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redfoxwritesstuff · 24 days ago

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Satin Ribbons (Angel Adam x Sinner Reader)

CW: Smut, Adam typical degradation Rating: Adult Summary: It was once a year that you got to see your angelic lover. A romantic, or perhaps just sexual, tryst you waited all year for. This year, you dressed yourself in something you hoped Adam would think about all year long.

You stood in the bathroom, flickering light casting and banishing shadows as you turned this way and that. Your reflection looked back at you, examining the cloth and ribbon draped over your frame. The outfit you wore was a custom order- so unlike anything else that one would find in hell. It was sweet and not in the corrupted way that so many liked to fetishize. Baby pink covered your curves, shiny satin reflecting the light as it cupped your breasts and fluttered out around your torso, ghosting over your hips and just covering the swell of your ass.

Golden trim and feather accents lined up to trick the eye, exaggerating your figure. Polished golden heels clicked against the worn laminate floors. Golden ribbons wrapped around your neck, tied in a bow. That same golden ribbon made up the strap of the thong you wore and the band of the bubble gum pink stockings on your feet.

You looked sweet, like candy, and you hoped, heavenly.

There was one day a year when you got to see your heavenly lover. Only one day when he could venture down from heaven above and while his army raged battle against the city, he would come to see you. You were safe because he loved you. At least, you hoped he loved you. You knew he loved your body, so close to human and yet the small bat wings on your back made sure he couldn’t forget what you were.

Dirty. Disgusting. Sinner.

For him you wanted to be heavenly.

There was no knock on your door. He simply walked in as if he owned the place.

“Babe- you here?” The general of the heavenly army called into your apartment as he shut the door behind him. The curtains were already closed. A smile spread over your face as you listened to the sound of his helmet thumping down onto the ground. A rustling of fabric followed as he tossed off the bulky robe he wore.

“Coming,” you called, dabbing the excess petal pink lipstick from your lips and then stepping out and into his line of sight.

“Holy fuck,” Adam breathed. “Hot fucking damn. What are you wearing?”

“Do you like it?” you asked timidly, stepping closer to the first man.

“Do I like it?” Adam scoffed, hands reaching out for you as his eyes bounced around. “Fuck, babe. Gonna make me blow my load just from looking at you.”

You laughed lightly, a sound Adam looked forward to hearing every year. “I had it custom made, I wanted-”

“To make me nut?” Adam teased, fingers running over the mesh of your stockings as you drew closer.

“I wanted to be heavenly for you, if only just for today.” A flush settled on your cheeks, darkening your pinkish skin a little more.

“I’m going to fuck you so hard,” Adam promised as he traced the golden trim around the cup covering your breast before tracing the golden feather that was placed so that it was practically hanging from your nipple. Each teasing run of his nail over the sensitive skin drew your nipple into a tighter bud, making the illusion all the more pronounced. “That heaven will hear your screams.”

“Please?” You moaned, arching into his touch.

Adam stood, large rough hands cupping your breast properly as he pulled you tightly to his body. He pulled the tank top off and tossed it aside, moaning at the soft slide of satin against his skin.

“You’re such an angel for me,” Adam whispered as he leaned down, kissing you softly.

“I try,” you sighed as his hand ran down your back, a soft caress between leathery wings. “For you, I try.”

“Good girl,” Adam whispered. “Going to fuck you while you’re wearing my color. Dressed in gold for me.”

Large hands gripped your ass, lifting you from your feet. You wrapped your legs around his waist, golden heels clicking against eachother as he carried you easily to your bed. It wasn’t comfortable, but if you were going to dress up like an angel for him, he’d give you the proper treatment while he dicked you down.

He held you high on his waist as he walked, using one hand to unbuckle his pants and send them falling around his ankles. For a moment, he stumbled over them and your giggle, so musical and pretty, filled his ears again. Then you were kissing him again as he shed his boxers, stepping nude up to the bed.

Your hands ran over his soft skin, greedy for the feel of muscle hidden under the softness that marked him as a real man to you. Soft and strong, unforgiving and kind. He was everything you wanted.

“Fucking leave it all on,” Adam said as he climbed onto the bed with you. “Going to fuck you in this.”

He pulled at the ribbon at your hips, undoing one bow and shoving the fabric aside. Large fingers ran up your newly exposed slit, finding you just as wet as you always were. Having the first man inside you was all you had thought of for the last few days, and you were far more than ready for him,

“Please,” you whimpered as he spread the slick over your folds, gathering it on his fingers. You watched as he coated his thick cock with it. “Please, Adam. I need you.”

“Who do you need?” Adam teased, bracing himself on his arm as he ran the head of his cock up and down your folds.

“Need you,” you whined, wiggling your hips as he slowly inched forward with each title that dropped from your lips until he bottomed out, “Need Adam. Need the first man. Need the dickmaster.”

“Damn right you do,” Adam said as he curled over you, resisting the urge to just pound into you. “Fuckin’ wait all year for me to come fuck you stupid.”

“I do,” you reached up, running a hand over the broad expanse of his chest, feeling the softness that hid powerful muscles that ripped apart your fellow sinners, ending their existences. He would never hurt you though. “I wait every year.”

It was as close as you would ever come to saying you loved him.

Adam looked down at you with soft eyes. His eyes were always soft when he looked at you, even if his words were not. He pulled out of you slowly as your ankles locked together behind his back. Large hands grabbed your thighs, fingers running over the fishnets of your stocking and the silky ribbon as he hiked the circle of your legs higher up his waist. The change of angle had him reaching deeper as he plunged into you.

Each thrust had you panting, spread wide on his thick cock as he slowly increased his pace. Your breasts bounced with each labored breath as his weight pushed into you. Sweat began to gather on his neck and shoulders as his thrusts rocked you, hitting deep inside.

“Fuck,” he whispered, fingers flexing into the dirty blankets on your bed before wrapping around your back as he rolled, pulling you with him. It took a moment for you to gather your legs under you and then you were riding the great angel general.

“Adam,” you moaned his name as you sank deeper down his shaft, feeling his head push up against your cervix.

The first man had the first dick, and it was your opinion that it was expertly crafted, shaped, and formed just for you. Or perhaps you were made for him. It didn’t matter. What mattered was the way his hips rolled up into you.

You rose up, cunt sliding along his length as you looked down at the man below you. Leathery wings fluttered as his fat cock drug along your walls.

“Going to fuckin ride me?” Adam asked as his hands found your hips, gripping you as you hovered, head of his cock just inside. “Fuckin’ ride the first man?”

“Yes,” you moaned as you sank down. “Anything for you.”

“Fuck,” Adam moaned, watching as your pink cunt swallowed his shaft, “Fuckin’ show me how good you can ride me.”

You did as he said, bouncing up and down his cock, pace quickening with the urging of his hands on your hips. Adam looked up at you, so perfectly human as you bounced, his large cock filling you again and again. Brown eyes, so warm, watched you as you threw your head back, pink hair cascading down your back as you bounced.

“Fuckin’ hell.” Adam moaned, watching your tits jiggle with every bounce. Fingers dug into the fat of your hips, urging you to slam down on his cock faster and faster. “Fuckin’ ride my fat cock like the whore you are. Fuckin’ sinner slut. Fuck. Fuck!”

“Fuck,” you moaned, bouncing faster as Adam fucked up into you.

The strap of your top fell off your shoulder, slowly dragging further and further down your arm with each bounce of your tits until the breast on that side bounced free. Leaning back, you planted the palms of your hands on Adam’s thighs, bracing yourself as he fucked into you.

“Fuck yeah,” Adam moaned, reaching out to cup your naked breast, thrust forward as your back arched. “Fuck babe, on display for me. Fuck!”

You squeaked as Adam shot forward, taking your nipple in his mouth in a wet, sloppy kiss that was all tongue as he pushed you back. In a matter of moments, you were on your back, Adam fucking into you from above. He hooked your knees over his shoulders, folding you in half as he thrust harder and harder.

Each thrust had you crying out his name, body slamming into your clit. You were thrust violently toward the edge, not having a chance to even catch your breath as you were flung over. Muscles twitched and bunched, trying to stretch as your orgasm washed over you.

Your cunt clenched and twitched around his cock as he stuffed it inside you again and again. Heavy balls slapped against your ass, splattering the slick that poured from you with each impact.

“Fucking dirty sinner,” Adam groaned out as you looked up at him, eyes unfocused and fucked out as he thrust you through your orgasm. “All you’re fucking good for.”

“Adam,” you moaned, struggling to arch your back, ankles twitching as he fucked through your convulsing walls.

“Going to stuff you with my fuckin cum,” he threatened as he locked eyes with your dazed ones. Large golden wings arched out from his back, shedding feathers as he used them to push his thrusts harder, flapping them in time with his hips. “Fuckin’ breed your dirty sinner cunt. Fuckin’ make you take everything I’ve got.”

“Please,” you whimpered as he fucked yet harder into you. “Please, give it to me.”

“Fuckin’ damn right,” he groaned as he worked into you again and again, thrusts wild and hard. “Stuff you with the first man’s seed. If anyone can breed your sinner cunt, it’ll be me.”

“Want it,” your voice slurred as he refused to stop or slow enough to let the pleasure running through your veins subside. “Want you. Want dickmaster. Want your cum. Need it.”

Adam groaned, hips slapping into you as he reached his end. His wings flapped twice before tensing, standing out from his back in large golden arches. Each twitch of his cock painted your cervix white, giving you the seed you so badly craved.

Thrusts slowed as he let your legs fall to his sides as he melted into you. His cock twitched inside you as you wrapped your arms around him, caressing down ruffled hair and feathers alike.

“Can you stay?” you whispered as he shifted much of his weight off of you. “Just for a little while?”

“Only a little,” Adam whispered back, looking at you in a way that almost made you think he would kiss you in the post orgasm glow.

“I’ll take a little,” you said as he shifted, moving to hold you instead of being held by you.

Your eyes dropped lower with every lazy blink of your eyes. While the angelic army outside your apartment hunted and slew sinners, you dozed off to sleep in the arms of the enemy general.

As long as Adam came to you on extermination days, you would look forward to the chaos and bloodshed eagerly. As long as the man you loved came for you, you would be safe.

#redfoxtober 2024 #redfoxtober2024 #Adam x reader #Adam x you #Adam x y/n #hazbin Adam x reader #hazbin Adam x you #hazbin Adam x y/n #hazbin hotel Adam x reader #hazbin hotel Adam x you #hazbin hotel Adam x y/n #Adam hazbin x reader #Adam hazbin x you #Adam hazbin x y/n

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literaryvein-reblogs · 8 days ago

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Writing Notes: Heraldry

Heraldry - is about showing people who you are.

In England, it started in the later 1100s, when knights began to wear helmets, and they couldn't be recognised. So they began to paint unique combinations of colours, shapes and animals, called their 'arms', on their shields and banners. Only one person was allowed to use these arms. When people saw a knight wearing them in a battle or tournament, they could tell who he was.

It is the science and the art that deal with the use, display, and regulation of hereditary symbols employed to distinguish individuals, armies, institutions, and corporations. Those symbols, which originated as identification devices on flags and shields, are called armorial bearings.

Strictly defined, heraldry denotes that which pertains to the office and duty of a herald; that part of his work dealing with armorial bearings is properly termed armory. But in general usage heraldry has come to mean the same as armory.

The Colours of Heraldry

The 5 traditional colours are, with their heraldic names:

Red = Gules

Blue = Azure

Green = Vert

Black = Sable

Purple = Purpure

Plus the two 'metals':

Gold or yellow = Or

Silver or white = Argent

There are also 'furs', the most common being:

Ermine: representing the white winter fur of stoats, with their black tail tips.

Vair: representing squirrel skins, in blue and white.

If something (say a dog or badger) is shown in its natural colours, it's called proper.

Conventional representations of tinctures used when it is not possible to print the actual colors:

Heraldic Ordinaries

Ordinaries - the simple shapes used on heraldic shields, against a colour, metal or fur background. If you are making your own design, choose one of these main ordinaries:

Fess = horizontal stripe across the shield

Pale = vertical stripe down the shield

Bend = diagonal stripe

Chevron = like a house gable, pointing upwards

Cross = a plain cross

Saltire = a 'St. Andrew's cross'

Chief = bar across top edge of shield

Bordure = border round edges of shield

Pile = downward-pointing triangle

You can also divide your shield into two colours, either vertically or horizontally, or into four different-coloured quarters.

You don't have to use an ordinary, but if you do remember to never put a colour on colour or a metal on a metal. Try to remember this heraldic rule: colours don't show up well against colours, or metals against metals. This also applies to charges.

Heraldic Charges

Charges - emblems added to the shield, on the background, the 'ordinary', or both.

There can be one big charge, or several smaller repeated ones. Here are some of the common charges you could use:

Crosses - of many different types

Stars

Rings

Balls

Crescents

Diamonds

Flowers

They can be any colour, but remember never put colour on colour, for example a green star on blue, or metal on metal, for example a white flower on yellow.

Many knights also used animals as charges.

Animal Charges

Any animal - either one big one or several smaller - can be used as a charge. They can be shown in many different ways, for instance:

Rearing up (rampant) - like the lion and the hare in the pictures above

Standing (statant) - like the dog

For birds, with wings outstretched (displayed) - like the eagle

Walking along (passant) - like the other lion

If the animal is looking towards you, it is also guardant or 'on guard'. So the lion in the picture is passant guardant.

The ancient royal arms of England are 3 golden lions, one above the other, walking along on a red shield: or, in heraldic code, gules three lions passant guardant or.

Just to make things more complicated, lions passant guardant are also called leopards - but they don't have spots.

Choosing Your Animal

Animals symbolised different qualities. So for instance:

Lions = bravery

Dogs = faithfulness, reliability

Stags = wisdom and long life

Eagles = power and nobility

Badgers = endurance or 'hanging on'

You could also design your own animal charge.

For instance a cat, horse or other favourite pet.

Or you could choose a fabulous beast...

Fabulous Beasts

Though often used as 'charges', these fabulous beasts never really existed.

But some people believed they did, maybe because they'd heard about them in stories made up by travellers to distant lands, like crusading knights or merchant adventurers. Pictures of them also appeared in 'bestiaries', a popular kind of illustrated medieval story-book.

Here are some you could use:

Dragon: the earliest and most common fabulous beast, also used as a badge by Romans, Anglo-Saxons and Welsh. A brave and cunning defender of treasure.

Griffin: a combination of lion and eagle. Symbolises watchfulness and courage - and also guards treasure.

Cockatrice: a cross between a cockerel and a dragon, supposedly hatched from a cock's egg by a snake or toad. Could kill by looking at you, and symbolised protection.

Manticore or 'man-tiger': a fearsome man-eating creature with a lion's body, man's face, tusks, horns and a deafening trumpet-like voice.

Cadency

Cadency - the use of various devices designed to show a man’s position in a family, with the aforementioned basic aim of reserving the entire arms to the head of the family and to differentiate the arms of the rest, who are the cadets, or younger members.

Heraldic works in the 16th century refer to cadency marks as:

a label for the eldest son during his father’s lifetime;

a crescent for the second son;

a mullet (five-pointed star) for the third;

a martlet (a mythical bird), the fourth;

an annulet (a small ring), the fifth;

a fleur-de-lis, the sixth;

a rose, the seventh; and so forth.

Sources: 1 2 3 4 ⚜ More: Writing Notes & References

#heraldry #writing notes #writeblr #dark academia #spilled ink #literature #writers on tumblr #writing reference #writing prompt #poets on tumblr #poetry #symbols #light academia #writing inspiration #writing ideas #creative writing #lit #fiction #writing resources

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what-is-love-babey-dont-hurt-me · 3 months ago

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Some headcanons I have about King Dedede, Captain Vul, and their species!

Many, many millions of years before the tragedy that befell the dinosaurs, alien researchers tried to study them, and did not plan for their escape from the research facility, and eventual takeover of the planet! Through many years of adaptation to the new planet, you see the feathers and bird-like feathers we know and love in King Dedede and others!

This is related to my OC Sir Meteor, who you can vote for here ! 💫🦖☄️

Transcript + More below the cut below

Vestigial tail + spikes

A far cry from the reptile tails of old, the tails of current day are stubby with little movement, and in a few generations will likely be completely gone.

These guys are descendants of dinosaurs! The tails had been used for mobility, balance, but especially fighting. This connotation created ripples in the culture of what the vestigial tail means for avians, no matter how stubby and useless it is in present day! Since hollow bones had started to emerge in the species, anything that could possibly crush them is considered taboo, including showing off tails freely. A lot of them pretend they don’t exist!

Prehensile feathers

The feathers at the tip of the wings are modified fingers that can grab! If you were to push back the feathers, you would even see vestigial talons that are either too small to be any threat, or kept trip for proper appearance. All of the avians have thumb-like digits as well, but their grip is not a precise as our own.

Avians of high social standing often commission and wear enchanted gloves to aid with their weak grip, and it is why Dedede isn’t seen with his feathers and can use his hammer!

Spines + tail usually covered up

For this study, I focused on just the bodies themselves, but i wanna delve deeper into the culture they have! In particular clothing is important. They usually keep their tail and spines covered up for modesty and cultural norms—the spines are seen as weapons and only shown when living a life of battle! Even Dedede who gets into fights often doesn’t want to show them, but there is exceptions. The gray star warrior having their tail out is due to the position they have in the army. They dedicate their life to a battle. Other factors include needing high mobility! Some avians in gymnastics or on rescue teams, and other professions where mobility is essential are exempt from this rule, but they often have a robe or cover-up when not performing the task.

For Dedede: adapted to be a water-type bird, has flippers and webbed feet, and is unable to fly. His eyes are bigger than normal for the purpose of being able to see in dark waters with barely any light, although the trade off is his long distance vision leaves much to be lacking. His choice of hammer as a weapon is barely any thought to us, but a taboo one in avian society. His distance from any others of his kind is in part due to his refusal to put it down.

For Vul: he is a an avian capable of flight!! This is a rarer trait. He feels at home in the sky, and his eyes even in his old age are unparalleled to anyone else in his crew. Vul, like dedede, normally covers his tail, especially because even though he lives a life of battle, he is rather old fashioned and does not want to admit it, despite being captain to a crew of knights.

For the Star Warrior: a unnamed individual who would turn heads if they walked on their home planet looking like that. Metal armor in of itself is unusual because most avians hate to weight themselves down too much to fly, even if they aren’t a flying type. Under the helmet they have a bright red crest, and for the long legs I based them off of a Sandhill Crane. Their long legs are the best example of another trait I didn’t get to touch on yet: these guys have feathers covering the legs! Where in real life birds usually have scales, these guys have a gene which gives them feathers everywhere but the feet. Similar to silkie chickens or pigeons with muffs!

Most of these guys have some kind of feathered crest above their eyes! It helps keep sun and water out of their face, similar to eyebrows.

Page 2: a doodle comic with the story of how avians were created, along with a visual of them being somewhere between a dinosaur and bird

I have more but MAN this is getting too long

#snappy speaks #my art #snappy's art tag #kirby #king dedede #captain vul #kirby right back at ya #star warrior #I need to name that star warrior if nobody else will #kirby headcanons #aliens #speculative biology

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flufffilleddonut · 8 months ago

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Angelic Retribution

Summary - Adam has been annoying Lute for weeks, pushing her further and further to the limit. When an event on Extermination Day presents Lute with the opportunity to get her revenge, however, she happily takes advantage of it.

Word Count - 1200

For the past couple of weeks, Adam had been increasingly getting on Lute’s nerves. Any time he had encountered the slightest inconvenience or issue of his own making, Lute was called upon to fix it. It seemed as if the first man couldn’t handle doing anything on his own.

This came to a head on Extermination Day, when the pair were hunting down demons alongside the rest of the Angelic Army.

Adam was in pursuit of a particularly fast sinner, soaring through the sky of the Pride Ring at a very high speed. His full attention was focused on the demon, allowing the upcoming billboard to go unnoticed, until it was too late.

By the time he had spied it, Adam had no chance of pulling up and avoiding it, due to its close proximity and how fast he was flying. Tensing his body to brace for the impact, Adam shut his eyes as he smashed head-first into the billboard.

Adam, expecting to feel himself crash to the ground, was slightly confused when no such collision came. Instead, he felt as though he were hovering in place.

He opened his eyes to reveal that he had indeed crashed into the billboard, breaking his mask apart, but that his body had not gone through it entirely. He was wedged into the hole that he had created just below the base of his wings, with his arms pinned at his sides.

Adam squirmed around to no avail. He tried flapping his wings to free himself, but no luck there either. He attempted to further break the billboard by shooting his ‘Holy Light’ at it, but as he could not see his hands and struggled to move his arms, he just ended up shooting the light into the surrounding buildings.

“Seriously?! Bummer, dude.” Adam said to himself as his body went limp, the angel recognizing that he needed help to get out of his current situation.

“LUTE!” Adam called out, knowing that his Lieutenant never strayed too far from him during the exterminations. “LUTE, COME HERE!”

Having just finished off a sinner, Lute heard Adam calling for her. She sighed internally, wondering what he needed from her this time.

As she followed the sound of his voice, she was led to the busted-up billboard, where she flew up and hovered in front of Adam’s trapped figure.

“There you are! What took you so long?! I was calling for ages!” Adam complained.

Lute tried her best to hold her composure, despite wanting to burst out laughing at the sight of her superior in such a state.

Adam noticed the smile that she was desperately trying to fight.

“Oh yeah, real funny Lute. Let’s all laugh at a guy in his time of need.” Adam said flatly.

“Sorry, sir.” Lute responded as she landed on the ledge sticking out from below the advertisement. She moved her hands towards Adam to try and free him.

“Just hurry up! Can you not do anything that I ask you to correctly? Real weak, bro.” Adam commented.

Lute halted her hands.

That was it. She was done with this. Adam needed to learn that Lute wouldn’t stand for this treatment any longer. Given their current circumstances, she knew just how she could enact her revenge.

Lute walked up close to Adam, who watched her impatiently, waiting for assistance. She reached her hands up once more, this time bringing them towards Adam’s ribs.

“Lute, what are you-” Adam questioned, cutting himself off at the sight of her fingers beginning to wiggle.

“Lute! Don’t you dare! I am warning you!” Adam called out, starting to squirm again.

His threats fell on deaf ears, however, as Lute shot Adam a grin through her helmet before pressing her wiggling fingers against his ribs.

“Nahahaha! Fahahaha- Luhuhuhute!” Adam laughed, shaking his head from side to side.

“You know, sir, you should really be more careful.” Lute began, digging and scratching her fingers in the spaces between each individual rib. “Acting as reckless as you do lands you in situations like these, where you leave your… vulnerabilities, open to attack.”

“Shuhuhut uhuhuhup!” Adam laughed out, a light blush appearing on his face.

“It’s true, sir. Any demon could have come up here and done this~” Lute said, moving both hands to the spot where Adam was missing a rib and digging into it mercilessly.

Adam began to laugh maniacally.

“NAHAHAHAHA! STAHAHAHAP! AHAHAHAHAHA!” He pleaded, thrashing around.

Lute found it a bit difficult to keep her hands trained on the spot as Adam moved about, keeping up her attack for a few moments before stopping. She had come up with a better idea.

As Adam was catching his breath, Lute flew into the air, plopping herself down onto Adam’s back. Once she was confident that it could support her weight without harming Adam, she wrapped her arms around him to his front, skittering her fingers over his stomach.

“Ehehe!” Adam giggled out, making Lute internally ‘aw.’ “Luhuhute! Gehehet ohohoff!”

“You know, if I wasn’t here to help, you could have been trapped here forever. Nobody else may have been willing to come and save you.” Lute said, switching from skittering to squeezing the sides of Adam’s stomach.

“NAHAHAHAHA!” Adam’s laughter increased in volume as he began to thrash again. This time, however, Lute was able to hang on, and didn't let up.

“In fact, I think that I should be shown a little more respect for everything I do. Maybe given less… menial tasks?” Lute pressed her point.

As she continued tickling Adam, she noticed his wings flapping desperately, giving her an idea.

“Or, you know…” Lute said, latching her hands onto Adam’s wings and clawing at them fiercely, “we could stay here, doing this until next Extermination Day.”

“FAHAHAHA! OKAHAHAY! I GIHIHIVE-AHAHAHA! PLEHEHE-AHAHAHA!” Adam pleaded through fits of uncontrollable laughter.

Lute, really wanting to drive home her point, continued clawing at Adam’s wings, enjoying the sounds of his laughter. That is, until she heard a commotion in the distance.

Along with the regular sounds of screaming sinners present during an extermination, Lute could hear the cries of exorcists.

There must be a resistance, she thought to herself.

Lute pulled her hands away from Adam’s wings and got off of his back. As he was recovering, she used her spear to break apart the billboard, enlarging the opening that Adam was stuck in.

He fell onto the ledge with an oomph as Lute slowly backed away.

“Well sir, sounds like they need us! I’ll meet you there!” Lute said quickly before taking flight, headed in the direction of the noises.

Adam managed to pull himself to his feet, a light blush still visible on his face.

“LUTE! WHEN I GET MY HANDS ON YOU, OOH YOU ARE IN FOR IT, GIRLY!” Adam shouted, also taking flight in Lute’s direction.

While Lute hoped that her stunt was worth it, and that Adam would change his tune, she would be lying if she said that wasn’t the fastest she had ever flown away from someone in her life.

After all, she knew that Adam would be bent on some revenge of his own, and wanted to delay her own demise for as long as possible.

#hazbin hotel tickle #ler!lute #lee!adam

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lost-in-fandoms · 4 months ago

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Inspired by this post and my own tags. No cws, just fluff.

When Daniel was little, his mom used to tell him stories, sitting with him on his little bed. And in every one of her stories there were shapeshifters.

She used to talk about powerful knights turning into flame-breathing dragons to destroy entire armies, beautiful princesses shifting into fierce tigers to defend themselves, traitorous advisors showing their real nature in their snake skin.

And Daniel used to dream about being a shapeshifter. About waking up and finding himself flying in the sky, big eagle wings slicing the wind, or of running and running, so fast he wouldn't even notice he was turning into a stallion until he had four hooves on the ground. When he got older he understood it was an impossible dream, the shifting genes long washed away by the rivers of time, but what was not fully out of the realm of possibilities was the chance of meeting one, even if shapeshifters were much rarer now than they used to be. For years, he kept holding onto that hope, in some part of his heart.

Daniel knocks at Max's door, but doesn't wait for an answer before pushing it open, the thrill of knowing he's one of the very few people allowed to do that never truly getting old.

He's expecting Max to be getting ready for bed, or even under the covers already, so he's surprised to find that the room is empty. His armor is carefully cleaned and tidy on its stand, his helmet on the desk, but the bed looks untouched, as does the food Max must have brought up after his shift.

Daniel frowns, backtracking into the corridor and down the stairs, crossing the courtyard to the baths.

"Have you seen the Captain?" he asks the guard standing near the door, hoping he doesn't have to go in and look for Max in the steamy rooms.

"He left already," the guard answers, pointing towards the mess hall, still mostly empty in the grey early morning light. "I saw him get breakfast."

Daniel thanks him, but avoids the hall, having already seen the food in Max's room. So he got off his shift, went to the baths, grabbed food and then...left? If he is training after the night shift again, Daniel is going to kill him.

But Max isn't in the training court, or in the armory, or in his little office on the far side of the barracks. It's not that rare for Max to disappear for a few hours from time to time, but he usually warns someone beforehand, at least Daniel.

Having exhausted the places to look in that aren't the castle itself, Daniel decides to just go back to Max's room. Max is a big boy who can handle himself (you don't become the youngest Captain of the King's guards by luck) so Daniel isn't particularly worried, but he was looking forward to curl up with him in bed and get a few hours of sleep together, and this is getting in the way.

He's taken off half his clothes and settling on the bed when he notices it. Something moving under Max's helmet.

No, not something, a kitten. There is a kitten on Max's desk, deeply asleep in the dark shadow created by the helmet.

"Hello buddy" Daniel whispers, getting up again and reaching forward to gently touch the kitten's forehead.

One stunningly blue eye opens to sleepily glare at him, even as the kitten starts to softly purr, before closing again.

Honestly, Daniel should have probably known. Max had been running himself ragged, going on night shifts even after having taken his place at the King's endless councils, and he always tended to sleep better like this. He was usually better at getting into comfortable places, though, so he must have been really exhausted to fall asleep there, without even touching his food.

"At least let me get you to bed," Daniel says, waiting for Max to blink at him before reaching forward.

The kitten fits in the palm of his hand, small head resting on his wrist as he gently cradles him into his chest, keeping him stable as he works to get under the covers without jostling him too much. When he's done, he lays him against his chest and feels Max wiggle a little, moving to the crook of his neck and curling up there, little wet nose pressing against Daniel's skin, whiskers tickling him with every breath.

"Good night, Maxy" he whispers, closing his eyes against the morning light starting to stream in through the window, letting Max's purring carry him to sleep.

His dream of being a shapeshifter might not have come true, but he will gladly take the reality of having one often asleep right on top of him.

#i could write a million scenes of kitten knight max #but my brain is not letting me tie them together so have just one #will i write more in the future? who knows #i never know if my brain is gonna be satisfied after a ficlet or if it will want to revisit it #but if anyone wants to talk about kitten knight max my inbox is wide open #maxiel #my writing #if there are typos no there aren't <3 #kitten knight max au

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ivyblossom · 5 days ago

Note

How did you get the previously mentioned crow army? Any tips on how to get one myself?

Please

It’s easy to befriend crows, they’re very smart. The hardest part is regularly being in close proximity to crows to get started. But if you see a place where you can get to know them, go there and give them crow-friendly snacks when they’re near enough to you. My go-tos are unsalted shelled peanuts (they still have to work to get the peanuts out) and sometimes chopped up boiled eggs. Peanuts are easier to throw. Do this regularly for a week or so and you’ll have some crow friends. They don’t really care about timing as long as it’s during the day. Crows usually sleep in a big group in some central location and probably won’t be around at night.

Crows are very wary. They will jump or fly away when you throw things towards them, but they will get the idea very fast.

My crow friends are very polite. They know what building I live in, and they probably know which unit, but they never bother me at home. They wait for me to come out the front door and out into the open to see them. They may have assigned someone to keep watch for me, because they definitely announce a sighting.

They do not shout at me, though once some of their cousins tried that and I did not reward the behaviour. No one’s done it again.

The lesson they learned about interacting with me is that getting into my eye line is the way, so they often get right in front of me, wings spread open for maximum visibility. When I’m on my scooter going 35 kph that sometimes means flying beside me, inches over my helmet or right in front of me.

I always talk to them. I’m hoping the gift I get from them is a response, so I try to say the same things to them. But often I just talk to them like people (because, hey, they are people! Non-human people, but still people.). They will fly and perch along fences in front of me over and over again when I’m walking somewhere, and will keep that up as long as there’s fence.

It doesn’t matter what you’re wearing. They know what clothes are. They know what a helmet is and they know my scooter is a vehicle. They recognize faces.

Good luck! Tell your new crow friends I say hi!

#how to make crow friends

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skaluli · 6 months ago

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half ass tuefort because i want to draw backgrounds but i cant draw backgrounds

solider doodle that i was then gonna make a """finish piece""" out of but when i started doing the thinner/"cleaner" lineart it looked worse so i didnt even attempt finish/colour/etc it. i just wanted to draw a bunch of stickers and junk on his helmet.

more mlp x tf2 i still need to do refs of everyone i cant remember if i posted my big sketch of all of them so uhhh have some very old and rough shit

and me somewhat explaining my ideas for each concept

this was my draft reply to someone asking about it on instagram. yes i have to draft my long replies/responses so i can re read it a million times before sending it a day later because i forgot im not talking to myself in a void.

i just realised now, did i never upload my demoman kirin here??

shits one of my favourites my bad people. drawn back at the start of feb.

also third image with the single balloon pyro whats next to it is an idea i had for a pyro oc

a lot of stickers, a lot of sparkles the colours still need work so thats probably why i stopped doing it

more pony, dragon pyro with clipped wings. also the idea instead of solider having his normal army helmet he has the armor from the crystal pony king sombra war

i love how i say i have nothing to post only to realise i technically do, i just dont share it with anyone lmao

i cant be bother to find all the dates in which i drew these. just know that theyre old by a few months to like the start of the year(??)

#artluli #tf2 #mlp #okay i realise if i keep adding images this post is gonna get too long #gonna just have to massive dump sketches in a 3rd one #probably wont be able to dicuss them as in much depth though #tf2 soldier #tf2 scout #tf2 sniper #tf2 pyro #tf2 engineer #tf2 demoman #tf2 oc

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dearanakin · 5 months ago

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trust you | anakin skywalker: episode VIII

Summary: Anakin gets dragged into a mission with Poe Dameron, while something unexpected happens at the Jedi Temple, where you and the others face the incoming threat. (don't forget I use characters from different timelines)

Warnings: mentions of blood, vulgar language

Word count: 3.2k

previous chapter | read on Wattpad

Anakin:

I was on a mission with freaking Poe Dameron. I would like to think I haven't lowered my standards when it comes to the assignments I usually do, because this one sure fucking isn't it. But I was literally dragged to do this with him, it wasn't the first time either, so I know what he was on about. I didn't have a choice matter-of-factly, because I refused too many times the past two days, but he just made me come with him saying he needed my assistance. He also made me wear a stupid helmet, but I reassured my decision and disagreed.

He works with the fucking Resistance, what does he need me for? He flies a T-70 X-wing starfighter, which is high key superior to my Eta-2 Actis-class. He knows many attack techniques, and he also has an entire group with him flying around.

Poe was using his comlink to communicate with his partners as we reached closer to find the First Order's headquarters. It reminded me badly of the Emperor, but I tried to suck up the feeling of rage inside of me. It's been years already, what is done is done.

While the man next to me focused on his own mission, I thought back to two days ago, when I met (Y/N) in the coffee room. I honestly didn't expect to meet anyone there, hence why I decided to get a drink in the middle of the night. It caught me off guard seeing her after what had happened the last time we were together, which made me feel completely flimsy being close to her.

And it pissed me off that she thought it would be a good idea to bring his lightsaber up after everything he had done before he left me behind. I didn't regret breaking that stupid piece of shit of grip, I should've done that the first time I came across it when she had it in her hands. It drives me insane the way she just trusts everyone she meets, without even realizing how much they can harm people. And worse than that, trusting Obi-Wan fucking Kenobi.

I can't trust anyone after everything I've been through, after I've been left behind from my former Master. Most importantly, I trusted Palpatine's words that he could help me save Padmé, and he betrayed me as well. My issues all lie around the ones I devoted my life to.

Dameron snaps me out of my distraction when he finally speaks up to me, handing me a blaster gun. I rolled my eyes, thinking he definitely believes I would need a blaster gun when I have my lightsaber.

"We're moving forward to attack them, assault their army and gather intel" He removes his helmet, which has features of the Resistance's symbol mixed with a red and black design.

"Jesus, Dameron. You guys know what you're dealing with, right?" I try to stand on my ground and not stick my nose where it wasn't my issue. Obviously, my body was probably going to boil from all the control I'm holding back.

"Yes, Sherlock? We've been here before, but we couldn't find them" Poe moves his head to the sides, looking for a hidden place to land, which was pretty nonexistent.

Why the fuck did he call me Sherlock?

"You couldn't find them" I laughed in disbelief. He truly believes it's that easy to fight against the First Order. "Can you imagine what they're capable of if they find us first?"

He seemed to ponder for a moment, but gave me a reassuring smirk before unbuckling his belt. I did nothing but huff in annoyance over his shitty idea. I was going to help him and his trope, but only because he made me come, and I owe him as well.

"I've led attacks and been to many before, and they were all terrible people. This is no different" Poe tried to convince me he would make it out of here. Again, my trust issues aren't really helping me here.

"Yeah, but they weren't Snoke" I muttered and he shot his head back at me quickly, surprised with my words "I can sense the motherfucker from miles"

We stay glancing at each other for what feels like several minutes, only then he took in what was really happening and how much he was willing to risk himself and his group in a suicide mission. Because that's what it really is when it comes to Snoke. The artificial humanoid was as powerful as Palpatine.

"You're telling me you made me bring you into this shit show and didn't tell me who we're dealing with?" He raised his voice, almost squeaking with desperation, and I furrowed my brows.

I shake my head, not exactly catching on what he's saying. "You didn't fucking know we were literally walking into death?"

"I thought we were fighting off Stormtroopers?"

He's really unbelievable. If I wasn't here, he would be dead by now. Poe would've been sliced into a million pieces and would've taken his entire group down with him.

"Poe! For God's sake, do you ever think before you go on these missions?" I can't even begin to tell how much I'm frustrated with him and his lack of self consciousness. "This is the fucking Supremacy headquarters, it's literally his lair!"

He became desperate and started to communicate through his comlink, letting the others know what we were really getting ourselves into. I swear to God this is why I don't trust people at all. I should've known better than to just follow Poe into the assignments he finds. This is beyond crazy of him.

I decided to take over the yoke of his ship and maneuver it until we start to lift off the ground, swinging it. The moment we started to leave, the stormtroopers finally made their appearance and started shooting at us.

It was really hard to find the right setting for the attack, but I managed to hit the defense laser cannon, trying to blast them and take them down. Poe was in a mix of trying to warn everyone, while he shoved my hands off the yoke.

"You're gonna get us fucking killed!" He screamed before taking control and flying up, far enough to hit the men on the ground.

"You're the one to talk!" I yelled back at him, looking out the window to realize his teammates were still taking off and struggling to fight back. My senses heightened when I felt something really disturbing ring in my head.

At first, it was confusing because it came all at once. The high-pitched noise started to pound in my head and when I looked back at the headquarters, I noticed Snoke coming out of the Supremacy, walking slowly to the edge of the place. He was staring at us, but didn't move a finger.

"Pull the lightspeed gear!" I shouted at Poe, startling him. He looked at me and creased his brows. "Do it now!"

He didn't question my demand, pulling the gear immediately and we crossed the galaxy in a matter of seconds. He looked over his shoulder to get a glance behind us, to see if his teammates were right after us. I unknowingly heaved out a sigh, listening to Dameron do the same next to me when we noticed their ships behind us.

Still, the vertigo and the ringing in my head hit back, and I looked over the transceiver on his control panel. There was a hissing noise and a faint voice on the other side, speaking words we couldn't understand. He managed to spin a few buttons, trying to tune it in so it became clear.

"Code nine thirteen! Nine, one three!" The other voice spoke, and we both looked at each other at the same time. It's an emergency code.

Was that Cal Kestis? My blood ran cold, and I felt a shiver down my spine, and my limbs became numb. I watched as Poe took the lead and gripped the transceiver speaker and spoke to him, I was utterly shocked and couldn't say a word. I started to zone out, thinking about Luke and our groups of people. Even (Y/N) came into my mind.

"It's the General Grievous' army! We are under attack! Where the hell are you guys?" His voice came rather desperate, like he couldn't fathom what was really happening.

"We're coming, landing is in a few seconds!" Poe sped up and quickly we were near the Temple.

"Luke, is he okay? How bad is it?" I was still under a daze, my eyes roaming around the place looking for something dreadful happening down there.I start to unbuckle myself as soon as Poe lands the ship, barely waiting for him to open the doors and I immediately sprint off the hallway of the Temple looking for my son.

From the corner of my eye I noticed Cal hitting his lightsaber incessantly against the army of droids, his face covered in dried blood. He shot me a knowing look when I came over to where he was and assisted him with my weapon.

"Where is Luke?" I hear my strangling voice ask him as we managed to keep ourselves shielded from them. He didn't answer and I raised my tone at him "Where the hell is my kid?"

"He's hiding with (Y/N), she took him!"

"Where?" My hands were swinging the lightsaber as fast as they could, even though I could feel them trembling.

"I don't fucking know- ah!" He grunted and I looked over at him.

One of the droids slashed their sword against his upper arm, ripping a pained groan out of him. I kicked it off and shoved mine against them, beating it into pieces. Kestis watches me with wide eyes and nods when I face him back.

I rush out of the hallway, running aimlessly. I needed to figure out a way of getting to Luke, but I had to think about where she would hide with him in the first place. And I had no idea, given that I still don't know much about her. So I tried the only thing I have to my advantage. I focused my senses and shut down the background noise. A few seconds later, I gathered a few whispering down the other end of the Temple.

My hands were shaking really badly, I thought I was going to pass out from the distress. It was agonizing not knowing where he was and if he was ok. I walked slowly through each closed door, until I could hear shuffling against the smaller one. It could barely fit two people in there. Usually they use force shields so any other force sensitive people wouldn't get ahold of it, but I've worked on mine for so long it can literally overreach it.

"Luke! Are you in there?" I ask, resting my hand over the door knob while leaning my ear against the door. There's still faint noises on the other side. It was faint, but I could hear them. "It's me, it's dad"

"Don't open the door, Luke. It could be a changeling" She whispers to him.

"But I know it's my dad. I can feel it" Luke whispers back, leaning against the door. I can feel his energy dissipating through the room.

"It's me Luke. It's not a changeling, I'm right here!" I try to whisper to him as well, maybe he will sense it too.

For a brief second, he mentioned opening the door but (Y/N) caught him in the middle of it. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

"No, young boy. Did your father not tell you to not trust anyone?" Her words hit me hard like a brick.

I know I've been clear about that, but it felt too weird to be on the other side of the story this time. She knows how I feel about trusting people, (Y/N) is trying to keep him safe using my own advice.

Again, he shuffled on the other side and I felt his body moving further away from the door. This time, she was standing against it.

"Stay back, and hold onto me" She asked in a low tone and slowly turned the doorknob.

I didn't wait until she opened fully, making myself step into the tiny room as I felt a whip of laser coming inches across from my face. She really needs to start practicing her freaking aiming. I watch as she holds tightly to the blaster gun and sighs in relief when she notices it's just me.

I kneel down and hold Luke tightly against me, resting my chin over his small shoulder. His arms cross around my neck and he holds me back with urge.

"Are you okay? Are you hurt?" I ask in a rush and feel my hands pull him tighter, almost merging our bodies together. He mumbles a "no" and clings to me.

I have to be faster if I want to get ourselves out of there alive and in pieces. I hold him up and place both of his legs around my waist, looking back at (Y/N) who watches the closed door, apprehensive.

She looks back at me for a slight second, nodding before preparing herself to walk out of the room.

"Thank you" I mumble almost silently when I stare back at her, both of us getting in position.

We ran across the hallway looking for any kind of cover, while I used my free hand to deflect the blasts and hit them where I could. Whereas (Y/N) attempts to aim and shoot them, miserably failing at it. But at least she's trying. I get to one of the giant metal doors that leads us to the underground, where we keep gears and machines running. There isn't really a path to follow under there, giving us time to reach outside the hangar.

We are met with a couple of battle droids, reaching out to them with Luke still on my hold, while he keeps his head low on my neck and his arms still around my body. I take a sharp inhale and decide to pass him over to her. I have to do it fast otherwise I'll regret it. She darts her eyes at me with furrowed brows and a concerned look, but still does so.

She realizes what I'm on to when I grasp the blaster out of her hand and start to shoot them while using my lightsaber at the same time. The spinning helps me get through the blasts, giving me advantage when I finally beat them down. But there are screaming and rumbling on the other side of the hangar, our teammates fighting them off as well as trying to get rid of their attack.

I step forward trying to figure out a way of getting them down quicker, but my plans get interrupted when something blows them up into flames. My mouth hangs open when I snap my head to the left and watch a ship as it fires off another laser cannon over them.

We all watch as whoever is in charge starts to get off, turning the aircraft around and speeding up in seconds. When I look back to the blown up droids, I notice they took down each one of them and the screaming has finally stopped.

We were safe. Whatever that was, they saved us.

From the distance, I see Poe and Cal running towards us. The redhead seems to be a little beaten but could still stand up, even though his face was covered in small cuts and splits, which was manageable. The pilot, on the other hand, kept holding his side, while his head was wrapped in cloth. You could still see fresh blood spreading against it.

"Holy shit" Poe was out of breath, he dropped all his weight over my shoulder where he kept his hand rested on. "Holy shit"

Holy shit indeed. I should tell him this battle is still nothing compared to what he was about to do.

I snake an arm under his body and lift him up, supporting him while we walk slowly. Louise walks past me still carrying Luke as she carefully uses her free hand to rest on Cal's face.

"Jesus, Cal. Are you okay?" She asks him, concerned about his injuries even though he gives her a nod.

Her thumb ghosts over his cheek, and he holds her hand with both of his, squeezing it. Kestis gives her a sided hug, ruffling Luke's hair.

"Ow, ow, ow!" Poe grunts next to me and I give him a quick look.

"What is it?"

"I don't know, I sense something... weird" He murmurs, using my shoulder for support. "I think it's jealousy"

"What the fuck, Poe?" The pilot is holding a cheeky grin on his face, and I feel my jaw clenching.

"Is that even an emotion you have? Is it possible?" He asks and I dig my mechanic fingers into his shoulder blade. "Ow! Ow! Okay, I'm sorry!"

"Shut up, before I change my mind and feed you to the Ewoks" I hear him chuckling, even though he's definitely in pain.

"Ewoks and Wookies love me, you're gonna have to try harder" Poe muttered.

I swat my hand over his head carefully, not wanting to hurt him even more than I wish I could. "I'll handle you to the fucking First Order next time"

He opens his mouth with an offended look and I display a victorious smirk at him.

There are dozens of injured people at the medical bay, it's definitely going to be a difficult job for all the medics, we were probably going to have to ask for a backup. Both him and Cal get assisted, while we watch them leave our sight. I feel Luke's small hands grab my neck, pulling himself against my body once again.

I shift his weight and whisper him some comforting words. He was really disturbed and I feel bad he had to live this shit. From the corner of my eye, I see (Y/N) trying to get rid of the dried blood from her trembling hands. I reach over and hold her wrist gently as she looks over me with a confused look.

Yes, I hate her sometimes, and she annoys me a lot. But I need to be friendly over the situation.

"We're fine, we're safe now" I speak through a comforting tone and she nods.

"Wasn't prepared for all of this" She tries to keep her head up, but her lips form into a thin line and I know she's in shock.

"I know, we never really are" My flesh hand gives her a reassurance squeeze and I feel my skin burn.

I can't handle the touch. I mean, I can handle touching my son. But when it comes to a woman, I just can't. It still reminds me of her. I jolt it back and try to cover up my reaction. Poe fucking ruined it for me. How can I be jealous of her if we can barely stand each other? This is probably a nonsense statement.

She doesn't say another word, holding her body with affliction.

I clear my throat before I choke out another "thank you". She glances up at me again, this time surprise washed over her face. "Thank you for taking care of him when I wasn't here. And for reminding him about trust"

This is a bit of a big deal to me. As much as I try to keep my distance from her, she keeps being pulled back like a damn magnet. I force myself to stay away from her but things always take a turn and we're once again facing each other. It gives me anxiety, and it's not a good one. If there's even a good kind of anxiety. It makes me feel like I'm taking many steps back after struggling with my reality.

I don't deserve someone in my life anymore, except Luke. All I did was hurt the people I love the most, and if I can keep them alive I can't allow myself to be too close to them. I mean, all of them. I don't want to be a friend for Cal, or Poe. I don't want to be a friend for (Y/N) either. This was an exception, she had to do it because I wasn't there for him. But I won't let it happen again.

And what happened today at the Temple was my fault. Whoever got killed or injured, it was because of me. It was because I still go after those who hurt me before. And General Grievous won't stop until he gets to me. I need to work on getting to him first before it's too late for me. I have to do this alone, this is my fight. I won't have anyone's blood in my hands anymore.

Only my own.

@adorbzliz @himesuedi @kingdomhate @cl0esblogg @littlecoffeenerd @readingthingsonhere @js-favnanadoongi @twilightzone24

#anakin skywalker x reader #anakin x reader #anakin skywalker x you #anakin skywalker fanfic #anakin skywalker fanfiction #anakin fanfic #anakin fanfiction #anakin skywalker imagine #anakin imagine #star wars fanfic #hayden christensen imagine #anakin skywalker fluff #anakin fluff #anakin skywalker #usersavana #clonecaptains #userlace #poe dameron #cal kestis

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cast-you-dxwn · 3 months ago

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The earth quakes before them,

The heavens tremble;

The sun and moon grow dark,

And the stars diminish their brightness.

The LORD gives voice before His army,

For His camp is very great;

For strong is the One who executes His word.

For the day of the LORD is great and very terrible;

Who can endure it?

Joel 2: 10-11

The Heavens crack open. The sky shatters into pieces, Creation reflected in countless jagged fractals of the very fabric of its own reality.

The patience of the Lord has limits, and His wrath is mighty. That which has bathed nations in fire, which has filled the valleys and canyons of the earth with the dead, which has covered the lands in rushing water.

A finality in purification.

A Creation made clean.

A star falls, and the very pillars of the universe tremble with its terrible impact. Heat, pressure, and a light so terribly radiant that it threatens to eclipse the very rays of all the suns of all the realms.

Metal to slag and stone to magma, all to dust and ashes in the face of the crater that now dominates the battlefield, a destruction only seen in Creation as the humans had clumsily learned the power of splitting the atom. The very threads of reality weep and whimper, and from the largest celestial body and the smallest atom come the words that herald the final doom of all things.

Revelation.

Retribution.

Judgement.

Michael.

“Awake. Awake. Rise up, O Jerusalem.”

The words drift through the smoke and dust, and the haze parts with one swift movement, as though the very particulates are commanded to make way by the voice that drifts through them. Like the Red Sea to Moses, a corridor stands now clear between the center of the crater and its observers, with walls of dust and ashes.

“You, which hast drunk at the hand of the LORD the cup of his fury; thou hast drunken the dregs of the cup of trembling, and wrung them out.”

There stands an angel.

His armor gleaming, his robes white as snow, as though untouched utterly by the destruction that swirls about him. Dark-striped wings fully unfurled, their massive expanse touching from edge to edge the deep depression that his entrance has struck into the solid ground.

His helmeted head does little to hide the light that burns in his eyes, supernovae unto themselves, scything across the battlefield with judgement and intent of reprisal.

In his right hand rests the hilt of his blade. The Blade. That which has no name save for those given by its foes. Nay. Its victims.

Foebreaker.

Daemonsbane.

Anathema.

His left, so it seems, is empty. Raising slowly, pale and calloused fingers curling in to his palm save for one. Pointing. Accusing. Condemning. All at the three who dare to stand before him. To stand against him.

They who had once been the most beloved. Not just to their Father, no. But to himself. But what, pray tell, is love in the face of duty? How stands fondness in the face of bitter betrayal? A trajectory following of days long past, when the eldest son had been called to take into account his brother.

“O Brother of Mine. Merry in rebellion. What now, has it cost you?”

He does not look to Lucifer as he speaks. His words not only his, but of the many. Countless voices that rise up from his throat, the cries of the faithful accusing and damning, even as he takes in the two who stand at the Fallen Kings side.

“O High Women of Heaven. One so burdened by duty, as we all must be, why now have you shrugged your shoulders? Why now do you strain against the yoke? Another, light and love incarnate, such tenderness given flesh and feather. Do you not now understand the joy of destruction? The holy uplifting of a righteous cleansing?”

His lips curl bitterly, his teeth bared in anger, and he gestures widely. To the destruction that mars their home, to the blood that spatters the street. When he speaks, his words are an echo, the same as he had spoken when he had once driven his blade into an unruly siblings chest.

“What have you done?”

@high-seraphims @hells-greatestdad

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frostycatblr-fandom-files · 7 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

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