#occasionally the bog

[bookrat]

Thalassodromeus commission from over on Twitter

[chelastuff]

Amongst all the Tyler the Creator discussion online I never see people bring up The Jellies. I think this might be because it’s not very good

[frogyourbog]

doctor who doing a whole anti-capitalist episode, while airing on disney+, after i JUST finished jenny nicholson’s video on the star wars hotel ………i’m thinking thoughts

that video, among other things, discussed how the star cruiser was so disappointing because of disney cutting costs and failing to do the things they usually do in their theme parks that are little more expensive sure but add so much magic (ie. putting easter eggs throughout the park, having animatronic heads or whatever that interact with different things happening around it, not developing their technology and functionality fully before opening, etc)

and i’m thinking particularly about the advertising for the hotel and a comment i saw on the video observing that the ads read so awkward to us as the consumer because they weren’t made to sell the product to consumers, they were made to have flashing lights and fun sounds to please shareholders

and all of that running through my mind while watching doctor who this evening made the exchange between ruby & the doctor that goes vaguely like

“why’s a land mine got lights all around it” “capitalism”

hit SO hard because that’s essentially what the star cruiser did, no? they had fun lights and buttons that made the shareholders think it would make them money but was really only busy work, entertaining for ages 7-11.

and the fact that disney is the name behind both of these things is dramatic irony if i’ve ever seen it

anyway i’m glad doctor who is getting a disney budget but not disney restrictions for this new season because so far it’s fantastic

[babbling-starling]

My little N. ventricosa has been doing so well I got brave and ordered some more carnivores! The paler nepenthes is closely related to ventracosa and the spotty one is a ventracosa hybrid, so I’m hoping they’ll do just as well. The fly trap and purple pitcher plant will be my first try doing winter dormancy. Fingers crossed!

Species in image descriptions!

[flimsy-roost]

can the art nouveau revival hurry up and get here already please

[blood-orange-juice]

excuse me, some of us live in a bog

We ask your questions so you don’t have to! Submit your questions to have them posted anonymously as polls.

[ofcrowsanddragons]

Rookanis and Romance Archetypes

I have longer thoughts that I should probably write out, but here's where I'm at with Lucanis and Rook as a romance (I Love Them).

First of all, when you're looking at the capital-R Romance genre (not to be confused with the Romanticism movement, because we WILL be here all day), one of the most important bits of analysis to start with is determining what the "fantasy" might be and who it's for. Judgement-free. Occasionally, a friend will approach me about a book, boggled that all their friends like it, and we'll play this game. "What's the fantasy" is important, because otherwise we get bogged down with judgements like "Don't women know that a love interest like this would be bad for them?"

Yes, usually. Take the older stereotypical bodice ripper where the love interest kidnaps the heroine and carries her away to have his way with her. In this fantasy, the heroine is perceived as beautiful and irresistible and doesn't have to cross the social boundary of Having Desire. Another version of this is more common today (in the books that people will admit to reading), and that's the fantasy where the heroine has desire, but the love interest is uniquely capable of intuiting it and returning it.

Coming back to Veilguard:

Lucanis/Rook is flipped in-game, as far as romance archetypes go. For all that Rook is the protagonist of the game at large, you get hints in early game flirting scenes that this romance isn't going to go the way you might be expecting. When it comes down to it, Rook is the love interest, and Lucanis is the hero (i.e., the character referred to more commonly as the heroine).

In the romance arc, of the two of them, Lucanis is the one with the Disney/musical theatre "I want" song. The fantasy is for someone to see him as he is and to reach out for him where he's at. This feels impossible at the beginning! He's newly an abomination, he's a killer, and he feels that there's something deeply wrong with him as a human being—that there always has been.

His fantasy becomes that as he works through his current family issues, his dangerous supernatural malady*, and his sometimes panicked response to the pressure of saving the world, there's half a chance that there might be someone who will wait for him at the end of it. And when he gets to the point where he can face the Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known, there will still be someone who looks at him and sees something better than what he sees in himself.

The fantasy for the player is an uncommon one, for the romance genre: it's the fantasy of being capable of being that person to someone else. Rook can be capable of handling anything life throws at them. Rook doesn't need to be afraid of any kind of violence. More importantly, Rook can be worthy of that kind of trust.

Next time, I argue that Neve/Lucanis and Rook/Lucanis are both illustrations of healing in a positive direction, but in different ways.

*Don't @ me over this. Being fused together the way they are is dangerous for both Spite and Lucanis

[clemswinecorner]

I get satisfied [Harry Lewis/W2S]

Summary: Chris’ camera woman- and by now, also the boys’ friends- and Harry get teased about their dating life. No one seems to notice they’re saying exactly the same, though. 

Wordcount: 661

Warnings: swearing probably, nothing major

This is third person instead of reader pov, but it's still x reader :))

Main Masterlist

It was in-between takes of Chris’ latest video, Chris figuring out some things with the team that had to do with the challenges and editing. As one of the camera people she wasn’t too involved, the setup being clear from the get-go, so she was leaning against the fence sipping from a water bottle. She was listening to the conversations happening, occasionally laughing at the boys messing around and their idiotic tendencies, but mostly just looked at Harry. Seeing Harry with his friends was one of her favourite things, seeing him be his carefree, unhinged self. The conversation starts with Danny commenting on Harry’s sex life, saying “Oh, you’ve been getting it good recently, haven’t you,” with a laugh. Harry looks down embarrassed, but with a grin on his face, and shoots the girl a look before answering. “Yeah, yeah, I have, actually,” he confesses, and a slight blush appears on her face. None of the boys are looking her way, which she’s especially grateful for when they ask Harry to specify. “Yeah, mate, you know. Just a nice girl, absolutely beautiful and very much does the right things,” the boys all cheer, surprised Harry’s let out something about a possible relationship, with the girl's cheeks only growing redder. “So, you’ve got a girlfriend now or what?” Joe asks, and Harry frowns, subtly looking her way. The two make eye contact as he talks to boys about his situationship. “No, right now I don’t, we’re just messing around. But potentially, in some time, I could see something more happening,” Harry admits, looking her way to catch her reaction. A small smile appears on her face, though she’s surprised at what he’s saying, since they’d never really talked about it like that. It was very casual, on the low, friends with benefits, but you’re not close friends outside your little thing type of thing. She sort of hoped for something more, but was also happy where she was— she just didn’t know Harry felt the exact same. She’s too distracted thinking about what she should say to Harry later that day when her name was being called. She wasn’t even sure how the conversation got to that point, and she was especially confused how she all of a sudden got involved. Yes, after working with Chris for ages she’d befriended some of the boys over time, and yes, she’d rant about her dating life, but they’d never asked— not in a way like this, at least. “What about you, Y/N, you still looking for a man?” Ethan nods her way, and a grin appears on her face. “Not really, no,” she simply says, not elaborating any further. “What, you’ve found someone?” All you can do is shake your head before Ethan continues, “Or are you saying you don’t need a man to get off?” He laughs as some of the boys groan at his bluntness, her eyes widening. “I get satisfied just fine, thank you,” she just says, and Harry has to hold in a smile. “Just fine, is the bar that low?” George jokes, making the girl chuckle as she moves away from the fence. “No, he's more than fine, I can assure you I’m very well taken care of,” she declared, and Ethan's laugh changes from a joking to a somewhat surprised one. “Oh alright then. We’ll see him when you’re ready,” he comments, and she sucks in a breath. “Don’t think that’ll happen yet mate, very on the down low still, don’t want him intimidated by you lot,” Harry lets out a suspiciously loud chuckle, and looks her way with a daring look in his eyes. She shoots him an innocent smile back, before shifting her attention to Chris, who came her way. “Bet you’re jealous of that lad, huh, Bog,” Ethan teases, having seen Harry checking out their friends more than he could count. Harry simply shrugs, “Seems like we’re both happy how it is, mate.”

[definitelynotabirthblog]

A Church Birth

Word count: 2800

Summary: a homeless young woman gives birth in a church on a cold night with the help of a vicar

TW: mention of bowels opening in the context of childbirth. Otherwise a bog standard if inconvenient birth fic.

---------------

Reverend Thomas Callahan tipped the electric kettle and poured boiling water over his teabag. As he stirred the steaming, amber liquid, the metal teaspoon clinking on the side of ceramic mug, he gazed out of the window in the small kitchen attached to his church, St Barnabas. It was November 5th and winter had ushered itself in rather prematurely in Reverand Callahan's opinion. Just two weeks ago, the village had been enjoying the last lingering rays of an Indian summer. Yet today, though it was barely 5pm, the milky glow of the moon had crept over the village as dusk fell, casting pointed, angular shadows of gravestones over the churchyard. A cold breeze picked up dead yew leaves and made them pirouhette beneath the window pane. Grey clouds scudded across the bleak sky, warning of the imminent storm. The reverend poured milk into his tea and lifted the mug to his lips, watching the wind drive the thick flurries of snow diagonally. As he sipped, a particularly strong gust forced the back door of the church open with a bang. He sighed.

Cupping his mug in his hands for warmth, he made his way to the door. He used his entire body weight to force the door shut, twisting the lock after.

"Lord, keep us safe tonight," he murmured, clutching his tea. He stared at his alter, his thoughts swimming.

He was a young vicar and St Barnabas was his first parish, its village his first flock. More than half of local residents attended services on Sunday's - most out of obligation than devotion to the Lord, he had concluded - but few reached out to him for guidance and prayer between services. Privileged enough to be privately educated by wealthy parents, he was painfully aware of his naivety, and had hoped that being posted to a poorer, rural community would provide him with the experience needed to advise and councel. He had come to understand that he was regarded with a mixture of amusement, novelty and affection - but not respect. He had not earned those stripes yet.

Physically he supposed that he was handsome enough. He had a head of thick, mocha-coloured hair, olive eyes framed with perfectly symmetrical eyelashes and peach-coloured skin. His lips were soft and pink, his front teeth crooked, but he was blessed with a warm smile that made his eyes shine. At six foot one inch he was tall, healthy man, muscular without being ripped, with a small, stubborn podge of stomach fat. He hadn't been oblivious to the occasional attractive young women taking a second yearning glance at him when he had explored the local towns, but his cluelessness at navigating such situations prevented him from pursuing them. As he walked away, frustration simmering inside him, he would often feel the aching throb of an erection tenting in his trousers.

A rap at the front door stole his attention from his reverie. He set his mug down and strode along the pews, shoes squeaking in the otherwise silent building. The night had drawn in now. Who could possibly still need the sanctuary of his church?

Thomas opened the door and peered out. The flurries he had noticed in the kitchen were now falling at blizzard speed as an inch-thick layer blanketed the churchyard, the wall and the lane beyond. Pinpricks of orange light in houses across the snow-covered village green sparkled, but the temperature outside was now close to freezing. His breath was visible in thick white puffs as he took in the sight before him.

A young woman. Her face was so pale it looked translucent, with fearful blue eyes and teeth chattering in the icy air. Her knotted blond hair cascaded around her shoulders which were covered in a shapeless coat the exact colour of moss. She wore thin leggings on her legs and a dirty pair of boots which looked like that they had trekked through mud. Thomas recognised her - she had been loitering outside the church after the previous two Sunday services but had darted away the second he tried to approach her.

"Can I help you?" he enquired, first looking past her to check she was alone, and then looking directly into her scared eyes.

She nodded and tried to talk, but either due to the cold or nerves, she was unable to speak, her mouth forming the shape of a word but without sound.

"It's too cold to dither out here," he said, assessing the situation. "Would you like to come in? Then maybe I can help?"

She nodded. He opened the door wider and she bowed her head before scurrying past him like a frightened mouse.

When they were safely inside, Thomas turned and looked at the young lady. She was young, barely out of her teens, and very petite in stature. Her scruffy clothes had a musty smell and were torn in places as though had been living rough. The hollowness of her cheeks, her pale face and her wet hair gave her the look of a drowned person. As the warmth of the church hit her, any remaining stamina she had was lost as she staggered, fell against the wall and slipped towards the ground. Thomas caught her frail body in his arms by reflex and supported her the last few inches towards the floor. He knelt down beside her.

"What's your name?" he asked kindly.

"Willow," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

"Do you think you could stand up again, Willow? You can come and warm up and then maybe I can call someone for you."

Willow opened her mouth to reply, but before she could, her face contorted and she cried out in pain. Her hand instictively travelling to her abdomen which was protruding from her slender frame despite the oversized coat. Her tortured eyes locked onto his, pleading for help. Compassion flooded through him and he did not hesitate as he scooped her up, one arm supporting her skinny shoulders and the other under her knees. Breathing through his mouth as the smell of the motheaten coat wafted upwards towards his nostrils, he carried the sobbing girl down the aisle and into his office, gently lowering her on the sofa he normally reserved for comforting the bereaved. As her cries reduced to muffled whimpers, he sat down next to her and placed his left arm around her shoulders. Desperate for solace, she leant her body against him, and he found himself drawn into an awkward embrace with her, holding her close as he comforted her. Finally her breathing steadied.

"How can I help you, Willow?" His arm remained around her shoulders.

She looked up at him, frantically shaking her head, eyes begging him to understand.

"You're obviously scared and in pain... and not very well? Do you need to see a doctor?" he asked, concerned.

"I... I... maybe..." she said shakily, her head still pressed against his shoulder.

"Maybe?"

"I-I don't know..."

"Maybe if you told me what is wrong, I could help you decide if you need to see a doctor. But you just collapsed in my church. I think seeing a doctor would be a good plan." He looked at her unkempt appearance. "Where have you been staying?"

"Wherever I can."

"Wherever you can?"

She nodded.

"I'm very sorry to ask this but are you homeless?"

"Only for the last two months."

"Only? That's a very long time to be sleeping rough."

She shrugged.

"I'm in touch with a few local hostels. I could ring around and see if I can get you a bed for tonight."

"They won't take me."

"Why won't they?"

"Because... because..." She burst into fresh floods of tears. Within seconds, her cries turned into fresh bellows of pain as she rocked her hips back and forth. "Oh, please help me. It hurts, it HURTS!"

"Willow, please tell me-"

Another noise noise erupted from her, this time low and primal, not unlike a roar. Thomas watched as the pain seized her, calculating whether he should comfort her or call for help first. Her knuckles were white as she clenched the sofa, her agony clear in her eyes as she growled her way through whatever was causing her body such torment. Acknowledging that this was a medical emergency that he was unequipped to handle, he reached to his pocket for his phone. He sighed with exasperation as he saw he had no bars, the sigh turning into a panicked moan on noticing the red light on the router.

"I think I need to call for help," he decided, rubbing Willow's arm in an inadequete effort to offer reassurance. "But I have no signal and the WiFi is down. Probably because of the weather. It means I need to leave you but I'll be b-"

"NO! Please don't go!" she gasped, scrabbling for his hand. "Please, no! You can't leave me!"

As the pain ripped through her body, there was a audible pop, immediately followed by a squelch, as though someone had sat in a puddle of water. Willow immediately pulled her hand to her crotch, relief evident in her face as the pain began to ease once more. Thomas was very confused now. What was wrong with this lady, this scrawny, malnourished young thing sat in his office, who had collapsed in his church, was intermittently wracked with such intense pain it rendered her barely able to speak, seemingly had no one on this earth to help her and was allegedly homeless but not immediately requesting medical help?  He looked at her as she shut her eyes, taking whatever brief respite had come her way, the awkward curve of her abdomen distending under her coat. Suddenly he understood just what that audible pop and squelch of liquid was.

"Willow, are you pregnant?"

She gazed at him. "I know it's a sin vicar."

"Let's leave sin at the door for the moment. Is the baby coming?"

"I've been having bad pains all day and... and... I think something has just come out of me."

"I think it is just the fluid that cushions that baby. Do you understand why I'm going to have to leave you do get help?"

Another contraction reared itself before she could reply. Willow threw her head back, her face twisted as the spasms of her womb coasted across her body. The animalistic noises that erupted from her sounded more bovine than human. Thomas knew he needed to establish just how far away from delivering this child she was. As the contraction eased again, he took Willow's trembling hand in his.

"Willow, is the baby coming right now?" he asked, his eyes finding hers.

"It feels like something is coming out of me."

He sighed.

"Do you mind if I have a quick look at you... er, down below?" He blushed. "If the baby is coming now, I will have to catch it."

She hesitated and then nodded.

He knelt down on the floor and positioned himself so he was directly in front of her.

"Do you want to take you bottoms off for me?

Willow kicked off her dirty boots and then, in one slow awkward movement, slipped her leggings and drenched knickers over her skinny hips and past her knees. Thomas helped her pull them over her ankles and threw them on the sofa beside her. Instinctively, she opened her legs for him, showing her unshaved mons. She was positioned with her hips too far back to see anything more than the top half inch of her slit.

"Do you think you could shuffle forwards for me so you're perched towards the edge of the sofa?" he asked anxiously, gesturing for her to shuffle forwards.

She awkwardly scooted her bottom towards him and then reclined as best as she could.

"And maybe you could just lift your legs up for me?"

As she gripped the back of her thighs and pulled them towards her chest, finally exposing her pussy to him. Staring at the site displayed before him, his eyes took in her jewel-like clitoris nestled between her stubbled labia. Between them was her vaginal opening and peeking at him from underneath, her puckered rosebud. Unable to see anything that looked like a baby emerging, Thomas breathed a sigh of relief.

"Phew. Thankfully I can't see anything. So-"

Willow roared as a contraction hit, her breaths coming in shallow and ragged gasps. Her tender asshole bulged and her rectum emptied right there onto the edge of sofa. Her vulva bulged outwards as her labia started to separate. A dark, wet mass appeared just inside her vagina, fluid dribbling out from around it in rivulets onto Thomas's knees. Adrenalin surged through him as he realised there could be no leaving Willow to get help, as she was about to birth her baby right there into his arms. He looked around frantically for something clean to deliver the baby onto and quickly grabbed a couple of spare sweaters he had on top of his desk. As he eased one under Willow's buttocks, her breathing started to ease and the pain lessened once more.

"What do I do?" she trembled, panic welling over in her voice.

"I'm a vicar, Willow, not a midwife," he laughed nervously, looking up at her over her spasming belly.  "I think you need to keep doing what your body is telling you to do and I'll catch the baby when it comes."

"I need to push. I can't stop it."

"Then push, if that's what your body is telling you to do."

As though on cue, Willow started grunting her way through another contraction. Her pussy stretched more with each torturous push, until a dark, two inch portion of head was visible as the contraction peaked. When it eased off, the head slipped back inside, her inflamed lips closing over it. Willow threw her head back exhausted, but seconds later she was bellowing again as her baby appeared once more at her opening. Thomas wondered just how much stretching it could take as the now lemon-sized portion of head continued to be driven outwards. A memory of a film he saw came to him, where the birth attendant used gauze to support the woman as she pushed out the biggest part of her baby. He pressed the sweater he put under Willow against her perenium. She writhed and shrieked on the sofa as she neared a full crown, her legs flailing around Thomas's head.

"Oh, help me! Oh God in heaven!" she screamed, her panicked, frantic hand reaching between her legs for Thomas.

"Please, just breathe Willow," he said, pressing on her taint with one hand and taking her hand with his other. "The head's coming out now. I think this is the worst bit."

Willow panted, her swollen vulva circling her baby as she drove it out of her body. As the contraction peaked, the head teetered on the raw lips of her pussy before the pain eased again and her body pulled it back inside her canal. There it sat, just visible between her stinging labia.

"You were so close then," Thomas said, squeezing her hand. "One more push like that and I think the head will be out."

Gathering her strength again, Willow bore and pushed the infant out of her fatigued body once again. It popped out with a gushy splash, amniotic fluid and blood splattering the floor and pebbledashing her inner thighs. Thomas balanced the damp, slimy head in his hands, watching as the child's brow furrowed, its mouth opening in a silent cry. Gradually, it turned to Willow's thigh.

"The head's out. Push again."

With one last effort, a dribble of fluid and a groan, the wriggling baby tumbled into the world. Thomas caught its slippery body in his shaking hands and carefully lowered it onto his knee. A baby boy. He cried lustily, feeling the chilly air on his skin for the first time. Thomas wrapped the little boy in his sweater and looked up at Willow. Her entire body was shaking, her face shining with sweat.

"Willow... Willow, you've done it!" he gasped, gazing down at the newborn.

She gazed down at the vicar, whose eyes were meeting hers from between her legs and reached her arms out. As if he was handling the crown jewels, he carefully settled Willow's firstborn son on her breasts. Tears of relief and exhaustion leaked down her pretty pale face, her chest shaking with sobs as the baby was comforted by the warmth of her trembling body.

"Thank you," she whispered to Thomas, her lips brushing her baby's head.

"You did it all yourself, you wonderful girl," he replied, the emotion crackling in his voice. He gazed over at his desk and looked at the router, the green light shining. "And would you believe it, I can finally ring for help!"

[bogleech]

Hey bog, have you seen the neat "Diversity of Life On Earth" action figures that Bandai Spirits is putting out? They're just... high-detail articulated animals of various types. Colorful lizards, some creepy fish, the occasional frog, some crabs, that kind of thing. I only bring it up because one of the model robot supply websites whose mailing list I'm on felt the need to inform me that they're accepting preorders on a huge fucking wasp, and I immediately thought of you.

Oh! I didn't know these were all under one brand but I've seen a few and I have this giant salamander!

his mouthf opens

[porcupine-girl]

Here is something to remember as we watch Trump kick off the insanity with his ridiculous cabinet picks:

He’s not a dictator yet.

Some things - even some illegal things, now that anything he does “officially” isn’t illegal - will be a lot harder for him to do than others.

Blackmailing a foreign leader? Easy for him to do all by himself. Selling classified documents to our enemies? Unfortunately, easy for him to do by himself.

But some things require the cooperation of large chunks of the government. Not just on paper, in a way he can ignore, but in the fact that it will take hundreds to thousands of people to pull it off and any bit of government interrupting that process may stop it entirely. And yes, he controls a larger swath of that than last time, but he doesn’t control the whole thing yet.

These cabinet picks? If we can convince just a handful of the people who occasionally scraped together enough spine to stand up to him last time to vote against them, they’re toast. I’m literally planning on sending letters - not emails, USPS letters - to Sens. Collins, Murkowski, and Romney * begging them to do the right thing. Collins and Murkowski have already publicly doubted these cabinet picks. I doubt they’ll all three veto every bad pick, but if all three of them vote against even one, that’s damage reduced.

This DOGE thing? This CNN article points out that it’s likely to get bogged down by FACA, the Federal Advisory Committee Act, which in his last term stopped his plan to set up a committee to “investigate voter fraud.”

How did it stop him? Not by telling him he can’t do it, and then him listening and obeying. They stopped him by tying the whole thing up in the courts until he got bored and dropped it. He might own SCOTUS, but he doesn’t own the entire federal court system yet.

And he had a short attention span and doesn’t actually give a shit about anything. Do you think he actually cares about reducing government waste? Of course not, he just wants lower taxes and fewer regulations for himself and his buddies. If it doesn’t look like DOGE is going to get him that quickly enough, he’ll lose interest.

I’m not saying the system is functional enough to stop everything he wants to do. It wasn’t last time, and it’s less so this time.

But when you start to spiral into despair, remember that the system is big enough and lumbering enough to slow him down. To get in his way. Not every time, but sometimes. He will NOT be able to pull off every single thing he or Project 2025 claims he’ll do. We don’t know yet which things he will or won’t manage, and yes, he might make some of the worst things happen.

But he’s not a dictator yet, he doesn’t have total control yet. The more cooperation from others it takes to pull something off, the less likely he is to manage it. He will fail sometimes.

* I knew Romney was retiring but I thought his term wasn’t quite up yet. But no, he’ll be gone.

[jinx-xxed]

Rough Week

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ .。.:*

A/N; I needed some good ol’ fashioned cuddles and sleeping ☝️ this pic of him is one of my favs I Need to lay on him

Part of Written in the Stars

Summary; Kylo Ren has finally come back from a grueling mission. You help him relax.

Content; Supreme Leader Kylo Ren, Commander reader, pure fluff, like sickeningly fluffy, Kylo’s exhausted, you let him rest, bonded to Kylo through the Force, lots of Force communication, cute/clingy/sleepy/soft Kylo, big guy needs a break, cuddles!!!, sleeping together, giving Kylo the love he needs and deserves, he doesn’t know how to handle it, kind of domestic?, going about life in the First Order

Wc; 1.6k

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ .。.:*

“Command shuttle SL-5956 coming to dock.”

The robotic announcement echoes throughout Hangar Eight, sending people into motion to prepare for the arrival of the ship. You stand in waiting in the midst of the hangar, watching as the shuttle lazily passes through the guard barrier leading out into space, the massive black wings of the command shuttle folding upwards like the point of a pyramid as it’s lowered to the shiny floors. There’s a gust of wind that ruffles your hair, the familiar rumbles of the ship powering down filling your ears. BB-12 sits obediently beside you, occasionally rolling back and forth in idle movements. There’s a hiss from the command shuttle as the latches to the ramp are disengaged, white clouds of depressurized air being expelled from the pumps sitting on the perimeter and creating a sort of fog that spreads across the hangar before fizzling out.

There’s the sound of multiple sets of footsteps on the ramp, though one stands out more than the others. It’s followed by a familiar pulse, buzzing in the back of your mind, pawing at the shields you keep up, asking to be let back in after being absent for a week. Your defenses are lowered just enough for the dark presence to slip through and nestle in its usual spot, intertwining with your own Force signature and securing itself to you like tying a knot. Your other half has returned. Kylo leads the way down the ramp, followed by the Stormtroopers that had accompanied him, though you notice there’s three missing from the lineup. Casualties. His form—covered in black robes, red-veined helmet giving an intimidating gleam—commands the area, everyone seeming to hold their breath as they wait for the Supreme Leader to make his orders.

You meet him halfway, tilting your chin upwards to meet the invisible gaze behind the slit in his mask. “Welcome back, Supreme Leader. I take it everything went accordingly?” You openly suggest as such because you don’t sense the telltale signs of a failed mission coming from him—those usually being broiling anger or seething disappointment.

You look at him expectantly but there’s no response, just an empty stare and the faint static of breathing from the vocoder built into his helmet. You reach that invisible hand of the Force forward, poking through his own defenses, gathering the general sense of his condition, and it washes over you like a tidal wave. He’s exhausted. You feel it as though it’s your own; limbs that seem twice as heavy than they should be, eyes burning, mind seeming to have turned into unusable mush. You see the way he can barely hold himself up, with just the slightest sway to his posture that only someone like yourself would notice. He hasn’t rested properly in over a week, too consumed by his responsibilities that burden him at all hours and the dark memories that haunt him like ghosts. You lean forward. “Sir?”

Something in him snaps on like a lightbulb finally finding the energy it needs to sputter to life, his helmet lifting with a minuscule shake. “Yes, the mission was successful. The resistance base on Cona-6 has been destroyed.” His voice is lower than usual, bogged down by his exhaustion and struggling to get through his vocoder.

Your brows crease with concern, eyes roving over his helmet, wishing you could actually see him. Let’s get you back to our room. The offer rings across the Force bond you share, going into his mind and his alone. You want to get him away from the prying eyes within the hangar, from anyone who may fault him for the state he’s in. You doubt they’re is able to notice his current exhaustion, but you know it’ll only get worse if you don’t do something.

Please, comes as a response.

You’re glad he’s so easy to agree rather than fighting you on it and insisting he has more work to finish, even though you were prepared to drag him to bed if you had to. You lead the way from the hangar, Kylo following behind you and BB-12 rolling dutifully at your side. The lights within the halls of the Steadfast are beginning to dim as the artificial day cycle comes to a close, creating a sense of impeding night for the staff on board.

Officers and Stormtroopers quickly jump out of your way as you pass, sticking to the walls and watching you with feelings of terror trembling through their minds. You try to keep the path to your room as short as possible, taking what shortcuts you can until you reach the commanders section of sleeping quarters. The door sits in waiting, the identification numbers belonging to you and Kylo inscribed into the metal. There’s a beep from the control panel, granting you access as the two hexagonal doors open.

Cold air hits your face, the room always kept to be bordering on freezing since you both run unbearably hot. You get through the receiving room, then entering into the bedroom where the familiar bookshelves, tables, chairs and the large bed are waiting. It’s like a safe space for you two—it’s the one place your guards can be let down, where you can just be yourselves together and let your bond flow between you undisturbed, and where you can hide away from the things that trouble you… even if just for a little while.

You turn, and Kylo stops. His fists are clenched as a way to try and keep himself from falling asleep where he stands, the pressure from his fingers digging into his palms. You reach up and press the releases on his mask, the compartments hissing as they slide apart. His black hair falls around his face as you take the helmet off and you’re allowed to look at him in full. His eyes are dull, dark marks discoloring the skin beneath them, a tired neutrality settled onto his features as he blinks at you slowly. His signature across your bond is muted, unable to muster itself up to full strength, coming to you in colors less vibrant than usual.

No words are exchanged as you help free him of his outer layers, the robes falling to the ground in black piles of cloth until he’s left in just his undershirt and thick pants. His lightsaber and helmet are left in their usual spot on the lounge table, laid to rest until they’re next needed. You guide him over to the bed and he doesn’t hesitate to get under the covers, his exhaustion seeming to come out tenfold and making the line of your connection tremble.

You sit on your side of the bed for a moment, merely watching as he gets comfortable with his eyes squinted even as you dim the lights to darkness. He sighs with a blooming contentment and you then move to get up, thinking perhaps it would be better to leave him alone to sleep and using the last few hours of the cycle to get work done. But you don’t get far, his hand snatching your wrist and tugging you back down. “Stay,” he orders, a rumble of annoyance coming from him at the thought of you leaving. I can’t sleep without you.

“Okay.” You tell him without hesitation, beginning to shed your layers as well and leaving them to join his on the floor. An early night certainly wouldn’t hurt; having to control the Order in Kylo’s place wasn’t an easy job. Your lightsaber is put to rest next to his own. “BB-12, guard the door so no one tries to bother us. I’ll shoot them if they do.” The droid gives a beep in response before rolling down the hall and disappearing into the receiving area. It stands as an unspoken rule across the ship that anyone who disturbs the Supreme Leader and Commander at this time will be dealt with in an unpleasant manner.

You slip beneath the covers, Kylo’s strong arms immediately coming forward and enveloping you, dragging you to him so your bodies are flush against each other. You twist around in his grip so you’re facing him, his eyes closed. You lift your hands, placing them on either side of his face, your thumbs running idly across his cheeks. He hums at the action, his body further relaxing beneath your touch and his signature becoming something more soft and smooth. You kiss along his face—his jaw, his lips, his cheeks, his scar, his forehead, and lastly, his nose, which makes his face scrunch in a way that makes you smile, reminding you of a cat.

Every part of him is perfect to you, and you tell him as such constantly. He sees only his faults, whereas you see his strengths. He attempts to bury his head in the crook of your neck, his hold tightening, overwhelmed by the attention you’re giving him. Though there’s a happy trill akin to a purr along the bond, creating a sense of tranquility that blossoms with gentle colors like flowers.

You card your fingers through the silkiness of his hair, your legs becoming tangled beneath the sheets. His breath tickles your neck, steadily becoming slower and more even as he’s dragged into sleep both by his exhaustion and your gentle care. He’s happy in this moment, glad to relax entirely around you and give in to the basic desires of his mind. You nestle your cheek against the top of his head, enjoying the way he holds you close and secure like you’re an anchor he needs to keep a hold of. He’s already asleep, and you know you’ll do your best to keep away all the things that plague him so that he can sleep in peace when he needs it most. He deserves that much.

[archangeldyke-all]

Sevika and reader being grumbly whiskey aunts together!!!

They just want to sit on their porch together. <3

this is EVERYTHING to me

men and minors dni

you spend your evenings on your screened-in front porch, passing a smoke back and forth, one of you occasionally getting up to grab fresh drinks and snacks from the house.

you're both total grumps, but the kids (vander and silco's ofc) know that if they're ever in trouble, the first house to call is their aunts'.

lmaoooo now i'm imagining jinx calling you for a ride home from a party she shouldn't be at-- and you and sevika showing up to pick her up-- grinding and making out in front of all her friends just so she learns her lesson adkfj;laskjd

over the years, you've hosted the kids in your house for all kinds of reasons. claggor spent a month living with you guys when the three little kids were bogged down with a flu they kept passing around. in a rebellion against his dads' video games ban on him after they caught him smoking weed at fourteen, mylo and his xbox moved in with the two of you. jinx and vi come over for 'girl nights' all the time when they're growing up, and when violet gets laid off from her first job, she crashes with the two of you until she can get back on her feet.

they're the only kids you tolerate though. neighborhood kids are terrified of you and sevika-- both of you are total grumps, and little slayer and sugar are the exact same.

(but you make up for your bad reputation in the neighborhood on halloween-- you're always the house that gives out full sized candy bars.)

your elderly neighbors though? they love you and sevika.

they appreciate that you're just as grumpy as them. they always wave to you from their porches, where they sit every evening along with you guys. they like that you don't give a shit about the home owners association, and that sevika sometimes even does shit just to piss them off. (she painted your fence hot pink after being told by the HOA that the natural wood needed to be painted white. she earned the hearts of all your grumpy old neighbors with that move.)

as a result, you're always being given plates of cookies and pans of casseroles by the old ladies in the neighborhood, the old men are always coming over to share a smoke with sevika and exchange books, gardening tips, and garage tools. (you and sevika repay their hospitality by shoveling their sidewalks and raking their leaves for them in the shitty weather.)

you're constantly being told by old folks that you're 'the nicest lesbians we've ever met.'

sevika always laughs at this, then asks how many lesbians they have met. the answer is always just the two of you.

(one time, though, a little old lady informs you that her granddaughter is a lesbian 'just like you two,' and that she was so happy when she came out to her because 'you'll be just like my lovely neighbors!' this one makes you cry... and even sevika tears up a bit.)

in the summer, you've got a big fan you can flick on to keep you cool on your porch.

in the winter, you've got a little space heater you can pull closer to your matching rocking chairs.

after a few years, sevika even builds you an outside bed, so that after an evening of drinking whiskey and sharing a joint you can cuddle in each other's arms outside and listen to the crickets and frogs chirping before heading in for the evening.

your porch is your favorite little spot in the whole wide world. sevika's planted a jungle of plants surrounding it, and it's like your little oasis from the real world. you've got christmas lights strung around the ceiling that stay up all year long, lighting the porch when the sun finally sets. you've got dog and cat beds scattered everywhere so your animals can join you. there's ash trays, pipes, books, and bottles littered everywhere, and there's always at least a dozen potted plants scattered around inside your little sanctuary.

it's heaven.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@shimtarofstupidity @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @realgreeniebeanie @k3n-dyll

@sevsdollette @ellieslob @xayn-xd @keikuahh @maneskinwh0re

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

Hello I have more Welsh questions I hope that’s okay!

As always, the Duolingo disclaimer because some of their choices seem suspect. Like the first word they made sure to teach me was draig and it did seem a little racist to suggest to me THIS IS GOING TO COME UP A LOT IN WALES YOU HAD BETTER LEARN IT. Of course maybe I’m racist for assuming that’s connected to the Welsh mysticism nonsense and not the flag, or maybe draig does come up often on the streets of Aberteifi. I am here to learn with an open mind and minimal ego.

Anyway. Question one is indeed about places.

1. How do you decide whether a place needs a y with it? I can’t seem to tell, some countries have it and some don’t which confuses this dumb American. Plus it seems like no cities have it?

2. Also on the topic of cities, I can understand that there are places in Wales that have English names and that some don’t. Looks like Abertawe : Swansea v Aberystwyth : Aberystwyth. Two parter - part one, why did some get renamed while others stayed Welsh? Part two, is it preferred to just use the Welsh name? I’m wondering what common practice/preference is.

3. On the topic of common practice, I have a question that I am desperately trying to make as inoffensive as possible because it’s really about the trustworthiness of Duolingo than anything else. But it’s teaching me words that I want to make sure are appropriate. Ysgrifenydd/ysgrifennyddes and gŵr tŷ/gwraig tŷ. Are these still appropriate to use?

Thank you so much! I know you’re not the Welsh ambassador to the internet (or are you??) so I appreciate you being so generous with everyone 💛

I am, of course, 100% the Welsh ambassador to the internet. Or at least, I work in the Tumblr consulate. Ignore the people who say I'm just some random with airs and graces, they're just jealous and you're not to listen.

Okay, so:

1. Definite Articles and Placenames. It's not so much a thing you need to work out grammatically as it is just... part of the name. This sometimes happens in English too - Netherlands is an acceptable country name now, but originally it would have been the Netherlands, just because that's what the name meant. The lands that are low lying.

Welsh just has more country names than English that mean something like that, I think. Some are the same, e.g. (the) Netherlands/(yr) Iseldiroedd; that's a fairly one to one translation, in fact. Some are the same, but a bit more literal than the English has become; Switzerland (the Land of the Swiss) has lost the "the" in English by now, but in Welsh it still clings on as y Swistir.

And then sometimes, we have a very different word for somewhere, but it's no longer clear what the fossilised grammar was. I suppose the biggest example of that is Scotland - yr Alban. It's a bit lost to time, now, but 'Alban' has the same Old Irish root there as the word 'Albion'. Why the definite article? Unknown.

But, we do it for smaller places too, including cities. Welshpool's Welsh name is y Trallwng, which means, like, "the boggy pool", and I suppose it was once a notable enough bog that it was THE bog when giving directions, so the article stayed. This also spills over into Wenglish - the Hafod and the Gower in/around Swansea should both more correctly be Hafod and Gower, but at some point it was THE hafod when giving directions, and the Gower is the abbreviation of the Gower peninsula.

Anyway: TL;DR it's just part of the name, rather than a grammatical choice.

2. Translated Placenames. Part 1:

The short of it is, "Did enough English people settle there that they needed an English name/ the Welsh became Anglicised?" That's usually the rule. Sometimes this meant Anglicisation (Caerdydd-Cardiff), sometimes a ropey-to-exact translation (Penybont - Bridgend), and sometimes a completely new name (Abertawe - Swansea), depending on how easy the Welsh was to say and whether or not there was feature of note that the English focused on.

Occasionally, though, you get the opposite - Wrexham was Wrexham first, and got Cymricised to Wrecsam. It's a rare example of an English city we nicked, see. Founded by the Saxon house of Mercia, on land they'd nicked from north Wales, and then the Welsh reclaimed the area and went 'Ooh, nice city, was this here before?' It's possible it was first called Caer Fantell in Welsh, but it was Gwrexham by the 13th century, and the rest, as they say, is history.

Part 2: You use the name in the language you're speaking, UNLESS it is under active contention for some reason. The national parks are currently pushing to only be known by their Welsh names, for example, ditto a few of the mountains; so, Eryri instead of Snowdonia, Bannau Brycheiniog instead of Brecon Beacons, and yr Wyddfa instead of Snowdon. Also, in recent years they started inventing English language names for villages in Gwynedd for English tourists to feel more comfortable with, which has caused the outrage you'd expect; but those won't be coming up on Duolingo.

With that said, it's sometimes a Welsh Nash signal to only use the Welsh placenames even in English, so don't be surprised if you see people do it.

3. Appropriate words. Not sure what you mean by appropriate here, but I'm guessing you mean because they're gendered terms?

Welsh is a gendered language; that's how it works. In the modern day, there is a slide towards a lot of the old 'feminine' endings being dropped in favour of the masculine becoming used as a gender neutral term, but that's still under development; officially and formally, you still gender it.

I certainly prefer Not doing that. My first two graduate jobs were Conservation Officer and Conservation Manager; my preference was to use Swyddog Cadwraeth and Rheolwr Cadwraeth in Welsh. But others (usually older generations) would write Swyddoges Gadwraeth and Rheolwraig Gadwraeth sometimes, which I personally thought was a bit old fashioned and patronising.

But, I know middle aged women who prefer it, because it makes it clear that it's a woman doing the job. One person's oppression is another's liberation and all that. Also, cis though I am, I am admittedly not always comfortable with the strict trappings of gender, and that probably plays a part.

Bonus answer: dragons are the national animal and very much a symbol of identity, so that's just them being cute lol

Anyway! Thank you so much for trying to learn Welsh! Croeso a diolch.

[cable-salamdr]

HELLO so sorry to return from the bash of which I live.. but I'd love to request some Garmadon art possibly inspired by your ideas/predictions for Shatterpsin :)

Or maybe some s15 Garmadon and Lloyd "bonding time" or whatever they do instead of play nice :D

Please feel no obligation by my request and I hope you have a lovely week <3

Hello dear bog creature, I am here to give you your occasional weekly supply of Garmacontent

Basically: The first one is based off of the first few new pages that were released, which means obviously I require some spinjitsu bro content (+ just some Garmadon idk). The second is literally just and only because it is fuckass hot everywhere and I want to die, so Garmadon gets to suffer too

On a more actual-predictions-note, I’m just generally hoping we get to see the actual fight scene with the giant scorpion that’s on one of the alt covers. I also don’t think that Garmadon would wear one of the masks/ get his goodness shattered, just because of the way it probably wouldn’t make much sense with the timeline— if anything I feel like the events in this comic actually make him even more inclined to fight for the good side in the Serpentine Wars

[transformers-spike]

Back at it with sparkling brain rot

Soundwave's cryptid daughter is mostly well behaved but has a playful/mean streak and likes to play pranks. When she gets fed up with Knockout and Starscream she will play Megatron's voice to jump scare them which works every time. She will also play different bots voices to deceive the vehicons and even her parents (only sometimes works on them) when getting in to things she's not supposed to. When she's mad at Soundwave she plays her Mom's scolding voice. Megatron knows all about it and feels like he should be mad but can't find it in himself as after all it's Soundwave's sparkling and watching her put the fear of Primus into Starscream and other mechs is too delightful.

"STARSCREAM!"

Megatron's booming voice coming from out of the blue is enough to jolt Knockout and Breakdown from their conversation.

"Hungry."

Even though it might not have been their designations shouted, both bots look thoroughly shaken.

"Right, of course. Here you go, two rust sticks for my favorite patient."

Dreadwing probably has the most respectful sparkling. Always cleans up after playing with his toys and doesn't make a mess drinking his energon. Aside from just generally being one of the most noble decepticons Dreadwing being a split spark has a strict sense of fairness from growing up with his brother and passed that to his sparkling (you know the meme of siblings measuring cookies portions to make sure they're even). Doesn't tolerate the other Sparklings bullying each other or Cheating in games.

"Love, care to tell me why Starscream says you hit his daughter?"

"THAT'S BECAUSE SHE'S A CHEATER AND KEPT EATING MY CHESS PIECES!"

Breakdown's sparkling is honestly just a good normal kid. She might be made of metal and the bulkiest sparkling but she likes Saturday morning cartoons and roughhousing with her friends. Breakdown is vert attentive and protective of her. When she's old enough they go mud bogging together.

"BLUEY!!!BINGO!!!"

I feel like with Shockwave there would be a ton of kids in the name of science. Predaking either carries them in his mouth like a mama gator or on his back like a mother opossum. They'd mostly rather play among each other but sometimes accept the other sparklings. Despite the fact that they range from different shades of purple and pink outsiders have trouble telling them apart and discerning of many of them there really are.

"How can you tell them apart?"

"Oh, easy that one's a-12, that's a-3 over there, this is one is c-4, etc..."

Some shitposty part of me wants to think all of the kiddies share the same mom, except they're all born weirdly (idk extra small like she's carrying a litter of sparklings). The birth wasn't excruciating, just took longer because there were so many. Idk if it was all of them at the same time or like multiple pregnancies Soundwave's kid is so fucking adorable - I'm even tempted to say she can probably breakup fights with her tendrils, and she's been caught occasionally stealing treats using them (with the other sparklings cheering her on) I love how you're hinting that Skyquake and Dreadwing used to beef over portion sizes. Dreadwing's kid is just a mini him, same serious expression, just small and extra cute. Honestly him losing his mind over Starscream's kid eating his chess pieces is uifehiefiuefufe - what the fuck is wrong with her??t??? I want to say he's a momma's boy who likes being carried around and cuddled. Don't worry, Dreadwing's also there, he's just overprotective of his spawn and he cannot drop the serious act for even a second. The type of parent to speak to his newborn like he would an adult. He's trying his best Breakdown must be used to taking his kid and KO's son for outings. They're chatterboxes when they're together and they both laugh at his horrible dad jokes. When KO's exhausted he looks after his kids (or well, at least his son) - because KO's daughter wants to hangout in clean spaces with her dad. Damn the reader had a separate pregnancy just with Shockwave's kids at this point. Predaking is honestly very happy caring for his extra small siblings, and he's very careful not to crush them. Honestly he's a better dad than Shockwave lol. Also, if you wake them up, a bunch of tiny red optics open up in the total darkness. Feels like a horror movie