#imperial!hunter au

[99aceace]

The bad batch, but all inhibitor chips activated. All, but Crosshair's. So now Crosshair is a single dad, on a run from his former family. Rest of the batch tries to hunt down him and Omega.

[jedipoodoo]

This might be a weird request, you don't have to write this okay! But... How about Imperal bad batch ( seperated) and pregnant reader? Hunter turns into the darks side while his wife is pregnant (almost like Anakin and Padme

THIS REQUEST GOT ME LIKE

Ma'am, I will answer any and all requests for a pregnant reader and you know that. I'm sorry for taking so long, but I really wanted to do this one justice 😁

Haunted (Imperial! Hunter x Pregnant!Fem!Reader)

Okay, so most of my Dad Batch shorts mention keeping the baby from the kaminoans and the like, so....what if they couldn't keep the baby from them???

Warnings: labor and delivery, pregnancy (obvi), kidnapping, The Empire sucks, Nala Se is a pain in the shebs, Nobody likes Wilhuff Tarkin. This one is a lot darker than my usual stuff. Dark may be too strong of a word for it, but idk how else to put it.

Notes: what it says on the label. Pregnant reader, female reader. Hunter is manipulated. Protective Hunter, Angst without a happy ending...yet. Dividers by @saradika

"Hold on just a minute more, cyare, we're almost there," Hunter urged. Echo peeked around the corner, signaling for Hunter to freeze. Hunter, holding one of your hands to lead you and wrapping the other around your waist to hold you upright, pulled you against the wall to keep from being seen around the corner. He could hear the slow, meandering gait of a Kaminoan as they walked past the hall, unsuspecting, taking all the time in the world while you struggled not to whimper at the pain in Hunter's arms.

Hunter gently patted your belly, as if that would make everything better.

"You're doing great," He whispered.

"I'm gonna kill you," You growled.

Echo hissed a warning, waving you both forward. The Kaminoan was gone.

Your comm beeped softly, and Hunter snatched it up, trying to get you to move faster when all you could do was waddle.

"Come in, Tech."

"The medical wing has been cleared. Wrecker and Crosshair will stand guard."

"Good. We're two minutes out."

"AHH!" Your knees gave out as a contraction tore through your body, and you almost slipped out of Hunter's arms.

Hunter gently lowered you to the floor to let you catch your breath, "Breathe, sweetheart, just keep breathing," He urged. It was in some stupid holo-article that he had read online, and despite the amount of research he'd put into labor and delivery, that tactic in particular was starting to get super annoying. Breathing was one of the last things on your mind when you had

"Is that one worse than the last few?" Echo asked. He was trying to be gentle, force bless him he was, but his grip on your arm was struggling not to pull you to your feet and drag you to safety.

You looked up at Hunter, and froze. Despite the fact that every single thing he was trying to do at the moment was annoying you to no end, you could see the fear quavering in his eyes.

You all knew that if the Kaminoans found you, as arrogant and self-serving as they were, they would unquestionably seize your child as Kaminoan property, enfolding him (or her) into the sea of identical brothers bred for slaughter. Neither Hunter or his brothers were going to let that happen.

"Osik," Hunter muttered none too softly. You followed his gaze to the floor, where a sticky puddle was forming from your water breaking. Osik was right.

Hunter slipped his arms under your legs and your back and hefted you in the air. He didn't even wait for the all-clear from Echo, he just ran to the med-wing.

"Hunter, I can walk-" but the next contraction stole your breath and proved you wrong. Hunter ran faster, and you could hear Echo struggling to catch up with you. You wrapped your arms around Hunter's neck and prayed.

Wrecker and Crosshair waved you past, sealing the door shut behind you. Only Tech and a single med-droid were in the tiny medical wing they had managed to clear.

"The droid's memory will be wiped the moment we are finished," Tech promised before you could voice your worries. Hunter gently sat you on the table, bracing your feet in the stirrups.

"Her contractions are two minutes and thirty seconds apart," Hunter said. The droid quickly ran a few scans to confirm and Tech handed you a large sheet of paper that hardly counted as a robe.

"Are you ready?" He asked.

You gulped, bracing yourself against another contraction. Whether or not you were ready, your baby was coming.

There was pounding on the door, but you could barely hear their demands of "Open up in there!" over the squalls of your baby.

"It's a boy," Tech said, almost as an afterthought as the droid cut the umbilical cord.

Hunter pressed his lips to your forehead, despite how sweaty and gross you felt. "Good job, cyare," He whispered, "You did so good."

You nodded, unable to think straight. "The baby..." You reached for the child bundled in Tech's arms. Hunter sprung to his feet and took them from Tech as gently as he could, bringing the baby back over to you.

"Oh," You gasped softly, running a finger across their cheek. It was a little sticky, like something that had been dried haphazardly, and their hair was still slick with blood and fluids, but you brushed it out with your fingers, letting the dark curls spring into place as he wriggled with all his newborn strength.

"He looks just like you, Hunter," You whispered.

"The spitting image," Tech had already shut down the droid to wipe its memory circuits, and you took the baby from Hunter, pressing him against your chest.

"Mama's here, Mama's here," You said, kissing the baby over and over.

The pounding on the door had stopped, but there was lots of shouting. Hunter's gaze darted to the door as he heard Wrecker cry out.

"We've got to get you out of here," He said, pulling you to your feet. You stumbled like a newborn fathier colt, leaning against him.

"I-I can't," You gasped. You tried to give him the baby, "You have to take him,"

"I'm not leaving you," He insisted.

"Now is not the time for affectionate stubbornness, Hunter, she's right. You have to get him out of here before-"

There was blasterfire in the hall, and you saw sparks fly as several bolts hit the door. Your son wailed unhappily and you reached for him, only to pull your hand back at the last moment.

"Go!" You begged Hunter, but it was too late.

The door that Tech had painstakingly sealed shut slid open, and eight shock troopers pointed their blasters into the room, aiming for you, Hunter, and the baby.

"Place the infant on the table and step back," Their captain commanded.

"No," Ever the contrarian, Hunter shielded your son from their view.

You hadn't even named him yet.

Just beyond the wall of troopers, Wrecker, Crosshair, and Echo had all been forced to their knees with their hands behind their heads. The bodies of several other Shock Troopers and Kaminoan security troopers were strewn about the hall, dead or alive it was hard to tell, but the Batch wasn't going down without a fight.

Admiral Tarkin stepped into the doorway to take in the damage for himself, but what made your blood run cold was Nala Se standing behind him.

"You will not take my child!" You screamed. stumbling to your feet to stand between your son and the blasters.

"Your child is Kaminoan property," Nala Se said calmly, despite the bodies of her creation littered around her.

"Imperial Property," Tarkin corrected harshly, "Much like your supposed lover and his squad. Lieutenant, you are stripped of your title and imprisoned for your crimes. CT-9901, you are also henceforth removed from your post as Sergeant. You are all under arrest."

"She has just given birth!" Tech finally spoke up, "She will not be going anywhere until she heals! Unless you wish to have her death on your hands?"

You hadn't even named him yet.

Tarkin shrugged, "Dead or alive, it makes no difference." He waved to the troopers who approached with several sets of binder cuffs like the others wore.

"No!" You screamed and leaped at the troopers. You were unable to do more than crash into them, but it gave Hunter a shot at getting through, and that was all you could hope for.

With your son secured to his chest, Hunter dashed out of the room and past the astonished Nala Se and a flabbergasted Tarkin. You smirked to yourself as you slid down to the floor, breathing heavily.

Tech grabbed your arm to steady you, and both of you were grabbed by the troopers

Hunter knew the halls of Kamino like the back of his hand. Once he made it past the original wave, there was little to stop the (former) sergeant of Clone Force Ninety-Nine.

His baby whimpered in his arms, and he hurriedly hushed them.

He'd come back for you later, or maybe his brothers would help you escape, somewhere quiet and peaceful like you'd always talked about after the war. Somewhere you could raise your family in peace.

But for now, he was only worried about doing what you'd said, and that was getting your son to safety.

"It's alright, ad'ika, we're gonna get you out of here," He whispered, pressing his lips against the boy's forehead.

"I'll keep you safe."

Alarms blared to signal his escape, which made it harder to calm the baby, but also simultaneously hid their cries.

Hunter wished that his brothers were with him, but they had all agreed to this. They had all insisted that your child was priority, and they would defend it like one of their Vode, just as they had when you joined them.

Hunter ran faster, on deft feet, always knowing which hall to take in order to avoid a clumsy stampede.

The Marauder was docked in the bay closest to the medwing, Echo needed a checkup after their last mission, but it seemed serendipitous when your contractions started in the early morning. You knew the Kaminoans would see this as openly flaunting your blatant disregard for their authority in their own city. You'd wanted to have your baby anywhere but Tipoca City, but then you'd received orders to return to Kamino with the end of the war.

Hunter grit his teeth, avoiding patrols was keeping him from going as fast as he'd like,and his son's cries were getting more and more agitated. It was a pitiful replacement, but he stuck his finger in the child's mouth to let him suck on it. As soon as he took off, he could give him the formula aboard the Marauder and look him over.

"Most childcare experts agree that there is a distinct possibility that hyperspace travel at such a delicate stage can be detrimental to child's development," Tech's voice echoed in Hunter's mind. But that couldn't be helped right now.

He turned the corner towards the bay, but it was blocked by another squad of Shock Troopers. Before he could think, he drew his blaster.

"Hunter!" You screamed in terror. Hunter's blood ran ice-cold as he spotted you.

You were on your knees, held upright by two troopers, and an Admiral (or someone else who wore one of those gray suits) had a blaster pointed at your head. Tarkin met Hunter's gaze with a smug smile.

"You made a valiant effort in your escape, Sergeant. I can only imagine how much that child means to you."

Hunter shifted the baby, holding him closer. The boy was starting to grow frantic again, now that he didn't have anything to suck on.

"However," Tarkin continued, "Much like yourself, the child is now property of the Galactic Empire. Attempting to steal him is treason."

"If I'm already committing treason, I might as well shoot you here and seal the deal." Hunter focused his aim on Tarkin.

"You could, couldn't you?" Tarkin barked a cold, humorless laugh,

"However, the moment you open fire, Vice Admiral Rampart has orders to shoot at point-blank range."

You shook your head desperately. "Hunter, don't!"

"Hand over the infant, now!" Tarkin said. His lackey in an identical suit pressed the blaster to the base of your throat, cutting off your protest.

"What will it be: the child? Or it's mother?" Tarkin sneered.

It was over. Hunter knew that. Even if he did as you asked, he still wouldn't be able to get past the Shock Troopers. His sons cries were like ringing in his ears as he tossed his blaster to the side.

They took his son from his arms, and all he could say was "Support his head!" as they turned away so that Hunter couldn't even see him anymore, but he listened to his cries as they were dragged in opposite directions.

You and Hunter were brought to what sufficed as the brig in Tipoca City. Tech, Echo, Crosshair, and Wrecker were already there, and they hurried to make room for you to sit on the only bench available. Your legs were shaking terribly, and you were sore all over. The pain medication Tech had given you was starting to wear off. Tech gave you a once-over as best he could without his datapad or any medical gear.

"Most of this recovery takes several months anyway, even without the added stress you've been through," He said, it what must have been an objectively positive observation, but only served to remind you of everything you had just lost.

"Where's the kid?" Crosshair demanded. Hunter couldn't even look him in the eye from the insane guilt he felt at giving up his son. All you could do was cry.

Crosshair cursed and slammed his fist against the wall, though he didn't know what he was expecting from an operation like this. Clone Force 99 had never known failure like this before, it was a foreign feeling to them.

Hunter refused to let himself cry. He had to be strong for his brothers, for you and your son. He had to get you out of there, somehow.

He didn't even know how you could bare to look at him for such a catastrophic failure, but you turned to him and wrapped your arms around his chest, pulling him close to you.

"We...we didn't even get to name him," You whimpered in Hunter's arms.

Hunter's jaw stiffened atop the crown of your head.

"Well, let's name him now."

It felt slightly pathetic, sobbing in a jail cell over a child that had been ripped from your arms, but the idea of naming him felt like a rousing battle cry deep in your soul. The Kaminoans hated the names that the clones gave each other, and despite all the nicknames that they claimed and gave to each other, at the end of the day only their numbers were written on reports and official documentation.

But your son wasn't a clone. He was your son. And he would have a name from birth.

"Asher." You said. Where you came from, the name symbolized hope, of something beautiful and precious being created from the ashes of destruction. Something like your life as a family.

Hunter nodded, gently rubbing circles into your shoulders. "Asher it is."

"CT-9901, you need to come with us."

Ice encased your heart as the shock troopers approached the makeshift cell, deactivating the shield.

"Don't," You begged, looking up at him as your hands dug into his shirt, holding on for dear life.

"I have to," He whispered, working your fingers loose so he could stand.

"She's right," Echo said loudly, standing up.

"Yes, we stay together." Tech stepped between Hunter and the shock trooper.

The trooper did not take kindly to this show of defiance, and drove the butt of his blaster into Tech's stomach. Tech fell to his knees as he gasped in pain, and the others all stood ready to fight, but knowing it was fruitless.

"Enough," Hunter stood, motioning to his brothers to stand down.

"I'll go."

He wasn't cuffed, but there was a blaster muzzle in his back every step of the way. The troopers led him back to the med bay, where several medical droids were still cleaning the room that you had commandeered earlier. The troopers marched him past the room and past a large window where several cadets were going through their checkups. And right in the corner was Asher.

Hunter disregarded the warnings from the Troopers and place his hand against the window, wishing he could catch his son's attention. He was in an incubation box, sound asleep, with monitors strapped to his chest. Hunter was just relieved he wasn't in a growth tube.

"Asher," He murmured as a shock trooper gripped his shoulder, "Your name is Asher."

The troopers all but dragged him to another closed-off room, where Tarkin waited with Nala Se and a datapad. Hunter kept his focus on Tarkin, wondering if the so-called "Admiral" had spent as much time with a hot blaster in his hand than in a comfortable office on Coruscaunt.

"We meet again, Sergeant."

Hunter chuckled, "I thought I wasn't a Sergeant anymore, Admiral."

"I suppose you'd prefer to be called CT-9901, then?"

So the Admiral did know about their chosen names, he just chose not to use them.

"What do you want?" He asked, trying to not let his breathing get the best of him.

"What I need is your cooperation,"

Hunter shrugged, "Sounds simple enough. Just let them go."

He knew it was a fool's dream to think that Tarkin would actually acquiesce to his demands, but he had to try.

"Let my wife, son, and brothers go and I'll do whatever you want."

Tarkin squared his shoulders to challenge Hunter, "Certainly not. That would be a grave mistake on our part. Think of all that we could learn. The Empire has other plans for a force-sensitive child."

Hunter's blood ran cold.

"Oh, you didn't know," Tarkin smiled slyly, and Hunter's hands clenched in an effort to keep from slapping the smirk off his face.

Nala Se handed Tarkin her datapad, "Nala Se's team has performed all the necessary tests and administered the correct vaccinations for your child. A quick blood test showed a count of approximately fifteen-thousand midi-chlorians."

Hunter's throat ran dry, and his ears rang with the sound of his son- Asher's- cries.

"You have a simple choice, Sergeant. Join the Empire freely, stay with your brothers, your partner and your child, or be forced to watch them suffer for your treason."

It wasn't much of a choice, and Hunter knew it. They were offering him the short end of the stick to pull him from the same raging rapids they had tossed him into, but it was either that or drown.

And he would sacrifice everything he was for the chance to protect you and your child.

Post-Script: I know I've used Asher as a name for Crosshair's kid but it fit too well for this AU.

[mooonjin]

OOOH THEY’RE GETTING OMEGA BACK ASAAAP

tbb spoilers 03x13!!!

“🤨🫴”

her iconic hellaur

OMEGA SMART SHE’S BREAKING THEM OUT 🙌

that’s my arc trooper right there

angry baby in the back seat LOOOL

omg 💔

“you’ve been demoted” URGH THESE TWO IN THIS SHOT 😻

WRECKER AND IMPERIAL HAT 😭😭 SO SILLY

[squad-724]

I'll maybe do a drawing for whatever wins

[chopper-base]

TBB Reverse!AU

Chapter one is finished!!! Still haven't figured out a name for this series, so I'll take any suggestions yall have!!

Summary: Crosshair and Echo watch the rest of their team succumb to the chip's control.

Warnings: Character death, canon character death, violence, canon divergence, alternate universe

WC: 2591

---------------

Crosshair didn’t know what to think when he turned to see the regs firing at their Jedi General. Over the sound of blaster fire, he could hear her voice screaming at her padawan to run. Her terror-filled voice sent shivers down the sniper's spine. The Padawan was running in their direction but skidded to a stop when he noticed them in front of him. The Padawan looked at the Bad Batch in fear, taking a shaky step back before turning and disappearing into the snowy woods.

Crosshair looked between the regs running toward the batch and the woods where the kid disappeared, trying to figure out what had caused the regs’ sudden turn.

The realization that Tech was reading something off his datapad had Crosshair snapping his attention back to his brother. Tech explained that General Grievous had been defeated, marking the end of the war. “The com channels are repeating one directive.” Tech’s demeanor changed as he read the next line, “Execute Order 66.”

The moment the words left Tech’s mouth, Crosshair knew something was wrong. He watched as everyone but Echo stiffened. Hunter’s sharp eyes growing eerily distant.

“We need to go after the kid,” Echo broke the strange silence, pointing to where the padawan had disappeared, “He’s gonna get himself killed out there alone!”

Hunter glared at Echo, causing the Corporal to take a step back. “The kid is a jedi. The order includes him,”

“The order??” Echo’s eyes were wide with shock, “Hunter! He’s a kid! We don’t even know what the ‘order’ is!”

“Good soldiers follow orders.”

A pause. Echo’s confused and pleading eyes stared back at Hunter’s distant ones before the Sergeant turned towards where the kid had vanished. “...what?”

Following the trail of small footsteps through the snow, Hunter ignored the ARC. Not another word was uttered as Tech and Wrecker followed behind him, holding their weapons at ready. Echo watched them go, turning towards Crosshair, who hesitantly followed the others.

Before Crosshair could go any further, Echo grabbed his arm desperately. “Crosshair, I know you guys don’t work with the Jedi almost ever, but come on! It’s a kid!!”

Crosshair nodded. “Believe me, I know. Something’s… off. Hunter would never-“

Blaster fire echoed through the mountain range. Crosshair whipped his head around, looking down towards the woods before back up at Echo. Not a word was exchanged as both immediately took off down the snowy slope after their brothers.

The blaster fire stopped as they got closer. Crosshair’s breath caught in his throat as they spotted the rest of the batch. At Hunter’s feet lay the motionless body of the padawan, four blaster burns decorating the young boy’s chest. His eyes were open, but their light was long gone. His round, childish features were frozen in an expression of permanent fear.

The Padawan’s lightsaber was clenched in Hunter’s fist, helmet concealing all emotions on his face. Crosshair could see in the Sergeant’s body language, there was not an ounce of guilt or regret.

Everything about his brothers was wrong. Wrecker was silent, not a single joke or quip escaping his lips. Through the clear visor of Tech’s helmet, Crosshair could see how distant his eyes were, fixed on his datapad, not sparing a glance at the small body at his feet.

The regs were getting closer. Crosshair could hear their boots crunching in the snow behind him, but his eyes refused to leave the boy, smoke still rising from his wounds. His brothers had just murdered a child and the only one who seemed to care at all was Echo.

“We’ve been ordered back to Kamino.”

Crosshair tore his eyes away from the child to glare at Tech. There was no emotion behind his words, no Tech explanation, just orders. Hunter barely acknowledged Tech before walking back up the slope, ignoring Crosshair and Echo all together as he passed. Tech and Wrecker were quick to follow, their steps oddly in sync as they followed their Sergeant.

Crosshair spared a glance back at the young padawan, now being moved by the regs, before nodding at Echo to follow him. Staying further back from the other three, Crosshair and Echo fell into step beside each other.

“Something is seriously wrong with them, Cross,” Echo whispered harshly.

Crosshair studied his brothers as they walked, their movements seemingly not their own. “I know. It’s all wrong,” Very, very wrong.

They continued to follow Hunter at a distance throughout the trek back to the Marauder. Crosshair could feel the uneasy feeling radiating from the ARC that was still in step with the sniper.

When they reached the Marauder, Crosshair climbed the ramp behind Echo, his feet barely hitting the top step before Tech started to raise them. On any other day, Crosshair would have made some snarky comment about waiting for him to be inside before shutting the ramp, or even just an annoyed huff and a glare. Today? Crosshair didn’t even bother to look in Tech’s direction, making his way directly to his bunk. He sat down, keeping his Firepuncher in his hands and ignoring the helmet still on his head. He didn’t want his brothers to see the concern that he was sure was all over his face. He knew his brothers; he knew them better than they knew themselves. Whoever was sitting in the cockpit, were not his brothers.

Not even two weeks ago, Crosshair had watched Hunter almost get himself killed trying to protect a kid. He refused to believe that he had just witnessed that same brother murder a child for treason of all things.

That kid couldn’t have been older than thirteen. Why was he even on a battlefield to begin with?

Crosshair could understand a few Jedi committing treason. They had heard of the massacre on Umbara, a Jedi General who pulled just the right strings to trick two battalions to fire upon each other. Hundreds of regs had been murdered for no other reason than Krell finding power hungry satisfaction in their deaths. Apparently Captain Rex had asked the ex-general why he did it and his answer had simply been ‘because I can’.

Crosshair never cared for the regs, but reading that report had his stomach churning. They weren’t even supposed to have access to those reports, but Tech had gotten curious, hacking in and retrieving the reports in a matter of minutes. They had made sure to delete them when Echo had joined, not needing the ARC knowing the horror his late twin had gone through without him.

Crosshair honestly wouldn’t have batted an eye if they had just gone after the Jedi Council. He could count on one hand how many times they had worked with a Jedi, Skywalker being the only one that Crosshair tolerated, but for them to be ordered to murder the padawans? Something extremely screwed up was happening and whatever it was, was coming directly from the top of command.

Crosshair felt as the ship dropped out of hyperspace, leaving him to assume they had arrived back on Kamino. He sighed, forcing himself to stand before making his way to the cockpit. The room was eerily silent as Tech piloted the Marauder towards Tipoca City, his normal fast maneuvers nowhere to be seen. Crosshair hated the way the ship barely rocked as they landed, all Tech’s movements almost droid like.

Echo sat in the co-pilot’s seat, his helmet still secure on his head. Hunter and Wrecker also still wore their helmets, and for once, Crosshair missed the ruckus that was supposed to be their normal.

Hunter exited the Marauder, Wrecker and Tech falling in step as they made their way down the ramp. Crosshair stopped beside the door, waiting for Echo to exit before he followed. Crosshair was the first to notice the hover gurney, a sheet pulled over what was clearly a body being guided across the hanger. He watched as a lightsaber rolled off the gurney, clanging against the metal floor, rolling to a stop at the feet of a reg.

The colors of the surrounding armor caught the sniper’s attention, confusion overtaking him as he spotted the scarlet red of the Corrie Guard. The other companies made sense being here, but seeing the Guard on Kamino made the pit in Crosshair’s stomach sink deeper.

Wordlessly, he continued to follow his brothers through the white halls of Tipoca city; the corridors filled with more troopers than Crosshair had ever seen on Kamino at once.

The batch came to an abrupt stop as Hunter held up his fist. “We’ve got company,” he stated almost coldly. He turned around, the rest of the batch doing the same, quickly spotting their tail.

A small girl stood behind them, waving at the batch, a smile decorating her face. “Hi! I’m Omega!”

Crosshair glanced at Hunter, gauging his reaction as the child introduced herself, his face giving nothing but annoyance. The Sergeant didn’t bother replying to the child, signaling the batch to follow as he began to walk away. The look that came over the girl’s face as Hunter turned away from her had the sniper sneering at the Sergeant.

Echo looked at her with a look of sympathy, offering her a forced smile, “Sorry, kid. We’ve had a rough day. Just… don’t take it personally,”

The girl returned his smile. The look of betrayal on her face stabbed the sniper. He didn’t know who this kid was, but it was evident this child had been excited to meet them, and Hunter barely gave the poor girl a glance.

Echo turned and began to follow the rest, but Crosshair couldn’t help but stare at the girl a little longer. She met his gaze, something in her eyes sending a wave of calm over him. He couldn’t bring himself to return her smile, but he nodded to her, “Stay out of trouble, kid,”

That seemed enough for her, her smile growing just a bit brighter. She waved to him as he turned to catch up with the rest of his brothers.

Something about her was familiar, like he knew, but he couldn’t place it. Her smile burned into his mind, her look of innocence as she introduced herself, the look of betrayal as his brothers cast her off as nothing. He couldn’t get her out of his head, he knew he would likely run into her again, and for a reason Crosshair couldn’t place, he looked forward to it.

—-----------

The Empire. That’s what the republic had now become. A galaxy wide empire with one man sitting at the top, in charge of it all. The thought of a single man being the voice of reason and law didn’t sit well with the sniper. The war was finally finished, yet somehow, Crosshair knew the fight was far from over.

Crosshair began to notice the difference in the regs’ behavior as well, seeming almost as though their minds weren’t their own. Regs never got along with the batch. Insults being thrown their way was just the way of life with the batch when they were on Kamino, but the regs acted as though the batch didn’t exist.

Crosshair eventually found himself in the mess hall, his brothers silently eating around him. He absently stared at the food on his tray, his appetite practically nonexistent. The sniper hadn’t expected much to happen during their meal, seeing as the regs had been weirdly ignoring, but the last thing he expected was a small body sitting to his right. Crosshair looked to see the girl again, smiling up at him as she set her tray beside his. She looked around at the rest of the batch waving, her bright smile still plastered on her face. The only one who paid her any mind was Echo, offering the girls a small smile, and a slightly confused sounding ‘hello’. She looked back at the sniper, her smile now slightly saddened.

“You are aware, sitting with us might attract some unwanted attention?”

The girl’s smile didn’t waver. “But I want to sit with you so I don’t care what they think,” she stated matter-of-factly.

Crosshair tried and failed to hide the small smile that flashed across his lips. “What are you doing on Kamino, anyway?”

The girl shrugged, “I’ve been here all my life,”

Crosshair looked at her in confusion, “All your-?” The voice of a reg behind him had him stopping mid sentence.

“Oh look. The defect squad got themselves a new recruit!”

Crosshair turned to see a small group of regs walking by, a smug look on every one of their faces. Omega shrunk slightly in the seat next to him, which just pissed the sniper off more. Crosshair wasn’t one to start fights with other regs, especially when they were on Kamino, but it was taking everything in him not to launch himself at the smug bastard.

Another reg laughed, “One more member for the sad batch,”

The only thing stopping the sniper now was a small hand that came to rest on his arm, the girl’s face offering him a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, Crosshair. They’re not worth it,”

The regs walked away, laughing and throwing insults over their shoulder. Omega turned back to the table, offering the sniper a reassuring smile, before starting to eat. Crosshair watched the young girl in fascination, wondering why the child had grown up on Tipoca, of all places. Across the table, Echo was watching her as well, glancing at Crosshair with a look of confusion.

“You said you grew up here on Kamino?” Echo questioned, leaning forward and resting his scomp on the table.

Omega nodded, “I work with Nala Se as her medical assistant.”

Crosshair’s confusion continued to grow as the girl smiled at Echo. “...You’re just a kid? Why would they bring you to Kamino-“

“Crosshair,” Hunter’s voice cut him off. The sniper turned to the Sergeant, meeting his gaze, “Tell the girl to get lost. We are about to leave.”

Crosshair just stared at him as he stood up, quickly followed by Wrecker and Tech. Crosshair turned back to Echo and then to Omega, who looked as though she was holding back tears. He looked back at Echo, holding down the anger that was starting to boil. “If he snaps at me one time, I’m gonna hit him.”

Echo rolled his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, because assaulting your superior officer is a great idea when he’s acting insane.”

“...it’s not his fault.” Omega cut in, her voice barely above a whisper, “He doesn’t have a choice.”

“Doesn’t have-...? The hell does that mean?” Crosshair questioned, a bit more harshly than he wanted, “We’re not droids, kid.”

Omega seemed to shrink into herself, but still looked up to meet the sniper’s eyes. “It’s their inhibitor chip. It’s making them act this way. It’s not their fault!”

“Inhibitor- what?” Echo stared at the kid, as she seemed to shrink even farther.

Before Omega could respond, a voice was calling his name from across the mess hall. He turned to see Hunter standing by the door, his bucket on his head. “Admiral Tarkin has requested for us to run a battle simulation. Let’s go. Both of you.” He barked before turning and disappearing through the door.

Crosshair turned back to Echo, clearly pissed. “...I’m gonna hit him.”

“Cross, no.”

Message me or leave a comment if you'd like to be added to my tag list! (You can be added specifically for this fic or for all my fics)

@idoubleswearimawriter @rain-on-kamino @staycalmandhugaclone @rndmpeep @nekotaetae @arkainea @kalykat @nobody-expects-the-inquisitorius

[voidendron]

finally: my main girl is finished! <333

and with Terrin done, all eight of my main story OCs finally have their refs!

I'll post them as a set in a bit, I noticed an error I need to fix on Aaz'n's, and I'll probably make a small edit to Leo's so her lightsaber is on the main part of their ref instead of the naked base

[agentmarymargaretskitz]

A Great Big Phech-niverse Chapter 9

How Tech and Phee meet in TWWOK, GII Verse

AO3

When Phee arrived in Ord Mantell, it struck her as strange that the Pantoran she’d dropped off there ages ago was gone. There wasn’t a trace of her ship in the hangar where she stayed. Her absence definitely came off odd, especially since Kels hadn’t sent communication in months. If she’d left, surely she would have left some kind of message for her. Phee thought they had a good, albeit sporadic, relationship.

After arriving at Cid’s, she received the grim news from the owner herself. Kels was dead. She’d gone to Kamino thinking she could help a group of clones that had found themselves in Cid’s employment. The Empire had shot her down before she could get away successfully. Cid had heard the whole thing go down on an open channel line Kels had contacted her on. 

The dismal news brought down Phee’s mood immensely, and she had a drink with Cid in honor of the Pantoran. While Cid talked about the clones who were doing the majority of jobs for her business, Phee’s thoughts were on Kels. When they first met on Coruscant, Kels had been lost with nowhere to go. Phee had brought her to Ord Mantell after hearing her story and how she wanted to help people, thinking Cid could use someone like her around. Now, she wished she’d taken Kels to Pabu instead.

The fuzz of alcohol wasn’t affecting her greatly, but Phee still felt it there when Cid’s office doors opened. She stopped mid-story about the pirates she’d evaded around Eriadu to take in the newcomers. Four men and a young girl entered, looking at her in confusion and apprehension. They all looked related in some context in their patchwork of armor.

“This is why I tell you to knock, Metalhead,” Cid snapped at the crew, specially directing her ire towards the one with a band of metal wrapped around the back of his head and over where his ears should be. “Where’s Bolo?”

“Busy at the bar,” the girl shrugged before waving at Phee. She looked to be Lyana’s age and sported an overgrown side shave with blond tips. “Hello.”

“Hello,” Phee raised her empty cup in response. “So who’s this?”

“Remember those clones I mentioned?” Cid pointed to the crew. “That’s them.”

“So this is the top team?” Phee straightened up in the chair and looked at the crew again. “These are the rogue clones on the run from the Empire?”

“Got a problem?” one of them, a tall fellow sporting a salt and pepper beard and a crosshair tattoo asked as he put a roughly carved toothpick into his mouth.

“I thought all clones were supposed to look alike,” Phee challenged, her gaze sweeping over them. “This one’s too big. That one’s too small. You’ve got a face tattoo. And you-”

The final man looked up from a datapad as soon as Phee’s eyes swept onto him. He looked most like the bearded one in terms of build. However, his face was clean shaven and his brown hair brushed past his ears. Inquisitive yet sorrowful brown eyes blinked at her from behind a pair of goggles. He was definitely the easiest on the eyes out of the lot.

‘Ah.” Phee cocked a grin and turned on a little charm. “Hey there. Got a name, Brown Eyes?”

Brown Eyes? Ooh, Genoa, that’s a good one.

“Tech,” the clone adjusted his goggles. “However, the phenotypic eye color for clones is brown. My eyes are not unique from my brothers or sisters.”

Phee tilted her head. “You know a lot about eyes?”

“I know a lot about several things.”

“And you will be telling her none of them, Goggles” Cid interrupted with a venomous glare. “You’re not getting her killed too. Now scram. I don’t want to see you right now.”

The clone looked pained, even as he threw a glare back at Cid. Phee sensed the animosity between them, having a feeling Kels was involved. She watched the clones file out, noting the tall one with a tattoo mimicking Cid behind her back while the little girl clapped a hand over her mouth to hide a giggle. The goggled clone, Tech, glanced back at her as he left. Phee winked, and he turned his head away sharply.

“Brown Eyes?”

Phee looked at Cid and shrugged, “He’s got nice eyes.”

“Don’t even think about it,” Cid warned, taking her cup. “I’m not in the mood to mourn anyone else.”

“What did you mean by ‘get her killed too’?” Phee stood up from the chair. “What’s Kels got to do with it?”

“Kels caught feelings for Goggles. When the clones went to rescue Metalhead, she went after them because she heard chatter that Imperial traffic apparently increased around Kamino. Got killed because she wanted to warn the clone, and he didn’t even know until they all got back.”

Cid’s grief and anger radiated off in waves. Phee knew Cid saw the Pantoran as a pseudo-daughter and figured a subject change might help.

“Speaking of chatter, I found out there’s movement on Serrano,” Phee told the Trandoshan. “The war chest Dooku and the Separatists amassed is being moved off world. There’s a lot of loot there.”

Cid’s expression changed. “How much are we talking?”

“Plenty.” Phee took out the datacard she’d intended to give Cid at the start of the whole visit and handed it to her. “It’s all on there.”

“And your share?”

Phee smiled, thinking of the artifacts she’d managed to make out with and the three families on Pabu who’d just come from Serrano who had told her what to look for to add to the Archium. “Already taken my portion.”

“You know how to try and cheer me up, Phee. I’ll see if the boys want to bite on it.”

“And I’ll see you around. Got a few things I need to pick up.”

Phee left Cid’s office and made her way out into the bar. The clone Cid called ‘Metalhead’ and the one with the crosshair tattoo seemed engaged in a fierce debate. Nearby them sat the big muscular one, his gaze unfocused as though he was preoccupied with something a million parsecs away. Tech and the young girl were going over something on a datapad in another booth. As Phee walked by, he seemed to attentively be teaching her about hyperspace flight, but the girl picked up on Phee.

“Hello again,” she grinned up at her. “I like your blade.”

Phee paused and glanced down at the vibrosword at her waist. “Thanks.”

“I’ve got one too,” the girl said, producing a vibroknife from her belt. “I’m still learning how to use it though.”

“But there have been a lot less cuts than when Hunter first left it to you,” Tech lowered the girl’s hand.

“I’m Omega,” the young girl beamed at him. “This is my brother, Tech.”

“I have already introduced myself, Omega.”

“I haven’t,” Phee held out her hand. “Phee Genoa. Liberator of ancient wonders.” Tech looked at her hand. “You’re a pirate?”

“I am. Heard you were a friend of Kels.”

His curious expression shifted into a frown. Phee saw she’d overstepped. “Since you are no longer preoccupied with Cid, we should go see if we have a new assignment. Come on, Omega.”

He brushed past her quickly, moving towards the rest of the clones. Omega didn’t follow, but she had stopped looking at Phee.

“I was a friend of Kels’s too,” Phee added.

Omega glanced up at her, but her expression was going between indifference and sadness. As though she wasn’t how she should be acting. “He liked her a lot.”

“Omega!”

Phee watched her run after Metalhead before all the clones filed into Cid’s office. Before going in, Tech looked back at her. Just like the last time, he quickly turned away. It was like he seemed ashamed of himself. 

Maybe she and Cid weren’t the only mourners in the parlor…

[healingskywalker]

Agony (Shot!Tech AU)

Hello all! I was inspired by the art of the lovely @wrenkenstein​ , who made me spiral so into my feels that I had to make a short story about Tech. Huge thank you to them again for letting me write this, and using this beautifully sad work of art as muse! (Art below)

In this, Tech has been shot by Imperial!Crosshair and is now suffering the consequences of having a permanent injury. I think the rest can speak for itself. Feedback is strongly encouraged, and I hope this finds you well. 

TW: blood, gore, mentions of depression, pain, anger, hopelessness, and injury.

Taglist: @l-lend

Things would never be the same for Tech. 

Agony slithered down his limbs, into his hands, into his fingers, and cascaded down into his soul. The pain is more than just physical. It’s more than just his body, his stomach, his spine, and his hands, it became his everything. The silent lover that he can never be apart from. It’s in his waking thoughts, his bedtime weariness, his daily routine, and it’s crushed down into every decision he makes, and every waking part of his life. 

His brothers may be free. Free from the shackles of an empire that took everything from them - their childhood, their innocence, their comfort, their joy, and twisted their livelihood into something that could be used for their gain—bred for war. A tool for destruction, doomed to a destiny of early death. In many ways, Tech never got that freedom. He never got that chance, and he isn’t free. He didn’t get that peaceful, or rather un-peaceful, moment of liberation that his brothers silently and secretly were relieved to have. 

The empire took everything from him. It stripped him bare, lying him still and cold on the battlefield, chest heaving with the effort of breathing, blood quickly exiting his body. His faith in his brothers, and the empire they once stood for, shattered in a singular heartbeat. His faith left him sooner than the blood did. 

His life was wrenched from himself, spinning out of control. There wasn’t a moment of relief. There wasn’t a moment of pause so he could breathe, collect his thoughts and feelings, and continue trooping on. There wasn’t anything else he could do except move forward and be the trooper that he was always trained to be. Accept the pain. Move on. You deserve the pain. Move forward. 

The shattering reality that things would never be the same hit him almost as hard as the bullet did. His mind never stopped, unlike his body, which hit the ground with a force unrivaled by anything he’d ever felt before. The blood started immediately. The pain took longer to kick in. 

Pain was the only thing he really felt now. It was the front focus of everything that existed in his life. Projects, people, emotions, dreams, and goals were all something that seemed to stay stuck in the past. They left him, truly left him, as he lay on the ship’s dining table, his brothers crowding around him, their frantic voices faint and muffled, as if 10,000ft deep underwater. 

His vision was blurred, and the only thing he could pick out was the fluorescent lights above him, streaked and blurred into shining stars that, had he been a weaker man, would have given him hope. Stars that continued to shine despite the situation he was in, but it was only his tired brain giving him the only excuse it could in order to make things feel better. Too bad he knew better than his brain. 

Too bad he knew that the chances of him surviving were low, and the chances of him coming out without significant damage were even lower. The room was muggy. His skin was pale, and the texture sweaty. His breaths left him in a flurry of quick heaving, hyperventilating, through the agony that seared his everything. 

Shivers raked through his body, pushing more blood through the gaping wound in his stomach. With each beat of his heart, his life source diminished, as did his hope. They were wasting too much time. Had he been the one doing the operation, with his brilliant mind, vast knowledge, and steady hands, things would have already been done. Leave it to his brothers to panic. They could never shut their emotions off quite like he could. 

Logically, he knew that their state of panic came from seeing him nearly dead, as well as having Crosshair be the reason behind it all. Tech’s eyelids fluttered once, twice, and then shut, squeezing them as tight as he could, brow furrowing into an expression of anguish as he felt them truly begin to work on his gaping wound. 

Somewhere deep in his mind, he thought about how much of a mess he was leaving behind on his ship, and how much of a pain getting blood off of the durasteel would be. Somewhere even deeper, he wished that he had died on the battlefield and that he had bled out quicker. The feeling of tweezers plunging into his intestines, the sharp metal stabbing its way along, attempting to locate the bullet that lodged itself into him was something unexplainable. 

Distantly, he heard a shrill, bone-chilling scream and came to the conclusion that it must have been himself. 

It had been almost a year since the incident, and remembering all the gritty details was something that happened often. He couldn’t ever forget the sound of his own screams, the smell of his own blood, and the feel of his intestines being ripped open. 

Most days he lay in bed or walked around in small circles in the Marauder, his head unable to be in the present moment. He could only handle small repairs now. Anything longer than 20 minutes, and fine motor function, he couldn’t handle. Every movement cause physical strain, and every muscle in his body would tense in response to the pain, and he was stuck with it for weeks, unable to relax or get his body to unknot itself, and no amount of baths, massage, or medicine dulled the ache. The ache physically, or emotionally. There was never a reprieve. And now? He could not longer do what he loved. 

It was suffocating. His life no longer lived in the essence of freedom, or the effort for it. Stuck in the moment where things all went wrong, and stuck in a body that will never work the same. They say you only really live once, but when things like this happen, what becomes the motivation to live? It’s not the ideal of getting better. 

There is no getting better. No amount of bacta, band-aids or physical therapy could fix something like this. 

He’s broken. 

Unrepairable. 

The stifling consequences of actions that he didn’t make. The illusion of a happy ending for him and his brothers. Because at least they aren’t being hunted anymore, right? At least not by the Empire. They don’t care enough to come after them, but Crosshair sure did. It was Crosshair’s mission to end them and hunt them down to the ends of the earth.

As much as he tries, Tech is always going to be hunted. Not only by the cursed Empire, or even the determined sniper but by the pain that surrounds his life every second, every minute, every hour of every day, awake or asleep. His dreams are haunted by the feeling and thought of the one moment that ruined everything.

He think often about the ‘how’ of the situation. 

How he should have ducked lower so that the shot hit his armor. How he should have retreated quicker, so Crosshair wouldn’t have had time to get the shot.

 How Crosshair’s chip activated, while the rest of the Batch’s remained dormant.

 How the chips existed in the first place. 

How the Kaminoans, senators, Jedi, and civilians alike regarded the Clones as nothing. 

How they all turned a blind eye to the blatant corruption, child abuse, and grooming that occurred within the Republic that raised good men to be even better killers. 

How the armor they received was more of a visual trick because the plastoid didn’t protect them from much. Certainly not from blaster bolts, and certainly not from themselves. 

How the conditioning they went through should have prepared him better for this moment and this outcome. 

He should have steeled himself for a gruesome end like this. But when you’re part of a squad that has a 100% success rate and dodging death is a daily, you tend to lose some of the fear that comes along with battle, They weren’t shinies anymore. 

They were experienced. They should have known better. Fear is a healthy thing to have in war. 

A sense of invincibility shrouds the mind and gives a false sense of confidence. He regrets that now. He never realized how much he had taken for granted. All the little things that he wouldn’t have thought twice about are now the struggle that plagued his every movement. It consumes and consumes and consumes.

 It’s never-ending, thrumming with him in every heartbeat. The heartbeat that keeps going despite every other part of himself that wishes it would all just stop (please stop, please, please, please). The heartbeat that wishes things could be different. The heartbeat that wishes he could be himself again.

[tiredassmage]

smth smth... Back in Black

[fwtcanimelover]

Another random SWTOR story idea:

What if in your character's tome for the coffin section they aren't actually dead, they're actually in carbonite and are either discovered during the clone wars era or empire era. Like just imagine if clone wars characters or rebel characters or imperial characters were to stumble upon an ancient tomb, they go inside it and accidentally thaw out your character's carbonite, reviving them.

It could either be a crack/funny story, action story, sad story, etc. Personal favourite would be the funny shenanigans that happen. I can just imagine the characters going something on the lines like "crape the museum piece is alive".

Another fanfic idea that I know I'll never write or finish. But feel free to use it as a prompt if you ever run out of prompts.

[jedipoodoo]

This is part of the Imperial Hunter x Sith Reader I promised eons ago. It's not finished yet, but I wanted to share this part because it's one of the best things I've ever written:

"You're being reassigned."

There was no room for argument in Rampart's voice, but The Commander could read the admiral well enough to know that Rampart clearly wanted him to ask for a reason.

"Where too?" He didn't even pause in his exercises. The knife wove back and forth in perfect circles.

Rampart paced the edge of the room, well out of range of The Commander's knife.

"The Mustafar system."

the Commander raised one brow, but didn't stop his drills. Mustafar was the exact opposite of Kamino, and he could use a change of pace.

"The Empire has built a new fortress on the moon of Nur for training. You and the Elite Squad are to be temporarily assigned as trainers."

With a lunge, The Commander launched his knife across the room, embedding itself in the center of the target dummy's chest.

Rampart observed, then nodded, unimpressed.

"Inform your squad. You leave in one hour."

"Yes sir."

Rampart turned his heel and marched out of the training room, his polished boots clacking on the plasteel floors as the doors opened automatically for him.

After Rampart left, The Commander hurried over to the datapad in his bag, quickly searching up the moon of Nur.

Location: Outer Rim Territories Sector: Atravis Coordinates: L-19 Description: Water moon.

Dank Ferrik.

[supersaiyanjedi14]

SWTOR OCs

I don't have anything special planned for Halloween, so instead let me treat you to more additions to my Star Wars AU. This time, my PCs for Star Wars: the Old Republic (or rather my would-be PCs seeing as I've never played the game myself).

-Lucanus "Lucan" Subartuk, the Hero of Tython, Battlemaster of the Jedi Order, Commander of the Eternal Alliance

-Baya Vihsii, the Bas'en'thor, master of the Jedi High Council, envoy of the Rift Alliance

-Staxos Patror, Meteor, commander of Havoc Squad

-Jali Telas, the Voidhound, captain of the Quasar

-Lord Charom, the Empire's Wrath, nepotistic tool turned humbled aspiring reformer

-Logoi Kallig, Darth Nox, Dark Council Master of Ancient Knowledge

-Vrirm'vase'aercemmi "Mvasea", Cipher 9, Imperial Intelligence operative, destroyer of the Star Cabal

-Ujexes Djannis, Grand Champion of the Great Hunt, Lord of Clan Lok

Bonus: Lucan as the Outlander

Feel free to ask me anything about them!

Credit for my pixels here.

[zhakyria]

WIP Part 3

They danced around each other for what felt like an eternity. The smell of cauterized flesh, blood, and burned fabrics drifted in the air around them. At some point Zahkiel had been forced to remove his helmet. They bled from the corner of their mouth. The glow of their eyes had dimmed. Their smile from earlier was replaced with thin lips and grim determination. 

They were locked in a stalemate. Neither able to gain the upper hand. Kahl had lost his blaster, torn from his hand earlier in the fight, and his right arm hung limp after having been dislocated. Blood and sweat dripped into his eyes. They both swayed on their feet.

“You’re a fool, you know.”

The Chiss sneered. “Please, enlighten me. How am I a fool?” They didn’t stand straight, their left side was blackened from repeated blaster shots and blood oozed from the broken armor.

Kahl reset his shoulder with a sickening pop and he grunted from the pain. Stars appeared in his vision. “The same reason that makes me one. We are pawns in someone else’s game.” He said through gritted teeth. He pointed his blade at the Chiss. “The Cabal wanted to ensure the Force Wars never again consumed the galaxy. That no singular group of force users gained that much power.”

He sat down on a nearby rock. His shoulder throbbed, but it was drowning out the pain from the rest of his injuries. It gave him something else to focus on. “That’s not the case anymore, is it?”

Zahkiel narrowed his eyes. They only held half of their lightsaber; the blade sparked. Kahl wasn’t sure if that was in response to the damage or residual force lightning, but they made no move to attack. 

When the Chiss made no comment, Kahl continued. “They now fuel the war stirring between the Sith and the Dominion.” He looked up at the evening sky. The clouds were streaked with orange and pink from the setting sun. “They are fanning the flames of war, and dooming the very people they swore to protect. I wouldn’t be surprised if they had their hands in other conflicts across the galaxy.”

“Why delay the inevitable?” The Chiss asked.

Kahl let his gaze settle upon his opponent again. They stepped closer, moving with slow and deliberate movements. They led with their right foot, keeping their injured side away from him. Blood trailed behind them from several deep wounds he’d inflicted. 

He tapped the beskar blade against his leg to the beat of his heart. The assassin’s question could be in regards to his own death or to the wars threatening to tear the galaxy apart. Kahl decided it was the latter. “Have you ever loved someone?”

The abrupt change in subject caused Zahkiel to pause. A pained expression briefly crossed their face before an unamused grin once more twisted their lips. “Having feelings for me, Agent?”

Kahl chucked. “That would be your response. Who were they?”

“I presume there is a point to this line of questioning?” Zahkiel resumed their slow advance. 

He shrugged. “You asked why we try to delay the inevitable. To protect those we love. To ensure there is a future for them. There are many reasons, but one thing is certain. We are only fated to repeat the past if we do nothing to protect the future.” 

“How noble of you.”

Kahl shook his head again. “You have it wrong. There is nothing noble about what I am.” 

He transferred the blade to his right hand. In one fluid motion he stood up, snapped his hand back and then forward. The long-knife flew true, burying itself into Zahkiel’s chest. They blinked and staggered back a step. Their saber clattered to the ground.

“We may be weapons, but I refuse to be a pawn anymore. There are threats greater than you or me, and I choose to fight. Your precious Cabal is one such threat.”

Zahkiel fell to his knees. Their eyes were hooded and dark. Kahl turned and limped away. 

“Agent.” It was barely a whisper. 

Kahl stopped and looked over his shoulder. 

“You forgot your blaster.”

Four quick consecutive blasts slammed into his back, shattering the armor where the Chiss’s attacks had weakened it. He staggered to the side and fell. His vision wavered and darkness threatened to pull him into oblivion.

Parts 1, 2

Ping List @swtorpadawan

[chopper-base]

I get a whole 2500 words down for my TBB!Reverse au and then my brain shut tf down.

...we were on a roll for a minute there-

Writing Hunter, Wrecker, and Tech under the chip influence is hurting my soul...

[dingoat]

No matter the universe, the grin is eternal.

(A spot of random graffiti found on my travels seemed like the perfect backdrop for this very good boy.)

[eorzeashan]

Thinking about how I accidentally made Eight the perfect accompaniment to Hunter, and it's killing me.

Hunter clearly loves driving the Imp Agent up a wall because he recognizes you are much like him your own brilliant, independent way as spies that no one can compare to, but I feel like he'd get outright excited if he realizes you too, are a killer who can play the same game. He wants to get a rise out of you while always jerking your leash, laughing at your helplessness, but if you can keep up with him...well. It's a sort of acceptance, isn't it? To recognize yourself in the other. To go, "you think you are the only one with fangs in the room. shall we court, then?"

My Agent and him would get along exceedingly well; watching them go to work is like seeing two lions running side-by-side, as if they've never been apart their whole lives. Hunter is a black-humored point of hilarity to him in the way he constantly tries to get under his skin, but he doesn't mind it as much as he pretends to. Their back-and-forth devolves from attempted verbal slaughter to mundane retorts and banter that only accentuates how much time they spend in each other's space, and soon they're never seen apart. I think Eight is the straight man to Hunter's boke, but his outer coolness hardly gets in the way of his antics. If anything, he enables it.

Kothe calls for one or the other, but it's always two answering. As a result, the cell has given up on splitting them apart; where one goes, the other follows.

Standing guard by Kothe's side, they look like twin dobermans that the leader of a gang has bred to be eternally loyal and downright vicious.

I also think there's too much sexual tension between two killers who have never met someone like themselves much less someone who understands them so entirely that there's no way they could not fuck, but my Eight only submits to those he sees as above him that even a true equal like Hunter could not be his love. I feel bad for Hunter in this situation, knowing he'd be obsessed with someone who sees him so thoroughly and yet flies out of his reach. Sorry Hunter. His flirting would drive Hunter crazy, especially since Eight is not afraid to get physically intimate.

I also think he respects Hunter's secret independence as a free agent enough that he'd let him go after the cell dissolves, saying something like "you wanted to travel the galaxy with me. make good on that promise, and maybe I won't kill you the next time we meet." Sure, his motives and the Star Cabal suck, but he genuinely enjoys the chase and wants to see what else Hunter will do out in the galaxy. If it's not something he agrees with, he'll stop him.

If it is, they'll be two lions on the hunt once more.