#Howzer x fem!OC

[starqueensthings]

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WARNINGS: brief allusions to a traumatic past (June), but no detail provided. Moderate medical anxiety (Howzer). Moderately graphic descriptions of medical injuries. Repeated mentions of blood and discomfort/pain. RATING: 16+ for mature themes and mild to moderate whump. WC: 4500ish. (This chapter and the next were never intended to be separated, but it accumulated to nearly 8k words, and pruning certain aspects of this encounter in the name of brevity would only do a disservice to this story, so I apologize for the somewhat abrupt way this chapter ends). PLEASE ENSURE YOU’VE READ THE FOREWORD BEFORE PROCEEDING FOR AN IN-DEPTH DESCRIPTION OF WHAT DEGREE OF CONTENT YOU CAN EXPECT THROUGHOUT THIS STORY.

“Uh… yeah?”

The responding voice was barely discernible over the cacophony radiating down that bustling hall, though was both unmistakably bathed in the accented intonation of a clone soldier, and seemingly quite confused by the civility of her gesture.

With a preparatory sigh, June prodded the control panel on the wall adjacent to the door and stepped back for it to permit her entry. Immediately apparent directly opposite that threshold, and sitting somewhat stooped atop that pathetic excuse of a paper bed sheet, was CT-5863.

If the Gods of technology were to ever bless it with the power of human deduction, the chrono on the wall behind him would have asserted that those blue eyes locked on his for the span of only a second; barely half of an inhale, a torpid blink at most. But, surely, too much had happened in that moment of unprecedented placidity for a mere “second” to have been all that passed.

Those armoured legs, wholly encrusted with the evidence of several rotations in grueling action, instantly ceased their absentminded swing over the long edge of that uncomfortably rigid gurney. The way his brows softened only enough for those gleaming brown eyes to widen in unrestrained surprise had her famined stomach plummeting near-painfully toward her toes in a sensation she was both unfamiliar with and unprepared for, and had the highly polished durasteel floor beneath her sneakers not continued to reflect the abhorrent fluorescent light overhead, that feeling only would have her entirely convinced she was now freefalling toward the cobblestone courtyard some eight stories below.

“Hi,” she squeaked as his expression continued to soften, that unprofessionally casual address escaping her tongue completely void of intention and thought, and had she not felt her jaw shift to let it pass through her lips, it could have been entirely feasible to believe that the salutation came from a third party.

If there was any semblance of a response waiting atop his tongue, it remained inhibited by the stupefaction still working its way across that tanned face. Lips initially contracted against the relentless gnaw of pain, now parting enough to expose their ragged and wind burnt nature and convey his unbridled bewilderment; those brows once furrowed beneath the act of being left to wallow for hours in the virile discomfort of a neglected wound, shifting to diminish that charming crease between them.

“Hi,” he echoed, reddened lips drawn slowly toward his ear ahead the beginnings of a one-sided smile that promised to only intensify her already befuddling paralysis.

June swallowed, that brief constriction of the throat reorienting the contents of her stomach momentarily granting her the abeyance to wrench her gaze from his, a gesture worthy of recognition based solely on how absurdly arduous of a task it seemed. ‘What am I doing here again?’ she asked herself, right hand thoughtlessly moving to retrieve the datapad from its clamp beneath her arm and bringing that lifeless screen toward her nose.

“Right,” she whispered to the sight of her distorted reflection, before clearing her throat and unsticking her sneakers from the floor.

The holocomputer, set atop a rolling desk at the foot of the bed, rose to life upon the frenetic poke of her finger. Though June had always been what her brother had previously deemed “embarrassingly deficient in stature”, that monitor sat just shy of successfully hiding him from view, and her composure was once again diminished by the heat surging to her cheeks upon the quick affirmation that his gaze had followed her every step across the room.

“You’re not a droid,” the soldier offered slowly, eyes narrowing under a perplexed sense of intrigue as a blood stained finger trailed to and fro across his chapped lip. “I mean— I don’t think so. Not like any I’ve ever seen…”

The acceptable reply would have been to offer him a laugh, a small scoff. Kriff, even an unsupported snort would have been sufficient to humour such an unintentionally comical assertion, but the continued prickle atop her skin and the nascent disquiet in her mind quickly devoured all potential for a moment of light-hearted banter.

“Nope,” she agreed, immediately thankful that her tone had forgone the shrill squawk of her first greeting and returned to her normal tambre. “They called the big guns in for you.”

“Uh oh. Why do I feel like that might not be a good thing?”

She risked another peek over the shield of her holoscreen, instantly and regretfully noting the delightfully sharp angle of where his jaw met his ear, that contour accentuated by the expanse of a bashful smile now doming both cheeks.

‘What the hell,’ she demanded silently as she failed, again, to offer him the titter he deserved. Aghast that the professionalism and charismatic bedside manner she’d spent long years and countless tears mastering had been ripped from her by something as immaterial as basic eye contact, she flicked her ponytail petulantly off her shoulder and refocussed her attention to the task at hand: logging into the Hospital’s charting software.

‘He’s just a soldier,’ she reminded herself with a snort of self-directed derision, desperately trying to extract her password from the depths of her distracted brain.

And he was. There was nothing overtly different or unusual about CT–5863 in relation to the hundred-or-so other clones that had passed in and out of her care since the war began. Quite frankly, there couldn’t be anything different about him, it was genetically impossible. So why had one look from this set of honeyed eyes seen her stomach careening into the next dimension and her nerves prickling as if every shift of his gaze left a trail atop her skin?

Thrice she tried and failed to enter her secure information into that software, yet its repeated beeps toward the inevitable system lock-out fell on entirely deaf ears, and it wasn’t until the screen strobed that she’d near-reached the maximum login attempts did some glimmer of awareness surge back to her.

“I’m Dr. Kiore,” June told him, attempting to banish that myriad of improper thoughts by corralling every cooperating neuron into entering her password, and the breath she’d unintentionally held in her lungs was granted their escape atop a sigh of relief as that familiar landing screen emerged in front of her. “What’s your name?”

“CT–58—”

“No, Captain, your name.”

“My name?” A puzzled pause preceded her answer, that brief second of hesitation having failed to lessen any of the obvious confusion behind those two words, and the notion that she may have to formally explain such a simple concept was the first to pull a smile to June’s lips.

But, “Howzer.” He recovered quickly, offering his name in the same tone he’d used upon hearing her tap on the door, and the small creases now wreathing those twinkling eyes as they narrowed in something close to suspicion entirely laid bare his continued bewilderment at her behaviour.

“Howzer,” she repeated, offering him a casual smile as she swiped her finger across the monitor and entered the information next to his designation number. “It’s nice to meet you.”

A moment’s innocent silence fell between them as she typed, masterfully toggling between different pages of his medical chart and familiarizing herself with the details of his treatment history. For an active soldier, particularly one that appeared as if he’d spent several respite-free rotations laying in the foreign dirt of a distant planet, his chart was remarkably vacant, the only few noted injuries being quickly treated in the field and recorded somewhat haphazardly by the trio of different medics who had seen him.

“I– I think that might be the first time a civilian’s asked me that,” he contemplated under his breath, eyes unfocussing as he rubbed that dirty palm across the stubble on his chin

“Yeah, well… they were supposed to ask downstairs,” June scoffed, the grumble swaddling her tone readily exposing the disdain for the repeated shortcomings of her colleagues. “I’ve asked them four billion times to try and remember, but of course no one listens to the youngest.”

While his lungs expanded to utter what was undoubtedly going to be another humorous quip, the sentiment was stolen off his tongue by a sudden and salient cringe of discomfort. In that otherwise banal motion of sitting up straight, hand reaching upward to thoughtlessly push those dark waves further back from his forehead, a spasm of pain quickly froze his actions, that sharp jaw quickly clenching behind olive cheeks as a muted grunt rumbled in his chest.

Harrowingly familiar with the discomfited sounds of a trooper in agony, June darted from behind the computer without a second glance, feet taking her earnestly to his bedside where Howzer continued to grit his teeth against the pain of attempting to lower his elbow back down.

She stopped when she reached his beside, and too determined to somehow minimize his discomfort, her focussed eyes entirely missed the way shame had forced his gaze away from her. In a gesture that inexplicably attuned her concentration nearly as thoroughly as it further chilled her skin, she tugged the sleeves of her labcoat toward her elbows.

It took barely a breath of being within arms-length of the stranger for the pathetic remnants of his shirt, and the implications of its destruction, to resonate; that typically tight compression top now sliced into misshapen shards thanks to the expanse of an immense gash in the material. Yet more gruesome than the soaked integrity of that metallic cloth— its creation having once promised to prevent such wounds from occurring —was a piteous patch of gauze so saturated with blood that it had begun to leak a small cataract down his side, that seemingly limitless river of blood having already stained the exposed skin of which it bordered.

“Sheesh,” June mumbled under her breath, reaching slowly toward him until her fingers wrapped carefully around the elbow he was subconsciously attempting to use as a protective barrier.

Howzer’s breath hitched sharply in his throat as her fingers found their mark, though despite that unintentional huff of trepidation, he offered no resistance as she began to cautiously lift that arm back upward mere millimeters at a time until the sight of that grisly gash reappeared. The sheer size of that weeping laceration, stretching across the anatomically labelled “quadrant 6”, and reaching all the way from central rib cage to interior scapula, made ascertaining the true degree of the injury quite a challenge from her standing position in front of him. As June battled the need for a better vantage against attempting to prevent causing Howzer can any extraneous pain, it became apparent nothing short of clambering onto the bed beside him and simply straddling his left hip could allot her the unobstructed view she needed to formulate an appropriate treatment plan.

“I can’t get a great look from here,” she admitted with an apologetic grimace, now cautiously redirecting his arm forward in an effort to ascertain precisely how far back this horrid laceration reached from its inception below his left armpit. “Bear with me just for a sec… it’s gonna hurt a smidge.”

“It’s fine,” he answered, though wrapped in little more than a tight-lipped mumble, his reassurances fell flat in their task of convincing her. “It doesn’t hurt. I jus– ugh…”

A series of murmured apologies left her lips as something near a jolt of pain robbed his tongue of that white lie, and she tactfully refrained from commenting as she watched that silly cotton square fail to contain another surging red waterfall.

“You know,” she started as his jaw rutted forward to repress another hum of discomfort. “If you had just let them give you an NBA injection downstairs, this wouldn’t be so bad.”

“Don’t need one,” he grunted back as she flicked away those soaked and frayed fabric shards and began to pluck that impetuously placed patch of medical gauze from his side. “I told you, it doesn’t hurt.”

“It doesn’t hurt, but you couldn’t get your shirt off?”

That delicate accusation left her lips before the gates of professional restraint could corral it. The implications of second-guessing both a patient’s feedback and their subjective symptoms was highly unprincipled, yet despite his continued refusals, there was no ignoring the fact that, while half of his battered and abused armament sat stacked in one of the chairs by the door, he’d been unable to pull that snug garment from his torso.

To her relief, that same lop-sided smirk inched back across those dehydrated lips, eyes softening as they danced lightly across her features, and June was immediately grateful for the trivial need to extract an unopened sterile gauze pack from her pocket as her cheeks tingled anew.

“Alright, smartypants, you got me,” he admitted, the tips of his ears reddening under the unfamiliar vulnerability of his confession. “Maybe I just don’t like injections. Maybe they freak me out… a little.”

An ephemeral glance was all it took to identify the nature of his budding embarrassment; the reaffixture of his gaze upon his lap, the tiny flitter of his cheek as he chewed on whether he ought to defend his admission or not, the horrid clicking of his molars as discomfort had them relentlessly grinding against each other. Yet it was not the professional obligation to advocate for a medicinal intervention that saw June’s hands hesitate on their way to fully rid him of that incapacitated bandage, but an inexplicable and damn-near irrepressible urge to console him.

“Hold this here for me,” she instructed delicately as if she hadn’t heard him, indicating her need with a small tap of the finger whilst pressing that new fresh fabric to his wound in the void of its sodden counterpart. “Just for a minute while I grab some goodies, but firm pressure— hold it like you mean it.”

He shifted instantly on his seat to assent to her request, right hand forgoing its docile perch atop his thigh to cross his torso and clamp that material into place; those grimy fingers momentarily weaving their way into hers in his haste to comply.

That inadvertent touch set her very nerves alight, the ceaseless prickle lurking behind every inch of her skin intensifying to a degree that promised to expropriate the floor from beneath her feet again, and having been largely unable to resurrect her stomach from the depths of her toes where it had buried itself at first sight of him, June hurried to snatch her fingers from his and depart his bedside. The unprecedented euphoria of his skin brushing atop her own amidst that otherwise innocuous motion had virtually supplanted all evidence of the preceding sympathy, and replaced it with a moment of attraction so potent, she’d failed to digest any of the apology he’d quickly stammered during her retreat.

‘Maker have mercy, would you get a grip…’ she silently scolded, eyes scanning the assortment of supplies on the shelves in front of her as she forced a slow breath through pursed lips. ‘You’re being ridiculous. So he’s a little pretty… You just feel bad for him. It’s just pity. He’s been sitting here a long time, and he’s obviously uncomfortable… that’s all.’

But that weak justification had barely gained any potential momentum before it was squashed by the reality she could not deny. Attributing the peculiar undulation of this interaction to pity alone was both ignorant and ludicrous, as Howzer was not the first soldier to admit having a distaste for injections; the majority of her combat patients shirked from even the mention of that so-dreaded injector. In fact, most were deeply suspicious of anything even distantly related to the field of medicine, many turning pugnacious in their discomfort, and eyeing Lumi with a powerful mistrust as if that hovering medical assistant was concealing a murderous motive behind those yellow oculars. Others flinched at the mere thought of sedation, often demanding to hear any and all available treatment alternatives before consenting to whatever procedural route they deemed most tolerable regardless of its diminished efficacy, and it was this perpetual argument, this consistent mentality, that had June entirely convinced the clones in her care harboured significant trauma from their Kaminoan upbringing.

So if pity was to blame for the tingle atop her skin as the music of his familiar accent danced in her ears, why today? Why this ailing soldier, and not one of the hundred or so others she’d previously treated and discharged without pause. Why not Bolts, whose cheeks became stained with uncontrollable tears during those brief moments of lucidity when he awoke to be scanned at tragically frequent intervals? Why not the Commander from three rotations ago who’d begged her to falsify a clean bill of health so he could return to the front lines where his brothers were undoubtedly being slaughtered in his absence? What was it about this man… this objectively meaningless encounter… that had the hairs on the back of her neck standing upright as if there was something lingering in the next second? Why was this set of brown eyes imbued with the power to lasso her lungs into her stomach? Steal the floor from beneath her feet? Freeze time as if the universe itself had held its breath at first sight of him?

‘You’re better than this,’ she told herself as she rustled noisily around those laden shelves, heaping an array of various supplies into her arms. ‘Swallow whatever this weird attraction is and get on with it so you can go home. You’re tired and starving.’

Sighing heavily through her nose, she pulled the cauterizing pen from the top shelf and added it to the pile of tools clamped against her chest atop an small tub of her preferred burn salve, a USI injection tool, a single-use bottle of saline for wound disinfection purposes, and a handful of the standard 4 x 8 inch dermabacta patches.

Keeping her eyes deliberately downward, she nudged that locker door closed with her hip and started back toward the bed. After pausing briefly to power on and deposit the cauterizing pen beside the computer, June tipped forward and dumped the remaining products onto the paper sheet beside his waiting figure, attempting to ignore the return of his warm gaze by reaffixing her eyes to the tattered vestiges of his top.

“Shirt’s gotta come off,” she advised him, placing her hands on her hips and gesturing with a small nod to the garment he’d deferred removing as long as possible. “Contamination risk is too high if it stays flapping around the wound after I disinfect the area. Think you can pull it off without too much… ouchie?”

Those ensanguined fingers drummed nervously against the gauze he continued to press in place, a contemplative hum issuing from his nose as his lips shifted to a grimace. “I can give it a shot,” he finally assented amid a doubtful chuckle. “Unless maybe cutting it off is an option, and I can try to preserve what’s left of my dignity?”

“I mean– I could,” she agreed half-heartedly, though the image of her hands drifting carefully atop his skin whilst snipping that cloth from his bare chest nearly overpowered the awareness of that option being the least practical. “But we’d be sending you out of here shirtless afterward and it’s not exactly the warmest time of year.”

“Fair point,” he apprehensively agreed. “Maybe there’s a hospital gown or something that could pass as blacks until I can sneak my way into barracks?”

“Not unless blacks are covered in purple cogs and tied together behind your neck,” June scoffed. “And, honestly, if that doesn't send your dignity to the grave, I don’t know what would.”

Had such a disappointed huff not left his nose in that subsequent moment, the mental image of him trying to awkwardly stuff the excess material of that scratchy, violet gown behind his chest plate likely would have had a small snicker escape her lips, yet the unease dominating his expression instead resurrected that mystifying need to commiserate with this alluring stranger.

“We can handle this,” she asserted, watching him thoughtfully chew the inside of his cheek while picking uselessly at a blemish in the teal paint on his thigh plate. “If I help, you won’t even need to lift your arms. Plus– once it’s off, I can throw it in the Cleanser Tube and get it washed while I’m patching you up. That way the purple robe can stay in the cupboard, and you’ll have your shirt back to walk outta here dignity intact. Deal?”

His gaze shifted upward, darting back and forth between her eyes as if searching their depths for any semblance of the ulterior motive he’d seemingly grown to expect.

“Okay,” he agreed a sigh later, evidently failing to find anything other than quiet confidence behind that sapphire blue. “But if I start weeping, do your best not to laugh.”

“I’ll try,” she answered in mock intensity, waiting for his timorous gaze to meet hers again before offering a jesting smile. “Though in all honesty, Captain, just wait until you feel my hands. I’ll be more surprised if you don’t start weeping.”

Stepping intentionally around his armoured knees toward the head of the bed, she watched him steel himself by straightening his posture and taking a deep breath. “I’ll pull on your sleeve,” she told him, permitting herself only a moment to appreciate the endearing quartet of freckles on the right side of his neck. “You pull your arm.”

She guided her thumbs under the elastic cuff of his top, that deceivingly thin fabric instantly reminding her of the wetsuit she’d once donned during a diving trip on Naboo, though there was something significantly more tutelary about this injected material, as if the microthreads used to create it had been fibers of some pliable steel.

“I appreciate you being so… helpful,” he spoke, wincing slightly as his hand disappeared into the darkness of his sleeve and redirected itself downward through the trunk of the garment. “I guess I did need the big guns.”

June hesitated, barely able to repress the small smile promising to peel across her lips as she rolled and bunched the hem of his shirt in her fists, waiting until his palm had firmly planted itself beside his hip before proceeding.

“Can I tell you something?” she asked him in what she hoped was a casual tone despite her heart pounding loudly in her ears at his indirect laudation.

“‘Course,” he answered, squeezing his eyes closed as she began to stretch and guide that narrow collar past his ear and over his meticulously cropped hair.

“You’re not the only soldier who hates injections. You’re one of very many, actually… and one of even more that tries to hide it under this very unnecessary ‘tough guy’ attitude. While I don’t personally understand the fear behind a microdose of medication, that doesn’t mean I don’t understand being very wary of something, and that by no means makes you a wuss.”

He emerged from the depths of his shirt with a smoldering look that she’d never seen adorn the eyes of a soldier before, and the intensity of how he gazed sternly yet somewhat reverently into hers near-forced a paralytic shiver down her spine.

She near-cowered under its magnitude, and growing increasingly aware of how her body continued to betray her demand for professionalism by relentlessly inflaming her cheeks, she stepped carefully back around his knees and stuffed her fingers under the cuff of the other sleeve.

“Ready?” she asked as he upheld a pensive silence, waiting for him to consent before hooking one hand under the hem of that top now draped over his shoulder, and directing it carefully down the muscular arm he shifted to grant the garments removal.

She didn’t wait to see if he’d further acknowledge her expostulation before wadding up that soaked and soiled fabric and departing the bedside, crossing the room to where the Cleanser Tube sat recessed into the wall. After opening the door and shoving the clothing inside, she activated a sonic cycle with a quick poke of a button and turned to the adjacent Hand Sanitary Station.

Both pieces of machinery were considered to be state of the art medical technology, and were proprietary pieces licensed to only this medical facility while the patent approval process remained clogged behind far more consequential senatorial matters. The Cleanser Tube, designed to wash, sanitize and dry textiles in a fraction of the time that a traditional washing machine took, was installed on every floor, ensuring the sanitation droids could efficiently reuse the ludicrous amount of bedding the hospital exploited daily. Its pseudo-partner in technological advancement, the Sanitary Station, had demanded significantly more adaptability from the medical staff upon its installation, most of whom had spent several expensive years learning to meticulously disinfect their hands prior to any patient contact. While not all that different in concept to the Cleanser beside it, the absence of friction in hand washing was a foreign concept for a surgeon used to scrubbing their skin to within an inch of its already shoddy integrity before initiating a procedure. Nevertheless, the benefit of its efficiency had proved largely pivotal for those increasingly numerous days where surgeries were booked back to back.

Its familiar ion aroma wafted upward into June’s nose the second she approached and forced her fists through each of the two side-by-side valves. Sensing the new additions in its chamber, the machine activated automatically, tightening the silicone grip around each wrist to near-discomfort while cool, damp air began to circulate between her fingers. An inappropriately loud chime moments later alerted what felt like the entire hospital that the disinfection cycle had completed, and the machine ceased its vibration for only a moment before those sophisticated motors kicked back into life, preparing to swaddle her hands in a thin layer of purple nitrile. When all ten of her fingers had been appropriately coated, the valves released their complete encirclement of her wrists, and she pulled her hands from the tubes, fingers flexing habitually against the irksome constriction.

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#starqueenswrittenworks #The Only Exception #Captain Howzer x fem!OC #fem!OC x Captain Howzer #fem!OC x Howzer #Howzer x fem!OC #3rd pov #bad batch fan fic #howzer bad batch #bad batch howzer #medical anxiety #medical injuries #whump #light angst #light whump #angst

[zoeykallus]

Giiiiiirl! We all need some Tech, but something soft and chaste, complicated, slow burning, very angsty! And with some heartache, don't forget the heartache!

😮... erm... Anoooon! Lucky for you, I have something in my wips I could work on that feels like it fits this profile... in a way... I guess. Heartache? Okay, but don't come crying to me later. It was originally a draft with my OC (Which I never would have finished or published anyway), but I think I can fix it up.

Tech/Howzer x 'Jedi'!Fem!Reader - Shortfic / Oneshot - The Misfits

Warnings: Angst/Hurt/Fluff/Heartache/!!!!MAJOR SPOILER FOR TBB S2!!!!!

_____________________

After you fell in love with Howzer, you left the Order. You haven't seen him for a long time and according to rumors he is most likely no longer alive.

In your search for answers to where all the clones are disappearing to, you stumble upon a squad of clones in desperate need of help.

_____________________

AC: I changed some timeline related things as well as canon itself and call it artistic freedom 🙂. Depending on your point of view, there is a happy ending, or there is none. Or a bit of both. I totally went over board with this, but I kinda love it. It's probably one of my favorite things I worked on.

______________________

Above him, the life of his squad hangs by a thread; below him is a yawning void, a deep abyss. Within a few heartbeats, Tech has calculated all possible scenarios. There is only one way out, one way only. He can save his family if he sacrifices himself. Plan 99. Wrecker and Omega beg him not to cut the connection, Hunter even orders him to.

"When have we ever followed orders," Tech says, drawing his blaster.

Every move, that what he needs to do is logical, but it feels surreal, heavy-handed. His heart is pounding up to his throat, yet he feels strangely calm. He knows he's doing the right thing. Tech doesn't want to go, but it's a necessity to ensure the continued existence of Clone Force 99, to give his brothers and Omega a chance to survive.

The few seconds in which he aims and pulls the trigger are forever, seeming almost infinite to him. He hears his brothers calling for him and Omega's screams. In the next moment, the connection is cut, and he drops falls, his stomach tingling, everything tingling, but his muscles relaxed. His heart is racing, but his mind is calm and unusually empty for the first time in a long time.

But something is wrong, his fall slows down, even his direction of flight changes. His mind awakens again. Tech looks around, tries to orientate himself, and realizes that he is heading for one of the towers along which the cable car runs. He has no idea what is happening, there is no logical explanation, no updrafts strong enough, he has no wings and no way to control his fall, it makes no sense.

He gets close enough to grab one of the crossbars on the tower. His heart leaps as his fall stops, and he clings to the tower. Tech still can't quite grasp that he's alive, doesn't quite understand what just happened. A surge of euphoria floods his body; he doesn't have to die.

But his mind sobers up very quickly. His gaze shoots upward. The car with his brothers is moving again, but disproportionately fast, they would very likely crash into the stop.

Up above the tracks he sees a figure, a woman, she moves quickly, elegantly, dodging shots, but most interesting, she wields a green lightsaber with which she deflects the blaster shots of the Imperials.

"A Jedi," he says to himself.

Then comes the realization. He didn't fly, the Jedi must have saved him. Tech begins to hastily climb down, he must be on the ground on foot trying to reach his brothers in time. At the bottom, even as he runs, he hears the car crash into the platform. His guts want to tie themselves in knots, but he keeps running, can only hope that no one is too badly hurt.

You see dust and smoke swirl up as you jump down from the tracks into the crash site. Behind you, you hear hurried footsteps. The one you rescued earlier also reaches the crash site. He stops for a moment, stares at you, his eyes big. Finally, he rushes past you into the wreckage to check on his companions.

Some of them are injured, not fatally, but too badly to fight.

"I assume you have a shuttle," you say, more or less addressing everyone.

"Who's that?" the biggest of them asks with a groan, holding his aching ribs.

You wave it off and say, "We can work that out later. I'll back you up on the way to your shuttle if you'll take me. The imperials shot down my shuttle," you say, helping the girl to her feet, who looks at you wide-eyed, then at Tech.

"TECH!"

The girl hugs the man fiercely as tears stream down her face.

"You're alive!" she says as if she can't believe it.

He wipes away her tears and says gently but firmly, "You need to pull yourself together for a moment, Omega, first we need to get out of here"

"Go!" growls the one with the longer hair and bandana, "No time".

He grits his teeth, stumbles limping through the rubble and almost falls, but you grab his arm and help him. You can sense his pain.

"Thank you," he presses out in anguish, between clenched teeth.

Under fire, you rush back to the shuttle as fast as you can. Tech helps the sergeant, the big one named Wrecker holds up on his own. You fend off incoming shots, more than a few of which would hit one back or another without your help. The blade of the laser sword hums, buzzing through the air like an extension of your body, every movement, fluid and natural.

Tech keeps looking over his shoulder, fascinated. He's seen many a Jedi, but somehow, there is something different about you, something that already draws him in.

Pabu is beautiful, peaceful and the people refreshingly warm. A good place to come to rest, at least temporarily. However, you are a bit frustrated at the moment, your attempts to repair your holopad have failed. Annoyed, you place the device back down on the half-wall in front of you.

"Fuck it," you grumble to yourself as you hear a soft noise behind you.

You turn and see Tech, his helmet tucked under his arm, looking at you in surprise with raised brows. He's unobtrusive, yet somehow always near you.

"Excuse my choice of words," you say with a wry smile.

He shrugs carefully and says, "I may not be a fan of that language, but it doesn't bother me much either. However, I must say that this choice of words surprises me, hearing it from a Jedi. I don't think I've ever heard a Jedi swear before."

You laugh softly.

"What makes you think I'm a Jedi?"

Tech blinks thoughtfully, adjusts his goggles with his index finger, and says, "Well, I thought it was obvious. You carry a lightsaber, use the Force, and you are clearly not a Sith."

You nod slowly, "Yes, I can understand why you would come to that conclusion. But I'm not a Jedi, not anymore, not for a few years now."

He extends his hand to you invitingly and says, "May I help you with that?"

You pick up the holopad again and pass it to him. As he deftly takes the device apart, he cautiously asks, "May I ask why you left the Order?"

You sigh softly and sit down on the half-wall, looking down at the beach for a moment as if searching for an answer there, then look at Tech again.

"I never really fit in with the Jedi. You could say among the Jedi I was an outsider to some extent."

Tech looks up curiously from the holopad. He notes that this is something that connects you, he and his brothers never really fit in among the other clones either. He says, "That must have been difficult."

You nod with a sigh, "Sometimes more, sometimes less. I lacked that absolute calm, that restraint. Although I grew up in the Order from a very young age, I have never been able to put aside my emotional nature. The decision that I had to leave the Order was made when I fell in love."

Tech looks up again, blinking, you sense unease beneath his surface.

"In love?" he asks, swallowing, "Oh. Jedi aren't supposed to do that, are they?"

"No, they shouldn't. Well, it happens to many actually, but a real Jedi, cuts themselves loose from it, I didn't want that to happen."

The little, "Oh" that comes across his lips sounds oddly vulnerable.

Tech is still tinkering with your holopad when he asks, "And what happened to that love of yours?"

You swallow and feel an uncomfortable pressure on your chest as you answer quietly, "I don't know. I haven't seen him in a very long time. He was stationed on Ryloth. After Order 66, I couldn't possibly go there, too many clones in one place, and… I was terrified that he had succumbed to the chip as well. If he had tried to kill me, I don't think I could have stomached it. But from what I've heard, he's probably no longer alive anyway."

Tech looks at you in surprise.

"The man you loved was a reg?"

You frown and repeat, "Reg?"

He shakes his head apologetically.

"Sorry. Regular clone, meaning clones that haven't been modified like Clone Force 99"

"Oh, I see," you say understandingly, "Yes, by that standard I suppose he was a Reg. As far as I've heard, he ultimately acted contrary to programming. He was arrested for treason when he liberated the Syndulla family"

Tech looks up again.

"Howzer?" he asks, surprised.

"Yeah," you say, also surprised, "You know him?"

"[Knowing him] is probably too much of a word. We ran into him. At the Syndullas liberation operation. For that matter, I'm afraid I have to confirm the rumor you heard, Howzer really has been arrested by the Empire for treason."

Your heart grows heavy. You swallow. You feel a slight burning behind your eyes and the bridge of your nose.

"Then I guess he really is dead," you say with a heavy sigh, "Actually, I'm not surprised, I was already expecting it, and we haven't seen each other in over a year, but it still hurts."

Tech put the holopad back together. He gently presses the device into your hand, holding your hand almost tenderly for a brief moment as he does so.

"I'm sorry."

He's really sorry, but part of him feels relief that Howzer can't be a part of your life anymore, and he's ashamed of it. In fact, he's shocked at how he feels about you and how that realization affects him.

As Tech lets go of you, he says softly, "Your holopad is working again."

You blink and look at the device.

"Thank you so much. You're really handy with these things, aren't you?"

Tech smiles gently.

"At the risk of sounding smug, I have to say, 'handy' is probably an understatement, but yes".

Tech's heart beats faster when he sees you enter the room. He looks up, smiles at you briefly, and nervously turns his attention back to the cards lying on a box in front of him.

"You're playing… Against yourself?" you ask, surprised.

He nods and says as a matter of course, "Of course, that's the only way this game is still a challenge for me."

Your soft laugh, turns his cheeks a little pink.

"I actually believe you," you say, amused.

You glance over his shoulder.

"You're probably really good at this, you'll have to teach me when you have the time".

Tech's shoulders tighten proudly, he turns his head to the side to look at you shyly for a moment and shows you his cute little smile, just very briefly, but adorably cute.

You are so close, very close to him, for a moment he can smell your scent even more clearly than before and a shiver runs through his body. If he wasn't sitting right now, Tech is sure, his knees would buckle under him. What's happening to him here, what are you doing to him? Does this have something to do with the Force? Tech doesn't dare ask. But he feels something like a connection, and he feels all warm. Maybe he's just incubating a disease. Are there parasites on Pabu that he doesn't know about?

His thoughts are racing in all directions, but then you move again, sit down opposite him. His gaze follows you, spellbound. Tech blinks several times, trying to collect himself. Spending time with you is so wonderful in a way, so exciting, but it also completely messes with his head.

"Are we going to play a game? Will you teach me?"

His mouth opens, but it takes him a long moment to find his voice again.

"I… yes, I'd love to. But the circumstances aren't exactly fair. My mind is… special, it will be anything but easy to win against me"

With a soft laugh whose sound tickles all the way to his stomach, you say, "I don't have to win, first I just want to learn"

You learn quickly. Surprised, with a very slight tinge of frustration, and not a little appreciation, he notes that you soon beat him over and over again.

"No one has ever won against me until now," he says, impressed, but also thoughtful.

Part of him was hoping to impress you, but now he almost feels a little intimidated.

You smirk.

"Well, this is a game where a lot depends on how well you know your opponent and how to interpret their behavior. I have a simple advantage, I can sense your intentions in the Force, maybe the circumstances really aren't fair."

His pulse races. Instead of being angry that you more or less cheated through the Force, panic rises in him. If you can sense his intentions, can you sense what you are triggering in him?!

You tilt your head slightly to the side and look at him questioningly, which only emphasizes his fear. Tech jumps up, nearly knocking over the box still containing your playing cards.

"I have to take care of something," he stammers and runs out of the room a little too hastily.

Echo enters the cockpit of the Marauder in search of Tech. He finds him there, too, using a medical scanner on himself. Echo's brows go up questioningly.

"Tech, what's wrong?"

Startled, Tech looks up, collects himself, and finally answers, "I'm looking for traces of a disease or parasite."

Concerned, Echo moves closer.

"So you're not feeling well?"

Tech sighs and says, "It's hard to tell. I'm showing certain symptoms"

"Which are?"

"Increased heart rate, queasy feeling in stomach, sweaty palms, shaky knees".

Echo frowns and says, "That doesn't sound like a parasite."

Echo thinks for a moment and then something occurs to him. With a certain undertone, he asks, "Those symptoms wouldn't happen to show up in connection with our Jedi guest?"

Tech lowers the scanner and looks critically at Echo.

"Are you suggesting she might have infected me with something?"

Echo says, amused, "More or less. She's pretty, she's nice, well she's special."

Tech sighs softly and says, "I agree."

Echo sits down in the copilot seat, looks at Tech and says, "You'd rather be sick than in love?"

"In love?!" echoes Tech in near panic.

His brother raises his hands placatingly.

"Relax, it's a normal thing, not the end of the world. But it's also natural to have a certain respect for these feelings. They make us vulnerable and as soldiers we are trained to avoid such things, especially as clones. But there are no regulations anymore, you could take the leap and explore these feelings."

Techs heart beats faster, just the thought that there might be something between you sends what feels like millions of signals through his body.

"Are you scared?"

Tech gulps.

"I'm not sure about that, in a way I guess I am. She can use the Force, maybe she already knows, maybe she's already sensed what I'm feeling."

Echo shrugs.

"I suppose it's possible. But so far it doesn't seem to me like she's avoiding you, that's a good sign after all."

Tech nods slowly, agreeing with his brother.

The sun is slowly setting, but it is still wonderfully warm. Your hands rest on the waist-high stone wall in front of you and feel the warmth of the sun stored in it, which has been shining on it all day. A real, pleasant feeling. Then you feel something else, with your mind.

"Hey, Tech. Did you get done what you needed to get done?"

You turn to him with a smile. It's almost unusual to see him without his datapad in his hand. Tech stands next to you and looks out at the ocean and how the sun seems to be sinking into the water on the horizon.

"Yes, I have," he says softly.

You can sense that something is going on beneath his surface, he is excited and euphoric at the same time, but outwardly he seems quite calm. You look at each other, you feel it coming, but you don't move a muscle. Unsure if you want to let it happen or not. He leans towards you, his lips chastely touching your cheek, then he straightens up again with blushing cheeks and looks out at the water again, unable to face your gaze.

It's a strange feeling. You like Tech a lot, you can't quite place it yet, but something about it feels wrong, maybe because you can't quite release Howzer from your heart yet.

"Sorry," he says suddenly, "I didn't mean to cross any lines."

You sigh softly and carefully reach for his hand. Tech's heart overflows with joyful excitement, you can feel it, it practically spills over to you, but you pull yourself together.

"There's something you should know, Tech."

He does finally look at you again, questioningly.

"You can tell me anything," he says quietly.

With a cautious smile, you nod and say, "I can feel what you feel for me, at least I think I can. These feelings, I must admit, are not entirely one-sided."

There is great joy radiating from him, nervousness, euphoria, but also a bitter undertone of insecurity.

He says, "I have a feeling there's still a 'but' there."

You nod again and say, "My heart is not ready to let go of Howzer. I know he's most likely no longer among the living, but I'm not ready to let him go just yet."

"Oh," Tech says quietly, "That's not a problem. I, um, I can wait until you're ready."

"I can't ask you to do that, I don't know how long it will take" you say uncertainly, lowering your eyes.

You would love to let him hug and comfort you, just let go and snuggle up to Tech's side, but something, hidden deep inside you, prevents you from doing so.

Tech repeats determinedly, "I can wait," and very gently squeezes your fingers in his hand.

At that moment, your heart opens a little wider to him and his, adorably sweet, little, smile.

"Rex is coming to Pabu," Hunter says, "And he's bringing some more of our brothers with him that he was able to rescue from the clutches of the Empire."

You remember Rex, a little bit, anyway. A decent guy, good soldier, he was Skywalker's Clone Captain. Skywalker was the only Jedi at the time who seemed to understand you to some extent, at least you always had a good conversation with him. You wonder where he is now, if he is still alive. But a noise pulls you out of your thoughts.

A shuttle is approaching and lands next to the Marauder, which suddenly seems quite small in comparison. The ramp opens and Rex emerges from it, followed by several other clones.

Tech shows up next to you, giving you a gentle smile before focusing on the arrivals, his datapad in hand as usual.

You greet the new arrivals. Rex even recognizes you, you talk for a moment when you hear someone say, "Hey little Jedi."

There is only one man who has ever called you that.

"Howzer", the name comes across your lips like a whisper.

You turn around and see him standing in front of you. He looks tired, but the smile on his face is still irresistible. Neither of you think for long. You embrace each other stormily and Howzer engages you in a long, longing kiss.

As his lips part from yours, he leans his forehead against yours and says, "Honestly, I hardly dared to hope I'd ever see you again, beautiful."

The world around you has faded out, there is only Howzer and you, even though all eyes are on you. Some confused, others amused. But you also feel Tech's shock, poking through all the other sensations surrounding you, like an electric shock.

The datapad in his hands crackles and creaks protestingly under the pressure of Tech's fingers as he watches your kiss. He didn't expect this, didn't expect Howzer to ever appear on the scene again.

Tech could have imagined waiting until you were ready for him, but this changes everything. The realization is like a shock, and a wave of bitterness rolls over him against his will.

The datapad cracks in his hands. Echo next to him stares in disbelief at the kissing scene, then his gaze shifts to Tech with concern.

"Tech…" he says softly, but Tech drops the datapad to the floor, turns on his heel, and walks away in a hurry.

Hunter and Echo exchange a frown, a worried look.

"I'll go check on him," Echo says, and sets about following Tech.

That same evening, you're sitting on the beach with Howzer, holding hands, talking, telling each other all the things that happened during the time you were apart. Then you feel it again, the tentative, tender presence of Tech. You turn your head and look up at him.

You haven't seen him since this morning, since Rex and Howzer arrived. You don't know where he's been or what he's been doing during that time. But since Echo followed him and also stayed gone all day, you suspect he was talking to his brother.

"I'm sorry to bother you. I know you probably have a lot to talk about, but I'd like to ask for a private conversation," Tech says in a matter-of-fact tone.

Howzer frowns questioningly, but when you agree and leave with Tech, he has no objections, trusting you and waiting on the beach as Tech and you walk away, out of earshot and sight.

"I know," Tech begins, "Things have changed now, of course. Howzer's still alive, and I don't presume to make demands or get in the way. I'm very fond of you, and even though I'd like to be in Howzer's place, all I really want is for you to be happy."

His pain is deep and more intense than you expect, you can feel it almost as clearly as if it were your own.

"I'm so sorry, I-"

Tech raises his hand.

"No, don't be. Neither my feelings nor the current situation are your fault. You should be happy, you have the man you love back."

Everything inside you tightens. Yes he is right, you should be happy, but you are not, not completely. But maybe that's just what you feel going out from Tech.

"Something about this whole situation doesn't feel right," you say so softly that he almost doesn't hear it.

He smiles sadly and says, "That's just because you're a good person, you have a good heart. You know that I feel pain, and you would like to change that. But you can't, this is something that will heal with time."

You take a deep breath, stand on your tiptoes, and he leans towards you. You gently kiss Tech's cheek and say, "You know I still care about you immensely, right?"

He swallows, finally nods, and says, barely audibly, "I know that."

As you part ways, he stares after you for a long time as his hand automatically moves to his cheek and his fingers settle on the spot where you kissed him. He will never forget this moment.

Ko-Fi (If you feel like giving me some coffee)

@rintheemolion

@andyoufollowyourheart @clone-whore-99

@brynhildrmimi @kaliel2310

@misogirl828 @tech-deck

@meshla-madalene

@chxpsi

@thebahdbitch

@nahoney22 @ladykatakuri

@darkangel4121

@ttzamara

@arctrooper69

@padawancat97

@agenteliix

@allsystemsblue

@palliateclaw

@either-madness-or-brilliance

@ortizshinkaroff

@andy-solo1

@hunterssecretrecipe

@heyitsaloy

@greaser-wolf

@extrahotpixels

@hated-by-me

@hunterxcrosshair

@malicemercy

@bebopsworld

@echos-girlfriend

@cpnt616

@dangraccoon

@jediknightjana

@pb-jellybeans

@starwarsnerd111

#star wars #the bad batch #tbb #clone force 99 #sw tbb #tech #tbb tech #bad batch tech #tech x female reader #tbb tech x reader #tech x you #tech x reader #clone trooper tech x reader #technician #tech bad batch #tech tbb #tech the bad batch #the bad batch tech #tech fluff #tech angst #heartache

[moonstrider9904]

2022 Kinktober by moonstrider9904

I've seen some mutuals of mine hopping on board and now I'm so hyped about this that I just have to hop in as well!

I will be following the list made by @the-purity-pen

Link to my Main Masterlist

As always, minors DNI.

Dirty Talk - Crosshair x Fem!Reader

A/B/O - Maul x Fem!Reader

Glove Kink - Boba Fett x Fem!Reader

Missionary - Crosshair x Fem!Reader

Breeding - Hunter x Fem!Reader

Cockwarming - Maul x Fem!Reader

Sex Toys - Tech x Fem!Reader

Double Penetration - Fives x Fem!Reader x Jesse

Drunk Sex - Howzer x Fem!Reader

Erotic Photos - Commander Cody x Fem!Reader

Exhibitionism/Voyeurism - Luke Skywalker x Fem!Reader

Face Sitting/Fucking - Hardcase x Fem!Reader

Love Bites/Marks - Crosshair x Fem!Reader

Overstimulation - Savage Opress x Fem!Reader

Bath/Shower Sex - Rex x Fem!Reader

Licking - Tech x Fem!Reader

Lingerie - Maul x Fem!Reader

Praise Kink - Maul x Fem!Reader

Phone Sex - Howzer x Fem!Reader

Orgasm Denial - Rex x Fem!Reader

Tender Sex - Crosshair x Fem!OC (Clair)

Sexting - Tech x Fem!Reader

Sensory Deprivation - Hunter x Fem!Reader

#moonstrider writes #moon's 2022 kinktober #tbb fanfic #tbb fanfiction #kinktober 2022 #kinktober

[boozeandbaddecisions]

Woo another month down. Just like before let's talk about the homies

@burningfieldof-clover - Welcome for round two homie. Placed here due to her blog being 18+. Go show her some love.

@ghostlythunderbird - Spice dealer just posted her first A/B/O fic and boy...it's gonna be fun. If you need some new COD content, go bug her. Send thots. You'll be surprised what she might send back.

@rain-on-kamino - Go bug her. She's great. Send her all the cute Howzer and Echo stuff you can find. Also her Shades of Dates Fic ain't too shabby ;)

@tech-deck - If you want some good soup on Tech, they are who you go find (psstt, I'm also waiting to meet your OC one day. No pressure, but I'm excited)

Writing

Barracks Bunny Request - König x F!Reader - @devilanon

141 + König x Fem! Reader Going Down on Them - @starstruckmiraclekitty

Enough - König x F!Reader - @saltofmercury

The Imperial Bad Batch x Fem!Reader - Dangerous Seduction HC's Part 4 Of 5 (Wrecker) - Imp!Wrecker x F!Reader - @zoeykallus

König Request - König x Reader - @ghosts-bandwagon

Kinktober Day 8 - Creampies - Paz Vizsla x AFAB!Reader - @bobafetts-princess

Love You Want - Wrecker x F!Reader - @eyecandyeoz

Mäuschen - König x F!Reader - @namedlunagoddess

Meet Me in the Afterglow - Imp!Wrecker x F!Medic!Reader - @starryevermore

Nachtisch - König x Reader - @daisies-daydreams

#L's fic recs #fic recs march 2023

[starrylothcat]

LOVE the idea for the follower celebration! And congrats!! 💕 I’m gonna shamelessly spam the crap out of it and you can pleeeease feel free to use your discretion to ruthlessly cut some or all from the lineup. 😂😘

I’m unabashedly in love with this Howzer x Fem!OC full length fic that I wrote… 🙈🤣 I think it’s got playfulness, character growth, action, romance, yearning, angst, adventure, passion, and is just a fun ride overall. It’s done for now, til TBB S3 shows me the rest of Howzer’s story, but I left it in a nice pause place, not a cliffhanger. It’s thoroughly researched to be canon-compliant and is SFW but rated PG-13 for the various content tagged at the top of the post. 💕 I’ll be posting chapters daily here and people can request to be on the tag list, but the entire work is on Ao3 for people who don’t want to wait. 😂

xoxo

https://www.tumblr.com/freesia-writes/721894443901403136/quantum-entanglement-howzer-aurelia-master

Ahhh thank you for the first submission! I’m all for self recommendation hell ya!

Howzer is up there in my favorite clones and I just read the first three chapters of this fic. I LOVE Aurelia already and Howzer being a confident, cocky shiny is everything. I’ll definitely be keeping up with this one! Awesome work @freesia-writes 😁

If you love Howzer check this out y’all!

Starry’s Spread the Love Event

#the bad batch #captain howzer #captain Howzer x oc #spread the love sw event #starrysfollowevent #the clone wars fanfiction

[ladykatakuri]

Stardust Reblog Challenge Master List

Participating in this challenge, I am making this master list and hope it may guide you to stories not yet read that you can now discover and enjoy or re discover. You can also find the stories of all others who make these lists etc under the tag #stardust reblog challenge.

September 2022:

September 1:

The Gym Membership Part 13 ( Echo ) by @imabeautifulbutterfly SFW

Clone Trooper Rambles: Routine by @wanderinginksplot SFW

All in Favor of You Poe Dameron x F! Reader by @princessxkenobi SFW

All Around Me Savage Opress x Reader by @eyecandyeoz NSFW

September 2:

The Bad Batch: Just Curious TBB x Reader and with Omega by @rainydaydream-gal18 SFW

Kindred: Prologue Hunter x F! OC by @clonecyaree eventual 18+

12th:

Sins of the Father ch. 34 by @imabeautifulbutterfly SFW

TBB + Rex x Tall Reader HCs by @zoeykallus SFW

Truth or Dare TBB x F! Reader by @zoeykallus NSFW

Celebrating Together Frankie Morales x F. Reader x Benny Miller by @wardenparker NSFW

Traveler of the Night Khonshu x Fem. Reader by @interstellarwraith NSFW

13th:

Dirty Little Thief ch. 12 Hunter x F!Reader by @zoeykallus NSFW

Boinsoir ch.5 Gregor x OC Cassia Nu by @kaminocasey SFW

Rex - In Love and War 8 Rex x F!Reader by @zoeykallus SFW ( slightly suggestive )

Bruises and Scrapes 2 GN!Reader x Silco by @a-gal-with-taste SFW

Wild Abandon part5 Ezra x F!Reader by@starlightmornings NSFW

TBB x S/O Born with 2 fingers on their right hand by @zoeykallus SFW

Echo and Fives ficlet from asks by @wild-karrde SFW

TBB x F!Reader - First date HC`s by @zoeykallus SFW

Howzer x Medic!Reader by @wild-karrde SFW

Hotel Sanguine Max Phillips x F!Reader by @absurdthirst NSFW

The Cottage part 2 Rebels!Rex x Wife!Reader by: @kaminocasey NSFW

Love me Gently Hunter x F!Reader by @zoeykallus NSFW

14th:

Veman`alor ch.24 Boba Fett x Reader - Din Djarin x Reader by: @galacticgraffiti NSFW

TBB x Fem!Reader - Hurt HC`s, She loves me not by @zoeykallus SFW

A Glimpse of Us part 3C Rex x Reader x Hunter by @kaminocasey NSFW

Gar Cyare Chapter 2, Alpha17 x F!Reader by @wanderinginksplot SFW

Late Night Feelings, Crosshair x F!Reader by : @kaminocasey NSFW

TBB x Reader Soft HC`s - Tall Guys by: @zoeykallus SFW

All in Favor of You, Poe Dameron x F!Reader by: @princessxkenobi SFW (ish)

The Cottage Part 3, Rebels!Rex x F!Reader by: @kaminocasey NSFW

Hunter: Enemy Mine 4 and 5, Hunter x F!Reader by @zoeykallus NSFW

Moving On part.10 Wolffe x F!OC Jirli by: @imabeautifulbutterfly SFW

The Hand that Feeds, Boba Fett x F!Reader Ch. 11 & 12 ( Finale and Epilogue ) by: @interstellarwraith SFW

TBB x F!Reader Spicey HC`s-Needing your attention by @zoeykallus NSFW

Tender Hearts 2/2 Dogma x F!Reader by: @nahoney22 NSFW

What Blooms in Thunder Final Chapter, Rex x F!Reader, Fives x Male OC, Lieutenant Rose x F! Reader by: @rowansparrow-writing NSFW

15th:

The Riders, Silco/Reader by: @a-gal-with-taste SFW

There for You 21, Echo x F!Reader by: @zoeykallus SFW

In Perfect Light Ch.30 Crosshair x F!Reader by: @interstellarwraith SFW

TBB x F!Reader HC`s - Holding a Baby by: @zoeykallus SFW

You`re Worlds Away, Din Djarin x F!Reader by: @interstellarwraith SFW

Do You Hear The People Sing, Fox x Reader, Thorn x Reader ( kinda ) by: @kaminocasey NSFW

Crosshair - My Beloved Enemy 39, Crosshair x F!Reader by: @zoeykallus NSFW

PAMARTHE ARC 3: HIREACH (HIGH-RAWK), Din Djarin x F!Reader by: @djarinsbeskar NSFW

TBB x F!Reader HCs - A Soldiers Love by @zoeykallus SFW

TBB x Reader HC`s - Get Rid of a Toxic Friend by: @zoeykallus SFW

Rex - In Love and War 9, Rex x F!Reader by @zoeykallus NSFW

TBB x Reader with coily hair by: @zoeykallus SFW

TBB, Maul, Kit Fisto, Fox x F!Reader HC`s - Adopting a Pet by: @zoeykallus SFW

TBB x F!Reader HC`s - To Be Heard by: @zoeykallus SFW

My Sweet Traitor, Imp!Crosshair x F!Reader 1/? by @zoeykallus SFW

TBB x Reader HC`s - Kitchen Dancing by: @zoeykallus Partly Suggestive

Always, Forever - Crosshair x F!Reader by: @interstellarwraith SFW

October 2022

November 2022

December 2022

Tagging: @imabeautifulbutterfly@chaoticvampirejedi@hellothere-generalangsty@cyroku@reluctant-mandalore@uponrightful@zinzinina@saradika@galacticgraffiti@ashotofspotchka@dindjarindiaries@dinbeskarbaby@djarrex@djarinsbeskar@rowansparrow@photogirl894@rigelmoonshine@rigel-the-moonstrider@nahoney22@loth-wolffe@neon-junkie@bobafetts-princess@cyarbika@charnelhouse@zoeykallus@kin-rokku@jgvfhl@honestly-shite@here-comes-the-moose@dindjarindiaries@firstofficerwiggles@fictional-men-ruin-lives @ladysongmaster @lozalot @moonstrider9904@lorjukka@m-o-o-n-s-g-o-o-n-s @rain-on-kamino @monako-jinn-stories

#stardust reblog challenge

[not-really-a-writer]

Masterlist

All work is written for 18+ only, though many writings are not explicit, I do not want any minors interacting with any of my work or anything on this blog. Thanks in advance for respecting that.

I will keep this list updated, but I have no regular publishing schedule. I write when the creative juices flow, whenever that is. A lot of what I write is supremely self-indulgent ;) so I apologize in advance for that.

Headcannons/Fan theory

What may happen with Captain Howzer

Mixed race Bad Batch HC Part 1 | Part 2 (tba)

Fanfiction

Pairings/relationships are considered romantic unless platonic is specified. Detailed content warnings are in each post's description. General content warnings given on this list with the following markers: 🔥 anything suggestive/spicy/explicit (ranging from pg 13 + mature ), 💔 angst, 🍬 sweet fluff.

CLONE MEDIC KIX

🍬Museum date with Kix | Clone Medic Kix x reader

🔥You Can't Make Me | Clone Medic Kix x fem!reader

🔥Hitting on Kix | Clone Medic Kix x reader

🔥💔All Dressed up with Nowhere to go | Clone Medic Kix x fem!reader

Just Another Day | Clone Medic Kix x reader

ARC TROOPER FIVES

Moving Day | ARC Trooper Fives x reader

🍬Drunk Dial | ARC Trooper Fives x reader

Clonetober 2022: Day 22 Sick Fic/Allergies featuring ARC Trooper Fives x reader

🔥💔Lucky Girl | ARC Trooper Fives x OC "Aibree" feat. ARC Trooper Fives x reader

CAPTAIN REX

💔 The Ugly Friend | ARC Trooper Fives x reader, Captain Rex x reader

CAPTAIN GREGOR

🍬Something Sweet | Captain Gregor x reader

🔥Reprimand | Captain Gregor x fem!reader, implied Captain Gregor x fem!reader x Commander Cody

CAPTAIN HOWZER

🔥Countdown to a Kiss | Captain Howzer x reader

🔥The Jacket | Captain Howzer x fem!reader

Clonetober 2022: 🍬Day 20 Thunderstorms

COMMANDER CODY

🔥💔Notifications | Part 1 | Part 2| Part 3 |Part 4| Part 5 TBA!!! Commander Cody x fem!reader

🍬Brunch Spot | Commander Cody x reader

COMMANDER WOLFFE

🔥Untitled Commander Wolffe x reader

OTHERS/MULTIPLE

🔥Rough | Clone Trooper Sinker x reader

🔥Thirsty | ARC Trooper Echo x reader (could be interpreted as ARC Trooper Echo x reader x ARC Trooper Fives)

💔 🔥 Please Stay | Clone OC x fem!reader | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

🔥🍬Mother's Day Collection | Featuring Rex, Wolffe, Kix, Gregor and mom!reader. Also, Fives x pregnant!reader.

🍬Mothers Day Collection Part 2 (2023) | Featuring Cody, Howzer, and Mayday

Relationship HCs: Fights and Makeup Sex featuring Wolffe and Fives

Original Work

💔 My King | You are a warrior Queen returning as a captive to your fallen kingdom. 18+

Future Letters to the Love of My Life | Number 1 | Number 2 | Number 3 |Just letters to the future love of my life

💔A Kiss Goodbye | Poem about one sided love

💔Lyric Analysis of "Ceilings"

[monako-jinn-stories]

Jinn’s Multipart Stories

Main Master List

** is an on going series

**A Returning Echo ~ Echo X Fem!Reader (3 Multi-chapter Parts Series)

Before the Citadel ~ First Part

After the Citadel ~ Second Part

**It Started With a Vacation ~ Crosshair X Fem!Reader

Boba Fett: Special Payment ~ Boba X Fem!Reader *includes OC created and shared with @maygalodon

Boba Fett: The Tribute ~ Boba X GN!Reader

**Rebels on the Run ~ Howzer X Fem!Reader

#star wars fan fiction #a returning echo #it started with a vacation #the tribute #special payment #jinn the storyteller🤍🤍 #rebels on the run

[starqueensthings]

FOREWORD | NEXT | AO3

We begin our journey with the protagonist. This chapter will read dry for those only here for our Clone Wars and Bad Batch favourites. Since it’s an introductory chapter, it’s strictly OC’s in this one… (squint real hard and you may find a glimpse of one our faves!)

WARNINGS: brief elusions to a traumatic past, but next to no detail provided (yet). Mildly graphic descriptions of medical injuries and surgery.

RATING: the entirety of this work will be classified as 16+ for mature themes, with sporadic chapters upped to 18+ for explicit encounters.

PLEASE ENSURE YOU’VE READ THE FOREWORD LINKED ABOVE FOR AN IN-DEPTH DESCRIPTION OF WHAT DEGREE OF CONTENT YOU CAN EXPECT THROUGHOUT THIS STORY BEFORE PROCEEDING.

The unusually abrasive whirring of his hip servos both alerted her of his arrival, and wordlessly reminded her for the umpteenth time that the congestion of her work schedule had rendered him irresponsibly overdue for an oil bath, though neither that irksome grating nor his return to her side proved urgent enough to pull her attention from the task at hand.

He slowed to a stop and hovered in the doorway of that rapidly darkening office, hinged hands clasped together in front of him while his round, glowing oculars patiently blinked at the obvious intensity of her concentration.

She allowed herself only a breath more to wallow in that den of self-pity and exhaustion, the raging tornado of unfinished tasks in her mind threatening to raze what was left of the mental space she’d intentionally attempted to preserve for finishing the three dozen neglected medical reports.

“Hi Lumi...”

She addressed her AZI assistant in a shamefully distracted mumble, fingers hovering over the buttons of her keyboard as she fought to orient her over-saturated thoughts into the holocomputer through the fidgeting funnel of her hands.

“Good evening, Dr. Kiore.” Correctly identifying her current aversion for distraction, her droid companion thankfully offered nothing more than his typical jovial salutation.

The last couple of weeks had seen this duo truly depart the somewhat turbulent infancy of their working relationship, and the wrinkles of unknown expectation and unlearned behavior had since-been ironed smooth with the steam of shared experience and consistent reinforcement. Free of the bravado that budding surgical residents wore atop their shoulders like robes sewn with the threads of overconfidence, Lumi had become a remarkable working companion to June. Not only did his programming ensure he had a wealth of easily accessible medical knowledge, but he wasn’t hindered by the limited cognition of the human brain, being able to accurately process and categorize large amounts of data while simultaneously completing a variety of other tasks whilst entirely free from the plague of exhaustion.

Much to her appreciation, he’d also managed to effectively catalogue her dynamic panoply of mannerisms, thus ensuring he could readily identify her preferred positioning during specific procedures, recognize the potent displeasure behind her eyes if (and when) the nurse droid failed to include certain niche tools on her sterile tray, and presently, her sheer desperation for an extra ten seconds of undisturbed focus.

“Okay,” she muttered to herself, collecting the hospital-issued datapad from the desk in front of her and ceasing its slumber with the prod of a finger. Her tired eyes danced across the seemingly infinite list of medical charts waiting for their turn at the forefront of her mind, and it was with another dejected sigh that she checked off only the top item before abandoning the device again.

Tense from yet another long day of stooping over an operating room table, the muscles in her neck immediately protested the duress of a stretch as she extended her arms over her head and flexed her aching fingers. Refusing to lessen the strain until a satisfying pop met her ears, she paused for a moment to relish in the pain successfully distracting her from that perpetual gnaw in her mind.

“Alright,” she proclaimed suddenly, sending her palms clapping together in a gesture of feigned motivation, and Lumi immediately took his cue to enter, head twirling about on his neck with glee. “I need you to go to room 8-E,” she instructed while pushing her desk chair backward several inches with a nudge from her sneakered toe. “CT-2658 needs a preliminary vitals scan and a thoracic x-ray. Once those are completed, transmit the imaging to his chart and locate an FX-9 to prep him for a thoracotomy. This morning I just caught the nurse droid replacing the valve in his mask with the wrong colour… If it gets changed again before he’s anesthetized, make sure it’s the yellow valve. No incisions until I or a 2-1B is present.”

“Right away, Dr. Kiore.”

“Oh, and he goes by ‘Bolts’. Avoid using his CT number unless you absolutely have to.”

Lumi acknowledged her final anecdote with a small bow of the head before he turned and zoomed back through the open door into the hallway beyond.

The budding ache behind her left eye intensified as she watched his small metallic form circle the Welcome Station, an oversized u-shaped desk perched in the middle of the expansive ward, before pivoting and vanishing down the hallway on the left, and the increasing need to activate the lamp on her desk meant it was nearing the time her stomach would begin to revolt against her negligence, that measly handful of mixed nuts tossed hurriedly into her mouth some hours ago having utterly failed to satiate even a fraction of her hunger.

But time had vanished… again, and June was confident there wasn’t a meal anywhere in the galaxy capable of freeing her from the constant overstimulation that working in the Grand Republic Medical Facility had imbued her with over the last fortnight. And so her fingernails drummed absently on the desk in front of her as another exhausted sigh escaped her nose, both gestures laying bare her body’s continued attempts at combating the gale of patient information whipping about her mind. Resisting the urge to momentarily abandon that pressing obligation and head to the staff room for a fresh caf, she granted herself only another moment of quiet, the mental weight of her extensive to-do list keeping her glued to the cushion of her desk chair despite the near-rabid craving for both caffeine and a snack. Nibbling absentmindedly on her thumbnail, she redirected her attention back to the holocomputer in front of her and opened Bolts’s medical chart.

The wounded soldier had arrived at the hospital in the very early hours of the morning, having been medically evacuated from a planet called Malestare in critical condition. The triaging doctor in the emergency room at the time had quickly diagnosed the soldier with a condition known as ‘Flail Chest’, and had directed him to the Surgical Department on the 8th floor immediately thereafter.

The accompanying trooper was the company’s medic, and was only able to provide snippets of the harrowing and incomplete story. When probed for information about the initial incident, he described witnessing a series of explosions “about a kilometer south” of his squad’s tactical position, though admittedly had a poor vantage point at the time of the incident. He’d barely managed to rendezvous with the limping remnants of his decimated platoon before being urgently summoned to stabilize the wounded– Bolts included.

“I had to dart his chest,” the panting Medic heaved to the emergency doctor downstairs, wiping sweat from his brow with a trembling hand as he watched his brother disappear behind a small crowd of scrub-clad nurses, each of them fervently ripping the remaining armour from that fragile form. “Twice. The catheter held for a while, but collapsed just as we were jumping to lightspeed. He– he needs to be intubated… quick.”

With hurried reassurances that CT-2658 was now in the best care, the medic was ushered back onto the shuttle and returned to the front lines while his brother was rushed upstairs for lifesaving care.

Dr. Pherto Pavot, a highly intelligent albeit moderately antisocial man, was a longtime colleague of June’s and had been laden with the duty of on-call trauma surgeon for the duration of the night shift. With the assistance of an FX-7 medical droid, he’d managed to both successfully intubate the patient and send him for x-rays by the time the morning surgeons began to trickle in for their shifts only a short time later.

June had barely tied her sneakers before leaping into action. Determined to get the ailing soldier into surgery before her day was through, she took every spare moment she could find between the myriad of other scheduled procedures to dip into her office and stare at the radiographic imaging Pherto ordered that morning.

Now, as the sun completed its arc across the expanse of the Coruscanti sky, reaching its rays downwards for the cold slumber of the horizon, she was barely able to overpower the persistent pokes of exhaustion.

“Blunt force trauma from an undetermined source to the thoracic cavity–” she typed, jaw clamped closed against a violent yawn as she plugged data into the Kaminoan medical report her colleague had initiated many hours previously. “–Right 3rd to 6th rib fractured laterally, floating. Basal intercostal catheter in situ. Slight left pleural effusion. Prognosis TBD post surgery.”

She sighed, eyes peering disapprovingly at the screen of her holocomputer where Pherto’s hurried notes failed to complement the detail of her own, and the detrimental, perfectionist urge to delete the entire report in favour or starting over was nearly as challenging to repress as the yawn that continued to plague her, though she refused both. ‘Sorry Kamino,’ she grumbled, acutely aware that attempting to pull another word from her brain might cause it to simply cease firing entirely. ‘That's going to have to do.’

With a deft swipe across the screen from the pad of her cold finger, she landed on the patient’s main profile page. Despite having resentfully expected to see that irksome negative space beside his designation number, the implication of that missing information instantly soured her already dwindling mood, sending her eyelids aflutter atop an exquisite roll of her blue eyes.

As an attending general surgeon, she did not technically hold any amount of authority over her colleagues, though that had yet to stop her from repeatedly begging everyone in the Hospital to make a habit of prompting soldiers for their elected moniker upon intake. Much to her frustration, all of them continued to ignore her relentless pleas; intra-hospital memos went ignored, verbal requests were casually dismissed, ingenuine agreements were immediately followed by inaction. Even escalating the issue to the Chief of Surgery with hopes that her request may transcend the Surgical Floor had proved fruitless, as he had promptly deemed the issue “unimportant for effective medical care, and superfluous data in an already cluttered medical chart.”

‘Easy for him to say,’ she had seethed to herself, stalking away from her superior with the raging, indignant cry of “I am not just a number!” still reverberating poignantly in her ears. While there hadn’t been a clone soldier brazen enough to shout that sentiment in her face since that… eventful… day, the nuance of his message had not fallen on deaf ears, and it quickly became a personal mission of June’s to ensure that her patients, a demographic that now predominantly consisted of clone soldiers, never felt like anything less than a person in need of medical care.

Returning the holocomputer to a dark-screened slumber, she sat back in her chair and finally permitted that unrelenting yawn to contort her features as it expanded her lungs and forced her eyes closed. The shiver that rolled uncomfortably down her spine acted as an unsavoury reminder of how late the hour had grown, and she pivoted her chair to face the window of her office, hopeful to catch that last sliver of beautiful autumn sun before it commenced its duty until morn.

Unlike her best friend Jacoba, whose earliest memories included running amok in her parents’ home with a stethoscope made of string and a pair of purple safety scissors, June’s childhood dreams did not entail ending up as a surgeon in the busiest medical facility in the galaxy. While convincing her to speak about her childhood typically proved more challenging than pulling teeth from a snarling massiff, those closest to June knew that her earliest memories were ones filled with nature: impossibly tall pillars of pine swaying in an everlasting zephyr; rolling hills adorned with an emerald carpet of clover and jewel toned flowers, the vibrancy of their exotic petals possible thanks to the extended daylight hours that only Wild Space was privileged. Acting as the apex to her childhood oasis, and perched at the end of a winding path of uniquely red clay, was a small log home; its stone chimney mercilessly emitting delicate puffs of fragrant smoke toward an impossibly large sky, and the hand-knotted hammock chair hanging from the rafters on the porch, swayed in time with the trees. It was a dichotomously sheltered yet wild upbringing, full of innocent and simple dreams; hopes and desires and plans that reached only the stars of Wild Space.

Back then, June was naught but a tiny mind, desperately hopeful to gain only that of which she was knew: a cozy home nestled between protective mountains, an overflowing rain barrel infinitely teeming with signs of micro-life, a bustling market of familiar faces, a treehouse on the edge of a forest too full of exotic flora and fauna for her to wander unsupervised, a soft blanket for a picnic, a spike to impale one of her favourite mini sausages and a roaring fire into which she could roast it…

Now, long-estranged from her family and far away from that place both geographically and mentally, life looked a lot different for Dr. Juniper Kiore. Robbed long ago of that blissful childhood naivety, she was now a hard working young woman of twenty-three with no plans to return to the home world she still deemed the galaxy’s hidden corner of paradise.

As another shiver rolled down her spine, she cast a quick glance toward the accompanying desk in that shared office; the clutter and detritus Jacoba was notorious for deserting atop that otherwise identical desktop patiently awaited its owner to arrive for her shift and plunk her purse down amidst the fray. X-Ray films from the hectivity of yesterday still clung to the backlit display board on the wall, the series of luminous images depicting a grotesquely cracked skull and the adjacent cranial hemorrhage, and a femur shattered beyond recognition.

Interpreting the permission of that first yawn as authorization to open the floodgates, June’s cheeks quickly expanded under the duress of a second yawn barely seconds after recovering from the first, forcing her eyes closed again. With an indecorous grunt, she cracked each of her cold knuckles, relishing in the way that discomfort pulled her farther out of the stupor of fatigue before she turned to retrieve the caf mug perched beside her keyboard.

“Bleh…” she grumbled instantly, lips flattening in disgust as she swirled the anaemic dregs around the bottom of the ceramic cup. There were unmistakable signs of the milk beginning to coagulate, collecting around the sides of the purple dish with each twirl of the wrist. ‘Isn’t this the mug I grabbed at lunch?’ she asked herself, eyes unfocussing under knitted brows as she struggled to piece together the hurried two minutes in which she’d dashed to the staff room for caffeine some half dozen hours ago. ‘Or maybe this is the caf from last night, and that’s the caf from today?’

Her gaze fell upon a second mug sitting daintily beside the potted plant only inches from her right hand, identical to the first in every way with the exception of a small chip along the rim, stained with a lip gloss that she was sure she hadn’t bothered to put on in several rotations.

She traded one for the other, repeating the swirling motions and watching the minute dash of milk collect in the centrifuge of dark liquid. Bringing the chipped rim to her nose, she took a gentle sniff.

“June—”

Every cell in her body, every hair on her skin, collectively seized in alarm, shoulders jerking upwards in a startled spasm while a sharp gasp slapped against the back of her throat. That panic only intensified as, what could only be described as a miniature tidal wave of the stale beige caf, cascaded over the rim of that chipped purple mug and landed with a splat on her left knee.

“Maker, you scared the shit out of me,” she gasped, pressing a hand over her pounding heart and stowing the cup heavily back onto the desk.

“Sorry.” Challa snorted from his casual lean in the threshold, arms folded over his chest. “When is Jac coming in?” he asked, gesturing with a small nod to the empty desk chair on June’s left side.

She stalled the answer on her tongue, stealing an extended second for another calming breath as her heart continued to smash against the inner walls of her chest. “She won't be here for another half hour,” June finally conceded, tipping her wrist to check the time.

‘18:56pm. No wonder I’m kriffing starving.’

He offered nothing but a small hum in response, that heavy, signature Twi-lek brow tense with unspoken complaints as if he wholly disapproved that he couldn’t simply demand the clock say what he wanted it to say.

Dr. Challa Shuk was a fiercely intelligent and highly celebrated doctor with an inherent knack for organization and a remarkably efficient, yet, consistently pleasant bedside manner; the combination proving a perfect recipe for the individual tasked with running the second busiest department in the hospital.

Seemingly overnight, the inception of the war had shifted the priorities and policies of the institution to accommodate for the Grand Army of the Republic, incidentally bringing with it the ever-present undertone of tumult and uncertainty for the staff throughout. Being the determined and capable doctor that he was, Challa rose to the occasion marvelously, shouldering the brunt of the responsibility and almost single-handedly converting the Surgical Floor from a slow-paced civilian center to a bustling combat medical zone. But, despite his unwavering commitment to both the Grand Republic Medical Facility and to medicine in general, his acceptance of the changing reality, and the shifts in policy required to ensure a smooth transition, were not widely accepted by his employees; many of the surgical department doctors were highly resistant to the procedural changes and the variation in their established routine that came with it.

June and Jacoba were the only caveats to this unfortunate behaviour, both of them still early enough in their careers to embrace the required alterations with barely a breath of skepticism. Their adaptability had earned them both significant favour with the Twi’lek Chief of Surgery, and a number of other rarely anointed perks: both girls had been gifted their own AZI-class medical assistant droid to which they were permitted to utilize for whatever means they deemed appropriate, both were allotted the unheralded freedom to implete their own surgical schedules (much to their colleagues dismay), and the duo had been presented with their own office, an offering typically reserved for those who’d transitioned toward a career in the field medical research.

But Challa’s favourtism of the pair had seemed to sour as of late, the jovial smiles he typically offered in response to their notorious shenanigans had melded into snorts of derision and subdued grimaces. Last Primeday had seen him stick his scowling face into their office and bark that Jacoba’s chair had developed an irritating squeak that needed to be rectified immediately; two days later, he’d summoned June into his own office and reprimanded her for having inappropriately cold hands, hissing that he was growing very tired of fielding continued patient complaints that their doctor’s fingers felt like icicles. While moderately affronted at the time, June merely shouldered the chastization, both unable to deny that her hands were always cold, and very aware that root of his bespoiled mood did not stem from the subnormal temperature of her skin…

“You weren’t about to drink that were you?” Challa inquired from the door, nose scrunched in disgust as he watched her snatch a kleenex from the box on the desk and dab at the stain on her pant leg.

She huffed and rolled her eyes, watching the unabsorbent paper square fail to remove even a fraction of that putrid stain. “I was thinking about it,” she retorted, crinkling the tissue and tossing it into the trash bin under her desk. “I was trying to sniff out how old it was when you gave me a damn heart attack.”

“How ladylike of you,” he teased, ignoring her reproachful glare. “And there’s no time for caf right now. I heard you agreed to stay late again tonight, so I need you on deck to tackle this case.” He shifted his weight to his feet and unfolded his arms, pulling his datapad from the breast pocket of his lab coat and prodding it awake. “I’m transmitting you the chart of your next patient,” he advised, violet eyes appearing neon whilst bathed by the illumination from the device in his hands. “It’s a simple laceration repair sent up from the emergency department, but it’s been sitting for a while and the FX-7’s are still tied up. See that it’s dealt with and discharged, and then meet me in my office.”

Her datapad chimed from the table in front of her, needlessly alerting the room that she’d successfully received the details of her next mission though she refused to acknowledge it, her sapphire eyes now narrowed skeptically at her boss. An abashed silence filled the space between them as he averted his eyes from hers, the atypical nature of his request not lost on either of them.

“A laceration repair?” June repeated with an unmitigated scoff, cocking an eyebrow at his obviously intentional silence. “From emerge? Are you kidding me?”

Her incredulity must have been the expected response, as he’d already reached to pinch the narrow bridge of his nose before she’d finished voicing her aggrievement.

“Eight battalions landed at lunch, June,” he declaimed over her final few words, eyes closed against a wave of barely-restrained impatience. “They’re beyond swamped down there. And like I just told you, this one has been sitting for too long already. I want it dealt wi—”

“But Rondi is the on-call trauma doc today,” June protested, gesticulating wildly towards the door as if Dr. Rondi Reid was eagerly waiting outside her office to accept the umbrageously trivial case being thrust under her nose. “And I’m only staying late to do the thoracotomy. I just sent him downstairs for prelim scan—”

“Jacoba will scrub in when she gets here,” Challa exhorted, dismissing her disgruntlement with a wave of his hand. “Besides, I have something important to discuss with you afterward and we both know that surgery would have you here all night.”

The ire bubbling in her gut rendered her apathetic to everything other than the injustice of the situation, and the pleading flash of his violet eyes was missed entirely as she clamped hers closed and choked out a dramatic whine.

“Challa come on,” she begged, lurching forward in her chair and interlacing her hands in a feigned prayer, “I’ve been staring at his x-days all day. I basically just redid his entire Kaminoan report because some people can’t be bothered with details, I know this case the best. That’s my surgery.”

“You will go where you’re needed, Kiore, and I won’t hear another word about it.”

The conversation was over, his statement drenched in a finality more potent than the stench of that day old caf. The rapidly darkening tone of his voice in combination with the uncommon use of her last name meant there was no point but to concede to his authority, and it was with great difficulty that she bit back the slew of arguments still poised for their turn on her tongue.

“Fine,” she grumbled, looking deliberately away from his stern expression and collecting the datapad from her desk. “But this ‘meeting in your office later’ better be a party in my honour for being such a kriffing team player.”

“Not quite,” he abjured following a frustrated albeit amused snort. “Now get to 18-S. And for everyone’s sake, leave the attitude here.”

June glared at his retreating figure, waiting until the tips of those magnificent, sand coloured lekku disappeared down the hall before throwing herself dramatically against the back of the chair, an insolent groan rumbling loudly in her chest.

“Laceration repair!” she hissed to the ceiling, the realization that a fresh cup of caf was now entirely out of the question pulling a false sob from her lips. “My thoracotomy… all damn day I’ve been prepping… ‘they’re swamped down there’… yeah, yeah… aren’t we all…”

It seemed no amount of grousing and groaning would appease the indignance still inflated in her chest, and her datapad continued to mock her with its innocent luminance as she tipped her head forward and roughly pulled her long dark hair into a ponytail. When she had affixed her mane firmly to the nape of her neck, June begrudgingly snatched the device from her desk and opened the holochart Challa had so graciously gifted.

DSGN: CT-5863 GEN: 1–B RNK: Captain (742nd)

ASSN SECT: 91st MRC DRCT SPVR: CT-411 STATUS: Active Duty

Assigned priority: CLASS D. OPEN WOUND: NON life-threatening.

Intake notes: subdermal lac. quadrant 6— full thickness separation, jagged edges from unknown source. PT reluctant to divulge cause of injury. PT uncooperative when offered NBA injection. Declined having accepted NBA from combat medic at time of injury. Advised to remove all vesture from waist up. Hema scan still outstanding.

“Oh fantastic,” June griped to the cactus on the desk, her mood now as prickly as it’s sharp little spines. “Refused a pain injection— twice, has been sitting here for Maker-knows how long, nobody remembered to ask his kriffing name, and I have no Lumi to transcribe for me. A glorious ending to another glorious day.”

She tucked the datapad aggressively into her armpit and stalked from the office, flicking her ponytail onto her shoulder as she went.

The bedlam of the open ward met her at the mouth of the hallway, that staggering din nearly forcing her eyes to narrow against the onslaught of noise as she made her way around the unusually barren welcome station. The dissonant harmony of a dozen monitors, shrilly beeping in the chorus of chaos, echoed around the white walls and attacked her eardrums with a gusto that she hadn’t quite become accustomed to yet. The deserted nature of that central hub was immediately explained by the sheer pandemonium lining the hallways, and every other step toward 18-S saw her ducking out of the way of a rolling FX-7 droid, hurrying to answer its urgent summons.

The egregious sound of violent gagging assaulted her ears as she passed room 12-N, shortly followed by the spectacular splat of what could only have been vomit hitting the floor. ‘Control your face,’ she reminded herself, upper lip quickly flattening in disgust as she back-peddled to that doorway and prodded the button that would summon both a sanitation droid and the nearest surgical student.

Room 18-S was the second last room of the south wing, and bore the classification of ‘Outpatient Room’, meaning it was only modestly equipped, and outfitted for only minimally invasive, single treatment procedures. The hoverbeds were never prepared for an overnight stay unlike those in the Northern and Eastern halls, and in place of the large diagnostic scanners that typically consumed all available real estate on those sterile grey walls, were lockers acting as safe storage for the overflow for other rooms, and containing a varied assortment of extra medical supplies, sterile tool packs, and maintenance equipment.

Doing her best to resurrect whatever was left of her dwindling patience, she stopped in front of the closed door of her destination. Praying to the stars above that whoever was waiting on the other side was neither vomiting on the floor like the poor chap in room 12, and didn’t feel the need to berate her about his heinously long wait, she knocked gently on that steel barrier and waited.

***

FOREWORD | NEXT

Tag list: @anxiouspineapple99 @sinfulsalutations @starrylothcat @nobody-expects-the-inquisitorius @secondaryrealm @dystopicjumpsuit @freesia-writes @sev-on-kamino @littlemissmanga @523rdrebel @wings-and-beskar @wolffegirlsunite @sunshinesdaydream @clonemedickix @drafthorsemath @jediknightjana @moonlightwarriorqueen @starstofillmydream @mooncommlink @wizardofrozz @trixie2023 @clonethirstingisreal @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @mythical-illustrator

#starqueenswrittenworks #The Only Exception #oc sundays #captain Howzer x fem!OC #Captain Howzer x OC #Howzer x fem!OC #3rd POV

[jt-artsandfics]

Fanfic/ oneshots, number fics open

character match Ups. Closed again. I have over 20+ atm.

I'm gonna try and get thought as many as I can. I might have to close it for longer. But while it's closed I'm still taking Fanfic request.

Please know it does take me some time to write match ups. do take me a little while to do with such a demand for them. And also at the same time I'm working on fanfics around them. But thanks you all for your patients and I hope you enjoy what do to come.

*OPEN FOR BUSINESS!*

Rules: please if asking for Nsfw or reading be over 18 I have to say it.

Aloud: NSFW, fluff, smut, angst, hurt, mention of past abuse. (Alien love!!!)

I will not do: rape, abuse, Furries (I'm sorry I just don't write it), necrophilia, anything along that line.

Info for Match ups: please the basics, age, gender sexuality(if your comfortable) a small discriptuion of yourself and things you like. these you don't have to be 18 for but please over 15 for these, they are only gonna be cute fluffy writing. I do not do NSFW for maths ups only fanfics and one shots.

One shot and fanfic info: in happy to do nsfw but I do need confirmation your 18 or over either in your bio or on the ask. Same rules apply from 'rules'. Please state what gender you want the fanfic for otherwise I default to They/them for the writing just to be inclusive.

(Guys please be patient, I'm a guy so doing Character X fem reader takes me a bit is all)

Numbers for number fics are here. ⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️

-----

The Bad batch

Clone Force 99- Hunter

Clone Force 99- Tech

Clone Force 99- Crosshair

Clone Force 99- Wrecker

Clone Force 99 - Echo

Episode 11- Captain Howzer

--------

Star wars the clone wars

501st

Captain Rex

Kix

Jesse

Fives

Dogma

Hardcase

Tup

212th

Commander Cody

Gregor

Waxer

Boil

Crys

104th 'Wolfpack'

Commander Wolffe

Sinker

Comet

Boost

Warthog

Wildfire

Domino squad :,)

Heavy

Droidbait

Cutup

Echo

fives

Other clones

Oddball

Matchstick

Commander Fox

Commander Thorn

------

Grim Squad (my clone squad)

Weazel

Shreder

Jericho

Tiim

Fable

Maze

Gold-1

Ripple

Glaus

Newbie- Casket (my shiny son)

--------

Info. So I decided to add my own clone squad becuase it's me hahaha. I don't expect much with them but they are there anyway.

Well everything is set so I hope you all enjoy.

NEW ADDITION CHARCATERS!!!

Clone wars

Darth Maul

Savage Opress

Anakin Skywalker

Obi wan Kenobi

Plo Koon

Star wars Rebels.

Older wolffe

Older Rex

Older gregor

Thrawn

Agent Kallus

Eli Vanto ( I don't care if he isn't in it. He is to me!)

The mandolorian

Boba Fett

Din Djarin

Sequels

Armitage Hux

Kylo Ren/Ben solo

Finn

The old republic

Arcann Tirall

Darth Marr

Torian Cadera

OC Characters plus Feature art when asked for match ups or Fics.

Kodja Bathrian (clone wars twi'lek) Male

Varr'ivaz'loawe 'Ivaz' ( Outlander Old republic Chiss) male

#Star wars #star wars clone wars #star wars clones #the bad batch #star wars the bad batch #bad batch #bad batch crosshair #bad batch hunter #bad batch tech #bad batch echo #bad batch wrecker #captain rex #commander wolffe #commander cody #clone fives #boba fett #arcann tirall #arcann #torian cadera #darth marr #darth maul #savage opress #OC #commander fox #obi wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #din djarin #kylo ren #armitage hux #thrawn

[moonstrider9904]

moonstrider9904's ongoing series

Gravitation

Tech x Fem!OC • AU • Sequel to Moonlight 

The Moonwalker Series

Poly TBB x Fem!OC • Multi-installment Series • Canon timeline

Part II: The Flame • sequel to Part I: The Batch

Half-Moon Glow

Crosshair x Fem!OC • AU

Little Something (upcoming)

Rex x Fem!OC • AU

Stargazing (upcoming)

Howzer x Fem!OC • AU

Bread and Tea

Crosshair x Fem!Reader • cottagecore AU

The Town of Deadwood

Crosshair x Fem!OC • Wild West AU

>>Return to masterlist

#moonstrider writes #tbb fanfic #tbb fanfiction #the bad batch fanfic #tbb crosshair x oc #tbb tech x oc #tbb crosshair fanfic #tbb tech fanfic #tbb hunter fanfic

[starqueensthings]

WARNINGS: descriptions of a mild-moderate anxiety attack (June), elusions to a traumatic past (no detail- June), elusions to a distaste for men (June), mild angst (Challa)

RATING/WC: 16+ (at the most) | 4500ish

PLEASE ENSURE YOU’VE READ THE FOREWORD BEFORE PROCEEDING FOR AN IN-DEPTH DESCRIPTION OF WHAT DEGREE OF CONTENT YOU CAN EXPECT THROUGHOUT THIS STORY.

Chapter Four: A Double Barrelled Blaster

FOREWORD | MASTER | PREV | NEXT | ao3

Barely a dozen steps passed underfoot before her breast began to heave beneath an exigent need for more oxygen than that stale hallway could provide. Gaze blind to her surroundings amid the desperation to abscond from that alluring stranger, June’s elbow knocked heavily against the unthinkably solid and cylindrical body of an FX-7 droid picking up speed toward the South Hall in her wake, and though her eyes instantly welled against each wave of that radiating ache, even the sharp edge of unexpected pain was not enough to penetrate that near-disorienting numb encompassing her entire awareness.

Ducking urgently into the unassuming Sanitation Hall on the left, she wedged herself into the enshadowed corner between the door that led beyond and a slumbering floor cleaning droid. Atop an effort to reduce as much of her existence as possible, she clamped those still leaking eyes closed and sank into a squat, jamming her shoulder blades into the wall behind her. But even the stability of that reinforced durasteel couldn’t act the buoy she craved to keep her head above water, instead its cool rigidity sending a series of cresting shivers down her spine that flawlessly contradicted the sweat earnestly beading across her hairline.

Throat bobbing amid the near-constant motions of preventing her stomach contents from surging upward, trembling hands reached upward to dome around her nose and mouth; that regretfully unknown medical trick of rebreathing one's own carbon dioxide during episodes of hyperventilation proving near-instantly effective, as only a controlled triad of paced breaths saw her mind begin to shed that horrific swim, and her stomach accede her silent pleas to settle.

The protrusion of her ponytail failed to soften the blow of her head thunking against that steel as she managed to dispel enough of the tension in her shoulders for it to tip backward, and once confident she’d maintained some degree of control over her undulating gut, she guided those quivering hands to rest atop her thighs.

‘Cold steel,’ she recited to herself, that practiced strategy of listing whatever fractions of reality she could locate whilst suffocating beneath that agonizing numbness never failing its task of returning her to some degree of control during those infrequent moments when anxiety threatened to keep her autonomy in its iron clutches. ‘Hard floor… Toes crammed against the front of your shoes… Legs trembling because you haven't worked out in kriffing years…’

Though her lids fluttered open to hungrily devour the familiarity of the ceiling above her, the plaguing noise aversion that stood arm-in-arm with those horrid attacks could not match their gallantry whilst the din of the maelstrom licking at the mouth of this secluded corner remained near-oppressive, and her brow quickly furrowed against that relentless onslaught.

“Ugh, what is wrong with you?” she whimpered, eyes unfocussing upon the nondescript pipes strapped to the ceiling above. “Why would you let him under your skin like that?”

As if a blow from anxiety’s tight fist landed upon her chest, a huff of something-near defeat escaped her lips; resentment and regret surging through her veins like poison as the implications of that fresh encounter continued to silently berate her from every corner of her mind, and she hurried to force another slow exhale through pursed lips.

‘You know better than that,’ she silently scolded to herself, reaching upward to dab her clammy forehead with the back of her hand. ‘You don’t ever let yourself go there. You don't tell anyone. You don't get involved. Nothing good can come from it, and you should be ashamed at how close you nearly got to spilling the beans.’

“Get it together,” she voiced to that empty alcove, the faint echo of that urgent demand reinforcing its dire necessity as it returned to her ears. “You’ll never see him again anyw–”

“What the kark are you doing?”

Her head knocked audibly against the durasteel behind her as that sudden intrusion sent her shoulders jerking backward in fright, eyes frantically darting to the source of her alarm while her heart leapt back into a panicked cadance.

“Nothing,” June answered automatically, and the way that lie near-choked her on its way past her lips acted a callous reminder of her complete failure to assimilate Jacoba's impeccable proclivity for fibbing on the spot.

“Just meditating next to the mop droid?” Challa chirruped, folding his arms atop his chest and peering down his nose at her with the same unrestrained impatience that had drenched his expression during their last encounter.

“Just… just taking a little breather.”

“Well take your breather in my office,” he hissed back with indignant shake of the head, that reproachful roll of his violet eyes clearly condemning the notion of the Sanitation Hall being her first choice for a moment of solitude. “I’ve been waiting for you, remember? That laceration took ages– it’s not like you to dawdle.”

“Sorry,” June grunted, planting her hands on the cold floor to assist her wobbly knees in their feat of pressing her back to standing. “It– it took me a while to convince him to take the pain injection. You know soldiers, they’re so suspicious of us.”

“That they are,” Challa lamented while turning on his heel and hastening to depart the bedlam of the open ward, veering around the Welcome Desk where Theresa, the exhausted-looking charge nurse, looked one misguided question away from full-scale hysteria. “I can’t even get them to listen to me most of the time. I end up reciting treatment options to the top of their head because they so quickly disengage.”

June offered little more than a hummed response from one pace behind him, mind still bogged and languid with the unwanted imagery of that teal-painted Captain; the way his eyes had narrowed amidst such a skepticism of medicine, the sheer dejection that had robbed his broad shoulders of their proud posture upon the assertion that a pain injection was non-negotiable, the beguiling nature of that docile smile as he granted her the momentary trust he’d somehow deemed her worthy of.

Searching for any semblance of a distraction, June redirected her gaze through the transparent walls passing on her left as she followed in Challa’s wake down the private corridor housing the handful of surgical offices. Jacoba’s obscenely oversized Dianoga-skin purse now sat precisely where it always did when its intricate handles were not draped atop its owner’s shoulder, and it took only a quick glance to affirm she was entirely absent from the confines of those shared walls. Also missing-in-action were the trio of radiographic films she’d spent the majority of her spare time that day pacing in front of while scrutinizing every inch of their luminous findings, and it was the bite of their absence acting as an unwelcome reminder of the injustice that had sent her best friend down to the operating room, while June knocked unknowingly on the door of emotional turmoil.

To add to that reinvigorated frustration, the sky outside had darkened to an inky blue that swiftly validated Challa’s grievance of such a menial procedure taking such an exorbitant amount of time, and beholding the radiant patchwork quilt of a billion lamps behind a million windows, all stretching toward that unreachable horizon, quickly brought new life to her now-irrepressible exhaustion.

“Please tell me I’m not going to have another cold hand complaint to appease tomorrow morning,” Challa groused as they reached the door of his private quarters, unlocking that sliding durasteel with a brief tap of his ID card. “And, speaking of, why are you still gloved? You know it’s not appropriate sanitary practice to depart a procedure without first shedding al–”

“Eugh!” June exclaimed as she lifted her palms, revulsion instantly contorting her features upon seeing the multicoloured remnants of both blood and burn cream caked atop the fingertips that had so recently cradled her clammy face. “Please tell me you have wipes in your office!”

“Of course I–”

June hurtled past him, eyes frantically scanning that meticulously organized desk top for the familiar purple labeled tub of disinfectant wipes. Tugging the first one aggressively from its presaturated slumber, she clamped her eyes closed and began to abrase that moistened cloth against her cheeks, breath held against the oppressive fumes of the germicidal agent currently stripping her skin of every microbe it had ever welcomed.

“June, those are for hard surfaces only!” Challa gasped from somewhere behind her, the appalling ferality of her actions apparent beneath his ignored refutation.

June used the last of the moisture to rid what she could of that lingering fowl from her purple fingertips, lungs beginning to mutiny against the breath she ardently held until that chemical-soaked fabric found its way into the trash, and she offered nothing more than a “don’t ask” to the horrified bewilderment atop her boss's slender face as he continued to gape at her from the threshold.

Taking a seat in the chair opposite his desk, June quickly turned her attention to the task of yanking that thick layer of purple nitrile from her hands. Still aghast that unbridled panic had sent her near sprinting from the procedure room without first stripping her hands of their soiled encasement, and unwilling to pass up any opportunity for expelling some barely-bridled frustration, she tugged that stretchy film from her skin with renewed vigor.

Challa, always the champion for following procedure and using tools as intended, thankfully forwent the urge to rebuke her unorthodox and unhygienic methods as he took his seat opposite her, though the burning need to remind her of proper nitrile removal was apparent by the way he glared through his eyelashes at her seemingly abhorrent behaviour.

“So… what’s up?” June probed as he continued to wordlessly upbraid her negligence. “Wasn’t this supposed to be a party in my honour? Where’s the wine? Where’s the balloons?”

Granting her a conciliatory snort, he simply shook his head and directed his attention toward an impossibly thick wad of flimsi perched just adjacent to his holocomputer.

Though the motion of retrieving that printed bundle stole her focus from the somewhat arduous task of freeing her palms, June paid it only enough attention to recognize the Republic cog embossed onto the title page before repressing an eye roll, that logo (and the dreaded formality of its implications) instantly confirming this requested meeting was likely going to include a shower of vituperations, all of which she was confident she’d already suffered through. Yet he upheld an apprehensive silence, and it was his hesitancy to initiate conversation that pried her concentration from her fingers. She shifted her eyes quickly upward to find his already lithe cheeks pinched tightly between his molars. With knitted brows, she followed his unfocussed gaze, eyes softening as they eventually fell upon an objectively odd statue propped only inches from his left hand.

“It’s a Kalikori totem,” he’d explained some years ago when she had first queried what that lopsided figurine represented. “A relic passed down through generations from parent to first-born child in the Twi’lek custom. It’s blessed before its gifted, with all the wisdom of the prior owner. This was bequeathed to me by my mother the day I left home for medical school. And if I’m lucky enough to have my own children, it will go to them imbued with all the wisdom I’ve accumulated throughout my life.”

The gleam in Challa’s eyes as he peered near-longingly at that wooden talisman brought forth the sudden and harrowing notion that June was not the only one in that windowless room currently struggling to navigate some degree of inner conflict, and it instantly appeased that ire still simmering in her gut.

“You okay, Challa?” she asked quietly, despite the answer being evident from his glazed expression, those long, sand-coloured fingers loosening their hold on that wad of flimsi only enough for it to fold in the center and drape toward that polished desk top.

“Yes,” he answered quickly, blinking that glimmer from his eyes and clearing his throat. “Yes, thank you. My apologies. I, er… I have something both significant in nature and time sensitive that I need to discuss with you, but before I proceed, I need your word that you’ll keep this confidential while a few of the details remain unconfirmed?”

“Uhm… okay?” June agreed, eyes narrowing at the abrupt and disproportionate severity of his tone. “Though I’m starting to think this might not be about my ice fingers?”

“Not this time,” he answered darkly, tossing that mysterious novel to the side of his desk before clasping his hands together in front of him and resting on his forearms. “It’s not news to you that the war is creating… challenges… galaxy-wide. Casualties are increasing. Injuries are reaching an insurmountable degree. Hospitals in every star system are perpetually overwhelmed to the point of near-paralysis. You’ve shouldered the inflated workload both willingly and more competently than I could have ever expected, June, and explaining how much hardship we’ve had to navigate as a medical team over the last few weeks would just be breath wasted, so I’ll cut to the chase…

“The senate has finally authorized the development of three new medical stations– one in the Felucia system, one in Kaliida Shoals, and one in Ord Cestus. But being both designed and operated by Kaminoan representatives was a non-negotiable clause in getting the construction permits approved, and it’s no galactic secret that they’re extremely particular with their operations. Thus, I remain pessimistic that a timely solution is on the horizon.

“The coming days will only see an increase in the need for advanced medical intervention, and it becomes more and more apparent with every patient admitted that the first generation of combat medics are in over their head. The extent of their training is largely insufficient for the monumental task they’re assigned, and it thrusts upon them a role of which I wouldn’t wish upon my worst enemy; their entire existence is that of a double-barrelled blaster. That is to say— they are responsible for saving life… and taking it. They must both protect the utility of their comrades and deprive the enemy of the same. Their primary mission objective, above all else, is to preserve the numbers of their assigned brigades at whatever cost, yet their continued inclusion in front line assaults is wiping them out almost as quickly as regular infantrymen—”

“I know all of this, Challa,” June interrupted, brows furrowing against the harrowing nature of his monologue while the faceless figure of an exhausted medic in decrepit, teal painted armour swam in her vision. “And it’s absolutely catastrophic, but what does this have anything to do with you? With me?”

“This.” He tapped a long and pointed fingernail against the cog embossment perched, entirely unaffected by this sobering exchange, at his left elbow. “It’s a contract, and an important one. I’ve been assigned a task by the GAR, and—”

“The army?” Unable to fully bridle her bemusement at the absurdity of his claim, she quickly interrupted again. “What the kriff does the army want with you? I mean— no offense, Challa, but you couldn’t kill anything. You’d cut your own feet off if it promised to get you to a Code Blue any faster.”

“Precisely,” he answered with a solemn nod. “I’ve been recruited by the President of the Hospital to become the ‘Chief Educator of Medicine.’ I’ve been entrusted with formulating and delivering a more advanced medical curriculum to the next several generations of Clone Medics. One that would promise to better prepare them for their intensity of their role and allot them sufficient medical knowledge to achieve it.”

“They want you to teach?” she gasped, mouth falling open. “Challa! That’s incredible. You’re perfect for that. Preaching procedure is your favourite thing! You live to share your knowledge, and you’re an expert at medicine. This is amazing…”

Yet Challa’s response to her continued approbation far-exceeded the modesty of which he’d long-since mastered, and the last of her praise rolled from her tongue too-near a question as he continued to dismiss every word with a somber shake of the head. “What’s— what’s the problem?” she asked him. “You’re not thinking about turning it down, are you?”

“It’s a substantial task, June,” Challa lamented, bringing his hands to his face and pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. “I already have such little time as it is. Our department shows little promise of slowing in action until those medical facilities are open for treatment, and that could be months at best, years at worst. While I’m motivated to aid in the war effort in every way that I’m able, it seems the most detrimental option to diminish the cruciality of my role here during a time that should otherwise demand my highest commitment. And, forgive my inappropriate candor, but if there was a time where I’d be willing to recuse myself as head of this department in favour of another endeavour, it would be to return home…”

He reemerged from behind his hands furiously blinking the phosphenes from his vision, mouth exposing his concealed misery by compressing itself into little more than a thin line. June watched his eyes dart towards that proud totem as if hopeful that highly polished mahogany might sprout two lips and utter the wisdom of which it was imbibed, and watching his hand reach forward to collect the little statue, cradling and caressing it with the gentlest shifts of his slender fingers, brought forth a painful lump in the back of her throat.

He needn’t speak the words lurking behind those pursed lips; the reality of the war, and the nature of their role in it, surrounded them with every minute that passed… every irritatingly detailed Kaminoan chart… every ailing patient that refused their help despite the chimes from their scanners frantically alerting an urgent need for assistance… every procedure finally completed and sent upstairs to Recovery, the surgeons rarely granted the time to de-gown and re-gown before the next soldier in a seemingly limitless line was wheeled in to replace their counterpart.

The GAR’s unheralded request for further assistance only reinforced the true calamitous nature of the Republic’s standing in this galaxy, but this was merely a fraction of what weighed on Challa’s slender shoulders. He’d voiced his concerns to June only once previously, as he both apologized for the injustice of his recent mental shift and divulged the rationale behind this budding curmudgeon personality.

Ryloth.

The Twi’lekki homeworld had suffered a long and violent history of foreign insurrection and occupation; the citizens and their land eternally at odds with a myriad of parties attempting to occupy their home and usurp the bountiful resources that the rich planet provided. Recent weeks had seen rumours of a pending separatist blockade whispered throughout the halls, and Challa, whose entire family still resided in Ryloth’s capital city, swallowed the news as if it were an acerbic pill.

While often shouldering the brunt of his misguided wrath, June did her best to take his frequent sinuous mood in stride, reminding herself that her boss was likely the only person in the entire building tallying more hours-worked than she, and the rationale behind his self-inflicted torture was not unlike her own: to laden their overactive minds with a distractions in lieu of dealing with the pain they’d sooner exhaust themselves than address.

“Well… what’s your hesitation?” she probed, flinging the last of the purple second skin atop the discarded wipe in the bin by the door and fitting her thumbnail between her front teeth.

Challa returned the totem to its perch with a poignant sigh. “Like I said,” he started, “It's a substantial request in both time and responsibility. I don’t think this task has the potential for success in my hands alone. I’ll need assistance to ensure things move smoothly both here at the hospital and on the combat base.”

“Well I’ll help you,” June replied, the simplicity of her response matching the casual shrug of her shoulders. “I can tell this means a lot to you, Challa. You’ve been breaking your back lately and I know why. Whatever you need to make this happen, we can figure it out. I’ll cover your time in the Operating Room. I make my own surgical schedule anyway– I can take on the task of maneuvering everyone else’s easily enough. Malya’s our best charge nurse; I’ll get her to redirect all discharge reports my way so they don’t even cross your desk. And I can run the weekly staff meetings too, if you want? Though no one kriffing listens to m—”

“You misunderstand me, June,” Challa interjected, the beginnings of a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “While I have little doubt you could run this department with your eyes closed, it is not here that I require your assistance. I’d like to tackle this new education aspect as a team. And I’ve already requested the contract be restructured to include an ‘Executive Educator’ so that you may legally have a near-equal hand in helping me see this task to fruition. If you’re willing, that is…”

June watched that repressed smile finally expand upon his lips, and her gaze darted instantly upward in preparation for that jesting twinkle to erupt behind his eyes. Challa’s attempts at practical jokes, while nearly non-existent amid the gloom of the last several weeks, had always preceded themselves with both an impish grin that no amount of concentration could suppress and a mischievous gleam behind those violet eyes. Surely, the impending bellow of laughter concealed beneath his tongue would erupt any second now and successfully rid the air of that suffocating angst. Surely, this was some exceedingly well thought-out circumstance he’d formulated to test if she would accede to his previous plea that she reduce her workload. Yet, as seconds ticked that placid present into the past, he failed to offer the laughter she was sure should have followed by now, and the notion of this proposition being some weak attempt at humour disintegrated.

“Challa,” June sputtered, unwilling to wrench her eyes from his. “You’re kidding, right? We both know I’m not the teaching type. We went over this last year when you tried to assign me a resident; I don’t have the patience or the personality for education. The only reason I can be so productive for this department is because I’ve been allotted the freedom to do things my way, and it’s usually the way that most others disagree with. Plus— think about it, there’s nothing I can pass along to those medics that you couldn’t except my caf addiction and my piss-poor attitude, and neither of those are going to help anyone survive. Why don’t you ask Rondi? Or Pherto, even? Ho’lee…? Santuro…? Kriff, any of them.”

Those long, decorated lekku swayed with every suggestion that he continued to dismiss, head shaking as the smile atop those lips reached ever closer toward his eyes until he simply raised a hand to silence her.

“Nonsense, June,” he rejected. “You have good days and bad days like any of us, but you're truly a staggering intellect despite your tendency to conceal it behind a hard exterior. You lead by example. You motivate others with your own strong convictions and ideals. Despite preferring to shirk from the engagement entirely, you’ve always been remarkable with patients, especially clones—”

“Only because I ask what their kriffing names are!” June projected atop an incredulous laugh. “That doesn’t make me fluent in clone-compassion, it makes me a human being with the basic consideration for the people that we’re treatin—”

“Precisely,” he affirmed before she could express how truly ludicrous she found this entire concept. “You see your patients as people that need help, not problems that need fixing. You care, June, where most other doctors of your pedigree would opt to superficialize the connection to their patients.

If you’re uncomfortable with the notion of public speaking, I am happy to take on the task of delivering the information, but your input on the curriculum and suggestions on how to ensure the content actually gets through to them prior to their deployment will be invaluable to me. I feel strongly about this.”

He leaned back in his chair and pressed the tips of his fingers together, peering at her with one side of that heavy brow cocked while she sat near-flabbergasted in the chair opposite, mouth agape ahead a series of only-barely repressed protests. But every rebuttal was deliberately restrained atop her tongue. She could not refuse him; she simply could not utter the declination that would see her boss’s face stripped of that hope; she could not be the reason those slender shoulders, already laden under the burden of saving lives at the cost of his own, sagged ever further under the burden of a war he did not choose to partake in; she could not, in any conscience, deny her friend the opportunity to indirectly contribute to a war effort that may keep his family safe.

Instead, she bunched her lips to one side and dropped her gaze to the demolished thumbnail sporadically dropping torn and discarded shards into her lap, intentionally biting back the sigh she knew would expose her skepticism.. her truth. The truth that this task measured well past daunting, and crept toward the territory of terrifying; that this task would likely have her surrounded on all sides by the very demographic of which she coexisted with only begrudgingly; that a combat base filled to the brim with men promised the potential to demolish the mental fortifications erected long ago to ensure her protection, and allot her some semblance of an unplagued life. And, sure, Challa would be at her side… but he knew nothing of her past, nothing of the inner conflict that fuelled her relentless need for distraction; he knew nothing of how her stomach turned anew with every harmless remark of her unexpected youth, every brazen query of what lay beneath that oversized lab coat, every off-the-cuff probe toward the nature of her relationship status from a soldier who thought themselves coy despite the flimsy purple robe tied behind their back diminishing nearly all of their inherent charm.

“Okay,” she finally agreed, assent muffled by the tight clamp of her nail between her teeth. “What do I need to know?”

“Take this.” Challa retrieved the contract and passed it across the desk, arm sagging slightly under its egregious weight. “It’s over 200 pages of semantics and jargon, but giving it at least a quick glance over the next few days wouldn’t do either of us a disservice. Once I receive the official restructure inclusive of your participation, I’ll forward it your way for authorization.

”Now— go home and get some sleep. You’re assisting me with a hepatectomy first thing tomorrow morning.”

FOREWORD | MASTER | PREV | NEXT | ao3

Tag list: @anxiouspineapple99 @sinfulsalutations @starrylothcat @nobody-expects-the-inquisitorius @secondaryrealm @dystopicjumpsuit @freesia-writes @sev-on-kamino @littlemissmanga @523rdrebel @wings-and-beskar @wolffegirlsunite @sunshinesdaydream @clonemedickix @drafthorsemath @jediknightjana @starstofillmydream @mooncommlink @wizardofrozz @trixie2023 @clonethirstingisreal @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @mythical-illustrator @arctrooper69 @smw-on-kamino @sverdgeir

#starqueenswrittenworks #The Only Exception #Howzer x fem!OC #Captain Howzer x fem!OC #fem!OC x Howzer #fem!OC x Captain Howzer #bad batch Howzer #Howzer Bad Batch #Captain Howzer #anxiety attack #mild angst

[starqueensthings]

WARNINGS: elusions to a traumatic past and an accompanying verbalized dislike for the opposite sex (June). Medical anxiety (Howzer). Moderately graphic descriptions of medical injuries, corrective procedures (incl what a cauterization might look/smell like), needles, the beginnings of an anxiety attack (June). RATING: 16+ for mature themes, mild to moderate whump, mild angst (and a heavy dash of fluff because why the heck not lol). WC: 3500ish. (This chapter and the previous were never intended to be separated but they accumulated to nearly 8k words, and snipping certain aspects of this encounter in the name of brevity would only do a disservice to the story, so I apologize for how abruptly this chapter transitions from the last). PLEASE ENSURE YOU’VE READ THE FOREWORD BEFORE PROCEEDING FOR AN IN-DEPTH DESCRIPTION OF WHAT DEGREE OF CONTENT YOU CAN EXPECT THROUGHOUT THIS STORY.

Foreword | Prev | Next

Howzer’s eyes had thankfully done away with that ablaze and piercing stare in her temporary absence, though for how much of the intensity they’d lost, that twinkling set of amber had retained all of the warmth they seemed unable to entirely shed.

“Don’t know if I like the look of those,” he jested, though the way his eyes darted between her purple hands grossly betrayed the relentless facade of that feigned poise.

“Doesn’t warm them up, unfortunately, but at least you won’t catch my cooties,” June chuckled, hoping a dash of humour and a quirky wiggle of the fingers might soften the emotional toll she knew would accompany her next assertion. “Captain… I need to give you a pain injection.”

The sfotness of his expression hardened near-instantly, jaw tensing and forcing his lips into a frown that nowhere near-suited him as well as its round cheeked counterpart, and June could only grimace apologetically as he cocked an embittered eyebrow at her.

“We can’t use topical numbant on broken skin,” she beseeched in response to his silent disapproval. “The risk of trapping bacteria in the bloodstream is too high when the wound is as… open… as yours is. We can rawdog this if that’s really what you want, but you’ll have to try and sit still while I'm working. Or you can let me give you an in—”

“I can sit still,” he argued instantly, offering a shrug of the shoulders that was simply too passive for him to have understood the severity of the imminent procedure. “I’m great at sitting still.”

“While someone burns your skin back together with a kriffing hot needle?!”

Watching her words disintegrate that iron-clad intransigence would have been near-comical had his eyes not widened to something that too-closely resembled a trauma response, and despite knowing her brutal honesty was likely the quickest method to ensuring the full comprehension she needed from him before proceeding, her heart sank to lay with her stomach as she watched her words initiate an arrant downturn in his demeanour.

“Well geez, doc,” he grumbled, shirking from her pleading gaze by hanging his chin to his chest. “Why don’t you just give it to me straight…”

“I’m sorry,” she spoke quietly after swallowing the snort that near-followed his unexpected sardonicism. “Would it maybe help if I showed you the injector? You can see how it works and how tiny it actually is?”

“Maybe.” His response was near-silent, eyes flickering upward to hers only long enough to betray the decorum to which he still ardently clung.

Finally acceding to that inexplicable need to comfort him, and forsaking her better professional judgment, June clambered backward onto the bed beside him, that hovering cot momentarily swaying under the addition of her weight as she shimmied backward until they sat shoulder to shoulder.

“This is the actual USI tool,” she advised him, pulling the Universal Serum Injector from the previously collected pile of tools behind her and a small, orange-capped, crystal vial from her breast pocket. “And this lil guy is the Nociceptor Blocking Agent, or NBA serum. The vial clicks into the injector like this—” she snapped that tiny clear tube into place and pulled a small trigger to eject the cap, “—and the little orange top protecting the needle just kinda pops off. After that, it's as simple as poking it gently into the supraclavicular space right here at the base of your neck and waiting a moment for it to work.”

“And that’s it?” he asked, jaw shifting under the duress of how aggressively he continued to grind those teeth while his eyes remained affixed on the dinky little pin that would allegedly bring forth an excruciating death. “That’s all?”

“I promise.”

“Alright,” he finally conceded, shifting his attention upward to her eyes. “I trust you.”

Her stomach lurched at the way his gaze bore into hers, softly… acceptingly… unassertively… granting her the gifts of both his agency in that moment, and the degree of trust to which these always-suspecting soldiers notoriously only offered each other. Bottom lip nestling itself between her teeth to bridle the atypically bashful smile threatening to emerge, she simply nodded her gratitude and turned away from him.

“I’ll count down from three,” she cautioned, sneakers slapping atop the steel floor as she leaped somewhat ungracefully from the bed and oriented herself in front of him. “Three—” she kept the injector hidden at her side. “Two—” a gentle hand placed on his shoulder to brace his skin for impact. “One.”

The span of a tense blink over those amber eyes saw her expertly plunge the tiny needle home and release the entire vial of that magical serum. By the time his gaze returned to hers, one eye at a time, she’d deftly retracted the empty container and chucked it into the “sharps” bin beside the bed.

“Are you kidding me?” he demanded, the grin peeling across his lips surprising her enough to still her hands as they reached for the bottle of disinfectant. “That’s all?!”

“That’s all,” she answered with a small shrug.

“Maker, I am going to murder Gauge when I see him.”

“Who?” June asked, as she unscrewed the lid and peeled back the sanitary foil sticker put in place over the mouth of the bottle to prevent any unwanted microbes from contaminating its contents.

“Gauge. He’s my medic,” Howzer explained with eyes crinkled to near-closed, shoulders shaking beneath each huff of his amusement. “He’s in for it, now. Kriffing sadist jabs that thing into us like it's a spoon.”

“A sadist combat medic?” June snorted, screwing the cap back into place. “That’s a very worrying combination. You better try and stay on his good side.”

“He better stay on mine,” Howzer asserted, shaking his head.

The all-consuming (and mouth watering) recognition of his partial nudity did not make an appearance in her awareness until she sat back on her heels, eyes quickly scanning the position she’d meticulously positioned him in after climbing onto the cot beside him. By leaning him on an incline away from her and resting his arm innocuously atop his head, she’d unknowingly provided herself with both optimal wound access, and an unobstructed view of his remarkable physique. The only thing darker than the smattering of hair south of his navel was the brown of nipples near-perfectly perched on either side of the most divinely-crafted chest she’d ever seen. And rivaling every ridge, every contour of that muscular torso, were arms so immaculately sculpted that the only fight she could wage against the heat boiling below her skin was to strip off her now smothering labcoat and toss it onto the chair next to his armour.

And though she continued to cling to that necessary professionalism as fervently as he’d initially clung to his own stubborn refusal for pain control, there was absolutely no preventing her eyes from hungrily roaming atop the ripples of his ribcage as she scooched into position behind him, and attempting to stay focused as she squeezed that plastic bottle of saline overtop his wound was near impossible as those defined ridges of muscles continued to revolt against every drop of cold liquid trickling down his abdomen.

Something near relief pulled a sigh from her lips when that bottle finally emptied. Patting the wound dry with clean gauze in her right hand, she deftly pulled the medscanner from her pocket with her left and spun the dial on the front to reach the Hematology menu. Once that tiny infrared beam had confirmed there were no lingering signs of any foreign cells or bacteria, she stowed that invaluable tool on the bed beside her and reached, instead, for the cauterizing pen now emitting tiny puffs of white smoke.

“So what happened to you?” she probed moments later, ensuring Howzer’s eyes had deviated from that smoking needle before carefully touching it to his skin. “Get in a fight with a vibroblade wielding droid?”

“I wish,” he snorted. “It was… well, pretty stupid. The guys and I were transferring possession of our base to the relieving battalion. I gave the okay for the gunships to take off and then got distracted catching up with a buddy I haven’t seen since graduating. One of my men saw me getting left behind and decided shooting a grappling hook at me would be the best way to get me on board.”

“Maker have mercy,” she scoffed, brows furrowing in concentration as methodically guided the white hot tool atop that separated skin. “That’s idiotic.”

“Might have been cool if it worked,” Howzer answered. “Geo’s a smart guy, but doesn’t always think things through before he acts. He’s on my list after Gauge for the next time I feel— what's that smell?!”

She barely had time to disengage that red hot pin before every muscle in his abdomen contracted under the urgent and desperate effort of sitting up.

“Don’t look!” she snapped at him as he hastened to peer under his arm in her direction. Clamping one gloved hand atop that crisp and darkened line of fused skin she knew would likely make his stomach turn, she attempted to block his view with the palm of the other. “Trust me, it’s a sore sight right now, especially if you’re squeamish.”

She peeked around her palm, lips pursing to keep from smiling at the sight of him perched up on his free elbow, nose scrunched in utter repugnance as the putrid smell of burnt flesh continued to waft upward into his nose.

“Is… is that the smell of—?”

“Sure is,” she answered curtly. “And it smells as crispy as it looks so while you’re working on not looking, maybe try not breathing too.”

“‘Try not breathing…’” he repeated in little more than a whisper, dropping carefully back onto his side, and June was relieved to hear a chuckle supporting his words. “I know you’re the doctor, but I feel like breathing might be helpful here…”

“My boss would absolutely lay an egg if he heard me offer such heinous medical advice.” Her eyes narrowed under the embrace of genuine amusement as laughter poured from her lips, the image of Challa’s newly introduced perma-scowl forming as clearly in her mind's eye as if he’d been standing at her elbow. “That and the daily reminder of all the cold-hand complaints he has to field from my patients…”

Flooded with a wave of foreboding, June remembered the meeting Challa had requested in his office upon completion of this procedure, and the implications of what his request undoubtedly meant had her eyes near-rolling and the smile yanked from her lips. Challa didn’t often demand a private audience… at least, not with her. The last adventure into the intimidating confines of his windowless space had included a harsh castigation for the excessive overtime she’d shouldered over the last few weeks, and to request that she start walking around between surgeries with her hands nestled into her armpits so he could get through a day without having to apologize on behalf of her poor circulation.

After permitting a sigh laden with repressed dread to pass through now frowning lips, she sat back and peered down at the result of her handiwork. Despite having to battle the distraction of the dimples teasing her from the base of his back, she’d managed to complete a remarkably clean repair job; the cauterized edges of what used to be that oozing laceration were both crisp and dark, indicating the ideal clinical end point for such a procedure. After powering off that trusty tool and placing it back beside the computer, she retrieved the tub of burn salve perched only inches from her hip.

“Can I tell you something now?” Howzer spoke suddenly as she uncapped that pot of that sulfur-smelling ointment.

“Sure,” she answered while scooping a generous amount of the orange paste from its container and beginning to smear it carefully atop his side.

“Your fingers are freakishly cold… but anyone who complains about the hands that saved their lives, maybe doesn’t deserve to have been saved in the first place.”

Whatever distant presumption she’d formulated in that microsecond between granting him that unnecessary permission and hearing his opinion voiced, it was nowhere-near matched the unexpectedly profound admonition that left those now-smiling lips.

She paused, hands stilling in their motion of reaffixing the lid back on the tub as she fought to wrangle the dozen or so fundamental reasons why she did not agree with him… and the one reason she did.

“Doesn’t everyone deserve to be saved?” she settled on asking, collecting one of the several bacta patches she’d grabbed earlier.

“Do you actually believe that? Or is that something they tell you to believe?”

His challenge came so simply… so earnestly, it was as if she’d somehow offered him the exact response that he’d expected, and despite the bold nature of his rebuttal, there was no sign of regret lingering in those charmingly superficial lines around his eyes; his gaze did not shift to timidly follow the movements of her hands as they proceeded to tear off the paper backing from that patch but, instead, remained intently searching her eyes for the truth.

”Well, there’s an exception to every rule,” June explained, feeling her cheeks begin to flush under the duress of the vulnerability he had suddenly requested from her. “But surely everyone deserves the same chance at life?”

He offered only a contemplative hum in response, watching her lower that clear polymer patch onto his skin, and ensuring its complete adhesion by pressing firmly around its perimeter.

“Who’s your exception?”

She’d barely begun to crumple the backing paper when he spoke again, pushing himself back to a seated position so quickly that his return to such close proximity nearly froze the breath in her lungs. Yet, more paralyzing in that moment was the audacious probes into her personal beliefs; his brazen yet polite demands for clues as to who she was beyond this already untraditional doctor-patient exchange. And as her gaze flickered upwards from her rubbish laden hand, attempting to find even a glimpse of derision or contempt between those dark, relaxed brows was a feat near impossible, as those honeyed eyes had upheld much of the same twinkle that had already proven held the power to dismantle her.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” she answered atop an artificial chuckle.

It was the most she could offer on the small waft of breath her lungs had managed to thaw, and how close she’d come to conceding his tacit request… to actually uttering her truth… to divulging that forbidden secret… unsettled her more thoroughly than any inexplicable degree of attraction had since stepping into 18-S.

“Yes. I would.”

He leaned ever closer, eyes dancing across her features, each lagging blink wordlessly communicating that he’d sit there for eternity if it promised him even a glimmer of her being behind the guise she upheld with a labcoat; that there was some unidentifiable quality about her that he found equally as enamoring; that perhaps if he poked carefully enough at certain spots in this facade of hers, he may actually truly see her.

“Another time, Captain,” she whispered, wrenching her eyes from his and climbing hurriedly off the bed.

“Will there be one?” he asked before she’d even taken a step.

She looked downward to her shoes and the floor firmly beneath them, eyes unfocussing, heart thumping heavily in her ears, lip twitching beneath the sudden urge to hide itself between her teeth lest she say more. She swallowed.

“Keep trying to grapple your way into a gunship and there might be.”

She didn’t turn to watch that grin peel across his lips, instead making a direct line for the Cleanser Tube to retrieve his long-forgotten shirt. Unable to meet his eyes again, she simply tossed it in his direction, muttering a “you can get dressed,” before hurrying to the safety of her near-hidden perch behind the holocomputer and jabbing it back to life.

A prickle erupted atop her skin entirely different from the series of others that had accompanied each bashful smile since the beginning of this somewhat atypical encounter. She was suddenly uncomfortable; suddenly sweating as if she’d just been thrown center stage and was attempting to hide from the beaming spotlight that she’d never asked to be in; suddenly yearning to have her labcoat back on; suddenly and horrifyingly unable to refute the fortuitous connection to this person that she had once tried to label as mere pity, and suddenly desperate to escape it.

Most dismaying was the nearly irrepressible urge to allow him. To tell him. To share. To accept. Blind and potent attraction to someone was one thing; pity was another… but this superseded all other aspects of this precariously flirtatious conversation despite having not been flirtatious in nature at all, and for the first time in a long time, she felt unequipped… unprepared…

‘You hate men,’ she reminded herself, hoping that long-chanted mantra may hold the power to simply erase Howzer from both this room and her awareness.

“Layer two subdermal laceration–” she typed near frantically as he stood to redress. “–Located quadrant 6... 18.4 cm in length… full thickness separation. Hematology shows no evidence of infection or foreign cells. Patient may experience slight hypertrophic scarring. Treated in situ with precision cauterization, Nifuran burn cream, and bacta patch. Escharotomy is not required at this time. Aftercare discussed. Patient discharged forthwith. Care to be continued by CM.”

Piece by piece, his armour clicked back into place, years of practicing those repetitive yet crucial motions had evidently rendered him a near-master at recladding that broad frame in record time, and chancing even the most fleeting glance in his direction saw her increasingly disappointed in herself; the image of his semi naked form now utterly eradicated by the sheer majesty of seeing his tall figure encompassed in that dominating kit.

She could delay no longer, and feigning ignorant of his perch by the door where he stood patiently waiting with her labcoat draped atop the cleanest section of his arm, dwindled in credibility with every extended second she took to type and retype those same treatment notes.

“There in one sec,” she told him without offering him the respect of eye contact, powering off the computer and stalking back toward the storage cupboard to collect a series of other necessities.

He smiled as she approached moments later, eyeing the assortment of supplies she’d clamped somewhat awkwardly in her still purple hands.

“These are for you,” she told him, the desperation to leave his presence and seek the respite of her office intensifying with every second that he cast a smile in her direction. “This little tub is burn cream— it smells like rotten eggs but it’ll help exacerbate the healing process. That patch needs changing every 24 hours, and sooner if the area gets wet so here’s a bunch more. Twist a corner to rip the paper on the back, and then press hard around the edges to activate the adhesive. It’s in a bit of an odd spot, so Gauge may have to help you. He can access my treatment notes using any MedBay computer if he needs them.”

He took each product with a nod of understanding, turning each over in his hands briefly before pocketing them in a cargo pouch nestled on his lower back. Unable to withstand another moment with the undulation in her stomach, she offered Howzer one last smile before turning toward the door.

“Don’t forget this,” he said as she prodded a button on the control panel to free her.

“Oh, right,” she scoffed, collecting her lab coat from his arm with her lip between her teeth and pulling it back over her shoulders.

“Uh– doc?” Howzer probed as she pivoted to enter the chaos awaiting her across the threshold.

“Yeah, Captain.”

“Er… thank you for– you know. It was really nice to meet you. And— and I’m happy you’re not a droid.”

Though his hands uselessly shifted that battered helmet tucked below his arm, he upheld the integrity of his gaze as she peered over her shoulder at him.

“It’s June.” She answered without thinking, the confession swinging a right hook in the direction of both her professional and personal judgment. “My name’s June.”

She left 18-S without another word, without lingering to digest his reaction, without bothering to offer the proper valediction that she should have. She needed her office, she needed to breathe air that wasn’t polluted with the undeniable connection to this random man, and she needed it now.

Foreword | Prev | Next

Tag list: @anxiouspineapple99 @sinfulsalutations @starrylothcat @nobody-expects-the-inquisitorius @secondaryrealm @dystopicjumpsuit @freesia-writes @sev-on-kamino @littlemissmanga @523rdrebel @wings-and-beskar @wolffegirlsunite @sunshinesdaydream @clonemedickix @drafthorsemath @jediknightjana @moonlightwarriorqueen @starstofillmydream @mooncommlink @wizardofrozz @trixie2023 @clonethirstingisreal @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @mythical-illustrator @arctrooper69

#starqueenswrittenworks #The Only Exception #Howzer x fem!OC #fem!OC x Howzer #captain howzer x fem!OC #fem!oc x Captain Howzer #3rd pov #medical anxiety #medical injuries #moderate whump #whump #mild angst #angst #anxiety #anxiety attack

[starqueensthings]

coming soon!

The Only Exception:

Foreword, Basics, and References

Basics: 3rd POV, primarily following the main character (OC) with occasional shifts to other perspectives (separated by chapter). 

Pairing: Captain Howzer x fem!OC; then Jesse x fem!OC; then maybe something else… maybe something of the same… TEEHEE

Characters: more clone OC’s than I can count, tons of human OC’s, Twi-lek OC’s, many of our favourite TCW characters like Fives, Echo, Jesse, Kix, and Rex playing large parts of the story. Tup, Hardcase, Dogma, Cody, Keeli, and others also make appearances. 

Rating: will shift chapter by chapter between 16+ for mature themes, and 18+ for explicit themes. 

Posting Schedule: will not be consistent. The undulation of ADHD means there are days to weeks where my brain can’t translate a single sentence from thought to written word, so I’m hesitant to commit to a structured, weekly schedule but will do my best.

Things that probably don’t need to be noted, but because I’m both anxious and uncontrollably long-winded, I feel the need to explain: 

This work was written novel style, and not necessarily the traditional 2nd POV, x reader fanfiction style that we all know and love. These characters have names, histories, appearances that are both eluded to and mildly described, as well as personality traits that may not be desirable to some. For example: the main character, June, harbors some resentment toward men because of some lingering trauma from her past, and unfortunately lets it influence many of her decisions. There are times, particularly in the beginning of the story, where she can be highly sensitive to what some would consider harmless, off-the-cuff remarks, and becomes combative and irrational as a result. Her reactions are particularly placed to emphasize aspects of her character, so that we can witness her growth and/or regressions throughout the story. 

In that same token, this story will hover around + touch on some uncomfortable  topics, particularly toward the end. Whump/angst/hurt+comfort/fluff/smut will all be present themes, and I WILL be tagging each chapter very clearly and very thoroughly. SA and parental trauma will be eluded to throughout the entirety of the story and recollected/explained toward the end. Additionally, smut scenes will be segregated into their own chapters and will be written as not to affect the flow of the story, so if you choose to skip those, you don’t miss out on anything plot wise. All of that being said, this is largely a light hearted story about growth and unexpected love as it presents itself in several forms. 

Additionally (and very importantly) June is highly intelligent and medically proficient. I am neither of those things. Not even close. I tried to research as much medical terminology as possible prior to/during writing, but probably 75% of it will make no sense to someone who’s very familiar with medical things/conditions/procedures. Lastly, I tried to keep this story as canon compliant as possible, but the Clone Wars timeline is challenging to navigate. Creative liberty was taken in some spots where canon is murky, but otherwise I tried to remain as true to the Star Wars events as we know them. Language will fluctuate mildly between in-universe and modern day. I kept it as Star Wars as possible, but absolutely refuse to use “transparisteel” in place of glass, “flimsi” makes me cringe, and will always prefer shower over “sonic” lol 

Common Star Wars words are below:

Holo Computer: Desktop Computer

Holopad: kinda like a cellphone

Datapad: kinda like an iPad/tablet

Durasteel: metal

Duraplas: plastic

Massiff: a dog-ish creature that kinda looks like an alligator lol

“Kriff”: “Fuck” or “Shit” (a swear word, not the noun of a fuck or a shit lol)

“Kriffing”: “Fucking” (adjective, not the action of fucking)

Chrono: watch/clock

Hoverbed: like a gurney or hospital bed that floats 

Air Speeder: floating car with side-by-side seats

Speeder bike: floating motorcycle

Fresher: washroom/bathroom/loo

Di’kut: Idiot

Mesh’la: beautiful (noun)

Cyare: darling (noun)

Caf: coffee

“Maker” or “Gods” or “Stars”: “God” or “Lord” (frustrated; not religious lol)

Camtono: a cooler/portable freezer

Flimsi: paper

a bajillion more listed in this fantastic post.

Terms I made up because canon was lacking (list is on-going):

NBA or Nociceptor Blocking Agent: the pain injection we see them jab into peoples necks

USI or Universal Serum Injector: the injection tool itself (serum vial is loaded per dose)

Defibrillator “defib” Pods: small, high tech, portable defibrillator

Cleanser Tube: essentially a washing machine recessed into the hall. Very similar to a front loading washing machine where only the door is visible. 

Sanitation Station: a weird contraption that cleans/disinfects someone’s hands before coating them in nitrile (instead of pulling on surgical gloves). 

“Maker have mercy”: “for the love of God” (frustrated; not religious lol) 

Blue wine: white wine

Purple wine: red wine

Cauterizing Pen/Electromagnetic Stapler: used in the place of stitches

MedScanner: I did not conceptualize the scanner itself, but did make up all the settings and uses lol

“Flimsi Flinger”: “Paper Pusher”

“Double-barrelled Blaster”: a double edged sword

#also fkn LMAO at me changing the title of my own story #titles are my NEMESIS #I can’t commit #title anxiety is real #anywhooo #pls enjoy #The Only Exception #OC Sundays #fem!OC x Howzer #Howzer x fem!OC #fem!OC x Captain Howzer #Captain Howzer x fem!OC

[starqueensthings]

Summary: June and Challa venture to the combat base for their first lecture. A pretty low-key chapter if I’m being honest, so I kept it pretty short (“short” used lightly lol) There’s a surprise, albeit brief, inclusion of one of our faves toward the end.

Rating/WC: all chapters are 16+ for subject matter unless otherwise noted | 3400ish words.

WARNINGS: none really… ellusions to past trauma but even that’s a stretch.

A/N: many of the named Clones in this chapter were borrowed from friends. Pals— thank you for letting me include your blorbos! “Friendly” is the creation of @multi-fan-dom-madness, “Siren” is the creation of @523rdrebel, and “Stretcher” is the creation of @a-single-tulip.

PLEASE ENSURE YOU’VE READ THE FOREWORD LINKED ABOVE FOR AN IN-DEPTH DESCRIPTION OF WHAT DEGREE OF CONTENT YOU CAN EXPECT THROUGHOUT THIS STORY BEFORE PROCEEDING.

FOREWORD | MASTER | PREV | NEXT | AO3

The following fortnight turned out to be reasonably uneventful… at least, as uneventful as one could wish for that ever-chaotic ward, and the return to that sense of frenzied normalcy was wholly embraced by the tired 23 year old who’d near-instantly regretted the covenant made with her boss, yet the addition of a salient spring in every step he took as he wove around that hyperactive department quickly affirmed he shared in none of her rue.

Hardly two rotations after recruiting her assistance, Challa had bounced into her office with an unnerving grin contorting his typically prosaic features, his hands rubbing together amid a gesture of unadulterated glee of which he hadn’t exuded in some time. Upon the realization that his sauntering gait wouldn’t be immediately followed by his notorious squeaky-chair vituperations, Jacoba had offered her boss an insouciant “good morning”, casting her best friend a knowing glance before returning her attention to the medical chart in front of her.

Despite having largely expected his visitation to their office in those succeeding days, the unrestrained joy beneath that impish smile had June damn-near frightened, and she hastened to nudge her rolling chair away from the desk as he threw himself into the seat opposite her with a euphoric sigh.

“Y’alright?” she’d asked him cautiously.

“Contract’s done,” he had answered whilst tossing a wad of white flimsi onto her desk, that cog embossment on the front page identical to the one that had adorned the previous edition.

But the uncharacteristic nature of that soft-eyed, toothy grin had rendered June near-paralyzed in her seat, blue eyes darting toward her companion at the neighbouring desk for any semblance of support or assistance, though Jacoba’s unprovoked postural shift in toward the other direction immediately laid bare that she was doing everything in her power to choke back the laughter rumbling in her chest.

Momentarily oblivious to the nonverbal communication of which the girls had mastered amid their decade together, Challa had continued to watch June with a degree of a pressing expectation, and he’d permitted only a handful of seconds to pass in her failure to retrieve it before simply nudging it further toward her.

“Go on!” he’d requested, rapping his knuckles atop the cover page. “Give it a look. The degree of your inclusion is elaborated on pages 64 to 89. And I think you’ll be quite pleased with the generous salary increase the President has allotted you on page 137–”

“Salary increase?!” Jacoba repeated, amusement melting from her features as she turned an aghast face toward them. “You gave the job to the girl who’s saved every credit she’s ever earned, while I’m over here trying to plan the most expensive wedding of the last century?!”

“Oh give it a rest, Bridezilla,” June snorted, collecting the contract from the desk and flicking thoughtlessly through its copious pages. “Your fiancé is the most sought after mechanic on Coruscant, and you’re a doctor— neither of you are hurting for credits. Besides, we both know that ridiculous red gown you’re making me buy for said wedding is going to completely empty my bank accou—”

“It’s not ‘ridiculous’! And red is your colour. You should be grateful I’m not putting your pasty white ass into Alda’s powder blue gown—”

“Hey, leave my pale ass out of this! It’s barely spring! Everyone is still pasty!”

”I’m not.”

“Yeah, well not all of us were lucky enough to be graced with the gift of melanin. Quit rubbing it in befo—”

“We have a meeting,” Challa interjected, smile slipping from his lips as that characteristic impatience reemerged in the wake of their incessant antics. “The civilian relations officer on base is giving us a tour at 1600 today. Meet me in my office at quarter-to and we’ll head over together.”

“I can’t,” June told him, tossing the contract unceremoniously to the side of her desk and stretching her arms above her head. “I have a bilateral clavicular fracture on the books for 1530 and the damn soldier is a red head, so I had to schedule an anesthesiologist to scrub in and monitor sedation.”

“Unfortunate.” With that ebullient elation now stripped of his lips, he stood and offered nothing more than a disappointed grimace before heading for the door. “No matter— I’ll brief you when I return.”

True to his word, Challa had appeared in Operating Room 4 some hours later, the urgency to enlighten her with a detailed recollection of that missed appointment were utterly apparent by the way his surgical loupes fogged amid every panting breath as he settled himself into place across the operating table between them. Though none of his previously-exuded determination had diminished since visiting the premises of their new tertiary home, much of the exuberance he’d previously failed to regulate had been supplanted by the reality of their shrinking timeline; he now spoke of little else outside of lesson planning, curriculum requirements, and examination frequencies with a tense frown top those once beaming lips.

The subsequent week and a half saw June’s nerves reach a peak of which she hadn’t suffered since her own foray into medical school. Assimilating as much of Challa’s OR schedule into her own had initially promised to both further distract her from the weight of her impulsive promise, and help lessen the burden his proliferating task load, but the near-instant inundation of responsibility had quickly rendered her more overstimulated than she could ever remember. Every rotation blurred into the next… and the next… and the next. The sun’s recurrent slumber below the horizon could no longer be relied upon as a gauge to differentiate one day from the next, as catching even a glimmer of that underappreciated daylight was proven impossible due to the gross extension of her schedule. And this menial, yet, pernicious deprivation only intensified during those dreaded 24-hour shifts of which the label of “on-call trauma” saw surgeons near-stripped of their human rights; ten minutes of respite in a dark, solitary call-room became little more than a privilege, particularly so when the clanging trauma alarm, alerting the ward of imminent intakes, refused to settle for hours on end; meals consisting of little more than a hurried handful of whatever food one could pull from that staff-room fridge, ahead of the equally exhausted nurse cornering them with the redundant reminder of a limitless list of patients waiting for attention.

But June was no stranger to deprivation. The nature of her childhood on a secluded planet had long imbued her with the ability to make-do with only what she had; a cup or two of caf could wake her enough to see a procedure to completion in the absence of true rest, a granola bar shoved quickly into her mouth and mashed urgently between molars would suffice in the void of a real meal; kriff, she had a chrono on the desk and a watch on her wrist to remind her the day and time if she ever sought it. What grated on her most intensely as their deadline drew nearer and nearer was Challa’s new-found urge to prattle… his seemingly uncontrollable need for consultation.

Accustomed to the premise of being entirely left to her own devices, her boss’s incessant need to hover at her elbow and chatter in her ear raised June’s ire near-instantly upon seeing that pointed face appear in the surgical gowning room. Despite her intact willingness to support him in this endeavor by whatever means she could, repeated instances of his unwanted company had her near-convinced that nothing short of cutting her own ears off and trapping them into the Cleanser Tube could promise a reprieve from his relentless badgering.

“I mean this with the utmost respect, Challa,” she’d warned one night as her boss had, once again, invited himself to scrub into a surgery she’d shifted out of his schedule and into hers, “But I am down here freezing my tushy off so that you don't need to be. Get out of my OR before I take this Sigmoid tube and jam it up yo—”

“Alright, alright!”

***

The Primeday morning of their first lecture began relatively smoothly. As previously agreed, June met Challa in his office right around the time that the Coruscanti sun’s rays teased their resplendent glow below the horizon… or, “the crack of stupid” as June had aptly named those harrowing hours between caf #1 and caf #2. After countless minutes of watching him pat every pocket in his labcoat several times over whilst reciting his mental list of crucial items to bring, he slung his bag over his shoulder and the duo clambered into Challa’s air speeder for the ride across town.

Despite having lived on Coruscant for nearly a decade, June had never ventured quite as far east as where the GAR’s headquarters sat tucked securely along the perimeter of the Parliamental sector. Its separation from the regality of the senate building and the relentless bustle of the hospital ensured its private nestle saw very little action in terms of residency and foot traffic; most of the industrial buildings gridlocked below that traffic-laden skyway were anchored by tall, smoking chimneys, each emitting endless puffs of dark emissions into the air above. Workers in fluorescent vests, while reduced in scale to nothing more than microscopic amid those colossal buildings, could be seen atop almost every roof, shifting construction vehicles from one place to the next, or collaborating to load heavy pieces of steel onto the cargo bed of an impossibly large transport speeder.

No sooner had the oversized chimneys of their menacing destination come into focus amid the burgeoning daylight, did a venator-class star destroyer descend through the blanket of cloud above them. Though it remained at an altitude of which an uncovered air speeder like theirs could never safely venture, Challa hurried to press the brake, both of their mouths falling open as the sheer majesty of that renowned engineering commandeered their attention. June knotted her arms atop her chest, a growl of frustration escaping her lips as Challa simply refused to accede her perfervid plea to watch that gargantuan vehicle lower itself into the shipyard only blocks away.

The imminent arrival to their destination threw into sharp relief the fragmented nature of that formidable building, and the sheer degree of construction of which that property remained afflicted was nearly as astonishing as the unexpected appearance of that starship. The west quadrant of the expansive compound seemed near-entirely gated off, its interior activities blocked from prying eyes by a series of purple tarps so monstrous in size that any one of them held the potential to swaddle June’s entire apartment several times over. Towering fences nearly two stories high encircled much of the south entrance immediately adjacent, and the indignance still lingering in her chest at Challa’s refusal to let her witness that aeronautical marvel in action was quickly supplanted by the increasingly realistic concern of not being able to find their way into this already high-security establishment.

“Seems as if the construction of this base wasn’t the senate’s top priority…” Challa’s mused.

Security troopers in armour of white and royal purple flanked every access point the duo came across, gloved hands draped in tandem around lethal-looking rifles, both their motives and their eyes hidden behind visors of complete opacity. As time vanished beneath them, and the probability of merely happening across some semblance of a visitor’s entrance diminished with that dwindling darkness, Challa slowed to a stop beside a pair of troopers and near-begged them for directions. After acceding the request of providing their clearance documents, the nearest trooper directed them to the staff speeder lot immediately abutting the construction zone they’d blindly circled thrice whilst attempting to find a way in.

Housing what appeared to be several dozen air speeders, each of which adorned an oversized republic cog emblem on their metallic purple hoods, that staff parking area seemed otherwise void of life, and the pair was able to dash across that gravel lot and scan their way into the door with barely a trio of minutes to spare before class was due to start.

“We can bypass the administration office,” Challa advised her breathlessly, near-jogging through that dark, industrial hall whilst June attempted to keep up. “Eagle advised me everything we’d need is in this envelope.”

His frantic cadence refused to lessen as he reached blindly into the depths of the messenger bag draped atop his shoulder and retrieved a large manila envelope. Unable to tear her eyes away from the foreign novelty of each passing doorway, Challa's elbow landed like a baseball bat against her chest, though he offered nothing but a, “pay attention, we’re short on time!” as she rebuked his negligent gesture.

“Who’s Eagle?” she asked him, rubbing that aching mark below her collarbone before extracting a small wad of flimsi and quickly thumbing through its assorted content.

“The civilian relations officer I met with a couple weeks ago,” Challa mumbled, lips barely meeting in his haste to answer as his brows furrowed in immutable concentration.

Attempting to ignore her frazzled companion currently counting the doorways as they continued down that daunting hall, June turned her attention to the bundle in her hand. The first page brought a glimmer of relief to June’s simmering anxiety; a detailed map of the entire combat base laid bare exactly why they’d struggled to find their way into that fortified compound, and she immediately moved to fold that holy document and stuff it into the pocket of her scrub pants.

“11th door on the right…” Challa continued under his breath. “That one be six— no, seven if you count the elevator, so eight… nine… ten… turn here, June. And then we’re the last room on the left before the stairwell.”

Challa granted himself only a moment to dwell in the liberation of finding the door to their allotted home before quickly tapping his ID card on the control panel and hurtling over the threshold. But the sudden activation of the overhead lights robbed June of what should have been that shared success… that relief. Countless fluorescent bulbs overhead had instantly exposed a significantly larger classroom than she’d anticipated, and the grandiosity of that room was instantly plagued with the harrowing potential of how crowded that space may soon be.

The steps she took in Challa’s path reflected none of his alacrity, her eyes cautiously observing every distant corner of that amphitheater style room as Challa hurried across the small stage at the front and began to unload the contents of his bag onto the teacher’s desk in the corner. A shiver rolled down her spine as her eyes found a small podium at center stage, a perfectly placed recipient of the countless sets of eyes soon to trickle through the doorway and perch themselves into the hundred or so seats lined up behind those curved desks. She swallowed and dropped her gaze to her toes, refusing to give the enormous projector screen on the left even a glance as she crossed that platform in her boss’s wake and tossed her bag to the floor beside his.

“Not quite as spacious as I’d expected,” Challa chided amid another sigh, perching his hands on his hips as his violet eyes peered somewhat reprovingly around the room. “Eagle showed me only the doorway during our tour. I do hope there’s a seat for everyone.”

“A seat for—” June started, mouth falling open at the distressing implications of his complaint. “Challa, how many troopers are enrolled?”

“Didn’t you look at the attendance list?” he asked her with raised brows. “It was in that envelope I just gave you… a hundred clones this round. Maybe more in the next.”

“A hundred? The next?! You never said—”

Their heads spun simultaneously back toward that open door as chorus of raucous chatter erupted down the hall and echoed around the corners of their classroom, and it was barely seconds before the familiar face of a clone soldier appeared on the other side of that threshold, the boyish indifference fueling that zealous laughter vanishing instantly upon meeting the eyes of his new, civilian teachers.

Challa leapt into action, wrenching his hands from his hips and snatching the datapad off the desk top with a renewed sense of urgency. “Can you take attendance at the door while I set up the projector?” he hissed at her, failing to wait for her assent before his slender legs had him trotting to the podium and hurriedly plugging in his tablet.

The throng of broad-shouldered soldiers waiting beyond that threshold, each adorning a particularly itchy-looking blue uniform of which June had never seen the likes of, continued to rapidly enlarge with every uneasy breath that left her lips. With each new unblemished face attempting to peer into that mysterious room over the shoulder of the trooper in front of them, the opportunity to negotiate Challa’s delegation of tasks faded, and June begrudgingly reached to rifle through the myriad of papers she’d recently pulled from that envelope.

“Wait, what did you just say? There’s a girl?”

“A girl and a Twi’lek!”

“A girl?!”

“Yes, you di’kut. Do you need to hear it a third time?”

“Just move over and let me see!”

“Would you chill? You can both see her in four seconds when we get through the do—”

“Coming from someone that can already see her. Just shimmy over a little bit.”

“Here, just take my spot. I prefer blondes anyways.”

“Pfft— how would you know? You’ve never even met a blonde, you prat.”

‘You’re fine,’ she reminded herself amid a slow and controlled exhale, those poorly hushed comments triggering a renewed sense of discomfort and regret for freely consenting to partake in this mission of education. Yet refocusing her attention to locating that attendance list achieved nothing except luring a snort of derision from her nose, as it turned out to be nothing but a harrowingly long and unorganized spreadsheet of CT designation numbers, and as she stood and clamped that neglectful roster to a clipboard, she silently vowed to fill it to totality with every name the students would give her.

“Morning,” she greeted to the first trooper in line, the fleeting glance she’d sent his way upon reaching his position instantly exposing his own mild apprehension, as those olive-skinned fists clenched more securely around the straps of the medkit pack on his back. “Name and CT number?”

“CT-663— wait, name?” He caught himself near-instantly, upper lip lifting on one side in a motion of unbridled confusion, those brown eyes dancing across her features as if the nature of her question had been something particularly ludicrous, like requesting to record the colour of his bed sheets. “You… you want our names?”

“Sure do,” she answered simply, taking a careful step backward as the impatient line of soldiers waiting for their turn to pass through the door surged forward and sent the first in line stumbling over his polished dress boots.

“Get a move-on, Croak!” one of the crowd demanded from some distance behind him, his immediate neighbours erupting in a ringing chorus of arrogant guffaws and hardly-suppressed laughter. “You can chat her up later, this pack is kriffing heavy.”

“Would you stow it, Kix!” Croak barked back over his shoulder, though there was no ignoring the flush imbued in those unmarred cheeks as his eyes returned to her. “Croak… CT-6638.”

He hurried into the room with his head down, instantly replaced by the next tall soldier awaiting their turn to enter. CT-3880 “Stretcher” and CT-4558 “Friendly” were the next two through the door, readjusting the bulky kits on their backs as they offered their elected sobriquet before hurrying after their counterpart. When, finally, CT-6161 “Siren” was the last to find his seat in the second row from the back, June closed the door and dimmed the lights, half-heartedly returning Challa’s thumbs up before slinking along the back of the room to take her seat behind the teacher’s desk.

The subsequent three hours saw June near pleading with the stars to further expedite every looming minute, stomach heaving anew with every glance upward from her datapad that saw a set of brown eyes instantly dart away from her. Though she funnelled every effort into following along with Challa’s lecture, the implications of the whispers somehow persevering through his amplified drone only intensified her desperation to leave that stuffy room.

Eleven o’clock came not a second too soon. Thankfully, one of the tasks June had been assigned when responsibilities were first divvied between that doctoral duo was to keep one eye on the chrono by the door. As the combat base had not been initially designed with traditional schooling in mind, there was no alarm to alert them of the conclusion of their allotted time, and Challa had been quick to advise her that overextending their hold on that group of soldiers had serious repercussions of which he hoped they’d never face. And though a handful of troopers, Kix included, offered her a congenial wave as they hiked the medkits back onto their shoulders and headed for the door, June remained stolid and unmoving behind the shield of that teacher’s desk.

FOREWORD | MASTER | PREV | NEXT | ao3

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