Please imagine long after the war, Shepard and Garrus pick up dancing as a hobby. Since their little tango on the citadel, they’ve longed to experience it again - the way their bodies moved together, how it expressed emotions better than words could, how it felt like it was just them.
For someone who could never really dance by herself, Shepard’s a quick learner when it comes to dancing with the one she loves and trusts above any other.
They enjoy it so much they decide to enter a dancing competition. Something different, but rewarding. And at every show, no matter what style the dance is or even if they stuff up, they captivate the audience. There’s just something about the two of them dancing together, something so intimate, so real, so… right.
They don’t care if they win. They try, sure, but at the end of the day, they just enjoy the experience as a couple. They couldn’t ask for more.
I was going to post these as one giant sketchdump, but I realized that other than this set, they were distinctly themed. I’ve been struggling with drawing characters interacting with one another, and there’s this great drawing floating around of kissing references, so I thought I’d give it a go!
Here we have Tanna Shepard and Liara, Regina and Emma, and Kya and Lin. <3
Character Headcanons: Sleepwear for ME3 Normandy Crew
I wanted to do a warmup exercise, so I poked around for some prompts and found one for sleepwear. Here’s the crew of the Normandy in ME3–or at least, a lot of them–and what they wear to bed.
These were written quickly and from gut feelings rather than by doing super extensive research, so it’s possible I have minor canon goofs here or there.
Shepard wears a t-shirt and cotton shorts to bed–habit from long years of sleeping in shared bunkrooms and being on the ready for an emergency call at two in the morning. Her personal touch on this is shirts with silly slogans. She started off with a rotation of just three (spacer-born habits means that she keeps her personal belongings to a minimum), but one day when an emergency call from the Council dragged her out of bed at an ungodly hour, with enough time to put on pants but not enough time for the full uniform, Joker noticed. Now he buys them for her, with increasingly ridiculous designs, whenever they’re on the Citadel.
[[Summary: When I played ME3, I sort of blindly took the option to erase Shepard’s scars without really considering the implications. Then I wondered how Garrus would take it, and here. Have some angst.
“Shepard. This tech you found would let us erase the scars selectively. With careful application, we could do your whole body.” Dr. Chakwas leaned back in her chair, pouring a careful finger of whiskey and passing it over to Shepard. “Drink before making a decision. Sip, not chug, my dear.” The drink burned all the way down Shepard’s throat, but she had already made up her mind. The alcohol was only fortifying her, making a choice that seemed obvious even more so.
“Do it. Just my face.” Finishing the rest of her drink (and ignoring Dr. Chakwas’ request that she not drink it so quickly,) Shepard stood, walking over to one of the examination tables. Hardly her first time here, and not likely to be her last. Before the machinery could swing out over her face, she traced those few scars she did have- the jagged one that echoed the shape of her cheek, going from eye level to roughly mouth level, tinged a faint red. The one on her forehead, going into her hairline. The one at the corner of her mouth. Not many, but none of them had been there a few years before. This was all Cerberus, and stress. It made her feel older, but not in a linear way- older by decades, battle-worn as any krogan.
The actual procedure itself only took moments, the flicker of pain nothing compared to what she had felt before. Then Dr. Chakwas was passing her a mirror, and Shepard could hold up a scarred knuckle, each individual finger seeming to have a separate story, and see a face that looked untouched for the first time in too long. Gone. All gone. Maybe the great Commander Shepard should have been above vanity, but her own reflection made her smile. “Got someone I have to show, doc. Thanks.” There would be a nice transfer of credits to Dr. Chakwas, the source ‘anonymous’, after this.
“You should rest, let your face settle some,” she was saying, but Shepard was already out the door, a flood of painkillers taking away so many of the aches and pains she no longer noticed in specificity, mood bolstered to the point of being very nearly silly, the whiskey not helping the cause any. The crew was staring, though whether they were doing it because their captain wasn’t walking in an entirely straight line or because her face was suddenly lacking distinct topography wasn’t clear, and to be honest, Shepard couldn’t bring herself to give even a single fuck.
“Garrus.” Leaning against a wall in an attempt to look suave, Shepard entered his domain, the smile on her face attempting to be cocky and instead just looking uneven.
To her chagrin, he didn’t turn around. “Can it wait? I’m in the middle of some-” No, not this again. It had been months. Spinning him around bodily, Shepard made him look at her, holding his face in her hands. “I’d say kiss me, but I need my lips intact today.” She’d have to settle for their customary forehead touch, though in her current state, it was more of a gentle headbutt and then a step backward, waiting to see if he would notice. Of course he would notice. It wasn’t like she had touched her hair or lost weight or done something that would be equally inexplicable to a turian.
“Shepard, what the hell happened to your face?” Not quite the reaction she had been hoping for. Garrus held her face between his hands, turning it this way and that, blinking his eyes rapidly. “Or are you another evil clone? Because if we’re dealing with another clone, I’m out.” He held her gently though; deep down, Garrus knew this was Shepard, as much as he didn’t seem to want to believe it.
One finger went over the space where her most prominent scar had been, rubbing the spot again and again like he could rub away make-up. “Before the Citadel was attacked, I traded medical supplies with another turian I met. He gave me something that could erase scars.” She was naked, so naked, all Shepard wanted to do was go back to bed, sleep everything off. Not that it was ever an option for her. Not that she could ever see a future where it would be.
He let go of her face, hand dropping to his side, and something about it reeked of finality. “Those scars were you. We all supposed to erase our scars now and forget what we earned?” She wanted to reach up and touch his own, that side of his face that was twisted and gnarled from where it had taken a rocket launcher. She’d thought he had died then, and even now it hurt, but she wasn’t a touchy person, couldn’t bring herself to be that person even now.
“You earned yours. Cerberus gave me mine. Maybe I don’t want to be reminded of fucking Cerberus every day.” They were already making her life hell, additional worries on top of the Reapers, and yet Shepard owed her life to them. They had made her in a very literal way, and it was something she faced with every aching part of her body. “I can’t look at my face and see them anymore, Garrus. I can’t do that.” If anyone knew how close she was to breaking from all this shit, they’d lose their faith in her. She couldn’t even let Garrus see; any facial expression Shepard had reverted to something neutral, guarded.
“They were still you,” he replied, but his voice was softer now, more quiet. “You’re always still you. Commander Shepard, savior and asshole of the galaxy.”
“And sometimes I just want to be Shepard.” Garrus had softened now, and the the spirit had gone out of both of them. Not in a bad way; they simply had too much history with each other to fight for so long. “I didn’t erase all my scars, Garrus. I’m still me. It’s just my face.” Just the most visible part of herself, but also the thing she had to see every day in the mirror.
Maybe to both their collective surprise, Garrus grinned at her. “You still got that scar near your hip that I like?” This was better ground, more familiar.
“I can show you.”
“I guess the calibrations can wait.” Garrus touched her face one more time, fingers mourning the missing topography of scars. They would be okay; they had weathered worse than this.
I just want you all to know if you have any questions about my Shepard I’m always here to help! I love sharing knowledge and I’m not one of those people that doesn’t share where I got things, how I do it, etc.
We all should be able to cosplay as her and in this community we should be sharing knowledge and building each other up, so I’m all ears.
For the smart Shepard and the broken Shepard; the loud Shepard and the quiet Shepard. For the one with the golden heart and the one whose words can inspire armies. For those who stand hand in hand at the end of all things because they’re stronger together.