uh hey😩 | this is mainly cloneshipping so if you don’t like it block it | she/they💙|requests open✌️😮💨| alot of my fics could be considered platonic so think of them however you’d prefer💙
Kinda surprised i havent made one of these yet but, here we are.
I take requests! I may open and close them depending on how life is treating me atm, (we have a love-hate relationship) but please send me requests and asks for what you’d like to see(:
I really only do cloneshipping, but I’m willing to do other ships if you thats what you wanna see. Im comfortable with pretty much any cloneship, but I’ll let you know if theres any of the non-clone ships I’m not comfortable with👍
I write and draw, so specify if you’d like art or a fic(: Also, if you’d like too, give a prompt, or anything that you’d like to be happening in the art or fic. If you don’t have a prompt or anything, thats totally fine, I’ll just keep it simple😌
Having said that, send in some asks and requests!💗
This is some time during the war, after a particularly grueling ARF mission. Waxer and Boil are back with the battalion, maybe at a well-established camp, so it's fairly safe, and they've cleaned up and had some food. They plopped down on some crates to hang out with friends... and promptly zonked out. :<
Reminder: I don’t interact on Tumblr, so if you want me to see anything, please comment on AO3
Echo and Fives after the war. Maybe Thorn's making coffee idk. Echo usually keeps his prostheses covered (I just like to draw them a lot so I usually don't put his glove and stuff on him in images), mostly to keep them free of dust and debris, but also because his finger joints get tangled in Thorn's hair at night. <3
Kitchen counter smooches! Hehe, I guess they're on vacation somewhere, since homes on Ryloth are underground. I just really liked the lighting in the ref, so.
The barracks stink of bleach and disinfectant, so different to the close smell of tibanna and sweat synonymous with the smaller ships Echo’s become so used to hitching rides on, heading for the next front, the next chaotic melee, the next battalion or commando team or spec ops squad. Fives is rattling around in the footlocker of their assigned bunk, half in his fatigues and muttering something about needing a feed and a good night’s sleep before they ship out to Lola Sayu, and Echo feels a weird sense of finality.
The mission’s going to be tough, he knows that, and he knows every time they’re deployed there’s a risk one or neither will come back — heck, he might not even make it out of carbonite — but this time there’s some kind of odd desperation that supplants the pragmatism.
That’s when he reaches for Fives, tugs him up and mashes their faces together. Not something they’ve ever done before, not something he’d ever jacked off thinking about (no, never), and he’s got no shirt on and Fives is only in his undershirt and gruts and when Echo’s fingers slip up and under the fabric, Fives seems to go from shock and quiet approval to enthusiastic participation and yeah, alright then.
You can also gIve it some love on Ao3
Publicly available high res version on Patreon
OH MY GOODNESS I’m sorry to be yelling in all caps but OH MY GOODNESS. Oh no, like how dare you in the absolute best of ways. This is gorgeous!!! Gorgeous art, gorgeous writing. Amazing in every way!!!! OH MY GOODNESS.
Late submission for @cloneshipweek's Halloween 2021 prompts, written while I lounged around in bed this morning trying to wake up.
Rating: T
Ship: Dogma/Hardcase
Prompt: Day 5, Dares
Tags/warning: Modern AU, very vague implied frisky thoughts.
“Nope, those are the rules, Dogma,” Echo shakes his head. “Fives was pretty clear on that from the beginning. You’re going to have to pick one.”
“Between entering the Umbaran house and kissing Hardcase on the mouth?” Dogma demands, aggrieved.
“Exactly,” Fives says, a touch self-satisfied, and if Echo weren’t in the room Dogma would have reached over and cuffed him on the head.
Both options are inadvisable. The Umbaran house is an old, abandoned, dilapidated mansion that stands ominously on the corner of their street, so tenebrous and threatening that the thought of entering it sends chills down Dogma’s spine. And maybe Dogma doesn’t put much weight into belief of the supernatural, but the property’s been unoccupied for decades. If the demons that haunt the place (not that there are any, of course) don’t kill him first, the lack of structural integrity will when the house collapses on him with not so much as a warning the second he passes the threshold.
As for the alternative — well, Hardcase is handsome and charming and funny, and it’s entirely possible Dogma’s been privately fantasising about getting Hardcase on top of him, but there’s no way in hell he’s going to let any of the other guys even think there’s a remote chance for the both of them. Besides, there’s a real possibility that if he starts kissing he won’t stop, and that’ll definitely give him away then.
The second option, in question, has his lips puckered up and is making kissy noises in Dogma’s direction, and Dogma eyes him with a look that hopefully conveys a convincible degree of disinterest.
“I pick the house,” he sighs, resigned to his fate, and Hardcase immediately pouts.
“Woah,” Tup says, eyes wide. “Seriously? Nobody dares step foot near the Umbaran house, not even the authorities.”
“That’s because it’s private land,” Dogma says, matter-of-fact. “And the owner is apparently the Umbarans’ great-great-grandson, who lives far away in another continent.” He tips his chin in Fives’ direction: an open challenge. “What are the terms?”
“One night spent in there,” Fives says, grinning. “One whole night, and if you come running out before dawn breaks tomorrow you still have to kiss Hardcase on the lips.”
“Deal,” Dogma says, because the thought of the ancient, run-down house may make him uneasy, but it’s entirely unfounded. Dogma isn’t a superstitious person in any meaning of the word — ghosts, and other paranormal creatures, don’t exist, as much as people are inclined to believe they are. It’s just dumb stuff Fives and the rest like to believe in.
After all, it’s just one night. What could go wrong?
Late submission for @cloneshipweek's Halloween 2021 prompt.
Rating: T
Ship: Dogma/Hardcase
Prompt: Day 3, Curses
Warning: Very vague implied friskiness.
“You cannot be serious.”
“I am afraid no part of this is a joke, Dogma. Until General Kenobi can find a way to reverse what the Sith artefact’s done to the both of you, you’re going to be stuck like this for the foreseeable future.”
Dogma doesn’t curse, because it’s not generally a good idea to spout invectives in the presence of your commanding officer. But he comes close. Very close.
“Foreseeable future,” he echoes, torn between outrageous and disbelieving.
“Oh, c’mon,” the person next to him — the most infuriating pain in the shebs Dogma’s ever had the misfortune of meeting — says, breezily like Rex has just announced the duty roster for the upcoming week. “It’s not that bad.”
Dogma clenches his jaw so hard he hears something crack. “Shut up, Hardcase.”
“I mean, I know we’re both probably not going to get much privacy for the next week or so, but — don’t be so uptight, Dogma. Think of it as an opportunity, to get to know each other…better.” Hardcase waggles his eyebrows suggestively, and Tup’s words about Hardcase harboring the most massive crush on him hit him full-force, like a star destroyer entering hyperspace. “I’m sure we could both…stand to gain something from this learning experience —"
“Hardcase,” Rex sighs. “You’re not helping.”
“Just tryin’ to be optimistic here, Cap’n,” Hardcase shrugs, and Dogma’s left hand moves up with the motion, too, from where it’s literally melded into Hardcase’s right: an odd joining of the flesh that had taken place when Hardcase had, against General Kenobi’s instructions, touched the karking Sith urn on their last assignment to that run-down Sith Temple in the Unknown Regions. That had ostensibly unleashed some kind of centuries-old curse, and Dogma had had the misfortune of being the unfortunate karker closest in proximity to Hardcase then.
“Oh, lighten up, Dogma. Look on the bright side of things for once, would you. It’ll be fun! We’ll do everything together — eat, sleep, even shower, and I’m sure we’ll come out of this as best buddies —"
Dogma slaps a hand over his face, desperately trying to tamp down the rising irritation that’s threatening to spill over. One week. General Kenobi has promised one week to figure out how to reverse the spell, and if the blasted Jedi takes any longer than that Dogma will personally march straight to the medbay and perform the amputation of his limb himself.
Well. He supposes it’s better than being attached to Hardcase at the hip.
