Dana/Robby — Yes please! They know each other in a way most other don’t. They can share a look, a glance, a touch and know exactly what the other one is thinking. They look out for each other and are very protective of each other. There is a lot of love there!
Dana/Jack/Robby — Oh my god, this is the OT3 of OT3s. What they have is what OT3s aspire to be and have. I think they have a QPP. I think they’re all soulmates, be it platonic or romantic. They are all so in-sync. They can read each with just a look or a touch. I also think they fuck nasty in every possible combination of the three of them. They call her “our girl.” They definitely used pet names. I could go on, but you get the point: I love them so much!
Send me a ship, and I’ll give you my (brutally) honest opinion on it!
My friend got so drunk at a wedding that we had to physically restrain her from trying to rescue a racoon she mistook for a cat in the Waffle House parking lot. What makes it funny was that this wasn't the first time we'd had to do this. It probably won't be the last either if it really comes down to it.
7: If you had to choose one way to die, what would it be?
Natural causes? But if we're going for flash, then spontaneous combustion.
50: Post a selfie.
Here's one from when I was a groomsman at my friend Nik's wedding.
Types of kisses prompts: 16. Chrisjen/Cotyar, 33. Bobbie/Cotyar, 42. Bobbie/Chrisjen (I'm not even gonna bother putting any "or's" between these anymore)
So, shocker, I did do all of them. Behind a cut, because otherwise it would be a hella long post.
16.Chrisjen/Cotyar - One person pouting, only to have it removed by a kiss fromthe other person.
Therewas something oddly satisfying in watching Chrisjen be out of her element.Cotyar didn’t necessarily enjoy seeing her be this uncomfortable, but she wasthe kind of person who could walk into any situation and own it, made it play out exactly the way she wanted it. To see her brow furrowed, her lips pursed and practicallyjump out of her chair as soon as they had gotten the all clear that the dropshiphad docked and leave the cramped area was new and it was interesting. Althoughprobably not a good thing to have her in this nervous of a mindset if they weregoing to deal with Mao.
He leftthe marine to fend for herself and followed Chrisjen to a small private areawhere he found her pacing, the click of her heels muffled against the carpet.She shot him a dirty look as he closed the door behind him. Oh good, she wasstill in a terrible mood. “If you mention that we’re walking into a trap onemore goddamn time, I will have you tossed out of this fucking ship.”
“I wouldn’tdream of it.” The look in her eyes could have melted the hull of the ship andit said that she knew he would definitely dream of it. For now he would keepthose comments to himself. He never was sure when she was serious with herthreats to do grievous bodily harm. But the amusement he felt at watching herbe uncomfortable was starting to fade and he sighed, watching her walk thelength of the space. “You need to breathe.”
“I amfucking breathing,” she snapped and stopped pacing. Cotyar raised his hands insurrender and carefully approached her, glad to see that she was letting him.He could see that she was breathing, but it was a little shallow and irregular.It made sense in a way. She could fight any battle, take on any enemy, but thiswasn’t a fight. This was fear, or at least a huge discomfort, and she wasn’t goodat fighting herself.
“No, youneed to breathe, properly.” He placed his hands on her shoulders and ignoredthe incredulous expression on her face. “I’m afraid your heart will give outand I would hate to blame your death on the Martian back there.”
Chrisjengave him a spectacular eyeroll, but he spotted the smallest hint of a smile inthe corner of her mouth and there wasn’t any anger behind her next curse as herhands lightly landed on his hips. “Motherfucker.”
“Youalright?” he asked a little more seriously. As much as he had smirked when shehad been seemed a little scared, even though he knew her fear was justifiedafter the transport from Pallas incident, but he kind of needed her to bealright. Chrisjen looked up at him and he immediately realized he shouldn’thave asked her that. He shook his head slightly and squeezed her shoulders. “Stupidquestion.”
“It was.I just fucking hate space and space travel and everything associated with it.” Thegrip on his hips tightened and she looked almost more defeated than she didannoyed. She was even pouting, even though he had learned to not point that outanymore, because she always vehemently denied it. It was endearing and theallure of her bottom lip was too much to resist. Giving her plenty of time toshove him away, he leaned closer until there was only a hair’s breadth betweenthem.
When shedidn’t stop him, he closed even that small distance, kissing her softly,capturing her bottom lip between his own. He actually felt some of the tensionin her shoulders disappear as she kissed him back. It made him wish they hadmore time, that there wasn’t a Martian marine on board whom he still didn’tquite trust. He wanted to be on Earth with a bed so he could give her what sheneeded, what they both wanted. But for now a kiss would have to do, until thismess was resolved.
“Wasthat supposed to be distracting?” she asked, arching an eyebrow, her lipsticksomehow still perfect. Cotyar shrugged, tracing her bottom lip with his thumb.
“Yep.”It had been as much a distracting move as it had been something he had wantedto do before they reached Mao’s ship. It was a trap they were flying into and atrap he wasn’t sure he was prepared for, could prepare for. But Cotyar didn’twant to tell her that, even though he suspected Chrisjen already knew. Sheusually did.
“It didn’twork.” She raised her chin defiantly. Her pout was gone, so was the worry inher eyes and tension she had carried. Kissing her had worked, but he wouldgladly play along to make this moment last longer. Her hands moved from hiships to underneath his jacket, her palms warm through the fabric of his shirtagainst his lower back.
“I cantry again.”
“I thinkyou should.” Chrisjen met him halfway when he leaned down to kiss her again.
33.Bobbie/Cotyar - An unexpected kiss that shocks the one receiving it.
Cotyarfelt nervous which was a strange sensation that he hadn’t felt quite like thisin years. By some miracle he had survived getting off Mao’s ship, had beenpicked up by the UNN, had a gut wound healed and then had managed to get to vacsuit before the protomolecule had reached him. And now here he was, on JamesHolden’s ship with Chrisjen, who had slapped him squarely across the facebefore wrapping her arms around him and cursing him into the next century.
Theremay have also been some kisses which would have ended up in some desperate sexif they hadn’t gotten the message that Holden was coming back with a bunch ofkids and more importantly, an injured Draper. He had watched her being carriedin by the pilot, limping, every inch of her bruised. She had given him an emptylook before the drugs kicked in and she had passed out, which was probably forthe better.
So nowhere he sat, watching her heartbeat, waiting for Chrisjen to return or for thedrugs to slowly stop working, whichever happened first. It turned out it was the latterwhen Bobbie’s heartrate increased a little and her eyes began to flutter open.Cotyar immediately moved to her side, carefully taking her hand, wanting to bean anchor for her as she returned to reality.
“HeyMarine,” he whispered. It took a moment for Bobbie’s eyes to focus on him andthen another for her to realize who she was looking at. When it finally clickedshe gave him a groggy smile and squeezed his fingers. He felt a warmth settlein his stomach as he looked at her.
“Spy.You made it.” Her skin was still more bruise than its original shade, but therewas no mistaking that accent or that tone. This was Bobbie Draper and she washere and she was alive. He had to resist the sudden urge to hug her as reliefcoursed through his veins. She was a marine, she was supposed to risky, stupidshit, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t been scared when Chrisjen had told himwhat she had done.
“Barely.You look worse though.” What was gunshot wound and a little protomoleculecompared to going one on one with a hybrid and living to tell the tale? Bobbietried to smile.
“Ah, youshould see the other guy.” It was probably for the best that he couldn’t. The Rocinantehad nuked the site of the lab, destroying all evidence of the protomoleculethere, including Bobbie’s hybrid. But the big mechanic had already told himBobbie had done quite a number on him, emptying her gun into its head.
“Youkilled your dragon, huh?” Bobbie took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Whenshe opened them again, there were tears in her eyes and Cotyar felt his heartbreak a little. She was so strong and powerful, had saved his ass and Chrisjen’s,had destroyed something that was impossible to destroy, but she was stillhuman. Carefully he wiped away a tear that nearly rolled into her hairline,letting his thumb rest against her cheekbone.
“I did.”She didn’t sound proud or victorious. She sounded tired, like it hadn’t beenthe catharsis she had sought. He could have told her that slaying your dragonsdoesn’t give you the peace you seek, but she wouldn’t have listened. At leastnow she knew.
“Youscared her, Marine. You scared me when I heard what you did.” He had no doubtChrisjen would tell her all about how terrified she had been in a less thansubtle way, but he wanted to say it as well. He got wanting to get revenge, butnot at the near cost of one’s own life. The tired expression on Bobbie’s facewas changed into of sadness as if it suddenly hit her that she had people whocared about her on this ship.
On animpulse, on the feeling that he didn’t want to lose her, Cotyar leaned down andpressed a soft kiss to her lips. Bobbie inhaled sharply, but after a moment aher lips started moving against his, the grip she had on his fingers tighteninguntil it hurt. Cotyar smiled and pulled back, kissing her forehead beforelooking down at her. “Don’t scare us again.”
Bobbielooked thoroughly confused and speechless, pressing her lips together as if shecouldn’t quite believe what had just happened. Somehow he could barely believeit himself. “I – what?”
“We’lltalk about it later. Just rest and heal.”
42.Bobbie/Chrisjen - Distracting kisses from someone that are meant to stop theother person from finishing their work, and give them kisses instead.
Chrisjenhad the talent of firing orders at people faster than any PDC could. Bobbie wasa little awestruck watching her as Chrisjen walked into the apartment in the UNbuilding, talking to one of her assistants no doubt. Bobbie almost felt sorryfor who was on the other end and she hoped they were recording thisconversation. Confirming appointments there, canceling them somewhere else,blacklisting one motherfucking idiot and inviting another to dinner.
As shepoured herself a drink, Chrisjen smiled at her, rolled her eyes and continuedtalking. Bobbie smiled back as she muted the television, smiling wider when shewas handed a glass of whiskey most Martians could only dream of. She caughtChrisjen’s wrist before she could walk away and brushed her lips against theinside of her palm, looking up to watch Chrisjen’s lips part and the tip of hertongue flick out to wet her bottom lip.
“Fuck…No,not you. Where was I?” Bobbie felt an immense of amount of pride that such a smallgesture had managed to momentarily distract Chrisjen. Chrisjen caressed hercheek and walked away, gesturing to open the door to the small outside area.She looked so beautiful today, draped in gold and blue that moved like it wasliquid. She looked like royalty from centuries ago and it just made Bobbierealize that she had barely spent any time together.
Abandoningthe whiskey without ever taking a sip, she decided to take advantage of the factthat Chrisjen was on an audio-only call. Bobbie walked up behind her and trailedher fingers down her arm before wrapping her arms around Chrisjen’s waist andresting her chin on her shoulder, breathing in the fresh air, even as thecomforting sound of Chrisjen voice continued to hurl orders.
WhenChrisjen didn’t stop, even though she had once stated she preferred to do aslittle work as possible at home (before grumbling that this fucking apartmentwould never be home), Bobbie turned her head. The line from her neck the edgeof her shoulder was bare, except for a necklace. Smirking, she kissed justbehind Chrisjen’s ear, knowing it would make it shiver. She wasn’t disappointedwhen she could her stiffen in her arms.
Sadly,she barely faltered in her fairly one-sided conversation, so Bobbie moved tokiss her neck, barely there kisses at first, slowly building up the pressure,until she was just shy of leaving a mark, nipping at the sensitive skin withher teeth as Chrisjen seemed to lose her train of thought several times andcovered Bobbie’s hands with her own, seemingly to steady herself. Bobbie smiledagainst her neck and bit softly just above the necklace.
Withoutwarning, Chrisjen muted her earpiece and spun around her arms. She was a littleflushed, her eyes were dark and she looked a slightly heated. Good. That hadbeen exactly what she wanted.
“Bobbie…”Chrisjen tried to sound exasperated, but Bobbie could see straight through that.She was turned on and it wouldn’t take much to have her put down work for thenight. She missed her and she wanted her.
“Yes, ma’am?”she tried innocently.
“Don’t ‘ma’am’me. You know exactly what you’re doing.” Chrisjen actually poked her in thechest with her finger and Bobbie smiled. It was cute when she was pretending tobe annoyed with her.
“And I’mnot gonna stop. Earth will continue spinning if you stop working for a moment.Send that poor girl home and spend some time with me.” Chrisjen narrowed hereyes, but Bobbie didn’t budge. She just held her close, looking down at her,waiting for her to give in already. Thankfully, that didn’t take long when Chrisjensuddenly sighed.
“Fuck,fine.” She unceremoniously hung up on her assistant and tossed her earpiece onthe table. “You have my full attention.”
Bobbiedidn’t bother responding. She simply picked Chrisjen up and kissed her properlyas she walked her over to the bed.
I kinda stopped listening to music regularly a couple of years ago but before that probably
Nirvana - Plateau // Queen - Don’t Stop Me Now // R.E.M. - Man On he Moon // Die Ärzte - Schrei nach Liebe // Radiohead - You // Andrew Bird - Pulaski at Night
11: Do you have any strange phobias?
nothing strange, spiders, heights, flying, blood, most people...
45: What’s the worst injury you’ve ever had?
Oh, so many to choose from.
I broke my foot once ( I didn’t know it was broken) but I thought it was ok because I could still walk so it healed all wrong. I opted out of breaking it again so it looks a little funny and sometimes I get knee problems.
But honestly, nothing beats having a stroke before 20.
54: What’s the last thing you purchased?
Besides groceries, I bought a gift for my sister (just in time, lol). It’s her birthday on the weekend!
81: What would you want to be written on your tombstone?
I have a perfect view of the stars from here
84: What is a saying you say a lot?
Lol, I don’t believe I use a lot of sayings. But I am known for overusing “Wat mutt, dat mutt!” which is similar to “that's the way the cookie crumbles”
I may come back for 6, but here’s 22 and under a cut because oh god I just kept going
“Well, I guess I’d better head back,” Grace sighs, sitting up a little straighter but making no further effort toward that end.
“Back to the castle in the sky, where a man waits to fill your every desire,” Frankie grins, bobbing her head from shoulder to shoulder. “Oh, and Nick’s there, too.”
Grace rolls her eyes, taking this light abuse in stride. She deserves a good deal more, for what she’s done, but this is about as deep into those waters as they’ve yet dared tread.
Frankie continues, on a roll now: “I’m surprised he doesn’t keep a driver waiting out front until you wave your dainty hand.”
Grace issues a sideways smile, not detecting, as she is now always alert for, any note of bitterness or resentment. There is nothing in Frankie’s manner that indicates a hovering dark cloud, and she’s grateful. And she’s also grieved. She wouldn’t wish that awful moment on the beach for Frankie ever again, god no… but at the same time, hadn’t she felt surer then than she ever had in her life that she was loved?
But she responds in what she hopes is a similarly glib tone, laced with her own sarcasm. “Yeah, I try to maintain as much normalcy as I can. Just like I did with you, just at the opposite extreme.”
As soon as she’s said it she feels profoundly that this was not the right thing to say, but again Frankie’s face betrays no sign of hurt where it might be expected. Wanted? She questions herself – then immediately dismisses it.
Not hearing any argument, or even further teasing, Grace surveys the scene. Empty take-out containers, candy wrappers, glasses and a blender with the remainder of a batch of margaritas at the bottom were strewn about the living room. They’d certainly indulged themselves in this, the first of what they had promised would be frequent and routine Girls’ Nights. But it had taken three weeks to finally make time for this one, and it was over in a flash. There would always be parties, family get-togethers, Vybrant meetings and pop-ups, but how often would it just be the two of them, free and easy like before? Would it ever?
“I can help you clean before I go,” Grace suggests, perking up a bit.
“No, no,” Frankie waves her away. “Get out of here. You know a little mess doesn’t bother me.”
“That’s exactly what I’m worried about – it doesn’t bother you long enough, before you know it it doesn’t bother rats, either.”
“Joan Margaret will scare them away with her shuffling about and swearing,” Frankie shrugs, unconcerned. “The accent frightens smaller animals. It’s why I haven’t gotten my chickens yet.”
“Uh huh,” Grace chuckles, an amused smile quickly fading into an empty one. She can just picture Frankie and Joan Margaret chasing rodents out the door at their various paces and using various accents. Frankie, and Joan Margaret – and not her.
“All right,” she says, with an air of finality that is still not matched by any movement.
“All right,” Frankie agrees, just a hint more emphatically.
“I’m going, I’m going.” Grace leans forward, resting a hand on Frankie’s knee for leverage as she starts to rise, then reconsiders, sinking back down against the couch with renewed energy. She leaves her hand where it is. “Or maybe – maybe we could make this a sleepover, like old times? Hopefully there won’t be pigs this time, much less rats, but –“
“And leave your charming husband waiting alone?” Grace thinks she detects a sight edge in her voice now, something more than a gentle admonishment, but her smile is indulgent and kind. And she covers Grace’s hand with her own.
“He doesn’t –“ Grace doesn’t finish the sentence, no more sure she knows what she intends to say than she is of it being understood. He doesn’t mind sharing me? What does that, some cruel voice in her head snarls, even mean? She doesn’t want to be shared, at any rate: she either has the nerve to say where she wants to be, or she does not.
She returns Frankie’s smile, as strongly as she can manage, thinking she could be a whole hell of a lot more convincing if she had finished off the last of the margaritas. “You’re right. I’d better get going.”
Frankie squeezes her hand briefly and then drops it, standing herself with no further preamble. Grace watches with no small amount of wonder as she meanders in the general direction of the door, amazed as always by her strength. Frankie is the injured party here if anyone is, but since that first awful morning on the beach she’s been the one to pick up and carry on while Grace has been stuck, immobile. It isn’t right, on top of everything else, to expect Frankie to set the tone for every conversation, to be the one to reach out and make contact, to speak up and say what she wants – except, Grace considers, it would hardly be right to expect the opposite, either. It is impossible. It is wrong, all wrong, and she cannot move from this spot to slide her shoes back on and stand and follow her friend where she leads. But then, half in a fog, she does.
“You should get the chickens,” she hears herself say in a clear and playful voice she is surprised she can manage. “Or the helper monkey you always wanted – probably would do more good than Joan Margaret, whatever Bud says.”
“Put in a good word next time you talk to the boys for me?” Frankie laughs, pulling Grace in for a hug there at the door. “They think you’re sane now; your word counts for more.”
Grace holds on to her, tightening her grip when she feels Frankie start to pull away. This is the only sane, safe place she has ever known. Or if insane, which, laughing into Frankie’s hair now, she knows it is, it’s her kind of insane, theirs. It’s home.
“Bye, girl,” Frankie says, releasing her at last. She takes Grace’s hand for a moment, then lets that fall, too.
“Bye, girl,” Grace echoes weakly, fixing her smile in place until Frankie turns and begins to walk back across the room. The moment her back is turned, useless tears begin to sting at Grace’s eyes. She blinks them back angrily, her hand on the doorknob. Not like this, she thinks, if it’s going to be another three weeks before they do this again, if the gaps only become longer, deeper. She straightens her shoulders and takes a deep breath, watching Frankie go.
“I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice,” Frankie calls back at her. The remark is tossed off and singsong, but it makes Grace seize up, as if caught in the act of something private, embarrassing, and bordering on the depraved.
“Frankie?” she ventures, not sure if the clarification, or the lack of one, would be harder to bear.
Frankie whirls around just before disappearing down the hall, grinning and blowing Grace a playful kiss. “You sure do know how to make a girl feel loved, Grace Hanson!”
Grace stands there for a long moment, stricken, elated, befuddled. Finally she shakes her head, laughing to herself. I do love you. And you know.
If at least that much is clear, she thinks, perhaps they will be all right.
