#turian mouth

[milkywayes]

the siblings Vakarian (yes, he picked that up from Shepard)

[pinkfey]

thinking about andromeda again and like why didn’t they make facial animations a prime focus when the game is 50% cutscenes 😐

[lilmissnatcat24]

yes yes i love shakarian because those two just understand each other intrinsically. but i am foaming at the mouth for more cross-cultural differences that don't quite translate. i want garrus to be horrified by the idea that milk comes out of humans and babies drink it. i want shepard to be grossed out that turian parents chew up food for their babies and spit it in their mouths. i want shepard to not quite realize that when she arches her neck it's actually super suggestive and "uh babe, why are you flirting with my father like that?" "what, no, i'm just stretching." i want garrus to not 100% understand sarcasm because humans don't have subvocals and why would they ever just lie boldly like that? i want shepard to get used to the idea that turians have never once evolved to use utensils when they eat (hello? they only have three fingers?) and has to come to terms with garrus gnawing at huge chunks of blue, way too undercooked pieces of meat with his claws. i want garrus to be awestruck with the different amount of ways that humans can style their hair, and how does that not hurt? you're yanking your fringe and clipping it back? are you sure that's comfortable? i want shepard to turn her translator off every now and again so that she could hear the little chirping noises garrus makes to himself when he's concentrating. i want garrus to secretly adore watching shepard curl into chairs and twist her limbs onto couches because there's simply no way he could ever bend like that and be comfortable. i just want more.

[hanasnx]

" THINK I NEED SOMEONE OLDER " — garrus vakarian.

MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ WARNINGS: fem reader | sexual content | age gap | making out | grinding | size difference | overpowering.

DILF!GARRUS VAKARIAN who thought the basis of human attraction depended on youth. Imagine his surprise when you not only couldn't stop staring at his aging body like he was a fully equipped armory before a mission, but you showed genuine interest at the prospect of his superior amount of experience.

Here you are, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, fresh from hopping ship to ship serving with your parents until you were brave enough to go at it on your own. Now you follow him around like a lost puppy, constantly questioning his motives just to hear him talk, asking him to explain a calculation over and over again. He notices how you squirm when he talks down to you, so to speak. He's positive you're not incapable, but he's not going to refuse a request from so eager a learner. Even if you're not going to learn how to do advanced calculus, he tells himself it's still valuable to hear it. Even if you demonstrate how little you're listening when you chew on the end of your pen at him, and bat your long lashes. Nod slowly through hooded eyes, letting them generously trail down his figure in his suit.

It's enough to make him trail off, clear his throat, adjust his neckline as he glances away to break the tension he's inadvertently fanning. "Run along now." he sometimes tells you so you'll get away from him, so he'll have some room to breathe, so he's not constantly reminded of what a low-life he is when he's around you. Instead, that phrase sends you crazy, biting your lip at him over your shoulder as you sway out of the room.

"Bye-bye, Vakarian~" you purr, and scamper off.

Garrus feels shame when he lets you win. He's supposed to be older, know better, protect someone like you. But when you're clinging onto him, inclining him down to your soft lips, he can't imagine being anywhere else. Tucked away in some dark corner of the Normandy, you guide his hands to touch your young body through your clothes, riding up the material so his touch sets what little it grazes ablaze. After months of dancing around each other, finally you're granted a little relief. And his face burns hot from the contact however brief.

"I'm... I'm not... usually like this.." Garrus confesses, breathless, heart racing. The possibility of you two being caught together, tangled in embrace in a precarious location... there'd be no way to talk his way out of it. Everyone would think of him as some Turian predator, can't get a date unless it's with a girl half his age. And he's not beating the allegations as his claws dig into pliant flesh, drawing you closer to press your hips into his. As if gravitating towards your sex, heavenly bodies bump clumsily as you reconnect with his mouth. Apparently, you're not interested in hearing his protests, claiming he's not "usually" like anything, because right now he's showing you how much he very much is like this. His grip on you is not one of a Turian with doubts.

You've never kissed his species before, and at first his mandibles were hard to get used to—and it felt like he wasn't used to it either—but once you realized he's much more relaxed with his tongue, everything else fell into place. His lack of lips is an obstacle to kissing, but irrelevant when making out. Meeting in the middle, that tongue is long in reach and eager in attitude, coiling around yours in a way a human's would never be capable of. Reptilian in nature, his sulcus is defined, allowing his muscle to fold in on itself, elongating to the thinner apex.

Your palm that cups his face, draws down so your fingertips dance along the grooves of his scarring, coming to trace the line of his mandible. As long as you've known him, you've never gotten this close, and when he massages your tongue with his deft one, an embarrassing whimper emits from your parted lips. Instinctively, you rear your head to break the kiss—if you can even call it that. But Garrus is unyielding. A strong arm around your waist arches you into him, as if possessive over this act you've introducing him to. Confirming your suspicions with an annoyed growl and his tongue venturing further into your mouth, a wave of pleasant tingles washing up from core in response to such behavior. Your knees are weak, held up by his overpowering strength as he takes what he wants.

Playfully, you scold him by banging your fist against his chest piece. He retracts an inch, and you're allowed a second to breathe even if you're crushed against him. Panting through your grin, you nuzzle him with the tip of your nose, and he speaks against your lips. "You were trying to run away from me." he muses, curling his frame around you so it's truly inescapable. "I like that little sound you made." his mouth grazes yours as he talks into you, recycling air, "Make it again."

[unfair-water-plane]

So one thing that has always made me chuckle in ME2 is the fact that Kal’Reegar is a marine in a Quarian suit. And he fits in with Shepard easily, the same attitude and headspace and cadence (for mShep at least). And I’m sitting here at work and the thought just hit me.

What if that’s because he is a marine in a Quarian suit?

Hear me out. Kal is older than Tali, or at least gives off those vibes, and so he would have been on his pilgrimage a while ago. Like maybe right after first contact. And here are these brand new people who came out of nowhere and had apparently enough fire power and attitude to give the Turians a very brief pause. The whole galaxy wants to know more. And humanity has no idea who is out there, but surely they can’t all be like the creepy bird people?

Cue one very curious Quarian in Shanxi, just as curious an out humanity as humanity is about everything. Meeting with early alliance brass, giving them information common palace to any kid with an extranet feed but wholly new to humanity. He explains that the Quarian don’t have ground forces because they don’t have a ground, and is honest about the geth, and is like ‘so how did you make the Turian Hierarchy freak out?’

And somehow ends up observing basic training, and falls in love with it. To the point where he actively asks to go through marine boot camp in Hanshan, and is just earnest and endearing enough to be allowed. So he goes through it, puts in the work and the blood and sweat and tears and makes the kinds of friends that you sort of have on the Flotilla, but everyone also knows you are all going to separate ships eventually and getting attached is hard.

But the humans will pack bond with a robot vacuum without issue, and when they meet a Quarian who wants to learn and thinks it’s amazing that they stood up to the biggest military in the galaxy running on old fashioned rocketry and spite? The marines adopt him as one of their own. They are brothers, something most single child Quarians have no experience with, and Kal gives it back in spades. He talks like them, fights like them, jokes and learns and is like them.

And when it is over and they graduate, it’s hard to turn down the offer to stay. But humanity respects the loyalty to his people that takes him back to the fleet, and it almost brings him to tears when his graduating class passes a cap for his passage back to the fleet in more comfort than sitting on a box in a volus cargo ship.

It actually brings him to tears when his drill instructor informs him that while it might not be in great shape, Arcturus has authorized them to gift Kal’Reegar with a battered but space worthy corsair and an official greeting from the Systems Alliance to the Migrant Fleet.

The SSV Jarhead is perhaps the best gift anyone is his age range can give to a future captain, though his practical military experience is a gift to the whole fleet. It catapults him through the Quarian military, from for soldier to instructor to commander, and somewhere he hopes that his brothers and sisters are as proud of them as he is of every transmission that makes it back to him.

On Haestrom, that training keeps him alive long enough to watch his squad die, and that cuts like nothing else. But he can’t stop, because the principle is still depending on him, and until his suit gives out he has to fight to her.

But then the voice cuts through the chatter of his own mind, and he *knows it*. Knows the cadence and the phrasing, knows how a human mouth forms the phrases that he has spent years trying to teach. Commander Shepard might not be a marine, but they are a human combat specialist and the fraternity is there.

Maybe it’s just three more people who are going to die for this fools errand, but somehow Kal doesn’t think so. There are two bone deep beliefs that he will carry it’s him to either the home world or the afterlife, and it has always felt appropriate to him that they rhyme. That they sound similar, when he breathes them into the air.

Keelah Salai. Semper Fi.

[felassan]

Article/interview from Well Played: 'We chat with Mark Meer about finding a character’s voice, the everlasting love for Mass Effect and the allure of tabletop RPGs'

The interview is also available in video format: [link]

Excerpts:

"Mark: "Early in the process, we sort of came up with what is the core of Shepard, whether Renegade or Paragon, and that is a military officer who’s used to giving orders under pressure and maybe not necessarily showing that much emotion in the given scene, so that does help justify the path that we’re taking in terms of not having [discordant differences between Paragon and Renegade in any given conversation if a player was switching between these dialogue options mid-conversation]". -- Mark: "Then there’s is the final line of the Citadel DLC, which is, “Hell of a ride, Shepard”, and Shepard just responds, “The best,” and that was literally the final line that I recorded in everything that I ever did Mass Effect." -- Mark: "There was some stuff that I’d suggested that didn’t end up being followed because of other practical concerns. The Turians, specifically because of the structure of their mouths, I pitched that they should have a little clicking sound when they talk or at the end of sentences. This was before Garrus was going to be a main character in the game, so it was decided that it would get old very quickly because we have a Turian, so they ended up just going with a filter for a Turian." -- Mark: "We would usually do any Vorcha stuff at the end of the week, just to give your voice a whole weekend to recover because there was no particular technique, I was just screeching as loud as I could with a mouth half full of water." -- Interviewer: "You’re a frequent collaborator with BioWare, and they do have a game coming up in Dragon Age: The Veilguard, so can we expect to maybe hear your voice in the mix there?" Mark: "I am not in that game, but I look very much forward to playing it. I have been in a lot of the other Dragon Age games. Such significant roles as Lyrium Merchant and Red Templar." -- Mark Meer will be a special guest at PAX Aus 2024, running from October 11-13 at the Melbourne Convention and Exhibition Centre."

[source]

[that-wildwolf]

Went out for coffee with a friend today.

She's really into RP and is now in some Andromeda-based RP campaign so we talked about that. I know close to nothing about RP and I have never actually played through Andromeda aside from the multiplayer mode.

"Well," she says, "what's the point of RPing in Mass Effect it you're not gonna be a turian?"

I actually think that this is an extremely based take, provided you're into RP in the first place.

She goes on to explain that she can't draw her character and she refuses to use AI so she just looked up some random turians to find like the most basic generic average joe turian to use as a stand-in for her character.

She then shows me the pic of this generic random turian on her phone.

I look at the picture, and then I just sort of blankly stare at her for a while.

"That's Adrien Victus," I say. What else do I even say here.

"Oh." She's visibly confused because she probably has no idea who that is. It is starting to dawn on me that perhaps she is a more casual fan than I am. "Well he looks like an average turian, doesn't he? Like what you would imagine when you think of a turian. He's got very basic looking colony markings."

I nod, but I take a sip of my coffee to avoid shooting off my mouth and saying something about how this is the Primarch of Palaven and so even based on that rank he is very much not just an average turian.

I explain who that is. I can see it clicks for her when I mention he's from the third game. It's weird talking about Mass Effect with those translated names (she's never played in English) and even weirded to talk to someone who's clearly a casual fan when you're a deeply obsessed person. I have to pretend I'm normal about her not remembering this side character.

She shows me another picture of random turian NPC.

I bite my lip.

"That's Lorik Qui'in," I say.

[ubbsbutwithahiddenthirdb]

Well damn I got out Garrus simped-

Him <3

I cannot understate how much I wanna give him a smooch, right on the…. lipppppps? I’m not really sure how you’d properly describe the area between his mandible other then his mouth but kissing his mouth sounds a little weird. This got off track I wanna give Garrus a hug worthy of the gods. He deserves a good hug, or a lot of Turian alcohol 

[lassieposting]

It's been forever since I made a Mass Effect post but today I'm here to talk about

Translator Shenanigans

You cannot tell me that at some point during downtime Shep and Garrus haven't swapped translator chips so they can each hear what the other one hears

So Shep gets to hear herself as a Cipritini(?) turian, and Garrus gets to hear himself the way Shep hears him in-game. And it turns out Garrus's translator actually makes a stab at giving her appropriate subvocals, which, parsing and translating emotion into a form of communication that doesn't actually exist in the original language is quite complicated for a computer program, so when she asks how good it is, Garrus pulls a face and guesses at around 80-90% for other turians with different regional languages, and more like 40-60% for aliens depending on the race - quarians have something similar to subvocals themselves, so Tali is fairly easy to read. Shepard is in the middle - tone is hit or miss, but he can fall back on body language to judge whether the translator is misreading her. Wrex is a struggle.

- That that means the other 60-40% of his ability to read other people relies on his ability to read up on, memorise and then look for behavioural cues in completely alien species. If he's not sure, he'll default to interpreting interactions as Professionally Polite, which. Explains several months of fruitlessly flirting with him, at least .

- And maybe everyone around them sounds different using each other's translators too? Because the translator programs essentially use the voices of voice actors who sound appropriate for each species, and the program picks voices to mimic like, the pitch and quality of the original speaker as closely as possible, but the pool of voice actors is different for each species and in-species language. Wrex is deeper and more growly in Shep's translator than Garrus's.

- (Shep tries out Wrex's translator chip, once. Hearing Garrus with a beefy krogan's voice is An Experience.)

- Shep realising Garrus actually knows quite a bit of English! His mouth isn't made for pronouncing a lot of her language's sounds - case in point, the sh sound in Shepard - but he understands more than he can speak, and when he's borrowing her translator chip, she can watch him recognise words in real time as his head tilts when he tries to figure out a sentence from a few words or when he goes to answer her - and then laughs when he remembers she now can't understand him. He likes listening to humans, he claims. Human speech is musical. Catchy. Lots of funny sounds.

- (She kind of thinks turians sound like velociraptors, a little bit. But that doesn't mean she doesn't like turning off her translator and listening to him hum and trill and chirp technobabble to himself in the battery, sometimes.)

[sol-consort]

Turian dick got me going feral.

You move to the citadel and in order to afford rent you start rooming with one of your coworkers. He’s a turian, nice enough really. If only he was a little less obvious with his attraction to you.

Endearing in a way. The way his claws trail down your thighs, or play with the soft strands of your hair. The pick up lines are even cuter (he plays it off like he’s saying them to you for practice)

And a little creepy at times when you can hear him watching human x turian pornos. The walls are thin enough that you can hear everything

The old delima of turians being very endearingly awkward with their flirting but absolutely creepy in their devotion

You've had worse roommates in the past, guys who think it's appropriate to watch porn in the living room, people who left their dishes in the sink, ones who kept drinking your orange juice and never paying back.

So, really, in comparison to most humans you've lived with, this one roommate is top notch—he can't even steal your food if he wanted to—even with all of his...quirks. Maybe they're easier to swallow since you can chalk it up to him being a different species and all.

Living in the Citadel is very expensive, and you would rather not have to cut out from your budget for little treats again.

If letting a turian cup a feel every now and then, politely pretend that you can't hear his moans through the thin walls each night—breathlessly whispering your name—then it's a good deal in exchange for barely contributing for a quarter of the rent. He worked in C-sec if you recalled? His pay must be pretty decent to manage to cover almost all of it.

You're mostly nonchalant about it, the way he tries to play off his claws kneading your thighs as mere curiosity over human anatomy. Or how he tried to convince you that turians purring is just...something that sometimes happen, nothing more.

So don't worry if you feel these vibrations while his rough beak is nuzzling your neck. Don't think too much about it. It definitely doesn't hold any intimate implications.

Roommate turian who keeps offering to do your laundry, who takes a day or three longer than average to return them. Who grows very touchy with you the longer you live together, asking you to help him practice kissing...just in case he ever gets a human partner. Your lips are so soft, he doesn't want to injure them, so what's the harm in letting him have a test run? or two...or ten...everyday.

You raise an eyebrow when you feel his long tongue slipping into your mouth, sliding down your throat. Since when did kissing involve deepthroating his tongue? Still, you don't really care, plus the way he squirms when you suck against it is kinda funny.

He's especially in the mood whenever he comes back exhausted from work—you won't believe the amount of paperwork involved in security. He calls you over, saying he just happened to pass by a new restaurant and bought food.

The two of you should definitely eat it while sitting on the couch...close...or maybe he can coax you into his lap? He'll give you his portion of food. You don't mention the fact that none of the food items he bought were dextro, yet still indulge his request.

Allowing him to cuddle his work stress away with your body, squeezing and purring. Feeling his sharp teeth graze against your sensitive neck, barely restraining himself from biting as he buries his nose against the spot instead.

Spotting the "The galactic guides to courting humans" book on his pillow when you came into his room to borrow an omni-tool charger, flipping through it and recognising all the lame pick-up lines he's been using on you under the guise of practicing.

[continuous-spec]

Since Ao3 down, here is the full chapter 4 of the Messages In Between. :)

November 7th, 2186, Day 38 of the Reaper War.

A bomb. 

A fucking bomb on Tuchanka—with Cerberus hours from crawling all over it. 

The weight of both ripped down Shepard’s spine. The metal console creaked under her grip as Victus broke the news. 

His words echoed around her. His men, his son, actually. His own son, of all people, was somehow entrusted to run a secret mission on Tuchanka to disarm a planet-destroying bomb. 

The pain ripped further down Shepard’s arm. Saliva pooled in her mouth, ready to vomit at any notice. The room pulsated in a hazy gaze of black spots whirling in her peripheral. 

She was having a heart attack. 

She clenched her hands to the bottom of her uniform to keep herself upright. She gave Victus one last nod in acknowledgment before attempting to escape the war room. 

Flop sweat pooled around the thick collar of her Alliance blues. She needed to strip out of it fast. 

Shepard kept a firm stance while the bulkhead engaged for her exit. More weight collapsed on her spine as Wrex glared on. If he knew about the bomb—about Cerberus, he would flip. Start huffing and head-butting at any turian in sight.

She could not have that on her ship. 

As she crossed through security, the guards' words passed meaninglessly through her ears. Traynor's taming voice only rang out loud as she exited.

“Commander, there’s a new message at your private terminal.”

A new message 

A new message 

A new message 

Always a new fucking message. 

Shepard rushed past Traynor, trying to ignore her words. A wheezing breath jumped from her mouth. A heavy, panicking cry escaped her lips as the elevator doors hissed behind her.

Pressure built behind her eyes, and the pain throbbed further into her skull. Signs she often ignored when she needed to sleep. But there was still too much to do.  She’d sleep when she’s dead. 

Her heart pulsed fast into her throat, and the Alliance collar, covered in sweat, grew tighter. Shepard clawed at the brass buttons and threw her jacket into the corner, leaving her with a soaked black N7 undershirt. 

Stale air hit her back, cooling it as she panickedly paced through the tight corridor. She smacked the emergency lock and slid back into the freezing metal interior of the elevator. The crew could climb through the vents if they needed to, but right now, she just needed to sit and plan within these narrow walls. 

She brought up her omni-tool, mind racing as she tried to pull up Garrus’ contact info. 

His last messages left unanswered piled up in her inbox. 

[Vakarian]: So we're telling Wrex about this bomb? 

[Vakarian]: Nevermind, I’d like to avoid getting head-butted. 

[Vakarian]: You really have to admire the Hierarchy's resolve, though. If guns, asteroids, or a plague don’t kill you, the bomb sure will. 

[Vakarian]: Again, do NOT show Wrex this. I like my plates on my skull. 

Shepard didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. She wanted to respond with something nice and witty, but the building dread that continued to rip down her spine knocked the banter out of her. 

[Shepard - draft date- November, 7th 2156]: I can’t fucking do this

Her fingers shook over the omni-tool, leaving the message unsent. In frustration, she slammed the back of her head into the elevator. Warmth eased down her skull at the impact, distracting her from her shallow breathing. 

They were so fucked. 

“Shepard, is something wrong with the elevator?” 

EDI’s ethereal voice echoed around her, jumping from one ear to another. She attempted to shoo away the voice, crouching into a ball, her back pressing further into the wall.

“EDI, I just need some time. Please, just have the elevator locked out for now.” 

“I understand, Commander. I am logging you out.” 

“Thanks,” Shepard said to the now empty room filled only with the sounds of her ragged, hitched breath. 

She concentrated on her respiration rate, trying to reduce it to a nonexistent number. Cool metal seeped around her fingers as her grip on the bar above her tightened. She pushed her head into the wall again, this time lightly, with her eyes shut tight. Her arms strained in the bent and awkward position. 

“Okay,” Shepard breathed aloud to herself, steadying her mind. 

Three hours until they needed to touch down on the bomb's location. Victus' troop waited below in the cargo bay. They would need at least two hours of logistics planning and gearing up away from Wrex’s men. That left her forty minutes to panic and maybe twenty to rest. 

An urgent sharp ping brought Shepard’s eyes fluttering open and out of her scheduled panic attack. Garrus’ name in bright red text yelled at her.

Shit, she forgot to reply to his jokes. It's not like they had the time for it.

[Vakarian]: Don’t get jealous, but I think Mordin is marrying me off to Eve. 

[Vakarian]: He came into the main battery, muttering something about scars, looked me over and just said…

[Vakarian]: Acceptable 

[Vakarian]: Then sent me a brochure on interspecies krogan mating rituals

Shepard let out a ringing laugh that reverberated within the tight walls.  A single tear edged out from her lashes. 

His jesting was not part of the growing plan that she had in mind, but Shepard still waited while he sent more texts.

[Vakarian]: That last part I made up

[Vakarian]: Mostly

The shake in her hand stopped, allowing her to reply back. 

[Shepard]: I needed that, thanks.

[Vakarian]: The brewing jealousy?

[Shepard]: The laugh

[Vakarian]: At me or with me?

[Shepard]: You know it’s more fun at you. 

[Vakarian]: How is she holding up?

[Vakarian]: Eve I mean

[Shepard]: Trying to get info on your new bride?

[Vakarian]: You see right through me.

[Shepard]: She’s trying to stay strong, from what I can tell. I think the stress of being her people's last hope is a lot on her.

[Vakarian]: We talking about Eve or you? 

[Shepard]: I’m handling this well, I’m fine.

[Shepard]: I’ve locked myself in the Normandy’s elevator in a fetal position.

[Shepard]: Whatcha up to?

[Vakarian]: Getting ready to crawl through the Normandy’s vents to get to my girlfriend.

[Shepard]: Girlfriend? 

Shepard let the question hang without following up. Her stomach flipped at the single word. A stream of joy and vibration coursed through her body. The muscles of her shoulder blades released and eased into position. The ripping pain finally stopped. She rested her head back with a light and airy sigh, and her heart relaxed to a steady beat. She felt like a teenager at the word "girlfriend." 

Her small smile spread out into a grin as notifications of Garrus typing and then stopping flashed on her screen. She laughed to herself, imagining as he panicked and erased each message. 

She brought her fingers up on the omni-tool to give him a break before he had an aneurysm. 

[Shepard]: So, who are we talking about now? Me or Eve? I would prefer the girlfriend title.

[Vakarian]: One moment, got to get this armor off for the vent. Boyfriend duties, you know? 

[Shepard]: Well, how about I unlock the elevator and help you get out of the armor instead? 

[Vakarian]: I’d like that, you know I always have trouble getting the clasps on my carapace. 

[Shepard]: Dork 

[Vakarian]: You like it 

Shepard slicked up the elevator wall and disengaged the emergency stop. The elevator chugged down to the crew level, where Garrus waited. 

The thick metal doors slide open to Garrus, still in armor, with brow plates pinched in concern.  Garrus dashed in, trying to block the view from any wandering crew, and punched in the passkey for her cabin—a number he must have memorized by now. 

The door shut tight, and Garrus dashed to Shepard’s side. His gloved hands moved to her waist, pulling her in. He wrapped himself further around her, placing one hand on her lower back where the sweat pooled. His free hand traveled up her form and cupped her cheek with a feathered touch. 

Shepard leaned in his grasp, letting all the weight off her feet as she fell into him. He held her there in silence, pulling her deeper into his grasp. Hot breath fell past her neck with his mouth plates at the top of her head. She just wanted to stay in that moment and not account for the literal seconds needed for this mission to go as planned. 

The elevator rocked them from side to side as it ascended the Normandy.

“So what’s happening? Are you okay, Shepard?” His hand slid back down her waist, letting her settle on the steel floor. Her feet buckled at the weight, but his hold steadied her. 

Shepard eased herself back, creating a small width of distance. She tried to steady her voice so she could joke along and make it seem like everything was fine. 

“I could be worrying about, you know, my brewing jealousy over my boyfriend being married off for a krogan alliance. So tragic.” 

Garrus flicked out his good mandible in response with a half smile. 

“I might just have to take Chakwas' offer to fix my scars. Maybe that’ll call off the wedding?”

While slow and had the usual drawl of humor, his words somehow broke with uncertainty. His steel blue eyes darted around her like they were looking for answers outside their conversation. His eyes focused on the corner where her uniform lay crumbled, and his brow plates somehow pinched even further. 

He was panicking too.

Her heart leaped into speed once again as his panicked actions reminded her she wasn’t just some love-struck teenager with a new boyfriend—She had a bomb to disarm. 

The elevator chimed, pulling her back to her cabin. Her smile sank as the mental to-do list played on in her head. 

“Probably the ocean-sized crater from the bomb would cancel the wedding once Cerberus gets their hands on it.”

“Crap.”

“You’re really underselling it, Vakarian.” 

“I could say I admire the ingeniousness of the Hierarchy again," Garrus joked. 

“That’s not helping,” Shepard’s tone rang harsh. Her hand snatched away from his. She regretted every movement and word as the air hit her from his absent grasp. But still, she rushed off the elevator and made a beeline to her desk scattered with datapads.

Shepard tried organizing the disarray, seeking information for the best approach to the location. All the while, more messages and words piled in with updates. The pain pulsated down her back again, and the sweat grew. 

Steel on steel clanging entered her cabin after a few moments. Garrus attempted to enter with a light step. 

Shepard turned to him slowly to avoid his gaze at her outburst. She couldn’t stand to see him hurt or stressed anymore just because she couldn't handle the roles of leadership. 

But no darting eyes or pinched brows waited for her. Instead, his relaxed form leaned on the aquarium, backlit by the light blue hue. Blue cloth decorated in a golden brass of the Alliance jacket occupied his hands. His eyes focused on her uniform, smoothing and straightening the fabric's wrinkles. 

With Shepard’s watch, Garrus approached her, gently placing the uniform over her chair—eyes lightened without judgment, waiting for her response.

“Sorry, I just can’t handle this. I can’t fuc-“ Shepard stopped herself from sobbing and collapsed onto the front of his armor. He brought them down on the adjacent couch in a swift motion. Her trembling hands worked over the tricky clasps on his carapace. Good lord, she needed to feel him against her now. 

Garrus pawed off the rest quickly. First, the chest piece fell, then his back piece clattered to the ground. They worked together, dissembling the rest. Once again, his armor lay scattered across her floor.

 Shepard rested her head into the crook of his arm. She stopped herself from pulling off the black undersuit that guarded her from his rough skin. They were wasting more time than they had already. 

“We can do this together—just another obstacle in the way. Knowing Cerberus, an incompetent obstacle, easy enough,” Garrus said, running a free hand through her hair. 

“Incompetent enough to resurrect me. What makes you think they can’t ignite a bomb up our asses?” 

“That was Lawson. She told The Illusive Man to “fuck off” last I remembered,” Garrus’ voice trilled as he imitated Miranda. “Without her, they're witless.”  

Shepard laughed, burying herself further into the narrow space between him and the couch. His tight hold helped relax her in their few spare moments. Without him, she may well still have been stuck in the elevator, trying to find a similar comfort.

“How did you know to urgent message me?”

“You weren’t responding, I had to get your attention somehow.“

“Drama queen.” 

“Thank EDI too. She may or may not have helped.”   

“Tattletale,” Shepard said up into the intercoms above them. 

“It was not my intention to offend,” EDI's voice once again floated around Shepard, cracking over the intercom. 

“Don’t listen to her. You did a great job EDI. Keep warning me when my girlfriend is having a panic attack.” 

“Noted, logging you both off.”

“So, girlfriend?” Shepard asked, pulling herself up on his carapace. Her eyes half-lidded, waiting for an answer. Again, his eyes darted around her, not focusing on her. This time, her heart raced with joy.   

“That’s the word humans use, right? I guess, um, I di-didn’t want to presu-” Garrus panicked words cut off with Shepard’s lips crushing against his mouth plates. 

After several minutes, ticking by in her free hour, Shepard finally broke the kiss to relax into his arms. 

“Although if you’re being married off, the mistress title sounds fun too.”

“Oh, so the wedding is still on?” 

“Maybe I should set this bomb off myself if I want to keep my boyfriend.” 

“Jealousy doesn’t suit you, Shepard,” Garrus said, pressing his mouth plates against her hair again. Shepard lightly sighed with a laugh into it, enjoying the pressure and hum of his voice. 

“Yeah, well, apparently stress doesn’t either. You’re just gonna have to deal with that.” 

“We’ll deal with it together,” Garrus whispered, pulling her closer. The pressure under her eyes dissipated. The pain in her face and back slipped away as she let her eyes close. Her breath fell in sync with his. The beat of his heart fluttered against her ear. Soft music played in the distance from their bed. She could finally rest. 

In that moment, Shepard was exactly where she wanted to be. 

At least for the next hour. 

[strawberrykidneystone]

I Was Gone for Two Seconds

garrus vakarian x fem! shepard

summary: in purgatory, shepard steps away for a second and her stool was taken

a/n: if it sounds like that one scene from victorious you're right and you should say it #mybad

tags: tooth rotting fluff, set in ME3, catty comments (sorry i’ve been rewatching dance moms), garrus being oblivious as always, shepard being rightfully pissed (smh), species hostility kinda???, reassurance, lovey dovery gross stuff, ooc bc garrus says ily (LMAO), busy couple making time for each other ):

ao3 version

shepard was sat at the bar in purgatory with her legs crossed in a little black dress and heels, nursing a purple drink that she had already forgotten the name of. she was waiting for garrus to arrive to have some semblance of a proper date for the two of them. however, knowing him, he most likely got caught up with calibrating the weapons in the normandy for the umpteenth time, but she didn’t blame him nor was she mad. in fact, she had arrived later than their decided time as well since she got caught up in her own paperwork.

suddenly, she felt a tap on her right shoulder. she looked over, but saw no one. she turned her head to the left and saw the face of her favorite turian with a nervous smile on his face.

“sorry for running late shepard, the primarch needed help with-”

shepard leaned in and cut him off with a kiss, pulling back and patting his chest with a smile, “garrus i barely got here, you’re fine big guy, i get it.”

garrus’ shoulders relaxed and a sigh of relief left his mouth, settling into the stool next to her, “thank you sweetie, i can’t promise that it won’t happen again, but i can promise i’ll always make up for it.”

he had been holding a hand behind his back, bringing it forward to show to her with a blue blush creeping up his neck. shepard looked down at his hand and gasped, picking up the gift and examining it, “a thermal scope! i’ve been wanting to try one of these babies out forever!”

shepard grinned like a kid on christmas and threw her arms around garrus’ neck, kissing his cheek with an emphasized “mwah”. garrus wrapped his arms around shepard’s waist and purred with her in his arms, looking at her with love in his eyes.

“i’m glad you like it.”

“like it? i love it.”

“more than you love me?”

“know your limits vakarian.”

the two laughed together and shepard let go of the embrace, garrus’ hand remaining on her thigh with her hand over it. he waved the bartender over and ordered a drink. the two of them chatted for a while about anything and everything, talking to each other as if they were the only ones in the room. shepard excused herself to go "powder her nose", aka she's had to pee for the last 10 minutes and couldn't stand it anymore.

when she returned, she was met with a surprise.

a female turian was sitting on the stool that she had occupied not long ago, talking to garrus a little too enthusiastically for her liking. as shepard approached, she was able to hear their conversation.

"why don't you stick to your own species? that little human has nothing on a real turian woman."

garrus looked appalled and opened his mouth to say something, but shepard cleared her throat before he got the chance. her hands rested squarely on her hips, her eyebrows raised with her jaw tightened. the turian woman looked her up and down, then rolled her eyes, "speak of the devil."

"that's commander devil to you."

garrus laughed at that and covered it with a cough, letting shepard take the lead.

shepard plastered on the fakest smile she could and tilted her head, "sorry, but this little human couldn't help but notice that you took my seat. i’d like it back now."

the turian scoffed and slid out of the seat, shoulder-checking shepard as she passed her, "he's all yours, who wants a man with a damaged mandible anyways."

shepard balled her hands into fists before closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, letting her fists go before walking up to garrus.

"shepard i'm so sorry, we were talking about the newest black widow that was released onto the market yesterday and then suddenly she changed the subject-" shepard cut off his rambling by taking his mandibles in her hands and kissing his lip plates, kissing all around his face before pulling back to look into his eyes, searching for any semblance of doubt in them. when she found none, she smiled reassuringly to him and rubbed her thumbs against mandibles.

garrus reached up and wrapped his hands around hers, turning his head to kiss her right palm before nuzzling his cheek against it. she knew he was being genuine, and even if she was blatantly flirting with him, shepard knew he would never pick up on it, that's for sure.

"for the record, i am one of those women who find scars attractive."

garrus laughed by letting a puff of air out of his nose and kissed her other palm, "for the record, i love my commanders a little devilish." shepard snorted and plopped down into her seat again. she leaned her elbow against the bar and resting her hand against her cheek.

"i love you vakarian."

"I love you too shepard."

"why don't we go back to the normandy and i can show you just how devilish i am," shepard said with an impish grin on her face.

"i wouldn't mind a little demonstration. i am a physical learner," garrus flirted back before quickly downing his drink.

shepard giggled before finishing the rest of her drink, standing up and grabbing his hand before leading him back to the Normandy. she glanced back just before they left purgatory and made eye contact with the turian woman from before, sticking her tongue out childishly as she led the love of her life back to their own home away from home.

notes: i'm actually happier with this piece than i thought i would be!! pls leave a comment if you want a part 12 with smut 👀 if i made any spelling or grammatical error pls lmk too

[messydiabolical]

I've been going though all my old documents of drell worldbuilding and such, so expect various snippets and rambles over the next few days! Kolyat Krios' early memories of his first home.

He was barely out of toddlerhood, and it was before his eidetic memory had fully taken hold. The memories he could recall from this time were hazy, there but hard to grasp. A lot like how the humans and turians seemed to describe their own memorisations.

He could see their first home in fragments. He knew it was small, cluttered, ramshackle. It was also very loving. An odd word to describe a building perhaps, but loving is how he remembered it.

 Mother bathing with me in the tiny shower, cursing when the hot water suddenly went out, then laughing it off. ‘Well that’s one way to really wake up and start a day!’ she waggles her eyebrows theatrically as she tickles my cold body through a towel, making me giggle, forgetting the chill. Her subvocal song trills in joy and I try to copy it, stuttered bursts of happiness in a staccato beat to her soothing tones.

 The neighbourhood was noisy, full of life and interesting, questionable smells.

Children were always outside, playing in the streets. Groups of teens and adults would also gather and mill about, though in retrospect, probably not for such innocent pursuits.

In the apartment upstairs someone was learning to play what sounded like an entire orchestras worth of instruments, taking a jack of all trades, master of none approach to the enterprise. They were very fond of practising late at night, the ceiling thudding with the beats.

A neighbour below them would watch Kolyat in the days while mother and father both worked. She was very old, saggy scales and eyes clouded over like the stormy clouds out beyond the dome walls. He adored her. She’d cook delicious soups that he’d gum and gnash at with his sprouting fangs, getting more all over his face and clothes than actually in his mouth. She’d just laugh in delight, rub his face with a cloth while he blew soupy raspberries in protest. She also loved to read storybooks, putting on funny voices for all the characters. Sometimes Kolyat would sleep over, and she’d make him a blanket fort on the sofa. Kolyat loved her very much.

‘Please Orla, I must insist you take some credits for your time.’ Mother shifts me on her hip. Her frillrings sparkle in the sputtering, broken hall light. I reach out with a pudgy little hand to play with them.

‘Now now dear, how many times must I insist. you keep those credits for him’. A wrinkly, gentle hand reaches over, stopping me before I grab too harshly on my silver hooped quarry.

Mother and father worked a lot. Mother seemed to like her work, exhausted as it left her. The same could not be said for father.

Father would come home from work dirty, dejected. Mother would rub his shoulders, kiss his cheek and put me on his lap, and he would melt a little. Kisses on my brow and a whispered promise. ‘I’ll make things better, do better for us’. Holds me a little tighter.

Kolyat can’t recall the exact words exchanged, but he remembers the night his parents fought, the first time he heard anything but loving devotion between them. The apartment only had one bedroom, so he usually slept in a crib he was vastly outgrowing, squeezed in next to his parents' bed. They had waited until he was asleep before bitter whispering began, then moved to the living room when it was clear things were escalating. It didn’t do much good; Kolyat had already woken up and the apartment had thin walls. It was a long night.

The next morning Thane was gone and Irikah, usually so positive, so determined, seemed to have lost a little spark about her. Usually when she made breakfast she would play music on her omnitool, singing off key and dancing as she moved.

That morning was too quiet, mothers movements too stiff and precise.

It was a Kalsef, a drell weekend day. Kolyat had begun to recognise patterns in time, knew that this was the day daddy always took him to the temple after breakfast while mummy got some me time.

‘Where daddy?’ the little drell asked, confused by the change in routine.

“He’s-” She pauses, looks side to side, runs her hand across her brow. She looks back up, leans across the table, strokes my cheek.

“He’s away on business Kolyat”.

Away on business. That was the first time he heard it. It would not be the last.

Three, perhaps four full Kalsefs passed, and father finally came home. He was dressed in sleek, fancy clothes, nothing like the overalls he’d worn for work before. He was smiling wide, rushed to Kolyat and swung him up in the air. Kissed mother and told them both he’d missed them so. Mother was all smiles too, but something was different. Something felt off to Kolyat. Like they were too eager, too desperate to seem normal, natural, which only served to make it feel unnatural.

A few days later they were packing up their meagre belongings. Emptying the apartment. A lot of it they didn’t bother with, too broken, not worth keeping. Father assured them they could get better things at ‘the new place’.

They travelled then, taking a skycar and then a shuttle, higher in the sky than kolyat had ever been. He clung fiercely to Thane when they looked out the windows, the vast oceans so far below, the islands and domes little specks on the surface.

“Fear not my son, we are quite safe. We’re going somewhere wonderful, you’ll see”.

Their second home was a lofty apartment at the very top reaches of the dome of Da’quin city.

The view out of the floor to ceiling windows made Kolyat feel sick. He had his own bedroom now, and he’d pile up toys against the glass planes, building a barrier between him and that fathomless fall. His new big bed accommodated his rapidly lengehtening limbs, but it felt so many miles away from mother and fathers bed. You couldn't hear the neighbours from the apartment. Never seemed to meet them at all; they could have been completely alone up there for all he knew. There were certainly no Orla’s in this building. He never saw her again. His second home was lonely.

[lilmissnatcat24]

shakarian brainrot is back and better than ever because their me2 relationship is everything to me. "Hey you're my best friend do you wanna have sex?" "Yes best friend let's bang." So like we think this is just going to be some fwb situation right? I mean SURE there was some flirting but Shepard flirts with a lot of people (not ones she would consider her BEST FRIEND but it's still cool and casual and TOTALLY cool). But then it totally devolves before it even starts. Garrus "I Get Really Nervous Every Time You Walk Into A Room" Vakarian. Commander "Let Me Just Touch Your Arm To Show You How Truly Casual I Really Am" Shepard. I'm foaming at the mouth. It took them collectively 24 hours for them to realize that they actually DO have feeling for another but neither of them understands it or knows how to move forward with it. And then the night, THEE NIGHT, before the Collector Base and Garrus has completely melted into a puddle. Doesn't remember how to act when you're in a woman's bedroom. Fumbling and bringing gifts and weird misguided compliments. And Shepard just EATING IT UP. AND THE CHEEK BRUSH. THE FOREHEAD KISS. ((I know we like to hc that it's how turians kiss but let's just pretend it isn't)) THATS ABOUT THE MOST INTIMATE THING THEY COULD HAVE DONE IN THAT MOMENT TO CALM EACH OTHER DOWN. THEY DIDNT NEED WORDS TO SAY THAT THEY BOTH HAVE FEELINGS FOR EACH OTHER. I HAVE RABIES RAAAAAHHHHHH

[writtenjewels]

Day Five: Turians

[pretend I didn't accidentally post this six days early before deleting it]

Garrus stood inside the building, arms crossed, eyes following the creatures as they moved from one part of the enclosure to the other. He could feel Shepard standing just behind him waiting for him to take it all in. Admittedly, a big part of the reason he agreed to come here was to satisfy Shepard's curiosity. And maybe he spent so much time with humans that some of that curiosity rubbed off on him.

“You want a closer look?” Shepard asked him.

“Sure,” Garrus agreed.

Shepard led him over to one of the employees. It only took a short conversation to convince the person to help them. The employee stuck their arm through the bars of the cage, letting out a whistling noise. A brown mass swooped down to land on the arm.

“You can get closer,” the employee said, “but try not to startle him.”

Garrus did as instructed. He hadn't seen many examples of Earth creatures apart from humans. This one was small in size but he could tell in the way it looked at him that it was intelligent. It was assessing him, deciding whether or not he was a threat. The stuff covering its body didn't look like armor plating or skin, but something else that layered on itself. Its feet curled into sharp claws. It didn't have any hands as far as Garrus could tell, but its mouth also was curved into a sharp point.

“This is the thing that humans keep comparing with turians?” he asked Shepard.

“Yep.” Shepard left it at that. Garrus let out a thoughtful grunt and studied the creature again.

“I don't really see the resemblance.”

“You haven't seen them hunt,” Shepard said. “Or fight. Even the ones that look tame can be real assholes.”

“So what about that one?” Garrus nodded meaningfully to the bird in front of them.

“This is called a hawk,” the employee chimed in. They made another noise and the bird spread out its arm. Wings, Garrus amended, noting how similar it looked to a human flying craft. “They like to hunt from a high perch and swoop down fast to take down their prey.”

Garrus understood now. The humans weren't saying his people looked like birds, but that they acted and hunted like birds. He could live with that comparison.

He went around listening to more facts about the various bird species. The stuff on their bodies was called their feathers, and apparently those feathers were often found in bright colors. Sort of like how his people distinguished themselves through their clan paint. He learned there was even a horror vid called The Birds made a very long time ago. By the end of the tour, he was really starting to like the creatures.

“Wait until you hear about falconry,” Shepard said with a grin. Garrus's mandibles quivered with excitement. He couldn't wait.

[nokstella]

— wip whenever.

saw @imogenkol posting for wip whenever and I got struck with the urge so, have this. working on self-indulgent fan adjacent stuff, and right now I'm writing some new characters, hence why it's in first-person. typically I write in third-person, but I like using first-person to get into characters heads and get a feel for their voice.

With a groan, I fell back against the door. All at once, whatever remained of the adrenaline that had carried me out of the main house and all the way back to my modest home was fading, and fast. I felt light-headed and jittery, exhaustion kicking in as my magic began to react to my emotions. Every nerve in my body was alight, buzzing uncomfortably just under my skin, and I fought the urge to scratch at it. No amount of digging into my flesh would help. I'd learned that long ago. Instead, I breathed. In and out, slow and steady. Held it in for as long as I could, and then longer still, until my lungs burned and my chest ached. Then, I let it out, and repeated the process. Over and over, until I no longer felt like I was drowning. It helped being here, at least. The entire Greene property was my home, for all intents and purposes, but this was mine. My magic was embedded here, in every nook and cranny. In the walls and along the floorboards, stuck between mismatched couch pillows and between every dish stacked in my cabinets. Even the plants littered about the place were infused with my energy, from the tips of their leaves down to the deepest roots. It wasn't much, but it was all I truly had to call my own. And best of all? There were absolutely no traces of wolves here. The cabin was dark. Off to my left, I could hear the familiar tick tock tick tock of my clock, the little black cat's tail swaying in time with the hands. Outside, I could hear the howling of the winter wind, singing her song of longing. Tree branches creaked and cracked under the weight of freshly fallen snow, and each one whispered to me, calling me as they always did. But right now, I couldn't make out the words. Not over the din in my own head, an endless loop of memories that I couldn't seem to stop, no matter how hard I tried. Jeremy saying, They're pressuring him to take a mate, his relatives in Caswell. Isaac saying, Her name is Haley, I think? She's from somewhere down near Idaho. Tessa saying, If she keeps doing that fake little laugh I'm gonna throw my drink right in her face. Elliot saying, She's just here on business, nothing more. I promise. And me just standing here, saying nothing, because what was there to say? I should have said something, anything, but I didn't. All I did was keep my mouth shut and my head down. All I did was run, run, run.

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