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Pashera R. Shepard from Protector
[Hey folks, like my work? Consider donating to my ko-fi-- https://ko-fi.com/A854EI2 . ♥]
(Next in line is finishing up gift work for Jedi ^.~ and then redoing Kaidan’s image from chapter 3)
Yatterings about the process and whatnot under the cut.
Book 1: Protector
Chapter 17: Creatures New and Strange
[author’s notes: Wow, so this took forever to get out. I’ve worked on it off and on for the past month, but today I finally sat down and said, “self, you are going to write this today not matter what.” So... here it is! And I still managed to somehow delay the scene with liara’s mum because ...for some reason I’m dreading writing that?]
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
CHAPTER 16 - Frozen In Fear
Pashera squinted against the glare from the snow as she trudged back to the Mako.
The blizzard was causing more trouble than she would have liked. It was the fifth snowdrift that they’d gotten stuck in. Not for the first time she’d had to hop out with Alenko and Liara to biotically pull the large tank out of the drift and back onto the barely visible road. Afterwards, she had to punch the sheets of ice off the tires that had frozen on when they’d stopped. Even with a helmet, her braid was frozen to her skull by the time they reached the hatch to re-enter the tank, and she was muttering vehemently under her breath.
Tali was in charge of the secondary hatch, and once the cold air had been equalized, she opened to door. Pashera grumbled and took off her helmet; collapsing it with more angry mutters as she sat heavily and set to shivering on the bench. The inside of the tank was blissfully warm, but it still would take her some time to completely thaw. With her luck, she’d probably have to go back outside again before she’d actually warmed up.
“Commander, we should get going before the tires freeze again…” Alenko said after a couple minutes.
(Go read the rest on Ao3)
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
CHAPTER 15 - MELTING HEART
((Authors notes: AAAAAAAAAAh. Okay... so.... here we are where a lot of explanations and what-not are given out. We're edging into the best territory. ♥ Lots of awkward fun coming up. Thank you for reading. I hope my translations weren't TOO bad. I really need to finish cleaning the apartment to find my sketchbook so I can start putting in chapter art again. Ah, I wish I could edit faster because the next chapter is just so... warm and fuzzy. lol It's not. You know that. They're in Noveria. Nothing is warm and fuzzy about Noveria. Is anyone tired of winter yet?))
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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapter 14 - Lost to Ourselves
Whew.... so... this chapter was kinda experimental when I wrote it and although I toyed with the notion of writing it differently I just REALLY liked the way it had come out so... youknow... this is it. Will admit that I’m a little nervous. It’s starting to edge into a tiny portion of Pash’s backstory (beyond the obvious) and I’m very excited. It feels like I’m leaving a trail of breadcrumbs as I write and I’m so interested to see who picks up what and where.
So... yeah. Chapter 14.
ME Fic: Red Beret
So, I headcanon that Alliance N7′s are sort of a spiritual successor of the stereotypical WW2 Commando. So, I wanted to sort of explore that, and see a little bit of young Shepard (and Anderson). So here’s Elizabeth making N7. Hope you enjoy!
“First Lieutenant Shepard, Front and Center.”
Elizabeth strode rigidly before Lieutenant Commander Anderson, her eyes blank and staring a thousand yards beyond the man who stood in front of her. The heels of her combat boots boomed against the polished wooden floor, clicking together at the last minute as her hands found their way to her side in a picture perfect representation of attention. Sweat beaded on her forehead as she felt the entire population of the room stare at her, silence ruling the air.
“Lieutenant, we all know why you’re here. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”
Shepard swallowed deeply, before answering in as strong a voice as possible, a slight waver in the beginning, remembering her programmed response.
“Sir, actions speak louder than words.”
Anderson exhaled deeply, eyeing her intensely, all her willpower concentrated on not meeting his penetrating gaze.
“Very well, Lieutenant. If that is how you speak, then I will commit the sentence.”
Anderson stepped aside, a small water glass of green liquid sitting on the table behind him. Swinging her arms like she was still on the drill deck, Shepard took a step forwards, still staring straight forwards as she felt the butterflies – hawks, really – fly around her stomach.
“Lieutenant. Drink!”
The command came clear, and in one swift motion Elizabeth grabbed the glass and turned it down her mouth without thinking about it, the distinct burn not registering until a third of the glass was gone. Her mouth was on fire as the cloying smell of the alien alcohol assaulted her nose, the stream of hell proceeding down her throat as the rest of the glass, slightly more viscous than water, made its way out the glass and into her stomach. When it was done she gasped for breath slightly, setting the glass down heavily. Anderson stepped forwards, scrutinizing her face as she tried to blink back tears and stifle a cough.
“Lieutenant, how plead you now?”
A smile played at the edge of Shepard’s mouth as she responded, shouting as loud as she could.
“I plead successful, SIR!”
A smile strolled onto Anderson’s face as he stood in front of her, his voice softer now.
“Very well, Lieutenant. Face your fans.”
Shepard pulled an about face, greeted by the assorted smiles and smirks of her command, fifteen N7’s draped across the local bar, drinks in hand, watching. They were all clad in variations of their Alliance Dress Blues – jackets draped over chairs or left unbuttoned like a multitude of undershirts, some sleeves rolled up, but all wearing a distinctly crimson beret, a gold device above their left eye. It was the top portion of a white skull, sitting atop the familiar N7 Logo, the oblong hexagon rimmed in gold and golden stars.
From behind her Anderson started talking as Shepard felt the Ryncol start to state effect.
“Commandos, today we welcome yet another individual into our ranks. We’ve fought by her side for the past three months, mentored her from an inexperienced N7 Candidate to a bonafide N7 Commando. Now, today, she was officially given the prestige of “N7”, but we all know the real ceremony is here. Now,” Anderson turned around, looking at Shepard while he stuck his right hand behind him, Operations Chief Mulligan handing him something. “Lieutenant, remove your cover.”
Elizabeth reached up, plucking the blue cover from her head, holding it flat in her left arm, the bottom of the cover, and her hand, parallel to the deck. Anderson turned around, holding what was a crimson beret identical to those worn by all in the room, him included, and displaying it before everyone.
“The Crimson Beret has been a symbol of the N7 force since its inception, distinguishing us from our brothers in arms as the quiet, effective, and deadly right hand of Alliance Command, the ones who crawl through all the shit nobody else wants to touch to get our hands dirty for them. It has since been tradition, that when a new professional badass earns their stripe, their beret is presented to them here, at McGovern’s, if and only if they can hold their own against the greatest enemy mankind has ever faced: Ryncol.”
The men and women around the bar chuckled, all laughing and jostling, remembering the pain of their own glass of the horrid liquor. Anderson turned around to face Shepard, a smile beaming on his face.
“First Lieutenant Elizabeth Shepard. Having graduated ICT with class 253, met all the requirements of your In Field Evaluation Period, and having survived Ryncol, I hereby unofficially grant you the military rate of ‘Professional Badass’. You are now able to wear the N7 Red Beret, made from the fear of our enemies and colored in the blood of our comrades, and may now rest easy with the knowledge that even a Krogan Warlord couldn’t kill you.”
Anderson lowered the red beret onto Shepard’s head, loud cheering coming from the crowd behind him. He offered his hand and they shook it, before she saluted him, his returned with an effusive grin beaming at her. He turned around, holding his glass up.
“Commandos! To our new sister in arms, may her kill-list be long and god-save whatever poor sonofabitch wants to mess with her, since he’ll have to go through us!”
Glasses around the room were raised to a booming and echoing “Oorah!” before multiple gallons of beer disappeared before Shepard’s eyes and, beaming, she was handed her first drink of the night which wasn’t used to clean weapons in the field.
The next chapter of my Shenko epic is up! And, it was one year ago today I posted the first chapter.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
CHAPTER 12 MISTAKES
Mistakes (plural noun): an action(s) or judgment(s) that is/are misguided or wrong.
So this chapter is... well, honest to goodness it is my favorite that I’ve written. I really hope peeps enjoy it because it tickles me right pink. I’ve been working hard to get to this chapter because it’s such a gem. I really hope you enjoy it.
