#s:words

[dearophelia]

best of sara's fic, according to her

Because I’m feeling some kind of way about my cancer lately and wanted to put together a Sara’s Greatest Fic Hits while I’m still around to do it (which is a morbid thing to type, but see the intro: been feeling some kind of way lately).

These range from my most popular fics, to the ones lost to weird posting hours, and everything in between. If I counted correctly, there are 14 fandoms on this list: from Mass Effect and Dragon Age, to Grey’s Anatomy and Stargate SG-1, to The West Wing and Calvin & Hobbes.

I’d appreciate reblogs on this (I am not ashamed to pull the stage iv cancer card here) so it can reach as many people as possible.

I have been writing fic for over 15 years; this is not a short list.

All are rated T or lower unless otherwise indicated. All stories are at or under the 3k mark unless otherwise indicated.

Stargate SG-1:

waves are universal (the heaven in hiding remix) (Sam/Jack; I’m very Normal about this fic; time travel and alternate realities, a host of OCs (and some familiar faces from Norafic if you look closely), oh and the Sam/Jack kid from the alternate reality! Only she’s an adult and working on a way to save the world! This has it all, folks: humor, romance, angst, action! I told you I’m Normal about it; 40k)

strange is the night where black stars rise (Sam; horror! A low creeping sense of doom! The King in Yellow! No, seriously, fuck that planet; 10k)

#sg1wedding (Sam/Jack; their wedding turned into An Event against their will; bets are going down about who would win in a fight: Bra’tac or the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs; also Jack loses his socks; twitterfic from 2012 and technology has definitely Marched On, just read it like an unhinged group chat fic)

phoenix (Sam/Daniel/Teal’c, Sam/Jack, Sam/Jack/Daniel/Teal’c; apocalypse (that I consulted a real live geologist on!); rebuilding in the wake of said apocalypse; team family feelings, kids, and some really shitty neighbors; 38k)

Dragon Age:

joy cometh in the morning (Ariadne; rated M; a host of OCs; mind the warnings; friendship; worldbuilding galore; friendships and mentors and first loves; did I mention friendship and worldbuilding?; 56k)

through the rude wind’s wild lament, and the bitter weather (Ari+Cullen; quiet magic, kind magic, good magic is still new to Cullen)

as the sun kissed the horizon (Ari/Josephine; a relationship in ten moments)

‘til we meet again (Ari+Cullen; platonic sleeping together!)

so hold my hand, consign me not to darkness (Ari; her faith is the core of who she is and, for the first time, Andraste isn’t there; post-Trespasser)

raise your fists up to the sky (Kylie/Krem; it’s Krem’s first day with the Chargers and there’s a naked elf in the middle of camp)

every demon wants his pound of flesh (Krem+Bull; Krem was in the Fade with the Inquisitor and the fear demon had some Things To Say To Him)

black dove (Anaya) & strange little girl (Anaya+Dagna) & dissolving clouds (Anaya+Cullen) (because neurodivergent Inquisitor, friendship, blossoming romance, and three very different takes on blood magic)

skeletons (Zahara+Bull; she is saarebas, he is Ben-Hassrath, and language is important)

children shouldn’t play with dead things (Juliette Amell; she’s always had an easier time with the dead than the living; cw for bugs)

a sorta fairytale (Josephine/Cassandra; flower shop & tattoo parlor AU; 8k)

Mass Effect Trilogy:

gonna set your flag on fire (Nora Vakarian, Liv/Garrus, James/Liara, Liv+Liara, Livfam; action! Humor! Angst! Worldbuilding! OCs!; I am Super Normal about this fic too; I promise everything’s okay in the end, promise, even though it isn’t written yet; Nora is an N3 and has an inactive control chip in her head. She and her team are ordered to investigate a Cerberus facility. It goes, shall we say, awry; 40k)

anthem (Liv/Garrus, Hannah/Zaeed, Liv+Liara; eight months is a long time without each other; angst with a happy ending (I promise); post-Destroy; 13k)

holy ground & dress (Liv/Garrus; ficlets from the night he gets sworn in as Councilor)

brightly shone the moon at night (Liv, Liv+Liara, Liv/Garrus, Livfam; five Christmases in Olivia Shepard’s life; 5k)

the pieces of gold, they light up your eyes & now we’re alone, now we’re alive (Liv/Garrus; the evolution of a relationship)

fighting is said to have reached palaven (Liv/Garrus; please, please let him be alive)

and some things you just can’t speak about (Quentus+Nico; the war)

‘cause i know that it’s delicate (Liv/Garrus; pre-wedding!)

nosce te ipsum (Nico; he likes boys and fanfiction and he didn’t think he’d get his little italicized oh moment)

i will write you love letters if you tell me to (Liv/Garrus; Hannah gives him one of Liv’s notebooks before he goes off to Omega; Garrus does the only thing he can think of with it)

i really need you (Liv/Garrus; James POV during the reunion scene in Priority: Palaven)

you look really tired (Liv/Garrus, Liv+Liara; post-Thessia, Olivia’s not doing well)

hey, so, ground rules (Liv+Zaeed; it’s a lot weird now that he’s dating her mom)

and all the scars you bear are from a previous war (Liv+Quentus; Mom!Liv)

you can hear it in the silence (Liv/Garrus; just a moment, post-war)

this all started because of a bad day (Liv/Garrus; from first meetings to matching rings)

combat, i’m ready for combat & turn on your favorite nightlight (Hannah; she’s a civilian and her daughter isn’t, and she’s bound and determined to know what Liv goes through when her boots hit the ground; Hannah, Zaeed, Liv, and Garrus hit up Armax)

four quarians who never made it back to the fleet (and one who did) (kinda what it says on the tin, honestly. Oh, Tali’s in this!)

everyone’s lost, the battle is won (Evangeline; somewhat predictably, my experiment in getting as many of my team killed as possible resulted in Feelings About It)

across the sky (Susan/Liara; how to make the Control ending feel good)

and yours is in red underlined (Vanessa; The Illusive Man has pissed her off for the last time)

i’m headed straight for the castle (Vanessa; renegade control ending; kneel before your queen)

Mass Effect Andromeda:

for saviours (Tori; ten scenes from a pre-Andromeda life; 10k)

ringing joyful and triumphant (Tori/Liam/Jaal; just some morning fluff)

the thing with the baby angara (Tori/Liam/Jaal; thinking about the future)

the undone and the divine (Tori/Liam/Jaal; the lone single solitary explicit fic on here, give it props for that alone; Liam gets absolutely railed by his partners. That’s it. That’s the fic.)

you’re like the thing that makes the universe explode (Sara Ryder/Suvi, Drack; kid, the only people who don’t know that you like Suvi are people who haven’t met you and Suvi)

this one’s for the torn down, the experts at the fall (Tori+Garrus; one night in the intersection of Victoria Ryder and Archangel; maybe they’re better friends than they both thought)

The West Wing:

a great revelation sigh (CJ; she’s Chief of Staff; ten steps to the apocalypse; the apocalypse source probably didn’t age well, heads up)

it’s in my blood and i won’t give up ‘cause it’s running through my veins (Amy+Andi; it’s Election Day in the future and Amy has nothing to do)

Grey’s Anatomy:

dropsonde (the singers in a lower choir remix) (Addison/Alex, Derek/Meredith, Addison+Derek, Addison+Mark, Mark+Derek; the one that kicked off all the remixes; absolutely off the rails from canon somewhere in S3; budding romances and kidfic and my theory about people being storms and lighthouses; 40k)

scarlet city (Mark/Addison, Burke/Cristina; film noir gangster and detective AU; Addison’s the gangster, Burke’s the detective; literally everyone I could fit into this fic shows up; also Denny is comic relief; 18k)

Misc:

access records (Star Trek Voyager; Naomi Wildman’s holodeck access for the past week; worldbuilding!)

in this twilight our choices seal our fate (the song in the house of night remix) (SVU; Olivia/Elliot; rated M; on the rise and fall of partnership; probably a little too much religious imagery but what the hell else am I gonna do with a minor in religious studies?; 4k)

the end of days job (Leverage; Parker+Eliot+Hardison; the apocalypse job, basically; this one ages well!)

let the only sound be the overflow (D&D; Calia/Kelpie/Edal, aka ot3: fathoms below; the ocean is big and they are not)

we are golden stars above silver seas (we hear echoes from another galaxy) (Calvin & Hobbes; Calvin+Susie; throughout all those years, she never gave up on him; this one went viral on tumblr [LINK] and I cleaned it up for the AO3 version)

lift her, pull her, from the orchids (Grace and Frankie; Grace/Frankie; the one where I invoke the spelling bee)

rocket queens (Babylon 5/Pacific Rim; Susan Ivanova/Talia Winters; look, they’re jaeger pilots, I really don’t know what else to tell you)

the great gig in the sky (Battlestar Galactica; Six; rebirth is painful, she forgets this sometimes)

[asianlgbtnetwork-queue]

Happy Chinese New Year! 新年快乐 

Wishing you prosperity and wealth! 恭喜发财

May the year of the tiger bring you lots of joy, success, peace, prosperity and good health. Have a wonderful celebration with your loved ones. Take care and stay safe! 

Chinese New Year, also known as Lunar New Year and the Spring Festival, marks the end of winter and the beginning of spring season in the lunisolar calendar. It is begins with a reunion dinner on the eve, followed by 15 days of celebration. 

A popular legend tells of a mythical beast Nian (/nyen/, which sounds the same as 'year' in Chinese), that showed up every year to eat people and livestock. The townsfolk displayed red paper, burned fireworks, lit candles, and wore red clothes to scare away the beast. These traditions have continued until present time.

It is considered auspicious to wear red and to NOT sweep the house on the first day of Chinese New Year. Red packets (with money) are often given by the elders to kids to bring in the new year with well wishes and prosperity. It is favoured to give an amount that ends with 8 as it a homophone for “wealth” and not have a 4 as it sounds similar to “death”. 

[dearophelia]

I’m putting together a Best Of Sara’s Fic list (it will not be a short list) because I’m feeling Some Kind Of Way (cancer-related) lately

what fics of mine would you include on this list? sometimes things resonate really hard with readers and I absolutely forgot I wrote the thing

[dearophelia]

I don’t have any holiday fics to share this year (despite my best efforts, Things Keep Happening), so let me offer two I’ve written in years past:

through the rude wind’s wild lament, and the bitter weather (Dragon Age; G; Ariadne Trevelyan + Cullen Rutherford; Ari’s in charge of decorating Blackrock Tower’s Solstice Tree this year)

brightly shone the moon at night (Mass Effect; G; Olivia Shepard; five Christmases across Olivia’s life)

[dearophelia]

it's done it's done it's done! 18 pages of formatted worldbuilding for the Stargate franchise!

When the Tok'ra approach Sam about going undercover, they're at least kind enough to provide her with a briefing book.

→Read as PDF←

→Read on AO3←

This started out as a story that I just couldn't write. I couldn't find a plot for it, not after months of banging my head against it. I started writing the briefing book so a) I didn't have to worldbuild on the go, and b) as a Procrastination Activity. Maybe if I just wrote enough about this world I was creating, a plot would come flying in through the window and hit me in the head with inspiration.

Reader, it did not.

After a month, I realized that the more interesting exercise (for me) was Writing The Briefing Book. And so here it is. You can read it in PDF format (here) or you can read it on AO3 (here) with the images of the book's pages embedded in the plaintext.

This is written as if it were an actual briefing book; the "author" - a junior Tok'ra researcher named Nyala - occasionally pops in to give her opinion on matters.

[dearophelia]

strange is the night where black stars rise

A Stargate malfunction strands Sam on a hostile planet that desperately wants her to stay.

Stargate | Rated T for violence | Sam Carter | 10k words

This is horror! I finally did the thing! Keeping that in mind, a few content notes: isolationism, starvation, being hunted (by monsters), a low creeping sense of doom, reality warping, old forgotten things beyond our comprehension, time blindness, there's only one instance of body horror but it doesn't happen to Sam, and like two sentences of mild gore

Thank you to @vhenadahls for the beta and cheerleading 💖

---

She’s thrown out of the wormhole. By sheer luck, her shoulder, not her head, slams into the stone steps. Sam protectively tucks her head down as far as she can and she comes to a rolling stop on the dry, dead grass.

The wormhole closes.

Thunder rumbles across the dark, cloudy sky overhead. Harsh wind whips around her. There’s a high-pitched ringing in her ears and Sam takes a moment to breathe, steadying herself before she sits up and looks around.

She’s alone.

She hadn’t gone into the wormhole alone.

“Sir?” she calls into the empty area around the gate.

No response.

“Daniel? Teal’c?”

Sam stands and repeats the calls into her radio. Silence.

MALP video had shown sunny sandy desert, not storm-darkened forest with billowing smoky clouds above. Sam locates the DHD easily enough, but there’s no MALP beside it. Her stomach sinks.

Her team isn’t missing.

She’s the one who’s missing.

Wind rips through the brittle bare trees, clacking sticks and branches together like a mockery of applause. Cold wind stings sharply against her cheeks and the first raindrops dampen her skin as she rushes to the DHD.

She puts in Earth’s address, but hesitates after the first six symbols. She doesn’t know the point of origin of this planet. There are eight symbols on the DHD she doesn’t recognize. Any one of them could be the point of origin. A flash of green lightning and a clap of thunder yank her away from the impending logic puzzle and she pushes one of the unknown symbols at random and then the center crystal.

No joy. Not even a failed connection. The gate sits there, as if expecting more from her.

read the rest on AO3

[dearophelia]

"there’s not one who can represent me" for zahara adaar (who i don't think i know about [thinking emoji] hope this spaghetti sticks to the wall)

Bull researches as best he can. He’s Ben Hassrath; he can’t not look into Adaar’s past. Escaped – and alive – saarebas are rare, but it’s not an easy inquiry with what little information he has. There are no records of a woman named Zahara – ten to one she gave herself the name – so he works on description. The scars on her arm lead him to a dying tamassran, who gets him to Akhaaz and a dead Arvaraad. Three of the Arvaarad’s karataam are accounted for – dead, ritually killed by the soldiers who found the body. One is missing.

A female.

***

They all watch in horrified silence as Adaar uses a control rod on the Templar. First to extract the information they need, then to kill. Adaar’s emotions exist mostly in microexpressions beneath her gold vitaar. Bull watches closely, but sees none as she works over the Templar.

By unspoken, but highly gestured, discussion, Bull is volunteered to speak to her.

“So, hey,” he says that evening as they’re walking back to camp. He directs them to walk beside the creek, where the babbling water will hide their conversation from their companions. “Where’d you get a control rod?”

“My Arvaraad,” she says plainly. “He had no use for it anymore.”

“You killed him.” A fact.

“I loved him,” she says. A thousand unspoken stories lay written in those three words. “And I loved myself more.”

***

Back at Haven and the shouting is loud enough Bull hears echoes of it even outside the Chantry. Stained glass and old doors are terrible insulators.

She is the Herald. She is meant to be leading. She is the face of the Inquisition. She is the tone of the Inquisition.

Finally, and he’s impressed they held back this long, someone says it. He doesn’t catch who. You cannot do that.

The Chantry doors slam open under Adaar’s full wrath, metal hinges screaming in the cold. She storms out in a swirl of snow and then turns, surging into Cassandra’s personal space. She towers over her.

“I will not apologize for what I did to survive, Seeker.” Her lips curl over her teeth in a snarl. She shakes her head and the gilded tips of her broken horns glimmer green as the Breach shifts overhead. “If that so offends you, perhaps you should choose another herald for your god.”

[dearophelia]

WAVES ARE UNIVERSAL (the heaven in hiding remix)

the summary post

aka if you saw me posting about this the last few months and were waiting until The End to see what the deal was, here you go! I’m so proud of what I did with this story, it’s one of the best things I’ve ever written, and I would love it if you gave it a read.

When an otherwise-uneventful mission ends in both an alternate reality and time travel, Sam and Jack get stranded very far away from home. They land in a reality and timeline that’s living out the end of the world and looking to their alternate selves’ adult daughter for a solution. Oh, and their alternate selves are dead.

Between some truly nasty aliens, navigating around their Not Daughter, and trying to make it through the day in a place they don’t belong, the big question is if they can even get home. The bigger question is if Sam and Jack can resist the tension that’s built between them over the years. Spoiler alert: of course they can’t. This is fic.

40,683 words, Stargate SG-1, Sam/Jack, rated T. Medium burn, OCs and worldbuilding, canon typical comedy and canon typical violence (often at the same time), romance and combat and science oh my, with Air Force memos as a framing device.

read the whole thing on AO3!

[dearophelia]

“Fighting is said to have reached Palaven.”

With all her breath and all her strength and all the conviction of all the stars in the sky, Olivia tries not to hear the newscast.

Not when she’s checking on Ashley, battered and bruised and unconscious, hooked up to machines dripping medicine and nutrition into her veins. One of the best soldiers she’s ever met, knocked down before the war hardly started.

(If you can call this a war. Olivia isn’t sure yet if it’s a war or a slaughter. She’s going to fight like it’s a war, though. Wars have hope.)

Not when she’s talking to the Council, hearing new voices stonewall her with the same arguments. Why should we care, she hears between the lines when Irissa and Isheel speak, our homeworlds are still green and golden. Quentius trades in favors, payment due up front.

(We’ve lost everything, she wants to scream at them. We’ve lost our homeworld, a fleet, our entire government, all gone in a single day and you still won’t listen. We can stop them, why won’t you listen. In the elevator, Liara talks her off the ledge. Barely.)

Not when she’s trudging back to the Normandy with nothing but bad news to give Hackett. With nothing but bad news to give her crew, skeleton and new as it is. Olivia’s no stranger to uphill battles, but the walk to Normandy’s airlock is a sheer cliff.

(This is the beginning, not the middle or the end. This heavy, suffocating feeling is a beginning.)

“Fighting is said to have reached Palaven.” The newscast cycles as the airlock closes behind her.

She can’t help but hear it now, on repeat through her head in the silent airlock.

With all her breath and all her strength and all the conviction of all the stars in the sky, Olivia begs the universe – please, if you have any kindness in you at all, please let him be alive.

[dearophelia]

waves are universal :: epilogue

waves are universal (the heaven in hiding remix) » a sam/jack alternate reality time travel fic

epilogue

It’s still early summer. They keep the cabin’s air conditioning on through the high heat of the day, but turn it off at night. A soft, warm breeze flows through the open windows, fluttering the sheet covering them both. Sam sighs contently and rests her cheek on Jack’s bare chest. Cicadas drone in the trees outside while fireflies flit around, sparkling in the dark. If he listens carefully, Jack can hear the soft waves of the lake.

Disclosure had been awkward. Even after the lengthy debrief for P3X-673, Hammond hadn’t taken his retirement request without a good reason. Jack was honest. I’m in love with her, and that’s not gonna stop. And the program needs Carter right where she is.

in which we, officially, end the journey.

thank you to @vhenadahls for cheerleading this story into existence. thank you to @swaps55 for telling me to “give [her] more feelings, please” and bringing this thing from good to great. and thank you to everyone who’s read, kudos’ed, bookmarked, and commented on this story: everyone has been so kind and wonderful and supportive of this project and I cannot possibly convey how much that means to me.

→ read on AO3

[dearophelia]

there is an indentation in the shape of you

long live :: knight of cups :: there is an indentation in the shape of you

testing reach and flexibility for the first time. rated m for some nudity, but we fade to black before the fun stuff; godspeed to me and my notifications after the bots get hold of some search terms in this post

Olivia realizes, as she leaves the battery slightly mortified that she actually said we can test your reach and my flexibility, that she doesn't know how to do this.

Sex, yes. Well, sex with turians, no, but she has a few people she can ask and, failing that, the extranet's sure to have porn she can get the basic ideas from. So she can figure out the sex.

But after she’s just laid an immensely cheesy line onto her friend and propositioned him – and after said friend had stumbled surprisingly toward agreeing with her – how does she initiate the encounter? An email: You are cordially invited this Saturday to Commander Shepard's quarters for sex and light drinks. Or, and she's not sure if this is actually worse, a text: wanna bang? 😉

Fortunately, there’s a bit of a distraction with Miranda’s sister. Then, few days later, Garrus handles it. A text: Dinner? And research?

She quickly sends back an affirmative and feels herself relax just the smallest bit. Unfortunately, when the night arrives, she’s lost track of time with her own research and is in the middle of watching an impressive climax scene when her doorbell beeps. Rubbing her eyes – as if that could reset her short term memory away from porn – she pauses the video. Then she closes it, closes the program, and mutes and restarts her terminal for good measure before she lets Garrus in.

She smiles up at him. Something about Garrus always sets her at ease. As promised, he's brought dinner for both of them. He hands her an OSD. Olivia steps aside, gesturing for him to set up on the table.

His talons brush across her hip as he passes, a touch far too specific to be an accident. Delightful sparks shiver up her spine. She plugs the OSD into the wall and the fish tank fades opaque, turning into a screen. His file directory automatically pops up. Olivia feels a rush of heat to her cheeks.

Garrus is very, very organized with his media files. And he's been descriptive. Her cheeks get hotter and she’s glad for the relatively dim light of her quarters.

"I, uh," he says, "was doing some research and it turns out you and I are different enough that doing the research together seemed wise." He pats the seat beside him. "Sit, eat."

Olivia sits beside him. He's even brought wine. It's enough to distract her, for the moment, from the fact that there are several gigabytes of porn listed on her fish tank.

***

She raises her eyebrows. The woman on the screen is moaning her head off, but all Olivia can think about is chafing: as the woman bounces up and down, her inner thighs scrape against her turian partner's hips with each bounce. Nothing about the man's position looks pleasant either: his back is curved at a strange angle and his leg spurs push flat against the bed.

Their research stopped being arousing about fifteen minutes ago.

Glancing up at Garrus, she has to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. He looks horrified.

"Okay," she says, pausing the video. It freezes with both actors' faces contorted into unfortunate expressions. She turns off the screen entirely and, though it's been really nice cuddled into his side with his arm around her shoulders, slips out from underneath his arm.

Garrus looks at her and tilts his head.

She slides one leg over his and settles into his lap. The position immediately brings her to eye level with him. She smiles. "How about some hands on research?" Olivia suggests.

His mandibles flicker and Garrus nods. "Yeah," he says, setting his hands on her hips, "sure."

Olivia rests her hands on his shoulders and leans in to kiss him. She pauses. "Do turians kiss?" She should've looked that up. Vids have been nonspecific about it.

"Not really," he says. Her shirt's ridden up a bit and his fingers gently brush against the bare skin of her lower back.

Doing her best to ignore the way Garrus is trailing his fingers over her waist and hips, and instead focus on her inquiry, she purses her lips. "Is there an equivalent?"

"Shepard," he says. He's not even pretending now and boldly pushes her shirt up a little, getting at the very sensitive skin of her lower spine.

She feels a quiet whine start in the back of her throat, but she swallows it down. She also makes a great effort to steady her hips and not grind down on his surprisingly-comfortable lap. Get a hold of yourself, Olivia. It's been a while, but that's no reason to dry hump your friend. "I'm just trying – ” she doesn't know what she's trying, honestly.

Trying to make this not weird. And failing, mostly.

"Shepard," he says again. Quieter this time, lower, deeper. His voice rumbles through him. Through her.

One hand slides over her shirt and up her back, threading carefully through her hair, as the other continues exploring the skin of her waist and hips. She swallows.

Garrus gently tugs her forward, encouraging her to finish what she started a moment ago.

Olivia's eyes flutter shut and she presses her lips to his mouthplates. They're stiffer than human lips, drier and not quite as pliable; he returns the kiss as best he can. She smiles against him and lets her arms settle around his shoulders. Her fingers dance across the back of his neck – bumpy, but softer than she expected. Garrus draws her closer, pulling her hips against his as he presses up ever so slightly into her.

"So," she says breathlessly. She brings her hands forward, letting her fingertips ghost over his mandibles, mindful of his still-healing scars. "That seems to work okay," she smiles. She feels a lot more confident than she did a moment ago, calmer, and less like she's going to pull out a checklist and ask about turian sexual behavior.

A low, pleased rumble rolls from his throat. "It does," he agrees. "But I think there was something about hands on research?" He tugs on her shirt.

Grinning, she leans back and grasps the hem of her shirt. In one fluid motion, she pulls it over her head and discards the shirt aside, revealing a pink and black lace bra. She lost all of her cute underwear when the Normandy crashed (and Cerberus hadn’t supplied her with any), but she had time to kill in Nos Astra the other day.

Garrus inhales sharply and drags his talons across her hips, marveling at the smooth skin he finds there. His hands coast up and down the slope of her sides and across her stomach; her breath shakes as she keeps herself still. He pulls his eyes away from her waist and back up to her face. "Soft," he says.

"Is that good?" she asks, hesitantly.

"Different," he says. He traces the edge of her pants, dipping just underneath the fabric at the front. She gasps. "But good," he murmurs as he brushes his thumbs across her hipbones.

Garrus draws his hands away from her hips and up to her breasts. He trails his finger over the outline of her bra, taking note of every sound and movement. He sets his whole palm over her breast itself and her breath catches in her throat.

"Good?" he asks, cupping her breast.

"Good," she breathes, "but." She twists in his lap, showing him the clasp of her bra. She flicks it open, so he knows how, and then turns back around.

Garrus lightly drags the straps down her arms and then pulls the whole thing off. She takes from him and tosses it near her shirt.

"That was good," she murmurs, "but this is better." When Garrus looks perplexed, she takes his hands and sets them on her breasts again. His ungloved hands are warm, soft, and he squeezes gently. His talon skims across her nipple and her breath catches.

He tilts his head in fascination and does it again, watching as the sensitive bud grows tighter. He brings his attention to both nipples, playing and teasing until they're both hard and Olivia's squirming in his lap. Looking up from her chest, he grins at her. "I take it that's good?" He leans into her, nuzzling his mouthplates against her neck.

If he slid his hand into her pants, he'd find her panties soaked. "Yes," she breathes.

As Garrus licks a slow line up her neck, she continues her own exploration. Frustrated by his shirt in the way, she leans back and tugs at it. "Can I take this off?"

He nods and lets go of her breasts, which sends a bolt of disappointment through her until she realizes that he's showing her how to get his shirt off. A few toggles and a hidden clasp, and the shirt practically falls away. Garrus casts it aside and then draws her back for another kiss, holding her tight to him.

His hide feels strange against her bare breasts: drier, warmer than human skin, and a little rougher, but not so rough that it hurts. He tugs her closer and she gasps as her nipples graze against his chest – just rough enough to feel amazing. Olivia slides her hands over his newly-exposed skin, across his shoulders, his chest, the back of his neck. She finds a soft spot just beneath his crest and strokes her fingers over it.

Garrus shudders and breaks the kiss.

"Sorry," she says, dropping her fingers away.

He bumps his forehead against hers. "It's nice," he breaths. "Really nice." He slowly drags the tip of his talon down the length of her spine, settling his palm comfortably on her ass. "But it's also a good spot to kill a turian," he whispers. "So be careful."

Nodding, Olivia smiles. She lightly draws a spiral over the spot and Garrus shudders again. This time, she can discern the arousal in it. "Where else is nice for you?"

Garrus hums and settles his hand beside the other on her ass. He squeezes gently. "Might be easier if we moved off the couch." He brushes a kiss to her cheek.

She slides off of him and nearly trips over the table. Garrus catches her arm, steadying her. Once she has her balance, she takes his hand and leads him over to the open space beside the fish tank. She doesn't want to presume anything about the bed, not yet.

"Here," he says, taking her hands. He sets them on his slim waist, just above the fabric of his pants.

Her hands fit perfectly on his hips. She lets her fingers dip into the space between his plates, finding soft, smooth hide. Garrus breathes heavily and she looks up. His eyes are closed, mouth slightly open. She presses a little harder. He groans.

Garrus settles his hands on her own hips, trailing his fingers over the edge of her pants. He opens his eyes. "Can I take these off?" he asks, dipping a talon just slightly below the waistband.

"Yeah," Olivia whispers. She's wearing sweatpants; no buttons, no zippers. "Just push them down."

He does, ever so gently and ever so slowly. He drags her pants down over the curve of her ass and lets them fall to the floor. She steps out and kicks them aside, standing in front of him in only her panties.

He's seen her in her underwear before, changing in and out of armor, and she thinks he might have even seen her naked once on the SR-1, when showers were limited and the urge to not smell like scorched rachni was more important than modesty. But this is different. This is intentional, this is under dim lighting, touching each other. This is cute underwear that matches the bra.

Garrus lightly draws her closer, tracing her curves as his eyes roam over her almost-naked body. "What do you like?" he asks as his hands once again settle on her hips. He gently brushes his fingers over the thin fabric of her panties.

She actually had a list. It seemed practical, knowing what she likes and doesn't like, so she could give him an answer to this exact question. But she can't think of anything on it right now. She can’t think of anything other than getting her panties off and getting someone – Garrus or her own hand, she really doesn't care – between her legs. "Want me to show you?"

She's a little surprised by the sultriness in her voice, but the heat between her legs is far more to pay attention to.

Garrus nods, but doesn't move, keeps stroking her hips, her ass, every bit of panty-covered skin he can reach.  

Smiling, she gestures. "Then these need to come off."

Taking half a step closer toward her, he hooks his fingers into the waistband and, once she nods again, happily obliges.

***

Several hours later, Olivia lies on her back with Garrus' head resting on her bare stomach. A sheet lightly covers them from the cool air of her quarters. She's idly tracing his crest while he draws patternless designs across her skin.

"So, not a horribly awkward interspecies thing," she says. Quite the opposite.

Garrus grins. "It's nice to be wrong sometimes."

[dearophelia]

does a scorpion sting when fighting back

long live :: two of pentacles :: does a scorpion sting when fighting back

get you a girl who can do both

Olivia shifts Nico up higher onto her hip. He rests his head on her shoulder as she turns down the next aisle. “You want ice cream?” she asks quietly. Physical therapy was rough for him today.  

He nods and curls his talons into her shirt, holding on tight. “Strawberry,” he says.

She presses a kiss to his forehead. “You got it.” She finds the dextro strawberry ice cream and puts a pint in the cart.

They make it all the way through checkout before the cameras start. A flash catches on the glass windows and flares in her eyes. Olivia sees purple spots across her vision. Nico whimpers and buries his head in her shoulder. She murmurs assurances to her son, pays for their groceries, and steels herself as she walks out. The press has left them alone for a few months, but under pressure from the Council and the press, her office just released an updated relay repair schedule.

She was never going to make everybody happy, certainly not by announcing yet another delay to Thessia’s relay, but the press release was only a few hours ago. She’d hoped for a little longer respite before the chaos started. If wishes were horses, she’d be drowning in it.

“Captain Shepard!”

“Director Shepard! What was your logic for choosing the Aru relay over the Athena relay?”

“Director!” “Captain!” “Doctor!” “Shepard!”

Olivia grits her teeth. She’s been down a press secretary for a couple of weeks and so all the news outlets have been very diligent in finding her to accost with all of their questions. Her new press secretary starts tomorrow, at least. “It’s okay,” she whispers as Nico whines at the noise and lights. “I’ve got you.”

She makes her way through the mob by being none-too-gentle with the cart. It’s a grocery store and both she and her security team thought she was clear to go on her own for just a quick grocery run. Evidently they were all wrong. When a particularly insistent reporter shoves a microphone right in her face, she steadies her grip on Nico and pushes the reporter’s hand out of the way without care for his equipment. The microphone crashes to the concrete and shatters. The press mob immediately goes silent.

“Back off,” she growls. She turns to address all of them. “If you have questions about the relay schedule, you can call my office. I’m happy to answer your questions if you follow the proper press channels. But right now, you are scaring my son. Let us through,” she orders through clenched teeth.

The crowd respectfully parts for them and they make it the rest of the way to the skycar unbothered. Tonight’s news will be the clip of her smashing a reporter’s equipment on repeat without any context – it’s on countless cameras, plus the omnitools of a few civilians in the parking lot – but she doesn’t care. Though Nico was in no physical danger, he’s scared. No one gets to frighten her child. She’d have them all fired if she had any control over it. Forcing herself to take even breaths so she doesn’t betray her own anger and make Nico more upset, Olivia puts their groceries into the car one-handed, returns the cart to its corral, then sets Nico into his seat in the back.

“You okay?” she asks softly, buckling him in. He’s still too small to sit safely in the front seats.

Nico sniffles. She can tell that he’s trying so hard to be brave for her and pretend that he isn’t scared, but he shakes his head. His subvocals pitch up into a high distress range. Though she’s adept at reading turian subvocalizations, she can’t cancel out Nico’s distress with a soothing frequency like Garrus does. She instead cups his mandible, brushing her thumb over his cheek. “I love you,” she says, gently tugging him forward. She bumps her forehead against his. “We’ll be home in a few minutes.”

He nods. She kisses his forehead, then shuts the door and gets in, driving off. They’re almost home before his subvocals start to calm down.

Nico’s still rattled (truthfully so is she), despite his calming subvocals, and Olivia settles him on the couch with a promise to be right there. She rushes to put the perishable groceries away; everything else can wait until later. In case he gets wind of it, Olivia sends a quick text to Garrus to let him know what happened and that they’re okay, then scoops a small bowl of ice cream for Nico. She sits next to him on the couch. Before he starts to eat, Nico crawls into her lap. Olivia shifts and settles her arms around her son as he curls into her.

“You’re okay,” she promises, pressing a kiss to his crest. “Want to watch some TV?” she asks as he dips his spoon into the bowl.

“Can you play Mario?” he asks quietly.

Olivia smiles and turns on their game system. He’s still a little too young to really enjoy MarioKart for himself, but he likes watching her play. “Sure.”

[dearophelia]

and some things you just can’t speak about

long live :: the tower :: and some things you just can’t speak about

Quentus is five when the Reapers come. [it’s sad turian kiddo hours here tonight. warnings for war and parent death. i’m so sorry.]

He’s five when they come.

Quentus lingers upstairs against his father’s strict orders to come down to the basement now. Ducking down so he’s almost hidden, he peeks out through the front window as a red laser beam shoots out from the hulking ship. The beam whines so harsh Quentus feels it in the space between his ears. Suddenly, a little pastry shop down the street explodes in fire and brick.

He inhales sharply and drops all the way down to the floor. As fast as he can, he scrambles on his hands and knees for the basement door. His hand slips and he tumbles and bumps his way down the steps. Dad doesn’t even scold him for staying upstairs, just pulls him up from the floor and into a tight hug. His subvocals rumble in a panicked hum that makes Quentus sniffle and start to cry.

Dad holds him, letting him cry before pulling away. He gives Quentus a little nudge, urging him deeper into the basement. Once sure that Quentus is safe, he climbs the stairs to close the door. A simple sheet of metal can’t protect them from the monsters descending from the sky, but it feels safer with the door closed.

“What are they?” Quentus asks, wiping underneath his eyes.

Mom shifts Nico from her hip to Dad’s arms and then kneels in front of him. There’s a soft, calming hum coming from her throat, but it’s choked with worry. “They’re called Reapers,” she says quietly.

“The bakery’s gone,” he says. All those pretty pastries. The lafka and trilap he and Nico like. The kindly older woman behind the counter who snuck samples out to kids when their parents weren’t looking. All gone.

Mom nods and draws him in close.

They’re silent for the rest of the evening. Quentus curls up on a pile of pillows in the corner and tries to sleep. He counts sixteen flashes of red before sleep finally comes.

//

Two weeks pass. Mom and Dad take turns venturing upstairs to bring food and supplies down. They’re both silent each time they come back, subharmonics tight and controlled with what they aren’t letting their sons hear.

Quentus wants to see the sun through more than the small basement windows. But he knows better than to ask. Mom and Dad are so on edge, so hypervigilant, that he doesn’t dare ask, even if he can carry an armful of cans down the stairs.

“We should’ve left with the Initiative,” Dad says quietly one night, his voice full of sharp regret. He hangs his head and stares at his feet.

Mom sets her hand on his shoulder. “We didn’t know,” she says, just as softly.

“Avi had a spot for us. We could have left. All of this…” the rest of his words disappear into a strangled breath. He turns toward Mom and lets her pull him into a hug. Quentus can’t make out their murmured words, but Dad’s shoulders shake as he clutches at Mom, like he can’t hold her close enough.

The mattress shifts beside him and Quentus scoots over, making room for Nico. His younger brother looks up at him with wide eyes, fear rumbling through his subvocals. Quentus settles an arm around Nico’s shoulders and lets him cuddle into his side. He can’t make the same warm, comforting rumble that Dad uses to soothe them after a bad dream, but he can give Nico a hug.

Quentus doesn’t know what the Initiative is, but Dad doesn’t mention it or Uncle Avi again. By the end of the fourth week, all of their belongings that matter have been moved down to the basement.

//

Quentus is dismayed to discover that, despite the Reapers invading and slowly turning their street into rubble, he is not exempt from schoolwork lessons.

Mom works with him on his math one day while Dad’s out scavenging for supplies. The sun sets, Quentus has finished two sets of problems on his own, and Dad hasn’t returned.

She makes dinner – their fresh food is long gone, but she manages a decent dinner with canned vegetables and dehydrated meat – and plays games with the two of them until bedtime like nothing’s wrong. Quentus desperately wants to ask about Dad, but there’s a fragility to the way she’s holding herself. He squeezes her a little tighter when she hugs him goodnight.

Three nights later, there’s a noise upstairs. Mom turns off the lights, grabs a gun, and takes up position at the bottom of the stairs. “Hide,” she orders him and Nico.

Quentus grabs Nico’s arm and drags him out of sight into a closet. He keeps the door cracked and keeps his eye glued to the tiny open space.

The basement door opens, then closes, and a figure walks down the stairs. He pauses at the bottom, in a patch of moonlight.

“Torbin,” Mom breathes. The gun clatters to the ground. “Where the fuck were you?” she hisses, equal parts anger and relief in her voice. She stands up and immediately wraps her arms around him.

The bag of supplies in Dad’s hand falls and he holds her just as tight. “I’m sorry,” he whispers as Mom’s subvocals break, “there was a Reaper patrol. I couldn’t get back.”

Quentus barrels out of the closet, Nico right behind him, and they both rush into their father’s knees. Dad bends down and rests his brow against Quentus’, then Nico’s.

“I love you,” Dad says, desperation thickening his voice as he hugs them both.

Quentus can only whimper.

//

Six months pass and all Quentus wants is to play outside again. To see something other than the walls of their basement. To see and talk to someone other than his parents and younger brother.

He misses his friends.

Some of them might be alive – he’s heard his parents talking about people they’ve met out scavenging, and some of the names are familiar – but he’s not allowed upstairs, much less outside. It’s safer apart, Dad said patiently, when Quentus finally yelled about wanting to see the sun and play with his friends. They’re less likely to notice us in small groups.

So he reluctantly pokes at his schoolwork, tries not to be too annoyed when Nico does his reading lessons out loud, and makes it halfway through an entire math book before Mom realizes he’s been cheating. She gives him a look, sighs, and makes him start over again, this time with the answer key removed from his omnitool.

Mom passes time by building solar battery panels from spare parts she and Dad bring back from scavenging. She trades them for vitamins. Dad sews up wounds and sets broken bones in their kitchen, accepting whatever he can in payment even if it’s nothing more than thanks. Days pass with the rise and fall of sun in tiny shadows on the floor. Quentus has stopped jumping at every horn and blast outside.

One of Dad’s patients pays him in a media OSD. Quentus smiles for the first time in months when he discovers an entire directory of comic books. Mom lets him skip a day of lessons. He curls up in his tiny bed and devours each issue, even the volumes and stories he doesn’t know.

Math is still stupid, dehydrated meat is still tasteless, and he still misses his friends. But at least he has new comic books, even if he goes through them all in a week.

//

A little over a year into living in the basement, Quentus wakes up to violent red light and unbearable heat. The whole house shakes and glass breaks upstairs.

“Get down,” Dad says, climbing over him to shield Quentus with his own body. He tucks his hands over his head, arching his back so his strong plates take most of the blow.

Through deafening crashes and a demonic horn that grates all the way down his spine, Quentus hears Nico crying beside him. He looks over: Mom’s curled over Nico the same way Dad’s protecting him. She closes her eyes and tucks around him tighter as the ceiling collapses onto them.

The silence that follows is worse. The four of them hold still, waiting for the rest. Quentus tucks his head into Dad’s carapace like he did when he was smaller. Dad hums quietly and Mom joins in – a warm, safe noise, and Quentus tries to pretend that they’re just cuddled on the couch, reading before bedtime. It doesn’t work.

Mom’s breath hitches when the mechanical noises begin. Something’s walking in the remains of the upstairs – many somethings. They communicate with beeps and electric whirs and growls. Quentus slams his eyes shut and doesn’t see the look that passes between his parents.

Dad pulls away. Quentus opens his eyes, lifting a browplate in confusion.

“Hide,” he whispers, gently bumping their brows together. “Take care of your brother.”

“Dad?” his voice sounds so small.

“I love you,” Dad says. “Remember that.” He presses his mouthplates to Quentus’ crest and then pulls away to gather Nico in his arms.

Quentus doesn’t even have half a second to process his father’s words before his mother wraps her arms around him. Her subvocals rumble with deep, aching grief as she hugs him tight.

“I love you,” Mom whispers fiercely. “Stay together. Don’t let them find you.”

Pieces of concrete and stone start to lift away. The mechanical noises grow louder. Something screams and it makes Quentus want to curl up in his mother’s arms and never ever leave.

“Hide,” she urges, letting go. He reaches for her, but she only grabs his hand, leading him toward the closet. “Stay here,” she says, stepping out of the way for Dad to set a crying Nico beside him in the small room. “Keep the door shut,” she orders, “and close your eyes.”

His breath shakes and he starts to cry just like his brother. “Mom?”

She leans in and briefly rests her forehead on his, then Nico’s. “I love you, so much.”

Light shines in from a newly-made hole by the stairs.

“Andi,” Dad says from the other side of the room. He slides a brand new heat sink into his rifle.

“Close your eyes,” she says softly with a smile, just like when he’s having trouble sleeping. She shuts the door, leaving Quentus and Nico in darkness.

With one hand clamped over Nico’s mouth and the other over his own, Quentus squeezes his eyes shut as gunfire erupts in their basement.

And then, after what feels like an eternity, silence.

//

Based on the path of sunlight through the small crack at the bottom of the door, three days pass before Quentus works up enough courage to pop the door open and peek out. He doesn’t see anything, so pushes the door the rest of the way open.

There’s dried blood by the stairs, staining the floor a dark blue. The basement is empty.

They’re alone.

[dearophelia]

turn on your favorite nightlight

long live :: nine of wands :: turn on your favorite nightlight

Hannah partakes in that gold match from combat, i’m ready for combat. It goes about as well as you can expect.

It’s three weeks before Liv’s back on the Citadel and schedules line up for their gold match. Hannah’s spent most of those three weeks pointedly not talking about it to Zaeed, but spending a little extra time at the shooting range. If he notices (and there’s no way he doesn’t), he doesn’t say anything.

After a warmup bronze match against geth that earns Hannah her first kill medal, Hannah watches the three of them load up on gear in a way they haven’t yet. They’ll be on gold, but given how they’re gearing up for this (and that Olivia programs a missile launcher for each of them), Hannah thinks she could’ve gone her entire life without knowing her daughter soloed something called platinum. More than once.

Liv hands her a handful of mod chits to plug into her gear slots on the match configuration board. The board beeps and displays the mod name as it registers each. A pistol amp, armor-piercing rounds, shield power cells, and a shield booster, all maxed out at level five. Hannah swallows.  

“Map preference?” Garrus says, flipping through the choices. “Giant, Rio –”

“Fuck Rio,” Zaeed and Olivia say at the same time. Hannah wonders what the story is there.

“– Giant, Vancouver, Goddess, Hydra, or Dagger?”

Olivia checks the sights on her shotgun. “I’m too short for Dagger. And, you know,” she says as she slams her locker shut, “maybe not Goddess.”

There’s a twinge of pain in Olivia’s voice. Earth’s never been home for Olivia, but Thessia was for a while. Probably still is.

Garrus nods. “Any objection to Hydra?” Hearing none, he selects the map, sets the enemy, and challenge.

The board flashes HYDRA – REAPERS – GOLD and then begins a countdown.

Ten seconds to back out.

“Breathe,” Hannah says to herself.

***

A barrage of grenades explodes at the other end of the map and it’s a lot of effort not to sit down in a corner, cry, and just let something kill her.

Gold is loud. Gold is chaos. Gold has too many enemies coming from too many directions at once. Gold is overwhelming. She’s gone down four times and hit a grand total of zero targets.

It’s wave three. Of eleven. And this is what her daughter deals with every time she jumps out of a shuttle. Crying seems like a really good idea.

It doesn’t help that she’s been split off from the others. She’s hiding at the very corner of the map under a ladder, hoping nothing notices her.

The others aren’t together either, but they know what they’re doing. Their comm chatter has been heavier this match – amidst calling out shots and swearing, there’s still an astonishing amount of banter – and none of them are as scared as she is.

Which makes sense: they’ve all been doing this a long time and they did it together for a year and a half. But it doesn’t make her feel better.

Something slides down the ladder and lands in a crouch next to her. Hannah startles and whips around so fast she loses her balance. She comes face to face with Olivia.

Liv peers out of cover long enough to scan the immediate area. Finding nothing worrisome, she taps her comms. “Massani, Vakarian, keep the shit off us,” she orders. “We’re in the back corner by the dam. Back in a minute.” She switches her comms to silent and then reaches out, tapping the same control on Hannah’s gear.

“Liv,” Hannah starts, but she doesn’t know what comes after. She wants to be brave for her daughter, but she’s fucking terrified.

“Mom,” Olivia says, as steady and collected as Hannah’s ever heard her. “Number one, none of this is real. Remember that. Safety protocols are locked on and there is no such thing as friendly fire. You cannot get hurt.”

Hannah nods. Olivia’s voice is calm and comforting, soothing amidst the gunfire and fighting.

“Number two, we’ve got you. Zaeed, Garrus, and I. We know how to do this. We will get you through this.”

It’s the nightmare voice.

Hannah used this exact tone with Olivia and Mark when they were small and had a scary dream. She doesn’t know how she feels about Liv using that same voice back onto her, but that’s a problem for later. Right now, the nightmare voice is exactly what she needs to hear.

“Good air in, bad air out,” Olivia says.

An uncomfortable mechanical noise whirs nearby. Liv pops up, scopes in on the marauder, and blows its head off.

A little medal appears in the corner of Hannah’s HUD: Olivia Shepard – 15 Headshots.

“Mom,” she says, drawing Hannah’s attention again. “Good air in. Bad air out.”

It’s an order.

Even if she could argue, Hannah wouldn’t. Not with that tone to Liv’s voice. Hannah takes a deep breath.

“Do you need to stop?” Olivia asks, brow furrowed deeply in concern.

Yes.

“No,” she says firmly. “I want – I need to finish this. And then drink. Heavily.” This is her daughter’s life. All this fighting, all these horrors, and Hannah can’t do a goddamn thing to protect her from it.

A brute goes down on the walkway above them (Garrus Vakarian – 25 kills) and the metal structure shakes, grating and shrieking against itself.

“Well, Zaeed lost the headshot bet in the warmup, so drinks are on him tonight.” Liv’s smile drops and she throws two grenades at an influx of cannibals in the courtyard before they can get any ideas. “I’m right here. And I’m staying right here. If you want to park it next to me in cover for the rest of this, that’s alright. I’ve got you.”

They’re in armor in a combat simulator on the Citadel, not barefoot in a chilly cornfield on Mindoir, but for a moment – it’s suddenly eighteen years ago. Only this time, Olivia’s saying Hannah’s words.

“I’m right here,” she whispered, holding her daughter close as withered corn stalks rustled in the wind. “I’ve got you.”

Hannah exhales. Bad air out.

“Okay?”

“Okay,” Hannah nods.

There’s that smile again, reassuring and solid. Olivia gently clasps her shoulder. “Good hunting.”

Hannah offers a half-hearted smile in return. She swallows. “Good hunting.”

[dearophelia]

Nosce te ipsum for Nico! (I'm on a Nico kick, so sue me :D)

» KNOW THYSELF « [from this prompt list]

Nico’s eleven when he figures out he likes boys. It’s not an earth-shattering lightning strike kind of realization. It’s a slow italicized oh from the fanfic he pretends not to read.

When Quentus mopes around for weeks after Carina Ballantine breaks up with him, Nico doesn’t see what all the fuss is about. And not just because Carina’s a snob.

It’s because Carina’s a girl.

Carina’s brother, on the other hand, well. Cato comes by to drop off some things that Carina wants to give back (this sends Quentus into a whole new wave of moping) and Nico barely manages to say hi before running away, face flushed blue. Cato’s older, a year into his military service and home on leave, always nice (unlike his sister), and it’ll be years before Nico banishes that crush.

***

He meets Lucien Kaltro in first year of basic. Lucien’s like him – tracked into non-combat for medical reasons – and they bond over counterintelligence methods and not having to run an obstacle course in the pouring rain.

Nico has a lot of friends in basic. Lucien, Malli, Doran, Tal, Hark, others that flit in and out of his circle as rotations and time allow. They’re all non-combatants. Most of them should’ve had medical attention as kids and could’ve been treated, but the Reapers got in the way. So he walks with a limp and Lucien hears with implants. Malli's eyes only work about half the time, Doran's spine grew a little funny and he moves around mostly in a wheelchair, something about Tal's digestive system makes them sick more often than not, and Hark, Hark fell out of a tree after the war and shattered his left arm in a way that even the best Cipritine doctors couldn't fully put back together. Hark's a disaster and makes a whole personality about it. Nico sleeps with him for a few months before he realizes he wants someone who's a little less of a dedicated mess.

But out of all of them, Nico spends the most time with Lucien, even when he's dating Hark. He learns to sign a bit so Lucien can get a hearing break and still talk to him. And then he learns a little more. And then soon he’s picking up sign language as another fluency and getting certified. And then he and Lucien are having their own conversations the others can't understand. Inside jokes and memes and little bits of commentary.

It annoys the others, but not in a way that makes them want to learn more signs than it takes to swear.

What they don't see, and what Nico doesn't want them to see because it's private and quiet and theirs, are the deep conversations after lights out, held with their hands by the light of Menae shining in through a dormitory window. He learns then that Lucien survived the war with his sisters and his dad in the sculpture gallery of the Cipritine Art Museum. In turn, Nico silently tells Lucien about the night his parents died, about Quentus clamping his hand over his mouth and how Nico didn't know it was possible to want to scream that badly.

They sneak out the next night and hug each other so tightly Nico thinks one of them might break something. Everyone their age has a story about surviving the war someplace other than home, or without family, or both, but not everyone talks about it. Nico's never told anyone until Lucien, not even Mom or Dad. He thinks Quentus maybe told them.

He and Lucien are closer after that night.

Year two finishes and then they're being split up for assignment. Nico's sad about his friends, but he's devastated at the prospect that he and Lucien might not be assigned to the same billet.

Assignments roll out alphabetically by last name over a few days and Lucien announces over dinner that he's headed to The Quarters, a Hierarchy intelligence campus with a heavily-classified location in the northern regions.

Everyone celebrates, because The Quarters is practically unheard of for a cadet just out of basic. Nico raises a glass, though there's a tight knot in his stomach. He knows he's good, but he doesn't know if he's Quarters good.

Two days later, his own assignment finally comes in.

"Here," he says, pushing his laptop toward Lucien. "I can't look." He rests his head in his hands.

Lucien shakes his head with a small smile and takes the computer. He pops a piece of graxen into his mouth and crunches as he scrolls through the email. "Well," he says as the smile slowly grows. He turns the laptop back around so Nico can see. "Looks like we're stuck with each other."

Nico looks at the screen through spread fingers. The Quarters. He blinks a few times, but the words stay the same. He's going to The Quarters. Lucien's going to The Quarters. He's going to The Quarters with Lucien.

The little italicized oh slams into him again as he sees the way Lucien's grinning at him. It's…spirits, he's an idiot.

Lucien's grin turns into a smirk and Nico really wants to kiss him. So he does.

[dearophelia]

combat, i’m ready for combat

long live :: seven of wands :: combat, i’m ready for combat

It's suddenly become very important that Hannah knows what her child faces when she jumps out of a shuttle.

“Zaeed suggested we do an Armax match,” Hannah says, over coffee.

“That's,” Olivia blinks and looks up, starting to approach morning coherency. “That's actually a really good idea.”

“Liv.” She'd been hoping Olivia would help her talk Zaeed out of it. While part of her knows that running through at least one match is the good and sensible thing to do, the rest of her wants to stick her head in the sand and pretend that reapers are just some nightmare that will fade away when she wakes up. They aren't, but that doesn't stop her from hoping.

Olivia swallows a mouthful of coffee and then covers a yawn. “It's a good idea. It'll help you feel comfortable shooting at things that are moving. Hopefully,” she starts a new sentence before Hannah can jump in, “hopefully you'll never have to. But,” she pauses, “I’d feel a little better, I know Zaeed would, and I think you would too, if the first time you had to hit a moving target was not the first time you'd tried.”

Hannah sighs. Zaeed would cancel if she really wanted and Olivia won’t push it if she asks her not to. But much as she doesn't want to admit it – they have a point. She can hit a stationary and labeled target pretty reliably, but in reality that isn't going to do her a damn bit of good.

***

Olivia uses her pass to book the Arena after hours one night. She's been using it for practice with her team, trying new tactics, weapons, and squad configuration. Armax is more than happy to let her have it after the incident with their scoring system.

Hannah watches in fascination as Olivia straps on her armor. She's seen her daughter in full battle gear before, but never watched the process. Boots, greaves, helmet, gauntlets, shoulders – all black with bright purple accents. Garrus helps Olivia with the shoulder seals of her chest piece and then she's in. Olivia shakes out her arms and bounces around a bit, making sure everything's properly in place.

She actually looks excited.

They're fighting holographic enemies. There's no audience, nothing real at stake. And yet Hannah's scared out of her mind. And her daughter is grinning.

Olivia cracks her neck and turns around. Her grin immediately vanishes – Hannah wonders just what expression was on her face to cause Olivia make an abrupt left turn like that – and she gives her a quiet little comforting smile instead. “I promise. No one's out there. They're not recording this. We're playing on bronze. We've,” she gestures to herself, Garrus, and Zaeed, “got you covered, Mom.”

That Olivia considers this playing is something Hannah thinks she ought to have examined by a professional. “Remind me why we're doing this?”

“Because actual reapers don't stand still in a shooting range with a target on their foreheads.” Zaeed comes up behind Hannah and kisses her cheek. Hannah leans into him a little.

“Be nice if they did,” Olivia says, rotating her shoulder. She got caught by a charging brute last week and she's still a little sore. “How's the armor feel?”

Hannah twists her torso. She's borrowing a set from Liara; Armax requires armor for all combatants and Olivia looked at her like she was nuts when she mentioned renting some from the arena. It fits a bit awkwardly – too tight in the shoulders, too loose in the chest – but it's so much lighter than the suit Ashley offered. She can actually move in this one without feeling like the local gravity quadrupled. “Strange.”

“You get used to it,” Olivia says and checks the capacity on her Black Widow.

Hannah's not sure she wants to get used to armor, but doesn't say so.

“Ready?” Zaeed asks.

Hannah blinks.

“You don't actually have to do this, Mom,” Olivia says quietly, taking a step closer so the two men know to keep their noses out of it. “Say the word. We'll cancel the whole thing and go get dinner.”

Hannah shakes her head and takes a sharp breath. “No. Let's do this.”

“You sure?” Olivia puts one gloved hand onto her mother's arm.

Nodding, Hannah settles her hand over Olivia's. “Yeah.”

“Alright,” Olivia gives her arm a little squeeze she can't feel through the armor and lets go. She stands next to Zaeed and Garrus at the elevator doors. “We're gonna be on Giant, which is a pretty big map. So if all else fails – run the other way.”

“That's your last piece of advice?” Hannah steps up onto the elevator platform with the others. The elevator rises into the arena.

Olivia shrugs and the map starts to load around them. “Works every time. Good hunting.” She taps each of the guys on the shoulder.

“Good hunting,” Garrus and Zaeed echo, giving Olivia and each other the same pat. They take off to set up on opposite sides of the map.

Hannah turns and again finds her daughter grinning beside her as the drone counts down to the beginning of wave one. “Am I going to hate this?”

“Probably,” Olivia says, and motions for Hannah to crouch down behind a crate. “Shoot at the stuff that shoots at you, run when we tell you, and it'll all be over in less than twenty minutes.”

Hannah takes a deep breath as cannibals start to spawn.

***

Three matches in and she gets the hang of it. It even starts being a little fun. The others rack up medals and points and headshots, but Hannah gets a little less scared, a little more willing to run out of cover, as they keep going.

“That doesn't count,” Garrus says as he and Olivia stand beside a smoking ravager corpse.

“Why not?”

“It doesn't have a head. You can't get a headshot on something that doesn't have a head.”

“Zaeed,” Olivia says into their comms, “we need a judgment call here. Oh,” she gently pulls Hannah back, away from the corpse. “Don't stand in ravager blood.” There's a look in her eyes that tells Hannah she tried that once and it ended badly.

“Did the arena record it as a headshot?”

Olivia pulls up the kill feed on her omnitool as the next wave starts to spawn. “No.”

“Then it doesn't count.”

“I got it right in the center circle thing!”

Hannah starts to fidget. There are enemies – on the other end of the map, but enemies heading their way – and these three are just standing around in the open arguing the validity of a headshot. She ducks behind a container.

“Doesn't count,” he repeats.

“Oh, stop,” Olivia scolds. She turns around and shoves her omniblade into the husk that had been hitting her. “Fine, the ravager shot doesn't count.”

As the others seem unconcerned by the banshee or the brutes headed their way, Hannah begins to realize just how easy they've been taking it. This – lazy enemies with grenades that hardly touch her shields, one banshee at a time – is not their reality.

It's not her daughter's reality, which stirs up something low and scared at the base of her spine.

“Make it harder,” she says when the match is over.

“You sure?” Zaeed asks.

Hannah nods. “Yeah.”

Silently, Olivia bumps it to silver.

A match later, Hannah has to watch from her visor's spectator mode as Olivia solos the back half of wave ten. A lot of things went sideways: Zaeed got slammed into the floor by a brute, Garrus got picked up by a banshee, and she got eaten by a cannibal before she had a chance to revive herself.

(It was for the better. She'd be useless to Liv anyway, probably a liability. They got all the devices activated, at least.)

The arena camera cuts to a front angle of Olivia, who doesn't look scared or even challenged while she works on the two banshees. Mostly she looks bored. Bored and a little hungry.

Olivia takes cover around a door and reloads her Black Widow. With a centering breath, she pops around the corner. In two final shots, both banshees scream and fall. She grins, blows imaginary smoke off the end of her rifle, and winks at Garrus as he stands up and dusts himself off.

This still isn't Olivia's reality.

Hannah swallows, hard.

She pauses behind the others as they get off the elevator after the match. “What does it look like when you're actually fighting?”

Olivia freezes and slowly turns around. “What do you mean?”

“When you're out there, fighting. What's it like?”

There's a look that passes between Olivia and Zaeed. It's a heavy look, a protective look, a we agreed not to tell her about this look, and it nearly makes Hannah cry.

“Tell me,” she insists.

“It's usually like gold. Sometimes the single-enemy platinum waves,” Olivia says softly. Her eyes briefly flick sideways – she's lying, understating reality to make her mother feel better.

“Can we,” Hannah's throat is suddenly dry and it has nothing to do with the exercise. She swallows. “Can we try that?”

It's suddenly become very important that Hannah knows what her child faces when she jumps out of a shuttle.

A look passes between all three of them this time, but it's less heavy, more calculating. Can we carry her through this?

Hannah's dead weight and she knows it, but as the seconds tick past, this becomes more and more something that she has to do. She needs to know that she can stand in front of the same things Olivia can. She runs a fucking bakery, but there's no way in hell she's okay with her kid being out there, trying to save a galaxy that seems hell bent on not being saved, when she can't even face Olivia's daily life when it's presented to her in a holographic combat simulator.

“I soloed Platinum a couple times,” Olivia says, breaking the brief silence.

Hannah hears the translation: we'll be fine. The two men shrug and nod in agreement.

“We can do gold, but in a couple days. I think we're done for the night.”

Without another match in front of her, Hannah realizes how exhausted she is. Olivia, Garrus, and Zaeed look like they could go a few more rounds, but they're career soldiers. She works out regularly, but she's not nearly in the shape they are. She nods as she turns her back to Zaeed so he can help her unseal her armor. “Okay.”

Hannah doesn't see the look on Olivia's face.

The one that begs him, Please talk her out of this, I don't want her to know.