Crap.

Fanfiction Scribbles #35274809

Kaidan blames the state of the galaxy for the state of his evening.

Casey’s flushed with her hair down, and he has her by the shoulders, each one leading the other to the taxicab step by stumbling step. When they cram themselves in there and take off, he tilts his head back on the seat with an aimless sort of smile because getting tipsy wasn’t on his list of Things That Would Happen After One Steak Sandwich and Several Bottles of Batarian Shard Wine in addition to having the good doctor join him in insobriety as well.

“Where to?” he abruptly asks, just now remembering that they can’t stay here for the rest of the night-cycle no matter how cushy the seats are.

She gives an exaggerated shrug. “If I recall correctly, my apartment’s closer.”

“That’s where we’re going then,” Kaidan decides with a certainty that he has never shown sober.

“Ever the gentleman,” Casey says, “You even paid for dinner tonight.”

“You covered my drinks last time,” he points out, but finds that his finger is gestured to the ceiling.

She grins. “I’m surprised you remember. How long ago was that? A year?”

“Nine months, so yeah, almost.”

Casey doesn’t comment on the fact that he counted. “Why the sudden invitation anyway?”

“I needed someone to celebrate my newly minted Spectre status with.”

With a snort, she notes, “And I’m the first person you thought of?”

“What can I say? I’ve been feeling nostalgic.” What Kaidan doesn’t tell her is that he was thisclose to asking Shepard the very same day, but knows that she would have pursed her lips in that special way of hers and gently, but firmly, turn him down. That, and he wouldn’t have proposed the offer regardless. The rational part of his mind refuses to call this dinner anything other than a casual, platonic offer to reconnect with someone who isn’t Shepard.

“I see,” the doctor says carefully and leaves it at that.

-----

From what he knows about Casey (and it’s far less than some might assume), she takes her job as a doctor seriously, but manages to maintain a home life that results in her apartment looking lived-in—and amusingly messy. There are multi-colored datapads scattered across a desk shoved to one corner, plates stacked on an otherwise clean countertop, and long, bare-backed dresses thrown over the arm of an elegant couch. These are just the details Kaidan spots on first sight, but he has no time to catalogue them because the woman draped on his shoulders is laughing into the curve of his neck, breath hot and damp on his skin. 

“Christ, my apartment,” she wheezes, “sorry you have to see this.”

Softly shushing her, Kaidan shakes his head. “S’fine, really. The place looks homey.” He sidesteps a stray shirtsleeve poking out from underneath the table leg. “I like it.”

“Shut up, you hate it, and so do I,” Casey replies so blithely that he winds up laughing too. “I’ll do some cleaning after you leave.”

“Let’s get you to a bed first,” he suggests, to which the doctor hums in agreement and the subsequent vibration Kaidan steadfastly ignores.

Naturally, her personal quarters lie in the same state of affairs as the rest of the apartment. He can’t help but stare in wonder, silently comparing Casey’s situation to Shepard’s own room, and how spare and orderly the other woman keeps her things and by extension, her life. Kept. Still keeps?

She waves her hand in front of his face. “You okay?”

He blinks slowly, pushing Shepard away. “Yeah.”

Casey grabs his shoulders to look at him. A beat. Like flicking a switch, her gaze suddenly becomes shuttered and half-lidded. “No you’re not.”

He tries not to squirm. Since when has he become this easy to read? The part of Kaidan that’s still drunk urges him to drop the pretenses for once because honestly, with the way this war is raging, what are the chances that he will ever see her again after tonight? Can there be at least one other person besides Sh—her he allows inside? Hasn’t he had enough of holding everyone at a distance?

“No I’m not,” he sighs and feels the weight rising from his chest.

Nodding wordlessly, Casey the Citadel doctor leans against him, hands cupping his face. “It’s alright,” she says, her words made slurring and gentle by the wine, “She’s not someone you just ‘get over.’”

“It isn’t over though,” Kaidan insists, a delayed protest that sounds too much like a question.

“Of course,” she says.

“It’s not.”

“I know.”

“She won’t give me a straight answer—“

“Women never do—“

“And it’s my fault she won’t anyway—“

“Impossible—”

“But how could I trust her after Horizon and G—?”

“Stop thinking,” Casey hisses and covers his mouth with her own.

Kaidan freezes for a moment, more shocked than dismayed, but murmurs a pained, “I can’t” before kissing her back.

-----

Kaidan can taste the perfume leftover from Casey’s dress on her skin. It’s tart and slightly bitter, mingling with sweat; intrigued, he maps where the taste-scent has trailed off from its original location on the curve of her neck to across a protruding collarbone, the band of flesh between her breasts, and on down to the dip of her belly, where his hands have gripped her hips hard enough to leave bruises—he’ll kiss those later. She makes a noise somewhere between a gasp and a laugh when he tongues a circle around her bellybutton.

With the lights dimmed, it’s easy to imagine her with thicker, kinkier hair and broader, rougher palms whose nails leave marks down his back. Unlike Shepard though, Casey’s vocal, making her feelings known with every “yes” and “god” he wrings out of her—that, he can’t imagine away. Just as his mind begins to stray, her legs hook around his waist and pull so she’s pressed flush against every available inch of skin. In response, he kisses the hollow of her throat, bucking into her impatient fingers—or is he used to slower hands?

His smile comes out more like a grimace that the shadows hide. Even now, with Casey writhing beneath him, Kaidan can’t stop processing the differences and similarities between who he has and who he misses. 

Eventually, he comes quietly, breathing harshly into her ear as she clutches at him, riding out the aftershocks of her own release. The air seems to drop several degrees while they collect themselves in each other’s arms. In a moment of tenderness, Kaidan brushes back the locks of hair matted to her forehead, limp from their exertions. Unexpectedly, there’s no instant feeling of dread or guilt, but only a hollow ache in his chest to keep his conscience company. On cue, Shepard winks in and out of his mind like the spectre she is, and when his eyes open to find Casey staring back, he knows she knows it too.

She thrums her fingers against his cheek, as if deciding what to do with him. Kaidan isn’t sure how to answer if she asks him to stay the night.

“Are you going?” she says instead.

“Well,” he starts. “I mean—“

“Go home, Kaidan.” She sits up, pushing him back until he’s leaning on his knees. “Then tomorrow, send her a message and ask her to come see you.” Her mouth twists. “Go on a date.”

“Casey, you don’t have to—“

“Oh but I do,” she says, shaking her head, “I really do.”

Kaidan blinks stupidly at her. “I’m sorry.”

She shrugs. “Don’t be.”

Curling an arm around her waist, he gives her one more kiss that says more than he’s able to on his own. She responds in kind, sighing and telling him all about it, but nevertheless is the first one to break it off, licking her lips as they pull away. Kaidan dresses himself, closes the door, and leaves without another word.

Let's Write Fic Instead

Mass Effect Works (so far): 1. No Contest (complete) 2. Not with a bang (not complete) 3. Too Long (not complete Schoolwork (so far): ...wat.

WAT

Goddammit, BLogspot, why do you gotta change the layout on me while I was away I can't make heads or tails of this mess HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO MAKE WORDS HUH

20 page paper this weekend?

Challenge accepted.

MISSING

Has anyone seen my motivation?

I seem to have misplaced it.

We Were Told That Society Owed Us a Hot Girl

Does it seem like men feel kind of entitled to sex? Does it seem like we react to rejection with the maturity of a child being denied a toy?

Well, you have to keep in mind that what we learn as kids is really hard to deprogram as an adult. And what we learned as kids is that we males are each owed, and will eventually be awarded, a beautiful woman.

We were told this by every movie, TV show, novel, comic book, video game and song we encountered. When the Karate Kid wins the tournament, his prize is a trophy and Elisabeth Shue. Neo saves the world and is awarded Trinity. Marty McFly gets his dream girl, John McClane gets his ex-wife back, Keanu “Speed” Reeves gets Sandra Bullock, Shia LaBeouf gets Megan Fox in Transformers, Iron Man gets Pepper Potts, the hero in Avatar gets the hottest Na’vi, Shrek gets Fiona, Bill Murray gets Sigourney Weaver in Ghostbusters, Frodo gets Sam, WALL-E gets EVE … and so on.

Hell, at the end of An Officer and a Gentleman, Richard Gere walks into the lady’s workplace and just carries her out like he’s picking up a suit at the dry cleaner.

And then we have Star Wars, where Luke starts out getting Princess Leia (in The Empire Strikes Back), but then as Han Solo became a fan favorite, George Lucas realized he had to award her to him instead (forcing him to write the “She’s secretly Luke’s sister” thing into Return of the Jedi, even though it meant adding the weird incest vibe to Empire). With Harry Potter, J.K. Rowling played with the convention by having the beautiful girl get awarded to the sidekick character Ron, but she made it a central conflict in the story that Ron is constantly worried that, since Harry is the main character, Hermione will be awarded to him instead.

In each case, the woman has no say in this — compatibility doesn’t matter, prior relationships don’t matter, nothing else factors in. If the hero accomplishes his goals, he is awarded his favorite female. Yes, there will be dialogue that maybe makes it sound like the woman is having doubts, and she will make noises like she is making the decision on her own. But we, as the audience, know that in the end the hero will “get the girl,” just as we know that at the end of the month we’re going to “get our paycheck.” Failure to award either is breaking a societal contract. The girl can say what she wants, but we all know that at the end, she will wind up with the hero, whether she knows it or not.

And now you see the problem. From birth we’re taught that we’re owed a beautiful girl. We all think of ourselves as the hero of our own story, and we all (whether we admit it or not) think we’re heroes for just getting through our day.

So it’s very frustrating, and I mean frustrating to the point of violence, when we don’t get what we’re owed. A contract has been broken. These women, by exercising their own choices, are denying it to us. It’s why every Nice Guy is shocked to find that buying gifts for a girl and doing her favors won’t win him sex. It’s why we go to “slut” and “whore” as our default insults — we’re not mad that women enjoy sex. We’re mad that women are distributing to other people the sex that they owed us.

Yes, the women in these stories are being portrayed as wonderful and beautiful and perfect. But remember, there are two ways to dehumanize someone: by dismissing them, and by idolizing them.

Epic Fail

I missed the ten post requirement for March CRAAAAAAP

And this month I have:

- one 10 page paper for American Lit

- one 20 page paper for Adv Comp

- one 20 minutes presentation for French Lit

- 9000+ little responses papers I haven't been keeping up with

FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK

>_>