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  • cmdr-shane-shepard:

    weight-a-second:

    They told me the big black Lab’s name was Reggie, as I looked at him lying in his pen. The shelter was clean, no-kill, and the people really friendly. I’d only been in the area for six months, but everywhere I went in the small college town, people were welcoming and open. Everyone waves when you pass them on the street.

    But something was still missing as I attempted to settle in to my new life here, and I thought a dog couldn’t hurt. Give me someone to talk to. And I had just seen Reggie’s advertisement on the local news. The shelter said they had received numerous calls right after, but they said the people who had come down to see him just didn’t look like “Lab people,” whatever that meant. They must’ve thought I did.

    But at first, I thought the shelter had misjudged me in giving me Reggie and his things, which consisted of a dog pad, bag of toys almost all of which were brand new tennis balls, his dishes and a sealed letter from his previous owner.

    See, Reggie and I didn’t really hit it off when we got home. We struggled for two weeks (which is how long the shelter told me to give him to adjust to his new home). Maybe it was the fact that I was trying to adjust, too.
    Maybe we were too much alike.

    I saw the sealed envelope. I had completely forgotten about that. “Okay, Reggie,” I said out loud, “let’s see if your previous owner has any advice.”
    ____________ _________ _________ _________

    To Whomever Gets My Dog:

    Well, I can’t say that I’m happy you’re reading this, a letter I told the shelter could only be opened by Reggie’s new owner. I’m not even happy writing it. He knew something was different.

    So let me tell you about my Lab in the hopes that it will help you bond with him and he with you.

    First, he loves tennis balls. The more the merrier. Sometimes I think he’s part squirrel, the way he hoards them. He usually always has two in his mouth, and he tries to get a third in there. Hasn’t done it yet. Doesn’t
    matter where you throw them, he’ll bound after them, so be careful. Don’t do it by any roads.

    Next, commands. Reggie knows the obvious ones —-“sit,” “stay,” “come,” “heel.”

    He knows hand signals, too: He knows “ball” and “food” and “bone” and “treat” like nobody’s business.

    Feeding schedule: twice a day, regular store-bought stuff; the shelter has the brand.

    He’s up on his shots. Be forewarned: Reggie hates the vet. Good luck getting him in the car. I don’t know how he knows when it’s time to go to the vet, but he knows.

    Finally, give him some time. It’s only been Reggie and me for his whole life. He’s gone everywhere with me, so please include him on your daily car rides if you can. He sits well in the backseat, and he doesn’t bark or complain. He just loves to be around people, and me most especially.

    And that’s why I need to share one more bit of info with you…His name’s not Reggie. He’s a smart dog, he’ll get used to it and will respond to it, of that I have no doubt. But I just couldn’t bear to give them his real name. But if someone is reading this … well it means that his new owner should know his real name. His real name is “Tank.” Because, that is what I drive.

    I told the shelter that they couldn’t make “Reggie” available for adoption until they received word from my company commander. You see, my parents are gone, I have no siblings, no one I could’ve left Tank with .. and it was my only real request of the Army upon my deployment to Iraq, that they make one phone call to the shelter … in the “event” … to tell them that Tank could be put up for adoption. Luckily, my CO is a dog-guy, too, and he knew where my platoon was headed. He said he’d do it personally. And if you’re reading this, then he made good on his word.

    Tank has been my family for the last six years, almost as long as the Army has been my family. And now I hope and pray that you make him part of your family, too, and that he will adjust and come to love you the same way he
    loved me.

    If I have to give up Tank to keep those terrible people from coming to the US I am glad to have done so. He is my example of service and of love. I hope I honored him by my service to my country and comrades.

    All right, that’s enough. I deploy this evening and have to drop this letter off at the shelter. Maybe I’ll peek in on him and see if he finally got that third tennis ball in his mouth.

    Good luck with Tank. Give him a good home, and give him an extra kiss goodnight – every night – from me.

    Thank you,

    Paul Mallory
    ____________ _________ _________ _______

    I folded the letter and slipped it back in the envelope. Sure, I had heard of Paul Mallory, everyone in town knew him, even new people like me. Local kid, killed in Iraq a few months ago and posthumously earning the Silver
    Star when he gave his life to save three buddies. Flags had been at half-mast all summer.

    I leaned forward in my chair and rested my elbows on my knees, staring at the dog.

    “Hey, Tank,” I said quietly.

    The dog’s head whipped up, his ears cocked and his eyes bright.

    “C’mere boy.”

    He was instantly on his feet, his nails clicking on the hardwood floor. He sat in front of me, his head tilted, searching for the name he hadn’t heard in months. “Tank,” I whispered.

    His tail swished.

    I kept whispering his name, over and over, and each time, his ears lowered, his eyes softened, and his posture relaxed as a wave of contentment just seemed to flood him. I stroked his ears, rubbed his shoulders, buried my
    face into his scruff and hugged him.

    “It’s me now, Tank, just you and me. Your old pal gave you to me.” Tank reached up and licked my cheek.

    “So whatdaya say we play some ball?” His ears perked again.

    “Yeah? Ball? You like that? Ball?”

    Tank tore from my hands and disappeared into the next room. And when he came back, he had three tennis balls in his mouth.”

    Actually crying so hard right now. So many tears.

    x2

  • http://ask-shane-shepard.tumblr.com/post/25642502278/ask-shane-shepard-indoril-krosaz-of-nirn

    Shepard was silent for a moment before pausing as her omni-tool beeped at her. She frowned, pulling up what was making it go crazy. 

    Well that doesn’t seem right. She could see that C-Sec was mobilizing. An unknown object headed to the space station was not something they took lightly when the Reapers were all over the fucking galaxy. It was nice being keyed in to their servers and alerted about such things. 

    Before she could try to get a message in to Bailey she noticed they had sent a transport out. She glanced at her friend before offering a bit of a smile. 

    “Well, if you’d like some excitement I suppose you should come with me,” she said. She swallowed. Being a Spectre demanded she do what she could to protect the Council and by extension the Citadel. The other Spectres were off doing whatever the hell they had been ordered to. She had to be one of only two anywhere near the station. 

    Her boots carried her quickly and easily through the crowds. As usual they did not know what was going on. Did they ever? No. 

    “Was ist das…” she breathed as a couple of C-Sec officers carried what was easily recognized as a humanoid form out of the transport down in the C-Sec hangar bay. 

    The Marine made her way over as a medical team was called in. 

    “I’m Commander Shepard. Can you hear me?” she asked. The suit was unknown to her. But then again, she had been exposed to a lot of strange things recently.

    —-

    “I’m Commander Shepard. Can you hear me?” He could. But as he struggled to make an effort to speak, he realized that the reason why he could not was because he was freaking out just a tad due to being suddenly in apparently friendly territory.We’ll see how long that lasts…

    He had to shake off the medics for a minute, making gestures that he was fine for the moment. At least, at that moment anyway. He turned his full attention back to Shepard, and then to the other coming up behind Shepard. He suspected they were Officials that would decide his fate.

    By then, his language processors had noted that their languages were compatible and that he would not need, it seemed, the language processor to learn the new language. With that knowledge, he abruptly brought his hand up to his visor and released it, not caring that for the moment, he would most likely cause the group of armed guards to raise their weapons at him.

    It took but a moment and a press of a button before the visor was released, revealing a face and eyes that spoke of experience and other things. He came to attention, then saluted, deciding for the moment to break protocol and salute anyway, “General Dreamwalker.” He lowers the hand, shifting back to a relaxed stance, grimacing with pain.

  • ask-shane-shepard, indoril-krosaz-of-nirn:

    (Assuming Citadel. Because it hurts me head too much to figure out where you two are at.)

    As if to make the statement about the power armor all the more truer, an alert of some sort would go out, about an unknown object flying at the Citadel. The object would be marked as unknown.

    Blood and bloody ashes! This could not have come at a worst time for him, for he had been fighting an enemy that he had no name for, as of that battle. Now? He was floating through space, and was drawn towards the Citadel thanks to the sheer force of its gravity.

    How he got there, he didn’t really know. But his nanosuit was what was keeping him alive, sealing out the atmosphere of space outside of his suit and keeping him nice and snug. Well, inasmuch as snug as possible with a leaking wound inside the suit, but his nanobots would be working on fixing that, if not already.

    He had to go over what happened in his mind several times before it made sense. Somehow… something happened. Somebody used Power. And whatever that was, threw me into space. And that planet I’m near, I do nae recognize… it’s not on my map of known worlds…

    As the realization that he might just be well and truly fucked sank in, he laid back as much as possible while floating at the velocity he was at and hoping to hell he survives.

  • me: makes a clever post
    me: sees post has a typo
    me: sees post has been reblogged before i could edit it
    me: falls off face of planet
    me: drifts into space
    me: gets hit by an asteroid

  • ((Prompt: Blood))

    Blood and bloody ashes! A phrase that was perfectly suited to the situation laid out before him.

    It was the end of one among innumberable campaigns, and this day would either make or break the army. General Keiro Dreamwalker had struggled for half a decade against the Shadow, taking his cause across worlds and dimensions, both physical and nonphysical and riding a groundswell of popular support amongst the Houses – all of which had led him to this place. A last stand where the Shadow was bound to be forced to balance themselves out with the Light.

    The battle over one of the worlds would decide it all.

    The General’s teeth ached from clenching his jaw, but he stood on the top of the hill, overlooking the forces arrayed below, ostensibly calm and confident. He had not intended to be the Light’s leader, but the role had been forced on him, and he’d never lost sight of the goal. The ancient incestuous system had oppressed many populations. The more powerful Houses devoured the weaker ones to steal their military and financials. Ultimately, even those powerful Houses split up and tore at one another, as if it were some kind of game. It had gone on far too long.

    For five years now, Keiro’s ever-growing forces had battled old-guard loyalists to the Shadow and Light, winning victories and suffering defeats. Any reasonable person could see that there was great imbalances between the Shadow and Light. People across the worlds had only needed a man to serve as an example, someone to light the spark and unify their grievances. Keiro had fallen into this role by accident, but like a piece of driftwood caught in a whitewater flood, he had been swept along to his inevitable destination.

    Now his forces, arrayed below him with their worn, but well-used armor spoke to him of their confidence that they would win today.

    “General?”

    His eyes were drawn to his right, to one of several other Generals. He could not help but to smile at this one, for it was General Shepard that asked for his attention. “Yes, General?” His voice was smooth, but there was a thin veneer of calm hiding the strain of the campaign that wore on him. At a nearly imperceptible gesture from the other, he nodded, “… Very well. Blood will be spilled today.”

    He looked back, and nodded before shouting in the ancient language, “Muad’drin tia dar allende caba’drin rhiadem! Los Valdar Cuebiyari! Los! Carai an Caldazar! Al Caldazar!” (Footmen prepare to pass the cavalry forward! Forward the Heart Guard! Forward! For the Honor of the Red Eagle! The Red Eagle!)

    As the order was passed on, he smiled grimly, moving forward, ignoring the protests from the others, most especially from General Shepard, “Tia mi aven Moridin isainde vadin!” (The grave is no bar to my call!)

    Soon, he passed through the ranks, his nanosuit accelerating his movements towards the frontlines quickly. Over the communication lines, he could be heard muttering, “Weep for Manetheren. Weep for what is lost forever…”, removing the sword he carried in a socket, shifting to an offensive running posture.

    “For… blood is thicker than water…” He smiled coldly, with a tinge of sadness as he heard Shepard dimly call to him once he locked blades with another foe.  More quietly to himself, “Dovie’andi se tovya sagain…” as he scored a blow, two, then three.

    It seemed as if he would win this battle, until an unlucky blow struck him through the chest, a blade revealing itself, catching on the nanosuit he wore and breaking. Dimly, he heard cries of astonishment and fear as he swung, pulling a pistol out and firing off quick bursts at opposing foes.

    He stumbled then, taking a step. Two. Three. Then he fell forward, just as Shepard reached him, “… Death comes for us all. We can only choose how to face it when it comes, Shane.” His visor had come loose, adding to the whitening vision as it exposed his face to the elements, and revealing pain in his eyes. Such cold, sad eyes that’d haunt anyone.

    A warm voice, that of a woman’s, sang to him softly as he passed out, Remember me and smile, for it’s better to forget than to remember me and cry…

    When he next awakened, it was in an infirmary. His dim view revealed an angry Shepard, barely holding it together for the doctor’s sake as he was being checked over. “General…”

  • rudeboy308:

    If you want your very own busty meganekko cat girl in real life RIGHT NOW, feel free to like and reblog this.

  • catgirl-butts:

    I saw this and thought of tara

    … What the fuck.

    Then again, it looks… somewhat comfortable. I dunno.

  • Spill, Shepard, spill!

    ask-shane-shepard:

    >.>

    ((Keiro pls

    Y u so silly?))

    (>.> I do nae be silly. D: At least I thought I wasn’t. D:)

  • So. RP blogs?!

    I believe it’s a good idea for me to also make this RP-based.

    This… should be interesting. Also, http://keirod.shatteredtears.com will be going live soon as the custom domain for this Tumblorg.