❝ Well it’s good to take a break sometimes, right?❞
Hence her presence, although it wasn’t entirely her idea to take a holiday. Rather, it was more of a communal effort to get her to relive herself of her duties for at least a second.
❝ You know what they say— ‘all work and no play‘….❞
❝Makes y’dull or somethin, eh?❞
The phrase sounded familiar; he couldn’t put a finger to it, but he’s pretty sure he’s heard it before. Bah. Whatever.
He shrugged, giving his plate an idle poke.
❝I was a bit of'a workaholic growin’ up… guess I still kinda am… heh.❞
“Well…I’d much rather you crash here as well. Number of things could happen if you stay in an alley.”
A frown formed at the thought of that. Not that he couldn’t handle himself. He was obviously a skilled fighter and his heightened senses helped him keep an eye out on things, so to speak. But she worried about him. Especially when being in Central meant heavy military presence.
“But had I known it would ever be a possibility, I would’ve given you a key.”
▊✘┆— ❝Nah.❞
He gave a lazy wave of one of his hands, gaze dropping to the floor.
❝At th'risk'a soundin’ real creepy, ’m an expert at sneakin’ in and outta places. Probably better that way. ‘Cause if anything… did happen, there’d be nothin’ t'link ya to me. Y'know..❞
The last word comes with a bit of a growl. He’s quick to smother it with a sip of coffee, and his fingers tighten just slightly around the mug. That was a possibility he didn’t like to consider (even if he had to). She wasn’t the only one who lived here… Danny did, too.
Of course, the one time he hadn’t, he’d cursed himself. Lesson learned a bit too late, there. …bah. A faint snort emitted from his nostrils, and he stirred idly at the stew.
“It’s okay. Art happens or it doesn’t. Can’t force it.”
She scooted back on the coffee table, pulling her legs to fold beneath her. The bread she was making could wait to be finished. Not like it was going anywhere. She tilted her head back and gazed at the ceiling.
“I’ll find something that strikes me soon enough. Not my first slump. Won’t be my last. Life’s been a bit crazy lately so it’s just a bit harder to find that spark again.”
▊✘┆— He nodded.
❝Guess I can understand that.❞
He wasn’t the artistic type. At all. Must be pretty cool, though, to be able to create something that made a lot of people happy… and to also do it without the expense of someone else. Whatever Kaye made, it always managed to blow his mind… the pieces …–the ones he had by her still hung throughout the Nest where he knew they’d remain unharmed by idiotic shenanigans.
another snippet from chapter 6 cause it’s been hard to write lately, so enjoy Nikolai’s witty little sister Linnea as she enters the scene, more zoyalai banter and an exasperated Zoya. (and funny mentions of the Dregs)
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They reconvened in what looked like a study, except it was twice as big as Zoya’s sitting room in the Grand Palace and she doubted Kirigin had ever dedicated himself to paperwork. Nikolai and Tamar were sorting through reports while Zoya read the signed documents Nikolai had brought back from the Merchant Council, trying to soothe the brewing anger in her heart and the pulsing pain in her temples. Zoya lifted her head toward the door when she heard Nadia’s voice in the hallway, showing their guest the way. Nadia entered the room first, coming to sit beside her wife; behind her, a girl gracefully walked through the door, her steps light and her posture straight.
Linnea Opjer appeared older than her twenty-two years of age, with a knowing smile dancing constantly on her lips, her look quickly scanning every place she entered and studying every person she met. The analytical intensity of her gaze was eavened out by the soft quality of her voice and movements. Linnea was made of inconsistencies that weirdly fitted perfectly together; the lethal quiet with which she swayed through the world rivaled the ravenous chaos of the gears constantly turning in her mind. She looked the spitting image of Nikolai, to the point of absurdity considering they were only half-related; her golden curls were messily held at the top of her head by a pencil she kept adjusting with ink stained fingers. Some strands fell on her face, framed by a sharp jaw and a slightly crooked nose that only added to the memorability of her features. The handsomeness clearly ran in the family; the only difference between them were Linnea’s clear eyes, azure like a river caught by the summer sun. The gleam of brilliance and cunning in them, though, that was all too Nikolai’s not to be noticed. Linnea crutsied in Zoya’s direction.
“Your Highness,” she greeted. Zoya glared muderously at Nikolai, who cautiously averted his gaze.
“Did your brother not advise you that there is no need to do that?”
“He probably did,” Linnea admitted, joining her hands behind her back. Her look kept darting to every corner, lingering on details, as if she was assessing something. “Then again, as I am sure you are aware, my brother tends to provide an excessive amount of talking. I usually tune out the things I consider unnecessary.”
She locked eyes on Zoya’s, a corner of her mouth twisting in a comradely smirk. Her tone was affectionate; even knowing each other for such a brief time, she and Nikolai were already growing very fond of each other. Zoya liked Linnea. She was quieter than Nikolai, more practical, but she had the same creative and restless energy, the same optimistic outcome on life and a convolutive mind. This would be her last year at Ketterdam’s university before graduating in naval engineering. Linnea, like Nikolai, was an inventor though; engineering was just one of her many talents. A small wishful part of Zoya had wanted Linnea to like her too, from the first time they met.
“You’d have to ignore roughly half the things he says.”
“At least,” Linnea shrugged her shoulders. “Sometimes more.”
Tamar laughed, bobbing her chin at the girl. “I like her,” she stated.
“I told you,” remarked Nadia, casting a fond smile at Linnea. Nadia had given her an extended tour of the lab when the girl had visited Os Alta, cushioning her from the incessant enthusiasm Nikolai was showering her with. Linnea had gracefully taken it. Zoya distinctively remembered the night the three of them spent discussing the cooling system for the newest model of flying ship’s engines, while she had drifted to sleep lulled by their muffled excited voices in the sitting room.
“I am standing right here,” came Nikolai’s retort, his tone slightly offended. “And I feel the need to remind you that everything I say has a purpose.”
Zoya would have preferred to entertain this light banter, to grab some lunch on the docks with Linnea and Nikolai, to hear the girl tell them about her university days, about a life Zoya and Nikolai never knew. Ravka demanded everything but lightness, though. She gestured for Linnea to take a seat, ringing for some coffee; Linnea enjoyed it bitter and strong. The girl strode to a chair, taking off her refined wool coat. Underneath, she wore a loose blouse and practical pants and boots; despite her casual attire, she glowed with confidence and surety. Every inch Nikolai’s sister.
“Why has your brother dragged you away from your studies?”
Linnea downed her coffee, adjusting the pencil in her hair. “I asked to come, actually. I knew he would be in town, and I jumped at the chance to update him on some interesting discoveries I made.”
Zoya arched her brow in Nikolai’s direction. Whatever had the fool pulled his sister into? She reminded herself not to underestimate Linnea. The smug sparkle in her look suggested she was not an innocent girl being deceived into action.
“Is it something we need to worry about?”
“Part of it, not anymore. The rest, maybe.” Linnea grabbed a leather briefcase in front of her, pulling out some files. She extended them to Tamar, who began sorting through the papers, growing more worried with every turn of the page. An uncomfortable feeling creeped in Zoya’s stomach. More trouble brewing.
“Tell Zoya what happened, Linnea.” Zoya peered at Nikolai: he was practically beaming with pride, shifting in his seat, barely restraining himself from unleashing an avalanche of words on them.
“Please Linnea, do, before your brother steals the spotlight and doom falls upon us.”
At least Linnea could be a bit more concise than Nikolai and cut straight to the point. The girl straightened her spine and held her chin high. You could witness her clever brain at work, disguised under her sheer beauty. She flicked the pencil from her curls, leaving them to unfurl on her neck. While she talked, her hands scribbled mindlessly on a piece of paper, sketching as if she needed a practical way to soothe her energy and focus.
“As you know, I work at the university. Some laboratories are located in the older buildings, outside the chaos of the city. I used to go there to…experiment with some inventions.” Experiment with some inventions was clearly an elegant way to refer to fiddling with dangerous mechanical devices that could explode. Zoya was sure she was not imagining the envious look on Nikolai’s face. Then again, he had been the one to drop his studies and travel the world as a damn privateer. “One of my colleagues is an expert chemist with a big mouth. She let it slip that they were experimenting on parem.”
A bolt of renewed fear and anger shot through Zoya’s chest. Flames of rage ignited in her lungs, cutting the air short, as her power began stirring. Parem. Her mind drifted back to the stocks hidden in the warehouse. Both West Ravka and Kerch dallying in parem could not just be a horrific coincidence. She felt Nikolai’s hand discreetly brushing her thigh under the table, a reassuring touch to prevent her from summoning another storm inside the room.
“They were trying to make the drug more bearable for Grisha. More serviceable, marketable. The quantities were small, the remnants of a previous stock held in the basement under the laboratories. It was supposed to be shipped here, to Os Kervo.”
Her temper was barely controlled now. Every word Linnea spoke felt like a thorn breaking the skin. More suffering for Grisha at the hand of their people. Linnea sent a reassuring smile her way, no doubt noticing the way her knuckles turned white on the wooden table.
“It’s not a problem anymore,” she declared, firm and confident. Zoya shot her a confused look, sweeping her gaze from her to Nikolai.
“What do you mean?”
“Let’s just say someone might have stolen it.” Nikolai was not able to contain himself anymore. “And destroyed it.”
“With the help of some very expert thieves.” Linnea added.
Zoya’s eyes widened in shock, and her disbelieving gaze snapped to Nikolai. “You let her associate herself with those reprobates? Your younger sister ?” she seethed, utterly stunned. “Are you out of your mind to involve her in this?” Nikolai held his hands up in a surrendering gesture and outright laughed in Zoya’s face.
“You assume I have any kind of influence on what she does. Or that I even knew what she was planning on achieving.” Zoya could not decide which of the two siblings deserved her glare more right now. Perhaps it would be better to disguise the faint admiration for Linnea’s venture and rely on the common annoyance that came along with Nikolai’s recklessness. Yet she really admired what Linnea had accomplished.
“You did this on your own?”
Linnea shrugged her shoulders again. “One needs to know how to navigate the perilous waters of Ketterdam. It was not particularly challenging to find the Dregs, nor to understand which one of them you associated with. Pleasant fellow, I have to say.”
The opinion was given with a satisfied nod, leaving no room for considering its honesty. If there was even the hint of a doubt about Nikolai and Linnea’s parentage, it would be very well swept away by their mutual liking of that disrespectful Brekker individual. Only someone with Nikolai’s same blood and twisted brain could find the thief pleasant.
“Besides, it was threatening my brother’s fianceè’s rule. Could not ignore it.”
Zoya rolled her eyes, anticipating Tamar’s overly amused comment. “Not his fianceè.”
Linnea arched a brow in Nikolai’s direction. “Have you not asked her yet?”
“Just drop it”, suggested Tamar again, throwing the files on the table. “Nikolai is stubborn like hell and Zoya is getting impatient. But you won’t get this out of them.” Zoya clicked her tongue, refusing to admit how accurately Tamar grasped the absurd situation.
“I have to say I’m feeling cornered to justify myself, but I am courting her.”
“You are such an idiot.”
“I kindly suggest romantic.”
“Are you sure we’re related?”
“Can we go back to the business at hand?”
Linnea shot him a look that clearly read they would be resuming this conversation. She turned thoughtful, keeping her attention on him. “The sharpshooter kept asking about your flying ships. I revealed to him I knew Sturmhond just for the sake of seeing him squirm with excitement.”
Thrill sparked on Nikolai’s face. Nothing like a boost to his ego to raise his mood even more. “I know. I already promised I would take him for a ride, before we caught up with you.”
“Don’t bother.” The girl crumpled her sketch, twisting the pencil up in her hair once more. “I told him I could build him a small one.” Of course she could. Should Zoya even ask? “He practically proposed to me on the spot, much to his boyfriend’s amusement. Oh,” she seemed to remember Zoya’s presence, “you know he’s a Fabrikator, right? Not that good at hiding it, might I add.”
At this point, the queen was rendered speechless. Linnea smirked at Nikolai; she propped her elbows on the table and leaned her chin in her joined hands, in a pose that could pass as childish but looked nothing but mischievous. His brother grinned back with an eerily identical expression and winked at her.
Saints, Zoya realized with an exasperated grunt, there’s two of them.
Here is my gift for @ar-lasa-mala-revas for @masseffectholidaycheer! Shakarian fake dating be upon ye!
“Okay, you’re on, Vakarian. Tali, gimme your straw wrapper.” Once she passed it over, Shepard dropped to one knee in front of him, and Kaidan made a strangled noise, which Shepard studiously ignored.
“Did you injure yourself somehow, Shepard?” said Garrus, looking at her blankly.
“It’s a human courtship ritual, Garrus,” said Tali, after a long slurp of her drink. “This is the part where she tells you she’s pregnant.”
“I am absolutely notpregnant,” said Shepard, deliberately focusing on twisting the straw wrapper into a ring as if that would distract from the blush heating her cheeks.
“She would have to get laid for that, Tali,” said Joker, in an overexaggerated whisper.
“Thank you, Joker,” said Shepard, in a tone that made it clear thank youmeantI will kill you slowly and leave pieces out for the reapers. “Anyway. Focus, guys. Garrus Vakarian.” She held up the straw wrapper, now hopefully large enough to fit around one of Garrus’s huge fingers.
“That is, in fact, my name, Shepard. I’m glad you haven’t suffered head trauma in addition to the knee injury.” Despite the dry tone of his voice, there was something odd in his eyes—not the usual giddy, lunatic glee he got whenever he realized they were about to do something ridiculous together. Was he having second thoughts for once?
Oh well, no going back now. “Will you put on a terrible turian suit to match my terrible human dress uniform and do me the honor of accompanying me to a bullshit fundraising dinner?”
Garrus finally seemed to catch on—took him long enough—and let out a hoarse little laugh. “I get it now.” He pressed the back of one hand to his forehead and pretended to swoon. “Oh, Commander! This is so sudden! I’m just not sure.”
“Aw, Garrus, don’t we always have a good time together?” She caught his free hand. She wasn’t used to touching him outside of battle, with his fingers bare instead of covered in thick gauntlets. “This way we can actually sit together instead of having to try and mime ways to beg for death all night from across the room.”
“And Shepard will keep your dance card full,” said Tali. Shepard couldn’t make out her wicked smirk through the faceplate, but she definitely heard it in Tali’s voice.
Garrus blinked. “Spirits, I didn’t even think about the dancing. I might have to say no in self-defense.”
“Aw, c'mon! I’m on my knees here! What more do you want? I don’t do this for just any guy, you know.” Shepard asked. (At this, both Kaidan and Joker burst into undignified laughter. Shepard took one hand away from Garrus’s to flip them the bird.)
Garrus looked at her for a long moment, so long she thought for sure he was trying to find a politer way than usual to say no. (In which case, she wasn’t sure why he was bothering—it wasn’t like she expected eloquence from him. She could make a big damn speech when she felt like it, but Garrus did better with one-liners.) “On second thought,” he said, almost hesitantly, “I need to consider the rest of the people at the dinner. If I let you dance with anyone else, you might hurt them, and then we’ll have a diplomatic incident to deal with on top of all the rest of the bullshit.”
“Is that a yes, Vakarian?” Shepard cupped one hand around her ear.
Garrus put his other hand on top of hers, the same way he had when she first saw him again after six months apart on Palaven. She still thought about that touch sometimes, at odd moments of the day, like if she spotted him at a distance in the Citadel or remembered something she needed to tell him. “Yes, Shepard. I will take on the burden of keeping everyone else safe from your dance moves.”
I’ve now written a bunch of DAI Anders banters too, but this is the most important one.
Cole: You think they hate you. Anders: I’d ask you to be more specific, but I think that applies to most people at this point. Cole: The mages. The ones you freed. You think they hate you. Anders: They’re afraid. I don’t blame them for that. Someday their children or grandchildren will be grateful. Or rather, they’ll be free, and they won’t even think to be grateful for it. That’s the goal. That’s what matters. Cole: “Why don’t we have to go to the Circle anymore?” a young boy asks. The woman smiles at the son she never thought she’d see again. “Because there are good people in this world after all.” A man kneels by the statue in the garden, hands clasped. “Wherever he is, let him be safe and happy,” he says, praying for the savior he’s never met. Cole: They are grateful. Anders: I… Oh. Cole: You’re crying? I’m sorry, I thought it would help. Anders: No, I’m… it did. It does. Thank you, Cole.
As someone who really enjoys both reading and writing bantery couples, but who is also a victim (and survivor ) of prolonged verbal abuse, it can be very triggering when fic writers think they’re writing banter, but are actually writing verbal abuse (especially as it’s NEVER tagged as such)
The line between banter and verbal abuse is actually very thick, so here’s some tips on how to do better:
1. Banter is mutual. That is very key. It is NEVER one person constantly mocking the other with none given back. That’s not banter. Both parties must be in on the joke.
2. Think about your characters. What are their triggers, sensitive spots, and insecurities? You MUST know those, and so must both of your characters. Then don’t write banter that pushes at those things (exception being if one’s partner discovers the trigger in text and if boundaries are clearly communicated and set so that thing is not teased about again). The fun part about bantery relationships is how well the characters must know each other and any boundaries to enjoy saying things to each other that you can’t say to someone you’re not as close with. In order to write that, you must know the characters that well yourself. Do the work.
3. Both characters must be having fun. If they’re not having fun teasing each other in a scene, think about why and have them communicate in another way
4. Banter is light hearted and generally jokey. A character saying “you’re ugly and worthless” is not banter. “I can’t believe I have to spend the rest of my life with this idiot” while shaking their head in bemusement after their partner does something harmless but stupid is (provided that their partner is in on the joke)
5. Think about the relationships that you, the writer, have with your friends and loved ones. If you have teasing relationships with someone in your life, draw on that experience. Think about the tone used and types of things said when you’re teasing your friends. If you don’t have any teasing relationships in your life, and that isn’t a communication style you’re comfortable with for yourself, see if you can do some research and inform your writing using the relationships of other people in your life, or even media if you have to (though be careful with that, and make sure the banter in said media is true banter and not abuse)
6. Then, if you have ever been bullied, think about the types of things and the tone that was used in that situation. Then don’t write that as banter.
7. Banter will occur in situations where both parties are comfortable with it and with each other. Don’t have one character call the other a “sensitive idiot” if they’re crying, that’s just mean
8. Banter is not yelling. Banter is not yelling. Read that again. Banter is not one character yelling at the other. That is, at best, fighting.
9. Banter is done in good spirits. Tone is KEY. There is a massive difference between “you’re an idiot” with a character shaking their head in fond exasperation and “you’re an IDIOT!” with the character angry and yelling
10. And finally, if you write one character constantly teasing the other in a way that constantly oversteps boundaries and isn’t mutual and not done with love, and the other character TEXTUALLY being upset by this, don’t tag that as banter. Tag that as verbal abuse. Because that’s what it is. Thank you.
(PS: if you’re not confident that your banter is banter and not abuse, find a beta. Preferably a beta who is confident in that area and isn’t afraid to tell you what’s what)
These are such great points!
I often find that while reading “banter”, to me it seems more like a constant (or multiple) red flags, rather than something cute/funny/positive—and its largely because I think some people miss the nuances of banter vs bullying. So rather than rooting for the relationship to develop, I’m sitting on the outside telling them to get away from each other.
“Both parties must be in on the joke” -> THIS.
I also firmly believe that power dynamics come into play here. If someone has more agency and power, and they’re “bantering” about that with someone who doesn’t have the same privileges, it can feel icky and insensitive rather than actually funny.
I’m thinking about Mr.Bennet, as a mild example. Mrs. Bennett doesn’t have the ability to make introductions for her daughters and secure their future/the family’s future. She has no choice but to rely on her husband to do that–and the family has no choice but to secure financially beneficial matches or the family could go under. So is it funny when Mr.Bennet pokes fun at her for insisting he make introductions? Or is it highlighting the power imbalance and then reducing her very real concerns and worries to a joke?
I also feel like shitty banter (bullying) raises concerns for me around consent, especially when it’s not handled or portrayed well. If character A keeps doing a thing the character B tells them to stop doing (for example, referring to them by a specific name), then I trust this person about 2% when it comes to stopping and respecting boundaries in other areas (not just in a sexual context). If you can’t respect the “little” things, can’t listen and respect a person’s wishes, can’t take that person’s desires seriously, why should I believe they’re a good, safe match for each other in any sort of relationship?
