#patch me through to palaven command
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internat habits that are good to learn
#patch me through to palaven command#yes i drew this with a cat and not lion because its more hashtag relatable that way#comics
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(wistfully) I need to draw more yaoi
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going to rb the posts ive made here to my mains ( @androdragynous / @canonkiller for art ) and then delete this blog bc i REALLY dont use it any more and its got. 1.2k followers for some reason
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Mass Effect 3: From The Ashes -Chapter 2: Burnout
Chapter Two
Burnout
She knew she looked like shit. The dreams had come again last night, with a vengeance. She could barely look Garrus in the eye as they ate together in the mess, the rest of her crew cheerfully discussing their options for shore leave when they arrived at Palaven. She had done her best to show the usual “Shepard” bravado. Ordered Ash and Vega to get a room in a different building than hers so she didn’t have to hear any of their “recreation,” asked what the best sushi restaurant was, and made comments about taking in the “native scenery” with a pointed, slow scrutiny of Garrus that she swore had actually made him blush. If Turians could blush… to her horror, she had learned they could bruise.
Once upon a time, once upon a different “Commander Shepard,” she probably wouldn’t have been so casual with her crew. Would have kept her liasons - no fuck “liasons,” her dating life - more private and encouraged others to do the same. She never would have striven for the uptight (in her opinion), stupid professionalism and lack of… liasing… that she knew other officers expected. These were warriors. All of them. Whether they charged out behind her with a gun or made sure the water-filtration system stayed funcional, they had all faced death day in and day out. And… it was a bunch of mostly humans stuck together in a tin can flying through a vacuum, with things outside (and sometimes inside) that wanted to kill them - spirits knew they needed to take the edge off somehow.
“Spirits”… she’d started swearing like him… well… like he did when he thought she was asleep and couldn’t hear him.
But trying to keep that “professionalism” in the face of so much death, loss and destruction, to stifle anything that might make someone laugh, feel something other than fear, make someone blush... that pursuit seemed petty now.
She felt exhausted at the thought of trying to keep up that bravado when they reached Palaven. Garrus had assured her that she would have a place of honor among Turians till the end of time for what she had done to save their planet, not to mention the personal services she had done for the Primarch. He told her that she’d better not worry what they thought. But to be honest, that just felt like more pressure. She had a feeling she might miss being the rogue, back-from-the-dead Spectre everyone thought was crazy, saying that there were monsters hiding under everyone’s cars, rather than the all-saving “Shepard.”
Maybe she should just spend a few months on Tuchanka. At least if she threw a fit and yelled “GO AWAY I SAVED YOU ALL I’M TIRED STILL” she would get some begrudging respect for her level of aggression. She had a feeling the same behavior on Palaven would have them looking at her with pursed mandibles and thinking her “primitive.”
But she wanted to go back now, for his sake. He tried to play it cool, but she knew he was worried. He never for a moment gave any sign that he wanted to be anywhere but her agonizingly slowly healing side. You would think being “synthesized” and full of these little… strands of… something (it was infuriating that no one could tell her what they were) would make you heal fast or some shit like that, but no. The organic part of her stuck with being very organic and patched up at a snail's pace. But she could tell that he felt he urgently needed to get back to Palaven. His father and sister had made it out when the Reapers attacked, barely, but his sister had a broken leg, and the two of them had been very guarded when discussing the health of his mother.
Waking up in his arms in the engine room that morning had been like taking a punch to the gut. He must have taken a seat on the floor at some point, back resting against the wall of the control panel. She had awoken to find herself folded in his arms, her cheek against his bare torso, a sheet from her (no… their bed) half tangled around her but still showing far too much of her underwear-clad body. She had no memory of being brought into the engine room, no understanding why he was topless; thank the spirits, at least he was wearing pants. She was mortified. She knew he had found her when she had fallen asleep here earlier this week. She’d woken briefly as he walked down the hall from the engine room, perhaps when she could no longer feel that gentle thrum that surrounded her now.
After waking she had just sat there. Listening to the slow, strangely soothing beating of his heart. At least he was sleeping. After all these fucking dreams… letting him sleep was the least she could do. He was starting to look like shit too.
And oh god, did she look like shit, she thought as she passed a painfully reflective wall panel, as she made her way towards the bridge. An engineer passed her with a respectful nod which she returned with a slight smile. They seemed tense, but thankfully said nothing. Well, maybe that was the upside of dying in universe-saving wars… twice. Your crew were impressed or scared of you enough to avoid commenting when you looked like crap.
She snorted to herself. She’d have to tell Anderson to use that strategy the next time he had to deal with all the damn politicians. Maybe they could take some shore leave and she could bring him up to speed over a long night of drinks; although he’d probably drink her under the table, coming from London…
The city's name in her head was like a biotic blast to the chest. London. Anderson. Her steps faltered and she grasped the walkway railing with one hand for a moment. Had she really just….was she that stupid? She cursed herself. No, no. There would be no telling Anderson. No seeing that twinkle in his eye behind his Spartan countenance; no hearing him grumble dryly, “I knew it was a bad idea letting them make you a Spectre.” The pain at that thought was… heavy, as if his absence left yet another mantle of responsibility on her already straining shoulders. Well, she would just have to settle for giving him something interesting to watch from wherever he was now.
She neared the helm and heard EDI and Joker laughing up ahead. Now that was a sound she would never tire of. Garrus thought EDI’s laugh had become eerily human since the synthesis, but Shepard thought it had become delightfully human. She owed the AI an eternal debt of gratitude for what she’d done - not to mention the fact that it meant that Shepard wasn’t the only one changed in ways that no one could understand.
“Hey Shepard!” called Joker as she drew level with them, “Ash told me you were asking for sushi recommendations on Palaven. I’m really sorry but I have something super important to do at the exact time you’re going, so you’ll have to find someone else to be your decoy this time - I mean date.”
At hearing this, EDI began to - no… really? Yep, Shepard wasn’t seeing things - the AI had just rolled her eyes at their pilot.
“Joker continues to think that any kind of combat training, including simple target practice, is a terrible idea,” she said. “Despite Garrus’ and my recommendations.”
“Look,” chided Joker, “I have lived through all these disasters as a pilot. No way am I messing up my survival streak with this one still around and wreaking havoc.” He grinned at her, “With all due respect Commander, I for one think the galaxy would actually be a whole lot safer and quieter if you would stay dead one of these days.”
Her lip twitched. Things would suck without Joker. It would be a hell of a lot harder to deal with all this without him: someone who knew when she couldn’t take any more gentle voices, respectful nods, or awe-filled stares and instead needed a good old ribbing. Needed to feel human for a few minutes.
“I’ll take your feedback into consideration, Lieutenant Moreau.” Shepard said dryly.
“If you want a quieter galaxy, you should accompany her on a mission, Jeff,” EDI offered. “Your lack of cross training is probably the most efficient way to get her killed.”
“Ha, ha, ha,” he shot back at her.
“Well, Lieutenant,” Shepard asked, “Are we still on schedule for our arrival on Palaven? Or have you drifted several days off-course while griping about your untenable world-saving workload?”
EDI snorted. Now even that one surprised Shepard.
“No, Commander. We are on schedule, Ma’am.” he answered. She cringed despite herself. She was fine with that usually, but it never sounded right coming from Joker. “Although, we’ve had a message from Tali.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, she was wondering if there was any way we could make a stop on Rannoch on our way to Palaven.” Shepard frowned. “She said she had something she wanted to discuss with you and Liara in person about the… Reapers settlement.” His voice tensed as he mentioned the Reapers. She had shared her full account of what happened on the Crucible with the closer members of her crew after they picked her and Garrus up from Sur'Kesh and began their current journey. It had been a long night and somehow, despite being in a private room of a Salarian bar, there hadn’t seemed to be enough alcohol. Joker, despite being obviously horrified by the option to destroy all higher functioning synthetics and the ramifications that would have had for EDI, still seemed very distrustful of the idea of giving intellectual freedom to the Reapers. She didn’t blame him. The damage they had wreaked on Earth’s surface had been horrifying, but she heard several people, even Garrus, say that the carnage in the skies, Reapers ripping through dreadnaughts like they were made of paper, was like nothing he had ever seen before. And Joker had been in the heart of that maelstrom the whole time.
“Did it sound urgent?” she asked. She hated the thought of Garrus waiting longer to see his family.
“From her tone… yeah.” he sighed. She wondered if, underneath all his blustering, he was as worn out as she was. Garrus had talked about retiring on a beach. But you needed to be able to breathe on your own, and walk on your own to go to a beach, and that had taken her a while. Then there were questions to answer, and people to check in on and… oh well. She’d never spent much time on beaches. Maybe she’d have hated sand and it would have been a waste of time.
“Alright,” she said. “I’m going to check in with Garrus, see if he thinks we can spare the time.” She started towards the back of the ship, “Don’t have too much fun you two,” she called back over her shoulder. “Moreau, you have the bridge.”
As her footsteps rang on the walkway she heard poorly restrained laughter and grumbling.
“You got Moreau’d” sniggered EDI.
“Yeah well you-”
“Twice!”
“Shut up!”
* * *
“The engine room?” Liara asked incredulously. Garrus rubbed his eyes and squinted at the equations he had been pretending to try and pay attention to. He should really just throw in the towel. He was only kidding himself at this point.
“Yeah…” he sighed. “Two nights in a row now. So I guess that’s progress.”
Liara gave him a long disparaging look. She pushed off the wall of the main battery where she had been leaning and took a step towards him.
“I’ll talk to her about assisting with her sleep,” she said.
“No. We’re not there yet.” He sighed.
“I don’t think that’s your call to make,” she said softly.
He closed his eyes, shook his head to clear it and continued after a deep breath, “I… look that’s not what I meant. She’s proud.” He fixed his eyes on Liara. “You know she is. Do you really think she wants to be asked that now? When who the hell knows who is going to want to meet with her when we get to Palaven?”
She frowned. “All the more reason for her to actually be getting rest on the way there.”
Garrus felt trapped. “Maybe we put a cot in there...”
Liara snorted. “Oh, so having everyone on the ship knowing-”
“We could hide it and when she’s ready to go to sleep-”
“What? Have her sneak into the engine room? That’s better for her pride than biotic assistance?”
“I don’t know, ok? I’ve had as much time to work on this problem as you have!” he snapped.
“And I’m telling you I have a better solution for her,” she retorted.
Garrus could feel his irritation growing. “And, why exactly do you think you know what is going to be better for her?” he growled.
“Because I actually-” she stopped herself and let out a long, suffering breath.
Garrus raised his brows, leaning forward on the console with his forearms, fingers laced before him to prevent them becoming fists. He forced nonchalance and drawled, “Oh? Because you actually what?”
Liara just stared at him coldly.
“What?” he pressed, his temper getting the better of him. “Come on, what were you about to say?”
“It’s not important.”
“Really?” he stood up, crossing his arms, “Because I’m pretty sure we were just fighting about how to best protect and help the Commander of this ship and the person who just saved the whole damn galaxy... and whatever it was you were about to say seemed to be the crux of your argument for your recommended course of action… so I’m pretty sure it’s at least a little noteworthy.”
“It’s not.”
“Then we go with the cot.”
“Are you really making jokes about this?” she scowled.
“A little humor can’t hurt.”
Liara shook her head. “A little humor? She’s having traumatic night terrors and you’re cracking jokes-”
“Don’t you judge me! I’m the one watching her wake up screaming-” he snarled.
“Oh poor you!” she bit back. “If it's so hard on your precious sleep then let me-”
“Liara, that dependance is going to crush her-”
“How do you know until you ask-”
“Because I know her-”
“NO YOU DON’T.”
It was his turn to go silent, to freeze as the anger coiled within him. “Is that what you were going to say? “Because I actually know her?” Better than I do? Is that it.” He could feel his head pounding.
Her jaw was tight. “You two had one fling nearly a year ago and now a few months of-”
“But your fling years ago makes you the expert-”
“It wasn’t a fling,” she hissed. “I was completely invested-”
“But was she?” He cut back. Liara’s face stilled. Damn. He… he knew it had been a low blow… he was just so-
“At least it didn’t take her dying the first time for me to notice her.”
Cold outrage filled him, but also a whisper of fear, or regret. She seemed to sense it, she laughed bitterly.
“Incredible.” She walked towards the door but stopped before it, not even bothering to look at him, like someone taking a shot there was no way they could miss; someone who knew there was no outcome besides the bullet finding the mark. Quietly, she added, “and I never would have waited to further things with her. Not if there was even one chance that we might not have much time.”
She tapped the panel on the wall and the doors slid open. Good, he thought. Leave. Leave him to do something useful and distract him from the all-to-real fears she had mocked. But to his frustration she closed the panel and looked at him, this time with the barest trace of pity, which actually pissed him off more.
“She needs sleep, Garrus.” she said, her first words without venom in a while. “And so do you.”
“I sleep fine.” He growled.
“No you don’t.” He opened his mouth to retort but before he could, she added, “And I know you don’t because I’ve been sitting outside her cabin doors at night, and I can feel you lying there watching her,” she sighed. It did nothing to dispel the air of tension in the room. Her pity deepened, “and you said that you're the one who’s ‘watching her wake up screaming.’”
The doors to the battery snapped open and Shepard stared at them. “Did I miss something about a meeting?” she asked dryly.
“Ah - no we -” stammered Garrus.
“You sure? I’ve been sleeping like shit, it’s totally gonna make me miss something. I need to see Chakwas or someone about it later…”
“No,” Liara said smoothly, stepping past Shepard, “Garrus was having some trouble with his calculations.” She gave him a meaningful look. “...but I was just able to show him he was wrong.” And with that she left, sealing the door behind her. Garrus seathed silently. He’d have to see if the shooting range had a blue practice dummy.
Shepard gazed at the closed portal for a moment, looking perplexed, “Ok,” she said at last, then crossed to him. “Garrus, I wanted to ask you something.”
“Anything for you, Shepard.” he said, forcing the damned Asari from his mind and focusing on the woman before him. Damn, she looked more tired than she had been earlier that morning.
She smiled at him, then grew serious. “I know that we were trying to get back to Palaven as quickly as we could to check on your family. But… we just got a message from Tali. She needs Liara and I for something on Rannoch. I think it has something to do with the Reapers, and Joker said it sounded urgent.”
The Reapers, of course she’d have to deal with them even now. His chest was tight but he purred mischievously. “Commander, you flatter a grunt like me by coming here, but our headings are your call.”
“You’re pretty, but don’t think you’re that important,” she said, smacking his arm lightly, then adding seriously, “I just know you’re worried about them and it's been a while since we had any news.”
His heart warmed at her concern. “They’re Vakarians, Shepard. We’re hard to kill. Haven’t you dragged me through hell enough to learn that yet?”
“Clearly not,” she laughed, “Guess we’ll have to keep getting into trouble till it sinks in. But seriously, you’re sure?”
“Yeah,” he said, squeezing her hand. “It’ll be fine. Besides… Reapers.... who else are they going to call.....”
She groaned and rolled her eyes. Then squinted at the calibrations on the screen. “So you really needed math help from Liara?”
“No!” He snapped, before he could help himself, “Uh- well- she was exaggerating.” Yeah, he had definitely seen a blue target practice dummy in the back of a locker somewhere….
“Oh my god, you did!” she teased, “Wow, you must be more worn out than I am.” She squinted at him. “You look like shit, Vakarian. I’ve learned by now Turians can blush and bruise but I didn’t know you could get eyebags too.” He growled at her. “You’re lucky I like scars so much.”
That was it. He grabbed her and pinned her to the wall.
“Really, Shepard?” he breathed. “Well, then let’s take a look everywhere and see who has more….”
The light dancing in her eyes made his mouth dry. He pushed away his worries and the small, self-conscious voice Shepard had just woken up, and focused on her. Although, it was a bit of a struggle. Did she really have to go there? He knew he looked like shit.
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Probably going to replace this art blog with something else so I can keep things more organized? Will drop a link when I do.
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Inktober 19 and 20 - Breakable and Scorched
Summary: Alistair Shepard’s policy on cooking could best be described as ‘scorched earth’ and ‘total disaster’. Luckily, the Reapers didn’t destroy pizza delivery when they attacked in 2186. It’s a weird retirement, but it’s his. Luckily, he has someone to eat pizza with, even if that companion is a wise ass.
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Ok, who was the genius who decided that things you cook with could be so goddamn breakable?
Honestly, it was a miracle he hadn't lost an eye from the flying glass that had once been the measuring cup. Alistair was bleeding, sure, but it was only flesh wounds. The worst was in his hand. With any luck, he would only be picking glass from it for the next hour.
At least he remembered to turn the stove off this time as he backed away from it towards where he kept the first aid kit. Last time... well, he didn't want to think about that. Bo was still calling him an idiot over it.
“Oww.”
His classmates were often surprised he still felt pain. According to them, all his nerves should be used to it after being buried in the Citadel two separate times. Technically, it was only once with this body – that was something else fun to explain to them – but apparently it still counted. Unfortunately for him, he did still feel pain perfectly well in the parts that were still fleshy. Maybe he had less of them than most people, but they felt it well enough to make up for his missing limbs.
It took some fumbling to get the first aid kit open, but thanks to his prosthetic arm he was soon picking through it. A small amount of medigel was resting on the table as he grabbed for the tweezers he kept in there. Maybe not the best for picking glass out, but he had an edge.
Technically, biotics weren't exactly approved parts of medical procedures according to one of his teachers, but they weren't here and his good hand was fucking bleeding everywhere. It was good to feel that hum as his implant kicked in. Really, it had been too long since Alistair had last used them. Civilian life didn't exactly provide many opportunities for implementation, especially since humans were still a little leery about their own species making shit float. With all the exploding eezo since the reapers hit in 2186, more were starting to pop up. Not nearly as much as other species, but they might beat the turians out in twenty years.
It was always fun, beating them in something.
“Oww... shit.” Even with biotics, Alistair had to fumble with the tweezers to get one of the smaller chunks out of his hand. But it came out, and that was good enough for him. Now there were only a few more pieces, and those were bigger. They'd be much easier to get out.
A few more plucks, and soon his entire hand was covered in medigel and patched up with bandages. Alistair finally breathed a sigh of relief as he sunk back into the couch and closed his eyes. Clearly he was getting soft if this bothered him.
Though, after killing a shit ton of reapers, maybe he could allow himself that. After all, it was 2189 and the fact they could continue to date shit on the calendar was a miracle in itself.
He stayed there on the couch for a few minutes, quietly resting his eyes. School was wearing him out a little, though it wasn't as bad as 2186. Nothing could ever be as bad as that. Still, it was nice he could still feel stressed out about things. It made him feel human.
Just like the hypo that was starting to set in was making him feel. Right... he had been making food before all of this.
It took him some doing, but soon he was shoving his emergency sugar supply into his mouth. Brain functions would come back in a few moments, but until then he was pretty useless. So, back to sitting on his ass it was. No problems there.
Really, he had been trying to make dinner to avoid his homework before all of this. Clearly, he was getting back into the swing of being a student again with flying colors. It wasn't quite the military retirement he had expected – he hadn't thought he'd make it at all, actually – but it was how his life was going. Maybe he had taken a bit longer to get there, but he was there and that was all that mattered.
“Maybe I should give up on the cooking thing for tonight though...” he had enough scars as it was. Plus, with his last test results, maybe he had earned a little pizza. That order was easy enough to put through. Now he just got to sit back and wait.
And... maybe start on that homework he had been putting off. That was the trade off, wasn't it?
Honestly, Alistair tended to lose track of time when he was studying. It could have been ten minutes, it could have been an hour. The thing that pulled him out of it was a knock on his apartment door. Well, that and his growling stomach.
“Be right there!”
He still had a bit of a limp – therapy couldn't get rid of that completely. But his prosthetic leg was doing a good job of getting him around. Maybe it wasn't quite Spectre quality, but he was retired. At least that was what he told himself as he stood up from the couch and made his way to the front door at a slightly reduced speed.
Much to his disappointment, it wasn't pizza waiting for him. However, Garrus fucking Vakarian definitely was a nice surprise.
Alistair didn't even think – he launched himself at the turian with the speed of his Alliance days. He didn't quite manage to knock his fiance to the floor, but at least he put in a good effort regardless. Garrus managed to catch him, and the two were against the wall. It was only decency and the reminder they were in the fucking hallway that kept them from, well, trying to fuck in the hallway.
Also the fact Garus fucking Vakarian was in fucking Baltimore when he should have been on Palaven. That was a bit of a kicker.
“Good to see you too, Al.” That was the first thing he said when he didn't have a tongue in his mouth. It had taken some doing to stop making out with him, but that was the price he paid for getting some information. “Guess I don't have to ask if you missed me?”
Alistair snickered as he nuzzled into Garrus' neck – not to make him totally horny or anything, there were children in the apartment down from him after all – and kissed him lightly over some of his older scars. Really, he would have thought he was dreaming. But his injured hand was aching, and so was his bad hip. Those were both great reminders he was awake.
“Ass. What the hell are you even doing here? I thought you said they were running you ragged back on Palaven.”
The turian responded by clucking like an unholy 7 foot chicken. The translator made it sound like laughter, but enough time around him had taught Alistair otherwise. Though Garrus said he didn't sound like a chicken when he laughed, he totally did. Though it was kind of cute too. He needed to do it more.
That was probably where he came in, being Mr. Vakarian's fiance and all. Laughter was kind of his department.
“I may have moved some things around. After all, isn't your birthday tomorrow?”
Fuck, was it?
Garrus saw the look on his face and laughed even harder. “You forgot your own birthday again, didn't you?”
“No.” The blushing gave Alistair away. Though, he eventually relented and grinned sheepishly. “Ok, maybe. School's been keeping me kind of busy.”
He chuckled as well, but that amusement turned to embarrassment as he heard someone clear his throat off to the left. When he turned to look, he blushed even harder. Garrus might not have been the pizza guy, but said guy was definitely there now.
Now what did he want more? His fiance, or food. Processing... processing... yep, the hierarchy of needs won out. Food it was.
“Uh... be right over.”
Garrus was nice enough to not laugh his turian ass off right away as he lowered him to the floor. Alistair was still blushing scarlet as he limped off to pay for his dinner. Sam – yes he knew the guy's fucking name, he saw him enough to know it – was doing his best not to laugh too. He did shoot him a knowing look as he handed over the food and departed. But then he was gone.
And... well, food.
“How many times this week have you ordered pizza?” Garrus was following him back into his apartment. The turian at least didn't look too shocked when he saw a similar box in the bin next to the door. “What a surprise, only once.”
If he was trying to get fucked that night... well, that was probably going to happen anyway, but he was pushing his luck for sure.
“I may have had some issues in the kitchen.” Alistair scowled a little when his fiance snickered. “What?”
Garrus was nice enough to help him grab a plate, but that was also because he wasn't allergic to levo food. It didn't do much for him nutritionally, but he could definitely steal at least a few slice and not have to worry much. And again, did pizza do much nutritionally for people who could eat it anyway?
“Al, your cooking strategy is scorched earth.” He stole a slice and quick kiss before Alistair could swipe him away. Briefly, it made the human wonder what he was actually saying – no way the turian military strategy would have referred to such a timeless classic with anything to do with their recent love/hate relationship partner. “What, it's an effective military tactic. You've still got a little Commander Shepard in you.”
Someone else might not if he kept it up... Garrus was lucky he was so damn cute. And he was a welcome distraction from homework. Alistair would have to get back to that later, but at least he had someone to lean against while he did it. That was enough to almost make it tolerable.
He still had to clean the kitchen from his attempts at cooking after this but... well, turians were great at dealing with the after effects of scorched earth policy. Maybe he could get his fiance to do it while he did his homework. After all, he was feeding him. Maybe he hadn't made it, but it counted.
That was how it worked, right? Damn... he wasn't so good with this sort of thing. Luckily, Alistair had plenty of time to figure it out. That was the bright side of saving the universe. At least he thought so as he settled in to eat some pizza before Garrus ate it all.
Maybe it was a weird retirement, but he was happy to have it – homework and all. Though, he would have to see if he include that last one by the time he was done. Probably not, but the reapers hadn't been able to destroy that either. Guess you can't win them all.
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Here’s a record of all Anderson’s voice recordings about his life for future reference.
Childhood
“Ahem. Okay. So... tombstone data. Admiral David Edward Anderson. Not sure why anyone would be interested, but thanks for asking. I was born in London on June 8th, 2137, the last of three children born to Ursula and Paul Anderson--a nurse and a flight mechanic, respectively. That's a little dry. Someone's going to spice this up, right? Never been much for the spotlight. Anyway... where was I?
It was a second marriage for my parents. They were almost fifty by the time they had me. My mother worked shifts, so my father would often take me to the base. While he worked, I watched transport ships and fighters take off. Worked his whole life around space travel, my father, but he never left Earth, not for a day. He was a good man. But that's just a side note. Don't put that in. Who is it, Kahlee? Yes, I need to take that. I hope this is what you're after. I'll get to the more interesting N7 stuff next time.”
Enlisting
“What was... What was I talking about? Early days, right. People ask why I joined the military. Everyone talks about honor, duty, sure. But that's never the whole truth. It's a hundred little things that add up to commitment. I joined because of a dog. Yeah, a dog. This patchy, mean, son of a bitch that used to bark at me every day on my way to school. It'd snarl, and I'd start running. Scared the hell out of me. I was just a kid. I remember being in a bad mood one morning. Angry. I can't recall why. When that dog started in on me, I snapped. Started barking right back. We both kept at it until we had nothing left. Dog never bothered me again. Why'd I join the military? Sometimes, you just gotta howl to make things right.”
Contact
“No, no. It's fine. I've got a few minutes. First Contact War? Yeah, I was there. My first real combat. First for a lot of us. I remember one night, early in the war, strapped to my seat as our transport approached the LZ. Everyone was dead silent. Just the sound of breathing. Good men. I'd trained with all of them. We were always joking and horsing around. But not this time. Just the rattle of the shuttle and that heavy breathing. Everyone was thinking the same thing: we're off to fight alien invaders. Aliens! Think about that. We all grew up wondering what was out there, if we were alone in the universe. Now we knew. We weren't alone. And we were in trouble.
So there we were, about to face an enemy as different and unknown as we could imagine. I knew I had to say something, keep the men relaxed. So I turned to the soldier beside me, Hendricks I think, and asked him how his mother was doing. "Fine," he said. "Why?" "Cause I heard your momma's so ugly the marines thought she was a turian... almost shot her." That got a few smiles. Then Hendricks turned to me and said... "Hell Anderson, I heard it was a picture of your momma that started this goddamn war in the first place. Scared the turians shitless." Everyone had a good laugh at that. And the boys fought great that night.
Sometimes that's all it takes. A joke. A pat on the back. Just a little reminder that everything's gonna be okay.”
N7
“Embarrassing moments? I got more of those than anyone will ever know. Only way to learn something. But if I had to pick one to share... I had just gotten promoted to N7. Full of myself. King of the castle. Found myself buying drinks for undesirables in some run-down bar in the Wards. They toasted my recent promotion. Hell, they would've toasted batarian slavers if it got them more drinks. About the time my money ran out, my new friends turned on me.
I was outnumbered. Things didn't look good. My plan to get out of there involved lots of punching. That worked for a while. Then a table hit me... or I fell down. When I came to, I saw a salarianputting the rest of the troublemakers down. A salarian! Moved like a damn cat, I swear. When everybody was out cold or running, he walked over and helped me up. "N7?" he asked. "Yes, sir," I replied. He looked over my collection of unconscious friends, nodding. "Not bad, human," he said. Then he walked away. I had met my first Spectre.
Learned an important lesson that day. No matter how good you think you are, there's always somebody quicker, faster, and a helluva lot smarter than you just around the corner. That little lesson's kept me alive more than once since then.”
Turian Experience
“The turians? Hmm. I might not always see eye to eye with the politics and the individuals, but I have great respect for the turian military. Any Alliance soldier lucky enough to take part in their training programs will certainly be better for it. Their precision, skill, and discipline come together in a way that's second to none. Not that I'm faulting our own people or training.. It's just that, after fighting turians in the First Contact War, years later I had the opportunity to observe and train on Palaven.
It's a unique experience to put yourself in the squad of a turian commander. My commander was an uncompromising bastard named Bartus Aurix. If you can find him, just ask how the platoon I commanded was trounced in his strategy games. Humbling, but I've used what I learned that day, many times. The xenophobes will have their say, but I think it's vital that we do more of this kind of cross-species training.
There you go. Heh. And if you do find General Aurix, let me know--I owe him money.”
Relationships
“You never asked me about this, but... My wife just called. My ex-wife... Nobody likes to talk about the toll that long months apart can have on military relationships. She wasn't military. She couldn't handle it. But it's not even about military and non-military, damn it. It's space flight. Space flight--finding the mass relays--miracles of engineering. Human imagination rising to meet our desires. We pay a price for that curiosity, that drive. Our relationships suffer. People we love suffer. But that's reality and it's worth the cost. I must have thought it was... I guess I still do. In the end, you just hope you made the right choices.”
Normandy SR-1
“You asked me to talk about the SSV Normandy--the Normandy SR1. As commander of the Tokyo, I was consulted on the Normandy's design and on board for her initial training exercises. The average person probably doesn't know that the Normandy was a joint project with the turians. Acting CO Elli Zander was no diplomat. She ran out of patience with turian posturing and politicking during construction. The chief architect of the drive core, Octavio Tatum, and his team of turian engineers were in the CIC for final training exercises. Tempers flared when Zander pushed the limits of the stealth system, waiting to vent the IES well past what Tatum was comfortable with. I tried to calm the situation, but it still ended with the turian scientists in shackles and a human/turian fistfight in Chora's Den later.
Funny now... When I first laid eyes on the Normandy, she was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. Day after that training run, Admiral Wright found me on the bridge. "She's yours," he said, "Can't trust her to Zander. Send me a list of crew from the Tokyo you'd like and prep for your first mission." Short command, thanks to Saren. Still. One of the highlights of a long career.”
Normandy
“The Normandy? A brand new ship. My ship. You don't forget that moment. The first time you're standing there, the whole crew looking to you for direction? Unforgettable. I'd led men and women before that. Seen a lot of combat already. Always managed to find my way home in one piece. Do that a few times, you begin to think you know better than the next guy. Maybe you do. I don't know. But if you're lucky, really lucky, you find yourself on a good ship, in front of a good crew. A crew you can trust with your life. Gifted, disciplined, brave. All of them eager to set sail into the endless black ocean. I still remember my XO asking what my orders were. "Shepard," I said, "Let's see what we can find."”
Shepard
“Sure, I can talk about Commander Shepard. Big topic. There's been a lot written about the Commander, but most of it isn't true. People are quick to judge. They don't know the whole story. I don't even know the whole story. But I know the man/woman. Worked with him/her, fought with him/her. Trust him/her with my life. Shepard's had some rough patches. Who of us hasn't. He's/She's been forced to fight a lot of battles alone. God only knows how he/she got out of some of that. Makes your head spin.
Thing is, you never heard a complaint. Never once got "No, sir. I can't do that." He/She never hesitated. Few people know what Shepard's been through. I'd like to think I come pretty close. And I worry sometimes he/she forgets: there's a whole bunch of people who lose sleep over him/her getting back home. Maybe it doesn't need to be said. Maybe we're too dumb to say it.
Soldiers like the Commander are rare. Men/Women like Shepard... even more rare.”
New Questions
“Okay. I have your new questions here... "As a leader, do I ever feel that the ends justify the means? Spirit of law over word of law?" I'm not going to touch that with a ten-foot pole, but I think I know what you're after.
You're referring to the way I, uh, arranged to have the Normandy released to Commander Shepard before the Battle of the Citadel. I'm not sure how valuable hindsight is to the military. Obviously, it worked out for the best. Without the Normandy and Commander Shepard free to do what they needed to do--what we needed them to do--Saren might have taken the Citadel.
I think it's clear what a different galaxy this would be if that had happened. I did what I had to. If I had been wrong, I would've gladly accepted the repercussions. The real trick is never being wrong. Ha. If you're looking for more action and less philosophy in these notes, let me know.”
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game companies should be fucking EMBARRASSED about being inaccessible. it should be mortifying to ship a game with shit captions or no UI scaling options or no option to disable flashing / strobing effects. games lauding their character customization should be laughingstocks for not including hearing aids or congenital disorders or prosthetic limbs. EA should be publicly fucking humiliated for the sims series being 23 goddamn years old and include cats and dogs and horses and werewolves and zombies and mermaids and star wars and not FUCKING WHEELCHAIRS.
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art tips
don't call what you create "content". regardless of what it is. that's the devil talking. call it art, call it writing, call it music, call it analysis, call it editing, literally just call it what it is
I was going to put other things but oh my god please just don't call yourself a "content creator". you are a person you are making art / writing / music / etc you are an artist an author a musician
you are not an Image Generator For Clicks And Views. please. allow yourself to connect with your work by naming it properly and acknowledging yourself in kind
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this is advice I've given friends directly before and I've probably also posted it but I really like giving it so here it is potentially again: do not create something for an imaginary bad faith reader.
there will always be someone who finds fault in your work. there will be people who read the messages on it wrong. there will be people who will take every compelling aspect about your work off of it so they can put in their own.
you cannot make art for these people.
you will never write a story that is free from criticism. you will never draw a piece that everyone finds appealing. you will never compose a song that everyone enjoys hearing. you cannot, fundamentally, set out to create something and only think of how you can avoid someone not liking it.
because, and this is key, there will be someone who sees every angle of your story and feels its intent in their heart and gushes to their friends about it. you will draw someone's favorite art and they will make it their phone wallpaper because they want to see it every day. someone will fall in love with your song and loop it on their way to work because it gets them through the day. and THOSE are the people your work is for. THOSE are the people you have to care about, because they love what you make for what it is - because it's itself.
if you set out to create something and file off every sharp edge, prune every thorn, you will be left with something fragile and weak, and it will be fragile and weak for the sake of someone who does not exist but that you were scared of anyway.
sharing art is complex and tangled and powerful, and anything you care enough to create deserves to flourish as itself. get sillay.
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as my own direct immediate list of game grievances i hate that stardew valley expects you to side against a wheelchair user who is upset that he was moved without his consent. i hate that the mass effect trilogy gives you visible scarring as a direct result of choosing mean dialogue and heals it if you're nice. i hate that the vampire the masquerade ttrpg has a monstrous player class that can appear as horrible vampiric monsters or as visibly disabled people and both of these appearances are mechanically the same. i hate that dark souls games have a difficulty level implemented in a way that cannot be adjusted for disability. i hate that i can play as a mermaid or a werewolf or a horse in the sims games but can't use a wheelchair. i hate that the ace attorney games have so much flashing and not all of the games can disable it. i hate that disability is constantly something that happens to teach a lesson, i hate that disability is something that happens as a punishment, i hate that disability is either compensated perfectly with no drawbacks or something that is endlessly sought to be cured. i hate that no character customization will ever include the mobility aids i use, that the player avatars that represent me will never look like me. i am so goddamn annoyed and so goddamn tired.
#this is about disability specifically i know there are lackluster diversity options across all marginalized identities#i am talking about this one because it is pissing me off specifically right now.#and this is not about modding. not all games are pc and not every pc game is moddable and not everyone knows how to mod.#patch me through to palaven command
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new discord update will send images to recent dms instead of servers sometimes when you send them from the + in the message bar jsyk. replicable glitch and idk what all it affects but uh. Feels important to mention to as many people as possible
Edit: I wrote up a text description of the glitch and how it occurs in a reblog HERE, and I forgot that Tumblr doesn't like video embeds on reblogs, so here's a belated visual reference as well. Sorry for the giant censorship emoji I'm shy
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I think a lot of people's advice for selling commissions as a fledgling artist really skims over the fact that selling commissions is like. 90% customer service.
as a small sampler of examples, to sell commissions you have to:
be approachable and professional when advertising and selling your work;
have a clear and understandable terms of service that is either provided or easy to find;
set personal boundaries for what you will and won't draw, AND be able to enforce them, AND be able to do this without explaining every possible reason you have for not doing something (you can Just Say No.);
communicate clearly and often frequently to know what your clients want and ensure you're following their expectations;
be comfortable asking questions about those expectations, and know how to ask for clarification if something is described in a confusing way;
take accountability for mistakes, miscommunications, or delays;
be able to refuse to work for people who are exploiting you without feeling guilty;
manage payment information and receipts in a timely and organized manner (PLEASE use invoices rather than direct transfers)
like everything about selling art is its own post of advice really (I could go on for ages about advertising, and that's not even something I do a lot of) but a lot of people just. overlook the fact that as the artist you are providing a service and you do need the basic skills to provide that service or you're going to run into issues.
#patch me through to palaven command#been thinking about it recently thats all#you dont have to be perfect but you do have to still communicate. at the very least#if messaging people gives you a panic attack you either need to resolve that or find different work
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wheelchair, cane + forearm crutches, walker 90% chance if you're hesitant to draw mobility aids you're overthinking it. start somewhere. obviously these are not detailed references.
wheelchairs and walkers should be proportioned like chairs. in most cases canes are held on the opposite side of the painful leg because you want to put weight on the cane instead of the leg (dr house lied to you) but depending on the reason for the cane this can change!
[ image id: a title image that reads "learn how to draw mobility aids very fast" followed by three simplified drawings of different mobility aids broken down into two steps each. the changes made in each step are colored red.
the second image shows a wheelchair, with the steps "1. seat with footrest", showing a simple chair shape, and "2. wheels", which adds two large wheels to the back and two small wheels to the front.
the third image shows both a cane and forearm crutches, with the steps "1. stick", showing a single line of color, and "2. add handle", which shows a hand grip and a forearm rest on two different sticks. and additional label below this step reads "handheld stick height is where the hand rests at the hip" and "forearm stick height is the forearm".
the fourth image shows a walker, with the steps "1. platform with wheels", showing a backless chair shape with a wheel on each leg, and "2. add handlebar", which shows a handle raised above the seat. end id ]
✨ edited to remove italics for screen readers + also pointing out that I missed the handle on the forearm crutches! always use real reference photos when you can, this is just a starting point to help you understand the basics if you're not familiar :3
#are they perfect renditions? no. but first attempts at drawing anything rarely are#and tbf id rather people start drawing them and draw them badly than never draw them at all#art ref#tutorials#mobility aids#wheelchairs#canes#forearm crutches#walkers#sorry if there are typos blame the blindness#patch me through to palaven command
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funny that the one song about the grinch is considered christmas music just because the story is about christmas. like here's a break from well wishes and gifts and cozy fireplaces to just spend like five minutes describing all of the ways this one dude is just fucking gross. just really ruminate on it. okay back to jingle bells
#thought about it in the car yesterday. im bsnned from the aux so#patch me through to palaven command
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It's almost July so 'tis the season, and I haven't really seen an information post go around despite Tumblr being full of artists and OCs, so for those not informed -
What is Art Fight?
copied from https://artfight.net/info/about , illustrated by Queijac
Art Fight is an annual art game that lasts for 1 month. [ Note: usually takes place during July ] Users can register on the site to join in. Each year, participants are split into two teams to which they are assigned randomly.
[ Illustration: a furry character colored blue and a human character colored red brandish art supplies at each other like weapons. ]
Players "attack" people of the opposing team by making art of original characters you choose belonging to members of the other team. You are free to use almost any style (see Attack Rules section of the rules).
Your team receives points based on what you create for the other team with each attack.
[ illustration: the blue furry character shows off a red drawing to the red human character, who is bending down to see it and looks excited. ]
The artist that receives the attack can then counter that attack by drawing the character belonging to the person who attacked them, or pay it forward by attacking a different person on the other team.
At the end of the month, the team with the greater score wins.
[ Illustration: the red human is sitting at a table with drawing tools in front of them thinking of a blue character. They are holding a pen and looking determined. ]
But remember, while there are point scores, the real goal is to celebrate characters with your fellow artists.
Art Fight is about giving and recieving amazing art. ♥
If you're interested in joining up before this year's event period starts (or during it! You can join at any time) come and take part here ! The teams for this year are going to be revealed on the 23rd, so you have plenty of time to add your characters and scope out potential targets :3c
Extra info:
Digital art and traditional art are both accepted, including sculpture, fursuits, 3d modeling, animation, and more!
There is sometimes a bit of site downtime at the start of the event as traffic spikes. This is normal, is briefer each year, and will resolve after a bit. I recommend downloading a few ref sheets in advance if you plan on drawing from the first minute
Don't start art early! It's against the spirit of the thing to sneak in extra work time. If you're just doing it to give people art, you can always make it a normal, no-points-involved gift!
Character reference images and attacks created have to be non-sexual. The site has content filter guides and submission rules that go into more detail about what is and isn't allowed!
Don't have character references finished? Here's a quick guide on what's best to include at the minimum.
my profile is @ canonkiller owo
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