#new arm new mandible new her. or well. same her slightly more respect for what her bombs can do

[nblynera]

time for wasp oc posting. you have no choice in this matter and no power over me

[miceenscene]

Fealty

female shepard/garrus vakarian | pwp | roleplay

wc: 8.9k

summary: Garrus & Shepard find some escapism in the midst of a war. | This is the product of listening to Rimsky’s Scheherazade too many times whilst pondering the inherent eroticism of blood oaths.

warnings: none, just sexy times galore

an: in this house, service switch Garrus hours are 24/7

ao3 | Masterlist

The Incident was an accident.

The Incident was an accident, and Garrus swore he would maintain that story to his dying day. It was not his fault that when Shepard really got him going sometimes odd things came out of his mouth. If anything, it was Shepard’s fault. Her and her flexible, strong, smooth body did unspeakable things to him that he really couldn’t rationally explain outside of the moment.

The night of The Incident, they’d started in the elevator, cautious at first then building as it became clear no one would interrupt them, then shedding armor carelessly in the hallway just outside her quarters. They’d made it to the desk at least for the first round. Then half a round against the fishtank, till finally she had him pinned down on the bed. His hands gripped her waist, following her rhythms eagerly, as she found her pleasure on top of him. She was warm and clenching around him as his head swam with Shepard.

There was a phenomenon that Garrus had long since noticed, beginning really from the first time they ‘blew off steam’. In the run up to Shepard’s peaks, he found himself… needing, craving, desperate to give her what she desired. Probably some combination of turian martial instinct–she was still the commander of the ship he served on, even if she claimed she wasn’t his commander anymore–and plain attraction to the woman herself. As well as his own perfectionist tendencies. If he was going to do a job, he wanted to do it The Best… and apparently that also applied to giving Shepard orgasms.

And it was somewhere in the middle of this phenomenon that it happened. The Incident. Shepard was close, close enough for them both to taste it. And she gave him an order, deeper more right there. And, as he happily obeyed, it just came out of his mouth in a soul-deep rumbling groan.

“Yes, your majesty.”

There was half a second before they both heard what he’d just said. Then it clicked. Glass shattered in the forefront of Garrus’ mind as a thousand warning lights suddenly started flashing.

Meanwhile, Shepard paused, teetering on her edge, and looked down at him. Her face was flushed, chest heaving with exertion, eyes over-bright. “What did you–”

It was a dirty move, but to distract her, Garrus pressed his thumb to her clit and canted his hips just so, shoving her into bliss with a loud exclamation. She pulled him down with her, both of them shuddering and swearing in each other’s arms.

His afterglow, however, was undercut with a strong tint of embarrassment. Luckily, nothing seemed to have bothered Shepard, who melted on top of him with her head resting on his chest. He trailed a few talons between her shoulder blades, making her hum and relax even more. Maybe she’d drift straight off to sleep, and in the morning his stupid mouth would be back under control.

But she shifted to the side into the waiting crook of his arm and molded around him in the usual, seemingly physically impossible for how perfect it was, way. “I should go clean up,” she sighed after another few minutes of quiet, stretching leisurely.

He hummed an agreement, relaxing now that it seemed his little outburst had been forgotten. “I’ll take care of the sheets,” he replied, nuzzling a kiss to the top of her head.

“Thank you,” she murmured, returning the kiss to the front of his carapace. With a soft smile, she got up. His hand traced the line down from her shoulder to her wrist to the tips of her fingers before she was out of reach. He admired the languid lines of her figure as she retreated, the bathroom door hissing shut behind her.

That was a close one.

Though he really should have known that his dodging skills were not that great. Or rather, Shepard’s ability to lay in wait should never be underestimated. Reckoning came a few evenings later. They were back in Shepard’s quarters again, but this time both reading through reports on her couch. Shepard liked to lean back against him and wrap his arm across her torso. Garrus liked it too because it was easy to lean over and stroke his mandible over her silky hair occasionally.

They’d been diligent for nearly three hours now, wading through the mounting horrors of war, but Garrus felt his eyes start to glaze over as he opened the next report from the Hierarchy. He blinked a few times to bring himself back into focus, only for it to happen less than two minutes later. Alright, perhaps it was time to call it a day.

His focus shifted to Shepard, a few tempting ideas popping up in the back of his mind. He brushed her hair to one shoulder so he could nuzzle a kiss to the other side of her neck. She hummed and her hand brushed the side of his face, but he didn’t have her full attention yet. That would have to change. He trailed the tip of his tongue up the side of her neck, up to her ear and over the shell of it, making the muscles in her core clench.

“Done already?” she asked, her voice just slightly airy.

“Done for tonight,” he rumbled. His hand covered hers on the datapad, updated casualty estimates from Earth. The numbers just never stopped growing. “You should be too.” She let him take the pad from her, setting it down on the coffee table, before laying back with her head in his lap.

“Perhaps you have a point.” Mentally setting aside the unfixable, she gave him a tired smile. “Did you want to go to bed? ...Orrr?”

“I’m a turian, Shepard. I’m pretty much always up for ‘orrr’.”

She laughed quietly and sat up to straddle his lap, arms resting on his shoulders and making his subvocals start to rumble at her proximity.

“How about you?” he asked, returning to his earlier work on her neck and sliding his hands across her waist. “Are you up for ‘orrr’?”

She hummed and leaned into his ministrations. “That depends.”

He really should have seen the trap, but he was too focused on trailing talon tips up the shallow valley of Shepard’s spine to see it at the time. “On?”

“Are you going to call me ‘your majesty’ again?”

Crap.

He froze, hands under her shirt, mouth open on her neck. “You heard that?”

“Yes, Garrus. I do tend to hear what you proclaim when you’re inside me.” She pulled back, making him look at her. “You mind explaining that one to me?”

He shook his head. “It’s nothing, forget it.” And he tried to duck back in to distract her again, but she moved back once more.

“It’s not nothing. I saw your face as you said it…” There was a teasing light in her eyes, coupled with a similar smirk across her lips. “Oh, come on. Remember I was the one who pitched that whole ‘let’s pretend we’re having a first date’ thing?”

“There’s a difference between faking the date we never got and… this.”

“I don’t mind taking things a step away from reality… seems almost a necessity these days.” Her eyes half-turned towards where the datapad still lay.

That was a solid point. But some deep shameful part of him clenched at owning up to this particular non-reality. Her teasing look dimmed as he didn’t budge a metaphorical inch. Thank the spirits, it seemed like she might let this go. But he was caught off-guard when she cupped his face in her hands.

“There is nothing you could tell me about yourself that would make me love you less. You know that right?”

He flinched from how deeply she struck. Consciously, yes. He trusted her when she said she loved him. The subconscious application was… tricky at times to prove that it had been completely accepted. Not all the time, just rare instances. Like right now.

He nodded. “I know.”

“Okay. Good.” She tipped her forehead to rest it against his. He was the luckiest damn turian in the entire galaxy. And he loved her just as much; he hoped she knew even though he hadn’t said it just yet.

She smiled softly as she sat back. “You don’t have to tell me the explanation if you don’t want to. But…” She shrugged and moved off his lap, sitting on the couch next to him and picking back up her datapad. “If you did, maybe I could… play along.”

The last two words came out just a touch rougher around the edges, sending a fizzing thrill to his gut and calling his bluff all at the same time. Just like she’d no-doubt intended. A whole new host of tempting ideas popped up in the back of his mind, their sum total enticing enough to overwhelm the shame.

He was actually going to do this.

“How… much do you know about turian history?” he asked slowly, picking up his own datapad in a feigned casual manner to have something to look at.

“Very little.”

“Well, it’s not as much turian history as… turian historical fiction.” He sucked in a breath for the strength to power through to the end of the explanation. “A… scandalous novel I read as a young recruit. Set during the unification wars, about a warlord and… her right-hand warrior.”

He could feel her gaze land on him, but he maintained focus on the words-turned-unparsable-shapes of his datapad. Embarrassment singed the back of his neck as silence filled the room. His first instinct was right; this was a silly fantasy, best kept to himself and not shared with someone whose respect he craved like Shepard’s.

He heard her shift and then her hand was under his chin, tilting his head to look up at her. His breath caught in his upper chest when he met her eyes. She’d stood, making her taller than he was from where he was sitting. Her posture was taught, like on the battlefield, yet somehow tempting at the same time. Strength and power radiated from her. A smile hinted in her eyes, but her mouth was set into a stoic line.

“Do you want me to be your queen, Garrus?” she asked in a low voice that shifted like sand under a desert wind.

“Yes.”

One dune after another, the horizon seemed as far now at dusk as it had been at dawn. Always dancing and shifting, no matter how steadfastly the General moved towards it. The glaring suns had beat unrelenting against his helmet all day, scorching his armor and the sand beneath him. But as they slipped beneath the horizon, he finally caught sight of his destination in the far distance. A camp of tents lay in the shadow of the mesa, spotted with torchlight and waving flags of red and black.

A small flurry of alarm kicked up at his approach to the camp, then stilled as he was recognized by the watch. His men greeted him warmly, but the General didn’t slow. He headed straight for the largest tent at the dead middle of the camp, trimmed in gold with two guards at the entrance. Momentum pulled him inside the tent where he finally stopped, removing his helmet and falling to one knee on the sumptuous rug across the floor.

It was scent that whispered of her arrival, more than sound or sight. Cool jasmine with the slight tang of tempered steel drifted towards him, surrounded him, familiar and intoxicating. Then the soft drag of a silk robe across carpet met his ears, followed by her voice, low and calm as a viper.

“You have returned, General Vakarian.”

“Yes, my Queen,” he answered.

“Rise and report.”

He stood and breath caught in his chest as he finally saw her, his Queen. Every time he saw her, it was first her eyes that captivated him, green as a forest and piercing as a dagger. Her waist-length crimson hair was loose, brushed to gleaming over one shoulder, and she was wrapped in a deep blue robe. She appeared unarmed, perhaps even vulnerable to the untrained eye. But he knew her better than that. She was dangerous, yet all the more beguiling for it.

At his prolonged silence, she lifted a single brow and turned to a small table at the opposite side of the tent that bore a pitcher and a few silver goblets. The General opened the bag he’d carried for days now and placed a sealed scroll on the wide table in the center of the room on which a large map was unfurled.

“As you requested, Lord Tulius has been removed. His head decorates the gates to his city.”

She didn’t pause her calm movements, pouring two goblets before turning back to face him. “And?”

“The new Lord has sworn five hundred soldiers when we ride on Gerou next month.”

She neared, jasmine and steel surrounding him once more, but she did not offer the second goblet. “And?”

“And Ardaraka will also be joining with one hundred archers and sending tribute.”

Her mouth remained steady, but an approving light shone in her eyes as she held out the goblet to him. The wordless approval rested on his brow brighter than any crown. He took the goblet carefully, gloved fingers brushing hers for a moment. Never looking away from the other, they both sipped the wine. Spices blossomed on his palette, heady and strong.

“Your work is always exemplary, General,” she said, stepping around him. Her shoulder just brushed his as she passed, burning him through his armor. “But this is to be commended.” She rounded the table and took another thoughtful sip as she sat down in the chair at the head. “Such efforts should not go unrewarded. Tell me what prize you would accept, and it shall be granted to you.”

She was a woman of her word. Up to half her kingdom could be granted to him if he but asked for it. As it was–

“There is only one prize that I desire.”

Her eyes locked to his, gaze as scorching as the suns and twice as rich. Then she set her cup down and relaxed back in the chair, a smile finally playing on her lips.

“Come and claim it then.”

Wasting no precious time, the General shed his gloves and rounded the table to stand before his Queen, eyes boring into hers, smoldering hot enough to catch flame. She offered up her hand, which he took in his, smoothing a thumb over her battle-calloused fingers before pressing a kiss to the knuckles.

“I swear to guard my Queen from harm and, with either my life or my death, ensure her continued dominion,” he whispered, repeating part of the oath he’d taken so many years ago. The solemn vow was carved on his spirit, the ethos of his life from that day onward. He turned her hand over and kissed her palm, then her wrist, feeling her steady pulse on his mouth plates. “Until my Queen releases me, death takes me, or the world ends.”

When he looked back to her face, her lips were slightly opened, eyes wide and utterly enraptured. Deep satisfaction suffused through him at the sight. Glimpses of the woman behind the crown were rare, and he coveted them jealously. For as assuredly he would follow her into death, some naive part of him longed to share her life even more. The awed warmth of her gaze kindled something deep inside him, something precious and pure. Something to be thought of only in the most private of moments and not yet voiced. Perhaps never to be spoken, only shown.

He knelt before her, basking in her rapt attention. With great care, he reached for her ankle, palm sliding up the smooth skin of her calf before stopping at her knee, which he lifted and placed on his shoulder as he moved in closer–submerging himself in jasmine and steel. Pulling her robe open, he found her completely bare underneath save for an encrusted dagger that was wrapped in a holster about her thigh.

He’d given the dagger to her not long after he came into her service. The reminder of how close she kept it on her person still sent a low shudder down his spine. Never unarmed that was his Queen, he mused, subvocals starting to purr. He traced the leather strap first with his fingers, then his mouth plates before drifting upwards and pulling her closer.

This near, her clearest scent filled his lungs–rich as earth, complex and mouth-wateringly bitter. Her thighs resting on his shoulders and his hands on her hips, he stared up at her in both wonder and desire. Her usual stoic front was holding strong for the moment, but he could see something stirring beneath her surface. He held there, waiting for the final permission. She granted it in a silent nod.

Not looking away, he kissed her center, making her eyes flutter shut momentarily. But she quickly regained her composure. It was always a battle with her, a testing of wills–he wouldn’t have it any other way. Determined, he delved deeper, still holding her eyes for as long as he could. Her hand rested at the back of his head, fingers just brushing his most sensitive area as he found hers. The sinews in her neck clenched as he circled and lapped, pushing and teasing her till she yielded for him. It came as his tongue slipped inside her warmth. Her eyes shut, mouth dropped half-open, and her hand on his head clenched, nails biting at his skin. A half-strangled gasp met his ears, sweeter than symphonies, rousing his own desire with its call.

Now it wasn’t a battle, but a crusade. Or perhaps a gauntlet, a test of his mastery of her pleasure. He never wanted to just satisfy her, to just sate her. He wanted to ruin her. To make every other partner pale in comparison. None could eclipse her in his eyes. It felt an honest, if perhaps hopeless, endeavor to strive for the same honor from her.

He pulled away from her, earning a low whimper of protest from his Queen that kicked his subvocals rumbling even lower. But he didn’t move far. His thumb circled over her center, drawing her attention, till he nipped the sensitive inner skin of her thigh. Her hips bucked at change in sensation, muscles rippling under his palms. He apologized with a swipe of his tongue, though he knew it would leave a mark. A reminder of his presence just for her.

Her other hand gripped his shoulder, a burning beacon that she was close to her end. He could retreat now, suffer her temporary wrath, for another valiant run for glory. Some nights, she let him indulge himself, bringing her closer and closer to her edge without letting her fall over. But her hand on the back of his head pulled him back to her center. No, she was not to be toyed with tonight. So he gladly surrendered to her will. Not replacing his finger, he dipped his tongue back inside her.

It took only two coordinated strokes before she fell, shuddering and clenching and gasping. She pulled him so close, curling over him as if to blur the boundaries between his being and hers. Tension shattered through her core, her limbs, stacking to insurmountable heights. Till, like a candle flame, it vanished, leaving only boneless, radiating warmth in its absence.

His Queen dropped against the back of the chair, hands relaxing their grip on him but not moving away. Her chest rose and fell as she struggled to rewrite her composure. Though before she completely succeeded, a blissful smile spread across her lips. He wished he could save it somehow, tuck it away in a cedar box at the bottom of his armory, where it would be safe and cherished as long as he drew breath.

She swallowed and let out a low hum of contentment that settled in the back of his skull. “Commendable, General,” she said, her voice smoky as torch light. “As always.”

“It is my honor, your majesty.”

“Yes, it is.” The corners of her lips tugged in amusement but didn’t spread wide again.

His subvocals rolled with his unquenched thirst, perhaps she could feel them from where his palms slid down her hips. He pulled her silk robe back into place before retreating reluctantly, standing and stepping back from her throne. She offered her hand again, which he happily took and helped her stand.

“Such… valiant effort on behalf of my realm deserves more than one reward, don’t you agree?”

He tipped his head in deference, deep parts of him agreeing with her far more vehemently. “If you wish to honor me more, who am I to deny you?”

She stepped towards him, close but not touching. Jasmine and steel surrounded him again, sending his core muscles clenching. Her chin lifted, tilting her face as if she wished to kiss him. Like a comet, he was pulled helplessly into her orbit. But she did not meet him. She, instead, hovered a hair’s breadth apart. His control shuddered as he held there with his hands clasped behind his back, knuckles paling for the effort.

After several tense seconds, her gaze met his, curiosity and something like satisfaction in her eyes. “You would deny me nothing, would you?”

“Nothing,” he repeated in a fervent whisper. His plates were starting to itch from how close yet far she was. But he refused to move till she gave him leave.

She pulled away yet rewarded his restraint with the backs of her fingers stroking along his scarred mandible. Though he couldn’t help but lean into the touch, brushing a kiss to her knuckles as her hand dropped away. He was only mortal.

“Come.” She offered her hand and led him away from the table. There was a curtained doorway that divided the war room from her sleeping quarters of the tent. She pulled back the thick fabric and stepped inside, inviting him into her most private space.

The room was not overly large, nothing like her chambers back in her fortress. Her armor, spear, and shield were displayed proudly next to the entrance. There was a space for bathing and dressing. A smaller table for her own use tucked in the corner. But the room was dominated by the large bed in the center. Not four postered and curtained like in her ancient estate by the sea, a bedroll made for travel but still strewn with cushions and luxurious enough for royalty. The scent of her hovered in the room like incense. A few candles in the corners were the only source of light, casting soft shadows around the edges of her figure.

Once inside, she didn’t let go of his hand. Instead, her nimble fingers travelled up his arm, removing vambraces and pauldrons with practiced ease. She untied his cuirass from around his carapace, fingertips brushing against his sides, before setting it carefully aside with the other pieces. When strapped with his armor and weapons, he hardly noticed the weight of them anymore. But as she pulled off each piece, breath came easier to him, though he wasn’t sure if it was relief or anticipation that filled his lungs so readily. Every plate of steel gone felt like a skin removed, stripping away the mantle of General to leave behind just him for her.

She went to remove his greaves, moving to kneel before him, when he reflexively stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. She shouldn’t– But her eyes snapped up to him, sharp and flinty.

Would you deny me this?

No, he would not. So he pulled his hand back, humbled by the rare view and trying to deny how the unique angle stirred up memories filled with desire.

She pulled off the last of his armor and then rose, her half-smile distracting him from her hand till it dragged up his completely spread plates over his pants. That made him flinch and suck in a sharp breath, sparks leapt onto the crumbling tower of his composure.

“Too much?” she asked in a low voice. His eyes opened to find her looking at him intensely, brows flickering just towards each other.

He shook his head. “Never.”

She repeated the action, but he was ready for her this time. The gentle pressure emanated out through his whole person, making his subvocals sputter and stop for a moment. He was absolutely weeping in his sheath, but she stopped before it became too much.

With just one hand at his waist, the sensation muted from his underclothes but knee-buckling all the same, she urged him to sit on the foot of her bed. He was closer to her face this way, giving him a chance to admire the sharp line of her jaw, how her eyes were inky black haloed with thin green. She was breathtaking on the field and away.

Breaking all contact with him, she edged into the space between his knees, commanding his complete attention without a word. Not letting him look away, she loosened the tie of her robe. It slipped off her shoulders and pooled on the ground, leaving her only in her dagger. He found an anchor in the silk sheets beneath him, talons gripping the fabric for dear life. Her eyes proclaimed proudly that she knew exactly what the sight of all of her was doing to him. His gaze greedily swept over her figure, like a bandit discovering a pirate’s hoard, taking in the exotic curves and admiring the few pale scars. The need to put his hands on her and pull her close scalded his palms. He longed to kiss every freckle that dotted her skin, to hear her gasp his name as he buried himself inside her. She let him admire for a few breathless moments, but twisted the dagger when she lifted her holstered leg to rest her foot on his knee.

“Would you help me, General?” she asked calmly, as if asking for him to bring her the weather reports.

He swallowed, hard. Then again. No, growling subvocals would not allow words she could understand now. So he instead simply obeyed, unwinding the leather strap before pulling it through the buckle. His hands only trembled slightly, but stilled as the steadying weight of the dagger dropped into his palm. He offered it to her, pride shoring him up as he persevered under her visual onslaught.

She took it from him and turned away, long hair tossing over her shoulder and brushing against his face for just a moment. “Would you want some Aephusian Ale?” she asked, sashaying away with a pronounced hip swing that he could not ignore. “I know how much you enjoy it.”

“Of course,” he rumbled, dropping his gaze away from her to gain his bearings more. A few deep breaths cleared his head enough for her return, proffering a dark glass bottle. His attention could not be afforded anywhere but on her as he took a sip, not quite paying attention till the taste registered.

Garrus blinked. “This… this is actually Aephusian Ale,” he said, looking down at the bottle in his hand. It tasted exactly like the drink in the book. Spirits, where had Shepard found this?

“Of course it is,” his Queen said in a low voice, pulling him back in as she stepped closer. “You think I don’t know my best General’s favorite drink?”

He smiled softly up at her. “I am humbled by your attentions,” the General replied.

She moved even closer, nearly touching him now. He could feel the warmth radiating lowly off her skin. It grew stronger as she leaned towards him, head angling once again for a kiss. And like before, she stopped a grain of sand away, though this time a strangled whine snuck up the back of his throat before he quickly cut it off.

A gloating look floated through her eyes. “Your orders are to retreat, General.”

Unsure precisely what she meant, he frowned slightly up at her. She waved her hand and it clicked. It wasn’t graceful, but he moved backwards across the bed, only stopping when the back of his carapace met the cushions already set up to support him. As if to make up for his lack of coordination, his Queen prowled towards him, a hungry look simmering in her eye. Feeling trapped in the very best way, he set aside the ale.

She crawled all the way up to straddle his lap, dropping herself the last inch and expelling a soft groan from his gut at the sudden contact. But it transformed in a low growl as she rocked her hips, rubbing her sodden center over his sheath. His swollen cock begged to be released, trapped by her and his pants, and her steady, eddying pressure was delicious torture. But she was nefarious and brutal, his Queen, and she reminded him of that as her arms wound around his shoulders, fingers trailing up his neck to the skin under his fringe. He could have borne the burden without complaint had she not also dipped her head and finally pressed that craved kiss not to his mouth but to his vulnerable throat.

That finally broke him.

“Please,” he bit out, head dropped back in utter submission. “Please, your majesty.”

She kissed his neck once, twice more, and then bit down. It wasn’t enough to leave a mark through his skin, but his whole body jerked, jostling her and halting her slow grinding. Without any rush, she lifted herself up off his lap to meet his eyes, a palm smoothing down his fringe.

“Yes, General? Is there something you desire?” she asked in that same calm voice.

“You.” His subvocals were shredded with clawing need. “Always you.”

Hands cradling his face, she tilted his head forward enough to press her brow to his in a turian kiss. The simple yet profound gesture blew right through simple carnal desire, landing square in the deep unspeakable truth at his very core. Eyes shut, he pressed up against her as fervently as the angle would allow, letting his subvocals sing with the words he didn’t dare to utter.

She pulled back for a moment, soothing fingers brushing along his mandibles, then leaned back in, lips so close to his mouth. But this time, she whispered, “Kiss me.”

And he did, surging forward to claim her mouth with his. After so much build-up and denial, it rapidly deepened to something needy and demanding. Technique and skill were completely abandoned in favor of pure sensation. He needed her tongue tangled with his, her breath in his lungs. Oh, though it was so blissfully wonderful to taste her again, it was not enough. Nothing less than all of her would suffice.

“Please, my Queen,” he rumbled, tracing his mandible along the smooth line of her jaw. “I need you. Please.”

She kissed him once more, rising up on her knees to break the pressure on his waist and tilt his head back as far as it would go. Her hand rested on his throat, fingertips tracing small circles on either side and pulling uncontrollable shudders from him with every small movement.

“I’m already yours. Take me,” she whispered with a slight smile.

She obviously had not been prepared for his attack as she let out a small cry when he flipped their positions, tossing her back on the bed with as much care as he could muster. It turned into a breathless chuckle as he pulled away just long enough to wrench his trousers off. A deep groan left him as he was finally freed from his sheath, relief sparkling down his spine and numbing the back of his skull.

“Can always count on you to be ready for battle,” she mused.

He had plans to remove his shirt too and possibly say something witty back. But all thoughts were driven from his head as he caught a glimpse of his Queen completely splayed on the bed, dark eyes taking in his figure, her hand sliding down her stomach with obvious intent. He caught it before it reached its destination, pressing another quick kiss to her pulse. She groaned softly at being interrupted.

“I would deny you nothing, your Majesty. But it is my honor to be the only one to please you this evening,” he purred, nipping a kiss to her collarbone.

“Then what are you waiting for?” She sounded annoyed, though there was a telling glimmer in her eyes that spoke otherwise. He lifted one of her legs into the crook of his elbow and leaned forward, just enjoying the low whimpers she made as he rocked through her heat.

“Absolutely nothing.” And he kissed her again as he finally joined with his Queen. Twin groans floated through the air of the tent as he immediately set a deep and thorough pace. Her clenching heat around him demanded his full attention, everything else but her disappeared from his mind. Her tongue tangled with his, and her fingers trailed down his fringe.

He kissed every inch of her skin that he could reach, running his tongue along her throat, nuzzling mandibles across her shoulders. She returned the favor with her own kisses up his neck, though his steady rhythm stuttered when she bit him again. Spirits, she knew him too well. Though he knew her just the same, and so he left his own nips along her collarbones, the base of her neck, anywhere that could be hidden by her armor. The evidence of their love was just for their knowledge.

Her low swears and strangled groans were the sweetest tune he’d ever heard. But he wanted the full symphony. An honest-to-the-gods whimper escaped her throat when he stilled and pulled back. Oh. He’d proudly wear that as a medal of honor on his breast if she could mint it.

“I’m not leaving,” he promised breathlessly. He lifted her hips and slid a cushion underneath, changing the angle of their meeting. “Still good?”

She clenched her inner muscles around him with a smirk.

“Fuck,” he groaned in answer to his own question.

“You have not yet been relieved of duty, Gen–” The end of her word changed into a deep moan as he rocked once, testing the new arrangement on his knees. Holding her open with his grip on her leg, he moved again, enjoying thoroughly watching the collision ripple through her body and hearing the echoes in her voice. Her hands stretched out for him but failed to reach their mark as he pressed the pad of his thumb to her clit, circling in the pattern he knew she liked best. She went fully lax, granting him full command over her pleasure.

“Look at me,” he pleaded, more subvocal than voice. But she obeyed. She demanded his continual gaze with hers, and neither looked away as he drove them steadily to their peak. Her acquiescence to his strategy started to crumble, however, as they drew close. A hand found purchase on his hip, pulling him closer, deeper, More. He eagerly surrendered what advantages distance allowed him in movement for the feeling of tucking his face against her neck.

Her cries abruptly spiked in pitch, and he just managed to catch her mouth with his for one last kiss before she reached bliss. Her body shuddering in his arms, and her slick heat clenching around him finished him off. Gratification shot down his spine, white hot and addictingly pure. He held tight to her, muscles locking as he convulsed once, twice, three times. Then every bit of tension in his body evaporated, all thought reducing to a rich blissfulness, thick enough to float away in.

A five-fingered hand rested on the back of his neck, stroking slowly up and down. Reflexes drunk-slow, he opened his eyes to find his Queen half-beneath him, looking nearly as relaxed as he felt. She caught his eye and a slow smile spread across her face, growing so fond it bubbled up into a low affectionate laugh. He pressed his brow to hers, a hand slipping into her hair, and laughed with her.

The air between them was saturated with the Unspoken. But it could barely be anymore blatantly stated than in his every small kiss upon her cheek. Every adjustment of limbs so they fit together even neater than before. Every slowing breath they shared as more one than two.

Her hand insinuated itself between his tunic and the small of his back, stroking his spine before tugging on the shirt.

“Remove this,” she murmured, eyes half open. “Your Queen demands it.”

“I don’t want to harm you,” he replied lowly, a hand smoothing over her bare hip.

“Do you think I’m as fragile as that?”

He shook his head. “Not fragile… precious.”

That wide eyed, awed look returned to her face, so wholly honest it took his breath away for a moment. Then she moved, crawling over him and kissing him once before pulling him up to sitting. She removed his tunic and then wrapped him in a long hug. The steady presence of her skin on his was centering in a way he couldn’t quite describe. The world, the galaxy fell into balanced order every time.

He hummed as she kissed his neck, slowly, luxuriously. Desire stirring slightly with the delicate attentions. She made her way leisurely up the length, pressing a final kiss to the side of his head then whispering, “You are so precious to me.”

His breath caught in his chest, but she didn’t pull away. More kisses made their way down his mandible then meeting his mouth in gentle caresses. She cradled his head in her arms, a hand brushing down his fringe.

“I don’t know where I’d be without you.” The look in her eyes was so fervently honest, he couldn’t do anything but stare up at her. The lines between Shepard and his Queen blurring till he wasn’t sure which one continued speaking. “I owe you my life more times over than I can ever repay. I never want to know what life is like without you at my side.”

His hands slid up her spine to pull her down for another kiss, adamant and just shy of bruising. “You’ll never have to know,” he swore to her, brow pressed to hers. “Not while it’s in my power. You’ll never know.”

She nodded and kissed him again, her breath shaking for reasons unrelated to the need in his touch. Her hands roved his body, finger tips slipping between plates, palms over his waist, while her mouth stayed steady on his. But there was no teasing in her touch this time, just devotion so pure it humbled him to receive it.

“Let me show you,” she whispered before kissing him deeply. “Please.”

He nodded, and her kisses drifted down his neck, across his cowl and down his carapace. Every muscle in his body clenched as he finally realized her intention. She stopped and looked up at him, but he was already nodding when her gaze met his. It turned warm and fond, and she settled on her stomach between his legs, pressing a chaste kiss to his hip.

He hadn’t reemerged from his sheath yet, though his plates were still fully relaxed. However, as she started drawing slow designs with her fingertips across his waist, he could already feel the efficacy in her small gestures. The sight of her was transfixing, hypnotic. Every puff of warm breath across his most sensitive skin electrified him.

As she kissed him, an unstoppable moan dropped from his mouth. She smiled up at him and kept at her work, persistent and skilled. Every time after, he swore to himself that he’d exaggerated in his memory how good her mouth felt on him. And every time, she proved him wrong. It took no time at all till he slid out and directly into her waiting mouth. It was so perfect, it seared.

“Shepard,” he moaned, talons gripping the bed underneath him for dear life. She pulled back, giving him a break from the onslaught.

“Too much?” she asked. He looked down and nearly moaned again, shuddering instead. A slight blush had formed over her cheeks, and her hand was resting loosely at his base.

“You have ruined me… for anyone but you… my Queen,” he said in reply.

She smirked. “Good.” You’re mine. And she approached again less directly, slight kisses, gentle passes with her tongue. He willfully surrendered to her, focusing on her touch, her presence.

It always felt an honor to receive such… attention from one such as her. But right now, it felt more a gesture of trust. She could trust him to give her only what she desired. And whole-heartedly, he felt the very same. Her moaning while his length buried as deep as she could take him nearly brought him to his metaphorical knees. He’d follow her anywhere, even to his own blissful end, which she seemed very determined to deliver him to. But perhaps–

He rested a hand on her shoulder, whining at both the sight and feel of her soft mouth sliding up his length. It made his thoughts scatter like sand under a gale wind.

“Together,” he managed, swallowing hard to try and control his roiling subvocals. “I want… together. Please?”

She smiled and kissed his tip, sending one last jolt through his system, before retreating. “Since you asked so nicely.”

He had to literally shake sense back into his head before he could move from where she’d left him. “Come here,” he said, shifting up to his knees and stumbling forward for the effort.

“You alright?” Her voice bobbed in amusement.

“Like I said, you ruined me.” He took her hand and pulled her close, kissing her once, then again for good measure. Then he moved behind her, pulling her back to his front.

“Oh,” she said slowly as he rocked between her thighs. His subvocals sang in agreement. She smelled so good–salt and jasmine and them. She was so warm already. The thought that pleasuring him ignited her in the best way burned up the last of his patience.

He pulled her hair aside and nibbled a kiss to her neck. “I want you,” he breathed against her ear.

“Please,” she whispered back. She guided him inside her, both of them letting out a long slow breath at their joining. His hands roved her body, smoothing across hips and circling her breasts, as he encouraged her to sit back into his lap. They weren’t joined as deeply as before, but this angle always brushed against her most sensitive places with the slightest of movement. An advantage he exploited to immediate benefits.

Rocking together felt more natural than breathing. Her hands intertwined with his, pressing one down between her legs and the other to her breast. He gave her the pressure she desired gladly and continued whispering a low growl in her ear.

“You don’t understand how thoroughly you have ruined me for anyone that isn’t you. I couldn’t want my own kind anymore even if I tried.”

She answered with a wordless cry, her spine undulating in a way that should have been physically impossible and was so alluringly easy for her. Still he kept up the rhythm, subvocals purring at how perfect she felt against him, around him.

“How could anyone measure up after I’ve had you? My Queen… my Commander.”

She shuddered and moaned, a hand reaching back to grip his neck. “Your voice–Gar–General–”

“That’s it, my Queen. Focus on me and let go.” He let loose a subvocal rumble loud enough that she had to hear it. Her answering cry echoed around the tent.

They hadn’t been particularly quiet up to this point, and their involvement was a poorly kept secret. Still, the thought of any guard just outside hearing her right now, knowing what she sounded like in rapture. He caught her mouth with his, swallowing her cry and turning it to whimpers.

“No one but me gets to hear you like this tonight.”

“Yes, Garrus.”

The sound of his real name pleaded so desperately shot straight to his core, immediately imploding. He pressed his brow to hers and circled his fingers on her clit, making her kiss him again to moan in response.

“Garrus–General. General, please. I–”

“I’m here. I’ll always be right here,” he vowed solemnly, meaning it as truly as the Unspoken.

She sobbed, the hand on his neck sliding up to scrape dull nails across the skin under his fringe. He throbbed inside her, his own release having snuck up on him in his focus on her.

“With me?” she asked, her voice tight and desperate.

“Always.”

And with a kiss they fell over the edge together.

It was several minutes later that Garrus opened his eyes to a world made entirely of red hair. The two of them had simply slipped sideways on the bed, still intertwined with each other. Shepard before him was breathing steadily, slowly.

He pressed a kiss to the back of her head. “You alright?”

She nodded. “I need a quick break though,” she said, her words slurring slightly.

“Me too.” He pulled away enough to turn her onto her back and stretched out next to her. For a few minutes, he just admired her face, fingers combing through her hair till it laid flat on the bed.

“How did you make it so much longer?” he asked quietly.

She reached up into her hair and something snapped, then a section of the long hair came out.

“That’s… not yours?” he asked, more than a little bewildered.

“Well, it’s mine in that I own it. But I didn’t grow this hair, no.” She repeated the process a few more times, removing all the pieces from her scalp till just her usual shoulder length hair remained.

“That’s… disturbing.”

“I wanted to be authentic,” she replied with a shrug. “You liked it till you knew.”

He grunted, not wanting to agree, and reached for his long-abandoned bottle. “Speaking of authentic, how did you find actual Aephusian Ale in the middle of a war?”

She turned to her stomach and grinned. “You can find many things when you’re as powerful a queen as I am.”

He laughed and took a sip, savoring the unique flavors of the brew. “Do you want your mead? It’s back on the desk.”

“Yeah, I’ll get it.” She rolled away and hopped up the stairs to her office. He couldn’t help but admire how her curves were highlighted in the low glow from the fishtank and the one candle they’d dared on the coffee table. A slow smile spread across her face when she noticed him staring on her return.

“See something you like?” she purred, kneeling down next to him.

He wrapped an arm around her waist. “I see many things I like.”

She chuckled and sipped her drink, a hand idly stroking along his fringe. A turian could die happy like this, he thought, drinking his ale.

“Anything I can do different?” she asked after a minute. “Should the Queen be more aloof?”

He looked up at her and shook his head. “You’re perfect.”

Her slow smile returned. “You make a damn fine General, Vakarian.”

He chuckled. “Anything for my Queen.” Her smile changed to something more coy, nearly shy. Then he realized– “You like being my Queen, don’t you?”

A pink tint spread across the tops of her cheeks as she refused to look at him, taking another long sip instead. He set his ale down on the floor and sat up to nuzzle a kiss to her neck.

“It’s not so strange, is it?” She let him take her cup away as she continued speaking. “To like having the man you love promise devotion and loyalty… even if it’s just a story?”

He held her hands in his and pressed his forehead to hers, subvocals humming the Unspoken once more. “It’s not all a story,” he whispered. Her eyes opened to meet his. “You know that already, right?”

“Yes. I do.”

“Good.” Not looking away, he pushed her back on the bed and laid down at her side. They found the fit between themselves, arms wrapped around each other. He rested his brow against hers again, eyes shut. “I swear to guard my Commander from harm… and, with either my life or my death, ensure the success of her mission,” he promised in a low voice.

“I love you too,” she whispered back.

When he opened his eyes, they were back in the tent. Jasmine and tempered steel drifted on the soft desert wind. But it was Shepard–his Shepard–who laid in the bed with him. All the tragedies and horrors of their real lives left behind, even if only for a few minutes. Her warm regard shone out through her eyes, not held back but freely offered.

They pulled closer still. Her arms slipped up around his neck, and he lifted her leg over his waist. He kissed her like that for a long while, brushing mandibles over her cheeks to match her movements best he could. No words spoken, but none needed. Just the tempo of her breath told him everything he needed to know.

Slowly yet steadily, they came together. He held her eyes as long as he could, watching every slight expression in her eyes. They were so different, the two of them. And yet he never felt more understood, more Known, than he did when he was with her. She pressed his brow to hers, mouth moving with unspoken words that he felt deeper than his bones. They were unhurried, confident in their destination yet nearly satisfied to never arrive. Following the other in a dance they knew and loved so well at this point. A dance that Garrus quietly hoped would continue for the rest of their long, long lives till they could be buried in each other’s gaze.

Shepard pulled closer still at the end, tucking her face against his neck and tensing before a long shudder ran through her core. A quiet echo of response answered from his center, filling any remaining air between them with a gentle warmth.

They were both quiet for several minutes, still wrapped completely around the other. If he had just a touch less self-control, Garrus might have been content to drift off to sleep just like that. But the evening, while thoroughly enjoyable, had made a bit of a mess.

“We should clean up,” he said quietly, without moving.

“Yes,” came the eventual reply from the area below his chin.

“...We have to move to do that.”

“You move. I’m too fucked to move.”

That made him chuckle and he pulled away, rolling up to standing next to the bed. Shepard groaned and made a weak attempt to pull him back, hand flopping against the bed.

“Well if you can’t walk, let me carry you then, your magnificence, to the royal baths.”

She laughed as he lifted her from the bed and whisked her off to the bathroom. They both grunted as the bright light flipped on when they entered. But the steaming water from the shower soon soothed any sting.

Shepard eventually got down, but still stayed within his arms, very content to let him wash her hair and rub sore muscles. He felt much the same as she returned the favor, cleaning him with a dedicated care that quieted his mind.

“Is there anything like this?” she mused as she shut the water off.

Garrus reached for a towel. “Hm?”

“In the book. Do the General and Queen do anything like this?”

“Oh.” He wrapped the towel around her shoulders as he thought. “There is a scene in a hot spring that’s pretty famous.”

She smiled and wrung out her hair. “Mm. I like hot springs.”

“Me too.”

They fell into the quiet routine of sleep, the late hour finally catching up to both of them. Shepard didn’t speak again till she eased into the bed next to him, under freshly changed sheets.

“So what happens?” she asked as he looped an arm around her waist and pulled her closer. “In the book, how does it end?”

He stared at her for a long moment and then answered honestly, grimly. “She sacrifices herself for the good of her people. And though he carries on, he never loves another. How could he?”

Her warm expression dimmed. “That’s… disappointing.”

“That’s turian romance.”

She shook her head and adjusted her fit in his arms, tucking an ankle into his spur. “Let’s change it. She… goes to sacrifice herself for the good of the people. But… he gets there in the nick of time, like always. And together… they win. Go on to have many more adventures and found the new turian empire.”

He smiled and threaded a hand into her hair, eyes drifting shut. “Much better.”

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[qhostqizmo]

Temptation

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She couldn’t fight it. It stirred in her dreams like a plume of smoke; dark clouds hazing over everything  and blotting out the interior of the residence she had been in. One second there had been cool stone and carpeting beneath her feet, with pillars to uphold the structure and doors that she knew lead to a garden, and the next she had been thrust in no-where. There was vertigo; no up or down, no east or west, no sense of direction and nothing below or above. Only gloom, and herself.

It had only been herself. As she tossed and turned; twisted and grasped at the nothing trying to get a grip on something, a figure began to materialize through the endless shadows. They were no taller then she, and their build slender. A hood obstructed their face, but they wore a brightly colored red lip stain against their grey freckled skin. A light haloed around them, but it was neither blinding nor particularly bright.

“What is it you desire?”

It was an echo; and although they moved their mouth, the words felt like they were vibrating all around Essätha; through her, inside of her. She clenched her teeth in hopes of stopping the rattle in her teeth, and clutched at her temples.

Her mind was instantly a playground; brutalized and vandalized. This had been nothing like Master Sadris Vodamire; who although caused much discomfort with his prying eyes, tore into her head like a rampant monster. It was like filthy hands groping; touching where they did not belong, taking without asking.

It searched, and as the violating sensation made Essie whimper and claw at her scalp, she observed glimpses of things and places, money and faces, people and animals.

“I could offer you a promise” the voice promised, velvety and sweet as any seductive mistress. “I can give you what you want most. In exchange, all I ask of you is to relinquish one small thing. That which is mine already, that you and your friends have in your possession.”

She didn’t have anything that didn’t belong to anyone else! Okay… that was not entirely true, but none of it belonged to anyone else for a while now.

Softly, the speaker compelled, “You must leave it beneath the roots of a Devil’s Roosewood tree. There I will find it.”

A beaded necklace appeared unwillingly to the forefront of her thoughts. Its pearl-like spheres were made of a pinkish-purple tinted wood. An amulet hung from it, presumably meant to be displayed upon the throat so far as jewelry went. It was made of an ambery-red metal no one recognized in the party; and was embezzled with gemstones. Adela recognized a few of them as decorative precious jewels, but others even alluded them.

What did the abandoned pendent they found lying in a creekbed have to do with any of this?

“That is none of your concern.”

Essätha struggled to open her eyes at the testiness of the voice to stare the individual down, but she no longer could. She could not will them to open, and the rampant path of strange and random photographic memories she didn’t even remember continued to invade her like a hurricane.

“Do you hunger for money? Mountains of it; as far as the eye could see?” the voice teased, offering visions of plentiful piles of coin and jewels, stacks of monetary notes and wages.

“Perhaps a lust for freedom?” A strange parallel; worlds and planes stacked on top of each other, easy to access at the touch of a finger.

“Or strength?” Tools and weapons; rings and tomes. “Glory?” Dozens upon dozens of people, crying out her name in the crowd, their faces written in expressions of awe and adoration. “A paradise to call your own?” A castle, expansive and fortified; surrounded by wildlife and trees, with the lapping sound water somewhere past the treeline.

“No?” chimed the voice; not waiting for an answer, but sounding… disappointed. “Immortality? To be human? No, not that, either. My, you are a tricky one. So complacent in your mundane life. You want things, but what are you hiding; what do you want more… what does your heart long for the most…”

Essie did not know if it was her own impulses, or the endless pursuit of answers that brought up the lonely figure, with their face turned only slightly towards her and the massive furry beast at their heels.

“Oho. What an interesting surprise. I thought different of you. Not many crave love as badly as they think they do; people tend to lean more selfishly to power and fortune then they believe themselves capable. But you crave that acceptance; that warm embrace, that spark that fills the empty, lonely voids inside your soul. You believe one man can make you that happy?”

The question was taunting; mocking her more then inquiring. It didn’t need an answer. No amount of true and honest love could ever fix all your mistakes, or unbreak you, or change you completely into someone new, or even lick all your wounds and make you perfect or change the world.

But it could change your world. Soften your negative outlooks; have a genuine conversation with someone, have someone reliable to lean on that could lean on you, too. It was intimate trust; going the extra mile, selflessly offering all that you had expecting nothing in return. Being vulnerable to another and knowing they would do everything in their power not to hurt you; that they would try to catch you when you fell, and pick you up when it can’t be helped. A bond of acceptance, of respect, of teamwork.

Loving Amon was worth more then all the bounties and rewards they could be offered. It was freedom; as open as the sky was vast. It was the strength she found inside every day. It was the fame of those moments when he stopped and stared at her, and so quietly said her name that she felt like the only person in the room. It was his arms around her; feeling of home and protective shield from every wounded word she’d ever heard. It rendered the idea of immortality obsolete. She felt eternal under the blanket of his heavy-lidded eyes.

Like a leech to blood, the figure offered a Cheshire grin Essie could not see. She had found her jackpot; her vulnerable weak spot to strike.

“Yours is not the easiest, but not the most difficult wish to achieve,” the lady hummed. “I can give you his heart. He can be yours, until your dying day.”

A fantasy played out beneath her eyelids, but it was one she’d had before. The table, their interwoven fingers, the sound of his faint chuckling and the soft impression of his mouth against her, wherever his lips could reach. Her throat, her cheeks, her lips so light and warm. She was almost dizzy, imagining it; the breathlessness from such a lingering kiss.

But then he pulled away, and the vision was not totally how she recalled it. The almost mechanical shape of his smile, like it did not belong there; painted on crudely, rather. The vacancy of his eyes.

Her hand went to her throat. She grasped at something hanging there, finding a heart-shaped locket hanging around her neck. Clicking it open, she could make out the strangely pulsating, beating shape within it as she squinted…

She did not want that. Her thoughts cringed, warding the nightmare away.

That was not her Lord Amon, and that was not the kind of love she desired.

“Is this not what you want?” the voice implied with a snappy tone, “is this man not the one you yearn for?”

Not like this. Never like this. He was not her m’lord; he was her puppet.

“Think of it,” the voice pressed, almost endearing. Shaming her almost, it cut the fantasy in two; blurring it out to reveal the dreaded future she feared. The solitary, winding roads. The isolated bedroom. The restless nights, tossing and turning. Nowhere to go. Nowhere to be. Nothing to do. No one to put faith in; to put faith in her, to push her forward. Alone, again.

She sucked in a shaky gasp, choking. It felt like first breath she’d taken in minutes, and she was choking.

The lipstick curled up into a twisted smile as Essätha found herself able to open her eyes, the dream melting and fading all around her…

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Spine stiff and rigid, Sulhadur leaned forward, running his tongue over his muzzle. “… What did she offer you guys?”

Everyone avoided each other’s gazes. Penimra shifted uncomfortably, breaking the silence with a ragged cough, “Everything.”

“I did not know I even wanted some of the things they offered,” Pri’cha agreed, their expression mystified and mandibles parted.

“I had never seen the Drow before,” Adela whispered, leaning in to the table. “I think she was a Drow, anyway? Did any of you get a good look at her?”

“No, her hood was always up,” Rava stated.

Abe nodded. “Same for me.”

Essie kept her head down, and her mouth shut. Silence was safer.

“Well we can’t give her back the necklace; obviously it has some sort of value, and to a demigod of that sort of power…” Abe trailed off weakly.

Conflicted, Penimra offered out his trembling gloved hand. “Can’t we, though? We don’t know what it can do. It’s not our responsibility. Maybe she will reward all of us, if we put it back-”

“Penimra, that sort of trust is what got you cursed in the first place,” Adela commented tartly. She immediately seemed to realize her commentary, and slapped a hand over her open mouth as the warlock recoiled as though from a physical blow.

“Pen, I’m so sor-”

“Don’t.”

“I mean, she did make some good offers,” the cheeky wood-elf piped up, staring fixated at the necklace sitting in the middle of the round table. Her hand twitched, as though to reach for it.

The eldest paladin give her a firm but swift tap on the hand, glowering at her until she sat back, pouting.

“This isn’t up for debate!”

“You’re right, Pri’cha found it. They should get to decide what we do with it,” Pen eagerly stated, looking hopefully to the golden cleric.

“M-Me?”

“… We can’ trust them,” Sulhadur muttered, scratching his claws against his snout.

“This coming from the dragonborn who wanders randomly off into the woods, trusting the melody of some random desert music,” Penimra muttered with annoyance.

With vigor, the nobleman slammed down his fist. The action silence the entire table; turning towards the man with his clenched teeth bared like an animal.

“Stop arguing, all of you!” Amon grated out.

The exchange of glances across the table made the Briarton Protector deflate. Fear lit his eyes, and it took everything Essie had not to reach out and touch him, or take hold of his hand. As quickly as the rage had filled him, it seemed to disperse, but it left it’s lingering effects. The guilt in his shoulders; heavy. The stares that haunted him, past and present.

“… Before we make any rash decisions,” he continued on hoarsely, “like handing off this- this necklace that may have some potent abilities we’re not aware of, we need to know who this is, what this does, and why they want it so badly. Deities, or powerful beings, do not usually reach out to request things from mortals or their lessers. If it’s a test, I do not see why they would have a reason to act so…”

“Shifty?”

“A kinder way of putting it… yes,” he agreed, nodding solemnly to Abernathy’s words.

Nervously licking her lips, Ravamora eyed the amulet. “What do we do with it, for now?” she squeaked. “Who can be trusted to hold on to it?”

A few looks around the table, and most pairs of eyes settled on the Thri-Kreen, their curled antenna shooting up.

“M-Me?”

“You did find the pendent, Pri,” Essie whispered faintly.

“And you’re the one least likely to be swayed… Probably,” Sul pointed out.

Steadily looking around the group, the cleric clutched their claws together into little fists. They raised them up high and proud, announcing with vigor, “I will not let you all down!”

The Yuan-Ti sorceress glanced vaguely towards the amulet. For half-a-second, her clouded thoughts believed to see the disturbing locked, with the beating shrunken heart trapped inside it.

Swallowing, she looked down at the table.

Whatever the cost, it wasn’t worth it. Losing his very personality; the essence of who he was just for her to call him hers, it wasn’t worth the price. There was no value to be placed on who he was; as a man, and a friend, and a trusted companion.

If this is all there ever was, until they parted ways, so be it.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Rolling her denim pants up to fit within her bag, Essie could hear the heavy pacing of Amon’s boots, and the elevated sound of his breathing. She tried not to point it out, but Caesar seemed to be doing a fine enough job of that as it was. The mastiff trotted after him; claws clicking against the wood floors, and whined every chance he got up towards his master.

Tucking in a carefully folded shirt, she finally spoke up quietly, “Is everything alright, m’lord Amon?”

He grunted. She turned to glance at him, catching him wiping a hand over his face. His eyes were wild, and black hair mused from his fingers running through it previously.

“Fine.”

A frown pulled at her lips. She knew him better then that.

“Is… this about what occurred at the table?” she offered, cautious.

The nobleman turned to look at her, dazed. There was little focus in his eyes.

Scooting around on the bed, she placed her hands in her lap, remaining cross-legged. Essie offered a private smile, tilting her head to the side as she whispered patiently, “Do you want to talk about it?”

His throat jumped, and he looked away. “I… uh…”

Gently, she patted the bed. He obediently obeyed the implication, taking a seat on the opposite side stiffly. It reminded her so much of the images from last night, that she had to hold herself back from flinching away from him.

“It’s okay you got frustrated,” she soothed softly, reaching out to lay her hand atop his. “No one’s going to hold that against you. We’re all a bit… wound up. It’s a hard decision to make, when someone offers you your deepest desires right in front of you on a platter.”

His gaze was too intense, staring right into her. She felt her heartbeat quicken, and her palms start to grow sweaty. The ocean reeling her in; pulling her into the depths.

Again, he swallowed; his jaw working and shifting uneasily. Caesar, meanwhile, nosed his knee and whined; to which he didn’t respond to.

“I’m sorry I lost my temper,” he finally uttered quietly. She beamed with encouragement, wrapping her fingers around his hand. “I forgive you. You’re allowed to feel your emotions, m’lord. I know you had no intentions on hurting anyone’s feelings. You’re understandably frustrated. I think nothing less of you. Maybe… we all needed a voice of reason to cut through the haze in that moment, anyway.”

Amon smiled thin, and with doubt.

Essätha did not move for some time. When he did not reply, she nervously began to remove her hand from him.

He instinctively reached for her; a flash of pain in his expression.

“I- I’m sorry-”

“Don’t be,” he breathed. Relief bloomed in his eyes, still locked on hers, as he held her fingers in his now. Almost regrettably, he regarded their hands, and gently placed hers back down upon the bed.

“I’m sorry I should… I should not make you feel like you have to comfort me.”

Her brow knit, and she reached for his hand. “Have to?” she echoed, “I don’t feel like I have to. I don’t have to do anything; but I like to. I like to hold your hand, and I like to make you smile.”

Together, their faces simultaneously took on a rosy glow. Amon looked away nervously just as she did. The eye contact was suddenly too much.

The inquiry nagging at the back of her head, however, continued to pester her…

“M’lord,” she murmured, clutching his digits anxiously. “I…” She swallowed, acutely aware that his gaze was back on her again; burning her. Her face felt hotter. The room felt deathly quiet, and she found it difficult to breathe. The only sound her ears picked up on aside from her heartbeat, was that of Caesar’s tail thumping eagerly against the floor, staring at them both.

“Are you alright, Essie?”

Gods, she hated how she adored the way he said her name. The way he spoke to her; concerned and tender and patient, made her insides feel like they were twisted into pretzels.

Sighing, she shook her head weakly. “No I…” She nibbled her lower lip; exhaled deeply, and tried again: “I thought I knew what I wanted most of all in my life, once. Like Penimra said; she offered me everything; the world at my fingertips, to bend and morph however I pleased, to be whoever or whatever I pleased… She said I could have had anything; given me my deepest desires…”

Her eyes drifted, slowly making their way to where their hands were on the comforter; clutching each other.

“… But all I really wanted was this moment.”

“… This moment?” Amon parroted softly. When she did not reply, he squeezed her fingers gently. “What do you mean?”

“I’m sorry I-” flustered, she caught a glimpse of his face; vulnerable, soft, longing, and glanced away timidly, waving her free hand in the air. “I just- I mean- I only wanted your time,” she stressed, “I- I just wanted- want to s-spend my time with you to- to have your company-”

Fidgeting, she pulled at her hand, but Amon held her strong, but gentle. He waited for her eyes to find their way back to his.

“… You don’t think I want the same thing?” he whispered, grinning shyly. “I can’t imagine not having you in my life.”

Essätha returned the smile, her pulse escalating. All she craved for, all she wanted to do right now was to throw herself into his arms. The block between her mouth and her heart was her brain, carelessly telling her that telling him the truth would be too much.

She promised me you, she wanted to scream. The enchantress witchy deity being offered me your heart, and your love. I know you’ll think I’m insane, but gods, I want to love you and be loved by you more then anything else in the world.

But not like that. Not that perverse, demented and warped reality.

The genuine warmth of his eyes, and the smile he wore now, that was her wanting.

“I wish she’d been right, about one thing.”

The hurt expression returned. “Right about what?”

If it could only be possible to capture his heart, in the right way. Slowly, with time, and with a lot of love.  If only she could just be a little be braver, to tell him openly, how she felt.

“Oh just- about having more manageable desires,” Essie fretted with a short laugh. “Something attainable, within my reach.”

Between a mixture of confusion and amusement, the nobleman rasped playfully, “I thought you just said that all you really wanted was this moment.”

“It is! I do!” she burst out enthusiastically, holding his hand tightly, as though reluctant he’d pull away.

The same, brilliant smile; warm and enlightening. He leaned in closer unconsciously, closer towards her. The scent of pine trees and leather surrounded her, with a faded note of rosewater. Her eyes, unconsciously, darted all over him; to his chest, his mouth, back up to his all-consuming gaze.

She was the center of the universe once more, beneath his softly aglow night-sky regard.

“Me too,” Amon whispered, as though telling a secret.

She grinned brighter, feeling the butterfly-sensation swarming in her stomach.

Gradually, his gaze lowered; moving over her features, stalling. His eyes lingered a moment on her parted lips before jumping back to her eyes. They’d moved in closer, unintentionally, drawn in by gravity.

His voice trembled as he inclined closer still, murmuring, “You are far more beautiful here, right in front of me, then in any mirage hallucination she showed.”

Breath hitching, her lashes fluttered, waiting for the magnetic pull to drag him the rest of the way. She leaned in a little further as he did, her free hand reaching for him.

A knock at the door sent them hurtling backwards away from each other, mere inches away from contact.

Her heart was still thunder in her ears, muffling Sulhadur’s voice as he called out, “Everyone’s packed and outside; do the two of you need a hand still?”

“No- ahem, no, we’ll be out shortly!”

“I’ll carry some of your things for you.”

Cheeks burning, she glanced at Amon after hearing the break in his voice. He was looking to his faithful pooch, who huffed and laid their head upon his knee.

Had… had he just admitted to seeing her, in some of those fantasy-visions from the strange dream intruder?

Letting go of her hand, the nobleman silently pushed himself to his feet, heading towards the door with the mastiff trotting at his heels.

Essie pressed her fingers over her flush features, and her mouth. It was almost-had-been-too-close but was it really what she’d thought it had been? The moment charged with electricity, the softness of his eyes. Surely they hadn’t been that close. Maybe he’d been distracted by something, or had meant to… brush hair out of her face?

Removing her hand, she tried not to pout; or directly allow the Dragonborn paladin to see just how deeply blushing she still was as he entered.

There was absolutely, positively no way on earth his deepest desire could possibly be of her, too.

Right?

[slushblock]

Fell - Chapter 8 - Awakening

Thank you all who are still here for sticking with me through this self-indulgent, overly dramatic backstory. :>

Little is more jarring than expecting to be transported somewhere, only to not be.

In the case of Axl and Aura, they had become accustomed to returning to their respective, homey rooms when using their mirrors. They were so panicked that they didn’t realize the mirrors were reflecting something else; the area where they’d first appeared in the world.

Only it was drenched in blood.

“O-oh my g- what… what?!” Axl was the first to voice his shock at this turn, taking a few steps in place in a vain attempt to shake off the squelchy, sticky red grass.

Aura looked around, trying to figure out what went wrong. She didn’t like the way the sky had darkened; it felt similar to the atmosphere of the corruption. She turned around, “Why wouldn’t we- oh… oh no,” she held up a hand, pointing in the direction of their house, “L-look!”

Thankfully, Axl had the foresight to build their manor not very far from their starting location. That convenience had saved Aura’s life when she first appeared. Not obscured by rain as it was back then, it was clearly visible between the rapidly wilting trees.

The vicious gash that was torn through the front of it was also visible, ripping the workroom in half and leaving gaping holes in both their bedrooms, as well as the storage room and stairwell.

“What the Hell did that?!” Axl choked, nearly dropping his mirror as he ran off towards his destroyed handiwork. As the two got closer, it became more and more obvious from the directionality of the malformed landscape that whatever had bloodied the ground and dying trees was responsible for the structural damage to the building. To accent the damage, there was a strange liquid strewn about, with the consistency of blood and the appearance of glowing, molten gold.

“Okay… so… this… th-this must be the spirit that the dryad mentioned when she said… blood,” Aura gulped, looking at the damage and, more intently, at the bizarre ichor. As tempting as it was, she refused to touch it. Much to her surprise, even Axl put his impulsiveness aside to avoid it; something about it just felt wrong, even without making physical contact.

Axl cursed under his breath, flipping the mask of his helmet up to get a better look, face etched with worry, “I… I hope there’s… I hope nobody-”

“Where the Hell were you guys?!”

The voice came from upstairs and both Aura and Axl’s attention snapped upward to see a fellow descending the dilapidated stairs. With dark skin, gray hair, and a long coat over a glittering bandolier, they recognized him as the arms dealer who had taken up residence shortly after Aura moved in. Neither had done much business with him, but Ren certainly had.

“What happened!?” Despite his obvious panic, Axl seemed somewhat relieved that there were survivors who seemed unharmed.

“Beats me! We were minding our own business when suddenly some bright red light appeared outside!” The arms dealer shouted down, as a few other tenants appeared from their rooms behind him, clearly shaken,  “Whatever made it was far away, but then tore right through the place. Some huge monster we’ve never seen before! Just… this weird hulk of mismatched bodyparts!” He reached down and picked up the gun at his feet; the same shark-based model that Ren used against the giant, cursed skeleton at the dungeon, “We managed to fight it off, and it went off that way,” he pointed northwest, with a slightly cocky smirk, “I guess no amount of teeth can handle these guns-”

“Don’t take so much credit… I don’t think it wanted to fight. It looked scared even as it did,” murmured a red-clad man as he stowed a strange looking book in his coat. The adventurers almost didn’t recognize him as the old man from the dungeon. After moving in, he’d done quite the job of getting cleaned up, his matted beard and hair trimmed to compliment his dapper clothes. Despite that, he was still as grave and serious as ever, “And perhaps rightfully so… The land twisted when those lights emerged from underground, and it must be something truly terrible to frighten a beast that grisly… We’d probably best be getting to safety, ourselves.”

Axl shook his head, biting his lip. The idea that things were even more twisted than before didn’t sit well with him, and though the bloodied ground was already proof enough, he refused to believe it, “No… this wasn’t supposed to… I didn’t…” He took a deep breath and held it, closing his eyes tightly for a moment and really hoping he’d wake up from whatever was happening. When that failed, he let the air out sharply, “I’m heading upstairs. I need to see this for myself.”

Axl left them behind to run for the watchtower he’d installed, as fast as his heavy armor would allow him. Aura, much more lightly clad, kept pace with far less effort. The whole structure creaked ominously, a decent chunk taken out of its side, but still structurally sound enough to not collapse beneath them as they observed the damage to the landscape.

Much to their dismay, the corruption to the east had vastly increased in size, even past the boundaries they had created when they went through with the dryad’s magic powder to push it back.

That wasn’t all, however. To the northwest, the threatened green of the forest faded into light blue fields and pale trees with leaves of many colors. Glowing crystals peeked up through the ground, especially around the pearly exposed stone. Likewise to the southwest was another unknown land, full of tones of flesh and blood, resembling the withered vegetation by their house that had apparently been left by the monster the tenants described. However, it seemed to stop rather abruptly at the house, rather than continuing on in the direction the monster purportedly vanished.

“I… I don’t like this…” Aura paled, “Just one thing was bad enough…”

“Should have seen it coming…” Axl hunched over, slamming a fist into the stone railing, “Damn it! Why?”

“All right… yeah, this… this was a huge mistake,” Aura tried to cover up her shaking voice, “I think… I think we should go off that way,” she pointed towards the colorful, jewel-encrusted landscape, “That might be the home of the ‘light’ you were looking for… and the jungle is just beyond it. The dryad said we’d be safe th-”

Axl shook his head, gritting his teeth, “You go… I need to find Ren.” He pushed himself back from the railing, holding his head in one hand before looking up, “He said he wanted answers from that wall… well, now I want answers from him.”

Aura glared at him, holding up her hands, “Are you crazy?!”

“...Yes?” Came the incredulous response as Axl held his hands up almost in mirror to hers, “I… thought that was established?”

Something about that struck a faint sense of familiarity and Aura looked away, irritated, “...Shut up,” she attempted to dismiss, before glaring back at Axl, “You don’t even know where he lives!”

Axl rubbed his forehead, trying to itch his hairline as best he could with his helmet in the way, “Well, he never appeared here, and his face looked like it got screwed up by the Corruption… I think it’s safe to say that’s where he was living, if he was only getting worse...”

“You’re going back there… at a time like this,” Aura groaned loudly as she leaned back against the wall, looking up at the ceiling, “Gods, you really are the biggest moron.” After a moment, though, she looked down at Axl with a sigh, “And you know what? So am I. Because at this point? I need to know, too.”

Axl was torn between feeling grateful and phenomenally guilty, but managed to nod with a weak grin as he put his mask down,”Th-thank you.”

They descended the tower, glancing back momentarily to watch as the remaining tenants discussed their own departure, before heading off towards the darkened landscape.

Apart from having spread beyond its old boundaries, the rocks were somehow more twisted, the brambles far more menacing, and the trees looking far less like anything proper trees should look like, with black,fang-like thorns bursting from the bark in place of branches. Even the usual floating gasbags seemed a lot larger and more threatening, with more mandibles and eyes, and dripping putrid fluids.

Even the common slimes had become corrupted by the landscape, seething with violet toxins. Some even mutated wings to fly. The far-reaching grip of the shadow’s malevolence only grew, and the two adventurers could feel it as they carved their way through the new horrors and they could only feel that they would not have succeeded without one anothers’ support.

They took a moment for a breather in one of the chasms, away from the things that could assault them from above. At their feet was the body of a large worm, lined with eyes, like a more direct offspring of the largest one - which the Guide had called the Eater of Worlds - they had battled what felt like ages ago. It bled putrid slime laced with a strange, glowing green that flecked up like flames. They refused to get anywhere near it.  “Where… would he have been hiding all this time…” Axl gasped for breath, the weight of fighting things with a large sword while in heavy armor so soon after the fight with the wall beginning to really wear on him. He coughed, “It can’t have been somewhere that well-hidden.. He had to be able to get in and out easily.”

Aura took a moment to consider the question before pounding a fist into an empty palm, “...Why not try his elevator?” She pointed off in the approximate direction of the tunnel they’d revealed prior, “There were hidden doors all over the place that we had no idea how to open…”

“That’s… actually a really good idea,” Axl’s eyes went wide at the realization, pretending to snap his fingers despite not being able to even without wearing metal gauntlets, “What better place to hide something… than behind something in plain sight that the people you’re hiding it from would not want to break?” He cringed slightly, “That… paints an even more specific picture of why he was so angry when that worm tore through the place and damaged it back then.”

“Yeah, yeah, nice analysis,” Aura waved, looking around for any monsters as she began to head in that direction, “I think what’s going to happen now is way more important.”

A few large slimes and another one of the dripping, oversized rotbags later, they found the exposed brick. While patched up, Ren had made no attempt to cover it more than that. They already knew where it was, and for all intents and purposes they had been allies leading up to that point.

Either that, or he wanted them to find it again.

“Here goes nothing,” Axl mumbled as he pulled out his pick, glowing with molten fire. Even rebuilt and reinforced, the bricks crumbled under the powerful tool in one effortless swing, revealing the tube down. “Now… where would he keep an entrance to his place…”

Aura pointed upward, “Why not the top?”

Axl looked up, then shrugged, “Well, no better place to start.” Grappling to the side with his own hook, he scaled his way up to the top, taking his pick in hand and striking the brick there. He had to shield himself slightly from the falling debris. Beyond it was solid, corrupt rock, to which the chain leading down was fixed. Axl frowned, taking the chain and striking the wall where he had latched on. More ebonstone. He turned at a right angle and swung again.

Jackpot.

The brick caved to reveal a similarly bricked passage, with a planked wooden floor of an unusual hue reminiscent of the trees found dotting the corrupt landscape. Axl looked down and gestured to Aura that he’d found something, before moving to step into the new hallway. Aura followed him in with her own vine-crafted hooks, looking just as curious as she was unsettled.

The hallway wasn’t terribly long, opening up into a very sparse, drab bunker of sorts. Had it not been for the stone brick, the dark wood of the floor, lack of windows, and poor lighting, it would have felt very similar to their own rooms, but stripped down to a utilitarian bareness. A bed, a dresser, a table, a chair. At the back, stairs led both up and down to two other rooms. There were no other doors, but that wasn’t surprising; the large man did have a thing for hidden passages.

“Huh..,” Axl only barely resisted the urge to say something incredibly redundant like ‘so this is where he lived,’ instead opting to flip his mask up for visibility and carefully walking toward the stairs. Up top, he could already make out the telltale sound of a crackling furnace; most likely a workroom, not unlike their own, situated above to more easily vent the smoke. He ascended just enough to get a clear look, verifying his expectations; almost everything he thought would be there, apart from a more advanced furnace from the underworld. The only difference is it was more claustrophobically clustered together on sequences of platforms and benches, with an entire wall made up of meticulously labeled storage chests.

Scowling a bit at the conditions the ex-military adventurer had subjected himself to, Axl turned to head down the stairs in the other direction. It led down to yet another hallway, this one dark and significantly longer and terminating in a single room.  Aura was already there, eyes wide at what was stored there, which would have been dimly lit with only a faint purple light if not for her torch. Axl took in a sharp breath.

It looked like some kind of macabre art gallery, or perhaps museum. The wall before them was lined with shelves containing a great many artifacts of varying sorts, including one of the toothy ‘altars’ they’d found in the chasms, sitting conspicuously on bare ebonstone that had been built around.. Most prominently, though, was the wall to their left, which was made up almost entirely of a large mural that looked right out of some kind of prophecy-laden ancient tomb. Whether Ren had found it here and built his home around it, or somehow managed to transport it here from elsewhere, neither mattered as much as the fact that it existed at all.

Just being there filled the adventurers with a single, all-encompassing thought.

This is it. The beginning of the end.

After taking a moment to catch his breath, Axl squinted in the low light. He arched a brow, squinted again, then took his glasses off to wipe them, only to realize his armor didn’t really have any good cloth on it for doing so. With a groan he rolled his eyes and put his glasses back on, “Stupid outdated prescription. Can’t really see this thing clearly unless I put my face right up to it-”

He was interrupted mid-thought by a strange feeling, as if the very air of the room had trembled and thrummed. Aura felt it too and shivered, but remained fixated on the mural.

“You’re not missing much, it’s mostly faded anyway,” Aura mumbled, holding her torch towards it to light it up a little better, “There… really isn’t much to make out…” she frowned, “The writing on it looks similar to something I’ve seen on the stuff the goblins had.” She shuddered. She wasn’t particularly fond of that memory. The goblins appeared out of nowhere not long after they’d awakened the Eater of Worlds - and attacked in great numbers one day. While they’d managed to fend them off, it was a huge hassle, lead to more than a single death for both adventurers, and the brutish creatures were just as strong and resourceful as they were seemingly cruel.

Shaking the thought from her head, she continued, “Hell if I can read it, though. Aside that, I see something that looks like… something like falling stars. I can kind of see figures? I don’t know if they’re the stars themselves or something else.” The deep vibration cut her off again, and she nearly pulled herself away to look for its source, but not before recounting what little she could make out to Axl, “There was some kind of battle, obviously… I can’t tell if this is supposed to be the stars fighting each other, or joining together to fight something else… and the only other bit that I recognize is the wall of flesh in Hell. It looks like those stars were locked up inside of it?” She turned to Axl, “So… I guess we freed those stars?”

“Not any sort of stars I’ve ever read about… I don’t get it… but then again, what ever made sense here?” He half-smiled. It didn’t last, though. The room thrummed again, and Axl narrowed his eyes, turning around, “What is causing that-..?” He looked around at the other objects scattered about. There were quite a few, ranging from mundane things like books and scrolls, to much more threatening artifacts that radiated power, not unlike that from his sword. In fact, an open scroll next to the strange altar appeared to have some kind of instruction on it, and if the illustrations were any indication, explained how Ren knew to craft the dark weapon. How he read the indecipherable scrawl on it, though, was a matter of some worry.

The scroll barely received more than a glance, as attention was drawn away from it quickly by the most obvious of the objects in the room aside the mural.  Floating opposite the mural’s wall was a sphere, much like one of the dark, pearl-like orbs in the chasms, only inlaid with silvery runes and ornamented with twisting gold accents. There were large cracks lacing through the shiny dark surface. Occasionally, the orb would shudder, filling the room with that bone-chilling rumble, an unnatural green light glimmering from within, flecking sickly embers as the cracks grew in size and number.

Axl could feel his insides twist. The orb emitted such a feeling of dread, such a profound sense of wrong with each pulse. He could hear his own voice mocking him in the back of his mind in a way that he couldn’t shake. It repeated the thought in his head from the moment he entered, but this time, added a much more profound accusation.

This is it. The beginning of the end. AND YOU HELPED MAKE IT POSSIBLE.

He growled at the thought. He had no idea! Yes, he was stupid to trust this man, but… he had his own reasons for going through with this! Either would have done it without the help… eventually, at least.

Strangely, Aura seemed to be having those same initial thoughts. She took a step back, holding the sides of her head as she quietly whispered to herself, “No… no… I… I never agreed to… I was just...” Even her hornets seemed worried.

Axl groaned at the continuing faint nagging of those accusatory thoughts as he looked around at the other artifacts. Next to the orb was another conspicuous item. At first it appeared to be another of those strange, spiky altars, only much narrower, more like a pedestal than a plinth. Floating between those teeth was a single eye.

Axl leaned close to get a better look, then recoiled, “O-oh…”

It was just a normal, healthy human eye, somehow still dripping with fresh blood. After all the oversized demon eyes swarming amongst the zombies at night, the colossal eyes with teeth, and even the floating, rotting gas-bag eyes they’d seen so frequently in the corruption, to see a regular eye with a clean white sclera and light brown iris was by and large the most upsetting thing they could have expected to stumble upon.

“O-oh my gods…” Aura put her hand over her mouth, “Do you think that’s-?”

“That… must be how he got the scar…” Axl looked like he was going to be sick, which was really something considering the things he’d seen and done, “But if his eye is here, then what-”

Suddenly, the eye turned sharply in place to look right at them, causing them both to jump.

Almost as if on cue, a wet, crunching sound alerted the two to an approaching figure from down the hall. The poor light only allowed them to see a vague and clearly inhuman shape, lumbering towards them with an awkward gait on four splayed, uneven legs. Its entire body twitched and jerked with each deliberate step. Axl hissed and closed his mask as both drew weapons in preparation for a fight.

The thing was horrific, a twisted bloat of rotten meat that would have been familiar had it been in the shape of floating bags of air or long, burrowing worms. Instead, it had an almost humanoid torso lined with scratching, vestigial insectoid limbs down its sides and emerging from its broad shoulders. The massive, cyclopean eye between a lopsided pair of mandibles on the end of its half-elongated, heavy neck was almost covered up by the sickeningly familiar, pointed exoskeleton that barely managed to contain the creature’s twisted body.

That exoskeleton was Ren’s armor.

“I knew you’d come,” it rasped, voice completely gone and replaced by a painfully grating hiss, “It only took you this long… all the better” it extended its neck, the sharp teeth in its mouth bared in a threatening smile,  “I doubt you would have helped me if you knew about all this sooner.”

Axl was at a complete loss for words, his silence the only thing that could express what his masked face could not. Aura was much less stunned as she stepped forward, sword drawn and pointing towards the creature before them, “What the Hell is- what have you been hiding from us?!”

“Why ask, when you can behold?” The creature turned to gesture at the cracked orb. The glow within it flared up as it shook again, vibrating the very air in the room, “Behold the new gods of this world!” The monster turned its hand upward, bony claws curling up slowly before clenching into a tight fist, “Sleeping for so long, power locked away… but one managed to awaken.” It opened its hand, keeping the other conspicuously closed as it held them upward in front of it, “Managed to call out. And now, with our help,” it boomed a sick laugh as it pointed, “with your help...  they all have enough power to break free!”

At that point, Axl definitely felt something wrong about the way Ren added ‘with your help.’ It was almost like his own mind had shouted the words in unison. Why would he think that? He glanced at Aura, who seemed to have the same doubts, quietly muttering “No… no…” to herself over and over.

Without warning, the orb burst, its physical shell disintegrating almost entirely in the emerging green flames, leaving behind a glowing green sphere which hovered in its place. It felt like it was staring at them. Staring into their souls.

Ren let out a bellowing laugh, opening his other hand. In the oversized, mutated palm was his icy mirror, looking so small and delicate by comparison. He cried out triumphantly, “Why cling to the mirror’s unfulfilled promise when darkness holds the single truth!” The younger adventurers could swear they heard their own voices in their heads echoing those words.

Holding the mirror above his head in both hands, Ren shattered it.

The moment it broke, shards hitting the ground like a chorus of tiny bells, the green sphere flared up, launching itself upward and into the ceiling, boring its way towards the surface. The world began to shake. First a low rumble, but quickly escalating to such a degree that everything fell from the shelves and the house itself began to crumble and tear apart at the seams. The hidden bunker split open to reveal newly-cracked chasms to the surface.

To make matters worse, massive worms could be seen pushing the ground apart, splitting it further. They were far larger than even the Eater of Worlds, perhaps even twice the girth, and lined with bony, centipede-like legs that propelled it through the corrupt stone and dirt. High above, silhouetted against the sickly sky, was the shadow of something that dwarfed any creature they’d seen.

Unfortunately, the only safe way out of the crumbling earth was up towards it. Or so they thought, minds racing in panic and not stopping to consider the irrationality of those thoughts.

Get to the surface. It’s the only way. Climb. CLIMB.

Not paying any heed to the cackling Ren, Axl and Aura didn’t even realize that they could have simply pulled out their mirrors to escape, instead opting for their grappling hooks. They ascended just in time for the floor to fall out from under them, dropping the mural and everything else but the strange, floating altar into an abyssal trench with no visible bottom. Axl looked down, flipping his visor up just long enough to make sure his impacted visibility from it wasn’t playing tricks on him. He paled, looking mortified as he quickly put the mask back down again and started climbing.

“It’s weird to see you afraid of dying for once since-” Aura didn’t think much before she said it. The threat of the moment drew it out of her without guilt as she followed closely behind, far more mobile with her multiple, longer vine hooks.

“No!” he shot back, cutting her off, his initial annoyance immediately replaced by the honest panic of the situation, “I’m not afraid of dying here… I’m afraid of being buried alive in this stuff, or falling into that pit!” As they grappled ever higher, he added, “Who knows how long we’d be stuck…” He shuddered at the thought, “I… I don’t want to end up like Ren!”

If she had any doubts of how dire things were, Aura certainly lost them with that statement. Seeing what someone with Ren’s constitution had become after so much willful exposure to the atmosphere of the twisted landscape… she didn’t want to think about being trapped in it. She didn’t want to think about being trapped at all. The mirror didn’t even come to mind. All that did was a single thought.

CLIMB.

They did so. The giant worms around them continued to swirl and burrow endlessly. The only blessing was that the endless movement was consistent, with no sudden worm heads to emerge and attack them to dislodge them from their path. It was easy enough to plan a route around them, even with the crumbling rock. Eventually, they made it to the surface.

It put them face to face with an abomination.

At the end of the seemingly infinite worm body was a vaguely humanoid shape, albeit split in half down the middle into a massive vertical jaw filled with sharp teeth. Its heavy, muscular arms ended with snapping, slavering worm mouths for hands. Giant eyes set into it shoulders, as well as one in the middle of its chest. Glowing green tendrils writhed from all of its mouths. For all the awe it inspired, they almost didn’t notice that Ren had crawled up from the pit after them, standing at the ‘foot’ of the titan. At least, not until he spoke.

“Isn’t it glorious!?” Ren gestured upward, reveling. Their thoughts echoed with their own voices as he continued to ramble, intrusive words that continued to gnaw at both their minds. As they beheld the massive, terrible beast before them, their thoughts were replaced by an all-consuming despair.

Why fight it? The darkness IS the only true path forward. It’s the only way.

Axl shook his head. There was no way he was thinking that, was he? How was that possible, if the creature that was Ren was also saying those words out loud? Was he saying those words out loud? It was becoming very difficult to tell. Axl held the sides of his head, grinding his teeth together. He glanced over at Aura, whose face was etched with the signs of an identical inner struggle. Yet the thoughts wouldn’t abate.

The darkness will devour everything, so why fight it and suffer?

WHY NOT JOIN IT AND REJOICE?

Aura suddenly screeched, her voice the most piercing Axl had ever heard, “Get out of my head! GET OUT! GET OUT!!” For the first time since he’d met her, Aura’s eyes welled with tears, if faintly, “We can’t stay… we can’t stay..!” She repeated to herself, over and over as she clutched the sides of her head, “The jungle is safe… The jungle is safe! The jungle is safe!!”

Without warning, she turned and ran, tears streaming from wide eyes. Ran, off in the direction of the jungle whose protection she was promised, past the blue fields and pink rivers of the newly blossomed hallowed ground.

“No-! Aura-!” Axl whirled, voice so panicked it began to crack, ”NO! I CAN’T DO THIS BY MYSELF-!” But it was too late. She couldn’t hear his desperation for her own, and soon Axl was left to slowly turn, to look up at the behemoth he was now facing down alone, and the bitter, choking laughter of its servant. His heart dropped into his stomach and he would have sworn he could feel it burning.

His mind screamed at the hopelessness of it all. He turned to run after her.

This is it. The pointless culmination of so much hard work.

“...No..,” he tried to fend off those intrusive thoughts. After all that work, there had to be something left. He barely got a few strides before he slowed.

DARKNESS IS ALL THAT IS LEFT. ALL THAT IS LEFT. ALL THAT IS LEFT IS TO JOIN IT.

That snapped him out of it. There was NO way he was thinking that himself! He punched himself in the side of his head hard enough to jar his vision for a moment before he looked up at the enormous abomination, and its new, equally twisted servant. It all made sense. The way those thoughts echoed in his head while Ren - or what was left of him - spoke.

That monster above them… The projection of will… That was its way of communicating! It used it to overwhelm weak and weary hearts! Was that how it got Ren in the first place? By making the lost man believe that darkness was the only course of action when all other hope was lost? Axl cringed through the mental turmoil, using all of his effort to push those thoughts from his mind, “No… not this time,” he hissed to himself, “I can’t give up… not now.”

Ren laughed, that same horrible choking noise from before, “I’ll give you this, you may be just as big a nutjob as I’ve given you credit for, but as far as nuts go you’re a tough one to crack.” He laughed again, “Still, what good do you think you can do? You already know in your heart; the strongest weapon you have was forged by this darkness,” he gestured with his arms to everything around them, “You accepted that gift so readily before…” The twisted servant narrowed its eye sinisterly, “...why not now?”

Axl looked down at the ground with a single, dedicated sigh. He reached into his bag and held up the dark sword that was gifted to him by the beast before him… and threw it aside, “I’m done fighting darkness with darkness,” he mumbled, instead brandishing the hammer he’d retrieved from the wall. Compared to the weapon he’d just discarded, it seemed almost laughably small, but its bright glow seemed all the more a beacon in the shadows for it.

The twisted creature chortled grimly, “Nice hammer,” it mocked, long neck undulating in an uncomfortable manner, “I’m sure it’ll be great for putting the final nails in the coffin you’ll so desperately desire but never get to use!”

Axl growled, “What happened to you?!” He shouted. It almost sounded like there would be tears in his eyes as well if he weren’t feeling so furious all of a sudden, “You weren’t the greatest guy, but I thought even you had a heart somewhere in there! I didn’t… didn’t think you’d stoop this low!” He didn’t expect any plea to shreds of humanity to work, but it was all he had to buy time.

The laugh he got in return was as ugly as the monster that emitted it, “Our new god saw fit to let me maintain any petty human sentiments as long as I continued to work towards our goal.” Gesturing with its arms and other, extraneous insectoid limbs at itself, it seemed to delight in the twisted new form, “Now that we’ve won, it has deemed them of no further use and removed them!”

“Well, I refuse to let that stand!” Axl tore his attention from the mutant that was Ren, turning instead towards the massive monster, ”And if that’s the source, I know my new goal… destroying it!” He pointed the hammer up at the abomination, determination shining behind his glasses, beneath the mask of his hell-forged armor, “Regardless how long it takes… Even if you’re beyond saving, I can’t let this thing claim any more souls! I can’t stand by and do nothing!”

YOU WOULDN’T BE SO STUPID.

The thought in his head was not his. Axl knew it now. It was the towering creature he stood before, brandishing his hammer with a challenging shout, “Try me!”

The massive beast let out an unholy sound that wasn’t quite a shriek and not quite a roar, and not quite truly a sound so much as an emanation felt rather than heard. Taking the challenge to heart, it lunged down with one of its large, muscular arms, the mandibles in place of its hands open to grasp the puny armored human.

Trying to think quickly, Axl pulled his grappling hook out and latched onto a mandible on the approaching hand-maw, launching himself into the air. He retracted the chain and released it, letting his momentum rocket him towards the creature’s central eye, hammer poised to strike it.

The move was a lot cooler in Axl’s head, and for a moment he was proud of the smoothness of its execution. However, as soon as he got within arms’ reach of the monster, it responded as any large monster with half a brain and working arms would; by unceremoniously plucking the tiny adventurer right out of the air with its other hand. The mandibles jolted his momentum to a dizzying halt, before the tendrils wrapped around him, pinning his arms to his sides. The ornate hammer fell to the ground far below with a useless clatter.

Held still and close as he was, Axl had time to really not appreciate how atrocious this monster was. It was only a touch less repulsive than the flesh wall in the underworld that had apparently released the power to wake it up. Its flesh up close looked like someone had taken the floating rot-bags and worms and thrown them in a blender, shaping the results into whatever this thing was that shouldn’t have been. The eyes in its shoulders reminded him very much of the very largest that had attacked on so many occasions. He half expected them to be able to open into toothy maws as well. And… were those tongues coming out of its wrists and wrapped around him? Axl didn’t want to think about it. He was just content that his hell-forged armor insulated him from having to touch them, and vaguely hoped from the faint sizzling noise that it was burning the creature to do so.

Tongues or not, the tendrils wound tighter, metal shrieking as that armor began to slowly compact under the pressure. Axl choked out an unbecoming squeak and struggled vainly. The abomination’s booming ‘voice’ echoed in his head, still very unsettlingly sounding like his own. Despite that, all pretense of trying to pass for its victim’s own thoughts had vanished as the beast addressed its own opinions directly.

WHAT A PITIFUL CREATURE. WHAT PURPOSE IS THERE TO ITS CONTINUED EXISTENCE?

It tightened its grip more.

JUST TO DIE LIKE A WORM IF IT WON’T WORSHIP LIKE ONE.

“S-so what!? I’ll just-! I-it’s not l-like I can-!” Axl realized what he was saying, and in what circumstance he was saying it, and immediately shut up. As awesome a boast he could make about never giving up until this foe was defeated, as much like some kind of implacable anime protagonist as it would make him sound, he wasn’t exactly in a position that could end anything but horribly if death was the best apparent option.

The monster didn’t miss the slip, but in a surprise gesture chose to lessen its grip, eyes narrowing. The permeating voice lowered, in tone if not volume.

IT COULD VERY WELL BE GRANTED A PERMANENT DEATH IF SO DESIRED.

Axl looked up, mask hiding the surprise on his face. It was a surprisingly tempting offer...but it couldn’t be true. Was that the promise this thing made to Ren? In a way, it had done exactly that; the human who was Ren was definitely dead now.

That was not the way Axl wanted to go if that was the case.

BUT NO.

It was as if the creature recognized the adventurer’s near-immediate internal rejection of the offer. The feeling of all three eyes focusing on the tiny human only amplified the sudden, gut-wrenching dread as the monster’s bizarre mouth pulled into what possibly was meant to represent a most maniacal, cruel smile. The eyes widened, even more so than seemed possible by the already unnatural standards of the creature’s form, directing all of its malice to a single point between them.

MAKING WORMS LIKE YOU SUFFER IS FAR MORE ENTERTAINING.

Axl barely had a chance to catch his breath when the pressure released, letting him drop for only a moment before the monster grabbed one arm with the tendrils of one of its jawlike-hands, then the other, pulling them tight with a sickening pop, as a cruel child might hold the wings of a fly. His arms felt like they’d tear right out of their sockets, but he couldn’t even muster the energy to cry out. He could only stare at the creature in horror, not quite in the eyes for their distance apart, but rather at its gnashing, v-shaped maw.

The massive beast seemed to take a deep breath, before exhaling a concentrated jet of sickly green fire at the suspended adventurer, engulfing him. Even the hellstone-obsidian alloy of his armor did nothing to deflect it in any way.

After everything he had been through - being digested, sliced to pieces, incinerated in lava, and hundreds of other novel ways to die painfully, including by his own hand - this was somehow worse than it all. The green flame didn’t just hurt physically. He’d become accustomed to that kind of pain; even welcomed it to a certain degree. However, he wasn’t prepared for how it burned within.

Like it was fueling itself on his mind and his soul, threatening to devour not just his body, but every positive emotion, thought, and memory he ever had.

Axl barely noticed when the creature let him drop, screaming, to the ground. He struck the stone writhing as the fire continued to cling. Even after the flames themselves flickered out, he could still feel it eating at him, weaving through his veins and rasping at his bones. He whined and wheezed, clawing at his helmet in an effort to pry it off, to vent the burning and let it die in the stagnant air, but his gauntlets merely slipped off the metal in his desperation. Finally, he managed to tear it free, gasping for breath as it clattered across the dark stone.

I’LL LEAVE THIS FOOL AND ITS ILL-ADVISED COURAGE TO YOU.

The gigantic abomination‘s massive eyes looked down to its subject, before directing off in the direction of the released spirits of light and blood.

I’VE OTHER MATTERS TO ATTEND TO.

Axl couldn’t see how the massive being departed, but he could feel the disappearance of the rumbling of its serpentine form in the ground, as well as the absence of its oppressive aura. How something so large could vanish so quickly was the least of his worries.

Unable to shrug off the ceaseless searing pain under his skin, but unwilling to give up, Axl tried once, twice to push himself off the ground, succeeding on the third try, body quaking as he coughed up flecks of blood. When the tears cleared enough from his eyes to look up, it was into the glowing barrel of Ren’s hell-infused handgun. “You talk a big game, kid,” somehow, Ren’s monstrous face contorted into a sneering grin, “It seems my lord would have me kill you. Over, and over again, until you see reason. A pointless endeavor, naturally,” he chuckled darkly, eye narrowing cruelly, “...considering you’d probably like that.”

It was very disconnecting to see such a bizarre beast holding a weapon that looked so modern - and while talking about reason, no less - that Axl didn’t really internalize the slight. Moreover, something else had caught Axl’s attention; near the foot of where the abomination had vanished, there was a strange glimmer. His eyes drifted to it, fading in and out of focus with his wavering consciousness, trying to make it out.

Ren’s ‘smirk’ darkened slightly, mixing with a scowl. He knew this man was a fool, but this level of inattention was downright insulting. His grin returned, though, as he shifted the gun to one side in a quick motion and pulled the trigger, shooting out his prey’s already nearly-dislocated left shoulder, “Of course, I could draw each death out if that’s what you really want.”

Axl, nerves still overwhelmed to feel much other than burning, just gurgled weakly as he collapsed further, clutching his arm. But he wasn’t going to resign to death. Not this time. He recognized that glimmer. A mirror, unlike the one he’d found in the caves. A mirror with an adorned golden frame.

The same one that brought him to this world.

Axl shook, coughing a few more times, then craned his neck up to glare Ren right in his bloated single eye, “You could... but I don’t think... you’d have the GUS to.”

Ren froze. As the statement sunk in, he snarled, eye going wide in a rage, “YOU-”

With a new sense of purpose, Axl reached out and took hold of the holy hammer where it had fallen. It wasn’t strong, but it would have to be enough. Ren’s distraction denied him the time to respond to that hammer being brought down on one of his misshapen knees, shattering it and sending him to the ground with a piercing, unholy wail.

That distraction was all Axl needed. Leaving the hammer there, he forced himself to his feet, staggering and tripping over himself to make his way to that mirror, even if it was the last thing he did.  His body screamed at him. He didn’t care. He couldn’t risk it being his last chance.

“DON’T RUN AWAY FROM ME,” the corrupted human screeched as he whirled about in fury, twisting at the waist unnaturally. He brought up the gun and released two more shots. Both pierced Axl in the back, causing the fleeing man to gasp, collapsing on top of the mirror. As his consciousness failed, he grabbed the artifact in both hands and stared into it with every fiber of determination he could muster. He could barely see for all his pain, not even his own face. He didn’t care what the background in the reflection was… so long as it was anywhere but here.

His vision faded to white.

---

Axl awoke to the sound of chirping birds.

He sat up, slowly. His skin tingled, as if with the remnants of the cursed fire’s burn, but for the most part he felt strangely numb. As his vision readjusted, he took in his surroundings. Despite how obvious it was, his brain seemed to refuse the initial assessment that he wasn’t indoors, instead sitting in an open shrine, somewhere high up. Very high up. He didn’t remember seeing anything of the sort when they’d ascended to the sky islands looking for treasure. Clouds drifted lazily past, and he could hear a breeze, but could only barely feel it against his face.

‘Am I actually dead this time?’ he thought to himself as he looked down. He was no longer wearing armor, and it surprised him to see that he was wearing the clothes he had arrived in, but with one crucial difference.

Beneath the ironic shirt and baggy shorts, he was completely bandaged up. Only his face was left bare… mostly. Looking at his arms and his legs, Axl felt somewhat silly, like a mummy, but at the same time, a sinking dread settled in his stomach. With great hesitation, he pulled the bandages on his wrist aside, only to recoil.

The skin underneath was warped and charred. It hardly seemed like human skin at all, looking more like plastic pulled from a fire. Axl let out a long, withdrawn sigh, with barely the energy to take another breath as he slowly closed his eyes, letting the bandages go and covering his face with his palm.

“Your resolve is commendable,” a lilting voice drifted from out of view, startling Axl out of his stupor. He turned to see… something.

Whatever it was, ‘ghost’ seemed like the most fitting term, almost to the point of the absurdity of looking like it were made from sheets draped over some uncannily tall form. The only thing shattering that silly thought was the fact that those sheets were virtually transparent, revealing nothing underneath. Instead of a face, the figure had a mask.

A mask made from a gold-framed oval mirror.

Axl stared at it in disbelief, only to see his reflection in its surface, cringing. His face certainly could have been in worse condition, perhaps saved by getting his helmet off in time, but the disfigurement was still significant. He looked away, grimly.

“Axl C. Eyre,” the being spoke again, ethereal voice carrying a profound serenity.

Axl had never been referred in such a way before, and something about it caught his breath. He turned slowly towards the mirror spirit, taking care not to look at his reflection.

It bowed, slowly and respectfully.

“We have much to discuss…”

[pikapeppa]

Sloane Kelly Appreciation Week: More than a second

Full disclosure and honesty: I am Reyder trash. I let Reyes’s sniper shoot Sloane down and did not even bat an eye. But then I read Uprising... and I gotta say, I feel for Sloane a bit more. I recently wrote the following Sloane/Kaetus oneshot/drabble as part of a chapter about Keema and Reyes. So here it is: a Reyder fan’s tribute to Sloane and Kaetus!

“For the last fucking time, no, we aren’t taking any angara recruits right now. They’re an unknown entity, for fuck’s sake. We don’t have the time or resources to focus on that right now. Understood?”

Sloane Kelly waited for her recruiter’s confirmation, then ended the call abruptly and slumped back in her chair. Kadara was certainly a step up from the Nexus, but it came with its own rotten can of worms.

The kett were almost the least of the problems. Kett were easy to deal with. They were a clear and obvious enemy, so there was only one solution: complete annihilation.

When Sloane and her people had arrived in the Govorkam system to discover one alien species who sought only to kill and abduct members of the second species, she’d actually been relieved. It had been so long since Sloane had dealt with a clear-cut, black-and-white problem that she’d jumped wholeheartedly into eliminating the kett. Unsurprisingly, many of Sloane’s exiles had seemed to feel the same way, enthusiastically taking out kett after kett with a relish that would be concerning if they hadn’t all just spent some three-odd months trapped in a slowly dying tin can filled with rapidly dwindling food supplies.

The angara, now: they were the more tricky problem. Not that the people were a problem per se; they were certainly civilized, as much as any Milky Way species (and arguably more so than some). But Sloane just could not find it in herself to respect them.

Cognitively, Sloane knew it was wrong to blame the victim. She didn’t know the whole history behind the conflict between these angara and the kett. But she just couldn’t understand how the angara could be cowed by the kett. The Nexus rebels had been slaughtered and then abandoned by their own people. It was hard to fight your own fucking people. The kett, on the other hand, were complete strangers who shot before talking. In Sloane’s opinion, this was by no means a difficult problem. But the confusion among those idiotic, wishy-washy angaran administrators…

Sloane’s lip curled involuntarily with contempt. She refused to deal with that kind of bureaucratic bullshit again. She was finished with the slow, laborious council decisions, the hemming and hawing. Sloane was only interested in doing what needed to be done to ensure the security and safety of her people. And now that the immediate kett crisis was over, the secondary - and more long-term - crisis of surviving and thriving on this hellhole of a planet was paramount… and in particular, sustaining her Outcasts for the long-term.

As her people’s ranks grew, Sloane would need to find ways to sustain their needs. The tax she’d imposed on the residents of the Port was working out quite well so far, and if most of those credits ended up in her people’s pockets, or supporting the development of Milky Way businesses, well… it was the price the residents had to pay for security and safety. There was nothing to be done about that. But as more exiles clamoured to join Sloane’s circle, and more residents were kicked out for not being able to afford the fees, Sloane knew she’d have to find an alternative source of income for her people sooner than later.

Suddenly, her omni-tool sounded. One of Sloane’s krogan guards was calling from just outside the door. “What?” she answered impatiently.

“Some turian wants to talk to you,” grunted the guard. “Says he knows you from the Milky Way-”

“Just let me in. She won’t thank you for wasting her time.” An irate flanged voice interrupted the guard… a flanged voice that Sloane knew better than any other, and hadn’t expected to ever hear again.

Kaetus.

“Let him in.” Sloane was on her feet and striding towards the door without thinking about it. Before she reached the door, it opened and there he was, in the flesh. His posture was tall and proud, and he was as handsome as the day they had left the Milky Way - the day she’d closed the lid on his cryopod and watched his eyes drift shut with sleep.

Sloane was not one for big displays of emotion, but her heart seemed to swell in her chest and push its way up towards her throat as she reached out her hand. “Kaetus. It’s damn good to see you,” she said.

Kaetus nodded once and took her hand in a firm shake. “You too. When I heard you got kicked off the Nexus, I came as soon as I could.”

Sloane took her time removing her hand from his. “We didn’t get kicked off. We chose to leave. It was either that or stasis, can you fucking believe it?”

Kaetus shook his head. “I didn’t know what to believe at first. When I woke up on Elaaden with two krogan staring down at me, I thought I was having a cryosleep-induced nightmare. The krogan said-”

“Wait,” Sloane interrupted in confusion. “What do you mean, the krogan? You… You didn’t come from the Nexus? What... what happened to Ark Natanus?”

Kaetus’ mandibles lifted slightly in an expression of confusion. “I have no idea. I woke up on a sandy wasteland. There were damaged cryopods all over the place. I think the krogan who found me were collecting salvage. I thought they were going to kill me.”

“Why didn’t they?” Sloane wondered in confusion. Unfortunately, old grudges didn’t wear off even after 600 years, and there wasn’t much love lost between the krogan and the turians.

Kaetus gave a small sardonic laugh. “I think they could tell that I had no idea what in the spirits was going on. They brought me back to their settlement. New Tuchanka, it’s called.” He chuckled again. “A fitting name for a roasting-hot desert planet. But it’s actually pretty impressive. Nakmor Morda’s doing a good job out there.”

Sloane shook her head in amazement. “Fucking Morda. I’m surprised she didn’t eat you.” In spite of herself, Sloane was impressed. Wish we could take some lessons from the krogan. I wonder if ever…

She shook her head, discarding the idea for now. “How did you get from… Elaaden, you said? How did you get from wherever the fuck that is to here?”

Kaetus spread his hands helplessly. “I escaped New Tuchanka. Younger krogan can be hot-headed and careless, you know how it is. I basically hitchhiked all the way from New Tuchanka to the Elaaden Port, then paid for passage on a ship. I used about two-thirds of my credits to get here, but… here I am,” he finished, his hands dropping to his sides. “By the way, you might be interested to hear that Nakmor Kesh joined the council on the Nexus. I overheard some of Morda’s people talking about it.”

Sloane eyebrows leapt high on her forehead. Sloane would never forgive Kesh for allowing Tann to wake the krogan battlemaster, but she would be lying if she denied that Kesh was the most levelheaded person on the Nexus. “No fucking way. Tann stonewalled her the entire time I was there.”

Kaetus gave another brisk nod of confirmation. “But I didn’t come just to pass on news of the Nexus.” He took a step closer to her. “You know you can count on me, Sloane. I’m here to help you in any way I can.”

That ball of emotion swelled again in her throat, and she had to swallow hard to push down the urge to press herself against his tall and rangy form. Instead, she nodded briskly and gestured for him to follow her back to her chair. “Fantastic. I can use someone reliable and trustworthy.”

Kaetus followed her up the dais. “As it turns out, I heard something on the lift that might help. There’s a doctor, Ryota Nakamoto, who seems to have discovered an antibiotic that grows naturally on this planet. It sounds like he needs resources to refine the formulation and ensure that it works, but that might help offset the drain on medical resources at least.”

Sloane sat in her chair, one foot cocked up on the seat, and rested her elbow casually on her knee as she looked up at him. “Yeah, okay. It’s not exactly food and water, but medicine is helpful, no doubt. Put him in touch with me, will you? Maybe we can set him up somewhere. A lab or something. What do scientists need for their research?”

“We’ll find out. I’ll set up a time for him to meet with you,” Kaetus replied briskly. Sloane coolly nodded her thanks, but she was rapidly losing her battle to remain impartial with him. She had always felt more at home with the turians and krogan than with her own species; she wasn’t the type to tippy-toe around people’s feelings or to mince her words, and most humans didn’t appreciate that kind of bluntness. But Sloane had never felt more at home with anyone than with Kaetus.

Kaetus’ gaze slid over her face, and he seemed to see something in her bichromatic eyes that she was unable to hide, because he slowly approached her and placed his hands on the arms of her chair, leaning down with his face near enough to hers that she could see the brilliant corona of hazel in his irises. “I was afraid I would never see you again,” he told her bluntly. “You know that I’m not just here to be your second, right?”

Sloane took a deep breath, and for the first time in what felt like months, she smiled. “I know. You’re a big softie,” she teased gently. He chuckled deep in his throat, then traced the scarring on her lip and jaw with a gentle talon. “We have some catching up to do,” he murmured, then tilted his head to kiss her.

Sloane gave in and wrapped her arms around his neck, savouring the slightly rough feel of the skin at the base of his crest. Sloane would always get shit done; it was just her way. But with Kaetus at her side, it suddenly didn’t feel like such a chore.

[paragonrobits]

birfday gift for my good buddy @cryptideridan!

The table was a very nice table, and Eridan was actually super proud of his table. Surely it was the envy of all table-owners; how he liked to imagine the table collectors of the worlds he and his friends had forged in their new universe, gnashing their mandibles and beaks in rage over how none of them would ever claim a table so unbelievably fancy, so utterly good. It's lines of composite Earth-1 cherry wood merged seamlessly with the Alternian stab-palm (so named because it was a palm tree, the world was excellent for making wooden blades, and it would try to stab you in the palm), and in fact there ws not a trace of a join or mark of manufacture on it. He had alchemized it from the very idea of Table-ness, and it was an absolutely perfect table in every respect.

It was also currently piled high with dishes. Lately Eridan had been spending a great deal of time with humans; Karkat, barely as long as the average troll's finger, was about the same size as a human. Consequently, Karkat spent most of his time around them and since Eridan spent most of his time around Karkat, he was reluctantly learning human customs. Recently, Eridan was intrigued by human notions of ettiquette and the things humans put their food on; the sheer variety of bowls and plates simply baffled him and it presented an irristable challenge. He would not be defeated by the complexity of human cookery, and was trying to convince some of the other trolls to adopt it rather than just messily devouring food as soon as it was ready or swallowing it in a single gulp.

These dishes were of a human sort, and still littered with bits of food that were left. This was not much; Eridan had the appetite due to his caste, and whatever he did not eat, Karkat would. While Karkat was so small that Eridan constantly fretted over his well-being, he did have an appetite you would expect from a troll; most of the plates had been picked clean, almost all the bowls drained of any soup or nourishing elixir. The ones that were definitely clean were stacked high, some of them higher than Eridan's head; at the top of the piles were the ones with bones and other sorts of remnants on them.

Some of those would have to be sorted into different piles; the special ones he had made for long term, the ones with many different grist that had gone into their creation and so had many interesting properties. Some of them endowed the food upon them with potent effects or even potential transformative elements, others would make the food impossibly nutritious and filling (always a prime concern for trolls). These dishes looked really nice; some glowed in brilliant shades of light, some made beautiful music that only the diner could hear, others rotated slowly to bring food closer to hand, and others were beautiful masterworks of the very finest engraving and seadweller lowerglyphs (which are like heiroglyphs, but found below sea level). The other dishes were crude affairs, rough spans of ceramic and plasticine metals that would be converted into grist so he wouldn't have to clean them.

Otherwise, Eridan insisted, there'd be way too many dishes to do. Who had time for that kind of work? Not him, sure as hell not, he had betta' things to do. Kar wasn't gonna the dishes either, those things are big enough for him to sleep in, like he's gonna be able to clean 'em. Screw that! ...And so on and so forth. None of the other guests would take the work-load off; Equius had a tendency to break them accidentally, Terezi was as likely to eat the dishes as she was to eat off them, Feferi didn't trust the idea of dishes yet, and Cronus was refusing to speak to Eridan until Eridan toned down the singing dishes and made them stop being autotuners. (Cronus, in certain narrow areas, took things extremely seriously.) Everyone else was similarly unlikely to even try washing the dishes. Well... Kankri might try to do the dishes, but he had the same tiny-size mutation as Karkat and if Eridan tried to make him do the dishes, Porrim and Latula might have words for him.

Eridan, even in the midst of a supper stupor, shuddered in genetic terror. It was an Ampora tradition to fear and respect the Maryam and Pyrope bloodlines, for they were mighty and fearsome.

One plate rolled out of the way, and pushing it effortlessly away despite not being much taller than the plate itself was Karkat. Scarlet in an elegant robe he'd alchemized himself, his skin a deeper shade of the same red, he stifled a small digestive noise and brushed off a couple of small crumbs from his mouth. Belly noticeably bigger and rounder, Karkat stumbled forward to Eridan, pushing aside all the bowls and plates that happened to be in his way.

Eridan leaned back from the table, his belly swollen and the violet skin tinted a slightly brighter shade than normal. Anyone who had ever seen a deep sea creature gulp down food bigger than itself would probably see something similar in Eridan there. He stared down at Karkat with the expression that, perhaps, a wise shark might give to a treasured remora or suckerfish; it was a benevolent one, lacking in the usual fearsome-ness it was obliged to make, and it was pleasantly aware of the scraps the smaller one got was a feast by the smaller one's standards.

Eridan managed to sit up, despite the weight of his stomach and the digestive processes urging him to remain still and sedentary as long as possible. This was napping time, the appropriate time of day to sit back and do nothing but remain still as long as possible. But he longed for Karkat to be close, to feel his warmth as much as possible, and to have him close at hand and absolutely safe. “Hey,” he managed, vocabulary declining in the weight of supper stupor. “Kar. C'mere, would ya?”

“I was already doing that, I saw the damn look in your eyes, you know damn well I was already doing that,” Karkat grumbled, without any rancor whatsoever. By his standards, this was positively peppy. His expression was mild, his pace patient. By the time he got to Eridan from across the table, his usual rambling snarls had diminished to mumblings that had the shape of swears but too little sense to even be audible.

Karkat approached. Eridan stared down at him, his nostrils flaring as he took in Karkat's smell. His fins slowly spread outwards, a sure sign of a seadweller relaxing. That smell was somehow spicy, curiously inter-caste. There were elements in it that made him think of Aradia, and others that reminded him of Feferi. That alone was a strange one, and thus intriguing, but there was also suggestions of something between Sollux and Nepeta, and yet for all of that he was something singular; unique, defying classification.

By all rights, he ought to have instinctively detested Karkat. It was what he'd been instructed. Karkat climbed onto Eridan's stomach, short claws and flexible body serving him well as he slowly ascended the softer parts of Eridan's belly – which had no armored plates or heavier chitin, making it quite squishy even when it wasn't stuffed with delicacies – and then continued climbing upwards, until he found a spot where Eridan's stomach met his chest. It was armored there, but fluffy with outgrowths of smaller sub-fin structures and heat-retaining extensions, and so still soft enough to be comfortable. Karkat yawned noisily, curling up right there and laying down. He snuggled right into his chest, a tiny point of fierce heat, and Eridan's blood-pump skipped a few beats. He almost raised a hand to stroke Karkat and didn't have the nerve to do it.

Yes, he ought to have hated Karkat. But he was learning to abandon the worst of Alternia, and being brave enough to acknowledge the bits that really were just the worst.

Eridan leaned back, being careful to keep Karkat in place. It was a strangely adorable sight, seeing such a tall troll do this for something so small it could fit into his hand. He was imposingly tall, even sitting down, and certainly by the standards of his famously gigantic species. He might have been called skinny but that was just a bit off; his body was slabbed in lean muscle, and that was sheathed in sleek deposits of fat before his armor was involved. He looked the part of a troll designed to lurk in the midst of the sea; not as deep as a fuchsia, but lower than the shallows the purples inhabited, a living torpedo and death to anything with warmer blood.

Fins, dozens of them, fluttered down his back, a few across his arms and crowning the calves of his digitigrade feet, some of those flapping over broad toes more like clawed flippers than the round pillars of a landdweller. A short but heavy sickle-shaped claw arced from one toe; combined with his powerful leg muscles, he could disembowel a target with a single kick. These fins looked like he'd done that to his own fins before; many of them were tattered or badly scarred, especially the larger ones cresting the upper side of the thick, curling tail going through the hole in his chair. Armored plates covered it, tinted a darker shade of violet than that of his softer flesh, and the fins that could propel him through the water at great speed were not so big as the spikes lining the tail.

They were long, dark as his elegant lips, and connecting the spikes was a kind of dorsal fin made of translucent and soft flesh, colored a vibrant violet. Perhaps they were meant as weapons suitable for the caste meant to defend the land walkers from threat, if Feferi's investigation into the lost troll birth-world of Beforus was right. Eridan glanced back at those webbed membranes now. Thick, just a little translucent, tinting everything he could see through them with a vibrant shade of royal violet. If you didn't notice the shade of his skin, or the brightness of his eyes, or the frilled mass lining his neck and the side of his head, these left his caste obvious to anyone.

Feferi had promised him, with strange lore upon her thick lips and her monstrous teeth bared in a wild smile, that she would give him the fate of his caste, and she had warned him that he might not like it. He had to confess that he had imagined a more grand fate for his people; he'd imagined honor guards at the side of warring empresses in ancient days. Of terrible wizards, summoning horrifying angels and wresting the lore of the universe from their grasping claws. Or something even more fearsome, dripping with blood and giving honor to the traditions of war and death that marked the violets.

Feferi had warned him, even before then. War and violence was not the natural state of trolls, no matter how much their altered minds screamed to rip out flesh with their teeth or solve every argument by digging their horns into skulls and tearing hard. Alternia and the cut-throat brutality of its culture, of the eternal cycles of revenge, violence and misery, were the result of countless eons of careful manipulation by wicked forces far beyond their ken. Those things had been carefully molding their people into killers, Feferi said with rage dripping from her voice, breaking them into broken bits that cut everything they touched. An unnatural selection to make them as horrible as they possibly could.

And then she told him about their real heritage. About Beforus. She'd told him what the troll's true nature was. What, in their hearts, they could be without eons of brutality to break them down. And she'd told him about the actual purpose of his basic biology, such as what those membranes between his tail-spikes were for.

Now Eridan looked at his tail, at the spikes, the membranes between them, and closed his eyes. He opened them, because it was still too easy to imagine clutches of eggs balanced peacefully upon them, safe from harm. Or wigglers, dozing there and slumbering contently. Of his claws gently plucking up stray grubs and cleaning them, and his sonorous voice humming lullabies to soothe them.

(“You don't have to be a killer,” Karkat's voice had told him as Feferi revealed all the terible truths to Eridan and his world came crashing down. “You can be... whatever the fuck else you wanna be, shit if I know. Shit if I'm gonna goddamn tell you, too, you figure out what the hell that is. Screw Beforus, screw Alternia, screw the Empress on her throne – no offense, Fef, didn't mean you, I meant older nastier Meenah, I know you're the Empress now but I wasn't meaning you-”

“None taken, Karkat,” Feferi said, raising a scaly eyebrow, her massive clusters of fins raised as if she'd been challenged, and was spoiling for a fight. But she gazed down at his tiny, frail body and softened. Her hair became flowing again.

“Yeah, just... figure out what you wanna be.” Karkat had gazed up at Eridan. His voice rumbled like the echos of waves on the shore, but his eyes burned like the flames that had consumed his ancestor. From across the ages, Eridan imagined he saw Kankri Vantas of Alternia looking right at him and winking.)

That rumbling returned to Eridan now. He glanced down at his stomach, where Karkat was curled up on the apex of his belly. Karkat was an anomaly, his physiology incorporating aspects of seadweller and landdweller traits to such a degree he wasn't sure if it was entirely random. Eridan nervously placed a hand over Karkat's tiny form, his claws hovering over the bright plates on Karkat's back. Gills fluttered below his grasp; real gills, small but entirely functional. Karkat's tail was short like a lowbloods, but broad like a highblood – they needed larger tails, to balance their greater body mass – and resebled a lobster's tail. Eridan's claw touched Karkat's hand, and Karkat sleepily grasped it, and Eridn could feel the webbed membranes between Karkat's digits. His hand moved over Karkat's body, feeling his warmth, marveling at such a small and precious thing as he, and he felt Karkat's chitinous armor. It wsa smooth, flexible and springy. Not hard armor, nothing like the kind lining Eridan's body or Feferi's body, it was – hah, softshelled.

There was also the matter of Karkat, apart from his other mutations, being so tiny he could fit into Eridan's hand. Eridan absently rubbed Karkat delicately, with one short claw. Karkat was chubby, solid and much heavier than he looked, but his weight was barely even noticeable on his belly. He was delightfully warm, rising up and down like a warming blanket on him.

Trolls were a lot of things; in the past they had been terrifying engines of death, and now they were at worst annoyingly coddling to all other life smaller than them, which was almost all life they found. Trolls were true giants among other life, mechanical or organic or whatever else they encountered; in the measurements of humans, the average troll stood over twenty-five feet high. Highbloods could be as much as twice that, fuchsias towering over even the darkest violet. Eridan scoffed at the notion of a mere 25 feet being a respectable number, being nearly forty feet high even if he wasn't especially broad for his size.

Karkat, on the other hand, wasn't much bigger than a human. Oh, he towered over humans, certainly; he looked barrel-chested, big-bellied and intimidatingly massive, a fierce and primordial brute. His horns were a helmet, his claws daggers, his teeth hammers. To trolls, he was so terribly small, so easily broken by a carelessly lowered hand or dropping him from the wrong height. He somehow had the toughness of a normal-sized troll and so couldn't be hurt by something like that, but Eridan still worried.

(Terezi had warned Eridan about this; being in any red relationship with Karkat would inspire pale feelings. Eridan wasn't too bothered about it, since quadrant variations were increasingly common, but it was strange to think about. Feeling so pale for someone you were totally red for.)

A kiss could hurt him, if he wasn't readied for it. Eridan thought about that a lot, and often slept poorly if he was not around to care for Karkat and make damn sure he was okay.

Karkat certainly didn't lack for protectors; even before Eridan had come into his life and swept him off his feet – in a manner of speaking – there had been Terezi, constantly looming over him and fussing over the slightest detail and ferociously making anyone that threatened to expose him to the drones just... disappear. Eridan had thought her and Karkat moirails, with a hint of red, and he still wasn't sure about their relationship; that was back when he was still navigating a kismessitude with Vriska, and through Vriskam he had met Terezi. He hadn't looked back, but he did spend a lot of time looking up. Terezi was huge, towering over everyone except Feferi, and to Eridan it was galling to have to look up to meet the face of a tealblood, even one with a smile like a shark and a hundred little disguised quests before she judged him suitable to be allowed to meet Karkat.

Eridan still treasured the memory of that teal hand, opening delicately like the claws of a dragon reluctantly spreading wide to reveal its most precious and sacred treasure, and in her palm was a red pearl. Unique, impossible, a blend of fuchsia and rust, everything that he'd always said needed to die-

He spent a lot of time looking down, and looking after Karkat. A proud moment of his life was when Terezi had finally helped secure a private residence for the both of them, and she declared Eridan perfectly okay for keeping permanent watch on the descendant of the Signless.

He still hadn't looked back. He spent a lot of time looking down now, keeping a close eye on Karkat at all times. It was... nice, keeping an eye out for someone.

Eridan sighed contently, leaning back and curling his hand completely around Karkat's tiny form, his palm resting against Karkat. His fingers nestled round him, and Karkat nuzzled into him, shifting round until he was more comfortable now that he could feel Eridan's grasp. Eridan made a soft, sweet noise when he felt Karkat's horns rubbing against a finger, and the contrast of his cold palm with Karkat's sun-bright heat made his blood-pump skip a few beats again.

Eridan closed his eyes and went to sleep, and the two of them peacefully slept, bellies full of food and snuggling as best they could.

[notsuchasecret]

Stardust in Our Veins Day 2

@seijoh4week

Day 1 - Stormy Weather // Long Distance

Day 2 - Passing Notes // Detention

The bar where they met was every bit as seedy as the reason for the meeting. Kiertian dancers wound their way between the tables, spitting poison both verbal and literal at the wandering hands and catcalls. The walls oozed with something that may or may not have been corrosive. There were two drinks on the menu that weren’t toxic to humans, and one of them was only questionably so. It smelled.

Tooru couldn’t help but compare the place to the palace world where he’d been raised, the sweeping halls carved from diamond and pela stone, the babbling fountains and the lush carpets. He knew exactly which he would choose.

Matsukawa and Hanamaki had entered before him, and were already in their positions at the bar and the rear entrance. Iwaizumi stood at Tooru’s elbow, one hand resting on the hilt of his kefas, the other holding the strap of his bag. Tooru glanced at him, and he nodded once, curt. Tooru let that assurance settle over him like a cloak and turned back to scan the bar. He smiled, catching sight of their contact suspended against the far wall. He felt eyes on him as he passed through the room, but unlike before, when he had been a prince, these eyes felt reassuring, felt familiar, felt like love and protection and just a hint of danger. At the corner of his vision he saw Matsukawa move somewhere more strategic, and he settled his shoulders.

The Uuutn had no vocal chords, so Tooru and Iwaizumi exchanged no greetings with Raaasht as they took their seats across from vis. Tooru tapped the surface of the table, scrolling through its functions until he found a messaging system that would work for both species. Raaasht watched him tap out a sentence, resting vir single long tentacle-like appendage on the sensor port. He could all but hear Hanamaki snickering as he sent the message off.

It took a moment for the translators to convert the words into a psychic imprint that Raaasht could understand, but once it did ve clicked vir mandibles in approval. Tooru watched the table translate Raaasht’s message back, and smiled.

“Go ahead,” he said softly to Iwaizumi, who stood, pulling his bag over his shoulder. He set it below Raaasht and stepped back, shoulders tense and grip tight on his kefas. Raaasht hooked a claw through the bag, lifting it to test its weight. Vir mandibles clicked again and ve sent another message through the table. Tooru typed back his own.

It was going well. Raaasht pressed a button on the panel next to vis and a Qnn attendant, small and deadly, emerged from the crowd. She set a case on the table, facing Tooru, and at a prompt from Raaasht, flicked it open. Tooru leaned forward only enough to see the contents of the case, then nodded. He tapped out his acceptance on the table, and the Qnn closed the case, disappearing once more into the thronging people. Iwaizumi reached out to pick up the case, and Tooru made their farewells. They walked out of the bar together, Hanamaki and Matsukawa falling into step behind them.

“That went well,” Tooru sighed once they were out into the slightly-less noxious night air and well away from the bar.

“Did you see how long vir tentacle was?” Hanamaki crowed, slapping Matsukawa on the shoulder. Matsukawa rolled his eyes.

“What, is mine not long enough for you, Hiro?” he droned. “I’m hurt.”

“Will you two shut up?” snapped Iwaizumi. Tooru glanced at him, at the way he hadn’t let go of his kefas.

“Iwa-chan?” Tooru whispered. Iwaizumi glanced at him.

“Probably nothing,” he said, just as a shadow shifted beside him and a fist collided with his jaw. Iwaizumi moved with the blow, throwing the case to Tooru and drawing his kefas as he stumbled around to face his attacker. The blade glowed an eerie purple in the double moonlight as he held it in front of him. It was a weapon that would give most muggers pause, but the man standing across from Iwaizumi drew one of his own from a sheathe at his hip. Before he could do more than that, however, Hanamaki was on him, the same dagger he’d used to kidnap Tooru the day they’d met flashing as he attacked. Tooru saw the movement and opened his mouth to stop Hanamaki, but it was too late. Another guard emerged from the shadows, a Sotal pistol leveled at Iwaizumi’s head.

“Drop it,” the guard said. Hanamaki glanced over his shoulder to see two more guards, one pointing a pistol at Matsukawa, the other brandishing a third kefas. He let the knife clatter to the ground.

“He’s not alone,” Tooru said at last, the warning useless now. “They never send the elites without backup.”

“Thanks,” Hanamaki grit, watching the guard stoop to pick up the dagger. Tooru winced in sympathy; it had been Hanamaki’s mother’s.

“Let’s get this over with,” Iwaizumi sighed, handing his kefas over to the first guard and holding his hands out. The guard slapped a pair of cuffs around his wrists, and dragged him to a waiting shuttle. When he and Hanamaki and Matsukawa were all onboard, the final guard turned to Tooru.

“Are you injured, your highness?” asked the guard, careful to keep his eyes averted. Tooru huffed through his nose.

“No,” he said. “Now let’s go get these interrogations done so that you can release my friends.”

“Release…” repeated the guard. Tooru bit back a sigh; this one was obviously new.

“Yes, release,” he said. “I am here of my own volition, and they are my companions. The rest of our crew will be waiting, and I’d prefer to avoid a scuffle.” The guard almost glanced up, but caught himself in time. He bowed to Tooru, waiting for him to enter the shuttle first.

-

They took them all to separate rooms, as was protocol. Tooru, they interviewed in a lush chamber, lounging on pillows and snacking on fresh fruits from his homeworld. Iwaizumi was seated in a holding chamber, unbound but unarmed, given all the respect required of a man worthy of carrying a kefas. Matsukawa and Hanamaki, they interrogated in separate cells in the brig, chained to the walls.

“How did you meet his highness?” asked a guard.

“I was assigned to him at birth,” answered Iwaizumi.

“I robbed him at knifepoint,” said Hanamaki.

“He came to me in a dream,” said Matsukawa.

“Iwaizumi is my assigned bodyguard, and my soul companion. Hanamaki and Matsukawa attempted to rob me, but have since been absolved of those charges. I went with them willingly,” said Tooru.

“What is your business at this port?” asked the guard.

“We are here doing trade,” said Iwaizumi.

“Piracy and nefarious wrong-doing,” answered Hanamaki.

“Joining the circus,” said Matsukawa.

“We’re dropping a shipment to a client,” said Tooru. “An Uuutn named Raaasht who needed certain property returned to him. The plan was to deliver the property, then remain in port for one standard day to see if we could pick up any more work.”

“Why would the prince run away with you?” asked the guard.

“He ran, I followed. That’s how it’s always been,” said Iwaizumi.

“My roguish good looks and the promise of adventure,” said Hanamaki.

“He’s carrying my child,” answered Matsukawa.

Tooru didn’t answer, only glared petulantly.

“Your highness, your brother is worried-”

“So let him worry!” Tooru interrupted. “Go running home with your tail tucked, tell him you had me but couldn’t keep me, tell him I’m still off being a flighty child. He can run the system just fine on his own.”

“Your highness-”

“No,” Tooru snapped. “You’ve delayed us long enough. Release my companions and be on your way.”

“As you wish, your highness.” The guard bowed and shuffled backwards from the room. Tooru snorted, flopping back against the pillows. He looked around at all the riches his status had to offer and scowled, drumming his fingers impatiently against a table. The door opened and Matsukawa stumbled in, looking rumpled, but otherwise fine.

“Issei,” breathed Tooru, launching himself at Matsukawa, who caught him with an arm tight around his waist. “They didn’t hurt you, did they?”

“They never do,” Matsukawa murmured into Tooru’s hair. Tooru shook his head.

“They weren’t sent by my brother,” he said softly. “Two members of the elite guard, sure, but the one I talked to was surprised when I told him to release you. I think they found our ship by accident and followed it on general orders.”

The door opened again and Hanamaki limped in, a grin spread across his face, followed by a scowling Iwaizumi.

“This idiot told the truth,” he grumbled, shoving Hanamaki forward.

“Hajime kicked me,” he whined, draping himself across Tooru and Matsukawa. “It hurt.”

“You deserve it,” Matsukawa said fondly. Hanamaki grunted, nuzzling into Tooru’s shoulder.

“Come on,” Tooru said quietly. He shoved Hanamaki off so that he could bend to grab the case Raaasht had given him. “We should go.” The others must have picked up on Tooru’s mood, because they didn’t say a word as Tooru led them out of the shuttle. Iwaizumi walked at his elbow, Matsukawa and Hanamaki behind him, until they were out of sight. Then he stepped forward and tucked a hand into his pocket, bumping their shoulders together.

“Hey,” he said softly. “You’re okay.” Tooru nodded, reaching out to take Matsukawa’s hand and looking up at the Seijoh, waiting for them in her port. His family, his home. He took a deep breath of freedom and continued walking.

[annalyia]

hey guess what @bettydice I was your Holiday Harbinger secret Santa!  under the read more you will find a couple fics that I wrote just for you!  I’m gonna post ‘em on AO3 later, so no worries :D

“You’re just the cutest thing I have ever seen,” Shepard croons, nuzzling her nose against that of the hamster in her hands. “I’ll take him!” she says to the shopkeeper, beaming as she hands the rodent back to the asari, who deposits him into a small cage before giving him to Shepard.  

           “Thank you for your purchase, Commander,” she says with a smile.

           Shepard nods, grin still wide on her face, and turns on her heel, strolling away from the shop and towards the transit center – it simply won’t do to not take the little guy back to the Normandy straight away.  She brings the cage close to her face as she waits for the car to arrive, cooing at the hamster.  

           “Uh, Shepard, didn’t we come to the Citadel for a meeting?” Garrus places a hand on her shoulder, jolting her back to reality.

           “Yes, we did,” she quips, “but, as you can see here, this is a living, breathing creature and I have to get it back to the Normandy ASAP.  The Citadel is no place for a majestic animal such as this.”  She dismisses Garrus without really looking at him.  “That meeting can’t start without us anyway, so there’s no harm in taking this little guy up to my cabin and getting him situated beforehand.  I am Commander Shepard, after all.”

           Garrus sighs.  “You most definitely are,” he mutters before turning to Tali, who just sort of shrugs.

           “Aha!”  Shepard’s eyes light up and she turns to her companions.  “Hamlet!” she says excitedly.  “Get it?  Because he’s a hamster and the play is Hamlet and they both have ‘ham’ in the name?  Isn’t it just the perfect name for him?”  She stares at them, eagerly awaiting their responses.

           Fortunately, the car arrives right then, saving Tali and Garrus from having to fumble their words around enough to sound like they agreed with Shepard’s name choice for her new companion.  

           The ride back to the Normandy is filled with Shepard sweet-talking Hamlet and completely ignoring her alien friends.  Once on the Normandy, Shepard makes a beeline for her cabin.  There, she sets Hamlet’s cage on one of the shelves before removing her armor and changing into her significantly more comfortable Cerberus clothes.  

           “Finally,” she says, sticking her hand into the cage and allowing Hamlet to crawl into her palm.  She gently pulls him out and brushes their noses together again before giving him a peck to the top of his head.  Sitting down, she sets Hamlet on the floor in front of her, watching him scurry around his new home, a pleased smile on her face.

Thane doesn’t really pay attention to where his hands travel.  He simply runs them up and down Shepard’s arms, thighs, through her hair, whatever he can reach.  It’s a completely innocent touch, just to feel and know that she is there.  That she is real.

           That this is real.

           His hand slowly travels up her thigh and ghosts against her side and – she starts and lets out a quiet gasp.  Thane quickly removes his hand and says, “are you all right, siha?”

           “What?  Oh, yes, I’m fine, Thane.  I’m just a little ticklish on my sides.”

           Thane furrows his eyebrows together.  Ticklish?  What a strange concept.  Maybe it is because humans have such squishy skin.  “What does that mean, siha?” he asks.

           Shepard adjusts so as to see Thane better, taking her head out of his lap and resting it against the pillow by the arm of the couch, but she remains lying down. “It means just that,” she says.  “I’m ticklish.”  When he doesn’t reply, she says, “I guess it just means that if you touch me on my sides or under my arms or the bottoms of my feet or behind my knees it tickles.  I squirm and laugh and, honestly, it’s kind of awful.”

           “I see,” Thane says.  

           Shepard nods and readjusts herself, laying her head once again in Thane’s lap, curled up on the couch content to watch the vid she chose.  

           Thane rests his hand on her shoulder, careful not to touch her in one of those many so-called ticklish spots that she named.  He does his best to turn his attention back to the vid – another one of those human plays acted out by elcor.  He’s not entirely sure as to why Shepard likes them so much, but he never complains when she asks to watch one because he treasures every moment he has with her, no matter how silly.

           But, of course, his concentration wavers and he glances down at her.  He notices many of her tickle spots are defenseless and wonders just how ticklish his siha is.  

           He oh-so-slowly moves his hand to her side again and just rests it there.  

           She doesn’t move.

           He gently runs his finger along her side.

           The same gasp and twitch from before.

           He repeats the movements.

           “Thane,” her voice is low and her tone cautious, “what are you doing?”

           “Oh, nothing, siha,” he says nonchalantly before moving his fingers to under her arm and trying to tickle her there.

           She gasps again and shoots up, scooting to the other end of the couch and away from him.  “What. Are.  You.  Doing.”

           Grinning, Thane swiftly reaches over and grabs both her sides with his hands and begins tickling her mercilessly.  “Nothing, siha, can’t you tell?”  One hand moves to under her arm and he is rewarded with a squeal as Shepard tries to worm away from his hands.  “Is something wrong?” he calmly asks as he continues his assault.

           Shepard squeaks and squirms, tears forming in her eyes as she laughs and does her best to escape Thane’s grasp.  “Yes, something is wrong!” she manages to say between gasps, still trying to get away but to no avail.  The drell is rather strong.  He looms over her as she lies on the couch, unable to do anything other than be tickled.

           Finally, eventually, after what feels like a lifetime to Shepard, Thane stops. One hand moves to her face, brushing her hair behind her ear before coming to rest against her soft cheek, the other absentmindedly fiddles with the hem of her shirt.  Their faces are very, very close, so Shepard leans up just a bit and brushes their lips together.  “Never do that again, Thane,” she tells him, still mostly breathless.

           “I can make no such promises, siha,” he says, kissing her.

Shepard and Garrus lean against the railing in front of them, a respectful distance between them, watching the ships dock at and leave the Citadel.              “Cortez was right,” Shepard says.  “This really is relaxing.”

            Garrus slides a little closer to her, making the distance a tad less respectful. “It’s also interesting to see what kind of ships are in use during war times.”

            She nods.  “Mhm.” Her hand absentmindedly finds his and she traces the outlines of his scales.  “It’s an interesting time we live in,” she notes before placing a chaste kiss to his mandible, causing it to flare almost imperceptibly.

              And so they stand there, watching the ships come and go from the Citadel. Shepard tells Garrus more about the human cargo ships they see and their design, and Garrus does the same for the turian warships.  They notice that both species – every species – have too many ships that carry large amounts of people.

              “It’s a damn shame,” Shepard says quietly – she doesn’t want anyone other than Garrus to hear her.  “We shouldn’t have to be doing this.  We shouldn’t have to fight for everything that we know and love.  Innocent people shouldn’t be dying by the truckloads.” Her shoulders slump and she suddenly feels the weight of the war.  “I should be able to do more,” she whispers.

            Garrus frowns slightly and closes the space between them, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her close for just a moment before letting her go. “You’re doing the best that you can, Shepard – we all are,” he says, staring at the ships.  “There’s not much more that you can do against a supposedly unstoppable ancient force.”

            Sighing, she shakes her head.  “But we know that they aren’t unstoppable,” she says.  “We have the Crucible and we know that it can work.”  She lets out a huff.  “I just wish it was easier to make everyone work together.”

            Garrus laughs and says, “now, Shepard, there’s no use hoping for impossible things to happen.”

Jack grins as she plops herself down on the floor of the Normandy’s observation deck, a few loose hairs from her ponytail falling in her face.  “Shit, Shep, this is the best use of a break I could ever think of,” she says excitedly, pulling a deck of cards out of God-knows-where. “Who wants in?” she asks.

           Shepard sits down next to Jack.  “Uh, me, I guess.”

           Traynor places herself on Shepard’s other side.  “I love a good poker game,” she says.

           Miranda sits by Traynor and merely nods to Jack to be dealt in.

           Tali lies down on the floor by Miranda.  “It sounds like fun!”

           Liara chooses to sit on Jack’s right – Tali’s left – with a, “what kind of poker, though?  Are we going to play a human version or something from another species?”

           “We’re going to be playing a simple human type of poker,” she says.  “It’s called five card draw.”  Her grin turns mischievous.  “But instead of playing with credits, we’re playing strip poker. Whoever wins the round gets to decide which person removes which article of clothing.”

           Amid all the groans from her crewmates, Shepard silently says a prayer of thanks for the number of layers she’s wearing – a hoodie, a t-shirt, and an undershirt.  

           Tali raises her hand.  “I can’t exactly take my suit off,” she says.  

           “Well, then you can play with credits,” Jack replies.  “The rest of you fuckers, on the other hand, are all gonna be naked by the time this game is over.”

           After explaining the rules, Jack deals out the first hand.

           Shepard looks at what she has – two queens, an ace, a three, and a seven.  

           Okay, not too bad.                                                                          

           She hands the three and the seven – face-down, of course – to Jack and draws two new cards.  

           An ace and a three!

           Shepard does her best not to smirk and break her poker face and instead just waits for the rest of the players to figure out their hands.  

           “All right,” Jack says, “lay your cards down.”

           As Shepard does, she notices none of her companions have nearly as good a hand as she does.  “I believe this one goes to me,” she says.  

           “Nice one, Shep,” Jack says.  The others also commend Shepard on her hand, but are significantly more nervous about it. “Now, choose whose clothes are gone.”

           Shepard takes in her friend’s outfits.  Unfortunately, none of them seem to be as lucky as her.  Most everything appears to be in one piece, or at least like it’d take a damned long time to remove anything.  “Um, is your belt actually attached to your suit?” she asks Miranda.

           “No,” she replies.  “Thankfully, it’s just for looks.”

           Shepard nods.  “Okay, then, uh, take that off.”

           Miranda purses her lips but does as Shepard says, removing the belt and placing it on the floor next to her.  

           Jack snorts.  “Thanks for trying to take out the cheerleader, Commander,” she says.

           “Go to Hell,” is Miranda’s reply.

           The next round, Shepard doesn’t do nearly as well.  Tali is the winner with three queens and two fours – a full house. Without a second thought the quarian tells Traynor to take off her boots; a rather strange request according to everyone else, but Tali assures them she knows what she’s doing.  Shepard assumes it’s because Tali has no desire to see any of her teammates in less clothing than usual.

           It keeps going like this – next, Shepard is told by Jack to lose her jacket, leaving her a little colder than before.  Traynor wins the following round and Jack has to undo the ties from her shirt around her waist.  “I wanted to see those lovely tattoos better,” Traynor informs them with a wink.

           Somehow, Liara wins the next two rounds and Miranda finds herself without gloves – which none of them knew was possible – and Tali 50 fewer credits than before.  

           Much to the chagrin of everyone, Jack wins the next three rounds.  Shepard has to remove her boots – showing off her adorable dinosaur and krogan socks – Traynor is left in her rather lacy seafoam green bra, and everyone now knows what Liara looks like without her coat.  

           However, Jack doesn’t do nearly as well for the next four rounds – her jacket, belt, boots, and socks are all gone.  “Well fuckin’ played, you shitters,” she says, with a wide trademark grin.

           And so the game goes – hours and hours, as far as Shepard can tell – until, somehow, all of them have ended up in the same situation in which they are clothed in only their pants and their bra.

           Except for Tali, but she is down two thousand credits.  

           Shepard takes in her companions.  Jack is wearing what could maybe be considered a bra if absolutely necessary – it’s a simple piece of cloth the same shade of white as her shirt. Liara has some sort of leather-y thing that simply can’t be comfortable.  Miranda’s is tasteful – a dark brown with the slightest hint of lace that is just enticing enough.  Shepard feels a light blush creep up her face as she realizes that she is the only person here wearing a sports bra.

           However, before anyone can comment, the door slides open and in walks James with a “Hey, Commander, are you—”

           His eyes grow very wide and his cheeks flush a very dark red and his mouth opens in a very small o.  “I, uh, guess that you, um, are, uh, busy,” he stutters before turning around and walking back out of the lounge.  

           It takes only a few seconds before Shepard and her friends burst into real, hearty laughter.