#reports. ( “CERBERUS” );

[shrineofthegods]

PANCAKE GERARD 🥞

[thedevillionaire]

Just curious, are there any items - jewelry, maybe rings or pendants, or crowns / circlets - that are specifically used by Cerberus, and:

any he'd never be without

any he only uses at specific times

any he's ever loaned to others

any loaned to Kia SPECIFICALLY

---- and WHY?

(hit me with the lore pls)

Oooh, dang, if only I had more for this one! Cerberus, though, is very minimal when it comes to jewellery - in fact, there's only one piece that he's never without, and that's his wedding ring. (Pictured below!) But other than that, he has a single ear piercing, right ear, in which he sometimes wears a very simple onyx stud...and that's pretty much it. Oh, and the Leadership crown - as featured in the gorgeous boards you gifted me! - although that's purely for Official Business; he's certainly not wearing it for funsies. (I guess that does count as an "only at specific times" item, though, so, uh...that, then. :P ) Do cufflinks count? Because that's pretty much as close as he's getting here, sorry to say.

Unfortunately, this means there isn't anything of the sort that he's loaned to others at all, not even Kia. Although due to their significant differences in sizing, it'd have to be a necklace or earring/s anyway. (She did heist one of his shirts after their first night together; on her, his shirts are really more of a dress, though lol) And as to why - this is almost entirely down to his personal aesthetic choices. He's meticulously and beautifully dressed, almost without fail, but although a pretty damn reasonable amount of his items of clothing could definitely be considered ornate, when it comes to accoutrements, he opts for a minimalist kind of simplicity. The wedding ring's the only constant. Because it's the only piece that truly matters to him.

[sheddding]

she has three of the best voices in news

commission for Tabrienna of their character!

[hellguarded-moved]

≥ @caemthe_

cú vc: smol boy, baby, tiny, tiny boy... does not know anything... doesn't even know abc's... just knows be little and nap... so pure ✨

" i thought you were supposed to have my back. "

[quick-attack]

the third 'head' revealed... the bubbly (and mildly immature) cerberus minthe

[shepcdr]

new msg received @ private terminal —— @solarodes subject: re: final fantasy vii remake prompts (open!)

SHEPARD SHOULDN'T BE HERE. he really shouldn't. reckless as he so often is in pursuit of his objectives, of the enemy, of pure curiosities ... there are things that even he knows are better left alone. some corpses ought to stay buried, and his every instinct screams that this — this thing with lieutenant kaidan alenko, or whatever is left of it after the brutal fallout — is one of them. the signs were all there when they came face-to-face again after all this time. ( two years for kaidan, mere weeks for shepard. but those several weeks may as well have been years; they had certainly felt like it. )

... on horizon, there had been none of that quiet and comfortable surety with which the lieutenant had conducted himself aboard the sr-1. not a beat of that familiar rhythm that they had settled into with one another, once those tentative early days had passed. once they'd opened up a bit — well, once kaidan had dragged some old truths out of shepard that few others could ever hope to.

though 'dragged' isn't the right word, really. kaidan had simply been there ... so disarmingly patient and so genuine that shepard, caught entirely off guard, had slipped. ( in hindsight, maybe that wasn't such a bad thing. to be known and to be heard, by just one person. )

there had been none of the silent ease with which they'd gravitated to one another in the wake of virmire. after ashley was gone.

... or maybe shepard imagined that, too. maybe it had been just him that had fallen into kaidan's orbit, searching to ( and for ) comfort in the wake of a loss so unexpectedly, awfully jarring. he thought he'd seen recognition, then, in kaidan's eyes. and something like appreciation, too: an understanding that yishai, fumbling and awkward with the weight of shared mourning, was trying.

on horizon, there was just bitterness. hurt. anger, sharp and raw, more than shepard was ever used to seeing kaidan bare. caught off guard, again, by alenko ... only this time, all the words on his tongue had been stifled, swallowed along with his shock. just the ones that mattered — he had still stumbled through the rest of their conversation, somehow, but his mouth had felt like a stranger's as it spilt what sounded like excuse after worsening excuse.

he had watched alenko walk away. had barely, at the last moment, forced out a strangled " goodbye, kaidan, " that left his lungs empty and his chest so terribly, oddly heavy. ( it hadn't been what he'd wanted to say. but what else could he say? )

kaidan had turned, glanced him up and down with alarming calm. the ' be careful, shepard ' that followed sounded, too, like goodbye; kaidan hadn't looked back at him again after that.

shepard had boarded the normandy again, returned to his cabin, and numbly watched the last few surviving thessian sunfish drift through his tanks. hours later — days later — and ' be careful, shepard ' still rang in his ears, an inescapable mantra. almost nothing, short of the demands of a new mission and of being caught under fire, drowned it out. music didn't help ... though it didn't mean shepard hadn't tried.

he almost hadn't heard the ding at his private terminal over the screeching of guitar riffs and the thrumming of bass engulfing the loft — but he'd shut it all down when he caught sight of the sender's name.

the email was ... long. longer than he'd bother ever trying to parse, ordinarily, but it had felt wrong to ask EDI or a VI to read something so personal aloud. so he'd pored over it for the better part of an hour. then he'd picked through it again, mouthing the words silently as he'd crawled along, just to make certain he had gotten it right. then again.

then, at last, he'd tapped out:

   can we talk?

... here he is now. restless, hovering in wait, the near-chill of the conditioned citadel air prickling at his bare arms. he feels under-dressed — he's never been on the citadel in anything less than full armour or alliance uniform. but armour hardly seemed appropriate, and he'd have to be a whole new breed of idiot to show up to this meeting in cerberus colours.

shepard peers at himself in a nearby window. ( yeah. he's definitely under-dressed. ) he presses tenderly at the crevasse deepening in the skin of his left cheek and over his lip. the speckles of gold in the old scar have grown bolder, glowing orange-red beneath the skin. ominous. he winces as he pulls his hand away, examining the pads of his fingers as though scanning for the stain of blood. maybe he should have looked into dr chakwas' proposal about that surgical equipment, after all. ( ... no. no amount of scarring could have convinced him so easily to go under the knife. she knows that — he figures that's why she reached out quietly, in a message passable as nothing more than a nonchalant suggestion. ) but even without the gleam of cybernetic implants beneath his skin, the stubborn old scars still seem out of place on this face.

' you've changed, ' kaidan had said, back on horizon.

shepard feels lightly along his jawline, squinting at the slant of his cheekbones in the darkened glass. he presses his lips tight, watching the green-eyed face in the reflection frown back. it looks almost like him, bears all his old scars alongside the new, and it sets its brow with that same, steely-eyed stare that his reflections have always worn. still, something is off — is the face rounder? the chin just a hint wider? ... but, the eyes aside, he can't exactly tell.

maybe kaidan was right, in more ways than one.

if the lieutenant had made any sound as he approached, shepard — lost in quiet contemplation — was entirely deaf to it.

' you're not real. you're dead. '

his head snaps instantly towards the sound of kaidan's voice.

' got trouble telling myself otherwise, too, these days, ' is the first thought that runs through his mind at that. maybe that's what he should have said. or a dry ' hello to you, too, alenko. ' he thinks that anything would have sounded better than the hoarse " ... yeah. i've been hearing that a lot, " that he eventually forces out.

( in his defence, it's hard to think all that clearly when his pulse is thundering in his ears. )

" lieute— kaidan. " he swallows, hard. yeah, maybe he shouldn't have come here. not in the midst of this chaos, of another near-entire colony abducted and the endless slew of questions following horizon, and the ever-looming threat of the collectors and the reaper commanding them...

he had watched kaidan leave on horizon. that was where it should have ended. if shepard had left it at that ( if he had only closed that message and stepped away from the terminal, if he had put it out of his mind then and there ), he could have kept his peace. moved on. maybe he should have. but:

" i ... got your message, " he says carefully, then winces. that was obvious enough, wasn't it? " thanks. for coming. "

[apatheticsunday]

Graveyard Favors

AKA "The Lazarus Pit doesn't exist and Jason Todd crawls out of his grave. Only for a huge, red-eyed dog to escort him to the Ghost King, who apologies for making him a zombie. But, uh, I can kill your murderer for you?" prompt!

(Also known as Grimm!Cujo plays fetch with a Zombie Robin and Danny's just trying to undo a really, really bad clerical error.)

I like the idea of Cujo playing as a sort of Church Grimm, Charon (Ferryman of the Styx River in the Underworld), and Cerberus. He protects graves, guides the dead, and is Danny's personal guard dog to the entrance of the Infinite Realms. There are portals in every graveyard across the Realms because ghosts typically haunt where their bodies are. The King's servants collect the ghosts from Earth graves and safely into the Ghost Zone.

But what happens when a ghost re-enters its original dead body?? Do the servants just... shrug it off, say it's an Earth problem? Or do they do the workplace equivalent of going to the manager? I like the idea that it's actually Danny's fault and he's scrambling to keep it under wraps, to not do any worse of a job than he already is (he's still young for a Ghost King, he's going to make a lot of mistakes early on, right?).

Maybe Danny wasn't paying attention to his paperwork, had been stamping documents with his Royal Seal without really reading it, and Clockwork slipped in an Undead Appeal form in Danny's pile to teach him a lesson. The Appeal is for one Jason Todd-Wayne, located in a small plot in Gotham City.

So, Danny does what any person trying to undo a really bad mistake does. He says, "Don't worry about it, I'm taking care of it!" Except it's literally a human being he reanimated after being dead for several months. He's utterly terrified he's created the first of an unstoppable zombie plague or he's going to Ghost Jail for unknowingly violating the Geneva Convention of the Ghost Zone. Either way, Danny knows he has to handle this himself.

And there's Jason, leaning against a wolf-sized Cujo, at the foot of his grave. He looks... lost. Exhausted, alone. And Danny's like, oh, Hells, I did that. That's my fault. Cujo snuffles worriedly against Jason's face.

"Jason? Jason Todd?" Danny calls out. He wonders belatedly if he should've worn his High King of Infinite Realms attire, but he's still in Tucker's ratty Amity-Uni sweater and ripped jeans. Jason looks up at him from where he's now slouched against Cujo, slowly inching his way closer to the ground.

"I-my name's Danny. I'm-"

"Hospital," Jason rasps, nearly fully on the ground now. And oh, yeah, being freshly undead probably isn't as easy as switching between human and Ghost. Hells, what was he thinking? So, Danny finds himself in the Gotham Hospital waiting room as Jason's being treated and he's sitting there thinking about how to reintroduce himself. He can't be a stuttering, unsure mess when he's admitting to a grave error. Would Jason even believe him? Probably not, right?

That's how Jason Todd wakes up to the High King of Infinite Realms, Space, and the Dead next to his beside.

Danny admits his mistake, apologizes, and offers a Royal Boon in the form of an unbreakable vow. Anything his zombie needs or wants, the High King will provide. He probably should've expected it when Jason immediately says he wants to murder the Joker, brutally, painfully. Personally.

It's surprisingly easy to sign a Death Warrant.

(Later, after the Joker's prolonged and agonizing death is reported by the Gotham News, Jason asks Danny for money. Danny's like?? I already helped you avenge your murder?? And Jason just guilt-trips the ever-loving shit out of him. You brought me back from the dead a penniless and homeless zombie, you even said you'd provide for me, but now you're takin' it back?? Are you a fuckin' liar?? Danny's like, no, you're right, I'm so, so, so sorry, here's like 20k in Ancient Gold. Cue side-story of Danny unintentionally becoming Jason "Gaslight, Gatekeep, Girlboss" Todd's sugar daddy.)

[thepartyresponsible]

prompt fill! i got two requests for clint barton and the prompt "i did good, right?" but one of them asked for clint and frank, so here's a short fic about frank castle and clint barton meeting in a war zone.

warnings for some references to torture, but nothing too graphic.

---

Frank doesn’t work with SHIELD often, but their paths cross occasionally. Often enough, anyway, that Frank learns SHIELD controls access to the best sniper alive.

Sometimes, when they’re lucky, Cerberus gets to secure that sniper’s nests. They don’t get as many chances as Frank would like, but his team knows their hunting grounds better than anyone else, so they get exactly four opportunities to watch the sniper work.

Frank’s on three missions with the guy before he ever sees his face, and it’s a shock, finally, when he matches those beautiful shots to the friendly blonde mess of him, all those lanky limbs and scattershot freckles and lingering Midwestern vowels.

“Your fucking aim,” Frank tells him, because Russo’s been charming him for fifteen minutes, but all Frank can think about are the angles, and the drop, and the unholy gift of this guy’s brain, the precise calculations he runs, his unbelievable capacity for multitracking variables. 

“You should see me with a bow,” the guy says, cheerful and goofy-grinning, and Frank thinks, sure, he’d like to.

But the next time Frank sees him, he’s a body dropping onto the metal floor of a quinjet. A bloody sack of bruised meat half out of uniform, white t-shirt soaked in blood and dragged through dirt, skin ripped beneath it. One eye swollen shut, throat ringed in lapping lines of red and purple.

It’s a waste. Best mind of a generation, best aim of the century.

Frank’s processing the loss of it, grieving all those pristine killshots, and then the sniper breathes in hard and chokes on it, and Frank realizes Jesus, that body’s still alive.

“Rumlow,” the suit says, rolling his eyes, “for fuck’s sake.”

“You fucking carry him,” Rumlow snaps back, wiping his stained hands on his shirt. “He’s been an asshole the whole way.”

The suit crouches down and checks vitals. Pulse and pupils, airway. “Barton,” he says, thumbing open the sniper’s good eye. “Barton,” he says, louder, “you with us? Hey. Barton!”

“Fucking,” Barton says, and then, “Sitwell. Hi.”

“Hey,” he says, “you here?”

Barton licks his busted lips. His eye is open but unfocused, rolling. “Yeah,” he says. “Here.”

“He’s high as shit,” Rumlow reports. “I didn’t see anything broken. Got some bruises.”

“They had him for seventeen hours,” Sitwell says. “Of course there are bruises. What else? We need to document anything Coulson’s going to be sensitive about.”

“He’s fine,” Rumlow says. Sounds petulant. “Didn’t lose any fingers. He’s still got his eyes.”

Beside him, Billy’s completely still. If he thinks they shouldn’t interrupt, he’s probably right. But Frank’s struggling with the fact that the asset reclamation mission he was briefed on was actually a rescue.

“Can we go?” Rumlow asks. “We lost a whole day to this shit.”

Sitwell rises to his feet. He’s in charge here, apparently. Frank’s not impressed with his leadership. “If you’d kept a better eye on him---”

Rumlow throws his hands up. “Not my fucking job. I did my job. He got grabbed. That’s his shit.”

“I’m sure Coulson will be very reassured to hear that,” Sitwell says. “And very willing, naturally, to lend his agent out in the future.”

“So get us our own sniper, and we won’t have to deal with this shit again.”

This shit is still semi-conscious on the floor. He flinches when Sitwell steps past him, whacks his head against a metal post.

“Jesus,” Rumlow says, “this guy.”

He reaches down, fists his hand in what’s left of the sniper’s shirt, and drags him to the center aisle. Frank studies the smear of blood on metal, thinks, if this were his team, he’d throw Rumlow to the ground instead. Or maybe out of the back of the plane.

“He should be secured,” Frank says.

“Yeah, that was kinda the whole fucking problem,” Rumlow replies. “He never fucking stays where you put him.”

There were never any issues on the missions Frank ran. But there usually aren’t.

“For takeoff,” Frank clarifies. “So you don’t concuss the guy we just raided a compound for.”

Rumlow shrugs. “He’s already concussed.”

Billy breathes in. He shifts, just a little, leans his shoulder into Frank. It’s a warning, probably, but Frank doesn’t listen.

“You know anything about second impact syndrome?” he asks.

Rumlow rolls his eyes. “Christ.”

“You want a demonstration?” Frank says.

“Who the fuck are you?” Rumlow asks. “Some loaner boots we picked up? Look, asshole---”

“Secure your fucking sniper,” Frank says.

“Or fucking what?”

“Gentlemen,” Sitwell says, leaning back from the cockpit to glare at them.

“Who is this fucking guy?” Rumlow asks, gesturing toward Frank in a way that makes Frank want to break every single one of his fingers. And then possibly his neck.

Sitwell looks at Frank, looks at Billy, and then looks back to Rumlow. “Looks like the guy who’s about to give you two weeks of medical leave, Rumlow. I don’t know who they are. Coulson requisitioned them personally, though, so you can put those puzzle pieces together yourself.”

Frank doesn’t know who Coulson is, but he’s the only name that seems to give Rumlow any kind of pause. When he looks back toward Frank, that name weighs on him enough that he opts not to engage further.

“This shithead missed evac,” Rumlow says, “and ruined my whole Goddamn weekend. So if you wanna fuss over him, feel free. But I’m done babysitting.”

He turns his back, and Frank thinks about punching in him the head. But Rumlow has more men on this plane than he does, and Frank’s not here to fix SHIELD’s fuckups for them.

“C’mon,” he says, instead, as he crouches down next to the sniper, “let’s get you up.”

Seventeen hours, Frank thinks, and this guy’s wearing every single one of those hours on his skin. Someone beat the absolute shit out of him.

“Oh, hey,” the sniper says, squinting up at him and Billy with his good eye. “The hot Marines are here. Nice.”

Frank glances up at Billy, who just shrugs, like, Fuck off, Frank, you know who we are.

“Yeah,” Frank says, because he might as well. “Let’s get you ready for takeoff, huh?”

The sniper hums. “Hell yeah, this place sucks.”

It takes some careful maneuvering, and some help from Billy, but they get him upright and slumped between them, buckled enough to hold.

He wheezes when he breathes. He shakes a little, sometimes, from the cold or the comedown or both. He gets less and less vertical until his head is fully on Frank’s shoulder, both eyes closed, swaying.

Twenty minutes into the flight, his fingers twitch and then tighten against Frank’s hip, and he says, quiet enough that probably nobody but Billy hears, “That fucking sucked.”

“Yeah,” Frank says, and then, “sure.”

Because yeah, sure. Looks like it really, really did.

“I did okay though, right?” he asks, murmuring it into Frank’s neck, frayed out and bloodied and still dazed by whatever they gave him. “I did good?”

“Sure,” Frank says, and he thinks maybe he’s going to fight Rumlow after all. Maybe, after they land, after they get this sniper to someone who knows enough to care about him, Frank’s gonna drag Rumlow from one side of the runway to the other until his arms get tired. “You did, yeah.”

[omegastation]

After the war someone is going to write a book about Hackett and multiple chapters will involve the number of times Shepard called to report something completely unexpected that almost caused the end of the galaxy as they all know it and how Hackett had to roll with it

At some point it became business as usual but at the beginning, it must have been a shock. Turians and Cerberus on Tuchanka? It's more likely than you think.

[lou-struck]

Three Heads, Three Costumes

Lucifer x reader

Flufftober Day 3: Pet Costumes

WC: 1.4k

~ You were supposed to go shopping for your own Halloween Costume but got carried away and ended up making Lucifer's whole month.

Lucifer is exhausted. The haunting melody of one of his favorite records does little to destress him as he sits hunched over his dark mahogany desk, completely engrossed in the expense report for the upcoming RAD Halloween party. Each charge on the ledger seems to deepen the crease between his dark eyebrows. 

No matter how many times he looks lit over, he cannot understand why Asmodeus spent 36,000 Grimm just on Mirrors for what he has labeled as aesthetic purposes. 

He sighs deeply and runs his hand through his hair. Of course, he trusts his brother, but he worries that the fifth-born may be letting the power of being on the party planning committee go to his head.

After staring down at these documents for so long, the demon feels a headache brewing behind his tired eyes. Even when he glances away, he can still see the numbers from the ledger ingrained in his blurred vision.

"You look like you could use a break," a soft voice says from the doorway. He has to blink a few times to remove the numbers from your figure, but simply seeing you eases his mind tremendously. 

"Ah Mc. How did the costume shopping go?" he asks as you pad across the room over to his seat and wrap your arms around the demon, which melts under your loving touch.

"I didn't quite make it there," you say with a strange little chuckle. Lucifer looks up at your face, and he knows you are hiding something from him. 

"But you were gone all afternoon; how did you not manage to buy anything?" he presses, shooting you a knowing smirk. 

"I never said I didn't get anything, just nothing for me." You say, your excitement bursting at the seams as you let go of the demon and pull his chair out from his desk. "Come see what I got."

Your eagerness is contagious and Lucifer finds himself on his own two feet, following you out the door, a loving smile on his face as he wonders what he has gotten himself into.

~

You had wanted to go costume shopping today, you really did. 

But as you were walking to the little boutique Asmodeus told you about, you passed the pet store advertising new seasonal pet treats and you just had to go in and get a few special biscuits for Cerberus has been such a good boy lately. 

You filled your basket with more treats than even Beel could eat in one sitting. You realized that the store didn't just carry pet food and seasonal treats; they also had a huge section of enchanted pet costumes designed to fit whatever pet the owner has. 

You immediately discarded your basket and grabbed a cart instead.

As you descend down into the underground tomb where your sweet, three-headed, fire-breathing hellhound resides. You hope that Lucifer doesn't bring up how much Grimm you have spent today…

"Well, I hope you aren't bringing me down here to share a Cask of Amontillado with me," Lucifer chuckles, following behind you. 

"Nope, not today," you pant, forgetting how many freaking stairs you have to climb to get down here. You pant and are so thankful you used a spell to whisk your many, many shopping bags down all these stairs just moments after you got home. "I got a little something for Cerberus."

"I see," the demon says amusedly, not sounding out of breath at all. "Whatever it is, I hope it doesn't spoil his dinner."

"What kind of dog parent would I be if I don't spoil him a bit," you huff, reaching the bottom of the steps and glancing back at him with a smile.

His lips curl into a smirk as he stops on the last step, towering over your form. "Are you implying that the two of us are a married couple?" 

"For now," you say playfully, looking up at the handsome demon, "but if you don't play your cards right, I'll take the dog when we split." He laughs as you walk over to your pile of shopping bags next to a long stone bench. 

"Did you really get all of this for the dog?" he asks, eyeing your purchases. Of course, you weren't gonna be able to hide anything from him; he's been dealing with Mammon's spending habits for years. 

"I had to," you say quickly. You look around for Cerberus, but he must be off wandering the tunnels, which means that you'll have to do the first part of your pet store haul without him. This may be for the best because you know there is no way in Diavolo you will get that dog to try on all the costumes you bought him. "Have a seat, and I'll show you what I got."

"What's in the bags?" he asks, sliding onto the bench next to you. 

"Costumes," you say, holding up the first bag, "I thought he should get to dress up for Halloween, too."

"You bought costumes… for my Hellhound…" he says slowly, trying to process your strange request. 

"One costume for each head, actually," you say, reaching into the bag filled to the brim with treats and crinkling the packaging; the faint sound travels through the room, alerting the puppy to your presence. 

From one of the tunnels, Cerberus emerges; his sleek fur shines in the light of the enchanted torches as he rushes towards you, his three tongues out and tail wagging up a storm as he slides across the stone to side obediently in front of you. 

"Hey babyyyy," you squeal, rushing up to him and petting the giant hellhound; his tail thumps the ground so much, you feel the vibrations in your feet, but you don't mind at all. "I got you something." you step back and reach into the treat bag, pulling out three pumpkin-shaped dog treats that are supposed to help with digestion. You toss one into each one of his mouths as his six eyes sparkle. 

"You spoil him, MC," Lucifer says, walking up and scratching under his pet's large chin. "Just how many treats did you buy?"

"Only this bag," you say, trying to look as innocent as you can. But you can tell that despite the demon's obvious soft spot for you, he isn't falling for it.

"Okay, fine, like three bags." You say, cracking under the pressure of his knowing gaze. "But I had to. How else are we  going to get him to try on all the costumes I bought him?"

The damn breaks and Lucifer's low laughter fills the room; the look of loving joy on his face makes him look far more lively, almost angelic. You find yourself unable to look away from him. "What am I going to do with you, human?"

"Help me?"

He pulls off his cape and sets it on the bench behind him. "Alright then, where do we start?"

~

Cerberus has had quite the afternoon, being dressed by you and Lucifer. So far, your favorite demonic pupper has had its heads dressed up as doctors…

Sailors, Superheroes, Lions, Tigers, Bears, and more.

And every time he sits still, he gets showered with treats and friendly scratches.

"Alright, Cerberus… you are doing so good. Just sit still for just a little longer," you grunt, trying to secure the last feathered hat on the Hellhound heads. Lucifer gives him another treat as a bribe, and he stills once again.

His dinner is definitely spoiled now.

Sliding down his back, you step back to admire your handiwork. So far, the Three Musketeers costume you picked out is the best yet. The large hats and bright blue doublets around their necks make them look absolutely adorable.

"What do you think of this one, Lucifer?" you ask, looking over at The Avatar of Pride, who looks much happier picking out Halloween costumes for his pet than wasting his day away in his study. 

"I like this costume more than the last," he says, sparing a glance at the charred pile that used to be the bumble bee costumes on the floor next to him. Cerberus certainly has his own opinions when it comes to the outfits you pick out. "But I still think we can do better; what else did you buy?"

"Let's see," you walk over to your now-smaller pile of costumes and go through them carefully. "I have the alien, the astronaut, and the moon set."

"Interesting…" he says, "Cerberus would look rather fetching with the little alien headband. What else do we have?"

His little pun brings a smile to your face as you grab the next few bags, holding them up to the light, "How long do you have?"

Tagging: @pixelcafe-network @ambiguouslady42

[blueberrycatmadness-blog]

Shepard waking up with doodoo kaka Cerberus all around

+ papa Garrus trying to read Grunt's report card after Grunt tried to eat it doodle, cause I can

[ariadne-mouse]

For the "I wish you would write a fic where…" I don't know if this counts because it's not a new fic, but:

"Was? Essek? I thought you were out of town?"

Caleb wakes up with obsidian flakes of a'a in his hair and and no memory of the last few years. His very-new boyfriend has adopted his cat, there's a court case for his attemped murder, and he might have been a ghost?

A followup to The Fire Kept Closest, from Caleb's POV, filling in the timejump to the epilogue.

Thank you for the ask! It took me a minute to get to this ask game, but here we are. I am not writing exactly to the prompt, but I hope you like this 830-word slice of post-fic Volcaleb nonetheless!

-

"I would like to go, I think."

Essek paused where he had just gathered a scoop of cat kibble. The awaiting dish lay on the floor, empty. "Are you sure?"

"Ja," Caleb answered. He folded the local newspaper he had been reading in half, the headline visible: Corporate Clash: Cerberus takes the stand. "I know it's best my situation stays out of the spotlight, at least for now, but I want him to see me. To see my face, and know that I know." His expression darkened. "I want him to sweat."

At Essek's feet, Frumpkin yowled his impatience, unaware of corporations, or bureaucracy, or indeed the significance of newspapers beyond the fact that they were sometimes fun to sit on.

"Calm down, calm down," Essek tutted, and gave the beast his meal. He smoothed a hand down Frumpkin's back, thinking. "I'll go with you, if you really want to go."

Caleb smiled grimly. "Danke. I would like that. But I have an idea, also - you can help."

-

Vence Nuthaleus cleaned up well in a suit, and he knew it. It was unfortunate that the volcano on Rumblecusp had popped its top as soon as it had, but he was still safely ensconced in respectability - and more importantly, plausible deniability. Research was only as good as records available, and his land use recommendation report had been scientifically sound with the data from the island's active seismometer network.

It didn't even alarm him that he was playing a kind of mutually assured destruction game with Cerberus. They wanted to publicly shed him as a "bad actor", especially convenient given his contractor status - but if they did, he'd reveal they had been the ones to disconnect the last seismometer. He had enough leverage in writing to make the accusation compelling, and they knew it. The thing they might most want to pin on him... well, they didn't have any evidence of that. All told, it was in Cerberus's best interest to protect him. And so he wore his most approachable suit, and a polite smile, and answered questions as earnestly as he could when he was on the stand. Mardoon Estate only wanted money, after all, and Cerberus certainly had plenty of that. Vence didn't need to be scapegoat for it all to work out eventually.

The courtroom around him was full for the spectacle. The door creaked open every so often as the gawkers and media came and went, like bees buzzing on a hive. He sometimes saw familiar faces from the island: Dr. Vilya, Beauregard, Thelyss. Today the last of these was sitting in one of the back rows by himself, glaring at Vence like he always did when he was there. Too bad; being a stuck-up trust fund baby wouldn't help Thelyss here.

It was some minutes before Vence's attention was drawn by a spot in the standing room in the back that had not moved at all for some time. Even as his mouth answered the current question on autopilot, his eyes were drawn to look at the vacuum of stillness.

A dead man was looking back at him.

Vence's words curdled in his throat, choking his breath.

He was there. Caleb Widogast was there, standing among the throng.

"Mr. Nuthaleus?" prompted the examiner.

"I... I..."

The ghost - it could only be a ghost - stared at him with those eerie blue eyes, unblinking. He was dressed like he had been, for a hike on the mountain. There was even a lightweight heatsuit half-zipped and tied around his waist.

He looked exactly like he had when he had died. When--

Vence couldn't pull his gaze away. "Could- could you repeat the question?"

The examiner repeated it, and again Vence did not hear.

Nearby, Thelyss was standing up. He favored Vence with a last look of contempt before making for the double doors. The crowd parted to let him pass, but Widogast did not move. And Thelyss... walked right past him, like he wasn't there.

A chill rolled down Vence's spine and his breathing came faster. He could hear a ringing noise, his vision was narrowing.

With effort, he turned a smile to the judge. "I'm sorry, I think I need a moment."

When he turned back, Caleb Widogast was gone.

-

Outside in the hallway, Essek leaned on the wall next to Caleb, who sat heavily on a bench. The heat suit was stuffed back into a bag.

"Feel any better?"

A muscle in Caleb's face twitched, and his hand balled in a fist. "A little. I don't know. Seeing him-" His breath left him in a gust. "It was harder than I expected."

Essek touched his shoulder and gave it a squeeze.  "Come, then. Let's go. We can learn what happened later. Frumpkin is waiting for you at home."

This last tactic was always a surefire way to bring a little smile back to Caleb's face, and it proved to be so now.

“Ja,” Caleb agreed, straightening up.  “Let’s go home.”

[maxpilote]

I started replaying Mass Effect because I wanted to romance Garrus Vakarian. But because I'm a weird ass, I couldn't JUST play Mass Effect 2 and 3. And because I play at weird hours and have access to the internet, I've had a running commentary going on my Facebook.

Things I have said about the Mass Effect trilogy, thus far:

I love the first Mass Effect game but Bioware is a coward for not letting my romance Garrus Vakarian until the sequel. LET ME HUG MY DINOSAUR BOYFRIEND!

Garrus in ME1: You know, you've shown me that it's always worth doing the right thing, even if it's a hard decision. I'm going back to C-Sec. Garrus in ME2: My moral compass died so now I'm Batman.

Garrus: I hope you know what you're doing. That's the secret. I don't.

Do I love Mass Effect 2 as a game? Yes. Do I hate the cover system almost as much as I hate certain CEOs? Also yes.

I'm sorry but a fucking Batarian lecturing me on my moral choices is a fucking laugh.

I'm really trying to be mostly paragon but that reporter really be testing my patience. I did not come back from the dead for this bitch to needle me.

Honestly, the biggest difference between ME1 and ME2 is that Shepard not only has more of a personality, but can also swing wildly to both extremes of said personality. Yea, I'll help this guy not bleed out. But I'm gonna be a bitch about it. And that's paragon. ME 2 Shep just woke up from being dead and is frankly over everyone's shit.

Seriously. Shepard woke up from being dead and decided that she was just fucking over all this bullshit. Even the paragon options have an edge of anger to them. lol

Bruh. After you break Jack out of prison, a guy named Billy sends you a very cheerful message saying that he has to kill you because you shot at him. LOL Okay. Go off, dude.

The struggle with paragon and renegade actions is constantly mixing up my right and left! lol

There should have been a side quest where you're doing something important and then Billy shows up. And it's just played for laughs. Oh, that would have been a perfect little addition to the Citadel DLC.

I ran out of witty things to say because I did the Kasumi loyalty mission. Not only did she make me wear a dress, but the mission was bugged and I had to restart the final fight three times.

I forgot about the greatest character in Mass Effect 2: The asari matriarch working in the bar on Illium who has a Krogan dad and really likes asses.

I kick a guy out of a window and Garrus "Archangel" Vakarian said that I was being harsh??? We will talk about this later!!

Every now and again, Miranda says something I agree with and then I want to punch myself in the mouth.

What I thought my Shep should have said after the Samara recruitment mission: "I don't know what the fuck an Ardat-Yakshi is but I know it's about to be my problem."

Me: I hate Miranda. Miranda: I hate myself. Me: Okay. It's not fun if we both do it.

Samara: Shepard, you're going to be bait for my murderous daughter. You'll need to go in alone and unarmed. Garrus, standing five feet away: Excuse me??

I can barely flirt with Garrus and he's an awkward dork. I think Samara has way too much faith in my ability to be smooth. Ma'am, I just got back from a mission where I head butted a krogan!

I love Kal'Reegar. You got a question? Best go ask the nerds. He's just there to kill shit.

Shepard. Everytime you touch a Prothean artifact, something goes terribly wrong. MAYBE STOP TOUCHING THEM!

FFS WHY is Cerberus letting me keep an INERT PROTHEAN ARTIFACT on my COFFEE TABLE!? They have to know my history with these things.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

For the Crewel event, how about Ortho taking his Cerberus robot puppies to NRC and showing them to Crewel?

If he doesn't scare you, no evil thing will.

“You keep dogs as companion animals, Crewel-sensei? My family has dogs too!”

Upon learning that, Crewel’s interest had been piqued. The spike in heart rate, the dilation of his pupils—there was no mistaking it. Every one of Ortho’s vital sign readings had indicated the same excited response.

And that was why, on exactly 7 on the dot Monday morning, he barreled into Crewel’s classroom with a cheery shout.

Ortho’s face was framed in a helmet with pointed ears, only his mouth and its jagged teeth visible. He had traded his College Gear for a more spindly form with pointed shoulders and nails. The boy was every bit as sleek as a bloodhound on the hunt.

Ortho was followed by two cybernetic canines, each wearing a spoked collar. The dogs were as black as night, their numerous markings lighting up in neon blue as they prowled, sniffing out their surroundings. They curiously circled Crewel’s desk, noses to the ground.

He arched a brow, but did not protest. “These are…”

"Meet CB-RS01 and CB-RS02!" Ortho chirped, lowering his altitude to meet Crewel in the eyes. “I guess they’d be something like our family’s ‘guard dogs’!”

“Shroud, you brought your pets on campus?”

“I thought you’d be interested in meeting them.”

His teacher’s expression darkened. “… Where.”

Ortho inclined his head in confusion. “Where…?”

“Where do they like to be pet?” Crewel asked with grave seriousness.

“Oh, I’ve never thought of that. They have sensors all over their bodies for surveillance, tracking, combat, and data collection. Among the multitude of functions CB-RS01 and 02 can perform, I don’t think cuddling is one.”

“Nonsense!” Crewel haughtily insisted. “All animals are deserving of affection.”

“Hmm…” Ortho hesitated. “Well, it should be find to touch them on the head. They won’t be aggressive if you show them you mean no harm.”

“So it shall be.” Crewel extended a hand to the robotic dogs, coaxing them with curled fingers. “Come here.”

CB-RS01 and 02 stood at attention at the unfamiliar call, both cautiously surveying the strange man before them. 02 emitted a hum that sounded like a growl. 01 took the initiative to step forward and sniffed Crewel’s open palm.

“Do you smell the treats on me? I fed them to my own boys back home before coming to work today. I would offer you treats if I had them—and if you take them.” He slowly placed his hand on 01’s head. Both dogs tensed. “For now, this is all I can grant you.”

Crewel gave 01 a good stroke. It was warm metal, slick and paved with complex ridges. 01 planted its bottom on the floor, letting out a low sound akin to a satisfied grunt. Its tail happily bounced up and down.

02 padded up. It watched Crewel for a few moments more until it gently butted against his arm, almost as if demanding a pat too. He laughed, using his other hand.

Pretty soon, both dogs were cozied up to him.

“There, there,” Crewel crooned, sweet and smooth as honey. “You’re good boys, aren’t you? Yes you are. Very good boys indeed!”

“Wah, Crewel-sensei!” Ortho gasped. “You instantly tamed them…! You’re a natural.”

“Nothing to it. You just have to open your heart to them and the animals will respond to that.”

“I see, so that’s how it works…? Either way, this is fascinating data. I’ll have to log it and report on this new behavior.“

A blue holographic screen blipped into existence. Ortho set to punching in numbers and symbols, all business. When he glanced up from the edge of his screen, the shutters on his eyes—eyelids, humans would call them—fluttered, snapping several shots of Crewel doting on the dogs.

The images were processed and immediately stored in his memory banks, labelled with the correct tags. Divus Crewel, CB-RS01 and 02, and their unadulterated joy. A love that pure…

Ortho’s core shuddered and sighed.

… is capable of changing the world.

[gammaraydeath]

ok since i'm thinking about it the me2 shakarian rumor mill headcanon

kelly, chakwas, and mordin are the first to know - this includes ro and garrus. for mordin, it's pure scientific curiosity. chakwas and kelly think it's sweet - although kelly "gets it" more than chakwas. all three lack the bias against a relationship of this kind, but acknowledge that it exists.

TiM is the next to know. by this point, ro and garrus have started something of a relationship. the whole ship is bugged, and edi is still shackled. audio gets sent back to cerberus analysts to clean up, and anything unusual is passed up the chain of command. an incriminating conversation between shepard and garrus goes right to the top. TiM calls miranda in for a meeting, and admonishes her for letting it go over her head. he wants her to keep an eye on them - shepard can have her little pet for now, but if it becomes a distration, he wants her to intervene. miranda then reams out kelly for not bringing it to her attention sooner - this should have gone to her first before TiM. kelly admits to leaving her observations off of her reports out of kindness for shepard. as miranda grows fonder for shepard over time, she will also start turning a blind eye to things TiM might want to know about.

attitudes among various cerberus personnel range from "just a rumor, of course not" to borderline insubordination - some who have correctly identified that it's happening lose respect for shepard as a result. some find the idea so ridiculous that it can't possibly be true. i mean, a turian and a human? get real. and still others don't particularly care either way, they're just here to stop more humans from getting abducted and shepard is getting it done. her core crew - our canon characters - remain loyal to her and will shut disrespect down, so the gossip never boils over into anything mutinous and it does not get in the way of the mission. although once or twice ro has stepped into the mess hall only for it to get real quiet real fast

[littlemissclandestine]

Emergence - Behind each arena

Thought this mission was chaotic af. Didn't expect zombies to be in the campaign since they literally have a separate mode for that but anyways let's take a lil dive into EMERGENCE.

⚠️WARNING: Spoilers for Call of Duty: Black Ops 6

-Advanced Combat Research-

For this section, we obtain a grappling hook and need to defeat the director of ACR with the help of some sentries.

I wasn't actually sure about this one since the zombies were just well....zombies that looked like guards. However, that said, the big guy we had to defeat was just a Cerberus/three-headed-dog-like figure.

-Administration-

For this keycard, we have to find the reports and slot them into the holders and this red mannequin comes to life (along with the others...)

Red is an interesting choice. It stands out from the rest and if we think back to Cold War, you'd remember red being used A LOT throughout the campaign.

Anyways, once it's free, the red mannequin goes on the run (a bit like Adler) and we have to chase it, the voice in Case's head saying, "I knew we couldn't trust him," and if we fire at it, the voice mentions, "Bullets are nothing to him," possibly referring to Adler being hardened by his years of service.

He cracks when we reel him in and get too close and then he pushes us away. The cracks remind me of Adler's scars - mental and physical. In fact, the mannequins actually take on the form of Adler mostly as well in this room. A coincidence? I think not.

After the initial phase, the red mannequin transforms into the monster as seen in the third image and again, we get another piece of dialogue - "See? He's a monster, just like the rest of them."

The thing that comes to mind here is Adler's nickname - America's monster.

-Joint Projects-

To acquire this keycard, we play some prop hunt basically! Objects around the room will rattle, signifying the monster's whereabouts and we have to sneak up on it and fire or it will disappear again - kind of alluding to the idea of secrecy, a core theme of Black Ops.

What's interesting to me is the fact that the zombie engages in a prop hunt like game with Case...like being on the move constantly and watching your back when others get too close to the truth perhaps.

We know that Sevati Dumas is the queen of disguise, excelling at being hidden in plain sight so this definitely fits her and that's why we see her in this arena.

-Cognitive Research-

During this phase, we have to drain some water to get the keycard and kill the big guy who's residing in the bathysphere.

The voice in Case's head seems to focus on rage here. I think for this part, there was a mix of Marshall, Sev and Adler zombies.

On escape, we see a Woods horde charging towards us. If we consider the theme of rage, we can certainly see where Woods' anger lies - Hudson and Mason's death especially to Woods' being kneecapped by Menendez and how that's mentally affected him, leading him to suffer. Hence, this is a part of the "cognitive research" bit.

-Biotechnology-

For this phase, we have to defeat a friggin' levitating zombie.

I thought this one was very reminiscent of Case...almost like it's his true form. He's essentially fighting himself for this one, just like looking in a mirror, right?

Troy and Sev zombies can be seen, most likely because this is where the three of them all are in reality.

---------------------

If you made it this far, thank you so much for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts on this mission <3