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Summary: After the suicide mission, Shepard returns to Omega to drink his sorrows away. Aria suggests an alternative. There's plenty of explicit sex here, but it's not as rough as it could have been.
Length: 5100 words
Rating: M
Notes: You wouldn't know it from the time it took me to write this, but I actually rather like this concept and setup. (Also fuck the haters, Aria is badass.)


Despite claims to the contrary, Aria T'loak is not Omega.

Granted, there are similarities. For one, both of them can kill you in a great number of different ways, ranging from deeply horrifying to somewhat erotic, maybe, if you're into that sort of thing.

Still, it is important to note the differences. For one thing, Omega is a space station and Aria is what some drunken Alliance dipshit once described as 'a little blue girl with tentacles on her head'. Right before she kicked him hard enough to make him choke on his own testicles. These days, she mostly just pays mercenaries to kick people, unless it's a special occasion. It's easier on her boots.

Aria knows Omega, however, as intimately as she has ever known anything. She knows the crowd. She recognizes the way it moves and speaks, as were it one single great organism. When the ship docks, word has already reached her.

She wasn't surprised the first time she saw it. This time, things are very different. She keeps tabs on the Omega 4 relay - she has to, given the proximity. Every so often, a ship disappears through it; that alone is no longer a surprise.

But none of them ever come back.

Therein lies the surprise as the Normandy glides smoothly into port, scratched and battered, in dire need of a new coat of paint, but definitely still spaceworthy.

The second surprise comes when the captain steps ashore alone, in civilian clothes.

Perhaps the human's curiosity is catching, Aria muses as she catches herself wondering what has changed since the last time they met, and how.

She's not surprised when he steps into the Afterlife - after all, what better place for a dead Spectre, returning from the land of no return? Perhaps he died a second time, there on the other side, and it just didn't take this time either.

She stands and turns to face the floor, face the crowd, watches it ripple and part - watches it close again. Clothes or armour, it changes nothing. The patrons give Shepard the space he needs.

Just like they do with Aria.

It might worry her, if Shepard were a different kind of man.

Now, it is merely fascinating.

She watches him sit at the bar, gesture to the turian manning it. Laughs out loud, much to her bodyguards' surprise, when the bartender produces a tankard of batarian ale. She can barely stomach that swill, but she won't dispute its effectiveness, if the effect you're looking for is to wake up in the gutter the next morning with no memory, no credits and no dignity.

But that alone explains nothing. It only serves to further stir her curiosity.

"Get him up here," she says, nodding to the closest merc - batarian, perhaps somewhat fittingly. Then, as he turns to leave, she grabs his shoulder, hard. "Politely," she adds, squeezes a little harder, and lets go. The batarian nods.

The mercenary is armed and armoured, but the crowd doesn't part for him. She smiles as she watches him elbow his way to the bar, tap Shepard on the shoulder.

The Commander turns, frowning. Listens, then shakes his head. Listens again, speaks and gestures; there is no mistaking the meaning.

The batarian grabs his arm. Shepard moves, and the merc is out cold on the floor. Fist still raised, the human looks up at her balcony, frowning, and Aria shrugs, spreads her hands as if to say, that was his own damn stupid idea.

Shepard glares for a few moments, then lowers his fist, grabs his tankard and heads for the stairs. Well, as long as the invitation worked, Aria figures, and turns away from the window; sits down and crosses her legs. If he didn't at least pay her a courtesy visit after that, it might reflect badly on her reputation. She's taking a risk - not a big one, mind - but the Commander may be well worth it. Perhaps. She'll just have to see.

The other mercs let him pass without comment, and Shepard drops his ass on her couch, heavily, and regards her with bleary eyes from over two or three days' worth of stubble. He looks... not so much tired as worn out, worn down, but he's still the same man. He's been through hell. Sometimes hell changes people. Shepard just gives the impression that he's been there, done that and just isn't particularly impressed anymore. That look just makes him more... interesting.

"Shepard," she says, and nods; it doesn't hurt to be civil. "What brings you to Omega?"

"Alcohol." The answer comes quickly, if not as clearly as usual. "Celebrating." He spits the word out through a sneer, as if it's an insult.

"The first successful flight through the Omega 4 relay," she says, and he doesn't seem surprised to hear that she knows - good for him; he shouldn't be. "Find anything interesting on the other side?"

"Shit." Shepard shakes his head, takes another swig of his ale. "Was looking for a Collector base. Found it. Nuked it. Lost... some good people." Silence, as he takes another large swallow. Then he shrugs. "Not the first time it happens." And a little quieter: "Doesn't make it easier."

Aria doesn't comment. It may not get easier, but it's never been difficult; not for her, at least.

"I could do something to take your mind off it," she says instead.

"Yeah?" He doesn't even look up. Just stares morosely into his tankard. If it were any other man, she'd call it pathetic. "I'm open to suggestions."

"I don't buy it, Shepard." More amused than annoyed, and perhaps not completely unbelieving - batarian ale! - Aria smirks sardonically. "You're not that inebriated... yet." She leans towards him, lowers her voice as she continues. "What's the matter?" she asks, leaning in so her breath plays across his cheek and ear. "Never had an asari before?"

"Almost been had by asari a few times," he says; remains still, neither pulling away nor leaning in to accept her invitation. He raises his head and stares out into space, oblivious to the way the stripper across the room shakes her ass in his direction. "Bit on edge after that Ardat-Yakshi."

"You would have made me a lot of money that day," Aria says, and pulls back a little. "If I still cared to make bets. If anyone still cared to bet against me." She uncrosses her legs, then crosses them again, a little more forcefully than strictly necessary. The whisper of leather against leather is almost lost under the pounding music, but either that or the quick movement catches Shepard's attention, and he turns his head slightly, eyes seeming to focus once more.

"You're after something."

"Yes." She arches an eyebrow; of course she's after something, and anyone not under the influence of that particular brand of booze slash drain cleaner would have caught on to what.

"Out with it." He sounds better already, voice not as thick - human metabolism can't do that, but cybernetics could; she always did have a feeling that he might have been enhanced. He holds up the tankard; it's half empty. Then he lowers it, without drinking, and shakes his head. "Look, I've had half of this. If you got something to say, say it."

"Sex. No strings."

He lets out a brief chuckle, but doesn't sound too amused. "Why me? Why now?"

She shrugs. "I've never fucked a saviour of the galaxy before. You've just done what the rest of the world considers impossible, and the first thing you do is not revel in the adoration of the crowd, but to get drunk? You're different, Shepard. It's more than I can say for these." She gestures, as if to say, these mercs standing around us, or these people drinking below, or perhaps everybody on the entire station, in the entire universe. She leans towards him again as she continues. "Different, and impossible. I like impossible. Impossible excites me."

Another brief chuckle. "And if I agree?"

She catches the eye of a random mercenary, tosses her head. "Out." And they all file out, the mercs, the dancers, until it's just the two of them. Them and the music pounding in the background, and all of Omega below.

Then she stands, slowly, allows him to take in the sight. Slides off her jacket; below it, she wears black, form-fitting, much like the dancers outside. Her hands trace the familiar contours of her body, cup her breasts, slide down to her hips, her thighs. She turns, arches her back, reaches back and grabs her ass. Remembers dancing, something like this, a long time ago. Several lifetimes ago.

"Stand up," she orders, without breaking her stride.

He obeys, slowly, not very gracefully; puts down the tankard. She pulls him out into the centre of the room, away from the furniture, and away from the booze, just in case.

Continues dancing, slower than the music would have her, moving against him, breasts flattening against his chest. She glances to the side, out at the girl dancing on the platform just outside; the only one who can see them where they stand. Dancing, slender blue hands caressing stretchfibre-covered breasts and thighs, bolder for every moment. Without thinking, Aria increases her pace to match her rhythm, moves her sinuous body against Shepard's solid frame, rakes her nails down his back, digs her fingers into his ass. Nothing yields under her touch; he might as well be a statue.

Except that he reciprocates. Big, strong hands on her back and shoulders, then... lower. He crushes her against his chest, painfully, as if he's afraid that she'll vanish, but she's had worse, had stronger lovers (hah, no, more like she's had rougher fucks; Aria doesn't do "lovers"). She's hardly helpless, even if she needs a biotic field to push him back so she can get at his buttons.

Outside, the dancer slides a hand in between her legs, briefly, just for Aria's eyes. She smirks and fists a hand in the fabric of Shepard's coat - real wool - and yanks it open; fuck the buttons. Tears his shirt open, too; licks his chest. Salty, hint of metal, oil, blood. Nudges the shirt open, finds a nipple and bites, hard. He growls, a hand at the back of her neck, grip tightening. Pulls her away, other hand catching the front of her top and pulling. Cloth tears, blue breasts bounce free, framed by tattered black fabric. He stares for a moment, then cups one, surprisingly gently.

"Harder," she says. He obliges. Pinches her, rolls the hardening nub between callused fingers. She raises a leg, knee pressing up against his groin; purrs deep in her throat as she feels him stiffen under the confines of his pants. Not bad, for a human.

"I'll do you a favour," she hisses in his ear, hoarsely, pulls out of his grip and drops to her knees. She rubs her cheek against the bulge in his pants, draws in his scent. He has no idea how rare it is for her to kneel to someone, anyone; she's not going to tell him. Maybe he'll realize when he's sober.

She unzips his pants, doesn't care enough to take them off. Boxers underneath - weird human fashion. Then she reaches in and eases his straining cock through the opening.

"Not bad," she reaffirms, slowly curling her fingers around it and pumping her fist up and down his length. He's not fully erect, but thick, appropriately solid, even now.

She flicks her tongue out, across the slit, and his entire body stiffens at the touch, not just his cock. Begins to lick, to lavish his length in saliva. She looks up and sees him staring through the window; eyes fixed on the girl outside, still dancing, still watching everything they do.

Aria opens her mouth wide, slowly beginning to suck the tip of his cock. It's thick enough to make it uncomfortable, to make her jaw ache, but Aria likes nothing that doesn't challenge her.

She takes a deep breath and plunges forward, taking him deep, until the hair on his balls tickle her chin. Pushes further, flattening her nose against his abdomen. Shepard's hand comes down on top of her head, pushes her back, pauses to let her breathe, then his hips begin to move, pushing his cock deep inside her mouth again.

She reaches up for his balls, strokes and squeezes them lightly, and uses that grip to direct his movements, pulling him in, deep down her throat, then pushing him out to let her breathe and lap at his tip with her tongue. Slowly at first, then faster, until there is no pause between his thrusts.

She only stops when his breath becomes rapid and unsteady, when his grip on her begins to tighten. Then, she tightens her own grip and pulls back until he pops out of her mouth. Leaves a string of sticky saliva hanging between the tip of his cock and her lower lip. She pulls back further, and it breaks, just a couple of drops; one on her chin, the other on the floor.

"Your turn," she says, and stands, dropping a hand to her still-covered crotch. He'll find her wet and ready. It's been a long time since she cared enough to go through all this. But it's been a long time since she had someone different - someone impossible.

"Get on with it," she orders, suddenly impatient.

He kneels, fumbles. She directs his hands to the zippers on the sides of her pants, and he manages quite well from there.

She's hairless below, like all asari, but identical to a human female in shape. Her unusually dark skin shifts to a warmer hue over the outer lips; inside, she is dark purple. It doesn't seem to faze him - maybe he's used to alien cunts, she muses; she can't possibly be the first to offer.

She feels the alcohol on his breath when he begins to lick her, and his stubble scrapes her thighs. It's not a promising start. He moves slowly and clumsily at first, but begins to adapt before she starts thinking about giving directions. He holds on to her hips as he works her over with lips and tongue, fingers digging into her ass, and keeps her still even when her body tries to move, to thrust back. She raises a leg over his shoulder and rakes her fingers through his hair, meets the gaze of the dancer outside, now openly masturbating through her tight black bodysuit. She'll give the girl a raise later.

"Not bad," she repeats, softly, both for Shepard's benefit and the dancer-girl's. She doubts either of them ears it over the din. Doesn't matter. She's close. Keeps her hands fisted in Shepard's hair until she comes, silently trembling. The music pounds in her ears. She closes her eyes. It's private. Just this tiny little thing is all for her.

When she opens them again, Shepard has stopped moving. He sits quiet, hands still on her hips; she can feel his breath against her thighs.

"Get up," she says, swings her leg off his shoulder and pulls at his hair. Kicks off her pants, which had been lying pooled around her ankles, leaving her nearly naked; just the tattered top and her boots.

She looks away for just one moment, and Shepard chooses that moment to take the initiative; perhaps by instinct, acting when his 'opponent's' guard is down. A thick, muscular thigh pushes up against her still-sensitive cunt, forcing her up on her tiptoes; one hand reaches behind her, underneath her and a single finger enters her easily, splitting her tight, slick flesh. A second hand on her ass, groping her hard, roughly; holding her in place, making sure she can't retreat. He bites her neck, then her shoulder; continues down to her chest, mouth seeking her breasts.

She gasps, a tiny, unbidden noise, outside her control. A flash of anger burns hotly through her brain, then disappears. Shepard's cock is hard and slippery against her stomach. His fingers thick and rough; lips soft, teeth hard on her nipples.

"Yes..." She allows herself to hiss that one word between her teeth, right by his ear. Won't give him more than that; has already given far too much. Won't tell him how much she needs him to continue.

She doesn't have to.

He pushes a second finger inside her, tightens his grip. A muscle in his thigh jumps, just where it's pressing against her, and Aria jumps - tries to jump.

She can't move, even an inch.

She bites his shoulder instead, hard enough to draw blood if he'd been a normal human. Rakes her nails across his back. That muscle in his thigh ripples, like a column of living stone against her clit. His fingers pump into her with slick, slippery noises; his palm slaps against her ass with every thrust. Doesn't match the rhythm of the music, he's moving much faster.

She stops hurting him. Trying to hurt him. Wraps her arms around him and tells herself it's because the world is spinning, because her head is spinning, not because he's one of the two or three idiots in the universe she won't regret leaning against, just for a little while.

Wonders, in the sharp and keen part of her mind that isn't filled with static, if he realizes what it means for her to do this.

If he does, she can't tell.

He just keeps fucking her with his fingers, biting her, squeezing her, harder and faster, faster and harder.

Aria comes, and it is nothing like the first time. It's spine-tingling, toe-curling ecstasy, fireworks-flashing-before-the-eyes fantastic, makes her shudder and moan, shake and beat her fists on his back and shoulders, toss her head and open her mouth in a silent scream - and when it's over, it leaves her numb, limp, gasping for breath against his shoulder.

A hand behind her back keeps her upright. She's not sure when he pulled his fingers out, when he stopped doing... everything he was doing. It must have been at exactly the right time.

Like hell he's never had an asari before, a small part of her brain states, and Aria chuckles at the thought, takes another deep breath, and steps back on unsteady legs.

Shepard's desire is obvious. The dead emptiness in his eyes has given way to hunger. His chest heaves as he breathes deep and fast.

He raises his right hand. His fingers glisten wetly in the dull red light of the Afterlife.

She holds still as he begins to trace the markings on her face, painting over them with her own slick moisture; lines on her forehead, on her cheeks, on her chin, leading right up to her mouth. He slides his fingers in between her lips, and she looks into his eyes as she begins to suck, swirls her tongue around him until she can no longer taste herself on his skin.

"We're not done."

He doesn't answer. The look he gives her says everything there is to say.

She reaches down to wrap her fingers around his cock. It's completely hard, throbbing with each heartbeat. Circles the head with her thumb, slick with pre-come and saliva.

"Sit," she says, and pulls lightly at him, ushering him towards the couch, to the spot where she usually sits. His gaze flits up to the girl outside - on her knees now, leaning back, openly watching them, caressing herself, eyes wide and admiring. Then he follows her lead.

Aria stands over him, watching for a few seconds, and he holds out a hand as if to help her down.

She smirks, pushes it away and kneels, pushes his legs apart and runs her tongue from his balls, up his shaft right to the tip of his cock, and continues up, leaving a wet trail up his hard, chiselled stomach. Pushes her tits together around his prick and slides up and down, just a couple of times before she continues up. Licks his chest, tugs at his nipples, with her teeth.

He remains perfectly still when she comes up to look into his eyes, her nose nudging his, her lips just a tilted head away from a kiss.

For a moment, she imagines both of them wonder if the other will take that step. But neither of them does.

Hands on his shoulders, she swings first her left leg up, then her right, and rises over him, just low enough to let the very tip of his cock brush against her. He grabs it and flicks it back and forth across her slit a couple of times before angling it and, with his other hand on her hip, pulls her down until he's buried inside her to the hilt. Groans as she relaxes and lets her weight rest on his hips.

She takes a deep breath before she begins to move, slowly and carefully, getting used to his girth. Even prepared as she is, he is still thick for a human, and it has been a long time.

But it doesn't take her long to adjust.

He reaches for her breasts when her movements become fast enough to set them bouncing; plays with them almost gently. Moody bastard changes his tune easily, Aria thinks, wishes that he'd be rough with her again, but she doesn't say anything, doesn't betray any displeasure. He did well before; let him be 'sensitive' if that's what gets him off. She moves her hips slowly, back and forth and in circles.

Outside, the asari dancer mimics her. Their eyes meet, and Aria smiles, making a note to bring this one in for a personal... evaluation at a later date.

"Faster," Shepard demands, suddenly bringing her attention back to the room.

"Faster," he repeats, when she shows no sign of obeying. She cups his chin and pushes her thumb against his lips, inviting him to suck on it, but he lets go of her tits, brushes her hand aside before grabbing on to her hips and pulling her down hard. The impact of her ass against his hips and upper thighs makes a surprisingly loud smack and sends a jolt through her body. She strains to move, but his grip is unyielding.

"I thought you said faster," she says, hips wiggling as much as she can, which isn't much.

Then the room spins. Next thing she knows, she's on her back, head and shoulders propped up against the back of the couch, with Shepard kneeling on the floor between her spread thighs, still buried inside her.

She nearly bites her tongue when he pulls back and thrusts, slamming against her ass hard enough to knock the breath from her lungs.

"Fuck!" she hisses, hands instinctively seeking his hips to hold him back before the next thrust comes.

She might just as well not have bothered. Muscles ripple impressively in his chest, arms and shoulders as he moves, fucking her with hard, long strokes, pulling out until he almost slips free, then burying himself deep inside her slippery cunt. Her breath comes in gasps, every jolt leaves her stunned for a fraction of a second before her body remembers what it's supposed to be doing.

Each time she feels the impact against her ass, against her clit, it sets off little sparks inside her head, like tiny, miniature orgasms, and Aria begins to writhe and buck, shoulders digging into the upholstery.

Hazily, she sees Shepard grit his teeth, the tendons in his neck standing out like thick ropes. His arms and chest glisten with a sheen of perspiration, reflecting the deep red light; droplets run down his chiselled body, only to fly loose and spatter against her heated skin with each thrust. His hands are beginning to tremble as he tightens his grip, and she knows he can't hold on much longer.

Shepard, too, closes his eyes when he comes. A powerful spasm shakes his body, and it shakes her as well. His cock twitches inside her, hot and hard, and he growls, a dark, raspy sound deep in his throat. He pulls out, thrusts back deep inside her and shudders again.

Again.

And again.

Each time it takes a little longer between the thrusts, between the delicious little spasms inside her, until at last he pulls out one last time, sinks slowly back inside and lets go of her hips, leans on the couch, head hanging low, shoulders heaving as he gasps for breath.

Aria wraps her legs around him and works her inner muscles around his cock, trying to squeeze every last drop out of him. Shepard shakes himself, pressing his hips harder against her.

He's no longer panting, and his cock remains thick and hard inside her. Maybe she doesn't know as much about humans as she thought she did.

"More?" she asks, hoarsely and huskily, and glides her hands up his arms, over his shoulders and down again. He grunts and begins to straighten up; licks his lips as he looks down at her.

Then he nods, and she chuckles. Then she begins to slide her hands lower across his chest and stomach, until she has enough leverage to push against him. He shuffles back, allowing his cock to finally slip out of her; it flicks across her clit as he pops out, and she winces, a little surprised at how sore she is. She pulls her legs up until her knees are nearly level with her shoulders, reaches down and spreads her flushed outer lips open. Their mingled juices slowly drip out of her, running down the cleft of her ass, and she reaches down to smear the sticky fluids around the tiny opening.

Shepard's cock throbs as he watches her.

"Here," she says. "Fuck me here." Even as she speaks, she forces her finger inside and begins to pump in and out.

He doesn't waste time. Just dips a thick, rough finger in her sopping cunt for lubrication and begins to force it into her ass, next to her slender blue digit. Her body resists, clamping down around them, but that doesn't stop him.

She begins to circle her aching, oversensitive clit with her thumb. Even without direct contact, it makes her entire body tingle pleasantly.

"Fuck me," she repeats, and pulls her finger out.

Shepard needs no more incentive. She hisses between her teeth at the sensation of his callused finger slowly sliding out, and then he replaces it with the smooth, slippery head of his cock.

"Slowly," she warns as he begins to push, a hand around his shaft for support. "Slowly."

Even then, it's not easy. He's thick, much too thick for her body to accept easily.

She wouldn't have it any other way. Every second of that stretching, very nearly painful sensation brings her closer to the edge, and by the time the head of his cock pops inside, her jaw is trembling and her eyes rolling as she struggles to hang on.

Her restraint only lasts until he begins to pull out again.

Shepard makes a surprised noise as she wraps her legs around him, suddenly impaling herself fully on his cock, and lies panting and shuddering, one hand clawing at the couch and the other furiously rubbing her clit. It's different, again, nowhere near as earth-shattering as the last time, doesn't last as long, but it still feels damn good.

Better still when Shepard begins to pull back, easily breaking her hold, and starts fucking her. And better again when he gets his hands back on her tits.

Aria purrs as the orgasm subsides, leaving her not quite as weak as the one before it.

"Not - not bad," she manages, but her voice sounds raw and unsteady, and she thinks he knows that it's an understatement.

It looks like he knows.

He still doesn't say anything, though. Just keeps pumping into her, keeps kneading her tits. She responds in kind, teasing his nipples, running her fingers over his arms and chest. Shepard groans appreciatively, speeds up a little, but not enough to become unpleasant; to reward him, she begins to rock her hips, swivel in circles. His breath deepens and he begins to pull out, making his thrusts short and shallow, allowing the tight ring of her inner muscles to squeeze the sensitive head of his cock.

And Aria does just that.

Soon, Shepard closes his eyes again and shoots his load inside her, and the sight is just as enticing now as it was before. Glistening skin pulls taut over rippling muscles, shaking his powerful frame.

Aria lies still and watches, a faint smile on her face as she commits it to memory.

This time, he doesn't stay erect; she feels him beginning to soften before he pulls out and collapses on top of her, face buried against her heaving, sweat-glistening breasts.

She lets him rest for a short while before rolling over and pushing him off, and he grudgingly pulls himself up on the couch, falling back against the pillows.

Aria stands, a bit unsteadily, and walks to the back of the room. There she slides a wall panel open and pulls out a towel; then, after a second's consideration, another one. As she heads back, she catches the eye of the dancer outside, just kneeling on her platform now, looking sated and a bit dazed.

Can't really blame her, Aria figures, and gives the girl a quick nod before she tosses one of the towels to Shepard and begins to wipe herself off with the other. The remains of her top are clinging unpleasantly to her; she gets rid of it and continues down. Shepard has it worse - pants still on, with huge dark stains on the front, but his coat might hide them if he's careful.

"What now?" she asks when they're both finished, and plops herself down on the couch, not too close.

"I'm going back to the ship. Shower." He shrugs, gestures down at his ruined trousers. "New clothes."

"Hm." She finds herself wishing she had a cigarette; it's a vile habit, but somehow it feels right after something like this. "Likewise, I should think."

He chuckles, not quite as bitterly as before. Pulls himself up and fetches his coat, slings it over his shoulders.

"Another time, perhaps," he says, and then he's gone.

She peers through the window as he leaves.

The crowd parts.

Then it closes again.

Aria sighs and sinks down in her seat, leaning back, stares up at the ceiling.

The music pounds in her ears.

She closes her eyes and smiles.

Date: 2010-03-02 03:25 (UTC)
From: [identity profile] naela.livejournal.com
Normally not one for reading het, but I secretly enjoy Aria/Shepard and I admit to enjoying this particular fic. Always enjoyed Aria's powerful presence in the game even if she had a relatively minor role and you've captured that particular brand of bitchiness of hers very well.

Date: 2010-03-02 03:53 (UTC)
From: [identity profile] chuchulainn.livejournal.com
Very nice. I've been waiting for someone to write this pairing.

Date: 2010-03-02 22:19 (UTC)
From: [identity profile] moondusted.livejournal.com
I'm a rotten commenter. If I like something I tend to flail a lot, search for words and give up...

So, simply, I love this and Aria is great.

Date: 2010-03-03 01:11 (UTC)
From: [identity profile] masserect.livejournal.com
I understand completely - I tend to do much the same thing. this comment was revised five times

Thanks for reading, and I'm glad you liked it. :)

Date: 2013-09-10 06:53 (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
Really amazing fic. Only thing I didnt like was that the beginning didnt really capture the "bitch" in aria, but otherwise, 10/10

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