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the biggest debuff to the biracial "i tan really fast" trait is Trucker Tan

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There are so many good prompts in that kiss post. How about 'a kiss after treating a wound'?

absolutely loved the prompt, i'm sorry it took so long for me to finish this! life has a habit of getting in the way. anyway here's some shavik during priority: earth! | prompt list: [x]

Faintly, through a world-subduing haze, muffled cries reached out for Helios's consciousness. Once more he tried to push himself off the floor, but his limbs refused their purpose. Aching and motionless they remained pinned beneath his battered body, trapped between jagged debris and the blood-splattered asphalt of London's streets. His biotics flared uncontained in strained flickers, flooding his surroundings in a desperate glow of indigo, but their aftershock wasn't strong enough to push the concrete slab off him. A frustrated grunt escaped his lips as his overexerted implant sent a searing pain through his brain, splitting his skull.

Somewhere close by, a concentrated barrage of shots cracked through the night. The eerie howl of a Banshee responded in a spine-chilling fury before finally falling silent.

"Over there!", a familiar voice exclaimed triumphantly, mere moments before Helios felt the debris being hurled off him as if it was made from merely cardboard. He gasped as life-spending oxygen - tinged with the smell of rusted metal and burnt flesh - flooded his lungs. Strong fingers dug into his shoulders and dragged him away from the battlefield, propping him up against a damp boulder. When he finally willed his eyes to open, he met the bright shine of a stern gaze.

"Commander", Javik bit out, and for a brief heartbeat relief flooded his grim expression.

Heavy footfall interrupted Helios's attempts at speaking. "You got this?", Rafe asked the Prothean, his bright biotics burning an irritating afterimage into Helios's irises. Defensively he lifted his hand before his eyes.

"I do", Javik responded sharply.

The Ardat-Yakshi nodded and threw himself back into the fray without another word, leaving nothing but a trail of destruction in his wake. This latest encounter seemed to have changed something deep within him.

"Where's Morinth?", Helios asked weakly as fragments of his memory came flooding back in. Breathing heavily, he leant against the boulder and traced his hand down the side of his body. Blood seeped into his palm and coated his fingers, began pooling underneath him, sapping his strength with every minute that passed. His limbs felt sore still, too lacerated to motion any more.

"Dead." Bringing up his omni-tool as he spoke and sinking to his haunches next to him, Javik seemed more than satisfied with the outcome of the fight that had nearly cost Helios his life. The great Commander Shepard, brought down by a Banshee. Well wouldn't that have been something. Helios grimaced, the savage pound of his skull putting a swift end to this train of thought.

When Javik began to apply medi-gel to him, Helios flinched. Gritting his teeth he watched as Javik's eyes narrowed as well. Undoubtedly his sensory ability had to have interlinked the excruciating pain Helios was in with Javik's senses by now. "Your implants are damaged", he observed, wiping a trickle of blood from his nose.

"But my omni-tool's still working. I can keep going", Helios insisted stubbornly as the first tendrils of drug-induced relief caressed his body. He had to get to the crucible. And nothing and no one - neither reaper nor injury, hell, least of all an injury - would stop him.

"Yes, you can", Javik agreed. "You have to. We have to."

There was no doubt about it. Humanity, the galaxy, would fall if this battle was lost. One way or another, he intended to end this war tonight, once and for all.

As the medi-gel spread through his body and Javik's fingers pushed into his skin, worked it into exposed muscle, bone and armored weave, Helios allowed himself a short moment of restless respite. Nestling his head against the boulder, he watched as squadrons of intergalactic warships barely made a dent in the plating of a reaper before a single, blaring red-hot strike of the gargantuan being blew up half of their formation. The sky rumbled with thunder and lightning lit up the debris as they burnt up and fell from the heavens.

It all seemed so damn hopeless.

"Javik." Now that his limbs were his own to command again, Helios spread his hand against the Prothean's cheek, forcing him to meet his gaze. He bent his head towards his and met his lips in a kiss, perhaps the last one they'd ever share. Javik's tongue slid between the seam of his lips as it had done countless time before, conquering his mouth hungrily. Helios hadn't intended for it to rob any more of their time, but the truth was, there wasn't any left. This push was it. He saw nothing beyond it. So he lingered on the blaze of heat that ignited between them as heavy raindrops soaked their intertwined, bloodied bodies and explosions shook the ground beneath them.

"No matter the cost, I will see this through", he promised and drew himself up as they parted, ignoring the throbbing sting that had returned to the cut on his lower lip.

He patted the dust off his pants and drew his gun. After this night was over, Javik would experience the joy that were peacetimes. He'd make sure of it.

Or die trying.

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Sorahk: Military ID Illustrations

These are illustrations I made of my original characters for chapter 1 and chapter 2 of my Mass Effect fanfic Sorahk!

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im in the break room full brightness if anyone wants to reblog some porn

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Haunted - at the thought of another day wasted When no love is lost, no matter at what cost Get free Starving - like a pack of wolves We'll live our lives screaming No more dead time (X)

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I've decided to post more of my WIPs/Sketches before they end up in my "never to see the light of day/unfinished/uncoloured pile". So here is some Dragon Age art, first up Bellara and Laurel (Laurie).

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I should be working oops

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imo a discord server should be like a breakout room for fandom. like the place to run your wips by your besties or discuss your otp in more detail with a few people who were insane about it on your post or organise events with a handful of trusted mutuals etc etc. if it’s where ALL the fandom activity is going to happen it will inevitably foster a cliquey environment where the fandom is divided into “those in the server” and “those who aren’t”, lurking is disincentivised if not made outright impossible, people who feel uncomfortable joining in conversations and would rather interact with fandom through reblogging etc are largely excluded because there’s no repost mechanism, and the fandom itself becomes an enclosed space so new fans are limited in how much content and meta they can access without having to make the plunge into Joining The In Group, there’s limited scope for interaction between different communities within the same fandom, god it’s just an altogether dogshit stupid idea. what if we moved all fandom activity to really massive private groupchats. STUPID

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MOD UPDATE

I have updated my Cleric’s Armor Mash-ups for Male Shepard mod with a new armor appearance: Enforcer. This is a combo of the Defender armor and the Ajax armor pants, using both the N7 Defender armor textures and Vega’s armor texture. A custom version of the Kestral Helm has also been included with both a breather and a non breather state.

Update coming soon to the LE3 version of the mod.

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this just killed the gc so i'm sharing it with the rest of y'all

behold: bad german ai translations of product names on redbubble

(btw two of these artists are on tumblr too! here and here!)

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do i have followers who are also trying to keep their E//D in check especially restrictive ones?

bc i would really like to know what u guys do when food starts to begin to Taste Too Much Like Food

as in you're trying to eat a regular sized meal and suddenly all the ingredients sure as shit start tasting way too intense and you become aware of all the way too strong flavors at once

like how do you deal with that

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I LOVE PAINTING 💥💥💥💥

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The Normandy SR-2 is a trap.

That much is obvious to Shepard from the beginning. For all Lawson and Taylor talk up saving human colonies, it’s a hostage situation that she has little choice but to play her part in. The ship, the crew–Joker and Chakwas and Garrus and Tali–they’re the obvious carrot to keep her cooperative like the good warhorse she is. An organization capable of feeding fifty-one unsuspecting marines to a Thresher Maw doesn’t simply do nice things out of the goodness of its heart, after all.

The stick is far more subtle.

The picture on the desk is the first one. It’s meant to be seen, with the way it lights up whenever she draws near. The message behind it is equally easy to read. That there’s a picture of Kaidan on her desk, a picture that clearly hadn’t come from his service record or a public source, speaks volumes about Cerberus’ capacity for kompromat. 

It takes her longer to notice the medals in the display case just next to the picture. Each one awarded after a particularly heroic moment in her career that was one more reason to lie awake at night and recount the names of those who only got those shiny pieces of ribbon and metal in a shadow box delivered to their next of kin. Her eyes are so used to skipping over them that she doesn’t notice the extra medal at first.

All the medals in the case are new, just printed copies of the ones that had long since burned up over Alchera. Except the one that isn’t. It’s old, the stained blue ribbon beginning to fade and fray while the silver veneer flakes off of the cheaper dull gray metal underneath. But the name stamped across the bottom under the embossed cross-hair shape is still perfectly legible.

M. Shepard.

She knows that medal like the back of her own hand, the places where the finish is worn off from her rubbing her thumb over it and the feel of those embossed letters under her finger. Knows the way it felt every time she’d tucked it into her armor for over a decade. Knows it like the memory of her own mother’s face on the day she’d given it to her on her sixteenth birthday.

It was Nana Peggy’s good luck charm. She won it in a longshot competition back in ‘35.  She gave it to me, and now it’s your turn to have it.

Good luck charm, her ass.

It would be nice to think they’d tucked this memento into her cabin as a personal touch. It could even be Lawson’s official story, if she bothered to ask her.

But only an idiot believes the official story.

And Helen Shepard didn’t raise an idiot.