#I'm cold while I write this

[giggly-squiggily]

hi squiggly!! i saw you are doing sentence starters! if the fandom isn’t taken up yet, may i pls req lee!akutagawa and ler!atsushi with “i’m going to tickle you if you keep doing that”☺️

Myst! :D How are you friend? :3 You absolutely may ask for Lee!Aku this fine event! I love him so much- he is just a delight! Some Shin Soukoku tickles coming right up! :D

“I’m going to tickle you if you keep doing that.”

Akutagawa froze, the small bite of chocolate he thought he stole halfway to his lips. Atsushi hadn’t taken his eyes off the pot once, yet the small smile pulling on his lips was far too knowing for the brunette’s liking. “I just wanted one.”

“That’s your third. No- fourth. It’s you, afterall.” Damn, he knew him too well! “If you keep eating all the chocolate, we won’t have anything left for the cocoa.”

Akutagawa made a small noise of defeat as he put down his stolen treat, folding his arms with a small pout as Atsushi carried on mixing their drinks. He waited until the weretiger wasn’t looking before reaching out for one last bite.

A hand shot out, grabbing his wrist and pulling it upward. Seconds later, he was gasping and shouting as a hand latched onto his exposed ribs, drilling into them relentlessly. “Wheheretiger!”

“I warned you!” Atsushi cried back, laughing as he carried on gently tickling his boyfriend. “I warned you not to do it again, but did you listen? Nooooo!”

“Ahehahhha, dohohon’t! Whahahahit, the mihihihilk?”

“Already finished. I was pouring the cups when you decided to be a sneak!” Atsushi dived behind him, sinking both hands into his ribs as Akutagawa dropped to the floor. “Don’t worry-we have to let them cool anyway. Gives us plenty of time to teach you a lesson.”

“I dohoohohn’t neheheheheheed a leheheh-Ehehehehhehson!” Akutagawa all but fell to the ground when those hands attacked his shoulders, his laughter reaching a new pitch. “Sthahahahp, sthhahahahap I’ll behehahhahhave!”

“Promise?” Atsushi demanded playfully, relishing in Akutagawa’s screams.

“Prohohohmise! Prhohohohomise- PELAHAHHASE!” The tickles finally came to an end, leaving Akutagawa gasping for breath. Curling up on his side, he gave a small glare towards the grinning weretiger, watching Atsushi check their drinks.

“Man, you gave out earlier than I thought. These are still way too hot.” The grey haired man sighed with a shake to the head, yelping when Akutagawa grabbed his sides from behind.

“Good to know. Now we have plenty of time for revenge.”

Send me a sentence starter and I'll write a dabble for you! :D

[scificrows]

Okay, my brain refuses to think about anything other than Murderbot, so I looked at every use of the word "friend[s]" in TMBD and... created some pie charts. Normal human activities.

Some Thoughts™ I had while putting this together (under the cut):

In All Systems Red, Murderbot notes that the PresAux crew are all close friends (twice! and goes on to explain their internal relationships which I think is very cute). This is pretty much the only use of 'friends' in ASR, except for when Murderbot says that SecUnits can't be friends with each other.

It seems that this may be one of the first times Murderbot has ever really been around a group of friends before? Murderbot notes that this is not the norm for its contracts and admits that the fact that they are all friends and the way they interact with each other make it actually enjoy that contract (before!!!! the hostile attack, so it already enjoys this contract before they start seeing it as a person etc ghghhhh). [Inference: Friendship seems enjoyable.]

The first character that calls Murderbot its friend is ART in Artificial Condition. Murderbot immediately refutes this (and then goes on to call ART its friend to its clients for the rest of the book). [Inference: Maybe ART is Murderbot's friend. And maybe that is... agreeable]

Rogue Protocol has more than twice as many instances of the word 'friend' as any of the other novellas. Why? Miki. Friendship and its implications for non-humans are a central theme because Miki is friends with everyone. Murderbot initially scoffs at the notion that Miki and Miki's humans are friends. At the end of the book, after witnessing how desperately Don Abene tried to stop Miki from trying to save them, and her grief after its death, Murderbot has to admit that she had in fact been Miki's friend. [Inference: Humans can be friends with bots and can sincerely care about them]

In Exit Strategy, Murderbot tentatively uses the word "friends" for its humans for the first time (several times actually). It questions whether it can actually call them its friends or not and later realizes that it had been afraid what admitting that the humans are its friends would do to it. At the end of the book, Mensah tells Murderbot the PresAux crew are its friends, which is the first time a human has directly said that to it (at least on-page). [Inference: Humans can and want to be Murderbot's friends]

In Network Effect, Murderbot seems to be more habituated to the word 'friend', confidently calling ART and Ratthi its friends, like it is no longer just trying the concept on unsure if it fits. There are many instances in which other characters refer to MB as ART's friend or the other way around and Murderbot's humans refer to Murderbot as their friend several times. Generally, there seems to be less hesitancy, because yes, all of them are Murderbot's friends, why wouldn't they be. [Inference: SecUnits can have friends. This SecUnit has friends. They care about it a lot.]

Conclusion: The Murderbot Diaries tell the story of a construct that does not seem to consider the possibility of friendship for itself and is fine with that - until it accidentally starts caring a little too much and suddenly more and more people annex it as a friend (ew) to the point where it can no longer deny that this is happening and has to begrudgingly admit that yes, it has friends now and maybe that is actually not a bad thing.

[blueskittlesart]

cold fruit in a hot kitchen (so i had this great watermelon last weekend)

[hailsatanacab]

For the prompt ask game!

9. Sleep deprivation and/or 37. Secret Relationship and/or 40. Identity reveal/major secret reveal

(I selected a few so you can chose the one that resonates the most.)

For any DPxDC characters. <3

*emerges from a google docs, covered in blood and panting* i did it... it is done.

thank you for the prompt!! because i love a challenge, or because i can't stop myself, i went and did all of them!! for everyone!! everyone is sleep deprived and everyone is revealing secrets ^^'

Danny/Tim, mentioned Jazz/Jason

(๑•́ ₃ •̀๑) enjoy!! prompt ask game

kid napping

“Red Robin, sound off. Status?”

“All good here, Oracle. Everything okay?”

It’s been a slow night, never a good sign. Pent up energy itches under his skin and he stretches when he stands, preparing for whatever Oracle is going to throw his way. It’s going to be something, he can tell.

“Good.” Relief briefly colours her voice answers, before she becomes serious again, keys clacking away in the background. “There’s been a report from Agent A. It appears that one Timothy Drake has been kidnapped and is being ransomed for five million dollars and a helicopter. I’m tracing the call now.”

“A helicopter, too? Kidnappers these days, used to be they just wanted their money and that would be the end of it… a fucking helicopter, wow.” Red Hood scoffs, and Red Robin can’t help but join in the laughter over the comms.

“Doesn’t exactly sound like these are the brightest tools in the shed now, does it, Hood? Wonder what poor schmuck they’ve got instead.” Nightwing says, slightly out of breath. 

The smile slips off Red Robin’s face and clammy, cold dread shivers down his spine. A stone settles in his stomach. He wets his lips and clears his throat. “Oracle, can you pull up the CCTV on my apartment near WE? Any closer to tracing the call?”

“Still on the trace, they’re using a jammer. Agent A is cooperating so they should phone back soon, which will help.” she reports, falling into silence as he finds the video feed.

“You know who it is?”

“I hope not.”

It’s tense, he taps his feet on the rooftop, fingers tightening over his grapple as he fights the urge to fly off the roof and check for himself. It better not be him. Please, dear God, don’t let it not be him.

“What are you thinking, Red Robin?” Batman growls through the comms. Red Robin can hear the wind under his words, whipping fast as he no doubt makes his way over to his position.

“I had a, uh, a friend coming over tonight. From behind, he… he could be mistaken for Tim Drake.”

The jokes fall silent, the comms growing serious as they pick up on his tone.

“Well, fuck.” 

“Eloquent as always, Hood.”

“Shut up, bat-brat.”

“You were right, Red Robin, it looks like it was your… friend they caught, instead. About two hours before the call came in. I’m following their van now, I should have the destination soon. In the meantime, it looks like they’re heading towards the docks.”

Red Robin throws himself off the building, shooting his grapple as low as he dares to get the fastest swing he can. 

They have Danny. 

Worry gnaws at his gut even as gravity pulls it into his throat with another swing.

Danny is… And Red Robin means this in the nicest way possible, but Danny is fragile. They haven’t talked about it, but RR knows that Danny has health problems. Something plaguing him since he was young, that’s landed him in the hospital more than once. A weak heart, far too slow to be normal, possibly chronic fatigue—he’s always so tired, falling asleep anywhere he can.

Sometimes, he doesn’t even need to put his head down. Once, when they had gone to the corner store to get some popcorn to enjoy their movie (which Danny had explicitly and repeatedly promised he wouldn’t snore through this time), Danny had rested his head on Tim’s shoulder while they were waiting and he’d just… gone. On his feet, asleep, just like that.

He’d laughed, when Tim woke him up. Apologised. Said Tim made him feel safe enough to fall asleep just about anywhere and—

Red Robin grits his teeth and corrects his course as Oracle updates them with more precise coordinates.

Tim had carried him home that night, piggy-back for four blocks, but by the end of it, he wasn’t tired at all. And that’s another thing, Danny’s just so light. It’s concerning.

They never did watch that movie, but it’s a night that Tim can’t help remembering fondly all the same. They’d ended up rewatching some old sitcom that Danny’s seen countless times but Tim’s never really bothered with, Danny drifting off to sleep again and Tim eventually following him, because… sleep is easy with Danny.

It’s the same for him, he thinks. He can’t explain it, but he feels safe enough to sleep with Danny, too.

He needs to be alright.

“So… Is this friend just a friend? Or a friend friend?” 

“A friend, Nightwing. Now hurry up.”

He’s not in the mood to play these games, not now. There’s a reason why none of them know about Danny, and this is one of them. His family, as much as he loves them, are just too damn nosey for their own good.

“You know that doesn’t answer my question at all.”

“Then why don’t you ask something intelligible, rather than continue with your childish antics?” Robin snarks, and for once, Red Robin has to agree with him. Or, rather, he’s grateful for the distraction that it gives him.

Tim has secrets. He’s sure that Danny does, too, and so far—aside from the standard background check he always runs on new friends and friend friends alike—he’s done very well to respect them. He just can’t say that his family would do the same.

They can be overwhelming, to say the least, and Tim has tried his best to protect Danny from that.

Only to fail to protect him in every other way that it counts.

“How long have you guys been ‘friends’?”

“Nightwing, save it, please.”

“What’s his name?”

He ignores him.

Red Robin lands on the building first, thank goodness. He wastes no time in finding a skylight that can be pried open fairly quietly, slipping inside without a second thought.

“Wait for backup, Red Robin, that is an order!” Batman says, when he lets them know he’s in.

“Negative, Batman. I’m getting him back.”

“Red Robin!”

He weaves silently through the desks on the second floor of the warehouse, always moving, always keeping a trained eye on the shadows around him.

When he reaches the stairs, he hears voices.

“Looks like three of them, armed. The-the hostage is tied to a chair in the middle of the room, he…” Red Robin takes a steadying breath. The person has a burlap sack over their head is slumped to the side, from where he is, Red Robin can’t see if his chest is moving. There’s blood on the floor. “He needs medical assistance. Another two on the northside entrance.”

The comms explode in admonitions, everyone pleading with him to stay where he is, to wait for help, but fuck that. With a tap, he switches them off and he can finally, just about make out the words of the kidnappers as he creeps down the first few steps.

“—shouldn’t he have woken up by now?”

“I don’t know, man, you’re the one that hit him! Do you think he’s—”

“No! I didn’t even hit him that hard, I swear!” the man cries, holding his hands up in surrender. “I just couldn’t take any more of his stupid jokes!”

If there was any doubt in Red Robin’s mind that they picked up Danny by mistake, it’s gone now. Yeah. If you get Danny, you get his stupid jokes, too.

He creeps closer. 

There’s some storage crates between him and Danny, if he can get behind there without being seen then that leaves him in a good position for when whoever’s next in takes out the guys at the front. He can’t do anything without them gone first, not without risking them taking shots inside and endangering Danny.

The man that hit Danny circles round behind him and grabs at his hands.

“What are you even doing, Pat? Who gives a shit, leave him alone.”

“I’m just checking! I just gotta see!”

“Fuck’s sake, guys, who cares? We just gotta get our money, that’s it—”

“And our helicopter!”

“And our—”

“Shit, I can’t find a pulse! Shit, Frank, I killed him, I—”

Jason told him once that when the Pits overtook him, he used to see green. Instead of blacking out, he’d be swimming in that putrid Lazarus colour and he’d slip into that rage and bad things would happen.

He’s heard of people seeing red, too, but really, he thinks that’s more of a literary device.

Tim doesn’t see anything aside from his targets.

A barrage of birdarangs take the guns from the guys at the front, the three around Danny startling badly enough that the guy that kil—that’s behind Danny—stumbles, losing his footing.

Only one of them shoots.

Amateurs. 

There’s a round of curses on the comms as the shots come through. Oracle must have turned them back on.

“Fucking hell—Nightwing and I are at the front, Red Robin, don’t worry about them.”

Red Robin’s barely listening.

He spins, kicking the largest guy in the stomach hard enough so that he doubles over, wheezing. Following through the movement, another kick lands on the side of his head and he’s down. 

The second one, Frank, gets his wits about him and raises his gun, spraying wildly. He’s a shit shot, going wide in panic, and Red Robin simply ducks and rushes forward, keeping low. Tackling the guy, he grabs the gun off of him and uses it to smash him across the face, once, twice, three times, before he stops moving.

“Oracle, get police and paramedics on scene, now.” Batman says, the displeasure in his voice evident. “Red Robin, Robin and I are coming in from the top.”

Pat hasn’t even made it up off the floor yet, scrambling backwards, fear plain on his face. 

Red Robin stands, breathing heavily, gun still in hand.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I swear I didn’t mean to do it! Please—please, don’t, please!”

Red Robin doesn’t kill.

Well, no, Red Robin doesn’t normally kill.

No, that’s not quite right, either.

Red Robin has killed. Red Robin will more than likely kill again. Red Robin sees no problem with killing.

The gun is up, pointing towards the guy without any real thought about it.

Footsteps rush behind him, the familiar heavy footfalls of Batman and Robin, so he doesn’t bother turning around. The gun follows the guy as he keeps pulling himself backwards, snot and tears mingling down his face.

“Red Robin,” Batman says, softly.

It’s always weird hearing Batman’s voice like that. It’s not the first time, obviously—Batman can’t use his scary intimidating voice on victims or children, after all—but having it used on him is weird. 

“Breathe.”

“He’s dead. They killed him.”

If hearing Batman’s voice was weird, Red Robin can’t even recognise his own.

Distantly, he realises he’s dissociating. There’s a tightness in his chest, it’s hard to breathe, a growing buzz drowns out any noise in his ears and he can’t think, he can’t—

A heavy hand squeezes his shoulder, jolting him out of his thoughts. Batman reaches around and gently removes the gun from his grip, and Tim feels the instant loss of it. He should have done it, why hadn’t he done it?

Robin takes care of the last man, his crying cut off by a swift kick to the head. Nightwing and Red Hood join them, zip-tying the men on the floor and starting to drag them back to the entrance of the warehouse one by one.

No one says a word.

Shrugging off Batman’s hand, Tim moves towards the chair.

Shaking, he takes a deep breath and removes the sack. The small part of him that was left hoping it wasn’t him, it couldn’t be him, please dear God let it not be him, shatters.

Even dead, he looks peaceful.

Tim’s seen death. He’s no stranger to it, he’s seen what it can do to a person. There’s some blood coagulating over his eyebrows, but otherwise, he looks peaceful. Is that comforting? That he didn’t suffer?

Danny’s head lolls to the side as the sack comes completely away, his hair flopping over his eyes. Tim’s been on at him to get a haircut lately, he thinks it’ll be nice tidied up a bit, just on the sides. It’ll get rid of that permanent bedhead. Help him with job interviews, he’s got to be thinking about that now that he’s in his last year of college.

It’s about the only thing that’ll hold him back, Tim thinks. Danny’s brilliant. Any employer would be a fool to turn him down because of his shaggy hair, but employers are stupid so it makes sense to put your best foot forward and—

Tim falls to his knees.

Fuck.

He’s dead, he’s really—Danny’s skin is horribly pale, cold to the touch. Gone is his bright, cheerful smile. 

“Danny, I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry, I—” 

He stops himself with a deep, shuddering breath. He can’t break down here, he can’t, he can’t, he can’t.

Instead, he tips forward to rest his head in Danny’s lap, arms curling around himself. They were too late. They got here as fast as they could and they were too late.

 “Danny, I’m so sorry…” he whispers. “I… I love you, I love you, I’m sorry.”

Dimly, he can feel the others standing around them. Someone crouches down beside him, resting a comforting arm over his back, but he doesn’t turn his head to see who it is. He squeezes his grip on Danny’s legs tighter.

“Come on, baby bird. Let’s—”

They’re interrupted by a huge, honking snore as Danny jerks himself awake.

Tim’s head snaps up, staring at Danny with wide eyes.

“You were asleep?” Red Robin springs up, several different emotions rapidly flip flopping through him.

“Wha… What?” Danny heaves a yawn, blinking blearily down at him. “Sorry, I’m just… they were shit kidnappers, man, really boring. Honestly, worst abduction yet.”

“You were asleep? I thought you were dead!”

“Not mutually exlusive, you know.” Danny says through another yawn. He rolls his neck around with an almighty crack and glances at everyone. “Didn’t think I’d warrant the whole Bat brigade, though…”

“The kidnappers thought they had Tim Drake.” Batman supplies, while Red Robin tries to work through the emotional whiplash.

“Ah, makes sense… wait.” Danny sits up suddenly, squinting at Red Robin. “Did you say you loved me?”

“No, of course not, why would I—”

“Tim? Is that—are you—are you Red Robin?”

“Everyone, hold the fuck up!” Red Hood shouts from the other side of the warehouse, having finished securing the perps to a streetlight outside. “Double R is dating Danny fucking Nightingale?”

Well, there goes his identity… Oh, who’s he kidding, Danny’s smart. There’s no way he could have salvaged that. This was not how he thought the night was going to go.

“Cranberry, is that you?” Danny twists in his chair, somehow delighted to see Red Hood rescuing him, too. “I thought I smelled you lurking about!”

“Shut it, you little shit. Since when were you dating this dweeb?”

“I’m sorry,” Red Robin pleads, hands in the air to try and slow down the onslaught of information and insults, “you two know each other?”

“Cranberry?” Nightwing echoes, looking as lost as Red Robin feels.

“Yeah, Cranberry—The Cranberries—zombie, zombie, zombie-ie-ie. Obviously. Also he’s wearing a big, fuck off red helmet.”

“Yeah, sure, makes sense.”

It’s about the only thing that does.

“And please don’t call my boyfriend a dweeb, Cranberry. Especially when he just said he loves me for the first time.”

“He only said it because he thought you were dead.”

“I am dead, so it counts.”

“Only half, so I’d say that puts you at a solid ‘like’. Tim’s—and savour this, Tim, because I’m only going to say it once—Tim’s intelligent, so I’m sure he’ll come to his senses soon.”

Danny just throws Red Hood such a shit-eating grin. A level of feral that Tim’s only seen before in Damian. 

“That’s what I used to say about Jazz, too.”

Hood scoffs in offence, and to be honest, Tim’s not sure where he should go from here. What the hell is happening, how do they know each other?

“Come on, is anyone going to untie me or am I really meeting your family mafia-style?”

“Do it yourself, Slimer.” Red Hood laughs, crossing his arms.

“Ugh, you suck so much. I’ll fucking slime you, just you wait. Can’t believe Jazz even likes you, I preferred it when she was dating Johnny.”

And then, without Danny doing anything other than muttering obscenities at Red Hood, the ropes fall to the ground. In one swift motion, Danny stands up and stretches himself to his full height of 5’6.

“All of you need to explain, now.” commands Batman, and honestly, Red Robin’s very much on his side of it.

“I can’t believe it… Jason and Timmy are both in secret relationships? That’s… How come no one told me?” Poor Nightwing sounds the most shocked out of all of them. He turns to Damian and clasps onto both of his shoulders. “You’re not secretly dating, are you, D? Please tell me you’re not, please tell me you’re single, please?”

Of course, Robin just clicks his tongue and pushes his hands away. Really, Red Robin doesn’t think that Nightwing’s in any danger of that happening, he’d be surprised if anyone could stand Robin enough to actually date him.

He shakes his head and turns to Danny, who’s staring right back at him, worry clear on his face.

Fuck, he... He's alive. He's really alive.

Tim pulls him into a bone-crushing hug, fingers buried deep in his NASA shirt. Tucking his face into the crook of Danny's shoulder, he laughs wetly with the joy of it. He's alive. He hasn't lost him. He's safe.

“I’m sorry I haven’t told you before now, starshine, but…” Danny breaks the hug and softly pulls away from him to rise on his tiptoes to place a kiss his cheek. The skin burns cold where his lips touch. “I love you, too. Also, you’re gonna wanna sit down. This is going to be a lot.”

[shoshiwrites]

"gamble" or "quiet"? kissing out where nobody can catch them? - for Jo & Egan, of course, because I live the life of an enabler handing you another juicebox 🧃

You are the best, Killy, and thank you to you and @mercurygray for helping me break my little sick-time writer's block ♡ Bucky Egan/War correspondent OC, also on Ao3!

close to you

She’d gone with Kay back to London for a few days. Enough time to catch herself up, wire the stories she hadn’t already, knock her head against the wall a few more times over what did and didn’t go through. The damn blue slashes. Black ones too. Hell, a woman at the corner newsstand had showed Jo a letter from a boyfriend, cut into the RAF’s version of a paper snowflake. It fluttered strangely in the humid breeze, in the young woman’s hand. 

She’d seen Bill March’s broken arm, sustained in some manner during an air raid, though the correspondent still had his usual cheerful smile for her, and the pallbearers carrying a distant cousin of Kay’s out of the church in Marylebone, all of twenty when his ship had been torpedoed off the coast of Italy.

She’d gotten back to Thorpe Abbotts on a Friday afternoon, the air still soupy, her suitcase with a half-broken latch and her bitten nails, a growing hole in her last pair of stockings.

It wasn’t raining. Maybe that counted for something.

Trousers then, and maybe she was optimistic, thinking she felt the air cooling a bit around her. There were small scraps of blue sky, like she’d found them in the bottom of her mother’s rag bin. Calico up in the firmament.

The coffee’s warm, if bitter, she hardly pays attention to that now. A few Clubmobile women cleaning trays in the kitchen take pity on her and sneak her a donut. She dips, sloshes, remembers the good old days of milk and cream, and wanders back outside, wondering if she’d made a mistake in coming here straight from London. Her room is still hers in Norwich. Mrs. Fitzgerald had made sure she knew that. It’s a kindness she doesn’t quite have the words for. 

She’ll stay in the Clubmobile quarters tonight, on the extra cot. She’d left a book in Crosby’s care last week and he’d returned it to Tatty Spaatz, a piece of stationery stuck in the middle with neat, if hurried, observations. His handwriting reminds her of Evie’s, the block print of a planner.

“Major Egan will be happy to hear you’re back,” Tatty says, and there’s almost a smile playing at the corner of her mouth, her lipstick the color of red wine.

Jo hardly keeps stone-faced, a little scrunch somewhere between a question and an acknowledgement, distaste and curiosity. “I haven’t seen him,” she says.

They yawn, the seconds between the conversation outside and when he’s walking, seeing her, redirecting his path. His eyes look like he’s been squinting in low light, the mask-marks raw across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. He’d come out of his office. Post-mission administration, she thinks. Letters home. He writes them longhand, someone had told her. He’s never spoken about it. She’s never asked him.

And she’s not sure happy is the word she’d use, right now. But Tatty knows what she said. Happy is on the ground. A girl smiling at you. The smell of her hair, clean. 

The question comes on an exhale, the tie loosened around his neck. “You wanna go for a walk?”

It feels faintly ridiculous, the way she’s not used to being asked. And it’s faintly ridiculous too, the way propriety and a respectful difference between his boots and her lace-up shoes becomes a sneak-around, a glancing journey to the far edge of the airfield, the side of an outbuilding backed by trees. 

Maybe he wants something else, she thinks. Another jigger of whiskey, playing cards on the table, chips or dice or jacks. Someone else. Someone who lets him forget.

He kisses her before they’ve even stopped moving, as she rounds the corner in the half-tall grass. 

She hasn’t snuck around like this in — god — she can’t remember. Years. 

She can’t remember the last time she’s been kissed like this. A sunlit kitchen, softer. Before the leather interiors of fancy cars and class rings. She never thought it could be dressed like this, callused hands and muscle. The flutter of tiny wings falls still. A fly buzzes around their ankles; she can hear it between the sounds of his mouth, breath hot between them.

She can feel that little swatch of damp at the small of her back, the feeling of her hipbones beneath the wool of her trousers. He breaks away to kiss the side of her mouth, the short hairs of his mustache brushing her upper lip. 

John, she wants to say, but maybe she can help it, the desperate act of naming him. It all sticks in her throat, like a glob of too-soft caramel. Hardening. John, John, John. “Afternoon, Major.” 

He looks like he’s trying to decide something, kisses her again by her nose while he does. She’ll do the same if he’ll let her, the cuts of the oxygen mask and the freckles she can see in the light. “Afternoon, Captain.”

[bumblingbabooshka]

Thinking about Vulcans prizing “calm” over “happiness”. 

Like how humans look back on their childhood and remember how happy it was - joyful days spent running around in the sun, getting into a bit of trouble, laughing with peers and family - that’s how they know it was a good one. Meanwhile Vulcans might look back on their childhood and remember how peaceful it was. Quiet days spent studying, the warm glow of candlelit lessons in caves, getting along smoothly with ones peers - that’s how they know it was a good one. Humans typically chose their friends and romantic partners based on if this person makes them feel happy above all. The question of “Do you like being with them?” is interpreted to mean “Does being with them make you feel happy?” But since Vulcans don’t experience (or strive for) happiness there would have to be some other parameter. So I was thinking about like, what is a good relationship to a Vulcan? There’s obviously a big emphasis on ‘togetherness’ in Vulcan unions. The Pon Farr ritual Tuvok does with his [hologram] wife involves them committing to becoming “Two bodies one mind” and it’s stated that they give and receive from each other all that they are. There’s also of course the iconic “Never and always touching and touched”. This is all (as was said during T’Pol & Koss’ wedding) “The Vulcan heart, the Vulcan soul, this is our way.” Vulcans are also (ENT) expected to live together for at least a year after being married - I imagine so that they can bond with and get to know one another. In SNW T’Pring wants for Spock to honor the commitments he makes to her so in that case T’Pring values Spock keeping his word to her and placing her above other things. I see a bit of Tuvok in that, where he prizes his commitment to T’Pel over anything else to the point where he’d nearly rather die than break it: (Even though he eventually agrees to having sex with a hologram it MUST be of his wife and he lets Tom/The Audience know that he will NOT be making a habit of it. There’s no ironclad logical reason for him to react this way as a hologram is not a person but his commitment to T’Pel seems to take precedence and I believe that’s his reasoning. His bond with T’Pel is logical, sustaining and important to him and he’s loath to break it over some bodily need. some desire that will pass even if it kills him.) <- By this way of thinking, betraying T’Pel would be the emotional choice while remaining loyal to her is remaining loyal to his logical self. A strong emphasis on loyalty to one’s mate seems to be a common Vulcan trait. In the beginning this seems to be rooted in tradition but later on its probably assumed that the couple will be loyal to one another out of some sort of actual connection between two people as opposed to pure obligation. In ENT T’Pol says that a certain degree of “affection” is eventually expected to happen within a marriage (though the way she says it makes me think this doesn’t always occur and isn’t necessarily The Goal) and her mother says that she and her husband developed a “deep connection” to one another. All this makes me think that a connection and a sense of ‘togetherness’ or ‘compatibility’ would also be prized over more emotional things like a passion for one another. It’s a partnership above all and that would be prized over a romantic union.  It makes me think of Vulcans’ roots in violence and war. Maybe this commitment to a steady togetherness, two people who don’t know each other being able to work together so seamlessly they nearly become one, is a way to show they’ve moved beyond that despite the pon farr remaining. Vulcans are a naturally very emotional species. Someone who incites that would probably not be seen as someone you should spend your time with. Someone who makes your heart pound, sets you ablaze, fills you with passion - that sounds like a bad Vulcan time v_v  Tuvok says as much when he talks about how he was struck with “shon-ha’lock”. Humans wouldn’t see anything wrong with having a crush on someone (and indeed in that episode Tom only comes to the conclusion that it’s a shame Tuvok couldn’t act on these emotions) but it’s obvious that even a teenaged crush when uncontrolled can become a very big problem to a Vulcan. In one of the Star Trek Novels Tuvok even stops being friends with and talking to a girl because she tearfully admits she has feelings for him and he sees that her feelings for him cause her pain.  Instead of thinking “Oh, she really likes me, good! We’re close friends so maybe we can make this work.” or even “I don’t like her romantically but since we’re close friends we can work through it.”  Tuvok thinks “Oh, she really likes me. That must be causing her to become very emotional and I can see she’s clearly upset. I’ll remove myself from her life so my presence doesn’t incite those emotions anymore.” And while him flat out just cutting himself out of her life might seem weird and kind of cruel and a frankly hilarious reaction to someone confessing their love to you - I also think it’s something he thought of as a kindness. If his presence harms her (stirs up emotions in her) then he will remove himself to keep from harming her. Along that vein, calmness or the absence of strong emotions would be a good relationship and one worth staying in. Not that there can’t be any emotions (Tuvok and T’Les obviously care[d] deeply for their respective spouses) but that they must be controllable and able to be cast aside in the face of logic.  I also think that “knowing” the other person would be considered very important (after marriage of course). If you’re to operate as a partnership, a team, and especially if you’re both telepaths you should be able to know your spouse pretty damn well. I see T’Pring attempt to do this in SNW where she is constantly fighting to get to know Spock which Spock self-consciously discourages since he’s been told/shown that his human side is unappealing to Vulcans.  But yeah man idk...just picturing a Vulcan and a human talking for hours...walking along the beach...sleeping side by side...getting to know one another...and at the end of it all one says “You make me feel happy” and the other says “Your presence calms me” and it means, essentially, the same thing.

[ominous-auburn-orbs]

Yo can you do a oneshot with your human AU where Caine and Kinger are out n about in a cold place and Caine is freezing, but Kinger is one if those people who is just always really warm so Caine just clings onto him to get warmer?

You bet I can, buster!!

You can even have a little bit of Caine angst sprinkled in because if I write literally anything where he doesn't feel emotional turmoil I will simply explode.

Kinger and Caine were out buying groceries. It was winter and everything was freezing, much to Caine's displeasure. Since he'd never experienced any changes in temperature before, weather was pretty horrible for him. He already had on multiple coats, a beanie, two scarves and gloves, yet he still felt the winter air penetrate deep into his bones.

Kinger wasn't having nearly as much trouble. While, yes, the troop had also gone a while without weather, that was more of a psychological adjustment than anything. Their bodies were still more than used to drastic changes in temperature. He was naturally warm, anyway, so he was at an advantage in this particular situation.

The two had just finished getting what they needed and were walking home. Kinger's eyes eventually drifted down to Caine's shivering body. He was holding the bag of groceries tight to his body, as if it might make him warmer.

"Honey, are you still cold? You have so many layers on, it's a miracle you can feel anything through it... I mean, a bad miracle, in this case."

The ringmaster looked to the floor, embarrassed. He didn't want Kinger to worry about him, he already relied on him for too much. He should be stronger than this anyway. Kinger must think he was weak. Useless. And to think he used to be a God, for the most part.

"Caine? I'm sorry, did I word that wrong? If you're cold, you can have my jacket, too."

"Oh goodness no, my love, you mustn't! You need your jacket, you're only wearing the one, after all." He took a deep breath and calmed his voice. He was always a bit too loud when he didn't need to be. "You didn't do anything wrong, I just... overthink a bit too much."

"Hm, alright. If you do need anything, tell me." Kinger placed a hand on Caine's head and affectionately ruffled his hair through the beanie. It felt like he was talking about more than the jacket.

Caine could feel the warmth emanating off of Kinger from the touch, leaving him even colder than before when the man put his hand back to his side. After only a few moments, Caine started to miss the warmth too much to not do anything, so he grabbed onto Kinger's hand and interlocked their fingers, shifting the groceries to his other hand. Kinger glanced down and smiled before aiming his eyes ahead again.

Over the course of their walk back to their apartment, Caine got closer and closer to Kinger, clinging to his arm like a koala to a tree by the time they got home. The pair walked through the door and set down the groceries on the kitchen bench. Kinger held Caine's now far less cold body close.

"So, I take it you like using me as a portable heater?"

"It's very convenient, although I simply can't understand how you can be so warm in weather like this." The ringmaster removed his gloves to touch Kinger's hands properly with his own, making the other man jolt.

"Ah!- your hands are very, very cold!" Both of them laughed, hugging again. "I guess I just got lucky, when it comes to being warm. Well, less so in summer, but you are right about it being convenient. Also, it's cute when you cling onto me like that."

Caine buried his face in Kinger's coat. "I have to keep myself from getting hypothermia somehow. And I like hugging you."

Kinger smiled as Caine nuzzled deeper into his chest. "Believe me, I can tell."

[seraphic-sibyl]

I should have been born a frog. I should have been born a frog. I should have been born a frog. I should have been born a frog. I should have been born a frog. I should have been born a frog. I should have been

[astraphone]

if you give it a name, then it’s already won

1.5k, blackwall/cadash. after the breach is sealed, the man who calls himself blackwall shares a moment and a dance with the herald of andraste.

Hours before it is lost, there is dancing in Haven.

Blackwall isn’t with the Herald as she and the mages close the Breach, but even down in the village it’s obvious the moment she succeeds. With a blaze of light and energy, the sky stitches itself back together before his very eyes. For the first time in months, the green, angry menace above settles. Scarred, still, a reminder of what happened here, but quiet at last.

The villagers have already begun drinking by the time the Herald returns from the temple. A wild cheer erupts at her approach, and though Blackwall intends to congratulate her, he quickly loses sight of her in a gaggle of admirers. Probably for the best, that. Tonight is for her, and she hardly needs him interrupting her festivities.

That thought leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, and he hurries to find himself a drink before he can dwell too much on things that aren’t for him. Today was a victory, for the Inquisition and for the world. He’ll focus on that, not on the way he’s itching to find the Herald in the crowd, to see her grin up at him when their eyes meet, to run his hands over her and—

Well. So much for not dwelling on it.

The fact of the matter is, they’ve been... flirting. He’s almost certain she isn’t serious; she flirts with him like it’s a light-hearted reflex, just part of her charm, and he should know better than to respond in kind. Easier said than done, though, when their banter comes so easily, when she smirks when she catches him watching her, when he hears her laugh as they take down demons together, all exhilarated adrenaline.

He’s not courting her. He hardly knows her, really, and he does know full-well how unworthy he is of even attempting such a thing. But it’s a pleasant fantasy to indulge in from time to time, that a woman like her might see something in him, of all people. 

“There you are.”

Blackwall just about jumps out of his skin. As if summoned by his thoughts of her, the Herald of Andraste herself stands at his side. She’s changed out of her armor into casual clothes, carrying a drink in one hand and a half-eaten plate of food in the other. Her face is still smudged with what must be soot from the Temple, and he pushes down the urge to reach out and wipe it off for her. She looks tired, he thinks.

“I haven’t seen you all night,” she says. “Was starting to think you’re avoiding me.”

“Never, my lady,” he manages once he finds his tongue. “Are you enjoying the festivities?”

“Sure, as long as they keep the ale flowing.”

The mug in her hand looks nearly untouched, but he decides against pointing that out.

“I believe congratulations are in order,” he says instead. “You did a great thing tonight.”

She smiles, but there's something almost sad about it—and when did he become so good at reading her expressions? “My hand did, you mean. And the mages.” She seems to catch herself, looking inexplicably annoyed for a moment before continuing. “But—you’re right. We did good.” 

“Are you alright?” He ventures.

“Sure as stone. Why?”

“I suppose I expected you to be celebrating. You did, after all, just accomplish what we’ve all been hoping for.”

“I know that,” she snaps, then sighs. “Sorry. Just tired.”

“You don’t have to talk to me," he says slowly. "But I will listen, if you do.” 

She looks at him for a moment, as if deciding whether she wants to say anything, then seems to come to a decision. “I’m fine. Just thinking about what happens next, now that I’ve done my part.”

“I’m no expert, but I don’t get the impression that this whole mess is over. Do you?”

“No. But they brought me in to close the Breach. Half the Chantry still wants me in chains, and I’m fairly certain the Carta will tell me to sod right off if I go crawling back, so…” She grimaces. "It's Inquisition or dust for me, I think. I just hope I still have a job now my bit's done."

"The Inquisition would be mad to let the Herald of Andraste go. And regardless, surely you realize you're far more to these people that just your mark."

She glances down at the mark in question, still sparking with light underneath the leather glove she wears. "Still hard to believe sometimes. All this for someone like me." "Breach or no, the people still need you. The Inquisition still needs you." And then, because he's been drinking and he's feeling rather bold, he adds, "And, for what it's worth, I still want you. Here, I mean. I still want you here, helping."

She raises one scarred eyebrow at him, pointedly enough that he feels himself blush. "Right."

He'll gladly put his foot in his mouth a thousand times, if it brings back that little half-grin of hers. Seeing a ghost of it now, he gestures out towards the gathered crowd of dancers. “Come on. Tonight is for you; it would be a shame if you didn't enjoy it."

The Herald snorts, a surprised and undignified thing that makes him grin. “What, you want to dance? I've been told I have two left feet, you know."

"I'll be the judge of that, my lady. If you'll allow me."

"Oh, fuck it." She tips her mug back and downs her drink with impressive speed for someone her size.  "Lead the way."

He extends a hand to her and she takes it with a smirk. This is foolish, he knows; just about all of Haven is out here tonight, and people will talk. She hardly needs that kind of rumor on her plate. But once her hand is in his, he’ll be damned if he lets go.

With a half-bow towards her, he leads her into a dance. He’s never danced with a dwarf before, and has to adjust a bit for her height, but it’s easy to get used to her. As though all that time spent twirling around ridiculous Orlesian ballrooms a lifetime ago was merely a lead-up to her.   

Despite her initial protests, the Herald is a fast learner, and soon she’s laughing breathlessly as he spins her. He finds that he doesn’t care about the people watching, the whispers that will surely come, the voice in the back of his head telling him he doesn't deserve this; in this moment, she's the only thing that matters.

The dance is over too soon, and as they come to a halt they're both smiling like a pair of fools.

"How'd I do?" The melancholy of a few moments earlier is vanished from her face now, her eyes bright and shining with mirth.

"You're a natural, Lady Cadash." Caught up in the moment, acting more on instinct than anything else, he catches one of her hands in his and presses it to his lips.

Too far. He knows it instantly, as her eyes snap up to meet his, open wide with surprise. He drops her hand and takes a hasty step backwards, but she follows, so close they’re nearly pressed against each other. It would be damnably easy to do something unwise in this moment. She’s closed most of the distance herself; all he has to do is lean down and brush his lips against hers.

No. He shakes his head to help clear it, although he can't quite bring himself to move away again. “I—I forget myself.”

The Herald's voice is low, meant just for him. “I think I like it when you forget yourself, Warden Blackwall.”

The moment is broken with the sound of that name. He’s long-since gotten used to it, thinks of it more than he thinks of the name he was born with, and on most days hearing it reminds him of the sort of man he wants to be. Tonight, it’s a reminder of why he shouldn’t be doing this. The Herald of Andraste, this remarkable woman with the world at her feet, deserves far better than a lying, murderous fraud.

He takes another step back, and this time she doesn't follow. "I'm sorry,” he mutters.

He thinks he might see disappointment flash briefly on her face, but she only shrugs. “Don’t apologize. This was the best part of my night.”

“Given what you’ve accomplished tonight, perhaps you need to reevaluate your priorities, my lady.”

He means to say it lightheartedly, but he must have struck a nerve, judging by the way her eyes narrow. "Perhaps you need to figure out what you want, Warden," she says sharply. "Come find me if you do."

She stalks off, and he watches her go. She's joined by Cassandra a moment later, and he turns away.

Maker, he’d wanted to kiss her. He almost had kissed her, and she’d looked at him like she’d wanted him to. She's wrong; he knows exactly what he wants, he's just desperately fighting a losing battle against it. 

When the alarm bell starts ringing, it's almost a relief.

[cattewife]

(nsft/tmi perhaps?)

truly a joke the way u can be sitting down to figure out what you're getting off to today like flipping thru a scenario book showing each one to ur clit like "is this it? is this what gets you excited, girl?"

and it's like. no, we aren't feeling the one where he has a desperate stifled allergy attack in the office he's trying to hide. nah, the messy dramatic overwhelming sick sneezes scenario is not for today. i know we were really into that yesterday but we'll revisit those again later. hmm. sitting with the cat he's allergic to on his lap and just continuing activities while sneezing uncontrollably. yes. play reel.

[kithj]

Hey sorry for more talking, but since the conversation was happening about gender stuff, reminded me about my own and thought, "hm Kit would probably appreciate hearing this". So, wanted to say that you've helped me further figure out my own gender shit, like categorically have helped me a lot there. When Blood Choke first dropped I was still IDing as soft butch (and not as a gender), but that plus more specifically Lea have helped me figure out I'm genuinely butch (gender). Lea, you locking them in a way, was a huge huge help for me, particularly the partial transition (? dunno better wording) she/her Lea has. Had been stressing a ton at the time about my hormone levels, T specifically, and even crying because I know I couldn't do injections which would help keep it low without an antiandrogen, but seeing the idea of what Lea did, yeah if I didn't make my own T I would absolutely do that it sounds great. So, like has helped me further refine my identity, get more comfortable with my hormone levels and body (at least in some ways; now I have the unfortunate opposite worries about not being masc enough 🙃), and has just been a big help and made me understand myself and my butchness a lot better. Sorry if this is unwanted and TMI and so on, but wanted to say in hopes that it would make you happy to hear, that you've helped, with your characters and lesbian gender posts on the Blood Choke blog, a butch work through its imposter syndrome and shit :)

this is lovely to hear 🥺💕reasons like this are exactly why i chose to keep Lea written that way (there are a lot of butches out there that do exactly what she did, and there are others that continuously take T just because they want to and like it) and also why i eventually gravitated towards a project like Blood Choke.

it took me a long time to kind of "settle" in my butch identity as well, and it wasn't until i started reading older lesbian literature, where butchness is actually openly discussed and celebrated, that i really had that moment of realization. i wish i could read more, especially about transfem butches, but a lot of that stuff is just not easy to access, being out of print, never been digitized, etc etc.

the most well-known piece is probably Xanthra Philippa's "Don't call me mister, 'Cause I'm a TS Butch" from gendertrash from hell, in 1995.

i do think for a lot of people there's that initial hurdle of thinking butch = aesthetic, rather than an actual identity, which leads people to thinking they can't be butch, that they're not "allowed" because they don't look a certain way (aka skinny and white and perfectly androgynous at all times). and with trans women and transfems specifically, there's also this expectation for you to be highly feminine and to conform to cishetero ideals when you transition, and that pressure confines you into a very small box that, imo, takes a lot of courage to finally step out of.

i hope that in the future there will be more of us writing and being loud and visible for other people to see and realize they can be butch too :-)

[idk-i-want-mcl-content]

in other news, i was waiting in line to buy a subway and started thinking about mcl again (as one does) and I ended up thinking more about how my candy and Jason would interact, and TLDR: it gave me an idea: What if I make my Candy to appear as if, at the start, she would have been a better fit for Goldreamz? Like she acts really cold in a profesional setting because of her bad experiences at EPMC but eventually, she ends up warming up to her coworkers. read below if you'll like to see my candy and her intj shenanigans.

As the player, I find Jason to be a really interesting and entertaining character, I think he's really charming, but if I met him? hell nah, leave me alone Mendal. So, I thought, what about my Candy being annoyed/indifferent at best to him and literally just. completely ignoring him at worst? I imagine the reason why she left EPMC was not because she was dating her boss (for my purposes I'm abandoning that storyline but it's cool) but because her colleagues were extremely unfair to her, and it was not necessarily the work that was exhausting her but more so having to deal with the people around her. I think she has deal plenty with people similar to Jason, in the form of egotistical people who think they are above everyone and if you don't agree then you are a fool. And because of that, when Jason attempts at the start to try and make her play games she's just straight up not buying it. When they met in ep 2 I think she would be polite to him, maybe even thinking that he's going to be a competent competitor BUT the moment he starts bickering with Devon and Roy she would be like no thanks <3 and would resort to appear indifferent to Devon and Roy about the matter, which might not be the best and for Jason, well you know him he wants to get in your mind as quick as possible. But, just because she appears like that doesn't mean her blood isn't boiling and she's just holding herself back to tell Jason to stfu. I think she would tell him to stop interrupting the client and would put emphasis on "we came here for the client, not for you" and of course, Jason would tease as he does in the game telling her "oh, so you are the one in charge now? you should tell the same to your coworkers then, it seems Roy didn't get that memo" (or something like that, I'm not Jason but yk) and Roy wouldn't appreciate that, to say the least. After that, when Jason tells her at the end how sorry he is that he's going to steal this project from them, she'll simply tell him results will tell and I think this indifference is what can make Jason feel annoyed lol. When the event is done and Jason CONTINUES to tell them that their project was not good enough, I'll like for her to tell him something similar to the game. In ep 3 she sees Jason at the mall but just walks past him lol and in ep 4 I think i'm going to make her be like dude, I don't think it's our bussiness to know who Jason sleeps with yk, which will spark a little debate between her and Thomas (he's her crush but they aren't interested in each other at this point, but they are in good terms) AND i think, if Jason hears her and then he continues talking, if it's canon that he gets her phone number, he definitely would start to imply for her to change companies again. And Brune saying "oh wow, what a coincidence that now that she's here, Jason is too. Almost as if he's following her" would NOT help her ass💀💀💀 I think Amanda would be more suspicious of her, and both have a little bit of a strained relationship as coworkers (for now) sooo yk, it's almost as if my candy's on thin ice from the start lol then for ep 5 i feel like they would meet a different side of her (if I end up sticking her in the same position as the canon Candy, which idk, i would like for her to either work on graphic design OR on finances but whatev), in this version I imagine she chose Devon to work with and the others, seeing that Devon is pleased they probably would relax a bit more about her switching companies and be more trusfull of her for ep 6 i want my candy to be with her roommate, I imagine Devenementiel talking about the fair and she's like besties no, I've already have plans with some friends (she does ballet, she's going with those friends + her roommate who is her bestie) BUT, just when she was about to leave with her roommate, Roy saw them and invited them again, which worked. And because she has her best friend here, she feels a little bit more at ease and starts to show her personality a little bit more.

[boxwinebaddie]

hi nina!! can we plz see some of the char sheet youre doing?

AWWWW!!!! this is so sweet, omg. ;-; <3

i fucking LOVE character sheets sm; it is a relic from when i first broke into writing online and used to tumblr rpg ( cringe ). i just feel like they really help you see and understand your characters and figure out what they look like, how they act, what their motivations are, etc.

but yes!!!! i spend a lot of time on them and i haven't had a lot of time...recently, so i haven't been able to work on the ones i have for The Nasty Nina Boys From ( Fine As ) Hell, but you can have this little section i started on appearance in the ravenstan one ( he has been on my mind a lot lately, i srsly love him so much, he's my baby )

i'll drop it under the cut for you <3

-uncle nina, tumblr rpg survivor, char sheet queena

[icewindandboringhorror]

recent things

[triple1st]

as i'm making my way through big finish's time war audios, i have noticed the mention of time lords having spouses & children: trave in gallifrey: time war, carvil in the lords of terror, lamarius in war master: anti-genesis (coincidentally both carvil & lamarius commit war crimes because of the deaths of their family at the hands of the daleks, trave is executed publicly on gallifrey after he's threatened with the death of his husband, children & grandchildren should he refuse being made an example out of). while this is pretty clearly a case of big finish following closely with the new series' established canon, where moffat himself said plainly that he views time lord families being just like ours (though like many elements of his era the consistency weavers), personally i wanna play with the concept of implanted memories as motivation for participating in the war

i do crib a lot off the EDAs in how i want to depict the time war on this blog & i've already readjusted project revenant from the first gallifrey: time war boxset to not simply be the resurrection of dead time lords through the matrix, but also the reprinting of fresh time lord bodies as canon-fodder by ripping the looms from every great house on gallifrey & repurposing them for the war effort, which is a few very close steps to having a decoy gallifrey's atmosphere become a soldier production factory. while most of these soldiers are simply mindless, with nothing but raw instinct driving them to eradicate gallifrey's enemies, time lords that die in the war & are later weaved again in a loom can't have their minds scraped of anything but the thirst for blood & thus the war council implants false memories of a spouse, a partner, a child or several, things anathema to gallifrey but a motivation to fight that most other species can comprehend. something to humanize time lords in opposition to the daleks, a justification for being equally monstrous

romana iii, as lord president in the early stages of the time war is well aware of the war council's actions, of the revenants that litter the battlefields across time & space, of how mass-production of willing servants to gallifrey's military makes them not so different from their enemies & while she is opposed on moral terms, this incarnation is far too pragmatic not to see it as an advantage, knowing that rejecting the war council's plans would be political suicide. of course, here much like in celestial intervention i imagine she worked with narvin behind the scenes to spy & stop the war council acting beyond her reach, keeping secrets from her & the celestial intervention agency, but when the CIA's agents failed & were brought before her, she had to betray them to the war council, play along to their whims, reprimand narvin for his scheming behind her back publicly while privately they planned their next move. not even the lord president has the power to stop her people giving in to their base instincts when the war is all encompassing, she can't be on every front, dictate every battle, her power is dispersed among her cardinals & generals, among the war council & the CIA, every one of them using the war to consolidate her power

[fogwitchoftheevermore]

decided to rewatch oli's christmas song stream from last year and remind me again why the fuck oli/sausage is a rarepair again. he sings no less than five romantic songs about sausage (admittedly two of those are just different versions of santa, baby). one of them is him and sausage singing baby it's cold outside together. oli literally left heaven to find this man. what. what am i seeing that everyone else isn't hello.