#why are you so chaotic Farmer

[studentinpursuitofclouds]

Some random SVE headcanon:

After the Morgan 8❤️ event, when both Morgan and Magnus were extremely surprised by the Farmer's ability to transmute ore into a gold, I remember very well the amazed Magnus when he found out that the Farmer learned it themself without any help. After all, knowledge is passed from teacher-mage to student, and the Farmer was looking for answers without someone guiding them.

Why not go further and let the Farmer learn invisibility spells or fire spells on their own to crush enemies with a couple of fireballs. Imagine when the Farmer, for no reason, teleports without a scepter and a totem away from Camilla's jokes. Or how the Farmer destroyed the monsters in Crimson Baldlans by simply incinerating them, while greatly surprising Isaac and other adventurers who were nearby.

Many mages and adventurers tell Magnus what a talented youngster they are and how quickly they learned from their wizard friend. And Magnus just stands there and like:

[soulrph]

chaotic unhinged lines from 2022-2023 (prompt edition).

basically in 2021 i made a list of prompts inspired by lines in tiktok videos and instagram reels that made me laugh so hard i cried! and now i have returned with another list! these may provide an alarmingly clear image of what my sense of humor is (aka broken) but i figure a little levity is always a good thing! more prompts are forthcoming, but in the mean time: bon appetit!

knowledge has always chased you, but you've always been faster.

no... no, that was mango apathy juice. from the farmer's market.

of all these people, you are the one i understand the least. i want to get to know you better, but like, not that much better.

i-i will CHEW YOUR MEAT!! WHAT are you doing?!

ooooh god, no, you wouldn't be long getting frostbit!

you are evil. like a hobbit.

WHY MUST YOU FAIL ME SO OFTEN?!?!!?

i have had a perfectly wonderful evening, but this wasn't it.

AHEM!! fill my cup.

may god ignore you like you ignored my greetings.

i will avenge you mister van gogh.

call off work bestie, we need you to solve a murder. here's fifteen dollars.

you're not in love. you may think you are, you dumb fuck, but you're not.

go ahead and put the ranch away.

sadly, "hopefully" doth butter no parsnips.

forget school, i want to be an italian sandwich.

you shouldn't skip work, you are a lawyer and he is a hamster.

you can stop roleplaying now. you're free.

her coupon game was so fucking raw.

i'm sorry guys... he's making a salad.

you could get a straight guy here if you learned to make a good pasta. i'll teach you how to make a risotto that'll get you married and out of my basement.

hey, do you want me to get together a plate of roast beef and hide it in our room so we can have night meats?

it's not the most ethical thing in the world, but in a pinch you can hand off a cursed object to basically any baby.

no, children, you're wrong. once upon a time, there was a piece of wood.

and i'm not saying she deserved it, but i am saying that god's timing is always riiiiight.

hydrate or die-drate, ya DICK!

why did the monkey fall out of the tree? because it was DEAD.

new york city is a fictional place written up by someone with a sinister mind and a knack for comedy.

this is grindr my guy.

wait, i didn't finish teaching you the difference between human and wolf anatomy.

it's time to tell your grandmother that she was wrong. do not be afraid.

vanilla vodka... you fucking child.

without ash to rise from, a phoenix would just be a bird getting up.

you are fucking alive. do what you want.

why are you cradling me like a baby, friend? this isn't how guys of my generation hang out.

i hope a hedgehog shits in your cereal, you difficult person.

you know, i am not as mean as i would like to be. and i think people should appreciate that more.

see, i am not a kangaroo.

well, i'd like to help, but... you see... not as much as i'd like not to.

rest in peace you fucking onion fairy.

when god sings with all his creations, will a turtle not be part of the choir?

i fight for a seat in heaven, every. single. day.

map maker? can you find me somewhere on the map where this big man thinks he's the king?

you bald-headed demon...

so... there are 24 million pigs in australia... and 24 million people... so if you ever feel lonely, there's like, a pig out there that's sort of your cosmic twin.

remember, alcohol is god's apology for making us self-aware.

i'm straight!! stop CONFUSING me!!!!!

you guys want something to eat? because... i know we'll die if we don't eat.

he is a BIBLICALLY gorgeous man. i wanna feed him grapes. i wanna fan him with the frond of a date palm from the forests of Lebanon. i wanna find the alabaster vial of perfume oil that one woman broke for jesus and comb it through his hair. like... he's stressing me OUT.

i'm not sad! i'm freaking HUNGRY!

maybe, if we wait a little bit longer, a fuck will fall into my hand, and i can give it to you.

it's not my fault you thought you lived in this IKEA.

let's leave my mother out of this.

jason may kill people but he's not bad enough to kick a dog.

i run for LUMP!

oh no, i'm all out of caring, baby!

you don't think it mcbe that way... but it mcdo.

what is this enticing bowl of white?

serious question, do his nipples sparkle?

what in the reese's peanut butter fuck is going on here?

if your parents don't buy it, stop loving them!

i just hope you know just how much you've decreased productivity today.

that was poetry at its FINEST.

and if you let that motherfucker shenan ONCE, you best believe they're gonna shenanIGAN!

may god bless the dinosaur that died to make the fossil fuel that was treated to become petrol in the car that took her mom to the hospital to give birth to her.

that's modern milk for ya. what a time to be alive.

you have attachment issues. please fix it.

remember when people had secrets? we should bring that back.

the moon landing was an elaborate marriage proposal.

i don't like the cobra chicken.

i didn't know eggs were this expensive? it's time to lay my own, i fear.

so you're saying the reason i don't have a girlfriend is because i'm not a big enough threat yet.

god gave him a top lip, that's why he's so powerful.

it's a common mistake, but frankenstein was actually the author.

i finally got a pocket-sized diary!!! also i don't get the concept of life.

if a beautiful woman disagrees with me, i will immediately change my view. i've no principles.

how did you all end up married to such boiled potatoes?

if so much as one tear drops from their eye... i will slap you back into your mum.

you are ringing a phone that does not like to be rung.

look how Dr. doofenschmirtz had a fucked up childhood but didn't project his trauma onto his teenage daughter. he projected it onto a platypus.

it is mathematically impossible for you to get a wedgie.

i'm breaking up with you. i love you, it's just... i don't think you could protect me from a mummy.

if you can't do fractions....... you will fucking die.

that's right; in the year 1791, all of our bottoms were killed in a Big Bottom Massacre.

people always assume i'm mean. like CAN you BELIEVE THAT CRAP?! like WHAT would make you think i'm MEAN?! I'M THE NICEST PERSON ON THE PLANET!

the chocolate milk is strikingly overpriced and at the same time very easy to steal; another of god's little tests.

someone's gotta tell the waiter that i ordered mashed 'taters and it sure as shit ain't gonna be me.

if i had a week i couldn't list all the reasons that wouldn't work.

[nyoomfruits]

"I think this is the part where you're supposed to kiss me" for the ask list? maybe landoscar or any pair you feel inspired by! <3

“i think this is the part where you’re supposed to kiss me”

It’s started to drizzle when Lando pushes his way through the front doors of the hotel, runs out into the street. Oscar’s only a few feet away, standing on the curb looking at his phone, clearly waiting for the car to come pick him up. His suitcase is next to him, his backpack slung over his shoulder.

“Oscar,” Lando breathes out more than says, way too relieved to find him still here, rushing in his direction.

Oscar hears him anyway, looks up a little confused, even more confused when he spots Lando. “Lando?” He asks. “I thought you were asleep.”

“I was, you fucking bastard,” Lando says, puts his hands on his hips. “Not anymore. A letter, really? Not even. A fucking letter?”

Oscar has the decency to look at little ashamed. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

“Bullshit,” Lando says. “That’s and you know it. I just want to know why. This whole week we’re having a great time together and I thought, you know. And then you leave me a fucking letter confirming that great time, and then you fucking end it with ‘I’m sorry to leave but I can’t be what you want me to be’. What does that even mean.”

“I don’t do casual, Lando,” Oscar says. He looks a little tired around the eyes, a little sad. Lando gets it. He’s not a driver, doesn’t even work for F1, but he’s lived near Silverstone all his life. He knows how hectic shit gets. How taxing this whole week is for someone like Oscar. “I can’t- Not with you.”

“Okay,” Lando says, a little confused. “That’s nice? For you? Then why didn’t you just, I don’t know. Leave your phone number? You know, like a normal person. Or you could’ve woken me up. Even normaler person behavior.”

“I don’t think that’s a word,” Oscar says, and when Lando merely glares at him he shrugs, a little bashfully. “You just. I just didn’t think that’s something you wanted. You gave the impression you know. That this was just a one week thing to you.”

And. Okay. Maybe Lando did keep talking about how F1 feels like this one-week festival every year. How it comes and goes and feels like transporting yourself to another universe for a week. How he’s made friends he only sees once a year. How he’s made friends that felt like the best he’d ever dad for the duration of that one week and then never saw again.

He’d never considered that, with Oscar. Oscar had felt. Permanent. All encompassing. Inevitable. From the moment Oscar had gotten out of his stupid bright orange McLaren down the road from his parent’s farm to ask for directions because he’d found himself horrible turned around, Lando had felt this. Connection.

Which is stupid, because Oscar is a world famous F1 driver and Lando is a farmer’s son from a small town in the middle of the English countryside, but still. They’d clicked, immediately. Oscar somehow being perfectly equipped to deal with Lando’s slightly chaotic energy in a way no one in this town ever really had, giving as good as he got. He’s charming, in a very understated way. Sweet.

And they had fun, this past week. A lot of fun. Fun Lando hoped they would be able to continue, after.

But then this morning had happened, and the letter, and he’s started doubting that maybe-

“It wasn’t,” he says, earnestly, honestly. Because if he only gets one shot at this, he’s taking it with both hands. Worst case scenario he’ll never see Oscar again. Best case scenario… Well. He’d love to find out. “Just a one week thing for me.”

“Oh,” Oscar says, and he’s smiling, and the rain has started to pick up so his hair is starting to stick to his forehead, but neither of them really cares. “Me neither. If you want, yeah. Me neither.”

“Good,” Lando says, nods. His shirt is getting soaked. He wishes he’d grabbed a jacket during his mad scramble to catch Oscar in time. “Right. I think this is the part where you’re supposed to kiss me.” He says, only half-jokingly, when there’s a sort of awkward silence between them.

Oscar however, doesn’t waste a single moment, reaching forward like he’s been waiting for Lando to say that all his life, his fingers sliding over Lando’s wet cheeks as he pulls them closer. It’s really starting to pour down now, but for a moment, when Oscar’s lips touch his, Lando feels like the sun is shining just for them.

[galacticwarpedlense]

Soooo I kinda wanna give the idea of Papa Elliott some thought.

Let's get the obvious out of the way, any kid Elliott has is going to be a very literate and imaginative child. Like...just look at Elliott's Spouse room. It is packed with books. That's going to be the child(ren)'s main entertainment. Man probably rents a bunch of books from the library/museum for his kids specifically.

I don't know why but I get the feeling that, at least during young childhood, Elliott would be the type to be like "Oh he's got my eyes, she's got your hair, hunny" even if the child is adopted. It sounds cute so it goes into the headcanon.

I wonder if being so lonely throughout his life would make him slightly distant from his child, overbearingly there in their life or would he find a balance in time? I assume it would be the latter two. I think he canonically says that he tends to come off strong with friendship since he's lonely.

Also I can just imagine the anxiety during pregnancy if Elliott got an afab partner that didn't want to adopt. Just-

"My very reckless and pregnant spouse is doing all the farm work. I know they're independent but I can't help but worry- wait, why are they taking their pickaxe? Hunny no! Do not go into the Skull Cavern again! You are heavily pregnant!"

And then after a while of stress-inducing pregnancy, a child is just dropped off in the middle of the night. The farmer didn't even wake him up to get taken to Harvey, I don't even think they went to Harvey. Their water broke and they were just like "Welp, baby's coming" and then they just went outside and gave birth in the little pond outside their house.

And Elliott just wakes up to an exhausted spouse and a baby in a crib.

Adoption Route Elliott got it so easy in comparison.

He is probably praying that his kid(s) isn't too much like the farmer. He loves his chaotic spouse but he would have a heart attack if his child did even half the things the farmer does regularly.

[warsamongthestars]

One of the most interesting things about TCWs Rex's character arc struggles is that, he's constantly put into contrasts.

Rex, as we know him, stands to be the main representation of a Clone Trooper. He's the first major named CT Character, that isn't Commander Cody, who doesn't have any ties to the films (Unlike Commander Cody), and thus can act and be written with far more freedom to explore.

[ You can't write Commander Cody too much by the end of the day, because one, years of expectations weigh, and two, he still has to shoot Kenobi at the end of everything. ]

Rex has two major conflicts in his arc, that represent the three defining points of clone troopers:

Loyalty to their Brothers

Loyalty to the System

Loyalty to themselves

Let's have some examples.

Our first major touch up with this, is the exact Opposite of all three: Sergeant Slick.

He is not loyal to his brothers (And gets a lot of them killed, whilst blaming the Jedi), he is not loyal to the system (He's a traitor), and he's not loyal to himself (He will make a lot of claims... which are unsubstantiated, because he gets a lot of people killed for purposes of greed and perceived slights).

This one is your easy Villain. Its easy to see, via Slick, that Loyalty to Brothers, Systems and Self is very simple.

But TCWs takes it a step further into complication.

Cut Lawquane, a deserter, is not loyal to the system (because it certainly isn't loyal to him), is loyal to himself, but is neutral when comes to brotherly loyalty.

( I say neutral, because he was willing to slay Rex if it meant staying free and his family safe. He did stop, because he's true to himself, and the self he wants to be isn't someone who kills people... Its just that sometimes, what is wanted, and what it is needed, isn't always the same thing. )

This is the first major bang up to Rex's Character Arc, because now we have a decent enough brother who is absolutely Not Loyal To the System that Rex is. And eventually, Rex lets him go, showing that while Rex is Lawful Good--he leans more towards good, whilst still retaining lawful plausibility.

This step slapped Rex, but it was a surprise he could easily, just simply, file away and not think about too hard. Deserting is going to happen when you're in an army of millions, and if they're off to be farmers instead of soldiers, well that's okay and a very nice thought.

The real kicker was Umbara.

One could argue that the Lola Sayu Mission should've hit Rex, but instead of Rex, it hit Fives the hardest (And with good reason). It's probably why there was an implication of a fallout between Lola Sayu and Umbara ("Just like Old times, Rex.")

And Fives becomes a contrasting challenge:

Loyal to Self

Loyal To Brothers

Neutral to Disloyal to System

Fives would bend the system until it breaks if it meant saving his brothers and more. He's the Chaotic Good to Rex's Lawful Good.

Rex is painfully upright and loyal to the system, so when one of his best and closest brothers decides "fuck this", it shakes him up.

Especially when Rex is finally confronted with how rotten the System gets: by General Pong Krell.

To contrast the contrast, on other side of Rex is Dogma, who is Fives' opposite. The Lawful Neutral.

Loyal to the System above all Else.

Neutral to Disloyal to Brothers.

( It does not help that Anakin Skywalker only recognizes Lawful as being Obedient rather than "adherence and or comfort to a code or set of rules" and thus draws more parallels between Rex and Dogma, than Rex and Fives. )

The Umbara Arc throws Rex through the whole loop, with all its conflicts. Especially the challenges it would make to Rex's whole character and showing him how far things can go.

Until finally, Rex finding what lines to draw in the dirt when it comes to "Loyalty to the End".

... But not enough to save anyone.

Then comes the Conspiracy arc, and while we don't know Rex's side, we do have implication of the aftermath.

The coverup of Fives' death (Because it would've had to been), by brother no less (Another big thing), and with the chip arc, which Rex did look into--would've put Rex up against someone he could not and would not possibly be capable of working through or against: Anakin Skywalker.

( Obviously for narrative purposes, Skywalker can't be stopped less TCWs became an AU instead )

Rex finds that his closest and brightest was labeled traitor and terrorist for his attack on the chancellor, via the very same bulletin points that Rex's character lives by, and it would immediately put him up against Skywalker.

The reason being, is that Skywalker is close to the Chancellor, and likely told Rex to drop any investigation.

And through speculation based on aftermath episodes... and What we know by this point...

I bet that Rex did not want to lump Anakin with Krell as a "System Problem". Because Rex worked with Anakin, and Rex's character falls in line with Anakin, and to consider Anakin to be part of the problem would go against Rex's character--thus, it is "unthinkable" and much easier to simply... Believe that Anakin has the best intentions.

( Even if that came at the cost of Fives. )

( Even though it would come at the cost of the 501st in the future--Rex only did enough that it would save his Life, and Ahsoka's, but nobody else's. He pays dearly for that comfort in Anakin at the cost of Fives, and the cost of Everyone. )

Moving to S7... and the Bad Batch.

Rex comes up against his absolute Opposite once more--in Sergeant Hunter, and the various Bad Batchers.

We've hit full circle.

Hunter commands a small squad that he pretty much lets do whatever, whilst Rex hangs on commands and commanding. Hunter is Evasive, Rex is Honest; Hunter gets stressed by Command, Rex does not.

Hunter is endlessly snarky, whilst Rex is straightforward. Hunter loses his faith midway through Mission, and Rex does not. Hunter's appearance is against all regulations, whilst Rex is clean shaven.

Hunter wasn't made for command, he just wasn't the stronger personality in the Batch to cause problems, whilst Rex is trained and made to command.

The one thing they do have in common, is loyalty to brothers, and the difference is--Rex doesn't hang on to anyone in lieu of the bigger picture, but Hunter does, existing in the smaller pictures.

( That's the TCWs implication-- If I went into the TBBshow, Hunter would not be coming out nearly as good. )

With the other batchers, Rex comes up against each one being individually against an aspect of his character.

Tech is disloyal to the system, he's as far from any sort of clone soldier you can get, and he's not even dressed for it. Tech comes in as a research first.

Wrecker is disloyal to self, bolstering about his skills and making light of the situation before it crashes on him. His disloyalty isn't a case of selling out--its a case of simply not considering himself in any measure. He puts others above him.

Crosshair is disloyal to brothers. He makes it a point to start shit in the middle of a mission, question authority, making disparaging remarks, and attacking a sense of self. The difference here is that, instead of accumulating falsehoods (like Slick), or physically attacking--he attacks the comforting falsehoods that a clone trooper would take on out of loyalty to brothers, system and self. If you're a brother, why don't you act it. If you cared so much for this one guy, why did you leave him behind. If you were that good in your little system, why did the specialists get called in. ( Crosshair is also a dick, but one can understand why he does things. )

Each Bad Batcher serves as a challenge to Rex's character. They are as far from Lawful as possible--but they are Good.

And then there was Echo.

But Echo doesn't serve as a challenge to Rex's character. If anything, Echo might serve as the "reward" for Rex's character arc. He saved at least one Brother, and one of his closest.

...

Unfortunately, Rex's full character arc wasn't ever really fully realized, because he is, fundamentally, a satellite character for other characters to bounce off of, even if those characters are other Clone Troopers.

( hell, Rex serves to contrast Cody, and neither of those too really had full Arcs )

Its why Fives took more attention in Umbara than Rex. Its why Ahsoka gets off scott free at the end of the day but Rex doesn't.

Its why when certain points of Jedi pop up, particularly that even our main character Jedi aren't really all that Lawful Good and do fuck up and waste a lot of brothers' lives for it, that Rex does not intervene.

Because, his character was never given that development to step in and tell someone to "Hey, stop, you are going to get people Killed."

A full Arc would've allowed that, and he wasn't afforded one.

A post TCWs Arc for Rex to get that Development, to fully understand all he went through and implement it into a new character arc, was implied with Rebel's Rex... but is currently unfulfilled.

( Don't be shocked that I don't consider TBBshow to count. )

But there ya go, a nice sum Analysis on Rex.

[marlynnofmany]

Bargains at the Space Market

This was, by far, the sleaziest place we’d stopped for supplies. At least while I’d been part of the crew. For all I knew, the upstanding little courier starship had visited some real dives under previous leadership, but Captain Sunlight was both respectable and smart.

I wondered whose idea it was to stop at this freewheeling anarchy market, set up on an asteroid that somebody had installed a gravity generator on. There was an atmosphere too, and a wide variety of stalls on this mile-long hunk of rock, but not much in the way of oversight.

I saw two different fistfights in progress among the other ships while we exited onto the landing pad.

“Okay,” announced Captain Sunlight, standing as tall as she could — which wasn’t much, lizardy little thing that she was, but she looked dignified — “Mimi, Blip, and Blop, come with me. Trrili, take one or two others with you. Anyone else object to staying to guard the ship?”

There was a hearty chorus of no’s. Zhee turned a faceted eye on the pair of bystanders walking a little too close, clicking his pincher arms at them until they scooted away. In the distance, something that looked like fireworks colored the sky.

A polite claw tapped my elbow.

“Want to come with?” asked Coals, the Heatseeker with dull red scales. He was both shorter and stockier than the captain, and more importantly, he was good friends with Trrili. “It’s a pretty interesting place; I’ve been here once before.”

“How safe is it?” I asked, wanting to be convinced. There were some bizarre things for sale in the stalls visible from here.

“Should be fine as long as we’re careful,” he said. “Especially with her around.” He lifted his chin towards the insectile horror that loomed over him.

Trrili loved looming. “Yessss,” she said. “Essspessssially with me.” She flexed her own pinchers, glossy black to Zhee’s purple, and chuckled darkly. The red patterns on her carapace were especially vivid in the light of the nearby sun.

I smiled. Trrili was terrifying, but she was our terrifying. “Sure. I’d love to come.”

Coals aimed a claw in the opposite direction of the one that Captain Sunlight was looking towards. “Pretty sure I saw some Earth animals for sale as we landed.”

“Oh, well why didn’t you say so?” I asked. “Lead the way!”

We checked in with the captain, promised to be careful, and were off. I had some interplanetary credits in my pocket that I didn’t really plan on spending, but it was good to be prepared.

I also had a mini stun gun in a different pocket.

This place was just as chaotic as I’d expected, like an alien farmer’s market with a distinct lowlife element. Here was a humanoid selling pottery that glowed; there was a tentacle alien selling food that moved; over there was a would-be pickpocket getting the tar beaten out of them by a large hairy whatsit. A hand appeared around the corner of another stall to grab a power cell and disappear.

I kept my own hands close to my pockets, wishing I’d worn something with zipper pouches.

“Ah,” said Trrili. “There is the media.” She didn’t bother hissing in normal conversation, but as she led us over to a booth lined with shelves and run by small individuals, I fully expected the intimidation to come out soon.

Just before we reached it, Coals rapped a knuckle on her foreleg. “Hey. We’ll be at the end of the row. See?” He pointed.

“Yessss,” Trrili agreed.

With a nod, Coals left her to her bargaining, and waved me onward. I was a little concerned about this, but the end of the row wasn’t far. We could yell for her to come charging over if need be.

“See those guys in the solar ponchos?” Coals asked. He didn’t need to point.

I squinted. “Hard not to.” The clothes that the two plant-like people wore weren’t as bright as the actual sun, but they sure were unpleasant to look at. The other shopkeepers were giving them some distance, leaving space between their little cart and the proper stalls. Aside from the eye-searing fashion, they had ropy green limbs and faces like rose blossoms that wanted to be mandibles. Fleshy maroon, sharptoothed mouth in the middle, at least half a dozen eyes scattered throughout. More than a little creepy.

“I was watching with the mag lens earlier,” Coals said. “With the classification setting. They’ve got the Earth animals.” He was watching my face as he said it.

The series of expressions that I went through were probably interesting to see as I got a proper look at what was on that cart.

Earth animals, yay! Which ones? Those look like fishbowls. But there’s no water inside, just … fur? Are those cats shoved in fishbowls??

I felt my face grow stony. “Coals,” I said. “Who do we report animal cruelty to around here?” One of the plant guys was waving a bowl around, shouting about potted predators. A passerby turned him down, and he yelled an insult after them.

“Uh, nobody.”

I watched the guy hold up a different one and say something about food paste squeezed in through the lid. When he flipped the cap to demonstrate, piteous mewling filtered out. “What about theft?” I asked.

“Also no.”

“Good,” I said, voice flat. “Go get Trrili, then help me steal these.”

* * *

It took less convincing than I thought. Trrili already had her selection of media in a bag slung behind her, and she chuckled evilly. Coals cracked his knuckles and talked strategy. Then we went for it.

“Hello,” I said, approaching the sellers alone. “How many of these do you have?”

“Everything on this cart,” said the taller one with the bigger blossom head. “Limited supply, very valuable; get them before they’re gone.” He picked up a fishbowl full of gray fur, turning it like a fine art appreciator. A tiny face with big eyes peered out, meowing silently. Stars, these were kittens.

“You don’t have a source for more?” I asked, trying to sound unimpressed.

“These are very exotic, from a far away planet,” he said.

The shorter one bent to pull a big bowl from the bottom shelf of the cart. “Perhaps we can interest you in a larger model? It’s one of a kind.”

That’s the mother cat. Good. I straightened up. “I’ll take all of them,” I said. “Every one you have.”

The sleazy pair chortled and fawned and named a price that could have bought a single-seater spaceship.

I pulled out my tiny stun gun and aimed it at the tall one. “No. I’ll just be taking them.”

They of course laughed at me, and pulled out their own weapons, which Coals had spotted and identified through the holsters. These were also stun guns, but a bigger and more painful model that put mine to shame.

They weren’t, however, very effective on people with exoskeletons.

Trrili leapt out from behind the nearest stall, crossing the distance in a heartbeat of flashing black-and-red limbs, then reared up to stand over them with her pinchers flared, shrieking at earsplitting volume.

I’d already ducked to the side, so while they stumbled back and aimed, I got a great view of Coals jumping forward to grab their stupid ponchos and yank them off their feet.

One of them shot Trrili in the foreleg, making her hiss a little, but the other didn’t even manage that. And before I could use my little peashooter, Coals had tackled them and wrestled the guns from both. With an oversized stun gun in each hand, he got to his feet and aimed at the pair, just daring them to try something, like the three-foot-tall badass he was.

“What did we do to you??” asked the tall one, rubbing his wrist but otherwise holding still.

“Yeah, how did we piss you off?” the smaller one demanded, eyes locked on Trrili.

I stepped forward with anger in my voice. “You didn’t offend either of them,” I said. “You offended me.” At their baffled silence, I continued. “Where did you get these animals? And what makes you think it’s okay to keep them contained like that?”

They both answered at once, and neither was terribly helpful. Some space trader somewhere. They didn’t even know where the cats were from.

“They’re from my planet,” I informed them. “And they should never be treated like this. Any human can tell you that.”

Their answer was just mumbling that sounded like “Yeah, okay.”

“Have you ever met a human before?” I asked, stepping closer. I leaned in. “My people eat things that look like you.”

They held very still, and didn’t object when Trrili pulled their cart away. Coals stepped back to follow, stun guns still aimed.

I put mine back in my pocket and gave them a final glare. “Do not try this again,” I said. “Or I will know.” I turned on my heel and followed Trrili, with Coals bringing up the rear. He kept the guns.

Shopkeepers and bystanders watched in curiosity, but none seemed particularly bothered by any of that. I heard what sounded distinctly like laughter. As we walked away, the hustle and bustle that had quieted a bit gradually resumed its normal volume.

I took the cart handle from Trrili. “Thank you both.”

Trrili chuckled. “My pleassurrrre.”

“Yeah, happy to help,” Coals said, moving up to walk alongside. He looked over the half dozen bowls that were rattling a bit, though I tried to pull the janky cart smoothly. “When you said you’d know…”

I held my chin up. “As far as they can tell, I will,” I said. “Any psychic abilities on the part of humans is for them to worry about.”

Coals laughed quietly and found the safety settings for the stun guns, saying nothing.

We got the cart into the ship without any objection from the crewmates we passed, though there was a fair amount of curiosity. Trrili and Coals stopped to tell the story in the lounge while I made a beeline for the medbay.

“I require use of your scanners,” I told Eggskin, who was understandably surprised. But at the sight of the cats, they wasted no time in bringing out everything required for a full checkup. I made sure to scan for contagion first, cart and all. I certainly didn’t trust those sleazeballs to be sanitary.

“All clear,” Eggskin said. They pulled gloves on over yellow-green scales. “Do we have spare carrying crates in the storage hold?”

“Oh, good point. We should put the family together.” I opened the door and leaned into the hallway. “Hey, Mur! Could you please bring a mid-size carrying crate? It’s urgent.”

Mur had been going a different direction, but he turned readily on dark blue tentacles with a “Sure thing.”

“Thank you!” I called after him.

He was back in no time with the crate, an ideal size for us to put Mama Cat into after her scan. She was dehydrated, but didn’t show any signs of having been in there long. Good. A bit of proper food and a reunion ought to be just the thing.

When we put the first kitten in with her, the purring was so loud it brought tears to my eyes. Eggskin and I wasted no time in checking the others. They were all okay. Not even any fleas.

I was talking with Eggskin about where to keep them for the time being when the door opened to let Captain Sunlight in. A curious crowd waited in the hall.

I stood at attention. “I’m not apologizing,” I said over the tiny kitten mews.  

She shook her head. “No, I don’t expect you to. Are you hoping to keep them onboard, though?”

I shook my head. “I’m sure I can find a home for them at the next space station. Anywhere with a lot of humans, really. These are little cuties, and the mom didn’t even hiss at me, so she ought to raise them to be friendly.”

Captain Sunlight nodded. “All right, then. How about you keep them in your quarters as soon as they’re clear to leave the medical bay?”

“Yes, I was thinking that would be best,” I said. “I’ll just have to be careful opening the door. Maybe I can rig a net as a barrier that I can step over, to at least slow them down.”

“I’ll leave you to figure out how to keep them from roaming the halls,” she said. “Or the engine room, or the cockpit.”

“Yes. I will.”

She left it at that, and opened the door to shoo people away from the convalescing animals. The cart was already out there with the empty bowls and the food paste that would be going in the kitchen trash.

I saw Paint rummaging around the miscellaneous junk on the lowest shelf, which I hadn’t bothered to touch. Her orange tail straightened with excitement. “Hey, there’s money in here!”

I winced. Captain Sunlight gave me an unreadable look.

I felt bad about it, but then I looked down at the kittens tumbling over their mother, each getting licked in turn, and the feeling vanished.

“We can buy cat food with that,” I said.

The captain nodded. “Of course.” Then she sighed. “Mimi is going to be insufferable. First we find a replacement hoverbike after all, now this.”

A gruff voice called from down the hall, “Told you it was a good idea to stop there!”

I grinned. “The cats thank you!”

A toothpaste-green octopus head popped into the doorway. “Name one after me,” said Mimi, waving a tentacle.

I grinned wider. “I think that’s a great name for a cat.”

~~~

The ongoing backstory of the main character from this book. More to come!

[sweetfire01]

Okay but,,,, what if Daddy Howl,,, and little reader,,, and can't escape because moving castle,,, and being dragged to nest-bed by bird form Howl??? Yes? Yes??? YE S?????

Y E S

Y E S

It's too long so I had to divide the fic into two part (for now, if I don't get more ideas 👀)

I'll talk about the nest in the next one!

Baby dove pt.1 (Daddy!Howl)

You couldn't stand staying here anymore. It was all becoming too overwhelming and disturbing, especially with Howl's overly protective behaviors. You didn't know how to describe it, but you had this strange feeling that you needed to get out of here as soon as possible, before things got worse. It was going well the first day he took you in, but the way he started treating you like a fragile little thing made you shiver. that's why today you took advantage of one of his long bath, trying to escape to the capital the moment he closed the door behind him.

You didn't have a specific destination in mind, you would have been chappy to reach the countryside, get on a farmer's cart and reach some remote village. You had only visited the city a couple of times and only the center and the streets around the house, but it wouldn't be too difficult, right? Wrong. Everything was more crowded than you remembered, you had to go around closed streets, squeeze into narrow tunnels, walk between stalls and almost risked getting arrested when you found yourself in the middle of the street during a military parade. The second time you passed the exact same perfume shop, you realized that you were lost. You didn't know how long you had been walking, you hoped that the Wizard hadn't noticed your escape yet. The fear of finding him behind you hadn't left your body since you went out. You forced yourself to walk again. Just in case he was on your trail, it was safer to blend into the crowd than to stay still. You had also tried going into shops to rest, pretending to take a look at the mirrors displayed inside or looking for a new wall clock. And every time you heard the people behind you commenting on your less than elegant appearance and wondering if you really had the money to buy that snakeskin belt. Rich people like them were able to buy expensive things. But you? Oh well, who care, a snakeskin belt wouldn't have improved an outfit as sloppy as yours. You were offended: you were only wearing a white shirt and light blue pants that paired with a vest of the same color. Pretty simple, sure, but not sloppy! When you heard the owner of a jewelry store muttering about how he had to keep an eye on you to prevent you from stealing, you stormed out. You were REALLY tired, running away from a crazy man, starting to get hungry, and you were called a thief? Fuck everyone. Fuck that shopkeeper, fuck this fucking city and its snobbish people, fuck Howl and above all fuck that Witch. And fuck Howl again. Fuck this sudden festival too. You didn't even know what it was for, but if everything hadn't been so chaotic today, you would have been able to get much further than this. How big was this city?? Only when the sun began to set the people head home and you wished you could take refuge in some inn and spend there the night. Unfortunately you had no money, just a few coins with which you hoped to be able to buy dinner for the evening. It had been a very unplanned escape. You sat on a bench. Damn, at least 5 minutes, your feet were starting to hurt. You prayed with all your heart that Howl was still in the bathtub. His baths were always so long, why did today have to be any different? But you couldn't get rid of the anxiety that he was behind you, ready to take you home. And now that there were few people left on the streets, you felt even more vulnerable. “Are you tired, baby dove?”

This was...HIS voice. You jumped up. There he was, off to the side, closer than you expected. You stared at him trembling, frozen in fear. He just chuckled. He didn't seem angry, not even irritated "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. Come on, let's go home, it can get cold in the evening." He took off his jacket to wrap it around you. At that moment you recovered from your state of shock and now all you wanted to do was run, escape. But he didn't get upset, no, he simply grabbed your wrist and pressed it to his chest, stroking your hair. It was supposed to be an attempt to calm you down, but you were only getting more agitated, squirming in his hold. “Let me go, let me go!” "Baby dove, it's late, we have to go." "NO!" You gathered all your strength and pushed him away. You caught him by surprise and he almost fell backwards as you ran away. But your escape was short: you made it about ten meters before you felt your leg being pulled back, causing you to fall onto the road. You at least had the readiness to break the fall with your arms, even if your palms started to burn immediately after the impact.

"And that's why we don't throw tantrums and we don't run away." Howl scolded you, this time with a hint of firmness in his voice, though his tone remained condescending. Like a parent scolding a toddler. You wondered if that "don't run away" was meant just for now. Probably not, but you didn't dare to ask. He knelt down to see if you were hurt and, once he noticed that you had only grazed your hands a little, he picked you up. "If you were a good little fledgling, I would have made you walk on air with me. It seems like that will be for another time, hm?" And with that you felt his body change, filling with feathers while two powerful black wings emerged from his back, his legs transformed into bird legs and his arms into claws. If you hadn't already seen him in this form, you would have screamed in terror. It doesn't matter, you screamed anyway as he took flight and you held on for dear life, desperately squeezing your eyes shut. You were high, too high for your liking. "Don't worry, baby dove, Daddy will never let you fall." He whispered in your ear. You didn't processed it, too scared to listen.

It was a relief when you landed in front of the house. And the warmth of Calcifer that hit you when you two entered felt good. You didn't realized how cold it had been outside, despite Howl's jacket. He didn't let you go, taking you directly to his room and placing you in your bed. "Take a nap, baby dove. You're tired. I'll wake you up for dinner, okay?" he planted a kiss on your forehead before leaving the room. You laid there, legs aching, starting to cry silently. All the effort you had put in for nothing. And the fact that Howl didn't even recognize this as an attempt to escape made it worse. It made you feel pathetic. As if it were all a toddler's tantrum.

[distortionbobble]

pairing: michael 'mikey' berzatto x f!reader

warnings: angst with no happy ending, talks about substance abuse, no mention of mikey's s*icide

a/n: i don't know why i got the idea for this but then i started writing it and then more came and i couldn't stop and then it got a little too personal for me! so here we are. listened to dial drunk by noah kahan while writing this

wc 5K

You can’t cook for shit. And maybe that says something about you, says something about the way you were raised because your mother was a fuckin’ culinary genius but you didn’t seem to get much of that. You didn’t get much from your mother, including her time. But it didn’t matter much when you were younger, because your babysitter’s house was right next to the Berzatto’s. Natalie Berzatto happened to be just your age and she’d taken you in pretty damn quickly. After that, you were one of the Bears, no question about it. You looked after Carmy like he was your own brother, laughed at Richie’s jokes and called him Cousin like he was one. But Mikey… 

Well, Mikey was another story. 

And then you’d gotten swept off of your feet by your boyfriend, the one who promised that the two of you would be stars together in L.A. Chicago had been left behind, with Mikey and Richie and Sugar and Carmy in it. L.A. had been nice, at first— you were a waitress and he was looking for jobs. Then he stopped looking for jobs, and you were still a waitress. By the time you realized that you had walked into a dead end it had been five years, and you didn’t have anything to show for it. So you packed it up, headed back to Chicago and Natalie and Carmen and Richie and Michael. Back to your safe place. The Berzattos. 

You stand before their house now with a tote bag full of farmers market veggies, something that you started doing when you were back in California. Your heart is in your throat— you’re nervous, you realize— but you knock and the door swings open almost instantly. Sugar stands before you, her typical sweetness held back by a reservation that you earned by calling her less and less as the years went by. You swallow, about to say something, but she pulls you in for a hug, and her arms feel like you never left. 

“Hey, Spice,” she murmurs into your hair, squeezing you tight. Sugar and Spice, always together. That’s what the two of you were. 

“Hey, Sug.” 

“You didn’t call,” she whispers, still holding on to you tightly. She’s right, you know it, and there’s so much to tell her because of it. You just hold her tighter. 

“I know. I’m sorry.” She pulls away from you, eyeing you up and down before she smiles brightly and pulls you into the kitchen. 

“Carmy, Mikey, Richie, look alive! Guess who’s here!” She shouts, and the three all stop their chaotic kitchen shenanigans to look at you. 

“Spice? No fuckin’ way. Finally left that jagoff for good, huh?” Richie jokes, pulling you in for a hug. 

“Sure did, Cousin,” you grin, clapping his back. Richie may be a special breed of insane but you can’t deny the love you have for him. 

“Good to see ya, Spice,” Carmy smiles, pulling you in for a side hug. Your awkward pseudo-little brother, the one who you helped with English in high school and always wanted to be around you and Sugar when you went out. 

“You too, Carm.” 

And then there was one. 

Michael Berzatto stands in the middle of the kitchen, and he feels the way he always does, like he’s filled every part of the room and you’re connected to him even before you’re touching him. 

“You look good, Spice,” he says. Your arms wrap around his middle and you hold him tight— he smells like oregano and parsley and spices, and you press your head into his chest as you let yourself be engulfed by him. It feels right, this. 

“Thanks, Mikey Bear,” you say, lifting your head but still in his embrace. He smiles softly, brushing your cheekbone with the back of his knuckles and then releases you. 

“So, like I was saying before Spice so rudely interrupted me, huh?” He grins, biting his tongue cheekily when you scoff in mock amusement. “Richie and I, we’re at the bar and this asshole, he’s all ‘Quit staring at my girl,’ but the chick had just spilled peanuts, like, all over the floor of the fuckin’ bar. Shit’s a mess, like bro, we’re just wondering if you’re gonna clean it up. Yeah, he did not like that. Not a little bit. So he gets all,” Mikey puffs up his chest and squares back his shoulders, staring down at you as he pretends to get up in your space. “And Richie and I, we’re like—“ 

“Dude, what the fuck?” Richie chimes in, laughing. “Wasn’t so funny three seconds later when he’s got a big ol’ kabar knife out and he’s slashing at Mikey’s bicep.”

“Yep, still got the scar,” Michael laughs, rolling up the sleeve of his t-shirt to show the silvery puckered skin on his upper arm.  

“Chrissake, Mikey,” you laugh, reaching out to trace it with your fingers. 

“Hey, Spice, you mind helping me prep the veggies?” Sugar asks from behind you.

“You sure you wanna have her doing that?” Carmy asks with a shy grin. “She might add her fingers or somethin’ to it, the klutz.” 

“Still shit at cooking, huh, Spice?” Michael laughs at you. You narrow your eyes playfully. 

“I’ll have you know, Michael Berzatto, that I can in fact make a mean grilled cheese. Just so you know.” Michael smiles as you begin to slice the vegetables at a painstakingly slow pace. 

“Alright Spice, then you gotta make me a nice grilly cheese, ‘kay?” Michael grins. 

Sugar whispers something to Michael, making him clear his throat awkwardly. You have no doubt it’s a reminder to him to be gentle; that you’re fragile, damaged goods right now. She’s right. It’s a reminder of the time you wasted with that man, but it doesn’t matter now. 

You keep cutting the veggies. 

~~~

It’s around nine by the time that dinner’s all done and the dishes all cleaned. Your laughter hasn’t run out but you’re tired, and you need the time alone to go and feel sorry for yourself. You deserve that, you think, because you went and pushed Sugar away when she had your back like nobody else. Still does. Loyalty like that doesn’t come easy. 

She had her hand on the side of your chair the whole dinner, like you were gonna bolt at any second and it was the only way she could keep you by her side. You wanna tell her that it’s for good now; that you’ll be by her side forever now. It’s just that it got hard to call when she’d ask you about your life and it felt fucking pathetic to tell her you moved all the way out here for an asshole who didn’t do his own dishes. So when telling her the truth got too hard you stopped telling her anything. And that’s on you. But you’re back now, and that’s the best you can offer. 

You’re walking to the trunk of your car, tote bag now stacked with little Pyrex dishes with leftovers of Mikey and Carmy’s creations, when Mikey calls your name from the doorway. He jogs out to you when you look up, surprised.

“Hey, lemme help you put your shit back,” Mikey offers, but you know Mikey enough to know that’s just a poor excuse. He lingers by the trunk as you shut it, taking a quick breath before he gathers his courage. You’ve never seen Michael nervous like that. “So, um, Spice. You’re—you suck at cooking.” 

“Thanks so much, Michael. Is that what you came out here to say?” You laugh, shoving his shoulder away as you walk to your door. 

“No, no, I was wondering if you’d like to learn to cook. From me, I mean. Just the basics, y’know, but— we could do it, yeah?” And you wonder why Mikey even bothered asking because he’s Michael fuckin Berzatto and you could never say no to him. You nod excitedly, maybe a little too excitedly, but you missed him and you missed his energy and you want to be around him so of course you’d say yes. Without a heartbeat of doubt. 

“Yeah, Mikey. I’d fuckin’ love that.” It’s hot in Chicago tonight, and the pavement is radiating heat or maybe it’s Michael, because you feel warm inside and you think part of you’s gonna stay stuck here forever. Forever with Mikey, that sounds nice.  

~~~

You’re starting off easy with spaghetti tonight. You bought some new pans and shit, hoping to get it all set up before Mikey comes. You’re thinking about him long before he comes— about how you felt about when you were kids, that bashful feeling you’d get when he’d say hi and that little flicker of jealousy when he talked to other girls or about other girls in front of you. But Mikey Bear was so hopelessly off limits— it’s not like him and Sugar had a bad relationship but she’d never be truly okay with you dating him. Besides, you never did get the vibe that he felt the same way. So you admired from afar, and enjoyed Mikey the same way everyone else did. 

But maybe it’ll be different today. Just maybe. 

Mikey rings the doorbell and he fills the room the second you open the door, big and loud and joking around as he sets down big cans of tomato sauce and eggs and flour. 

“Okay so I got the spaghetti from the store—“ 

“Stop right there,” Mikey interrupts. “Spice, if we’re cooking, we’re going all out,‘kay? Now c’mere, I want you to grab a knife and start cutting this onion up.” Mikey grabs his phone and starts playing some music from the tinny-sounding speaker. It’s not a song you recognize but Mikey sings along to it anyways, humming and stirring the eggs and flour to make the pasta himself. 

You work on cutting the onions but you’re slow, something that doesn’t surprise you but you feel a little embarrassed next to Mikey. 

“Spice, hey, hey, Spice, you’re cuttin’ those up all wrong,” Mikey says in quick alarm. He comes up from behind you, fingers encircling your wrist as he presses his chest into your back. You don’t know if you’re breathing— you think you forgot how to, the warmth of his body making your brain short circuit. Mikey covers your hand with his own, moving the knife through the onion and leaning down so his face is next to yours. 

“All done,” Mikey murmurs, stepping back, and the immediate loss of his warmth sends a pang of want up your spine. 

You work for the rest of his dinner under his guidance, enjoying how he tells you about Tina and Ebra and what Fak’s been up to, laughing at all the right points and feeling so much like that version of you that had been so in love with him. He makes the pasta from scratch, making a mess of your kitchen counters, but mess is a memory and you’re glad to make it with Mikey.  

He’s so gentle with you, and it’s obvious in the way he talks about your life in L.A.. He offers you a job at The Beef but you turn it down, knowing it’ll just run you back to what you ran from, just this time without the dead weight. But he’s so fuckin’ sweet it might rot your teeth. Mikey makes you feel like you’re some sort of comedic genius— like every word that comes out of your mouth is one that he couldn't be more fascinated by. You’re sure he’s like this with everyone (because that’s who Michael Berzatto is, he walks into a room and everyone loves him) but you feel… special. And maybe he really does care because he’s got this look in his eye that makes you wanna lean in and kiss him the way you wanted to when you were young and he was only a couple years older or when he watched chick flicks with you and Sug because he wanted to spend time with her. You’ve gotten the little side rays of his light but this, this sweetness unfiltered and on your tongue, he’s so bright and you can’t look away and you want all of him. All of Michael Berzatto. 

“Alright, Spice. What was the best part of L.A.?” Mikey asks you as you set the plates of spaghetti down on the table, sitting across from him. 

“Uh. Leaving it?” You laugh, prompting Mikey to laugh too. 

“Nah, but I’m serious. There’s gotta be one thing that you liked about it, right?” He asks, leaning his elbows on the table. The pieces of his hair fall into his face, giving him that rugged, could-care-less Mikey look that you’ve never been able to resist. 

“Okay, well, uh, there was this crow who was always right by my apartment complex, and I know it sounds ridiculous, but he knew me. Like, I’d feed him seeds and fruits and shit like that every single day before my shifts, and most days it felt like he was the only living thing in that city who would care if I was gone. He’d bring me coins and twigs and bits and baubles all the time and I thought it was just the sweetest. And then one day I saw that he had a little nest with little eggs in it and then I thought, y’know, I think it’s time for me to move on too.” You smile at the memory. 

“Fuckin’ Snow White over here,” Mikey teases. 

“Shut up,” you laugh. “So what about you? How has The Beef been running? I’m so proud of you about it, by the way. And I heard you moved in to help Donna out. You’re the fuckin’ sweetest, Mikey Bear.” You see Mikey’s eyes dim for a second— just a brief flash, gone so fast you thought you imagined it, because the next second he’s back to smiling and laughing. 

“It’s good, Spice. It’s real good.”

“And you love it?” You guessed, smiling. Mikey sips his water and smiles back at you. You take note of his silence but don’t say anything, eating your spaghetti as he moves on to the next great Mikey story. 

~~~ 

Mikey comes over a lot. It’s not every day but it’s damn near close to it. It’s comfortable. He comes by your house on the way back to the Berzatto house, and he brings food and teaches you how to cook and peel and season and makes you feel loved through his food. You feel special, like the great Mikey Bear chooses to spend time with you so often. 

You’re making chicken-pepper tonight, which is something that The Beef holds on its menu. 

“I feel pretty special, being taught by a subject matter expert on this,” you tease Mikey as he murmurs a behind, hands ghosting your hips as he squeezes past you in your tight kitchen. 

“Alright, Spice, you gotta give me some room here,” he grunts, towel slung over his shoulder as he moves the pan with the chicken off of the stove. 

“I’m trying, Mikey, but there’s no damn room and I still wanna watch what you do,” you groan. He nods, like he’s thinking of something— which is dangerous, because Mikey’s ideas usually are. Before you can register it, Mikey’s bent down and wrapped his big, beefy arms around your waist and hoisted you onto your countertops. 

“This work, Spice?” He asks cheekily, seasoning the chicken as you blink in surprise. 

“I mean… I guess so,” You stammer out, confused. You’re distracted as you watch him cook, your mind dwelling on the feeling of his hands on your body, thinking about what it might feel like if he came over here and kissed you right now. You’ve missed several steps by the time that Michael calls out your name, holding out a fork with a little piece of chicken on it. 

“Where’d you go, Spice?” He asks you softly, blowing on the food before he holds it to your mouth. Mikey’s eyes are tender as they meet yours— no judgment, just a genuine want to know what you’re thinking. It makes you think of the difference with how your ex treated you, how he’d ridicule you when you got lost in thought. “You do that a lot?” You shrug, chewing on the chicken as you nod. 

“Mikey, that’s delicious,” you smile. You’re lost in his eyes for a second, and the world feels like it hit pause. The warm glow of your kitchen lights make everything softer, and your hand reaches out to rest against Mikey’s face. You rub your thumb softly against his skin and he’s staring back at you, eyes gentle as he looks at you. 

“Hey, can I- can I try something?” You ask, almost shyly as you steel yourself with the courage to go through with it. When Mikey nods you push yourself straight, lips hovering a centimeter away from his before he bridges the gap. His lips are soft and warm against yours, moving just slightly before he pulls back. 

“Spice, I… I’m sorry, but we can’t,” Mikey says, taking a step back as a red flush rises up his neck. 

“No, I’m sorry, I get it,” you say, heart beating rapidly. You try to squash the swell of nausea but you can’t, the anxiety welling up in you as you realize you’ve gone and fucked it up. “Um, should we eat now?” 

“Nah, I think— I think I’m gonna head home, Mom probably needs me,” Mikey says, swallowing roughly. You want to cry— you can’t lose him, but you’ve got to give him his space. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow then?” You ask hopefully, a surge of disappointment rising at his hesitant nod. Then he’s out the door, raking a hand through his strands and leaving his hair in disarray. Your nose twitches at the smell of something burning— Mikey forgot to turn off the heat, and now the chicken’s burning. Shit. There goes your dinner, along with the rest of the night. Fucked. 

~~~

You waited for Michael the next day. And the next. It took you about a week to realize he wasn’t coming back, and while that was difficult to swallow, you realized you had to keep going. And for the next month you made the dishes you’d made with Mikey, practiced cooking on your own, always making enough for two just in case he stopped by. 

You regret the kiss. Of course you do. You thought there was something between you— all that tension building in the kitchen every time you cooked with him, the softness of his hands and how intimate every moment with him felt. But you were wrong. He just saw you as Sugar’s best friend and probably treated you with kindness because of that. Maybe even because he pitied you. Whatever it was, it was your fault that it had fallen apart. 

Tonight, though, you have a date. No more sitting around pitying yourself, you’re going out. Sugar connected you with one of Pete’s friends, who’s coming tonight to pick you up and go to a restaurant. You’ve got on your nicest dress, did your hair and makeup and you look good, dammit. So why does it feel like something’s missing?

There’s a sharp rap on your door as you struggle to hook the clasp of your necklace, the noise making you lose your focus. 

“Coming!” You call out, a hint of frustration light in your voice as you attempt to hook it while you open the door. To your surprise, it’s Michael at the door, standing with a big grin and a few bags of groceries in his hands. 

“Hey, Spice. You’re lookin’ good,” he comments lowly, a hum sitting behind his teeth as he looks you up and down. Your surprise doesn’t outweigh the flutter in your belly when he says that. 

“Thanks, Mikey,” you say, hugging the door. “Didn’t realize you were coming today, Bear.” 

“You mind if I come inside?” He asks— it’s a formality, he’s already one foot in the door before you can say a word. 

“I’ve actually going to dinner tonight, hence the looking-nice-today,” you supply, closing the door after him awkwardly. 

“Spice, you look good everyday,” Mikey protests, already headed to the kitchen to put down his bags. “For dinner tonight— branzino?” 

“Mikey, Bear, you didn’t hear me right, honey. I’m— I’m going out. For a date.” Michael freezes then, bags slipping through his fingers as some shadow crosses his face. 

“Oh.” Oh? That’s all he has to say? Whatever. 

“Yeah. And I’m, um, I’m sorry about the— the, y’know, the kiss. I feel really terrible about it.” You reach back to attempt to fix the clasp, but Mikey’s already walking towards you. 

“Nah, lemme get that for you,” he says, and his fingers sweep across the back of your neck, right where it’s sensitive, following the bumps of your spine to where you’re holding the clasp up and he takes it from you. Mikey looms over you as he stands behind you and he’s so everything that you almost feel like he’s engulfing you. It’s bad that you want to throw yourself into his arms and say fuck the date. Especially because that’s not what Mikey wants. 

There’s a knock on the door by the time he’s finished figuring out the contraption. 

“That’s him,” you say, turning to him shyly. “Whaddya think, Bear? Does it look nice?” 

“Get the door, Spice,” he says quietly, leaning back on the kitchen counter as you fake a smile at his subtle rejection. You open the door and Pete’s friend stands there— typical finance bro, Patagonia vest and all but you’ll hand it to him that he looks nice. 

“Hey, Jacob,” you smile, reaching out to hug him. “It’s nice to meet you. Come on in, I’ll just grab my shoes and my keys and then we can go?” 

“Sounds good,” Jacob responds, kicking off his shoes and stepping into your apartment. “I’m Jacob, it’s nice to meet you,” he extends a hand to Mikey, who just looks at it stoically. 

“And I didn’t ask. Spice, you’re going out with this guy? Nope. Josh or whatever the fuck your name was, you can leave now.” Jacob stammers as he looks at you and Mikey, unsure of what to do. 

“Mikey, cool it, you’re being a bit of an asshole right now,” you say, slipping your purse over your shoulder. 

“Nah. Leave,” he says, standing up straight. And it’s fucking intimidating. You’ve never seen Mikey like this, all big and mean and up in someone else’s face. “You don’t even deserve to be in her apartment right now. And I’m being nice to you so fuckin’ get a move on and leave.”

“Michael Berzatto!” You admonish, but Jacob is already backing up. 

“Look man, I don’t know what’s going on here but I just came to take her on a date—“

“And that right there is the problem. You ever come round here again and I swear to you you’ll regret it,” Michael snarls. His face is distorted with red-hot anger, and you don’t know what you can do. 

“I think it’s best you leave,” you murmur to Jacob. “I’m sorry about this,” you say, walking him to the door as Michael fumes behind you. The door closes with a soft click, and you rest your head on the cool surface as you gather yourself. 

“Spice, I-“ 

“Michael Berzatto, what the fuck was that?” You shout. He winces and you know you should reign it in, keep your cool, but you’re absolutely furious with him. “You embarrassed me back there!”

“Spice, baby, he doesn’t deserve you. I’m just lookin’ out for you,” he murmurs, but there’s a desperate quality to it. Like he wants to convince you but even more so himself. 

“This is just fucking— this is unfair as fuck, Michael,” you warn, tossing your jacket and purse onto the couch in your anger. You reach back to undo the necklace Michael had just put on you, smacking his arm away when he reaches out to help you. “If he doesn’t fucking deserve me, who does, huh? You? Does the great Michael Berzatto deserve me?” You sneer angrily, pushing his chest as you get in his space 

“I don’t deserve you,” He responds quietly, meeting your eyes with such tragedy that it chips away at your stony resolve. When you go silent at his words, he hesitantly reaches out to cradle your jaw, tucking his fingers behind your ear and stroking his thumbs on your jaw. “I don’t, Spice. I’m a fucking mess and that’s why I didn’t come around for so long because if I came back,” Mikey swallows softly, leaning down to your face so that his forehead is pressed against yours, his nose brushing yours and you can’t think about anything other than his lips, his lips that you wanna kiss but can’t, shouldn’t—“I’d wanna kiss you all over again.” 

“Can’t you let me make that decision?” You plead, encircling Mikey’s wrists with your hands as he pulls away, staring at you like you’re a memory of something he’s lost. “I’m right here, Bear,” you remind him, snapping him out of his reverie. He tries to move his hands away but you hold on tighter, pleading him silently to stay, to fix this. 

“Forget me, Spice. For your own sake.” Mikey pulls away, giving you a look full of longing and regret, and leaves you, with just his two bags of groceries and the faint feeling that your heart just got broken. 

~~~

It’s been a month since that night. Time feels like molasses—sticky, slow around you as you wade through everyday life. It feels like you’re being pulled back to him— every meal you eat, you wish it was with him; every time you meet with Sugar, you’re dragged back to the memory of him, the ghost of his presence just hovering behind your shoulder. You’re stuck, but you’re doing your best to make it through. After all, it’s not like you have another option. Mikey’s changing, too. You see it proximally— the way Sugar dims when Mikey’s mentioned, the way that he banned Carmy from The Beef. He’s lashing out, you know it, but you can’t interfere. It’s not your place. 

You’ve been going over to Sugar’s a lot now. She’s got that boy, Pete, who may be a little boring but he anchors her and he treats her right and she loves him. He’s exactly what Sugar has ever needed. It makes you think of your own life, what you need, and if you’ll ever get it. Because the more time that passes, you get more and more convinced that the Mikey-sized hole in your life can’t be filled by anyone else. You can’t think of anyone else who has brought more comfort to your life, who knows you more than anyone, who makes your heart thump with just a smile. Maybe Mikey was it, and now you’re never gonna get that back. 

You’re coming back from Sugar’s, sitting silently in your car with your head resting on the cool glass window as you think of Mikey. You do a lot of that. The ring of your phone snaps you out of your memories, your ringtone singing out in the space of your car as you sit and watch it go. It feels like a grenade, like something ominous so you let it ring, the feeling of something unsettled heavy in your stomach. And right before the call drops, you pick up. 

“Hello?” You ask, the unfamiliar Caller ID throwing you off. There’s a beat of silence and you move to hang up, thinking that it’s just spam. 

“Spice,” Mikey’s voice rings out. His speech is slurred, slow, and that heavy feeling in your gut sits like a boulder when you hear his voice. The sound of it makes tears well up in your eyes, and you grip the leather of your steering wheel to ground yourself. Why did he call? Didn’t he tell you to forget him? “Spice, could you come get me from the police precinct on 9th?” 

“What did you do?” You whisper, hanging up and putting the key back in the ignition to go get him. You hate yourself for doing this, for being at his beck and call as you speed on your way to the station. It’s late, the fluorescents buzzing overhead when you stride into the police station. 

“I’m here to pay bail for Michael Berzatto?” You ask the desk jockey in front of you, already pulling out your wallet. 

“You the one that hung up on him?” He asks, squinting at you as he takes your card and processes it. You nod, just wanting to see Michael already. “Huh. We didn’t think you’d come,” He scoffs. “Anyways, since he listed you as his emergency phone call, we thought you should know; we found this in his coat pocket, has his name on it and everything but just in case.” He hands you a little orange prescription bottle, only a quarter of it left as the pills rattle in the bottle. Painkillers. You tamp down your shock and nod, choosing to stay wordless so you don’t incriminate him. The jockey sighs, standing up and beckoning you to follow him to the Drunk Tank. You spot Mikey immediately, shaggy strands falling before his eyes, beard grown out and that tired, tired look on his face that just pierces your stomach. 

“Michael Berzatto?” The jockey calls out, clearly bored. Michael’s head snaps up and you see that heartbreaking combination of regret and gratefulness in his eyes when he sees you. “You’re free to go,” He sighs, waving Mikey out and shutting the door again. 

“I didn’t think you’d come,” He stammers, uncertain, looking down at you like he doesn’t know what the hell he’s supposed to do now. You nod sharply, unable to find the words as you walk briskly to your car. Mikey trails behind you like a drawn-out shadow, lingering behind you as you throw open the passenger side door and make your way to your own door. 

“Get in,” You call out, buckling your seatbelt and staring straight ahead stubbornly. He follows suit, looking almost out of place as his large frame settles in the passenger seat. You make it to the first traffic light out of the precinct before you manage to say a word, frustration making your eyes sting with tears. 

“Are you abusing painkillers?” You ask him abruptly, dabbing the corners of your eyes with the pads of your fingers as tears escape you. He’s silent next to you, because he knows you know. You look over at him and his jaw is clenched, gaze trained at his hands as he squeezes his eyes shut. “Why didn’t you ask us for help?” You ask him desperately as the silence becomes traitorous. “You’ve got something good going on. You can get better, Mikey,” You plead with him. 

“You think I could ask you for help?” He asks, gripping the side of the door as he looks up at you. “You think I could ask Sugar for help? And be that fuckin’ selfish?” He sniffs, wiping his own tears away with the sleeve of his shirt. “I’m like a black hole, Spice. All my fucked-up shit would just pull you in and suck out your good until you’re just like me.” You nod, looking ahead as you continue driving in silence. 

“And you really believe that?” You ask, disbelief lacing your tone. “You think it’s better to go through this alone?” 

“I can get out of this,” he protests, and you don’t know who he’s trying to convince. 

“You don’t have to,” You say quietly. “Michael, please stop pushing us away,” you plead, a sob catching in the back of your throat. He’s scaring you now, the way he’s talking, the danger that he’s in. You just want him safe. 

“I can’t,” Michael admits, tears falling freely from his eyes as he confesses. “I’m not strong enough to stop and there’s no way out for me.” 

“Yes there is!” You shout. “Michael, look at me! There is a way out of this and you deserve that way out! You won’t be hurting anyone if you ask for help. We need you just as much as you need us, Mikey.” You sigh, pulling into your apartment complex finally. 

“I love you, Michael,” You confess, holding his hand and forcing him to look at you. “I have for a long, long time, and that’s not going anywhere. I don’t want anything in return,” You say softly, stroking his knuckles as he closes his eyes, leaning forward to rest his forehead on yours. “Just stay safe with me. For now, okay?” You ask, quietly pulling away, eager to get him into your apartment where you know he’ll be safe. Mikey nods. 

You don’t know if he’ll be safe tomorrow. But for now, he’s safe with you, and that’s all that matters.

[tcwmatchmakingau]

Commander Mayday illustration by @nika6q

A Match for Mayday: Chapter 3

Editor's note: This fic is a collaboration between @nika6q (artwork) and @dystopicjumpsuit (story)

Pairing: Mayday x Flower Farmer Reader 

Rating: M (18+ Minors DNI)

Wordcount: 2.4k

Warnings and tags: fluff; mild angst; sensuality; smut; fingering; it is not actually impossible for DJ to write a SFW story, but it does cause hives

A/N: dedicated to @nika6q ❤️‍🩹

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 4

“Gorgeous,” Sunni declares with a flourish as she steers you toward her mirror.

“I’m not sure why you’re going to this much effort on me when you’re supposed to be the center of attention,” you point out as you turn obediently.

“Because you deserve a little pampering, and you never have an excuse to get dressed up on Nakadia,” Sunni replies. “What do you think?”

You examine your reflection, taking in the artfully arranged hair, the perfect makeup, and the dress that displays a tasteful amount of skin while concealing all the things you prefer to keep to yourself.

“You’re a magician,” you reply frankly. “I can’t remember the last time I took so long to get ready.”

One of the bridesmaids, Tarsi, flops down on the bed and takes a sip of sparkling wine as she declares, “Nothing wrong with a little self-indulgence every now and then. Everything in moderation, including moderation, am I right, ladies?”

The other two bridesmaids chorus their agreement from the adjoining room, and you smile. Unsurprisingly, Sunni has a delightful group of friends, and they’ve made the week leading up to the wedding far more fun and  relaxed than you expected. Tarsi does have a bad habit of trying to talk you into signing up for RTL, though; she’s so proud of her success with Hexx and Sunni that she’s determined to find a match for every one of her friends.

“You’re beautiful, kind, successful, and you live on the most idyllic planet in the galaxy,” she declares. “Troopers will be lining up around the block to meet you. How do you feel about children?”

“I’ll pass,” you say firmly.

“On the children or the troopers?”

“Both,” you reply.

Tarsi pouts but lets it go. Meanwhile, the other two bridesmaids, Brax and Mione, burst into the room carrying a round of raava shots.

“Pregame!” Brax announces. “Everybody grab a shot.”

“Oh, no!” you laugh. “I’m the designated drunk-herder tonight. It is my responsibility to make sure you all make it onto the charter shuttle to Nakadia at the end of the night so this wedding can actually happen. I need to keep a clear head.”

“One shot isn’t going to do anything,” Sunni declares. “As bride, I hereby absolve you of all responsibility if I’m late to my own wedding. Now take the shot.”

You roll your eyes in good-humored exasperation, and you all toss back the raava, reactions ranging from Tarsi’s delicate cringe to Brax’s exaggerated sputter.

“Well, that was awful,” Sunni coughs. “Shall we get this party started?”

The group makes its way through several bars and dance clubs in Coruscant’s mid-levels, each successively louder and more crowded, before heading to a place that is apparently well-known to Sunni and her friends. As the five of you pile out of the air-taxi onto the landing platform, a gigantic sign reading 79’s bathes you all in a neon haze. There are an unusually high number of clones milling about outside the club, but Sunni and the others head straight for the entrance, throwing open the doors dramatically.

“Gentlemen, I have arrived!” Sunni announces with a confident swagger born partly of inebriation and partly of her own innate love of a spectacular entrance.

From inside the club, a cacophony of male voices lets out a deafening cheer interspersed with a few whistles and catcalls. Not for the first time of the night, you wish that you were getting as lit up as the rest of the group, because from the sound of things, you are about to head into exactly the kind of crowded, chaotic environment that seems perfectly designed to trigger your panic response. Right about now, you would kill for some liquid courage, but none is forthcoming, so you square your shoulders and walk into the club.

It’s crowded, smoky, and dark, and the music is loud enough to buzz across your skin and throb in your chest. It is also packed with clones, all of whom look absolutely delighted to see your group.

“What is this place?” you call to Tarsi over the roar of the crowd.

“Clone bar!” she yells back. “Isn’t it great?”

“Great,” you parrot back with false enthusiasm.

Unsurprisingly, the bartender has already poured a round of shots for your group by the time you reach the bar, courtesy of some unknown patron. You know you shouldn’t drink yours, but it’s been hours since you had the raava shot, and you have a feeling you’re going to need it if you’re going to make it out of 79’s without going ballistic, so you toss it back quickly. Within seconds, all five of you are pulled onto the dancefloor, and at least two clones begin to grind on each of you. There are so many people, and your heart starts to race as the crowd presses against you. The lights flash disorientingly. It’s hot and sweaty and loud, and your cheeks are starting to cramp from the overly bright smile you’re trying to keep in place. 

You look over to Sunni and are surprised to see her dancing with Hexx. Veetch is plastered against Tarsi, along with a clone you don’t recognize. You can’t see Brax or Mione, because there are three farking clones grinding their dicks against you, and if you have to put up with this for another minute you are going to kriffing lose your shit!

Abruptly, a hand closes around your wrist and pulls you gently but firmly away from the sausage fest. A little space opens up around you, and you finally feel like you can breathe again. You turn to thank your rescuer, and your heart gives a hard, involuntary lurch when you recognize Mayday’s long, dark curls. He asks a question that you can’t hear over the music. You shake your head and point to your ears. He nods in understanding, and his eyes are so damned kind that you want to weep with relief.

Another strange clone starts to move toward you, but Mayday fixes him with a stare that has him putting up his hands and backing away. You don’t want to leave the dancefloor and abandon Sunni and the others, but you’re not sure how you’re going to be able to stay, either. Mayday moves closer and rests his hands on your hips. You glance up at him, startled. He gives you a reassuring smile and starts to move your body to the rhythm of the music.

“I thought you didn’t dance!” you try to say over the music, but he shakes his head to indicate he can’t hear you, either. 

Instead, he pulls you closer to himself and oh, Maker. He does dance. He’s a really kriffing good dancer. He moves with a sinuous grace that has your mind racing with the possibilities of what else he can do with moves like that. And while his hands stay well within respectful boundaries, they leave a trail of blazing heat as they move across your body. 

You war with yourself. Mayday has you dizzy and off-balance. One moment he’s looking at you like you’re the only person in the galaxy, and the next he’s telling you not to touch him. But now he’s caressing your waist and hips like he never wants to stop, and he’s shielding you with his body, and he’s keeping you safe in the midst of the crowd. It’s a heady experience, to be at the center of that intense focus. Eventually, you stop thinking and simply let go and exist in the moment.

You lose track of time, of place, of people—it all fades into the background, and all you can see is Mayday. The way he touches you, moves you, guides you through the dance. He turns you so your back is to him, and you lean against his strong body, your hips swaying against his. You raise one hand over your shoulder to tangle in his hair, and you feel the heat of his breath against your wrist. His fingers trail over your arm, lighting up the nerves and sending tingles racing through you. And then his mouth descends onto your bare shoulder, his beard teasing your sensitive skin as he works his way up the side of your neck. Your knees nearly buckle at the sensation, but somehow you hold onto both your balance and your dignity.

You are shocked when the bartender announces the last call. How has the time passed so quickly? You’ve been so wrapped up in Mayday that you didn’t even notice as the crowd began to thin, and now it is time to round up the rest of the wedding party and head to the spaceport, where the luxurious private shuttle Sunni has chartered awaited your arrival. You and Mayday are the only reasonably sober members of the group, and so you coordinate with him to hustle everyone into two air taxis.

It’s a loud and raucous trip to the spaceport, but eventually, you bundle Sunni and the others onto the shuttle and perform one last headcount before Mayday signals the pilot to depart. It takes a significant amount of time and effort, but eventually, everyone aboard makes it to their assigned quarters, and you retreat to the shuttle’s opulent lounge to decompress and have a well-deserved drink. 

You stop short when you enter the room and find Mayday already inside. You flirt with the idea of fleeing, of going straight to your quarters and trying to get some sleep on the long jump to Nakadia, but it’s too late. He’s already spotted you, and you can’t avoid him without being openly rude. 

“I’d forgotten how exhausting it is to wrangle drunk people,” you say as you enter the room. 

“Mmm,” Mayday agrees with a rumble. “Makes fighting the war look easy.”

“No, it doesn’t,” you reply.

He smiles. “You’re right. Want a glass?”

“I think we’ve earned it,” you reply, settling into an armchair as he pours two tumblers of liquor out of a mysterious decanter.

The tawny liquid catches the light as he hands you a glass, reminding you of his eyes. You sniff it curiously and are greeted with a sweet, smoky aroma.

“I knew you were a whiskey man,” you say as you clink your glass quietly against his and take a sip. 

“I don’t usually turn down a free drink,” Mayday replies. “That doesn’t mean I don’t know the good stuff when I see it.”

You regard him steadily before you ask, “Is that so?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks, his eyes guarded.

“I can’t figure you out, Mayday,” you say. 

At least he doesn’t insult you by pretending to misunderstand. He watches you for a moment, and when you don’t flinch under his scrutiny, he takes another drink of his whiskey.

“I told you I don’t play games,” he says.

“You could have fooled me,” you retort.

“You’re with someone else,” he says in a low voice. He sets his jaw firmly, but his eyes flicker over your body, and for an instant, you see a flash of naked hunger in them. “I’m not going to chase after someone who’s unavailable.”

What the kark? Your eyebrows snap together. “Is that why you couldn’t keep your hands off me tonight? Why every time we’re in the same room, you look at me like—like that?”

“Why the kriff do you think I was avoiding you?” he growls. “When I’m with you, I can’t think straight. I am trying to respect your relationship, but fuck, you drive me wild.”

You let out a short, angry laugh and drain your glass. “You think I would dance with you like that when I was with someone else? I didn’t realize you had such a poor opinion of me.”

“You said you were taken. You—” he pauses as though the words choke him with their bitterness. “You planned your wedding.”

“That was hypothetical!” You set your glass down with a snap as you rise abruptly. “I’m going to bed. Alone. Like I do every night. Which you should have realized when you spent a week in my house.”

“We’re not finished,” Mayday says, rising to block your exit.

“There’s nothing else to say,” you snap.

“What the kark did you expect me to do?” he demands. “I met the girl of my dreams, and two seconds later she told me she wasn’t interested.”

“I said I wasn’t interested in RTL!” you exclaim. “A matchmaker sounds like my worst nightmare. Although at least it would have prevented this level of absolute banthashit.” 

“Then—” he begins.

“For kark’s sake, how much clearer can I possibly be?” you cut him off. “Do I need to hang up a neon sign that says OPEN FOR BUSINESS? Do you want me to send you a handwritten letter? ‘Dear Mayday, please tear off all my clothes and have your way with me on the nearest available surf—mmph!’”

Mayday’s mouth cuts off your tirade. His lips crash against yours, his tongue sweeps into your mouth, his hands pull you close against him. He tastes like whiskey, and he smells like woodsmoke and spices, overwhelming your senses. You clutch his shoulders for balance, and then immediately slide your hands up his neck to twine your fingers through his hair. You tug on it gently, and he groans into your mouth in response. His arms tighten around you, pinning you to him as he grips your ass and grinds his hips against you. You let out a strangled moan as you feel the hardness of his cock press against your abdomen.

“This karking dress,” he rasps, breaking away from your kiss for a moment as his fingers find your hemline and snake up the inside of your bare thigh. “Did you wear it just to torture me?”

You open your mouth to respond, but he preempts your response with another breathtaking kiss. He slips past the lace of your panties—thank the Force I wore pretty ones—and glides his fingertips over your heated skin. His hands are as clever and talented as you knew they would be, and a fresh wave of irritation hits you. You tug his hair lightly as you pull away from his kiss.

“I’m still mad at you!” you exclaim. “We could have been doing this for weeks, oooh—”

He slides one of those thick, skilled fingers into you as he drops his mouth to your throat.

“I’m planning on doing it a lot longer than that, mesh’la.”

[tyrantisterror]

No Small Feat Artwork Pt. 1 - The PCs

By request, I'm gonna show off some of the artwork for No Small Feat, a Midgaheim story my friends and I told through the TTRPG system Fabula Ultima. I drew a lot of characters and monsters for it, and my friends - in particular, @dragonzzilla, @scatha5, and @dinosaurana - helped line and color them so we'd have cute little sprites to use on our online battlemaps, which really helped sell the whole "we're playing an oldschool turn based RPG" vibe that Fabula Ultima's system is going for.

For the first batch, it makes sense to start with the heroes of the game. Since No Small Feat was a fairy tale pastiche, we worked hard as a group to make sure each PC felt like a fairy tale protagonist more than a stock fantasy hero - characters that, while not incapable of defending themselves, would be more suited to using trickery, guile, and in some cases, compassion to solve problems.

@scatha5 created Bright Eyes, a young noblewoman whose parents tried to marry her off to a much older man without consulting her, and chose to deal with that by leaving home, disguising herself as a peasant boy, and basically traveling the earth with her pet cat that was secret a Puk (i.e. a tiny dragon) named Longshanks.

@cerothenull created Charles, a minotaur living in the town Aesopton (some involved Midgaheim world-building for your pleasure: Aesopton, while located in the kingdom of Engelsex, was founded by soldiers from the Mediterran Empire who were left behind during one of the Empire's many failed Wars of Conquest. Without the resources needed to make the journey home, they just settled down in the country they failed to take over and lived humble lives, with their descendants identifying as people of Engelsex rather than Mediterra, though they kept many Mediterran customs). Charles began as a farmer who kept a good pomegranate orchard, but, thanks to some dubious advice from one of his neighbors, he got lost and found himself in a less obscure part of Engelsex, and spent most of the campaign trying to survive long enough to find a way home.

My friend Cene created Edmund Gilford, the son of two knights who died defending the King of Engelsex from an attempted coup, and who had to inherit their duties way too early. One day, while hunting with his servants, he went off on his own and was a bit rude to a woman in the woods, and wouldn't you know it he ended up turning into a big chimeric monster. Edmund began the story as arrogant, selfish, and antagonistic, but slowly grew to discover a more altruistic side to himself as the story progressed.

@dinosaurana created Montblanc, a nice fellow who also met a mysterious woman in the woods and happened to mention that he wanted to see more of the world. She gave him a book with an eyeball in it and tasked him with drawing at least 100 different monsters, which became a major component of how the whole campaign was structured (and why this art post has to be in so many parts). I believe dinosaurana pitched the character to me as "what if Newt Scamander didn't suck ass?" which is a damn solid pitch for my money. Montblanc also has a pet barnacle goose named Barnaby, and we all love Barnaby in this house.

Finally, @shadyserpent269 created Scrunt, a roughly human-sized dragon who was the wildcard in an already kind of chaotic party of weirdos, which is just what this fairy tale needed to cook with gas!

We'll end this with some art of Barnaby and Longshanks, so you can get a better look at them. Barnacle geese aren't chimeras, btw - they're just barnacles that, through magic, evolved to resemble geese in shape and size. They eat carrion!

[studentinpursuitofclouds]

how would the sdv townies react to a farmer that wears lolita / ouji fashion?

like imagine there's a new farmer in town and they tend the farm, go fishing or mining in the most impractical clothes ever !! (but it's pretty so who cares lol)

I searched for the meaning of lolita/ouji, because honestly this is the first time I've heard of it. Quite an enthralling article, by the way! Thanks anon, both for the question and the interesting information 💕🌺

For those who don't know what it is: basically, Lolita fashion is a Japanese subculture that was based on the clothing style of Victorian era and Rococo style. No one knows exactly when this subculture emerged, but Wiki said that it was somewhere around the 70s. Found a Tumblr post for an example of what it looks like, or you can look it up yourself. It's pretty, but it's definitely Hell on earth if you somehow think of working on a farm or in the Mines in such clothes 😅

Sorry anon, but I'll make it for bachelors/bachelorettes this time. Hope you don't mind 💕 Anyway, back to the question...

SDV bachelors/ettes react to a Farmer that wears Lolita/Ouji outfit while working:

_________________________________________

Ha, see! When Haley said that if a person wants to, they will always look beautiful and fashionable EVEN at work. EVEN if that job is digging in the dirt and picking up roots. And back then, people told Haley it was stupid and not practical. But Farmer is proof of her words, look at them! *Pointing at Farmer dressed up in a beautiful outfit that's covered in dirt and grass in a lot of places*. Ewww. Uh, or maybe not....

Sebastian thinks Ouji's gothic outfit is so cool, but doesn't understand why it's what the Farmer wears to pick pumpkins and cranberries. Do they like being stuck doing laundry for so long? Because he doesn't see the logic. They want to look pretty all the time? Okay, Farmer's choice. But they'll definitely need a tonne of washing powder, because dirt and dust will not spare the Farmer's pretty clothes (especially where the fabric is white).

Emily's heart cracked to pieces when she saw that Farmer had soiled their beautiful clothes in slime and monster blood. She was, of course, immensely glad that her chaotic friend was okay, but.... Maybe the Farmer will let Emily make clothes for them that are fashionable AND practical, to their taste and style? Plus the blue-haired girl wouldn't turn down the opportunity to try a new style in sewing clothes, especially considering how incredible and expressive Farmer's outfit are.

This valley seems to attract people with a bizarre choice of clothes. Alex doesn't understand why the Farmer is not satisfied with, say, an ordinary jacket and jeans. Or a T-shirt with jeans. Or any other clothes that don't look as weird. He's seen something similar to Farmer's clothes in Haley's fashion magazines with one eye once, but it's still weird to him. Especially working as a farmer in that suit in the summer heat all day.

Oh yes! Abigail recognised the style! A few years ago she'd always fought with her parents because they wouldn't let her daughter go out in "occult clothing" and couldn't understand that Abby had the right to express herself. The gothic Lolita style was her favourite, but she later wanted something a little more comfortable (and she's not a big fan of skirts). So Farmer, who is going to Mines in this outfit is either the bravest or the craziest person. The outfit is so cool, but it's kinda uncomfortable.

Shane almost choked on his beer at what he saw. A Farmer was seriously going to work in... this? Do they even know how much effort it takes to take care of a chicken coop alone, and that it's not a job for a fucking-? What is this shit anyway? Fashion? They kind of came here to become farmers, didn't they? What the hell does Shane care, though? Let the weirdo wear whatever they wants, he doesn't give a damn.

But that's completely impractical! Maru always prioritises convenience over beauty in her choice of clothes. Who would, say, be engaged in inventions and experiments in dressy clothes, when the probability of spilling machine oil or (Yoba forbid) chemical reagent on oneself is quite high? You can't wash such things afterwards, and it will be a waste of expensive fabric. The Farmer looks great (though a bit eccentric for Maru's taste), but you shouldn't be farming or fishing in such clothes.

As long as Farmer doesn't go overboard with their clothes and expose themself to overheating or difficulty breathing properly - then Harvey has nothing against their style. It's a bit odd and extravagant, but they're an adult and have the right to wear what they like. The worry comes, though, when the Farmer's told the doctor that they're going to fight the monsters in the Mines in these clothes. Yoba have mercy, maybe Harvey can talk them into wearing some protection, like helmet or something? Please, he's getting nervous....

Penny will be honest - as a child, she had secretly dreamed of some dress like this before. But having grown up, the red-haired girl became rather reserved and modest, afraid to step outside the bounds of comfort and afraid of the negative reaction of others. On top of that, such outfits were usually not cheap. Seeing Farmer running around in such a beautiful outfit and not really worrying about it getting ruined, while Penny could only dream of it made her feel.... envy? Sadness? Both? *Sigh* It's complicated...

Wow! Yo, sick outfit! Hey, Sam definitely remembers Abby used to wear something like that before her parents made her stop doing it. Farmer looks great! Except it's unlikely the clothes will be as chic after tilling a field. Or fishing. Willy used to say that some bait stinks for a week at least. So be careful, Farmer, it's easy to ruin an outfit like that.

This is Farmer's choice, but Leah should warn - going to the forest for mushrooms in such impractical clothes will end up with Farmer covered in cobwebs, leaves, and most likely, somewhere a sleeve will get caught on a branch and tear the fabric. As if the artist herself sometimes has a hard time with her clothes - blueberry bushes and thistles can be very treacherous and sticky. And also painful. That's why the Farmer's going to have a hard time. It is better to let them sacrifice one day without their beautiful clothes and go to the forest normally.

Elliot himself spends so much effort and time to style his luxurious and unruly hair, to iron his white shirt perfectly, to polish his shoes to a dazzling shine. The writer can't imagine such a thing - to do all the hard work on his appearance and clothes, to spoil everything in Mines at once. The Farmer looks so wonderful, don't they feel at all bad about ruining the expensive fabric of their clothes? Of course, Elliott is in favour of the idea of trying to look good at all times, but in some places it may be inappropriate.

[butterflystrands]

introducing my main jjba oc babe : dolly! she's participating to the steel ball run with her beloved horse named 'prince charming' and, unlike most competitors, she's after a ... different kind of prize.

dolly themes: mind over heart, justified gold digging, seeking true freedom, big sister complex, money does buy happiness & a rose with thorns.

backstory: born in a little village in texas, dolly is the eldest daughter of four sisters (polly, sally & millie). her parents are farmers and thus she's lived the farmer life thus far, which means ... a rather poor one. dolly, instead, had always dreamt big - too big from someone of her status. she'd love studying, travelling around the world and maybe even finding a small but decent job to feel truly accomplished. alas, her obligations tied her down: helping her dad with the farm (fields + animals) and looking after her little sisters always prevented her from achieving any of that. until, one day, after months of illness, her mother passed away. her father spiraled down and gave into his own paranoias and began actively looking to find a husband for each of his girls so that the one thing he cared about the most (his farm) wouldn't go lost. dolly's suitor had a suspicious track record, especially when two of his previous wives "went tragically missing". and that, ladies and gents, was the nail in the coffin. despite feeling guilty over leaving her little sisters behind, dolly left her home and village to visit an old (and much richer) friend she made during her childhood. she heard of the steel ball run and kindly asked to return an old favor so that she could pay the fee to participate.

she knows she's up against professional jockeys - so what are the chances to win against those guys? none, basically. dolly is a person who doesn't belive in luck, but in numbers and statistics. why you, a farmer, would try to win the race against professionals when you could win the heart of one of the top ten contestants, instead? it's not hard to smile and pretend everything a man says is remarkable and funny, after all. if they marry, the money would officially be hers, too! which means she can use it to pursue her life-long dreams. no more feeling ashamed of not being able to read well and barely knowing how to write your own name.

dolly is best described as outgoing, ambitious, determined, observant, adaptable and resourceful. she's a schemer and knows what she wants and she isn't afraid to manipulate people to get it. since she falls under the chaotic neutral alignment, she's mostly self-serving and focused on obtaining her own freedom by marrying a rich man whose money will help her get an education and more. this doesn't mean she's heartless, however, as she finds herself to stand up against injustice directed towards other women, especially if younger than her. she's a great gunslinger (thanks to her father's teachings) so she isn't afraid to pull the trigger when it matters.

[luckhissoul]

FULL NAME. matrim cauthon NICKNAME. mat - which he prefers plz just call him mat ALIASES. he went by lord crimson that one time PRONOUNS. he / him SIZE. 5'11.5" lol AGE. he's 23 at the end of the books ZODIAC. this no exist in his world. lol but - like he was born somewhere at the end of the year so - SPOKEN LANGUAGES. is it called new tongue or something. he speaks some of the old tongue too but it's a chaotic version lol

𝐏𝐇𝐘𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐋 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐒 ― HAIR. dark brown, short ish. FACIAL HAIR. typically none. EYES. brown. SKIN TONE. light but not like - pale? like - well look at him up there lol BODY TYPE. tall, slender, but he fights and stuffs so he's got some toned muscle. VOICE. his voice is -- omg how do i explain his voice? it's a deep voice? why is this so hard for me? lol DOMINANT HAND. right. POSTURE. a little bit lazy. he leans back into things, puts his boots up on things. but he swaggers when he walks. SCARS. several scattered across his body from various battles and fights. more prominently he has a hanging scar across his neck but he keeps it covered, depending on the timeline he's missing an eye, and he has a large scar along his side and hip from when a building fell on him. BIRTHMARKS. none. MOST NOTABLE FEATURES. mischievous smile, the scar around his neck.

𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐃 ― PLACE OF BIRTH. emond's field, the two rivers. HOMETOWN. emond's fields, the two rivers. SIBLINGS. two younger sisters. PARENTS. abell and natti cauthon

𝐀𝐃𝐔𝐋𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 ― OCCUPATION. general of the band of the red hand.. prince of the ravens but he doesn't want it lolol CURRENT RESIDENCE. constantly traveling - but also he has a place in the seanchan empire but he doesn't want it. FINANCIAL STATUS. very wealthy due to his extreme good luck when gambling. but also ! being prince of ravens in the seanchan empire also gives him lots of wealth. he loves the money don't let him say differently. but he's uncomfortable with the status of it. he's just a farmers boy at heart. don't tell him that either? guess everything is a sensitive subject to him geez DRIVER'S LICENSE. like this doesn't exist --- but in modern things he does. he also has a motorcycle and pilot's licence. CRIMINAL RECORD. like in modern things he probs had a few very minor things when he was younger...you know like you're causing chaos gonna hold you overnight lol underage drinking, vandalism. things that don't show up on an adult record VICES. drinking, sex, getting into knife fights, gambling

𝐒𝐄𝐗 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 ― SEXUAL ORIENTATION. heterosexual. PREFERRED EMOTIONAL ROLE. like he would prefer dominant. but like -- it's a bit of a messy thing so you know how it goes. he usually doesn't end up on that side.. PREFERRED SEXUAL ROLE. somewhere comfortably in the middle. TURN OFFS. being controlled, cornered, looked down on. TURN ON'S. .....women?. LOVE LANGUAGE. physical touch, acts of service. gift giving <--- is how he expressed physical touch,quality time <----- how he wants to receive but he also likes words of affirmation but like - he might be weird about it. RELATIONSHIP TENDENCIES. very attentive, adaptable ( too much sometimes ), likes to shower with gifts and attention. but emotionally distant, complicated, trust issues. like you're good until things get serious then things are frustrating and complicated sorry -

𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐎𝐔𝐒 ― CHARACTER'S THEME TUNE. wage war get rich die handsome - the mountain goats. AND cover of me - sugr? <--- i have a lot of feelings about this one HOBBIES TO PASS THE TIME. gambling, playing stones, dancing, drinking, playing with his knife collection, horse riding, looking at the stars aww, he likes fashion, too but don't tell anyone. LEFT OR RIGHT BRAINED. left brained. SELF-CONFIDENCE LEVEL. he's the most confident insecure person you'll ever meet.

tagged by - NO ONE tagging - @caracarnn x @agoldenlily x @anoddbunch x @xhideyourfires x @adversitybloomed x

[citrusses]

July 2023: AO3 Wrapped 🎁🍊

A monthly roundup of *some* of my favorite fics of the year.

January | February | March | April, May, June | July | August | September | October | November | December

A Saviour’s Guide to Manners and Decorum by @wolfpants (E, 13K)

Honorary Minister Harry Potter (yes, he's fully aware his job title is meaningless, and he quite likes it that way) is a disaster at public events.

Listen, if there's two things I will never, ever, ever get enough of it is etiquette lessons and longing. This fic is perfect to me.

Everybody Hates a Tourist by @wolfpants (E, 51K)

On a stag do in sunny Brighton with the Gryffindor lads, the last person Harry expects to run into is Draco Malfoy.

Started reading this at night and went, sorry, sleep, you aren't happening. Could not rest until I finished it. The most beautiful discovery of love and oneself.

Fledgling by @tackytigerfic (G, 3K) 

Two young dads meet at a farmers market. They exchange parenting tips, longing looks, and root vegetables.

This is so very, very lovely in a chaotic (newborns!!), achingly sweet way. In my head this is "*The* Drarry dads fic."

heaven to gaudy day by @maesterchill (M, 809)

Istanbul. The morning after the night before. And Malfoy's in a mood.

Under 1000 words of pure gorgeousness.

I only want the ones I envy (I envy) by @porcelainheart3 (E, 13K)

Despite this arrangement he has with Draco, conducted entirely in the privacy of a dusty stationery cabinet, Harry is definitely not gay. But to appease his friends, he agrees to go on one (1) date with a man. Just to be sure.

ABSOLUTE TREAT, SUPREME BANGER. A confection of a fic -- the dialogue, the details, all adding up to a densely-packed, seven layer slice of dessert.

Muscle Memory by @corvuscrowned (E, 8K) 

There's something just beneath the surface, just at the periphery of Harry's mind. They've been here before — they've done this before. If only he could remember it.

I think this has my favorite last line of a fic all year. Maybe ever. This is exactly the kind of narratively layered, brilliant and beautifully captivating fic that Crow has done so well so many times. A gift.

Rich Friend by @sorrybutblog (E, 19K)

As far as Harry can tell, Draco Malfoy is still rich as hell. He’s just not a wizard anymore. Featuring: Draco Malfoy trying to make it as a Muggle pop star, Harry Potter as our confused and horny hero, bad driving, good music, and the mysterious magic of falling for someone.

LKSJ:FLKJSD. I mean, this is a perfect Harry POV fic, the most believable Drarry dynamic in the midst of a fic about Draco as a Muggle pop star named Dragon, the "I'm with the band" fic I didn't know I needed. I love it with my whole soul.

Sun Thief by @floydig, (E, 28K)

It’s 2005, and Draco Malfoy says, “Fuck the Ministry,” Harry works as a handyman in muggle London, and Draco should really stop pissing off the Squib gangs.

Bracingly original, thrilling to read, does not hold the reader's hand at all and just throws you into it -- fantastic.

Waking Up Slow by @sweet-s0rr0w (E, 22K)

'Twas the night before Christmas, although it’s July/Draco’s a shopkeeper, no-one knows why/There’s hiking and witch caves, freak snowfalls and more/Bad Christmas jumpers, nosy neighbours galore/Narcissa’s here too, but… something’s amiss/And what’s in those chocolates that’s making them kiss?

No one can make me SEE a fic the way Sweet does. The writing in this is so tangibly gorgeous, the love story is so tender and sweet and funny and lovely. The most charming of fics.

[roseeycreates-blog]

Will farmer Lin end up with the same scar as canon Lin? What about her personality and hobbies? Now that she knows she can earthbend, will she start training?

Hi, anon~

Ooh, so many questions! Thanks for asking~

Farmer Lin doesn’t have a scar, and her childhood wasn’t traumatic—Kanto is such a good dad, sometimes maybe even a little overprotective, but it’s never a bad thing. Farmer Lin actually wants a family, so she's cool with kids. As for differences, she definitely has a temper, but it's not as intense as in canon, and she smiles more, especially around people she cares about. The only real trauma in her life was discovering the truth about her past, which was so chaotic that it led to her breakup with Tenzin. Then years later, she found out about Tenzin and Pema’s wedding through a newspaper announcement.

Farmer Lin's personality is a lot brighter compared to her canon self, thanks to her upbringing. After her breakup with Tenzin, though, she did get a bit down, but she kept it to herself. At first, she’s pretty cold and distant with Toph, but over time, she softens up a bit.

When it comes to hobbies, she always says farming, but let’s be real—that’s not exactly a hobby, right? She mentions it in interviews, though. Besides that, she loves reading, especially about plants and farming. She’s also into horseback riding. Once she picks up metalbending, she enjoys practicing on tall trees in the forest, kind of like the Survey Corps from Attack on Titan.

For the last question, she'll train with Toph. I answered it in another ask, so if you're interested, feel free to check it out here

Lin can earthbend and lava bend, but she struggles with metalbending. Yes, Farmer Lin is OP. During one of their training sessions, Toph brings up an old argument.

“Lin, you should really think about joining the police force,” Toph says, her tone serious.

Lin shakes her head, “I’m content with farming. I don’t want to give that up.”

Toph raises an eyebrow, “You’ve got incredible potential. Why not put it to use?”

Lin replies, “This is my passion. I’m happy where I am, and I believe I can make a difference in other ways.”

[faerunsbest]

Tav Character Worksheet: Ma'na

(i wasn't sure if you wanted dwylla or the new tav ma'na so im using this to flesh out mana)

with Ma'na i haven't even built her up in bg3 i just built her like Dwylla. with whatever i was capable of doodling and what i know from playing and researching.

as far as tags uhh if you guys wanna play @dutifullylazybread @falcatamandarina @cinnasalmon @commander-krios

thank you elven-e-girl

Name: ma'na its a joke because mages need mana and i made her for rolan! haha i thought it was funny anywho

Age: shes early to late 30's but doesn't actually know how old she is as she doesn't count it or celebrate birthdays.

Gender:female, happily woman although she does not limit herself to 'fem' activities and the like

Sexuality:Bisexual. she find herself attracted to certain features (dark eyes//split tongue//ect) although you can be none of the things she finds attractive and still land her if you make her laugh and feel safe

Pronouns:she/her

Tav voice:n/a

Family:Ma'na is one of 23 children. they are drowe that work mines, there are so many of them for the same reason farmers used to have a million kids. its cheaper to raise em then hire em. She used to be a rather mid worker but was prominent for the sole reason of she

Birthplace: Somwhere between mintar and thornwood there is mine. that mine is where she was born and where she lived her life

Job(s): she has done very little as since she was born she as told her purpose. to work. manual labor, mining, building, digging, demolition and all that comes with helping keep her family up and running

Phobia(s): drowning/suffocating ,nothing terrifies her as much as not being able to just perform the basic task of breathing

Guilty Pleasures:in all honestly she feels guilty about wanting to be wanted for more than she can offer.

she feels guilty about feeling pleasure in her body and her form, things like touching cuddling, kissing fucking and masturbating makes her feel likes shes doing something wrong

Hobbies:singing. sculpting sewing

she sings in the mines and her voice echoes down cold stone keeping people awake, sending chills when you've forgotten shes there.

with all the clay she pulls up from the soil, she pressed her fingers deep appreciating the feel of around her fingers, pressing, pulling stretching and smoothing clay until it resembles someone or something

she loves fixing old clothes, stitching in little pictures to make broken old worn out things feel new and loved still

alignment chaotic good. overall she wants good happy things but people aren't always good and she sometime retaliate with excessive violence or some form of mischief

sins.previous to the nautiloid she didn't have a lot of opportunity to commit any notable sin. even so probably the most notable things shes done is sleep with Dammon when she was supposed to be working. she also kicked the absolute living shit out aradin far past a singular punch

virtues: she does her best to believe people are good and give them a few chances to be good which is why she wont let astarion ascend

This or That?that?

Introverted or extraverted? depends on the day, but mostly extroverted

Organized or disorganized?mostly organized but any more than is useful

Closed or open-minded? forever curious shes quite open minded

Calm, anxious, or restless? calm, theres very little that sirs anxiety in her. shes always very much 'ill either die or i wont'

Disagreeable or agreeable?usually very agreeable as she just wants to enjoy herself

Cautious or reckless? moderately cautious

Patient or impatient? very patient, she willing to wait for good things

Outspoken or reserved?depends on the topic, shes very reserved with gale as she like to let him yammer but with astarion and laezel she feels its incredibly important they know how she feels

Leader or follower? she never lead anything until the nautiloid, as long as she knows what needs to be done she can lead but prefers to just do her part and be done

Empathetic or apathetic?incredibly empathetic

Optimist, pessimist, or realist?somewhere between optimist and realist, as in do the best with what you've got but a person can not expect miracles

Traditional or modern? whatever is easiest and most efficient she has no qualms in either direction

Hardworking or lazy? she will as hard as is needed but no harder than is required

OTP: ma'na and rolan my loves

BROTP:astarion/ ma'na they talk a lot, about things they wish would or wouldn't have happened. when he offers to please her at the grove she catches him outright, stating she wont touch him unless that what he wants, actively wants. he's so thrown off guard they wind up sitting out there talking until its time to leave in the morning

NOTP:SHADOW HEART

they just do not mesh and shart doesn't join them on the mission despite being rescued on the ship