but then, these things never are, and it seems like all the best stories start out exactly the way they’re not supposed to.
shepard’s mother would have wanted her to fall for the tall, dark, and handsome lieutenant. he’s kind, smart, moving up in the world even if he doesn’t want to be. and years ago, he might’ve been just her type, the two of them with enough combined baggage to fill a cargo ship.
she looks forward to his smile every morning and she thinks he might be the first best friend she’s had since before the Ns.
but she’s not in love with him.
“hey, skipper,” ashley says in passing, and shepard’s heartbeat trips over itself as her feet barely manage not to do the same.
“ash,” she says, and wonders if the chief smirks that way at all her COs.
Imagine Shepard, researching all of Ashley’s favorite poets–studying all various forms, disciplines and styles of the art–in order to write one that fully expresses the Commander’s feeling for her. A poem manifesting how important, beautiful, and amazing she is. How Shepard’s life is all the greater for having her in it.
My male Shepard is a brash, sarcastic idiot a lot of the time. He’s Renegade with a dash of Paragon and is regularly rude to people. Ash is the only person he is always nice to, because he loves her and thinks she’s a queen.