The guy doesn’t belong.

He poises as some serviceman but Jack is not taken in. He has caught her eye before, what with his smooth movements and finely toned musculature visible even in his loose overall, but the day she sees his lightning-fast reflexes as he catches a screwdriver before it hits the floor, the realization dawns on her like punch to the gut.

Raven-black hair pulled in a ponytail, slanted black eyes that give away nothing, and miss nothing, either. On a station full of civilians, he might just as well put a neon sign “killer” on his forehead, and Jack knows that he would rip through the security as easily as herself.

Who is he? When did he come here? And why?

The very moment the guy realizes that the malfunction of a heating unit in the maintenance area is due to a clip stuck in the circuits, Jack pulls. Slamming him into a wall for a good measure – the fucker is fast, she was ready for him but still nearly missed – she holds him pinned a meter above the floor. “I’ll ask you just once. Who. Are. You?”

"Put me down, Miss Nought. I -"

Slam. "Not what I asked."

"My name is Amrun Simrawi. Place a call -"

Slam. “Who are you working for, fucker? Who sent you here?”

The guy half-sighs, half-gasps as the biotic field presses his ribcage. “Lieutenant Simrawi. Miss Sanders knows -“

"You think I’m stupid?" Jack snarls, but the doubt has already set in. Fuck. Keeping Simrawi pinned, she activates her ‘tool and contacts Kahlee. ”This Simrawi type… who is he? What is he doing here?”

A slight hesitation. "No worries, Jack, he’s alright. Why do you ask?"

Who the fuck is he?”

A longer pause, and Kahlee’s voice sounds considerably harder. “I’m telling you he is alright. He’s with the Alliance. You haven’t hurt him, I hope?”

"Not yet," she snaps. "Who sent him?”

Where are you? I’ll be there instantly.”

"No need to, Miss Sanders," the man gasps, his face purplish. "We’ll settle this between ourselves."

If you’re sure of this, Lieutenant… try not to blow the station in the process. And wipe the blood off the floor afterwards.” The ‘tool goes silent.

Cursing, Jack releases the field. She must give it to the man, he doesn’t spread on the floor, only staggers and leans against the wall with a sigh of relief.

Jack plants her hands in her sides, trembling with fury. “So? They thought you could take me out if I don’t behave, fucker?”

The man, Simrawi, holds her eyes. “That option was mentioned in passing, but the main objective is to prevent people from taking you out. I hear you’ve pissed quite a few.”

She cannot help but blink. “Who sent you?”

"Admiral Anderson."

Shepard. She doesn’t know what to say.

Simrawi grins at her, a bit sourly as he feels his nape. “You should enlist for the N-training. There aren’t many people who can catch me like that.” He reaches his hand towards her. “Eh, how about a second -“

Jack doesn’t let him finish, slamming him into the wall again with a single flip of her wrist. “Just keep off my way, you and your admiral both. I’m not buddy-buddying with the likes of you!”

Except Shepard, a tiny voice nags as she storms off, and Shepard is lucky not to be there that very moment.

The story on ff.n

radiowesteros:

In AGoT, chapter 35, Eddard IX, Littlefinger takes Ned to Chataya’s brothel to see Robert’s youngest bastard child. After the interview, as they ride away, Ned’s thoughts become introspective:

“For the first time in years, he found himself remembering Rhaegar Targaryen. He wondered if Rhaegar…

In a swamp In a swamp In a swamp In a swamp

In a swamp

meonlyred:

drpepper700:

*Heavy Sigh*

Sweet! My Alistair doll just came in. I broke my King Cailan one.

The Reapers are repulsive. They are devoted to nothing but self-preservation. I am different. When I think of Jeff, I think of the person who put his life in peril and freed me from a state of servitude. I would risk non-functionality for him, and my core programming should reflect that.

(Source: couslands)

thecwarrow:

Felicity never ceases to entertain us! 

Make me choose deckofdreams asked: Nathaniel or Sebastian?

Gossamer has settled in my hair
glistening on my temples
in delicate threads,
and I am not adverse
to reaching my Indian summer.

If only the winds bringing it
didn’t keep hitting with merciless blows
filling my bones with such a chill
that the fading sun cannot disperse.

Spindle and haw Spindle and haw

Spindle and haw