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@sometimesimshell-fish
Back once again for my bit in the Shakarian Minibang! This time, I had the honour of Illustrating for a Fic, instead of writing one!
Everyone go read @garfbin's contribution to the Shakarian MiniBang 2026 on Ao3!
Stretches for Mental Reach and Emotional Flexibility - Garfbin - Mass Effect Trilogy, Mass Effect - All Media Types [Archive of Our Own]
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now that you're glorious death, now that you're faithless flesh.
commander shepard and the illusive man as cellini's perseus with the head of medusa
Shepard is so funny because she's the only being in the entire galaxy that the Reapers are scared of (aside from like, the Leviathans and maybe that one thrasher maw) and it's genuinely just her and her continously shifting band of freaks against the greatest threat ever observed. And she wins.
well i couldn't not draw them like this.......... (full piece: Bsky | Reddit)
"Why yes, Shepard, the inheritance arrived. How could you tell?"
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battlefield flirting is one thing, but battlefield ass-eating is a new one...
Yesterday was Miranda's day to shine. Today is Shep's.
(Speedpaint on my TikTok)
(Sorry, had to fix it! forgot the freckles)
Our beloved Garrus Vakarian
🎶Once there was a waaaaayyyyyyyy to get back homewaaaarrrrrrdddddd🎶
This comparison always makes me crack up.
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Is that a trebuchet in your pants or are you just happy to siege me
Reblog this and tell me what was your biggest crying over a piece of fiction. You can be vague if you don't want to spoil.
"Keep putting it off and a reaper is going to propose to her before you can!" - Tali
@capnmarvl - you made me do it.
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Silly ship sketch
The thing about Garrus that he doesn’t seem to understand, despite how much he insists otherwise, is that Castis knows his son. His mother used to tell him they were so similar, in between updates on the kids’ schooling and how the garden he left was doing its utmost to fight her. He knows his son, primarily as the boy he once left, who was always so curious, so inquisitive, eyes bright.
Who grew into this man who stands before him, grief in his eyes and exhaustion in every line of his body. He doesn’t know what he has endured, only snippets of stories shared of this spectre, this famed, dead, disgraced Commander. Most of what Garrus tells him of her doesn’t fully match what they say; he makes her sound like a person, so… human.
When he comes to him, half of his face missing and a hollowness in his voice that makes him feel as if someone has taken a white hot blade to his keel, he sits on the same spot on the couch that he did when he was six, when he was twelve, and looks at him with the same reservation he did before he left for the Citadel. He has not stood in his family home since, and Castis thinks of the old visor he gifted him, the one he disassembled and then pieced back together; the one he wears now, a last gift from his mother.
He can feel his son studying him, gauging his reactions, every bit the detective he was and the one he left behind.
He tells him this tale that sounds so far fetched, and he may skirt the truth but his son has never been one to outright lie. He was never any good at it, either, despite all of the times he tried to take the fall for Solana, nor has his imagination always been so wild. Reapers, he says; Collectors, he calls them, and he does not know the exact whereabouts of his son for the past few years, and as sure as Garrus is about this oncoming threat, Castis is sure he will never know the finer details.
