#morvarn taryn

[sparatus]

New Game + Spoitfy Wrapped: 19!

this one starts playing in my head randomly on its own it's a different sound for them but it fits the tone so fucking well

this is another resistance song!! the new album came out just in time for me to be finishing up blood in the water, and there were a lot of songs on it that worked for both clan gurji and the resistance, so i had the momentum to keep working on some other stuff with morvarn and tarvok following the events of bitw and tarvok's return to omega, with flashbacks to the early days of the resistance and why it formed. it's unfinished, but i got about 8 pages in, soooooo,

spotify wrapped new game+

--

Tarvok sighs and relaxes into the touch, letting his head loll against Morvarn’s broad chest. Ghosts of his flame lick at Morvarn's hands now and again, but nothing dramatic, nothing angry enough to burn. His eyes have opened more by now; both left ones are fully open, the right ones managing halfway. He lets them flutter closed again as he shifts and leans back. “So,” he sighs, “are you going to lecture me now, or later?”

Morvarn chuffs and adjusts his grip. Tarvok likes to lounge, and it’s easier with him at an angle. “I wasn’t planning one,” he murmurs against an unbruised patch of scalp. The fine bristles tickle his nose. Tarvok is too young to have traces of silver near his eyes, he notes with a twitch of sadness in his heart. “Did you want me to?”

Tarvok snorts. It’s the first sound he’s made that hasn’t whistled on its way out. “I already told the göchalch you would. Might as well. Let’s hear it, how stupid am I?”

“Mm. Very.” Morvarn slides his hand along Tarvok’s arm to his hand, lifts it to his mouth. “Idiot. Such a fool.” He kisses the back of Tarvok’s hand, then the palm. “Don’t taunt the bully, muün, you’re far too handsome to be ground underfoot.”

A soft laugh escapes Tarvok’s mouth, and a smile plays across his lips. Finally. “Hold on, I’m not supposed to like the lecture, you suck at this,” he teases, turning his hand to caress Morvarn’s face. Embers tiptoe across the bridge of skin contact and warm Morvarn's cheeks. They've both learned softness, in their own ways. “But please, by all means, tell me more about how pretty I am.”

His fingers straighten out slightly, just enough to follow the lines of Morvarn’s eye ridges as he tilts his head and kisses each delicate joint. “So beautiful,” he murmurs, turning it back over to kiss his knuckles. “Too good-looking for this kind of life. You were wasted in the military, muxamöc.”

Morvarn’s stomach falls out from beneath him as he looks over the ports grafted into Tarvok’s back. They zigzag back and forth down the line of his spine, more circuitry and tech Morvarn can’t explain webbing out underneath the skin. He wasn’t given time to heal properly – the skin around each muscle is still wet with medigel and blood, both old and fresh. The shirt in his hand is crusty where it rubbed against the wounds. “Tarvok,” he manages, his voice far too small for his size of a man, “what..?”

“I don’t know,” Tarvok hisses. He keeps twisting back and forth, trying to itch the still-growing skin on reflex and forcing himself to stop at the last second. “They just – they said we were chosen for a new project, that’s all I know. We had to do these surgeries before we could start. We’ll find out what they’re for next week.” His jaw tightens, and Morvarn catches the grind of tooth on tooth. “They’re doing it to Kaza as we speak.”

“This was done today?” It shouldn’t surprise him. He’s looking directly at the wounds, and he saw Tarvok laughing and messing around with his squad just a couple nights ago. Of course it was done today. But some part of him refuses to believe it, can’t – no, won’t – accept that something like this was just slapped onto his body all in one go and not even given a chance to stop oozing pus and blood before telling him to put his shirt back on and get out. Tarvok is a lieutenant. He’s a Shad’derah. His family is the jewel of the Hegemony’s good PR with the other species, he and his brothers are nigh-on demigods.

Or, so he’d thought.

Tarvok laughs, a beautiful sound, boisterous and excitable as the man himself. Morvarn only wishes it could last longer, cut off as it is by a pained grunt as his ribs remember they were broken all too recently. It settles back into his chest instead, a smaller, less painful chuckle that doesn’t set his bones ablaze. His good leg moves to drape itself over his knee, and his fingers stroke lazily across Morvarn’s scalp. “Sure, I’ll accept it,” he teases. “I have been thoroughly lectured and seen the error of my ways. You’re so right, O Fearless Leader, it is best for me to stay home and be told how awesome and sexy I am instead of going out and getting my teeth knocked out of my mouth.”

As he shifts, something hard and smooth presses against Morvarn’s leg and chest, and Morvarn fights a grimace. The synth-metal discs are cushioned by Tarvok’s shirt and Morvarn’s pants, but there’s no mistaking them, not ever. Morvarn chooses to be quietly grateful his shirt doesn’t feel wet or stiff. Protected by his armor, he supposes, maybe the only good thing the Hegemony ever gave him. Direct lines into his muscles and spine were an obvious weak point that Balak had been either oblivious to or unable to reach, and Morvarn couldn’t decide which option he preferred for his own peace of mind.

[sparatus]

i know ive made this post before but i cant find it because tumblr dot hell is a functional webbed sight. nothing will ever be funnier than the fact that morvarn taryn sounds like a completely normal batarian name until i tell you he's a megatron expy and it becomes painfully obvious. i literally just took "of tarn" tossed the preposition and added a fucking y in the middle the only reason this isn't the most obvious shit ever is because i'm banking on the overlap between "people who read the tf comics" and "people who read mass effect fanfiction with heavy-duty batarian worldbuilding and propaganda" being exactly 2 people

[sparatus]

28 for the spotify wrapped fic game :)

YES THIS ONE'S A BOP

this one is actually on my playlist for the resistance!! a lot of my work earlier this year was on the batarians and especially tarvok, morvarn, and other major players in the resistance, though this song popped up on my discover weekly a bit late in the game, lol. maybe next year i'll get around to writing more on the trilogy i have planned for them!! in the meantime, have this snippet from interlude i of in the land of giants

spotify wrapped new game+

--

Tarvok’s jaws ached when he gritted his teeth. Twelve-week recovery, his left asscheek. Just another scar, another permanent reminder of why they kept fighting. This one just made eating a bitch and a half. “Nothing,” he muttered. He finished his stroke more harshly than he’d wanted to, leaving a little tail of red paint breaking up the neat diamond he’d been carefully constructing. A gruff rattle rose in the back of his throat, and he gripped Morvarn’s chin maybe just a little rougher than necessary while he leaned in to fix it. Triangles along the border, maybe, that might look good. Like teeth. “Ethrut’s a hothead, he forgets to comm back all the time, but Odram… You have to remind Odram to go radio silent. This isn’t like him.”

Morvarn clicked sympathy. Both right eyes were shut against Tarvok’s hand now, but he didn’t mention it, just let him work it out. An old, unwelcome guilt gnawed at his gut, and he forced himself to relax. In Dasrak, even the slightest hint of aggression towards a superior, even by accident, would have been grounds for retaliation tenfold, and Tarvok’s skeleton was riddled with the healed fractures to prove it. “Sorry,” he muttered, moving his claws away from Morvarn’s orbital ridges.

“For what?” Morvarn’s voice was gentle, quiet. Forgiving. It made Tarvok’s tongue swell up in his throat. “Your men are missing. You’re allowed to be upset.”

Tarvok didn’t move, didn’t speak, only trembled as hot shame flushed behind his cöncifaxda. Morvarn waited a couple of heartbeats, then finally shook Tarvok’s hand off his head so he could twist around and face him properly. “Tarvok,” he said, urgent but not scolding, and Tarvok couldn't decide if it hurt more or less that it wasn’t. His eyes searched Tarvok’s own, and he lifted a hand to grasp his bicep. “Come here.”

Obedience was easy. Swift, direct, no questions asked, and Tarvok hated every firing neuron that made it happen. He made to kneel, but Morvarn didn’t let him, the massive hand on his arm tightening and pulling him up and over instead. He ended up straddling him, the ex-cop’s trunk broad enough Tarvok’s hips almost, just barely, started to ache as he spread his knees for balance. Morvarn let go of him once he was sure he was steady, and his hands instead turned to sliding up Tarvok’s sides, his back, his shoulders, and then one went back down to settle at his hips while the other cupped the back of his head. “Tarvok, look at me,” he directed. His voice was maddeningly soft.

Tarvok flicked his lower eyes to Morvarn’s chin, the upper ones to his cöncifaxda. Then all four slid sideways to the ground. He just barely picked up the beginnings of a rattle in the back of Morvarn’s throat. “My eyes, Tarvok.”

He couldn't, he couldn't, he couldn't, but he’d been given a command. His own muscles betrayed him, like any good little slave henchman, not even granting him the dignity of reluctance before dragging his eyes back up to meet his superior's. Sarrebar would have sent him flying already. Just that little act of needing to be told to look was defiance, insubordination, disobedience. He'd let himself slip. It should have been instinct, carved into his bones and branded across his brain.

But Morvarn Taryn was not Ikothan Sarrebar, and when Tarvok looked into his eyes, all he found was worry and grief. "Tarvok," he murmured, voice as soft as his touch as he caressed the back of his skull. "It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you. You know that, right?" His thumb traced the edge of his cöncifaxda. "Come back to me, muün ."

Tarvok's skin burned wherever he touched, his eyes stung, his entire body buzzed with tension and fear. Every trace of the fire that came so readily with anger was ice-cold, shut down wholly and completely and walled off behind thick asbestos sheets. He couldn't move, couldn't speak. The best he could do was stare into Morvarn's eyes, begging him to understand.

Morvarn had always been good at understanding. After a moment of quiet, he took a deep, steady breath and moved his hand to brush his thumb over Tarvok's lips. "Tarvok," he murmured, "You didn't hurt me. I'm not angry. It's okay. Take a deep breath."

His lungs obeyed automatically. Morvarn did it with him, deep and slow, and on the exhale Tarvok brought shaking hands up to grip Morvarn's forearm like a lifeline. His eyes slid shut as he leaned into the hand on his face, ignoring the pain shooting through barely-healed bone. "Seventeen years, Morvarn," he whispered, so low he almost didn't hear himself.

Morvarn rumbled, and his other arm curled around Tarvok's torso in a firm, reassuring hug. "Seventeen years out, thirty-two in," he reminded him. "Forty-one for me. Neither of us was going to get better overnight, not from what they put us through. But we got out, and we have each other. That's what matters. That's what separates us from them. The Hegemony wouldn't care about Odram and Ethrut going missing. You do. You're already a better man than you used to be."

Bile rose in Tarvok's throat, and he shook his head. "I should be out there looking for them. I made a promise."

"You're still healing." Morvarn pulled his head in for a feather-light kiss above his nasal ridges. "If they can be found, Kaza and Dirzhal will find them. At this point, I should think they know you won't abandon them. But you need to stay here, focus on healing. Don’t overexert yourself. There will always be another Sarrebar, another Ratosk, another Balak. There's only one you. And I'd like the one I've got to stick around."

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WIP TITLES CARRION MEN it’s cheating bc i know. Most of your wips. And although I also wanna say Des mafia AU for self indulgent reasons we just need more batarian worldbuilding out there so carrion men it is

ohhhh yes yes ive been in a resistance mood lately your vibe reading is impeccable as always

wip title game

Carrion Men

carrion men was originally planned to be the third in a trilogy, but the more i think about it the more i think it might either be a standalone or the first fic. either way, it's technically in the same verse as exdiff, just a separate storyline; the characters touch matteo's story, but they're not dependent on each other, so i don't really consider them to be the same series. but anyway, it's simultaneously the story of the batarian resistance overthrowing the hegemony and what happens afterward, as told by the perspectives of two brothers on opposite sides of the conflict.

morvarn taryn and his brother pax were both cops in dasrak, khar'shan's capital city, with one critical difference: morvarn was too empathetic to be good at it. when he eventually fled khar'shan with his allies and budding resistance movement in tow, pax publicly disowned him, and sent morvarn a message simultaneously begging him to come to his senses and come back, and informing him that if they ever saw each other again, pax wouldn't hesitate. over more than two decades, while morvarn built his movement, pax worked just as hard to gain rank and be ready for the fight he felt was inevitable.

carrion men opens after the end, when the conclave has fallen and the resistance (and their alien allies) are celebrating their victory. pax, defeated and lying in the rubble, can't help but notice that while morvarn is surrounded by friends and allies to cheer and celebrate, he himself is sitting very much alone.

the story alternates between morvarn and pax's povs. morvarn desperately wants to reconcile with his brother and move forward into the brand new world, together, but some part of him deep down knows the bond will never be the same. he has a new government to set up and machinations to navigate, as now the whole galaxy is interested in what happens next for the ruins of the hegemony. pax, however, is struggling with the reality that he failed, that the world-state that he worshiped at the feet of and held as immutable has fallen to pieces around him, that people he trusted as leaders were traitors and spies for the resistance all along. he'd convinced himself that morvarn could still be saved and brought back to the light, and all this treasonous nonsense was the fault of that pilot who kept hanging off him like a blight, and now that the tables are turned he's forced to admit that, no, morvarn did everything of his own free will - so what does that mean for the two of them, and what kind of a place will there be in this new world for him?

i might bring in other povs too, with the primary players. tarvok, morvarn's second-in-command and lover, and in fact the entire catalyst for morvarn's radicalization in the first place after the hegemony used and abused him, has been at war his entire life and no longer knows what to do with himself now that the war is over, and with the death of his best friend and sister-in-arms gurji taeja during the siege he feels like he's down an entire piece of his soul. shahok, the master manipulator and lynchpin behind the resistance's entire formation, has his own ideas on how they'll build a new government for their people. syril is concerning himself with the return of alien slaves to their own people, and the reluctance of the batarian people to do so threatens further violence. and so on and so forth.

basically: after jhmd it's the hegemony's turn to get the shit knocked out of it, and carrion men focuses on the fallout of that from the lens of two very specific people at the center of it, and how to pick up the pieces after a world-shattering change and put them back together - or decide if they're worth putting back together at all. and also me thumbing my nose at bioware's laziness with the batarians, they deserved better, fight me.

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wip wednesday

tagged by @korblez mwah

still itlog, but something different this time - it’s interlude time babey, and we’re revisiting an old friend :3c for foreshadowing reasons, except also oops his c-ptsd decided to say hello, i planned for this to be shORT I SWEAR--

it slam dunked me back into batarian brainrot land tho so might work more on cry havoc

--

Morvarn clicked sympathy. Both right eyes were shut against Tarvok’s hand now, but he didn’t mention it, just let him work it out. An old, unwelcome guilt gnawed at his gut, and he forced himself to relax. In Dasrak, even the slightest hint of aggression towards a superior, even by accident, would have been grounds for retaliation tenfold, and Tarvok’s skeleton was riddled with the healed fractures to prove it. “Sorry,” he muttered, moving his claws away from Morvarn’s orbital ridges.

“For what?” Morvarn’s voice was gentle, quiet. Forgiving. It made Tarvok’s tongue swell up in his throat. “Your men are missing. You’re allowed to be upset.”

Tarvok didn’t move, didn’t speak, only trembled as hot shame flushed behind his cöncifaxda. Morvarn waited a couple of heartbeats, then finally shook Tarvok’s hand off his head so he could twist around and face him properly. “Tarvok,” he said, urgent but not scolding, and Tarvok couldn't decide if it hurt more or less that it wasn’t. His eyes searched Tarvok’s own, and he lifted a hand to grasp his bicep. “Come here.”

Obedience was easy. Swift, direct, no questions asked, and Tarvok hated every firing neuron that made it happen. He made to kneel, but Morvarn didn’t let him, the massive hand on his arm tightening and pulling him up and over instead. He ended up straddling him, the ex-cop’s trunk broad enough Tarvok’s hips almost, just barely, started to ache as he spread his knees for balance. Morvarn let go of him once he was sure he was steady, and his hands instead turned to sliding up Tarvok’s sides, his back, his shoulders, and then one went back down to settle at his hips while the other cupped the back of his head. “Tarvok, look at me,” he directed. His voice was maddeningly soft.

Tarvok flicked his lower eyes to Morvarn’s chin, the upper ones to his cöncifaxda. Then all four slid sideways to the ground. He just barely picked up the beginnings of a rattle in the back of Morvarn’s throat. “My eyes, Tarvok.”

He couldn't, he couldn't, he couldn't, but he’d been given a command. His own muscles betrayed him, like any good little slave henchman, not even granting him the dignity of reluctance before dragging his eyes back up to meet his superior's. Sarrebar would have sent him flying already. Just that little act of needing to be told to look was defiance, insubordination, disobedience. He'd let himself slip. It should have been instinct, carved into his bones and branded across his brain.

But Morvarn Taryn was not Ikothan Sarrebar, and when Tarvok looked into his eyes, all he found was worry and grief. "Tarvok," he murmured, voice as soft as his touch as he caressed the back of his skull. "It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you. You know that, right?" His thumb traced the edge of his cöncifaxda. "Come back to me, muün."

Tarvok's skin burned wherever he touched, his eyes stung, his entire body buzzed with tension and fear. Every trace of the fire that came so readily with anger was ice-cold, shut down wholly and completely and walled off behind thick asbestos sheets. He couldn't move, couldn't speak. The best he could do was stare into Morvarn's eyes, begging him to understand.

Morvarn had always been good at understanding. After a moment of quiet, he took a deep, steady breath and moved his hand to brush his thumb over Tarvok's lips. "Tarvok," he murmured, "You didn't hurt me. I'm not angry. It's okay. Take a deep breath."

His lungs obeyed automatically. Morvarn did it with him, deep and slow, and on the exhale Tarvok brought shaking hands up to grip Morvarn's forearm like a lifeline. His eyes slid shut as he leaned into the hand on his face, ignoring the pain shooting through barely-healed bone. "Seventeen years, Morvarn," he whispered, so low he almost didn't hear himself.

Morvarn rumbled, and his other arm curled around Tarvok's torso in a firm, reassuring hug. "Seventeen years out, thirty-two in," he reminded him. "Forty-one for me. Neither of us was going to get better overnight, not from what they put us through. But we got out, and we have each other. That's what matters. That's what separates us from them. The Hegemony wouldn't care about Odram and Ethrut going missing. You do. You're already a better man than you used to be."

Bile rose in Tarvok's throat, and he shook his head. "I should be out there looking for them. I made a promise."

"You're still healing." Morvarn pulled his head in for a feather-light kiss above his nasal ridges. "If they can be found, Kaza and Dirzhal will find them. At this point, I should think they know you won't abandon them. But you need to stay here, focus on healing. Don’t overexert yourself. There will always be another Sarrebar, another Ratosk, another Balak. There's only one you. And I'd like the one I've got to stick around."

[sparatus]

writing plans

and where i’m at in them, because keeping a list and showing it to people helps me stay on track and motivated somehow:

where the wind rests: a short pit stop between the end of blood in the water and the start of in the land of giants to bridge a gap and explain (partially) where nihlus has been and what he’s been up to. nihlus returns to palaven to visit saren in recovery and have an important discussion. currently writing, hope to be able to publish before the end of pride.

in the land of giants (“itlog”): the second installment of exponential differentiation. matteo shepard and nihlus kryik team back up after a long rest to continue the hunt for cerberus. what appears to be a simple detour to omega to find a missing person takes a fortuitous turn in the form of an anonymous tipster and a surprising ally. currently outlining; planned up to the end of the first story arc, will begin writing upon completion of event timeline and skeleton outline.

cry havoc: a collection of one-shots based around the founding members and major players of the batarian anti-hegemony resistance led by morvarn taryn, during the founding and early days. currently planning.

rise and reign redux: a rewrite of rise & reign with xMidnightSun, because oh my god it’s almost a decade old don’t look at it we can do better i swear. new titles and everything, to keep them distinct from the originals. oc-centric fic series about a biotic quarian, a turian dropout, and their motley assortment of friends and allies, examining the trauma they experience and the bumpy road to recovery. currently planning; rereading to determine what needs fixed and/or updated.

assorted sparky/teia content, both from when they were younger and from more recent years with their family

assorted morvarn/tarvok content, i just have brain worms for the sad morally gray batarians okay