timptoe

[timptoe]

Yeah, no. Ugly cried. Couldn’t stop.

Just…this game is this beautiful essay on masculinity in all its forms, and what masculinity looks like when it’s toxic and what it looks like when it’s not, and how you move from toxic to healthy, and that the only way you truly can is with love. Love for yourself. Love from others. Love for others.

And then, right in the middle of that essay is this little illustration of healthy masculinity, one that chooses itself and rejects the toxicity put on it by family and instead journeys into the terrifying unknown and finds the unnameable in another man and calls that unnameable ‘home.’ A queer love story as an illustration of healthy masculinity. In a game from a major studio, headed by a title character steeped in decades of machismo lore. Written by the friends of a gay man, in his memory, for a gay man, to comfort his grief.

Hope I always ugly cry at kindness like this.

Anyway. Kindness, mercy, justice. Be brave enough to be kind. Queer love is transformative.

And long live Jari and Sómr.

Playing God of War: Ragnarok for the first time and found the Eternal Campfire tonight to start “Favors.” I’d read about it back when the game first came out, but I still wasn’t prepared for the absolute gut punch. Already crying, no idea how I’m gonna finish it.

For reference:

Just…I know everything is terrible. And broken. And getting worse, and it’ll get even worse before it gets better. But a celebration of queer love, written by a queer man in honor of his late partner and celebrated by his studio, in a major video game that’s at its core about what masculinity is and is not, with this kind of emotional depth?

There is still beauty in the world, all I’m saying.

I love being queer. Happy Pride, friends, a few days late.

[timptoe]

Playing God of War: Ragnarok for the first time and found the Eternal Campfire tonight to start “Favors.” I’d read about it back when the game first came out, but I still wasn’t prepared for the absolute gut punch. Already crying, no idea how I’m gonna finish it.

For reference:

Just…I know everything is terrible. And broken. And getting worse, and it’ll get even worse before it gets better. But a celebration of queer love, written by a queer man in honor of his late partner and celebrated by his studio, in a major video game that’s at its core about what masculinity is and is not, with this kind of emotional depth?

There is still beauty in the world, all I’m saying.

I love being queer. Happy Pride, friends, a few days late.

[timptoe]

And your Inquisitor?

So many! Top three:

Kurajo, my male Adaar mage who romanced Dorian. Sassy. Rescued the mages, left Stroud in the Fade, put Celine and Briala on the throne. My favorite by far, I’ve replayed a version of him dozens of times. Huge buff Qunari and Dorian? Yes please.

Yorin, my male Trevelan rogue who romanced Josephine. Polite. Rescued the mages, left Stroud in the Fade, put Celine in the throne solo. My OG, a little boring but oh-so-noble, and Josephine’s just the best.

Derwyn, my male Cadash warrior who romanced Cassandra. Very mean. Rescued Templars, left Hawke (female mage w/Isabela) in the Fade instead of Alistair, put Celine solo on the throne. Told Solas off at the end and got the “pissed off Solas” short ending. Derwin’s not my fave but pissing off Solas was satisfying lol.

Inquisition was the first BioWare game I ever played, so it holds a special place in my heart!

[timptoe]

Hi!! Can you tell me about your Rook, please?

Oh hi friend! This is for the DA exchange, yeah? Gosh, my first (and favorite) Rook is a human male Shadow Dragon mage who picked Minrathous over Trevino and Harding over Davrin, and ended up romancing Harding because he (like me!) is bi. Unlike me, he went for the best ending with Solas (where I would’ve punched him lol). Shaggy hair, beefy-ish build. Picked Mae to lead Tevinter even though Dorian is my personal One True Love haha.

But! I’m really not tied to a specific Rook necessarily; the BioWare protagonists are real blank slates to me for some reason. If you have another vision for a queer male Rook with radically different other choices, go for it! I’m excited to see what you come up with. :)

Ping me if you have other specific questions!

[timptoe]

I’m just so sad for BioWare, man. All that institutional memory, all that talent, sacrificed on the altar of corporate greed. Dragon Age deserved better, Mass Effect deserves better, than EA.

[timptoe]

Three Month Delve

Clearing out my WIP folder to keep my mind focused on The Good, and came across this little drabble I wrote a while back and hadn't published. So here it is: I was thinking about rarepairs after I played Horizon Forbidden West, and then thought of Erend and Gildun, and immediately went "...huh." Wrote about their first meeting. Total fluff. Read the whole thing on AO3.

----

Caught up in the wonder Of one day being better When my deepest, darkest blue And the gold that paints your sky collide The garden comes to life  - "Envy Green," The Arcadian Wild

----

Erend watches the Waterwing take off, the strange leathery whoomp-whoomp of its wings blowing sand back into the group of Oseram. He keeps his face impassive as the sand stings his skin. Stoic, even. He can do stoic.

So Aloy has a girlfriend now. Big deal.

Erend’s eye twitches a little, but he clamps down on it hard. Stoic. Think like Kotallo. Or Hekarro. Or hell, any of the damn Tenakth. They’ve only got two modes, angry and fuckin’ nothing, and Erend’s not mad so he’s going with nothing.

Nope. Not mad. At. All.

His eye twitches again as the Waterwing’s whoomps echo off the ruins around Hidden Ember. Loudly. He liked the Sunwing better. Quieter. More elegant.

Whatever, it’s fine. It’s fine! So Aloy went off on yet another adventure without him—without them, not just him—and got a fancy new machine and new Zenith intel and a new girlfriend who, even by just talking about her, makes Aloy grin bigger than he’s ever seen. That’s a good thing. His friend is happy! She’s happy. His friend.

Stop twitching, eye.

“Well, would you look at all of this!”

And then there’s him.

“Hammer to steel, this is exciting!” the new guy says. “What was this place? Oh my, think of the treasures waiting to be found!”

Morlund chuckles affably, while Erend makes eye contact with Abadund over his head. He doesn’t share in Abadund’s eyeroll—stoic, gotta be stoic just in case Aloy looks back while she’s flying away, again—but by the forge he wants to. Morlund drapes an arm over the new guy’s shoulders and leads him into Hidden Ember proper, saying, “Gildun, you have no idea.”

The two of them pass by Erend with barely a glance, chattering away like old friends already. Abadund sidles up to him, watching as they go. “You’re taking him away tomorrow, right?”

Erend grunts. “Gotta get him back to Base, introduce him to GAIA in person.”

Abadund hmmms. “And Aloy couldn’t just fly him there because…”

The stoic mask slips a bit. “Because she has to go to the Isle of Spires to help Alva coordinate getting the rest of the Quen fleet up here. With her new girlfriend. And apparently that has to happen right now.”

Abadund hmmms again. “It’s just that—“

“What?” Erend says sharply, turning to face him.

Abadund takes a few steps back, waving his hands defensively. “No no, all I meant was—“

“The newcomer dropped into the delve like a machine down a mineshaft,” interrupts a strong voice approaching behind them, “though the star-struck skyflyer knew not the chaos she left in her hurried wake.” Erend jumps in spite of himself, then growls in frustration as he turns to glare at Stemmur. Abadund just shakes his head. “Would the jealous bean counter lose favor in the showman’s eyes to the wide-eyed, curious interloper?”

“Shut up, Stemmur,” Abadund spits, “I’m just worried how much it’ll cost me if this Gildun convinces him to delve under one of these other ruins.” He stalks away after the pair, grumbling.

Stemmur stops beside Erend, resting an easy elbow on his shoulder. “And so the bean counter rushed off, but whether to protect his paramour or his hoard of shards, the old storyteller couldn’t say. Jealousy, that green-eyed monster, makes fools of us all.”

Erend just grunts, eye twitching.

“Though,” Stemmur continues, sonorous voice echoing softly in Erend’s ears, “I’d bet all the shards in his hoard that he’s not the only one trapped in the jaws of that monster.” He gives Erend a meaningful look.

“Shut up, Stemmur,” Erend replies, shoving the older man’s elbow away as he stomps after Abadund.

Read the rest on AO3.

[timptoe]

WIP for N7 Day: "The Dead Parents Club"

Still trying to wrap my head around how awful things are and how much worse they can get. But Mass Effect broke my brain in the best possible way when I needed it most, and I couldn't let this N7 Day go past. So here's a portion of the next chapter of my Joker fic that's been sitting in my Notes for the better part of two years; there's a different part of the chapter that I just can't get to work, but this part just kind of fell out of me.

When everything good is falling apart, it's community that keeps us together.

----

Kepler Verge, Newton System, SSV Normandy SR-2 One month, one week, four days before the end of the Reaper War

Joker knows that she’s right. It’s the right thing to do, but he can’t help pausing outside the door anyway. This is Tali’s idea. She’d probably say it was his, but he doesn’t really do personal interactions like this.

(You know what I think? I think we're called into relationships, étoile. Because other people help us get there.)

He takes another deep breath, then crutches forward.

Alenko looks up sharply at the hiss of the opening door, twisting around to peer over the back of the couch. The lights in the starboard observation lounge are dimmed, the viewport backlighting him in a halo of stars. If his eyes are a little red, Joker does his best not to notice.

“Joker,” Alenko says, tone laced with mild surprise. “Everything alright?”

Joker keeps his expression steady. “I could ask you the same thing.”

Alenko gives him a small smile. It’s brittle, and forced, though nevertheless—as always with him—genuine. “You’ve heard.”

“Shepard told me before he left with EDI and Javik.” He moves further into the room, letting the doors close softly behind him. 

Alenko nods, turning back to gaze out the window. “They good?”

“Cortez dropped them at the Cerberus outpost about twenty minutes ago. They’re gonna lay low for a little while, get a read on the place before they move in.”

“Comms silent.” Not surprising Alenko knows the protocol.

“Comms silent,” Joker confirms anyway. He blows a small breath out. “It’s Shepard. They’ll be fine.”

“Yeah.” Alenko nods, then looks over at him. “He tell you to check up on me, too?”

“Surprised?”

“I—“ Alenko starts to say something, but stops, ducking his head slightly. The barest hint of a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Actually, no.”

Joker sits on the couch too, a whole person-and-a-half away from Alenko. He holds his crutches in his lap. Waits an appropriate length of time. Swallows the brief rush of anxiety in his throat. “So. Tell me about him.”

“You want to…” Alenko shakes his head in disbelief. “Joker, you don’t have to do this. I appreciate the effort, but I know you’re still coming around to trusting me again, so—“

“My mom died when I was fifteen.” Joker twists the handle of one of his crutches, the brash edge unusually absent from his voice as he stares out the window into the starfield beyond. “For months after, all I wanted to do was tell someone, anyone, about her. About how awesome she was. About what I lost. About what the galaxy lost. I never did, because I’m, you know, me. But you, as we’ve established, aren’t me. So.” He looks over at Alenko. “Tell me something about him.”

Alenko holds his gaze for a moment, eyes shining. He has such an open, honest face, it’s too easy for Joker to read. The grief. The surprise. The gratitude. All the kinds of things a normal person keeps locked away in polite company, Alenko just…shows. 

For the very briefest of moments, Joker thinks he might finally see what it is Shepard sees in Kaidan.

The major looks away, out the window. “He’s…he was…generous,” he says softly. “It’s the first thing people would say about him to me, even when I was a kid. ‘Your dad helped me fix my stove, he’s so generous with his time.’ ‘You know, your dad helped me get out to Terra Nova to attend my sister’s wedding, it was so generous of him.’ Just the type of guy who always jumped in to help someone.” He looks down at his hands, folding them in his lap. “It’s not really surprising he stepped up to lead when the Reapers invaded. I just…”

He sighs, looking up at Joker. He absently wipes a tear tracking its way down his cheek. “I guess you never stop thinking of your parents as invincible, you know?”

“Yeah,” Joker says quietly.

“Yeah.”

Kaidan pauses, looking back down for a moment, then back up to Joker again, his features smoothing out a bit as he clamps down on his emotions. “It was…kind of you to ask, Joker. Thank you.”

“Well, to be honest, I came by for something else. An…invitation.” Joker puts his crutches back upright.

“Mm?” Kaidan’s wordless question hangs in the air as Joker pushes himself up off the couch. 

He starts crutching for the door before realizing he’s walking alone. He turns back, seeing Kaidan still sitting on the couch. “Walk with me?”

“Not really in the mood for poker tonight, Joker,” Kaidan says tentatively.

“Me neither,” Joker responds lightly. “Come on.”

He turns and starts for the door again. This time, he hears Alenko’s soft footfalls behind him.

“You know, I learned not to talk about Mom a lot because, just, most people don’t get it,” Joker says, keeping his tone casual. It comes…surprisingly easy after all this time. “There’s sympathy, or embarrassment, or like…staring. So much staring.”

“Mm,” Kaidan grunts noncommittally.

“And you know me, I like talking, but not, like, talking, so I went a long time with only sympathetic platitudes or embarrassed arm pats or stares to hold on to, and it sucked. And then, one day, I remembered something Mom said to me once.” He stops in front of the port observation lounge. 

Kaidan stops with him. “What did she say?”

Joker shifts his grip on his crutches. “We’re called into relationships.”

Kaidan’s open, honest face cracks into a wry amusement that Joker can instantly read: Joker, seeking out relationships with others? Surely not.

Yeah, he deserves that.

To his credit, the major’s eyes get a little wider at his own, visceral reaction, and he immediately smooths his features again, saying with not a little embarrassment, “Sorry. But, uh…you’re telling me you’ve talked to other people about your mom’s passing.”

“Yep.”

“And that…went well?”

“You’d be surprised,” Joker replies.

He turns, the door to the lounge hissing open. The group inside stops talking and looks over at the pair.

“Welcome to the Dead Parents Club, Kaidan,” Joker says.

Kaidan stands in the doorway, stunned. He looks around the room slowly. Tali and Garrus sit at the bar, some sort of bottle of dextro-liquor between them. Vega nods from his perch on the arm of the couch under the window, while Diana Allers sits next to Stefano, one of the gunnery specialists, on the couch opposite. Liara crosses the room from where she’d been looking out the observation port, wrapping Kaidan in a wordless, gentle hug.

“I…” Kaidan stops, starts again as Liara pulls back. “You all…?”

“Mom died when I was a kid. Cancer.” Vega takes a drink of whatever’s in his glass.

Allers raises hers and says, “My dad was in an industrial accident a couple of years back.”

“I’m from New Canton,” Stefano volunteers. “My folks were there when the Collectors came.”

Kaidan’s gaze wanders around the room, dumbfounded, before finally landing on Joker. “You put this together?”

Joker shifts uncomfortably and says nothing.

“He did,” Tali volunteers. “Back on the first Normandy. He and I sort of…bonded over losing our mothers when we were younger.”

“And then when Benezia died, I…” Liara pauses, collecting herself. “Well. There was a night right after we left Noveria. I was sitting alone in the mess, and these two walked in and just started…talking. About their moms. And asking me questions, and carrying the conversation when I couldn’t, and I…”

“I never knew,” Kaidan says, almost inaudible.

“No one else knows what it’s like,” Vega chimes in. “They say they do, and they can try their best, but they don’t.”

The others all nod.

Kaidan looks around the room again, not a soldier evaluating a tactical situation, but instead like a child searching a new, unfamiliar environment for comfort.

And finding it.

“The Dead Parents Club.” His voice is soft, like if he speaks too loudly, it won’t work.

“It helps to be a little maudlin,” Garrus responds. “Takes some of the sting out.”

Joker crosses to the vidscreen and starts fiddling with the setup. “It also helps to not stare at each other like some lame-ass support group,” he says, getting the thing to turn on. “So we watch movies.”

“Movies.”

Liara nods, pulling him down onto the couch with Vega. “And talk during them. Helps to fill the silences when we can’t talk.”

“Yo, whaddya got tonight, ¿comodín?” Vega says.

“Early twenty-first century Earth film, Stranger Than Fiction. One of my grand-père’s favorites.” He grins. “Mom hated it.”

“Gotta be better than that turian schlock last week,” Allers catcalls over to Garrus.

Garrus harrumphs. “Tellock is a master of storytelling. My mother had excellent taste.”

“Good to know I should blame your mother, then,” Tali says with a smirk in her voice, “for your terrible opinions on cinema.”

Garrus clicks his mandibles at her while the rest of the room laughs, descending into a bunch of side conversations as the movie starts up. Joker sits down next to Kaidan on the couch, who looks at him with wide, wet eyes, a flush of color along his throat.

“No obligation to stay, Kaidan,” Joker says quietly. “Just, you know. You’ll feel alone forever. But sometimes, it’s nice to be alone together.”

Kaidan grips Joker’s forearm tightly, almost painfully, clinging to it like it’s the last bit of flotsam near a sinking ship. “Thank you,” he whispers roughly. He tries to say more, stops himself before he breaks completely.

Joker just nods.

[timptoe]

Well I hated that a lot. Hey Final Fantasy VII Crisis Core Reunion, you are an atrociously terrible game, one of the worst I’ve ever played. I mean, honestly.

[timptoe]

tfw when you get the “you’ve got kudos” email from Ao3 and one person has kudoed, like, five of your stories in one day. Like, thank you friend, the validation is incredible, please stay hydrated

[timptoe]

le temps des cerises

Written for the @bigplaceexchange for @pigeontheoneandonly <3

...J'aimerai toujours le temps des cerises C'est de ce temps-là que je garde au cœur Une plaie ouverte !

(I will always love the time of cherries From that time I keep in my heart an open wound)

"Le Temps des cerises", Jean-Baptiste Clément, 1866

Rating: Mature

Relationship: Control Ending Shepard Entity (formerly Female Shepard)/Kaidan Alenko

Words: 4,408

Tags: post-canon, death, depersonalisation, resurrection, drowning, angst, bittersweet ending

Summary:

Shepard barely remembers herself, but someone does.

Read on ao3

Excerpt:

There are some things you start to forget when you remember everything. Some things that are still there, buried in the crypts of information, intact and cold. Memory is a bond, she would later understand, one strained by untimeliness. In her first season of eternity, she learned that knowledge was the beginning of forgetting. She did not entirely forget herself, like she feared she might. For instance, she remembered her last human thought, spoken only in the chamber of her mind while it still belonged to her. Let me go. It was a plea, but to whom? There were no established pathways for emotions in her mental construct now. Her history of feeling remained only as superfluous electrical signals, much like garbage data. There had been so many feelings in those final moments and they surrounded the record like static. She had stepped onto the platform to signal her acceptance, the debris of battle floating above her head so dense she thought they might all be already dead. There had been a feeling there, she deduced it must have been fear, because she had steadied herself with breaths too long and too deep as the platform descended into a dark chamber lined with vats of liquid, and in that moment she nearly forgot her commitment when she realised that most contained Keepers. She had stepped into one and sank beneath the surface, holding her breath out of instinct until the bath became charged with electricity. She gasped out of shock and it filled her lungs, the charge stretched through her nervous system, spinning thread from her dying fibres. Light filled her vision and never receded. She had thought about someone in that last moment, as she said those last words, but the memory was so shrouded in feeling she could no longer make sense of it. Control_log: operator ping. > … > … > Return.

Read on ao3

[timptoe]

And I Know It

For @bigplaceexchange this year, I got to write for the lovely Viggorrah on Ao3 about Ashley and Kaidan and how much I love their friendship. This fic is based on a tumblr post I saw once and stupidly didn't save that's stuck with me; ping me if you know the one I'm talking about.

Because sometimes, the way forward is a silly t-shirt, a good friend, and a little bit of Latin.

----

We headed to the bar, baby Don’t be nervous No shoes, no shirt And I still get service Watch

 - LMFAO, “Sexy and I Know It”

——

“What.”

“Hm?”

Kaidan pops his head up out of his reverie, turning to look at whatever it is that’s pissing Ashley off in this particular moment. 

“What. Is. That.”

Her flat growl immediately puts him on high alert. He scans for threats in a quick, sharp glance around the area. The salarian working that kiosk? Looks harmless. The batarians reading at that tea shop? Maybe, but they seem pretty engaged in their books. That guy crossing the promenade with the mustache? Tacky, but non-threatening.

He furrows his brow. Nothing in particular stands out to him amongst the crowds and bric-a-brac of Zakera Ward. 

Focus, Alenko. Put Eletania out of your mind. You’re an officer, never off duty. Try again.

He sweeps their surroundings again in an instant, coming up empty. But the look on Ashley’s frozen, gobsmacked face is unmistakable. What is he missing?

“Williams, what’s—“

She pushes past him, rushing toward the kiosk, and for a fraction of a second, he preps for combat. He squares his shoulders, plants his feet, feels the hair on the back of neck stand up as he begins reaching for the biotic energy inside him. Whatever that salarian’s up to, he’s got Ashley’s back.

And then she turns around, and he sees the unrestrained glee on her face.

“LT, look! Look at this!”

She waves him over. The blue aura around his fingertips fades as he walks forward, utterly confused. The kiosk itself isn't particularly remarkable, reminding him of those kitschy, ticky-tacky souvenir stands in every mall in Vancouver. Apparently some things are universal. Mugs with asari quotes he guesses are famous, keychains with turian names that must be common, hats of various sizes to fit the heads of various species all gathered together in a garish display of consumerism and unnecessary excess.

But Ashley is focused on a single shirt.

She holds it up proudly, looking at it in wonder. “What is this?” she squeaks. Actually squeaks. He hasn’t known her that long, but he would’ve bet the Normandy itself that Gunnery Chief Ashley Williams was incapable of squeaking in something like pure delight. She turns it around, holding it up to her torso to show it off. Dark blue background, bright gold letters. At first he thinks it’s a misprint. “SEC-C?” he says cautiously, brow furrowing.

All at once, the pun hits him like a geth stalker falling from the ceiling.

“SEC-C!” Ashley shouts with laughter.

Kaidan groans.

“Oh, c’mon LT,” she says, impish mischief all over her face. “Get your head outta whatever funk it’s been since we left the planet of the apes and bask in the glorious mess of this shirt with me.”

He rolls his eyes, not at all in the mood for this. “‘Mess’ is the right word.”

She sticks her tongue out at him.

“And surely that pun doesn’t translate, I mean do turians even have—“

“That one’s been pretty popular with our human patrons, sir,” pipes up the annoyingly helpful salarian. “Shall I ring it up for you?”

“No.”

“Yes,” Ashley says enthusiastically, pushing between them and eagerly proffering her omnitool. 

In moments, the transaction completed, the pair are standing in the center of the promenade, alternately admiring and abhorring the piece of fabric in Ashley’s hands.

“Is this not the greatest thing you’ve ever seen?” Ashley says, voice full of awe.

Kaidan levels a look at her. “You can’t be serious.”

“It’s incredible,” she murmurs, taking in every inch of her prize.

“Please tell me you’re not going to wear it.”

Without a word, she strips off her regulation uniform tunic, throwing it over Kaidan’s shoulder. He barely has time to blush, avert his eyes, decide if he even should avert his eyes, before she dons the new shirt. She pulls at it, testing the fit, the feel, the way it drapes over her lithe, solid shoulders.

“Something’s not quite right.”

“No kidding,” he mutters, idly folding her uniform tunic and tucking it under one arm.

She ignores him, looking down at the shirt with a critical, almost tactical eye. Suddenly, she snaps her fingers, nodding once.

And without a word, she reaches up and tears off both sleeves.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Kaidan says.

Ashley strikes a pose, bare arms flexing with her balled-up fists on her hips. “What do you think?”

He won’t deny that she looks good. Really good. Well, he won’t deny it to himself, but out loud? Absolutely. “You look ridiculous.”

She grins, dangerous sparkle in her eye. “C’mon. Don’t you think I look—“

“Please don’t say—“

“SEC-C?”

The sound of his deep sigh is thoroughly drowned out by her joyous, I-am-too-pleased-with-myself cackle.

He sits down on a nearby bench, watching his fellow soldier delight in accosting random passers-by with manic enthusiasm. His exasperation is mostly feigned, if he’s honest with himself. It’s good to see Ashley happy, unburdened, for even just a moment on this tour. So much of what they’ve seen, the evil they’re up against, is hard to process. Might as well enjoy the little spaces of joy they can find.

He watches in horror as Shepard, wide eyes unseeing, crumples to the ground.

Kaidan takes a deep breath, willing the panic tightening his chest to ease. Shepard’s fine, he’s up in the Council chambers. Stop it.

“C’mon. Your turn.”

He snaps his head up, Ashley’s outstretched hand dominating his field of vision. “Huh?”

She pauses for a second, and when he doesn’t take her hand fast enough, she reaches down, grabs his arm, and roughly hauls him to his feet. “Your turn,” she repeats.

“For what?”

“This was for me,” she says, gesturing to the ridiculous shirt. “Now we do something for you.”

He shakes his head. “No, we don’t—“

“That wasn’t a suggestion, LT.” Her grip on his arm tightens. 

He purses his lips, bemused. “You know I outrank you, right,” he says flatly.

She shrugs. “Fuck that. We’re off duty.”

“Ashley—“

“You need a drink. More than one.” She tugs his arm, not letting go, but with little enough force that he could easily stand his ground if he wanted to. My choice, he realizes, genuinely touched by the veiled tenderness of the gesture.

So he allows her to move him. A little. A grin lights up her face, infectious in a different way from the one at the kiosk.

He can’t help but grin back.

Read the rest on Ao3.

[timptoe]

yeah I’m N7 nbd

[timptoe]

Gentle reminder to myself mostly, on the last day of Pride 2024. I know things are getting worse in a lot of ways. And I’m gonna hold onto this one with both hands.

Okay look I know things are bad but here's the thing: when I was a queer closeted teen back in the late 90s, none of the video games I was playing had queer content. None of them. The best I had was small moments like this, from Final Fantasy VIII:

Zell, on his knees, thanking Squall for rescuing him. Canon's pretty clear that Squall ends up with Rinoa, but just for a second, I could imagine Zell and Squall together. (To the point that I went on my parents' dial-up AOL internet late one night and found my first fanfic, Zell/Squall slash, shoutout to bishonenink.) I could imagine a world with people like me, and it was wonderful, even if it was me reading way more into the text than was actually there. And fic is great, and imagination is powerful, and I made it through and love my queer self and everything.

But never, in my wildest dreams, did I imagine something like this would not only be canon but shown on screen:

Or this:

People like me, on screen, in love and showing it.

It's not that fanfic is bad - it's incredible, and I love it. And shipping characters in non-canon relationships is great, too. And I know that just representation isn't enough, and plotlines matter, and there's so much more that needs to be done, and things are bad.

But I wish I could show my closeted queer teen self those two images, or the dozens more from games like Dragon Age or The Last of Us or others, so he could see how much the world has changed in twenty-five years. And I'm so glad my kids are going to get to play these games one day, even if they're not queer.

Just some pride month encouragement for my younger self.

[timptoe]

I was today years old when I realized that AO3 has a rich text editing function, and that I don't have manually code the HTML every time I want to italicize something in a story. Welp.

[timptoe]

As the Revel Meets the Day

And this is the second piece, which I wrote in less than a week. Four times someone sees Shepard in pain, and one time Shepard finally, finally has peace.

Because sometimes, even during the longest night of the longest year, you get a glimpse of the light returning.

Read it on Ao3.

--

let me die, let me drown lay my bones in the ground I will still come around  when the time for sleep is through

over hill, over dale through the valley and vale do not weep, do not wail I am coming home to you  - The Oh Hellos, “Thus Always to Tyrants”

—

pain

awful, excruciating pain

why

why can I feel pain

I shouldn’t be here

I should be done

I made the choice

a choice between three, but not a choice 

not really

only one option, pull the gun, fire at the weak point blow the whole thing to hell blow all of them to hell for us for them for him

Kaidan

I’m here

Kaidan

—-

He grunts as the bulkhead in front of them collapses forward. “That was too easy,” he mutters into his comm.

“Commander Bailey, what is that?” comes the low, terrified voice of the kid on his flank. Not a soldier, not even an adult, just a teenager he’d found huddled in a corner of the Presidium when the Reapers invaded. One of the few survivors he’d managed to hide in a burned-out storefront while the Reapers transported the whole goddamn Citadel to Earth. 

Earth. He can see it up there, in the cracks—the chasms—in the ceiling above his head. The automatic mass effect fields  are holding the air in for now, but he’s got no idea how long that’s gonna be for, not since that wave of red energy burst through the Citadel and fried anything with an on switch, from the internal communications array to his gun’s targeting computer to the fucking keepers. 

But not everything electrical. Not the mass effect fields automatically keeping gravity constant and the atmosphere stable. Not the helmets he and the kid are wearing on the off chance the atmosphere becomes unstable. And not the display screens all around the station, every one of which had started displaying the same message in the instant before the red wave swept through.

FIND HIM. And a set of coordinates.

“That,” Bailey says, answering the kid’s question, “is what we’re looking for. I think.”

It’s a pile of rubble, but it’s not. He’s no expert, but even with just a glance he can see that the tech half-buried amongst the twisted metal and sheared polymers is far, far beyond anything he’s ever seen on the Citadel or in any Alliance installation. He can’t even begin to guess what some of those pieces do, or even what material they’re made of. And really, he doesn’t care.

FIND HIM.

Somebody needs to be found.

“Alright folks,” he calls into his comm, gesturing to the gathered team behind him, “just like the last two times.”

Getting to this part of the Citadel was no mean feat. Along the way, they’d encountered more than a dozen other survivors who’d somehow survived the Reaper invasion, some of them drawn this direction by the message on the screens, others needing to rescued from rubble just like this.

Well. Not just like this.

But rubble’s rubble, and the team seems just as determined as Bailey to figure out what that final, unblinking message means. So they go to work.

It’s hours of digging. Hours of moving massive pieces of who-the-hell-knows-what. Hours of breaks, working in shifts, wondering out loud what that red wave was, why all the Reaper troops they encountered on the way were dead, why the Reaper ships they can just barely see through the chasms in the ceiling seem to be just floating derelicts, who it is that’s waiting under the rubble. Hours.

Until the moment comes.

“Commander, I think I found something!” the kid yells into his comm. Immediately, Bailey’s on his feet and running, lead in the pit of his stomach. He stops where the kid’s crouched, struggling to pull part of a bulkhead up.

Up and off of a pair of N7 greaves.

Bailey’s heart stops for the barest of moments. Holy shit. Then he bellows, “Over here!”

In seconds, dozens of hands have joined his and the kid’s, clutching at the bulkhead, lifting it carefully, revealing more of the buried figure. Precious seconds tick by as more of the rubble is cleared, more of the body is revealed, legs crushed but held together by state-of-the-art armor, chestplate all but melted away, bits of metal fused to the skin underneath but moving—somehow moving—with labored breath. The unmistakable red stripe on the right pauldron. The face, bruised and bloodied almost beyond recognition. Except for the single, piercing blue eye that locks onto Bailey.

“How…” Bailey says breathlessly.

“Who is it, Commander?” the kid asks.

Bailey kneels down next to the figure, gently takes his broken hand, feels the fingers weakly grip his. Something stirs within him, an emotion he doesn’t dare name, something he hasn’t felt since the Reapers took Earth. 

Maybe it’s gonna be alright.

He squeezes back and whispers, “It’s Shepard.”

Read the rest on Ao3.

[timptoe]

The Longest Night

Tonight is the longest night of the year, and this has been a very, very long year for me. For lots of reasons, I haven't been able to write for the last six months. And then suddenly, last week, it came back. So I have two pieces. This first one has taken me an entire year to write. Kaidan holds vigil after Virmire on the longest night.

Because sometimes you don't know if the light's going to come back, and all you can do is wait.

Read it on Ao3.

---

When the sun is nearly blinding May you by it see everything As it was meant to be A wonder extraordinary Made to wander free and fearlessly Unto all eternity

Because death has lost already  - The Arcadian Wild, “A Benediction”

—

The candle flickers alone on the table.

He knows that this is against regulations. Alliance Naval Code 1493.4B, Kaidan thinks. Open flames are a safety hazard onboard all Alliance craft and are restricted to engineering purposes only with supervision. He knows the book back-to-front, committed the whole thing to memory before basic ended. He knows he shouldn’t be doing this. 

He just can’t bring himself to care.

It’s only been a few days since Virmire, but it feels like a lifetime since the last time he saw her. The cocky smirk on her face as she rushed off to report to Kirrahe and his squad, as if she’d won a prize and he’d lost. The click as she secured her helmet in place, now seeming all too ominous in its finality. Her lazy wave as he boarded the Normandy to secure the bomb, her fingers curling slightly as she disappeared from sight.

He wonders what Ashley would think about him using her candle like this. If she had been saving it for a special reason, or maybe had been a memento from her civilian days. He wonders if it had had any particular significance, why it had even been in her locker in the first place. He wishes he could ask her.

But he can’t.

Kaidan stares into the candle’s flame, turning those last moments over and over and over in his mind for the hundredth time in the last two days. Setting the timer on the bomb. Making peace with his imminent death. His stomach dropping as Ashley radios, “Screw that! We can handle ourselves. Go back and get Alenko.” Falling to the geth as they swarm the dropsite. Feeling his heart beat quicker when Shepard picks him up. Realizing that Shepard is saving him.

His eyes flick up to the door of the CO’s quarters on the far side of the mess, then quickly back down. The guilt at that last is almost as strong as the grief. He stares deep into the candle, searching for something. Answers. Absolution, maybe. 

Nothing comes.

The candle gutters for a moment, the slight hiss of the medbay door changing the air pressure in the mess. Soft footsteps approach, stopping a few meters away.

“Lieutenant.”

He scrubs his eyes before turning and acknowledging the asari with a nod. “Dr. T’Soni. You’re up late.”

She gives him a half smile. He’s still not familiar with asari physiology, but he suspects he knows what the slight discoloration around her eyes means. “I am finding it difficult to sleep.” The smile fades as she glances at the candle. “I do not wish to disturb you, though.”

Kaidan shakes his head and gestures to a chair. “Not at all. I couldn’t sleep either.”

Liara has a seat, and they sit in a soft silence for a while.

“It’s hers,” he murmurs into the stillness after a time. Liara doesn’t say anything, just looks his way. “The candle. It’s Ashley’s. I found it this morning when I was packing up her locker to send her stuff home. It was…” He trails off.

“You took it?”

He shifts in his seat. “It wasn’t on the manifest. Everything we bring onboard is supposed to be declared and written down. Alliance Naval Code 3120.32D, part 5.1.40b,” he recites from memory, “The division officer maintains a permanent file of itemized, descriptive inventory sheets for any personally owned tools, materials or equipment authorized to be brought on board.”

“Impressive,” Liara says with a slight curl to her lips.

Kaidan half-bows in his chair. “I do have a reputation to uphold.”

She gives him a sidelong glance. “Ashley told me once that you sleep with your regulation book under your pillow.”

“Those books are softer than our pillows,” he replies, the ghost of a smile pulling around his lips at the memory of a well-worn argument. “I just can’t believe she actually had contraband in her locker all this time.”

“Really?” Liara smiles softly. “Because that’s entirely in keeping with what I know about her.”

Kaidan chuckles. It feels good to laugh a little, but the sound dies quickly, swallowed by the darkness in the empty room. After a moment, in a small voice, he says, “I miss her.”

“I do, too.” She pauses, then tilts her head. “Then why burn her contraband, instead of keeping it?”

He sighs again, carding a hand through his hair. “It’s silly, really. I…” He stops, not sure how to explain.

“I apologize, Lieutenant, I did not mean to—“

“It’s the longest night,” he says abruptly. “Tonight. Back home, I mean.” Liara gives him an encouraging nod that seems only slightly baffled. “It’s a tradition of sorts. Religious, kind of, but not really, I guess.” He falls silent, unsure how to continue.

Liara gazes thoughtfully at him. “Tell me about it.”

He looks back at the candle, the tips of his ears feeling hot. The words come, unbidden. “My family aren’t religious, not like Ashley’s,” he begins. “Just not something my parents ever really cared about. Except once a year. There was this little chapel down the road from our cabin in the Canadian interior. We’d go to the cabin for school break every winter. December in the interior is…beautiful. High drifts of soft snow, evergreen trees dusted with the stuff. And at night, the stars mix with the aurora the create this sight that just…takes your breath away. Magical, to a kid.”

His head thrums with the memory. “Anyway, this chapel we’d go to was always decorated for Christmas. Ah, uh, old Earth holiday. Weirdly, we never went for Christmas Eve service, or any other service. But Mom always insisted we go to the one held for longest night.

“The chapel always started out dark, and quiet. Never a lot of people, maybe because it was rural, maybe because it was sort of depressing. The choir would sing quiet songs, and the pastor would say a few words, but he’d always end with some verse that says, the people walking in darkness have seen a great light. And then…”

He closes his eyes briefly, the sense memory intimately overwhelming. “People would start getting up, one by one, and lighting the candles around the walls. In memory of loved ones. In hopes for others. I just liked the act of lighting them when I was a kid, watching the fire, you know? And little by little, the whole chapel would just be…filled with light. Blazing, reflecting off the stained-glass, warming up the whole space. It was incredible. Always made my mom cry,” he chuckles, scrubbing at his face again. “And the pastor would send us out with the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness will not overcome it.”

Liara sits with that for a long moment, staring into the candle. Kaidan doesn’t say anything more.

After a while, she says softly, “It is a beautiful ritual.”

Kaidan ducks his head.

“Would it surprise you to learn that the asari have a similar ritual?”

He raises an eyebrow. “It would.”

She gives him a small smile. “The siarists tell a story gleaned from one of the older religions about the goddess Athame. The ritual involves the lighting first of one flame, then dozens, and finally hundreds as an echo of the goddess’ words in the story.”

“What did she say?” he asks.

She pauses for a moment, collecting herself. Then, in a soft voice, she says, “Once, when the world was new and the asari were still young, there was a time when the days grew shorter and the nights grew longer, until there was nothing but night.

“Then, the goddess Athame descended from the heavens. She brought with her all the tools for civilization: knowledge, wisdom, empathy, courage. But strangely, she did not bring with her the light.

“The people asked her, ‘Athame, goddess of all that is—why have you gifted us with so much, and yet not given us the light?’

“And Athame answered, ‘My children, I have done better than return to you the light. I have gifted you the tools to beat back the darkness. For the light comes and goes, but the darkness is everpresent. So grow, my children, and learn what you must so that you might one day push back the darkness and herald light’s return.’”

Liara falls silent. After a moment, Kaidan says in a voice thick with emotion, “That, um. That certainly…resonates.”

Liara gives a soft chuckle. “Early in my studies, I encountered a Prothean story tablet—fragments really, so much had been lost to the Reapers. But the tablet fragments together told a tale quite similar to the one the asari tell about Athame.”

“How is that possible?” Kaidan says, furrowing his brow.

Liara shrugs. “I asked something similar of the Matriarch advising me, Dr. P’Ropp. She said, every culture across species recognizes that darkness is inescapable. We do not know if the light is coming back when the night falls. We hope for it, we might even pray for it, but we do not know. We cannot. All we can do is wait.”

She sighs heavily. “And so…we wait for the light.”

His eyes flick up to Shepard’s door again, and then back down.

“You should go to him,” Liara says quietly.

Kaidan is instantly tense, his eyes going wide as he looks over to meet her gaze. 

“I am sure he would appreciate the comfort, too. And the company.” The smile she gives him makes his heart beat quicker again. Another rush of guilt follows.

Kaidan shakes his head, blowing out a shuddering breath. The candle gutters. “Not…um, not from me.”

“Kaidan—“

“I’m the reason she died.”

He cuts her off quietly, but his words echo in the nearly-empty mess like a shout.

“I forced the choice. I forced him to choose. I armed the bomb, I set the timer. I— I forced him.” He takes a breath, trying to keep his voice steady. “He thinks her death is her fault, because of course he does. That’s who he is. He doesn’t fail, but she—“ His breath hitches. “She died. He thinks it was his fault, but it’s not. It’s mine. It’s mine.” His voice breaks, any words that might’ve come next dying in his throttled throat.

“Ashley’s death is not your fault,” Liara says firmly. She takes his hand in hers and squeezes gently. “It is not.”

He doesn’t deserve the kindness in that simple touch. He hates himself that he can’t bear to take his hand away.

Liara doesn’t let go, squeezing his hand more insistently. “I have not known the Commander as long as you have, but I do not get the sense he is one who blames his friends unfairly. Ashley’s death was not your fault. Any more than Benezia’s was mine.” She says this last with less conviction, as if she’s said it to herself before, as if it in the repetition it might become true.

“It’s not,” he says shakily. He clears his throat, then says again, more emphatically, “It’s not.”

“No,” she replies, “it is Saren’s. And I know he knows that.” She glances back at the door across the way. “Shepard knows that.”

Kaidan turns back to watch the flicker of the candle’s flame. “I can’t face him. Not…not yet.” There’s a wealth of meaning buried in those spare, halting words. 

“So then…we wait,” she says quietly.

“‘We’?”

She nods. “We.”

He takes another shuddering breath, then nods back. She just squeezes his hand once more.

They sit in companionable silence for a long while, lost in their own thoughts and memories, bathed in the warm glow of a friend’s contraband candle.

Waiting for the light.

[timptoe]

Inktober 8 & 9 - Shep & Cortez

Reference used