#tcw ocs

[thesmollestnerd]

Commander Alpha-69 "Feral" || oc by me || art by @cobaltbeam

Colbalt's Commissions | Cobalt's Patreon | Cobalt's Art Tag

Y'all. I cannot begin to tell you how excited I am to have this commission done. Cobalt is amazing to communicate with and translated my character and ideas beautifully! 10/10 will def comish again!

----- For those curious about Feral and their mobility aids: They sustained a pretty intense injury to their mid-torso that included nerve damage while The Liberty fell. They were saved but the damage sustained pulled from from combat roster permanently. Due to their extensive knowledge of GAR medical procedure/policy and time spent as the 327th's CMO, They have since been reassigned to overseeing deployed medical personnel on Coruscant. and they're using that position to keep their vode as safe as possible.

[zealfruity]

Behold: los violetas

I'm on a 361st kick.

[clone-trooper-cheese]

Wip of a pic I'm making for a scene in my star wars fic

Fours (left) and Polar (right) are running away from a Commando squad, Ordered by Hemlock to hunt down and arrest deviant clones.

[cristalthenarwhalpotato]

Introducing Marnal Corezz! My Star Wars Jedi OC or Jedisona

She's a Jedi Padawan during the Clone Wars. Hope nothing traumatic happens hehehehe

Marnal is obviously a Nautolan as anyone with Star Wars lore knowledge can tell. (Although technically we've never seen a pink Nautolan we have seen red and purple according to Wookiepedia so that means pink is possible fuck you)

She's the Padawan of Jedi Knight Riven Merai, who i plan on making a finished artwork for later but for now have this shitty doodle of how I imagine their dynamic.

(He's a great influence totally)

Marnal Corezz is, pretty chipper and easily excited. Often a beam of endless talking once she opens her mouth. (The adhd and tism is strong) She also enjoys reading up on lore, history and overall knowledge, and is good at adapting to a situation. Improv is something of a specialty.

However in stressful situations she can sometimes freeze up, getting caught overthinking or even panicking. In these moments all she needs is a nudge or reminder to stay on focus- and then she's back on track with little issue.

Since she's ultimately a bit of a self insert I've added several of my own traits. But she's still very distinctly different from me imo- not just counting her being a space wizard.

Also she's a bit of an empath because 1. I am very empathetic 2. Nautolans can apparently feel the vibes of other people's feelings and 3. Jedi bullshit.

-

Marnal practices Niman and Shii Cho mainly, but thanks to Niman's customizable nature she's implemented Ataru as well to make up for her size. She's below average for a Nautolan. (I'm not self projecting shut up)

Here's her Lightsaber and Padawan braid from my doodles. I decided on a yellow-orange leaning color since they're associated with Jedi Sentinels but also with Jedi who are between Consular and Guardian. But also that it typically symbolizes a strong connection to the Light. Also it looks the best on her lol

I found that Padawan beads mean different studies or accomplishments. She has white and yellow, symbolizing healing and weaponry of all kinds. Marnal begins to study force healing after healing an ally during one of her first missions. But it's part of the Healing corps. Her force healing is rudimentary at best, and typically she can only do minor things and not fully heal or close wounds. (Fuck the sequels) plus it drains her a lot, so she's encouraged to avoid using it...

Her weaponry bead is due to her lightsaber skills, but also due to her learning how to tinker and master other weapons. In fact she is a good shot with a blaster. After order 66 she even starts using one a lot more. Because like- nobody suspects a Jedi with a g u n

Anyways yeah that's enough rambles for now. I've made a lot of lore and I am having so much fun making Star wars ocs etc.

Also some of the lore was made alongside @hoodedalchemist who I've dragged down into my oldest fandom obsession. In fact we gpt shared oc lore going on. Dunno if Alchemist will ever post it tho but I am tagging them because they deserve appreciation.

[shallowcoffin]

Kurrin did something they weren’t supposed to during a mission, and Hunter is rather upset about it.

He’s proud their new medic knows what their doing, but, Kurrin could have gotten seriously injured so Hunter is a bit pissy about it.

[staryflowers]

@cawsceries's OCs Arvy, Arlo, and Rass (from left to right) for @starwars-art-events! Pose from @draw-the-squad-like-this.

[sexy-rex]

I don’t have a sketchbook but I still wanted to create a flip through of the edits I’ve created. Some of these have been posted on tumblr, some are unfinished i.e. first drafts, and some have not been shared at all <3

((I’m shy to share this with you 🥺 I hope the video plays))

[thebrainofocto]

Knight Avry and captain Arlo! Wonderfull ocs from @cawsceries that have made me go insane

[luminalightsverse]

Obi-Wan about Oona: Apparently we’re getting a new padawan in the group. Ahsoka: Are we stealing them? Anakin: New or used? Obi-Wan: Wonderful responses, both of you.

-Cody with Rex in the back, already stressed out with his general, and the two kids Obi-Wan already has-

Cody: Oh god… another one? Rex pats him on the shoulder: My sympathies. Cody: You do realize, that this won't be just my problem to take care of, right? Rex: Rex: Fuck…

Poor Cody is so done with his general and the other two and Rex doesn't have it easy either. Masterlist

[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]

[zealfruity]

Made a couple more losers.

Some info:

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

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

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

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

Heres this too ig.

[clone-trooper-cheese]

Random picture I made of Jaxso and Micks holomessage conversations.

Based on this pic of Markiplier

[for-the-sake-of-color]

A Request done for @badluckqueen of Captain Jet and Nihlus doing the Barbie Movie Meme

The Guard took Jets Pauldron in the Arrest (that was definitely Nihlus' fault). Can't have Shit on Coruscant. Original Textpost -> [x]

[fionajames]

🤔

making more ocs? 🤔 couldn't be me........................

@transmascanakin, @techs-goggles9902, @drifleaf, @multi-purpose-paperclip, @youeverjustmarryabountyhunter, @skellymom, @currentlyverytired

(not 323rd sadly, i think i need to chill with how many of them i make)

[mothask]

This sketch I did a while back for Maria and clement 🥺✨️

Babs 🥺✨️😭❤️

[fanditty]

Meet Virmell, my Star Wars Sona! She is an ex-padawan during the Clone Wars, and later becomes a rebel against the empire. She is very headstrong and acts like a know-it-all at times, but is loyal and means well.

She is a Shenlius which is my own original species that I hope to develop soon c:

She was never close to her Jedi Master, instead forming a close bond with the clones of her legion, as well as another padawan her age- Caleb Dume. Their relationship is purely platonic! They’re just friends, I’m self-indulgent with having friendly canon character interactions.