#original clone characters

[jaigeye]

a lineup of all my jedi, clone, sith, and other assorted star wars ocs. three years of work, roughly. love these little guys!!!!

[zealfruity]

Meet Gold Squad!

Their paint designs will change and improve as time goes on and I draw them more. Most fo the changes I’ll end up making will mostly show up on their phase 2 designs once I make those.

Cake’s first actual appearance beyond simple theory. Him and Poppy get along great.

[stardustloki]

To be Remembered

You are replaceable.

This is the first lesson that CT-4729 ever remembers learning.

They are all going to die, even if they make it off Kamino, and what will be left? What will there be to remember them by? What marks will there be to prove they ever existed?

-

Teen, No Archive Warnings, Original Clone Character(s), Angst, Bittersweet Ending, Remembrance, Implied/Referenced Character Death

Read it on ao3 here or below the cut.

-

You are replaceable.

This is the first lesson that CT-4729 ever remembers learning.

Clones are not important, they have been bred to die, and when they do another number will step up and take their place.

Some of his brothers like the fact that they are ‘the same’, clinging to their similarities as if that makes them special, as if that will keep them safe. And perhaps this is true, ‘29 thinks as he watches ‘28 get taken away by a Kaminoan who has spotted his aversion to bright lights and loud noises, an aversion that has no place on a battlefield. ‘28 doesn’t return.

‘31 dies in a training accident. There is a fault in ‘26’s genetic structure.

Each night ‘29 holds them in his heart, tries to remember them, but the memories become fuzzy, overwritten by watching the same identical faces day after day after day, until he cannot be sure of what was real and what was imagined.

A sense of panic starts to settle into his bones, like an itch that can’t be scratched. They are all going to die, even if they make it off Kamino, and what will be left? What will there be to remember them by? What marks will there be to prove they ever existed?

‘29 is not important. He knows this, he is told this every day, but there is an ache inside of him that longs to be, that longs to matter beyond his worth as a cog in the machine that will be the GAR.

It is this more than anything that has him taking out his training knife and scratching his number into the wall above his bed. He knows it’s a stupid idea, even as he makes the first mark, but he can’t stop. This bed is his, it is where he sleeps, it belongs to him (even as nothing is meant to belong to them, everything should be interchangeable). Carving his number seems to prove it.

I was here, he thinks, finding himself calmer and less desperate as he stares at the jagged lines, barely recognisable as Aurebesh. I was here and I won’t be forgotten.

It is an aberration, a defect, and when a maintenance droid informs the Kaminoans they are not pleased by his attempts to be an individual. They summon one of the trainers, who seems to take a great deal of pleasure in hurting him, of reminding him of his place, before dragging him off by his hair as ‘29 struggles to keep his feet underneath him. There is nothing special about you, Clone, he says, you’re not important enough to matter to anyone, and when they decommission you no one will bother to remember you.

Despite the feeling of anguish that is crushing him, ‘29 cannot bring himself to regret his actions, not even as he curls into a ball in the isolation pod, waiting for the long-necks to kill him. Everyone dies, perhaps now he will be remembered too.

It is a surprise when they let him out. His batchmates tell him he was in there for three days, under blinding bright lights that left him shaky and delirious, unable to rest, sure he would go mad.

Still, he has been given a second chance, and he knows he must be smarter this time.

He carves notches into his armour, scratches a line into the bottom of his DC-15, digs a little indent into the underside of the table where he eats. Small things to show he was there.

His batchmates call him ‘Scratch’.

And Scratch will die, he knows this, but at least the little marks he leaves prove he had once been alive. That he had been a living breathing human being, and his life had meant something, even if it was never supposed to.

The itch under his skin eases a little.

-

Scratch is deployed, and he finds himself on a ship, far away from the surveillance of the Kaminoans.

He carves his name onto the wall beside every bunk he calls his own, his name joins others etched into bar tables at 79s, he makes scratches on rocks and fence-posts, and on crates of ammo.

A few months in, he wins a holo-recorder in a sabaac game. Its owner, Brew - who has a wide smile and intricate patterns shaved into his close cropped hair - dies a week later due to an anti-tank missile. But Scratch has a picture of him, and a video of him losing badly at cards two days after he’d lost the holo-recorder. He is gone, but not forgotten.

Scratch takes pictures of everything - his brothers, their antics, the planets they visit, the people they meet, the food, the bad karaoke nights, the art on the LAAT/i's - and as he does the terror that had gripped him for so long seems to fade. He makes a blog on the holonet, and starts creating an archive of everything that wouldn’t give their position away to the Separatists.

He stands over the bodies of dead shinies and wonders, is there anyone left who remembers them, is there anyone that knows their names?

The months draw on and his archive lengthens, but then so too do his doubts. Most of the brothers who started this war with him are gone, replaced by an ever turning carousel of new faces. The Clones are the only ones who would ever care for his memories, and before long every last one of them will be dead - the war cannot end in Republic victory with casualty numbers this high.

“Thank you,” Tis says to him, tears streaming down their face as they watch a vid of their now-dead vod’ika pulling stupid faces into the holorecorder. “Thank you for remembering him.”

Scratch sighs. Perhaps this is all for nothing, perhaps it won’t matter in the end, but it matters now, and that has to count for something.

He shuts his eyes, opens them again, and takes a breath as he watches the Separatist-held planet of Parto come into view. He clutches the stone he’d picked up from Orisc in his hand, as he brushes his thumb over the scratches he’d etched into it, he allows their rough edges to sooth him.

Whatever would happen, Scratch knew he had lived.

-

Two hundred years later, the sun shines high over the fields of Parto. The debris of battle, the corpses, the landmines, all gone, replaced by carefully tilled plots of burmillet. Nothing about these fields would tell you a war had ever taken place here, nothing would tell you the scale of the slaughter, when even the jagged craters, the vestiges of the explosions that had claimed Clones and Droids alike, have been smoothed over to make harvesting the grain easier.

Almost nothing.

Ti Yar, eight years old and with the gait of a child who hasn’t quite figured out what to do with all four limbs yet, comes tromping through the tall burmillet, brushing the stems out of his way - an explorer chopping through the undergrowth to reach his destination.

Despite his imaginings, he remains surprised when he stumbles over something on the field, his ankle twisting slightly as his foot falls off something solid. Scowling, he looks down to see the cause of his interrupted game. His eyes widen.

It’s a stone, sure, but way better than the red-grey rocks that litter their soil. This one is a deep blue-back, with lighter streaks in it that almost seem to glow in the light of the sun, like crystals set in marble. Ti doesn’t know what it is, he doesn’t know which planet it was from (though he has a sneaking suspicion ‘not this one’ might be the correct answer), but what he does know, as he gazes at the smooth rock with open-mouthed astonishment, is that he has found his treasure.

His fingertips brush over the rock’s surface as he starts to examine it in greater detail, and his thumb presses down on a section at the back that seems almost sharp. He turns it over.

There are notches carved in the stone, jagged letters in aurebesh: 

Scratch

CT-4729

12.8.4345.7.87643.

He frowns at the last part. A holonet address, perhaps?

After Ti arrives home, the stone clutched firmly in his hand, he logs on to the holonet and meticulously types the address in.

It does take him to a holonet site, the design of which seems weird and old, and takes so long to load that Ti almost gives up. The caption at the top declares that the owner of the blog is called Scratch, which is kinda a weird name, but then again everyone who comes from another planet has a weird name.

There are lots of pictures and videos, all of Scratch and his brothers. They all look pretty similar (then again all humans do) but they cut their hair in funny ways to set themselves apart. He knows they’re soldiers, because they all wear bright white armour with different green patterns on it, and sometimes Scratch has posted training videos.

He stays up, scrolling through the blog, for long after he should have gone to bed, hiding his datapad under his pillow when his parents come to check on him. There’s something exciting about this, about the feeling that he’s found something that no-one else knows about. He’s learnt now that there was an entire army of ‘Clones’ on this planet, but he’s never heard about this before from anyone. He wonders if his grandparents know about it.

He watches vids of Scratch laughing, playing pranks on his brothers, singing songs that contain words he’s pretty sure none of his family would want him to hear. They talk funny, like in old holonet dramas or the recordings played in the history lessons he tries not to fall asleep in, but he likes them all the same, and finds himself grinning along with them. Another strange thing is the pictures on the walls beside some of their beds, of beings without all their clothes on. Ti doesn’t get it, and prefers the walls that have ancient ship designs pasted to them, but he supposes that people in the past did weird stuff.

Late the next morning, his parents help him research the ‘Clone Wars’.

He’s heard about the fall of the Republic at school, about how it became an Empire, about how it hurt people and destroyed Alder… something, and that there was a Jedi hero called... Luka Skywalker, but that was old stuff, stuff that happened way before anyone he knew was even born, and it has never seemed to matter.

This does.

This stuff, Scratch’s smile as he gives Ti a tour of the ship’s mess-hall, this is real. This matters.

There is a part of Ti that wonders why Scratch lost the stone, hopes that he’d just dropped it out of his pocket, or left it for someone like Ti to find. Maybe he did this on every planet?

His parents have searched the holonet for him, and have found no other records of CT-4729.

But there’s another part of him that knows what happened, a part that he finds hard to face. If he scrolls up to the top of Scratch’s blog, the very last holo-image is one of Parto, taken through a transparisteel window. If he focuses hard enough, Ti can see a pale reflection of Scratch outlined on top of the red plains below.

Ti looks down at the stone and grips it tightly in his palm, rubbing his thumb over the smoothed and weathered aurebesh lettering, and wonders if he and his family are the only people alive that remember him.

-

Next week, at the village school, they are asked to create a three-minute presentation about an important historical figure.

Before, Ti would have reluctantly thrown something together that would maybe have lasted half that time. Now, he puts more effort than he has into anything he’s ever done for school in his life, and tells the class about the creation of the Clones and the fall of the Old (but not the Oldest) Republic, and about what Scratch’s favourite ration bar was.

As kindly as possible, the teacher stops him after he hits the 10 minute mark.

-

And Ti grows and changes, but the stone on his bedroom shelf, sat beside a holo of Scratch and his brothers remains.

-

30 years later, Dr Ti Yar the renowned historian, stands before a crowd inside the National Museum of Parto, ready to open a new exhibition.

If you were to walk past him, and turn the corner to look inside, you would see hundreds of flickering holos, the ones captured by Scratch along with others that have been donated or found in archives around the galaxy. The captions beside them tell the story of the Clones, and dotted around the room are surviving sets of armour and other objects from the war that Ti has picked up over the years.

In a glass case in the centre, the blue-grey stone stands. Beneath it lies a plaque, etched into it are the words;

In Memory of Scratch. CC-4729. 31 - 19 BBY. You are eternal.

[xteacakes]

[jedi-enthusiast]

The Final Chapter is Up!

The 3rd, and final, chapter of How One Pissed Off, Half-Sane Medic Saved the Galaxy is up! I hope you guys like it!

And, once again, a very big thank you to @frostbitebakery for making this absolutely gorgeous art of Grim <3

[tcwmatchmakingau]

One Call Away - Pt. 1

Summary: Thorn wants Fox to find love, and he’s counting on Daria to make it happen. An unstoppable force is about to meet an immovable object.

Pairing: Commander Fox x Daria Trace (OC)

Rating: G (later chapters will get spicy 👀)

Warnings: swearing

Word Count: 2886

Written to: The Archer by Taylor Swift

Massive shoutout to @deejadabbles not only for taking the first/last look but also encouraging me so much. Wouldn’t have made it without her 🥰

Matchmaking for the clones was nothing like matchmaking for the smarmy elites of Coruscant. The most noticeable difference was the way they showed their gratitude after a successful match. Daria had received expensive bottles of whiskey, opera tickets and even furs from clients. The gifts were accompanied by generic messages clearly written by their aides, and while Daria wouldn’t say no to good whiskey or a fun night at the theatre, the gifts were perfunctory in nature.

The clones, however, showed their appreciation with their hearts. Daria had received flowers clearly stolen from someone’s greenhouse that perfectly matched her lavender hair, gift cards for iced coffee, all manner of fidgets to keep her occupied, and her favorite, new photos of them with their new partners.

Commander Thorn in particular was immensely grateful for his new girlfriend, but when he’d come by bearing a gift he’d also had a request.

“I’m always happy to see you Thorn, but I’m curious as to why you have a knife in my office,” Daria said, eyeing the blade Thorn was twirling around.

“You like to keep your hands busy, right? So you can learn to spin this, and eventually how to throw it,” he replied with a mischievous grin. “Your hands will never be bored again.”

“A bold claim,” she said, following the knife’s movements. There was something alluring about such a dangerous plaything in motion, and she found her fingers twitching in anticipation. “Ok, I’ll try it.”

“That’s my girl!” He brought the knife to an abrupt stop offering it to her handle first.

Daria took the knife and began slowly moving it through her fingers. Thorn watched her work out the best way, as her hand was much smaller than his, and bare. After one minute, the knife was flipping through her fingers quickly and smoothly.

“Kriff, this is really fun,” she confessed quietly. She couldn’t play with it around other people, unless she was hoping to intimidate them, but when she was alone it would definitely be in heavy rotation amongst her other toys. “Thank you, Thorn.”

“You’re welcome, and now for the part where I beg for assistance.”

Daria stopped the knife, placing it on her desk with a decisive click.

“She does not wish to receive heart-shaped jewelry, so go back to the drawing board on that one,” Daria said after a moment of scrutiny.

“Wha-, how did you-?” Thorn stammered. Daria’s uncanny ability to snatch up threads of thought still left him speechless every time. But he was a man on a mission, and recovered quickly. “Consider the jewelry scrapped. I need to bring someone to you. He needs your help.”

Daria’s dark brown eyes lit up instantly. A smile played around her full lips, as she grabbed her datapad.

“You’ve got my attention,” she said with a raised brow.

“Excellent. It’s my ori’vod, Fox,” Thorn said, his face growing serious.

“Marshal Commander ‘Fall in line or fuck off’ Fox?” Daria asked.

Thorn nodded, “That’s the one. He practically lives in his office still, and he needs someone to get him out. Someone that makes him want to take his days off. Someone who he can’t intimidate. Who won’t take his shit.”

“You want me to find someone who’s not intimidated by the most intimidating authority figure on the planet? Possibly in the quadrant?”

“You’re Daria Trace. You found someone that made Wolffe smile. Not a ‘last thing you see before you die’ smile, but an ‘I’m so in love’ smile,” Thorn said, his bright eyes soft and hopeful.

“While everything you just said is true,” Daria conceded. “Commander Wolffe wanted my help. I feel like Commander Fox will toss me in a holding cell, if I so much as suggest he needs my assistance finding a date.”

“But he does,” Thorn insisted. “Just meet him. If he’s hopeless, he’s hopeless. If he’s not, promise me you’ll find someone for him.”

Daria adored the clones, but the way they wielded those big brown eyes was brutal. It was nearly impossible to deny them anything in one’s power.

“Bring him in,” she said finally, caving to Thorn’s masterful tooka eyes.

“Wizard! I knew you’d be up for it,” He cheered. “This means the world to me, Daria. He deserves to live his life.”

“You all do,” she assured him. “I promise I’ll do all I can. Now put on your helmet and get out of my office.”

Thorn shot her a winning smile, and left with a pep in his step. The door had barely closed behind him before Daria was researching Fox on the holonet while she twirled her new vibroblade.

***

Fox never thought he would miss the rules that led all of his vode to keep their relationships under wraps, but then Right to Love set up shop. He now had a battalion of love struck shock troopers, who couldn’t stop going on and on about their new partners, and their matchmakers.

Everywhere he went it was:

“Tarsi changed my life.”

“I owe Yen everything.”

“Daria is a miracle worker.”

Daria Fucking Trace. She was Thorn’s favorite, and he’d been bugging Fox to come and meet her ever since his first date with his now girlfriend. Every three to five business days, he’d be back at it again. Fox loved seeing his brothers happy, and thriving. Especially Thorn, even though he was testing Fox’s patience.

Fox had made the mistake of saying Thorn’s lunch looked tasty, and he’d eagerly explained his girlfriend made it for him, and Fox could have homemade lunches with love notes too, if he would just meet Daria.

“Look, Fox, I know you’re very attached to your nocturnal, work is my life persona, but we’re free men now,” Thorn said before biting into his lunch, humming with joy at the taste. “We deserve to be happy. Especially you, vod.”

“Free or not, we still have a job to do. One of us has to stay focused, so the rest can go off with pretty nat borns,” Fox countered, sipping on an iced caf.

“You should be out with pretty nat borns too. Why are you punishing yourself?”

“I’m not punishing myself. I’m just too busy for a relationship. Someone has to keep this place in order. As Marshal Commander,” Fox began.

“As Marshal Commander,” Thorn mocked with an exaggerated voice. “Just go with me to meet her. If it doesn’t work, I’ll kriff off. But if she can find you a nice young woman or man to get the stick out of your ass…”

“Will you leave me the kriff alone if I say yes?” Fox demanded.

“Yes! For a time.”

“And I won’t have to hear about Daria Trace for the next 30 rotations minimum?”

“Sure thing…but you’ll go?” Thorn looked so excited, even Fox felt himself melting a little. His soft spot for Thorn would never harden it seemed.

“Fine. Set it up.”

“YES!” Thorn cheered before taking a victorious bite of his lunch, grinning as he chewed.

***

Daria waltzed to the lobby promptly at 1259 hours, and found Blizzard obsessively straightening his desk.

“What are you doing, Blizz?” She asked with barely concealed amusement.

“The Commander Fox is coming here. I just want everything to be perfect.” He leaned closer and offered in a conspiratorial whisper, “He’s so kriffing cool. Total badass. I’m equally terrified and in awe.”

“Is that so?” Daria asked with a grin.

Blizzard nodded, and opened his mouth to say more, but at 1300 hours on the dot the door was opening to admit Commander Thorn with Commander Fox in tow.

Thorn always brought wonderful energy into any space, and Daria found his presence comforting if a bit wild.

Fox’s energy was an entirely different story. Contained, but utterly commanding with the fiercest protective intent. She couldn’t focus on anything else no matter how she tried, but the part that surprised her was the blissful feeling of being utterly secure. Safe. Relaxed.

Her constant desire to fidget was quelled. Her fingers rested in her pockets. Her weight held in place rather than shifting. Her heart was steady, calm.

Is this what other people feel like all of the time? Daria thought, offering a dazzling smile to the pair of commanders.

Thorn, never being one for ceremony, scooped Daria up into a bear hug, squishing her against his armored chest until she wheezed in protest.

“I’m happy to see you too,” she coughed out, as he placed her back on her feet.

“I forget how tiny and soft you are,” Thorn said as though he was amused.

“Scientists and therapists under 5’7” aren’t known for breeding kids of the blaster-toting, knife-gifting variety,” Daria said, lifting one expertly arched brow.

“It’s ok, Daria, we can’t all be perfect,” Thorn said, pulling his helmet off, and shaking his curls free. “This is Commander Fox. Fox, this is Daria Trace. The miracle matchmaker.”

“Is that what you’ve been telling people about me?” Daria asked, her face warming up instantly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Commander. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“I’m sure my exploits were greatly exaggerated. Especially coming from my dear little brother,” Fox said, his tone bored, and drier than Tatooine.

Oh this will be fun. Daria thought.

“Well, I’ll let you do your thing, and find Fox a wife or a husband. He’s not picky,” Thorn said with a smirk. “He can’t be with that face.”

The modulator did nothing to hide the sigh of sheer exhaustion from Fox.

“You have the same…clone humor. I should have expected nothing less from you,” Daria said with a soft laugh.

“Don’t indulge him,” Fox said tilting his head at her disapprovingly.

“Sorry. Follow me,” Daria said, with a laugh.

Fox followed the matchmaker down the hall. Everything about her said she’d never followed a rule in her life. From her mismatched earrings to the way she walked like there was music playing only she could hear. The mischievous sparkle in her eyes, the way her rich voice wrapped around the word Commander like the concept of authority amused her. It was completely unsurprising that Thorn was fond of her.

Reaching her office, Fox scanned the room quickly. A wall devoted to her successful matches no doubt, as he saw several of his brothers’ faces, including Thorn and Wolffe. There were a number of small toys scattered across Daria’s desk. Fox counted 10. Some brightly colored, some durasteel, and before she could stash it in a drawer…

“Is that a vibroblade?” he asked, folding his arms, as he took a seat at her desk.

“Gift from Thorn,” she said, closing the drawer where she kept the weapon turned fidget toy.

“Don’t cut yourself with it,” Fox said. “It’ll be a mountain of paperwork when you have to explain to a doctor how a matchmaker got stabbed with a vibroblade.”

“Don’t lose sleep over it, Commander,” Daria said, whipping the knife out of the drawer and spinning it quickly through her fingers while keeping her eyes on his visor.

“How long have you been practicing that?”

“Every free moment for 3 rotations,” she confessed.

Fox shook his head. That tracked.

“You didn’t come all the way here to discuss my knife skills. You need a date.”

“I’m only doing this to get Thorn off of my ass,” Fox said, folding his arms, and sitting back in the chair across from Daria.

“Ah so you’d like to hang out in my office, kill an hour, and then go back and pretend I’m a fake?” Daria asked, with a raised brow.

“Something like that.”

Daria laughed, and Fox noted the sound was pleasant, infectious. “Nope. My professional reputation is as sparkling as your service record, Commander.”

“Please. This is guess work at best,” He argued.

“Oh yeah? Try me.”

“How?” He asked.

“Talk to me.”

“That’s what I’m doing now.”

Daria released a sigh, and fixed him with a look. “I mean about something real like why Thorn is so invested in your love life.”

“Because he’s a nosy little brother. As an only child, you wouldn’t know about that,” He said, relaxing his arms, as he made himself comfortable. He was disappointed when his revelation was met with a satisfied little grin instead of surprise.

“I hope you found something more interesting than that in my background check,” She said, placing her elbows on the desk, and resting her chin on her crossed fingers.

“Perhaps. I’d never show all of my cards right away, Trace,” He said with a light shrug. “And neither would you.”

You wanna play hardball, let’s play. She thought.

“Ok, you think I'm a fraud; I think you’re afraid.”

The lightest shift in energy in the room told Daria she’d struck a nerve.

“What makes you think that?” He asked, keeping his voice professional and even.

“A very long list of things that I couldn’t get through with 2 full rotations devoted to you, so let’s split my lunch, Thorn’ll think we did the whole thing, and you can go back to pretending you’re happy.” Reaching into her bottom desk drawer, Daria pulled out her lunch, and set about portioning out half for Fox.

“Here,” She said, passing him half of her pasta, and half of a large pastry.

He’d been on the verge of declining and walking out, but he was absolutely starving, and it looked so delicious. Especially the pastry. His sweet tooth wouldn’t let him say no. He accepted the food, and watched as Daria got comfortable in her chair, one leg tucked beneath her, as she started eating.

There was a light hiss, as Fox unsealed and removed his helmet. He was acutely aware of the matchmaker’s gaze, as she took in his features. He could hear her mentally noting the differences between him and his brothers. The scar on his nose, his curls held back by a red headband, the dark circles under his eyes.

He shoved a forkful of pasta into his mouth, and resisted humming in pleasure. Of course it’s delicious. Perfect. He thought, annoyed.

“Good?” She asked, swallowing her current bite, and looking hopeful.

“Yeah,” He confessed. “I don’t really make time to cook.”

“I’d be more surprised if you did.”

They continued to eat in a surprisingly companionable silence until Fox bit into the pastry. Fuck, ok. He thought.

“I’m not pretending I’m happy,” he blurted out before taking another bite of the fluffy treat.

“I didn’t peg you for a liar, Commander.”

“I’m not lying,” He shot back, brow furrowed.

“You were bred for war, told you’d see the stars, and got stuck in this corrupt skughole,” Daria said, twirling noodles onto her fork. “Your life is your own now, but you insist on clinging to what you know because it’s safe, simple, comforting.”

“You don’t have a sense of duty, clearly,” Fox said with a roll of his eyes.

“No, I do. I just also believe that my life is mine, and feeling fulfilled is important. That can look different for different people,” she replied. “Do you feel fulfilled?”

He stared down at his food for a moment. “You’re irritating, did you know that?”

“I’ve heard it a few times.”

After another long moment, Fox confessed, “Maybe coming home to someone wouldn’t be terrible, but they’d have to understand the job comes first. My hours aren’t normal, and I don’t dance.”

“Now, we’re getting somewhere,” Daria said, scooping up her datapad and making some notes while she munched on half of the pastry. “Do you like animals?”

“No.”

“This is going to take forever, if you keep lying to me,” she said without missing a beat as she marked yes.

“How do you do that? It’s exhausting,” Fox snapped, shoving the last bite of pastry into his mouth.

“It’s always been like that,” Daria looked up then, and fixed him in her gaze. “You have a sweet tooth. It’s bad.”

“So find me a baker.”

“It’s not that easy.”

After another hour of getting raked over the coals by the matchmaker, Daria escorted Fox back to the lobby.

“I’ll call you,” she said with a mysterious little smile. “Bye, Thorn.”

“Bye, Daria. Thank you,” Thorn called as she made her way back down the hallway.

Fox watched her go before slipping out of the front door and taking a deep breath once it had closed behind him.

“She’s amazing, right?” Thorn asked, joining him.

Fox pulled on his helmet. “She’s as obnoxious as you without the shared DNA to make it tolerable.”

“Whatever, you love me,” Thorn said, as he donned his own helmet. “Let’s go get food. I’m starving.”

“I already ate. Go take your girlfriend to a food stand, and I’ll see you in a little while,” Fox ordered.

“Sir, yes, sir,” Thorn replied, taking off towards the train.

Alone with his thoughts, Fox wandered back towards the barracks.

Daria Fucking Trace was an absolute menace. There was no doubt about it.

***

No less than 15 minutes after Fox’s departure, Daria was twirling her blade, and flipping through profiles. No one currently in the system would suit the salty Commander, but she was determined to find someone who could make that man smile. He might have been hard on the outside, but those soft insides deserved someone who would cherish him.

[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

[mentelydrunk]

Something something vague OC brainrot post

[talesfrommedinastation]

The OCs of Into the Techiverse!

OKAY LADIES (from Into the Techiverse) NOW LET'S GET IN FORMATION! Drawn by me, Dr. Meat Muffin.

(left to right)

Dr Sjael Drummer: "HAVE YOU EVER FIRED YOUR GUN IN THE AIR AND GONE 'AHHHH'?!"

Glitch: "I HAVE FRIENDS YAY! And I GET TO TOUCH TECH'S BUTT. IT'S A BEAUTIFUL DAY HERE TODAY!"

Juno Caheere: "Yay we rescued him!...can I go home now?"

Ash Blake: ::whispers:: "These people are crazyyyyy."

Anaj Rotz: ::stands like she just caught a 12 inch largemouth bass::

Canon Tech: "PLEASE HELP ME."

All characters belong to their respective owners, including @techs-stitches @wrenkenstein @moosethren and @ilikemymendarkandfictional

[dragonrider9905]

No One Outranks the Medic

Hey @imabeautifulbutterfly! I know this fic is short and hastily written, so it may not be the best, but I wanted to do something to put a smile back on your face. I hope you feel better soon! Just a small gift. I hope you enjoy it. (I'll put the link to Ao3 tomorrow, it's getting really late where I am so I need to head to bed for work tomorrow. Just wanted to get this to you though!!!!) 🤗

Warning: medics getting pushy

Summery: Wolffe, Rex, and Fox get injured and come down with a nasty flu. Their respective medics decide to have a field day with it, using whatever means necessary to treat their uncooperative patients.

“Rex, your medic is the worst.” Fox grumbled with a slur, sloppily pulling the sheets over his head. He thought he could disappear from view that way. That Kix wouldn’t find him again. Silly him.

“Don’t I know it.” Rex rubbed his forehead. “But I can’t say he’s worse than yours. Blaze is a kriffing nightmare.” 

“If you two don’t be quiet, they’ll come in and check on us again. I don’t fancy seeing any of our medics anytime soon.”

“That’s because you’re so grumpy your medic has to out-grumpy you Woofe.” Rex sniffed and wiped his nose. “I can’t ah ah *ahchew!* imagine why they have to be so mean. We’re stellar patients.”

“Riiiiiiight, Captain, that’s why we caught you getting out of bed twice?” Blackeye tapped his foot impatiently, arms crossed and signature look of annoyance on his face.

Whoops. When did he come in?!?!?

“Hey, Torrent Company is a ‘and fu-ll. -Ou shuld ty i-it som time. I need a Copany to go ba’ to.” Rex’s stuffy nose grew more annoying by the minute, he rubbed it furiously till it was bright red. “Fives set fire to the barracks last time trying to barbecue after hours…I sound worse than it is. I’m fine really, Blackeye. I’m perfectly fine. If you could sign off on my release papers…”

Kix walked in.

“Shoot.” Rex mumbled and moved to hide like Fox was. “Go away and le’ me die in peace.”

“No way, Cap. Let me see that shoulder of yours.”

Rex burrowed further. 

“Ooooor do I have to sedate you again?”

Rex flipped a flap down to let his angry displeased glare of displeasure and disappointment show.

“You wouldn’t.” The words came out low and gravelly.

“Oh I would.”

With a roll of his eyes, Rex presented his arm. With a smirk, Kix got to work changing the bandage.

“Why are we getting picked on and not Fox? No fair.”

“Oh he is next.” Blaze cut in, making his entrance. “Sorry, Commander, no caff. It’s not good to mix that with your flu medicine. It’ll make your stomach upset. Again. And I’m not cleaning up your sick for the second time after you retrieve some from your secret stash. So I swiped it! No more secret runs. You’ll get some sleep for once.”

“I’ll take my chances.” The mound under the sheets spoke. “Give me caff or give me death.”

“Neither is an option, Sir.”

Fox groaned. “That’s an order. You can’t do that.”

Blackeye grinned. “Oh yes he can. Wanna know why?” 

“No.” Wolffe growled, crossing his arms over his chest so his medic couldn’t get to his chest wound.

“We’ll, you’re going to hear it anyway.” Blaze chuckled.

“No one, I mean absolutely no one, outranks the medic!” Kix clearly was enjoying his moment of glory and vindication too much. 

Blaze ripped the blanket off Fox. “Let me see your side, Sir….why are you lying on it? You’ll make it worse.” 

“Not having caff makes it worse.”

“I’ll cut off your supply for however long I want, even after you recover, if you don’t cooperate.”

Fox whined in complete despair, face down in his pillow. “Nooooooooooo.”

He rolled over but brought the pillow with him, to keep his face covered. “No one is allowed to see a grown Commander cry. Because we don’t cry. We’re fine. Right fellas? I’m not crying. Crying is for cadets.” Fox muffled.

“Right, tears are unbeknownst to us—ow!” 

“Oh dear I think you’re already going through caff withdrawal. Not cool.” Blaze shook his head.

Meanwhile, Wolffe glared down his medic, trying to get at his chest.

“Do you want me to tell Plo’buir you’re being uncooperative? You’ll make him sad and disappointed and worried. Do you want to do that to Plo’buir?”

“That’s low.” 

“I can go lower.” 

Wolffe lowered his arms right away.

“Wimp.”

“Shut up, Rex. You’ve never experienced General Koon’s look of disappointment. I don’t think General Skywalker was dissatisfied with you ever so you don’t have that look to compare it to either, not that it’s anything close.” 

“General Koon is never displeased with you, only when you don’t take care of yourself, and that’s fair.” Blackeye shrugged, unconcerned. 

“Okay, you all need some rest.” Kix stretched his muscles. “We’ll be back later, so behave. Relax. Don’t worry about anything other than getting better.”

“No, we need to get back to work. A Captain’s and Commanders’ work is never done.” 

“You need to go nighty night.” 

“No.”

“Do we really need to pound you and blackmail you into self care? Why must you make our lives so—“ Blaze was cut off by Fox.

“Entertaining?”

“I was going to use a different word. You bunch are a—“

“Delight?”

“Again, not the word I was going to use.” 

“Now that your bandages are changed, your medicine taken and general checkup complete …” Blackeye started.

The three patients simultaneously threw their blankets over their heads, while the medics sighed and gave each other looks. More specifically, the ‘why us’ look.

“We’ll get you hot chocolate.” 

“We promise.”

“We won’t forget our favorite patients.” 

“Aww we’re the favorites?” Fox sniffed and grinned under the sheets.

Rex peaked out suspiciously, “Tank you, Kix.”

“I take back all those nasty things I said about you. And all the things I didn’t say, just thought. You’re the best.” Wolffe reappeared with a grin. 

“We know.”

“But, how will you get your hands on some? That’s top stuff….no one is allowed to access the stuff.” Rex said despondently.

“It’ll make you feel better so we’ll take the shot.”

“No one normal, maybe, but…”

“Remember, no one outranks the medic. Now go to sleep and get some rest!”

The general groan was translated to ‘yes sir’.

The medics nodded satisfactorily. Another job well done. Their testy but lovably leaders would live to fight another day.

[insertmeaningfulusername]

Bug is a scout who likes to stick his nose into other people’s business, even when he’s not on duty. He is also the bane of Rain’s existence, a regular plight on their medbay. For once, however, he seems to have a solid reason for the invasion.

A fill for the prompt "Hair Braiding" and the quote prompt from day 4 of @clonefandomevents' Trans Clone Week 2024. Also my first time writing a fic exclusively with my own OCs!! Thank you to the people running the event for organising it 💙

[peppermint-whiskers]

Drawing requests from the clone appreciation server uwu

We've got a Fives, Tup, and Dogma cuddle pile

Aaaand Weasel and Raccoon struggling to figure out the rules for this game (and eating the pieces as they go)

We love to see it uwu

Might color later rip

[zealfruity]

Made a couple more losers.

Some info:

Victor’s name is for his his constant desire for victory, given to him by the squad’s main mandalorian trainer. Hes quiet, grumpy, can stand very still, and is bad in social situations. Good yelling voice. Hates bugs and can’t look at Elytra’s tattoos for too long before he gets the creepy crawley feeling. More of a strategist than a brawler, and he’s skinnier than Elytra and Fogs.

Fogs is a pretty relaxed and chipper guy. Despite his bright paint job, is great at sneaking around without being seen or heard. He’s the group’s tattoo artist, but he doesnt have any himself, and he’s been trying to convince the others to get piercings. Usually takes over the talking when Zeta-8 have to interact with people they don’t know. He originally wanted to name himself after a singer he likes (“Fogierana Shem”), but Fogs was all that caught on.

Feedback, also called “Feed” or “FB” by the others, has a long list of issues that the others have done their best to hide from higher-ups for fear of punishment. He went through some reconditioning when he was a tubie after displaying a lot of anxiety, but it didn’t really stop the issue. He’s a germaphobe who didn’t do well in the first few months of deployment. He’s jumpy and always has something to say. He mostly runs on stims and stress, and his memory sucks.

Elytra loves bugs. So much. He gets a tattoo of every new bug he gets to hold, and he HAS snuck bugs onboard. She’s the second best shot in the squad, and she’s VERY polite. Almost weirdly so, except with Fogs. Secretely yearns to have a normal natborn life.

Heres this too ig.

[thewriterlifeblog]

Chapter 3 is here finally! :D

[xteacakes]

Flatline is baby.

[jedi-enthusiast]

Just in case anyone is wondering what the plot of the 3rd chapter of How One Pissed Off, Half-Sane Medic Saved the Galaxy is.