remembered that my shepard/spacer shep has a still alive mom in the alliance according to ME2/3
also remembered that that character (katrine/caia) always has a sister uninvolved in the family's career military history
remembering she had to mourn her elder sister who just Disappeared for two years, and would have spent even longer knowing shepard isn't alive bc their alliance mom probably can't just tell a civillian doctor,
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RvBTober Prompts
october is quickly approaching, you know what that means...
I made this prompt list for myself, but i hope other ppl can use it too that would be really cool i think
tag if you do, i want to see :D
Freelancer shenanigans
Donut
Cooking
Blue Team banter
Screenshot redraw
OC/ Favorite character
Sarge speech
Fall
Revelation
Tucker
Slice of life
AI
Red Team banter
Crossover
Tex
Portrait
Free space
Carolina
"Safety meeting"
Washington
Don't Say it (episode)
Caboose's wisdom
Favorite Ship
Church
Reconstruction
Cardboard box fort
Angst
Beach Episode
Headcannons
Favorite episode/quote
Halloween
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everyone fuckign better watch out or im gonna write a ffh fic where peter receives edith, finds out tony did everything he did specifically to get peter back, and goes “hm. karmas a bitch.” and decides to invent a way to get tony back, just like tony did for him
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this is going to sound really fucked up but i just need to say it i think.
I never realized that people could actually care. I always thought that the depictions of friendship in movies and TV shows were over-the-top portrayals, and weren't things that actually happened. This was then exacerbated by the fact that my entire life I always wanted people to just Know How I Was Feeling like they do on TV and I found out that that's Not How It Works. I always thought I was naive for caring so much about my friends and for doing nice things for them out of the blue, and I always resented myself for resenting my parents for not doing more for me as a child.
So when I got to uni, and my friends started caring about me and asking if I was ok when I looked sad and doing nice things for me, I didn't know what to do with myself. It was the nicest thing anyone had ever done for me in a long time. When I was staying with a friend, and she said that she left the window open in the room I was going to be staying in because I liked it to be cold when i sleep, I bluescreened. I didn't know how to respond. It is quite literally one of the nicest things anyone had ever done for me. No one had ever paid that much attention to the things I liked. Every year on my birthday it was either a gamble if I would get something I actually wanted from my parents (spoiler alert: I was often disappointed) or I would just have to straight up tell them what I wanted. I got accustomed to the latter, and now I don't mind, but receiving two gifts from friends about languages this year made me realize that I could have it so much better.
And don't even get me started on online friends. I sort of thought that everyone was lying about them? Or that it was something unattainable, and reserved only for God's Chosen Favorites or something. But no, there are little people in my phone who care about me. They legitimately care about me as much as I care about them. I've been nervous to ask them about their well-being because I'm still nervous about being naive and getting a wake-up call that no one cares again, but after being told that they were worried about me when I overslept, I think i should know that I'm in the clear. And that's not even including all the times they tell me to go to bed when it's late, and when they ping me about things I may enjoy or things I was involved in.
All this is to say I guess that I'm touched that people remember my existence. It makes me feel good to be wanted. I will be eternally grateful to both my irl and online friends who made me realize that just because my parents or my friends from home didn't care enough to remember what I like or to go out of their way to do nice things for me, it doesn't mean that no one will. I need to step up and do more for you guys. I trained myself to push down my desire to help and check in with people because I thought I was betting on something that I'd never get in return, but now I know I can.
Thank you all, and I love you 💚
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hi!! this is a silly little Christmas ficlet i promised to @tangerine-ginger a while ago (and by "silly", i mean very very angsty! hahaha. i am incapable of writing fluff, it seems). sorry it took so long, btw; i got distracted, but i managed to throw it together tonight! :-)
The view from Heaven isn’t so bad, if you know where to look. The globe that sits in the foyer is nice enough. But if you, like Aziraphale, happen to be the Supreme Archangel of Heaven…well then, that comes with a couple of choice benefits.
One of these benefits happens to be the ability to open a window’s view into various corners of the universe—to tear a hole through the side of the silver sheet between worlds and peer through, like a bird skimming the length of a wave with its wings.
In this story, however, there is no wave; no ocean or seagull feather kissing the bright edge of seafoam. No, in this story, there’s just an angel and a demon, both holding bloodied wounds, pretending the ichor isn’t soaking their clothes silver-gold with the shape of want. That their hands aren’t shaking. That the ground has felt entirely solid since that moment on the street with the lift and the car and the wall he built between them.
Aziraphale leans forward. The gap between realms opens into the unsteady kaleidoscopic sway of downtown Soho. He adjusts the corner of his collar. He watches, and he aches.
—
In the bustle and sway of Soho’s beating heart, Crowley finds himself unsteady under the heat of iridescent lights. Each Christmas, the West End of London had opted for large, glittering installations—models of whales and fish and seahorses, all lit up from within like glowworms trapped in jars. Even now, a jellyfish sways, soft pink and faintly clinking in the night, like a vaguely sentient thing. It’s surreal, really, the buzz of lights and the onslaught of holiday shoppers making it feel nearly claustrophobic. Crowley shivers and adjusts the cuffs of his blazer. His coat does little to keep the cold out, his corporation all raw nerve endings and shuddering, bleeding heart.
Throughout the past however many millennia, this time of year had been all soft whispers and apple cider clutched between hands; all hot breath blooming into clouds in the December chill—the indirect touch of their mingled speech; all heavenly shoulders brushing hellish ones as they teetered through cobblestoned streets, both sloshed halfway to purgatory. The lights had always felt warm and the ground had felt so solid you could never hope to fall through it.
In the present moment, a child runs past, a laugh blooming in the air around them. Almost without thinking about it, the demon blesses them. The miracle, tiny as it is, blossoms into being on a metaphysical plane only he can see, and follows the child like a benevolent will-o’-the-wisp. Hell wouldn’t even notice. Heaven—the Supreme Arch-fucking-angel himself—wouldn’t notice.
But he does. Aziraphale does, and he watches with breath caught and thrashing in his throat. Something deep in his chest is burning, a spitfire of grief and absence and loss. Heaven is terribly cold. And Soho, despite its billowing flashes of light and sounds of laughter, is much the same.
And with so much space between them, the night has never felt so lonely.
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