#not quite willenko

[swaps55]

Eulogia

With MELE imminent, sharing a scene I wrote a long time ago, in which Kaidan Alenko mourns Ashley Williams after Virmire, and discovers he isn’t mourning alone. 

From here. 

~

The cargo bay was quiet when the elevator doors opened. Most of the crew had dispersed to the Citadel, leaving Kaidan mercifully alone in the cavernous space. Slowly he made his way towards the lockers, the scar tissue and healing sinews in his abdomen like a knot that someone had doused with gasoline and set on fire.

But still healing.  

(This is it. This is how I’m going to die.)

Kaidan exhaled.

If he closed his eyes he could still see the numbers in his HUD, always hovering right above zero, a perpetuating terminus never quite reached, never quite avoided.

When he reached the lockers he stopped, hand halfway to the one marked, Williams, A.

If he went by the book this should be Gladstone’s job. There was no reason it shouldn’t be Gladstone’s job.

(You know it’s the right choice.)

But it wasn’t Gladstone’s job.

The click of the locker door echoed loud enough that he flinched before drawing in a deep breath and pulling it all the way open. She hadn’t lied about her uniforms. Every shirt hung crisp and straight on its hanger, in sharp contrast to the chaotic pile of belongings tossed heedlessly on the ground below it. The pile was so impressive he was actually afraid to take anything out, for fear it would cause an outright avalanche. In spite of himself he shook his head and smiled a little.

“Somehow this is exactly what I expected from you,” he said under his breath. He heard a creak behind him and whipped his head around, heart rate thudding as though he expected to find her peering over his shoulder, arms crossed, eyebrow raised. A flush crept up the back of his neck.

Of course there was nothing. Ashley was dead.

His gripped the locker door until his knuckles whitened, leaned his forehead briefly against it. The metal felt cool and hard against his skin. He swallowed once. Twice.  

Eventually he straightened with a sigh, tugging at his uniform and rolling his shoulder, as though he could somehow shake Ashley off like working out a crick in his neck.  By the time his fingers brushed the cloth of her fatigues their subtle quiver had been swallowed up by the hard-earned discipline he’d practiced so diligently ever since Jump Zero.

(Kaidan Alenko. Always looking for the sure thing. Everything needs to be perfectly defined and spelled out for you, doesn’t it? Sometimes the unknown can be a little exciting, too.)

A static spark stung his finger as he emptied the hangers. He jerked his hand back, muttering, used to the burn, never the timing. Slowly he reached back in, painstakingly folding each shirt with precision he hadn’t employed since Basic.

(You find a wrinkle in my uniform and I’ll clean your pistol for a month.)

He made each crease razor sharp. Not a wrinkle to be found.

Once the clothing had been stored, he began taking apart the pile she had accumulated in her locker. Datapads with poetry. She liked Cummings and Yeats, Plath and Elizabeth Bishop. He remembered Joker saying something about Heinlein. Kaidan hadn’t intended to look through them, but shortly he found himself cross-legged on the floor, skimming through lines and verses. It was easy to tell her favorites – she’d annotated them heavily. Underlined phrases, personal reflections. In some cases she’d made notes that he didn’t understand, such as the one beside a line from a poem by Elizabeth Browning that simply read, Josh, and in parenthesis (the little shit).

She also had a copy of the Bible, which gave him pause. It wasn’t a datapad either but an actual book, pages dog-eared, corners bent and turned down, small makeshift bookmarks such as scraps of paper, paper clips, even a hair tie, sticking out at all angles. Like the datapads it was covered in notes, but all of these handwritten, in scripts of multiple hands. Some tiny and neat, others broad and flowing. Though he didn’t think he’d ever seen a sample of Ashley’s handwriting he immediately found one he thought had to be hers – small but hurried, with the occasional loopy flourish. It tended to start out neat, but quickly deteriorated when her hand couldn’t keep up with her thoughts, until it was nearly illegible.

The inside cover contained four handwritten paragraphs, each in a different script that he recognized from the subsequent pages. Each a note from parent to child, passing the heirloom on with messages of faith and love. Four generations of Williams, right there on one page.

Kaidan ran his fingers across the script, tracing the shallow grooves the pen made against the paper. General David Williams, of Shanxi infamy, bequeathing it to his son Matthew Williams, with a note.

Our faith is our legacy. We keep to it and carry on, no matter the cost. And when that task is difficult, remember those who’ve walked a harder road with lesser reward. We are blessed. I am blessed. Because I have you.

Serviceman Williams then wrote to his daughter, There’s a great wide universe out there waiting for you. I hope you explore it to the fullest. If you ever get lost, look here and see if you can’t find your way. Remember, kiddo. Ad aspera per astra.

Kaidan’s hands loosened, allowing the book’s spine to droop. A few pages whispered past his thumb. The hair tie bookmark fell out, ghosting to the floor without fanfare.

He snatched it up with a hot flash of guilt and held it aloft. What page did it come from? What place had he lost? How important had it been?

He didn’t know.

There was so much he didn’t know. So much he’d never learn.

He stared at the hair tie. Nothing more than a simple strip of dark blue elastic, still twined with a few strands of long, dark brown hair. She probably had a few dozen just like it. She’d worn two in her hair, at all times. One to pull it back into a ponytail, one to wrap around the thick twist of her bun and secure it in place. Usually she kept a third around her wrist, just for emergencies.

But they were never enough to hold back those few stubborn, errant strands that inevitably pulled free to waft about her face.

Moisture burned the corner of his eyes. His fingers curled around the small token, and he put his newly formed fist to his mouth to stifle the sound brewing in his throat. One choked sob got through before he swallowed the rest back, chest aching from the effort. He wicked a thumb across his eyes, hastily tucked the hair tie back between the pages and set the book aside.

This wasn’t his. The grief and memories trapped within the Bible’s covers were for her family, not for him.

But it shouldn’t be for anyone. It should be his things exposed to the harsh light of the cargo bay, meticulously sorted and stored, itemized on a manifest and marked for shipping back to Vancouver, care of Marc and Lora Alenko.

His throat tightened, hitching breath loud against the silent backdrop of the cargo bay. Not even the sound of the engines to provide some white noise.

Nothing like this would be found among his own belongings. He spoke to his folks a couple of times a year. Hadn’t been back to Vancouver in almost three. When he did it tended to be strained small talk and careful avoidance of anything to do with the mutated eezo nodes lurking under his skin. He’d actually thought running off to the Alliance might help. Follow in his father’s footstep. Give them something in common. That, of course, and he’d had nowhere else to go.

Would his own family have mourned him the way Ashley Williams’ would mourn her?

Would she?

Stop.

He raked a hand through his hair, fingers eventually coming to rest against his forehead. His head felt heavy. Too heavy to hold up, like a lead weight.

(They’re more important. We’re as good as dead up here anyway.)

He wondered who would inherit the Bible now that Ashley was gone. One of her sisters, maybe. Sisters who probably had yet to learn about what had happened down on Virmire.

(Kaidan, what the hell are you doing?)

(This bomb is going off! No matter what.)

No matter what. 0.00. He’d been ready for it. Ready for anything. Except Shepard’s hand, grabbing him by the arm.

Further down in the pile he found smaller items. Toiletries. A stuffed hanar, of all things. A bottle of liquor she must have picked up on Noveria.

(Just for the record, I’d look damn good in a dress.)

He swallowed against a lump in his throat, chest constricting. He could see her so clearly, standing at the railing in Port Hanshan, alternating between slouching and gripping the rail with her hands and leaning back on her heels.

(I’m not most people.)

No. She hadn’t been.

He found some packing material for the liquor. It was scotch, an asari brand, maybe purchased to share with Liara. Why it hadn’t been drunk he couldn’t say. Maybe she just ran out of time.  

Next was a holo album containing a few photos. People he didn’t recognize. A woman that looked too much like her not to be her mother. A young girl with a grin he recognized from those brief moments in the comm room. Before…

Stop!

Kaidan put the holo aside, then rested his elbows on his knees and put his head in his hands. Took a deep breath in. Let it out slow. Clamped his eyes shut. For a moment, everything shook. His hands. The air in his lungs. His skin felt hot, but prickled with gooseflesh.  

Breathe in. Breathe out.  

Eventually he opened his eyes. Went back to the pile. Finish it, marine. Don’t leave her hanging.

In all her possessions were scant, just what she’d been able to obtain or accumulate since they’d picked her up on Eden Prime. In fact, how the Bible and holo album had even managed to catch up with her struck him as a bit of a mystery.

But when he got to the bottom of the pile his hand froze, mouth dry as a shock of white hot cold strummed the length of his spine, numbness dulling his fingers until they felt thick and clumsy.

It shouldn’t have surprised him. After all, she’d died in her combat gear. Not her fatigues. Of course they would be here.

This time no amount of discipline could overcome his shaking hands as he picked one up and turned it over in his palms.

A neon green boot with matching laces, so bright they nearly glowed in the dim light of the cargo bay.

His gut clenched, chest so tight he couldn’t breathe, the edges of his vision blurring until something hot and wet spilled over onto his cheeks.

(Come on.)

(Whoa, where are we going? Anderson said to wait here.)

(Come on, LT. Think we’ll ever get to poke around here again? Live a little.)

Only he hadn’t. She’d been right there. Right there. And he hadn’t.  

(Tell me you haven’t thought about this.)

(Thinking’s not the same as doing. Maybe, once all this is behind us…)

He dropped the boot, back slamming against the lockers as he buried his head in his hands, the grief that he’d stored down deep in his chest ever since that timer reached zero breaching the damn in a flood of hot tears. He wept himself hollow, hot, swollen and aching, exhaustion creeping in until he felt it laying heavily over his skin, behind his eyes, in the pit of his stomach. Then he just sat silent, eyes red and heavy, arms resting on his knees.

A hulking shape appeared above him. Had he not felt so drained he might have cared more about discovering he hadn’t been alone after all. But when Wrex’s red, horny crest came into view he met the krogan’s fierce stare without shame. Whatever the krogan had to say, he was beyond giving a damn.

“She was a warrior worth mourning,” Wrex said.

Kaidan straightened his posture with mild surprise, but said nothing.

“Shepard chose his companions well. Even those I at first didn’t give him credit for.” He offered a scaly hand, which Kaidan accepted warily. Wrex hauled him effortlessly to his feet, and gave him a brusque nod.

“You are krantt.”

Kaidan wasn’t sure how to respond, but Wrex saved him the trouble by ambling away without further comment. The krogan had been nearly invisible since their return from Virmire. After finding him here Kaidan wasn’t even sure if he’d even left the ship.

He hadn’t considered the possibility that a krogan might mourn a human soldier. But Ashley…had that effect on people.

With a wipe of his eyes Kaidan began piling Ashley’s things into a crate. Once the locker was empty he sealed it, then closed the crate up as well and entered it into the ship’s inventory for the requisitions offer to offload and send to her family. By the time he finished, his grief had been replaced by grim, dogged resolve.

We’re coming for you, Saren. May God help you, you bastard.  

[horsyunicorn]

@ the asks for writers: 1, 20, 23 & 25 😊

oh god oh fuck oh damn I didn't even skim through these before

1. Tell us about your current project(s)  – what’s it about, how’s progress, what do you love most about it?

Currently I have (1) Willenko post-ME1 and pre-ME2 both Ashley and Kaidan live!AU, multi-chapter; - it's about Ash and Kaidan both making it off Virmire and then trying to deal with Shepard's death and their feelings about one another with them unexpectedly stuck together in a secluded place without any of the Normandy SR1 squadmates. What I like about it is that I've seen many other authors actually write this as well, and they agree that they would grow even closer after ME1, so I'm glad it's a common AU, and I'm excited to do my own take on it.

(2) Dishonored Brigmore Witches post-DH1 novel. It's about a former Brigmore Witch trying to survive in a quite non-magical world. I have a good outline and pretty much all of the characters. I like that it has so much patterns, symbolism and undercurrents in it.

and (3) Dishonored modern!AU Alexi/Emily multi-chapter fic. This is mostly Alexi/Emily fluff but I know everyone of my DH friends will also be interested in the setting so that will be revealed to parallel the actual DH universe slowly and in particular interesting ways.

20. Tell us the meta about your writing that you really want to ramble to people about (symbolism you’ve included, character or relationship development that you love, hidden references, callbacks or clues for future scenes?)

Okay so I would like to talk about all the meta I've put into my novel but I want everyone to discover that on their own. But I will include that: so witches always come in groups of three. My three witches are a trio with green, blue, and purple symbolism, and this is reflected in their names and their personalities. The witches use many nicknames and aliases in order to reflect the different parts of their personalities and it's up to the reader to derive their full names.

Instead I'll talk about the modern!AU. So, everything major in DH1 that happens has a counterpart in this AU. But since it's a DH2!AU, some things have happened in a different but somewhat familiar way. For example there WAS a rat plague but it didn't end the same way, because there are some characters I want in the story who didn't survive to the end of DH1. Also it's very much a leaving university/starting a wider role story so it will start just at that point and slowly widen its horizon and setting.

23. What’s the story idea you’ve had in your head for the longest?

A sci-fi story with flying iron machines, time travel, invisible swords, and an "absolute motion engine" (a rocket with a supercomputer attached to it). You can ask me more about it but it won't be coherent because I myself haven't worked out all the details.

25. What part of writing is the most fun?

Like, getting lost in writing - having checked my outline and knowing where I'm starting from, and then being relatively free to just jot down how I envision the characters reacting to the events being thrown at them.

ty!!!!

[horsyunicorn]

Writer Meme

Tagged by @magewardensurana​ ty!!

What’s your all-time favourite ship?

I’m not sure to be honest. I’ve played mass effect for some years but I only came around to the idea of Kaidan/Ashley (Willenko) two or three years ago. Of course there’s Alexi/Emily but I haven’t written for that really. Kassidas (Kassandra/Brasidas) is good!!

How many works do you have on AO3?

Six. Most are short chapters, but one or two are much longer.

What’s your total AO3 word count?

16420. I tend to write quite long and ramble-y and get bogged down in description, so that 16k is not actually a lot of content. I also struggle with making action short and sharp.

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

This is assuming I HAVE 5 top fics. I technically do. I have 6 fics.

dream 24

coffee and cake

dream 26/The Misthios and the Vase

dream 25

dream 75

Do you reply to comments, why or why not?

Yes! I rarely get comments so I cherish them when I can.

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

dream 75. It’s about the goddess of war being reincarnated every once in a while, and Kassandra falling for her every single time.

What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

dream 24. it’s a short and sweet fluff chapter basically about kassandra trying to be the tallest out of all her crewmates who she recruited personally.

Do you write crossovers?

Not properly. I can’t carry through the concept in any long form. I just do snippets and memes.

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

yes actually. huge amount of very warranted criticism on my first ever fic. cos it was terrible, and it deserved it.

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Not at all. The most I can manage is intense hand holding and significant glances, for the most part.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

nuh-uh. my writing is not that good.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

no. I cannot say that I have.

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

nope. And I think if I ever did, my co-author would get tired of me and push me off a waterslide for my uneven worth ethic

What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

I have a dh novel that is, uh, there, and I also have a dunwall royal academy of natural philosophy college AU fic that is also amazingly unfinished.

What are your writing strengths?

I can be poetic and do full-on purple prose in order to hide the weaknesses in my paragraph construction.

What are your writing weaknesses?

Dialogue and action.

Also, plot. I am very bad at coming up with anything story-wise that is not ripped off from a 90s sci-fi movie somehow

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I don’t have much experience but I like giving the reader enough context or tone to guess the meaning without having to spell out the complete translation. But I’m not that skilled so I limit it to short phrases or single words which can be guessed pretty easily.

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Harry Potter, but it’s the “written in a ratty old notebook and of dubious quality in every single way” kind of fic.

What’s your favourite fic you’ve written?

Like just the ones above basically. the shorter ones are better. I really haven’t written that much fic overall.

Tagging:

@sashacore and @eclecticmuses plus @potsticker1234 and anyone else who would like to do this!