she/they Welcome to my nerd blog... If it’s not Star Wars currently, it will be eventually. In life all things are cyclical. Especially my love for the Wars. Author, lover of clones, and forever DM currently rolling in SWADE.
The hatch to the galley slid open with a hiss, and without looking up from his book Lockley called, “Soups on the stove, help yourself.”
“Thanks,” came the meek reply. A minute later the chair next to him slid out, and the tiny pilot filled the formerly empty space. “What are you reading?” she asked between bites.
Sighing inwardly he unfolded the cover, and then held it out for her to see. It was a thick, dingy paperback he had picked up at their last port. The formerly bright yellow cover had faded to a dingy mustard. Big, black bubble letters spelled out in galactic basic, “So, Your Crewmate’s a Kobold.” A cartoon kobold stood at attention in the corner, their crisp navy uniform creased with years of use and disregard. A dark ring, probably some kind of caff, staining the cartoon bandages over their eye.
The pilot’s reptilian eyes lighting up at the sight, as she looked between the battered book and the equally battered human holding it. “You… You consider me part of your crew?”
Lockley was unable to hide his annoyed expression, as he tried to come up with a kind response. “Well, you are still here…” he trailed off, unable to come up with something that wasn’t horribly rude, and deciding that stopping was the best policy.
“I’m truly honored.”
“You have a knack for finding trouble, so I figured it was safest to do a bit of light reading.” He pushed his glasses back up his nose and flipped back to his page. The galley door swished open again behind them. “Besides, gotta make sure your kidney isn’t someplace unexpected.”
“Are you two talking about Skit?” A hulking human man fell into the seat across the table from Lockley.
The medic narrowed his eyes at the captain, but before he could respond the tiny kobold pilot spoke up. “Whose Skit?”
“Cap, soups on the stove. We don’t need to talk about-”
“Skit was the pilot when Lockley first joined up. We got in a gun battle, and things got real bad, real fast.” The captain’s tone was deadly serious, and he didn’t break eye contact with the Kobold.
The soup spoon hovered in the air, halfway to her mouth. “What happened to them?”
“They got shot.” The captain leaned back in his chair, before standing back up and heading over to the stove to get something to eat.
The Kobold looked between the captain and Lockley, waiting for an answer. Rubbing the bridge of his nose with his metallic hand, Lockley picked up where the captain had left off. “Had they been a human, or known their own anatomy, it wouldn’t have been an issue. On a human it would have been a clean shot, and we would have had more time before it became an issue. On a tabaxi on the other hand…” Lockley trailed off, his gaze focused on the middle distance.
“Right through the kidney and part of the bowel. Real bad stuff.” The captain, now with a bowl full of soup, rejoined the table.
“Were they ok?” The question was barely a whisper, the pilot knowing the answer already, but needing to hear it spoken out loud.
If looks could kill, the one Lockley gave the captain would have been fatal. Of course he wasn’t paying attention. “Nope, they died.”
The silence that fell around the table was deafening.
“But don’t worry, kid. Besides the stupid hat, and the readers, Lockley is the best field surgeon you could ask for.” The captain gave her what was supposed to be a reassuring grin, but his charms were lost on her.
“Medic. Field medic, not surgeon. But I appreciate the vote of confidence, boss. Thanks.”
- Lockley is my PC for a sci fi themed D&D game. He is a field medic who is far too tired of your shit. Thank you to the amazing @redreart for bringing my boy to life. I love him dearly!
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Host: Obviously, this universe has these seemingly mundane things that are endowed with arcane energy, which can then grant powers or maybe, you know, worse things. Is there an object in your life that you would suspect might be an Object of Power?
Matthew: My mother knit me a sweater when I was 20 years old and it is absolutely kept its shape and its color and it's probably one of my prized possessions. [...] It's a black cabled cotton turtleneck sweater. There you go. And that's my Object of Power.
H: What power does it give you? Like, what does it do?
M: Uh well, you know, I'm 61, my parents are gone. It's like, you put it on and you feel your mother's love. Yeah.
Matthew Porretta | How Control Resonant Minds the Gap | Comic Con 2026
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perhaps i am missing something but i just dont understand how this is an issue that is struggled with by men. i know i answered my own question above but sometimes i'm floored by the stupidity of it yknow.
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To be fair imagine you just arrived in 2018 from Victorian England and discovered Take On Me, what are you supposed to do, not blast it loud enough for your family to hear it all the way back in 1876?
You are allowed to exist alone in public btw. You're allowed to go to the movies alone and go out to eat alone and hang out in a park alone and go for a walk alone and whatever else. It isn't weird or creepy, it doesn't make you lonely or a loser or whatever. You are allowed to just exist as yourself.
reminiscing on when i went cave diving a couple years back & another dude who was in there was playing minecraft music out of his backpack so i just heard c418 slowly approaching me from within an actual cave. shoutout to that guy
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Only 1 week remains before FBC Zine: Volume 4 will be arriving at your dinner table! Be sure to save room for several incredibly tasty pieces handmade by our hardworking crew of contributors!
Follow the zine's socials so you don't miss our big release on August 4th! We hope to see you there!
Thanks to @thechatster for the Tim illustration!
when I was in high school I had a literature teacher who had a policy of unlimited extra credit. All you had to do was read a book by a notable author (his discretion) and have a little chat with him after school to prove that you read it. No limits, no need for variety (one month I decided I really loved Kurt Vonnegut and just read everything of his I could get my hands on).
Yes, I was tearing through books constantly, and talking to this teacher at least weekly. Because even though I always loved reading as a kid, literature was always a very weak subject for me in terms of a teaching-to-standardized-test school setting (I just do awful on "what color were the curtains" type multiple choice questions. Those details don't stick in my memory THEY JUST DON'T). But that didn't matter for this class. I could just read my way out of any bad test score. I have always had fond memories of how I "fudged" my way through that class and "abused' the extra credit policy.
I was thinking about it again today, and only just now realized that he absolutely tricked me into being well-read, while my teenage self thought I was totally getting away with something. THAT MOTHERFUCKER. I hope he's doing well.
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