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trealamh · 1 year

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I'm sorry if you've got these question before but I have to ask: what made Alisdair speak to Arthur in Glasgow Scale? Did Arthur and Dai have any other family? What life did Arthur leave behind in Kent, and was Alisdsir's life much changed afterwards?

I love how your short stories pack so much life into them, they can be unfolded ten times over and I still would want to know more

always ask anything you'd like! i love your questions. And aaaa thankyouthanyouthankyou for your kind words <3

hehe I have been wondering whether it would be too indulgent to write TGS from Alasdair's point of view, actually. It would be a longer piece and much more dialogue heavy, covering from the night they met to Arthur moving in.

(Here is where I confess that TGS was going to be a multi-chapter fic/ one of those 15k single-chapter fics until i got worried I would disappoint people by taking too long to update or missing scoteng week entirely orz sorry everyone)

But to answer your questions!

Alasdair, as i mentioned here had just been released from custody and made his way straight to the hospital (no time to rush home and hop in the shower when you're naw even sure your brother is still alive). He is still running high on adrenaline a when he goes to find a seat in the waiting room, having been dismissed by the nurses that won't let him into Sean's room. It may not show much on him, but emotionally he is all over the place; angry, furious, even, and worried. Exhausted and fed up with the proceedings of loss; the bureaucracy of pain. Having someone in hospital is one of the hardest things to go through; a lot of the time it is worse to be the one waiting outside than it is to be the one hooked onto an IV. Alasdair is burning for a smoke and out of filters but the truth is that the reason why he sits next to Arthur is that something in him recognises him as a younger brother-- Dai was older. Call it instinct. I don't believe he would rationalise it and I do think that at some point Arthur would ask him outright "Why did you choose to sit next to me that night? Why me?" Alasdair probably would not have the words o explain it beyond some vague sense that Arthur was the only person in that room that made sense to him in that moment.

Arthur and Dai only had each other, really. Maybe a distant relative here and there but no one close. I won't go into detail to spare anyone who might come across this without a cw but it is partly why Dai is almost meticulous with the instructions he leaves behind; he knows that Arthur won't have any support going forward so as much as he can he tries to make it easy.

(It is patently not. It could never be. Nothing about loss could ever be but losing someone under those circumstances especially is unmanageable.)

When Arthur calls Dai's workplace to try and let them know he is not coming in to work they seem a little baffled and tell him that Dai had put in his two weeks already. It makes Arthur nauseous; it almost brings him to his knees. It makes him realise how long Dai had been planning this for and that as much as the loss of him itself is worse than any nightmare.

Moving onto lighter things, what Arthur leaves behind in Kent is a slightly bemused flatmate and a few odd pieces of furniture. He only moves in with Alasdair after he finishes his degree! Dai and him grew up nestled deep in the Welsh borders (I needed them both to have a piece of their namesake countries with them! so the borders it was) lost their mother in their late teens, shortly after Arthur gets approved for his student loan. Some more deep lore for TGS: that the reason why Dai is studying in Edinburgh are the student fees. He is older than Arthur, as I mentioned, so went off to uni a year before he did with his mother's support. She was already sick when Arthur was finishing up school and gone before he got his A-levels back. That summer, Dai comes down from Scotland to help him back and move into his first-year accommodation in Kent and that is the last time they spend more than a couple of weeks together at a time. Everything they own between them and whatever their mum left is split even; they get a few boxes each and a couple of furnishings, and that's all they really need. Eventually, Arthur might start feeling that loss as well and he might feel nostalgic about his home town, the flat they shared with their mother, and he might return to seek out familiar sights. Dai never grows old enough for her loss to lose its sting. They have different fathers (both still living) but neither keep in touch; their wee family of three (and then two) was plenty enough for them.

(Alasdair, contrastingly, comes from a Big Family. They fold Arthur right in, don't ye worry.)

And last of all, Alasdair's life does change pretty significantly after the events in The Glasgow Scale. He stops smoking, for one, but he also starts drinking less. By the time we meet him in this AU he has already done a lot of the work to get a hold on his temper and it's partly why he is not one of the brawlers in the fight that puts Sean in a coma. But he still has a ways to go and Arthur helps with that, more than he knows. He learns to think about someone else's needs in a deeper way than he ever has before and starts to see his own actions through someone else's eyes. Alasdair post-TGS is guilt-ridden to a fault and being good to Arthur helps him get a grip of himself.

This is a bit of a spoiler but a few months after Dai's death, Arthur gets a call from one of his classmates. Dai left behind a few things (he was an artist, Dai was you see) and he offers to hold onto them until Arthur can travel back up to pick them up. Arthur mentions this to Alasdair, who he's kept in touch with (a little awkwardly at first ksks do not be fooled they are deeply emotionally constipated in this AU despite the way they latch onto each other in the midst of their respective trauma) and Alasdair offers to bring them down for him instead. He kinda just blurts it out actually haha and is afraid that it was too forward of him when Arthur takes too long to answer that aye, that would be good actually, if Alasdair is sure (he cannae afford a ticket up to Scotland is the truth).

This is a whole wee story in its own right but essentially they get to meet each other again, under better circumstances, and that lays a stronger foundation for their eventual relationship. It is also an incredibly awkward visit at first adgfjdhgj which oddly enough helps them get over a lot of personal hang-ups.

One thing about this fic though is that for as much as their lives are changed irrevocably by what they lose and earn that night, they are still very ordinary people hhh and that's what I love about them both.

#freagradh #i admit that alasdair being in his 'post anger management counselling' era is a tidbit i poached from and the love #he is trying his best but needs to work of his sense of self-worth #being good to arthur is not the solution to his self-esteem issues but it is a good exercise #in learning how to think first and act second #and also just very rewarding for him personally #arthur is deeply uncomfortable at first because he doesnae know how to let someone else take care of him but eventually he lets himself #be held just a bit. he learns to fall back on someone else #of all the fics i write this is probably the one where they have the healthiest relationship #trauma aside

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big-ass-magnet · 3 years

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When History Comes Calling, Ch 5/14

art by @snuffes

Fandom: Mass Effect Rating: Teen Pairing: none, some background Fshep/Garrus

Summary: In 2170, Mindoir was attacked by slavers. Hundreds were taken captive, hundreds more were slaughtered. Kiryn was the only Shepard to make it out alive. For years, he buried his grief, kept his head high, and did whatever he needed to survive.He survived Mindoir and the batarians and when the Reapers came he survived them too.

But when the war ends and he escapes his batarian masters to the Citadel, the discovery that his twin sister is alive and well might just be the thing that breaks him. The Hegemony's greatest assassin will remember what it means to have something to lose.

AO3 link in notes!

Silversun Strip was…certainly something. Kiryn had been through his fair share of space stations, and this riot of shining glass and neon lights made them all look like space-bound towns. Actually, now that he thought about it, the Strip outpaced quite a few cities he’d seen, too.

This was another one of the few barely-scathed areas, although less because it had been well protected and more likely because it contained nothing the Reapers would have considered vital to survival. Clearly the genocidal synthetics from beyond dark space had never heard how important enrichment was for an organic’s mental wellbeing. Even here, though, there were signs of a struggle -- unpatched bullet holes in the walls and ripped up floor panels roped off as tripping hazards.

Nowhere to get away from it, Kiryn thought, even on your days off.

Kiryn moved with the flow of the crowd, letting them carry him down the streets as he planned his entrance. The easiest way to get inside an apartment building was through the service entrance. Half the time someone had propped the door open and you could stroll right in.

When he reached the right alleyway, he extricated himself from the crush of people, turned the corner, and scrapped the plan because there were two undercover officers hovering outside the building. They were doing their best to stay hidden, and their Citadel janitorial staff outfits looked legitimate. But they watched the doors a little too closely, kept their hands a little too close to their jackets, stood a little too warily.

So he ducked into the nearest building, which did have the service entrance propped open. He strolled down the corridor, through the lobby, and back out into the street. No sign of anyone watching the front entrance, which was interesting. Likely they were putting their trust in the building’s electronic security system. No trouble there; Kiryn knew his way around those, too.

This would be a little trickier, though. There was no way to avoid being seen, so he had to rely on not being remembered. Kiryn stuck his hands in his pockets and relaxed his shoulders, arranged his expression into one of mild interest. Nice and casual, everyone is supposed to be where they are. He strolled past the furniture store, pretended to be briefly intrigued by the sale on bed frames (five hundred credits off full size or bigger!), and finally approached Tiberius Towers’ front entrance.

He hit the call button for 15B. No response. Good. His assumption had been a safe bet: anyone who would have been in the apartment would be with Shepard. With Keris. With his sister.

Find the moment.

Stay focused.

He hit the button again.

Kiryn heaved a sigh, put on an expression of exasperation, and leaned on the button. If there had been anyone in the apartment, they would have answered by now just to make the noise stop. He pretended not to notice the turian woman approaching until she was right next to him.

“Um, excuse me.”

Kiryn glanced up and hurriedly stepped aside.

“Sorry,” he said, with an embarrassed smile. “My friend isn’t picking up.”

“That’s okay, I can let you in.”

He filed away the code she keyed in as he said “appreciate it.”

She gave him a little half-wave as she entered the elevator; he returned it as he opened the door to the stairs. Instead of climbing, however, he ducked into the shadows beneath them and took a look at the security system.

It wasn’t bad, not by a long shot, but he’d gotten around harder systems for less important people. It took less than thirty seconds to slip under the security firewalls and upload a virus that would loop the video as he went by. Anyone watching would see empty stairs.

All fifteen flights of them.

Maybe he should have taken the elevator.

Fifteen flights gave him a long time to think. He should upgrade his omni-tool. Top-of-the-line in the Hegemony tended to be middling quality anywhere else, even if you went through the black market. He should find a more comprehensive map of the Citadel, and find which areas were the dangerous ones. Experience told him that the law was likely concentrated at the Presidium, and got more diluted the further away you went.

Equally important was finding an easy way in and out of the refugee camp. Sarah had been right about the Citadel’s priorities. The guards at the doors were very concerned with who came and went. Security reasons, they claimed, when anyone could tell it was because they didn’t want the grubby little refugees actually on the Citadel, just in case they bothered the locals or, god forbid, started to think they could make a home here.

Dad would have had a conniption, he thought, and nearly missed a step in his surprise.

Perhaps he should be less surprised. Keris was alive. Of course that would drag those thoughts to the surface.

Thomas Shepard had very strong opinions about duty and responsibility, especially in regards to officers of the law. Kiryn had heard quite a few rants about what should happen to public servants who did not serve the public. Dad didn’t much approve of soldiers, either. Armies were built on the promise of protecting the people, and politicians turned them into tools for their own ends.

What would he think of his daughter joining the Navy?

Soldiers hunt soldiers, but Shepards hunt--

Kiryn stopped, midstep. He couldn’t remember. It had practically been the family motto, and he couldn’t remember. He could remember sitting at the table during dinner, his father gesturing with his fork, a four-way eyeroll between the Shepard children…

Shepards hunt...

This was pointless. What did it matter? He had more important things to do than try and remember things like that.

Besides, he was on the fifteenth floor. He checked again that the video was still looping correctly. That was a lesson you only had to learn once. As soon as he was sure it was safe, he pushed open the door and stepped confidently into the hallway. Not that it mattered -- but if anyone opened their door unexpectedly, he didn’t want to appear suspicious.

The door to apartment 15B opened as soon as he touched it.

Genetic sequence recognized.

It was a paranoid individual who used gene coded locks on their front door. He supposed Commander Shepard would have a lot of enemies.

Kiryn stepped inside and stopped dead, eyes wide. Oh, this was very, very far from the prefab housing on Mindoir. Filomet’s estate had been quite high status, thanks to the work Kiryn did for him, but it seemed downright spartan in comparison to this.

Filomet certainly didn’t have an indoor waterfall, that was for sure.

Or a hot tub.

For a few minutes he didn’t do much searching, just wandered around taking it all in. When he did start, it was a little disappointing. The apartment had a strange, semi-empty feeling that had nothing to do with it being new. Like a hotel, he thought. The art was tasteful and impersonal. All the furniture matched.

It was a place to stay, not a place to live.

The apartment was definitely inhabited, though, and by more than one person. There was food in the fridge and the cabinets, chirality carefully delineated by colored tape and, on occasion, sharpie. DEXTRO COFFEE, DO NOT DRINK, KAIDAN THIS MEANS YOU promised a very interesting story. The beds were made, but rumpled; there were a variety of products in the (three!) bathrooms.

The master bedroom felt no more lived in. There was a credit chit and a datapad on the bedside table, but no pictures, no clutter. At last Kiryn hit paydirt in the walk-in closet: a weapons table and an armor locker.

From the scattered mods and spare parts he could see she carried multiple firearms, but favored assault rifles and shotguns -- she liked it up close and personal. There were a few melted pieces that suggested she had a tendency to push her thermal clips a little too far. Kiryn felt a warm sensation in his chest. Fondness. In this way, at least, Keris had not changed.

Kiryn opened the locker. Her armor was black, but a deep black that would stand out anywhere but a sealed bunker underground. The crisp white and red stripes seemed to glow in contrast. Kiryn picked up the chest plate and nearly dropped it again. It was hard to imagine Keris could walk in this, let alone fight!

He tilted the chest plate this way and that, watching the lustrous finish shine in the light. Keris was the target. She sacrificed speed and mobility for armor that could brush off anything short of cannon fire, drawing the attention and the danger to herself, hitting the enemy head on like a battering ram.

Yes, that sounded very like Keris.

Kiryn nearly smiled as he put the armor back in place.

There were spare clothes in the drawers, but only two items hanging in the closet: a dress uniform, and an actual dress. Beneath them, shiny parade shoes and a pair of sensible black heels a full two inches higher than he’d ever seen Keris wear in his life.

The dress was the only really nice piece of clothing Keris owned, although Kiryn personally thought she could have found a nicer one. (The neckline alone was fifty years out of date, and he wasn’t even going to touch on those red highlighting lines.) There were a scant few articles of non-regulation clothing; by the looks of things she wore her crewman’s uniform even on her days off. That was...worrying. He didn’t remember her being much of a peacock, but she wouldn’t wear the same outfit twice in two weeks, let alone every single day. Kiryn never cared--

No. No, it was the other way around, wasn’t it?

Kiryn was the one who had cared. He’d spend an hour in the bathroom just doing his hair. He was the one who made sure his shoes matched his outfit; who complained about pale skin making it impossible to wear yellow without looking jaundiced. Keris would just throw on whatever her hand touched first, and dutifully go back and change when he told her for the fifth time, Ker, you can’t wear two kinds of stripes at once!

But she’d always liked it when they matched.

Kiryn looked down and brushed a hand over his shirt - dark gray, long sleeves, close fitting. It wasn’t all that different from what he wore on a job, minus some padding. He didn’t have much room to judge, did he? You could argue that slaves didn’t exactly have access to the latest fashions or the funds to buy them with. But he hadn’t been a slave for almost a year, and he hadn’t changed anything about his appearance.

He even still shaved his head.

Kiryn closed the drawers and walked away, not liking the tightness in his chest those thoughts brought on.

The first bug went in the office by the computer, before he tried to crack Keris’ password. It wasn’t any of the ones he remembered, so he had to let his omnitool take over. While he did so, he poked around in the boxes scattered around the room. Keris -- or someone else -- was halfway through taking down or putting up a collection of books and medals. He looked at the medals, but they didn’t match the accolades Keris was supposed to have earned. One of the books looked heavily used; he flipped it open. To David, so you can have another kind of adventure. Love, Kaylie.

David. Who was David? The tabloids made enough of a fuss over Keris’ imaginary paramours, surely they would have mentioned it if she was actually seeing someone.

For that matter, who was Kaylie?

His omnitool flashed, notifying him that the hack was complete. He checked to see the password -- I<3Garrus. Hopefully the contents of her computer would be able to solve that little mystery.

Kiryn set his program to download anything not labelled confidential, urgent, or as being sent from the Alliance. He had no interest in top secret projects and black ops missions. The program cheerfully informed him that it wouldn’t take long, as his requests filtered out almost the entire backlog.

Most people would advise against poking around in your sister’s extranet browsing history, but Kiryn was willing to risk it. No luck there either. The last time she’d used the computer was almost a month ago, mostly to read news articles and browse furniture catalogues.

Kiryn wasn’t sure if it was more frustrating or concerning. His sister didn’t seem to do much outside of… being Commander Shepard. Even saviors of the galaxy had to have free time. Didn’t she ever take shore leave?

What do you like to do?

It didn’t seem right. It was… logical that he would end up this way. But Keris was free. She had been able to choose. Why would she choose to be like...like him? If he had been free, would he still have ended up like this? No life, no purpose, no existence outside of his work?

With a whole galaxy on her shoulders, maybe she’d felt there wasn’t time for anything else. Maybe now that it was all over, things would be different for her.

Maybe they should be different for him, too.

The rest of the apartment was unhelpfully empty. He left his last bug in the kitchen, and made a mental note to get more. Alcohol loosened tongues; it would be good to have an ear at the bar. Feeling a little disappointed, Kiryn could only hope that the emails would be more enlightening.

He forwent the shuttle to the refugee camp in favor of walking. He had some things to pick up, after all. And it was harder to be introspective when he walked. Too much to focus on in the real world.

A new omni-tool, as he’d promised himself, although it would take a few hours of voiding the warranty to get it to do the things he needed it to do. Some mods for his sniper rifle -- the Hegemony was wrong about a lot of things, and the superiority of Batarian State Arms was now very high on his list. He’d have to find someplace out of sight where he could work on his gun, though.

Kiryn was pondering whether renting a hotel room for a few hours for the privacy to work on his very illegal rifle was as ridiculous as it sounded, when he saw something that made him stop.

The store was called Terran. It sold clothes. Nice clothes that looked to be good quality, from this distance. Suits and dresses and casual wear. And leather jackets.

He’d been saving up for one before…before. Had it all picked out, knew exactly what he wanted. It cost a lot of money to ship out to little colonies in the middle of nowhere. He’d barely been halfway to his goal when…

Why shouldn’t he buy one now? He had the money. He could wear whatever he wanted to, now.

Kiryn began to walk towards the store, but a few feet away, he froze.

He didn’t need another jacket. It had no tactical advantage over what he already had. And how could he explain it when he got back to the camp? Refugees didn’t wear things like that any more than slaves did.

Kiryn stared at his reflection in the storefront window. The pale, drawn face so carefully free of emotion. Placid eyes like green glass, hooded and empty. There was no way to tell by looking at him that he was one of the most feared assassins in batarian space. The blood on his hands was invisible to everyone but himself. Everything about him faded into the background, and that was by design and necessity.

He turned on his heel and headed for the shuttle. The sooner he got back to the camp, the sooner he could check Keris’ emails.

#mass effect #commander shepard #femshep #dudeshep #twin au #alternate universe fic #i'm sorry it's so late i got sick orz

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volttz · 6 years

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Hey so... first of all, I had like one of the worst Weeks of my life. I got sick, almost got driven over and If all of that wasn't enough, I lost my Notebook... the one with the picture for you in it. (Dont worry, I'm already working on a New one for you) Also, I might be able to upload it on Pinterest? I'l try to send you a Link once I did so. Thanks for your patience :)

Gosh idk how long has this ask been in my inbox sorry if I’m late orz

Damn, I hope you’re okay after that, I know it’s a horrible feeling. Hope you have a great day and you’re welcome!

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onethousandrbirds · 5 years

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❖✓✨⭐️🚹📰🚀😌⏰ (and i'll do the pokemon one from yesterday too~ even though i don't i know you well enough to give a good assessment... maybe i'm overthinking it.... orz; psychic/steel~☆)

sorry for both the length and lateness of this. i can’t answer most of those mystery mutual, but i figure the story below covers a LOT of bases

⏰ a story for you: why i believe 40-45degree weather (fahrenheit, 4-7 degrees celsius) is booty shorts weather.

i’ve been a runner for exactly 50% of mylife. the first track meet of the year when i was a sophomore back in highschool was going to be a cool day. it was still winter, but late winter inflorida is usually mid-forties to the low sixties, and we were all assured thatit wasn’t going to be unbearable.

and then it started to rain.

it was 7 am, so the temperature quicklyslipped from low sixties to the forties. the wind was blowing the whole time,so it actually felt like the high 30s. the rain had started a little bit afterthe first few events—the 4x8, the 100 dash, and 100 hurdles—and the meet gotput on pause while the officials tried to decide what to do. they were convinced the rain wouldpass and it would be okay for everyone to run again. after all, wouldn’t itsuck if a student athlete was doing the 300 hurdles, slipped, and twisted theirankle? surely, the rain would let up and we could get back to business.

it rained until after my second event,the 3200.

the officials ended up pausing the meetfor two hours. in that two hours all the teams that had come via bus had goneback to hide on theirs for warmth. our team had come by bus as well, but thedriver had left. for reasons i still haven’t figured out, the school hostingthe event didn’t let the cold and very wet runners take shelter in one of thenearby buildings. perhaps everything was locked.

what i do know is that our team washuddled under a tree taking turns in the tent (which wasn’t waterproof) thecoach (who would later be revealed as a predator) had brought. it was theworst. during those two hours of radio silence from officials we all hoped thatsomeone would just cancel the meet so we could all go home. instead, we sat fortwo hours before everything started back up again. it was still raining.

my first event of the day, the 1600, wascoming up soon, so all of us running that were given orders to start warmingup. ha. ha. ha. it was hard to do all of our stretches and stuff withoutgetting wetter, but we did it and made our way to the starting line. theofficials declared that unless we were wearing undershirts and tights that wereregulation, we would not be allowed to run with anything covering the uniform.and so i and the other guys on my team had to run in just the tank top andshort shorts. by this point the cold had settled in and, once more, it wasstill raining.

we ran shivering all the way and itwas—up until my long run a couple week ago—the most excruciating thing i haveever done. i finished and have absolutely no memory of whether i did well ornot, but what i do remember is that my body would not let me put mypants back on afterwards. my jacket was too wet by then to be any help anyway,so wearing that was just wearing cold, wet cotton to my skin. i spent the restof the day with my teammates trying to keep me from falling asleep (a nobleeffort) and marveling at how at that point i had absolutely no sensation in mylegs anymore.

when our dad finally took my sister andi home i stayed in bed for the rest of the day and well into the next. but isurvived it. unlike rivals from other teams, i didn’t even get sick!

that is how i decided that 40-45 degreeweather (though i guess i should have declared 35 since that’s what thewindchill was) is booty shorts weather. The end

and psychic/steel feels pretty on brand.it puts me on the same boat as the metagross and bronzong lines in addition to solgaleo.

#Anonymous #sometimes i talk back #friendly talk with gray faces

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