#as for the shipping i've already decided that i will indulge my own preferences | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jenstar1992-2 · 4 years ago

Text

Heaven

Pairing: Echo X Reader

Warnings: Some language, insinuations of sexual activities (I don’t know if that’s the right wording necessarily, but there it is), mentions of nightmares, loss, and grieving.

Word Count: 3,836

A/N: So, I'm not sure what all devices in the Star Wars universe are called, and in order to not sound completely inept, I decided to just describe the devices' functions instead of naming them and seeing as I've never come across some of these types of devices in Star Wars, I figured this was the best way to go. I hope that makes sense. Also, I have added a lyric video below for reference. I was initially going to just link an already existing lyric video for the song, but then I just decided to make one instead, using some visuals that better fit the content. Which then meant I had to create a Youtube channel just to upload the thing and link it here, because it wouldn’t let me upload directly from my laptop. 🤷🏼‍♀️ So that's there if anyone wants it, and I now have a Youtube channel for my longer edits.

It was one of those nice, quiet evenings, the kind you didn't get very often ever since you started working with The Bad Batch. They weren't necessarily the rowdiest bunch of clones you'd met, but they did seem to always find a way to interrupt you and your boyfriend's alone time.

It seemed like every time you and Echo found a quiet moment where it was just the two of you, one, if not the whole lot, of them would come barging in out of nowhere, needing something or another. Although, you were pretty sure Wrecker just did it because he thought it was funny to annoy you, and knowing that fact only annoyed you more, but you'd let it slide, always reassuring yourself that there would be a next time, one that wouldn't be intruded upon. It seemed that tonight was one of those times, seeing as the four commandos were off gathering supplies at the nearby village of the planet you were temporarily taking residence on, and you were planning on making the most of it while you could.

It didn't take you long to locate your boyfriend, despite your first impressions the Havoc Marauder was not that big of a craft, so there were only so many places he could be. You found him in the communal sleeping quarters, sitting on the bunk you two shared, datapad in hand reading something or another, as usual. You had been given your own bunk, but after your first week with the group, you realized that you preferred to just sleep together. You both had a little trouble sleeping and found that sleeping in one another's embrace seemed to keep the nightmares at bay and gave you both a much more restful sleep.

You walked over and sat beside him, sliding your arms around his middle and holding him as you rested your head on his shoulder. He chuckled and wrapped the nearest arm around you, keeping you close as he continued to read.

You smiled and let out a contented sigh. Moments like this were rare alright, which is what made you appreciate them more when they did occur. It was just nice to be able to have a sweet moment with your love without a joke being made, or the always popular, "Get a room" comment.

"Would love to", you'd say, "Only problem is, it just so happens to be everyone's room."

"Damn, doesn't that bite the big one", would come Crosshair's snide remark, as he shook his head, mocking you like the snarky ass he was.

It was a good thing that deep down you really did like these guys, or you would've kicked some asses long ago.

You reveled in this quiet moment for a while longer before peeking at the datapad in his hand and asking, "So, what are you reading this time, anything interesting, or just more boring rule books?"

He laughed and shook his head. "You know, I don't just read reg manuals", he responded, turning his head to give you a smirk.

You shrugged. "I know, but you definitely read them a lot more than anyone else I know. I'm not even sure if some of the boys have ever read them actually."

He laughed again and you smiled at the sound. "Well, I'd like to think I've been branching out more lately with my literary escapades. I'm at least trying to be more fun, wouldn't want your book worm of a boyfriend boring you to death", he said, leaning into you with a light shove before straightening up again.

You chuckled and held him a bit tighter. "Yeah, you're a book worm alright, but you’re my book worm, and you’re not boring love, far from it", you said as you pulled your head from his shoulder to meet his gaze.

His eyes softened as he looked into yours, silently thanking you for the praise. He leaned his face to yours and kissed you lovingly, and with so much softness it almost hurt when he pulled away.

You just gazed into each other's eyes for a minute before you remembered why you'd come to find him in the first place.

You unwrapped your arms from around him. "Speaking of trying to be more fun, I have something fun we could do", you said with a bright smile.

He eyed you curiously. "Oh yeah, what did you have in mind?"

You rose from the bunk to stand in front of him, grabbing the datapad from his flesh hand and tossing it on the pillow beside him, taking the now empty hand and his cybernetic one in yours and pulling him to his feet.

"You are going to indulge your girlfriend, who's been waiting all day for this mind you, with a dance", you replied, smile still taking over your features.

He cocked an eyebrow, as if your response surprised him. "Huh, definitely not what I thought you were going to say", he said.

"And what did you think I was going to say", you asked with a smirk as you went to your original bunk above your shared one and pulled out a small electronic device, typing away on it, searching for something.

"Well, I, um... I thought, uh...", Echo stammered, as he rubbed the back of his neck, still searching for the right words. He cleared his throat before saying, "Uh, nothing, nothing, so a dance, huh?"

You shook your head and chuckled at his nervous behavior, you knew exactly what he thought you'd meant, but you weren't going to embarrass him any further.

"Yes, a dance", you replied, finding the audio file you'd been searching for and pulling it up. You then connected the device to the small amplifying device on the table across the room.

"That sounds nice cyare, but I don't know how to dance", he confessed shyly.

You smiled and looked to him. "Then I'll teach you", you told him, pressing on the file to play it and setting the device back on the bed.

As the soft music filled the room, you walked to your now flustered looking boyfriend, taking him by the hand and then slowly guiding him to take your hips. He didn't hesitate to do so, and as he rested his hands on you, and you placed yours around his neck, a light blush rose on his cheeks. He always got like this when you two did anything even remotely intimate. It baffled you that after this long of being together, and after doing much more than this, that he'd be this worked up over, what you saw as, a simple act. But maybe it wasn't so simple to him, maybe the years of touch deprivation had him craving it more than you realized, and add the emotion behind the action, the love you felt transferring between the two of you in something as small as a glance, and you could understand his reaction. This realization had you thanking whatever powers at be for bringing you two together, allowing you to be that person for him, because it was truly a gift, one you wouldn't take for granted.

You began to slowly sway your body from side to side, coaxing him to follow your movements. As you both found the right pace and swayed in time to the song's slow rhythm, you listened to the words being sung and let your mind wander, the words bringing memories to the surface of your consciousness.

Oh, thinkin' about our younger years,

There was only you and me,

We were young and wild and free.

You remembered when you'd first met Echo, back when he was a new addition to the 501st. A young trooper, who's dream was to one day receive ARC statues. You had become fast friends, and after only a few months it was clear that your friendship had grown into something more. It was obvious you two had feelings for each other, the only people who were blind to this were you and Echo. A problem that was soon remedied by his brother, Fives, who had all but forced Echo to admit how he felt to you, which he did, albeit, with quite a bit of struggle on his part, the poor guy could barely get his words out. Luckily, you had caught on to what he was trying to say, and took pity on him, deciding to take this opportunity to tell him that you felt the same.

You still remember the look of surprise on his face at your confession, he hadn't believed it at first, but when you plucked up the courage to grab him by the chest plate and pull him into a tender kiss, he knew you weren't lying, and this had his heart soaring.

Now nothing can take you away from me.

We've been down that road before,

But that's over now.

You keep me comin' back for more.

After the battle to defend Kamino, Echo had finally gotten what he'd been working so hard to achieve, he had been promoted to ARC Trooper, and you couldn't have been happier for him. You remember him coming into your station of the hangar to tell you the good news.

You'd been working on fixing up some loose wiring on a transport ship when you were suddenly lifted from the ground and the world spun around you. After a moment of disorientation, you found your bearings and stared up at the culprit, only to find your boyfriend beaming down at you.

"Woah, where's the fire", you asked in jest.

"No fire, just have some good news", he responded, still smiling wide.

"Oh, ok then, spill."

"We did it", he said simply.

"Umm, ok, who did what exactly", you asked, furrowing your brows in confusion.

"Fives and I, we're being made ARC Troopers", he said, his chest puffing out a bit with pride.

"What, that's great", you practically shouted, and pulled him into a tight embrace. "I knew you could do it; you've worked so hard, you deserve this. I'm so happy for you, you're finally getting your dream."

He squeezed you tighter. "Thank you, and thank you for always believing in me, even when I didn't", he said quietly.

You pulled back to look at him before speaking. "I'll always believe in you Echo. Always and forever."

That was your thing, the mantra of your relationship, if you will, "I'll love you always and forever". This was because you both believed it to be true. Neither one of you could see yourselves falling for anyone else or loving another the way you did each other.

“Always and forever cyare”, he said, smiling softly at you, “And now I can focus on my other dream.”

You gave him confused look. “Other dream, what’s your other dream”, you asked.

His smile grew as he leaned in to speak low in your ear. “You”, he said, making your stomach do a somersault.

You knew it would be difficult, but you two wanted to plan a future together, and spend whatever time you had left together making a family and living a quiet, happy life. Once this miserable war was over, that's exactly what you were going to do.

Unfortunately, things don't always work out the way we want them to, and your dreams of a peaceful life with your beloved were shattered when the day came that the 501st returned from their mission on Lola Sayu, minus an ARC Trooper.

Oh, once in your life you'll find someone,

Who will turn your world around,

Pick you up when you're feelin' down.

Now nothing can change what you mean to me.

There's a lot that I could say,

But just hold me now.

Fives had been the one to give you the dreadful news and had stayed to help you through the initial shock and pain of it all. He had been ready for the inevitable tears he knew would come and did they ever. You couldn't remember a time before that, where you had cried with as much vigor or to the extent that you had, when shedding tears for your lost love.

I've been waiting for so long,

For somethin' to arrive,

For love to come along.

Time seemed to pass by agonizingly slow, as you tried to regain some semblance of normalcy in your life. Having both lost the person you held dear, you and Fives had found a new understanding for one another, and subsequently formed a close bond. He was the friend you desperately needed, just as you were for him. So, when you eventually lost him as well, you were beside yourself with grief.

Instead of wallowing in your sorrow, like you wanted to, you decided to throw yourself into your work, trying desperately to keep yourself busy, so as to not give yourself time to think of what you had lost. This worked most of the time, but there were always those times when something would remind you of them, a laugh that was just too close to the one you remembered, or a smile from a kind trooper that hit too close to home. Then there were those nights where you would wake from a nightmare and reach out beside you for a comforting hand, only to find empty space, those times were the hardest. It took everything you had inside you to just keep on going, because you knew that they wouldn't have wanted you to give up, so you carried on, even when it hurt.

Now our dreams are comin' true,

Through the good times and the bad,

I'll be standin' there by you.

It had been a year since the mission on Lola Sayu, a year of you trying to get on with your life, and forget the past, because remembering only caused you more pain. But life has a funny, if not sadistic, way of turning on its head and changing your course when you least expect it, because soon after that year mark, you received the news you never thought you'd get.

"He's alive", Rex said, eyes boring into yours, trying to get you to believe what he was telling you, but you weren't about to give in that easily.

"What you're saying is impossible, both you and Fives told me you saw him die at the citadel, and now you're telling me he miraculously survived. I'm not buying it, and I don't appreciate you trying to get my hopes up, just so they can be ripped back down once you're proven wrong", you said, with more venom in your voice than you had intended.

"I know I'm right on this one, (Y/N). I heard him, it was Echo's voice on that transmission, I'm sure of it", he reiterated, desperate for you to listen, or to at least consider it to be true.

"I'm sorry Rex, but I just can't believe what you're saying. I can't take another blow, I just can't, because if I do, I fear I won't make it out the other side this time" you said as tears began to fill your eyes.

Rex placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. "I understand, but I promise you, I'm telling the truth, Echo is alive, and I'm going to bring him home, I'm going to bring him back to you", he said, with so much conviction that you almost believed him, almost.

"Don't make promises you can't keep", you told him despondently.

He looked you in the eye, a determined expression on his face. "I intend to keep this one", he said, and he did.

No more than two days later, the team sent on the rescue mission to Skako Minor returned, with Echo.

You couldn't believe your eyes when Rex took you to see him in the med bay. He was different, that was for sure, but he was still Echo, he was still the man you loved, and you were just glad he was home.

And Baby you're all that I want,

When you're lying here in my arms,

I'm finding it hard to believe,

We're in heaven.

During his first mission, after being back, he had proven to still be the loyal soldier he had always been and had unofficially been dubbed the "Hero of Anaxes" for his brave actions.

After this mission he had also been extended the invitation to join The Bad Batch by their sergeant, which he wanted to accept, but not if it meant leaving you behind. So, Echo convinced the commandos that having a mechanic around wouldn't be such a bad idea, and they agreed.

That's how you ended up here, the mechanic onboard the Havoc Marauder, who was currently being held in the arms of the person she loved most in this galaxy, swaying to the soft music filling the air around them, in total bliss.

Love is all that I need,

And I found it there in your heart.

It isn't too hard to see,

We're in heaven.

Your head had been resting against Echo's chest, as you listened to the steady heartbeat beneath it. You never wanted this moment to end, and by the way he was holding you, without any indication of ever letting go, you were pretty sure he felt the same.

You lifted your head to look up at him, while keeping yourself flush against him, needing the contact to silently remind yourself that he was still here, he was with you. Something you still had a hard time believing from time to time, but it was real, he was here, and you were never letting go.

It had been some time since Anaxes, not a tremendous amount, but enough time where you could see a noticeable change in your boyfriend's appearance. He had filled out more and looked a lot less gaunt than he had initially upon his return. His color had improved as well, not fully, but with enough time, you were sure, he'd regain his copper glow. His hair was the other noticeable change, it had started to grow out again, and while it hadn't gotten to the length it was, there was enough where you could easily run your fingers through it, as you often did, absentmindedly.

This thought caused your hand to move of its own accord and slot itself amongst the short curls adorning his head. He gave a contented sigh as you started mindlessly running your fingers over his scalp, scratching lightly, and he leaned into your touch as his eyes closed, this always relaxed him.

After a moment, he opened his eyes to look at you, a soft smile taking shape over his features, before lowering his head to rest it against yours, both of you shutting your eyes to revel in the moment.

We're in heaven.

The music faded and soon the room fell silent. You both ceased your swaying but continued to stay in the embrace.

After what felt like an eternity, but had only been a few seconds, you broke the silence and said, "I love you Echo."

He smiled and replied, "I love you (Y/N). Always and forever."

You gave a smile of your own, the words bringing you back to those early days of your relationship, when anything was possible, and your future was bright. It could be that way again, now that you were together again, nothing was impossible.

"Always and forever", you echoed back.

With that, he closed the small gap between you and brought you into a passionate kiss.

Everything that had gone unspoken was expressed in this kiss; all the love and adoration that had built between you two over the years, all the pain that you both endured during your separation, all the missed time, and the promise that you would never be parted again, and that you would continue to strive for the future you two had planned so long ago. You were happier than you'd ever been and nothing could ruin this moment.

Suddenly, as if the universe itself wanted to prove you wrong, the door slid open and in walked all four commandos, with Wrecker in the lead.

"See, I told ya we'd find them doin' some sappy stuff", Wrecker said in his booming voice, effectively breaking your quiet moment, and your kiss, which in turn, pissed you off.

You both gave an annoyed sigh before turning to face the men. You crossed your arms over your chest and gave your best scowl in their direction, which only caused Wrecker to laugh. He'd so be getting an ass kicking later.

"Let's just be glad we didn't walk in on something... more intimate", Crosshair said, eyeing the both of you while giving a sly grin.

You let out an annoyed huff. "Yeah, you wish", you retorted, which only earned you a chuckle from the sniper. Okay, add another one to the "people who need an ass kicking" list. "I think you're both just jealous", you said, trying to make it sound snarky.

"Of this guy", Wrecker asked as he walked over, clapping his hand down on Echo's shoulder. "Damn straight, I mean, he’s got a bombshell for a girlfriend, how could we not be, he's one lucky bastard", he said, although you couldn't quite tell if he was being sarcastic or not. Either way it ticked you off, but before you could throw the punch you had geared up for, Echo pulled you to him, holding you securely against him and effectively blocking your way to the giant commando.

"Easy cyare, no need for bloodshed, and besides, he has a point", he said, leaning in and lowering his voice, "I am a very lucky man."

You shook your head at him but couldn't help the grin that formed at his words.

"Okay, that's enough boys, let's give the happy couple some privacy shall we. Besides, Wrecker, it's your turn to make dinner", Hunter interrupted, giving his brother a stern look.

"Oh man, again, I thought I just did that", Wrecker grumbled.

"You did, when it was your turn last week", Tech told him matter-of-factly.

Wrecker made a noise of aggravation before leaving the room, mumbling incoherently in displeasure. The other two followed him out, as you gave Hunter a thankful smile before he nodded and made his exit, letting the door slide shut behind him.

You turned back to Echo, who still had you in his embrace.

"So, where were we", you inquired, a soft smile back on your face.

He feigned ponderment. "Hmm, I believe we were right about...", he began, and suddenly pulled you close enough that your noses were touching, "Here", he finished, his smile widening before bringing you in for another heated kiss. You melted into it and fell into another state of bliss.

You stayed like that for another long moment, as the world faded around you. Wrapped in a loving embrace, engaged in an impassioned kiss, and lost in your own personal heaven.

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ckret2 · 6 years ago

Text

The Door In Petrex’s Quarters

So there’s a cool new blog on Tumblr called @tfspeedwriting where they post a bunch of prompts on Saturday and you choose one and writing something! There’s basically no rule except that you have to do it in under two hours. So anyway this took me about four hours, which were spread out over a total of ten hours.

I’m good at this game.

(If you're on mobile, the readmore malfunctions, and you gotta scroll past all this, I'm sorry for your suffering.)

Prompt: Pick a music playlist on a device of your choice. The second line of the third song is your prompt. (“Song 3”—I swear the title’s a coincidence—by Stone Sour: “So I'll keep you close, and keep my secret safe.”) Continuity: made-up Shattered Glass AU for IDW continuity Ship: Prowl/Tarantulas, but you’ll wish it wasn’t. Wordcount: 5200-ish Summary: They say that Petrex, leader of the Autobot Justice Division, can’t feel love. Petrex prefers it that way. Or: how Prowl tamed his pet scientist. Tags: Angst, abusive relationship, all hurt no comfort.

They say there's a doorway in Petrex's private quarters where his berth is supposed to be.

It's an empty metal doorframe. The space where there should be a door is filled by cement mixed with strange, dark, multicolor rubble. They say that Petrex sleeps on it, curled up on his side, a hand pressed against the surface of the shut doorway like he wants to press through to the other side.

They say the door still works. They say it goes somewhere. They say all you have to do is turn it on.

They say a lot of things about Petrex.

They say the reason that he wears a cold white Autobrand-shaped mask is because he has a cold white Autobrand-shaped face underneath, and that he'd rather people think he's hiding his expressions than let them know he doesn't have any expressions at all. He is as icy, and as hard, and as unmovable, and as implacable as marble; and Terminus save your ember if you dare try to chip that marble.

They say that nobody has ever joined the Autobot Justice Division willingly—nobody except for Petrex, its founder, its leader, and its symbol. They say that every member of the Autobot Justice Division is someone who tried to flee or betray the Autobots, but who had potential, had a use; and so, as their punishment, instead of adding them to the AJD's list for retribution, Petrex added them to the AJD itself, chained them in service to himself, and turned them into essential cogs in the machine that grinds up other criminals and turncoats.

They say he's not a person, but a drone, a machine designed for order and logic and laws, capable only of understanding emotions in a theoretical sense, and then only far enough to determine how he might make use of them.

Petrex doesn't deny anything anyone says about him.

"Mesothulas. Mesothulas!"

Mesothulas started, almost dropping his welder. Terminus below, he wasn't expecting Prowl so soon—he wasn't supposed to come for another two weeks, was he? Why was he early? Had something gone wrong, had his latest offering malfunctioned? Part of him hoped desperately that it had; the rest of him dreaded the consequences of such a failure. Maybe Prowl had forgotten their schedule and come early? Mesothulas had never known him to do so before, but oh, if he had, if he was expecting Mesothulas's next work to be done today and it wasn't— Or, even worse, what if Prowl was right on time, what if Mesothulas had forgotten the schedule—

"I'm here!" He dropped the welder to the floor, ran for the stairs to the lab entryway, skidded an about face to go turn off the welder, and sprinted for the stairs—woe to him if he kept Prowl waiting a second too long. "I'm here, I'm here, I—I'm so sorry, Prowl, I didn't know you were coming. I was working, I'm sorry."

Prowl was standing, waiting, in the middle of the entryway. (Ostaros was so close to him, just a few feet to Prowl's left. Mesothulas's plating crawled—he shouldn't have left Ostaros out in the open like that. What if Prowl spotted him, decided after all that work that he didn't like the result? If anything happened to him—) His helmet was already off, tucked under one arm, and his red optics were so bright they were pink, nearly the same shade as Mesothulas's armor. Was he mad or happy? Mesothulas couldn't tell from the top of the stairs.

"I should hope you were working," Prowl said. "You've only got a couple of weeks left to finish the guilt extractor." So Mesothulas hadn't forgotten their schedule—that was a relief. But then why was he here?

"Yes, I know, I—I'm right on schedule, it'll be done in time." He stopped at the bottom of the stairs, and waited, his heels pressed up against the bottom step, not taking a step closer.

And then Prowl walked toward him. Mesothulas's ember jumped into his throat. The way Prowl moved—even in armor—Mesothulas could practically visualize how his joints moved underneath it. There was such control, such confidence, such precision in his motions; he radiated such strength that Mesothulas felt weaker just for being in his presence. Everything Prowl did made him feel weaker. His fuel tank fluttered, his ember guttered, his fans sputtered.

When he was alone, he told himself that it was fear—very rational fear, for more than once he and his slipped schedule had been on the receiving end of the infamous wrath of the Autobot Justice Division's Petrex.

("I'll teach you to keep on schedule," Prowl had said before; and it was both an indulgent offer to take him under his wing and a threat. "Every cog ticks in time around me. I make sure of it.")

Yes—Mesothulas told himself the weakness he felt around Prowl was born of fear. But when he was in Prowl's presence, he knew that was only half true.

When he was with Prowl, he was almost desperate to impress him.

Words tumbled out of him: "I'm—I'm almost done with the guilt extractor, actually. Ahead of schedule." It was risky business to tell Prowl when he was ahead of schedule. On the one hand, yes, he'd be immediately gratified with Prowl's approval—and oh, when Prowl approved of him, it was heavenly. For a moment, on the timepiece that was Prowl's carefully-wound life, Mesothulas was a jewel mounted in the center of its face, sparkling in the light of Prowl's delight. But Prowl never forgot a promise; and when Mesothulas promised a faster delivery, Prowl updated his expectations accordingly. If he fell behind again, it meant Prowl's wrath was twice as hot; because now, not only had he failed to meet Prowl's schedule, he'd also lied about getting ahead and maliciously stolen some of Prowl's approval.

(So Prowl made him feel, anyway. Sometimes Mesothulas nearly believed it.)

But the way Prowl's optics lit up made Mesothulas immediately forget the consequences. The consequences would come later. Today—now—Prowl's arms were outstretched, and he said, voice a little louder, "That's wonderful!" Prowl's tone of voice never changed; it only got louder or softer, and either direction could be good or bad; but whichever direction it went, it could make Mesothulas's ember flicker with fear or blaze with joy and longing for more. "I can expect it sooner, then. Would you say by the end of the week."

Without stopping to think, Mesothulas said, "Without a doubt," and immediately felt faint; although he wasn't sure whether it was from the monumental scale of this promise, or from the way Prowl's arms wrapped around him: one pressed to his upper back, pulling Mesothulas's face against the chest of his armor; and one pressed lower on his back, so suggestively low that Mesothulas's armor burned where Prowl's fingers touched him. Mesothulas's own fingers burned as well, itching with the urge to wrap his arms around the thick waist of Prowl's rad suit—but to do so without explicit permission was dangerous. Mesothulas had courted enough danger by promising the guilt extractor so soon.

"Good," Prowl said—his voice was so soft now, and Mesothulas's legs were weak. "I'll hold you to it."

Mesothulas's ember filled with dread, and he wanted even more to wrap himself around Prowl—not just physically, but spiritually, to bind himself to his... to his perverse muse, the walking inspiration for all the most wondrous things he'd ever created.

"But that's not what I'm here about."

... And the most horrible things. He tensed with the urge to pull back, but couldn't. Not until Prowl was ready to let him go.

"Oh, I've—" Mesothulas spoke quickly, "—I've been working on another project too, since I'm getting so far ahead on the guilt extractor—you'll be pleased, I'm sure—it's the one you thought up, to make use of all those scraps of reality I've got sitting around—"

"I'm sure I will be pleased." Prowl finally let go, and stepped back, and Mesothulas wasn't sure if that was a good sign or not. "But that's not what I'm here for, either." His head dipped down slightly, and not for the first time Mesothulas marveled through his fear at how much Prowl could express through nothing but the tilt of his head and the way his gaze came through his mask. "And I know a distraction when I hear it."

"I—I'm sorry, I just thought you'd want to—"

"Mesothulas."

"Yes! Forgive me! Y-you were saying? You're here about—?"

"Carpessa."

Mesothulas's fuel tank twisted. He had heard of the neutral city. He'd never been there before. He had no connection to it. Prowl had never mentioned it before. Mesothulas knew exactly what happened to it. "Th... The bomb...?"

"Worked flawlessly," Prowl said, and the bottom of Mesothulas's twisted fuel tank dropped out completely. "I don't know how you managed to cobble together a bomb out of pathetic Decepticon parts that has such explosive capacity, and yet can still be mistaken for something they made—but I must hand it to you, everyone was fooled. Even the Prime is marveling at their unanticipated savagery. This will throttle their chances to get any interstellar allies rallying behind their cause, when they can't play the poor innocent victims. A job well done, Mesothulas. For the most part."

Every word was an icicle through Mesothulas's ember. It took him several tries to choke out the word, "S-survivors?"

Prowl hesitated. "Too many," he said. "There were less than fifteen hundred fatalities. That's why I'm here, to discuss my requirements for the next model. Which I'd like you to get to work on as soon as possible. I was going to give you an extension on the guilt extractor so you could begin to work on the bomb immediately, but if you think you can be done in a week, then you can finish it first and get to work on the next bomb—"

"No."

He hadn't planned it. He hadn't meant to say it. And if he had the choice, he'd rather throw himself on Terminus's teeth than spend one more nanosecond watching in horror as Prowl's head slowly tilted down, and his optics blazed brighter.

Quietly, Prowl said, "No."

For a moment, the lab was so quiet, Mesothulas could hear Ostaros's vents cycling air. Ostaros. Never mind what Prowl might do to him—what might he do to Ostaros? Prowl could rip Mesothulas to shreds, but the mere thought of him scratching Ostaros's soft paint, the enamel hadn't even cured yet—

"Well," Prowl said, just as quietly, "if you'd rather keep to the original schedule, then—take the extension on the guilt extractor, and work on it and the bomb simultaneously..."

For a moment, the heavens opened up, a beam of light shone down on Prowl, and a holy chorus played. Prowl didn't offer second chances. Never. The Autobot Justice Division culled and amputated all limbs of the Autobot Army that no longer served what Petrex considered to be their appropriate purpose. Weakness was to be eradicated. Mesothulas should have been honored to be so indulged after wavering from the path Prowl had assigned him. All he had to do was accept it, and get back to work. Continue singing the songs his muse wrote for him. All would be well and beautiful, and if Mesothulas was good, every once in a while Prowl would touch him as kindly as he had a moment ago.

And there would be more Carpessas.

No. No, he couldn't, not again. Damn whatever Prowl might do to him—to them—oh, Ostaros, Mesothulas is so sorry—but Mesothulas and Ostaros were only two people. How many had died in Carpessa? He couldn't let it happen again.

His voice was barely a whisper. "I can't."

Prowl's optics flashed brighter, and Mesothulas flinched. "Excuse me." Yet another chance to correct his errant wording. Mesothulas was drowning in indulgences today. He wondered if Prowl had ever before been so lenient with anyone else. If he was smart, he'd take this chance.

But Carpessa. "Forgive me, I'm sorry, I—"

Prowl lunged forward, seizing him by the collar of his chestplate, and Mesothulas cried out, nearly sobbing. "You've always been so obedient," he hissed. "You've done your job so well. It's what I like so much about you." (Even now, ready to die, Mesothulas's ember blazed brighter at the praise. Terminus, Terminus, Mesothulas would do anything for Prowl—not just out of fear—but he couldn't do this. Over a thousand lives were already on his hands.) "After all that, you haven't suddenly developed a streak of naughtiness, have you."

"No! Never!" Mesothulas grabbed at Prowl's gauntleted hand. "I—I'm still useful to you, I swear! I can build you more troops—reliable troops—without waiting for Terminus to reawaken—"

"Surely you're not referring to your vapid pet project that smiled at me when I came in."

"He's not done. When he's finished—"

"I asked for a bomb!" He shook Mesothulas to emphasize the word. This time Mesothulas did sob.

"Wh-w-what about the guilt extractor? Or—or the project with the reality scraps? I've stitched it into a serviceable prison, I—I could show—"

Prowl shook Mesothulas again, and he fell silent. But Prowl said nothing. It was more terrifying than anything he might have said. Even a death sentence would end the suspense.

But finally—voice back at its usual volume—he said, "Show me."

Surely, no one in all of Cybertronian history had been shown as much mercy as the merciless Prowl had shown to Mesothulas today. "Oh—th-thank you—you'll be so pleased, I'm sure of—"

"Just move." Prowl let go of Mesothulas, and shoved him backwards. He tripped backwards on the stairs, crashed down, and for a moment in his panic actually tried to clamber up them backwards on his hands and heels before he managed to roll over and rush to his feet.

"This way!" He took the stairs two at a time, and heard Prowl following heavily behind.

He had to get out. He couldn't stay here, not like this. This would only work as a distraction, and Mesothulas couldn't risk Ostaros's life again. He'd done it in the spur of the moment, but next time he'd be weak, he knew it. It wouldn't be long before Prowl figured out he could get whatever he wanted if he threatened Ostaros.

He'd get through this. He'd hand over his prison if Prowl asked for it. And then he and Ostaros had to disappear.

"I call it the Noisemaze. It's—I-it's—" He'd had a description of it he'd been working on, trying to figure out how to convey what it was while leaving out all the words like horrifying and monstrous and unconscionable, all the little descriptors that Prowl didn't like to hear Mesothulas say; but the words failed him now, and all he could say about it was, "it induces sensory overload."

"Is that it."

"Extreme sensory overload," Mesothulas protested. Keep talking, keep talking, impress him. "The kind that—that completely fills your RAM. You can't think through it. It destroys all higher rational thought." He entered the room where he'd been working on the Noisemaze, looked around for something other than the doorframe to focus on—there was the welder he'd discarded, he should pick it up—and tried not to think about whether offering Prowl this torture prison was any less evil than bombing civilians. At least a bomb was quick. (Evil, that was what it was—that was what he was, now—he'd done evil. He'd done evil for Prowl.)

"How painful."

"I can think of nothing more painful." He set the welder on a workbench, and climbed up the two-step pedestal so he could flip the switch on the side of the frame. A hum, and the shadows of the room were stirred with soft, moving turquoise and orange lights. "It's—unending torment. It skips straight past the more fragile vectors for pain—limbs, nerves, all of them are things that can be destroyed, turned off, or burned out. But the Noisemaze attacks your mind directly. It harms you through your senses without harming your senses. Nothing you can do will turn off or block the barrage except destroying your own senses, all of them—but the Noisemaze would leave your mind too addled and overloaded on pain to even think of such a thing." It wasn't the description he'd meant to go for, but he was fairly certain he'd left out any words that would make Prowl tetchy. Prowl didn't care how awful it sounded, as long as Mesothulas didn't imply that to do it was wrong.

Prowl ambled around it, examining the controls. "And it's finished, you say. You certainly showed initiative."

"Well—the hardware used to access it needs some refining—the prototype is practically held together with hot glue and scotch tape—but the Noisemaze itself, it'll hold together indefinitely." He leaned an elbow on the doorframe to gaze into the Noisemaze. The landscape shifted and the sky spun, and even with the thin membrane of the doorway separating him from the maze, watching it undulate and roil made him dizzy. How many would Prowl put in here? Maybe he could find a way later to steal it back. Once he and Ostaros were out of here—he could get Ostaros with one of the neutral populations fleeing the planet, he could join the Decepticons, use his inventing abilities and knowledge of Prowl for good—

He heard Prowl climbing the doorframe's pedestal, right behind him; and yet, he still flinched when Prowl's arms wrapped, slowly, gently, around his waist. "It's beautiful." Prowl's voice was a whisper; and his fingertips grazed across Mesothulas's stomach so softly, so tenderly, it almost made him cry. "The perfect prison for the Autobot Justice Division's needs. The ultimate tool for reform—destroy their mind and remake it."

Mesothulas's abdominal armor trembled under Prowl's touches, and the Noisemaze spun nauseatingly before his optics. Oh Prowl, love him, praise him, use him, keep holding him just like that. Mesothulas couldn't leave, he couldn't leave. He'd get Ostaros away and bear the punishment for it, but he couldn't leave. "Is—is th... I didn't think the AJD focused on reform? Just punishment?"

"We reform a few," Prowl said. "The few cogs that aren't too broken or too dull to be of use, but rather would help the Autobot machine tick more efficiently, if only the rough edges could be sanded smooth." One hand grazed Mesothulas's waist, leaving a path of tingling light in its wake as it languidly circled around to the small of his back. "The ones like you."

Mesothulas's spark froze. "Wha—?"

He tried to twist at the exact moment Prowl shoved him. He grabbed Prowl's gauntleted wrist. "Prowl!" He hung by one hand and the tip of one foot in reality; his other arm and leg wheeled wildly in the Noisemaze, trying to help him keep balance, but he couldn't even tell which direction he was spinning them. A dozen directions at once. Prowl's mask melted and twisted in front of his optics. "Please! Don't— I— Take me— Ostaros—"

"When you get out," it looked like the Autobrand had melted onto Prowl's face, like it moved and shifted with his words, like he spoke through its mouth, "I expect your head to be empty of everything except thoughts of obeying me. If your Noisemaze works as well as you say, that should be no problem."

"No, no, no no no no—" He managed to get his other hand back through the portal, and the tip of his other foot, and he grabbed Prowl's hand. Prowl's optics blazed bright, the same pink as Mesothulas's armor. (Was it still pink? He couldn't see himself anymore, he was turning black, only his hands and the tips of his feet still looked pink.) "Please." He squeezed Prowl's hand. "Please."

Prowl stared at him, even as the edges of his face started to fall apart. And then he squeezed Mesothulas's hand back. Hope surged. Was he reconsidering? He was going to pull Mesothulas back in, this had just been to scare him, he still had one more chance—

"When you get out, you're going to make me an army, Mesothulas. Just like Ostaros." With his free hand, Prowl unlatched his gauntlet. It slid off and Mesothulas tumbled into madness.

The lab was dusty; the lights were out. Everything that Prowl could find an off switch for had been shut down months ago; everything he couldn't, had been left to run or burn out. Something had exploded. A couple of wings of the lab were rubble, now. Radiation from outside leaked in through a destroyed wall. Prowl had sealed all the doors he could between here and there, but he still wouldn't dare so much as take off his rad suit's helmet inside the lab.

A second suit was settled against the wall, waiting for a passenger, as Prowl ascended the pedestal to the Noisemaze's doorframe. Six months was long enough. Mesothulas was ready to come back.

Prowl pulled the lever to open the door.

Nothing happened.

He turned it off, and back on. And again. And again, more forcefully. "No." He looked down, getting off the pedestal, dropping to his knees to check the power cables. He grabbed every point at which they connected and twisted them together, tight, making sure the connections were secure. He risked exposing a sliver of armor under one gauntlet so he could hold his wrist against the cable, checking to make sure he could detect a flowing EM field through it. He latched his gauntlet back in place, and walked up to the doorframe again, to flip the switch one more time.

Sparks flew from the frame. Prowl stumbled back as something popped, and smoke spewed from behind the switch. "No!" He waved the smoke away and stormed up to the frame again, flipping the switch over, and over, and over. "No, no, no—" his voice got louder with every word, "—give him back, give him back. This is incarceration, not an execution!"

Nothing. He waved an arm wildly through the doorframe, ducked through it, quickly examined the doorframe from the other side, circled around it, circled around it faster. "No! Dammit, he's—he's mine, he's—give him back! Give him back to me!" He grabbed the frame, shook it—the lever coughed out a sad puff of smoke—and he leaned through it again. "Mesothulas!" As though the Noisemaze was still right through the doorway. "Mesothulas!" As though he could reach him from here, if only he was loud enough.

There was silence in the abandoned lab.

Prowl's hand slid off the doorframe. He dropped to his knees in the middle of the dead portal to the Noisemaze, cradled his head in his hands, and rocked back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.

They say that the doorway in Petrex's room goes somewhere—or it would, if only somebody knew how to turn it on again. They say that it's a prison; they say he keeps something terrible locked away, and woe to anyone who's there when he unlocks it. They say that when Petrex sleeps on his doorway, hand pressed to its cement-and-rubble surface, sometimes something on the other side will scratch at it, desperate to get out; and sometimes, in his sleep, Petrex will scratch back.

They say many things about Petrex. A few of them are true.

Here's what they don't say about Petrex, but perhaps they should: he is icy, and hard, and unmovable, and implacable in public; but in private, he screams, he rages, he cackles, he dances, hot and explosive as a fire raging through a fuel refinery. You can see his optics behind his mask, wide and wild and red, but sometimes they're white-hot, and at those times his mask doesn't look icy but white-hot too. Here's what else they don't say: nobody has ever joined the Autobot Justice Division willingly; and most of those who join are criminals and turncoats that Petrex has reassigned to more important functions; but a few, a few are those who he has not chained to himself with invisible ununtrium links, but rather tied to himself with sinewy red threads. A few are those that he's loved too much to ever let escape.

Nobody says that about Petrex because nobody knows that he can feel love.

Petrex prefers it that way.

"What's the point of all this, Tarantulas."

Even when Prowl was on the ground and Tarantulas—what a stupid name, a grotesque alien name for an animal, a name that clattered and chattered against the back of Prowl's teeth, t-t-t—Tarantulas was pulled up high, huddling like a fearful creature against the wall—even at this range, Prowl had mastered the art of tilting his head just so, so that the way his mask framed his optics made it look like he was glaring down at Tarantulas. And he was glaring down at Tarantulas. Because no matter what a putrid beast he'd made of himself, no matter what a lowly bug he was now compared to Prowl, no matter all Prowl had achieved or all the power he'd amassed or all the soldiers at his beck and call—Autobot and Decepticon alike, now—the truth was, Tarantulas had blackmail, and Tarantulas had an invisible army, and Tarantulas had a prison in a pocket dimension where he'd trapped Prowl and where nobody knew how to find Prowl—and Prowl was terrified. And he would never, ever let Tarantulas know that.

"The point?" Tarantulas drew back, visibly surprised, and Prowl was pleased by his confusion even if he didn't understand it. "I—Isn't it obvious?"

"As obvious as you are pink." Tarantulas wasn't pink, anymore. He was black, all but for red biolights and the cotton candy pink on his feet and the filthy fuzzy tips of his new spidery limbs. Tarantulas flinched, looking down, self-consciously running a—it wasn't a hand, was it?—a hairy sausage over the black fur on one thigh, and Prowl made note of the insecurity to exploit later. "So what is this. Explain yourself."

"This is..." For a moment, Tarantulas wilted, visibly bewildered. "This is... what you asked me for."

Prowl stared at him, just as bewildered but much less visibly. "Explain more."

"You... you told me to empty my thoughts of everything, except obeying you." Tarantulas crept down the wall, his many legs squirming agitatedly. "You told me when I got out, I'd make you an army. And I—I have. I am."

Prowl stared at Tarantulas, as he lowered himself back to floor level. "You don't mean the Chimeracons. I thought they forced you to make their meat suits." The damage they'd left Tarantulas with was still visible, the melted and matted fur, the breaks in two of his spider legs. Of all the mysterious affairs surrounding Prowl's kidnapping, Prowl still couldn't figure out why, when Tarantulas commanded the Noisemaze and could shrink to the point of invisibility, he had put up with their abuses. Perhaps Prowl had trained him to tolerate too much. "They've already kidnapped me. They'd have tried to kill me if you hadn't intervened. What kind of army is that."

And once on the floor, Tarantulas kept lowering himself, kneeling at Prowl's feet. "I had to let them use me, to get the resources I needed to get close to you. They're irrelevant—they're only the start. Now that I've perfected the technology, I—I can pick up where I left off with Ostaros—y-you remember Ostaros, don't you?—just like you wanted. Making your army from scratch. Yours to do with as you please—overthrow the Prime, vanquish the Decepticons, reorder Cybertron to your specifications—all yours, Prowl. All of it. All—all of me." Prowl's ember leapt into his throat.

So he grabbed Tarantulas's. "Don't play with me."

Tarantulas flinched, but he didn't even try to pull back. "I'm not." His voice was shaky—Prowl couldn't see the fear on his face, he didn't know how to make sense of his new features yet, but he could hear it. "I'm not, I would never. I—Prowl, you're—you're all I thought about in the Noisemaze. When I could think. I—I was wrong to challenge your orders. I'm sorry. You're everything to me. You're my muse, my inspiration, my life, I—I'm yours. Anything you want from me, it's yours."

Prowl stared at him. And swallowed hard, trying to put his ember back where it belonged. He squeezed tighter. Tarantulas's visor widened, but he didn't even grab at Prowl's hand.

"Anything."

"Anything," Tarantulas whispered. It was the most beautiful word Prowl had ever heard.

And funny. Because Prowl remembered how it had been "anything" before, too—up until suddenly Mesothulas changed his mind, and then it wasn't.

Last time, Prowl had been too soft on Mesothulas—he'd liked him too much. He'd eased him into his new duties, slowly escalating the amount of energon he had to spill. That worked on most people. They'll commit any atrocity you ask for, as long as it's only just a little bit worse than the one before.

He wasn't making that mistake this time. While Tarantulas was still malleable, still vulnerable, still dizzy with adoration and desperate to regain Prowl's approval—Prowl had to make him do the worst thing he could imagine. Something so awful, that nothing else Tarantulas could possibly do would ever be worse.

"I do remember Ostaros." Prowl let go of Tarantulas's throat. Tarantulas swayed forward, following Prowl's hand, as though he wanted to be choked again. Pathetic. Gorgeous. "I took him with me. He's an Autobot now."

"He's—still alive?"

"He is. He's named Springer, now. 'Ostaros' was a stupid name." (Tarantulas flinched, gaze wavering, but he didn't argue.) "He'll be coming to rescue me as soon as he figures out where I am, I'm sure. You'll get to meet him."

Tarantulas's visor practically sparkled. "Oh! I—"

"When you do, you'll kill him."

Tarantulas stared at him. His strange rows of mandibles were frozen at irregular angles, as though he'd been caught with his mouth hanging open. "I... I don't understand, I..."

"I will not have divided loyalties." Prowl cupped Tarantulas's face in his hand, running a thumb along a ridge over his cheek. "If you're mine, then you're mine. No part of you will belong to anyone else."

Prowl could see the exact moment Tarantulas decided he would obey Prowl's order. It was the moment a light behind his visor died.

"... What does he look like, now." Tarantulas's voice was as hollow and toneless as Prowl's.

Prowl tilted his helm in just that right way to imply a smile. "I'm sure you'll know him when you see him."

The Noisemaze was falling apart. From Prowl's vantage point in Debris, he could see it convulsing and collapsing on itself. With one hand, Prowl stroked Tarantulas's head, as Tarantulas sobbed brokenly. Tarantulas's arms were flung around Prowl's waist, filthy claws clutching pitifully at whatever kibble he could latch onto, rocking back and forth as he wailed. Prowl had heard the wail of a grieving parent before, but never from a Cybertronian. He wondered if Tarantulas even counted as a Cybertronian now.

With his other hand, Prowl carried Springer's head.

Prowl was sorry for Tarantulas. He truly was. Prowl had always hated hurting him the most. But after this, everything else would come so much easier.

The Noisemaze was nothing but shreds and void by the time Tarantulas's sobs grew silent and his convulsions reduced to mere trembling. Only then did Prowl speak.

"Welcome to the AJD."

Tarantulas was silent.

After a long moment, he said, hoarsely, "I—w-we... we're named for our hometowns, aren't we? In the AJD. I... I was... truly... truly born in the Noisemaze, s-so... so, I guess..."

"No," Prowl said. "No, people get names. You're no longer a person. You've turned yourself into a beast."

Tarantulas didn't even wince. Something in Prowl shuddered at it—had he gone too far?—but he consoled himself: maybe Tarantulas was beyond pain, now. Everything would be easier from here on. Everything would be easier.

After another long silence, Tarantulas asked, "Then... what...? What's my...?"

Prowl rubbed a thumb affectionately over one of his horns. "You're my Pet."

Now, they say there's a monster in Petrex's private quarters that lives under his berth.

It's as black as Terminus's gaping maw and has just as many fangs, and it's just as likely to kill you. It's a freak that used to be Cybertronian, but now it's made of meat and metal, the metal rotting the meat and the meat rusting the metal, and it shambles around in the dark on too many legs, and it climbs the walls and ceiling and nests in the corners like a ghost trapped in the room where it died, trying to get free.

They say that Petrex can love; but his love is cruel, and cold, and it will suck the life out of you and leave you a husk of the mech you used to be before you caught his fevered gaze.

They say that when he finds somebody he wants, he chains them to himself with invisible ununtrium links, or ties them to himself with sinewy red threads, or, in one special case, webs them to him with sticky white silk.

They say that Petrex sleeps on a doorway, filled in with cement—a door that doesn't go anywhere. He presses his hand to it when he sleeps.

Sometimes, something scratches on the door from underneath.

Also on AO3.

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#prowl #tarantulas #transformers #maccadam #shattered glass #prowlrantulas #my writing #tfspeedwriting

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