If you want to: what if they had met as children for Rennah and James? (or any characters that spark joy with you!)
Okay - so this works pretty well because Rennah and Vega actually discovered that they were both in San Diego at the same time when they were kids. She was in the Reds, and he would have been younger - a kid who's drug addled and abusive father drove him out of the house more often than not.
Also this turned out longer than I thought, so I've put it behind a cut! The art is by Alex Coggin Art :)
James kicked a rock along the beach, too disappointed and angry that he'd come home to an empty house again to pay attention to the night sky like he'd planned. When his mother was alive she would have greeted him with a warm hug and a snack, but since she'd died he had to fend for himself.
But still, he'd hoped that this time, on his birthday of all days, maybe his father would have cared enough to be there.
James sighed.
His father had gone out the night before on a red sand bender and still hadn't returned. For all he knew, his father was dead in a gutter. And for all he cared, he could be. He didn't give a shit anymore.
Nothing felt right in the world since his mother died. His father couldn't be bothered buying him clothes, shoes or anything he needed for school, and the other kids gossiped about it behind his back. They didn't dare say anything to his face; he was too big and scary for that. But they talked about him, sometimes not even bothering to wait until the 'urchin' was out of the room.
He kicked the rock even harder, tears filling his eyes as his ill aimed kick hit more sand than rock, and the pale beach sand sprayed out around him. He heard a muttered curse from the dune near him, and someone sat up, scrubbing their eyes and shaking sand from their clothes.
"Watch it, or I'll knock your teeth down your throat, asshole!"
The shape in the dunes formed into a tall woman with long dark hair as she stood up. No, James amended as she stumbled out, looking every bit as high as his father had the last time he'd seen him, it wasn't a woman, it was a girl. She looked to be only a few years older than himself, but she was tall - easily the same height as him.
She swayed unsteadily, the crackle of biotics in her eyes as she sank back to the sand with a curse and lay back. Her eyes were red, whether it was from the red sand she'd obviously taken, or the tears running down her face he didn't know. She groaned and let out a sob as she flopped back, milky white skin showing through her ripped black jeans.
James hesitated awkwardly, half-wanting to run away from this reminder of his father's own addiction, and half-wanting to help a girl in distress.
"Are you okay?" he asked hesitantly. "I can call someone if you need help-"
She let out a choked sob that slowly turned into a laugh and held up her hands, making a square with her fingers as she framed something in the night sky.
"No one can help me," she muttered thickly. "But one day I'll get away. One day I'll go up there." The girl pointed up at the stars. "Fuck 'em all. They can't stop me."
Her hands were bloodied, he noticed. Her knuckles were raw as though she'd been fighting, and her pale face was dotted with blood.
He had a feeling the girl was in trouble, or that she'd been through something awful. But he wasn't sure what he should do, so he just stood there, listening as she rattled off the constellations above them, her voice slurring more and more.
"One day I'll see them all," she finished. "One day..."
"Yeah," James wasn't entirely sure what he was agreeing to as he interrupted her gently, but he looked up at he night sky. The stars were brighter than usual tonight, and they shimmered above. "One day I'll get away too."
The girl seemed to find this funny and she glanced over at him, tears shining on her cheeks. "What's your deal, kid? Looking to join up?" She flashed a gang tattoo at him and James stumbled back a step when he recognised the mark of the Tenth Street Reds. She laughed again. "Didn't think so. Go home."
Stubbornly, he stepped closer again, embarassed that he'd almost run. "I don't have a home," he muttered. "Not anymore."
There was an awkward silence, filled by her sniffing as she made an effort to fight back tears. Slowly, she sat up again and looked him up and down, looked properly and nodded at what she saw. The girl's eyes flicked up at the stars, and then back in his direction, and she pulled something from her pocket and threw it at him. It was a wad of cash, and James caught it awkwardly, not sure what she expected him to do.
In the distance he heard angry yelling and the revving of bikes.
"Get out of here, kid," she muttered, her voice breaking. "Get out of here before they find me. Use that to get some dinner and don't fucking end up like me." The girl lay back with a grunt and put her hands behind her head, apparently unconcerned with the trouble heading her way. "And if you do make it to the stars, come find me and say hi."
James stumbled back, clutching the money the weird girl had given him and nodded. He didn't know who was coming for the girl, but she was in a gang and covered in blood, and he had street smarts enough to know when trouble was brewing.
One day, he vowed, he would make it to the stars. And if he ever met the tall scary girl again, he'd say thanks.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
In celebration of the upcoming MELE release, I am revisiting some of my favorite fics I’ve written for Mass Effect.
Shepard, of course, is at the heart of Mass Effect’s original trilogy. The Shepard that lives in my mind rent-free is Nathaly, my sole survivor spacer. I’ve spent nine years exploring her through fics short and long. And just as I wanted to plumb her character during the events of Mass Effect, I was curious about her experiences prior to ME1. This particular experience left its share of scars.
Excerpt:
It could’ve been minutes or days later. The pain brought her back, eyes fluttering at the nagging insistence of her broken femur. Something liquid on her chin; on inspection, her gloved fingers came away sticky with old blood, where she’d scraped the skin raw and not even noticed.
“Perfect,” she muttered. Smoke still lingered on the air, ash drifting through the trees. Probably not days, then. Shepard had endured a great deal in the way of injuries over the years, but losing time like that was new, and it was enough to give her pause even without being alone in a dead colony, hunted by an enemy.
Her pistol lay somewhere back in that burning hab. She checked her assault rifle, and snorted. Plastic piece of trash. Cooling chamber cracked, broken when she fell back on it after crashing through the floor. That left her sniper rifle. She had some of the best marksmanship scores in Rio, but that was only the smallest part of the sniper role, and she wasn’t trained for that.
That earned her a dry voice in her head, Anderson’s. And what did we train you for?
ICT couldn’t prepare them for what they faced, because that would always change, every mission, every enemy. All the program could give its marines was a toolbox. She had a rifle and one working leg. She had everything she needed to take out one overstuffed turian bitch.
For the first time in a month and a half, I can think of something other than MEBB... but that doesn't mean I've written anything new yet (brain is currently in 'hibernation mode' to recover from six weeks of complete focus! lol). So, instead, have a small snippet that'll be coming up sometime after I finally get Akuze beta'd/posted for Caleb Shepard.
Setting: roughly 2180, The Starry Rose (night club), Elysium; Caleb Shepard, Kaidan Alenko
~~~
Heading over to the bar, Roger has a glass of his favorite whiskey waiting. Caleb downs it in one gulp, tipping it back in dramatic fashion. But there is a purpose to it as there is with everything he does these days. As the fiery liquid burns its way down to his stomach, he searches through the dimly lit room for a pair of matching eyes. The seconds pass without finding them and his anxiety begins to settle, eyes closing in relief. I imagined it. I must have. There is no way he could be here…
Roger’s voice breaks through his thoughts unexpectedly as he returns his attention to the clientele. “What’ll you have?”
“Whiskey. Neat.”
The rich, gravely baritone that Caleb has become familiar with over the past few years hits him like ice water. Shit! Anxiety kicks up into high gear faster than a rush of adrenaline going into battle, and leaves him just as breathless. I’ve got to get out of here… get away! If anyone sees us, recognizes us…
Caleb slams his glass down on the bar counter with a thud, spinning on his heel. He snatches Roger’s cigarette pack and lighter as a secondary thought and stalks through the back of the club, out into the alleyway. The switch from the smokey, dimly lit atmosphere of The Starry Rose to nighttime Elysium isn’t too drastic, though the reflection of colorful neon signs makes its way back here. It’s warm out, stifling almost, and Caleb tugs at the tie around his neck, loosening it just enough to get a long, deep breath. With that achieved, he fishes out a cigarette and the lighter. Cupping his hand around the flame, he’s just lowering it, the clack of metal sealing over metal echoing around him, when that familiar voice returns.
“Don’t suppose you’ve got one to spare?”
The faintest tremor shimmers across Caleb’s shoulders beneath his shirt and jacket. Taking a long drag on the cigarette – by nature, he isn’t a smoker, but right now, it’s all he has to keep him grounded and in control – and turns around. He lifts the pack between them, shaking one loose. “Aye.”
Standing there just as casual as the day is long, Kaidan Alenko plucks the cigarette from the pack and accepts the lighter when Caleb hands it over. He takes a moment to light it before inhaling. The ease with which he does it suggests familiarity, though Caleb hasn’t ever seen him partake in the few times they’ve been around one another. “Thanks. I needed that.”
First day of January, first peek at a thing I’m working on for Genuary. A pre-ME1 story for Aedan Shepard. Tentatively titled Red Days.
o-o-o-o-o-o
“I’m just sayin’ you musta fucked up somethin’ fierce to be back on protection duty.”
The gunhand guarding him didn’t say a word, just held the door open to the next shop, out of the chill of the winter, sweeping the area. It jangled with fake asari doodads, hundreds of cheap chain necklaces on racks that spun drunkenly if anyone walked past and fat, plastic kittens with waving paws. There were a few plastic snowflakes clinging to the barred glass window, remnants of the recent holiday.
The cashier’s eyes widened at their entrance but she just coughed out, “Mr. Clare?!”
A balding man of about fifty ducked his head out, “On my way.”
“Ain’t got all day, Mister Clare.” Jay sneered the honorific into a slur.
Clare hustled out, a datapad and a couple of credit chits stacked in his hands, his own rheumy eyes going wide behind his electronically assisted glasses as he took in the two figures. His eyes fixed on the gun hand, lean and slouching slightly against the counter, watching the door. “I’m not late. Everything’s here. Why…”
Ace grunted, her eyes fixed out on the street. “You’re fine. I’m just keeping an eye on Jay-bird, here.”
“Oh...okay.” He slipped the stack into a plastic sleeve and handed the package over for Jay to slide it into his satchel.
“Always a pleasure,” Jay’s sneer had tucked itself back away with receipt, suddenly friendly. “Ace got herself in black with Jader. So she’s back on…”
He stopped with Ace’s gaze locked on him. “That really ain’t their business.”
“Guess not. See you tomorrow, Ari.” Jay flashed a crooked grin at the cashier, and it was almost charming in his thin, unshaven face. The girl blushed and Clare and Ace shared a skeptical glance.
They skipped the empty storefront on the corner. And the repair shop someone had daubed with a splotch of red paint in the corner of the doorframe, a sign the owner had done the Reds a favor with cops or equipment, recently.
There were four more stops on their route, the last of which was shuttered and dark. Jay coughed and Ace rolled her eyes, but a few taps on the hidden doorlock and the metal shutters were easily drawn aside. “Someone bashes you in the skull, you squeal.”
She stepped inside, letting her eyes adjust from the watery light of the late sun slanting in between the buildings to the gloom of the interior.
This had been a pizza and noodle shop last time Ace had run this route. Now it smelled of mildew and was crammed with cheaply made clothing and shoes, handbags. A secondhand rack in the corner with slightly nicer things. But it was empty and several of the racks were overturned. She leaned against the shelves crammed with tshirts along the and carefully nudged open the thin door with her foot. An office, the fuzzy sound of old lighting still buzzing overhead, but the old plastic rolling chair tumped on it’s side and a data pad cracked and blank. There was a smear of blood, old enough to be brown, on the floor by the datapad.
“C’mon in. No one’s here.” She raised her voice over her shoulder to Jay who scuttled in, nervously, leaving the shutter gaping behind him.
He looked around and realized, “Hey, someone robbed this place.”
“No shit.”
“We gotta call it in.”
“Go for it.” She looked for a secondary entrance, but the loading door in the back of the office was padlocked. I’m gonna keep an eye on the street.
The sun was sliding quickly down behind the buildings, now. The light had gone gray. There were a few people up the sidewalk, huddled into their coats as the temperature dropped and the wind picked up. Ace huddled into the shallow alcove of the entrance, tugging her hood up, eyes on a swivel. The old woman popped up as she scanned left for the second time and she almost swallowed her tongue trying not to jump out of her skin.
“Fucking Christ, Des,” she hissed.
“Happened last night. Cops didn’t even take statements.”
Mama Deseree was about a head taller than Ace, with swirls and puffs of silver hair hidden under a green scarf and a rounded pigeon breasted figure under her padded maroon coat. Rumor was she’d been a prostitute a hundred years ago but as long as Ace had been in the Reds, Des had run a meat and three across the street and three shops down on the far corner. It was neutral territory and she didn’t serve cops or anyone else with a gun showing. She always smelled of garlic and warmth.
No one took protection money from Mama Des.
Ace had never asked why.
“Wasn’t us.”
Des scoffed. “No, too quiet for Reds.”
“Anybody new pokin’ around?” Jader would want to know.
“Not that I’ve seen. You eat, baby?”
“No, ma’am, I’m workin’.” She watched Clare lock up his shop. Ari was already bundled down the street.
“Yeah, I see that. Why you down here, again?”
“Fucked up a carjack.”
“Uh hunh.” Des didn’t believe her at all.
Didn’t make it a lie.
“Look here.”
“Des…” She turned to the old woman and was startled to have a spoonful of something savory popped into her open mouth. “What the fu…” she mumbled around rice and something green and bitter and blackeyed peas and her eyes streamed from whatever hell grown chili Des had cursed the concoction with.
“Don’t swear, you’ll break the luck.” She offered another bite and Ace swallowed and tried to clear her eyes enough to at least keep watch over Des’ shoulder.
“I know Jader’s taken to calling his creepers after birds, Des, but I ain’t one of them.”
“Fine.” She shoved a round container into Ace’s hoodie pocket. It was the warmest thing she’d touched in a week. “You eat all of that by midnight.”
“Jesus, why?” As if she’d ever turned down food before. She might need a jug of milk, too. She could feel the chili eating through her pipes. A square of something wrapped in plasfilm tucked in, too.
“‘Cause bad things are about to happen, child. You need all the luck you can get.”
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
It’s finished and I’m so excited to share it with you!
Reda Shepard’s background fic for Akuze/Sole Survivor bg. It’s long (~8,5k oneshot - second chapter might follow later), it’s full of a lot of hurt and suffering and comfort and Anderson, and I think it turned out great. Big shoutout to my fabulous beta readers @bardofheartdive and @chyrstis who did an amazing job with this story despite the length, and all the suffering, and my impatience. Thank you guys so much. <3
20 times Akuze almost gets Shepard
Summary: After Akuze, Shepard fights to gain back agency. (Covers both how Reda Shepard deals with the aftermath of Akuze and how she ended up working with Anderson.) (First part: pre-games, second part to come later with in-game events.)
Characters: Female Shepard (Mass Effect)David Anderson (Mass Effect)
Additional Tags: Sole Survivor (Mass Effect)Akuzepre-gamePre-Mass Effect 1Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSDHurt/Comfort(seriously I don't believe in hurt without comfort)(there's hope at the end)Earthborn (Mass Effect)
Snippet:
2177 CE
NOVEMBER
She‘s unable to move when the orders hit on her radio, getting lost in gun fire, screams, and chaos.
Get - - -r ass away - - - there, lieu- - -ant!
She clenches her sniper rifle to her breast plate, breathing hevaily, trying to fill her lungs with air, but it feels like she‘s inhaling liquid fire and-
Try - - - high ground and shoot th- - - Shepard - - - Lieu- - - read me?
Her eyes are dry as she stares at the body next to her in frozen horror, unaware of how long she sits here with him, behind this rock in the middle of hell, unable to even do as much as blink.
Lieutenant, - - - read me?
But Corporal Giles-, she stumbles upon her own words, but her CO cuts her off sharply and repeats his order over com.
GET - - - WAY - - - NOW!
Something jerks her out of paralysis.
She tears herself away from Corporal Giles‘ dead body next to her, from burned open flesh and sand and blood, and dives headlong out of cover, from pressing herself against the rock behind her to awkwardly crawling away from it on all fours to finally stumbling over the shaking ground, getting away from Giles and their camp and these things. She crashes to the ground when that thing breaks out of earth not even a hundred feet left from her, both unable to balance the abrupt movement under her feet and the terror it leaves her with. Lying on the floor she looks back, the Mako is on its top and in flames, there‘s movement thirty feet left of it and then it‘s gone- She presses her hands against her head in a sudden flash of pain when the screeching echoes over the plain again and prepares to die, but the thing isn‘t interested in her but focussed on Adams and Wen at the other side of the camp. She stares at it in horror when it disappears underground again, none of them has ever seen anything like it, and then it breaks through the surface some hundred feet further just seconds later and both Adams and Wen are gone.
- - - tenant - - - where are - - -
Terror gets her back on all fours. Stubbornness. She gets back moving, desperately holding on to her CO‘s order. She needs to get on a somewhat high position. She needs to get a good sight. She needs to be far enough away so that she can balance out the rapid movements of those things with her sniper rifle and shoot.
Stubbornness has her crawling while the ground shakes, while earth explodes around her. Stubbornness has her ignore the pain in her body, in her eyes, in her lungs, and in her head.
She clings to it when orders change, not directly addressed to her but barked at everyone still alive, whoever that is, to retreat.
She still clings to it when the gun fire has long stopped, as have the screams and the ground shaking. It is quiet again and the sand under her hands is calm as if nothing has ever happened.
She lies on the ground, helplessly shaking, acid burning her lungs, her skin, her mind, she is on somewhat high ground, and she thinks she just needs a good sight, and then she can-
The lake lay quiet, not a breeze disturbing the water’s surface. It mirrored the stars above perfectly.
Nick Shepard stood silently at the water’s edge, gazing out onto the lake. Her eyes rested on the stars reflecting in the water. She stooped, picking up a smooth stone, and absently rubbed it with her thumb, wondering when she would get to see this view again.
She wasn’t nervous, was she?
In the morning she was leaving to follow her childhood dream, following her parents’ career paths in the Systems Alliance military. It was all she had wanted for as long as she could remember, and now she felt sick to her stomach.
A pang of regret welled through her. It would have been nice to have her parents see her off, but they were both off-planet. Her mother on a cruise, her father on a training exercise. At least her grandparents would be there to see her off.
Her gaze wandered from the smooth water to the sky above. The Milky Way shown brightly, a band of a myriad of stars. She took a deep breath, inhaling the fresh night air, savoring it. With luck soon she would be traveling the stars aboard an Alliance ship but nothing would quite compare with the familiar view she saw now. The corner of her mouth twitched upward.
“Home is behind, the world ahead,” she murmured to herself, tension slowly giving way to excitement. “And there are many paths to tread.”
She slowly walked back to the cabin, casting one last look at the stars before stepping inside.
There was a new road waiting behind the corner, and she was ready to take it.
Lieutenant Bailey was full of surprises, and Thane couldn't have been more grateful.
He'd been waiting for them at the spaceport with the necessary travel documentation that would allow Thane to travel with Zara off planet. This made the entire journey from Earth to Citadel space much easier to handle, forestalling authorities from questioning why a drell was traveling alone with a human child.
While Zara had been in the hospital, the few times she'd been stable enough to allow him to leave (or had been too exhausted to fight him), Bailey had helped the drell gain temporary custody of the girl, which would make Thane's life much easier upon reaching the space station. He'd even contacted the Citadel's human ambassador to inform him of the unorthodox last thing either of them needed was for Thane to be accused of kidnapping a human for slave trade.
The actual journey had so far been uneventful. Mostly. Zara spent the majority of the trip staring wide-eyed out the ship's window, gazing at the stars as they zoomed past. She managed to sleep, off and on, with her head rested against his shoulder, causing quite a few inquisitive glances to be thrown his way. Thane did his best to ignore them, instead focusing his time on keeping an eye on her, which wasn't difficult to do considering she refused to let him leave her side for more than a few minutes at a time. If he'd gotten held up in the restroom or food lines, she would come searching for him, on the verge of a panic attack.
Summary: After the disaster at BAaT, Kaidan and Kandra Alenko return home to Vancouver, but things there are not much better. Faced with her father's constant push toward enlisting with the Alliance, Kandra and her twin decide to leave home, to follow their own path ...
Notes: The title of this piece comes from the song “Halo” by Starset, but a number of years back a friend did an accoustic cover version that I fell in love with and that is the version I listened to/thought of with this piece. All chapter titles come from the lyrics.
Also, tagging @jedirangerpenguin and @jediwalkerw whose enthusiasm for Kandra as a character just warms my heart! Thank you both for that!
Tags: angst, runaways, strained relationships (parental/child), Father/Son relationship, Father/Daughter relationship, songfic (additional tags will be added as necessary throughout the story)
Excerpt:
“Do you expect we will just take care of you the rest of your life? You need to forge your own path, find your own way. Where else but in the Alliance can you do that?”
Anger, nearly as red and raging as that not so distant day on Gagarin Station, burns through Kandra Alenko, simmers just beneath the surface of her skin at her father’s words. Always the same … never another way to see things …. Why do I just have to take this?
She shoves herself to her feet, tosses her napkin onto her plate and turns away. She’s done with it; the chastising, the critical evaluations, the idea that only his lifestyle and choices for the future will work for her simply because he says so. It takes every ounce of willpower inside of her to bite her lip and keep from screaming back at him, but she manages. For now.
“You haven’t been excused from this table!”
She glares over her shoulder at him, eyes glittering. They’ve never gotten along well; too much alike, mum says, but Kandra doesn’t believe it. Not when he’s trying to force her hand like this. Not when he has no respect for her choices and decisions! Why can’t you see this isn’t what I want?
Gold-flecked brown eyes focus on him, but she directs her words to her mother. “May I be excused?” It’s a power play move, she knows it. The way his eyes narrow at her lets her know he knows it too, but she is just as stubborn as he is; she will not give him any advantage over her. His blood may run through her veins, but that isn’t her fault.
“Konstantin, please,” Kathryn murmurs, reaching her hand over to cover his. Looking over at her daughter, she nods.
Kandra is almost to her room when she hears her twin’s voice quietly echo the same request. She waits a long ten count, reaching her door in the process. She counts again. When his hand slides gently over her shoulder, offering reassurance, she rests her forehead against the barrier. “I can’t keep doing this,” she whispers, her voice tight. “He is never going to understand!”
“We can leave.” He pitches his voice just above a whisper for her to hear. “Pack a bag, just the necessities. We will leave when they think we’re asleep.”
She looks up at him, tears trickling down her cheeks. “Kaidan, I can’t ask you to …”
He drops his forehead, lightly touching it to hers, his hand resting on her shoulder. “We go and we do this together. You’re right; he isn’t going to understand, not unless we make him.”
Her lips curve into a watery smile; a hand rises to his cheek. Even from before birth, he’s always been there for her. Constant companion; the other half to form her whole. Whether to ward away a bully at school or help her sneak back into quarters past curfew at BAaT, or now, run away from home. “When?”
“Tomorrow night. Or the next, whichever proves to work out best. Just pack your bag and have it ready.” He releases her and steps away in the direction of his room, but hesitates. That’s when she realizes he must see the trepidation in her eyes. It’s the right thing to do, she knows this, but that doesn’t mean it comes without concerns or fear. Or guilt. His smile is as instantaneous as it is reassuring. “We can do this, Kan-Kan. You trust me, don’t you?”
Without doubt, without hesitation, she nods once. “Always.”
