pissfag

Jux, 26, he/him | I don't allow reuploads of my work elsewhere. I do allow slobbering over Kaidan's tits. | Reddit | Bsky | My Art | Emrys' Lore |

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Emrys is what happens when a guy doesn't realise he's been living in survival mode for three decades and just thinks he's "doing what he has to". On one hand, he looks cool doing it and it does make him a scarily good soldier. On the other, he's like three breakdowns deep by the middle of ME3...

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Since Emrys has the Sole survivor psych profile, did he ever confront TIM on Akuze and the scientists that tortured Toombs. Did he confront Miranda as well when she told Shepard that Cerberus does,"Good Work." ?

In stark contrast to his general reputation, no. Emrys isn't someone who bites his tongue by nature--he could've been kicked out the Alliance a hundred times over for the way he runs his mouth at his superiors sometimes--but he's cautious with Cerberus because he has no idea what the fuck is actually going on.

When he first wakes up in the lab, and he's trying to piece together scraps of memory through gunfire and blinding white lights, the conclusion that he draws is this is a test. Some sort of training exercise. Induce temporary amnesia, and toss a soldier in a 'captured by the enemy' situation to see how he reacts instinctively. Maybe it's a Spectre thing, maybe it's an Alliance thing, he doesn't remember, but to him, everyone's an actor--or at least, someone who sees behind the curtain he doesn't.

He does think of Toombs, of Kahoku, of the horrors they unveiled, though. In the first proper conversation with Miranda, he has a moment of doubt in his hypothesis, a moment that uncharacteristically suggests suicide as a backup plan--only for him to realise that, if what they're saying is true, and they already brought him back from the dead once, what would be stopping them from doing it again? Over and over, every time he tried to find some escape in death, they'd yank him back up like a puppet on strings. The prospect of that is so overwhelming that he subconsciously doubles down on his initial instinct: this isn't real.

Because of this, a lot of the interactions he has, a lot of the conversations, he approaches as if he were being evaluated, as if he were roleplaying his own life. He does make it very clear at every opportunity that he has no trust or respect for Cerberus, that he doesn't consider himself working 'for' them, and that all of this is done through heavily gritted teeth--but his priority is to do the job and get it over with. So, he isn't going to say something that, in his mind, would be seen as risking escalation in a way that has no strategic value. When Miranda starts spouting her trust for Cerberus, he just opts to end the conversation and stops going to speak with her.

With TIM, he just doesn't see the point. He doesn't doubt that they both know that it happened, and that they both know each other knows. Bringing it up does nothing for the fallen because there is nothing that can be done for them--they're dead. The only thing it would do is alert TIM (and the Alliance, or Council, or whoever is watching) to the fact that Emrys is thinking about it, which would just provide more points of vulnerability to manipulate. He absolutely does snap at TIM for the things that happen there and then--leading them into traps, withholding information, etc.--but Akuze? Akuze is just a wordless 'I know what you did' that underpins the weary bitterness Emrys comes into every briefing with. Also, he isn't going to waste his breath on someone who only smokes half a fag before stumping it out, the hell is wrong with this guy.

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Who is your shepherd closest to? Their LI doesn't count.

In ME1, he's closest to Ashley--he sees quite a bit of himself in her, catches himself feeling like an older brother to her sometimes. It's especially not lost on him that they find her as the sole survivor of her squad. He instinctively adopts a mentor position with most of the squadmates (sans Kaidan and Wrex) and a lot of his decisions are centred around which experiences are most useful to them, but he does this even moreso with Ashley because it feels like a situation he can actively influence. He knows how the Alliance works, he knows how to play their games, and he knows how to utilise the position he has to help uplift those below him--he can't say the same for the Migrant Fleet or Asari Republics, for example.

In ME2, he's closest with Samara (and Legion, but that's a… different circumstance). He's very rarely personable with anyone during this time, but Samara curates a space that is both so steady in its quiet and so unaffected by his presence, that he can slip in for a moment of comfort as a stray cat might. She reminds him of Kaidan, in their effortless ability to alter his world-view with a single conversation. Emrys has a tendency to gravitate towards people whose life experiences surpass his own, people with answers that ease the burden of independence from him. He won't admit it, but, really, he's subconsciously seeking to fill the gap of being able to go to a parent for advice--and maybe there is something in Samara that seeks the reverse, too.

In ME3, it's Cortez. Cortez is one of the few who doesn't really fall into Emrys' usual dynamics with crew members; there's not a strong mentor/mentee feel either way. Emrys is still a pretty broken version of himself at this point compared to ME1, and his socialisation time is practically non-existent, so he finds real comfort in a quiet but compassionate friendship that doesn't actually ask a lot of him. He does also appreciate having another gay man on the crew to share anecdotes with.

Over the full stretch of his adult life, though, Anderson--for all intents and purposes, he's the only family Emrys ever had until Kaidan.

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How did your Shep handle Horizon?

Unintentionally, as a death sentence.

In the moment itself, there's a lot of very quickly fluctuating emotions. Relief that he wasn't too late, that Kaidan's alive. Unease in not recognising Kaidan because his anger is so unfamiliar. A sickly deep dread when Kaidan mentions they were tipped off on Horizon--he was used as bait, Emrys knows he was. Protective resolve in pulling back, letting Kaidan go free from being dragged into this mess.

But what burns the most is the guilt of being selfish enough to convince Kaidan to love him, the guilt of etching pain so deeply into the man that he feels unfamiliar now. And for what? A few weeks together? Emrys caused him years of pain, for a relationship that formally spanned a little over a month. And he knew, he knew that death is always right around the corner for them. What if they rekindle, only for Shepard to die again? It would be worse, this time, Kaidan left not knowing if Shepard was truly dead or if he would pop up again some years later--grief haunted by the perpetual knowledge that there's no longer any certainty, that gone doesn't always mean gone with Shepard now. But what if he is gone, and Kaidan wastes a life waiting for a man to come back who never does?

Besides, he's surrounded by people who are tying up their own loose ends and preparing for a suicide mission, who is he to be any different? He's trapped living on the cusp of his worst nightmare, feeling more and more parts of himself break each day. He's long since stopped feeling like a person, he knows he's just a tool and people like him aren't made to have love--he's made to do a job and be done with it. Maybe that's okay, maybe that's just how it is, maybe he was a fool for letting himself think otherwise.

But of course, he doesn't die--he's, if nothing else, a damn good tool. It's takes a long time of a quiet detention and a lot of psychiatrists for him to start processing the place he ended up, but he reunites with Kaidan on much shakier feet. He doesn't really tell Kaidan what happened, not all at once, but Kaidan can tell enough by the way Emrys holds himself like a kicked dog when it's late and they're alone--like he isn't sure he deserves this any more.

Kaidan worries that it's his fault, that what he said on Horizon, on Mars, was too much, but it wasn't. Emrys never blames Kaidan for that; he's very open about the fact that if Kaidan did come with him, he doesn't know if he would've been able to trust him. He needed someone to see that what was happening was wrong, beyond just the ethics. He needed Kaidan, who knew Emrys, who could see him, to be horrified at what he saw of him that day, to know that something must be so deeply, deeply wrong that he has to turn and leave immediately because that isn't his Shepard, not any more, not right now.

[p1ssfag]

Why Kaidan? [Not meant to come off rude or mean he's a cutie patootie]

It's funny, I first played ME1 well over a decade ago while waiting for a new DA game. I romanced Kaidan at the time, and never played any of the later games so sort of remained on the outskirts of the fandom. Over the years, I became convinced that romancing Kaidan was the shallow choice, the safe 'Oh, you don't want to romance aliens' choice.

I came back to ME in December, and really only set out with the intention of romancing someone different. I didn't make it halfway through ME1 before going back to Kaidan and knowing I had been right all along.

The thing that struck me was how much depth his character had in such vast array of facets. His story is of disability, of chronic illness, of trauma that leaves quiet tendrils behind, of compassion born of regret, of rigorous self-reflection that still bears uncertainty and doubt, of independence and capability that learns to co-exist with new community. Every aspect of his character was immensely captivating because he was written as a person, not just a squadmate. He is full to the brim of little quirks that feel so lived in: using the metaphor of radio signals when discussing the signs he picks up from Shepard, the debriefs that fall into philosophical pondering of their place in the universe, the small observations of the things you have to slow down to really notice, the ceaseless wonder of not just the galaxy but of those who inhabit it alongside him, the sudden lines he comes out with that read like poetry--but he's only ever written limericks, sometimes.

There's an endless plethora of reasons of personality--the natural instinct to provide guidance, the kindness and compassion, the whimsy and humour--but really what draws me to him is simply that he is inescapably compelling and possesses deep enough characterisation that it is fruitful to be compelled into knowing him.

[p1ssfag]

It's always fun getting really in-depth with the roleplay in ME1 because you'll be going about your business and then you suddenly get diverted to go disarm a literal nuke of unknown stability as if that's not a huge fucking deal.

Like, this is galaxy-condemning levels of risk. Saren wins because Shepard got fucking eviscerated into irradiated ash, potentially the whole Normandy too unless they back off into a decent safe margin. Whichever squadmates Shepard takes have absolutely zero chance of survival if things go south. Shepard can even openly state that they don't have anyone on-board trained in bomb disposal, and, yeah, Shepard can do bomb disposal but on a potentially malfunctioning 30-year-old nuke? They're heading in there with some rough odds...

[flame2ashes]

People saying Kaidan Alenko is a himbo is so confusing to me because you realize his combat class means he's also a tech specialist??? He's not the guy kicking the terminal because he doesn't know how to work it, he's hacking that shit minute one. Not to mention he learned how to Reave

[p1ssfag]

well i couldn't not draw them like this.......... (full piece: Bsky | Reddit)

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battlefield flirting is one thing, but battlefield ass-eating is a new one...

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Tell me one embarrassing moment your Shepard had on the Citadel that not game cannon. (Rip the sushi tank fish 😌)

Emrys doesn't get embarrassed easily, so he doesn't have a particularly notable litany of major moments. During the events of ME2, he developed an awful habit of grabbing 'a quick drink' from every bar he passed (on-duty, mind you) which led to some unfortunate moments of liquor building up and suddenly hitting him just in time to spectacularly miss a doorway.

In the early days of ME1, though, there's a particular incident with Kaidan that still makes him cringe a little. Emrys' aversion to shore leave largely stems from having no idea what to do with the time, but being newly assigned as CO, he knew not taking shore leave would set an unhealthy precedent for the rest of the crew. While this was generally remedied by grabbing lunch with Kaidan and then just… tagging along for the remainder of the day, the time prior was still a problem. With little else to do, he goes to kill time in Flux--it had been brought up by a few people in passing, and gambling at 10am isn't the worst thing he's ever done. He does, however, have an extensive history of running gambling cons as a teen, and is exceedingly bad at remembering not to cheat. He's worst with poker, but give him enough rounds with any game and he can typically figure out the system and know how to crack it--without even really registering what he's doing. Which is to say, he absolutely rinsed one of the quasar machines without meaning to. And of course, as luck would have it, Kaidan shows up at the perfect moment to watch the scene of his (still fairly new at the time) CO being very unceremoniously and very loudly booted out of Flux. Led to some… interesting conversations, and later a "Huh, déjà vu." comment from Kaidan when they encountered Schells some weeks later.

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Which squadmate would your Shep absolutely refuse to go grocery shopping with?

Emrys could probably count, without much effort, the amount of times he's actually been to a grocery store to shop properly. Between growing up on dumpster diving and shoplifting, and refusing shore leave like he's allergic to it, it's not really something he's accustomed to doing. If there's a mess hall with food in it, he's living the dream.

He'd likely refuse to go with anyone who actually has their life together because the thought of wandering aisles for an hour or so sounds… really damn boring, honestly. Especially anyone who shops with meal plans or strict nutrition in mind--he suspects Miranda and Jacob would fit this, possibly James too--his version of hitting his macros is mushing some peas and a tin of tuna together and eating it over a sink at 3am.

Kaidan is the exception, of course, but he'd go anywhere with him so that's hardly surprising. Besides, providing grocery store entertainment is probably the least he owes given only one of them can cook and it very much isn't Emrys. He is excellent at packing grocery bags though--carrying all his belongings around in a backpack for most of his life builds some surprisingly useful skills.

[p1ssfag]

Thinking about the end of ME1, and how, if present for the final fight, Kaidan is sat buried under rubble for long enough, hopeless enough, that he's just certain Shepard's dead. The defeated wordless response, having to watch Anderson's face drop as the triumph of the victory comes crashing down. Was he calling out for Shepard, only for the silence to grow into something that bears only one conclusion? To lose something he only just let himself have, something that he avoided for so long. Too long.

And just as he turns his back, staggering out to leave with the burden of a new brutal grief in tow, there's footsteps and scrambling and somehow Shepard is standing there, atop the wreckage. And by some miracle, he can let the grief go almost as soon as he met it. Maybe they laugh about it afterwards, once wounds are healed, finding light in bouncing between extremes. Wouldn't it be crazy? If Shepard had died? A monumental victory stolen from Shepard's grasp, never getting to celebrate what they achieved, what they worked so hard for. Can you imagine?

And so they return to normality, cleaning up the dregs of Geth left behind, drudgery and routine that gives them time to work out what their future looks like, what their present does--what loving each other looks like now that things are marginally less desperate.

But they only get a month. And then Shepard dies, somewhere alone in the cold expanse of space. And there's no wreckage to climb out of this time, no second miracle, no laughing about it afterwards. Kaidan has to pick up the grief he only just put down, watching as the weeks and months pass by him, knowing he's spent more time with this unspeakable pain than he ever did with Shepard and now it's all he has left of them.

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"I've wasted enough of your time for now, Commander. We'll have time for personal debriefings later."

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got too frustrated trying to draw kaidan's hair at a certain angle so i had to break out Bald Kaidan and spin him around a bit. mildly upsetting but pretty effective stress relief icl.

[clericofshadows]

IT'S HERE

My latest mod release is a joint effort with my friend miramini as part of our modding group, Team Milky Way, where we have given Kaidan Alenko a variety of new outfits to choose from for the Citadel DLC Casino infiltration mission. This mod uses the LE3 Community Patch & Framework to allow swapping of these outfits via a mod menu. This mod also patches for Kaidan Alenko Overhaul but is also available for vanilla Kaidan.

Enjoy!

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On Virmire, when Saren is choking Shepard, is your LI there? How do they react to seeing it happen and not being able to help? If they aren't there, how do they react when they hear about it later?

Kaidan is there, but truthfully, it's one of those moments that gets lost amongst everything and pales in comparison to that which followed. By the time he even begins to register what's going on, it's over and Emrys is stubbornly manhandling him back onto the ship.

Emrys stays in the comms room alone for hours after Virmire, after he's dismissed the crew and Council, sitting on the floor by Ashley's empty chair, ritualistically lingering in the pain while silently working away on a datapad. By the time he emerges, the bruises around his throat have set in proper--it's nothing extensive, there never is, but there's enough to catch Kaidan's eye. He doesn't think it's best to bring up, until Emrys steps out of his cabin into the mess for his fifth mug of hot water in an hour and the words "Trouble swallowing?" slip out--with an immediate regretful grimace for his phrasing. He can see the moment Emrys goes to reply with a usual dry quip, the slight twitch of a smirk, only to stop himself. Quite frankly, Kaidan can make a damn good bet on what it would've been, and he's equally flustered flattered and glad Emrys decided against it. There's a heavy tension on the ship and no one's quite in the mood to make light of it yet. (Well, except Joker, but that's hardly surprising.) Instead, he gets the slightly endearing 'I'm fine, but it's really fucking annoying' grumble.

What sticks with Kaidan after, though, isn't the reminder that Emrys isn't as infallible as he so often seems, but how quiet it happened. He tries to recall if the splashing of the water was too loud, or if something else was drowning everything out, and he can't really be certain either way--or at least, that's what he tells himself. The reality is that there wasn't a single noise of struggle beyond feet being dragged on the floor. No gasping, no choking, no cut-off shouts for help. Emrys could go down and he wouldn't know because the man doesn't make a damn sound, and the thought of that seeds a deep unease within Kaidan.

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Does your Shepard remember dying, do they remember death?

He tries to.

Emrys makes himself stand in the pain of situations often. To look at the bodies and viscera of innocents his choices kill until the weight of it feels part of him, until the adrenaline has worn off and he can process the reality of it. It's respect, but also responsibility.

He does the same with his own death. Not at first, it's easier to gloss over while he tries to pick up the pieces of his resurrection. Except, everyone else starts to gloss over it too, even as he feels the scars of it, the grief that has no place to sit, the never-ending disorientation. He doesn't even know how old he is anymore.

He needs to remind himself, to try and piece back the blurs of final panicked moments, so he knows that there's a reason he's broken now, that there's a reason paranoia creeps into every vessel underneath his skin. That he was dead, and now he's not, and that's not normal. Even as everyone else around him pretends that hey, this just happens sometimes, and not that he's lost control over his own mortality.

After Horizon, he visits Alchera. He couldn't bring himself to do it sooner, but these are his own loose ends to tie before running head first into death again. Sits in the wreckage alone for hours until the cold seeps through; forces himself to replay the memories. There's not much, beyond the suffocation--he doesn't know what he'd do with the memory of his skin fusing to the inside of his armour as his body burns up on re-entry anyway--but there's enough that he knows it was real, even if nothing else around him feels the same. He was dead. And now he's not. And he has to find a way to carry that forever.