#clone trooper bucket

[ghostymarni]

pyloon’s saloon - caij’s clone wars collection

[moriaarts]

501st Cutie Buckets

[yukipri]

Clone File: Morbs (YukiPri OC)

Basic info:

Name: Morbs Number Designation: CC-4413 Generation: 1 (0.9) Rank/Title: Chief Mortician of the GAR, Kamino Chief Mortuary Trainer (former) GAR Affiliation: Entire GAR, primarily stationed with the 212th Attack Battalion Character status: YukiPri Original Character

Disclaimer: Morbs' story will likely make more sense if you've read The Prime Override, as he's introduced with context in this fic. He will also make more sense if you've read about the other 2 clone medics mentioned in this file, Ashe and Stabber.

Backstory beneath cut!

Overview:

Clone morticians are specialists even among medics. Every clone medic knows the basics of how to care for the deceased, but in war, priority must always go to the living. As such, it is common to find only one clone mortician per star destroyer or permanent GAR base, with greater numbers stationed in Tipoca City or various Republic medical centers.

Morbs, or CC-4413, is considered the Chief of this group of medical specialists. He is the originator of the division, and was assigned to develop both the position and the training curriculum of clone morticians in tandem with Ashe’s primary medical training.

Prior to the start of the Clone Wars and through the early war period, Morbs oversaw the Tipoca City Primary Clone Morgue, which processed all clone bodies. There, he managed biopsies, distribution of cadavers, and the care and processing of all of the bodies of his deceased brothers. He also trained other clone morticians who had completed general medical training prerequisites and were approved by Ashe, as well as future Chief Medical Officers who were required to have completed hands-on training time in the morgue to earn their certifications.

Morbs would have been content to remain in this morgue for life, but as the main body of the GAR prepared for deployment, it became clear that the number of bodies being processed on Kamino would plummet. Morbs was reassigned to the front lines, where his expertise would see more active use, leaving his morgue behind in the hands of his assistants. He primarily travels with the 212th Attack Battalion, but frequently visits medical centers and goes where he is needed.

Background:

Morbs was one of five Generation 0.9 CCs selected by Nala Se to begin the development of the clone medical track. While all subsequent medics are CTs, the Generation 0.9 CCs underwent manual age acceleration, putting them physically ahead of their Generation 1 peers in chronological age. Morbs and his fellow CCs were test subjects used to establish the start of the medical specialization path before their younger brothers were of age to begin that training.

As CCs, they are overqualified for the general medical training that Nala Se is building, and Nala Se quickly turns to using them for other experiments as well. Their unique position as the first experimental medical clones gives Nala Se more oversight over them than any other clones, with far less supervision as well. They are “her” clones to test as she pleases.

In the depths of her labs, Nala Se conducts experiments that she had been banned from conducting on standard troopers by the contract with the Prime Clone, Jango Fett. Morbs later learns that these tests would be considered “torture,” and are illegal in the Republic. He and his brothers are tested for the physical limits that clones can reach, including tolerance for exposure to various stimulants such as heat or chemicals, as well as sensory limits such as their maximum threshold for pain. She also experiments with the potential for building up tolerance and even immunity to various drugs and poisons. She takes all of the data she gains and incorporates them into the medical training for the clones—thus, ensuring that her tests still fall under the scope of “developing medical training.”

Two of the five CCs perish as a result of these experiments. Ashe is ordered to decommission the third when he fails to meet Nala Se’s standards. This leaves Morbs and Ashe as the only survivors of their initial group. They cannot speak of their experiences to anyone else, as Nala Se is the only other witness. Not even Kote knows what they experienced. Between the two of them though, they can never forget that their senior medical positions were earned with blood.

Morbs has always been a quiet but keen observer, and knew from early on that Ashe has reasons for wanting to be in the medical track, and that this is a path that he’s chosen and is motivated to push through. Morbs is brought into the Ghosts’ plans relatively early, and having had the most first-hand experience seeing just what Ashe’s position entails, he wishes he could do more to help his brother. However, Morbs is also realistic, and knows that he doesn’t have the same passion and dedication driving him. He does what he can, but he can’t see himself being the medics’ leader that Ashe is. He feels guilty for not being able to offer to take Ashe’s place, when he’s the only one in a position who could. He tries to make up for it by loyally following him, and doing what he can as a supporter.

In addition to not having the drive, Morbs also feels he is cursed with misfortune. While he excels as a medic and not even Nala Se can find anything lacking in his record, most of the patients that Morbs touches seem to end up dead for reasons unrelated to his skills as a medic.

He’s assigned to oversee a group of cadets, who end up having a fatal genetic mutation that gives them all heart attacks while he’s on observation. The wing with patients that he oversees collapses due to an architectural problem, and they all die. He’s conducting a surgery, when the power goes out, and he’s unable to save his patient with the tools he has available. He tends to some brothers, who leave his exam room fine, but are killed in a training accident a few hours later. He’s assigned to take over a simple check up, and finds his patient already dead before he enters the room.

Every additional incident makes him increasingly uncomfortable with working with living patients. He knows he has the skills, but it doesn’t seem to matter, because most of his patients end up dead anyway. Statistically, it’s not impossible, but after a certain point it’s certainly improbable, and yet it continues to happen. Clones are rarely superstitious, as they have no cultural basis for it, but Morbs feels that there’s something absurdly wrong with the amount of death that seems to follow him everywhere.

He only feels that he’s safe for his brothers when working with those already dead. He can’t kill them if they’re dead before they’re even assigned to him. When Nala Se announces that a new mortuary sub-track will be added to the primary medical track, Morbs dives for it because he can’t think of a better position for himself. If death follows him, he might as well embrace it.

As he and Ashe are given more access to resources including those from outside of Kamino to help them develop their respective training curriculums, Morbs finds himself increasingly interested in not just the practical aspects of death, but also the more cultural and spiritual elements as well. It’s sparked by his own unluckiness and wondering if others have experienced the same, but is fed by his curiosity when he realizes that most nat-born cultures have different ways of processing death and grief that are deeply engrained in how they handle their dead. Nat-born lives are for the most part extremely foreign and utterly irrelevant to anything clones will likely ever experience, but death is almost universal. Morbs finds this fascinating.

The clones are brusquely told that they “march on,” when they die, as Mandalorians do. But why? Where do they march to, with whom? What is waiting there? If that is the inevitable eventual fate of all of them, regardless of Ashe’s or Kote’s efforts, shouldn’t it perhaps be Morbs’ job as the Chief Mortician to at least consider what happens after?

While Morbs has no answers for the afterlife, he certainly has many thoughts, which he shares with the silent cadavers who he works with. It seems like they can hear him, he thinks, for all that none of his words are spoken out loud.

While sitting in on a Ghosts meeting as they develop code words for their growing underground organization, Morbs mentions off-hand that their brothers who are dead, but aren’t, are, “Marching on to join Kote.”

It’s not his fault that their overseers failed to really explain what “marching on” means, nor really instill any true understanding of “glory” either. So if they choose to define it for themselves, with “marching on” meaning to join their other brothers (who may or may not be dead), and “glory” as fighting for their brothers, something tangible that they actually understand and care for…well. They are, after all, supposed to die for the glory of the Republic anyway. No one will question the language.

While most of Morbs’ brothers are exceedingly practical, and must be, Morbs finds his niche in thinking about the not practical. If having ways of respecting and mourning the dead helps all other sentients, why shouldn’t it help them too? Morbs experiments with how he thinks their dead should be treated, and the bodies in his morgue are, as always, his silent audience.

He grows to consider the dead bodies in the morgue “his men” in “his army.” After all, those who are also marked dead, but are actually just with the Ghosts, are also allowed to “consider serving” despite being equally dead on record. And are not the bodies that he repurposes to hide the missing bodies, the dead whose organs and limbs save the lives of their living brothers, not also serving their brothers? Just because they were unlucky, like Morbs, doesn’t mean that they aren’t still being helpful, aren’t still actively saving their brothers. Because that’s all what any of them want to do: help each other.

Morbs assigns himself their Commander, as he is in charge of them, cares for them, and directs their “campaigns.” The rows of cold lockers that house their bodies are “barracks.” He talks to them, praises their missions, and grieves for them when they finally march on to their second deaths via cremation, only after which they are truly gone.

While none of Morbs’ students go to quite the same level as Morbs himself in humanizing their deceased brothers, he makes sure that all of them leave his morgue with a firm understanding that even when dead, their brothers are still their brothers. Pieces of his ideology and treatment of bodies linger in all of the medics who handle their dead.

Morbs treats the dead as his men because he wants them to be able to live on just a bit longer, but admittedly that’s not all. It’s something that also helps with his guilt over not being able to assist Ashe in his decommissionings. He can’t stop those deaths any more than Ashe can, and he can’t even share in the pain of murdering them. But he can promise them, and can promise Ashe, that once their bodies leave Ashe’s blood-stained hands, that Morbs will welcome them gently to his morgue. That they’ll be treated tenderly, with humanity, and that their existences won’t mean nothing. That if they’re capable of it, Morbs will do whatever he can to ensure that they too can serve Kote before their bodies are gone.

Morbs likes to think it offers Ashe some comfort.

General Info:

Most clones have only ever heard of Morbs, who is extremely elusive. Even after deployment, he rarely leaves the morgue wing attached to medical. Whereas Ashe feels a complicated mixture of self-loathing and knowing that he’s unwelcome in other spaces because all other clones loathe him too, Morbs is simple. He likes being with his men, they’re his favorite group of clones. The living get plenty of attention amongst each other. He just is happier with his own men, and prioritizes giving them his own attention.

He’s eccentric and more than a little creepy, but his reputation means that many of his brothers are very curious about him. He has a strict “no one alive past this line” rule at the entrance of the morgue, with very few exceptions, so not even those who try to catch a glimpse of him while visiting medical have much luck. Spotting him outside the morgue is both like an exciting cryptid sighting, but also potentially a bad luck omen. Morbs is oblivious to the excitement his presence causes, as he’s usually just in a rush to get back to the morgue.

Morbs is so mysterious that only a very limited handful of his brothers knows how truly odd his habits are. He has an assigned bunk, but ignores it and sleeps in a specially padded cold locker so that he can “sleep in the barracks with his men.” He calls it his favorite bunk, and tells the other medics he wants to rest there when he one day inevitably dies. He will sometimes forget to take care of himself, ignoring his own living needs to eat, drink, exercise, hygiene, etc. until a medic, usually Stabber, drags him out of the morgue to handle it. Stabber thinks Morbs is an example of how truly unfair their genetic enhancements are, because Morbs somehow maintains his solid CC-class physique with essentially zero effort on his part.

Unlike Ashe, who wants to be out in the field, Morbs never wants to leave his morgue for anything. Once he has been relocated into the morgue on the Negotiator, he only steps out when absolutely necessary. He doesn’t want to see the sights of the outside galaxy, doesn’t want to see the people or try the foods. He thinks all air outside of the morgue that is not optimized for the preservation of clone bodies is distasteful. He especially hates heat, sunlight, and humidity, insisting that it will “cause us to decay faster.”

The one exception to this is if there is a morgue, funeral, cemetery, or something else death-related going on. He learned about other cultures’ death practices, and he’s admittedly still curious about them too, mostly in the context of whether there’s anything else he can do to improve the experience for his men. If the ship is planetside and there’s supposed to be a famous cemetery, he might be seen quickly slinking outside, face completely veiled to avoid exposure to the elements.

Relationships:

Morbs maintains a close relationship with Ashe, though it’s one he’ll rarely show in front of others, always maintaining a professional distance if they have company. But Ashe is the only living person that Morbs will seek out for company, always while Ashe is alone. Morbs is the only one who knows the extent of what Ashe suffered during his early training, and had experienced much of it with him. He is concerned about Ashe, but doesn’t offer medical help, as he feels Stabber does that enough, and he doesn’t trust himself to think of Ashe as a patient; that never ends well. He will instead offer Ashe silent company.

Morbs claims to despise Stabber, especially since he’s the one responsible for taking him away from his morgue on Tipoca City and forcing him onto a star destroyer. Because Stabber is the CMO of the 212th, prior to Ashe joining them, Morbs is forced to interact with him the most. Morbs doesn’t like Stabber because he considers the other medic, “far too alive.” Stabber’s high energy, movement, and noise levels all grate on Morbs’ preference for stillness and darkness. Still, he reluctantly respects Ashe’s former assistant’s skills as a medic, and will follow his orders.

He also won’t admit it, but Stabber was the one who gave him his name. Stabber had a habit of announcing that Ashe’s work buddy “has the morbs,” a phrase he’d picked up from one of Ashe’s training resources that he claims means “has emo vibes.” Stabber liked the sound of the word so much that he began shouting it every time he encountered Morbs, and it ended up sticking. Morbs pretends he doesn’t care, but secretly thinks it’s fitting.

On the other hand, Morbs has a surprisingly amicable relationship with the Jedi he interacts with most frequently, Obi-Wan. He was very leery of letting Obi-Wan come anywhere near the morgue, not trusting an outsider with his delicate men who are unable to defend themselves. However, Obi-Wan found Morbs’ ruminations and philosophies fascinating, and was easily able to bait him into a conversation by expressing interest. Despite being surrounded by war, Morbs often seems strangely detached from it, preferring to speak less about the realities of war and the gears that move it, and more about why various cultures frame death and the afterlife in certain ways. While the conversations are often melancholy in nature, Obi-Wan appreciates the strange normalcy of it, knowing that Morbs would likely have these same questions regardless of whether there was a war. Morbs likewise is invested in hearing about death traditions from an outside perspective.

While the other clones aboard the Negotiator were at first both morbidly fascinated by Morbs, they were discouraged from actually interacting with him because he says things like, “You should not be in here, unless you are dead. Unless you would like to be dead, in which case I can help you,” or, “Oh, well you don’t look like you’re dying. How unfortunate.” However, they gradually realize that Morbs is not as aloof as he first appears.

He isn’t opposed to speaking, as long as it’s about his men. They realize that while Morbs refuses to let any curious bystanders or unqualified personel enter the morgue for no reason, he’s always eager to learn more about those in his care. Clones who have lost brothers can always count on him wanting to hear about the deceased, and if they’re present in his morgue, Morbs may even allow them to visit. When the first clone brings Morbs some flowers, because he saw that some nat-borns planet-side were laying flowers by the graves of their lost loved ones, Morbs is tickled by the action. Clones are not granted proper graves, and those in Morbs’ morgue are still “on duty.” But Morbs creates a little sterilized shrine in a corner of medical close to the morgue, where he collects these offerings and allows his brothers to visit. If the tablet Morbs laid there is turned a certain way, Morbs knows that one of his brothers wishes to speak to him about someone deceased, and he slinks out of the morgue to listen to them.

Because Morbs is the Chief Mortician, he not only processes the bodies that pass in front of his own hands, but he obsessively goes over the reports sent to him by all other clone morticians and standard clone medics, who are in charge of marking all final fatalities. As such, he has the most comprehensive knowledge of all deceased clones. On the rare occasions that they are able to conduct larger, collective remembrances, if Morbs is available, he will often be called to lead them.

Obi-Wan observes that Morbs is acting almost like a priest or other religious leader, but Morbs scoffs at the idea. He has no intention of leading a religion; he just cares about his men.

And all of the clones will join his army, one day.

Appearance:

Morbs wears a modified version of the clone mortician uniform, a black version of the standard softshell white medic uniform. As the Chief Mortician, Morbs wears a longer knee-length version of the uniform, along with a black kama over it to signify his CC status. He also has a rank bar, and red shoulder pieces to show his personal training from Nala Se, like Ashe and Omega. He technically has armor, but he’s never worn most of it since his fitting, and he doesn’t plan on wearing it either. His men serve without wearing armor, so why should he? If the ship is ever boarded, he intends on going down with his men in the morgue, a plan that no one will allow him to follow through on.

The one piece of armor he does occasionally wear is his helmet, which is a black version of Ashe’s. He must occasionally process bodies that have been exposed to hazardous conditions, and in these cases, he’ll don his helmet for its filtration and advanced sensors. He is so utterly uninterested in his own armor that it was left unpainted, and Ashe decided to paint it black for him, so it can match Morbs’ aesthetic preferences. While Morbs never acknowledged the gesture, he shows his appreciation by not protesting when he’s told to wear it.

After leaving Kamino, he grows his hair long and wears it loosely tied back, because as a non-combatant, he isn’t limited to practical hair styles. The exact length changes constantly as he uses his own hair to create wigs and patches for any of his men who may have had their own hair damaged. He refuses to share his hair with anyone who isn’t dead.

He also gets tattooed, two dark lines dripping down his cheeks from his eyes. He saw nat-borns with the look in some funerary documentaries he watched as a cadet. He doesn’t know that what he saw was nat-borns with running makeup, but he likes the look because it looks like a trail of permanent black tears on his face. He takes it to be a metaphor that he is always thinking of his men.

Morbs also has deep permanent bags under his eyes. This is due to a mix of him constantly forgetting that he needs sleep, along with him not wanting to sleep because he has so many thoughts to ponder.

While he usually just wears his uniform, he has a veil that he throws over his head whenever he has to step outside of the ship or Republic medical facility for any length of time. He also has an ornamental headdress he’s fashioned for special occasions, such as when he has to welcome an exceptionally large number of men to his army, is conducting a field cremation, or is leading a remembrance. The headdress is created from shards of plastoid armor he’s had to pull from his men.

Note:

Morbs’ designation, CC-4413, was chosen because the number 4 means “death” in many Asian cultures, due to how it sounds similar to “death” in many Asian languages, including but not limited to my own Japanese/Chinese cultures. Tetraphobia, or the fear of the number 4, is a thing! The number Thirteen is an unlucky number in other cultures. The number “4413” felt fitting for this character who is so immersed in death and bad luck!

~~

Related links:

Clone File on Ashe

Clone File on Stabber

OR

Read them all on AO3

~~

PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, EDIT, TRANSLATE, OR OTHERWISE USE MY ART. To share, please reblog! Reblogs and comments greatly appreciated!!!

❀ You can see the rest of my art through the Masterpost pinned to the top of my blog!

[eobe]

Unforseen continuation for Captain Gregor‘s faces – Part 5 😀 So this might happen, if you get Captain Gregor into flirting mode! 🤩

But maybe you caught him unaware and he got embarrassed, trying to hide some blushing behind the katarn bucket and posing in innate coolness at the same time (I bet he planned this for a long time only waiting for an opportunity) so that nobody would see the gear whirring panic how to proceed 😎

It‘s just fun and some brainrot, but I celebrated the ‚Flirtation Mask‘ from this reblog here so hard and I had the inspiration from it gone wild in my mind and started to rampage for getting out of my brain and show it to you! Background summary: It was spelled ‚filtration mask‘ 😀 Thank you @clonethirstingisreal for bringing up what you accidentally read, it obviously occupied my brain 😁🙏

Enjoy the flirtation mask process:

😂 hiding as fast as possible, getting more time to save his life I guess?

Flirtation mask visor light going bwwwwwwssssss 👀✨What is more dangerous? Get into Crosshair‘s crosshair or get hit by this one?

So 😂 I know it’s just silly and my humor but no one can stop me 😎 Tell me what you think about it?

I consider this as one of his faces now and add it to the Captain Gregor‘s faces project as part 6 😁

Taglist: @eclec-tech @lonewolflupe @bixlasagna @returnofthepineapple

[wantonlywindswept]

10/10 fox day: forgotten fox bit

to celebrate fox day you get more of the next section of the forgotten fox au, which contains...zero fox actually present x_X

i am trying okay

---

Bucket, for the crimes of having an excellent sabacc face and a hip that seized up when moving any faster than a light jog, was often stuck manning the Guard HQ front desk.

They didn't get too many natborns coming through these days, at least, now that the CSF were forced to do their own jobs and had taken over guarding the prison. The Guard was back to being a protective, high-level military force instead of doing all the domestic policing and drudgework they'd been relegated to. They were still beholden to the Senate, but things had gotten better since Palpatine died and Organa took office, even if some of the Dome's denizens still saw them as little better than droids.

So Bucket didn't have to deal with that at least--he could, he got his name from being able to fit his demeanor to whatever the situation needed it, swapping faces like you could swap a helmet--but he did still have to deal with the regular comers and goers. Thankfully, that was mostly clones, plus the new addition of the pack of Jedi healers that descended on medbay once a week.

Interesting bunch, the Jedi. A lot more personable than Bucket had thought they would be. Surprisingly calm up until you admitted to using a soldering torch to close an acute laceration. 

(It wasn't even a recent injury--it happened so long ago that it was already healed. But now Master Nema gave Bucket the stink eye whenever she saw him, like she was trying to determine how medically stupid he'd been in her absence.)

"--figure what they were going on about?"

Bucket snapped to attention as the exterior doors slid open, a placid expression settling across his features. He turned toward the voice--only to relax when he caught sight of the visitors.

"Just something about another shift in the Force," Marshal Commander Cody said, offering Captain Rex a shrug. "It's not as bad as when Palpatine died; nobody passed out this time, at least."

"Small mercies," Commander Gree observed, bringing up the rear behind them. He had four takeout containers cradled in one arm, and by the smell they were from the offensively good noodle cart that parked near the base of the Rotunda. Bucket took a deep, envious breath and decided he was definitely going there for latemeal.

This particular group of GAR troopers--along with Commanders Bly and Wolffe--were a familiar enough sight at Guard HQ. They didn't visit often, almost eternally deployed to the front lines, but whenever their leaves lined up they usually made an appearance. Bucket had never seen all five together at once, but maybe that would change now that the war was over and battalions were being called back to Coruscant.

"Commanders, Captain," he greeted, standing up behind the counter to salute. His second for the day, Kelari, hastily copied the action. 

Cody waved the formality away with the sign for 'at ease', nodding at the two of them in turn.

"Sergeant Bucket," he greeted. "And I don't think I know..?"

"Private Kelari, sir!" Kelari chirped. She was still painfully shiny, wide-eyed and awestruck as she stared up at the Marshal Commander, and Bucket allowed the gaping with fond indulgence. 

She was one of their most recent acquisitions, part of a squadron that arrived after the death of the Chancellor. The group didn't have any direct experience with the war or the suffering that came with it, and the entire Guard were doing their damndest to make sure they never would.

"Private Kelari," Cody acknowledged, one side of his mouth ticking up. "Good to meet you."

Kelari beamed; Bucket shooed her away so he could get back in front of the security screens. 

"The Jedi up to shenanigans again?" he asked as he pulled up the admittance forms. 

Rex sighed, heavily, and Cody shot him an amused look.

"Let's just say," Gree said, "That it will be nice to avoid more half-coherent explanations on how the Force works in the future."

Bucket snorted, starting to fill out the usual info. The Guard never got a Jedi--and with the reveal of Palpatine being a Sith, they now knew why--but he had to admit he was glad they never needed to deal with the often-inexplicable Jedi tendency to rely so much on some invisible cosmic power.

"Captain CT-7567," he recited idly as his fingers flicked across the keys, "Commander CC-2224, and Commander CC-1004, here to see Commander--"

Bucket blinked at the 'reason for visit' box. 

This batch of clones had been visiting the entire war, either by themselves or together, whenever their rare leave allowed. They came often enough that if Bucket wasn't the one that would suffer the datawork hassle later, he would have just waved them on through. 

He was familiar enough with them to know that Cody's infamous scar came from a sparring accident, that Gree had three half-finished xenobiology research papers that he hoped to someday publish, and that Rex had been forcibly adopted by the CC clones without being allowed any input in the matter. He knew that Wolffe had three implanted teeth from multiple attempts at biting trainers through their armor as a cadet, and that Bly sometimes mixed up his letters and numbers and had almost been decommissioned as a result.

And Bucket had no idea what to put in the box.

He slowly lifted his gaze from the half-finished form to meet Cody's eyes. 

Missing memories weren't that uncommon, in the Guard, but as Bucket watched confusion steal across Cody's face--as that confusion shifted into rising unease and panicked alarm--he didn't think it was just a Guard problem, anymore.

[42-degrees-of-separation]

Hehehe have some self indulgent art

The Rust Buckets meet the bad batch(this time just wrecker)

Record loves explosives almost as much as Wrecker does

Jon is lost on his giant of a brother and Bart is exhausted

Open Art Commissions

[lizzowinkyface]

I don't know if you're interested, but seeing Wolffe, Mayday, and/or Fox in the lingerie-thing art you did for Gregor and Rex would quite literally kill me (in a good way) :)

Anything for wolffe baby!!!!! I mean look at him..

That man would look amazing in lingerie 😏😏

And of course this man deserves all the attention and love..so yes...yes for me

And fox...of course!!!!

[the-suggested-names-suck]

Now I haven't been in the Star Wars fandom for very long, but I got into rebels recently, and so I've read several fics that have something to do with Order 66, and I had a thought. Maybe somebody else has also had this thought, but I haven't seen anybody talk about it. so.

From what I can tell, the chips don't spread the order; they're triggered by being told the order. And what is an injury very likely to happen in active war zones with lots of big booms, bams, and also bangs?

That's right: hearing loss.

This is to say, I really want to consume some fics about deaf clones (recently deaf or not, makes no difference to me) protecting their jedi/padawans from the other clones.

[sharnefarn]

If my beard continues to whiten as it is, I think I found my next Halloween costume.

Anyway, how’s about some bucket love?

[privateolives]

Clones and paint

Just a casual little headcanon I put together earlier today, I don't know if any part of the canon disproves it:

The paint clone troopers tend to use for their armor is tie fighter paint.

Why? As largely unpaid labor, going out to get expencive types of paint seems unrealistic. But getting your hands on an extra bucket of paint from the spaceship hold seems simple enough.

Paint for the space ships would be more blaster-resistant than your average stuff too, I figure, since it's for ships going into blaster fire - much like clone trooper armor.

And while I realize the REAL answer is "animation simplicity", it'd also be an easy explanation for why all the clones in a unit don't just share colour but an exact shade. They could literally be splitting one big bucket of paint meant for ship maintenance.

[ghostymarni]

vod it’s cold, I hate monday’s

[moriaarts]

CT-4T

I wanted to draw a bunch of trans clones for pride month and in true clone fashion they developed personalities and now they are a whole battalion and have backstory and shit

[zasmn]

My wife and I disagree. I'm fairly face blind and they mostly looked quite different to me. But my wife's response to that was ??? they all have the same face.

[archivistofnerddom]

And then Omega and Echo come back like six hours later in a scorched and barely-functional (yet surprisingly high-end) shuttle that may or may not be missing a wing and definitively has an engine on fire. The mission, of course, was a rousing success. The shuttle was just bonus.

Someone pulls the specs and manifest of that shuttle. They are beyond stunned by that info. The following conversation happens:

Rebel Tech: Is that?

Omega: The Emperor’s personal shuttle? Yep.

Rex: Finally checked that one off your bucket list, did ya?

Omega: Yeah, finally!

Echo: She’s been salty about that ever since Crosshair wouldn’t let her steal it the first time they escaped from Tantiss . . . over 15 years ago.

Omega: And he’s going to so offended that you let me do it too.

Rebel Leadership: *intense wordless sounds of worry and panic as their brains buffer this new information*

Why do I get the feeling that the first thing Rex says to Omega when they connect in the Rebellion is either:

*in complete amusement* “Well, here comes trouble.”

Or:

*with no small amount of well-earned concern and panic* “Do your brothers know you’re here?”

[wantonlywindswept]

Definitely True Facts About Commander Vertex #4

He's lost everything.

[forgotten Fox AU tag]

Bucket, for the crimes of having an excellent sabacc face and a hip that seized up when moving any faster than a light jog, was often stuck manning the Guard HQ front desk.

They didn't get too many natborns coming through these days, at least, now that the CSF were forced to do their own jobs and had taken over guarding the prison. The Guard was finally back to being a protective, high-level military force instead of doing all the domestic policing and drudgework they'd been relegated to. They were still beholden to the Senate, but things had gotten better since Palpatine died and Organa took office, even if some of the Dome's denizens still saw them as little better than droids.

So Bucket didn't have to deal with that--he could, he got his name from being able to fit his demeanor to whatever the situation needed it, swapping faces like you could swap a helmet--but he did still have to deal with the regular comers and goers. Thankfully, that was mostly clones, plus the new addition of the pack of Jedi healers that descended on medbay once a week.

Interesting bunch, the Jedi. A lot more personable than Bucket had thought they would be. Surprisingly calm up until you admitted to using a soldering torch to close an acute laceration. 

(It wasn't even a recent injury--it happened so long ago that it was already healed. But now Master Nema gave Bucket the stink eye whenever she saw him, like she was trying to determine how medically stupid he'd been in her absence.)

"--figure what they were going on about?"

Bucket snapped to attention as the exterior doors slid open, a placid expression settling across his features. He turned toward the voice--only to relax when he caught sight of the visitors.

"Just something about another shift in the Force," Marshal Commander Cody said, offering Captain Rex a shrug. "It's not as bad as when Palpatine died; nobody passed out this time, at least."

"Small mercies," Commander Gree observed, bringing up the rear behind them. He had four takeout containers cradled in one arm, and by the smell they were from the offensively good noodle cart that parked near the base of the Rotunda. Bucket took a deep, envious breath and decided he was definitely going there for latemeal.

This particular group of GAR troopers--along with Commanders Bly and Wolffe--were a familiar enough sight at Guard HQ. They didn't visit often, almost eternally deployed to the front lines, but whenever their leaves lined up they usually made an appearance. Bucket had never seen all five together at once, but maybe that would change now that the war was officially over and battalions were being called back to Coruscant.

"Commanders, Captain," he greeted, standing up behind the counter to salute. His second for the day, Kelari, hastily copied the action. 

Cody waved the formality away with the hand sign for 'at ease', nodding at the two of them in turn.

"Sergeant Bucket," he greeted. "And I don't think I know..?"

"Private Kelari, sir!" Kelari chirped. She was still painfully shiny, wide-eyed and awestruck as she stared up at the Marshal Commander, and Bucket allowed the gaping with fond indulgence. 

Kelari was one of their most recent acquisitions, part of a squadron that arrived after the death of the Chancellor. The group didn't have any direct experience with the war or the suffering that came with it, and the entire Guard were doing their damndest to make sure they never would.

"Private Kelari," Cody acknowledged, one side of his mouth ticking up. "Good to meet you."

Kelari beamed; Bucket shooed her away so he could get back in front of the security screens. 

"The Jedi up to shenanigans again?" he asked as he pulled up the admittance forms. 

Rex sighed, heavily, and Cody shot him an amused look.

"Let's just say," Gree said, "That it will be nice to avoid more half-coherent explanations on how the Force works now that the war's over."

Bucket snorted, starting to fill out the usual info. The Guard never got a Jedi--and with the reveal of Palpatine being a Sith, they now knew why--but he had to admit he was glad they never needed to deal with the often-inexplicable Jedi tendency to rely so much on some invisible cosmic power.

"Captain CT-7567," he recited idly as his fingers flicked across the keys, "Commander CC-2224, and Commander CC-1004, here to see --"

Bucket blinked at the 'reason for visit' box. 

This batch of clones had been visiting the entire war, either by themselves or together, whenever their rare leave allowed. They came often enough that if Bucket wasn't the one that would suffer the datawork hassle later, he would have just waved them on through. 

He was familiar enough with them to know that Cody's infamous scar came from a sparring accident, that Gree had three half-finished xenobiology research papers that he hoped to someday publish, and that Rex had been forcibly adopted by the CC clones without being allowed any input in the matter. He knew that Wolffe had three implanted teeth from multiple attempts at biting trainers through their armor as a cadet, and that Bly sometimes mixed up his letters and numbers and had almost been decommissioned as a result.

And Bucket had no idea what to put in the box.

"Sergeant?" Kelari asked quietly, stepping close to Bucket's side, "They're Commander Vertex's batchmates, right?"

The gentle nudge would have been helpful--Kelari was new, but she'd already learned what to do when another Guard faltered--except the intel she was working with was faulty. 

It was a reasonable assumption: Thire wouldn't shut up about his batchmates, so they were all known. Ponds had already stopped by to see Stone, the rest of their batch lost to the war, while Thorn's quietly deranged batch somehow managed to stay known but off the radar. Vertex was the only Commander whose batchmates were unaccounted for.

Except Vertex didn't have any batchmates.

Cresh Squad had taken heavy losses a couple weeks ago, and Bucket had been doing his own rehab with Patches in the medbay while they were still recovering. Commander Vertex had been there speaking quietly with the survivors, going between the beds with soft words and reassuring touches. It was clear that he'd done that kind of thing before, and when he'd finally taken a moment to sit down with Defib, Bucket had overheard their conversation.

'Good going with Whiskey,' Defib said gruffly. 'He would have camped outside the medbay doors if you hadn't talked him down. Tango's stable, but it's never easy to see a batcher get hurt.'

'No,' Vertex said, sounding tired. 'It really isn't.'

'Sounds like you have experience.'

Vertex was silent for a long while.

'My batchmates,' he said eventually, 'And my command. I lost them. They're...they're all gone, now.'

'Not gone,' Defib corrected gently, 'But marching far away.'

'Not gone,' Vertex had agreed, almost too soft to hear. 'Just marching far away from me.'

Patches was a medic and Bucket knew when to keep his mouth shut, and neither of them had mentioned anything of the conversation to others. Bucket was pretty sure the other commanders knew, too, but it wasn't like they'd go around airing someone's trauma like that.

Far too much trauma to go around for all of them.

Kelari nudged him again, and Bucket blinked rapidly, hauling himself out of the memory. He lifted his gaze from the half-finished form to meet Cody's eyes.

The Marshal Commander frowned.

"We're here to see--to see..."

Missing memories weren't that uncommon, in the Guard, but as Bucket watched confusion steal across Cody's face--as that confusion shifted into unease and then panicked alarm--he didn't think that it was just a Guard problem, anymore.

[42-degrees-of-separation]

I was having to much fun with the speeder bike drawing and decided to add something

Tits. I decided to let them free :)

Open Art Commissions unfortunately