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woradat · 2 days ago

Note

For the ask, can I have IDW Prowl please? Maybe with with forced proximity that ended up with always thinking of the others/each others once they're apart? Hopefully it's clear enough, also love your works btw!!!

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SUMMARY – two cop in operation, with tension that no knife can cut through (pre-war)

PAIRING – prowl x reader

NOTE – that's clear enough, hope this one works for you! I spent quite a bit of time writing that scene, so I apologize if the rest of the writing looks bad (maybe not that bad, but still?)

⚠️ SUGGESTIVE THEME UNDER CUT ⚠️

The door hisses open with a sad wheeze. Inside: silence. Heavy. Uncomfortably well-organized silence. This is not a precinct that looks lived-in

No clutter. No discarded datachips. Not even a dent in the walls. Just a workspace arranged with such neurotic precision that it feels more like an altar than an office. One datapad lies exactly 1.75 inches from the edge of the table. You know because you’re already planning to move it—just to see if he twitches

And then you see him. Standing with his back to the door, arms folded, optic glow reflected in the screen of the crime log interface. He doesn’t turn. He doesn’t greet you. Just simply say “You’re not Firstline”

Wow. Not even a hello?

“Observant” you answer, stepping inside like the floor might eat you “Firstline’s gone. Probably somewhere quieter. Like a burning scrapyard

A pause. A long, very precise pause

Then, slowly, too slowly, he turns. Takes one look at you like he’s scanning for structural flaws. You feel like an appliance he didn’t ask for but has to keep under warranty

“They assigned you”

You nod “They did”

“They know about your incident log”

“…Which one?”

“Stairwell collapse. Shot your own knee once during a ricochet misfire. Electrocuted yourself with a.. malfunction machine?”

“Okay, I feel like you’re cherry-picking the wrong highlights from my résumé” you mutter, stepping around a chair that’s somehow too centered to trust

“Statistically, your continued survival defies several probability models. I’m still reviewing for system error”

“Thank you. I think”

He picks up a datapad and hands it to you without eye contact “Three targeted break-ins at energy redistribution depots. Each two cycles apart. Entry logs spoofed. Surveillance corrupted. Item targets: high-grade cognitive chips. Not replaceable. Not traceable”

You glance at the file, flipping through logs “This smells like an inside job”

“Good. That’s what I wrote in the report you’re holding”

“…Oh. Right. Just testing you. Team-building?”

He doesn’t blink. You're not sure he can blink

They say his last partner quit mid-patrol Didn’t even finish the field report. Left a half-full energon cube on the console and walked out with that look—the one bots get when their processor hits the force shutdown limit for social stress “Said he’d rather transfer to the sewage grid patrol than work another cycle with that code-crusher” someone whispered earlier “Tried reformatting his own emotion chip to feel less rage. Didn’t work” And now it’s your turn. Because the universe? The universe thinks it’s funny

The second you step inside, your sensors protest

The place smells like ion dust and old machinery—coated in the greasy kind of silence that only exists in buildings where something went wrong slowly and nobody noticed. Prowl is already a step ahead

Typical. He doesn’t need to speak to issue commands, he just is one. Every footstep is calculated. Every movement filtered through about six levels of tactical foresight. You? You're doing fine—aside from almost tripping on a panel hinge five clicks back. You only caught yourself because he reached back without looking and yanked you upright by the elbow

You didn’t say thank you

He didn’t expect you to

Now you’re moving in formation, side by side in a corridor not wide enough for side-by-side. His shoulder brushes yours every other step. You try not to think about it

“Stay alert” he murmurs “I just picked up a weak pulse two segments to the west"

“…someone still here?”

“Or came back”

He doesn’t elaborate. He doesn’t have to. You both hear it. A footfall. Then another. Close—too close

Before your next breath, his hand snaps out and grabs your wrist. Hard. And without warning—Your chestplate hits the wall of the maintenance recess with a muted clang

Cold metal. Uneven. Narrow

You barely have time to blink before he's pressed in after you—no room, no pause, no buffer. Just hard armor against softer plating, his pelvis plating, locked behind yours, angles slightly forward every time he shifts to adjust footing. Each movement earns you the press of his abdominal plate against the lower arc of your back, and the sharp, seamless motion of a mech who never improvises—unless he absolutely has to

His hand slams against the wall beside your head. The force of it sends a small shudder through the panel behind you. Not aggressive—just final. Like punctuation. Like a closing gate

“Stay still” Prowl breathes into the narrow air between you

You try

You don’t trust yourself to breathe

But he's pressed in so tightly that every micron of movement feels amplified. Your shoulders are squared against the curve of the wall; his chestplate flattens against your back, firm and unmoving. You can feel the subtle pattern of his armor ridges brushing yours—contours slotting into place by accident… or fate. His left thigh slots between yours, almost casually—but the angle is wrong. There's no space for him to plant his stance properly, so his hip drives into your lower side with each shift of balance, forcing you closer to the wall than you thought possible. To the point that you almost kiss it

And worse still. Your hands are nowhere to go. Trapped at your sides. Pressed between your frame and the wall

And he hasn't moved. Not really. Just that slight lean forward when someone stepped too close outside and when he did that his chest curves over yours —and in doing so, your backplate presses snugly into the softer seam below his collar struts. Just that tense press of his midsection into the small of your back when your balance faltered again —The corridor outside crackles with approaching noise. Footsteps—slow, dragging. Too close. Whoever it is, they stop only inches beyond the alcove’s divider

“..They’re scanning” he mutters, voice pitched so low it sounds like it belongs inside your processor. Prowl’s mouth is beside your audio receiver now, close enough that the movement of his lips stirs the faintest shift of air

His voice cracks at the edge—just faintly as his hand is shaking slightly. Not out of fear. But out of control because now you’re both aware of everything

Of the way your back curves into him. Of the way his abdominal plate locks against the arch of your lower plating. Of the brushed heat of his sparkpulse syncing too close to yours. You shift—accidentally—and that small adjustment causes his torso to slide down just slightly, armor grinding slow over the base of your back

You hear it..He hears it

His other hand comes up, quick, firm, and lands on your waist—not gently. Not by accident. He doesn’t move it

“Don’t do that again” he hisses under his breath. It should sound commanding. It doesn’t. It sounds shaken. You try to retort. You do. You even open your mouth

Now you’re no longer just pressed against the wall. You’re bracketed. Encased. Enclosed. Caging. Pinned

Your voice falters before it makes it past your lips. But finally it came

“You’re crushing my hip actuator..”

“You shifted into it”

You swallow

His hand at your waist. No— now just below it. Palm splayed over your hip bracket, digit angled forward where armor meets the side of your abdominal plate. Not quite suggestive. Not quite innocent. And his thumb? It moves. Brush slowly, tracing the ridge just above the joint of your hip. Hard to tell whether it was intentional or an accident when he only did it once

Your field flares—just slightly, but enough that you know he feels it. He doesn’t comment. But his own field? It hums. Subtle. Coiled

“They’re gone, we're clear” he says at last. But he doesn’t step back. You can feel the restraint in him. The way every servo is holding position by willpower alone. His head lowers beside yours, lips dangerously close to the edge of your head

Your vocalizer stutters back online “..You can move now?”

“I know”

—

You sit at your terminal with a energon cube, pretending to go over surveillance logs. The lights above buzz quietly

The precinct’s unusually still. You should be feeling good. You cracked the case. You made a clean arrest. No injuries. No screw-ups. Not even a misfiled datapad this time. And yet—Your field still stutters every time your thoughts drift back there. Back to that narrow alcove. Back to his servo on your hip. Back to his frame pressed into yours like you were two puzzle pieces force-fit into one impossible frame. You groan quietly and bury your face in your hands

“I need to reboot my processor” you mutter to yourself “or smash it”

Because no matter how many times you try to drag your thoughts back to something else— they always slide back to him. The way his voice dropped.The weight of his chest plating against your back. The way he didn’t move until he decided to. You’re not even sure if you hated it. In fact, you’re very sure you didn’t. And that’s the problem

Meanwhile

Prowl stands at the end of the hallway, looking out the half-shuttered window

He’s not watching the traffic patterns. Not analyzing flight formations or reading case reports. He’s trying to process the fact that his body still remembers the exact angle of yours. And worse—likes it

He can still feel the curve of your back pressed to his chest. Still feel how snug your waist fit under his hand. Still remember the exact point of contact where your hip bracket slotted just slightly over his. Every time he blinks, the sensory map reloads like a damn glitch. He hasn’t been this distracted since training academy

“Unacceptable” he mutters under his breath

But he hasn’t filed a complaint. He hasn’t asked for reassignment. He hasn’t even deleted the sensor log from that sector of the depot. He tells himself it’s for protocol. Evidence integrity. Audit trail. But he’s lying. And he knows it

—

The next day, the paperwork and the results of the mission were all done, everything was done yesterday, which is expected when you work with regulations that have legs and a conscience, but you just got a message

Incoming message: Prowl

“If your balance actuator is still unstable, I can submit a requisition for maintenance diagnostics”

You blink at it. Then snort. Then immediately slam your hand on the desk and bury your face in your hands again “HE REMEMBERS”

And suddenly your core is on fire all over again

#transformers #transformers idw #transformers x y/n #transformers x reader #transformers x cybertronian reader #prowl x reader #reader insert #cybertronian reader

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jetii · 2 months ago

Text

Event Horizon

Chapter Eighteen: Reprieve (Rex POV Part Two)

Chapter WC: 6,545

Chapter Tags/Warnings: fluff and angst, Rex being a cutie, Fives being a good brother, the usual amount of existentialism

A/N: This is a continuation of my previous Rex POV, following chapter 18 and occurring the morning before their Not-Date #2 in chapter 19. If you saw me post this on Wednesday no you didn't!!

As I've mentioned before, I normally write these as things for myself to read and get into the right headspace, so it may be a little incoherent. Also Goldie is only referred to her as she/her in this one, but be warned the next one may not be like that. I am nothing if not inconsistent.

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Coruscant, 21 BBY

The next morning, Rex shoots out of bed at 0600 hours, a bundle of nervous energy.

He gets dressed quickly and heads out, a spring in his step, the datachip in his pocket. It's early enough that he’s one of the first to arrive at the Resolute’s mess hall for breakfast, and he returns the nods and friendly, tired smiles from the night crew as he fills his tray. He takes his usual spot at a table by the viewport and sits down, the chair creaking beneath him, his head down and focused on his datapad.

Rereading her messages is a welcome distraction from the tasteless gruel on his tray. She hasn't replied to his latest note yet, but that's not unusual. She's probably sleeping. He hopes she is, anyway.

Rex picks at his breakfast and reads the messages over and over again, his lips curving upwards into a small smile. The conversations are short, and they're not particularly interesting, but he finds himself reliving them, reading between the lines, trying to interpret the meaning behind each sentence. Is there a double-meaning? Are the words hiding an unspoken truth?

It's pathetic.

He knows that.

He's acting like a lovestruck teenager, not a clone captain who has better things to be doing. Like planning their next mission. Or reading his intel reports. Or actually eating his breakfast.

It's not like him, and Rex knows that. He's not this type of man. He's never been this type of man.

But then again, no one has ever made him feel this way.

No one.

And Rex is finding that he rather likes it.

He’s halfway through a particularly long and amusing message about her recent argument with Skywalker, given a codename in their correspondence because, well, it's not exactly protocol, when the chair across from him scrapes across the floor and a heavy thud follows.

"Mornin'," Fives drawls, his tone thick with fatigue.

"Morning," Rex replies without looking up. He taps the screen and scrolls down, skimming the paragraph, trying to find where he left off, and he feels a smile threaten when he rereads the words. She certainly knows how to paint a picture. It's not surprising. He's read enough of her reports to know her flair for the dramatic doesn't stop at battle.

"Did you sleep?"

"Hm? Yeah," Rex says distractedly, his spoon held halfway between his mouth and his tray. He reaches the end of the message and clicks the button, moving onto the next one.

"Really? You look awful."

"Thanks." Rex lets out a low snort and finally takes a bite, swallowing. "I was up late."

"Yeah? Doin' what?"

Rex pauses and lifts his head. He opens his mouth to respond, but then he remembers the datachip, and the files, and his plans for the day, and he shuts his mouth with an audible click.

"Working," he answers instead.

"Of course you were." Fives shakes his head and starts to mix his vegetable and protein rations together, creating a brown, gooey mixture that Rex would never dare put near his mouth. "You're gonna work yourself to death, you know that?"

"I'll be fine."

Rex shrugs and turns his attention back to the datapad. She's been sending him a lot of pictures lately, mostly of tookas, and though he’d had to ask her to stop, he hadn’t deleted a single one.

Instead, he's saved them, all of them, and he finds himself scrolling through them when he has a free moment, a smile on his lips. This one, he can see her reflection in the shop window, her nose scrunched in concentration as she tries to get a good shot. He resists the urge to zoom in and moves onto the next message.

"If you say so, Captain," Fives hums.

Rex ignores the comment and continues to read, his eyes moving across the words, the corner of his mouth twitching. He's about halfway through her rant about the Council, and he has to fight the urge to laugh.

They're driving me insane. Literally. I swear, they're trying to kill me. Either that, or they're actively trying to ruin my life. There is no other explanation.

It's a dramatic statement, and a little over-the-top, but it's so typical of her that Rex doesn't mind. He'd never admit it, not in a million years, but he finds it kind of cute. Her dramatics. Her overreactions. Her tendency to exaggerate. He likes it.

He likes her.

It's not his fault, really. He can't help it.

If you hear screaming from up here, it's me. Just ignore it. Or, you know, come save me. That'd be nice.

Fives sighs, and the chair creaks as he leans back. Rex hears him take a long sip of his caf and swallow, but he's too engrossed in his datapad to look up. He doesn't have to. He's seen the face his brother is making a hundred times. He's seen him make that face every morning. It's a routine they've both fallen into.

Fives drinks his caf in three big gulps and then sets the cup down on the table. The cup thuds against the durasteel surface, and the chair creaks again as Fives leans forward, his elbows resting on the table. There's a moment of silence, and then his brother sighs again, louder this time.

"Something interesting?" Fives asks innocently.

"Hm? Yeah."

"Really?"

"Just some reports," Rex mutters, his thumb scrolling down the screen. "Nothing special."

"Oh yeah?" Fives hums, and he props his chin up in his palm, giving Rex a sly look as he leans forward, forcing himself into his line of sight. "You don't usually smile like that when you're reading reports."

Rex blinks and lifts his head. He raises an eyebrow and meets his brother's gaze, trying his best to appear unruffled, even as his stomach flutters, his pulse jumping.

"Smile like what?" he asks warily.

Fives leans back and gestures to his face, mimicking a dopey, lovesick grin. Rex can't deny its accuracy. They have the same face. He'd be a fool to try.

He is, though. A fool, that is. And he's going to play the part.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Rex deflects, and he tries not to think about how stupid he sounds.

"You're a bad liar," Fives points out with a laugh. He picks up his spoon and starts mixing his rations together again, the spoon scraping against the metal tray. "You sure you didn't stay up all night writing love letters?"

Rex feels the heat rise to his cheeks, and his eyes widen, his heart stuttering. He glances around the room, but the few troopers in the mess are engrossed in their own conversations, and no one is paying them any mind.

The screen goes dark as he drops the datapad to the table. A faint beep echoes through the space, and Rex clears his throat, shifting in his seat. He takes a deep breath and forces his shoulders to relax, trying his best to appear calm. Unfazed. Unaffected.

"Fives, I have no idea what you're talking about," he says slowly, enunciating every syllable.

"You've been spending a lot of time with your comm lately. And your datapad," Fives muses, his tone casual. He shrugs and shoves a heaping spoonful into his mouth, and then, with a full mouth, adds, "More than usual. And you missed sabacc last night. And the night before."

He gives Rex a pointed look, and Rex frowns, the realization sinking in. He has missed the past few card games. It hadn't occurred to him. It hadn't even crossed his mind. He'd been so focused on getting the intel, and finding a way to tell her, and planning how the whole thing was going to go, that he hadn't realized the implications.

But he's been careful. He's covered his tracks, and he's sure no one has seen him sneaking away to answer messages or send them. Or at least, he'd thought no one had seen him. It was late. And he was tired. He might've been a little careless. But it's not a big deal. It's nothing.

Except it is something.

And he can tell by the smug look on his brother's face that Fives knows it.

Rex scoffs. "What, you're keeping track of my schedule now?"

"Nope." Fives swallows and grins. "Echo is."

Rex's expression hardens, and his lips thin. He should’ve known better than to think the two of them wouldn’t compare notes. He'd underestimated their interest in his personal life, and he can tell by the gleam in Fives' eyes that it's going to come back and bite him.

A tense silence falls between them as Rex stabs at the lump of green protein, a muscle twitching in his jaw. The metal clinks against the plate as he drags the spoon through the mass of rations, the food sticking to the utensil. It's an unfortunate sight, and he tries not to think about the meal awaiting him later this afternoon as he forces a bite into his mouth. The last time, they'd gotten so much food that he'd felt guilty. He'll have to tell her not to this time, though he doesn't want her to think that he doesn't appreciate it. It's the opposite.

The look on her face as she watched him try nearly everything Dex had to offer is something he'll never forget. She'd been delighted. He'd never seen her like that before. It was so...real. So genuine. So open. And seeing her that way...

Well, it had made him feel like someone had grabbed his heart and squeezed.

Hard.

It still does.

"What are you trying to get at?" Rex finally asks, and Fives shrugs.

"Nothing. Just curious."

He scowls and spears another bit of protein, ignoring the look his brother is giving him.

"Right," he drawls.

“You're spending a lot of time in your bunk, and we've all noticed." Fives leans back in his chair and points his spoon at Rex. "And when we have downtime, you're not here. Which means you're either working, or..."

"Or?" Rex challenges, his tone flat.

"Or, you're doing something else."

Fives smirks and leans forward again, his gaze intent, a knowing look in his eyes. It's the same look he gives him every time he catches him staring at her. It's a look that always makes his chest tighten and his stomach twist, and Rex finds himself holding his breath, his muscles tensing.

He waggles his eyebrows, and Rex lets out a soft snort, rolling his eyes.

"That's a bold assumption," he mutters.

"Not really," Fives chuckles, and there's a hint of mischief in his voice that Rex doesn't like. "Because I have a feeling I know exactly what's keeping you up at night."

Rex stares at his brother for a moment, and then, in a sudden surge of panic, he looks around the room again. Thankfully, the troopers are still deep in their conversations, and the officers at the other end of the room are too engrossed in their datapads to notice. But still, he lowers his voice, his brow furrowing, his tone wary.

"Yeah?" he says slowly, his hand gripping the spoon a little tighter than necessary.

"Yeah," Fives replies confidently. "You're finally taking my advice."

Rex blinks. "What?"

"My advice. About talking to her," Fives explains, and he gestures towards Rex's datapad, a sly smile on his lips. “I’m happy for you, vod. She's a looker. If I was in your position, I'd be smiling like that, too."

The food turns to ash in Rex's mouth, and his stomach plummets, his pulse pounding in his ears. He chews quickly and forces himself to swallow, the lump burning a path down his throat as he sets his utensils down carefully. The metal clinks against the tray before he folds his hands together, resting his elbows on the table. He takes a slow breath and meets his brother's gaze.

"I'm sorry," Rex says slowly, his tone even. "Who?"

Fives grins and leans forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

"General Anathorn," he hisses. "Who else?"

The blood drains from his face, and his eyes go wide, the weight in his stomach twisting and churning. His mind spins, trying to think of a response, but his thoughts are a jumbled mess, and all he can manage is a blank stare.

"I...What?" he manages to croak.

"Don't worry, I get it," Fives says, and his lips curve upwards, a smug smile on his face. "You've been flirting with her for months, and she's hot, and you're stressed. Makes sense that you'd try and relieve some tension. Not exactly by the book, but, hey, what's a little fun between friends?"

"Wait, hold on," Rex says quickly, his hand rising in a placating gesture. "Back up. You think...what?"

Fives laughs. He picks up his cup and takes a long sip of his caf. Then, he leans back, his elbows resting on the armrests, his legs stretched out beneath the table, a smirk tugging at his lips. His gaze sweeps over the room and then comes back to rest on Rex.

"Come on, Captain, there's no need to be shy," Fives teases. "You don't have to be embarrassed. We all know."

Rex's mind comes to a screeching halt as the world goes quiet around him. Everything fades into the background, the sounds muffled, the colors dimmed to a haze of grey and white. All he can see is Fives, sitting across from him, grinning at him, teasing him, and all he can feel is the cold weight of dread that's settling in the pit of his stomach, a nauseous chill spreading throughout his body.

They know. They all know. And they all think...

It's the worst possible scenario. He's been careful. So careful. And yet, he'd let his guard down, and they'd figured it out. How long have they known? How many of them know? Are they all laughing at him behind his back? What are they going to do?

This is the kind of thing that could get him decommissioned, reprogrammed, or worse. This is the kind of thing that could ruin everything, and the thought of losing her, of being separated from her, is enough to make him want to throw up.

If they know about his feelings for her, they must know about his conversations with her, too. What else had they noticed? Does he talk in his sleep? Had they seen him drag her into the alcove on Kamino and break down in front of her? Had they watched his hands linger, or his eyes trace the curves of her body, or the way he smiles when she walks into the room?

Has it always been this obvious, or had he just gotten sloppy?

Rex doesn't know.

"Relax," Fives says, waving his hand. "We're all cool with it."

"Cool with what?"

Rex's voice comes out in a choked rasp, and he tries not to flinch. He takes a deep breath and exhales slowly, his pulse racing, his thoughts a jumbled mess. This is bad. This is so bad.

He's been reckless. He's been stupid. He's put himself, and her, in danger.

"The two of you," Fives explains, oblivious to the panic swirling inside Rex, threatening to choke him. "It's cute. We're rooting for you."

"I...you..."

Rex opens his mouth and then closes it. He tries to form words, but nothing comes out.

"You're lucky,” Fives continues with a laugh. He takes another sip of his caf and adds, his tone casual, "If any of us tried half the shit you do with her, we'd have our necks snapped. But you...she seems to like it. You've got some game. I didn't think you had it in you."

"Fives,” Rex says, the only word his brain is able to form.

"I'm serious," Fives chuckles, and he reaches across the table, snatching up the datapad.

Rex lunges for it, but Fives is faster, and he pulls the device out of reach, his eyes scanning the screen. Rex grits his teeth and leans across the table, his hand wrapping around his brother's other wrist and keeping it pinned to the surface. His empty cup turns on its side, a trickle of caf spilling out, but he's too focused on Fives to right it.

"Give it back."

"Hold on," Fives says, squinting at the screen. His eyebrows shoot up, his lips parting in a mock-shock. "Is this a joke? Are you two trading jokes? Wow, Captain."

"Fives," Rex hisses.

"Huh. This is pretty tame," he muses.

"Fives."

"And you're using codenames," Fives adds. "Interesting."

"Give it back," Rex growls, his grip tightening.

Fives ignores him and continues to scroll through the messages.

"These are...actually pretty boring," Fives mutters, his brow furrowing. He pauses and taps the screen, skimming through the texts, a curious look on his face. "Why are you smiling so much? This is just a conversation about caf. How is that romantic?"

"Fives," Rex warns, squeezing his wrist, and he holds his hand out. His tone is sharp and commanding, the kind of voice he uses when the troopers are disobeying orders, but Fives doesn't seem bothered. He's still scrolling, his expression thoughtful, his lips pursed in concentration, and Rex can feel the vein in his forehead pulsing. "You have three seconds."

"What, before you deck me?"

Fives chuckles and glances up, a twinkle in his eye. At the sight of Rex's expression, his amusement fades.

"Whoa," he breathes. He sits up, his face sobering. "Rex, I'm kidding. Calm down."

"Then stop," Rex hisses, his eyes darting around the room. They're being too loud, and too obvious, and he knows the other clones are starting to notice. There's a murmur of curiosity from the other tables, and he can feel the heat rise to his cheeks as the attention starts to shift to him. "Just give it back, okay? And stop looking."

"Relax," Fives scoffs, rolling his eyes. "They're not gonna care."

"Give me the damn datapad."

"Fine." Fives hands the device over, and Rex snatches it, turning it off and slipping it into his pocket. “I’m sorry.”

Rex scowls and rights his cup, and he stares down at his plate. The rations have gone cold, and the color has faded from the protein cubes, leaving them a dull grey, and the smell is even more revolting than usual. It makes his stomach twist, and he has to force himself not to gag.

He feels exposed, vulnerable, and his heart is pounding, his palms clammy. The others will be filing in soon, and the mess will fill with chatter and laughter and jokes. But all Rex wants is to be alone, so he can calm down, and try to think.

He'd been an idiot.

And he needs to figure out what to do about it.

"So," Fives says slowly. He stirs his own food around and glances up. "You and the General?"

"There is no me and the General," Rex snaps, his gaze focused on his tray. "It's not like that."

"Yeah? Then what's it like?"

"I don't know." He shakes his head and runs a hand over his mouth, a muscle working in his jaw. "It's not. I don't know."

"It's not?" Fives asks, raising an eyebrow.

"No," Rex says firmly. He glances up and meets his brother's eyes. "She's my friend."

"Right." Fives lets out a low snort and looks away, taking another sip of his caf. "But you wish it was more."

Rex closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. He lets out a long exhale, his shoulders sagging. There's no point in lying. Fives already knows about his...feelings toward her, and it's not worth the trouble of trying to cover it up. Denying it is only going to make things worse.

"I can't have more," he admits, and he hears his brother sigh.

"Why not?"

"You know why not."

"Yeah, but...you two have been dancing around this for months now." Fives pauses, and his voice grows softer. "And she clearly cares about you. A lot."

"She cares about all of us," Rex points out. "That doesn't mean anything."

"Yeah, but not like that," Fives says gently. "You've gotta give her a little credit. She doesn't talk to us the way she talks to you. She's different with you."

"I'm her friend," Rex replies, his tone flat. "She treats all her friends differently. She has different relationships with all of us."

"No, it's not like that," Fives protests, and Rex feels his temper flare. He clenches his jaw and grips his spoon tighter, the metal creaking beneath his fingers. "You should've seen her on Saleucami when we found out you were injured. She was worried. And pissed."

That catches his attention. She’d seemed shaken up the next morning, and she was quieter than usual, but he thought it was because of her injury. But the way she'd ran to him, the tears in her eyes, the relief on her face...it had sent his pulse racing, his thoughts spiraling, and he'd almost said something, almost given it all away.

He'd chalked it up to exhaustion, the haze and frayed nerves that come after a hard-fought battle. It was a near-death experience for him, for them both. It makes sense that she would've been upset.

But what if...

"Yeah?" Rex hums, trying to keep his tone casual. He keeps his eyes down, his thumb tracing the handle of his spoon. "How mad was she?"

"Mad enough to try to pull a ship out of the sky, vod," Fives says with a chuckle. He shakes his head. "It was kinda scary. I mean, you’ve heard the stories. The woman has a temper."

"She does," Rex agrees, and his lips curve upwards into a small smile despite himself. He props his chin up on his fist and sighs, his mind starting to drift. He knows exactly how she looks when she's angry. It's a sight that's always left him speechless. She's stunning when she's passionate, and there's something about the fire in her eyes, the flush on her cheeks, that's always made his heart skip a beat.

He knows he should be concerned about the fact that she's dangerous. He's heard the rumors about her, and he's seen the proof with his own eyes. She's reckless. Recklessness gets people killed. But her recklessness has saved his life. And her anger has kept her alive. He can't fault her for that.

He wouldn't want her any other way.

"She's something else," Rex murmurs, more to himself than his brother. He lets out a long sigh and shakes his head. "You know what she did the other day? She—"

Rex catches himself and stops when he sees the look on Fives' face. He clears his throat and looks away, his face heating up. He should know better than to let himself get caught up like this.

"Never mind," Rex mumbles.

"No, no," Fives chuckles. "Please. Continue. I'd love to hear about her."

"Don't be an ass."

"I'm not," Fives protests, and he grins, his tone light. "I'm serious. I wanna know."

Rex stares at his brother and then glances around the room, making sure the other clones aren't paying them any mind. He takes a deep breath and exhales slowly in an attempt to ease the tension from his body, and he meets his brother's gaze, his expression stern.

"If I tell you," Rex mutters through clenched teeth. "Will you shut up about it? Will you let me deal with this my own way?"

"Deal." Fives nods. "I won't say anything. To anyone. I promise."

Rex stares at him for a moment, searching his face, looking for any hint of dishonesty or insincerity, but he finds none. There's only an eager curiosity, and a sincere desire to help, and Rex's expression softens.

He can trust his brother. That much he knows. Even if the others have their suspicions, he's sure Fives will keep his word. And he's not about to pass up the opportunity to talk about her. He never passes up the opportunity to talk about her.

He'd be an idiot to do so.

"Okay." Rex nods. He lets out a long sigh and shoves his tray aside, folding his hands on the table. He takes a deep breath and leans forward, his voice low, the words coming out in a rush. "We talk. Every day, sometimes a few times a day. Since Kamino. We just started talking, and we've just sort of kept going, and it's...it's good."

"What do you talk about?" Fives asks.

"Everything," Rex replies honestly. He can feel the heat rising to his cheeks, but he ignores it, a faint smile tugging at his lips. He looks down and taps his fingers on the table in a slow rhythm. "We talked on the holo for the first time last night. She said that, uh...well, she said..."

He trails off, his eyes landing on the viewport, the stars blurring into white streaks as they streak by. He can still hear her voice, the warmth and tenderness, and his heart aches, a pang of longing surging through him.

“We're going to meet for lunch today," he blurts, his face heating up as he thinks about what else she'd said. "I...I asked her."

Rex glances at Fives and holds his breath, waiting for a reaction. But his brother doesn't move. He's still sitting there, staring at him, his eyebrows raised, his eyes wide.

"Did you hear me?" Rex asks warily.

"Yeah," Fives says, blinking. He shakes his head, as if snapping himself out of a trance, and he smirks. "You...you're going on a date."

"No. Yes. I mean, no," Rex stammers, and he lets out a long exhale, his fingers flexing, his nerves starting to get the better of him. "It's not a date. We're just going to eat. Together."

"At a restaurant."

"Yes."

"That's a date."

"No." Rex frowns. "No, it's not."

"Oh, it's totally a date," Fives laughs.

"It's not a date," Rex insists, and his face grows even warmer, the tips of his ears burning. "It's just two friends. Eating. Together. I have some intel she needs. It's...it's a work thing."

Fives gives him a long look. Then he shakes his head and leans back, folding his arms across his chest. He raises an eyebrow, his tone skeptical.

"You have some intel she needs," Fives echoes. “And you couldn’t just…give it to her over the comm? Wait until the next time we see her? It had to be in person? At a restaurant? You really expect me to buy that, Captain?"

"It's the truth," Rex grumbles, and he glances around the room. "And keep your voice down."

"No, the truth is that you've been in love with her for months, and now you finally have a chance to get closer to her, so you're taking it," Fives counters, his voice laced with amusement. He leans forward and rests his forearms on the table, giving Rex a pointed look. "And it's not a bad plan. I'm impressed."

"Don't be," Rex grumbles, and he pushes his tray aside, surrendering to his lost appetite. He crosses his arms and slumps down in his seat, and he tries to ignore the churning in his stomach. "Because it's not gonna happen."

"Why not?"

"You know why," he sighs. Rex runs a hand over his head and frowns. "There's no future here. Not for me. And I'm not willing to risk what we already have. It's not worth it."

"That's a copout," Fives declares, and he sits back, folding his arms across his chest. "You're a soldier. You've risked your life for less."

"That's different," Rex argues. He waves a hand at the viewport, gesturing to the stars. "This is bigger than me. Bigger than her. I'm not about to jeopardize everything for my own selfish reasons. That's not how it works. It never has."

"Maybe it should," Fives says gently. "You can't spend the rest of your life fighting a war and never get to live your life. It's not right."

"Maybe not. But it's not my choice."

Rex lets out a long exhale and rests his head against the chair, his eyes closing. It's a conversation he's had countless times, both with himself and with his brothers. It's not his choice. It's never been his choice. But that doesn't stop the regret. The longing. The guilt.

He knows it's selfish. He knows he shouldn't be thinking about the possibility. And yet, every time he sees her, his heart aches. He thinks about the future, the things he'll never have, the things she'll never have. And he wishes things were different. He wishes they could have a chance.

Meeting Cut and his family on Saleucami had shifted something in him, and it's a realization that has made the past few weeks agonizing. The domesticity. The family. The warmth and comfort. It had awakened a desire that had lain dormant within him, and it's a hunger that has only grown since he'd seen them, a yearning for more than a lonely bunk and a war that has no end.

And it's a longing he's sure she shares. He's seen the way her eyes light up when she's around children, the soft smile on her face, the way her features relax and her posture slumps. It's not often. She's always careful not to show her hand. But he's caught glimpses. Brief moments of vulnerability and longing and a quiet, desperate sadness that makes his heart ache.

She wants more. They all do. But it's not the kind of thing they can have. And especially not with each other.

"You've already jeopardized everything," Fives says, and Rex opens his eyes, glancing over at him. His brother shrugs, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Why not go for broke?"

"Fives," Rex warns.

"No, I'm serious. You're talking to her. You're meeting her in person. You're sharing secrets. You're putting your life in her hands," Fives points out, and he waves a hand at him. "I'd say you've already passed the point of no return. What difference is a little bit more going to make?"

"A lot of difference," Rex replies, his tone harsh. He sits up and meets his brother's gaze. "And that's not fair. We're friends. That's it."

"Friends," Fives repeats, his tone flat. "Yeah, I know."

"Don't give me that look."

"I'm not giving you any look," Fives laughs, and he stands up, placing his empty mug on his tray. Rex does the same with a forlorn look to his half-finished breakfast. "I'm just saying that, if I were you, I'd go for it."

"You'd be an idiot," Rex mutters.

"Maybe. But I'd be happy. And you would be too."

Fives pats him on the shoulder before he picks up his tray and starts walking away, and Rex follows, his steps slow and reluctant. They reach the chute, and he lets the tray fall through the hole, the metal clanging loudly and drawing a wince from Rex.

"What's the worst that could happen?" Fives asks as they walk towards the door.

"What's the worst?" Rex echoes incredulously. "What's the worst?"

"Yeah," Fives says. He holds the door open and ushers Rex through, and they step into the hallway, the sounds of the mess fading behind them. "So you get rejected. Big deal. It happens to the best of us."

"It's not that."

"Then what is it?"

Rex stops, his boots coming to a halt on the tile with a sharp squeak, and he turns to face his brother, his lips thinning, his eyes narrowed.

"I'm a clone, Fives," he says quietly. "And so are you."

"Yeah, I know."

"The clones have a place," Rex explains, his tone sharp. He's not sure if it's the lack of sleep, or the stress, or the sheer audacity of his brother, but his patience is quickly waning, and the frustration is beginning to rise within him. He can't believe he'd even suggest something like that. As if he hasn't spent months agonizing over the very thing Fives is asking him about. "We have our job. We have our role. And that's it. There is no other option."

"Rex—"

"No," he interrupts, and he shakes his head, his expression hardening. "We've been over this. We've talked about this. Multiple times. You know damn well what the worst is."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Fives mutters, rolling his eyes. "They'll decommission you. But they wouldn't do that."

"They would," Rex insists, and his hand twitches. He wants to grab his brother by the shoulders and shake some sense into him, but he restrains himself, his tone growing more agitated. "You think they wouldn't? If they knew about this, they would. And I wouldn't blame them. It's unprofessional, and irresponsible, and completely unnecessary. This is not a joke, Fives. This is our life."

"But—"

"I am not going to be a liability," Rex snaps, and his jaw clenches, his eyes flashing with anger. "And I am not going to be responsible for ruining her life. She's been through enough, and the last thing she needs is to have to choose between me and her duty. So stop."

Fives looks up at him and then down the hallway, his eyes landing on the group of clones heading their way. They're talking among themselves, and laughing, and there's no sign that they're paying them any mind, but the two of them fall silent anyway. Fives takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, his expression sobering.

"Look, I'm sorry. That was stupid. I know," he apologizes, his tone sincere. "I wasn't thinking."

"Then why are you doing this?" Rex demands. He lowers his voice and adds, with no small amount of pleading, "Why are you trying to get me worked up? It's not funny."

"I'm not trying to," Fives says, his shoulders sagging, and he gives Rex a concerned look. "I'm just...You need a push. Or a kick in the shebs."

"Not this kind of push," Rex replies, and he lets out a frustrated huff. "Just stop. Please."

Fives' face falls, and he looks genuinely sorry. It's not an expression he sees often, and it's not one he's ever seen aimed at him, and Rex finds himself feeling slightly guilty for being so harsh.

"This isn't easy," Rex sighs, and he scrubs a hand over his face. "And it's not simple. There's no happy ending here. There's nothing good that can come of this."

"Nothing good?" Fives repeats, his eyebrows raising, and Rex rears back, his eyes narrowing, his stomach clenching. "Really?"

"What?" Rex asks warily, his voice dropping to a whisper.

"You're not serious. Are you serious?"

"What?"

Fives stares at him, a dumbfounded look on his face. He shakes his head and gives him a pitying smile, and Rex feels his face heat up, a sick feeling swirling in his stomach. He hates that look.

"What?" Rex asks again, and Fives shakes his head.

"I don't know whether to be jealous or worried about you," Fives sighs, his voice laced with sympathy, his eyebrows rising higher. "How can you say there's nothing good that can come of this? She's...well, you know. I don't have to tell you."

"I..." Rex stammers, the words catching in his throat, and he looks away, a blush rising to his cheeks. He clears his throat and crosses his arms, his shoulders hunched. "I'm aware."

"And you think that's not worth it? Worth the risk?" Fives scoffs, and Rex scowls. "If I had the chance, I'd take it."

"Of course you would," Rex mutters, and he rolls his eyes, a faint smile tugging at his lips despite himself.

"You're an idiot," Fives says, shaking his head, and Rex shrugs, not denying it. "You're an idiot who's in love with a woman who is definitely into you, and you're going to miss your chance because you're a damn martyr."

Rex glances over his shoulder, and then back at his brother, and he sighs, running a hand over his face. A few clones walk past them, and he waits until they're gone before he answers, his tone weary.

"Maybe," he says finally. "But it's the right thing to do. And you know it."

Fives gives him a sad look, but he doesn't say anything more. Instead, he puts a hand on Rex's shoulder and gives him a small, encouraging smile.

“Alright then,” he says softly. He squeezes his shoulder. "Let me know if you change your mind."

"I won't," Rex mutters, and Fives chuckles.

"We'll see," he says, and he gives Rex one last pat before he turns to walk away. “Enjoy your date, vod."

"It's not a—" Rex stops when he sees the smirk on his brother's face, and he lets out an exasperated huff, a smile tugging at his lips as he shakes his head. "You're a di'kut."

"Takes one to know one," Fives calls over his shoulder.

Rex rolls his eyes and watches Fives disappear around the corner, waiting until he's gone before he moves. His steps are slow, and hesitant, and the weight in his stomach grows heavier with every passing moment. He knows he should feel relieved, and he does, a little, but it's not nearly as comforting as it should be.

He wants her. Badly. He can admit that much to himself. He'd never imagined falling in love, and certainly not with a Jedi, and yet, it had happened so effortlessly that he hadn't even noticed it until it was too late. Now, all he can think about is how happy he is to talk to her, and how much better he feels after a single conversation, and the warmth and comfort and peace he feels whenever she's nearby.

It's a nice thought. A tempting thought. One that leaves him yearning for things he'll never have, and a future that will never be, and he closes his eyes, a long exhale escaping him as the pain in his chest swells.

As much as he hates to admit it, Fives is right. He needs a push, or a kick, or a slap in the face. Something. Anything. Because if he doesn't, he's not going to be able to keep this up. He's not going to be able to keep pushing his feelings aside and burying them under protocol and duty and honor.

He's crossed the line already. He's been crossing the line for months now. He's in too deep. And he needs to figure out how to get himself back out.

Or, if Fives is right, maybe he needs to stop trying to swim against the current and just let himself sink.

He can't decide which option would be worse.

But either way, he needs to figure it out. Soon.

He's got a lot of thinking to do, and only a few hours left until his lunch with her. And if the last few months have taught him anything, it's that a few hours is not a lot of time.

Not when he's dealing with her.

taglist: @cyaretra @kindalonleystars @totallyunidentified @lovelytech9902 @frozenreptile @etod @puppetscenario @umekohiganbana @resistantecho @dindjarins1ut @tech-aficionado @aynavaano @burningnerdchild @ihatesaaand @lolwey @chocolatewastelandtriumph @hobbititties @mere-bear @thegreatpipster @lordofthenerds97 @tentakelspektakel @notslaybabes @ayyyy-le-simp @mali-777 @schrodingersraven @megmegalodondon @dangraccoon @heavenseed76 @dreamie411 @sukithebean @bunny7567 @lostqueenofegypt @anything-forourmoony @9902sgirl @jedi-dreea @salaminus @heidnspeak @gottalovehistory @mrcaptainrex @maniacalbooper @burningnerdchild @yoitsjay @julli-bee @moonychicky @sonicrainbooms @dustmusings @webslinger-holland @marchingviolist @deerspringdreams @cw80831

#the clone wars #captain rex #clone captain rex #captain rex x reader #rex x reader #roy writes #event horizon #here it is for the very first time 💀#please accept this humble offering while i cry over writing action again #next chapter is 18k oops

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arliganzey · 19 days ago

Text

Day 5 Prompt: Brothers for @deltasquadweek (HA remembered to tag before posting this time...)

Title: My Brother, My Brother, My Brother, and Me Rating/Warnings: T (because of Scorch's reading choice) Word Count: 1.8k Special Guest Appearances: Aleena (mentioned), a mouse droid Summary: Three vignettes about Scorch and his brothers.

Read it on AO3

“Who do you think changes that light bulb?”

Scorch didn’t need to point out the flashing light on the building across the skylane. It was blinding, even from where Fixer was inside. Each flash made Scorch’s scope auto-adjust for the brightness, and it happened at an infrequent enough interval that the scope would normalize for about four seconds only for the light to flash again. Scorch reckoned it was eighteen seconds.

“What do you mean, who?” Fixer said. “Probably a droid.”

“Yeah. Probably.” Scorch was quiet until the light flashed again. “But who calls the droid when the light needs changing?”

Fixer put a broken slicer into his belt and stared at the cursor blinking on the console in front of him. Scorch was wedged into an uncomfortable position somewhere on the roof and likely needed the distraction. “Maybe you should call it in.”

“I’ve got the building manager’s comms.”

“And his home address.”

 Scorch snorted. “I’ll send him a message via courier.”

“That should do.” Fixer rebooted the console so his program could take over and start copying, dumping, and rewriting the data. “It’s not that urgent.”

Scorch tried to wiggle his toes. His legs fell asleep. “I think my next job will be ‘guy who changes the lightbulbs on top of skyscrapers.’”

“Yeah? Think that would be exciting, do you?”

“Maybe the benefits would be good.”

“You wouldn’t last a week before you got bored.”

“You think you could do better?”

Fixer scoffed as he pulled the datachip out of the console and packed up his toolkit. “I don’t want to change lightbulbs.”

“What’s your dream job?”

A blip appeared on Fixer’s HUD. He reeled back against the wall, rifle in hand, as the door opened. Fixer aimed, ready to shoot to kill whatever walked through the door. Nothing happened—half a second passed, and a mouse droid rolled in.

“It’s a mouse droid,” Scorch announced, much too late with his assessment. Fixer sighed heavily into the comms.

“I could be a janitor, I guess.” Fixer watched the droid, scanning it for any recording devices. Satisfied it hadn’t noticed him, he slipped out the door and started heading back toward the stairs to get to the roof. “Hack into unattended consoles on my lunch break.”

Scorch hummed, watching Fixer’s position change on the map. “Looking for what?”

“I don’t know,” Fixer grumbled, already sounding winded on the stairs, his patience for the conversation eroding.

“You’d do some hacking just for the love of the game,” Scorch concluded.

“Yeah.” Fixer kept going, his legs protesting with every floor. “The love of the game.”

A few moments of blissful silence passed until Scorch said: “You’d have to clean ‘freshers. Toilets and everything.”

“So?”

“I wouldn’t want to do that.”

Fixer snorted. “That’s all right. You’re the light bulb guy, anyway.”

The roof was somewhat obscured from view by other, taller buildings by a water tank, under which Scorch had stowed himself while Fixer went inside.

The light flashed again.

“Need a hand?” Fixer asked when Scorch didn’t immediately get up.

“Legs are asleep,” Scorch grumbled, sticking out his hand. Fixer hauled him out, katarn armor scraping across permacrete. Scorch got to his feet and looked down at his chestplate. “That’ll mess up a paint job… This is why I’d rather be out in the field.”

Fixer put a hand on Scorch’s shoulder to keep him steady on wobbly legs. “No love for Triple Zero?”

“Nah. Did you get what we came for?”

“That and more. Someone should tell our friends in urban planning to keep better tabs on this sector’s building codes.”

“They didn’t think you’d come knocking on the door looking for intel.”

Fixer actually smiled and Scorch could hear it in his voice. “No, they didn’t.”

===

“Sev,” Scorch whispered. “Are you awake?”

There was a long pause. Scorch stared at the ceiling, only a few inches away from his face where he lay on the top bunk above Fixer.

“No,” Sev grumbled.

“Okay.”

The silence felt like static. Sev rustled, turning onto his side. “What?”

“Remember that Twi’lek server on Dorumaa?”

“Yeah.” Another long pause. Sev wasn’t sure why Scorch hesitated to talk again, he usually talked his ear off while Boss and Fixer snored below. “What about her?”

“I have her com.”

Now Sev was intrigued. “No way in haran you have her com.”

“But I do.”

“Okay… call her right now.”

“No way.”

“Then you’re a lying chakaar.”

“I am not, I really have her com, and we have been sending each other messages.”

Sev held out his hand. “Show me.”

Scorch groaned, but then he reached across the bunk bends and put his datapad in Sev’s hand. He watched as the green glow lit up Sev’s face. “What is this?”

“What is what?”

Sev silently turned the datapad around to reveal the last thing on Scorch’s screen, which was a panel from a holocomic with a buxom woman in some sort of tied up prisoner situation.

“It’s called art. Just go to my messages, di’kut.”

Like any good brother would do, Sev found Scorch’s messages and decided to glance at all of them. Scorch had recent messages with each of the squad, of course, and Darman (?), and then an Aleena.

Sev started reading the Aleena conversation. It was painfully boring. There were several iterations of hi, how are you? Good, and you? Alive. That’s good to hear. How’s the weather where you are? Good. Rainy.

“You sent her a meme about having a bad boss.”

“Uh-huh.”

“This is so boring and stupid I can’t even accuse you of fabricating it.”

“Yeah. I’m exchanging messages with a real person.”

“Did it ever occur to you,” Sev reached out to hand the datapad back, “she just messages you out of pity?”

“Why pity? I haven’t told her I’m a soldier.” Scorch took the datapad and stuffed it under his pillow.

“You think she doesn’t suspect we’re all clones?”

“Why would she? She’s never seen a clone before. And Jusik told us we look like brothers when we’re out of uniform.”

“So who does she think you are?”

“I haven’t really told her anything. She probably thinks I’m some mercenary named Scorch, I guess.”

“Huh.” The thought of having a conversation with someone outside of the squad and the army was already a bit jarring. Adding on the fact that she doesn’t even know Scorch is a clone commando made it so Sev couldn’t imagine what he’d have to say. All he knew was the army and being a commando. But Scorch could be… anything to Aleena.

Scorch was suspiciously silent.

“Do you want to tell her?” Sev asked carefully.

“That I’m a clone commando stuck in the GAR until I die? No. I want to…” Scorch trailed off and sighed. He already started this with Sev, so he might as well say it. “Ask her more questions. Get to know her better. Not for any reason. Just… because she agreed to give me her com, and hasn’t blocked me.”

Sev made a hm sound that was neither judgmental nor agreeable.

“I’m going to ask her what her favorite color is,” Scorch announced.

“Okay.”

“What… is… your… favorite… color… And sent.”

“Would you two shut up?” murmured Fixer from below.

“Go to sleep,” Sev said.

A few minutes later, Scorch whispered: “Yellow.”

And Sev knew Scorch probably replied with: my favorite color is yellow too. :)

===

“Again, Scorch? Really?”

From the mirror’s reflection, Scorch saw Boss leaning against the ‘fresher door with his arms folded, clad in red fatigues and freshly shaven, ready to go to bed.

“You can’t boss me around during off hours.” Scorch went back to slathering white paste onto his hair.

“Put some gloves on.”

Scorch rolled his eyes and kept applying the bleach.

Boss came into the ‘fresher and found some gloves, then he walked up behind Scorch and held out his hand. “You missed a whole section in the back. Let me do it.”

The glare Scorch fixed on him didn’t falter as he handed over the bowl. Rumor had it a few of the ARC troopers got a hold of an applicator for bleach and hair dye, but Scorch had never seen it, so he always used his hands. He bleached all of his hair anyway, it wasn’t like he needed to do anything fancy. He’d let the roots grow out until all the orange-ish blonde was sheared away during Delta’s very infrequent visits to the hygiene droids. He’d been totally natural for about a month now, and his usual cycle of natural-‘all blonde’-‘grown out roots’ was ready to repeat itself.

Boss took a small scoop of white paste and patted it into the darker roots Scorch missed, then he moved some heavily applied paste around to try and even it out. “You want the sides too?”

“No. It’s okay. It’s too short.”

“Okay.”

The chemical smell in the ‘fresher was terrible. Boss felt a headache coming on. But he kept applying the paste until Scorch’s head was saturated. “You should rinse it out after thirty minutes,” he said, because he’s been down this road before with Scorch.

“Fifty.”

“It’s going to feel like straw.”

“I put oil in it this time, no it won’t.”

“Thirty minutes.”

“Fifty.”

“Thirty-five.”

“Fifty.”

“Thirty-five or you’ll lose a layer of hair in your helmet again.”

“… Forty-five.”

“Thirty-five.”

“Listen.” Scorch turned and leaned back on the sink, folding his arms. “It’s already been fifteen and the front is still brown. Forty-five, or it’s not even worth it.”

Boss looked and confirmed that Scorch’s hair was still rather reddish brown. “Fine. Forty-five. Did you get that thing the 501st was talking about?”

“The toner? No.”

“Toner,” Boss repeated under his breath.

Scorch shrugged. “I’ve never used it, why bother with it now?”

Boss removed the gloves and threw them in the incinerator. Then he left the ‘fresher without another word.

Scorch looked in the mirror again, examining Boss’s work. He did fine.

There were a lot of clones who thought dyeing their hair was a waste of time and effort. Really, they wore helmets most of the time. But the clones that kept doing dyeing their hair, like him, found it too addicting to stop. Having the ability to change his appearance felt like breaking the rules. And even his brothers in Delta painted their armor not with a singular squad theme, but their own individual colors.

Scorch brushed a hand over his jaw. He already looked different from every other clone, burn scars and skin grafts etching the side of his face. But he liked being blonde—even if he wasn’t a clone, he reockened he’d still bleach his hair. Or pay someone to do it.

Soon Boss reappeared in the ‘fresher with a bottle in hand. “Toner.” He tossed it to Scorch.

Scorch caught it. The bottle was unmarked and full of a purple liquid, clearly someone poured from the store bought bottle into this separate container. “Okay?”

“He said after you rinse out the bleach, put that on, and leave it until the orange is gone. The longer you leave it, the whiter your hair will get.”

Turning fully to Boss, Scorch stared at him.

“What?” said Boss.

“Thank you.”

Boss nodded. He lingered in the doorway. “Want me to help with the back again?”

“Yeah… Thanks, vod.”

#deltasquadweek #delta squad #republic commando #scorch #fixer #boss #sev

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redwryvernwrites · 2 months ago

Note

Fun facts about Megs?

Can’t have Optimus facts without Megan! He might get jealous! For this I’ll be referring to his alters as individuals because that is what they are. The current Alters he has in the story are:

D16 - (Miner + Cogged with Onyx Prime’s Tcog)

Lord Megatron - (Ruthless Warlord and Leader of the Decepticons)

Megatron - (Emerged after the divorce with Soundwave. Still trying to find himself)

D16 knew about the High Guard from Orion Pax’s stolen datachips. He often dreamed to join but since they had been ‘disbanded’ after the Prime’s fell he knew he never would. Fate had other ideas.

Lord Megatron’s favourite planet is Euthymia due to the personal memories he and Soundwave share of it.

Megatron\Megs grew to love bird watching after Dorothy introduced her hobby to him. It’s part of the reason he calls Twitch Little Bird.

D16 has no to little memory of his past, only small snippets of people he doesn’t recognise and an ache in his spark that something is missing.

Lord Megatron raised and tamed the Titan Trypticon, a titan that once served the ancient leader of the High Guard. Trypticon served as the Decepticon Flagship, Nemesis, when transformed. Trypticon perished when he became starved of energon.

Megatron suffers from chronic pain. The only people who know about it are Dorothy, Elita and Wheeljack. Ratchet also knowe but he’s not on Earth right now.

D16 and Lord Megatron’s favourite animals are Sharks. Megatron’s favourite animals are birds.

D16’s sire is named Terminus. His mother/carrier name was unknown, but they were both D-Class’s.

Megatron never fights with his full strength as he once did as Lord Megatron. He believes he is weakened by the injuries Soundwave has given him, but he also feels that he is undeserving of his strength after all he has done. He rarely ever fights to his limit unless those he protects are threatened.

Lord Megatron searched every archive he could trying to find any trace of his parents or the D-Class however found nothing. It briefly fueled Lord Megatron’s crusade, thinking himself specially made by Primus himself but Soundwave’s memories of his adoptive family (His carrier and brother both being D-Class’s) quickly tempered that. He has no idea what happened to his own class or why he is alone. He wishes that he wasn’t.

#maccadam #tf shattered alloys au #earthspark #tf one #d16 #megatron #tf earthspark

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awkward-tension-art · 1 month ago

Text

Viral Vector Chp.6 (Echo x Reader)

Chapter 5. Epilogue

Hyperspace

tw: Omega being cute, Galactic Empire, Swearing, violence, blaster wounds, gun fight, reader insert, mentions of medical procedures, Reader is gender neutral, Reader a medical scientist, Echo x Reader, a bit of a slow-burn though

Dodging the guards that patrolled Kamino was harder than you thought. Your eyes stayed on Hunter’s back, following him and commands as you navigated the guarded halls of the Tipoca City.

Echo stayed close, holding your wrist securely in his hand.

You and your group turned a corner before stopping. A patrol walked back, not noticing any of you. Once the coast was clear, you all continued running. Thankfully, the hangar doors were in sight, so you all made a beeline.

Outside, the weather was as stormy as ever. Thunder and lightning flashed far in the distance among dark clouds. Boxes and crates were scattered on the ground. Among them, Clone Force 99’s weapons and armor.

“All right, boys, suit up. Let's make this quick.” Hunter urged, quickly getting the pieces of his black and red armor together.

You followed Echo, desperately searching for the datachip among his things as he got his gear.

“Right,” Wrecker affirmed as he dug through his possessions, however, after a few moments he began to panic, “No. No! Where is it? Where is it?”

You were about to stop your search to help him when Echo tapped your shoulder.

In his hand was the datachip, “Is this it?”

With a relieved smile, you took it, “Yes…Thank you for finding it.”

“Wasn’t hard. Omega stored it in my helmet.” He admitted, looking somewhat shy, “Listen…Despite everything, I’m glad you stayed on Kamino to leave with us.”

Despite your exhaustion, your terror, your overworked mind and body…

Well, you were glad you stayed. For Omega.

For Echo.

“I am too.” You gave him a smile.

You overheard Hunter speak to Tech, “Tech, power up the ship,” He then turned and addressed you, “Stay on the ship with Omega, the rest of us will go after Crosshair.”

Before you or anyone else could respond, an alarm sounded and young girl chimed in, “I don't think we'll have to go far.”

The hangar doors opened, and a squad of Shock troopers rushed in. They took positions behind boxes and crates for cover, guns aimed for you and the other clones. In response you all ducked down, kneeling behind whatever cover you could use.

Slowly, you peaked up, eyes widened at who stood at the center of the Kamino guards. His rifle was in his hand, held securely pointed upward. His armor no longer held the crimson of Clone Force 99, instead he was clad in all black. His eyes, even from a distance, looked empty. Like the other clones under the influence of the inhibitor chip.

Crosshair.

You swallowed, sharing a look with Echo, who donned his helmet and kept his pistol aim steady.

“Is that Crosshair?” Wrecker gasped, adjusting his stance to be more comfortable.

Hunter lowered his own rifle and stood slowly. He abandoned cover, instead walking out into the open. His blaster was at his side, giving Crosshair the clear advantage if a fight were to break out.

“Best stand down, Sergeant,” The sniper hissed, “Make it easy on yourself.”

“This isn’t you, Crosshair.” Hunter pleaded, “We can-”

“We should've killed that Jedi.” Crosshair snapped, cutting off his former squadmate, “You disobeyed orders.” There was uncharacteristic venom in each word he spoke. All of it directed at Hunter.

The squad leader shook his head, “I did what I thought was right.” He argued, standing definitely in the range of fire, “Crosshair, you aren’t in control-.”

Crosshair tsked, cutting him off, “You never could see the bigger picture…now surrender.” He commanded coldly.

He can’t be reasoned with. Not while the chip was in his head.

Hunter looked back at you and his squadmates. Wrecker fully put on his helmet and Echo readjusted his grip on his blaster. Despite their small numbers, they had strength. They could take on the Kamino guard if need be.

But you could tell all of them wanted to avoid a fight. Now that it was clear the Clone Troopers had no control, fighting them was a last resort.

“Is that an order?” The brown-haired sergeant asked, turning back to the sniper.

In response, he huffed out a rough laugh, “I guess it is.”

Hunter continued to glare, but made no moves yet, “Well, I guess I'm disobeying that one too.”

Echo and Wrecker visibility tensed. Omega weaved between crates, getting to your side and grabbed your arm.

Last resort it is.

Thunder boomed outside the hangar, loud enough you felt the vibrations through the metal floor. The flash lit up the room, giving you a clear view of the troopers with their weapons pointed at all of you.

The tense silence was shattered like glass when Crosshair suddenly aimed his rifle and fired.

Luckily Hunter managed to dodge the bolt, diving back behind cover. Chaos broke out as the troopers on both sides began to shoot.

You weren’t a soldier. You were a doctor and scientist. you kept yourself behind cover arms around Omega.She covered her ears and lowered her head beside you.

Neither of you were used to this!

The shock troopers tossed two grenades, filling the hangar with smoke. Echo, Wrecker and Hunter were firing blind. The only advantage was the opposite side had as much visibility as you.

At least, that's what you hoped.

The squad leader raised a hand to his helmet, “Tech, we gotta move. Now!”

You didn’t hear Tech’s response. Stupidly, you peaked up, only to immediately duck back down to avoid a lethal shot from Crosshair.

He’s trying to kill you too!

“Wrecker, clear the smoke on three!” Hunter ordered, casting a quick glance your way. You gave him a nod to let him know you were alright.

The larger clone nodded and switched positions. He dashed behind another pile of boxes and picked up two large sheets of metal.

Smart plan. You instantly knew what they were going to attempt.

After their countdown, Wrecker slammed the two plates together, acting as a fan to blow the smoke away. Once his visuals were clear, he threw them. Both metal sheets rammed into the troopers that had been advancing on your position, knocking them to the ground.

Before anything else could be said or done, Crosshair fired another shot. The bolt hit Wrecker squarely in the shoulder, sending him down hard. His helmet slipped off and clattered to the ground as soon as he was knocked back.

“Wrecker!” You called,mind snapping into action. You made a dash towards him, but Echo swiftly stopped you with his scomp arm.

“No! He’ll shoot you too!” The ARC trooper hissed, keeping you and Omega back.

“But he needs help!” You argued. Omega nodded next to you.

Hunter shook his head, “He’s using Wrecker as bait!” The sergeant spoke into his helmet, “Tech, we're out of time!”

Again, you didn’t hear Tech’s response, but the ship behind you powered up. Its engine roared to life, finally giving you a clear goal to escape.

Crosshair lowered his rifle and shouted to the trooper to his right, “Seal the bay doors!”

Without another word, the Shock trooper dashed backwards to the control panel. After a button press, the hangar doors groaned and jolted, but didn’t move.

Your eyes widened, recognizing what that meant, Someone was overriding the controls.

Hunter called out to Omega, “When I say "go," you head for that ramp and don't stop. Got it?” He ordered the blonde girl. She didn’t argue, only nodded.

She’s scared. You thought, keeping a comforting hand on her small shoulder. She’s just a kid…already been through a lot…

The squad leader then called your name, “You, Echo and I go for Wrecker.”

You and the clone both nodded in affirmation. You weren’t a soldier, but you were a doctor. Wrecker was hurt, and he needed your care.

“Go!”

Instantly, Hunter bolted upward, firing his rifle across the hangar. Echo followed his lead, giving you cover to dash out and get to Wreckers side.

He groaned under your hands, “Ugh…”

“Easy,” You responded over the blaster fire, “I got you.”

Echo knelt beside you, helping you get the larger clone to his unsteady feet. Hunter continued to cover you, giving you the chance to get to the ship.

However, a blaster bolt narrowly missed your face. The shot grazed your cheek, ripping a hiss from your gritted teeth.

You cast a glance across the hangar, seeing Crosshair load and aim preparing to take the shot. Before he could pull the trigger, another bolt knocked the weapon from his hands. It burst into sparks and hit the metal floor with a loud clatter.

Both you and Echo looked back, seeing Omega on the ramp of the Marauder. She held a smoking rifle in her small hands, looking victorious in her shot.

Nice aim! You couldn’t help the proud smile on your face.

She pulled the trigger again, firing repeatedly. However, it was clear the kick of the gun was a little much for her small frame, as each shot jolted her body. The blaster nearly jumped from her grip.

It didn’t matter though, as she and Hunter bought you, Wrecker and Echo the time and cover you needed to get on the ship. Once you all were securely on the ramp, Tech got the Marauder in the air. It lurched once, but quickly got out of range of Kamino.

You, however, paid more attention to Wrecker. Your hands were slow in getting a bacta patch and some bandages on his wound. It was a blaster burn, you’ve dealt with countless of them. Despite your training, you weren’t as gentle as you’d like to be.

Your adrenaline filled, shaky hands weren’t helping.

“Ouch!” He hissed and jerked away from you.

“Sorry, Wrecker.” You mumbled, “I have something for the pain.”

You didn’t want to hurt him…

He seemed to pick up on your thoughts, “First real firefight? Nothin’ like training!” He used his good arm to give you a heavy pat on the back, “You did good for your first time!”

All you could manage was a small, sheepish smile. He gave you a wide grin in return.

Omega chimed in though, “Is this what you were looking for?” She held up a small black and red tooka doll.

Your strong patient gasped happily, “You found my Lula!” He took the plush in his hand and gave it a one armed hug.

You had no confidence as your hands still shook from fear and adrenaline. Instead, you offered the painkiller injection in an open palm, “If your in pain-”

Wordlessly, Echo swiped the medicine and immediately injected it into Wreckers neck.

He jumped, “Ow!”

“Echo!” You chastised.

Omega, in response, began giggling.

The ARC trooper was about to speak before the door to the cockpit opened. Tech walked forward, gazing at a small object in his hands. From what you could see, it looked like a scanner, “Let's see here…” He raised the device to hover over Wrecker's body, “Hold still.”

“Don't examine me. I'm not a computer.” He snapped, trying to move away from the intellectual clone.

“This will take just a second.”

Omega got your attention again as she silently looked back. Her steps lead her to the cockpit, eyes reflecting the lights around her. She looked in wonder at every star through the window.

That's right… you followed her, She’s never left Kamino…

“First time in space,” You spoke up softly with Hunter beside you as you approached her, “But where’d you learn to fire a blaster?” Your hand was on the back of the pilot's chair, “Certainly not in my clinic.” you teased her slightly.

The little girl shrugged, “I don't know. I never fired a blaster before.”

You ruffled her short blonde hair, “Well you saved us.”

“I guess I got lucky.” She smiled up at you.

“She's not the only one,” Tech quipped, walking past everyone and getting into the second pilot seat.

Your eyes roamed Wrecker’s form, taking in his status. He seemed to be moving well enough. And your quick medical care was holding up. Still, you wished you could do more.

The strong clone noticed your look, “It'll take more than a blaster shot to take me down.” He reassured with a chuckle.

“You were down,” Tech once again interjected.

“Yeah, well, not for long!”

Your pilot rolled his eyes before turning in the chair to face their leader, “What's the plan, Hunter?”

He hummed in thought, hand on his chin, “I thought we could go off on our own. Lay low.” He continued with a shake of his head, “But with Crosshair gunning for us, I'm not so sure.”

Omega pipped up, twirling her seat to look at Tech, “What about your friends? Could any of them help us?”

That was a good point. They must have contacts through the galaxy, right?

“That would be a short list.”

Oh. Nevermind then.

After a brief moment, Hunter perked up, “I can think of one.” he motioned to Tech, “Plot a course for J-19.”

With a nod, your pilot began to type in coordinates.

“J-19?” You asked, doing your best to stay awake now that adrenaline wasn’t running through your blood.

The former sergeant answered you with a smirk, “We know a guy.”

Wrecker raised his injured arm in a cheer, “Yea!” he laughed, as if celebrating.

Echo rolled his eyes but remained silent.

Omega was bouncing in her chair, excitement written all over her face. She was clearly ready for whatever adventure Clone Force 99 was going on.

And you were gladly along for the ride.

“Strap in, kid,” Hunter turned her chair to face the outside, “You're not gonna wanna miss this view.”

The ship hummed to life, and the stars blurred passed the ship. The Marauder jumped into hyperspace.

Omega’s first hyperspace.

#reader insert #star wars x reader #echo x reader #tbb x reader #tbb echo #tbb tech #tbb hunter #tbb wrecker #tbb crosshair #clone force 99 #my writing #star wars #tbb spoilers #arc trooper echo

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the-starry-seas · 5 months ago

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I'm thinking about Mandos and disability again, specifically my OC Tanau who has a TBI and his customised helmet/disability aid

One of the most notable things about it, is that the visor is split into two parts - the horizontal and vertical halves of the T-shape have a thin strip of beskar between them. There's also no tapering in the visor itself, it's pretty much exactly an actual 'T' with 100% straight lines and right angles. Above the visor is an MS for mir'shupur, or brain injury.

In fact, the strip that separates the visor also denotes the line between the top and bottom halves of the helmet's front. The bottom halves slide to the side so he can eat while still wearing his helmet, or drink without having to fiddle with a straw (shaky hands from other physical trauma can make straws difficult).

The visor is custom in more ways than one! He can manually adjust how much light gets to his eyes, to the extent of a blackout mode that allows him total darkness. He can also choose to only black out half his visor, since both parts have their own controls.

There's a speech-to-text readout that automatically displays along the left cheekpiece of his helmet instead of across his visor, so he doesn't have to read text overlaying an image. When his tinnitus gets bad, or he can't stand to hear any more noises, the helmet automatically transcribes all incoming sounds on his private comm channels.

With his memory problems, he sometimes gets distracted from his tasks or disoriented when left alone. Along the right cheekpiece are a few things that he can switch between. One list shows the tasks he's supposed to be completing, and who asked him to do them. The other list shows plans and appointments, with countdowns to things within the next three hours. There's also a map that allows him to ping his husband's armour, their home, and a few other locations they frequent, and get step-by-step directions to find them.

The earcaps of the helmet itself are built further out than usual. This is because they're packed with noise-cancelling tech and a white noise datachip. The noise cancellation can be adjusted to several levels, from blocking out all noises above a certain decibel, to totally muting the outside world.

The white noise helps with his tinnitus. He favours the sound of rain but he can also switch to ocean surf, a crackling wood fire, a creek, windchimes, or instrumental music. His husband also recorded a lullaby that's hummed instead of spoken, and is relatively short so it can loop as one steady stream of sound.

As well as speech-to-text, there's also text-to-speech. He can use a system of blinks to select letters, words, or phrases. His helmet then uses records of his voice to speak for him. Mandos tend not to mind that he's a bit slow answering, he's mir'shupur, after all, and they're perfectly capable of being patient. He doesn't like to rely on sign language with strangers, since there's so many language variants that could lead to misunderstandings.

#come home au #i've been thinking about him again. also i want his kickass helmet.#mandalorians #mandalorian headcanons

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this-acuteneurosis · 7 months ago

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For tricks for treats 2024, I would love more of the Gravity Well AU! I can't remember exactly when that AU is placed in the timeline, but if you could find a way to finagle a reveal of the Death Star plan situation, I think that could be fun! Such as Leia revealing what she thinks was on the datachip, or Anakin revealing he still has the datachip, or maybe even just Luke revealing the sheer insanity of his piloting to blow up the first Death Star and making Obi-Wan go grey in horror.

A little bit of Death Star. As a treat.

#Duty Bound #Tricks for Treats #Tricks for Treats 2024 #Don't Look Back #same chapter for multiple asks

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sorormaior · 11 days ago

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Kulikov

Act One: The Witness

Chapter 8: Of Blood and Darkness

Previous Chapter

The Inquisitor sat back on his stool, evaluating something about them. Cary sipped at their recaf, waiting for his questions.

“Did you know,” he began. “That when we looked through the cogitator files in order to gain proper understanding of you before we went to look for that asteroid, that it pinged at least a hundred or so alerts, over several chapters and legions? We are still receiving requests for updates- at an increasing rate.”

“I didn’t think anyone would remember me, after ten thousand years,” they replied, idly. “At least, no one who also wasn’t recently brought around.”

“There are few,” Gael admitted. “Though most of the requests we received are from chapters with second, third or fourth hand accounts of you. Many recall you, in story or otherwise. Most assumed you were dead.”

Cary watched the recaf roll around in their cup.

“Your absence from the heresy was noticed, Kulikov. He would not tell them where you were, or if you were alive,” Gael leaned forward. “Not even Jago Sevatarion would give your location.”

“Sevatar was captured?” Cary looked up.

Gael nodded.

“Both he and Curze were held aboard the Invincible Reason for a time, in the presence of Lord Guilliman, Lord El’Jonson and Lord Sanguinius. Records fail to tell me of what became of Sevatarion.”

They could not allow themselves to hope, though it clawed painfully at their insides.

“It was assumed you had died in the purging of the loyalists.”

“Half true. But most of our loyalists died with Nostramo,” Cary said. “Why am I here, Inquisitor? Why wake me? Why find me? How did you find me?”

The Inquisitor refilled his recaf, and did the same for Cary.

“A Night Lords warband was recently eliminated by the Ultramarines after they attempted to raid an Imperial world. There were only three-hundred strong of them, yet they had taken the planet’s capital hive city to its knees. Recovered from their ship were a number of artefacts that they did not get the chance to destroy, including this.”

He drew something small from his pocket, a datachip. Gael handled it carefully, and tipped it into their open palm. It was embossed in the legion’s colours, the bat-winged skull stamped onto the metal, inlaid with silver.

“On that datachip resides a series of coordinates and a log of pilgrimages taken by the warband to your resting place.”

Cary slumped against the wall, looking at the datachip.

“It still doesn’t tell me why you woke me,” Cary said. “Other than to take something else from them.”

“The orders actually came from Lord Guilliman, he had some faith in you.”

Cary nodded. Once again they had been pulled into another man’s war.

“You are an experienced warrior with a high skill for stealth and infiltration. You do not kill in the manner your brothers kill, and you command the respect of those who have only heard stories of you: the last loyal Night Lord,” his words were gentle, pleading.

“How badly are things going that you need me?” Cary asked.

Gael did not reply. Cary rubbed their eyes, handed him back the datachip. They drank their recaf and looked at him with tired eyes.

“Let me tell you of Terra, and of the Primarchs,” they said.

Learning the chain had been the hard thing. Everything else could be dealt with- skills could be adapted to fit other situations, adjusting themselves to the new social hierarchy came as easy as breathing. Cary knew people, and Astartes were at their core, simply people. Boys turned to men turned to the sons of demigods. But still men, who laughed and shouted and formed the bonds of brotherhood with each other.

The chain was a completely new skill, and had several components. First of course was the aiming- the weight of the dart had to be compensated for over long distances. Judging the anchor point was another, if it was strong enough to take their weight, which was considerable inside their armour.

Then of course came the most embarrassing part: keeping their balance. The servo motors inside the chain’s firing mechanism were strong, built into their gauntlet sleekly. It was little more than a protuberance on the outside of their forearm, a casing where the tip of the dart poked out.

But of course, when they fired the dart and flexed their thumb against the inbuilt pads on their palm, it immediately started to pull the chain in. The first time they had tried it, Cary had ended up being dragged along the length of the training hall, much to the amusement of their brothers.

Cary practised in private after that. Not that their ego was so easily bruised, but they found it quicker to improve when there wasn’t a crowd yelling suggestions at them loutishly. It also meant they could dim the lights of the training hall to a preferable level- near complete darkness.

They had set up a series of hooks and bars, as well as a few tall rockcrete structures usually only used for urban warfare training. They were pitted with craters from bolter rounds, and in the dark gave the strange impression of a miniature city. It was almost like Quintus, almost in that it lacked the heat, the noise and the smell.

It was almost fun, jumping off the edge of one of the blocks, firing the chain and bracing for the catch. On the upswing they could dislodge the dart and recall it before firing again. They had almost gotten the hang ( ha! ) of remaining in the air.

They swung through the air, grinning to themselves, pleased with all their improvements. Cary brought the chain in, and had just hit the release catch when the entire hall flooded with light. Their vision was lost in a sea of white.

A cry escaped their mouth as they flailed, panicking. They could feel themselves about to fall, raised their arm up blind and fired at what they hoped was the ceiling.

It was then to their complete and utter surprise that they found themselves caught, borne by armoured arms and the lights shadowed by feathered outlines. When they were brought to the ground, Cary found themselves blinking blindly upwards into the face of the Great Angel. The chain clattered to the ground, Fulgrim’s best work bouncing off of the floor.

His face was almost similar to Konrad’s, if Cary really looked. The aquiline features were certainly there, but there was something more noble as opposed to haunting. His skin was a shade lighter than olive, and his eyes were bright red.

He was also smiling.

“Please put me down,” was the first thing out of Cary’s mouth, followed quickly by a hasty: “My lord.”

Sanguinus put them down. He had entered the training hall with a small company of his own sons, who were looking perplexed at the manner in which Cary had arranged it. They snapped the chain back into its housing.

“My apologies, Kulikov, when we entered I assumed there was no one here,” he said, and the worst part was that he did genuinely sound quite sorry.

Cary saluted stiffly.

“No apologies are needed. I have taken enough time here, so I will leave you all to train in peace. Thank you, Lord Sanguinius.”

They then turned, and grabbed their helmet from the low block they had left it, and focused on not running out of the hall in complete and utter shame. There was something about some of the other Primarchs that scared them. At first they had assumed it was simply the effect of the warp that had caused it- they had avoided the Emperor’s other sons like they were the opposite pole of a magnet.

But there was something else, something that made them feel like a fraud. A liar. An imposter. That Lord Sanguinius had looked upon them and saw a quality that wasn’t there. Nacht had always known what they were, and what needed to be done. Nacht knew them from their core, and had made his judgement on their sins, but had not executed them yet.

Sanguinius, Vulkan, Manus, Russ, Guilliman, Corax. They did not know Cary’s sins. In some perverse misunderstanding, they thought Cary good . Cary knew they weren’t. They could be kind, they could be merciful. They were not a good person, just very good at pretending.

Nacht’s brothers had seen how they interacted with him, how they always knew when a seizure was about to strike, how they could persuade him away from bloodier courses of action (sometimes). Perhaps they thought Cary had some level of control over him. Cary would have been the first to tell them that no one had ever had any control over Nacht in his damned life, least of all them.

Still, when Konnacht took charge of the Night’s Children, he did so as a Primarch in high regard. He named them all Night Lords and spoke of how their quiet tactics, the deaths of a few to bring the compliance of many, were the strongest of all.

It was on a nearby world, that had been given a few stray ideas of rebellion, that Cary first saw open combat. They had been assigned to First Claw, if only in name. There was still some awkwardness concerning their rank and position- not quite equerry and not quite anything else.

Still, they followed the commands that came through their helmet’s vox. They followed them right into the trap the others had set- Zvekan and the others who had taken some gripe with them. A bombed out shell of a building, still with warrens of rebels. Cary had gone in first, as commanded, and only just caught the movement of the doors over their shoulder.

The heavy steel doors had slammed closed, with the clanking of chains and snickers over the vox.

“All yours, Kulikov,” Zvekan sneered. “Don’t bother coming out until you find their leader and bring out a score of dead.”

Then their vox went dead, and they were left in the dark with the rebels, who had not failed to notice the sound of the doors shutting.

Truthfully, Cary couldn’t exactly recall what happened next. Only that there had been blood. The rebels were poorly armed and had even worse armour, Cary caught glimpses of their faces in the flash of lasguns.

Eventually, they found the leader, curled up in a ball under his table. At one point he had clearly been a very rich man, his stately clothes now ruined and tattered. Cary wondered if the Imperium had taken that from him, if this was to spite that force which had turned his pleasant life upside down.

Cary had reached out, and crushed his neck in one gauntleted hand. They then began the slow process of retracing their steps. The chain’s motors had jammed with meat, but they had spare lengths of iron chain.

They dragged the dead behind them like a battlefield spectre. The doors opened with a single round from the bolter they hadn’t even had time to reach before the rebels attacked.

Cary spotted First Claw, all standing around in the morning’s golden sun. They were laughing with each other, not noticing them as they drew closer. And closer. And closer.

“Ah, Kulikov,” Zvekan said, his voice betraying his grin. “Why, we thought you were a Blood Angel at-,”

Cary whipped the length of the chain at his neck, where it wrapped around that small gap between neck and helmet and snapped it taunt. Zvekan was cut off with a choke, and Cary brought him down to his knees. They leaned in close to him, pressing the brow of their helmet to his.

“If you ever do that again,” they said, in a low, dry voice. “I’ll tear out your guts and eat your eyes. And you know what? No one will care. Not even Night Haunter. He’d watch me do it and laugh. ”

“What the hell is going on here?” Another voice had crackled through the vox, another set of power armoured boots racing through the debris and mud.

Cary let the chain go slack, dropping Zvekan, who wheezed with all three of his lungs. Raven Guard, with coal-black armour and grey metal trim. Suddenly a shadow stood by them, a shadow that blotted out the sun.

Cary did not even look at him, merely dropped the ends of the chains in his gauntleted hand.

“Your rebels, my Lord Corax,” Cary said.

Then turned and walked away, closing all vox channels. Cary walked past the burnt out shells of habs, to where they had seen the edge of a body of water. They waded in, the water turning crimson around them. They walked until the point where they could fall to their knees and be completely submerged.

Cary attended to the motors of the chain, removing flesh and fabric that had become stuck there. It was nearly impossible to see in the sediment-clouded water, but Cary knew the motor as well as they knew anything. When they were done, they glanced at the several strobing icons indicating at least two people were trying to get in contact with them.

They stood and turned towards the shore. There was Nacht, face shadowed. They opened the vox channel as they approached the shore.

“Cary,” he said. “I have been told you attacked a superior officer and threatened his life. I trust you had a good reason.”

“The best,” Cary told him. “He made me do the dirty work for him.”

“Ah,” said Nacht. “Well, what use do I have of a First Captain who can’t even make his own kills?”

It wasn’t long after that the Night Lords gained a new First Captain, Jago Sevatarion. A Nostraman-born Night Lord- from City’s Edge. Often Cary had thought to ask him about the specifics, if perhaps they had known his family, known him. They never did.

Cary liked Sevatar, respected him. He had seen Nacht and seemed to understand him in an instant, Cary had perplexed him more.

In the early days of his career as First Captain, he had found them on their way to the neophyte admittance halls. They were not wearing their armour, instead wearing merely their body glove, workman’s trousers and their QPC jacket. He looked at them without expression, black eyes betraying nothing.

“Captain Sevatarion,” Cary acknowledged him, stepping around his armoured form.

He reached out an arm to block them.

“Where are you going?” He asked.

“To the neophytes.”

“Why?”

“Were you ever a child, Sevatar?” They asked, using the nickname others had given him. “Were you ever scared?”

“They are not children now, and they will know no fear ,” he replied, unable to keep the mocking edge out of his voice.

Cary shrugged.

“Walk with me then,” they said. “But you’ll have to stay in the doorway, you’ll wake them all up trudging around in that.”

Cary again stepped around him, and continued to the neophyte halls. He followed, chainglaive in hand. Thankfully, he did wait at the doorway. The neophyte admittance halls were long and incredibly dark. Young men lay in rows and rows of cots, some slept soundly, others wept silently.

Cary walked down the rows, reaching out, whispering softly to them. Placing gentle hands on their shaven skulls, urging them to sleep. They had done this for a long time now. Truthfully it made them guilty. As if they were the one who had stolen the boys away from their families, so that their insides could be twisted and their bodies mutilated.

Cary walked among the rows until they could no longer hear weeping, then returned to the door. Sevatar had at least let them shut the door before asking again:

“Why?”

“Because I wish someone had done the same for me,” Cary said. “Because they will know only death and blood. A moment’s reprieve, to gather their strength.”

“You are soft, and stupid,” Sevatar said.

“Oh, probably,” Cary sighed. “I am a thousand times over a fool.”

“You don’t even realise what you do,” he said, unexpectedly.

Cary looked at him as they walked together, not quite understanding.

“You go to them and extend your hand in kindness, without even realising the loyalty it brings you,” he looked down at them, almost amused. “Curze has ruled by fear, yet you have entrenched yourself in their hearts.”

“Oh come off it, Captain,” Cary said, waving a hand. “I doubt most of them even remember.”

“I remember,” he said.

“I never went to you, you never cried,” Cary pointed out.

“No, I was too old. But I remember you there. I thought you were stretching out your time, gathering our brothers into your fold. Now I know you had no damn idea what you were doing, now I know why Curze keeps you alive.”

“You know as well as anyone he’s keeping me alive until the right moment,” Cary said, their voice strangely bitter.

“Hm. Yet he allows you to strike him, to shout at him like a dog, you make demands against fate and sometimes he grants them,” Sevatar doggedly followed them, even though Cary had slightly increased their pace. “Other legions think you are the best of us.”

“I’m not.”

“I know.”

“What is your point, First Captain?” They asked, sharply.

“Oh, we’re First Captain now? I would offer to call you by your title but truly, we don’t even know what it is. You are a Captain in name alone and only occasionally attached to First Claw, you say he has seen your death and intends to make it so- but Kulikov, have you considered that he cares for you?”

They turned away from him. Cary did not want to see his smile. They told him the story of their father, their mother and the crowbar. They told him of the Long Year, as he had likely been too young to remember it.

“When he kills me, Sevatar,” Cary said, quietly. “It will be your task to keep him in order. He trusts you as well as he trusts anyone.”

“I don’t think he will,” Sevatar said. “I’d put money on it.”

“Don’t challenge him on his visions,” Cary warned.

Sevatar merely smiled.

Between the two of them- and on occasion Shang, they could manage Nacht. It also meant that Cary was able to interact with the other legions, to be what he had no understanding of.

Nacht preferred it when the people speaking to him meant what they said. Of course, this didn’t stop him making perfectly cryptic remarks that he expected everyone around him to understand. Cary had always been better with people and, while not avoidant of combat, found themselves being more frequently utilised when communication with other Legions was required.

More and more, they started to notice his decline. Shadows growing deeper under his eyes, his face more gaunt. His seizures became worse, more violent, and his persecutions extended not only to the worlds they brought into compliance, but to the legion itself.

Cary had on more than one occasion been called to stop Nacht. Been forced to use the chain upon him, to attack him in order to get him to see reason. His hands had become claws, and he struck them often- once leaving three long scars across their face. It wasn’t long until their sessions inside the training hall included simulations of him, to work out the points of his armour they could hit.

The best trick they had worked out was to flick the chain so that it arched around, digging into the power pack and either damaging it so that the Primarch was forced to carry the weight of his own armour or at the very least allowing them to fling themselves onto his back. Then they could usually get the chain around his neck, and yell at him.

Sometimes it worked. Sometimes they ended up in the care of the apothecary.

The thing was, Nacht was tricky. He knew them as well as Cary knew him, and was well aware of the best ways to get around him.

Once more led into a trap. Once more tricked. Once more taken away.

#warhammer 40k #wh40k #cary kulikov tag #warhammer 40k oc #caryfic act one tag

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frostbitepandaaaaa · 7 months ago

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Path of Totality, Chapter 3

hello, hello!

enjoy this sweet and smutty treat, rebelcaptain fam. we deserve it. <3

so, so much love to @quarantineddreamer for constantly cheerleading me and generally being a sweet, sweet dear. love you so much, dear friend. <3

PREVIEW

Cassian will consider, later, that maybe they should have waited. That droid or not, the poor taxi driving them back to their bungalow (a much longer ride than last night) did not deserve that sort of behavior from their fares. But, he also considers that he and Jyn are not the first and most definitely will not be the last couple to comport themselves in such a shameful way that evening (or any given evening on this planet, really).

But, these were to be considerations for later, because all Cassian can think about are the sounds Jyn is making, muffled against her bitten lip in an attempt to be discrete. He wants to tell her it’s useless— there is no question as to what they are doing here in the back seat of this taxi to any passerby— but he is too mesmerized by her trying. Trying to hide what he is doing to her. The effort of her restraint, no matter how ineffective, is intoxicating to him. He is equally mesmerized by her expression as she comes. A wrinkled brow and open mouth and flushed sternum. How she feels, shivering and molten over his fingers and palm. He hadn’t been able to see her before, on the beach. He has to close his eyes, unable to take in such a sight any longer, and laves his tongue over the pulsing line of her jugular.

“Fuck… Cassian,” Jyn pants into his ear and both his ego and his cock swell with pleasure at how thoroughly wrecked she sounds. Her palm is hot and firm over his belly, dipping lower, fingers hooking under the waistband of his pants.

“Later,” he warns, nudging her hand away. “Almost home.”

She growls softly in frustration, nips at his chin and seals her mouth at the dip of his shoulder. The Spark flares red-hot and potent under the hard ridge of her teeth.

“We have to— have to check the datachip… before—“ He hisses in a breath, knocks the back of his skull hard onto the plastisteel backing behind his head in an effort to collect himself. Jyn’s hand, no matter his protestations, has found its way back to his crotch. He doesn’t think he’s ever been this hard in his life. It pains him to brush her away, but he has to, damn it all. “Jyn… before anything else.”

She detaches herself from his neck, frowns at him as she palms his cock through his trousers. It takes everything within him to not buck up into her, as shameless and wanton as a virgin boy. “First thing after we get inside, yeah?”

read it on ao3!

#rebelcaptain #fic #my fic #rebelcaptainnetwork #dailyrebelcaptain #updates #path of totality

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somestorythoughts · 2 years ago

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Protective Rage Obi-Wan Fic

So. @fanfic-obsessed has this cool Protective Rage Obi-Wan story idea that yall should check out because it's really good and they've got a ton of cool AU ideas. And I had an idea about an apology scene for it and then the plot bunny that makes you do things like overcomplicate worldbuilding said "you know you could do a whole fic" and now I have 4000 words. I was thinking of splitting it up into parts cause that's a long post but frankly I'm tired and should've been in bed like 90min ago cause I have work tomorrow and mornings suck so it's staying a one shot with the paragraphs spaces cause I am NOT reformatting that now. Enjoy.

Usually, when Quinlan’s pushing himself to finish a mission through this much pain, he’s running on determination, maybe some spite. This time it’s desperation.

He’s not sure if the shouting starts before or after he hits the door panel – or maybe it’s been going on the whole time – but he can see Obi-Wan through the spots in his eyes and that’s good, that’s good, he can’t finish this and maybe his friend can –

“Quin!”

It’s like leaning on stone, Obi-Wan’s mind wonderfully shielded under the worry in his voice and Quinlan holds up a datachip for the hands around his arms. “Coded. Please.”

“I’ll take care of it. I promise.”

He’s staring up at the ceiling now but that’s alright. Obi-Wan has the data. Quinlan can break now.*

Ahsoka isn’t panicking, but only because she’s had a lot of practice keeping her head and she’s not friends with Master Vos. She’s met him though, and knows Obi-Wan and he are close, and she’s scared for him.

“That’s an order Marrow!” Obi-Wan snaps and the medic someone called hisses in frustration from where Ahsoka’s holding him back. She isn’t sure why Obi-Wan’s so adamant that no one get closer to them, but she knows it’s serious. For all Obi-Wan hates the medbay he’ll work with the medics, let them see him elsewhere, and he knows better than to keep serious injuries from them.

“General his leg is gangrenous if he doesn’t get immediate treatment he could lose it! As the head medic-”

“Quin has to be seen by a Temple healer anyone else will make it worse. I don’t like it anymore than you do Marrow.” He’s resting a hand on Master Vos’ head and is holding his hand with the other, trying to sooth his mumbling friend.

“Can you explain why while we wait for Healer Eerin?” She asked.

Obi-Wan frowns, the look he gets when he’s trying to figure out how to explain something Force-related in English. “Marrow. The troopers who have trouble with excessive sound. If they were injured would you treat them in a noisy medbay?”

Marrow scowls, but he stops splitting his attention between Master Vos’ leg and how best to get around Ahsoka and says, “Of course not. Not if there was any way to avoid it.”

“Quin’s psychometric. It’s a useful skill, but sometimes it’s like Force hypersensitivity.”

Cody interrupts as Anakin enters. “Healer Eerin just arrived. She’s being escorted here.”

“Any idea what happened?” Anakin says. He’s waiting by Ahsoka, whether because he already knows approaching is a bad idea or because he got the gist from the way the medics haven’t gotten closer is anyone’s guess.

“Have to keep them safe.” Master Vos mutters and Obi-Wan’s face tightens, though his shields are still rock-solid.

“Who Quin? Who do you need to keep safe?”

But Master Vos never stopped talking, only just loud enough to be heard. He’s shivering too, voice breaking with groans. Whatever he was doing to walk on that leg – Ahsoka is very determinedly not looking at the swelling or the white that might be bone – he clearly can’t keep it up anymore. “Gotta keep them safe from the people and the senators and the Chancellor gotta do something useful with my unnatural powers what good are we if we can’t keep them safe apparently nothing I hoped I hoped I wasn’t gonna get my heart broken again I Obi they deserve better than this-”

His words are cut off by the sound of the door opening as Healer Eerin and a Padawan healer sweep into the room in unfamiliar robes and go instantly to the downed Jedi. Marrow scowls heavy as thunder at not being able to treat a patient on his ship as they do, Healer Eerin passing something to Obi-Wan as she takes his place by Master Vos’ head. Obi-Wan squeezes his hand and stands, moving in line with the troopers around them so that he can slide the chip into the device and examine whatever Master Vos was so desperate to bring him.

“Pop quiz Padawan Lele. Why do we use special gear for Master Vos?”

Padawan Lele didn’t stop what they were doing as they replied: “Because his psychometry is super strong and the pain has seriously damaged his shields. Without the robes or equally strong shields he’ll feel too much of our minds and memories as well. This could delay his healing or damage his mind.”

Marrow goes stiff and Ahsoka thinks that’s the first time she’s seen him look sheepish.

For a few minutes, the room is a quiet tension, little sound aside from the Healers working or Master Vos’ delirious mumbling, fading in and out of hearing. Cody’s giving him the same worried look Ahsoka is, Master Vos sounds like his heart is as broken as his leg and she knows enough about how people work to think that the amount of self-deprecation she can hear isn’t a new thing.

The rage, when it comes, is sudden as a lightning bolt and just as sharp. It’s gone just as quickly too – almost before Ahsoka and the other Padawan finish whipping around to stare at Obi-Wan who looks perfectly calm. Cody’s looking at him too, narrow-eyed in suspicion.

“Excuse me.” He says, still perfectly calm, and Ahsoka thinks of the weight of a sky prepared to burst and wonders if she should follow him, but the door is closed before she can decide.

“Been a while since I saw Obi-Wan get that angry.” Healer Eerin remarks.

“Huh?” Several of the troopers say. Anakin does too and the day has not been nearly overwhelming enough for Ahsoka not to role her eyes at how her oblivious master can lift a tank but not read anger when it’s shoved in his face.

“A little after Anakin first came to the Temple one of the teachers decided he was a poor fit for the Order and was trying to sabotage his work along with bullying him in class. Obi-Wan found out, asked Quin to watch Anakin for an evening, and went after the teacher. The man landed in the Halls of Healing with several broken bones and left as soon as he was cleared to move left for the furthest jedi outpost he could find. If he ever taught again I will be very surprised. Commander he’s safe to move but it would help if we had a clear path to the door.”

“You’re gonna catch flies Skyguy.” Ahsoka says faintly as Cody taps his comm to pass on the message. When he’s finished they all hear the trooper on the other end say, “By the way sir General Kenobi just left for Coruscant’s surface, said he had some business to attend to at the Senate.”

Cody nods, wearing the expression of concern and exasperation he gets whenever anyone he feels remotely responsible for does something dangerous without explaining why. “Check and see if there’s a way to find out what they’re doing.” He orders Crys as the Healers begin to maneuver Master Vos through the door.

“It’s one of the sessions journalists are reporting live sir.” Crys answers, pulling up the feed without needing to be asked, and they all group together to watch it.

Obi-Wan is, to put it bluntly, really fucking pissed. The anger in him pools like water, building and building, and he wills himself to keep calm control as he strides through the Senate building. If he gets too angry to think, things will go wrong.

Quinlan came to him because the things that had already gone wrong were even worse than any of them had been allowed to see, and he couldn’t fix it himself. He came to Obi-Wan for help putting things right.

Obi-Wan will be damned thrice over if he fails that mission.

He’s already sent the information on the datachip to the Council (though he doesn’t know when they’ll be able to see it), to all of the Commanders he has the contact information for (he’s not sure which of them made those particular lines of contact so secure but he trusts Cody’s view of them), and Madame Nu. They can’t afford to let this stay between the two of them, they need the backup. He knows the Council cares, is struggling as much as he is under the weight of the war, and the Commanders deserve to know and can keep their secrets. He includes Madame Nu because he doubts anyone would expect it, and the few interactions he’d seen between her and her single squad of troopers made him certain she adores them.

Plus, she studies Sith Temples. She’s gotta be more dangerous than she looks.

He walks into the rotunda where the Senate are debating the (very reasonable he’s read this one) Clone Rights bill, sees Palpatine, and allows his rage to fuel his leap for the podium.

“Tell me,” He says, cool as can be, as he smashes Palpatine’s face into the stand and kicks Amedda away when the asshole tries to interfere, “what the fuck the jedi did to you that you want our children murdered in their cribs?”

Order 66. Kill all the jedi. All of them.

“Who the fuck gave you the right to have an army bred and implant them all with control chips so that they couldn’t disobey, couldn’t be allowed to even think?”

Control chips that would wipe out the troopers’ minds, take away every thought and feeling and every piece of self that they’d fought to keep, chips that would turn the troopers his friends into the flesh droids senators liked to claim they were.

Palpatine snarled and shot off lightning. Obi-Wan deflected it and continued to ignore the screaming as he mused that perhaps Palpatine had decided there was no point in hiding when Obi-Wan was broadcasting these secrets to the Senate. Then he punched Palpatine below his sternum and then his ribs.

Ah, red lightsaber. There it is. He ducked and broke Palpatine’s arm.

“And while we’re at it, who the fuck allowed you to use those chips to control the Coruscant Guard and make them do your dirty work? Or withhold rations and bacta?”

It’s entirely possible he shouldn’t have included the information about the blackout missions and the extent of Palpatine’s control over the clones. That might have been the kind of thing they’d want to share themselves. Unless they couldn’t say anything?

“Even for the Sith you’re an exceptionally twisted shitstain.” He ducks the other lightsaber and wonders why this asshole had to learn to fight with two.

“You forced my family at blaster point to lead a war you orchestrate from both sides, forced our friends into slavery and now you want to take away everything our friends are when you use them to kill us and frankly Palpatine, I think the fuck not!”

The red lightsaber screams in his hand as he slices Palpatine’s head clean off.

Obi-Wan frowns as he takes in the scene. Huh, Amedda’s still here and oh that’s Master Windu and Master Yoda in the audience. He supposes some Jedi witnesses are a good idea. He grabs Amedda by the front of his robes and uses the Force to help him hold the heavy asshole over the edge of the podium with one hand, just to make sure he gets the point.

“Now you may have gathered that I’m very concerned about the clone troopers’ lack of rights. What about you?”

It turns out that Amedda is also very concerned about the clone troopers’ lack of rights. Good. “Full Republic citizenship and Senate representation that they elect instead of someone who make money off their bodies would be good too.” Obi-Wan adds, looking the Senator from Kamino dead in the eye. He’s pretty sure she’s calculating the distance between him and her pod when she nods.

If Obi-Wan had known all it would take to get his friends their rights was the public murder of one of his least favorite people, he’d have done that at the beginning of this thrice-damned war. The bill is passed very quickly and unanimously, and a couple Senators add a bit about backpay they’d had in the works as well and make some noise about allowing the clones to settle a moon or planet once they have the time to look the uninhabited ones over. That gets less enthusiasm but it’s not being shouted down and they can work with that, so Obi-Wan grins with all his teeth on display and says “I’m glad I only had to kill one politician today.”

The fear that ripples through the Force is unmistakable.

He puts Amedda down and heads to the Senate floor where the Coruscant Guard are waiting. Their shields aren’t bad but there’s awe shinning through them like sunshine in the dessert, bright and warm and painful with the twisting of old griefs and pains and shocked relief, and Obi-Wan says “I assume I’m going to be arrested?”

One of the men, who wears the rank of a Commander, takes of his helmet and asks, “Permission to speak freely sir?”

“Granted, forever and always.”

The man beams, and answers; “Then with all due respect sir, there is no way we’re going to arrest you.”

“Are you sure? I did just beat the Chancellor of the Republic to death.”

“Abso-fucking-lutely. Everyone on the Guard wants him dead within their first week here.”

“Thorn put your helmet back on, we’re not safe unless that law’s enforced.” Someone snaps and a different Commander approaches, leading Master Windu and Master Yoda. His shields are beskar-strong, but judging by his voice Obi-Wan would bet he’s glaring at Thorn.

“I’m feeling a bit spiteful.” Thorn grins and Fox gives that familiar huff that usually means the trooper in question is rolling their eyes underneath their helmet.

“Don’t look at us like that we’re not locking you up either.” Mace says dryly when Obi-Wan looks at him. “I will however, make sure your Padawan gets mindhealing sessions if I have to drag him there kicking and screaming myself. He’s overdue anyway.”

Obi-Wan winces but agrees. Quin hadn’t found solid proof of Palpatine grooming Anakin to be his Sith apprentice, but the information he had found made him suspicious. And once he read that, Obi-Wan can see a lot of things that support it.

Windu pulls him into a hug, startling Obi-Wan. The other Master doesn’t often want a lot of physical contact, and for him to initiate hugs is unusual. He sinks into it.

“Do you know how Quinlan is? Bant had to take him to the Halls.”

Windu shook his head. “I’ll ask.”

“To the Temple we will go after, inform everyone, and let you see your friend.” Yoda adds.

“Vos?”

Obi-Wan blinks at the stern commander. His shields are still thick but every single one of the other Guards are radiating concern and Obi-Wan wonders if Quinlan started this investigation because it was the Guard he wanted to protect.

“He found the information on Palpatine and brought it to me. He was seriously injured and delirious when I left him with the Healers.” The Commander twitches, just barely visible, and Obi-Wan asks, “I’m sorry, I don’t know your name?”

“Commander Fox.”

“Vos looked out for us.” Commander Thorn adds when it’s clear Fox isn’t going to continue. “He did his best to keep civilians off our backs, brought us bacta, snacks, and sweets when he could, tried to make us laugh. He’s our jedi even if it wasn’t official. But we haven’t seen him in weeks.”

Obi-Wan nods in understanding, then turns as Mace looks up.

“He’s in a coma. I can tell you more on the way, I trust the Guard but I don’t want to say this in the open.”

“I’m coming.” Commander Fox states and Commander Thorn nods.

“And perhaps a couple of the men. So we know how he’s doing?”

“I was going to ask one of you if you wanted to come. One would probably be best for now, I don’t know if the Healers are allowing visitors.”

“Just Fox then. I’ll watch out for our vode.” Thorn knocks his forehead gently against Fox’s, murmurs something none of them can hear, and leads the rest of the Guards away. The Jedi and single Commander push through the crowds and pile into a transport.

“Details Mace.”

It’s a sign of how serious it is that Mace doesn’t respond to the tone with a raised brow or eyeroll. “The gangrene is too serious; they have to amputate his leg at the knee. They aren’t sure how far he fell to break it that badly, but they know it’s been untreated for days. Best guess is he was running from someone and couldn’t find a place or the time to take care of it. He’s got some bruising and infected cuts on top of that which makes things worse, but they’re pretty sure they can deal with those. However. He’s not responding well to the healing. It’s not physical, it’s something mental. They aren’t sure what happened.”

Obi-Wan takes a deep breath and exhales shakily. Mace grips his shoulder till he stops quivering and asks slowly, “Do you have any idea what exactly happened the past few days?”

“He was almost completely out of it when he got to me.” Obi-Wan murmurs. “He, he said a lot of bad things about himself and a few things that reminded me about how some people talk about the Force. You know, when people call us or our skills unnatural. He wanted to protect someone, I’m not sure if it was the Jedi or the Coruscant Guard or someone else.”

The rest of the ride is quiet and tense.

Cody meets his general and general Windu at the hanger and finds himself, once again, relieved he’s wearing his armor. He’s not sure he’d survive his general finding out about the highly inappropriate reaction he had to the sight of his General beating up the Chancellor of the Republic on behalf of the troopers. His only consolation is the fact that he’s absolutely sure all the vode that aren’t asexual had the same reaction.

He is surprised to see Fox there, he hasn’t spoken to him in too long, and when he had Fox had been exhausted and tense. He’s been getting worried. He falls into step beside Fox as Obi-Wan updates him on the situation and waits till there’s no one near their group and murmurs, “You can take off the helmet if you want Fox. I promise they’re safe.”

Fox pauses, then yanks off his helmet almost violently. There’s more grey in his hair than there was last time, and a pair of scabbed-over cuts on his cheekbone. He looks like he was tired to the bone last week and hadn’t gotten any sleep this week.

“Fox-”

“Shut up.” Fox snaps, almost quiet enough to be missed by the generals, and Cody hesitates but thinks of Fox coming here to check on a severely injured jedi and decides to wait.

The Healer tells them that they can see Vos, but that they must be quiet and keep calm. The handful of Cody’s men that followed him wait so it’s Cody, Fox, Obi-Wan, and Windu that follow the healer into the room, Cody to offer moral support to his general as needed.

“Commander!” The healer yelps in alarm as Fox pushes past her, stripping off his glove and reach for the General’s limp hand, and Cody thinks of Obi-Wan using a rare order to keep Marrow at a distance and wonders what the hell Fox is thinking before Vos twitches, bare fingers curving towards where Fox has his fingers laid gently on his palm.

The healer scowled and examined the machines Vos was hooked up to. “The rest of you, no touching. Keep calm. You,” she pointed at Fox, who ignores her, heartbreak plain as day on his face “don’t move.”

Cody stays near the door, watching. Obi-Wan’s eyes have flicked towards Fox a couple times, but mostly he’s focused on General Vos. Windu is the opposite. The healer finishes examining the machines and holds her hand above Vos’ forehead, before making quiet excuses and leaving.

She comes back with Healer Eerin who preforms the same examination. “Anything wrong?” Obi-Wan asks.

“I don’t think so but I’m staying for the next 20 minutes to watch.”

It’s twenty minutes later that Healer Eerin kicks all of them out to eat except for Fox, who she brings a chair for. “I don’t know why, but your presence if helping him heal. I’m sure you have things to do but if it’s possible for you to stay a little-”

“I’m not leaving him.” Fow states, and Cody thinks of General Vos’s words on the bridge and heartbreak that hasn’t left his face and thinks oh.

They leave the door open when they go just for a bit, and Cody can tell Obi-Wan had the same idea as him because there’s concern and something that could become anger on his face. General Windu’s as inscrutable as always but Cody’s heard enough from Ponds to know the man takes threats to the jedi seriously. He shushes his troopers outside and waits.

“I’m sorry.”

It’s enough time that Cody had wondered if Fox was gonna stay silent and the shaking in his voice alarms him almost as much as the words. “I didn’t mean it I promise Quinlan. It was just a bad day and I snapped I’m sorry. You force-damned idiot it must have been days to find that and get so injured you know the Guard would’ve done anything they could for you even if I was being an asshole, you think Thorn didn’t smack me around the head when I told him? You’re our jedi Quinlan and we need you to wake up, I need you to wake up I can’t apologize properly if you’re sleeping, please, the Guard’s lost too many people please don’t let us loose our crazy jedi too.”

Fox is crying by the end of that, shaky sobs that scratch his throat, and Cody hits the panel to shut the door and turns to the two jedi.

“Well that answers that question.” Windo states. “I think the Commander will be there a while.”

“If it helps Quinlan heal I can’t speak against it.” Obi-Wan muttered. He slumps into a chair, exhausted. “It’s been a day. Who wants to eat?”

“I do.” Cody says. “And then I want to head to the barracks and make Thorn tell me what’s been going on with Fox, because I feel like I’m missing something important.”

Things get better after that, some slowly, some quickly. The Separatists decide it’s in their best interests to surrender to General Kenobi, and the war wraps up quickly with some planets staying separate and many arrests in the leadership (interestingly, a lot of crime groups that deal with jedi more than they would like to also decide to go clean after that footage. Who’d’ve thought?). The troopers learn about their new home with glee and throw themselves into learning how to be things other than soldiers with a mix of joy and apprehension. It takes time for the Coruscant Guard to be fully comfortable with their other brothers, but it’s something that the rest of the troopers work on furiously when they learn how hellish Coruscant had been for them. Anakin gets so much therapy (as do many other people) and the Jedi use time they have now that the war’s over to start distancing themselves a bit from the Senate, trying to ensure that they can’t be forced to lead an army again.

Fox is there when Quinlan wakes up, asleep and holding Quinlan’s hand and there are tears and apologies and promises. The Guard cheers when they get their general back because they love their crazy jedi as much as the other battalions. And the clones and jedi start to heal together.

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silenceofthewave · 3 months ago

Note

"If I could offer up something for the playlist, Soundwave?" Optimus has a very hopeful look to him, holding out a datachip with a peeling painter's tape label that reads 'Boot Scootin' Boogie'. "It's a little different from what you've been playing, from what Rodimus has shared, but I think it'll be fun."

.....

Soundwave had just finished putting the set list together. It's listening to this, and if Optimus could see its face, it would be deadpanned.

Part of it wanted to say no. Another part of it wanted to see the riot that would happen on the dance floor if it had the audacity to play this.

"I'll see what- I can do."

#->| soundwave: asked and answered #->| best-first #event: roborave

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tigereyes45 · 5 months ago

Text

Chapter 3 is up! This one is focused a little more on Orion & Megatronus.

Summary:

Megatronus arrives at the Hall of Records to meet with Orion Pax. The two do some studying of their own as Ratchet prepares for his big test.

Preview of the Chapter:

Orions turns to gauge Megatronus’ reaction. The taller bot wasn’t looking at Orion at all. He smiles, and follows Megatronus’ gaze. Yellow optics remain trained on Ratchet. Have the pair become such good friends in the short amount of time Ratchet has been treating him? Orion rests a servo on Megatronus’ shoulder before gesturing to the stairs.

Megatronus looks at him with confusion, and what Orion assumes is mild annoyance. He jabs a digit in Ratchet’s direction and explains, “He's studying for the medics secondary exam.”

Best to give him some peace and quiet.

“And what will we be doing?”

“I pulled down some old policies incorporated by past councils to help the people, as well some way of life measurements.” Orion reaches down into the containing unit inside of his right arm. He pulls out four of the several data chips he’s stored inside. Megatronus’ optics glint. Is that excitement? Orion smiles knowingly. “I thought you may liked to watch the video files on these. However, we could join Ratchet at the table if you’d like.”

“No.” Megatronus lumbers closer. Was he going to take the chips? Orion watches him curiously but makes no move to pull away. Megatronus stops himself, from whatever he had been planning to do.

Orion sets the chips back in his container. The pair then ascend the stairs. One of the tables with a datachip reader, near the balcony was available. Perfect! Orion pulls out Megatronus’ seat. The gladiator’s optics widen. Orion rounds the table and takes a seat across from him. From here they can both look down and check on Ratchet at any time.

Pulling all of the data chips out, Orion hands the stack over to Megatronus. “Take your pick.”

A faint ghost of a smile forms on Megatronus’ face. It’s nice. Small, quiet, the exact opposite of his usual composure. Is that how he smiled back when he wrote poetry as D-16? The bigger bot probably wouldn’t appreciate such a direct question. Orion looks around, seeking something they can discuss.

His optics soften as he sees Ratchet again.

“He has been called away to the colosseum quite often these past few days.” Orion attempts to sound casual, but he’s sure the curiosity is evident in his tone.

“There’s been need of his skills.”

Orion laughs at that. The sharp glare Megatronus shoots at him almost strengthens his bout. He opens his vents and pushes out stale air to help ground himself.

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awkward-tension-art · 5 months ago

Text

Viral Vector Chp.5 (Echo x Reader)

Chapter 4. Chapter 6.

Escape

tw: Omega being cute, Galactic Empire, Swearing, mentions of a fight, Some violence, reader insert, mentions of medical procedures, Reader is gender neutral, Reader a medical scientist, Echo x Reader, a bit of a slow-burn though

You woke to your name being called.

You could hear panicked words as your arm was violently shaken. Once everything registered in your mind, your eyes shot open and you sat up.

Only to immediately regret it as a headache pierced your skull.

“You're awake!” Omega let out a relieved gasp before throwing her arms around you, “When I saw you unconscious I was so scared!”

You returned the hug, taking in your surroundings. You had been thrown into one of the cells in the brig of Tipoca City. You recognized the same sterile walls.

Shit.

“Omega!” You scolded her, “What happened? I told you to hide!” Your hands held her face, inspecting her for any wounds or bruises.

“They…found me?” She gave a sheepish smile.

With a sigh you shook your head and hugged her again, “At least now we’re together.” There was a part of you that was relieved to know she was still alright. But there was one question on your mind.

“Did you hide…”

“The datachips? Yes! I’ve made sure no one can find them.” she beamed up at you, “Did you manage to get other files?”

Your nodded was followed by a temple rub. Damn, that trooper didn’t hold back, “I did. But I had to destroy them.” You looked down at the little girl, “Omega, I know why everyone is acting so strange. Something was put inside their heads. Implanted to control them.”

She looked up at you, tilting her head slightly, “The inhibitor chips.”

“I…you know?”

“Not entirely. I mean, I knew there was a chip put inside the clones, but I thought it was for emotional regulation.” the blonde confirmed, “But after everything, I just sorta guessed that it’s the chips.”

Oh. So she had been told the same lies you were.

It made things worse, knowing the clones had no choice in this. When Rein attacked Rig, did he know? Was he aware but didn’t have control? What about the troopers around you? Were they trapped in their own bodies, screaming for freedom that was taken from them?

With a heavy sigh, you rubbed your hands over your face. Despite being knocked out cold, you were still running on no sleep.

Omega put a hand on your arm, “Are you ok?”

With a small laugh you looked at her, exhausted, “I…I don’t know, truthfully. I’ve stolen Imperial files. I don’t know what will happen in the future.”

At least Nala Se could protect Omega, to a degree. The little girl would most likely come out of this unscathed.

Hopefully.

Though, truthfully, your heart ached. Echo was out there. Would he return to your execution for treason? Or would he be told you’ve become a traitor and thrown in a cell to be forgotten? He needed the truth. About the chips. About Fives.

That doctor on the recording…They looked so determined to get the truth out. To clear their lovers name…But they had still been killed for it. For knowing the truth.

Would the same happen to you and Echo?

Omega frowned and grabbed your hand silently. She was about to speak when the doors opened. Immediately you shot to your feet and pushed her behind you. If this was Tarkin coming to-

“Let us go you little-!”

“Echo, enough-”

“This is why Hunter can’t be the leader-”

“Shut it, Crosshair.”

Clone Force 99 were thrown into your cell. They were bickering amongst each other, clearly upset they'd been arrested. They were sent away for a test by Tarkin, and now arrested just like you.

What happened!?

Hunter noticed you first, eyes wide and filled with confusion, “Doctor-”

“What happened?” Echo interrupted, getting to your side quickly, “Why are you in the brig? Are you hurt?” He fired off question after question before realizing how frenzied he sounded. After a second, he cleared his throat, “It’s…good to see you, otherwise.”

You gave a tired smile, “It’s good to see you too. But what are you all doing here? I told Omega to warn you…Why didn’t you listen?”

“That was you?” Hunter perked up, “We came back anyway, for Omega. And you.”

Your eyes widened. They came back for you too? You weren’t a clone. You were an outsider among them. So why…

“At Echoes insistence.” Tech chimed in from where he sat in the cell.

The ARC trooper turned away, brown eyes refusing to meet yours, “Why…are you here?” He changed the subject quickly, “Get under Tarkin’s skin?”

“Stole Imperial files,” You informed him, “And destroyed some others.”

Crosshair let out a snort, from where he leaned against the wall, “Didn’t think you had that in you.” He straightened, “Though, I do want one explanation.” He turned his ire to the squad captain, “Explaining when you went soft, Hunter.”

“Stow it, Crosshair.” Echo tried to shut him down.

The sniper scoffed, “Don't you see we're locked up in here because of him?” He shoved a finger into Hunter’s chest, “He had us disobey orders.”

You shared a look with Echo.

What the fuck happened on their mission?

Tech furrowed his brow and straightened his goggles, “I never thought you disobeying orders was a problem.”

Wrecker nodded, “Yeah. We do it all the time.”

Crosshair gripped his head and snapped, “Good soldiers follow orders!” His eyes were alight with anger, “Every choice you've made since Kaller has been wrong.” He counted on his fingers, punctuating his point, “First the Padawan, then Gerrera. You're becoming a liability.” He spat, shoving the squad leader slightly.

Hunter looked down as Crosshair spoke, however, once he was finished, the leader huffed, “We can debate my choices later. For now, let's focus on getting outta here.” The group broke up to inspect the walls of the cell for any weak points.

With a scoff, the sniper turned and sat down on the farthest end of the cell. Omega stepped past you and joined him, putting a hand on his upper arm.

“You're angry.” You overheard the young clone say.

Crosshair gripped his head, rubbing his temple, “How perceptive.”

Before you could listen, Echo put a hand on your shoulder, “You look tired.” It was an observation, not a question, “Have you gotten any rest?”

Right…

You’ve been awake since the Jedi were named traitors.

“I’m fine. But there's something you need to know,” You couldn’t focus on yourself right now, “Fives. ARC trooper Fives knew this would happen. He knew and tried to stop it,” You watched Echoes expression melt to surprise and fresh grief. Despite that, you had to continue, “There are chips, inhibitor chips, implanted in every clone, coded with orders that every trooper has no choice but to follow.”

“W…What?”

“I’m so sorry Echo.”

Hunter had overheard and turned to face you, he was silent, waiting for more of an explanation.

“Order 66…” Tech spoke up, “When the clones killed the Jedi, there was an order being broadcasted on all com channels. Order 66.” He looked down, holding his chin in thought, “It makes sense now. Such a rapid and sudden change in behavior for the regs, couldn’t be from conditioning alone.”

“Did you know?” Hunter asked, finally speaking.

You shook your head, “No. After Fives exposed the existence of the chips, all scientists were told they were implanted to help troopers handle the stresses of war. I never knew they could have-”

“How could you not know!?” Crosshair stood, voice taking on an accusatory tone, “You’ve been Kamino’s lapdog since the very beginning. How could you not have seen this coming?!” His ire was now directed at you, “You’re no better than the Kaminoans who planted these chips in our heads!”

Omega chimed in quietly behind him, “You don’t mean that…”

“I do!” He snapped, still facing you, “This scientist knew the entire time and let us all-”

Before you could say anything, Echo got between you and his teammate. The ARC trooper looked angry, fist shaking with rage, “Shut it! You know thats not true so stop being a fucking moron for-.”

The door opened, silencing the clone. Two shock troopers, armed and stiff, approached the cell, “CT-9904, you're coming with us.” Once their guns were raised, the rayshield flickered off.

Hunter swiftly stepped to the front, arms raised, “Oh, no, no, no. We stay together.” He argued. Before he could speak any more he was hit rather roughly in the stomach by one of the guards. His knees hit the ground, and he let out a groan of pain.

“Stand down!” The other shock trooper commanded, keeping his rifle on the squad leader.

Without any more arguments, Crosshair stood. He shot you a hateful glare as he walked passed.

Despite your innocence, you still felt shame. Afterall, you dedicated years of your life working for the Kaminoans. Have you unintentionally aided them in harming the clones? Have you contributed to the current situation, even unknowingly?

“I-I’m sorry.” You looked down, unable to meet anyone’s eye, “If I had dug a little deeper…maybe I could have-”

“No, you most likely wouldn’t have survived,” Tech responded to your self-blame, “The Kaminoans are quite secretive as is. Exposing their secrets would have put a target on your back.” He fixed his specs for a moment, “After all, they killed ARC trooper Fives for his discovery, it stands to reason that they would have killed you too.”

Despite his words, guilt still stung your heart. You didn’t respond, looking away from all of them.

“Aw, come on doc!” Wrecker patted a large hand on your back, “Without you to patch us up after each mission or training session, we’d probably have been terminated by now!”

All you could do was return a small yet sad smile

“We can all focus on blame later,” Hunter hissed, rubbing his side, “Right now we need to find a way out of here.”

Tech perked up almost instantly, “I…may have an idea.” He got the attention of everyone in the cell, “This is not a prison.”

“Yeah, well, I beg to differ.” Echo sassed.

The intellectual clone continued as if the ARC trooper didn’t speak, “This is a Kaminoan facility. It was built prior to the Clone Wars. There were no barracks or prisons when it was constructed.” He stated, straightening his goggles.

Hunter didn’t seem entirely convinced, “Well, how does that help us?”

“Because while these cells were retrofitted to hold normal individuals, they could not possibly account for someone like Wrecker.” Tech responded.

This earned the attention of said Wrecker. He perked up with a goofy smile, “Oh! You mean I could punch our way out?” He cracked his knuckles, quickly getting shushed by you and the others. After he cleared his throat, he whispered, “You mean I could punch our way out?”

“If you punch the correct spot.” Tech stood from his seat, but Hunter grabbed his wrist.

“If this is gonna work, we'll need some cover.” the sergeant spoke with authority, “Form a wall.” He commanded.

You shook your head, “I can try and cause a distraction.” Your suggestion caused Echo to whip his head to face you.

Before he could speak, Tech nodded, “Good idea.” Without another word he got up from his seat and knelt by the wall. His hands roamed over the sheet metal before tapping a small area. He looked to you and nodded.

You returned the look and gripped your head, “G-guards!” You called, getting the shock troopers attention. You strained your voice, sounded as unwell as you could, “I don’t…I feel lightheaded.”

Two of them approached, “What's going on?” The one on the left demanded.

“My head…I don’t…” You slacked your body and collapsed. Your body hit the metal, and based on the noise you made, it gave Wrecker the cover he needed to punch the wall.

Omega, much to her credit, cried your name in convincing panic.

“Get this cell open, now!”

“All of you stay put.”

“Are they ok!?” Hunter snapped, demanding fake answers.

You kept your eyes closed as you heard the ray shield drop. After a few moments of hands roaming your body and checking your pulse, a guard grabbed your arm and began dragging you from the cell.

A fake groan escaped your throat and your eyes fluttered open. Just as you did, the rayshield was back on again.

“Get a medical droid.” The guard kneeling over you commanded the other one, “Tarkin wants this prisoner alive.”

Your eyes flicked over the shock trooper. Truthfully, there was only one thing you could think of right now.

Are you aware of what you're doing?

“I’m…I'm sorry…” You whispered. It was a small apology, for currently lying to him. And for not stopping these inhibitor chips. With another fake groan, you tried to get up, “I-I can stand…” Your pretend struggle must have been convincing because the trooper put his gloved hands on your shoulders.

“Stay put.” He commanded.

“N-no, I can walk…” You shakily got to your knees before faking another collapse. You ragdolled to the ground again with a thump, hopefully masking another hit by Wrecker.

“What happened!?” a different trooper yelped, “Why are they like this?”

“They got knocked out. I’ve heard sometimes people can get strokes if they get hit hard enough in the head.”

Hey, someone must’ve been reading first-aid books before this insanity happened.

“Shit. Where's that medical droid!?”

“On its way, make sure the-wait. Where's the girl!?”

It took everything inside of you to keep your eyes closed and your body still.

“You tell us.” You heard Hunter respond.

“Harm her and you’re a dead man.” Echo chimed, and you could picture his glare clearly in your mind.

One of the guards standing over you walked over to the cell. After a brief moment of looking between Clone Force 99, he clicked his com, “Operations, we need a status report on prisoner 0219.”

You let out a pained groan and rolled onto your back, causing the other trooper over you to flinch, “Is that damn droid on its way?”

There was a small clank above you, as if someone was in the rafters. Very slowly you managed to crack open your eyes, spotting Omega in the shadows of the vents. She gave you a sheepish wave.

What the fuck!? Be careful!

Her small noise triggered one of the guards to look up, luckily, the girl shrank back into the shadows.

“What was that?” He demanded.

You could hear Wrecker speak rather boldly, “Sorry,” He apologized, though it was clear he didn’t mean it, “These floors don't hold me so well on account of them not being designed for abnormal individuals such as myself.”

You were certain you could hear Hunter roll his eyes.

“What's behind you?” The Trooper hissed, getting his other two comrades on guard. They left you, choosing to aid their brother.

“Nothing.” Wrecker answered indignantly.

“Move away from the wall. Now.”

Your gaze met Omega’s again. You nodded to her, a signal to continue. She understood and shifted her weight, causing the vent to groan slightly. Once the Shock Troopers looked up, you swung your leg out, kicking one of them before rolling out of the way.

Omega punched down and forced the vent to fall. The heavy grated metal struck all three of the clones on the head, beating them down. She managed to get to her feet and make a bolt for the control panel.

One of the troopers tried to grab her, but you dashed forward. Your body slammed into his, sending you both back to the ground. Another guard slipped out from under the vent piece and chased the little girl.

The sound of the ray shield deactivating blessed your ears as you scuffled with the Shock Trooper. Your head jolted up when you heard Omega cry out, “Get off!” Just before you could help her, Wrecker dashed past.

“Hey.” He sassed before punching the armored clone. Hard.

Omega was dropped to her feet easily.

Tech stunned the other guards quickly, and Echo checked you over, “Nice act.” He smirked.

You couldn’t do anything else but snort.

Hunter sighed, “We need to find out where they took Crosshair. Let's move.” His eyes were alight with determination.

Tech, however, cleared his throat, “We're not going to get very far without our gear.”

Omega chimed in, “They started moving all your things to the hangar. Your gear might be there too.”

Made sense. You knelt to her eye level, “Where are the datachips?”

“With Echoes stuff.”

The ARC trooper blinked in confusion, “What? Why?”

“Because the doctor likes you.” She said innocently.

Your eyes widened, “Omega!”

#reader insert #echo x reader #tbb x reader #arc trooper echo #star wars #tbb crosshair #tbb hunter #the bad batch #tbb omega #tbb wrecker #star wars x reader #tbb tech #the bad batch x reader #the bad batch spoilers

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