#lantarsidonis

"Right." Lantar pulled the menu back and buried his nose in it, trying to remember the little bit of Palaven-Standard he knew in order to try and translate some of the food words. He couldn't concentrate on food right now. He surreptitiously glanced at the time on his omnitool. 1815. His foot drummed under the table. Garrus finally closed the menu. "What are you thinking?" What am I thinking? I'm thinking too much. Too much about you, Garrus. I've seen you at your worst, but I want to see you at your best. I want to repay all the trust you've put in me. I want you to be happy; I want to see you like I saw you in that old photo, standing tall and proud. I don't want there to be any barriers between us. And yes, I want to drag you into bed and get to work on tearing down those barriers. I want to see your soul bared before me, and I will bare mine in turn. I think I'm in love with you, you stubborn beautiful person, and I don't know what to do with that.Instead of saying all that, he pointed to an item on the menu. I wanna do all the illustrations for this amazing fanfic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4418258?view_full_work=true  by @pleasespellchimerical​. This is from the chapter 8. Hope you like it: D

He froze when he heard voices outside.

Garrus could work with that. There might be trouble down the line; that small kind of pistol was not made for punching through the reinforced armor and shields that the big gangs used. But for now, he was just happy that the guy he'd picked up would be able to hold his own.

The apartment was tiny. Smaller then Lantar's, even. There was barely enough room for a kitchen space, a vid screen, and a bed. A door in the back probably was the bathroom. The place smelled musty. As Lantar's eyes adjusted to the darkness, he realized that liquor bottles were scattered everywhere. Definitely not what he expected from Archangel. Maybe it was a safe house. A decoy. A light flickered on. Lantar turned to watch Archangel pull off the helmet and set it on the counter. The man wasn't what he expected either. His plates were grey, with a touch of silver. Bold blue markings—Palaven, Cipritine; a privileged background. He wore a visor underneath the helmet, which he also pulled off. The man's eyes—bright blue—were sunken, and his face was thinner than it should be. Archangel was just as battered as the apartment. Maybe this wasn't just a safe house. Lantar leaned against the doorframe, unsure of what to say. Archangel pulled a half-full bottle out from under the counter. "Drink?" Lantar nodded. Archangel pulled out two glasses, and passed one across the counter. He tipped the shot down before Lantar could even bring the glass to his mouth. The alcohol burned on the way down. It was cheap, shitty stuff. He suppressed a cough and set the glass down, waving away the offer of a refill. Archangel quickly poured himself a second one, and that too, was gone in a flash. Lantar quickly added "alcoholic" to the list of things he didn't expect from Omega's local angel. "Sorry about this place," Archangel said, waving a hand. "I didn't exactly expect company."

This is an illustration made by me of a Mass Effect fanfiction in Archive on Our Own by MundaneChampagne (on Tumbrl @pleasespellchimerical). It’s very beautiful and stunning, it’s really worth to be reading.