#I’m going to get Samara that contract one way of another

[vicontheinternet]

My tiana and Charlotte

[zet-sway]

6 for the prompts! 😁

6. “Hey, it’s okay! Once I get rid of the body we can go out to dinner like we planned!”

Okay this kind of got away from me and it's a bit dark but that's kind of the point, eh? ¯\_( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)_/¯

SFW, but also a little suggestive.

- - - - - -

"If we could go anywhere right now - anywhere at all - where would you want to go?"

They trudged through the dusty, broken corridors of a backwater spaceport, sweating beneath the grime of a recent battle.

"Dinner, I suppose," Thane replied. "As it stands, I'm quite hungry."

Shepard glanced at him. "Where though? We could go anywhere - any restaurant in the world."

"I haven't had a companion to share dinner with in some years, Siha. But I think perhaps I would choose Omega."

Shepard nearly choked on her own spit. "Omega?"

"I'm a well traveled man," he said casually. "Omega may be a wretched hive of scum and villainy, but it's also a culinary marvel if you know where to look. Expensive, and a bit divergent, but worth it if you savor the finer tastes in life."

They boarded the shuttle, Samara in tow. She seemed indifferent to their conversation, but Shepard knew she was listening.

"When the hell were you eating in swanky restaurants on Omega?"

"My clients were wealthy people. They prefer to discuss contracts discreetly, and in luxury. One such restaurant served a buffet of rare fruits on a nude asari preformer."

That got Samaras attention. Shepard stared incredulously."What?"

He tilted his head in acknowledgement. "I commended her skill. No amateur could have laid as still and controlled as she did."

"What the fuck, Thane."

He laughed. "It was not my idea to dine with such a party. My clients..." He waved a hand and shrugged in indifference.

"Your clients are pretty fucked up." Shepard exchanged glances with Samara.

"I'm inclined to agree with you. Freelance assassin work often involves such... dealings."

The three sat together in silence until the shuttle pulled into the hold some minutes later. Samara sauntered off with an acknowledging dip of her head and left them to their thoughts.

"So..." Shepard began, unfastening her hardsuit. "You would take me to some secret high roller joint on Omega where we can eat Tuchanka Darkfruit off naked chicks."

Thane chuckled as he shucked his jacket. "If you wish."

"Maybe without the preformers," She added with a raised brow.

"A secluded booth by the skyline. I hear the chef's tasting menu is sublime," he said with a knowing smile, eyes searing holes through her under armour. "We could sample the galaxy's finest and rarest and wonder what transpired to bring them to us."

Shepard cringed at the thought of what illicit trading must go on at the station to acquire such a menu. But a private, luxurious dinner with Thane was a sparkling new mental note on her bucket list. An entertaining thought - as if she even had time for such things.

"And what about all the gangs that want me dead?"

Wiping the grime from his hands and arms, Thane stepped closer, hands finding the curves of her hips.

"If my skills are as famed as they say, you would not even notice when I parted from you to dispatch them."

"I think I might notice," she said skeptically. "I'm not an N7 for nothing."

"You would, Siha - when I softly call your name. When you turn and spot me, intercepted where they dared approach you. Their head clutched in my hands, one swift twist away from death." His hand crept up her neck, fingertips trailing down her jaw where his thumb came to rest on her lower lip. "Shall I kill them? Or will you grant them mercy?"

She met his eyes, fathomless in the shadows of the cargo hold. "You would kill for me?"

"I would do far worse than kill, should it please you."

She grasped his wrist, tracing her thumb along the pulse beneath glossy scales.

"Do it," she whispered. "But do it quickly."

"As you command."

Part of her felt sick for loving this side of him, for wanting to hear the sickening crack of a neck snapping in the hands of her lover. To watch the body of a would-be assailant slump, lifeless, to the ground. An offering - like a cat bringing prey to her doorstep. An action interwoven with meaning.

She was overcome with wanting. Their lips met, eagerly parting beneath one another in a kiss filled with hunger. It was so easy to lose herself in him, his venom clouding her thoughts every so slightly as they melted together. When they finally separated, the feeling of his mouth lingered on hers, so fleeting, threatening disappear if she dared to open her eyes.

His fingers lit upon the back of her neck, threading into her hair. "I know you are more than capable. But if only you knew how it thrills me to protect you. The things I would do for you." He placed a soft kiss on her cheek and touched his forehead to hers. They stood in that embrace, equally unwilling to part from one another.

"...and after we deal with the body, we can continue with 'dinner' as we planned?" The way she spoke implied another thing entirely, and they both knew it.

"Anything you desire," he murmured, pulling her tight for a kiss that swept her under. She was beyond content to be his for the remainder of the night cycle.

[d-criss-news]

Ryan Murphy’s (Kinda) True ‘Hollywood’ Story: 1940s Meets Gay Stars, Interracial Romance and (Gasp!) a Female Studio Chief

The prolific TV creator and Netflix unveil a revisionist take on the golden age of movies, showing how much (and how little) has shifted in entertainment and beyond: “'Hollywood’ can change the world.”

On an abnormally cold January evening, on the steps of Los Angeles’ Shrine Auditorium, history was being rewritten.

Two actors, one playing Rock Hudson, the other Hudson’s African American screenwriter boyfriend, Archie, were tucked inside a teal blue Packard Club Sedan, awaiting their cue. Outside, it was Oscar night, 1948, and despite warnings of grave backlash, the pair was prepared to step out as a couple for the first time.

Archie exited first, his eyes wide with trepidation, then Rock. In matching white tuxedos, they grabbed for each other’s hands and shuffled nervously down the red carpet.

The press box erupted in hisses, then boos.

“Are we doing the right thing?” Archie whispered.

“Absolutely we are,” Rock replied.

The two exchanged smiles, exhaled and made their way into the theater. Then they stopped and did it again. And again.

Ryan Murphy, the scene’s chief architect, was a few miles east, buried in one of his dozen other projects, but his fingerprints could be detected everywhere. The reimagining — part of his new Netflix anthology series, Hollywood — offers a world in which Hudson (played by Jake Picking) walked openly as a gay man, as opposed to the real-life heartthrob who remained closeted until his death from AIDS in the mid-1980s. Elsewhere in Murphy’s revision of history, an African American actress, played by Laura Harrier, is cast as the star of a major studio picture, written by Hudson’s black boyfriend (Jeremy Pope), helmed by a half-Asian director (Darren Criss) and greenlit by a female studio chief (Patti LuPone) and her gay head of production (Joe Mantello).

If Pose was Murphy’s effort to champion the marginalized, Hollywood’s his shot at imagining such marginalization was undone decades ago. The series, his first without his longtime collaborators at 20th Century Fox Television, drops in its entirety May 1, with a sprawling ensemble of real and fictional characters. It was supposed to feel timely, its period backdrop a reminder of how much and how little has changed in 70-plus years; now, landing in a world grappling with a global pandemic, its 1940s setting could be the escape so many are seeking.

“I’ve always been interested in this kind of buried history, and I wanted to create a universe where these icons got the endings that they deserved,” says Murphy, 55, who’s been waiting out the virus at his home in Los Angeles, with his husband and two young sons, who now require homeschooling. “It’s this beautiful fantasy, and in these times, it could be a sort of balm in some way.”

The Netflix executives who shelled out roughly $300 million for Murphy’s services in 2018 can only hope so. Already, they’ve had to cancel influencer screenings, scrap subway ads and punt on potential plans for a premiere benefit for the now hard-hit Motion Picture Television Fund, which houses several stars of the era in its L.A. retirement facility. As for the show itself, it’s certainly not the broad-sweeping, four-quadrant fare that Netflix is widely thought to prefer. The pilot episode alone features six sex scenes — a mix of gay and straight — and nearly all involve some sort of financial transaction. By episode three, which the show’s writers have nicknamed “night of a thousand dicks,” the characters have found their way to one of director George Cukor’s infamous pool parties.

Still, Netflix head of originals Cindy Holland says that Hollywood is exactly the kind of elevated, inclusive and ultimately hopeful programming that the company wants from Murphy, and the seven-episode limited series was fast-tracked as a result. “What I love,” she says, “is that Ryan is creating a world that he wants to will into existence.”

***

Murphy’s first inkling for Hollywood came over a celebratory dinner with Criss following their fruitful awards run for the Versace installment of American Crime Story. With rosé flowing, the two began discussing a next possible collaboration. Murphy wanted to do something young and hopeful; Criss proposed 1940s Hollywood. The 33-year-old actor had been fascinated by the lore surrounding characters like Scotty Bowers, the L.A. hustler who operated out of a gas station on Hollywood Boulevard, along with golden age stars like Spencer Tracy and Katharine Hepburn, and he was eager to explore the era with Murphy.

“There’s a blinking red light on it that says, ‘Ryan Murphy, Ryan Murphy,’ ” says Criss, “because it’s sexy, it’s fun, it’s glamorous, it’s dangerous and it has resonance now.”

Murphy didn’t disagree. As a student of Hollywood history, he’d already gone down the road with his FX series Feud, which centered its first season on Joan Crawford and Bette Davis. This would simply allow him to dig deeper on figures who’d long captured his attention, from Anna May Wong, the first Chinese American movie star, who was effectively run out of Hollywood, to Hattie McDaniel, the first African American to win an Oscar and not be allowed to sit with her cast in the theater. “I’m always moved by these characters who weren’t fully seen or didn’t get their moment,” says Murphy in an interview on the Paramount lot earlier this year, where he was directing Meryl Streep in The Prom, another Netflix production. At one point, he’d even toyed with the idea of doing a Biography-style anthology series with an episode devoted to each.  

Not long after that dinner, Criss was at a bachelor party when his phone rang. It was Murphy. “He says, 'Do you mind if I just do my thing on this?’ ” says Criss. “And I’m like, 'You’re Ryan fucking Murphy. Do whatever you want!’ ”

So, Murphy picked a collaborator, Ian Brennan, with whom he’d worked on Glee, Scream Queens and The Politician, and the two began quietly tossing around ideas. With the help of a few researchers, they landed on a story that revolved around a Bowers-esque service station, with a staff full of actors and directors looking to be stars. “It was super fun and sexy and salacious,” says Brennan, “but it was also about the #MeToo underbelly of 1940s Hollywood, which felt very, very contemporary.”

The men found it exhilarating to depict sex so explicitly and in every possible combination. “To be able to describe exactly what is happening is really, really cool,” says Brennan. And despite the appetite for such racy content varying dramatically around the globe, Netflix brass was passionate about its inclusion — a marked difference from his and Murphy’s experience on previous shows, where they fought tooth and nail over the mere mention of sexual terms. “I hope this isn’t speaking out of school,” he adds, “but the one thing [Netflix’s vp original series] Brian Wright said to me, was, like, 'Thumbs-up on the sex. If anything, dial that up.’”

From the Pose writers room, producer Janet Mock would see Murphy and Brennan huddled in a nearby room and wonder what the latest “secret Ryan Murphy project” was all about. At one point, Mock found herself pumping intel out of a writers’ assistant, who told her, “It’s a thing called Hollywood, it’s about this gas station.” Having seen the 2017 documentary Scotty and the Secret History of Hollywood, she figured, “OK, there’s no place for me in that. I’ll continue with Pose.”

But that would soon change, beginning with an eye-opening discussion in the writers room about which of the ensemble’s contract players would be picked to star in the film at the center of Hollywood. The role was that of real-life actress Peg Entwistle, a blonde Brit who jumped to her death from the famed Hollywood sign. “At first, we were like, “Well, it can’t be the black girl [Harrier’s Camille], they wouldn’t have done it. …’ And then it was like, 'Well, wait a second, what if it actually was? What if Peg becomes Meg,’ ” says Brennan. One what-if led to another and then another, and before long they’d decided to go back in and start revising history — this time, with Mock as a credited writer.

Now, rather than use the series to, say, showcase the powerlessness of a studio head’s aging housewife, in this case LuPone’s Avis, they tweaked the story so that suddenly it explores what would happen if Avis gained control of her husband’s studio. It was the same for several others, including Rock Hudson, says Murphy’s co-creator. Instead of telling the tragic tale of a person forced to hide, they allowed themselves to explore what would happen if he refused to do so. “Once we began asking, 'What if?’ it became a different show,” says Brennan, with Mantello adding: “It became a fable of what could have been.”

With Netflix execs eager to get the series up on the service, Murphy began loading the cast with his usual mix of familiar names — from Jim Parsons, as Hudson’s real-life closeted agent Henry Wilson, to Rob Reiner, as the head of the fictional Ace Studios — and newer discoveries, like Samara Weaving (Ready or Not) as Reiner’s daughter, or Picking as Hudson and Pope as his fictional boyfriend. As with other recent ensembles, he listed all of them not in order of importance or seniority but rather alphabetically on the call sheet. The message was clear: “The star of the show is the show,” says Murphy. Still, initial hires Criss and David Corenswet, who’d made his debut on The Politician, were given executive producer credits, along with backend points on the series. (There’s already talk of a season two, which would pick up in the late 1960s, with many of the same actors in entirely new roles.)

At some point in the production process, Murphy found himself scaling back the graphic nature of the series, too — a byproduct of his own personal recalibration, he says, having spent so much of his pre-Netflix life fighting to show so much as a woman’s nipple. “When you’re finally free, you have this tendency to go full tilt boogie, but ultimately I became much more interested in the emotion of the characters, and, frankly, I became protective of them,” he explains, suggesting every episode had an X-rated version, an R-rated version and a PG version, and, to the delight of participants like Corenswet, who plays an actor-cum-sex worker, Murphy would almost always select the R one.

“I think Ryan realized as we were shooting that the best part of the sex was the romance — and that’s always great to hear as an actor, especially when it applies to your five-page sex scene with Patti LuPone,” says the 26-year-old Corenswet. LuPone, for her part, was just thrilled she was still asked to do a sex scene at age 71. “Finally!” she bellows, praising Murphy for having both the vision and the courage to take the risks he does: “Ryan’s fearless,” says the Tony winner, who also popped up in Pose, “and I’m so happy to be in his world." 

***

Long before Murphy was a household name, with a big fat Netflix deal to ostensibly take all the risks he wants, he was a frustrated former journalist fighting to change a system that wasn’t built for him. His own secret had been revealed at just 15, when his mother found a drawer full of love letters from his then-22-year-old boyfriend at their home in Indiana. Horrified, she and Murphy’s father threw their son into counseling, hoping he could be "fixed.”

A decade or two later, after his first career as an entertainment writer, Murphy carved out a place for himself in television, where he could exist comfortably as a gay man — so long as he didn’t try to write anyone like himself into scripts. “There were lots of words that they’d use to discriminate against you,” he says, “too flamboyant, too camp, too theatrical, and they were all code.”

By the mid-1990s, he’d joined forces with 10 or so other out or soon-to-be-out creatives, a group that included Nina Jacobson, Greg Berlanti and A Beautiful Mind’s Bruce Cohen. Giving themselves the name “Out There,” they’d meet in courtyards and living rooms to swap horror stories and try to plot a path forward. “We were young and didn’t have much money, but we had a lot of energy and a need to connect with and support each other as gay people working in a straight environment,” says Jacobson, who’d later collaborate with Murphy on American Crime Story and Pose. “And for a lot of us, it was, for the first time, that feeling of community.”

In time, Murphy, like the others, found a way to “monetize [his] pain.” His first creation, Popular, debuted in 1999, and other opportunities followed. Popular begat Nip/Tuck, Nip/Tuck begat Glee, and before he knew it, Murphy had moved from TV’s fringes to its red-hot center. As The New Yorker once wrote, “He changed; the industry changed; he changed the industry.” In early 2018, he signaled that power by signing a nine-figure deal, among the most lucrative in the medium’s history.

So it is perhaps fitting that Murphy’s first project wholly for and from the service includes a scene that trumpets what he calls “the thesis statement” of his career. It begins with Criss’ character, Raymond, being regaled by the story of Anna May Wong’s awe-inspiring screen test for the lead role in the 1937 adaptation of The Good Earth, a part that ultimately went to a far less deserving Caucasian actress. Suggesting it was one of the saddest stories Raymond had ever heard, a film executive played by Mantello responds:

“What’s so sad about it? The picture was a hit. [They] were right. You can’t open a picture with a Chinese lead or a colored one, a number of theaters won’t run it.”

Raymond: “But you said she deserved the part?”

Exec: “Yes, but the hard fact is, had she gotten it, the picture is not a hit.”

Raymond: “How do you know that? You never made the movie, so how do you know it’s not a hit?”

Criss’ character continues with a monologue that is so perfectly Murphy you can almost close your eyes and picture him saying it.  

“Sometimes I think folks in this town don’t really understand the power they have. Movies don’t just show us how the world is, they show us how the world can be. If we change the way that movies are made — you take a chance and you make a different kind of story, I think you can change the world.”

Criss himself would argue that Murphy already has. “His dial is always in extremes. So, if he’s doing Glee or Scream Queens or this, it’s at an 11, almost as a middle finger to reality,” says the actor. “It’s like he turned the dial over to say, 'This is how I’d like to see the world in my wildest dreams. Ain’t it fun?’ ”

In the past two years, since he moved his creative hub from 20th Century Fox TV, where he still maintains a considerable roster, Murphy been responsible for producing roughly 200 LGBTQ characters, many featured as leads. At least a third of his Hollywood cast is older than 70 (“Seventy is the new 40,” he teases), and nearly every project he launches is fronted by a woman — and that’s just in front of the camera. “If you see it, you can be it,” Murphy says often.

It’s a worldview that appeals to Netflix’s Holland, for whom he’s already prepped two films (Prom, The Boys in the Band), two docuseries (Circus of Books, Secret Love) and five seasons of inclusive television, including a Halston miniseries that, along with his 20th programs Pose, American Horror Story and American Crime Story, shut down care of COVID-19 in March. In the weeks since, when he isn’t toggling between Tiger King and MSNBC, Murphy’s kept busy writing two new decidedly hopeful series, each with the express purpose of providing viewers and himself an escape. “Ryan’s the rare creator who speaks to many audiences,” says Holland. “It’s not just gay people or straight people or older people or younger people, it’s really all people who are interested in the human condition.”

To date, Murphy claims he has yet to hear the word “no” from his Netflix bosses, though he’s definitely been nudged in certain directions. “They don’t want me to do small, niche things,” he says, acknowledging that not too long ago a project like Hollywood would have been deemed just that. “But they know how to market this,” he explains, noting that Netflix will push his latest series on viewers who also like love stories, young adult series and LGBTQ fare.

For those who worried the ultra-competitive producer would chafe in a system that doesn’t provide a public report card (aka ratings), he argues that that’s been liberating. Brennan backs him up, revealing how they received initial numbers for The Politician a week or two after it premiered late last summer and then another trove of data a month or so later; and though the latter could effectively game out how many people would watch the series over time, Brennan says, “We were sort of like, 'I don’t think that’s helpful.’ ”

Murphy takes it a step further, insisting he’s no longer interested in the old metrics, like how many people are watching or how many awards a series has generated. “All the things that people tell you will make you feel successful … I have those things, they don’t,” he says. What matters to him now is being able to tell stories that he wishes he or others could have seen. To that end, he can’t help but wonder what his own life would have been had he witnessed Rock Hudson walking the Oscars red carpet as an openly gay man — and though it’s too late to change his own experience, Murphy would like to be able to improve the experience of others. So, he took a chance and made a different kind of story. “Hollywood,” he says, “can change the world.”

[rookie-ramsey]

Worth Any Risk, chapter 3

Description: Shortly after Ethan’s return to Edenbrook, he tries to pick up where he left off as if nothing happened. When MC becomes gravely ill, he is reminded that there some things worth any risk.

My MC is named Olivia House.

Ethan monitored Olivia closely, hoping that this was just a harmless bug. But his experience as a doctor told him to never assume the least, to always be prepared.

A couple hours after Olivia fell asleep

again, a shudder went through her body. It was enough to startle her awake. She winced at the ache that radiated through her.

“Rookie? How are you feeling?”

“Terrible.” When Ethan handed her the thermometer, Olivia checked her temperature. “102.5.”

That made Ethan frown. “It’s gone up a degree and a half in two hours with acetaminophen.”

Olivia’s stomach rolled uncomfortably. Feeling bile rise in her throat, she pressed her lips shut tightly. Fortunately there was a trash bin nearby and Ethan grabbed it quickly, all too familiar with the signs of imminent vomiting. Moments later, Olivia retched, emptying the contents of her stomach into the bin.

Ethan put his hand on her back, running his mind to try to narrow down the causes. A stomach virus wouldn’t account for the rapidly rising fever. Vomiting wasn’t particularly common with the flu.

Olivia shuddered when she leaned back. She took a sip of water, trying to rinse out the bitter taste. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt this sick… everything hurts.”

“Be more specific. You know this, Rookie. We need to figure out what’s wrong before we land.”

She let out a tired chuckle. “They say doctors make the worst patients.”

“We do.” She cringed as she rolled her shoulders, trying to work the kinks out of her neck.

“Hang on…” Ethan placed his hands on either side of her neck, gently turning her head in each direction. His heart skipped a beat when he felt resistance. “Your neck is stiff.”

“I’ve been sleeping all day on a plane.”

“Hmm.”

Olivia’s face paled. “You have an idea.”

“I need to look at your back.”

Nodding, Olivia scooted to the edge of her seat and leaned forward. Ethan lifted her shirt, feeling his stomach drop when he saw a reddish-purple rash dotting the small of her back.

Olivia frowned. “Ethan? You’re… not saying anything…”

Ethan let out a deep breath, trying to remain calm for her sake. He couldn’t lie or sugarcoat it, but there was no sense in causing even more panic than necessary. “Olivia…. I think you have meningitis.”

It took a long moment to register his words. Her face fell. “How could I have contracted it? I’ve had all the vaccinations, I haven’t had patients with it…”

“Sometimes it can be more resistant. Symptoms usually begin a few days after exposure, so you could have been exposed to it at the airport or in Auckland.”

Olivia closed her eyes, combing her mind for everything she learned about meningitis in medical school. “Meningitis usually starts with a fever that rises quickly… stiff neck…” As she rattled off symptoms, the more her heart pounded. “It can kill in 24 hours.”

Ethan grabbed her hand. “We’re not at that point yet. Someone on this flight is bound to have antibiotics of some sort. Probably not the specific type we need, but anything is better than nothing. We need to focus on slowing down the progression of the illness until we land.”

Olivia didn’t look convinced. “We don’t land for another fourteen hours…”

“Not if I can help it. We can try to land somewhere along the way and you get stable enough before we go to Edenbrook.”

“And how long would that be?”

“...I don’t know. But I do know that I’m going to see if there are any antibiotics whatsoever on this plane. You need intravenous steroids and corticosteroids. I don’t expect to find those, but I’ll use whatever I can find for now.”

Olivia forced a weak smile. “Look at you, taking medicine from random strangers. But… you shouldn’t be

near me. If I have meningitis, you could contract it.”

Ethan shook his head. “I’ll take the preventative antibiotics when we get back to Edenbrook. I’m not leaving you alone.”

The younger doctor sighed. “Stubborn as always.” She closed her eyes as Ethan left, undoubtedly to interrogate random passengers for any antibiotics they may have in their possession.

She dozed off, only to wake up a few minutes later when she heard Ethan return to his seat next to her.

“Did you find anything?”

His face fell. “Only amoxicillin. It’s not going to have a strong effect, but it’s worth seeing if a larger dose can at least lessen the symptoms.”

Olivia nodded weakly. “I’m willing to try anything at this point.” She picked up her water bottle and let Ethan help her sit up. She swallowed several tablets with a swig of water.

“I asked the attendant to have this section of the plane evacuated. Now the bathroom There aren’t many people on this flight, but you don’t need everyone making a spectacle out of you.”

“Thank you… I don’t really want my uncontrollable puking to be a performance.” Olivia pulled Ethan’s warm sweater tighter around herself.

“Your temperature must be rising again.” His face knitted with concern as he pressed his palm against her forehead. “You’re burning up.”

Even though she was shivering, Olivia felt sweat beading down her face. “It’s climbing fast…” Her voice wavered. “If I’m not dead before we land, there could be serious complications…” When tears stung her eyes, she quickly tried to blink them back.

She had to stay calm. Panicking would only worsen her situation. But she knew that without treatment soon, her chances weren’t in her favor.

“Stop that,” Ethan chided. “You’re not dying on my watch. Yes, there is a significant risk of complications. But we’re going to focus on making sure you survive. And you will.”

Olivia forced a watery smile and rubbed at her eyes. “You sound sure.”

Ethan absently touched her cheek. Whether he was making his promises to her or himself, he didn’t know. He knew that if she didn’t get treatment soon, she could be dead in a matter of hours. He just hoped that they would land far before that time came.

“I’ll do whatever I can to make sure you’re around to irritate me for years to come, Rookie.”

She swallowed hard and closed her eyes when a painful tremor went through her. “I… I don’t think I’ve ever been this scared…”

Ethan’s chest constricted at the fear in her voice. “I know… I haven’t, either,” he admitted softly. She was the one who could be dying, and all he was doing was making promises he couldn’t keep in an attempt to ease his own fear.

At that, Olivia opened her eyes. “How? You’ve seen it all…”

His face fell. “It’s… it’s different when it’s someone I care about.” Ethan swallowed the lump in his throat. “It’s why they don’t let doctors treat their family or friends. Their fear affects their judgment.”

Olivia reached for his hand. He let her take it and squeezed gently. She closed her eyes again, letting a stray tear escape. As Ethan wiped it away with his free hand, she leaned into his touch, longing for comfort.

“I’m right here…” Forgetting any boundaries he had insisted on having, Ethan smoothed her hair back. “I want you to rest. I’ll keep an eye on you.”

He couldn’t lose her.

Chapter 4

Tags: @isabella-choices @peekaboochu @foulcroissantknightpalace @teamdrake27 @edgiestwinter @samara-rani @drakewalkerfantasy @perriewinklenerdie @drakesensworld @msjpuddleduck If I missed anyone, or you’d like to be added or removed, please comment.

[theravenofwynter]

For the writing prompt: Shakarian and “great. perfect. nice. fuck this.” Please :)

five word prompts (somehow this turned up a lot more political than originally intended! Worth of note: Shep and Garrus are married here

There were few things that annoyed the Commander as much as inefficient Council meetings, and that day there was just something about Councillor Valern that had her grinding her teeth. The whole stalling game, waiting to see who would give in first, who would yield in their demands, who would be fed up with the game first? It wasn’t in her nature to put up with it, neither was it Sparatus’ forte if the irritable thrum coming from him was any indication, though she doubted anyone but her and her new Turian acquaintance could actually hear it and they both knew better than to say anything. They were all in a Council-Spectre meeting, all Spectres on the Citadel were to attend it - all four of them - wan wait for further orders while the Council was debating if they could even pull more resources with the supposed ‘imminent return’ of the Reapers. Councillor Valern was still stalling, his nasal voice was beginning to irritate her beyond belief.

“Are we sure these are necessary? Attacks on colonies have ceased with Vakarian’s actions and with it all concern for human-dominated territories in the Terminus,” Valern pondered, again.

She had sent footage of the Omega 4 Relay as soon as they were back in the Terminus, a high-priority message directly to the Councillors as well as a few Hierarchy generals, the Alliance brass and some Asari Matriarchs - she had even gotten a somewhat hasty reply from Aethyta which said simply ‘well, fuck me!’ - thought she left the Salarians for Mordin to handle, she was beginning to think that may have been a mistake.

“You’ve seen the footage she sent, we’ve all seen the footage of that prototype human-coded-reaper as well as undeniable proof the Collectors exist, or existed.” Tevos said curtly, her jaw set in annoyance. Sophia could definitely relate.

“Yes as we’ve all seen she has been working with Cerberus for the past year, if not longer.”

“As well as undeniable proof she has ceased all contact with Cerberus,” Sparatus said, a certain flick of his mandibles that made him seem, at least to her, at the end of his rather short patience.

“Is that undeniable proof?” Valern asked, looking at her, she supposed it could’ve been a rhetorical question but she was at the end of her patience and no one had ever accused Sophia of being particularly level headed when dealing with politicians.

“Unless the Illusive Man has a kink for humiliation, I think telling him that he can shove the Omega 4 relay up his arse counts as me ceasing contact with known Cerberus cells and, in fact, terminating my short contract with them,” she pointed out rather calmly, sitting in-between Kaius and Udina, her new Turian acquaintance trying to stifle a laugh while the human Councillor looked at her as if she was a particularly fetid Vorcha; she had no idea when Anderson had handed the Council seat to the weasel but it was for the worst in her opinion.

“Known Cerberus Cells?” Valern asked in that archway of his that usually meant he knew something she didn’t. She refrained from rolling her eyes.

“Well I can’t very well know about the agents in the cells I don’t know exist, can I?” Sophia asked in a tone similar to the councillor’s, snappish, a certain holier-than-thou tone and definitely beyond fed-up with the procedures.

“Shepar- Spectre Vakarian is right,” Udina intoned, a sour look on his face, “there’s no way to know other Cerberus cells unless we send in infiltrators, and since they only deal with humans your STG would be next useless while dealing with Cerberus, Valern.” Udina looked as if every word pained him, even if mentioned the Councillor’s name as if savouring a favourite candy. If she had to guess she went from fetid Vorcha, in his eyes, to a particular nasty puss-oozing wound he had to personally see. Thankfully Udina’s moods were no longer her problem, unlike a certain spiky councillor sitting to her far left.

“Be that as it may, this is not what we’re here to discuss, the recently uploaded footage of the mission beyond the Omega 4 was troubling to say the least,” Sparatus cut in sharply before anyone else could get a word-in, “the data we got on that humanoid construct is beyond anything we’re currently capable of-” the Councillor continued his speech while Sophia tuned him out.

She focused on the other participants of the meeting. The council had ordered all Spectres on the Citadel to attend the meeting, given the news she had shared, so that made it four other people in an unnecessarily large room. Besides her and the Turian, a Spectre a year or two older than Garrus if she were to guess, there was an Asari Spectre near Tevos and a Salarian one near Valern, she didn’t recognize either one of them. What she really wanted was to be back with her husband - and damn if the word didn’t leave her giddy - for their long overdue honeymoon.

“The Asari is Iilia Nuwani, her cousin was on Fehl Prime during a Collector attack,” he muttered next to her, loud enough for her and Sparatus to hear, but low enough it wouldn’t draw attention from the politicians, “the Salarian is Cest’ach Tann, as far as I know he only read the reports on your missions, his focus is in something called the Andromeda Initiative.” He glanced around the room, briefly nodding to his fellow spectres before focusing once again on Sophia.

“Still as much of a gossip as ever, aren’t you Kaius?” Sparatus muttered to them while Valern droned on about the lack of resources. Most of them knew it was bullshit and simply the Salarian Councillor dragging his proverbial feet.

“I think it’s important for your pet Turian to know who she’s gonna be dealing with, also that most of us believed her when she first brought up the reapers,” Kaius muttered, a faint rumble of mild disdain in his subvocals.

“Pet Turian?” She mouthed, a stifled laugh from Iilia getting a flicker of her attention before she focused on both men near her; Udina doing an outstanding job of ignoring them.

She refocused on the meeting when Tevos begun speaking about at least getting their security up, if not for the ‘Reapers’ then a possible backslash from the Collectors. It was an appeasement, she could see that, she would have to grit her teeth and take what she could, but it still grated her how, in the face of undeniable proof, the supposed leaders of the galaxy could only offer a token effort to help defend their civilization.

She took a deep breath, in-out, in-out, like Samara had taught her, she was getting emotional again and seeing Council actions as slights against her; it was all just politics.

The meeting ended with a sour note for her, token resources, missions that would lead nowhere and, according to muttered words on both sides, a waste of resources. All she wanted right then was go get back to Garrus, if only for comfort. Maybe he had better news with the Hierarchy than she did with the Council.

“Ah yes, the uselessness of the Council in the face of a threat, charming isn’t it?” Kaius signed next to her, stretching his neck, probably trying to get the kinks out, that’s what G used to do.

“Tobastic, kindly shut up,” Sparatus muttered as he passed them by, only a lingering look to make both Spectres know they were to follow him.

“So what’s this about a pet Turian?” Sophia asked falling in step with them, close enough to brush against both as they walked back to the councillor’s office.

“Sparatus has a tendency to fall into bed with a few of the Spectre candidates, especially the Turian ones,” Kaius smirked, a flick of his mandible and a tilt of his head and neck. Supposedly she should be insulted by the insinuation but it didn’t even register of her radar. Yes her and Decilliam used to fuck, he was deliciously good at it, but that one particular affair was behind her now; she had, after all, promised to be a one-Turian kind of woman.

“And he’s still sore he never managed to get even close to my bed,” the councillor said deadpanned as he ignored both spectres while checking his omni-tool, an annoyed click from his throat made Sophia start to pay attention, that was rarely a good sound coming from him. “Well Valern will not approve of any budget request to up security, the Human Councillor backs him up in this decision.”

“Great,” She let slip before her brain caught up with her mouth, “perfect. Nice. Fuck this.” She threw her hands up, ignoring the looks from diplomats as she attempted to turn, only to be caught by a hand on her shoulder, firmly leading her on.

“I know you’re upset, but you will not be causing a scene in my office,” Decilliam muttered as they neared the opulent room, “I’ve got Vakarian on vidcom, and I’ve still got plans to keep us going and so do you, don’t let this set back stop you.”

“How do you-?” She trailed off, looking from one man to the other.

“He sent me to gauge your work, Commander,” Kaius muttered, an amused flick of his mandible as he looked down at her, “the last thing we needed was another rogue Turian Spectre so he sent me to watch while you worked with Cerberus. Kaius Tobastic, reconnaissance specialist.” He offered her a hand as they entered the office, “I’m happy to say both you and that C-Sec officer passed with flying colours, as the human say.”

“Since when?” She hadn’t even caught anyone following them, or anyone not Cerberus or her ground team aboard the Normandy.

“Since you first approached Councillor Sparatus.” He shrugged, sitting on the couch as Sophia started pacing. “As much as he likes you the Hierarchy couldn’t take the chance of another Rogue, nor of a crazy Spectre, not so soon. I was to be their eyes, and can I just say for a human you put a lot of Turians to shame? Well done.”

TBC… (maybe)