#✯*:･ﾟ ❝ ɪ'ᴍ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴀɴᴅᴇʀ sʜᴇᴘᴀʀᴅ‚ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜɪs ɪs ᴍʏ — ��� [ starter ]

[n7soldiered]

THERE WAS NO SOUND NOW EXCEPT THE MURMUR OF SLUGGISH DRY WINDS AGAINST THE YURT’S WALLS ,  blending into intermittent snores and heavy breathing just outside.  most of his people slept on the grass, under open skies, and those who had found lodging in the nearby villages knew to return on his command.  but still, no news of ceberus’s influence. when john turned his head, he saw the towering silhouette of garrus, stoop over the lowered barracks, scouting the horizon.  much like his blood-brother, john was far from the shores of sleep.  he stretched atop his bed of furs.  it was true:  they had both grown sleepless, these past weeks of searching, waiting.  a moment later, john pivoted at the dull thumps of metal boots stomping dried earth.  his blood sister and brother pulled the yurt’s flap the rest of the way, their invasive shadows stark against the backdrop of moonlight. ❝what are we waiting for?❞  the young krogan demanded, sweeping an impatient glance to his battle-master. ❝some of us await sleep, grunt,❞  john returned grouchily, then rolled on his side to face the darkness. ❝there is news, shepard.❞  liara’s smooth voice pierced through the haze of exhaustion clouding his mind.  ❝the alliance city of ishimura is in ruins.❞     . . .  // @cabochonmind john sprung from his bed and went to fasten the entrance closed.  ❝spare me of any politics, liara.  i want to know everything.❞  the hearth at the center of the yurt was well-kept, and he had a fire going on the instant, a wreath of blue flames conjured at the snap of his fingers. he then tossed grunt a reckless grin as the tingle of adrenaline budded in the pit of his gut.  ❝ready the men, we ride at dawn!❞

[n7soldiered]

            SHEPARD STUDIED HIS OLD FRIEND   through lowered lashes, a dark radiance gaining hold of his expression yet, carried not a trace of irritation with it, only the faintest hint of old regrets.  he wondered how many rumors there had been.  how much had he missed;  how much was there he’d never get back?  and here was tali, expressive of so much innocence and faith shepard was still unsure he deserved.

❝tali, i would NEVER hurt you, but—i can’t blame you for seeing me differently back then,❞  he hedged, mindful of her troubled tone.   ❝when you saw me again, i was with ceberus.  you had every right not to trust me anymore.❞            . . .  // @amongststardust

the sequence of events had been a chain reaction.  at the time, john had accepted that working with the illusive man was the only way to save human colonies from the collectors.  not that there had been much of a choice … nevertheless, if circumstance called again for him to choose between saving the lives of entire colonies or to wait until the alliance finally pulled through—there was nothing to think twice about.              ❝i’m glad we could talk about this.  it means a lot.❞    but the shadowed look in his eyes remained.

[n7soldiered]

                                      FIRST  STARTER  CALL !  

[n7soldiered]

         IT ALL BEGAN WITH AN OFFHAND SUGGESTION.     vaguely presented, with no pressure, no obligation, as was kaidan’s customary manner of approach on subjects that may involve uncovering portions of john’s long-buried past.     ❛spend christmas in vancouver with me and my family.❜     ‘home’ had sprung to mind, along with a flurry of different answers, all of which provided equally separate possibilities.  raised on the streets of the great megalopolises covering earth, shepard never had a place to call home.  the slums had been his home; the back alley on the intersection of 39th had been his home until the TENTH STREET REDS picked him up.  fed him, clothed him, paid him;  what they had charged for in compensation was his loyalty, which he had fully handed over.

    but that was a lifetime ago.         kaidan was his home, now.    ... // @sentinelmade​

the REAPER war had ended, and earth, rebuilding.  their duties keeping them apart, there wasn’t enough time to sit down and talk about the offer made.  the passage of time following its linear progression, two months whizzed by and it was december before shepard knew it.   good.   because there was something with kaidan’s recent behavior that john couldn’t quite pin down.  it was present in the way he carried himself, whenever he turned tail and searched a crowded ALLIANCE hallway.  unwavering, when their gazes locked and the major strode forward to engage in conversation.  still there, in warm brown eyes as they flicked down to john’s walking cane.

            he’s too good to me,  john thought, an ill-defined sliver of pity skimming along the surface of his mind.    he doesn’t owe me.     nobody did.

shepard had felt the beginnings of disquiet creeping up from some unknown part of him, aware that kaidan had been patient, stressed.  kaidan was always good at that, better at waiting than him, taking in stride the incessant interruptions in their lives.  always prepared to give shepard a wide berth, ever without question.  despite his lack of complaints, kaidan needed a vacation.  needed to get away from all this.

               ❝you look more nervous than me.❞    one corner of his mouth curling up in a slight smirk, shepard resisted the urge to squeeze kaidan’s thigh, and instead, focused on the text scrolling up his data-pad’s display.   ❝relax, kaidan.  don’t crash the car.❞

[n7soldiered]

FROM BLACKNESS, A GLITTERING BACKDROP EMERGED FROM THE ROWS OF WINDOWS, infinitely remote within the gloom of his quarters.  while shepard could easily keep himself occupied during the day, the night cycle always seemed to crawl incessantly.  something had hung in suspension that morning when hackett toggled the direct comm to the normandy, updating him of anderson's status on the citadel.  instinct had threatened shepard against agitating a very brittle balance by talking and perhaps, choosing the wrong words, for too much had changed too fast, and john was still left in the settling dust.

first, the promotion to spectre status, then, the thorian on feros, and now, the normandy was on course for noveria — and just what kind of fresh hell awaited them there?

      face it,  john grimaced at his data-pad.                 you’re uneasy — and this is only the beginning.

inaction wouldn’t stop the linear sequence of time and yet, that didn’t stop the galaxy’s obtuse insistence in pretending things would remain the same.  so long as they ignored every warning, every piece of evidence, and every word from his mouth, rapid to turn hollow and stale, the reapers would never come.

                 what a load of utter shit.

restless and ill-tempered, it wasn’t long before he’d driven himself up the walls of his cabin for no good reason.  after a calculated retreat to the ship’s galley, shepard realized, at one point, he’d begun waiting — at every hour, for every day — and for what?  the day the council might come to their senses and realize this was far from a sick joke?  dropping himself into a chair, shepard glowered at the notion.  no, he wasn’t a dreamer.  that was for sure.

[n7soldiered]

         WHEN SHEPARD’S FRONT DOOR SLID OPEN ,  kaidan was the last person john had expected to see.  knocked for six, the man exclaimed, ❝kaidan,❞ before immediately widening his stance to block the doorway, his expression remaining schooled even as a sharp pain shot up left leg.  hadn’t they agreed to meet near the upper wards and not at his apartment?  ... shepard was already this close to screwing up all of his carefully made plans, and he hadn’t even stepped foot outside.    fantastic.   best partner ever. 

❝what are you—uh.❞   he faltered mid-sentence, surprised by kaidan’s casual but sudden attempt to glance past him.  both hands bracing the threshold, john pulled to the right, then jerked to his left.  he chased kaidan’s every move until, finally, the major drew back, appearing rather displeased.     ❝what are you doing here?❞       ...  // @sentinelmade

[n7soldiered]

         IT’S TOO LATE ,  he thought, the awareness hanging over the jagged gaps in his mind, lacing connections between the layering reality of dereliction:  failure.  he, alone, held responsibility for the lives lost today;  innocent men and women suffered, their deaths slow and excruciating.  he hadn’t been quick enough.

                                      commander shepard hadn’t been enough.

john stalked off to better scout their surroundings, the dazzling fringe of sunlight still crawling across them from above, flattened by the angle and made into a haze of leafy shadows, dancing atop plated shoulders.  blue eyes swept across a clustering of trees.  HEATWAVE:  collusion of air and light, conjuring the sheen of a hidden well, nothing noteworthy, beyond a few small pockets of water.  black specks danced in his vision, blotting up his right flank as he struggled for a glimpse of the horizon — too bright.  frustration hung over him, but behind it was something vast and desperate, threatening with the force of a nightmare.

                                        i’m getting tired of seeing people die.

back here again, the commander thought, grimacing, with nothing to offer the dead, but a moment of silence and the unspoken grief he’d arrived too late, further appending to his private ledger of regretful acknowledgments — vain apologies conjured in the solitude of his mind.  glazed eyes squeezed shut, overcome with remorse for those who would never forgive the failures he would take to his grave.

                        ❝WE CAN’T GIVE UP.❞   he rested a hand where an impact grenade had devastated his kinetic barrier and flayed apart armor.  having already decided to reserve any medi-gel applications left for survivors only, he would have to endure the pain.  shepard turned with some effort, and declared their next plan of action,  ❝we have to search for survivors.❞