#awesome prompt engineering

[businessiideahindi]

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[god-of-prompt]

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[pinescent-and-gingerbread]

✵Under the hood.

✦ Pairing: Modern!Arthur Morgan x Female!Reader ✦ Summary: A beautiful day quickly turned into a very shitty one when your car broke down in the middle of a mountain road. Thank Goodness, a charming cowboy luckily crosses your way and talks you through fixing your fussy engine. ✦ Warnings/tags: 18+ MDNI!! Not properly speaking sexual intercourse, but this contains sexual themes. "Talking you through it". Dirty talk. Mechanical sex metaphors if that's even a thing??? Sexual tension. Arthur is a smooth b*stard. ✦ Words: 2,3k (once again relying on @arthurmorgan-vp for this gorgeous pic of Arthur!)

Sooo! This was initially an ask for my mini prompt sprint from @cloudywithachanceofcrisis (awesome url btw), and it turned into this whole fic because I'm too deep into modern Arthur and I just couldn't stop writing. Basically, the ask was for Reader's car to break down and for Arthur to talk her through fixing it, "Megan Fox Transformers" style. 😏 I had too much fun writing it. Enjoy!

✧.*

A creaking sound of metallic agony rings out as you pull your car's hood up, quickly followed by a horrible smell of burnt pieces of metal and plastic.

Shit.

This really wasn't what you had planned for today. A barbecue party at your best friend's ranch, cold beers, the smell of grass mixing with seasoned steaks and hay. And laughter, and horses, and riding. The sun embracing your face as you and her would gallop through the fields, just like when you were kids. The real start of summer.

That's what you had planned this morning when waking up. Now the sun is roasting your neck, your car is stopped, front pitifully open as a wounded animal you would have just hurt, along one of Wyoming's lonely rocky mountain roads. Needless to say, you were in deep trouble; no network, traffic as low as the school's road on holidays.

Except for other locals, of course.

After long minutes of panic and desperate calls into the void of a connectionless dial tone from your phone, you finally heard your salvation from the other side of the road. A blue Chevrolet pickup truck, some Creedence Clearwater Revival bursting through the windows, sunrays gleaming on the immaculate bodywork.

The truck slows down and stops right next to you. Window down, its owner smiles at you with an unmistakable smirk and blue eyes shining almost as much as the perfectly polished metal of his vehicle.

"You alright there, sugar?"

Arthur Morgan. Another ranch owner from your valley. He's bending to your direction, turning down his music, and you notice the pile of country and rock albums on the countertop. You internally chuckle; it fits his character way too well. You knew him a little; all the breeders know each other in the valley. Most of them, as with your family and his, have beneficial relationships, like symbiosis in nature. Clownfish and anemones. Trees and lichen. Make yourself useful to the other party and you'll never fight again. Instead of destroying yourselves over a piece of land, you've learned to take advantage of each other and to prosper together. The Man is an animal, after all.

You had very good memories of the time you had spent at his ranch, usually for the breeding season. He owned one of the finest horses in the whole county and rode them like no one else could. And you would have lied if you had said you didn't find him handsome, in this typical cowboy rugged charm. Always wearing jeans, sometimes chaps. Tight, simple black or white shirts that were always stretched around his biceps or pectorals. Never without a pack of Marlboros that smelled like fresh nights, talking about life under the porch. A leather hat and jacket for riding, a cap when around his ranch. Today is a baseball cap type of day too, it seems.

"Of course not, Morgan! Do I look peachy?! My car broke down and I can't fix it." You explain, hands on your hips.

"A chance I was passin' by then." He smirks even more, readjusting his position in his seat. "Don't worry darlin', we'll get it in mint condition no time."

With a smooth move of the wheel with one hand, he pulls over just a few meters from you. Your hear the old truck turning down, the door opening; he grabs a toolbox and a bottle of water before joining you in front of the open hood of your poor suffering car.

"Here, first, drink a bit. Don't want ya droppin' dead in the middle o' nowhere."

You chuckle as you take the water he's handing to you, the coldness of it on your palms enough to make you feel at ease. "Would be hard to explain to the cops eh?"

"Sure would." He concedes with a snort, his left hand taking support on the hood as he bends towards the engine. After a few seconds of him probing the wound with an expert gaze in silence, he turns to you. "Ya know what? You're going to learn and fix it yaself. I'll teach ya. That way, you won't have to wait on a... dirty cowboy to save your ass next time you break down."

You smile, amused and somehow grateful for his proposition. You definitely should have known better in cars already, considering how life was demanding in those wild plains.

"Alright then, let's hear what the "grand master" of cars has to say." You joke, and just for the way his crinkles showed more in the corner of his eyes, the smile it brought to his face, it was worth it.

He takes a dirty piece of fabric and puts it in the back pocket of his jeans out of habit, before giving you a pair of gloves from the toolbox, greasy and used, and you put them on without complaint, hard, used cotton surrounding your skin.

Your eyes involuntarily notice how his neck is more tanned, compared to a part of his torso you can catch a glimpse of. His forearms, too. The veins that run through them are like great streams that sublimate his muscles. He really is cut out for the hard life on the ranch, even more than most people you know.

"First, you need t'find your brake cylinder. Check the fluid level in it." He points at the plastic reservoir and waits.

You bend towards the engine too, and touch the cylinder. It is one of the only things you knew about.

"That's right, that' thing. Does it look full?"

"Yes."

"Good. 'Could be leakin', though. Brush your hands under it..." He commands, one hand still on the hood and the other holding his belt. He looks so casual, as if he were giving mechanic lessons every day. "Come on, don't be shy, darlin'."

You do exactly as he tells. You don't know why, but there's something suddenly extremely intimate in this whole situation. The way you're both bent inward, bodies close, way closer than how you would stand next to someone. The way he speaks those orders, his voice even more gravelly, rasping, almost purring in your ears. Deep, so deep, and the way his accent is eating half the words in that southern drawl is doing things to you. Stomach fluttering, you try to keep your head cool and actually focus and fixing your damn car.

"So? S'it wet?"

Jeeeesus, he's not making things easy. Making violence to yourself not to answer yes on instinct, you force out a too casual "Nope."

"Alright, now do the same with the coolin' system. S'right next to it."

You bring your hand to the other plastic cylinder, wrapping your fingers under the round pipe coming out of it. Your muscle memory is stronger than your rational thinking. You can't help but imagine how it would feel to have them wrapped around something else, something just inches away from your own hips right now. Something you knew would be undoubtedly big considering the way that man is carrying himself, the way it shows when he's riding, big and heavy and obvious through his jeans. You close your eyes, unable to keep those unholy ideas away.

"No leaks, sir."

"Perfect. Oh, ya should always check up for leaks first, but never open this damn thing with your engine still runnin', ya hear? Could splash hot chemicals all over ya."

"Copy that."

"Good girl." He drawls in a satisfied praise, his left hand tapping on the hood in a satisfied way. As if he had just finished with you and would pat your ass contently. You shiver, his words and the fucking delicious way he said it igniting and unresistable fire between your thighs. "Now let's check the engine fluid. Pull out the dipstick from it."

You slowly remove the long and thin wand from your car motor, and to your surprise, you feel one of his big and rough palms on top of your glove to help you carry it, as his left one finally leaves its perch and grabs the top of the stick.

"See the fluid? If the thing looks like you have just shoved it in an oil fryer, you're good. But if you notice some other stuff like... somethin' that looks like thick water, or a creamy stuff right here, it ain't good."

Fluid. Shoving. Thick. Creamy. There's no way he isn't aware of what he's doing. The way his gigantic hands handle yours and the stick. The way you can smell his strong perfume, petrolic reek of the damaged engine long gone, replaced by heady notes of sweat from the scorching sun making him pearl, mixing with remnants of his cologne. Or was it woods? Cedar and pines, with hays, and faint traces of this so specific scent that farms and ranches have.

"Darlin'? Ya got it?"

"Y-yeah yeah. Oil good, creamy stuff isn't." Oh my god, you sound so dumb you're almost embarrassing yourself.

"That' right. Now the filter. See that big fan underneath? We have to make sure it's perfectly running and sealed, overwise your engine is pumping stuff from nowhere and ends up damn dirty."

He arcs himself completely, lying his side against your car to slip his hand under the piece of metal, and grabs a pipe you can't see from where you stand. He probably tests the solidity of the thing, but all you see is him wanking a fucking engine. Does he handles his cock like that? Does he jerk it slow and steady like he rides his horse in an elegant walk? Slow but deliberate, meticulous like he is with his own truck? Or is it all the contrary, does he treat it rough and quick? Like an urge he needs to get out, contrasting with his precise and conscientious work? Does his shaft fuck his fist, jerking off so fast he's almost done in a few minutes? Does his-

"Here, I need to show it to ya. Come."

Oh. You're dead on the inside, your pussy isn't even trying anymore, burning without any restriction and you're happy it's a hot day because at least you have an excuse to be sweating that much. He's still leaning his side against the car, arm folded, and he gestures for you to join him in the same position. Throat hoarse, legs mushy as if they were boneless, you get closer and lean on your side too, your back touching his chest. You two are basically spooning on your car right now. He removes his hand from the engine.

"See? S' that one, right there. Go on, grab' it."

Jesus all I want is to fucking grab it you complain in your head. He must realise this is extremely erotic, right? You couldn't be imagining it on your own. You hope not, or else it means that you're completely crazy. Your body is entirely tensed as an arched bow, you bring your own hand to the filter pipe.

"Now... shake it. T'make sure it's sealed."

His breath is almost brushing against your ear. His deep raspy tone, resonating through his chest when he speaks, scratching against his tongue, feels like honey and whiskey both at the same time. Languorous and coarse. It swirls and rolls all against you, coating you as if you were a candy waiting to be eaten whole. You shake the metal piece, trying at all costs to push away the sinful thoughts the gesture is bringing to you.

"Thaaat's it... How does it feel, girl?"

"F-feels good to me." You're blushing, you're sure you're blushing. You know you are, cheeks burning at the double meaning this whole conversation is holding. You hear and feel him humming a positive, deep sound in answer.

"Well, if it ain't mechanical, it's probably your electrical darlin'. Let's look at that battery o' yours."

He finally gets up, pushing on his arm. You're almost sad not to be turned the other way, you could have witnessed the way his biceps had flexed, veins popping for a few seconds, grease and oil now painting his skin and beautifully emphasizing his muscles, a perfectly shaped and shaded Greek statue.

You start to get back up too, and suddenly feel the weight of his gaze and you. You were bent, half folded just a few seconds ago, basically presenting your ass to him. Oh, you congratulate yourself for having chosen to wear these little shorts this morning. There was no way he could have looked at something else. Once fully up, you greet him with a not-so-innocent smile, fixing a strand of your hair behind your ear. A vein on his neck shows as he reciprocates your smirk, and his own body tenses. He's enjoying this whole situation.

"Mmh. I can already tell ya, she's the one causing trouble." He states, pulling his cap back in place with two hands. You're not even sure he's actually talking about the car anymore.

"H-how do you know?" You didn't want your voice to sound that weak. This man had the effect of disconnecting every basic function from your biology; except all the ones related to sex of course. Those, those they were on fire, on the verge of fucking overheating.

"Look, it's loose." He explains slowly, voice drawling, each word slurred in a husky rumble. He's saying it like that on fucking purpose. "Some bolts must have blown out. So, that littl' bitch bounces as you drive, and it ends up disconnected. All... messy, 'n overused..."

You religiously nod at his godly speech. Your eyes are fixated on his hands moving the battery in periodic movements, repetitive sharp snapping noise filling the air, fingers sliding in between the pieces of metal.. He could have well been thrusting his hips into it, it would have had the same effect on you.

"Now... let's get this bad girl to behave." He adds, devilish smirk on his face, a hand leaving the battery to pull a wrench and a few new bolts from his toolbox.

All your life you had prided yourself on being a strong and independent woman. The ranch chores? No problem. Riding? Easier and funnier, even barrel racing. Lassoing, helping a cow give birth? Done and done. Not that it was easy, but you could handle it yourself, and pretty damn well on top of that.

But right here, right now, this ego is crushed under the dirty boots of this Appolon of a cowboy, odd but unforgettable mix between a rough rancher and a mythological God, palming a car battery as if it was your ass. You could have done anything if he had ordered you to, you had never been weaker because of someone. You would have been on your knees, God, you wish he'd let you get on your knees for him.

With just a few turns of the wrench, the temperamental car is repaired. He tests the engine from the conductor seat, and it works perfectly fine. It's almost humiliating how easy it was. He gets out, pulls the hood down for you, and stands tall, satisfied with his little intervention.

"You're good t'go, darlin'."

"Thank you so much, Arthur." You don't know if you should be thanking him for the battery or for the litteral porn show he delivered you for free. It had been years since your hormones had gotten that wild.

And they weren't about to stop, considering how he had taken back his water bottle and drank straight from it, some of it beautifully streaming down his scarred chin, then his throat before getting soaked up by his already sweat-drenched shirt. He takes some of it in his right hand and wets his neck, and you have to contain a sigh. The base of his hair, all wet like this, makes you want to run your fingers through it more than ever.

"T'was nothin'. Am happy t'help a pretty girl in need."

There are a few seconds, just a few, hanging in the thick air between the two of you, where you both look at his other, his abyssal marine blue eyes sinking so deep into yours you're almost surprised he's not falling right into your soul. Maybe he is. But his gaze doesn't waver for a single second, not even by an inch, and you realize that only he maintains such intimate contact for so long without showing the slightest sign of nervousness. No one else does. For him, it doesn't have to be a source of discomfort like most people, and it becomes so intimate that you feel your legs weaken once again under the weight of that gaze. Just the two of you. Fucking with your eyes.

He gets closer to you, and you move back against the front of your car. You don't say a word. Neither is he. There's just his deep breaths and the deafening beating of your heart. He raises his arms around your waist, as if wanting to lean on the hood, trapping you. Your thighs and your aching core between them are just a few torturous inches from his jeans-covered crotch. You want to take a quick peek, burning to know if he's indeed painfully hard, if the blue pants are as tight as his shirt is on his bicep. But you can't, unable to break his eye contact, sucked into those blue seas. There's a small grease stain on his cheek you'd like to cover with your lipstick. You hold your breath. Your whole body freezes, which made no sense at all to you, considering how hot you were feeling, how ardent the atmosphere was with him almost bent on you. It's like those mind-numbing summer days, when the air is so hot and heavy and full of electricity that all you want is for the storm to finally break, never mind if the lightning strikes your whole body.

All the better if it does.

He grabs his wrench he had forgotten behind you, and pulls back. In an instant, it's winter. You don't want it to be. He looks at you with this knowing smirk, this hard jawline almost cheeky, this goddamn ballcap like a crown.

"H-hey uh -" You cough, unable to let things end like this. Searching for the thunderstorm. "I was... I was going to the Miller's Ranch for a barbecue. D'you wanna come?" You bite your lip at yet another double entendre. Shit. "I could... Offer you a beer, for all of that?"

Gently pulling the working gloves off your hands, he answers, taking his sweet time, his face holding this repressed mischievousness and desire, well hidden behind his smug expression.

"Well... I'd very much like to come. Thank you, sugar."

✧.*

Well, thank you for this amazing request that sparked this obsession in my brain I guess, Rhae! Also I won't lie to you guys, I was clearly inspired too by these amazing art pieces from @/altergoat02. Check out their blog, all of their art is prodigious.

And if Modern Arthur is your kind of boah just like me, I highly recommend you to check out Evie's Takin' care of business!! And yes I've completely looked for a tutorial on youtube about car motors. I'm just that ignorant.

tagging the sweeties who had shown interest in this/my work: @stottlemorgan, @moons-honies, @arthurmorganist, @redwritr, @cloudywithachanceofcrisis, @a-court-of-valkyries

[nyoomfruits]

osctober day twenty seven

prompt: teeth pairing: lando/oscar word count: 665 a/n: set in the single dad!lando/engineer!oscar universe. you can find more of this universe here and here

“Alright, kiddo, time to brush your teeth.” Oscar’s voice filters through the open door of the bathroom as Lando makes his way into their hotel room. He was running late, and he’s glad Oscar had the time to get Evelyn to the hotel room and to bed as quickly as possible. They try to maintain some kind of semblance of normalcy and structure in Evelyn’s day to day life, but it’s hard, sometimes.

“Dad says that if I brush my teeth every day that they will turn pearly white and the sun will reflect off of them,” Evelyn says, voice turning up in excitement in the end, and Lando grins as he drops his bag on the couch in the middle of the hotel room, pictures her facial expression, eyes no doubt big in wonder.

“Well, I’m not sure that’s possible,” Oscar says. “But we can try?”

“Trying is important,” Evelyn says sagely. “Oscar, can I ask a question?”

“Sure, Eve, always,” Oscar replies. Lando’s on the brink of making his presence known, moving towards the bathroom, but something withholds him. Curiosity, about what Evelyn will ask. About how Oscar will answer.

 “Who are you?”

“Ah,” Oscar says. “Well, I’m many things. Happy, for starters.” Lando’s heart does a little jump.

“No,” Evelyn says. “That’s not what I mean. I mean like. You are with dad, right? And you take care of me too, so. Are you also dad?”

“Oh,” Oscar says. “That’s a good question.”

They haven’t talked about this, not really. Sure, they talked about what it would mean, to be together, to raise Evelyn together, what their future would look like. But not this. Not if Evelyn should call Oscar dad, or papa, or whatever else. Lando bites his lip, goes to intervene, when Oscar speaks up again.

“Do you want me to be dad?” He asks.

“I don’t know,” Evelyn says, clearly deep in thought. “Can I try it?”

“Of course, bug,” Oscar says.

“Dad, can you please help me brush my teeth?” There’s a pause, and then. “No, no, no, that felt really weird.”

“Well, you don’t have to. You can call me whatever you want,” Oscar says.

Evelyn seems to think about this. “Can I just call you Oscar? But you are still my dad. But your dad name is just Oscar.”

“I think I can work with that, yeah,” Oscar says. “If that’s what you want.”

“That’s what I want,” Evelyn says decidedly. “Oscar, can you help me brush my teeth?”

“Always, kiddo,” Oscar says.

Deciding the moment must be over, Lando finally makes his presence known, steps into the bathroom, where Evelyn is trying to squeeze toothpaste onto the sparkly Disney princess toothbrush Oscar is holding out for her. “Hey,” he says.

“Dad!” Evelyn says, dropping the toothpaste in her haste to go hug Lando, letting it clatter down into the sink. Oscar picks it up with an amused look on his face as Lando pulls Evelyn into a hug, picking her up off the floor and giving her a little spin.

“Hey, love. Have you been good?”

“The bestest,” Evelyn says, as Lando carries her back over to the sink, leans over to press a soft kiss to Oscar’s lips. “Oscar and I have decided that you are dad and he is Oscar.”

Oscar meets his eyes over Evelyn’s head, a silent question presence in them. “That’s awesome,” Lando says, to Evelyn as much as to Oscar. “Alright, go let your Oscar help you with brushing your teeth. I’ll go read you a story later.”

“Yay,” Evelyn says, and then takes the toothbrush from Oscar’s hand. “I love you,” she says.

“Love you too,” Lando and Oscar say, at the exact same time. Their eyes meet again, over Evelyn’s head, and Lando smiles at Oscar, soft and fond, and hopes that it conveys everything he’s feeling about his little family right now. By the way Oscar smiles back, equally soft and fond, he thinks it does.

[alltimecharlo]

hi! 😊 um, if you're still taking prompts, maybe Will with a small child (one of the older players' kids or a little fan?) and Mack simply unable to compute that image? Maybe even imagining Will with a kid with Mack's wide smile and Will's beautiful curls? anyways, thank you for your wonderful work, and the fics have been AWESOME

thank you so much!! 🥹 and uh YES a million times over. kid fics are my absolute kryptonite - fic under the cut! <3

Mack isn’t sure what he’s looking at.

Scratch that—he knows what he’s looking at. He’s just not sure how his brain is supposed to process it.

Will is crouched in the middle of the team lounge, one hand braced on his knee, the other holding a juice box for a toddler who couldn’t be more than three years old. The kid’s wearing an oversized Sharks jersey that nearly swallows him whole, and he’s staring up at Will like he’s some kind of superhero.

Which, fine. Mack gets it. Will does look kind of like a superhero sometimes. Blond hair all tousled and golden in the overhead lights, blue eyes that crinkle when he smiles, stupid perfect cheekbones. Even his laugh sounds like it was engineered in a lab to make people fall in love with him.

But still.

Watching him hold a juice box steady while making a lion sound to get a gummy smile from a kid who’s got applesauce on his chin?

Mack is toast.

"You okay over there?" Toff nudges him with an elbow, smirking.

"I—what?" Mack blinks, realizing he's been staring. Probably with his mouth open.

"You look like you're watching a nature documentary. Like Will's a rare bird."

Mack scowls and elbows him back, but his eyes flicker back to the scene in front of him involuntarily.

Will is now sitting cross-legged on the floor, letting the kid tug at the strings of his hoodie. He’s laughing, completely unbothered. The kid babbles something unintelligible, and Will nods like he totally gets it. "Yeah, that’s what I said too, buddy."

Mack’s heart actually hurts a little.

The kid’s dad—Wenny, who’s just back from injury and brought his son to practice—finally jogs over. "Sorry, sorry," he says, scooping the toddler up into his arms. "He likes you more than me now. I should be offended."

Will grins. "What can I say? I’m great with kids."

And that’s when it happens.

Mack has a vision so sudden and vivid it almost knocks him backward.

Will, barefoot in a sunlit kitchen, balancing a giggling toddler on his hip. The kid’s got wild curls, bright and unruly, but it’s the smile that hits Mack like a freight train. That wide, gummy, dimpled smile—his smile. But Will’s eyes. Their kid. Their kid.

Mack coughs, nearly chokes on air.

Will looks over, brows knitting. "You good, man?"

"Fine," Mack croaks, waving him off.

Will walks over, hands in his pockets, head tilted. "You sure? You look kind of flushed."

Mack shrugs, trying to play it cool. He’s not cool. He’s the opposite of cool. His entire internal operating system just rebooted.

"Didn’t know you were a baby whisperer," he says, aiming for casual.

Will shrugs, still smiling. "Guess I got the touch."

Mack makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat. Something like you really do but mercifully doesn’t say it out loud.

They start walking toward the locker room together. Mack keeps sneaking glances out of the corner of his eye. He can still see it—the domestic softness of it all. Will in sweatpants, toddler on his lap. Will reading bedtime stories. Will saying our kid.

He’s in hell.

"You ever want kids?" he blurts.

Will blinks. "Uh. Yeah. I think so. Someday. Not, like, now obviously."

Mack nods, a little too fast. "Cool. Coolcoolcool."

Will eyes him. "Why? You wanna co-parent or something?"

Mack nearly trips over his own feet.

Will cackles. "I’m kidding, dude. Relax."

But Mack is not relaxing.

Because co-parenting doesn’t sound like a joke. It sounds... kinda perfect.

Will opens the locker room door and holds it for him. "You coming or what?"

Mack exhales, dragging a hand down his face. He follows Will in.

Still thinking about chubby toddler fingers gripping Will’s hair and sleepy giggles and Will kissing their kid goodnight.

Yeah. He’s so screwed.

♡

[anim-ttrpgs]

Eureka is a game where as a non-Narrator player, you're expected to consider and play to your character's blind spots, neuroses, and predilections that exist independently from and sometimes directly get in the way of mystery-solving; to consider them as a three-dimensional human being* with their own personality rather than a totally rational actor controlled by a player trying to "win". Given that, and given the investigators not solving the mystery not necessarily being a fail-state, what effect do you think totally open information on the adventure and the other PCs given to the non-Narrator players would produce, and do you think that would be a playstyle Eureka supports?

*Well, y'know

I can see how one might think that, but at the same time, Eureka is still a “trad” “challenge game,” one that aims to demand and reward “system mastery,” it’s not just a collaborative storytelling improv prompt.

Eureka challenges you, the player, to understand the rules enough to make a character that you think can solve the mystery when let loose upon the world, and challenges you to know that character and their unique rules well enough for them to be applied appropriately.

You, the player, not knowing anything more than your character about the truth of the mystery serves multiple purposes. It helps with the genre emulation of the “audience” learning and working on putting together the clues as the characters solve them, and also very importantly that lack of knowledge drives you to want to see your characters succeed, so you can see the truth yourself, and make a character that will do that for you, rather than just make a character that only causes drama. It can still be satisfying even if they fail, and we say as much in the rulebook, but that's satisfying in the same way as when a mystery story ends without the audience ever getting a definitive answer to all the questions.

Eureka is a game about PCs solving mysteries and the drama and effects on their lives the mystery and each other produces, not a game about dramatic interpersonal conflicts and then maybe there’s also a mystery.

Think of Disco Elysium, Kolchak: The Night Stalker, and (a show I very recently watched and as great) True Detective. All of these mystery stories involve very compelling characters that are engaging to watch, but most or all of that is driven by them trying to solve the mystery and more elements of it unfolding and being shown to both character and audience as they dig deeper into it. The interpersonal elements might be the train cars full of valuable goods, but the mystery solving is the awesome locomotive engine pulling them.

Eureka isn’t just “What will this guy do?” it’s “How will this guy solve the mystery, if at all?”

[spoonfulofmilo]

Could you do fic for Peter 'Bono' Bonnington with wife reader? (No age gap) He sees her talking to another guy and he gets really jealous, but instead of him being all angry. He becomes more insecure and sad and she assures and shows him how much she loves him. Just a little angst and fluff ending. Thanks!! :))

of course!

my masterlist can be accessed here

Please keep requesting - y'all have awesome ideas we agree on a lot of stuff :) - my guidelines are here, and if you want some prompts, they are here.

also feel free to come in and start chatting to me in my asks, would love to get to know y'all better

and if you want to be added to my taglist lmk :)

peter 'bono' bonnington x wife!fem!reader

Bono smiled politely at the other engineers as he slipped off his headset and closed his laptop, already plotting how he might steal an extra five minutes with his lunch… and more importantly, with his wife. He gave a few nods, exchanging quiet jokes as he weaved through the controlled chaos of the paddock toward hospitality. It was a small ritual now, meeting her in their usual booth, tucked away from the bustle. She’d ducked out ten minutes before the end of the session, like always, to claim it. So when he stepped into the hospitality suite and found the booth empty, his brow furrowed. He scanned the table, thinking maybe she’d marked it with a bag or a scarf, run to the restroom. But no, nothing.

He slid into the booth anyway, setting his phone down as he scanned the room casually.

That’s when he saw her.

And him.

The new mechanic was sitting across from her, a little too close, too comfortable, all youthful charm and wide-eyed awe. Y/N was leaning in, engaged, smiling, more than she had when Bono had tried to explain ERS deployment strategies last week, anyway.

Something twisted in his chest.

Some ridiculous, unspoken part of him wanted to march over there and stake a claim, drape an arm around her shoulders, maybe kiss her cheek, just enough to remind the kid exactly where she belonged. But Y/N wasn’t a trophy to display, and he wasn't the kind of man who treated her like one. Still…

Instead, he chose a table nearby. Close enough to hear if he leaned slightly, far enough not to draw attention. He told himself it wasn’t jealousy, it was just curiosity. But the tension in his jaw said otherwise.

From his seat, he could see she'd ordered her favourite lunch: miso-glazed chicken breast with steamed jasmine rice and roasted baby carrots. She’d also had a caprese salad, the plate still dotted with remnants of tomatoes, mozzarella, and a swirl of balsamic.

The mechanic? Tuna tartare with avocado, sesame seeds and soy sauce. Same main course as hers, maybe just following her lead. He wasn’t even eating, really. Just watching her with the kind of fascination that made Bono’s stomach knot.

He looked down at the glass of water in front of him and picked it up with trembling fingers, sipping just to have something to do. His wedding ring glinted in the light as he twisted it absently.

He checked his email. Again. And again. Almost begging for someone, anyone, to give him a reason to leave the room. Or for her to look at him. Anything.

Then he heard it: her laugh. Loud, full, unguarded.

She was laughing at something the kid said.

He slumped further in his chair, unable to stop himself from watching. She looked so happy. Happier than she’d been during their hurried dinners after long race days. Happier than she’d looked in weeks.

The doubts crept in slowly. Maybe he wasn’t exciting anymore. Maybe she wanted someone younger, funnier. Someone who wasn’t always buried in spreadsheets and strategy calls.

He was so deep in his own head that he barely noticed her walking over until she was standing right in front of him.

“Bono,” she said, exasperated. “For crying out loud, your lunch was literally sitting next to me.”

He blinked, speechless.

She gestured back to the booth. “I saw they were about to run out of the chicken breast, so I grabbed it for you. And your tartare, obviously.”

He stared at her, the weight in his chest not lifting just yet.

“And him?” he asked, his voice soft.

She rolled her eyes. “Babe, seriously? He asked me about the salad bar and then we started talking about travel. That’s all.”

He still didn’t look convinced.

She crouched beside his chair, resting her chin on his knee, voice softening. “Bono, hey… look at me.”

He did, finally. She smiled.

“He’s not my type in any universe. I like my nerdy, sexy, brilliant husband, who occasionally wears questionable socks but could probably rewire a power unit in his sleep.”

He laughed, a broken, grateful sound.

“You really think I’d trade all this,” she added, giving his knee a playful squeeze, “for some bubble-butted baby mechanic?”

She reached for his hand, kissed the wedding band. “This ring? This means forever. I’m yours. You’re mine. No rookie is changing that.”

His eyes misted. “I’m sorry. I just… I saw you laughing and…”

“And I laugh with you more than anyone else,” she whispered. “You just don’t notice because it feels normal. Comfortable. But it’s love, Bono. You. Me. No pit stops.”

Later that day, when Lewis crossed the finish line in first place, his final race for Mercedes, Bono’s voice cracked over the radio. Years of pressure, pride, and emotion poured out.

He joined Toto and Lewis on the podium, blinking through tears as silver and black confetti rained down. But even through the chaos, his eyes found her.

Y/N stood just beneath the stage, a small figure in a sea of celebration. She wasn’t jumping, wasn’t screaming. Just clapping, looking up at him, her face lit with pride, love, and something so steady it made his knees weak.

And when he finally stepped down from the podium, if he ran straight into her arms, kissing her like the world had stopped turning for a moment, no one said a word.

Because every person watching knew:

That was Bono’s forever.

taglist: @leosxrealm, @pear-1206, @tallrock35, @wolf-knights, @janeholt3

[imabeautifulbutterfly]

Hi Mimi!!!!!!! So excited for your celebration!!!! Congrats on the followers!!!!!

I'm asking for my beloved Sergeant, naturally XD Here's some prompts!

"Don't sign to me in that tone."

"Do that again, and I'll throw you out the window. Wait, what are you doing?" "Checking how high the drop is; seeing if it's worth it."

"Don't go where I can't follow...please, I need you."

@dragonrider9905 Ahhhhh! I was so excited to see your request. You always give me such awesome requests.

I really hope you like this, I left it open ended for you.

Love oo

Don't Go

Warning: Injury, bantering, bickering, blaster fire, almost getting shot, flirting, angst, I think that's it, let me know if I miss anything.

Italics - flashback

Main Master List   |   AO3 Link | Quote Roulette

Hunter sat beside your cot, holding your hand, pressing your fingers to his lips. Tech was busy focusing on the scanner, and trying to understand the readout. He got up and moved to the communication station, Hunter could sense his uneasiness, Tech’s sweat doubled in the last few seconds. Something must be wrong. 

His eyes fell back on your face, it looked so different from what it usually was. Where was the smile that was always on your lips? Where was the glimmering sparkle in your eyes? He couldn’t see it with your eyelids closed. 

‘Are you sure this is the way?’ You teasingly signed to Hunter as you both climbed your way around the side of the hotel towards the Ambassador’s suite. 

Hunter focused his eyes back on your sleeping form, was that the last time he saw that sparkling smile? No. That wasn’t it. 

‘Yes, I’m sure. Focus.’ Hunter signed back exasperated and rather rudely.

You pulled your head back a little, giving him a look that said, no you didn’t, and it took all his strength not to laugh when you signed ‘Don’t sign to me in that tone.’

Was that the last time you made him laugh? It couldn’t be. That couldn’t be the last time. He reached his hand out and gently caressed your forehead and cheek, “Wake up, cyar’ika. Please.”

When did everything go wrong? Was it because Cid had given them the wrong information again? Or was it when you threw him out of the way narrowly missing the blaster fire from the stormtroopers?

Hunter landed with a thud, his back slamming into the wall, your weight falling on top of him, knocking the air of his lungs. It took him a second longer than it should’ve to gain his breath back. Both of you were returning fire, and when one stormtrooper fell, two more took its place. You were both trapped, in the Ambassador’s study, when Tech commed, saying he found a hidden elevator. Within seconds a bookcase slid to the side and the elevator opened up. 

A few minutes later, you were both on the roof of the building waiting for Tech to swing by to pick you both up. 

Hunter paced back and forth shaking his head, “You’re reckless.”

“Excuse me? I believe the appropriate response is, ‘thank you, sweetheart, for saving my life,’ not, ‘you’re reckless.’” You shifted, shaking your head, as you saw the storm troopers down below calling for reinforcements. “Tech better hurry, we don’t have much time.”

“You don’t get it, do you?”

You looked over to Hunter, “Get what?”

“You do that again, and I’ll throw you out the window.” He watched as you leaned over the edge of the building, he grabbed your arm, “Wait. What are you doing?” 

You smiled, “Just checking how high the drop is; seeing if it’s worth it.”

He shook his head, a smile slowly creeping onto his lips, as much as he wanted to fight you, he couldn’t help but love you more, he cupped your cheeks, pulling you into a kiss, “You’re going to be the death of me.”

“Probably, but it’ll be a fun ride.” You teased him, smiling against his lips.

You both pulled away when you heard the engines from the Marauder, Hunter forced you to clip on to the winch first, as soon as you were lifted off the ground, he clipped himself on to the second winch, as Wrecker started the winch. 

In a split second that Hunter replayed over and over again in his head, wishing things had been different, he saw the blaster fire, fly past him and hit you in your chest. He screamed, turning to fire on the trooper who had taken an aim at you. Both he and Wrecker fired rapidly, as Omega pulled you from the ramp. 

After that everything moved too fast and not fast enough. Wrecker picked you up like you weighed nothing and laid you on your bunk. Hunter closed the ramp and Tech entered hyperspace, faster than he had ever moved the ship. 

And now, things were what they were. 

Hunter sat there watching your chest slowly rise and lower, the oxygen mask strapped to your face helping you breathe. The bacta patch on your chest didn’t seem to be helping much, aside from slowly healing the wound. 

He leaned closer, pressing his forehead against yours, his eyes closed as he breathed in your scent. 

“Cyare, hang in there. Please, I can’t …” he cleared his throat, fighting back the warm bubble that was creeping up his throat, “Tech’s taking the ship to a medical way station that’s been abandoned since the war, he says there should be a surgery room, equipment and maybe supplies. So hang in there. Please.” 

He reached up and wiped away the tear that had escaped, he pressed his lips to your temple, “Cyare,” he whispered, “Don’t go where I can’t follow … please, I need you, baby.” 

Tears were streaming down his face, he couldn’t lose you, not when he finally found his peace. His rock. His home. 

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@spicymcnuggies

@lady-ren

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[jade-branch-qa]

(This takes place after the FoF! & ATN!Surge ask where ATN!Surge’s Thomas obsession is revealed)

A wormhole sent Jade!Surge flying into Amy Rose’s bedroom. She stood up and looked around, finding two of her counterparts crowded around a shelf stuffed full of Thomas the Tank Engine merchandise.

“OOH, and this is one of my favorite ones,” ATN!Surge squealed, reaching for a box, “A new in box Tomy Plarail Oliver!”

“Mhm…” FoF!Surge mumbled, quickly losing interest.

“Yeah. This guy gets scalped hard online. Like, hundreds of dollars, because they never released him in the US, but did release him in Britain. Some motherfuckers have sold hundreds of these for insane profit.”

“Damn. That’s actually nuts,” FoF!Surge shook her head.

“It is,” ATN!Surge grinned, “So I decided to just head on over and snag one for myself for free.”

“Ha ha, nice.”

The Surge’s high-fived. Jade!Surge finally made her presence known with a chuckle.

"Heh, it's nice to see some of us not fighting for once." Jade Surge chuckled, prompting the other tenrecs to turn their heads towards her while she casually strolled up towards ATN! Surge's collection. "Is that...are those trains with faces?"

"Yeah? What about it you-" ATN! Surge began with a growl, ready to defend her hyperfixation from the older tenrec before Jade Surge shot her the biggest grin she'd ever seen on anyone but herself.

"That's so fucking awesome! Is it like a TV show or something?" Jade Surge asked as she eyed an older looking Thomas toy.

"I-Y-yeah, it is!" ATN! Surge managed, clearly not expecting yet another version of herself to not just be okay with her interest in a children's show but being genuinely curious.

"Some of it is actually kinda fun." FoF! Surge chimed in. "I'm not obsessed like Ms. Quantity over Quality over there but still, it's a good time."

"First of all, fuck you." ATN! Surge sneered before looking towards Jade Surge with stars in her eyes. "You wanna watch it?"

"Do I? Fuck yes I do!" Jade Surge replied, her eyes mirroring her younger self. "Trains are fucking awesome!"

"Fuck yes!" ATN! Surge cheered while FoF! Surge couldn't help but quietly wonder what she'd gotten herself into.

Roughly half an hour later, the rest of the Amycule got home to find not just one Surge but three of them huddling in front of the TV, all of them cheering loudly as Thomas weered off the tracks and into a field.

"Should I be worried that there's three of her or...?" Honey wondered aloud but it was clear that there were no actual bite to her words.

"I think it's cute!" Amy hummed and the rest of the polycule couldn't help but agree at the sight of the three shark-like grins.

[snitchcrimsonwrites]

Drawn Together-Chapter 8

Pairing: Tech x Jedi! Reader

Tech picks up on your unease with a blaster instead your lightsaber on the last mission and it prompts him to design and build a new melee weapon for you.

Chapter 7

Chapter 9

A few days later, you and the Batch prepared for another mission from Cid, enjoying the calm between assignments. Most of the squad was scattered around the ship, busy with their pre-mission rituals. You were alone in the hold, doing light stretches and running through forms between your assigned crew tasks, when the soft whirr of the hatch drew your attention.

Tech entered, holding something that resembled a short staff in his hands. He stopped a few feet from you, adjusting his goggles with one hand as he held the object like an offering in the other.

“I took the liberty of outfitting this for you,” he said without preamble. “After our last mission, I evaluated the outcomes and concluded that your contributions would significantly increase if we played to your strengths, particularly concerning melee combat. This… is the result.”

You lowered your arms slowly, curiosity stirring. “What is it?”

With a nod, he gestured for you to examine the object he held, inviting you to take it from him. Your eyes widened as you extended your hand, grasping the weapon. To your surprise, it was light and balanced, feeling like it was made for you.

You examined the collapsible staff in your hand. The main shaft was a worn gunmetal silver, laced with conductive filaments, you assumed, pulled from other projects he had on hand. The design was elegant, compact, and distinctly custom-modified.

“It’s infused with a conductive alloy that can channel low-level energy–enough to dampen a blaster bolt without harming the wielder. It won’t reflect shots like your lightsaber, but I was pleased with the result.” Tech explained, his voice quietly proud. He was now pointing to the structure on either end, “You can engage either end independently. One is configured for kinetic pulses, useful for disabling or pushing back. The other can emit a short-range plasma arc, capable of cutting through most standard alloys.”

Tech added, stepping beside you now, “I also tuned the grip for your reflex patterns. And if you twist the center, it collapses down to half its length for easy carry.” You gave it a testing swing, feeling the gentle hum of energy coil within the shaft. The motion was fluid, natural.

You swallowed hard, then offered a quiet, grateful nod, unsure what to say. “Thanks, Tech. Really.”

From behind you, Wrecker’s voice rang out as he passed by the holding bay: “Whoa! That thing looks awesome! Can I try it?!”

Tech stiffened. “Absolutely not.”

A silence stretched between you and Tech before he spoke again, more quietly this time. “If you’d like, I can show you how some functions work. I’d expect you’d want to practice before we take off tomorrow.”

You nodded eagerly, already prepared to test out the new weapon. “Yes, I would like that.”

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

As you walked on, the sun dipped lower over the skyline of Ord Mantell City. Tech maintained a pace slightly ahead of you, continuing to discuss the staff design while you both moved beyond the city’s perimeter.

“...The conductive alloy in the staff is laced with cortosis threads. It’s limited, but enough to disrupt energy fields and deflect low-level saber strikes briefly. I wasn’t sure how relevant that would be, but your… unique history made it a logical inclusion.”

You arched a brow, intrigued. “You designed this with lightsaber combat in mind?”

He adjusted his goggles as he continued. “Not specifically. But redundancy is good engineering.”

The city's sounds faded, replaced by quiet wind and rustling brush. You paused, falling behind Tech to admire the setting sun's amber glow as you entered the clearing; you didn’t know Ord Mantell could be so peaceful. Returning to reality, you notice Tech standing a short distance away, fiddling with his datapad. The screen's glow subtly reflected in his goggles.

“I chose this location due to minimal civilian presence and sufficient terrain variability,” he announced, not looking up yet. “It should provide a controlled but realistic environment for field testing.”

You nodded, gripping the staff he had made and flourishing to extend it as he had shown you earlier. The weapon felt unfamiliar, heavier than your lightsaber, and less intuitive. Hopefully, that will change with practice. Taking a slow breath, you stepped into a forward stance and gave the staff a test sweep. It emitted a soft hiss as the arc illuminated brightly against the light of dusk.

You stumbled slightly at the end of a spin, and Tech’s voice was immediately beside you.

“Too much shoulder.” He corrects. “Let your hip drive the turn. I understand the instinct, but this requires a different touch. Here—”

He stepped close, his hand ghosting over your lower back as he shifted your posture through the form. His touch was feather-light but precise, and lingered half a beat longer than strictly necessary. You didn’t move away. As you complete the follow-through, he clears his throat and steps away, taking his hand off your hip and asking you to repeat the maneuver with the adjustment.

“You’re adapting quickly. Not unexpected.”

“Feels... more deliberate,” you murmured, adjusting your stance. “Not like the saber. It demands more presence.”

Tech’s mouth twitched at that, almost a smile. “An astute observation.” He secured his datapad and unslung his blaster, quickly adjusting the settings with a few practiced taps. “I’ve set it to stun. Low output.” He raised it slightly, watching your expression. “You should see how the arc dampener absorbs live fire.”

You raised your eyebrow questioningly. “You’re going to shoot at me?”

“I assure you,” he said, very dryly, “this is scientifically sound. Besides, the weapon’s capacity to protect you is only theoretical until field-tested.”

You gave him a crooked grin. “Well, when you put it that way,” you resigned, stepping into your stance.

He didn’t smile back, but you thought you caught the faintest flush of color at his neck as he raised the blaster and fired.

The bolt came fast, but your reaction was faster. You swung the staff in a wide, instinctive arc. The emitter sparked, absorbing the bolt with a sharp crackle of energy that pulsed up your arms but didn’t burn. The charge dissipated harmlessly into the earth beside you.

You exhaled. “Impressive.”

Tech lowered the weapon slightly, watching you now with open focus. “You adjusted angle mid-swing,” he noted, stepping toward you again. “There was a moment of hesitation, but that reaction time was… noteworthy.”

You moved your shoulder, sensing the residual pulse left behind. “Not as precise as a saber parry, but not bad.”

Tech nodded slightly but then paused. “If you’re willing... I can try engaging in close quarters. Simulated melee. However, I must confess I’m not as skilled a sparring partner as Hunter.”

You tilted your head in mild disbelief. “You’re volunteering to rush a Jedi Master?”

Tech blinked once. “Strictly for observational purposes.”

You tried not to laugh. “All right. Let’s see what you’ve got,” welcoming the challenge.

He moved fast, quicker than you expected. With his blaster holstered and baton ready, he approached with a precision that made up for his limited brute strength. You instinctively blocked the first strike, the staff absorbing the hit with a pulse of light. The second came lower, aiming to throw off your balance.

You twisted, narrowly avoiding it.

He charges at you once more. This time, you pivot gracefully, allowing the staff to guide you through a counterstrike. It connects, though not with full force, right against the side of his arm. He steps back, letting out a quiet grunt, blinking quickly.

You lowered the staff. “You okay?”

He flexed his arm, adjusting his goggles with one hand. “It would appear… yes. Though I suspect that strike might leave a mark,” he said through a slight grimace.

A hint of concern showed on your face, but you swiftly covered it with a playful smirk. “Good thing I’m not actually trying to hurt you, then. “Here,” you gestured toward his arm, where a bruise was already emerging beneath his torn sleeve.

Tech’s attention momentarily shifted to the bruise before returning to you, curiosity shining in his eyes. “I’ve been keen to witness your Force abilities firsthand. Back on Pantora, I wasn’t sure what I was looking for.”

You chuckle softly at this, moving closer, your hand lingering just above his arm. “It’s not extravagant," you replied, your tone playful, almost teasing. “It’s simply a matter of focus.”

Your fingers hovered just above the darkening mark on his arm. For a moment, you paused, concentrating as you channeled the Force. A gentle warmth radiated from your hand, and gradually, the bruise started to fade; the dark color receded from his skin, and the swelling diminished, both now barely noticeable.

“See? Nothing too dramatic,” you said, with a grin, pulling your hand away.

Tech glanced at his arm, a quiet fascination evident as he flexed it to assess the results. “Impressive. But tell me…” He turned his gaze back to you, an almost calculating expression in his eyes. “How much medical knowledge would you need to achieve that action? I suspect it’s more than one would think."

You straightened a bit, a thoughtful expression gracing your face. “It’s a bit more than just waving your hand around,” you said with a casual shrug. “But you’re right, even healing a superficial wound requires more focus and understanding. I need to know how the body’s processes work, how cells regenerate, and the pathways for healing energy to flow, all to heal a cut on the arm."

You looked at his arm, then met his eyes, realizing how close you had become. Your breath caught as you held his gaze, aware that the space between you had significantly diminished since moments before.

Tech seemed either oblivious or perhaps he noticed but chose not to comment. His brow furrowed slightly, as if he were processing everything you had just shared, his usual meticulousness returning to his expression. “Fascinating. I’ve read about healing abilities before, but witnessing it in person is entirely different.” He completes his thought and looks up, seemingly realizing for the first time how dark it has become. “We should probably head back.”

Your return to the city was slow and unhurried. The road leading back to the city stretched out before you, with the evening light reflecting off Tech’s goggles as he walked alongside you. His data-pad was unusually absent, still secured in the pouch at his hip.

“I recalibrated the stun setting after the second discharge,” he said, glancing at you. “Even with your Force-assisted reflexes, the dampener’s performance exceeded my projections.”

You let out a soft chuckle, a smile forming at the corner of your lip. “You’re still thinking about the data, aren’t you?”

“Constantly,” he replied, without hesitation. “But,” he added, “that’s not all I’m thinking about.”

You turned your head slightly, intrigued. “No?”

He didn’t look at you, but his mouth twitched, that familiar flicker beneath his stoic exterior. “No. I’m also considering how a non-traditional combatant like myself managed to land a hit, however inefficient, against a Jedi Master.”

You laughed under your breath, surprised by the comment. “I’ll never live that down, will I?”

“It was a rare opportunity. I assure you, I’ll catalog the moment with appropriate humility.”

You shook your head, letting out another soft, easy laugh. You enjoyed this side of him. “You don’t strike me as someone who indulges in bragging rights,” you teased.

“I don’t,” he said without looking at you. “But factually speaking, I did land a hit.”

You smirked. “So this is about accuracy? Not ego?”

“Always,” he replied simply. “There’s no benefit in undervaluing verified results. I find most people tend to exaggerate their achievements. I prefer… precision.”

“So this ‘anomaly’ was logged, quantified, and filed already?” teasing again.

Tech adjusted his goggles: “It will be once I input the final data set. I’m still refining the motion tracking from your swing. The rotation correction you made mid-strike was not what I anticipated. It was impressive… but outside the modeled variables.”

You glanced down at the staff in your hand, its weight already beginning to feel more natural. “Sorry for messing up your projections,” your tone laced with sarcasm.

He gave a slight shake of his head. “On the contrary. The best designs are challenged.”

You glanced sideways, and though he kept his eyes ahead, there was something… different in his tone. He wasn’t joking. “You always analyze like that? People, too?”

He paused briefly, the sound of your synchronized footsteps bridging the silence. “Yes,” he replied at last, his tone steady but not unfeeling. “It’s less about analyzing people and more about observing. Recognizing patterns, behaviors, speech rhythms, eye movements, and reactions to stress.”

You huffed, amused. “So you’ve been profiling me this whole time?”

“I wouldn’t label it profiling,” Tech responded, finally turning to look at you. “That suggests a judgment. I would rather view it as collecting information to gain a clearer understanding of your operations in the field.”

“In the field,” you echoed, lips twitching at the implication. “Is that the only place you’re trying to understand me?” you test.

He paused mid-step. Just slightly. Barely noticeable, but there.

“I suppose,” he said carefully, “that depends on whether the data is confined to mission parameters… or if it encompasses something broader.”

You turned your head, watching him closely now. “And what’s your conclusion so far?”

“You don’t fit neatly into models,” he admitted. “Your decisions aren’t always the most efficient, but they’re extremely effective. Your intuition defies probability. Statistically speaking, that should be frustrating.”

“And yet?”

He met your gaze directly. “It’s not.”

The city loomed nearer, the recognizable hum of its outskirts becoming audible. You walked beneath the final set of perimeter lights, your pace slightly slowing as the road transitioned to cracked pavement.

“You said earlier you liked challenges,” you said softly.

Tech nodded. “Yes. Intellectual ones, primarily.”

You smiled faintly, eyes forward. “What about emotional ones?”

He exhaled through his nose. It came out as almost a laugh, almost a sigh. “Those are significantly harder to quantify.”

You came to a stop near the cantina entrance, the familiar glow of Cid’s aging sign flickering above. The sounds of your squad drifted out into the night. Wrecker’s distinctive laugh layered with Omega’s softer giggle beneath it. Before stepping through the threshold, you looked up at him again.

“Thank you. For everything today. I’m not sure how I’ll return the favor.” Your voice laced with the utmost sincerity.

He shakes his head, “There is no need. I was happy to assist.”

As the night wore on, the cantina thrummed with its familiar hustle, and the Batch was savoring their final moments of relaxation before the mission launch tomorrow. You sat on a bar stool with your legs crossed and a datapad resting in your lap. One hand held a nearly finished drink from the bar, while the other casually scrolled through something clearly unrelated to the mission.

You appeared completely engrossed. Tech across the room at a table with the rest of the squad was not.

Hunter noticed first, of course. His eyes flicked from his own drink to where Tech’s gaze had been fixed for the past ten minutes. “You gonna keep staring at her all night,” he said calmly, “or eventually walk over there?”

Tech didn’t even flinch. “She appears focused. I don’t wish to interrupt.”

Wrecker let out a laugh, elbowing Echo. “Focused? She’s been reading the same page for the last five minutes.”

“She has dismissed two other males already,” Tech said, as if he were listing off mission variables. “Both within a five-foot proximity. One attempted small talk about speeder specs. The other complimented her posture. She rejected both without hesitation. Her current body language, the shoulders angled away from us, her legs crossed, both suggest she does not want to be disturbed.”

Wrecker snorted. “And what makes you think you’d get the same treatment?”

“I didn’t say I would. But, I—”

“She’ll reciprocate because it’s you,” Hunter said simply.

Tech paused. “That is not a quantifiable variable.”

“No,” Echo agreed. “It’s a fact.” Tech’s brow furrowed. He looked down at the empty cup before him, then slowly, carefully stood.

Wrecker grinned. “Atta boy.”

For Tech, the walk across the room felt longer than it should’ve. You sensed him before he spoke, looking up as he stopped beside you.

“If you’re attempting to remain undisturbed,” he said, voice low but steady, “I’m prepared to leave. But... I was hoping you wouldn’t be opposed to company.”

Your eyes met his, and you set your drink down. “Depends,” you said. “Is this about mission protocol, or something more interesting?”

“I would… very much prefer the latter.”

You nudged the stool beside you with your boot. “Then sit, Tech.”

Tech settled onto the stool beside you with more care than necessary, hands resting neatly on the counter. You took a sip of your drink, still watching him over the rim of the cup. “You always think that hard before talking to someone?”

He tilted his head. “I find small talk inefficient.”

You smirked. “I’ve gathered.”

A beat passed before he added, almost sheepishly, “But… I’ve come to understand that inefficiency is not always a negative.”

That earned your full attention. You turned slightly toward him, resting an elbow on the bar. “That sounds dangerously close to a compliment, Tech.”

“It was an observation,” he corrected, pausing, reconsidering. “With positive connotation.”

You chuckled. “I’ll take it.”

He relaxed, just a little. “You’re quite difficult to categorize,” he said, tone matter-of-fact. “You favor independence, but show fierce signs of loyalty. You enjoy solitude, yet remain highly attuned to others. You frequently observe without inserting yourself, except when someone needs help. That contradiction is…” He hesitated.

“Interesting?” you offered.

“Fascinating,” he corrected.

Your smile. “Guess I could say the same about you.” He returns it.

“Maker,” Wrecker’s voice boomed from across the cantina, “He’s smiling! Look at him, he’s actually smiling!”

You closed your eyes for a moment, trying not to laugh. Tech’s shoulders tensed like he’d just been called out in front of a command unit. “I… regret that this moment has drawn unnecessary attention.”

You leaned closer, voice low enough that only he could hear. “We could head somewhere else if you’d prefer.

Across the room, Echo cuffed Wrecker on the arm, muttering something you couldn’t hear. But Tech ignored them now.

“I’d still like to finish this conversation,” he said, more confidently this time. You caught his glance, then tilted your head toward the stairs winding up the side wall.

He followed your gaze, noting the narrow balcony that overlooked the street and the scatter of stars visible through the half-dome ceiling. “That would be… acceptable.”

The balcony was quieter than you expected. The cantina’s noise fell away as the door swung shut behind you.

You leaned against the railing, elbows resting on the metal as you looked out. “Nice view.”

Tech stood beside you, a little stiff at first, then gradually relaxed into the space. “I’d argue the angle is limited and the field of view is obstructed by nearby structures. However… the stars are visible.”

You glanced at him, amused. “You always talk like that?”

“Frequently,” he admitted. “I’ve been told it’s off-putting.”

You smiled into your cup. “I think it’s honest.”

He turned toward you, studying your profile in the soft lighting. “You don’t seem particularly unsettled by who I am.”

You met his gaze, your tone quiet but sure. “ Should I be? I like people who know who they are.”

“I’ve never been especially good at… this,” he said, gesturing vaguely between you. “Interpersonal dynamics.”

You leaned just a little closer. “You’re doing fine, Tech.”

The sounds of the city drifted below, but up here, everything felt still.

Then, after a pause, he asked, “May I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Why did you choose to come with us? You could have gone anywhere. You’ve essentially signed up to be hunted by the Empire again. The logic is rather… flawed. ”

You let out a slow breath, considering. He waited.

“It sounds ridiculous,” you said, voice soft. “But it just felt…like something I was supposed to do. Drawn to it almost. That’s how I found you all in the forest on Pantora.”

Tech’s brow furrowed slightly, confused but not dismissive.

“I spent years on the Jedi Council, learning to ignore that feeling, suppress it. Mine didn’t always align with the others on the council.” You gave a dry laugh. “But before the war, before all that… I used to trust it. And maybe I was supposed to start doing that again.”

He didn’t speak, but his expression shifted.

“And the clones…” You looked back out at the city. “We fought beside you for years. Watched you risk everything again and again. I couldn’t turn my back on that. On you.” You swallowed, then added more quietly, “I had a squad once, too. I don’t think I did enough for them. Being here now… it feels like a second chance to do it right.”

Tech looked at you for a long moment. “I hadn’t considered that perspective,” he said quietly. He looked back toward the city, then down at his hands for a moment. “I still don’t understand why you’d put yourself at risk for us.”

You bumped his arm lightly with yours. “Because I wanted to. That’s reason enough.”

“Noted,” he said softly.

[pekoehoneyncream]

Ghoaptober #2

Prompt: Bullet

Words: 1500~

TW: None (sfw)

This version of Ghoaptober was created by @spadesandshovels

I'm once again not playing by the letter of the law, but I really couldn't think of anything to write about bullets :(, so I found a work around.

Enjoy!

“Hello and welcome to Alpetsha's Arctic Expeditions! My name is Chrissy, I'll be your guide. Up there is Duncan, he's our lovely captain, give him a wave,” Chrissy smiled at all the frantic waving from the kids and the few half-automatic waves from the adults, “Awesome! Today we are focusing on Homotritus, or as it's more commonly called, we're going mer-spotting!”

Chrissy paused to allow for the cheers that announcement always brought, “Glad to see we're all excited! Duncan is taking us up to the edge of a territory that's home to a very unusual mer-pod. When we get there I'm going to ask that no one shouts, screams, or throws anything into the water. That includes yourselves or your fellow passengers,” she ends with a laugh to lighten the tone of her warning, smiling at the small ripple of laughter that washed through the boat in reply. 

She felt the engines cut and the boat coast to a stop, a glance up to Duncan showed him giving her a thumbs up and she plastered an even bigger smile onto her face.

“Okay! Looks like we're here folks, I'll give you some fun facts while we wait for our neighbors to get curious. We're visiting a territory that's been established by a pod of four mers, we'll most likely be seeing Babble and Bullet come up for a visit. Babble is a minke-whale morph that-”

“What's a morph.” A little girl interrupts from her perch in her father's arms. Chrissy could barely make out her eyes, she was so well bundled against the cold.

“A fantastic question! A mer's morph is how we refer to the species that the mer looks like. It's not actually known why mers resemble certain species of sea creatures. Some claim its convergent evolution, others say its just aesthetic mimicry, but nothing is known for certain.” Chrissy throws a wink to the little girl, delighting in the way she giggles and hides her face, “As I was saying, Babble is a very curious minke-whale morph that will probably pop up to check us out sometime soon. Following him will be Bullet, an orca morph." The word orca sends excited titters through the crowd, everyone knows what an orca is, not so much for minke-whales.

"I will have to ask that no one screams if they spot them." Chrissy tried to make her voice serious, but not domineering. She didn't need anyone getting uppity about a woman bossing them around, "Bullet and Babble are some of the rare mers that wear rudimentary coverings and accessories and they can be somewhat alarming at first glance. Please remember that they will not harm you.”

“What's so alarming about them?” The gruff question is called forward from the back of the group, so Chrissy can't spot the exact asker.

“Another excellent question! Bullet has fashioned what looks to be a juvenile true-orca's upper jaws into a kind of headpiece, and Babble wears what we can only assume is the matching lower jaws.” Startled exclamations from the port side of the boat saves Chrissy from having to take a stab at explaining why mers do anything, and she moves over to the commotion as quickly as she can. Spotting curious blue eyes poking above the waterline as Babble spy-hops to get a look at them. 

“And here’s Babble! You're right on time!” Chrissy pitches her voice to carry across the water, feeling the tension fall out of her muscles when the mer seems to recognize her or the boat she’s standing on and pops further up out of the water. Showing off the skeletal jaw of sharp teeth that was aligned and fastened to his own. Chrissy was happy to let the guests live in the ignorant bliss of assuming that she’s just trying to look fun by talking at the mer, every employee had been banned from even alluding to the fact that this particular mer-pod was notorious for sinking any boat that they didn’t like, along with almost every ship that dared poke its nose over their territory lines. Alpetsha Arctic Expeditions didn't make it a company policy to stay out of their territory just to be polite. 

The minke-whale mer looked them over for a while longer then dove back under the water, sounding off with a flood of ratcheting clicks, pitching whines, and popping chirps the whole time. 

“And that’s why we call him Babble. Now that he’s come up to say hi, we can expect to see Bullet soon enou-” the yelp of a bitten off scream echoing from the boat’s starboard side heralds Bullet’s arrival and Chrissy hustles over before people started getting smart ideas. 

Bullet slowly circled them, his left pectoral fin breaching out of the water as he swam on his side to better eye the boat and its contents, or perhaps it was to keep the height of his distinctive dorsal fin under the water, so as to not give himself away too soon. 

Bullet was a bastard like that. 

“And here’s Bullet! If he turns over you’ll get to see how he got his name,” Chrissy said this with the bouncing tone of tour-guides everywhere, but eyed Bullet with much more caution than she'd given Babble.

Bullet’s upper face was completely obscured by the jaws he had broken and molded and mended to fit onto his head. The bone was covered in nicks, discolourations, and what a more generous soul might call carvings. 

A shadow barreled up from the depths to sideswipe Bullet. Babble arcing out of the water and crashing back into it with a cheerful trill, narrowly missing coming down directly on top of Bullet. The waves Babble displaced rocked the boat and the guests gave a cheer for his antics. Bullet turned to chase Babble clockwise around the boat and the guests able to see him over the sides gasped at the newly exposed carnage. 

Bullet’s right pectoral fin was ragged, missing its fore-edge and pockmarked with holes. The holes traveled diagonally up to his side, where their path was continued by a series of puncture scars. His back was serrated by lines of propeller scars, the front edge of his dorsal fin cut free from the rest of the structure, with the top third of its length missing entirely. He had another set of propeller scars marking his right collarbone, going over his shoulder, continuing down his upper back and Chrissy was willing to bet that under his mask he had a matching set across his face. Innumerous less distinctive scars tore up and down Bullet’s hide as well, teeth-rakes, old bite marks, rub lines, but the one that always got to Chrissy was the thick scarring that cuffed his tail above his flukes. Like someone had hauled him up and dangled him out of the water, their prized catch of the day.

“You said this is a four mer pod?” The shy question came from the very pretty young woman who had been unfailingly polite on every expedition Chrissy'd had her on. Chrissy was almost certain her name was Lizbeth.

“I did indeed! Good listening,” Chrissy praised, half to set a good example and half to see that cute blush creep up Lizbeth’s cheeks, “the other members of this pod are a very rare spot, as they like to hang out on the ice floes that are deeper into their territory. There’s a walrus morph we call Hoss and leopard-seal morph that earned the name Houdini. I’m seeing a few raised eyebrows from the more nautically inclined of us. Yes, the Arctic is not the natural habitat of the leopard-seal, but please keep in mind that this is a mer, not a true-leopard-seal. Mers are usually known to favour the natural habitats of their morphs, but they can and do move around as they like.” Chrissy watched the guests give understanding nods and gave another smile. Movement from above caught her eye and she glanced up to see Duncan giving her the ‘wrap it up’ signal.

“Alright folks, we’re gonna have to start packing it in, does anyone have any last questions?” Chrissy moved back over to her speaking platform. The speaking platform was really just a few pallets secured to the deck with anti-slip tape conquering its every flat surface, but it worked just fine.

“They’re all guys?” The question was half a sneer, from a young man that had been largely and loudly unimpressed with every activity Chrissy had seen him deign to attend. 

“Yep,” Chrissy chirped, giving her biggest smile yet, “They’re what’s known as a bachelor pod, though not much is actually known about distinguishing the sex of mers. From what we can see and guess from how their morph presents, they’re all male.” 

“They’re gay?” The same man barked, offended.

“Maybe!” Chrissy cheered, “Nothing is known about mer courting rituals or mating practices, so it’s equally likely that they are or they aren’t, but they do make a cute couple!” 

Chrissy gestured over the starboard side of the boat, where Babble could be seen hanging off Bullet’s dorsal fin, making the orca morph tow him around. Bullet was darting about and doing tight barrel rolls, to the seeming delight of Babble. Chrissy wasn’t sure if Bullet was doing it to indulge Babble or to shake him off. 

“Is that the last of the questions?” The guests looked around amongst themselves, then looked back at her, there was a smattering of shaking heads and shrugs, “Perfect!”

The engine kicked back on under their feet and the boat started pulling away. Chrissy glanced over the side, spotting Bullet and Babble bobbing in the waves, watching them leave. 

Letting them leave.

Chrissy shook herself free of that thought and started the closing spiel. Thanking people for visiting, and making sure to mention the countless ways and places that the guests could donate their money to one of Alpetsha’s many wildlife programs. 

Thank You For Reading!

I just really wanted to write mer au stuff for cod okay??

As you probably guessed Babble is Soap, Bullet is Ghost, Hoss is Price, and Houdini is Gaz.

Gaz earned the name Houdini by breaking into boxes and stealing stuff of the boats, the more they tried to secure it against him the more determined he was to get into it. He's a smart boy and he uses those smarts for evil and evil alone.

Minke whales are baleen whales and walruses eat like clams and stuff, so I had the idea that Ghost and Gaz will kill big stuff then bring it back and rip it into small pieces for Soap and Price. Price eventually got his hands on a knife to do it for himself, but Soap loves having Ghost do it for him.

I also had the idea that Ghost is blind in his right eye, hence why he's looking at the boat with his left.

PekoeHoneynCream's Masterlist

[firtutel]

The guns of the Rifleman shook the air as my Locust ran. Out of the corner of my eye I could see it spewing lead and photons at a target just out of view. I could only imagine what was beyond that hill. Just then, I got a glimpse of it. A small mech resembling an Awesome, seemingly armed with only missiles. I had never seen anything like it. I gunned the engine, trying to get a vantage point on the battlefield.

“Six-eyes, report!” I screamed into my radio.

“Wrench is alive, but Crowbar’s down. I don’t think there’s anything to salvage. There’s a… I think it might be a crab? It’s sitting on the big hill, the one we ran jumping training on,” he stated (a little calmly for my tastes). “I’ve hit it twice now, but it’s hardly flinched; these things are tough.”

The conversation was cut short as he fired, breaking the connection. That old radio always sputtered after a shock.

As I crested the hill, I finally got a glimpse of the battlefield. In the small forest to my right was the Rifleman (named Remington), engaged with the mini-Awesome, backed up by our Phoenix Hawk (Eclair). To my left, near the town, were Six-eyes and Wrench, the latter of whom was sitting on the shattered wreck of Crowbar, his beloved Urbanmech. At the base of the hill, Six Eyes was firing on another mech, this one sprinting along a small ravine. I fired on it, coating my windshield in soot as the missile smoke seeped into my cockpit. Wrench must’ve forgotten to patch that hole… again. As I hastily wiped the black coating from the glass (and my goggles), Roger’s voice crackled through the radio.

“Not goo-, -t good! The -ing’s jam- -y comms! All units - respond! We’re getting- -out here!”

As I cleared the window, my cockpit was brilliantly lit by laser fire and muzzle flash. The mech below me had fired, tearing Remington’s leg off at the shin.

“-it! I’m going down!”

“Roger, are you okay? Roger? Roger!” I yelled.

No response. Without giving me even a moment to process, my radio flared to life again.

“-on the little one! Repeat, fire- -ittle one!” Prince’s voice crackled through the radio.

Another black layer carpeted my cockpit as I sent another volley at the little mech. Wiping the soot from my window again, I saw Eclair jumping away from Roger’s rifleman.

“I need to run, Cappie. My torso’s nearly burnt through and I’ve almost lost my large.”

“I… We… Alright. Keep yourself safe.” I reluctantly responded.

As much as I truly did want to help Roger, there was little I could do. Taking Prince’s cue, I bolted from the hill, setting the throttle of my trusty LTV engine to full. As trees and hills whipped past me, I caught a glimpse of a smoke plume from where Remington lay. His engine blew. A strange coldness came over me, despite the warm summer it had been. As I sprinted around a large hill, I saw Spider among a cluster of trees engaging the ‘Crab’. I sent a salvo at the mech, sending it stumbling backwards for a moment before its pilot reigned in the reeling battlemech. The return fire ripped Spider in two, prompting autoeject to send Six-Eyes hurtling out the top.

“God… what are we fighting?” I muttered, more to myself than anyone on the radio.

Just then, a monstrous explosion cracked the air, launching a spray of green and white armour shards across the ground in front of me. Eclair… As I stood in shock at what had happened, Spider’s killer turned to me. In a flash of cyan and green, so too fell my locust.

[END TRANSMISSION]

The second one of these, CvIS again. If anyone has any constructive criticism or feedback back, please, tell me in great detail. The reason I’m doing this is mostly practice, and practice without proper feedback is… well, my thoughts become the only thing I hear in a proverbial rubber room. (If you were wondering, my mech was the ravine mech, an Ice Ferret. It was not very useful, at least the loadout I had.)

[theresattrpgforthat]

Hey so I’m a uni student IE very poor and I really like GMless games so I wondering if there is any free or pay what you feel like GM less games? Bonus points for either cute animal type games, world building or superpowers game.

THEME: Free/Cheap GM-Less Games

Hello friend, I think I have a really awesome collection of games for you to try out. I tried to focus on lighthearted games that fit at least one of your themes. All of these games are either free or pay-what-you-want!

Rats in Space, by Jay Writes.

The year is 2392. A colony of rats have found themselves stowed away on the Endeavor, a cruise-class luxury spaceship. They live in the lower decks, nibbling on wires, stealing the engineer’s lunches, fighting off pest-bots. It’s a simple life. One day, a member of the colony discovered something: Velindian Cheese, the most treasured kind of cheese to all rats in the sector, hidden in the ship’s Kitchen. The colony got together, and they have decided: they must get that cheese!

Rats in Space is a one-page GM-less TTRPG where you and your friends take on the role of Rats on a spaceship. Your mission is to get the Cheese that's hidden away in the ship's kitchen. A silly game with psychic rats, robot cats, and depressed space captains.

This is a goofy little game with a simple enough premise: get the Cheese. You set your little rats up with stats, and then roll on the Inspiration table to determine what obstacles are standing in the way. Conquer three obstacles and you’ll get your hand on a little cheesy snack! However, if you lose your collective morale, you are forced to panic and scatter - and no Cheese for you. Rats in Space is great for light-hearted hi-jinx, and is very very cute.

Class Protector, by Chloe Sutherland.

Strange things happen in your high school. Horrors lurk in the dark, unnoticed by most in the school. Fortunately, there’s one person who always seems to be in the right place at the right time. She’ll deny it but all the gossip ties back to her and the unexplainable powers she seems to wield. 

You are not the Chosen One. You are everyone else.

A simple GM-less game using a deck of cards. Act as the students of a high school secretly under threat from the supernatural, develop the Class Protector and her mysterious power through their rumours, then discover which theories were correct.

Class Protector is a game of high school bystanders creating a superhero through myths and rumours. You’ll take turns drawing cards and using prompts to help you figure out who exactly your protector is and what she can do. During the final round, you’ll witness her fight with the Big Bad, and determine how many rumours are actually true - and whether you survive. If you like a game with suspense, told from a unique point of view, you might like this game.

The Guides of MechaFauna Valley, by BESW.

“THE GUIDES OF MECHAFAUNA” by B. West is a game made for children, by a young park ranger barely out of childhood themself. I reproduce it here as I found it: photocopied on a sheaf of mint and salmon office paper, the pasted-on images sometimes almost illegible. But the game is playable and the glimpse of my friend’s future childhood is captivating.

This game is described as a cooperative, feel-good card-using roleplaying game. It is a game about a caravan of travellers making their way through a national park populated by mechanical beasts. As guides, you are responsible for ensuring that the caravan makes it through safely without endangering the local wildlife. The game expects all players to play a Valley Guide, but there is also a character sheet that is available for the group to use together: The Valley Voice. This game is currently still in beta, so it looks like another character sheet is in the works!

While there are still pieces missing, this is already a 20-page game with a hefty oracle full of prompts. If you like a game about exploration and adventure, but without the pressure of character endangerment, you’ll probably like this game.

Star-Spawned, by Penguin King Games. (@prokopetz)

One unearthly night, a ray of colourless light descended from the stars, and under its warping radiance, creatures unlike any the world has ever seen were born. They do not know the world, and they do not know themselves. Unfortunately for the world, they're quick learners!

Star-Spawned is a GMless, oneshot-oriented tabletop RPG in which you don't know what your own traits do when play begins. The names of each group's stats are randomly generated using morpheme chaining, and characters are created while having absolutely no idea what they mean; figuring that out forms the greater part of play.

Star-Spawned is a world-building game in that you discover the world as you discover yourselves. Players generate Facets and assign ratings to them without knowing what those facets do beforehand, and then experiment with their use as they play. Players will take turns describing what they want to do, and when one character takes the spotlight, the rest of the table provides the setting details. You finish the game when you have a definition for each facet on your Discovery sheet.

This game has a lot of breadth, and can explore a lot of different settings and kinds of adventure, and the place where you start will probably determine a lot about the tone of your game. If you enjoy randomness and figuring out a mystery together, you might like Star-Spawned.

Wonderfall Reinvigorated, by J.C. Pereira.

In this violence free, diceless and GMless game, you play as curious kids who are living in a hotel and secretly transform into pets. Your goal is to reinvigorate Wonderfall by befriending the leaving villagers and guiding the sparse visitors, to make this town habitable again. Uncover truths while growing up in this outlandish town.

This is an exploration game more than anything else. Players each create a town secret, and use drawing references to build the Hotel and its surrounding locations. You draw cards to help determine the kinds of locations that you’ll visit. The game comes with a bunch of random tables for character creation, locations, secrets, NPC information and more. You’ll draw cards from the Destiny deck every time you need to overcome a challenge, and use Aces to represent their hobbies that will help them solve problems.

I like the ways this game gives your characters adventure without resorting to violence to solve their problems. I think this game has a lot of potential to tell Studio Ghibli-like stories, so if you like that genre, you might like this game.

RPG From the Other Side, by stuffed tern.

a wizard has transformed one of your bandmates into a large raccoonyou’re going on a quest to change them backbefore they forget who they arethe band’s all coming with you (yes, even the raccoon) the power of music is on your side. you will see this through.

RPG FROM THE OTHER SIDE is a one-page TTRPG for one or more friends embarking on a quest of music and mayhem. 

The text mentions a GM, but GM-less play is possible with players doing collaborative storytelling, or using a system such as Trophy.

This is a simple one-page rpg with a humorous premise - you’re trying to turn your raccoon band-mate back into their human self. Setup includes determining your goal, your characters, and your special weapon or ability. Your characters have a resource called Stardust, which gives you d6s to roll in challenging situations. You can spend Stardust to lend aid to a teammate, or lose it when you take harm, but you can also gain it back if you give up a memory that you cherish.

There aren’t any prompts to help guide your play after the initial setup, so this game is best suited for a group that is comfortable with a lot of improv.

2 Month Magical Girl, by Dondougo.

In 2 Month Magical Girl, you play as ordinary magical girls. Your days are relatively ordinary, as you study and hang out at school. At night you hit the town, as well as the various malicious magical beings that prowl it. You make memories, you make friends, and the next day you wake up and do it all again!

But something's changed, and things are getting weirder by the day. Illegible symbols are appearing everywhere, the weather is stuck in a cloudy haze. What's even weirder is that your magical powers seem to be hiding something from you. As if they're trying to keep you from understanding the truth behind what's really going on.

With time running out, you're left wondering what else is being hidden from you and what it all means. What will you do when the truth is finally revealed?

This is the chunkiest game on this list, with 98 pages of rules, lore and character options. There are 5 playbooks to choose from, making character creation relatively simple to follow, and a font of roll tables to help facilitate GM-less play. Definitely worth checking out!

[dangerouscommiesubversive]

Am I allowed to ask to merge 2 of the prompt numbers? If not, feel free to just pick one, but I'd love 8 and 21 with Mira and Sakito!

You sure can, and even if you normally couldn't I'd be making an exception because this is cute as hell. We are looking at 8. a platonic kiss and then also 21 which is a smooch of my choice and I think this calls for 1. a kiss on the cheek

"It seems fake that you're older than me," Mira says as they're walking through the mall, "you have so much little brother energy."

Sakito blinks. "But I'm taller than you."

"Everyone is taller than me, that doesn't have anything to do with anything. That's--what is that store selling, there on the rack at the front? It looks like jewelry but I can't figure out how I'd wear it."

"You wouldn't be able to, it's Aquarian tooth jewelry, it's for people with fangs. It's, uh." There's a pause, and Mira looks up at Sakito to see that he's turned slightly pink. "It's. Normally those displays would go at the back of the store."

"Sakito, are you blushing? That's so cute, why are you blushing?"

Sakito immediately tries to hide his face and fails to do so because his hands are full of Mira's shopping and his own. "I'm not blushing, what are you talking about."

"You are, your ears are bright pink, it's adorable. Is that stuff sexy? Is it like, like fang lingerie? Come to think of it, that store looks like it's mostly selling underwear--oh, damn, that pink set is really cute, I wonder if they have it in human shapes, come on."

Despite his protests, Sakito does allow Mira to grab his hand and haul him into the lingerie store, where he survives the curious glances of the staff and customers by staring fixedly at the ceiling and thinking about engines while Mira gets one of the store clerks to direct her to clothing for people with a roughly hominid body plan. Naturally, because she's Mira, she also befriends said clerk pretty much instantly, which means Sakito is for the moment relieved of the need to provide his opinions on underwear.

"For the moment" being the operative concept.

"Hey, Sakito," just when it's been long enough that he's considering getting something to read out of one of the bags, "what do you think of this one?"

He looks down from the ceiling in surprise. "This what--that's pretty."

"I thought so too, do you think Chasshiro would like it?"

"To...wear?"

"For me to wear. You know, for his birthday. I feel like it's something a Bond girl would wear."

Sakito looks from Mira to the set of lacy blue underthings on the hanger in her hand, back to Mira, and then back up at the ceiling. "Yeah, they're really nice."

"Awesome. And they've got these in a few more colors, maybe I'll get a couple of sets. I love how precise the sizing is here, lingerie shopping on Earth sucks." There's a beat, and then, with a teasing note in her voice, she says, "So did you want to get Genba some jewelry? There's a really pretty set with tiger's eyes on that rack up front."

This time Sakito knows that trying to pretend he's not blushing would be useless, because his face feels like it's on fire. "He doesn't have the right kind of fangs."

"Oh, shoot. Maybe we can find him a present somewhere else, then." She looks at the racks and picks off two more sets of the same underwear in pink and red. And then--she lifts up her toes a bit and kisses him on the cheek. "Thanks for coming shopping with me, by the way, it's been really nice getting a chance to hang out just the two of us. Anyway I should pay for these, come on."

Startled, he trails after her. "Ok? Um, thank you? You're welcome? What?"

At the counter, the clerk Mira befriended rings her up and says, cheerfully, "Your boyfriend's very patient!"

"Who--wait, Sakito? No, that's my brother, we're not on a date. He is really patient, though." Mira flashes him a grin. "And anyway we've been trading off, next store's his pick."

As they head out of the store, Sakito collects himself enough to say, "I'm not calling you neesan, you're still younger than me."

"I wouldn't want you to, that'd be too weird, it'd sound like you were flirting." She grins. "So are we getting a present for Genba or what?"

[spoonfulofmilo]

Full fic??

I’ve read that Logan S. felt really lonely being the only American in F1. Like, he wasn’t completely accepted in the grid. Maybe he has an overprotective older sister who is a professional soccer player (like World Cup level good) who finally has time to attend his races. She dislikes most of the grid, except Alex and Oscar, for how they treated her brother. quick to defend Logan and even as far as annihilate them during the annual driver soccer match to prove a point. Im thinking G. Russel pairing due to Logan living in England. he wins her over by treating logan right, acknowledging he could have been welcoming, etc. Just a thought!

OKAY I HONESTLY LOVED THIS! IT WAS SO MUCH FUN TO WRITE (let me know if you want a part 2, because it is a bit of an interesting ending haha)

my masterlist can be accessed here

Please keep requesting - y'all have awesome ideas we agree on a lot of stuff :) - my guidelines are here, and if you want some prompts, they are here.

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edit: i wrote part 2 - it is here

part 3 is here

George Russell x reader, logan sargeant x sister!reader

---

Y/N loves her brother, she really does. Yeah, she’s tried to get to a few of his F2 rounds, but with her soccer taking her around the world, she has had very little time. She has the entire month off though, so what better to do than visit her brother at his home grand prix. Miami is always a party, so maybe she could let loose for a bit, try and relax, and find a guy.

This is quickly vetoed when she finds Logan cooped up in his drivers room. While most people would think that he was excited for the race, most people weren’t Logan’s sister. She could tell he was thinking too hard about something, and it wasn’t good.

“Hey Logie Bear! Whatcha thinking about?” She tried to appear happy, but she could see that Logan’s smile did not reach his eyes

“Nothing, just excited for the race, the car is quick, just aiming for some points, hoping for a safety car. The garage is over there, sorry I have to warm up.” Y/N looked up as Benny entered the room and Logan stood up. She could tell how closed up he was, how he didn’t want to talk at all

“Okay, we’ll talk after the race Logan! Good luck, you'll smash it!” Y/N walked out of the drivers room towards the garage seeing the chaos of it.

Y/N watched as Logan apologised over again and again to his engineer for not making up any more places. She stood there listening to his engineer reassure her younger brother. She eventually decided that she couldn’t listen to it anymore and decided to wait in his garage room.

When he walked in, Y/N could tell he wasn’t sure whether to throw stuff or cry. 

“Hey, hey, come here! It’s okay, it’s okay!” She opened her arms and sat down as Logan fell down into them and hugged her baby brother, as he started talking the words just rushed out

“I just wanted to prove that I deserve to be here, feel like I’m a part of the paddock.” Logan hugged his sister back tightly, hesitating slightly.

“What do you mean? Of course you’re a part of the paddock, you’ve got your seat, y’know?” Y/N was confused as to what her brother meant, from what she had seen, he was welcomed warmly by everyone.

“Yeah but, I’m never invited to the grid parties, no one really ever talks to me, except Alex and Oscar, and Oscar is getting into the rest of the grid through Lando, and Alex is only really talking to me because I mean, he’s my teammate we have to be friends, and I just want everyone to like me… so I thought maybe if I got some points and good overtakes, then people would like me..”

“Oh, Logie… It’ll be okay. If they don’t like you then I think they’re just idiots, but they won’t. They’ll warm up to you, I promise.”

---

George watched as Y/N sprinted up and down. Okay the F1 team was never going to win, particularly when multiple women who were playing in the world cup were playing on the opposition team, but ‘Sargeant’  (who also had the same name as the rookie driver this year, who was sitting in the stands) was dominating, she had more goals then all of the f1 team, so of course the celebrity team won 4-1. She’d almost immediately jumped into the stands once the referee blew the whistle and started talking to Logan, maybe the kid got married young and just didn’t want anyone to realise. 

Although she looked quite similar to Logan, so maybe his sister instead. Either way, she did not seem to like them, she called them all dickheads and shoved them over a few times. George’s knees were sore. But she was still pretty. So he approached Logan and the girl.

“Hello! I’m George and…’

“I’m pretty sure my brother knows your name, Georgie! Why don’t you say hello to him?”

“Y/N-”

“No. Say hi to Logan, George.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes, almost forced.

“Hey Logan! Looking forward to the grand prix this weekend?”

“Uhhhh… yeah. ” He turned back to Y/N “I’ve got some stuff to do, so you can make your way back. See ya!”

As soon as Logan was out of listening range, Y/N pulled George in and started whispering, “Listen, I don’t know what problem you have my brother, but you need to get over it ASAP, understood?”

“I.. don’t have a problem with your brother.”

“Well, then why is he telling me that there have been 2 people, Oscar and Alex, who have actually welcomed him to F1. Everyone else has snubbed him and he doesn’t understand why you don’t like him. He’s lonely. So fucking sort your shit out.”

George stood there, mouth gaping as she stormed off to grab her bag and then sprinted after Logan. He could almost hear the f1 team laughing at his failed attempt at flirting, but all he could think about ‘was what she said true?’’

---

Y/N was going to cry.

She could see Logan in the family and friends box, hands over his mouth, eyes glassy.

That corner kick should’ve gone in, she thought, we had so many chances and we still fucked it all. Couldn’t even give Megs a proper farewell.

She walks slowly over to her younger brother and let his arms wrap around her

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Dragged you halfway ‘round the world when you should’ve been training only to lose the first game.”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, don’t worry about it. Go pack up, we can head home and spend some time in London relaxing. I’ve got next week off before I need to be back in the factory.”

—

Y/N was awoken by a knock on the front door. Hearing Logan snoring from his bedroom, she got up off the couch, rubbing her eyes and opened the door.

Of all the people she was expecting to see, George Russell would’ve been just about the last on her list “Uhh, hey?”

“Oh, morning! Is your brother up?”

Y/n paused for a moment to let George hear the snores coming from Logan’s bedroom. “Yeah, no, sorry. I can pass on a message?”

“Oh, No I was just going to offer if he was still up to go on a morning jog with him, but as he isn’t…”

“You been doing this often?”

“Almost every week we’ve been in town. I don’t think he understands what or why I’m doing this. But, he’s a good kid, opens up a bit when you talk to him. He likes you, respects you a lot for 2 siblings pursuing their sport across the globe.”

“I’ll make some breakfast and you can stay til Logan wakes up, okay? As a thanks for looking out for him. Hard for me to do from across the globe.” Y/N looked tense, with an almost forced smile. She looked awkward, before stepping back, holding the door open so George could come in.

---

“LOGAN SARGEANT!”

“Hello, dear sister, what do you want?”

“YOU GOT POINTS!”

“I think you must have watched a different grand prix, I got P12.”

“Hamilton and Leclerc got disqualified, something about wood, but you got points!”

“OH MY! AHHH! I had no idea, oh god!”

“YEAH! MY LITTLE BRO FINALLY GETTING F1 POINTS! WOOHOO! We must celebrate when we’re both in town!”

“AHH! Shit, wait I think people are coming in, give me a sec.

You’re on speaker dear sis, Alex, Oscar and George are here.”

“HELLO OSCAR! HI ALEX! HI GEORGE! DID SOMEONE BRING CHAMPAGNE???”

---

Y/N looks at the buzzing phone on her bedside table. Well clearly she had grabbed Logan’s phone before bed last night. She looked at the contact name

‘George - probably calling about something from the GDPA.’

She picked up.

“Before you start talking, I’m not Logan and I have not signed any NDAs related to his contract so, don’t talk to me.”

“Hi Y/N, do you know where Logan is?” George’s voice was way too cheery for however fucking early it is right now.

“Yeah he’s in his bedroom, he grabbed my phone and I grabbed his, why?” Y/N swung her legs out of the bed and stood up, still rubbing her eyes.

“Oh, can you come answer the door?”

“The door, why?” Y/N got up, and walked to her front door and opened the door to …nothing.

“George, are you pulling a prank on me? There’s nothing at the door.”

“You haven’t opened the door!”

“George… Logan and I are in Florida for Christmas. I’m guessing you’re in London.”

“Oh…yes. Bugger. I came to congratulate him on his contract renewal and so now I’ve got food and flowers and stuff and he’s not here!”

“If you go round the block to 20 XXX Close, there’s a single mom there, who will appreciate some Christmas cheer Georgie.”

“Oh, thank you. I’ll send it over.”

“Why were you congratulating Logan, George? I didn’t think you cared. Only Alex and Oscar have reached out so far.”

“I..I remember what you said at the soccer match, about Logan feeling ostracised by all of us. So I’ve been trying to make him feel welcomed… not just because you said that, and I like you, but also because I kinda realised we’d all be failing him as a grid, so i thought if I started it, maybe others would catch on. It didn’t work, but I think he feels more included.”

“That’s very nice of you Georgie. I’ll pass on your congrats. Now it’s like 7am here, and I didn’t need to be awake today, so i will be heading back to bed. Night Georgie boy.”

[imabeautifulbutterfly]

Heeeeey , congratulations for the 700 followers , this is so great !

I wanted to request a Fivesxreader with the two prompts :

I'm so proud of you

Thank you for believing in me

Please 💚💚💚

Thank you and take care 💕

@griffedeloup Thank you for the awesome request and I love those two prompts. Very sweet, so I hope you enjoyed my interpretation.

Fives especially has a soft spot in my heart, so I try to give him a happy ending as much as possible, and I believe I gave that to him here.

Enjoy.

Love oo

Just a Friend

Warnings: Feelings of inadequacies, allusions to corruption, mentions of Palpatines involvement with the Clone Wars, Clone Rights, confessions, kissing, fluff, I think that's it. If I miss any please let me know.

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The award ceremony ended rather quickly, truthfully, no one was expecting it to last long. After all, how many ways can you say that Palpatine was the scum of the universe and he was dead thanks to the brave work of one ARC trooper. 

Aside from the ceremony, announcing the new Chancellor, Chancellor Organa, giving clones rights, and the end of the war, it was just a giant party. An excuse for everyone to let loose, get drunk, have fun. 

You stood against the wall watching everyone congratulate Fives. A soft smile played on your face as he enjoyed his 15 minutes of fame. Truthfully, he did deserve every accolade he received. If it wasn’t for him, no one would have discovered the truth of the chips in each clone’s head or the fact Chancellor Palpatine … ex-Chancellor Palpatine was behind it.

The noise was too much, the room felt overwhelming with the sea of people. You moved towards the balcony finally finding one that was devoid of a couple reaffirming their admiration for one another. You stood on the balcony, breathing in the soft air of Coruscant. It was something you weren’t going to miss when you left. 

When the war ended you were given notice that your droid engineering skills were no longer needed, not that you really could blame them. After all there wouldn’t be a need for engineers to keep droids going even after an explosion. Truthfully, there were a lot of things you had been thinking about lately, setting up a repair shop on a planet that had a thriving droid population or maybe just travelling to see the galaxy… yet, all of those thoughts also included someone by your side. Although you never told him. Not that you didn’t want to open up about how you felt towards Fives, but … he always just treated you like a friend. Sure he flirted, but it wasn’t as though he meant it, you’ve seen him flirt with plenty of people. 

Why would he want you when he could literally have anyone he wanted, especially after single handedly saving the galaxy. 

“Here you are!”

You turned and smiled as you recognized not only his voice but his steps, “And there you are.” You smirked as you looked at Fives. 

“Come on admit it, I look handsome.” He held his head up high, his hands on his hips as he showed off his medal. 

“Sure. You look very handsome.” You moved closer and pressed a kiss to his cheek, “Also, I’m so proud of you. You did probably the hardest thing anyone has ever had to do. None of us would be here right now, if it wasn’t for you.”

Fives cheeks flushed at your compliment and the kiss to his cheek, he looked into your eyes seeing a future there he had forced himself not to see for the longest time. Knowing it was too difficult, too painful to think of a future that may have never come true. 

“You know, none of it would’ve happened if either you or Kix didn’t believe me. When I ran into you when I was leaving 79s I thought, even if it was the last time I saw you, at least I knew you believed me.” Fives cupped your cheek smiling, “Thank you for believing in me.”

“Always.” You couldn’t help yourself as you leaned into his touch, even though you knew this probably wouldn’t go anywhere, you couldn’t help yourself.

“You’ve always had my back, haven’t you?” He leaned in closer, there was something in his eyes that made your heart clench. The longer you stared into his brown eyes, the more you felt as though the air was ripped from your lungs by the looks in his eyes.

“That’s what friends do.”

“Is it? Am I?”

“Are you what?” You tilted your head as you looked at him, noticing he’d gotten closer. 

“Am I your friend?”

“Of course.”

“Just?”

Your heart was beating against your chest, a thousand butterflies seemed to have unleashed in your stomach as the look in his eyes deepened. 

“Uh … what … what are you talking about?”

“Am I ‘just’ a friend?”

The smile that had been on his lips seemed to have faded as a look of vulnerability settled on his face, his free hand going to rest on your waist as he pulled you in, the hand that had been cupping your cheek, shifted towards the back of your neck as his thumb trailed along your jawline. None of this could be real. This was a dream. A fantasy that you knew you’d wake up from. 

“Cyar’ika, please, answer me. I need to know. Am I ‘just’ a friend to you? Or … am I something more?”

You opened your mouth to speak, your hands resting on his chest, you could feel his heart thumping against you, it felt as though it was beating just as fast as yours. But that couldn’t be. There was no way Fives felt the same as you, was there?

“Why don’t you tell me, am I ‘just’ a friend?”

Fives took in a deep shuddering breath, “Do you know there wasn’t a day during the war that I was scared. When Echo was by my side, I thought, nothing could ever take us down; when I lost him I thought there’d be no way I could recover. But I was wrong, because you entered my life, and it felt as though everything was going to be okay … somewhat.” He smirked, “And it was months later when I realized there was more I was feeling than just camaraderie. When I realized what I felt for you was more than friendship, it was the first time I was truly afraid. There was no scenario in which I could think of a future for us, at least not one where we both would be happy. When I left you at 79s that day, I didn’t know what would happen, and my biggest fear was that I wouldn’t have been able to tell you how I feel.”

He leaned closer, his breath brushing against your face, “You want to know if you’re ‘just’ a friend? The answer is, no. You’ve never been ‘just’ anything to me.”

You didn’t bother waiting as you closed the distance pressing your lips against his, your hands shifting until they wrapped around him, as he drew you closer, deepening the kiss. It was a long time coming, and regardless of what was to happen in the next few weeks or months, what you did know was that neither of you weren’t going to let each other slip through your fingers, ever again. 

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