#she likes the power being in the council gives her.. she already was conniving and hyper-competent at what she does

[shiromipantsu]

they only let her in the student council bc that’s the only way to keep watch over her, to tame the beast.

#the statement where its said that if shiromi was not in the student council she would be a villain #she doesn't hold any ill will despite her lack of empathy and tendency to incite violence between others for her own desires #she likes the power being in the council gives her.. she already was conniving and hyper-competent at what she does #but now she can get away with it and justify her misdeeds even if it's totally amoral #*mermaid man voice* EEEVIIIIILL

[rosenthrns]

✦ ▓ AND WHO GOES THERE? oh, it’s just [ OLENNA TYRELL ]. some say [ HER ] resemblance to [ ANGELA BASSETT ] is almost uncanny, but the [ SIXTY-SIX ] year old has been in the capital for [ FORTY YEARS ]. many suspect that they are the notorious [ SENESCHAL ] of the [ TYRELL ] family: perhaps that has made them [ CONNIVING ] && [ UNYIELDING ] of late, when they used to be so [ METHODICAL ] && [ SILVER-TONGUED ]. during the daylight hours, [ OLENNA ] can be found working as a [ FORMER SENATOR ], but when night falls over king’s landing, they are best remembered listening to [ FEELING GOOD BY NINA SIMONE ]. may the gods be with them in these dark streets.

hey now, hey now i’m mac, im 23 and i live in the pst. i didn’t know i needed this rp until i found it, and i honestly was so shocked when i found out i could play the fucking queen of thorns herself olenna tyrell. and whomst better to play a queen than the queen mother angela bassett ? nOBODY !! so feel free to read, and dm me for plotting !! 

THE QUEEN OF THORNS. 

her father once told her, one hot virginia afternoon as they walked through the winding vineyards of her family home, that power was to be taken, not earned, not given away --- least of all to those that looked like them. he told her a lot of things in passing especially when he grew older, some important, some not, but these words always stuck with olenna. afterall, she had seen him claw his way up from nothing, taking what he could, sacrificing what he could, fighting for what he could. all in the name of creating a legacy for their family. 

runceford redwyne was a crafty man in his day, driven by the need to do better by his children, by his wife. they knew they were never supposed to fly above their station, to be left in the dirt like the generations before them even with the false notion of equality in their faces. but runceford was determined to soar, and in the childhood years of olenna’s life, they would climb from their single-room wooden shack to a manor overlooking acres and acres of land. 

she could hardly remember it now, but the vineyard used to be as destitute as they were. a piece of land once owned by her father’s employer, tending to the grounds that he would later take when he saw the chance. when the old patriarch of the farm had finally died, the will had evidently left the land, the manor and a large sum of money to olenna’s own father. it was never made clear to her, what her father did, but she could still recall the timid fear in the eyes of the owner’s children as runceford proudly collected his inheritance. 

there as no opposition, no utterance of retaliation, just a clear understanding that whatever he did was enough to keep the dogs at bay. it was the first time olenna saw what could be done with enough ambition and enough planning, and it would certainly not be the last. as she grew up, she only saw her father’s vineyard grow until it became the liquor giant it is today, establishing redwyne spirits co., one of the largest distributors to the american south. she watched, from afar, as her father took meetings in the barrel rooms, made deals under the dining room table, collected more than his fair share. olenna watched, then, as runceford took her brother under his wing, teaching him all that olenna wanted to learn. 

it was not for a lack of trying either, as olenna would request time and time again to learn the art of the deal, to make her mark on her family’s history. but runceford, with all his love, would rather olenna have some deniability, and instead turned her onto politics. first in city council, then at the state legislature. she was still young but far wise beyond her years. by the time she was in her twenties, she had accomplished a lot for the state of virginia, namely in the agriculture and commerce sectors at the very least to boost policies for her own family gain. 

all this work was appreciated, but olenna wanted more, wanted the power her father had tenfold. she knew better than to bite the hand that fed her but she knew she had the ability to soar higher than her father ever dreamed of. she broke off her engagement to daeron targaryen, a man her father had arranged for her with the intent of political power, and moved to king’s landing anyway to find something she can build up herself like her father had before her. 

she eventually found luthor tyrell, a man with a business he inherited and a will she could easily bend. there was potential, not a lot of it, but it was enough to help her leverage the acquisition of a dying conglomerate and through dealings of her own, not to mention her connections to high places, created tyrell and associates. she won her husband over to deal with the company, while she made good with her connections to build the citadel underneath it. they worked in tandem to raise their businesses as well as the tyrell family name from nothing, and did together for a number of years until their son, mace, was old enough to walk. 

she returned to politics, again working to benefit the industries she had a stake in and later ran for senate once tyrell and associates was stable enough to stand on its own. splitting her time between d.c. and king’s landing only gave her more pull when it came to dealing with the other families competing in king’s landing. her network now not only included those of the eastern seaboard, but across the entire country and even into foreign territories. 

by the time her children started having children, olenna’s legacy was already put into place and ticking. she had retired from government but her role in politics still flowed like blood through the lifeline of king’s landing. if you wanted something done, you would go to olenna. 

but olenna knew her legacy needed to be sustainable without her. she had been preparing her eldest daughter, mina, since birth to take over, to follow in her mother’s footsteps, to keep the tyrells in power. mina was everything to her, until she was nothing. olenna never knew heartbreak until she held her beloved daughter’s body in her arms, silent and shaking with fury in her eyes. 

olenna was now left to restructure the politics of her family, making the difficult decision of announcing her newest heir. it may seem out of bounds, to declare one of the youngest, her margaery, but when has olenna never been anything but methodical. she’ll deal with the family later, but in the meantime, olenna has bigger lions to tame. 

WANTED CONNECTIONS.

FLOWER BUDS; are you someone who wants a break from the patriarchal structure of society ? are you someone who wants to be appreciated for your worth, your ability, your achievements ? do you want to overthrow the men in your life for the power you deserve ? then allying with olenna tyrell sounds like the best thing for you ! think about it...olenna...her power...her mind...taking YOU ?? under HER WING ??? think of all she can teach you. of course...she needs to find you useful to her as well. 

POLITICAL ALLIES; her power not only stems from being the baddest bitch alive, but it also comes from her ability to schmooze and make deals with people even if she all she wants to do is stab someone in the eye. she’s a lady, she knows how to put on a face for the sake of getting shit done. they don’t have to like each other, they just have to work together. not to mention she still has connections with people in government and the 1%. 

POLITICAL ENEMIES; idk why you would try to go against her *cough* tywin *cough* but maybe the tyrells have wronged you in some way that you would try to vilify a sweet old woman who is just trying to live her best life with her grandkids. try to come for her, i guess, but don’t just expect her to sit idly by and let you do it. 

A COMMON ENEMY; can you believe olenna trended #LANNISTERISOVERPARTY world wide ?? currently, olenna wants revenge for the death of her daughter and she’s prepared to live for another sixty years to just see the fall of the lannisters. if you have the same goal, slide into olenna’s secretary’s assistant’s dms to submit your plea and ally with her. who knows, you might get to your goal a lot quicker. 

GARDEN PARTY; this is purely for spilling the Tea™️ and giving information ( whether intentionally or over several glasses of wine ) to olenna that may be useful to her. you’ll be given a handwritten invitation to her private garden where tea and shade are a plenty. and if she learns something that she can later use against you or an enemy then that’s on you, she caught you slipping. 

#vixere:intro #points. #20 / #g*d this got long

[frazzledsoul]

For the character meme, Jon Snow of course.

Oh, nonnie, as if my love for Jon Snow could be distilled down to a single blog post. But I will try.

How I feel about this character: There’s an old theory from Idol fandom (okay it’s my theory, I came up with it) that you tend to take on the personality of the person you stan. It seems to me that GoT fandom kind of slants this sideways and most Jon Snow stans who are divorced from the wretched shipwars are aggressive den mothers who only seek to protect our boy at all costs (and this goes for Kit as well). Jon was a Stark boy through and through: he had the same noble, generous, purehearted, self-sacrificing, recklessly heroic blood that flowed through Ned and Robb’s veins and I loved him for it. Jon was never going to be that conniving, ambitious political mastermind that people keep trying to convince me that Book!Jon is: he was too good for that. He’s the prototype of the teevee boyfriend I always end up falling for: the grumpy man’s man who doesn’t seek attention or acclaim, who may seem like he hates everyone and everything but who is selfless to the core and will do anything for his loved ones. 

These attributes, of course, are not valued in Westerosi society: they got Ned, Robb, and Jon murdered. In the end, Jon remained true to the spirit of his Night’s Watch vows and sacrificed everything he had for the good of the realm: his lover, his title, his family, his reputation, any acknowledgement of the things he had helped accomplish and fight for. No good deed goes unpunished, and the ungrateful kingdom that had asked so much of him wasted no time in tossing him away. But the fates give, and the taketh away, and sometimes they give back: his heart’s desire was eventually delivered to him in the form of his punishment. His destiny was more than just a consort to whichever queen comes out on top, or an action figure whose only purpose in life was to vanquish that specific supernatural foe: he deserved to live a free, happy, and long life far away from the civilization that abused and disdained him.

Oh, and living a life completely free of politics with his outcast friends, best friend/lover and dog sounds like a perfectly blissful existence to me. In the end, Jon got the ending he deserved.

All the people I ship romantically with this character:

Jon/Tormund: I could write a thousand metas about how this is the show’s most functional and believable romance, but this post is already getting too long. Jon and Tormund started off as enemies on the opposite side of a war, but Jon gained Tormund’s trust and literall died to save his people: Tormund repaid that loyalty by fighting by Jon’s side for his wars not once but twice. Tormund is the only one to unconditionally love Jon and accept him after everything he’s done, and he was the one who waited at the Wall for Jon to come back to him. Jon wanted to reject both Winterfell and Kings Landing and run away with Tormund long before the final sacrifice was asked of him: unlike Jon’s other romances, they have fought on the same side for a long time and want the same life and future. Jon belongs in the wild with his giant ginger husband, and they will have a good life.

Jon/Ygritte: The ultimate doomed romance and the show’s best het romance. Nothing in respectable society made Jon as happy as he was with Ygritte.

Jon/Dany: Okay, I knew this was an epic disaster a million miles away and yet this stupid show made me ship it anyway. Even if Dany hadn’t turned out to be a mass-murdering lunatic, it was always doomed: she craved power and conquest and he hated those things. So yes, doomed, doomed, DOOMED in canon … but in AUs where things are twisted slightly enough to make things work, I do still enjoy it. But only in AUs.

My non-romantic OTP for this character: 

Up until that wretched council scene, I would say Jon/Sam. Sam Tarly is now dead to me. I don’t feel that way about Davos or Gendry or Yara or even Grey Worm, but I do feel that way about Sam. Sam knew about Jon’s heritage and warned him about Dany early on and actively encouraged him to break ties with her because of what she had done to his family, but when Jon is finally the one to take her down Sam isn’t willing to support or defend him. He doesn’t speak up for Jon’s claim, he doesn’t defend his actions, he doesn’t even argue against Jon’s execution. When Jon takes the fall for an act that Tyrion was equally conspired in and he is the one punished while Tyrion is placed back in charge and his brother is instituted as king instead, Sam not only doesn’t fight it but uses the situation to supposedly leapfrog over all the trained scholars above him to institute himself as Grand Maester (?) in Bran’s administration instead of honoring his vows to either them or the Night’s Watch. Oh, and I guess the celibacy requirement is excused for him, too, because while there’s wiggle room for a girlfriend and an adopted son, I’m pretty sure Gilly’s second pregnancy violated it.

It doesn’t seem fair, but now that I think on it, their friendship was mostly one-sided: Jon sacrificing and protecting, Sam needing to be protected. So yeah. Sam is forever ruined for me. Unfortunately, since Sam is supposedly GRRM’s stand-in I half suspect he’s not going to ask Sam to keep to any of his vows and have him placed in a high-profile position he hasn’t earned in his version of events as well.

So I’m going to pick Jon/Arya here. I think that’s the only relationship Jon had with anyone besides Tormund that wasn’t sullied by the end. I have faith that Arya will steer her boat around in a few years and visit her brother again, despite the nonsensical assumptions of those script directions.

My unpopular opinion about this character: Jon was justified in killing Dany. She murdered thousands of innocent civilians and was prepared to murder more. By the middle of 8.05, I would have handed a knife to anyone who wanted to kill her, so I wouldn’t have minded if Jaime or Arya did it, either. The only thing I fault Jon for is in (temporarily) excusing her behavior. But I refuse to condemn him either for killing her or remaining conflicted about it afterwards.

My other unpopular opinion is that he actually got a happy ending with the only people who truly appreciated him. But I don’t think I’m alone on that one.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon: I wish that Jon had gotten credit for the things that he had accomplished, and that he hadn’t had to face nearly every person who used to trust him turn their backs on him. I wish he had chosen to go into exile instead of being forced there, even if he would willingly embraced the same fate. And I wish that we could have seen him established in Wildling society and to know that Jonmund was officially canon.

But in the end, I was less dissatisfied with his ending than I was with almost everything else, and it was what I cared about most. Jon ended up where he needed to be.

#jon snow #wow that was long winded #also i went off on a tangent on same but i seriously can't stand him at this point #tormund and edd were the ones who were actually fighting jon's battles with him when it counted anyway #and i'm not ashamed to say we deserved a jonmund sex scene to make things absolutely clear at the end

[mavda]

Melted

Ch.1 | Ch.2 | Ch.3 | Ch.4 | Ch.5 | Ch.6 | Ch.7 | Ch.8 | Ch.9 | Ch.10 | Ch.11 | Ch. 12 |

Ch.13: Auru Po’hra

To his credit, Auru didn't even flinch.

"Greetings to you, too, Dotour."

"How dare you bring this filthy son of a baba to the council!" bellowed Dotour.

William brought his hands up in surrender, "He was one of the King's most trusted advisors, Dotour, and he has come back to work for the Crown. How was I supposed to not let him come?"

"By not letting him come, you idiot."

"Well, since I am here already, why don't you let me stay as a hearer-"

"You can't just come whenever you want and do as you so damn please."

Aside from Lady Ria, everyone had their eyes open in surprise. Kafei tried to make eye contact with Tela, but she was fixated on Auru.

"Go away before I call th-"

"Sir Auru, may I know why you have come?"

"Princess..." tried Dotour.

"As William said, I have come to offer my services-"

"He left, your Highness," Dotour was trembling in anger, "he left our King back when your mother died, you must know that."

Zelda nodded, "So I was taught, yes. Anything to say, Sir Auru?"

"That it is true. I left because I couldn't stand another second more inside this Castle, and I left your father grieving and with a small daughter in the hands of our responsible Doto-"

"How dare y-"

"Sir Dotour, please let him finish," Zelda nodded to Auru to keep on talking.

"And I have come to see if I can be of help to our current sovereign. That is all."

Dotour muttered under his breath. Zelda pondered for a second.

"We can let him stay as a hearer, Princess. If anything he can give us precious insight-" William tried to smile to the other members, make them agree.

"Are we going to let anyone who was once helpful to the Crown to come back and enjoy privileges?" Lady Ria had scorn on her face.

"According to the law, yes, we should. Every councilpeople that has, in one way or another, helped the Kingdom deserves at least to be treated as a guest of honor upon retirement."

"He did not retire, though, Lady Tela," growled Dotour.

"But his achievements surely supersede that, he was the one who fixed our import taxes and made the blueprints for the roads we now enjoy."

Auru looked surprised, William snickered.

"Yeah, everyone knows that, it's in the textbooks," William sat on his chair, "Princess, as always, the last say is yours."

Zelda frowned, "I don't see why we shouldn't let him stay."

Dotour looked as if he had been sucker punched throughout the meeting.

At least nobody brought up Link's name again.

Dotour had tried, with witty remarks, clever comebacks and even two or three threats, to wake people up from Auru's dumbning aura. But as always, Auru smiled and people believed him. He had arrived, and as soon as people heard his name they would let him do what he wanted.

As always.

Dotour had tried to remind her Majesty that Auru was not a friend, but all she did was hear him out and assure him that she would be cautious.

Dotou went to Lady Ria to unwind, they had to protect the Princess. They had to.

William led Auru through the hallways, he told the man about the princess' favorite flowers, about her life since Auru had left, William gestured towards a patch in the gardens.

"That is her Majesty's favorite place, full of green, smells nice, and it's hidden from prying eyes."

Auru took note of the place, "Think she will let me stay?"

William shrugged, "Whatever the case, I tried," he gave Auru a knowing look, "I helped you. Also, you have a present for her now, she'll appreciate that."

Auru patted the package inside his clothes, "You want me to stay, I assume?"

"You were capable enough back in the King's council, you'll be able to at least give us good insight."

Auru snickered, "Capable enough?"

"Yes, I mean, you never fixed the succession issue, nor the noble mentality, you didn't handle the Bread famine," William raised an eyebrow, "and you had everything in your power to curb it. You couldn't stand up against the King, and you ended up leaving Dotour to clean the mess. So, yeah, kind of capable."

"I'll have to go read about you, so I can smear your mistakes in your face, too."

William bowed his head, "Please do."

The guards eyed them from afar.

"For what is worth, I appreciate your help."

William laughed, "Please, I don't need your gratitude. We work with favors. You owe me one."

William stopped walking, "I hope you stay, Sir Auru."

William left with an energetic pace.

"Son of a baba," breathed Auru.

The guards let him in after giving him a glare full of hate.

Princess Zelda was sitting with the Sun at her back, her hair shone and the light made her face look darker, more menacing. Auru coughed in his hand, and she raised her head, her eyes still glued to her papers.

"Sir Auru," she greeted after a quick glance.

"You Highness."

She finished signing a document and gave him her full attention.

"It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Sir Auru."

"You honor me, your Highness."

Silence filled the room, Auru waited for Zelda to speak, but she had a blank face and gave no sign of moving.

Auru coughed. She was, without a doubt, his friend's daughter. Only a glare and he was shifting uncomfortably, like he had done something wrong.

"William is a really charming man."

Zelda snickered, "That would be an understatement, Sir Auru. He is conniving, audacious and fearless."

"He gave me a present for me to give you."

Zelda softened, "Please take a seat, Sir Auru, forgive my rudeness."

Auru did as told, "You sure resemble your father."

Zelda looked surprised, and then softened, "Thank you, Sir Auru."

Auru looked at her. She was beautiful, her face didn't resemble her father much, but her stance and poise spoke louder. She was waiting for him to talk. He fixed his clothes, tried to give the movement a nonchalant feel, tried not to show how nervous he was.

"As you know, Link asked me to assist you. I could have done it from behind the scenes, but I thought that I could be more useful by being sneaker, and helping  you with others not knowing."

"I must admit, I was pretty shocked to know that Auru Po'hra was coming here. I was even more surprised to see you barging in a councilmeeting."

Auru wondered whether she was proud or pissed. Her face remained impassive.

"I hope you'll find my approach the right choice."

"We'll have to see."

Auru frowned, he was here as a friend.

"I mean no offense, your Majesty, but your attitude is quite..."

Zelda held his gaze, "The only thing I know of you is that you left the King, my father, back when he was facing an uprising that claimed my mother's life. I think not kicking you out of the councilmeeting upon barging in is quite a leeway."

"... I came here because Link asked me to-"

"And I appreciate the fact he asked you all to come assist me, I do. But I can't, in good concious, give you things I yet fail to think you deserve. Link asked me to trust you, and I have, I will, but please... you must know how things work here."

Auru patted his clothes, took a package out, "I guess I'll put myself to work then. Though, as you know, this is William's effort, not mine."

Auru let the package in her Majesty's table. Zelda moved her hand, gingerly touched the bundle.

"Letters?"

"I have to assume, looking at the uproar mere letters have causes, that you don't usually send letters to eligible men."

Zelda didn't answer, she was opening the package. They were from Link. She looked up, Auru was smiling.

"What...?"

"They were being retained by some noble William wouldn't give me the name of."

Zelda remembered her father and closed her eyes. She was in control.

"Could you please add to that?"

"Well, for what I've heard, nobody had ever seen you treat a man with such respect and worry. If what they've told me is true, everyone had assumed you would wait till you were in your late twenties to find someone as a consort, everyone relied on that. So, you arrived with a handsome, fearsome, young man and they all lost their minds. You are the future of Hyrule, you are the future of everyone, they fear a nobody will make it crumble."

Zelda thinned her lips.

"And you know this because?"

"William," he gave as an answer, "also Shad, and Ashei, and my own research."

Zelda looked up. Remembered the way her father would talk about his friend. The picture that stood on his bedside table.

"Do you have any advise for me, Sir Auru?"

Auru looked down, to his own hands.

"Are you asking as a ruler or as the daughter of a friend?"

"Both."

"I would advise the ruler to think this through, who is this young man, what can he add to your rule? You have suitors from the noblest of houses, a union with them would be more suitable..."

Zelda untied the package, there were two letters.

"But as the daughter of a friend, and as a friend to the man in question, I would beg of you to never let him go, be it as a supporter or something else."

Zelda opened the first letter. Auru saw a disarray of letters sitting behind her.

"Are those for him, too?"

Zelda puckered her lips, "Yes, I mean, maybe. They will be held in transit so I rather have them with me. I also... I don't know if it's the best to make him come and let him go through... through whatever they'll make him go through. I don't even know if he wants to keep in touch..."

"You have letters from him right in your hands."

She touched the letters. He had told her to never doubt him, she shouldn't.

She opened the first one, Rauru had the sense of looking away and give her a resemblance of privacy.

It read,

'Thanks for sending me back. I needed it. Are you doing alright? Please tell me if you need anything.

PD. You owe me the west wing, I guess.

Link'

Zelda didn't even wait to read the second letter. She felt her heart jump. She was smiling.

Auru felt his heart clench.

"Well," started Zelda, "I guess I'll have to go find a postman."

Auru thought for a second, "Well, if you would like, I actually have a better method."

Zelda gave him a quizzical look.

"You do know about messenger hawks, right?"

And before him, right after being doubted to his very core, Princess Zelda of Hyrule gave him a shocked expression before laughing and giving him a bright smile. And Auru wanted nothing more than to see it again.

"Also, and against what everyone thinks, I'm not trying to marry him."

"Yes, your Majesty."

#the legend of zelda #twilight princess #fanfic #zelink #melted #ch. 13

[fae-fucker]

Crown of Midnight: Chapter 3-4

Chapter 3

Nothing fucking happens. Sardines has a nightmare about Cain and later she and Nehemia talk about the rebellion and the king’s plans without really saying anything, and my hatred for that fucking dog just keeps growing. Observe.

Fleetfoot took off through the pale grass like a bolt of golden lightning 

[...]

Dorian had never said what breed, exactly, he suspected her mother had mated with. Given Fleetfoot’s size, it could have been a wolfhound. Or an actual wolf.

Are you telling me this fucking dog is a fucking golden wolf?

I will eat this spaghetti-lookin’ bitch.

Nehemia’s creamy brown face paled slightly.

Why does the word “creamy” upset me so much in this?

Nehemia wants Sardines to try to figure out what the king is planning, but Sardines is like “nah”. 

She wasn’t even sure if she truly wanted to know what the king was up to—let alone share that information with anyone else. It was selfish, and stupid, perhaps, but she couldn’t forget the warning the king had given the day he crowned her Champion: if she stepped out of line, if she betrayed him, he’d kill Chaol. And then Nehemia, and then the princess’s family. 

But then, literally the next sentence:

And all of this—every death she faked, every lie she told—put them at risk.

Sardines: Hmm. Finding out the king’s sinister plans and telling my allies about them is a bad idea -- even though said allies desperately need that information -- because that might put them at risk, but saving various noblemen for no reason and put my unknowing allies in danger just so I can keep the moral high ground makes total and absolute sense!

What a master schemer this idiot is, huh? 

WHAT A KWEEN. 

People say they love Sardines but hate Alien and I frankly don’t get it. Sardines has always been a dumb, selfish twat, that will clearly never change. 

Celaena swallowed hard. That word—“act”—scared her more than she’d like to admit.

Good self-burn there, buddy.

Chapter 4

Salad (which is my new nickname for Chaol) and Sardines are having a jog.

They’d bundled up as best they could without weighing themselves down—mostly just layers of shirts and gloves— but even with sweat running down his body, Chaol was freezing.

Layers of gloves? What the fuck?

Noticing his stare, she flashed him a grin, those stunning turquoise eyes full of light.

Eat my entire ass, Sarah.

Salad angst about how he killed Cain. He’s very sad about it. This is what you get for hiring an inexperienced twenty-something to be the captain of the guard. But if we don’t make him young it’ll be icky for Sardines to fuck him, and if we don’t make him captain then he’s just NOT GOOD ENOUGH for Sardines, ain’t that right, Sarah?

I’d say you’re being transparent but you’re already pretty white. 

He was the Captain of the Guard—he was bound to have killed someone at some point. He’d already seen and done enough in the name of the king; he’d fought men, hurt them.

SJM: Hey guys I’m clearly aware that this is dumb but if I acknowledge it’s dumb you’ll accept it, right?

No.

Salad asks Sardines if she ever thinks about the people she’s killed, and since she’s the most ruthless and epic and badass assassin the world has ever known, ever, she angsts on about how she never forgets anyone she kills. 

I don’t give a single shit.

Salad angst about how he desperately wants to nestle his dick between Sardines’ pearly white and hairless asscheeks, but can’t because uuuuhhh angst angst loyalty to the king and also Dorian wants to do her and he doesn’t want to betray his friend.

Whatever. I don’t give a damn. Unlike many other antis, I don’t consider Chaol to be a good character and I couldn’t give less of a shit about his problems. 

Listen. You guys only think he’s good because everyone else is pretty much terrible. You cling to him because his mediocrity looks impressive when compared to the literal ass-garbage that is the rest of the lineup. 

We jump POV back to Sardines. 

And what’s this? GIRL HATE? FOR ME?! IN CHAPTER FOUR?! 

Christmas Yulemas has come early this year.

Since Salad is all sweaty from their jog and his shirt clings to his HOT MUSCLED MALE MANLY MASCULINE VIRILE MAN-BOD, there are DUMB VAPID BITCHES there to check him out.

Celaena could have sworn their eyes had bulged out of their heads and their tongues had rolled onto the ground. 

Then the next morning, they’d appeared along the path again—wearing even nicer dresses. The day after that, more girls showed up. And then several more. And now every direct route from the game park to the castle had at least one set of young women patrolling, waiting for him to walk by. 

“Oh, please,” Celaena hissed as they passed two women, who looked up from their fur muffs to bat their eyelashes at him. They must have awoken before dawn to be dressed so finely.

You see, when Sardines ogles Salad or Doriass, that’s okay because uuuuuuuuh Sarah loves her little baby girl and she can’t do no wrong and also she feels TRU WUV (even though her TRU WUV is made irrelevant with the arrival of Ratty to the point where every other love was just useless before that I guess) when she checks those boys out.

THESE GIRLS DRESS NICELY!! TO IMPRESS MEN!! WHILE ALSO CHECKING THEM OUT!! 

THEY’RE VAPID DUMB BITCHES!! EVEN THOUGH THE ONLY WAY FOR WOMEN TO GET POWER IN THIS SOCIETY IS THROUGH MEN!! LOOK AT THEM AND LAUGH!! SO PATHETIC!! 

Cool cool. 

God, I hate this series so much. 

Salad offers Sardines to help her with her Archer-related business and she turns him down. 

Hey Salad, aren’t you, like, I dunno, the captain of the guard? Don’t you have STUFF TO DO?! 

Sorry, I forgot that this world and its characters all revolve around Sardines and her problems. How silly of me.

They come across Doriass who is walking around with his cousin Roland, who I’m sure is totally chill. 

His voice was pleasant enough, but something in it made her pause. It wasn’t amusement or arrogance or anger … She couldn’t put her finger on it.

[...]

Just the way he spoke told her enough about his history with women.

[...]

As she let Chaol lead her inside the castle, she realized she was in desperate need of a bath. But it had nothing to do with her sweaty clothes, and everything to do with the oily grin and roaming eyes of Roland Havilliard.

Yeah, I’m sure this guy is totally cool!

We all know that SJM can clearly write very nuanced characters and that this incredibly obvious and cliché character introduction is just here to mislead us and make us think that Roland is a gross douchebag only so Kween Sarah can prove us wrong and develop his character into someone truly heroic! 

Anyway, turns out that Roland is the “lord” of some place called Meah, which doesn’t tell me anything, but whatever. He’s been offered a position on the king’s council, which is suspicious, apparently, because Roland is more interested in getting his dick wet rather than politicking. This is framed as disgusting, even though that’s pretty much exactly what Doriass is. It’s not the first nor the last time SJM makes hypocritical exceptions for her faves.

Doriass introduces Sardines as Lillian. 

They still used her alias whenever she couldn’t avoid running into members of the court, though most everyone knew to some degree that she was not in the palace for administrative nonsense or politics.

So the official story is that a petty jewelry thief became the king’s champion, then?

Holy shit, this world is filled with morons. 

I also love how “administrative nonsense” and “politics” are looked down upon, but when Sardines does her BRILLIANT MIND GAMES, it’s not politics, it’s uuuuh ... Fuck man, I can’t even begin to imagine how SJM’s mind works.

Roland hits on Sardines, and her two daddies really don’t like that.

Chaol smiled—if you could call it that. It was more a flash of teeth.

Have you considered that I don’t care and that this clarification doesn’t matter?

She wouldn’t mind working with him—but not in the way Roland meant. Her way would include a dagger, a shovel, and an unmarked grave.

Actually, her way would include a corpse, a staged murder scene, and the hope that he stays hidden and nobody recognizes him for who he is. 

Eat my entire ass, Sarah.

We switch to Doriass’ POV.

Chaol positively hated Roland, and whenever he came up in conversation, it was usually accompanied by phrases like “conniving wretch” and “sniveling, spoiled ass.”

So Sardines and Doriass, respectively, though “conniving” might be overstating it.

Roland was a pain in the ass, and too aware of the effect his looks and his Havilliard name had on women, but he was harmless. Wasn’t he? 

Dorian didn’t know the answer—and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to.

SJM: Subtlety? I don’t know her.

We switch back to Sardines’ POV.

Her salary as King’s Champion was considerable, and Celaena spent every last copper of it. Shoes, hats, tunics, dresses, jewelry, weapons, baubles for her hair, and books. Books and books and books.

Books? She likes reading? How relatable? You like reading too, don’t you, young female reader who is the target demographic for this book? Don’t you feel connected to Sardines on a deep, meaningful level? 

You see, when other women dress nice, they’re whores and idiots and brainless. When Sardines does it, she’s just embracing her femininity! 

Ain’t that right, White Feminism?

Whatever. Doriass is there in her room/s when she returns, which she doesn’t approve of.

“Aren’t friends allowed to visit each other more than once a day?” 

She stared down at him. Being friends with Dorian wasn’t something she was certain she could actually do.

Seems like SJM has been taking writing lessons from Cakeass. 

Didn’t you spend an entire book angsting about how you couldn’t be friends with Doriass and then deciding that you would rather stay friends than be lovers? And now you’re back on square one? Are we really doing this again?

I’m so tired.

“And you have so much time on your hands these days that you can spend hours with me again?” 

“Well, I have my usual flock of ladies to attend to, but I can always make time for you.”

Dorian is written as a player, but whenever we see him interact with women who are not Sardines, he’s shitty and hateful towards them. But it’s okay though, right? Because those dumb sluts are worthless and stupid, not amazing and brilliant like Sardines! It’s okay that Dorian clearly doesn’t respect any other woman aside from Sardines (and presumably Nehemia, since SJM has bestowed her godly blessing upon her for now), because those other women are simply not worthy of any respect! 

And obviously, even though Dorian clearly wants Sardines but plays around with other women, that’s totally fine! Women checking out men though? That’s disgusting.

SARAH J MAAS IS A FEMANAST KWAAAN!

Doriass makes it clear he still wants to tap that, but Sardines tells him to fuck off.

Alone in the foyer, Celaena clenched and unclenched her fists, suddenly disgusted with all of the pretty packages on the table.

Eat my entire ass.

#eff reads: crown of midnight #book rants #anti tog #anti sjm

[tinksandtanks]

The Society: Thoughts and Theories

The Society is a 10-episode mystery drama on Netflix. It revolves around a group of teenagers who go on a camping trip but is stopped midway. They are picked up from school and dropped off at this strange place that looks totally like their town except without their families in it.

SPOILERS!!! SPOILERS!!! SPOILERS!!!

They start to unravel the mystery as soon as they arrive. At least for some of them. Some use this non-curfew situation as an opportunity to party.

The actors did a pretty good job portraying the characters. You’d really feel the connection between them. I just felt that Cassandra is a little bit out of place (?) as she looked a little more from the past. Her usual get-up includes denim pieces complemented with wavy loose hair plus straight fringes which flat out screams 70s. I don’t know if this is a clue or I’m just overthinking.

My favorite character would have to be Helena because she seems to be the most mature and level-headed. She thinks ahead and weighs consequences before really acting upon a certain situation.

Kelly is also a contender for the best character for me. She’s very empathetic towards her peers. She’s beside Becca when the latter needs someone to check on the health of her baby. She’s also there when Harry needs an intervention. Then, she plays a pretend nurse when a dozen people get poisoned by a pumpkin pie and she’s so damn good at it considering that she doesn’t have any proper training and has only learned by the books.

Elle is a relatable character especially if you have experienced being abused, both physically and mentally. I think among all the characters, she’s the most resilient as she’s keeping it all to herself.

As for Allie, she’s a bit of a hit or miss to me. Sometimes I like her because she thinks for the greater good, but sometimes her judgment gets too clouded up resulting to further damages. I know that she’s been having a tough time as she’s practically forced to shoulder such a huge responsibility after the death of her sister. But I feel like the power vested upon her takes its toll on her that she thinks that she’s above them which is really a tricky thing when you have that much authority. I dislike how she treated Lexie, even though I understand where she’s coming from, but she didn’t give Lexie time to explain her side.

Sam and Grizz have the purest connection among the characters. It's no wonder they have a pretty huge following. Harry and Campbell are both eye candies but beneath those gorgeous faces lie their assholery (if that’s even a word). 

All throughout the series, they are trying to solve the mystery surrounding the place... Where they are exactly, and what they are doing there. I actually have theories about it. 

1. They are already dead and they stay in a purgatory that looks like home. Earlier in the series, Harry and Kelly saw people in the school’s office having a heated argument. At the later part of the show, Kelly figures out that one of the men inside the room is the bus driver. Maybe this bus driver killed them to get revenge or something.

2. They are in a parallel universe. It is mentioned many times in the series. They are in the same town, they are who they are, but the difference is they are without their families.

3. They time travelled to the future. A lunar eclipse happened in an early part of the series. When they searched about the eclipse, they found out that it shouldn’t happen until after a few more years. 

Those are only my guesses. I cannot further back up my statements. Lol!

I think the concept is good overall as it involves economics and politics. As teenagers, they did a pretty good job running their town. They may have some lapses in their judgment but they have learned and are still learning about the workarounds. Having the highest power is a complicated task especially since no one’s guiding them but themselves. There are no adults around who they can ask for some semblance of direction. It’s practically a new civilization with no set rules. They are basically starting from scratch. 

It relatively mirrors reality. You’ll hear some political terms such as democracy, etc. Case in point: They scheduled an election for the mayor and city council positions because they value everyone’s opinion. They also mention dictatorship or being a dictator. When Allie becomes too powerful, people start to question her authority. Not everyone is in favor of her governance so some people collude to overthrow her. Here they reiterate the importance of the Guard which is their military. Whoever has the backing of the Guard has a distinctive edge over the opponent. Allie loses her influence when Campbell connives with the Guard to choose their side.

The ending is such a cliffhanger and poses more questions than answers. I’m glad that it’s renewed for another season! I can’t wait to watch it.

#tatseries

[thunderheadfred]

Red Streak [3.3]

Chapter 03: One of Those Faces [Part 3 of 3. Revised August 2017]

Read the complete fic on AO3

Jane Human Embassy, Citadel 2183 CE

Shepard leaned into the walking stick Chakwas had forced on her and tried keep her head from swimming. Ambassador Udina was throwing his third hissy in as many minutes, and Shepard was already disoriented for any number of reasons, most of them related - directly or indirectly - to the psychotic turian who had stabbed her on Eden Prime. The constant burning ache in her abdomen had sapped her patience, but Udina's constant bickering threatened to break her completely.

She loosened the top button of her formal blues, desperate for any kind of relief from the sour atmosphere in the Ambassador's office. The meeting, now in its third hour, had finally escalated far enough to demand the Council's direct attention.

Full-size holographic projections of the three Council members flickered in the center of Udina’s immaculate, palatial office. Sparatus, the ghostly turian third of the holographic trio, glanced at Shepard and raised an ethereal, disdainful brow. Straightening reflexively, she realized the Councilor had been watching her fidget, had noticed her disheveled uniform. A humiliated flop of acid lined her gut, and she dropped the impatient hand from her neck. Goddammit.

Just as she was settling into a good grovel, Udina's sharp, high voice ruined the effect.

“This is an outrage!” the Ambassador cried, practically stomping his foot.

Shepard clamped her eyes shut as a new wave of nauseating overstimulation tore her last nerve to shreds. Yes, it was an outrage. Why did humanity's foremost representative have to be so loud? So whiny? Politicians were supposed to be all about tact, weren’t they? She wondered if Udina had misplaced his somewhere.

“The Council would step in if the geth attacked a turian colony!”

Sparatus rolled his eyes and countered automatically, dry as a bone. “The turians don’t found colonies on the borders of the Terminus Systems, Ambassador. You knew the risks when humanity went into the Traverse.”

Kryik had been looming moodily at Shepard’s six, but the Spectre couldn’t keep his silence any longer. He knocked Udina out of the way before the Ambassador could embarrass himself any further.

“Forget humanity’s poor choice of colony worlds,” Kryik said. “What are you going to do about Saren? You can’t just ignore him, not anymore. With so many dead, you won’t be able to stay quiet regarding Eden Prime. He was there. Somehow, word will spread. You have to condemn him, revoke his Spectre status, declare him traitor to the cause. Anything, to keep the Alliance and the Hierarchy from bombing one another to ash. And you have to do it now.”

Sparatus flared his mandibles and looked ready to cut the Spectre in half, but Councilor Tevos insinuated her voice between the two turians with all of her customary asari diplomacy.

“Nihlus, please restrain yourself. Aside from the testimony of the people in this room, there is no evidence to suggest that Saren was involved. In any way. As far as the public is aware, Eden Prime was destroyed in a random geth incursion. Tragic, of course, but one of the many perils of maintaining a resource-rich settlement in such close proximity to the Terminus.”

Valern, the salarian Councilor, interrupted with a bland, lecturing tone. “Citadel Security is investigating your charges against Saren. We will discuss the official findings at the hearing tomorrow, not bef-”

Abruptly, Kryik brought his fist down on Udina’s console, ending the call.

Shepard wondered if becoming a Spectre meant she too would get the opportunity to be so dismissive to the most powerful dignitaries in the galaxy. The idea of cutting off the Council mid-sentence; it made her tingly all over.

A voice muttered from the balcony, “And that’s why I hate politicians…”

Williams. Briefly, Shepard met her eye. Williams quirked a thick eyebrow, then looked back out on the Presidium, her shoulders tight. Beside the Chief, Lieutenant Alenko shook his head, too polite to agree out loud. Nonetheless, Williams had read the room with great accuracy. It hadn’t gone well.

That was no surprise. Anyone with half a brain would be skeptical of the story that the Normandy had brought back from Eden Prime. Galactic stability would be left dangling by a thread if those three Council assholes overreacted, and so far, everything Shepard’s team had reported smacked of madness. Corpses on spikes… the dead come to life… hoards of mutated geth… a rogue Spectre torturing a beloved Matriarch… a world-swallowing alien dreadnought...

It sounded insane, even to Shepard, and she’d been the one almost stabbed to death in the middle of it. At best, her crew’s combined credibility was dubious. At worst, it was complete crap. She knew better than to think this story was believable to anyone who hadn't been there.

The bitterest pill of all: every surviving eyewitnesses was useless. Alenko and Williams had only seen half of the action. Kryik had a public, pre-existing grudge-match against Saren. Shepard had just come out the wrong side of a brain-blitzing from the Beacon, in addition to having more personal reasons to besmirch the Arterius family name than anyone. And, of course, every useful scrap of data from Eden Prime had been obliterated along with millions of colonists, every corroborating soul dead to the last.

Even Shepard had to admit that the Council - conniving spiders though they were - had been wedged between a rock and a hard place. Their self-serving obfuscations had led to Eden Prime's destruction, of that she had no doubt. But as much as Shepard despised their backroom methods, the slimy, spineless tactics that had gotten them all into this mess in the first place, she had to allow that the politicians had a grueling clean up ahead. She didn't envy them the task, even if they'd brought it on themselves.

Anderson gave Shepard a brief, exhausted look, then went to collect his star witness marines.

Kryik approached, nodding his head toward the door of the Ambassador's office.

"Walk with me, Shepard.”

Udina, meanwhile, had installed himself at his desk to sulk. He failed to acknowledge either Shepard or Kyrik as they passed him on the way out.

As soon as the office door was closed and Udina was safely out of earshot, Shepard muttered, “What an asshole.”

Kryik kept walking, already several paces ahead. Shepard, enfeebled by her medically-mandated walking stick, was moving much slower than she cared to admit.

“Thank you, Shepard," Kryik said, speaking over his shoulder without slowing up. "Do you have any other witticisms that might help us single-handedly incriminate a rogue Spectre and take down his army of the alien undead?”

Shepard tugged at the uncomfortable lump of her stomach bandage. She rankled beneath her uniform, an itch so deep that she longed to scratch the regenerating skin of her internal organs. It was the most perverse craving she had ever felt, disturbing enough to stop her dead in her tracks. She smoothed the front of her blues, swallowing the itch. Kryik got to the sliding glass partition on the far end of the corridor before he realized he was alone. With an irritated grunt, he doubled back to fetch her.

As he rounded, Shepard continued to pick at her uniform, just to be a brat.

She said, “Here's an idea. Let’s tackle one insurmountable task at a time. We aren’t going to disavow our mutual friend without solid evidence. So - where do start dusting for fingerprints?”

Kryik smacked Shepard's hand away from her uniform, too classy to say smart ass out loud. All the same, she smirked.

“I’ve got some Shadow Broker contacts," he said. "Old eyes and ears. I’ll start there. Until the Council officially makes you a Spectre, you should stick to the lawful channels, keep your hands clean. Unlikely that C-Sec has much, they’ve always failed me in the past, but who knows, maybe you’ll get lucky.”

Shepard knew she was being handed the grout-cleaning detail, and had no choice but to smile and take the toothbrush.

"Hired transport," He said. "This way."

Keeping pace with her now, Kryik led Shepard to a cab and helped her fall gracelessly into a seat. He grunted instructions to the driver, a smallish, bronze-colored salarian who seemed thoroughly bored with his job.

“Kithoi. C-Sec Academy."

The salarian nodded, and Kryik engaged the privacy screen.

Now unobserved, he leaned toward Shepard and said, “I’ll get you through the door, introduce you to Executor Pallin. He'll be useless, as far as hard evidence is concerned, refuses to believe that a Spectre could have anything but the Council’s best interests at heart. You’ll have to coordinate with whoever he’s got working the official investigation. Hopefully someone halfway competent this time, but my hopes aren't high. I’ll make sure Internal Affairs gives you full Spectre clearance, and I trust you to push that advantage as far as you can. Upend every data system in their office if you have to. Pallin can whine about it all he likes.”

“Spectre clearance? Isn't that premature? I haven't officially agreed to this candidacy--”

Kryik cut her off.

“Like it or not, you're going to be a Spectre, and soon. The public response to Eden Prime is already turning ugly. Saren's name hasn't been dropped, but it will. The Council doesn't want to admit they failed, but they need a flashy diversion right about now. That's you.”

No matter how incensed she was by Kryik's maneuvering, Shepard couldn't pretend to be surprised. As a Spectre, Shepard could be a double-edged sword disguised as an olive branch. A desperate grab to placate the human interest groups who were still demanding reparations for Shanxi, all while bending the knee to Palaven. Exactly as she'd suspected: a show animal.

“Before all this shit hit the fan, why did you really nominate me?" She stared out the window and clutched the walking stick for dear life. "All this grand gesturing on your part… but really? You just wanted to strike a petty blow at Saren, didn't you?”

He didn’t answer immediately, which in her estimation was as good as an explicit confirmation.

“I don’t appreciate being made into your pawn,” she added.

“Get used to it,” He said, cold and firm as a packed snowdrift.

The rest of the cab ride droned on in awkward silence. Shepard passed her walking stick between her hands and stared at the sprawling cityscape as the cab descended into one of the darkened ward arms, wishing that her stomach would stop hurting as if she’d had part of her guts ripped out. It was a petulant, childish kind of thing to want, but Shepard didn’t care - she hated the inconvenience, the sheer bodily embarrassment of being injured this badly. It made everything more difficult than it should have been, even avoiding Kryik's eyes.

Nearly fifteen minutes later in the center of Kithoi Ward, the cab finally slowed in front of the entrance to C-Sec Academy.

Shepard blinked hard. Once. Twice.

Nope, not a hallucination: that was definitely Eddie "Ripper" Lang, in full Citadel Security deputy blues.

What the hell had the galaxy come to, if Lang had given up his ludicrous teenage ambitions of single handedly ruling the Blue Suns… and taken up life as a beat cop? Shepard allowed Kryik to help her out of the car, then she walked herself through Lang’s path, wondering if he’d recognize her.

“Ginger Jane?”

Bingo.

“Lang,” she said, carefully. “Never thought I’d see you wearing that uniform. Isn’t that the wrong shade of blue?”

There was no nostalgia in her voice. Mindoir had few happy memories outside of the safe haven of her pari’s spaceport, and Lang had never been a particularly good egg.

“I suppose I deserve that,” he said. “Yeah, Ripper went C-Sec. Crazy, right? After what those batarian bastards did to us, I couldn’t… the mercs didn’t seem like such a great option anymore, you know? I got the chance to get my ass out of the Terminus and I figured I’d start over, try to do something useful for a change.”

He seemed completely reformed, an honest to God change of heart. But stranger things had happened - quite recently.

“Well done, Lang. Going totally clean slate: that’s not an easy thing to do.”

“Damn, it really is you. Jane the Ginger Cuttlebone.”

Kryik squinted at Lang from Shepard’s side. The Spectre was too lofty to be offended by the anti-turian slur, but he did seem annoyed by the common, vulgar nonsense of it nonetheless.

“Sorry,” Lang amended. “Old habits die hard. Anyway, you’re Commander Shepard now, aren’t you? Jesus. I saw what you did in the Blitz, your acceptance speech for the Star of Terra. And after that… man. You were all over the news. The press couldn’t get enough of your extra-special dad; can’t imagine the Alliance was crazy about it though. How’d you manage to raise in ranks after everyone found out?”

Shepard pursed her lips.

Shortly after doing her part to root out the last batarian slavers in the Skyllian Verge, a snoopy reporter had unearthed the truth about Shepard’s unconventional childhood. Overnight, her promising military accolades had been instantly eclipsed by the sleazy draw of tabloid celebrity. Alliance channels had aired an endless barrage of scathing interviews, ruthless op-eds, and unlicensed documentaries on Shepard’s origins. The more cosmopolitan Citadel reporters had mostly kept their noses out of it until the frenzy passed, considering the whole affair a backwards, low-brow human urban myth, not to be bothered with. For most asari, mixed-species families had been commonplace for centuries, were practically expected - nothing newsworthy in and of itself. As for the Hierarchy, Palaven’s more prestigious networks had kept suspiciously mum on the subject of Regidonis, but the gossip had spread through the military like a bad rash anyway.

Through the harsh limelight, Shepard had never wavered in her loyalties, but few people - regardless of species - had cottoned to Shepard’s special brand of propaganda. The rare, candid recordings when Shepard spoke of her parents proudly and firmly, her head high and her shoulders back, her notas clenched into a bleeding fist, those were the glimpses of truth that sold poorly, or never aired at all.

Shepard realized she’d been quiet too long.

“I can hold my own,” she said.

“No shit.” Lang laughed, impressed. “Still. All those stories made me crazy mad, you know? After everything he did for us… He saved my worthless life, for one. And people still call him the Jailor of Shanxi, it doesn’t seem right…”

As he babbled, Shepard flinched. The Jailor of Shanxi: her pari’s dishonorable nickname. After everything else that had been dredged out of the past and thrown in her face over the last few days, that was a most unwelcome final straw.

Lang realized his mistake.

“Ahhh shit Commander. Fuck those people. He was alright by me. I bet your old man is up in the sky right now, laughing his ass off about that old mercenary wannabe farmer kid from Mindoir: schlepping paperwork for turian cops on the Citadel.”

It took some effort, but she held out her hand to give him a firm, reassuring shake.

“He wouldn’t laugh at you, Eddie. He would be proud.” After a beat, she added, “And then he’d tell you to stop swearing so damn much.”

Lang nodded, surprising her with the sheen of emotion in his eyes.

“Let me know if you need anything, Commander.”

“Keep up the good work.”

He released her hand.

Kryik had already started for the Academy entrance. She hobbled after him, grumbling at his persistent, backbreaking aloofness.

“Touching reunion,” he said when she finally caught up. “Can we get back to work now?”

“Yeah, yeah. Glad to know your complete disinterest in the struggles of the common man remains intact. Show me this Executor so I can start trying to work the stick out of his ass for you.”

“By all means.” Kryik gestured broadly toward the entrance, as if presenting her with a game show boobie prize. “We’re just in time to interrupt him mid-reprimand.”

Kryik’ judgmental stare pointed her into the main lobby of the C-Sec offices, where the Executor was energetically arguing with a turian officer half his age.

Shepard had to admit that Kryik’s personal vendetta against the head of C-Sec made him seem ever so slightly more relatable. Only people with feelings could hold grudges, and while Kryik certainly had a bullet saved for Saren, that was too obvious, too easy. Hating Pallin seemed like such a low bar in comparison, and with no real explanation. There were a million scenarios Shepard could come up with for why Kryik might have had it out for the Executor. Her favorite and most ridiculous was: nasty top versus bottom breakup.

She snickered stupidly, then followed Kryik toward his prey.

“Saren’s hiding something. Give me more time. Stall them.”

This from the young officer that Pallin was attempting to berate. Shepard's ears perked, glad that at least one officer in Pallin's department was willing to push back.

“Stall the Council? Don’t be ridiculous. Your investigation is over, Garrus.”

As Kryik approached, drawing Pallin’s attention, the Executor’s face earthquaked into an expression tantamount to murder-by-eyeball.

“Pallin," Kryik said, sub-vocals dull and unflattering. "Is this who you’ve got heading up C-Sec’s investigation into Saren?”

“He was, but it’s over now. As usual, there was nothing to find.” Pallin growled, his patience long gone. “I’m about to finalize the report for tomorrow’s hearing. After this latest failure, will you finally be done wasting my time and budget on this fruitless grudge between Spectres?”

“Unlikely.” Kryik snubbed the Executor and turned to the younger torin. “Did you find something I should know about?”

“Maybe. I got a surprise lead this morning but I haven’t had the chance to follow up on it.”

“I can pull some strings upstairs - get you as much time as you need.” Kryik turned his acidic glare back to the Executor. “Now, Pallin, if you don’t mind getting back to all that beloved paperwork you left in your office, I need to borrow your detective.”

The sulfur in the Spectre’s tone brooked no argument, and Pallin relented, stomping off with a surprising amount of bluster for a torin of his age and rank. Shepard was delighted by the theatrics; it was the best entertainment she’d had in weeks. Kryik: confirmed top.

He addressed the young investigator again, terse and to the point.

“C-Sec, you really think this lead of yours is enough to prove Saren’s gone rogue?”

“It’s as close as I’ve ever gotten to that slippery bastard; I’ll make it good enough.”

“Do whatever it takes. I’ll keep Pallin off your back. We need to nail Saren to the wall this time; he’s become too big of a risk. I’ve got my own angles to work, so I won’t be tailing your investigation personally. This is Commander Shepard. She’s a protégé of sorts, reports directly to me; full disclosure. Whatever intel you dig up on Saren, share it with her, no questions asked.”

Having acknowledged the C-Sec officer to the best of his ability, Kryik rounded on Shepard as if the other torin had suddenly dropped into dark space.

“We’ll reconvene tonight for dinner at Anderson's. Your Captain wants a heart-to-heart. In the meantime, pick the Citadel clean.” She thought he was done, but then he cut back in with a strangely accommodating sub-vocal. “And make sure you rack some hours. You may think you’re still training at Cipritine Academy, but you’re operating on far too little sleep for a human. Not to mention this new hole. That can’t be good for you.”

Kryik poked her crudely in the side, a few inches above the raw soreness of her oozing abdominal wound, surprising her with the literal stab at humor. She nodded, not trusting herself to respond, and watched him walk away.

As he retreated, Kryik called back over his shoulder: "C-Sec. Rack time. Make sure she gets it. I authorize deadly force if necessary."

Jokes, from Nihlus Kryik. Maybe this protégé thing went both ways. Shepard shook her head and turned to get a look at the young detective she’d been handed off to so suddenly. Pleasingly, he appeared perfectly accommodating; that was a welcome change. There was something familiar about him - inviting, even - and that threw her for a loop. She extended her grip to receive his arm in proper turian form, startled to find she was suddenly nervous.

“Well officer…" She laughed, a quick cover up. "Looks like the grownups decided that we should be playmates on this one. Jane Shepard, good to meet you.”

He didn’t move. Instead, he gaped at Shepard's hands, at the red lacquer on her fingernails. Turians rarely showed their bare hands in public. Displaying naked talons to a stranger was considered pretty rude, so she supposed it might have been jarring for him to encounter so much superfluous decoration on a bare hand. Especially a scrawny monkey paw laden with extra fingers.

After a few seconds of baffling silence he got over the interspecies awkwardness and enthusiastically took her arm.

“Garrus Vakarian," he said.

He squeezed her elbow, looked directly into her eyes, and smiled.

In the center of her chest, something creaked.

Alarmed, she read the familia notas of his face and wondered if they'd met before, but nothing stuck. Hopefully she hadn't knocked out any of his teeth at the Academy - if she had, he certainly didn't seem bent out of shape about it. His simple, geometric marks were C-Sec blue, covering a face that was well-matched to that color. A relaxed, good-humored expression worn handsomely over young, clean features.

He wore blue all over: his eyes, his tactical visor, his armor. Blue. Top to bottom. Everywhere her eyes traveled, that color seemed to follow, and it looked especially good on him.

Blinking slowly, she eased her arm from his grip. She coughed, trying to recover.

“It’s obvious that my boss doesn’t take no for an answer, what about yours? Everything alright with the Executor?”

He laughed, his eyes changing. That gaze, now bright and disarming; so very, very blue.

“Oh, he’s always breathing down my neck about something. It’s one of his favorite pastimes: wrapping his fists in red tape and using Vakarian as his own personal punching bag.”

“Sounds like you really want to bring Saren down.”

“Everything about Saren rubs me the wrong way, but he’s a Spectre. Whatever he touches is instantly classified. Still, I know he’s up to something. Like you humans say, I feel it in my gut.”

She chuckled guardedly. He was charming. That could be dangerous.

“Go figure," she said, deciding to test the waters. "I have that gut feeling too. Because Saren stabbed me real bad. Right here.”

She pointed. Right there.

The twinkling back-light returned to his eyes, more intensely than before. One of his mandibles flared in an involuntary half-grin, then he dissolved into a rich, full laugh, like he couldn't believe his luck. Like he'd just struck gold.

Days of stress lifted breezily from Shepard’s shoulders as he jostled her arm.

“Well, what would you say to some medi-gel for that stomachache? My treat." He walked beside her to the exit and took his sweet time about it, employing the occasional, unnecessary guiding touch to her elbow. Professional contact, but only just. "Our lead is at a clinic in Zakera Ward. A quarian limped into Doctor Michel’s this morning with a gunshot wound - insisted she was hounded by Saren’s hired thugs because she has intel about the geth.”

She gave Vakarian an appraising once-over as he continued to patiently lead the way, taking her right back past Lang - who waved - then up a sharp staircase into a bustling lower level of Kithoi. He took the stairs two at a time, bounding upward with a sheer, goofy burst of excitement that came from nowhere and left Shepard in the dust, dizzy.

Remembering his companion was walking with a limp, Vakarian checked himself and waited at the top landing, looking sincerely embarrassed and terribly young.

“Vakarian." She called to him as she climbed, slightly out of breath. "If this is how excited you get when you can’t find any hard evidence, I’d love to see what leaves you truly stumped.”

"Well, there's this Quasar game Doran just installed in Flux.” He laughed again; easy. "And I've always been troubled by this particular shade of red..."

As he held out his hand to help her up the last step, she reeled with a raw, uncanny sense of déjà vu. His beaming grin, lit by a dozen different shades of lower-ward neon, was too familiar to be a mistake.

Her stomach filled with butterflies. Good or bad, she knew them for parasites. Tamping down her nerves, she tried for casual.

“Quasar?" Instead of taking his offered hand, she made two stubborn fists. Hiding her nails, for all the good it would do. "You a gambling man?”

He shrugged, moving toward a lift station.

“Sort of. On my nights off, I’ve been trying to trace a credit-funneling hack I found on one of Doran’s new Quasar machines. It keeps pinging me around half the lower wards. Stumped.”

“Really.” She frowned, smothering a weird, nervous smile. “Let’s make a deal. If we manage to make significant headway on this case by happy hour, we’ll swing over to the bar and take another look at your misbehaving slot machine.” She cracked her neck, suddenly thirsty. “After the shakedown cruise going FUBAR, I could use a break. Wouldn’t say no to a long tall Tom Collins, either.”

She closed her mouth; that had come out of nowhere. FUBAR indeed.

“Who’s Tom Collins?” he asked, a completely unfamiliar sub-vocal lacing his voice. Not unfriendly, but unfamiliar, almost like he was in on some great joke without her.

There was a temporary lull as Vakarian summoned an elevator; they stood shoulder to shoulder and she suddenly realized just how tall he was. Tall, warm, and standing much closer than he needed to.

She tensed. This was stupid. She had to disengage.

“Oh, he’s a drink: an old-timey Earth favorite I picked up from my C.O.”

“Really.”

“Truth is, I’m zero fun in bars. That 'wild redhead' human myth is a complete fabrication. One drink limit, and no dancing. Ever.”

“No dancing.”

“Ever.”

The elevator arrived with a polite ding, and Shepard tried to avoid Vakarian's raking gaze as they stepped inside. She was surprised he was pushing this far, and this fast. Moreover, she was surprised to find herself pushing back.

The squeeze of impatient citizens forced them to stand closer together, and she noticed that twinkle in his eyes again. It was twinkling far too brightly for comfort now, strobing blue-blue-blue like a flashing police light. He pulled her over, leaned even closer, stepped more intentionally into her space.

Shepard tried not to notice, tried to feign genuine interest in the tinny muzak and the bored mutterings of the crowd. She attempted an advanced study of the gaudy, gold-plated enviro-suit of the volus standing directly in front of her, but it was all for nothing, Vakarian was standing too close.

“Jane Shepard." He whispered her name deliberately, moving closer still. "You know, there's something awfully suspicious about you…”

Her stomach plummeted.

Oh no. Not this. Anything but this.

“I have one of those faces,” she said, forcing her voice to go white and starch-stiff, waving the flag of surrender.

“No. Believe me, Red. You really, really don’t.”

She bristled at the cutesy nickname - some low jab at Regidonis, surely. Vakarian had seemed so nice. It would be pure cosmic schadenfreude if the charming C-Sec investigator with the dreamy Presidium-blue eyes turned out to be just as much a pest as every other trumped-up torin with a bone to pick.

Her muscles tensed, fists tightening. Would she be forced to recite the same tired script until the day that the universe finally dissolved into entropy? How many times would she need to repeat: He was the only father I ever knew. Now take your hands off me, you insolent coward, and prepare to duel et cetera, et cetera, ad infinitum. She was tired of throwing punches.

First, she tried peacekeeping: “Let’s not do this, okay? Leave the past where it belongs.”

Recognition scribbled across his features with even bolder lines.

“Spirits, I can’t believe it’s actually you.”

So much for the kindness of strangers. All she could do was mourn her good mood as it plunged straight to the bottom of the elevator shaft with a wounded and stifled kerplop.

Insulting, but she’d been forced to fend off worse.

Vakarian was practically on top of her now, asserting himself just like the countless presumptuous, aggressive torini that had come before. The sharp jut of his hip probed suggestively into her lower back, his hot breath tickled the side of her neck, and he leaned so close that she could smell him: aquatic and refreshing. Goddammit, what a waste.

He leaned down to whisper directly in her ear.

“I know exactly what you are.”

She braced for impact, preparing. He was the only father I ever knew, now take your hands off me -

“You’re the wild redhead I arrested on my very first night at C-Sec.”

#with this #all the Chp. 2 + 3 edits are live on AO3 #and other tweaks may yet be made #but the major ones are finally fixed #aogianeo;fanboaiwnefo;awnv #anyway here's the part where Shepard and Garrus are way too attracted to eachother in the middle of a crowded elevator #after Shep and Nihlus get to have a petty squabble or two #naturally #Red Streak #Fred writes #RS Chp