#cmdrredandruthless

[ofparagonheart]

YOU KNOW WHAT MASS EFFECT NEEDS? A GAY BAR

[thepantscorporal]

+cmdrredandruthless

"Commander Shepard, to what do I owe the honor-that-I've-had-on-the-daily?"

[cyborgspectrevanguard]

cmdrredandruthless​ has started following you.

"Well, well... The very personification of an ass-hole wants to speak with me. What is it, Shepard? I'm busy and I don't have a lot of time to waste debating morality with you."

cmdrredandruthless

[tinhtoan]

cmdrredandruthless

"Help! He took my wallet!"

Racing down the ward an older woman was chasing after someone, her brown hair swept back in a tangled mess and her cries echoing throughout the city. She was in tears. Hysterical. Her ankle twisted and she crashed hard onto the ground beside Shepard, and when people from the crowd ran to help her, she stabbed her finger at a fleeing man.

"Someone!" she sobbed. "Someone please get him!"

In the distance, two men were sprinting away. Jinho was one of them.

[superstarspectre]

All right, seriously.

Akane Shepard is one of my favourites because a) Rinko Kikuchi and b) I personally feel the mun's interpretation of renegade is really spot on. It's not over the top, it's just perfect. 

Knowing the mun out of character is really great too. She's lovely in all sense of the word, makes me laugh, and we talk about everything pretty much. Very wonderful and confident and inspiring, to be honest.

Back to Akane, I adore her personality. She's got this "I'm here, I'm ready to kick ass." attitude that stands out for me. I love the ship that has formed between Akane and Garrus. I don't always ship shakarian, but when I do, it's with them. 

For real, following Akane just gives you a sense of quality on your dash, and a fun mun behind it all. I love writing with my Miranda and Akane with their casual relationship as much as I like writing friendships with my other muses. 10/10 would follow into the collector base.

[ BLOG ]

[optimizefiringalgorithms]

[optimizefiringalgorithms]

fallout;

Apologizing wasn't something he was good at, not because he lacked remorse or couldn't own up to his mistakes and shortcomings, but simply didn't know how to phrase such a thing, especially not to someone that he cared about. Was that it? Was he struggling because he cared about her? The other night he was certain that he did, and though he couldn't recall if he had told her that directly, he definitely felt it; he felt something. What exactly that was, he didn't know, and couldn't have put into words if asked to do so. That's the thing he was lacking right now: words. Garrus knew what he was sorry for--he thought; the memories were a little hazy--but didn't want to say, "Sorry for leaving you high and dry like that because I didn't want to take advantage of you." While that was honest and straight to the point, it might have been a little too direct. After all, perhaps an explanation was better than an apology. An explanation--not an excuse.

After starting and then deleting half a dozen emails to her--pacing back and forth across the catwalk in the main battery the entire time--Garrus decided to plop down onto one of the weapons crates he had strewn about, sighing in exasperation as he closed his omni-tool. She hadn't spoken to him since he left that night--rather abruptly--and he really couldn't blame her. If he remembered correctly, they had almost gotten past so called "first base" and were approaching second when the fact that they were both intoxicated became apparent because of something she said to him. Once he realized that, he thought that anything and everything that could happen next would be taking advantage of her, and that was something that he never wanted to do to anyone, especially not her.

The only thing he could think to do was get out of there immediately before his hormones took the reins again and drove him to do something one or both of them might regret later. If they were going to get physical, he wanted it to be on their own volition, rather than under the influence of alcohol. She was clearly upset by his reaction, and he understood why, as she probably felt like he didn't desire her anymore for some reason. The honest truth was that he did want her, does still want her, but why would she believe him now? Sure, he was perfectly sober now and had been the since moment she alerted him to their shared inebriation. That didn't mean that she'd accept that he truly wanted her that night despite the state they were in. For all she knew, he didn't think of her as anything but a friend, and he knew that convincing her otherwise would be hard, to put it lightly.

As if things couldn't get any more awkward than they already were, he still had her jacket that had been left in the elevator that particular evening. When the turian fled her cabin to retreat to the main battery, the lift doors opened to reveal it on the ground right where they had left it. He figured he had three choices: turn around and return it to her, leave it where it was, or take it with him. The first was not an option, since he had practically bolted for the door seconds before, the second meant that someone else might find it, so he chose the third. Now, it was sitting right next to him on the crate, draped over it neatly. Even from there, he could swear that he could smell her scent on it, her natural pheromones mixed with whatever bath products she used, combined with a hint of sweat. When--rather if--he'd return it to her, he didn't know. It wasn't like he was holding onto it because it was hers, rather, he didn't know how to approach her to give it back. He'd have to, eventually, of course. Keeping his CO's jacket in his workspace because he was too cowardly to hand it to her wasn't good.

For now, he thought it best if he just sat there and tried to figure out what it was that he needed to do, how to do it, and when. They'd have to interact again eventually, even if it was just for him to give her clothing back to her to start. Missions and meetings would come up, something might happen with the weapons system that she needs to be informed of, or some other thing that was likely to occur in the future. All that had happened so far was stolen glances in the mess when they were both there at the same time. He'd peer over at her out of the corner of his eye, and if he even thought she appeared as though she might look in his direction, he'd avert his gaze immediately. It was silly, childish even, but both of them seemed unwilling, embarrassed, or nervous to take further action. This state of limbo they were in would have to end at some point, and they both knew that.