cdblake1565

[cdblake1565]

I can’t believe Howzer would ever hurt someone if it weren’t for their own good. It probably broken his heart as much as hers to break it off with her. He just didn’t know how to do it without hurting her. I love Howzer. He was my first figurine collectible. I saw him and had to have him. He’s right above my head on my headboard every night.

Better Together

Summary: Two years after Howzer breaks up with you, you find yourself drawn back into his orbit.

Pairing: Captain Howzer x GN! Reader

Word Count: 981

Warnings: Angst with a hopeful ending

A/N: So, I had an idea and this was born. But I'm not sure it makes much sense. I hope you all like it anyway.

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The safe house that you currently call home is filled with an awkward, and deeply uncomfortable silence.

It’s awkward enough that you wish Rex had sent someone else, anyone else, to be your temporary bodyguard.

Anyone other than Howzer.

Your gaze flickers to his reflection in the glass of the window you’ve been staring out for the last half hour. He looks much the same as the last time you saw him. The same hair. The same face.

His armor is a little more scuffed than it had been the last time you saw him. And you know that scorch mark on his left leg hadn’t been there two years ago.

But, then again, two years is a long time to go without seeing someone. You’re sure that a lot has changed for him. After all, you’re not the same person you were two years ago either.

You’re a little older now. A little more jaded. A lot more cynical.

Annoyingly, he seems unbothered to be trapped in the safe house with you.

Which just isn’t fair, seeing as you’re pretty sure you’re heart is breaking all over again. And here you thought you were over him.

“Are you hungry?” His voice is light and conversational, as if he hadn’t shattered your heart into pieces years ago and then walked away as if the three years you had been in a relationship meant nothing.

As if you hadn’t been dreaming of a wedding and babies.

You clench your jaw, and rest your forehead against the window, “I’m fine.”

“You need to eat.”

“Stop nagging me. You’re not my mother.”

The words come out a bit sharper than you intend, and you cringe internally. Howzer sighs, slow and deep, and you cringe again. You know that sound. That’s his I’m frustrated but I’m not going to verbalize it sigh.

You heard it a lot in the weeks leading up to your break up with him.

“I know this isn’t ideal,” Howzer says as he approaches you, “But you can’t starve yourself.”

“I think you’ll find that I can, actually.” You counter, without looking at him, “but I’m genuinely not hungry. So please just drop it.”

He’s quiet for a long moment, and you can feel his gaze burning into the back of your head. You can’t help but wonder what he’s thinking when he looks at you now.

Probably nothing positive.

Valid, you suppose. You have a hard time coming up with anything positive about yourself these days, after all.

“I think, maybe, we should talk.” Howzer says suddenly. Suddenly enough that you start in surprise.

“Talk? What is there to talk about?”

“Don’t be like that, cyare.”

You finally turn to look at him, a scowl on your face, “You don’t get to call me that, Howzer. You broke up with me, remember.” And then you fold your arms over your chest, a wholly defensive move since he has a unique ability to hurt you like no other. “You made yourself very clear the last time we spoke. There’s nothing to talk about.”

“That—“ He trails off.

“Annoying, you called me. Clingy. A waste of your time, I think were your exact words.”

He stares at you, and then he exhales slowly, “I didn’t mean it.”

“Yeah, you did.”

“No! I...I was trying to protect you.”

“Protect me? No. I don’t believe that. If anything, I think you were trying to protect yourself.”

This time he scowls, “I didn’t expect you to run to the Empire.”

“Where else was I supposed to go? I joined the GAR right out of High School. Becoming an Imperial Solider was my only option.”

“You could have done anything else.” Howzer counters.

“What, like become homeless? Broke? Needing to beg for money for food and clothes?”

“I would have helped.”

“You told me you never wanted to see or hear from me again. Those were your words, Howzer!”

“I didn’t mean it, though.”

“Then you shouldn’t have said it!”

“You think I don’t know that?” Howzer pushes his hand through his hair, “I fucked up.”

“Yeah, you did. And a half-assed apology isn’t going to make me forgive you.”

“I know.”

“Do you? Because I was planning on a wedding and kids, Howzer. I was planning a future. With you. And you shattered it like it—like we—meant nothing to you.”

He stares at you, his lips parted, “I didn’t know that’s what you wanted.”

“Did you think I dated you for three years for my health, Howzer?” You glare at him, and then turn away, “Whatever, it doesn’t matter anymore anyway.”

His hand lightly lands on your shoulder and he turns you so you’re facing him again, “Wait. Just...wait. Please.”

You sigh, “This is going to be hard enough without you being a jerk about it, Howzer—”

But there’s something soft on his face, and his hand comes up to lightly caress your cheek, “We were always better together than we were apart, sweetheart.”

“So what?”

“Give me another chance. Let me make it right.”

“You can’t.”

“Let me try.” He pleads as his other hand slides to rest against the back of your neck. “We were so happy together.”

“Until you destroyed it?”

“Yeah. That.” He pauses, “Give me a chance.”

“Why should I? So you can run again when things start to look too hard? So you get to break my heart again?”

“I won’t.”

“Words are easy, Howzer.” You shake your head and brush his hands off you, “I’m not going to apologize for looking out for myself.”

His hands fall to his side, and a stubborn look slides across his face, “Alright then. You want me to prove myself to you? Then I will. Relentlessly.” He grins at you, “I am going to win you back, cyare. You’ll see.”

And, against your better judgment, you believe him.

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[cdblake1565]

So glad you’re back Vod’ika! Oh and Bacara and Neyo are invited too.

I'm so happy you're safe and comfy in your new place! I hope it's great for making new memories and all the best kinds!

On a totally, drastically different note, Bacara and Neyo have to have some pretty strong opinions about sundresses, right? I feel like they would have a lot of things to say about sundresses on their partners. Do you have anything to say about what they might say or what their very not-feral-lunatic opinions would be? XD

Summer Days and Sun Dresses

Summary: With your parents babysitting your daughter for the summer, you finally have some time to get to know your new boyfriends. You feel like a teenager again, you just hope that they aren’t disappointed.

Pairing: Commander Neyo x F!Reader x Commander Bacara

Word Count: 876

Warnings: Reader is a single mother

A/N: So, after a month of hiatus, I think I'm back! And while I'm a bit worried that this isn't exactly what you wanted, I hope you like it! Bruh. I forgot how I was doing my header for my stories, lol. Oh well.

Click HERE to be added to my taglist

“Okay,” You push your fingers through your loose hair as you turn from one side then to the other, your gaze sharp as you look for any imperfections in your sundress that might make today an embarrassment, rather than a home run.

As a single mother, you got into the habit of making your own clothes. And while, at first, it went about as well as one could imagine, you’ve improved a lot since then.

So much so that the pale yellow sundress, with the small daises embroidered around the hem, looks almost professional.

Finally content that you look like a million credits, you release your hair and take a step back, setting your hands on your hips.

You look good.

Better than good, even.

Sure, you’re no super model. But, in your humble opinion, you wear your weight well. Besides, the weight all came from carrying and giving birth to Niko, so it’s worth it.

You reach for the pale yellow ribbon sitting on your vanity and carefully tie it around your neck. Like the daisies embroidered around the hem of your dress, there’s a daisy charm, made from beads and thread, hanging from the front of the ribbon. And both match the only set of proper jewelry you own. A pair of hanging daisy earrings that Niko bought you, with your mother’s help, for your last Name Day.

Once the choker is tied on, and you slip your cute boots on, you take one more long look at yourself in the mirror, and a delighted smile crosses your face. You look amazing.

You look bright and cheerful.

You just hope that Neyo and Bacara think the same thing.

You’re halfway to the front door when the doorbell chimes it’s merry tune. You glance at the chrono on the wall, and then hurry to the front door.

Your men are early.

You peer through the peephole, and then pull the door open to beam at the two men who have captured your heart with such ease. “Neyo! Bacara! You’re early!”

Bacara tosses you a small grin, “Well, I was eager to see you, and Neyo just decided to follow me.”

Neyo rolls his eyes, “I told him showing up early was rude. If you’re not ready, I can drag him back to the street.” His dark eyes sweep across your body in a way that would have made you uncomfortable, if it had been anyone other than him, “I’m not sure what more you might need to do, though. You look amazing.”

You beam at him, even as your face warms with pleasure, “Thank you,” You take a step back and spin so they can see the dress, “I made it myself. It’s cheaper, you know?”

Bacara’s grin widens, and his thumb drags against your shoulder, just next to the strap of your dress, “Pretty, smart, and talented? How did we end up so lucky, vod?”

“She clearly has terrible taste in men,” Neyo replies dryly, though there’s a curl to his lips that shows that he’s teasing you, “Can we come in?”

“Oh! Of course.” You move to the side to allow them into your home, “Niko is with my parents for the summer, they’re paying for her to attend a specialty summer camp.”

“Oh, which one?” Bacara asks as he brushes passed you, taking a moment to squeeze your hip and slide his hand up your side, “If I remember, she was enthused about several.”

“My parents wanted to spoil her, so she’s doing ballet half of the summer, and the other half is for music.” You jump when you feel Neyo’s finger against the back of your neck.

“So, you have the house to yourself, then?” Neyo asks, his voice light in a way that makes you narrow your eyes at him.

“That’s what I said, yes.”

Bacara laughs quietly, and your breath hitches when he presses himself against your back, his arms tight around your waist, “Neyo is a bit awkward when it comes to communication.” He murmurs against your ear, before he drags his lips down the column of your throat, “I think what my brother is saying is that this is the first time we’ve been properly alone since our first date.”

There’s a hint of suggestion in his voice, and you feel your face heat. “Well...yes. That’s correct.”

Your breath catches again when Neyo lightly drags his hands down your arms, his eyes alight with an emotion that you’re hesitant to name. “As much as we adore spending time with Niko, I have to admit, this is what I’ve been looking forward to.”

“Same,” Bacara murmurs, and you feel him grin against your jaw, “How did you know that sundresses drove us absolutely insane?”

A small pout crosses your lips, “It’s the dress?”

“Mm, it’s more the whole package, really.” Neyo corrects, “The dress, the color, the flowers. And, most importantly, the woman in the dress.”

“O-oh.”

Bacara laughs quietly, “The dress is lovely, mesh’la.” His voice is soft, and reverent. “But, darling, it’s going to look so much better on the floor of your bedroom.”

And your face burns even as a pleased smile stretches across your lips. Yeah, This is exactly what you were hoping for.

@heidnspeak

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[cdblake1565]

Tubies! I wanna tubie sit please

Part 2 > Part 3

“I should change my haircut, or get a tattoo, just so we don’t confuse the baby batches.”

“You’re just looking for an excuse, but sure.”

One of the tubie toddlers (“how long are they considered tubies?’’Idk”) woke up after the uprising. He’s never seen an adult clone, only its batch mates, droids and the occasional kaminoan. He low-key imprinted on a trooper, and refused to be passed to anyone else, until one of them took off his bucket as well.

Bonus:

They would have gotten latrine duty, but Fox knows they’re soon going to need a lot of babysitters.

[cdblake1565]

Ghost in the Shell, uhu. tell me it's already been done

Aurebesh text: - Skako Minor - I'm telling you that signal is being sent by Echo himself! He's alive!

That very poster

@lonewolflupe @eobe @eclec-tech @crosshairs-dumb-pimp-gf

[cdblake1565]

Rex and Ahsoka

[cdblake1565]

I feel your pain (every time I watch it). I love Hardcase. I laughed at all his antics then went into mourning for 6 months. He is and will always be my favorite Clone.

Just finished watching the Umbara arc for the first time. Those are my two favourite screenshots so far

I'M FUCKING SHAKING. MY BOY HARDCASE. TUP. DOGMA. WAXER. REX FUCKING HELL

MY KIDS

I can't even cry. This is pure agony

I didn't even pause to take some cool screenshots for references.

I HATE IT BUT I LOVE IT (just bc we get to see clones close in action and their relationship with each other)

I need therapy now. Help

[cdblake1565]

you know who’s gay? paul the real estate novelist who never had time for a wife and davey who’s still in the navy and probably will be for life

[cdblake1565]

🥹This is soooo sweet

Father's Day

Prompt: Day 3 Father's Day

Words: 1674

Rating: G

Warnings: None

This one is set in my Unexpected-verse and features Mira, Wolffe's daughter, who learns the important lesson that not all gifts need to be material.

The comm chimed just as Plo was finishing his afternoon tea. He answered without hesitation, recognizing the comm code.

Mira’s face blinked into view, her curls tousled and her brow furrowed in frustration. “Grandpa,” she said without preamble, “Father’s Day is this weekend and I still don’t know what to get him. I need your help. It’s an emergency.”

Plo folded his hands in front of him. “Ah. A very important mission, then.”

She huffed. “I asked him, and he said, ‘You don’t need to get me anything.’” She dropped her voice, mimicking her father’s accent with surprising accuracy.

Plo smiled behind his mask as she rolled her eyes so perfectly reminiscent of her father that it warmed his chest.

“And what do you think he meant by that?” Plo asked gently.

“I think…” Mira scrunched her nose, thinking hard. “I think he’s bad at gifts. Like, scared of them or something.”

Plo made a thoughtful sound. “That may not be entirely wrong.”

“I wanted to get him something good. Something he’d really like,” she continued, arms crossed now. “But he won’t tell me what he wants. And he never buys anything for himself. So how am I supposed to know?”

“Perhaps,” Plo said slowly, “you and I should discuss it in person.”

Mira stopped pacing. “Like… you’ll come get me?”

“If your mother approves,” Plo replied, “I shall place a call to her and pick you up after school tomorrow. We’ll take a walk. Perhaps near a few shops. And get some ice cream.”

Mira lit up. “With the candied berries?”

“If they have them.”

She leaned closer to the screen, grinning. “Okay. It’s a deal.”

#^#^#^#^##

The next afternoon, Plo met Mira outside the private academy she attended. She came bounding down the front steps, still in her school uniform, her bag slung over one shoulder and her hair only half-tamed. The moment she spotted him, her face lit up.

“You came!” she called, skipping the last step to land in front and hug him tightly.

“I said I would,” Plo replied, patting her head. “Did your lessons go well today?”

“They were fine,” Mira said, brushing the question off with a wave of her hand. “But I’ve been thinking about Dad’s gift all day. We have to figure it out.”

They set off together, Mira walking just slightly ahead, then circling back every so often to match Plo’s slower pace. The plaza they entered was wide and open, lined with fake plants in neat planters and a variety of shops.

“I thought maybe a mug,” Mira began. “Or a shirt. Something cool.”

Plo gave a thoughtful hum. “That is one possibility. Do you believe he needs a mug?”

Mira wrinkled her nose. “He already has like, a million mugs.”

“Mm,” Plo agreed, diplomatic as ever.

“I could get him something for his speeder,” she added after a moment. “But I don’t know what. He doesn’t really like… stuff.”

“No,” Plo agreed. “Your father does not seem to place much value on acquiring new possessions.”

Plo, ever subtly offered, “Sometimes, the most meaningful gifts are the ones made by hand.”

Mira wrinkled her nose again. “I guess. But I want it to be good.”

They walked a little further in silence before Mira brightened.

“He has this old jacket,” she said. “The one he wears on his speeder bike. It’s got a hole in the shoulder.” She reached up to show the spot. “Right here. So… maybe a new jacket?”

“Yes. I recall that jacket. It’s from Liri, I believe.”  Plo said.

Mira blinked up at him. “Mom bought it?”

“She did,” Plo confirmed. “It was one of the first civilian garments your father ever owned. I believe it holds some sentimental value.”

Mira went quiet, mulling that over. “So… he won’t get a new one because it reminds him of something?”

“Perhaps,” Plo said. “Or someone.”

Her brows pulled together. “Well… what if we fixed it?” she said suddenly. “Made it better. He won’t get rid of it, but we could fix the hole.”

Plo tilted his head, his tone warm with approval. “How do you propose we do that?”

“I don’t know,” Mira admitted. “Maybe one of those patch things. With a design. You can make those, right?”

“You can,” Plo said. “With patience and the proper tools.”

She looked up at him, eyes wide with excitement. “Do you know how?”

Plo made a thoughtful hum. “Perhaps. With some guidance. And a snack or two… I believe we can figure it out together.”

Mira grinned. “Okay!”

#^#^#^#^#

The gardens at the Jedi Temple were calm and serene.  Birds chirped in the canopy, and a gentle breeze rustled the trees and flowers. On a bench under one of them, Mira sat cross-legged beside Plo, surrounded by a carefully arranged bundle of supplies, cloth, threads, needles, and a small sketchpad.

Her brow was furrowed as she focused, tongue caught between her teeth, trying to copy the lines of the Wolfpack symbol onto a square of fabric. Plo sat,  one hand steadying the sketchpad as she drew, the other occasionally pointing or nudging to guide her lines.

“Like this?” she asked, holding it up.

Plo tilted his head, studying it with care. “Very close,” he said. “The placement is just right. You captured the spirit of it.”

Mira beamed. Next came the needlework. Plo threaded the needle for her, then gently placed his hand over hers to show the motion.  She got the hang of it rather quickly and soon he was merely supervising.

“Yours is a steady hand,” he said.

“It’s not perfect,” she muttered.

“Perfect is not the point,” Plo pointed out. “It is made with care. That is what matters.”

Eventually, the patch began to take shape: the Wolfpack emblem in silvery thread, and just beside it, a smaller silhouette of a wolfcub.

Later, they walked through the plaza near the apartment, on the way to bring Mira home. At a small food stall, Plo ordered his usual shake, and Mira got her ice cream piled high with candied berries.

She took a huge bite. “This was a good idea,” she said, mouth full.

Plo looked down at her, the edge of pride settling warmly in his chest.

“I believe it was.”

#^#^#^#^#

The table was set with a variety of pastries and finger foods, some fruit.  A light lunch.  Liri set the last of the dishes on the table with a flourish.

“Are you sure you won’t eat?” she asked again.

Plo inclined his head, hands folded neatly in front of him. “Just tea, thank you. I was served a rather generous breakfast earlier, and I still have two more visits and a dinner to attend before the day ends.”

“Well,” Liri said, pouring the tea, amused, “We’re glad you made time for us.”

“Of course.”  Plo said warmly.

Across the table, Mira fidgeted in her seat. Her hands were folded in her lap, but her whole body buzzed with barely contained excitement. She kept casting glances toward Plo and her father, clearly waiting for the right moment.

Wolffe was finishing his caf, the cue she’d been waiting for, when she finally burst out with, “I have something for you!”

He blinked, caught surprised. “You do?”

“Uh huh. It’s Father’s Day,” she reminded him, matter-of-fact. She darted across the room and retrieved a small, carefully wrapped box from behind a cushion on the sofa. She placed it in front of him. “Open it.”

Wolffe glanced between her and Plo, with just a hint of suspicion.  Plo gave a faint, knowing nod and Wolffe pulled the twine and opened the box. Inside was the embroidered patch that Mira had worked so hard on. The stitching was beautiful, the lines a little uneven in places perhaps, but she had done a remarkable job.

Wolffe stared down at it, silent.

“It’s for your jacket,” Mira said, her voice quick. “The one with the hole. That’s your symbol. And the little one is…” She hesitated. “Me.”

He looked up slowly, and something in his expression cracked wide open. His mouth twitched toward a smile, but it was his eyes that gave him away. He cleared his throat, voice low and a little rough.

“We’ll sew it on later,” he said, brushing a thumb over the edge of the patch. “Right over the shoulder.”

Mira beamed.

Liri was already reaching for a napkin, watching them, blinking against the emotion.

It was rare to see Wolffe so moved, rarer still to see him allow it.

“Happy Father’s Day, Daddy,” Mira said softly.

Wolffe reached for her, pulling her into his arms. He pressed his forehead to hers and kissed her temple. “Thank you.”

“Grandpa helped,” Mira added. “He taught me how.”

Wolffe looked over at Plo and nodded once, his voice steady now. “Thank you. Both of you.”

Wolffe stood slowly from the table, taking a deep, almost shaky breath. The emotion lingered in his expression as he crossed the room and pulled a box from a drawer..

He returned to the table and set it in front of Plo.

“Happy Father’s Day,” he said.

Plo tilted his head in quiet curiosity, then opened the box.

Inside lay a custom-made bracer, similar to the ones he wore, but clearly newer in a dark, polished material. It had his usual markings, the Jedi Order emblem and the Wolfpack symbol, carefully etched and painted. The inner lining was clearly custom.

“It’s reinforced,” Wolffe explained quietly. “Adjustable straps for support. Heard your wrist was acting up again.”

Plo paused, claws tracing the curve of the bracer. “And who, may I ask, told you about my wrist?”

Wolffe’s eyes flicked toward Mira, amused, almost conspiratorial. “A little bird,” he said. “Or cub, rather.”

Mira grinned wide.  “You did say handmade things were better than buying them.”

“I did.”  Plo agreed, and this time it was he who was overwhelmed by emotion.  Plo looked between them, and then reached for both. One arm wrapped around Mira, the other around Wolffe, pulling them close.

[cdblake1565]

Where is the rest of the story? I want the movie. FIVES LIVES.

🔗 "What if: Fox didn't shoot Fives—but helped him escape?"

---

The hallway was too quiet.

Too still. Even for Coruscant.

Fox had lived long enough on the upper levels of the Senate District to know when the silence meant danger, and when it meant something worse.

Tonight, it was the latter.

He gripped his blaster tighter as he turned the corner, scanning for the target. Fives. CT-5555. ARC trooper. Distinguished. Loyal. A soldier who had gone off the rails.

Or so the report said.

He was supposed to shoot on sight.

"CT-5555 is compromised," Chancellor Palpatine had said. "He attacked me. He may be under Separatist influence."

But Fox had read the logs. The report. He had seen the surveillance footage. Watched it ten times.

Fives hadn’t looked like a traitor.

He looked like a soldier who had just realized the war was a lie.

Fox's boots made no sound on the polished floor. His squad was several paces behind. He’d sent them to sweep the other hallway.

He wanted to find Fives first.

He wasn’t sure why.

And that made his stomach twist.

He found him in the shadows.

Slumped against the wall behind a coolant vent in the archives wing, helmet off, hair damp with sweat. His blaster was gone.

His eyes found Fox immediately.

No fear. Just that wild, desperate clarity that was almost worse.

"Commander," Fives said, voice cracking. "You have to listen to me. Please."

Fox didn’t lift his weapon.

He should have. He knew that.

He should have pulled the trigger and ended the mess before it got worse.

But something in Fives’ voice—in the way he said please like it was his last breath—cut through the fog of loyalty and protocol like a blade.

"Talk," Fox said.

Fives blinked. Swallowed. Like he hadn’t expected that to work.

"The Chancellor," he began. "He’s not who he says he is. There are chips. Implants in our heads. Kaminoan tech. They used Tup as a test. And me... they tried to wipe me too. But I got out. Rex and Anakin helped me. I—"

"You attacked the Chancellor."

"I didn’t attack him. I tried to get him to listen. He said I was dangerous. That I was crazy. But I'm not. I swear, I'm not. You have to believe me."

Fox stared at him.

Everything in his body screamed to end it.

This was insubordination. Treason. A security risk.

But then he thought of the Chancellor. Of how calm he had been. Of how quickly the order had come down. Shoot on sight. No trial. No questions.

He thought of the flicker of fear he saw in Palpatine's eyes on the holovid when Fives had cornered him. Not fear of death.

Fear of the truth.

Fox holstered his weapon.

Fives stopped breathing.

"Get up," Fox said.

"What?"

"You want to survive? Then move. I have five minutes before my squad doubles back."

Fives stared.

Then scrambled to his feet.

They moved through the auxiliary corridors, Fox guiding with sharp gestures. Fives was stumbling, running on fumes, but still moving.

They reached a sealed door. Fox keyed in an override.

"This leads to the underlevel access tunnels," he said. "No cams. No eyes."

Fives hesitated. "Why are you helping me?"

Fox didn’t answer at first.

Then: "Because if you're wrong, you're insane. And if you're right... everything we know is a lie."

Fives laughed, breathless. "Some choice."

"I don’t like either. But I don’t kill my brothers in the dark without hearing them out."

The door hissed open.

Fox looked back at him.

"Go. I’ll cover your exit. You have one chance. Find proof. Stay out of sight. Don’t trust anyone."

Fives looked like he wanted to say a thousand things.

He settled for one.

"Thank you."

Fox nodded.

Then the door shut, and Fives was gone.

The squad returned five minutes later.

Fox reported a false lead. No contact. He sent them to sweep the southern hallways.

He lingered.

Standing alone in the place where Fives had been.

And for the first time in his career, Commander Fox lied to the Empire.

And he didn’t feel guilty.

Not even a little.

---

Fox didn’t sleep that night.

He didn’t sleep the next, either.

He filed his reports by hand. Triple-checked them. Told the story exactly how they needed to hear it: no contact with CT-5555. Scans came up cold. Surveillance glitch in the archive wing. Possibly a decoy. Search ongoing. Recommend widening the perimeter sweep.

No one questioned him.

No one ever questioned Commander Fox.

And that should’ve made him feel secure.

But instead it made him sick.

He could still feel the heat of the archives. The dry rasp of Fives’ voice in his ears. “There are chips… The Chancellor…” That look in his eyes when he said thank you — like Fox had saved his life. Like it meant something.

It shouldn’t have meant anything.

They were soldiers. Replaceable. Trained for obedience.

But Fox had always prided himself on being exact. On following protocol to the letter. Because if he didn’t—who would?

But now…

Now he had broken the very thing that made him him.

For a brother.

For a possibility.

For a truth he still didn’t understand.

And the weight of it was cracking him open.

Three days later, a coded alert came through.

Security breach. Unauthorized entry on Sublevel Cresh. Suspect presumed hostile.

Fox’s stomach twisted into ice.

It was too soon.

He’d told Fives to lie low. To disappear. To stay gone.

But Fives had never been good at quiet.

He took two guards with him.

Just two. Loyal men. Ones he trusted.

They swept the tunnels.

Fox’s grip tightened on his DC-17 as he turned a corner.

And there he was.

Again.

Fives. Hair longer, eyes sharper. This time with a datapad clutched to his chest like it held the galaxy’s secrets.

“I found it,” he breathed, staggering toward Fox.

Fox raised a hand to halt his men.

“What?”

“Proof. About the chips. About Order 66.” He nearly collapsed against the wall. “Kamino… Nala Se… I copied the files. I have them. It’s all here.”

Fox took the datapad slowly.

His hands were shaking.

He never shook.

But as he scrolled through the files — encrypted, verified, real — he realized something terrifying.

Fives had been telling the truth.

Every word.

Fox stepped forward and caught him before he hit the floor.

“Fives,” he said, low and urgent. “Stay with me.”

But Fives was burning up. Exhausted. Eyes glassy with pain and adrenaline.

“Did I do it?” he whispered.

Fox swallowed hard. “You did.”

Fives smiled. “Good.”

Then his eyes rolled back, and he went limp.

They kept him hidden in a decommissioned transport bay, locked down under Fox’s personal access code. Medics loyal to the Guard patched him up — no questions asked.

And for the first time, Fox didn’t report it.

Didn’t say a word to the Senate.

Didn’t log the breach.

He just sat there, armor discarded, watching his brother breathe.

Waiting.

Dreading.

Because if Fives was right — and he was — then the chips were real.

The war was orchestrated.

And everything they were was a lie.

Fox didn’t flinch when the Chancellor summoned him the next day.

He stood in Palpatine’s chamber, spine straight, voice clear.

“No further sightings, sir. We believe CT-5555 fled offworld.”

Palpatine smiled thinly. “A pity. Such... promise, that one. Still. A traitor is a traitor.”

Fox nodded.

He didn’t speak.

Didn’t breathe.

Didn’t blink.

Just turned on his heel and walked out.

And as the lift doors closed behind him, he clenched his fist tight around a stolen copy of the files Fives had recovered.

Buried in the lining of his vambrace.

Right where no one would find them.

Because maybe the war couldn’t be stopped.

Maybe the betrayal had already begun.

But he could still protect his brothers.

Even if it cost him everything.

---

The night before it all ended, Fox stood on the edge of the city, watching the endless lights of Coruscant blink like stars that had forgotten how to shine.

Fives was safe. Hidden in the guts of the planet, in a repurposed med-station the Guard had long forgotten. The datapad he’d carried like a lifeline was now burned into Fox’s hands — decrypted, copied, sealed behind biometric locks he trusted more than breathing.

He hadn’t shown it to anyone.

Not yet.

Because who would believe him?

Commander Fox. The Chancellor’s bloodhound. The one who’d killed for protocol more than he’d ever lived for his brothers.

Who would trust that he had listened, had believed, had saved Fives?

There was only one.

And Fox had spent the last five hours staring at the encrypted channel blinking on his comm.

One word:

Rex.

He tapped it open.

Typed.

“Need to talk. Alone. About Fives.”

He hovered a moment.

Then hit send.

Rex arrived two hours later.

Civilian gear. Cowl low. The kind of stealth that said he didn’t trust anyone anymore — and that he knew something too.

They met in the shadow of a shuttered transit station, silent save for the hum of distant speeders.

“Fox,” Rex said, guarded.

Fox didn’t waste time.

“He’s alive.”

Rex’s hand twitched toward his blaster. “You shot him.”

“No. I let him go.”

Silence. Too sharp. Too dangerous.

“…Say that again.”

Fox reached into his armor and pulled out the encrypted drive.

“He found proof. The chips. Kamino’s involvement. Palpatine’s orders. It’s all here. I saw it. It’s real.”

Rex didn’t speak for a long time.

When he did, his voice cracked.

“Where is he?”

“Safe. For now.”

Rex closed his eyes, jaw tight. “You… you saved him.”

“I shouldn’t have. I was ordered to kill him.” Fox’s voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. “I’ve always followed orders, Rex.”

“But you didn’t this time.”

“No.”

And it had torn him apart ever since.

Rex stepped forward, something brittle in his gaze. “Why are you telling me this now?”

Fox looked away.

“…Because something’s coming. I don’t know what. But I know this isn’t over.”

He shoved the drive into Rex’s hand.

“If I go down, this can’t.”

Rex took it like it weighed a thousand kilos.

Then: “You’re not going down alone.”

Fox’s breath caught.

No one had ever said that to him before.

They made a plan that night.

A contingency.

A place to meet.

A signal phrase if it all went to hell.

And Fox felt, for the first time in years, that he had someone on his side — not as a commander, but as a brother.

When they parted ways, Rex didn’t say goodbye.

He just clapped a hand to Fox’s shoulder, firm and quiet.

And that meant more than any salute ever had.

But the peace didn’t last.

Not even two days later, Fox heard it.

Over the comms.

Across every channel.

Those words.

“Execute Order 66.”

And his world — their world — shattered.

---

How about it? Do you want more?

[cdblake1565]

[cdblake1565]

TRUTH

CT-5555, "Fives." One of the first clones we ever truly knew. Not just as a number. Not even just as a brother. But as a person.

Fives started out as a rookie. Just another face in a sea of Jango Fett copies. But he never stayed just another face.

He questioned. He challenged. He resisted.

The system trained him to follow orders. To fight and die on command. But Fives? He thought. He cared. He asked why. And when the answers came — ugly, horrific, impossible answers — he didn’t shut up. Even when it killed him.

Fives died in a hallway. Alone. Branded a traitor. Whispering the truth with his last breath. And the worst part? He was right.

He knew about Order 66 before it happened. He tried to stop it. He tried to save them. And nobody listened.

But you know who remembers? Rex.Rex carried Fives’ name like a ghost. Like a promise. And because of that — because Fives screamed the truth into the dark until someone heard — Rex and Ahsoka survived.

Fives didn’t have plot armor. He had rage. He had heart. He had truth. And the galaxy wasn’t ready for it.

[cdblake1565]

I fell in love with Hardcase because of the Umbara arc. He is hysterical, he can lie like no other clone, he finds the lighter fun side of everything and he is straight-up hero. I was crushed when he sacrificed himself but I was also so proud of him.

don't misunderstand me umbara is heart-wrenchingly tragic but there is something SO FUNNY to me about jesse and hardcase essentially just going "oh our little brother is just gonna straight-up stage a mutiny. count us in". sibling goals right there

[cdblake1565]

Or maybe you wake up to see her sitting right next to your face staring at you. You just know she contemplating how she is going to murder you and make it look like an accident. 😼🙀

well maybe you should blearily wake up at 5:08 in the pre-dawn light and find the sleeping soft tiny mammal body of your cat just inches from your head like a miracle too beautiful for speech, and you should rustle one hand out from your blankets to rub fingertip circles across the warm eggshell dome of her little velvet-wrapped skull and on the bristly patches just where the cups of her ears begin, and as she inclines her head into your fingers and purrs without ever opening her little eyes you should feel a love so tender that you understand how that love could have reached out from the fireside into the inky spangled nights long gone to reach her, and then you'll feel better

[cdblake1565]

Happy Saturday Vodika!

Im thinking about the first time with your clone trooper. He's never been with anyone, and you only have a few experiences. But there's trust and soft curious touches, and a satisfyed smirk when he gets you to make a new noise.

There's giggling and questions, and maybe it doesn't work how you think it will. But you both feel heavy and warm after.

You cuddle and discuss what worked and what you would like to try next time.

Just... growing with your trooper. Building a relationship is so romantic. ❤️

Aww, this is so sweet.

Like, yes, there's heat, passion, and desire. But there's also love and trust and everything else.

To me, this screams Wolffe, I think. Or maybe one of the Dominoes. But really, it could be any of them.

[cdblake1565]

Oops. Guess someone got stood up. Glad Monnk found his tru love.

Cotton Candy Lipstick

Summary: The first year of the war, Monnk meets a woman at 79s and spends the night with her on his lap and kissing her breathless. Four years later, with the war over and with a shiny new set of rights under his belt, Monnk is haunted by the memory of her lips.

Pairing: Commander Monnk x F!Reader

Word Count: 1193

Warnings: Spicy implications at the end

A/N: I was in a Monnk mood and decided to do something about it. Thus, this story was born. Sorry if it's not the greatest. I'm very tired.

Click HERE to be added to my taglist

In Monnk’s personal opinion, he’s the most pathetic man to ever exist.

For one, very simple, reason.

It’s because four years ago, he met a young woman at 79s, and he’s been stuck on her ever since. Every time he closes his eyes, her face swims into view. And when he’s dreaming at night he can hear her voice and feel her lips against his.

It’s, frankly, embarrassing.

He doesn’t even know her name.

And it’s been four years, and he never saw her again after that first meeting.

And yet, here he is. Retired from military work, yet still living on Coruscant just in case he runs into her at the store or at the park or something.

She tasted like cotton candy. Her kisses sugary sweet in a way that Monnk became addicted to over the course of a single night. If he had been a smarter man at the time, he would have gotten her name or number.

But he had been a dumbass kid, basically, and let his angel slip through his fingers.

At this point, his brothers are starting to give him a hard time about it, calling him pathetic for being stuck on someone who might not even exist. And when Monnk started pushing back, they decided the best way to handle the situation is to set him up on a series of, increasingly bad, blind dates.

Honestly, Monnk isn’t sure why he still goes on these dates. Other than he doesn’t want to deal with his brothers’ nagging him about standing up his date.

Which brings him to now.

He’s dressed casually, a button down shirt and some nice-ish trousers, as he sits at a table in a restaurant that he doesn’t really like, waiting to meet a date he’s pretty sure he’s going to hate.

The last three dates he’s been on have hated his hair—she said that men shouldn’t dye their hair blue or wear it long—and one said that if she was going to date him, he would have to get his tattoo removed, which is never going to happen.

He shifts in the chair and rests his chin on the palm of his hand with a sigh. Maybe if he just leaves, he can tell his brothers that he got stood up and they’ll stop with this ridiculous blind date thing.

Monnk is pulled from his thoughts when someone drops into the chair across from him, and he flickers his gaze across her face. She’s pretty, her hair pulled into a braid down her back, and her lips are painted in the same shade of pink that you see on bubblegum.

She’s not really looking at him, though. She’s messing with her purse, and talking in his direction. Something about work being a hassle and that this isn’t really her thing, but her friends insisted.

And then she looks at him, and Monnk is able to get a good look at her face, and he straightens in his seat. He’d recognize her face anywhere. Stars know he’s dreamed of it enough times.

“Oh! It’s you!” She sounds pleased when she looks at him, and a bright smile crosses her pink lips.

“Monnk,” He offers her his hand, which she takes as she offers her own name, “Maybe now we’ll be able to talk more than once every four years.” He offers with a small grin.

“Hopefully!” She doesn’t seem to want to pull her hand away from his, her soft fingers gliding against his wrist, “I went back to 79s the next night, looking for you.” she admits, sounding almost sheepish.

“I got deployed that morning,” Monnk explains, “And I was gone for six months.”

“Well, that’s alright. Because we’re here now, yeah?”

“Yeah,” His grin widens, “So, do you still wear that cotton candy lipstick?”

A bubbly laugh falls from her, and then she shifts her chair so she’s able to press her knee against his, “It is my favorite.”

“It’s my favorite too.” He turns in his chair, just enough that he’s facing her, and he brushes his fingers against the corner of her lips, “Is that what you’re wearing today?”

She shakes her head with a teasing grin, “I decided to wear something new today.”

“Flavored lipstick?”

“Of course.”

Monnk taps his thumb against her lower lip, “What flavor?”

Her grin widens, “Why don’t you tell me?”

His gaze flickers to her lips, and then he leans back, “You know, I haven’t ordered anything yet. You want to get out of here?”

She tilts her head, almost coyly, “Aren’t you hungry, Monnk?”

“Starved,” He replies immediately, “but there’s nothing here that will hit the spot.”

She averts her gaze for a moment, but then locks her gaze with his again, “Well, in that case, we should definitely leave.”

It takes less than five minutes for Monnk to get up, for him to help her up, to guide her out of the restaurant, and to tug her into an alley not far from the restaurant so he can crash his lips against hers.

She tastes like strawberries, and she’s so soft as she presses against his body, her arms wrapping around his neck to pull him closer. It’s the kiss, and the body, he’s been dreaming about for years.

So, really, it’s not his fault when he pulls back so he’s able to trail his lips down her jaw to her throat. And it’s not his fault when he lightly nips on the soft skin of her neck.

And when she whimpers, and tangles her fingers in his hair and pulls on it, Monnk starts to plan his wedding with her.

Her soft fingers trail through his hair, and she breathes out his name like it’s a prayer, and Monnk has to remind himself to check his grip so he doesn’t hurt her. But his gaze meets hers, and there’s something soft and hot in her gaze, and he can’t help but grip her hips even tighter.

Her eyes flutter slightly, “Monnk,” she murmurs, “You should walk me home.”

It’s an innocent comment.

“Will you let me stay?” Monnk asks, he doesn’t want innocent.

Her fingers glide against his jaw, “Until you get tired of me.”

“So, never then?”

And she grins at him so brightly that her eyes crinkle at the corners.

The following morning, Monnk wakes up with his legs tangled in hers and his arms tight around her waist. He’s deliciously sore from the scratch marks on his back and the hickies covering his body.

His comm is chiming with multiple incoming messages, so he grabs his comm to check his messages, all while tracing the marks he left on her body with a careful finger.

She groans and buries her face in his chest as he opens the many messages from Cody, and then Monnk releases a laugh. She whines and pulls back to squint at him, “Monnk?”

“Looks like you weren’t my blind date last night, princess.”

She blinks slowly, her sleepy brain struggling to comprehend, “That’s okay. This is better.”

“Oh,” Monnk leans in and steals a heated kiss, “I absolutely agree.”

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[cdblake1565]

My favorites - Clones and horses. 🥰🥰🥰

Calvary clone doodles I never finished

[cdblake1565]

😭

Friendly reminder that most clones didn’t know about the inhibitor chips. It makes Cody’s ”we make our own decisions, our own choices, and we have to live with them too” hit a bit harder.