#post me3

[solysketches]

What if, after the war, Shepard fostered disabled dogs?

(Featuring a little buddy inspired by my late dog)

[colonel-dynamite-gun]

I have this dumb mental image of an aged Liara, now in her Matriarch stage centuries after the end of the games leading a diplomatic mission into Krogan space. Upon arrival her staff are horrified by a band of Krogan soldiers that meet them at the landing zone led by a grizzled leader. His scales marked by a hundred battles and a demeanor to match, roaring out a 'request' to speak to "the one in charge."

The mood is tense. Krogan space is civilized but along its border bands of renegades, holdouts of the old ways of war aren't uncommon. The mission has a few Asari commandos providing security but they're outnumbered two to one. Should they turn back? Stall for time and try to plan an escape?

Instead, Matriarch T'Soni holds up a hand, calming her staff and without a word, walks down the ship's ramp towards the Krogan completely unarmed, in nothing but her gown, ignoring the cries behind her begging her to come back.

She reaches the band of Krogan warriors, looks the leader up and down and places her hands on her hips.

"Is this anyway to greet your mother, Grunt"?

A tumbleweed passing makes the only sound

The Krogan grins, and scoops Liara into his arms for a hug, lifting her off her feet and spinning her 'round.

"I missed you." He says softly. She pats his shoulder as he places her down again.

"It's good to see you again too Grunt. You've got quite the command here it seems." She feels a smile on her lips as she waves her hand at the Krogan milling about, all trying their best not to stare, just as stunned as the members of the Asari mission.

"Yep. I've got my own brigade now. Aralakh Brigade. Over 2'000 strong. All under my command." His voice rings with pride. Liara nods.

"She'd be proud if she were here you know. Of what you've become Grunt. Following in her footsteps."

Grunt laughs. "She would, wouldn't she"? He doesn't wait for an answer and Liara knows he doesn't need one. They both know the answer. Shepard had taken Grunt in, seen past the tank bred warrior exterior to the boy beneath and had taken him to her side.

When Liara learned of this upon meeting Grunt for the first time on Utukku (Learning her bond mate had an adopted son that she'd never seen fit to mention) she had been surprised, but surprises were something she had grown used to with Shepard.

"Kid just needs a bit of direction Liara. Give him a chance." She could still hear Shepard's voice in her memory reassuring her.

She had been right "on the money" as she was fond of saying.

Liara ran a hand down her front, straightening the folds of her dress as she put back on her 'matriarch face'. "Well then. We have a schedule to keep. A meeting with the planetary overseer. Would you escort us"? She asked aloud.

Grunt nodded, with a slight twinge in his own voice putting on his 'Commander' voice. "I'd be honored, Matriarch T'Soni." Turning he bellowed out to his troops. "Form up!"

Liara walks back to her staff, almost all with wide eyes at what's unfolded before them. She crosses her arms. "As I recall we have a schedule to keep, do we not?" Breaking the trance they rush to their duties. She turns her back to them, hiding a small smile and watches Grunt form up his troops. The way he orders them into formation reminds her of no one but Shepard, a small piece of her still alive all these years on.

She would be proud.

...

I'm of the option that Femshep is Grunt's adoptive mom, and realized that even if she won't be around forever with Grunt, a romanced Liara certainly would be.

[garfbin]

Baby, You're a Haunted House - Chapter 2

Nothing Compares 2 U (2190)

Garrus fails two humans

[a-cosmic-elf]

Reminiscing about some old Shakarian writings under the cut 🥰

The minute Garrus met the Commander, he could sense that she had a job to do, and she was not going to let it go. If Shepard was determined to take Saren down, their goals were aligned, and he would not be left behind. He hadn't even asked; he simply told her, "I'm coming with you, Shepard." He hardly gave it a second thought and quit C-Sec that very same day. His father had been furious.

In the end, it was worth it. By the time Shepard had finished, Saren had laid dead, and the Wards and Presidium were strewn with bits of Reaper. They had saved the Citadel. Garrus's father hadn't seemed so mad after that.

They had even asked Garrus to return to C-Sec and offered him a promotion and a larger office. Being part of Shepard's team had earned him a lot of respect.

To the people back home, you would have thought he had single-handedly taken down Palaven's rogue Spectre. Saren had been vilified as public enemy number one, which meant that Garrus was now a hero. The turians, characteristically clinging to one of their own, latched onto him far more than the human Commander.

Garrus had restored turian honor on the galactic stage, and it afforded him almost rockstar status back home. It felt wrong like he was stealing Shepard's thunder. He downplayed it in front of the Commander and the Normandy's crew as much as he could. But everyone on Palaven wanted a piece of him now.

The hierarchy recognised how uplifting his story was to the troops, making him their poster boy. They even assigned him a PR team and a PA to deal with the sheer volume of requests for a moment of Garrus Vakarian's time. The attention made him feel uncomfortable. He would have preferred to have stayed tucked away with his newfound family on the Normandy, away from the celebrity status and media interest as 'Palaven's most eligible bachelor'. The trouble was there was only one person he felt like dating, and she wasn't turian.

And she wanted him to be a Spectre.

It had been on Shepard's advice that he once again put himself forward for the Council's Special Tactics and Recon team, and they seemed more than happy to have him. It was something that he had chosen, much to his father's disgust, to make himself totally unreachable back home. But also, if he was honest, he wanted to impress Shepard and so that the next time their paths crossed, they would be on equal footing. How Commander Shepard saw Garrus Vakarian meant more to him than anyone else's opinion.

It felt good to have an excuse to call Shepard every now and again for advice during the selection process and discuss the respective Spectres they had been partnered with. All Spectres were reviewed by their peers now, not just the new candidates. They were assessed by one another on a routine basis to see if they were still up to the job. The Council were just a little wearier after Saren.

Sure, it meant that the odd assessment was prone to be clouded by personal agendas. Which was precisely why, much to Garrus's chagrin, known close associates were never partnered with each other.

"Who did you get?" He asked her during an expensive late-night call to the Normandy from his apartment on the Citadel. Worth every credit.

"Jellen," Shepard said sleepily, her elbows on the desk of her quarters on the Normandy. She sat wrapped up in one of those old Alliance issue blankets, a mug of coffee in her hand, "he seems to be decent enough. You?"

"R'vast," Garrus said with horror, echoed by Shepard's short hiss in commiserations, "I was hoping to get Rix, but rumour is he just quit."

"No way! I've never heard of a Spectre quitting before. Did he say why?"

"He gave some excuse about Saren's betrayal, but it's rumoured to be for personal reasons," Garrus told her.

R'vast was asari and known for her quick temper. It was like he'd just drawn the shortest straw. He steeled himself for one of Shepard's famous pep talks.

As if right on cue, she said, "It's okay, Garrus, you can do this, I know you can. We'll have this reconnaissance done before you know it and be back in time for your official induction."

His heart swelled in his chest. "Really? That soon?" It would mean the world to him if she were there.

"You and I both know there's nothing out here; it's a waste of time. It feels like the Council are playing down the Reaper threat. I'm going to need more Spectres on my side to convince them that we need to prepare for the invasion."

"What about the memories you and Liara shared with Tevos? Did that not convince her, at least?"

"She refused to join with either of us."

"What?" Garrus almost choked on his drink. "Why?"

"There are rules to prevent an asari councillor from being mind-hacked, a favourite tool of terrorists. They're not allowed to meld with anyone for their own safety.

"Also," Shepard continued, "the Council said that since I am 'only a human', I don't have the mental discipline. The memories may have become distorted, contaminated with my own past traumas. They ruled that it was inadmissible as evidence of these 'Reapers'."

It was Garrus's turn to pull a face of disgust at Shepard's funny but all too accurate, animated impression of Councilor Sparatus. "I suppose the Citadel covered in bits of Reaper, wasn't evidence enough?" He commiserated.

"Not of an impending invasion, no."

"Shepard, I'm sorry. I wanted to be there, but they called the session at short notice, and I wasn't invited."

"It's okay. They'd probably just call it bias for an old Commander, anyway," Shepard said, with a smirk she tried to hide by burying her face in her cup.

The pair fell into a comfortable silence. Garrus found himself staring into his own half-empty glass, turning it around slowly in mid-thought, watching the light from his visor reflect on the surface, "I miss the Normandy," he said, finally. Something about Shepard always had him laying his heart on his sleeve.

Shepard swallowed, "We miss you too," she said earnestly.

Garrus took another swig of his drink, letting the liquid warm his throat and found a little courage to ask, "Then, if you don't mind me asking, why did you send me away?"

"I didn't want to. But I was told it would be the only way for you to shine, to let you find your own path instead of just following mine. I did it so that you could reach your full potential."

"Let me guess, this advice came from my father," he said.

"No, Sparatus," Shepard's eyes widened when she saw his jaw slacken with the admission, and she nodded, "I know, right? Turns out they'd been watching you, Garrus Vakarian. During your time on the Normandy, you did what needed to be done, even though it meant disobeying the rules. Words like 'ideal candidate' were thrown around. Sparatus approached me. He wondered if I would consider recommending that you transfer. I didn't want to lose you, but..."

As Shepard continued to offer one lame excuse after another, Garrus couldn't stop smiling. Humans had such expressive faces that were so easy to read, and he'd heard enough cover stories in his time to read between the lines. There was more than this than she was willing to admit, even on a secure channel.

They had been heavily flirting to the point of inappropriate behaviour before he left. Shepard's well-prepared speech and the quick and flustered way she spoke told him more than just 'The Council wanted you back'.

Also, since when had 'whatever Sparatus said' ever stopped Shepard from doing anything? He was sure there was also an underlying current of Garrus's presence on the Normandy being a significant distraction for the Commander.

Especially if they ever found themselves alone together in that slow-moving elevator again.

Having weighed up all the evidence and the courage of a bit of alcohol in his system, he finally interrupted her, "Shepard, it's okay, look, how about we team up on a mission when you return?"

"Really?" Shepard stopped babbling. "What do you have in mind?"

"I don't know, maybe…" to hell with it, they'll both be Spectres by then . He took a deep breath and said, "drinks at one of the new nightclubs here?"

Her face lit up with that genuine smile, the one that humans can't hide. It bunched up her cheeks and creased up the sides of her eyes which sparkled with excitement. For a moment, it seemed like he actually had the great Commander Shepard lost for words as she opened her mouth and then stalled, her face fell, and she held up one of her slender fingers up to the screen as if to hush him, her head turned, listening. Something was happening on the ship. "Garrus," she said, "I should go."

"I understand. Take care, Commander," was the last thing he said to her before the line went dead.

From ‘The End of it All’ by a cosmic elf on AO3

(Despite the tags, it’s still always about Shepard).

[deinonyx-png]

Meat and Tubes

Shepard once said to Kaidan that they were described as ‘just meat and tubes’ but he never could imagine it - never wanted to.

Then they had to go and die on him a second time.

Now he sat in one of the best medical facilities still standing, watching as monitors beeped steadily. Was this worse than when Shepard was recovered over Alchera? Cerberus had the funds and facilities to revive them.

Just because Shepard managed to come back from meat and tubes once, doesn’t mean it could happen again.

But, God, does Kaidan wish it so.

[westernlarch]

Hell is empty and all the devils are here

WIP excerpt from the latest chapter of Taproot

When she caught up to Lieutenant Palmer, he was inspecting one of the quarters at the far end of the corridor. Like all the others she’d passed, the room was strictly functional, the kind of place only suitable for short stays and contract work, as spiritless as it was sparsely furnished. A single bed, a few floating shelves, a storage locker (double wide), a desk, and a chair were all that were afforded the overworked souls of Hephaestus Station. “Not much here beyond a few personal effects, Commander,” he said as she approached. He’d shouldered his rifle and was holding up a delicate, gold chain. There was a medallion hanging from it, small, like an old coin, and he stared at it fixedly before laying the pendant flat in his palm. “Who do you suppose that is?” he said, holding it out for her to see. Shepard stepped closer and leaned in. The relief was worn, but she could just make out a loose-robed man standing mid-strike, his foot pinning down the head of a wretched creature who lay splayed on the ground. Both figures appeared to have wings. “That’s Saint Michael,” she said plainly. Palmer looked up in surprise. “How the hell'd you know that?” “My grandad used to wear one just like it. It’s supposed to be a protection from evil. See how Michael’s got a sword?” She pointed to the longsword he brandished above his head, a weapon he was poised to plunge into the creature beneath him. “The old stories say he led the angels into battle and defeated the Devil.” “The Devil?” intoned Palmer. He squinted through the narrow visor of his helmet, holding the medallion closer to his face. “I’ll be damned. That’s quite a feat.” “Yeah, well, he cast the devil and his minions down to Earth. Not so great for us mortals.” “Hell is empty and all the devils are here?” Shepard smirked. “Feels like that sometimes, doesn’t it?” Palmer carefully laid the medallion back down on the shelf where he’d found it. “Whoever owned this must have left in a real hurry.” He glanced down at the unmade bed, its sheets thrown off to one side and touching the floor, as if the person who’d slept in it had rushed out in the middle of the night. The double locker too was evidence. Its battered doors were flung open, revealing a hang bar still half slotted with clothes, the shirts and jumpsuits drooping from their hangers by one shoulder. Someone had tried to tear them out but in the end abandoned the effort. A mad French exit. No warning, no forethought, just a scramble to some place else. “Everyone left in a hurry.” Not that it mattered why. The people who’d lived and worked here, who had helped to ensure the galaxy’s collective existence, would never return. The station was a ghost town.

[naarisz]

Memories :)

[easternpine]

Part III, Chapter 3: Amend/Recultivate

Miranda freed her hand. “So that’s it then? My baby sister telling me how to live my life?” “Your sister is telling you what you need to hear.” She was speechless. This was all wrong. An older sibling should have more wisdom, more forethought, to see how this would all play out. Remarkable achievements aside, Oriana had a led a fairly unremarkable existence until now. To anyone else that might sound pejorative, but it was everything Miranda had wanted for her, what she had set into motion when she snatched her from their father’s grasp. Marriage, a family, a reliable career: it was all possible if she wanted them. Such a thing would be, at best, complicated for Miranda. Oriana, from whom she withheld little, was familiar with the story of their father’s obsessive care—his abuse—but there was no way for her to understand what that really meant. The unrecoverable cost of it all. How she could never again let herself be cut off from life’s infinite choices, or insulated from the universe at large. Staying in one place with one man—it could only end in heartbreak.

read the rest of the chapter on AO3