khalisah bint sinan al jilani

I really don’t get the hate towards Khalisah Bint Sinan al-Jilani and kind of hate it myself. like honestly it’s not warranted for—she’s just a woman—a poc woman if you want to get even more political about it—doing her job. and it justifies and memeifies shepard assaulting a civilian which is just not cool

unpopular opinion of the day: I like Khalisah Bint Sinan Al-Jilani and Diana Allers. I think they’re doing their jobs the best they can and don’t deserve all the hate and literal death wishes they get from the fandom

You Didn't Hear This From No-One, But... (A Private Discussion On Gray Faces.)

Inspite of her efforts to explore the place, Ni was still largely unfamiliar with the layout of the Citadel, and had to stop several times to double check her directions.  It was funny, she never had this much trouble with uncharted territories in the deep of space, or the wilderness of untamed planets, but something about crowded space-stations made it relatively easy for her to lose her way.  Maybe it was the distraction of the emotions of the hundreds of people around her.  

Didn’t help that, in this case, Ni also had a lot to think about for the upcoming conversation.  She still didn’t entirely understand a lot about this universe, let alone the “space magicians” that seemed to plague its populace, but she was beginning to develop some serious concerns regarding them, and had to talk to somebody about them.  And there was nobody in this universe she trusted more than Khalisah Bint Sinan Al Jilani.  Especially on this matter, considering the reporter had already shared her own, similar, concerns.  

After what seemed like a very long trek, Ni finally reached her destination.  "Um,“ she began, still a bit distracted, "Ah’m here ta speak ta Miss Jilani?  Is she in?”  

Any Four Walls: Home

So… Any Four Walls is the name assigned to the Shepard Vakarian Family Shenanigans thing now. You can also find it on AO3.


The day the girls came home, Garrus ran the entire thing as tight as any op he’d ever executed in his days as Archangel. People like him and Shepard always had enemies—usually of the extreme variety—and, paranoid or not, he wasn’t prepared to leave himself, or the girls, or Shepard, open to attack of any kind it was in his power to prevent. Even if the attack that came was only the assault of nosy reporters. Hell, especially if was only the assault of nosy reporters; he’d neither forgiven nor forgotten the bastard who’d managed to infiltrate the care facility, and he certainly wasn’t about to subject Tyrra and Rose to a repeat.

“You have the look,” Shepard murmured, nudging him with her hip. He glanced down to find her smiling up at him. She’d gone with civilian clothing, soft green blouse and slim-fitting black trousers—no hint of Alliance blue or Admiral’s bars, nary an N7-red stripe in sight. With some reluctance, he’d followed her example, though he hadn’t been willing to forgo his visor, no matter how recognizable it made him. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, wishing for the heaviness of ablative plate.

“There’s no look,” he said.

“Oh, there’s definitely a look.” She fixed him with a look of her own, decidedly impish. It didn’t quite erase the faint shadows beneath her eyes, or the lines of strain at their corners. “It’s a bit terrifying.”

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