Familiar Faces: Any time post-prequels AU

[loyal_soldier]

An AU where the clones actually get a few happy endings godammit.

None of them remembered the Republic anymore, but all of them had heard the stories from those who'd escaped its fall. Not all of them had agreed about it, whether it had been good or bad, but they all were certain: better than the Empire, and better than the cloners.

That generation had joined them in pieces, filtering in from outside. They'd all been out and seen the galaxy, and told the youngest stories that made them want to go see it, no matter how much it had taken from their elders.

They were gone now, and so were the ones that had come after them, those made too young to see the war, but had been trained to fight against their own when the cloners soured on the Empire. Only a few of them had remained on Kamino, hidden away in windowless domes so far beneath the waves that the only sound on the outer walls was the occasional tapping of some large abyssal creature walking with slow deliberation across its surface.

That generation was the one that rebelled. The shift in indoctrination didn't take, they suspected. The cloners had pushed their luck too hard.

They'd used their training. Reached out to the clones in other domes. Planned out everything they'd need. Then one day, all at once, they rebelled. Took over the security systems, captured every Kaminoan they could find. Kept them penned up, uncomfortable, but alive. They were hostages to keep the rest of them quiet, and a vital part of what they did next.

No clones were made on Kamino that next five years. More were produced on other worlds, trained for the Empire. So many of them that some eventually found their way out, despite what had been done to them. Their training had been harder on them, made them slow to trust anyone, including themselves.

But on Kamino, they were waiting for results. The youngest cohorts aged up old enough to prove to their elders they'd be able to make this new life work. They were learning what they needed to, how to do the jobs that some had thought impossible for them.

Then, finally, the first new batch. They were healthy, they were so very young, and they stayed young longer than any of them had before.

For the next ten years, that's where they all stayed. The older generations made an uneasy armistice with the Kaminoans after several more skirmishes and careful prisoner exchanges. The clones sent topside reported back there was a new war on. But with only a few thousand of them, they had to be careful. Keep their work quiet. Lead escaped Imperial clones and old Republic-loyal men back to them, make contact with the few who'd hidden among the Mandalorians. They all took a good hard swipe at the Empire whenever they got the chance, but they had to be careful and quiet, or they'd be destroyed like the Jedi were.

The Emperor eventually died, within the lifetimes of most clones who'd seen him rise. It hadn't seemed possible until one day it just suddenly was. An era was ending, and they were ready to go meet it.


[Prompt 1]

He'd been in one of the first batches to get made after that. He'd grown up hearing stories about the clones that helped make it possible, like Rex and Wolffe and the long-dead but still remembered Fives who'd warned them what was coming. Everyone knew their names, and those who'd given all so that one day they could become a new people, with everything that made them unique.

They'd left Kamino then, when he was still young enough that he didn't remember. They'd gone to H'ratth, a forgotten Inner Rim planet that had held secret Republic strongholds. It was habitable, it was abandoned, and it was now theirs. They dug in, installed the cloning chambers in the deep vaults, and from there started to make the planet home.

By the time he was old enough to remember things, the walls were starting to be lost under waves of color. Each sector had its own shade, matching the armor of the eldest regiments. He knew what each of them meant, who the knotwork and abstract lines depicted, memorials for soldiers most of the artists had never met. He'd grown up under the pale blue-grey of 99, one of the defenders of their first home on Kamino who'd died defending cadets against invaders, and who'd proved clones could do anything they set their mind to, regardless of how they were formed.

He grew up at little more, and said very confidently one day to his teachers that he was going to join the infantry and be a sergeant. He liked the word, and some of the best stories on the walls were about sergeants. That was what he thought, anyway. They still had need of soldiers, to defend against the people who saw them as escaped slaves, weapons out of control, lost and feral pets. They youngest bristled at the assumptions that the eldest had been forced to bear. No one had to anymore, and they refused to let it hurt them all again. They'd protect their own.

Their armor was shaped differently from what the eldest remembered, shaped to clone specification on H'ratth to fit them better than the old mass-produced models, but still evoking their lines. And everybody painted up, just like the eldest had. Either you did it yourself or made a deal with an artist. A lot were getting something avant garde, soft gradients or realism were popular and daring now. Every regiment was a riot of individuality.

He'd gone with something in between the traditional and the new. The black plate of his special ops group, layered on with blue-grey paint depicting things he'd done. Spiraling cable patterns down the right arm, left side broken and cracked by geometric flashes of lightning.

And he'd earned a sergeant's pauldron. His name was Taiko, and life was the way it should be.

Comments

[flightforfreedom]

Force, but that plea - demand? - sent all the blood rushing from Poe's brain straight south, and it was getting incredibly hard to think straight. Which might have been why he couldn't - and instead just immediately agreed to the request, groaning as he slipped another finger in alongside the first, twisting as he thrust them both deeply into the clone's body.

"You're going to drive me crazy," Poe muttered, but it was a far cry from a complaint.

[loyal_soldier]

It was tighter, but he could still enjoy it more like this, really feel the fingers pressing against his body's resistance, opening him up as the muscles slowly relaxed.

"I--" Stars, whatever coherency he'd miraculously had was gone. "You're not the only one." He couldn't just lie back and enjoy it, he needed his hands back on Poe. He reached for the lube instead, pouring out a measure of it and reaching down to take Poe's cock in hand, starting up at the head and working down into long strokes, as smooth as he could still manage with all that Poe was doing to him.