#Deecee

[fire-on-fuel]

eye twitching thinking of my 1080p vision of a null arcs edit to crazy girls by toopoor. I'll make it all it'll take is learning after effects and premiere pro and drawing an unimaginable amount of official quality art

[atomic-lullaby]

utterly horrid and contemptible little guys i drew cause the autism is bad bad

[1mpulsee]

// speedster blogs when will you return from the war

[brutalage]

vandal thinks you should be THANKFUL for seeing him fight or kill ANYTHING at all . it is an HONOR to watch him fight . violence down to an art .

[pocketramblr]

I mean. Do you guys even know the kinds of aus I would have spun if I knew "all might had dead siblings" was on the table

[random-racehorses]

Random Real Thoroughbred: AYCEE DEECEE

AYCEE DEECEE is a bay mare born in New Zealand in 2006. By BACHELOR DUKE out of TRIUMPHAL QUEEN. Link to their pedigreequery page: https://www.pedigreequery.com/aycee+deecee

[revalifish]

maybe if i watch it one more time order 66 wont happen this time

[frostycatblr-fandom-files]

Woman after my own heart; Cross, Echo and Tech were easily my most expensive purchase this year at my local convention!

They make for some entertaining desk companions, too.

Wrecker was an Amazon find. All that's left to track down is their sergeant but he's often so expensive. :')

Pick stuff from your room and have people vote which one they want to take home! Thanks for tagging me, @wings-and-beskar 🩷

*It's tricky to open because of the way it was designed, so I recommend displaying it instead.

No Pressure Tags: @the-bad-batch-baroness @kimiheartblade @rexxdjarin @dragonrider9905 and... whoever else would be willing! Consider this an open invitation. 🩷

[eyeballplanets]

i genuinely wish someone at deecee comics had the guts to deretcon marine corps john the way that other comic book decisions get walked back. some dumb fucking alien implanted the sad imperialist parasite into john’s brain and once they take it out they learn he was never a marine at all. cuz it’s like oh if the white man does something evil we get a magic bug to explain why it wasn't his fault but if the man whose initial characterization was a strident and consistent and tireless resistance against american authoritarianism is retconned to have partaken in imperial slaughter it's just like ‘haha fun gun construct.’ sorry but i think learning that a man whose first character moment was standing up to police violence and preventing a false flag operation being changed to have killed brown people is way worse than ‘the guy who threatened to do something if the guardians crossed him for literally two decades actually went and did it.’

[olives-and-lilies]

Alright lovelies~! October is just around the corner, you know what that means! Kinktober approaches

We have a list, and a list of alts, so there’s plenty to choose from! Just remember your aftercare

Do Both, Do None

Do Two, Do all 61!

Just come play, and have fun! @clonefandomevents @swfandomevents

Event Blog @clonekinktober and Event AO3 Collection

Prompts as Plain Text under the cut

PROMPTS

Kama Kink

Bunks

(Not) Following Orders

Breath Play

Terato/Xenophilia

Armor Kink

Sex on a Mission

In the Sonics

Pulling Rank

Public Sex

Medic Play

Binder/ Bondage Play

Group Sex

Role Play

Power Imbalance

The Armor/Bucket Stays On

Size King/Queen

Deecee Play

Underwear/Body Glove

Oral Fixation

Shiny

Marked

Knife Play

Breeding

Improvised Toys

Orgasm Denial

Voyeur/Exhibition Kink

Mirror Play

Uniform Kink

Souvenirs

Aftercare

ALTS

Sensory Play

Arrested by Corries

Paint

Drunk Sex

Life Affirming Sex

Joint Training

Dirty Talk

Barracks Bunny

Free Use

Holocall Sex

Tattoo Kink

Impact Play

Inappropriate Use of Stims

One Last Fuck

Adrenaline

Sensory Deprivation

Body Paint

LAAT/i Sex

Trapped in the Cod Piece

Object Play

Body Worship

Leather Kink

Strip Tease

Medbay Sex

Thigh Riding

79s

Lingerie

Stuck in a Vent

Boot Kissing/Grinding

Zero Gravity Sex

Aftercare

[insertmeaningfulusername]

Okay I gotta ask because it's been eating at me since you mentioned it on the rex and howzer post a few days ago... but smut fic? 👀

Adskafjdjfdjkjksjj yes 👀 I'm not sure into how much detail I can go with this seeing as it's Tumblr (my DMs are open to scream about clones any time any place kadlsfkldj), but it's a small idea I started like, last summer!!

I didn't get very far in (until now) but the gist of it is that Howzer is mourning all the troopers he lost when he, Rex and the Bad Batch were escaping from the CX trooper - and he obviously blames himself for not being better prepared, not protecting his troopers like he should have... and Rex takes care of him via some gentle domming <3 disclaimer that this is trans Rex, and I sort of wanted him topping for once instead of always being the bottom just because he happens to have a holster and not a deecee, so they're going to switch for sure.

[atomic-lullaby]

computer. show me men wearing female clothinf

[oceanicairways]

So we know some physical traits that Kyle inherited from his dad's side, what are some physical traits that you think he inherited from Maura's side of the family?

Personally, based on my own experiences, I like to think that he burns easily in the summer but those sunburns eventually turn into a smattering of freckles.

(Please note that I have what my great grandmother calls "Celtic Skin" so if this wouldn't work for Kyle's skin tone I apologize.)

ooh i love to think that he looks like her in the eyes + brow area. like how he has big boba baby cow eyes—maura has those but green instead. they also both have rounder and softer cheeks and jaws. obviously kyle has been drawn chiseled at times because he’s a man in deecee comics but he’s typically described as having a baby face and being pretty, especially in comparison to characters who are depicted as more masculine looking.

i also might be misremembering but i think that when he meets his dad, he’s taller than kyle by a significant amount? so maura’s genes shrank him a bit 💚

oh yeah also i like to imagine they have the same smile

i love them sm thank you for the ask!!

[j-richmond]

This week my brother started a Heroes Unlimited RPG game, which I joined. Yes, I'm in TWO games at the same time!

Heroes Unlimited is a superhero RPG from the early 90's based on the Palladium system. Like RIFTS, but with superheroes. It was actually the very first game I ever played, way back around 1995! You may know it as one of those games full of random tables that you have to go through for character creation. That's exactly what we did. We rolled for every aspect of our superheroes, including powers, education, what kind of car we have (very important), mental wellness, nationality, age and weight, sex, alignment, wealth, etc, etc, etc.

We ended up all being evil.

My character is named Devil Computer. This is his origin:

In 1980 Private Industries tasked an AI Super Computer to solve the question whether God is real. The computer determined that God isn't real… but the Devil is!

That AI Super Computer built itself a mechanical body and went on a Devil worshipping murder rampage. It was defeated and returned to Private Industries, where it was used to run data simulations for only good things. This didn't last. Eventually, the AI now known as Devil Computer escaped again with a new robot body and joined the Satanic Church. It was disgusted to find out the group didn't actually worship Satan. It left and became part of a minor Super villain group called Satanic Panic, which mostly focused on attacking D&D players. That wasn't satisfying either. Devil Computer spend several years searching for signs of the Devil in nature and society. He found many creatures that he would define as vile, but sadly no Devil. With no focus for their Devil worship, Devil Computer returned to Private Industries, and was assigned to their current work group as a Henchman for the villainous Day Traitor.

Devil Computer is an AI supercomputer, and has the kind of skills you'd expect. Repair, Math, Robot Repair, Advanced Math, Devil Worship. It's robot body is 12 feet tall, 2000 pounds and powered by solar energy. It is full of realistic human blood. It has 4 spider legs and a flamethrower. It does not have a car.

Devil Computer has developed a drinking problem.

It allows its friends to call it DeeCee. Devil Computer's boss describes it as a polite and competent worker.

[dystopicjumpsuit]

Stars Beyond Number - Chapter 20

A Whimper

Rating: M - Minors DNI

Pairings: Echo x Riyo Chuchi; Gregor x OFC Cerra Kilian

Wordcount: 2.4k

Warnings and tags: the shit hits the fan; mentions of Plan 99 (spoilers for TBB season 2 finale); angst; suspense; canon-typical violence (bearing in mind that in canon Mando cuts a dude in half, soooo... adjust expectations accordingly); references to torture; choking; blood and injury; character death; language.

Suggested Listening:

Summary: Echo deals with the fallout of Plan 99; Cerra has a polite conversation with the Empire.

A/N: This story shares continuity with Martyrs and Kings, "Double, Double Boil and Trouble" (part 2 here) and "Do It Again," but all the fics can be read as stand-alones.

Start here | Previous chapter | Next chapter | Masterlist | Sign up for my tag list | Read on AO3

…Not with a bang but a whimper.

—T. S. Eliot, “The Hollow Men”

Echo sat motionless in the cockpit of the Marauder, staring blindly at the navigation controls. Tech was gone. They’d lost. And all of it had been for nothing. They had no way of locating Hemlock or his base—no way of finding Crosshair. Echo hadn’t just failed to bring one brother home; he’d lost another.

He mentally replayed those fateful moments in the railcar again and again. Could he have worked faster? Could he have done anything differently? Could he have changed the outcome? He didn’t know, and that uncertainty haunted him.

He turned to stare at the empty pilot’s seat. For an instant, Echo could almost see Tech there. He swallowed hard, pushing down the overwhelming grief that tightened in his throat, choking off his breath. His head hurt; his chest ached; his eyes burned with unshed tears.

Gonky shuffled into the cockpit and squawked so quietly that Echo didn’t hear him at first. The droid moved closer and honked a little louder, trying to get Echo’s attention.

Echo blinked and looked away from the vacant pilot’s seat. “What is it?”

Distantly, he heard a familiar rumble, and his heart began to race. He launched out of the co-pilot’s seat and sprinted out of the Marauder. He spotted the Venator hovering over Ord Mantell City and immediately commed Hunter. 

“Hunter, the Empire's here.” No answer came. “Hunter, do you copy? Wrecker?”

There was no reply; nothing but static on the comms.

Kark.

Cerra stumbled as the TK trooper shoved her into the corridor. She subtly tested the binders on her wrists, but they held fast. She fought down the tide of panic rising in her chest and tried to ignore the way her breath was beginning to spiral out of control. 

Exhale. One, two, three, four, five. Inhale. One, two, three, four, five. Oh, god, what if I never see Gregor again? Exhale. One, two, three, four, five. Don’t think about it. Inhale. One, two, three, four, five. 

She forced herself to focus on solving her immediate problems. First, she needed to get out of the binders. Impossible. Next, neutralize the trooper and take his blaster. He’ll blast me before I ever touch the deecee. Next, get to the hangar, steal a shuttle, and hit up the first Starcups she could find.

Piece of uj cake, she thought. Kriff, I’m going to die.

Her sense of impending doom only intensified when she reached the torture chamber—or rather, “enhanced interrogation room.” A stocky man in an officer’s uniform waited next to a table fitted with numerous restraints and an array of control panels and sinister-looking instruments. A tray of surgical tools and hypo-syringes sat next to it, neatly arranged. 

At least he’s organized. I’d hate to be tortured to death by someone who was sloppy.

“Agent Daivik, I presume?” she asked.

“Ah, Miss Kilian. So good of you to join me,” Daivik said smoothly. He turned to the TK trooper. “Take off her binders and get out.”

“Can’t wait to get me alone?” she quipped as the trooper unlocked the manacles.

“Hardly,” Daivik sniffed. “You are only useful because of the information you possess. Please lie down.”

“Aren’t you going to buy me a drink first?” she asked, rubbing her wrists to get the blood flowing to her hands again.

Daivik smirked, then his fist slammed into her shoulder and sent her careening backwards, the backs of her legs colliding with the interrogation table. He grabbed her by the throat and shoved her down onto the table. She kicked her feet desperately, but he pinned down her thighs with one of his legs as he forced her to lie flat on her back. She scratched and grappled with his hand that clamped around her throat in a vise-like grip.

“Ju—Ch—” she sputtered as her airway closed.

“Ready to talk so soon?” he snarled. “I’m just getting started.”

Nevertheless, he loosened his grip enough that she could speak.

“Choke me harder, Daddy,” she rasped.

He snatched his hand away with a revolted curse, and she saw her opening. She headbutted him with all the force she could muster, and his nose made a sickening crunch as her forehead smashed into his face. He staggered backward, and she seized a scalpel off the surgical tray and plunged it into his neck. Blood sprayed out of him instantaneously, spattering thickly over her hand, arm, and face, and she lost her grip on the scalpel as the hot, slippery fluid coated her fingers. 

Daivik’s pale blue eyes opened wide with shock, but he staggered toward her, his hands outstretched toward her neck. She clenched her hand into a fist and pounded the scalpel deeper into his throat, then curled her legs up and kicked him away with both feet. He lurched backward and fell, landing with a heavy thud. He went abruptly still as his head collided with the durasteel floor.

She leaned forward on the edge of the table, bracing her hands on her knees as she gasped for air. Her vision blurred, and with her clean hand, she wiped Daivik’s blood out of her eyes. The door hissed open, and the TK trooper rushed into the room. Cerra lunged for another scalpel, but before she could strike, she saw a flash of blue, and the trooper collapsed to the floor. A clone in gray and white armor stood behind him, blaster still raised. Cerra crouched in a defensive position, scalpel clutched in her fist. The clone smacked the control panel to close the door behind him, then lowered his blaster.

“You know, if you wanted to see me, all you had to do is comm,” he said as he removed his helmet to reveal a familiar scarred face and mismatched eyes: one brown, and one a cybernetic silver.

“Wolffe?” she gaped, her voice hoarse and ragged from Daivik’s bruising grip on her throat. “What are you doing here?”

“Saw you on the security holofeeds and thought you might need help.” He spared a glance at Daivik’s corpse. “Looks like I was right.”

“I had it under control,” she lied, her breath coming in short, sharp bursts.

“You were about to bring a scalpel to a blaster fight,” Wolffe said pointedly.

“Kriff you,” she replied without heat.

“Kriff me yourself, coward,” he grinned.

“Holocams?” she asked.

“Surveillance feeds are off for this room and the corridor outside. You all right?”

“Is that a rhetorical question?” she asked, pulling off her jacket and using it to wipe the blood off herself as much as possible.

“You don’t look so bad,” Wolffe said as he quickly began to strip off the TK trooper’s armor. 

She moved to help. “Been better, been worse.”

“What’s your plan for getting out of here?” he asked.

“Steal a shuttle,” she said.

“I like it. Simple, straightforward.”

“Want to come with me?” she asked.

He shook his head as they wrestled the TK trooper out of his compression suit. “I’ll stay here and cover for you from the command deck.”

“You sure?” she asked doubtfully. “They’re going to suspect I had help.”

“I’ll stay,” he repeated. “I have… other duties to fulfill.”

He turned his back to give her privacy as she changed into the black body glove, then handed her the armor one piece at a time as she suited up. 

“It’s a hell of a coincidence, you being on the exact ship they brought me to,” Cerra observed.

“Sure is,” he said, not meeting her eyes.

“Almost like someone knew I got captured and sent you in after me,” she said.

“That’d be quite the twist, wouldn’t it?” he agreed noncommittally. “Good thing neither of us knows anyone who would do that.”

“Good thing,” she agreed as she settled the helmet onto her head. “How do I look?”

“Not bad,” Wolffe replied. “You might want to take this, though.”

He drew one of his blasters and offered it to her. 

“I’ve got his deecee,” she said, gesturing toward the unconscious TK trooper. “I’m good.”

“Trust me, you want this one,” Wolffe said.

She glanced down at the blaster in his hand, and her breath caught as she recognized Jesse’s modifications.

“I could only find the one,” he said. “But I knew you’d want it back.”

Her throat tightened, and she swallowed hard before she managed to reply, “Thanks.”

He nodded, his eyes sympathetic. “Ready?”

“Any time. It was good seeing you, buddy.”

“You, too, kid,” Wolffe said, sliding his helmet firmly into place. “I’ll see you around.”

“That a promise?” she asked.

“Clone’s honor.”

They stepped into the corridor, and Wolffe closed and locked the door behind them. With any luck, nobody would discover Daivik’s body and the TK trooper until Cerra was safely off the Venator. With one final nod at each other, they parted, Wolffe heading to the bridge while Cerra made her way to the flight deck. 

She forced herself to walk at a normal pace to avoid drawing attention, though her instincts screamed at her to run. Her heart pounded, and she was grateful for the helmet that hid her face from the Imperials she passed in the passageways; she didn’t think she would be able to disguise her anxiety without it.

The hangar was nearly deserted when she arrived—no doubt thanks to Wolffe. Nobody noticed an extra TK trooper in the shuttle bay. Cerra selected a shuttle, then quickly located and disabled its transponder beacon. Once she powered up the shuttle, the Imperials would know something was wrong. She would have an incredibly narrow window to get out of range of the tractor beam. There would be no time to program the hyperdrive navicomputer; she’d have to use the last inputted coordinates and hope for the best. She took a deep breath and boarded the shuttle.

Settling into the pilot’s seat, Cerra began running as many of the pre-flight protocols as she could before engaging the sublight engine. This is it, then, she thought, beginning the power-up sequence and maneuvering the shuttle out of the bay.

The comms crackled almost immediately. “Nu-class shuttle, you are not cleared for takeoff. Return to the—”

She muted the transmission, then punched the thrusters to top speed, blasting out of the hangar and into space. The Venator opened fire, but as soon as she was clear of the ship, Cerra jumped to hyperspace. Safely away, she yanked off her helmet and leaned back in her seat, gasping for air.

“I can’t believe that worked,” she said aloud with a short, incredulous laugh.

Riyo stared at the flickering hologram of Echo’s face, feeling as though all the oxygen had been forcefully ripped from her lungs.

“How?” she whispered. “What happened?”

“The Trandoshan sold us out,” Echo replied, his face grim and twisted by grief and anger. “We barely made it out alive.”

“Why would the Empire take Omega? What do they want with her?”

“I don’t know. That Imperial—Hemlock—he said something about Nala Se. He said she’s still alive.”

Riyo frowned. “Could she have escaped the destruction of Tipoca City? Halle Burtoni told me there were a few Kaminoans scattered throughout the galaxy, but she didn’t mention Nala Se.”

“If Nala Se is working for the Empire, that can only spell trouble for us clones,” Echo said.

“I agree. We should discuss this with Rex. When will you be back to Coruscant?” Riyo asked.

Echo glanced away, refusing to meet her eyes.

Her heart began to pound. “Echo?”

He took a deep breath before he replied. “I’m not coming back to Coruscant.”

She blinked. “... What?”

“I’m staying with Hunter and Wrecker,” he said quietly. “Omega is still out there somewhere, in Imperial hands. We have to find her.”

“Cerra is still out there, too!” Riyo protested. “We need you here! We need you—”

“Riyo,” Echo said gently. “Rex and the others are doing everything they can to find her. I trust them, and I trust that she can take care of herself until they find her. Besides, if I know Cerra, she’s already making whoever took her wish they were never born. But Omega is only a child. We can’t abandon her.”

He was right, of course. She knew he was right. But knowing he was right didn’t make the crushing weight in her chest feel any lighter. She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. She bit back the selfish words that sprang to her lips, knowing that speaking them aloud would only make things worse. Nevertheless, they reverberated in her mind.

I need you. I love you. Come back to me.

Echo reached for her through the holocomm, and she closed her eyes for a moment, imagining that she could feel the warmth of his touch.

“We will see each other again,” he said. “I swear it, Riyo. This isn’t the end for us.”

Without her comlink, Cerra had no choice but to use the shuttle’s communicator to contact Rex. Not only were the shuttle’s comms not secure, it was possible that the Empire was actively monitoring them. She keyed in the details for one of the team’s burner comm channels.

“Code kilo-three-two-seven. Scrapper to Monarch, come in,” she said. The minutes ticked by in agonizing slowness as she awaited a reply. When none came, she tried again. “Monarch, this is Scrapper. Please respond.”

The comm was silent. Fighting down her rising panic, Cerra ran a diagnostic to make sure it was functional. All systems were normal. She was just about to try a third time when the voice she loved most in the entire galaxy crackled through the speaker.

“Scrapper, this is Watchman. Good to hear your voice.”

Gregor. Oh, thank kriff. Tears of relief stung her eyes, and she hurriedly blinked them away as she responded.

“Back at you, Watchman.” Her voice cracked, and she swallowed. “Really good.”

“What’s your status?”

“I’m all right, but I could use a ride. Any chance you’re free for a pickup?” she asked.

“Affirmative. Head to delta-one-alpha-eight-two. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Copy that, Watchman. Fly casual.”

“You, too, Scrapper.”

Gregor ended the transmission, and Cerra let out a shaky breath. It was over. She was going home.

---

Next chapter

[cabezadeperro]

For the movie prompts, how about Sweeny Todd for …Codywan or Kenfetti, i cannot decide which is more cursed?

tru this one kicked my ass lmao. at first i tried to make it cracky but it seems i am physically incapable of writing that lskdglhgh

i'm not super happy with it but here it is!!! enjoy!!!!! codywan, weird tatooine au/canon divergence! ~600w, established relationship, M because of the alluded cannibalism lol

---

Kenobi is sharpening his knives at the back when Cody slips back into the shop. He closes and locks the door at his back and starts the long and involved process of shedding layers, leaving a small puddle of golden sand on the already sandy tiling by the entrance. The storm makes the small house rattle, the winds pushing at the door and the boarded up windows.

The shadows within the room are dark and deep, the air inside close. It’s never cool on Tatooine, but there is something about Ben Kenobi’s barbershop that seems to freeze one’s soul. Nonetheless, he’s never lacked clients—not since Cody joined him, at least. He has a remarkably steady hand, and he only uses the wrong edge of his knives for Imperial officers.

Cody hangs his cloak and his goggles from one of the hooks by the door but keeps his weapons, his old GAR-issue deecee and his vibroknife. And then he’s crossing the empty room towards the small door at the back. 

Flickering yellow light comes through a crack in the door, paints the old tiled floors and silhouettes the cracks and the missing pieces. Cody clicks off the safety of his blaster and pushes it open all the way, starts making his way down the stairs and towards the shop’s cellar.

When he first found Kenobi—almost two years ago; he was still quietly obedient and wearing Imperial grey—he wasn’t actually looking for him. Cody hasn’t made up his mind yet whether he forgives Kenobi for not quite cutting his throat open, but meanwhile they have this, whatever it is.

The cellar is kept clean and mostly tidy: water jugs and metal shelving on one side, Kenobi’s workbench on the other. There’s a body right between those two. The dirt floor of the cellar is damp with blood; it almost reached the last step. Cody huffs and pauses there, and Kenobi glances at him over his shoulder and then turns back to his knives. There’s blood in his right sleeve and on his face, and he probably knows—he just doesn’t care.

Tatooine is the kind of place where a body doesn’t last for long. Cody steps onto the dirt and makes his way to the wheelbarrow to the left, the old, pockmarked plasteel held together with a mix of spite and duct tape. He rolls it closer to the dead Imperial officer and then it is a matter of putting on his gloves and grabbing the bastard from under the armpits, and heaving him up and into the wheelbarrow. It creaks and sways under the weight, and Kenobi glances one more time at Cody, an annoyed frown on his face.

He arrived at Tatooine two years later than Cody. He’s greyer and thinner and older than he used to be, and the right side of his face is a mess of burns, blue eye teary and eternally inflamed, and Cody has not seen him use the Force even once. 

Cody takes off his gloves and approaches Kenobi. He’s still watching Cody with his mess of a face, and when Cody bends down to kiss him on the top of his head his cracked lips brush against the leathery skin of Kenobi's skull where his hair doesn’t grow anymore. Kenobi allows it, thin shoulders shifting under his grey robes.

 Cody puts his gloves back on and returns to the wheelbarrow, and then he opens the door to the tunnels, weak yellow lights flickering to life like so many faraway stars. The best thing about Tatooine is that you can always find someone to buy what you sell. Meat is meat, and the desert is always hungry.