#clone shapes in presentation

[dat1angel]

DP x DC Prompt

Demon Twin AU

Growing up in the League of Assassins, Damian and Danyal were aware of the possibility of encountering clones of themselves or each other. They even encountered a few League made clones during training so that they could learn how to identify and take down these threats if an enemy ever tried to use them. The solution they came up with was a series of codes. Simple phrases and gestures that would seem innocuous to anyone else but would tell them that the person standing beside them was, infact, who they claimed they were. They never let anyone know what these codes were either, so that the clones couldn't have knowledge of the codes artificially implanted. If there was any concern of a code being cracked they stopped using it. The system worked perfectly. Then Danyal died.

Damian didn't need a code to tell him that he would never fight side by side with his brother again.

Damian never forgot about the codes though. So when the League started sending clones of himself to infiltrate his family, he told them about this method and created new codes for them to use to tell if it was really him. He never reused the codes he made with Danyal, those were theirs no matter the fact that nobody would ever do them back.

Danny knew he was adopted. He knew that the Fentons had found him while on a ghost hunt and that he was in incredibly bad shape when they did. They had tried to find his parents, but when they were unsuccessful they decided they couldn't leave him alone and took him home with them. He didn't remember anything before that and while he always wondered what had happened, why he was all alone and injured with no family to be found, he was happy with the Fentons. He knew that he had two adopted parents and a sister who loved him and decided that he didn't care about whatever came before that. Then Danny died.

Well- half died, and doing so returned all the memories that were locked away by his amnesia. He remembered the League of Assassins and the mission that went wrong leaving him presumed dead and his twin. He was no idiot, he recognized his twin no matter what traffic light costume he wore, so he immediately realized that Damian had become Robin and that Batman must be their father. He wanted to go find them, tell Damian that he was alive, but with all the ghost craziness that ensued following the portal opening, as well as learning to control his new ghost powers, he just didn't have time.

The opportunity presented itself one day when he was ambushed by the GIW. They caught him off guard and managed to get some critical shots on him. He fled to a secluded alley to assess his wounds and make a plan but didn't account for the Fentons to have caught sight of the interaction and have followed him. Danny decided to enter his human form and try to sneak around the GIW agents crawling the town until he got home, then lay low until he figured something out. The Fentons entered the alley right as he transformed. They were shocked, but were willing to listen to his explanation before resorting to weapons. They were horrified by what they learned and reassured Danny that they would never have hunted him if they knew.

Before they could discuss it further, they were interrupted by the sounds of GIW agents closing in on their location. The Fentons told Danny to run, to find somewhere safe. Said that they would work on de-establishing the GIW from the inside out and repealing the Anti Ecto Acts and would find him again when it was safe. With the promise that they would keep everyone safe, Danny gave the Fentons a quick hug, transformed, and took flight. All he had to do now was make the trip to Gotham and find his brother.

Damian was in disbelief. How cruel of Mother, how desperate she must be, to resort to this. Sending a clone claiming to be Danyal? That he had survived and was now seeking asylum? He would make her regret toying with him like this. But first, he must put this clone business to rest. How simple it is to prove this deceit.

Damian clenched his right hand into a fist. Once, twice, pause for a second, a third time. To anyone else it would look like an anxious tic or an expression of anger but to Danyal it would elicit a certain response. The clone's eyes widened at the gesture, then a soft look came over their face. They lifted their right hand to rub at the back of their neck, then brought it up their head to ruffle their hair twice before finally letting it drop to the side. Damian was in disbelief for a different reason now. There was no way- It couldn't be. The boy across from him then raised their left hand to their mouth, cleared their throat, then patted their chest twice. With shaky hands, Damian sneezed into his left elbow then rubbed his nose three times. Damian was unable to keep the emotion out of his voice when he finally spoke.

"Brother."

[prettygiri222]

okay but imagine eren seen a video of his baby momma at the club singin sexy redd’s “ FUCK MY BABYDADDY ” 😭😭 he just brings their son or daughter to reader’s mom and goes back to reader’s house and tears them TF upppp.

i can just hear him saying “ fuck yo baby who?? oh aight. ”

I had to add rapper!Eren to this cause it's something I always wanted to write😋

Eren x Black Fem Reader, PLOT + SMUT

rapper Eren Yeager's longtime girlfriend of six years broke up with him after having his first child, Duke Yeager. Eren shared a post on instagram confirming their breakup but stated that the both of them remain in Duke’s life as co-parents. the reason why was unreleased so fans speculated that Eren must’ve cheated because why else would you willingly break up with the famous rapper. his management released a statement saying it was due to conflicting schedules but it was seen as damage control so no one believed it.

during the six years of the relationship, his management managed to keep your face out of the media. but with the way Eren was constantly posting snippets of you, fans soon discovered who you were after matching physical features, traits and location that were found on his story with the ones present on your small instagram.

you two quickly became the it couple, how the girl from nowhere pulled a famous rapper gave fans hope because they saw them reflected in you. a woman who didn’t have to undergo multiple surgeries to pull the industry's finest. but after the breakup, that image fell.

his management did their best to keep things under wraps to keep the media from tormenting you but it didn’t work. when you posted a picture of yourself postpartum your dms filled with hateful comments wondering why Eren had gotten with you in the first place. you knew it was just jealous fangirls but it still got to you, especially since you weren’t all that confident in your new body and still recovering from your pregnancy. your accounts went silent shortly after.

although the breakup was mutual, the reason why was deeper than scheduling conflicts. you needed someone who was able to be there physically, emotionally and mentally. it was hard for Eren to provide that due to his career path, always travelling the world with a packed schedule. you guys did your best to make it work but after Duke came into the world you just couldn’t handle it anymore. 

Eren was a decent baby daddy and you guys co-parented well. you had full custody of him but when Eren was in town and would have time off you would send Duke over to him. Duke loved his daddy, always wanting to watch his concerts and interviews on the TV when he wasn’t there or free to facetime. Eren always made sure to send double what was asked for in child support to make sure you took care of yourself as well as his son.

that’s why when you reposted your friend’s story of you in the club all hell broke loose. people took it as a diss to your baby daddy, which it was, but not in the way they thought.

earlier that week you had dropped Duke off at Eren’s mansion. he had just flown back in from his world tour and finally had a few weeks off. despite being exhausted he called you up and asked if you could bring Duke over, wanting to spend as much time with his son as possible during his break. he sent over an uber black to pick the two of you up.

when Eren met you two at the door, Duke jumped into his arms smiling and giggling. it’s been a while since he’s seen his daddy in person. the sight made you awe. Eren turned to you and asked if you wanted to stay over so he could spend time with the two most important people in his life but sadly you declined. you didn’t want to interrupt their father and son bonding time.

Duke was almost a clone of Eren, he had his sharp green eyes, german nose and face shape. the only hints of you in him were his full lips, darker skin and coils. Duke was your little bundle of joy but he could be a handful at times. during the few times those two got to spend together Eren spoiled him rotten, whatever he wanted he got and it showed. whenever you told him no he would throw a tantrum saying how he wanted his daddy. you knew you were a good mother but hearing him say that when you were the one who took care of him every day hurt.

---

it was a friday night and Eren was at his crib chilling with Duke. he had his phone on do now disturb so his time with his family wouldn’t be interrupted. it was a shame you weren’t here to spend time with them. after having pizza, soda and ice cream for dinner the boys passed out on the couch after staying up past midnight watching movies. 

his peace was soon interrupted by the constant buzz of his phone. it roused him from his sleep but Duke slept through it. after the third ring, he finally answered the phone. he was pissed that his manager was calling him knowing it was his time off but he figured it must be important for them to use emergency bypass to call.

“what’s going on?” his voice gruff from his slumber and irritation. he turned on his phone to see it flooded with notifications from instagram, snapchat, tiktok, twitter, messages, missed calls from his friends and one from his mom and his heart dropped to his stomach. he hadn't dropped anything new recently so he knew whatever was happening had to be bad.

“well… it’s about your baby mama… she uh…” his manager was at a loss for words. he didn't know the words to describe the situation to make it not seem as bad as the media was already making it out to be. he knew Eren would be pissed when he found out what happened and they didn't want to be on the end of it. 

Eren was extremely protective of his family and friends. when he saw the hate you were receiving after you posted a picture of yourself postpartum he took to twitter immediately. he did not play when it came to you, together or not together. you were the mother of his child and you needed your respect. so he was wondering why you were playing in his face like this.

“well what is it?” he snapped, already losing his patience. “is she ok? is she hurt?” he shot upright from his resting position on the couch. he opened up the group chat between him, Armin, Connie, Onyankopon and Jean first. all that was sent was a blurry video followed by a bunch of skull and grave emojis.

he opened the video and immediately recognized the faces of a few of the girls in it as a few of your friends, Sasha, Mikasa and Historia at a club. Sasha, Connie’s model girlfriend was the one to record them singing along to a sexyy red song. he wondered what the video had to do with him until it panned to you. you stood out with your brightly dyed red hair styled in a what he recognized as a wash-and-go.

“fuck my baby daddy! fuck my baby daddy! fuck my baby daddy!” you were shouting the lyrics a little bit too passionately. you had your middle fingers stuck up to the camera showing off your glittery red acrylic nails. you were clearly wasted, drunk off of whatever drinks Sasha managed to shove down your throat.

“yes bitch!” your friends shouted as you turned around to shake your ass sticking out your tongue. you were wearing a ripped mesh dress. one of your friends reached out to pull down the back of your dress to prevent your ass from showing but the dress was already leaving very little to the imagination. the pregnancy did your body good, you were a bit on the skinny side before but now your hips had filled out, your ass and boobs swole and your skin finally cleared up. you were glowing.

“I’m a fine ass bitch, I ain’t in the in the house sad!” you were feeling yourself. it felt nice to get out of the house and away from Duke no matter how much you loved him. having to take care of a baby by yourself was tiring, no matter how much Eren supported you from afar you needed him there with you.

your friends were hyping you up and your mind grew hazy from both the alcohol and adrenaline. you were far too gone to realize what you said when you yelled “fuck Eren!” instead of the actual lyrics. the camera quickly panned to the floor before the video stopped.

Eren had to replay the video countless times to process what he had seen and heard. but he couldn’t believe it was you. never in the eight years he’s known you have you ever picked up the phone to send a dig at him through social media. no matter how tough the going got, it’s what he respected about you. you always wanted to talk problems through and try to make it work. Eren clenched his fist looking at you now.

Eren knows how baby mamas like you are seen and treated in the industry. he’s seen how they're constantly bashed and embarrassed by the fathers of their children and the media. Eren never wanted that for you, he wanted to give you a ring before he gave you a baby but accidents happen and here you both were. instead of calling him or stopping by to talk you wanted to show out for the fans and diss him. it was stupid of you, he knew you were better than this.

“so it’s “fuck Eren” is that right,” Eren laughed to himself throwing his head back on the couch. sure he couldn’t be there for you and Duke all the time like he wanted but at least he tried. he was a very busy man. but he did what he had to to make sure his mother, Duke and you could have a nice and cozy life. where Duke didn’t have to worry about if he was going to eat dinner that night. “bet.”

“sorry little man but I have to go get your mommy. you’re going to go to stay with your grandma tonight, ok?” he cooed to Duke, waking him up. Duke slowly woke up and was trying to rub the sleep out of his eye. Eren loved his son very much he was the reason he kept this stressful life up. 

he enjoyed making music and performing but not during the days when he slept in the studio trying to find the perfect lyrics and beat or days where he hardly slept because he had to stay on his feet. it was a fast life and if he couldn’t keep up it would all come crashing down. and for you to make a dig at that knowing how he felt was fucked.

“Eren Yeager!” his manager shouted through the phone overhearing the whole thing. he needed Eren to keep a calm head and not do anything rash tonight. he didn’t need him sparking more outrage in the media or doing something that could potentially ruin the relationship you two had. “what are you going to do?”

“what else, I’m going to go fuck my baby mama,” before his manager could get another word out he hung up the phone. 

“daddy said a bad word!”

“...don’t tell your mom and I’ll bring you to the studio with me.”

---

you wobbled into your apartment with a sheepish grin. it felt like a huge weight was lifted off your shoulder tonight. it’s been a while since you went to the club and got so drunk that the world became a blur. you were slowly regaining memories of what happened that night and you couldn’t help but cringe knowing you would regret some of them in the morning. your phone died on your way home after you reposted Sasha’s story so you were oblivious to the buzz you had created.

when you went to unlock your door you found out that it was already open. you raised your brow but you brushed it off thinking you must’ve forgotten to lock it in your rush to leave the house. you knew the security for your building was tight, it was the main thing you were looking for when you were buying your apartment. it was a necessity since Duke was the son of a successful rapper. 

when you and Eren had split you bought yourself a nice little two-bedroom apartment deep in the city. Eren offered to pay for it but you immediately declined, you didn’t want anything else of yours to get attached to him. during your relationship you saved up a lot of money since Eren had always offered to buy you whatever you wanted and spoiled you rotten just like he was doing with Duke. he fueled your shopping addiction only wanting his girlfriend to have the best of the best.

you had a little side hustle as an occasional hairstylist and nail artist for your friends and family with the occasional new client. Eren told you time and time again you didn’t need to work and that he would take care of everything. but you liked having your own source of income it made you feel independent plus you enjoyed your job.

being able to close on your dream apartment was a dream come true and it left you feeling satisfied. you loved how everything was within walking distance, there was a daycare down the street along with an elementary school for when Duke got older. there was a grocery store right around the corner with a few outlets and public transit ran just outside the building, it was perfect for a single mother like you. 

“thought we were doing good with this co-parenting shit mama?” the second you opened the door you were greeted by a voice you knew better than your own. goosebumps covered your arms, ‘why is he here’ you thought.

“Eren?” you called out into the dark apartment. you felt the wall closest to the door for the switch and turned the light on. and there he was, Eren, your famous baby daddy. he turned his head to look at you from where he was seated on the couch. his eyes were extremely low, watching your every move. “are you ok? where's Duke?”

“with your mom,” Eren was having such a pleasant high, he felt so relaxed and calm in the dark room. he didn’t have the TV on and was just staring at the black screen. but the second the room lit up and you walked through the door with that tiny see-through dress on it dispersed. he narrowed his eyes down at you and you could tell you had just blown his high. his anger simmering underneath his calm demeanour. 

“how’d you even get in?” you never gave Eren the key to your apartment. having already been split and you always dropped Duke off at his place there was no reason for him to have one.

“front desk gave me a key after I flashed a couple of stacks,” he replied nonchalantly, like it wasn’t a crime on both parts. you rolled your eyes, this was how Eren fixed all his problems, with money. you get that when he was growing up it was something he didn’t have but now that he had it was like all he knew how to do was throw it at people to make his problems disappear.

“well if Duke isn’t here then there’s no reason for you to be,” you don’t know what you did to warrant this visit but you didn’t want to be in his presence any longer. you liked to keep your contact with Eren as minimal as possible. plus you didn’t have the energy to deal with him tonight, you were tired. hoping he would get the hint it was time to leave you walked away and headed towards your bedroom, “please see yourself out. we can talk another day.”

“nah, 'cause it’s “fuck Eren” right?” he got up from the couch and followed you down the hall and into your room. the wooden floor creaking under his weight. you didn’t have to turn around to know he was towering over you, you could feel him breathing down your neck. you tried to move away from him but he gripped your waist with a firm grip underneath and pulled you against him. “you must’ve gone crazy going so long with my dick huh? that must be it, acting like you lost your damn mind.”

“Eren!” you pulled away to look back at him in shock. “what are you even talking about?”

“don’t play dumb with me mama, your ass is all over the shade room talking about “fuck my baby daddy” ” he took his phone out of his pocket to show you their newest post. it was a screenshot of a video but it was clearly you, it was the same outfit and hairstyle you had on right now. you swiped the image on his phone in disbelief and the video played, “fuck Eren! fuck my baby daddy! fuck my baby daddy!”

“oh my gosh! Eren, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it like that, I was drunk and got carried away,” you looked up at him from the phone. you could tell he was pissed, his eyes darkened after hearing what you said in the video for the hundredth time. you were horrified, you didn’t mean to air out your personal problems and make Eren seem like a bad father. you knew how the public blew things out of proportion.

“they say drunk words are sober thoughts,” Eren stated, shrugging his shoulders. “I know Duke be stressing you out ma, let me fix it,” he stared down at you with a little smirk. he licked his lips, obviously checking you out. it's been a while since he's seen your body exposed, you always show up to drop Duke off in oversized sweaters and shirts. just looking at you like this made his dick hard, “plus you owe me an apology.”

that’s how you found yourself face down ass up in your bedroom with the man you’d never thought would step foot in your new apartment. Eren was behind you standing at the edge of the bed, his black and grey nike tech sweater was thrown somewhere in your room leaving him in a white wife beater and his golden cuban link chain. his grey sweats were down so that just his dick was out.

“mm fuck Eren! please,” you cried out. no matter how deeply you arched or angled your hips you couldn’t get him to reach where you needed him the most. he knew that but he loved watching you struggle and the way your brown cheeks jiggled after coming into contact with his pelvis. you were a sight to see, one that he deeply missed.

“you can do better than that mama,” he raised his pierced brow watching you. Eren stood completely still behind you, you had your face buried in the sheets as you attempted to throw it back on him. you were still dressed in your mesh dress but he ripped your thong off. “I saw you in that video. you were shaking that shit so c’mon, fuck me back ma.”

your makeup was staining your sheets but you could care less right now. the feeling of Eren stretching out your practically virginal walls was dumbfounding. he didn’t bother to stretch you out believing that your body was already moulded to his shape. but it’s been about two years since you last had sex. your tight walls were struggling to accommodate his humongous size.

“ ’m trying,” the lack of stimulation on your sweet spots had you in tears. the stretch was pleasurable but it wasn’t enough, paired with the shallow thrusts. you so desperately craved more so you reached in between your legs to play with your clit. Eren groaned at the sight of you touching yourself, not to mention you began to clench around him. 

“damn ma, now that’s what I’m talking about,” Eren gave your ass a harsh slap. you let out a little whine as you lost your rhythm because of it. but you soon found it again. your wetness was soaking his dick and you were basically twerking on his dick. Eren loved every second of it. 

he took one of your ass cheeks and pulled it to the side with his tattooed hand, he watched himself go in and out of your brown folds. feeling the unsteady approach of his orgasm watching as you struggled to fuck yourself on him he decided to finally grant you mercy. he languidly began to thrust into you. “go ahead and nut on this dick mama.”

 “o-okay” you stuttered out. you struggled to concentrate on stimulating your sensitive clit while bouncing back to meet Eren’s lazy thrusts. your fingers were covered in your own wetness while you rubbed little circles on your bud. each loop paired with the tip of his dick pressing against that spongy spot inside you brought you ever closer to your climax. “ ‘m so close!”

“let it out for me baby,” the pace became erratic, you guys’ release at its peak. sometimes his dick collided straight into your soft spot and sometimes it completely missed. but the feeling of him pummeling in and out of you had you convulsing around his dick. “keep squeezing around me like that and I'll put another baby in you, fuck.”

you let out broken whines as you struggled to continuously stimulate your bud. you were soaking wet that your fingers slipped around. “‘ren! ren!” you chanted, reaching out toward him with your slick-covered hand. Eren grabbed it and put it in his mouth. groaning deeply as he licked and sucked on your coated digits.

“don’t worry mama, I got you. let it out for me,” Eren leaned over your arched form and whispered in your ear. his husky sending shivers down your spine as he talked you through it. you listened to him feeling the wave of pleasure overwhelm you, the sensation in your stomach bursting.

“f-fuck, fuck!”

“shit,” when he felt himself about to burst he pulled out of your pussy's compelling grasp. he watched the lewd scene in front of him and used it to jerk off. he groaned out stroking his soaking dick. your pussy hole remained gaping after he pulled out and your liquids were spilling on your sheets. after a few strokes, he released all over your back onto your mesh dress staining it.

you plopped down onto your empty bed exhausted. the room filled with the sound of laboured breathing as you guys tried to catch your breath. the sound of Eren shuffling around could be heard soon after. your heart ached at the thought of him leaving you so soon but you closed your eyes, ‘it’s for the better’ you thought. you wanted a few moments of rest before you went to wash up.

but Eren wasn’t finished yet, he was shedding the remaining articles of his clothing leaving him naked. your eyes opened feeling the bed dip under the extra weight. before you could protest, Eren had already climbed on top of you, grabbing your legs and having them pushed over your head, “we’re not finished yet.”

this time Eren took the lead, he had ripped off your dress leaving you completely naked and exposed to his eyes. he had you folded over like a pretzel leaving you open for him. your legs were bent so far over your head you could see the top of your pussy and watch as Eren thrusted in and out of your overstimulated hole from above. the pleasure made you want to slither away but Eren’s strong hold kept you still.

“E-eren!” you were losing your mind from the stimulation. “too much! it’s too much!” you cried out. you reached out to push against his rock-hard abdomen. you didn’t want him to stop, not when you were so close to your second orgasm of the night but it was too much. he was being so rough with you. you didn’t think you had it in you after motherhood to be manhandled like this.

“nah, you can take it. you’re a big girl now, dissing me at the club with your friends. be glad I’m even fucking you since I’m such a “bad baby daddy.” Eren mocked you from above. he didn’t even flinch as you tried to push him away. he smiled down at you watching how easily you got fucked out. moans were no longer coming out your mouth, more like strangled sobs and whines that were being forced out after each deep thrust of his. the head of his dick battering your insides and abusing your soft spot left you tremoring underneath him.

“imsorryimsorry,” you babbled out. your mascara and eyeliner were running down your cheeks and your lipstick was smothered but you couldn’t look any prettier to Eren. he enjoyed watching as your tits bounce around. he brought his forest green eyes back up to you watching as you bit your quivering lip.

“how’d that song go again?” Eren sarcastically asked. with the number of times he replayed that video he had the lyrics, beat and rhythm all memorized. “something like this right?” pap! pap! pap! Eren changed the rhythm of his thrusts, the sound of his balls clapping against your ass and the squelching sounds of your pussy mimicked the bow bow bow of the song. he angled each thrust to deliver a particularly harsh hit to your g-spot.

without warning an intense feeling of pleasure erupted in your stomach. “imcuming!” you cried out. you could feel a liquid flow out from your pussy, completely drenching Eren’s dick. he quickly pulled out to watch you squirt, a sight he immensely missed. the translucent liquid gushed out of your hole soaking the sheets as well.

“you said fuck your baby who?” Eren smiled down at your fucked out face. you couldn’t even answer him with the overwhelming pleasure rendering all of your senses useless. your head was thrown back and your face furrowed, coming down from the high of your intense orgasm. “oh aight.”

I think I got a bit carried away🤭

[esveeviridae]

Damnation, Yumemi. You really are the worst scientist.

Reimu VS Metal Reimu Glad I finally found an excuse to draw my severely underutilized Metal Reimu design.

[shiho7567]

I had an idea, there are the common tropes of Danny being reincarnated as a clone either as superbat or timkon clone.

How about, to stay true to his power set (partially), he is a clone created our of two aliens, to see if they could take different species with different biology and powers to create a being.

I present you Danny being a clone of Starfire and Martian Manhunter

Powers he gets from each side

Starfire: the green energy beams from hands and eyes, flight, superspeed, super strength, greater durability, healing factor

MM: flight, invisibility, intangiblity, empathy/emotion telecommunication, telekinesis, super strength, super flexibility, shape shifting (the thing where Danny parts his body and such to evade), body possession(over shadowing), sonic scream (ghostly wail)

Does not have fire weakness of martians due to Starfire's biology

[noisilyscreechingsong]

Eyes

Dp x Dc Crossover Writing Idea

“Red Robin!”

When he backtracked to find the owner of the voice he was a bit surprised to find a young boy, maybe eight years old if he had to guess, dressed in a red sweatshirt that dwarfed him and a pair of gym shorts that had seen better days.

Not many Gothamites called out to the vigilantes, a silent agreement to stay out of their way and not to look too closely. This kid however stared up at him with bright blue eyes unafraid of getting the Red Robin’s attention.

A fan?

Before he even opens his mouth, the kid gives him a small, hopeful smile, eyes shining with something that reminds him of himself when he was that age and following Batman and Robin with his camera around his tiny neck.

“I brought you a gift,” the boy say with nervous excitement. He enthusiastically swings off the backpack he had on to dig through the contents, taking his eyes off the vigilante and showing his unwavering trust that nothing bad would happen to him while Red Robin was here.

The boy pulls out what appears to be a jar wrapped in newspaper, the worn page ripping in some spots to show the clear glass underneath. Small hands present it like it’s Red Robin’s birthday (which it wasn’t).

He takes it cautiously, the kid hasn’t been hostile but this was still weird, and pulls it closer with enough space so if it’s a bomb it doesn’t blow up in his face.

It’s got weight to it and the slight sloshing tells him it’s filled with liquid. He carefully unwraps the ‘gift’, keeping his eye on the boy who stands waiting anxiously.

Tim almost drops the jar as soon as he sees what’s inside. Only his reflexes from over the years held on and his expression turned neutral.

A pair of eyes sit at the bottom of the jar. The orbs were crudely extracted, tissue floating around them like a mane of hair around a head.

He turns the jar to see the irises and… he knew these eyes. The slimy green is filmed with death, but he recognized these eyes from the number of times the owner locked them onto him, the cruel possessiveness they possessed when they gazed at him. Never again apparently.

Tim doesn’t speak for a while, not knowing what to say, but also thoughts racing too fast to form any proper sentences.

“Do you like it?” The small, nervous voice interrupts those thoughts.

What an innocent question on an equally innocent looking face.

“How did you get Ra’s Al Ghul’s eyes?”

The teasing chatter over the comms immediately hushes into shocked silence.

“I took them from his body, so you knew he was dead. I burned the rest so you don’t have to worry about him coming back again. The Pit there is gone anyway,” the child explains easily, not fazed in the slightest from the words he speaks.

“Grandfather is dead?” He hears Damian whisper over the comm.

So many other questions were flying through Tim’s head. He looks the kid over again.

Black hair and blue eyes. In any other situation the kid might have been a possible Wayne adoptee. He’s not a clone from what he can see though. Despite the coloring he doesn’t really look like any of them. Pale skin like Tim, but has freckles. The same kind of nose as Damian, but wide, round eyes. Jaw kind of like Jason, but his body shape is too narrow. Bright, almost icy blue eyes like Dick, but eyebrow shape is flatter. Lip shape like Bruce, but from the kid’s anxious lip biting he could see the faintest trace of dimples.

“Who are you?” He asks instead of the other million and one questions.

The boy blinks almost like he wasn’t expecting the question. He’s cheeks color pink with blush as he grins widely.

“I’m Danny!” He introduces cheerfully like he didn’t just hand a vigilante a jar of eyes.

“Hi, Danny,” Tim greets almost dumbly. “Want to tell me why you gave me this?”

Danny scoffs his shoe against the pavement in what appears to be embarrassment.

“Well, I know when you ask someone for something, it’s nice to give a gift or something. Like I did something nice for you so maybe you’ll do something nice for me?”

He takes a moment to absorb that child-like reasoning.

“So you want me to do something for you and you thought I would like Ra’s Al Ghul’s eyes in exchange?”

Danny studies him and fidgets with the large sweatshirt sleeve.

“I just thought you would like proof. Like the whole ‘bring me the heart of my enemy’ kind of thing. Do you not like it? I couldn’t just take a picture ‘cuz I didn’t have a camera with me, I know you like photography. I can do something else for you if it’s not enough,” he offers worriedly.

Tim freezes.

“How do you know I like photography?” He demands.

Danny tilts his head curiously.

“Because Tim Drake likes photography,” he says like it’s obvious, “and you’re Tim Drake.”

Well. This is less than ideal.

“Red Robin, take him back to the Cave,” Batman instructs over the comms.

Yeah, he was getting there.

“Do you know the other’s’ identities?”

Danny nods and hums affirmatively. Tim waits.

“Oh! Yea. Batman is Bruce Wayne. Robin is Damian Wayne. Red Hood is Jason Todd. Nightwing is Richard Grey-“

“Okay. That’s enough.”

Tim glances around the empty alley they were standing in, checking to make sure no stray people heard. Luckily they were truly alone.

“Danny, do you want to come back with me?” He asks, but it’s not really a question. The kid was coming back regardless, it would just be better if he went willingly.

Unsurprisingly, the kid lights up like a little sun at the offer.

“Really?” He nearly shouts in excitement.

“Yeah, kid. I parked my bike a few blocks from here. You ever rode a motorcycle before?”

Danny shakes his head, nearly bounding on his toes.

“Not in this lifetime.” And wasn’t that odd wording? “Are we gonna grapple there?”

“Think you can hold on?”

“Yeah!”

He kneels down so the boy can climb onto his back and lock his arms around his neck and hook his feet together around his torso. Danny is worryingly light as he stands.

The kid is the picture of an excited and overeager child as they carefully fly over rooftops and then drive back to the Cave. Even when they park inside the safety of the Batcave, Danny’s eyes are filled with child-like awe and wonder, so curious and chattering with questions and wild imagination. It would be cute, endearing even, if the jar of eyes wasn’t sitting heavily in his pocket.

Alfred came down not too long after their arrival with a tray of healthy snacks and some waters. Danny happily munches on the apple slices as he wanders around where Tim can see him.

The rumble of the Batmobile can be heard almost an hour later after Tim has to tell Danny not to touch the weapons for the fourth time. The kid’s attention is drawn to the sleek black vehicle as it parks by Tim’s bike. He trots over with wide eyes as the doors open and Robin exits, then Batman.

Unfortunately, Dick is in Bludhaven and Jason is visiting Roy and Lian this week. Cass and Steph were gone as well and Duke was sleeping. It was just the three of them and this kid with Alfred as the only buffer.

Danny stares openly, curious, as the duo makes their way over to the computer where Tim has claimed his sit.

Tim turns the jar that he set on the table so the eyes are facing them and slowly leans back again, suddenly very tired. Damian flexes his hands into fists tightly while Batman is very still.

“Hi,” Danny chirps like nothing is wrong, oblivious to the tension in the air.

Batman takes a measured breath. Robin glares down at the child, but remains silent for now.

“Who killed Ra’s Al Ghul?”

Danny blinks blankly.

“Nobody.”

“You’re saying he just dropped dead?” Damian sneered in sarcasm.

“Death took him,” the child says simply as if that explained everything.

“How?” The word is demanded and emphasized.

“Like Death takes everyone. His expiration was overdue.”

Bruce frowns and Damian almost snarls.

“I demand you start making sense!”

Danny glares back in offense.

“I’m being very clear! Maybe you should ask better questions!”

The twelve year old growls at the smaller child and Batman has to place a firm hand on his shoulder to keep him from attacking.

“Danny?” Batman questions after a tense moment.

The boy’s arms are crossed in irritation, but he blinks out of his glare to stare up at the man.

“Yea?”

“How do you know our identities?”

“Oh, memories.”

Danny looked like everything he said made sense and it was driving Tim up a wall.

“Memories,” Bruce repeats.

“Uh-huh,” Danny nods confidently. “From the Lazarus Pit.”

A jolt goes through Tim as he recalls what the boy said earlier about the Pit.

“Didn’t you say the Pit was gone?” He asks before Bruce could continue his line of questioning.

Danny turns with a bright smile as if he was proud Tim remembered.

“Yea! Well, gone from this world anyway.” Tim was concerned. “I took the memories from it before sending it back where it belongs.”

“Okay. How did you know how to ‘take the memories’ and send it back? Back where?”

“I was born from it. Duh. It went back to the Realms or I guess you’d call it the Afterlife,” Danny actually rolls his eyes as if they should already know this.

“Born from it?” Damian asks with a wavering voice, hidden well from the child but not from them. “Nothing has ever been born from the Pits.”

“That you know of.”

And wasn’t that the kicker.

“So, to clarify, you come from the Pits. You know who we are because you took the memories from said Pits. Death took Ra’s because his time was up. And you took the eyes from his corpse to give to me because you thought I would like it as a gift so I would do something for you.”

Danny positively beams.

“This is why you’re my favorite!”

Damian grinds his teeth harshly.

“What is it you want Red Robin to do for you?” Batman asks in strangled hesitation.

“Oh!” Danny perks up like he remembered and hops over to Tim with pleading hands. “Can you please make me an identity? You’re really good at all that stuff and I was hoping you could find me a family. Someone to adopt me. A nice family, with a bed and family dinners and a dog. I always wanted a dog.”

Tim has the sudden urge to scream.

[soupthatistohot]

BSD Stormbringer Manga Ch. 1: Chuuya as a "Dark Gem"

AKA: I got around to reading the first chapter of the Stormbringer manga and I Have Thoughts!

A decent chunk of this first chapter is taken up by the gem trade being explained in-depth, which seems a bit... excessive. Even the translator noted as much in the version I read:

It begs the question of why they spent so much time on this. At least part of the reason is to give the reader an idea of what Chuuya's current role in the Port Mafia entails, providing some necessary context (since timeline-wise the last we saw of him was in 15 and it's now roughly a year later). But I also think it's an extended metaphor for Chuuya as a person (spoilers for the rest of stormbringer ahead).

The part that really jumped out to me was this sequence of panels:

The first two talk about "dark" gems and how they cannot enter the world of light, which is VERY reminiscent of Kouyou's rhetoric when talking about Kyouka (and herself, as she's projecting her trauma onto Kyouka):

The third panel from SB also interests me as it claims that these gems are given a second chance, specifically through how the Port Mafia has reshaped them.

In 15, Mori says that only a diamond can polish another diamond, in reference to soukoku -- so I don't really think it's a large leap to make here that the "dark" gems here are a stand-in for Chuuya himself.

If you consider the connection to Kouyou's rhetoric, that follows because Chuuya is under her tutelage at this point in time, she's the one who oversees his work when he joins the PM and arguably one of the people he's closest to in the organization. There's a decent chance that she's told him similar things that she told Kyouka -- that they belong to the world of darkness and cannot be brought into the light.

This is further supported by the fact that one of the central focuses of Stormbringer is Chuuya's past. He has a "dark" past on multiple levels. The obvious being that he was kidnapped and experimented on to become a vessel for Arahabaki, his past is dark because its horrible. But also he doesn't remember his past at this point, so it's dark because it's literally shrouded in his memory -- his "origins unknown" to him.

And so, Chuuya is a dark gem (a black diamond, perhaps) that has been taken in by the Port Mafia. In doing so, he is no longer the street kid he used to be, scrounging to survive with his ragtag gang. Instead, he's been reshaped -- he wears suits now, he's a 16 y/o in charge of the gem trade -- he's been "given a second chance."

So yeah, basically my interpretation of this is that the allusions to Chuuya's dark past are a kind of foreshadowing for not only what came before, but also what's to come throughout the course of Stormbringer. This story is very focused on the intermingling of past and present, as well as issues of identity and how it is shaped -- is Chuuya a human with free will, or can his existence be chalked up to being lines of code? What bearing does the past have on the present? This is all subtle set-up for these emerging themes.

PS: I don't have any in-depth analysis for this, but the imagery referencing Chuuya's time being experimented on and the clone is QUITE heavy-handed here at the beginning. I'm loving all the intentionality behind the art so far!

[soularsss]

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

[phoenixyfriend]

Holiday Rec List

Alright, got a couple requests on this post, and I'll toss in some holiday-ish fics as well. I'm going to keep this list to Star Wars.

Time Travel - Got its own post

Friends to lovers

The most unique concepts you’ve come across

Leaning more into the prequel tragedy vibes, even through AUs

Holiday Fics

In my cultural background, presents are given on New Year's Day due to changes that were enacted a few decades back to marry the several religions and different calendars that were in use throughout Yugoslavia. Christmas is Jan. 7th for me and mine, but Dec. 25th for the Croats, and the Bosniaks were majority Muslim, so the the gift giving was moved to the secular holiday instead, and a lot of people never switched back.

The clock just hit midnight. Happy New Year! Here's the gift!

(I've tagged what authors I could.)

Friends to Lovers

I find this prompt a bit broad, but here's a few good ones.

Rivers and Roads by PhenomenalWoman This is an Anakin Skywalker/Kitster Banai fic, with an overarching plot of Saving Tatooine.

you, or your memory by cinnamonsalt Obikin, Amnesia AU. Obi-Wan, not remembering how he half-raised Anakin, no longer has any compunctions against flirting with his best friend.

In Your Dreams! by @exonerin Mermaid Anakin! Dream invasions! Also Obikin.

To Our Halcyon Days by @krispyscreams, @lothcatthree QuinObi, and IDK if I'd call it Friends to Lovers so much as Friends to Lovers to Friends to Married to Co-Parents to Friends to--

A Smile Full of Sunshine by @jayofolympus Anidala falling for Rex, who is already dreadfully in love with them both.

24 Seconds by @c-m-li-s-fanfic-corner QuinObi, though it's mostly in hindsight? IDK I just wanted an excuse to recommend this one, it's really good.

The Creche by @blue-sunshine-mauve-morning Obikin, but they don't meet until Anakin's an adult and already considering Ahsoka for an apprentice... and Ahsoka's crechemaster is Obi-Wan! They become friends, get a little side-tracked by a bunch of drama that often takes the shape of Qui-Gon Jinn, and then resolve things to kiss.

falling up by @obiwanobi, @shatouto More of a... Enemies to Friends to Lovers then just the last two. Obikin, unsurprisingly (y'all have the best fics for some reason, I swear), in a RaisedSith!Ani universe.

He Said Yes by @threebea QuinObi, omegaverse, very qpp. Are they even lovers? Unclear. They're married, though.

Concord Dawn Bed & Breakfast by @ironhoshi Modern AU, QuinObi. Obi-Wan's family inn is haunted. Like, so haunted.

Out in the Corner of the Dark with You by @kazmirone Another Obikin! This one's omegaverse.

within and without by @maderilien Rexwalker go on a date!

Supplemental Equipment Maintenance by subtropicalStenella Time to get some Rexsoka in here! It's very, very horny, and very, very explicit. Fun!

Most Unique Concepts

Post Order 66 Exile AU by @livsy Partial O66 AU, lots of dead Jedi but not all. Everyone wants Anakin to be locked up or even executed for the Vader Stuff, but instead he's taken away by Obi-Wan for In The Field Rehabilitation. I'm not describing it well, but it's a very easy fic to get invested in.

The Dutiful Wife by Dirtymindtrick (Dancinglightsabers) X-rated, noncon bodymod, noncon sex. But damn is it unique. (Palpatine/Obi-Wan, beware the tags)

stubborn in the bones by @tideswept Anakin is a magical panther cub. Then he grows up and turns into a catboy, and it becomes Obikin.

The Care and Feeding of Our Jedi by @bitter-chocolate-stars I love a good epistolary fic, and this one is real solid. Clones POV.

Palpatine is Arrested for Fashion Crimes by @jedi-order-apologist Exactly what it says on the tin.

ForTheRepublic.mp4 by @padmestrilogy You don't need to know the YouTuber being referenced to find this funny, but it sure does help. Also, nothing can sell this one better than the official summary:

Popular HoloTuber Spacebomberguy uploads an exposé on Chancellor Palpatine, resulting in destructive results.

Skywalker Family Values by Ariel_Sojourner Did you ever want canonverse Parent Trap AU where Luke and Leia decide to sabotage an imperial propaganda event and it helps topple Sidious? It's the best.

The Warrior and the Pacifist by @threebea I'm biased but everyone should read this. Duke Kryze/Jaster Mereel.

Some Assembly Required by beasfics Seemingly on hiatus? But the premise is very fun, that Myles the Mandalorian and Obi-Wan have a bond for years before they ever met, and it has... consequences? Results. Effects. Things happen, basically.

sometimes, the feeling is right by @ossidae-passeridae Obi-Wan is intersex, in a way that's reflective of real-world forms of intersexuality. The fic is from the POV of his rather frustrated medic.

Lion Jinn by @esamastation After the events of TPM, Anakin breaks into a zoo in Theed, and steals a lion cub that is apparently Qui-Gon Jinn reincarnated.

every planet, every star, every single grain of sand by @loosingmoreletters Just gonna use the author's summary:

In which Darth Vader finds 9-year-old Luke on Tatooine, proceeds to have a breakdown, kills Palpatine and makes his preteen son Emperor, as you do. Otherwise known as the Adventures of Teeny Tiny Emperor Luke and his Royal Dad Guard Darth Vader.

Rulebreaker/Wildheart by chapstickaddict IDK if I'd call it unique as a concept (raised a Sith!Anakin, after Padme's death, falls in love with Obi-Wan), but it's uniquely good in its execution, so I'm counting it. I think about it often, and some of it has definitely influenced my own writing and AUs.

Fishhooks by @yellowocaballero Boba was quick-aged to about eight years old and then decanted to age normally, so he's about eighteen at the time of the war, and doing a Mandalorian rumspringa. Unfortunately, little sister Omega, ten years old, stows away with him, and Kamino is pissed about it.

My Dad the Purge Trooper by @nutella531 Purge Trooper Cody takes his job, "protect Luke" very seriously. So seriously that he abducts the kid to protect him from Vader.

R2-D2 Saves the Galaxy (Okay, so Obi-Wan helps a little) by @feybarn Exactly what it says on the tin. Takes place in AotC. R2 causes Obi-Wan to become an unwilling emperor, among other things. The entire fic is just comedic escalation after comedic escalation, purely accidental on Obi-Wan's part, and very much intentional on R2's.

A Star to Steer By by @dogmatix, @norcumii Okay so yes it's a crossover and thus by default much more unique. But also. It's so good, guys. I read this before I watched Stargate, and it was just as amazing then. It's like 115k so far and not yet done. Go read it, shoo.

Pitter Patter by IronCannon There are tiny versions of the Jedi that live parallel to the Jedi themselves. Sometimes multiple versions of a given Jedi!

Unmake Me (Not For Long) by Utter_Immolation Winter Soldier Ahsoka.

forge the iron in your veins by @afearsomecritter To quote the summary: "The Jedi are warships, and the clones were made for them."

Legally Blonde Jedi AU by @trixree After Melida/Daan, Obi-Wan didn't rejoin the Jedi. He went to law school. Then became a lawyer, married Maul, and adopted Anakin Skywalker. Not in that order. Also most of it is Fox POV. And it's amazing.

The Corteous Art of Correspondence During A Galactic War as Performed Aptly by Certain Sith and Jedi by @je-suis-deux Epistolary fic. Rael sends letters to Count Dooku. They're not very pleasant letters.

Be Careful What You Sith For by @11paruline44 Sithly magic reveals 'cause of death' for every individual in the galaxy! Things happen quickly after that.

Untitled Soulmate Game by @twilightofthe ObiAnidala are being harassed by magic geese into soulmate-hood. This is one of the first Star Wars fics I ever read. I still come back to it sometimes.

Prequel Tragedy Fics

in the fractions of our lives lost to peace by @loosingmoreletters Force Dyad but make it horror.

Twilight on Owl Creek Bridge by @yellowocaballero I'm also reccing this in the time travel list, but it is SUCH a good tragedy. Leans heavily into how the march of a whole government towards fascism isn't something that can be avoided with just one small change. There is no one big shift.

at the edge of the cliff by @loosingmoreletters Anakin doesn't fall during RotS, and neither does the Republic... but Padme's still dead, and Anakin's teetering at the edge of a cliff.

Well It Goes Like This by orphan_account Anakin doesn't fall during RotS, but it doesn't fix much. He saves a single creche clan on his way out of the Temple. After that, it's just a matter of surviving.

No Choir by @adiduck Obi-Wan and Cody on Tatooine after O66 (platonic). Also heavily intertwined with Owen and Beru and Luke.

between pole and tropic by Anonymous Anakin/Rex/Maul. Even without Anakin succumbing to the dark in RotS, someone must. Anakin's also very untrusted by the Jedi at large because they found out about the Tuskens right after AotC.

[fireflowersims]

Sissysims' sins against the scenegraph

This is a small follow-up to my initial post covering the code theft commited by @sissysims. In that post, I presented my proof in the form of a YT video. While that video started off private, I decided to make it public for various reasons, which I will not outline in this post.

I first want to express my gratitude to all those who left comments, reblogged and liked my post. Your support means the world to us. I'm so happy that you as a community are so supportive in this. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart. Thank you to all of you. ♥️

Now, this post is going to focus on just one thing: her incompetence at object creation, because honestly, it's bad. It's really bad. It would feel immoral not to discuss it.

This is just a glimpse and for all you object creators out there: I'm warning you, it's graphic.

How to create an object for dummies.

So, this is the simplest explanation I can give on making a new object. This is the basic process you follow for basically most things you will make: open up SimPE, open up the Object workshop and press open. Select your file and choose "clone". Leave the settings alone, defaults are fine. Give your new object a nice name and description. Be sure to give it a unique object name. Now do all your visual modifications by modifying the existing scenegraph resources (GMDC, TXTR, etc) and give your object a new GUID (making sure to update MMAT's). Now fix integrity, save your file and done. You can test and preferably you'd also compressorize.

So what did sissysims do wrong?

Simply said: everything. I have reasons to believe she has never followed a basic object creation tutorial. The mistakes she makes are mistakes that can be avoided by actually learning how to clone an object. Here is a small summary:

Not cloning anything, instead copying the file she wants to modify and opening that in SimPE

Not changing the object name. I have never seen her touch the fix integrity button

Using other people's meshes and textures. How? By way of opening up their files, noting down the 3D Object Name, extracting the scenegraph resources (GMDC, GMND, CRES, SHPE, TXTR, TXMT, MMAT) and putting them inside the package she's modifying (and modifying the 3D Object Name in the original package). I have not seen her open up a GMDC file or import or export a mesh or texture. She does not modify any of these scenegraph files afterwards.

Not updating the MMAT's with new GUID

Not cleaning out unused resources (see: the scenegraph fuckery above)

Never fixing integrity.

Sadly, this is not just the case with my vendor. It is all her projects. This is how she creates objects: she has never learned the proper way to create objects and thus she steals other people's hard work instead.

Pictured: the instructions provided for messing up my vendor. Note how she specifically instructs to extract resources from your mesh source. Not export. No: extract.

Pictured: the results of said messed up procedure on another creation of hers. Note how the gmdc of her object is literally identical to the gmcd of Michelle's original mesh (only credited in a readme, not in the post itself)

Why is this an issue?

This is not just an issue of someone being bad at creating objects. This is someone teaching others this messed up method that comes down to stealing other people's work. I believe that this is actively damaging to our community and newcomers' skill development. Her video teaches people bad modding habits. Her video ENCOURAGES people to use this method to make fundamentally flawed, fundamentally dysfunctional objects.

She claims to be wanting to make modding more accessible, but this video of hers is not helping with that in any shape or form. You need to know what you're doing in order to teach someone and her object creation skills are below the level of someone who followed a tutorial ONCE.

Ya know, I could make a video teaching people Serbian. I don't know anything about that language. It's Slavic I guess. I don't even know how it's pronounced, but I sure as hell could tell people that whatever sequence of sounds is coming out of my mouth is Serbian. And that using my tutorial you can have nice conversations with Serbians! Doesn't mean I should though. It would be misrepresentative, offensive and actually damaging to anyone who is serious about wanting to learn Serbian. The same principle applies to sissysims teaching modding.

I want to learn how to make objects and mods tho!

Good news, there are a lot of great tutorials out there by people who do know what they're doing (unlike sissysims). For basic object creation I would highly recommend this tutorial by Azaya/ @skulldilocks at Garden of Shadows. It's the tutorial that got me started with objects and it has plenty of pictures. If you follow this tutorial, you will be ten times better at object creation than sissysims is

For BHAV modding there is no better place to start than Echo's tutorial. I can also highly recommend @midgethetree's resources page as well as all the useful information @picknmixsims has on his site.

What now?

I will keep working on even better vendor code, which I hope to get to a testable state very soon. It's clear that there's interest in this sort of object, and the new vendor base will allow for a lot of flexibility in gameplay. Once I get it to a good working state, I will make a tutorial on how to make your own: a tutorial that'll actually tell you the why. If you can clone objects (the proper way), you will be able to make a vendor.

Also, please don't engage with sissysims in her youtube comments, not even to "defend our honour" or to say something about the theft. She knows what she did and has presumably received a tumblr notification that I mentioned her (again).

I am sissysims and I don't like this

Well, you have a lot of nerve "teaching" people to mod when you clearly don't know what you're doing. I encourage you to stop stealing other people's work and educate yourself (see resources above).

[areyoufuckingcrazy]

“Armor for the Skin”

501st x Reader

The overhead lumens slam on like artillery. Groans ripple through the barracks, but you roll out of your bunk already gathering your contraband caddy—a slim duraplast kit labeled “Mk‑III MedPatch”

Fives, half‑dressed and wholly curious, nods at the kit. “Alright, mystery box—you packing bacta or blasters in there?”

You flick the latch. Bottles, tubes, and sachets unfold like a miniature armory—just shinier and pastel‑colored.

“Moisturizer,” you say, dotting cream onto your cheeks. “SPF 50. Sun in space still finds a way.”

Fives blinks. “You’re lotion‑plating your face before breakfast?”

You smile. “Armor for the skin.”

As you pat the sunscreen in, Fives watches, fascinated. “How long does all that take? We get, like, sixty seconds to hit the refresher.”

“Practice,” you reply, capping the tube. “And a bit of multitasking.”

Across the aisle, Jesse mutters, “She’s waxing her cheeks?”—which earns him a smack from Kix.

The medic tilts his head, curious. “Actually, hydrating the epidermis reduces micro‑tears that form when helmets chafe. Fewer micro‑tears, fewer infections.”

Fives groans. “Kix, not you too!”

Tup perks up. “Will it stop my forehead from peeling on desert drops?”

“Only if you commit,” you reply, tossing him a travel‑size tube.

Tup bobbles it. “Commit to… face goop?”

“Commit to self‑care, shiny,” Jesse teases, but he secretly dabs a fingertip of cream on the scar running over his temple when he thinks no one’s watching.

Hardcase flips down from the top bunk, dangling upside‑down. “What about night routine? Can we weaponize it?”

You laugh. “Weaponize hydration?”

You begin to rattle off the list for your routines while shoving items back into the caddy.

Jesse whistles. “That’s more steps than disassembling a DC‑17.”

“It’s upkeep,” you say, snapping the kit shut. “Blasters, armor, skin. Treat them right and they won’t fail mid‑mission.”

Kix, ever the medic, hums thoughtfully. “Prevention over cure—sound protocol.”

Rex marches past the doorway, barking for PT. He notices the cluster around your bunk, eyes the lotions, then decides he’s not paid enough to investigate at 0500. “Five minutes to muster. Whatever you’re doing—do it faster.”

The squad scrambles. You close your caddy with a click, satisfied. Step one: curiosity planted.

As you pass Fives he murmurs, “Armor for the skin, huh?”

“Exactly, vod,” you grin, tapping his chest plate. “And just like yours—it’s personal issue.”

He barks a laugh, then jogs after the others—already plotting how to requisition micellar water under “optical clarity supplies.”

Curiosity piqued, routine revealed. Now the real fun begins.

⸻

An hour later, after PT and standard mess rations, the 501st files toward the strategy room. You’re meant to present local intel, but you duck into the refresher first to rinse sweat and slap on a leave‑in hair mask.

Inside, Tup stares at his reflection, damp curls drooping. “How tight is the towel supposed to be?”

“Snug, not suffocating.” You demonstrate the twist‑and‑tuck, shaping his towel into a tidy turban. He looks like a spa holo‑ad—if spa ads featured wide‑eyed clone troopers in duty blacks.

Rex storms in mid‑lesson. The captain’s expression cycles through confusion, exasperation, acceptance in under a second. “Explain.”

“Deep‑conditioning,” you answer. “Helmet hair’s a war crime.”

Dogma, arms folded behind Rex, scowls. “Regulation headgear only.”

You pat the towel. “Technically, still a head covering.”

Hardcase bursts from a stall, face covered in neon‑green clay. “I CAN’T MOVE MY MOUTH! THIS STUFF SETS LIKE DURASTEEL!”

Kix swoops in with a damp cloth. “That’s the detox mask, vod. Rinse at four minutes, not forty.”

Fives leans in the doorway, filming everything. “Historical documentation, Rex. Posterity.”

Rex pinches the bridge of his nose. “You have two minutes to look like soldiers before General Skywalker arrives.”

Tup whispers, “Uh… do I rinse or…?”

You yank the towel free with a flourish; his curls bounce, glossy. “Ready for battle,” you declare.

Rex sighs. “One minute forty‑five.”

⸻

The 501st rolls in after an endless maintenance drill, expecting lights‑out. Instead, you’ve transformed the common room into a makeshift spa: footlockers draped in clean towels, maintenance lamps angled like vanity lights, and rows of mysterious packets labeled hydrating, brightening, volcanic detox…

Rex stops dead in the doorway, helmet under his arm.

“Vod, why does it smell like a med‑bay and a flower‑shop had a firefight?”

You beam. “Team‑building. Captain’s orders.”

Rex narrows his eyes—he definitely did not give those orders—but one look at the exhausted squad convinces him to play along. You pass out microfiber headbands—Tup’s bun peeks through adorably—then cue soft lo‑fi on a datapad.

⸻

The 501st rolls in after an endless maintenance drill, expecting lights‑out. Instead, you’ve transformed the common room into a makeshift spa: footlockers draped in clean towels, maintenance lamps angled like vanity lights, and rows of mysterious packets labeled hydrating, brightening, volcanic detox…

Rex stops dead in the doorway, helmet under his arm.

“Vod, why does it smell like a med‑bay and a flower‑shop had a firefight?”

You beam. “Team‑building. Captain’s orders.”

Rex narrows his eyes—he definitely did not give those orders—but one look at the exhausted squad convinces him to play along.

You pass out microfiber headbands—Tup’s bun peeks through adorably—then cue soft lo‑fi on a datapad.

Fives foams cleanser like he’s icing a ration cake, flicks bubbles at Jesse.

Hardcase grabs an industrial solvent bottle. You snatch it away. “Wrong kind of chemical peel, blaster‑brain.”

Kix demonstrates gentle circular motions; the squad copies, mumbling mock mantras.

Faces disappear beneath colors and cartoons.

Fives foams cleanser like he’s icing a ration cake, flicks bubbles at Jesse.

Hardcase grabs an industrial solvent bottle. You snatch it away. “Wrong kind of chemical peel, blaster‑brain.”

Kix demonstrates gentle circular motions; the squad copies, mumbling mock mantras.

Faces disappear beneath colors and cartoons.

Jesse paints Dogma’s clay mask into perfect camo stripes; Dogma tries to protest, fails, secretly loves it.

Rex sighs as you smooth the sheet onto his face. “If this vid leaks, I’m demoting everyone.”

Tup giggles when the nerf‑printed mask squeaks. Fives records the sound bite for future memes.

Everyone reclines on mesh webbing strung between crates.

The timer pings. Masks come off—revealing eight glowing, ridiculously refreshed faces.

Hardcase flexes. “Feel like I could head‑butt a super tactical droid and leave an imprint.”

Fives snaps a holo of Rex’s newfound radiance. “Captain, you’re shining.”

Rex grumbles, but his skin does glow under the fluorescents. “Get some rack time, troopers. 0600 briefing. And… keep the extra packets. Field supply, understood?”

A chorus of cheerful “Yes, sir!”

You watch them file out, each tucking a sheet‑mask packet into utility belts like contraband. Mission accomplished: the 501st is combat‑ready—and complexion‑ready—for whatever tomorrow throws at them.

⸻

Obi‑Wan strolls through the hangar, robe billowing. He pauses mid‑conversation with Cody, eyes widening at the radiant 501st lined up for deployment.

“My word, gentlemen, you’re positively effulgent.”

Jesse grins—dazzling. “Training and discipline, General.”

Cody side‑eyes Rex. “Whatever you’re doing, send the regimen to the 212th.”

Anakin trots up, spying a stash of leftover masks tucked behind Rex’s pauldron. He plucks one. “Charcoal detox? Padmé swears by these.” He pockets it with a conspiratorial wink.

Rex mutters, “Necessary field supplies, General.”

You walk by, sling a go‑cup of caf into Rex’s free hand. “Don’t forget SPF,” you remind, tapping his helmet.

Rex looked over to Cody, Deadpan “Non‑negotiable, apparently.”

⸻

Blaster fire and powdered sand fill the air. Jesse dives behind a ridge. “Double‑cleanse tonight—this dust is murder on my pores!”

Fives snorts through the comms. “Copy, gorgeous. Bring the aloe.”

Hardcase detonates a bunker, cheers, then yelps, “Mask first, explosions later—got it!”

Rex stands, sand sifting off armor, skin protected under a sheer layer of sunscreen that miraculously survived the firefight. He shakes his head but can’t hide the small smile.

“Alright, 501st,” he calls. “Let’s finish this op—tonight we rehydrate, tomorrow we conquer.”

You chuckle, loading a fresh power‑cell. The war may rage on, but for this legion, victory now comes with a healthy glow.

⸻

A/N

This was a request, however I accidentally deleted the request in my inbox.

[dp-marvel94]

Real -Chapter 1

Summary:

While hiding from his parents in Gotham, an ill-timed encounter with his neighbor, Jason, has Danny pretending to be his own twin. Fortunately for Danny, the more he pretends the easier it gets. Until he is not pretending at all. Or: Danny names a duplicate and via ghost logic, said duplicate ends up becoming real.

Next->

Also on AO3

Notes:

This story was written thanks to @jackdaw-sprite who commented on a Tumblr post a wrote asking what I should write next with "I haven't read nearly as many of your works as I'd like to before saying which ones I'd like to see continued, but there's one where Danny names a duplicate, and because of ghost logic, the duplicate becomes real. It feels like such a neat idea to play with!" So here I am writing a whole fic about it! Structurally, this is still very much half-fic outline with some important scenes written out. I'm not planning on expanding it beyond what it is. Still, I hope you enjoy the story. :) A note for readers, those here for the DC content especially: this is very much a Danny heavy fic. The focus will be on Danny and Jamie's relationship as the clone goes from just a duplicate without its own life, to a real person with his own identity. The Bats, Jason especially, will be present, and important for Jamie becoming his own person. But those relationships are definitely secondary to Danny and Jamie's.

After a reveal gone wrong, Danny runs from his parents and the GIW. Soon, he finds himself living in a crummy apartment and trying to keep a low profile. He doesn't have very much, so he is very excited to find an actually in decent shape couch that someone was throwing out. It's late so, figuring no one will see him, Danny duplicates to have two pairs of hands to get the furniture up the stairs and into his apartment. 

Of course, Danny does get spotted by his neighbor, Jason, who offers to hold doors open and help with the unwieldy couch. Names are exchanged: Danny and, after a pause as Danny realizes he has to come up with something for his duplicate, Jamie. The "three" manage to get the couch inside. But now Jason is worried about what appears to be a pair of twins, 16 years old at the most, living alone in the apartment with one ratty couch and a bookbag between them. Jason isn't pushy or overly concerned, but he does make a point to check on his new neighbors regularly. 

After the second time running into Jason and being asked about "Jaime," Danny realizes he's going to have to pretend to be his own twin. Duplication is very helpful for that, though he tries not to do it too often and for too long; it does use a lot of energy. He'll just have the "twins" make regular, short appearances together. It's not like he's trying to get close to anyone in Gotham 

But inevitably, short appearances escalate into having dinner with Jason. The first is a one off; man claimed he made too much and Danny didn't really have money for food. Plus it was really good. Accepting the hospitality just this once wouldn't be that bad. Of course, "Jamie" has come to dinner too.

One dinner leads to more meals with his neighbor, to Jason trying to teach "the twins" to cook more than easy mac. 

Jason's youngest brother meets the "twins" when he pounds on the door during dinner and barges in, complaining that "Father is being unreasonable" and had ground him.

Damian and "the twins" end up huddling in Jason's apartment during Danny's first rogue attack since he arrived in Gotham. Jason ran off as soon as the alert went off, claiming that he was needed at the fire station where he worked. He pointedly says that Damian can stay and look after his non-Gothamite neighbors since he's grounded. The preteen is prickly but does stay put. Danny starts to get restless, unable to re-merge and starting to fear that his energy will waver and "Jamie" will pop out of existence. He nervously eyes the door and Damian threatens to stab him if he tries to leave, saying that "Todd is apparently fond of you both and will be quite peeved" with Damian if something happens to Danny and Jamie. 

Well.... Jamie will definitely disappear if Damian stabs him. So Danny manages to maintain his duplicate for five hours, more than twice as long as any time before. By the time the threat is over and Danny can go back to his apartment, he is straining, desperately trying to hide how exhausted and shaky he is from the excursion. He loses hold of the duplicate as soon as the door is closed.

Despite the hardship, maintaining a duplicate is somehow so much easier after that. He can stay duplicated for longer and gradually, he realizes controlling the secondary body is becoming easier. At the beginning, he needed a lot of effort and control to pilot the duplicate, having to mentally direct it to speak or move. He played "Jamie" as being shy and quiet, so there was less talking to dictate. But overtime, the need for mental prompting becomes less and less. Playing "Jamie" became more automatic, more instinctual. Almost like the duplicate runs on auto-pilot, mostly acting how Danny himself would, though more reserved. To an outside perspective, it looks like "Jamie" is finally getting comfortable and coming out of his shell. But to Danny, this was a relief, spending less energy running his duplicate and less time worrying about being found out.

Slowly, Danny meets more of Jason's family. One of Jay's brothers, Tim, runs into him at his coffee shop job and, blinking sleepily, asks which twin he is, before realizing that Danny is wearing a name tag. This leads to Danny's coworkers finding out about "Jamie" and his "twin" visiting him at work.

As the act grows and more people end up meeting "the twins," Danny spends more and more time pretending to be a pair of twins in more and more ridiculous situations. Playing both of them gets easier and easier, more and more comfortable until the twins can banter, share inside jokes, and tell stories from their childhood. Maybe it is intentional, maybe it's subconscious. But slowly, differences develop to differentiate the twins. "Jamie" is growing out his hair. He loves toast and watching documentaries about history. Danny, more and more convincingly, pretends to have a brother until at some points... it no longer feels like he is pretending.

Despite his new friends, Danny is still so lonely. The apartment is still almost bare, the money he gets from his job barely enough. It's never the job he wanted; he wants to be in school now, applying to colleges so he can get into NASA. But he can't do anything to draw attention to  himself, not with the government breathing down his neck or the danger of the vigilantes running him out for being a “meta”. And he misses his friends and sister so badly.

One particularly hard night, when he is heartbroken and hurting, Danny lies on his second-hand mattress in the dark, weeping. He mourns his parents turning on him, his heart aching for Sam, Tucker, and Jazz. He wishes more than anything that he was not alone right now.

Suddenly, there is a yanking on his core that leaves his gasping. A full body pulling sensation that almost feels like being peeled, except somehow it does not hurt. A second later, it is over and through his blurry eyes, Danny can barely make out a figure kneeling in front of him. Arms coax him into sitting up and pull him into a hug. Danny cries for a long while, not thinking about what just happened, not thinking about what... or who... is holding him. He just accepts the comfort, savors the feeling that he is not alone.

Finally, after the tears slow, Danny pulls back and looks. He lets himself realize what he is looking at. And as he takes in eyes like his, the feeling is something between awe and fear. There is a light in the blue eyes, a spark that he does not recognize. 

And as the brow wrinkles in confusion and the mouth slowly works, words spiral out. Words that Danny could never have predicted.

"If we... if you keep doing this..." Each word is slow and deliberate, as if each takes great effort. "This...." One hand motions slowly, vaguely, as if un-used to movement. "Jamie won't be a lie anymore."

Danny is stunned. He stares for a long while, unable to process. He does not understand what the words mean, why the spark in those eyes makes him just as elated as it makes him afraid.

So he takes the duplicate's hand and pulls the ecto-energy back inside himself. He reabsorbs it and "Jamie" disappears. And Danny thinks.

Slowly, he realizes how easy staying duplicated has become, how distant and foggy memories from his duplicate's perspective are. He replays the words in his head. 'If you keep doing this... Jamie won't be a lie anymore.' He wonders if they mean what they suggest, and most startlingly.... he wonders where they had come from, if not from himself.

For a few days, he avoids anyone who has met the twins or claims that his "twin" is busy whenever someone asks. But inevitably, his trusty neighbor Jason notices the avoidance and invites himself over to cook dinner. Reluctantly, Danny duplicates; there is clearly no avoiding this conversation.

The dinner is awkward. Danny has a hard time looking at Jason.... and an even harder time looking at his seeming twin. None of the three say much and by the end, their neighbor huffs a sigh and says his piece. 

“Look. I know that no one, especially two teens, live in a shitty apartment in Crime Alley if they can avoid it. I don't know if you got kicked out, ran away from home, are hiding from something. And I don’t care. I won't ask. But I was an alley kid. I lost my mom younger than both of you, ended up on the street. I know what it's like just scraping by, trying to survive all on my own.  That's why I look out for the kids here. I want to help you guys, no matter what your story is.”

Danny stammers out a disbelieving thanks. He is touched, really, despite the fear of discovery, of vulnerability quivering in his heart. Jason is a good guy and it feels good to have someone who cares. But... the maybe-not-a-lie sits on the couch beside him. A story he could never hope to explain...

Jason smiles, ruffling both of the twin's hairs. He stands to leave. "Take care," he says, almost afterthought. "You're lucky to have each other."

"Jamie" seems to lean, just the tiniest bit closer to Danny at the words. 

Jason leaves and it is just Danny and his duplicate. The half ghost releases a breath, letting some of the tension release. He reaches to reabsorb his double and-

A shaky hand grips his forearm. Danny looks, meeting the blue eyes. The spark is back, just the smallest hint in the posture that something is different. Slowly, the brow wrinkles, becoming something worried.

"What is it?" Danny finds himself saying, as if he expects a real response.

"Have... each other." Again, the words are slow as if just the act of thinking is hard. "Not a lie."

Now Danny's brow is wrinkled. "Not a lie? Are you saying that's true? Or asking if it is?"

"Not a lie." The words repeat. "Jamie not a lie."

Danny's stomach knots. He’s heard his duplicate speak dozens of times, even been surprised by some offered puns. But this…

“Not a lie.” One more repeat, this one faster, surer, almost desperate.

Danny looks up again. “Jamie.” He says the name. He’s spoken to his double before in front of other people, as part of the act. But this… it feels as bizarre as it feels right. “Jamie…. Are you… real?”

For just a second, there is something like hope in the other’s eyes. Then, the brow furrows in great effort. “Yes… No….” One more longer, unsure pause. “Becoming.”

“You’re… becoming real?” The words are breathy. Danny isn’t sure whether they make him feel that same hope, or if he feels sick.

The half ghost looks away, staring down at his lap. He doesn’t know what this is, how this is  happening. A moment of panic stabs. Is he sick or insane? Or… is it a trick? A trap?

Danny reaches with his mind, trying to feel. A parasite infecting him? Another ghost, trying to overshadow. There is a connection, a bundle of a dozen fine threads. It is a link to… something not quite separate. Danny feels the almost presence at the end, the not-quite himself he is speaking with. And… It is like cradling a baby bird. Small, fragile, and so young. No malice, just pure innocence.

The half ghost looks up again. His hand shifts, feeling the cold flesh. His fingers press, the almost flutter of a heart beneath the skin.

The awe from that late night rises, a question echoing in his head. What happens if he lets this  continue? 

He… won’t be alone. Danny remembers that night, crying on his mattress and desperately wanting comfort. And all those times hanging out with Jason. The jokes and banter started as an act to sell the lie. But… weren't they so much more now? Danny had pretended to have a brother and in pretending had imagined one… Now that brother, that twin sat beside him. 

But at the same time… fear spiked. What would happen if he didn’t stop this? Could he even stop this if he wanted to? It feels inevitable, unstoppable. Not if he stays living next to Jason. But… if he tells the truth? Or if he runs, starts again somewhere else. He could reabsorb his duplicate now and let this whole thing fade into memory. Jamie would disappear…

A wave of fear surges from outside himself. Danny meets terrified eyes. Something in him softens, crumples.

“Jamie?” Danny asks again and can almost feel the heart-flutter solidifying. “Do you want to be real?”

There is a pause, the fearful face becoming something narrowed eyes and sure. “Yes.” So much determination. Danny feels the one thread of dozens snap.

“Alright then.” Danny heaves a sigh, deciding. 

He will hold out as long as he can. He will stay duplicated, keep Jamie here until he’s not a duplicate at all. Jamie will be real.

[letsquestjess]

Paint My Love (Echo x F!Reader)

Summary: Echo loves to see you paint, but doesn't bank on the swell of emotions when you lovingly paint your love onto him.

Word count: 2.1K

Warning: 18+ / MDNI! Smut. Unprotected PiV.

-- -- -- -- --

With a gliding swipe of the paintbrush, blush tones outstripped and tempered the fiery red beneath. Fleecy clouds met with silky sky, the canvas filling with the delightful distant landscape as your rendition unfolded in mellow curves and serene shades. 

Your involvement in the clone network rarely permitted you time to indulge in a hobby. Planet hopping, eluding blaster bolts, and cracking codes occupied every waking moment, hauling captive and injured clones from the depths of Imperial prisons and extracting vital information from enemy systems. The task you undertook voluntarily, a decision you neither regretted nor deplored, but in the process, you abandoned much of your life. 

In moments such as these, you gladly seized whatever buffers and downtime you were offered without complaint about the shortness of the respite or the chance of being called to another critical situation. Everything Rex and his network did ensured a better galaxy, a denial of victory and power to the Empire, and the opportunity to see the sun rise over the freedom of every despairing world. 

You hoped the sunrise of that prospective dawn promised to prove as beautiful and inspiring as the one you painted, tracking the migration of sky vapours with your brush and the silvery streak contrasting the subdued corals and cardinals. A lilac hue crowned the horizon, and you contemplated which tints to mix to get the matching shade. 

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen you painting,” Echo commented as he descended the ramp, distracted by the array of pleasing colours and shapes crafted by your skillful hand. 

“It’s been a while since I had the chance,” you replied. “Does Rex know to expect some more brothers?”

“He does. Also told him we’re going to stay for a couple of days to check the transmissions. I’ve set up a sweep of Imperial systems, but it could take a while, so we have some time.” 

Scomp link coasting down your waist and his chin resting on your shoulder, he considered your artwork with a contented grin. “You always manage to see the good in everything.” 

“Bad things do not deserve a thought wasted on them,” you replied with a decided shrug. “I reserve that space for the things that make me happy.” 

“And that stubborn streak.” 

In answer to his jest, you dabbed his nose with the tip of your paintbrush and swallowed a chuckle at the responding arched eyebrow, dropping the brush into the jar of pigmented water. 

“I’m not used to having free time,” you said, mopping up the sapphire blob with the frayed towel over your shoulder. “What will we do?” 

“Wait for the scans and ensure we’re ready to move as soon as we get the results, but the rest, I suppose we… relax.” His face scrunched as though he sniffed something foul. That sounded wrong. In their line of work, relaxation never presented itself. Not even in times of quiet. 

The rumination creased his features, and you eased your fingertips up to his cheekbones to encourage him to loosen up. “At any rate, I’m going to need more canvases. I didn’t realise I had my supplies until I checked the cupboard last night. Must have left them there when I painted those posters for Rex.” 

Echo nosed into your touch. Faith in the good and your confidence in a better tomorrow shone in those images, declaring to the galaxy that they were defended and inspiring them to rise. “You could always use me,” he said, more tease in his tone and temptation in the amber flecks in his eyes than he intended. “As a canvas, I mean. If you needed. I… um… wouldn’t be opposed to you… trying that out…”

Covering his face in embarrassment with a gloved hand and his posture slumping, he retreated. Since you formed your attachment almost a year ago, his attempts at flirting grew worse in his mind, fumbled words attempting to sound exciting and falling flat. Yet each time, you found him more endearing and increasingly sweet.  

“The paints I use are safe for skin if you wanted to be my canvas,” you told him, removing the rectangular painting from the easel and setting it beside the ship steps to dry. 

He wound up to graciously refuse, to insist he did not wish to disturb your quiet peace or steal away your artistic resources, but everything you touched with your talents, you planted a shred of your soul into, and he pondered how he might look with your creations decorating him. “Actually, I’d like that.”

“In that case,” you said, your bright smile making every facet glow, “I’ll go set up the cockpit and I can paint you while we wait for those scans.” 

Spare rolls of fabric draped the co-pilot seat, and a tiered palette kept the array of matte and metallic colours neat while you organised your utensils. Pillars of sunlight provided a muted bloom, and settling Echo into the covered seat, you counted the various brushes and tested the bristles were smooth enough not to irritate his skin. 

“You’ll have to remove your shirt if you want me to paint on you,” you told him, offering an opening for him to retract his offer if he decided not to continue. He pulled an arm and his scomp link through the sleeves of his blacks and set the article of clothing over the navigation console chair. 

“Am I sat right?” he asked, wriggling and twisting in the seat. “I can move if you need me to, or-”

You dumped your jacket onto the inactive panel behind you and covered his lap with an old tatty blanket. “Just relax.”

Soaking the first brush into a silky maroon tint, you knelt and softly began your patterns. You let your heart guide your hand, winding around the embedded ports in his stomach and chuckling at the slight laugh he returned when the strands tickled his sternum. 

The colour choices flowed with your instincts, motifs and designs floating in your mind as you washed the brushes in between each pigment. You tuned into the steady swell and drop of Echo’s chest, meeting every breath tenderly pushing at the paintbrush. 

Enraptured in your concentration and the blossoms of your creativity, Echo remained unmoving, peeping as you expressed your love on his torso. You never ceased to amaze him in your artistry and your innovation, head tilted at a tender angle and teeth snagging your bottom lip as you chewed in studious contemplation. Your innate ingenuity permeated other parts of your life and on more than one occasion, hauled you from the fire and came to your aid, preventing you from ending up in an Imperial prison or worse. 

Stars, he wished he could express how you made him feel, how your radiance warmed him and your surety emboldened him to believe the galaxy would see better days. He hoped you realised how wonderful you were, that you never once needed to doubt yourself, because if he had to place bets on anyone, it would always be you. 

Inch by inch, brilliant designs of strength and light coated his skin, the rising and easing of his chest pulling the strings of his life into glorious being. For the first time in far too long, he felt himself, vibrant like he once was before the explosion that ripped him apart and remade him a machine. Your art brought together both parts of him into acceptance and new perspectives. 

“How incredible you are,” he breathed in a besotted exhale, swallowing the bloated tears of elation. 

His palm nestled your cheek and his thumb flicked over your lips. You set the brush aside and went to cup his face, stopping short at the stain on your palms. 

“Considering how much paint I have on my chest, do you think I’d mind a little more?” Echo coaxed you onto his lap, mindful of the drying designs as he let you wiggle yourself comfortable. “Thank you.” 

“What for?” you asked, planting a kiss to the tip of his nose and trailing your lips towards his neck. 

“Reminding me who I am.” 

Your kisses ceased, and you fixed on the reminiscent glimmer in his gaze. “You don’t need me to remind you who you are.” 

“Sometimes I forget. It’s like I was someone completely different before… before everything that happened, but that same trooper is still in there.” His scomp link rested on the small of your back and his thumb massaged circles on your hip. 

“Still the same foolhardy ARC trooper to me,” you assured him, fingers delighting in the contours of his face before idling on his jaw. “Only now with added stubble.” You scratched playfully at the scruff on his chin. “What was it Rex told me once? You used to shave so meticulously you could use your cheeks as mirrors?” 

A spirited chuckle rumbled in the depths of Echo’s chest and your designs fluttered with the movement. “That is a wild exaggeration.”

“Wild exaggeration, huh?” 

Echo clocked the mischief in your tone and the arched eyebrow as you pursued the strain in his pants. At the wriggle in your feigned repositioning and the grind of your hips, he momentarily closed his eyes and grunted under his breath. Maker have mercy for the way you liked to tease him. 

“I know you’re doing that on purpose,” Echo pointed out.

“Am not.”

“I believe that is what we would definitely call a wild exaggeration.” 

You gasped dramatically and splayed your fingers on his chest. As he laughed at your antics, he wrenched your hips down onto him again. “Anyone would think you liked that,” you cooed, your own arousal dripping and desperate for attention. 

“Perhaps I do,” he responded, dipping his thumb into the waistband of your pants. His touches graced your core, tiny flicks and presses of his fingertips edging you towards delight. 

Hungry for him the more your flirts danced, you hopped off him to remove your clothing and straddled him before the fabric even hit the cockpit floor. Soft kisses became starved as you rocked on him, the intensity between your legs unbearable. 

“It’s been too long since we’ve had some time to ourselves,” Echo panted. 

“Need you,” you keened, intent on not permitting your nails to sink into his shoulder in your haste to feel more of him. 

“No patience?” 

You shook your head and stopped grinding your hips long enough for him to reach into his underwear and withdraw his cock, give it a few pumps, and line himself with your entrance.

“Take your time, love,” Echo soothed, sensing the impatience in the little creases between your brows as you gradually sank onto him. “We don’t need to rush.” 

While you knew you had no reason to hurry, the ache within you burned boundless and fluorescent. You lowered yourself the last centimetre, and a satisfied breath escaped your chest at the fill. 

In an unhurried, endless rhythm, your thighs tensed in the rolling flow and you brought yourself down again on his length, assisted by his encouraging lift as he met you halfway. As your bodies moved as one, your breaths intermingled, kisses exchanged instead of words between the rise and drop of your love. 

“Echo,” you whined, the knot inside you unravelling and pulling deliciously as he buried himself in your heat and rolled your nipple between a finger and thumb, the thought of approaching your activity without haste abandoned. You both needed each other. Patience be damned to the depths. 

Your whimpers met with a low grunt. Neither of you were going to last much longer, you craved that closeness, that blessed bond. Building the friction between your sweat-coated skin, you crested the gratifying wave together, nails biting into flesh and your climaxes hitting their groan-filled peaks. 

Echo clutched you as the final throes circuited and fizzled, nuzzling at your neck. He peered down between your bodies where paint smeared his torso and residue smudges dusted yours. 

“Maybe we should wash this off,” you suggested in a calming breath as his release began to leak out between your legs. “Share a shower and save some water. Who knows how long we will be waiting for the scans to complete?” 

“Hopefully long enough for us to do this again,” Echo chuckled, boosting you into his arms, still comfortably inside you. “Come on. Let’s get cleaned up and I’ll make some breakfast.” 

“You spoil me,” you murmured, snuggling into the rocking motion as he moved you to the rear of the ship. 

“Oh, that’s just for starters.” He balanced you in one arm and nudged the button for the fresher with his scomp link, the door whooshing open. “I’m going to spoil you as much as I can and then some.” 

If you would like to be added to the NSFW taglist, feel free to send me a message (18+ only).

@cw80831 @stardusthuntress @spicy-clones

[doobledabbadoo]

Hii! You fucking ate with the TDI redesigns and it wanted to know if you'd make a guide as to how you mimicked the TDI style?

hihi !! tysm !! glad a lot of ppl like em !!

as for the style guide, i am far from an expert at replicating art styles, but having a neo-UPA inspired art style really made this easier for me, even if i did struggle on getting used to some design choices.

DISCLAIMER: I do not condone tracing over other people’s artwork to claim as your own final product. I only trace the shapes from the total drama characters to break down and analyze the art style for educational purposes.

IN GENERAL

total drama’s art style is heavily stylized and takes inspiration from clone high and many UPA-inspired cartoons in the late 90’s to early 2000’s. it uses very thick and bold outlines to define its characters and their individual shape language. a lot of designs use a variety of sharp angles, straight lines, and curved arcs to achieve a balanced character design that works in the total drama universe.

because the shape language is very geometric and simple, it’s surprisingly easy to recreate the total drama art style & reimagine some of your favorite characters in the universe!

BODY TYPES: THE “TYPICAL” WOMAN

a lot of the women in the show follow this base, even more than the “typical” male body type. compared to the men, the women of total drama have cat-like eyes, stylized lips, skinny necks, an hour-glass figure, longer and thicker legs, and pointy fingers. head shapes & features may vary depending on character and/or ethnicity. not all women in the show look like this, though! there’s a decent handful of women with very unique body types, such as beth, macarthur, & emma from the 2023 reboot! it also helps to reference characters from different seasons to get a better idea of the shape language in the show’s universe!

BODY TYPES: THE “TYPICAL” MAN

the “typical” body type for men isn’t as well defined as it is for the “typical” woman, so there aren’t as many examples of what defines the “typical” male body type. However, based on the handful of characters we collected, we can determine that the “typical” male body type in total drama is top-heavy. compared to the women, many of the men have broad chests and shoulders, thicker and longer arms, thicker necks, thinner waists and hips, and shorter, thinner legs. they have flatter, more boxy fingers comoared to the pointy fingers the women have. head shapes and features may vary depending on character and/or ethnicity.

BODY TYPES: THE PLUS SIZED WOMAN

plus-sized women follow some of the same rules & principles as the “typical” woman does, from more cat-like eyes to sharper fingers however, in contrast to the more common body type, these woman have much thicker body proportions and use rounder, smoother lines to emphasize either fat or muscle. head shapes and other features may vary depending on the character and/or ethnicity.

BODY TYPES: THE PLUS SIZED MAN

there’s a pretty good variety when it comes to drawing plus-sized men. while some of them, like ripper, follow some similar principles to the “typical” man, others offer a new, unique design base to work with. their features are generally rounder and wider to emphasize their weight. head shapes & other features may vary depending on character and/or ethnicity.

BODY TYPES: THE LANKY MAN

unlike the “typical” man, the lankier men don’t usually have the same broad shoulders and chest. their limbs are much thinner, & they sometimes don’t have any pronounced calves. it’s more common for the lankier men to have their feet facing in the same direction as opposed to the other, though the latter isn’t an uncommon design desicion either. head shapes and other festures vary depending on the character and/or ethnicity.

BODY TYPES: THE BEEFY MAN

Of all the body types presented to the male characters, this one is the closest and most similar to the “typical” male body type. the difference is that the broadness of the shoulders and chest are exaggerated more, and the shape of the arms can vary between being wider to having more lumps. head shapes and other features may vary depending in character and/or ethnicity.

HAIR STYLES

a hairstyle can tell people a lot about a character. theres a lot of different ways to draw hair on characters, though in general, the appeal to total drama’s art style would be the simplicity and angularity in its shape language and character designs, so you don’t have to give your character thousands of spiky hair strands to make them appealing.

im not good at explaining how i replicate art styles so i really hope these help!!! also im sorry this ask took forever to compile lol i just wanted an excuse to study the shows art style more. heres another helpful video to help understand the process of character design !!

i also recommend checking out harry gold’s channel. he does a lot of art style replication videos & this one explains art style replication exceptionally well!

tysm for ur ask & tysm for ur patience!!

[princessmaybank]

Imagine JJ getting reader a dildo shaped exactly like his dick and she sends him a video of her using it while on vacation and he's like "answer the fucking phone" and he's watching her on facetime while she falls apart from the dildo(he's obviously stroking himself while watching)

I'm happy I finally got to this one baby! It's such a fun ask I love your brain! Thank you baby, I hope you enjoy! 😘

Secrets On Vacation

Pairings: Boyf!JJ x Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+, Clone Dildo, Little White Lie, Masturbation, Real Porn Links, Phone Sex, etc.

Summary: JJ got you a gift and you get to use it on vacation!

Author's Note: Posted a little early but I hope you all enjoy!

"For when I'm not around baby." JJ gives me a smirk before winking as he hands me a long blue box with a little white ribbon holding it together. I gave him a smile and untied the bow before grabbing the lid of the box and removing it.

I'm not exactly sure what I was expecting but it wasn't an exact replica of my boyfriends cock made of silicone. A blush rose to my cheeks as I hid the present from anyone who could be around even though we were in my room, with no one else around.

*3 Months Later*

Sarah, Kie, Cleo, and I decided we needed a girls trip to clear our heads and relax a bit. We drove all the way to Florida to get away for a while. I texted with JJ pretty much the entire ride. He insisted on teasing me the whole time, getting me worked up knowing he's not here to help me fix it. When we finally made it to our hotel I was eager to check in and at least get unpacked. Unfortunately I didn't get any alone time due to the fact that we were all okay with sharing one room and two beds. We stayed in the room for a while until we eventually decided to go shopping. Before the day was over we walked the beach and got some frozen yogurt. As I was eating I got a new notification from JJ.

JJ: Gonna be a good girl and use that present from daddy tonight?

Y/N: I forgot to bring it daddy I'm sorry...

JJ: Check that secret zipper in your suitcase 😉

"We should grab some dinner at that Tiki themed bar!" Sarah pretty much yelled. The other two girls agreed. Before I could even think, I told them I wasn't feeling well and I was going back to the room. They tried to stay with me but I encouraged them to have a fun time without me. "Are you sure girl? We can take care of you.." Kie said caringly. I shook my head. "I just need to rest alone, peace n quiet ya know?" I made a face to try and convince them I wasn't feeling great, and it must've worked because they finally let me leave.

When I got back to the hotel room, I immediately rushed to my luggage and opened my secret zipper that I never use because what do I have to hide? Apparently an 8 and a 1/2 inch dildo perfectly ribbed like my boyfriends dick.

I didn't waste any more time. I slipped my shorts and panties off and hopped onto my side of one of the beds. I spit on my fingers and rubbed the saliva around and inside my entrance. Suddenly I thought about JJ, he has been teasing me all day, certainly I can send him a video of what he's missing. I smirk before pulling out my phone and hitting record as I thrust the dildo inside of me.

Y/N: Thinking about you 😘

Attachment 1 Sent

Attachment 2 Sent

I ended up sending him two videos and I received a response almost immediately after I sent them.

JJ: Call me.

I was too busy playing with myself I didn't notice his first message. My phone started ringing and before I could answer it, it stopped.

JJ: Answer the fucking phone princess.

I received another call shortly after that text was sent. I was hesitant but I did answer the FaceTime. "Playing hard to get baby?" He smirks, looking more irritated than turned on. "No sir. I was playing, I'm sorry." I apologized and he seemed to understand. "Are you still playing with yourself sweet girl?" He bit his lip and looked me up and down the best he could. I nod as I continue to slowly thrust the dildo into my drenched hole. "Mmm feels just like you-" I whimpered and closed my eyes.

"Yeah baby? let me see my pussy.." The way he said it was silky and gritty at the same time, I could've busted right there. I lowered my camera to show him my hand pushing the cock in and out. "Oh, you're so wet babygirl. Is that all from me?" He teased. "Who else Jay?" I giggled. I heard him grunt and that's when I knew he was touching himself too.

"Oh shit-" I sped up my pace and moans spilled from my lips. "Please show me Jay- gotta see you.." I say between moans and he complies. His cock was rock hard and glistening from pre-cum and spit. JJ's hand was fisting his cock at the same pace as my hand, making it feel like we were almost together. "Mmm shit baby, so fuckin' perfect. So beautiful, look at that beautiful, wet, cunt. And it's all f-fuckin' mine. Shit-oh.." He gasped, he was close, I knew it, but so was I.

"Fuck- please daddy- ne-need you.." I whined. "I kn-ow baby, so close, c'mon cum f'me pretty girl.." He hissed my name as he came in his hand. About two seconds later I squeaked his name out along with some profanities as I came all over his cock, well you know what I mean. We both giggled and stared at each other through the phone. "That was perfect, thank you babygirl, can't wait to give you the real thing when you get home in a few days. Rest up, I'll talk to you in the morning." We said our goodbyes and hung up.

I had to take a few minutes to catch my breath before cleaning up. I even had enough time to shower before the girls got home. They brought me some food and I ate while they told me everything I missed. Even after hearing everything I would have encountered with them, I would absolutely choose my night with JJ on the phone, every time.

[jetii]

Event Horizon

Chapter Thirty-One: The Weight of Command

Chapter WC: 9,771

Chapter Tags/Warnings: it's a battle chapter what can i say

A/N: Welcome to part two! Much angst, fluff, smut and clone shenanigans ahead. Sadly no Rex in this part, but absence makes the heart grow fonder (and more desperate) and all that.

Mind the time skip from chapter 30, we're about 3? months in the future now.

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Join the Taglist | Masterlist

Nadiem, 20 BBY

No matter how many battlefields you walk away from, no matter how many lives you save, no matter how much glory you win for the Republic, the weight of your vision still rests heavy upon your shoulders.

No matter how much you try to silence the echo of Rex’s voice calling you back or the memory of his blaster pressed against your chest, it still lingers, like an unseen shadow at the edge of your sight. You had chosen to turn away from the darkness in that moment, a decision you've made time and time again, but it's a choice you've wondered if you would continue to have the strength to make again.

After all, every Jedi is tested at some point, and each must choose whether to give into their anger or their fear. Every Jedi must conquer the temptation to reach for the power that comes from the Dark Side in order to embrace the Light. Every Jedi struggles to understand the will of the Force and the part they are meant to play.

But not every Jedi has seen their own death.

You know what awaits you in the dark, and the temptation is always there, a constant nagging voice in the back of your mind, a whisper on the wind, a promise of power, of strength, of safety. You've learned to ignore it, but you can't ignore the burden of the knowledge, the weight of the responsibility. You can't ignore the certainty that, eventually, you will be faced with a choice, and that choice will define who you are, who you were always meant to be.

It's a terrible thing, knowing that you will never be able to save everyone. But you haven't stopped trying anyway.

In the months since you've left Coruscant and Rex behind, the 419th has been inundated with missions, battles, skirmishes. It seems as if there's always another fight waiting around the corner, and you have a sneaking suspicion that the Council is hoping to distract you, or perhaps even exhaust you. But there's no denying that the galaxy is changing, and the threat of the Separatists is ever present.

It's easy to lose track of time, the days and weeks blending together into a blur of movement, a cycle of action and reaction. It's easy to lose track of yourself. 

And through it all, you've been training your men. Teaching them.

You've drilled them relentlessly, not just in standard combat, but in one very specific skill. Nearly every morning begins with sparring exercises, teaching them how to counter a lightsaber, resist Force-assisted strikes, and fight without relying on the idea that a Jedi would always be their protector. After all, not all Jedi are as noble as Obi-Wan. Not all Jedi will be there to save them.

Some might even have their backs turned.

The irony isn't lost on you.

You've also spent much of your time on the field, honing their skills, encouraging their growth, and learning their strengths and weaknesses. You've seen their potential, and you've worked tirelessly to bring it out, to shape it, mold it. You've pushed them to their limit, and they've surpassed every expectation, refusing to fall. Refusing to give up. 

And most importantly, refusing to let you go.

They follow your lead, no matter where you go. No matter what you do. No matter what the mission is, no matter the risks, no matter the danger. They're always by your side, and they always have your back. And it helps. 

The more time you spend with Booker and the men, the more at ease you feel, the less afraid, the less lonely. They've become your family, and their support is invaluable. 

Without them, you know you wouldn't have been able to make it this far. Without them, you'd be lost.

It's the only reason why you're here now.

The view from your perch on the lone tree among miles of open fields is beautiful, the rolling hills and valleys stretching out before you. The sky is a vibrant mix of blue and pink, the sun just beginning to rise. In the distance, you can see the outlines of a nearby town, sunlight warming the small hovels and cobblestone streets.

The wind is blowing softly, rustling the leaves above, and the smell of fresh rain hangs in the air, filling your lungs. It's peaceful, quiet, and you can't help but appreciate the calm. But you know better than most that the peace never lasts. It's a fleeting thing, a fragile illusion, and the war will soon find its way here. It always does.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" you murmur, not turning your gaze from the landscape. "I could sit here all day."

Snap lowers his binocs from his visor and looks down at you. He sways dangerously on the branch above as he shifts his weight before his hand comes down to steady himself. The kama attached to his belt, covered in gold swirls and lines that remind you of a sun's rays, flaps in the breeze. 

"Not the best spot for a nap, if I'm being honest," he quips, adjusting his position, the branch creaking ominously beneath him. A bird takes flight in alarm, and he sighs. "And if you ask me, the sun's a little too bright. Hard to get a good look at things."

"Careful, Snap. Sounds like Wise is rubbing off on you," you retort, shooting him a smirk. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were becoming a bit of a grouch."

"If that isn't the quacta calling the stifling slimy," he mutters, and the branch creaks again.

You snort and shake your head, shifting your attention to the horizon. The smoke is beginning to dissipate, and the first rays of sunlight are peeking over the trees.

"I happen to like the sunlight. It's...refreshing."

"You're only saying that because you didn't have to run drills for two hours this morning," he mutters. He sighs and reaches for the binocs, bringing them back up to his visor. "So what's the plan? Do we wait here until the droids show up or what?"

"Patience, Captain. Patience," you reply. He gives you a look that translates through the helmet, and you laugh again, raising a hand in surrender. "I'm kidding. Mostly."

He lets out a huff and returns his attention to the binocs, scanning the area. You've been camped out on this ridge for hours, waiting for the Separatists to arrive. The village has already been cleared out, and the town hall is wired with explosives. All that's left is for the droids to show up. Then, it's game time.

"We'll give them an hour," you say, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath. The scent of grass and flowers fills your nose, and you exhale slowly, allowing the Force to flow through you, reaching out and stretching. You can feel the faintest whispers of the enemy, the echoes of their approach. "Then we'll make our move."

Snap grunts, and the branches above rustle as he adjusts his position. He's impatient, and you can't blame him. The wait is maddening, but you can't afford to jump the gun again.

The last time you rushed the Separatists, things didn't end well. There were heavy casualties, and the 419th lost a lot of men. It was a hard lesson, but it was an important lesson, and you've taken it to heart.

You will be patient. You will be smart. And most importantly, you will protect your men.

"Hey, General," Snap finally says, his voice low. "Can I ask you something?"

"Always," you reply, your eyes still closed, the Force guiding your senses. 

You can feel the presence of the 419th tucked in the rolling hills behind you, the soldiers spread out along the perimeter, watching, waiting. Elsewhere on the planet, Master Luminara and her Padawan are preparing their own forces for an attack. If all goes according to plan, the droid army will be trapped between the two forces, unable to retreat or escape.

"It's about the training."

Your mouth twists. You've been expecting this conversation for a while now, and you're almost impressed that he managed to hold out this long. You're certain that the others have been whispering amongst themselves, wondering if they should bring it up. But Snap has always been the brave sort, and it seems that bravery extends to speaking his mind.

"I'm surprised it took you so long," you quip, and his breath catches, the branch creaking again.

"I..." he trails off, and the hesitation is thick, almost tangible. He clears his throat and takes a deep breath. "The men are...we're worried. About you."

Your connection to the Force snaps shut, and you open your eyes, the image of the landscape blurring before settling. You take a moment to gather yourself, the familiar pang of guilt tugging at your heart.

"Is that so?" you reply, forcing the emotion from your voice.

"Well, yeah. Of course we are," he continues. He lowers the binocs and looks down at you. "Look, I'm not trying to question your methods or anything. And I'm sure the Council has a good reason for doing whatever they're doing, but...we just don't understand why. We're fighting droids. Blasters will do the job just fine."

You let out a heavy sigh and shake your head, leaning forward and resting your forearms on your knees.

"Because the battle doesn't end the moment the droids drop," you reply, keeping your voice low. The wind is still blowing, and the last thing you need is for your words to carry back down to the camp. "The war is just beginning, and we can't afford to take any chances."

"With all due respect, General, that doesn't answer the question," he replies, his tone firm. "I don't know what kind of enemies we're facing, but I know how to fight, and I know how to win. And the men are capable of handling whatever comes at us."

"I'm not disputing that," you assure him. You keep your gaze fixed on the horizon, and you can't help but think of Rex. He would like it here. And he would be just as eager to charge into battle as the rest of them. "But this isn't about winning or losing. It's about surviving."

Snap falls silent, and the breeze picks up, ruffling your robes and tossing your hair. You close your eyes, reaching out once more, and the faint presence of the Separatist forces grows stronger, a steady trickle of droids flowing toward the village.

"I care about all of you," you continue, your voice strained. "And if the enemy ever wields the Force against you, I want you to have a chance to survive. To have a chance to fight back. I want you to have the tools to protect yourselves."

You open your eyes and look up at him, his expression hidden behind the visor. His shoulders are tense, his body stiff, and his hands clench and unclench at his sides. You can feel the emotions roiling beneath the surface, a storm of confusion and frustration.

You know it's selfish. You know it's foolish. But you can't help it. The idea of losing any of the men is unbearable, and the thought of losing Rex, the idea of him being forced to face the darkness within you, the idea of him having to kill you...it's a pain you can't even begin to comprehend.

You've already lost so much, and the future is a constant, looming threat, a shadow in the dark, a whisper on the wind. It's a burden that's always there, always lurking, and you can't shake the feeling that the worst is yet to come.

You will do everything in your power to prevent the future you've seen from coming to pass. You will not allow yourself to fall. You will not allow yourself to hurt him. Not again.

"General," Snap says, his voice barely above a whisper. "You don't have to worry about that."

You can't help but huff a laugh, and you shake your head, your eyes stinging.

"But I do," you reply. You look away, unable to meet his gaze, and your fingers brush against the hilt of your lightsaber. "More than anything, I worry about that."

"General..."

Your comm beeps, and you raise a hand, cutting him off.

"We'll talk later," you promise. "For now, focus on the mission. Stay safe, and remember your orders. I want no heroics."

Snap hesitates for a moment, his hands flexing, and he sighs.

"Yes, sir."

You lift your vambrace up, and the holoimage of Master Luminara flickers to life. Her hands are clasped behind her back, her head tilted down, and her lips are pressed into a thin line. You immediately feel a sinking sensation in your gut.

"Master Luminara, I'm afraid you're a little early," you quip, trying to keep the anxiety from your voice. She doesn't respond, her expression unchanging, and you take a deep breath. "Okay, clearly, something's wrong. What is it?"

"We have a situation," she replies, her tone grim. She glances over her shoulder and turns back, a slight crease forming between her brows. "My scouts have reported movement to the north. A large group, and they appear to be heading in your direction."

You swallow and look up at Snap, who gives a nod. He's already moving, sliding from his perch and landing on the ground below. You watch as he hurries down the hill and back toward camp.

"How long until they arrive?" you ask.

"An hour, perhaps less," Luminara replies. Her frown deepens, and her hands clasp tighter. "But what troubles me is the makeup of their forces. They appear to be commando droids wielding blades. Cortosis blades."

"Fuck," you mutter, and her brow rises at the profanity. You sigh and shake your head. "Sorry, Master. It's just...I had a bad feeling about this."

Luminara lets out a small sigh and nods, the lines around her eyes softening.

"As did I," she murmurs, and she looks over her shoulder again before returning her attention to you. "The question is, what do we do now?"

You glance up at the sky, the first rays of sunlight piercing through the clouds.

"I'll take care of it," you say, looking back at her. Her expression shifts, concern etched on her face, and you raise a hand. "It's alright, Master. I have a plan."

"I do not doubt your capabilities," she replies, and the corners of her mouth curl upward. "However, I cannot help but notice that you tend to attract trouble."

"All the better for me to handle it," you say, smiling wryly. You're already moving, sliding down the hillside. "Don't wait for me. Attack on schedule."

"Very well," she says, and she reaches out, cutting the connection.

You pick up the pace, sprinting across the field, your boots kicking up the grass. The wind whips at your robes and sends your cloak billowing behind you. Your men are already moving, packing up the camp and waking the AT-TEs. Booker is barking orders, and the soldiers are falling into formation, their blasters at the ready.

"Booker!" you shout, and his helmet snaps up, his body tensing. He rushes over to meet you, his rifle in his hands, and the rest of the 419th follow suit. "I need a squad, and I need them now."

"What's going on?" he asks. He motions to the soldiers closest to him, and they break ranks, forming a loose semi-circle around the two of you. "Who am I shooting?"

"Cortosis blades," you reply. The color drains from his face, and he stiffens, his mouth falling open. "There's a detachment of commandos heading this way, and they're packing. Luminara’s scouts spotted them. We have less than an hour."

A ripple of tension passes through the men, a shift in stance, an adjustment of grips on rifles. No one speaks, but you don’t need the Force to feel their unease. Cortosis is rare, and the material is difficult to work with, fragile against most armor. But it can block a lightsaber, and it can kill a Jedi. It is, in effect, the greatest weapon a droid could wield against a Force-user.

Booker curses under his breath. "Great. That’s just great. So, what’s the play, General?"

You scan the gathered soldiers, your mind already calculating the odds, the risks, the potential. You could wait for the 419th. The droids won't arrive for at least an hour, and Luminara will likely send her own troops to assist, but it's not worth the risk. If the enemy is armed with cortosis, it means they're coming for you. And that puts everyone else in danger.

"I'm going ahead," you finally say, and Booker goes rigid. "You have your orders, and I trust you to carry them out."

"That's not gonna happen," he counters, and his grip on the rifle tightens, his jaw clenched. "You're not going out there alone. If the droids are really packing, you're gonna need backup."

Snap pushes his way through the group and steps forward, his shoulders squared.

"I'm coming with you," he declares. His voice is firm, resolute, and he lifts his chin. "And so are they."

He gestures to the rest of Maelstrom Company, and a chorus of agreements rings out, a show of support. Dash and Screwball take their place beside Snap, and the others follow, standing at attention.

"It's too dangerous," you argue, and Booker rolls his eyes, stepping closer.

"No, what's dangerous is sending a lone Jedi into battle against a group of commando droids wielding a rare metal known for cutting through Force shields and blocking lightsabers," he says, and his voice is quiet, his gaze hard. "So unless you're planning on telling me that all this training has been a waste of time, I suggest you let them help."

You look up at the soldiers, each wearing a fierce expression, a set jaw, a raised chin. They're not backing down, and neither is Booker. And the sight warms your heart as much as it fills you with dread.

"Well, I can't exactly argue with the entire company," you reply, and Snap lets out a snort. You shake your head and take a deep breath. "Fine. Snap, you’re with me. I need a fast, mobile team—no more than ten. We intercept before they reach the village. Cut them off in the ravine."

"Ravine’s tight quarters," Booker points out. "Could work in our favor… or trap you with them."

"I’m counting on the terrain to funnel them, limit their mobility. If they can’t swarm, we can pick them off in controlled strikes." You glance at your men, weighing each of them. "We’ll need explosives to destabilize the cliffs. Set the charges right, we could bring half of them down before they get close."

"Risky," Snap says with a low whistle.

"Only if we hesitate." You meet his gaze. "Do you trust me?"

He doesn’t waver, not for a second. "Always, sir."

That should reassure you. It should fill you with confidence. But it only serves to twist the knot in your stomach tighter. You nod anyway. "Then gear up. We move in five."

As the squad disperses to prepare, Booker lingers, his fingers tapping against his rifle. He doesn’t speak, his silence more meaningful than anything he could say. You can feel the concern radiating from him, the uncertainty, the worry.

"I know what you're thinking," you say, your voice low. His brow furrows, and his gaze shifts toward the men, watching as they grab their equipment. "But they have a choice. And I trust them."

"I'm not worried about the men, I'm worried about you," he replies, and he looks back at you, the lines around his eyes deepening. "You're taking a lot of chances lately. Don't think I haven't noticed."

"It's the only way we win," you retort. Your voice is harsh, your words more biting than you intend, and he flinches, his shoulders slumping. You let out a heavy sigh and place a hand on his arm, giving him a reassuring squeeze. "Trust me. I know what I'm doing."

"You better," he mutters, his hand coming up to cover yours. "If you get yourself killed, I'm gonna be really pissed. And don't think Rex won't be, either."

Your heart skips a beat at the mention of his name, and you pull your hand away, clearing your throat.

"You worry too much," you say, offering him a weak smile. "I'll be fine."

"Right," he replies. His expression softens, and his hand falls to his side. "Just...come back. All of you. Okay?"

"We will," you assure him. You turn and gesture for Snap to join you. "Come on, we're burning daylight."

The ravine is a jagged scar in the land, cutting deep through the valley, its steep cliffs lined with loose rock and vegetation. It's narrow, just wide enough for three men to traverse shoulder to shoulder, and the perfect place to bottleneck an enemy.

The plan is simple: let the droids enter, detonate the charges, and force the survivors into a close-quarters engagement. One they won’t walk away from.

You crouch behind a boulder at the ridge’s edge, peering down into the path below. The morning sun casts long shadows across the jagged rock walls, but it does little to ease the weight settling in your chest. You stretch your senses outward, brushing against the cold, mechanical signatures approaching from the north.

The droids are close.

Snap shifts beside you, his rifle braced against his shoulder. He's watching the ravine below, scanning the terrain, searching for any signs of movement. The others are waiting elsewhere out of sight, hidden in the shadows, ready to strike.

"I've got eyes on 'em," Snap murmurs. "Looks like... a full squad of commandos, maybe two. Moving in formation."

You exhale slowly, fingers curling around the hilts of your lightsabers. "Then we stick to the plan."

Screwball, perched on a ledge above, snorts.

"You say that like plans don’t go to hell the second we start shooting," he says, his voice barely audible through the comm. "We ready to light this thing up, or what?"

"Just hold your position," you reply. "Wait for my signal."

"Whatever you say, sir."

You glance back at him to see his posture is relaxed, his arms draped over his knees. The detonator is clutched loosely in his right hand, his thumb resting on the trigger. He seems calm, almost bored, and you can't help but envy his composure.

"Stay focused," you remind him, and he chuckles.

"Don't worry, General. I know how to handle myself."

You roll your eyes and turn back to the ravine. The droids march into view, moving with an unsettling precision. Unlike the standard B1s or even B2s, these commandos are sleek, built for agility. Their movements are eerily smooth, nearly silent, and in their hands are dual-bladed staffs made of a strange, dark metal.

Your pulse steadies. You can feel the moment hovering on the edge of action, that perfect, weightless second before a fight begins. The anticipation is always the worst, and the adrenaline is coursing through your veins, heightening your senses, sharpening your focus. Your heart is beating slow, your muscles coiled, ready to strike.

Then, with a wave of your hand, you give the signal.

The first blast rings out, echoing off the rock walls. It's followed by a second, a third, a fourth, the explosions rippling along the canyon walls in a cascade of rock and dust. The blast takes out the lead droids instantly, their metal forms crushed beneath tons of debris. The rest reel back, momentarily thrown into disarray.

"Go!"

Snap and the others move as one, blasters lighting up the smoke-filled canyon. You take a deep breath and ignite your blades, launching yourself over the ledge. You hit the ground hard, landing in the fray with a controlled burst of the Force, sending the nearest commando droid skidding backward.

Your lightsaber arcs through the air, slicing through the first droid, its body falling in two pieces. The second is already moving, its staff swinging down, and you move to block with your blade before remembering at the last moment that the cortosis will resist the plasma. You pivot, narrowly dodging the attack, and swing again, this time severing the droid's arm at the shoulder.

A bolt sizzles past you, slamming into the droid's chest, and it falls backward, collapsing to the ground. Another shot rings out, and the droid's head explodes, sending shrapnel flying. You duck, barely avoiding a piece of metal as it whizzes by.

Dash and Snap are beside you, their blasters trained on the remaining droids, their shots finding their targets with deadly accuracy. You spin, deflecting another bolt and bringing your blades down, carving a deep gash in the chest of a nearby droid. The commando falls back, its movements sluggish, and a second bolt pierces its head, causing it to fall limp.

A third and fourth droid approach, their blades swinging, and you deflect their attacks, pushing back against their onslaught. You're holding your own, but the enemy isn't faltering. The commandos regroup, adjusting, adapting. One of them moves with eerie precision, its blade slicing dangerously close to your ribs. You're forced to sidestep, throwing up a shield to block a second attack.

A warning flares in the Force.

You spin, deflecting a blaster bolt aimed at your head, and the commando is upon you, its blade sailing toward your left arm. The blade of Yaddle's lightsaber fizzles and dies as it connects with the metal, the shock nearly ripping the hilt from your hand. Your other lightsaber snaps up, cutting through the commando's arm, and the staff falls uselessly to the ground.

Your vision tunnels, your focus shifting, and the world slows to a standstill along with your heartbeat. You can hear the hum of your blade, the rasp of metal, the snap-hiss of Dash's blaster. The droids are closing in, and you're surrounded. A bolt grazes your thigh, and another glances off your shoulder. You're moving too slowly, and you can't block them all. You won't be able to keep up.

You can feel the stirrings of something whispering, calling out to you. It's there, just beyond the edge of your mind, a familiar, seductive power. You reach out, and it answers, filling you with a sense of strength, a sense of certainty. A sense of control.

It would be so easy.

So very, very easy.

You could crush the droids without a thought. You know you could. The Force is already singing, urging you forward, beckoning you, begging for release. Just a taste. Just a moment. That's all it would take. A snap of your fingers, a whisper on the wind, and the battle would be won. You could save the men, and no harm would come to them. Not if you did this. Not if you took matters into your own hands.

"General, look out!"

Snap pushes you out of the way, the butt of his rifle connecting with the side of a commando's head, sending it reeling. He ducks under the blade as you've seen him do a hundred times during training, bringing his rifle up and firing a single shot directly underneath the droid's chin. The commando goes still, its head jerking backwards before its body falls lifelessly to the ground.

He's panting, his helmet tilted, and his visor is locked onto you, his shoulders tense.

"You okay?" Snap asks, his voice tight, and you nod and swallow hard.

"Thanks."

"What the hell was that, sir? You stopped moving."

You shake your head and straighten, gripping your lightsabers tightly. Yaddle's blade hums to life again, and the hilt feels strangely cold, a chill creeping up your arm.

"Nothing," you reply. "Don't worry about it. Let's finish this."

"Copy that," he mutters. He lifts his blaster and fires, taking down a nearby commando, its head exploding in a shower of sparks. "Watch your six."

You glance to the side just in time to see a droid rushing toward you, its blade raised. You dodge, sidestepping and swinging your own blade, catching the staff as it sails past. The staff breaks in two, and both halves swipe toward you, striking your shoulder and knocking you back. The impact sends you staggering, your boots sliding on the loose dirt, and your feet slip from underneath you.

Dash is there before you can right yourself, stepping in front of you and ducking under the droid’s staff, his own vibroblade flashing in the sun. He slashes upward, severing the its arm at the elbow, and spins, his leg snapping out and catching the droid in the chest. It flies backward, crashing into the rock wall. Its body is mangled, the metal twisted and bent, and it crumples to the ground, unmoving.

Dash turns, his hand outstretched, and you can't help but smile.

“You’re still leaving your left side open,” you tease. You clasp his hand, and he pulls you to your feet, his helmet tilting to the side.

"What, that wasn't good?"

You can’t help but laugh before you wince, grabbing your injured shoulder. The blade failed to cut through your armor, but you can feel the bruise forming already.

"It was better," you concede.

Screwball lands on the ground behind you with a thud, his boots kicking up a cloud of dust. He raises his blaster, firing a series of shots, and a trio of droids collapse. They fall into a heap, and he lets out a whoop, spinning around and shooting another commando as it charges him.

"That's the last of 'em," he declares. He slings his rifle over his shoulder and gestures to the wreckage, a cocky tilt to his stance. "You should put me in charge of your training sessions, General. I could teach the men a thing or two."

You shake your head, still clutching your shoulder. "I'll consider it."

He lets out a bark of laughter and turns, surveying the destruction. You take a moment to catch your breath, the adrenaline starting to wear off, and your legs are shaking. You can feel the exhaustion settling in, the familiar ache spreading through your limbs, and the pain in your shoulder is worsening.

"That was easier than I expected," Screwball says. He nudges a nearby droid with his foot, his helmet tilting to the side. "Almost disappointingly easy."

Snap lets out a sigh. “Don’t jinx it, vod. We're not done yet."

The comm crackles, and a voice comes through, faint but distinct.

"Sir, this is Booker. We have a situation."

You and Snap share a look. Screwball snorts, and the captain shakes his head at him, pointing an accusatory finger. "Told you."

"Report," you say, tapping the commlink in your wrist gauntlet. "What's going on?"

“Our party guests never showed,” Booker answers grimly. "Looks like we got played."

"Shit," you breathe, and your gaze snaps up, scanning the area. The ravine is still, the morning sun casting long shadows across the rocky ground. Nothing stirs, and the only noise is the wind whistling through the narrow gap. But there's a heaviness in the air, an invisible presence, a cold sensation pressing down on your senses. “They could still be coming."

"I don't think so," Snap replies. His helmet tilts up, and he points to the sky, where a cloud of smoke is rising in the distance. "That's not a good sign."

The comm crackles, and a voice comes through. It's strained, distorted, and filled with static.

"—epeat, we—eing atta—"

"Luminara?" you ask, tapping the commlink. "Do you copy?"

"—eady?—an't—"

"Master, can you hear me?"

There's nothing but static, and you curse, tapping the link again. It's no use. The transmission has been cut off, and the heavy feeling in the air has only gotten worse. Your gaze shifts back to the sky, where the column of smoke is darkening, a thick cloud rising over the valley.

“Find a droid with its memory core intact,” you order, and the men scramble, searching the wreckage. "We need to know what we're up against."

You take a step forward, your gaze fixed on the smoke. The weight is almost unbearable, a pressure on your mind, an invisible fist squeezing. You can feel it trying to force you down, trying to make you bend. And it's only getting stronger.

“Booker," you murmur, your voice tight, and you can hear the unease in his response. "Tell me you're seeing this."

"I see it, General,” he answers. “Looks like it’s coming from the capitol. Whatever the hell this is, it's bad."

"Yeah, I got that," you reply, and the smoke continues to billow, a black plume against the blue sky. 

Your pulse is pounding, a lump in your throat. It's just like the visions. The smoke. The screaming. The bodies. It's all there. And it's happening right now.

"We need to get moving," you say. You turn and start walking, the men falling in behind you. Screwball props his foot on the chest of the droid he’s looming over and wrenches its head off, tossing it to Dash. "Now. Work fast. We need that data."

Snap catches up to you, his footsteps quick.

"Is everything okay, General?" he asks. He lowers his voice, glancing over his shoulder at the others. "You're not looking so hot."

"I'm fine," you snap, and he stiffens, his pace slowing. "Sorry. It's just...it's nothing."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure," you reply. "I'm not hurt."

"That's not what I'm talking about, and you know it," he counters. His voice is gentle, his tone cautious, and he matches your pace, his posture stiff. "You froze up out there. The last time I saw you like that, you…”

You turn away, avoiding his gaze. Snap is the only person who’s ever seen the extent of the ability you keep locked away, the only one to bear witness to the amount of destruction the blast of energy could cause. It was a mistake, a loss of control. He was the first person to see the true depth of the darkness in your heart. And you know he hasn’t forgotten.

"Don't worry," you mutter. You can feel the anger simmering in your chest, the frustration. "I have no intention of repeating that mistake."

He sighs. "It's not a mistake, it's just—"

"It is," you insist, turning back. Your eyes are stinging, and your hand curls into a fist, nails biting into the flesh of your palm. "It's not who I am. And it's not who I want to be."

He pauses, his shoulders slumping, and the silence between you is heavy. The wind blows, scattering the dust at your feet, and the smell of smoke fills your nose, the air thick with the scent of ash and burnt metal. You can't help but shudder, and you know Snap notices.

"It's just..." he says, and the words catch, his voice rough. "I've seen what that power can do. I've seen what you're capable of." He glances over his shoulder and looks back at you, his head tilted down, his voice dropping. "And if you're gonna go head-to-head with that thing, I want to make sure you're doing it on purpose."

"It's under control," you repeat. You take a deep breath, forcing your voice to remain even, your gaze focused. "I won't let it get the better of me."

"I trust you," he murmurs. He places a hand on your arm, his grip gentle, his fingers squeezing. "I trust you, but I also care about you, and I know how much you hate yourself for using that ability."

"Snap," you whisper, your heart aching. You don't deserve his concern. You don't deserve his kindness. But he gives it freely, and it only adds to the guilt twisting in your gut. "Please. I can't talk about this right now. We have a mission."

"Right," he agrees. He nods, his helmet bobbing, and his hand falls to his side. "Right. Sorry."

You give him a weak smile. "It's okay. We'll talk about it later."

"You always say that."

"Because we will," you assure him. "I promise."

The comm crackles, and Booker's voice rings out, cutting through the silence.

“General, just got word from Gree,” he says, and the knot in your stomach tightens. "They’re under heavy fire in the capitol."

You lift up your commlink, and the holoprojection of Booker flickers to life. He's pacing, his helmet tucked under his arm, and his expression is drawn, his jaw set.

"How heavy?"

"A full-on siege," he replies, stopping to turn toward you. He shakes his head, and the image stutters. "They've barricaded themselves in the central square. If we don't hurry, they won't last long."

You exhale slowly, steeling yourself. 

“Don't wait for us," you order. “Take the transports and get to the city now. Reinforce General Unduli and hold the line until we get there.”

Booker hesitates, his eyes searching yours. Then, with a nod, he replies, "Copy that, sir. See you soon."

The image flickers out, and you lower your arm, taking a deep breath. You stop walking and look over at the squad, where Screwball is holding the droid’s head out for Dash. The young trooper has jacked into the port on the back of its head, the other end tethered to his datapad. You can see the information scrolling across the screen, and you gesture for him to join you.

"Got something," he calls, and he jogs over, holding up the device. The data is streaming across the screen, and the map is flashing. You can see the layout of the town and the location of the main square. "Looks like they're moving on the capitol. They rerouted all of their forces."

"They knew we were waiting for them in the village," Snap mutters. He steps beside you, his helmet tilted. "But why still send a commando unit out here instead of using them for the siege?"

"That's a damn good question," Screwball agrees. "Maybe they figured the droids could handle us?"

"Unlikely," you reply, and the map is flashing again. It zooms in, revealing the path the droids took, a route directly toward the capitol. "They were leading us away from the main battle. Leading me away."

"Leading you away?" Dash asks. "Why would they want to do that? Seems like a waste of resources."

“Dooku had a shiny new toy he wanted to show off," Screwball suggests. He grins, his visor glinting. "Maybe he wants to play with our Jedi."

"He's playing with fire," you mutter. Your gaze shifts to the sky, where the smoke is rising, the plume dark and ominous. "We're going to have to move on foot. Send everything you have to Booker and Gree. Tell them what we're facing."

Dash nods, tapping the console before he looks up at the sky.

"You think Master Unduli and the 41st are gonna be okay?" he asks, his voice quiet, and his helmet turns, his visor gleaming in the light. "I mean, they're gonna have their hands full without us, right?"

You let out a slow breath and try to calm your mind. It's harder than usual. These past few months of constant battles have worn down your shields. You're struggling to find the stillness within, and your many attempts to draw the darkness into the light and transform it have been futile. Yaddle's teachings feel more and more like a memory of a bygone era, a dream half-remembered, a shadow of what could have been. A shadow of who you could have been.

You know that Luminara will succeed. She has a lifetime of training and discipline behind her, a lifetime of experience and wisdom. She's a beacon of light in the Force, a pillar of strength. She's everything you're not, and she's everything you should have been. And she has an entire legion of men to help her.

So, yes. You know she will succeed.

The question is at what cost.

"They’ll be fine," you say, the lie burning on your tongue. Dash relaxes slightly, and his helmet tilts back toward the sky, the clouds drifting lazily overhead. "Let's get moving. We've got a job to do."

By the time you reach the capitol, the city is already burning. Flames are consuming buildings, smoke billowing from shattered windows and crumbling walls. The defensive wall has been breached, and droid tanks are rolling through the streets, their guns firing incessantly into buildings with seemingly no pattern.

It's chaos.

You've fought for the Republic long and hard. You've bled for the Republic. And you've lost men. Too many.

But this...this is unlike anything you've seen.

Screwball's hand finds the back of your head, pushing you down behind the cover of the rubble as a squadron of vulture droids pass overhead, the whine of their engines echoing off the broken buildings. Two Republic fighters painted with the green of the 41st are in pursuit, but the droids are too fast, and they evade the blasts easily. They soar over the rooftops, and the fighters are forced to break off, looping around to regroup.

You take a deep breath and lean back against the broken concrete, the rough texture digging into your spine. The smell of ash is in the air, burning stone, metal, and something worse. Something organic.

“General Unduli’s position is—” Static erupts from your comm, and all ten of the troopers turn their heads toward you. “—east sector—cut off—heavy casualties—”

A sudden explosion racks the building beside you, and you throw up a shield to deflect the debris. Shards of rock and chunks of metal rain down around you, and a nearby AT-TE topples, its treads snapping as it crashes into the street.

You grit your teeth and close your eyes, reaching out through the Force, trying to locate Luminara and Barriss. You can sense them, but the connection is faint. Their signatures are distant, their presence shrouded by the fog of the battle.

"We need to get to the main square," you tell the men. "We're getting cut off. Luminara and Barriss are in danger."

"That's great and all, but how the hell are we gonna do that?" Screwball asks, his tone clipped. He glances over his shoulder and ducks down as another explosion rocks the city, sending a shower of dust and ash falling from the sky. "If those things spot us, we're toast."

He's right. The entire avenue leading toward General Unduli’s last known position is blocked by swaths of droids. Separatist reinforcements are pouring in faster than Republic forces can push them back. You can hear the clones fighting street by street, alley by alley, but the tide is shifting, and the droids are advancing.

You take a deep breath and center yourself, focusing on the task athand. It's not just about getting to Luminara and Barriss. There are civilians trapped in the crossfire. Families. Children. Innocents. You have a duty to protect them. And that means you need to find a way through.

Dash moves closer, crouching beside you. "I have an idea."

"Let's hear it."

"Well," he says, his voice low, and his visor gleams. "It's probably a really stupid idea, but I think it could work."

"Oh, boy," Screwball mutters.

"What's your plan?"

He points toward a series of cables dangling from the side of a nearby building, and your eyes narrow. "You're not serious."

He huffs. "Got a better idea?"

You glance at the cables again and shake your head. "Fine. But we need to make this quick."

"Then follow my lead."

Before you can argue, Dash launches himself out of cover and begins sprinting toward the opposite side of the street. You curse and follow after him, the rest of the squad close behind. The droids are still occupied with the AT-TEs, their backs turned, and the distraction buys you a precious moment of time.

Scaling the side of the building is a challenge, but you're able to use the Force to pull yourself up. You reach the roof just as the droids notice your squad, their heads swiveling toward the men. The first bolt is already flying, and it narrowly misses Dash's helmet, slamming into the building behind him.

You and the squad race across the roof, dodging shots and leaping across the gaps between the buildings. Below, the droids are scrambling, their cannons swiveling up toward you, and the sky is filled with a hail of fire. Blasts streak past you, and you're forced to throw up a shield, deflecting the incoming projectiles. One bolt skims past your arm, slicing through the cloth between your shoulder plate and rerebrace. You bite back a yelp and push forward, urging the men onward.

The gap ahead is wider than the others, the distance too great to jump. Instead, you leap onto the edge and push off, using the Force to propel yourself across.

"Two at a time, I'll catch you!" you shout.

"Copy that," Dash calls. He slows and turns to the nearest clone, shoving him forward. "You're up, Screwball."

"Why do I have to go first?" Screwball grumbles. He glances over the edge of the building, his shoulders sagging. "Shit."

"Because you're the slowest," Dash replies, his tone matter-of-fact. "And I want to make sure we get there in time."

Screwball mutters something under his breath, and he braces himself, preparing for the jump. Another trooper, Fuse, nudges him as he lines up his jump, and the two of them leap across the gap. You catch them with a wave of the Force, carrying them safely to the other side.

The rest of the squad follows, leaping across in pairs. Each time, you catch them and lower them gently to the ground. 

It's exhausting work, and you're beginning to feel the strain of the battle. The constant fighting, the constant running, the constant use of the Force has left you drained. Your limbs are heavy, your lungs aching, and your injuries are only getting worse. You can barely lift the arm that was wounded by the cortosis blade, and your shoulder is throbbing, the pain pulsing in time with your heartbeat. You're running on pure adrenaline and willpower. It's the only thing keeping you going.

Your arm wavers as Snap and another trooper make the leap, and you let out a gasp as they drop. They fall halfway across, their bodies crashing into the side of the building. You reach out, catching them and pulling them up, but the effort leaves you breathless. The men scramble over the edge and roll onto the roof, their armor scratched and dented.

"That was a hell of a catch, sir," Snap wheezes. He pushes himself to his feet and gives the other man a hand up. "Thanks."

"Anytime," you mutter. You stand, taking a moment to steady yourself, and the world tilts. You lean heavily against Fuse, his arm steadying you. "I think we're almost there."

"You're wounded, sir," he says. His fingers brush the raw burn bisecting your arm, and you wince, hissing between your teeth. "I've got bacta gel, let me patch it up."

"It can wait," you insist, shaking your head. You straighten and take a deep breath, willing yourself to stay upright. "We're close. We can't afford to stop."

He grumbles, but you don't give him a chance to argue, and you lead the squad toward the edge of the building. The main square is in view, the plaza choked with smoke, the buildings surrounding it ablaze. The battle has spilled into the streets, a sea of white and green and gold fighting against an army of metal. It's chaos.

"We're nearly there," you call, and the men pick up the pace.

"General, I'm detecting movement," Snap calls. "Incoming!"

A Republic fighter streaks overhead, and the droids shift their attention, their guns tracking the ship. A blast connects, and the fighter spins out of control, the engines sputtering. The ship crashes into the rooftop on the opposite side of the square, sending debris and shrapnel raining down into the fray.

“We drop in hard and fast. Shock and break their ranks before they realize what’s happening," you command. You pause, taking a moment to steel yourself, and your fingers curl around the hilt of Yaddle's lightsaber. The hilt is warm beneath your touch, a comfort. "Be careful. There are civilians in the area."

"Yes, sir," the men chorus.

"Good. Move out!"

With that, the squad launches themselves off the building, their armored bodies plummeting toward the ground. The troopers land hard, their boots pounding against the ground, and they move quickly, falling into formation. They spread out, weapons raised, and begin firing on the droids.

You land a moment later, and you're moving before the shock wears off. Your lightsabers swing wide, cutting through a pair of droids, and the troopers press forward, their guns blazing. They fight like a well-oiled machine, each man knowing exactly where the other is, where he needs to be. They work in perfect synchronization, and the droids are overwhelmed, their ranks crumbling.

But the fighting isn't easy. The droids are relentless, and the clones are outnumbered. Fuse takes a hit to the chest and goes down, a scorch mark seared across his breastplate. Screwball dives, grabbing his arm and dragging him out of the line of fire, and a pair of troopers flank him, their blasters lighting up the air.

"Push through!" you order. You deflect a bolt aimed at a clone's head, your lightsaber flashing, and the droid explodes. "We need to reach General Unduli!"

Snap falls into step beside you, his rifle pressed against his shoulder. He fires a series of shots, taking down three droids in quick succession.

"She's holed up in the capitol building," he says. He points to a tower looming over the square, its walls crumbling, its windows shattered. A few troopers peek out of the upper windows every few seconds to fire on the droids before retreating, only to reappear a moment later. "That's where they're holding out."

You can sense Luminara's presence now. Her signature is unmistakable, her power rippling through the Force. She's still standing, but you can sense the pain radiating from her. It's like a physical weight pressing down on you, and it only adds to your exhaustion.

"We need to hurry," you say.

A pair of vulture droids scream overhead, their wings folding back as they dive toward the ground. A clone on a nearby rooftop fires a rocket, and the projectile connects, sending the fighter spiraling out of control.

You watch in horror as it spirals toward where Dash and several other troopers are engaged with a group of droids. The fighter crashes into the ground, and a wall of smoke and flame erupts, sending men and droids alike flying.

"Dash!" you shout. "Snap, find him! Go!"

"Yes, sir!"

Snap launches himself toward the crash site, his blaster held high. He ducks and rolls, firing a shot that blows apart a droid's chest, and he's up again, sprinting into the smoke. The rest of the men follow, and you force yourself to turn away toward the capitol building, where a line of droids has formed, blocking the entrance.

The battle rages around you, a blur of noise and fire and smoke. You can't tell the droids apart from the clones anymore. You just keep pushing, tears stinging your eyes as you slash and cut and slice. The droids fall around you, and you don't stop. You're not sure you even breath until you're inside the capitol building, the doors slamming shut behind you.

"Master," a voice says, and you turn to see Barriss, her expression drawn. Her robes are stained with blood, her head covering torn. "Thank the Force."

"Are you alright?" you ask, and she nods, her lips pressing together. "Where's Luminara?"

"She's resting," Barriss replies. She gestures for you to follow, and she leads you deeper into the building. "We were forced to retreat after our forces were pushed back. There's only a handful of our squad left."

You follow her up the stairs and into the main chamber. It's a functional room, plain and unadorned, a testament to Nadiem’s agricultural roots. Two troopers are positioned at the entrance, and a third is tending to a wounded comrade, wrapping bandages around his arm. Luminara is leaning on a pillar, her hand clutching her side and watching the scene. She straightens as you enter, her expression softening.

"You took your time," she teases, her smile faint. She looks weary, her eyes heavy, and there's a bruise blooming along her jaw. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd forgotten about us."

"Ah, well. You know me, always fashionably late," you reply. You return her smile and move toward her, your gaze shifting to her side. "How badly are you hurt?"

"Just a scratch," she says. She moves her hand, and you can see a deep gash in her side, the edges singed. But the bleeding has stopped, and the wound isn't as bad as it could be. "Barriss has handled the worst of it."

"Good work," you praise, and Barriss flushes, ducking her head. "I'm sorry we were delayed. The situation with the commandos was worse than expected."

Luminara sighs. "I should have known. Dooku is always full of tricks."

"We're just glad you made it," Barriss says. Her gaze shifts, and her brow furrows. "Are you alright? You look...unwell."

You try to hide your grimace at the question. It's one you've heard enough of today, and you feel a flash of irritation, though it's not directed at Barriss.

"I'm fine," you lie.

The wound on your arm throbs, and the smell of blood and smoke is everywhere. You can't tell the difference between the two anymore. It's all just death. All just pain. And you can't take it anymore. Your body is shaking, and you want to collapse, to curl up in a corner and cry, but you can't.

There's a voice in the back of your head that whispers to you, reminding you that you have the power to end this, to save the clones. It would be so easy. Just a snap of your fingers. A flick of your wrist. You could have the whole thing over in a matter of minutes.

You bite your cheek, tasting blood, and you squeeze your eyes shut. It's tempting. So, so tempting. But you know what will happen if you give in. The darkness will consume you. And what happened here on Nadiem will pale in comparison to what will happen elsewhere. To what you will become.

No.

You can't.

You won't.

But, Maker, you want to.

"It's been a hell of a day," you offer when the silence has dragged too long. You try to keep your voice light, but the words come out strained. "I'll be fine once I get a chance to sit down."

Luminara's eyes narrow.

"General!"

You whip around, your head snapping toward the entrance. Booker is standing in the doorway, his helmet tucked under his arm. He's out of breath, his hair disheveled, his uniform covered in dirt and soot. But he's alive. He's alive.

And he's smiling.

"You're not gonna believe this," he pants. "But they're retreating."

"What?" you gasp.

"I know," he says. He grins, and the rest of the men begin pouring in behind him. "Looks like they ran out of tricks. The reinforcements are pulling out."

The wave of relief that crashes over you is staggering, drowning out the pain and fatigue and worry. Your legs threaten to buckle, and you have to grab the wall for support, the stone rough beneath your fingers.

Booker pushes past the rest of the men and grabs you, his arms wrapping around your waist and lifting you off the ground. He spins you around, and the motion only adds to the dizziness.

"Put me down," you laugh. He obliges, setting you back on your feet, and you lean heavily against him, your eyes falling shut. "Kriff. I didn't think we'd make it."

He huffs. "Don't be so dramatic."

Your head lolls, and he steadies you, his hands on your shoulders. You force your eyes open, blinking away the black spots that swim in your vision.

"Dash?" you ask. "Snap? Is everyone...?"

"We're all fine, sir," Booker replies. His tone is soft, reassuring, and he holds up a finger. "Well, Fuse is a bit banged up, but he'll pull through. Wise is already reading him the riot act about not taking cover sooner."

Your shoulders sag. "Thank the Force."

"General!"

Your head snaps toward the door, and Snap is striding across the room, a smile on his face. You break away from Booker and launch yourself toward him, and he catches you, his arms encircling you.

"Snap, are you okay? Are the others—"

"They're fine," he promises. His voice is warm, and his hands rub circles on your back, his touch gentle. "We're all okay."

You relax, melting into his embrace. The world is spinning, but it doesn't matter. He's safe. Everyone is safe.

And you're so, so tired.

Your knees give out, and Snap's arms tighten around you, holding you up. "General."

"M'okay," you murmur, your forehead resting against his chest plate. His heart is pounding, his body trembling. "I'm okay."

He lets out a shaky laugh. "You're not."

He's right. But it doesn't matter.

You've won. You're alive.

And you're still holding on.

taglist: @baddest-batchers @lolwey @chocolatewastelandtriumph @hobbititties @mere-bear

@thegreatpipster @tentakelspektakel @notslaybabes @aynavaano @floofyroro

@ayyyy-le-simp @mali-777 @schrodingersraven @megmegalodondon @dangraccoon

@heavenseed76 @dreamie411 @sukithebean @bimboshaggy @bunny7567

@lostqueenofegypt @9902sgirl @jedi-dreea @salaminus @heidnspeak

@ghostymarni @gottalovehistory @mrcaptainrex @burningnerdchild @yoitsjay

@callsign-denmark @julli-bee @moonychicky @captn-trex @feral-ferrule

@webslinger-holland @marchingviolist @cw80831 @chaicilatte @somewhere-on-kamino

@sensitive-shark @kashasenpai @kkdrawsdecently @isaidonyourknees @awkwardwookie

@sugarrush-blush @lunaastars @capricornrabies @champagnejaig @silly-starfish

[rooksunday]

fluffcember day sixteen: chocolate

"Go on, sweetheart, try this one next."

Breha nudged one of the truffles closer. The white chocolate truffle had a dusting of pink sugar crystals and gave off a rich, sweet aroma, even across the distance from the coffee table to where Fox sat on the low-slung couch. The truffle was maybe the size of Fox's thumb knuckle and sat in a copper-coloured foil casing delicately shaped to resemble the opening bud of a flower.

Fox eyed it like a primed charge.

"I'm not sure. Why don't you have it?" he asked.

"You know I can't have too many sweet things with my medication. Go on," Breha coaxed, scooching closer to him on the couch. "I want you to try it."

Fox rubbed at his lips with his fingers, eyeing the threat. He'd just gathered courage to try another polite rebuff—he should've paid more attention when he still worked at the Senate—when another truffle, this one dark chocolate with the rising scent of something earthy and inviting, presented on deep green foil, was gently nudged into his eyeline.

"Perhaps this one instead? It was made with a spiced liqueur I think you'll enjoy," Bail said, smiling the say-nothing smile he kept for the media, even as he pressed into Fox from the other side of the couch.

"Oh, darling, I think you're right. Yes, Fox, do try that one next. Then you can cleanse your palate with the champagne truffle," Breha said, with a decisive nod and a firm pat to Fox's knee. Her hand lingered on Fox's leg, her fingers curled toward his inner thigh, not quite low enough to be unintentional.

"You're determined," Fox said, not displeased.

"We just want you to have the best," Bail said, almost blandly.

Breha nodded. "We do enjoy the finest things. After all, that's why we chose you, isn't it?"

Fox made an embarrassed, boiling-kettle kind of noise, of the type he'd never made before meeting Bail and Breha. He never knew what to say to that sort of thing, only that please stop would have been comically far from the truth, and all three of them knew it. Someday, he hoped to respond to their affection with the same casual honesty. For now, he pressed first Breha, and then Bail, lightly with his shoulders; a gentle version of the way clones clattered each other's pauldrons. They both pressed back. They knew his language.

"Then that's settled," Bail said, and plucked up the chosen chocolate with his long, clever fingers.

He held the truffle toward Fox's lips, one hand cupped beneath the treat to catch any falling powdered sugar. The carelessly graceful motion nearly made Fox's breath catch. Heat touched his cheeks. Breha's hand slid further toward Fox's groin as she leaned in closer, her subtle perfume claiming further ground over Fox's decaying composure.

"Open up," Bail murmured, completely unnecessarily.

Fox licked his lips. Falling back on his training and experience, he quickly assessed the situation: he sat bracketed by two attractive, confident, wealthy beings, on their plush couch, in their warm and comfortable house, being insistently fed sumptuous, expensive chocolates. By hand. Again. Then, when the chocolates were gone, he would be invited to an equally warm, comfortable, and expensive bed, and lovingly fucked within an inch of his life.

Fox closed his eyes, and opened up.