#Captain Howzer fanfic

[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

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

[moonstrider9904]

Stargazing

Pairings: Captain Howzer x Female OC (Athena Allard)

Series summary: Athena has spent a long time on Coruscant working as an administrative for the Republic - too long. Fed up with that lifestyle, Athena returns to her home planet, a forest-type planet far in the Outer Rim, also used by the GAR for peaceful operations, and Athena eventually meets the captain of the battalion in charge. Can she return home to the fullest when it feels like the GAR followed her to the ends of the galaxy?

Series rating: Explicit 18+ for sexual content in many chapters

{main masterlist} {AO3 link} {Wattpad link}

Status: coming soon

Chapter 1 - Flimsiwork (coming soon!)

Chapters with a * contain smut. More chapters TBD.

Other resources

Athena Allard profile (coming soon!)

[rex-meshla]

Clones I wish got more attention in fanfiction...

Captain Howzer | Commander Keeli | Commander Bly | Commander Colt

*btw, you can find my Howzer and Colt fics here x

[blackseafoam]

Gift for @ladysongmaster For the @galactic-gift-gathering !!

Prompt: “Can you just… stay? Please…”

Genre: angst with a happy ending

Of course Hera worried every time her father and his posse left. But what truly scared her was knowing that Cham Syndulla’s captain would lay down his life for the freedom-fighter without hesitation. Hera knew her father was safe with Howzer around, but who was there to protect him?

She grabbed the captain’s wrist as he walked, halting him, even though he could have easily removed her grasp. “Can you just… stay? Please?” Tears welled in her eyes.

The Twi’lek was too young to understand. The why in a war. Yet smart enough to figure out the fact that he, someone created to be a soldier, would be the most at risk in battle. The thought was plastered in fear on her little green face.

Eleini had caught up with her daughter at this point, taking her shoulders in her hands to still the now sobbing child.

“I wish I could Hera. I promise you I’ll be back. I promise.” Howzer wished he had time to say more, but the transport was waiting.

Hera nodded and let go of the captain’s bracer, tears falling as she hung her head. Howzer donned his helmet. “I promise.” he muttered to himself as he jogged away.

-

I like to think that Captain Howzer totally became a part of the Syndulla family during the war, and I know I’m not the only one. It’s pretty evident in his monologue in the Ryloth prison.

While I was drawing this I was reminded of the little kids in Nausicaä begging her not to leave, so I added some big fat ghibli tears.

Blah blah blah, Star Wars kids growing up in a war, blah blah, turning them into emotionally intelligent, resilient, and protective adults, blah blah, make me cry thinking about them etc…

[toomanyteefs]

SNAPBACK MEMES PART 2!!!!!

(spoilers obviously)

Part 1

[grampsoninspace]

doctor’s orders.

Please, don’t let it be him.

Please no…

Please!

“Good evening,” a warm voice interrupts your silent pleading with whatever force is listening. There’s strain in the usual honeyed tone, which jerks your chin upward with an invisible string. Your panicked thoughts are replaced by your emergency mode, your hands trembling with adrenaline at the pain in the man’s voice.

“What did you do now?” you hiss, assessing the patient visually before you even get close to him, watching blood drip steadily from a wound just shy of his temple.

Captain Howzer smiles up at you with mischief in his brown eyes.

“I got a little too close to the action, Doc,” he shrugs.

“How many times do I have to tell you? The blood belongs inside of your body, Captain. For Maker’s sake, can we go a single week without you risking life and limb for the nearest being?” You pull your gloves on with an angry snap.

“Well… it is my job,” he tells you, trying to sound the slightest bit remorseful and failing miserably.

“I don’t care if it’s your job — it’s going to be a little hard to do it if you’re dead,” you shake your head, starting to remove his armor to assess the rest of him.

“You’re fussing again,” Howzer’s voice drops in octave and volume, much too near your ear.

“Well, that is my job,” you mimic his accent poorly, daring to look back into his eyes as you remove his chest plate.

His full lips are twisted in the faintest smile, and he is watching your every move. You roll your eyes but you can feel yourself blush, choosing instead to focus on removing his pauldrons, gauntlets, and gloves.

“I know... I like it when you fuss over me,” he leans forward and yanks the top of his blacks off with one hand, exposing his skin down to his waist.

You turn back to face him and remind yourself with a deep breath and a mental lashing that you are a fucking professional and you will do your job without incident or…

Or…?

What were you saying?

“Well?” he prompts.

“Hm?” you raise your eyebrows, pretending you were listening.

He leans back with his palms flat on the exam table, his knees farther apart than you remember. “I asked you a question.”

“Which was?” you ask, frowning, silently cursing yourself.

“I asked what your diagnosis was,” he smirks.

“I don’t know yet,” you rub your forehead with the back of your hand. “I need to get your head cleaned up first. Do you feel pain or discomfort anywhere else?”

“No pain…” His smile is teasing. “But I still expect a thorough examination. I could be in shock.”

You give him a look. “Behave yourself, Captain.”

Howzer holds his hands up. “I’m just asking you to do your job, Doc. I wouldn’t expect any less but the closest attention to detail when you’re in charge.”

You swallow, and he won’t look away from your eyes — even as you start to gently clean the wound on his forehead and he sucks in a breath through his teeth, grabbing your wrist roughly and trying to pull your hand away.

Your stomach flips but you give him a stern look.

“Captain. When I said to behave yourself, I clearly meant you need to allow me to do my job.”

“Warn me next time,” he growls, releasing you.

“I did!” You smack his hand down. “I told you I had to clean your head…”

“Oh, that’s what you meant,” he smirks up at you as you continue removing the blood from his skin. You press harder in retaliation and he grabs both of your wrists.

“Stop being belligerent or I’ll let you fuckin’ bleed to death,” you tell him through gritted teeth.

“Which one happens first?” he asks, your wrists still bound in the shackles of his rough hands.

“What—?” you ask, scrunching up your face.

“You said you’d let me fuck and bleed to death,” he repeats, pulling you forward and tugging your hands behind his back so your face is much too close to his.

“Do you think it could be in that order?” he drops his voice down deep and low, his breath warm on your skin.

“You know damn well I did not say that,” you tell him, trying to sound sure of yourself, but your voice shakes.

“Do I?” he asks, searching your face with his dilated eyes.

“Should I check your hearing?” you ask sharply, but his gaze lands on your lips.

“What?” he jokes, and you sigh in his face.

“Captain.”

His eyes flick to yours, and he leans back just enough to let your hips rest in the V his legs have made. “Say my name, and I’ll be good for you.”

“This is very unprofessional behavior,” you frown.

“I’m no snitch,” he whispers. “Besides, is it against protocol for you to use your patient’s name?”

“Of course not,” you sigh again. “But I’m using your title as a sign of respect, just as I would do with anyone else.”

“And I love that about you, but I wanna hear you say my name,” he grips your wrists harder, gives you a little yank, and you arch into him involuntarily.

“Captain Howzer…” you say, trying to keep your tone even and clinical.

“Close,” he smiles but shakes his head. “But no. Just say my name, and I’ll behave.”

You take a deep breath, knowing he’s absolutely full of shit without running a single test to prove it.

“Howzer…” you say in a low voice, your temple pressed against his. He hums low in his throat, and the vibration of it in his chest seems to travel wherever your body is touching his.

You let your lips brush his ear: “Can you please allow me to finish my exam now?”

“Yes ma’am,” he rumbles, letting go of your wrists and planting his hands on the edge of the table again.

His eyes are closed and he keeps very still as you clean his head wound, patching it with bacta and exploring the rest of the lines in his face, running your fingers over the deep scar on his cheek.

“Field medic work,” he smiles, leaning into your touch. “Didn’t have your finesse.”

“Doesn’t change anything,” you blurt out quietly.

His eyes slide open and they are darker than a starless night. “Hm?”

“You know,” you frown, pushing his face to the side to check his neck and shoulders with careful hands.

“What do I know?” he asks, his cheek twitching with how badly he’s trying not to smirk. “What doesn’t the field medic’s work change?”

You sigh roughly in the back of your throat as you move around the table to check his back. “Your… face.”

“Oh, because every clone has the same one?” he asks, a defensive lilt to his teasing.

“No!” you poke him in the shoulder blade, hard.

“Then what?” he twists, to try to make you look at him again, but you push him forward.

“What did you promise me?” you frown. “Be still, Howzer.”

He inhales deeply and sits up with perfectly straight posture. You run your hands down his spine, then press your fingers where you know injured organs would reveal tender spots. He doesn’t flinch, but you don’t know if that’s his training or an actual lack of pain. Nothing seems out of place, but knowing him, he’s probably hiding something.

“Get up,” you pat his shoulder.

He obeys, standing perfectly at attention.

And as you help him remove his lower armor, it’s very apparent that he’s not the only one.

You instantly blush, despite having seen countless human bodies in all different contexts… your whole body flushes with warmth which travels between your legs. You’re removing his knee pads and the feelings you’re having are so improper you feel yourself blushing harder with shame…

“Sorry Doc,” he says quietly. “Natural reaction.”

“To what?” you blurt out, looking up from your kneeling position into his face.

He smirks. “I think we both know you know the answer to that… You’re a doctor. You know how the human body functions in these situations…”

You shake your head. “I’m making sure you’re not going to die of internal injuries, Howzer. I’m not doing anything to try and…cause this.”

“Don’t have to,” he says, low and rough. “You just are.”

Your fingers are still on his thigh, just about to get him to lift his foot to let you remove his boot, when you stop and feel your jaw go slack.

“Please stand up,” he asks. You oblige him, and he sits back up on the exam table, obediently removing his boots for you without breaking eye contact once. You swallow around your dry throat, taking in the sight of him there in nothing but the bottom half of his blacks, which he’s now standing again to remove.

Howzer sits back up on the exam table in just his dark briefs, which — despite their color — are not doing much to hide the topic of your discussion.

Why do I want it in my mouth?

Your eyes are wide when you meet his gaze again, thankful beyond belief that he can’t read your mind. But he smiles softly like he can.

Why is that a thought I’m having right now, when I should be making sure he isn’t in any more pain?

You try to snap out of it, distracting yourself by looking fo contusions or abrasions, any signs of internal injuries or dislocated bones… You put your gloved hand on his thigh to inspect a discoloration there and his body reacts visibly to your touch.

“Howzer…” you whisper, “Should I stop?”

“Please don’t,” he breathes, reaching out to grip the wrist closest to his bare skin.

“I… I need you to stand up and turn around,” you tell him quietly, and he does as he’s told, letting you peruse the backs of his legs and the bottoms of his feet.

When he turns around again, he’s mere inches from your body, his muscles taut and his face hyper-focused on yours.

“I don’t see any other… problems,” you swallow, your voice barely audible. “You’re free to dress and go now.”

“But I don’t want to,” he shrugs, lifting his hands to cradle your face.

He doesn’t kiss you.

He brushes his nose against yours, touches your foreheads together, rubs his cheekbone up and down your cheek.

You can feel the rough texture of the skin on his face and let a soft sound escape your careful throat.

Howzer locks onto that sound like a heat-seeking missile, pressing his hand gently to your throat and repeating the motion he thinks you liked — his cheek pressed to yours.

You whimper lightly, just barely audible, and he loses his careful control to what he wants most.

He kisses you so hard it snaps your head back; you gasp into his mouth and he takes that as an invitation, exploring inside with his tongue. He only breaks the seal your lips have made to let you breathe, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your jaw and down your neck, hungrily making his way down to taste as much of your skin as he can reach.

His hands move from your face and neck to unbutton your uniform coat, pushing it down off your shoulders onto the floor, sliding his long fingers under the shirt you wear beneath.

“I want this off,” he tells you, and you nod your permission, lifting your arms to let him strip you from the waist up.

He removes your bra so quickly and easily it gives you the slightest moment of hesitation and doubt, wondering how many women he’s collected inside the warmth of his body just like this. But his hands are holding your breasts and his tongue is in your mouth again, and you quickly forget your fears. His fingers travel down to the waistband of your pants, and you don’t think you’ve ever taken them off so quickly in your entire lifetime.

“Fuck,” he whispers, looking at you in nothing but your underwear. “You’re perfect.”

“Prove it,” you tease him. “You get naked first.”

He smiles at you with bright eyes, yanking his underwear down and hopping up to lie back on the exam table with his arms behind his head, all too comfortable.

“What’s the verdict, Doc?” he asks, eyes closed, body stretched out for your (scientific) inspection.

You remove your gloves and run your fingertips from his broad shoulders to his hip bones, watching his dick twitch at the attention of your hands.

“I think you’re perfectly…healthy, Captain,” you tell him, your eyes landing on the glorious thickness he’s been hiding in those briefs.

Howzer props himself up on one elbow, turning just enough to ripple more muscles like a statue carved of some ancient god from another galaxy.

“Your turn,” he drawls, gesturing with his finger toward your underwear, and you shake your head.

“Oh now that’s just not fair,” he crows, climbing back down off the exam table and putting his hands on your hips, changing tactics.

“Do you want me to take them off for you?” he gives you a half-smile, his eyes blazing a path from your bare breasts to the fabric between him and his goal.

You nod slowly, pushing your hips just slightly forward as he dips his thumbs in the band around your waist.

“I need to hear you say it,” he says quietly.

“Please take them off,” you try to whisper, but it comes out like a whine. He looks into your eyes expectantly, wiggling his thumbs but not moving his hands any more than that.

“Howzer…” you groan. “Please.”

“That’s better,” he pushes your underwear to the floor and runs his hands back up your legs as you step out. “Isn’t it?”

He kisses you again, softer this time but no less hungry, pulling you back with him onto the exam table. He wraps his arms around you until you’re flush on top of him, nipping at your lips and running his hands all over your body, seeking friction by pressing his hips up into yours…

“Would you like to ride me, sweetheart?” he rasps, his erection pressed against your hip, his heart pounding in his chest against yours. “Because I’d like nothing more than to see you get on top and use me however you want.”

You know your face must look like you’re in pain, the need for him so strong it feels like your heart could stop. You move your knees apart and brace yourself, letting him help you to a more upright position, crawling back until you’re hovering right above him.

You look into his eyes as you guide him to your entrance, inhaling shakily as you feel the tip slide past your resistance, shoving your knees farther apart and dropping slowly to take him deeper. His eyes practically roll back in his head the farther down you go, groaning low in his throat when he’s fully sheathed inside of you.

The two of you stay very still for a long moment, just breathing while you both adjust. When you start to move on him, he looks up at you heavy-lidded and reaches up to grope your breasts, moaning a bit as you sink your fingernails into his shoulders trying to find a rhythm you both like. You roll your hips and grip him good as you do, filthy curses escaping his swollen lips with every thrust.

Howzer lifts his knees slightly to support you, gripping your hips tight as you ride him hard, forgetting every reason you shouldn’t be doing this as you lose yourself to the feeling of him inside of you as his hands explore your ass.

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted to fuck you like this?” he asks roughly, one hand gripping your ass, the other running up your back to grab a fistful of your hair. You shake your head, unable to form cohesive thoughts as you move on him faster, your need for him only increasing the harder you fuck him.

He sits up suddenly, spreading his legs and bending his knees, wrapping his arms around your lower back and staring right in your eyes as he fucks you right back.

You run your hands through his hair, rubbing the fuzz where his head is shaved and crying out as he hits the perfect spot while holding you this close.

“Since day one,” he rasps. “I’ve wanted you like this since I first met you. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought about taking you right here, just like this…”

He grunts as you clench around him, wetter than ever and panting his name, blissfully close to him making you cum in his lap right on your fucking exam table.

“Fuck me, Howzer,” you beg him, all sense of propriety lost in the lustful haze clouding your brain and flooding your body with heat. “Please just fuck me.”

“No, baby,” he denies you. “I want this to last.”

“But I’m so close,” you whine, pushing him down on his back and riding him harder.

He moves his hand from your hip to press his fingertips to your clit, not bothering to move them with how quickly your hips are rocking, and your head rolls loosely on your neck as your back arches. You bite your lip to keep from screaming as he drags the orgasm right out of you with his lazy fingers and his ridiculously perfect cock.

“Howzer, I can’t, I’m gonna…” you whine, and he pulls himself up again, locking eyes with you as he feels you hit your threshold, a strangled moan slipping out of you as he keeps you close while you cum.

“Come on, baby,” he coaxes as you start to slow your movements to a near-stop, “Are we done already?”

“Sit up,” you tell him, climbing off of him and the table, kneeling and watching him swing his legs over the side.

“Am I already due for another exam—” he chokes on his teasing remark as you take his leaking dick into the tight wetness of your mouth, rolling your tongue underneath him and hollowing your cheeks.

“Fucking Maker,” Howzer groans, his hands instantly tangling in your hair, hips bucking toward your face. “You keep that up and I’m not going to last much longer either.”

Your only reply is to bob your head, taking him deeper toward your throat with each motion, using your hands to grip what can’t fit inside your mouth.

“Oh sweet fuck,” he growls, turning into an absolute mess as you stare up into his eyes while you suck him off. He doesn’t know where to put his hands and he’s trying so hard to let you do what you want, but you can feel him throbbing and you know he’s ready to lose it.

“Sweetheart, I don’t know where you want me to cum, but you’d better decide fast,” he rasps, his eyes squeezing shut.

You keep him in your mouth, but pull back just enough to swirl your tongue around his already-sensitive tip. He groans and shoves his dick deeper in your mouth, yanking your head back by the hair as he loses control. He cums down your throat with a series of grunts and moans your name when he’s finally finished. You swallow every drop, content to lick him lazily until he groans and tugs on your hair to make you stop, guiding your face back up to his.

“You’re mine now, I hope you know,” he growls in your ear, his scarred cheek pressed to yours as he does.

You nod in agreement, feeling his fingers slip between your legs again as he kisses you gently at first…

But you make sure to call him “Captain” when he makes you cum the second time, with nothing but his tongue.

[mistatsunrise]

Shards of Loyalty

Amidst the shadows of betrayal and loyalty, one rebel medic must navigate fractured bonds in the heart of the Empire's darkness.

Fandom: Star Wars, The Bad Batch

Pairing: Wolffe x Reader

Content: Angst as the reader briefly reunites with Wolffe on Teth

Warnings: Spoilers for TBB S3ep06+07

Word Count: 2,978

A/N: I watched the episode, cried, then spent all my time writing this. Also, I couldn't help but have Gregor simp for the reader in this one. Art in divider is by lornaka.

Sitting around the grey flexsteel table, laughter danced around you, as soft giggles spilled from your lips. Your eyes closed briefly as your cheeks rose, a toothy grin wide across your face in a way that made each corner hurt. Across from you was the other source of joyful sounds, in his worn, white plastoid commando armour. His features were spread into a similar grin, crow's feet crinkled about his chestnut brown eyes that glinted in the artificial light of the ship’s interior, and the worn lines upon his tan skin stretched about his smile. A small, stray strand on his dark, slicked-back hair had fallen out of place, which he brushed back into place with a quick swipe of his gloved hand.

As you calmed your laughs, you shifted your hand to take hold of your cup of caf that sat on the table in front of you, the earthy smell of it curling in your nose as you inhaled. Before taking a sip of it, you tilted your head towards the clone opposite you as he rubbed the side of his face, trying to calm his laughter that was greater than yours.

“As soon as we land, I’m going to go get Nemec to confirm that, Gregor,” you teased him softly, to which the clone burst into another bout of laughter.

“You don’t trust me?” Gregor cooed as his laughs subsided again, pointing an accusatory finger at you. It wasn’t serious though, the lop-sided smirk on his face making it evident.

You rolled your eyes softly, placing your hand around the warm cup and lifting it to take a sip. The caf inside tasted too dry and was bitter on your tongue. Yet, you focused on Gregor, paying the poor taste of the caf little mind. “That mission was wild, I need to hear Nemec’s account. I believe you… but, maker, I need to hear more.”

Gregor chuckled softly at that, raising his cup of caf to his lips as you spoke. Yet, you noticed his dark chestnut hues shift from looking at you, moving to looking at the stairs towards the cockpit. The heavy sound of metal prosthetic legs, slightly muted by boots, traveled down to the table. In the doorway, Echo emerged, his pallid features holding a sense of alarm. He cut to the chase, his caramel eyes settling upon both you and Gregor as he spoke.

“Rex commed. Imperials have discovered the base at the spire. They need extracting, ASAP. We’re about five parsecs away.”

You flicked your eyes back to Gregor, whose dark eyes had now hardened with solemnity. There was an unspoken understanding between you three. Your voice vocalized before you even registered it, holding an almost emotionless tone to it.

“Affirmative.”

You pushed yourself from your chair as Gregor simultaneously stood. You all knew what needed to be done, no orders were needed. That’s how this little group of rebels worked, efficiently like a well-oiled droid; not like the Separatist clankers, but like the whirring of a reliable R-series astromech.

Gregor shifted past you on your right, raising a hand to place gently on your shoulder. His digits gave a gentle, but brief squeeze before departing, a small gesture of reassurance. It was all you needed to push yourself forward, to walk down the familiar corridors of the ship towards the medbay.

Once in the dark room, surrounded by dim blue hues and softly blinking lights of green, red, white, and blue, you didn’t need to turn on the main light to navigate about; you knew this place like the back of your hand. You had transitioned from a medcenter medic to a field medic for the clone rebels, and this place was now as close to a home as you could probably get. You missed your life before, at the medcenter, but here, in this dim room, it was easy to put away the memories, the good and the bad, and be enveloped in the blanket of shadows and low light.

As you sought for your medical bag, fingers grazing against the embroidered section of the fabric, a memory surfaced.

“It’s a gift, for helping with… well, everything.”

Wolffe’s voice echoed in your mind as if he was there. He’d stood before you, a small bundle in his outstretched hand. It was wrapped rather poorly, the edges of the paper coming unfolded as it sat there, as if the commander either hadn’t bothered to find an adhesive, or he simply couldn’t find one. It seemed too awkward for him, in a way, and that was coming from the person who’d been there for… well, everything. At least from the moment he’d arrived, fresh red scar and painfully burnt eye from a lightsaber wound. There had certainly been some awkward moments in his recovery, but somehow, it was not as awkward as this moment. Perhaps, because for once, Wolffe was the one giving, and neither of you was used to it. You’d taken the gift, fingers pulling at the paper to unveil an embroidered patch in the middle, the symbol of the Wolfpack in the middle. “I want you to be an honorary member of the Wolfpack,” Wolffe had explained, still rather awkwardly. At the time, you didn’t know why, but when you went home, to sew the patch to your medpack bag, you’d found his comm details written in the paper wrapping too. That moment felt like a lifetime ago. All memories of Wolffe did. You had been so close. So close, that you’d almost admitted to him that you loved him. But that never came to pass. The world as you knew it shattered, and you had to rebuild. The medbay you currently knelt in was a testament to that.

A sigh, heavy and warped with longing, passed from your lips, falling into the air of the dark room. You had to focus; Rex, Nemec, Fireball, and Howzer were relying on you for the extraction, and you needed to be ready in case anyone was harmed… which was inevitable. Hopefully, all injuries would be minor. Pushing the past where it belonged, in the past and away from your conscious thought, you grabbed the medpack, pulling the straps over your shoulders. No time to dawdle. You stood straight, pack weighing on your shoulders, and you navigated the hallways the way you had just walked, back to the mess room, and then further, up the stairs to the cockpit.

At the very front was Echo, facing ahead as the blue streaks of light shot by like endless blaster bolts. A few seats back sat Gregor, leaning forward with arms crossed over his knees. Both sat in silence; apprehension hung in the air, the deep breath before plunging into conflict, something both clones were used to. You certainly weren’t, yet you were not one to let the unease overwhelm you. Taking a few steps forward, you plant yourself in the leather of the chair opposite Gregor, your voice cutting through the silence.

“How long until we get there?”

Echo tilted his head back slightly, the caramel hues of his irises glinting in the light of hyperspace, coming in from the viewports. “Another couple of minutes. Rex and the boys will need to hold on until then.”

Gregor’s voice quickly cut in after Echo finished his sentence, drawing your attention to him. He’d swiveled his chair to face you, having grabbed something from the small side sill at the edge of the cockpit. “Here, take this blaster,” Gregor extended his hand out, holding a DC-17 hand blaster to you. “Not sure if we’ll have to fight. Be safe than sorry.” His voice cracked slightly as he spoke, momentarily going higher pitch before lowering to his usual pitch. After the voice cracks, a small burst of nervous laughter escaped the clone. It was not long ago that you and Gregor shared humorous laughter, and now all that joy had dissipated. You leaned forward, outstretching your arm to take the blaster from Gregor’s hand. Your fingers curled around the weapon and softly brushed Gregor’s hand, warm still through the gloves. As you pulled the blaster back to rest on your lap, Gregor offered you a small, yet warm smile, sincerity glinting in his eyes, wordlessly telling you not to worry.

At the console, Echo moved to pull the ship out of hyperspace. The streaking lights of passing stars shortened, congealing into pin-prick dots of light. Outside the transparisteel before you, the looming, dark shape of Teth emerged. As you got closer, you spied a bright white light at the location, and Echo deftly moved to send an alert to Rex that you were inbound. Gregor stood, leaning over one of the chairs closer to the console, and so you joined him, to get a better look at the scene. You saw a line of Imperial soldiers - you couldn’t quite make out their armor from here. Huddled before them, alert yet holding fire was Rex and the others… A glance over them showed you easily that some were missing - who you didn’t know. Blasted Imperials, you always lost good clones to them. What surprised you was that they didn’t try anything against the ship.

You pushed yourself to stand from your chair, and Gregor nodded to you, standing up straight himself. Echo swung the ship around for easy access to Rex and the others, and quickly you and Gregor sprinted down the halls towards the door. You gripped the blaster tight in your hand. If it came to blows, you were ready to take down a few of the Empire’s men in exchange for the missing troopers. With a swoosh, the door lowered, spilling white light from your ship against the bright spotlights of the Imperial ship. Before you stood the shadowy figures of both your men and the Imperials. It took you a moment for your eyes to adjust upon those who stood there. You looked to your troopers first - only Rex and Howzer remained, the rest were the Bad Batch, with their child and pet. Nemec… Fireball… Both of them were gone.

Anger surged through you, and you raised your gaze to glare at the leader of the Imperial troopers, intent on giving him the most venomous stare you could muster. Yet, as the details of the man were revealed to you, a crack suddenly shattered your heart in half. The blaster in your hand fell slack as you just stared… The one behind this, who’d allowed the deaths of Nemec, Fireball, and the others, was none other than the man you loved. Wolffe.

Beside him, the clone commando eased forward slightly, yet Wolffe raised his arm to tell the trooper, his voice quiet yet rumbling in a commanding tone, “Stand down.” You just about heard it, although his actions spoke louder than his words at that moment. He was going to let you all go, despite likely being ordered to take down your group. Before you, Rex nodded his head with respect for the commander. They were brothers, and loyal to each other even if they fought on opposite sides. That loyalty gave you hope, sparking up inside your chest where the ruins of your heart now lay cracked, perhaps to mend and bond that wound taken to it.

The Bad Batch, followed by Howzer, moved quickly back up to the ship, and Rex himself turned his back to Wolffe. With them, everything had been said and done, but you… You didn’t quite understand. Wolffe was disobeying the Empire at this moment, but he appeared to still be staying with them. You stepped forward down the ramp, brushing past the lanky figure of Crosshair, onto the rocky ground below. Wolffe’s gaze shifted from the turning figure of Rex towards where you stepped, pushing past those retreating in an almost defiant manner. Your eyes met, and the firm expression of the Commander shifted. His eyes widened in surprise, his lips parting softly; his left, natural eye with its caramel hues seemed vulnerable at that moment. Standing opposed to his brothers was different from standing opposed to the person he’d loved. Looking at him, you saw that too awkward stance again, echoing the past when he first truly opened up to you. There was hope, yet this was not a moment, or even such a thing, to be easily navigated. Not with the troopers at Wolffe’s back, and the Empire too. Not with your ship, your group of rebels about to depart. It wasn’t even as easy as giving commlink details on a crumpled piece of paper.

Rex’s hand met your shoulder as he stopped by you. It was hard to break away from Wolffe’s gaze, but you did. The look on Rex’s face told you everything you needed to know. That pair of amber eyes showed understanding, but an urgency, that nothing could be done now, and it was time to move on. You nodded your head slightly, your gaze meeting Wolffe’s, which had shifted to a more guarded look. There was still a hint of uncertainty in his singular natural eye, but his cybernetic one seemed dull and void. All you could do was offer the commander a nod, not unlike the one that had been shared with Rex, but this one told him that you’d be back, and that you’d both be able to reunite someday. Rex’s hand slipped from your shoulder, and with that, you too turned around. The captain allowed you to slip ahead of him so that he could secure safety as you finished boarding.

The steps onto the ship were hard, but you knew that this was not the last time you would see Wolffe. You did not dare look back, for if you did, you feared you’d lose your composure. Yet, thankfully, as you stepped back onto the firm flooring of the ship, you were surrounded by the clones that had supported you during this new reign of the Empire; Rex at your back, Gregor at your side, and Howzer at the front. The ramp raised and the door swooshed shut, leaving you standing there. The Bad Batch lingered around you too, and in that moment, you wished for them to be gone, to leave you with the ones you trusted, but you knew Echo would scold you for that, as they were his squad too. The conflict was evident on your face, it must be, because the pet of the Bad Batch snuffled its nose and came up to you, sniffing at you and rubbing against your legs in a friendly way. The child smiled at you, “Batcher’s just saying hi, don’t worry.” She seemed to have mistaken your expression for a reaction to the animal. It eased your mind a little, and you gave the kid a smile in response.

Rex shifted, stepping around you, and he headed over to the doorway that led to the corridor through the ship, “Come on, let’s settle down and… well… that was a lot. We all need some rest.” The largest clone in the Bad Batch, Wrecker, heartily agreed, followed by the child, then Hunter and the slinking Crosshair. There was no use in lingering here yourself, so you made your way down the corridor after them. In that walk, you realized that you felt as though part of you was missing, like there was a hole in your heart. It seemed that when it cracked when you saw Wolffe with the Empire, a part of it fell and was now left with him. You really would have to go back for it.

Once the ship was traveling at hyperspeed once more, and the Bad Batch was settled down in the cockpit with Echo, you found yourself sitting around that same table you’d been sitting at with Gregor before this all occurred. This time, you sat right next to Gregor, instead of opposite him, and Howzer sat in the chair you had occupied. Rex was standing to the side, stirring some sweetener into his cup of caf. Surrounded by your little mismatched squad, you finally felt able to breathe and to speak. Letting out a sigh, you voiced that which you’d been dying to say since you saw the commander. “I can’t believe Wolffe sided with the Empire.” Gregor shifted slightly, wordlessly putting a hand on your shoulder. These few clones were the ones that knew about your connection to Wolffe, so you felt safe to speak of it here.

Rex turned his head slightly, looking at you with his amber gaze, holding sincerity within it. “Wolffe doesn’t seem to know everything the Empire’s done. He’s likely still under the influence of the chip. But, like with all of us, he did show signs of resistance.”

Howzer added to Rex’s comment, shoving a thumb in the direction of the cockpit, “If Crosshair can be redeemed, then Commander Wolffe can too. That clone showed that he truly had changed today… and I still almost find it hard to believe, even though I saw it with my own eyes. If that can be done, then getting Wolffe to see sense would be like a sandstorm on Geonosis - inevitable.”

The missing clones from your gathering came to mind though, and you frowned, “But… Fireball… Nemec… Wolffe didn’t-”

“Actually,” Rex cut you off, “They were firing at us with stun rounds. There was one of those shadow troopers after us… That was who got Fireball and Nemec. Wolffe’s men appeared to be ordered to take us down with stun rounds.”

You exhaled softly. Wolffe was still loyal to his brothers, even those who fought against him, that was clear. There was no reason to lose hope, even under the dark rule of the Empire. It gave you purpose too; to keep fighting until Wolffe was finally by your side once more.

Thanks for reading!

[beskarthief]

Chapter 17 of the Star Wars fic "Order 65". The rest can be found here.

19 BBY, Coruscant, Coruscant Underworld

 Rex stared up at Cody above him, the blaster still level with his face. He was wearing civvies, and was a little unsteady on his feet, but the barrel of the blaster didn’t waver.

 “You didn’t survive.” Cody said again. “They put your name on the wall, Rex. There are records of the ship going down. I read them all. You died.”

 “I made it off the ship.” Rex said, slowly pushing himself up onto his elbows. The blaster stayed where it was. “Barely. But I did. Commander Tano helped me.”

 The blaster did waver then. “The Jedi are dead, Rex.”

 “If you don’t think I’m alive, then why do you keep using my name?”

 “You being alive and you being you are two different things.” Cody said, hand tightening on the blaster. “If you were going to arrest me, Stormtroopers would already be swarming this place. So you’re you. You’re just also dead.”

 “And how does that work?”

 “Simple. You’re not real.”

 Rex’ heart clenched as he took in his friend’s disheveled appearance, really took it in, for the first time. The wobble in his step, the open door of the bar behind him, the stench of alcohol that wafted out into the street.

 “How do I prove to you that I’m real?”

 “You can start by not bringing up ghosts.” the blaster finally lowered, Cody’s hand falling to his side. He pushed the hair out of his face. It had gotten long enough to fall into his eyes.

 “Commander Tano is alive.”

 “Even if she was, she’s not a commander of anything, anymore.”

 “It’s a sign of respect.”

 “It’s a lie.” Cody leaned against the wall of the alley, staring at him with his head tilted to the side.

 “I’m alive, and so is she.”

 “Stop making things up. Better yet, just go away.” Cody pressed a hand to his temple.

 Rex pushed himself to his feet, and when the blaster didn’t come up again, took a few steps towards his friend. He reached out a tentative hand and placed it on Cody’s shoulder. His brother jumped, looking up at him with wide eyes.

 “I’m real, Cody. I’m alive, and so is she.” Rex said again.

 And his brother’s eyes filled with tears. Rex had served most of his life alongside Cody. He’d always been one of the most put together people Rex knew; practical and grounded, able to put his emotions aside and get the job done. You had to be, to run a legion. You had to be able to bury the dead and move on, all in the same day.

 And some part of that person was still in there, fighting to keep it all under wraps. Rex could see it. But still a single tear traveled slowly down his cheek.

 “It’s really you?”

 “It’s really me.” Rex affirmed, wrapping his arms around his brother. The blaster clattered from Cody’s hand as he hugged him back.

 “It’s you. You’re real. You’re here” Cody said, quietly, into his shoulder.

 “I’m here, brother.”

 “How did you survive? I saw the holos of the ship going down-”

 “Commander Tano is alive. We escaped together. She helped me with my chip, just like I’m going to help you with yours.”

 Cody pulled away from him, confused. “Chip?”

 “Inhibitor chips.” Rex explained. “We were all fitted with them. The Kaminoans did it. I don’t know why, or who ordered it, but that’s how they made us do it. How they made us turn against the Jedi.”

 Cody stumbled away from him, nearly tripping on a broken bottle left lying in the alley. “What do you mean how they made us?”

 “Couldn’t you feel it?” Rex’s fists clenched at the mere memory of it. “The way those words wormed their way into your head? Forced your body to move even as your mind refused? I would never have fired on Commander Tano, you would never have-” His eyes widened with realization. The booze, the layer of stubble covering his usually clean shaven face, the haunted look in his brother’s eyes.

 The broken look. 

 You’re not real. You can start by not bringing up ghosts. The Jedi are dead, Rex.

 “Cody, that wasn’t you.” Rex told him. 

 The bond between the clones and their Jedi generals had always been strong. Rex would have died for General Skywalker or Commander Tano in a heartbeat. The same way he would have for any of his men. They were some of the few outsiders that were like brothers to them. Their brothers and sisters in arms.

 Rex couldn’t imagine what it would have felt like if he’d hurt Commander Skywalker. If he’d been the one to pull the trigger and-

 But Cody had always been close with General Kenobi. Closer than he should have been, maybe. There were rules. Cody usually followed rules. He lived and breathed them. Or he had, anyway. Before all of this. But Rex had seen the way he looked at the General. If-

 “That wasn’t you.” he repeated, but Cody just took another step back, shaking his head.

 “Who else could it have been?”

 “The Emperor. The Empire. Whoever was pulling the strings of this whole kriffing war. It was all for nothing, Cody. All the battles, all the deaths.” he reached out and took his brother by the shoulders, shaking him. “But it wasn’t you. Whatever happened, whatever you think you did, that wasn’t you.”

 “What does it matter who it was?” Cody looked up at him, eyes wide and horrified, voice dropping low. “He’s dead.”

 Rex squeezed his shoulder. He didn’t know what else to do. What to say.

 Eventually Cody took a deep breath, shrugging him off and going to pick up his blaster from where it had fallen. He shoved it back into it’s holster. “If you’re right, and there is some way for them to… to control me again. Then let’s get it out.”

 His hands were shaking. Rex didn’t mention it.

 “Alright. Let’s go.”

[clone-wars-winter-challenge]

Here are your hints!

This clone is a romantic man. He may not always show it, especially when his brothers are around, but he is a hidden softy for you. He loves planning dates, especially around the holidays. He wants to walk through the night, stargazing with a cup of hot cocoa in hand, before snuggling up under warm fluffy blankets and a Christmas movie, a plate of cookies beside you. He never admits he's getting tried, and that he will fall asleep first during the movie, he's to stubborn, but you wouldn't have it any other way.

[dragonrider9905]

Celebrating You!

Hi guys! I’ve been on here for a bit now and while I never had a follower goal, I do appreciate you guys who have decided to follow me! So now I’d like to celebrate you!

In light of TBB ending, and how much we'll be missing the boys, I thought this was as good as a time as ever!

Here’s the idea! I’m opening a prompt request for the dates of April 5th through May 5th, 2024 (you may start submitting now though!) and choose from the prompts below! You can choose one from each category, or just one category. It’s ok if it is just the prompt or the prompt and a brief idea. If you have a fun idea or prompt not listed, please share!

Rules: I only write SFW. I typically write for clones; I reserve the right to refuse requests which make me uncomfortable for whatever reason. I have had a few requests in the past that really unsettled me for various reasons. Or if I don't know the character. I'd hate to try to write something then upset the person because it is so ooc that it's cringy. (But if I said I would write your request and haven't yet, I just honestly haven't gotten to it :D I like to do well on the stories you guys entrust to me so it does take me a bit :D)

This is supposed to be fun so lets keep it fun!

You may submit as many requests as you'd like! The more the merrier!

Characters: Star Wars Clone Wars or The Bad Batch (as long as I know them. I know a lot of clones but alas, not all.)

Story genre:

Classic SW! (Pick an era if they exist in more than one if you wish)

AU of choice (modern, western, pirate, mermaid, time traveling, etc if I’m unfamiliar with the genre, I may have to change it or request more details)

Dialogue Prompts:

“Don’t go where I can’t follow.”

“If we’re going to do this we’ll need—“ “A plan?” “No! Code names! Cool ones!”

“I don’t need to be anything to you. I just want my life to mean more to you than my death.”

“You are playing a dangerous game without even a glimpse of the rule book.”

“I’ve never been terrified of death, til he set his sights on you.”

“What the hell are you doing here?” “Yeah, you’re not allowed to ask that in this situation.”

“Where’s your shoe?” “The giant mud puddle in the road demanded a sacrifice.”

“Love at first sight doesn’t exist.” “Then how else do I describe the feeling I got when I first saw you?” “You…love me?” “Apparently not, according to you.”

“A fate worse than death….” “They’re burnt cupcakes.”

“White paint has more color than your face.”

“Why is there a dragon in my fridge?” “It was hot.”

“Touch **, and you’re dead.”

“I am the law.”

“Do that again and I’ll throw you out the window. Wait, what are you doing?” “Checking how high the drop is; seeing if it’s worth it.”

“I’d rather have you hate me than loose you entirely.”

“I have a mission but don’t know what it is.” “Well that sounds incredibly counterproductive.”

“I would like to join you in acknowledging the difficulties in your life.” “You are the worst at this comforting thing.”

“I don’t know if you’re aware of this but I’m quite petite.” “Really? I had no idea in our twelve years of friendship that you’re shorter than I am.”

“But what is power?” “Loyalty.”

“Don’t you sign to me in that tone.”

“I’m with him/her for better or worse.” “It’ll probably be worse.” “I knew that the day I met him/her.”

"I'm sorry I tried to kill you." "It's fine, but next time you should try harder."

"C'mon, like I need an excuse to spend time with you."

"You're not as bad as everyone says you are."

"The only one who gets to kill you is me."

“blood loss”? well it’s not lost. I know exactly where it went. right over there.”

“How the mighty have fallen!” “It’s a dropped chocolate bar, stop being dramatic.”

“Shit, we’re gonna die” “Now I don’t want to hear that negative attitude, look on the bright side!” “Yay! We’re gonna die! Woo!”

“How do you do it?” “How do I do what?” “Pretend you are ok.” “I’m not pretending.” “Yes, you are. Every single day and it breaks my heart.”

“Hey, so I know things are pretty f**** shitty right now but I need you to breathe for me.” “Wha-wh-wh-” “You’re having a panic attack. It’s gonna be ok. Just breathe with me.”

“Please, my arms—I can’t wipe my tears, don’t let them see!”

"Smiles are contagious!" "Don't worry, I'm vaccinated."

"I don't want to get involved, it's too risky." "Please do it for me, you're the only one I can turn to." "It's not worth it. You really want to lose everything? 'cause I don't."

"Do you ever think of anyone other than yourself?" "No"---a long pause---"actually yes, at Christmas time"

"There is a reason I go through that door first, It's to make sure everyone else walks back out"

“I can’t leave you here!” “You can and you will.”

"OH! Are you alright? Are you alright?" "Apart from being trapped under here, and maybe suffering from broken bones and embarrassment beyond what I am capable of handling. . . I'm dandy, why do you ask?"

Oh no, are you alright? You're covered in blood!" "Yes, it's yours, Now will you please let me take you to the hospital?"

"What did love ever do anything for anyone anyway?"

"What the hell were you even thinking?!" "You told me not to think!"

"With love comes loss, that's part of the deal. Sometimes it hurts, but in the end, it was all worth it. There's no greater gift than love."

“'Temporary stitches' all stitches are temporary if you have a pair of scissors and aren’t a coward" "What do you....that better not mean what I think you mean......" "Am I just talking about sewing stitches or sutures too? Maaayyybe?" "NO! Absolutely not!"

"I made the calculations, and boy am I bad at math."

"It'll be over soon, I promise."

"Working together again, just like old times." "Well, not just like old times."

"I am many things but not your enemy."

Action Prompts:

Forehead kisses

Palm/hand kisses

Dramatic rain scene

Touching foreheads

Jealousy

Dancing

Last stand

Christmas/Life Day celebration

mistletoe

Accidental hand touch

First date

First kiss

Spending time with the family

Bad day cheering up scheme

Pranks

Going to a pet shop

Going to the movies

Always go after the girl

soft spoken person has loud, unnerving scream.

Lullabies

Nightmares

injury

amnesia

pretend/mistaken to be married/in a relationship

cooking

[eclec-tech]

🎵 Clone x Reader Song Fic Exchange 🎶

For @ladysongmaster (This was my first time ever writing for Howzer!) 🤞🏼

@cloneficgiftexchange Pairing: Howzer x Reader Words: 3.7K+

"I knew she always worked late on the third Taungsday of the month and told her I would bring by dinner on the next one so we would each have some company while we suffered through our reports. That was going to be the night I finally asked if she wanted to spend some time with me outside our official duties. But I guess the Force had other ideas,” he trailed off sadly. “What happened?” Howzer’s wistful smile disappeared entirely. “That was the night I tried to rally my men to stop hurting the people of Ryloth and got us all arrested.”

[starqueensthings]

Summary: An immediate continuation from the last chapter, as the two were only separated for ease of reading. June’s dreaded task of taking center stage in front of those soldiers has come, and she’s as anxious as she is sunburnt, but the reappearance of one of our TCW faves helps appease some of that trepidation.

Rating/WC: all chapters are rated 16+ for subject matter unless otherwise stated. | 6k ish words.

WARNINGS: social anxiety, mentions of cardiac arrest. Please heed the author's notes below.

A/N: I literally never thought these words would leave my lips, but this chapter contains an astronomical amount of dialogue. It takes us through the entirety of June’s first lecture, and the content she’s tasked with trying to elucidate to the Medic Cadets. It’s lengthy, and full of author-crafted/non-canon medic lore, as I think the only canon tools I included were the MedKit, and MedScanner; the rest were pulled from the chaotic depths of my brain. Also– kind reminder that I am not a doctor. All medical terminology and descriptions in this chapter were based upon information the Google machine was able to provide me. That’s it I think, ok BUHBYE, DRIVER!

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

FOREWORD | MASTER | PREV | NEXT | AO3

Tugging distractedly at the hem of her top as she trod cautiously across that stage, June instantly abhorred both the heat and the blinding nature of that dazzling spotlight illuminating only the area tasked with housing her for the next several hours. And by the time she was near enough that austere stand to rest her datapad in place, the remainder of her senses had begun to near-suffocate her; footsteps thundering atop the floor with every step, ears unable to ignore the irksome hum from the projector hung directly over top her position, the metallic scent of electronic grade aluminum as she tipped the microphone closer to her lips. Yet, more oppressive than that imminent sensory overload was the incumbrance of that weighty silence… a hundred sets of eyes peering up at her neath glimmers of both mild confusion and patient expectation as she attempted to force her trembling hands into situating herself.

The heavy lid of that borrowed MedKit thundered like a projectile shot from an old cannon as her clammy fingers lost their grip on that slippery duraplas and sent it crashing to the table top, the odious echo pulling a cringe to her features.

When she’d needlessly fiddled with all that she could, and the promised safety of procrastination had whittled itself down to nothing but obvious intentional delay, she stepped back behind that microphone and cleared her throat.

“Um, hello,” she uttered, gaze lurching toward the first row of students atop a sense of feigned confidence, though the reciprocating gaze of those curious brown eyes had her own actively seeking respite from her datapad again. “Sorry I’m kinda late… worth the wait though… maybe.”

An unheralded chorus of whispers and repressed amusement broke out across those rows of seats, and the fracture of that oppressive silence had her gaze flicking upward again.

Immediately apparent was exactly why Challa had always requested she keep a close eye on the back rows from her typical perch behind the teacher’s desk, as the near-tyrannical light beaming down at center stage rendered anyone standing behind that podium utterly blind to everything beyond about ten feet.

“For those I haven’t properly met yet, I’m Dr. June Kiore, but just call me June,” she spoke, quivering finger reaching to thoughtlessly nudge the bridge of her glasses further up her nose. “I’m a lead attending general surgeon at GRMF, and I’m lucky enough to have the opportunity to meet with tons of combat medics every day. Not only does the lowest level of the medical facility house the widest array of inventory for restocking starship medbays, but medics are often the ones tasked with transporting their wounded brothers to the nearest medical center, as only they can recount the the degree of injuries to the doctors assuming their care.”

A trooper in the first row on the farthest left shifted in his seat only enough to steal her attention, the gleaming silver button on the cuff of that scratchy looking jacket knocking against the desk in front of him as he readjusted his perch atop that rigid duraplas chair, though by the time June’s gaze had darted sideways to identify the accidental interruption, the trooper had resumed his silent, taciturn perch.

“Um… we’re going to go through your kits today,” she continued, quickly prodding a finger against the screen of that datapad to ensure her presentation notes were still actively displaying her plan of attack. “But um, before we actually dive into the equipment, I– well, I told Challa I wanted to waste a few minutes of your time to remind you of the magnitude of your role. I’m sure this is nothing you haven’t already heard, and— honestly, it may not mean much coming from a ‘civvie’, but if this resonates with even one person, then I think it’s worth saying.

“You are soldiers, yes. You, of course, will be fighting. You will be involved in tactical advances. You will have pistols on your hips, and you will be expected to kill with them. But… you are also medics. You will also comfort. You will also save. Only inches from those blasters is a MedKit equipped to recuperate as many lives as you take, if not more.

“Though it’s not just the pack that’s going to weigh on your shoulders– you will each bear the responsibility of balance. You will each have to find the equipoise of saving life and taking it, whether it be an enemy, friend, droid, humanoid, sentient, animal, brother. The burdensome task of deciding when to end life, and when to save it… and when to end it when it can not be saved… is entirely your weight to carry. And it’s that awareness, that demanded composure, that’ll constantly try to crumble your resolve.

“But you’ll find it. You will achieve that awareness and that balance. You will find those abilities and that strength within yourself through experience and camaraderie, and with these MedTools in your hands, you are going to save countless lives. Your friend’s lives, your brother’s lives, your superior’s lives, civilian lives… and you will become the backbone of your new regiment.”

The succeeding pause was laden with a poignancy more deafening than the obnoxious thud of that MedKit lid reverberating around those four walls, for it seemed no one was capable of moving amidst that paralyzing truth; the very air shared by that century of soldiers now wholly saturated in a morbidity of which that stuffy room hadn’t previously housed. Prevarication utterly refused for the sake of candor and authenticity by someone who, rightfully, should not have harnessed the ability to understand them on that level; to both acknowledge and elucidate the harrowing reality that every soldier in that room struggled to reconcile when the stillness of night caught up with them.

She trailed the tip of her tongue across her lips in preparation to launch into the bulk of her lesson, gaze quickly digesting the way those two hundred brown eyes had softened neath her words; that darkened gleam of ego and hunger diminishing to something resembling receptiveness… concentration…

“Like I said, I’m sure this is nothing you haven’t heard befo–”

“Not put like that,” a voice called from somewhere in the back left corner, though his face remained enshadowed by his distance from the stage, there was no denying the scoff following his sentiments wholly lacked the contempt of which such a huff typically wore, instead escaping his lips atop something near astonishment.

“Oh… well,” June continued somewhat lamely, unable to entirely decipher if his comment had been fuelled by an unbridled resentment or sudden stroke of appreciation. “Just remember– you’re important to the war effort, but you’re also important as a person.”

Offering Challa only a fleeting glance to ensure he hadn’t been patiently withholding some sort of objection, she scooped the MedScanner from its swaddle in the kit to her left and held it aloft. “Let’s move on to the equipment…” she told the room at large. “If you haven’t opened your MedKit yet, please do.”

From what she could see within the confines of that oppressive pillar of light, most of them had, though a subtle rustle from the seats nearest the door meant at least a smattering of them failed to accede Challa’s earlier instruction. Offering the negligent group a moment to catch up with the rest, her wandering gaze fell upon a trio of soldiers in the second row on her left side; what appeared to be an irrepressible curiosity had seen them each extract the Scanners from their kits like she had, long brown fingers tipping and twisting the equipment while slightly-narrowed, scrutinizing eyes bathed in the appearance of that high valued tool.

“Much like the brains in your heads,” June started, repressing a smile triggered by that unexpected dose of targeted interest. “The MedScanners in your Kits are vital to all of the other components. This Scanner and your judgement will work in tandem to dictate your treatment protocols. Active battle will ensure you have only seconds to make treatment decisions… but with the help of this tool, seconds are all you’ll need, and time will see this Scanner become an extension of your own hand. While downtime between advances will have your brothers cleaning their blasters and changing their socks, you will be referencing data and recharging power.” She paused for only long enough to cast another furtive glance toward the device still laying atop that podium, ensuring the information now spilling from her lips, now-void of the inhibition from mere minutes ago, remained on schedule with what she’d meticulously planned.

“There is endless information accessible in just this one little device. In class, we’ll go through the most crucial settings and the menus that will allot you the most information with the least effort, but I encourage you to independently learn as much about this particular tool as you can… find the limits of what you can achieve with it.

“So, um… if everyone wants to power theirs on for a moment and just kinda fiddle around, the little button on the left of the screen powers it on and off. Go ahead and start to familiarize yourself with things. Play around with the buttons, spin the dial and watch the screen toggle between menu options, get used to the trigger on the back because that’s what initiates the actual infrared beam…”

June watched those hidden back rows flicker into life like a patchwork quilt as several dozen newly activated scanner screens illuminated the curious expressions of their previously hidden holders. After carefully placing her demonstration tool back into the kit, she witnessed the first fragments of something-near excitement erupt across those crowded seats, as several soldiers turned to point that swanky new tool in the face of their nearest brother, pained gasps echoing around the room as those deep brown eyes were assaulted by the beam aimed at corneas without intent, and another small smile threatened to peel across her lips.

“I’m either doing this wrong, or you’re not alive,” one of the troopers in the second row on the far left laughed to his neighbour, giving his scanner a little shake as if physically agitating the equipment might promise him the result he sought.

“You can keep your scanners on, but put them down for now please. We’re gonna move on,” she called as she reached to collect the next tool from its perch, and the immediate groans of protest reviling her request only intensified the smirk atop those lips. “In your Kits, to the immediate right of the Scanner, are three reserve power cells. Your Scanner’s primary power at full charge and being used constantly, will last for approximately two full rotations.” Hoping those soldiers would identify the vital importance of this information from the severity of her tone, she spoke slowly and deliberately. “Do not have three dead power cells in your Kit. If I ever catch you with a dead Scanner and no reserve power, I will personally sever your toes and sew them to your eyebrows.” In stark contrast to that preceding intensity, a loud refrain of laughter echoed around the room, including from Challa whom June had momentarily forgotten was there. She continued, “The little black cord tucked beneath the power cells is your charging scomp adapter. Whenever you are near a power source, it is absolutely crucial that you plug in and recharge power.

“Any questions? No? Okay, next…” Stowing the back up power cells back into their home, she extracted the subject of her next demonstration. “To the immediate left of your Scanner, you will find what’s called a Universal Serum Injector, or USI. If your Scanner is the brain of your kit, this is the heart. I use these injectors regularly at the hospital, and my life would be infinitely tougher without them because they are truly revolutionary tools for urgent patient care. They pump lifesaving and life-preserving serums through the veins of your patients without having to prep a bolus and insert an IV line. They allot you the power to hydrate your patient, eradicate foreign bacteria and infection, diminish inflammatory responses, reprogram cell activity on a biochemical level, block pain— they can save you, and kill you. USI’s and the serums that go in them will become your bread and butter.” Whilst that crucial prelection spilled from her lips, she reached blindly into the kit and removed four small crystal vials. “Your combat kits are equipped with four types of serum. From the big pouch underneath the lid, everyone please grab one of each. There should be a vial with a blue cap, a green, an orange, and a red.”

Whilst the room erupted in the hiss of activity, June took the opportunity to seek Challa’s gaze from across the stage, though upon immediately meeting that glowing set of violet, she wished she hadn’t. The pride and joy exuding from behind those gleaming globes forced her focus downward and her stomach up into her throat, as that blazing look and encouraging nod had instantly confirmed a notion of which she’d already begun to suspect: their gambled attempt at finding the correct way to engage with his group had found success. Challa’s continued optimism, validated. Her role behind this podium, secured.

Stretching the remnants of the lingering tension from her neck, June redirected her gaze back upward to find a hundred sets of hands clasped around a collection of four multicoloured vials, and an equi-number of alert, brown eyes peering up at her expectantly.

“We’ll go through each serum in significantly more detail at a later date, so just follow along with me for now,” she assured the eager few that had also collected data pads from their bags, balancing them precariously on their knees amid hopes of taking notes and palming the equipment simultaneously. “Now if you look closely, you’ll see that each vial has a needle preloaded neath that coloured cap, and this is done for a multitude of reasons. First, for efficiency; the coloured cap ensures you’re not robbed of valuable time, as pausing to read a label and identify a medication will only usurp those seconds you need to treat the patient in front of you and, in the thralls of battle, time is a luxury. Secondly, for sanitary reasons as maintaining injection sterility whilst in the backwater sectors of Maker-knows-where is a feat near-impossible.

“It’s tough to tell unless you’re habitually using them, but the needles under those caps are different gauges— like a blaster, the gauge refers to the diameter of the opening. The larger the number, the smaller the opening. The orange and red-capped vials are equipped with 14-gauge needles for rapid infusion and should be administered intra-muscularly— most often at the base of the neck or the outer thigh. The green and blue-capped vials are equipped with 18-gauge needles for slightly slower absorption, and are administered subcutaneously. But the size of the needle is nowhere near as important as what flows through it.

“So let’s start with the blue: these are Hydration Vials, and do not underestimate how pivotal they are in acute patient care or how many lives you will save with them. Hydration station will save the nation!” A sudden refrain of that familiar husky laughter rang around the darkness, though June offered it only an apologetic smile before pressing on. “I’m serious! As soldiers, you may never fully know what type of terrain or environment you’ll be facing. If supplies dwindle to the point where nutrients are sparse or unattainable, this serum will be the difference between life and death. It replenishes water, electrolytes, and calories quickly. We’ll cover the basic signs and symptoms of dehydration and malnourishment another day, so let’s move on.

“The orange-capped vials contain what’s called a Nociceptor Blocking Agent or an NBA. In layman’s terms, this is a pain cutting injection. You will use these more than any other and, again, do not underestimate the power of this serum. Because of how the chemical compound prohibits communication between synapses, it is not to be administered flippantly. Chronic overuse can cause motor complications, and chronic idiot use will cause injury.”

Shifting the cargo nestled in her palm from the orange vial to the green, she held it aloft. “Green vials,” she continued, “Contain a general antifungal and antibiotic serum. In your myriad of travels to the galaxy’s farthest corners, you will run into plants and bugs and bites and other weird shit that you could have never dreamed of. A Hema scan will tell you what type and degree of foreign cells have infiltrated the bloodstream, and this serum is used to eradicate any signs of infection quickly.

“Lastly, the red vial contains a cardiac stabilizer. More specifically, a medication called Amiodarone— a highly concentrated synthetic designed to help stabilize the electrical activity in one’s heart when those natural impulses become erratic and uncontrollable. Cardiac arrest will present itself suddenly and with a large array of symptoms. Using your MedScanner and knowing what symptoms to look for are your only chance at combating those sudden episodes, and this serum will grant you those valuable seconds needed to ascertain the biological cause of distress, and prep your next tool for use. But before we move onto that, are there any questions about the vials?”

“Can you drink ‘em?”

The idiocy of the question forced her dark brows together, blue eyes scanning the darkness for the issuer of the query.

“Of course you can’t drink them, Dempsey…” another unseen soldier chimed in before her lips had even parted to respond. “What, are you gonna suckle on the needle like a teat?”

“Well, I don't know!” Dempsey defended from his hidden perch somewhere in the center of the room. “Just thought I’d ask— sheesh.”

“No, you can't ingest the serum,” June clarified. “They’re not formulated for absorption through the GI tract. Any other questions?”

When her narrowed eyes failed to find any elevated hands amongst the only rows she could see, she turned her attention to Challa, watching him crane his neck to peer across the remainder of seats. Once he'd approved her advance with a thumbs up, she stuffed the vials back in their pouch and popped the next two tools from their foam casing.

“Okay,” June mumbled, fiddling with the pair of dome shaped probes clasped somewhat awkwardly in her hands amid the effort to hold them securely enough to display their appearance whilst avoiding injury. “These are called Defibrillation Pods, and they’re a bit more complicated. Everyone grab the set in your kit, and flip them over… but be careful. See the four little probes on the bottom of each pod? They’re sharp as hell, and need those little barbs to keep them from shifting while in use because the electromagnetic bolts that issue from one probe to the other are extremely powerful. I’m assuming everyone knows the function of defibrillation?”

The responding, garbled chorus of yes’s and maybe’s did all but imbue her with the confidence she would have liked, so she permitted herself a small digression. “Defibrillation is a deliberate pause in cardiac electrical activity,” she explained. “It’s essentially forcing your heart to reset its rhythm because its previous cadence was too inconsistent to sustain life. If a patient is experiencing a cardiac episode and the chambers in their heart have become desynchronized, these pods wield the power to reset that vital rhythm to a natural biological beat. To use them, you would first run a Cardiology Scan or an ECG, then you’ll jab these in your patient’s chest, one at the 11 o’clock position and the other at 3 o’clock around the heart, and—”

“Hold on a sec… we’re stabbing these little things into someone's chest?” one of the soldiers sitting in the seats nearest the door voiced, question undeniably bathed in a blend of both incredulity and disgust.

“Of course,” June laughed. “It’s either that or they die. Trust me, they’ll forgive you for the scar when they live to fight another day. We’ll go more in depth into ECG’s and shockable rhythms during a future class, but let’s quickly run through a case study so I can better explain how and when the red-capped vial and the defibrillator pods work in conjunction.

“Say you’re urgently summoned from across the battlefield because there’s an unconscious patient in need of urgent care. A General Scan is immediately conveying that the patient has no pulse, diminishing O2 saturation, and a declining body temperature so one can assume this is a fairly recent cardiac episode and thus severe in urgency, as you have only minutes to restore blood flow to the brain before damage is deemed irreversible. So, the first things you’re going to do are: administer the red vial, likely at the base of the neck where armament gaps, and find a nearby trooper to strip that patient of their chest plate. While they’re doing that, you will be toggling to the Cardiology menu on your MedScanner and taking an ECG to ascertain current electrical activity. Within seconds, you’ll have a series of wave patterns at your disposal to which you’ll use to determine if you can attempt to revive the patient with defibrillation. There are several wave patterns typically associated with cardiac arrest, but only two of them are ‘shockable’ or treatable with this tool.

“Your Scanner will complete wave pattern categorization for you, but you want to make sure you’re looking for wave patterns indicative of Ventricular Tachycardia or Ventricular Fibrillation. These are, generally, the only two shockable rhythms. Once you’ve figured out the nature of what you’re dealing with, jab these little probes into their chest in the position I told you, and activate them. The patient will physically lurch— and yes, it will look as if you’re hurting them but, remember, at this point, they have no pulse. If they’ve lacked a pulse for several minutes, they’re considered already dead. You are trying to undead them. Pain is secondary to life, always.

“A full defib cycle takes eight seconds from beginning to end. Once completed, initiate another scan and check the new ECG’s. If there’s no change in the wave pattern, inject a second a red vial and repeat. You can run up to three full cycles, but if, despite your intervention, electrical activity trends toward Asystole, or what’s commonly called a ‘flat-line’, your patient is going to die.”

June paused and watched truth land its heavy blows on the chests of all the troopers visible inside that circle of spotlight; arms crossing, eyes widening, lips pursing, throats bobbing neath poignant swallows that could only convey they hadn’t yet entertained the thought of that perceived failure. Many turned toward their neighbour to share a significant look, others dropping their gazes toward their laps, others simply tossing those probes back into the kits as if the weight of those tools in their hands personally offended them.

“Look… I know it’s grisly,” June continued sombrely. “Take it from someone who has lost more patients on the table than I could ever stomach counting— this is the reality of medicine and of war. This Kit is an extremely sophisticated, top rated, highly sought after set of equipment. If they can’t save your patient, nothing can. Your role at that point is to mark the date and time of death, and move onto the next because there’ll be a next. There will always be a next. Remember the balance that is demanded of you. Remember that composure.”

“Time check, June.”

Her gaze darted toward her wrist at Challa’s request, shocked to see that hardly an hour of class time remained. Where had that time gone? More shockingly, to what distant corner of her mind had that simmering fear retreated? Why was she able to cast her eyes across that century of soldiers without her upper lip flattening in disgust? When had they crossed the threshold between gaping upon her with lascivious intent, to simply offering her their attention void of mal motive or lurid intention? And, in some cases, even mild veneration?

“Thanks, Challa,” she spoke, confident the microphone would carry her voice to the corner in which he sat, slender face still distorted with a pride she’d never quite seen bestowed upon those features. “Any questions on the defib pods? No? Okay, let’s move on to something a little lighter…”

The next thirty minutes saw them blow quickly through the lesser aspects of that kit. Bacta patches and med patches were of little concern, as the soldiers had become largely familiar with them throughout their upbringing on Kamino. They quickly covered the basics of the effervescent iodine solution provided for rapid disinfection of open wounds, as well as comparing the Electro-magnetic stapler and Cauterizing pen both mentioned in their previous lecture only days ago. After ensuring each medic understood how to adhere and activate the portable oxygen mask, June instructed the room at large to break into sets of three and use the remaining class time to practice using their MedScanners on each other.

“One person, pretend to be a patient and describe your symptoms! Someone else be the medic and figure out what tools you would need for treatment, and the third person grabs it from the Kit and describes how to use it!” she called loudly before a deafening roar of a hundred chairs scraping heavily across that hard floor echoed around the room.

As Challa trod the circumference of the room to flick the lights back into life, June took her time ensuring all pieces of that MedKIt had been powered off and returned to their respective homes inside that borrowed pack. Eyes aching from the duress of maintaining that necessary squint, the reintroduction of broad room illumination had a sigh of relief near pouring from her lips.

“June,” Challa mused as he crossed the stage and neared where she was now latching that MedKit closed, and he wasted no time placing his slender hands on her shoulders and giving her a small celebratory shake. “I knew this would work! I knew you would pull this off!”

“Yeah, well don’t hug me yet,” she laughed, shrugging his hands from her stinging skin and wrapping her fingers around the MedKit handle. “I’m waiting for the one in the back to get ballsy and start suckin’ on the blue vial.”

“Hydration station,” Challa recited atop a snort, gently tapping her hand out of the way so he could assume the burden of carrying that heavy pack back to the teacher’s desk. “Where the kriff did you come up with that?”

“What?” she answered atop an apologetic chuckle, following in his wake. “Who doesn’t love a good rhyme from time to time?”

After quickly checking their pagers to ensure neither had missed any urgent communication from the hospital, the doctoral duo separated to traverse the classroom, offering guidance and pointers to trio’s where needed, and listening to ensure conversation had not strayed too far from the lecture content. A silent lap around the room had June pleasantly surprised with how quickly those students were learning to operate their Scanners, as she had witnessed at least a dozen successfully take basic vitals off of their mock patients. (“We definitely don’t have time for that today,” she chuckled to a soldier who had accidentally toggled to the wrong menu and was unknowingly attempting to take an MRI of his brother’s intracranial activity.)

After quietly roaming the back few rows where those troopers seemed to have a handle on the little roleplaying game she’d implemented, June trod slowly down the tiered steps toward the front of the room, where the trooper she’d nearly chuckled at earlier was scanning one of his group mates.

“I know it’s not really what we’re supposed to be doing right now, but you mentioned there are different wave patterns indicative of cardiac arrest,” he probed upon her check-in. “But only two are shockable? What are the others, and are they going to be externally immediately recognisable?”

The complexity of his question took her by complete surprise, lips quickly compressing to conceal the beginnings of an impressed smile, and the emergence of his informed inquiry only reinstated the suspicion that many of these troopers had been actively listening throughout the span of that lesson.

“They’re not,” she advised him, climbing backward to sit upon the desk top. “Not shockable or externally recognizable, I mean. We rely heavily on ECG’s to identify where the malfunction occurred in the heart and what can be done to rectify it. Sorry, what was your name again?”

“Kix.”

“Here, Kix,” she said, collecting his MedScanner from the table beside her and handing it back to him. “Toggle to the Cardiac menu and scan me. I’ll show you what the ECG’s look like and how to read them.”

Leaning backward slightly, she flanked her hips with her hands atop that desk in an effort to remain as still as possible while that infrared beam danced first up and down her chest, then to and fro. And she watched Kix’s dark brown eyes narrow as he funneled his attention into operating that sophisticated tool, fingertip blanching neath how intently he depressed the trigger on the back.

“That’s an awesome question,” she told him, watching his silent determination. “Since your Scanner self-identifies, you don’t necessarily need an in-depth knowledge of the different wave patterns so we’re only going to cover the basics in class, but I’ll try and break it down once you have my results. Tell me when it’s done…”

“Ready,” he advised only seconds later, a held breath escaping his lips as he climbed onto the desk beside her.

“Perfect,” she said, leaning sideways to peer at the screen in his hands. “So obviously I'm not dead, and you can tell because there are waves present in each of those graphs. But see at the bottom where it says ‘NSR: Normal Sinus Rhythm’, and then lists a series of numbers? That’s where your Scanner will tell you what type of cardiac incident you’re dealing with. Not including some smaller subvariations, there are four main rhythms associated with a CA. The two that are not shockable are called Asystole and PEA. Asys is a complete lack of any electrical activity whatsoever, so those numbers will all be zeroes, and there will be either extremely negligible or no waves present depending on if CPR was performed before you arrived. The second is called Pulseless Electrical Activity, and the waves will be nothing short of chaotic, lacking any sort of pattern, void of any kind of rhythmic peaks or depressions. Essentially the heart still has some electrical energy, but not enough to physically make the heart beat.”

“Wizard,” he mumbled under his breath, eyes absolutely drinking in the information the scanner still offered up. “Which do you think I’m likely to run into most often?”

“That’s a tough guess,” June sighed with a small shrug before jumping down from the desk and brushing the dust from her palms onto her pant legs. “A young healthy person with no known or diagnosed arrhythmia’s is not likely to suffer an episode, but CA’s are sometimes triggered by external factors. Significant blood loss, blunt force trauma directly to the chest, severe cases of dehydration, some potent toxins, amongst other pretty rare circumstances. I applaud your desire for knowledge, it’s… refreshing.”

Kix’s ears reddened to the colour of her scrubs neath her seemingly unexpected praise, that flush triggering a chorus of repressed snickers from the two companions that had watched the entire exchange unfold, and June took their amusement as her cue to leave.

The chaos of her morning seemed like a distant memory now, June reflected as she took a seat behind the teacher’s desk and pulled her holopad from the depths of her bag. The arrival of the event she’d been most dreading since its proposal last week had come and gone with hardly any discomfort despite how intensely she deplored her untimely arrival, and though plagued by a complete lack of caffeine, and the stinging ache relentlessly reminding her that the refusal to apply sunblock had resulted in painful consequences, she was in a remarkably good mood. Many of— if not most of— the students had responded to the shift in educational leadership with much more adaptability than expected, several granting her something-near undivided attention as she fought her own anxieties to provide them a tidbit of the information needed for the successful transition from medic cadet to Clone Trooper Medic.

She’d just begun to let her eyes unfocus upon that completed attendance list when a disturbance caught her attention from the front of the room. The classroom door had slid open unexpectedly, and she’d hardly attuned her attention to the intrusion when a figure appeared atop the threshold.

A very gruff looking soldier perched his hands on his hips, scowling lips compressed into what could only be described as a disapproving grimace as his dark eyes scanned the innards of that classroom. Despite the confidence that she’d never met this particular trooper before, there was no ignoring the nature of his elevated status; several shiny medals pinned to his chest, and a posture so straight it seemed unlikely the man had ever come into contact with a pillow, had June leaping instantly to her feet.

“You’re over your time, Ma’am,” he grunted to her as she greeted him in the doorway. “These cadets were due in RRD fifteen minutes ago, and they still need to armour up.”

June had zero clue what ‘RRD’ was, but the overt severity of his reproval made it wholly apparent that he was not impressed.

“Kriff,” she gasped, clapping a palm to her forehead. “That’s absolutely my error. I’ll pack it in right now. I’m so sorry!”

She did not pause and wait for his reaction, instead hurrying away from that threshold and urgently casting her eyes around the room for any sign of those sand coloured Lekku. “Challa!” she called, cupping her hands around her mouth to supersede the din of chatter.

His gaze found her almost instantly, eyebrows raising to query the look of apparent horror atop her features as she lifted her arm and frantically tapped her watch. Quickly mirroring her gesture, Challa’s shoulders lurched upon the realization of their terrible error, slender legs taking him earnestly down the stairs and up onto the stage.

“Pack up boys, we’re running behind!” he instructed into the microphone. “Don’t leave anything behind!”

June trod quickly across the room, helping various soldiers latch their kits closed and stuff them into those white canvas backpacks. “What’s RRD?” she whispered to Kix as she hastily shut the lid on his equipment.

“Rank and Report Duty,” he grumbled back, failing to repress a roll of his dark eyes. “Also known as: Three Hours of Standing in Line and Getting Berated Into Compliance.”

“Sounds like a blast,” June scoffed, scooping his bag from the floor and holding it open so he could lower that heavy plastoid case into its depths.

“Everyone’s favourite,” Kix sighed, exceeding her sarcasm with his own.

Feigning mild offense as she helped him throw those straps over his broad shoulders, June offered him a small gasp. “Pffft, I thought this class was everyone’s favourite.”

“It is now,” he chuckled. “Oh… and it’s called a cuirass.”

“What?”

“Chestplate. It’s called a cuirass. I can help you with the armour pieces if you want.”

A dapper, boyish smile domed his cheeks as he offered her a small nod and made his way down the last two steps. Hands perched on her hips, June watched as one of the other cadets instantly threw an arm around his neck and pulled him into a painful looking headlock, though it lasted hardly a second before Kix tugged his shoulders from that innocent restraint and shoved his brother through the door ahead of him.

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 @drafthorsemath @jediknightjana @starstofillmydream @mooncommlink @wizardofrozz @trixie2023 @clonethirstingisreal @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @mythical-illustrator @arctrooper69 @smw-on-kamino

[moonstrider9904]

Gardens of Yesteryear

This fic is for the Clone Troopers and their Flowers event! @arctrooper69 this goes out to you!

Pairing: Howzer x Female Reader

Synopsis: on a very important day for you and Howzer, you’re unable to find the one thing you need to make the evening flawless. Will that stop you?

Tags/warnings: SFW. No real warnings, just fluff. Established relationship, brief mentions of alcohol.

Word count: 2.6k

Crossposted to AO3

As you bumped into one of the many flower-filled buckets for the third time that visit, you scolded yourself for leaving it to the last minute. There you were, in the fifth flower shop of the morning, and you’d had no luck finding those flowers. The day before, you’d thought your reasons to wait until the actual day were decent. You didn’t want them going bad, you didn’t want the petals crumbling or the stems going stale. You wanted all the best for him, for your special day.

You couldn’t believe it had already been three years.

The memory of your beloved coming into your life prompted you into taking a deep breath in the middle of the flower shop amidst all the people happily buying their bouquets of sunflowers or lilies, all flowers that were easy to find and renowned by everyone. It had been a rainy summer, that one, and it was the summer your life changed when you put it into perspective. The decisions you made, the people you met… you remember your man being the sensation. Everyone was talking about him and you’d heard his name mentioned and repeated days before you even got the chance to meet him, and surely enough, you also fell for Howzer’s charms when you first laid eyes on him. It was hard for you to fathom your luck—the sheer way in which the universe had smiled at you, told you yes, you may have this man to love and to hold.

A smile appeared on your face when the memory of when he’d asked you to be his came into your mind. The clouds had cleared on that day and you felt a warm sunshine on your skin. The breeze that day carried the smell of grass and flowers and the noise of children laughing and families going about. Donning a sundress and a cute little hat with sandals that matched it, you’d met Howzer underneath an oak tree whose green leaves looked radiant in the sunlight, and he’d arrived with a stunning bouquet of blue freesias. The way the blue shade matched the colors of his armor from his days as a soldier didn’t escape you, and that was when he’d asked you if you wanted to make your relationship formal. You’d never been quicker to say yes to anything, and those flowers remained on a vase at the center of your home for longer than any other bouquet had in your entire life.

Your mother’s words came to mind, of that one time she told you, “When someone’s flowers last that long, it means their feelings for you are really strong.”

But your heart also ached at the memory of how beautiful Howzer’s gesture was. Now that you were hitting the three year mark, you wanted to replicate the feeling in him, let him know that you’d also be willing to go over the top for him any time. And while most of your three-year-anniversary date had already been planned out, this part remained a secret.

In theory, since your flower endeavor was a secret, there would be no real consequence to you not going through with it. But you were unwilling to let it slide.

Then, as the florist came back around the counter from the back of the shop, you took a deep breath, feeling your pulse rise as you anticipated all the things she could possibly say to you.

“I have good news and bad news,” the florist said.

“Oh, maker,” your words shook from nerves as you exhaled your tension, but your tone remained kind. “Start with the bad news, please.”

“Well, I have two pieces of bad news,” the florist continued. “I have no blue freesias, and I have no freesia arrangements already made.”

You nodded. “Okay… what about the good news?”

“I have freesias in just about any other color. If you’re willing to work with that, just tell me what other colors you want and I’ll have an arrangement ready for you in thirty minutes tops,” she smiled at you.

Your heart sank, and the florist took notice.

“I don’t mean to make it worse,” the florist said, “but if you’d come around one hour earlier, I think you still would’ve found some blue ones.”

You chuckled, your laughter dipped in slight disappointment. “Yeah… an hour ago I was at a different flower shop, and they told me the same.”

The florist gave you a sympathetic smile. “I can work wonders, you know. Why don’t you let me mix some white, purple, and pink freesias and sprinkle in some golden motifs?”

A thought suddenly perched itself on your mind as you remembered the warm glow of the evening when your relationship with Howzer started. Everything had seemed so golden around you, and after all this time, that was one of the first things that you thought of when the memory came. The next thing you always seemed to think of was how beautiful the teal of Howzer’s armor looked whenever the ambience around him was so warm. The image was vivid in your mind, and your heart raced with joy as you thought of your handsome Howzer, in that perfect lighting, only belonging to you.

“You know what?” You smiled at the florist. “Do you have any yellow and hot pink freesias?”

“You bet,” she replied.

“Okay… do you think you could mix all the colors, but give the warm tones priority? And maybe we could keep the golden motifs.”

The florist nodded at you. “Give me a half hour and I’ll surprise you.”

A half hour sounded wondrous. In that time, you could go to the bakery next door to get some of the last things you needed before your anniversary date.

“You’re a hero,” you told the florist. “I’ll be back!”

*

The sun had started to go down on the sky, and the light it cast on the outside took that beautiful shade of gold you so loved. Despite the flowers not going according to your plan, the bouquet the florist got for you was still gorgeous, and if anything, it complimented Howzer’s signature colors. You had the whole thing planned out, figuring you could trust the kind florist to help you with one last endeavor to give the evening one more level of charm. You never wanted to be predictable when it came to Howzer, especially not when it came to a day as important as that one.

You were approaching the spot Howzer had chosen for your date. He had the tendency to not be predictable when it came to you either, and though it would have been sweet to have your date where it all began, Howzer chose a place that was new to you. At a park in a quieter side of the town, where there was grass, benches, tall trees, and even a fountain, and you felt the romance in the air from the moment you arrived.

You marched yourself across the park, feeling occasional blades of grass brushing against the skin exposed on your sandaled feet, and the gentle wind flowed in harmony with the skirt of your white sundress. You made your way towards the spot of the park Howzer had told you to meet him beforehand, and when you were at a short distance, you spotted him talking with two of his brothers. He saw you coming, as you could tell by the way his gorgeous brown eyes landed briefly on you only for him to gesture hurriedly at his brothers to leave, causing you to giggle softly at him. Howzer was a gentleman, but you loved it whenever your charm brought out his more clumsy side.

As you walked up to him, you took in every detail of Howzer. Though you weren’t at the same oak tree, the warm light of the evening matched the memory so well it might as well have belonged to you and Howzer already. As for your boyfriend, Howzer wore light brown pants and shoes that were a slightly darker shade, almost approaching a milk-chocolate color. His white shirt seemed to be made of a light, breathable fabric, ideal for days with such high temperatures and warm winds blowing, and the white shirt had thin cross-stitch patterns embroidered along the length of his chest in teal thread, his signature color.

A large grin plastered itself on your face as you took those last steps between Howzer and yourself, and your free hand went up to his shoulders as you leaned in and perked yourself up on your toes to greet him with a light kiss on his cheek.

“Hi, love,” you chimed.

“Hi,” Howzer smiled at you, his gaze traveling over your silhouette. “Wow, you are… you are stunning.”

You giggled and gave a little twirl on the spot. “Thanks.”

You then paused as you watched him standing there, his hands hidden behind his back as he smiled a tad nervously at you. You took that moment to take in the rest of the details around you: the red and white blanket placed on the grass, a large plate with grapes, hams, and cheeses, a wooden tray with short legs to safely hold a bottle of rosé wine and two slender cups, and series of warm fairy lights already powered on for them to grow progressively as the sun set. You smiled at the scene and set your basket of bread down on the blanket, your chest swelling with joy as you looked over at Howzer again, ready to tell him how beautiful the set up was.

But Howzer remained with his same uptight posture, hands insistently behind his back.

You giggled again. “Well? Aren’t you gonna kiss me?”

“U-Uh, right,” Howzer stammered, revealing one of his hands from behind his back. “Suppose I could just do this.”

“Mmm yeah, you could,” you chirped as Howzer bent forward and kissed your cheek sweetly. Smiling brightly, you turned your face to face him directly, and Howzer leaned in again to press his lips to yours.

You sighed dreamily, sinking into the familiarity and warmth of his lips, letting your fingertips travel up to brush the skin on the sides of his face. You’d memorized all of him, from the texture of the scar on his cheek to the lines of his face, the way he tasted and how he tilted his head first to the left and then to the right when he locked lips with you. You grinned into the kiss, pressing your lips harder to his before pulling away with a tiny smile.

“Happy anniversary, dear,” you whispered.

“Happy anniversary,” Howzer reciprocated with a serene smile.

“So,” you raised a brow at him. “Wanna tell me what you have back there?”

The clumsiness returned momentarily to Howzer as he stammered on his words. “Oh, r-right. Um…”

Howzer took a deep breath, returning to his regal, captain-like demeanor. He straightened his back and looked at you with confidence and affection, two traits that would have you swooning over him for days.

“I wanted to have a balance today, you know?” Howzer began. “I do want to commemorate this day three years ago under that oak tree when you said yes to me, but it’s been three years, and as much as I hold the past very close, I also want to acknowledge the fact that you and I, well… we have a future. We have a path to move forward in, and… hence the new place. But… well, maybe putting it that way, it’s not such a tragedy.”

You tilted your head, confused by his last sentence.

Howzer chuckled. “To have a piece of the day you and I became a couple, I wanted to get you the same blue freesias I got you back then.”

He slowly revealed what he was hiding behind him, and you stared at the bouquet of bright yellow, red, magenta, and light pink freesia flowers. The bouquet was balanced out with smaller white flowers that resembled chamomile, and it was wrapped in cellophane on the outer layer and thin bright pink paper on the inside, tied together with a neat teal bow. Howzer held the bouquet out to you, smiling charmingly at you, and for a moment, he resembled a prince declaring his love to you for the first time all over again.

You chuckled at him, dazed. “Let me guess. All the flower shops were out of the blue freesia flowers.”

“It’s uncanny how I was unable to find any today. It’s like they plotted to ridicule me,” Howzer agreed, but now he raised a brow at you. “How did you know?”

You giggled, your cheeks flushing with heat. With the best of timings, you spotted the florist walking up behind Howzer, and your gaze regrouped with that of your lover.

“Well, you’re not the only one who remembers vivid blue flowers that day,” you said, slowly walking up to him and kissing his cheek, letting your voice lower into a whisper as you told him, “close your eyes.”

Happily, Howzer obeyed. You skipped past him and went over to the florist, mouthing the words “Thank you” as you took the bouquet from her and took your position in front of Howzer again. You held the bouquet in front of your chest and smiled brightly at Howzer, your eyes sparkling.

“I know about the blue flowers because I wanted to get them for you too,” you said.

Howzer opened his eyes and felt his chest swelling with love at the sight of you holding the bouquet. You’d gotten the flowers in the same colors he had, and the golden motifs didn’t escape him.

“Darling,” Howzer sighed as he took the flowers from you. He chuckled softly, looking you in the eyes. “Well, great minds do think alike.”

“I guess they do,” you beamed.

Howzer set your bouquet down on the blanket next to the one he’d gotten for you. He rested them on your basket of bread and smiled at the way both complement one another, not unlike you did to him. Howzer then took your hands in his and looked you in the eyes, gazing into you with all the tender care he held for you.

“I love you,” he spoke softly.

Your entire chest fluttered, and your eyes glimmered up at Howzer as you blessed him with the most beautiful smile he’d ever seen.

“I love you too,” you said before leaning in and letting him kiss you.

As you both pulled apart from the kiss, the gleam in your eyes turned excited.

“Now, can I please start eating that cheese?” You proposed.

Howzer laughed. “Help yourself. I’ll pour the wine and get the crackers.”

“No wine, no crackers, no bread,” your hungry side got the better of you. “Only cheese.”

Howzer kissed your cheek, pressing himself firmly into you and smiling into your skin with how much he adored you. You then took a seat on the blanket and grabbed a cube of rich, yellow cheese, plopping it into your mouth. As you savored it, you leaned your head back, taking a deep breath as you enjoyed the peace, the breeze, the whole evening. Hearing as Howzer opened the bottle of wine and poured the two cups, you reached for a grape and smiled, knowing you were in the middle of perfection.

Here’s to more years, you thought as Howzer took a seat next to you, handing you your cup of wine.

You clinked your glasses together, and then you leaned your head on his shoulder, smiling as you gazed into the sunset and enjoyed every second of your time with the man who made your days bright and your years sweet as the scent of freesias.

Thanks so much for reading! If you like this fic, please consider reblogging to support me!

Dividers by saradika-graphics

[oceansssblue]

Sooo... the time for star wars RARE PAIRINGS ONESHOTS requests has come!

No matter how rare weird cringey or wtv the fuck it can be, give it to me! Make me write out of my comfort zone! Or who knows, perhaps that weird shit you're going for is precisely my comfort zone, so don't be shy!

Ever thought of "damn, for some reason I really like this pairing and there's none (or very few) oneshots about it, I wish there'd be more"? This is your chance!

Clone/clone

Clone/jedi

Clone/whoever???

Platonic, romanticly fluffy, sensual, full on smutt, horror, wtv? PLEASE SPECIFY THIS!

Try me! No rules, just send me a text/ask :)

Reblog so all weird people receive this!

Xx,

Blue.

[sinfulsalutations]

𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕥𝕠𝕓𝕖𝕣 𝕕𝕒𝕪 𝕠𝕟𝕖 ⋆*･ﾟ 𝕣𝕠𝕝𝕖𝕡𝕝𝕒𝕪 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕔𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕒𝕚𝕟 𝕙𝕠𝕨𝕫𝕖𝕣

⋆ ★ ᴋɪɴᴋᴛᴏʙᴇʀ 2023 ʟɪɴᴇᴜᴘ

➼ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ ☆ ᴄᴀᴘᴛᴀɪɴ ʜᴏᴡᴢᴇʀ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

➼ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ☆ ʜᴏᴡᴢᴇʀ ɪꜱ ʏᴏᴜʀ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ʙᴏʏ, ʜᴏɴᴇꜱᴛʟʏ ɴᴏ ʀᴇᴀʟ ꜱᴍᴜᴛ ɪɴ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴍʏ ʙᴀᴅ, ꜱᴛᴇᴀᴍɪɴᴇꜱꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ʀɪᴅɪᴄᴜʟᴏᴜꜱʟʏ ᴛᴇᴅɪᴏᴜꜱ ʏᴇᴛ ꜱᴇxʏ ꜰᴏʀᴇᴘʟᴀʏ

⋆ ★ ꜱᴛᴀʀᴛɪɴɢ ᴏꜰꜰ ᴡɪᴛʜ, ᴡᴇʟʟ, ɴᴏ ʀᴇᴀʟ ꜱᴍᴜᴛ, ʙᴜᴛ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʜᴀᴅ ᴍᴇ ʙʟᴜꜱʜɪɴɢ ꜰᴜʀɪᴏᴜꜱʟʏ ᴡʜɪʟᴇ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ. ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ :)

➼ ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜰɪᴄ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴀɪɴꜱ ɴꜱꜰᴡ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ. ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ɴᴏᴛ 18+ ᴅɴɪ

⋆ ★ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴏɴ ᴀᴏ3 ⋆*･ﾟ ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ ꜰᴏʀᴍ

“What would you like me to do for you?”

You turn your head, fixing your posture as you gaze at your boyfriend across the room. He’s dressed handsomely to the nines; the black uniform shines like patent leather, silver buttons catching the light like metalwork in a museum. His white waistcoat and dress shirt peek out from beneath, hugging his form and frame most enticingly. His hands folded at his front, gloved in white, curl slowly, stretching out his knuckles as if he were preparing himself. Everything about him is pure grace and gift, something you're so thankful to lay hungry, salacious eyes upon. You lean an elbow on your armrest, taking long and thoughtful libations of his appearance. Then, you think about what he asks you.

You don’t take long. Those few words provide all you need to know. It’s a part of your secret language, how you communicate while playing characters. It’s how you know Howzer is ready to serve you as your obedient butler tonight.

“That’s a good question,” You say, smiling coyly. You spin yourself in your chair and cross your legs, casually comprising yourself into a pretty glass of water for him to drink. “I’m not sure yet.”

Howzer nods curtly, swiping his covered palms against each other as he looks at your positioning by the vanity. He’s endlessly patient, this man; especially when tasked like this to serve. You adore it.

“I’ve cleaned the sitting room and the kitchen,” He informs, and you grin in approval. “I also folded all of the laundry.”

“Thank you,” You twirl a strand of hair between a finger and bite your lip as he inches closer. You tantalize and tease the other in your little game of cat and mouse as Howzer anticipates your next move, eager and curious to see what you have in mind.

“It’s simply my job, my lady.”

Your core tingles and your spine shivers in thrill.

“Of course,” You fake correct yourself. Howzer takes another step closer. You uncross your legs and smooth out the skirt of your dress. “If you have nothing else to do…”

Perking up, he watches your tongue swipe against your bottom lip and get tugged between your top teeth.

“Yes?” He waits for you to finish your sentence.

“Would you take off my shoes for me?” You lift a leg and point your toes in his direction with a raised eyebrow. It’s hard not to smirk.

You don’t expect him to comply so quickly. He drops to his knees and crawls toward you almost immediately.

He takes off your shoes, his peripheral vision guiding him as he keeps eye contact with you.

When both are off, Howzer slides a gentle palm up and down your right shin. You bite your lip.

“Good job.” 

The praise heats his cheeks.

“Of course.”

Howzer places your shoes on the floor, sliding off your socks with it, but his eyes are zeroed in on your exposed skin above, your legs set only a little spread. Not enough for him to fit his head between them, but certainly enough to get a good look.

He hisses. Crest of his chin dipping down, the motion is almost like he’s bowing to his high commander, keen to obey. He purses his lips and plants a firm, long kiss on the side of your calf. His eyes remain shut as he trails his mouth up and kisses the very beginning of your inner thigh.

You hum, patting his head and running your fingers through his soft hair in a soothing, overly doting manner.

“I think you’re a little distracted, Howzer,” you tell him with a fake frown.

“I’m sorry.” At least the apology seems profuse. “How would you like me to serve you, my lady?”

You pretend to take your time thinking thoughtfully over what you want him to do. But you already know. You spread your legs further.

“Slide my panties off…” Humming softly as he runs his hands on the outside of your thighs, slipping past your skirt and hovering over the waistband of your panties. You lean in further, nipping at his ear while one hand cradles his jaw. “...and eat.”

Something of a groan leaves his throat. His next words are barely a whisper, muttered against your skin when he leans in to finally get his fill, fulfill your request.

“As you wish…”

ragu list: @starstofillmydream @pb-jellybeans @corrieguards @badbatchbabe @ladytano420 @jediknightjana @sleepycreativewriter @shinyshayminflower @secondaryrealm @nobody-expects-the-inquisitorius @meshlaxbunny @followthepurrgil @wolffegirlsunite @starrylothcat @sev-on-kamino @aconstructofamind @padawancat97 @littlemissmanga @starqueensthings @anxiouspineapple99 @freesia-writes @wings-and-beskar @clio3kantarella @secretthegriffin @idontgetanysleep @523rdrebel @dystopicjumpsuit @mandos-mind-trick @sunshinesdaydream @clonemedickix @andrakass2 @jesjestraverse @crosshairlovebot @wizardofrozz @ladyzirkonia @multi-fan-dom-madness @moonlightwarriorqueen @eyeluvmusic21 @mythical-illustrator @imarvelatthestars

[toomanyteefs]

Here’s a lovely amazing painting of the Baby Batch, Baby Howzer, as well as Jaster and his kids Arla and Jango from Snapback having a picnic masterfully done by @squad-724 in return for me writing a bonus scene/oneshot at her request. It is now my computer’s desktop image and I love it, just gorgeously done!