daisychainsandbowties
bestCasper
casper. they/them. gay. Ao3 i like warrior nun and star wars and sometimes i write things
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Last Seen Blogs
soul-of-starlight
Faerie King
boiling-potato
Potato Lover 🥔
piived
come now, don’t be shy —
udsbase-blog
Untitled
foreverlosingsleep
Forever Losing Sleep
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sorry I love this painfully mid media so much I could throw up
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what’s the pink they put in pink lemonade that makes it so poppin
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Coelacanth Tea Infuser, by Colorata
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Might f*ck around and fall in love one of these days. Doctor advised against it but what the hell do doctors know
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when you're playing a bethesda game you might have a thought along the lines of "am i done for now? should i turn the game off?" and while you're still mulling it over it decides for you and crashes
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a few extra To Shape A Dragon's Breath sketches!
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Chapters: 5/10 [46k]
Rating: M
the star wars au 💕
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Back in the Temple with its sun-swept halls, Beatrice had her own little space. A bed full of rumpled sheets and a little bookshelf where she kept her three printed copies of what otherwise lived on the holos. They were cheap but uncommon and she had to trek all the way down into the guts of Coruscant to visit the printer shop where they came out smelling strange and sharp and then softer over time. She’d spend hours there leafing her fingers through all the different kinds of paper. Pressed bark and woven fabrics and the scraped skin of dead things. She always chose synthetic paper, which didn’t adhere to her fingers when she turned the pages.
She had a desk and her sketchbooks cataloguing all the different poses in her lightsaber forms. There was the simple one all apprentices learned and then most of Soresu’s utilitarian shapes. Beyond that a smattering here and there of Ataru and Niman. She loved that room and often came back to find it dusty from her absence.
By the time the war felt almost over there were so few apprentices and padawans left that no one needed the space while she was gone.
There, on occasion, something soft and very beautiful would come to visit her. It was simple and sweet and mildly forbidden, but not love. So she always told herself. Not love because that would have to be the end of it.
She dressed it in different names. It was comfort – a pretty face she can’t call out of memory now, showing mostly the slant of its jaw as the girl it belonged to stared out the open window. Sunset over Coruscant and their hands entwined on top of the sheets, Beatrice’s mouth sore from kissing and her hands aching to do more than form a counter-shape to jawline.
They’d talked about it then – Force-bonds and two souls tangled together in a way that defied language. “Wouldn’t that be nice?” Brown eyes glancing over at her, chasing Beatrice’s away from their quiet observation, “To be so close to somebody you could feel them clear across the galaxy?”
Her hand was bigger, between them, and Beatrice played with a set of slender fingers tucked inside her own as she turned the question over and over in her head. “I don’t know,” she decided eventually. “What if they got hurt? Wouldn’t you feel that too?”
“Wouldn’t you want to feel it, if you really loved them?”
Beatrice hadn’t thought that was the point of a Force bond, but she didn’t say it. “I suppose it would be useful to know if your ally was hurt or captured or-”
“Ally?” Her words, echoed in the parting of a mouth Beatrice was becoming too familiar with. She remembers looking away from it, out the window, and then back after a while. Fingertips scrubbing lightly at the inside of her wrist, the way she liked it. “What other word should I use?”
She’d been a coward, not darling to look away from their entangled hands until they were untangling, the girl next to her squirming out of bed. Standing, turned away so that Beatrice could once again see the strange constellation of scars that peeked up from the back of her shirt. Springing like starbursts up to the tip of her spine.
“Is that really what you want, Beatrice?”
Behind her, at her, Beatrice had frowned in response. She could see the real question hiding behind those words, but what was she supposed to say? This was the cost of holding a lightsaber.
“I want to be a Jedi.”
A low noise, like a hum with something breaking underneath it. A face turning back, the over-shoulder glance she always stole when she rushed into the classroom ahead of Beatrice. “Yeah. Me too.”
That night, Beatrice left the Temple for the last time, and when she arrived in the hanger bay there was no shape hiding in among the starships this time to see her off.
She’d searched, her duffel hanging off one shoulder, pressing into a bruise high on her arm made in the shape of teeth, but there were only droids moving back and forth with fuel lines and new screws and a certain anxious air haloed around their dull metal bodies. Beatrice had asked the other padawans about sensing droids like this, but apparently it didn’t happen and it wasn’t real, so she kept quiet.
Her Master had limped into the hanger with a look almost identical to Beatrice’s and swept her up with a wave of her arm. “Let’s get out of here kiddo. I think we’ve done enough damage for one rotation.”
“Master?”
“Don’t worry about it. Did you pack your books this time?”
Beatrice touched the blocky shapes through the fabric of her duffel, “Yes Master, but wh-”
“Just a feeling, kiddo. Probably nothing.” They walked toward their ship, Beatrice squinting at the back of her Master’s head. Her braids looked a little more unkempt than usual, like someone had tangled a hand in them once, or twice, or many more times than that.
She reached the ship and put her hand against the paintjob – dark skin on polished durasteel – “You learn, as you get older, that some people won’t betray themselves, or what they think they are, no matter how hard you try to convince them.”
“Yes Master.”
Beatrice followed her into the ship, putting her bag in its secure locker and trudging up into the cockpit. She didn’t exactly slump into her co-pilot’s seat, but her Master wasn’t a Jedi for nothing.
“Something wrong?”
Beatrice turned her chair around and pressed a few buttons to test the flight stabilisers, the manoeuvring thrusters. She tapped the fuel gauge, sighed, and shook her head. “Nothing important. It looks like they fixed the rear nitrogen jets this time, Master.”
A pause. “Looks like it.”
And then the hum of the engines, Beatrice settling back into her seat and sweeping her eyes over the hanger bay once last time, checking for stray PIT droids left idle on the launchpad. As she cut from the polished floor up toward the decommissioned ships propped on struts along the walls, her eye caught a flash of sun-kissed brown.
Blinking, just in case, she looked again. Scanning between Lambda-class shuttles folded up into skinny triangles and a T-6 propped a bit lopsidedly with its big fin-shaped body resting on a strut above, to an ETA-2 ACTIS with red and yellow racing stripes.
Beatrice has heard about this particular ship at length, lying on her bed with an astonishing weight resting on her hips – so casual, so breath-taking – listening with her eyes closed to how the ACTIS can reach a top speed of 1,500 kilometres in atmosphere and how its seats are soft leather and how this one, specifically, is fresh off the assembly line and just begging to be assigned to the most gifted pilot on Coruscant.
“That’s me, Bea, in case you need reminding.”
Beatrice did not need reminding. She’d seen this girl fly.
There she was, tucked under one of the raised-up radiator panels that sat on the outermost edge of each wing, her hand pressed to one of the panels and the other resting down by her leg as she crouched, grinning. Beatrice stared at her and thought of the colour yellow and of the feeling deep in the pit of her stomach that they were leaving this time.
She felt like putting that feeling to language would be like putting it up to a flame.
Around her, the starship hummed to life and Beatrice pressed what she needed to press, functioning on autopilot without looking away from the girl crouched on the shiny wing of the ACTIS fighter. Maybe they would give it to her after all, when the war was over and such things were mostly artefacts and mere modes of conveyance.
As the ship lifted away, she watched as the girl, still above her with the decommissioned or not-yet-assigned starships, raised a hand.
She waved, and Beatrice thought again of Force-bonds and what it would be like to feel that hand from lightyears away.
With all her thinking, she forgot to wave back.
And then they were gone, gathering speed to escape from Coruscant’s gravity, the ship getting darker as they turned from the starward side of Coruscant, to wherever it was Jedi were needed.
That night, the Temple fell.
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Jesus kinda slayed on the cross
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"there will be poems" ??girl no, there'll be fics. genderbent fics to be specific
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Pokémon Wilderness Project (2021-2023)
Inspired by going for runs in the spring and summer, playing Pokemon Go as I went. Really just enamored with the idea of encountering Pokemon but leaving them be. At some point I'm going to do more of these (most of which were drawn on Post-it notes) and collect them in a book.
The Feraligatr piece appears in an art zine I organized called Out of Pocket!, that you can download for zero dollars here and features 18 other cool artists.
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sad they give tissue boxes plastic labia folds but no clitoris
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Sometimes you meet someone, and it’s so clear so immediately that the two of you, on some level, belong together. As lovers, or as friends, or as family, or as something entirely different. You just work, whether you’re in love or creating things together or foxhole buddies or partners in crime. It’s so clear, right off the bat, that this is what you’re supposed to be doing, that this is what you’re for. You meet these people throughout your life, out of nowhere, under the strangest of circumstances, and they help you make a life. I don’t know if that makes me believe in coincidence, or fate, or sheer blind luck, but. It definitely makes me believe in something.
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can i go to your house on monday tuesday wednesday thursday friday saturday and sunday
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it's naptime on Palmer station @daisychainsandbowties
#🥹🐙 the best naps are sponsored by your local rescued octopus 🥰#whose entire body smells like ava’s cereal water 😌🐙🥣 because he likes to curl up inside it#when she (inevitably) leaves it half-finished because she’s running late#also the one (1) big sofa in the lounge always either occupied by avatrice in thick sweaters or lilith in her 😐“what does ‘cold’ mean?”🤨🧐#shirt and cam in her orca socks straight up Snoozing It on lilith’s chest#(lilith smells like tank water and ava’s cereal milk)#this is cute! 😍🥰🥹💕🐙🙏🥰 lilith with the arm hanging doen & back support cushions 😌🙏#palmer station au#🐙🐙🐙🐙🐙
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