#post-umbara

[catboydogma]

safety on the shore / sink like stones

can i offer you all some nice mace / dogma in these trying times

for @cosmicallyhorrifying-username for their beautiful wonderful art :)

After Umbara when Gen. Skywalker had dropped Dogma off at the Jedi Temple, Dogma had quietly and politely waited for something violent and painful to happen to him. It took longer than he would admit—to himself or to anyone—for him to realize that this had been incorrect.

They loitered in the entry hall for a few long minutes while Anakin paced the length of the shining floor and rubbed at the sides of his jaw with the flat of his palm. Dogma was still half-jittery from leaving atmo. The Venator was in orbit above Coruscant for refuel and resupply. Dogma should have been in the detention block. He should have been escorted away by the red-painted Guard. He should have been—

“This is taking too long,” Gen. Skywalker said abruptly, looking at a chrono for the fiftieth time in the last two minutes. “You’ll be okay if I leave you here.”

Well yes, but actually no.

Gen. Skywalker nodded, once, as if Dogma had said something in reply, then turned on his heel and strode away.

Fuck, Dogma would have mouthed to himself if he’d been wearing his armor. If he’d had his bucket on: shit. Prime’s right wrinkled ball sack. Fuck!

But he was just in his body glove and boots. Gen. Skywalker had taken his cuffs off with one impatient wave of his hand as soon as they’d stepped off the shuttle to the Temple. Dogma rubbed his wrists now and stared at the intricate overlapping patterns covering the marble floor—not painted, not enamel fired, but some sort of seamless mosaic.

“Trooper?”

Dogma turned and saluted on pure muscle memory and bloody-minded instinct, body marionetted to attention.

“At ease.” General Windu of the Grand Army of the Republic’s Second Systems Army stood in the entranceway of the great and echoing hall. He waved a hand at Dogma and then gestured him forward.

Dogma went forward.

“Trooper Dogma, was it?” Gen. Windu asked. He was an expressive man—to Dogma, at least—with eyes so dark they looked black and skin that gleamed like polished oak.

“Yes, sir,” Dogma said, eyes pinned to the space just above Gen. Windu’s left shoulder. He’d never met the man. Dogma was—had been—only common infantry, no specialization, no extra training.

read more (on ao3)

[tup-ika-5385]

Umbaran Shadows and Blue Milk Ice Cream

Summary: 

Nearly six months after Umbara, Tup still can’t push away his alarm as he wakes up in a familiar darkness. After a nightmarish encounter, he finds comfort in a quiet moment with his vod.

Inspired by old rp threads with @clonetrooperdogma and @umbaranshadow!

AO3 Link: Here

_______________________

Cold shadows and familiar mist filled Tup’s vision. When he closed his eyes, he’d been safe in the barracks, but now dull purples and neon reds surrounded him on all sides. His stomach clenched with dread, but he knew he was back on Umbara. 

Crouching in a dark trench, he could feel the grit between his fingers, and chills went up his spine as he heard a terrifyingly familiar voice, guttural and irate. With a sharp intake of breath, he muttered, “I-It can’t be–”

Turning around, he nearly came face-to-chest with General Krell, the Besalisk towering over him like always, looking down his nose at Tup. He glanced around, for an escape or one of his brothers, he didn’t know, but he was completely alone. 

“Well… CT-5385… looks like you’re all alone. Run out of brothers to kill?” Voice dripping in cruelty, Krell gestured behind him to a pile of bodies, stacks of armor bleeding with golden-yellow and blue. At the word “brothers,” his lips curled with smug irony.

“G-General Krell, I-I… how–” Tup flinched despite himself, thinking of all the lives he’d taken on that force-forsaken planet, and how many brothers had died by Krell’s hand.

In the back of his mind, a small portion of his subconscious realized that he was dreaming; he had to be. So with his arms still shaking, he curled his hands into fists and turned to Krell, eyes angry.  “You’re not a General anymore, you don’t deserve that honor. And Captain Rex said we’re men! Not numbers! A-And you’re dead! You can’t hurt any of us, not anymore!”

Krell gave a harsh laugh, seeming to get taller as he towered over Tup. “Pitiful… is that what you tell yourself in order to comfort your little clone friends? You are men?”

He leaned down so he was face-to-face with Tup, a harsh hand jabbing his chest. “You are an experiment! An abomination!” 

Knocking aside his helmet, Krell gripped Tup’s head in one large hand, gesturing to his armor and hair. “You think these little trinkets make you an individual? Make you human? They don’t! You and the rest of you clones… are nothing but meat shields! Pawns in a higher game– one that your incompetent little minds cannot comprehend! You were made to die for nothing!”

Tup struggled in Krell’s grip, reaching for his blaster but coming up empty. His feet scrabbled as Krell lifted him off the ground. Chest bursting with helpless rage, Tup grit out, “I-I’m not afraid– Do your worst!” Feeling around his belt, Tup managed to get a hand on his vibroknife.

Krell’s voice took on a sickly-sweet tone. “You should be very afraid, CT-5385... I may be dead, but you are not. You cannot harm me, but I am more than ready to harm you...  Just ask Dogma.. He’s already had a taste.. A small one but, an experience nonetheless.. His real pain will come from killing you.”

Tup’s eyes widened when, all of a sudden, Dogma appeared beside them, gun in hand, shaking and looking as distraught as Tup had ever seen him, and that’s when Tup made his move. With an angry yell, he struck in one swift blow, aiming for Krell’s arm around his neck, but with a simple wave of his other hand, Krell knocked the blade across the room. He smiled cruelly at Tup in a way that sent chills down his spine. “As I said.. pitiful.”

Disarmed but not fully restrained, Tup put all his strength into a last ditch swing, aiming for Krell’s jiggling throat sack like he wished he’d had the courage to do all those days ago. He thought to himself, knowing it could be the last thing he did. “For my vode, who I wish I could have helped when it mattered…”

Rough hands restrained Tup’s, and all of a sudden, a single shot of blasterfire went off. A burning pain pierced Tup’s abdomen and the world faded to black.

____________________

Jerking awake with one hand on his vibroknife, Tup gasped for breath, still feeling the non-existent blaster wound in his chest. He took a few shuddering breaths before standing up, making his way to the fresher. He splashed his face a few times, trying to stop his hands from shaking. “J-Just a dream, di’kut…”

He looked at his reflection in the mirror with a sigh. It’s been six months since Umbara, to the day, and it still shook him up inside. He grimaced at the small bags under his eyes, hair a tangled mess. Shaking his head, he grabbed a hairtie on his wrist and corralled it into a poor attempt for a bun, hands still fighting for steadiness.

With his heart still trying to beat out of his chest, he sighed to himself. There’s no way he’d be able to fall back asleep after a nightmare like that. He muttered tiredly, “Maybe I’ll head to the mess, get something to drink… try to clear my head.” 

Exiting the fresher, Tup made his way to the mess hall. He hoped Dogma was getting better sleep than him; he’d heard his vod muttering in his sleep earlier, but had decided to let him be. As he walked down the halls, he checked his chrono, learning that it was nearly 0200. Rounding the corner, Tup looked up and nearly collided with another trooper still in their blacks. 

The other trooper had been almost racing the opposite direction when their paths met, and Tup started when he recognized their familiar V-shaped tattoo. “Sorry, I– Tup? What are you doing awake?” Dogma jumped a little at the realization, shoulders tense.

Tup gave him a brief smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Hey Dogma… couldn’t sleep. Bad dreams…” He glanced at his brother, noticing a familiar worry-line on his forehead. “... you okay? You look a little stressed.”

Dogma straightened, biting his lip and looking away from Tup. “No, I’m fine.” He fidgeted with the sleeves of his blacks, a tell they’d both shared since Kamino, so Tup pressed a little.

“Do you mean “no, I’m not fine,” or “yes, I’m fine?” Because it sounds more like the first one to me, vod.”

Dogma hesitated, glancing back at Tup reluctantly, noticing for the first time how messy his hair was. Tup’s hair had two main states: down and relaxed or up and tight, passing any GAR inspection. Unless someone else was trying out new hairstyles on him, Tup didn’t really do messy buns, except for now, that is. Paired with his fake smile and minutely shaking hands, they didn’t give Dogma a good picture. 

Head tilting in quiet concern, he ignored Tup’s question, asking, “What about you? Nightmares don’t usually have you this worked up.”

Tup sighed, running one hand through his hair. “I’ll be okay in a little. It’s just… Krell again…” He wrapped his arms around himself. “I was back on Umbara, and he was there… calling us meat droids and pawns. I tried to fight him, b-but I was useless. Couldn’t even throw a punch at that stupid throat sack of his… a-and then he ordered you to shoot me…” 

Hands shaking as he clenched them into fists, Tup rubbed his forehead in defeat. “... sometimes I wish we could forget Umbara altogether…”

Dogma went pale at the mention of Umbara, breath catching in his throat. “Wait, you– that’s… that’s not possible! He-he can’t–” He broke off, shaking his head rapidly. 

Swallowing thickly, Dogma’s eyes filled with dread. “He… he told me that I was going to hurt you– that your blood would be on my hands… I-I dreamed I was on Umbara, and there was a blaster in my hands, and–” He gripped his head with his hands, eyes shut tightly as he started to hyperventilate.

Tup’s eyes widened in surprised concern. “Woah, Dogma, hey… it’s okay, vod…” He reached for Dogma, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder, telegraphing his movements so Dogma could push away if he wanted. 

Lightly squeezing his shoulder, Tup spoke again. “None of this is your fault, a-and none of it was your fault back then either. Krell’s gone; h-he can’t hurt us anymore.” 

He gestured to his clean blacks, not a spot on them or any sign of injury. “Look, see? I’m okay, Dogma. We’re okay…” Slowly, not wanting to startle him further, Tup leaned forward to tap their foreheads together, like they’d do as cadets, the arm on his shoulder light enough to allow Dogma to escape if he needed space, but heavy enough to ground him back in the present.

Dogma forced himself to calm down a little, fighting to sync his breathing to Tup’s. He leaned into Tup’s embrace until the tightness in his chest started to ease a little bit. Voice hoarse, he muttered, “Yeah, I… Sorry– Sorry…” He stayed like that for a little longer before pulling away, finally managing some semblance of calmness.

Tup let Dogma pull away, looking relieved as he calmed down a little. Focusing on Dogma kept his own worry at bay. “I don’t mind, Dogma… you don’t need to apologize, vod. Especially not for that.” Looking around the empty hallway, he decided to sit down so his back was against the wall, and after a beat, Dogma joined him. “Sorry for scaring you, I-I just… it made me worry too, you know?”

Dogma nodded in understanding, not that he’d ever blame Tup for his own issues. He let out a small exhale, looking away again. “Still, it’s a bit of a coincidence that we both had the same dream.” Dogma muttered, breath slowing as he was reassured by Tup’s presence.

“I heard Kix call it the anniversary effect one time, maybe a month after the campaign. Besides, we’re closer than most vode; it’s not too surprising that we’d share dreams.” Tup gave him a small smile, this one reaching his eyes a little more than the last one.

Leaning back against the wall, Tup huffed to himself as he felt his stomach grumble lightly. He hadn’t been very hungry at dinner that night, with the mess hall unusually quiet. Glancing back at Dogma, he asked, “Have you eaten since training, Dogma? Didn’t see you at late-meal tonight.” 

Dogma hesitated for a beat longer than he should have, knowing he’d been caught. “Wasn’t hungry… why?”

“Well, I was heading to the mess hall before we ran into each other. Do you want to come with me? We could both use a midnight snack. Besides, it’d be nice to not be alone… unless you were planning on going back to bed?” He gave Dogma a slightly smug look, knowing full well that neither of them would be sleeping anytime soon. 

A look of mild annoyance made its way onto Dogma’s face, knowing he was caught. He sighed. “Fine, I’ll go with you. Just because I have nothing better to do. And you’re right, a snack wouldn’t hurt.”

Tup grinned, starting to stand up before offering a hand to Dogma, which he hesitantly accepted. “You know, I think there’s still some ice cream in the stasis freezer. Perfect for a midnight snack– or a 0200 snack, I guess.” He clarified as Dogma opened his mouth, about to correct him on the time. 

They made their way to the kitchen, where they found and easily made their way through a half-carton of blue milk ice cream. And if they sat a little bit closer than usual on the durasteel benches in the dimly-lit mess hall, neither of them said anything.

[anstarwar]

Ooohhh Secret for the Mad, is that one I haven't heard about yet? 👀👀

Thanks for sending in the asks both @imrowanartist and @thornhands! Thought I'd answer them in one :)

So Secret for the Mad is a little ficlet I started to explore Jesse's feelings after Umbara. I gotta imagine being put before a firing squad by your Captain (who you'd survived Teth with), and comprising of your friends, including Kix your best friend, gotta leave you feeling some kinda way.

Here's a little snippet from it:

There’s a reason real water showers were considered unlucky. They were authorized only on rare occasions after campaigns that stretched for cycles longer than expected, after battles with astronomical casualties, or times like these which defied reason. As if the officers didn’t know how else to say:

“Sorry for another lost brother.”

“Sorry we couldn’t bring all of you home.”

“Sorry we abandoned you.”

“Are we forgiven?”

So Jesse stood under the water counting the seconds until it would automatically shut off. 

Five minutes. Five minutes to scrub away the death, the hurt, the...betrayal. He stood there staring at the gritty tile of the shower. There weren’t enough stalls for even a fraction of the Venator’s population. Why waste the space—or the water—when a sonic would do the trick in a fraction of the time. 

He breathed in the warm heavy air but only felt cold. Looking down at his hands he watched with fascination as dark rivulets of water snaked down his palms. He flexed his fingers and picked at blue Umbaran dirt caked under his nails, the bioluminescent glow all but worn out. Further down his eyes settled on the bluish-purple rings that circled his wrists. He fixated on the red that split down the middle of the bruises where the cuffs had chewed until they drew blood.

+++

Anyways, just thought it'd be an interesting thing to think about!

[clone-medic-patch]

Summary:

Hardcase thought he knew what he was getting into, sacrificing himself for his brothers. What he didn’t expect was to survive, for Fives to pull him away from the explosions and bring him back down to Umbara. He definitely didn’t expect to be refused medical treatment and to be left fighting for his life. Kix says it’s going to be a long road to recovery, and he’s starting to wonder what “recovery” even looks like after something like this...

[secretly-a-trekkie]

"oh ****"

[maulfucker]

rewatching tcw is so sad they keep killing the clones :(

[aliettali]

your bodies seed the stars

[arrothededushka]

[inkstainedhandswithrings]

you know what’s the most subtle Shitty Thing™️ that Krell has done is?

bad enough he already calls the clones by their CT numbers, but he actually says the numbers different than EVERYBODY ELSE in the show.

Usually the numbers are spoken individually, right? So Rex (CT-7567) is CT-Seven-Five-Six-Seven. Or Echo calling himself CT-One-Four-Zero-Nine. Even AZI-3 says each individual 5 in Fives’ CT number.

But Krell says shit like “CT-Seventy Five-Sixty Seven” or “ARC Trooper-Fifty Five-Fifty Five”

Not only does he not use their chosen names, he also deliberately uses an abbreviated form of their birth numbers because apparently a bitch CAN be bothered to learn them all, he just can’t give the clones the satisfaction of at least hearing their full number the way it’s familiar to them. Like he somehow found a way to make their depersonification WORSE.

the bitch.

[rochenn]

Do you ever think about how the vast majority of clones never had the experience of seeing the blood of their enemies? Like. How often did they shoot at non-droids? Jedi use their lightsabers, those immediately cauterize wounds. Was Umbara jarring for them? Were they surprised to see the clear transparisteel of their helmets? Had any of these men ever seen fear in their enemy’s eyes as they leveled a blaster at them? Had any of them ever had to reconcile with that thought? Did most of them feel like the war was just one big training simulation until that first moment they had to fire on a sentient (if they ever had to fire on sentients at all)?

oh THIS!! yeah i think the troops who get the most combat with sentients are pretty much the coruscant guard.

and umbara is a curious case. the 501st at least takes prisoners there (i don't remember droids ever being made prisoners), but outside of that fives and rex have no issues double-tapping umbaran soldiers who are already down.

i think when it comes down to it, the clones are all professionals. they've seen what blaster bolts and shrapnel can do (and have been doing!) to their brothers and the people they are defending, at which point the simulation effect would well and truly be gone.

that being said! there's a unique dilemma to be had here for people like the clones (who are largely perceived to be made for war, who would not exist without it) about killing people who were not made for war and who would exist without it. that's a very special sort of existential crisis.

and the ones who have shot at sentients will carry that with them one way or the other. umbara was ultimately overshadowed by the whole krell affair taking up most of the trauma, but people are people so i'd say the boys definitely remember the faces they saw behind the enemy visors. war sucks like that

[alamogirl80]

“Hey…”

Waxer lives. Period.

My submission for week 3 of @waxerboilmonth “Waxer lives” prompt.

[darthpastry]

wow people weren’t kidding when they said the Umbara arc was fucked up

[oddball216]

Thinking about how we as Americans are headed towards our own Umbara Arc except now Krell is back with a vengeance

[aquaticflames]

Last Line Challenge

Thanks @shortcuts-make-long-delays and @shootingstarpilot for the tags – apologise for the delay. I always appreciate the kick to get my WIP doc back open! 🫶

enjoy @shootingstarpilot :)

...sorry? 😆 💕

no pressure tags for @anaclastic-azurite, @codythecheshirecat, @coline7373, @dontbelasagnax, @notthestarwar

[purplezombietumbler]

~After the events on Umbara~

Fives: ...So yeah, that's what happened.

Anakin: Oh my God. That's horrible. How's everyone doing?

Fives: We're copping, but Rex took it the hardest. I've never seen him so upset.

Anakin: Where is he?

Fives: In the shower.

Anakin: Shower?

Fives: Yeah, when Rex gets upset he takes REALLY long showers.

Anakin: How long will he be in there?

Fives: I don't know. He took a chair in there.

Anakin: *mumbling to himself in Huttese* What a waste of water.

Anakin: REX, GET OUT OF THE SHOWER!

Rex, from across the building: NO!

[the-baddest-of-batches]

Been thinking about my boi bc the campaign is ending soon. So, a little walk through the life of our favorite idiot galaxy wrecker: Kian.

This was the first drawing ever done of our daring disaster clone. I admit, I hadn't drawn a clone trooper since 2019 until then. But I did decent?

Baby Kian! In case you didn't know, this popular art of "the umbaran cadet" or "playing pretend" is a very smol Kian with a little foreshadowing in there.

I didn't ever draw Kian much as a rookie, but this rare piece of a very happy bro squad slipped in there.

So begins winterfang...this is one of the early arts I drew of Kian and the campaign team at the time we started, including Kian himself, Zur (left), R3 (front), Dros (right), Jay (far right). We still have a longstanding habit of beach episodes...

Kian and Myren, the most unlikely pair. She's so good for him, though, and Kian wouldn't be the same person without Myren.

Enter the rank of...Dad. it's been almost 3 years in campaign, almost a year for us, and now Kian's going to be a father!

Commander, Colonel, Director, General.

Not only has Kian visibly changed in my artwork (partly from skill improvement and now owning procreate), but playing him is a different experience. He's still a grumpy force hating war criminal, but he's also warlord of half the criminal underworld, a respected and renowned Imperial Director/General, and somehow he matured (slightly) along the way.

I'm a sucker for watching my own characters grow and age, but I'm also a sucker for clones in general. And my boi, he's all grown up 🥹