surkeshs

[surkeshs]

#WEBSHOOTS     —     ANYONE CAN WEAR THE MASK !

ind. sel. 18+ only.  miles morales of the spider-man universe.  webbed by oddity ( he/him, 21+ ).  includes various verses, including alt. verses in different settings ( e.g. mass effect, pkmn, etc. ).

[surkeshs]

finally get a ps5 in my hands and the first game i’ve started playing is miles morales and immediately i’m like.

[surkeshs]

yetfierce​:

Val sat down beside him as invited, doing her best to follow his words; his rapid-fire pattern of speech still took some getting used to on her part, and there were occasions where she didn’t quite catch the entirety of what he was saying. She must have been getting better at deciphering the Salarian doctor’s way of speaking because she was reasonably certain this time she’d caught enough to understand. She let out a slight chuckle. “Well, that may be true, doct- uh, Mordin, but that’s not the case with you; you earned your title.”

A small frown flickered across her face at Mordin’s admission that his friend was likely not joining them. “That’s too bad.” She couldn’t help but laugh out loud at the comment on Shepard’s dancing. “I hate to admit it, but mine’s not much better.” A small sigh escaped her, and she swirled her drink around in her glass as she pondered the question.

“I keep telling myself I’m here to celebrate our victory against The Collectors. And, I guess that’s part of it, sure, but… I guess maybe I’m really here hoping to drink enough to forget…” she took a sip of her drink of which she’d already had a few too many, the reason she was being so talkative about her personal life,

“…forget about how fucking disappointed Hackett’s gonna be with me, how me and Shepard are probably gonna be court-martialed and discharged from the service for working with Cerberus, how the man I love is probably never gonna forgive me, and most of all… the fact that all this with the Collectors, it’s just a temporary victory; The Reapers are still out there… but nobody’s gonna believe it until it’s too late, are they…?”

Celebrate their victory. Yes, that made sense. It was a superficial canopy to the maw that awaited beneath. The Reapers were very much still out there, approaching; slow but inevitable. There was no doubt about that. Their victory against the Collectors felt immense in the moment, but in logical retrospect, it barely scraped the shell.

Darkened eyes briefly flicked south, onto the drink she nursed, one that flirted close towards the bottom dregs. Alcohol, he presumed, by the way she was spilling her woes so openly and in such a public place.

“Hm. Lot on your mind. Almost salarian in nature. Many things happening at once, many thoughts and many ideas. Though, perhaps for humans, more overwhelming than comfortable.”  There was, surprisingly, a moment where silence — or, well, how close to silence one can get in the cacophony of a bustled bar — reigned. Mordin let his thoughts swirl swift before continuing.  “The alcohol, likely, amplifying your emotions. While thought to numb, not necessarily the case while actively ingesting; lowers inhibitions, which can lower mental guard to emotional input and output. Would suggest getting something to eat, so tomorrow it doesn’t feel like you’ve got a hammer in your head.”

Again, without asking, Mordin went and did what he thought was best — and beckoned over one of the staff. An asari swung by, their ice-blue eyes softened by their smile, even if it was likely one so practised it came as easy as breathing. His gaze snapped back onto Valerie, anticipating her to order some food.

[surkeshs]

HEADCANON.    priority: tuchanka.

regardless of paragon, renegade, or paragade shepard, mordin strives to cure the genophage. it’s a long, painful realisation of the err of his ways; one that he needs to rectify.

in the situation that shepard was swayed by the dalatrass, likely to secure valuable salarian support, and attempts to either convince mordin to go along with the plan or simply refrains from disclosing the vital information that the shroud is sabotaged, mordin senses discord. discord between shepard and his own goals and he endeavours to access the elevator regardless. shepard is someone he admires, someone he sees as, perhaps, a friend; but he knows when to put his foot down. he refuses to be complicit.

even if he’s shot, he makes it up to the crown of the shroud. he countermeasures the sabotage. he ensures that the cure is dispersed.

it only seemed right. it only seemed right for mordin to be caught amid the explosion of the shroud — consuming heat, searing flesh and muscle, and for rubble to litter over his body — as he hummed the tune to gilbert and sullivan.

it had to be him.

when he’s found, he’s hanging onto the last vestiges of life. he thinks if he was found even minutes later he would’ve been a lost cause, something that would’ve cost billions to bring back. even where he’s at, he costs a significant sum of credits, something that he simultaneously appreciates and also playfully spurns.

mordin lost his right eye. mordin lost his left leg. much of his body was covered in severe, painful burning. many of his bones were broken. but as soon as he can, as soon as he’s mobile and functioning, he strives to ready and thrust himself back into the war. he proves vital to the development and function of the crucible.

[surkeshs]

weekend time

[surkeshs]

SAOTHIN ZAKERA; salarian espionage agent.

[surkeshs]

sittin alone in the shuttle bc u kno ur third wheelin on commander shepard’s mission

[surkeshs]

yetfierce​:

Bars weren’t Val’s usual stomping ground; she didn’t often drink alcohol, and she wasn’t a huge fan of crowds. But after being part of the mission that blew the Collector base clear to hell and living to tell about it, she felt that was something worth celebrating.

Besides, she had no idea if she’d ever get to see space again; after working with Cerberus, she wouldn’t be surprised if The Alliance stripped her of her status or, at the very least, grounded to Earth for the rest of her days, even in spite of her connection with Admiral Hackett. So she might as well enjoy it while she could. Then there was Kaidan. To say he wasn’t happy about her actions was an understatement. Lord knows he may never forgive her.

It was Mordin’s voice that caught her ear as she heard him mumbling to himself. Though she found it hard to believe he would be found in this type of setting, she reflexively turned to look in the direction of the voice, half expecting to be mistaken. But there was Dr. Mordin Solus, looking more than a little out of place. She gave the Salarian a friendly smile. “Dr. Solus. Long time, no see. What brings you to a place like this?”

Hearing his name upon the wind, let alone from a pair of friendly lips, spurred a swivelled head. Big, bulgingly black eyes blinked once, twice, before he let a smile of his own blossom. He couldn’t say he was expecting to see a familiar face, but here he was.

“Valerie? Yes, Valerie. Heard people call you Val. Will use that.” Rather than politely inquire which she preferred — Valerie or Val — Mordin powered through this conversation like he did with any other. He gestured, fingers unfurled, ripe with signs of old age and labour lined heavy into each digit. “Here, sit. And, please, no need for formalities. Doctor title flimsy anyway. Anyone can be a doctor. Just need a certificate from reputable educational facility. Easily counterfeited. Have known several ‘colleagues’ that didn’t know that krogans have secondary, and in some cases, tertiary organs and expressed wonder and surprise when they came upon a second heart, or the third or fourth lung.” He inhaled deeply. “Not amusing for patient involved.”

Despite the spitfire words, he hadn’t forgotten about Valerie’s question. Oh, yes, he had not forgotten about it, for it tickled the back of his mind, lingering and hissing. All in all, it was a mundane question — but right now? In the wake of his yearn for atonement? It probed where it ought not probe.

“Many reasons why here. Was meeting up with a friend,” friend wasn’t the most truthful choice of word, but it was better than saying someone I was hoping to connect with and hope not to have my brains paint the floor beneath when I eventually disclose my hand in the genophage. “Doesn’t look he’s coming, however. Why are you here? Drinks? Food? Dancing? … Hope Shepard isn’t here to dance. Shepard’s dancing? Leaves much to be desired.”

[surkeshs]

now that i’ve set up my carrd and readjusted and whatnot...... would anyone be 👉👈interested in maybe 👉👈 plotting

[surkeshs]

finally buckled down and made a carrd for this blog! give it a looksie if you have time! (here is the link <3) it will officially replace my on-blog pages w regard to rules, dossier, verses, etc.!

[surkeshs]

LOTS  OF  WAYS  TO  HELP  PEOPLE.  SOMETIMES  HEAL  PATIENTS;  SOMETIMES  EXECUTE  DANGEROUS  PEOPLE.  EITHER  WAY  HELPS.  —   independent,  selective,  18+  only  roleplay  blog  for  MORDIN SOLUS  of  the mass  effect  trilogy.   —   as  penned  by  oddity (  he / him  ).

[surkeshs]

one reason i kept on fading away from here was bc i didn’t have access to all my graphics and icons and stuff, bc i couldn’t find my old computer which had them all. but i found it so here he is

[surkeshs]

me: posts :3 mordin all of u: go absolutely apeshit

[surkeshs]

mordin needs so many hugs. he needs to set up a Kissing Booth-like place for just hugs, honestly.

[surkeshs]

i have some downtime from pure and utter chaos atm so i present u with the following:

shipping w mordin

[surkeshs]

BORN-OF-LOSS.

Reina was feeling vulnerable, having exposed herself so thoroughly to this new friend, but he responded kindly, much the same as he had throughout their entire conversation preceding her detached revelation. In fact, he responds in a way that instantly has her feeling even more at ease; he’s clinical, methodic about it. Like a diagnosis, instead of advice.

She smiles back at him, nodding.

“I’ve never thought about it like that but it’s definitely easier to remember the bad than the good. Even for me, and I’m an eternal optimist.” She chuckled, and took a sip of her drink.

Another smile at his compliment; mouth wide, teeth catching the light of the bar. “Thank you, Mordin. You don’t seem so bad yourself, for an old man.” She winks then, the alcohol already making her a bit more intense than she would be. “And a cloaca his is indeed.”

She turned to him a bit more fully. “Did you get along with your parents?” 

He went to take another sip of his drink as she referred to him as an old man — spurring his lips to curve, humoured, around the crystal rim.

“Never had a father,” Mordin swirled his drink around, watching the vibrant pink lap at the rim. “Salarian reproduction different from humans — do not need two different sexes in order to produce a child. Female salarians produce a clutch of a dozen eggs every year; if the egg is unfertilised, then the egg produces a male. If the egg is fertilised, then the egg produces a female — very culturally significant, and tedious, process. Essentially, had two mothers. One being the mother that birthed my egg, the other being the clan Dalatrass — similar to human Matriarch. Latter less of a parental figure and more of an authority figure. Does ritual of psychological imprinting to make young salarians defer to her, recognise her as the leader of the clan.”

Amusement bubbled to the surface. A flash of teeth.

“Dalatrass never quite liked me. Known for having a brilliant mind but being somewhat ... fickle. Willing to do whatever in order to achieve cause, even if it meant thwarting cultural traditions. Remember Dalatrass once saying, ‘you’re smart, Mordin, but not smart enough to respect me’. Did respect her, in actuality. Just showed it in different ways.” A pause, fleeting, floated between them. “What about your mother? Father is a cloaca, but what about mother?”

[surkeshs]

BORN-OF-LOSS.

She was about to comment on the biodiversity of Earth when he mentioned–or probed about–her father. She had no qualms about discussing the man, even to this relative stranger. But still, it was a touchy subject.

“Ugh.” She let out a groan and signalled the bartender. “If I’m going to talk about dear old pops I definitely need something to drink.” She ordered a gin & tonic, probably one of the safest drinks for her. Anything else, she’d either get sad or frisky. A bit…sassy was okay.

“It…didn’t go well.” She said, with a nonchalance that she’d only developed a few years after the fact. She didn’t even resent the man–okay, she did–but it was a fading hurt.

“My father is a…very important politician on Earth. I won’t go into too much detail because, well, as much as he’s an asshole, I don’t want to be the one to ruin his career.” She waved a hand. “He and my mother split around the time I was a year old. I think it’s because I wasn’t exactly what he wanted, mom says its because he was too busy for a family. Which, you’d think, he’d have decided before he married her and told her he wanted a family.” An eyeroll punctuated this. Her drink arrived and she took a deep swallow.

“Anyways. I was…twenty-two at the time? Twenty-one? I had just gotten a job on Illium, before I moved to Omega. It was…sort of what I do now, but not as…prestigious. Lower class escort. Still, wasn’t Omega.” She shook her head. “Sorry, getting off track. I went to see my dad. He knew I was coming–mom had given me his contact. He was…not…” she tried to find the words. “Not welcoming. Told me he was only doing this as a one-time favour, to see if I’d amounted to anything.” She gave a wry smile. “I told him what I wanted to do, my training, and he basically told me that he didn’t want to see me again, unless I was doing something respectable.” She took another large gulp of her drink, feeling the cool sting in her chest. 

“I found out later he had a new wife, two boys, a dog. The perfect family.” Sighing again bitterly, she finished the drink. It had gone down too quickly.

“Anyways.” She brightened suddenly, obviously forcefully. “Sur’kesh sounds beautiful! Illium is…similar, I guess. In that it’s a garden planet. Sur’kesh sounds a lot more…wet.”

He listened. Occasionally, a slight, nigh inaudible sip was taken of his own drink as she disclosed what sounded — more or less — like a wound, desperately trying to knit itself back together but still open and red and sore.

“Sounds ... troubling. Your relationship,” a long, thin finger tapped rhythmically at his glass. “Can see it causes some sense of bitterness. Anger, maybe. Know it’s difficult to forget bad, sometimes traumatising incidents. Know human mind is fairly memorable, and that incidents deemed traumatic or embarrassing or negative more likely to imprint on the brain. Can be easy to forget the goodness in life when the brain insists on recalling the bad.”

Mordin flashed a smile at her.

“Don’t know you very well, but you seem very nice.” A slight chuckle parted from him then, compelling shoulders to quake. “Nice enough to entertain this salarian, at least. Would suggest that father figure is a bit of a cloaca. Well. Bit,” a wry smirk of his own, “understatement.”