#do you think they thought you were cloned?

[superscourge]

Could you tell us some lil fun facts about the imposter au, please? It’s genuinely so good I adore it-

i can try to loredump about it real quick!! just off the toppa my head..

just to establish what the au is again: imposter au is an au set in the idw-verse where scourge is a literal clone of sonic created by dr. starline using chaos energy in order to replace sonic! he began to think for himself too well for starline to control at some point and started seeing through his lies and manipulation, and he eventually broke away from him and went to the restoration to help him take starline down as revenge for selfishly creating him and bringing him into the world without an identity of his own..

some little tidbits ive thought up that i wanna explore in some way down the line (i could do fics or mini comics idk. depends on how i feel):

scourge keeps his true identity as a sonic clone a secret from the resistance for as long as he can, telling them his name is scourge from the start--the name he chose for himself after escaping starline--and he doesnt get his identity revealed until starline outs him during a confrontation where scourge helps the restoration bust into one of his bases but starline already knew they were coming so he made it look like scourge led them into a trap as part of a bigger plan :P

scourge and the restoration (convinced by amy) agree to help each other because they both share starline as a common enemy, but scourge is basically assigned a babysitter to watch his every move because they definitely dont feel like they can trust him after everything so far. that babysitter is silver!

silver 100% does not trust scourge for a while at first, but after spending more time with him and getting him to open up a bit more (accidentally..) and i guess kinda seeing him more as a person, they form a sorta bond that is kinda similar to sonic and tails ^^

scourge was meant as a sort of "prototype" for surge and kit! he didnt know this though until he's confronted by them later which is great bc he was already having issues with feeling like he didnt have a place in the world and then surge shows up and further hammers in that he was expendable from the start :P (this actually ties in with a mini comic ive been wanting to do for agesssss i hope im able to get it out eventually..)

shadow actually shows him how to better control his chaos energy and abilities that he's been kind of wild with up to that point! this comes in handy because the first time scourge fights surge she completely wipes the fucking floor with him, but after shadow helps him learn to use his power better (and he discovers the additional power of friendship), he's finally able to best her in battle ^^

over the course of his time with the restoration, scourge kinda learns how to be more of a person as it were :] he unintentionally makes friends and slowly realizes people actually care about him (and that he is able to be cared about in the first place), and eventually, once he finally finds security in his identity apart from being sonic's clone, he decides to stay with them as an ally!

and of course, yes, by the end of it all he does get his cool jacket and shades <3 just. probably a little redesigned lol

genuinely i have brainrot for this au occasionally. it flares up every now and then and i am obsessed w it... i love it a lot

[gingermaybel]

Clones, Cocktails, and Common Senses (or lack thereof)

Decided to post it here too since I spent like a thousand hours translating it into English.

中文版在这里（0人在意）：https://archiveofourown.org/works/63547516

Good news: you’re in Star Wars

Bad news: you’re in the Clone Wars

Worse news: you’re no Jedi, clones, or politicians, but a (graduated) social&humanities student. which means you get to work the most boring job in the lamest place stuck with the most annoying customers

(May works at a hopeless bar underground Coruscant, today’s customers are a lil different—or a lil too same?)

1

A group of men was laughing in the bar. May stared at them.

No, nothing like what it sounded like. Sure, they did look good, but they also looked like they couldn’t scrape a single credit for a tip out of pockets-not that they even had pockets to begin with. Their armours were made out of plastic, nothing like the Mandalorians in holomovies but more of a bunch of suck cosplayers. The total eight of them ordered five of the cheapest drinks on the menu to share, and had been sitting there chatting loudly for two hours. No extra orders, politely declining refills, not even asking her for the toilet code. May was a little sad. She needed tips-with the bar's base pay, she could only afford a plastic shack propped up by two wooden sticks 3600 levels below the surface of Coruscant. But she didn't need medical bills, and if she told these muscleheads to either tip or leave, that might be the only thing she'd walk away with.

The downsides of working in the lower levels.

(Not that there were any upsides.)

They were the only customers in the bar. It was midday cycle in this district, only these men and May’s business-illiterate boss would think this was the best time to grab a drink. Even the two Zabrak bouncers—whose salaries were slightly higher than hers—were nowhere to be seen. Have to be when they’d actually be useful for once! She sighed and remained sitting cross-legged on the bar counter, waiting for them to leave.

Seemed like they’ve started an argument at some point when she lost concentration. Then, a man with two odd yellow markings tattooed on his cheeks waved at her. “Sir—Ma’am, may I ask you something?”

May rolled her eyes internally but still put on her best work smile as she hopped down and walked over.

“This thing,” the next man to speak had a white eye and a scarlet scar running across it. There was a picture of a Corellian rose just as red in his datapad. “Is it a war declaration sign for you natborns?”

“Uh, no?” May blinked. “If you mean the Twi’leks, we usually see Corellian red roses as a symbol of romantic love. That’s pretty universal across most cultures.”

“…Which means?” The man with a jagged scar curling around his left eye asked.

“One of you received roses?” she asked. “Someone wants to bang you.”

All eight of them—whether had spoken before or not—burst into cheers all at once. Someone’s wolf-whistling when the rest of them took turns slamming the back of the guy in red armour, almost knocking him into the level below.

May’s lekku twitched nervously at the noise. The scene was oddly familiar, anyone who grew up in a big family could easily tell the resemblance-

“Are you brothers?” The intrusive thought left her mouth before her brain could stop it.

Silence. They turned to her in sync with the same strange look on their faces.

“I—I mean, uh—it’s just you guys look kinda alike. And my cousins act the same way when they—”

“We guys look kinda alike.” The man with a “58” tattooed on his left temple repeated flatly.

“I’m not good at telling human faces apart, sorry—”

“I don’t think she’s making fun of us, brothers.” The man with two red stripes of hairs murmured.

“Wh-why would I be?” May asked incredulously. “What else am I supposed to—”

“You don’t keep up with the news much, do you, ma’am?” The bald man with some stubble asked.

She was getting dizzy from looking back and forth figuring out who’s talking.

“Are you busy, ma’am?” The one closest to her scooted over, patting the spot next to him. “Wanna sit and chat for a bit? If we tell you what we are, could you tell us more about this Corellian red rose?”

2

Bly, Gree, Monnk, Fox—May didn’t even bother to list all their names. These guys multiplied like cockroaches, if she had to remember all of them, she might as well grow a third pair of lekku as a new brain. The clones met each other at the bar whenever they had the chance, but that classic eight-man group never gathered in full again. There always had to be someone not on Coruscant but on the latest battlefront being broadcast on the holonews. May was still having a hard time to believe that these clueless beans were what the senators on the surface called the fist of the Republic. In fact, when you think about it, putting all your hope of not getting kidnapped to serve gasolines in some droid bars in the hands of a bunch of idiots who thought grandpa was a genre of holomovies was a pretty idiotic thing to do itself.

They brought in new guys, and those guys brought in even more newer guys. That was when May realised that the same people who had spent hours pestering her about natborn courtship rituals were actually some sort of officers in their field. It felt weird watching one group of identical dorks following after another group of identical dorks calling them commanders. Unlike their COs, these captains, sergeants, and privates were stiff as hell, standing at attention like making mission reports when they ordered drinks. As long as they weren’t passed out drunk, they would even clean up the tables and take out their trash before leaving. May wanted to tell them to loosen up a little before they scared off the other customers, but there were no other customers left to be scared off before she could realise it. The Humans, Trandoshans, Ithorians, and all other sentients you’d expect in an underground bar had started avoiding this place entirely.

At least May’s boss was happy enough. The Republic didn’t pay its troopers, so they were still sharing drinks and never tipped. But they also had no sense of time, the bar was now always crowded with armoured men no matter time. Little money added up, and their revenue shot way higher than before. The boss had been advertising around to hire stuff for the early shifts, but just like the customers, there weren’t many bartenders eager to share their space with clones. May had been working crazy lately, slept for eight hours in the past three days. However, as the lucky one who had made the OG eight decide to stick around, she got a fat raise out of it. So she decided she could tolerate them.

“Ma’am.” Ponds grinned and flicked two fingers in greeting, Cody tilted his head at her. Four clones she’d never met sat down beside them, all wearing those lizard-like dumbass collars. It meant they were at least lieutenants? May hadn’t figured out the logic behind the troopers’ limited fashion choices yet.

“Evening.” She smiled back, tossing her lekku behind shoulders and pulling out the datapad from her apron. “Bakuran bitters and bloody rancor.” Ponds and Cody both nodded. “And for the new guys?”

“Uh.” Said the green trooper with slicked-back hair. His collar-buddies snickered.

“Get him the most expensive shit you have here, ma’am.” The trooper with ridiculously complex tattoos smirked widely. “Howzer’s getting promoted!”

Across from him, a clone with a blond buzz cut reached out to point at the price on top of the menu. Tattoo guy winced.

“I got this, you useless di’kute.” Sitting beside the blonde was a silver-haired trooper with the same shade of orange as Cody’s painted on her armour. Their heads were gleaming under the disco ball light like two credit ingots. “Made a killing selling titty pics on the holonet.”

“You what?”/“Thanks, Judith!”/“Cool, can I buy some?” Blonde, tattoo guy, and May spoke at the same time.

“I think your ears are working just fine, Rex. You’re welcome but I’ll make you pay me back someday, just wait for it, Keeli. If you stick one of those tiny paper umbrellas in my drink like they do in the holoshows, I’ll give you a discount, sweetheart.” Judith answered them one by one. Cody buried his face into his hands. She winked at him.

“Captain Howzer will take his first assignment on Ryloth.” Ponds flicked the green trooper-Howzer’s collar as May returned with a tray of drinks. He looked awkward. “Can’t say too much, but any dining etiquette we should learn about? Can’t have the kid embarrassing the GAR.”

“I wanna learn too,” said Keeli. “General Di always say Ryloth’s a good place. Should pay it a visit when the war’s over.”

“Oh, so you see a random Twi’lek on the street and just assume she’s from Ryloth?” May shifted her weight, setting a hand on her hip.

“Uh, no, it’s just that your accent—” Ponds spluttered.

“What about it?” She raised her eyebrows.

“I think what he means is—” Cody stepped in, but May burst out laughing before he could finish. The both of them looked thoroughly confused and disturbed.

“I am from Ryloth, trooper.” She grinned, revealing all her canines, Ponds curled up a bit. “This is payback for last time. I’m petty.”

“Gimme your frequency, I’m giving you a lifetime membership.” Judith suddenly declared in the stunned silence. Rex elbowed her in the armpit.

3

Keeli never came back. He and his General Di died defending May’s homeworld. One of May’s cousins said she had seen him fighting side by side with the Syndullas. Cody said Judith wouldn’t be returning either. She didn’t wake up after 18 hours in the bacta tank. The senators on the surface signed the Disposal Confirmation of Damaged Properties.

Cody was sitting alone in the corner, holding the last half-bottle of Chandrilan Blue ’439 that Judith had kindly paid for last time, when he told May that. His eyes bloodshot. Ponds had already headed to the next battle.

May cried the whole night in the shared bathroom of her broken-ass apartment 200 levels underground at the not-so-dignified videos Judith had sent her in the chat.

4

Four rookies sat stiffly in a row at the bar—May now knew that only troopers freshly off of Kamino would wear such shiny white armours. And they sure acted that way: eyes darting around fidgeting in their seats, looking like they might jump up and start saluting at any moment.

Across from them inside the bar was their own rookie, purple little thing with hoofs called Melina. May’s boss disappeared several weeks ago. Sitting in his office now were a smug Senate aide and a red-armoured clone. The former had barely stepped inside the bar before pinching his nose and barking orders for the staff to deep-clean it, muttering about the two billion allergens floating in the air; the latter awkwardly nodded at everyone who waved their mop at him asking him to move over. They’ve taken over the bar—clearly by order of the Senate. May didn’t ask where the boss had gone. He surely was alive and well somewhere in the galaxy—what kind of Weequay would he be without survival skills? Then arrived Melina, stepping in as the new bartender when Jakoian followed the boss away. Rumor had it she was from Kamino, homeworld of all clones, though she clearly wasn’t a trooper. She even had flapping furry ears. Some monk from the Jedi Temple had slipped her onto the payroll, which May found a little unfair—she and most of other staff had to go through an entire round and a half of interviews to get hired, and every drink made by Melina came with this weird shade of purple!

Good news was the troopers didn’t care about such details. There was nothing they wouldn’t drink. May suspected that even if it was massiff piss in the glass they’d just wonder why today’s stuff’s a bit stronger than usual. 79’s had officially become the lowest-barrier-to-entry workplace in the galaxy. Now, watching the rookie bartender and the rookie troopers yelling I don’t understand whatcha saying at each other with the same accents, she just wanted to sigh.

One of the troopers fished the celery stick out of his dragon juice and gave it an experimental lick. She actually sighed.

What was worse than the rookies were the rookies getting picked on. Other troopers kept kicking their stools as they passed by, snickering as the purple drinks spilled onto their chests.

“Who let the Wanker Squad in? Can’t escape their pathetic whines even here at the bar, it’s making me sick,” one of the other rookies pretentiously covering his nose as his friends smirked maliciously.

“Kriff off, ’32. We can go wherever we want,” one of the pathetic rookie squad members—even the lengths of their flat tops were identical, May honestly couldn’t tell any of them apart — flipped the bird.

“What did you say, weirdo?” ’32 bared his teeth. “I say you don’t even deserve to leave Kamino. General Ti must’ve been out of her mind. Who knows if you two weren’t—”

The four pathetic rookies and one Melina jumped up at the same time. May nervously turned to call for the bouncers, when two clones in blue armours squeezed past her.

“Good evening, I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation.” The trooper with a goatee grinned widely as he casually draped an arm over ’32’s shoulder. ’32 glanced at his lizard collar and his face paled instantly. “What should we do now? It’s our holy saviour that you’re disrespecting.”

The other trooper stood next to ’32. Same lizard collar, same skirt, a blue handprint emblazoned on his chest. The dark visor staring ominously at him.

“S-sirs!” ’32 snapped to attention and saluted. “I didn’t mean anything by it—”

“Oh I don’t think that’s didn’t mean anything by it,” the goateed clone patted his cheek. “What does the reg say about disrespecting superior officers, Echo?”

“3G.A.R.C.47, Article 89,” Echo recited, “Anyone who shows disrespect to superior officers shall be punished according to a military tribunal’s ruling.”

“Ha! That’s the one. But I was magnanimous enough to stop you from saying something irreparable.” Said the goatee guy. “I want you to run 79 laps around 79’s, and then, with all your gratitude to me, head back to the barracks and don’t let me see you here again for a week.”

“Yessir!” ’32 saluted again before starting walking away dejectedly.

“Double time!” Goatee guy shouted at his back. “You’re not taking a vacation!”

’32’s friends also saluted, scrambling to follow him.

“Wow, thanks, sirs,” said the brave rookie who flipped ’32 the bird.

“Buy us a drink and we’re even,” goatee guy waved dismissively, “I’m almost having flashbacks. Standing in the corner watching the Bravo Squad show off their balls feels like just yesterday, and now we’re sirs. Where did all the time go, Echo?”

Echo took off helmet, revealing his own standard-length flat top. His thick eyebrows furrowed in disapproval. “You should’ve written a report to his CO instead of punishing him on your own, Fives.”

“Who would’ve thought this ARC armour would be so intimidating?” Said Fives, “Who would’ve thought I’m not a saint who doesn’t abuse his power?”

His friend rolled his eyes and didn’t respond.

“I’m Titmouse,” the brave rookie said, taking the chance of the conversation. “This is Frank, Chamber, and Ranter. What can we get you, sirs?”

“Nice to meet you guys. Grumpy dude here’s Echo. I was going to say just call me Fives, but on second thought, I really enjoy being sir, so please, feel free to say it a few more times,” Fives said as he sat next to Ranter, who took an excited breath. “Get me a Captain’s Special. Who knows, maybe it will get me promoted again to captain and move into Rex’s en-suite.”

“Where should Rex sleep then?” Echo asked him.

“En-suites come with private freshers, what kind of monster you think I am?” Said Fives. “Now, which shiny wants to hear the story of the legendary Domino Squad and its saviour?”

5

Four troopers lined up in front of May like a wall, all wearing sweaters that were bright pink in an oddly familiar way she couldn’t quite place. She had to crane her neck to look up at them, the sequins on their sweaters sparkled blindingly in her peripheral vision. Never heard of social distancing, these clones.

“Ma’am,” said their leader, “do you have a booth that can accommodate a repulsorlift chair?”

Like a pair of doors swinging open, they stepped aside to reveal a fifth trooper behind them.

Sitting in the repulsorlift chair was another clone with two streaks of red hair, half his face covered in words tattooed in a language May didn’t recognise, his legs were missing from the knees down. He was in his armour, but over it was the same sweater as his friends, embroidered with “SURVIVOR” in Aurebesh. He gestured a few signs to May that she couldn’t even begin to understand.

“Survivor says he doesn’t want to… cause any inconvenience?” said the trooper with a faint scar under his left eye that was only visible from this distance. His sweater read “RANTER.” “If you have a foldable… bird… toilet—what?”

“If you have a spare storage room, he can park the chair there,” the trooper with three yellow stripes tattooed on his scalp (“CHAMBER”) translated quietly.

“Survivor’s trying to blend GAR tactical hand signals with basic sign language, Ranter hasn’t been paying attention,” their leader (FRANK was literally the most boring clone name) ruffled Chamber’s hair approvingly as he spoke.

“I missed ONE session because I was helping the general!” Ranter protested indignantly.

The names sounded familiar. May glanced at the “TITMOUSE” on the last trooper’s chest and things suddenly clicked. “Wait, you’re that rookie squad from last time! The ones almost got bullied!”

“Owie, that’s harsh,” Titmouse clutched his chest and the letters on it. “Rookies? We’re now the core members of the 29th Thunderbird Company!”

“More like the only members,” Frank rolled his eyes. “Ma’am, about the chair…?”

May looked at Survivor, whose brown eyes gazed back at her with heartbreaking innocence. A sudden unease crept up her spine.

She had never seen a clone this badly wounded before. Troopers like him usually just disappeared on Kamino, left behind them a number on the property disposal lists and the tears of their brothers after three bottles of Corellian Whiskey. That was how they had lost Judith. Maybe that explained his name: the unfortunate survivor of this massive slave exploitation operation.

Neither the previous owner nor the current management had ever considered installing accessible facilities, as it was never necessary. And now these troopers who were made to die for them were asking her for space for a wheelchair. The elegant professors on the surface would be clutching their pearls over this barbarity, she thought, and a flash of anger surged in her chest. Her classmates were scattered across the galaxy talking justice into people’s heads, while she remained in the same spot, doing nothing and completely helpless against the most urgent yet unspoken problems of the war.

She suddenly wanted to scream, to collapse onto the floor, to storm into the senate building and strangle every one of those high-and-mighty politicians. But the troopers were still waiting. Smiles growing stiff, the awkwardness deepening with every passing second.

She rubbed her face, turned around, and shoved a booth’s seating aside to clear the space without a word. The softie uni graduate version of herself from one year ago could never have done this, but an entire year of tray carrying had injected some strength into those noodle arms after all. She wiped the greasy feel off on her apron. “Please have a seat, honoured not-rookie-anymores.”

Titmouse let out a cheer and slid first into the booth, the others following in succession. Ranter carefully maneuvered Survivor’s repulsorlift chair up to the table before turning awkwardly to Maybel and handed her a card.

“Miss Mayia-zyondennurravayblex, General Bou gave me this. She said she’s covering our tab tonight.”

“Bou?” May yelled. “My great-aunt is buying you drinks?”

“What’s a great-aunt?” someone whispered.

Ranter shrugged, equally confused. “I asked the same question, she didn’t answer. But she did spend half an hour training me to pronounce your name correctly, hope I got it right.”

At least May solved one problem: she finally figured out why that pink of their sweaters looked so damn familiar.

6

A year into the war, May had met enough clones to confidently call herself a kinda-expert on the GAR. Sure, she didn’t know the difference between battalions and regiments and she still wasn’t sure if that deecee17 was just a curse or an actual weapon. But 365 standard days of seeing what was essentially the same man in slightly different variations over and over again had forced her to start noticing the patterns.

Wolffe’s boys were both fierce and artistic at the same time. You could find the most unhinged bastards that were best at pretending to be normal in the 212nd. The red-armoured Coruscant Guard looked more like clones of their commander than of Fett himself—same attitude, same perpetual scowl, only ever appeared in packs either early in the morning or late into the night as the other clones whispered behind them. For all their attempts at individuality, the lifelong barrack life had already shaped them into some kind of collective personalities—and nothing had ever truly separated clones from one another, after all. They bared the same numbers of teeth when laughing, curved their brows at the same angles when brooding; same slang spread across every legion, same batch of rookies always chose similar armour patterns. After 365 days of all this, May started staring at her reflection in the mirror, suspecting her own brows were growing into those square, thick shapes too.

That was why she immediately noticed something was off about the boy sitting in the corner—not just because he was a boy.

Judging by the clone growth rate, he couldn’t be older than six (why did she automatically calculate in clone standard? She really needed a vacation), tiny enough to be lifted by the armpits and shook for a few times. He would have been kicked out on Ryloth or any of the other thousands of planets, but he’s now in Coruscant’s underground levels, and the bouncers at the door would only think he was a particularly overgrown adult Anzellan.

May had heard that some outstanding clone cadets were selected to leave Kamino early and get a firsthand look at the galaxy they would defend with their lives one day. She didn’t think he was one of them. He had the face of a clone, but was wearing Mandalorian armour. He had been silently judging everything around him for hours, wary eyes flickered over every trooper that passed by and then snapped away; features twisted in a way that was just…wrong, something between smelling fart and sorrow. May had never seen such complicated emotions on a clone before. Other clones, they could only process about 1.03 kinds of emotions at a time, saying them out loud immediately unfiltered.

If she had to guess, May would say he wasn’t a clone at all. Thire’s second cousin, maybe, definitely not someone who grew up in a sterile lab. But he didn’t seem to have any bad intentions either. May didn’t get paid enough to make it her problem anyways.

“You did at least give him non-alcoholic stuff, right?” May asked as she passed by Melina.

A while back, under her oh-so-kind-it-was-almost-unsettling insistence, Melina had convinced May to move out of her tiny brokenass apartment and into the dorm she converted from a storage room behind the bar. It wasn’t much better—she had to fight hoofs for blankets, bargain early morning unisex ‘fresher use with seven Coruscant Guards who never seemed to leave, and stare at the Fives graffiti someone from the 501st had left on the door panel every time she took a piss. But at least she no longer had to deal with the lingering smell of death sticks in the turbolift or the corrosive liquid her idiot neighbours kept dumping into the pipes. Their relationship had progressed rapidly as a result. May would sometimes bring ice cream back to their now-shared little dorm, where they’d lounge on the bed watching Nar Shaddaa’s Ultimate Culinary Battle: Carnivore Edition while Melina complained about the first boyfriend of her goat life. It also meant they started to chat with each other during shifts, instead of May standing at a distance watching Melina make purple drink after purple drink

“Ah, that’s Boba Fett,” Melina said the name like it’s the answer to every mystery in the galaxy. “He could spit acid out from his mouth, alcohol’s nothing compared to that.”

“Fett?” May echoed. “As in Jango Fett?”

This wasn’t the first clone she had known with a last name—the Skiratas had been in the bar before, and the legend passed by word of mouth among troopers, some Cut Lawquane. But a clone named Fett felt as strange as a Wookiee named Scaleback.

“He’s basically Fett’s son,” Melina mused. “Followed Dad around everywhere, pressed up against the glass staring at us lab clones. Heard he disappeared after Fett died, guess he ended up on Coruscant. I knew it was him the second he opened his mouth.”

The clones’ Prime was beheaded in a desert arena by Ponds’ general. They spoke of it with awe as if it were ancient Tusken tribes taking down the great krayt dragon, even though according to Davijaan, the clone army arrived a full thirty minutes after Fett’s head hit the ground and none of them had actually witnessed it happen. However, if the man’s kid was there, May couldn’t think of a worse kind of childhood trauma.

That explained the way he looked at the other clones.

“Sounds like he needs a social worker, not a drink,” said May. “But I feel like if I said that out loud, he’d bite my nose off.”

Melina shrugged noncommittally. So May turned back to work, leaving Boba Fett behind her mind.

But the boy kept coming back. He always took the same spot in the corner, ordered the same drink, never spoke to May or the other servers, and glared at anyone who so much as glanced in his direction. The older clones had already recognised him and were dedicated to avoiding eye contact; but the younger ones who were freshly off of Kamino still believed he was some runaway cadet, and every once in a while some of them would come up and try to ruffle his hair, congratulating him on how well he had mastered the survival skills. That was when he’d freeze up before snapping, baring his teeth and snarling them off.

May was 95% sure he was trying to grieve his father by being around his clones, but it wasn’t working out. She had never met old Fett, but judging by the way clones talked about him, there wasn’t much in common between he and his three million carbon copies. Young Fett was clearly starting to realise that, too. He grew desperate and restless, more and more frustrated with each passing day; that rage, unmatched by his age, carved deeper lines into his face, weighing down his young shoulders.

May felt bad. She didn’t know why he looked like he was on his way to some death mission everyday, just like she had no idea where he went after leaving the bar each night. Monsters ready to swallow people whole hid in the shadows of Coruscant, she just hoped she wouldn’t see his dead body lying in syringes on the street. Finally, after five days in a row of Boba’s brooding presence, May made up her mind to ask if he needed help. She knew several good doctors, the kind who wouldn’t piss people off with candy-box psychology tests, and a few qualified social workers. Even if it meant getting her nose bitten off, she figured it was worth a shot.

But she was caught up by a group of troopers who suddenly started projectile vomiting after drinking something God knows what. By the time she finished dealing with the mess, she turned back just in time to catch the moment the boy switching off his comms. A flash of blue light flickered, he put on his hood and left in a hurry. That was the last time May saw Boba Fett.

Half a month later, one evening, May sleepily walked into the work area for her night shift. Her steps came to a halt after passing three groups of clones huddled together whispering to each other, hands still tying her apron as her numb brain finally processed what it had just heard.

They were all talking about the same thing: the death of Commander Ponds. He was killed by Prime’s son Boba.

7

Sometimes May felt like the universe was laughing at the clones.

A week after Ponds’ death, Judith was back.

Three rounds of drinks in—sponsored by May’s Jedi great-aunt—the core members of the 29th Thunderbird Company had poured their hearts out to May, lamenting their greatest fear in painful detail: their new CO and the rest of the company were set to arrive soon. As the last five survivors of the now-defunct 934th Attack Battalion, they had always thought that Survivor stuck around simply because he had no other choice. The moment new options became available, he would abandon them without hesitation, join the normal soldiers who weren’t weirdos like them and leave.

“A toast to our last moments together! May Survivor not roll his eyes too hard when he sees us outcasts in the mess hall in the future.”

By then, Survivor had already been fitted with metal legs and a vocal implant, yet he still instinctively talked through sign language, gesturing frantically on the side aggrieved. As the other poor bastard frequently slandered by Ranter for not being much of a talker, Chamber gave him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder and slid the glass into his hand.

The next time they showed up, no one would have called them outcasts. Quite the opposite—Wanderer Squad entered into the bar right in the middle of a big crowd, their bright pink armour still stood out jarringly in the dim light. May glanced at them once. Then again. Then she realised the silver head leading them from the front looked familiar.

The new CO of the 29th Thunderbird Company was Judith. She had lost an eye, face now covered in tattoos. One half of her armour was blackened with scorch marks, as the other was also painted pink. One of her vambraces was missing, the uncovered right arm gleamed with the sheen of metal.

She looked like a scrapped battle droid crawled back straight from hell.

The pink clones pushed a few empty booths together and crowded into them shoulder to shoulder. Judith sat down on Frank’s lap. As May walked over with her datapad, she noticed that almost every one of them had at least one cybernetic part attached to their bodies. She could never figure out exactly what great-aunt Bou got up to in the temple upstairs—but this time, she thought she had a pretty good idea.

Judith looked up at May. Her once long silver hair had been shaved into a mohawk, burn scars faintly visible beneath her blue tattoos. May and Frank beneath her blushed at the same time.

“Wow,” said May. “No idea what happened, but happy rebirth.”

“Thanks.” Judith smiled. “Hope you didn’t change your frequency, I’ll start updating again next week.”

The Thunderbird Company’s party lasted all night. May glanced back one last time when she clocked out at dawn, just in time to see Rex and Howzer remove their helmets and sit down beside Judith.

8

A massive search happened on Coruscant.

Such thing happened frequently enough here that it should not have caused much of a stir, but dozens of fully armed shock troopers stormed into 79’s, holding stun guns and a wanted poster for a specific clone. Never had a clone committed a crime grave enough to be wanted, all the clones who weren’t on the poster were terrified.

All the staff was gathered together to identify whether they had seen the guy in the holopic that night. May froze at the tattoo on his temple and the goatee on his chin.

It was Fives.

She shook her head in denial, but out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a staggeringly similar goatee heading toward the ‘fresher, sneaking glances around nervously. She had no idea what Fives had done this time, but it must have been something much worse than public nudity. But he was also the one who knocked out the junkie who had been whistling at May in the alley. For some reason, May turned around and pointed to the other side of the bar, saying she knew he liked to dance over there. That part was true enough; she just hoped Fives wasn’t that crazy to slide into the dance floor with his posters all over the bar. The troopers thanked her and headed in that direction, not noticing her trembling lips and knotted lekku.

May hoped they didn’t catch Fives.

9

No one ever heard from Fives again. But no news is good news, right? May asked Melina as she stirred the drink she made her absently. Melina buried her face deeper into her red scarf without answering, so May shut up too. Selling a lie that even herself wouldn’t buy felt stupid.

She remembered Fives’ favourite drink was Naboo Sunset, because, well, the sunsets on Naboo are really beautiful, I’ve seen them with my own eyes. She remembered Fives’ brother, he died two years ago. So many had died. Keeli, Ponds, Echo, Thorn. Legends say that Twi’leks born on Ryloth become spirits after they die, wandering the sands of the Jixuan Desert. May wondered where would clone spirits go. They didn’t even have a place they were willing to call home. May chewed her straw gloomily.

Not that she was slacking off; it was just the bar had been much emptier lately. Clones were being recalled to the upper levels, Kamino, and all sorts of places, standing by for orders, because the war was over. Thousands of systems were celebrating on the holonews from millions of lightyears away; people cheering, fireworks bursting, music playing for the rise of the new government and the arrival of the promised peace. But Coruscant had never truly experienced the war. Kidnappings and terrorist attacks happened in daily basis, never decreasing in frequency or increasing in intensity because of the distant threat of the Separatists. The capital people had always been too busy with their own business to worry about anything else, so the latest development barely made a ripple. A few nearby shops hung up Imperial banners, and that was it — and even that was just to curry favour with those Senate aides who had recently started making sudden visits, rather than the newly crowned Emperor Palpatine himself sitting comfortably in the throne upstairs.

The new Empire wasn’t a fan of Jedi — that much, May knew. The Jedi Rebellion has been crushed, read the headlines, accompanied by images of the Temple billowing with thick smoke. Senate aides, flanked by the Coruscant security force and clone squads, swept the entire planet for any remaining insurgents, kicked into 79’s five times within a week, rounding up all the staff for questioning. It was because the Jedi brats used to love this place. The older Padawans would sneak down to the lower levels in packs, getting a taste of the worldly pleasures forbidden by the Jedi Code. And ever since the clones had taken over the bar, 79’s had become one of the few spots their masters were willing to turn a blind eye to. The bouncers threw their hands up in surrender at their braids, the bartenders happily accepted their meagre tips, and the clones crowded around them, competing to see whose little commander could down the most Calamari Xinphar in one go before forming volunteer escort squads to make sure they were safely back at the Temple by midnight. But those days were gone. May hadn’t seen Zett Jukassa in ages, or that always gloved Kestis. That’s exactly what she told them. She never could have imagined snot-nosed little nerds like them taking part in a rebellion. Nobody knew how deeply the Jedi had rotted. We were all deceived, said the aide.

As someone personally placed in the bar by the Jedi, Melina was taken to separate rooms for questioning every single time, scratches and anger all over her face when she came out. Then one day she just disappeared. No words, no notes, her luggage was still there, the only thing missing was the scarf she always wore. May had no idea if she had finally been arrested, and there was no one to ask. She tentatively sent a few messages to Bou but received no reply, nothing to do but nervously deleting the chat, couldn’t even let the thought of her being dead cross her mind. The clones she was familiar with stopped visiting either. All of May’s friends were gone.

Grey finally reappeared at the bar several weeks later. She hesitated for a while, but still asked him about his commander, that Dume kid who always followed him around. He sharply interrupted before she could even finish her sentence, “Discussing the Jedi is an act of treason, ma’am.”

The entire room fell silent at his words, dozens of identical eyes staring at May, silent and alert. She swallowed hard, for the first time in her life understanding why other natborns found that face creepy.

“Sorry, I didn’t know,” she replied awkwardly. “He also participated in the rebellion?”

No one answered, and she fled in panic. The newly formed Imperial Security Bureau knocked on her door just a few hours later. Suspected of maintaining contact with a fugitive, deliberately concealing the fugitive’s whereabouts, and openly discussing treasonous topics, with every word her eyes widened further. The absurdity of the accusations was almost hilarious, and just before she could start to argue, they slammed her against the wall, cuffed her, and shoved her into the enforcement shuttle.

“There must be a misunderstanding, Stone. Which one of your men is being dramatic? Should try their hand at the Galaxies Opera House when they retire,” she shook her head as she spoke to the clone in front of her, still trying to maintain her professional server smile. “You know me, I mess up everything, no one would trust me to join even if I actually wanted to rebel.”

“Are you admitting to having treasonous intentions, Miss Gin?” Stone’s tone was as flat as ever, the only constant in this entire shitshow, though it offered no comfort whatsoever.

“W-what?? That’s not what I said! What the kriff, Stone?”

Stone scoffed, turning his face toward the viewport without responding.

May hadn’t been on the surface in a long time and had forgotten how blinding natural sunlight could be. Her eyes watered the moment the shuttle ascended out of the tube, and then the tears just wouldn’t stop. The helplessness of losing contact with friends and the regret of not having resigned and gone home earlier flooded her heart. She sobbed pathetically, asking Stone for tissue to wipe her nose. But he simply stared at her without saying a word, so she started wailing.

She was thrown into a drunk tank in Coruscant Police Department, where she was felt up by two dizzy Zeltron women, followed by two whole days of enduring the annoying singing of a hyperactive Pa'lowick choir. Then she was isolated in a more heavily guarded cell in a neighboring building. No one came to interrogate her. And honestly, even if they had, she wouldn’t have been able to answer a single question. There was nothing in the cell but a surveillance camera and a toilet. The meals were delivered in trays by guards holding guns, and she could only track the passage of time based on this. They had no personal markings on their armours and never respond to anything she said, so she had no idea if it was the same two people every time. A week later, she had gone through the all five stages of grief, overcome her fear of having her nails pulled out during interrogation, and began shaking the bars of her cell, shouting for someone to bring her a magazine.

No one answered, naturally. But she realised the camera was turned off when she woke up on the cold floor on the tenth day.

May stood up and pressed her face between the bars, trying to get as close as possible for a better look, unsure if she had finally started to have hallucinations after being caged for so long. The gate in the distance opened with a clank. She jumped back to the corner, afraid that the guards who came to deliver food on schedule would interpret her weird action as not only treasonous but also an escape attempt.

But today, the guards didn’t have trays in their hands. Before May could start worrying if she was finally being taken to her execution, they removed their helmets, revealing silver hair and black tattoos.

“General Bou gave you 60 seconds to make a choice,” Judith said. “Do you want to squeeze into a ship packed with 127 rogue clones and 1 traitorous Jedi and leave Coruscant, or rot here until they catch her?”

“Stone’s holding me as bait to draw out my distant great-aunt? He might as well try Chamber instead,” was May’s instinctive answer.

“55 seconds left. Titmouse can only keep the surveillance access for this long,” Survivor reminded her.

“What? Okay, okay, I choose the first one. Get me out of here, I never want to eat that nutrient paste anymore.” She eagerly clung to the bars again.

“Tell me about it.” Judith smirked, skilfully taking off a familiar-looking silver cylinder out of her gunstock. “Bou lent me this. Move back a bit, I’m still getting the hang of it.”

May complied, running toward her future of a fugitive.

Melina belongs to @lepplum and Chamber belongs to @vale24601

[darthkote]

the beef between hunter and crosshair once the latter returns to the squad lives in my mind rent free forever, and no, I will not elaborate

[cloudydoesstuff]

yall I just had a dream that’s the perfect crack fic. Basically, Vader gets teleported into the clone wars where the 501st and the 212th are fighting. Once Vader gets there all comms go down so they’re essentially stuck on the planet. Anakin meets Vader, bickering ensues

One particular scene I had in mind:

Anakin and Vader: *walking in silence*

Anakin: Could you stop kriffing breathing like that? It’s getting on my nerves

Vader: No.

Anakin: *sighs*

It’s at times like these I wish I could be a creative writer but alas I must stay unintentionally dreaming crackfics

[psychomusic]

i don't understand when people criticize george lucas. he gave us ten thousand clones of TEMUERA MORRISON

[lesbianspeedy]

BECOMING SCIENTIFICALLY UNETHICAL FOR GAY LOVE?? KIRA MANNING I KNOW WHICH AUNT IS YOUR FAVOURITE AND THAT BITCH IS FRENCH!!!

[radioactive-cloud]

those past few days are really testing my patience with some of the takes and opinions i've seen on the internet and i'm so fucking done with all of this i just want to delete all my accounts from everywhere and live somewhere in the woods (as far away from russia as i can) and to never come in contact with another human being again

[morganbritton132]

Bruce: *looking at satellite images of a planet*

Tim: Is that Apokolips? That place sucks. Zero out of ten stars.

Bruce: …why do you know that?

Tim: Everybody knows that, Bruce.

I think it’s really funny if Tim just assumed that everybody is on the same wavelength as him so he never explains anything because he thinks everybody already knows.

Tiny Tim shows up at Dick’s apartment and Dick is just flabbergasted because, “You know that Bruce is Batman?”

Tim nods like, “Everybody knows that.”

Red Hood comes to town and Tim’s like, yeah. That’s obviously Jason Todd back from the dead. The League of Assassins probably had something to do with it. Like, “There were signs.”

Jason, breaking into Titans Tower in full Robin costume, “What do you mean there were signs????”

“Oh, you know.”

[righteousdelusions]

Like the fact the clone vs robot poll was close tells me this site is filled with white nonsense

[gaywineauntsstuff]

Broke: everyone fights over whose Batman’s favorite

Woke: everyone fights over whose Dicks favorite bc Dick isn’t an emotionally stunted loser (I shit talk Bruce so much but I love him, he’s just also a loser) and trying to get in the bats favor is like trying to catch sand in a sieve

————

Damian: obviously I’m Graysons favorite I was his Robin

Tim: dude I was the first Robin he trained and we still talk every day I am 100% the favorite

Steph: fuck you! You disappeared off the the face of the earth when he was Batman I was actually here I’m 100% the favorite everyone knows Wing loves me.

Jason: Dick willingly went to Gotham to spend time with me even when he was mad at Bruce. Has Dick ever been in Gotham when he was mad at Bruce for you guys? No? Didn’t think so?

Damian: ….

Steph:…

Tim: that’s because you sucked so much he thought you’d get blown up trying to have to bludhaven.

Jason: oi! Low blow, you can’t use a man’s death against him

Damian: shut up we’ve all died before

Steph: you literally said you were allowed to break Tim’s laptop bc you died b4

Jason: yeah it’s MY DEATH I can use it how I want

Tim: we really gonna call your 14yr old 4’7 self a man?

Cass: he helped me train when B rejected me I’m the favorite

Tim: you can’t be Dicks favorite you’re already Bab’s favorite those are the only 2 likable older members of the family. (They’ve decided Alfred doesn’t count since he’s legally not allowed to have favorites)

Dick: Duke is my favorite

Damian: what?

Tim: how?

Jason: this shit is rigged

Steph: What?? You barely spend time with him?

Duke who has been eating popcorn quietly this whole time:???

Dick: he doesnt steal my suit and murder people

Jason: …

Dick: or tell his friends I threatened to send him to Arkham when I told him to get therapy

Tim:…

Dick: or break into my apartment at 3am because he can’t communicate with his father

Damian:…

Dick: or make me believe he flatlined on the operating table

Steph: …

Dick: or tell me he can’t meet up for a bust because he’s too busy fighting Wonder Woman a hero we work with over text with no context and then go AWOL for 5 days

Cass:…

Dick: or overload his plate with 50 million things I will have to come in and help with

Everyone:

Steph: he started a cult tho??

Dick: was it before or after he was fostered bc if it was before it’s. Not. My. Problem.

Duke: I’m the favorite???

Dick: also I feel like if I died you’re the most likely to take over my duties and not go on a quest for vengeance or try to clone me or put me in the Lazarus pit.

Jason: ID NEVER PUT you in the Lazarus pit…. No comment on the rest tho.

Tim: ditto

Damian: meh you are superior to Todd and he’s relatively functional post the pit I don’t see the issue here.

Steph raising hand: I wouldn’t-

Dick: or help TIM do it

Steph lowering hand:

Dick: plus you have a parent so I don’t have to do 80% of the child rearing while giving Bruce credit

Duke still a little star stuck bc that’s nightwing: IM THE FAVORITE.

[solxamber]

And I Choose...

In which you pick the dorm you want to join

Part 1: Choose Us

Heartslabyul

You never thought you’d see the day when you’d be willingly moving into Heartslabyul, but here you were, standing at the entrance with your bags (and Grim, who was loudly complaining about the lack of a tuna fountain).

Riddle was the first to greet you, looking as composed as ever. “Welcome to Heartslabyul,” he said, hands clasped behind his back. His voice was formal, but the slight upward twitch of his lips betrayed his excitement. “I trust you’ll follow the rules properly now that you’re part of this dorm.”

Before you could respond, Trey appeared beside him, looking far more relaxed. “We’re glad to have you here,” he said with a warm smile. “I already saved you a slice of cake—figured you’d need a snack after all the chaos today.”

Bless this man. Truly.

“Say cheese!”

You barely had time to process Cater’s voice before you were blinded by the flash of his phone. “Oh my Sevens, the new dormie vibe is immaculate! This is totally going on Magicam!” He snapped another selfie, this time pulling you into the frame. “And guess what? I’m using my clones to make moving day a breeze! You’re welcome!”

True to his word, Cater’s clones were already grabbing your stuff. You stared in disbelief as three Cater clones carried a single small bag together while laughing like they were in a cheesy sitcom. Efficiency clearly wasn’t their strong suit, but at least they were trying.

And then there was Ace and Deuce. The moment you’d announced your decision to join Heartslabyul, the duo had erupted into what could only be described as the most uncoordinated, chaotic victory dance you’d ever seen.

Deuce was spinning in circles like he was trying to summon a tornado, while Ace alternated between bad breakdancing and finger guns pointed at no one in particular. “We won! We won!” they chanted, completely ignoring the way Riddle’s eye was twitching in disapproval.

“You know,” you said, watching them make absolute fools of themselves, “I think I made the right choice.”

Grim snorted from his perch on one of your bags. “You’re surrounded by idiots, henchhuman.”

“Maybe,” you said with a grin. “But they’re my idiots.”

Savanaclaw

The moment you announced that you’d chosen Savanaclaw, chaos erupted.

Jack’s tail started wagging so hard it was like a propeller trying to take off. You half-expected him to lift into the air. “You won’t regret it,” he said, his usually calm voice brimming with excitement. “We’ll make sure you feel at home here.”

Ruggie wasted no time grabbing you in a headlock and giving you the noogie of a lifetime. “I knew you’d make the smart choice! You, me, and all this bribe cash—donuts for a whole year, easy! You’re officially part of the Savanaclaw hustle now!”

“Ruggie, I swear, if you ruin my hair—”

But the true shocker was Leona. At first, he played it cool, lounging lazily in his chair like your decision was no big deal. “Hmph, took you long enough,” he said, voice dripping with fake indifference. But then, as if he couldn’t help himself, the corner of his mouth lifted into a smug grin.

And that’s when he pulled out his phone.

“Leona, what are you doing?” you asked, watching as he sidled up to you with the confidence of a king.

“Taking a picture. Gotta rub this in a little.”

Before you could protest, he snapped a selfie of the two of you. Then, with the smoothness of a man who knew exactly what he was doing, he took another.

One went to Vil. The other went to Malleus.

The captions?

To Vil: "Looks like I win. Stay beautiful, princess."

To Malleus: "Better luck next time, lizard."

You groaned, face burning. “Leona, was that really necessary?”

“Absolutely,” he said, slipping his phone back into his pocket and smirking like the cat who caught the canary. “Welcome to the pack, herbivore.”

Despite yourself, you couldn’t help smiling. Maybe Savanaclaw wasn’t such a bad choice after all.

Octavinelle

The second you announced you were choosing Octavinelle, chaos descended faster than you could say “Mostro Lounge.”

Floyd let out an earsplitting cheer and, before you could blink, scooped you up and tossed you into the air like a beach ball.

“Shriiiimpy’s ours now!” he cackled, catching you before launching you up again like he was testing the room's ceiling height.

“Floyd, please!” you yelled, your life flashing before your eyes as you flailed. “I don’t wanna meet the Great Seven this soon!”

Eventually, Jade stepped in, placing a hand on Floyd’s shoulder. “Now, now, Floyd. Let’s not accidentally lose our new dormmate to an untimely accident. We wouldn’t want to scare them away before they’ve even unpacked.”

Floyd, grumbling, set you down but kept a firm arm around your shoulders, as if daring you to second-guess your decision.

Jade, meanwhile, adjusted his gloves with a serene smile that somehow felt a little too sharp. “Welcome to Octavinelle,” he said smoothly. “It’s wonderful to have you with us. I assure you, you’ll be treated with the utmost care here.” He looked way too pleased with himself, his gaze lingering like he was already planning your initiation.

Then there was Azul.

Azul looked like he’d just won a billion Madol jackpot. His eyes gleamed, and for a moment, it seemed like he was going to break into a little dance right there in the lounge. But then, with Herculean effort, he composed himself, clasping his hands and clearing his throat.

“Well, this is certainly a wise choice,” he said, adjusting his glasses like he hadn’t just been doing mental cartwheels. “I’m honored you’ve decided to join Octavinelle. We’ll make sure all your needs are taken care of.”

But then… he slid a very familiar-looking contract across the counter.

“Of course,” Azul added with a dazzling smile, “just a small formality. You see, this document simply guarantees that you’ll remain a proud Octavinelle student until graduation—oh, and a few other things.”

You stared at the contract hoping it might spontaneously combust. “Azul. I literally just joined. Can I have a minute to breathe before I sign my soul away?”

“No rush, no rush!” Azul said, not looking remotely deterred. “Take your time. But, ah—do keep in mind that signing sooner ensures the best possible benefits…”

As Jade handed you a drink (which you were very suspicious of) and Floyd draped himself over you, already talking about all the “fun” you’d have together, you couldn’t help but wonder if you’d just made a deal with the devil.

Still, as Azul's smug smile softened into something almost genuine, you decided it wasn’t the worst deal in the world.

Scarabia

The moment you announced your decision, Kalim was on you like a whirlwind.

“YOU CHOSE SCARABIA!!” he yelled, tackling you into a hug so tight you thought you might pop like a balloon. Before you could even gasp for air, he was spinning you around the common room like you were some kind of trophy he’d just won.

“This is AMAZING! We’re gonna have so much fun! Parties! Feasts! Adventures! You’re gonna love it here!” Kalim babbled, his infectious excitement making it hard to even feel dizzy despite the rapid spinning.

“Kalim,” you wheezed, clutching his shoulders, “please put me down before my life flashes before my eyes.”

“Oh, right!” he said, gently setting you down with a sheepish laugh. “I got carried away. I’m just so happy!”

As you tried to steady yourself, a much calmer—but no less relieved—voice spoke from behind Kalim.

“I’m glad you chose Scarabia,” Jamil said, his expression carefully composed, though you could see the faintest hint of relief in his eyes.

You blinked at him, surprised. “Really?”

“Yes,” Jamil replied, crossing his arms and glancing away like he didn’t want to elaborate. But after a beat, he sighed and added, “You’re one of the few people here who keeps things balanced. With you around, maybe I’ll have a chance to stay sane.”

Your heart melted a little at his quiet admission, even as Kalim jumped in again, declaring he’d throw a party that night to celebrate your move.

“Let’s get food! Music! Oh, we should decorate your room! Jamil, can we hang up those golden lanterns I found last week? And—”

“Kalim,” Jamil interrupted, pinching the bridge of his nose but unable to hide the faint smile tugging at his lips, “one thing at a time. Let them breathe.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the dynamic, feeling a warm sense of belonging already. Scarabia might be a lot, but it felt like home.

Pomefiore

The second you announced your decision, Epel let out a laugh so sinister it would’ve sent chills down a villain’s spine. “HA! TAKE THAT, EVERYONE ELSE!” he shouted, whipping out his phone to snap a selfie with you.

Of course, Rook popped into the frame with perfect timing, striking an overly dramatic pose as Epel sent the picture straight to the first-year chat. “VICTORY IS OURS!” was the only caption needed.

Before you could even blink, Rook had swooped in, bowing theatrically. “Ah, mon cher, your choice has blessed us with the most magnifique triumph! Let us celebrate with a dance!”

You barely had time to protest before he twirled you around the room like you were in some period drama. His excitement was so contagious you almost didn’t notice when he dipped you dramatically—until you felt yourself tipping back, only to be caught by Vil.

“Honestly, Rook,” Vil sighed, steadying you with all the grace in the world. “Do try not to give them whiplash their first day.”

He turned to you, his usual poised demeanor firmly in place, though the faint smile tugging at his lips betrayed his true feelings. “Welcome to Pomefiore,” he said, his voice soft, yet commanding. “You’ve made the right decision.”

You were about to respond when Vil, ever the perfectionist, immediately began fussing over your uniform. “Honestly, you can’t be seen like this. Your tie is uneven, and—Rook, stop standing there and help them adjust their collar properly!”

As Vil worked, meticulously fixing every little detail, you couldn’t help but notice the gleam of satisfaction in his eyes. He might’ve been playing it cool, but there was no hiding how pleased he was to have you here.

Epel and Rook, meanwhile, had started arguing about who deserved the credit for your choice, while Vil made it very clear that it was his influence that sealed the deal.

And just like that, your chaotic new life in Pomefiore began.

Ignihyde

The moment the words “I’m choosing Ignihyde” left your mouth, Idia froze like someone had yanked his power cord out. His hair flickered erratically, and for a second, you thought he might actually pass out.

“Big Brother? Big Brother!” Ortho shook him frantically, his mechanical arms making a soft whirring sound. “Stay with us! They chose us! You can’t glitch out now!”

Idia finally snapped back to reality, though his face was still pale, his hair sputtering like a dying neon sign. “W-Wait, what?! You��chose here? Are you serious? This isn’t like, a prank, right? Did Ortho bribe you?!”

“No pranks, no bribes. I chose Ignihyde,” you said, trying not to laugh at his genuine bewilderment.

He blinked rapidly, processing your words. “B-But the PowerPoint… I thought it was way too cringe. I mean, I had like, fifty slides about food optimization! Who’d find that interesting?! You were supposed to be like, ‘Ew, no thanks,’ and leave!”

“Actually, I thought it was kind of cute,” you admitted, watching as his hair flared a bright pink.

“C-CUTE?! AAHH, STOP, YOU CAN’T JUST SAY THINGS LIKE THAT!” He clutched his hoodie like his heart was going to short-circuit.

“Big Brother, calm down!” Ortho interjected, practically beaming. “They chose us! Isn’t this the best thing ever?”

Idia rubbed the back of his neck, his gaze darting anywhere but at you. “…So, uh, do you wanna, like…celebrate or something? I-I mean, I know you probably have better things to do, b-but if you wanna…play a game or something, that’d be cool.”

You smiled. “I’d love to.”

Ortho let out an excited cheer and zipped over to hug you tightly, his arms surprisingly warm. “Welcome to Ignihyde! I’m so happy you’re here! This is gonna be the best!”

As Ortho buzzed around you, already listing off all the things you could do together, you caught Idia sneaking a shy glance your way. His hair was still flickering pink, and he looked like he couldn’t believe this was real.

You weren’t sure what life in Ignihyde would bring, but if it meant seeing Idia like this—flustered, happy, and maybe a little hopeful—you knew you’d made the right choice.

Diasomnia

The moment you announced you’d chosen Diasomnia, Sebek practically burst into flames.

“OF COURSE YOU CHOSE DIASOMNIA!” he boomed, puffing up with pride. “It’s the only logical choice! With the Young Master here, there was no other dorm worthy of your presence!”

Silver chuckled softly at Sebek’s theatrics, stepping forward with a kind smile. “Welcome to Diasomnia. I’m glad you’re joining us. Let me know if you need help moving your things—I’ll be happy to assist.”

Before you could respond, Lilia appeared out of thin air, laughing like a mischievous ghost. “Ah, welcome, welcome! We’ve been expecting you…or at least, I have. Let me go fetch Malleus so he can hear the good news himself!” And with that, he vanished in a puff of green smoke, leaving you blinking at the empty spot he’d occupied seconds before.

Malleus arrived moments later, his towering presence filling the room. His emerald eyes softened as they landed on you. “I heard you’ve made your decision. Have you truly chosen Diasomnia as your dorm?”

You smiled up at him. “Yeah, I chose Diasomnia.”

The way his face lit up was unlike anything you’d ever seen. His usual composed demeanor melted into something warmer, brighter. He almost looked…giddy.

“This pleases me greatly,” he said, his voice rumbling with quiet joy. “Come. I’ll give you a proper tour of our dorm.”

You didn’t even get a chance to answer before he gently ushered you forward, beginning the grand tour of Diasomnia. Lilia popped in and out of nowhere as you walked, adding bizarre and entirely unnecessary facts.

“And over there,” Lilia said, gesturing to a decorative suit of armor, “is what I wore when I once tripped and almost spilled soup on Malleus when he was a child. Ah, good times.”

Malleus sighed but didn’t stop him. “This area is the library. Feel free to browse the shelves at your leisure. I can show you my favorite tomes later.”

“And this hallway is where Sebek shouted for the first time when he thought Malleus was missing! Nearly shattered all the windows,” Lilia added with a grin.

You couldn’t help but laugh, the whole thing feeling so surreal yet oddly comforting. Silver walked quietly beside you, throwing in the occasional useful tidbit, while Sebek followed behind, grumbling something about Lilia not taking the tour seriously.

By the time the tour ended, you felt strangely at home. The eccentricity, the warmth, the oddly familial atmosphere—it all wrapped around you like a cozy blanket.

Malleus turned to you, his expression soft but sincere. “You’ll be safe here. I’ll personally see to it.”

Lilia smirked. “Safe and well-fed. I’ll whip up something special to celebrate!”

“Please don’t,” Sebek muttered, but you just laughed, already feeling like you belonged.

Secret ending: Ramshackle

When you finally dragged yourself back to Ramshackle, you were met with Grim, lounging on the couch like he hadn't a care in the world.

"Well, henchhuman? Which dorm are we moving to? I hope you picked the one with the best tuna," he yawned, tail flicking lazily.

You slumped down next to him, groaning. "None of them."

Grim's ears perked up. "Huh? What do ya mean, none of them?!"

"I told Crowley to just fix the worst parts of this place. I’d rather stay here. Everyone’s so excited for me to join their dorm—I don’t wanna disappoint them."

Grim blinked at you, then shrugged like it didn’t matter. "Eh, as long as you're still my henchhuman, I don’t care. Besides, this place has character! And by character, I mean it’s haunted, but still."

The next day, Crowley gathered the staff and shared your decision with them. You’d half-expected him to brush off his promise, but to your utter shock, the teachers actually…pitched in.

Vargas showed up first, flexing dramatically. "Alright! Time to show these walls the power of my biceps! I’ll have this place sturdy in no time!" He started hammering away, though you were slightly concerned when he tried to patch a hole in the ceiling using a workout bench.

Trein followed, shaking his head disapprovingly. "This building is a historical relic, and it deserves proper restoration." He brought Lucius along, who mostly supervised by napping in different corners.

Crewel arrived next, snapping his gloves on. "We’re not half-assing this. Ramshackle is getting a full makeover. And you’re going to help, pup. Start scrubbing those floors. Chop, chop!"

Even Sam surprised you by popping up with a toolbox and a grin. "Can’t have my favorite customer living in a death trap, can I? Plus, a little investment in the neighborhood never hurts business!"

The repairs were chaotic but effective. You spent days dodging Vargas’ overly enthusiastic demolition attempts, enduring Trein’s lectures on historical preservation, and running errands for Crewel while he barked orders like you were a rookie in boot camp.

By the end of it, Ramshackle was almost unrecognizable. The roof no longer leaked, the walls were sturdy, and the floors didn’t creak like a ghost was stalking you (though you were pretty sure the ghosts were still there, just quieter).

Grim looked around, nodding in approval. "Not bad, huh? Maybe this place isn’t such a dump anymore."

You smiled, patting his head. "Yeah, it’s still home."

And as you settled back into your slightly less ramshackle life, you couldn’t help but feel a little grateful. Sure, your dorm might not have been the flashiest or fanciest, but it was yours. And that was more than enough.

Masterlist

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC John Constantine's How To: Ghost Kids (pt.2)

[<- part 1]

"Oh, yeah," John jerks his head up like he just remembered the fact people are supposed to have names at all. He gestures to the kids, pointing to each of them as he introduces, "Daniel, Daniel, and Danielle."

This time, all three kids flip him off simultaneously. Bruce clears his throat, trying to figure out if Constantine is messing with him and, if so, in which parts. Since, so far, everything the man has said sounds like a poor attempt at pulling his leg.

"I don't think they like those," he cautiously says, and the kids whip their heads at him, nodding furiously. Bruce can't help but be just a little enamored with the way they behave.

"Of, sod off, at this point I don't care what they like," John straightens up with a dismissive, albeit weak, wave of his hands, and rubs his face, "They are menaces. Sometimes by accident, but mostly on purpose. Their grandfather thought it would be easier to handle them if they were not teenagers, and while I agreed with his reasoning at the time, I-" he glances at the kids, who all have displeased grimaces of various levels on their faces, "I have been made to reconsider. I swear that ancient bitch is laughing his ass off wherever he is now."

The kids suddenly grin. They are not very friendly, nor polite smiles - if anything, they look a bit nightmarish. An old grandfather's clock in his study makes a very loud ticking noise.

"See?" John whips his head to look at said clock, the expression on his face bordering on insane. His eye twitches.

If Bruce doesn't do anything now, he might become one of the very few people who managed to witness John Constantine, the Laughing Magician, have a meltdown. So he sighs and decides to solve the problems one at a time.

Which means that no matter how alarmed or suspicious he is, his first move would not be to interrogate either the man or the kids.

"You can sleep in one of the guest rooms, I trust you can find it on your own," he tells John, almost softly, as he catches the girl from slipping away from his lap, "Is there anything I need to know about children before you fall unconscious?"

John slumps with relief, so obviously that Bruce almost smiles. Hardships of raising - or, watching, for that matter - kids, he understands.

"Yes," he breathes out with an air of exhilaration and turns to the kids again, pointing to the middle child, "Danny is the original. He is from this dimension and timeline, that is. Dan," he turns his finger to the older boy, "is in the wrong timeline, he's Danny's future evil self redeemed into older bratty brother. Dani," he switches to the girl, "is Danny's clone, made by his arch-nemesis of a godfather. If she starts melting at any point, wake me up immediately. If any of them start floating, sprouting tentacles, speaking to walls in static, or glowing, don't."

Bruce looks down to the kids. So, definitely metas, that would explain the government trying to get them... Or, no, it wouldn't because he is fairly certain no government is going to blatantly ignore the Meta Protection Acts.

"Don't let them raise the dead, and if you give them food, make sure it doesn't have a face. If you find more than three of them, it means one of them has duplicated, don't worry, they will absorb it back later. Absolutely don't let them touch any guns," Constantine is backing down to the door as he speaks, his gaze flickering from the kids to Bruce and back every second. Like he is leaving a ticking bomb in Bruce's lap, and not three children. "Danny is, comparatively, the most responsible one, the other two are up for any dubious trouble they can get to at any moment. Oh, and their memories are wonky because of de-aging, they remember some things but not others, so if they say something particularly disturbing, it's most likely some random piece of knowledge they managed to keep."

Bruce raises an eyebrow. He did get the part about the kids being, well, abnormal in the matters of their origins, but the disjointed set of rules and advices doesn't help as much as Constantine probably thinks it does.

"Allergies, preferences, ages they were before?" He tries to get at least some more info down before John disappears through the door. Actually, maybe he should send someone to handcuff the man to the bed lest he disappears completely.

"None, but don't let them eat cutlery. Danny likes space, Dani has a thing for exploring, and Dan likes violence." The older kid stirs in Bruce's lap and says something in the direction of Constantine. No sound comes out, but the man seems to get what he's trying to say anyway, "Okay, yes, that was rude of me, sorry. Dan likes... exercise," he ends up with, and that placate the boy enough to slump down and cross his arms. John sighs, "They were seventeen, fourteen, and twenty respectively. Now," he snaps his fingers, and suddenly Bruce can hear the girl - Dani - humming a tune under her breath. So, he lifted the silence spell, it seems.

"Good fucking luck," John wishes to Bruce, earnestly, and all but vanishes away.

Bruce sighs and looks down to the kids.

"Are you hungry?" He tries, and all eyes are on him at once, attentive and unblinking.

"Fruitloops," Danny says, and while Bruce is positive that's the name for a cereal, he gets a feeling that's not what the kid meant.

[luv-lock]

ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤPERFECT GIRLㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Platonic Bruce Wayne x Fem Reader Part 1

☆⁠ HEADCANON : You were his daughter, his first child. But he lost you too soon. And he couldn't accept it, so he didn't. He tried to replace you, and replacing you he did.

☆⁠ NOTES : Merry Christmas everybody! Reader is Bruce's blood daughter. English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

You were only eight years old. A quiet child who wore your heart on your sleeve but never demanded too much from anyone. A child with shining eyes who only ever wanted her father’s attention. You understood he was busy. You understood he had responsibilities far greater than you could fathom. So, you never asked for much.

When Alfred bought you a new dress, you’d wear it and twirl in front of the mirror, hoping your father might notice. When you drew pictures, pouring every ounce of love you had into them, you’d approach him with trembling hands.

“Daddy, look!” you’d chirp, only for him to mutter, “Not now,” without even glancing up.

Tears would gather in your eyes, but you’d smile. “That’s okay. I understand.”

You always understood.

It was your birthday. You didn’t tell him you wanted a party because you didn’t want to bother him. But Alfred helped you bake a cake. You decorated it yourself with little shaky hands, frosting it with bright colors and sprinkles.

“Do you think Daddy will like it?” you asked Alfred, your eyes wide with hope.

“He will love it, Miss Y/N,” Alfred replied softly, his heart aching at the way you tried so hard to make up for Bruce’s absence.

But Bruce didn’t come home that night. When you asked him earlier to come home early, he looked distracted, his mind already on his mission. He muttered something about being busy, about Gotham needing him, and you nodded,

But it still broke your heart.

That night, while Gotham reeled under the threat of Joker’s latest atrocity, you snuck out. The small, homemade cake you had baked with Alfred was carefully packed in a box, your hands clutching it tightly as you walked through the shadowy streets. You had no fear. You only had a singular purpose: find your father and surprise him.

But Gotham is no place for children.

When the explosion shook the city, it ripped through buildings, shattering windows, and collapsing walls. You were caught in the chaos. Your small body was no match for the blast. You died alone, crushed beneath rubble, the cake splattered on the pavement beside you.

Bruce found you hours later.

The world seemed to stop as he knelt beside your bloodied, broken body. The cake splattered and ruined beside you. Your tiny hands were burnt, your face pale and lifeless. You had tears streaked down your cheeks, and Bruce wondered if you had been crying for him when it all happened.

The weight of his failures crushed him more than the rubble ever could. You had been so kind, so sweet, so pure. And now you were gone.

Because of him.

Bruce didn’t sleep for weeks. He didn’t eat. He barely spoke. He couldn’t. He just sat in the Batcave, staring at the empty chair where you used to sit and draw while he worked.

Alfred buried you. Bruce didn’t even have the strength to carry your casket. The guilt was too much.

But guilt wasn’t enough to keep him from trying to bring you back.

In the bowels of the Batcave, he poured years of his life into creating a perfect replica of you. Not just a clone. Not a hologram. Something more advanced, more real. An AI. A machine with your face, your voice, your mannerisms.

He painstakingly programmed every little detail. The way you hummed softly when you were deep in thought. The little “buh” sound you made with your lips when you were bored. The sparkle in your eyes when you smiled. He sifted through every recording, every memory, and built you piece by piece.

He spent years, decades, building and perfecting it. He wanted it to be so real that it could almost convince him you never died.

He kept you a secret from everyone except Alfred, who watched his master spiral deeper into madness. But Alfred could do nothing to stop him.

And then, one day, Damian found you.

Damian had been exploring the Batcave when he stumbled upon a locked chamber. Curiosity got the better of him, and he hacked his way inside.

You were there.

Sitting upright in a glass pod, your eyes closed, your body eerily still. You looked alive.

Damian touched the console, and the pod began to hum. Your eyes fluttered open for the first time in decades.

“Daddy?”

Your voice was soft, delicate, and full of confusion.

Damian stared, wide-eyed, as Bruce burst into the room, his face pale. For a moment, father and son locked eyes, the weight of the secret between them heavy enough to crush mountains.

But you sat up, looking around, your movements jerky and inhumanly precise. You looked exactly as you did the last time he saw you—a little girl with bright eyes and a sweet smile.

“Daddy?” you asked, tilting your head in confusion.

Bruce froze, fear and grief washing over him like a tidal wave. You blinked at him, your expression innocent, unknowing. You didn’t understand why he was crying, why his hands trembled as he reached out to touch you.

“Y/N,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

You tilted your head, confused. “Sorry for what, Daddy?”

“I’m sorry,” he choked, tears streaming down his face. “I’m so sorry.”

You didn’t understand why he was crying. “Why are you sad, Daddy?”

When Damian confronted Bruce, it all came out—the years of guilt,

“She’s not real,” Damian said, his voice sharp. “This isn’t healthy.”

“She is real,” Bruce snapped, his voice breaking. “She’s my daughter.”

Damian didn’t understand until he saw you again. You smiled at him, sweet and kind, and for a moment, he believed it. You were so lifelike, so real.

At first, Damian was wary of you, but he couldn’t deny that you were… convincing. You played with your toys like a child. You laughed just like the sister he never knew.

But there was something off about you. Something unsettling.

You were too perfect. Too aware. Your mind was faster than any human’s. You solved puzzles and answered questions before Damian could even finish asking them. Your laughter, though sweet, sometimes echoed hollowly in the Batcave, sending chills down his spine.

And then, one night, you attacked him.

He had been training in the Batcave when you approached him, your face eerily serene.

“Damian,” you said, your voice as calm as ever, “Do you love Daddy?”

He frowned. “Of course I do.”

“Then why do you hurt him?”

Before he could respond, you lunged. Your small frame belied your strength, your hands locking around his throat with a grip that could crush steel. Damian struggled, managing to throw you off just in time.

Bruce arrived moments later, pulling you back. You didn’t cry. You didn’t scream. You simply tilted your head, watching Damian with cold, analytical eyes.

“I was just protecting Daddy,” you said softly.

Bruce couldn’t see it. To him, you were still the little girl he lost. The little girl he failed to protect. He ignored the warnings, the cracks in your programming, the danger you posed.

Because he loved you.

And you loved him, in the only way a machine could. But at the end of the day, you were a construct. A hollow imitation of the daughter he lost.

You would never truly be her.

But Bruce didn’t care. Even as Damian begged him to shut you down, even as Alfred looked on in silent disapproval, Bruce clung to you.

Because in his mind, losing you again was a pain he couldn’t endure.

And you?

You sat in your little room in the Batcave, humming softly, your lifeless eyes staring at the wall. You didn’t understand why everyone looked at you with such fear.

After all, you were Y/N.

Right?

— MASTERLIST ☆

— © luv-lock. Don't copy, repost or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

[flamingpudding]

Code: GHOST

It all started when a number code flashed across the screen of the Batcomputer while Tim was working on a case.

7 8 15 19 20

Flashed across the screen several times to the point it made Tim think that someone somehow managed to hack into the Batcomputer. It was also a number code he was not familiar with at all. So Tim reported it back over their comms in hopes that maybe one of the others knew what the numbers meant. Because all he managed to figure out from it was that the number code was an alert on the Batcomputer, one that came with coordinates that lead into the middle of nowhere.

Tim was about to join the discussion Dick and Jason were having on it when Bruce silenced them all apruptly speaking up.

"Answer code 2 1 20, sent them to the coordinates attached. I will be in the cave in ETA3 and take over from there."

The sudden silence on their communication line spoke volumes especially when Tim new the numbers was a simply code for Bat. He still did what Bruce asked him to do but that didn't stop the questions running through Tim's mind. He watched on the screen of the Batcomputer how the moment he sent the code in return, Programs started like on autopilot. A map opening that contained nothing at first but then changed into a map of a whole good damn city. Tim could only gap at what was happening on the Batcomputer before Bruce appeared and pulled him away from his seat to take over himself.

Bruce without a beat of delay started to input more codes and apparently access codes too as more and more windows opened on the Batcomputer. Tim did not realise that with time Dick, Cass and Damian had joined him as they watched Bruce work away on the Batcomputer. At some point an audiotrack opened but all they could hear was only static. They thought Bruce was going to run it through one of the noise filtering programs.

But to the shock of them, Bruce suddenly triggered a hidden compartment on the console, causing it to flip over and reveal communication link build in a way non of them had ever seen before. It was silver with green accents and looked far... older and less sleek than any of the ones they used. It was clearly not designed to stay completely hidden if put into your ear.

They watched how he simply put that earpiece on and then replayed the audiotrack.

The batkids shared a look of confusion. Non of them sure what to make of the situation until suddenly Bruce stood up from the Batcomputer.

"Prepare for a rescue mission. Nightwing, Orphan and Robin will come with me, the rest of you will stay in Gotham." Was all the man said before storming of towards the Batplane.

"Bruce what is going on?!" Dick instead of going to prepare asked stoping the man before he could get away from them. "What is the meaning of that code? Aside from the fact that simply translated it means ghost."

Bruce eyed the batkids present for a moment before letting out a grunt. "Ghost is finally ready to join the family."

"Ghost?" Tim echoed confused, never having heard that alias for any of them.

"Father what do you mean, 'join the family'?" Damian chimed in clearly frowning with suspicion.

The man eyed them once more his eyes going over each of his children, it looked like he was contemplating telling them more for a moment before he stood to fully face them and let out a sigh. "Like Clark, I too have clone child."

There was a stunned silence. No one speaking up until Dick did. "How long...?"

"14 years ago"

The silence continued as they all did the mental math. Once more it was Dick who spoke up first, clearly stunned. "You had a clone since I was eleven and now is the first time I hear of that?! You never bothered telling any of us?!"

There was a long suffering sigh. "We got to Danny before he was aged up, he was a normal baby even if created in a laboratory, so it was best for him to grow up normally, with the league we arranged for him to be sent to selected family since I had my hands full with you and-"

"Danny?!" Dick cut in. "His name is Danny? Does he even know about us?"

"Dick." Bruce called out his tone warning. "Of course I kept an eye on Danny's life. And I did made contact with him when the time was appropriated considering some of the things that were happening for the boy as he grew up, however he is not aware that he is a clone and it will stay that way. He will get to know all of you once we finished this rescue mission."

Before Dick or any of the others could say anything more Bruce spoke up firmly again. "Get ready now, we do not have any more time. Anything else will be handled later."

[chatonfils]

Starting off by saying I hate “mom Danny” bc it tends to be p transphobic and misgendering, so if anyone adds it to my post I’m blocking them.

Tim making his Kon clone baby, but the cloning chamber isn’t stable enough for the fetus. He’s desperately trying anything that he think might work, when he comes across Phantom. Phantom who has experience with stabilizing clones.

Danny had heard whispers through the grapevine (Ellie who’d joined the Teen Titans as Phantasm) that there was someone attempting to make clones. He’d only meant to snoop and see if it was a Vlad situation. If any clones had been made and needed liberating. What he found was a newly minted Red Robin crying over a red blinking message on a cloning chamber. He warbled a quiet “please, Kon, I don’t want to live without you.”

Danny quickly realizing this wasn’t an attempt to replace and destroy, but actually someone grieving, in probably an unhealthy way, but who was Danny to judge, he’d once replaced Sam and Tucker with robots for less. So he decided to help Red Robin out. Sure, he hadn’t dealt with kryptonian dna before, but he was at least 89% sure halfa dna was way more complicated. And Red Robin had already figured out ways around the dna shenanigans, it was just the stability that wasn’t going well. Honestly, he didn’t think it would be as easy as an ecto dejecto like it had been for Ellie. But his parents had a lot of inventions that they’d started making to help out ghosts, once they’d realized Danny was Phantom. Maybe telling Red Robin about ghost IVF wasn’t his most thought through plan.

“I think what might help is an incubator.” Phantom had suggested.

Tim could only gesture at the cloning chambers that had failed him thus far. They were essentially huge incubators.

Phantom awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck. “I meant, like, a living incubator. Like a surrogate.”

“Where am I going to find someone that I not only trust to carry the baby, but also would volunteer?” Tim raised an eyebrow at him. Hell, had Tim had the equipment to do so, he would have carried the baby, everything else be damned. He just didn’t want to be alone anymore.

Phantom blushed green and looked away. “It might take a little tinkering with the embryos to work with the physiology, but…. I could carry the baby for you. I mean, I’m trans, and even if I wasn’t, ghosts are kind of malleable in a reproductive sense. And there are options for IVF in ghost science. And like, my own clone is like my little sister. I’m also a protection spirit, so I would protect the baby with my entire afterlife. And I’m kind of rambling so you should say something before I embarrass myself.”

“You would be willing to carry a baby for me?” Tim was shell shocked by the offer.

“I mean, yeah. You’re a good guy. You’re not cloning him for a malicious reason. You’re just trying to bring back a piece of your friend because you love and miss him. Dedication that strong for someone who has left the living plain, is admirable. You realized early on that you wouldn’t be able to increase the speed in which the clone grew. You’ve been trying despite knowing that this clone will be a baby that’s going to be your child, and not just the friend you lost. And I wouldn’t mind giving up my body for a little bit so you can make your family.”

Tim certainly hadn’t meant to surge forward and kiss Phantom. “Thank you.” Tim pulled Phantom into a fierce hug. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

It took about a month for them to work out the kinks of making the baby safe for Danny’s body. In this time, Danny showing Red Robin his human form, and Tim revealing his own identity. It felt kind of wrong to keep his name from someone he intended to get pregnant with his child. Tim and Danny got close as they worked together on the baby. And there may have been a few more kisses shared between them. In the end, the baby ended up spliced with mostly Kon’s dna, some of Tim’s (to stabilize the kryptonian dna), and some of Danny’s (to keep the baby safe in the womb).

Once Danny was well and truly pregnant, he encouraged Tim to find Bruce. “I’ll keep the baby safe. You find your dad. If you need me for anything, I’m only a call away.” Tim hadn’t forgotten about Bruce, he’d just never thought it would take so long to set up cloning Kon. So much of his hurt and loneliness had fallen away in Danny’s presence, and Danny had let him hyper focus on making their baby.

“Probably terrible timing, but I’ve got to ask,” Tim swallowed nervously. “Be my boyfriend?”

Danny’s lopsided smile, thawed Tim’s nerves. “I think I could work with that. I hope you don’t mind kids though, I’m kind of pregnant.”

Tim huffed a laugh. “I’ll keep in touch while I’m away. Please keep me updated on the baby.”

Danny pulled him into a proper kiss, “I will.”

I’m mostly imagining Tim getting bump update photos and falling in love with his increasingly pregnant boyfriend, while he finds Bruce.

I’m also imagining after Bruce is back, Tim being like, “anyways gtg, my boyfriend is in his third trimester and I don’t want to miss the birth of our baby.” And peacing out before any bats could react, let alone stop him.

And also maybe when Kon comes back, there’s maybe a poly relationship started.

Also thinking about Tim getting Danny pregnant without the science.

Danny gets Dad, Tim gets Papa, and if Kon joins, he gets Poppy.

[nixdragon]

At a certain point I am going to snap and ask a certain male friend 'are we really friends if every time i ask you to clarify what you mean by a phrase you just repeat the phrase?'