The lovely @squigglysquidd requested this particular scene and I definitely had to try!
The sun is setting behind the skeletal trees, and Kasumi
bides her time. What Lady Shepard asks is suicide; break back into Aquila? Kasumi
may not have much in this world, but she values her own life at least.
A long, low howl breaks her from her musings. Kasumi rushes
back to the safety of the splintered barn, reckless in her haste. She does not
hear the fall of malign feet upon the sodden earth, does not see the weathered
farmer lift his battered axe. There’s a roar and a fury as a wolf with sanguine
fur lunges at the ghoul and tears his throat out with teeth that shine like
daggers.
Kasumi flees the righteous murder and runs to warn the Lady;
Normandy still stands tethered to a beam. His mistress, however, has vanished,
an apparition in the night. In her place, tall and proud, stands a turian with
plates that glimmer sliver in the embrace of the pale moon. Upon his head a coal-black
sash, with a golden crown inlaid in thread, and on his back, the expansive
cloak of pitch much favored by the Lady.
Kasumi has not seen many turians but knows royalty well
enough. “My lord,” she says, fear vanquishing her awe. “There’s a wolf outside.”
He turns to her with eyes of unblemished sapphire, and in a
voice as blue as his gaze, he simply says “I know,” as he walks out into the shadows, a three-fingered hand extended to the wolf.
She thinks she must be dreaming. When daylight wakes her
with a sweet caress, she shimmies down the ladder to find Lady Shepard readying
her steed. The Lady’s face is still more beautiful than any painting; marred only by a lingering sorrow. She’s robbed in a fine dress of pale lilac; it
clings to her strong lithe frame. And Kasumi is reminded of the beauty she saw
the night before.
“I had a dream,” she tells the Lady. “It must have been a
dream. I saw a turian prince so handsome, that he couldn’t exist in the waking
world.”
The Lady pauses in her motions, a pleading sorrow in the
verdant forests of her eyes. “Tell me about him,” she says softly. “This
handsome prince you saw. Tell me so that maybe, I can see him in my dreams, too.”
And so she tells her lovely companion, of the turian prince in black and gold.
The man who wore the riding cloak better than the Lady. The man with eyes like
oceans, and paints more cobalt than his blood. The Lady sits and listens, and
in her silence, Kasumi thinks she understands her grief.
For those of you still around even with my lack of updates, thanks! And apologies for the lack of work getting done. I’m being pulled in so many directions and nothing is getting done! Lol
Wasn’t sure I’d be able to get this out today, but this was another scene in the film more than worthy of writing down:
She is often compared to dragon’s fire; hot and intense in
battle, red hair flying in the wind like flame. But her rage and fury are
things of the cold; an insidious, creeping frost that gnaws at old wounds,
numbing limbs and turning them dead and black.
Her frostbit wrath explodes out on the small thief like an arctic gale. Kasumi lost her sword? Her sword! Her family heirloom and the weapon
she needs to strike the Illusive Man through his cursed, dead heart?
She has trusted Kasumi to watch over her possessions, and
her love, when the pitiless moon rises, and her mind is ripped from her, sentience
of no use to the wolf. And her trust has been betrayed yet again! The smaller
woman has no excuse; it fell into the frozen fjord?
Shepard lashes out, pushing the incompetent thief to the snow-covered
ground. Kasumi cries out – an overreaction to Shepard’s aggression – but as her
hood falls back, the raven-haired woman’s agony in reveled; gashed into her
pale flesh are red ribbons of raw and mangled skin. Vicious claw marks that will
scars and burn into Kasumi’s chest and shoulders.
“What happened?” Shepard whispers, her rage melted by the
simmering fear of truth.
“That happened last night.” Mordin answers instead, his face
a serious mask. “While she was saving your life.”
Half-memories call to her from beyond the ivory moon;
cracking of ice, water cold and deep, Garrus’s shouts and subvocal pleas and
Kasumi’s hands…
“Forgive me,” Shepard mutters leaning back against her steed.
She looks to Kasumi, her friend, her savior, and suddenly Mordin’s impossible
plan doesn’t seem so farfetched. Garrus believes in it, so she’s been told. And
she owes it to him, to her comely husband, to try this thing, to at least try.
Gently embracing Kasumi, mindful of her wounds, Shepard concedes
to their idea. “Come,” she says. “I’ll show you how to cage a wolf.”
Took a few liberties here, but hopefully it’s still in keeping with the overall tone of the film:
He inhales the silken fabric, clings to the memory the smell
brings him. The scent of lilac and sun and her.
His Jane. He can only glimpse her in the waning rays of the dying day, and the
faint glow of light upon her face does nothing to capture her radiance, her ethereal
beauty.
When he first saw her at a gathering between their cities,
he knew that he was lost. Her eyes were emeralds, her hair rubies, skin pearl.
She was a treasure beyond any comparison. And her wit and brilliance with both
words and blade had captured his heart entirely. Lady Shepard, the adopted
daughter of Lord Anderson.
They’d kept their love a secret, least those who wanted her
for their own tried to part them. Stolen kisses in the gardens of Aquila, moonlit
walks around Palaven tower; her small, strong hand in his own. Whispered promises of forever, when they married in
a small ceremony at the tiny village church.
He can still feel the velvet tresses of her hair through his
hands, taste the sweet honey of her mouth against his, and hear her musical
calls of his name on her lips. She smelled like lilacs then, too, as they lay
spent and intertwined in the meadow near the church after their first time.
Crushed flowers perfuming his plates and her skin. A heaven in the living world.
A belonging he’d never known before.
He keens softly in his subvocals as he tucks her wedding
dress back inside his satchel. She wears it for him in the day. Fills it with
her scent, so when the lonely night claims her, she is still with him; in
memory and spirit.
One day, he’ll touch her again as he did before. With Kasumi’s
aide, he’ll kill the Illusive Man, or else Shepard will, and they’ll be together
again. No longer parted with the breaking of day or birth of night. One day.
She keeps a low profile. Like a cat eternally on the hunt.
But Kasumi is too giddy to keep quiet. She’s just done the impossible and the
news froths at her mouth, churns in her belly, begging her to spill it from her
lips. And so, she does, to any willing ear at this outdoor tavern.
She proclaims herself the world’s greatest thief and the
only person to escape the dungeons of Aquila. Expecting skepticism or perhaps
even applause, she is unprepared when a tavern-goer lowers his hood to reveal
his face; Captain Kai Leng. The Illusive’s Man’s favorite attack dog.
There is a flurry of motion as she dodges and dives under
tables and around hapless patrons. The Captain and his men have her outnumbered,
and there’s nowhere to hide. She flees to the raised trellises, only for a
storm of swords to slash at her. Death is inevitable. She is grabbed and hauled
against a beam as Kai Leng makes to cleave her head from her shoulders as
though she were a mere beast for fodder.
The loud neigh of a horse and cry of a hawk halts her execution.
The beautiful lady knight with hair like fire, and armor blacker than the ether
of night, dismounts her steed and broadsword drawn, demands Kasumi’s release. She
hears another man refer to the newcomer as “Lady Shepard,” and then Kasumi is
running as blood flies and men scream and the air grows heavy with battle.
She runs for the woods and assured safety, for the sanctuary
of the trees, only to hear the growing drum of hoofbeats. She spares a glance
over her shoulder and sees the lady racing toward her, a large hawk soaring
alongside.
Kasumi darts to the left, but the lady is faster; an angel
of speed and fury that scoops the other woman onto her horse and gallops away from
the shouts and curses of the men she’s left bloodied and tattered in her wake.
So, I recently re-watched the classic 80′s movie Ladyhawk, and as I sat there, I thought to myself (as one does), what would a Mass Effect crossover with this film look like?
As I talked with @savbakk later and she asked me what my favorite scene from the movie was, I realized that I had to write at least this one scene, the transformation, in sharkarian AU style. So please have this snippet:
The last rays of the sinking sun fall over his face and he feels the change begin. He registers the transformation dimly, at first,
still caged in the mind of a hawk. But as the feathers wilt away into silver
plating and his eyes become his own once more, he realizes he’s not alone on
this bed of Spruce branches.
Turning onto his opposite side, he catches in the faint glow
of twilight the silhouette of one whom he holds above all else; Shepard. His Shepard. His beautiful Jane. Her
features are muted as the change takes her, but she’s still the most breathtaking, radiant
woman Garrus has ever seen. Seized with the need to touch her, Garrus reaches
out a three fingered hand. He’s still groggy, his movements slow even as his
heart and mind race at the speed of light.
She reaches back, mouth parted, eyes frantic, and just when
it seems that they will touch, fingers and claws interlaced in an imperfect
union all their own… she’s gone. In her place is the beautiful, red furred wolf
with eyes the color of evergreens. His loyal nighttime companion. His Shepard.
His Jane. But not.
He feels more than hears his cry of anguish as she leaps out
of the shallow bed dug into the snow and trots off into the luminous moonscape, never looking back.
As he collapses back into himself, into the body he knows, he hears the mournful
cry of a wolf.
My two favourite things!! Waffles you spoil me! Here’s an incredibly self-indulgent sketch from part 2 of this wonderful drabble.
However if Garrus is the hawk and Shep is the Wolf…
A continuation of this from earlier today. Because I had to write some fluff/happy ending, no?
He can’t be real,
flickers through her mind like a candles’ flame in a breeze. They can’t both
exist at the same time. It’s impossible. But as she lowers her sword and crosses
the space between them, hope begins to swell within her chest like a building
wave.
She dares to extend her hand, braces for heartache, and is
instead rewarded with the feel of solid facial plates and smooth hide beneath
her trembling fingertips.
“Garrus?” She asks, tracing the cobalt colony markings
across his face, the shape and pattern still so familiar.
Large, rough, three fingered hands caress her cheek and rub
gently at her skin. “Jane.” He whispers in his duel toned voice that she’s only
heard in dreams. She looks up to his eyes and her breath catches. Blue as a
cloudless sky, open to her in all their unspoken emotions. She laughs, though
the noise is choked and echoes inside the Cathedral walls.
She’s nearly forgotten how tall he stands. How sure and
steadfast. Standing on tip-toes, soft human lips press against warm turian
mouth plates. His slender blue tongue wraps around her own as he pulls her
tightly against him, his hands still exploring, re-familiarizing himself with
her waking body.
The monks and other acolytes are quiet. They are witnessing
a miracle. Somewhere Kasumi and Mordin are smiling loud enough for everyone.
She forces herself to pull from Garrus’s tight embrace. There’s
one more thing to be done. Walking up to the Illusive Man she drops a well-worn
leather collar at his feet. She is no longer his dog. His wolf. She was never his.
She turns her back on him, and with a confidence she has not
felt in nearly two years, walks back to Garrus. Back to her home and her heart.
She hears behind her a demonic rumble of muttered thunder and the words, “if I
can’t have you, no man will!”
There’s a shout and a bang and the sound of an arrow hitting
its mark. The Illusive Man lies dead, pierced through his blackened heart by
Garrus’s crossbow.
Garrus’s eyes are wide, mouth parted as he runs to her,
tossing away his weapon. She’s wrapped within his arms once more as the moon
passes over the sun. She feels the warm press of daylight on her head, her
clothes, her soul.
Garrus has lifted her into the air, eyes alight in adoration
as he proclaims “I love you” to anyone and everyone who can hear. And she says
it back as they twirl in daylight, together again, as they are meant be, and
how they will always be. Shepard and Vakarian, until the end of time.
You’re killing me with all these snips and no fic in sight! 😭
So, I recently re-watched the classic 80′s movie Ladyhawk, and as I sat there, I thought to myself (as one does), what would a Mass Effect crossover with this film look like?
As I talked with @savbakk later and she asked me what my favorite scene from the movie was, I realized that I had to write at least this one scene, the transformation, in sharkarian AU style. So please have this snippet:
The last rays of the sinking sun fall over his face and he feels the change begin. He registers the transformation dimly, at first,
still caged in the mind of a hawk. But as the feathers wilt away into silver
plating and his eyes become his own once more, he realizes he’s not alone on
this bed of Spruce branches.
Turning onto his opposite side, he catches in the faint glow
of twilight the silhouette of one whom he holds above all else; Shepard. His Shepard. His beautiful Jane. Her
features are muted as the change takes her, but she’s still the most breathtaking, radiant
woman Garrus has ever seen. Seized with the need to touch her, Garrus reaches
out a three fingered hand. He’s still groggy, his movements slow even as his
heart and mind race at the speed of light.
She reaches back, mouth parted, eyes frantic, and just when
it seems that they will touch, fingers and claws interlaced in an imperfect
union all their own… she’s gone. In her place is the beautiful, red furred wolf
with eyes the color of evergreens. His loyal nighttime companion. His Shepard.
His Jane. But not.
He feels more than hears his cry of anguish as she leaps out
of the shallow bed dug into the snow and trots off into the luminous moonscape, never looking back.
As he collapses back into himself, into the body he knows, he hears the mournful
cry of a wolf.
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