Swarming [2/4]
anonymous
May 29 2011, 19:21:57 UTC
Pitiful.
This is not the time for a clip to jam.
Under tense moments, she can perform miracles with minimal resources, like annihilating an entire batarian troop with a single bullet. This moment, however, is beyond tense. The stress makes her pulse race to the point where her trauma unit begins administering emergency dosages of sedatives - an invention of Mordin's due to Cerberus concerns of logs where she spiked high enough to endanger her nervous system of overloading. It doesn't put her out - just smoothens out the most prominent curves.
For the same reason, she has a cool-down program installed in her bio-amp to hinder her from performing too many straining biotic attacks in a row. Shepard complained when it was revealed, saying that she was being punished for coming alive rather than allowed to savour it. ”No,” Miranda corrected, adjusting the programming via her omni-tool, ”we're just putting in measures to keep you alive, since you've lost certain... Boundaries.”
The word she was looking for was human. Human boundaries. As far as she knew, it wasn't a human standard to come back from the dead, so they could at least cut her some slack and give her props for trying.
I sense your weakness.
A biotic attack rips off a piece of her cover, and she can feel it shattering behind her. Curses fly from her mouth: the thermal clip is still stuck, and the glowing Collector is approaching her position, taunting her with that horrific voice. Miranda and Garrus are chatting over the comm, on the other side of the starport cargo square. They're pinned down but holding up - she can't say the same.
This delay is pointless.
Opting to fall further back, she flings a sputtering biotic attack at the Collector, who fires back with one of its own. A dark glowing orb hits her right in the chest, sending her staggering backwards, her kinetic shields knocked out in one punch.
It doesn't even really hurt, and that worries her a bit, because despite all the things she seems to fail at as a human, she still feels pain.
A three-fingered hand, lit up from underneath the cracks in the brown-grey carapace, reaches out as she tries to regain her footing and wrenches the weapon from her hands, warping the barrel and tossing it aside. One arm takes her around the waist, the hold on her too tight, too warm, and she struggles in the crushing embrace as it pulls them torso to torso.
You escaped us before Shepard, not again.
The ground is gone from underneath her, the buzz of wings sounding as it lifts her up into the air, and she twists her head around to see Horizon disappearing beneath her, and the Collector cruiser drawing closer.
Swarming [3a/4] (screw character limits...)
anonymous
May 29 2011, 19:23:28 UTC
Its other hand comes up to cup Shepard's chin, turning her head sharply to meet its eyes, lit up so brightly that they nearly blind her in their intensity.
The glowing hand closes around her throat, but instead of choking her she feels something different. She feels... Odd. There's no way to describe the sensations stirring, her body responding to the contact in a way that's definitely not natural. She can feel the intricate circuits under her skin lightt up and practically hum, as if in communication on another level.
It feels like a vital communion, beyond the skin and flesh, past anything she has ever experienced.
Well, there's the initial visceral reaction, as if the Collector - I am Harbinger it says to her, as if she spoke aloud, or even more worrying, that it hears what she is thinking - is peeling her apart, layer by layer, and penetrating past it all to tap into the essential core of who she is.
It's not entirely unpleasant, however reluctant she is to admit that.
Their rapid ascent slows down, coming to a halt as they hoover thousand of meters up in the air. The air is thinner, her lungs unable to find enough oxygen, and she's vaguely faint but she feels a lot of other things as well.
Much to embarrassment, she feels a wetness seeping out from between her legs as a reaction to what is being done to her - things she cannot even describe, so far beyond her comprehension.
If she has to word it in terms understable to a human, she'd say she's being mindfucked by this Harbinger and it feels fucking wonderful.
Embrace perfection.
A pang of something shivers through her nervous system, setting off a fire that makes her buck against it and what she thinks is a cry of pain comes out sounding more pleased than it should. The orgasm crashes through her, overwhelming and all too powerful, igniting an ache in her flesh that renders her unable to move. She spasms, flailing and thrashing in the vice-like hold Harbinger has on her, and it just won't stop.
I know you feel this.
She crests again, fingers clawing at the chitin and catching on the cracks where the sub-dermal glows seeps out, digging in with all her strength. At the same time, Harbinger is manipulating her nerves, and she objectively knows that her hard-suit is still on, that her underwear are still securely in place, and yet there's beads of sweat forming on her brow from the distinct tightening in her nipples.
Shepard, you are close to your ultimate perfection.
”Stop it,” she croaks, voice hoarse.
Never fear pain. It is an illusion.
A hurt at the end of her spine makes her let out a scream that burns her throat raw, and all of a sudden the pain of it all descends upon her without mercy. There's a feel of something invading her. She'd call it probing but that term brings up different connotations - this is almost gentle, and completely knowing in where to stimulate her. It knows her, reads her like an open map. What it performs on her is a gradual merger of two systems, a regular pulse of controlled overloading, keeping her incapacitated.
Plucking at the right strings, she finds herself at the mercy of Harbinger, and she doesn't know what to think - can't even think straight as they begin to spiral, spinning out of control from how she fights against it, going so far as to tug at the delicate wings, ripping the delicate segments.
Swarming [3b/4]
anonymous
May 29 2011, 19:24:12 UTC
Why do you resist?
Then it withdraws as suddenly as it came in, and instinctively Shepard tries to follow, but the pain in her spine intensifies, and she realizes that the suit integrity has been breached, a warm trickle going down her skin. The trauma unit shorts out, overheated, her omni-tool beeping warnings. Yet, in the midst of the chaos of the two of them battling high in the air, it has retreated an inch, and a modicum of control returns to her, and she makes a snap decision.
The seams of her skin crack as her fingers sink through the carapace and tears it apart, the head bursting open with light that burns and then it is nothing, ash, spreading in the gusts. In the choice between following onboard the cruiser and plummeting to certain death and skull split open on the ground, she picks the free-fall.
The ground approaches in a blur of green and gold rushing ever closer, and somewhere beneath the ear-deafening roar she hears it.
Swarming [4/4]
anonymous
May 29 2011, 19:24:40 UTC
A biotic field catches Shepard, cushioning her fall and putting her down on the ground with only mild bruises.
Miranda is immediately at her side, scanning Shepard's body back and forth. All the Commander does is lie still, letting her heartbeat slow down, one shaky breath at a time.
”The Collectors are pulling out,” Garrus comments. At that, Shepard sits up and watches the cruiser lift off, defense towers still working away at the grotesque shape of organic-like structure melding with sharp steel.
”Shepard!” Miranda gasps, ”what's happened to your face?”
In the reflective window of the Kodiak shuttle that lands beside them, her mirror image reveals one side of her cheek completely gone, the red glow of cybernetics glowing in the dull light. As she tries to touch it Miranda wrenches her hand back, telling her not to poke at it lest it get infected.
Garrus leans against the shuttle, observing. ”Looks like we're both equally ugly now, Commander.” It's an attempt at a joke, but the humor falls short in his voice.
Shepard watches the intricate latticework of cybernetics, able to recall exactly how the sensations brought forth by Harbinger travelled along individual routes there. They will meet again, and the thought that their peculiar exchange will happen again leaves her cold. How is one meant to cope with that prospect?
A familiar voice speaks her name - a voice from another time, a previous life.
She turns around to greet Kaidan, and he takes a step back, not in fear, but close enough.
”What happened to you?”
There aren't enough human words to convey what passed. Just a metallic rasp and a cheek with a scorching wound.
OP's not a puddle anymore. :O
anonymous
May 30 2011, 07:13:15 UTC
This. This was magnificent! Everything I wanted. <3 I love that you made it a longer fic. I love that only Shepard could hear Harbinger calling to her. I love that you made it dark, ripping her cheek off without any remorse. I agree with the other anon. I knew I had a thing for mindfuckery, but I never understood just how much. Thank you so much for crafting this together in such short time. "It's an attempt at a joke, but the humor falls short in his voice." This was so sweet. When I got Garrus, I chose the "You were always ugly anyways" joke. It was nice to see the comparison when it's /not/ funny, and it makes it all the more depressing. x3 I love the sort of... defeated ending. Lovedlovedlovedit. Not knowing how to cope, even Kaidan stepping back from her, unable to express how she feels and what happened. Beautiful.
Author!anon *is* a puddle
anonymous
May 30 2011, 08:21:07 UTC
*blush* I am so happy you liked it, I wasn't sure if I was making it too dark and serious and was considering just scrapping it for something cracky with Harbinger infiltrating the Citadel in a suit and fake moustache. Which would have been fun but I wanted to get this idea out of my head at least ^^; (Except it's still in there going what you doing what you up to hey hey hey Harbinger is going to meet Shepard again hey hey heyhave you thought about that huh? so if you excuse me, I am off to beat a plot nugget with a stick. Grr.)
Re: Author!anon *is* a puddle
anonymous
May 30 2011, 09:23:09 UTC
Hehe, I'm not Harbinger or Morinth, so I won't /try/ to manipulate you. But, if you ever get bored and the little plot bunny manages to escape unscathed... and you feel the need to chase it... and update me... constantly. You know, I wouldn't mind or anything. *GRIN.*
This is not the time for a clip to jam.
Under tense moments, she can perform miracles with minimal resources, like annihilating an entire batarian troop with a single bullet. This moment, however, is beyond tense. The stress makes her pulse race to the point where her trauma unit begins administering emergency dosages of sedatives - an invention of Mordin's due to Cerberus concerns of logs where she spiked high enough to endanger her nervous system of overloading. It doesn't put her out - just smoothens out the most prominent curves.
For the same reason, she has a cool-down program installed in her bio-amp to hinder her from performing too many straining biotic attacks in a row. Shepard complained when it was revealed, saying that she was being punished for coming alive rather than allowed to savour it. ”No,” Miranda corrected, adjusting the programming via her omni-tool, ”we're just putting in measures to keep you alive, since you've lost certain... Boundaries.”
The word she was looking for was human. Human boundaries. As far as she knew, it wasn't a human standard to come back from the dead, so they could at least cut her some slack and give her props for trying.
I sense your weakness.
A biotic attack rips off a piece of her cover, and she can feel it shattering behind her. Curses fly from her mouth: the thermal clip is still stuck, and the glowing Collector is approaching her position, taunting her with that horrific voice. Miranda and Garrus are chatting over the comm, on the other side of the starport cargo square. They're pinned down but holding up - she can't say the same.
This delay is pointless.
Opting to fall further back, she flings a sputtering biotic attack at the Collector, who fires back with one of its own. A dark glowing orb hits her right in the chest, sending her staggering backwards, her kinetic shields knocked out in one punch.
It doesn't even really hurt, and that worries her a bit, because despite all the things she seems to fail at as a human, she still feels pain.
A three-fingered hand, lit up from underneath the cracks in the brown-grey carapace, reaches out as she tries to regain her footing and wrenches the weapon from her hands, warping the barrel and tossing it aside. One arm takes her around the waist, the hold on her too tight, too warm, and she struggles in the crushing embrace as it pulls them torso to torso.
You escaped us before Shepard, not again.
The ground is gone from underneath her, the buzz of wings sounding as it lifts her up into the air, and she twists her head around to see Horizon disappearing beneath her, and the Collector cruiser drawing closer.
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The glowing hand closes around her throat, but instead of choking her she feels something different. She feels... Odd. There's no way to describe the sensations stirring, her body responding to the contact in a way that's definitely not natural. She can feel the intricate circuits under her skin lightt up and practically hum, as if in communication on another level.
It feels like a vital communion, beyond the skin and flesh, past anything she has ever experienced.
Well, there's the initial visceral reaction, as if the Collector - I am Harbinger it says to her, as if she spoke aloud, or even more worrying, that it hears what she is thinking - is peeling her apart, layer by layer, and penetrating past it all to tap into the essential core of who she is.
It's not entirely unpleasant, however reluctant she is to admit that.
Their rapid ascent slows down, coming to a halt as they hoover thousand of meters up in the air. The air is thinner, her lungs unable to find enough oxygen, and she's vaguely faint but she feels a lot of other things as well.
Much to embarrassment, she feels a wetness seeping out from between her legs as a reaction to what is being done to her - things she cannot even describe, so far beyond her comprehension.
If she has to word it in terms understable to a human, she'd say she's being mindfucked by this Harbinger and it feels fucking wonderful.
Embrace perfection.
A pang of something shivers through her nervous system, setting off a fire that makes her buck against it and what she thinks is a cry of pain comes out sounding more pleased than it should. The orgasm crashes through her, overwhelming and all too powerful, igniting an ache in her flesh that renders her unable to move. She spasms, flailing and thrashing in the vice-like hold Harbinger has on her, and it just won't stop.
I know you feel this.
She crests again, fingers clawing at the chitin and catching on the cracks where the sub-dermal glows seeps out, digging in with all her strength. At the same time, Harbinger is manipulating her nerves, and she objectively knows that her hard-suit is still on, that her underwear are still securely in place, and yet there's beads of sweat forming on her brow from the distinct tightening in her nipples.
Shepard, you are close to your ultimate perfection.
”Stop it,” she croaks, voice hoarse.
Never fear pain. It is an illusion.
A hurt at the end of her spine makes her let out a scream that burns her throat raw, and all of a sudden the pain of it all descends upon her without mercy. There's a feel of something invading her. She'd call it probing but that term brings up different connotations - this is almost gentle, and completely knowing in where to stimulate her. It knows her, reads her like an open map. What it performs on her is a gradual merger of two systems, a regular pulse of controlled overloading, keeping her incapacitated.
Plucking at the right strings, she finds herself at the mercy of Harbinger, and she doesn't know what to think - can't even think straight as they begin to spiral, spinning out of control from how she fights against it, going so far as to tug at the delicate wings, ripping the delicate segments.
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Then it withdraws as suddenly as it came in, and instinctively Shepard tries to follow, but the pain in her spine intensifies, and she realizes that the suit integrity has been breached, a warm trickle going down her skin. The trauma unit shorts out, overheated, her omni-tool beeping warnings. Yet, in the midst of the chaos of the two of them battling high in the air, it has retreated an inch, and a modicum of control returns to her, and she makes a snap decision.
The seams of her skin crack as her fingers sink through the carapace and tears it apart, the head bursting open with light that burns and then it is nothing, ash, spreading in the gusts. In the choice between following onboard the cruiser and plummeting to certain death and skull split open on the ground, she picks the free-fall.
The ground approaches in a blur of green and gold rushing ever closer, and somewhere beneath the ear-deafening roar she hears it.
I will find you again.
Reply
Miranda is immediately at her side, scanning Shepard's body back and forth. All the Commander does is lie still, letting her heartbeat slow down, one shaky breath at a time.
”The Collectors are pulling out,” Garrus comments. At that, Shepard sits up and watches the cruiser lift off, defense towers still working away at the grotesque shape of organic-like structure melding with sharp steel.
”Shepard!” Miranda gasps, ”what's happened to your face?”
In the reflective window of the Kodiak shuttle that lands beside them, her mirror image reveals one side of her cheek completely gone, the red glow of cybernetics glowing in the dull light. As she tries to touch it Miranda wrenches her hand back, telling her not to poke at it lest it get infected.
Garrus leans against the shuttle, observing. ”Looks like we're both equally ugly now, Commander.” It's an attempt at a joke, but the humor falls short in his voice.
Shepard watches the intricate latticework of cybernetics, able to recall exactly how the sensations brought forth by Harbinger travelled along individual routes there. They will meet again, and the thought that their peculiar exchange will happen again leaves her cold. How is one meant to cope with that prospect?
A familiar voice speaks her name - a voice from another time, a previous life.
She turns around to greet Kaidan, and he takes a step back, not in fear, but close enough.
”What happened to you?”
There aren't enough human words to convey what passed. Just a metallic rasp and a cheek with a scorching wound.
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You will regret your resistance, Shepard.
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I love that you made it a longer fic. I love that only Shepard could hear Harbinger calling to her. I love that you made it dark, ripping her cheek off without any remorse. I agree with the other anon. I knew I had a thing for mindfuckery, but I never understood just how much.
Thank you so much for crafting this together in such short time.
"It's an attempt at a joke, but the humor falls short in his voice."
This was so sweet. When I got Garrus, I chose the "You were always ugly anyways" joke. It was nice to see the comparison when it's /not/ funny, and it makes it all the more depressing. x3
I love the sort of... defeated ending. Lovedlovedlovedit. Not knowing how to cope, even Kaidan stepping back from her, unable to express how she feels and what happened.
Beautiful.
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But, if you ever get bored and the little plot bunny manages to escape unscathed... and you feel the need to chase it... and update me... constantly.
You know, I wouldn't mind or anything. *GRIN.*
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I think this will give me nightmares. I really do.
Well done, anon.
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And with this fill, you personified why this kinkmeme is so fantastic -- and wrote something indescribably hot. Thank you, anon!
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