#original clone characters

[r2wedoomed]

Clone Wars theme song starts playing:

Introducing: Uncharted [Remastered]! Captain Sill and his men have been tasked with an impossible mission on the arid planet of Agamar! But after finding an orphan, the lone survivor of a vicious droid attack, Sill needs to re-evaluate the plan and straighten his priorities before this mission will claim the lives of them all!

A Clone Wars adventure for my boys! Updates every Tuesday and Saturday!

[jaigeye]

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

[wannabespacesmuggler]

IN THE COLD ➵ CPT. REX [01]

Part One | Masterlist | Buy me a coffee

Summary: Ferrix is a rocky, sparsely populated planet that shifts into a desolate tundra in the long winter months. In that barren wasteland, your greatest nightmare becomes a reality. After losing your squadron, you're demoted to Commander and reassigned to the 501st Battalion. In between missions after the departure of their former Commander, their next assignment comes from the Jedi Council: the 501st is needed to relieve the current squadron stationed on Ferrix. You fear that you won't be able to survive another battle in the cold, but your new Captain makes it his mission to keep you safe and warm.

Pairing: Captain Rex x Jedi!Reader

Warnings: canon typical violence, mentions of loss, PTSD, slow burn, canon divergent, set during The Clone Wars post Ahsoka leaving the Jedi Order, anti-Jedi Council, original clone characters, reader is around Anakin's age, no use of y/n, use of the names 'commander' and 'sir'

Word Count: 1.8k

Author’s Note: I've been wanting to write for Captain Rex since I fist watched The Clone Wars years ago, but never had an idea worth putting to paper until now. I'm really proud of this one and I'm excited for you guys to read it. Let me know what you think and if you want to be added to the taglist.

The cruiser is buzzing with activity as Rex, helmet in hand, marches through the hallways at a breakneck pace. He'd just received word from General Kenobi that his presence is needed on the bridge, along with General Skywalker. After years of fighting side-by-side with General Kenobi, a direct message to his personal comms isn't an unheard-of scenario. However, Rex rarely receives orders from the General of the 212th, which can only mean one thing: he can't find Anakin. After checking both his personal quarters and the mess hall, he knows there's only one other place that Anakin often sneaks off to.

Rex slides to a stop in front of the door to the mediation room and makes sure no one else is in the hallway before punching in his clearance code. The door hisses as it slides open. Anakin's head shoots towards the sound, but the worry in his features disappears when he notices Rex standing in the doorway.

"Sir, General Kenobi has requested our presence on the bridge."

"Thank you, Rex. I'll be out in a minute."

Rex gives his General a curt nod before exiting and standing guard in front of the door to ensure his privacy. Rex has known about Anakin's relationship with Senator Amidala for quite some time. After all, Anakin was never particularly gifted in the matters of subtleness and secrecy. And Rex, after many years working side-by-side with his General, knows that his favorite place to slip away and have a private comm chat is the meditation room. After a few moments, Anakin exits and gives Rex an appreciative grin.

"Ready to meet our new Commander?"

Rex falls into step beside Anakin as they begin to make their way to the bridge. He doesn't quite know how to answer the General's question. After Ahsoka's departure, Rex was sure he'd be promoted to Commander. However, several weeks after the position was vacated, Anakin received word from the Jedi Council that they'd be sending another Jedi to fill the position. Rex would be lying if he said that it didn't sting. After all, the Jedi Council decided it was best to promote someone outside of the battalion when he's been with the 501st for the majority of his life now. He knows that not everyone looks at the clones like General Skywalker and Kenobi do — like they are all actual, complex individuals instead of pawns on a holochess board — but his dedication and loyalty to the 501st is undeniable. But then Anakin asked who they'd be sending, and they said your name.

"Yes, sir."

"I'm sure you have thoughts on the matter. After all, you've probably heard the rumors circling around."

Of course, Rex has heard rumors about the lone survivor of the 177th whispered in the bunk room after curfew or thrown around amidst the chaos of the mess hall; however, he also read your report after they'd been notified of your new position with the 501st. You were stationed with your squadron on Ferrix, an outer rim planet that the Republic considers essential territory due to its abundant natural resources and bountiful salvage markets. The 177th had been pushing back the Separatist Army for weeks — trudging through waist-deep snow in sub-zero temperatures — when the Separatist Army began shooting at them from above in a small canyon during whiteout conditions. You made the wise decision to retreat. After all, the 177th were supposed to be pulled off planet three days prior, but, last you heard, multiple snow storms delayed the reinforcements. Before you could retreat, your squadron was flanked by the Separatist Army on either side of the canyon — leaving the 177th weak, frostbitten, and unknowingly trapped in a minefield. Rex remembers feeling sick to his stomach reading the report, knowing the 177th never stood a chance. If the explosions didn't kill your squadron, then the ensuing avalanche that buried everything in the canyon did. You were the only survivor, and you spent the next two days pulling your troopers out of the snow while waiting for the next squadron to relieve you. After you were finally evacuated, you spent the next month submerged in a bacta tank, and when you finally returned to the Jedi Temple, you were promptly demoted to Commander. A small, selfish part of him thinks that the Jedi Council is punishing you both with your new position.

"I read the report, sir. I have nothing but respect and admiration for our new Commander."

Anakin glances at the clone, searching his features for any hint of dishonesty or skepticism. But he is pleased to see nothing but sincerity on his Captain's face. He's also read the report, and the incredible act of loyalty to your squadron may not have earned you favor from the Council, but it certainly earned Anakin's respect. Although he knows that the council can never replace Ahsoka, you are certainly cut from the same cloth as the rest of the 501st.

"As do I. Obi-Wan ensures me that they're a good fit for the team. Apparently, their squadron rivaled ours in Council sanctions for 'unorthodox military strategies'."

This causes Rex to laugh. Rex was an exemplary student during his training on Kamino — being one of the first clones promoted to a leadership role in the Republic's army. However, one thing he's learned throughout his time as Captain of the 501st is warfare is rarely done by the book. Instead, he's realized that in times of war, leaders require a little more finesse. The Council may not necessarily approve of their methods, but they don't complain as long as they get the job done. But on the rare instance when they fail? Well, let's say Rex hopes never to attend another one of those meetings.

"Then this should be a smooth transition, sir."

Anakin nods at his second-in-command, and Rex slides his helmet on him before they enter the bridge. He is grateful that his face is obscured because he's sure his expression twists into prominent confusion as the doors slide open and reveal you standing beside General Kenobi. You're young — not much older than Anakin. He supposes the Republic needs all the leaders it can get, but he thought that General Skywalker was an anomaly. But here you are. You're clad in navy Jedi robes and Republic-issued black body plate except for your shoulder bells, which are undoubtedly standard clone armor. The sight peaks Rex's curiosity — he's never seen a Jedi sport their squadron's uniform until today. He immediately recognizes the white spaulders with deep, purple accent paint — the color once assigned to the 177th — as Commander Bravo's. However, you've made a singular adjustment to your late Commander's gear. Tallies are a regular occurrence on clone armor. Some clones like to keep track of their Separatist kill count, while others like to document their successful missions. However, he's certain that the tally marks you've etched onto your left spaulder signify something a little more personal. There are nine tally marks — one for each clone you lost on Ferrix. He's certain because his marks convey a similar message — one tally for each brother he's lost since the start of the war. The shoulder bells seem almost out of place as they contrast the rest of your dark attire. And Rex quickly realizes that it's purposeful. You want them to be the first thing someone notices — you want to keep the memory of Bravo and the rest of the 177th alive. Rex finds this behavior at odds with what he knows about Jedi teachings; however, it's also one of the most admirable actions he's witnessed from a Republic General.

"General Skywalker, a pleasure to meet you again."

Your tone is assertive, and you stand like a soldier with your hands clasped tightly behind your back. The way you square your shoulders at the Generals showcases your defiance; however, Rex can tell you mean no disrespect to Anakin. No, this display is directed toward General Kenobi — to show clear opposition toward the Jedi Council. Obi-Wan lacks the shock evident in both Rex and Anakin's features, and he shows no offense to your actions — seemingly indifferent to your noncompliance. Rex can only imagine what your meetings with the Jedi Council were like before this. He watches as an amused grin spreads across Anakin's face at your antics. General Kenobi was undoubtedly right about one thing — you'll fit right in with the rest of the 501st.

A part of him is surprised that you were reassigned at all, but then again, the Republic Army needs all the bodies it can get. Maybe you understand what it's like for the clones, constantly feeling like pieces in the Republic's grand game of holochess.

"Pleasure is all mine, Commander. This is our second-in-command, Captain Rex."

Rex notices the way your jaw clenches at the word 'commander'. Although he was initially disappointed in being passed over for the title, he can't imagine what it's like to be stripped of your position altogether. Especially one you'd worked so hard to achieve — becoming a Jedi General is no small feat. He'd feel lost if he was ever demoted from his position as Captain. So, Rex muscles off his helmet and gives you a salute, trying to provide you with proper respect.

"Sir."

Your frigid facade melts for just a second, and in its place is a moment of recognition. Rex watches as your eyes widen ever so slightly, and your breath seems to catch in your throat. You look like you've seen a ghost.

"Excuse me, General. Captain."

Your voice wavers slightly as you give Rex a curt nod. He watches with Anakin as you retreat from the bridge, leaving them equally impressed and confused. General Kenobi clears his throat before addressing the Bantha in the room.

"As you can see, they came back from Ferrix a little..."

"Frosty?"

Obi-Wan stifles a laugh as his former padawan finishes his sentence.

"Something like that."

Rex's eyes are still glued to the door you just left. He can't stop thinking about the way you looked at him. He's confident that this is the first time he's met you, but you regarded him with a familiarity that made Rex believe you once knew him — like he is someone who haunts you.

He tears his eyes away from the door and focuses on the conversation between General Kenobi and Skywalker. There is still no word on their next assignment. This is disheartening, after the loss of Ahsoka both Anakin and Rex are itching for a new mission — for something to keep their minds off of what's missing. No matter where they get sent next, one thing is sure: there's work to be done beforehand to earn their new Commander's trust. Obi-Wan excuses himself as he receives a call from the Jedi Council. Anakin takes this moment to direct his attention back to Rex.

"What do you think, Rex?"

"I'm starting to think that transition isn't going to be as smooth as we believed, sir."

[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.

[codestheconfusedcanadian]

Just found this gem of a fic, a few typos here and there but the concept and execution is really interesting.

[xteacakes]

[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.

[zebarius]

DANI - a trooper of the 501st

Everyone say hi to DANI. He's my new bug that I keep in a jar to shake violently in my spare time. I love him <3

And don't go hating on Asha just yet. I think she might be an interesting OC to poke with a fork in the future. I already have some sketches drawn up for her...

-

A transcript of all that's written on the digital drawings has been provided below for easy reading.

First drawing (top row left):

stupid in love (with an arrow pointing towards the cartoony drawing of an excited DANI.)

Second drawing (top row right) / the character sheet:

DANI

CT-7001

A book nerd. They learned how to braid their hair from a book they found in the trash.

A romantic in search of True Love and believes that soulmates exist.

Blue roses on helmet.

His name is an acronym for Don't Approach Not Interested. A nickname received during a shore leave when several people approached him with sexual interest. But DANI is firmly asexual, though highly romantic.

They're one of the few clones who have made plans for after the war, and it involves a small farm, animals, a partner, and children. However, his dreamy nature can stray into being too fanciful and impractical.

Last drawing (bottom drawing) / item sheet:

The two beads in DANI's hair are made from bits of broken plastoid that he chipped into shape. The broken bits of plastoid came from the armor of two special shinies he fought alongside of and who died without getting their names or paint. The beads are his way of remembering them.

DANI painted one blue and left the other one white so he could tell the difference between the beads. The pieces of plastoid each came from a different shiny.

Asha is the name of a Togruta, DANI's first partner in a serious relationship. They dated for a full 10 months and DANI let Asha paint the inside of his right vambrace and let her carve her name into the plastoid. The relationship ended when he found out he was being fooled, with Asha treating him like a trophy, something to boast and show off to people behind his back-- because having a "pet clone" makes you popular in certain social cliques and allowed her to meet and impress the right people to get a good paying job through them. However, even after the relationship had since long ended, he doesn't switch out his vambrace for a new one.

[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.

[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

[hey-leopard-wheres-my-face]

shitposting his backstory because no one else will smh

[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.

[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 💙