#rise of the asari

[felassan]

Coming in 2024: Mass Effect: Priority Hagalaz - The Board Game

Text:

"The year is 2186. On the remote world Hagalaz, a research cruiser from the terrorist organisation Cerberus has crashed directly in the path of a deadly storm. With little time before the storm hits, Shepard must lead their squad through the cruiser to uncover its sinister secrets and keep them out of the hands of the enemy. However, the ship holds more dangers than just its former crew… Mass EffectTM: Priority Hagalaz - The Board Game is a cooperative, story-driven game for 1-4 players designed by Eric M. Lang and Calvin Wong Tze Loon. The card-driven AI system and evolving stories respond to your actions, with your early choices even influencing later missions, while the branching narrative ensures unique experiences with each playthrough. So, prepare to gather Shepard’s squad from a selection of teammates from the Mass EffectTM Universe, customise their abilities, equipment, and powers, and get to the bottom of the mystery on Hagalaz!"

[source, publisher's info page on the product and link to sign up for news about it, tweet source, tweet source two, tweet source three]

Some more info:

"A board game based on the video game series Mass Effect will have players becoming members of the SSV Normandy crew battling Cerberus. Mass Effect the Board Game - Priority Hagalaz is an upcoming board game that will take place during the events of Mass Effect 3. In the game, players will take the roles of either male or female Shepard, Asari biotic Liara, Turian soldier Garrus, Krogan leader Wrex or Quarian technician Tali, as they embark on a mission on the planet Hagalaz - which is the world the Shadow Broker’s ship orbits during the Lair of the Shadow Broker downloadable content released for Mass Effect 2. In the midst of the Reaper invasion, Shepard and their crew investigate reports of a Cerberus ship crashing during a storm on Hagalaz, in an entirely new mission not found in the video games. In hopes of acquiring more information, resources and assistance with which to fight off the terrifying Reapers - as well as shut down the immoral efforts of the Cerberus organisation - players will need to explore Hagalaz and face its many dangers: both Cerberus and non-Cerberus alike. During the co-op game for one to four players, the group can experience a narrative-driven campaign that will enable players to explore different storylines and outcomes depending on their choices. As their chosen characters, players can upgrade their unique abilities by spending the experience points they gain, as well as unlock new powers through optional loyalty missions. The group can also improve their various pieces of equipment and weapons as they advance through the campaign. According to the game’s publisher, Modiphius, the narrative choices made by players will have consequences further down the line, with there being potential for multiple playthroughs resulting in never-before-seen experiences. Mass Effect the Board Game - Priority: Hagalaz was co-created by Eric Lang, the creator behind board games such as Blood Rage and Rising Sun, and Calvin Wong Tze Loon, whose previous tabletop title was 2022’s Lands of Galzyr. Besides Mass Effect the Board Game - Priority: Hagalaz, Modiphius is also responsible for publishing various tabletop roleplaying games such as Dune - Adventures in the Imperium and miniature wargames like Fallout: Factions. The Mass Effect board game will be released via Asmodee. The release date for Mass Effect the Board Game - Priority: Hagalaz is set for sometime later this year."

[source]

[source, two, three, four, five]

An email from Modiphius reads:

Text version:

"We’re excited to announce that Mass Effect the Board Game - Priority: Hagalaz is coming to tabletops later this year! For more information, sign up to join the crew of the Normandy here. Set during the events of Mass Effect 3, the crew of Normandy has one more mission. It is the year 2186, and the Reapers have invaded the galaxy. Because the Council ignored Commander Shepard’s warnings, the Citadel Races are overwhelmed and on the verge of losing the war. Aboard the Normandy, Shepard carries out missions to prepare the Crucible, an ancient alien superweapon, for a last-chance attempt to defeat the Reapers. It’s a race against time, and Shepard must seize every possible advantage. On the remote world Hagalaz, a research cruiser from the terrorist organisation Cerberus has crashed directly in the path of a deadly storm. With little time before the storm hits, Shepard must lead their squad through the cruiser to uncover its sinister secrets and keep them out of the hands of the enemy. However, the ship holds more dangers than just its former crew. Deep within the shattered cruiser stir creatures and enemies far worse than the Cerberus forces that guard them. Mass Effect the Board Game - Priority: Hagalaz is a co-operative, story-driven game for 1-4 players designed by Eric M. Lang and Calvin Wong Tze Loon 黃子倫. A branching, narrative campaign allows for multiple playthroughs with a different experience every time. Card-driven AI and evolving stories respond to your actions – your early choices influence later missions. Gather Shepard’s squad from a selection of teammates from the Mass Effect trilogy: Liara, Tali, Wrex, and Garrus. Customise and upgrade your squad’s abilities, equipment, and powers as they gain experience. Enhance them further by unlocking unique powers with optional loyalty missions. The board game features six highly detailed 32mm scale pre-assembled plastic miniatures of male and female Shepherd, Liara, Tali, Wrex and Garrus. For more information, sign up to join the crew of the Normandy here."

[source: Modiphius]

[thefloatingstone]

Puff please tell me about Grunt I just saw a Tumblr post you reblogged that vaguely went into detail and I read a small bit of his wiki page but I want to hear it in your own words because it's like 10x more interesting with that filter. Fill my dash with grunt lore

GRUNT IS SHEPARD'S VERY LARGE SON

I don't know whether the designers originally created him with this thought in mind or not but it's really funny because by the time the DLC came out for ME2 you can see the games just fully embracing what was originally just a joke in the Mass Effect fandom.

I used to not be fully into it as a concept but as I'm busy replaying ME3 and having just played ME2 again... nah people were right. He's our son.

He was created in a lab to be an "ultimate krogan warrior" or whatever, but when Shepard cracked how out of his tube, he had did not have that "burning desire of revenge in the name of his species" the scientist who made him was obsessed by. Physically he was perfect, but psychologically, he just didn't understand why he should care about being a krogan. in ME2 when he's introduced, his story arc is helping him connect with what it means to be a krogan, and to help him find purpose as an individual. You essentially help raise this adolescent fully formed person out of apathy and teach him how to care about things, concepts and people, almost completely through actions and not so much through words.

As ME2 goes on, it becomes clear Grunt very much wants Shepard's approval about things, which is funny because at first he comes across as a cold, uncaring fully formed adult, but as you help him learn how to connect with being a member of his species, he'll sometimes want to talk to Shepard JUST to be like "Hey Shepard!! I thought about something to do with being Krogan I thought you'd approve of! listen to this!!"

In the DLC for ME2, you can read up on his internet search history as well as his online purchase history and I just.... think a lot of it explains SO MUCH about him as a character. So I'm just copy and pasting those here

SEARCH: krogan history SEARCH: great wars SEARCH: genofage / ERASED / krogan victories SEARCH: okeer/ ERASED / great generals SEARCH: toochanka/ ERASED / tuchanka SEARCH: urnot wrex SEARCH: battlemaster shepard/ MODIFIED/ commander shepard/MODIFIED/commander shepard normandy SEARCH: animal fights / MODIFIED / large predators SEARCH: tryrannsauros wrex/ ERASED / earth lizard wrex SEARCH: dinosaurs

SEARCH: battlemaster humans/ ERASED / earth humans SEARCH: human history SEARCH: earth wars // DOWNLOAD 6.1T NEWS FOOTAGE - HUMAN GENERAL HISTORICAL - CONFLICT // SEARCH: warrior humans // DOWNLOAD 2.1T DOCUMENTARY FOOTAGE - HUMAN GENERAL HISTORICAL- MAJOR MILITARY FIGURES // SEARCH: great humans/ MODIFIED / honored humans // DOWNLOAD 0.7T NEWSFOOTAGE [sic] - HUMAN ACHIEVEMENT- AWARDS // SEARCH: great storytellers human SEARCH: war stories // DOWNLOAD 0.67T LITERATURE - HUMAN WRITERS CONFLICT// SEARCH: human homer kipling hemmingway // DOWNLOAD 0.13T LITERATURE - HUMAN WRITERS – EARNEST HEMMINGWAY // // DOWNLOAD 0.06T AUDIO BOOKS // // THE SUN ALSO RISES // 14% COMPLETED // FOR WHOM THE BELL TOLLS // 100% COMPLETED // A FAREWELL TO ARMS // DELETED // THE OLD MAN AND THE SEA // 100% COMPLETED SEARCH: sharks

CATALOG ORDER: Ultra Black Ops Mega Catalog PURCHASE 2823- UG-652: Case Premium 54/ER Engine Oil VIDEO DOWNLOAD: The Madness of Sacrifice: The Unauthorized Biography of Warlord Okeer PURCHASE 2856- UG-122: Economy Box, Fishdog Food Factory "Tastee Bites" VIDEO DOWNLOAD: When Fauna Attacks! Volumes 1-10 PURCHASE 3254-UG-975: Batax's Hot Fish Spice VIDEO DOWNLOAD: Vaenia (this is a movie) VIDEO DOWNLOAD: Asari Confessions 26: True Blue (this is porn) PURCHASE 9683- UG-662: Fornax Special Spotlight: Krogan Edition (this is a human magazine focusing on interspecies sexual relations) PURCHASE 8856- UG-972: Captain Cosmic Action Figures: "Garr the Krogan Battlemaster" with real smash your enemies action!

By the time ME3 comes around, most of the rest of the squad is referring to Grunt in terms poking fun at the fact that Shepard is his mom. I think it's Joker who at one point comments "Our baby boy's all grown up" or something to that effect. I can't remember the exact dialogue. I think at one point Garrus also jokes about how "they grow up so fast" or something along those lines.

He also loves spicy ramen.

Grunt is a good boy.

[girafficparka]

Tagged by @continuous-spec for a WIP. Here’s a little something from Advanced Comparative Anatomy - the sequel to my me2 shakarian fanfic Comparative Anatomy (you can find it on ao3).

This sequel (to be set just prior to and during me3) is a long way from being posted on ao3, but I’ll do anything for @continuous-spec so, here we go:

~~~

He was surprised to find his room exactly as he had left it, all those years ago, when he had left for the active duty portion of his military training at 19. He had returned a handful of times when on leave, moving out for good when he joined up with C-SEC several years later. It wasn’t dusty or anything - it has obviously been care for during his long absence - but he was surprised the room hadn’t been repurposed into…something. He suspected utility, versus nostalgia, had been the cause. Why change up a perfectly good bedroom?

Garrus placed his bag on a table and went to the closet. Unsurprisingly, it was empty. In his duffle bad he had a set of fancy clothes from Kasumi, a few changes of undersuits for his armor, a few spare heat sinks just in case, but not much else. While armor worked fine for dinner on the Citadel, on Palaven turians didn’t wear their armor unless they were on active duty. He would have to ask his dad for a change of clothes. Garrus turned to go do just that but was stopped by a bundle of cloth being thrown in his face.

Once he had pulled the clothing from his eyes he caught Solana smirking at him from the doorway. “I figured you only had guns in that bag. It’s Dad’s so, you know, don’t spill anything on it,” she said before wandering off. Garrus sighed and closed the door.

He glanced down at his omni-tool to check the time - not quite enough time to take a full shower, but he could freshen up a bit. Taking his clothes, he moved into the attached bathroom and proceeded to splash water on his face, neck, cowl, and hands. He ran a buffer down his fringe a few times and checked the effect in the mirror: good enough. He began to change his clothing and then had a moment of panic when he realized Solana hadn’t gotten him gloves.

While not really necessary for a family dinner, Garrus had a feeling his father would not miss Garrus’ dulled claws. Being a former C-SEC officer, he knew exactly what conclusions Castis would make.

Garrus left the bathroom and went to Solana’s room - down and across the hall from his own - and knocked. “Sol?” he called. Through the closed door she softly replied, “It’s open.”

Garrus opened the door to find Sol sitting at her desk, leaning back in her chair and staring at him. She raised a brow-plate in a questioning glance.

“I was wondering if Dad had a pair of gloves I could borrow,” he said.

Solana looked even more confused. “Gloves? But you’re home, why would you need…what’s wrong with your hands?” she asked suddenly, standing up and marching towards him. Garrus briefly thought about hiding them behind his back, but that felt childish.

He regretted his hesitation when Solana grabbed his hand and lifted it up between them. “Why are your…talons blunted? Garrus, are you dating an asari?!”

Garrus nearly choked. “W-what? No! And how do you know…I’ve just been too busy to sharpen them. Why-”

“Don’t treat me like I’m stupid. I’m 26. I know why turians blunt their claws.”

Garrus felt heat rise up his neck. “I…don’t want to talk about this right now, Sol.”

Solana gave him a look of such disappointment that Garrus was reminded, shockingly, of their father. She dropped his hand. “What else is new?” she said, turning her back to him to return to her seat.

“Sol-”

“Gar, if you aren’t here to talk to me, to tell me something, anything, about who you are now and what you’ve been doing, then I guess…I’ll just see you downstairs.” she said, sounding defeated, younger. Garrus sighed. He closed Solana’s door and then turned back to her. She looked up at him with carefully guarded hope.

“Can I at least sit before we begin the interrogation?” he asked and Solana’s expression broke into a smile. She waved her hand to her mattress.

“Absolutely. Make yourself comfortable. I have a lot of questions.” she said. She turned her chair to face him fully, now.

Garrus sat down, glancing at her excited expression with wariness. “I can’t promise I can answer everything…right now. I’d still like to speak with Dad first. Hell, you can listen in, but I don’t want to have to tell that part twice so…”

“Who did you blunt your talons for?” she asked, blue gaze gleaming.

Garrus choked. “Not…ahem…not pulling any punches with this interrogation, are we?”

Solana rolled her eyes. “Who, Garrus?”

“I’m not sure…I’m not sure you’d want to know.”

“Spill, or you aren’t getting those gloves.” she said, crossing her arms and giving him a sly smile.

Garrus sighed. He had a feeling he’d be doing a lot of sighing this visit. “All right, I’ll tell you. But! I need you to keep an open mind. And not tell anyone. Especially Dad…and definitely not Mom…”

“You’re stalling.”

“All right! Fine. I wasn’t…lying. I’m not dating anyone. Not really. It’s just this thing-”

“A booty call?”

“What?”

“It’s human slang, it means…casual sex, a hook up. Who are you hooking up with casually?”

“Spirits! I cannot believe we are discussing this…”

“Stalling,” she crooned.

“Shepard,” Garrus finally admitted in a whisper. He looked up, shocked at Solana’s silence. He had expected something; a laugh, a scream; but instead she…she looked like she was about to explode. Solana’s gaze was wide with shock, and Garrus heard a growl rumble from her subharmonics.

“Commander Shepard? First human Spectre, Shepard? The one who worked for Cerberus?!”

[skinnyazn]

Like Tears in the Rain

Pairing: Commander Shepard x Liara T'Soni Chapters: 1/1 Notes: @parttimeprophet asked "Ohhhh how about tearful kisses with Liara T'Soni x Femshep 👀🫶🏻? Writing, pls!" for kiss challenge!, Now you get the most heart wrenching bullshit, I may or may not have made myself cry at the end, it's fine I'm fine, excuse any tense issues I never write in present tense so this was a struggle,

AO3 | MASTERLIST

Shepard is a born soldier, fighting with bared teeth and pure grit through every calamity in her life, so this ache that sits deep inside her bones is a familiar feeling. It’s made its home from the years of abuse on the battlefield, across different planets and star systems, but it wears on her the longer she marches through the torn streets of London. Wave after wave, casualty after casualty—the physical aspect is nearly as heavy as the mental. One mistake and it all ends: the Reapers win and humanity, as well as every other sentient species in the galaxy, annihilated. And that simply isn't an option. Not for Shepard. So she does the only thing she knows how to do: fight to survive. It’s an endless reserve of horrors as her crew fight through the crumbling city. Even the Cerberus cybernetics in her body can’t combat the tiredness she feels when they finally reach the Forward Operating Base. 

There’s no time for rest as Shepard inhales deeply, breathing the ash-laden air into her lungs, as she walks around the rubble to rally the band of soldiers. She looks at the faces of the men and women who served alongside her over the years, who trusted her—followed her through hell and back. They look older now. Kaidan has grey speckles throughout his temples and Garrus, a few more scars. Anderson just looks tired, and Shepard wishes things could have gone differently for the admiral. She makes it across a bridge to a makeshift medbay where Liara is already tending to the wounded, doing what she can to help the dying with her omni-tool. She still has the gore from the team’s early assault on her armor and Shepard wants to wipe it all away.

“How are the casualties?” she asks instead, walking toward the asari.

Liara doesn’t look up from her tool. “We lost people. Some of the wounded here won’t make it,” and it comes out calmly.

Shepard studies her lover. She hasn’t aged a day since their first meeting in that Prothean dig-site, yet the years took their toll in other ways. The once innocent and shy asari was now hardened by loss—most of all by Shepard’s.

“How are you holding up, Liara?” Shepard asks softly, moving closer.

“This is it, isn’t it,” Liara finally looks up at her commander, but her glacial blue eyes are distant. 

“Yeah,” Shepard breathes, “this is it.” 

The asari looks away, at the wounded—at the carnage around them in the brief moment of calm. 

“I don’t know what to say. I just know I’ll have a clever line five minutes from now,” she chuckles, but it comes out flat. Shepard reaches for her hand.

She stares calmly into her commander’s eyes. “I do have one thing for you, Shepard. A gift. It’ll only take a moment, if you want it.”

“Of course I do.”

Liara smiles and it makes Shepard’s heart yearn. She moves toward her lover, closing her eyes and resting her forehead against the asari’s.

And suddenly there is a weightless serenity. All the heaviness and pain from the battlefield, gone. When Shepard opens her eyes, she’s in a peaceful oblivion, surrounded by stars. Liara’s delicate hands fit perfectly in Shepard’s.

And they don’t need to speak because they can feel each other’s emotions. All the nuances and subtleties that can’t be conveyed with words. The comfort. The calm. The abundance of love. A glowing light rises over an artificial horizon, but Shepard is too lost in Liara’s eyes to notice its color. And when they kiss, it reminds Shepard why she’s in the fight: to give all the lovers a chance like they got. Liara moves her hands over her stomach and Shepard feels a wave of emotions. To give life a chance.

I wish we had more time, she thinks, but when her eyes open, she’s back in London.

Liara looks at her solemnly. “Thank you, Shepard, for everything. I love you.”

Shepard’s hands linger on the asari’s waist, thumbs brushing over her stomach. She’s too scared to say it out lout so she settles for, “I’ll be fighting for us.”

“I know,” Liara smiles, and this time it reaches her eyes. “Now let’s do what needs to be done.”

Shepard nods, taking in her lover one last time before the final push—her particular shade of blue, the kindness in her eyes, the softness of her body. She presses her forehead against the asari once more before she turns and makes her way through the stretchers to gather her crew.

And the minutes feel like hours as Hammer Team make their final assault through No Man’s Land. The swarm of husks and mutilated creatures is overwhelming. Soldiers fall all around, but Shepard and her team push forward. London looks unrecognizable as they navigate toward the massive Conduit Beam in the middle of the city.

“Incoming Banshees!” Liara cries out, readying a warp attack. 

“These bastards don’t give up,” Shepard grunts, feeling the weight of her Viper as she takes another headshot. 

“Brute at your five, Shepard!” Garrus shouts this time. 

“Then handle it! Where the hell is Wrex and the rest of the Krogans?”

“We’re busy cleaning up the mess you left,” Wrex’s voice booms through the static of the comms.

“It’s just like old times,” Garrus quips, but Shepard tunes him out as the claws of a banshee narrowly miss impaling her. She stabs the thing with her omni-tool and the shriek it emits is deafening.

“Shepard, take down that Destroyer!” It’s Anderson’s voice that breaks through the comms now, and Shepard spares a second to glance up a the massive Reaper that just touched down.

“You’ve got to be kidding me…”

“There should be Thanix Missiles controls in one of the tanks. Aim and fire!” the admiral shouts.

“Tuchanka 2.0,” Shepard mutters under her breath as she continues firing at the swarm of ground enemies. The deep boom of the Destroyer shakes the whole ground as its red beam carves through the city.

“We don’t have time! I’ll cover you,” Garrus yells, nearing the commander.

Shepard dashes toward the shuttle, booting up the missiles. Everything slows as she waits for the Reaper’s cannon to open; her whole body vibrates from the adrenaline. A glow of red and she presses fire. It’s a direct hit—until they swerve away at the last second.

“What the hell was that?!” she shouts, as she takes shot at a marauder in stasis. Liara has regrouped next to her as well.

“Damnit. The conduit beam must be interfering with the missiles’ guidance,” Anderson gripes. 

“EDI? Do you read me?” Shepard barks through her comms.

“Yes, Commander,” and it’s odd hearing the AI sound so strained.

“Any suggestions?” Another shot to a husk.

“I may be able to use the Normandy to enhance the missiles’ targeting capabilities.”

“Do it.”

“I’ll need you to open a link to the operating systems.”

Shepard punches at the control system while Garrus and Liara continue firing at the enemies that keep coming. 

“Missile guidance enhanced! But the Destroyer is still out of range. It needs to be as close as possible, Commander.”

Shepard unloads into another banshee. “How the hell do we get it closer—”

“Shepard!” Anderson interrupts through her earpiece. “Harbinger is releasing everything he’s got. Hammer Team is making its way toward you. Just hold on.”

“Another wave?!” Liara sounds exasperated as her flare of biotics rips through a husk. Shepard can tell it's taking a toll on the biotic.

“We HOLD!”

And wave after wave comes. Banshees, cannibals, marauders—it’s an endless stream of near death calls. The ash from the burning surroundings stick to Shepard's sweat drenched skin and tighten her throat.

“Look,” Garrus rasps between shots, “the Destroyer is closing in.”

Shepard glances at the horizon and the massive machine is nearly on top of them now. 

“Commander, it is within range!” EDI shouts over the comms.

“Firing!”

Another two Thanix missiles fire as the beam of the Destroyer weaves its way toward Shepard. This time they stick.

“A direct hit!”

“Hit them with everything you’ve got!” Shepard barks into the comms. An array of bullets and missiles in the city rain down on the Destroyer, exploding the being and littering the surroundings with corpse. A cloud of dust hits the crew.

“Destroyer terminated.” The AI sounds marginally calmer now.

“Nice work, EDI,” Shepard coughs, and she hears footsteps marching behind her.

“Shepard, over here!” It’s Anderson, and the commander feels a wave of relief that he finally caught up to them. She makes her way toward the older man. “We’re not out of the woods yet. Hackett just reported that several Sovereign-class reapers—including Harbinger—have broken off and are headed here.”

“Harbinger…”

“It’s a long shot but it’ll give Hackett enough time to get to the Citadel. But we still need someone on the ground to get to the beam and open the doors for him.”

“We still don’t know what we’ll find onboard the Citadel…” Garrus says bleakly.

“Then that’s our job: find out what we’re up against.” Shepard looks at the turian—at all of the remaining soldiers. “We’ve made it this far. There’s no turning back now. This is what we’ve been fighting for. Victory or death.” They nod.

“Alright,” Anderson said, “saddle up.”

Inside the shuttle there’s an odd sense of peace, in spite of the occasional rocking from explosions around them. There’re no windows and Shepard exhales at the bliss of being able to sit, to rest—if only for a moment. She looks over at her crew. Liara stares fixedly ahead, exhausted, and she reaches for her hand. The asari smiles faintly, squeezing back. Garrus has a shoulder wound and blood splattered all over him. Shepard hopes most if it isn’t his. He gives her a nod, telling her he’s ready to follow her to the end. Anderson sits in front of the commander, looking more than his age. She bitterly wishes he had a chance for a tranquil retirement among the stars.

“I’m proud of you, Shepard,” Anderson speaks, and it takes her by surprise. “We’re in the home stretch now.”

“No one I’d rather do this with.”

“We’re with you ’til the end,” Garrus chimes in, and his dual-tone voice sounds so tired. Liara just squeezes her hand harder.

But the smile is quickly wiped from Shepard’s face as the shuttle crashes to a halt.

“Well it was nice while it lasted,” she says, before opening the shuttle doors. “Ready?”

Outside is carnage, and the road to the Conduit is crumbled from the impact of the beam. They’re so close, but now it’s by foot now.

“It’s Harbinger!” Liara shouts over the chaos, as Shepard spots the colossal being landing. It's at least five times bigger than the Destroyer they just took down. 

“We make a run for it! NOW!” she yells, taking off as the Reaper’s beam cuts through shuttles and soldiers alike. Shepard can only focus on the conduit beam as she navigates the debris, dodging exploding tanks and falling rubble. She watches Harbinger’s laser vaporizes the ground next to her, flipping over a vehicle. It lands right in the path of her team.

“Liara!” Shepard shouts, going back for the Asari and dragging her to cover. Garrus slams his body against the flipped tank as well.

“Normandy, do you copy?! I need an evac right now!” She looks down at Liara, who’s starting to bleed on her.

“We’re taking on heavy losses up here, Commander,” Joker yells through the comms, but moments later the Normandy pulls in. Shepard feels a surge of pride knowing only Joker could pull off a maneuver like that.

“C’mon,” Shepard groans, lifting Liara over her shoulder and running back to Normandy. Other soldiers filter off the ship for ground reinforcement. The earth shakes each time Harbinger’s beam cuts through it.

“Here, take her,” Shepard grunts, handing Liara over to Garrus. 

“Shepard!” Liara moans, reaching out as blood trails down her side.

“You gotta get out of here!”

Garrus tries to pull her onto the ship but the asari pushes back.

“I’m alright, Shepard.”

“Don’t argue with me, Liara!”

“You’re not leaving me behind!” she cries. And all Shepard can see is the shy, helpless scientist she first met on Therum.

“No matter what happens,” Shepard steps toward the asari, “you mean everything to me, Liara.” 

Tears stream down the asari’s face now as her commander kisses her with the hopelessness of a dead woman walking. Garrus looks away.

“It’ll always be you,” and she wipes away the tears and blood splattered across her azure cheeks.

“Shepard I…”

But behind them, the high-pitch whirling of Harbinger’s charging cannon shrills.

“GO!” Shepard yells, looking at Liara for a final time before sprinting away from the ship. 

“I love you!” she hears her lover sob as the loading door closes and the Normandy pulls away, but her focus is on the beam now. She weaves through Harbinger’s lasers until things go white. ____

Time is distorted. She remembers the beam. She remembers the corpses. Somewhere in there, Anderson.

“You did good, kid. You did good.”

And she remembers smiling, feeling proud. But it didn’t last. She took the dog tags and put them over her neck. And she remembers the stillness of watching the chaos in space from inside the Conduit—the muted explosions and fleets of ships outside made her feel like she was underwater. She wonders if Hackett made it.

Then there’s The Child—the one she kept seeing on Earth and in her dreams—and it’s telling her she has to make a choice. She studies the thing, this illusion of a boy, and hopes that Liara made it. She wonder’s what she’ll name their daughter; she wishes she could watch her grow.

And when Shepard walks up to the catalyst, she’s not afraid this time. It’s not like the suffocating, cold, loneliness of space over Alchera. Now, she’s over her home. Earth. With everyone she’s ever loved down there. She holds the other set of dog tags in her hands.

“We did it, Anderson. We did it.” And she fires into the catalyst.

[lilmissnatcat24]

the first reunion

needless to say, horrible nasty ridiculous turn left spoilers below the cut:

Shepard looked at the man. He was a turian, tall and imposing and looming over her. Horizon had no turians, either. Other than a handful of volus to help orchestrate intergalactic trade and one asari wife, there were no aliens on the entire colony. He stared down at Shepard-- at least, she thought he was. He still wore his helmet, he was nothing more than a mass of hulky black armor with a glowing red trim and red visor over where his eyes would be. 

A million questions surged through Shepard’s head. They swam in a muddied puddle that made it impossible for Shepard to extract which one was the most important one to ask. So, she asked the most simple question she could: 

“Who are you?” 

The turian seemed to be knocked out of his trance. He stopped staring directly down at Shepard and began rifling through the shelves. Shepard realized that he had brought her to one of the general stores in the colony. He pilfered through the different displays, throwing anything that apparently was of no use onto the group like some haphazard toddler. 

“Ask me a better question.” 

It was more of a demand than anything else. Shepard wasn’t quite in the mood to play the question game with some lumbering hunk of a turian that refused to take his mask off indoors like some sort of douche. “I beg your pardon?” 

He sighed, exasperated as if Shepard was some mild inconvenience to him. “We do not have a lot of time. You need to pick your questions very carefully. Now, ask me a better question.” 

“Or, you could just tell me what I need to know,” Shepard said testily, her anger rising in her chest. “Instead of this demeaning game of cat-and-mouse.” 

The turian seemed to find what he was looking for, ripping open green plastic bags and dumping what looked like pills in his hand. “Would that I could, sweetheart. Do as I say.” 

“I am not your sweetheart,” Shepard said. 

He paused, only for a moment, before hurrying back over to her and squatting down to her level. “Now that, I am perfectly aware of. Eat this.” 

“What is it?” Shepard said warily. 

“When I said you need to ask better questions, this wasn’t one of them. Eat,” he demanded, shoving the pills into Shepard’s mouth. 

As soon as she bit down, Shepard twitched in pain. It was as if someone had punched her clean across the nose, their knuckles soaked in eucalyptus. The pills made it seem as though they reached up into Shepard’s brain and tickled it with a feather. Her eyes watered, her mouth burned with a spice that wasn’t hot but instead cold. As she swallowed them, she felt the burn radiate down her windpipe and into her stomach. 

“What the fuck was that?” 

“You humans call it wasabi,” the turian said, a smug note in his voice that was overwise obscured by the helmet’s speaker. “More universally in the galaxy, it’s called a kick in the quads. Now stand up.” 

Shepard didn’t realize the feeling was back in her limbs. She stood, still shakily, still not too confident in her abilities to not fall flat on her face. But she stood, which was more of an improvement than she could have said five minutes ago. 

[omegaremix]

Omega Radio for June 3, 2017; #139.

Geneva Jacuzzi “Group Dynamic”

Ryan Power “I Don’t Want To Die”

Holydrug Couple “U Don’t Wake Up”

Work Drugs “Absolute Bearing”

Young Summer “Echo”

Steve Hauschildt “Sundialed”

Jackie Mendoza “Chemtrails”

John Maus “Keep Pushing On”

Black Queen, The “Ice To Never”

Kitty “Asari Love Song”

George Clanton “It Makes The Babies Want To Cry”

Minks “Playboys Of The Western World”

Teengirl Fantasy “Star-Rise”

Nite Jewel “2 Good To Be True”

Cellars “Do You Miss Me?”

Survive “A.H.B.”

Costavision Lo-Fi “Peninsula”

Natural “Cherry Blossoms” (Com Truise RMX)

Com Truise “Memory”, “Isostasy”

Ducktails “Don’t Want To Let You Know”

Oneohtrix Point Never “Terminator Lake”

Deluxe electronics (synthpop, vaporwave, chillwave).

[omniblades-and-stars]

Under the Rays of an Autumn Sun

It pulses, bass beats thrumming so loud they become the shared heartbeat of the dancers under strobing azure lights. The lifeblood of Purgatory's night scene. Sweating bodies press and writhe together in sensual, decadent harmony. An asari undulates and her jewelry glitters like starlight with every pass of the light. There are many beautiful women here tonight, but none are the one I am looking for.

"Amonkira. Lord of Hunters. Grant that my hands be steady, my aim be true, and my feet swift," I whisper from my seat at the bar. No one hears my prayers over the driving music that courses through our veins. "And should the worst come to pass, grant me -"

"Whiskey, straight please," she says with a voice that has the strength of a rushing river. My prayers are answered before I am finished saying them. She smells of jasmine, a fragile and small, white blossom from Earth. I look up and I am greeted by eyes that look like the desert sands glimmering under the rays of an autumn sun, and she is looking at me.

I have always had a weakness for beautiful eyes. Humans have a saying, "The eyes are the windows into the soul." It's a sentiment I wholeheartedly share. Hers are a light brown that I am unused to seeing in humans, but they are heavy. I can see the weight she carries within them, evident in the red lines lightly spidering over the white space around her iris.

Blue tinged glass presses to soft, bare lips, and she coughs as the liquid burns down her throat. A warm chuckle bubbles up after it, and she sits next to me. "I don't know if I'll ever learn," she shakes her head, chestnut waves brush against the sun-kissed and freckled skin exposed on her back. "Eden Shepard," she says and offers me her hand to shake. She is named after the holy garden of one of Earth's many creation myths. It suits her, I think, but the thought passes before I can fully understand why I feel that way.

A warm, calloused hand wraps around mine, rougher than most human women, evidence of a life spent in service to her military. I can imagine how she holds her standard issue assault rifle based on the strength of her hands alone. "Niké Taon," I lie very kindly. The fine hairs on her muscular arms rise above goosebumps in response to my voice. I'm pleased by this.

"What are you drinking, Niké? I'm already regretting my choice. I barely like Earth's whiskey." She swirls the glass around, minute amber waves rise up around the edges, threatening to spill over onto her fingers. The liquor in the glass is pungent, sharp, I would not want to drink it either.

"Serrice Ice Brandy, it is far gentler on the tongue," I say as I raise my own glass to my lips. She watches me as I drink, I can see her eyes move as she considers my actions, my words are a subtle suggestion.

The music changes, it is very different from the usual synthetically generated house music that is always playing here. The beat is slower, and the drums roll out in a cascading pattern over what I believe humans call "funk guitar" that is the accent to the music not the driving force, the movement is all in the drums. Shepard moves quickly, her hand wraps around my wrist, and I fight the instinct to break hers to free myself from her grasp. She smiles at me, she looks like the sun. One of her front teeth is chipped. "I love this song! Dance with me, Niké!" She is pulling me after her, and I oblige.

I watch Eden Shepard every time she comes to the Citadel. In everything, she is meticulous, careful, and guarded. She travels with well-armed companions most of the time, usually a turian with a sniper rifle and the apparent skill required to use it, and a quarian woman armed with a high end omni-tool and a shotgun. Occasionally, she brings a krogan battlemaster with deep scars cut into his crimson head plates. I am skilled, but I am not foolish.

The only time she is not meticulous, careful, and guarded is when she goes to Purgatory. Here, she is not a commander or a marine. Of the three times I have seen her dancing in the club, she has gone to a hotel with a stranger twice.

I will be the third. It is the only way to avoid unnecessary violence.

Her cerulean dress clings to her skin as if it is a part of her, hard planes of muscle, broad shoulders all on display. Long legs disappear into the fabric stretched across muscular thighs. Now that she is standing, I can see her pistol strapped to her leg, below the short hem of her dress. It is a HMWP, the kind of handgun only a Spectre can get. Her status as the Council’s agent may be the reason why she is allowed to wear it so brazenly here. She does not wear synthetic leather or latex like most of the other dancers. I can feel the breathable, light, organic weave of her dress, soft under my fingers as she guides my hand to her waist.

The music moves through her with a shiver and she is overtaken by a spell. Eden presses her back against me, her eyes are closed and she is adrift in an ocean of harmonic waves. Then, almost as soon as she started, she stumbles, loses the rhythm and she can’t quite seem to get it back. I'm surprised by this, I have seen how she moves during a fight, the rhythm of gunfire guides her and she sows violence with the grace of a ballet dancer. It is why I have chosen to isolate her, she has the skills necessary to be a challenge.

This is clumsy. I know she is not inebriated, her glass is still sitting on the bartop, the honey colored liquid vibrates with the pulsating beat.

She throws her head back against my shoulder, and she laughs. The sound is jubilant, it rolls out of her with reckless abandon, and I am infected. I have not felt unadulterated joy in so long, it awakens a fire within me. The curve of her neck, a fragile thing, easily broken with the right twist of my hands, is exposed to me, and my mind is filled instead with thoughts of suckling on the tender skin there. I want to hear what other sounds I can draw from soft, rose-colored lips.

“I’ve never been good at dancing,” she shouts over the oscillations filling the air around us, she is still laughing, still moving off beat. I find myself enraptured, she throws herself so fully into an endeavor that she is mediocre at without embarrassment.

I have forgotten why I am here. No, I remember, I cannot forget. My goal has changed very suddenly, to end a life such as this would be as snuffing out a sun. The galaxy would grow unbearably bleak without the light of her gold-flecked eyes and the pure, sonorous mirth of her laughter.

I pull her flush against me, I feel the way her abdomen tightens under my palms, and a pleased sigh escapes from her, barely audible over the noise. But I am listening for every melodious note that she will bless me with. I lean down, my lips play across the ridge of her ear, “I will lead you, Eden. We will move as one tonight.”

A shiver rolls down her spine, and her cheeks blossom with color. “Yes,” her response flows out on a gentle breath. She wraps her hands over mine, and we are moving in tandem. Her eyes close again and she gives in, she surrenders control. The way she moves against me is full of power and promise, but she wants to be led. I feel a cord being pulled taut within me, I am full of wanting, and I need to feel her writhe like this beneath me.

As we dance, sweat gathers in beads like crystals along the swell of her breasts, and they roll suggestively into the valley between, disappearing where I cannot see them any longer. She guides one of my hands up her body, it ghosts teasingly over her chest, before she brings our hands to a rest against the side of her neck. I apply the faintest hint of pressure, I can feel the strain of tendons and ridges of her throat.

She moans, a sound of pure desire, and her fingers tighten over mine. “I have a room nearby, stay with me tonight?” A panting and plaintive request, it sounds almost like a prayer. It is I who should be praying to her.

I do not want to deny her, I do not believe that I could. “I said we would move as one tonight. Have you slept with a drell before?”

“I’ve never even seen anyone who looks like you before,” she pauses for a moment before continuing, “You’re beautiful.” She does not seem embarrassed by the admission, and I feel my heart swell with pride.

“I have venom, on my skin, on my tongue. You will be exposed to it.”

She is silent for precious heartbeats, I can feel her pulse quicken with my hand still pressed against her neck. “Will it kill me? Make me sick?”

I am at her ear again, and I can feel her squirm to try to move closer. “No. Eden, it will rob you of your senses until all that you know is the pleasure that I will give you. You will soar to the cosmos with my tongue in between your legs.” Her body shudders and I can feel how she is squeezing her thighs together. Her heart is racing, excitement thrums through her veins, just as it is through mine.

“Fuck,” she groans, and I can feel the warmth rising from her cheeks down to her breasts. She has already come undone for me.

Her grip around my hand increases, and suddenly she is pulling me away from the dance floor and quickly out of the club. The sudden silence is shocking, and I have to shake my head to clear the momentary confusion.

“I know a shortcut, I hope you’re not afraid of back alley thugs?”

It is my turn to laugh, it’s a sound I have not heard in too long. “Not at all.”

Eden’s head tilts a little, and she grins. Something cocksure and self-satisfied falls over her features. She enjoys the risk, and invites the danger to meet her. I have now seen the two faces of the same goddess. “Good. I would much rather see a gun in my face than another reporter’s camera.” I understand now why she comes all the way here to escape her duties and the pressure of being the first human Spectre.

I allow her to lead me through the alleys, though I already know where we're going. The last two were not brave enough to go this way, but I remember the twists and turns of this maze. I have been here before. I know it so well, I can easily spend the walk watching the subtle swing of her hips, the robust curve of her ass, and the sinewy muscles working in her legs as she walks ahead of me. She never looks behind at me, she is alert, her right hand lingers next to her hip, ready to draw her gun in a moment.

It is unnecessary. We arrive at the small hotel, well known for hosting Alliance marines on shore leave, without seeing a soul. She unlocks the door and she surprises me by turning to face me and pulling me into the room after her. The omni-tool on her wrist glows amber, and the door locks behind us. She has me by the collar of my synthetic weave armor, and her lips press into mine and they are even softer than they look. She giggles as I pull her flush against me.

“Do you always wear armor to go clubbing?” She asks her question to my mouth, she sounds deeply amused, not suspicious.

“Do you always wear a gun to go dancing?” I respond with a question that does not answer her query. I am so hot and it is taking all of my willpower not to rush. It is taking all of my willpower not to reveal my true name.

I can feel her smile, but I cannot see it, so close she is to me. “Fair enough … You’re going to have to give me some guidance, I don’t know where I should touch you,” she admits, her breath still warm against my lips.

I am an assassin, not a professor, but I will teach her tonight. I take her hand in mine and bring it to the frills at my neck, "Here, gently." I feel as she runs her thumb slowly across the folds there, she is watching her hand move as though she is trying to memorize the experience. Her touch sends electrical pulses through me, and warmth follows her fingers in a trail. Eden does not notice that I have unzipped her dress until the small straps holding it up fall loose on her arms.

She is not shy, however. Her answer is to step back and pull the garment up and over her head, and simultaneously kick off her shoes. She is suddenly a few inches shorter, but I barely notice. Eden Shepard stands before me wearing only underwear and a gun holster, and she is resplendent. The cheap lights illuminate freckled skin and soft breasts, the rise and fall of her chest is hypnotic. The small cloth barely covering the rest of her is soaked with her arousal, and I am overcome by this burning lust that has been building inside of me.

I want to taste her, all of her, starting with her mouth. I take her, my hand finds its way into the soft hair at the back of her head, and her heat is pulled against me, I can feel it even through my armor. Before I can take her mouth for mine, her hand gently falls to my lips. "Wait," she says. Her lids are heavy and she has not moved away, but still I worry that I've offended her. "I want to see all of you first. I want to be able to remember what you look like, clearly."

"Of course," I answer, and soon she is helping me remove the pieces of my armor. I am now as vulnerable as she is, more, in fact. She is still wearing her gun, and I know she's a powerful biotic in her own right. If her plan all along was to put me under a spell and bring me here so that she could end me, it would have worked.

But that is not what she does. Hazel eyes sweep over my form, and she is unabashed in her hunger. "Beautiful," she whispers, and this time she does not stop me from breathing in her praise as I claim her lips. She tastes faintly of the whiskey, but underneath it, something like citrus, she must have eaten before going to Purgatory. I brush my thumb over the roundness of her cheek, it is rougher than I imagined. Chapped by the winds of some barely hospitable planet, I think. As I am contemplating where she must have been last, I reach and undo the buckles holding her gun to her leg. It falls to the floor, and she doesn't care.

Her hands are all over me, her earlier hesitation forgotten as they roam every surface she can touch. She uses feathering touches along my waist and I cannot stop the rumbling chuckle that moves out of me in response, I am ticklish there. Eden hums in delight, and I catalog it as another of her sounds that I will cherish forever after this night. I know I will never see her again after this.

I memorize her on this night. Every sigh, every groan, every pleasured shout. The way she smells, jasmine mixed with the salt of her sweat and the musk of her desire. I know her taste and every place that makes her quiver and shake. The strength of her grasp as she pulls me against her and shouts a name she believes is mine. I will remember her eyes. First, as they were in Purgatory, bright and earthy. Then, as they were as we found release together, pupils so wide, only a thin halo of hazel around depths so dark, I am forever drowning in them.

I am saddened that she cannot remember as I can, but I hope she will think of me fondly. I will always remember how she sleeps on her stomach, an arm and a leg flung over the edge of the bed. I will remember the faintest sound of laughter at something only she can see, her dream bringing her some joke or oddity.

I must leave before she wakes. I am thrice damned and banished from the Garden of Eden of my own accord. I do not deserve to bask in her holy light.

I think I will go to Illium next.

I am crawling through an air ventilation shaft. It is a trite, stereotypical way to conduct an assassination, but effective nonetheless. I am not above convention if it leads me directly to my target. There is a group of soldiers fighting their way up the tower. They are the perfect distraction, this will be far simpler with their unknowing aid.

When I arrive at her office, my target is talking to someone, offering credits in exchange for the opportunity to keep her life. I can't hear the voice of the one she speaks to clearly. Nassana Dantius does not hear me drop from the ceiling.

I land behind a guard. Human male, rear approach, check shoulder to prevent turning, hands to chin and base of skull, neck-snap. Heavy pistol fire to dispatch the remaining guard. Nassana turns, I hold her in my arms as one might while comforting a lover and I shepherd her to the waters so lovingly tended by Kalahira.

There are three soldiers staring at me, but prayers for the wicked must not be forsaken. To my surprise, they wait for me to finish. As I turn to face them, their leader, a woman, puts her hands on her verdant helmet. She is a freelancer, perhaps.

"Well, I'll be damned, what a small galaxy," she says after a surprised chuckle. Even through the gentle warp of her breather helmet, it is a laugh that I treasure in my memories. A gentle hiss as the seal around her bright green helmet is released and chestnut hair falls in a wave, framing a smile like the sun, but her tooth is no longer chipped. Eyes the color of desert sands glimmering under the rays of an autumn sun look back at me. Her cheeks are covered in spidering, but healing scars. There can be no denying it, Eden Shepard stands before me. "It's safe to assume that your name never was Niké, was it?"

She is amused, I can hear her pure, sonorous, mirthful laughter hiding there, just beneath the surface of her question. "I apologize for the deception, Eden. It seemed necessary, at the time." She raises an eyebrow at me, I think perhaps she understands the context, but she is not upset. "I thought you were dead," I remark, everyone knows that she was killed two years ago. And not by me. It seems that fortune favors the bold, and there is no one bolder than her.

"I was dead - spaced with a suit rupture. But apparently it takes more than that to stop me!" She raises her armored fist in the air, a victorious gesture. She is laughing again, soulful eyes twinkle, and I feel the fire awaken in me once more. She is merry in spite of her own mortality. "I'm taking on the Collectors. I need someone with your skills on my team, Thane." I am blessed by my true name on her soft, rose-colored lips.

It is only now that I fully comprehend her two compatriots, a turian with a sniper rifle and the apparent skill required to use it, and a quarian woman armed with a high end omni-tool and a shotgun.

It is a small galaxy, indeed.

[mikanlardyclinic]

Samara wasn't going to deny that were benefits of being a matriarch nanotech clothes that would grow with her body unless she really picked out her own biometrics allowing her to float so she didn't have to waste energy walking and being so old she just did not care about social etiquette anymore. " I didn't mean it as an insult it's a good sign that you have a good life uuuuuuuuurrrrrrppppppp perhaps in your people will follow." The old asari said munching on a piece of meat the size of Tali's forearm

"thank tou samara.. I know that y..you just caught me by surprise that time.. But w..well with the geth and quarians finally living in peace m..maybe the collective weight of the fleet will rise after a few centuries.."

It's already rising admiral Xen had her suit rupture and needed emergency repairs and antibiotics while she was studying the new geth..

Tali looked at the massive piece of meat and just slurped her nutripaste faster.. She wishes she didn't get sick from eating normal food but.. She can't deny her desire to eat it despite the lethal and dangerous consequences..

[seijuurouxryuu]

past and present

Title: past and present Author: Shiro (TeitoxAkashi [AO3]/ seijuurouxryuu [tumblr]) Rating: Gen Pairing: Giotto & Tsuna Event: @khrrarepairweek Prompts: Monster Hunter AU | Ghosts Tags/Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Day 1: Storm Day

The thunder was loud, booming and deafening in the background. It was calming, it was unnerving. Because it was on these days that Tsuna could see the shadows of the past, the shadows of the dead.

AO3

The thunder was loud, booming and deafening in the background. It was calming, it was unnerving. Because it was on these days that Tsuna could see the shadows of the past, the shadows of the dead.

“Giotto-san…” He frowned at his ancestor, blurry frame solidifying with the lightning’s shine. Akin to charged light bulb. Something something about how the positive and negative ions become disarray during a thunderstorm.

The dead was hovering by the window, staring out silently. At Tsuna’s call, he looked back and blinked. In a way that reminded Tsuna of a lizard. Again, unnerving.

“Yes, child?”

The almost thirty-four-year-old man twitched at the ‘endearment’. He decided to ignore it seeing how ancient Giotto was and instead asked, “Are you alright?”

Giotto blinked again.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well, you… You look,” Tsuna paused, thinking of a word to describe the ex-mafia boss. “Burnout.” Tired. Lost. Dead. Figuratively and literally.

Giotto smiled. “I am, aren’t I?” He murmured and look out of the window again. It was a foreign yet familiar sight to see—it was after all the town he vowed to protect forever, the town he grew up and bleed for. It was the island that chained his very soul to, to be forgotten by all but his descendants and the dark side they chose to join.

He was persistent, he was filled with fire and will to fight for them. He was young, then, like the only child who could see him and hear him. He was more willful too. But he was older soon and the fire slowly was doused with tears and blood, burning slower and quieter. His bones grew colder at the harsh reality he had faced and soon, he could no longer burn the will.

Ricardo—his brother who rage brighter than he burned with hope—took his continued dimming as the ending of legality and brought them into the world of darkness. He then reigned Vongola with growing glory, burning brighter and stronger than Giotto, bringing Vongola its peak.

And the part the fully douse Giotto’s flame was how Ricardo protected their home better than Giotto despite drowning the walls with more blood of their enemies.

Giotto decided to leave the limelight and take Alaude and Asari’s hands to move to the land of rising sun to warm his bones and blood once more.

Sawada Ieyasu was the name Asari gave—peaceful family. A representative—a reminder—of Giotto’s vows. A reassurance that Giotto had brought peace to his family—them.

And it was a name that he never really believed that it suited him despite what they said.

“How are you doing?” He asked instead, returning Tsuna the question. Tsuna shrugged as he walked closer, leaning against the wall as he weakly laughed at himself.

“As well as I can ever be.” He sighed. “I’m just tired of dealing with all the chaos that Xanxus and Reborn caused. I just want to sleep…”

Giotto smiled, understanding the feeling because he had his fair share of continuously trying to reign in Ricardo and Lampo from whatever fights or chaos they were up to. It wasn’t fun, but he wouldn’t have them any other way. Even if it almost always ended up with him bedridden in exhaustion. Even then, it was probably the most fun he had.

Now that he thought about it, he had the time of his life whenever he was with his family, be it good or bad. And even if he had gone back to that time, he wouldn’t want to change anything except for the incidents involving Cozarto and Elena.

Ahh, how he missed the carefree times he was with his family.

Looking at how Tsuna was, he was sure that the young boy felt the same. Only, he would burn brighter. More so than how Giotto once did. He would fight for his family, and more importantly, he would fight for himself. He would survive better than Giotto.

And Giotto want that to happen.

He smiled and leaned back; His frame more relaxed. “Could you tell me about them? Your family.”

Tsuna blinked and grinned. “Yes. In return, tell me about yours!”

-----------

Notes:

Honestly I churned this out in an hour or so time, and separately in another day for the ending. I had three drafts for the ending but none seemed to fit so,,, I could only do like this. The plunny for this died halfway and I can't remember what I planned so rip. But still!!! First day of RPW!! I'm late but yay!! :DD Just them bonding honestly. I think that Giotto would linger around Vongola mansion, hovering here and there to reminisce his past by himself. The rest of the primo gen are probably somewhere chillin but Giotto was haunted by his own past i think. Daemon too. Both of them are just. Suffering. I didn't write Daemon because I think whatever he does, he wants it private while Giotto? Giotto doesn't care who sees him. He just stuck in the abyss [vtuber joke] Anywaysssssss,,,, I'm late by so many days so im gonna go ahead and post the other days one first CIAO [I apologize for any grammar, spellings, etc. etc. mistakes]

[bagog]

N7 Month, 2023 - Day 9: Holiday

A soft little scene between Liara and Shepard. Friends being good friends.

++

It was late, and Shepard—unable to sleep—had gone to the CIC to check up on the graveyard shift. On a whim he rode the lift down to the crew deck. It was largely deserted except for one exhausted looking ensign who was reading a data-pad with heavy eyes and guzzling coffee. He thought of exchanging pleasantries, but honestly the ensign hadn’t noticed him and he didn’t want to make the guy pop out of his chair and salute or something.

He noticed, then, that the holo-lock on Liara’s door was still green. She’d been burning the midnight oil every night she’d been aboard, but this was truly late even by her own standards. Shepard found himself ringing the door chime, and a moment later, the door slid open.

“Happy Pasharat, Commander.” Glyph floated just inside the door, ‘dressed’ in his holographic bowtie.

“Shepard,” Liara was slumped into an arm chair next to a stack of data-pads. She was holding what looked like some kind of zither she’d been idly plucking. She yawned and drew herself up, but Shepard held up a hand when she made to rise.

“Surprised to see you up this late, Liara.” Shepard sat down: Liara’s office honestly one of the only places he felt comfortable just sitting for a few minutes.

“It’s the first day of Pasharat,” Liara smiled. “I’m waiting till midnight, Thessia-time, to welcome in the holiday.” She gestured to the low table that sat between them, where there was a candle steadily burning through a spectrum of colors that couldn’t exactly have been said to be a rainbow, but likely looked that way if your eyes had evolved on Thessia.

“Pasharat?” Shepard quirked an eyebrow.

“Mhm,” Liara nodded, yawning again. “It’s the maiden festival on Thessia, the parts of it who follow the Athame doctrine, anyway. Six days of parades, food,” she held up the zither half-heartedly, “And music.”

“I didn’t know you played a…?”

“Trahamial, training young asari how to play it used to be one of the four cardinal studies for a young maiden. I’m afraid I never got the traditional education.” She plucked the trahamial a few times. “Because of my mother, I never celebrated Pasharat when I was younger. Said she had celebrated enough of them in her lifetime, and wasn’t going to bring all of the holiday detritus into our home.”

“That sounds… like she didn’t have a very festive spirit.”

“Oh no, she did,” Liara shook her head, eyelids still heavy. “She’d just lived a long time, she was a new mother at 850 years old, there were so many compromises she made in her life so I could grow up well, but there are certain compromises she wouldn’t make.” She gestured to the candle. “Pasharat was one of them.”

“When did you start celebrating? When you went out on your own?”

Liara laughed, “This is the first time I ever have. I found a trahamial for sale on the Citadel. I couldn’t believe the shops were still putting out holiday decorations with the war so close. Felt like if everyone else could be celebrating…” She sighed. “Pasharat celebrates the younger years of an asari’s life. It’s meant to be a time to rejoice in and reflect on what has shaped you as a person, and all the opportunities life has to bring. But this year…”

“The Reapers.”

“Yes,” she nodded gravely. “…I’m young for my people. This holiday is for me. It should be a time of celebration, but… I may not live to see another Pasharat. None of us might.”

“People need to celebrate, Liara,” Shepard said softly. “I have to believe that as bad as things get, people need to recognize the things that matter.”

“You’re right,” Liara yawned, but didn’t seem too convinced. She looked like she was about to say more when Glyph chimed in.

“It is midnight on Thessia, Dr. T’Soni. Happy Pasharat.”

Liara smiled sadly, and leaned forward to blow out her candle.

“I can finally go to bed. But now I feel like I don’t want to,” She smiled, eased back into her chair.

“Can you play me any songs on that thing?” Shepard pointed to the instrument. Liara laughed.

“No!” The two shared the chuckle. Liara plucked the strings a few times experimentally anyhow. “Thank you, Shepard. For spending my first Pasharat with me.”

“Here’s to many more to come!” He beamed.

“To many more to come,” Liara finally conceded.

[aamusedly]

@spakona / Ciri .

The name Cirilla stuck in the back of his head like a scab; unmoving, unwilling to drop, but guarding a wound he couldn't entirely see yet. It stuck enough that Crow was beginning to have a hard time focusing elsewhere, though he abandoned distraction fairly quickly.

He had a mission, self-imposed though it was, here in the Milky Way, and now it had a clear direction: to Cirilla Finonna Something Something Ringworm. Or something.

Crow hadn't picked up the fine details of her case, considering he'd left the data in a bit of a rush to avoid another arrest; Asari prisons weren't as fun as the vids from Earth painted them to be. He was more an engineer than he was a tracker, but there was an advantage here, and it came in the form of that buzzing of her name in the back of his head. A connection. A way out. When Crow found himself touching down on the great space station known as the Citadel, his chest felt like it was full of hot air and threatening to rise into the simulated atmosphere with the fake clouds up ahead.

He was excited. He'd only ever dreamed of this, when he closed his eyes and saw stars dancing and beckoning him home.

But that excitement had to be pushed down in favor of something more curated; a neutral expression of someone looking to hire one of the best mercenaries on the station.

A seedy bar-- that felt about right. Something like a club. The dancing lights cast reflections in the blue pallor of his skin, though he was careful to keep his hood and cowl up as he skulked in to look for whoever it was that made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

[blackjackkent]

How about "Peace" or "Bite" with Aria and Morgana? I have missed them. 🥰

(Send me a pairing and a prompt)

Send me a "Peace" and I'll write a drabble about them spending a quiet moment together.

(Morgana is @morganaseren's OC who we shipped with Aria T'Loak in our adventures in the Mass Effect RP sphere. :) Fundamentally this serves as a bit of a sequel to this drabble.)

-----

Even at low watch, Afterlife is never quiet. The station never truly sleeps, and the low bass thud of the music is like its heartbeat. But it is emptier; the only clientele still sucking down drinks at the bar or leering at the dancers are the true dregs, the underbelly's underbelly.

Aria stands on her balcony looking out over the debauchery; her expression is unreadable. "She was hurt?"

"Cracked ribs. And ancillary electrical burns," Garka says with a slight shrug. "Target had traps laid around their base of operations. Seren wasn't fooled by them, but the hacker triggered them off manually when he realized he wasn't getting away. Fried himself completely, based on the report."

Aria turns her head just slightly to look at him. Garka has served her long enough that he doesn't flinch from her gaze so easily, but even when not directed at him, the fury in her eyes stings like a slap.

"Good," she says coldly.

He feels the sudden, highly inappropriate urge to smile. To do so would be death or something close to it, and yet -- they have all noticed the way Aria's fierce possessiveness has extended to apply to Seren as well since their relationship became a settled thing. This poor bastard who made the mistake of harming Seren made the right choice by immolating himself rather than letting Aria get her hands on him.

"She's getting treated down in the ACC. Should I tell her you're--"

Aria is already gone, moving at a fast trot down the stairs.

-----

"She's sleeping. She can't talk right now," the doctor - a nervous-looking asari with a sharp scar across one cheek - tells Aria uneasily as the matriarch enters the auxiliary control center. No one on Omega likes telling Aria that she can't do something.

But Aria doesn't explode at her, just lifts one painted eyebrow dismissively. "I'm aware. Now move."

The doctor swallows. "She needs time to recover before she can take new orders. Or talk too much."

"I'm aware," Aria says, and there's the slightest hint of menace in the tone now. "Now move."

The doctor's eyes flicker around the room rapidly to avoid fixing on the queen's face. "It would be better if--"

"Doctor," Aria says with exaggerated patience heavy with irritation. "I am not here with another job for her. I am not here to interrupt her rest. I am not here to fuck her, which I can only assume is what you are concerned about. But please believe me when I say that if you continue keeping me from seeing her, you will be a smear on the bulkheads in precisely one minute."

The deep blue of the doctor's skin pales markedly. "Right. Yes. Of course," she stammers hastily. "Uh. Go right on in."

The room where Morgana lies is dark but for the pale glow of some nearby diagnostic equipment, and quiet but for the omnipresent hum of the environmental systems. Aria stops briefly in the doorway, and listens for a moment to that peaceful half-silence, a far cry from Afterlife's heartbeat thump, and watches the dim outline of Seren's chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm.

In spite of the doctor's concerns, Aria actually doesn't intend to wake her - but Seren seems to register her presence anyway, and stirs, her eyes flickering half-open.

"Hello," she murmurs.

"Careful," Aria says dryly. "The doctor outside seemed to think my talking to you might kill you."

"...worthy death," Seren mumbles with a slight smile.

Aria's lips twitch. She crosses the room to sit down slowly on a chair at Seren's bedside. "Broken ribs, hm? What happened?"

Seren's lips purse in a tight frown and her pale grey eyes close again. "He had two varren with him. They were a distraction. But only a temporary one. And he won't infringe on your territory again."

"I expected nothing less," Aria says, and her tone is uncharacteristically soft. Here in the privacy of darkness, with no eyes on them, she can allow herself the luxury of visible concern for her lover, gratitude for her safe return. With equally atypical gentleness, she reaches out and runs her fingertips along Seren's hairline, brushing a lock of dark hair off her face. With the contact, the empathic bond between them hums to life, communicating all the emotion she still doesn't know how to voice in words. "You did well. And now you rest."

[massvoraciuseffect]

I want to know about human predators on the rise

How they would measure up to the other predators of the galaxy

That's a very good question!

From a Galactic point of view, humanity is the youngest race. But they were able to reconstruct the vore-implant for their female representatives very quickly. The first models of human vore-implants began to be tested just eight years after the First Contact War. Unlike the Quarians and Turians, human research on vore-implants is going very well - a certain similarity to the Asari helps, especially because of similar amino acids. For a long time, there were only two factors that held back the mass appearance of human predators. That's money and public opinion. A Vore-implant for humans is expensive, so much so that if a private person with an average salary wanted to buy one, they would have to take out a loan and pay it back for at least 45 years. Therefore, if you are not rich, the most reliable way to get an implant is to join the army on a contract with the condition of having a vore-implant. This is why there are the most predators among human in the Alliance military and corporate leadership. Public opinion changed after the Reaper War, however, when predators helped save entire colonies inside their bodies. If before the predator was something scary or incomprehensible, now predator-humans have the image of protectors (not always deserved) for humanity itself And although asari predators are still much more numerous, humans already occupy the honorable second place in the number of predators, and quite possibly in 100-200 years will overtake the asari.

[echthr0s]

god I love minor characters. High Rise (extremely random Railroad member in FO4 that Noah tops sometimes). Three-Dog (DJ and Gabriel's enabler as he runs around setting the entire Capital Wasteland on fire). Ashur (pretty Morag Tong assassin who can't kill my still-unnamed Bosmer but who wants to so bad -- in a horny way -- that it makes him look stupid). Morinth (the Ardat-Yakshi busy rearranging Adrian Shepard's neurons as she's rearranging his guts) (neither of those verb phrases are euphemisms. the weirdest kinds of asari sex are genuinely just Like That). many such cases

[izzysarchivedblogs]

Peter is just gonna happily wonder his way on in and lean down to give Clint a kiss. “Hey, guess what?” He didn’t really leave a pause. “You are a good boy, in case you didn’t know.”

The spectre was pretending to care about his emails by actually looking through them. Searching for the next corner of the universe that they could take their little BROKEN ARROW out for work. They were working a case for Citadel, for the asari councilor, but that was at a standstill with two informants to each station across five stations keeping tabs for him. It's the worse part of any bounty hunt; the chase and wait and chase again. THE WAIT PART ESPECIALLY BRUTAL. So he's scoring for some more work, extra credits in their pockets wouldn't be a bad thing given a number of reasons.

It's boring reading these; he should make someone else do them like Leonard. Now that was an idea. He would absolutely hate that, why didn't he have that idea earlier? It would have saved him the grief of committing to reading emails. There's a lot of spam mail, some thanks yous, and he really let his emails rake up over the last few months.

OH. THAT PERSON WAS DEFINITELY DEAD ⸻ He should have done this earlier, should have had Leonard get to these in the last six months. OOPS, Clint should definitely feel bad about that ⸻ The door way slides open and he's alerted to that when Peter's voice fills the space. HEY, GUESS WHAT ⸻ yeah, he wasn't going to feel bad about missing that S.O.S email from months ago when Peter was coming in.

Clint tilts his head backwards into Peter when he goes to give him a kiss, he smiles to up to the other and looks at him with confusion as Peter tells him he was a good boy, and then it hits him what Peter could be referring to. ❝ Hmm, only for you. ❞ Clint hums, spinning in his chair going to kiss him again but better this time. ❝ Hey there, your smile must be a black hole, nothing can escape its pull. ❞

He gets up from his chair, pulling Peter away from his little desk area and towards his bed. He collapses down, going to tug his boyfriend with him and goes to run his hand through Peter's hair. ❝ So I have an idea, most brilliant idea, because I have like three hundred and eight emails. I should make Leonard read them and like the rest of the crew can get a piece; but he likes boring stuff, right? Great idea. Genius. ❞ This was absolutely an idea meant to get a rise out of Leonard, give him a loving headache and because Clint really couldn't manage going through that many emails (it was a lot of spam).

❝ So what is he cooking, since he's up on making the crew meal tonight? It's your turn after him, which I guess you could call in a favor from a certain spectre to help. ❞ He is absolutely meaning to the clear the small kitchen and mess area for the cooking occasion, and it just be Clint helping his boyfriend cook as a date. He'll let their few crew play cards or poker in the comms room or something. It is Clint's ship after all, so he absolutely can make the rules. It's not like the BROKEN ARROW had more than a handful of people which left them plenty of space. Crew size under twenty five was a very small vessel. Plenty of chance for privacy like that.

[simowis]

Monthly nonsense 23.11

So I started to read the history again. Because he is the representative of his civilisation, even though we are of different races and our cultures must be far apart. I had to have more knowledge about the human culture before I could have a basis for an idea of his culture.

I don’t need to search sacrifice from others fictions，my people’s history has so many of them.

There's some good words in my language can discribe those solders' spirit, but english don't have them. A pity.

Maybe the word 'martyr' can explain part of it. But not for religious. For faith, for all of us a better life.

The ME's writer may not know what a 'memory shard' means for my race.

"No fight, no future. " "This cycle is doomed, unless there's a miracle. And miracles are what we must strive for with all our might." "Our deaths are inevitable, but it's all worth it in the passing of the flame to the next cycle. "

The consciousness of the Protheans in Javik's time would have been sublime. They no longer thought only of their own race, their own cycle.

He's absolutely a hero.

Wish he can have some kind of hope after war.

Casualty exchange ratio

His story summit is just over one hour. Too little, and too precious for me. I wait until I almost forget all of it then look back a little. Hope it can always be fresh to me.

In fact javik did not told Shep what's the actual 'weakness' of prothean empire. He indicate it is linked with 'all united together'.

I really enjoyed the philosophical musings in Shepard and Javik's daily conversations, especially on the subject of AI versus organisms. It's a shame it's only a few dozen lines of dialogue in the game. He really has a lot on his mind. He has a strong moral and philosophical view of the world, and he's been educated in more than just the parts necessary for a soldier. Had he been an adult in a time of peace, he would undoubtedly have been a fine scholar; he wasn't the type to be a passive recipient of others' ideas. If he writes books after the war, I'd like to read his thick, brick-sized series of essays on his ideas about AI; his philosophy of race.

Javik says that the Zha's mistake was to implant devices to enhance their intelligence, and that this led to the creation of Zha'tl. And he apparently believes that the rise of Zha'tl was an aberration, and that the Zha were subjugated and enslaved by their implanted AI. The Protheans, staunchly anti-AI, would have resisted their own implanted devices. At the very least, 'implanted devices to enhance intelligence can lead to a loss of control' is a lesson deeply embedded in the consciousness of every Prothean. They may also develop robotic hands, robotic eyes, or even entire mechanical bodies, but turning the brain into a chip and running multiple cores, as in 'Battle Angel Alita' ; or fusing Motoko's mind with the AI's consciousness, as in 'Ghost in the Shell', must be an absolute prohibition for them. Their ethics on genetic modification are obviously very loose, as they would modify the genes of the primitive Asari, and they would probably do genetic screening on themselves, as they are worshippers of evolution. However, they would certainly have no use for AI in this area, even though it would be a lot faster in terms of efficiency.

Honor must be a very important part in Prothean society.

The third day, his smile still compels me. This art is to pull my head and stab me with a small knife at the same time; while warming me up like a hot water bag. This only makes my blood flow faster. How do I draw a smile like this …… and then stab myself to death?

He tortured me for loving him.

Prothean don’t need primitives to fight Reapers.