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soularsss · 2 months

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Drawing Likeness: with Tem!

okaay since a few people actually showed interest in me sharing a bit of what I've been doing to figure out how to really capture likeness, specifically Temuera Morrison, I figured id do my best to write it out

I am also going to entice you with some of my recent clone art! (oooh some of it is unreleaaasedd)

I am putting the whole thing under the cut because I have a feeling its going to be long:

Read more!!!

a couple disclaimers before we start

-This is not some definite post about how everyone should be drawing clones, nor is it in any way claiming that this is the right way. This is just my musings as I stare at a mans face for way too long and try to replicate it

-I am inexperienced. As kind as you all are to me, drawing real people is relatively new to me, capturing a persons identity through their features is difficult for anybody, and I am no different. I have watched many a video on likeness and had my share of classes, but If im being honest, i rarely put it into practice successfully. So there'll probably be errors in this post or things i will come back to in a few months and wish I had said/done differently

ANYWAYs you guys get my vibe im just here to ramble and today we are rambling about mr copy paste. I am doing this for Law, my clone boy, because I plan on delving further into oc fanart and I want to put effort into representing him correctly!

SO LETS BEGIN

Before even deciding what specific pose of a person I want to draw, I tend to grab a bunch of references and compile them like so

(all of these can be found on my pinterest)

Why so many? Well, we are about to delve into facial features, so when we are dealing with photos we have to take into account that there are an abundance of circumstances that will influence how a persons face will appear, some of these include:

focal length: All of these are taken on different devices, and focal length can play a big part in distorting faces

age will play a part, your face changes a bunch throughout your life!

lighting, while not as major, can muddy the waters and make it difficult to interpret facial planes and features

SO, to make sure we get a proper grasp of what's really going on, I like to make sure we have lots of options to compare and contrast with.

Next up! What I like to do is block out the main facial features with colour on different layers, the features I block out usually are the general face shape, eyebrows, eyes, nose and lips. But what you are looking for is the defining features of a person, so that could include other things! Maybe a scar, or some particularly prominent cheekbones.

I dont have any rhyme or reason when it comes to picking my colours, all that matters is you can see all the shapes clearly.

Now I may be biased, because Ive been staring at these for 4 hours, but notice how it still looks like Tem? :D

Anyways, now we can break these parts down, and you'll see what I mean about compare and contrast:

We'll start with isolating the facial shape, putting all these next to eachother you'll notice they arent exactly the same (partly because of my shoddy work) But the distinguishing features run through each shape! Namely the very soft rectangular shape I sketched out in the bottom right there. Along with his soft, wide jaw structure.

I did the same for the rest of his features!

You'll notice I highlight the prominent shapes and ratios,

When drawing anything, it is important to start from the very base shapes and build up.

When drawing something you want to look like someone, those shapes relative to other shapes is what makes it look like them.

I didnt use the same technique with his eyes and lips, but I wrote out some helpful info for them! More importantly for his eyes.

When drawing eyes, I find the most important part is where exactly I draw the creases, (along with the overall shape of the eye itself) it is important to understand where those will present themselves with hooded eyes.

NOW, with an understanding of his facial features in place, lets take a detour to colours:

before I start, a couple things to note:

-Temuera morrison versus the clone troopers in the animated shows:

While I love the animated shows they don't exactly stay close to their source material. Im going to link here to an excellent post discussing whitewashing specifically in relation to the clones.

Temuera is Māori, of Te Arawa (Ngāti Whakaue) and Tainui (Ngāti Maniapoto, Ngāti Rarua) whakapapa, and also has Scottish and Irish ancestry.

The Māori people are the indigenous Polynesian people of mainland New Zealand (Aotearoa). Māori originated with settlers from East Polynesia. Māori people often vary in skin tone, Skin colour doesn't determine ethnicity. There's often a correlation but it's not a requirement.

But that is a tangent! What we are aiming for is to stay true to Temuera.

Bringing back my reference photos from before, Ive colour picked a buncha values and theyre all over the place. Why doesnt this work?

Similarly to earlier, you have to take into account the photos themselves. Many things like lighting, colour grading (when it comes to filmography) and makeup, can alter how a skin colour presents in photo.

You can attempt to get true to life by swatching from certain places on the face. Here I've tried to pick some photos with good lighting, and I've also tried to avoid overly lit/shaded areas.

Tem has a very warm, tan skin tone, Instead of colour picking I tend to try and replicate it myself, but I do often bring in references to make sure Im staying true to the source!

a brief intermission to talk about colour theory, something I myself struggle with alot. Often, when putting in flat colours without a background, I will forget to make sure the colours i intend to use will work with the skin tone i have picked! (something that is apparent in older works of mine, not just in relation to clones, but in general, the colours I end up with stray largely from their original sources and it is something I am doing my best to keep in mind and improve in! Although I don't think i am nearly experienced enough in the topic to say I have succeeded yet lol.)

anyways back to Tem :))

Now we can put all of that into practice! Things to keep in mind when drawing out a piece next to a reference like this:

the distance between the eyebrows? how far down his face does his nose go? Basically just, in relation to eachother, where do all those shapes we found earlier, sit?

The screenshot above is from before I did it myself, but instead of directly tracing from the reference, a handy trick I use it to complete your sketch first, and then overlay a traced version to see where your inconsistencies are! Alternatively, you could move your sketch over the image, but I didnt do it that way so!! uh!! im sure it works exactly the same!!!!

When it comes to a final illustration, or any sketch that isnt a direct study, of course you can push and pull and stylise! You'll see below that I'm not exactly 1:1 to my reference photo either.

The important thing with stylisation, or at least my own personal understanding of stylisation is that you need to thoroughly understand the thing you are stylizing! "You need to know the rules to break them" and all that. While shapes, lines and rendering can change, when it comes to drawing someone, and making it look like them, you have to make sure to keep their core features true to source. Caricature can capture a persons vibe whilst drastically exaggerating features, but it will only look like them if you KEEP THOSE FEATURES!!!! SHAPES!!! AHHH!!

But that is just my perspective on the discussion of style versus realism, please dont take is as Law, I dont know what Im on about half the time!!

anyways, after fixing your sketch, add local colours!

I rexified him because why tf not! But this is where you can go crazy with that clone personalization!

And then here is a very very barely rendered version (if you guys want me to explain how i RENDER that would need to be a completely different post, and I havent had anyone ask about it yet so who knows! maybe one day) But I digress, hopefully you learnt something new through my ramblings! It has certainly helped me organize my thoughts and I have also found some areas I would like to focus more on in the future to improve my own art!

TLDR: In order to understand an object, be it a face or a building or literally anything, you have to break it down to its simplest forms, understanding LARGER shapes will help you immensely in the long run

If you guys like this sorta content do let me know! I'd be down to do similar things for armor/anything really, I am very anti gatekeep so really anything at all you want to know! Send me an ask :))

also if you see a spelling mistake.. i don’t know how that got there

#can you tell im nervous #i’ve never done anything like this BEFORE SPARE ME PLEASE #star wars #star wars fanart #digital art #my art <3 #digital aritst #the clone wars #clone trooper #temuera morrison #tutorial #soulars yaps #soulars tutorial

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notmyneighbor · 5 months

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Special Delivery - Doppelganger Francis Mosses x Female Reader

Word Count - 3.3k

Rating - Explicit

CW - masturbation, oral sex

Also available on AO3

You’re being followed.

You’re out later than you’d intended, but there had been a lot of requests that day. Word was spreading. You were getting quite the reputation among the doppelgängers.

Imagine, a human who was betraying her own kind, making forged documents to help the invaders into DDD restricted areas.

You don’t even feel guilty about it, either, because what has any human ever done for you? You’ve been on your own since as far back as you can remember, dealt a bad hand early in life. This scheme you’ve concocted pays well. Better than any of the other less savory things you’ve had to do to supplement your income, and it came with an added bonus: you knew how to write in the alien’s language as well, the symbols you inscribe on the frame of your apartment door and workspaces guaranteeing you’ll be exempt from harm.

Maybe you could’ve done something with your artistic and linguist skills if you’d had the opportunity, but alas, this was your lot in life. Making the best of a less than ideal situation.

You deviate your course a few times, just to make certain you’re still being pursued. Yes, he’s still trailing you. You’re certain it’s male but you’re not pausing long enough to discern more than that. Well, fuck.

You take another detour. Perhaps not the best decision in hindsight. You’re further away from home now. You don’t recognize the street you’re on. There’s a delivery truck parked on the side of the road. Dairy. Should you try to hide inside? The door was open. Where was the driver? You consider your options. No one would admit you into their house at this hour, and why should they, when you’ve been selling out all your neighbors? The truck, then. Your stalker’s footsteps still sounded a fair distance away. It was your only chance at this point. Maybe you could find something to mark the symbols. If there was still time.

The step to enter the truck is high. You have to ungraciously hoist yourself inside, clinging desperately to the sides to balance your weight. Made it. Your nose wrinkles. There’s a faintly sour smell. Spoiled products. The keys are in the ignition. A feeling of foreboding washes over you. The street lamp nearby barely illuminates the interior of the vehicle. You’re afraid to go into the back. You can’t see anything you can use to write the protection phrase. Your breath saws in and out. Too loud. You’re making too much noise.

A foot on the steel step makes you whirl around. It’s your pursuer. Dressed as a milkman, but you know instantly it’s not. Replicant. Deceiver. The clone of whatever human he’s copying. He’d chosen a handsome one, though you doubt it had anything to do with appearances, more a matter of convenience. Broad shouldered. Narrow waisted. He lifts himself into the truck with practiced ease. You’re so fucked.

Dark eyes and hair. Pale skin. He blocks the light from outside as he crowds you further inside. Well, you couldn’t say you’d had a good run, but you’d done your best. You close your eyes. You don’t want to see the teeth emerge before he devours you.

“What are you doing in here?”

Your eyes fly open again. He hasn’t advanced any further. He wanted to talk? Play with his food before he ate it? Maybe he wasn’t hungry. Mabe you could talk your way out of this.

“I…I got lost on the way home.”

“You’re lying.” No malice behind those words, just an observation.

“I heard you following me. I know what you are,” you admit, then instantly regret it. Stupid girl.

“I know who you are, too. You’re the one who makes the ID’s and entry requests.”

“Business hours are Monday through Friday, 8am to 5pm.” Were you seriously being flippant with a doppelgänger? You give a little chuckle to show you’re joking around, but the noise sounds more like a dying hyena, slightly panicked and hysterical.

“Those hours don’t work for me.”

“Oh.” So he was a prospective customer then? “Cash up front, half in advance, the rest on delivery. Currently working this week behind the abandoned grocery store off of Burke Street. I have to rotate the site to, you know…”

“I’ll pay extra,” he adds. “For the inconvenience of the hour and short notice.”

You lick your lips at the prospect of making additional funds. What would be fair to charge? “You need it right now? What’s the hurry?”

“Are you able to do it or not?” This now laced with irritation. His patience and good graces were wearing thin already. Best not to ire him further. You’re lucky to still be alive.

“Yeah, I can do it.”

“I’ll drive us there, then.”

“Where am I supposed to sit?” You glance around the front of the cabin. There’s only one seat for the driver.

You see his shoulders raise and lower in a shrug before he sits behind the wheel. You suppose your only choice is to sit on the floor.

“Your truck reeks,” you say, that sour smell assaulting your nostrils again as you lower yourself down.

The engine rumbles to life. “Deliveries didn’t get made today.”

“Did you…” You’re wondering what happened to the original, human operator of the vehicle. Had he suffered some grim fate? Were his remains sitting in the doppelgänger’s gut, being digested at this very moment? You shudder at the unpleasant thought.

He glances down at you. “No. I simply duplicated his form and stole the truck. You humans leave your body substances everywhere,” he says, lifting the cap off his head and tossing it onto the dashboard. “This one perspired all over that.”

That was all it took for a doppel to replicate a human. Just a little bit of something from the original. Sweat. Blood. Mucus. Probably other, even more unsavory substances, too.

It’s uncomfortable on the floor. The truck’s suspension jostles you roughly. Luckily you don’t have far to go. The driver eases behind the abandoned brick building, shutting off the headlamps. There are no functioning street lights in this part of town. You’re shrouded in darkness.

The doppel stands and you struggle to your feet, reluctantly accepting the hand he offers you to assist you to your feet. You’ve never touched one of the invaders directly before. It feels normal. Just like a human. You’re not sure if that makes it better or worse.

You’ve been working out of the manager’s office in the rear of the store. You’ve got an actual set of keys, pilfered once you’d broken into the building. Another of your talents, that. Breaking and entering. An additional skill this unfair life has made you adept at.

You’re not used to being here so late. It’s amazing no one’s realized the building is still on the electrical grid. You’re grateful for the mistake, switching on the light in the back hallway after feeling blindly for the switch. The doppel is just behind you. You unlock the office door and hit another light switch, sighing in relief. That was better. Familiar territory. No longer in darkness.

But there’s an anxious invader at your back, and that knowledge is less than comforting. You sit down in the office chair behind the steel desk and he settles into the hardbacked one across from you.

“So, um…about the fee.”

Without a word the alien digs into his pants pocket, extracting several bills from a wallet and sliding them over to you. “Will that be sufficient?”

You’re trying to keep a straight face. Where did he get this much money? “Yes, that’s fine. Do you…do you have a home address for the individual?”

Delving back into the wallet, he now produces a car registration. Francis Mosses. You recognize the area he resides in. A better part of town than the one you’re living in, but maybe someday you could change that.

Although, you’re about to make that area a lot less safe, you think, pulling the necessary tools out of the large bottom desk drawer, including a DDD logo stamp. That had been the hardest item to acquire. The rest were fairly routine.

“I need to take a picture. Do you just want to get that over with now?” He nods. “Can you stand in front of the door? It’s a good blank background.” Another nod as you stand. He closes the office door and positions himself, waiting for you to snap the Polaroid. Damn, he really is attractive. Exactly your type. You don’t even mind the little bend at the bridge of his nose or the shadows under his eyes. You take several pictures, one for the ID card and one for the entry request, with some extras just for…well, maybe just to have options if the others didn’t turn out well.

You’re not used to being watched while you work.

You typically have the doppels come back to pick the forgeries up later. These dark eyes watch your every movement like a hawk, from the way you print onto the request form to the drag of the scalpel blade around two of the photographs(they had all come out fine), carefully affixing them to both documents. You roll the stamp in the black ink pad and press it gently but firmly into each corner, waving a hand over the fresh ink to help it dry.

“You’re skilled at this,” he murmurs appreciatively, and your head lifts to meet his gaze. “I see why you come so highly recommended.”

“It’s not like there’s any competition,” you say, feeling a flush creep into your cheeks over the praise.

“True. Not many humans would betray their own kind, would they?”

Your lips press into a thin line of displeasure. You didn’t need the reminder. Was he mocking you?

“Forgive me. I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m sure you have your reasons.”

Somewhat mollified, you glance down at your work. It still looked a little moist. You need it to be completely dry before you apply the lamination to seal it in permanently.

The copycat is still staring at you. You, not the documents you’re working on. You clear your throat. “I want to make sure they’ve dried properly.”

“Of course.”

“It’ll just be a few minutes.”

“I don’t mind the wait.”

You lean back and the swivel chair creaks. Your shoulders are aching. You’d made a lot of forgeries today. Too much time spent hunched over the desk. Your eyes are a little sore, too, dry and burning. You needed a bath and maybe a snack and bed. Forget dinner. That sounded too complicated at this hour.

“You’re tired,” he observes.

“It’s been a long day.”

“I am inconveniencing you greatly, aren’t I?”

He doesn’t sound remorseful, exactly. You don’t know what he sounds like. It’s too difficult to process. You’re exhausted, that post adrenaline rush from earlier really depleting the last stores of energy. You don’t even think you’d protest if he decided to turn on you right now, taking the goods and making a meal out of you before he ran. The symbols are more of a professional courtesy than anything. It’s not like it actually prevented the doppels from physically being able to attack.

The legs of the chair he’s seated in drag across the dirty linoleum flooring, making a loud scraping sound. You watch warily as he comes around the desk, easing past a filing cabinet to reach your side.

“We haven’t really negotiated the full price yet, have we?”

Oh. Was that what was happening? He was going to stiff you. Suddenly that advance amount no longer seemed so generous. That was to be your total payment. Honestly, you should have been more demanding.

“I have more money,” he says, immediately canceling out your previous assumption, “but I don’t think that’s what you need most right now.”

“You’re right. I should be at home in the bathtub. Or better yet bed,” you add.

His hand reaches for the edge of the chair, turning you fully to face him. The abrupt movement catches you by surprise.

“Maybe what you really need is some good old fashioned milk.” His hand closes over your wrist, dragging your hand towards what you’ve somehow missed previously. He’s hard. Like full on, bulging, fit to burst out of his trousers. You should be terrified. You are scared, kind of. But turned on. Stupidly aroused because you haven’t had anyone give you this kind of attention in who knows how long. Sex had just kind of fallen by the wayside for you. There was so much else that needed to be accounted for.

You watch the hand pulling the leather strap of the imposter milkman’s belt in wonder, as if you can’t quite reconcile it’s your own doing this. Its partner joining, thumbing the button of the fly through the slot and parting the metal teeth below into a wicked grin. You shove the waistband of his briefs down and his cock springs free, flushed and thick and oozing precum. You stare at that clear bead of fluid as if hypnotized. Your mouth waters. You want it. You want to suck this creature dry.

Your tongue swipes over the crown of his erection and the doppel hums in pleasure. “Good girl,” he says encouragingly, and the praise sends heat right between your legs, your pussy tingling in response. You’re no longer thinking about your unfinished work on the desk beside you, about how dangerous it is to be alone with a doppelgänger in an abandoned building at night. You’re instead wondering how much of that dark pink length you’re going to be able to voluntarily sample before your gag reflex interrupts and he’s forced to fuck into your throat manually. Your sex throbs again. Time to stop wondering and find out.

Your lips close over the head and begin sliding over the shaft. Clean musk. A better flavor than perhaps you’d anticipated. You take a few experimental bobs, testing. He’s stretching you already. Your lips. The fat head bumping your cheeks, your soft palate. His fingers are in your hair, combing through the tresses with a strange kind of tenderness.

“So good. You’re so talented…”

You whimper a little, trying to reach more of him. There it is. That natural barrier of your body’s resistance. You struggle against it until you’re forced to withdraw, coughing and gasping, leaving a trail of thick saliva behind. You give yourself a brief respite, stroking the slick fluids over his prick. It makes a lewd squelching sound every time you massage the shaft. You can feel your arousal leaking between your legs, saturating your panties. You reach under your skirt, no longer caring about how depraved you appear. It’s a relief when your fingers make contact with your clit, dragging that wetness around the nub in frantic circles.

“That’s a good girl. Touch that pussy. It feels good, doesn’t it? So good…”

Your mouth engulfs his cock again. You roll your lips inward and massage the length in short bursts. Now relaxing and planting soft, passionate kisses on the tip. You spit on it and slurp up the liquid noisily. You like the sounds the doppel is making. You’ve never liked the men who were quiet, reserved. This invader isn’t holding back. He moans and groans and hisses. His teeth catch his bottom lip. His head tips back when the ecstasy of the blow job gets to be a bit overwhelming. And you love every minute of it. You savor every sound and gesture as you perform the obscene act while masturbating, grinding your swollen bundle of nerve endings against your pubic bone.

“You’re hungry, honey, aren’t you? Starving. I’ve got what you need, darling.” The nails of the hand you have curled around his hip dig into the cotton and polyester blended fabric of his uniform pants as you push yourself even further down his length, this time bruising your throat. You ignore the discomfort, grateful when the hand in your hair finally tightens and you feel him begin to fuck your mouth, battering the rear of that moist cavern over and over. “You want a drink, baby? You ready for it?”

You hum in agreement and he eases up, withdrawing until just the head of that thick phallus sits on the tip of your tongue. You’re panting, moaning, frantic for his release perhaps even more than your own.

“Here you go, sweetheart.” A couple of swipes along the shaft and that brief pumping is enough to send him over the edge, thick pulses of cum now spraying the inside of your mouth, pooling on the wedge of muscle his dick rests against. There’s a lot. An absurd amount. You can feel it leaking from the corners of your mouth. Bitter, but not the worst you’ve tasted. Sheer coincidence your body decides to shatter the instant you swallow that load, forcing that creamy baby batter down your gullet while your pussy spasms against your relentless finger.

“There you go, baby. Good girl.”

The milkman’s doppel bends to kiss you, surprising you with the gesture, now of all times, licking your face clean before thrusting his tongue between your lips and you crash right into another orgasm, moaning and twitching while the imposter fucks your mouth with his tongue.

Truly wrung out now, you collapse against the back of the chair, your chest heaving. The doppelgänger refastens his pants, but not before you notice it looks like he could go another round soon, and oh, doesn’t that make your cunt throb again in spite of being so recently satisfied, twice no less.

It takes great effort to smooth your skirt and your mussed hair back into some semblance of order, returning your attention to the documents that are certainly ready by now, the ink well set. The doppelgänger doesn’t return to his seat, instead remaining beside you, watching as the final protective layer is applied.

“There you go. Finished.” You glance up to see the doppel’s gaze fixed on you again, the money forgotten in his hand.

“Maybe…maybe we could work out a deal for the remainder of the payment.”

Your heart speeds up a little. “I’m listening.”

“Maybe I could make special deliveries. To your residence. For as long as it takes to cancel the debt.”

You hum, pretending to consider the offer even though you already know what your answer will be. “What happens after that?”

“We can renegotiate the terms when the time comes.”

“Interesting.”

“Interesting as in you want to think it over, or…interesting as in you definitely want more?” He bends to kiss you again. Gentler this time, but no less appealing.

“The latter.”

“Good. I was hoping you’d say that.” He sets the cash on the desk. “Consider that a tip then, for a job well done.”

You’re not going to argue with that. You hurriedly put everything away and lock the office again, soon finding yourself back outside next to the truck.

“Are you walking home, or do you want a ride?”

You weigh the discomfort of being on the floor in the smelly vehicle against walking home alone at an even riskier hour, where an encounter with another doppel would most assuredly not go as pleasantly.

“I’ll take the ride. But you need to clean the truck out.”

“I’ll do it in the morning.”

“The real milkman must have caught hell losing all these orders and the company car,” you murmur as you return to your former position inside the vehicle.

“Not my problem.”

“Every man for himself, right?” You can hardly condemn the attitude, given your current career choice.

“Exactly.” A flash of teeth in the darkness. He steals another kiss before starting the engine, bending low to capture your lips.

You’re delivered safely to your apartment building minutes later, personally escorted by the cloned milkman.

“I’ll bring you your next delivery tomorrow night, hmm?”

“Okay.” He’s standing so close. It takes just the slightest lean for him to kiss you again.

“Unless, of course, you wanted another advance…”

You shove the door you’ve already unlocked open, inviting the doppelgänger inside.

#francis mosses x you #francis mosses x reader #milkman x you #milkman x reader #francis mosses smut #thats not my neighbor #francis mosses #milkman #the milkman #that’s not my neighbor #doppel francis #tnmn francis mosses #tnmn smut #tnmn fanfic #divider @cafekitsune

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bet-on-me-13 · 1 year

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Misunderstandings really really suck

Edit: Part 2 is Up

So heres the deal, it's a normal Vivisection AU where Danny had to run away to Gotham after his parents try to kill him, and let's say that he takes Ellie with him too.

They stay there for a few years and after a while they manage to establish a little life for themselves. Danny is running a small Shop that makes them enough money to live comfortably in the apartment right above his Shop, meanwhile Ellie is going to Gotham Metro Academy on a scholarship because she is really smart and they managed to fake some school records for her when they were making themselves new Identities.

(Side Note: Danny is now 26, while Ellie hasn't started aging yet and still looks 12, but she will begin to soon since she just hit her 12th birthday)

Danny also runs a small Ghost Shop out of his store, just selling small bits of Distilled Ectoplasm or Ecto-Infused Treats to the local Ghosts in return for small favors or help around the shop.

But here's the thing. Ellie is still an unstable Clone, even if they did managed to find a reliable treatment in the form of Ecto-Dejecto. But Danny's parents were the only ones who knew how to make that stuff, and the Ecto-Dejecto they stole all those years ago is beginning to run out.

Danny begins to work tirelessly trying to replicate it, diving full on into his Mad Scientist side to try and find a way to make more ED for Ellie. He manages to make some prototypes, but he is nowhere near confident that they are good enough.

He decides to call in some favors from the local Ghosts. He calls the ones he is confident will survive this and asks them to try out his Ecto Dejecto to see if it will work for Ellie, but he does warn them that there will probably be unexpected side effects that they will probably not like.

The Ghosts agree to do it, because in the years that the Fenton's have lived there they have grown extremely attached to Ellie. She is like a little sister or daughter for many of them, they would throw away their afterlives if it meant helping her.

For most of the samples, the ED doesn't work at all. Some of them work for a single moment before cutting out, others don't do anything, and some have crazy effects that affect them for a little while before disappearing abruptly. One guy turned into a Dog, not the worst outcome but not the intended one. Another began to glow brightly and couldn't turn it off, that one lasted for an hour.

They keep testing them, out in the nearby Alley since they don't want to destroy the house or Danny's makeshift Lab, for a few weeks.

They problem comes when they are spotted one night by Red Hood.

...

Jason was crossing the Rooftops while on Patrol. He was going a little farther than his normal patrol range, since he had the time and he wanted to make sure there was no trouble in the nearby areas either.

As he was about to hop from one rooftop to another, he got a weird feeling. It was strange, he didn't feel anything on his skin, he didn't smell anything, he didn't even hear anything, but he somehow knew that there was something strange happening in the nearby Alley. It was like he could sense it.

Peeking over the edge of the rooftop, he saw a group of about 10 people. It was a bunch of strange looking people with green-ish skin, and one normal looking person. The normal looking one was wearing a lab coat, and seemed to be about 25 yrs old. Jason felt like there was something off about that guy, but he couldn't place exactly what. He was holding a box of something in his hand, and talking to the group.

"Ok guys, I'm really confident this time!" He said, "I think one of these may be the one!"

The man placed the box on a nearby Dumpster and opened it up, taking out a strange glowing green Vial. He handed it to one of the Greenish people and watched as they injected themselves with it.

Jason watched as they began to glow slightly before their arms suddenly grew to be longer than they were tall. The Man in the Lab Coat sighed in discontent, before saying "Ok, not that one. But we still have a few to try out!"

Jason watched as one by one the people below injected themselves with the green Liquid, each of them having some strange phenomenon happen to them before moving on to the next. The strange thing was that none of them seemed to be concerned with the changes, just commenting on it felt before moving on.

Finally, they got to the last person in line. As they injected themselves, Jason felt a sense of Anticipation well up in his gut. He didn't know why, but he felt like this was going to he important.

He was proven right as the Man who had injected himself began to glow brightly. Jason was overwhelmed with the sense of Pure Power coming from him. It was intense, he didn't know how, but he could actually feel the man begin to grow stronger and stronger. The feeling was nearly suffocating, but he managed to regain his senses long enough to hear Lab Coat laugh maniacally. He looked over to see that the entire group was enthusiastically high-fiving and fist-bumping eachother, all cheering at the success.

"Hahaha! Yes! Finally!" Labcoat Cheered, "It's done! Once I make some more, we'll be able to-"

The overwhelming power suddenly cut out. It was so abrupt that even the people below didn't speak for some time. They all just stood on slight shock before Labcoat spoke up, "Ok...ok this is fine. All I need to do is take that formula and find a way to make the effect Permanent. After that we're all set." He said, a thoughtful expression on his face, "I think we'll be good to go within a Week!"

The group of people muttered in agreement, and Labcoat thanked them all for a bit before they all began to walk away. It seemed like the meeting was over.

Jason took a moment to collect himself, before deciding to follow some of the group so he could question them. Unfortunately, everybody he followed disappeared into thin air after a short time.

It occurred to him that he hadn't tried to intervene at all. Usually he would have jumped down and beaten them all black and blue for testing drugs right in front of him, but he didn't this time. Why? He also realized that he should have followed the Lab Coat guy first, not waited until it was his last option. Why did he not go after that guy instantly? Why did he hesitate? Was it something to do with that Ominous Feeling that led him to the meeting in the first place? There was just something about the guy that made Jason feel inexplicably sacred of him.

Either way, he needed to tell the others.

Because from what he had seen, a Mad Scientist had been working with a group of Metahumans to create a Super Soldier Drug right there in Gotham, and they needed to stop them.

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snakeredbirdbatkatana · 6 months

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There's something about Tim that has always slightly unnerved Bruce.

That's not to say he doesn't truly love him, the little Robin who dragged him kicking and screaming from the edge, who reminds him everyday he has to be better.

Yet something in his eyes always makes him hesitate.

Watching him solve cases connect dots that even Bruce at his most able couldn't hope to understand.

Watching him fight it's calculated every move planned but executed with a grace that would make ballerinas jealous.

He couldn't identify it the greatest detective stumped by his own son until one day when he walked down to the cave.

His eldest sparing with Tim it was beautiful moves that he could never replicate they worked as if they were one. Escrima quickly blocked by a bow staff, every single move perfectly executed.

It felt like for once he could see clearly the thing that had made him so uncomfortable brought forth a fear that was so instinctual.

It was Dick.

The same moves, the quiet grace the deadly motions, even the anger.

A perfect copy a clone couldn't even hope to achieve.

He stays so still almost frozen afraid to catch the predators attention.

As Tim ends it heading to the showers his eyes drift meeting Dick's.

A smile that before he would call kind he can't help but see almost a sadistic undertone like a animal playing with it's food.

He breaks first, hair standing on end as he heads back up into the manor.

He should do something, but he can't whatever monsters that are his sons he decides to turn a blind eye.

To let the tigers play he knows he is beaten that if he were to try anything his blood would stain his eldest's chin.

But a darker deeper part of Bruce recognizes the same look he ignores in the mirror.

The look that both Jason and Damian try so hard to replicate.

He has never consciously favored his children but as he erases contingencies and allows full access to a network he had never shared with anyone before he can't help but feel a tide changing.

Sitting the next morning at the table secrets smiles shared between him and his sons. Jealously crossing theirs brothers eyes he wants to cackle, scream but it's time he returns the loyalty that they have bled.

After all what's some secrets between Kings and crowned princes.

#tim drake #bruce wayne #dick grayson #batfamily #to put it simply both Bruce Dick and Tim are not good people they're angry vindictive they are tigers laying in wait for their prey #Jason and Damian are not a part of the secret circle they never will be. There's a difference between good little boys and princes #Jason and Damian wish they were nearly as horrible as their siblings #Good dad Bruce in this case at least #Who doesn't love some good brotherly bonding between Dick Grayson and Timothy Drake let the boys take over the world and let their dad help #dark batfamily #jason todd #damian wayne #batfam #don't worry Damien and Jason are safe at least for now #bamf tim drake #bamf dick grayson

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antianakin · 25 days

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how do you interpret codywan?

I suppose I should've seen this one coming.

So, the appeal for me with Codywan is the idea of these two people in impossible positions during what is a really dark time for them both overall learning to rely on each other and trust each other. They come from such radically different backgrounds, but somehow those backgrounds also allow them to understand each other in a way few others have (discounting the Jedi for Obi-Wan and the clones for Cody). There's a feeling of equality and respect between them as they fight beside each other and the other person starts to become more real because they can see the other person get tired and bleed, mourn and celebrate. And from that, they start picking up on the other little things about each other that turn them from General and Commander who respect each other professionally to friends who care about each other personally.

They AREN'T the most important person in each other's lives. They don't necessarily understand each other better than literally anybody else they've ever met. Cody will have relationships with other clones that are very meaningful to him, and lots of shared history with other clones that Obi-Wan simply cannot hope to replicate. Likewise, Obi-Wan has relationships with other Jedi that have lasted DECADES before he ever even meets Cody, and other Jedi will have a deeper understanding of that part of Obi-Wan that Cody just doesn't and never will. But Cody and Obi-Wan do go through an experience together that binds them, an experience that is uniquely their own. They mean a lot to each other and they are important to each other, but they aren't necessarily the center of each other's lives nor does their relationship eclipse everything else they care about.

Cody and Obi-Wan are one of the relationships that, to me, is most appealing when it's VERY Jedi in nature. From an outside perspective (a non-Jedi one), it might not even look like they're in a romantic relationship at all. Their relationship is their business and neither one feels the need to flaunt it publicly. They're happy the way they are and just because they don't follow the usual standards of what constitutes a romantic relationship doesn't mean they're doing it wrong or that it doesn't exist. I mentioned in the last ask about shipping that I'm aroace, and that tends to impact my view of Codywan, too. I tend to like interpreting them as something in the realm of a qpr (which is how I define ALL Jedi relationships because I don't think most Jedi relationships that work and/or last would look all that similar to what society tends to portray as a typical romantic relationship). In a happy fix-it AU scenario, Obi-Wan and Cody aren't necessarily spending all their time in each other's presence, they may not even live together, they're not constantly touching or making sexual innuendos with each other, they don't have pet names for each other or use endearments.

They both have such a strong sense of duty that meshes well together. Obi-Wan is a staunch Jedi and that means he feels compassion for everyone in the galaxy and is dedicated to helping everyone in the galaxy. Cody is someone who was forced into a life of service, but I like to interpret him as someone who, after meeting the Jedi and getting to know them better, decides that he still WANTS a life of service if he gets the opportunity to choose. He wants, more than anything, to be able to help people. He wants to bring peace and protect people when he can, he wants to represent something greater than himself. This allows them to be happy and fulfilled in their relationship without either of them needing to prioritize the relationship above everything else in their lives.

Obi-Wan enjoys Cody's wit, his steady presence and level head in a crisis, and that he's a sponge for any knowledge he can get his hands on. Cody enjoys Obi-Wan's compassion for life, his zest for learning and desire to pass on knowledge, and his thrill for adventure (whether Obi-Wan would call it that or admit to it or not). They both know they can rely on each other to get the job done without letting emotions get in the way, but they also know that at the end of the day, they can relax and be themselves with each other and find acceptance no matter what. I think Cody probably grows a lot through his relationship with Obi-Wan, that it allows him to understand himself in a way he hadn't been able to do before, and Cody provides an anchor point for Obi-Wan during a time when he's often separated from his regular support system.

I've seen people say that the appeal of Codywan for them is the yearning, but I don't think that that's it at all for me. The appeal in it for me is that it ISN'T something that causes them pain, but something that only really ever brings them joy. Even with Cody being pretty new to relationships in general, I think that he and Obi-Wan are both people who just end up enjoying the feeling of being in live, regardless of whether you think that person is in love with you back or not. They both glean pleasure from making the other person happy or even just SEEING the other person happy. Their relationship flows pretty easily from a professional respect to a friendly rapport to love without there being an obvious distinction between the different stages. They love each other, and it's not an issue that needs to be solved, but an experience to be savored.

None of this means that they never have disagreements or things like that, but Cody's steadiness combined with Obi-Wan's Jedi teachings means that they're pretty good at managing their disagreements without them becoming full-blown fights or major conflicts. Communication would not be one of their problems.

One of the things I like about Codywan is that what we know about them lends itself to an interpretation that they are the OPPOSITE of Anidala. Anidala is defined by its desperation, its secrecy and lies, its lack of healthy communication with each other, its melodrama and heightened emotion at all times, and the pain and fear at its core that leads to its own destruction. My personal interpretation of Codywan is the opposite of all of that. It's not defined by desperation and pain and fear and melodrama, but by smaller things that perhaps make for a less compelling story to people. So many fics turn Codywan into a variation of Anidala, with one or the both of them unable to admit to their own feelings and stuck in a cycle of their feelings for each other causing them little but pain. But if I wanted Anidala, I'd just read or watch Anidala. I want Codywan to feel DIFFERENT than Anidala in pretty much every way. I want their relationship to be based on honesty and trust and simple small moments feeling more romantic than grand gestures. There's no melodrama in my version of Codywan unless they're playing it up as a joke in front of somebody else.

#star wars #codywan #obi-wan kenobi #commander cody #marshal commander cody #anidala critical

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zedecksiew · 1 month

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Monument vs Shrine

In "Replica, Aura, and Late Nationalist Imaginings", the political scientist Benedict Anderson (most famous for his Southeast Asia scholarship and that definitive critique of nationalism, Imagined Communities) muses on the Lincoln memorial:

Within a temple explicitly mimicking "the religious edifices of a safely pagan Greece";

Mazda Corp floodlights designed "to ward off unnatural, indifferent sunlight";

The abstract enshrinements of "Lincoln's memory" in the "hearts of the people", while neither Lincoln's actual remains or any rites for people to perform are present;

The sense that ultimately the most reverential thing to do there is to take photographs.

The Lincoln Memorial; the Jefferson memorial next to it; both figures repeated again on Mt Rushmore; both figures repeated ad nauseum on dollar bills.

These monuments are designed to proliferate. Not only must they create a sober, stately experience for the visitor---but they must also do so consistently, because they are built for visitors: the mass audience of the national population.

Otherwise they must be physically replicable: a memorial to a particular national hero, erected in every city.

The very format of monument-building get copied:

Post-colonial countries, in need of new myths, choose to manufacture national cenotaphs of their own, in imitation of Western models.

Malaysia has Putrajaya, a federal capital sprung ex nihilo from palm-oil agricultural land, its buildings all arches and onion domes and imitation arc de triomphes in inhuman scale, its avenues broad and utterly unwalkable in the tropical heat.

At such monuments the citizen is cast as tourist.

Of this state-sanctioned object of devotion you are encouraged to take photographs, sell merchandise---ie: continue the process of replication. With every copy nationalism is reified.

God forbid you tweak the official monument with your own meanings, though! While writing this post, I found the following story, from December 2023:

"Lincoln Memorial temporarily closed after being vandalized with 'Free Gaza' graffiti"

Anderson's essay cites instances where the personal and irreproducible sneak back into, or leak out from, or vandalise, national monuments:

"Early in the 1910s,"---in Manila's Cementerio del Norte, a municipal cemetery planned by an American urban designer---"a small pantheon was constructed for the interment of Filipino national heroes."

This monument was to emulate the Pantheon in Paris, where "great Frenchmen" of the national canon are memorialised.

But the Filipino version failed.

"Today, hardly anyone in the Philippines is aware of this dilapidated pantheon's existence ... What has happened is that the Filipino Voltaire and Rousseau have managed to escape, summoning devoted, often familial bodysnatchers, to convey them to home-town shrines."

Not that the municipal cemetery itself is deserted. Custodians and their families live in the very mausoleums they care for.

Further, Anderson describes All Saints' Eve in the Cementerio del Norte, when thousands pour into its precincts.

But these multitudes adjourn to their own myriad family graves and small ancestral shrines: spending the day with immediate loved ones, "drinking, praying, gambling, making offerings ..."

Most of the Philippines' presidents have mausoleums in Norte, "but no one pays attention to them ... and only their separate descendants come to attend them."

"There is something exhilarating here that one rarely sees in national celebrations, maybe because the structure of the ceremonial is not serial, but entirely cellular."

Hometowns re-exerting themselves within the nation; ordinary people scrawling meaning onto the edifices of the uppercase-P People. A multitude of the singular, instead of a single mass.

Despite nationalism's efforts to centralise and clone a national identity, still we mutate, still we bootleg, still we graffiti, becoming once again ourselves.

And---particular to post-colonial societies---in doing so we casually continue the work of liberation, sneaking the idea of freedom away from our own architects and elites and prime ministers, who would seek to seize its meaning for their own purposes.

The churches or mosques or temples to demos that the federal government builds are ours to transform. To take from. To ignore.

"No need. We've got our own shrines at home."

National heroes become local saints and slip out of national control.

Does the Filipino government really control the various Rizalista sects? Karpal Singh is now a datuk kong, without his political dynasty's consent.

Across Melaka and Negeri Sembilan there once existed shrines dedicated to Hang Tuah, Malay folk hero, now a powerful figurehead of Malay-Muslim ethno-nationalism.

One such shrine existed at Tanjung Tuan:

With a plain altar---more a porch, really---of poured cement, for folk to leave food offerings;

Sunlight mottled from the surrounding forest, and fluorescent lights from a nearby gazebo;

A large rock, with an indent on its crown, said to be Hang Tuah's actual footprint;

The idea that this was a sacred space, where you could come to ask the spirits of the place for love or children.

The shrine that existed was sited in a forest reserve. It was swept clean of leaves by locals; its adherents belonged to all faiths and ethnicities; following the transactional logic of folk religion, those who had received its blessing would've paid for its maintenance.

"Existed".

Because the Religious Department of the State of Melaka destroyed the Hang Tuah shrine sometime in 2022, for the crime of idolatry.

A double heresy. An affront to both orthodox Sunni Islam---

But also to the Malaysian state, that sanctions Sunni Islam as its official religion; whose nationalism requires its mythic hero to have only the attributes and magics the state ulama and historians say he must have---and no others.

Local shrines are destroyed, because the nation-state intuits them to be threats to its exclusive franchise.

Image sources: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/United_States_five-dollar_bill https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Arc_de_Triomphe https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Putrajaya https://www.facebook.com/PilipinasRetrostalgia https://www.globaltimes.cn/content/984521.shtml https://www.facebook.com/PerakPress https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Malays_(ethnic_group)

#real life #imaginations #nationalism #benedict anderson #essays #reviews #shrines #monuments #theory

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fluffykittensox · 3 months

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Something I think everyone forgets about the clones from time to time, as said in ‘Attack of the Clones’ by Lama Su “They are totally obedient, taking any order without question. We modified their genetic structure to make them less independent then the original host”

Couple that, with the chips, and the average Clone trooper like Cody (listen I know he’s not average but I’m making a point here), would stand no chance countering orders he knows makes no sense & is wrong.

We see how hard Rex had to physically and mentally fight just to not shoot at Ahsoka for a few seconds.

And that’s another reason why they are called “The Bad Batch” too, troopers who don’t file reports, troopers more in line with the attitude of “the original host” Jango Fett. Pretty sure they weren’t created to be “more docile” like the majority.

(Lama Su literally said that of Boba “pure genetic replication no tampering to make it more docile” implying the clones as a whole are…)

So yeah even I’ve joked about it but in all fairness, the clones who killed all those Jedi really didn’t have a chance to fight back.

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hypewinter · 1 year

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The Ghost King has been captured. And the ghosts aren't too happy about that.

When the JLD managed to track down some people in a place called Amity Park to explain, they said he was being held by the GIW. Unfortunately that wasn't exactly true.

While the GIW had indeed captured the Ghost King, they quickly realized just how powerful he was and wanted to use that power in order to aid in their goals of eliminating all ghost kind.

After attempting to replicate his powers didn't work, they decided they would just replicate him in his entirety. But the GIW didn't exactly have any cloning technology sitting around. That's why they passed the King off to some of their friends at Cadmus. This came at the perfect time for Cadmus too because they just so happened to be in need of a stabilizer for their newest clone.

#dp x dc #dc x dp #dpxdc #dcxdp #winter's tales

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wanderer-six · 1 year

Text

Sleepless Nights

AN: Had an idea for the reader as the batch's Jedi General finding it hard to sleep when she's on Kamino with them (their room is probably so miserable and also the couch is the only open real estate LOL), turned into cute drabbles for every member of the batch! Enjoy ♥♥

Relationships: Did a drabble for every member of the Batch individually; established relationship for all of them!

Summary: You are the Jedi General for the Bad Batch. On a rare stay on Kamino, you find yourself restless in the Batch's barracks. You sneak away in hopes of making yourself sleepy, but with little luck. Thankfully, your favorite clone sweetheart finds you and does his best to help.

WARNINGS: They are all just fluff EXCEPT HUNTER bc he is a whore (fingering, dirty talk) - put him last in line to be safe/in case u do not want to deal with him (VALID)

Word Count: About 2k per boy, ~6.5k total!

Try as you might to fade off to sleep, you can’t do much more than stare at the ceiling.

In an event nearly as rare as a cool day on Mustafar, the Bad Batch had returned to Kamino for a brief stay. Though the visit wouldn’t last long—just enough time to refuel and restock—you now find yourself staying overnight in the Batch’s barracks. Since you’ve become their “de facto” Jedi General, they were kind enough to clear some space in their very cluttered room so that you had a place to sleep on the couch by the window.

And, as considerate a gesture as that was, the stiff Kaminoan furniture fails to bring you the same comfort as your bed in the temple.

Sighing quietly, you loll your head to the side, making out the room in the faint light. Unlike you, it seemed all five of your companions slept soundly. Tech had passed out, datapad in hand, while Echo slept bundled under a dozen blankets in his makeshift hammock. Hunter’s long hair was a complete mess, and Crosshair was about as quiet and stiff as a corpse. Wrecker, in contrast, snored so loudly that you weren’t certain how any of you ever got any rest. But even with how loud he was, the other four had all managed to lapse into their dreams, getting all the rest they needed before you were to set out in the morning.

So even among the odd ones out, you were odder, still.

Wearily, you rub your eyes, turning away to look up at the window. Little drops of rain flecked against the transparisteel, and watching them roll down eased your mind. When you were younger—back before the war—rainy days on Coruscant were something you looked forward to. Your master would kindly allow you to stay in for the day, trading your studies for many hours spent reading with a hot cup of tea at your side. Though you couldn’t enjoy such luxuries anymore, the rain still brought you a warm feeling of nostalgia… a comfort that could rarely be replicated.

It makes you wonder if such a feeling could be the cure for your insomnia.

With one last glance at your companions, you gingerly shed the blanket you’ve been resting under. Careful not to make any noise, you step into your slippers and get to your feet. Though the chilly temperature of the Kaminoan facilities isn’t exactly pleasant in your shorts and tank top, you grab your blanket and power through it. Having spent as much time on Kamino as you have during the war, you’ve found a few places that you like to run off to every now and then—and you know that the spot you have in mind will make powering through the cold more than worth it.

Carefully, you tiptoe through the piles of electronics, mementos and trophies that litter the Batch’s room, making sure not to disturb a single thing as you make your way to the door. When you reach it at last, you let out the breath you’d been holding. With one last peek over your shoulder to ensure you haven’t disturbed any of your friends, you open the door—closing it just as swiftly when you’re on the other side.

Though they remain lit in a blinding white, the halls of Tipoca City are largely empty at this hour. You’re more than thankful for that, since you can’t imagine the looks you’d get walking around in your pajamas. You wind through the corridors, eventually making your way to a secluded elevator. When you enter, the door closes behind you, and you’re lifted up to your destination.

The elevator releases you into a small, quiet room with a large overhang and a window open to the elements at the far end. You would describe it as a “viewing deck”, but it was unlike the Kaminoans to build anything for sentimental value. Even still, the room served such a purpose for you, and that was good enough. You walk inside, and the room darkens as the elevator door shuts behind you. Only the ambient glow of the grey, stormy night over Kamino remains, and you couldn’t appreciate it more.

You roam a bit closer to the exposed window, and just as the cool breeze strikes you, you stop. Gently, you take a seat on the floor, facing the open sky. You deeply breathe in the smell of the rain, filled with memories of better days. The raindrops strike against the metal roof, and for a while, you simply sit in silence. Bundling your blanket around your shoulders a bit more tightly, you pout—though you feel more relaxed, it seems sleepiness is still not in your stars. It’s frustrating to say the least, and you can’t help but sigh.

You wonder if you’ll ever be able to rest tonight.

After a short while, something catches you by surprise. Without warning, you hear the quiet hum of the elevator doors. You’re nearly worried that the Kaminoans have come to chastise you for sneaking off into some secret lab of theirs. But when you look over your shoulder, peering through the yellow glow of the elevator lights, you see…

WRECKER

… the large frame of Wrecker, who stumbles into the room.

The poor thing’s eyes switch between half-lidded and fully closed, and it’s clear from the way he wobbles as he walks that he isn’t fully awake. However, that fact obviously hasn’t dampened his resolve to find you—something that you find all too adorable.

“Wrecker?” you call to him. In the sweetest way, he perks up when he hears your voice.

“... little tooka?” he grumbles, referring to you by the adorable nickname he’d given you when you first met. Rubbing one of his eyes, he tromps over to where you’re sitting. Before you can say another word, he plops down beside you, swiftly burgling you into his lap. You giggle in surprise—more so when he wraps you up tight in his big arms.

“Wrecker…!” you beam, wriggling in his embrace until you’re able to kiss his cheek. “What are you doing up, handsome? It’s late!”

Wrecker heaves a heavy sigh, keeping you snug in his embrace.

“You… you were gone…” he murmurs, rubbing his cheek absently against your head as he speaks. “Missed you…”

His voice trails off into a quiet hum, and he sets a gentle kiss on your temple. You’ve always enjoyed being in Wrecker’s embrace—short of being a Wookiee, he’s the biggest and cuddliest man in the whole galaxy. But with the war going on, you often find yourself hugging him when he’s wearing his cold, hard armor.

Tonight, however, he has no gear to speak of. With him in his blacks, you aren’t separated from him by a layer of plastoid-alloy composite. You can feel the warmth of his broad chest beneath the soft fabric, and his muscular arms make you feel safer than anything. He gives you soft butterfly kisses all over your face, lazily petting your head. You smile softly—he treats you just as kindly as he treats his Lula.

“I’m glad you came up here, but… you didn’t have to come looking for me, handsome,” you assure him. “I would’ve come back to the barracks eventually. I was just feeling a little restless, is all.”

Wrecker nods slowly, though with the way his eyes are firmly shut, you have no doubt he missed every word you said.

“Yeah, uh-huh…” he mumbles. He pauses for a moment, drawing a deep, steady breath. “... I love you so much.”

With a bright smile, you kiss his cheek. “I love you, too, Wrecker.”

Those words, in particular, manage to break through his sleepy haze. He dons a big grin—one so sweet you can’t help but giggle.

“I just wanna hold you like this forever,” he sighs. For a moment, his eyes open, and with the sweetest, meekest tone, he asks, “Will you always be my little tooka?”

Your heart aches with overwhelming affection for your poor, sleepy sweetheart. Gingerly, you drape your arms around his neck, drawing him in for a long, loving kiss—one that you hope tells him you’ll always be his better than words ever could.

When your lips part, he smiles again, bumping his nose awkwardly against yours. You laugh, giving him one last quick peck.

“Wrecker… as long as you stay this sweet, I’ll always, always be your little tooka,” you assure him, resting your forehead on his. “And nothing will ever change that. I promise.”

Overwhelmed with love, Wrecker lets out a big, happy sigh—cuddling you even closer against his chest.

“Little tooka… you’re the best girl in the whole galaxy,” he hums with the utmost contentment, “I love you so much, it… it’s not even funny.”

Though you smile at his outpouring of affection, you find yourself yawning for the first time that night. Something about the way Wrecker holds you so close, the rhythmic way his fingers run across your scalp, the warmth of his body against the cold of the stormy night…

Against all odds, you think your sweetheart is just the one to coax you off to sleep.

The two of you sit quietly for a short while, exchanging sweet nothings to one another as the rain turns from a churning storm to a gentle shower. When your eyelids feel about as heavy as Wrecker’s, you look up to him with a smile, setting your hand on his cheek.

“Well, sweetheart… we should probably head back to the barracks,” you whisper. “We don’t want the others to think we’ve gone missing when they wake up.”

With an obedient nod, Wrecker gets to his feet—carrying you in his arms all the while. Just as tired as he was when he came up to find you, he hobbles back to the elevator, though not without a kiss on your forehead along the way.

Wrecker carries you all the way back to the barracks, and though you expect him to lay you back down in your spot on the couch, he instead keeps you in his arms all the way to his bunk. Even as he retreats back under his covers, he holds onto you, making sure you’re snug as a brindlebug when he settles down at last—and in Wrecker’s arms, how could you be anything but?

With you cozy against his chest, Wrecker smiles down at you, giving you one last kiss on the forehead.

“Goodnight, lil’ tooka,” he whispers, “I love you.”

With a bright smile, you nuzzle your head into his neck as you wrap your arms around him (well, as close to “around him” as your arms can reach).

“Goodnight, Wrecker… I love you, too,” you answer.

And at long last, you fall asleep—finally comfortable in the arms of the sweetest boy in the galaxy.

ECHO

…Echo, whose bright eyes soften when you meet them. Though he clearly came to find you, he looks almost shy as he enters the room, stepping softly as he approaches your side.

“Mind if I join you?” he asks, rubbing the back of his neck.

You smile. “Of course, Echo.”

Reassured by your words, Echo takes a seat to your right, heaving a long sigh as he stares into the storm pouring over Tipoca City. At first, he keeps quiet, as though not wanting to interrupt your peaceful silence. But when you lean your head on his shoulder, batting your eyes at him with a kind smile, he finds his courage.

“Can’t sleep?” he guesses.

With a lazy nod, you sigh.

“Yup. Just couldn’t keep my eyes closed,” you lament. “Usually, listening to the rain helps me get tired, but even that’s not working tonight…”

Echo chuckles. He wraps his arm around your waist, drawing gentle circles on your side with his thumb.

“Yeah… I’m right there with you,” he says. “If it’s not nightmares about Skako Minor, it’s Wrecker’s snoring. Either way, I’m lucky if I can get any rest.”

You flash him a sad smile, dotting a quick kiss on the corner of his mouth as a means to share your sympathy. With all he’s endured, you know just how hard Echo has had to fight on and off the battlefield to keep himself afloat. He’s told you time and again how much your love helps, and you hope he knows just how happy you are to give it.

“Well… I guess we’re in good company, then,” you smile, nuzzling your face further into the crook of his neck.

Softly, he presses a kiss to your forehead.

“Yeah… insomnia isn’t half bad with you around,” he chuckles. After falling silent for another moment, Echo hums quietly. “You know, back in my old battalion, my brothers and I had a game we’d play whenever we were up late and trying to pass the time.”

“What’s that?” you ask with a tilt of your head.

“We would take turns naming as many planets as we could think of. If it was your turn, and you couldn’t name a planet, you lost,” he explained. The ghost of a smile formed on his lips, his gaze falling as memories of brothers long passed warmed him. “We used to go for hours. I don’t know that I ever won… half the time, I’d fall asleep before we even got to the end.”

The thought of young Echo, diligent and tenacious, spending long hours racking his brain for the name of just one more planet sent you into a fit of giggles. Echo’s smile warms beside you.

“What?!” he demands, hand squeezing your hip playfully.

“Nothing, nothing,” you insist. “I just can’t believe how cute you are, sometimes.”

Though a blush fills Echo’s cheeks, the bashful grin he wears below it lets you know your little compliments are working.

“Heh… I know you’re just trying to get my guard down so I might go easy on you,” he teases. Playfully, you raise an eyebrow at him.

“Oh, go easy on me?” you scoff. “I spent years memorizing planets at the temple. You should be hoping I’ll go easy on you.”

Echo rolls his eyes, though the smile never falters on his lips.

“All right, then…” he chuckles. He pauses for a moment, as if he really needs to think about how he plans to open. “... Coruscant.”

“Wow; bold choice,” you snark, earning a chuckle from him. “How about… Kamino?”

“Raxus,” he returns immediately.

“Mandalore,” you shoot back.

“Ryloth.”

“Naboo.”

The two of you go back and forth, on and on, for what feels like hours. Given the number of planets you name, it probably is hours. Echo hadn’t been kidding about his experience—as many hundreds of planets that you know of from your studies at the temple, he seems to know even more. In a strange way, it’s really charming. Being able to name a thousand planets probably has next to no real-life applications, but it speaks volumes of that competitive spirit hidden in Echo that you admire like nothing else.

Eventually, the quickfire pace the two of you had kept up at the beginning slows to a crawl as fewer and fewer planets come to mind. You have to scour the farthest corners of your memory in hopes of remembering anything.

“...oh! Hoth!” you manage. Echo swears under his breath, and you laugh. “You can give up any time, you know. I won’t gloat too much.”

With a fierce grin, Echo’s brow furrows. He seems to focus harder on this than on anything he has in his whole life.

“...Endor,” he says. When you don’t answer for a moment, Echo turns his head to you, finding a coy smirk on your lips. “...what?”

“I’m pretty sure Endor’s a moon,” you answer.

Echo’s eyes go wide.

“What? No way,” he spits. “Are you sure?”

“Pretty sure,” you repeat.

“Well… maybe it’s both!”

“Or maybe you just don’t want to admit you lost.”

“No, it could definitely be both!”

The two of you look into each other’s eyes for a long moment.

“... Tech would know,” you both say in unison.

As soon as the words leave your mouths, you both burst into laughter. You rarely have the opportunity to spend time like this anymore—just the two of you enjoying one another as people, admiring all there is to love about one another. But as you settle down from your giggling fit, enjoying the sight of Echo’s warm eyes as they gaze back at you, you thank the stars for every moment you have with him.

And you see fit to thank him with a kiss—one he eagerly returns.

When you pull away, the soft smile on Echo’s lips warms you to your core. He doesn’t go far, leaning into you as his forehead touches yours.

“You know… whenever those games didn’t work, or whenever I was alone… I had something else to help me get to sleep,” he confesses.

“Oh?” you ask. “What?”

He bumps his nose affectionately on yours, almost hesitant to share.

“Well… on those nights, it always helped to think about you,” he whispered.

The gentle tone of Echo’s voice kicked your heart into overdrive. With a bashful grin, you abruptly pull Echo into your arms, squeezing him so tight he can barely breathe.

“Oh, Echo…!” you coo. “When did you get so sweet?!”

Echo chuckled sheepishly. “Heh… sometime between nearly dying and now, I guess.”

Holding onto him for dear life, you can’t help the weariness that overcomes you. When a quiet yawn escapes your lips, Echo smiles.

“Finally tired, huh?” he asks.

“Mmm-hm,” you hum. Your weary eyes find his, filled with affection. “Thanks to you, handsome.”

Echo’s smile softens. Gently, his scomp link lifts your chin, and he offers you one last loving kiss before getting to his feet.

“Come on, then. Let’s get back to bed while we still have time to sleep,” he says. Once he’s standing, he offers his hand down to you, helping you to your feet all the same.

Hanging on Echo’s arm, you walk to the elevator, working your way back to the barracks. Once you settle back onto the couch, and Echo into his hammock, Echo reaches out to you. With a warm smile, you take his hand. Fingers intertwined with his, you finally drift off to sleep, warmed wholly by the love you share.

TECH

…the glare of Tech’s goggles against the dark room. You squint as your eyes adjust, shielding your face with one hand until the elevator doors close.

“Tech?” you call out as he makes his way over to you. “What are you doing here?”

He takes a seat beside you, perfectly casual.

“Looking for you, obviously,” he replies. “And now, I’ve found you.”

Without missing a beat, he produces his datapad in his hands, idly tapping away on it without a care. You find a smile on your lips—he’s nothing if not predictable.

“Looking for me? Aw, Tech,” you coo. “Were you worried?”

Tech hums. “Worried? Not so much. As a Jedi Knight, you are more than capable of defending yourself—far better than I could, I am sure. No, I was merely wondering where you had run off to. And why.”

You sigh softly, hugging your knees close to your chest.

“Well… I’m just a little restless tonight, that’s all,” you explain. “It happens every once in a while, I just can’t sleep. No idea why.”

“Hmm. I see,” Tech says. Not even bothering to look at you, Tech slides closer to your side. He wraps his free arm around you, beckoning you to rest your head on his shoulder as he knows you love to do. You smile, obliging him gladly—even if he does not show it in the way others might, he is still perfectly affectionate. “It could be any number of things.”

“Like what?” you ask.

He adjusts his goggles, clearing his throat quietly before he speaks again. Your eyes can’t help but drink in his every little action. The two of you have been close for some time now, but even before you expressed your feelings, you’d grown so fond of all of his mannerisms. Just watching Tech be Tech calms you like nothing in the galaxy.

“Barring more severe medical conditions, insomnia can result from a number of different causes—many of which are, regrettably, found in our typical living conditions,” he explains. “For example, disturbances in the form of loud sounds can prevent or disrupt someone’s sleep…”

“Wrecker?” you interrupt, causing him to glance at you. When he sees a small smirk on your lips, he matches it.

“Precisely,” he nods. “In addition, bright lights can disturb the brain’s circadian rhythm. Which, er…” He pauses, glancing warily between his glaring datapad and you. Awkwardly, he tilts the screen away from your face. “...sorry.”

With a laugh, you shake your head. “It’s okay, handsome. You were saying?”

Tech nods curtly, before continuing to list more and more of the conditions that might be affecting your sleep. The more he talks, the longer he rambles, you find yourself leaning further and further into him. Something in the way he speaks has you captivated, soothing you like a lullaby. He articulates himself so wonderfully, every consonant he strikes sending shivers through you.

It isn’t long before Tech catches on to the way you cling to him. He tilts his head curiously.

“Is something wrong?” he inquires. With a lazy smile, you shake your head.

“No… I just like listening to you talk,” you murmur.

Tech blinks, looking uncharacteristically flustered. “You do?”

“Mmhm,” you sigh. Batting your weary eyes at him, you lean forward just enough to kiss the corner of his mouth. “Will you keep talking, handsome?”

“W-Well… what about?” he asks.

You shrug, shutting your eyes again. “Whatever you want. Maybe ways to help me cure this little bout of insomnia?”

Tech looks over you with such fondness, eyes soft on you as you nuzzle your head into his shoulder. With a kind smile, he sets his datapad down beside him. He surprises you when he repositions himself, laying his legs out flat and allowing you to rest your head on his lap. Though you look up at him with uncertainty, he meets you with a kiss on your forehead.

“I would be glad to enlighten you, my dear,” he smiles, his voice now just above a whisper. “It is funny you should mention it. For some people, white noise is helpful to induce sleep. Things like the sound of the rain, or…” He pauses, awkwardly clearing his throat. “...or someone’s voice.”

You beam up at him, and he smiles shyly back at you. Gentle and sweet, his fingers begin to trace all along your head, soothing you with every last touch. Your eyes flutter closed, utterly lost in his attention.

“Hmm… does it work extra well if it’s the voice of the sweetest man in the galaxy?” you murmur, a teasing smile on your lips.

“I would not think so,” he answers. “But, if I am the man you are referring to, I am inclined to give my best effort for you.”

You chuckle. “Of course I’m referring to you, Tech. I love you, you know…”

Opening your eyes just as long as you can manage, you gaze up at him with the overwhelming affection in your heart. Gently, he cups your cheek with his hand, pressing a delicate kiss on each of your eyelids.

“And I love you more,” he answers, not a hint of doubt in his voice. “Now, just relax. I will take care of you.”

Never have you trusted anyone more than you trust him. With a nod, you close your eyes again, fully submitting to Tech’s care. His voice and his touch relieve your every worry, and before long, you finally find yourself drifting off at last.

You sleep with a smile, his kind words carrying you to your dreams.

CROSSHAIR

… the piercing gaze of none other than Crosshair. When his eyes find you, his usually stern expression softens just slightly.

Wordlessly, he crosses the room, quiet as a lothcat. He approaches you from behind, sitting down and pulling you between his legs. You giggle as his lithe form all but engulfs you, his chest against your back and his chin atop your head. When his arms snake under yours and wrap around your waist, you rest your hands on his, falling fully victim to his embrace.

“Well, hello to you, too,” you smirk. “Did you miss me?”

Crosshair exhales sharply.

“Hm. Not really,” he replies, though you can hear the grin on his lips.

You lean further into him, nuzzling your head into the crook of his neck.

“Aww, not even a little?” you press him.

Crosshairs grip on your waist tightens. He squeezes your sides just enough to make you squeak.

“Not in the slightest,” he fibs.

With a warm smile, you sigh into the cold night air, perfectly content in Crosshair’s arms.

“Well, I missed you… and I’m happy you found me,” you assure him.

He hums a quiet affirmation, before the two of you fall silent, enjoying the gentle ambience of the storm. You can think of very few people you’d feel so comfortable with in this situation—any other silence would beg you to speak and dash it away. But with Crosshair, you feel no obligation to talk for talking’s sake. Neither one of you had much patience for people who just liked the sound of their own voice. No, you two could communicate more than effectively without a word.

And with how he holds you now, you fully understand the depths of his love for you.

The two of you remain in comfortable quiet for quite some time, until at last, the gentle purr of Crosshair’s voice meets your ear.

“Can’t sleep?” he murmurs.

Sighing, you nod. “Mmhm.”

“Hmm.”

He falls quiet again. Idly, his nimble hands trace along your waist. You let them roam—you would never point it out to him, given how sensitive he can be, but you’ve grown quite fond of the way his hands seem to trace you when he holds you like this. He has so many little quirks, and you’ve come to appreciate all of them in your time together. It’s what makes him the man you love, after all.

“You should take my bunk,” he says.

“Hm?” you ask. “Then where will you sleep?”

“On the couch. Obviously.”

With a pout, you crane your head to look at him, only to find him already gazing back at you. The way he looks at you always draws a blush to your cheeks—it’s so intense, so sincere… you never feel more safe, nor more vulnerable. “Sweetheart, I’ll be okay,” you promise. Gently setting your hand on his cheek, you smile. “I can fall asleep eventually. You don’t have to give up your bunk just for me…”

Crosshair huffs—that cute little sigh he heaves whenever you argue with him.

“It’s fine. Between Wrecker and the storm, I wasn’t getting much sleep, anyhow,” he assures you. “Besides, you need the rest more than I do.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Hey, I’m a Jedi, remember? I can last a lot longer without sleep than you can.” Your gaze softens, and you run your thumb along his cheekbone. “And you never get a good night’s rest. You deserve it, Cross.”

Despite your affectionate words, Crosshair frowns. He narrows his eyes at you, before closing them entirely. With a weary groan, he presses his forehead against yours.

“Love, can you please stop being so stubborn just this once?” he grumbles. “I know it’s hard for you, since it seems your favorite thing to do is argue with me. But please.”

Now it’s your turn to frown. You bump your nose against his.

“It’s my second favorite thing, thank you very much.” Tilting your head, you kiss him softly, pulling away with an emphatic ‘mmwah’ to his utmost embarrassment. “That is my favorite. But okay, you win. I’ll take your bunk.”

For a moment, he seems satisfied, the slightest grin creeping onto his lips. He leans in to kiss you again, but before he can, you speak once more.

“If…”

Crosshair’s brow furrows. “If what?”

“If you sleep there with me.”

Immediately, his eyes go wide. You feel his body tense up around you, and he rears back just slightly. You know it isn’t the prospect of sharing a bed with you that has him so worried—the two of you have more than grown familiar with each other by now. Rather, he fears those who will awake to find you sharing a bed together: his brothers. If there’s one thing Crosshair cannot stand, it’s giving anyone the upper hand on him, even for something like a little teasing.

Cupping his face in your hands, you meet his gaze with warm eyes.

“Hey,” you assure him, “if they say anything, I’ll beat them up. Okay?”

Crosshair utters the softest chuckle, the ghost of a smirk on his lips. Begrudgingly, he sighs, setting his hands on yours before leaning in to kiss you.

“... fine,” he concedes at last.

You beam, touched as always by the way he’s always so willing to compromise for you. Getting to your feet, you take his hands into yours, helping him up all the same. When he stands, you keep his hands in yours, pulling him just low enough so you can kiss him once more.

“I love you, Cross,” you whisper. He gazes down at you, eyes alight with such affection that you know he only reserves for you. Tenderly, he presses a kiss atop your head, allowing his lips to linger there.

“I love you, too,” he returns.

When you finally return to the barracks, you find yourself cozy and snug in Crosshair’s bunk. Given it has an actual mattress, it’s far more comfortable than the couch by the window—made even more so by the embrace of your beloved sniper. In his arms, sleep finds you more easily than it has in years. The gentle caress of his hands is the last thing you feel before you finally drift off.

HUNTER (NSFW)

… Hunter, whose tired eyes light up with a smile when he spots you.

“There you are,” he hums, with the most handsome gravel in his weary voice. “I was wondering where you ran off to…”

You smile warmly at him as he saunters up beside you. He takes a seat next to you, not shy at all to wrap his arm around your waist when he does.

“How’d you find me? I thought I covered my tracks very well,” you ask with a grin. He smirks back at you.

“Really? All those sleemos I’ve tracked down on our missions and you want to know how I could follow you here?” he teases, pinching your cheek playfully.

With a giggle, you shake his hand off of you. “Hey, it never hurts to double check.”

Hunter presses a kiss to your temple. His lips feel warm, even more when compared to the cold breeze from outside.

“What are you doing up so late, cyar’ika?” he asks you softly. With an awkward smile, you shrug.

“I wish I knew,” you sigh, gaze falling to the floor. “For some reason I just can’t sleep tonight. I don’t know why…” You pout, hugging your knees against your chest. “It’s annoying, that’s for sure.”

Hunter nods solemnly.

“Yeah, I can imagine,” he hums. “This war’s exhausting, but I still find it hard to close my eyes some nights…”

He falls quiet for a moment. The sound of the rain and the warmth of Hunter’s embrace fill you with a sense of peace.

“What about you?” you ask.

He tilts his head. “What about me?”

“What has you up so late, huh?”

A sly smirk forms on Hunter’s lips. He shrugs a shoulder, all too casual.

“Well, I was sound asleep, but a little someone saw fit to leave me all by my lonesome in the barracks,” he sighs. “Guess I just got restless.”

You grin, narrowing your eyes at him.

“Oh? Your brothers weren’t good enough company?” you tease.

Hunter chuckles; the hand on your waist lingers lower, his fingers skirting the hem of your shorts and making you shiver. He leans in close to you, lips nearly touching yours.

“Well… they’re not the kind of company I’m after tonight,” he purrs.

A blush fills your cheeks. Unable to resist his charm, you close the gap between you, meeting Hunter in a kiss that deepened by the moment. As his tongue slipped between your lips, you felt him hoist you into his lap, facing you away from him. He parts from the kiss with a low growl in his chest, before trailing more softly down your neck.

“Hunter…” you breathe, eyes falling shut as he lavishes you with affection.

His warm lips come second only to his warm hands that have since found their way under your shirt. His every caress causes heat to rise beneath your cheeks—even more when his palms land firmly on your chest.

You hum his name again, breath hitching as his fingers toy with your breasts. Behind you, his chest presses against your back. Even without all his armor, he feels so strong… so big. You know that, in his arms, you would always be safe. Well… safe from the other dangers of the galaxy—certainly not safe from him.

“You know what helps me when I can’t sleep?” he asks, breath tickling your neck. You manage a chuckle—although a moan quickly overtakes it when Hunter’s teeth bear down on your flesh.

“I could wager a guess,” you tease. You feel Hunter smile against you.

“Really?” While one hand continues to coddle your breasts, another meanders slowly down your torso. “Why don’t you tell me, then?”

Though you wish to continue playing hard to get, Hunter’s attention makes that difficult. Your words stick in your throat when his hands breach the waistband of your shorts, fingers creeping over your panties. When he strokes over the wet spot in the fabric, you whimper in spite of your best efforts. Deft swipes offer just enough friction to drive you mad with want, but his strong arms hold firm against your attempts to rut into his hand.

“Well? Out with it,” he growls. His lips press to your ear, your heart thrumming against your chest when he adds, “Tell me what you want.”

With the way Hunter’s fingers work you outside of your panties, he must know that you hardly have the composure to make such a request of him. Your groans as you vye desperately to speak the words he wishes must still fill him with some satisfaction—enough that you can feel how hard he is against your back.

“Hunter… please…” you manage, biting your lower lip when he deepens his pressure just slightly.

“Don’t be shy, cyar’ika,” he purrs. “Say it.”

Meeting his gaze with hazy eyes, you sigh.

“Make me come, Hunter…”

You can practically hear the grin on his lips when those words leave you at last. He presses a soft kiss to your temple.

“Heh… anything for you, love,” he smirks.

Swiftly, Hunter pushes your panties to the side; when his hands touch you, now with nothing in the way, the mewl he draws from you sounds so pathetic that you thank every star for the raging storm outside to drown you out. His calloused fingers draw circles around your aching clit, now drenched in the wetness that resulted from his teasing. Only he knew you this well—well enough to have you trembling in his lap, babbling half-formed thoughts of your desire, completely and utterly helpless.

As if you couldn’t get worse, Hunter’s other hand soon joins the first. Not once stopping his motions on your clit, his fingers find your cunt, slipping inside of you with ease. Your walls clench around him, your every sense overwhelmed with ecstasy. The sound of your wetness against his hands, the taste of his needy tongue, the smell of his sweat and yours, the sight of his half-lidded eyes, and the feeling… it was all too much to bear.

Edging closer and closer, your hands reached behind you, finding purchase in Hunter’s hair. You rest your forehead against his, struggling to meet his gaze, but needing to all the same.

“Hunter…” you breathe, a whimper interrupting your train of thought. “I-I…”

Knowing exactly what you want—what you need—Hunter grins. He runs his tongue along your bottom lip, meeting you in one last longing kiss.

“Go on, cyare—come for me,” he whispers. The sensual rasp of his voice combined with the magic he works between your legs has you obeying his orders with ease, tension building to your climax. “That’s it… beautiful…”

You come hard on his hands, your cunt fluttering around his fingers as they pulse into you still. The movements on your clit do not relent, either, elongating your orgasm into something unbearably pleasurable. It feels like minutes before he’s done with you—and minutes before you’re done, as a result. But, eventually, his touch slows, bringing you down from your highest high and lulling you into your warm afterglow.

Breathless and spent, you collapse against Hunter, nuzzling your face lazily into his neck. He brings his wet fingers up to your lips, and you lazily allow them into your mouth, gently sucking them clean for him.

“How do you feel?” he asks, a warm smile on his lips. When you open your mouth to answer, a yawn is all that comes out, making him chuckle. “See? It always works. Come on,” he wraps you up tight in his arms, before getting to his feet, “let’s get you to bed.”

Though you want nothing more than to cozy up to sleep right now, you pout up at him.

“What about you?” you ask, hating the thought of leaving him without all the attention he showered you with. With a smirk, he planted a soft kiss on your forehead.

“Don’t worry about me; as long as you’re ready for bed, I got what I came for,” he explains. He raises an eyebrow, grin turning mischievous as he adds, “And… I’m sure you’ll have time to make it up to me before we deploy in the morning.”

Giggling, you leaned up just far enough to give Hunter a soft kiss. He returns it happily, even as he carries you back to the elevator to make your return to the barracks.

“You know I’m good for it,” you hum. With a soft sigh, your eyes fall shut. “I love you, Hunter…”

Though you’re fading fast in his arms, you feel his lips on your head one last time.

“I love you, too, cyare.”

You’re asleep before the elevator doors can close behind you.

AN: Thank you so much for reading!! I hope you enjoyed - pls tell me which was ur fav LOL I like them all for different reasons but I think Tech ASMR and Wrecker Hugs are my fav. And as always please lemme know if u see any tagging/formatting issues✨✨

"""taglist""" - @shinyshayminflower @starrylothcat

#tbb x reader #the bad batch x reader #crosshair x reader #tech x reader #hunter x reader #wrecker x reader #echo x reader #reader insert #reader #Fem!Reader #Jedi Reader #W6Fic

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gummilutt · 8 months

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250 followers Custom Memory Bonanza

It's finally time! To thank all you lovely people for your support, I have been working hard to get this ready for upload and here we are. Today I am sharing my custom memory object, and my library of a whopping 201 custom memories. Based on the wonderful Tattered Diary by DiLight over on MTS, and the tutorial she shared of how to make your own custom memories.

I've always cared a lot about memories, to me they tell the story of the Sims life. Some of you from MTS may recall when I did the whole several year rebuild of my hood, replicating every last detail of the original. I'm memory crazy, okay? And when DiLight gave me the power to make my own, I may have gone a tad overboard. Or just the right amount, you get to decide :P DiLight taught me most of what I know about making custom memories, and the base BHAVs are from her, but as I've learned more I've added some bells and whistles that I hope you will enjoy. It's a new clone and separate GUID from the original tutorial object set up by DiLight, so if you have your own you can have mine too without issues :) Found in misc/misc, costs 1 simoleon.

Download on simfileshare

Features - Brand new form, created by me. Resized BV photo album with new mapping and new texture (seen above, in game pictures at the end of this post). I wanted something that was uniquely mine, and that you don't necessarily have to hide away in the attic or under the foundation. If you don't like it, you also have some additional model forms you can switch between through the pie menu. - Adaptable dynamic menu. Thanks to a really neat trick from @picknmixsims the menu reflects the memories you put in your downloads. If no file with the correct guid is found, the option for it won't show. Which means that although I am crazy enough to have 201, you can go ahead and only pick your favorite ones and the object will automatically detect and adapt the menu to that selection. - Memories all have a custom icon, that's made from game icons from TS2 or TS3. Some I am quite proud of, some are admittedly not great. Not everything is easy to convey through game icons, but I've tried my best, I hope the effort shows. 5 memories have icons that are not from the game, but I tried to match them to the aesthetic as best I could. - Memory subject menu shows only relevant age groups. For example, if the memory is about having a baby, only baby/toddler Sims will show as options. Goal being to keep menu as concise as possible. If you wish to assign memories retroactively, please see jonasn's excellent Memory Commander object, which has support to add my custom memories without age limitations. As well as a whole lot of other useful memory-related stuff. - Extensive documentation detailing everything you may need to know about the memories (text, icon, background, who can get it, who they can get it about, repeatability, where to find it on the object) to help you select the ones you want for your game, and familiarize yourself with them. - English and Swedish translations of memories, and object menu. If someone wants to add their language, that would be great but it's a lot of work so I don't expect it. You are welcome to share your translated versions directly if you wish, or you can send them to me for me to update files shared here :) If you want to learn how to translate the files directly, Episims has a great tutorial found here.

Examples of types of custom memories included - Extended family members memories (got cousin, got aunt/uncle, got sibling, got twin sibling, got great grandchild, got stepparent, got stepchild) - Birth related memories (pregnancy, becoming parent, late in life parent, had multiples birth, premature baby) - Marriage related memories (divorce, parental divorce, custody things, alimony) - Relationship related memories (fighting, breakups, additional love memories) - Woohoo related (memories for specific woohoo locations, repeatable generic woohoo/public woohoo) - University degree related (declared major memories, got a minor degree memories, got a major degree memories, for remembering having studied multiple things and being able to see what major your Sim chose without looking at their diploma) - Loan related, for remembering taking and paying off loans of different types - Moving memories (first apartment, child moves out, various memories for sims moving in with others) - Kids related (child's first day in school, got their own pet, nursery rhyme, giving up for adoption, living at orphanage)

Mods automating delivery of my CC memories (more to come) Learned nursery rhyme from - Found here, by me Wrote restaurant guide - Found here, part of jonasn "Novel Writing Improvements" mod

Credits: DiLight, @picknmixsims, @morepopcorn, @latmosims, @joplayingthesims, maxon, @keoni-chan. For detailed info on how they all impacted the creation of this, see readme :) Policy: Give credit to DiLight, beyond that, totally open. Enjoy!

#gummiluttmods #ts2 mods #ts2 gameplay #ts2 cc #ts2 custom memories #gummi memories

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notmyneighbor · 4 months

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sway | female doppel reader x francis mosses

rating | explicit

words | 4.2k

alcohol, cigarettes, sexual content

ao3 link

The hotel cocktail lounge is like an open buffet for doppelgangers.

You’d really lucked out cloning that young, attractive, newly hired lounge singer, disposing of the original before she could cause any trouble. While so many of your brethren struggled to get into the heavily guarded, overcrowded apartments for shelter (and food, of course) you had the better fortune of landing a job at the swanky city hotel with the added bonus of a room upstairs to reside in. Working smarter, not harder.

Sure, you might not enjoy the aftertaste of all that alcohol that’s saturated the humans’ systems but hey, it’s still easy pickings for a hungry invader like yourself. You have a set of genuine documents that verify your identity, pilfered from your victim. No one even bothers to screen in the lounge, because if you’ve made it that far inside, it was too late to worry about it. The identification cards are still required, though, ensuring you’re the legal age to drink. Funny, what humans thought important, when their world was being devoured right out from under them.

Perhaps the most impressive feature of your stolen life is the fact that you actually like your new employment.

At first you’d balked at the idea of working for the humans, but you’ve really started to warm to it lately. You enjoy the music. The pretty gowns you get to wear. The admiring stares which you return easily. Meat regarding meat, right? The ones you liked the least became your next meal, lured to the parking lot, the side alley, hell, you’d even snacked on one in a housekeeping closet. You were careful to space feedings apart, though. Discreet. You’re not going to fuck up a good thing like this.

There’s a new customer at the bar tonight. You’ve been here long enough now to recognize who’s a local and who’s passing through, the regulars and the fleeting visitors. Another reason this was such a good place to hunt for prey—so many people coming and going. You tried to leave the locals alone and fix your sights more on the traveling folks instead. Their absences could be more readily explained. No one would notice them missing right away, and by the time they did, well, it was much too late.

In spite of the fact that he’s a newcomer to the establishment, you recognize the milkman that’s seated at the far end of the bar as a local. He looks as if he’s come straight from his job, with undereyes so smudged it seems as if he’s been working in a coal mine, not delivering dairy products. The bowtie around his neck is loosened and draped in careless wrinkles, the top button of his shirt undone. His cap is on the counter, next to a pack of cigarettes and a book of matches. After a few rounds the man serving alcohol had finally just left the bottle. You’ve been served free vodka between sets, clear like water but damn, that taste. You’d have to be pretty desperate to force that down straight on the regular.

Still, you nod your thanks and glance at the stranger again. He’s completely focused on the drink. Shame that, because the more you look at him, the more you find yourself appreciating his appearance. As wretchedly exhausted as his features are, there’s still something oddly appealing about his face. You study the way he swirls the liquid in the glass before taking a contemplative sip, the movement of the pronounced arch of his throat as he swallows it down. You’ve never thought of the humans as attractive before, but this one…

It wasn’t completely unheard of for doppels to have some fun with the inhabitants of this planet. It wasn’t always just copying, killing, eating. You yourself have never indulged. No one has captured your attention like this. Maybe it’s because he disregards you so strongly. Immune to the charms you’ve replicated. What was it he liked in a girl? You could make yourself look like anyone he might desire. The ideal lover, really. A new face and body to suit every mood.

There are other customers already gathering at your elbows, praising your singing talents, your beauty. You smile and murmur polite gratitude but you’re not interested in any of them. It’s that milkman you want.

Your target polishes off the last of the glass in front of him, dragging the back of his wrist across his mouth. He reaches for the sealed pack of cigarettes now, tapping the box against his palm to pack the tobacco tighter before peeling off the plastic wrapper and flipping the cardboard top open. He withdraws one of the cylinders inside and tucks it between his lips, next seeking out the book of matches. Red phosphorous struck, you can detect the faintest scent of it as the match is lit, the end of the cigarette now aflame, the match shaken violently until it’s extinguished, then tossed into the ash tray nearby.

Now your eyes follow the path of that lit paper roll, tucked between the middle and index fingers, brought to his mouth, the deep inhale and then exhale, a thin white stream of smoke clouding the air in front of him.

For a moment you allow yourself to indulge in imagining yourself sitting next to him. Lifting that cap off the counter and placing it on your own head, teasing him to retrieve it, staying just out of reach. Getting closer. Walking your fingers up his sleeve. Playfully tugging the cigarette free from his fingers and slotting it into your own mouth. You don’t truly understand the humans’ fondness for the nicotine laced tubes. You’ve never tried one yourself, only in a second hand kind of way after you’ve chomped on someone who indulges in the habit. But this man made it look appealing. You’re wondering at the taste. At the way it feels to breathe those substances inside.

Your name is called—not your real name, of course, but the identity you’d stolen. The manager, reminding you it’s time you retook the stage, break time over. There is some polite clapping, some whistles. The lighting changes as you take up your position behind the microphone on the stand, nodding to the musicians behind you. You have copies of all of the artist’s whose songs you’re covering in your room, an extensive selection of records. You’d learned the lyrics easily, and if you messed up during performance, no one seemed to mind much. The place was more about a feeling. A relaxed, languid kind of atmosphere. Unwinding after a long day of work. Taking a respite during travel. It’s Dean Martin’s sultry crooning you adopt now, your fingers stroking the stand as gently as if you might caress a lover.

When marimba rhythms start to play

Dance with me, make me sway

Like a lazy ocean hugs the shore

Hold me close, sway me more

You move your hips gently in time to the music. The light catches on the sequins of your emerald gown, making them sparkle. It’s low cut, molded to the curves of your body. You glance over at the man still seated with his back to you. You’re going to get this man to turn around and pay attention, one way or another.

Like a flower bending in the breeze

Bend with me, sway with ease

When we dance you have a way with me

Stay with me, sway with me

You’ve descended the stage, bringing the microphone with you. Each table is draped in a white cloth, with a candle centerpiece. You move around the room, gifting attention to patrons at random, batting your eyelashes or blowing kisses from your painted lips. It’s all for show, all smoke and mirrors, concealing what your true intentions are.

Other dancers may be on the floor

Dear, but my eyes will see only you

Only you have the magic technique

When we sway I go weak

The range for the wireless mic is limited, so you can only travel so far. Your milkman is frustratingly out of reach, for the moment.

I can hear the sounds of violins

Long before it begins

Make me thrill as only you know how

Sway me smooth, sway me now

You return to the stage, and the tired looking human has finally turned on the bar stool to regard your performance. He hadn’t been here during your first set. It seems you’ve finally made him take notice. Your eyes lock with his as you sing the chorus.

Other dancers may be on the floor

Dear, but my eyes will see only you

Only you have the magic technique

When we sway I go weak

The stage lights snap off in time to the music, your fellow artists pausing for a dramatic effect before resuming playing as you reach the final verse, the lights now focused solely on you.

I can hear the sounds of violins

Long before it begins

Make me thrill as only you know how

Sway me smooth, sway me now

Applause. More wolf whistles and cat calls. You smile and thank the patrons, your gaze once again flicking toward the man at the bar. The cigarette in his mouth has been forgotten, the charred end lengthening, threatening to drop off on its own. He hasn’t touched the glass that he’d poured before you began singing.

You’ve got him.

***

If there’s one thing you’ve learned about the males of any species, it’s that the more you ignore them, the more they pursue you.

So you don’t follow up on the progress you’ve made with the milkman that first evening. Truth be told, you’re starting to get hungry, and the sweating man with the shifty eyes at the rear of the lounge looks like he’ll keep you satisfied for a couple of days, at least. It’s all too easy to convince the human male to follow you into the recesses of the alley between the hotel building and the warehouse next door, your actions concealed by the rows of dumpsters when your impromptu ‘date’ turns into a meeting with teeth and claws.

You get a night off from work in between sessions, allowing other acts the chance to perform, but word of mouth is quickly spreading your borrowed name as the favorite. It’s you the customers really want to see.

Wednesday evening arrives and your milkman is back. A beer in front of him now. No cigarettes today. He looks a little less rumpled. Bowtie fastened. His eyes are still bruised looking, though. Did the man ever sleep?

You’ve got a little time before you’re due to begin. You’re not supposed to favor any one particular patron, but you figure you’re a big enough attraction now that you’ve earned a little autonomy. You saunter to the bar—he’s chosen the same seat again—and lean against the counter. Today you’re clad in ebony. Same shape as the dress you’d worn previously, hugging your figure and leaving little to the imagination with its tight fit, the teasing bits of skin exposed through the slit of the skirt, the low dip of the bodice and the narrow straps keeping the sparkling garment hooked on your otherwise bare shoulders daring anyone to resist that offered temptation.

This delivery driver doesn’t look. He’s too polite for that, apparently, even though the way you’re leaning would allow him a great view of your décolletage. Or maybe he’s too shy. There’s a nice bit of color in his cheeks, blossoming after you’d approached, and you don’t think alcohol is solely responsible for that effect.

You reach for the ID card he’s left beside his cap, dropped there after entering the lounge. “Francis Mosses,” you read out loud, thumb smoothing over the DDD logo in the corner, eyes roving over the expiration date. The cards and the entry requests were tricky to get just right, especially if you didn’t know your target well enough or if the doorman was too astute. Or just plain overzealous. You wonder how many innocent humans had been unintentionally eradicated by the very person that was supposed to be screening for invaders and protecting them from harm.

“You go by Frankie? Or Frank?”

“My…my mom used to call me that. Frankie,” he adds for clarification. His cheeks are scarlet now.

You smirk, tapping the card on the counter. “Hmmm. But you’re not a little boy anymore, are you, Francis? All grown up now.” You boldly reach for the beer on the counter, taking a swig directly from the bottle. It tastes as putrid as all the alcohol you’ve sampled thus far, but that’s not why you’re imbibing it. The milkman stares at you, transfixed by your every movement.

“Better keep this somewhere safe. Wouldn’t want this to fall into the wrong hands—or claws—would we?” You rest a hand on one shoulder, tucking the card into the pocket of his work shirt. You see the nervous gulp of his throat, feel the warmth radiating from his body in that brief touch.

You complete your first set—five songs, running your total time performing just under a half hour—and begin making your rounds again, schmoozing with the attendees. Saving Francis for last.

“Wait for me by the elevators after I’m done. You know where they are?” Your lips are close to his ear. You can still smell his aftershave from what must have been early that morning. You hate rising before dawn. You much prefer the nights. Easier to hide. Take what you want. Feast.

“Yes,” he manages to croak out softly.

“Good. See you then, honey,” you purr into his ear, making him shiver.

***

The man sticks out like a sore thumb.

Francis is pacing restlessly back and forth in front of the elevator doors when you arrive later that evening after your last set, rubbing the back of his neck, looking uncomfortable until you approach and then he freezes, standing rigid. Maybe a little of his natural instincts were kicking in, prey sensing predator. You’re not going to harm him; at least not unless that’s what he wanted. Maybe shy boy liked it rough. You would soon find out.

Wordlessly you push the button for the elevator and step into the carriage, gesturing for him to join you when it seems as if he is truly welded in place, forever stuck to the hotel’s carpets. You reside on the third floor, at the rear of the building. The room is generously sized and nicely furnished. You step out of your high heels gratefully as soon as you’ve cleared the door, one of the nuances of fashion that you don’t appreciate quite as much. They were really quite uncomfortable to walk in.

The human male hovers just inside the doorway, his nervousness radiating from him. You’re starting to wonder how much experience he has with females in general. Maybe you should have waited for a night when he’d been a little more intoxicated, when his inhibitions had been a little lower. But you’d been impatient. Careful about all those other details when it came to consumption, but this type of hunger, this lust, is a demanding mistress you aren’t accustomed to dealing with.

“Have a seat. Get comfortable.” You switch on the living room lamp and gesture towards the plush white couch and he sits stiffly at one end, his cap clutched by the brim in his fidgeting fingers.

You pull the hat away gently and toss it onto the coffee table, then sink down at the opposite end, not wanting to intimidate him too much just yet. You can see the pulse jumping in his neck. Such a lovely throat. You’re willing to bet the blood inside would be sugar sweet.

“You got a girl?”

“Uh…no. I’m single. I live alone. I have a daughter. Her mother and I…we all live in the same apartment building.”

“Hmmm.” Your polished nails drum on the arm rest. “That delivery job of yours stresses you out, huh?”

“It’s just the hours. Longer days. A lot of people don’t want to leave the house anymore, now that…” His voice trails off.

“Now that the doppelgangers have invaded,” you finish for him.

“Right.”

“You ever see one?”

“No. I mean, not that I know of. Kind of seems like the last thing you’d ever see if you did. That’s another part of what makes the job difficult. You don’t really know what’s on the other side of the door. Have you ever…?”

Every day when I look in the mirror, you think. You merely shake your head for his benefit.

“You know how to give a massage? My feet are killing me.”

“I, uh…”

“It doesn’t take much skill. You’re just rubbing.” You lift the train of your dress and shift positions so your nylon clad feet rest on his lap, stretching out across the length of the couch. You see the slightly alarmed look on his features and your voice is soothing, patient. “It’s okay, Francis. You’ve got this.”

His hands reach tentatively for one foot, placing one over the top and the other underneath. His movement are stiff, brisk, awkward, until you begin to hum that Dean Martin song he’d seemed to enjoy, making his hands slacker, softer, caressing the sore areas. You interrupt the melody to groan appreciatively, stretching further, letting your heels grind against his thighs. It’s starting to feel good. He has nice hands. You want them on you in other places.

You slide one foot closer to his crotch, gently stroking. He’s gone immobile again, startled. You drag both feet back and stand, now moving in front of the seated man, lifting your dress so you can straddle his lap. His hands reflexively reach for your waist. You dig your hands into his thick russet hair, tugging his head back slightly.

“You ever have any of those lonely housewives ask you to come in? Make a special delivery?”

“N…no. It’s just business. No one notices…”

“You sure about that? Maybe you’re just too polite to notice when a woman is hungry.” Your free hand tugs on the bow tie, loosening it. You undo the first two buttons of his shirt. You want a taste of that gorgeous throat of his, even if it’s only the top layer and not the succulent fluids below that you’re after.

The pleasant scent of that aftershave assaults you again as soon as your face bends to sample the arch. His skin is slightly rough, the facial hair he’d scraped away reclaiming its territory at this late hour. You lick from the base all the way up to his jaw, and the fingers on your waist tighten.

“You think maybe you’ve got one more batch you need to deliver, honey?” Your hand dives straight for the fly of his pants, pleased to feel he’s already becoming aroused.

A choked sound escapes the man’s lips. Maybe an attempt at a word that becomes garbled with incoherent pleasure. Your impatience is growing. Too many layers. Earthlings insisted on wearing so many. Your species didn’t care about that, in your natural habitat. You could shred them to pieces so easily with your claws, but that would mean revealing what you truly are, and you don’t want to do that just yet. The man is anxious enough as it is.

So you settle for using the human hands you’ve replicated to unfasten the belt and zipper and undo the button, reaching beneath the waistband of his underwear and dragging his cock free. Ample. Leaking. You stroke over it and he hisses, a feral sound not unlike one a male of your species might make. Your teeth nip his earlobe, tease his bottom lip before you finally sink your tongue inside his mouth. There’s the faint, lingering taste of alcohol, but you ignore that and instead concentrate on the feeling of that wet maw, stroking cheeks and tongue and teeth and palate, exploring thoroughly. You don’t even have to guide him to the straps of your dress, feeling them slid over your shoulders, then moving to the front of your dress to knead the further exposed globes of flesh there.

“That’s good, doll. That’s really, really good.” His fingers are beneath the fabric, pinching and rolling your nipples, making them erect. You like it, but it’s not where you need him most. There’s a wet heat between your legs that’s throbbing. A hollow space waiting to be filled, and the prick in your hands is perfect for the job.

You gently push on his forearm and he takes over from there, snaking beneath the slit of your dress, the seam ripping a bit as it’s still partially tucked beneath you. He pauses. “Shit, sorry…”

“I have plenty of other dresses. I don’t care. Touch me, Francis.” The lingerie you’re wearing is skimpy. Nearly indecent. Clinging, and he tears more fabric in his urgency to work beneath the pair of panties. His digits find moisture and you moan into his mouth. That was what you needed. The pads of his fingers rolling across your clit. Parting your lips. Digging into your entrance. He’s becoming bolder now. The desire coded into DNA so long ago to ensure the propagation of the species continues taking over.

Your head tips back as you gently ride a pair of his fingers. You’re still stroking him, keeping him slick and hard. Back at his mouth again. You like kissing him. A lot. It makes your insides flutter. You’re getting even wetter.

Eventually you move away. You have to, if you’re ever going to get what you need. You lift your dress and bend over the armrest of the couch, your panties dragged down just past the lace edge of your thigh high stockings. The milkman’s dick finds your opening and slides in smooth, straight to the hilt, stretching and filling you. Your nails dig into the fabric of the couch. You’re so tempted to let the natural claws peak out, to allow the gentle incisors lining the front of your mouth shift to the genuine, sharper cuspids. It takes tremendous effort to keep the monster within restrained. The bloodlust mingles with the other, surprising you with its intensity. You’d fed so well. You shouldn’t be this hungry again so soon.

The man’s hands grip your hips, aiding him as he thrusts in and out. He’s still holding back, still gentler than what you’d like. “Fuck me harder, Francis. I want that cock in as deep as it can go.”

He grunts, maybe a little surprised with how aggressive your words are. Nice young women didn’t talk like this. Then again, you’re not a nice young woman. Not really. You just look like one, bent over with your ass cheeks spread, letting a virtual stranger violate you. You fucking love it.

His hips slap against you a little faster now, a little rougher. You push back to meet him, matching his rhythm, driving him in even further. So good. He’s hitting a tender spot inside just right. You’re getting close to achieving orgasm.

Francis is, too. You feel it in the tremors that make his hands shake on your body, the breath that stutters in rasping pants.

“Fill me up, honey. I want every drop of that milk.”

Spurred on by this last request, he moans and you feel the wet heat of his release painting your insides. You tip over the edge at that exact moment, the walls of your canal contracting and squeezing his cock, making sure to extract every bit of his seed.

If the man had looked tired before, he looked absolutely exhausted now. Spent. Drained. He flops wearily onto the couch after pulling out. You drag your panties back into place and let your hem fall down, sliding the straps of your gown back over your shoulders as you join him. You’re a little tired yourself, after that brief, intense session.

“What time do you have to get up in the morning?”

“Four.”

You clench your tongue with your teeth, sucking in a sympathetic draft of air. “It’s midnight now.”

“Yeah.”

“You want to stay? I’ll make sure to wake you up on time. Set the alarm.”

“No. It’s too far from work. I still have to load up the truck in the morning. I’m better off going home.”

“Alright.” You’re not particularly upset at him declining your offer. You are curious about something else, though. “Are you coming back to the hotel on Friday? That will be my last performance of the week.”

He looks over at you. “Yes, I will.”

“Maybe you could stay over that night. You don’t work on the weekend, do you?”

“No. Someone else has that shift.” He reaches out tentatively to touch your cheek, his thumb stroking your bottom lip. “I’ll stay that night, if you want.”

“Yes. I want.” You lean over to kiss him, the gesture gentle this time. Soothing, like the song you’d hummed earlier. “Go get some sleep, doll. You’re going to need the energy for Friday night.” For just the briefest, fleeting moment, the glamour shielding your true eyes from view slips, and the milkman’s own flare in alarm. But then you’re disguised again, so swiftly you know he’s questioning if he’d really seen what he thought he’d seen, or if it’s just fatigue that’s making his eyes play tricks on him.

You couldn’t possibly be a doppelganger.

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