As A Fandom, We Collectively Decided That All The Clones Are Fluent In Mando'a And That's Special To

narrows eyes

WHDHWBDISHXI??!;!:$;:9;92!

ALEXANDER.

barrels through the doorway into your room THEY UPDATED THE WEBSITE THEY FUCKIN—

slides under the cut for spoilers :)

ok so when you put "stan" in you either get redirected to ebay for a few searches

(hilarious)

OR YOU PLAY THE SHAME GAME

where is marilyn fakenamé now. is she in a dumpster.

something something trump and small hands joke

FANFIC?

these are all hilarious and fully expected

run me a sad sack rq. tangentially, fill the memory gun with mabel juice and drippy stanley

these just made me sad :( the only reason they began to trust stan was cus of mabel god bless her

real.

fuckin triangle.

The fact that both Obi-Wan and Ahsoka think that the other died during order 66 and spend years mourning the other when they both survived is so heartbreaking

i May or may not have wanted an excuse to refer to the keldabe handshake

my guess rn is probably 4-5 chapters max? gimme a bit i need to cook 🧑‍🍳

hey what if i

that'd be so crazy right

ch 1 。・°°・

gender neutral pronouns, no use of y/n, clones know mando'a, crosshair doesn't turn, no beta we die like tech.

The sun had begun to slump lazily in the sky. Outcroppings of clouds blotted around it, allowing the rays to gleam down rather than the barrage of heat from early this morning. Hues of bronze and amber were slathered across the atmosphere, partly due to the dust in the air. Here past the city limits, one became acutely aware of the planet’s true climate. Roves of sand and limestone were all the eye would be met with for miles. Large, twisted succulents shot randomly out of the ground, their insides bitter and viscous with water from a long many cycles ago. The stubborn fauna was a mirror image of the people that inhabited this planet. Fierce and unyielding, hoarding what little resources are to be found, if only to assure survival for longer than tonight.

While the sun had dipped in severity, your emotions seemed to not get the memo. In fact, your heart was rattling your ribcage and wracking your nervous system. In a matter of hours you had your first customers in days, albeit shallow pocketed, and instead of doing the proper salesperson-like thing and talking Echo down to another product, you ran his pockets and asked him out.

And he said yes.

Well, not in those words. But it wasn’t a No. Or a Sure, why not. And that’s more than enough for you.

Unbeknownst to you, Echo was relying on the speeder handlebars in front of him to maintain his grip on reality.

Echo tried not to get his hopes up whenever he noticed wandering eyes on him in the past. He’d said it jokingly, but he wasn’t kidding when he’d said he was just happy you weren’t looking at him in disgust.

Or worse, someone to pity.

You hadn’t given him the sad eyes when you noticed his metal arm and scomp. You hadn’t given him the sad eyes when you noticed his gait on the way to the counter. Hell, you didn’t even make mention of the piece wrapping around his skull. He didn’t even have to ask.

And now you were wrapped around his back, pushing your weight into him as he ripped across the wastes. Your arms were slinked around his core, hands folded and your pinky ghosting across the tip of his navel. While Echo’s own hands on the speeder was his current tether to reality, the warmth of your hands was equally coaxing him back out. Coaxing him backwards to rest his shoulder blades on your chest, coaxing him to let go of the handlebars, coaxing him to close his eyes, savor the moment. But he doesn’t. The same steadfast, battle-tested resolve that made him an ARC Trooper, all of that resolve, is being called upon at this moment.

Echo flicked the gear shift forward and pressed his foot down evenly, eyes honing in on the gray dot of the Marauder coming into view on the horizon. You gripped tighter with the increase in speed, and Echo’s cheeks got warm. Omega tailed closely behind.

Earlier, before the three of you had broken the city limits, Echo gave you the rundown of his ragtag family.

Tech. Wrecker. Hunter. Crosshair.

You mentally listed the members of the Batch, trying your absolute best to commit them to memory. It’ll be a lot easier once you actually see them, trust me. Echo’s words rang through your head, a metaphysical balm to your mild-yet-steadfastly brewing social anxieties.

A loud, metallic groan roused you from your thoughts. The ramp of the Marauder began to descend, and an overwhelmingly large figure appeared at the lip of the ramp.

“9-1 odds, that's Wrecker?” You call out loudly, desperate to be heard over the speeder engine. Before Echo could respond, a surly, thickly accented voice cut through the air.

“What stray did you bring in from the rain this time, eh Echo?!”

“You would be correct.” Echo glances over his shoulder at you, before turning back and calling out to his brother. “Adoption is Hunter’s speciality. Is your chip acting up again?” Wrecker answered with a barking laugh, walking off the ramp that is now level with the planet’s surface.

Echo brought the bike to a rolling stop, the engine softly tut-tut-ing before being kicked off. Omega came up beside the two of you, parking respectively. Echo stepped off the bike and stuck his hand out for you, while Wrecker came over and swooped Omega off the bike and onto his shoulders. You coyly took his hand. “Still keeping up this smooth charade?” You chide, throwing your leg over the bike and pulling yourself up with his assistance.

“Charade? Now that’s just rude.” Echo stuck his nose up, fake indignantly.

You grin, leaning into the bit. “Oh my, how may I make up for this transgression Milord?”

Wrecker and Omega watched on with shit eating grins. Neither of them were going to be the ones to break the moment, nor were they going to be the ones to tell either of you about the matching blush the two of you were wearing.

“I’m sure I’ll find a remedy in time, fret not serf.” Echo smiled as he stuck his elbow out for you to take.

“Serf? I’ll have you know my father was a knight!” It was your turn to act fake indignant, huffing and whipping your head away from Echo. Both of you erupted into laughter at the shared moment, closing in on the ramp.

Unbeknownst to you, Hunter was in the hallway, up the ramp and around the corner, a soft smile stitching its way onto his face. He, like Wrecker and Omega, was deeply enthused about his brother’s stroke of luck with you. Hunter had heard the two of you before you’d arrived, his acute senses hearing the rumblings a few klicks away.

Hunter decided to make his presence known, slipping out of the shadows and into the main doorway.

“What’s this about me adopting someone else?” Hunter says, eyes casually shifting about the group, seeming to do a mental headcount.

“Well I’m terrible with a blaster, but I can sell exhaust pipes something fierce!” You reply sarcastically, and you offer your name and a handshake. Instead, the clone claps your forearm and shakes it once. You follow the motion, entirely through muscle memory, clapping his forearm with similar force. A soft smile sits on your face at the gesture, it was something you hadn’t done in a few cycles at this point.

“Hunter, though I’m sure Echo’s filled you in already.” He offers a pleasant smile, now more curious about the stranger aboard his ship.

“He’s only given me names.” You shrug. “But, I’ve run into two of you now, and it’s a 50/50 on whether or not your moniker’s obscenely obvious. So I think I’ll be okay.” You finish the statement with a soft, mildly forced laugh, hoping to make it as obvious as possible that you’re joking.

I just made sure Echo can kinda stand my presence, I can’t have his brother be the hard sell now.

Hunter nods and closes his eyes with a soft chuckle. “You got nothing to worry about, kid. None of us bite.”

“Except maybe Crosshair.” Three separate voices say at the same time.

Laughter erupts from the hallway and cockpit. From the gunner’s nest, a hissing grimace. Hunter beckoned Wrecker and Omega into the cockpit, nodding to you and Echo as he went. The aforementioned biter slunk his way down the ladder and towards the cockpit, casting nary a glance to the new person aboard the Marauder. A toothpick flew from in front of him, twirling in the air nonchalantly before sticking upright in a crack between the durasteel paneling of the floor. Your eyes honed in on it.

“He won’t actually bite you, but good luck getting more than three words that aren’t snarky outta the vod.” Echo spoke quietly and clasped a hand between your shoulder blades, noting your gaze. “I wouldn’t let him.” He said even quieter, barely above a hum.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Once again, Echo’s simple words are a balm for mental wounds he did not cause, and completely unintentionally. You relax your shoulders, and pull them in a circle.

“So, Tech’s left, right?”

Echo nodded, and gestured with his scomp for you to lead the way. You obliged, and went up the stairs. Through a small hallway filled with a myriad of colors and buttons, you led the two of you into the cockpit.

A somewhat larger space opened up, with similar durasteel walls peppered with buttons and lights. However bulletproof panes of glass took up a majority of the wall space, looking out at the expanse of the wastes. It made the desert look even more swallowing, seeing it from a slight elevation. Nothing else for miles and miles had the view you did right now. Something about Desert Fever slung its way through your brain, some whispers you had barely overheard from stallworkers about afflicted moisture farmers on the outskirts.

“Also colloquially known as desert mania, desert fever is usually characterized with bouts of irrational behaviors and depressive episodes, as a result of the absolute nothing around you. Some hypothesize it to be an amalgamation of chronic understimulation.” A tall clone materialized next to you from the pilot’s chair.

“That was supposed to be internal, my bad. I take it you’re Tech?” You say sheepishly, rubbing a hand on your neck as you extend the other, introducing yourself.

“You are correct. Pleasure.” He replies, holding his hand up softly as to say None for me, thanks in response to your hand out. You quickly pulled it back to your side, eyes flicking to Echo behind you for mild reassurance.

Getting the message, he cleared his throat. “Where’s everyone finding themselves tonight?”

“Hunter’s busying himself inventorying the supplies brought in, Crosshair is brooding on top of the ship, and Wrecker and Omega are outside testing her ability to detonate multiple delayed explosions.” Tech replied curtly, understanding Echo’s meaning instantly. “I will retire to the bunks if you need me. I have my holopad and charger. Kandosii, vod’ika.”

Echo’s fingers twitched at his thigh again as color shot up from his collar. “Thank you Tech!” He said, very abruptly. He politely spun you around and began to push you towards the copilot’s seat.

A part of Echo prayed you weren’t paying attention to Tech all that much.

A bigger part of him knew you understood every word thrown about.

I think the funniest part about the migration from tiktok to rednote is how americans are like "oh my gosh, our government lied to us, you guys are the same as us!" and chinese are like "holy shit, our government didn't lie to us, you really do live like this, i'm so sorry"

no matter how many times i watch the skako arc the little ice crystals in the last pic get me every time

the clone wars

S7E2: a distant echo

Your comments about AI users being talentless tells me you don't really understand art. It's about the product, not the tools. You can waste your life learning how to use a thousand of brushes and programs and you'll be easily outshone by someone who uses AI to draw what they want. The 'talentless' usually crow on about techniques and tools and miss the point of making art.

"You can waste your life learning how to use a thousand brushes and programs" And there, this is the attitude of the non-artists-AI-lovers in a nutshell. You see, drawing artists like using brushes. "Someone who uses AI to draw what they want."

No. If you instruct the AI to do something, you aren't 'drawing' anything. "The talentless" The 'talentless' is you. Telling an AI what image you want to be drawn doesn't require any talent.

so where i work, we have people hired to watch the cameras. thats all they do. day in day out, just reporting on what the workers are doing or what the customers are doing (i.e "snaggietooth is in basement" "snaggietooth back on sales floor" weird shit)

whenever something goes amiss at the shop i stare into them Office style and say "chat?" as in "chat, are you seeing this?"

Caring for a baby on a daily basis is challenging enough even when you live in the comfort of your home with all basic necessities available and adequate healthcare at your disposal whenever you need it. Imagine being responsible for the safety and well-being of three newborns (and four other children) while a brutal relentless war is raging around you, displacing you from one hell to another that keeps getting worse each time. This is my family's struggle everyday since the beginning of this cruel onslaught on Gaza. The situation was already unbearably harsh when they were in the camp in Rafah. Now, that they have been displaced again to Khan Yunis,my family's suffering has only been intensified. Food, water and other basic needs are almost impossible to come by. In the sweltering heat, Our babies are surrounded by rubble, disease, garbage, insects and all sorts of dangers you can think of with no medical care whatsoever. The little baby formula they had has almost ran out and even if they were lucky to obtain more there is no water clean enough to prepare the bottles for three newborns. To say that these conditions are inhumane is an understatement but what's even more terrifying is that any promise of safety is nothing but a sham as the occupation keeps bombing supposedly "safe zones" since the beginning of this waking nightmare.

My family have lost everything they held dear, their home which they built after years of hard work and patience,loved ones and neighbours, their jobs and livelihoods,their memories, their dreams and any semblance of a normal life. These three little angels and their siblings are the only glimmer of hope they have left amidst all the darkness and despair. Please help them so they don't lose them too.

Your support is now needed more than ever. It's what keeps us from completely giving up.Thanks to your love and generosity we have reached 27,774 € out of 70,000 € in a matter of days but we still have a long way to go.

Every contribution truly makes a difference and brings us closer to saving our babies lives.

Please donate if you can and share our story widely as you're able to.

We are forever grateful 🙏

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Donate to Help Evacuate My Family from Gaza to Safety, organized by Bilal salah

Hi everyone, I am Bilal, 22 years old, from Gaza, Palestine. I am reaching… Bilal salah needs your support for Help Evacuate My Family f

Unfortunately big lettering scares me and I have to fight the urge to block people who reply to me with the Biggest word format every time