#i dunno if i should tag every primarch

[luwupercal]

alright, i meant to post this when i had nine of them done, not six, but we’ll make this a three-parter, sigh

recently on twitter i voiced the idea of making nice casual outfits for the (...30k, so we can have all of ‘em) primarchs, pretty heavily (as you can tell) inspired by their homeworlds!

this is part one of three. feel free to reply with suggestions, ideas, whatever - even just suggesting which primarchs you want to see next!

in order: konrad curze (censored because i don’t like it anymore, i’ll remake it... eventually), leman russ, sanguinius, two outfits for rogal dorn you go rogal dorn (inwit is cold!! he needs a coat), ferrus manus, jaghatai khan and magnus the red

bunch of miscellaneous notes under the cut! please enjoy!

re: curze; his outfit consists of an under-power-armor overalls-plugsuit-thing, bc he’s greasy and doesn’t change his clothes, plus a People Skin cloak and some old ratty tunic-shirt-thing he threw on (mostly covered up by the censoring)

re: russ; he’s wearing short sleeves and it annoys me to no end that i painted behind the mannequin’s transparent arms, but what can ya do. i think silver fits him far better than gold - something something werewolves - , so i gave him silver accents to give a more royal air to his clothes! i’m pretty sure the huge fucking furry cloak draped over his shoulder is actually an Entire Bear or something that he killed with his bare hands. 

also, he’s wearing a slightly-deconstructed light blue kilt that adds a bit of color to the whole thing - no in-universe reason for it really, but it looks way better than without, and. well. i know russ is viking themed but i’m using sutherland’s existence as my excuse for this one ok?

re: sanguinius; his was the idea on which i based the entire project, but i modified it and i’m... not entirely happy with my modifications? i think i should make some alternates probably lol. in the original, he was wearing biker shorts, not tights. 

the tunic-y top is mostly based on clothes worn by cultures that live near deserts; i didn’t find out which one, specifically, my ref images were from, which is .Regret dot jpeg but oh well. i shortened the hem significantly (from three-fourths down the calf to mid-thigh!) and added leggings for ease of flying (and some shiny details, albeit i think i should’ve added more...)

re: dorn; his was actually the most difficult one to make! theres not a lot to go off culturewise, re:inwit, so i was free to mostly make up whatever i wanted. i ended up going with a mixer blend of medieval european winterwear and common constants between nomadic cultures in winter climates (which, according to the wiki, was what inwit’s people were, once upon a time). i have actually some mspaint design notes -

re: ferrus; his outfit’s initial concept was hard to get a grasp on but once i settled on drawing from the more mechanical aspects of medusa it was easy peasy! i originally thought of taking the planet’s greek name and more... and i am quoting the lore on this one, “barbaric” civilization and doing something myceanean-inspired, and i WILL gift you all Boobs Out Ferrus Manus in Bright Fuck Myceanean Fabrics one day, but then (with help of a discord pal who loves ferrus) i decided to settle on a more mechanic-y situation. 

he’s got steel toed boots (name taken quite literally) to match his arms, his wrapped-overalls-with-undershirt-showing is my compromise between overalls and showing off his arms, and as decoration, a glove and possibly a cleaning cloth? hanging from his pocket. i originally colored the cleaning cloth both in a copypasted tartan pattern (it was late at night, okay?) and in a hand-drawn myceanean pattern, to keep the original inspo, but the tartan looks better so it’s the one getting posted to tumblr. it’s tartan because according to my sources (my pal who loves ferrus) the medusan clans are inspired by scottish clans :)

re: khan; his was one of the easiest, tbh, considering mongolian people are alive and well today and mongolia is a dang country. i dressed him up in a deel and some boots shaped like the traditional mongolian ones, and then referenced a pattern off official art of his (specifically this piece) to add some extra decoration to the deel. (one thing that i’d like to comment about khan, though, that amuses me: i spent like, an entire afternoon rereading the same info in 300 different websites, trying to figure out if there were any huge no-nos to deels. i found little but i still feel unsure... we need to start deelposting more, u guys)

re: magnus; egyptian people did... not... wear a lot of clothing. i had promised mutuals and pals that i would draw primarch boobs. i don’t really have an excuse for him to be completely shirtless other than this. but i tried to compensate for the simpleness of the clothes with egyptian-looking decorations! i think i leaned too hard into egypt though; i’m not fully happy with it. i’ll rework some of the stuff later to be more geometrical maybe? prosperan (well, tizcan) style strikes me as more of that. oh, and maybe try to end up with a more greco-roman style -- feels appropiate.

the "leopard” skin (it’s probably not a real leopard, but it’s probably a real skin) is because in ancient egypt, high-ranking people such as nobles would allegedly wear animal skins (such as leopards and tigers) to denote their station, and, well. magnus is canonically Kind of a Fancyboy. not as much as some of his brothers (cough fulgrim cough), but!. my favourite pieces of jewelry he’s wearing are the upper-arm snake-shaped bracelet, the two-necklace combo (so much teal...), and the cute little anklet.

[galpalaven]

For the kiss prompt: could you do Shakarian, #14 but can it be about Garrus' PTSD? I would expect that maybe Garrus sometimes has problems going somewhere alone, or without Shepard or one of his friends. Like his trust was broken, and I'm sure he tries to hide it because of he doesn't want to burden her but idk I'm rambling now. Please and thank you!

14. starting with a kiss meant to be gentle, ending up in passion

Garrus still has nightmares.

It’s not surprising, after everything he’s been through, but–it’s embarrassing. Even though Shepard also wakes up in a panic at least once a week, even though she never minds that he has to wake her when he’s had a particularly bad one, it still feels…well, weak. And he hates feeling weak.

If there’s one thing Garrus had drilled into his head from a very young age, it was that you don’t show weakness. Turians don’t show weakness, but even more than that, Vakarians don’t show weakness, even to family, even to the person you love most in the entire galaxy. You just–you don’t.

And he’s been having a hard time unlearning that particular lesson.

Sun is always helpful, though. Always sweet and warm and loving whenever he snaps at her, or can’t look her in the eye because he doesn’t want her to see the fear written all over his face. She’s understanding almost to a fault sometimes. There are days he’s almost positive she’d stand by him even if he hurt her–even if he lost control for one second, even if his talons and teeth broke her soft skin. She’d probably sit there and let him kill her if it meant his happiness.

…he really doesn’t deserve her.

Tonight, he can feel himself getting irritable. He can hear it on his subvocals every time he opens his mouth, can feel the tension in his muscles every time she brushes against him, so at ease in his presence that she doesn’t even kind of feel worried about her extremely large, apex-predator husband having a mood swing. The only worried she seems to be is for his wellbeing, if the way she keeps pressing kisses to different parts of him (whatever is within reach, pretty much–his breath hitches something awful when her lips press lightly over the exposed skin on his ribcage) means anything.

Shepard and Garrus haven’t been away from each other for more than a day or two since the war ended–and not at all since they got married.

Tomorrow, Shepard is leaving for a two month-long stint on the Citadel, and Garrus’s separation anxiety is already through the roof.

He’d tried everything he could think of, when the Council first requested her presence, to talk her out of it. She hadn’t even really wanted to go, but the Council was insistent, and begrudgingly she’d admitted that she wanted to see the reparations for herself.

“I want to make sure the statue they’re putting up of me isn’t stupid,” she’d explained a few days ago, stuffing a pair of pajamas in her bag. “You know, since it was Wrex’s idea and I’m not entirely convinced he wouldn’t do something stupid and give me six breasts or something.” She’d laughed then, padding across the room to press a kiss to the center of his forehead, in reach because he was moping on the edge of the bed.

“I’m sure the Council wouldn’t let him do that,” he’d mumbled as she pulled away again, catching her around the hips and reeling her back in.

And she’d laughed some more, tilting her head back to bare her throat to his sharp, sharp teeth. So much trust… “I dunno. I think it’s better safe than sorry, in this case. I saved the galaxy–I should probably have some say in what my own statue looks like anyway.”

He hadn’t been able to get out of his work long enough, in the end, to tag along with her like he’d been hoping. Somehow, he’d ended up advancing fairly far up the meritocracy over the course of the war, and Primarch Victus was working him to the bone with war reparations. Apparently he was the best candidate for dealing with the krogan stragglers–or so the rumor mill went. Whatever it was, it just meant that he had to stay on Palaven while Shepard went on this trip, and he’s going quietly insane with every passing minute because she’s leaving.

She’s leaving tomorrow.

She’s leaving tomorrow, and he doesn’t know what he’s going to do with himself for the next two months. Doesn’t know how he’s going to go back to waking up alone, sleeping alone, coming home to an empty house for the first time in so long. He’s not sure how much of himself will be left in two months’ time.

Sun, being Sun, has already picked up on what’s bothering him by the time they’re trying to settle in for the night.

“Garrus,” she says quietly, reaching out to catch his wrist as he goes to make another lap in his pacing. “Hey. Hey, come sit down, Gare. Let’s talk.”

He lets her drag him closer, pointedly avoiding her curious gaze, even as her fingers trail lightly against the bare skin on his waist. Hands on his hips, she rubs circles into his hide with her thumbs, and says, “I know you’re upset about this trip.”

“It’s stupid,” he huffs after a beat, glaring at a spot on the wall. 

“It’s not stupid, babe. We’re veterans–separation anxiety is the least I’d expect from this whole mess.” She bends her head, and he lets out a shaky breath as her soft, soft lips press into the skin on his stomach. “This will be good for the both of us, though, I think. It’s not healthy, being this dependent on each other.”

He opens his mouth, heady annoyance rushing to break out of his vocal chords before he can stop it, but no words come. Feeling shaky, and a little unhinged, Garrus gently untangles her hands and drops heavily onto the bed beside her. 

“…you died.”

It’s nothing more than a hoarse whisper, un-dealt with grief dragging hot talons down the inside of his throat. How many times had she died on him, now? Two? Three?

How many more times does she have left before it finally sticks, and he’s left alone? 

“…Garrus.”

“You died, Shepard. There was a funeral. We buried you.” He huffs, rubbing roughly at his face, bracing his elbows on his knees. The image of her nameplate, final and depressing on the Normandy after the crash landing after London, flashes through his mind, and his heart hurts. He’d nearly lost her so many times… “I can’t help you when you’re gone. What if you need me? What if I need you? What if–?”

“Garrus,” she interrupts, pressing her face into his shoulder, fingers digging into his elbow firmly. “I’m just going to the Citadel. It’s not like I’m going to Omega or something. Everything will be fine–and besides, I can look after myself. Two months will be over before you know it.”

“I don’t–Shepard, what am I supposed to do the next time I have a nightmare and you’re not here?”

He feels her smile against his arm. “You call me, no matter what time it is on the Citadel, and I talk to you until you fall back to sleep.” Her fingers start to make a path up his back, pulling gently at plates that are out of alignment and smiling to herself as he relaxes, inch by inch. “We’ll be okay, Gare. I promise.”

That makes him look at her then, finally, turning to cautiously meet her patient eyes. Shepard keeps her promises.

“…you promise?”

Gently, she brings one of her hands up to his face, soft little fingers tracing the marks on his face. His eyes roam hungrily over the matching tattoos on her cheeks in response. “I promise. I’ll even see if I can’t talk Victus into flying you out for a weekend or two while I’m gone, alright? It won’t be as bad as you think it’s going to be.”

Sighing heavily because he doesn’t know what else to say, he leans in and bumps his forehead against hers, smiling to himself when her quiet laughter dances through the air. Sun tilts her chin after a moment of this, lips pressing into his mouth plates softly, sweetly, humming against him. He presses back as best he can, tilting his head to nuzzle his mouth against hers, following after her desperately the moment she goes to pull away and smiling when she laughs again.

They trade soft kisses for a few more moments, Shepard trailing them across his mandibles, grinning against his plates at the pleased rumbling he gives in return. When she makes her way back to his mouth, he tilts his head again and deepens the kiss as best he can, leaning into her until she falls back against the pillows, muffled laughter quickly turning into a pleased groan.

She’s leaving tomorrow, he thinks as he lowers his mouth to brush against her throat, but they still have tonight, and he’s not going to waste it.

When he wakes not two nights later, panicked and panting, tears leaking from his eyes as he tries to remember where he is and what is real, he still hesitates to call her. She’d told him to, when he had nightmares, but…

She answers him on the second ring, voice slow and soft, slurred with sleep, but he can hear the smile on her lips as she says, “Garrus. I was just dreaming about you.”

His laughter is thick and watery. “Me too.”

“Mm. I figured.”

“…sorry.”

“No, no. It’s okay. Wanna hear about my dream? It was steamy.”

He snorts, and his pulse is already slowing, the deep, warm tone of her voice soothing the ache in his chest with ease. He buries his nose in her pillow, inhaling the lingering scent of her perfume and her favorite shampoo, and watches the way the orange glow of his omnitool dances on the sheets.

“Tell me anything. Just keep talking.”

She hums again, and he hears her yawn. “I love you, you know.”

He smiles at the display, warmth spreading across his skin. 

“I love you, too, Sunshine.”

i tried ;;