between them, no words. She stays in the greenhouse, closes the door behind her aunt, but leaves it cracked. She shouldn’t, but she likes to listen. 

What she hears is always the same. Variations of desperation, I want, I want, I want, I need, I need, I need, him, him, him, her, her, her. How badly? So badly. Anything? Yes, anything. She’s watched a few times, peering around the doorway into the kitchen. All kinds of ways to meddle, to tangle threads, cut them loose, pick your poison, pick your pleasure. Her aunt tries to keep her away from it, the dark, crawling things, the needles, the wax dolls washed in smoke plumes. But she knows. Love is an ugly thing. 

She doesn’t watch tonight, hardly listens either. Something else on her mind, in her hands. She plucks rose petals, lavender, rosemary, fills her hands with the rumpled things, says what she planned to say.

He’ll ride horses, talk to them too.

He’ll work with his hands. 

There’ll be a streak of silver at his temple. 

When we’re together, he’ll be able to stop time. 

“Are you casting impossible spells again?” Her aunt catches her just as she’s stepping out into the backyard, damp grass and cicada thrum and the moon.

“I hope so. I hope it’s impossible.” They stand in the cool, damp grass, all that heat dropping down into a low mist around their ankles. And her aunt knows exactly what she’s doing. Afterall, she was the one who taught her this. Somewhere between a love spell and a prayer, though she hopes hers is more like a curse. 

“There’s no taking something like this back, Maggie. Are you sure you want to do this?” She nods, says yes, and it’s enough for her aunt to stand down, giving her space to finish the rest of it. Intention, energy, that other word that people like to throw around She focuses on the words and the words become something other than words, and the petals and leaves lift from her hands. The moon takes care of the rest. 

“I hope I never fall in love.” 

The thing about spells is they always find somewhere to land, even the impossible ones. And somewhere in the before, that impossible spell found its target. Cupid’s arrow bent and broken, though still able to sting sharp. Somewhere in the before, a boy in another town in another life, young knees working hard to make the thin tires of a bike spin, already late heading home for dinner in the cooling night. 

The boy’s mother hears him before she sees him, big, hot tears and ribs shaking with sobs she doesn’t often get to hear anymore, getting older, trying to get braver. The boy is bleeding, the boy is crying. The soft round of his palms scraped and stuck with gravel, and his knees no better, all down his shins, and he didn’t mean to cry, didn’t want to cry, but walking the rest of the way home, wrestling with the crooked handlebars of his bike, the feeling and the pain got too big, and he didn’t know what else to do with it.

“Oh honey, what happened?” His words come out in stops and starts, little stuttered gasps. I fell, gets strung into a few extra syllables, already ushering him upstairs and into the bathroom, the sharp smell of this’ll sting, cotton gauze getting stuck in the blood. 

In the before, still young, the boy is a soft thing. He cries easily, and he doesn’t like that. Cries when he’s angry, when he’s hurt, when he’s frustrated. Cries harder when he cries because he wishes he wouldn’t cry, even if the words for such a feeling are still too old for him. Somewhere along the way, the boy will lose that. The boy will lose so much. But for now, his mother is making all the big and little hurts better, box fan humming in the cracked window in the bathroom, his brother, even younger, watching through the slivered opening of the door. 

For now, the boy lets his eyes close, sticky with salt and the last wandering tears, and he wonders if he really saw what he thought he saw, what stunned him so snappingly that he flew head over handlebars onto the still-simmering asphalt. A blurred vision, blink and miss it, though even so, he’s still sure of what he saw. A rose bush, a sudden burst and bloom and flashbang, nothing and then something and then everything. Blooms that unfurled their skirts as fast as he was riding by, until what had been only green was blotted out entirely by heavy white petals. The boy will lose this memory with time, reasoning it away as an impossible imagining, something from a young mind that will no longer be his. But while the boy is still young, still a soft thing, he will think to himself with a kind of secret wonder that whatever he saw that night, it had to be magic. 

......................................

taglist: @suzmagine @joelsgreys @vee-bees-blog @noisynightmarepoetry @kungfucapslock @iloveenya @evolnoomym @wannab-urs

[hagnoart]

It’s finally time to share my first piece for the @grishaversebigbang

The art is based on a fic by @dregstrash @wafflesandkruge and @rietveldbrothers (they’re all freaking legends istg, this story is insane!). You can find the fic on ao3 it’s a Zoyalai Top Gun Au… need I say more?

Materialki: @iri-lynx (xx) and @mfrov95 (xx) their art is so so wonderful, go give them some love!

[glittter-vamp]

New fic update on Wattpad!

Read It Here 🖤

[sdwolfpup]

Tagged by @gayvecchio.

Rules: List five things you never get tired of writing. it can be tropes, themes, characters, phrases, whatever brings you joy. then tag five people!

I thought you were dead!!!! Number one trope of my heart in reading and writing.

'ugh you are SO annoying' = 'I am so into you and refuse to admit it

A Good Person making things better by being themselves, people just falling eagerly into their wake, compelled by their light

This is specific but kissing the side of someone's head in comfort. I love that shit

I've said this before but that moment when someone shows up at someone else's doorstep and they're clearly exhausted, clothes messed up, maybe dirty or injured or whatever, and the receiving person things how they're the most beautiful thing they've ever seen because they missed them so much. Yeah. That's the stuff.

Tagging with zero pressure: @teatotally, @minim-calibre, @pearly--rose, @unadulteratedkr, @naomignome

[patientlibrarian]

Tuesday October 1 - happy Tank Top Tuesday

Hello everyone, everywhere, hope your day goes as you would wish it to. Just incredible things coming out today from battleshipgarcy.

COMING THIS THURSDAY ON A03 FOR THE 8TH YEAR ANNIVERSARY OF THE SHOWING OF THE FIRST EPISODE OF "TIMELESS":

"HOW DO YOU KNOW MY NAME"

PatientLibrarian

Summary: A different 'take' on Flynn and Lucy's first meeting at the Hindenburg disaster.

Screencap courtesy gv-archive.com

[wafflesandkruge]

angsty zoyalai fic rec 👀

https://archiveofourown.org/works/46273867

ahhh i love!!! right up my alley. if you're the author you did a great job and i'd love to see more zoyalai from you 🥺

if yall have zoyalai/shu han/malina fic recs pls send them my way 😭 no promises i can get to them right away bc i'm busy but i'll bookmark for later

[darkolaism]

writing a modern darkolai fic and sprinkling some ✨ authenticity ✨

[beantothemax]

“When we first met, I hated you.”

Flowey’s voice comes from the flowerpot, small and tremulous.

Frisk looks over from their papers, typical ambassador junk that, now that they think about it, a thirteen-year-old probably shouldn’t be doing. Oh, well. They were always smart for their age.

Flowey continues, taking a breath. “You... Reminded me of them. Of Chara. I saw all their goodness reflected in you.”

Frisk is fully turned around now, their attention on Flowey. The papers sit undisturbed.

“It made me mad. I thought... Golly, I thought were them, coming back to re-do everything to rub in my face that you could and I couldn’t.”

Frisk sits beside him, listening. Waiting.

“I watched you, watched you befriend everyone- and I began to realise it wasn’t them. You weren’t them. But I didn’t want to believe it, I wanted to believe it was Chara. Even if it made me mad, I wanted Chara back. I wanted to see them again. I was upset and confused and angry. I was so angry, Frisk....”

Frisk hugs the pot, brings Flowey as close as they can.

“By the time we came to the end, I knew. I knew it wasn’t Chara. But I didn’t want to believe it. It hurt, Frisk... It hurt. I wanted to bring them back. I- I knew. I knew.”

Flowey is weeping now, sobbing. “I’m so sorry, Frisk... I’m sorry...”

Frisk hugs him.

Just like they did that day, the day Flowey was Asriel.

I Am Currently Experiencing Abnormal Emotions Towards The Funny Undertale Flower

[adara-writer]

I don't think I've ever mentioned this but fun fact, the outline document for Silver Shackles (which is literally just the chapter by chapter outline, not any extra notes) is 900 words. I have a separate document for more general story notes which is another 500 words

[opalspring]

I've been feeling like this towards my grishaverse thirst ever since S1 ended so now I'll be swimming back up lol

[evolnoomym]

I’m so ready for this 🥰🙏🏻

Apothecary - Gin's Version

jackson!joel miller x witch!oc

He thinks he might fall in love with her. She can't let him fall in love with her. Or: a reimagined take on an infamous Practical Magic au by yours truly.

series content info | 18+ slowburn-ish, strangers to friends to lovers to estranged acquaintances to ???, discussions of death and grief, a little magic, just a little, jackson era joel and all that entails, eventual smut, angst obviously, and love that requires a little elbow grease.

a/n | she's here, folks! I'm beyond excited to start sharing this with you all as I continue to work on it. As I previously mentioned, this is a reworking of my original fic by the name of Apothecary. Just to be clear, this story will not follow that original plot, at all. Some characters have been dropped, some have been added, some have been changed just a little, or a lot, but regardless, I'm excited to share this new imagining of Joel and Miss Witch (who does have a name this go around hehe). I'm toying with the idea of doing a tag list for this one, so drop a comment on this post, or DM me, messenger pigeon whatever, if you're interested in being on that list. Looking forward to kicking this series off this week. <3

....................................

Prologue: coming Tuesday, May 7th

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

[marielaure]

GUYS I FOUND A MEDIUM-LONG FIC FOR TAMADIA ON AO3. With the Grishaverse femslash works they barely get oneshots—I can’t wait to read this one.

*does require an AO3 account

“One Step Forwards” by WithFireAndIce

≈ 50,000 words long

If yall have any other femslash longer GV fics put ‘em in the comments please!

[glittter-vamp]

New Fic has dropped on Wattpad, probably not my best but I need to start posting all my drafts and this is one of em 🖤

Read It Here

[lilisouless]

My back hurts cause i wrote the end of phase one pretty much in a row, so if you don't mind i´ll do a self service post (thanks for the three people that will vote)

note 6, examples: Kaz asking Alina if she is a good or a bad witch, Mila singing a part of "somewhere under the rainbow"

note 7 examples:

The darkling: you and i are going to change the...Alina? (Alina ran away before he could finish)

Kaz: my mother is Storybro-

Zoya: Oh shut up!

The statue of the happy prince briefly craking when Ulla says "impossible near it"

note 8: singing loudly despite Jan asking silently not to do it and later, in a catfight, clapping because she thinks is a play while Jan looks at her with hopeless written on his face

Note 9 examples: Being revealed as one of the few citizens that doesn´t treat Ulla like an outsider and taking care of a passed out drunk Zoya

[zenkindoflove]

I'm in a little bit of a pickle.

So my plan was to take a month off between Summer Heat and the sequel Golden Visions to explore other stories that I've been kicking around. And to pick up writing and posting GV at the start of June.

But then of course this Erixius multichapter fic has become a lot longer than I initially anticipated (surprise surprise). And I'm like - okay can I juggle two multichapter fics at a time???? I kind of feel like no. I also haven't done much for my Elucien week fics and that is coming up fast.

So I'm thinking of working on more of Pull Me in Deeper to get a little further in at the same time as working on my Elucienweek fics since those will be one-shots and easier to balance with a multichapter.

Which means postponing working on Golden Visions until July I think. Which I know for those of you who follow my fics for Elucien, that's not exactly what you want to hear.

Hopefully that isn't too disappointing! But I promise that my Elucienweek one-shots will be worth it (at least I hope 😂).

[continuous-spec]

ME Fic: Bait (3/5)

Summary: Morinth lured Shepard up to her apartment. Garrus and Samara race to save her.

Length: 2187

Links:  Ao3

A quick ping followed up on Garrus’s omni-tool. Shepard was moving fast towards the Fumi district- most likely a sky car. Garrus pushed his drink to his side and stood. Vlyrica’s hand snatched out and held tightly to his tunic. 

“Are you going after them? Just leave me here?” Her pink accent marks scrunched as she contorted her face in anguish. “Was this some sort of weird kink thing?”

Garrus scoffed, trying to focus and plan for the next step ahead. But Vlyrica was an obstacle, a drunk stumbling obstacle. 

“No, she’s in danger.” Garrus clipped. He gently removed Vlyrica’s hand and scanned the bar. Thinking on his feet, he called attention to the dancer from before. 

“Please make sure she sobers up, okay? Five hundred credits now and five hundred once I’m back.”

“That’s a deal,” the dancer said gleefully, waving her Omni tool and awaiting the transfer. Omega is a dangerous place. Even with the credits, there was no guarantee that she’d be safe, but money still held much power. 

The dancer’s face softened as she approached Vlyrica, ushering her towards a back room. 

“Don’t worry, credits or not, I’ll watch over her. We got to stick together here. What's your name?”

“V..Vlyrica.” Her eyes narrow at Garrus, gulping back anxiety. 

“I’ll be back, I promise.” 

Vlyrica nodded and stumbled along with the dancer to the back of the Afterlife bar. 

Garrus spent a second watching her disappear and was out the door.  He hoped for the best for her but still expected the worst of Omega. He can’t save them all. 

Shrouds of industrial dust clung to Garrus’s vision as he passed through the doors—the haze of crimson neon lights directed out toward the markets.

He brought up his omni tool, Shepard's ping stationary, within a wealthy apartment. 

Samara's arm shot out of the shadows, grabbing his shoulder, and pushed him into the grated metal of a ramshackle vendor.   Her glare into him cut stronger than her words from before. If Morinth gets away, especially at his actions, she will kill him. 

“Garrus, if you…”

“I got their location towards the wealthy district. Let's get a car and move.” Garrus clipped her off. The threats would have to wait until after Shepard was safe. 

Their arrival was quick as they cut through unoccupied side streets. Morinth’s building was on the outer edge of the asteroid, illuminated in the dark red glow of the barriers of Omega.  

Text flashed over Garrus’ omni-tool.

OS: Apartment penthouse floor, only entrance elevator into the room. Biometric entrance. Get here NOW

GV: Distract her as I override the controls. We will be there in 5. 

OS: Hurry

His omni-tool flashed as he bypassed through the system's code. Garrus fought past multiple firewalls, one of the more sophisticated security for Omega he’s encountered. He worked his way into the system within minutes, and the elevator opened. 

Garrus punched the keys to the top floor. The elevator lifted with a slow pull. His mandibles clamped to his jaw. They didn’t have five minutes. Samara stood tall, her barriers blazing tightly to her. An empty stare at elevator doors. She was ready. 

The comms cut back as the elevator ascended, in reach of Shepard. Morinth cool voice slithered into his brain. 

“I love clubs- the heat, the deafening rhythm. Here, it’s muted, and you're safe. But here, at least, I have you all to myself. There are no distractions, no watchers, just us. Is that what you want, Alison?” 

“The safety or you?” Shepard returned with a husky whisper. Confirmation she was still alive. 

The ticking of floors went by slowly. Seventeen, Eighteen, nineteen. Thirty to go. Garrus, with just a pistol, had it aimed and ready. 

“That’s up for you to decide.”

“I want you, Morinth.” Shepard’s voice was calm and sultry. “How do you want me?”  

Garrus imagined her half-lidded green eyes, wanting her to say such things to him. 

Shifting sounds of fabric and couch, a slight moan over the comms, this one more pronounced and longer in their privacy. Garrus wanted nothing more than to switch his comm. Ten more flights and this would be over. 

“Tell me you want me. Tell me you’ll kill for me.” Morinth's voice grew louder as if speaking directly into her comm. 

“I…I want to…I’d kill for you. Anything you want of me.” Shepard's calm, sultry tone was gone, now stilled and drunk-like as she spoke. Garrus punched the floor button to no avail to make the elevator move faster. 

“Shhh. Just relax, my darling, and hear my words. Embrace Ent...” 

Garrus stormed the room, not checking corners, directly lining up a shot on Morinth. Dark black eyes snapped and leered at him. 

Morinth crouched over Shepard, straddling her hips, bite marks redden from Shepard’s chin to her shoulder. Morinth hand gripping her long brown hair in a tight fist at the base of Shepards’s skull. Garrus trained his shot on Morinth’s head, too close to Shepard as she entangled her.

“Garrus…” his name barely fell from her lips, her voice rasped and pained. Before he could respond, Samara warped Morinth, hurdling her into the apartment window. With one fell swoop of her hand, she brought Morinth's body and crumpled her head into the concrete ground. 

With one thud, Samara's daughter, once lively, lay motionless on the floor. Her jaw and eyes opened in horrifying surprise. 

Shepard sprawled out on the couch, face pale and gaunt, her voice shaking.  “I don’t know what happened. I couldn’t move, I could barely think for…”

“It’s her way, Shepard, as I warned,” Samara interjected, placing a calming hand on her back. “It’s over now, thank you.” Samara's voice soothed over Shepard but remained distant. 

Garrus reached out to her, his hand awaiting hers. Shepard placed her hand delicately, almost too carefully, around his forearm.  Cold shock ran through his arm to his shoulder from her freezing fingers. 

Garrus easily brought her to her feet as Samara helped support her. Shepard stumbled in her heels, her face growing more pale. 

“Shepard, are you alr…”  Shepard's hand snatched away from him at his words, almost like a stinging slap. 

“I’m fine!” she snapped, her voice hitched. "I just need to get back to Normandy.” The purple hues of the apartment glinted off her pale face and brightened under her forming tears. 

Shepard pushed them both away, striding towards the elevator. Garrus followed in quick step, hovering to check her balance. 

“Let’s get off this damn asteroid.” Shepard hissed at him as she hit for the ground entrance. 

Samara stayed still, taking in the surroundings of Morinth apartment. 

“Samara, are you coming?” Shepard’s voice was sharp, more of a command than a question.  

“Give me some time with my daughter, Shepard.” Samara knelt over her body, only focused on Morinth. “My duty to you will continue when I am done here.”

Shepard's body straightened, trying to maintain composure and a commanding presence, but her words came out softer. 

“Take all the time you need.”

The sliding doors closed on Samara, who kneeled down and gently closed her daughter's eyes. 

Butler's mouth hung agape, eyes wide in horror, rigor already set. Nothing Garrus could do in his short time could put his face at peace. He tried and tried to close his eyes, but the best he managed was half-lidded and a screaming mouth as he laid the final cover over Bulter’s face. 

A sharp sigh snapped Garrus' attention back to Shepard. Shepard kept her body turned away as they silently faced the elevator doors. Quiet humming music filled the air.

He tried as subtly as he could to steal glances her way. Not sure where her mind dwelled. Her fist clamped tight to her side. 

Tears edged and crowded past her eyelashes. Her hands were quick to wipe them away. 

She caught him looking at her, her heart rate and breathing patterns still erratic and on high alert. She turned to Garrus. Bloodshot veins surrounded her mint green irises. On any other occasion, he’d grow excited and nervous from her stare, but her gaze was glossed over and fogged. 

She was lost to him. 

A heavy sigh parted her lips again. Garrus stood silently, awaiting her. Wordlessly, Shepard bridged the gap between them, resting her head on his shoulder. 

Her hand moved into his, Garrus tightly gripped back. The warmth of her hands radiates past the simple cloth of his glove and tunic. Three within five. 

The elevator doors hushed open, and Garrus half expected Shepard to let go of him. But she continued to cling to him, walking in step into the abyss of Omega together. 

He moved her towards the sky car, but she tugged his hand along. 

“I need to move, walk, anything, please.” Her voice was quiet but pleaded with him. Garrus twitched in discomfort. Walking Omega streets, even in the wealthy district, put him on edge. 

Patrols of guards strolling by still didn’t place him at ease. Guards on Omega were just gang members for hirer.  Red and silver armor, new upstarts, probably within the power vacuum he created. Nothing he did even made a dent here. His men died for nothing. 

The thought of Vlyrica's bright smile flashed by on Garrus. Even if he had just saved one person throughout his two years, that was still dent. He had to remind himself that. He'd hopefully find her sobering up at the Afterlife once this was all done. 

The hums of skycars filled their silence as they crossed the bridge. Orange neon lights glinted the silver dust of element zero that clung in the air.  Garrus steered them towards a more well-lit and populated street, past the markets- a path he had taken hundreds of times. 

They entered the Kima district, only a five-minute walk to his base. His wounds stung as he clamped his mandibles again.  Shepard's free hand massaged his arm, almost as she sensed his tension shift. 

In her distraction, her heel caught in the pot-marked street. A curse left her lips as she fell into Garrus. 

“I want to chuck these off this damn asteroid.”

“Barefoot on Omega is not something I’d suggest unless you want to step in vorcha crap.”

“Or used needles or sewer water.” Shepard pipped in. 

“That or varren blood, rotting trash, probably krogan piss, but that’s not so common for this district,” Garrus jest. 

“You would be the expert.”

“On krogran piss?” 

Shepard let out a guttural laugh that erupted in a large snort. It was Shepard’s laugh. There was no airiness or deceit, just Shepard. “Fine, death trap heels stay on. You can carry me then.” 

“You know I would.” 

Shepard pressed herself into him as they walked. He encircled one arm around her, letting her press against him further.

She stumbled along with him on the ever-lit night of Omega, crowded by the towers and orange neon hue.  Together, they walked the streets of the Kima district—past years of memories of good men now gone. 

Erash. Monteague. Mierin. Grundan Krul. Meleni. Ripper. Sensat. Vortash. Butler. Weaver.

Each of their faces haunted him. He tried to remember them as they were. 

From Erash’s bright eyes, whenever an explosion went off without a hitch. Or Montague and Vortash's anger as they bickered over a game of Poker. Too Bulter’s passion and crocked smile as he spoke of his wife. And all the other countless moments in between each mission with them all. 

But their last moments stayed. All their lifeless, gaunt faces.  One by one, as he covered them carefully. 

Shepard's fingers tightened into his palm, pulling him back from the past. 

He squeezed back and pushed them forward to the Normandy. 

 ***

Arrival at the dock was surprisingly uneventful. Shepard pressed the code into Normandy to enter, her free hand still tightly wounded in his. He stood in place, hesitant to join her. 

A tight frown formed at the corner of her lips and softened as she spoke. 

“Go make sure she’s okay.”

“Shepard, I just want to make sure you’re okay first.” He pleaded with her. 

She signed, untangling their hands as she stepped closer to him. 

“I will be. I saw how much that girl drank. She’s still out there. You should go.”

“I am. I just…” Garrus paused, unsure how to phrase it. He just wanted to make sure things went right. Just once. 

“Are we okay?” His voice betrayed him as it wavered at the question.

Shepard’s hand trembled as she caressed the newly healed scars. Her palm gently cupped his face. Bloodshot eyes beginning to soothe, she stared into him. He felt his heart pound, waiting for her answer. Her grasp just made him want to fall into her embrace. 

“We will be, but we need to talk. Just give me some time, please.” 

Shepard's fingertips trailed off of him as she stepped back. She engaged the door controls, leaving him with a sad smile as the airlock shut between them.