foxslightsaber
Here There Be Cloneshipping
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Bartender at 79s: What can I get you boys to drink?
Echo: Hey waiter, lemme get a cocktail, hold the tail.
Fives: *spits out his drink*
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scrunglyknscrungly lung hacksaw forcing fox to rest by faking feeling bad and wanting cuddles, thusly entrapping the fox into spending all day in hacksaw nest being fed snacks by troopers that pass by
"I need to get up," Fox told him for what felt like the fifth time in the past... stars he didn't even know. Forever. But the arm around his waist didn't move, and Hacksaw's amber eyes blinked slowly at him like the big vine tiger that he was- if a vine tiger was forced to be on oxygen for most hours of the day.
This was a mistake on Fox's part, he would admit. He'd come down just to check in on the man and make sure he was comfortable and settled before he crashed in his bunk for an hour before he dove headfirst into his mountain of datawork laying in wait on his desk. But Hacksaw had this innate ability to get Fox to agree to anything he wanted just by staring at him, and so he'd been coaxed into the pile of blankets and pillows that the Guard affectionately referred to as "Hacksaw's Nest".
And promptly passed out for two hours straight.
Now Hacksaw wouldn't let him go, pretending to sleep whenever another Guard came by. After all, they couldn't possibly wake up their injured vod just so Fox can get up and do work. Even Thorn was against him, refusing to give him his datapad and instead handed him a ration bar and water and told him to have a nice day off, why don't you enjoy it by taking a nap-?
"You are trouble," Fox told Hacksaw, who merely shifted, cheek lowering to press against his side. The cannula was starting to tangle between them, and Fox did his vod-ly duties by carefully fish the tube back to safety as Hacksaw dozed off- officially, this time.
It was a good thing Fox loved him, resigned to his fate of being a cozy pillow. And if he did end up falling asleep too, well, he would forever deny it simply for the principle of the matter.
#oh god this is so cute…! 🥹#wait -I- have scrungly lung!!!!#this is what I’m calling it from now on#(it doesn’t have a name so that might as well be it)#omfg
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Anecdotes of a Guard Life: The Picture
Inspired by this delightful comic by @ippsy! It's so dang cute!
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It’s a celebration day on Coruscant, and that means Fox and fully half of the Coruscant Guard are currently standing guard or patrolling the highest levels of the city.
Fox is not entirely sure what the celebration’s about; possibly a rock? From what he’s heard. Which is extremely confusing to him. He’s heard various peoples in various different languages talking about the stone and how it’s amazing just the tip remains?
Fox is never going to understand nat-borns.
It’s a long, boring day for the troopers. Lots of standing around, or walking back and forth, while getting asked inane questions that anyone could find out for themselves with a few quick taps on their datapad. Thorn, the bizarre creature that they are, loves it. Loves the interaction and cheerful conversations and atmosphere of it all. Normally, Thorn would quite happily take on overseeing these events, but the Chancellor had made it very clear that he wanted to show off the full might of the Coruscant Guard, along with it’s Marshal Commander.
So here Fox is. Standing around. Thanking Prime for the concealment of his helmet so he could roll his eyes every time a nat-born official asked, yet again, “Do you really all look the same?”
Fox is swiftly running out of tolerance for this.
Thankfully, Thorn’s got a knack for realising when Fox is contemplating whether murdering a few nat-borns will get him life in prison or decommissioning, and is already approaching to take over in the “ticket-only” section. They briefly pass updates between them, then Thorn’s waving him off with a flick of his wrist that indicates the grin hidden behind his bucket.
Fox frankly, doesn’t care. Thorn can be amused by him all they want. Fox is going to find himself somewhere isolated to look busy and get a break from rich nat-borns wanting to say they talked with the Marshal Commander.
He does check in with various groups of his troopers on the way through. They’re mainly walking in pairs, never alone, and occasionally in slightly larger groups depending where they’re positioned or what they’re doing. They’re all fairly bored, but relieved to be in the city and surrounded by happy civilians, rather than in the stodgy Senate or on edge in the Coruscant Correctional Facility.
There’s two more troopers on the way to the hiding spot he’d scouted out earlier, and he goes to talk with them before he makes his final escape.
The conversation goes on a little longer than he expected. This pair consists of Captain Riser, and the new shiny to his squad, who’s barely eight years old and makes Fox want to lock him in the centre of the Guard barracks and never let him out. Fox hasn’t had much chance to actually interact with him yet (has perhaps been avoiding the hero worship a bit), but it’s easier when there’s helmets separating them.
They’re discussing the shiny taking on some solo upper levels patrols when there’s a high-pitched, sing-song “hi!” nearby.
For a moment he doesn’t react, assuming it’s not directed at them. But the shiny turns and cocks his head slightly. When he doesn’t turn back, Fox glances over to see what’s caught his attention.
There’s a cadet, tiny and orange, with a gap-toothed smile and a yellow bow matching their dress. The tiny Twi’lek cadet is staring cheerfully at him, holding out a sheet of flimsi in his direction.
“I drew this for you” the cadet sings, grin spreading impossibly wider as Fox reaches out slowly, not entirely sure what’s going on.
Taking the flimsi very delicately between his fingers, he raises it up to take a proper look at it, as the Twi’lek cadet puts both hands behind their back and looks bashfully at the floor.
It’s a picture of him. Poorly rendered, with scribbles for the Coruscant icons on his pauldrons, a frankly ridiculously orange sun with strange lines emanating out of it over his shoulder, and with the lower angles of his helmet distorted into what he assumes is meant to be a smile.
He… Kind of wants to cry.
It’s beautiful. Something kind and happy and wonderful that’s been made for, and gifted to, him.
He looks up from the picture to the cadet, who’s gazing back at him with huge, wide eyes in a hopeful expression, and can’t help but ask “for me?” in a strangely strangled voice he doesn’t quite recognise as his own.
The cadet nods, lekku bouncing happily as they do.
Fox clears his throat, finding himself looking back down at the picture. His chest feels warm and fuzzy, and he wants nothing more than to pin the picture to the inside of his chest armour and wear it close to his heart.
“Thank you,” he says, voice soft and small. The Twi’lek cadet smiles up at him one more time, then turns and darts off, back to where a group of cadets are scribbling enthusiastically away under the watchful eyes of their parents. One in particular, a Twi’lek with orange skin and yellow patterning gives him a grin and a wave, before catching the little cadet who gifted him the picture as they jump into the older Twi’lek’s arms.
Fox watches them twirl and laugh for a moment, before turning back to the picture in his hands. When he gets back to the barracks, he’s going to give it pride of place on the wall next to his bunk. Maybe he’ll see if he can scavenge up one of those frames nat-born’s sometimes use…
There’s a low cough next to him, and he jolts, whirling round and putting his hands on his hips, keeping the picture clasped carefully in one.
He can’t see Riser’s face, but the angle of his helmet gives away the grin and raised eyebrow Fox knows Riser’s wearing under there. He doesn’t acknowledge it, simply carrying on blithely with the earlier conversation as if nothing happened, ignoring the amusement he can feel drifting off the two troopers in front of him.
-----
Later, he forgives Riser entirely. The man had returned from the day’s duties and found him in his bunk, devoid of helmet, and had quietly handed Fox a slightly scratched wooden frame.
The picture fits it near perfectly, and Fox stares at it hanging on his wall, until he falls asleep with a smile on his face.
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seven minutes in hell where you beat the shit out of each other. in a closet
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Crosshair not being subtle at all while trying to snap a holo of Mayday.
It can also be found on AO3 along with a drabble.
#maycross#crossmay#cloneship#cloneshipping#crosshair/mayday#mayday/crosshair#clone ship#clone shipping
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Mayday: yep Mayday died. Hi. I’m Deadweight.
Crosshair: *frantically hugging him* I hate you so kriffing much don’t ever scare me like that again
No but ok so Mayday lives (of course he does; what’s the alternative??? 😅)
And he actually changes his name to Deadweight
Mostly to torment Crosshair
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No but ok so Mayday lives (of course he does; what’s the alternative??? 😅)
And he actually changes his name to Deadweight
Mostly to torment Crosshair
#cloneshipping#clone shipping#clone ship#cloneship#maycross#crossmay#mayday/crosshair#crosshair/mayday
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Just a quick doodle of these three~
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For the kiss ask prompts:
Deadshot x Fives + 32 - a kiss while someone watches
I want my babus *^*
One of the few things Deadshot had to accept that clone troopers didn't know the meaning of privacy.
And that would mean, no sex without audience.
"It's just makes things even more exciting" said Fives with a mischievous grin.
When Shot's eyes met with Dogma's wide ones in the dark, it occured to his mind that maybe - just maybe -, the vod'ika didn't share this sentiment and Fives' round naked ass mooning at him wasn't the first thing he wanted to see when woken up in the middle of the night by the muffled moans and the squelching noises of sloppy kisses.
Fives made sure that such inconveniences wouldn't bother Shots anymore while with him.
I really snorted when I saw this prompt, because my first thought was: Privacy? ON A VENATOR???
Also I returned back to my comfort zone with this one art-wise, I hope you like it ^^ I missed these di'kuts so much, thank you for asking for them ith <3333
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Crosshair is a bratty little bottom for Mayday
Thank you, that is all
#HELLO I AM LOSING MY MIND!!! 😂🤣😂#perfect perfect perfect#clone shipping#cloneshipping#omfg#clone ship#cloneship#maycross#crossmay#crosshair/mayday#omfg again
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Love this video so much
youtube
#omfg#classic#every so often I’ll just say to my spouse ‘I have a question for you!’#cloneshipping#cloneship#clone shipping#clone ship#the fact that it’s Dee is just… 👌
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🎲 + Crosshair/Mayday please? (●'◡'●)
Oooooo, shiny ship *grabbed hands*. I hope you like this! (Spoilers for The Bad Batch season 3)
29. A kiss to the back of the hand (au where everything happens exactly the same. Except Mayday didn't really die. Echo finds him with the rest of the clones on Tantis.)
Crosshair had been a marksman most his life. That may not be a long time compared to most humans, but it was all he had to fall back on for that short time.
Losing his hand had brought clarity to the need to diversify his skill set, but he hadn't wanted to give up shooting. There was a peace to sniping that he craved. The planning, the wait for the perfect moment- anticipation, and the pride in a successful hit. He only found such satisfaction with one other.
He glanced up from cleaning his rifle to find the man who swept back into his life like a hurricane. Mayday was in his spot, an old chair salvaged from a ship and parked unceremoniously in Crosshair's work area. The fact Mayday had a regular spot still stole his breath some days.
He didn't deserve all the luck that had fallen in his lap. Omega insisting on saving him as well, the Bad Batch taking him back, and now Mayday. Yes there had been bad luck too. His hand had been a loss, but not as great as Tech...
He looked back to the rifle, fine tuning it to adjust to him. The repetition could have been a black spot, a chance for his mind to spiral and focus on the bad even as the sun shown brightly through the window. But it isn't. Instead he finds the peace he'd earned on Tantis.
Only for a few minutes, though. The chair across from his worktable creaks and a shadow moved around to shift beside him. Crosshair points to the spanner across the table, new metal prosthesis catching the evening hues as night settles around them.
Mayday grabs the spanner and places it next to the rifle. As Crosshair murmurs an irritated thanks, he intercepts the hand moving to pick it up. Warm, living flesh kisses the back of the cold metal just as lovingly as if it was real human skin.
"You're welcome."
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I just think Star Wars would be better if Cody and Rex were allowed to spoon on screen.
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help i was working on this painting and imported the wrong picture—
#omfg#codex#cloneshipping#prev tags#it has been years since they have known each other's touch#warmth but a memory under brighter moons and more hopeful stars#they draw closer—#blep#anyway that's my dog say hi buddy!
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Siento que te mereces una estrellita. Pero si te portas mal, te voy a someter.
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Last line challenge and WIP Wednesday all rolled into one!
Tagged by the lovely @nightfall-1409 for the last line challenge. Again, not tagging but please do it if you'd like! (Or let me know if you're cool with being tagged; I'm running out of active author moots.)
Anyway!
We're getting into the (mildly) spicy stuff with Rex and Echo now, so avert your eyes if that's not your thing.
Burn scars climbed up Echo's right thigh, trailing over his hip like the flame had licked him with an overgrown tongue. Rex licked them with his own, following with worshipful fingers that made Echo gasp and shudder in spite of the nerve damage dulling his senses. And when Rex smiled up at him, his chin on Echo's thigh, it was enough to make his heart skip.
“Rex,” he whispered, pulling the other man up from the floor.
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The Kiners are right of course, their kisses would need to have their own show
This is not the first time they want clonexclone action babes
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