#clonexocweek day 1

[yiggetyyoot]

Day 1: Attraction// Prompt: First Meeting.

Art block hit me harder than a baseball bat over the shin, so I went back to my voice acting, script-writing routes with my boyfriend as Crosshair <3

Thanks to @clonexocweek for hosting this event!!

[jedipoodoo]

"Saachi, what're you looking at?"

"... Recipes."

Happy Clone x OC Week! This one is pretty self-explanatory, lol. Hunter likes showing off for his wifey. I can't draw abs tho, been trying since middle school.

@clonexocweek @clonethirstingisreal @dilpickledd @the-shadow-of-atlantis @meadow-of-daisies-and-lavender

[staycalmandhugaclone]

Reassigned

Prompted by @clonexocweek's day one: First Meeting for the rather massive series of Doc's Misadventures! If you're new, start at the beginning with Touch Starved!

We'll return shortly to your irregularly scheduled programming after this short, angsty break!

Warnings: Not a ton of warning: some bullying, some angst; written via phone, so probably could have used some more editing

WC: 1,480

There was a way these things were done; an unspoken social contract dictating some illusion of pleasantries in spite of whatever prejudice or disdain seethed beneath the surface, but I'd been warned long before forcing myself down the nauseatingly pristine halls of Kamino: the squad I’d been reassigned to flaunted their independence in every way they could absent thought of maintaining even a glimmer of such abstract notions of decorum.

I wasn’t deterred by those warnings. The thought of clones not only celebrating what self-autonomy they could but boasting that sense of individuality with unapologetic acts of rebellion offered a comfort both in ridding me of my own nervousness for adhering to the strict code of conduct dictated by rank in those first introductions as well as in the simple relief that they were allotted some glimpse of such freedoms at all. The variation in how closely these soldiers followed that code was staggering, fluctuating not just from legion to legion, but even between squads in the same platoon. Seeing some of the more reserved groups left me with a sense of gratitude for the men I’d initially found myself working with. Wolffe presented himself as some uncompromising, heartless tyrant, but the reverie and warmth that I'd so come to love amidst him and his men was evidence of just how deeply he cared.

But Wolffe wasn’t here. He hadn't offered to escort me like Boost had, a gesture I’d forced myself to turn down lest my first impression with my new squad present me as the weak, needy civi they surely expected. Still… I couldn't deny the deep disappointment, the confusion in how… clean our farewell had been… I hadn't expected tears… not from him, though I’d shed more than my share since learning of my reassignment, but he'd been so indifferent… cold… and that wasn't something I was used to from him… not anymore…

I tried not to focus on the shock that had stolen through me as he’d offered his hand when I'd moved in for a hug, tried to dismiss the ease with which he offered some rote semblance of gratitude for the work I’d done and platitudes toward my continued service with the GAR. I couldn't let myself focus on it, on him. He wasn't my commander anymore. I was no longer the medic of the 104th… For some unknown reason, a captain of the 501st had requisitioned me for a different squad altogether. None of it made sense, but I was in no position to voice objection to those orders. So, I walked through those sterile halls alone, cursing the way my heart pounded harder with each step toward the single room they'd been allocated in the stead of a proper barracks.

I'd read their files; studied reports of their unique abilities in addition to character evaluations that, even from the hands of a Kaminoan were… colorful, and I didn't doubt that they’d been granted ample warning about me, as well. I hadn't decided yet if the incredible strengths they were preported to possess were reassuring or frightening, and tried not to let myself form any conclusions until after at least meeting them.

The door to their room opened without preamble or warning, the software controlling it apparently already recognizing me as a squad member with full access. I stared into the jumble of gear and cables and miscellaneous supplies strewn between beds and tables and couches that certainly weren't regulation for several seconds too long, frozen in both surprise and confusion long before finally realizing that, as cluttered as the room was, it lay utterly empty before me.

Frowning, I slipped my helmet back on, eyes flicking to the chrono. I wasn’t late, nor was I inappropriately early… Glancing once more around the room, I also noticed a striking lack of footlockers at the base of each bunk…

Frown growing even harsher, I stepped back and started quickly toward the hanger. There was a mission already assigned to us, but we weren't slated to depart for several hours… My jaw tensed at the obvious conclusion I tried not to let myself draw, strides just short of rushed. I’d been so focused on what first impression I’d wanted to present that it never dawned on me how readily they'd use the opportunity to fully illustrate their apparent disinterest. Part of me wanted to give them the benefit of the doubt, to grant excuse for an unintentional mistake, but inventing such excuses would only lead to the creation of an endless cycle of similar events, and I had no intention of falling into that role, nor did I intend to make it easy for them to dismiss me so effortlessly, pace growing faster as I finally neared the hanger.

Their ship stood out among the far more popular LAATs, sharp fins boasting an elegance abandoned by the more utilitarian transports around it. I could just make out a pair of figures carrying crates up the ramp. The first quickly vanished within the cabin upon seeing me, but that quick glance was enough for me to note the shear mass of him, thick legs moving with surprising quiet as those final steps quickened to hide him from sight. The man behind him made no such effort to escape as I approached, dark helm tilting with an air of disdain I didn't need to see his eyes to feel.

“Think you've got the wrong ship.” His voice sounded almost hoarse, words drawn out with a slight drawl from lips clearly twisted into a scowl behind the cover of his bucket.

“Afraid not.” There was no apology in my retort, nor did I try to hide my own annoyance as I looked up at him. “I'm-"

“Don't care.” He interrupted, already turning back toward the cargo hold. “This isn't a cruise ship. Go play nurse somewhere else.” I felt the snarl pull at my face, shoulders pulling sharply back as I drew in a short breath to fuel my reply, but another man stepped out from the ship, strides deceptively laxed beneath a haughty stance, arms loose, torso leaned back just enough to give the impression that he was looking down on me despite his slightly shorter statute compared to the others, and I forced myself to release that breath in silence as I turned my attention to him.

“Thought we were supposed to meet at your barracks half an hour ago.” It wasn't a question.

“Must've missed that briefing.” My jaw clenched at the subtle, mocking lilt in his smoky voice.

“You certainly didn't miss the one about Scipio…” I muttered too quietly for the mic to pick up, but the barely perceptible tension that stole through him assured me he'd heard every word, proving the report of his enhanced hearing shockingly accurate. The home planet of the banking clan was, by all political standings, far removed from the war, thus any form of military presence could be grounds for far reaching repercussions. My knowing the location of their next mission was evidence enough of my place here, and he knew it.

I let that silence linger a moment, head tilting down just enough to indicate my impatience toward whatever hazing they’d planned, and to let him know that I knew he'd heard me.

“Seems like you intended on an early start. If your medbay is fully stocked, then I'm ready to go as soon as you are.” I let out a slow breath before I said it, tone reluctantly gentling into an unspoken olive branch I had to convince myself he deserved as I reached up to remove my helmet. He watched me for several seconds, and I loathed the way my skin crawled at that nauseating sensation of being studied, judged; of the unsettling certainty that I would never measure up to the impossible standards granted through a lifetime of training and meticulous genetic design, but I didn’t shy from the emotionless black crescent of his visor.

“It's stocked.” He finally replied, voice stiff, begrudgingly removing his helm as well. He looked so nearly identical to Wolffe and the others… but… not exactly. Beyond the startling half mask of faded ink, I could spot some differences. His nose was bigger, if only just, the already pronounced ridge even more prominent. The arch of his brows was softer, and his jaw slightly narrower. It was his eyes, however, that threatened to paralyze me.

I’d been to feral planets before; found myself the prey of frightfully dangerous beasts. Staring at him carried that same sense of dread, of danger. Here was a predator. He was stronger than me, faster than me, and I’d come to invade his home.

Without another word, he turned and tread back into the sanctum of his ship, and I knew it was the closest to a welcome I was going to get.

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[cyarex]

title: (extract) milk teeth warnings: none rating: teen relationships: captain rex/original character(s) tags: slight hurt/comfort, first meetings, canon typical violence, sparring, broken bones, blood, kaminoan eugenics, cadet!rex, vague references to abuse, scars, the beginning of the slowest and most miserable burn possible, awkward teenage pining, fr i love them but the dialogue was painful to write

Summary: He thinks maybe he should hate her for it, for the throb of pain in his nose (and his pride), for the copper staining his teeth, but he doesn't. There's just begrudging admiration, and the burn of competition. He vows to himself, while the medic resets his nose, that he'll get her on her back next time. And the time after that, too.

OR: A first meeting, a first fight, and a first conversation.

word count: 4k written for @clonexocweek 2026 !! posted on ao3

[torrentandtogruta]

Happy first day of the @clonexocweek and here's my first piece for the event.

"come on mama, Moria nursery can wait I can't."

Lerva trying to paint their daughter nursery in peace but fives wants to enjoy his leave before heading to Ringo Vinda.

[itzmoonstar]

Loani x Captain Wilco

Did I forget to start on the prompts early and decided to do them day of?

…maybe…

So yes RIP quality :(

Kind of a lackluster short comic but I’m still trying to flesh everything out since idk how to write anymore and its my first attempt in trying to make a comic lol :)

I know Wilco only had like 4 minutes of screen time but I felt bad for him :(

[blackseafoam]

✨first meeting✨

I missed @clonexocweek but the prompts are so good and I have so many ideas

[v4r-jpg]

My (late of course) entry to @clonexocweek ! Day one : Introductions!

Warnings : None that I can think of

Most of my entries will just be scans of old sketches / digital touch ups as I'm still getting back into digital and rendering plus some written blurbs, but I am planning on eventually edit and post the 60+ pages of writing along with the metric shitton of sketches I made since last year :D

Pairing : Tech x Roh (OC)

First Meeting

Roh’s first meeting with the Bad Batch is not on the best of terms, introduced to them by Cid as one of her associates they work together on a data retrieval mission together with them and Phee, who has worked many times with them.

She, together with Cid, nicknamed them ‘Patch’, at first for their obvious use of an eyepatch over their right eye, but as they came back from missions, always cutting it close and full of bruises it became ‘Patches’.

The data they need to retrieve is highly sought after by insurgent groups in the Mid Rim and of course very good money for Cid's checkbooks.

As much as Phee vouches for them for their efficiency and trustworthiness, Hunter is not convinced of them at first, but cannot put his finger on the ‘why’.

The mission goes as planned, even though Roh and Hunter butt heads the whole time as the Sarge is used to leading missions and Roh to working alone.

The only one apart from Phee that they seem to get along with is Omega, whose presence among rogue clone mercenaries is at the same time amusing and deeply concerning to them.

As they get back to Cid and each get their credits Roh tells Cid that as much as they enjoyed this little escapade to “call when you actually need me for a job” and not “ones where my skillset is barely even needed” before leaving the parlor, nodding a goodbye to Phee, who just rolls her eyes and nods back, and Omega, who says bye to them first and, amused by the kid’s sunny and almost annoyingly hopeful disposition, salutes her back as they head out.

Sometime after everyone, including Tech and Crosshair [post s3], settles down to Pabu, Rex calls them once again for their help, this time helping him free one of his contacts for the rebellion and as the captain sends over the files for the rescue mission, they find Roh’s Imperial mugshot staring at them back.

the un-edited sketch bc im not all that happy with the colored version but oh well