#masseffectwritetober

prompt list ► CHAOS: a distinctive area of broken ground

[dedicating this one to @biotictrash and @renlyslittlerose <3]

Kaidan has never met anybody quite like Shepard.

He thinks about that more often than he might like to admit. He thinks about it over his morning coffee with Shepard’s bark of loud laughter rattling the table, filling him with a warmth he can’t explain. He thinks about it before getting to work on his afternoon reports, Shepard sprawled out on the seats in the starboard observation lounge where Kaidan likes to linger. He thinks about it on the shuttle ride to their mission, Shepard’s gaze boring into him across the cabin but always drifting just as Kaidan looks up. 

Most of all, he thinks about it when Shepard’s not around. 

Because when Shepard’s not around, Kaidan can see the chaos in Shepard’s wake, clear as day. Broken ground where his boots have tread, and Kaidan always seems to be following these trodden paths like he has nowhere else to go.

And Kaidan knows that isn’t true. He could have left the Normandy behind, gone to work with Hackett and stowed away the best part of three years to some forgotten corner of his mind. He could’ve gone silent, underground, fully within his newfound Spectre capabilities, and hunted for his biotics division to aid the war effort in his own way. 

He didn’t have to follow Shepard.  

Kaidan tells himself that every day, as if it’s an essential part to an equation he can’t quite solve. He runs the same algorithm, the same sequence of logic, always to an answer that doesn’t make sense. Not at first.

Slowly, though, Kaidan manages to find reason in the places he never thought to look.

It’s in the way Shepard always fixes him with a smile after his laughter dies out, as if to make sure he got the joke. It’s in the way Shepard always seeks him out, deliberately spending time in that quiet observation lounge to be with him. It’s in the way Shepard, for all his bravado and his bluster, won’t look at him before they touch down on a mission that could go so badly wrong.

Kaidan follows sequences, reason, rhyme; things that make sense. Shepard chases after the unknown with a ferocity that shakes a galaxy to its core.

For every neutral ground, there must be chaos. Kaidan understands that. 

prompt list ► EVENT HORIZON: the boundary at which light becomes dark

Shepard is used to the dark.

He doesn't like it; it's cold and isolating, and turns the smallest of spaces into vast expanses that slip just out of reach. It makes you feel impossibly small, defenseless - completely at the mercy of whatever might be lurking inside it. You can't see. You can barely hear over the sound of your own heartbeat, echoed in the expanse. Your hands cling onto nothing, over and over, until you string yourself up with doubt - will I fall if I step over there? Will I hit something if I move over here? You don't know.

But the dark is all Shepard remembers, aside from the Normandy in pieces, scattered across the interstellar space.

There had been thousands of stars surrounding him in deep space, but all entirely insignificant in their luminosity. Not one of them breached the encroaching field of black space. Not one of them seemed to burn for longer than a moment before Shepard lost sight of them, little by little as they slipped through the gaps in his outstretched fingers.

Now, Shepard knows he doesn't like the dark. Never has done - the dark reminds him of the dirty neon streets of Brooklyn, the places where lights flicker and leave him walking alone. Shepard understands that.

But it's only now that he realizes he's afraid of the dark, too.

His fists tighten around nothing, armour scorched and broken, and then Shepard feels his throat constrict. At first, he thinks it's his fear taking hold, slowly driving him to the brink of panic, but the hissing at his ears tells another story.

"No- no, no- No!"

It's all dark. He can't see as he reaches for his helmet seal, fingers scrabbling for purchase that they can't find, body slowly shutting down with a desperate combination of unbridled fear and the inevitability of dying.

Eventually, Shepard stops struggling.

Shepard had never been in total darkness; he was burning up the sky like a sun.

prompt list ► COMET: to light up the sky, if only for a moment

Shepard's biased, but he'll always say that fireworks on the Presidium will never hold a candle to real fireworks in real air, like back home. On Earth. The screech of rockets before they light up the entire sky for that split-second where Shepard can imagine he's out in space again, before the sparks scatter and leave only the Earth sky behind.

The crisp November air comes with a chill that sinks to the bone, no matter how many layers you wear. Shepard shakes off a shiver and stuffs his hands into his coat pockets, curling fingers into fists to try and stave off the numb feeling. Next to him, he hears the crunch of leaves underfoot - frost-laden, if the sharp crack is anything to go by - and spares a sideways glance. Scott smiles up at him, a cold blush over his nose and cheeks, and his breath fogs in the air when he mumbles a greeting.

"Cold?" Shepard asks, half-smiling. The fireworks crack in the distance, flashes of red and green and gold colouring the park in dim-lit shades before the nighttime grey settles back in.

Scott nods with a huff, another curl of breath fogging around him. Shepard doesn't hold back his smile this time, but he frees a hand from his pocket and lifts his arm up. Scott doesn't need telling twice, eagerly stepping over to his side and sneaking an arm around Shepard's waist, shivering lightly.

"Jesus, Scott, you are actually cold. We can go inside if you want." Cade says, expression turning concerned as he lowers his arm to rest around Scott's shoulders, squeezing gently before running his hand up and down Scott's arm, trying to warm him up.

"Nah, I like this." Scott grins up at Cade, blue eyes lit up by the gold in the sky for a second as another rocket bursts overhead. Cade rolls his eyes, huffing out a quiet laugh as he returns his attention to the sky.

"If you wanted my attention, you only had to ask." Cade tells him with a smirk firmly in place. Scott shoves him gently, snorting with barely-contained laughter.

"Cade, I'm not competing with a fireworks display."

"Oh, I don't know, you might have to."

Easy laughter always follows them then, more so now in the aftermath of the war, but Cade never takes it for granted. Even now, seeing the familiar faces of his crew in the bonfire crowd, it's all too easy to pretend that the war never happened. That makes Cade uneasy, in a way he can't quite explain. In some ways, it's like trying to forget something you never knew. In other ways, it's left a mark that will never go away, no matter how long his life stretches out.

It's not worth dwelling on. Cade stows the thought away, not for the last time, and forces a smile back into place when he sees Ash and Kaidan making their way over, both carrying two generous mugs of steaming cocoa nearly overflowing with whipped cream.

"Where's mine?" Scott snickers, reaching out to swipe some cream from Ashley's mug before she bats his hand away.

"Uh, back at the kiosk. Last time I checked, you had functioning legs, Scott." Ash says pointedly, but there's no mistaking the fondness to her words.

"That's debatable. I can't feel my toes." Scott argues, cracking Ash's facade easily. She just grins at him over her mug.

"Yeah, I can just about feel my fingers." Cade agrees, blowing out a sharp breath that fogs up immediately, as if to prove his point.

"You Earth boys. So delicate." Ashley laughs, "Kaidan's been dying for cocoa all night. Right, Kaidan?"

"Hm?" Kaidan joins the conversation a little late, looking up from his mug with a fetching whipped cream 'tache in place. Cade sniggers, trying not to laugh outright, but Scott almost keels over next to him, shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter. Ash is the only one who manages to keep her face relatively straight, but the crinkle of her nose gives her away, and when Kaidan shoots them all a questioning look, she gives up her pretense.

Being so used to dark skies means you pay attention to the moments when it's not, Cade supposes. Whether that's fireworks over the park, or a comet outside a starship viewing port, it's the same difference. The same light.

prompt list ► GALACTIC TIDE: the force experienced by objects subject to substantial gravity

The crack of the sniper firing doesn't make Scott flinch anymore, even if the noise leaves a ring echoing in his ears - it's good enough to mask the thudding of his heartbeat. The rifle butt kicks back into his shoulder with immense pressure, but two years of the same old thing is long enough for anyone to build up a resistance.

Peering down through the scope, Scott ensures his mark is down and out before he slips back into the shadows, dismantling his rifle with practiced ease. Rounding a corner, he carefully packs the dismantled gun into his rucksack, strapping it into place before slipping the straps over his shoulders and heading out of the alleyway.

Omega always seems to be lit up in a constant haze of dirty air, punctuated by the flickering neon of signs along each desperate street, rife with light-fingered thieves and brutes, paid off by Omega's fucked-up royalty. Regardless, it's become a... strange kind of home. Scott keeps coming back, and he knows why - the name's etched into an old cigarette lighter that he fishes out of his pocket from time to time - but it's not something he dwells on. Still feels kind of raw, no matter which way Scott tries to look at it.

Eventually, he stopped trying.

Two years is long enough to grieve, isn't it? Scott runs a thumb over the smooth black casing of the lighter, stashed in his jacket pocket today, and tries to derail his train of thought before it goes too far.

"Hey- watch it, human!" a batarian lunges for Scott for no good reason, but Scott dodges and dashes into another alleyway, leaving the batarian yelling at empty space. Once he's out of earshot, Scott heaves a sigh of relief and carries on. His feet know where they're going, even if his mind is aimless. He knows these streets too well by now.

The pounding bass from Afterlife grows under his footsteps, vibrations running through him, flaring up his senses and threatening the headache at the base of his skull. Grimacing, he runs a hand over a scruffy, unshaven jaw, eyes set dead-ahead on the doors where his payment would be waiting behind.

When he gets there, the doors slide open to reveal a dim lit room, buzzing with the noise of the club overhead. Scott steps through, letting the doors close behind him.

"Job's done. You're not putting off my credits again." Scott warns, trying to fix his gaze on the figure he can't quite make out in the gloom. Something seems off. Narrowing his eyes, he dares to step closer.

"You're a hard worker, aren't you, Ryder?"

That's not a voice he knows. Scott freezes in place, sucking in a quiet breath, willing his mind to stay sharp.

"Who the fuck are you?" he asks, cold and clear, not willing to be messed about tonight.

The figure laughs softly, a sound not suited to the shadow, and finally moves so Scott can see her properly. She's small and unassuming, dark hair, dark eyes, with a pretty smile to cover up whatever lie she's spinning right now.

"Do you want your paycheck?" she asks, sweetly, sickly sweet, and bats her eyelashes right at him. Scott barely hides the snarl pulling at his lips before he backs down, stance relaxing a little. He holds a hand out, and feels her press a cold, smooth credit chit into his palm.

"Good boy."

"Don't patronize me." Scott hisses, yanking his hand away. He stashes the chit in his jacket pocket, and fumbles for the lighter again. He runs a thumb over the rough etching of the name on the case. It calms him down. Always does.

"I'm not here to patronize you, as easy as you make it." the woman sneers, folding her arms tight as she looks him up and down. "My name's Hope Illium, and I'm here to make you an offer."

Scott just listens, lips drawn into a grim line.

"And if you care about that little trinket in your pocket, it's an offer you can't refuse."

That intrigues him, more than he likes to admit. He feels a deep pull in his chest, almost tugging at heartstrings he thought were long frayed away. Scott frowns, assessing the situation. His thoughts are coming rapid-fire now, but one sticks out above all the rest. One makes more sense to him than anything else. One resonates just how he's been feeling lately, pulled inexplicably to the same old streets, the same old dirty credits, the same old routine of thumbing the lighter in his pocket like some kind of hopeless prayer.

Something kept him going for these two years. Something. Someone.

Scott curls a hand around the lighter in his pocket, pulling it out. When it hits the light, he can read the name etched so clearly along the casing.

Shepard.

"I know he's alive." Scott says, quietly, as if afraid to speak the words. He looks up from the lighter, eyes locking on the dark glint of Hope's own. She smiles, slow and cruel and, god, the sight would turn his stomach if he wasn't so desperate.

i got lazy and didn’t write for yesterday, so here it is, nice n short!!

prompt list ► FIELD GALAXY: to be gravitationally alone

It's easy to lose yourself in Arcturus. Shepard's known that from the day he touched down on the station with nothing but duffel bag of things meant to belong to him. Despite his name, despite his rank, despite the N7 emblazoned on his casual t-shirt, he was immediately drowned out by the rest of the station.

He didn't like it. He's been used to months of attention, both polite and entirely invasive in the wake of his actions on Torfan, culminating in the shitshow that had earned him an N7 commendation, and a conveniently timed pull from active duty.

Shepard's been labelled a troublemaker from the start. 'Defiant' was a term overused in every evaluation, 'traumatized' was another trying to explain his actions. Neither were appropriate. Shepard stopped listening to the psych evals after a while.

In all honesty, he felt alone. And that made him itch under the skin, fingers twitching at every opportunity to stir up trouble, sharp eyes chasing down a mark before it disappeared. It was constant, a buzzing in the back of his mind that wouldn't go away until something or someone came along who was louder than the noise inside his head.

And oh, he showed up.

After two years on Arcturus, waking up to another grey morning with the same grey faces in the same grey uniform, Shepard expected the same grey day to follow.

Instead, he got blue.

Bright blue. Angry, hurt, sad; a blue for every kind of emotion, all condensed into the eyes of a man who stared right back at Shepard instead of looking away.

prompt list ► CELESTIAL EQUATOR: two people looking at the same star, unknowing.

Early morning, purple sky, stars just about to wane. Shepard loves this time of day for the calmness it brings, before the tumult of the day begins. A rare moment to himself, and a sorely-needed one. There's aches in places he didn't know could ache, bruises on his shins from bumping into every kind of kids toy in the past few days, and a faint headache threatening when he thinks about getting the boys ready for school.

Sighing, Cade blows gently over the steaming mug of coffee held securely in his hands, balanced in his cross-legged lap as he sits on the deck, back to the glass door of his and Scott's room. The cool sensation mixed with the warm drink is refreshing, in a way he can't really explain. Grounding, perhaps? Cade doesn't know.

His thoughts are interrupted by a gentle tap on the decking, and he blinks, turning to find the source of the noise. A boy, barely 5, rubs his tired eyes and yawns, stumbling towards Cade on the deck. Cade stifles a chuckle at the sight and sets his coffee down, away from tiny feet, and reaches over to guide the boy to where he is.

"You're an early bird today, Tom." Cade says, earning an unintelligible mumble in response. Tom clambers into Cade's lap then, head tucked against Cade's chest and arms folded close, all too comfortable in his new perch.

"What you doin'?" Tom asks sleepily, words muffled by Cade's shirt.

Truth be told, Cade doesn't know. He just... sits out here every morning. It's habit. There's no reason. Glancing skywards, Cade observes the fading light of the stars way overhead for a moment before answering.

"Looking at the stars."

Tom looks up then, following Cade's gaze upwards. He blinks a few times, eyes adjusting to the pale light, but his expression gives his wonder away in seconds. Cade smiles to himself.

"Why?" Tom persists, at that age where he needs to know everything he possibly can.

"Because I like them." Cade answers simply, smoothing Tom's wild bed-hair into something less chaotic.

Tom looks to be in thought for a moment, but it passes, and his expression returns to that of childlike wonder. Cade wants to know what he's thinking in that curious mind of his, but he keeps his quiet and simply watches.

After a while longer, Tom smiles and looks up at Cade. It's his 'I have a secret' smile, the one he uses so often to try and get his brother into trouble, and Cade knows it all too well. Tapping a pointer finger to Tom's button nose, Cade chuckles.

"Alright. What impossible secret have you conjured up?" he asks, and Tom giggles, batting Cade's hand away.

"I have a favourite star." Tom sniffs, looking back up at the sky. Cade looks up too, trying to find which one it could be.

Eventually, he has to ask.

"And which one is that?"

Tom shakes his head and smiles brighter, looking back at Cade.

"Daddy, it's a secret!"

"Oh, I'm sorry. Okay, you keep your secrets safe then, hm?" Cade grins back, and Tom nods his approval, settling back into Cade's lap easily.

After a moment, Cade feels a heavy weight at his chest, and he's certain Tom's fallen back asleep. Sighing softly, Cade picks up his coffee and takes a sip, careful not to move too much. He glances skywards again, and scans the purple horizon for the stars he knows are there, despite their fading light. There's one there that's brighter than all the rest of them, a North star if Cade guesses right, and he's of a mind to believe that might just be Tom's star. Always drawn to the brighter things, both of them, and Tom is every bit his father's son as Cade could imagine. It makes a certain kind of sense.

Smiling to himself again, Cade curls a warm arm around Tom, squeezing gently.