#clone medical officer

[corrie-bite]

BITE - CT-8024

Designation: CT-8024

Name: Bite

Classification(s): Medic & Stealth Ops

Current Posting: Coruscant Guard

Previous Postings: Stealth Ops Squad, Kamino

According to the Commander, my previous posting made me qualified to run one of these accounts, I can only assume it is because I know what classified looks like. As per instruction, I am here to demonstrate elements of the Coruscant guard and ensure no one is doing anything that will end in a medbay visit. Feel free to ask questions, the comm signal linked to this is open.

[Feel free to ask with rp accounts or just to pose questions to Bite. We are all just here for fun!]

[Update: If I do not respond to your ask, I will ASAP, I'm just busy.]

[starry-bi-sky]

do yall ever think about bruce/batman!clone danny standing in front of his bathroom mirror after finding out he was a clone and silently tracing his face. The slope of his jaw and point of his chin. The high angle of his cheekbones and the shape of his eyes, the curve of his brow bones and the shape of his nose. The volume of his hair and the way it curls and gets fluffy when it gets too long.

His hair is black the same way a crow's wing is black. His dad's hair is black the same way a black bear's fur is black. His dad's eyes are blue like the ocean is blue. Danny's eyes are blue the same way a glacier is blue.

His dad has a square jaw and straight flat hair, and he tans and gets a face full of freckles when he's out in the sun for too long. Danny burns like a lobster and his face remains untouched. Danny has a sharp jaw and tall cheekbones, and Sam says when he's not smiling there's almost something regal about him. You would never call Jack Fenton "regal" when he's not smiling.

Sam says when he's not smiling he looks scary the same way a stone statue is. Jack Fenton when he's not smiling looks scary the same way that german shepherd staring at you across the street is.

Do you ever think he grew up wondering if he was adopted. Because of course, he has black hair and blue eyes like his dad. But having the same color doesn't make you someone's child.

Or, worse, things he's heard from the other kids and the other parents and even some of his teachers growing up; that he was the product of an affair. And that his dad was just too stupid to notice. And Danny would defend his parents until the day he died, because Jack Fenton wasn't an idiot and Maddie Fenton wasn't a cheater.

But doubt comes in with fickle tongue. his parents swear up and down that he is their child when he asks about either. That Danny just had his grandparents' features, but he was their son and they loved him.

But Danny doesn't look like either of his parents. His mom's eyes are blue like an aquamarine and Jazz's too. And they burn like lobsters in the sun too, but Jazz gets freckles on her face and so does Maddie. And as Danny grows up he doesn't bulk up or get stocky like his dad did, and when he hits puberty he doesn't shoot up like a tree like Jack Fenton did.

He stays small, and they say he's a late bloomer (and he is), or that he just has his mom's height. But he's fast and has good stamina, and some days it feels like he's built entirely different from his family. That the things they went through growing up just didn't apply to him. Jack and Maddie Fenton both had acne and breakouts when they hit puberty, and Jazz inherits it and he's seen the amount of skincare products she keeps on her side of the bathroom.

And then he hits puberty and breaks out maybe once or twice, but his skin stays clear for the most part and the problems and changes his dad went through just don't happen to him.

And the truth is worse than all of the lies.

How horrifying.

[toomanyteefs]

SNAPBACK MEMES PART 2!!!!!

(spoilers obviously)

Part 1

[for-the-sake-of-color]

Medic Kix and Medical Officer Whip!

or

When you take the chance on letting the Field Medics' volunteer to help the dedicated Medical staff at risk of overworking themselves, and it turns out that they actually make pretty damn fine med-techs!

Drabble below the cut!

“Sir, they are having me run drills in between missions-”

“You are a combat medic-”

Medic Kix leaned forwards, unfolding his arms to point at Ship Medical Officer Whip’s chest, “and I see plenty of combat! But my obligation to these men cannot stop just because the fighting has! You do not have the droids or the manpower to keep up with the influx you’re dealing with! I can help! We can help!” 

And Kix gestured around them at the assortment of filled beds, “Vitals, Charts, Sutures, Bacta, Medications! Operation support! We do everything your techs and support droids do! And we can do it without the bolts flying at us too! Speed matters and it is Infinitely more useful for all of us if I’m not wasted on target practice!”

“If I allow this, you are going to be working in full shifts between missions with very little downtime, are you sure you can handle the strain? You’re needed at your best on the battlefield,”

“I have to try. Trial run me as a med-tech, let me prove myself-”

“Oh, I believe you can do the job. We don’t train bad medics, I just don’t know if the stress-”

“Sir, please. I can’t even relax during my downtime if we have soldiers dying up here and there was something I could have done!”

And the Medical officer raised an eyebrow, “Your downtime, huh? Aren’t you trying to get out of drills?”

And Medic Kix looked almost angry as he replied, “I’m not trying to get out of drills, sir, I’m trying to help!”

Whip grinned at him, “Good. Be back for the shift change at 1700 tomorrow and I’ll have a tech uniform ready for you, Medic Kix. Let’s see if you can keep it up.”

And Kix grinned right back, fixing the Medical Officer with a salute, and leaving him with a,

“I’ll try not to outpace your staff, Sir,”

[clockwayswrites]

Birds in their nest Part 18

masterpost

Danny woke relaxed. From his brow to the tips of his toes he was relaxed. Which was the first sign something was off. Relaxed was then followed swiftly by confused and wary. He stayed carefully still and silent as he took the space around him in.

The room was darker than his, heavier somehow in that darkness. It was quieter too. There was no noise of the city seeping through the annoyingly thin windows that looked out over the streets of Gotham. He was in a bed, though, and a very comfortable one at that.

(He forcefully pushed back the part of his mind that was still a scared boy worried about being captured and vivisected or cloned again or something else horrible.)

Slowly, Danny opened his eyes. The bed was more than comfortable, it was impressively ornate dark wood that almost faded into the dark blue walls. Somehow even the walls felt expensive. Danny figure it must be the wood detailing that ran around the room.

As he sat up up just slightly, everything clicked into place: the ballet, Bruce insisting on giving Danny a ride, and not remember the end of the ride. He must be at Wayne Manor. He must have fallen asleep in the limo. It was beyond mortifying. They Waynes had just been doing him a favor out of some sense of charity or pity and he’d ended up being a burden.

Danny collapsed back into the bed and covered his face with a groan. This wasn’t even some one night stand where he could slip out quietly or something; he had to see them. He had to say thank you and sorry and please don’t fire me for being weird. Gods, why couldn’t he just be normal for one night?

Even without wings or turning into a giant, eldritch bird he was a mess, Danny thought, slightly hysterically. Well, he might as well get up and face the music so that he could call a ride leave.

If only getting up wasn’t such a problem. Now that he was moving, Danny felt the ache of the missed doses of medication in every thread of muscle. He didn’t even have anything to take, not having one of his usual bags with him. Slowly, Danny got his feet under him and got himself standing. He breathed through the shaking muscles.

The change of clothing was a welcome sight. The suit (that he was totally going to have to get dry cleaned now) felt more than a little stale after sleeping in it. The provided leisure were was much more comfortable and, somehow as he pulled on the over sized hoodie, familiar feeling.

As he stepped out into the quiet hallways, Danny have wondered if he could make a break for it, pain and all.

“Good to see you awake, sir.”

Danny jolted so hard at the sudden voice he might have pulled something.

The stately elderly man that approached looked less than sympathetic. “My apologies, sir. If you will hand me your suit, I will see it dry cleaned and send to your office.”

“Oh, no, that’s fine, I’ve been enough trouble already—”

“I insist.”

Meekly, Danny handed over the suit after he had fumbled out his phone and watch from the pile. The other man took it with far more grace.

“If you will follow me, sir, I will direct you too breakfast on the way.”

“Right. Thank you Mr…?”

“Pennyworth, sir,” Mr. Pennyworth said and started off.

Danny scrambled after him and tried not to hobble too much even though he could feel his left knee threatening to buckle with every step. It was just a twinge. He would get home (after breakfast apparently) and take his medication and he’d be fine.

He’d be slowly turning into something eldritch and unknowable, but he’d be fine.

When Danny got to the able, it was already rather full though not everyone seemed that awake.

“They’re not morning people,” Duke explained with a sunny smile when he spotted Danny.

“Hn.” Bruce agreed articulately.

Danny smiled despite his current embarrassment. “I can see that, but I don’t think that I can talk considering last night. I am so sorry that I fell asleep in the car like that. I swear I don’t normally just crash like that. You should have just woken me up so that I wouldn’t be—”

“Danny,” Bruce interrupted. His voice was a low, sleepy rumble. Danny felt himself blush. “It’s no burden on us. You obviously needed the rest since you didn’t even wake once. I just hope that we didn’t make you uncomfortable.”

“Best sleep I’ve had in a while,” Danny admitted. “But I really don’t want to be any trouble to—”

This time it was Cass cutting Danny, off as she swept into the room and pressed a quick kiss to Danny’s cheek, then Bruce’s, and a few of her siblings as she made her way to a seat.

“Sit. Eat,” Cass signed and motioned to a seat next to Bruce.

Danny felt it best to give in and do as he was told. This family was just very confusing.

[nimata-beroya]

Note: Since my old masterlist is getting notes again (and I'm hosting @tbb-appreciation-week this year), I thought it's a good time to release a new version with a lot more resources. If any of you know another site or thing that it's missing from the list, let me know and I'll include it!! [Altho, I'm getting this close 🤏 to the hyperlinks limit on this thing 😆]

Note 2: To avoid tagging the 3 people from whom I got multiple resources repeatedly, I've placed 1-3 asterisks between square brackets after the links, depending on the OP. I give the respective credit to them in a legend at the end of the post.

PLACES / TIME

Interactive Galaxy Map by Henry Bernberg

Map of the Galaxy

List of planets and moons [Wikipedia /needs expanding]

Planet Name Generator 1 [SciFi Ideas]

Planetary System Generator [Donjon]

Tatooine Location References [*]

Various locations Cross-Sections (Jedi Temple, Palp's office, Tipoca City & more) [**]

Republic - Separatist - Hutt space during the Clone Wars

Hyperspace Travel Times (to calculate how much time would take to go from point A to point B within the GFFA)

Standard Calendar and Holidays [including month names!]

Galactic Standard Calendar [wookiepedia // including week day names]

Date converter according to SWTOR [Google sheet]

Dated Star Wars Chronological Order (Movies + live-action shows + animation)

TCW Chronological Timeline by @mauvrix

Estimated date for: shared by @spectres-fulcrum

Partisans' attack on Onderon

Siege of Lasan

CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT

General

Star Wars Name Generator 1 [Donjon]

Star Wars OC flow chart by @thefoodwiththedood

Star Wars Name Generator 2 [FantasyNames]

Star Wars Name Generator 3 [FantasyNames]

MetaHuman [Unreal Engine]

The character creator

Droid Name Generator

Star Wars Randomizer by @aureutr

Character Picrew [Twi-leks, Zabraks, Torgutas and Nautolans] @/megaramikaeli

Jedi

Taking a Closer Look at the Jedi Order in Star Wars Canon [Meta/Reference Guide] [**]

Jedi Order Structure Flowchart by @rileys-nest

Mandalorians

Mandalorian Armor design by MandoCreator

Keepers of the Way (Mandalorian Lore) [*]

Clones

Complete List Of Named Clone Troopers shared by @propheticfire (Organized by Unit)

Clone Creator [MandoCreator]

Clone Picrew

Star Wars Character Templates by SmacksArt [the ULTIMATE battery of template for any human/humanoid original character in any era. From troopers to droids, from Jedi to Sith, from KOTOR to the sequel Trilogy. 100% RECOMMENDED]

Basic Guide to Clone Trooper Armour by @odekiisu

GAR structure summary by @intermundia

The Clone Wars Republic Military Hierarchy Flowcharts [***]

Clone Trooper Lore [*] [Ranks, Culture, Training, Organization, etc.]

Clones and Kamino [*]

The Bad Batch Characters Concept Art shared by @shadowthestoryteller

MISCELLANEOUS

Star Wars Character Age Comparison Chart by @the-yearning-astronaut

Tusken Raiders lore by @snarwor

Materials (fabrics, leathers, silks, plastics, construction, metal composites, etc.)

Materials in Star Wars by marvel_dc_heart_throbs

Star Wars Fashion [*]

Leisure, Art, Musical Instruments, Ethnography [*]

Political and Criminal Organizations in the GFFA [**]

Financial reference about credits by @thecoffeelorian

List of TCW Opening Quotes

Transcripts of all the TCW episodes shared by @book-of-baba-fett

Star Wars Crawl Creator [not exactly writing-related, but just for fun]

HEALTH AND MEDICINE

Canon Medical Lore [*]

Real World reference for Field organizational structure for corpsman (medics) [*]

Kaliida Shoals Medical Center (Republic Haven-class medical station) shared by @clonewarsarchives

GAR Battalion Aid Station [*]

GAR Clone Medic Q/A [*]

More combat medicine, shipboard medicine, veteran issues, and military culture [*]

SHIPS AND VEHICLES

Ship Generator 3D

Ship Name Generator

All Terrain Tactical Enforcer (AT-TE) shared by @stairset

Republic Vessels Reference [*]

Low Altitude Assault Transport/Infantry (LAAT/i) [*]

List of GAR Flagships in the Clone Wars by @meandmyechoes

Layout of the Havoc Marauder

Dimensions of various ships from the Clone Wars [**]

FOOD AND DRINKS

Star Wars Menu Generator

In-Universe Alcoholic beverages

Canon Cocktails (recipes) [*]

Another In-Universe Drinks list shared by @systemic-dreams

Teas in Star Wars by marvel_dc_heart_throbs

Foodstuff [*]

Canon Star Wars Holiday Recipes [*]

Trask Chowder Recipe (from The Mandalorian) [*]

LANGUAGES; PHRASES AND SLANG; VOCABULARY

Languages of the Galaxy [*]

Script of different languages in the GFFA by @lucif-hare-blog

In-Universe phrases and slang [Google sheet]

List of phrases and slang [wookiepedia]

List of equivalents to real-world objects [wookiepidia]

Talk Like a Clone Trooper shared by @archeo-starwars

Aurebesh Translator [Aurebesh.org]

Learning Aurebesh Tools [Aurebesh.org] Reading - Writing.

Mando'a Database [Mando.org]

Mando'a Transcripticon [MandoCreator] (Create your own text in the Mando'a script.)

@project-shereshoy (Blog that collects and posts sources for Mando'a from all over the internet.)

Mando’a Categorized Spreadsheet

Learning Mando'a Tools [MandoCreator] Reading - Writing.

Setting Thesaurus Entry: Spaceport [Writers helping writers]

Fan-created Conlangs

@dai-bendu-conlang (Jedi Culture Explored) (This blog is the home of the Dai Bendu Conlang, invented by the Archive of Our Own Users aroacejoot, @ghostwriterofthemachine, and loosingletters for the Jedi Order in Star Wars.)

Lasana Lexicon by Anath_Tsurugi (fandom lexicon of the Lasat Language)

HELPFUL BLOGS & SITES

The amazing @fox-trot, who not only makes astonishing art and write an amazing fic, she also responds to medical questions and gives all kinds of references for writing medic characters. Check her #medicposting tag and you'll find tons of information. Also check #star wars reference and her art tag while you're at it.

@writebetterstarwars, which seems to be inactive, but there are a bunch of references there.

@howtofightwrite The place to find out how to write a good fight scene.

@scriptmedic no longer active, but it has a great deal of useful information.

@scripttorture for your whump needs. Major trigger warning for all its content.

@sw-anthrobiology A blog dedicated to collecting headcanons about the biology and cultures of Star Wars species.

@archeo-starwars In-universe sources on culture and history.

@clonewarsarchives Resources & Concept Art Blog for The Clone Wars animated series.

Wookiepedia If you don't find something in here, it's probably because it doesn't exist, neither as a canon nor legends reference.

Star Wars Databank: The official Star Wars website's reference guide. All canon.

WRITING IN GENERAL (For those who don't want to die like Stormtroopers)

SlickWrite: Completely free; online. Checks grammar, punctuation, flow, and writing style according to different settings (including fiction writing).

ProWritingAid: [RECOMMENDED] One of the most thorough online proofreader I've ever used. Although when using a free account gives extremely thorough feedback, with +20 different in-depth reports, for only the first 500 words. However, you can earn a premium account license (for a year or for life) if you get 10 or 20 new users signing up for free; (if you wouldn't mind doing so using the link above and help me earn mine, please). The settings allow you to check your writing according to your needs, from general to formal to creative. It has a bonus that you can check depending on the genre you're writing. For example, in creative, you can choose romance or sci-fiction (there are 14 sub-genre in total). And just like google docs, you can share a document, and people can view, comment or edit it too.

LanguageTool: [RECOMMENDED] Another excellent proofreader. It also has a word limit in free accounts, but if you use the add-on for Google Docs, it counts each page as a new document, so hitting the word limit is nearly impossible. It helps you to rewrite a sentence (3 a day), even if it doesn't raise any flags; it's very useful for when your sentence is grammatically correct, but it doesn't feel quite right.

Grammarly, Hemingway Editor: No so great, but they do the basic job.

Legend

[*] Shared by @fox-trot [**] Shared by @gffa [***] Shared by @cacodaemonia.

[nibeul]

the 212th chief medical officer, bones ✨

[id: it's a drawing sheet of a 212th Clone Medic with his name, "Bones", written in all caps in the top left. From right to left: in the first drawing, he has one hand on his hip and is looking to the side with a quizzical expression. In the second, he wears his helmet in addition to the rest of his armor and holds a medical bag over one shoulder. In the next, his helmet is off again and he is looking down, looking miffed, and in the last, he is smiling. His armor is the standard phase I and has an orange rib cage painted on the chestplate. /end id]

[evilminji]

You know what Damian deserves?

A Grand Chunibyo Epic Drama Romance of his very own. Something to REALLY make his parents wince and take a good, long look in the mirror. Because... YEP. Yep that's definitely Their Son all right.

They suddenly feel like they should apologize to several long suffering individuals.

Just?

Damian needs to meet a Fellow Dramatic, Too Serious, Feral Gremlin, "I AM The Heir Apparent! My Blood Is Mighty And My Heritage Noble!" Little NERD? Someone who matchs him, beat for beat, with all the flamboyant Stabby Drama and rooftop dramatic chase scenes of his parents but now?

With Ghost Powers!

Because she is a PRINCESS. In search of someone Worthy(tm) of her Hand(tm). Not because her DAD told her too, obviously, no no. She overheard some of the Ancients talking about how that's how THEY got married. And knows that princesses usually get spouses chosen for them. So SHES gonna chose!

Perfect plan.

And who BETTER? Then the Blood Son of... THE BAT*dramatic musical sting*! Prove yourself, Robin! *lunges with a blade!*

Obviously, love at first dramaticly back-lit monologs followed by sword fight and dramatic escape. She's a formidable opponent.

But? Who IS she? This dramatic Chunibyo WEEB of a child? She! Is Danny's SECOND Clone Daughter. It was discovered? The only way to truely, PERMANENTLY, stabilize Dani? Was to get cells from a stable Clone.

Meaning one that WASNT rapidly aged.

Danny was... conflicted. He was against creating a kid JUST for giving medical aid to his other kid. But? He WASN'T so against the idea of having a kid? Like... a baby. Doing Dad Stuff. Cause... cause he wasn't 14 anymore. He's just graduated college. Has a stable job.

Dani suggested they go for it. But only if they were sure it wouldn't hurt the kiddo.

And it didnt!

She was and is PERFECT. The light of their lives. A delightfully ghost raised little Stabby Feral Honey Badger Gremlin of a young lady! But she's ALSO? Missing! And Danny, king of the Infinte Realms, is Losing His SHIT.

WHERE IS HIS BABY!?

Dramaticly martial arts fighting in the rain, DUH dad! She has to defeat the boy she likes, drop a symbolic gift at his feet, then leave with a cryptic but Cool And Meaningful Statement! You wouldn't GET IT, you're so OLD!

Dick blames Bruce for this. You see this? Do you Bruce? This is YOUR genetics at play! You added AL GHUL DRAMA to your nonsense and now he's discovered dating!! Look at him! He's pining! Dramaticly training in early hours! He's gotten JON involved!

Just? Let JLA Dark have FUN for once. Let them see THE princess of basicly EVERYTHING... harrasing Batman... by trying to date his obviously willing son... and just go "Read at 12:37" sorry Bruce! Looks like they're out of the office! Doing.... uuuuh.... MAGIC STUFF *sounds of popcorn being popped* YEP! Maaaagic! He he he >:D

@lolottes @ailithnight @nerdpoe @hdgnj @hypewinter @mutable-manifestation

[phoenixyfriend]

Star Wars hospital AU:

Anakin: EMS helicopter pilot

Padmé: hospital administrator (chief of something)

Ahsoka: Anakin's sidekick

Clones: ambulance drivers/techs Kix is the most senior EMS person, 99 does dispatch. Rex is the best at getting somewhere fast but he's always gotta slow down a bit more than the average ambulance on the return because he's not as good at Not Jostling.

Obi-Wan: ER doctor

Dooku: major donor

Ventress: lawyer for the hospital (general counsel)

Bail Organa: head of legal

Shaak Ti: charge nurse in NICU

Plo Koon: pediatrics

Yoda: Chief of Staff

Aayla: physical therapy

Quinlan: psychiatric

Bant: ICU

Mace: Chief Medical Officer

Jocasta: Director of medical records

Vokara: head of internal medicine

Barriss: junior resident

Krell: left in disgrace because of some intense malpractice suit

Any suggestions?

Mostly I'm just excited by the realization that I can make Anakin be the helicopter guy. Like yes, there IS a role for Anakin that actually works with the kind of person he is! Wow!

[immagods]

Then there are the whispers of a clone frozen in stasis. A medic trying to save his brothers, only to wake up and realise he is the last, all his brothers are gone. They are just rumours. No one's sure if they are true or not, until one day.

One day where Kix sitting in a cantina in the outer rim, where he sees a group of people gathered around a holo. He pays no mind to it at first, that is, until he hears someone say a familiar name. A name he hasn't heard spoken out loud in a long time. A brothers name.

So he gets closer, and he sees what the group of people are looking at. It's the photo. The photo that Rex had hanging on the wall of his office, the one of him, Fives, Echo and Cody. The photo that Fives always said made him and Echo Rex's favourites. Kix remembers that holo, he remembers the battle when it was taken. Remembers it was just after Fives and Echo had gotten back from Arc training. Remembers that he was just behind the camera, waiting to chew Fives out; because 'even if you have ARC training now. It doesn't mean that you can go and do stupid risky shit all the time trying to impress the shinies.'

Kix is drawn from the memories of ghosts when he feels someone tap him on the arm. It's a young girl with big blue familiar looking eyes, and she says that she thinks it cool that he looks exactly like the brave soldiers she learnt about in school. She asks him if his grandfather was a clone, if he knew any clones, if he's heard any stories of the clones. Kix stares at the girl for a moment, thinking about another girl with curious blue eyes, before he answers her. He tells her that he is a clone, that he has so many stories that he can't even count them.

With wide eyes, the girl drags him closer to the holo and pointing at it asks him if he knows the clones in the photo.

And Kix, looking at the holo, thinks of the old mando'a that they used to say; Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum. 'I'm still alive, but you are dead. I remember you, so you are eternal.'

So he tells the girl.

He tells her how they were his brothers. He tells her how he was apart of the 501st. He tells her how they fought for freedom. He tells her how they were always finding ways to laugh during the war. He tells her how they adopted the jedi into their family. He tells her how no matter how bad things got the clones knew they would be okay as long as they had eachother. He tells her their names.

The more stories he tells the more people listen. And word spreads. The Clones are not all gone. There is one left. And he's telling the stories of the clones, the stories that, when there where millions of clone alive no one wanted to hear. But they want to hear them now, they want to know the clones now. They want to know the worriors that fought for freedom and laid down the foundations for everything after. They clones story may be a tragedy, but it will not be forgotten.

The Vode will be remembered.

[toomanyteefs]

Well now that I have Big Foxy, I of course had to make him a Big Stitch to keep him company (he needs his bestie), so I made a big boy to go with my little boys! Here's all the process pics!

Here’s the boy pre customization as unaltered imperial scum:

I decided to just get his body done before his new head came in the mail, so here’s some progress pics of that. ( I forgot to take off his head before I started priming him so he just looks like he did an absolutely INSANE amount of cocaine.)

Here’s the body fully painted:

For shits and giggles I created the nightmare abomination that is tiny head Stitch.

Truly a creature of Fox’s nightmares.

And of course I had to give little Stitch big Stitch’s hat. Hehe he looks like a toddler wearing his dad’s clothes.

And then of course the head came, so I finally got to finish him after weeks of headless Stitch haunting Foxy’s dreams. For some reason the seller also gave me an Echo head that I didn’t order? Oh well if I ever get an Echo figure I can give him his clone wars head instead of the Tem one.

Pre-primed and painted and then primed:

And here’s he is all painted and finished with his buddy!

Together again! And here's the bigs and the littles!!!

[stealthetrees]

So this is more of an AU of the fandom AU where the Coruscant Guard live in a shitty run down building that’s falling apart. But Commander Fox finds this unacceptable so he clears out a warehouse used for storage and builds a shiny new headquarters. The original building they fix up, but only the lobby, a couple offices, and the med bay so troopers on senate duty can stay there due to its proximity to the senate building. Their new building they can go nuts with, adding all sorts of stuff that they arnt allowed to have.

An entire room is filled with tv monitors so they can slice into security cameras around the planet and see everything. They get a nice rec room, an area for the engineers to play around with ideas, even an office for the medics to make you talk about your feelings. A server room is dedicated solely to storing and orgonizing blackmail collected on pretty much everyone worth mentioning on Coruscant.

But after one secret building, what’s another? Areas of strategic importance are carefully chosen and a new headquarters is established nearby. They are each given code names. The original building is still Headquarters, the new main building is the Barracks. The Office is where they run intelligence and investigations from. IT Department is next to the industrial district. The Kennals are much lower than some of their other buildings, a small station set up to monitor the rancor infestation (Thorn moves down there to become a cowboy after he “dies” on Scipio). The Lobby is set in the lower civilian levels as a way to help the people who arnt rich enough to bribe politicians into getting what they want. The Med Bay started as just somewhere for big surgeries, physical therapy and prosthetics, but which the “generous donations” they acquire it grows into a hospital for civilians as well, completely free, and they start hiring nat born doctors, surgeons and nurses while paying them well and proving a great work environment. Adding a therapist office helped a lot of troopers as well.

The system takes a long time to build and works perfectly. Until Fox figures out Palpatine is a Sith. It’s not actually world shattering news, but it does give him a panic attack after realizing Palpatine though Fox already knew, because he had threatened the chancellor with a slug thrower instead of a blaster. Through questions to his batch mates with Jedi generals he learns that Sith can influence people’s minds and decides that in order for the clone rights bill to pass Palpatine needs to die.

And die he does. The rest of the conservative senators are swayed by a mix of blackmail, bribes, and bomb threats. The bill does pass, and most of them are instantly arrested for sentient rights violations, assault, and various other crimes because government property can’t serve as a witness in a civilian court of law.

The timing of all this could not be worse, as two of Fox’s batch mates where on planet, Cody and Wolffe, and they loved to stick their noses in his business. Which means when a lot of Corries are injured in the fight with the senate guards and private security while trying to make arrests, Cody and Wolffe help get them back to Headquarters, because it’s much closer than the Barracks. But Headquarters has a very small med bay because so few troopers use it. So they are over crowded and run out of bacta.

Also Cody gets turned around in the hallway and discovers how bad the rest of the building is. So Fox has a choice to make. He grabs Cody and Wolffe and drags them outside and back to the GAR barracks while texting Thire and telling him he has an hour and a half to make Headquarters look lived in. Then Fox opens a one way comm line with every Corrie so they can keep the story straight as he answers his brothers questions.

Fox commits to the bit so hard they believe the Guard is suffering horribly from abuse and budget cuts while in reality they just steal money from what ever rich person they have the freshest blackmail from. He could just tell them all the illegal things he’s been up to, but Fox would rather die than tell someone more than they needed to know.

[padawansuggest]

Do you think the clones know about espresso? Do you think they know caf comes in a condensed and bitter form?

CODY’S SPACEBUCKS ORDER THAT ONE 17 SHOT ESPRESSO AND FIVE PUMPS OF BLUEBERRY SYRUP THAT THE BARISTAS WILL REMEMBER IN HORROR FOR THE REST OF THEIR LIVES

Fox just replaces his water with espresso and ends up in medical within a week for the resulting rage he unleashed on the senate and probably a single lightsaber ouchie (the doctors will kiss it better) when Palpatine thought Fox was trying to murder him.

Anyways. Cody bats his pretty eyelashes at Obi-Wan who in turn bats his pretty eyelashes at Bail who in turn buys them a ten thousand credit espresso machine and Cody never has to deal with the SpaceBucks workers looking at him Like That again. Also his orders were all like 50 credits each and that was really cutting into his stolen credit card money.

Anyways. Obi-Wan becomes used to dirty chai lattes because it’s the only tea that Cody consistently gets right for him out of some sort of horrible spite. He loves his adorable caffeinated monster so much. He’s gonna bat his pretty eyelashes at Bail and convince him to send them on a fancy vacation. Bail is a fan of anything that gets these menaces to his chastity out of his office.

Anakin once mixed up his caf mug and a can of grease while working on a new droid in Padme’s space garage while less than half awake because him and Padme are trading off who’s watching the twins to keep them from getting out of their cribs with the force, and trust me, he didn’t notice till a couple gulps in, and yes, he made this everyone else’s problem. Rex had to hold his hair back while he puked. Ahsoka is the one that switched his mug and the can of oil.

Fox drinks herbal tea now.

Fives once made coffee but replaced the water with monster and Echo still thinks of it and weeps sometimes. Why did he do that??? The smell was radioactive.

Omega pouts at Hunter whenever he drinks caf around her because ewwwww but he’s too dad shaped to stop that is his fuel, come on kid, let’s go fishing. Horrible. She would like to be unadopted plz (if you stop cuddling her she WILL tantrum thanks.)

Bail Organa for Chancellor, this is all. Elect him for the title because he’s the hardest working man in the galaxy. (Plz don’t fucking elect him he would like to go home to his wife next week he’s exhausted.)

[vodika-vibes]

Like Stars

Summary: You’ve never liked your appearance, specifically the hundreds of thousands of freckles that cover your entire body. You claim they’re ugly and that they make you look ugly, so you hide them under makeup. And you’ve done so since you were a teenager. But now you’re a Doctor attached to the 501st and you don’t always have the time for makeup.

Pairing: Clone Medic Kix x GN!Reader

Word Count: 1806

Warnings: Reader is described as having lots of noticeable freckles, Reader makes several comments about how they hate their appearance, Kix is a Guy about the reader and makes some suggestive comments

A/N: So I had an idea last night, and decided to write it. I hope you all like it.

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There’s something about hyperspace travel that leaves the Resolute cold. No matter how much you layer, or how high you turn the heat in your personal quarters, you can still feel a chill down to your bones.

You hate it.

But you wouldn’t change anything about your life.

The men of the 501st are genial men, and they treat you with the utmost respect. Not to mention, they can be funny and they don’t treat you like an outsider, something your coworker attached to the 104th has had to deal with since day one.

More importantly, you get to work with Kix. The Chief Medical Officer for the 501st, and someone you’d be more than happy to call a friend even outside of work.

Okay, full disclosure, you’ve been nursing a crush on him for the better part of six months, and it’s not getting better. You thought—hoped, really—that spending time with him would kill the crush, it’s happened before after all, but no. The more time you spend with Kix the larger your crush grows.

He complimented your hair the other day, and you, the suave, smooth person you are, blurted, “Thanks, I was born with it.”

Luckily, he thought it was funny rather than just you being an awkward mess of a person. But you can already foresee the future. Kix is going to keep saying nice things to you, and you’re going to keep saying weird awkward things because you’re apparently a failure of a person.

You can already feel your face burning with remembered embarrassment, and you groan as you roll over to bury your face in your pillow. Maybe if you smother yourself, the remembered embarrassment will fade and you’ll be able to do your damn job.

Then your alarm goes off, and you release an ugly oath in three different languages. You lift your head off your pillow and glare at the chrono built into the wall next to your bed.

You’re not ready for another day.

You need another hour, at least, to obsess over how embarrassing your crush on Kix is before you can guilt yourself out of bed and into the sonic.

The chrono doesn’t care, though. It just keeps blaring it’s alarm, until you groan and roll off your bed to smack the button to turn it off.

And, well, now that you’re awake and on your feet, it just makes the most sense to drag yourself to the fresher and start your day.

You hop in the sonic and power it on. Sure, the sonic might be more efficient than a water based shower, but you’d sell your brother’s soul for a proper water based shower. Not yours, obviously. You need yours.

As soon as the sonic times down, you step in front of the mirror and absently grab your headband and pull it on. This, particular, headband was designed to hold your hair out of your face while you wash your face and apply your makeup.

You yawn as you open a drawer and pull a face wipe out of it’s container, and then grab the bottle of foundation from where it’s laying next to it.

At this point in your life, you don’t have to look at yourself in the mirror when you wash and apply your face. You could probably do it with your eyes closed, at this point, but you always watch anyway.

You scrunch up your nose in distaste as you examine your makeup free face. How is it that you have more freckles now than you did a week ago? You prod at your cheek and scowl, maybe you should save up some money to have the freckles removed, like at a clinic or something.

Your comm chimes a warning, and you release another curse. You got distracted, you’re going to be late.

Blindly, you grab the bottle of foundation and flip open the lid so you can pour some of the liquid on a small foam sponge, only for nothing to come out. You stare, bewildered, for a moment. And then you finally register that the bottle it empty.

A quick glance inside the drawer tells you that the bottle was faulty, since makeup now covers the bottom of the drawer.

Tragically, this bottle was supposed to last you the entire deployment. You don’t have another one. Which means, for the first time since you were a teenager, you have to go without makeup.

Maybe, if you just don’t look at anyone, they won’t see the freckles.

A fool’s hope, you know. Your freckles are very noticeable even from across the room.

You rub your hands across your face, and then tug your work clothes on, and turn to head out of your quarters.

You really, and truly, never wanted Kix to see you without makeup.

Vanity? Maybe. But you’ve hated the freckles since you were a small kid, and age has only made you hate them more. Kids can be cruel, after all. And parents can be even more so.

The walk from your quarters to the medbay is quick, as your room is intentionally just down the hall, just in case. The medics, Kix and the others, have their bunk on the other side of the medbay.

It means it is nearly impossible for you to be later, since your work station is only a couple of feet from your room, but it also means that you’re never the first person in.

So as the door slides open, you see the back of Kix’s head as he does his morning inventory. You grab your datapad from next to the door, and power it on, pulling it up to your face so no one can see what you look like, and then you read what’s on the screen.

“Oh, motherfuck. Today’s the day for physicals?”

Kix laughs and glances at you, “Did you forget?”

“I think I blocked it out since the last one was so traumatic.” You grouse as you scroll down the list, “Wait, how come I have both Tano and Skywalker?”

“Commander Tano didn’t feel comfortable receiving a physical from me,” Kix says easily, “And I gave you Skywalker since I’m unfamiliar with Jedi physiology.”

“You fucker.” You say, though there’s no heat in your voice, “Are we doing natborns and clones today?”

“Most of the natborns had their physicals already, it’s just Tano and Skywalker on that side. I am giving you the Shinies though.” Kix replies as he lifts his own datapad to glance at it.

“Just say you hate me, Kix. There’s no need to be passive aggressive.”

“They’re afraid of me, and I need them to come to the physicals, so you’re just going to have to suck it up, buttercup.”

“Yeah, well. If you were nicer—” You trail off as you scroll down the list, “I’m doing you? Uh...I mean,” You feel your face burn, “I’m giving you your physical today?”

You can feel him grinning at you at your slip of the tongue, “Yup. And I’m doing yours.” He replies, sounding delighted.

You finally drop your datapad away from your face, “I don’t need a physical? I already had mine.”

“Well, it wasn’t put in your file, so you’re getting another one.” Kix scans your face, and then he takes a step towards you, “Do you have freckles?”

“Shut up, don’t look at me.” You lift your datapad again, only Kix is faster as he yanks it out of your hand and lightly grips your chin. “Kix?!”

“You do! How have I never seen them?”

He’s standing really close to you. Too close for your sanity.

“I hide them with makeup,” You manage to get out, your voice slightly strangled

His thumb trails against your jaw, “Why would you do that?” There’s something awed in your voice and you start slightly when his other hand comes up to press against your cheek.

“I—well...they’re ugly,” You stammer, his hands are warm against your skin, slightly calloused from years of weapon handling, and dry from overusing hand sanitizer, but you can’t help but think that his hands feel nice against your skin.

“Says who?”

“Uh, lots of people, actually.” You shift, slightly uncomfortable, “And since they’re ugly it means I’m ugly, but I ran out of makeup. So…”

“You’re not ugly, and neither are the freckles.” Kix counters sternly, his fingers still lightly trailing from one freckle to the next, “It’s like—” He trails off, something soft in his gaze.

“Kix?”

“Someone painted the stars on your face,” He murmurs, “How can anyone think you’re ugly when you have entire galaxies written on your body.”

Something about his words, and the way he’s saying them, makes your entire body burn with flustered embarrassment, “Please stop.”

“Why?”

“You’re embarrassing me.” You whine.

He releases a low chuckle, “I know. You’re so cute when you’re flustered and tripping over yourself.”

“You’re doing it on purpose?!”

“Yeah. I like seeing how flustered I make you. Especially since you don’t get flustered near any of my brothers.” Kix grins and shifts a little closer, so you’re able to feel his armor pressed against you, “You have a crush on me.”

You glare at him, or you try to. You’re pretty sure it comes across as a pout based on how he’s grinning.

“That’s alright. I have a crush on you too.”

“...you can’t say that!” You lightly pound your fist against his chest plate.

“Why not?” His grin has grown.

“Because I have to give you a physical later and now that’s all I’ll be thinking about!”

And then Kix leans in so his lips are hovering just over yours, “Good.” He purrs out, and then his lips are against yours in a surprisingly heated kiss.

He’s gone before you can properly respond, and before you can even ask why and how and what, the door opens and Ahsoka pokes her head into the room, “Um...am I early?” She asks, her eyes darting from you to Kix and then back again.

“I...uh...no. No, you’re right on time.” You struggle to shift your brain back into doctor mode, and judging by the grin on his face he can tell, “We’re going behind the blue curtain, alright Ahsoka? I just need a moment to find your file.”

She nods nervously, “Alright. I’ll just so sit…”

The teenager wanders off and you scowl at Kix as soon as she’s behind the curtain, “You’re trouble.”

“I can’t wait to show you just how much.” He counters with a wink. And then you both have to go to work as Rex steps into the room for his physical as well.

But, for the first time in your life, you think that maybe, just maybe, your freckles aren’t something that needs to be hidden away.

@heidnspeak

@justiceandwar98

@etod

@kiss-anon

@lonewolflupe

@silly-starfish

@msmeredithrose

@cdblake1565

@badbatch-bitch

@continous-mistakes

@falconfeather23435

@tiredbi-peach

@kimiheartblade

@clones-cyare

@cc--2224

@0revna0

@mira-loves-star-wars

@trixie2023

@rebell-ious

@padawancat97

@sweater-sloot

@bb8-99

@maniacalbooper

@wax-birds

@adriennelenoir

@omegaprime18

@bad4amficideas

@dukeoftheblackstar

@yoitsjay

@liz-stat

@arctech-fox

@lokigirlszendaya

@sailorflora

@jetiimasterbekah

@six-1mpossiblethings

@clonetrooperjournals

[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!

[aynavaano]

The heat on Thyferra

Hunter x f!reader

Rating: Explicit/NSFW

Wordcount: 9k

Summary: You got assigned to Clone Force 99 as a medic but also to keep an eye on their methods. It did’t take long for you to fall for Hunter and you fell hard, but it seemed like he was totally unaware. It got more difficult to deal with your feelings by the minute until after a heated training session you decide to ask for a reasignment.

Notes: This takes place during the Clone Wars pre Echo joining the Batch. Ngl this is completely self indulgent porn with very little plot. Mutual pining, idiots to lovers kind of, yearning, masturbation, consensual voyeurism, oral f! and m! receving, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, porn with feelings aka “It’s always been you”, slight cum/breeding kink, yeah Hunter has a breeding kink, knife kink if you squint, also no beta, I don’t have enough horny friends to proofread this insanity

Getting assigned to Clone Force 99 wasn’t what you had expected when you joined the Republic's science and medical corps. The stories about them were legendary—whispers of impossible missions pulled off by a squad of “defective” clones with a 100 percent success rate. But those stories also included frequent mentions of damaged equipment, questionable methods, trouble to follow orders and complete lack of reports, the bane of any commanding officer's existence.

You’d been with the 104th battalion, the Wolfpack, before this assignment, and leaving them had been hard. The boys had been good to you, treating you like one of their own. Commander Wolffe had even gone so far as to personally request that you stay with them when word came down that you were being reassigned. It seemed everyone in the GAR knew about your reassignment before you did, and you’d heard the murmurs—Clone Force 99, the “Bad Batch,” was getting a natborn and they were apparently not happy. Despite the rumors, the transitions was smoother than anticipated and they’d been kind to you from the start, even if none of them were particularly keen on having someone outside their tight-knit group join their ranks.

Well, almost all of them.

Crosshair, with his sharp tongue and sharper aim, took some time to warm up to you. The sniper was standoffish, always seeming to watch you from the corner of his eye, as though waiting for you to prove you didn’t belong. His words were often cutting, laced with sarcasm that bit deeper than he intended, or maybe exactly as he intended. But over time, you learned to see the cracks in his armor, the subtle ways he showed he cared—an extra ration pack left for you when supplies ran low or a slight shift in position that put you in the safest part of the formation during firefights. You’d come to realize that beneath the layers of snark and cold professionalism was a fiercely loyal and caring brother, someone who would lay down his life for his squad and now, it seemed, for you.

But it wasn’t Crosshair who stole your breath and left you with sleepless nights. It was Hunter, the sergeant and leader of the squad. From the moment you patched him up after your first mission together, you were hooked. You couldn’t help but be drawn to the contrast between his deadly efficiency in the field and the quiet, almost gentle demeanor he had off it. Hunter was everything a soldier should be—strong, capable, and confident—but it was the way he looked at you with those intense, caring eyes that made your heart race.

His long, curly hair and that signature skull tattoo had caught your eye the first time you saw him, but it wasn’t until you had him on the med table, shirt off, his muscled chest exposed, that you realized just how breathtaking he really was. The tattoo that stretched down the whole left side of his body, bold and dark against his tan skin, left you speechless. You remember how your hands had trembled slightly as you cleaned the wounds on his side, pretending not to notice the way his muscles tensed under your touch or the heat that radiated from his body.

“Everything alright there, Doc?” he’d asked, his voice smooth and low, with a hint of amusement in his tone.

You’d nodded too quickly, turning to grab more bandages to cover your flustered state.

“Just making sure you don’t end up with a nasty scar,” you’d managed to say, trying to sound professional even as your mind raced with thoughts you had no business entertaining.

He’d chuckled softly, a sound that didn’t help the slightest but in fact sent shivers down your spine.

“Don’t worry, scars are part of the job.”

But it wasn’t just the physical attraction that pulled you to him. It was the way he carried the weight of his squad on his shoulders, the way he always put them first, and how he made sure you were safe and taken care of, even when you were the one patching them up. It was the quiet moments when he would sit beside you after a mission, asking how you were doing, his voice full of genuine concern. He was always professional, always in control, but sometimes it felt like there was something more there, something simmering just below the surface, but you convinced yourself it was just your nerves, getting the best of you.

Every time you thought about him, every time you remembered the way his tattoo snaked down his body, the way his eyes darkened when he looked at you, it took all your willpower not to let your thoughts wander into territory that was far from professional.

You knew you were falling for Hunter. Hard. And no matter how much you tried to push those feelings down, they kept bubbling up, threatening to spill over.

At first, it was easy to dismiss the way your heart would skip a beat when he was around, chalking it up to simple attraction.

How could you not be physically drawn to him? You had seen him training one morning, his toned body moving with a deadly grace that left you breathless. His caramel skin glistened with sweat, each muscle defined and rippling under the effort of his workout.

That image was seared into your mind, and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't shake it.

But it was more than just the way he looked. The more time you spent with Clone Force 99, the more you saw the depth of Hunter's character. He wasn't just their leader; he was their protector, their confidant, their brother. The way he cared for his squad, always putting them first, always making sure they were safe and looked after, it made something inside you shift. Watching him interact with his brothers, seeing the soft side he showed them, the gentle way he handled their concerns, that was what truly made you fall for him.

And then, he decided you needed better training.

Despite your basic training and the fact that one of them was always by your side during missions, Hunter insisted on making sure you could take care of yourself. It was a logical decision, of course-ensuring that you were capable of defending yourself in the heat of battle. But it was also the beginning of your downfall.

You had managed to keep a professional distance up until then. Sure, you got close when you were patching him up, and the others had no problem with your occasional use of Wrecker as a giant pillow after a hard-fought battle. But training sessions were different. Having Hunter watch you during target practice with Crosshair, his eyes never leaving you, his voice low and encouraging, it was enough to make your pulse race. But it was the hand-to-hand combat training that really did you in.

His hands were on you constantly, guiding you through moves, showing you how to defend yourself, and it left you hot and bothered beyond reason. His touch, firm but careful, sent sparks through your body every time and left your skin burning. You could feel his breath on your neck when he got close, his scent surrounding you, making it impossible to focus on anything but him.

You'd leave those sessions flustered and on edge, your body aching for something more, something only he could give. Nights became torture. You'd wait until the others were asleep, until the sounds of their soft snores filled the ship, and Tech had retreated to the cockpit, closing the door for some peace and quiet. Only then would you allow yourself the release you so desperately needed. You'd slip a hand down your body, rubbing your pussy with feverish need, trying to imagine it was him. You'd fuck yourself on your fingers, your mind filled with thoughts of Hunter-his hands, his mouth, his cock.

You'd listen carefully, straining to make sure no one woke up, praying that your sounds were swallowed by the hum of the ship. Sometimes, you thought you heard a groan, something low and rough, but you convinced yourself it was just your nerves playing tricks on you. Your fingers would clutch the sheets, your teeth sinking into your pillow to muffle the moans and whimpers that threatened to escape. You didn't dare moan his name, didn't dare let anyone know how far gone you were.

But it was never enough. No matter how hard you tried, no matter how many times you brought yourself to the edge and over, it never satisfied you.

Because what you really wanted-what you craved-was Hunter. You wanted him buried deep inside you, wanted to feel his cock stretching you, filling you in a way your fingers never could. The need for him consumed you, until you knew without a doubt that you were damned.

He was in your thoughts constantly, day and night, and you prayed to the Maker that he would soon be satisfied with your training so you could get some distance. But it only seemed to get worse. Every day was a struggle, every touch, every look a reminder of what you couldn't have. And the worst part was, you didn't know how much longer you could hold out before you snapped, before you threw caution to the wind and let the hunger take over. Because the truth was, you were already in too deep, and there was no going back.

***

The oppressive humidity on Thyferra was like a suffocating blanket that wrapped itself around you, making every breath feel thick and heavy. You had been on this forsaken planet for far too long, monitoring a nearby military base that was suspected to cooperate with Separatists and waiting for new orders that never seemed to come. The air was stifling, clinging to your skin, and the temperature was wearing you all out. Tech and Crosshair were out, trying to scavenge supplies and something edible other than ration bars from the next settlement, leaving you with Hunter and Wrecker. Wrecker, with nothing better to do, was snoring loudly in the shade of a massive tree, blissfully unaware of the discomfort the rest of you were enduring.

Hunter, however, was determined to continue your training, despite the unbearable heat. He seemed unaffected by the temperature, his focus solely on sharpening your skills. But you weren’t so lucky. The humidity made it hard to concentrate, and the fact that Hunter had discarded his shirt halfway into the session only added to your distraction. His caramel skin glistened with sweat, each movement highlighting the toned muscles beneath, and it took all of your willpower to keep your eyes on the task at hand.

You tried to focus, determined to finish the session with dignity, even as your body screamed for relief from the weather and the heat burning in your core. You countered Hunter’s next attack brilliantly, moving swiftly and with precision, managing to get a good grip on his arm. But just when you thought you had the upper hand, your sweaty hands slipped. Hunter didn’t waste a second, using your falter to his advantage. In one fluid motion, he had you pinned to the ground, the impact knocking the air from your lungs.

For a moment, all you could do was gasp, struggling to regain your breath. The world spun slightly as you blinked your eyes open, only to be met with the intense gaze of Hunter staring down at you. His knife was pressed lightly against your throat—a reminder of how easily he could have taken you down in a real fight—but it wasn’t only the weapon that had your heart racing. It was him. The weight of his body on yours, the heat radiating off of him, the musky scent of his sweat. It was overwhelming, intoxicating, you felt heat pool low in your belly and your control slipping.

Your breath came in short, shallow pants, and you could see that Hunter was breathing heavily too, his chest rising and falling rapidly. Sweat dripped from his wet hair, landing on your skin and mixing with your own. You suddenly were hyper-aware of every inch of him pressing down on you, every muscle in his body coiled and tense as he kept you pinned beneath him. The proximity was too much, the physical contact too intimate, and you felt something inside you snap.

Without thinking, you balled your fist and punched him in the gut. It wasn’t hard enough to hurt him, but it was enough to surprise him, causing him to loosen his grip just enough for you to roll to the side and escape. You scrambled to your feet, your chest heaving, and you threw your knife to the ground in frustration.

“I’m done,” you spat out, your voice sharp with a mix of anger and something else you couldn’t quite name.

“It’s too hot for this.”

You are too hot for this - you added in your thoughts before you turned and stomped away, not waiting for his response, not wanting to see the confusion—or worse, the understanding—in his eyes.

You stormed back toward the ship, your emotions a chaotic swirl inside you. It seemed Hunter had no idea what he did to you, the pure torture of having him so close, the way your body ached with need every time he was near. And even if he did know, you were convinced he didn’t feel the same. If he had, surely he would have made a move by now, right?

The thought brought tears to your eyes, and you blinked them back angrily, determined not to let them fall. You needed to get to the fresher, needed to cool down and take care of the throbbing between your legs that had become a constant reminder of what you couldn’t have.

You forced yourself to breathe deeply, trying to regain some semblance of control. You couldn’t keep going like this, couldn’t keep torturing yourself with what you could never have.

You knew what you had to do. As soon as this mission was over and you were off this cursed planet, you were going to request a reassignment. Maybe you could go back to the Wolfpack, or find a spot with any other battalion. Anywhere, as long as it got you as far away from Hunter as possible. You liked being with the batch, you had grown to care about them all deeply, but staying would only lead to more suffering and you couldn’t keep acting like a little desperate tooka in heat, couldn’t risk that one day you’d get distracted on the battlefield and someone would get hurt.

The decision made, you felt a sense of resolve settle over you, though it did little to ease the ache in your heart. You’d do what you had to do, for your own sanity. But until then, you had to endure, had to find a way to keep your distance and survive this mission without letting your feelings get the best of you.

But you heard footsteps behind you already before you even reached the top of the ramp, your heart pounding in your chest.

When he called your name, you turned to face him, struggling to maintain your composure. Hunter's face was a mix of emotions, and you couldn’t quite decipher the expression in his eyes.

Was it concern? Frustration? Something else entirely? The turmoil boiling within you made it difficult to think clearly.

"I'm sorry if I pushed you too far," Hunter said, his voice low and sincere.

You let out a huff, trying to mask the storm raging inside you.

"It's just the climate," you answered, forcing a casual tone, "I need to calm down and take a shower."

But his gaze didn’t waver. It was intense, pinning you in place and making you squirm under its weight. For a split second, you thought he'll turn and leave, that this conversation would end with you retreating to the fresher to relieve the throbbing in your core and try to forget the way he made you feel. But then, he spoke again, and your brain short-circuited as you processed his words.

"Stop lying to me, I know where you’re going" he said, his tone firm but not unkind. "It's not the mission or the climate. It's me."

You stared at him, your heart hammering in your chest. You didn’t know how to respond. His words hung in the air between you, heavy and charged. For a moment, you half expected him to turn away, to say he doesn't want to put up with your drama any longer, to give you the reassignment you were wishing for just moments ago.

But when he spoke again, his voice was soft, laced with something you couldn’t quite place.

"I heard you," he admitted, his eyes searching yours.

"Do you know how much torture it was, listening to your sweet whimpers, your muffled moans of my name? How often you made me make a mess in my own bunk, unable to do anything about it because I didn't want to let you know I noticed and risk making you uncomfortable?"

His words left you speechless, your thoughts spinning. You thought you’d made sure they were all fast asleep, karking hell, Hunter and his heightened senses. You’d never imagined he knew, let alone that he might feel the same way. The realization hit you like a ton of bricks, and all the carefully constructed walls you've built to protect yourself came crumbling down in an instant. You felt exposed, vulnerable, but there was also a flicker of hope, a small spark of something that made you want to step forward, to close the distance between you.

You tried to speak, but your voice failed you, the words catching in your throat. All that came out was his name, a whisper, barely audible. Finally, you managed to choke out,

"I'm sorry."

Hunter's expression softened, and he stepped closer, his presence comforting despite the heat that threatened to consume you.

"Cyar’ika," he murmured, the endearment made your heart flutter.

"There’s nothing to be sorry about."

He paused, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch.

"But I can’t handle it anymore, one more night of listening to your sweet sounds, one more day on the ship, filled with the scent of your arousal without any relief and I will go crazy," he continued, his voice thick with a mix of desire and restraint.

"Please, just let me watch you. *Gedet’ye*."

The mando’a term send a flush straight to your cheeks, the vulnerability in his voice, the raw need—how could you possibly deny him when he’s looking at you like you’re the most precious thing in the galaxy?

"I won’t touch you if you don’t want it, just want to see you, want to see what I could only imagine all those nights listening" he said, his voice a little softer now, almost pleading.

"That’s enough for me."

It’s then you noticed the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, the faint tremor in his words. He was afraid—afraid that maybe he was just a fantasy for you, a secret desire you indulged in but never intended to bring into reality.

For a moment, the power dynamic shifted. The usually confident and composed sergeant seemed vulnerable, exposed in a way you’ve never seen him before. This side of him, this raw honesty, made you fall for him even more deeply, your heart aching with the need to give him everything.

You couldn’t find your voice, so you nodded, your body moving on instinct, your mind still reeling from the weight of the moment. You had no idea where this would lead, but you did know one thing—you wanted him completely. But if watching you is all he wanted, you’d give it to him, without hesitation.

Hunter took a quick glance outside to ensure Wrecker was still snoring away under the tree. Once he was satisfied that you were alone, he squeezed your hand gently and guided you into the cockpit. The door slid shut behind you with a soft hiss, sealing you both inside the dimly lit space.

He led you to the pilot's chair, and you couldn't help but think of Tech's reaction if he knew you were about to do something so... filthy in his sacred cockpit.

Hunter sensed your hesitation and hesitantly cupped your face, his touch warm and steady, anchoring you to the moment.

"It's just us, cyar'ika," he murmured, his voice a low, soothing rumble that sent a shiver down your spine.

"No one has to know what happens between us if you don’t want to."

He guided you to sit in the pilot's chair, his presence overwhelming in the small, enclosed space. You pulled him down with you, taking his hands in yours encouraging him to touch you. Your heart raced, pounding in your chest as he knelt down in front of you, his hands sliding up your thighs, urging them apart. You let out a shaky breath, your nerves and excitement tangling together in a heady mix.

Hunter's hands slid down your sides, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your pants. He searched your gaze for confirmation pulling slightly. You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest as you lifted your hips, allowing him to slide your pants and panties all together down your legs.

He inhaled deeply and when he looked back up at you, the golden brown in his eyes was almost gone, replaced by dark pupils blown with lust.

“Fuck”, he hissed through gritted teeth “so beautiful. Show me how you've been touching yourself, thinking about me. Let me see you fall apart for me."

Your heart raced as you slowly started to rub your clit, circling it with your fingers, your other hand sliding down to tease your entrance. You let out a shaky breath, your hips moving in time with your fingers, but it was not enough.

You whimpered, your fingers sliding over your slick folds, it just wasn't enough. Not now, when he was there, watching you with that intense gaze, his breath ghosting over your skin. Your fingers didn't satisfy you the way you needed; they never had.

You let out a pathetic whine, a sound that was part frustration, part desperate need.

"I want you to make yourself come for me”, Hunter said, his voice a low growl that sent a thrill through your entire body.

You shook your head, your breath hitching in your throat.

"I can't”, you whined, your voice breaking with the intensity of your longing.

"It's not enough, Hunter." the words slipped from your lips before you could stop them.

The plea hung between you, heavy and loaded with meaning. There was no going back now, not after this.

Whatever happened, you couldn't just walk away and pretend nothing had changed. You were too far gone, too wrapped up in him, in this moment.

"Please”, you begged, your voice trembling, as every last bit of your restraint left you.

"I need more. A kiss, your fingers-just something.”

Hunter's eyes darkened with desire, and a slow, knowing smile curved his lips. He stood and, with deliberate slowness, pulled down his shorts, revealing his rock hard cock. It was even more glorious than you had imagined - thick, long, with a slight curve that promised to hit all the right spots. The sight of precum beading at the tip made your mouth water.

You gasped, your eyes locked on him, taking in every detail, every inch of him. It was like a fantasy brought to life, and you could hardly believe this was really happening.

"If you really want me, cyar'ika”, he said, his voice rough with desire, "you have me and I’ll give you everything you want. But first..."

He stepped closer, his hand gently cupping your cheek, thumb brushing over your bottom lip.

"I want to see what I missed out on all those nights."

You swallowed hard, your heart racing as you nodded, your body trembling with anticipation.

"| want you," you breathed, the words spilling from your lips in a rush.

Hunter's smile widened, and he leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered,

“Then you know what to do."

Your hand slid down between your legs again, fingers circling your clit as your eyes locked onto his. His gaze was dark, intense, and filled with a hunger that mirrored your own. You started to move your fingers, slow at first, building up the tension again, the pleasure, under his watchful eyes. His cock twitched, and you could see how hard he was holding himself back, waiting, watching, letting you take the lead. But you hoped, deep down, that he wouldn't be able to resist for long.

You continued to fuck yourself on your fingers, the sensation of your own touch heightened by the sight of Hunter in front of you. His cock was fully on display now, thick and hard, just as you'd imagined so many times. Your eyes were glued to it, watching as he wrapped his hand around the base and gave himself a few slow, deliberate pumps. The way he handled himself so confidently, so naturally, made your mouth water and your core clench with need.

All you could think about was how it would feel to have him inside you, stretching you, filling you completely. The thought alone made the coil in your core tighten deliciously, your body already teetering on the edge of release. Hunter seemed to sense how close you were. His eyes, dark with lust, locked onto yours, and his voice came out in a low, velvety command.

"Look at me, cyar'ika."

Your gaze snapped to his, and what you saw there was your undoing. His face was a mix of raw desire and something deeper, something almost tender. His cheeks were flushed, a warm color against his caramel skin, and his pupils were blown wide with lust, all of it for you. That look - hungry, wanting, and completely focused on you was all you needed to push yourself over the edge.

When the first wave of your orgasm hit, you let loose and moaned his name loudly, your body arching off the chair. The moment your release flooded through you, Hunter was there, his strong arms wrapping around you, pulling you into him. His lips found yours in a kiss that was both hungry and sweet, swallowing your moans as his hands roamed over your body, grounding you as you rode out your high.

His touch, his scent, the feel of his solid body pressed against yours - it was overwhelming, like floodgates had opened, and everything you'd been holding back rushed out all at once. You clung to him, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you gasped out the words that had been burning inside you for so long.

"I want you Hunter," you whispered, your voice trembling with need. "I want all of you."

Hunter's response was immediate, his voice a deep, soothing rumble against your ear. "You have me”, he said, his lips brushing against your skin. "you've always had me, cyar'ika. It's always been you."

His words wrapped around you like a warm embrace, and you couldn't help the tears that pricked at the corners of your eyes. It was too much - too intense, too perfect - and yet, it was everything you'd ever wanted. You nuzzled into his neck, breathing him in, letting the reality of his words slowly sink in.

"…thought.." you struggled to find the right words, your voice catching in your throat. "I thought maybe you didn't notice...me, or didn’t want me."

Hunter pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his expression softening.

"How could I not want you?" he said, his thumb brushing a tear from your cheek. "I noticed every look, every touch. I noticed how you made excuses to be near me, how you lingered in the room just a little longer after everyone else had gone. And then suddenly it felt like you were running away from me, avoiding me and it drove me crazy, because I didn’t know what to do."

You inhaled sharply, trying to steady your shaking hands.

"Hunter... I don't think you realize what it's like to watch you from a distance. You walk into a room, and every head turns. People flirt with you -boldly, shamelessly- and you don't even flinch. Meanwhile, I thought I was just... invisible to you. Just part of the team. And I couldn’t handle it anymore.”

You forced yourself to meet his gaze.

He chuckled softly, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips.

"You think I don’t see the way other women look at me and sometimes men too? All the attention in bars, in the markets?"

He shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. "I noticed them all, but I didn't care. None of them were you. From the moment you were assigned to the squad, all I wanted was you."

His words hit you like a freight train, and you were left reeling from the intensity of his confession. You reached up, cupping his face in your hands, your thumb tracing the lines of his tattoo.

“You remember the Jedi general we had with us for two missions shortly after you’ve been assigned to us?” he said.

“Did you notice how she looked at you? I always thought it’s not the jedi way but she quickly sensed how I felt for you and she was jealous.”

"Hunter..."

He leaned into your touch, his eyes closing briefly as if savoring the feel of your hands on him. "I’m yours, cyar'ika," he murmured, opening his eyes to meet yours again. "And you can be mine. If thats what you want."

You pulled him into another kiss, your heart soaring at his words. It was everything you'd ever dreamed of and more. The man you'd been longing for, craving, was finally yours, and he wanted you just as badly. You deepened the kiss, pouring all your emotions into it, and you felt him respond equally, his hands roaming over your body with a hunger that matched your own.

When you finally broke the kiss, you were both breathless, your foreheads resting together as you shared a moment of quiet intimacy. It was a connection that went beyond just the physical - it was something deeper, something that had been building between you for so long. And now that it had finally been acknowledged, there was no turning back.

Hunter's hands slowly slid under your shirt, lifting it over your head.

"Let me see all of you”, he whispered, his voice rough with desire.

"Want to worship every inch of you."

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest as you helped him get off your training bra. You were bare before him now, exposed and vulnerable, your nipples instantly hard, but there was no fear - only anticipation, only need.

He reached up to cup your breasts, his thumb ghosting over your nipple and you leaned back in to kiss him again. His tongue pleaded for access and you let him in, let him explore your mouth, his taste sweet and intoxicating. One hand tangled in his hair you let the other snake down his chest until you reached his cock, giving him a few lazy pumps, earning a few groans from him in return.

But just when you were ready to lose yourself completely in him, Hunter broke the kiss, pulling back slightly.

He looked down at you, his breathing ragged, his dark eyes full of desire and something else - something deeper, more meaningful.

"Wa…want to do this right," he said, his voice low and husky.

You blinked up at him, dazed and trembling with need, but his words made your heart stutter in your chest. He wasn't just looking for a quick release; he wanted this to mean something, to be something you would both remember.

Before you could say anything, he glanced quickly out of the viewport, checking to make sure Wrecker was still peacefully snoring outside. Satisfied, he turned back to you, and with a few quick taps on the console, you heard the soft hiss of the ramp closing.

The ship was now sealed, offering you the privacy you desperately needed.

Without another word, Hunter scooped you up into his arms, holding you close against his chest as he carried you to the bunk area. There was a determination in his movements, a focused intensity that only made you want him more. He set you down gently, then quickly began to rearrange the bunks, pulling two mattresses together and throwing a few blankets and cushions onto the floor to create a cozy, makeshift bed.

"Perfect," he murmured, almost to himself, before turning back to you.

His hands were on you again in an instant, pulling you down onto the mattress with him.

“When we're out of here, I’m going to take you some place nice …but for now this is all I can offer you”

“Hunter…I don’t need anything else, just you.”

He kissed you everywhere - your lips, your neck, your collarbone, working his way down to your breasts. His tongue was hot and wet as he took one nipple into his mouth, sucking and nipping at the sensitive flesh, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core.

"Hunter," you gasped, your fingers tangling in his hair as he moved to your other breast, giving it the same attention. The way he touched you, the way he kissed you, it was like he was memorizing every inch of your body, committing it all to memory.

He let his head dip down between your legs, kissing and nibbling along your soft inner thighs until he reached your wet pussy and liked a long stripe from your entrance up to your clit. You felt him shudder and you let out a soft whimper when he flicked his tongue against your swollen bud, still sensitive from your first orgasm.

"I've wanted this for so long," he growled against your skin, his voice thick with need. "Wanted you for so long."

You could only moan in response, arching your back as he positioned himself above you.

His cock was heavy and hot against your thigh, and when he dragged the tip through your soaked folds, your whole body trembled with anticipation. You were so wet for him, so ready, and the sensation of his cock teasing you, brushing against your clit before dipping back down to your entrance, was almost too much to bear. He bit your neck, not hard enough to hurt but enough to leave a mark and to make you shiver with desire.

"Hunter, please," you whimpered, your hips bucking up, seeking more.

He reached up, his hand cupping the back of your head, his fingers threading through your hair. He held you like that, firm but gentle, and his eyes locked onto yours, intense and unyielding.

"Look at me," he whispered, his voice low and rough. "I want you to look at me when I take you”

You nodded, your breath hitching as he slowly began to push into you. The stretch was delicious, the feeling of him finally filling you was overwhelming. Your eyes never left his, the connection between you electric.

As he sank deeper into you, his eyes never wavered from yours, and you could see the raw emotion there - the desire, yes, but also something more, something that made your heart ache with its intensity.

"Maker" he groaned, his voice strained as he bottomed out inside you. "You feel so good, cyar’ika. Better than I ever imagined."

You clutched at his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as you tried to hold on, your body adjusting to the fullness of him, reveling in the feeling you had yearned for far too long.

"Hunter,” you breathed out, your voice trembling with the depth of your need for him.

"Move, please."

And then he did, pulling back slowly before thrusting back in, and it was like nothing you'd ever felt before.

The pleasure was overwhelming, all consuming, and you couldn't help the way your body arched up into his, seeking more, wanting more. You were intoxicated from a heady mix of chemicals and hormones your own body produced and you couldn’t get enough of.

He watched you the whole time, his gaze never leaving yours, and you could see the way he was fighting to keep control, to hold back from losing himself completely in you.

"Say you’re mine" he gasped.

You moaned, your hands clutching at him, needing to feel every inch of him, to be as close to him as possible. You angled your hips to allow him to reach deeper.

"I'm yours, Hunter. Always yours."

His pace quickened, his thrusts becoming more forceful, and you could feel yourself hurtling towards another orgasm, the coil in your core tightening with every movement of his hips. He reached down where your bodies were joined and began to circle your clit.

"Come for me," he demanded, his voice rough and commanding. "I want to feel you come around my cock."

And with those words, you were gone, your body shattering as your orgasm crashed over you, your walls desperately clenching around him. Hunter's thrusts became frantic as he neared his release, his breath ragged in your ear.

"Where do you want me?" he asked, his voice low and desperate, teetering on the edge. His eyes searched yours, filled with lust and need.

"Inside”, you whispered, breathless, and the moment the word left your lips, it was like something snapped within him.

His body reacted instantly, a guttural groan escaping his throat. He pushed as deep into you as he could, burying himself completely, ensuring he was filling you in the most intimate way possible.

The warmth of his release surged inside you, and you gasped at the overwhelming sensation. His cock pulsed, each wave of his cum shooting against your cervix, sending electric shivers through your entire being. You clung to him, trembling as your walls tightened around him, pulling him in further, savoring every last drop he spilled inside you.

"Fuck," he groaned, his hips stuttering as he emptied himself into you, holding you tight like he never wanted to let go. You felt utterly filled, connected, the sensation of his heat mixing with the deep satisfaction of having him this close. The world had narrowed down, leaving only the two of you.

Hunter's lips found yours again, soft and lingering, filled with a quiet happiness that made your heart swell. His forehead rested against yours for a moment, his breath mixing with yours in the peaceful aftermath. You smiled at him, your fingers tracing light patterns on his chest as he pressed a tender kiss to the tip of your nose.

His cock slowly softened and slipped out of you, leaving a tender warmth in its wake. The room was quiet, filled only with the sound of your shared breaths as you remained close, tangled together in the afterglow.

He glanced down between your bodies, his eyes darkening with satisfaction as he watched his cum begin to ooze out of you. Without a word, he gently took two fingers, gathering it and pushing it back into you with a quiet hum of appreciation.

You giggled at his playful possessiveness, your body shivering at the intimate sensation of his fingers moving inside you, even after everything you'd just shared. The sound of your laughter made his grin widen, a soft chuckle rumbling from his chest.

Hunter's hand gently cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing your skin as he whispered,

"I love you, cyar'ika. More than anything."

Your heart swelled at his words, and you leaned into his touch, your fingers tracing the lines of his jaw.

"I love you too, Hunter," you replied softly, your voice full of emotion.

He smiled, his forehead resting against yours.

"I'm never letting you go," he promised, his voice low and filled with tenderness.

"Come on," he whispered, leaning in to kiss your lips again before he stood and scooped you up effortlessly into his arms.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, resting your head against his shoulder as he carried you towards the fresher. He handled you with such care, his strong arms making you feel light as air.

"Let's get you cleaned up," he said, the warmth in his voice unmistakable.

You let out a contented sigh, feeling utterly safe in his embrace as he carried you into the fresher.

He carefully adjusted the water, making sure it was the perfect temperature before gently setting you into the warm stream.

"I'll clean up the ship real quickly," he said with a playful smirk, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "Don't want to deal with an angry Tech later. I'Il be back in a moment, cyar'ika."

You nodded, leaning back against the wall of the fresher, the warmth of the water soothing your body as you watched him leave. A soft smile crept onto your face, feeling content in the peaceful aftermath. It all still felt like a fever dream, something your mind had come up with to cope with the burning desire that had slowly driven you crazy. If it wasn’t for the faint rustling of bedsheets you heard you might have believed you had fallen victim to your own imagination.

But Hunter returned moments later, true to his word, stepping back into the fresher with you. He pulled you into his arms, and kissed you, the water running over both of you as you melted into the moment once more, feeling safe and cherished in his embrace.

As you pulled back from the kiss, Hunter rested his forehead against yours, his breath warm and steady. His eyes, filled with quiet intensity, searched yours.

"I'm sorry I didn't make a move earlier," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "I've wanted you for so long... but I was afraid, afraid that you wouldn’t want me and what it meant for the squad. I love you so much, cyar'ika. More than you know."

The sincerity in his words made your heart swell, and you gently cradled his face, your fingertips tracing the lines of his jaw.

"I love you too, Hunter," you whispered, your voice barely audible but heavy with meaning.

It was a confession you had been holding onto for so long, and now that it was finally spoken, it felt right-perfect. His lips curved into a small, tender smile, his gaze softening as he looked at you.

"I'll request your permanent assignment to the squad,” he said, his voice filled with quiet determination. "If that's what you want. I might even try to fill out a report here and there."

The thought made you chuckle but without hesitation, you nodded, your heart pounding in your chest.

"I want that... more than anything."

Hunter kissed you again, slow and deep, pouring all the love and longing you had both been holding back into the kiss. His hand slid down between your legs, fingers brushing gently over your sensitive skin. You gasped into his mouth, your body responding instantly to his touch, the intimacy of the moment wrapping around you both like a cocoon.

He pressed himself closer, and you could feel the hard length of him against your thigh, already ready for you again.

"I can't get enough of you, I’m sorry." he whispered, his voice husky with desire, his fingers teasing you, drawing out soft whimpers as your body burned with need for him all over again.

You sank slowly to your knees, your gaze never leaving his as your hands trailed down his body. Taking him into your mouth, you savored the feel of him - big, warm, heavy on your tongue and throbbing with need. His taste filled your senses, and the low, deep moan that escaped his lips sent a shiver through you. You traced the underside of his cock from the base to the tip, following a thick vein. He was incredibly hard, his tip already leaking and every contact made him twitch. Hunter's hand came to rest gently on the back of your head, his fingers threading through your hair as he groaned softly, the sound making your pulse quicken. But after a few moments, he gently tugged you back up to your feet, his hands firm on your shoulders.

"Come here," he whispered, his voice rough with desire.

He guided you toward the fresher wall, your back pressed against the cool durasteel, letting his hand trail lower, carefully stroking through your folds. You were very sensitive, his cum was still oozing out of you but your body betrayed you and you couldn’t stop the downright filthy moan from slipping from your lips.

“Tell me if it’s too much.” he rasped.

“N..no. Don’t stop…can’t get enough of you either.” you stammered as he dipped two fingers into your soaking wet pussy.

“P…please Hunter…fuck me again.”

His mouth found yours in a heated kiss as he lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping instinctively around his waist, his cock deliciously pressing against your core. He paused, eyes locking with yours for a brief, intimate moment before he buried himself inside you in one deep thrust. You gasped, your body still sensitive, clenching hard around him immediately. The sensation of being so full, so close to him, was still overwhelming.

Hunter groaned deeply, the sound vibrating against your lips as he began to move, slow at first but quickly building into something more intense. Your nails dug into his shoulders, your hips meeting his with each thrust as he fucked you, hard and steady. The room spun around you, all of your senses focused solely on him, on the way he filled you, the way he made you feel. The coil in your core tightened rapidly, your pleasure rising to a peak you couldn't hold back any longer.

"Hunter," you gasped, your voice trembling with need.

He groaned, lowering his forehead to yours as he picked up the pace.

"I feel you, mesh'la," he murmured, his words shaky but full of intent. "So close, aren't you? Let me take you there."

His teeth grazed your lower lip, his body driving you closer to the brink with every thrust.

You cried out, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity, your nails raking down his back as the pressure inside you reached its breaking point. The position allowed him to thrust deep and he did, pushing up against your most sensitive spot.

That was all it took. With a final, powerful snap of his hips, you shattered into a million pieces, your body trembling as your orgasm washed over you. Hot white pleasure surged through your veins, pulling the rug of reality from under your feet and sending you spinning. Your walls clenched around him, pulling him deeper as Hunter groaned your name, his release following yours. You felt him pulse inside you, his second release mixing with the first, filling you to the brim, as his head dropped to your shoulder, his breath ragged against your skin.

You stayed like this for a while, you held onto him tightly, both of you catching your breath, the connection between you deeper than ever. Your shallow pants and the falling water were the only sounds for a while. You nestled your head against his neck reveling in the warmth radiating from his body until his cock slowly softened and slipped out of you followed by a rush of his cum.

Hunter carefully set you down, your legs still trembling and unsteady beneath you. You giggled softly, leaning against the wall for support trying to come back to your senses.

"I think... I… we should probably give the ship back," you said, your voice a mix of exhaustion and amusement.

"The others are probably outside, waiting-and annoyed."

He chuckled, his hand brushing tenderly over your cheek.

"You're right. Shouldn’t keep the big guy waiting when he’s hungry," he teased, his eyes still full of warmth.

But then, his gaze softened, and he leaned in, capturing your lips in a deep, lingering kiss.

"One last moment," he murmured against your lips, his voice low and intimate, "just us.”

You melted into the kiss, your heart swelling with the closeness of the moment. Hunter's hands moved with careful precision as he lathered you both with soap and helped you clean up, his touch so gentle it made your chest ache with affection. Every small gesture spoke of his care for you, and you couldn't help but smile, feeling the love radiating between you.

After you both emerged from the refresher, Hunter grabbed a towel and gently dried you off, his hands lingering on your skin, pressing kisses here and there as if memorizing the feel of you. There was something tender in the way he handled you, a softness that made your heart swell. Once you were both dry, you reached for fresh clothes from the overhead compartments, dressing in a comfortable silence that was filled with glances, smiles, and the warmth of what you had just shared. Hunter gave you the softest, most loving kiss before he pressed the button to open the hatch.

You were immediately greeted by the sight of three familiar faces. Wrecker’s grin was as wide as ever, Tech looked slightly annoyed, and Crosshair... well, Crosshair had that usual smirk of his, but there was a glint of something else in his eyes too.

"Finally," Crosshair spat out, throwing the toothpick he had just dangled from the corner of his mouth to the floor, his voice dripping with his usual sarcasm.

Tech, ever the meticulous one, adjusted his goggles and said, "If what Crosshair suggested is true, I am pleased for the two of you, but I sincerely hope you cleaned up after yourselves."

He didn’t wait for an answer, instead he strode up the ramp to inspect to ship, his ship, as he had made clear more than enough times.

Wrecker’s grin widened even further when you stepped out of the ship. “Does this mean you’re stayin’ with us for good?” he asked, his eyes shining with hope.

You nodded, and before you could say another word, Wrecker scooped you up in a massive bear hug, whirling you around with such enthusiasm that you couldn’t help but laugh.

Tech reemerged from the ship, seemingly satisfied with the state you had left the cockpit in. “Good,” he said, his tone crisp and professional. “I’m glad to see you took care of that. We brought back better food, by the way.”

“Oh yeah, I’m starving” Wrecker said, setting you back down.

As they walked past you, Crosshair reached out to pat Hunter on the shoulder, his smirk turning into something more genuine.

"Don’t mess this up, Sarge," he said, his tone carrying a rare note of seriousness.

"Because if I have to hear her suffer again, listen to her desperate whimpers one more night... I’ll take care of it myself."

You couldn’t help but smile, knowing this was Crosshair's way of showing he cared. Beneath that tough exterior, there was a hint of concern and affection, even if it came out in his own twisted way. But as soon as the full meaning of what he’d just said found its way through your still foggy and cock drunken mind, you turned to Hunter with a question look, your cheeks hot and a perfect shade of pink.

Hunter just grinned.

“Nothing wakes Wrecker as soon as he’s snoring and Tech stays in the cockpit most nights, but yeah…Cross heard you.”

“More than once.”

You looked back into the ship where Crosshair had just disappeared. He gave you one of his signature smirks, clearly amused.

You groaned, your face burning as you turned and hid against Hunter’s chest, hoping the ground would swallow you whole.

Crosshair chuckled lowly, enjoying your reaction.

“You know, it’s not that embarrassing. At least you’ve got good taste, I’ll give you that.”

“Crosshair,” Hunter warned, but his hand moved to rub your back soothingly.

“What?” Crosshair smirked, his tone softening slightly. “At least Hunter finally did something about it, almost though he’d watch you leave. You’re good together. Just… maybe keep it private next time? For my sleeping schedule…and my sanity.”

You peeked out at him, mortified but catching the flicker of genuine affection in his gaze.

“You’re awful.”

“Maybe,” he replied, the corner of his mouth twitching. “But you’re lucky I like you, or I’d never let you live this down.”

You sighed.

As Hunter wrapped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close, pressing you into his chest, you couldn’t help but feel that this was exactly where you were meant to be.

The easy camaraderie between the five of you made you feel like you were truly home.