#garrus's father

[lorelei2525]

Where are you now, my wayward son?

I don't know why but when i'm listening to the first verse of this song i imagine the sorrowful Castis Vakarian at the time when Garrus's traces were lost on Omega.

Where are you now,

My wayward son?

My restless hope,

My only one...

Where have you been?

Where have you gone?

In pastures green?

In rising dawn?

In what dimension

Did you kiss the sun?

In which direction

Did your horses run?

How many years

You've been astray?

How many tears

Yet to wipe away?

(Sickle of Dust, "In Ancient Ruins and Endless Dreams")

[milkywayes]

this might be controversial but i actually think it’s more interesting and perhaps even more in the spirit of the narrative if we don’t make garrus’ dad out to be some super swell guy who was right all along and whose only mistake was getting saddled with a headstrong child who couldn’t see reason. actually. it’s also funnier imo if the relationship is more than one-sidedly dysfunctional

[thefloatingstone]

I think about what Garrus went through between ME1 and ME2 a lot.

[musicfeedsmysoul12]

Okay so thinking on Cousin Alenko and it's like: dude Izuku would be famous for his relationship to Shepard and like…

Imagine. You're Todoroki Shouto, son of the number two hero. You've been bred (like a dog and it sticks in your throat, choking you) to be a perfect hero. You've been trained since four, bloody knuckles and scars. You have a burn on your face from your mother, a broken woman trapped in her nightmares when she hurt you.

You go to UA, convinced no one else can beat you. You don't think about the fact you didn't get first in the recommendation exams- the girl who did literally makes things from her own body. You know your father is debating an arranged marriage.

You go to UA, thinking no one is more famous then you.

“Shepard Izuku?!?” is said when a green haired boy enters the classroom.

Shepard, the hero of the galaxy. The woman who took down the Repears. Who convinced a group of villains to use their shielding Quirks to protect Earth, Palavean, Thessia, Sur’Kesh, Tchunka and more. (not all could be protected but they tried so hard) You know she has a cousin- or one of her husbands do who is human and has publically spoken about wanting to be a Hero like All Might. You just didn't expect this.

Todoroki Shouto goes home to comment on this to his sister. His father overhears and demands he beat Shepard. That he needs to prove himself.

In a fit of spite, you decide to befriend him.

(it's the best choice you ever made)

[gaydelgard]

which do you think would be the biggest point of contention with garrus' dad: that he was dating a human or that he was dating a spectre

[skullmoss]

you're gonna carry that weight.

[bearwithegg]

Fight Like a Girl || B. Blackwood ||

I can change it to Davos once we get further confirmation. Ig?? Lmaooo lord help me. I cbf putting this on my main writing account because of how inconsistent I am with writing kjhdfhg

Mulan Inspired scenario. Original House, i just made that shit up bro lesgoooo. I hope my mass effect enjoyers like this <3

Kieran Burton!Benjicot x f!reader.

Warnings: None? Swearing?

Word Count: 2.8k

PART 2

For @spider-stark ( they write the best damn benjicot oneshots go READ RN)

***

“Keep your voice down, Garrus.” You hiss, eyes darting around the makeshift battlements, rows upon rows of tents more dense than the woods surrounding the legion of men, banners separating them only in name. War was here. Yet men were merry, roaring with laughter, cheering and jeering each other on when sparring amongst themselves. You were well in over your head for this.

“Apologies my lad— lord,” Garrus, a tall, gangly gentleman who not only represented your noble house but also remained your closest confidant and sworn protector. From the moment you were plucked out of your mothers womb, he had encompassed your upbringing with a chassis of care and love like a father would a son or a mother would her babes. Though he might’ve been neither, he was the only person you could call home.

Stylguard. Might’ve been home once, when you and your brother ran a muck in the courtyards instead of tending to important studies with the Maester. When the summers meant that hours were wasted making chains of flowers and clovers. Only ghosts remain, painful visages of a different lifetime, warning those who dare contest the cruel threads of fate the war beget.

The false King must die.

You swore this oath, quietly in whispers of red hot anger, no witnesses to hear it except for the phantoms plaguing your mind and the gods of old. A lady alone could not put an end to a war — men however, could.

“There,” Garrus raises an arm, forefinger steady on a muddied pit in the distance. The epicenter of clashing swords and men shouting. “I might suggest watching them first, Little Clover.”

Little Clover. You were neither little nor the girl who picked clovers in the farmlands anymore. A mere remnant of the past, a pet name that forces unwanted memories of before the Dragons had begun their pointless infighting. Hurtful as it may be, it was the best way to keep unnoticed amongst the thousands of men without arousing suspicion of your true identity.

Some of the men barely meet such a description, boys no older than ten and one pick up swords and join in a brutal pastime against men thrice their size. These were no noblemen, not boys who wielded swords long before their voice stopped squeaking, no. These were commonfolk, some under sworn protection from minor houses, but most of these boys and men were farmers. Steele farmers. Blackwood farmers. Tully farmers. Fray farmers. All united for one cause — and not a single one of them were proficient enough with a sword.

“None of these men are fit for war,” you whisper, turning to Garrus, a sullen swept look on his face mirroring your own. It was hypocritical to comment, considering you could count on one hand how many times you had picked up a sword. Though it was not a slight on their ability to go to war, it was the tragic reality that loomed over the realm.

“They fight for what they believe in…” Garrus answers softly, a hand firmly wrapped around the pommel of his sword, as it had always been since the murmurings of war rippled through the Seven Kingdoms. His eyes look ahead at boys throwing their swords away and opting for fists, pools of blue express his kind and somber nature, reflecting his true age, yet the crows feet around them betray such a thing.

War is cruel to those who bear witness.

The dogpile is quickly dispersed, a lithe and commanding presence tears the boys off one another and reprimands them. “Benjicot Blackwood.” Garrus murmurs, eyes casting a weary look down at you, “you’d do well to learn from him. He’s spilt more blood in this war than the dragons.” A jest, you think, but hearing of the Blackwoods fearsome reputation it could quite possibly yield truth.

Benjicot is shouting orders, or perhaps insults, you couldn’t tell —he had mud pressed hard into his tunic no doubt from rigorous sparring in the sludge pit, a stark contrast to the green fields of untouched grasslands the contingent temporarily inhabited. His feet sunk into the ground with each step, the man made bog had been many of the boys’ downfall during sparring and a cause of frustration by the looks they all shared across their faces.

“You there, boy.” He points at you — sword tip singling you out and all.

Eyes wide and body rigid, you felt as though you’d forgotten how to speak or move. Had it not been for Garrus gripping the scruff of your ill-fitted tunic and shoving you forward, you might’ve found yourself at the ire of the boy before you.

Not boy. Man.

Barely so, not even the young were spared from the cruel and aging touch of war.

He regards you carefully, a stormy gaze looking at you from head to toe. Eyes stopping at the sigil adorned on your chest. Even bespeckled with sweat and mud you couldn’t help but think how handsome he looked, though it was far from an appropriate thought. It helped ease the nervousness that rippled through your being as you stood in the centre of a circlet of men.

”Lord Steele found himself sober enough to finally choose a side did he?” Benjicot’s words were severe, a low growl not too dissimilar to that of the black cats and Direwolves of the nearby forests. There was a primal, animalistic quality in his movements, sizing you up like a predator would when deciding if something was prey or not.

You resist the urge to look at Garrus, he could not help you, not now. Instead, with a chin held up you shake your head, nudging it back toward your confidant, “we came alone, Lord Blackwood.”

His eyes flicker behind you and tilts his head to the side, “hm. Idiotic yet admirable of you two. Going against the word of the House that protects you.” There was a glint of something in his eyes, wild, untamed and real compared to many of the other pairs of eyes you had come across in the camp. He swipes the sweat from his upper lip and nods over to the handmade rack of swords, “show us what House Steele defects are made of then.”

This was about to be nothing short of a complete humiliation, you were certain. Yet, with a steady breath and the ignition of hatred bubbling in the back of your mind to remind you of why this path was the one you chose — you pick a short sword, albeit the smallest of the array of the newly smithed weapons.

Despite its small size it was still made from heavy ores, your wrist willing itself to relent to the weight, wanting to bend and twist. Men and boys begin to laugh, your eyes look around and it was a horrifying reflection of your own uselessness, like a childish nightmare coming to fruition. It pissed you off.

The moment you came into this life born without a prick between your legs you had always been seen as inferior, a prize to be sold to the highest bidder. The lament of a woman born in Westeros. Now, you stand on the edge of a cliff looking over an abyss brought on by the war. By two dragons ill-fitted for the power they wield because at the end of all this, the only people who suffer are the people.

You resent being born into a hateful world and you resent that loss is what has driven you to action. Just like you resent being laughed at by a crowd of men who knew next to nothing about the sacrifices you’ve made.

Benjicot Blackwood, does not laugh. He does not jeer nor does he show faint amusement at your inability to hold a mere short sword. He has since stepped aside, beckoning a boy forward who is similar in your stature but definitely not in age — he could barely be ten and four.

He was snickering, and that added more oil on top of the fire that burned your hatred and loathing — you feel yourself recede into that raw emotion. While you may be absolutely abhorrent with any real fighting skills, you had an unbridled rage to let out in recompense for all the wrong done unto you in this world.

And so you charge at him, using momentum to help raise the sword over your head because by gods alone, your strength was practically non-existent. A ferocious yowl barrels from your throat when swords clashed, the sudden stop was disorienting and caused you to stumble back slightly. He swings his sword and you double back again, the mud encasing around your boots willing you to trip, to fall.

You try to swing back but don’t have enough momentum and you feel your wrist bend under the weight of the sword and have to over-correct, stepping to the side so as to not drop the sword. Laughter rumbles through the men once again, some beginning to cheer on the boy in front of you.

Heaving forward again, you go to swing but in a split second you let go of the sword, letting it careen through the air and hitting the boy on the chest. Was it smart to willfully disarm oneself? Perhaps not, but he certainly wasn’t expecting it so you pounce. An all too familiar scene that would have otherwise delighted you if it weren’t on the grounds of war; a hand curls into his muddied blonde locks while the other goes to claw at his face.

Many fights had broken out like this between you and other girls growing up, it seemed only natural to revert back to the ways you knew how to fight. Even if it wasn’t exactly appropriate.

The two of you tumble into the mud together but the element of surprise has long surpassed and he uses simple strength, punching you hard in the gut and knocking you off him. Unsure what to expect next, you lay in the mud, chest heaving hard and conceded defeat — truthfully you had conceded defeat the second you were called out to show off your ‘skill’.

Overcast and dreary weather as it may be, the sun's light still glared through such heavy obscurity, your eyes squinted while trying to figure out if it was easier to sink into the bog beneath you or get up and swallow down what little pride remained. Eclipsing the sun in more ways than one, Benjicot stands over you, expression hardened yet there was an amused glint deep within his dark eyes.

“You fight like a girl,” he outstretched his hand, part of you contemplating hitting it away but he was the only one - aside from Garrus - to not laugh at your ineptitude. A soft groan passes your lips and you begrudgingly take the gesture of kindness, it was more than anyone had given you anyway.

“I am no knight,” you grumble back, once upright, rolling your shoulders back and rubbing the wrist that began to ache from holding a sword. The crowd of men had begun dispersing, you wonder if in your post fight daze if Benjicot had shooed them away.

”Aye, any idiot with two eyes can see that,” he jests, picking up the sword from the mud, “any daft cunt can pick up a sword and swing it around — but you’ve something else… I see it in your eyes, boy.”

At first you think he’s undermining you, but after a moment, it was clear he was paying you a compliment.

He returns the sword amongst the rest, a hand resting on the pommel of his sheathed dagger. Something about his stature, the way he commanded the space he inhabited was so interesting. He was unlike any other Lord you met before, perhaps it could be that he was a warrior first, then Lord second. A sentiment only emboldened since the war began.

“It may be pertinent that we train at night Little Clover, you have much to learn,” Garrus whispers, coming up behind you and putting a hand on your shoulder proudly. He may have watched you get bested without question, and sure, behind the confines of the tent you two shared later he would no doubt say how proud he was, there was not a single thing you could do that he wouldn’t support.

He should have trained you up sooner — be it if the departure from Stylguard wasn’t swift and last moment.

Benjicot approaches the two of you, watching as you whisper conspiratorially. He was as intimidating when he was quiet as he was when wielding a sword. A perceptive gaze looking between Garrus, clad in armour of your house and you, unevenly cut hair and dressed in little more than a squires tunic. He gives a weary look around, many of the men had long left the sludge pit.

”I must thank you, for joining the efforts even if they go against Lord Steele’s,” He says formally.

“No matter, my Lord.” Garrus smiles, a thin and forced one out of mere politeness, “Lord Steele grows weary the longer the war persists, a conflict averse man such as himself cannot continue to lock himself away in the wine cellars while war is brought to his doorstep.”

There was a pause, a silent mediator among the three of you, as much as it would pain you to admit; Garrus holds truth in his words. You love your father you really did but he stopped being a present figure the moment the raven arrived with word of your brother's death.

“Aye, The Greens have done irreparable damage to his family yet he cowers in his fortress.” Benjicot says quietly, mulling over his thoughts. His tongue pokes the inside of the cheek, protruding it out before moistening his lips with a twitch of a smile, barely perceptible, “is that why his daughter fled? To find retribution for the unlawful death of her brother?”

You tense up, swallowing hard and don’t dare look to Garrus lest suspicion is raised. The lump in your throat is hard and stubborn, even as you clear it, part of it remains to jeopardize the weight of your words. “That is.. what many believe to have happened… A few of us stable boys overheard she had plans to flee to Essos.”

Benjicot hums, nodding in response and looks around at the tents, the men, all the heart and blood of war. You follow his gaze carefully, how deeply entrenched in the throes of war the realm had become. In the middle of a field at the edge of the Riverlands of all places.

“This doesn’t look like Essos to me, my Lady.”

Before you had a chance to stumble back, Garrus had put an arm in front of you, an instinct to protect, to guard. Though falters when he hears the young Blackwood laugh.

”Do not think yourself in danger. It is admirable, truly. To go against your fathers wishes, but you cannot simply cut your hair and wear the clothes of a boy and call yourself a warrior.” He chuckled, a deep and soothing sound that made your cheeks burn, though that was partly due to being caught. He was impressed in truth, unable to find what the wild spark in your eyes was initially, though it made sense the moment he saw your delicate unmarred hands. Nails well kept and not a single grain of dirt underneath them.

“I wish to learn, I want to fight.” You step forward, voice pleading because if you didn’t have this then what remained? A hallowed home with vestiges of pain luring anyone stupid enough to hear their call? An empty father, nothing but a shell of what once was a person who mirrored life and happiness? It was fight or die and even death wasn’t as cruel of a fate as returning to nothing, to be nothing.

“And you fight like a girl,” he smiles, not to insult or belittle you, nothing more nefarious than a simple observation. He inches forward, shifting his weight. It shouldn’t have made you as nervous as it did, but he was close enough to crowd your senses with his natural musk. “Many men believe women to be bad luck in times of war, these men are no different.”

Those men were stupid, you think.

“And what say you, Lord Blackwood?” You swallow.

“I say that not many of them have had the pleasure of meeting my Aunt.” He whispered, eyes swirling similarly to the darkened storm stricken skies above. “Women aren’t welcome by some around here, do well to keep discreet. And if you cannot manage that, then be ruthless.”

On his retreat, you feel yourself turn to look at Garrus, who looked caught between a look of utter bemusement yet partially pleased all things considered. He looks down at you and clears his throat, “let us retire for the afternoon, my lad— Little Clover. Trust that the Lordling does not speak to many about your arrival.”

Your eyes remain in the direction Benjicot disappeared in, sighing heavily. Perhaps in a different lifetime he would have been a delightful consort, though for now it is barely a thought, passing through your idle mind as you slowly turn to rest for the day.

[lilmissnatcat24]

yes yes i love shakarian because those two just understand each other intrinsically. but i am foaming at the mouth for more cross-cultural differences that don't quite translate. i want garrus to be horrified by the idea that milk comes out of humans and babies drink it. i want shepard to be grossed out that turian parents chew up food for their babies and spit it in their mouths. i want shepard to not quite realize that when she arches her neck it's actually super suggestive and "uh babe, why are you flirting with my father like that?" "what, no, i'm just stretching." i want garrus to not 100% understand sarcasm because humans don't have subvocals and why would they ever just lie boldly like that? i want shepard to get used to the idea that turians have never once evolved to use utensils when they eat (hello? they only have three fingers?) and has to come to terms with garrus gnawing at huge chunks of blue, way too undercooked pieces of meat with his claws. i want garrus to be awestruck with the different amount of ways that humans can style their hair, and how does that not hurt? you're yanking your fringe and clipping it back? are you sure that's comfortable? i want shepard to turn her translator off every now and again so that she could hear the little chirping noises garrus makes to himself when he's concentrating. i want garrus to secretly adore watching shepard curl into chairs and twist her limbs onto couches because there's simply no way he could ever bend like that and be comfortable. i just want more.

[most-datable-datable-bracket]

MOST DATABLE DATABLE CHARACTER FINAL ROUND

Garrus propaganda:

"Garrus is a character who went from being a shit head punk in ME1 and grows and betters himself over the games. He talks over the hard choices in ME3 without judging Shepard no matter what they choice. He is pretty much the first to stand up for them and even when his own home is being destroyed and he doesn’t know if his father and sister are alive he’s there for SHEPARD. He is there for the person who is always there for everyone else! ME3 Garrus is honestly Best Garrus and I want to celebrate how good his character arc is over the games.

And the best part is: the romance doesn’t fix him. He still grows and improves if you romance him or not!

Idk, I just don’t think it’s super fair to reduce him to his ME1 character when the fact that him growing and improving is the part I like best about him. Garrus, to me, shows you can always get better and life is about always getting better. It’s never too late to be better.

And he has the power to make Shepard dance good in the Citadel DLC."

Zevran propaganda:

"what about 'for the chance to be by your side i would storm the dark city itself'?? he can essentially propose!! if you die he canonically never loves again!!"

"literally the sweetest romance ive ever had the chance of doing

everytime i play origins i try to romance someone else but the momebt he starts talking i absolutely melt!!!!!

zevran shouldnt just be boiled down to bisexual elf man

he also is deeply traumatized since he was used for his body since a young child

so the warden and zevrans romance is such a sweet and slow romance ws you slowly help him realize that you dont just see him as his body!!!!

hes the sweetest man on earth and i will die on this hill

i will never love anyone more than this man"

[dukeoftheblackstar]

[5] 'Father Duty' || Castis Vakarian

[ 1 ], [ 2 ], [ 3 ], [ 4 ] by scent.2002 || Meta

Here we have:

Take your kids to work day where precious little baby girl Solana (we're still polishing working on Solana and I couldn't decide whether she's younger sister or older sister — I feel like she's younger but also feel like she's older depending on the mood swings).

Garrus verbally and literally pointing out someone's form isn't proper because Dad taught him the proper way and Castis is just 'well, you heard my boy' — ah, yes, more delulu coming your way ♥

Solana is not at all happy to be there but she's the behaved one so she gets to be in daddy's holster.

Garrus eating off dad's spicier plate because it's 'dad's spicier plate' and he wasn't going to back down to dad saying, "You're too young for this, Garrus. This is too spicy for y—."

Look at the sheer determination to appease his father and his pride as a Vakarian. NOMNOMNOM LITTLE ANGEL ♥

Dad making copies of work related files in his omni-tool because Solana decided to play with it and did cute little doodles and blamed it on Garrus.

Garrus gets a time out and doesn't know why. Dad won't tell him.

[lassieposting]

Fic Concept:

Tali'Zorah is, if she does say so herself, something of an expert in galactic romance. Her omnitool hosts a 6 terabyte collection of romance and romcom vids from across the spectrum of known species, and after that much media exposure, she's fairly sure she's familiar with all the ins and outs of each culture's dating milestones.

She knows, for example, that family members have certain duties in a clan member's new relationship, in human cultures. As one of Shepard's closest friends, she also knows that the poor thing has no family to fulfil those duties for her.

Determined to see Shepard and Garrus's relationship turn into Shepard and Garrus's marriage, she starts handing out responsibilities to appropriate members of the Normandy crew. Shenanigans ensue.

(AKA the one in which Tali is convinced common romcom tropes are actually essential milestones in any human romantic relationship, and takes steps to make sure Shep and Garrus get to experience them.)

Ideas that made me horf:

- Wrex, as Shepard's oldest and closest (deeply violent) male associate, is enlisted to give Garrus the if you break her heart, I'll end you speech usually performed by the father, on a visit to Tuchanka. Maybe he absolutely knows Tali has misread this, and lowkey gives the speech over shots of ryncol, wheezing about how Shep would kill Garrus just fine herself. Maybe he has no idea this isn't an actual important human ritual, and performs his part with ceremonial gusto. Anyway, he does it, and somehow manages to be vaguely heartwarming about it anyway or gives Garrus some sign of approval.

- Mordin, as the oldest male friend on the Normandy, is tasked with interrogating Garrus at "Family Dinner". He does so, but very few of the questions he asks are actually relevant to the typical Meet The Parents dinner, and Shepard actually learns a few new things about Garrus herself.

- Joker volunteers to be "mom" and bring out the baby pictures to show Garrus. He doesn't have any pictures of Shepard as an actual baby, but he does have some funny or embarrassing ones from their time serving together under Captain Anderson he's been itching to share, and that's almost the same thing. She's more baby there than she is now, anyway.

- Tali strongly encourages Garrus to spend time "bonding" with Grunt. It's very important to make sure your future wife's child knows he is included in your new family unit, Garrus! An eventful trip to the zoo/museum/etc ensues.

- Bonus wedding chapter where Wrex is bullied into formal wear to walk Shep down the aisle; Jack paints Cipritine face markings on Grunt thinking they're Vakarian family markings and then sets him loose on Garrus's extended family, who are all very confused as to how this young krogan is apparently from Cipritine; Zaeed gives a hilariously inappropriate speech as Best Man and accidentally outs Garrus as Archangel in front of Aria T'Loak; Kasumi attempts to hook up with Jacob in a time-honoured tradition of inadvisable bridesmaid/groomsman couplings, and Mordin makes use of his STG training to break into the honeymoon suite to leave a tasteful gift basket of sex aids on the bed, because Tali has banned him from giving them in front of the guests.

Just. Interfering Interspecies Crew Way Off Base But Have Loving Intentions. And in the end Shepard is deeply exasperated, but also very touched by the effort put in by the people that love them, and honestly lowkey glad that they got to experience those cliche moments after all.

Bonus points: crewmembers who really do see Shepard/Garrus as family also trying to share their traditions with her/him. Like, if a krogan warrior convinces a fertile female to join his clan, that's a big deal and maybe the clan throws a huge feast and party to celebrate, so Wrex does that for them. Or maybe asari pass hereditary jewelry from mother to daughter to be worn at the first bonding ceremony to a beloved life partner, so Samara lends Shep hers to wear for the wedding. Shit like that.

[milkywayes]

it’s like no one gets me1 garrus and it’s so annoying to me. i love this mid-twenties spitfire who worries so much about justice and making a difference that he overlooks nuance. who’s so young and full of zeal and pent-up frustration over trying and failing to make a difference. who will go against his father’s wishes as well as simply ignore decades’ worth of turian-human conflict to do something he thinks he has to—but who will also listen to the words of a trusted mentor and truly reflect on his actions when prompted. who just cares so much and wants to know so much and wants to do so much that he comes across as abrasive at times even when he’s trying very hard to be polite. i just think he’s neat

[strawberrykidneystone]

hi my stomach hurts every time i think of garrus only mentioning his father and sister in me3

[girafficparka]

Tagged by @continuous-spec for a WIP. Here’s a little something from Advanced Comparative Anatomy - the sequel to my me2 shakarian fanfic Comparative Anatomy (you can find it on ao3).

This sequel (to be set just prior to and during me3) is a long way from being posted on ao3, but I’ll do anything for @continuous-spec so, here we go:

~~~

He was surprised to find his room exactly as he had left it, all those years ago, when he had left for the active duty portion of his military training at 19. He had returned a handful of times when on leave, moving out for good when he joined up with C-SEC several years later. It wasn’t dusty or anything - it has obviously been care for during his long absence - but he was surprised the room hadn’t been repurposed into…something. He suspected utility, versus nostalgia, had been the cause. Why change up a perfectly good bedroom?

Garrus placed his bag on a table and went to the closet. Unsurprisingly, it was empty. In his duffle bad he had a set of fancy clothes from Kasumi, a few changes of undersuits for his armor, a few spare heat sinks just in case, but not much else. While armor worked fine for dinner on the Citadel, on Palaven turians didn’t wear their armor unless they were on active duty. He would have to ask his dad for a change of clothes. Garrus turned to go do just that but was stopped by a bundle of cloth being thrown in his face.

Once he had pulled the clothing from his eyes he caught Solana smirking at him from the doorway. “I figured you only had guns in that bag. It’s Dad’s so, you know, don’t spill anything on it,” she said before wandering off. Garrus sighed and closed the door.

He glanced down at his omni-tool to check the time - not quite enough time to take a full shower, but he could freshen up a bit. Taking his clothes, he moved into the attached bathroom and proceeded to splash water on his face, neck, cowl, and hands. He ran a buffer down his fringe a few times and checked the effect in the mirror: good enough. He began to change his clothing and then had a moment of panic when he realized Solana hadn’t gotten him gloves.

While not really necessary for a family dinner, Garrus had a feeling his father would not miss Garrus’ dulled claws. Being a former C-SEC officer, he knew exactly what conclusions Castis would make.

Garrus left the bathroom and went to Solana’s room - down and across the hall from his own - and knocked. “Sol?” he called. Through the closed door she softly replied, “It’s open.”

Garrus opened the door to find Sol sitting at her desk, leaning back in her chair and staring at him. She raised a brow-plate in a questioning glance.

“I was wondering if Dad had a pair of gloves I could borrow,” he said.

Solana looked even more confused. “Gloves? But you’re home, why would you need…what’s wrong with your hands?” she asked suddenly, standing up and marching towards him. Garrus briefly thought about hiding them behind his back, but that felt childish.

He regretted his hesitation when Solana grabbed his hand and lifted it up between them. “Why are your…talons blunted? Garrus, are you dating an asari?!”

Garrus nearly choked. “W-what? No! And how do you know…I’ve just been too busy to sharpen them. Why-”

“Don’t treat me like I’m stupid. I’m 26. I know why turians blunt their claws.”

Garrus felt heat rise up his neck. “I…don’t want to talk about this right now, Sol.”

Solana gave him a look of such disappointment that Garrus was reminded, shockingly, of their father. She dropped his hand. “What else is new?” she said, turning her back to him to return to her seat.

“Sol-”

“Gar, if you aren’t here to talk to me, to tell me something, anything, about who you are now and what you’ve been doing, then I guess…I’ll just see you downstairs.” she said, sounding defeated, younger. Garrus sighed. He closed Solana’s door and then turned back to her. She looked up at him with carefully guarded hope.

“Can I at least sit before we begin the interrogation?” he asked and Solana’s expression broke into a smile. She waved her hand to her mattress.

“Absolutely. Make yourself comfortable. I have a lot of questions.” she said. She turned her chair to face him fully, now.

Garrus sat down, glancing at her excited expression with wariness. “I can’t promise I can answer everything…right now. I’d still like to speak with Dad first. Hell, you can listen in, but I don’t want to have to tell that part twice so…”

“Who did you blunt your talons for?” she asked, blue gaze gleaming.

Garrus choked. “Not…ahem…not pulling any punches with this interrogation, are we?”

Solana rolled her eyes. “Who, Garrus?”

“I’m not sure…I’m not sure you’d want to know.”

“Spill, or you aren’t getting those gloves.” she said, crossing her arms and giving him a sly smile.

Garrus sighed. He had a feeling he’d be doing a lot of sighing this visit. “All right, I’ll tell you. But! I need you to keep an open mind. And not tell anyone. Especially Dad…and definitely not Mom…”

“You’re stalling.”

“All right! Fine. I wasn’t…lying. I’m not dating anyone. Not really. It’s just this thing-”

“A booty call?”

“What?”

“It’s human slang, it means…casual sex, a hook up. Who are you hooking up with casually?”

“Spirits! I cannot believe we are discussing this…”

“Stalling,” she crooned.

“Shepard,” Garrus finally admitted in a whisper. He looked up, shocked at Solana’s silence. He had expected something; a laugh, a scream; but instead she…she looked like she was about to explode. Solana’s gaze was wide with shock, and Garrus heard a growl rumble from her subharmonics.

“Commander Shepard? First human Spectre, Shepard? The one who worked for Cerberus?!”

[margoteve]

The Normandy Album 2

Parentage

Pairing: Shakarian

Rating: eh PG?

Summary: Joker tries to prank Garrus with tactical use of Grunt.

Enjoy! The chapter is also on AO3. Inspired by an art of @thatwildwolfart

"Hey, Grunt!"

"Yeah?" Grunt looked up from his meal and squinted at the approaching human. The pilot. Joker. It wasn't often the brittle human would leave his station in the cockpit. "What is it?" The young krogan noted the lack of EDI, the AI in her robotic body often served as asistance to the man.

Joker carefully sat down by the mess table. "You know how Shepard is kind of like your dad?"

Grunt frowned. "Shepard is my Battlemaster, not my father."

"Yeaah but like she takes you out like shooting and gifted you that new shotgun and didn't she bail you from C-Sec, again, last time we were on Citadel? That's kinda like prime dad behaviour," Joker argued his case.

"Where are you getting with this human?" Grunt tilted his head, smelling some sort of trick.

"Nowhere, really, just food for thought," Joker said. "It just makes you think how she you, and Garrus make for a very disfunctional family. So I was you know, trying to organize the dynamics."

"Heh," Grunt grinned. "Don't worry, you too are in my krant. Despite your squishiness."

"Right, thanks Grunt. Anywhoo!" Joker slowly stood up. "I should go, the Normandy won't fly itself."

"It is flying itself, though," Grunt noted but Joker waved his hand and limped away to the elevator.

Grunt returned to his meal but his mind was slowly churring the conversation. Then he paused, looked in the direction of Joker. "Heheheh."

"Team Reunion Friday" was the best idea that Kasumi and Tali came up with. The old squadmate crew of Shepard all together for a night of drinks and shenaningans in Shepard's apartment post-war. Everyone was in high spirits. Shepard was sitting at the top of the table, in her wheelchair raising a toast. "To Normandy!"

"Here, here!" Everyone responded.

Just as they were downing the drink Grunt turned to Commander. "Shepard."

"Grunt?"

"You have been the closest a tank bred could have to a father," he said with a grin.

"Aww, thank you Grunt."

"Does this make Vakarian my mother?"

The bomb was dropped, most guests started to choke on their drinks, some stared, Joker grinned like it was Christmas.

"Well..." Shepard looked at Garrus.

"Now, hold on Shepard-" the turian started.

Among the sputtering a loud laughter boomed among the crew, much to the embarrassement of one Garrus Vakarian. Grunt grinned. Later when the jokes and jabs at Shepard's boyfriend ceased Grunt stopped by Joker.

"You owe me a bottle of ryncol."

"I'll make it two, buddy," Joker replied grinning at the recording. It would strike him gold on the extranet.

"Good, hehehe."

[skullmoss]

no offense to ashley, kaidan and liara but running into and recruiting garrus, wrex and tali in ME1 is like reuniting with old friends after 10 years.