#ladya write

Summary:   Commander Caleb Shepard's warnings of the Reaper invasion have come to pass, and now Earth is in a fight for survival. While Shepard fights to unite the galaxy against the worst threat imaginable, those left on Earth do their best to hold on until help comes. Led by Major Ryan Coats and Lieutenant Commander Abigail Williams, two of Shepard's closest friends, Earth has a chance. But, if London falls...

Note: This is a side series to Giorraíonn beirt bóthar, Caleb Shepard’s series.

Tags:  Side Series, Mass Effect 3, Big Ben, War, London

Characters: Major Ryan Coats, Lieutenant Commander Abigail Williams

Chapter 1:  Big Ben

Excerpt: 

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned…

Said woman, at the moment, lies flat on her back and ass staring up at the worst nightmare imaginable coming true before her eyes, and she has plenty of experience and training geared toward imagining the worst.  

At first, she thinks she’s seeing stars… but stars don’t shoot beams of red or zip around clear blue skies on warm late-Spring London afternoons while targeting anything that moves.  Neither do they bring down buildings simply by bumping into or stepping on them.  Nor do they tower over some of the largest skyscrapers on Earth.  

Abigail Victoria Williams, get your sorry ass up and moving or you will end up seeing stars, and not the good kind!

Aches that have no business plaguing someone as well-trained as she is ripple through the muscles of her back and hips in protest as Abby struggles into a sitting position.  “Fuck you, Ash!” she vents aloud a moment later, half-hissing and half-groaning as she rolls onto her hands and knees.  Shooting pain lances up through her right wrist and forearm, bringing quick tears to her eyes, but somehow, she catches herself on her elbow and forearm before her face connects with the pavement… or what’s left of it.  Oh, that’d be one hell of a way to greet these bastards, now, wouldn’t it?  

Get moving, Williams!

Growling in the back of her throat, Abby pushes to her feet.  A quick scan of the area locates the pistol she’d been carrying when she was tossed like a grain of sand in a giant windstorm, and she grabs that with her good hand.  Pain screams through every nerve and joint in her body, but she stumbles and limps forward. She’s moving, and that’s a hell of a lot better than many people can say right now.  Still, after just a step or two, her vision blurs again – must’ve hit my head, too.  Thankfully, it’s short-lived, fading within four or five steps.  All around her, even through blurred vision, she finds… devastation and destruction.  The pain in her chest as she tries to take a deep breath and evaluate her situation, has little to do with the physical and everything to do with the emotional...

~~~

Next installment of the  Giorraíonn beirt bóthar series

Summary: Leaving Ireland and the Tenth Street Reds behind him, Caleb Shepard finds a new life in the Alliance military.  Presented with a chance to fulfill one of his dreams, sniper school, he thinks nothing can stand in his way.  Until he meets his roommate, an unexpected rival and a man who can jeopardize everything he’s worked towards so far in his career…

Coats drops onto his bunk, relaxing back against the pillow.  “So, what’s a Paddy like you doing in the Alliance?”

Caleb swallows tightly.  Only his bed, about three additional feet between them, and his ability to keep his temper in check separate him from the Englishman. Silently, he debates whether or not he can make the distance in one leap.  Ideally, he wants to yank the man’s tongue out so he can’t speak; instead, a tight smile forms at his lips but doesn’t quite reach his eyes as he sacrifices that whim to keep his dream alive.  For now.  “Same as anyone else, I expect …”

Chapter: Teammates

Chapter Summary: When the past comes back to haunt

Characters:  Caleb Shepard, (Ryan) Coats

Tags: angst, military backstory, Earthborn background, sniper school/training, military training, Irish vs. English, national pride, Irish language, pub brawl

Author’s Note: HUGE thanks to @nightmarestudio606​ and @mallaidhsomo​ for their betaing skills and suggestions!

Excerpt:

He comes back to himself with a start, his breath heaving in sharply, painfully in his lungs, and it takes him a minute to realize he is no longer alone.  A sound to his right, the slightest hint of steel scraping against the tiled flooring, has him spinning toward it.  He has no weapon ready – the sniper rifle is only half reassembled at this point – but his fists clench tightly.  Fueled by anger, they’re as effective a weapon as any.

Laughter greets him.  “Wondered when you’d realize I was here,” Coats says, cocky slant to his lips.  “Must’ve been some memory to pull you that far away.”

Caleb’s lips open; he draws in another breath, unable to respond at first.  Finally, he croaks out, “Aye.”  Blinking, his gaze lifts.  “Thought you were headed to the pub?”

“Changed my mind,” the man replies, smirk broadening. “If we’re going to defeat the lads out in the field, figured you and I needed to talk some.”

Caleb cocks his head slightly to his left, reassessing the man.  “Aye,” he agrees at length, “that we do.”

Coats grabs his chair and turns it so he can rest his arms across the top while resting his chin on them.  “Got something special in mind?”

Caleb’s lips slowly curve upward at the corners. “A thing or two, perhaps.” 

~~~~~

I was tagged by the marvelous @pigeontheoneandonly - thank you!  Tagging anyone who wouldlike to join in!  All I ask is you tag me back so I can see what you are working on!

Well, I was working on edits to a Caleb fic today, so I had to dig deep to find something.  Here’s part of the first drabblings I did about Rhys when he was starting to take shape in my head.  Most of this will probably stay somewhere in his story, though with some adjustments/changes.

Setting:  BAaT; Rhys is 16, Kaidan is 17

~~~

It’s the name that pulls Rhys’ attention enough back to the present.  Moments later as he falls into his bed, just beneath Schaumburg’s, he sees why.  The bed is stripped of its bedding and everything that belonged to Schaumburg is gone.  The small trunk at the end of the bed, the photo frame of him and his sister, the pile of datapads of his favorite books.  Pushing away from Kaidan, Rhys stumbles to the far end of the room, barely making it into a stall before he loses the contents of his stomach.

Afterward, and with a groan he cannot stop to save his life, he pushes to his feet.  Never before has water felt so good against his skin as he washes his face.  Bracing his arms against the counter, he stares at his reflection.  The face that meets his looks so unlike him for a moment he thinks it belongs to someone else.  Only the stark blue eyes, empty and wide, are identifiable.  The haircut is shorter than his usual, military regulation even for a bunch of kids.  His skin is so pale the few freckles he has on his cheeks stand out in stark contrast. The scar at his lip, gained from wrestling with his father when he was little, looks far more serious than it ever has before, as does the one at his neck, a reminder to be more aware of his surroundings back on his grandparents’ ranch on Earth.  

“Feel better?”

Rhys glances to his left where Alenko leans against the doorframe, effectively blocking anyone else from entering the room. For that alone, Rhys is thankful. When his friend turns the lights off and the pressure in his head immediately lessens a fraction, he thinks he’d die for him if necessary.  Slowly, like jelly dripping down the outside of a jar, he slides to the tiled floor, draws his knees to his chest and wraps his arms around them.  “Hardly,” he whispers hoarsely.

Alenko’s steps are quiet as he approaches.  Next Rhys knows, he’s dropped beside him, sitting cross legged and takes Rhys’ hand in his.  Rhys has no energy to look over … until he feels something placed in his palm. “This will help.”

Rhys recognizes the shape, the size and swallows the painkiller without water; he knows better than to ask how his friend got a hold of one.  With another groan, Rhys collapses, Kaidan guiding him down to the floor, his head onto his lap.  “How … how’s Rahna?”

“She’s fine.  Worried about you.”  There’s a pause, before he adds, “So am I, for that matter.”

Rhys manages a small shrug.  There’s no, why did you do that? between them.  No chastisement for bringing attention to himself. After all, it’s part of their agreement. They watch out for Rahna, end of story. Got your six.  He wonders what his mother would think of this situation, then the thought drifts away just as quickly.  “’ll be fine,” he slurs.

“You’re talking to someone who gets them regularly, Shepard.  Don’t bullshit me.”

I was tagged by the lovely @ghostxofxartemis - thank you, dear!

Tagging back @swaps55 @guileandgall @jedirangerpenguin @maxrev (no obligation!) and anyone else who might want to play!

I write: daily |  most days | a few times a week | a few times a month | random

I write most often: when I first get up | later in the morning | afternoon | evening | the wee hours of the night | whenever

In one sitting, I tend to write: a few sentences at a time | a few hundred words | a few thousand words | a complete chapter/section no matter how long | An outline |    whatever comes 

I tend to write scenes: in chronological order with no skipping | mostly in order but with some filler/skipping | whatever scene I feel like | who knows what’s gonna come out????

The things that comes easiest to me are: dialogue | description of senses | description of action | description of characters | exposition | other [please specify, i’m curious :P]

I tend to write: on a phone/Tablet | on a laptop | in a notebook | on whatever paper I can find | with speech to text | in the blood of my enemies | it doesn’t really matter to me | on paper first and then typed up | old school typewriter | On a computer

When I take a break from writing, it usually lasts: a few days | a few weeks | a few months | it’s kind of random **(what’s a break? lol) a day or two at most

My favorite thing to do when I’m on a writing break is : recharge with other creative hobbies | read/ consume other media (I usually have music or ASMR going in the background or a show I’ve watch before) | do something physical | catch up with old friends | work on my WIP in other ways like with playlists or art | other [please specify for us nosy rosies XD].worry that my massive writer’s block is returning

I was tagged by @ljandersen and @jediwalkerw - thank you both for thinking of me!  Tagging anyone who has not yet been tagged because I’ve lost track of who has and hasn’t!

Think I’ll focus on Caleb Shepard’s Akuze fic I’ve been working on.  There’ll be a couple of familiar names and many new ones...

~~~

Caleb Shepard: “It isn’t right, Athair!”

[the rest are all NPCs from the story]

Athair:   “She wouldn’t want you to mourn, son.”

Captain Erin Bates: “Enter.”

Meijer:   “Assume hostiles?”

Sergeant Angela Nevarra:  “Sir, these are at least a week old,”

Comms Spec. Harris:  “On my way, sir!”  

Grassini: "Sir, a big fat nothing on the north side”

Corporal Toombs: “Same on the south side, sir.”

Corporal Aoki:  “It’s completely empty in the buildings, sir.”

Simmons: “Aye, sir!”

Masterson:   “Sir, we’re heading out just now.”  

Private Alvarez:  “Anything good in there, LT?”

Jenson:  “A good one, sir?”

Private Malik:  “S-sir!  Sorry, sir! “

Private Owens:   “Sir!  We’re south of the camp just a little over two miles.”

Carter:   “Don’t know what it is!”

Kaidan Alenko:  “Lieutenant – stay with me, Shepard!”

Nurse:  “Slow down, lieutenant, you are safe.”

Anderson: “Relax, son,  I understand you had quite a time of it on Akuze.”

So, been working on Chapter 2 of If London Falls...  Here’s a bit of that.

~~~~

2186, London, England, Earth; Day 1

Palace.

Well, she isn’t a native, but even she knows that, as the crow flies, it isn’t all that far from the clocktower to Buckingham Palace. Vaguely, she ponders the fate of the Royals.  Were they even in the city when the Reapers hit?  Did their security team get them out?  The palace itself is less than a mile away; an easy jaunt on a good day.  She’d barely break a sweat jogging there from here.  Less than a ten-minute walk.

But today isn’t a good day, not by a long shot, and it’s going to take hours to get there.  Birdcage Walk is a nightmare of devastation and Reapers; so bad that she opts to work her way through the back streets to avoid the worst of it, if that’s even possible, climbing from pile to pile, hole to hole, shadow to shadow.

She’s barely two blocks from the clocktower, picking her way past debris and rubble, and hoping those husk creatures stay way the fuck away from her as she has no ammunition left, when the reality of the situation hits her cold in the face. 

Just days ago, sitting atop one of London’s famed double decker tour skybuses, she rode past this area. She can almost hear the tour guide’s voice now – Eddie, she thinks his name was? Lovely green eyes and a mop of honey-blond waves that her younger sister Lynn would love – And here we have Middlesex Guildhall which for years served as the Supreme Court for the entirety of the United Kingdom. Designed by James S. Gibson in an art nouveau gothic style, it was built between 1906 and 1913. The reliefs, friezes, and some of the statue-work were created by Henry Charles Fehr and depict various images from British history…

Abby digs her toe into a small pile of shattered stonework lying at her feet. The building itself smolders, chugging giant plumes of thick smoke from near the center of the block. She’s at the crossroads of streets whose names she can’t recall, signage now missing, but the building she isn’t likely to forget anytime soon. Ashley always had a thing for poetry, but Abby? She loves architecture. Something about the clean lines and precise angles of a shape, and the varied ways to decorate them. This particular building had a bit of both to it, and it was the friezes on the outer façade and the stories they told that fascinated her – King John at Runnymede handing over the Magna Carta to his barons, King Henry III granting the charter for Westminster Abby, and Lady Jane Grey being offered the crown by the Duke of Northumberland, her father. History plus beauty; Abby’d returned here after the tour to examine it in more detail and get some better pictures.