#thanks for sending me this ask it is fun

[dumb-teambucciarati-headcanons]

Hi! How good is each member of Team Bucciarati at doing backflips?

Hey anon! I wonder who you are!

Giorno: has never tried to backflip but would be very good at it if he ever decided to do one.

Bruno: only good if zippers are involved, this man has tried to do a backflip without using his zipper ability and landed flat on his back like a pancake

Abbacchio: would probably break his back if he tried.

Mista: he says he can do them, but he actually can only do them on a trampoline. Gets super nervous before starting. But he can definitely do them.

Narancia: the best backflipper, does backflips everyday! The backflip master. Learned to do backflips by listening to snoop dog, his music caused Narancia to be able to backflip instantly.

Fugo: he really wants to be able to do one but can’t quite get it right, hits his head every time.

Trish: can do one but doesn’t want to mess up her hair.

[peace-hunter]

Hi! I love your Ghost Primes with Optimus AU! It’s so good.

I have a question though, do the Decepticons know that Optimus can see the 13 prime ghosts or do they just get increasingly confused each time they fight?

Thank you for the lovely artwork!!

oh they Know something funky is going on for sure lmao

a little more serious answer: they can tell something is going on with optimus and they desperately want to pretend it's not. they don't want to know how he's aware of things he shouldn't be, how he knows stuff that should have long been forgotten, how he seems to be more familiar with them than he should be. how sometimes he speaks and it's like the dead are talking through him. how sometimes he will answer to empty air and somehow they can just tell what he's responding to. who he is talking to.

they Know. and they really, really want to pretend they don't.

they already carry the guilt of failing them once. the idea of doing it once more is unbearable and they'd rather deceive themselves than face it. they'd rather their friends stay dead and gone than think of them seeing what they've become.

haunted au

[craske]

What if SMilk's hair was still messed up despite it not making sense for his character, because deJammed his hair does the cartoon-character-with-poofy-hair -thing where if they try to "tame" or flatten it, it just poofs back out?

(Bonus: If it needs a reason to do that, one idea I had was that maybe it's because his hair is usually (so with Jam) "drenched" in magic, and when he loses that his hair gets frizzly, a bit like what happens if one lets their hair dry after swimming in saltwater)

(Of course, this is just something silly I thought of and decided to use as a fanart opportunity. Regardless of whether you vibe with the idea(s) or not, I hope the art is enjoyable :3 Love the AU, and love this pathetic wet cat of a guy!)

thats such an awesome idea i LOVE IT!!! magically maintained appearance, of COURSE he would do that

and the possible explanation behind it is so cool too, itd be very fun. i had a very similar idea actually!! that his hair is so covered with enough magic and actual shadows that it looks nothing like hair at all when he is his normal self (hence it moving in tandem with his emotions, not to mention the eyes in its dark parts). so yeah now that the magic is mostly gone, so is that shadowy coat, leaving his real hair visible to everyone + also much more difficult to actually deal with

thank you for these lovely drawings!!! ive been looking at them all the time and kicking my feet, theyre great!!! and im really happy to hear that you like it!! 🥺🥺🥺

[whalesharkstho]

(sorry if this sent twice, it seemed like my internet shit itself)

Your Jazz art has been so inspiring for me, it's been helping me through really dark times rn and just seeing my favorite guy done so much justice and in such a fantastic style makes things feel less hard. Thanks for posting sm and hope you know you'll always have a fan ❤❤❤ (might be able to convince my aro ass to even ship jazzop but we will see lmao /silly)

ahhhhh this message is one i’ve been staring at for a while it’s been making me giggle and kick my feet i’m SO very glad you like how i draw jazz!!! he’s my fave bot to draw and i’m very very happy my art is bringing you a sense of joy!! it’s genuinely all i desire as an artist for people to be happy when they see my work

anyway, here’s a jazz doodle for you!! i’m wishing you well and i hope things get better for you but in the meantime know there will be a pretty much endless well of jazz content from me X]

[purble-turble]

Firstly, I love your art! Secondly, I was just vibing and listening to music, when the song: "Let The World Burn" By Chris Grey, came on... And despite having heard it before, for some reason this time, I thought, wow, this song has a Dark SpicyNoodle vibe, and then my mind jumped to your Demon King Red AU! And honestly, thought it fit pretty well. Anyway, Thank You for reading my rambling, and sorry for the random word dump. I just thought I'd share!

Thanks so much for sending this ask in! I saw this this back in September when I first was going through my art requests and it was actually the first time I had listened to this song and oh my gosh I was immediately down with the Demon King Red vibes of it 😍 So instead of just answering your ask normally I saved it to complete as an art requests even though it wasn’t one and, well… here we go :U

[gomzdrawfr]

I had the absolute honour to draw with @unhingedpolycule on Magma :3 here's some of our shenanigans

[babyboywilson]

do you think poker night would be a domestic thing if hilson got together or would house kick him out of the apartment once a week just to be a dick

poker night starts out domestic. it starts with house’s legs propped up in wilson’s lap, wilson using his free hand to trail fingers up and down house’s shin and drawing silly patterns against the material of house’s jeans; occasionally slipping fingers under the hem of the jeans to graze fingertips against skin which always makes house shudder. they play against house’s tax accountant, dry cleaner, and the guy house knows from the bus stop. there’s playful jabs between house and wilson, but everyone at the table seems to know it’s some kind of weird foreplay between house and wilson and they stay out of it. house and wilson share the same bottle of beer, passing it back and forth to each other and their touch lingers every time they do. they bicker over every round of the game, yet house has a fond look on his face and wilson has a tender glow to his eyes whenever he looks at house.

it always seems to go downhill when wilson wins more rounds than house does. wilson grins such a smug little smirk at house, because he’s a cocky winner and house is a sore loser. house drops his legs out of wilson’s lap and mutters darkly about never loving wilson in the first place. wilson blows house a kiss and claims he’s going to win the next round, too. he does. and the next. and the next.

house starts to get agitated, dropping his cards and muttering about his leg hurting as he makes his way towards the kitchen for another beer. wilson cheers when he wins the next round and teases that they should switch to strip poker because house is going to end up naked in three rounds flat. “get out,” house grits out, motioning at all four of them and nodding towards the door before turning on his heel, marching towards his room. the other three pack up their stuff and move to leave without complaint. wilson, however, moves to follow house on instinct. “you too, get out,” house hisses, moving into the bedroom and slamming the door behind him. wilson leans up against the bedroom door and drops his forehead against it with a thunk. “house? c’mon, it’s just a game. let me in,” wilson calls out, tone switching from gloating to fondly exasperated because he really doesn’t think house will throw up out over a dumb poker game. house ignores him. wilson avoids everyone’s gaze as he packs up his stuff too and grabs his jacket, not wanting to acknowledge the fact house was kicking him out of their now shared space.

everyone else leaves. wilson settles against the wall by house’s front door and closes his eyes. he drifts into a fitful and uncomfortable sleep propped up in the hallway. he cracks his eyes open what must be hours later when house opens the door and locks eyes with wilson’s bleary gaze. house turns and walks back into the apartment without saying a word. wilson knows he’s silently forgiven and he follows house back into the apartment. the bedroom door is open, and wilson knows he’s been given permission to sleep in the bed next to house. wilson sleepily kisses house good night, and house kisses him back. definitely forgiven.

the same thing happens a week later. and the following week. and the week after that.

everyone knows it’s a charade now. house isn’t actually mad at wilson. it’s just another weird way the two of them flirt.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Thank you for posting about your fallen London oc, it made me dust off my old account which I haven't played since- *checks journal* omg since 2021 😭 do you play any of their other games, like sunless skies?

Thrilled to hear you got back into the Flondon-verse! I played a bit of Sunless Skies last summer - these were my favourite officers B*)

[cawsceries]

Pretty please can codywan kiss in global warming? If ur not doing ships then just cody having a silly/light-hearted/nerdy moment maybe!

yeah i’ll do ships!! BAD color palette did not enjoy it. the green… it’s killing me

contribute to my misery by sending me one of these color palettes :)

[firstkanaphans]

Yes!!! to the CPs who are most likely dating ask and response! Now which ghost ships do you believe in?

Ghost ships, my beloved. I'll keep this GMMTV adjacent just to make things easy for me. Ranked below from most to least likely to be real.

InnTie

They're married, your honor.

DiamondLego

This is all but confirmed, right? Lego's been walking around with Diamond's jewelry around his waist. They're dating.

PoonFluke

You're the one who turned me onto this, bestie, and all I can say is if they're not dating, then what the fuck are they doing? They're literally always together and yet trying desperately to hide it. They're also getting worse at it as the months go by. I'm just waiting for the announcement tbh.

MarkNamtan

No one matches each other's freak like these two.

JoongEst

I don't think they're dating now. I do think they dated in the past.

KapookCiize

I don't know if they're actually dating or just trying to get branded together, but either way, I'm into it.

ThorNut

LISTEN. A girl can dream.

[tunastime]

for the comfort prompts, draping a blanket over a sleeping body ^-^ maybe with 2 of our sweetest boys.... xisuma and doc ^-^ OR also maybe with ranchers ^-^

draping a blanket over their sleeping body (923 words) (x)

Xisuma scrubs his eyes. 

There comes a point in every shift that his body starts to give out. A point where, no matter the length of the shift, or how much he'd eaten, or slept, or drank tea, Xisuma felt his body slip away from him and the dull ache of sleep start to root and take hold behind his eyes. It's at this point where respite usually comes, in the form of Cleo or Doc walking through the door. And eventually it will be Cleo, he knows, because Doc's shift neatly aligned with his tonight. So much so he was able to actually get dinner at the same time as him, and Doc was able to kick him under the table over a cup of coffee. The jerk. 

Regardless, he could expect Cleo to wander in when she wished. Joints starting to protest weakly under the stretches he contorts his spine into, Xisuma gathers his belongings, and starts the trek down the levels toward his room.

It's a quiet walk—one he's learned to catalogue his thoughts to, to enjoy as much as the daily chatter of a morning shift beginning, or an afternoon shift ending. This early morning closure means that he'll have the good part of the day to sleep before he's on for another 48 hours. It also means that, for just a few of those hours, he might get to sleep next to his partner, after a few too many nights of just-barely's and near-misses. Xisuma sighs. For a moment, he lingers in the hall, peeking out at the rest of the station through a long, double-paned window, spanning the length of the propelled walkway. As he steps on, leans against the barrier, he watches stars flick idly past him alongside the sprawl of Prometheus. At its heart, where he was headed down to now, were the quarters. And his, along with a select few, got their own atrium view.  

The rest of the walk is similarly quiet, Xisuma's feet working on autopilot as his mind wanders from task to task, correspondence, to shipping requests, to diplomatic communique. He frowns, chewing the inside of his cheek as he waits a beat for the elevator. There had been a recent communique from the Coalition. It wasn't uncommon, but it hadn't happened in, what, two or three years now? Certainly enough time to have forgotten the last time he saw any of the crew on an official basis and certainly long enough to forget just what that little check-up meant. He holds back a particularly violent shiver. It's nothing this time—has to be. Prometheus hadn't done anything new or interesting in months, let alone enough to warrant an investigation. If the Interspace Investigation Coalition needed something from Xisuma, Admiral Void, it was going to take a very special visit and a lot of convincing. Not words on a screen.

By the time the thought passes through his mind, Xisuma is already at his front door. He shakes away the feeling crawling up the base of his spine and taps his keycard, door sliding open at his behest. 

"Doc?" he calls, as he enters. "I'm home."

The front entry is still warmly lit as he toes off his shoes and organizes his coat and bag at the front door. The living room is dark, aside from the faint glow of blue light, as are the desks they share and the kitchenette. Xisuma hums, frown deepening. He makes his way into the living room as he starts unclasping his overcoat, hands fiddling with the zipper behind him.

There, sprawled haphazardly on their small sofa, is Doc. One of his legs bends under the other, his ankle propped on the arm of the couch, socked foot hanging just over the edge. His pajamas are ruffled from moving, rucked up over one side of his ribs where his arm stretches to cover his eyes from the dim, ambient light. Xisuma stifles a snort that then catches the back of his throat. He looks comfortable. To an extent. Enough to fall asleep, at least, and enough to stay that way, even as Xisuma had called out to him and noisily shuffled in. 

X crosses his arms. He has but two options: one which requires him to deal with a sleep-disoriented, disgruntled Doc M now. The other: listening to him complain about tight muscles as he slipped into bed later that morning, seeking out the shape of Xisuma he missed. On one hand, X would get his partner's warmth and weight and grumbled words sooner. On the other... he looks so dang peaceful he'd almost feel bad disturbing him. Xisuma smiles to himself—the image alone of Doc crawling into bed next to him and letting X curl tiredly around him seems wildly comforting. A little selfish, but, really, who could blame him? 

Quietly, Xisuma shuffles over. He lifts the blanket from the back of the couch, ruffling it lightly in his hands as he sets it over Doc's sleeping form the best he can. Shrouded by the multicolored fabric, Doc seems to shrink, just a bit. Clearly cozy and comfortable, his face remains soft, sleep smoothing out the lines of stress on his face. X tucks the blanket carefully around his partner, careful not to jostle him awake as he leans down to press a kiss to his forehead. Upon drawing back, Doc doesn't seem to stir, and Xisuma hums his thanks to no one. He steps back, satisfied with his work, and shuffles off to bed.

[i-like-forcefem]

what's your favorite forcefem premise? (like, circumstance in which the forcefem occurs, if that makes sense)

Incredibly hard question!

Tonally my preference always goes to Humiliating yet Loving- but premise wise there's nothing but amazing things to choose from-

But if I had too pick right now...

Losing a Bet! Which gets escalated as "he" seems to like it~

I love it when there's plausible deniability at the start, "it's not like I want this! They're making me do it!" And the bet is a very simple, grounded, and silly way of it!

Then I love it when it slowly escalates!

Not due to anyone putting on a lot of force- but because the girls boundaries slowly get pushed and pushed and she's not pushing back

She's enjoying this- a lot- she'll never admit it- but she doesn't need to

The look on her face when she first put on a skirt is all the forcefemmer needs as a go ahead to plan what makeup she'll need to buy for her~

The bet, is in my eyes, the most elegant trans wishfufillment scenario out there, I don't think I've ever since an execution of it that I didn't love

And gently pushing someone's boundaries as escalation is just good manners~

[mickules]

Do you want art of a beloved blorbo? Will you risk a tricksy trick for the chance?

🎃 Let's play a Halloween ask game 🎃

Here are the rules!

Send me a 'Trick or Treat' ask to my askbox with a halloweeny emoji and the name of one character!

Be creative! any given character will only get the chance to be drawn ONCE, multiples will all be collected together. Is there a fave you legit NEVER see art of? Chuck their name into the ring! Doesn't have to be someone I've ever drawn before, all bets are off!

Asks will be collected from NOW [12:00 noon GMT] for 24 hours, [until Oct 29th 12:00 noon GMT] when the ask box will be closed!

Every ask is going to get a number. EVENS or ODDS will determine if it is a TRICK or a TREAT. It will be a straight 50:50 shot!

Treats will get a little pic of their character! Tricks will get some miscellaneous sweeties!

Tricks and Treats will be posted on Halloweeen! (tho do bare with me, I am but one man, and I've no idea how many asks this'll get)

Happy Halloweeeen! Best of Luck~

[impossiblepluto]

look, you've put out three SPECTACULAR fainting one shots so far, and as much as I'd love another one (seriously!! they're so good!!), I'm putting in a vote for stabbing.

there isn't as much variety, and you've gotta be a bit bendy with them, but you've got accidental (falling, getting hit by debris in an explosion, hit by a car accidentally and driven into something etc etc) and purposeful (mugging, someone desperate to get away, mistaken identity, stabbing to help ala mac with the gas etc) - seriously, take your pick of literally any interpretation of stabbing, and absolutely no pressure whatsoever to put something out, you've given us such delights already!!

A soft scraping sound has Jack's eyes flying open. He lays there in the comfortable darkness of his bedroom, tucked between luxurious sheets of an origin he won’t mention and waits for the noise to repeat. Confirm it wasn’t a dream so vivid he woke himself up. Or that he’s been in LA so long that the sound of mist on the window is foreign enough to be deemed a threat. 

Rain continues to patter. Any other time he’d enjoy laying here, listening to the seldom heard sound

After another few seconds his patience is rewarded. 

It’s coming from the living room. 

He pulls his t-shirt on and his gun out of the bedside table and moves silently through the darkness, listening. 

Something skiffs across the wooden door to his apartment. 

Jack gives himself a silent “three-two-one” countdown before throwing the door open.

Squinting into the hallway light, he has less than a second to make an identification and conduct a threat assessment before he finds himself catching an armful of dripping Mac. Jack fumbles for the light switch, pulling Mac into his apartment, gaze sweeping up and down the hallways before slamming the door shut and flipping the lock. 

“What happened? Are you okay?”

“Sorry. Sorry,” Mac mumbles. “Was just resting. Didn’t hear you. I can-” he grunts and straightens, pulling away from Jack and pushing his hair from his eyes. “I’m okay.”

Jack raises an eyebrow taking in the bedraggled sight.

“Was just resting,” Mac repeats. 

“You said that.” A tendril of worry coils through Jack. “Why?”

“Um…” Mac blinks. “I guess I went farther than I planned.”

“You went for a run?” Jack guesses. 

“It was raining,” Mac gives a crooked half-smile. “Doesn’t happen often. Wanted to take advantage of it.” His clothes and hair drip. His smile turns into an apologetic wince. “Sorry about your floor.”

Jack waves it off. Not the worst thing that’s dripped on his floor by  a long shot. “How long were you out there? Why didn’t you knock?”

“Didn’t want to wake you. Just–” Mac winces, his breathing still seems unduly labored. He leans back against the closed door. “Just needed a minute.”

“Let me get you a towel. And some water,” Jack says, setting his gun on the counter before heading up the hall toward the linen closet. “Then I can drive you home.”

“You don’t have to.”

Jack shakes his head though he knows Mac can’t see it. “If you ran long enough that you needed to stop and rest I think I should probably drive you home.”

“Just have a stitch in my side. It’ll pass.” Mac closes his eyes, pressing a hand against the muscles cramping just above his hip. 

Jack stops short on his return trek to Mac, staring at the puddle growing beneath Mac’s feet.

“What the hell-” Jack crosses the remaining distance. “Why didn’t you say anything?” 

Mac’s eyes blink open in confusion. 

“Mac, you’re bleeding!” 

“What?” Mac pulls his hand away from his side, his fingers coated in blood. “Oh.” He looks down at the tear in his moisture wicking t-shirt. Blood drips onto the floor. “Here, let me.” Mac reaches for the towel, and makes a move to squat.

“No,” Jack buzzes, snatching the towel back and pressing it to Mac’s side. 

Mac hisses. His head clunks back against the door behind him as he squirms. 

“Come on, sit down.” Jack’s mind races. 

“Are you sure,” Mac resists Jack’s insistent tugging on his arm. “It’s kind of a lot of blood.”

“That’s the point. Sit down.”Jack pushes Mac into a chair. 

“But it’ll get everywhere.” 

Jack peels back Mac’s shirt to get a better look at the wound. “How did this happen? Did you fall or…” 

Mac shakes his head before looking down, blocking Jack’s view. “I don’t– oh, I wonder if it was that guy.”

Jack gives a manic laugh as he gently pushes Mac’s head back so he can see better. “Somebody stabbed you?”

“No. I mean, I didn’t think so. He ran into me. I thought he was just a jerk.” Mac’s voice breaks off with a groan of pain as Jack puts pressure on the wound again. “

“You didn’t notice?”

“To be honest, this hurts a whole lot worse than that did.” Mac grinds out between clenched teeth. “Damn it, Jack.”

“Gotta put pressure on it.” Jack doesn’t look up. Hardens his heart against the pain in Mac’s voice. The way the muscles of Mac’s abdomen roil under his touch. The blood seeping through the towel to warm his hands. 

“I know but–” Mac twists. 

“Breathe, breathe through it. That’s it. You’re doing good.” Jack praises, watching the lines on Mac's face ease. "You think he stabbed you on purpose?"

"I think it would be weirder if he did it on accident." The sharp edge of pain in Mac's voice is softer.

“Okay. Hold this for me while I get something to secure that–”

Jack waits until Mac’s hands replace his own before he moves. Rummaging through the drawer in the kitchen until he finds a roll of duct tape.

“We’ll get this secured and then we’ll go.”

“Jack…” Mac whines.

“Hey! What’s the rule? Stab wounds, accidental or not, go to the hospital, right?”

Mac’s lips fold into a pout. “Right.” 

[sleepis4theweak]

I just saw your post on Mikey doing angry stimms and had to ask for more /nf since this is the first time I've seen someone draw angry stimms for a character (it's not that common from my perspective)

Thank you- love your artstyle so much!!! :D

(P.s. I also get angry stimmys too sometimes)

Aww- thank you so much for this ask! I am really, really happy you liked it!! And yeah I feel like angry stims aren't talked about as much...

Anyways I was really super excited to draw more- still using stims that I have done, though these are a little more uh... aggressive? I wanted to preface this by saying that I do these gently, or they are stims that I've replaced with something else hehe :)

For my angry stims a lot of it is based on frustration so it's kinda a lot of flailing? Like aggressive shaking. The biting one isn't something I've done in a while- and is one that I would try to do gently (would not recommend that one lol), and the punching of the thigh is something I tend to do (gently) when I'm hella frustrated with homework :)

[ratinayellowbandana]

For the writing ask -

Imodna + nighttime, stories, blankets

"i'll do a fifteen minute prompt," she said. "it'll be quick, she said." lies. i can't write anything without worldbuilding. this went in a direction i certainly didn't see coming, but i hope you enjoy it!

if anyone else would like to send me a prompt, please feel free! i love doing little scenes.

rated G, ~1.4k words.

~~~

It was the night before the horse show, and everything was going wrong. Everything was, perhaps, an exaggeration, but Imogen's glittery show blouse had gained a truly miraculous tear just after she'd blanketed Flora for the night, and they had another event in the morning for the champion ribbon.

A fit of desperation revealed one single tailor open at 10 p.m. on a Saturday. Why the hell a tailor was open that late was none of Imogen's business, but she thanked whichever deity was listening all the same. The website, which looked like it hadn't been updated in the past ten years, said the business did on-site repairs, and that was good enough for her.

That was how she found herself sitting in the parking lot of a decently sketchy strip mall under a weather-worn awning that read Fate's Stitchers. The flickering neon OPEN sign bathed her dashboard in blues and reds. The chime above the door clattered when she entered. Imogen squinted at the noise. Wood, maybe? Or plastic pipe? The tubes had been fashioned to look like finger bones. The shop was dark, lit by faux flickering candles on the counter and three small lamps. Clothing racks with seemingly handmade pieces were scattered about the room.

"Hello?"

An accented voice called from the back, "I'll be right with you!" Imogen caught the sound of a chair being moved, a scattering of plinks, and a muted curse. A woman emerged, fumbling, from the back room. She clearly had not been expecting anyone. Her long, dark hair was pulled into a floppy bun held in place by a claw clip. She wore a faded university sweatshirt and a long skirt that brushed the tops of her fuzzy red slippers. She was maybe a few years younger than Imogen, but the dim lighting of the shop made it difficult to tell. "What can I do for you?"

"Uh, hi," Imogen said dumbly. "Are you... open? The door was unlocked, so I thought–"

"We are," the woman confirmed, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. "I just prefer the lights off this late." From her tone, she'd gotten this question before.

"Isn't that bad for your eyesight?"

The woman adjusted a pair of large, square glasses to rest more fully on the bridge of her nose. "I believe that ship has sailed, as they say."

Imogen blinked. "Your website said you did last-minute mending?"

The woman hummed. "We do, though I will say the outcome depends on the case." She zeroed in on the blouse in Imogen's arms and gestured for Imogen to hand it over. Imogen watched as she inspected the garment, thumbing over the tear. She clicked her tongue. "Should be an easy fix." She turned and began walking toward the back room. "Are you coming?"

Imogen looked around at the empty couches, shrugged to no one in particular, and followed the woman behind the sheer curtains separating the shop from the work area. While the shop was relatively tidy, the backroom was an organized mess of sewing supplies. Racks of thread stretched floor to ceiling, with a stepladder nearby to reach the tallest spools. Buttons littered the floor, presumably what the curse Imogen heard was about. Bolts of fabric in every style, color, and texture were stacked up one wall. Music played softly from a speaker on the cutting table. Something slow and folksy that sounded vaguely familiar.

The woman took a seat on a stool and nodded for Imogen to take the one opposite. She drew her legs up under her until she was perched on the balls of her feet.

"So," Imogen said, unsure where to look, "d'you... get a lot of customers this late?"

"Mm," the woman mumbled, snatching a needle from her stash, "you'd be surprised at the things people need fixed on a whim. Wedding dress alterations that are put off until the last minute, that sort of thing." She winked, her eye magnified by her glasses, making it look almost doll-like. She chose her thread color and slid it through the needle’s eye with practiced ease. "There's always a story. The groom wants to add embroidery to his tie to honor his father," she ticked on her fingers, speech mumbled as she held the needle between her teeth, and adjusted Imogen's shirt. "Grandmother's shawl was stained before the holiday brunch, a dog made a chew toy out of a beloved stuffed animal, and the child won't stop caterwauling. Those are always my favorite to fix."

She drew the fabric of the shirt up close to ensure she poked the needle through the correct spot. "So, tell me, then, what's your story?"

Imogen shifted. "I'm in town for the rodeo. Shirt ripped during my event this afternoon, and it's my only one."

The woman's eyes sparkled. "A rodeo? How adventurous! I can't say I've ever been to one."

"Most people haven't."

"And you ride horses, then?"

"Yeah. Western pleasure."

The woman scrunched up her nose, causing her glasses to slip. "Is that... a breed?"

Imogen laughed. "Sorta. It's a riding style, though some breeds are more predisposed than others."

"And you have your own horse?"

"Flora. She's an Appaloosa."

"Oh," the woman said dreamily, "she sounds marvelous."

"She is," Imogen agreed, "and a sweetheart outside the ring too." She cleared her throat. "What about you? What's your story?" She gestured around them at the projects scattered on various work tables. "How'd you get into... seamstressing?"

The woman smiled, and her face softened. "As a girl, I was always making things. Dolls and the like. I loved to fix things, to leave them a little more beautiful than I found them. I was a very lonely child." Her lips twisted into a grimace of faint regret, but it slipped away just as quickly. "I started to make my own clothing. I would mend things for our neighbors in exchange for pocket money to buy thread and fabric. After my parents passed, I sold our farm and signed a lease for this place." Her fingers paused their stitching as she surveyed the room. "It's not much, I admit, but it's mine."

"The clothes out front. Are they yours?"

The woman nodded enthusiastically. "Patterns and all," she said proudly.

"Amazin'."

The woman averted her gaze and resumed her quick stitches. "That's very kind of you."

"I mean it. Hell, I can't even sew up my own shirt, much less design a whole new one."

Another smile cracked the woman's face, and she tied off the thread. "It's not terribly difficult. They sell sewing kits these days, you know. Maybe you could keep one in one of those Western saddlebags of yours."

Imogen didn't have the heart to tell her she didn't really have saddlebags. At least, not the way she was probably picturing. "You're gonna put yourself outta business if you keep givin' advice like that."

"Maybe." She stood, and when she stretched, her back made the same noise as the chime over the door. "Come on, then, we shouldn't keep Flora waiting."

Imogen followed her back to the front of the store. Headlights drove past, briefly casting the shop in a shadowy glow. "How much do I owe you?"

The woman waved. "Nothing. It was an easy fix."

Imogen teased again, "You're gonna put yourself outta business."

"I liked your story," the woman said simply. Imogen opened her mouth to protest, but the look on her face made her reconsider.

"Thank you," Imogen said earnestly instead. "Would've been mighty embarrassing to ride out tomorrow with a big ol' hole in my shirt."

"Disastrous, I'm sure."

Imogen shuffled her feet before summoning her courage to ask: "I'm sorry, I don't think I caught your name earlier."

"Laudna," Laudna said in that melodic way of hers.

"Imogen."

"Imogen," Laudna repeated. "It was very nice to meet you, Imogen."

"Likewise."

"I hope you'll visit again soon."

"If I keep puttin' holes in my clothes, you're sure to see me."

"Well," Laudna drawled, "in that case, I believe sewing kits are sold out everywhere. A shame, really."

"Truly." The corner of Imogen's mouth curved up.

"Best of luck tomorrow. Please give your horse a pat from me."

"I will. And thank you again."

"A pleasure."

As the chime clattered overhead and the door closed behind her, Imogen ran her fingers over Laudna's handiwork. She couldn't help but grin.