#oc sundays

[freesia-writes]

Welcome to OC Sundays! 💙 Each week, I'll post three random questions for you to answer for one or more of your OCs. Feel free to link the work(s) they appear in, too! We'll have a little showcase where you might discover someone that piques your interest and voila! Something new to read! 😁 As for the image? Random dude I found on Canva, with so much sass and so much cake that I had to include him. 🤣🙈 And apparently all of this is going to have a 70's vibe, LOL.

What would their favorite book be?

What’s your favorite trait about them? Yes, just one. ;) 

What’s a weakness of theirs that they might not be aware of?

[dystopicjumpsuit]

OC Sundays: Cerra Kilian GAR Datafile

Please click for better resolution bc Tumblr is Tumblr.

I've been waiting to share this until I had all posted all the chapters of Stars Beyond Number that could possibly be spoiled, but I'm finally ready to share Cerra's official GAR personnel file!

Transcript below the cut:

GRAND ARMY OF THE REPUBLIC

Personnel Datafile

Name: Kilian, Cerra Rank: Lieutenant, first class Identifying number: SO-3283627 Duty assignment: Supply officer, Ro-Ti-Mundi, Open Circle Fleet Status: AWOL

Service Record

Prior service: Corellian military defense force - 10 years [converted] Commendations: Senate medal of valor Qualifications: Close combat - armed; Close combat - unarmed; Marksmanship Medical record: Shrapnel - lateral and anterior thigh; Post-traumatic stress; Panic disorder Remarks: C.M.D.F. position converted following establishment of G.A.R. Assigned to 501st legion - V.C.S.D. Resolute. Awarded Senate medal of valor in recognition of heroic actions at Battle of Sullust. Transferred to V.C.S.D. Ro-Ti-Mundi following battle of Sullust. Reported absent without leave following battle of Coruscant. Current whereabouts unknown.

---

I used this picrew to make Cerra's ID holo. I didn't crop out the watermark, BTW; one of the transparent backgrounds they provide is watermark-free.

Ragu list:

@secondaryrealm @sev-on-kamino @spicy-clones @wings-and-beskar @523rdrebel @merkitty49 @anxiouspineapple99 @sinfulsalutations @arcsimper5 @starrylothcat @clio3kantarella @cloneloverrrrr @goblininawig @ladytano420 @arctrooper69 @wolffegirlsunite @sunshinesdaydream @mandos-mind-trick @littlemissmanga @stunkbiggu @starqueensthings @clonemedickix @marierg @idontgetanysleep @moonlightwarriorqueen @dudewhynotthis @sleepycreativewriter @tcwmatchmakingau @littlemissbshine @multi-fan-dom-madness @heavenseed76 @wizardofrozz @bobaprint @sweetcream-coldfoam @banksys-rat @skellymom @pickleprickle @trixie2023 @mythical-illustrator @dickarchivist @cw80831 @kimiheartblade

[talesfrommedinastation]

“Any Belter mother– any mother –worth the beating of her heart should be proud to call you her child. Her family, her blood.”

The clone held up a hand to his mouth, his eyebrows squeezing together.

- Dr. Tanke Drummer and Crosshair, ‘Tikkun Olam: Part 6’, Far Past the Ring.

—————-

Thanks to @luxris for a wonderful piece of OC, Tanke Drummer, and Crosshair.

Dr Drummer has a tattoo on her left arm for all of her children, for when they came into her life.

After what he goes through in Far Past the Ring to defend her home and people (peep that regrowing arm on him!), Crosshair gets a spot too….both on Tanke’s forearm and as a member of the Belter nation.

One of two major tattoo themed commissions…next one will be out on Tuesday!

[malsfefanfics]

Is it cheating to ask for Tancred sibling time with Hubert and/or Ferdinand for a drabble? :3c Best boy

Anything for little Treasure.

Ferdinand didn't take any heed of the whispers around him. Many people hadn't taken issue with the fact that the little stowaway had taking such a shine to him. They thought it was rather adorable how the young Vestra boy followed him around. One of the nuns had compared it to a kitten following its mother.

But what some had started to take issue with is the fact that Ferdinand insisted on taking the lad everywhere with him where he could. If it was safe enough, and Tancred's health was good that day, he took the child out for a ride on his horse. Or took him to market when it was his turn to run errands. The two often found themselves in the kitchens as well, with little Tancred taste testing anything Ferdinand had chosen to create that afternoon.

And now, Ferdinand was sitting in on a lecture being hosted by a guest speaker from the School of Sorcery in Fhirdiad. With Tancred sitting in his lap, listening closely.

And the teacher wasn't pleased.

"Young man," the speaker called out. "Could you please take your little brother out of here? This is a lecture for Academy students only."

Ferdinand looked up from his notes. "Brother? Apologies, but you are mistaken. I am an only child."

"Then why do you have a child on your lap?"

"He is the little brother of a peer," Ferdinand explained. "And he is in need of constant watching due to his health. He is well behaved. And skilled in magic. I can promise, we will both be model students in this lecture."

"Is he now?" The speaker came over and looked at Tancred, eyes narrowed as he assessed him. "Tell me, child. Do you know the difference between Black magic and Dark magic? And why both are listed under Reason?"

Tancred tilted his head, as if he didn't even see the mage in front of him.

The speaker scoffed. "I expected as much. Didn't hear a word, did he?"

"He did," Ferdinand assured. "He's just shy."

"'Shy'. Is that what we're calling it these days?"

Ferdinand glared at him. "I do not like your tone, sir."

"And I do not like having my time wasted." The mage walked back to the podium, waving his hand dismissively. "Take the boy and leave."

Ferdinand held his tongue and stood, balancing Tancred on his hip as he walked out. He didn't even notice a few of the other students following him. And he didn't spare a moment to those who snickered.

Tancred looked at him, and slowly began to sign. “Just because I can’t speak doesn’t mean I can’t hear.”

"I know that, Treasure," Ferdinand assured soothingly. "That man is just too full of himself. That is all."

"He's also very off about most of his basic theory," Tancred added. "Brother could give a better lecture."

"Is that so? Then perhaps we should ask Hubert to give a lecture sometime soon. Want to help me try to convince him?"

Tancred's eyes widened as he smiled in excitement.

He took that as a yes.

[neyswxrld]

this is heliv!

story

Heliv, also called Heli, grew up in a little village on a planet, that is overgrown with trees, bushes and weed, and has an incredible nature. She always only had her grandmother, who started to show her what it means to value the nature from a young age on and taught her various effects and healing powers of different herbs and plants.

When Heli was about seventeen years old, the Clone Wars began. It didn't take long, until the enemy troops invaded her home planet. During a shoot-out, her grandmother's house was caught in a heavy explosion. While Heli escaped with severe injuries, her only attachment figure died.

Soon after the incident, the Republic came to help, and the planet was freed from the separatist forces. Still, the fact remained that the young Togruta felt left behind in a world, that seemed too big and cruel for her.

As a reaction to that, Heli departed from the society and started to live a secluded, lonely life in a small cottage in the woods.

Now, almost three years later, she still takes interest in the nature and different medical plants and produces her own medicine. To earn herself some credits, she brings the medication back to the near village and tries to help the people there.

details

making of

MASTERLIST

TAGLIST:

@isthereanechoinhere96 @trixie2023 @freesia-writes

[starqueensthings]

FOREWORD | NEXT | AO3

We begin our journey with the protagonist. This chapter will read dry for those only here for our Clone Wars and Bad Batch favourites. Since it’s an introductory chapter, it’s strictly OC’s in this one… (squint real hard and you may find a glimpse of one our faves!)

WARNINGS: brief elusions to a traumatic past, but next to no detail provided (yet). Mildly graphic descriptions of medical injuries and surgery.

RATING: the entirety of this work will be classified as 16+ for mature themes, with sporadic chapters upped to 18+ for explicit encounters.

PLEASE ENSURE YOU’VE READ THE FOREWORD LINKED ABOVE FOR AN IN-DEPTH DESCRIPTION OF WHAT DEGREE OF CONTENT YOU CAN EXPECT THROUGHOUT THIS STORY BEFORE PROCEEDING.

The unusually abrasive whirring of his hip servos both alerted her of his arrival, and wordlessly reminded her for the umpteenth time that the congestion of her work schedule had rendered him irresponsibly overdue for an oil bath, though neither that irksome grating nor his return to her side proved urgent enough to pull her attention from the task at hand.

He slowed to a stop and hovered in the doorway of that rapidly darkening office, hinged hands clasped together in front of him while his round, glowing oculars patiently blinked at the obvious intensity of her concentration.

She allowed herself only a breath more to wallow in that den of self-pity and exhaustion, the raging tornado of unfinished tasks in her mind threatening to raze what was left of the mental space she’d intentionally attempted to preserve for finishing the three dozen neglected medical reports.

“Hi Lumi...”

She addressed her AZI assistant in a shamefully distracted mumble, fingers hovering over the buttons of her keyboard as she fought to orient her over-saturated thoughts into the holocomputer through the fidgeting funnel of her hands.

“Good evening, Dr. Kiore.” Correctly identifying her current aversion for distraction, her droid companion thankfully offered nothing more than his typical jovial salutation.

The last couple of weeks had seen this duo truly depart the somewhat turbulent infancy of their working relationship, and the wrinkles of unknown expectation and unlearned behavior had since-been ironed smooth with the steam of shared experience and consistent reinforcement. Free of the bravado that budding surgical residents wore atop their shoulders like robes sewn with the threads of overconfidence, Lumi had become a remarkable working companion to June. Not only did his programming ensure he had a wealth of easily accessible medical knowledge, but he wasn’t hindered by the limited cognition of the human brain, being able to accurately process and categorize large amounts of data while simultaneously completing a variety of other tasks whilst entirely free from the plague of exhaustion.

Much to her appreciation, he’d also managed to effectively catalogue her dynamic panoply of mannerisms, thus ensuring he could readily identify her preferred positioning during specific procedures, recognize the potent displeasure behind her eyes if (and when) the nurse droid failed to include certain niche tools on her sterile tray, and presently, her sheer desperation for an extra ten seconds of undisturbed focus.

“Okay,” she muttered to herself, collecting the hospital-issued datapad from the desk in front of her and ceasing its slumber with the prod of a finger. Her tired eyes danced across the seemingly infinite list of medical charts waiting for their turn at the forefront of her mind, and it was with another dejected sigh that she checked off only the top item before abandoning the device again.

Tense from yet another long day of stooping over an operating room table, the muscles in her neck immediately protested the duress of a stretch as she extended her arms over her head and flexed her aching fingers. Refusing to lessen the strain until a satisfying pop met her ears, she paused for a moment to relish in the pain successfully distracting her from that perpetual gnaw in her mind.

“Alright,” she proclaimed suddenly, sending her palms clapping together in a gesture of feigned motivation, and Lumi immediately took his cue to enter, head twirling about on his neck with glee. “I need you to go to room 8-E,” she instructed while pushing her desk chair backward several inches with a nudge from her sneakered toe. “CT-2658 needs a preliminary vitals scan and a thoracic x-ray. Once those are completed, transmit the imaging to his chart and locate an FX-9 to prep him for a thoracotomy. This morning I just caught the nurse droid replacing the valve in his mask with the wrong colour… If it gets changed again before he’s anesthetized, make sure it’s the yellow valve. No incisions until I or a 2-1B is present.”

���Right away, Dr. Kiore.”

“Oh, and he goes by ‘Bolts’. Avoid using his CT number unless you absolutely have to.”

Lumi acknowledged her final anecdote with a small bow of the head before he turned and zoomed back through the open door into the hallway beyond.

The budding ache behind her left eye intensified as she watched his small metallic form circle the Welcome Station, an oversized u-shaped desk perched in the middle of the expansive ward, before pivoting and vanishing down the hallway on the left, and the increasing need to activate the lamp on her desk meant it was nearing the time her stomach would begin to revolt against her negligence, that measly handful of mixed nuts tossed hurriedly into her mouth some hours ago having utterly failed to satiate even a fraction of her hunger.

But time had vanished… again, and June was confident there wasn’t a meal anywhere in the galaxy capable of freeing her from the constant overstimulation that working in the Grand Republic Medical Facility had imbued her with over the last fortnight. And so her fingernails drummed absently on the desk in front of her as another exhausted sigh escaped her nose, both gestures laying bare her body’s continued attempts at combating the gale of patient information whipping about her mind. Resisting the urge to momentarily abandon that pressing obligation and head to the staff room for a fresh caf, she granted herself only another moment of quiet, the mental weight of her extensive to-do list keeping her glued to the cushion of her desk chair despite the near-rabid craving for both caffeine and a snack. Nibbling absentmindedly on her thumbnail, she redirected her attention back to the holocomputer in front of her and opened Bolts’s medical chart.

The wounded soldier had arrived at the hospital in the very early hours of the morning, having been medically evacuated from a planet called Malestare in critical condition. The triaging doctor in the emergency room at the time had quickly diagnosed the soldier with a condition known as ‘Flail Chest’, and had directed him to the Surgical Department on the 8th floor immediately thereafter.

The accompanying trooper was the company’s medic, and was only able to provide snippets of the harrowing and incomplete story. When probed for information about the initial incident, he described witnessing a series of explosions “about a kilometer south” of his squad’s tactical position, though admittedly had a poor vantage point at the time of the incident. He’d barely managed to rendezvous with the limping remnants of his decimated platoon before being urgently summoned to stabilize the wounded– Bolts included.

“I had to dart his chest,” the panting Medic heaved to the emergency doctor downstairs, wiping sweat from his brow with a trembling hand as he watched his brother disappear behind a small crowd of scrub-clad nurses, each of them fervently ripping the remaining armour from that fragile form. “Twice. The catheter held for a while, but collapsed just as we were jumping to lightspeed. He– he needs to be intubated… quick.”

With hurried reassurances that CT-2658 was now in the best care, the medic was ushered back onto the shuttle and returned to the front lines while his brother was rushed upstairs for lifesaving care.

Dr. Pherto Pavot, a highly intelligent albeit moderately antisocial man, was a longtime colleague of June’s and had been laden with the duty of on-call trauma surgeon for the duration of the night shift. With the assistance of an FX-7 medical droid, he’d managed to both successfully intubate the patient and send him for x-rays by the time the morning surgeons began to trickle in for their shifts only a short time later.

June had barely tied her sneakers before leaping into action. Determined to get the ailing soldier into surgery before her day was through, she took every spare moment she could find between the myriad of other scheduled procedures to dip into her office and stare at the radiographic imaging Pherto ordered that morning.

Now, as the sun completed its arc across the expanse of the Coruscanti sky, reaching its rays downwards for the cold slumber of the horizon, she was barely able to overpower the persistent pokes of exhaustion.

“Blunt force trauma from an undetermined source to the thoracic cavity–” she typed, jaw clamped closed against a violent yawn as she plugged data into the Kaminoan medical report her colleague had initiated many hours previously. “–Right 3rd to 6th rib fractured laterally, floating. Basal intercostal catheter in situ. Slight left pleural effusion. Prognosis TBD post surgery.”

She sighed, eyes peering disapprovingly at the screen of her holocomputer where Pherto’s hurried notes failed to complement the detail of her own, and the detrimental, perfectionist urge to delete the entire report in favour or starting over was nearly as challenging to repress as the yawn that continued to plague her, though she refused both. ‘Sorry Kamino,’ she grumbled, acutely aware that attempting to pull another word from her brain might cause it to simply cease firing entirely. ‘That's going to have to do.’

With a deft swipe across the screen from the pad of her cold finger, she landed on the patient’s main profile page. Despite having resentfully expected to see that irksome negative space beside his designation number, the implication of that missing information instantly soured her already dwindling mood, sending her eyelids aflutter atop an exquisite roll of her blue eyes.

As an attending general surgeon, she did not technically hold any amount of authority over her colleagues, though that had yet to stop her from repeatedly begging everyone in the Hospital to make a habit of prompting soldiers for their elected moniker upon intake. Much to her frustration, all of them continued to ignore her relentless pleas; intra-hospital memos went ignored, verbal requests were casually dismissed, ingenuine agreements were immediately followed by inaction. Even escalating the issue to the Chief of Surgery with hopes that her request may transcend the Surgical Floor had proved fruitless, as he had promptly deemed the issue “unimportant for effective medical care, and superfluous data in an already cluttered medical chart.”

‘Easy for him to say,’ she had seethed to herself, stalking away from her superior with the raging, indignant cry of “I am not just a number!” still reverberating poignantly in her ears. While there hadn’t been a clone soldier brazen enough to shout that sentiment in her face since that… eventful… day, the nuance of his message had not fallen on deaf ears, and it quickly became a personal mission of June’s to ensure that her patients, a demographic that now predominantly consisted of clone soldiers, never felt like anything less than a person in need of medical care.

Returning the holocomputer to a dark-screened slumber, she sat back in her chair and finally permitted that unrelenting yawn to contort her features as it expanded her lungs and forced her eyes closed. The shiver that rolled uncomfortably down her spine acted as an unsavoury reminder of how late the hour had grown, and she pivoted her chair to face the window of her office, hopeful to catch that last sliver of beautiful autumn sun before it commenced its duty until morn.

Unlike her best friend Jacoba, whose earliest memories included running amok in her parents’ home with a stethoscope made of string and a pair of purple safety scissors, June’s childhood dreams did not entail ending up as a surgeon in the busiest medical facility in the galaxy. While convincing her to speak about her childhood typically proved more challenging than pulling teeth from a snarling massiff, those closest to June knew that her earliest memories were ones filled with nature: impossibly tall pillars of pine swaying in an everlasting zephyr; rolling hills adorned with an emerald carpet of clover and jewel toned flowers, the vibrancy of their exotic petals possible thanks to the extended daylight hours that only Wild Space was privileged. Acting as the apex to her childhood oasis, and perched at the end of a winding path of uniquely red clay, was a small log home; its stone chimney mercilessly emitting delicate puffs of fragrant smoke toward an impossibly large sky, and the hand-knotted hammock chair hanging from the rafters on the porch, swayed in time with the trees. It was a dichotomously sheltered yet wild upbringing, full of innocent and simple dreams; hopes and desires and plans that reached only the stars of Wild Space.

Back then, June was naught but a tiny mind, desperately hopeful to gain only that of which she was knew: a cozy home nestled between protective mountains, an overflowing rain barrel infinitely teeming with signs of micro-life, a bustling market of familiar faces, a treehouse on the edge of a forest too full of exotic flora and fauna for her to wander unsupervised, a soft blanket for a picnic, a spike to impale one of her favourite mini sausages and a roaring fire into which she could roast it…

Now, long-estranged from her family and far away from that place both geographically and mentally, life looked a lot different for Dr. Juniper Kiore. Robbed long ago of that blissful childhood naivety, she was now a hard working young woman of twenty-three with no plans to return to the home world she still deemed the galaxy’s hidden corner of paradise.

As another shiver rolled down her spine, she cast a quick glance toward the accompanying desk in that shared office; the clutter and detritus Jacoba was notorious for deserting atop that otherwise identical desktop patiently awaited its owner to arrive for her shift and plunk her purse down amidst the fray. X-Ray films from the hectivity of yesterday still clung to the backlit display board on the wall, the series of luminous images depicting a grotesquely cracked skull and the adjacent cranial hemorrhage, and a femur shattered beyond recognition.

Interpreting the permission of that first yawn as authorization to open the floodgates, June’s cheeks quickly expanded under the duress of a second yawn barely seconds after recovering from the first, forcing her eyes closed again. With an indecorous grunt, she cracked each of her cold knuckles, relishing in the way that discomfort pulled her farther out of the stupor of fatigue before she turned to retrieve the caf mug perched beside her keyboard.

“Bleh…” she grumbled instantly, lips flattening in disgust as she swirled the anaemic dregs around the bottom of the ceramic cup. There were unmistakable signs of the milk beginning to coagulate, collecting around the sides of the purple dish with each twirl of the wrist. ‘Isn’t this the mug I grabbed at lunch?’ she asked herself, eyes unfocussing under knitted brows as she struggled to piece together the hurried two minutes in which she’d dashed to the staff room for caffeine some half dozen hours ago. ‘Or maybe this is the caf from last night, and that’s the caf from today?’

Her gaze fell upon a second mug sitting daintily beside the potted plant only inches from her right hand, identical to the first in every way with the exception of a small chip along the rim, stained with a lip gloss that she was sure she hadn’t bothered to put on in several rotations.

She traded one for the other, repeating the swirling motions and watching the minute dash of milk collect in the centrifuge of dark liquid. Bringing the chipped rim to her nose, she took a gentle sniff.

“June—”

Every cell in her body, every hair on her skin, collectively seized in alarm, shoulders jerking upwards in a startled spasm while a sharp gasp slapped against the back of her throat. That panic only intensified as, what could only be described as a miniature tidal wave of the stale beige caf, cascaded over the rim of that chipped purple mug and landed with a splat on her left knee.

“Maker, you scared the shit out of me,” she gasped, pressing a hand over her pounding heart and stowing the cup heavily back onto the desk.

“Sorry.” Challa snorted from his casual lean in the threshold, arms folded over his chest. “When is Jac coming in?” he asked, gesturing with a small nod to the empty desk chair on June’s left side.

She stalled the answer on her tongue, stealing an extended second for another calming breath as her heart continued to smash against the inner walls of her chest. “She won't be here for another half hour,” June finally conceded, tipping her wrist to check the time.

‘18:56pm. No wonder I’m kriffing starving.’

He offered nothing but a small hum in response, that heavy, signature Twi-lek brow tense with unspoken complaints as if he wholly disapproved that he couldn’t simply demand the clock say what he wanted it to say.

Dr. Challa Shuk was a fiercely intelligent and highly celebrated doctor with an inherent knack for organization and a remarkably efficient, yet, consistently pleasant bedside manner; the combination proving a perfect recipe for the individual tasked with running the second busiest department in the hospital.

Seemingly overnight, the inception of the war had shifted the priorities and policies of the institution to accommodate for the Grand Army of the Republic, incidentally bringing with it the ever-present undertone of tumult and uncertainty for the staff throughout. Being the determined and capable doctor that he was, Challa rose to the occasion marvelously, shouldering the brunt of the responsibility and almost single-handedly converting the Surgical Floor from a slow-paced civilian center to a bustling combat medical zone. But, despite his unwavering commitment to both the Grand Republic Medical Facility and to medicine in general, his acceptance of the changing reality, and the shifts in policy required to ensure a smooth transition, were not widely accepted by his employees; many of the surgical department doctors were highly resistant to the procedural changes and the variation in their established routine that came with it.

June and Jacoba were the only caveats to this unfortunate behaviour, both of them still early enough in their careers to embrace the required alterations with barely a breath of skepticism. Their adaptability had earned them both significant favour with the Twi’lek Chief of Surgery, and a number of other rarely anointed perks: both girls had been gifted their own AZI-class medical assistant droid to which they were permitted to utilize for whatever means they deemed appropriate, both were allotted the unheralded freedom to implete their own surgical schedules (much to their colleagues dismay), and the duo had been presented with their own office, an offering typically reserved for those who’d transitioned toward a career in the field medical research.

But Challa’s favourtism of the pair had seemed to sour as of late, the jovial smiles he typically offered in response to their notorious shenanigans had melded into snorts of derision and subdued grimaces. Last Primeday had seen him stick his scowling face into their office and bark that Jacoba’s chair had developed an irritating squeak that needed to be rectified immediately; two days later, he’d summoned June into his own office and reprimanded her for having inappropriately cold hands, hissing that he was growing very tired of fielding continued patient complaints that their doctor’s fingers felt like icicles. While moderately affronted at the time, June merely shouldered the chastization, both unable to deny that her hands were always cold, and very aware that root of his bespoiled mood did not stem from the subnormal temperature of her skin…

“You weren’t about to drink that were you?” Challa inquired from the door, nose scrunched in disgust as he watched her snatch a kleenex from the box on the desk and dab at the stain on her pant leg.

She huffed and rolled her eyes, watching the unabsorbent paper square fail to remove even a fraction of that putrid stain. “I was thinking about it,” she retorted, crinkling the tissue and tossing it into the trash bin under her desk. “I was trying to sniff out how old it was when you gave me a damn heart attack.”

“How ladylike of you,” he teased, ignoring her reproachful glare. “And there’s no time for caf right now. I heard you agreed to stay late again tonight, so I need you on deck to tackle this case.” He shifted his weight to his feet and unfolded his arms, pulling his datapad from the breast pocket of his lab coat and prodding it awake. “I’m transmitting you the chart of your next patient,” he advised, violet eyes appearing neon whilst bathed by the illumination from the device in his hands. “It’s a simple laceration repair sent up from the emergency department, but it’s been sitting for a while and the FX-7’s are still tied up. See that it’s dealt with and discharged, and then meet me in my office.”

Her datapad chimed from the table in front of her, needlessly alerting the room that she’d successfully received the details of her next mission though she refused to acknowledge it, her sapphire eyes now narrowed skeptically at her boss. An abashed silence filled the space between them as he averted his eyes from hers, the atypical nature of his request not lost on either of them.

“A laceration repair?” June repeated with an unmitigated scoff, cocking an eyebrow at his obviously intentional silence. “From emerge? Are you kidding me?”

Her incredulity must have been the expected response, as he’d already reached to pinch the narrow bridge of his nose before she’d finished voicing her aggrievement.

“Eight battalions landed at lunch, June,” he declaimed over her final few words, eyes closed against a wave of barely-restrained impatience. “They’re beyond swamped down there. And like I just told you, this one has been sitting for too long already. I want it dealt wi—”

“But Rondi is the on-call trauma doc today,” June protested, gesticulating wildly towards the door as if Dr. Rondi Reid was eagerly waiting outside her office to accept the umbrageously trivial case being thrust under her nose. “And I’m only staying late to do the thoracotomy. I just sent him downstairs for prelim scan—”

“Jacoba will scrub in when she gets here,” Challa exhorted, dismissing her disgruntlement with a wave of his hand. “Besides, I have something important to discuss with you afterward and we both know that surgery would have you here all night.”

The ire bubbling in her gut rendered her apathetic to everything other than the injustice of the situation, and the pleading flash of his violet eyes was missed entirely as she clamped hers closed and choked out a dramatic whine.

“Challa come on,” she begged, lurching forward in her chair and interlacing her hands in a feigned prayer, “I’ve been staring at his x-days all day. I basically just redid his entire Kaminoan report because some people can’t be bothered with details, I know this case the best. That’s my surgery.”

“You will go where you’re needed, Kiore, and I won’t hear another word about it.”

The conversation was over, his statement drenched in a finality more potent than the stench of that day old caf. The rapidly darkening tone of his voice in combination with the uncommon use of her last name meant there was no point but to concede to his authority, and it was with great difficulty that she bit back the slew of arguments still poised for their turn on her tongue.

“Fine,” she grumbled, looking deliberately away from his stern expression and collecting the datapad from her desk. “But this ‘meeting in your office later’ better be a party in my honour for being such a kriffing team player.”

“Not quite,” he abjured following a frustrated albeit amused snort. “Now get to 18-S. And for everyone’s sake, leave the attitude here.”

June glared at his retreating figure, waiting until the tips of those magnificent, sand coloured lekku disappeared down the hall before throwing herself dramatically against the back of the chair, an insolent groan rumbling loudly in her chest.

“Laceration repair!” she hissed to the ceiling, the realization that a fresh cup of caf was now entirely out of the question pulling a false sob from her lips. “My thoracotomy… all damn day I’ve been prepping… ‘they’re swamped down there’… yeah, yeah… aren’t we all…”

It seemed no amount of grousing and groaning would appease the indignance still inflated in her chest, and her datapad continued to mock her with its innocent luminance as she tipped her head forward and roughly pulled her long dark hair into a ponytail. When she had affixed her mane firmly to the nape of her neck, June begrudgingly snatched the device from her desk and opened the holochart Challa had so graciously gifted.

DSGN: CT-5863 GEN: 1–B RNK: Captain (742nd)

ASSN SECT: 91st MRC DRCT SPVR: CT-411 STATUS: Active Duty

Assigned priority: CLASS D. OPEN WOUND: NON life-threatening.

Intake notes: subdermal lac. quadrant 6— full thickness separation, jagged edges from unknown source. PT reluctant to divulge cause of injury. PT uncooperative when offered NBA injection. Declined having accepted NBA from combat medic at time of injury. Advised to remove all vesture from waist up. Hema scan still outstanding.

“Oh fantastic,” June griped to the cactus on the desk, her mood now as prickly as it’s sharp little spines. “Refused a pain injection— twice, has been sitting here for Maker-knows how long, nobody remembered to ask his kriffing name, and I have no Lumi to transcribe for me. A glorious ending to another glorious day.”

She tucked the datapad aggressively into her armpit and stalked from the office, flicking her ponytail onto her shoulder as she went.

The bedlam of the open ward met her at the mouth of the hallway, that staggering din nearly forcing her eyes to narrow against the onslaught of noise as she made her way around the unusually barren welcome station. The dissonant harmony of a dozen monitors, shrilly beeping in the chorus of chaos, echoed around the white walls and attacked her eardrums with a gusto that she hadn’t quite become accustomed to yet. The deserted nature of that central hub was immediately explained by the sheer pandemonium lining the hallways, and every other step toward 18-S saw her ducking out of the way of a rolling FX-7 droid, hurrying to answer its urgent summons.

The egregious sound of violent gagging assaulted her ears as she passed room 12-N, shortly followed by the spectacular splat of what could only have been vomit hitting the floor. ‘Control your face,’ she reminded herself, upper lip quickly flattening in disgust as she back-peddled to that doorway and prodded the button that would summon both a sanitation droid and the nearest surgical student.

Room 18-S was the second last room of the south wing, and bore the classification of ‘Outpatient Room’, meaning it was only modestly equipped, and outfitted for only minimally invasive, single treatment procedures. The hoverbeds were never prepared for an overnight stay unlike those in the Northern and Eastern halls, and in place of the large diagnostic scanners that typically consumed all available real estate on those sterile grey walls, were lockers acting as safe storage for the overflow for other rooms, and containing a varied assortment of extra medical supplies, sterile tool packs, and maintenance equipment.

Doing her best to resurrect whatever was left of her dwindling patience, she stopped in front of the closed door of her destination. Praying to the stars above that whoever was waiting on the other side was neither vomiting on the floor like the poor chap in room 12, and didn’t feel the need to berate her about his heinously long wait, she knocked gently on that steel barrier and waited.

***

FOREWORD | NEXT

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[clonemedickix]

Rating: M

Word count: 6K

Characters: CT 6116 Kix, OC Medics: Volte, Patch, Patcher, Voodoo, Siren, Carpal, Sawbones, Minder, Whiskey, Quarter

*more medics will be mentioned in further chapters of this miniseries*

Warnings: Snide Medical Humor

Excerpt Summary - Arrival to the 1st Annual GAR Medic Convention. The medics arrive at the hotel, get their schedule, start having a reunion of friends.

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The 1st Annual GAR Medic Convention

Chapter 1 - Arrivals

Volte sighed tiredly. He had only just returned from a mission with the Dragon Company, and it had been a wringer. Even General Lin had looked bushed as she disembarked from the Talon, headed for the Dragon Cave and much needed rest, flanked by Fives and Echo. Volte’s responsibilities for the trip weren’t complete until he got the wounded men settled in sick bay, however, and he stood at the ramp of the Talon watching the hover stretchers pass by with his brothers. He followed the last one to the Grand Army of the Republic’s medical unit near the center of the base, his helmet under one arm and his data pad in his other hand. Maker, would he be glad when he could take off this armor and unwind.

As he passed into the large hospital’s corridors, he crossed paths with other medics, doing much the same as he was, checking in their wounded, or checking on them. The Dragon Company men technically fell under the wing of the 501st Legion, so any wounded men of their group would end up alongside others of Skywalker’s large battalion. Volte headed down the hall to the appropriate med bay and breezed through the door without pausing.

There were ten Dragons needing to be checked in, and Volte made for the nearest medical technician, a human female with a data pad. She was in conversation with Kix, Captain Rex’s Torrent Company medic. As he walked up, Volte caught the tail end of their chat.

“So, Kix, you going to the convention? It starts tomorrow,” the girl asked lightly.

“Planning on it. The Captain made sure to get me leave to go from General Skywalker. I’m looking forward to it. Supposed to be a lot of good information, and lots of free drinks from the sponsors. I’m not going to pass that chance up - the Senate might turn around and never do another one after they see how much their bar tab runs,” Kix said with a little chuckle at the end.

The girl acknowledged Volte’s presence with a little chin lift. “What’s up, Volte? Got some new people for me to patch up?”

Kix greeted Volte with a raised hand to clasp, and Volte grabbed it with a smile. “I have ten guys, though I doubt they’ll require much from you but some rest and bacta patches. Had them pretty well taken care of before we got back.” He took hold of the medical tech’s data pad and signed off on the patient registration quickly.

“Yeah, your guys usually don’t hang out with me for long.” Her eyes suddenly snapped up and she stood to attention as a call went out to the general room: “Attention! General on the floor!” Kix and Volte also snapped to attention quickly, waiting for the general in question to arrive and release them.

General Lin breezed into the room, still in her armor, covered in scuffs and mud and looking as glorious as she normally did. She smiled at the two medics and nodded, smoothly telling them, “At ease.” Everyone relaxed, as she moved over to check on each of her men. Volte and Kix shared a look between them, silently acknowledging her actions as a good leader. The General always stopped by the hospital before she took her own rest; it was a policy for her to put her men before herself. She made small talk with her guys, exhorting them to rest and get better quick - she’d expect them back at training soon as they could get there. Finished seeing her Dragons, Lara stepped over to the little knot of medical professionals and nodded to Kix. “Made it back in one piece, I see, Kix?”

“Of course, General. The Captain always leads us straight. I think he’s back too - probably in the mess hall or the barracks.” Kix flashed her a little wryly cocked eyebrow, assuming that was going to be the next question from her.

Lara gave Kix a rueful grin and cut her eyes to Volte. “Thanks for getting the men settled, Volte. I’m gonna head out now, if you don’t need anything from me?”

“I think I’ve got it handled, General.” And even if he didn’t, he wasn’t going to admit it to her in front of Kix and the hospital staff.

Lara nodded and turned to leave, but Kix’s voice stopped her.

“Hey General, did you give Volte leave to attend the conference? It starts tomorrow.”

Lara stopped and looked back at Volte, confused and surprised. “Conference? What conference?”

“You didn’t even ask, Volte?,” Kix asked chidingly.

“We were on a mission - I wasn’t sure we’d be back in time.” Volte shrugged his shoulders like it wasn’t a big deal to him, anyway.

“General, the First Annual GAR Medic Conference is tomorrow, on Hosnian Prime. All the GAR medical officers are attending. Supposed to have a lot of good education, new technology coming out and such.” Kix’s voice was both solicitous and slightly pleading. He wanted Volte to attend - even with all the educational blah blah blah, there would be partying after, and the clones hardly ever got a break to unwind.

“A medic conference?” Lara smiled brightly. “Like an EMS conference on Earth! Oh for sure Volte is going.” Volte looked up, ready to protest, and Lara cut him off. “Even if I have to dig my scrubs out of my drawer to come here and take care of these men myself, you’re going. You’re not going to miss something as fun as a conference. Conferences are legit! So much fun! Consider your leave approved, Volte, and you enjoy yourself. Give me a call if you end up in the brig and I’ll come bust you out.” Lara grinned at him and turned to walk away, leaving a beaming Kix and a flustered Volte standing in her wake.

Kix smiled and smacked Volte on the shoulder. “YEAH! We can catch the same shuttle out. This is going to be so much FUN!”

Volte looked somewhat uncertain, but bowed to the inevitable. His work done in the med bay, he made his farewell to his brothers and walked back to his barracks to get cleaned up, and packed. If the General said he was going, he knew better than to refuse.

The next morning, Volte made his way to the shuttle for Hosnian Prime with Kix at his side. The Torrent Company medic was excitedly chirping away about all the sessions being offered at the conference; he was looking forward to seeing the new technology on offer. Looking sideways at Volte, Kix remembered the Dragon Company already carried some unconventional tech that no other squads had. “So where did you get some of those toys you carry, Volte?”

“The General. She brought them from her home world,” Volte answered. “Some of it is pretty simple by our standards, but work really well. Like her CAT tourniquets. And Quick Clot stuff. I’ve liked using it. Those tourniquets though - they’re crazy effective. I’m surprised we don’t have something like them. You’d think with all the smart things the Kaminoans come up with, they wouldn’t over look something so plain and simple.”

“Wonder if they’ll have tech like that at this conference?,” Kix was curious of the possibilities. He’d heard there would be a new hover stretcher to ogle, as well as some of the latest medical interior upgrades for the LA ATs, converting some to straight medical evacuation ships. They were supposed to have fully kitted out displays of the new platforms, and that was always fun to see, climb around in and dream about.

“I have no idea, Kix. I honestly gave this conference no thought because I wasn’t sure I’d make it. I vaguely remember the brochure said something about new monitors, new meds, that ship kit, some new first aid implements… Who knows what all goodies they might have.” Volte was still somewhat tired after returning from their latest mission, only to turn around and ship out for this conference… Even for a pleasure trip it sucked to get up early when he’d wanted to rest. He yawned widely as they climbed aboard the airship and found seats. It was full of other medics, all heading for the same convention.

“Hey bud, quit that! We are going to have a blast at this thing. Can’t have you acting like an old man before we even get there.” Kix nudged Volte roughly and gave him a sharp look. “We’ve got some serious partying to do - we never get to really let loose even at 79s. So you quit that yawning.”

“Okay, okay,” Volte grumbled back. He leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. “I’m gonna take a nap for a while if you’re so determined to drag me to the bar every night. Be a social butterfly and talk to the others. Poor souls - you have a captive audience back there to listen to you blab about your magical hangover cure.”

Kix looked at Volte with a disgruntled frown, but did exactly that. Turning, he caught sight of several Corrie Guard medics - Patch, Patcher, Voodoo, Siren and Carpal were all loosely grouped in the rear of the shuttle. Kix gave his now snoring companion an eye roll and got up to move closer to the others; he knew a few of them quite well. He was only vaguely surprised that Commander Fox had given all his medics leave to come on this trip, but then the Corries had the benefit of being on Coruscant, with access to the Grand Republic Medical Center. They could just do a quick transport and have any wounded in front of the surgeons without much effort. And even the anal retentive Corries needed a night off occasionally.

“What’s up, people? Ready for this extravaganza of medical trivia, new toys and booze influenced fuckery?,” Kix said with a grin that would have done the Cheshire Cat proud. He looked up and nodded to Sawbones, who was sitting by himself a short distance away. Kix’s buddy Minder was sitting across from Sawbones, and Kix reached out, gave him a quick fist bump. He’d come back to talk to him when he was done with the Corries; Kix was a boy that loved the spotlight and could never keep still.

The group of Corrie medics all looked back at the Torrent Company man a little warily; all of the 501st had a reputation for generally being on the shady side of following rules, if not outright crazy. Kix was known to be one of the sharpest in the bunch; some said the only 501st member with a brain cell, after Captain Rex. But that was a misconception. Aside from Captain Rex, Kix had joint custody of the second single brain cell, and that only during his duty hours. The rest of his time was spent at 79’s, where he and Jesse, Hardcase, Fives and Echo stirred up enough trouble to make themselves as infamous with the Corries as their General was to the Jedi Council.

They’d all noticed Kix came in the company of Volte from Dragon Company - now there was a guy with a reputation. Known to be a steady and sharp medic, one of the best ever trained on Kamino, he’d been hand selected by the Dragon Rider, General Lara Lin, who’d kitted him out like a ARC Trooper, trained him in other worldly witchcraft and fighting skills previously unheard of in their galaxy, and given him special tools for use on their men. She’d even gone so far as to insist all of Dragon Company have first response medical skills, so technically they could all have qualified for field medic training on Kamino, but Volte was the Chief Medical Officer of the Company. The Dragons were nigh untouchable - trouble slid off of them like rain on a windscreen. No one could ever really explain how their General kept them all out of hot water after some of their escapades, but it had garnered them the image of a group of dark, mysterious renegades, strutting around the Coruscant military base like so many black and gold peacocks.

Patcher finally spoke up for his group. “Not everybody is going to the conference just to see how many panties they can drop or drinks they can keep down, Kix.”

“I came for the education too, Patcher, but hey, if panties start dropping around me, who am I to protest?” Kix grinned at the Corries mischievously, patted the back of the seat he was leaning on and turned to move to sit with Minder and Sawbones. He didn’t get far when he heard one of the Corrie group members pipe up.

“We could probably get by without going to a conference if your buddy up there would share his toys the General gives him,” Voodoo said with a little bitterness in his voice. “Heard his success rate on wounded men shot up by fifty percent after she implemented her “Stop the Bleed” policy and handed out those special tourniquets.”

“Now why would you Corries need tactical equipment like that? You don’t go anywhere that demands special toys, except maybe when you visit the dark lower levels.” Kix’s eyes narrowed a little as he moved in for the kill. “Then you’d just need some of those ‘antibiotics’ she’s always talking about using on her homeworld. Said they came about specifically to treat the koochie cooties you’re used to dealing with.” He laughed as all the men shot him dirty looks for insulting both their purpose and extracurricular activities.

“I can see this is going to be one of those trips,” Siren muttered to his neighbor Patch. “Why do all of the guys in the 501st have to be such di’kuts?”

“Because their General has a fat head and lets them think they can get away with just about everything, just like he does,” Patch grumbled back.

“At least the Dragon Company General isn’t quite as obnoxious as Skywalker, and far better to look at,” Carpal murmured.

“Or General Secura. I’d watch her all day long,” Siren said dreamily. “She’s got some nice assets, that one.”

There were grumbles of agreement to that statement, as the men settled back down into their own heads for the rest of the flight.

Kix had snugged himself into the seat beside Minder, propping his feet up on the armrest of the seat catty corner to him across the aisle, the picture of laid back relaxation. Sawbones was reading a holo fic on his data pad, quietly ignoring all other life forms on the shuttle. Kix gave him a brief glance, decided he didn’t want to be bothered, and turned to Minder. “How’s it been going at the Jedi Temple? Haven’t see you around of late.”

“Not too bad. Always lots of little boo boos to fix on the younglings as they start advancing in their physical training. And of course, the padawans with their training remotes - they always have little burns from not blocking fast enough.” The red headed medic smiled and looked over at his old batch mate. “Other than that, just sprains, strains and the odd broken ankle or wrist. Sometimes we get a truly wounded Jedi in from the field, but usually you guys are good about taking care of that before they get back to Coruscant.”

“Sounds kind of boring,” Kix said with a raised eyebrow.

“Yeah well, not all of us can run around dodging blaster fire anymore,” Minder said, nodding to his cane. He’d broken his leg and been hit by shrapnel at Khorm when Dooku’s assassin Asaj Ventress bombed the medical tents, and was left requiring the permanent assistance of a cane to get around. “At least they kept me working somewhere I’m of value, rather than just decommissioning me.” Minder shrugged. “I love working with the younglings anyway. Kids are always so much more fun than adults.”

Kix gave him an inquiring look, as if he didn’t believe that sentiment at all. “Kids are terrifying. The only thing I know about kids is it’s bad when they’re quiet, and they’re annoying when they’re not. You can keep allllll the kids, Minder.”

Minder laughed at his friend. “Seriously, Kix. Kids aren’t bad. They are actually pretty fun to work with once they decide to trust you, and they love stories and getting stickers for being cooperative. Give me a kid to treat any day.”

Kix grunted in reply, and pulled his data pad out. Everybody got cozy on the shuttle; they had a few hours of flight time to go, so Kix figured he would get some reading in. There was plenty of time ahead in the three day conference to catch up with people.

The shuttle arced its way down through the atmosphere of Hosnian Prime, over the white beaches towards the hotel district. The 1st Annual GAR Medic Convention was to be held in their fancy convention center, in the heart of their many high rise buildings with its own commanding view of the sea. The center had multiple restaurants and bars attached for the ease of feeding guests present for large gatherings; you never had to actually leave during your stay to get food or beverage and spirits, and could conveniently return to your hotel room whether by foot or by droid-assist. The Convention Center had made sure to bring in droid-assist reinforcements for this particular gathering of weathered clone troopers; they figured there would be plenty of men they’d have to literally scoop off the floor each night. While the convention planners had all protested the idea that the famed boys in white would act out of place, more rational souls had remained silent with raised eyebrows, then reasserted the need for more droids.

The Coruscant shuttle disgorged its passengers on the landing pad of the Hosnian Prime Mariton. It was one of the finer hotels on the planet, and had graciously waived many fees to attract this business from the Republic. There were many compensations to be had behind closed doors, if they were able to impress the many sponsors at this gathering. Just a couple of the big name weapon manufacturers alone could keep the hotel in business for many years. There always existed the give and take behind the scenes, when large companies did things for ‘charity’ or tax breaks, hoping to polish their public image while still making a hot credit in the hand.

Volte woke when the shuttle locked its landing gear and touched down on the hotel pad. Through bleary brown eyes, he took in the scene outside the ship’s doors, seeing flashy neon lights and busy sky traffic. It wasn’t much different from Coruscant, and for a short second he was confused enough to wonder if they’d even left. Kix disabused him of that notion quickly, as he walked by and smacked him on the shoulder roughly.

“Rise and shine pretty boy; we’ve arrived. You missed some truly stimulating conversations about medical advancement,” Kix said with a serious face.

“Did I?,” Volte said a little wearily.

“No. But you sleeping definitely made the flight boring for me,” Kix said firmly. “Now, let’s get our room assignment and hit the bar! Maybe there will be some hot chicks there to talk to, tell them all about being a GAR medic.”

“That’s fine Kix, but you better get your own room if you plan on bringing anybody back with you for the night. I’m not getting trapped again like that time on Canto Bight, when you came home with two Twi’leks and tried to foist one on me.” Volte gave Kix a scathing, scandalized look and shook his head. “Get your jollies off in a dark corner or other. In fact, if you decide you DO need a room, tell them to put it on my General’s tab. She’d cover it, I’m sure.”

Kix laughed a bit. She might just at that - she had offered to get them out of the brig if they ended up in one. She seemed to have no illusions whatsoever about what happened at one of these conferences. Kix wondered if there was a story attached to that, and whether it could be wheedled out of her at 79s some night.

The two medics followed a line of others to the front desk of the hotel and received their room assignment, then turned and strolled over to the lift for their floor. The lobby had been chock full of clone troopers, every one of them a field medic or associated with advanced emergency care. Sawbones and another clone named Whiskey climbed aboard the lift with Kix and Volte, both men in the Wolfpack. Sawbones typically enjoyed Kix’s enthusiasm, and Whiskey was a relaxed, quiet trooper, already having ascended to administration. He nodded to Volte and Kix, leaning back against the wall as the lift climbed into the sky.

“We should have a good view of the beaches from these floors,” Volte said lightly.

“Right, all the better to entice the ladies back to our rooms,” Kix said with a slight leer in his voice. The three other clones rolled their eyes. None were averse to a pretty date, but none of them were quite the famed man whore that Kix was, with his flashy scalp tattoos and bravado. Volte silently stared at the ceiling, wondering if he paid someone to get Kix laid the first night, would he calm down for the rest? Or perhaps he could just sedate him and tie him to the bed while the rest of them went to class, with a sock for a gag….

The men finally reached the fiftieth floor and filed out of the lift to head for their rooms. Funnily enough, they were adjoining. Sawbones and Whiskey looked at each other silently as they realized they’d share a door with their rambunctious 501st counterpart. Their thoughts unintentionally ran in the same vein as Volte’s, as they mentally ran back over the items they had packed for the trip. Sadly, rope, gags and extra tranquilizers hadn’t made it into their bags. Maybe they could get him plastered enough he’d just pass out. Three minds feverishly worked over the question of how to get actual sleep and time for reflection with Kix in the mix. Sawbones had noticed Volte looked particularly haggard already, as they pushed their door open to Kix jovially singing and dancing across the floor to claim his bed, “Shawty had them apple bottoms jeans, boots with the fur, the whole club lookin at her…” The Dragon Company medic sighed, ironically thanking his leader for introducing Kix to Earthen rap music. This party would have been right up her alley.

After getting their packs stowed, the two medics wandered back to the lobby to make plans for their dinner. Volte felt a bit better after his nap on the ride out, and he had to admit it was impressive, seeing all the clone medics milling around on the hotel’s ground floor. There were so many squad, company and battalion patches he just about couldn’t name them all. He saw the insignia for Shadow Squad, 327th Star Corps, the Mist Squad, a guy possibly from Republic intelligence, the wave patch of the Tsunami Squad, the fire bird of Phoenix Squad, Violet Company, the 218th, the 387th, and the Phoenix Company. There were many more, of course, but those were readily recognizable. A few of the faces he also knew, as did Kix evidently, who was loudly hailing the clones he made out in the crowd. It was a pleasing family reunion, so many brothers, all with interests and jobs in common.

Volte had brought along the booklet detailing the many classes on offer each day, as well as the displays from the vendors and sponsors. The pamphlet even promised there would be free giveaways of items at each booth, and Volte dreamily wondered what kind of goodies he was going to come away with. Kix eagerly read over his shoulder and pondered aloud about what classes he wanted to attend.

“Look at that V! ‘Advanced Airway Management for Facial Trauma: What To Do When Holes Are Present That Shouldn’t Be’! I bet that’s a great class! And ‘Rapid Sedation: How to Restrain Your Patient in Five Seconds Without Using Conduit Tape’. I need to try that on Hardcase!” Kix laughed gleefully, reading further down the list and exclaiming aloud which ones sounded the most interesting.

Sawbones and Minder happened by with Whiskey in tow. “Anything good on the schedule?,” Sawbones grumbled out in his deep, gravely voice.

Minder had his own copy of the roster and was perusing it with Whiskey. “I might go to this one - “How to Approach a Youngling: They’re Not Armed Bombs.” Minder chuckled. “If people only knew…Kids are best hidden secret in the medical field.” All four of his brothers looked at him like he was somewhat crazy, then went back to the brochure.

“Preventing Infections, as Easy as Wash Your Kriffing Hands,” Volte laughed softly. “Who got to name these classes? Sounds like something my General would come up with.”

Sawbones suddenly gave a low barking laugh. “Communicable Diseases: How To Avoid Them While Sitting in a Small Enclosed Space With Others.” The old medic shook his head with a smile, “I agree, whoever got to come up with these titles is a jewel. We need to find out and treat them to a round or two.”

“Weird Things Radiology Techs Have Found in a Rectum and Why Bacta Doesn’t Belong There Either,” Whiskey read, his eyebrows raised as high as they could go. “At least they have a sense of humor. Maybe this thing won’t be boring.”

“Well, everything starts tomorrow at 0800, so we might as well find some dinner and find something to do until bedtime,” Sawbones drawled out.

Kix looked like he was about to speak up, but Volte quickly cut him off. “And no that doesn’t mean shopping for a date.”

The group of men moved off in search of food, still walking and talking about the classes on offer. By the time they sat down, each men had a rough idea of which classes they would work to attend, if they couldn’t make it to all of them. There were five per day, starting at 0800 and each lasting an hour and a half. Volte felt they each had good information to learn, and he wanted to make it to them all, if Kix would allow it.

The official class list read thus:

Primeday:

0800 - Advanced Airway Management for Facial Trauma: What To Do When Holes Are Present That Shouldn’t Be

1000 - Rapid Sedation: How to Restrain Your Patient in Fives Seconds Without the Use of Conduit Tape

1300 - How to Approach Younglings: They’re Not Armed Bombs

1500 - Preventing Infections: As Easy As Wash Your Kriffing Hands

1700 - Communicable Diseases: How to Avoid Them While Sitting in a Small Enclosed Space with Others

Centaxday:

0800 - Urine Business: Keep the Flow Alive or Your Patient Won’t Be

1000 - Long Bone Trauma: If That Limb is A-Floppin, The Ship Better Not Be Rockin!

1300 - An Ode to Burns: My Skin is on Fire, It Hurts. How to Rapidly Treat Burn Trauma and Pain

1500 - Hypovolemic Shock: That Red Stuff Was Supposed to Stay on the Inside

1700 - Weird Things Radiology Techs Have Found in a Rectum and Why Bacta Doesn’t Belong There Either

Taungsday -

0800 - Everything You Never Wanted to Know About Pregnant Females ( Otherwise Known As How to Catch a Flying Greased Puffer Pig at the least Opportune Moment)

1000 - When Everything Goes to Mustafar in a Camtono: How to Remain Calm During the Worst Crises

1300 - Splinters: How to Deal with Your Vod When They’re Being a Big Baby

1500 - Medics Outrank Everyone - A Motto To Live By

1700 - Take the Jedi Path - Let it Go: How to Handle Grief and Loss in the Ranks

The small knot of clones ended up wandering into one of the sports bar type restaurants of the large hotel. The place was packed by their brethren, all either at tables, in booths or are the bar. It was a raucous scene, and Kix’s face lit up with joy at the prospect of swapping stories and drinks with al the men present. He angled his way to the bar to make his first order, dragging Volte with him while Sawbones found them somewhere to sit. It wasn’t usually hard for the gritty old medic to get his way with others - his entire persona was intimidating, if his gruff, deadpan words didn’t make them hop and run. He was able to secure them a large booth near the center of the restaurant, where they could commune with everyone easily and hear the chatter.

Volte and Kix made it to the table not long after, bearing everyone’s first round of drinks, followed by an ARC medic named Quarter, and Voodoo. They were both in the Coruscant Guard and knew the group at the table fairly well. The men all traded greetings and fist bumps, settling back into the cushions as they took in the scene.

Quarter raised his chin a bit at Volte after taking a swig of his fizzy drink, launching into a question. “Got any good stories from the front these days, Volte? We hear all kinds of rumors about you Dragons and that General of yours, but nobody knows how much of it is bantha poodoo or real.”

Volte laughed a little ruefully before replying. “You know, people like to make up crap about us, like we are some top secret mystery brigade, but I think you’d be surprised how boring we are in reality.”

“How can it be boring when you work with a karking dragon?,” Voodoo exclaimed. “That alone is worth talking about! Has that thing eaten anyone yet?”

“Nope. He’s not just some mindless animal - he’s as smart as you or me. I did see him step on a few Seppys during a battle though. They were quite a bit flatter in places they shouldn’t have been when he moved off. And if he goes to burn something - straight to ash. Nothing left. Hottest fires you can imagine.” Volte shook his head in wonder, remembering some of the things he’d seen. “But what about you guys? Surely you have plenty of good dirt on all the political types, working here in the veritable beating heart of the galaxy.”

Voodoo laughed. “Oh there’s always dirt. Thank the Force for those implants the Kaminoans fitted us with, because otherwise half of the command staff would have the gift that keeps on giving and about ten children stowed away here and there. Not much to do, guarding Coruscant, and when those pretty girls hit you up it’s hard to refuse.” He gave Volte a little salute with the neck of his fizz bottle. There were general chuckles all around; none of the men were blushing virgins and all knew boredom and stress led to the men finding ‘other’ entertainment. “I’ve heard rumors there’s going to be a clone dating service start up on the super hush and hush. Evidently Commander Fox knows the business owner … incredibly well…,” he said with a bit of a wink.

Minder choked on his drink. “A dating service for clones? Seems like a big risk to take - we never know if we’re coming back from any deployment, and if they got caught they’d probably get shipped back to Kamino for reconditioning.” Volte nodded with his eyebrows up at the news. He was no stranger to clones hiding relationships; Dragon Company and Torrent Company had more than one high up military secret relationship they were protecting.

“Hey why shouldn’t we have relationships if we want them?,” Kix demanded rather angrily. “We are people too. We have just as many needs as some nat born!” He saw Quarter nodding with him, though Whiskey and Sawbones both wore rather resigned, skeptical expressions.

Voodoo shrugged. “Imagine if all the clones got a steady girl and had kids, though. We’d probably over populate the galaxy in less than a year. Of course, that’s if we managed to get around the sterility implants. I’ve heard rumors that a few clones have gotten some girls knocked up, but I’ve never seen it in real life. Could be a fairy tale.”

The table fell silent for a short moment as each man wondered about their rights, or lack thereof, and all took a quick slug of their drinks to wash away the bitter taste of resignation. Their musing was shortly interrupted by the arrival of Carpal, who was working his way toward the exit. He didn’t prefer loud crowds with the ringing in his ears at baseline, a parting gift from Asaj Ventress at Khorm. He nodded to the group as he walked by with a small bucket of drinks for himself; he preferred sitting in quiet places where he could read. Carpal was an older clone, his graying beard lending him a look of wizened knowledge that others deferred to.

Sawbones raised his bottle to acknowledge the medic, grunting out, “Heading back to your room, Carpal?”

The grizzled clone nodded. “You know I don’t do these loud gatherings. I’ve got my stash now and a good book I brought with me. You know where to find me if you need me,” he said, his voice a little louder than others to compensate for the inner ear issues. “I’ll see you boys in class tomorrow. Behave, children,” he said as he ambled on past them to the door.

To Kix's utter dismay, the rest of the evening passed with no pretty women appearing at the bar; only a steady stream of clones came and went. Their little group threw in the towel somewhat early, as Volte wanted to get some rest and Sawbones had used up all of his stored up reserves on dealing with people; the man was never the most outgoing of medics, and his patience for foolishness was nonexistent. The men headed back to their rooms, cleaned up and hit the sheets; all were unconscious as soon as their heads hit the pillows.

Credits:

Kix - CT 6116 Medic of Torrent Company, 501st Legion

Volte - CT 2403 Dragon Company CMO, property of CloneMedicKix

Patch - Coruscant Guard Medic, property of Sunshinedaydream

Patcher - CT 1110 Coruscant Guard CMO, property of Stargazingbunny

Voodoo - CT 0127 Coruscant Guard medic, property of Sev-on-Kamino

Siren - CT 6161 Coruscant Guard Medic, property of 523rd Rebel

Carpal - CC 6666 Coruscant Guard medic, property of Mythical Illustrator

Sawbones - CT 2697 Wolfpack CMO, 104th Battalion, property of Wizardofrozz

Minder - CT 6334-2 Jedi Medical Company, property of Mythical Illustrator

Whiskey - CC 6891 CMO 104th Battalion, property of Banks's-rat

Quarter - ARC 2525 Republic Intelligence medic, property of Hetalianskywalker

@523rdrebel @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @villanousace @mythical-illustrator @theogfulcrum22 @king-chaos-world @sunshinesdaydream @starrylothcat @anxiouspineapple99 @sev-on-kamino @mire-draws-things @the-bad-batch-baroness @cloneloverrrrr @mandos-mind-trick @padawancat97 @dukeoftheblackstar @wolffegirlsunite @isthereanechoinhere96 @jediknightjana @wackylurker @moonlightwarriorqueen @wizardofrozz @multi-fan-dom-madness @starqueensthings @liluthenerd @sweetmugofcocoa @vodika-vibes @banksys-rat @a-single-tulip @hetalianskywalker @homemade-clones @swarovski-yoda @starrrgazingbunny

@marierg

Dividers done by myself and @dystopicjumpsuit

[sev-on-kamino]

hi lovely! for the ofc nsfw ask game… 1, 4, 13, 18, and 25 for my lovely blizzard 👀 hope ur having a wonderful day!

Hi Nour! Having a great day so far, and I hope you are too. Thank you for sending these in 🥰 I love Blizzard, and could talk about him all day tbh.

NSFW OC Questions - Fun stuff below the cut! MINORS DNI!!!

1. Are there any names they like to be called in bed/names they call their partner? Any names they wouldn’t use/can’t stand?

- He loves sweet names, so call him “love” or “baby” and he’ll melt. He leans towards using those as well, but would also come up with one specific to his partner’s personality. There aren’t any that are totally off of the table, but he would be surprised if someone called him “daddy.” He wouldn’t know how to respond.

4. Are they more of a dom, sub, or switch? If applicable, are they a top, bottom, or vers?

- Blizzard is a pleasure dom. He’s sweet and encouraging, but firm and a natural leader. He’s a top, which often surprises people.

13. Morning vs evening sex—do they have a preference?

- He likes morning sex when the sun is barely coming up. That soft morning light on his partner’s skin gets him going so fast.

18. Their favorite actions during sex—chin-grabbing, hair-pulling, wrists being pinned, etc.

- Hip-grabbing. Pulling his partner down on top of him, or into his lap, or onto his face. It gives him such a thrill.

25. Share a sample line of dirty-talk

- “Oh, beautiful, you’re shaking with my fingers inside you. Are you ready for more? I wanna hear you say it in that sweet voice of yours.” -Blizzard, definitely 👀

taglist: @secondaryrealm @dystopicjumpsuit @dukeoftheblackstar @wolffegirlsunite @808tsuika @sleepingsun501 @starrylothcat @ladyzirkonia @sunshinesdaydream @wings-and-beskar @pb-jellybeans @clio3kantarella @staycalmandhugaclone @stardusthuntress @idontgetanysleep @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @anxiouspineapple99 @littlemissmanga @mandos-mind-trick @amorfista @kimiheartblade @freesia-writes @sinfulsalutations @523rdrebel @clonemedickix @multi-fan-dom-madness @mooncommlink @1vlouds @moonlightwarriorqueen @starqueensthings @dangraccoon @idoubleswearimawriter @wizardofrozz @trixie2023 @dreamie411

[mythical-illustrator]

Let's actually meet my Oc, I’ve talked about her in a few asks but mostly she’s been in discord 🫠 but I finally feel comfortable sharing her in her entirety with y'all.

So here we go on this fine OC Sunday

Meet Helena Hemlock.

Helena is my spider verse/ Star Wars crossover OC

She lives and works and protects Coursant.

Helena is an engineering assistant and a welder. She works for the Galactic military and mostly works on ships but recently got a job as a scientist/engineering assistant.

Though her boss seems to be coming undone at the seams.

She use to do underground street boxing for money. Hasn't seen or cared to see since her mom died and Dad dropped her off on her uncle's door step and left. He's much closer than she knows.

Lives with her Aunt who runs a weapons shop/gun range. She got bitten at 15 and her uncle died after a failed robbery.

A blurb from her introduction Spider Verse style:

Alright, lets do this. My name is helena Hemlock, and for the last 10 years I have been coursants one and only spider-woman, the only spider-woman in the galaxy actually to my knowledge.

I won't bore you with my sad life- to sum up Mom died, Dad left, went to live with my aunt, got bit by a freaky spider, gained superpowers, got into a lot of fights, lost my uncle...and well then I became an Ubran legend.

The one and only Krykna

Under the cut is more of her story and some WIP art I’ve got done for her.

Her story will have Star Wars villains taking the place of normal spider man villains

Doctor Ock- a Quarren scientist working for the Galactic military

Dr. Hemlock, taking on the role of Norman Osborn.

Palpatine as himself

The Couri guards as themselves

The ship for the story is Helena and Fox . She’ll be working pretty clone with the Coursant guards. Thorn is having a blast, Fox not so much. Really he just hates getting rescued by a vigilante

Thank you @sinfulsalutations for being civilian #2 to be rescued 😊

One day I might actually write her story and post it but for now -her story is getting told in art form so ...have some art

Art master list

Tag list

@anxiouspineapple99 @clonemedickix @sev-on-kamino @dangraccoon @523rdrebel @secondaryrealm @multi-fan-dom-madness @wizardofrozz @starrylothcat @dickarchivist @dystopicjumpsuit

[sinfulsalutations]

𝕨𝕖𝕝𝕝, 𝕚 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕜 𝕚𝕥'𝕤 𝕒𝕓𝕠𝕦𝕥 𝕥𝕚𝕞𝕖 𝕚 𝕚𝕟𝕥𝕣𝕠𝕕𝕦𝕔𝕖𝕕 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕥𝕠 𝕕𝕒𝕟𝕖𝕒 𝕡𝕣𝕠𝕡𝕖𝕣𝕝𝕪 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕡𝕒𝕣𝕥𝕚𝕔𝕚𝕡𝕒𝕥𝕖 𝕚𝕟 𝕠𝕔 𝕤𝕦𝕟𝕕𝕒𝕪…

meet Danea L'appe! Art by the fantastic and lovely @mythical-illustrator

This lovely twi'lek grew up on Ryloth, raised by two trade workers. She worked at their business growing up and never had a formal education, but taught herself how to read and write out of a pure love for knowledge and understanding. Almost all her time not assisting her parents or helping out clients was spent with a book tucked underneath a counter or practicing her handwriting on a carved piece of wood.

Danea is quite shy and socially awkward, and one of those introverts who will find one person in a new situation and latch onto them for an indefinite amount of time. Bright-eyed (probably from all the caf), kind, and diligent, she wants to be a scholar and has gotten a scholarship to the University of Coruscant to do just that.

Tech is her ultimate sweetheart in my WIP professor!Tech au, and their story has much more to tell and there is lots more to unfold. However, I also have a WIP including her and @mythical-illustrator clone trooper OC, Carpal.

There is so much more character-building and general information about her I'd love to share and create, so PLEASE don't be afraid to drop into my asks with any questions, headcanons, ideas, prompts, etc. I'd love to hear them!!

ragu list: @starstofillmydream @pb-jellybeans @corrieguards @badbatchbabe @ladytano420 @jediknightjana @sleepycreativewriter @shinyshayminflower @thebahdbitch @secondaryrealm @nobody-expects-the-inquisitorius @dukeoftheblackstar @meshlaxbunny @kimiheartblade @followthepurrgil l @wolffegirlsunite @star-burned @starrylothcat @sev-on-kamino @aconstructofamind @padawancat97 @littlemissmanga @starqueensthings @anxiouspineapple99 @freesia-writes @wings-and-beskar r @clio3kantarella @secretthegriffin @idontgetanysleep @523rdrebel @dystopicjumpsuit @mandos-mind-trick @sunshinesdaydream @clonemedickix @andrakass2 @jesjestraverse @crosshairlovebot @wizardofrozz @dangraccoon @lickylickylicky @thebomb-diggity @urmomsmattress @jedi-hawkins @who-would-want-a-broken-heart @ladyzirkonia @multi-fan-dom-madness @moonlightwarriorqueen @eyeluvmusic21 @imarvelatthestars

[freesia-writes]

Let's start something fun! 😂 Each Sunday, I'll post three random questions for you to answer for one or more of your OCs. Feel free to link the work(s) they appear in, too! We'll have a little showcase where you might discover someone that piques your interest and voila! Something new to read! 😁 As for the image? Random dude I found on Canva, with so much sass and so much cake that I had to include him. 🤣🙈 And apparently all of this is going to have a 70's vibe, LOL.

How would you describe your OC's voice?

Where did they grow up?

What would be their ideal weapon in a fight?

[dystopicjumpsuit]

OC Sundays: Sgt. Dozer the Tooka (CT-2KA)

Want a Datafile for your Star Wars OC (or one of your pets)? Find out how to get one here! Or check out other OC Datafiles I’ve created here!

Transcript in alt text and below the cut.

GRAND ARMY OF THE REPUBLIC

Personnel Datafile Name: Dozer Rank: Sergeant Identifying number: CT-2KA Duty assignment: Emotional Support Officer, 501st Legion Status: Active

Service Record Prior service: Rodent Catcher, alley behind 79's, Coruscant mid-levels Commendations: Plastoid star for excellence in snuggling Qualifications: Close quarters combat - Expert; Tracking and reconnaissance - Expert; Napping - Expert; Purring - Expert Medical record: Fleas - treatment complete; Spay procedure - fully recovered; Emaciation - commanding officer insists that treatment continue despite patient being fully recovered Remarks: Remanded into custody of ARC Trooper Jesse following altercation with Coruscant Guard officer Grizzer. Volunteered for service in 501st Legion. Medical exam and treatment plan completed by CMO Kix. Intake approved by Captain Vaughn.

Please nobody tell Captain Rex.

---

I used this Picrew to create Dozer's artwork 😻

Ragu list:

@secondaryrealm @sev-on-kamino spicy-clones @wings-and-beskar @523rdrebel @merkitty49 @anxiouspineapple99 @sinfulsalutations @arcsimper5 @starrylothcat @clio3kantarella @cloneloverrrrr @goblininawig @ladytano420 @arctrooper69 @wolffegirlsunite @sunshinesdaydream @mandos-mind-trick @littlemissmanga @stunkbiggu @starqueensthings @clonemedickix @marierg @idontgetanysleep @moonlightwarriorqueen @dudewhynotthis @sleepycreativewriter @tcwmatchmakingau @littlemissbshine @multi-fan-dom-madness @heavenseed76 @wizardofrozz @bobaprint @sweetcream-coldfoam @banksys-rat @skellymom @pickleprickle @trixie2023 @mythical-illustrator @dickarchivist @cw80831 @kimiheartblade @meredithroseg @flyiingsly

[talesfrommedinastation]

OC Sunday up in here…and you know what? I needed another drawing of Belter fireman/ Tech’s new bff, Timon Chapelle. Read the story where they meet here.

I have NO IDEA what these two are plotting! Any ideas, put them in the comments, lol.

(Eagle eyed folks will notice Timon has the Lang Belta word for brother, ‘beratna’ in Aurebesh as his newest tattoo! I’d like to think he got it in honor of the clones)

Tagging those who’d like to see Tech somewhere plotting with a new (even taller) friend:

@audpaints @askwenjing @auntie-venom @autistic-artistech @shadestepping @deoxd @deezlees @dukeoftheblackstar @sued134 @supremechancellorrex @freesia-writes @just-shower-thoughts @littlefeatherr @luxris @vivaislenska @blitzink @nahoney22 @nika6q @notavalidusername @moosethren @marymunchkiin @merkitty49 @wwheeljack @wrenkenstein @eyecandyeoz @eelfuneral @eclec-tech @rememberthecant @thecoffeelorian @that-salmonberry-punk @yeehawgeek @ilikemymendarkandfictional @techs-stitches @isthereanechoinhere96 @ithillia @perfectlywingedcrusade

[malsfefanfics]

Out of curiosity, do you have a name for Marquis Vestra? I’ve always joked that his name should start with V so his initials are VVV.

I do have a name for him! For my writing, I've gone with the name "Iason von Vestra". There's actually a fun meta reason for that.

The names Iason and Medee are a play on Jason and Medea. Like Jason and the Argonauts.

Medee's maiden name, (Anavros), her family's heirloom (magic sandals named Anaurus), and the title of her Paralogue "Lament of Sister Rivers", comes from the river Anavros and Anaurus. The same river Jason is believed to have lost a sandal in when helping Hera cross the river. But there's a lot less familicide on Medee's hands compared to Medea.

Medea also warned Jason that he would die to the crumbling ruins of his only heroic achievement. Dying in his sleep being crushed by his rotting ship. In Iason's case, that crumbling ruin is named Hubert.

Love the idea of his name being VVV though. Absolute genius~!

[neyswxrld]

downtime with heliv and ney!

this is my submission for @isthereanechoinhere96 's 400 follower celebration!

hello!

first of all: congratulations to 400 followers! i'm proud of you and it is well deserved!

since i am a big fan of your downtime with the domino twins comics, i decided i could just make my own downtown post, with no one less than heliv, the one and only!

(i went out of my house for that, twice. that is a new record.)

she visited the earth for the first time and i wanted to show you what she thinks about this planet, hehe. 🤭

(also, please ignore that i painted the scars in the wrong color 😬)

MASTERLIST

TAGLIST

@isthereanechoinhere96 @trixie2023 @freesia-writes

[starqueensthings]

OC Sunday: Dr. Juniper “June” Kiore

I am a ball of anxiety about finally sharing her, but everyone meet June.

I’ve been working on her story for a shamefully long time. Anyone that knows me well, or has followed me for a while, knows I’m the slowest writer humankind has ever seen. I have paralyzingly perfectionist tendencies and have been more likely to CTRL+A and DELETE a story if it’s just not up to scruff. But it’s going on probably two years now since she materialized in my head, and I want to share her whether I’m happy with her story or not.

June grew up in Wild Space on a planet called Mulita. Now 23, she’s a surgical fellow at the Grand Republic Medical Facility on Coruscant. The war began not too long ago, and while the increase in her workload has drastically reduced her spare time (and sleep time), she and her best friend Dr. Jacoba Rheese are taking it in stride. She’s estranged from for family for reasons that come to light as the story progresses, and really has not had the time or motivation to dabble in relationships… until a wounded soldier ends up unknowingly tipping her world upside down.

The teaser poster/title/thing/reference sheet/detail thingy will go up next Sunday, and then the first chapter the following Sunday. It’s a mostly canon-compliant, fem!OC x Howzer story, that eventually morphs into a fem!OC x Jesse story. When and how the shift happens… you’ll have to tag along ! There’s a ton of Clone OC’s, lots of our Clone Wars favourites, and probably also lots of plot holes because my brain has limitations, ok? Lol

Lastly, I know OC’s are not everyone’s cup of tea. Not everyone can supplant themselves into a story with established characters, and I have very low expectations of this story garnering any sort of engagement, and that’s absolutely, completely and totally totally cool. My only ask is this: if you’re not into it, just kindly click away. I don’t expect you to love her, but I do ♥️ a lot.