Žena će nakon prekida otplakati svoje, preboljeti skota a onda se detaljno posvetiti svom životu vodeći računa da radi samo ono što je čini sretnom. Muškarac će nakon prekida u kafanu s drugovima, dernečiti par noći dok ga stvarnost ne ujede za dupe a onda će iz inata početi raditi na sebi, trudeći se da postane upravo onakav kakvog je željela.

Vidite li razliku? Žena preboli i prestaje da voli. Muškarac počinje voljeti tek kad je gotovo.

tal-verrar-deactivated20150217  asked:

Cook Me. Grace and Garrus, cooking together or for one another or for another person. (this is better than christmas btw and I want all prompts collected somewhere afterwards). Nurse me would be nice too, but as a literal taking care of one another when sick. Love you <3

“You know, we could’ve just ordered in.”

Shepard glared at Garrus, flattening her palms against the counter. She hoped she didn’t look as wild-eyed as she felt. If his amused expression was any indication, though, she definitely did. “No. I can do this. I went toe-to-tentacle with Harbinger. I can defeat this.”

The way Garrus cleared his throat indicated he was choking down laughter. Bastard. She definitely picked up the mirth in his subharmonics when he said, “You can defeat… dinner?”

She narrowed her eyes. “If you’re not going to help, you can get out of the kitchen.”

He sighed as he rolled his shoulders. “Okay. First off? That pile of fruit to your left? My dad hates it.”

Half-strangled, she cried, “What? But—but the turian at the market said valara was a delicacy! She gave me a recipe. I have a menu!”

Garrus came up behind her and slid his arms around her waist, bending to nuzzle his mandible against her burning cheek. “Luckily, you also have a resident turian. We can adjust.”

She let herself lean into the embrace for a second, but then panic reasserted itself and she stared at the various and sundry ingredients in mute horror. She couldn’t remember if the weird purple thing was supposed to go in the dessert or the main course, and she didn’t even remember buying the bag of …seeds? Nuts? Rocks? Shit. They looked like rocks. Why the hell would she have bought rocks for dinner? “Oh my God,” she breathed. “Are they even dextro? Garrus, what if I poison your family?”

She felt the low rumble of his laugh against her back. “Wouldn’t be the first time. My mom almost killed Adrien Victus, once, with a dinner.”

“She didn’t.”

Quite the scandal. Hell, if he’d been primarch then, she might’ve ended up accused of attempted assassination.” One arm still holding her close, he reached down and started rearranging ingredients on the counter. “Oh. You’re not making skota, are you?”

She was Commander Shepard, and Commander Shepard didn’t whimper, but she did make a… whimper-like sound. “Why? Does your dad hate that too?”

“It’s one of his favorites. But you have to add some vatha.”

“Do I even have that?”

He pushed one of the bottles of spices across the counter toward her. “You do. Probably for… I’m guessing chittka? But my mom made a mean skota, and she claimed vatha was her secret ingredient. Won’t taste right if you don’t add it.”

She didn’t realize her shoulders had crept anxiously up around her ears until Garrus settled his palms on them and gently nudged them down again. “Shepard,” he soothed, “they’ll appreciate the effort. I promise.”

“Maybe you’re right. Maybe we should order in. I just… I don’t want to mess this up.”

“And waste all these perfectly good ingredients?” He moved to stand beside her, shucking off his gloves. “You chop those taskas.” She blinked at him helplessly. “The purple things. I’ll start the chittka.” Bumping his hip lightly against hers, he added, “We’ll get through this, Shepard. We always do. Now pass me that container of vattis.”

He paused a few seconds later, hand freezing mid-stir. “Shepard? What are you going to eat?”

She burst into startled laughter, and rose to her toes, pressing a kiss to his cheek in an attempt to banish his obvious concern. She’d been so focused on getting the dextro menu just right she hadn’t even thought about it. “Uh, peanut butter and jam, evidently.” He flicked his mandibles in silent question. “Old Earth delicacy. Much easier than skota.”

anonymous asked:

Garrus/Shep SFW 1, 10

(A couple other people asked for 10, so I’m going to save that one.)

Who cooks?


“You’ve got to be kidding,” Shepard groaned.

Garrus, still holding his offering, took a step back and drew the tray away, as if he could hide it against his midsection. He ducked his head in the adorably flustered way that never failed to make her heart do a little flip. “What’d I do wrong? The cheese? It seemed like a lot, but–”

“No!” Shepard flung her hands toward the ceiling. “That’s the problem! It’s perfect.”

Garrus peered at her, mandibles flicking ever so slightly. “That’s the problem.”

“Yes! Dammit, Garrus, you can’t be better at cooking human food than I am! It’s… it's embarrassing!”

One shoulder lifted. “I just followed the recipe.”

“Yeah,” she said. “Just like I followed the recipe that time I tried to make you skota? Or the time I tried to surprise you with dulcia? Or, God forbid, the time I so spectacularly failed to cook katta?

"You… didn’t completely burn the kitchen down.”

The laugh escaped her before she could swallow it. Time really did heal all wounds. Even the most horrifying of indignities, evidently. “There shouldn’t be degrees of burning a kitchen down, and you know it.”

“So, uh,” Garrus gestured with the tray, “you’re going to give this a try, then?”

She glowered. Hard. And her stomach, the traitorous bastard, gave a very distressed, very longing, very loud rumble. “Try? You know damned well I’m going to devour the whole thing. And then feel sorry for myself because I can’t even get the turian equivalent of a sandwich right.”

Garrus chuckled, setting the tray down in front of her at last. Her mouth, equally traitorous, salivated. “At least you mix a mean drink?”

Update: Any Four Walls: Skota

I swore I was going to update AHOD first, but… it’s the last day of my vacation, and the kids were adamant. Who am I to argue with them?

On AO3, if you prefer.



Telling himself he was only going to close his eyes, Garrus settled back in his favorite chair, only to be startled out of a deep sleep what felt like mere moments later. The darkened window and the groggy state of his head told him he’d been asleep much longer than he’d intended. In a different time, he’d have been awake instantly, alert to whatever danger had roused him. Now, though, he hardly stirred, listening to the sound of Shepard bustling in the kitchen, enjoying the scent of whatever she was concocting. He smiled fondly, remembering the days not so very long ago when she’d been terrified of turian cuisine, and not much more comfortable cooking for herself.

Though he heard Shepard banging pots, listening to music and humming along, he didn’t hear the children. No laughter, no vids, no sound of exuberant game-playing or shrieking teasing. Tyrra was the quieter of the two, and sometimes managed whole hours of near-silent entertainment. Rose, on the other hand, was never quiet. She even slept noisily, murmuring to herself and to whomever kept her company in her dreams. A quiet Rose was a Rose up to no good, as they’d discovered the day they found her dangling from her bedroom window (“I was just pretending to fly and then I got stuck!”), or the time they’d found her industriously and quietly decorating the walls of the upstairs bathroom with a set of scented markers (“This is a boring color! I was making pictures of all of us having fun!”), or the time they only realized she’d escaped the house entirely when the perimeter sensors started shrieking (“I was on an adventure!).

He was about to rise and go looking for them when the sound of shuffling footsteps in the dark betrayed tiny invaders. Relaxing into his seat, he closed his eyes again, pretending to sleep. A thump was followed by a hiss of annoyance and Tyrra muttering beneath her breath about stupid furniture and dark rooms and sharp corners.

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