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of-a-chaotic-mind · 4 months ago

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I Can't Say Part 2

Summary: An Earthquake turns everyone's world upside down and nearly takes part of Eddie's away from him.

TW/CW: Eddie Diaz x Reader, Hurt, Earthquake, Injured Reader, Blood/Blood-loss

Requested?: No

Word Count: 4,136

A/N: Our grand total of words for this trilogy is 11,325... I'm ngl was kinda stuck on how I'd get from break up to make up but then I was rewatching season 2 the other night and well... Earthquake it is. Anyways, hope you enjoy the read! Love to all! Requests are Open!

[ A/N: him so purtty... ]

Part 1

--- Your POV ---

Groaning, I silence my alarm and drag myself to my bedroom to change clothes. I really wish I had changed out of my work clothes last night because it is so uncomfortable to sleep in jeans. I opt for a more comfortable outfit for today since I'm just taking Talia to therapy. My jeans are replaced by sweats, my LAFD t-shirt by an oversized hoodie, and I yank on my high tops to finish it off.

As I make my way to the kitchen for coffee, with a pit stop in the bathroom to brush my teeth, I throw my hair up into a messy bun and check my phone that had miraculously stayed in my back pocket all night. The smell of coffee fills the air as I swipe through notifications which include a few random info dump texts from Buck that I hadn't checked yesterday, a missed call from an unknown number here and there, and a few texts from Tommy checking in on me.

After closing out all the notifications and apps, I find myself staring at my home screen and fidgeting with my bracelet. Glaring back at me is a photo that Buck took in which Chris is sandwiched between me and Eddie as we both hug him. All of us are smiling brightly and my heart hurts at the reminder of my boys. My thoughts are racing when my alarm rings again. I quickly silence it and tuck my phone away before pouring a cup of coffee. As I head out the door, I grab my keys and wallet off the counter.

A good bit later, I'm arriving at Talia's house. I had finally convinced her to let me pick her up if she wants me to drive her to therapy. I shoot her a text to let her know I'm here, forcing myself to ignore my home screen. It only takes a few minutes before she's rushing out of her house and getting in the passenger seat, "Sorry, I woke up a bit late."

I smile, "All good, you should probably brush your hair though," I respond, motioning to the bird's nest atop her head.

As I pull away from the curb, she flips down the visor and giggles at herself in the mirror, "I slept hard last night."

"I can see that," I state, unable to withhold a laugh. Talia has made so much progress in the past week. This is only her second appointment but I can tell a huge difference; she's actually smiling again. She had taken some time off work because she was scared it would either push her over the edge or she wouldn’t be as focused as she needed to be on the job but yesterday, she said she thinks she’ll be ready to get back out there soon.

She grabs my phone from the cupholder, "What kind of music are we feeling today?"

I shrug, "Whatever boats your float."

She erupts into a fit of laughter, "God, I will never stop thanking Tommy for blessing us with that phrase."

I grin as I remember the time a very exhausted, end of shift Tommy responded to the question, "Where do you guys wanna eat?" with, "Whatever boats your float." I'll never forget the look of pure astonishment on his face when he immediately realized what he said and mumbled to himself, "Boats your float? What the fuck?" Talia and I teased him about it for weeks after but it got stuck in my vocabulary and became a regular response for me, causing Talia to giggle and Tommy to roll his eyes every time I say it.

Talia cranks the volume up as she decides on a hip-hop playlist and starts singing along horribly on purpose. This goes on for a little bit, with me giggling at her the whole time, before she finally turns it down, "Alright, what's up with you?"

I tilt my head at her, "What do you mean?"

"I mean not too long ago it was always Eddie this or Christopher that," she pauses, "You haven't mentioned them in like forever and I kind of miss seeing the smile on your face when you'd talk about them." I shrug and train my eyes on the road ahead. She doesn't give up, "Come on, (Y/N). You've let me trauma dump on you for weeks now. If you need to talk, I'll listen."

I take a deep breath, "We broke up."

"What?!" her volume and pitch nearly bursts my eardrums.

I dramatically cover and rub my right ear, "We just decided that it wasn't gonna work out." I hate lying to her but if she knew the real reason she'd blame herself and I don't want to upset her.

"So, it was mutual?" her tone says she doesn't think so. I can't even bring myself to nod. She reaches over and tugs lightly on my bracelet, "I could see keeping the bracelet if it was a mutual break up. That kid means the world to you but-" She picks up my phone and shows me the home screen, "Mutual break ups don't keep photos of their ex as their home screen. People who get dumped do." It's quiet for a couple seconds, "Besides, last time I heard about Eddie, you were asking me if I'd be your Maid of Honor when you guys got married one day. Not if! When."

I internally cringe as the words spill out of my mouth, "Okay, he decided it wasn't gonna work out."

I see the look on her face out of the corner of my eye and she still doesn't buy it, "You mean the man who would fight the entire world for you? The man who would kiss the ground you walk on and bow at your feet? The man who absolutely adores the shit out of you and can never stop staring at you like he can't believe you're real?" I clench my jaw but her phone rings, saving me from having to come up with a response.

A short time later, I am parking on the curb outside her therapist office. She hangs up the phone and grabs my shoulder, "First of all, we're not done talking about it. Second, you should come sit in the waiting room instead of wasting your gas." Praying she won't try to continue the conversation right now, I turn the car off and get out, following her inside.

We ride up to the second floor in the elevator, check her in at the front desk, and take seats in the waiting room before she speaks again, "So, how's Tommy doing? I heard he's got himself a new boyfriend."

I smile and nod, laying my head on the back of my chair, "Yeah, Buck. I work with him at the 118. They're very happy together."

"Oh, that's great! What's Buck like?" she asks. I'm certain she's trying to fill the silence without talking about Eddie.

"If I had to sum him up in one sentence I'd say, there's a reason the team and I call him a golden retriever," I answer and look over at her with a grin.

She laughs, "Oh my god, tell me more."

"Well, he's got a heart of gold and loves his job. He's got tons of energy. He's always got something interesting to talk about because he's constantly researching random shit. One time, he gave me an in-depth explanation of how microwaves work," I pause, "Tommy is absolutely wrapped around his finger. I don't think I've ever seen him smile more than when Buck is info dumping on him."

I sit up, holding my hand up to quiet Talia as she's in the middle of gushing about how adorable that is and how she must meet Buck asap. I stare at the floor beneath us as its small vibrations turn into violent shaking, "Quake!" Everyone in the waiting room ducks for cover. Talia and I slide under a coffee table just as rubble starts falling around us. Quickly covering our heads with our arms, we brace for impact.

When the quake subsides and the dust settles, Talia and I make eye contact as we hear other people panicking. We shove the slab of concrete off the edge of the table and make to get up but instead have to army crawl under another slab of concrete. Keeping my head low, "I sure as hell don't miss this," I grumble, thinking back to my days of army crawling through muddy obstacle courses and sandy war zones.

Behind me, Talia chuckles, "What? Earthquakes or army crawling?"

I pause and look back at her, realizing it has been a while since our last quake, "both," before proceeding cautiously. Our short tunnel opens up into a pocket that is a good bit taller and has more space to maneuver. "Everybody just stay calm. If you're panicking, we can't properly assist you," I announce to those who were blessed by the pocket.

"Please! Please, you have to help her," a young woman cries by the furthest edge from us. She is hunched over another woman whose legs are pinned by a chunk of debris.

"Talia, check everyone else over and get a head count while I try to figure out the safest way to get her out," I instruct.

Behind me, Talia shuffles toward the others, "On it," as I head for the debris.

"Stay with me, Penny," the younger woman begs as Penny groans in pain.

I finally reach them, "Penny, my name is (Y/N). I need you to tell me where it hurts."

"Everywhere," Penny mumbles and I mentally slap myself.

"Okay, yeah. Stupid question, I'm sorry. Can you wiggle your toes?" I respond.

I notice the younger woman's name tag that reads Chelsea as Penny answers, "Yeah I think so."

"Alright, that's a good sign. Chelsea, I need you to see if you can find a piece of wood or something that is big enough for her to lay on," Chelsea nods and begrudgingly leaves to scavenge.

I drop to my stomach and scoot closer to Penny, "We're gonna get you outta here, I'm just a little more limited on resources than usual." I take her hand in mine and drop my forehead to the floor with a thump. My head is pounding; I think I hit it on the underside of the coffee table earlier. I'm having a hard time thinking straight.

I remember Bobby's advice for times like this, "Don't worry about the things that you can't do anything about. Focus on one task at a time." Alright, first task, get Penny free and on a makeshift back board.

I check her pulse, it's weak but steady, "Penny, I need you to focus on your breathing, okay?" She nods, taking deep breaths, as I look up at the debris that is pinning her. It looks like a thick and heavy wall but doesn't appear to be supporting anything. I crawl to where her legs disappear out of sight and stick my hand under as far as I can reach, feeling for any bleeding and thankfully finding none. I crane my neck to look at the others, a few are assisting where they can as Talia checks everyone over. "I need as many hands as I can get over here!" I yell across what remains of the waiting room.

Talia stops what she's doing and points to few men who look to be in pretty good shape considering the circumstances. She directs them to me before squeezing a little girl's hand tightly and joining me herself. As they approach, Chelsea comes hobbling around a corner with a piece of wood.

When everyone is there and ready for instructions, I start dishing them out, "You guys," I point to the men, "spread out around this wall and get ready to lift." I roll over on my back and scoot until my shoulders are even with the edge of the collapsed wall, "Talia, Chelsea, as soon as this wall is up enough, pull her out as gently as you can and get her on the wood." Once everyone is in position, "On the count of three. 1... 2... 3..." I push as hard as I can against the underside of the wall. The men help lift from their positions and soon they've pulled Penny out.

"You get out from under there, we got this," one of the men insists.

I nod and roll back over on my stomach to shove myself up to my feet and away from the wall, "Let it down easy." They do and now I'm left trying to figure out my next task. I scan the pocket looking for any possible exits. A pile of rubble blocks the door to what I hope is still a somewhat functioning stairwell. It will take some time to clear the way enough to get the door open but it's our only shot. I notice the massive receptionist desk is still somehow standing making a decent place for everyone to take cover for the inevitable aftershocks.

"Talia, help everyone get under the reception desk," I look at the men who are patiently waiting for further instruction, "You guys are gonna help me get that door open," I punctuate my sentence with a point at the door. They nod and immediately head that way, as do I. Behind me I hear Talia start instructing the others. Once everyone is under the desk, Talia joins us in the small bit of headway we're making.

--- Third Person POV ---

The 118 is heading toward a downtown building collapse. Despite knowing it's futile, they've all tried contacting various loved ones. Buck sighs in relief as he hears Tommy's voice on the radio, "This is 127 Pilot Kinard. 118 please check in."

Immediately, Buck grabs his radio, "Buckley checking in. Nash, Diaz, Wilson, Han, and Panikkar all accounted for."

It's quiet for a split second before Tommy asks, "(Y/L/N)?" Buck hesitates, looking over at Eddie who has been staring out the window ever since he gave up on trying to reach Chris and (Y/N).

Voice shaky, Buck answers, "No contact. She's off duty."

Tommy's voice sounds strained, "Copy. Y'all stay safe."

Buck responds, trying to sound reassuring, "We will."

As they near the building, Eddie nearly slams his head against the window as he looks back behind them. "Woah, what?" Hen asks across from him, startled by his sudden movement.

Eddie whips his head around to look at his team just as the engine parks next to another one from the 133, "That was (Y/N)'s car!" He flings his headset off and scrambles out of the vehicle as everyone else piles out behind him.

Buck catches up to him and grabs his shoulder when he stops in front of a crushed car, "A-are you sure? She's doesn't exactly have a unique car..." Eddie only points at the shattered windshield. As he spins and takes off toward Bobby, Buck looks to where he pointed to find the rubber duck wearing firefighter gear that he and Tommy had helped Chris buy for (Y/N) on her last birthday. Chris had insisted the duck needed a cowboy hat so they also bought a small Toy Story Woody action figure. Woody himself was sitting at home on one of Buck's bookshelves but his hat now laid beside the little duck in the pancake that was formerly a car.

--- Your POV ---

I wipe the sweat and dust off my face as I hoist another chunk of debris to the new pile we've made. We've made a decent size dent in the blockage but it's still not enough to get through. As the ground begins to tremble again, Talia yells, "Aftershock!"

I turn and attempt to make it to the desk with everyone else but a bout of dizziness takes me down. I feel a blinding pain as something punctures my lower back close to my left hip. I look back to see a piece of rebar sticking out. When everything stops shaking, Talia rushes over to me. I try to get up but the rebar has me staked to the floor. She presses her hands against my blood-soaked hoodie, "(Y/N) you better stay with me!" I try hard to focus on my breathing as she yells at the men to keep working on the blockage and calls Chelsea over to her, "I need you to keep pressure around this, okay?"

Talia drops to her stomach, face to face with me, "How bad is it? Be honest."

I wiggle my toes and reach around to feel exactly where the puncture is, "Shouldn't be too bad. Main concern is the bleeding. Thank god for love handles because I think that's all it hit."

She nods, "Alright, hang in there."

Talia returns back to Chelsea who whispers, "She's losing a lot of blood." I hear fabric tear and feel my hoodie lift up. I'm sure Talia is trying to stem the blood flow as much as possible by sandwiching fabric between my hoodie and skin. I lay my clammy cheek against the cool floor and look out at the wreckage. It's starting to get hard to breathe and my vision is already blurry.

--- Third Person POV ---

Just as Talia finishes packing fabric around the rebar in her friend's abdomen, another aftershock hits. The others rush to the desk and Talia tries to move to cover (Y/N)'s body as much as possible but one of the men pulls her away, "You can't save her if you take a chunk of concrete to the dome."

Talia screams, "(Y/N) don't you dare leave me! Stay awake, okay?!"

As soon as the shaking dies down enough, Talia rushes back to (Y/N), who is now losing even more blood, and adjusts the fabric to accommodate what is now a bigger hole. "(Y/N), you still with me?!" she screams, panic is evident in her tone. She looks over to see that her friend is unconscious, blood trickling down her forehead.

Chelsea joins her, tearing off a piece of her shirt and pressing it to the gash near (Y/N)'s hairline, "She's still breathing but barely."

Talia nods, finishing with the pile of fabric, "Swap with me." The two swap places before Talia shakes (Y/N) gently. She softly smacks her cheeks, "(Y/N) you gotta wake up! Please..." Tears flow freely down her own cheeks now as she looks up at the ceiling, "God you wouldn't be in this mess if it weren't for me..."

As she continues her attempts to wake (Y/N), one of the men shushes everyone, "I think I hear something," he announces, pressing his ear to the little bit of the door they had uncovered. "It's voices!" he cheers, "Help is here!" The room erupts into excitement as the man bangs on the door, "In here! Hey! We're in here!"

On the other side of the door, the 118 team hears the banging and rushes up the stairs as carefully as they can. Bobby yells, "We hear you! This is Captain Nash with LAFD. How many of you are there?"

From (Y/N)'s side, Talia whips her head up and yells back, "10! Firefighter down! One of yours!"

Panic blankets the team and Bobby has to grab a hold of Eddie to keep him from busting the door down, "We don't know what's on the other side of that door," Buck places a hand on Eddie's shoulder so Bobby can turn back to the door and find out what they're dealing with.

The man answers Bobby, "A pile of rubble! We've been trying to clear it because (Y/N) said this stairwell is our best bet on getting out."

Eddie's heart leaps into his throat at the confirmation that it's her. Buck's grip tightens, warning him to calm down. Bobby instructs, "Okay, I need everyone to get away from the door. We're gonna have to saw our way in."

The man looks down at (Y/N) and Talia, "We can't move (Y/N), she's staked to the floor by rebar. I think if I try to pull Talia away from her again, she might murder me." Buck's ears perk up at the mention of Talia. Maybe Tommy was onto something there. He shoves those thoughts aside as Bobby asks for the saw in his hands.

"Alright, the rest of you back away. Talia, do your best to shield her," Bobby responds, "Let us know when we're clear."

In the room, everyone puts plenty of distance between them and the door as Talia covers (Y/N)'s body the best she can, "Clear!"

Buck drags Eddie away as he and the team back up to give space. Bobby cuts a large enough hole in the door before handing the saw to Chimney, "Buck, help me with this." Together Bobby and Buck remove the metal chunk and as soon as he has a clear shot, Eddie rushes through the hole. Hen is right on his heels, med bag in hand, as Talia moves away from (Y/N) to let them work.

Bobby, Buck, Chimney, and Ravi set to work helping the others out of the building as Hen grabs Eddie's frantic hands, "You need to calm down, Eddie."

He takes a deep breath before placing two fingers on (Y/N)'s wrist, "Pulse is steady but dangerously weak." The two medics set to work doing their best to stabilize her. When Buck and Bobby join them, she has an oxygen mask on, IV line in, a pulse/ox monitor on her finger, and Hen is keeping pressure around the wound.

"What do we got?" Bobby asks firmly as he crouches beside Eddie, placing his hand on the distraught man's shoulder. Eddie can only stare down at her, repeatedly brushing her hair out of her face as he silently begs her to wake up.

Hen answers, "Vitals are steady but in the danger zone. She's lost a lot of blood. Rebar isn't too close to any vital organs but it went all the way through and into the floor."

Bobby nods, "We transport her with the rebar. Eddie, lift her up as gently as you can. Buck, hand me the bolt cutters and lift on the other side. Hen, keep pressure on that wound and an eye on her vitals." Everyone nods as Chimney and Ravi return from helping the last of the others out with a back board. On the count of three Eddie and Buck lift (Y/N) up enough that Bobby can cut the rebar underneath her. Once they've rolled her onto back, Hen quickly sets to work dressing the untouched side. In minutes, they're lifting her onto the back board and headed out of the building.

As they approach the scene commander, Bobby states, "We need an ambulance now."

The commander nods recognizing (Y/N), "We've got more on the way take the 133's." Bobby leads the way toward the 133 ambulance. Behind them, the commander yells, “I still need hands on deck, Nash.”

As Hen and Chimney load (Y/N) into the back, Bobby looks at them all, “I know we’re all worried about her. One driver and Eddie can go. Everyone else needs to stay here.” Talia takes a few steps back from the group as Eddie climbs into the back and Hen heads to the front. She looks up at the collapsing building and around at the firefighters and paramedics rushing around near them.

She looks back toward the ambulance as Bobby calls her name and holds his hand out to help her into the back. She’s still nervous about getting back out there right now but she knows she can be of more help here than at the hospital blaming herself for (Y/N)’s injury. She steps up beside him, ignoring his hand, “Got an extra turn out?”

Before Bobby can ask if she’s sure, Tommy runs up to them already wearing turn out gear and carrying an extra, “Heard you guys are down by two.” He sees (Y/N) in the back of the ambulance and he feels a touch of anger in the worry that settles in his chest as Eddie frets over her vitals. Bobby shuts the doors of the ambulance and gives it a few knocks before it pulls away.

He turns to Tommy, “Shouldn’t you be in a helicopter?”

“Commander radioed for extra hands and I’ve been grounded. Our station got hit pretty hard and took my ride down with it,” Tommy answers. He turns to Talia, offering her the extra gear that she can see her last name written on, “I had a hunch you’d be here so I grabbed your old gear before I left.” She takes it and quickly puts it on, looking to Bobby for orders.

Part 3

More 911

Main Masterlist

#911 #911 show #911 imagine #911 imagines #eddie diaz #eddie diaz x reader #eddie diaz imagine #eddie diaz imagines #y/n #eddie diaz x y/n #hurt #injury #injured reader #earthquake #blood #blood loss

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thankskenpenders · 1 year ago

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And now for something new

So, here's something I was never planning on doing, but I just couldn't shake the idea... Thanks Ken Penders is gaining a sister blog featuring an entirely different comic franchise!

Introducing... Thanks Steve Ditko, a blog where I read the Earth-616 Spider-Man comics, starting all the way back in the '60s! It's gonna be much more casual and less thorough than how I run things here on TKP, though, which I'll explain in a sec.

If seeing me post weird bits from old Spider-Man comics sounds fun and you need no further info, then just head right on over to Thanks Steve Ditko. But for longtime TKP readers, I know you probably have questions...

Number one: Why?

Spider-Man's always been my favorite superhero, and with the Spider-Verse movies kicking ass and my excitement building for the new Insomniac game, I've been in a Spidey mood. Inevitably, a thought occurred to me: Maybe I should actually read the comics that everything else is built off of and see the wildly varying contributions of all the original creators, rather than filtering them through big budget adaptations. If I can power through One Piece and all these other manga with hundreds of chapters, it can't be that hard... right?

And, well, after a few issues I quickly realized that my options were to either clog up my other accounts with random Spider-Man panels for years, or to just make a side blog. And so the side blog was born.

Two: Will this blog replace Thanks Ken Penders?

NO!!!!!!!!!

Okay but prove it

To allow the two to exist side-by-side, Thanks Steve Ditko will have a different format than what Thanks Ken Penders developed. Rather than an in-depth guided tour that critically analyzes every story beat of every issue, TSD will just be a place for amusing panels and brief thoughts as I casually read the comics at my own pace.

If you've seen me make a few tweets about reading Spider-Man recently, I'm basically just moving that to a dedicated Tumblr. It's a place for me to dump these things so that it doesn't fill up my media tab on Twitter for the next decade. (You know, assuming Twitter is still around in a decade.) There will be many issues where I only post two panels that I thought were funny. There will be issues where I don't have anything to say at all. Maybe I'll reach a run that I just cannot get into, and I start skipping around more. Who knows!

This may sound similar to what I thought this blog would be before it blew up. Aside from the simple fact that there's already mountains of Spider-Man commentary out there and therefore less of a void for me to fill, one of the main steps I'll be taking to avoid repeating the past is not enabling an ask box on TSD. I do not need people to ask me to go into ten times more detail on everything. I do not need to write seven essay-length responses to questions about Spider-Man minutiae every day. I do not need a place for people to chide me for not covering certain scenes, issues, or ancillary series.

It also won't have any kind of update schedule. I'm trying to keep it very casual. I'm reading these comics at my own pace, and if I feel like sharing a moment or commenting on something while doing so? It goes there. That's it.

(On the subject of format changes, I'm also listing the issue, writer, and penciller in the body of every post. This is a thing I wish I'd done on TKP so that people didn't misattribute every weird Archie Sonic panel I post to Penders.)

Three: So when will TKP come back from hiatus? You said it'd come back after you finished SLARPG!

I don't know! Sorry. I have a couple things on the backburner right now for TKP, but I'm not sure when I'll get back to proper updates where I read more comics.

I wanted to bring TKP back this year, and that's still possible. The main hurdle is that I want to reread my own archive (again) as a refresher, which is, uh. A lot of posts. I've developed a high standard for myself on here, and I feel like I wouldn't be doing my job right if I forgot half the ongoing subplots and character arcs and didn't bring them up in my analysis. Especially when I'm discussing the work of an author as obsessed with continuity as Ian Flynn. Unfortunately, the nature of this blog means that every time I go on another long hiatus for Life Reasons I have even more comic continuity to catch up on than last time.

(This is a big part of why I'm making Thanks Steve Ditko an extremely casual blog instead of promising to become a Lore Expert on 60+ years of Marvel.)

Mostly I've just been very burnt out this year after having finally finished a video game that took almost eight years to make. I haven't really had the energy for any creative projects, including TKP. But I feel a little bit of a spark here with Spider-Man, so I'm chasing that feeling to try to get back into the swing of blogging about comics - no pun intended.

So, basically, bear with me on this as I start this low-energy side project. But hopefully folks will enjoy Thanks Steve Ditko as its own thing, too.

Look forward to goofy shit like this

#tkp post

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itsaspectrumcomic · 7 months ago

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Hi! 🐑🐑 anon here! thanks so much for the sheep :)))

I’m typing on my phone rn so I can type much better. Thank you for the advice!!! So here’s my Argentina thing:

I go to school here (7th grade) and we have breaks betweeen every class!!! 5-15 minute breaks! It’s illegal to not have them! It’s amazing!

i get to choose my lunch every day! I choose, I buy, and I can eat almost anywhere! I always eat the same thing (caprese roll) cuz autism and vegetarianism

speaking of which, we can eat in any of the breaks! We decide! It’s awesome!!!

no dress code! No awful suffocating polo shirts! With the worst fabric made! Just whatever I want to wear! Every day!!!

if I can’t do something, I’m allowed to not do it! I don’t have to do gym! I can sit it out! Gym is rlly hard for me bcuz I remember one day in my life when I could run for more than a minute without doubling over gasping at the end. Also, I hate it.

Not school related things now:

everyone uses their hands to talk! So I don’t get weird looks for my stimming!!! It’s incredible!!!!!

this is a ginormous one for me: THEY ARE SO BLUNT HERE. They use body language, which I can read well, and they just say what they mean! It’s such a relief!!! I can trust them!!! I don’t have to try doubly hard to figure out what they’re saying!!!! ITS SO SO SO AWESOME!!!!

also: a down point is that the greeting is usually a hug. But for some reason, here, hugs are better! They give me tons of warning bcuz I know when they’re gonna do it so I can prepare! Everyone talks with their body and it’s so much easier to understand!

Back to school real quick, we address the teachers by first names!!! No titles that seem to just distance us from ppl supposed to help us!!!

yeah, there are asshoels, but mainly, people are so nice! But in a genuine way! Not in a stupid social cues way! They are genuinely happy to see you, and if they aren’t, you know! No passive aggressive, no sarcasm (I like sarcasm sometimes but it can be annoying), just actual words!!!

wveeyone gets accommodations! The gym thing, are you tired? Or did you break your hand? Whatever! You can sit out! Do you need to doodle in class? There’s no, “do you have a (professionally diagnosed) learning disability? No? Then no.” Just yes! Sure! I love your doodles! Can u draw something for me?

Anyway, that was a lot. I’m actually fascinated in this and obsessed so thx so much for letting me info dump in your inbox!!!! Hope it’s interesting! There’s more, which I’ll add later!

-🐑🐏

Hi 🐑🐑! That all sounds great! I'm glad you've had such a positive experience there ☺️ I wish I could have got out of gym, I always found it so difficult and my PE teachers could be pretty mean 😔

#🐑🐑#Argentina #neurodivergent #autism

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frostycatblr-fandom-files · 8 months ago

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Of Honeysuckle and Haiku [Tech x Fem!Reader]

Warnings and Information: This is my submission for an event hosted by the wonderful @cloneficgiftexchange, written for @apocalyp-tech-a. I hope you enjoy my first Tech x Reader! 2nd Person POV, undescribed Fem!Reader who works as an analyst/researcher for the GAR. Minor AU changes (no missing and/or dead Clones here (but Echo is still part of CF99)!). Prompt sentence/s will be orange to keep in line with the color scheme of the graphics. Tech has a “secret” crush on Reader that she knows about. Flirting is stored in the info-dumping/poetry. Star Wars and real-world swearing is as naughty as it gets. Some Mando’a. Brief references and allusions to injury and other canon-typical violence, and a small flashback where Reader’s senior colleagues are (implied to be) behaving like jerks to Tech, but nothing explicit. Use of stylistic and narrative italics. Fictional flowers.

Prompt: Can't we ever go to a nice place? | Oh, that's what that button does.

Word-count: 8,270

Another Primeday, another pile of notes in your locker.

That's how the weeks always started.

You worked closely with the Grand Army of the Republic as something of an analyst and unofficial bookkeeper, going on for two years now. Colleagues and work-friends would slip scraps of flimsiplast in the ventilation grooves of your locker as a way of non-electronic communication.

The old fashioned way, older department heads joked.

The flimsi stacks contained a mishmash of written comms. Inside jokes. Recipe trades. Reminders to get CT-6922’s helmet serviced for the video feed you needed for Jais in the Reverse-Engineering Department if they're ever going to find out how that new Separatist spider droid worked.

And a poem, written in spidery Aurebesh lettering from your “secret admirer”. Always the top of the pile that collected at the bottom of your locker.

You knew full well who it was after a while, piecing together all the clues he'd strung along for you. Game recognizes game, as they say. It took cracking a complicated cipher in order to-

Nah, who are you kidding?

You got impatient and asked Jais in R.E.D. to help you with scrubbing the security footage for the last person to stop by your locker one morning, finding a haiku waiting for you. A haiku regarding subject matter you had just been discussing with a colleague the other day who had a grueling day of carefully dissecting a Flame Beetle from Kashyyyk ahead of them, and you were slated to assist them.

The shimmering shell That conceals a beetle’s wing Is called elytra - I wish I was a beetle

Mild alarm that someone was messing with you turned to curiosity soon after; it had been Tech of Clone Force 99 who dropped the poem into your locker some weeks ago.

He'd been helping the analysts while he got his leg in working order, having broken both the tibia and fibula of his left leg in a skirmish. (That's about as much as you knew at the time.) Tech would be returning to fieldwork sooner than later; between check-ups and some physical therapy work, the genius and navigator of CF99 kept himself busy here, so he would still feel useful to the GAR while recovering.

Of all the analysts Tech assisted, you seemed to be his favorite given that you actually liked letting him help you, and didn't saddle him with a dull day of deskwork like some of the senior analysts who wanted him out of their hair.

You felt it was incredibly unfair to Tech, but there was nothing you could say to change their minds. You'd tried.

Instead of reading this week's new stack of flimsi notes from your weekend off at your locker, you decide you'll read them at your desk for a change. The smell of Tech’s typical caf blend is particularly inviting this morning. It’s been raining since last week, this morning the hardest yet. Thank the Maker you had a rain repeller in proper working order for the walk to the research center from the speeder cabs.

“Good morning, Tech.”

Sitting down, from around the other side of the desk, you can see he's in a walking boot now. An improvement from when you last saw him just two short days ago.

“Hey, that's a good sign! Think you'll be back with the rest of the Bad Batch soon?”

You take no offense when his eyes do not lift from the screen of his datapad. “Good morning. I suppose, yes…” He doesn't sound entirely enthusiastic like one might've expected, but you have enough of a grasp on his mannerisms by now to know that Tech is eager to return to his brothers in due time.

You've met the rest of his squad on a handful of occasions as they've come to check on him, making sure he's not missing all the action by keeping him up to speed on their exploits.

Smiling, you slide a cup of caf you believe to be Tech’s closer to him as you leaf through the notes from your locker.

“Don't let your caf get cold.”

The datapad drops away. “That is for you,” he explains, “if you desire to try it, that is. I recalled you expressing interest in the last blend of caf I brought in, saying that it smelled good last Taungsday.”

You blink, surprised he remembered those details. Well, not that surprised; you understood Tech had a remarkable memory that allowed him to recall obscure details. It’s saved you from a few headaches, like that same Taungsday when a visiting representative from Glee Anslem insisted upon having the innocuous bouquet of Nabooian Honeysuckles sent off for allergen testing. Whatever it was that provoked the Nautolan’s (thankfully minor) allergic reaction, it was not the flowers, though they were refused return.

Shame… the delicate white, orange and cream blossoms were such a thoughtful gift from Senator Amidala to the visiting representative and now they look so out of place on your desk, still in the elaborate ceramic vase they came in. You’re going to need to find a way to return it to Ms. Amidala once the flowers have shriveled and lost all their silky petals.

Thanking Tech for the thoughtfulness behind brewing you a cup of caf, you give it a careful taste and find the flavor far more robust than the instant mix the breakroom keeps on hand while you read the first of the notes. (Looked to be a heads-up that a commando had some grisly footage to be analyzed because Trandoshan pirates were involved and the credits were on Delta Squad being responsible.)

“Mmm… That’s nice. Thank you again, Tech.”

“You are welcome.” he replies, half-ducking his head back down into the datapad, though his eyes remain on you.

Framed by the yellow lenses of the black-strapped goggles he wears, there is an observative nature to those brown eyes. The phenotypic eye color for all Clones is brown, he explained to you once. Though yes, there were a few aberrations in physical traits among his brothers in the GAR, just not quite to the same scale as the experimental squadron that Echo from the 501st Legion (once thought to be dead) joined not long ago. Echo still keeps in contact with the 501st, Captain Rex and a brother named Fives the closest of all. You figure what he must have been reading off his tablet before he came in this morning were more messages from his brothers.

Setting aside notes as you read them, you’re careful to keep the scrap of poetry for last as always. Wonder what it’ll be today. A sonnet? Free-verse? Acrostic or maybe a limerick? Another haiku? Tech seemed to love leaving you haikus most of all.

Still finding his eyes upon you, you lay aside the last note about keeping an eye out for a missing label-maker and delicately clear your throat. “Yes, Tech?” You’re careful to offer him a friendly smile, a quiet measure of assurance that you’re not annoyed or disturbed by his watchfulness.

“Senator Amidala sent a letter of apology to the center regarding the honeysuckles and vase,” he begins, explaining the letter was forwarded to everyone who worked in the analysis department, “and since she feels terrible about the situation inadvertently caused for both her guest and the center, she suggested someone is welcome to keep both, if they wish.”

“Well that’s very kind of the senator.” you reply, giving the flowers on your desk a look of consideration, one that prompts a strange expression out of the genius you generously share your desk with.

You ask what the matter is with another swig of caf.

“I hope you don’t mind too terribly that I… accepted on your behalf.” Tech confesses, aware he’s more than likely crossed a line by doing so. You and Tech do not know each other all that well, but he’s strung together enough clues to have some idea of what you like. He’s noticed what you give the most attention to, and you had secretly been admiring the Nabooian bouquet for some time on Taungsday…

Cautiously, Tech adds, “You could always give them to a friend.”

Casting a third glance over the tri-colored flowers, Tech is assured that won’t be necessary, and he’d been correct in his assessment all along. “I don’t mind at all; thanks for saving me the trouble. I was secretly hoping to take these home, I’ve been obsessed with Naboo for a while now…” you admit, dropping your voice into a near-conspiratorial whisper.

There was an often sunny windowsill back home with plenty of space for the vase and flowers that would make for the perfect spot to show both off. Maybe it’d inspire you to finally take that trip to Naboo you always wanted. Naboo sounded like a nice place, nestled in the Chrommell system of the Outer Rim Territories.

Idyllic, picturesque, it was often described.

All this analyst-work had you in a position to see the glorious, the gory, and everything in-between in the adventures of the Grand Army day in and day out. Compiling reports near and far was beginning to instill a sense of longing for adventure in you; nothing grand was necessary, just something different. Something beyond the walls of the GAR research center here among the Core Worlds.

I’ll be satisfied with a taste of adventure. Just one bite. Just one, I promise.

The yellow-lensed goggles are adjusted. “What fascinates you so much about Naboo?” Tech asks, curiosity burning at him.

“Oh… I dunno,” you say with a shrug, smiling, “it’s hard to put it all into words.” And you wouldn’t exactly have the time, either, with your shift due to start soon. While you’ve still got the time, you should finish as much of the caf as you can before it grows cold, and finally get around to this new poem Tech’s left for you. Maybe he can already guess that you know these are from him, but a part of you finds it fun in some way to pretend you don’t.

Fixing an errant strand of hair back in place, you unfold the note and read. Another haiku, today, lamenting the dreary weather.

To simpler splendors Like summer's gentle breezes and honey most sweet - When will the rain stop?

You find it curious and strange - this possible complaint - given you know Clones come from the storm-cloaked world of Kamino. Surely this weather feels just like home for him; familiar, maybe even comforting. But maybe it’s not his complaint, it could have been your own off-handed remark from some time ago that he’s echoing back to you now.

Tech’s level of observation was truly incredible, sometimes. You already felt yourself missing his knowledgeable presence once he was healed up and returned to the Bad Batch. That wouldn’t happen until he was rid of the walking boot and cleared for active duty, which was mildly comforting to you, selfishly speaking. Logically you know this arrangement is temporary, and you will not always have your willing assistant.

A willing assistant who has given his attention to closing off communications with Wrecker, from the sound of things as CF99’s genius reads the messages under his breath. Tech is trying very hard to appear like he’s not taken notice that you’ve read his latest haiku.

You set the poetry aside along with the other locker notes, and pick up your clipboard full of the day’s tasks. “Take your time, Tech.” you promise, chuckling warmly as he flashes the famous pointer finger in your direction, requesting just an extra moment. “I know Wrecker misses having his big brother around.”

Tech says nothing in response to your teasing quip, only offering an appreciative if distracted smile before he’s ready to help you with your tasks for the day.

On Primedays, the first item of business on the list is often the most nerve-wracking of all your assignments, today no exception.

“Dammit, I grabbed the wrong screwdriver… Would you mind handing me the… the, uh…?” Tech takes the incorrect screwdriver from your fingers and replaces it with what you need while you struggle to think of the name for the correct type, much to your relief. “Oh, thank you Tech. Will you need this back when I’m done?”

Tech nods, a silent promise it was no trouble. “I will not. I’m finished with what I needed it for. Feel free to use it as long as you need.” He does not need to remind you to go slowly.

Your first research assignment of the morning involves dismantled bombs, and the additional Clone tucked in one corner of the room clad in the bright orange of ordnance specialists serves as an eye-catching distraction rather than a precautionary measure. Nicknamed Reddy, this Clone trooper is only doing his job, of course; he’s supposed to be here as part of the protocol. This facility has gone one thousand and twenty-seven days without an explosive incident, which is a comforting number, but there is no room for complacency. In the unlikely event a bomb somehow reactivates, Red Wire is here to snuff it out for good.

(Or tell everyone to evacuate and seek shelter if he somehow can’t.)

Helmet clipped to his utility belt, Reddy is reading the printed report, bobbing his head in time to some jaunty tune he’s got stuck in his head. “Disarmed and partially dismantled by… CT-9903. That’s your squadmate Wrecker, right?”

“Correct.” Tech replies tersely, hoping not to prove himself distracting to you. He’s only standing as close as he is to give or take tools as you need them.

Reddy nods his head in approval of the work scattered over the examination table. “He did a good job. Definitely has the gentle touch needed for bomb disposal.” Yes… Wrecker certainly had steadier nerves than yourself right now. You would prefer not to have shaking hands, no matter how incapable this bomb is… should be… of going off.

“Reddy…”

He catches the warning. “Sorry, ma’am.”

You just need to pull off a particular durasteel plate, and take detailed pictures of a unique section of wiring to enter it into the GAR database of known bomb constructs and find close or exact matches. Then Reddy has the pleasure of disposing of the remnants for you. Fewer distractions while you remove notoriously fiddly screws, the better.

So why are your hands still shaking now that you should be able to focus again?

“... dammit…” You’ve worked yourself up about the unsteady nature of your hands now. Stress will only worsen it, prolonging the tremble. Setting the screwdriver aside is the best course of action until you can find your nerve.

Rational thoughts, you remind yourself, everyone has had this happen to them at one time or another.

“May I?” Tech offers, voice softer than you ever remember it being before now.

He is careful in offering to help without immediately trying to take over your work. Tech recognizes you are capable in all the various aspects of your job, and he does not wish to undermine or blow off your expertise. He understands from experience how that can be frustrating, even disrespectful.

And Tech aims to be very respectful of you. He's been very careful in how he's hinted his interest in you thus far. (Maybe too careful.) The haikus in your locker had been because he heard you liked poetry, and he proactively accepted the honeysuckles Senator Amidala offered for the trouble because he thought you might like them. Sharing his favorite blend of caf was a decision more premeditated than the other two.

You step to the side, accepting the offer.

“Thank you, Tech...” you say, gesturing to the tools in an unspoken measure of please, by all means. Tech takes position where you previously stood, and begins to work on the dismantled explosive. Long, dexterous fingers make the process of loosening and extracting the remaining screws look deceptively easy.

“You’ll want your datapad soon,” Tech suggests helpfully, soon down to just two more corner screws to remove.

“Oh, yes…!”

Scooping the tablet off of the examination table, you habitually skip your fingers across the reactive transparisteel and pull up the camera function, priming everything to capture the colorful chaos of wiring and circuitry inside once Tech has removed the panel. Once it is lifted out of the way, Tech side-steps to allow you in front of the bomb once more so that you can capture records for the GAR database.

However, the camera will not focus.

“Strange…” You tap the center of the screen, hoping perhaps the datapad will behave like your modern comlink and auto-focus, but it does not give you the result you hoped for. You chuckle somewhat bashfully. “Sorry, it’s… been a while since I’ve used this old datapad for taking pictures.”

“Press the red, center button on the top row twice.”

Taking the advice of the bespectacled Clone beside you, the image on the screen comes into crisp focus, not a detail lost. “Oh, that’s what that button does.” This tablet is an older generation, but the facility keeps it because it's sturdy and reliable. No sense in replacing perfectly good technology so long as it continues to work.

“Been using these tablets for ages and I never knew that. How'd you know that?” Reddy asks from the corner, safely voicing his curiosity now that the hard part is behind you. “Just real tech-savvy, I take it. That how you get your name?”

Tech smiles knowingly. “Learning the ins and outs of each machine I use is crucial to my effectiveness in service of the Republic. Much in the same way you're here to assist the researchers, analysts and reverse engineers in bomb identification, in some cases.” The second question goes unanswered, you notice, but Reddy seems to let it go.

“Hah, can't argue with that comparison!” he says agreeably, his smile sunny. You’ve always liked that about this particular member of the bomb squad; Red Wire has an optimistic disposition and general attitude despite the nerve-rattling nature of his job. He’s not terribly jaded or gruff like some of the other Clones on rotation at this facility.

Once you've collected all your necessary pictures, you are promised that he'll take it from here. “Good work as ever ma'am. I'll clean up while you get started on the search.”

“Thank you, I appreciate the help as always from both you and Tech.” you say, patting him on the shoulder before you follow after Tech, who’s already making his way back to your desk, neck craned over his datapad. Stepping past the blast doors to catch up to Tech, you breathe a sigh of relief while Red Wire begins the disposal process, the hardest task of the morning behind you.

“Glad that’s over,” you say, finally feeling your quickened pulse slowing at last, “Thank you for the help once again, Tech.” You’re certain he heard the first thank you, but extra gratitude never killed anyone.

Tech’s deliberate stride slows to match with yours. “It was no trouble. I thought you might want the help.” A polite smile breaks the veneer of the usual expression of thoughtfulness and concentration you’ve become accustomed to in the time Tech’s been here.

You’re very familiar with how he appears when he’s concentrated: the furrowed brow, his shoulders rolled forward, the subconscious setting and unsetting of his jaw as he mulls over a million thoughts. Wowing your colleagues with how he could extrapolate info from separate, complex datasets within multiple windows on the screen of his datapad without error.

The way his brown eyes, deep and dark, looked like honey when framed behind his goggles…

Sitting down at your desk where you fire up the database you’ll be working with, already you see the slight furrow of his brow as Tech takes his seat on the other side, trading messages with his squadmates while he elevates his leg to alleviate the pressure of the walking boot. Tech misses being out there in the field more and more with every passing day.

“Tell ‘em I said hi.” you request with a soft chuckle before allowing him to concentrate on keeping himself in the loop. You just have to hope his handsome face painted in deep concentration doesn’t prove too distracting for you as you cross-reference your wire samples. The squad leader of the Bad Batch, Sergeant Hunter, had teased Tech once a few weeks ago, when he dropped by with Echo, on the depths of Tech’s concentration. That’s when you’d truly taken notice of it for the first time.

Tech, utterly embroiled in some “little” project he’d created for himself here at the research center, was staying long after your scheduled hours, repeatedly promising that you really don’t have to stay here.

You turn another page in your holomag. “I’ll be fine staying here a little longer. I want to make sure none of the senior analysts bother you. Again.” It was a slow Zhellday afternoon you had no other plans for, and a couple of people a little further up the chain of command really had a bug up their ass about Tech’s presence here today in particular, continually complaining about an incident with his crutches.

Someone hadn’t been looking where they were going and bumped into the mobility aids propped against a wall, knocking them over this morning. Unfortunately, there had been a tray of glass instruments set aside nearby that did not survive the crutches’ sudden descent. The senior analysts, most of them much older than you, wanted him thrown out of the facility and have the agreement with the GAR that Tech would be here until his broken leg healed nullified.

“He’s got a broken leg! Is he supposed to just hobble around the lab without his crutches? It was an accident, but I’m starting to suspect you’re looking for excuses to get rid of him because you’re feeling threatened by his intellect!”

Clone Force 99’s second-in-command hums shortly in delayed response, a frown marring his otherwise concentrated expression. Tech adjusts his goggles as he pours over some reference. The man with partial skull iconography inked across his similarly tanned face next to Tech carefully nudges him with his elbow.

“Tech, this is when you’re supposed to tell the nice lady thank you.” Hunter warns him, teasingly of course. He’s gotten back from a long deployment, and rather than going to the nearest mess hall with Wrecker and Crosshair, he’s come to check up on Tech, finding that he’s still at the GAR research center. He’s too tired to give any kind of reprimand just for the sake of appearances.

“Especially after this morning… Don’t make me do the nat-born thing, vod.”

Tech sort of scoffs, the threat of referring to him by his CT number, like a misbehaving natural-born child hearing the use of their middle name, by his brother having little effect.

“No thanks necessary, honestly.” You turn the page to your holomag, skimming the article to see if it’s worth an in-depth read, then meet Hunter’s eye. “It was honestly a bit cathartic to have a go at those jerks.” Decrying them as jerks to the squad leader of the Bad Batch was putting it real mildly given your true thoughts of them right about now.

Echo gives you a knowing nod. The sergeant smirks, and this is what gets Tech to break his silence.

“Don’t, Hunter.”

“Glad you made a friend, Tech.” Hunter says it with complete sincerity, so far as you can tell. Leaning back in the borrowed lab chair, Hunter kicks his feet up for a moment on a corner of the desk to adjust some parts of his armor. “Wrecker might get jealous.”

“I think we all would.” Echo says with a kind chuckle.

“Plenty of me to go around,” you promised the three of them, “I love making friends with the GAR.”

A few hours later, now four items deep into your checklist for the day with the wire cross-referencing behind you, you lean back in your chair and stretch your arms above your head, feeling something pop with great satisfaction. “Mmm! That felt good. Hey, Tech?” He nods to show he hears you, at which point you continue. “I’m thinking of running home real quick during lunch to take the honeysuckles home so I’m not wrestling with those on top of everything else I’ll have to take with me tonight. You gonna be okay on your own for a bit?”

“I will be fine.” he assures you, sliding the clipboard from “your” side of the desk over to his. “I may need the password to your desk-mounted computer terminal, however.”

“It’s ‘naboofields’. All one word, no capitals, special characters or letters.”

You root around your desk for one of the seemingly innumerable sticky-flim pads you possess, scribbling down the password - just in case - as neatly as you can before removing the top flimsi-note and hand it over to him. Honeyed eyes blink once in mild surprise after he inspects your handwriting.

“Not very secure, I know.” you laugh bashfully, straightening a few sheafs of flimsiplast before gathering up the stack of locker notes to tuck them in your pocket. Busywork to avoid any kind of lecturing look. But when you meet his eyes for the moment before wondering how best to pick up the ceramic vase full of beautiful tri-colored honeysuckle, you find no disappointment. Only more curiosity.

“Have you ever been to Naboo?” Tech asks. He’s noticed this particular topic has been cropping up a lot between the idle doodles on flimsi scraps of the bulbous Shaak grazing through lush emerald fields and little reminders you’ve written to yourself scattered across your desk lately. Ticket prices. Best time of year to go. Popular festivals. Fashion. You were weaving a curious pattern.

Tech doesn’t do this very often, but he hazards a guess. Could you perhaps be… homesick?

“Were you born there?”

You shake your head. “I wasn’t born there, and I’ve never visited before. Naboo’s just some… silly dream of mine lately.”

“Why do you say ‘silly’?” The question is earnest and sincere, and Tech sits forward off the backrest of the lab chair, posture straightening out. “Has someone said something unkind about your desire to see Naboo?” He couldn’t imagine why someone would disparage this; many galactic citizens express some level of desire to visit this planet in the Chrommell sector at least once in their lifespan.

He’s assured there’s no one being unkind to you when you wave him off, sliding the vase across your desk carefully. “No one other than me, I guess. I dunno when I’d ever have a chance to go visit between the work I do for the GAR, plus being in the middle of the Clone Wars for stars’ sake…” You’re considering if it would be worth telling him about your developing case of wanderlust, your craving for a taste of adventure. (Just a taste… just a taste!)

What Tech was supposed to do with that revelation, you weren’t sure. Did you want his help planning this whimsical trip? Or did you just need to confide in him with this harmless little secret?

“Would it be impolite to presume you don’t have many vacation days accrued in order to enjoy a short holiday?” Tech assumes you’re well aware of labor laws the GAR has to comply with for civilian staffing, like yourself, but he has no means of knowing how much PTO you have stored up without rooting into the system.

“Karabast, I- I hadn’t even thought of…” Your thoughts trail off as you look out one of the rain-spattered panes of transparisteel and determine you need to stop by your locker to gather your weather wear and rain repeller. When was the last time you had some extended leave from work that wasn’t a sick day, anyways? “I have some PTO I’m owed, but I try to be smart and save it for emergencies… I, uh, think I have more than two week’s worth.” Truthfully it’s been some time you looked at the amount of PTO you’ve accrued. It very well could be less than you remember, or more than you imagine.

Tech makes a quiet murmur of agreement that saving the time off for emergencies is rather smart, shrugging after a stretch of clearly contemplative silence. “I was merely curious.” The statement makes it tempting to tease him in return, say something like aren’t you always? but he has something more to say before you work up the nerve, gesturing to the clipboard. “May I watch the helmet footage for you while you take the Nabooian Honeysuckles home?”

“I was warned it was grisly.” you caution him out of kindness, thinking back to one of the locker notes. “So, as long as you don’t mind or won’t be bothered, I suppose you can look at the footage for me… Credits are on it being sent from Delta Squad.”

Scrutinizing the datadisc, Tech finds RC-1207 etched into it. Commando Sev, he tells you, went missing on Kashyyyk for a month early in the war… (Thank the Maker, his pod brothers had been fortunate in finding him.) Sev has never spoken of the experience.

“This should prove to be fascinating, in some regard.” Tech speculates, slotting the disc into an external inspection device to set everything up to complete this in your absence. Goggles are adjusted every so slightly, changing the way they are seated on his face. “I’ll leave the notes for you on your desk by the time you return.” he promises.

You make sure you’ve gathered the last of your things, saying that you better get going now that everything’s agreed upon. Carefully cradling the vase in the crook of your arm, you arrange the bouquet slightly with your free hand to avoid bruising any of the velveteen petals as you carry it.

Turning on your heel, you head for your locker to collect your rain repeller. “Appreciate it, Tech, thank you. I’ll catch you later.”

“Watch out for the deeper puddles, don’t slip.” Tech calls after you.

He’s overheard many of your colleagues using this phrase the last couple of days to warn one another; the longer the rain’s gone on, the deeper the areas of rain retention have become since the water table is oversaturated. There has been no break in the weather, but the end is in sight.

‘When will the rain stop?’ Soon. Maybe even tomorrow.

Habitually, you call back that you’ll be careful and another farewell, flashing him a sunny smile as you head out the door for the speeder cabs, the honeysuckles in one hand, repeller in the other. You don’t expect to be gone long.

Taking the vase full of honeysuckle home is your highest priority, right along with making sure the flimsiplast scraps in your pocket remain dry. Flimsi, while conveniently reusable, was hair-thin, had a slight transparency to it, and dissolved in water. (Why some disposable gowns for med centers were made out of the acrylic material when it was kriffing semi-transparent you had yet to figure out.) If you were careful of the shifting winds before you got to a speeder cab, Tech’s poems would stay safe and dry in your pockets, joining the others in a box of precious keepsakes at home.

Maybe you could put them all in a scrapbook one day, able to read and admire them all at leisure, or whenever you miss having new haikus show up in your locker once Tech’s broken leg is fully healed and he rejoins his brothers. Tech’s been careful not to voice how much he’s come to miss his brothers - else he risks sounding ungrateful for the research center agreeing to let him assist there after much back and forth - but you know he’s getting somewhat impatient.

“If I had known a second BX droid was around the boulder, I wouldn’t have tried to kick the first over the precipice…”

“That’s how you broke your leg?”

“Had it broken for me when the commando droid grabbed me, more accurately. Better me than Echo…”

He’d return to his brothers in time with the whole of hyperspace at his fingertips. Hunter would get his second-in-command back. The Havoc Marauder will have both of her pilots and it won’t be Echo spending time alone in the cockpit. Wrecker and Crosshair will once again have their brother to parse through factitious scenarios and the complicated mathematics necessary to pull it off relating to their enhancements to help one another in staving off hyperspace hypnosis.

And you’d go back to dreading Primedays and dreaming of clover covered plains on Naboo between every string of data you analyze for the GAR once Tech left. You’d miss the extra pair of capable hands and his talented, dare you say exceptional, mind. You’d miss the presence of yellow-lensed goggles and the steady, red light of the cylindrical camera attached to them that sometimes followed you around the analyst lab, that were as much a part of Tech’s face as the rest of his features.

You’d miss him and the harmless little crush Jais teases you over since helping you find out who your secret admirer was.

“Swing by your locker lately?”

“You have better eyesight than a Mynock but all the subtlety of a Reek, Jais. Yes I saw he left me another haiku.”

“What do they say?”

So much by using so little.

Tech has just seventeen syllables to work with, but boy does he make them work.

They will last far longer than any tender blossom, tucked carefully on the windowsill and lovingly arranged to fill in the gaps in the bouquet during transport. Home only for a short time, you settle for tucking the new haikus and other notes on the low table in the living room to sort through later tonight while eating dinner.

Come to think of it, maybe you should invite Tech over for dinner sometime, while he’s still here. (While there’s still time to leave things behind in order to remember him by.) He’s been staying in temporary accommodations in the unofficial research district since the nearest GAR barracks are an hour away, and the district isn’t too far from your place. You’re not sure what the protocol on this is (or if there’s any), and he’s more than welcome to turn you down, but-

This harmless crush has gone beyond only going one way.

You’re going to miss Tech when he leaves, not just because it means you'll lose an eager assistant who shares what he learns while you work. You've grown to like him in ways you haven't devoted proper time to exploring why with the nature of your work, but you like Tech too. And you don’t want just a vase full of honeysuckle that will one day wither and a smattering of haikus to remember him by.

You want something more. Something meaningful before he goes back to making mayhem for the Separatists.

And maybe it can start today, if you're clever enough.

It's time to stop daydreaming.

When you return to the research center, you first put your rain repeller away in your locker and collect the few notes that appeared while you were out. No new poems, only warnings that one of the senior analysts had a bug up their ass the size of a mynock (scratch that, a bantha) again over something minor, and it's best to stay out of their way until they cooled off.

“Hey, Tech, I'm back.” You announce your return from the lockers to avoid potentially startling him, finding him fiddling with a part of his vambrace. “Got some cryptic notes in my locker. Feel like I missed some excitement while I was away.”

“Yes… You certainly did.” One of the analysts lost their temper with the ‘newfangled’ caf-pot in the break room, Tech explains. Nothing newfangled about it in truth, it just wasn't working because it had been unplugged for cleaning and someone just forgot to leave a note.

“Speaking of notes,” he says as an aside, procuring a printed message from Lieutenant Waxer of Ghost Company in the 212th, “This came in just before you arrived while I was at the copier.”

Giving the lieutenant’s request a once-over, you find a general greeting after the Grand Army of the Republic’s letterhead, asking if someone would mind helping him locate the origin of a particular word in the language of the Twi’leks. Printed requests are deemed non-urgent, but it’s simple enough that you don’t mind adding his query to the bottom of your daily checklist, on which you find only the helmet footage crossed off.

“Thought you’d have gotten more done than this.” you say, chuckling as you take a seat at your desk.

Tech adjusts his goggles and meets your eye. “Felt it would be impolite to take your work from you when we had an agreement for just the footage.” He returns to fiddling around with his vambrace and his datapad, perhaps trying to sync something up.

His concern of taking further work from you without asking is very kind, and rather touching. You feel warmth in your face disproportionate to the heating system warming the labs on this rainy day. “Oh. Well, I wouldn’t have minded too much, but thank you. What’d you do instead until I got back?” You figure it didn’t take all too long to study the commando’s footage, finding the notes Tech’s took for you pinned underneath the datadisc the feed was stored on. Lifting the high-tech paperweight, you give the notes a glance.

It’s the same thin lettering as the haikus.

Tech tuts in thought while snapping a part of his vambrace back where it belongs. “General research. Nothing important.” He does not immediately elaborate on what he had researched, thinking you may want to take a moment to mentally prep yourself for returning to work and start on the next task at hand.

They were not concerns he (often) had to keep in mind with Hunter, Echo, Wrecker and Crosshair because he knew them so well compared to other people, compared to you. They spent the most time together and could give him a playful ribbing for overstepping boundaries, or starting detailed explanations when it wasn’t the best time. No one cares! was often said in-the-moment, and apologized for in ways that did not involve the words I’m sorry - and that was normal with his brothers.

So when you break into a big, friendly smile and draw out the word “Liiiike…?” while you continue to settle in, Tech knows it’s okay to elaborate. That you seem interested in what he has to say.

“It was the origin of halliksets. I became distracted when I learned they were quite popular on Naboo, and spent some time looking into that instead.” As he expected, you perk up with the mention of Naboo, interest piqued. “They’re made with seven strings, and the ore commonly used to make them comes from Kreeling, a mining planet also within the Chrommell sector.” The ore seems to be used to decorate the rounded body of the instrument, from what he had been reading. Ornamentation rather than function.

“Huh,” you say politely with a smile to match, “I had no idea. That’s really neat.”

You thank him for sharing before agreeing that perhaps you should get started on some of your work when he warns you that he can hear someone from another department coming, and it may be wise to appear busy.

For the next fifteen or so minutes, you and Tech are careful to appear focused on tasks from the clipboard. Something about figuring out why a standard caustic compound utilized by the GAR didn’t work. Tech casts a subtle glance over his shoulder while you muse over the specs, wondering just like you why someone from another department is taking their sweet time to leaf through all the disposable pipettes in the storage cabinet of all things. Trying to eavesdrop? Just really particular about their lab supplies? Who karking knows.

While looking into the humidity record on Felucia the day of the recorded equipment failure, you take a moment to open the system you submit your time-off requests to and look at the amount of paid time off accrued. Two and a half weeks. That’s not bad.

“Good to know….”

“What is it?” Tech asks.

“Oh, just poking into weather records,” you hum, hiding the portal, “Seems the caustic compound failed because of higher than average humidity that day. It was under six months old, so I don’t think it was a product age failure.” From the flashpoint of the Clone Wars on Geonosis, much of the equipment utilized barely sits on a shelf any longer than six standard months after its production and purchase for the Grand Army.

Clones were clever. Well trained. They knew how to account for things like planetary climate, weather conditions and equipment age out in the field, but you’ll always have the occasional fluke. Things beyond your control, beyond what you trained for. (Some things you could never train for.) But the Grand Army of the Republic could be trusted to give it their all, no matter the occasion, no matter the challenge.

You trusted men like Red Wire with your life here in the labs when you had to work with disarmed bombs, never doubting his ordnance training for a second. The same goes for the man sitting on the other side of your desk from you now, the injured leg in the walking boot propped up in a spare chair. You trust Tech too.

When the personnel from another department finally leaves, they’re grumbling something venomously about the missing label-maker under their breath, the word “di’kut!” loudest of all.

You recognize the Mando’a. Pronunciation DEE-koot. Multiple meanings. Idiot. Useless. Waste of space. (More accurately a waste of their time… Pretty sure someone already said the label-maker wasn’t in there.) You wonder where they know the word from.

Speaking for yourself, you’ve picked up a smidgen of the language from working as a researcher and analyst, and you’ve added a few more words to your repertoire from Tech’s uninterrupted correspondence with the Bad Batch that he’s allowed you to see some of.

And speaking of them… Now that you and Tech are alone, this might be a good time to try putting your plan in motion knowing how much PTO you have to work with now. You want to go to Naboo, and you want to see if there’s any way you can convince Tech to go with you. Maybe even meet you there with the rest of Clone Force 99. Make bumping into them look like a coincidence.

“Hey Tech, when you return to your brothers, any plans or ideas on where you’ll go first?”

A pad of sticky flimsi-notes is pulled from one of the many drawers of your desk, and you root around for a working pen while you wait on an answer. Calling upon courage from the very heart of the cosmos, you hope you can pull this off.

Tech answers the break in relative silence with a quirk of his eyebrow. “None that I’m aware of, but I suspect we’ll be going wherever we are needed.” There is a long contemplative pause, eyes flicking to his trusty tablet more than once as a few new messages from Wrecker come in.

“Is there some reason you’re asking?” He pushes the datapad aside now, giving you more of his attention, which is appreciated.

Shoulders bounce. “What if I said I was just curious?” You don’t expect him to buy that, he’s too clever. But you need a moment of quiet contemplation on his part to count out the syllables without messing up. Once you’re certain you have five, then seven syllables, you flash him an easygoing smile. “Being curious isn’t a crime, is it?”

“On some planets it is. Some rather… ridgid, often self-isolated cultures across the galaxy view curiosity as a sign of an idle mind and fear it will inspire mischief. Free thinking. Rebellion.”

The question had been rhetorical, and you don’t mind that he answered, but you find the fact quite sad. You also don’t want to begin to imagine how that sort of “crime” is punished. Curiosity is a natural part of life to all, to criminalize it is… frankly ridiculous.

“Well good thing we’re not in one of those isolated cultures.” you say, now thinking how you’ll finish penning this poem. Should you add your reasoning for why you wrote this at the bottom? (Would you even have room?) Maybe you should just tell him after he’s read your poem instead.

“Agreed.” Another message comes in from Echo this time, but Tech ignores it, continuing to hold eye contact with you; almost like he’s performing an inspection. “So I hope it does not feel like an accusation when I say I don’t believe you are ‘just curious’.”

“I did have an idea…” you admit, fiddling with the pen in your hand for the moment, “Since I heard Clone Force 99 isn’t keen on following every little order…” This is when you choose to slide the haiku you were working on over to “his” side of the desk, waiting in nervous silence as brown eyes scrutinize every Aurebesh letter laid bare before them.

Can't we ever go to a nice place, verdant fields of spring eternal? - Feel like breaking a few rules?

Tech’s eyes lift from the flimsiplast note, looking surprised. He didn’t take you for the sort of person who’d encourage breaking certain GAR protocols, let alone… Your name falls from his lips, asking what this is about in the same tender tone.

“I thought about what you asked regarding how much time off I have, and I found out I have two and a half weeks…” You explain, fiddling with the pen some more to occupy your nervous hands while he continues to monitor you. “I thought… Maybe once your leg heals up, and you’re cleared to return to active duty, you could find an excuse to spend some time on Naboo. Get to know each other better, perhaps?” He clearly has some kind of feelings for you that are in the earlier stages of reciprocation, and if you’re away from the lab, and he finds the time or the excuse to nip down to the Chrommell sector and meet up with you on Naboo, then neither one of you have to worry about behaving quite so professionally.

Looking down at the haiku once again, Tech takes in your explanation, your invitation, and offers a mild chuckle at long last.

“You know what my brothers will say if I tell them about this?”

You swallow nervously. “W-what?”

“That it almost sounds like you’re asking me on a date.”

You do what you can to keep your jaw from dropping, but there’s little to be done about the fiery feeling building in the apple of your cheeks that suggests there may be color blooming there. If you’re blushing, Tech certainly does a splendid job of politely pretending he sees no such thing while he gives your poem another look.

You do the same in kind when additional color builds in his own face and crawls up his neck from under the top of the body suit. “I take it you figured out who was secretly leaving you the haikus.” His smile is timid, but not quite as nervous as your own.

“I did. A while ago, actually.” you confess, confirming his suspicions. “I had help checking the cameras to see where the first one came from. I didn’t see a reason to say anything, or stop you.” You add that you’ve kept every single one, too, to some surprise of the computer and weapons specialist sitting across from you.

He sits forward now, carefully easing the walking boot to the floor. “You really want to spend time with me on Naboo?” Your earnest nod surprises him further. You do. Out of millions of Clones in the galaxy, you’re asking Tech (and his brothers by proxy) to join you in visiting the idyllic planet.

You carefully carve out a little portion of your PTO and submit the request as the very first step in the planning process, and while you await approval you and Tech will continue to work together as normal. You still have to behave professionally in the meantime.

Well, as professionally as possible when Tech decides he can now confess he has a backlog of haikus for you, enough so you could have one waiting for you in your locker every day until he’s cleared to return to fieldwork in a few weeks, in theory.

“Poetry every Primeday, honeysuckles today, and now you’re offering daily haikus? Maybe I will be asking you out on a date if you continue to spoil me like that.” you warn him, chuckling. Of course now you get the feeling Tech will make sure the weeks leading up to your time-off would consist of honeysuckle and haiku to ensure that you would.

And those were going to become some of your best weeks working as a researcher and analyst for the GAR, whether you got that time off or not, because it would be spent making precious memories with Tech.

That was what mattered most.

First time I've ever participated in one of these events, and I don't think I did too badly, considering I completely restarted this at one point! (Apologies for how long this ended up being, too, haha.) I hope you liked it, Tech-a! 🩷

Fic taglist: @msmeredithrose @lonely-day3636 @dukeoftheblackstar @dystopicjumpsuit

[Masterlist] [TBB Masterlist] [Taglist] [Requests: Open]

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luckyshotwrites · 4 months ago

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Alexander's Form Shift

Light blood version below (it's not really too bad but wanted to spoiler it nonetheless) and info dump on him.

Why he doesn't let this form loose more often?

Unlike most monsters, Alexander isn't in his form at all times. As his species is a mesh between Vampire beasts, and Mimic's, he has a shifting gene. In most of his species, the shifting gene that vampire beasts possess isn't active. However, Alexander's is due to his magus half. So he'll normally appear as a magus and shift into his monster form when conditions are met.

His wendigo form only happens when he succumbs to his hunger, thoughts of hunger, and or he gets extremely angry. Upon doing so, his internal structure undergoes a agonizing change, forcing his body to be torn, stretched, and evolve to handle a new bigger and much more vicious shape.

Before he learned size shifting, he'd have to wait for his body to be starved enough to change, every two days or so, and it'd only go back to normal when his energy was at half the requirement it needs to survive.

So, overtime he's gotten used to mass amounts of pain, which is why in Widfali he's able to shrug off most things that others cannot.

And unfortunately, unlike vampire beasts and magus's, he did not get their naturally fast healing. Alexander has studied extensively into assistance magic so he could maintain his body and not die to any injuries he might have after his body reverts back.

Alexander eventually learned size shifting and because the internal structure in his normal body is safe to consume humans, he does it like that instead. His other form runs on instincts leaving him less control, and he'd rather not risk potentially maiming or killing anyone he ever eats.

More info on the monster species and Alexander:

It hasn't been explained much in the story, but 'wendigo', are a mix between a vampire beast and a mimic. *(A mimic originally posed as a vampire beast and got partially eaten in the the vampire beasts need for "procreation" cycle, rip)*. Mimics hide themselves, devouring a living being and then posing as them for an extended period of time, approximately 2-3 months. While a wendigo don't have that natural change when they completely ingest a living being, so it feels compelled to continuously do so until it's able to 'hide'. That's are in a constant state of needing to consume because they cannot hide.

Mimics do not stay in their natural form as it leads them to get killed.

A wendigo will feel satisfied briefly at the time of consumption but once their prey is digested, they desire more. It's also why a wendigo when compared to a vampire beast or vampire, has a stronger digestive system.

Wendigo's bodies brutally digest every part of their prey, and they do not have any other organs needed to process them. Their stomachs are the most durable part of their body as well, made to contain even the most ferocious 'prey' and besides their incredible acids, their bodies squeeze prey tighter to tire it out and their saliva as well as stomach wall coating drains the prey of energy too. Anything that even just gets licked by a wendigo starts to feel the draining effects.

*(Fortunately for Alexander being a half (and his moms "unique" genes), his digestive system doesn't work properly, so he can't digest someone or something unless he's focusing on it for hours or days. His hunger is also "more manageable" compared to most.)

Side note: wendigo's singular appetite toward one species is due to the genes form vampire/vampire beasts.

...

ANYWAY, I WISH YOU ALL A WONDERFUL DAY. THANK YOU FOR READING!!

#widfali art #fantasy art #monster human art #vore story #asshole oc #monster art #lucky's art

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bekolxeram · 3 months ago

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No, OMG! I'm so sorry if my ask came off this way. I was genuinely curious if there was any way this could work, hence the question. I used to believe it was Tommy who flew the plane, but once I saw your explanation, I actually subscribed to your view. It does seem more believable. I wish it was Tommy, but I think you're right, it wouldn't make much sense. I was just curious if Tim and the writers were to confirm in the future that it was indeed Tommy who flew that plane, whether it would be at least somewhat believable. That was the purpose of my ask. I didn't mean to disregard your theories. I'm sorry. I LOVE your aviation analyses; I even sent you a coffee from the Kinley cafe 🫣 I hope you don't stop. Whenever I see you posted something, I have this huge smile on my face because I know I'm about to read a banger of a post. It's all so interesting!

Noooo, it’s not you. I actually really appreciate your asks. And thank you for the Kinley Café order, you have no idea how happy it made me.

I don’t get asks often, but since the 8x02 title reveal I’ve gotten a few, all aviation related. I’ve been… honestly, elated. I have the chance to yap about my passion and do deep dives on stuff that never crossed my mind before. Sometimes I get carried away, I’m very much incapable of being normal about planes. Ever since I saw those planes in bts photos, my brain has been bustling with ideas, and at times I click rb/reply before thinking because I get too excited. I would worry later that I might’ve forced my theories on others without being asked about them. But it’s not like they’re harmful rhetorics or antagonistic hot takes, just an info dump about a lot of planes. So people can ignore and I’ll move on.

I especially enjoyed doing research on that C-130 in 2x14, I learned a lot about aerial firefighting in the process. I didn’t pay attention back then, but I noticed the lack of airplanes when Tommy was giving Buck the tour in 7x04, so I went back and found the line from the TV reporter saying it was CAL FIRE.

I suspect that line was shoved in there last minute, because some technical consultants told them firefighting air tankers are never used in an urban environment, the weight of water/fire retardant can flatten cars, houses, it has gotten multiple people killed. I can think of more instances where the emergency seems unrealistic at first, but then there’s a passing line making it kind of possible, just exaggerated. I know we always joke about Tim writing soap opera level surreal emergencies, but I feel like all the other people involved in the making of this show don’t get enough credit, especially those designing the opening big disasters.

I’ve noticed multiple times that shortly after posting stuff about Tommy’s pilot career, a post would pop up in the tag asking people to stop obsessing over timeline. I paid them no mind before, they were probably not personal I thought, a subsection of the fandom does have the habit to use Tommy’s age to call him a predator. But this time, well, my theory was mentioned by name, so they were talking about me.

I can handle bad takes or even attacks from the toxic part of the fandom, I don’t value their opinion at all. Seeing rb after rb from people on our side of the fandom, some of whom I admire, basically telling me to stop being so obsessive over realism, being compared to fans who nitpick certain actors’ accents, tattoos, grooming choices, that one stings harder than I thought.

I know I’m being thin-skinned, I’m making everything about me, I’m fully aware that I’m a disaster. But I find myself hesitating to answer the other aviation related asks in my inbox, one of them particularly asking about the possibility of certain scenario in real life. I’m just not sure my input is welcomed here. I have this fear of unknowingly annoying people with my over-enthusiasm. I feel like that kid who keeps yapping about trains at school that everyone secretly hates again.

I just really, really love aviation. I thoroughly enjoy uniting these 2 things that I love and maybe learn new things from it. I don’t mean to impose. I was very excited this morning when I received asks in my inbox, but now it feels like being slammed back onto the ground, and it’s not a good feeling. I don’t know, maybe it’s time to uncouple these 2 things.

#sorry for using your ask to vent #you caught me at a bad timing #but you did make me very happy for a while #ask answered #911 discourse #tommy kinard #bucktommy

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yuurei20 · 1 year ago

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Ace Info Compilation part 14: Phantom Bride(pt2)

After the rescue from Eliza Ortho encourages Idia to thank Ace and the others for their efforts, but Ace is less than pleased with Idia’s reaction of, “Would’ve been nice if they hadn’t cut it so close.”

Idia resorts to self-degradation and Ace shifts gears to complimenting him, leading Riddle to respond, “What’s your angle?” Ace explains “I’m just stating the facts. Doesn’t Idia look cool today?…Also, the whole day culminated in him getting dumped at the alter. Who wouldn’t feel sorry for the guy?”

After receiving a wealth of compliments Idia’s mood improves to the point that he agrees, “People did call me a ‘promising prodigy’ when I was a kid. And I’ve only gotten better, so I guess it’s no surprise.”

Ace observes, “Well, you really are cool, Idia. So long as your mouth is shut.”

In the wake of the wedding the first year students are left behind to clean up the dining hall and Epel asks Ace if he has ever had feelings for anyone. (Ace responds, “What, you think I’m some kind of flirt?”)

Ace explains that he had a girlfriend in middle school and they’d go out to movies and the amusement park together, but she wouldn’t ride the rides he liked or watch the movies that he wanted to see and hanging out with her “was just plain boring,” so he ghosted her.

Ace says the worst part was “One day, a bunch of girls called me completely out of the blue. I didn’t even know who they were…they gave me the third degree! What’s up with THAT? That’s when I learned a valuable lesson: romance is way more trouble than it’s worth! It’s way more fun just chillin’ with my buds.”

(Grim follows with, “I just learned a valuable lesson too: you’re a big baby.”)

Ortho thanks Ace for saving Idia and Ace insists that he “wasn’t exactly invested. I was more caught up in the moment after escaping all those ghosts.”

Grim agrees with Ace, saying, “There ain’t no way Ace is some shining white knight at heart,” but Ortho says that “every possible data metric points to Ace having been sincere.”

Ace insists “I don’t got a romantic bone in my body! That was pure improv! I just said whatever I thought the ghost lady would buy,” but Ortho assures him that “You’d unquestionably win anyone’s heart!”

Epel says he wishes that he could have been there for Ace’s monologue and Ortho offers to send him a full recording.

Deuce says that they all should watch it together despite Ace’s protests: “None of that was the slightest bit sincere. Honest! Why’s everyone gotta mess with me like this! Seriously, can’t we just move on already?”

Rook has a voice line about Ace being “a passionate soul” who wishes that Rook wouldn’t praise him.

Phantom Bride is not Ace’s only dramatic line reading: during Spectral Soiree he stands up against a presumably possessed Malleus and declares that “The Hallowenders aren’t gonna lose…PERIOD!”, which he is later mocked for by Floyd and Leona.

#twstfacts #Twisted Wonderland #Ace Trappola #twstace #acefacts

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ravendruid · 4 months ago

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Vaxleth and number 28 a kiss in the rain👀

Helloooo! Thank you for sending a prompt, friend <3 Because this is a repeat prompt, I wrote it in the Be In My Eyes universe. It happens during the week between Chapter 29 and Chapter 30. (Here's the link to the entire fic, if y'all need a refresh *wink*)

A Kiss in the Snow

(Read on AO3)

Finals week is hell, that is widely known, but Vax’ildan is thankful to have someone who makes it a little bit more bearable, even though Keyleth can be an unending well of stress and anxiety, which, in turn, spikes his anxiety. They have been studying at the library most of the afternoon, and Keyleth has finally entered what Vax has started to call the ‘info-dumping out of her ears’ phase of studying, which is to say: Keyleth is not absorbing any new information but is instead dumping all she has studied on Vax.

If he didn’t know how stressed she is and how much pressure she puts on herself to have the highest grades, Vax would find her rambling adorable, but as it is, Vax knows Keyleth is reaching her limit, and he knows the next stage is not going to be pretty, so he grabs the hand that has been twirling a pen for the past fifteen minutes, and decides, “We’re done for today, Kiki.”

“What? No I still need to review–”

“Nope. You’re done,” Vax takes the pen away from her and starts closing her books. “We are going home, maybe we’ll stop at the coffee shop for a hot cocoa, but we’re done studying today.”

Keyleth pouts and, for a second, Vax almost falters, but then he sees the twitch in the corner of her eyes that signifies stress and his will returns. “Don’t bother trying to convince me otherwise, Keyleth,” He says stoically, then starts putting away her stuff in her backpack. Keyleth resigns to his wishes with an eyeroll and takes her bag from Vax’s hand to finish packing while he packs his own stuff.

“You’re a buzzkill, Vax.”

“You’ll thank me later when, instead of barging into my room crying for comfort, you’ll be nice and relaxed watching a movie with me.” Vax shrugs. Keyleth gives him a stink eye that he knows is because she won’t admit he’s right, then gets up and starts leaving.

The snow crunches under their boots as they leave the library. Keyleth is all bundled up with a thick, woolen coat, a handmade knitted scarf and a beanie, but all Vax has is his hoodie on top of a long-sleeve, which, unfortunately, it’s not enough layers to keep the cold away.

“Aren’t you cold?” Keyleth points out.

“Freezing, but what can I do?” Vax shrugs. He gets closer to Keyleth, who wraps her arm around his to try to get some body heat into him. “It’s not like I can afford clothes right now.”

With the holidays coming up, the twins' bank account is growing emptier every day. Vax has already started looking for temporary jobs, but he hasn’t had much luck yet. Hopefully by the time the semester ends Vax will have found something.

“Are you sure there is nothing I can do?” Keyleth asks, even though Vax has already made it clear that he doesn’t need her to go out of her way to make sure he’s clothed and fed—she actually ignored the last part because she keeps “accidentally” buying too many groceries and keeps “allowing” the twins to have her food, which Vax is secretly thankful for.

“I’m sure. I’m looking for a job, which should help. I think Vex has a job secured, too, for the break, so it’ll be alright.” Vax says. Keyleth drops the conversation and changes topics to exams, which makes Vax want to roll his eyes. He doesn’t do it, though. He knows Keyleth is anxious and she needs to talk about it, so he lets her speak until his ears start bleeding.

“And next semester I think I’m going to replace Anatomy with something a bit more fun,” Keyleth says, more to herself than to Vax.

“Anatomy is fun, though.” He jokes. Keyleth gives him an amused side eye that makes him snort.

“You say that because you’re the best in class at it,” She points out. Vax laughs at her argument. She’s so right. “What can I say… I love studying anatomy,” He jokes with a wink, then stops, turns to face Keyleth and leans close to her face. “Especially with you,” he whispers huskily.

Vax loves when Keyleth gets this flustered around him, how her face grows increasingly red and her lips part in a shallow pant. He loves how her body seems to have a mind of its own and leans into him, how her hands usually end up fisting the clothes at his chest and pulling him flush against her. Vax loves the little reactions that he can only witness this close to her, the little twitches of her lips, the fluttering of her lashes, the upturn of the corner of her lips.

“May I kiss you?” He mutters. Keyleth’s eyes widen in surprise—at the request itself or the fact that Vax wants to kiss her, he doesn’t know—but she nods her consent, so Vax cups her face and kisses her softly.

Keyleth tastes like coffee and pastries, her lips are soft and warmer than Vax’s and so, so delicate. Vax could live like this forever, in her hold, kissing her in the middle of the street. He would do this every day for the rest of his life if he could, and Keyleth is not showing any signs that she wants to stop, anyway, so maybe they will.

Until something hits Vax’s forehead. Something damp and cold. Then another one hits the tip of his nose, and his hands, and his head. One after another, drops of rain start falling on them, growing increasingly faster, harder and colder.

“Is it—” Keyleth interrupts the kiss to look up. Her eyes shine with glee as the first flake melts on the tip of her nose, then another on her forehead and she starts bubbling with laughter.

“It’s snowing,” Vax laughs. They hold hands in the snow, grinning at each other like fools. Keyleth’s face is rosy from the cold and the warmth of their kiss, and Vax knows he is just as flushed as she is.

The snow starts falling faster and, in less than a minute, their hairs are speckled with white, which makes Keyleth laugh again. She tries to wipe a few snowflakes out of Vax’s hair but he brings her hand to his cheek instead and melts at the warm touch. “You’re so beautiful,” Keyleth says in a hushed tone. “So are you,” he returns, cupping her cheek and leaning into her again. From this close, Vax can see the little bits of snow dusting Keyleth’s lashes, which, together with the inviting redness of her lips, makes him want to kiss her again.

“Yes,” Keyleth whispers as if she read Vax’s mind, then closes her eyes and leans until her lips are brushing his.

Vax doesn’t delay the kiss. He holds her tightly and lets their lips touch, then their tongues explore each other’s mouths. The snow keeps falling, faster and harder, and Vax knows they only have so much time before they need to run back home before they get soaked to the bone, but for now he is going to enjoy the moment and drink in the feeling of Keyleth’s lips on his as if it’s the last time he gets to do it.

#critical role #cr fic #vox machina #vaxleth #modern au #college au #keyleth #vax'ildan #be in my heart #be in my eyes #september prompts #prompted #yes I changed it from rain to snow because what is snow if not solid rain?#side note. I fucking miss writing in BIME.#this is for everyone who has been patiently waiting for more bime content

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tadpolesonalgae · 10 days ago

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Hello Hellooooo!

This most recent chapter of cbmthy is... it's everything to be honest. I got the notification that you posted while I was at work (you're forever catching me while im doin things), and I hid for a lil bit to read.

I love the little snippets of reader's interests that we see while Az is still carrying her through the sky. Especially because it makes me pretty excited to see their trek through autumn and summer as their relationship develops. I can easily imagine reader wandering away from Az's side and having him find her hunching over a lizard somewhere. Then she info dumps on him the second she realizes he's behind her because she's just SO fascinated and can't help the word vomit.

"His hide pattern is super unique, his dorsal stripe is broken up in ways that aren't natural to their species- my books mentioned occasional genetic mutations but nothing like THIS" and then a tasteful amount of 🤨😐😑 from Az

I loved watching their trek through the coastal town as well, the descriptions of everything really just plopped us right into the thick of it. I loved the colorful houses but I'm hesitant to believe Malachite's place would be particularly colorful 🤭 I wish we could've been in Az's head just to see what he thought about reader butting heads with Malachite.

I imagine it would be along the lines of 🤨😬🥴😅

Bas- oh my darling Bas.

I can't say im surprised, there had been too many mentions of him specifically being far from reader that I had a feeling SOMETHING was up with him going to winter. Can't say I expected him dead before ever getting there though, I thought maybe reader just wouldn't be able to track him down or that he'd change his mind about forgiving her because it hurt too much. This is better though.

I loved the way you wrote Azriel calming down reader too. It's such a small display of care from him in the way that he calms her that means so so much in as a turning point for their relationship. He doesn't turn her down which sparks relief in her, then uses that relief as a stepping stone to get her to calm down enough to sleep. Poor girls been through so much that I don't think much else would have been able to work to be honest, (if you DID have to change his approach, what would it look like?).

Reader holds a special place in my heart, sick human girl turned fae who can't quite outrun her mortality like her sisters did. Having Azriel's emotionally constipated ass as a love interest is the cherry on top.

chefs kiss, can't wait for whatever you write next :3

-🤠

'This most recent chapter of cbmthy is... it's everything to be honest. I got the notification that you posted while I was at work (you're forever catching me while im doin things), and I hid for a lil bit to read.'

RAHHHH I LOVE YOU <3

And I'm sorry - I think ch. 24 went up between 23:00 - 00:00 for me so I'm guessing we're in different time zones unless you work a night shift

You Hid! Cowboy anon <3 🙄 (Thank you, I'm incredibly flattered)

'I love the little snippets of reader's interests that we see while Az is still carrying her through the sky. Especially because it makes me pretty excited to see their trek through autumn and summer as their relationship develops.'

Thank you! I'm torn between excitement for what the scene will ultimately look like but so stressed over actually having to write it :')

I'm so so happy you liked those stretching paragraphs from reader's pov, though!! I think generally speaking I tend to be more comfortable writing interactions of some kind, so getting to write such a long section where reader is just thinking her thoughts and observing the things she likes (that one part about Azriel) was both refreshing and kind of me testing the waters and seeing if I liked what the end result looked like?

But yes, I'm so excited to write their trek through Summer!!! All the heat and the smells and the bugs and the colours and the food and the clothing!!!! So excited!!!

'I can easily imagine reader wandering away from Az's side and having him find her hunching over a lizard somewhere.'

omg stop peering into my brain!!

'Then she info dumps on him the second she realizes he's behind her because she's just SO fascinated and can't help the word vomit.'

Az standing there a little stiffly because he's never heard her speak so much so quickly <3

'"His hide pattern is super unique, his dorsal stripe is broken up in ways that aren't natural to their species- my books mentioned occasional genetic mutations but nothing like THIS" and then a tasteful amount of 🤨😐😑 from Az'

Haha I actually love the idea of contrasting their views and the way they observe things? I'll probably stress about it for a while but since Azriel is a spy I think it would be kind of cool to just see the rainforest in each of their perspectives and seeing what comes out?

'I loved watching their trek through the coastal town as well, the descriptions of everything really just plopped us right into the thick of it.'

Thank you thank you thank you!!! I really like the descriptive sections in ch. 24 but they also took so much time to write! With dialogue I kind of get a sense of where I'm trying to go with it, but with description it's kind of for the sake of establishing a firm context so there isn't really a direction to take it in? Unless there actually is and I just haven't had enough practice to know what works best for me

'I loved the colorful houses but I'm hesitant to believe Malachite's place would be particularly colorful 🤭"

Haha, yeah, I think his would probably have been a little more like that one that was more like a hut and had nets draped down the walls to look more weathered! Then again, he does kind of make his living out of fashion, if you think about it a lot and really twist his occupation. Maybe he enjoys a splash of colour here and there and actually has some pastel pillows up in his own quarters!

'I wish we could've been in Az's head just to see what he thought about reader butting heads with Malachite. I imagine it would be along the lines of 🤨😬🥴😅'

I kind of wanted to have it turn out that way, so Az would see more of her bickering, but I really like the sections where she's only a little vicious to Mal behind Azriel's back. It just made me laugh a little, like Az was the only adult in the room and the other two knew they could only argue when he wasn't really paying that much attention because otherwise he'd just shut it down with work-talk

'Bas- oh my darling Bas. I can't say im surprised, there had been too many mentions of him specifically being far from reader that I had a feeling SOMETHING was up with him going to winter. Can't say I expected him dead before ever getting there though, I thought maybe reader just wouldn't be able to track him down or that he'd change his mind about forgiving her because it hurt too much. This is better though.'

I have to say I am GLAD you didn't see it coming! I was stressing a little over the market scene where she was thinking of him because I kept worrying that if I made her worry too much it might sound too obviously like foreshadowing? I suppose a little bit of 'huh, this character is being mentioned a suspicious amount of times' is good to get the suspicion arising though :)

'I loved the way you wrote Azriel calming down reader too. It's such a small display of care from him in the way that he calms her that means so so much in as a turning point for their relationship. He doesn't turn her down which sparks relief in her, then uses that relief as a stepping stone to get her to calm down enough to sleep.'

I'm sending you so many affectionate hugs and kisses through the screen rn <3

Again, like with practically every other scene in that chapter, it was stressful to write in a way because I wanted him to comfort her (because I don't think I would be able to redeem him if he just left her to cry on her own) but I still wanted him to feel kind of walled off? Showing an amount of care and attentiveness, but not so much that it would feel weird or out of character for how he's been acting so far in the series?

It was also very soothing though? Personally I find the idea of listening to someone else's heartbeat incredibly intimate, and the idea of falling asleep to the rhythm of someone's heart? Reader needed a little break from misery and it felt like an appropriate amount of comfort. Like Azriel doesn't have to deal with any internal conflict about being emotionally vulnerable with someone through speaking and I feel doing things for someone feels more in line with who he is? And reader gets the physical comfort of feeling him holding her together, which means a lot to her but relatively little to him? But Az does it anyway because he knows it will mean a lot to her?

idk you just got me to ramble there :')

'(if you DID have to change his approach, what would it look like?).'

Whoooo you had me thinking about this for a while but I'm sticking to him being a do-er so I think if I had to think up a different approach for him to take, it would be similar to what he did that one other time? I think he would soothe reader into completing a task for him - like counting backwards from 100, or giving her something to temporarily focus on - and having his shadows watch her while he goes out to find hot meals and something to drink.

I think eating a midnight meal together on the sofa, with reader slumped over while she eats and Azriel keeping a little closer to her side than usual? Just sharing time together and again, with him finding something for her to focus on while calming down.

WHY DID YOU ASK THOUGH

'Reader holds a special place in my heart, sick human girl turned fae who can't quite outrun her mortality like her sisters did. Having Azriel's emotionally constipated ass as a love interest is the cherry on top.'

You're so sweet, thank you <3 <3 <3

Reader's just a girl who wants mutual and devoted affection, and Azriel's just a guy who rejects the concept of emotional intimacy all together (But secretly craves it anyway)

'chefs kiss, can't wait for whatever you write next :3'

Thank you so much!! I loved getting to chatter with you here <3

I'm hoping to get some more of part 25 written tomorrow and roughly map out where the chapter is going to go so fingers crossed! <3

#🤠 anon <3 #cbmthy #thank youuu <3 #so happy to read through all your thoughts #thank you for taking the time to note them down #it makes so much of a difference for me getting to hear reactions and speculations and just having a chance to speak/ramble <3

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