#clone oc: canvas

[frostycatblr-fandom-files]

Nice To Meet You, Brother

"Get a load of these plastoid puppies…" They're getting new Shinies to bolster their forces, and Maker, these boys just look younger and younger every time they get more Seppy blaster fodder reinforcements… It makes the hearts of the commanding officers hurt seeing how fresh-faced and bright these boys are. The armor looks fresh off the assembly line and fitted onto little children fresh out of their growth jars. But they're all children. These are babies in the eyes of the Commanding Officers. And they know the numbers of these plastoid puppies who are almost afraid of getting their armor scuffed, but no Names. So young. Too young, General, please, send them back for more training... They were never Named by their batchmates or their brothers under the rains of Kamino. They'll have to find their names out here in the galaxy.

That will have to come later. But first it's the unofficial marring ceremony a Captain came up with before they were KIA. Scuff the armor before they even see their first Seppy encounter. If they get it over with now, or if they allow themselves to be scuffed by their COs, the sequential scuffs will be easier to accept. Take a knife, a wad of steel-wool used for weapon cleaning/care, or just a little rock and scratch your armor. No really, you heard me. It's for, uh… good luck! Each deployment has their own traditions, in-jokes and superstitions. We scuff our armor for good luck. (Thank the Maker, they bought it.) That's okay, rookie, you take all the time you need to scuff your plastoid. I can wait nearby if you need me to. (We want you to steal that first scuff for yourself so the Separatists do not have the satisfaction, brother.)

They worry about the young brother who takes an hour to decide where to scuff his chest plate. He might be the first of the Shinies they lose. One of the Captains wants to keep an eye on him, close under his command in place of the Marshal Commander's ranks. The effort is probably as good as a Separatist's credit out in Republic space, but brother looks out for brother. They're all glad most of the Generals understand that.

Sure, Captain. Take the Shiny. Show him the ropes. Keep him safe.

Took-an-hour survives their first encounter since the bolster of reinforcements; the Captain kept him safe. He's shaken. He's lost his closest neighbor-batchmate (the batch that was below his, in this case) and he's mourning. He's dropped his blaster in the mud of the trenches and he's having a hard time cleaning it now that they've pulled back their forces. His weapon is no good to him if it's jammed up with the thick, sandy mixture. The Captain has to tell him to stop attempting to clean the DC-17. Forget it. Throw it in the dirty bucket next to the graffitied helmet on the gunship. Take a fresh blaster. Take a breath.

(Take yourself back to Kamino, please… You're just a kriffing kid. We're all just kriffing kids.)

There's a kid who's gonna get his paint design out of this inevitable ambush and he doesn't even know it. He's a plastoid puppy with two left feet when he's nervous and keeps following the General and the Captain like a second shadow. They keep pulling this kid out of the naturally formed pits of the planet by the "scruff" of his armor. They're impossibly patient with this Shiny. The Captain has given the kid his Name when he pulls this brother out of the seventh pit and says "It's like scruffing a rowdy Tooka kitten!" with a mighty heave. (Heh, any guess what that kid's about to get from the Captain, General? You mean other than "on my nerves", Commander?!) The kid likes the sound of the word, but he wants to change it a bit, first…

Welcome to the galaxy, Scruffy. It's nice to meet you, brother. The whole unit celebrates Scruffy and his Name and his new paint and his identity. He's no longer just a number. (The General takes the time and tells him he is and feels unique in the Force, like all his brothers the General has served with, to make the moment all the more memorable.)

Scruffy is still falling into pits and still getting pulled up by the scruff of his armor by his COs and his brothers, but he's no longer a Shiny. He's no longer scared to get his armor scuffed. He's actually helping others, much later on, get their armor scuffed when they step off the gunships, and the COs see that he's got the same oh by the stars these boys are just plastoid puppies look in his eyes now too. He'll show these Shinies his deliberate, superficial damage he's so proud of and carry on the new tradition of it's for good luck!

The kid the COs have been secretly referring to as Took-an-hour is struggling. He's the last of his batch now. His last batch brother was alive just last night and never woke up. Something about the food. Something spoiled. He won't eat anything out of fear. You can't have a hungry brother out on the battlefield. You have to do something. The appetite stims just make him sick. This is hardly the right set of conditions to cook food. The only thing that placates him is the General's rations that they themselves are in charge of. They're different and better suited for the General's metabolism and nutritional needs, but it has to be better than nothing. The General takes the rations in field supplies marked with the CT's number. It takes an hour for the man to take his first bite. He's almost sick immediately after because the anxiety is paralyzing. But he's assured again and again by the General that the rations will be safe, he needs his strength, eat. Scruffy (of a different batch out of the bolster of Shinies) just sits with this brother and fellow soldier until the food is gone. It takes an hour. It's one hour less of sleep for both of them. But Scruffy doesn't complain once. He's also now keeping an eye on this nameless brother, along with the Captain, the Commander, the General. He's falling into a few more pits than usual the following day, but he just blames it half-jokingly on something flying overhead distracting him.

This brother refuses Naming. He doesn't want to Be Named. He's certain he's not long for this galaxy. He's convinced he'll join the rest of his batch soon enough and Being Named will give him hope. I'm a string of two letters and four numbers and I'll never be anything else.

Not on Scruffy's watch.

Not on the watch of the COs.

Not on the watch of the General.

You will Be Named is not a threat. It is a promise. You are an individual, brother. Our paints, our tattoos, our haircuts are all signifiers: We've found our Name. We will help you find yours, brother.  

More scuff marks are added to the plastoid. The scuff marks of his fallen batchmates. He won't add them in paint. He'll add them in the same ways that they did. It takes the expected amount of time to complete the task.

Welcome to the galaxy, Carver. It's nice to meet you, brother. He was inspired by the nameless brother who bares his batchmates scuffs in his own armor, and carved little etchings into his helmet with a vibroknife he picked up somewhere. He's quite good at it. (Scruffy thinks it would be funny to ask Carver to add GRAB HERE in Aurebesh lettering in the ring of paint on the back-plating of his armor up near the neck, but the COs don't share the sentiment.) Lots of troops ask Carver to, well, carve little pictures in strips of thick bark that have shed from the trees indigenous to the planet. Flowers they found pretty. That scary hellcat with four eyes they heard about once. The General cutting a Clanker in half. No wait! The General cutting a TANK in half, that would be so cool! (Hey, Commander, here's the coordinates to rendezvous with the General. Once you've memorized them we can add it to the fire.) Do you think you can whittle? Guys check it out, Carver figured out how to whittle! Oh the General is gonna love that little Mudhorn, Carver!

(The General does in fact. They keep their little Mudhorn in their pocket at all times and regard it with love. When the sour tang of the loss of life feels too heavy in the Force around them, the General holds Carver's little Mudhorn and feels the deliberate shape of the gifted token as they meditate to clear their mind. This campaign has been hard for the peace-keeper, but the little things, like this whittled Mudhorn, are cherished when things seem bleakest.)

Scruffy asks Carver to make him something he thinks might help the nameless brother (and others). He's not sleeping well because he's having bad dreams. Dreams about the brothers he lost. Heard about them on the Holonet somewhere, they're called worry stones. They look like this, they're small and discreet and will be easy to carry on his utility belt. They'll be easy to replace if they get lost and misplaced. Whaddya think? You'll do it? You're the best, Carver, thank you.

Carver makes several, enough to give all the COs and General a worry stone, and slips the last worry stone into the nameless brother's things in the middle of the night. It's found in the morning and almost discarded, thinking it's debris in his drowsy stupor that he was about to toss without looking, but the smooth divot in the wood catches his attention. It… feels strangely nice to roll his thumb back and forth in this little space. Okay. He'll keep the thing. He'll get rid of it if a CO tells him to. Except he later notices the COs also have one. So if they have "non-GAR contraband", he's not about to get into trouble for having it himself, right? Well then again they're COs and they'll be allowed more "luxuries". He almost gets rid of it again after that thought. But the Captain catches it before it's kicked into the fire that night when they made camp and says it was a close one, kid nearly lost the gift a brother gave him. That would have been a shame. Oh. Oh kriff. He nearly burned a gift? Carver made this?

Carver wouldn't have been mad if the nameless brother had burned it. He's made so many at this point. The nameless brother was always a little tighter on the rules than most other brothers, he'd probably have been reluctant to keep "contraband". He and Scruffy had seen him using it on a few separate occasions. The tension seemed to melt right out of him, even just for a moment. He'd grabbed it at least once when he woke up from a nightmare. Carver wondered if he would be able to find the material to make a really small one and put it on some string so this poor not-a-Shiny would have a way to keep one on him, maybe under the armor, under the bodyglove, so he'd never have to worry about not having a worry stone on him if he really needed it. Sometimes just holding his worry stone was enough for the brother.

One not-a-Shiny claims the name Cairn finally. (He'd been given many nicknames, open to Being Named, but none had spoken to him until someone said the word "cairn" in front of him.) He's ended up with so many of his friends' worry stones one way or another that he'll build the little or big towers of wooden rocks for the fun of it. Sometimes the General uses gentle nudgings of the Force to make the towers take impossible, gravity defying formations. It boosts morale. It makes the men wonder if Cairn can find a way to replicate the upside down formations the General sometimes does with the right sized worry stones. Welcome to the galaxy, Cairn. It's nice to meet you, brother.

It takes an hour to get this not-a-Shiny to get out of one of the towering trees after a Separatist ambush. He made for an excellent sniper, to the surprise of the Captain who'd taken care of this nameless brother since he'd gotten there nearly a month ago. He's on the comms channel, voice high and tight with fear that if he comes down he's going to knock this bird's nest out of the crown on a branch he'd need to use to get down. They're endangered. They can't fly yet, Captain. I don't want them to get hurt if I climb down. One already fell from the nest and- Oh the General found it? Did it… survive the fall? Why is the General scaling the other tree with only one hand; did they get hurt in the Seppy ambush? Oh the General is okay? Thank Kamino's rains. They… found the bird alive? The bird is returned to the nest with the Force, and his General uses the Force to pluck him out of that tree and lift him over to the other one so he can crawl down, finally. He's sorry for getting worked up about some blasted birds but they just… He got kinda attached to them because he had imagined he was protecting not just his brothers and the General from the Seppies, but those birds too. He's sorry, General. It was silly.

The General assures the trooper that the compassion and empathy he had for the birds was not "silly". In fact, they were unaware that these birds they'd been seeing for so long on this planet were endangered. They thank the nameless man who takes a long time to do certain things for teaching them something that day. Maybe one day that thinking will make him a brilliant strategist, too. (Yeah, the Jedi are a little weird. But that's okay, brother. Apparently when you come up in conversation now, the General hears the fluttering of these birds through the Force… Good question, don't know if they hear anything when our other brothers are brought up in conversation with the General…)

The nameless brother is just beginning to feel better, hopeful, the longer they've been taken care of by the likes of the COs, General, and Scruffy. Mostly Scruffy. Maker, Scruffy nearly cries when this brother, bearing all the scuffs of his batch additional to his own on his chest plate, asks the General if they want their rations, because he thinks he's ready to start eating his again. He's not afraid to eat the rations meant for himself anymore, he thinks. That's a step in the right direction.

There's a few survivors from the first bolster who still don't have names, but only because they don't know what to decide on just like Cairn did. There's another bolster scheduled to arrive soon. They've decided on their paint patterns, at least. The brother who takes an hour to do things when time allows is the only unpainted man of the unit. He looks like a Shiny, so out of place. Everyone aside from him is vying to find a Name except for him. But it feels like hours or days after the COs welcome their new brothers who now have Names… they get picked off by Separatist forces. Hello, and goodbye, brothers.

If I find my Name now, I'm cursed is the new sentiment. The new anxiety that replaces “my rations are spoiled and I'll get sick, I'll die if I eat them”. I'm just two letters and four numbers and nothing else. Please don't name me. Please don't doom me, brothers…

Maybe it's best that when the second bolster of Shinies and other, more seasoned troops arrive, this brother is… sent back to the Jedi cruiser. We can't have him sent back to Kamino by now, there's no telling what the long-necks will do to him. Wipe him clean with reconditioning? Decommission him? No chance in the galaxy they'll let their brother go through that. They'll turn him into a *spacer instead before they'll let the Kaminoans decide. So the COs are trying to find someone to go with this brother. Scruffy is willing, he's already done so much to take care of this brother, this will be a piece of meiloorun cake to accompany his anxious brother. If it wasn't a result of mistreatment at the hands of the… bounty hunters hired to be "Trainers", then it wasn't his fault something probably went wrong with his growth jar. It wasn't the fault of a brother who had a leak in his acceleration chamber that made him hyperactive and impulsive if the rumor mills are to be believed. They, all brothers, blame that on the Kaminoans. Or the Trainers. They do their best not to blame their brothers. Brother looks out for brother.

"Took-an-hour" is used less and eventually abandoned. The COs call him the Unpainted Brother as a nickname, now. U-Brother, or just Brother, for short. It's easy enough to pass off as a general term of addressal. He's far from a Shiny, he's not open to Being Named, he's clearly not finding his Name out here. General… please, send Brother back to the Jedi cruiser when the next reinforcements come. We're… scared for him that he's just getting worse out here and he'll get himself killed the next time the Separatists attack us.

Another General will take him? And Scruffy? Thank you.

Brother, before you leave with Another General, we want you to take some of Our color. You may have been "unexpectedly" reassigned to another unit, but you'll always be one of Us. Don't forget us, we won't forget you. Carver and Cairn have a few little presents for you to remember us by. (A whittled nest of those endangered birds.) You take care of yourself, our painted Brother. Maybe your painted scuff marks will bring you good luck. Maybe your brothers, Gunnar, Faro, Cryfar, Fluke, will bring you good luck. You, heh… kinda look like a paint canvas, now! All your batchmates scuffs glazed over in Our color. Your scuff on your chest plate is still naked, but that's okay. Maybe you can pick up the color of the unit of Another General and paint your scuff in that color, really make yourself look like a canvas.

…

What's that?

Oh.

(Oh, brother. Now? When he's about to leave with Another General?)

You kinda like that, eh?

Well…

Canvas: it's very nice to meet you, brother.

Do you want to go, still, or do you… want to stay?

Will you stay? You know our brothers are going to want to celebrate you and your Name. It'd break their damn hearts if you left now, Canvas. After all that's happened up to now, the experiences that shaped up to finding a Name for yourself and have marked your armor…

Of course, Canvas. You're welcome to stay with us longer. You're always going to be Our brother. I'll let the General know so they can let Another General know there's been a change of plans. They'll get it sorted out. Now, go grab Scruffy and let him know we'll need his skills with a brush. Need to add a little more paint to our Canvas. Wouldn't ya think, brother?

*Spacer is slang for someone who spent a large part of their life in space according to Wookiepedia.

I purposely used titles only (no names) like Captain and Marshal Commander and General for the purposes of this headcanon(s) + drabble so you were welcome to imagine my OCs Canvas (& his lost brothers Gunnar, Faro, Cryfar, and Fluke), Cairn and Carver with any favorite commanding officers and the Jedi they work with that you the reader might have that you felt like imagining without worry of mischaracterizations. I know that the semi-feral boys (affectionate) in the 501st is a popular choice for slapping one's Clone OCs in, but since I already have some that show up in another drabble-&-headcanon piece called "Cozy Clone Hotel" I'm still in the middle of tidying up, these boys aren't "officially" saddled in any particular Clone unit.

I wrote the framework of this while watching the Umbara arc as a way to cope with the Pong Krell Trauma™. Nine(?) years later this arc still makes me such a mess. Krell had it coming. But I guess I have this "What If?" scenario of Clones never finding their names on Kamino thanks to him. But still: Rest in Piss Krell for what you did (and an extra EFF YOU for weaponizing Dogma's loyalty and personality the way you did; I may not like Dogma all that much but dude, that was deliberate and I hate you for it) to the men under your command, you power-drunk bastard.

[NEXT INSTALLMENT]

#frostfics #Nice To Meet You Brother #clone oc: Scruffy #clone oc: Carver #clone oc: Cairn #clone oc: Canvas #clone oc: Gunnar/Faro/Cryfar/Fluke #tcw headcanons #tcw drabble #star wars #edit: if you're asking yourself in one section if that's a reference to Hardcase: yes it is #we love the ADHD Clone here #tcw hardcase

[thechaoticfanartist]

Footsteps were approaching.

Grim hid under the desk as she held her breath.

This wasn't good, she hadn't expected Palpatine to come back so soon.

She eyed the vent she had used to sneak in - it was still open.

A quick escape route as long as Palpatine didn't notice.

Grim was frozen in fear, and she wrapped a hand around her lightsaber in case she needed to fight.

She hoped she didn't.

Grim wasn't sure if she could even take him in a fight.

- The Clone Wars Gets A New Victim, Part III: The Rain, Chapter 20: The Moment Of Truth And The Moment To Lie

Tag List (let me know if you want to be added or removed) : @padme--amygdala @soclonely @mrfandomwars @jgvfhl @starlonkedd @milfspectre1 @togrutanduin @jedi-valjean @one-real-imonkey @traygaming @roseofalderaan @keoxus  @dykerebel @veiled-in-stars @sentineljedi @spicysucculentz @amelia-song-pond @kohtoyah @saturnsokas @thejediprincessqueenofnaboo @veradragonjedi @arrthurpendragon

#grim kennet #star wars #my oc #star wars oc #jedi oc #my art #fanart #star wars the clone wars #star wars art #sw art #tcwganv art #i tried drawing on a way bigger canvas size than usual 😅

[atomicc]

Umm my friends have been talking about pony so I've been drawing pony!!!! 💥 ID in alt and below cut

ID: A crayon drawing of a my little pony friendship is magic oc. It's a white pony with red and blue scene hair, arm warmers and a snapback.

A digital colored drawing of Party Favor from mlp. He has a distressed look on his face. There is text overlayed that says "Come to our little town, the stories here are never down, the happiness flows all around and little could to wrong.

A digital colored drawing of Party Favor from mlp, and a mlp oc. Party Favor has a broken horn, and looks mildly distressed. The oc is an adaptation of The Smiler. It's a bright yellow Pegasus, with black and white stripes on it's wings and legs. It's hair is also black and white.

A colored drawing of a mlp oc. He is facing away from the camera, moving away from the viewer. He is a greenish brown, with a dark green mane and tail. His cutie mark is three pine trees. In the corner is an uncolored drawing of Party Favor with a broken horn and flat hair. He is smiling uncomfortably, with the text behind him saying "Our town."

A digital colored drawing of a mlp oc. The ocs name is Scared Silly. He is a hunched over pegasus with white fur and black mane and tail. His cutie mark is a frightened looking yellow face. His eyes are yellow. He is a failed mirror pool copy of Surprise, from an alternate universe. There are several drawings of him around the canvas. At the top, a drawing of a mirror pool clone of Surprise, a white pegasus with yellow hair, with flat wet hair. There is an arrow to a small drawing of them running away. The caption says "Only got some of Surprise's traits." Below is a sketch of him getting his new cutie mark. Caption says "Eventually became an individual and gained his own cutie mark. Is afraid of being found and sent back to the pool. (wouldn't happen)."

Other captions around the image say, "he/it pronouns, trans gay and objecto. Hair can't inflate anymore but does fluff up. Special talent is predicting danger, like pinkie sense times ten. On pony HRT, dyes his hair." /end ID.

#mlp fim #Mlp oc #Field Guide #Scared Silly #Party Favor #Party Favor forever broken moments #My art #Us #🚧 #✌️ #😈

[starrysharks]

ive sent like 20 asks to you atp but i really love ur art soooo so so so much like ur like my biggest inspiration fr like seriously i could blab all day abt how much i love your art and your arts almost singlehandedly motivated me to start working on shape language more bc i think thats like the key part of your art (to me at least) and youre like the true embodiment of "same face syndrome fears me" but like fr because all your ocs are so distinct and unique

do you have any tips on creating unique silhouettes / just general character design tips?? also id love to hear abt how your use of shapes and shape language evolved over time if ur fine sharing that!!

ok this is literally the sweetest ask ever like first off thank you so much ;_; i'm glad i was able 2 inspire you!!!

for me if you look at my old art there's little to no focus on shape language cuz i wanted to express a 'pointy' animeish style. examples are from 2020, 2021 respectively

as you can see i did NOT flip my canvas and my art was samey as hell,,, but in 2021 i started going for softer colors and shapes rather than points and spikes and brighter shapes. but, if you were to look through all of my art from either era, you'd see it's identical cuz i didn't care for shape language. this went on for quite a while :,)

then i discovered worlds end club in late 2021 and everything changed !!! i watched playthroughs cuz i didn't have a means to play at the time, and decided on making my artstyle a blend of cartoony and animeish - which ended up in choosing more expensive silhouettes and faces in turn

honestly i'm too tired to actually chronicle my artstyle change so i'll just skip to late 2022 in this timeline, sorry 😭

so by now has my artstyle evolved into aomwthing super cool n expressive ? no actually i think my art got worse in late 2022

as you can see, my colors got super washed out and i didn't really take risks, i guess? but i was finally starting to come into my own in terms of artstyle and was finally acknowledging shape language a little bit.

very early 2023 is the same, so let's skip to the one thing that changed my artstyle - the big 8 lineups

suddenly everybody was like 'wow your shapes are so good!!!' this was because i had tried to challenge myself with character design in these drawings. so i tried to emphasise interesting shapes more - using a technique where i'd just take an interesting shape or line that corresponded with a character's personality and repeating it as much as i could across the design.

like this deep cut art, where i tried to 'dial up'their already exaggerated shapes and design aspects (such as making frye's pants sag more or changing up shiv's hair. big man is perfect and needs no changes)

but this journey is still not over because a few months ago i rewatched all of panty and stocking and watched clone high for the first time, and both of these shows emphasise shapes a LOT in their designs, and i picked those up. here's art from a few months ago - in short, i tried to find the 'focal point' of the design, something that set it apart from other designs with similar body types or clothing, and built around that, if it makes sense? here's some art that i think expresses that well

comparing the new quintet art to the old one, i think you can also see that i started to try and use different body shapes and shapes in general (such as clyde having a more triangular build ig) . and tumblr doesn't let me add more pictures so this is where the overview ends !

my advice is - watch and rewatch anything that might inspire you, because it has the ability to push you in the right direction. for technical tips, id say -

draw different body types and age ranges (often times same face syndrome is born from only drawing the same age range, usually 15-20 for most sufferers)

play around with style - do you want a more western inspired style or something more akin to modern anime ? maybe something entirely different! try drawing in different styles that you like and see which ones stick

research fashion if only a little bit - it can help understand visually pleasing silhouettes (such as the famous big jacket or big pants silhouettes)

speaking of big jacket or big pants, contrast is key !!! top or bottom heavy designs are an easy way to express personality and an expressive silhouette ig

ummm thaz it ithink. once again thank you for your kind words and remember to take advice from multiple artists im just one guy!! i hope anything in here helped or was at least interesting to read

#ask zeno #zeno's art #long post #old art

[circadianaa]

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Archive Warning: Major Character Death Category: Gen Fandoms: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types, Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy Relationships: CC-1010 | Fox & Clone Commander Thorn, CC-1010 | Fox & CC-4477 | Thire Characters: CC-1010 | Fox, Clone Commander Thorn (Star Wars), CC-4477 | Thire, CT-8997 | Woozy (OC)

pentimento a visible trace of earlier painting beneath a layer or layers of paint on a canvas. — "This isn't real," Fox says. "Probably not," agrees Thorn. Probably not, he says. A damned dead man coming back to life—or just Fox finally going insane. Probably not. Fox tries to recall the last time he slept; it really wasn't that long ago. He'd rested and eaten and then he'd gone to work, and there were patrols that had needed to be done, and there were angry natborns with screams and burning metal and… and…. "Go away," Fox bites. "I don't have time for this. I have to—I have to—" He has to work. He has mouths to feed. He has hallucinations to stop having. He has a room to get out of.

finally posted that fucking fox fic ive been working on for like 8 months. anyways. read my fanfiction boy

#commander fox #the clone wars #star wars the clone wars #fanfiction #swtcw #tcw

[dream-beyond-the-fantasy]

OC Creator Exchange Valentine's Gift

Happy Valentine's Day to @thechaoticfanartist!

I am really enjoying The Clone Wars Gets a New Victim. I haven't read as much as I would like to. But I adore Grim and her relationships with Obi-Wan and Ahsoka.

I hope that you like this collage. Obviously, Grim was going to be the focus of this piece, but I also wanted to include Ahsoka, her love interest, and the platonic relationships with Obi-Wan and Anakin (even though I know that relationship will deteriorate).

I will also share the Grim avatars that I made with a dollmaker website. I tried to get the clothes, hair, and colors as close as possible to your artwork. I studied the reference sheets, your edit of Chloe Grace Moretz as Grim, and pics of both Lucy and Chloe for hours. I used Canva's photo editor for the scars.

#thechaoticfanartist #grim kennet #the clone wars gets a new victim #star wars #star wars oc #oc creator exchange #valentines day #ocx valentines day #gift exchange #star wars the clone wars #jedi oc #oc gift exchange #oc community #ahsoka tano #ahsoka tano x oc #obi wan kenobi #anakin skywalker

[the-bad-batch-baroness]

Banner art by @mwolf0epsilon

*NOTE --- this page is under construction*

Name Etymology

As a child, Drip had the unusual habit of drooling in his sleep. With his face hanging off the side of his pillow, the drool would drip off his bunk and hit anything below, whether that be the floor, another bunk, or another clone. His brothers tease him about his constant drooling, but it doesn't bother him too much. He never grew out of the habit and the name stuck.

Personality

Mood Boards:

Here

Alphabets:

SFW Alphabet

NSFW Alphabet

View his tags -> #oc: drip

Physical Appearance

Character Art:

Emoji Ask

Character Timeline

Early Cadet Years:

Invasion of Kamino:

Order 66:

Destruction of Tipoca City:

Imperial Service:

Fanfiction

Icon Guide -> HERE

Updated: 3/28/2024

Navigation Page

*When I commissioned Eps to make the character banners, I sent her some stick figure references I made in Canva. If you want a laugh and see what she had to work with, you can look below the cut. If you're coming to this page via my masterlist, you have no choice*

#tbbb's OCs #tbbb masterlist #oc: drip #phoenix squad #clone oc

[imarvelatthestars]

I got an ask for Mr Tai 😘

I would like to ask Night and Canvas from the creation asks 👀

💜💜💜

canvas: Does your OC have any scars, piercings, tattoos, or other markings? Do they display or cover them up at all?

this may not be a popular opinion, but i always felt like Tai wasn't one who was big on tattoos/piercings/any noticeable marks that would make him stand out from his brothers. he always knew he was a clone, he felt no shame in it, but he also felt no need to be separate from his brothers or so easily distinguished. he was simply another man made to order for the republic. the reason!! for this!! being that he never had reason to doubt the republic, the jedi, etc etc. he trusted them, he served them, and that was that. and then came the day that his usefulness ran out. he was injured in the line of duty and it would have taken too much effort and too many resources to help him, so the empire kicked him out onto the streets. and that was when he started to feel all that resentment, all the fear and the confusion. because he had always been a good soldier, he had always followed orders, even the ones that his heart told him were wrong, and look at what it got him. however, i've decided that maybe Tai did carve a little wave motif into the inside of one of his pauldrons once he found himself homeless. a subtle reminder of who he is, something he didn't come to appreciate until it was too late.

night: What does your OC wear to sleep? Do they have a favorite pair of PJs, or are they more the birthday suit type?

y'all remember this little number that Jango had

yeah, so Tem looks so stupid hot in blue and that shirt occupies so many of my tho(ugh)ts, so when I was working on one of the earlier chapters I decided that Tai really needed a blue shirt of his own. he usually wears his (beautiful sexy gorgeous) blue shirt and some boxers to bed 🥵

you can choose more questions to ask about our beloved from here

tai taglist: @dystopicjumpsuit @clonemedickix @multi-fan-dom-madness @deejadabbles @moodymisty @rain-on-kamino @temple-elder @wanderer-six @jambolska-grozdova @bambambunny @andrakass2 @wings-and-beskar @arandomnerdsblog578 @roadara23 @wizardofrozz @kakashibabe02

#tai #clone trooper tai #friend mail

[cloneloverrrrr]

Thanks to my lovely @lune-de-miel-au-paradis I thought I would do a deep dive of my OC Crystal Lontac. Here you will find more about her & her character. I will probably do more of these going forward as I find them an interesting way for you all to get to know her more ☺️

Collage made by me on Canva & photos from Pinterest✨

Deep Dive OC Crystal Lontac

have they / would they dye their hair? Crystals hair is jet black. She wouldn’t change it as she likes to keep it dark. The darkness brings out the shine in her bright blue eyes.

do they maintain eye contact when talking? Yes she does.

what is their tell for lying? Her face stays straight but she clears her throat slightly before telling a lie.

do they have an accent? Not really but sometimes when speaking to her father certain words will have a hint of Mando'a.

what languages do they speak? Mando'a and basic.

what kind of music do they listen to? Heavy metal, thrash metal , metal core , rock anything heavy even though her character does not look like the type.

describe them in one word. What could happen to make them the opposite? Kind. Betrayal / loss.

do they have any ghosts? Yes she does, when she lost her mother there was a lot going on & sadly she wasn’t there. It’s haunted her since.

what is their worst fear? Being abandoned by the ones she loves.

what is a secret they do not tell anyone? Further information regarding her mothers death. She still has not told Wolffe not even her best friend. Only her father knows.

what motto do they live by? Every day is a second chance- something she tries to live by since her mothers death.

if they were a famous figure, who would they be?

.Florence Nightingale- due to her care for the clones and fighting for their rights

.Hedy Lamarr - making a name for herself within the senate and going from strength to strength in her role

personality? Crystals personality was very much shaped by her mothers death and the guilt she still feels. Before this she was a little selfish- very much loved her family and friends but was careless at times. Now she is very level headed has grown up quickly and is kind, cares deeply for her loved ones and would sacrifice herself for the ones she loves.

what great moment shaped them to be who they are? Have they lived through the moment yet? 

.Her mothers death

.Falling in love with Wolffe and accepting his love for her

.The issues when that happened when Wolffes chip was set off too early , the death of her friend Hardcase

.Falling pregnant and understanding she is now responsible for not only her life but the one growing inside of her

what is their fatal flaw? Bad decisions being made when she feels lack of trust, sometimes cutting her nose off to spite her face.

how do they feel about jewelry? painted nails? Crystal wears a lot of headpieces and likes big chokers encrusted with jewels and dainty small necklaces with a delicate chain, sometimes she wears many rings on each fingers. Her nails are always square & short either natural baby pink or nude or micro French tip.

what kind of art are they? Slight BAUHAUS as a hobby, Classicism as a style, Romanticism as paintings, Futurism as sculptures and maybe slight Expressionism as films or books.

do they play a sport? Not her thing in the slightest but used to play ballgames when she was younger on Alderaan.

do they have a speech impairment? how would that translate across paper? None she is extremely well spoken and very intelligent.

what could you do to betray their trust? Lies. It always boils down to a liar to break her trust.

what makes them smile? Wolffe. Little things like acts of kindness, seeing loved ones, looking after animals she loves animals, sun rises and sunsets especially on Alderaan.

If you had to choose something to make them go all john wick, who would it be? Loved ones being hurt.

do they swear? in what language? Crystal tends not to curse but if she does it will be in Mando’a as per her fathers roots. She will sometimes curse in basic.

how comfortable do they feel around strangers? She is very comfortable around anyone.

are they extraverted or introverted? Abit of both but more extraverted.

do they stand straight? what is their posture like? Crystal stands very straight as she is only 5”5 she uses her strong posture to attempt to make her taller.

what is their sleep schedule like? Not long after her mother died she hardly slept and since being with Wolffe her sleep patterns have improved immensely.

would they consciously invade someone else's body space? even a stranger's? Crystal holds the acceptable distance, she only gets closer with Wolffe.

how do they feel about contact with other people? do they flinch? Crystal is quite a touchy person when it comes to Wolffe and her family / friends. However this will change come part 2 of chapter 9 she will be nervous around others and will flinch at any sort of contact- even from Wolffe.

are they the first to hug? Depends on the situation. But yes when it comes to Wolffe.

what would make them kill / stop them from killing? Her morals. She won’t harm anyone it’s not in her nature but if push comes to shove and it’s for her loved ones, this would cross her mind.

how do they smile? do they have dimples? Crystal smiles with her eyes as her own smile is not very wide. She has no dimples.

what about their teeth -- braces? sharp teeth? dentures? yellow teeth? what about spots? Crystals teeth are straight and white.

how do they get others' attention? clear their throat? punch them? A small clearing of the throat. She might playfully punch Wolffe in the arm if she really wants his attention lol.

do they talk with their hands? Yes quite often especially in the senate.

what is their final goal? To be fully happy and to let go of the guilt she carries regarding her mother.

how would they describe happiness? A warm content feeling deep inside when she’s with Wolffe or loved ones. I don’t think she will find this until the birth of child.

what is their biggest conflict? That her mothers death was not her fault and she isn’t hated by not being there.

how do they react to death? Isolates herself, can stay quiet or can go off the rails.

do they cry? how do they cry ? One of two ways. She will either cry quietly let one or two tears roll down her cheek or she will sob loudly and scream out her pain.

how do they react when someone else is crying? can they comfort a stranger? Her words can be calm, a kind hand upon the shoulder and if she is close to the person she will hold them.

how are they around pets? are they allergic to any? Crystal loves all animals she had tooka cats when she was younger and would love another, she just has to persuade Wolffe as he doesn’t seem to be a huge fan.

following up, do they have allergies? Yes to pollens and animals but still loves them, she takes antihistamine meds to help with this.

do they take off their shoes going into a stranger's house? would they offer to do the dishes? Yes and yes. She was brought up with very good manners.

do they call strangers by their first name or title? Both it depends on the situation.

how do they show fear? trying to hide it? shaking? etc. Sometimes it shows in her eyes or you can hear it in her voice. Her body trembles sometimes.

what is their impact on other characters? She has a very big impact, maybe due to her kind nature and soft heart every person she comes into contact with leaves happy and smiling. Her eyes and smile capture them and her personality keeps them around.

how could any of these change by the end of the story? By the end of part 2 of chapter 9 we will see become very nervous , scared to be touched even by Wolffe, she will not be as friendly and close in on herself but I don’t want to reveal too much.

#clone thot #talk to me about clones #deep dive OC addition #gabis oc #get to know my oc #oc character #oc cyrstal x wolffe #commander wolffe #Spotify

[l-lend]

Congrats on your follower milestone!! We aren’t terribly close but I enjoy seeing you on my dash and wanted to help you celebrate! So, for the requests, I wanted to ask for a fluffy fun cooking scenario with Wrecker and Kimber (or reader if you rather, but I’m a sucker for OC’s and always want more of them -v-)

Hey there,

I'm glad you messaged me after making the request. It would have changed the tone of the fic entirely if it was Wrecker and Kimber cooking together instead of Wrecker and Rina. Hope you like some cute cooking fluff, and thanks for being patient.

Wrecker x OC (Rina)

Warning(s): fluff

A com device chirped for a few moments before a hand groped blindly to find the offending noise.

“Yeah?”

“You sound tired, Rina.”

The woman chuckled, “I'll sleep when I'm dead, boss lady.”

Rina could hear the half hearted huff through the device.

“Just thought you'd like to know, we're coming in now. Might have some down time for a few days while Tech has some repairs.”

Rina clicked her tongue, “I'll make myself decent.”

Once the line was cut, Rina rolled out of bed plucking up some clothing that lacked the odor of work.

A short walk and a drink order later, Rina curled up at her post by the bar. Her back to the door as she kept an ear out. The clinking of credits changing hands. The systematic clicking of the parlor's rigged games of chance happily snatching up credits to feed the house.

Her drink was nearly gone by the time the familiar commotion met her ears. She raised her drink in greeting, but the feeling of a strong arm curling around her waist curled the corners of her mouth.

“Hey big guy.”

“Hey pretty lady. When'd you get in?”

“Couple of rotations or so. The girls are out today with smol so I'm not even babysitting today.”

“Yeah? Means we coul-”

“Wrecker, are we going?”

The pair turned to see the smallest member with her head cocked to the side. Rina huffed a bit of a laugh before tapping the clone's hand with her own.

“You're not breaking tradition because of me. Go on, you can meet back up with me later.”

His eyes searched hers for any sign of dissent, but violet hair swished as Rina jerked her head to the door. A grin tugging at her lips.

“Get going. I'll tell em where you went.”

After a quick squeeze and the a peck to her head, the partners in crime bounded off to the markets leaving the lady mercenary with her now empty drink. The blush along Rina's cheeks showing no signs of settling down due to his previous proximity. With Cid occupying the rest of the squad, Rina shot off a message for Kimber before she headed out. At least with him distracted, the hangar that passed as the girls' domicile could get some attention.

The door swung open with Rina making a b-line for the canvas lined space that passed as her room. The ruins of what could only be described as a clothing bomb were snapped up to be stashed away for laundry day. Her datapad moved from its usual post as her bed fellow to the crate currently doubling as her night stand. The woman's cleaning supervisor, a black and blue tooka doll, keeping watch atop her pillow as the sheets were snapped into some semblance of order.

At hearing the door swing open paired with the sound of heavier footfalls, Rina straightened up and parted the canvas that granted the space its privacy. Her target locking eyes with her as soon as she peered out from the canvas curtains. The large clone quickly closing the distance between them. His smile broadening as he plucked her up. Color blossoming across her cheeks as his lips graced her heated skin.

“Missed you.”

She melted in his hold, her head nestling against his chest, “Missed you too, big guy.”

She remained for the moment breathing him in before she tilted her head up finding his gaze fixed on her.

“Got a surprise for you from my last job, doesn't come with a payload though.”

“'s alright, what is it?”

“Gonna need you to get the heating element and that grate down for me.” Her lips feigned a pout, “It's too high up.”

“You got it.”

The contact of his lips against her cheek still held warmth long after he set her back down. After she took her time watching the large clone retrieve the items from the shelf as if they weighed nothing, Rina revealed the vacuum sealed packages with a triumphant flair.

“Some nerf herder liked how Lex and I handled poachers on his property, so we got a little something extra sent home.”

The look she got in return had her suppressing a smile, “The guy was actually a nerf herder. Promise."

A brief series of clicks brought the heating element emitting an orange glow with the grate plopped on top shortly after. The packaging crinkled under Rina's fingers, as she soon freed their dinner. A quick sprinkle of a spice or two and the two slabs of meat spat and hissed as soon as they made contact with the grate.

"Had no idea you could cook."

Rina chuckled, "I'm passable with a few things. Just don't tell Irys or she'll rework our chores arrangement again."

An arm coiled around her waist, "wouldn't dream of it."

Being brought back into his hold was a welcomed inevitability. As routine as a moon pushing and pulling the tide. She tilted her head back to met his gaze.

"You staying the night? Been a bit cooler on planet lately."

Wrecker's expression twisted up in concern.

"Is the heating out? I-I think we may have some extra-"

A mirthful sigh through her nose and her hands captured his head. An attempt to keep his mind from running off with his worry.

"Easy, big guy. I just didn't know if you'd be sleeping over with me. I know the ship's cramped."

"I don't mind it. Not a lot of things built for a guy like me."

Rina pulled free only to tend to the steaks. The aroma pleasantly wafting to the rest of the hangar. He watched as she tested the give of the meat as she regarded it with a much focus as he had seen in his brother when piloting the Marauder. Her lips pursed every so often practically begging to get another kiss.

He easily slipped a finger under her chin before guiding her to his lips. Heat spilling into their veins that spurred them further into their lip lock. It was the petite smuggler that abruptly broke free of his kiss. Her affection drunk mind surfacing long enough to bring her attention back to the steaks.

“Shit.”

A flick of her fingers in a clipped upward arch separated the steaks from the grate to avoid charring the poor cuts beyond recognition. Once a plate was under them, she relaxed her gesture allowing the meat to drop. Her face scrunched as she studied their meal.

“They..might not be as rare as I'd like em.” She said offering the plate, which he took while she shut off the heating element.

The silence between the pair stretched until Wrecker broke it.

“You know, this is kinda nice.”

Rina offered a shrug, “Well, might start having to make nerf a staple then if you like it.”

“No...I mean yes that'd be great, but...” His free hand pointed from himself to her, “this. I like this.”

The playful roll of her eyes was all he needed.

“Alright big guy, I'm not getting all sappy until after we eat."

#wrecker x oc #L's follower celebration #this was fun #I can enjoy some domestic stuff #wrecker #tbb wrecker

[frostycatblr-fandom-files]

I Have No Mother, Only A Brother

Warnings and Information: Not a new story, just a more masterlist-friendly format since I'm unable to make the edits I want to the original written last year so things fit a little more in-line with the rest of the series visually speaking. Reference/allusion to canon-typical violence, injury, death and loss. Bad health conditions for civilians as a result of a Separatist blockade. Clone OC backstories and how they died. Several characters are not explicitly named as of this installment, just like in NTMY,B. Narrative and stylistic use of italics. No Mando'a here. Use of Star Wars and real-world swearing. Canvas doesn't like the Kaminoans, he's rather scared of them.

Word-count: 3,027

"Isn't it a little sad?" the nat-born child who's been asking so many questions starts up again after five minutes, the allotted break time as asked. The little one's parents sigh wearily. Here we go. There's beckoning hands, straining arms. 

"Is what sad, little mite?" The trooper only resituated their hold on the child with a twisted ankle they'd been carrying for several klics now. They still had a long way to go before they reached the Republic camp where these starving people on a far-flung planet had been subjected to horrid war crimes by the Separatists. No; let me hold them a little longer, it's fine. They weigh far less than a supply crate, this is easy for me. 

"Well… is it true that you don't have a mommy like people say?" This little one was born just before or near the very start of the Clone Wars, supposedly, and part of a humanoid species, so they're different from human nat-born children and develop differently… but the level of intellect and insight is still surprising. 

"It is," the trooper starts, mentally shaking away the thought that he'd have to dumb this down for the toddler who was meeting Clones in the flesh for the first time now. "We don't have any mothers, except for Kamino. That's where we come from." Don't think of the long-necks. Don't think of the long-necks. Don't think of the long-necks; think of your brothers! 

"So isn't it sad?" they ask again, cuddling sweetly against the stiff and impossibly firm surface of plastoid that encircles the trooper's body with a great pout on their face. That can't be comfortable for the kid. The trooper wishes he could take off the helmet so the little one can see the sympathetic smile, touched by the concern and sadness a nat-born child has for a man without a mother. But he's offered to carry this child until they get to the camp and the hospital tent where a medic-brother can splint the bad foot. There's not a great way to carry his own helmet should he remove it; other hands are busy with helping men, women and children too emaciated and weak to make this trek unsupported, or are leading the livestock with firm hands, or like the little mite's mother, carrying even littler children. An infant. 

There are so many infants. The General has cut their cloak into long strips so the brothers who have volunteered themselves to carry a suffering family's baby have something to buffer and soften the swaddling arms in plastoid armor. The three brothers who carry the five orphans of the village are quiet. They move so gingerly and are so tender to allow these little ones to sleep as long as they can; the best sleep these little ones have had since losing their mothers. 

"I guess many would see it that way. But it's hard to be sad about it when I have so many brothers to keep me company." The little one looks up at the trooper in awe and excitement. Brothers. They had something in common! The baby swaddled to the woman's chest with a meager blanket is a little boy, apparently. Born just before the Separatist's blockade and occupation. 

"How many brothers? Hundreds?" That'd been the popular guess when he and his brothers showed up with several Generals to offer aid and support to one of these many villages clustered near one another in this sector of the planet. 

"More than that."

"A thousand?" 

"Haha. More than that, little one." 

"Ah… a million? O-or the one that's bigger than that! That many brothers?" 

"That'd be "billion". A billion is bigger than a million." 

"You have a billion brothers?!" 

"Probably. Even I don't know. There's not enough time to meet all of them when we're helping people like you, ya little mite." Some he'd never get to because they were already gone. Some were already lost to this war well before he stepped off Kamino. Some shortly after. 

Cocky nerf-herder though he was, brave Gunnar… he'd been the first. Selfless. He wasn't immediately fond of the Force-wielders. The Jedi. Not like the other Shinies.

"We're their canon fodder, they don't care about us. Throw enough brothers at the problem until it goes away and then don't so much as mourn us!"

It changed when their General was cradling the body of a badly-injured brother while they were waiting for the team medic to find their position. Their General held the dying trooper and promised the medic-brother was on their way, "just hold on, son. Yes, he's coming. H-he's going to take care of you. You were very brave out there trying to keep your brothers safe."

When the battlefield medic trooper had finally reached their position and could take over for the General in taking care of this brother, he'd succumbed to his injuries only seconds later. Their General got up and left, stoic and unspeaking, and Gunnar had enough and wanted to give the General a damn tongue-lashing. But when Gunnar found the General, back pressed into the dark trunk of those towering trees and weeping silently, he suddenly realized he had their first General all wrong. 

"I think I had 'em all wrong… guess some of those Jedi really do give a banthashit about us. Found the General mourning that brother who died as soon as the medic got here. They're imperfect, brother. These… peacekeepers aren't sure how to be warriors. Not all of 'em. They're tryin'."  

Cryfar had been the second to perish. Oh sweet, well-meaning Cryfar.

To their batch, it was an in-joke that it was a miracle this son of Kamino had made it as far as he had. Either one too many blows to the head during a session of hand-sparring in one of the training centers, or something went awry with his jar, but the kid could not get his left-and-right or his phrasings sorted out when he got overexcited.

Which was often.

"Hahaha! Just wait til I send those Seppies runnin'! This war'll be a cryfar from-" The entire batch groaned, Gunnar the loudest before taking a breath to explain why the other, older brothers were laughing at the excitable Shiny with a glowering look over his shoulder. The seasoned troops stopped, recognizing the look.

"It's "a far cry from", brother. It's okay. They don't mean to be mean to ya, I'm sure… You just get excitable. Not your fault. Remember to be careful, right?" 

"R-right! I'll be careful!" 

"Watch out for the pits, too." 

"Sure thing!" 

Faro had been third. Pushed the other two brothers out of the way of danger time and time again. They'd lost Gunnar, and they'd lost Cryfar. Faro was not going to lose these brothers too.

He was gruff and stoic much in the same way like Gunnar without the impulsive streak, but about just as much patience as Gunnar had. ("You were going to kriffing lecture the General? No of course this Jedi cares about the Clones if you just paid attention to them for five min- That's the stupidest- If you would stop being so gun-ho about certain things for five minutes the COs would finally let you in the gunner's mount like you've been asking and- What's that look for!?")

Every time he'd saved their skins he'd simply sigh sharply at them before asking if these two bucket-heads really expected him to save them every time. So that last time… he looked at those yet-unnamed brothers and fondly murmured he'd do it each and every time in a heartbeat, staring up into the great and endless starfield above him with the remnants of a BX-series droid commando scattered around him.

"It's just gonna be the two of you now, brothers. I-I don't think I can watch out for you anymore. Clanker bastard got me real good with that fluke shot… but I'd do it all again in… a d-damn… heartbeat." 

Fluke took the name from Faro's dying words as a way to remember him. Maybe he shouldn't have. The word became a curse, an omen. It seemed to seal his fate. He shouldn't have survived that droid commando encounter, it was just a lucky chance that Faro accidentally strayed a little too far from his post and found his brothers getting attacked when he did.

He was thrown from a speeder-bike after getting shot and narrowly avoided plunging into a deep chasm. Two sets of ration packs fell out of the supply crate and were exposed to direct sunlight for several hours before anyone noticed and put those back in with the others. He and another brother both felt a little sick after dinner and each said he'd be turning in early to try to sleep it off.

"Guess it's just not agreeing with me, or something. I'm sure it's nothing… I'll see you in the morning, yeah? Love ya, brother." 

"Love ya too, Fluke. Goodnight.

"G'morning Fluke, you feelin' any better? Want me to get the medic to… Fluke, c'mon brother, this isn't funny; talk to me. You really feeling that bad? Y-you're cold! Wh-why are you so… FLUKE!!"

"Do you get along with all of your brothers?" The Clone unit escorting this village's survivors were getting closer to the refugee camp, so it was time to squeeze in some last questions and they'd been quiet for a while now. Canvas just chuckled. He'd been carrying this little one for a while now, watching as they turned one of his most precious possessions in their hands over and over again. The whittled nest of endangered birds from his first campaign. They'd taken great care not to drop it. Carver would've appreciated hearing that such a crude replication still held up to approval; he'd gotten so much better and thought all his old stuff was junk (save for the General's Mudhorn and this nest-set owned by Canvas). 

"Some better than others, but I get along with most of them, yes. All siblings have their squabbles; even us Clones. Maybe one day you'll drive your parents crazy by arguing with your little brother once he's big enough." The toddler grinned brightly up at the dusty helmet peering down at him and once again smoothed their hand over Fluke's scuff. Then Faro's. Cryfar's after that. Lastly, Gunnar's. Canvas's brothers all within easy reach, surrounding the scuff mark across the chest plate this little nat-born child was leaning against. Surrounded by the memory of his brothers, those who never judged him for not yet having a Name and respected his wishes not to Be Named yet. 

"Nuh-uh. I love my little brother! I never wanna argue with him when he's big enough." The little one's parents just smiled quietly in the lengthening shadows as the sun sunk behind the hills. They knew it wouldn't end up staying that way, but the sentiment was too sweet to correct. One day the screaming matches would come, and the accusations that they weren't sharing toys would rattle their eardrums, and a million other things. A welcome future to look forward to because the Republic answered their desperate plea for help and promised the inhabitants necessary aid.

"He'll tell you how lucky he feels one day that you love him so much." Canvas replied sagely, eyes staring ahead into that middle-ground where the light of the camp crept over the last ridge. That red splatter he was looking for was flying high over the center of the camp. Good. They'd gotten the medical tent set up.  

"One last question for the nice trooper before your father carries you to the medical tent, little one. Better make it count before he has to return to his commanding officers." the child's mother warned in a sweet voice. Oh he hated the way the little one frowned, Maker help him. His hold firmed up one last time. 

"I can carry the little one to the tent. It's no trouble."

"Are you certain?"

"Yes ma'am. It's no trouble." Canvas nodded affirmingly. 

"Thank you… ah, I don't believe we ever asked you your name, I am sorry." 

"Canvas. My brothers named me." he says with pride. How one came to Be Named by a brother happened in a variety of ways. Sometimes it was mockery. Sometimes it came from a joke. Even done completely unintentionally. But often it was done with love as they helped one another find an identity. More than a string of two letters and four numbers, brother. 

No mothers to name us, only brothers. 

"Your brothers named you?" the talkative toddler inquires, brightening up as Canvas continues to carry them through the camp. There was time for more questions after all. 

"They sure did." 

"And do you like your name?"

"I love my name." That name was a gift from his brothers. All of them. Its poetic origin meant too much to do anything but love it. 

"Which brother gave you your name? Was it one of them?" The little freckled fingers touched each scuff mark reverentially. (Maker, to think his own fingers were ever that little for a short time.)

"One of my commanding officers." They pass by a commanding officer with these words, entirely a funny little coincidence. But it's not Canvas's, this officer bears a different color. 

"Umm… Who has the funniest name? A-are there any?" 

"I have a brother named Scruffy." It's safe to make fun of Scruffy's name. Scruffy makes fun of his own name all the time because he knows the circumstances behind Being Named (accidentally) were silly. 

"Whoops, hair's gotten an inch past the standard cut… Think I'm starting to look a little-"

"Ahem."

"A-a little, uh, unkempt! I was gonna say unkempt!"

"Sure-sure…" 

Just three tents away from medical. 

"Who made you the bird nest again?" Canvas takes the whittled treasure back, tucking it away in his utility belt alongside the wooden worry stone. 

"My brother Carver." he reminds the toddler. Two more tents. Something's cooking nearby. It smells good. Really good. The families making their way to the camp will have their first good meal in a long time tonight. There's neatly stacked crates in front of the medical tent. That has to be Cairn's doing, but Canvas doesn't see any sign of the brother in the flesh. 

"So if he made you the bird nest, are birds your favorite animal?" 

"One of 'em, yeah." Canvas chuckles, nodding down at the child and then back up at the brother with the shattered cross painted on his plastoid. "Kid's in need of a splint, think you can help the little one out, brother?"

"Sure can, Canvas. Set up on the second cot for me, and grab yourselves a hydro pack each. You marched a long way in if you came from the southwest. No one's getting dehydrated on my watch." 

"Thank you, brother." Canvas nodded gratefully as he nabbed two foil pouches of filtered, treated water from a crate. He opened one and gave it to the child after gingerly lowering them to the second cot as indicated, and finally shucked the dusty helmet, hearing that familiar hiss as the vacuum broke. Much better. Was getting stuffy in there. "Hope you're ready for a talker." 

"Always." the medic laughs. It's promising. "I like the talkers now and then. You sit down and rest your feet." 

"But I should really go report in to the Cap-"

"Medic's orders, brother." Oh very well. Canvas just concedes; it'll be easier than trying to sweet-talk a brother who takes the mantra of "brother looks out for brother" so deeply to heart that he makes it a specified pathway beyond just his creation as a soldier. (Don't think of the long-necks… think of your brothers.) You're a fool to make these brothers upset with you. He takes a seat on an upturned crate put out for visitors to the med-tent, balancing his bucket on his knees as he cracks open his hydro pack and takes a deep swallow of water. He regrets it, but he'll be scolded for spitting it out.

Ugh. These are not the chemicals he's used to in Kamino's filtration and emergency desalinification systems. What planet treated this water? Coruscant? It's so bitter and heavy on his tongue… There's no touch of sweetness in the water like that of a bolster of emergency supplies from Naboo that had been sent by Senator Amidala. It's sour and tangy in such an unpleasant way. 

But that's not worth fussing about when he gets to listen to the little one start peppering the medic-brother with questions now as he prepared to set the bad foot in a splint so it will heal correctly and quickly with proper support. 

"Do Clones have a favorite brother?" Woof, what a loaded question to ask a medic. 

"Hah, get a load'a this kid, asking the tricky questions. Some do! Some brothers grow very close together, practically joined at the hip and I have to let the other brother stay so I can take care of the sick or injured one. Then there's Clones, like me, who love all their brothers equally. No favorites. Too many brothers to love and take care of for me personally to have favorites. But I know of a few who are someone's favorite brother." 

The medic-brother looked at Canvas over his shoulder briefly to first make sure he hadn't slunk off before he was properly rested AMA, but even in that quick look, Canvas knew there was another meaning in those warm, smiling eyes. Seasoned troopers tended to hear if a fresh-faced brother needed some extra support and became a favorite; whether that was for life, or until the Shiny found their feet under themselves. 

Canvas knew that applied to him in each sense; he was so grateful for it now. Grateful for those brothers who took care of him because they had a rather… unique mother. (Forget the long-necks.)

If Kamino was their mother, and all her sons were brothers, then they should take good care of one another. 

We have no traditional mothers. Just a billion brothers.

[Clone OC Masterlist]

[FIRST] [NEXT]

#frostfics #I Have No Mother Only A Brother #*cleaned up version #star wars #tcw headcanons #tcw fanfiction #tcw ocs #clone oc: canvas #clone oc: gunnar/faro/cryfar/fluke #clone oc: scruffy #clone oc: carver #clone oc: cairn #clone oc: commander juke #clone oc: captain law #clone oc: medic riddance #jedi oc: caelen #*visual additions/changes plus formatting

[squad-724]

Clone OC ideas:

ARC Kitten: he is the shiny wrangler and will be the obnoxious older brother with scary stare that can compete with Alpha 17. His name comes from a Tooka hat he wears if overwhelmed. No-one know how he got so buff.

Teddy "Ted" Bear: he will find the nearest trooper to hug if stressed. There is no way you can stop him and that's a threat. Trooper can be sure that he will cuddle with them after a nightmare.

Medic Cryptid: icy-blue eyes mutation makes him a bit scary, he has that "into the soul" stare with small pupils and blank face.

Ice-breaker: he's the trooper that introduces shinies and begins conversations with nat-borns in clubs, follow him if you want to meet new people.

Stumble: he survives blaster fire by tripping on twigs and droids to fall to the ground before he is shot. He's the legendary "drunken master" during bar brawls.

Canvas: every inch of his skin apart from face, scalp and palms of his hands is tattooed and he remembers who made each one of the drawings. Somehow, if you ask him, he will find a free space for you to tattoo on.

#star wars #clone wars #clone oc

[weyrwolfen]

Eidola: Chapter 17 - CT-25-9102 Sketch

Rating: T

Characters: Gen, Clone Trooper OCs, Captain Rex, Ahsoka Tano, and other canon members of the 501st/332nd

Warnings: canon-typical violence; references to self-harm, injuries, and substance abuse; PTSD; it’s post-Order 66 and nobody is having a good time (but they’re all working on it)

Summary: The mission was never to bring down the Empire. Not really. The mission was to save every single one of their chipped brothers. But if doing do helped break the Empire’s stranglehold on the galaxy? Well, that was just a bonus.

“Sketch! Sketch!”

Sketch, who’d been walking down the Scythe’s ramp, overfilled rucksack dragging at his sore shoulders, looked up to see Pry running full-tilt across the hanger bay, grinning like a loon. The other Reapers had stopped whatever they were doing to watch Pry’s progress, no doubt wondering what all the fuss was about.

“What?” Sketch called back, nudging the brother in front of him, Knots, to try to get him to start moving again.

“The bacta everybody brought back from Wadj was enough,” Pry gasped as he skidded to a stop at the edge of the ramp, panting like he’d just outrun a pack of commando droids. “The Captain’s lifting the rationing.”

Oh! Well, maybe that was news worth sprinting across base to deliver. “Does Canvas know?” Sketch asked, grinning wide enough to match Pry’s ebullient expression.

“He’s taken over one of the empty bunks. Come on!”

“I thought they were blue.”

“They were, but they were green before that.”

“How does that even work?”

“No idea. Some kind of Force osik.”

“What’re you thinking about getting?” That last question came from Pry, distractingly close to Sketch’s ear.

Sketch looked up from his flimsipad and found Pry peeking over his shoulder. They were both sitting on the floor, outside of the room Canvas had commandeered. It was in the section of the residential floors that had been given over to natborns and brothers with natborn families, but most all of them had already shipped out to Wadj, leaving the smaller, private rooms temporarily unclaimed. Sketch assumed that wouldn’t last for long, not with all the new Mandos arriving on base, but for now, this part of the base should be safe enough. Besides, Weaver had apparently signed off on the whole thing, so it wasn’t like anyone with any authority was going to come tell them they had to move.

Nano was inside with Canvas now, which meant that it was Sketch’s turn next. He had a lot of ideas, designs he’d been working on for ages, but he needed to choose one. Just one, to start. The rest could come later.

The brothers behind Sketch and Pry in line – Midge, Rancor, Vista, and a freshly cleared brother from the latest rescued batch whose name Sketch hadn’t caught quite yet – kept up their conversation in the background.

Sketch was only half-listening, letting their words wash over him, but Pry was still waiting for an answer, so he finally admitted, “I’m having some trouble deciding.”

“I heard Vader did it. Changed them,” the conversation continued, further down the hall.

“You’re serious.”

“Yeah. I mean, he wasn’t Vader then. It was before.”

“Huh. That’s karked up.”

“Understatement.”

Pry was eyeing the page in Sketch’s book. “That one would be pretty wizard,” he said, pointing at one of the smaller doodles in the lower, lefthand corner of the page. It was a drawing of a chipped stone knife, cutting edge crude and scalloped, with a handle wrapped in intricately-knotted cording.

In the second year of the war, Sketch had been stationed on a moon so remote it didn’t even have a formal name, just a number. XR-33-419 had been pretty boring, in all honesty. They’d been tasked with guarding a small base with a stockpile of supplies nobody had seemed interested in either deploying or stealing. It had been nice at first. He could draw whenever he wanted, and nobody was actively shooting at him, but after a while, the boredom had started getting to him.

Their CO, Sergeant Ellis, had been stationed there since the beginning of the war. Nobody knew who he’d pissed off, to get stuck with such a jerkwater assignment for so long. Sketch had liked him well enough, but he had to admit that their CO had come across as more than a little weird. The Sergeant had cultivated all sorts of obscure hobbies he’d picked up from watching holonet videos on a contraband datapad.

One of them was chipping primitive stone tools out of the surrounding volcanic rocks. Sketch hadn’t really seen the appeal at first, but after a while, he’d gotten bored enough with endless, uneventful patrols to give it a try. He’d never quite gotten the hang of it. The Sergeant had never stopped trying to teach Sketch, had actually been way more patient than Sketch himself had been, the couple of times brothers had asked him to teach them how to draw.

In the end, Sergeant Ellis had ended up making so many blades during those doomed demonstrations that he’d started handing them out to the other brothers on base. Sketch had carried his for the rest of the war, even after he’d been transferred back into a front-line battalion. It had even gotten him out of a tight spot once, when he’d been grabbed by one of the giant, semi-sentient plants on Felucia. Apparently, if you knew how to work it correctly, natural volcanic glass could be pretty kriffing sharp.

Force only knew where that knife was now. He had no memory of what he’d done with it, once his chip had activated. Probably chucked it in a trash receptacle somewhere, seeing as how it had been decidedly non-regulation.

He also didn’t know what had happened to Sergeant Ellis. He’d asked some of his brothers in the control center to check, but they’d never found anything. The designation number he’d known had been attached to a brother who’d died at the First Battle of Geonosis.

Maybe Sketch had remembered the number wrong.

Maybe the Sergeant was still stationed on XR-33-419, making his rock knives, except apparently Sketch had remembered the moon’s stupid designation incorrectly too. They couldn’t find any record of the place.

Maybe Sketch had knocked more than a few screws loose, during the chip or after. Maybe none of that had ever happened.

Kriff, he was going to have to sit down and chat with Sling again, wasn’t he?

“Yeah,” he’d said to Pry noncommittally, not wanting to talk about it. He flipped to the next page in his book.

Their brothers continued their conversation, which seemed to be annoying Pry, assuming Sketch was interpreting the glower his brother threw over his shoulder correctly. “So, now they’re green again.”

“Obviously.”

“Okay, but why are they green?”

“Maybe she changed them back?”

“How does that even work?”

“I don’t know. Whatever he did to them, but in reverse?”

“I’m going to get Commander Tano’s markings on my shoulder,” Pry finally said, turning his attention back to Sketch’s book. Some of the art wasn’t really appropriate for Canvas to use, detailed studies of ships or buildings or people Sketch had seen, so he flipped past those pages quickly. “Maybe in 44th silver? I think Canvas said the machine they found can do the fancy metallic stuff.”

Pry’s plan wasn’t exactly surprising, especially now that the Commander had given everyone her blessing to use her markings as a semi-official symbol of their operation. Or at least that was what Jesse had said on the flight back from Wadj.

Sketch had come up with a couple of designs incorporating her mirrored marks too, but he wasn’t happy with any of them just yet. It felt wrong, to only credit her for their work here and not the Captain, but referencing Rex was a little harder to pin down, graphically speaking. There were his jaig eyes, of course, but those had a kind of cultural weight Sketch wasn’t comfortable claiming for his own. Not without doing something to actually earn them. He’d been playing around with incorporating a pair of DC-17s, but it was all very much a work in progress.

But Pry’s comment about metallic inks did give him an idea. Sketch turned a couple more pages, looking for another half-completed design he’d been playing with, off and on, for weeks.

It didn’t take long to find it: a pair of crossed scythes, shorter-bladed and longer-handled than the purely agricultural variant. He’d first seen them on the belts of some local farmers on a few of the Mid-Rim agriworlds. That style of blade had apparently worked just as well on grain as pirates, and Sketch had figured they’d make just about the perfect symbol for the Reapers.

He’d only mentioned it to a couple of the others, but they’d all like it. Feathers had been enthusiastic enough that he’d insisted on renaming their ship. Sketch was supposed to float the design past Jesse and Ridge for approval, whenever he got around to finishing it.

He hadn’t realized they’d be able to get metallic tattoos. It got him thinking about the design again.

Maybe if he added a couple mirrored slashes, near where the handles crossed. That would be kind of reminiscent of the Captain’s jaig eyes without actually being them, and adding in the top half of the commander’s markings above that sort of filled in the visual dead space nicely. Oh, and he could continue her paired lines below the crossed scythes too. Now that was an idea…

The door next to Sketch swished open and Nano stepped out, a bacta patch peeking out from under the high collar of his blacks on the side of his neck. “You’re up,” he said, smiling down at Sketch, who was still sitting on the floor.

Osik! Maybe he’d have time to rough out the design for Canvas? He’d heard something about sanitizing the equipment in between uses. Or maybe he should just stick with one of his other designs, so he could finish working up this one?

“What does it feel like?” Pry asked while Sketch started to push himself to his feet, turning the question around and around in his head.

“It tingled some,” Nano admitted, starting to reach up to maybe rub at his neck, but he arrested the gesture before he’d actually made contact. “The improvised stuff we had on the Fearless used needles instead of lasers and stung a whole lot more.”

That was interesting. In the privacy of his own mind, Sketch could confess that he hadn’t realized there would be a difference. He bent over to pick up his helmet.

“Quartz said they used to be two different greens. Like, regular green and kind of yellow green.”

“Shouldn’t they have matched? I thought the colors meant something. You know, like spiritually.”

“I don’t think they do.”

“I mean, red means something pretty kriffing specific.”

“Yeah, okay fair. But I think that’s an exception.”

“Sith-flavored Force osik.”

“Exactly.”

“I swear some of the 91st said purple meant something about balance.”

“She got new crystals,” Pry said loudly, interrupting the ongoing debate which had continued, unabated, further down the line in the hallway. “She went into that Force temple and brought out a big chunk of kyber. So did everyone else on that–”

Sketch, who’d actually heard all of that straight from Jesse, didn’t stick around to listen to the rest. He just stepped into Canvas’s improvised studio and let the door whisk shut behind him, muffling the rest of Pry’s lecture.

Canvas looked up from whatever he’d been doing to the device in his hands, the intricate, geometric lines of his own facial tattoos crinkling at the corners of both eyes. “Got a design ready for me?”

“Uh, more like too many designs, and I’m leaning towards one I haven’t even finished,” Sketch admitted awkwardly.

“Well, let me take a look,” Canvas said, gesturing for Sketch to sit down on the stool next to him. “I’m sure we can work something out.”

The bacta patch pulled at the skin across the back of Sketch’s neck and down onto his upper back. It itched, but beneath his armor, there wasn’t a kriffing thing he could do about that right now. Honestly, he should have taken the stupid thing off hours ago, but he’d gotten a little waylaid.

The Martez sisters had arrived earlier in the shift to drop off their latest shipment and pick up the gold-plated pleasure craft which had been junking up the base’s exterior. Apparently there’d been some kind of haggling to be done with the chop shop owner who’d agreed to take the thing, because while he was very much in favor of earning credits and sabotaging slavers, the craft itself was well-enough known in certain circles to be a liability if it was recognized. Also, there’d been news of some sort, way too sensitive to discuss out in the hanger, amongst the rank and file. Commander Tano, Captain Rex, and both of their remaining Corries had disappeared off with the sisters to deal with whatever that situation was shaping up to be.

And that had left the hanger bay unusually light on clones this shift.

Which was bad news for Sketch, because firstly, he’d been saddled with doing an inventory of everything the Martezes had delivered, and secondly, one of the Mandalorians had cornered him in a dead end made by the walls of newly delivered crates.

Granted, she was a very small Mandalorian, but still.

“Do clones take foundlings?” the girl was asking, all sharp, bright-eyed curiosity.

“Uh…” Sketch said, sounding like a complete idiot, but in all fairness, he was kind of panicking on the inside. He wasn’t entirely sure what a ‘foundling’ was, but he was absolutely sure that Weaver would skin him as a warning to their other brothers if he did something to offend their guests. “What’s a foundling?”

The girl looked at him like he’d lost his mind. She was a tiny little thing, maybe three or four years old if Sketch guessed right. Or, what, seven or so, given that she was a natborn? In any case, she was wearing barely any armor, just a couple bracers and one spaulder over a utilitarian, blue-gray jumpsuit. It’d be cute, if she had been one of Sketch’s younger siblings.

But she wasn’t.

“Like, kids who don’t have any clan to take care of them, so an adult takes them in?” the kid said, sounding like it was entirely possible that Sketch was the stupidest sentient she’d ever had the misfortune of meeting.

“Uh, yes?” Sketch said, because that sounded like half a dozen examples on base, where clones had adopted natborn kids.

“Hmm,” the kid said consideringly, like he’d said something far more interesting that Sketch thought he had. “Do you have an Armorer? Because Lira says you do, but Rian says you don’t, because plastoid doesn’t count.”

Kriff, kriff, kriff. He had a better idea of what the kid meant by that, beyond the obvious. Armorers were like religious leaders, or something. Ori had sent around a memo, once a couple weird interactions had started going down between the Mandalorians and Buckler’s team.

Sketch punched a button on his vambrace, again, hoping someone on his squad would see his distress signal and come save him. He didn’t even care that this obviously wasn’t a combat situation. He needed kriffing exfil before he accidentally started some kind of diplomatic incident because he couldn’t figure out how to escape from a kriffing natborn kid without offending her, her natborn parents, who really should be watching their kid better, and whoever else fell in this cadet’s direct chain of command.

His brothers weren’t ever going to let him hear the end of this.

At the moment, Sketch didn’t really care. He didn’t see another way out, short of shoulder-checking the kid out of the way. She was planted right in the middle of his only exit, which was a complete shiny mistake on his part, except this was his base, his home, and he shouldn’t be getting ambushed by tiny Mandalorians here anyway.

“We have brothers who make our armor,” he hedged, taking another step backwards, but he was hemmed in on all sides by crates from the Silver Angel.

“Do you speak Mando’a?” the kid asked, crossing her arms across her chest and glaring at Sketch significantly.

Yes, yes Sketch did, a little. A very, very little. And he wasn’t about to demonstrate any of the words he used most often in front of a political timebomb of a natborn child who he absolutely could not offend.

“Sora! Where did you get to?” another voice cut in, and maybe that might have made Sketch relax a little if he’d recognized them, but he didn’t.

The kid’s face scrunched up, like she very badly wanted to stomp her foot or throw some other kind of tantrum, but she did turn halfway around and reply, “I’m over here!”

The voice’s owner appeared at the end of the row of crates, and of course it was another Mandalorian, except this one was an adult woman, fully-armored in green and blue plate. “I told you not to leave the ship!” she said, storming down the aisle between the crates, headed straight for the kid.

Headed straight for Sketch.

The back of his cuirass clacked against the crates as he took another involuntary step backwards.

A voice, which sounded an awful lot like Sling, was saying in the back of Sketch’s head, ‘Breathe. You’re safe. Just breathe with me.’

Sketch breathed, or tried to, as the Mandalorian woman stomped closer.

He hated this. He hadn’t been like this before. General Talmani had been kind. The natborn officers on the Synchronicity had been professional. Most of the civilians he’d interacted with had been fine. Some had even been nice.

But then his chip had activated, and then the nature of his interactions with natborns had taken a definite turn.

You’re safe. Breathe. You do not answer to them. They haven’t done anything, and if they do, you have the right to defend yourself now. Just breathe.

Kark every last square centimeter of all of this. He was not going to have his first panic attack in a kriffing year because he’d let himself get cornered by an overly-curious if overbearing natborn child and her parent? Sibling? Guardian?

Didn’t matter. She could be Lady Kryze herself, and she still wouldn’t be in Sketch’s chain of command. He was safe. He hadn’t done anything wrong.

He must have fuzzed out for a second, because it took him a minute to realize that the Mandalorian woman was lecturing the kid, not him. Unless he was really misjudging the angle of her helmet’s T-visor, she wasn’t even looking at him.

“… going to apologize to him. Right now,” she was saying, sounding very annoyed.

Which, what? That seemed like a trap.

“That’s not necessary, ma’am,” he found himself saying mechanically.

Both of the Mandalorians were looking at him now. The kid was pouting, and the adult’s helmet was tipped to one side at an angle Sketch might have called ‘assessing’ if he’d seen it on one of his brothers.

The datapad in Sketch’s hands was starting to creak in protest of how hard he was gripping it.

After a very long, very awkward silence, the woman reached up to remove her helmet, revealing what was, in all fairness, a very attractive, seemingly human face. Close-cropped brown hair, high cheekbones, rich brown eyes, and lips that seemed more prone to smiles than their current, small frown.

Sketch didn’t relax even a little, still every bit as tripwire tense as he’d been since the woman had first appeared.

She opened her mouth to say something, but the sound of heavy boot treads behind her drew her attention instead.

The choking, smothering feeling of panic loosened its hold inside Sketch’s chest when he saw the Republic cog on his brother’s helmet.

Jesse.

Thank kriff. Jesse would know how to handle this.

“What seems to be the problem?” Jesse said, sounding perfectly cordial. His stance was anything but.

Sketch didn’t miss the way the woman angled herself, where the slightest twist would put her armored body in between the child and either one of the troopers who were now surrounding her, but her voice sounded utterly calm, even casual when she said, “I’m afraid my little sister cornered one of your troopers with, I’m sure, a large number of highly nosy questions. For which she was just about to apologize.”

The child’s pout intensified, but she did look up at Sketch and mumble, “Sorry.”

Sketch jerked a small nod. “No harm done, ma’am,” he said in the same mechanical tone.

If anything, that made Jesse’s posture go even more tense, but none of that was obvious in his voice when he said, “That’s good to hear. Brother, could you join me?”

Something occurred to the woman then. Unhappy surprise flashed across her features before her eyes shuttered. She put a hand on her sister’s shoulder and turned, backing them both against the long line of crates, opening an obvious escape route for Sketch.

One foot in front of the next, measured and perfect. Above reproach. He even managed a marginal nod, conveying appropriate gratitude as he passed the two Mandalorians. He hated to give them his back, but Jesse was here. His brother, his team leader was here, watching over the situation. Sketch was safe enough, with an ARC as his backup.

When he got in range, Jesse took him by the elbow, his gloved and gauntleted hand solid and grounding.

Sketch took a shaky breath in the privacy of his own helmet.

“I hear you’ve finally come up with a design for a Reaper logo,” Jesse said as they started walking swiftly away, still sounding supremely casual. Sketch was grateful for the distraction.

The Mandalorians weren’t following them. Sketch looked back to check.

“Uh, yeah,” he said, sounding humiliatingly unsteady. “Canvas just finished up the coloring earlier this shift.”

“I hear he does good work,” Jesse said, steering them both towards the bay’s side door rather than the main exit. That led towards the medics’ area rather than the main part of the base, which wasn’t exactly surprising. Sketch didn’t have it in him to protest. He was having a bad reaction, way out of proportion with the severity of the actual situation. He knew that. Knowing didn’t make his heart stop pounding though. “We’ll have to compare notes, after you chat with Kix.”

Kriff, that was right. Kix had accompanied them back from Wadj. It was looking like their Reaper team had picked up a dedicated medic. Kind of a step down from being the functional CMO of their little operation, but Kix had insisted. Jesse certainly wasn’t about to tell his closest brother no, and apparently, neither were his former COs.

Sketch still winced a little. Kix could be kind of intense. “I was going to talk to Sling,” he said, sounding as sulky as the kid had.

Something about that seemed to amuse Jesse, given the angle of his bucket. “You can do that too, but you’re still seeing Kix.”

Kark.

Jesse liked the tattoo. So did all of the others.

Canvas had some kind of personal rule about not copying the same tattoos between brothers without explicit permission, but Sketch was happy to share. That was sort of the whole point of the design, after all.

Smaller versions showed up on Quartz’s shoulder and Mirror’s chest. List added a version to his armor. Feathers wanted Sketch to paint a bigger version on the side of the Scythe. Apparently some of Ridge’s team had gotten wind of it too, not that Sketch had seen what they’d done yet.

Kix surprisingly hadn’t insisted on benching Sketch, but it didn’t escape anyone’s attention that Sketch was always assigned a partner, when he was given any task which might bring him into contact with the Mandalorians on base. He might have protested being coddled like that if it hadn’t been such a relief.

When word of their next mission came down, a major raid on some kind of independent pirate enclave, Kix still didn’t flag Sketch’s file.

When pressed, their way-too-senior team medic had sourly pointed out that Sketch had proven time and again that he was perfectly capable of keeping it together when his mission involved shooting natborns. He just couldn’t kriffing talk to them.

“It’s not ideal, but what is these days?” Kix had said, which was abrasive as all kriff, but also weirdly comforting. If Sketch was a basket case, then at least he was in good company.

For an osik’la, independent pirate base on the shebs-end of Mandalorian space, their target apparently had some unexpected perimeter defenses.

“Hold on!” Feathers yelled over the ship’s comms even as the ship swerved to miss… whatever the kriff had just hit them. Not a missile. Missiles didn’t clang against the hull like that and not explode. Not unless something had gone badly wrong with their internal mechanisms, and clones just didn’t get that lucky.

They were already in atmo, which was a karking good thing, because all of them could hear the whistling howl of air ripping across a new hole somewhere in the ship. Whatever had happened had better not have cut across the Scythe’s new nose art. Sketch had worked hard getting it just right.

His absurdly misplaced priorities almost made him laugh out loud, but he knew it would come out sounding a little hysterical, so he swallowed the reaction back down.

On the other hand, they were already in atmo, which also meant that Dive’s rapid, irregular maneuvers were hitting Sketch’s stomach in a way they just didn’t in zero-G. He had a pretty solid stomach, as such things went, but there were limits. Oof.

“Coming in hot!” Feathers shouted again, which was the only warning any of them got before

the ship rolled to one side, dropped abruptly, and impacted the ground, metal screaming in protest as they skidded across whatever surface Feathers had picked as his emergency landing area.

Sketch must have hit his head, or something, because the next thing he knew, he was staggering out of the half-deployed loading ramp, blaster rifle in hand. The ship was tilted at an awkward angle, wedged up against a wall and listing over what looked like a drain culvert for a massively polluted stream. There was a Kom’rk fighter downed on the other side of the courtyard, burning ferociously and bristling with what looked like four giant, metal spears.

What the kriff? Is that what had been hitting them?

His vision swam a little when he jumped down to the flagstones, staggering to get into formation behind Jesse and the others. Definitely a head injury then. Great.

The only good news was that the base’s defenses got a whole lot squishier now that they were past the automated aerial systems. Pirates were, on the whole, a sloppy, undisciplined lot; and this group was shaping up to fit with that pattern.

Didn’t mean the whole mission went off without a hitch though.

Sketch was starting to feel pretty rough, maybe thirty minutes later when Jesse’s Reapers had reached the base’s large mess hall or cantina. Whatever was served here, alcohol was clearly a major component of it, given the round bar area which dominated the center of the room. Quad’s Raiders had already cleared the space, so the room should have been clear. This should have been mop-up, on the way to back up Ridge’s team, who had run into some pockets of resistance in the base’s brig.

Sketch’s vision was getting worse by the second, and his head was starting to pound, but he just happened to be angled the right direction to see the scrawny weequay peek over the edge of the bar.

A lot of things happened in very rapid succession.

Sketch shouted out a warning.

The weequay pointed something at Torque. It wasn’t a blaster, or at least it wasn’t any model Sketch recognized, but it was clearly some kind of projectile weapon.

His brothers swung around, pivoting their blasters towards the perceived threat.

Torque was raising his blaster too, but he wasn’t going to get it up in time.

Sketch was already moving, throwing himself at his brother.

A shot rang out, a loud crack instead of a sharp sizzle.

Something slammed into Sketch’s back, right as he collided with Torque.

The two of them went down in a heap.

Rings of blue light, stunning blasts in preparation for the possibility of civilians on base, flew over Sketch’s head, in the direction of the bar.

Sketch rolled off of Torque, trying to get his own blaster up, even from this awkward position. Nothing hurt, but something was definitely wrong. His arm wasn’t working right.

Oh.

Oh wait.

Now he hurt.

Right, because shock was still a thing.

There was a lot of shouting happening, but Sketch was having trouble following most of it, especially when Kix appeared in his field of vision and started tearing at the releases on his cuirass.

The inside of his chest plate, as Kix lifted it away, was red. That wasn’t right.

“Slug thrower,” Kix barked to somebody off to Sketch’s left. “Hold still,” he said, obviously to Sketch himself.

Sketch wanted to say something, maybe a joking, ‘Sir, yes sir,’ but all he managed to do was half-raise one hand. To do what, exactly, he wasn’t sure. Everything was hurting now.

Kix pulled something out of his belt, tugged the high collar of Sketch’s blacks down, and jabbed something into the side of his neck.

It was cold.

Everything went dark.

Waking up was a process.

Sketch’s head felt like it was stuffed with fluff. He was lying on his front, face pressed into a soft surface. It was unreasonably comfortable. Maybe he didn’t need to wake up just yet.

The next time he drifted back towards consciousness, he heard voices nearby.

“… Commander’s great,” someone was slurring. A brother. “’S her marks, see? Sort of. She lets us wear ‘em.”

“Is that so?” another voice asked, and even though it sounded soft and kind, it decidedly wasn’t a brother.

Sketch tensed, and something started beeping. He was still face-down on a cot, he couldn’t see what was going on. He tried to push himself up, needing to see where he was, needing to assess the current threat, when a hand landed in the middle of his back.

“Yeah, no,” another brother, apparently the hand’s owner, said. “You’re not going anywhere.” His tone was sharp, but the hand on Sketch’s back was gentle, even as it inexorably pressed him back down. “Mirror, I’m gonna need you to stop talking.”

“Sure thing, Kix,” Sketch’s brother, Mirror, said, still sounding very drugged.

Kix. Their medic. The medic.

Kriff, Sketch had been injured, hadn’t he? It was hard to remember.

The weight of Kix’s hand disappeared from Sketch’s back and the beeping sound stopped abruptly. “Mel, could you go check on Chat and Rico?” the medic asked, but the tone of voice made it very obvious to everyone that it wasn’t really a request.

“Of course,” the natborn, this ‘Mel,’ said. Sketch could hear footsteps retreating and a door opening and closing.

“Come on back down, Sketch,” Kix said, hand returning to the back of Sketch’s neck, heavy and grounding. “It’s just Mirror and me in here with you now.”

Okay. Okay, that was good.

“What happened?” Sketch mumbled into his… pillow? It was thicker than the ones he was used to. Softer.

“You got shot in the back,” Kix said dryly. “The slug just missed your subclavian artery, or else we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now. Don’t worry, we managed to dig it out and patch you back together well enough.”

The haze of the lingering drugs was fading just enough that Sketch was able to think through that information, at least a little. “Who’s ‘we’?” he asked. He didn’t think they’d brought any other medics on this mission. Maybe Kipp? He’d been training with the real medics lately, hadn’t he?

Kix was silent for a long moment, but he did answer when Sketch managed to turn his head to look up at his brother. “Mel has medical training,” he admitted, expression very serious. “You were never alone with them. I promise.”

Sketch couldn’t help the shudder that inched up his spine.

“Right,” he said, brain sluggishly working through the implications. At the moment, Kix was here, and that was enough. Sketch let himself relax, just a little.

Now that he’d had his attention drawn to it, he could feel the bandage across his upper back and shoulders. That… wasn’t great.

“Did it mess up my tattoo?” he asked, because that would be just about typical. He’d only just gotten the kriffing thing.

Kix snorted. “Nothing Canvas won’t be able to fix,” he said, sounding more than a little sardonic. “And we took the base, by the way.”

Right. The base. Yeah, that was probably a little more important. “Casualties?”

“Light, all things considered. Kryze’s people got the worst of it,” Kix admitted. “But we can go over that later, when you’re more likely to remember the conversation.”

“Yeah,” Sketch said, rolling his face back into the pillow. He was feeling awfully groggy again. “Okay.”

“I need to go check on my other patients,” Kix said, almost sounding apologetic, but he huffed a small laugh when Sketch managed to flap one hand in permission or agreement or something. “If you need anything, tell Mirror to call me.”

“S’that mean I can talk again?” Mirror asked, still sounding at least twice as out of it as Sketch felt. And he was getting sleepier by the second.

“Yeah, I guess it does,” Kix said with an audible sigh. “Try not to talk Sketch’s ear off though. He could use some more sleep.”

Wasn’t that the truth?

The admonition didn’t slow Mirror down for long though. Kix had barely left when he said, “Mel’s alright. The pirates apparently bought them off some Hutts. I know you’ve got issues with…” he paused, apparently recognizing that he was verging into dangerous territory, even in his highly drugged state. “Uh, the point is, they’re one of the good ones.”

Sketch wasn’t in the mood to unpack any of that. “What’d Kix give you?” he asked instead, because even in his own drugged state, he still wasn’t half as karked up as Mirror sounded.

“Dunno, Kix said they’d burned through the regular stuff on you and some of the Mandos,” Mirror said cheerfully. “I got some of the good osik from the pirates’ supplies.”

“Lucky,” Sketch grumbled into his pillow.

“But seriously, you don’t have to worry about Mel.”

Sketch didn’t bother to dignify that with an answer. If he thought about it too much, he was going to tense up all over again, and what he really wanted was sleep.

“They liked your tattoo design,” Mirror tried again, sounding almost hopeful.

That… wasn’t actually very comforting, but Sketch was having trouble pinning down why exactly. Other than his blanket aversion to natborns he didn’t know.

“Going to try to sleep some more,” he mumbled, hoping Mirror would take the hint.

“Right, you do that,” Mirror said cheerfully. “I’ve got the watch.”

That also wasn’t half as comforting as Mirror clearly meant for it to be.

AN: Apologies for the delay with this one. This chapter fought me tooth and nail. I did write a little vignette in the interim, just to try to kick myself out of wy writing funk though. It's called Lazarus and it's from Rex's POV during Echo's rescue on Skako Minor, in case you're interested.

I know that canonically there is already a clone named Sketch. I remembered him pretty early on while writing this chapter, but the other names I tried out just didn't fit. So no, they're not the same person, but also meh, my guess is in an army of millions, there are at least a few clones running around with duplicate names.

Other chapters are available here.

Dividers by freesia-writes using helmets by lornaka. More designs available here.

#eidola tcw fanfic #star wars #tcw #clone wars #the clone wars #star wars the clone wars #tcw fanfic #clone wars fanfic #the clone wars fanfic #star wars the clone wars fanfic #clone troopers #original clone trooper

[axelzp]

Ya Know What? I Love Art.

As such, I feel it's time to recommend my favorites from the internet. Enjoy!

GC-Conceptart

Do you like soldiers? Do you like mil-sci? Do you look at Clone Troopers and Halo marines and occasionally Gondor soldiers and just fall in love? This is the channel for you.

Deer-Head

Come for the Jedi/SW OC’s, stay for the insane fucking range of designs from their recent commission work. It’s all beautiful, like god-damn.

esorkzassingonzalez

Stormtroopers. Clone troopers. You like stormies? You like clones? Good, because every damn one is here and then a few hundred more. If you’re looking to see just how creative you get with a blank canvas of white armor, this is it.

WhoKneeDavid

Similar to the above, an absolute smorgasbord for any fan of the armored legions far, far away.

ThePrydonian

Now, replace Stormtroopers with Daleks, and you get this delightful collection, an album of love-letters to Terry Nation’s evil little pepperpots. Hell, they’ve even provided designs for the Big Finish covers!

Kianamaiart

Always find it funny when artists with actual, official artist jobs just, ya know, post fanart of their crackship. In this case: Jesse/Ash’s Mom Delia from Pokemon. It’s all quite cute, and the art itself is really cool.

DanSchkade

Come for the best webcomic on LINE Webtoon (Lavender Jack, of course), stay for the loving tributes to a bygone age of comics, with a bit of pointed humor alongside. An absolute treat, especially for DC fans.

Dragonith

The best, the best, of the various FUSE-Corp Pokemon artists. Near endless combinations of Pokemon means endless creativity, and combined with how each one has an actual stat sheet? Just so goddamn impressive.

ultimatemaverickx

Some fandoms, by virtue of their media’s setting, lend themselves to a wide range of artistic creativity. Mega Man is certainly one of them, and this is where that creativity funnels into. So. Many. Alters! It’s like the mashup action-figure channel of Deviantart, and it’s amazing.

oni18064

I’ve noticed them often on the periphery of original designs for Marvel characters, but after further investigation, this shit is awesome. Enough characters for a whole new continuity, with some really deep cuts and some fascinating changes and unique choices (love it when you can tell which parts of the MCU a person liked and which they ignored). Absolutely adore it now, a definite look for any Marvel fan.

zarla

If it were just the silly, cute and often sad art from Team Fortress 2, Deltarune, Metal Gear and Half-Life, I'd already love this one. But they had to go above and beyond, and that’s where Handplates comes in. A real long-runner of a fan comic, detailing a potential history of Sans, Papyrus, and W.D. Gaster. An absolute treat that recently ended, a definite recommend for Undertale fans.

TheGraffitiSoul

This guy. This fucking guy. Twitter is where you find most of his art nowadays, but holy shit. The most fascinating and brilliant Gemsona out there. An entire Chapter’s worth of Space Marine designs. Tons of amazing Mandalorian and various Star Wars characters. Just…it’s all so detailed and elegant and there are whole backstories for them and I love it all so much.

#I love them your honor #star wars #clone troopers #stormtroopers #halo #jedi oc #daleks #pokemon #undertale #handplates #mega man #marvel #steven universe #40k #adeptus astartes

[sulevinen]

OC masterlist

to be updated

check the tag #sulevocs for more oc lore

Mandalorians

Kara

A young orphan who dreams of the stars and set her world ablaze for freedom.

Ti’Khonoff Ikari

Also known as Tika, she is a force to be reckoned with, hardened by life and walking with a trail of blood behind her.

Stolas Kiant

Stolas is a young mandalorian in constant search of a family that wouldn’t be taken away from him.

Cebyi’tra Alene

Cebyi’tra is the leader of the Tra’ade Clan from Laar’yaim, and she is ruthless and strong like the ocean waves, capable of smoothing a stone over time.

Orar ”Trapper” Alene a.k.a Bear

A lone huntsman in the far northern forests of Laar’yaim herds chickens and foxes, and has a knack for crafting animal figurines and jewellery. His looks might be intimidating, but he is a kind soul through and through.

Naakka

From a family of death omens, Naakka exists out of the bounds of this reality to cope with the loss of her people.

Riego

Only known as Riego, this young boy almost assassinated the Chancellor at the beginning of his assassin career. Despite his accident prone nature and goofy antics, Fox lets him and his multiplying rats stay in the HQ of the Coruscant Guard.

Jedi

Venya’yev’dokeo, Venya’yu’salov and Venya’šjia’yenia

Siblings hailing from the planet Csilla. The oldest brother Veyeke is a Jedi Scholar specialized in Sith artifacts, Veyulov is training to become a Dark Sider hunter, and Vešie is mere raw potential hidden in a shell of a shy girl.

Syna and Milo

Twins only similar with their looks, not heart, soul, or life. The two lived separate lives close to each other, but always lightyears away at heart, and the distance only grows as they age.

Jedi General Cyd Merell

Steadfast and intelligent, Cyd leads their ”Lucky Battallion” with their kind heart and calm senses.

Padawan Commander Kino Valorina

Kino is a child of two shadowy worlds that always call her to join the dark side. With the help of her master, she might prevail.

Scarlet Rumine

The Force is an artwork and Scarlet is hyperfixated on brushing over every hurt on the large canvas. With her healing abilities, she aids the clones in the aftermaths of battles with her small group of Jedi healers.

Clones

190th Battallion

Captain Ceres

A fatherly and compassionate leader, who tries his hardest to get the Collision Company through hell and back alive.

Lieutenant Pearl

Endlessly loyal and caring towards her family, Pearl is willing to sacrifice anything to keep her Skylight Platoon safe.

Sergeant Surge

Nobody really knows how he managed to get promoted, but the otherwise goofy daredevil is smart and cunning in battle.

Crimson Squad

The only survivors of the Amber Platoon, led by Kino, full of young troopers willing to fight and too stubborn to lose.

Bombsquad Catharsis

Sergeant Heat

A hot-headed and reliable Sergeant who has led his bombsquad through countless missions.

Blowout

The glue that holds the squad together, and keeps Raff still and Nau’ur close.

Nau’ur

Nau’ur was once happy, illuminating every space with his smile. His tired eyes have seen too many battles and felt too much loss to ever get that light back.

Raff

Bitter and explosive.

Coruscant Guard

Tipocans:

Lieutenant Farewell

Orderly and brave, Fox’s trusted Lieutenant spends most of his time in the lower levels, and somehow always manages to resurface alive.

Sergeant Tide

One of Fox’s closest friends whom is popular amongst the Senators.

Sergeant Rime

A bit rough around the edges, but eager to succeed.

Medic Wail

Rex’s batchmate who lost too many limbs and too many patients, saved from decommissioning by Fox.

Husk and Dive

A package deal of two troopers, glued to each others sides and orbiting each other like twin Suns.

Astronaut

A bit spaced out and dreamy clone who went through multiple recons and landed in the Coruscant Guard, where he makes friends with Eldtritch beings and writes crackship fanfiction of Clovis and Jar Jar.

Alert and Dozy

Twins from the 501st who returned from the battle of Umbara traumatized and scarred. True to their names, Alert is observant and quick on her feet, Dozy seems out of it most of the time and keeps falling asleep unexpectedly.

Coruscantis:

The Crescents

Thorn’s squad is made of confident and passionate young men.

The Fireworks

Stone’s squad is full of loud troublemakers.

The Whistles

Thire’s squad is mature and ready for anything.

CMO Seventy

Medics were in their own curriculum, specializing in medicine and urgent care, and Seventy was at the top of their class.

#updated masterlist #this has been due for a loooong time #just got the idea to write simple descriptions below the names so i don’t have to stress with the biographies!! #pretty big brained of me #star wars #coruscant guard #star wars oc #mandalorian oc #jedi oc #clone oc #oc masterlist #sulevocs

[phycology-lemon]

Sonic forces came out in 2017, which just feels really weird tbh.

Anyway I've been listening to a bunch of Sonic music tracks, and been thinking about the OC or 'original the character'...

Writing characters that represent the player is actually fascinating. They can't express opinions that may conflict with one an actual player might have, are usually good/correct sided, and probably a main character. Then I started thinking about writing some of this down because it's fun to play around with as a concept, maybe right out some scenes...

Should I start writing a fic? I got some solid concepts but tbh some advice would be nice.

So far I'm thinking, like it's most of the normal stuff in the exposition but OC or whatever starts out fairly moderate in morality with a pretty average view because they are a random person. But become more developed, like how in a 'choose your story' game you slowly get traits and paths, becoming a character with more developed opinions and beliefs.

It won't be a choose your adventure, but that's one of the many ways a player-representative character can be developed and become interesting, rather than be a self-insert sonic clone with 20000 sets of clothes.

So I'm thinking of using the character as a piece on character development. A seemingly blank canvas, but with inkstains under a layer of white paint or something. Self-discovery and the deal.

And it's gonna be SFW of course, if anyone was gonna ask.

#excited to see where this goes #sonic forces #original the character #fanfic #concepts #infinite #sfw #they might be ace if I feel like it #im ace btw