Instant Meme, just add character traits! Fill in with your muse’s answers!
- Preference for top or bottom?
- Favorite type, looks and personality wise?
- Get up and shower after or bask in the afterglow all sticky and wet?
- Monogamous? Open relationship? Polyamorous?
- Deep and slow? Hard and fast? What’s your character’s preference?
- Favorite sex position?
- What’s your character’s favorite kink?
- How active in bed is your character? Do they like to lie there and take it or do they like to get the most bang for their buck?
- Kissing during sex, yes or no?
- Clothes off or on during sex?
- Lingerie? Yes or no?
- Would your character join a threesome if given a chance?
- Your character’s Penis size?
- Preference for penis size?
- Does your character like to roleplay? If so, what?
- Does your character prefer condoms or bareback?
- Your character’s most private sexual fantasy?
- How sexually active is your character?
- When did your character lose their virginity?
- Kinks your character would participate in?
- Kinks your character would not participate in?
- A character that yours fantasizes about coupling with?
Author: squigglysquidd
Show Chapter | Archive of Our Own
Umbrus Nocturni
Chapter 6: I Put A Spell On You
What is the aftermath of the attack on Garrus?
Romeo and Juliet Shakarian
I don’t know what gave me this idea, but it was a nice way to procrastinate on writing other things. I blame @wafflesrock16 XD
When the younger Shepard female offers her hand in a human greeting, Garrus takes it in his own and covers their joined hands as he purrs and flares his mandibles in a soft smile. “If I profane with my unworthiest hand this holy shrine, the gentle sin is this: my plates, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.”
Her lips quirk as her hand squeezes his and she says, “Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much. Which mannerly devotion shows in this, for saints have hands that pilgrims’ hands do touch, and palm to palm if holy palmers’ kiss.”
Where humans have saints, turians have oracles, yet he knows both serve a similar purpose. Just one more thing that the two people have in common, if only his and her species can come to this simple understanding amidst shooting one another.
Humming in mock thought, Garrus tilts his head slightly and asks, “Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?”
“Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer.”
Being the Primarch’s son has come with the added need for Garrus to learn human expressions at the urgings of the asari ambassadors attempting to try and mend the discord between the two. That, and his father always warned him that humans speak with their faces. It was just as good a determinator of their intents as subvocals.
It’s how he knows that his company has found their conversation at least partially amusing by the slight curve to the corner of her lips.
“O, then, dear saint” he says, continuing with his attempts to woe her, “let plates do what hands do. They pray; grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.”
He feels her step closer and lift her chin just enough to keep his gaze with her own dark green eyes. “Saints do not move, though grant for prayers’ sake.”
Rumbling, he smirks as he steps closer to bridge the gap between them. “Then move not, while my prayers’ effect I take.”
He lifts his hand to cup her chin without letting go of her own with the other. Gently tilting her head, he bends his knees to lower to her height and presses his mouth to hers.
Her lips are soft against his own plates. Asari don’t compare to the sensation of her as he gently flexes his lips to nip her plump bottom lip. Leaning back, he purrs at the way her eyes search his face, lips parted slightly.
“Thus from my lips, by thine, my sin is purged.” His voice is soft, just between the two of them and she licks her lips, as if to take in a taste of him.
“Then have my lips the sin that they have took,” she nearly whispers, squeezing his hand as she lifts a hand to touch his chest, fingers ghosting over the clasps of his tunic.
“Sin from thy lips? O trespass sweetly urged!” He trills in mock shock and shakes his head once with a rumble of feigned apology. “Give me my sin again.”
This time, she too leans into the kiss and he sees her close her eyes as they touch. Her lips suckle gently on the edge of his plates as he purrs and strokes his thumb across her chin. Her kiss is like a burning fire, the heat something he can easily become addicted to.
It will be impossible to return to the turian battlement, only to face her people should their people not reach an agreement for peace.
What happens when I don’t write enough on the works I already have on going? I get more ideas -_-
Ladyhawk/Sharkarian AU #8
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
Ladyhawk/Sharkarian AU #6
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.”
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