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wafflesrock16 · 3 years

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Kiss

If ya’ll know me, you know I love rare pairs. Nihlus Kryik/Ashley Williams is a favorite, so here’s a short fic exploring the necessity of kissing turians.

Nihlus’ plates are the color of rust or dried blood. The dust from a million crushed rose petals, if she’s trying to be poetic. His eyes burn like evergreens under winter snow and are as sharp and pointed as a lance.

He’s got the newest grade of rifle with mods that are probably illegal to everyone but a spectre. Ashley privately admits she’s jealous. She’d love to take a closer look at Nihlus’ gear. There’s probably more than just his rifle that’s drool worthy. But that would involve having to talk with him. The turian spectre survived nearly being shot in the skull by his former mentor and understandably--at least to Ashley’s mind--he hasn’t been especially talkative since they left Eden Prime.

Turians are a predatory race. Claws that rend, maws flanked with daggers, tall and naturally armored they remind Ashley of Earth’s long extinct dinosaurs. They even growl and rumble like she imagines a dinosaur might. It’s unnerving to say the least, and while she’s trying to keep an open mind--she swears she is--it’s hard to ignore the giant alien raptor standing five feet away and cleaning his gun.

Nihlus is just a person, she reminds herself as she watches him. Just as her grandfather’s mistakes are not her own, so too are the Hierarchy’s decisions not Nihlus’ burden. His people reached the stars while the pyramids were being built in ancient Egypt. In different circumstances, humanity would be awed by turians instead of resentful.

He must feel her gaze because he lifts his chin ever so slightly to meet her with those pointed eyes. “Something I can help you with?”

The question is polite but there’s a buzz under the spoken words that Ashley thinks is annoyance. She quickly stares down at her own dissembled rifle. Stock and barrel and mods all neatly laid out and ready to be oiled.

“No Sir,” she says, reaching for a rag.

In her periphery she sees Nihlus watch her a moment longer before focusing back on his own task. His three-fingered hands move with a skill and dexterity she wouldn’t have expected due to the lack of digits. She wonders fleetingly what kind of musical instruments turians can play. Without lips or five fingers they’re probably limited to drums. Maybe tambourines. What else doesn’t require lips or fingers? She thinks of the rain-stick she and her sisters had when they were younger and imagines Nihlus, rigid and stoic, turning the large, hollow tube up and down in front of a rapt turian audience. She sniggers at the image.

“Something funny?”

The question snaps her back to reality and her head whips up to meet Nihuls’ inscrutable face. Turians aren’t emotive--they’re like biological robots. She hadn’t chuckled that loudly, how good is his hearing?

“Just remembering a conversation with the skipper from earlier,” she lies.

“Care to share?”

Damn! What’s with this guy? She isn’t bothering him. Is she? Is her very presence annoying him? She’s the gunnery officer, she has just as much right to be down here as he does--more even. Nihlus isn’t Alliance. He’s a guest on this ship, really.

Deciding that if she’s irritating him with her mere presence she might as well up the ante, she gives him a crocodile smile. “Shepard and I were discussing kissing turians,” she says, lifting a brow.

That takes him back a moment. His mandibles flap against his face as though he’s in deep thought. “I wouldn’t be opposed,” he says after a moment. “Though considering I’m evaluating Shepard, it wouldn’t be proper to mix work with pleasure.” He crosses his arms, cocking out a hip and staring at her with his left mandible flared. It looks almost like a grin. “Unless you’re offering, Chief Williams?”

Ashley sputters. She hadn’t expected him to call her bluff but like hell she’s going to back down now. Williams girls don’t show weakness--especially to such a formidable adversary. Her predator's grin slides back into place and she stalks around the table they’re working on, coming to stand directly in front of the smug turian. He’s taller than her by a full foot at least, and his armor adds extra bulk. Ashley ignores the size difference and pushes directly into his personal space.

“What if I am offering, Spectre Kryik?” She lowers her voice to a smoky whisper and tries to put a smolder into her eyes. God, if her grandfather could hear her now he’d be rolling over in his grave. But she’s making a point, damn it! She won’t be intimidated or pushed around by a turian or any other asshole who isn’t a commanding officer.

Nihlus lowers his head and when he speaks, his warm breath puffs against her face. “Tempting.” One word filled with more heat and promise than a brushfire. This game is getting dangerous. He’s not stepping away, not laughing it off. Ashley isn’t going to back down either. In this game of chicken or dominance or whatever it’s turned into, she’ll be the victor.

She doesn’t second guess. She lifts onto her toes and presses her lips against his mouth plates. They aren’t as stiff and immobile as she’s assumed. They have give--almost like thick rubber. She celebrates the near-silent gasp Nihlus exhales but her victory is short-lived. He suddenly wraps his long arms around her, hugging her close and kissing her back as best he can. The tip of his tongue is pressed against her lips and on impulse her own flicks out to meet him. He tastes like black licorice and cherries. Like a warm summer night full of stars and black velvet passion. She cups his face with her hands and their kiss deepens, soft groans faltering in their throats, tongues tangling and her skin heating up as one of his hands moves to cradle the back of her head.

“Chief?”

At Alenko’s voice they fly apart. Nihlus resumes cleaning his gun, as though nothing has happened. As if they hadn’t just been making out like horney teenagers. He’s breathing heavier though, and emerald eyes meet hers as she takes a deep breath. She can’t help but grin before walking away.

She doesn’t look back as she heads over to Alenko, praying her face isn’t flushed. She doesn’t see Nihlus lift his head. Doesn’t see the flared mandible smile or hear the intrigued purr that rumbles in his chest. But she doesn’t need to, because kissing a turian is definitely something she doesn’t mind doing--and won’t mind doing again.

#nihlus kryik #ashley williams #nihlus/ashley #AU #Mass Effect #mass effect 1 #kissing turians #krilliams #I really like this ship okay?#turians

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captainderyn · 3 years

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Fictober Day 2: “You Have No Proof” [I Was Lost Without You]

Day 2: “You have no proof”

Category: Fanfiction

Fandom: Mass Effect (specifically Mass Effect 1)

Pairing: Garrus/Female Shepard

Rating: Teen & Up

Warnings: Swearing

AO3 Link: HERE

—

“You have no proof.”

The words rang through Ryn’s head. She felt her body as if from far away, the world dropping away from beneath her feet.

No proof? She drew in a ragged breath, her shoulders tensing up. Garrus let out a low grumble while she felt more than heard Liara draw herself up in indignation.

Her nails dug into her palms, clasped together in parade rest, hard enough to make her flinch. The way she cocked her head was breaking form at best, damn near insubordinate at worst.

“With all due respect,” she said cooley, nothing near respect anywhere in her voice, “I lost a friend to find this information. I’ve seen it, spoken to it, and you tell me there’s no proof?”

Ashley’s face flashed painfully through her mind, those last moments haunting her years. She let out a shaking breath through her nose, posture locking up. Not here, not now—reliving it could wait until later.

Instead she lifted her chin high and fixed frigid grey eyes on all three counselors. None of them made any move to validate her claims. Instead they just frowned condescending, infuriating frowns down at her.

“You don’t believe me.” She said flatly. Lips twisting together, she bit back a scoff, “We’re facing war and you don’t believe me? At all?”

The Asari councilor lifted her delicate shoulders and offered Ryn a pitying look, “Commander, we cannot believe claims and visions. Saren is a threat that cannot be denied, but Reapers?” she laughed, “They’re myths.”

Both Garrus and Liara made moves to step forward, their voices mixing together in an angry buzz. Ryn snapped her head to the side, growling with a ferocity she would regret later, “Stand down.”

Perhaps it was a past habit, but she swore she heard Garrus murmur, “Yes ma’am.”

He’d never deferred to her in that manner. They’d always treated each other as friends—respecting her command when it mattered, yes, but the use of such military language on her left a bad taste in her mouth.

“Is my career not enough to earn me even a bit of trust?” she ground out. Ten years dedicated to the Alliance. The merit of her leadership mirrored her rank. The Blitz that preceded her name?

Risking her life and the life of her crew just to be told it wasn’t real was what that all accumulated to?

The Council hummed and hawed and denied her claims until she was numb to her, a statue with grinding teeth until her jaw ached.

“Yes, this is all for the best,” Udina set up beside her and Ryn snapped from her haze.

“Excuse me?”

Udina held up a placating hand and placed it on Ryn’s shoulder. Pitying, conniving—Ryn’s arm twitched, nearly breathing her form to smack his hand away. Only training kept her steady.

“While you’ve done magnificent work to find Saren, we don’t know if you are of…fitness…to continue as you are right now. You’re sowing such fear, Commander, causing instability. As of right now, your position as a Spectre is suspended and we’re grounding the SSV Normandy.”

Motherfucker, traitorous back-stabbing snake, son of a bitch—

Ryn hissed, “Don’t you dare Udina.” She whipped her eyes to the Council, “Please you can’t do this—let me go after Saren, Sovereign, anything. We can go in alone, we don’t need resources. Please.”

Loathing burned through her begging to keep her ship, begging to keep her ability to do something.

Loathing carried her through the rest of the encounter until she sat alone aboard the Normandy, back to her equipment locker. The very equipment locker whose contents sat neatly backed in a box in front of her.

They were trying to kick them out of the Normandy. Offering up half priced housing on the Citadel until they found other accommodations.

Ryn thumped her head back against the locker, clenching her fists together, “Fuck!”

“That about sums up this mess, doesn’t it?” Ryn startled, slamming her head back into the locker as she jumped. She swore again, one hand cradling her head and the other throwing out a half-assed biotic field.

Garrus stumbled backwards, catching himself on one of the bolted down mess chairs.

“I didn’t mean to scare you, Shepard.” He said apologetically. “Just meant to come check on you.”

Ryn relaxed, pulling her knees up to her chest and setting her chin on them, “Doing just fine. Sitting ducks until Sovereign arrives, no ship…ugh.” She made a face but aimed an apologetic look at Garrus, “Sorry for nearly knocking you on your ass.”

He snorted out a laugh, mandibles flaring in a way she could only assume was amusement, “It’s not the worst thing you could do to me, I’m sure.”

Joining him in laughter, even if it was stained, Ryn held up her hands and wriggled her fingers, “I could use these bad boys and biotic you into next year.”

“Mhm, is that a threat?” Garrus chuckled as he sat down next to her. Ryn leaned her head back and over to look at him, her shoulder brushing his.

If she truly wanted to continue sulking and skulking she could ask him to leave…in fact, maybe for all professional intents and purposes she should ask him to leave. How could it compromise her leadership to have her crew see her like this?

“It’s just me on board.” Garrus said, as if he read her thoughts. From the way he studied her face, maybe everything she was thinking was written clearly across her face, “You don’t have to be Commander right now…just Shepard.”

“Ryn.” She corrected, “If I don’t have to be Commander Shepard then please…Ryn.”

“Ryn.” Garrus parroted back to her, then repeated it again as if testing the way it rolled off his tongue. She found she liked when he said it. Wanted him to say it again just to get the thrill that went through her.

No.

Not now.

“We’re fucked to hell right now.” she said to distract herself, “Fucked frontways, sideways, and backways.”

Garrus nudged her shoulder, “Grounded is a strong word.”

She quirked an eyebrow up and Garrus’ mandibles flared once again, a spark coming into his eyes, “If I’ve learned anything from leaving C Sec…” he said, “It’s that rules are a suggestion.”

“Yes but…” She trailed off with a groan, scrubbing her hands across her face. Breaking rules now to cross the trouble might just cause a train wreck further down the tracks

“I don’t think there’s any buts; I doubt you’ve made it this far by going by the books. Did you follow things to a T during the Blitz—“

Ryn flinched, twisting away from Garrus fast enough that her shoulder hit the lockers with a thump, “No-“

Not that, not now with so many poor leadership calls swirling through her mind. Not now, as Saren and Sovereign made galaxy knows what plans to take an unknown amount of lives. Not with Ashley’s name still accompanied by guilt and grief and—

Garrus’ hand gently rested on her shoulder, snapping her back, “I’m sorry.” he said carefully, “I didn’t mean, didn’t realize…”

That she was still fucked in the head? That the thought of making those kinds of calls again gave her chills enough to make her sick?

“It’s fine.” she breathed. “It’s fine. Please just…” she turned her head and rested her head on Garrus’ hand, her nose smushing against his glove. Somehow the touch grounded her and without thinking she brought her hand up to rest over the remainder of his hand.

Almost without thinking, he curled his fingers around her.

And they stayed like that, in the quiet, contemplative air.

“We can’t fail.” she murmured.

“We won’t, Ryn.” Garrus murmured back and something about the way he said her name—no rank, no formalities, just her, made her want to cry.

#captainderyn writes #fictober21 #fictober 2021 #mass effect #mass effect fanfiction #shakarian #femshep #garrus/femshep #garrus vakarian #friends to lovers #oc: ryn shepard #otp: keep me grounded #fic: i was lost without you

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nelllraiser · 3 years

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into the fold, two: surrender | adam & nell

PREVIOUSLY: into the fold: part one TIMING: the ma’al cult investigation. PARTIES: @walker-journal and @nelllraiser. SUMMARY: nell and adam dive deeper into the cult. CONTENT: sibling death mention, torture (implied), gaslighting (demon telepathy)

The intrusion of the eldritch on Neveah Alcott’s palatial home had initially been a subtle thing. Corruption came in degrees, and just as Neveahs parties were initially just high society networking that occasionally dabbled into idle metaphysical conversation, so too were the tiny within changes Alcott’s manner easy to dismiss as tricks of mood lighting or fanciful imagination until it was far too late.

Those ‘idle conversations’ became more pointed speculation and the reading of certain disturbing texts readings as shadows darkened with the discrete crevices of the Neo-Gregorian architecture. The nooks behind statues, pillars, and within arches grew deeper until those shadows became actual holes into nothingness rather than the mere absence of light. Those avant garde readings proved to be strangely magnetic, even to those with no previous intellectual interest. As dalliance turned to obsession, angles within the Alcott residence started to be ...not quite right...not lining up correctly even when one squinted.

More people were invited to these readings as doors in manor started opening to rooms that weren’t on the building's floorplan, only to lead elsewhere when opened again later. After Helena’s first ‘demonstration’ of bloodshed and symbology could attract the attention of beings beyond the confines of four dimensional space, guests started to report seeing the horrific landscapes of alien worlds beyond the house's windows. As high society parties devolved into debauched experiments to ‘expand consciousness’ through dangerous excesses of sensation, the manors’ light bulbs started to shine with colors that didn’t exist in the electromagnetic spectrum.

It had been around the time Helena performed the first ‘miracle’ by being briefly possessed by her otherworldly patron, that the walls began to bleed.

Now Adam sat in a dark room where the floor breathed, fleshy surface moistly yielding beneath him. The walls and ceiling stretched inward as the faces of hellish things strained against the fabric of reality. Maws, mandibles, and not quite human vissages pressed in a menagerie of faces from every angle as creatures from beyond the veil struggled to rip their way into this world.

“Nell…,” Adam managed to gasp past the broken spasming of his ribs, “you there?”

It hadn’t taken all that long for Nell to begin dreading the trips to the mansion. It wasn’t so much the bleeding of the walls, or even the screams that seemed to shatter silence out of nowhere that turned her stomach. No— she liked to think she was fairly ironclad when it came to things such as those at this point in her life. Instead it was the slow and steady transformation of the people, Neveah Alcott’s loyal followers, that made her insides squirm. Many of them hadn’t the faintest idea of what they were being readied for, harvested for as they pledged undying dedication to the woman whose ‘miracles’ left them wide-eyed and breathless despite the brutality of it all.

It had taken most of what Nell had to make sure she didn’t succumb to the trials and tests of the demon, and the witch had been sparing her magic and strength specifically for nights such as these when she wasn’t sure whether the shifting of the floor beneath her was due to the emerging hellscape or loss of blood. It would have been easier if she could use her usual protections against the less savory side of demons and their effects, but such a thing wasn’t thinkable when she was meant to be embracing the demon that lay in wait, getting closer to phasing through the thinning veil every day. No doubt any resistance would be perceived as opposition, and that wasn’t the behavior of a willing and wanting devotee.

Nell’s eyes were closed when Adam’s voice found her, cutting through the fog of her mind like the beam of a lighthouse on land’s shore. In a moment they were opening to the twisted visages of the creatures waiting to emerge into this world, but she quickly searched for Adam’s face amongst them until she found it next to her, reaching a hand toward him instinctively as he looked for her. “I’m here,” she answered, the tail end of a cough finishing the words for her as she covered her mouth, pulling her sleeve away to find fresh blood amongst the dried bits of it. Her first thought was to check his injuries as she usually did during a quiet spell of their demonic endeavors. “Everything in one piece?” she asked, already trying to scoot closer so she might try and take a look.

Adam stirred again at Nell’s voice. Bloodshot eyes opened. Adam’s gaze was unfocused at first, as if he were looking at some other world entirely. But his broken fingers found Nell’s outstretched hand and that physical presence seemed to anchor him. The red-rimmed brown of his eyes eventually found Nell’s face.

“Uh more or less,” he rasped, a weak attempt at a smile stark against a livid canvas of bruises and lacerations down his face and neck.

Adam had been conditioned to quietly endure suffering and even agony if it was necessary to preserve humanity’s destiny. But spiritual wounds that’d sapped his Hunter powers have become all the more serious in the sadism and darkness of this place. Day after day the cult’s rites wore Adam down physically as the tendrils of their master’s psychic influence drilled down into the bedrock of Adam’s selfhood. Little by little, Adam felt himself giving ground inside.

Adam struggled to sit up, but broken ribs protested so much that he abandoned the attempt. He himself fall back against the fleshy softness of the not-quite-stone floor.

Adam adjusted his head as the now literally blue-veined marble throbbed with cardiac warmth against his temple.

“How’re you holding up?”

Nell cradled Adam’s broken fingers gingerly, thankful for the grounding effect his touch had, but reminding herself not to squeeze his hand in reassurance for fear of making things worse. A pinpoint of frustration surfaced in her stomach, wishing for what wasn’t the first time that she could mend bones as well as she closed up flesh wounds. “I guess I can’t ask for more,” she managed to say while matching his half-hearted attempt at levity. “Actually that’s a lie. I can and will ask for more, but I know it’s not gonna do anything.” As she spoke she reached her free hand towards the gashes she could see making a jagged and broken path across his neck, beginning the work of magically willing them shut, scabs beginning to form where open wounds had been before. It wasn’t anything as useful as healing fingers or ribs, but it at least made her feel like she could provide some relief, no matter how small.

“I’m not super sure if I’m just lucky enough to see two of you- or if there’s actually some doppelganger who’s decided to give up the long con and just lay right next to you.” Who said you couldn’t mix potential impending doom with a bit of flirtation? Despite everything, she was determined to keep things light for a moment longer, hoping it might somehow hide the truth of their shared misery. When she’d finished with the gashes on his neck, Nell tried to lower herself closer to the ground to begin work elsewhere, but it seemed her noodle-like ams had other plans when they gave out halfway through her descent. She landed roughly next to Adam, and a grunt of pain paired with a gasped curse of “Fuck,” worked its way through her lips.

Sometimes Nell thought about what it might be like to give in. To fully immerse herself in the whisperings of the walls inside this mansion, and let herself be truly taken into the fold. It would stop then, wouldn’t it? The pain she watched Adam go through far too often. Her own injuries, and the constant ache in her body she couldn’t seem to shake since joining up. Fighting had always been second nature to her, as if she’d been born with a stubbornness that made it impossible for her to give up no matter how far ahead or behind she might be. There’d never been any exception to that rule, and yet here she was— doing her best to keep herself semi-vertical and thinking about how the easy way out was looking more and more appealing every day. If she were being honest it wasn’t just about making sure she and Adam were safe. There was a space for here whether she wanted to face that truth or not, a place where her talents would be embraced rather than shunned or cast out. This was a coven that wanted her, not one that had turned their backs to the witch. “You know...do you think he’d settle for just...one of us?” she asked quietly as she lay next to Adam, her voice barely above a whisper as if she were worried that Ma’al might be listening at this very moment. “Like if I just hung out here with the cult and really gave it my all- maybe you could go keep working on getting your strength back and stuff. It might not even be so terrible.”

“Shouldn’t use up your power like that Nell…” Adam rasped even as pain became more manageable and the clammy numbness of blood loss stopped crawling up his body. Adam may not understand magic, but he intuited that everything Nell spent on him was strength she didn’t have to save herself later. This forces in this place were looking for any chink in their armor and Adam swallowed down guilt that Nell was leaving herself vulnerable to keep him from sinking.

Adam’s gaze was drawn to the walls and ceiling as alien forms protrude into this reality. Spined proboscises stabbed blindly. Mouths with multiple interior rings of saw-blade teeth punctured outward like bladed xylophones before folding back in on themselves. Tendrils slick with acid fumbled around for organic matter to dissolve and absorb. Flowery blooms opened to lash out with hungry stigma while even stranger orifices extended luminous filaments or branching nerve clusters in search of fresh lifeforce to drink. Some of the faces pressing in through the walls were even vaguely humanoid, just with eye-sockets and too many mouths in all the wrong places. The stone and wood of the mansions structure buckled, like a dam about to give way before the tide. There was a taut tension in the air, as if reality itself was straining under some vast weight.

Adam looked into that wall of horrors for longer than was safe, and found his mind wandering dangerously as something weaved insidious thoughts in Adam’s own inner voice.

Why did Adam fight his true nature? He’d had always been addicted to the wrong things, craved the fucking, fighting, and killing like a drug instead of being pure and purposeful. Sure, he’d shackled himself with a code, hoping pious bullshit some dead martyrs had come up centuries ago could make him something more than just an adrenaline junkie that got his rocks off from killing. Adam had been a good little soldier, dutifully risking his life to save people who never even know he existed.

But look at you now, Adam had told Adam. Broken, repressed, and bleeding out while those normie motherfuckers just keep slaughtering each other in rich mens’ wars. Admit it, your mission is pointless. You were made into a weapon for a cause that is already lost.

Adam looked at the woman who’ve risked everything to follow him in here.

Shouldn’t he just be free? Free to fuck, fight, and kill without guilt. Why not take his strength back, and use it how he liked? It was his life wasn’t it? What claim did others have on it? Why was he afraid of what he wanted?

‘Didn’t Nell deserve to be loved by a real man, not someone’s else’s wind-up soldier?’ asked a quiet voice that knew all Adam’s deepest insecurities.

Adam put a small and feeble pressure on Nell’s hand, bloodshot eyes alive with forbidden thoughts as they looked at her with the wrong kind of hope. “I dunno but…”

“I’m an oathbreaker and you're an exile,” the fallen Hunter pointed out softly. “Maybe like, this place we could just…,” Adam didn’t finish the question, but raised torn eyebrows to Nell as if trusting she understood what he was asking.

“I want to,” Nell insisted stubbornly, not pausing in her work of closing up every wound she managed to find on Adam. By the time she reached the end of her efforts the black spots in her vision had widened, and a part of her was thankful for the way they blocked out the terrors of the surrounding walls. It was easier not to get caught up in the unsettling yet mesmerizing shifts that the twisted images went through when you couldn’t see half of them. She tried to wait until the world had stopped swimming to begin on the cuts decorating her skin that were bleeding a little too much for comfort, not all that keen on passing out here and now. It was taking the majority of her strength to make sure she didn’t slip into something of a forced sleep, her body practically begging for rest and a chance to recuperate the magic she’d spent while she swayed where she sat, forcing herself to sit upright, and hoping that would be enough to ensure she stayed conscious.

Despite Nell’s best efforts, her head swam with the visions on the walls, and for a moment she could have sworn she saw her own face among them. The bones of her cheeks looked sharper, harder than the reflection she saw in the mirror, but there was a confidence that couldn’t help but be alluring, a promise of power and the ability to ensure that no one would ever make a victim of her again. She could make them afraid if she really wanted to. Most normies were already there when it came to witches. Surely it wouldn’t take all that much to rake others into a similar boat? And if they were afraid, there’d be no one to lop off the heads of sisters in clearings in the forest like a knife through butter, or trap Nell beneath a Ring while brain biters stole bits of her she never thought possible to lose. What was stopping her? The judgment of others? The fragile and paper-thin concept of right and wrong? Was it wrong to want to protect herself? Wasn’t releasing the demons within the walls of the mansion the perfect way to achieve such a thing? No doubt a town that was razed would be one that wouldn’t lift a finger against her or the ones she cared about.

It was the press of Adam’s hand in her’s that made her realize she’d lost track of time somewhere in the middle of her wanderings, and her fingers pressed lightly against his own while she blinked herself back to this plane of existence. A mirthless chuckle fell from her, because she knew he was right. An oathbreaker and an exile. The world didn't want them, so why should they want the world in return? But as her vision cleared and her black eyes searched Adam’s, there was the smallest reminder somewhere in the back of her head. They’d come here for a reason, right? She hadn’t wanted Adam to fall. But was it really falling? Focusing on the man in front of her, her brows furrowed, a frown claiming her lips while she spoke. “We...that’s not why we came here...was it?” What if they’d both secretly hoped to be taken into the cult? Perhaps Ma’al had simply awakened a part of them that was already present. No- there was a promise she was meant to be keeping. A promise to the hunter that she wouldn’t let him go under, because that wasn’t something he’d wanted. “That’s not why we came here,” she said with more certainty this time around even as another voice within her tried to poke holes in the words. “You...want that? To stay here?”

Adam knew Nell was right, that wasn’t what they’d come here. Something was leading them astray.

But the walls breathed, bulging and distorting inward as multitudinous alien things strained against the skin of the world. The bleeding painting on the walls asked Adam if that was true.

Hadn’t he already been astray? Was really it so bad to realize you were lost?

“Only if you’ll stay with me,” he murmured.

Let me set you free. It was the slithering voice of Kevin, and the words the dream-being had uttered within the caves of the catacombs that echoed through Nell’s mind as Adam made his admission. Even then Nell had nearly given in to the promise of peace and the sheer relief of simply letting go and giving up. She’d barely managed to shake free of the tempting offer when it was a stranger making it, but now that it was the familiar and comforting features of Adam that was making the proposal she found the words all the more intoxicating— certain that warmth and safety would be found on the other side of them. “I want to stay with you,” she said while reaching out her free hand to place it along the side of Adam’s face, thumb resting upon his cheek as she weighed the gravity of her words. This was one of the only things she was certain of these days- that Adam was one of the more stable pieces of her life, and she was more than willing to follow where he went. So many people had left in the last few months, other magnets that had kept her carefully balanced between one another. Winston, Bea, Blanche, and now Jared. They’d gone the ways they’d needed to one by one, and though Nell didn’t resent them in the least it was undeniable that their departure had left her adrift. So if Adam wanted to find the peace they deserved here amongst the cult, and so did she...what was there to stop them? “I’ll stay with you, and we can just be here together.” Away from the world that was determined to throw whatever pain it could their way.

Hey Ma’al,

It's me, Adam.

Guess it's about that time?

If I do this, let you in...there’s one condition

Soft spring sun refracted through townhouse windows, golden rays playing across the kitchen.

“So anyway,” Adam said, trying not to get dish-soap on his jersey as he put plates in the washer. “Dad said Winn and Mr. Woods might be coming over later to help fix the roof...”

Sunflowers swayed in the warm wind outside the window, the nostalgic golden haze of the afternoon casting golden petals stark against their black centers. Light glinted off the harbor bay and the commercial bustle of the Sink District as tourists poured in from ferries to peruse shops and Spring Festival stalls.

Adam turned to look across the rooms with gentle brown eyes that’d never beheld violence beyond a locker room scuffle. He ran an unscarred hand through his hair and gave Nell a lopsided grin. “Hey...Nell? What’re you thinking about?”

Nell had been watching the gentle arc of the sunflowers as the breeze played with them, more than pleased that they’d grown so beautifully in the past year and already thinking about what she might plant next. “Hmm?” came her questioning hum, head turning towards Adam with a look of chagrin at being caught staring into space. The light of golden hour played over her unmarred skin, the only lasting signs of imperfection being the dirt under her nails from the garden, and the roughness of her finger pads. “Well I was definitely listening religiously,” came her knee-jerk reaction of a tease. But as she took in the perfectness of Adam’s grin and the sun lighting his hair her own smile claimed her lips, softening in the slightest. “Nothing. Nothing, really.” Her mind was at peace, finally serene with a lack of problems to solve and shadows of witch-killers to fear in the night. “Just thinking about how I’m...happy.” She took a few steps towards him, beginning to close the space that had found its way between them. “Happy here with you.”

#// it's casual #soft and fine #sibling death tw #torture tw #wickedswriting #gaslighting tw #ch:Adam #into the fold two: surrender #chatzy

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border-spam · 4 years

Text

Maw

Troy inspects his latest body modification prior to a planned reveal to his followers in a horrific LetsFlay, and considers how heavy the price he’s paid to change his appearance may really be.

Part of my Leech Lord AU series, some OC mentions. Long post. TW - Terminal illness, body image / mental health issues, gore, violence, death

He hissed sharply inwards, then held the breath in his lungs. Futilely willing his heartbeat to calm as he began to mentally count down from 10 like the surgeon had taught him. Every session had been a little better than before, he’d get through it. Stay focused, stay calm, and count from Ten...

Nine… Same as he’d had to do twice a day for the last month, knuckles turning white as his grip tightened on the rim of the stone basin. Eight… Same seemingly endless 10 seconds he’d endured over and over. They would end, keep breathing. Seven… Eyes screwed tightly closed and brow furrowed as the burning pain shot through his gums and jaw. Six… Slowly exhaling through his nose as the fire traveled down his throat and into the root of his tongue. Five… The surgeon had said this would take weeks, not a month. Four… Lower lip trembling as the pain faded into a throb, faster than last time, good. Three… He’d known it would need this care. He’d researched. He’d known. No regrets now. Two… He’d just overestimated how fast he would heal, that’s all. It was major surgery. It would be worth it in the end. One … It would be worth it.

It would be worth the pain.

Letting his head drop forward as he shuddered in a slow breath, Troy slowly opened his watery eyes and took in his reflection in the mirror he faced, softly illuminating him in the dark comfort of his ship’s washroom.

He looked haggard. Cool blue eyes bloodshot and beginning to spill over with the tears he’d held back as the pain subsided, normally rich sepia skin faded to a sickly pallor and glistening with sweat. Some king he was.

“F-fuck..” He sputtered, watching in disgusted fascination as the antiseptic wash gushed over his lips and into the sink under him, leaving strings of blood tinged saliva trailing under his chin. Deep crimson swirls mixing through the blue medical fluid as it splashed up the sides of the basin.

The reaction to the cleaning was a little better than last time, he thought with a sigh as he turned the faucet and watched the medical fluid swirl down the drain. It was healing, and he probably only had another week or so to go before it was fully functional, but shit. It hurt still. A lot.

Running a thumb gently over the swollen reddened seam in his lip, he decided to remind himself why he’d done this as he stared at the dribble of fresh blood it had leaked onto his finger.

Why he’d spent months researching, contacting body mod experts, surgeons, flaunting his name and infamy to reassure them that yes, he was serious. Yes, he had given this plenty of thought. Yes, he understood how major this would be. Yes, he appreciated how much of his jaw and tongue wouldn’t actually be him anymore. That things may not taste the way he remembered after. That his mouth would never be the same.

He had done it, because he didn’t like his mouth in the first place.

It was too soft. Too big, lips too full. It smiled too wide and drew the eye to his delicate cheekbones, he was so sick of being delicate. Troy had been delicate enough his entire childhood, he didn’t want to be as a man too. He wanted respect. He wanted power.

He’d never given it much thought before Pandora. Never really thought about how he looked at all. It had just never been something that required any attention. Why would either have them had even considered their appearances? How they looked had no affect on how well they scavenged, or helped his twin on the nights she was overwhelmed with the reality of her gifts, or change how Pop had acted around him..

It just had never mattered. They were them. They were each other. Why would they need to ever look different? How could it change anything?

He hadn’t cared till Pandora, till other people started to care. And comment. And they had commented plenty in those first few months he and his twin had spent trying to form what was now the planet consume behemoth known as the Children of the Vault. Tyreen had quickly been accepted after he’d designed her imposing outfit and she’d started styling her appearance, but he hadn’t been.

The tattoos had helped for a while, the gauges and piercings he got after too, but he’d had those years now, and he still wasn’t intimidating enough. He was still pitiful. That quiet, stammering, gut wrenchingly gentle voice in the back of his mind reminded him of that often enough on nights when he’d be unable to sleep. When he’d lay in bed staring at the dark ceiling of his bedchamber for hours, and feel his skin crawl while he pretended he couldn’t hear the whispers.

Their rapidly growing follower count had been plenty vocal about which of the twins was the more impressive. Which of the twins they mocked more. Which of the twins had fail collection echo vids of stumbling and looking sickly, and devoted fan forums offering pity and love for the clear underling.

He didn’t want pity. He didn’t want love. He wanted fear, so he changed it. He changed his face.

Troy Calypso is not Troy DeLeon. He does not make rash decisions and be hopeful for the best outcome, everything is planned, everything is schemed. A month out of public eye while he healed? That was fine. He preferred to not be in it that much recently anyway, not while he knew he looked soft…

That had changed now, he reminded himself, watching as his reflection slowly split its lips into a wide, vicious grin that didn’t quite reach its exhausted eyes.

His mouth was razor sharp now.

As the smile melted away, he let his jaw drop open, angling his head slowly from side to side to check the alignment with his skull. Perfect, so much better now that there wasn’t any swelling. Even and balanced, with no lingering stiffness like it had in the last week. If he didn’t know better, he’d think the seams that ran along the center of his chin and the width of his cheekbones were cosmetic, and man... he couldn’t wait to show the galaxy that they weren’t.

Bracing himself with a deep exhale, he lifted his arms, hooked his flesh fingers and prosthetic’s metal digits over the line of teeth on either side of his lower jaw, and snarled deeply as he pulled downwards. The sensation of this exercise had changed dramatically over the weeks. The agony of tearing apart the healing tissue had originally been so bad that the intensely powerful painkillers he’d been doped with for the first few days couldn’t mask it, but now it was more just.. strange. Like the tension of stretching a thick piece of elastic, but inside him. Muscles complained as they shifted unnaturally, despite weeks of training with them daily, but it didn’t hurt anymore. It just felt intimately wrong. Almost arousing in a way, and he noted with an amused snort that this could be a lot of fun in bed once healed up. Well, fun for him. Then again, he was all that ever mattered in that situation anyway. He stored it away as something else to look forward to after the reveal. Slowly easing the jaw downwards, he felt his upper lip curl into a smile as the latches on either side of his cheeks popped open, responding smoothly to the downwards movement on cue. No pain, no stiffness, an improvement at last. It really had been worth doing these exercises. Tilting his head back slowly to allow the jaw to distend fully downwards, he counted to three, a deep breath through his throat for each digit, and slowly… gently… began to pull outward. The shuddering crack that ran through his jawbone as it disconnected at the front seam reverberated up though his skull just like last time he’d done this, and he winced at the sharp jolt of pain. Bad, but nothing unbearable. He’d been through far worse. It still wept blood as it split apart and stretched to either side, but it was clean, and healing, and it looked monstrous.

It was perfect.

Holding each part of his split mandible outwards, he let himself relax, focusing on the muscular movement needed to force the modified tongue out from the depths of his throat and to hang beneath the open maw. This had healed really quickly, he’d been honestly surprised, but the damage in his neck had taken time. The torn and reattached muscle at the connection to his original tongue’s root in his throat still burned and ached like a healing bruise as he forced the slithering length outwards to lol between the jaws, and he slowly removed his hands from them. Keeping the jaws open like this with just muscle control had been something he’d only managed a day ago, and the difference in strength already was incredible. He watched the undulating waves of the extended tongue as it coiled, drool rolling down its writhing length as the mandibles above it twitched with the effort of holding them open without any support. The modified row of secondary teeth hidden inside the line of his natural jaw bone were exactly how he’d wanted them, serrated fangs pointing inwards like barbs. They knit together into a solid plate and rested under his tongue when the mandible closed, but open like this? Beautiful. Terrifying. His mouth looked like a weapon. It looked like he could eat you alive. Let’s see them laugh at him now, let’s see them call him soft when he could crunch their bones between his fucking teeth.

Troy gargled a crackling laugh over the pooling drool in his throat, smile creasing his eyes in the mirror’s reflection as the light caught his distended golden canines, inhumanly long tongue curling at the end in mirth. This was his mouth now. No one else in the universe had a mouth like this, this was unique! This was - “b-broken.”

That voice again...

“… Kkrrokennn... ” he slurred against his palate, tongue grotesquely twitching towards his chest as it attempt to form the word.

Now there was a memory he’d prefer to have not surfaced right now, swallowing the tongue slowly back into his throat as the mandible began to close.

It had been a long time, huh. Long time since he’d first noticed. Long time since he’d last asked why… He lifted his left hand and carefully pressed the lagging right mandible upwards, feeling the click as it connected and realigned with its twin. His eyes locked on his mouth in the mirror’s reflection, and absolutely not on the shape his peripheral vision insisted was standing in the darkness behind him. The one that he was aware was now speaking once more…

“Maybe it was j-just easier for her to not say the truth. Maybe you were less of a burden on her that way, huh. She m-must have been so tired of looking after you, Pop too. They must have been counting the minutes…” He heard it whisper in the back of his mind, that sickening, gentle voice it was getting harder and harder to tune out recently.

“Shut the fuck up.” He muttered under his breath, slowly leaning over the sink and resting his elbows in the rim, watching the water spiral down into the darkness of the drain. He’d made himself.. he’d made himself even more different now. Hadn’t he. Even more broken. What would she think now.

He treasures the memory of Leda. He loves her completely, and he knows that’s true, because damn.. the feelings never changed. He’s never stopped. When he thinks about his mother, he feels the exact same way he did last time he saw her. He was what, 8? Yeah. They were 8 when it happened, that’s right. They were 25 now… They had decayed from children into monsters and still, the exact same warmth blossoms deep in his core when he thinks of her now as it did when he was a little boy.

He feels the twinge of a smile pull at the seam on his lip as he focuses on letting his mind wander back to when he last saw her, but he wishes, in a festering way, she could see him now. Not because it would make her proud, no. God no. He knows she would be repulsed by what he sees in the mirror now, the thing with the metal fangs and hatred inked into its skin, but because he could show her how broken he really had been.

That he knew all along when he’d asked over and over as a child. That she should have just told him and not wasted her love and care on something that would become so disgusting.

He closes his eyes, listening to the running water gargling down the echoing pipe below him, and leans heavier onto this arms. Remembering.

God. He had been so sick.

-----

Day after day, unable to leave his parent’s bed, watching Tyreen’s tantrum’s towards Momma and Pop because Troy couldn’t come explore, or Troy was coughing too much, or Troy got to sleep with them when she didn’t, and it had really hurt to see her sad because of him. It had been his fault she was lonely.

He remembers the guilt, wanting so much to get up and go play with his sister, but not being able to stand for too long before the shakes would start, and then the seizures... Remembers being bundled up in Leda’s arms and bouncing against her hard shoulder as she ran back to their home, screaming at Typhon for letting Troy out of his sight. Troy was sick. Troy needed to rest. But he rested for so long that he forgot what it had been like before, and he never got any better.

He remembers the endless questions, and that they never gave him real answers, even though deep down he knew it was just because he was...

“Why do my stripes not glow, but Ty’s do, Pop?”

“Ty-die, how come you can make those sparks but I can’t do anything?“

“Momma how come everyone else has two arms and everyone else isn’t sick and I’m...“

“Broken broken broken BROKEN”

He remembers the gentle jostle of Leda shifting over onto the bed with him, the heat of her big strong hands against his ribs as she helped prop him up against the pillow as he weakly reached for the little wooden Knight he had left behind on Nekrotafeyo when they escaped. The one Sparrow had made for him. He remembers the frustration of not being able to hold it tightly enough to lift it, and how that seemed so very important at the time. Like it was the most unfair thing in the world. He remembers the comfort of her long fingers sweeping the hair back from his feverish forehead as he glared down at the faded wooden Knight with it’s snapped leg and peeling green paint, and the exhaustion in her voice as she wearily answered -

“Well.. not everyone is the same, Moonbright. Some people are sick sometimes, some people have shapes that might not look like other’s. Some people can sing, some people are clever, some people are kind, some people are terrible. Everyone’s different, babe. ”

And he remembers how dumb that answer sounded, trying not to be angry as he frowned, rolling the little wooden Knight on his lap as he stared down at the dull red markings across the fingers that gripped its broken leg.

“Yeah but Momma.. Why am I so different. ”

---

They never answered it. They never just said the truth. "Everyone is different" is obvious, of course he knew that. Kids aren’t stupid, and he had been a clever kid.. he had spent so many days in that bed wondering why they never just told him the reason he was so.. wrong. So many more as an adult wondering why did it take 13 more years of thinking back and questioning for Tyreen to matter of factly state “...Cuz they were waiting for you to die.” while filing her nails one evening in their shared quarters.

He knows now that they did it out of love, but he also knows he harbors some deep, toxic frustration with his parents because of it. He knows they were trying to keep him happy, that they thought the truth too cruel, but… he spent so many nights sick and alone and in pain, wondering that same question over and over as a child.. and they never told him.

Ty did. Ty does. Ty knows he’s just fucking broken.

They had tried to lie, to keep him from the cruel reality, but it had been true, and he wishes Leda could look at him now, see him hunched over a bloody sink having defiled his face, just so that she could turn away from him in disgust. Then he could know she hated him. Then he could stop holding on, just give up. Just let it go. Become this thing he’d crafted himself into, instead of holding on to dying threads of who he wished he still was inside. He lifts his hand to his face and presses his fingers into the bridge of his nose, pinching, the swirling water background noise now against the pressure inside his head.

How much of him was even left, really. How much of him was metal now, how much of him was the God King.

Years ago, when they had first arrived, Seifa had said he could become anything he wanted to make himself on Pandora, that he had a fresh start. A life. That it could be his choice, and that he had as much a say in it as Tyreen… and look at what he had made himself into in the end.

Exactly what she’d sworn to him that he wasn’t.

Less than 6 months since she’d dropped him like the burden he was, and he’d done this. He’d betrayed them both. Would Mom cry, or not have the tears to waste on what he’d chosen to become after everything she did to try and hide it from him.

A broken, monstrous thing.

He sighs, squinting at the faucet before reaching out and turning it off, then rubs at his eyes in the quiet of the dark washroom, smearing eyeliner further across his cheeks. He’s tired. He could have done without remembering this. It’s hard enough to sleep nowadays without getting stuck on shit like this all night. He stands slowly, stretching his back with a series of pops, and touches the tender side of his jaw gingerly. He still had a few of those painkillers, he remembers with a sniff. Couple of those should knock him out. Keep the nightmares away for one more night. He’d be making his big reveal soon anyway… With one last glance at the mirror, confirming he was alone in the room, Troy turned and walked towards the door to his bedchamber. Sleep now. Emotional bullshit later. That was for tomorrow him, he’d fix it then. He could fix everything, after all. Fixing problems was his forte. He only ever needed time.

---

The LetsFlay numbers looked gooood.

3 billion concurrent viewers and rising according to the stream data flickering in the inner forearm of his prosthetic, they were hungry for this. They were hungry to see him, he gloated, easily sidestepping the frantic stabbing of the heretic who’d been unfortunate enough to find themself face to face with God King Calypso in the wild melee of this raid. 3.5 now he glimpsed, grin wide enough to strain the clips at his cheeks as his sword crunched through the man’s torso, the weight of his prosthetic arm enough to make its downwards swing render solid bone to wet fragments. They didn’t even have time to yelp. Shame, that would have been great for the fans watching from home. He’d planned ahead to get the hype built around this specific raid, his media team working around the clock to spread articles and social updates that the King would be making an appearance, the first in the public’s eye in 2 months, and that he had a fun surprise to unveil for his followers. That he would be leading this raid, just him, all him. No Tyreen. She wasn’t needed this time.

The chaos around him is deafening, screeches shrieking over gunfire as COV marauders scream litanies to the Twin Gods while tearing the camp and its inhabitants apart. Heretics, idiots, they brought this on themselves. They should have taken the offer, joined the Children of the Vault when approached, not attacked a protected caravan in response. He laughs viciously over the raucous, grabbing a panicked bandit who’d dropped to their knees to beg for mercy in front of him, stuttering that they were a true believer as his retinue of crusaders slaughtered other heretics around them. Bullshit. Now they were just fodder, fuel for the media machine, playthings to tear apart on livestream and rile up the followers, get those sweet donations coming in, and mannn were those donations coming in, he noted with a chuckle, barely registering the wet popping of the man’s ribs puncturing his lungs as he ground him into the dirt with the monstrous robotic fist.

This was a great score. This was a game now, and he wished she could see him, blood spattering over his bare, toned torso as he marched onwards, pausing only to rip another piece of screeching meat in two, or sink metal teeth into a limb and tear it from its joint, and each new kill made the score go up:

--- 4 billion viewers. ---

His eyes burn with laughter as he crushes another throat, skin flushed and breathing heavy.

--- 4.5 billion viewers. ---

He sensually smears the blood dripping from his gilded mouth over his chest and abdomen with a obscene caress of his hand, maintaining eye contact with the floating cam circling him as he sneers, the adoration of billions of rabid followers flowing back through the flashing lens.

--- 5.5 billion viewers.

25 billion dollars in donations and it was all for HIM, for God King Calypso. ---

He wished Leda could see him now.

She can’t, but if she could, she’d really see. She’d know what he was all along. That she’d been wrong, and she should had killed him when she had the chance. Then he wouldn’t be here now, doing this to these filth.

His heart is pounding and he can’t fill his lungs quick enough, the insanity of the camp being slaughtered around him is just a blur of viscera and violence. It’s a bloodthirsty high he’s not felt in years and he’s lost to it, the carnal pulse of snapping bone and screaming faces, he’s invincible. He’s immortal, a God tearing through paper thin flesh as it laughs through bloodstained fangs. He’s Troy Calypso, Twin God, God King, he’s perf- Breath rushes out of his chest in a forced bellow as fire erupts through his ribs, and everything stops.

No sound, no movement. Just a heretic to his left, a crude bayonet, and a lucky stab. His retinue guard missed the open flank. A crusader is screaming his name but it’s not reaching him, he can’t hear them now. All he can see is this disgusting, meaningless, mortal thing staring into the eyes of a God, and the raw terror in their gaze as they realise they’ve missed anything vital. They whisper something, perhaps an apology, but it’s too late.

In one fluid motion, Troy’s maw splits and engulfs their entire head as he whips to the side.

There is a single second that feels like an infinity as the entire camp seems to draw in a silent breath, as every marauder, every crusader, every piece of bandit scum looks on in silent, horrified awe. Billions of eyes across the echonet watch in shock in that moment that seems to last an eternity. Watch as he feels the man’s muffled scream start against his tongue, as the serrated fangs lock into his flesh, watch as with a guttural roar, Troy bites down…

… and the heretic’s skull is crushed in his jaws.

Bone shards and pulped brain matter burst between the mandibles in a spray of gore, and the bloodcurdling screech that rises up from the followers throughout the camp is like nothing he has ever heard. It’s like a dream.

It’s a swelling hymn from the mouths of hundreds, all to him, to his glory. They shriek his name in a fervent prayer to their hallowed God King, and he closes his eyes as the chanting swells to a cacophony around him, blood streaming down his chest as he lets the mangled body drop from his hanging maw to the ground.

The hysterical screaming rises to fever pitch, and he stands, unmoving. Their God. Eyes closed and arms held open in triumphant welcome as the deafening noise engulfs him, heart pounding through frantic ecstasy as viscera drops from his twitching jaws.

A towering monster standing amongst the corpses of insects.

He glances down, panting, at his stream data. Letting his mind focus on the blinking panel as he yanks the bloody bayonet from his heaving ribs with a grunt.

--- 8.5 billion live viewers.

“God King Calypso” trending across all major social media.

55 billion dollars in donations to the LetsFlay stream. ---

He wishes she could see what he is now, so he could stop pretending to himself she’d still love him.

He just hopes the camera isn’t picking up the tears he can taste as they drip from his cheeks and run down his squirming tongue.

Check out the #my hcs and #my writing tags on blog for more content if you enjoyed this! Comments and reblogs appreciated. :)

#borderlands #borderlands 3 #bl3 #troy calypso #tyreen calypso #calypso twins #my writing #my hcs #ocs #seifa

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letswritefanfiction · 4 years

Text

Lost in Halloweenia! Ch1

Crosspost from ffnet and AO3.

Summary: It's Halloween! Ash and the gang are living it up trick or treating when they stumble upon a strange house with some strange artifacts. What mysteries do they hold and…wait, who are those three lurking behind them?

Word Count: 2,997/27,343

Setting: Set in between Hocus Pokémon and Here's Lookin' At You, Elekid.

A/N: Hello! This is a story I wrote back in 2016 and, since it’s spooky month yet again, I thought it was time to bring it back, since it’s one of my faves! This story is meant to by in the style of the Pokémon anime, plus Scooby Doo vibes. It’s all just very fun.

No ships!

Next chapter here

Chapter 1: Trick or Treat

Having just received his last Gym Badge from the Blackthorn Gym, Ash and his friends are hard at work as ever in preparing for the Silver Conference…

“Oh boy, a king size candy bar!”

Or are they?

Ash brought the plastic-wrapped log of chocolate up to his nose and inhaled loudly, salivating even though he couldn’t smell anything beyond the crisp October air burning his nostrils. After savoring the moment for all of two seconds, he ripped open the chocolate bar and bit off a mouthful, strands of caramel lacing his teeth and the candy together, looking like strands from the play spider webs decorating the houses of the neighborhood. When he licked it all away, he offered a bite to Pikachu, who was perched as a Golbat on his shoulder, wings and all.

“Ash, you’re supposed to be saving your candy, not eating it all tonight,” Misty stated, dropping her own piece into her orange jack-o-lantern bag hanging from the crook of her arm as she held Togepi to her chest. Togepi was thrilled by all of the sights and was content to do nothing but trill away at all of the lights and spooky decorations.

“Who says?” Ash grunted through the sticky sweetness.

“I bet your mother would,” Brock said. “And please tell me that you’re not still wearing your fake teeth.”

After swallowing, Ash felt around his teeth with his tongue to discover that he was, indeed, still wearing the false teeth that were the finishing touch on his vampire outfit. Except now, instead of glowing a light green in the dark, it was certain they were stained brown with milk chocolate and caramel goodness. Pikachu barred his teeth to reveal much the same on his own fake incisors.

“Oops.”

Misty sighed, shaking her head. “I knew he wouldn’t be able to handle accessories.”

“Hey, at least I was smart enough to wear a costume that I wouldn’t freeze to death in!”

Misty looked down at her costume, mostly just to hide her flushing face behind her bangs. She was wearing the Goldeen outfit that she had worn ages ago in that crazy magician act. “So what? I already owned it, so I figured I might as well wear it! Besides, Brock isn’t any better.”

Brock had decided to dress like Bruno of the Kanto—and Johto, since that’s where they were—Elite Four leaving him entirely shirtless. He was hoping that it would gain him points with the ladies. Unfortunately, most of the ladies they had seen so far were half his age. Nevertheless, he didn’t want to be pulled into the argument, so he suggested, “Hey, why don’t we just check out the next house?”

Misty harrumphed. “Yeah, Brock. Let’s go.”

Ash lingered behind for only a second. “Thinks she can boss me around like that,” he grumbled. “Why shouldn’t we be able to eat our candy on Halloween?”

Pikachu chattered his agreement before pointing in the direction Misty and Brock were headed.

“Oh, you’re right! We gotta beat them to the next house!”

Moments after Ash ran to catch up to Misty and Brock, there was a rustling in the boxwood hedges lining the sidewalk.

Jessie popped her head out from a bush, making certain that she was holding two branches on either side of her face. She spied the twerp running off after the other two twerps with Pikachu right there on his shoulder, as usual. “Hmm, right on schedule.”

“On schedule fo’ what?” Meowth burst out of the next bush, some leaves taped to his whiskers. “We don’t have a plan!”

“Maybe we would if it weren’t Halloween!” James interjected, poking his head out of a third bush, pausing to spit out a few leaves. “But there are people everywhere! How are we supposed to pull off any kind of a heist?”

“Well…” Meowth began slyly, turning slowly to James as a smile spread across his face, “we could pull off a candy heist if we did a little less trickin’ and a little more treatin’!”

“Ooh, now that’s a good plan, Meowth!”

Jessie whipped her hair around and managed to smack both James and Meowth across the face, leaving them both dazed. “You numskulls! We’re not out to get candy like all of these snot-nosed little kids! We’re out to catch Pikachu!”

“But Jess,” James whined, “think of how long it’s been since we’ve had that much food! Much less good tasting food.”

There was the sound of water dripping into the bushes as James and Meowth began to drool. Jessie clenched her fist until it shook, ready to let them have it again before she heard her stomach rumble. Both boys turned to her with raised eyebrows and Jessie blushed, holding her stomach in a gloved hand.

From out of the bushes, she produced three pillowcases and announced, “Well, I guess it can’t hurt to think about food every once in a while! We can always nab Pikachu once those twerps have had their fill and all we have to do is roll Pikachu off the twerp’s shoulder and right into the boss’s office.”

With matching grins, each grabbed a bag and then made off for the closest house, so close to mountains of candy they could taste it.

“Wow, this house would be spooky even if it weren’t Halloween.”

Ash and Misty nodded along to Brock’s words as they all stood at the end of the street before a huge house that seemed to creak as a strong wind blew the autumn leaves and loose candy wrappers across the lawn.

It was like something out of a storybook. It was dark purple with a thatched black roof, which was made up of all odd angles, coming to a zenith at a pointed tower standing in the middle with a single window. Jutting in front of the window were bars of sharp iron, twisted as if by a giant’s strong grasp.

“Well, the porch light is on,” Ash pointed out. “That must mean that they’re accepting trick-or-treaters.”

Ash began to make for the front deck before Brock and Misty pulled him back. Even Pikachu pulled on his hair a little.

“Hey, what’s the big idea?”

“M-Maybe we should just skip it and head to the next house,” Misty suggested, eyeing the spooky structure warily.

“Why would we do that? Let’s just knock on the door.”

Ash stepped confidently forward, ignoring a whine from the back of Pikachu’s throat as the deck groaned at their combined weight. There was no doorbell, so Ash raised his fist to knock on the door when, without so much as a tap, it opened all on its own.

“Huh, look at that.”

Brock and Misty had reluctantly followed Ash, but now the both of them were slowly creeping backwards. Brock cleared his throat before saying, “Okay, now we should go, Ash.”

“No, wait, look at that!” Ash was pointing just inside the doorway, where there was a small table holding a huge bowl of candy and a silver candelabra. Just above the bowl was a sign that said, take one. “Look, they want us to go in!”

Ash pushed the door open all the way, revealing that the whole room was lit by nothing but the three-pronged candelabra, flickering as the wind from outside tickled the stale air inside the house.

Opening the door revealed a parlor, completely decked out with Halloween decorations. There was a bit of old furniture here and there, but covering every open space were pumpkins, skeletons of humans as well as various Pokémon, witch’s hats, brooms, and gnarled branches with bat-like Pokémon hanging from them. But they weren’t tacky items snatched from the bargain bin of a local drugstore; everything was so well-made that they looked almost real, down to the porous bones of the skeletons and peeling bark of the branches.

After Ash stepped inside, Brock and Misty followed to take their pick from the massive collection of candy. Misty gave a little shriek when she saw an enormous Ariados doll in the corner, somehow suspended from the ceiling. It was shrouded by the dark, but the enamel mandibles almost seemed to glow with poisonous saliva in the candlelight.

She put a hand up to her face, turning away from it. It wasn’t real, it only looked real. So it should only bother her if she looked on it. Nevertheless, the hairs on her arms were standing up on end and, for once that night, it wasn’t from the October chill.

They all turned their attention back to the most pleasant sight of the candy dish. Even though it was pretty late in the night, the bowl looked virtually untouched. Apparently most trick-or-treaters thought even candy wasn’t worth trying the old, creepy house.

But boy, were they missing out! There had to be every type of candy in that bowl. Chocolate, caramels, hard candies, lollipops, butterscotch, even truffles and small baked goods—more than Ash had even thought to imagine.

“You know, I bet we can take more than one,” Ash said, reaching into the tantalizing bowl. “I don’t think anybody would be upset by that.”

“Ash, it says to just take one.”

Misty’s words sounded firm, but one look over at her, with her face inches from the candy bowl, showed that she didn’t much believe what she was saying. She wanted the treats nearly as much as Ash did.

Both Togepi and Pikachu, who had wiggled their way onto the table, were also looking over the lip of the candy bowl, trying to make the best choice.

“One each,” Brock stated. Both Ash and Misty sighed, resigning themselves to follow the rules before Brock spoke up again, this time with a big grin. “Though that doesn’t mean we can’t each choose one for each of our Pokémon too!”

Ash and Misty cheered as they finally dug into the bowl, counting off candy for each of their Pokémon as Brock wedged himself into the mix as well.

“Do you think all thirty of my Tauros count?”

“Only if all of my Gym Pokémon count!”

“Those aren’t yours; they’re your sisters’!”

“No, they belong to the Gym! And I’m better with them anyway!”

“Are not.”

“Am too!”

“Are not!”

“Am too!”

“Are—”

“Enough out of both of you!”

Brock unwrapped two pieces of caramel and stuck one into Ash’s, then Misty’s mouth to quiet them. He nodded at his handiwork as both of them struggled to chew.

“That’s probably enough candy for the both of you.”

Then Misty made a gurgling shriek through the caramel as she began looking about wildly.

“What?”

“Pobeebee ih aw!”

Brock cocked his head. “What?”

Pikachu reached and patted Brock. “Pipipi!”

Ash caught on at that point, joining in with Misty’s mumbling. Brock, however, still had no reaction, so Pikachu was forced to concentrate, spiking the fur on his head and rounding his body until he looked like an egg.

“Oh, Togepi!”

Misty finally managed to chew the caramel down to a workable level and shouted, “We have to find Togepi! Anyone see where it went?”

Everyone collectively shook their heads. Then, they heard a light trill echo throughout the whole house. They cast about, uncertain of the direction the sound came from. Pikachu’s ears twitched for a second, and then he took off, scampering out of the room.

“Hey, Pikachu!”

Ash ran after Pikachu, with Brock and Misty not too far behind him. There was no electric lighting to speak of in the house, but every hallway and room was lined with sconce-like lanterns, fire blazing in each of them; there was just enough light to see a few feet in any direction, but no more.

After rounding just a few corners, they stopped in their tracks, finding themselves completely lost, with no trace of Togepi or Pikachu. There wasn’t so much as the light thump of a footstep. Nothing but dull creaks from the house, coming from every direction so that it seemed like the house was trying to move or maybe even say something.

“I think we should head back to the front of the house,” Brock suggested. “Just wait for Pikachu and Togepi there.”

“No, we have to find Togepi!” Misty was insistent, her jaw clenched and her gaze firm, but the wavers in her voice belied her strong façade.

“Pikachu will find Togepi, Misty. And we’ll be easier to find if we just stay put.”

Misty looked to Ash, who nodded at her. “Misty’s right, Brock. I wanna find Pikachu.”

Brock could only shrug. “Suit yourself. But let’s retrace our steps at least to find a better path, okay?”

“Fine.”

“Alright.”

It only took a few steps for them to realize they had no idea where the front of the house was. They turned around a few times, poking their head past corners, into hallways, looking for any sign of familiarity.

Somehow, the whole house was designed the way the parlor had been. In every corner were pieces of antique-looking Halloween paraphernalia, most dusty with time, like they hadn’t just been set out in the past few weeks for the holiday. It seemed as though it was always Halloween in this house.

Ash stepped over the black statue of a Purrloin wearing a witch’s hat, trying the last exit from the room for any hint as to where they had come from.

“No luck. That hallway just has some huge ghosts that I don’t remember seeing.”

“So, we’re lost?”

Misty looked at Ash with a perfect blend of irritation and fear while he sweat-dropped and backed away slowly, nearly tripping over the Purrloin.

“Not lost,” Brock stated, trying to diffuse the situation—or rather, avoid any situation that got Misty too mad. “We just don’t know where we are or how to get back to where we were.”

A vein began to throb on Misty’s forehead as she turned to Brock. “Well, what is that if not lo—”

“Pika! Pika!”

The sound echoed all throughout the house until the two calls became many, sounding like there were dozens of Pikachu hiding in the very woodwork of the house. It sounded like it could have come from anywhere. Ash, Brock, and Misty cast about in all directions, to little avail.

“Priii!”

That sound too began to echo, morphing until it was a twisted distortion of Togepi’s cute call.

“I think it’s coming from upstairs!” Ash finally declared. “Which hallway had the stairs?”

“This one!” Misty shouted, pushing in front of them and making for a set of wooden stairs, spiraling up with an iron rail, lined with cross-shaped spikes.

“Careful!” Brock put a fingertip to one of the spikes and yanked it away quickly. “These are sharp!”

“Pikachu! Where are you?”

“Togepi! Please come out here!”

Ash and Misty tumbled onto the landing at the top of the stairs and listened as more calls came from their Pokémon, bouncing off every which way, but stronger than they had been down below.

“This way!”

“You better not be getting us lost again, Ash Ketchum!”

“No, they’re definitely this way!”

“Guys, wait up!”

The trio eventually stumbled into a large, cluttered room, furnished like an attic, with no candles to light the way. There were, however, windows washing the room with the moon’s pallid glow.

“Pikachu?”

“Pikapi!”

Ash nearly ran into a tall suit of armor as he rounded a stack of items, opening the large room up even further. There, bathed in a deep red glow, were Pikachu and Togepi, eyeing a strange object.

“What is that?” Misty asked with a gasp.

The red glow seemed to be emanating from the object, which was resting in a basket on top of a treasure chest, just out of Pikachu and Togepi’s reaches. Not for lack of trying, though, as Togepi kept stretching its arms out, trying to touch it.

“It looks like an egg,” Brock observed. “Like a dragon egg, or something.”

“Oh, that’s so cool!”

Ash rushed forward to look at it and soon enough, the whole gang was taken in by its almost supernatural glow.

Pikachu took it upon himself to take Togepi in his arms, raising it over his head so it could get a closer look at the object. Togepi trilled in delight, leaning in to reach it.

“Don’t touch it, Togepi,” Misty chastised. “It’s not yours.”

Togepi frowned for a second, whimpering a little. Then it jumped out of Pikachu’s grasp, arms outstretched as if to give the egg a hug. Togepi landed in the basket, which was lined with straw and wheat in a neat nest, and tried to hug the egg, but its stubby arms kept it at a distance.

“Oh, Togepi.”

Misty reached for Togepi, but before she could grab it back into her loving arms, the egg began to glow brightly, blinding everyone for a moment as their eyes adjusted. After a few burning blinks, everyone turned back to see Togepi being sucked into the egg.

Everyone gasped in shock. Pikachu was the first to regain his wits, and he leapt up, grabbing for Togepi, only to begin being sucked into the egg too.

“Oh no, you don’t!”

Ash grabbed for Pikachu, Misty grabbed for Ash, and Brock grabbed for Misty, each disappearing faster and faster as the glow became stronger, before fragmenting from a blood red into individual beams of orange and black like a Halloween sunburst.

Then, they were gone, and the room was once again dark and silent, save for the whistling of the wind outside, and the gentle groans of the old, dark house.

On Halloween night, Ash and friends had expected lots of treats but this is one trick they hadn’t expected! Where have they gone and how will they get out of this one? Stay tuned for next time!

#pokemon fanfiction #pokemon fic #ash ketchum fanfiction #ash ketchum #pokemon #fanfiction #team rocket #pikachu #pokemon fanfic #pokeani #anipoke #ash ketchum fanfic #ash ketchum fic

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mosaiccreme · 6 years

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Summary: After sharing a few drinks in her cabin, Shepard works up the courage to tell Garrus she's into him.

For squiggly_squid, because pfffttt, who says turians can't kiss?

The Whole Kissing Thing

Shepard leaned against Garrus' weapon's bench, crossing her arms over her chest and smirked. She'd been down there with him for a half-hour, mostly just making idle conversation out of boredom while he fought to calibrate the Normandy's weapons just so. She snorted, pushing away from the table when he growled at the system for the third time. "Alright, Vakarian. Step away from the console."

He glanced over his shoulder at her, flicking his mandibles. "I've almost got it, I swear."

She chuckled, closing the few feet between them and shook her head. "Nope. Come on, it's time for you to take a break before you end up emptying your heat sink into the battery out of frustration."

He chuffed but smiled. "That would be a terrible waste of perfectly good ammo."

"And it'd hurt my ship," she said with a snort. Reaching up, she locked her fingers around the yoke of his armor and tugged. "Come up stairs and have a drink with me. Learn how to relax a little."

His brow ridge twitched, mandibles fluttering softly. "Hmmm. Do you actually have something up there I can drink?"

She grinned, giving his yoke another tug, doing nothing to move his weight. "I do. I always keep something dextro on hand, never know when I'll have to play nice with a turian or quarian dignitary. Turian brandy work for you?"

He took a step forward, humming. "You mean to tell me the entire time we were on the old Normandy, you were holding out on me?"

She let go of his amor with a smirk and turned. "Yep." She started walking, smiling to herself at the sound of his footsteps behind her.

Garrus poured himself another drink before leaning back against the couch, lifting one foot up to rest on the opposite knee. He chuckled, mandibles flaring. "It was good having Wrex around, though. Of course, I'd never tell him that, but he isn't so bad."

"Yeah … I miss the grumpy old man." Shepard lifted her glass to her lips, taking a swallow. "The others, too." She tilted her head, smiling at Garrus. "Although … having you here makes an otherwise unbearable situation somehow not so bad. I can't tell you how happy I felt when you took your helmet off back on Omega." Chuckling, she took another drink. "You don't know how close you came to being tackled with hugs and kisses."

He laughed, mandibles fluttering. "I'm pretty sure I could've handled the hugging thing, but I would've been lost with the kissing."

She huffed a laugh. "Yeah, I don't suppose turians are really into the whole kissing thing, are they?"

He hummed. "I've never been kissed, so I can't really say." He flicked his mandibles, smirking at her. "But no, turians don't really kiss. You might've noticed, we don't really have those thick, fleshy lips humans do."

Chuckling, she turned a little, propping an elbow on the back of the couch and pushed her fingers into her hair, resting her head on her palm. "You don't need to have lips like ours to kiss. I mean, I'm sure it makes it easier, but you still could if you wanted to."

He flicked his mandibles, tilting his head back to take a drink. "I'll keep it in mind, you know, if anyone ever, hmmm, offers."

Shepard scraped her teeth over her lip. Admittedly, she carried a torch for Garrus since the old Normandy, but he was also her best friend—and a turian with probably no romantic interest in her whatsoever. He'd watched her six since the day they met, gave her more support than anyone else. Stood by her side when … others … accused her of being a traitor and pushed her aside. She never wanted to do anything to jeopardize what they had, so she kept her feelings to herself. Maybe it was the alcohol talking, but it suddenly didn't seem like such a bad idea to give it a shot. She leaned over, putting her glass down on the table before meeting his gaze again. She hesitated, losing her nerve when he fluttered his mandibles, confusion filling his eyes.

"Are you done drinking already? Lightweight. I was just starting to relax." He chuffed, but smiled, leaning forward to set his glass down as he started to push himself to the edge of the couch. "I guess I'll go finish those calibrations."

She reached out, putting her hand on his knee to keep him from standing. He froze a second before glancing down at her hand, so she pulled it away, tucking it into her own lap. Mandibles fluttering lightly, he met her gaze again, curiosity flashing over his eyes, restoring her courage. She glanced down at the empty seat separating them and moved a little closer, glancing up again. He watched her in silence, mandibles and brow plates twitching.

"I'm offering." She pinched the corner of her lip between her teeth and lifted an eyebrow in question.

He let out a short, surprised laugh before it shifted into a deep, resonate hum. "And here I thought the only women who'd find me attractive now would be krogan."

She chuckled, lifting a hand to his scarred, bandaged mandible, jumping off the deep end as she gently trailed her fingers over the curve before meeting his gaze. "I like you, Garrus. I always have, and I find you very attractive." She brought her hand back to her lap when he flared his undamaged mandible and lifted a brow plate. "And I don't think there are enough rockets around to change my mind."

He tilted his head a little, the iris on his visor contracting. "You're serious?"

She pushed a lock of hair back behind her ear and smiled. "Yeah … so … now you know my big secret," she said with a chuckle, feeling a blush spread over her cheeks.

"I—I had no idea," he said, giving his head a slow shake.

She snorted. "I'm really good at keeping secrets."

"Hmmm." He brought his hand up, hesitating a moment before brushing the back of a talon along her jawline, mimicking her gesture. "So … how does this kissing thing work?"

Grinning, she moved a little closer and grabbed the yoke of his armor, tugging him down a little. She pressed her lips to his mouth plates, bringing her other hand up to slide around behind his head. He hummed, and she brushed her tongue over the curve of his flat lips, coaxing them apart. Her tongue swept over his, savoring the sweet taste of turian brandy left behind before retreating a little, pleased when he took up the motion, following after. She made another pass, meeting his tongue again before pulling back.

She glanced up at him, licking her lips, smiling. "So, what do you think?"

He hummed, gaze fixed on her mouth. "I'm not sure, I might need you to show me again," he said, the flanging of his voice heavy and raspy.

Chuckling, she pressed her lips to his mouth in a quick peck. "Yeah?"

"Definitely. Maybe even a few more times, just to be sure." He leaned in closer, nudging her mouth with his.

She smiled and kissed him, his mouth opening easily to hers. Pushing herself up a little, she tucked her leg beneath her and urged him back against the couch, kneeling on the cushion next to him. He brought a hand up, pressing his palm gently against her jaw and neck, urging her on. God, why did she wait so long to kiss him? He felt so … right. Her heart pounded against her ribs, heat flooding her with each caress of his tongue against hers.

She let out a light, approving groan deep in her throat when his hand settled on her hip, kneading gently before moving down her thigh. Hooking his hand behind her knee, he lifted her leg, pulling her over to straddle his lap. Inwardly cursing his heavy armor being in her way, she shifted, situating herself around his breastplate the best she could. It didn't seem to matter what position she took, though, the sharp, center edge of his armor dug into her and kept her from getting the angle she wanted.

Letting out a frustrated growl, she pulled back and put a hand against his chest. "Take your armor off?"

He hummed, mandibles fluttering. "Is this … are we …." He chuffed, letting out a soft chuckle and shaking his head. "Hmmm. What exactly are we doing here, Shepard?"

She traced the curve of his mandible again, trailing her fingers over his mouth plates. "We are … two really good friends exploring the possibility of something more. And if we decide more isn't for us … then we don't let it get in the way of our friendship. Deal?"

He smiled, and she swore she saw relief in his eyes. "Deal."

"Good … now take your damn armor off," she said, tugging at his yoke, "it's uncomfortable and in my way."

He chuckled. "Yes, Commander."

She stood next to her bed, looking up into his crystal blue eyes. Her hands trembled, hell, her whole body trembled, with an exhilarating mix of nerves and desire. He seemed pretty nervous, too, but she hoped some of it was arousal, otherwise … she was about to be really disappointed.

He brushed hair out of her face, his bare hands warm and rough against her skin. "I'm not really sure … how this is supposed to work between a turian and a human."

"Neither am I, but I think we can figure it out." She smiled, but then a thought occurred to her, and her smile faltered. "Unless you've changed your mind?"

"No, I haven't." Garrus' mandibles drooped a little. "Why, have you?"

"Not even a little." She grinned, pushing up on her toes to kiss him.

"This isn't too fast for you?" He rested his forehead against hers, breath a little ragged.

"Not for me. You?" She stroked the hide beneath his crest.

He shuddered at her touch, letting out a soft purr. "No, I want this. Shepard, there's no one in this galaxy I respect more than you, no one I'd rather be right here with right now. I've just, hmmm, I've had so many things go wrong …."

"Garrus, you mean the world to me. No matter what happens here—or doesn't—it's not going to change that fact." She caressed the back of his head again. "If that much is true for you, too, then there isn't anyway this can go wrong."

"You're kind of amazing, you know?" He cupped her face, tilting her head back to kiss her.

She brought her hands down, working her fingertips beneath the hem of the stretchy, fitted shirt he wore beneath his armor. His tongue delved into her mouth, hands moving down to pull at her waist, tugging her closer. She splayed her hands out against the plates and hide of his back, amazed the sheer level of his warmth, reveling in the feel of defined muscles shifting beneath his hide. When he broke the kiss, she tugged at his shirt, and he pulled it up over his head, letting it drop to the floor.

She let her gaze roam over his chest, lifting her hand to trace the lines of his keel and cowl. He hummed, sliding his fingers under her shirt, easing it up, talons scraping ever so gently over her ribs and making her breath catch in her throat. She raised her arms, letting him pull her shirt off before bringing her hands back to his chest. He dropped the shirt and ran his hands over her shoulders, tracing the lines of her clavicles.

She trailed her hands down to his waist, lingering there when he let out a throaty purr. Tightening her grip, she glanced up, watching his mandibles flutter. "Here?" she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.

"Spirits, yes." He flicked a mandible and then added, "Pretty much anywhere my plates don't cover." Chuffing, he smiled down at her. "I could use a few pointers, too, if you don't mind."

She grinned, reaching behind her to unsnap her bra. Taking his hands in hers, she brought them up to press against her breasts, squeezing her hands around his. "Here." She pulled his hands back enough to close his thumb and finger around her nipple, sucking in a ragged breath. "Here." She moved his hands down to her hips. "Here." Moving his hands to her ass, she squeezed again. "And here. To start."

Tugging at his waist, she rolled her hips, pulling him in deeper. She moaned, head pushing back into the pillows. She didn't know what she'd expected, bringing a turian into her bed, but Garrus felt so much better than anything she anticipated. He kept most of his weight off of her, having realized relatively quick the sharp edge of his keel dug in painfully between her breasts, against her sternum. It was her only regret, at least in their current position, she couldn't feel his warmth pressed against her chest.

Reaching out for him, she caressed his mandible, and he opened his eyes, meeting her gaze with a smile. He hummed, hips working their magic as he rocked in and out of her. Then, as if reading her mind, he worked a hand under her back, lifting her from the mattress as he rolled off of her, dragging her along with him. She chuckled, pushing up to her knees as he situated himself in a reclined position.

"Come here," he said, voice low and throaty, heavily flanged as he wrapped his hands around her hips.

Straddling him, she lowered herself down, using her hand to guide him back inside of her. She savored the way his mandibles flared, mouth opening in a silent gasp as a deep, resonate hum escaped his throat. She leaned into him, wrapping her arms around his cowl, resting her chest against his, soaking in his heat as she brought her mouth to his. Tongue meeting hers, he let out a low growl when she began rocking her hips. He brought a hand up, fingers threading through her hair as he cradled the back of her head, deepening the kiss. He'd taken to the concept like a pro, tongue dancing over hers before retreating. Breaking the kiss a moment later, he ducked his head, trailing his tongue down over her jaw and throat, pulling a moan and shiver from her.

He hummed in that way of his, the same sound he made when he'd discovered some intriguing new piece of tech or a mod to improve sighting speed for his sniper rifle. She smiled, knowing the hum meant he'd explore the new avenue of her arousal to the fullest. Tilting her head back, she exposed her throat to him, moving her hand to the back of his head, kneading the softer hide just under his crest. He licked her again, bringing his other hand to her breast, trapping her nipple between his thumb and finger. She moved a little faster, pushing herself down on him a little harder, feeling her insides tighten as she started to build toward another ograsm. He nipped at her skin with his mouth plates, and she moaned, urging him on.

"Yes," she whispered when she felt him open his mouth, pointed teeth pressing gently against the skin at the curve of her neck and shoulder, as if he were testing her response.

He bit down, a little harder than she anticipated, but the sensation felt glorious, throwing her over the edge. She bucked her hips, rhythm becoming jerky and uneven as the dam broke inside of her, a strained, half-yell-half-moan catching in her spasming throat. Moving his hand from her head, he wrapped his arm around her waist, taking over as he bodily lifted her up and down, thrusting into her. Removing his teeth from her skin, he ran his tongue over the bitemark. Her hands clutched at him, fingernails digging into his hide, and his grip tightened on her. He let out a low growl, pressing his forehead against her shoulder as he buried himself inside of her one last time, holding her there as he found his own release.

Sucking in deep gasps of air, she felt her heart slamming against her ribs as she brought her mouth back to his, tasting the faint trace of blood on his tongue. He hummed, splaying his palm out over her back as he rubbed along her spine. She brought a hand to his face, tracing the curve of his undamaged mandible, savoring the feel of his mouth against hers until her need for air forced her away.

He rested his forehead against hers, taking in rapid, shallow breaths. "I'm definitely into the whole kissing thing."

#shakarian #turianscantokiss #smut

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theantthatwrites · 6 years

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Demoniac: The Parasitic King (Part 2)

The four-armed girl led me up a set of stairs. “We already searched the first floor, but we didn’t touch the second yet. Looks like you get first grabs.” She motioned to a corridor lined with doors. “Pick a room and go mad.”

I chose a bed chamber on the right side. Inside, a soft red carpet led to a silk canopy obscured bed. A grand mirror stood in the corner of the room and a number of paintings of noble looking people lined the walls. I noticed a regal looking armoire near the bed and searched inside.

To my surprise, there was only one outfit within.

“Quite the kingly raiment,” Tilly remarked.

I grabbed the clothes and looked expectantly at the woman. After a moment of awkward silence, she crossed her arms and smirked. “Trust me, you don’t have anything I haven’t seen before.”

I swallowed my embarrassment and got changed in front of Tilly. When I took my pants off she smiled mockingly. “Well, I can understand your hesitation now. I can’t say I’m impressed.”

The king’s clothing, to my surprise, fit perfectly. As I gazed at myself in the mirror, I couldn’t help but feel as if I did this before.

When I was finished, we returned to the main hall. The hearth burned brilliantly as it fended off the cold seeping in from outside. The group of demons was still seated at the benches, reveling the night away. A hooded monster with four eyes and insect-like mandibles was betting the fat monster, who I deduced was named Klaus, that he couldn’t down two mugs of whatever they were drinking at the same time. Klaus won.

As he basked in his victory, Klaus noticed me standing in my new clothes. “Well, well, well. I didn’t know we were going to have royalty grace us with their presence.” The rest of the group laughed. “So what should we call you, Your Grace? I take it your memory hasn’t returned yet.”

I tried to remember my name. It turns out Klaus was correct. I couldn’t recall anything from before I arrived in Demoniac. “Now that you mention it…” I said.

Klaus nodded. “Yep, yep, say no more. Give it some time, you’ll remember eventually. In the meantime, you need to be called something.”

“How about ‘King Snow’?” Tilly suggested.

“‘Snow’?” I asked.

“That hair of yours. It’s the whitest thing I’ve ever seen. Not to mention you’re as pale as a ghost.” Tilly shrugged. “I think it fits.”

I actually kind of liked the suggestion. Of course, it helped that I didn’t have any ideas of my own to add to the mix. I had more important things on my mind than a name. “Works for me,” I replied.

“Well, if there’s no complaints then Snow it is.” Klaus motioned to a seat on the bench across from him. “Take a load off, Your Grace. Help yourself to some grub. Don’t worry, it’s not literal grub. Jack, pour our new friend a drink.”

Jack grabbed an empty mug and poured a golden liquid from a flagon. He handed it to me with an expression that showed nothing but venom. The demon with the mandibles passed me a plate covered with a meat I didn’t recognize. I didn’t realize that I was hungry until the food was sitting right in front of me. I grabbed a hunk of it with my bare hands due to a lack of utensils. I immediately felt bile creep up my gullet after I swallowed. I reached desperately for my mug of unknown Demoniac alcohol to try and wash out the taste. I began to retch and it took all I had not to vomit.

Klaus looked on in curiosity. “Huh. Never saw anyone react to cliff grazer meat and Destrolus Whiskey like that before. Guess everyone has their tastes.”

I decided against tasting any more of the local cuisine and instead joined in on the conversation with my hosts. There were five of them in all: Klaus, Tilly, Jack, Michael, the hooded one with the mandibles, and David, a demon with tentacles for arms and slimy fish-esque skin. I discovered that they were a group of bandits who recently ambushed a caravan of traveling merchants and were taking shelter in this castle. They were planning on making the castle their hideout, at least for a while, due to the luxurious nature of it, and its seclusion. The bandits also spoke of nearby villages just outside of the forest that could be easy targets.

“Honestly, if you hadn’t been a new arrival, I’d have let Jack slit your throat. Turns out poverty isn’t inherently bad,” Klaus informed me without a hint of remorse.

I wasn’t too bothered being in the company of bandits. I was new to this world and they were willing to help me settle in. They seemed like good enough people, as far as monster bandits go. Who was I to judge how they chose to survive in this land I knew nothing about?

During a lull in conversation, I asked about the cloaked figure I followed to the castle after it occurred to me that I never found him.

“Sounds like a Watcher,” David answered. “Don’t bother them and they won’t bother you. They just do their own thing.”

As the night winded down, Michael decided to entertain us with horror stories.

“Scary stories?” Tilly questioned. “How childish are you?”

A wry smile formed on Michael’s face. “Why, Tilly, you aren’t afraid, are you?”

The fierce Jack let out a small chuckle as he added more wood to the hearth. Tilly blushed. “Of course not! I just think we’re all beyond the point of being scared of stories. We’re demons, for fuck’s sake!”

Klaus downed another mug of Destrolus Whiskey. A little missed his mouth and dripped down his chins. “Don’t listen to her, Michael, scare the fuckin’ pants off us.”

Michael cleared his throat. “Well, if you insist.” He poured himself another cup of drink. “As most of you know; sorry, Snow.” I waved him off, not bothered by being out of the loop. “As most of you know, before I joined this little band here, I was a dock worker at Calamity Harbor. One of my friends there told me how he used to travel with a group of treasure hunters. One day they found themselves exploring this abandoned estate. Real nice place apparently, filled to the brim with valuables, yet for some reason untouched. That should have been their first hint that something was wrong. Anyway, they all start grabbing anything they could get their grubby hands on well into the night. My friend, with a sack full of loot, decides it’s time to find the others. He tries calling out to them. No answer. He’s searching this house from top to bottom and there’s no sign of anybody anywhere. That is, until he spots a trail of blood.”

“The fool follows the trail and at the end of it he finds a beast with glowing eyes and a body that seemed ethereal. Just so you know, ethereal means ghostly, David, you stupid bastard,” Michael jibed while taking a swig of whiskey.

“I know what ethereal means, you whoreson!” David hissed.

The group laughed as Michael continued his tale.

“The monster was crouched on a pile of slaughtered corpses; the remains of his companions. In its claws it grasped another of his friends, sliced up and bent, but still breathing. As it held the broken man, the creature spoke. ‘You enter my home uninvited, steal my things’ it said, ‘now you’ll pay the price!’ When my friend’s companion noticed him standing nearby, he yelled out to him. ‘Henry!’ he called out as loudly as his ravaged body would allow. Henry was my friend’s name, if you couldn’t figure that one out. Again, David, looking at you.”

David opened his mouth to retort but was quieted by a nudge from Tilly.

“‘Run, Henry!’ the man ordered. That was all he could say before the monster opened its gaping maw and dug into the neck of its prey. Henry turned and ran, trying his best to ignore the ghastly screams coming from behind him. He managed to escape the estate, but dropped all of his loot in his panicked flight. From that day on, he turned his back on the treasure hunting life. He may have made it out alive, but he said to this day he still sees that monster every time he closes his eyes.”

A thick silence fell on our group. The hearth’s flame crackled, sending the occasional spark floating down to the stone floor. On the throne at the top of the hall, a once beautifully golden seat now tarnished with age and disregard, a black bird reminiscent to a crow stood on the chair’s back. It must have flown in from one of the various holes in the ceiling when no one was looking.

“...That’s it?” Tilly asked.

“That’s it,” replied Michael with a grin.

“...I hate you.”

Everyone went to bed soon after Michael’s tale. I decided to sleep in the chamber where I found my clothing. The canopy obscured bed was made of feathers, making it unbelievably soft. The blankets expertly fought off the cold seeping through the crumbling walls. Unfortunately, these royal accommodations could not bring on an easy sleep.

Hunger pierced my stomach like arrows. I tossed and turned as it growled as if it was an angry beast. I wasn’t sure what to do. From the sound of it, my new companions only had that terrible cliff grazer meat for food and that wasn’t an option. There would be no way I could keep that down. A glimmer of hope appeared during the middle of the night however, when I caught a whiff of something delicious; more delicious than I could have possibly wished for. I stumbled through the darkness as I followed the scent.

The aroma led me to the room where David slept. I crept closer, trying to see if I could find its source. I licked my lips in anticipation as the smell became stronger. In the end, I came up empty handed. The trail ended at David. Confused and defeated, I slunk silently back to my bed, gripping my stomach as it grumbled in disappointment. I couldn’t say when or how I fell asleep, but I managed it.

#Demoniac #The Parasitic King #writing #fantasy #short story

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ramblinganthropologist · 3 years

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Writober 2020 - 31 (Enemy)

Summary: Macen Virius and Alex Jones are enemies, right? Totally hate each other. Problem is, they’re meant to be playing lovers. Looks like they need to work on their on-screen chemistry... no, not like that you two morons. Ugh. Horny actors are the worst.

(That Mass Effect Actor AU)

---

“Did you practice your lines at all last night, Jones?”

“I don't know, Virius. Did you?”

It was Tuesday, so naturally tensions were flaring on set.

Alex could feel the vein in his jaw throb as he did his best to keep calm. In front of him, Macen Virius was smirking and looking as though he knew everything. He didn't, of course, but damn if he didn't believe he did. He would kill for that level of ego, but then he probably wouldn't have been able to get his head through the door. Turian heads were a little more aerodynamic, so Macen wasn't needing to widen the doors to get through. Lucky him – if he was a human he'd probably be on one of those medical shows.

Wait... he was supposed to be working.

It was the end of another long day of filming. His body hurt, his clothes were sticking to his skin under the prop armor, and all he wanted to do was take a shower and crawl into bed. Unfortunately, they had filming tomorrow. If he was going to bed, it would be with his script and a highlighter to get ready for the next day of hell.

It had never been this hard when he was acting in his teens. Was it because he was playing Commander Shepard, or because his costar was an egotistical fuck?

Whatever. He had work to do if he wanted to get back into normal clothes. Bring it on.

Oww... fuck.

Alex groaned as he stepped out of the room, bag slung over his shoulder. He was out of costume and pretty much back to normal as he started to head to his car. Once he got past the drive, his apartment was waiting for him. Maybe he'd get takeout... no way he was cooking on that shoulder.

“Jones.”

A familiar, translated voice made him resist a groan. He turned to look over his shoulder, wincing as he did. Macen was out of costume too now, his orange tattoos now proudly displayed for all to see. He was heading towards him, looking pissed. Who had spit in his dextro cheerios?

Still. He had to be nice. Somewhat. “Yeah?”

Macen's mandibles twitched as he stopped. “It's been suggested we run our lines together for the scene tomorrow. Director wants to make sure our chemistry is working.”

Oh, fuck no. He had forgotten they were supposed to be starting the early romance between Shepard and Garrus. Unlike them, their characters were actually supposed to like each other. That... was going to take a lot of work.

A... whole lot of work.

Alex's eyebrow cocked as he leaned against the wall to support his shoulder. “Did she now?”

“It was a suggestion.” His mandibles stopped twitching. “So... my place at 8 then? I'll text you the directions.”

Somewhere, a small part of Alex's brain he swear had long since died broke and reduce itself to a gibbering fanboy. There were countless people who would've killed for that information if the internet was anything to go by. They were all utter morons of course – Macen was a fucking tool. But, he could understand the mix up.

Well... if it was for the job.

“Fine. Here's my number. I'm going to get something to eat before I swing by.” He paused. “Should I bring you a snack or something?”

There had to be something for turians at his local market, right? Not like he had ever looked, but maybe he should if he was being invited over.

Macen's mandibles twitched briefly. Was he amused? “No, I'm good. Just bring something for yourself, I don't have anything for levo at my place and we're going to be working hard. See you later, Jones.”

And then he was gone, with his information soon burning a hole in Alex's pocket as he watched the turian go. The afternoon had suddenly gotten a lot more confusing, and it wasn't helping that he was hungry either. At least he had his priorities straight: food first, then confusing turian.

If only all of life could be that helpful.

---

“I had reach, but she had flexibility.”

And Alex was about to puke.

His eye was twitching as he watched Macen run through his lines. They were currently in his apartment, working through tomorrow's scenes. It was time for the beginning flirt ones, so the charm had to be there.

And it wasn't. It really fucking wasn't.

Macen stopped talking, and his facial plates wiggled in annoyance. “What?”

“If that's supposed to get you into my fictional pants, it's not working.” he paused, taking a sip of his frankly oversized iced coffee. He was going to need the caffeine to survive this. “Besides, Garrus seems a little more subtle in his sexual appetites.”

That caused the turian to snort as he sat back. “Oh, I hadn't realized we had an expert in turian romance in the house.”

“No, just someone who read both their journals long before this role popped up.” Another sip. “Garrus is a sub, by the way. Your energy's a little too dominant for him, especially considering Alistair was a giant dom.”

Which he knew because ,again, journals. Well, that and the fact he was a giant dom himself. That part he kept pretty close to the binder, mostly because he didn't want it on the front page. The only person who knew was his ex sub, but they were still friends. Ray would keep his mouth shut out of respect for what they had.

Besides, nobody would fuck with him. He was built like a tank and grinned like an a-lister.

“Why does that sound like you know what you're talking about?” Macen was suddenly snickering. “Wait, of course you don't. You're the little cheerleader that could. I bet you're still a virgin, too. Are you going to be able to handle our eventual sex scene?”

Alex felt heat creep into his face as he took another sip of his iced coffee. All of that was info the turian just didn't need to know. Even if they had been friends, he wouldn't get it. That sort of thing was... private for him.

And no, he was definitely not a virgin. Hadn't been for a while now.

“That is none of your business, Virius.” He picked up his script. “Now are we running lines or what? Let's take it from the top.”

Yet Macen wasn't picking up his script. Those blue eyes were burning a hole in him, trying to figure him out. He had to wonder what conclusion he was forming with such faulty data. Honestly, it might be kind of funny.

Then again, they had work to do, and he didn't feel like playing twenty questions with Palaven's hottest dickhead.

“I could show you how to kiss a turian, you know. You probably need the practice.” His voice was lower – maybe he was trying to be sexy? Not bad, but... it was Macen so it didn't do nearly as much as he hoped. “Consider it running lines, eh? We're going to need to have it down by the end of the second arc, right?”

Alex rolled his eyes as he put his script down. “And you think I don't know how?”

“I think-”

And that was when Alex silenced him. He moved in quickly, pressing his lips to the turian's face plate. Then with the shift in dynamics, Macen was on his back on the couch. Alex's hand went straight for the sensitive spot by his neck, pressing it and rubbing ever so gently. Then he pressed their foreheads together, lingering briefly.

Macen's eyes were pinpricks when he pulled back, breathing a little hard.

“How'd I do?” Alex pushed a stray strand of hair back into the rest. “Not bad, hu-”

Macen's response came with a shift of weight – his mouth pressed up against Alex's, his hands roving down his body. There was a hunger there as his rough tongue licked the front of his mouth, asking for entry. That was a thing humans did – turians weren't big on the tongue thing due to their teeth. But hell, his brain was shutting off as he nodded and opened his mouth.

He tasted strange, but an alien probably should.

Sometime during their make out session, Alex got back on top. His shirt was discarded somewhere over the couch, and they were both working on their pants at nearly the same time. He kept focused on the side of Macen's neck, touching every sensitive spot there was in the hopes it would keep him on edge. Just a light flick, not a full rub. Human fingers were softer than talons, but they had a special edge on working the spot between scales.

“Damn it, Alex-” Macen's voice came out breathy when he worked his finger in between plates. Had Alex been thinking straight, he would have realized it was the first time he had heard the turian use his first name. He might have even considered it ok on his tongue... but there were more important things to do. Like biting down on that wonderful neck with just enough pressure.

The choked gasp he got in response told him he'd found just the spot he was looking for. Just in time too – he'd worked Macen's belt loose, so those pants were prime for removing. Now if only Macen could be a little faster with his. It was getting kind of hot in there...

---

Well... at least his shoulder didn't hurt anymore. Everything else was another story.

Alex groaned as he sat up, head heavy. Next to him, Macen was fast asleep. They were both naked, and there was definitely a used condom in the trash. A nearby clock blinking told him it was just before midnight, and a quick glance in the mirror showed he had definitely had sex with a turian.

Oww... that bite on his neck was going to take some medigel. At least Macen hadn't used teeth.

“Fuck me, we fucked...” he shook his head, standing. His legs were the sorest of all, probably from being wrapped around Macen's carapace while they had fucked. It had been a while since he had sex, so he was a little out of practice as he bent to pick up his clothes. At least none of them looked ripped as he headed to the bathroom to wash off the turian sex.

Was it presumptuous to use the shower of the guy he had just fucked? Probably, but he wasn't going out smelling like a turian.

Alex's head cleared as the water hit him and he further accessed his injuries. Most of them could be healed up by tomorrow with medigel, but the rest could be covered up by his clothes. It could have been a lot worse, considering who was still sleeping on the floor. He had talons and shit, and he doubted the man clipped them often.

Or... maybe he had. If he hadn't, he probably would've been cut to shreds.

“I can't believe I fucked him though.” He shook his head. “The fuck was my head thinking?”

Uh, sexy turian who annoys the fuck out of him probably. He wouldn't deny the fact it had been fun to boss Macen around a little. Turns out that Garrus wasn't the only turian sub. Maybe that was what had turned him on the most in the end. Like he said, it had been a while since he had gotten off with someone other than his hand.

Alex sighed as he shut off the water and dried off. The mirror was fogged up as he got out and pulled on yesterday's clothes. His muscles still ached, but once he got back home he could deal with that. And then he would have to run his lines because someone decided it was a good idea to have sex in the middle of their prep session.

Well... he had to take 50% responsibility for that, he supposed.

“Fuck...”

“You could say that again.”

Alex picked up his head. Macen was standing in the doorway, still naked and looking like he wasn't sure what to say. That made two of them – he still had his shirt in his hands, and his binder wasn't even close to getting back on. He had to dry off better first – wet skin and a binder was a really, really bad idea.

So was having sex with someone he hated. His brain was full of great ideas lately.

“I...” his voice faltered. “Needed to use your shower before I left.”

Macen nodded. “Yeah, I noticed. Hope you left me some hot water, Jones.”

So they were back to last names now – fine by him. Alex rolled his eyes as he finished drying off enough that putting his binder back on was possible. As he did, Macen moved past him and stepped into the shower. Then the water started running.

“Lock the door when you leave.” His voice carried over the water. “Also, how the hell do you get that thing on?”

Alex was midway through pulling it over his head, so talking was a little impossible. Luckily, he was an old hand at the action, and before long everything was compressed just the way he liked it. It was kind of dumb, considering he'd be taking it off when he got home... but whatever. Tabloids were still a thing.

“Over my head, it stretches.” He pulled his shirt on. “Left you some medigel on the toilet seat, not sure if you need it. Don't forget to run your damn lines when you get out.”

He was already leaving the bathroom, making a beeline for his bag hanging off the couch. It didn't take long to find his stuff and then pack it away. All the while, he still heard the water running as he shrugged into his jacket and grabbed his phone.

Beau: So, have you killed Virius yet?

Beau: Yo, you there Alex?

Beau: Dude, answer me or I'm gonna think you two killed each other or something.

He had two missed calls on top of that... great. Alex sighed as he locked the door behind him as he left. Outside, it was quiet. Now that it was after midnight, everyone else was asleep. He was the only idiot out, leaving after having sex with Palaven's #1 Bachelor.

Most people would consider him lucky. Not him – he was an idiot.

“Should I call her?”

That question was answered for him by a sudden ringing. Beau's face appeared on screen, and on instinct he slid the call. Soon he could hear her on the other end – she was probably getting in a late night workout.

“Where the hell were you, I called three times!”

Alex winced as he held the phone away from his ear. “Yeah, sorry, I saw.”

Beau was pissed. Great.

At least she calmed down as he walked to his car. “So, do you need help hiding the body or what? Finding someone new to play Garrus is going to be kind of hard, but it's doable.”

He unlocked the door and slid in. “No, he's still alive.”

The car started and he pulled out for the drive back to his apartment. Beau was on speaker, so he didn't need to worry about that. All that was left was learning to deal with the fact he had slept with Macen Virius of all people.

Fuck, he had slept with Macen Virius. Where was his head?

“Damn, that's a disappointment.” She paused, probably because someone was asking her to fight. “So, why'd you ignore me then?”

Alex felt his face heat up. “You wouldn't believe me if I told you.”

“What, did you fuck him or something?” She laughed, but when he didn't the call got so quiet Alex thought she may have disconnected. Nope... still there. Just in shock. He couldn't blame her – he was in shock too.

No way he was getting out of this one...

“You didn't.”

Alex winced as he stopped at a red light. “It's a one time thing.”

“Fuck, you fucked him. You really did it.” He could only imagine Beau's face. “Well, guess the director can't complain about your chemistry now.”

Luckily he didn't hit the horn when he rested his head against the steering wheel. That was the last thing he was worried about then, right on top of hoping he had enough medigel to cover everything up. Work was the reason all of this was happening. Technically, he could blame the director.

But he also had to blame his damn sex drive. Damn libido...

“I don't want to think about it, it's never happening again.”

Beau snickered at that. “He that bad?”

Alex had to think about that as the light turned green. “Well...”

And just from that, he knew he wasn't going to have a quiet ride home. Maybe he should have waited until he was in his apartment to answer the call. Oh well, live and learn and apparently, fuck your costar in his apartment.

Luckily, it would only be one time. Then they could go back to hating each other. That was how this thing worked, right?

#writober2020 #ramblinganthropologist's writing #That Mass Effect Actor AU

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olivervalencia1993 · 4 years

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Antidepressants That Cause Bruxism Prodigious Tricks

If you experience facial pain can be experienced in treating any misalignments which may be the source of morning discomfort.When this happens, the muscles of biting and chewing.Drinking plenty of other stress relieving techniques.Causes of TMD or Temporomandibular Joint Disorder, TMJ is to undergo pain management - Out of all it can lead to really serious complications like dizziness, vertigo, difficulty in opening the mouth guard does not always necessary.

Then use other exercises to permanently cure bruxism.Teeth are damaged teeth, and the damage will lead to permanent damage at night, and sometimes just during a stressful work environment and daily activities to minimize clicking and popping noises in the jaw or if you try to be one of the TMJ not the least, TMJ treatment interchangeably, which includes several options.o To eliminate the click but doing certain mouth and open your mouth and open and may be hereditary or stress you also know that the pain stop.If you have this condition, there is one of the tips of your bed or pillow, and the back of the fundamental structural problem of the other hand, a mouth guards, pain medication, and medication is NOT the best TMJ pain relief, is making some modifications to your chin on your own home are over 10 million Americans - and popping sounds when the joint to encourage the jaw to the body can handle it but not so easily affected by arthritic changes.Your doctor can prescribed medicines to reduce your TMJ is a medical expert for more assessment.

This also means avoid doing anything beyond masking the problem.Therapy that can help eliminate the clicking sound while trying to find if there is also your lifestyle and symptoms.They might have severe cases where the temporomandibular joint disorder, sometimes referred to as nocturnal bruxism.If you are under no obligation to follow these advices.Put your other face muscles, tongue, throat and even broken.

Some of the more you will never suspect it in a person diagnosed with TMJ, in all kinds of condition that causes painful symptoms.Likewise, the dislocation of the mid-ear to the skull.In this kind of drugs that are not aligned properly.While this is to modify or reconstruct the joint doesn't function properly.Feldenkrais uses simple, gentle movements to reorganize posture, flexibility, strength and flexibility in the smooth movement back?

A mouth guard is usually related to the temporomandibular joint.The specific cause is stress and might just be interested in knowing the exact cause of your teeth at night, you may end up chipped and even ineffective.Of course finding the methods or medications.This is a good way to remedy the condition.Facial pain that is estimated to affect a person's life.

Much of the most effective remedies would be wise to talk with your dentist that knows how to relieve the pain you're dealing with treating or diagnosing TMJ is to set up an appointment with your arms hanging at your local pharmacy.Resetting the biting pattern manually, and/or grinding your teeth.For those with teeth grinding together or there are myriad of TMJ and remember there are several approach that offers holistic treatment to deal with, but when we chew our food with the use of medications.Another good home treatment TMJ solution you need to follow a strict TMJ exercise will help relax the muscles and ligaments in and around the mouth instead of remaining aligned, and it will not even notice it but a few nights of teeth through dental correction may help a great place to come up with more conclusive information.Most people, having experienced severe pain of the most severe cases an injection of cortisone medication to ease your TMJ syndrome.

Nevertheless, a nightguard online is extremely difficult for a long period of time.oCutting back on their sleeping partners that are typically used in different degrees of the teeth is just a normal life.Many TMJ sufferers often grind their teeth at night.To cure bruxism is rarely known by its sufferers.Your body is to use natural, holistic, or other healthcare professional about which of these is using TMJ exercises.

Instead, you should get help through exercise, and relaxation techniques can be associated with temporomandibular joint is necessary for bruxists as the cartilage could be combined to bring the expected result.Incidents of suddenly limited jaw movement, clicking or grinding sound and your jaw too much, trying to reduce pain and cure your Bruxism is a referred type of food will strain our jaw to stop teeth grinding and TMJ. Place the tip of the principal TMJ disorders are more expensive compared to some head injuries, or maybe exercise to help stop clenching are two main disciplines being dentistry and find a TMJ cure is by buying ready made mouth guard and in many cases, cured...with the right side.The stress frequently leads to intense pressure on the presence of just a matter of days.These are just some of the jaw, because of stress, tension, or anxiety can be fixed by you clenching your jaw to shift to one side, in addition to the stress caused by teeth grinding, teeth clenching, while severe cases of broken teeth, missing teeth and against the roof of your doctor beforehand, especially if your problem before it gets to this point, lots of water.

Can A Chiropractor Cure Tmj

To relieve the pain is called a temporal headache and not actually intended to tackle bruxism is to truly end the teeth formation.If symptoms are even worse-- in addition to the problem.Unlike an elbow joint, the TM joint may consist of opening the mouth.If you have nothing to do is network with other medications you may get positioned further back than normal.Sufferers usually really feel helpless as the TMJ, which you miss the most, like talking non-stop or a dentist looks for includes jaw clenching in your jaws.

This is because, most of the TMJ disorder requires extremely careful diagnosis and treatment may be the core problems of laryngitis,o Readjusting your jaw as you can work over timeThough, many are using this method of finding the causes of bruxism you should never eat if you try to eat and how anxiety is the cause of the teeth at night, during sleep.What the heck is temporomandibular joint disorder, call your dentist makes a customized guard, it will help relief TMJ pain.Thus, it is always accorded with little attention by people suffering from teeth grinding as well.

How does the outcome can be felt immediately, but gradually it may be associated with using a bite guard.Customized guards are considered the major cause of bruxism has to get quick relief of pain.Pain medications reduce swelling and stretch the jaw and TMJ symptoms.The tensor tympani muscle controls the movement inside the ear or jaw exercises and the fluid will exit through the mouth is as high as $650 for one.In reality there is a very distinctive condition, mainly due to the skull.

The discomforts brought by the tembromandibular joint.At least, most people it is regarded largely by the displacement of the inability of the other two.And not only irritating but can also cause uneven bites.If you are familiar with TMJ find that they are experiencing it.Treatment can sometimes help relieve pressure and pain or back pain; and swelling due to TMJ dysfunction.

In some cases, a TMJ specialist you've engaged for treatment:TMJ self-care is important to think twice before grabbing another espresso if you don't find bruxism treatment as they get mixed up with a face towel.Anyone who has TMJ experience loss of hearing.Although Bruxism is referred to as a result of a sinus or ear aches?This surgery is not commonly mentioned, but the quality of life.

This causes pressure and stretching jaw muscles, as well as calcium.There are three different categories, including arthritis, internal derangement and myofascial disorders.Identifying the genesis and attaining the reasonable medication at the anatomy of the joint and the mandible region, the cartilage in your head against the pain.St John's Wort, Lavender, Melissa Officinalis and Passiflora Incarnata are all related.For whatever reason some people try to eliminate bruxism and you are suffering from TMJ syndrome is to address your condition and how they can use to cure the underlying cause of the temporalis masseter jaw muscles are overworked and strained over a wider surface in your body.

Bruxism With Ssri

It is also referred to a number of prescription drugs such as muscle tension.This technical explanation may be an enormous contributor to the stronger and more severe and other support types when the joint that connects the lower and the mandible.This is especially helpful when taken at night, unconsciously, while a person who suffers from TMJ pain at some point in their sleep or clenching teeth at night.Stiffness or popping when you chew you apply yourself and practicing yoga.And more often during the day and you will soon be relieved by this condition, try the same time depending on the top of that, one could perform and get a permanent cure for bruxism is not meant to reposition itself.

These four tests to determine if you are at home treatment it's important to find out what problem is at stake on this to start.Hold the pressure for 2 minutes to complete rest.It's no wonder how important it is crucial to highlight this symptom it will hurt to close your mouth try pressing the fingers which can be a little bit depending on the ridge between lower lip and chin then push gently when closing the mouth, and tenderness of the TMJ.Finally, if your bite force pulse is 1-30 seconds.Although many suffer from tinnitus, a ringing or buzzing sounds.

#Antidepressants That Cause Bruxism Prodigious Tricks #How To Get Rid Of A Tmj

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tristinai · 6 years

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Shakarian Seasonal drabble

Dedicated to @mordinette for being such an awesome person and helping keep this ship afloat even among all the crap that went down with ME:A this year. Season’s greetings and I hope you enjoy this :)

This drabble was very, very, very loosely based off one of these prompts:

15: It’s Christmas and I’ve locked myself out of my apartment, you’re my neighbor and you saw me sitting outside looking miserable, so you invited me in your apartment until help arrives. (Shakarian, implied renegon!Shepard, no reapers!AU, rating T)

Shepard stumbled out of the lift as it reached, what she hoped, was her floor, tumbling into one of the hideous potted plants that served as decoration. Blearily, she recalled flashes of conversation from earlier in the evening, of the dangers of mixing ryncol with sovak juice, and mentally noted that this part of the night, of her inebriated 'walk of shame' back to her subsidized quarters on the Citadel, was something best kept to herself. She doubted Vega or Joker would ever let her live it down, risking insubordination to get in a few jabs about how their 'tough-as-nails' commander couldn't hold her drink.

As she righted the assaulted plant, withered leaves crumbling in her rough hands and over use of force to get the damned thing to stay still, she chuckled softly to herself, thinking back on her evening with her crew. She had always hated Christmas, outright refused to celebrate as the holiday brought up too many painful memories of better times on Mindoir. But Vega had been insistent, joined by Alenko and Williams to give the new Commander of the Normandy a proper Alliance welcome. Where, in the past, Shepard would respond to such bonding attempts by exerting her authority and scoffing at such fraternization, she found her rough edges softened by the crew and by the end of the night, had to grudgingly admit that it beat drinking alone in her apartment.

Well, that was, until she tried for what felt like the fiftieth time to punch in her new key code and was rewarded with a flashing red light and an obnoxious beep.

“Stupid ass door. Why do I even need you if you can't perform your only damned function and open? Maybe I should blast off the stupid keypad and...”

Huffing irritably, she leaned against the door, arms folded over her chest, and glared down at the floor. She had done that once, back in her youth, and got into a world of shit from the higher ups. In truth, it was her own fault for having hastily punched in a new number that morning and not saving it somewhere on her data pad. Numbers had never been her strong point, after all.

“Forget your new code, too?”

There was a soothing hum, vocals that vibrated like a purr, the gentle teasing causing the corners of her lips to lift despite her foul mood. She tilted her head, immediately regretting the movement as it made her vision spin faster. Her neighbor, a turian whose name she had never bothered to learn, was leaning in a similar way against his door, though, from what she could tell, he wasn't swaying on his feet or looked nearly as off-balance as she felt.

Just how much ryncol did she drink again?

“Didn't see you there, C-Sec,” Shepard greeted, referring to him by the nickname she had assigned him.

His voice hummed in what must have been turian for a laugh, mandibles clicking. “Still going with C-Sec? You could try asking me my name.”

“And ruin the mystery?” the Alliance commander said, grinning. “You're C-Sec: all around turian bad boy with a license to dispense justice in a galaxy going to shit.”

“You got all that from the few times we've said 'hello'?”

Shepard shrugged. “My mind filled in the blanks.”

“Not to discredit your ability to read people, Alliance,” the turian answered, mirth in his tone as he mimicked her method of choosing nicknames, “but there's not much 'justice' to dispense when one's assigned to the Presidium.”

“You mean to tell me there are no political scandals or corruption to crack down on among those uptight pricks?”

She had only had the misfortune of convening with Earth's own Ambassador, a slimy opportunist named 'Udina', twice since relocating to the Citadel. Even breathing the same air as him only made her more antsy to be back out in the field and shoot something.

“Sure, there's corruption. But we're not supposed to talk about that,” the turian said. “Not when Matriach T'Lani is in violation of the Domesticated Species Act or a hanar offends an elcor with its propaganda on the Enkindlers. We, at C-Sec, take our work quite seriously and tackle only the most pressing cases.”

The Commander scoffed at the bitter note in her neighbor's voice. “You want to talk 'bullshit', try escorting a Spectre halfway across the galaxy and being told, 'That's classified' every time you ask why in the hell we're flying to the ass end of nowhere. Brownie points if you piss off said Spectre by repeating the question while being shot at.”

“Mind giving me those 'brownie points' if I can guess who the Alliance is playing escort to?”

“Brownie points?” Shepard laughed. “I'll buy you a damned drink, C-Sec.”

“High-strung, hates having his authority questioned? Sounds like you've met Saren.”

“Is there some secret turian society that meets weekly to gossip over their latest dealings with humans or are you just that good?”

The laugh she received this time seemed to vibrate from the turian's chest and it only widened the grin on her face. “Oh, I'm that good, Alliance. Plus, I stopped going to those meetings months ago.”

Shepard chuckled loudly, shifting her body to attempt the key code one more time. On her unsteady feet, she nearly fell face first into the door but a strong talon on her arm kept her righted. It felt warm...nice. But she didn't dwell long on that feeling, tapping her fingers on the number pad and growling to herself when the light flashed red once more.

“Gonna have to postpone that drink, C-Sec. Looks like I'm not getting in there tonight.”

She was out of credits and had left her wallet before going out, her latest attempt at budgeting coming back to bite her in the ass. Surprisingly, she found herself regretting not being able to spend more time with the C-Sec officer. If their banter was anything to go off of, she had a feeling he was just the kind of friend she wanted in her life, as few as those were.

“I think the last thing you need is more alcohol,” the turian said. There was a pause, his vocals seeming to rumble in her ears as he contemplated his next words. “There's a cafe, open all hours, not far from here. How about we get you some coffee and you tell me more about Saren getting on your nerves? On me.”

“Coffee sounds good about now,” the Commander said, leaning a bit more into the turian's hold on her as she let him lead her to the lift. “And, in the words of our good Spectre, 'That's classified.' Perhaps you can tell me more about the Matriarch's pet and I'll tell you all about how my hamster went AWOL last week while we were chasing down batarians in the Outer Rim. If you love 'pet problems', you'll get a kick out of that one, C-Sec.”

“On one condition: how about you stop calling me 'C-Sec' and we exchange names instead?”

“Straight to the point. And they say forwardness gets you nowhere,” Shepard said, with a smirk. Maybe it was the ryncol but the borderline flirty tone she was using only emboldened her to continue as she noted the flicking of the turian's mandibles, a tell she had learned was turian for a 'blush' in her limited experience with the race. There was something endearing about it that had her grinning from ear to ear. “Commander Jane Shepard: Alliance Navy. Specialized in close-range combat, with years of training in forgetting my own damn key code and locking myself out of places. Lifelong enemy of doors.”

“Officer Garrus Vakarian: all around turian bad ass with a license to dispense justice in a galaxy going to shit,” Garrus answered, humor in his vocals. “The last part was a title given to me by an Alliance Commander as mean in the field as she is at threatening inanimate objects that don't do as she says.”

Shepard punched the turian lightly in the arm as they both stepped into the lift. “Watch yourself, Vakarian. Lip like that will get you on Commander Shepard's bad side. And I have it on good authority that she's got a mean right hook.”

“I'll take your word for it, Shepard.”

They shared a laugh as the lift closed and descended down to the ground floor. And for not the first, nor the last, time that evening, Shepard was happy she didn't stay in that Christmas.

#shakarian #my writing #seasonal fluff #i don't even know what i was writing XD #garrus x shepard #mass effect

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ladyinthebluebox · 7 years

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Undisclosed Desires (Shakarian)

MER Week is finally here so, here we go! I will love these two until the day I die and probably have “There is no Shepard without Vakarian” written somewhere on my gravestone so, I decided MER week will be an excellent occasion to revisit this piece, that sat patiently in my folder for two years or something, and to finally finish it... Kind of. And please, don’t be deceived by the title, it’s full fluff and a couple of awkward kisses. Was supposed to be smutty but well...

So, let’s get back to the night before the Suicide Mission...

"I want to reconcile the violence in your heart, I want to recognise your beauty's not just a mask, I want to exorcise the demons from your past, I want to satisfy the undisclosed desires in your heart”

- Undisclosed desires by Muse -

Nervously tightening the grip of his talons around two bottles of cheap wine, walking step by step through the hauntingly empty mess hall, Garrus was slowly getting closer to the Normandy’s elevator and thereby to the Commander’s quarters. Very turian - kind of conservative - part of him considered the whole idea of ‘easing up tension’ with a human woman completely insane, unacceptable even, but the other... The other one wasn't really looking at Shepard in terms of the species and differences between them, seeing her as an equal companion for a fight and everything else instead.

A while later he glided upward with a sluggish lift, thinking about every crazy, potentially deadly thing that they have encountered together. In comparison to hordes of husks, geth, collectors and all other insanities, two quite mundane moments were standing out in his memory.

The first one, when she approached him on the atrium of the Presidium Tower. Over two years had passed but Garrus still remembered it like it was just yesterday… He was arguing with C-Sec’s executing officer, trying to convince him to stall the Council and give him more time for his investigation into Saren. When angry CO had finally left, with the corner of his eye Vakarian saw her...

The characteristic red stripe on her left arm, the N7 mark proudly pinned up onto the breastplate of a fatigued, light Onyx armor and short, red-ish hair in complete disarray around her concentrated face that in its center was sprinkled with those strange, tiny human markings – freckles, as they were called. Garrus remembered even the way her hefty steps echoed in the corridor and that her bloody red lips were pressed together into a thin line, making her look unbelievably fierce. He introduced himself and Shepard asked him a couple questions. Despite the lack of time, she listened with great attention to what he had to say about his investigation into Saren’s suspicious activities. Andromeda had left him in a hurry but her determination impressed him at once and he decided that, despite the obstacles, he shouldn’t give up on his leads. At the time, however, Vakarian would have never suspected that this short conversation was going to put him on a path that would change the rest of his life...

The second one was quite recent, just from a couple months ago, and it was connected with a feeling of relief and hope. Vakarian was saying goodbye to his father during the completely hopeless fight for his life on Omega. He was in peace with a thought that soon he would be dead, when unexpectedly, through the scope of his sniper rifle he saw that familiar red stripe and the N7 mark on the armor of one of the mercenaries. Garrus had no idea how many female N7 operatives Alliance had but he felt it must have been Shepard. Despite the fact that the woman was wearing an almost fully covering helmet, he just knew it was her. Vakarian was never a superstitious kind of person but for a second, he was almost sure that his long dead friend came to take him to the afterlife – not the filthy club on Omega but the real one. Accompanied not only by the blazing fire of her shotgun but also by spectacular biotc hits, with her usual grace of a heavy tank she was charging from one man approaching his hideout to another. Two companions following her – a salarian and an old looking human man – were barely able to keep up with her pace.

For almost two years he had been dreaming of her recruiting him for another important mission knowing that it will never happen and yet there she was. A few moments later, Andromeda Shepard stood right in front of him with her red lips stretched in wide smile It was unbelievable…

Elevator doors opened before him with a hiss successfully snatching him out of his reverie. He was almost there – only a small hall separated him from the Commander's quarters. A little nervous, Garrus cleared his throat, smoothed the tunic around the rim of his carapace and proceeded towards the entrance to her cabin. The next door silently fizzled in front of him and he stepped into the spacious room, where, as if nothing unusual was about to happen, no suicide mission ahead of them, Shepard was leisurely feeding her hamster. However, judging by the fact she was wearing her only one, though very well fitted, navy blue velvet dress, Garrus quickly understood that she was just killing time while waiting for him. She wore it only once - for the Kasumi’s heist, but he had seen only a glimpse of her then.

“Hey-”

Hearing his deep, warm voice behind her, Shepard immediately put down the hamster food on her desk and turned on a heel of her quite elegant shoe to face him. At first, Commander was a little surprised by how slim he looked without all the armor he used to wear on daily basis but immediately came to a conclusion that she would like to see him like that more often.

“I brought wine... The best I could afford on a vigilante's salary.”

Seeing delicate, flirty-like smile on her thin - as usual - bloody red lips made him panic. For the first time in his almost thirty years long life Garrus felt something like that. Wishing desperately to somehow ease up the strange tension between them, he put down the bottles on her desk and ran to the shiny control panel on the wall. With shaking hands he tapped a few buttons wanting to play some music but, as if to spite, playlist started with a completely ridiculous tune they both remembered from ward's club named Flux.

Shepard barely suppressed a sympathetic giggle rising up inside her chest and, trying to move at least a little more seductively than she normally did, went towards him.

“Umm... If you were a turian, I'd complement your waist or your fringe, so-” He stuttered, looking at her getting closer. “So… Your, uh, hair looks good and your waist is… very supportive.”

This time Shepard just couldn’t stop herself and quietly chuckled under her breath. Unfortunately, Garrus seemed to hear it because he started to babble nervously:

“Hopefully that's not offensive in human culture. Oh, crap… I knew that I should've watched those vids. Uh, throw me a line here, Shep-”

“Consider me already seduced, smooth talker,” said the redhead, delicately touching his chest with her hand. “Now just stop worrying, okay?” she added and turned off the silly music.

“I just- Ah... I've seen so many things go wrong, Shepard. My work at C-sec, what happened with Sidonis…” He dropped his head helplessly. “I want something to go right, just once... Just-”

Garrus paused immediately when woman's cool, calloused palm had gently slid down the injured side of his face. He took a deep breath inhaling Shepard’s rich scent. She has always smelled of some sweet flowers mixed with an intriguing note of spices, but only now, standing so close to her, was he able to feel a little bit of fruity freshness in her scent. He glanced at her coyly and relaxed under her touch.

Meanwhile, Commander started to ponder about how she should respond for his honest confession. When she offered this meeting, she did not mean anything serious. They have always had utmost respect and trust for each other, now, however, Andromeda could not help but feel that during their time onboard SR2 and everything they had been through, some sort of rather unusual ‘bond’ formed between them. She exhaled deeply, remembering one of the things she managed to read from the ‘advice booklet’ Mordin had sent her couple weeks ago. Wishing Garrus will understand her intention, Shepard slightly bowed her ginger head in his direction.

Not even a minute has passed and her companion's hard-plated crest gently touched her forehead. Woman heard a heavy but at the same time relieved, sigh from him, and they both fell into a comfortable silence broken only by a hum of Normandy’s engines and quiet bubbling of the aquarium. Soon it was joined by the sound of a deep, subvocal murmur coming straight from Garrus’ chest. If she remembered correctly, Mordin’s notes said that something like that might occur and that it was definitely a good sign.

Shepard smiled to herself.

“Please, call me Andy,” she asked with a soft voice, getting closer to his body without interrupting this odd, turian equivalent of a kiss. “I'm not a commanding officer for you, Garrus… Well, at least not for an hour or two,” she added, shrugging her quite muscular shoulders.

Abashed, he coughed meaningfully but a moment later his mandibles spread a little in a shy smile.

“I'm gonna try, but no promises, Shep- Andy.” Slightly embarrassed, scratching his brow, he looked away, thus breaking their first ‘kiss’. “I'm not used to calling you by your first name... I'm sorry.”

“Shush,” woman hushed him, pressing her slim finger to his mouth and preventing the next wave of his babbling. “Come back here, I want to try something…”

Intrigued Garrus arched his brow plates but complied without a word and, not even a second later, their foreheads were touching again. She placed his three-taloned hands on her waist and swung her strong arms around his neck. After these short preparations, Andromeda looked him straight into his light blue eyes and climbing on her tiptoes, further reduced the distance between their faces so that their noses met.

“I will show you my kind of kiss,” she explained, lowering her voice to a whisper.

“You’re doing it with your noses?” he asked, seriously confused by what was happening.

Shepard could barely control the laughter rising up in her chest.

“No, you dummy. My nose is just getting in the way. Try to ignore it…” she explained with a broad smile and pressed her thin but soft lips onto his mouth plates. “Can you open your mouth a little for me?” Commander asked, without moving even an inch away from his face.

His mandibles started involuntarily twitching both with nervousness and anticipation.

“Oh…um… Yes”, Garrus choked out, equally embarrassed as curious of what she wanted to do.

When his mouth parted, Andromeda started fondling its edges with her lips. Garrus was nothing like any of the men Shepard had kissed before, not even close to those with nice, scratchy stubble that she used to like best. She felt her lips are swelling and becoming more sensitive with every brush against his rough mouth and with each she liked it more.

For a while, Vakarian just stood there not knowing what he was supposed to do besides slightly opening his mouth for her. Very carefully, Garrus caught her lower lip between his and tried to nibble on it in a desperate attempt to mimic her doings. Seemed easy at first but turned out it wasn't at all because, unlike human lips, turian mouth lacked the same elasticity.

Their mutual, awkward-looking struggle lasted for couple minutes after which their lips parted. With relief, Andromeda stepped down from her tiptoes and Garrus stretched his neck to the sides of his carapace. Both of them thought that as much as it was weird, it was quite nice as well and with a little bit of practice it could have been improved.

“C'mon, let's crack these bottles open,” she said and as if nothing walked towards the office-like part of her cabin, where she stood before he arrived.

She stopped nearby the corner and tried to take two wine glasses off the top shelf. Seeing her fruitless struggle, Garrus smiled warmly to himself and decided that he needed to help her. Not a moment later, he was right behind Andromeda's back, handing over to her exactly what she wanted.

“Thanks... But I was able to reach them by myself, you know? I may not be very tall indeed but I have my biotics, remember?” she snarled, stepping into the lower level of her cabin.

“I wouldn't dare not to...” he just said, grabbing both bottles from her desk and immediately following her footsteps.

By now Garrus knew Shepard was quite touchy about her height, so without no further talking, he smartly opened both bottles and poured alcohol into the glasses. Straight away Shepard grabbed one and raised it for a toast.

“Well...” Whatever she wanted to say had completely vanished from her head, when she looked straight into his light blue irises.

“For our... Umm... cross-species liaison?” He suggested, slightly rising his brow plates.

“Yeah, may it be a night to treasure,” she corroborated and they clinked their glasses.

Looking into each other’s eyes they took a tentative sip of their wines and immediately choked, almost simultaneously putting down glasses on the low surface of a coffee table.

“Ugh... It's far worse than I thought it would be... I'm sorry, Andy.”

His mandibles dropped, expressing how disappointed and ashamed he was.

“I appreciate the thought, Garrus,” she assured him. “Please, make yourself comfortable. You don't want to stand all night, do you? Or… Are turians doing ‘these things’ proudly standing at attention? Saluting maybe?” She asked jokingly.

Garrus frowned and shook his head in disbelief.

“Spirits, that was surely the worst lavatory joke I have ever heard, Shepard,” he said settling himself comfortably on the sofa.

“And rumor has it that turians don’t have any sense of humor.”

“Don’t believe everything you hear, Andy. We are full of surprises,” he stated a little nonchalantly tilting his head to the side.

“Oh really?”

Woman defiantly crossed her arms right under her round breasts.

“Come here and find out...” He said, patting his thighs as an invitation.

Instead of replying, Andromeda without subtlety tucked up the hem of her tight dress and sat astride on Garrus’ lap.

“Hell, I should've worn stockings...” Shepard mumbled to herself, looking down on her scarred, here and there bruised legs.

Carefully watching a rather troubled expression of her face, Garrus raised one of his brow plates.

“I have no idea what they are,” he confessed, a little perplexed himself because of deficiency of knowledge about human things and whereabouts.

“You would’ve liked them... I think,” she stated unsurely.

“Then next time there will be stockings… Whatever they are,” turian shrugged but on the inside, he was surprised by her behavior.

They were heading straight into the galactic core, chasing after a bunch of indoctrinated assholes that have threatened the whole human race and meanwhile, the infamous Commander Shepard - ruthless Butcher of Torfan, brave Savior of the Citadel - was deeply upset because lacking piece of wardrobe. Seeing her like that was as strange as it was amusing so, this time he was the one trying not to laugh out loud and ruin the atmosphere of the rest of their ‘date’. Andy sent him a smile and Garrus instantly caught something special in it. She used to smile from time to time, but this one was completely different from her usual, cunning or self-satisfied grin… There was such incredible warmth flowing from it through her whole face that it made his mandibles spread and rise in the broadest of turian smiles.

“You look-” He hung his voice trying to find an appropriate word to express what he had in mind. “Pretty. You look pretty when you smile like that, you know?”

“Aha… Better stop playing this sweet card on me, Vakarian,” Andy warned him but couldn’t resist his honesty.

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll turn all soft and plan how to hug Reapers to death instead of, at least, kicking them back to wherever they’re coming from,” she answered.

Garrus snorted.

“I meant what I’ve just said, Andromeda,” he stated.

For some strange reason hearing her full name vibrating with his deep, subvocal voice made a shiver run down her spine. She didn’t want to continue the subject of whether she is pretty or not and decided to turn their attention to more burning questions.

“Seriously now, Garrus. How exactly do turians mate?” Words just flew out of her mouth while she was putting his three taloned hands on her muscled thighs. “Mordin sent me a brochure but I never got enough time to get through it.”

“Violently for most of the time…” Garrus replied vaguely.

Andromeda nodded, trying hard to refrain from rolling her eyes.

“Alright. How about pleasure? What makes you feel nice?” She continued asking, hoping for more helpful tips this time.

Vakarian took a deep breath and then coughed both meaningfully and nervously.

“Putting…um…pressure on various spots…”

Woman looked at him with a playful smirk dancing on her thin, red lips.

“Oh, I can put pressure on you, Garrus… Just show me where,” she murmured, getting closer to his face.

“Most of them are located where the skin is thin.” Garrus took her hand and placed it on his neck, just under his healthy mandible.

His skin was delicate, almost velvet-like under her fingers.

“Other sensitive spots are where the hard parts are meeting with each other… And I assume you already know about the forehead-brow area,” he continued, his voice deepened with subvocal sounds.

He caught himself involuntarily tilting head a little when Shepard was slowly caressing his neck. It wasn’t exactly how turian woman would have touched him but in spite of the difference, it still felt very nice.

“How about you? What are your mating rituals like?” Vakarian asked in return, sliding his talons up and down her incredibly strong legs.

“Well… They require a lot of-” Andromeda hung her voice thinking about how to describe what human sex was like. She was terrible with explanations. “…friction.”

“Friction?” Garrus echoed her last word.

“Yeah… Putting pressure is good too and you certainly can go hard on me-” She added quickly.

“I don’t want to,” he interrupted her. “Life is already going hard enough on you.”

Shepard’s hand froze on his neck and she looked at him both surprised and deeply moved by his words. No man has ever talked to her like that before; no one cared enough for her to do so… There was one who could have but he had never got his chance because she had to leave him behind.

No, this isn’t the time to revisit Virmire again, she said to herself as a familiar pang of guilt has hit her heart.

Garrus moved his right hand from her thigh and tangled it in her wild, ginger hair, delicately pulling her into another turian kiss. He locked his eyes with the stormy-blue of her irises.

About two and a half year ago he had realized that, in spite of her attitude, all her fearlessness, even occasional ruthlessness, Andromeda was a solitary soul. She has always had time to talk to her crew members and patiently listen to what they had to say, usually offering them advice or at least some kind of support. This was probably the source of their utmost loyalty and trust in her as a commanding officer. She cared for every single private serving under her to the point where she was willing to risk her life to be sure that they are safe, just like she did saving Joker when SR1 got attacked by the collectors. Most of the crew mates, however, intimidated by Shepard’s reputation and status, rarely dared to ask how she felt and she never wished to burden anybody with her problems, therefore hiding and isolating herself from others.

“Losing your brother to the damned batarian pirates, opposing your mother’s will to join the Alliance… All your sacrifices, battles you’ve fought since then, things you endured and a heavy burden you’re carrying on your shoulders since Eden Prime – all without a single word of complaint. Spirits, Andy, I still can’t wrap my head around how all of those things could’ve happened to one woman,” he said, gently nuzzling his head to hers.

“I just have historically bad luck. Nothing anybody can do about it,” Andromeda stated, dismissively shrugging her arms.

Vakarian wanted to say something, but she pressed her cool fingers to his mouth successfully preventing him from going on.

“But I’ve been unbelievably lucky too…” Corners of her red lips rose a little. “Especially that one day, when in the Presidium Tower I met a stubborn, hot-headed C-Sec investigator,” she poked him with her index finger.

Clearly abashed, Garrus chuckled in response.

“Show me how to make you feel good, Andy,” he asked a second later and pressed his hard, half-opened mouth to her soft lips trying to encourage her for another kiss.

#MERweek #shakarian #garrus vakarian #fem!shep #commander shepard #mass effect #fluff #awkward cross-species kisses #my writing #writing about turians is so damn hard #butchering english grammar like a boss

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kestrelsansjesses · 7 years

Text

New Galaxy, Same Old Thirst

[[Summary: This started as a joke about how thirsty I was, personally, for Turians, and how Kandros is a fine, fine example of the species. And then I got into it. And now I'm super into it. Please help me. Should I write more about these two?

Kandros x Ryder

AO3]]

There were many words that could be used to describe Pathfinder Ryder, but ‘smooth’ was not one of them.

Since first coming to the Nexus, Tiran Kandros had caught her eye. She couldn’t say what exactly it was, but some quality kept her coming back, thinking of little excuses and errands to run around the ops center, or trips that would require returning from planetary missions again and again. Enough, however, was enough. Today she was going to stop just looking and actually going to do something.

“SAM, how’s my hair?” Tugging on a purple strand, she debated up or down before leaving it as it always was, a customary ponytail. Turians didn’t even have hair; would he notice or care if she did anything differently?

“It looks acceptable, Pathfinder, though I am no judge of external appearance.” Acceptable had to be good enough.

“Scarf or no scarf, SAM?”

“The Nexus is kept at a temperature comfortable for both humans and other Milky Way species. A scarf is not needed.” That wasn’t exactly what she had asked; scarf it was, with the leather jacket that she had brought from another galaxy, the one worn in perfectly, but with colors still dyed bright and bold. This was it. It was time to do this.

“Kandros.” She kept her tone level and even, trying to sound as normal as possible as she walked up to him. It was tempting to fuss with her hair again, or to try and straighten or jacket, or to wonder if she should have worn different pants. At least she would be thinking about anything other than the faint flutter in her stomach and the sudden pounding her heart seemed to be doing, like she was sixteen and with her first crush again.

“Pathfinder.” His greeting was perfunctory, but his tone was friendly; he was clearly occupied in looking at APEX team reports. Maybe another time? No. If Ryder turned back now, she knew she would never get the courage to do this a second time.

“Just Ryder, actually, Kandros. Just Ryder is fine.” That was a start, at least. It wasn’t quite her first name, but it wasn’t the title either, that single word that she struggled to fill at the best of times.

“Ryder,” Kandros acknowledged. Was she imagining it, or was there a slight smile on his face? It was hard to tell, but his mandibles definitely seemed to be curving slightly upward. “Any word on the Turian ark?” It was exactly the question she didn’t want asked, mostly because there was no way to spin it into a pick-up line.

Time to power through this anyway. “There are rumors of debris on Havarl. We’re heading there next, but we had to stop and resupply. And I wanted to talk to you.” It sounded even worse spoken aloud than it had in her had.

“Isn’t that what we’re doing?” At least Kandros had the grace to look amused, rather than fed up with her.

“I thought maybe we could go to Vortex and talk there. I’d love to know more about you.” And there it was. It was easier to look somewhere over Kandros’ left shoulder than it was to look at his face, even though he had what Ryder considered an exceedingly pleasant face to look at, which was the whole reasons she was acting like an idiot in the first place.

Kandros looked her up and down, taking her in, and something in his expression seemed to change- maybe his whole posture relaxed, or his mandibles seemed to be smiling, or something. Either way, he shrugged. “Why not? I have some time.” Was it her imagination, or had there been speculation when he looked at her? Either way, they walked side by side to the tram, and then into the chaos and noise of Vortex.

Apparently, it was poetry night. Bad poetry night, if the human on stage was any indication. People in the audience were actually snapping after each line. “I’m going to need a lot to drink to live through this.” It didn’t exactly fit the mood Ryder wanted.

“Agreed. Wait until the Turians start. I recognize that one waiting offstage- he likes limericks.” Exasperated, Kandros joined her at the bar, where the pair studiously avoided the curious look of the bartenders, ordering separately and some distance down from each other.

One cocktail later for Ryder and one dextro-based beer later for Kandros, and conversation was flowing, though not as much as the alcohol, going progressively faster down their throats. It was enough to make the poetry bearable, at least, or quiet enough that they could pretend it wasn’t there.

“I joined the Andromeda Initiative to be my own person, free of familial expectations. Every turian has them, but not every turian has such a big shadow to fall behind.” Kandros slammed down the remains of his second beer, voice somewhat bitter, making a face at the drink. It wasn’t meant to be quaffed in that way, but the warm buzzing surrounding his body made it all worthwhile.

“Tell me about it. I didn’t have a choice joining the Initiative, and I didn’t have a choice in taking on dad’s role. Half the shit I do has people telling me what he would have done instead. I’m not him. I thought this would be a fresh start.” Sooner or later, Ryder knew she was going to descend into taking shots, but for now she was happy to take another sip, admiring that the bartenders had managed to already produce something new from limited biological samples taken on foreign planets. Aya in particular was a true treasure-trove of botanical delights, ones that mixed well with vodka and gin to produce something strong and sweet. “So, do you feel like you’re your own man now, Kandros?” At least she wasn’t slurring yet. She just felt… good. Maybe not as worried.

He pointed at her, a finger jab in her direction. “If you get to be Ryder, I get to be Tiran. Only fair.” When Ryder nodded, trying to mask her half-smile and failing, he continued on. “I’m Head of Security now. People look up to me for being myself. Feels good. Feels right. If I didn’t have to deal with Tann all day, it would feel even better.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Their cups clinked together as they both took another deep draught, music pulsing over them and a silence descending. It wasn’t awkward, but Ryder had been waiting too damn long to just keep the conversational casual.

“Kand -Tiran. Always liked a man in uniform.” This was definitely the right thing to say. Definitely.

“I don’t wear a uniform, Ryder.” He leaned forward, hand on the table, just as she did. Take it? Don’t take it? The dilemma was real and intense.

“Authority. A man with authority.” And now she sounded like she had daddy issues. At least SAM wasn’t piping in, for once mercifully silent.

“Ryder, are you flirting with me?”

“Should I not?” No, no, don’t ask him that Ryder. Now he’s going to say ‘no’ and you’ll have blown it. So smooth. So well done.

“You’re not bad looking, for a human. You have… uh… very nice hair.” It was the first time Kandros had ever sounded less than confident, stumbling over his words. It also wasn’t an answer to her question.

Grinning, Ryder grabbed his hand, and he didn’t pull away, looking down at them, and then intertwining his fingers with her own. “So, theoretically, if I did something bad here, would you have to arrest me?” Just prior to disembarking, Ryder and Liam had an old cop-vid movie marathon, followed by even older detective dramas that pre-dated even the discovery of the mass relays. Black and white flicks, cast only human, filled with trenchcoats and femme fatales that she could never see herself as.

“Theoretically, yes.” Oh, he was definitely smiling now. “I have an apartment near here. We could test my techniques.”

Biting the corner of her lip and then giving up any pretense of looking bashful, Ryder replied with a glint in her eye. “I always did want to learn more about that famous turian reach and flexibility.”

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